The Peak Condition Project - Shivani

The Ripped Lady Sings! And Poses!

2010-04-16T08:04:00.000-07:00

Patrick sent us a final email yesterday (say it ain't so! I'm tearing up here!). As usual, it was chock full of instructions and diagrams and motivational words - this time for maintaining our new selves. Four words from his message are now officially burned into my consciousness, and they will be my mantra when my mind spirals into the dark tunnel of body/weight/food anxiety: you are at last free.

Free from what, you ask? Vegetables? Pull-ups? Daily grocery store trips that make other shoppers wonder if you're preparing for a natural disaster? No way, dude (that shall continue).

I'm finally free from the vicious cyclone of yo-yo dieting, yo-yo exercising, and losing myself in the twisted matrix of nutrition myths and fitness distortions that have done little for my mind/body health over the last 15 years. Most importantly, I've been liberated from that part of me that doubted I had this kind of strength and discipline. Later on, self-doubt. See. You. Lay. Ter. Liberdade!

Over these last few days, along with soaking in the congrats and high-fives, I've been processing my PCP-induced mental makeover. This incredible 90-day learning, re-learning, trusting in the process process reminds me of another time my brain was rocked and my soul revolutionized (this is going to be a long one, INDULGE ME already)....

Awhile back I took an intensive fiction workshop with my favorite author, Junot Díaz. I came into the workshop with a very expensive degree from a "fine" institution, and a body of work I'd been struggling with for years. In the five days I spent with this storytelling master, I learned more than I had in my two years of graduate school. At the end of the class, I had a book full of notes and a sense that I’d emerged from a dark cave and seen sunshine for the first time in years. Finally, I possessed the tools to begin revising. I had instructions! I had diagrams! I had a coach!

Of course, the sense of empowerment that accompanied this newly acquired foundation came with an enormous resentment towards my former educational institution, which I was certain had failed me (for a pretty hefty ass price tag). I imagined what I could have accomplished HAD I ONLY KNOWN what Junot showed me earlier. I’d have like, 60 books by now. Okay, 6. Okay, at least one? The point is, my discoveries confirmed earlier suspicions that I'd been cheated. Bamboozled by my university.

This is how I felt at some points during PCP, and rather extremely. I started this project 100% confident that I'd get a new body (I'd done "programs" plenty of times!). I figured that PCP's structure and emphasis on accountability (two words: weekly photos. How can you cheat when the world is watching?) would be most responsible for getting me where I wanted to be.

I had no idea that I was going to be completely re-educated about how to eat, and that my thoughts would do much of the work to reshape me (and KEEP ME peaky). I didn't realize that meditation would play such a huge part in my success. When I first started noticing the benefits of PCP (loose pants, clearer skin, an end to PMS, reduced perspiration - I suffer from a super embarrassing condition called palmar hyperhidrosis which has made some exercises off-limits - I mean, it's hard to do handstands when you're sliding in your own sweat) I went a little wild with my discoveries; I was over-the-top zealous. Patrick is the shaman! Let's start a PCP cult! Die Crunch Gym!!

Now, rather than start a new religion or dwell on what I could have been doing, eating, spending money on, and thinking all these years when I thought I was being “healthy” here’s what I AM doing now that I'm finally on the righteous path…

1. Loving this body at any size.

2. Loving it enough to make the necessary changes to turn it into a frickin’ powerhouse when it needs a boost.

3. Eating bread (salt-free, mostly). And pasta. And rice. And bread.

4. Realizing that Grey Goose and Ben and Jerry will not make problems disappear. Self-discipline and caring for yourself can, in time...

5. Understanding that I can change decade-long habits and thought processes – I only have to look inside (and at our photostreams – dang!)

6. Accepting that I wasn't born peaky, and that having to work my ass off DOES make me stronger.

7. Sleeping 8 hours a day. Oh the glory! The glory!

8. Making time for the activities that keep me sane and happy: writing, dancing, boxing, yoga, capoeira

9. Moving on with a healthy mind when I make less than stellar food choices

10. Listing my accomplishments without feeling like an ego-inflated narcissist. Go on people, be PROUD!

And oh yeah, working on some new moves!

To all the ladies out there, forget all the time you’ve spent punishing yourself for what you ate or how many minutes you didn’t spend on the treadmill, or how unfair it is that your friend can eat XYZ without gaining an ounce. Don't waste another second. Instead, retrain your brain to crave self-love. Once you realize you're worthy of your best life, your best body, your best soul, you'll do pretty much anything to achieve it.

Finally, before the ripped lady sings, I must thank the academy; specifically, my sister. For cheering me on while I made the kitchen smell like a wharf and scattered vegetable bits to and fro. For, after finding me passed out on the couch, gently demanded, DID YOU JUMP YET? You could have eaten chips everyday, but you didn’t. You didn’t have to apologize for bringing ice cream home, but you did. I know it was hard to watch me throw tantrums (and egg shells) and I owe you big time (I’ll repay you with ab sets!!). You and Rumi are both right: "The cure for pain is in the pain."

Patrick! You are an amazing teacher who inspires me to show the same care and dedication to my own students. The greatest gift you gave us was teaching us to train ourselves. Thank you for the constant guidance, patience, and oh yeah, ass-kicking!

