Moving Off The Plateau!

Yup, you read it right, folks! I've moved off of the dreaded plateau. You know ... that really awful wasteland of despair where you land when you've stopped making any weight-loss progress for a period of time. Well, after almost a month of TKD classes, I mustered the courage to take my measurements again, and sure enough, I've dropped another couple of inches! Yay me!

It isn't much ... basically an inch or two around my waist and tummy area. Probably from the hundred or so crunches our Master has us do in every class. But, hey, I'll take it! :)

Add to that the increased stamina I've picked up over the past few weeks, and it adds up to some real progress! Sure, I'm still sweating like Homer Simpson at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but at least I'm no longer collapsing in a heap when I get home.

Last Friday's class was a bit of an eye-opener, though. I've been suffering from shin splints since I started this martial journey. Nothing new there. My shins are notorious complainers whenever a new exercise regime comes into play. Just grit your teeth and work through the pain, ice them when you get home. It'll get better once I've built up a little muscle in the area. But, last Friday I made the mother of all rookie mistakes. During a so-called no-contact sparring match with (of all people) a black stripe (meaning he'll be getting his black belt soon), I smashed my shin into his knee. Apparently, we tried to kick at the same time, and neither of us thought to pull back in time to avoid the collision. Being some 20-odd years younger than I am, the black-stripe limped around a bit and went on with his life. He tells me that he recovered that same night. Me? I'm sporting a bruise about the size of a small dog. A very tenacious small dog at that. It refuses to fade, or diminish in the amount of pain it delivers every time I make the mistake of hitting it against something...like the car door, or someone's fist during other no-contact sparring sessions (can you hear the wry laughter whenever I say "no-contact"?). I've learned yet another important lesson about aging. It takes the body a while longer to recover from simple, minor injuries. Fantastic.

Oh, well. Live and learn, right? If I was concerned about a little bruising from time to time, I should have taken up knitting. Who am I kidding? I probably would have impaled myself with the needles. At least with TKD, I can wear padding from time to time.

Now, on to the next challenge. Belt testing this Friday. Am I nervous? You betcha! But, if I wasn't nervous, then I'd really have something to worry about, right? At least, that's what people keep telling me ... I'm not sure what it means. Wish me luck!

Back To The Ol' Grind

Happy New Year, folks! I hope everyone had a great holiday, filled with fun, food, family & friends.

Now that THAT's over with...

It's back to the ol' grind. Not only are we all (well, most of us) back to work, it's also time to assess the damage that the Holiday eating binge did to the relatively new fitness regime.

Surprisingly, I didn't fare as badly as I thought I would after what felt like a solid week of non-stop eating, and my trusty treadmill sitting idly by, approximately 600km away. Only a half-inch gained here and there. It could have been a lot worse.

Seriously.

Have you ever celebrated Christmas with an Italian family? We go "back home" each year for the Holidays, where my mother feels it's her maternal duty to make sure we all eat as much as (or slightly more than) is humanly possible. After all, she's not here with us for most of the year, so we must be starving, right? The fact that I could pass for Rita McNeil's stunt double has apparently escaped her notice.

If the lasagna, manicotti and canelloni aren't enough for you, you could also have some soup, meatballs, sausages and other various animal body parts that are thrown into the pot to make the sauce for the pasta. We managed to convince her for the first time this year that we absolutely DO NOT need a roast of some sort to go with our salad at the end of the meal.

But no amount of arguing could get Mom to limit herself to two cakes for the night. Cheesecake is a must, after all. It's tradition. And so is the sponge cake she makes every time we visit, insisting that it's my husband's favourite (to his immense surprise). But the one that really took the cake, so to speak, was the double-decker chocolate cake with chocolate frosting for the kids, even though the smell of chocolate makes her gag. They NEED chocolate cake, she will vehemently argue every time. Not want ... NEED. Mom refused to listen to our arguments that children do not NEED chocolate cake at 11:00 at night, which is when dinner is over, because it takes that long to eat Christmas dinner at Mom's house, after all.

So, yes, I'm quite surprised and pleased to find that I've only regained half an inch in a couple of spots over the past couple of weeks, all things considered. But, now the holidays are over, the leftovers have been dealt with, the New Year has begun, and my battle of the bulge has resumed. Hello treadmill, old friend. I've picked up a couple of Friends episodes on DVD to make our time together pass a little more quickly. Next week, we introduce my butt to the floor for some leg lifts, crunches and push-ups.

Happy New Year, back-side. I hope I'll be seeing a lot less of you from here on in. ;)

Progress Report #2

Well, blog fans, it's been 2 weeks since my last progress report, so I thought I'd check in with you again.

