1. Bitching to My Personal Trainer
An intense plyo circuit releases sweat and produces endorphin rushes. It also makes me spew verbal diarrhea. I typically begin by moaning about my physical aches and pains. “I don’t like to complain, but… my Achilles, my upper back injury, my left hip…yadda yadda yadda.” Then I moan about my personal life. “I love my baby, but…my exhaustion, my laundry, my empty fridge…blah blah blah blee blah.” Why on earth do I do this? Continue reading
Going for a walk? Count your steps. Going for a coffee? There’s an app to capture caffeine intake. We can monitor our personal activity as never before. The clever wags are calling it “the biometric selfie”. Whatever you call the phenomenon it is clear, we have an itch to count and measure what we accomplish and how we live. Continue reading
Updated but badly lit progress report. I am down ten pounds since my last report. I felt great training today; back to my old self.
You might already know that I am a habitual and possibly obsessive list maker. I have at least three lists in my purse at any one time, as well as a master agenda for the month on my desk at home. I like to write these lists by hand as an aid to memory, but many remain in my head, constantly shuffled and reshuffled: Who is due for a dinner invitation? What provisions are currently in my kitchen? What books should I read next? What are the top five best moments of my life? Etc. Continue reading
PDDs backstage during her Figure competition in June 2013.
At this time last year I was working towards my goal of competing in the Figure category of the 2013 ABBA Bodybuilding show. The past 11 months have been filled with many ups and downs as well as some nearly epic fails. Yet somehow, I’ve managed to succeed!
It’s all my fault.
It’s hard not to get upset when you start back at the gym after a prolonged period away. I was off for two full months while recovering from a caesarean section, forbidden by my doctor from lifting anything over ten pounds. I was inclined to follow his advice after reading online descriptions of post-partum women who had ripped their stomachs open by training too soon after surgery. Although I had worked out seriously until I was 8 months pregnant, and then in a somewhat lame-ass way until two days before giving birth, I was shocked by how quickly my fitness level declined. Previously I had done shitloads of full chin-ups, but now I am back on the assisted pull-up machine, managing five sets of five slowly with 50 pounds of weight counterbalancing me. And as for full push-ups? Forget it. I have returned to my knees. How the mighty have fallen. It is truly humiliating.