Chen! The Oz behind our meals! Thank you for the carbohydrates, for keeping me running on high-performance-fuel all day long, and for helping me realize that I love morning vegetables and the occasional splattering of animal protein in my omelet. Thanks to you I got to experience the happy meals I’ve been craving forever!

My team! You guys rocked it! Thanks for your honesty, inspiration, and encouragement! Good luck as you continue on this adventure.

Now that the smiley stuff is out of the way, those on their way to the Peak know that this journey is a killer. And lonely. The 90-day climb is both fast and painfully slow, mind-boggling and breezy. And while we're all up here thanking the academy, there were moments we considered (and exercised) reckless rebellion against it.

You will feel very, very isolated in this process. You will make people around you uncomfortable and skeptical and annoyed. But in these moments of solitude, you'll make your greatest discoveries, like Buddha under the Bodhi tree. So don't be afraid of finding out what you are underneath it all...because IT'S HELLA FUN TO SHOW OFF!!

I've talked enough, so I'll leave it to my girl to have the last words. The wait is OVA! PAR-TAY!!

-ella, -ella, eh eh eh...

Day 90 - Open Up Your BADASS CHAKRA

2010-04-14T18:28:00.000-07:00

That's what I'm talking about. Day 90!!!!! I decided to do my badass/triumphant/queen of the world pose, though I'm not quite ready to impart "final" thoughts, just day 90 thoughts. Which means, lucky reader, that you can expect at least one more heart-wrenching, (Brazilian) poetic wax before this baby is officially complete...

But here's how I feel now...

On the brink of something. On the edge as opposed to the peak. Amazing, but emotional (what's with me and the beginnings and ends of things?).

This morning I woke up like it was Christmas - excited as hell and ready to see what was waiting for me (under my clothes, perhaps?). I roused my faithful photographer to take some pics, and weighed myself with a bit of trepidation. That was a bit of a shocker. According to the powers that be I've lost 10 LBS!! Hell yeah!

I happily ate up my PCP breakfast, lunch, and snacks, and reworked part of my oh-so neglected novel for the night's reading. As I re-visited this other enormous, life-changing project of mine, I tried to imagine what the rest of my world would be like if I applied PCP-esque discipline to the parts I'd like to make over.

I wonder if I can design and adhere to a strict program to accomplish my creative pursuits. Can't I be as disciplined with the way I write as I was with measuring grams and reps? Something I'll reflect on in the next few days. Like, maybe I'll start setting daily word quotas for myself. And pages. And restrict my intake of television.

As for today's workout, I chose Lucky Number 13. Yeah yeah yeah. It was as you expected - hella easy!! I will say that the shoulder raises were not effortless. And that I still love me some lunges...but what a frickin' hoot it was to see how far we've come. Patrick is a genius that way, raising things ever so slightly, until before you know it you're going beyond (and then WAY beyond) your imagined, self-imposed limits.

To celebrate this beginning/end, I had a bit of wine. I mean, a bit. Within just a few sips I was flushed and drowsy. I came home and ate what I will now and forever call the PCP smorgasbard mush - comprised of the excess remnants of the meals of PCPs past. I'm talking about those protein and carb grams that exceed a particular meal's allotment and thus get shoved off the scale and into tupperware or baggies or foil until you need them later. So, now you can see why I never took pics of my food (because most of the time, it looked like this):

Bfore I pass out, let's do a little retrospective...I'VE BEEN SO WAITING TO DO THIS.
Here's me on Day 1...

......and here's me now:

I'm thrilled, elated, proud, and suddenly, exhausted.

Before I pass out I want to say CONGRATULATIONS to my dope, killer, kickass team, and send some huge hugs to Patrick and Chen across the Pacific. Hi-five ya'll! More to come!

Day 89 - One day more....

2010-04-13T17:14:00.000-07:00

...used to be my favorite song from Les Miserable. Remember when Jean Valjean gets on the stage and just BUSTS out? "One day more, another day, another destiny..." And then he announces that he's actually an ex-con, number (sing it with me now, people) "2-4-6-0-11111111111!!!" So cathartic.

So, I'm not an ex-convict, but I must confess that I've been on edge just thinking about numbers. Specifically, that dreaded one which will reveal the exact nature of my heaviness, or lightness.

Yes, we have to weigh ourselves tomorrow, and I'm not exactly thrilled about it. What if I only lost, like, three pounds? But maybe I need to stop giving the number so much weight, since weight ain't nothing but a number, right?

As for the workout today, let's just say I saw a bright white light in the fourth set of the bicep/tricep/shoulder combo. The shoulders were on fire. I told God I was ready, saw my life flash before the sweat droplets on the floor.

To make matters worse I think I'm fighting off a flu, so I had to pull the strength from...actually I don't know from where it came! Which one of you chakras is responsible? I mean, where do women get their mojo when they give birth? Some holy place deep inside? Is that what they call the "life force"? If that's the case, then I'm officially ready to have twins...

Afterwards, I was in so much pain that when I made my way to my yoga mat like a zombie, the ab sets felt like a relief. After a g-chat break with Patrick, I even had a bit of strength for 8 minute abs!

I'm so fribbin' excited for tomorrow, Day 90! What am I going to wear?

Day 88 - So Emotional

2010-04-12T15:38:00.000-07:00

I feel you, Whitney-girl.

