Well, I'm not totally thrilled that the scale told me I was down only 1/2 pound this week, to 149.2 lbs. While I suspect that the less-than-stellar loss has nothing to do with bad eating or fitness slacking, I'll spare you details about my pooping. Instead, I'm going to share a new workout that Bobzilla found for me that will really shake things up:
Friday night found us at a local Burger King. Yeah, I know. After checking their neat-o interactive nutrition menu on their website, I ordered the BK Veggie Burger w/o mayo or cheese. It was actually pretty good. I wasn't too worried about carbs and refined flours in the bun because it has the weight and density of air. With the veggie burger, I ordered a side salad. This is my impression of a BK garden side salad, sans cheese and croutons:
Well, it could've been worse.
While waiting in line at the supermarket last night, this magazine cover caught my attention:
Size 6? Really? Well, maybe she is, and the ample chest area has skewed my perspective. Either this is another example of vanity sizing, or an illustration of just how differently proportioned we all are and that ultimately size matters less than weight and measurement. Or a little bit of both. There's a photographic height and weight chart on the web that features pictures of real men and women. It's fascinating to navigate.
This song never gets old for me...it is my go-to warmup workout song:
And how are these for some killer lyrics (taken from Neko Case's website):
THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU Neko Case 2008
MY LOVE I AM THE SPEED OF SOUND I LEFT THEM MOTHERLESS, FATHERLESS THEIR SOULS DANGLING INSIDE-OUT FROM THIER MOUTHS... BUT IT'S NEVER ENOUGH I WANT YOU
I CARVED YOUR NAME ACROSS THREE COUNTIES AND GROUND IT IN WITH BLOODY HIDES BROKEN NECKS WILL LINE THE DITCH TILL YOU "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP THIS MADNESS!" I WANT YOU
I HAVE WAITED WITH A GLACIER'S PATIENCE SMASHED EVERY TRANSFORMER WITH EVERY TRAILER TILL NOTHING WAS STANDING SIXTY-FIVE MILES WIDE
BUT STILL YOU ARE NOWHERE, STILL YOU ARE NOWHERE, NOWHERE IN SIGHT COME OUT TO MEET ME, RUN OUT TO MEET ME COME INTO THE LIGHT
CLIMB THE BOXCARS TO THE ENGINE THROUGH THE SMOKE AND TO THE SKY
YOUR RAILS COULD ALWAYS OUTRUN MINE SO I I PICKED THEM UP AND CRASHED THEM DOWN IN A MOMENT CLOSE TO NOW CAUSE I MISS, I MISS, I MISS, I MISS HOW YOU'D SIGH YOURSELF TO SLEEP WHEN I'D RAKE THE SPRINGTIME ACROSS YOUR SHEETS
CHORUS
MY LOVE, I'M AN OWL ON THE SILL IN THE EVENING BUT MORNING FINDS YOU STILL WARM AND BREATHING THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU, WHAT WILL MAKE YOU BELIEVE ME?
She slept fine, didn't puke and didn't try to walk into walls. She even took Bob on a run at the park. Much better than forcing syrup of ipecac down her throat.
Thanks for indulging my attention whore moment from last night. You floggers are the best.
'Cuz right now I'm googling "mushrooms" and "poisonous" and "dogs". Yup. I was out with Gogji earlier today, putting together a pepper pot bouquet from my garden for a friend in my building and didn't notice the large bunch of orange mushrooms that seemingly sprung up after the rain.earlier today. Orange chanterelle-like 'shrooms within Goji's parameter. I didn't notice the 'shrooms until I was coming back in the house with her. The fungi looked disturbed. Like a dog might've eaten them. That kind of disturbed.
Bobzilla thinks I'm paranoid and should go to bed. I'm watching that stupid dog like a hawk for any signs of illness. Female anxiety trumps male whatevs every time. Right? So, it's gonna be a long night as I sit watch over the fur baby.
In the meantime, I've been checking my site stats, inspired by some interesting stats on Trish's blog. Apparently, my blog comes up a lot on searches by people looking for workout playlists. If I can make one person from the Midwest run the treadmill or spin while listening to the Butthole Surfer's "To Parter," my good works obligation on this Earth is fulfilled.
I'm the exact weight I was last week: 149.6, which makes me neither happy nor disappointed. The wedding photo from the last post was just a single snapshot of the trouble I was getting into this past weekend, so to maintain is surely not the worst result.
