Archives for : February2014

Becoming A Warrior – Step 1

Last year I decided to build a home gym in my basement.

That story in itself is actually kind of epic, so I’ll save that for later. But today I have a 12′ x 9′ space in my basement that has been wired for electricity, been drywalled and semi-mudded, and has a nice black industrial-type ceiling and rubber flooring tiles. The rest of my basement is completely unfinished, which of course leads to dusty foot and paw prints on my lovely tiles.

However, it’s a pretty nice space, and will be much nicer once the entire basement has been finished. I’ve got my recumbent bike down there, a weight bench, various dumbbells (not just barbie ones, either!), a BOSU ball, lacrosse balls, and kickass speakers. My treadmill is still trapped in a bedroom upstairs. I’m not sure how it’ll get down. It’ll never fit through the door, and it took four of us to carry it upstairs in pieces. No exaggeration. Sadly.

So this is great, right? I have enough equipment to get good workouts in at home on days when I don’t have personal training sessions booked. And that certainly has been the plan. But I haven’t been using it at all! It’s ridiculous! I’m ridiculous! I’m setting myself up for sheer badassery, and I’m not following through.

Complainypants excuses:

“I’m tiiiiiiired. I just want to relax and read tonight.”

“It’s to cooooooooold. I don’t want to change out of my nice warm pajamas.”

“I have too many other things to do today.”

That is FatAss Me talking again. She’s so annoying. Where’s Sarah Connor Me when I need her? She was building that warrior bod in a mental institution. I live in the lap of luxury, and I can’t even find time to do thirty minutes of weight lifting.

I’m basically approaching this quest the way I approach everything else – half assedly. Doing the bare minimum to get by. I’ll never become a warrior with this attitude. So consider this the first step in becoming a warrior – working out every day!

I’m thinking that perhaps I need to create a plan, and I just won’t deviate from it. I get up at 5:45 on Tuesdays and Thursdays when I see my personal trainer – perhaps I should get up at 5:45 on the other days and work out in my own gym!

And thus, I commit myself to the following schedule, allowing one day off per week as circumstances require:

Monday – lower body
Tuesday – PT
Wednesday – treadmill running
Thursday – PT
Friday – upper body
Saturday – spin
Sunday – treadmill running

Yep, I think that’ll slap FAM in the face quite nicely. GO SCM!!

Sarah Connor Me vs FatAss Me

I’m going to be completely honest here. I have serious issues with food. Now, you may be thinking, “Duh – obviously all fatasses have some kind of issue with food” and maybe you’re right. But my food problems run so deep that I don’t think I will ever have complete control over them.

Do you ever find yourself able to justify doing something that you don’t want to do? That’s how it is with me and eating. I can justify anything to myself. Sarah Connor Me is thinking, “Are you fucking kidding? You don’t want to make popcorn with a half cup of butter on it. You’ll be fat forever, although forever isn’t even that long because you are going to have a heart attack right now if you eat that shit!” And then FatAss Me is thinking, “I really want popcorn right now. Popcorn isn’t that bad for me. It could be worse. And I won’t eat anything else tonight, so the calories will probably balance out. Mmmm butter.”

And so I’ll make the popcorn, coat it with butter and salt, cram it in my piehole and have binger’s remorse afterwards. I’ll feel physically ill from all the butter, and I’ll hate myself for giving in. So I’ll grab a bowl of frozen yogurt. A big bowl. Because FatAss Me is saying, “Well, you’ve blown it now. Might as well eat that frozen yogurt so you’re not tempted to eat it tomorrow and derail yourself when you’re on track.” At this point, Sarah Connor Me is banging her head against the door repeatedly and has nothing left to say.

SCM is not badass enough to overcome FAM. I’m at a bit of a loss right now as to how to change things so that whenever FAM pipes up, SCM can tell her to shut up and sit down. And maybe even punch her in the face. Because if there’s anything FAM needs, it’s a punch in the face.

I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago. I go to a walk-in clinic because, when I moved to Calgary 12 years ago, family doctors accepting new patients were impossible to find. So I just went to the walk-in and never bothered to try again when things looked up. Usually the walk-in clinic is fine. The doctor wants to get you out of there as soon as possible, which suits me fine as he or she will give me whatever I ask for. Seriously, if you want drugs, just go to a walk-in and ask for them. But I digress. This doctor I saw two weeks ago was new at the clinic, and seriously hot. As in beautiful. With an Australian (or New Zealand? South Africa? I’m ashamed that I can’t tell the difference) accent.

This guy actually sat down to talk to me. When the subject of my weight came up, he asked me, “Why do you think you binge?” I so appreciated the time he was actually taking with me. Really I did. But if I knew *why* I binge, I imagine a solution could be found. Figuring out why I binge is pretty much a lost cause. I don’t know. I just don’t!

My trainer asked the same thing this morning when we were talking about how my eating was going. I said I tend to go off the rails in the evenings and lately on weekends. She asked why I thought that was. Bleah. I. Don’t. Know. She, like the doctor, is awesome and is trying to help. But I just don’t know.

I’m kind of stuck in this place where I’m trying so hard for SCM to beat the bejeezus out of FAM, but she’s swinging and missing. But at least she’s swinging, right? I mean, in the past, she wasn’t even around.

So that’s where I am – I’m struggling to get control so that I can continue to lose weight and expose the badass body that I’m building under all this fat.