Today I broke down in the middle of my ab workout. I mean, I actually sobbed a little. My body felt like a seesaw as I tried to modify the v-sit (every time I write that, BTW, I write "V-shit"). And you know how I feel about the plank. My body was jerky and off-balance, and I felt the burn everywhere but my core: in my shoulders, neck, legs. Legs? Somewhere around set four I felt the frustration of not being able to do these right, and then I was frustrated with my frustration. I'm starting to see a pattern here.

In order to spread a little sunshine on my otherwise bleak day, I've decided to make a list of things I've accomplished over these last 88 days. To be honest, this feels a bit awkward because I was raised to be overly modest. I'm much more familiar with berating (as opposed to and boosting) myself.

But not today, folks! Here are the things I'm frickin' proud of:

1. I met this challenge during one of the busiest, coldest, craziest 90 days of my life.

2. I went down two jean sizes!

3. I can finally do this pose (pictures to come when my photographer comes home):

4. I bared my mid-drift to the world

5. I learned how to have fun sans alcohol

6. I learned how to relax sans alcohol

7. I learned how to be honest sans alcohol

8. I'm celebrating Day 90 SANS ALCOHOL (instead I'll be reading from my novel-in-progress at an art exhibition in Brooklyn)

9. I went from breathless at 400 jumps to 23 minutes of continuous, joyful, energetic jumping!

10. I can sit up straight without being told

I'm sure there's more, but I gotta save something for the finale!

Hope you're all feeling this accomplished!

Day 87 - Workout Loner

2010-04-11T17:52:00.001-07:00

I was totally dreading this week's homework assignment, but finally I made it went to the gym today, for pilates. The bruise on my tailbone has made the v-sits and bicycles a bit painful (and hard to maneuver with the extra padding of a towel or mat), so I figured the lower abs needed some serious burning up before our 90 day "reveal," which is THREE DAYS away. I feel super nervous just writing that, the way I did 17 years ago, right before prom. I'd bought a super tight dress (and girdle) and remember doing plies all night long, til my thighs were on fire. The desperate last minute didn't work very well.

Anyway.

While I waited for pilates class to start, I ran on the treadmill next to a friend I hadn't seen since the start of the project. She asked about how things were winding down, and I admitted that I wished I could have accomplished more (a pull-up, for example, 5 sets of 1 minute 45 second planks). Being a capoeira instructor-gymnast-superwoman, she reassured me that these 90 days were only the start of a life-long project. Totally! I'm so geared up for more. There are so many things I want to accomplish now that this amazing foundation has been laid.

So, normally, pilates kills me. 90 days ago I would have left class with a stiff neck and aching lower back. But today I felt much stronger, much more controlled than I ever have. I didn't experience anything particularly negative at Crunch (mean trainer tried to make eye contact but I breezed past him and did some chest dips), though I did realize how much I love working out alone.

The noise of the gym (those treadmills! the whirring! How did I ever tolerate it?), the misogynistic tunes, having to wait for machines, the mean girls, the slimy dudes, the lack of space on the mats where I was itching to do my abs - it all annoyed me. I missed having control over my environment, down to the lighting and temperature (you gotta set the mood, dude!), blasting my playlist, and, most importantly, exercising my god-given right to wear stinky gym clothes three days in a row! Ok, not three days, but you know. Somedays I like to get my Olivia Newton John on, headband and all.

While sweating it out solo is definitely more convenient, I have to say that I do miss the opportunity to gab with my girlies at hot yoga or catch up with old friends (as we kick and attack each other!) at capoeira. Still, Patrick's email about being alone while we feel the burn made a lot of sense to me. Number one, being around people as I exercise can make me too self-conscious to perform my moves effectively. Secondly, the distractions (even friendly, soothing ones) really do divert attention away from what we're trying to accomplish with and for our bodies...

It's funny how "alone" so many of us have felt during this project, even while having access to an amazing community to share stories with everyday.

On that note, I'm using the power of the blog to send my group a huge, sweaty, muskley virtual hug! Can you feel it?

Day 86 - Saturday Night Nerd Out

2010-04-10T17:39:00.000-07:00

I heart the master sets! Instead of repeating the same darn thing 5 times, this stuff is change I can believe in.

My workout felt faster and more effective today. Even the jumps. Just as I hit "Don't Stop the Music" on my playlist, the second 9-minute jumping set was over, and I was like hell no! I've started incorporating a little booty shake in my jump routine (makes me feel like I'm in da club) so I was definitely not ready to let go. Please don't stop the jumpin'. I kept going, not for very long, but I made it through two Lil' Kim songs. Wonder where she is now...

Other than that, I'm debating whether or not to venture out into the big bad world of Saturday night (Holyfield fight tonight! Cuba libres and chicken wings!) and dodge temptation, just to prove that I can. Or maybe we should just stay home, nerd out, make yogurt and watch The Cove. I don't think it gets more wholesome than that..

10 minutes later: I've abandoned Project Yogurt to Google the following:

1. breast shrinking weight loss
2. TMJ and diet
3. banana soup (actually, this stuff is pretty bomb)
4. women stress bellyfat

Still debating whether to put on the pajamas or the new skinny jeans...good night ya'll!

