A Fathlete Meets Jillian's "Shred" and Doesn't Die!

OK, possums! I greet you on the second day of my journey with Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. I haven't gotten p90x yet - waiting for that - but so far this is great! I was expecting it to be horrific, because I've heard people can't walk after it. But I guess I've been prepared by all of my workouts with the Notorious Victor, and by all those boot camps at my now-former gym, especially Trina's. Trina is no joke. At all.

Neither is Jillian - I did Level 1 on Wednesday night, and was worked out well but not murdered. On the advice of my bridesmaid and planner and soul sister Kiki, I did Levels 1 and 2 this morning, and I am not gonna be happy tomorrow morning, I can tell you that. It was very challenging - I think I need to get 5-pound hand weights, because some of the lateral moves are hard with the 8 pounders I have. But it was 40 minutes, and I wasn't destroyed. I hear that Level 3 is insane. Like, brutal and bad.

I am gonna run tomorrow, and do Jillian's 1 and 2 on Saturday, because I have Halloween shenanigans on Saturday and am not committing to running Sunday. At all.

Introducing: The Fathlete Bridal Blog! Celebrate!

This is not my wedding dress. But it could've been.

So, this blog is about me trying not to be a big fat girl. And my life, recently, became about being a bride. So now, this blog is going to be about being a bride, and not a big fat one.

And also about the difficulties of finding a tiara to go with a fro.

I should call it "Go With The Fro!"

Anyway, this is an interesting week for me, wedding and fitness wise. I am now officially divorced from my big gym, BiggestLoserFitness (ahem), and am maximizing my fitness dollar. I am still seeing Victor, the evil trainer (Hey, man!) and still running (I think I am doing at least two more half marathons before the wedding, because if I am always training, I am always focused.)

I also just purchased two home remedies - Jillian Michael's "The Shred" and the fearsome-looking P90X, along with a chin-up bar. I cannot do chin-ups now, but the P90x people swear I'll be able to do a thousand, plus bench press a bus and Jillian Michaels, when I'm done.

The cool thing is that my dress is beautiful as it is, although I'd love to lose about 10 pounds between now and June. Or just tighten up. Do the tighten up! I'm Archie Bell, and these here are the Drells! We got a new song called the 'Tighten Up!'

Sorry. Drell break.

The Fathlete Returneth to Present: BRIDAL SMACKDOWN!

It's been more than a month since I posted a Fathlete - I had my reasons, like not being able to find my camera cord, and then having my good computer sick in the Apple hospital for two weeks, and then kinda being lazy.

Fortunately, none of those involved having gained lots and lots of weight and having retreated to a cave. Made of mashed potatoes.

But here's the reason I'm back, besides the fact that this blog helped keep me on track and motivated and publically accountable - I'M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!

Yes, on June 5, 2010, The Fathlete will be Mrs. Scott Mitchell Zervitz. She will be marrying the man of her dreams. And she doesn't want to look at the pictures and go "I should not have eaten that egg roll."

I am also in the last two weeks of my training for the half-marathon portion of the Baltimore Marathon, which I will be doing with my sister. This will not be the world's fastest half, but it's gonna be solid, and fun. Two days later, I'm going wedding dress shopping with my sister and my grandmother. All of this means I'm now accountable, and on the case, and working hard. I'm gonna be the most awesomest bride in the woooooorld.

Check it out!

A Triumphant Fathlete Bridesmaid Returns!

Hello, gentle readers! I have been out of touch for two weeks, because I was in the Northlands meeting parents and being a bridesmaid, all without the cord to my camera. However, I did manage to have photos taken of me by people who did have their camera-to-computer connections happening, so I can show you evidence of both my hard work, and of the bridesmaids' dress that started this great experiment. It is the Harriet Beecher Stowe of bridesmaid's dresses. (The attractive woman on the left is my friend Stephanie, who is skinny skinny skinny since she started grad school. Is that what it takes?)

I cannot lie and say that this vacation went perfectly, nutritionally, because there were at least two pieces of catfish, three hushpuppies and some fried okra, about a quarter cup. The fact that I can give you the measurements of my fat food is either evidence of my vigilance, my obsession, or my need for another vacation. But I worked out almost every day, and I learned the following thing. Are you ready for this?

IT'S OKAY.

It was okay to have fun, even with that two or three cups of cheese balls with the cheez flavor covering all the fat fried delicious fatness, or that strawberry shortcake that was made from fairy dust, heaven parts and butter. I had a little and then moved on. I did not lose any weight this week. But I didn't have to. The whole point was having a dress that I could not look fat in, and I didn't. I still see some pictures from that wedding where my boobs are weird and my butt is big, and you won't see them here because it's my blog and hell if I'm showing them to you. 

