Flat-Bottomed Girl
I’ve had my best weight loss successes with the me-diet-exercise ménage a trois. Time and enthusiasm often intervene, however, and I’m forced to choose between good eating and good movement. When I must decide, I always choose exercise. I’d rather pump my way through a StairMaster session (which for me, means leaning over the machine while sucking air and cursing my life) than give up dessert. The way I figured it, my heart got an extra "challenge" by walking a faux incline while carrying my extra heft. I burn a lot more calories in 30 minutes (okay, 20 minutes) on the LifeStep at 230 pounds than at 199. Besides, if I exercise, then fewer of my daily calories ‘count’ and that’s a little bit like dieting. There is nothing about dieting that feels like exercise, unless I count the burning in my stomach between meals, which I do not.
I like to exercise. I like the beads of sweat that form on the backs of my hands while I’m grinding out the miles (okay, mile) on the treadmill. I adore the ‘my lungs are bleeding!’ sensation when a walk turns to a jog, and then to a run. I’ve fenced, pitched, elbowed folks under the basketball hoop, cycled, run, played a version of tennis that was just this side of hockey, earned a black belt, sweated bullets in a racquetball room and chased a toddler, all for the sheer endorphin-laden pleasure. Even when I was at my heaviest and had to wear men’s size Large sweat pants, I still schlepped myself to the gym once or twice a week. If nothing else, it gave me a chance to catch up on all the weekly rags that piled up on my kitchen table between workouts. I would be hopelessly behind on current events, were it not for The Nation and the cardio room at the Glen Ellyn YMCA.
My favorite gym activity is weightlifting. A friend introduced me to Nautilus in college, and about a year later, I switched to free weights. I enjoyed Nautilus and machine lifting in general, but free weights transformed my enjoyment level from interested to obsessed. I held that first barbell in my hand and when I pressed it off my chest, I was hooked. Almost at once, I abandoned the whole body, 1 day on & 1 day rest model that Nautilus touts and switched to a 3-day split, spending 2 hours a day in the gym, loading weights on to barbells, crawling under cages, hissing my way through each set in a dimly lit, poorly ventilated room with no sound other than the grunts of my fellow gym rats. When I lift, I levitate. I spend an hour in the gym under the benches, and when I leave, my feet glide off the floor. My body tightens, my muscles sing, and everything heightens.
Of course, the next day, singing turns to screaming, and I’m shuffling around my house wondering if I qualify for handicapped parking. Not that I think I could make it to my car, or, having managed that, slide into the driver's seat. Still, I know that after that hellish day of lactic acid build-up and muscle burn, I’ll be stronger, I’ll burn more calories at rest (muscle burns more calories just sitting on your body than does fat), and I’ll feel better. Whatever time I have to spend gritting my teeth, it’s worth it.
The great thing about lifting is that it’s the only exercise I’ve found where you can actually reshape your body. I am a mesomorph with a small frame, so I get strong and hard-bodied when I lift, but I don’t get bigger. In fact, at my peak when I was bench-pressing 150 pounds and squatting 225, I was the smallest and tightest body that I’ve ever been. I just don’t bulk up. However, I can accentuate my assets and eliminate my issues through weight training. My smallish waist looks positively waspish when my shoulders blossom. My decent legs shape and curve, shimmering under my well-watered skin when I add toe raises to my routine. Even my breasts appear to stand up better when given the benefit of some solid benching. My complaints about getting my boobs ‘shortened’….well, they’re still there. After all, gravity plays havoc on a woman’s "sweater topography" the way genetics taunt a man’s hairline. But I complain less and beam more when there’s muscle beneath my fat.
So here’s the thing. This time around, I just can’t seem to make it to the gym. I can’t say exactly what’s keeping me out of the Y, except that I have a regular, out-of-the-house job, and a nanny who is the greatest childcare provider alive, but who earns so much that one full week of my monthly wages go straight to her. So between my commute and my wallet, I cannot bring myself to ask her to put in more hours. Not to mention that I miss my son when I’m at work, and I can’t bear the idea of cutting into the scant 2.5 hours we have at night between his arrival home and his bedtime.
I’ve tried working out at home, and that is heavenly for him and disaster for me. My darling son wants to ‘help’’ me work out, and so gets on to the treadmill with me. Or, he’ll help me ‘superset’ my bench press by dropping plates on my face. Let me tell you, this child is strong. It’s nothing for him to heft a 25-pound weight up to his chest. What he possesses in 'sprint' strength, though, he lacks in stamina, so as soon as he's lifted this disk, he realizes that it's heavy, and so he does what any panicked child does, and chucks it at Mommy. So home gym is out.
I’ve managed to sneak in a couple of brisk walks every week, racing home early and forsaking the much-needed grocery store trip so I can puff my way around the neighborhood. It isn't nearly the same as lifting, but it does help, and on the days I do it, my breathing eases and my body glows. I do it, and I want to do more.
Up until now, the gym/lifting issue has only been one of guilt for me. I want to work out, I know my body needs it, and so I vow that I will figure out a way to do it. But recently it reached a crisis point. The other day, as I was slithering into my size 14 jeans (!!), I noticed that I have lost my butt. I’ve never been a big-bottomed gal, but I did always have a respectable curve back there. No more. You know how you’ve heard that spending too many years glued to an office chair will yield a backside that resembles office furniture? Well, that’s me. My behind is flat, shapeless, and completely non-existent. I am a flat-bottomed girl.
