Year of Fitness: Yoga

Her name was Lindsey, and she fit the central casting definition of a yogi: Cute, young, short with a calming voice and a confident pose.  The title of the class was Power Yoga, which didn't mean much to me, given that it was my first yoga class.  Well,  I did stream a Youtube video to my TV and practice breathing and lying still for 20 minutes or so.

I knew I was in for some trouble when she mentioned this was an intermediate level class, but I figured this is all about stretching and breathing right?  Ah, no.  20 minutes in, I was audibly dripping sweat onto the mat like it was hot yoga, even though the temperature in the room was cool and climate controlled.  Lindsey's voice was a constant and steady exhortation to breathe and elongate my body.  I think that between her tone and the sitar in the background, I was in a state of mind control.  If she had said the following, I totally would have done it:

"Now breathe in, feel the energy filling your lungs and opening up your back, and as you exhale through your mouth loudly, strike your groin three times and feel the pain radiate to your fingertips and your ankles."

Now I am one of the least flexible people I know, due to a combination of my height and whatever else conspires to keep my fingers from touching my toes.  I thought yoga would be a chance to increase my flexibility while also checking the fitness box, but I did not envision myself in warrior pose and then losing my balance and slapping the mirror to stay upright.  You know when people are talking and you can hear them smiling.  Yeah, that's when that happened.

I like going in the middle of the day because it breaks up my routine non-routine of looking for jobs and running errands.  It also means fewer people in the class, which can be good because less people means less eyes on you.  But it also means more special attention, especially in a class with four students.  I'll keep at this one though.  Not because I think it will have the pounds flying off me, but because it gives me some core strength and hopefully balance which I also have none of.

Namaste yo.

Year of Fitness: It's Still Happening

Perhaps you forgot that 2014 is my Year of Fitness.  I forgive you.  It was a cold winter.  And to be honest, I'm taking the approach to this that it's a marathon and not a sprint.  Some may say this is lazy.  I say it's strategy.

I returned to the gym today for a GRIT class.  This is a 30 minute high intensity exercise class and they have different versions, Strength, Cardio and Plyometrics.  I did the cardio class this afternoon and briefly saw my God I think at some point.  Here's a video of the class:

Whereas I looked like Mary Katherine Gallagher. Well her crossed with a drunken albatross.  Group exercise classes are odd to me.  In a room with strangers, being exhorted by another stranger to move faster and harder.  The idea behind Grit is that it's only 30 minutes per workout, and because of that you need to work twice as hard as hour-long workouts.  This means that I was pretty much done right after the "warmup"

You know how I know I was the biggest mess in class?  The instructor kept telling me I was doing a good job by name.  No one else got as many atta-boys as I did.  This only leads me to conclude that I must have looked like someone having a grand mal seizure to house music.  The instructor did break the news that she was going back to school and wouldn't be teaching the 5:30PM class in the summer.  I remember thinking that I didn't know that the CIA had a torture academy beginning so soon.

It hurts everywhere, especially the next day.  I don't know if I have GRIT.  I do have cramps and the body of a giant baby.  

Netflix and Bourbon FTW

There exists in the gym a thing that lurks silently and unassumingly in a corner.  Probably near the water fountain or some exercise mats.  Not the dumbbells or free weights or the Cybex machines with the straps that are across between some sexual training device and a medieval torture machine.  No friends, I am speaking of the medicine ball.

Yes, this small ball filled with some sort of granular pain.  It mocks you with small numbers like 8 or 12.  Who can't lift 12 pounds?  I found out after multiple reps that I am the guy that can't lift 12 pounds. I had my second personal training session this morning at 7AM.  It went well.  If well means rivers of sweat and gasping.

I realized while I was seated and tossing this medicine ball to the trainer with my skinny arms, and almost hitting some poor bastard doing chest presses in the head, that I need a back story.  I need a helmet.  See, the only way that this level of weakness is alright is if it follows some sort of tragic accident.  Or maybe I was teaching kids to read in sub-saharan Africa and caught Dutch Elm Disease or something.

Because when I'm dripping all over the ground and struggling with my pastel colored medicine ball, I can't be like "This is all me, baby!  Netflix and bourbon for the win!!!"

Soy Americano

So I learned today at my Wellness consult that I have joined the ranks of 35.7% of Americans who are obese.  This is not shocking.  I knew when I held that not-X-Box controller thing that beeped in judgement that the numbers wouldn't be good news.  To quote one of the finest thinkers of our time, these hips don't lie.