Since I started my new "get off my behind once in a while" program back on November 21, 2007, my measurements have decreased by the following:
* Bust: 1" (hubby's not going to be too thrilled about that one)
* Rib cage: 1"
* Waist: 1 1/2"
* Tummy: 1 1/2"
* Hips: 1/2"
* Thigh: 1/2"

Not too shabby, eh? Although you'd think the hips and thighs would show a little more progress, since they're the parts that move the most (if you don't take into account all the jiggling that's going on everywhere).

I had a little scare yesterday, though. Just as I got off my ol' faithfull treadmill (you remember, the one that's been sitting in various corners of my house collecting dust for the past several years), it gave me an error message on the display. "E2" ... whatever the heck that means. Possibly, "Lady, lay off the cookies, would ya? You're killing me here!" I tried clearing the screen, I tried pulling off the little safety key - nothing happened. Fabulous. Just as I decide to get back into shape, my equipment dies and now I'll have to convince hubby that I need to spend another $1000 on a new treadmill - smack in the middle of the Christmas season.

I decided to unplug the machine, as I do every day to avoid power spikes and the like. Just like with a computer - if all else fails, reboot. I came back to it a while later, plugged it back in, and all was fine. I didn't get any ominous error messages this morning before, after or during my daily walk. Whew!!

I Is So Smart!

Hooo, boy, am I in trouble!

You all remember Trouble, right? My 4-going-on-20-year-old? Well, we've finally gotten him toilet trained, after what felt like years of cajoling, bribing, threats and deal-making. As I had been explaining to everyone all along, it was completely his idea. He just decided one day that it was time to give it a try. Great news, right? I never thought I'd be pining for the Pull-Up days.

Trouble has decided that he is dead-set against wearing underwear. That's right, he goes commando on a daily basis. I don't know why. It's not like he ever had a bad experience with underwear, other than everyone asking him why he won't wear them. He has all sorts of wonderful undies - Spider Man, Bob the Builder, SpongeBob SquarePants, Diego, as well as a wide assortment of dinosaurs, trucks and wildlife. None of these characters have enticed him in the least little bit to wear undies.

Well, I thought I'd pull one over on him this morning. While getting him dressed, I slipped a pair of underwear into his pants and pulled the whole kit and kaboodle on and immediately got him involved in some activities before he could notice that something was different. Oh, I was so proud of myself! I sent a text message to hubby, who was extremely impressed. I sent an e-mail to my sister, who immediately called to congratulate me on my cleverness. Yes, I was feeling like quite the Cheshire Cat this morning.

Trouble came over a few minutes ago for a little hug. I took advantage of his proximity to check on the underwear situation - make sure things aren't bunching up on him and the like. But ... wait a second ... I don't feel any undies at all. Where the heck did they go?

"I took them off," was his quick but firm reply. "I don't want any underwear."

And here I was, labouring under the delusion all day long that I had finally outsmarted my 4-year-old. Shoulda known better!!

An Inane Observation...

Generally speaking, I envy birds. I love to watch them as they swoop and soar, dodge and dive. Watching them in flight can uplift your spirits. Their command of the skies is truly awe-inspiring. Their grace and beauty, poetic.

Except for ducks.

Hubby and I were driving to my sister's house the other day when a mallard flew by overhead. We watched it flap frantically until it disappeared over a stand of trees.

Ducks really look like they're not having a good time up there. If I could hazard a guess as to what's going through a duck's mind as it flies along, judging by it's body language, I would say it was something akin to, "oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit."

Next time you see a duck flying by, pay closer attention to it. Tell me that it doesn't look like it's in a bit of a panic. Kind of reminds me of the poor, harassed parent who straps on skis for the first time in their life because the 10-year-old apple of their eye thinks it would be a fun thing to do together. The look on that parent's face as they careen down the hillside is very reminiscent of the look on a duck's face as it takes flight.

Then, of course, there are the landings. Geese don't land particularly well, either, but they're still cool about it. They'll come in on a body of water somewhere, ski in on those gigantic flippers of theirs, settle in and look around with their beaks in the air, as if to say, "Dude, I totally meant to do that."

Ducks will aim for the water and flap desperately in an attempt to avoid a face-plant. Once they've safely established themselves on top of the water, they will continue to paddle around in the same way that a person might pace nervously after narrowly avoiding a near-fatal accident.

"Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit."

Clearly, they're not enjoying the experience. It's almost as if they were wishing that God would have made them penguins instead. Or, if you prefer, that evolution went horribly wrong. "We have to use these flappy things on the sides of our bodies to do what?! Are you out of your mind? Whose brilliant idea was that?! I'll bet it was someone on your side of the family."