Day 84 - Bye, bye Joe.

2010-04-08T20:14:00.000-07:00

This is what my hands feel like. My ring, which was sliding off my finger last week, won't budge now. My stomach is bloated, even in the morning, and my face looks puffy. I know my indulgence was a little out of control, but, come on now. Excess fluid be gone already!

I'm trying to narrow down the culprit.Maybe it was the boiled shrimp I bought at the market the other day for dinner. As I ate, I knew something was wrong, but this was the Cranky Starving Day From Hell so I kept going. Sure enough, after I checked the package I saw "salt" listed under the ingredients, along with some other weird chemicals. I threw the rest of the pack out and felt nasty all night. But that was two days ago.

So let's be real. It's probably the coffee. Right? I did some research and couldn't figure out if it's the caffeine or the actual coffee that leads to water retention...just as an experiment, I'm going to try and keep it to one cup a day, and replace the afternoon cups with green tea. The coffee addiction costs too much anyway, throws my milk grams off, and dries my mouth out. And most importantly, it doesn't alleviate the pain/misery of whatever I'm doing to crave it in the first place!

So, bye bye Afternoon Joe (Morning, you're still mine). We've had some good times. I'll always love you. Let's be friends, though, k? XOXO

Day 83 - 8 minute legs. Who knew?

2010-04-07T17:17:00.000-07:00

I kind of love this video (where can I get that wrestling suit?) which I stumbled upon after 8 minute abs. It reminds me of a Buns of Steel videotape I had in college, way back in the 90's. Yeah, I said videotape. I might have played it on a Betamax in my dorm lounge, every week after watching Beverly Hills, 90210....the Shannen Doherty version.

I remember the episode in which Kelly Taylor gets addicted to diet pills. I'll admit, I tried those crazy things in the 8th grade. All they did was make me want to puke - though they did help me stay up to write a paper on The Glass Menagerie.

Which reminds me of how much I've always wanted to change my body, superficially. I might have told my group this, or blogged about this 86 times (sorry if this is turning into an episode of group therapy, but I've been flashing back to a lifetime of body issues for 83 days now, so hear a sister out!), but I think I've been hatin' on my shape since the age of 13. And yeah, I like my new stomach and the fact that I had to buy new jeans, and the affirmations that are coming from folks all around, but most importantly, I can't believe some of the changes that are going on inside.

If I shrink, swell, loosen, tighten, I'm quite sure I can handle it now. Without a stupid pack of caffeine pills and oh, that useless gym membership...which reminds me of our homework, which I'm putting off because of The Un-trained Trainers.

Since that lousy episode in which I was told I was basically an unfit lumplump, two more Crunch gym fitness "professionals" have tried to point out my various flaws and make useless conversation as I worked out at their establishment.

As per Crunch Laws, April is my final month, so I'll be back to complete Patrick's assignment. Untrained Trainer better recognized because this time, I'm fully armed!

Peace out!

Day 82 - Exorcise my Inner Ozzy, por favor

2010-04-06T16:57:00.000-07:00

This pretty much illustrates how I felt when I got home today. I was running on empty. I was a starving, stark raving mad woman. As I peeled my pre-workout banana, my hands trembled.

I'd eaten breakfast at 6, consumed an egg white and 140 grams of pear around 1, and some coffee...then nothing until about 7 p.m. A nervous day at work left no time to nosh. I used to be able to pull off days like this, but no longer. I get dizzy, I lose motor skills. At school, I couldn't write the letter "b." I kept spelling "abrupt" ADRUPT. In class, I said "conventionable" instead of conventional about three times. It wasn't very funny, not with a senior faculty in the room, watching me fumble.

However, I feel super energized post workout. I think I've successfully failed the shoulders. My abs trembled through the v-sits, and I had to stop due to a bruise on my tailbone. So I threw in some pilates moves (in lieu of 8 minute abs). Here are some of my faves:

The corkscrew...

Scissors....

and this glute toning bad boy...

Day 81 - Repenting

2010-04-05T06:13:00.000-07:00

The ressaca (hangover) lingers...

Last night I continued to be a wreck on the couch, struggling through the grading of 100 papers (not an exaggeration). The lethargy and depression just intensified as the day went on, so I decided to meditate.

As I sat in silent stillness, I listened to this stream of negative thoughts: "You suck! Why'd you have to get so sloppy?" and the justifications for why I felt I needed to drink: "Everyone else is drinking! You're a better dancer when you're drunk!"

Somewhere, in the quiet barrage, I found something positive. A few months ago I would have treated the deadbeat Sunday afternoon as any other, totally unconscious of the damage I'd just done to myself. So I suppose there is some light at the end of my hurting liver.

At around midnight, determined to fight off the nausea and guilt with a good sweat, I changed into shorts and put on my sneakers . But my rope only made it over me a handful of times. I kept tripping, and could barely keep my body in a straight line (the hangover is a total posture buster!). So I'll continue with day 80's sets today, and catch up with ya'll on Thursday.

I'm a bit bummed to have this kind of day so close to the end. I miss the clean, tight, refreshed feeling I normally have on a PCP morning.

I didn't expect to have this strong of a reaction to the indulgence, which I hope is sign that I have actually changed!