Got a major case of the grumpies today that are caused in part by:
lack of sleep. Goji, who insists on sleeping with us, has been a restless sleeper lately, tossing & turning & scratching & kicking.
painful gas brought on by either Bobzilla's matar aloo (an otherwise delicious and spicy Indian peas and potato dish) or my rice bowls. Either way, biking this morning was difficult as a result.
both foot injuries have given me a strange gait when I walk. On the foot with the broken toe, I favor the inside of the foot to keep weight of the toe. On the other foot, I shuffle clumsily on my heel. Picture a frankenstein duck.
the air conditioning units in our windows have been leaking water everywhere. Bobzilla figured out the cause, but not without some considerable expense as a consequence of the water damage.
I can't seem to concentrate long enough to get anything done today. Probably a side effect of all of the above.
I should have known not to get all cocky with the before and after pics last night and shit.
While we were at a wedding tonight (of the particularly Greek festive type), I managed to get my other foot damaged under the crushing spike heel of an unsuspecting guest. Here's how the tootsie looks now, a few hours after the impact:
Yeah, that's gonna give me some problems tomorrow. What the pic doesn't show is a lumpy swelling about the size of a small egg. Biking just might not be in the immediate future. Crud.
And just when the other foot was healing from the toe damage. See...the little toe was just starting to return to normal:
But the injury was worth it to get this shot of the happy newlyweds, who were the sweet center of this dance circle. Opa!:
But, really, Bobzilla's hotness took all of the pain away. *le sigh*
Going to put on safety pads and head off to bed. Thanks, everyone for the supportive comments yesterday. I'll cling to them as I'm recovering from the amputation. *air kisses*
I guess I reached my 100 lb. mark? Wow, who knew. I'm still trying to get used to this new flesh suit, seeing bones and clavicles and veins and wrinkles I never saw before. A mixed bag of "aahs" and "ewws." Yet, I just never stopped to think how far I've come.
You know the old adage, never look back? I call bullshit on that. Looking back is the injection we sometimes need to keep moving forward. This past Monday, MizFit posted a neato article on the overlooked strengths of looking back and celebrating past accomplishments. And it got me to thinking the rest of the week about my past...my fatso past. Don't get me wrong. I was happy even in my fat suit. Life doesn't stop simply because you're carrying around a little extra baggage. So, I didn't stop having fun, didn't stop lovin', didn't stop living.
But, all of this talk about looking backward came to a head tonight while I was coming up with ideas for a retro dress to wear at a cocktail party that Bobzilla and I are hosting in a couple weeks. While brainstorming tonight, I came up with the retard idea of wearing my old prom dress to the party. I fetched it from storage and tried it on. To my surprise, the cheap-ass hooker dress fit. Junior size 11 and it fit. Granted, the zipper was a little tricky in some parts, but it fit. I am slackjawed still. Not just at the fashion sensibility that was 1987 (junior prom), but that I fit my near-middle aged ass into it. Whoa.
In anticipation of this blog, I dug up our old prom picture. But then I found a pre-wedding picture that I remembered being especially embarrassed about because I looked so "fat." Here's that pre-wedding photo, circa 1994:
A couple years ago, I would have been grateful to be back to that weight, I had gotten so much bigger. Yet, even at the time that pic was taken, I was so ashamed, I wouldn't show it to anybody. I kept it on the fridge to remind me not to overeat. *snickers*
Yet, that picture apparently was not motivation enough, because I got much, much bigger. Here's Bobzilla and me from about 4 years ago:
My, aren't we the picture of health?
Here's a really flattering shot:
(and yes, my hair was really that long. It doesn't take a PhD to figure out what I was unconsciously trying to hide with all that hair...and cigarettes...and large clothing).
Oh, I have so many more very embarrassing pics, but let's not drag this out.
About those prom pics....Here's Bobzilla and me circa 1987:
And here I am tonight:
K. This should keep me motivated for a little while longer.
I'm finally on the other side of the scale: 149.6 lbs! That's down 1 & 1/2 pounds from last week. *whew*
Lunch has been quite the adventure over the last few weeks. I've taken a break from my standard brown rice/veggie lunch delights to try different things. First, being lazy, I decided to have bunless veggie patties with rice and veggies. At first it seemed fine until 2-3 days into it, I noticed that everything was just rushing through my system. I wasn't sick, I just wasn't digesting anything either. I felt tired and light headed. As it turned out, it was the damned soy in those burgers. Really, we weren't meant to digest soy in the way and quantities that we do (soy seems just as prevalent in our diets as corn/corn syrup), especially in its non-fermented form. When you think about what it takes to make tofu (basically, like making soap), you gotta ask yourself whether there aren't better, more natural food choices out there. I could turn this post into a rant and cut and past research on the issue, but I'll save that for a future blog.
