The Insanity Workout: Part Two

Well, we made it.  By we, I mean me and Devin since I talked him into getting on the Insanity bandwagon too.  It was a hard sell that involved my DVRing the infomercial and forcing him to watch it before I'd put on The Daily Show.  Anyway, Month One of Insanity is now complete.

For those of you keeping score at home, yes this would mean it took us like 6 weeks to complete the first 4 weeks of the program.  That's because during the 4th week we added up all of the workouts we'd had to skip for various reasons and realized we'd missed a full week's worth, so we took week 5 to play catch up.  Then I got a bad cold so even that plan got derailed. The important thing, I think, is that we have not given up. At least, not completely.

Here's my impressions of the program, week by week.

Week 1: Off With A Bang

A minute and a half into the first warm up, I felt the sense of overwhelming and immediate regret I might experience if I were to try skydiving.  I spent much of the subsequent workout pacing around the room with my hands in my hips, catching my breath as Shaun T. and his team continued hopping around on my TV screen.  I had no idea there could be so many moves with the words Power or Jump in their names.  And don't even get me started on the dreaded Power Jump. 

The program also came with an eating guide to maximize results.  Essentially, the idea is to eat 5 healthy meals a day to boost your metabolism.  Normally I overlook the flimsy eating guides that come along with home workout programs, but this time I was going to try my darndest.  I went to Trader Joe's, stocked up on chicken, vegetables, cottage cheese, eggs, and more chicken.  Then I spent a night preparing meal items for the week ahead.  I got in the habit of making a pot of slow-cook, old-fashioned oatmeal at night so that I would have it ready to nuke a bowl of it in the morning.  Can you believe it?  Could I be any more put together?

All of the physical and dietary effort was paying off.  By the end of the first week, I was all, "I think I've lost ten pounds! (Actual pounds lost: 0) I feel so toned!  I have so much energy!  I sing the body electric!"

Week 2: In Which My Life Found Out Where I Was Hiding And Came After Me, Demanding I Pay Back All The Time I Owed

How I managed Week 1 is an inexplicable phenomenon.  By Week 2, things were going about how I expected them to.  I had to do some work on Tuesday so I had to skip that night's workout.  Then I had dinner plans on Wednesday, so another workout went out the window.  I didn't have time to go grocery shopping so I lacked the supplies needed to maintain my 5 meal a day menu.  And eating all of those meals was something of a project in and of itself.  Making oatmeal was one thing but have you ever noticed how long it actually takes to eat oatmeal during a hectic morning routine?

So, The Insanity Program and I reached something of an understanding.  I would diverge from the calendar and meal program as much as needed to keep my...a-hem... sanity, and I would promise to cut out junk food and white bread.  And, even though the last thing I want to do after putting the baby to bed is heave and throw myself around the living room, I'd do it anyway.  Because I'm not a quitter!

Week 3: Oh Screw This

Here's the thing: After 3 weeks of this madness I'd expected to lose at least one pound.  So what gives?  Every night, I'd test Devin's resolve.  Throwing my head back and dragging my feet, I'd whine, "I don't feel like doing this.  It's not even working and it's so hard."
"Oh no you don't.  You got me into this we're not stopping now."

Week 4:  Back In The Saddle Again

If I were to have a personal trainer, he or she would probably say something like, "All this negativity you're carrying around... THAT's what's weighing you down.  That's why you aren't dropping pounds."

In Week 4, I started trying to look at the positive side of this experience.  I could now make it through the whole warm up without stopping.  This maybe doesn't seem like it should be an accomplishment, but it is.

Also, I think it's a good thing Devin and I found something to do together aside from watching TV while one or the other or both of us fall asleep on the couch.

***
On Monday we did the first workout of Month Two.  It was twenty minutes longer than any workout in Month One.   And at one point, Shaun T. introduced a new move that had us both exclaiming "What?!" at the exact same time, with the same pitch and volume.  I was just starting to be able to get through these workouts with minimal breaks.  And now... this?

