Spun

Oh good god, spinning.

Spinning.

That's some crazy shit, right there.

It didn't help that the cycling studio is this teeny tiny little room -- seriously, I've seen bigger broom closets -- crammed with bikes and quite fit people in biking gear. Oh, and me. And Kravitz, who is fitter than me, but had spent the day eating strawberry creams and watching television and contemplating her belly, so really, yesterday, we were equal.

The class is taught by Kravitz's mean and crazy cousin Tracey. I didn't used to think of Tracey as mean and crazy, but then I went to one of her classes, and got schooled. Now I know.

First of all, I thought the fucker was only 45 minutes long. I got lied to. It was an hour, which really fucked with my head as I stared at the clock while my legs went round and round, round and round, and the bottoms of my feet plus all my toes went numb. That seems wrong, somehow. Must get that sorted.

ANYhow, Tracey's up at the front of the class screaming at us to go faster, ride harder, use our heels, get up, get down, get all around the town and goddamn it, didn't anyone tell her these are stationary bikes? For the love of all that's good and holy, stop this bike I want to get off.

Meanwhile, every time I turn around to peer ruefully at Kravitz, she points, even more ruefully, at her crotch. The thing no one tells you about spinning is that it is murder on the petunia. Murder, I say!

And then, because an hour of spinning wasn't enough, I trotted along to Mean and Crazy's Muscle Express class. Where I got shouted at some more, something about using my abs, lifting weights, I don't know what else, I was too delirious to really make sense of it.

Thirty minutes of that and we hit the shower, steam room, sauna and shower. After which I fell directly into a gibbering puddle of demented exhaustion.

Can't fucking wait to do it again next Thursday.

Oh-whoa Candida! We can make it together!

I canNOT get this Tony Orlando and Dawn song out of my head lately.

Boy, you don't hear that every day, do you?

It's been on repeat in my brain since last Tuesday when I left the naturopath's office. At the time, I was thinking I could cruise along till January, not really fully embracing the Candida protocol.

Of course, one weekend of unmitigated bread eating has screwed my head on straight about THAT.

I lost two days of work to sickness this week. Yesterday, in fact, I woke up crying because I felt so bad. Poor Professor Taco had his work cut out for him. Anyhow. He talked me down, made me a GREAT Candida-protocol-friendly breakfast (oh, sweet potato pancakes, you and I will be seeing a LOT more of each other), and generally looked after me.

So from here on in, with a few likely exceptions as we get closer to Christmas, I'm living sugar-free, dairy-free, yeast-free and wheat-free. And, sadly, mostly fruit-free. That will make me crazy insane in the membrane, but then the itching at the centre of my head hasn't exactly made me feel calm and orderly, so if the choice is give up fruit or go nuts, I'd chuck the fruit every time.

In future, my shopping list will include such luminaries as kale, quinoa, apples by the pantload, almond butter, brown rice cakes and stevia. I'm praying the goat cheese hasn't become off-limits. I think it's still ok, but we'll have to see. I'm much more sensitive and sick this time around.

As of now, I'm abandoning Weight Watchers. I haven't really been to the website in weeks...once I got the basics down, I didn't really feel compelled to check in there too often. But I've no fear that the Candida protocol will be an exceptionally healthy way to eat. And now that I'm being more mindful about eating, I think it will be fine. It's kind of hard to mindlessly snack on kale, you know? That shit's bitter. But good. But...not for snacking. I won't be able to do much damage on the no sugar, low white carbs, low fat regimen I'm about to embark on.

The five workouts a week don't hurt, either. (am I still on track, you wonder? The answer is yes. Mindful eating, check, check, check and check for the week. Workouts? Three and counting. Tonight is spinning at the Y, followed by Muscle Express. Good times.)

Candida! Just take my hand and I'll lead ya! I promise life will be sweeter! 'Cause it said so in my dreams! Oh, Tony Orlando. Where are you now?

Control freak

I must get control of myself.

