Fat Camp week 6, testing

Girl Pirate was there tonight, no surprise.  She is there mornings, weekends, evenings.  I don’t know that I have ever been there when she has not.  If I were a little more paranoid, I would think that she is stalking me.  She, clearly, must be worried about my physical power and stamina. *snort*  She works out like it’s her job.  And, it might be. 

Tonight was our 30 minute treadmill test.  There are six of us, all in a row, who are old-timers to Fat Camp.  Some of us them shouldn’t even be there anymore, they are that good.  We are given a treadmill test at weeks one, six and 12.  30 minutes, see how far you can go and try to beat your distance next time. 

We were warming up, doing some walking and lots of talking.  Girl Pirate is across the aisle from us on the stair mill.  The stair mill sucks the ever-living soul out of the normal user.  People actually look like they are dying when they use it.  It’s not like a traditional stairmaster where you are just moving your legs up and down and up and down.  No, this is like walking up an escalator going the wrong way.  Soul.  Crushing.  So Girl Pirate, from atop her crow’s nest (the stair mill) is practically running up the stairs.  She is going at a pace that most of us do on flat ground. 

We?  Were clearly jealous.  I was anyway.  Not jealous but…okay yeah jealous.  One of the issues I have with Girl Pirate is the lack of proper gym attire.  She never wears more than a sports bra covering her store-bought ta-tas and yoga pants so low-slung that it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.  And I’m a girl.  Molly tells me not to look at her; what she wants is for everyone to look.  So the Camper next to me (who should not be in Fat Camp but I enjoy her company nonetheless) says, “Sure she has a great body but look!  She has a butter face.”

And I’m thinking Butter face?  Do I have a butter face?  I’ll bet I do.  My skin isn’t what it used to be…wait?  What does she mean by butter face?  Greasy?  Fatty?  So I say it out loud…Butter Face?

“Yeah.  Nice body…BUT HER face!”

Ah.  And HILARIOUS.  And sad that I thought it was so funny…BUTTER FACE!

Poor Girl Pirate.  Clearly no life outside of the gym.  At least that’s what I tell myself because that girl has a six-pack that one almost never sees on a woman.  And those are not birthin’ hips, my friends.

As for the treadmill test, I covered a tenth of a mile more so that’s good.  I’m working on my long/slow pace.  I’m not being mean to myself, that’s actually what it’s called.  If I slow down just a little, I can go longer.  It seems to work well.  I only had to walk once in the 30 minutes (right at the one mile mark…I did my fastest mile ever!).  For the last 4 minutes, I bumped up my speed from a 4.0 to a 5.6 which just might have killed me if I had to go one more minute.  In fact, when I stopped after a brief cooldown, I got all dizzy and had to sit.  My fault.  I didn’t eat much beforehand because we also got weighed.

My weight is creeping ever so slowly down and the inches are even more slowly coming off.  Oddly enough, I’m still losing in the thigh and I thought it was all muscle at this point.  Maybe things are being redistributed.  Who knows.  But, I’ll take it.  I know that my guts won’t go away even with all the strength training I’ve been doing.  Losing one’s gut involves three things: cardio, cardio and cardio.  I get it.  And I’m working on it.  I believe that the little bit of running I’ve been doing has jump started me back into weight loss mode after the world’s longest plateau. 

I keep thinking that if this were any other year or any other time in my life, I would have gone back to Nutty Bars, vodka and fried cheese.  Not that I haven’t had some drinks and snacks and treats.  The point is that I keep going back to it. 

I really like the treadmill test, probably more than I should.  I don’t have a competitive bone in my body unless I am competing against myself.  I suppose that says something about me and maybe how my Astrological sign is wrong, very wrong.  

I think I keep figuring if I don’t run the race, I won’t risk coming in last.  And yet, here I am.  Running.  And, at least on a personal level, winning.