Day 80 - Indulgin'

2010-04-04T12:03:00.000-07:00

The third and final indulgence started off well. With plans to eat out at my fave Mexican spot, I had intended to combine an outrageously rich meal with some killer cocktails. But then the restaurant plan was thwarted, and I decided to postpone the whole burrito fest.

Still, as I was getting my Saturday night swerve on, I was itching to indulge, just like the old days. So I had a drink, then another. The alcohol (in the form of what I used to consider the virtuous vodka soda) hit me like a ton o' bricks. It was fun though. It had been so long since I'd been out. I danced, I sang, I pretended I was 20, and had no regrets until I woke up this morning, looking and feeling like this guy:

Minus the sword. Seriously. My neck was stiff, my knee ached, my skin looked sallow and parched, and my throat felt scratchy, like I'd smoked 1000 cigarettes (though I'm pretty sure I was nowhere near a cigarette the entire night. One never knows). My hair smelled like smoke and yoga mat, a nice combo I'm sure my dancing partner enjoyed inhaling.

The hangover put me in the perfect mood to devour something rich and carby. I was dehydrated beyond belief, like a piece of jerky; yet, with no desire to drink water, I inhaled a few of these:
Onto the burrito. As maybe you've guessed, it wasn't as dope as I thought it would be. Number one, despite my intention to be calm and collected over the decision making process, I was a confused, thirsty mess as I tried to figure out which craving to satisfy. This time, it was my sister who bore the brunt of yet another endless morning of vacillation - brunch? Mexican? Pizza? Ice Cream? All of the above?.

The woman has been a pillar of patience, encouragement and strength these last 80 days - cheering me through planks, holding down rickety chairs so that I can do chest dips, tolerating the trembling floor as I jump rope...the PCP partners and family members out there know the deal. Gold stars for you all!

Since our grumbling, hungover bellies couldn't wait for my favorite burrito spot to open, we were forced into a bourgeois establishment called Lobo. The waiter was pretty awful (snooty service I do NOT miss) and though the chips were deliciously salty and fried, the burrito was anti-climactic. I finished most of the greens before digging into the bean-cheese-chicken monster, and left a bit of it on the plate. This was a first. Normally, I polish off burritos that weigh as much as a newborn.

The best part of the indulgence was hanging with my sister, and not having to wash or scrub or chop a damn thing. LIBERATION! I felt like screaming as I paid the bill. Released from the responsibilities of having to check ingredients or measure grams or clean up the kitchen, I could focus on the food, the flavors...it all seemed so exotic to me after 80 days of being away.

For dessert, we shared this fat-free frozen treat :

Again, the yogurt was meh - more akin to mashed up, swirled Fudgesicles than the ice cream impostor I used to revere it as. I can't believe I used to go ape-shit for this stuff!

The number one post-indulgence bummer is my energy level right now. It's a beautiful day, and all I want to do after that night out and fatty meal is SLEEP! My lids are leaden. Where is the energy to run and jump and pull things?? I hope it comes back tonight, because this week's workouts have been killer! Patick's right though - a lot can change in 10 days, and I'm excited to see where we will be next Thursday...only time and egg whites will tell...

Why are my feet on fire??

2010-04-01T16:50:00.000-07:00

It's Spring here in da city. New Yorkers are cuckoo for cocoa puffs about coming out of hibernation. As soon as the barometer creeps past 60 they strip down to tank tops and linger on sidewalk wicker furniture at fancy French restaurants, eating mussels and downing Pinto Grigio and what not. Oh, and did I mention there's a bar with an outside patio directly under my apartment? And, that I have a tab there (free drinks if you're my bff!)?

Talk about resisting temptation.

So instead of heading downstairs for mojitos, I'm going to blog about my weird foot pain (and be super stoked about it!).

Seriously. Today I took advantage of the gorgeous weather by going on my Prospect Park run. I heart Prospect Park. I was in a bomb-ass mood. Super happy about the fact that I'd gotten some writing in today. There was no hint of the rage that overcame me the last time I was here.

The final leg of this run is uphill, and normally I struggle to sprint through the finish. Today it was easier, pleasant even. I kind of hoped the run would keep going. In my head, I heard Chariots of Fire. Actually it was Rihanna, but you know...

All of a sudden, this burning, stabbing, electric-shock like sensation erupted between my toes. It felt as though poppers were exploding in my New Balances. I had to pull over, thump my feet against the curb, and curse a bit. I kept going, but the pain continued. And now, hours later, after a bath, some stretching, and serious grilling of veggies (the grilled Okinawan sweet potato is the PCP french fry), my toes still tingle. Like they're about to go numb.

I'm going to resist WedMDing myself to death (last time I did that, I thought I had a ondontogenic cyst in my mouth). But I hope this needle-like drama will pass.

Anyone else having firey feet?

Workin' the plank: good things come to those who Google.

2010-03-31T16:18:00.000-07:00

As I sprint to the "finish line" of this project (dude, I'm only getting started!), I'm taking a more serious approach to the exercises I still can't complete. Specifically, I'm talking about my personal favorite: the FIVE sets of 90-SECOND planks. For some of you lucky hardcore crazy people, this ab-rocking task is easy. You are all my heroes.