Discouraged though I was, I will say that as I was standing in the kitchen later that night, trying to remember why I'd just walked in there (it was to empty the dishwasher, I concluded), I caught my reflection in the mirror in the dining room.  There was a mysterious shadow on my shoulder.  Turning into the light, I finally realized what I was looking at.  A muscle.  A real one.  A new one.

And then, this morning, I stepped on the scale after avoiding it since Week 3 and discovered I'd lost five pounds!  Holy shnikes, it worked!  I've never lost so much as a pound on purpose in my whole life.

Let's see if this can motivate me to finish up the program.  Just a few weeks to go.

The Insanity Workout: Part One

Because I'm an American woman, I don't have better things to worry about than the way I look and what I eat (and the relationship between the two).  Now, on the average day, I don't give it too much thought.  But every so often, for a variety of different reasons, I'll launch myself into I Will Get Thin And Fit mode.

And then I disengage in about 3 weeks.  Or 3 days.

Don't believe me?  Look, I've chronicled much of it here, here, here, here, and here.

[Ocular warning: Some of those links go back to my old blog, which is a bit of a color shock]

If you have neither the time nor the inclination to read up on old posts, let me summarize that my issues with losing weight are always owing to some combination of the following factors: I'm lazy, I'm busy, I'm tired, I'm cheap, and food is delicious.  That's all.  Otherwise I'd look like Kate Upton.  I swear it.

But anyway over the last couple of years I hadn't really thought much about it.  Then I got pregnant and really didn't think about it.  Then I had Oscar and lost nearly all of the my pregnancy weight in a matter of weeks.  And when it came to the remaining poundage, I took refuge in the "well, I just had a baby" excuse.  

Not that it's just an excuse.  I'm happy I have so much good stuff going on, but between the demands of a working full time, taking care of a baby, and maintaining the sort of household expected of adults, it's a wonder I manage to keep myself outfitted in clean underwear daily.  Never mind fitting in a quick 3 mile jog or preparing a wholesome meal of freshly steamed this and ginger marinated that.  [Whenever I see flawless, yoga-pants wearing MILFs in the produce section of Whole Foods I resist the urge to throw sweet potatoes at their smiling heads.]

It's no surprise that sometime in the hazy daze of the last 6 months, the scale started going back up the other direction.  Jeans got tighter.  Arms got flabbier.  I found myself saying and thinking the things I remember from Slim Fast commercials on TV when I was younger.  "I avoid cameras." "I see pictures of myself and can't believe it's me."  "I hate the way my clothes fit."

AND THEN one day I was in a gift shop looking at some trinket when a guy behind me said, "I already brought one of those to the register, sweetheart."  Puzzled, I spun around to find an embarrassed man who quickly explained, "I thought you were my daughter for a second.  So sorry!"  All was well and good until I spotted the man with said daughter minutes later.  She was a young woman I would've guessed had 50 to 75 pounds on me.  And he'd mistaken me for her.  From behind, no less.

Fortunately by the time that incident occurred I'd already ordered the Insanity workout system, used, from a seller on Amazon.  It was listed with the ominous description, "This was way too hard for me.  Good luck!" 

What is Insanity, you ask?  Only the latest fitness racket I've been suckered into.  Check out this video if you haven't seen the infomercial.

And if you haven't seen the infomercial, you must not be awake watching TV every morning at 6:30 like I am.  I think I sat through the full infomercial no less than fifteen times before  I finally broke down and ordered it. 

At the time of writing this, I'm in my third week of the program.  I'll give you my full report and week to week updates at the end of month one.  Will I lose twenty pounds?  Will I be offered a modeling contract?  Will I abandon all hope and use Disc 2: Plyometric Cardio Circuit as a McFlurry coaster?  Stay tuned.  

Tiny Passengers

One of the least inspiring lessons I've learned as a new mother is that for some folks, behavior during air travel is how your parenting capabilities are measured.  It doesn't much matter that you have a happy, thriving child.  Can you keep that child's face-hole shut on a plane?

