Fat camp, day 22.

I must have had frustration written all over my face.

Molly took one look at me and said “Are you grumpy?”

I denied.  I lied.

No.

But I did need to work.  And run.  And sweat.

Today was about endurance.   The end of the class session is in two weeks.  (Never fear, I am taking a second session.  This?  Is getting to be an expensive habit.)    At the end of class, we have to do our assessments again.  How far can I go in 30 minutes is the big one.

She wants us to jog.  Me.  She wants me to jog.  I’m fairly resistant and she knows it.  Five minutes at a time.  Followed by five minutes of strength training on the floor.  Repeat.  Twice.

Which is great.  You push yourself for five minutes.  And everything burns.  My lungs just a little, my legs a little more and my feet a whole lot.  But I put on a good song and I run.  I run and run until I can’t run any more.

Just when I think I can’t go another step, I look down at the time.

1:38

I. Suck.

And then I become self-conscious of all the huffing and pounding and heavy breathing and sweating.  (Sounds vaguely dirty, yes?)

I can’t even run five minutes.  I could.  Before I got the great throat plague of 2010.  You wouldn’t think that a half a week would make a difference.  But apparently, I’m teetering on the edge of “plateau” and “Oreo”. 

I have lost, by my scale, zero point 4 pounds in the last 10 days.  Which included said illness and trip back to Iowa.  It has also included extreme carb craving, intense grouchiness (Amelia even learned the sign for “Grumpy”.  We use it to each other all the time now.) emotional swings.  Sound familiar?

So I all but attack the nutritionist.  I mean, I’m well below my calorie burn.  And I know that it’s not just about calories in and out (4 things control weight loss/gain: sleep, stress, intake and burn).  But there is clearly something wrong with me.  First thing out of her mouth? 

“Are you late?”

I’m sorry…what?  No.  Yes.  Well okay yes but it doesn’t matter.  I mean…I’m not worried…don’t need to be…   I trail off.  And look somewhere else.  I’m feeling my age.  This kid was in diapers when I discovered Tampax. 

Oh.

There’s my problem.  Duh.

Replace carbs with protein and good fats.  De-stress.  Make sure I’m eating enough.  She thinks that my calories are too low.  She puts me at needing 1850.  I’ve been averaging 1400.  In the course of 8 weeks, that adds up I suppose. 

My poor body.  Doesn’t know if it’s going to get fed.  Wants to sleep.  Wants to move. 

Is it any wonder that I’m all confused and edgy?  None of this makes sense yet. 

I did learn that you should always buy organic strawberries and spinach.  They are particularly prone to holding on to pesticides.  And that it’s lame to buy organic bananas and apples.   And organic dairy is always a good idea.

And to think that I just wanted to fit into my jeans again.  I have so far to go.

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