For you, the dress code is casual.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Another Day, Another Donut -- Not.

Well, The Biggest Loser is down to one last week. Four finalists will be vying for the crown and a quarter-million dollars. My favourite, the guy that wanted to give up in the first couple weeks and who would cuss and practically cry when it got hard, has now lost 124 pounds. His trainer gave him a real talking to in week six, and that changed everything. I'm betting on him for the endgame, though. He deserves it thus far.

Me, I'm doing what I gotta do. My diet's not what I'd like it to be, I've been eating too much, but that's status quo, really. It hasn't gotten worse, it just hasn't gotten better. But that's all right. I'm exercising. That's the key. Diet will come. The great blizzard was a bitch for food shopping (and cleaning out the pantry before, thanks to those moths, that didn't help matters much!) and I'm just catching up now.

I need to exercise more. I'm taking it up a notch. I'm running the steps in the apartment building six times a morning, but I need to do it regularly. (I'm just starting to do it daily.) I've begun doing squats against the wall and plan to start doing some free weights in a few minutes.

Tell ya, though, the little I have been doing with the stairs is already making a difference in my endurance. If there's one thing I've hated about my body, apart from the weight, it's the fact that I've always felt lopsided ever since my accidents. One hip always rolls forward, and it makes me feel off-centre (if not flat-out in pain).

THAT seems to finally be fixing itself with this stairclimbing. Cycling never helped it, walking never helped it. Running up the apartment stairs? Helping! I dunno what it is, maybe it has to do with the fact that I have to use my core on the stairs. Hmm. Whatever, I'll take that.

And no, I have no weight numbers for you. I don't believe in that shit. I know what my max weight was, I know what my lowest weight in the last couple of years has been, and I know I'm not there. Whatever I lose to that point doesn't matter. If my clothes fit well and I see a sparkle in my eyes and my cheekbones start becoming more prominent, then that's all that matters. Fuck numbers. I'm fixing myself from the inside out and vice versa, and I'll know when I'm done.

And as long as I have this semi-stiff, semi-sore-all-over kind of feeling I have now, I'll know I'm on the road to that point. I have confidence in myself that I've never had before, though, and that's something.

So, time for some weights and Oprah, then a bath, then bed.