Literally, you are heroes. I did some research. Fire fighters who train at the Mississippi Fire Academy only perform the plank pose in 30-second intervals. Which means that we should all be climbing up and down poles on day 90. And rescuing people and cats from the flames. Like this hottie:

Yesterday I approached plank with a smile. I told myself this move was not going to conquer me. I did the slow breathing, I went to my happy place, which for me is this plank-like spot where I spent many a wonderful hour (a dock on the island of Itaparica, in Bahia, Brazil):

I counted some crumbs on my rug and tried to focus on the E! True Hollywood Story about NBA wives or something. During my third set, I felt pain in my shoulders and neck. I figured this was not where I should be feeling the burn (since my "core" wanted more). I slid backward and forward on my toes, trying to adjust, but that only caused my lower back to ache.

I took a break and Googled (that internet thing is so cool) and found this awesome article on how to plank.

Some of the author's many insightful tips about maintaining the correct posture during the pose include connecting the abs "in and up" (is that what the Pilates teacher means when she says "pull the belly button towards the spine"?), rotating the inner elbows forward, pulling the shoulders away from the ears, and softening the "creases in the ankles." It sounded a bit abstract at first, but I made the modifications and felt my lower abs fully engaged. Additionally, the tension in my neck, shoulders, and back eased up.

In other news, the indulgence is here and I'm going to try and not over think it this time. Though I would love it if my boyfriend cooked me a lavish organic-local- free-range-grass-fed meal. With ice cream. BABE. Are you listening?

Or maybe I'll just drink all 1000 calories and go sing karaoke. Kidding! I can't imagine what my tolerance for alcohol is like now (and how much cheaper it's going to be to get tipsy when this is over!).

Perfectly Imperfect

2010-03-28T13:57:00.000-07:00

So, what the hell is perfection anyway?

Patrick sent us an email about how we might start developing unhealthy thoughts about our bodies at this point in our journey, despite the drastic changes. We start to get greedy for improvements. We want MORE MORE MORE! Um, hello. My name is Shivani, and I'm addicted to destructive self-criticism.

Whether I'm writing, teaching, loving, or cooking, I'll find something to berate myself about til the egg whites come home. So, it came as no surprise last week when I started grumbling at the lack of perfection in my arms, abs, and thighs. I'd grab at the bit of flesh on the side of my stomach or below the belly, or pinch that hint of a waddle under my arm, wishing it would all just melt away like this misunderstood evil one:

Today, I hit a new low in the self-loathing department. The hours of dissatisfaction (this is what happens when I start working, then take breaks to stare at myself in the mirror like a true narcissist and shake my waddle and blow out my stomach and ask god why I was born with dimply knees) made me want to overeat, which I did. I ate too much bread at lunch, and no, my stomach didn't rebel. It was happy and comforted and super self-righteous (you deserve the extra carb grams woman! You baked a pretty dope spelt and coconut flour loaf, after all!).

And now, rather than spiraling into a tunnel of self-hate, I'm trying to stay positive and remind myself that tomorrow is another day!

On the exercise front, today was much better. My workout felt longer because I did each movement a tad slower in order to work the right muscles. I finally paid more attention to the photo captions that indicate which muscles we're supposed to target (better late than never).

I felt re-inspired when I came across a quote from my favorite writer, Junot Díaz (the PEAKIEST of all writers). I think what he says about writing applies to what we're trying to do here (just substitute "writer" with "peaker"):

"..in my view a writer is a writer not because she writes well and easily, because she has amazing talent, because everything she does is golden. In my view a writer is a writer because even when there is no hope, even when nothing you do shows any sign of promise, you keep writing anyway."

Even in our darkest hour, we keep peaking! Go on team! We're almost there.

Setenta!

2010-03-26T08:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked Day 70. For once, I'm at a loss for words. I can't even be sarcastic or funny right now. I'm like, hella serious and hyperaware. I finally see and feel and BELIEVE the changes in my body (and we're not even done!). I've got little to say, though I feel reflective and illuminated with all we have learned, sort of like this "halo" tape I'll use next time I'm on the back of a motorcycle:

Patrick says I'm in the ZONE. Here's the closest I ever got to that elusive Bermuda triangle of serenity, strength, and habit:

For the first time, I believe that this body is really mine (as opposed to PCP's Frankenstein) and that these muscles aren't part of an art project that I'll take apart, recycle, or destroy at the end of 90 days.

For the first time, I can't wait to get home to my jump rope. Sometimes I don't want the jumping to end, and then I can't believe that I've gotten to that point. Will this feeling last long? Will I lose the eye of the tiger? And then I have to remind myself to calm down, stop spazzin'. Accept and enjoy this phase, and don't worry about if and when it's going to fade.

What I still need help with: the plank. I don't know how to get through this one without quivering and panicking. I find it hard to distract myself while staring at the floor. Does anyone have any special strategies for this MONSTER ab sculptor? Cuz' next time I go home, I've got to do this:

Gone in 60 Seconds: You Are How You Eat

2010-03-22T16:34:00.000-07:00

So, foodwise I've been pretty much havin' a blast here on PCP (I know, Patrick, it's gonna get rough!). But so far, this beats any plan I've ever been on. Veggies? Sky's the limit! Carbs? Choose complexly! Fruit? Strawberries are the new bonbons, and a grilled banana now rivals the cookie in my heart.