Seriously, though. I seem to have it in my head that what goes on weekends, stays on weekends. That somehow, eating biscuits, muffins, chocolate (albeit 70 percent cocoa chocolate and letting it melt slowly mmmmm), bacon, pie...what else did I eat?...apple crumble, somehow, eating in this unconscionably off-plan manner doesn't count because it occurs on the weekend.

Internet, why am I crazy?

Also: Cherry Blasters. I didn't think I even liked them. But yesterday? Because they were in the kitchen, I ate them. A lot of them. Too many of them, for a person who is hypersensitive to sugar and teetering on the verge of Yeast Blowout 2004. Seriously, with each one I ate, I could practically hear the evil yeast chortling and cheering.

Of course, that could simply be a factor of my craziness.

The Professor and I went to his mother's house in Amherst. Linda is lovely, there's no question about it. Part of her loveliness, of course, is that she whips up things like blender apple muffins and fresh biscuits when people come to visit. Which would be fine, if I didn't feel compelled to eat them. But I do. Not by her, of course. Linda is lovely, as I said, and hospitable, but not pushy. No, I feel compelled by...oh let's see. A short list of things I feel compelled by?

Well, there's sheer force of habit. Food is here. I am here. I should eat the food!
Then there's butter. I am drawn to butter like the tide to the moon. The butter in the biscuits wants to mate with me. How can I turn it away?
And then there's sugar. Which is sweet. Which, hello? Makes it delicious. And therefore makes me want to eat it.
Bread has yeast. My belly has yeast. The yeast in my belly want to make the acquaintance of all the yeast everywhere else in the world, and they can be very forceful about this desire.
Don't forget the dope. Which is also sweet, but which, sadly, makes me want to eat the world, and then have a blender apple muffin for dessert.

Truthfully though? There's not much of an excuse.

Just remembered I also had chicken strips and fries on Friday night. But you know what? They were tasty and worth it, if not exactly planned for.

The amounts and kinds of foods consumed would not be so bad had I at least taken in the right amount of water, or maybe exercised a little. But this is proving to be the eternal conundrum of weekends. The whole routine goes to hell.

Time to get a little serious about this, I think. Time to make the routine a little more, well, routine. You know? It's Saturday, not Christmas. Saturday is not a good enough reason to throw the preceding five days good work out the door.

So this week's challenge:
Exercise every day (one down!)
Eat attentively (one down for that one, too!)
Make weekends count.

So simple, but far from easy.

Of course, it doesn't help that the professor and I measured me today, and I persist in being smaller than I was a week ago. I'm too smart, however, to take this as proof that I can eat biscuits all weekend long and still feel good about myself on Monday. Thank god. Smaller is not necessarily better. Healthier is, and that's body AND mind, by the way.

Glad we got that sorted.

Bits and bites

Yes, it's been a little while. Doesn't mean I've fallen off the rails, though. Just been busy. Busy working out (I'm averaging about four times a week, I guess. I'd like to make that five or six, but weekends continue to be a challenge), busy making very nutritious meals, and busy dealing with the all-systems-failure that is continuing to happen in slow-motion.

Went to my amazing naturopath on Tuesday. Step one in stopping the free-fall into ill-health. She actually listened to me. For, like, an hour and a half. She made diagrams, and drew arrows and circled things and generally made me feel like I'm not crazy for thinking that my splitting fingernails, thinning hair, bouts of cystic acne, unbearably itchy ears etc etc must somehow be connected.

So, there will be changes. For now, some supplements. Some capsules full of oregano and I don't know what else to kill the bad yeast in my gut. Ah, that's a lovely sentence, isn't it? Some calcium-magnesium to see about those fingernails. Morning temperature taking to investigate the inner workings of my thyroid. I must also paint an iodine circle on my belly to test same. And in January? Full-on war against yeast. Candida protocol, which means the supplements, yes, plus strict dietary guidelines: no sugar, no yeast, no dairy, no mould. So, goodbye again to bread and cheese, wine, beer, most booze, in fact, cantaloupe, most fruit, really...and hello again my old friends kale and brown rice. Ah, good times. Thank god the professor and I are actually quite used to eating like hippies. Because we will live to eat yeast-free kamut bread again!

