I have been noticing fat on other people lately.  It looks like it has been placed there as an afterthought, almost as if there wasn’t room for it in the original design.  Like clutter hurriedly shoved into a closet before company arrives, it threatens the integrity of the bulging door seams before spilling out and encroaching upon the rest of the room.  It makes me think of alien invaders, taking over a host body and distorting it beyond recognition.  Only this attack of the body snatchers isn’t sudden and external, rather it comes slowly and with its delicious friends:  fat, sugar and processed foods.

When I see fellow losers of the battle of the bulge, I feel shock and pity for how much extra fat is hanging off their misshapen bodies.  Simultaneously I find myself wondering if that is how I used to look while vowing to never look like that again.  I shush the nagging voice that relentlessly reminds me that I still have more than my fair share of bloat.

Part of changing bad habits is changing the way you see things.  While I’ve never been one to judge or care about people based upon appearances, I am starting to see fat as its own entity, an unwelcome stowaway on hips, thighs and stomachs that must be rousted out and tossed over the side.  It is ugly.  It is invasive.  It doesn’t belong there.  It saps health, vitality and life away far better than any mythical device dreamed up by diabolic masterminds.  Or is there a diabolic mastermind behind it all?  Is there some evil genius behind the scenes, forcing unnatural and unholy foodstuffs down our gullets and onto our hips?

Certainly there is no lack of fingers to point and evil corporate monsters aplenty to blame for the sheer volume of white processed crud available on shelves today.  Food production today is a science, a multibillion dollar government subsidized industry propping up our drooping national spirit and economy.  Let us not forget the media for its role.  How would we ever know what to think or eat or do without the benevolent guidance of advertising? 

Mother Nature’s products pale in comparison to the splendor and variety of food options available today.  How can nature compete with science?  It would be ridiculous to expect Mother Nature to step up to the needs of modern consumers by mass producing her bounty, systematically stripping it of all flavor and nutrients, then “enriching” it by adding the chemical equivalents of said flavor and nutrients before further mutilating it in a veritable torture chamber of preparation methods used in the industrial kitchen.  She was thoughtful enough, however, to provide us with expandable waistlines to accommodate the greater abundance with which progress has afforded us.   Thank goodness for that because otherwise we would probably explode.

 

Well, it's Queen Obvious here again with yet another workout jewel of wisdom.

I have been dragging around a dismantled 8’ x 9’ corner gym for about four years now.  After multiple moves and a yearlong bout of homelessness, I had serious doubts that it could ever be put back together again.  Three weeks ago my significant other set it up for me in the middle of our living room.  I suppose it’s rather unusual décor but it isn’t like I get a ton of visitors.  The best thing is that it shoves its existence right in front of my face.   More importantly, it also shoves it right in front of his face; hence the ultimatum that if I don’t use it at least twice per week, he will take it down.  Gotta love a guy who’s motivating.

So, the plan is to lift weights Tuesday, Thursday & Saturday or Sunday (depending on which day I have off).  I did that the first week, then had more or less a week off, then I worked out 5 days ago, but today is Tuesday and the start of a new week!  This week I’m gonna do it – no excuses.

I decide to do jumping jacks as a warm up.  I did 50 of them yesterday morning as a cool down from my run/walk and it felt great.  There was however, one critical difference which made tonight’s experience a tad less positive.  This time it is 10 o’clock at night and I had just worked an eight hour shift, voted, and returned from a three hour class.  I had eaten dinner and was wearing my comfy jammies, at last.

I got the idea for jumping jacks as a warm up from my jujitsu class.  In jujitsu, we are required to wear sports bras and/or jock straps, depending on anatomy.  Naturally, I had also worn a sports bra when I went running, along with my knee supports.  Yet, for some reason, I didn’t consider any of this information relevant to working out at home.  If I’m at home, I’m wearing pajamas.  It’s pretty much that simple.

Gravity sucks.  Nothing on me is small or even particularly firm.  I started jumping and my gals started jacking and immediately it occurs to me that this might just be a mistake.  Nonetheless, I resolve to soldier on through to make that same mistake 49 more times to prove(?) I could do 50.  Stubbornness only goes so far, however.  As is turns out, 37 was the exact number of times it took for me to realize that this was not something I ever wanted to do again, nor continue doing at that moment.  Yup, that’s my learning curve:  37 jouncing, jarring, jug jolting jacks that sent my gals flying wildly and painfully in all directions.  I'm just a little bit slow sometimes.

 
One of the questionable perks of my job is that I get to see a lot of naked old people.  At first, this was a little uncomfortable and I would politely not look while I was helping them get dressed.  After awhile I got kind of numb to it and now my curiosity is bringing me to make some observations.

When we think of naked old people, especially naked old people having sex; we all kinda shudder and cringe, getting a collective mental image of the California Raisins creaking their way through the act in slow motion.

Now, maybe this is obvious, but through my observations I have discovered that old people don’t look like Shar-Peis everywhere.  Most of the skin on their bodies looks perfectly normal (discounting a lifetime's accumulation of moles and a multitude of other strange dermatological issues).  The only excessively wrinkled skin seems to be that which is visible outside of their clothes:  the face, neck, hands, and forearms.

Reluctantly, I came to the logical and again, perhaps obvious, conclusion that the areas with the greatest concentration of wrinkles were those areas commonly exposed to sunlight.  There, I said it.  I don't like it and I don't want to believe it.  I happen to like the sun.  I want to pretend to believe that the sun is good and wholesome.  It just doesn't seem right that the SUN could hurt us.

 This denial is how I justify the fact that I still fry my skin every summer, futilely trying to get a tan; which is ridiculous considering my incontrovertibly fair skin.  I’m a slow learner.  I generally have to make the same mistakes over and over and over again before I somehow get slapped upside the head with some sort of wakeup call.  Well, here it is in living Technicolor:  naked old people.   

It’s odd what can motivate you to change your life.  Even though summer is over, tomorrow I’m going to put a tube of sunscreen on my dashboard so I will put it on when I go out.  I guess all this is just another symptom of being over 30; that magical time when you realize that not only can your body fall apart on you but that it will.

I just went on my second run this year (the first and last one was in February at the prodding of my boyfriend).  This time I lasted for a grand total of 15 minutes and about 10 of that was walking.  I definitely got my heart rate up though; my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a hot waffle iron.  I got home, did 50 jumping jacks then took a shower.  My face is still red.  I look like a ruddy drunk.

This wasn't fun but I am proud of myself for making this first step to begin a cardio routine.  Next time I know I will run farther before having to walk.  Distance and time don't matter right now, just the committment to get moving.  We had a guest speaker in my Eastern Religions class the other day.  His name was Gale Grey (sounds like a wizard's name, huh?) and he was chock full of wisdom.  One thing that stuck with me was his comment that "everything changed when I made a committment". 

I use this concept to fake myself out.  I tell myself that I can commit to 5 minutes of running, or 10 minutes of working out or something else low committment.  That's easy enough, right?  The secret is that once you're going, you will go much longer than your initial "easy" committment.  The hard part is just getting started.  So don't say that you'll run for 1/2 hour or any other impressive goal.  Set tiny goals and be proud that you surpass them.