Earlier this month, Devin and I traveled eastward for some family time.  At 6 months old, it would be Oscar's first flight.  Of course I was nervous.  How could I not be?  I'd been on my fair share of flights with inconsolable babies.  I'd avoided making eye contact with the distressed mother as she paced the aisle of the cabin, bouncing and shushing her wailing bundle of joy.

Nobody likes a baby on a plane.  Babies sitting in supermarkets: delightful.  Babies on the beach: adorable.  Babies on planes: death stares.

I'm pleased to report, we did okay.

The first flight was a short burst from LA to Vegas.  He slept most of the time. And the time he was up, he smiled and did the cute-baby act.  The old woman sitting next to us was enamored and reminded us to get a picture of this important First.

During the short layover, he stayed in good spirits, amusing the group sitting across from us as the gate.  Though, we were in Vegas and they appeared to still be drunk so I think would've been amused by anything.

Oscar even wore his Syracuse shirt in honor of our trip

Later, he would have a massive poop-splosion and the shirt would arrive in Syracuse sealed in a plastic bag, buried in our carry on

When we seated ourselves (we were flying Southwest) on the second, longer flight from Vegas to Albany, we encountered our first real baby-on-plane haters.  We shuffled our way in to our seats, and were getting ourselves situated when the guy in front of us took a good look at who he was dealing with: a demon disguised as blue eyed 16-pounder, quietly and contentedly playing with a water bottle.  The horror!  He got his wife's attention, motioned toward us, and then they quickly got up and moved several rows back.

Here's where I learned another, better lesson as a new mom.  When people do stuff like this, you don't care.  If he didn't want to sit near us, fine.  Seeing as I had no idea what was in store, he may have had the right idea.  Who knows?

Eventually a very nice woman sat in the aisle seat of our row.  She didn't mind that she had to get up a dozen times as we made bathroom trips, or that Oscar kicked her in the arm when he was trying to get comfortable in my lap. 

By the way, I need to figure out the math on this, but somehow there is an effect of pressure, airspeed, or wing contour that causes a baby on a plane to triple in size for the duration of the flight. 

When we landed in Albany at 1am local time, a few of our fellow passengers commended us on doing such a good job and having such a good baby.  I wasn't sure how I felt about that kind if compliment, but I took it anyway.  And I sort of hoped the guy who switched seats overheard it.  So, okay, maybe I do care.  A little.

How To Make Pillowcases In Just 5 Short Months

Before Oscar was born I thought I was a very, very busy person.  Then after his arrival, I looked back on those times and thought, "What was the matter with me?  I had so much free time!"

On weekends, I don't want to do anything but snuggle Oscar to make up for time lost during the week at work.  As a result, those 2 days fly by with bills unpaid, floors unswept, and laundry unlaundered.  And craft projects... are you kidding?

And so it goes that I launched a mission to re-cover the couch's throw pillows in mid February, and did not revisit it until May.

Join me, if you will, on a journey back in time to when Oscar was just a wee little nugget that slept the whole day away, while his mom kept herself locked up in a dark and dusty apartment.

At one point, during what felt like Oscar's fortieth feeding of the day, I looked at the couch around me and realized I hated it.

 

A once comfy and practical sectional, it was now misshapen, stained, and smelly.   Unfortunately, buying a new couch just wasn't an option.   It was time to give the pillows a makeover.

I know they don't match.  How did I let this happen?

I'd actually been planning to do this for a while and had requested --and received--a brand new sewing machine for Christmas.  But then, stuff happened.  Like a new human.

Surveying the living room I decided it certainly wasn't lacking in brown.  Brown couch, brown rug, brown walls, brown coffee table, brown pillows.  What it could really use was some nice bright blue accents.

So I sped off to Joanne Fabrics for some material.  My mom was in town, and came along to help me assess my options.

