I have a friend named Steve. We've known each other since high school and since I've known him, Steve is always almost getting into fights. Now that we're older these near-miss altercations are few and far between, but in school I could guarantee Monday morning would bring news of some affront to Steve's character that almost resulted in a fight. I almost got into a fight this weekend, Jules. Lather, rinse, repeat 52 more times. After a while, I was ready to resort to fisticuffs and my first words to him when he sat next to me in Mr. Mead's biology class were usually, "So, who's ass did you almost kick this time?" Well, Steve, this one's for you. This morning I almost got into a fight with a woman at Curves.
I didn't want to go, but I knew today was the end of my first month and they would be measuring me for progress. And they did. What did 5 days a week for a month get me?
- I gained 3 pounds
- I gained .1% body fat
- I lost 1/4 of an inch off my hips and thighs.
The woman who's ass I almost kicked is quite fugly. Frankly, she looks like an orangutan. She has tan, leathery skin and dyes her naturally dark hair apricot--the closest she will ever get to the blonde she really wants. She is an enormous stove pipe on two, small feet. I wager she's 5 feet, 250 pounds. To compliment her compact, troll-like body is an enormous attitude. She spends most of her workout looking down at people from behind an unfortunate pig snout equipped with dime-sized, cavernous nostrils. In my mind, her name is Cornelia.
I was talking to a woman working out next to me about my results. She could tell I was disappointed and was trying to cheer me up. A woman working out next to Cornelia jumped in when I mentioned to my neighbor that I was doing Curves 5 times per week.
"That's why! They say you should only work out 3 times per week." She is obviously someone who had great success with Curves and was looking for a reason why I wasn't as fortunate.
"I read you should do some form of cardio 5 times a week."
"You should do more, then!"
"I started walking with my neighbor at night last week, so maybe..." I was going to finish by saying maybe I'll see more results next month when Cornelia looked at my stomach, rolled her eyes and turned to the woman and said, "She's still eating." Eating. As if she shrinks to the size of a pen at the end of her workouts, hides inside my back pocket, and watches me eat all day long. The other woman turned and looked at me and said, "Ooooooh," while she shook her head. Cornelia had disclosed to her the obvious, and now she felt stupid for not realizing I spent my days with my head buried in the refrigerator.
It took all my willpower to keep from hooking my fingers in those enormous nostrils and throwing her into traffic like a discus. I opened my mouth to ask her how she was privy to my eating habits, and that, perhaps, she could direct comments about me to me. Instead, I kept my mouth shut. Someone so rude and nasty would only get a rise from me responding. I didn't want to ruin it for the rest of the members, so I spent the rest of the workout imagining how many times a day people mistook her for an apricot ape.
An hour later I was telling my mom about my lackluster results. She listened to me complain about how hard I was working out and patiently waited until I ended my tirade on the unfairness of life. Then she quietly asked, "Well, have you changed your diet much?"
My diet may not be pristine, but I did cut out Diary Queen. That, for me, is huge. Each small blizzard can be up to 500 calories, so at the very least I expected to maintain my weight instead of gain. I told her all this.
She continued speaking, choosing her words carefully. "I think to lose a significant amount of weight you need to monitor what you eat very carefully. Cutting out the ice cream is good, but you might need to do more. Maybe you can try being as strict with your diet as you have been with exercising."
I knew my mom was right. I also knew I wanted to record her uplifting speech and play it in the Curves parking lot from a giant boom box held high above my head while Cornelia lumbered inside. That's how you motivate people and dispense advice! You could learn a thing or two from my mom, you furry little primate.
But it's all good. I'm now even more motivated, and now I have a goal. I want to lose 36 pounds by my 36th birthday on November 30th. I might start another blog to keep track of my progress so I don't bore everyone or, I might be totally selfish and post here and keep a weight loss ticker front and center. I haven't decided. All I know is come November Cornelia will be choking on her bananas.