Then, I moved on to local restaurant options for lunch. At first I thought I found the Holy Grail in the form of Subway's little known veggie patty subs. And they were yummy--hot veggie patty on whole grain bread with tons of veggies and spicy mustard. Mmmm. And it didn't rot my guts like straight up soy burgers did, although there was some soy in it. However, all nutritional information was suspiciously absent from Subway's website. After much researching from other sources, I learned that it's fattier than you think and contains cheese and eggs. So much for being veggie. I don't mind eggs, but I cannot verify if the eggs are free range and organic. I'm not for putting anything in my mouth that was squeezed out of the nether regions of a genetically-modified, anti-biotic pumped, caged chicken that has no will to live.
Now, I tried being creative this week with found ingredients in my fridge. What I came up with is a yet-unnamed concoction made from scrambled "good" eggs, onions and black beans garnished with hot sauce and queso fresco, served over salad mix with brown rice cakes. While the final product looks not unlike engine sludge, it was quite tasty. Score! On the other hand, I just can't do eggs like that everyday.
Last night, we went shopping at my favorite--albeit long-distance--grocery store, Mustard Seed Market. After enjoying a dinner of broccoli & cauliflower dill salad and splitting a large asiago chicken breast with the hubs from their deli, I picked up some makings for an awesome veggie & rice bowl using this spicy peanut and ginger sauce. Can't wait to taste the results!
As I'm writing this, I'm enjoying a large, plump plum that I also picked up at the Market. Thanks for the reminder, Jelly Bean!
My little toe is still broke, but hasn't really interfered anymore. Maybe it'll just fall off one day. Sometimes evolution works way too slow.
Went shopping at A.J. Wright this afternoon and picked up two bags of clothing for $31.00, which contained:
3 bras 1 pair of Vera Wang (her perfume stinks) jeans 1 pair of Liz Claiborne (snob) workout pants 1 sports bra
Yeah!
I didn't try the clothes on because I was in a hurry, per usual. As it turned out, I got skinny jeans. *gasp* By accident. I'm wearing them. Size 10'ers. I gotta say, I'm not a fan of the skinny jeans. My ankles don't move so freely. While they lift my butt and thus cause Bobzilla to salivate, the jeans triggered strange tingling not unlike blood being cut off to my extremities. More importantly, I'm just too old for skinny jeans. They are best left on the bods of 20-somethings and emo boys with a surplus of white belts. I just don't want to die from blood clots. Ya know?
After that shopping blowout, we rushed home to meet the plumber who has been on a mission to discover why water keeps leaking under our bathroom. Fair enough. But, I kept telling the dude that the tub needed more grouting around the edges, but I'm a girl, so of course he bought supplies and did work that addressed everything but what was painfully obvious to anyone with a vag. And, of course, the leaking persists.
Goji had her first "accident" today. On one of our new bedroom rugs that bears a striking resemblance to grass. I don't blame her, and I'm not upset. I feel like we reached a milestone with our doggie, like we passed a real test. I spent tonight scrubbing the rug, beaming like a proud parent.
But, really, that's not why I'm blogging tonight. I am in serious pain, which in turn is pumping adrenaline into my system and keeping me up past my bedtime. The kind of pain you can only get when you drop a gallon Coleman thermos filled with fruit punch & ice on your little toe. Which is exactly what I did while preparing a Friday night munchie package for our drive-in date. Yeah, I crushed that little piggy. Crushed it real good.
The funniest--and saddest--thing was when I was searching the internets about broken little toes, and I came across a runner's message boards. Apparently, broken little toes are common. They just tape the suckers up and keep running like a broken bone is no big deal. Hard core.
So, the drive-in date was cancelled (bummer), and we stayed at home watching the rest of the first season of True Blood on DVD while my foot was propped up over the sofa. Oh, and this is why Gogi probably peed on our rug. We shoulda taken her out sooner, but I was boo-hooing over my toe. Bad parents!
My little toe looks like an undercooked blood sausage. I can't wait to see what it looks like tomorrow.
I have it taped to the neighbor toe, who doesn't appreciate the invasion of space. But I gotta do what I can to ensure I'm able to complete my workout tomorrow and then drive to Pittsburgh and attend this Slayer/Marilyn Manson concert that I promised my niece. Why, oh why, do the teenage nieces/nephews look up to us through those ridiculous cool shades? Do they not realize we are dorkier than the kids they shun at their high school?
So, I'm going to google "little toe" and "amputation techniques." I'm done with this already.
