My friends have been crying, "Muscle weight! Muscle weight!" but I'm not buying that. I've been building muscle for a few months now, and I've still been losing a lot of weight. I still have a lot of excess fat to shed, and even if I'm building my muscles and making them heavier, that fat weight I'm burning off has to count for something.
It could, of course, be related to my upcoming visit from Auntie Flo. I've been one big pimple--both in terms of my complexion and my attitude towards the rest of the human race--this week and am expecting next week to be a roller coaster of loving life and "GET OFF MY F***ING LAWN, A**HOLE!!" good times.
Anyway, on Tuesday, I dutifully arrived at the gym. G. is normally off with a client, or sitting at his desk, but this day, he was helping check people in. I showed him the picture of me at the peak of Mt. Diablo ("I really like this picture!") and then I made the huge mistake of saying, "Dude...I weighed in yesterday. I'm the SAME!!"
G. was as flummoxed as I was. He made no mention of muscle weight or any such thing. According to him, I should still be losing weight overall. I like this plan, as I am having visions of size 10 jeans and a relatively awesome-looking swimsuit body by summertime dancing through my head.
On Wednesday, I arrived at the gym ready to get the cardio over with and get my tired butt home. I had a To Do List as long as my arm and the above-mentioned bad attitude about the rest of the world. Turns out I also had a trainer who can't accept this week's plateau.
After my warm-up on the Stair Master, I walked over to the stretching area to do some stretches before my big run for the day. G. met up with me, as his current client worked nearby. Italics denote thoughts that were running through my head during this conversation.
"Hey, Megan. What's your cardio today?"
"I'm going to run. I didn't yesterday, so I need to get on that treadmill."
"Okay. Here's what I want you do to."
Oh, kill me now...
"I want you to do some box jumps today. You know, the ones on the aerobics step-up. Also do some ski jumps--those side-to-side ones, and some step-ups. Then go outside and I want you to do some skips and sprints--150 yards."
Oh. My. God.
"Um. Okay. Sprints instead of the treadmill?"
"No, do the treadmill first. But only do two miles instead of two-and-a-half."
Dude! I've got a shit-ton of crap to take care of and you're giving me extra?!
He went back to his client and I got down to the business of stretching. A few minutes later, I turned to him and plaintively inquired, "One hundred-fifty yards?" in a voice that clearly said, "But I've only ever sprinted for fifty! I'll die out there!"
"Yeah."
"Really?" Now there was a definite whine.
"Hey, I did...[insert whatever exercise he did yesterday--I can't remember what he said] earlier today."
"You're YOU."
"Then I [again, I tuned out]..."
"Yes, and again, you're YOU!"
I grumbled a little, but I promised him I'd do it.
I made it through most of the workout, but shortened the sprints to 100 yards because Rome wasn't built in a day, and chubby girls don't just go from 50 meter sprints to 150 meters on a PMS-filled Wednesday. It's basic biology.
When I was done, I marched back into the gym and up to Mr. Meanie.
"What are you doing tomorrow, then?"
"Whatever I can get done in about 45 minutes. I have a long, crazy day tomorrow, and about 45 minutes to work out."
"Okay. Check in with me when you get here. I'll have an assignment for you."
Sigh.
"Okay." I just managed not to snap to attention, salute and yell, "SIR, YES, SIR!!!" But only just.
So today, I arrived at the gym. I found G. in the aerobics room.
"Reporting for duty."
This got a smile. "Are you going to change?"
No, I'm going to work out in my jeans, cardigan, and moccasins. Aren't they cute?
"Yes."
"Go change, I'm going to write up your assignment right now."
It wasn't so bad, really.
I have an appointment tomorrow. I have a feeling I won't be down in weight. I've been hungry enough to eat an elephant all week, and while I haven't done anything out-of-hand, I also haven't stopped myself from drinking a glass of milk before bed two nights (fat free!), and there was that post-Chorale peanut butter and honey sandwich on Monday...and there's also dear Auntie Flo to consider. That bitch.
At least I can count on G. the Meanie to keep me on the path towards my goal. This week, I want to smack him. Next week, I'll be over it.
1 comment:
:-) Aunty Flo days (weeks!) are behind me and they are NOT missed. Unfortunately, the pimples are just more unpredictable now.
Why did nature give our bodies the perverse tendency to plateau? (OK, they say in women it's a survival thing... keeping the reserves on ya so you can feed babies, etc.)
Gotta tell you Meg, you are really inspiring me. These old bones are starting a very gentle program come Saturday. I've got a plan and I'm gonna work it. It's time to shake the walnut head on the orange body syndrome (that's an Aunty Polism...LOL) that I've allowed for the last umpteen years. Keep the faith! You'll get there!
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