On this, the very last day of Fat Camp, season 3, I am trying very hard to take an entertaining, informative and non-pissy tone. Very. Hard. You just don’t even know. I may break into a sweat from the effort.
I try very hard to remain positive (or at least retain the ability to laugh at myself) for the sake of my readership. All 14 of you deserve that.
The truth is that Fat Camp is really hard work. You know, if you are NOT a punk and make the decision to get as much out of it as you can. Hard work aside, it’s kind of spendy. It works out to $13 per session over the course of 12 weeks, three times a week. It adds up. But it’s kind of a deal because you get a kick-ass trainer that you have to share but with only a handful of other people. You also get the kind of camaraderie that is usually reserved for foxholes, national tours and prisoners.
I don’t keep doing Fat Camp just to have something about which to write. I am actually fat. Less fat, for sure, but still fat. I NEED to be there. Although the reality is that I probably need a personal chef (somebody get Curtis Stone on the line for me will you?) more than I need a personal trainer at this point. Okay, that’s not entirely true. But mostly. I feel like I have a good handle on what to do and how to do it and, thanks in large part to my heart rate monitor and that CardioPoint test, how hard to push myself. And when. Of course, we never push ourselves as hard as when somebody is there to challenge us and teach us new things and encourage our baby steps. That, friends, is why we pay a trainer.
And why I feel like I won the trainer jackpot.
We are supposed to write a little blurb for the files on what Fat Camp has done for us. What it has done for me. They want a success story. Oddly enough, I am at a loss.
I’m not entirely sure that if I had a before/after photo set (which I don’t) that you could tell which was which. Honestly. I don’t see it. I do know that I dress the part better so maybe judge on that note. I have spent 15 months (8 of which have been very active) working towards my goal. It could also be tagged my weight loss journey.
This isn’t a journey. Not anymore. It’s a quest. And it’s starting to seem like I’m looking for the Holy Grail. Or the Bermuda Triangle. (At this point it might even be a Horcrux.) It seems mythical. And very nearly out of reach. But there are times when the trail is hot and the stars align and I feel like I’m getting somewhere. And then it’s gone like a fart in the wind.
I don’t know that they want my story. If it were 15 months ago and I read my story…I’d have walked the fuck out and I’m not even kidding. If you had told me that I’d done so much for so little in a tangible sense I would have happily gone back to my antidepressant meds, nutty bars and Castle re-runs.
The key word there is tangible. As far as pounds on the scale and, to some extent, inches I am the furthest thing from a success. Maybe not the furthest thing. I mean, it’s not like I’ve gained weight right?
In looking back at where I started (which involved much swearing, awkwardness, sports bra tweaking to get just the right compression while still being able to breathe and mentally blocking the ability to move my legs more than 3 mph) I have come a long way. I’m still not sure my particular brand of triumph should be under the heading of a corporate success story.
1) I can get into and out of BOTH sports bras without having to hide myself behind a locker or in a dressing cubby. You know, most days. I can also take a shower on the premises without having to take a xanax. I might have a thing about being N-A-K-E-D in public. But getting better.
2) A 10 incline falls into the category of ‘warm up’ as does a mile jog.
3) Speaking of jogging, there’s that. Which wasn’t, not ever not in any form not even when chased. And now? I can cover more than a half mile more in my allotted 30 minutes than I could 15 months ago. I can also go for more than 30 seconds without having to walk. In fact, I ran the ENTIRE 30 minutes tonight without walking not once. There was a time when two minutes was just about the end of me. A good challenging, short run speed now was a balls-to-the wall sprint a year ago. And I have done, what, 3 different treadmill 5k runs and have beat my time at each run. And…AND…I like it. Bring it on. Face me into myself and run.
4) I had to give away 4 shirts and throw away several undergarments because they were all too big.
5) I went off the Lexapro a year ago and have very rarely looked back. I do, on the other hand, still have xanax access but I don’t have to carry it in my purse anymore. Which is not to say that I don’t. I just don’t have to.
6) My blood pressure, cholesterol and resting heart rate are enviable.
7) I feel like I have the physical strength to do dad-type play time with the littles including tossing them into the air, chasing them in the yard and racing them down a slide. That’s nice.
8) I sleep better. On workout days once I can get myself into bed, I rarely have trouble going to sleep or staying asleep.
9) I have made no less than five new friends. Probably a few enemies too but I could care less about that.
10) I am strong. I’d like to think I’m strong anyway. I spend far too much time admiring my own biceps and hamstrings and lats. I’ve always been on the strong side (for a girl) but now I can see the muscle definition. Imagine what it will look like with all the fat out of the way!
Okay, now I’m getting an inflated sense of self so I have to stop. I had to do this tonight, list all of this. Turns out, I had kind of a shitty last night at Fat Camp. My final weight didn’t reflect what the last few weeks have shown due to, uh, monthly hormonal fluctuations. (And, probably, the birthday cocktails didn’t help matters.) That made me sad. Very sad. Like it erased most of the last month’s worth of work. I know, I know…it will be gone again by Sunday but I wanted it to be gone today. Same for waist measurement. So. Not. Fair. And my run today was no better than six weeks ago. In fact it was two HUNDREDTHS of a mile worse. I actually swore when I saw that. It was my fault. I was trotting along, not paying attention to the time, and at 27 minutes in I did the math and had to basically sprint the last 3 minutes only to not be able to knock it out in time.
I tried really hard not to cry. It was probably the hormones but still sort of heartbreaking in the kind of way that makes me angry enough to want to run it again tomorrow.
And so it ends, Fat Camp season 3. Thanks for coming along.