Actually, I'm getting into the idea of the Candida purge. I liked eating that way before. I found it quite easy to make the switch, once I found out it would make me feel better. Not sure why I'm so reluctant this time. Why I feel like I need the naturopath to tell me to do it. I know the ropes, but somehow, I need that external ass-kicking. Glad to have it, though.

So, it'll take me a little off the Core plan, likely, but last time I did this, I dropped about 20 pounds without really trying. Just by cutting out the foods that were making me sick. And now, with the working out and the actual really trying, it should be a boon to my efforts here. Plus, I can hardly wait to sleep through the night without my 4am pawing at my ears to try to stop the itching. Oh god, the itching. Won't be sad to see that stuff go.

Though I will miss that goddamn cheese croissant at the market on Saturdays. Must find candida-friendly substitute before January!

Also, I must make a confession. I totally have a girl-crush on Lesia Hart...I think that's her name. She of the Gym in a Box dvd. She's perky and spunky and you'd think that would really get to your nerve while working out, but I find the very opposite. She's so supercute and enthusiastic. And when we're kickboxing, and she tells me I'm looking tough? Rrrrrowr, I just want to go get her!

Oh god, Internet. What have I become?

Halloween, you devil, you

Of course, it's not just Halloween and the cursed mini chocolate bars that accompany it, though that really didn't help. I think I ate six, maybe seven of those little bastards last night.

I think it's weekends in general that kick my ass. Not that it's a hard target to find, mind you. Weekdays are excellent in their predictability. Eat Red River, go to the office, eat lunch brought from home, including many pieces of fruit, drink water all the live long day, work out, go home, eat excellent supper, sleep and so it goes.

Weekends are trickier. Firstly, there's the non-negotiable cheese croissant from Julien's at the market on Saturdays. I am flexible in most other regards, but not this one. Which would be fine, if I could make the rest of the weekend conform to the excellent, healthy plan in my head. But: no workout, erratic eating, rampant dope-smoking and its attendant rampant desire to eat the world with salt all put paid to my best intentions.

Good choices this particular weekend included a massive fruit salad that more than scratched the munchy itch on Saturday night. Plus fat-free brownies. Not to mention letting other people eat most of said brownies, leaving just one gooey one for my snack today. I also opted NOT to have the eggs benedict at brunch on Sunday, this after rationalising and thinking about it all week. VERY pleased with myself. So pleased, I had two caesars. Yes, at breakfast. If you're waiting for me to feel some kind of shame, you'd best pack a lunch. You'll be here a while.

However, in the not-so-good-choices department: a three-day holiday from working out. Fried rice twice on Saturday (though it was homemade, with brown rice and cooking spray rather than oil. But still.), plus noodles. Homefries at breakfast on Sunday AND toast. And then, at supper, sourdough bread. And brown rice. And a bit more sourdough bread. With butter. I mean, really.

And so, today. I actually hauled myself out of bed, away from warm and potentially snuggly Prof. Taco, wandered downstairs and did 40 mins with Gym in a Box. Must get three-pound weights today. Five-pounders are killing me. Made Red River and coffee and took it upstairs to have breakfast with the Prof. (Additional workout ensued. Heh!) Am at work, where so far I have not eaten muffins brought in by "thoughtful" (read: very slender, because she never keeps baked goods in her house, preferring instead to bring them to work and put them practically on my desk) co-worker. Rather, I have had my delicious and very filling lunch, and am 32+ ounces of water to the good. After work, I'll head down to Curves (I worry a bit about Curves. Because I've been working out there regularly, and have lost inches galore, but actual pounds? Not so much. Also? You'd think my cardio ability would have improved after a month of steady workouts, but again, not really. Latin Cardio on Thursday damn near killed me, as did Gym in a Box last week when I did it. This morning's was easier...but why hasn't Curves helped in this regard? I do not know. In any event, I am mixing it up, work-out-wise. Curves, Gym in a Box, circuit, aquafit and Latin cardio. That should help.) and work out again. Then walk home up Citadel Hill, then to Taco's for supper.

Whew. A long day of planful goodness. Ah virtue. Weekdays are thy name.