We wound up with this trio.

Two soft and fuzzy fabrics, and one that was less so, but would spice things up. 

I found a step by step guide to making throw pillow covers.  I won't go into detail here with the exact steps, but I recommend checking out that link if you too have several months to spare on a sewing project. 

Before attempting step one, I needed to back up and do step zero: remember how to work a sewing machine.  Mom and I unpacked it from the box, looked over the instructions on threading the bobbin, selecting the stitch type and all that.  Oddly, though I hadn't done it in probably 10 years, it all came back to me.

Now I was off and running!  And then Oscar woke up...

The next day, I was off and running!

It took me seven hours to make the first pillowcase.  But there were a lot of stops and starts in my process.   Also, it took a bit more time because I wasn't half-assing it like the way I normally do things.  I wanted these to look presentable, so I did things properly, like ironing the edges where I'd hem or double hem.

When I removed the first pillow from its case I realized I'd been too kind with my assumption that the innards were "perfectly good."  Still, I was in it now, so it would have to do.

Bleh

The design I was following didn't call for any fasteners to keep the case closed shut, but I think it was meant for nice full, firm pillows and not this cheap piece of shit pillow I was working with.  So there was a gross gap.

Hello, my name is Mr. Pillowface

Nothing a little iron-on velcro can't fix. 

Now we're talking.

The second pillowcase took about 45 minutes.  Clearly I had the hang of it, so I'd be able to bang out the next 5 or 6 in a couple days.

Then the rest of February, all of March and April, and half of May went by.  With friends coming over for cocktails one Friday, I had a burst of motivation and finished three more pillows.

And this brings us to July.  5 months later.  I still have 3 pillows to go.  But for the sake of this post let's just pretend all of the completed ones are in these After pictures.

Something Rainbows

If life is a buffet (or a buffet is a buffet, for that matter), then I believe one should heap as much onto one's plate as possible.  Even if it's such an irresponsible amount that you wind up missing deadlines, cheating yourself out of sleep, and dropping a trail of overboard pasta salad on the way back to your table.  What's happening to this metaphor?

What I'm getting at is that I signed on to be one of a group of 30 fantastic writers (wait, that makes it sound like I'm saying that I think I'm fantastic) contributing to a blogging collective of sorts.  Don't make me tell you what it's called.

Okay, fine.  It's called Pooping Rainbows.  No, I had nothing to do with the title.

Each blogger gets one day a month to post.  Mine is the 27th... which is today!  So check me out, and all of the equally amazing (there, I did it again) writers. 

Oh, and I wrote one last month on the 27th too that I failed to mention.  Whoops.  (If you look for it, it's posted by "Peter."  Don't be alarmed.  The side-blogging is the extent of my secrecy.  There is no male alter-ego.)

Bandana Bibs

Almost overnight, Oscar Finn became a slobbering, drooling mess.  He soaks through his shirts, drooling all over the front, gnawing on his sleeves.  Then he moves on to my clothes.  At his most recent doctor's appointment, we learned he was a little on the early side with teething, and this was of course the reason for the waterworks.

So to give Oscar something to gum and dribble into, I made him a bandana bib.  It was a pretty easy little project, once I figured out the right measurements (this took several tries).  

Everyone's Doing It

Recently I did this to my fingernails.

Which can only mean one thing: I think I'm cool now.  So I signed up for Twitter.  For the longest time I'd resisted because I just couldn't handle any more things. But now I feel left out and I resent having to have hash tags explained to me.

Truth be told, I already signed up for Twitter once before.  It was four years ago and I quit after two weeks because it was unbearably annoying.  But that may have had something to do with the fact that I didn't have a smartphone, only a phone phone, and received all of my tweets in a ceaseless stream of text messages.

If you would like to follow me, I'm @brianamah.  Yes, I had to ask someone if you use the @.  No, I don't understand why that is.

We'll see how this foray goes.  It's been less than 24 hours and I'm already over it.