I miss my arse, and I want it back. I’d concede to doing butt clenches at my desk, but I’m already doing the kegels, so adding another pelvic challenge spills right over into the obscene. Scratch that.
The fact is, I cannot get a good tushy workout at my desk. I must get to the gym. I must find my hiney.
Get on my bike and ride…
A the B(uttless)
I like to exercise. I like the beads of sweat that form on the backs of my hands while I’m grinding out the miles (okay, mile) on the treadmill. I adore the ‘my lungs are bleeding!’ sensation when a walk turns to a jog, and then to a run. I’ve fenced, pitched, elbowed folks under the basketball hoop, cycled, run, played a version of tennis that was just this side of hockey, earned a black belt, sweated bullets in a racquetball room and chased a toddler, all for the sheer endorphin-laden pleasure. Even when I was at my heaviest and had to wear men’s size Large sweat pants, I still schlepped myself to the gym once or twice a week. If nothing else, it gave me a chance to catch up on all the weekly rags that piled up on my kitchen table between workouts. I would be hopelessly behind on current events, were it not for The Nation and the cardio room at the Glen Ellyn YMCA.
My favorite gym activity is weightlifting. A friend introduced me to Nautilus in college, and about a year later, I switched to free weights. I enjoyed Nautilus and machine lifting in general, but free weights transformed my enjoyment level from interested to obsessed. I held that first barbell in my hand and when I pressed it off my chest, I was hooked. Almost at once, I abandoned the whole body, 1 day on & 1 day rest model that Nautilus touts and switched to a 3-day split, spending 2 hours a day in the gym, loading weights on to barbells, crawling under cages, hissing my way through each set in a dimly lit, poorly ventilated room with no sound other than the grunts of my fellow gym rats. When I lift, I levitate. I spend an hour in the gym under the benches, and when I leave, my feet glide off the floor. My body tightens, my muscles sing, and everything heightens.
Of course, the next day, singing turns to screaming, and I’m shuffling around my house wondering if I qualify for handicapped parking. Not that I think I could make it to my car, or, having managed that, slide into the driver's seat. Still, I know that after that hellish day of lactic acid build-up and muscle burn, I’ll be stronger, I’ll burn more calories at rest (muscle burns more calories just sitting on your body than does fat), and I’ll feel better. Whatever time I have to spend gritting my teeth, it’s worth it.
The great thing about lifting is that it’s the only exercise I’ve found where you can actually reshape your body. I am a mesomorph with a small frame, so I get strong and hard-bodied when I lift, but I don’t get bigger. In fact, at my peak when I was bench-pressing 150 pounds and squatting 225, I was the smallest and tightest body that I’ve ever been. I just don’t bulk up. However, I can accentuate my assets and eliminate my issues through weight training. My smallish waist looks positively waspish when my shoulders blossom. My decent legs shape and curve, shimmering under my well-watered skin when I add toe raises to my routine. Even my breasts appear to stand up better when given the benefit of some solid benching. My complaints about getting my boobs ‘shortened’….well, they’re still there. After all, gravity plays havoc on a woman’s "sweater topography" the way genetics taunt a man’s hairline. But I complain less and beam more when there’s muscle beneath my fat.
So here’s the thing. This time around, I just can’t seem to make it to the gym. I can’t say exactly what’s keeping me out of the Y, except that I have a regular, out-of-the-house job, and a nanny who is the greatest childcare provider alive, but who earns so much that one full week of my monthly wages go straight to her. So between my commute and my wallet, I cannot bring myself to ask her to put in more hours. Not to mention that I miss my son when I’m at work, and I can’t bear the idea of cutting into the scant 2.5 hours we have at night between his arrival home and his bedtime.
I’ve tried working out at home, and that is heavenly for him and disaster for me. My darling son wants to ‘help’’ me work out, and so gets on to the treadmill with me. Or, he’ll help me ‘superset’ my bench press by dropping plates on my face. Let me tell you, this child is strong. It’s nothing for him to heft a 25-pound weight up to his chest. What he possesses in 'sprint' strength, though, he lacks in stamina, so as soon as he's lifted this disk, he realizes that it's heavy, and so he does what any panicked child does, and chucks it at Mommy. So home gym is out.
I’ve managed to sneak in a couple of brisk walks every week, racing home early and forsaking the much-needed grocery store trip so I can puff my way around the neighborhood. It isn't nearly the same as lifting, but it does help, and on the days I do it, my breathing eases and my body glows. I do it, and I want to do more.
Up until now, the gym/lifting issue has only been one of guilt for me. I want to work out, I know my body needs it, and so I vow that I will figure out a way to do it. But recently it reached a crisis point. The other day, as I was slithering into my size 14 jeans (!!), I noticed that I have lost my butt. I’ve never been a big-bottomed gal, but I did always have a respectable curve back there. No more. You know how you’ve heard that spending too many years glued to an office chair will yield a backside that resembles office furniture? Well, that’s me. My behind is flat, shapeless, and completely non-existent. I am a flat-bottomed girl.
I miss my arse, and I want it back. I’d concede to doing butt clenches at my desk, but I’m already doing the kegels, so adding another pelvic challenge spills right over into the obscene. Scratch that.
The fact is, I cannot get a good tushy workout at my desk. I must get to the gym. I must find my hiney.
Get on my bike and ride…
A the B(uttless)
posted by Former Fat Girl Gone Skinny | 1:26 PM
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