However, the manner in which I consume my dainty, ladylike portions is pretty atrocious. I can blame it on my skull-crushing schedule, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm capable of scarfing down 180 grams of couscous in, say, 60 seconds. Faster than you can hold plank or finish one set of those ass-kicking bicycles!

I fling egg whites into my mouth while hacking up veggies and heating up the Foreman grill, and type emails with one hand and tear apart steamed broccoli stalks with the other. Last night I ate my yogurt "treat" straight out of the ml measuring cup while finishing up some reading for class. I know, I know. Can I get some ambiance people? Or, at the very least, a doily?

In honor of my indigestion and sleep-deprived insane brain, I have some new goals this week. Namely, to take time out and concentrate on the sensual experience of eating (egg whites need love, too). Heather's food always looks so elegant and gorgeous, and though my work schedule doesn't allow for candlelight, place mats, or even more than 20 minutes of lunch breakin', I'm going to try to make the best of my tupperware meals.

But anyway, good times ahead. Spring Break! I may not be going to Cancun but I'm really looking forward to a more restful last leg.

Hope the rest of you are going strong!

Anger Management

2010-03-19T14:13:00.000-07:00

After my last post, Patrick suggested that I watch my thoughts. I'm watching, and they don't look very good.

I'm ashamed of the things that have been running through my mind, if only as lightening bolts of negativity, toxic flickers. Some of my cruel sentiments were directed at this kid who kept banging into my basket with a plastic sword at the co-op. Then he started hitting my leg with it (ok, not hitting, but aggressively tapping), while his mom watched the whole thing before finally deciding to try her hand at, I dunno, DISCIPLINE?

Then, last night as I did my exercises in front of the television (not a good idea when you're on a self-righteous, angry stint), I was shouting at the commercials, much to the dismay of my sister. I mean, does this country really need food commercials? Or drug commercials? Or diet plan/pill commercials?

My favorite ad of all time is the one in which the woman has an orgy with a piece of chocolate. Seriously Dove, Nestle, whoever you are. Thank you for sexualizing - and perhaps reinforcing the myth of - women's 'addiction' to chocolate. Would you ever show a man popping an M & M with his eyes closed, head thrown back, sighing in sugary ecstasy? Running silky fabric down his legs as one might a negligee?

Along with my rage against consumerism, the workout and I are not getting along like we used to. I seem to be getting weaker, or maybe I'm approaching the exercises with more trepidation. The scariest of all are the floor jumps. I get all nervous before I get to them (like now. Just the thought of having to perform these makes my knees ache).

So, I've decided to post some positive, inspiring images before I start jumping. Hopefully these will dilute the psycho-warrior tendencies brewing inside me...

This is what I plan to wear to the boxing gym on Day 90:

Day 62: You Know You're on PCP When...

2010-03-17T19:23:00.001-07:00

1. Pepto-bismol tastes like butterscotch, a lollilop, an ice cream cone (pictured above, Pepto ice cream, I shit you not!)

2. Your late night binge includes a raw, unpeeled carrot. If you dream hard enough, that carrot turns into a french fry

3. Your loved ones don't want to live with you anymore because the house (and you, come to think of it) smell like fish

4. At the club, those people you used to think were so dope suddenly aren't as funny or lovable anymore (Sobriety: WAKE.UP.CALL)

Seriously, back to 1. The reason I needed the Pepto was because I had a major slip up last night, and my stomach naturally declared war on me today. Thank you, stomach, for keeping me in line (literally, at the lady's room).

It all happened so fast. The day was going well. I had a great chat with Patrick and he got me all psyched about working the iliopsoa.

Liliputian, you say?

No, iliopsoa!

The magic muscle that makes life better, brought to you by the Kung Fu sit-up and the bicycle:

I went to a yoga class because I needed a good stretch, but when I came home, the prospect of the egg white, the spinach, it killed me. Luckily my yogurt had miraculously frozen in the fridge and though it wasn't Haagen Daaz, it did the trick once I mixed in some Stevia, almond extract, and cinnamon.

Everything after that is a blur of complex carbohydrates. I think the dessertiness of the yogurt set me off and suddenly I was spooning out another frozen treat, and reaching for the leftover spelt flakes from breakfast, a sweet potato, some quinoa, two pieces of bread, and two whole wheat tortillas. I inhaled it all.

Of course, as I sabotaged myself with glucose poisoning, I envisioned all the ways I would remedy the situation the next day: a six mile run! Four days worth of exercises! Fasting!

But why punish myself? I figured a better challenge would be to start today fresh, without the castigation that would lead me to relive (and perhaps recreate?) last night's downfall. I took my mutiny in the kitchen as a sign that I have to make more of an effort to make my meals, um, edible? Some new veggies perhaps?

Funnily (or obviously), the burn in my stomach made it impossible to finish today's breakfast and lunch. So, it all worked out. I didn't have to hate on myself, just LISTEN to myself.

Later, I wondered if the binge was related to my totally irregular cycle, which has apparently turned me into Raging Bull. Today, while I was running in the park, a man riding his bike whistled and waved at me. I barked back, "I hope you fall off your bike!"

I mean, I have been known to snap when provoked but I'm surprising myself with these new bursts of aggression. So what the heck is wrong? Do I need Zen or a punching bag?

