Monday workouts are hard core at Fat Camp. Molly has only 30 minutes with us before we go to nutrition. It is usually 2 minutes of treadmill cardio in intervals with 2 minutes of strength training. The hard stuff.
Why is it that I can do whatever you want me to do on the treadmill but I still can’t do a proper squat. Apparently, I take issue with sticking my ass straight back to do one properly. And I get called on it every time. Umm, Molly? Newsflash: I don’t like anyone to pull focus to me. This will only end badly. Usually with me shooting off my mouth because I am flustered at being the center of attention. Even for a minute. I’ve seen me do it.
The kicker of the evening’s exercise was that in the last 4 minutes, Molly wanted us to walk fast. As quick as we could. For me, that was a 3 point 4. Which is not fast at all but I am not a fast walker and never have been (genetically stubby legs, you see). I was hustling. We all were.
“One point more!” Molly demands. 3.5
“One more!” 3.6 I might fall on my face.
“One more!” 3.7 Okay this is just stupid. And I look ridiculous. I can only imagine. But it’s hurting my shins.
“One more!” 3.8 I’m practically running. In a full trot anyway.
Her object, was to see how fast each of us could walk without running or jogging. Because at some point, it is easier to take a running stride than it is to keep walking. It’s like pushing a baby out. Kind of. Okay, not at all. But if you have done this without drugs, you know that at some point you need to switch gears and rid your body of the parasitic weevil and get it out! Yeah, bad analogy. But it’s all I could think of. It would have been easier to run.
This post isn’t about the exercise portion of the class. Oddly enough, I’m not all that sore anymore. I feel really good. I know I keep saying that but it’s true. I’m trying not to be obsessed with the scale but that’s the Aries in me. I need to see some results or someone will pay for this! Or something to that effect. (I’m hardly ever an Aries. I don’t know what I am but I think I’ve had the Aries removed from my system at some point.) I feel stronger. I feel leaner. I don’t think I am because my pants are still snug (as opposed to nearly un-wearable). But I might be.
This is about nutrition and the nutritionist. Who clearly has an agenda.
She is not even 25 years old. She is small and olive skin and cute as a button. Or beautiful depending on your taste. She is very…focused. So very focused that she lacks the ability to learn a name or two or that I AM ALLERGIC TO NUTS!!!! Do not suggest almond butter to me. She doesn’t understand why I am okay to eat peanut butter.
Her answer to everything is “Grab a handful of nuts”. I mean, that’s my answer too but I think we are talking about something completely different.
Look, she’s young. She’s probably a buck-ten soaking wet. She has no children and it doesn’t appear that she’s married. She looks at my food journal and all she sees are the “processed” foods. The deli meat. The Coke Zero. (sidenote: she hassled me about my Coke Zero choice when I chose to drink that instead of beer at a super bowl party. Really?) The freaking Luna bars. It’s like she skims over the healthy and homemade bread, the homemade spaghetti sauce and the mountains of salads and goes right for the trip to Panera and my 3″ of baguette (which isn’t and never will be enough for a whole bowl of broccoli cheese soup).
She insists on whole milk. Organic whole milk. Which, first of all, yuck. Getting past the film of fat in my mouth (wait? what?), she has a reason. Apparently, all the nutrients in the milk are in the fat. Vitamin D is a fat soluble vitamin. So when you drink skim milk (like I have for years on end), it has vitamin D shot into it (fortified). You could put a whole week’s worth of Vitamin D into a glass of milk and your body would never, ever be able to metabolize it because it needs the fat molecules to carry it to your cells. Huh. Makes sense, right? So skim milk is just empty calories. Basically. And she’s all about organic everything. At 7 bucks a gallon. Clearly, doesn’t have children.
She insists on whole grain. Everything. The chick next to me had a hot dog! On a bun! Gasp! Poor girl. Got made an example of. Glad it wasn’t me. I fed the household hot dogs to the kids. At least nobody is charting what they eat. Amelia ate only foods from the “orange” food group today: Mac n cheese, peaches, cheezits, juice. Worst. mom. ever.
Things she is against: artificial sweeteners (except stevia), HFCS, hydrogenated fats, white flour, sugar in any form, anything fortified with anything else, artificial fiber (did you know there was artificial fiber? I didn’t. Think anything “Fiber One” brand. All fake. Our bodies hate it. Gives everyone gas.).
Things she is for: anything organic, sprouted grains, full fat, low sugar, “white” meats, made from scratch but never actually “cooked” only “prepared”, free range, unpeeled, tasteless and colorless.
Food is fuel. Only fuel. Never something to be enjoyed. Nope. Now I have to chart it. Analyze it. Wonder about it. Obsess about it.
We have had no discussion of portion sizes. We have had no discussion of when it’s okay to eat what you want. So far, she is not based in the real world. Only, “I go to work and I go home and have no other responsibilities” world.
Or, I could be projecting my issues on to her. I’m sure she’s a lovely girl.
I thought I was doing okay. And she hassled me for my Luna bar snacks (yummy and healthy but apparently too much sugar and too many ingredients which, of course, because it tastes good…) and for my beverage choice and for my lack of decent protein at breakfast.
But has said nothing of the coffee so I guess she gets to live.