Carol Update: The Not So Chipper Me

My goodness I forgot to begin the last post with a "Your Mum's So Fat" joke in honor of the lack of Chubby Brits who failed to rise up to the occasion and participate in this little fitness challenge. So-o-o-o here are two of them (jokes that is, still no Chubby Brits)… Yo Mum's So Fat Joke #4…"They have to put speed bumps at the all you can eat buffet." Yo Mum's So Fat Joke #5… "She laid out on the beach and Greenpeace threw her into the ocean."

OK, so now that I am caught up, Here's a brief midweek update…

Monday…

• garage. semi-cold. kickboxing. (cat OK)
• went to Pilates Torture Time. Doomsday Becky postponed her trip by one day and did attend. Dora Who's Not The Explorer was out of town, and "A," who is Dora Who's Not The Explorer's daughter was not there either.

HOWEVER… (can I get one of those movie, suspenseful duh-duh-duhs and is that how you spell that?)

Two new people who were very, very, very very chipper  showed up, and they could do EVERYTHING without even one teensy groan or complaint. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, the Chippers could draw perfect circles and triangles with their legs. And, as if that isn't bad enough, let me just say that the words "lard" and "behind" never would appear in the same sentence as these two newcomers. Sadly, that is not the case in my case.


Still, I muddled through thinking not-so-happy thoughts.


Tuesday…

• Garage. Cold. Kickboxing. Pretty sure I now know all the words to the Black Eyed Peas song, "I Gotta A Feelin.'"
• Pretended all the Chippers of the world were on my punching bag.
• Doing fairly well with my standing Eagle pose.
• Tuesday night… yoga… Missy Chrissy Pretzel admitted that she was the one who told the Chippers about Pilates Torture Time class. Spent the entire class working on what Missy Chrissy Pretzel says is "letting go of all those hidden areas of stress." 
• So I tried to work on my Chipper issues.
• Worked on the Eagle Pose too, but I kept falling over.

I don't know why I can do the Eagle Pose better in my garage than in class. I keep falling over in class. 

As best as I can figure, that building must have some sort of foundation problems and the floor tilts.

Carol: Just how much do good intentions weigh?

Just how much do good intentions weigh?

That's what I would like to know. Are we talking ounces here or pounds or as the Brits like to say, “stones.” (And, speaking of those Brits, I have yet to find two Rubenesque ones who are up to the challenge, so start dusting off some of Your-Mum's-So-Fat jokes.)

Good intentions must weigh a lot because good intentions don't seem to make the needle on my scale move to the left.

I probably need to work on that because on Wednesday I didn’t do anything exercise related.  I should have. I had some good intentions there, but these 10 hour days I've been logging in for this teaching gig just wore me out and I couldn't didn't want to walk the 25 or so steps to the cold garage.

Thursday I perked up a bit and went to yoga. To help me with my fitness goal, my yoga teacher who I’ll start calling Missy Chrissy Pretzel (because it's just fun to say and because she can bend herself in ways I never thought possible) had us all work on the Eagle pose. A lot.  

Did I say a lot? I've decided my Eagle is flying through a wind tunnel because I seem to be slanted at what probably equates mathematically to a 30 degree angle. Missy Chrissy Pretzel tells me I just need to practice more. 

I fear my fellow yogis don't share her optimism or my enthusiam. In fact, if I weren't paranoid, I might even go so far as to say that I felt just a smidge of bad kharma oozing my way.

Friday I didn’t make it into the garage either. 

Again, the school gig interfered. And again, I couldn't didn't want to walk the 25 or so steps to the cold garage despite my urge to smack something. Instead, I left early, drove through Starbucks and went to work on yearbook pages, grading and end of semester stuff. At least, my latte was a nonfat one, and despite the difficulty of my week, I ate only one piece of emergency chocolate, and I kept my gingersnap addiction to a reasonable consumption level. And, even with a roaring fire, I did NOT succumb to the urge to make s'mores. Of course, Jack, my marshmallow eating German Shepherd was disappointed.
 
I did walk about two miles on Saturday and I weighed myself. Despite the heaviness of my good intentions, I was encouraged. The needle moved to the left a bit. I'll let you know how much it moved when I go Monday morning to the nurse's office for an “official” weigh in.

Let's hope my good intentions quit weighing me down.