Off the wagon
October 5, 2007 | Filed under: An ass the size of Rhode Island
First and foremost, your delurking skills make me want to cry and treat you all to some Gewürztraminer.
“A bear, however hard he tries, grows tubby without exercise.” ~A.A. Milne
For the most part I both pride and chide myself for being a creature of habit. I like my routine and feel comfortable knowing that each day will pretty much be the same as the last. Which makes me entirely predictable and fairly boring. There were months during which one could set their clock to my Saturday mornings, for every Saturday at 11 AM I could be found perusing the frozen food section of the Trader Joe’s in Georgetown picking out prime pieces of organic free range Alaskan wild salmon and debating between Macaroni and Cheese and a frozen vegetable bowl.
Given my routine nature, I had predictably had a quasi-schedule each day that always started off with going to the gym between 5:15 and 6:00 AM. Sundays were a double dose of a run at 3:15 and then spinning at 5 PM. Then home to shower and eat the aforementioned salmon, prepare my lunch, which usually included peas, for the following morning and then Desperate Housewives with a glass of Pinot Noir and bed.
And then I moved.
This whole moving shit – from my mother’s house to my new apartment and subsequent life of luxury in the Southwest cattle call, put a wrench into my nice life filled with eating my weight in cantaloupe and a daily trip to the gym. This whole moving shit, has turned me into a person who eats when she has time and hasn’t visited a grocery store in something like seven or eight weeks. The gym? The gym is that place with the weights and the cardio equipment and where I once emerged victorious after a long run with an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. There was routine and structure and I knew what workouts would be done on which days. I rarely ate French fries and burritos were a treat. Even my whole meticulous nature of recording everything that went into my mouth has been replaced by a growing fondness for anything with a Hershey’s chocolate logo emblazoned on it.
As of right now my burrito to gym ratio is roughly 475 to 1.
While I normally wouldn’t dwell on such a thing, I find myself getting soft in areas that were once fairly compact. I’m long past some illusion of perfection in a size six, given that it is virtually impossible for me to achieve such without shaving off large amounts of bone. And thankfully I am in complete proportion and when I gain weight back it starts off at the top (which explains why someone can now throw quarters down my cleavage if they so desired) and then goes down. So despite my ever present hankering for a vegetarian bbq “chicken” burrito, I can still fit into my pants and then remove them without unbuttoning, which is surely a good sign.
Despite that I still feel…I don’t know…funny. Possibly because I’m full of potatoes in various forms instead of the once ubiquitous omega-3’s. I just feel ’squishy’ in a way that’s making me itch for a 45 minute session on an elliptical and an abdominal workout that makes me feel like someone just punched me with brass knuckles in my obliques. I have fallen off the workout wagon and right now, instead of craving more Parmesan truffle French fries, I’m craving getting up at 5:30 in the morning and having sweat pouring out of every orifice. I’m craving salmon and peas and cauliflower and a big ass salad covered in balsamic vinegar.
I’m currently on a plane to Los Angeles for a mini-holiday where I will not mention work or congress or Washington, DC or veto. I will probably eat a disgusting amount of carbohydrates and subsequently feel bad about it. I’m putting this in writing in order to hold myself to my oft ambiguous and lofty promises; upon my return I am rejoining my gym. I’m going to eat an excessive amount of peas (I really, really like peas) and in six weeks, I’ll once again be able to comfortably visit Anthropologie without feeling like my ass will knock over a display of cashmere hoodies.
Suebob says:
You’re in LA? Llamame, woman. Email and I will send you my number.
Mrs. Flinger says:
I’m nodding to the disgusting amount of carbohydrates and willing myself to not “throw in the towel” this weekend. But with your schedule? Holy hell, woman. I’d never do as well as you.
Lena says:
I shall bring my roll of quarters to bounce off your ass anyway.
Marie D. says:
Routine is my middle name, I looooove it but right now I am in the same situation with lots of work and travelling. And as I avoid foreign cuisine due to various food allergies I end up eating cookies and pringles for dinner in my room, I think I’ll soon bee unable to only hear those words, I’d looooooove salad or mashed potatoes.
Jay says:
You know what? You could feel bad about it - or you could just enjoy it for what it is. Life is short.
Abigail says:
Psh, wagons are for pussies.
Angella says:
I relate to this post. I am so routine it is PAINFUL. If I’m off my routine, life is not good for me or those around me.
Short spurts are fine, but lengthy aversions from routine can be dangerous to my health…and to the health of those around me.
Have fun in LA! Wish I could come too
becky says:
girl, give me details about when you’ll be in san diego - i didn’t know you were headed this way after paris.
metalia says:
I clearly missed the point, because all I can focus on is the parmesan truffle french fries.
Have a great trip!
alyndabear says:
Oh Heather, this post speaks to me personally, because if you bounced a quarter near my ass, you would never ever see it again.
And squishy doesn’t even begin to describe it. I need my routines back too! Gah!
Anna says:
Maybe all this extra butt I’m carrying around is actually quarters people have attempted to bounce that have ended up getting stuck. Never to be seen again.
Also? I hear you on the peas. Sometimes I’ll just eat a big bowl of them for dinner. My family thinks I’m crazy.