Also, the scale at the gym is different than the one at home, and I'm fatter by 3 pounds.  But I'm taking a whole Biggest Loser approach to this whole thing.  The bigger I am the easier the weight comes off.  Finished the consult and then I was in the gym alone, and it struck me.  My hatred of gyms.  Take large amounts of people working out and add low self-esteem, and no idea how to use machines, and simmer until nervous gas.  Now I'm a bright fella.  I realize that most of these people working out joined this gym about 6 days ago and at least one of them is sitting on the machine backwards and is very close to putting an eye out.  But that objective reality doesn't mesh with the fake reality that I create in my mind.  

See, I don't like exercise.  It comes from a long history of loathing organized sports, brought on by attending a private grade school that put an emphasis on sports and academics.  I was good at neither.  With competitive sports mandatory, I simply would set the bar incredibly low and seek to trip over it.  The only varsity letter I received in my collegiate career was in gymnastics, because you compete against yourself, and it wasn't physically possible that I could be worse than my first day on the rings.  Thankfully, there were no cell phone cameras back in 1991, otherwise you would be able to see my floor routine which consisted entirely of forward rolls and skipping.

The issue I have is that I generally haven't given exercise enough time to show results and then make me feel like its worth it.  I don't get a runner's high.  I'm often yawning while working out which probably isn't a good thing.  I have my first training session tonight at 7:30 and I'm going to see the guy weekly and then go at least twice more per week on my own.  That should help me get past the sense of uselessness I feel at the gym.

I'll let you know how it all goes.  Stay tuned, sports fans.  

YOF #1

Weekly Weigh-In: 233 lbs. 

Either I have been too busy toning my physique to blog or the Year of Fitness has gotten off to a slow start.  Tens of readers, it was the latter.  I cannot lie to you.  Between the holidays and my birthday and my general dislike of exercise I have gotten off to a poor start.

But today, January 5th, I went to the Y.  I spent 30 minutes on the eliptical and apparently burned 450 calories.  I don't believe that stat.  One, because how the hell does this machine which is showing my Maury (He's not the father, by the way) know how many units of heat I'm burning.  Secondly, its depressing knowing that 30 minutes of work was two bites of pizza.

So I planned to do a before photo.  You know the kind with the fat rolls and the frowns.  That will happen, but not right away.  I'm looking to get an Italian hero in the photo to highlight the gluttony. I've got a wellness consultation with the Y tomorrow.  I'm expecting to hear from them that I'm not very well.

In addition to my gym exploration today, I also had the chance to dine with Allyson and my friend Caitlin, up from Boston.  I met Caitlin years ago at a college fair where we volunteered for our alma mater.   We kept in touch since and I always give when she runs Boston for Team in Training. She's done 9 of them so far.  Anyway, she's awesome and it was great hanging out tonight for a bit.  If peeps want to help her out by giving to TNT, you can give here.

I will report back about the wellness consultation tomorrow.

The YOF

So I like to try and concentrate on something each year, as a focus.  Sort of like a New Year's Resolution but technically it happens 18 days before NYE.  The focus of the 2013 has been the Year of the Law Enforcement (Again). I'm getting sworn in as a Reserve Police Officer tomorrow evening with the Metropolitan Police Department of DC if all goes well with the final exam tonight.  This caps off hundreds of hours of training on Tuesday and Thursday nights and Saturdays over 9 months.  I am glad to have that time suck behind me and to get out on patrol, so I can show my fellow rookies how to properly balance a hot coffee while going lights and siren around a corner at 50 mph.

This next year will be the Year of Fitness.

In truth, I don't know what this actually means, asides from me wanting to lose weight, gain muscle and be able to outrun fat people on Black Friday.  I have a gym investment.  Its not really a membership.  I'm more of a donor, but its a Y, so I feel good that my money is going to community projects.  I'm going to be getting a trainer and running more and you can track my progress on this blog.  If people have any ideas, I'm open to trying then.

Expect to see one of those before shots soon, with basic stats.  My girlfriend goes to the gym all the time and sometimes even does double spin classes.  She is clearly in shape and I am not.  I am a guy, which means I get to be loved for my genial personality and sense of humor, while hoping that my lady is in shape.  Though, in truth, I'm happy when she's happy, regardless of what she looks like.  It makes for a stronger relationship.

I've been a chubby kid for most of my life and have owned that title pretty well.  I lost about 50 pounds when I went through the first police academy and that gradually returned, because chasing 17 year olds after eating chicken parm sandwiches does not a fitness routine make. While I don't hate my body, I'd be happier if it was a little trimmer.  Every time I read those articles that show the guy going from Zero to Hero, it gets to the part where he eats brown rice and grilled chicken 8 times a day.  Screw that.  Life is too short to not eat ribs out of a school bus.

So I'll post my stats and goals this weekend.  Should be fun.