The point is that it's better and I'm keeping it going. And that's awesome. I hope to get awesomer.

Which is not a word. But then again...my blog.

No Fathlete Photo this week: But I can explain!

I have not gained 50 pounds and run off to hide in my guest bathroom with a tub of ice cream and some Cheez Whiz (yum, Cheez Whiz). Rather, I've been really stinking busy this week, and haven't had time to pose for the official Fathlete photographer. Also, we're both nearing 40, and every time I think about it, one of us falls asleep in front of the TV. So...sad....

Anyway, I had a great session with Victor The Trainer, if "great" means "Oow...quad...burning...wishing...for....death." That's what you need, because my body's getting hip to the fact that I'm trying to smack it around, and the plateau is around the corner. Sneaky bastard.

Not gonna get me!

Next week, I'm way on the case, because I am going to Arkansas to introduce the Man Friend to my folks, which might require cheese. I'll hit you back then!

Biggest Fathlete: Ten weeks down, six months to go?!?!

Here's your first side view. The booty is still taking over, but it's pretty cool, I think. And you can barely see the back fat. I still know it's there, though.

So yesterday, during a BRUTAL  workout with Mr. Victor The Pithy, he noticed that my triceps are getting a little definition, which triggered a story about how a fitness teacher at my gym, who I had never had before, mistook me for a beginner and tried to give me a 2.5 pound weight (which pissed me off, actually).

"Well," he said, "sometimes they have to exercise caution, if they don't know you. And maybe that means you just have more work to do. I think it's gonna take six months to get you where you want to be."

Oww. And word. And bring on more of them squats.

I knew that 10 weeks ago, I would not be standing here in late July looking like Angela Bassett. At first, I just wanted to get back in my jeans. I'm back in my jeans, but it's not enough. I have a few dresses I miss, and I still have teachers thinking I just walked into a gym for the first time, which makes me sad, and frustrated and mad. And I have some back fat to address. And I'm looking at pictures of ladies like Angie with the big ripped biceps and thinking "Why not give it a shot?"

So here's me saying that I have more work to do, and that I don't wanna just look OK. I'm gonna take a stab at smashing...I'm not expecting miracles. I just know that in six months, I will be nearing my 39th birthday. And I wanna be hot. Is that wrong to say? If I get annoying about it, you tell me. But I know that I love being fit, and being able to run and dance and bound up stairs, and that's the most important thing, right?

Being hot might not hurt, either.

The Fathlete Stops Listening To Haters, including Herself

I greet you at Week 9 of my little experiment. I have not been on the scale in a few weeks, because I got sort of freaked out by it after a little fluccuation in the opposite direction, if you get my drift. I believe it was normal bloating, and the pants that I was able to wear wonderfully well today, as well as the many people in the last two weeks who have said "Wow, you're getting skinnier" tell me it was a fluke.

But it scares me, even though my clothes say they're right. What if the next time I get on that thing it tells me it's all in my head, and everyone else's? I can tell I've regained so much of my fitness- I effortlessly caught up with a skinny male co-worker on his bike, who saw me a year ago when I bought this bike and wasn't nearly as fast or as steady on it. Amazing what a few less pounds can do for your balance.

Anyway, I said I was going to be mostly writing with full disclosure, except for the number on that scale, but I wanted to tell you that as much as things are going well - see the picture - I'm really scared of failing, for myself and in front of all of you. A reader on my blog at work called me a fat pig the other day, which made me both sad for a person who has to insult a stranger (I hope I'm a stranger to them, otherwise they're a coward as well), and completely depressed, because someone thought I was fat. Ever. And I was bigger. But what if they saw me last week and thought I was still fat? What was the point? Where was that cheese?

But then, I went to work, and three people, including one I don't well, told me "Wow, you're looking great." And then I went into the bathroom and made myself look at myself. And I decided this:

- I don't look like I did three years ago, which I don't like.

- I don't look like I did three months ago, which is wonderful,

- Screw some nasty cow who has to tear somebody else down to make their petty butt feel better. This person's an ass. Why should I give them the honor of being in my head?

So, I'm mostly over it. There will be times, like the next time I get on that scale, where I hear that voice over my shoulder. But screw that voice, both that cow's, the guy that invited me to Overeaters Anonymous and mine when I'm being a jerk to myself. Screw us all. I'm working really hard, and I have the comfortable pants to prove it.

Boo-ya.