For the last month, Alexander and I have been on a ridiculously intense exercise/diet deal. We’d both been bitching about being fat and never working out, so I decided ok, let’s use this whole new year thing to actually do something about it, instead of just watching tv, eating potato chips, and complaining about it.
It was a tacit choice for me there to list exercise first–I’ve tried the dieting route before, and a listless, grouchy, fat me is far, far worse to spend time with than a nourished, energized, fat me. So we’ve been doing these insanely rigorous workouts and eating a ton of food — just mostly healthy food, and almost none of it processed or sugary.
If you overlook the fact that for the last three days I’ve been craving a piece of cake, riddled with poofy icing and floating in a little processed-sugar halo, why, it’s been working out quite well. After a couple of weeks of wanting to kill ourselves, we figured out the schedule and the energy levels needed, and for the last couple of weeks, it’s actually felt like we’ve managed to find more time and gotten more done.
It’s a 3-month program, and we’re just finishing up the first phase of it. I’ve held off talking about it for this long because if it was a miserable failure, I didn’t want to have to write about quitting it. But I’ll hold off for the time being on any promotional spots, and we’ll see where we are in a month or so.
I can say, though, that I’ve gone from being hobbled by my @$@$%# back, to gently nurturing it, to actually being able to run, slowly and carefully, for two minutes straight. It’s sad that 2 minutes is a landmark goal, but since a month ago even the idea of running caused shooting pains up my right side, I’ll take what I’ve got, nod to general fitness and my chiropractor, and consider myself ahead of the game.
I’ve purposefully not gotten on a scale or anything like that, trying to convince myself this isn’t about vanity, it’s about getting healthy. But I shall relate to you that my happy dance this morning when my fat pants were a tidge looser than I remembered from last week — why, that dance had nothing to do with general fitness and everything to do about looking at my ass in the mirror and finally being able to smile again.
New review from last week: find it here.