Day 60: Preemptive Postpartum Depression

2010-03-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

I'm with you Lili, I'm anxious.

We only have 30 more days of this luxurious structure. 30 more days of rules, plans, planned cheating, sets, instructions, grams, scales, expert coaching, video chatting about our aches and whether Stevia is ok, whether a sweet potato is a carb or a vegetable, whether the avocado counts as a fruit or a veggie (and by the way, what does that mean for the coconut?) whether we're going to simply sniff the truffle or eat the truffle, and bloggin' it all out! All this round the clock attention and support from Patrick and each other (in lieu of salt, sugar, and oil) have really spoiled the hell out of me. So what's going to happen on Day 90, when the ripped lady sings??

I know, I know. Live in the now. Calm the monkey/mind down. I will, in five minutes. Now I'm going to let it run wild a bit, like a puppy on a leash.

I can say with confidence that on Day 91 I'm not going to bounce out of bed, toss the rope in the trash and inhale a kilo of chalupas from Taco Bell; it's really days 110 and beyond that concern me. It's a scary world out there, and without ya'll watching (I'm talking to you, oh dreaded Flickr account), will I just revert to my old bad habits: soy products, the treadmill, and self-loathing?

Yes, some of my cravings really are in the grave (a cupcake is now a cupcake, not something to fear), and I actually do love the burn brought on by the tricep dips, and I love the taste of steamed asparagus over brown rice, but...is this love or just infatuation? Will the honeymoon period, made yummier by all this reinforcement from strangers and the understanding that PCP is only temporary (a weekend getaway, a vacation fling), blossom into a full-blown marriage? Am I a Diet Player for Life, or do I have what it takes to be peaky on my own?

You've given me roots now grant me wings!

This is Why I Hate You, Gym

2010-03-11T04:53:00.000-08:00

That's not fair. It's not the gym that's the enemy of the people, it's that arrogant, self-hating "professional" who specializes in manipulating the psychologies of innocent gym members, who works tirelessly to convince the average Joe-the-Plumber gym goer that she's an out of shape idiot in need of rescue (at the bargain price of $90 an hour!). Some of you might know him as The Rude Trainer.

Last night, the two of us were introduced.

One of the reasons I headed over to Park Slope Crunch (P.S. Crunch's motto is NO JUDGMENTS. We'll see about that) was to avail myself of its pull-up bars and chest dip thingies. Those exercises weren't on yesterday's schedule, but my flimsy bar stools and door frames have made it almost impossible to complete these moves to the fullest degree. So I was playing catch up.

When I saw the pull-up bar and its many buff users, I got shy. I circled it, made eye contact, played hard to get. Finally, I made my approach, and we were face to face. I was reading the directions when a young lady kindly demonstrated how to adjust the knee pads and weights. After she finished her reps, I climbed on and struggled through a set of eight. Still suspended, I sort of felt like I was getting the hang of things when a trainer came over and offered some "help."

Now, normally I interact with trainers as I would lions. Respect their place in the animal kingdom, but don't get too close. Whatever happens, do not make eye contact. Show no fear.

But over these last few weeks, I've been committed to learning as much as I can about my body; thus, I graciously accepted Rude Trainer's unsolicited advice.

His first bit of wisdom was the suggestion to roll my shoulders back. "Cool," I said. I suppose he took my friendly smile and further inquiries about the proper posture and grip to maintain while attempting an assisted push up as license to point out each and every one of my body's flaws, and of course, how He Alone could save me from a lifetime of bad posture, flabby arms, and saggy booty. Rude Trainer's barrage of "help" included the following comments:

1. "You're in okay shape, but your posture is disgusting."

2. "You have some definition in your arms, but it has to be better. You have to impress people when you have your book tour. We're an image conscious society, you know." REALLY, FOOL?

2. "And this, the booty... (he points to my now mini globes) is sagging. We need to get it back up."

3. "Are you Indian? You should have a beautiful body, like those Bollywood actresses!"

And here I had to wonder which Bollywood actresses he was referring to, because not all Bollywood bellies are created equal. Aficianados will notice a drastic difference between pre- and post-1999 Bollywood bodies. Here's one:

And here's another. Wonder if she does kung-fu sit-ups:

And the humiliation did not end there. Rude Trainer asked me to demonstrate some more moves so that he could give me some "tips" about posture. I know that I hunch. That my chin tends to jut forward, that my spine is curvy, and that my shoulders are a tight mess. However, even if I'd come into Crunch curled together like a shrimp, would that have given him the right to be such a douchebag?

Rude Trainer, as you might imagine, did not look like this (and no one says he has to, but let's just say he was FAR, FAR, FAR from Peaky):

But it does matter. Let he who is innocent cast the first frickin' stone! And doesn't he realize we live in an image conscious society? That children would rather play with kittens than turtles (this was his analogy, I sh**t you not!)?

His "help" continued to ooze of toxic snippets, and when I tried to assert all the progress I'd made on PCP (I had the workout printed out on a sheet of paper) he insisted that the exercises were "dangerous," that he wanted to "kill" my last trainer for not teaching me how to use the row machine correctly, and that yoga would not do anything for my posture.

Are you serious?

What pisses me off about that interaction the most was not what he said, but how I reacted. I wish I had excused myself from the lecture-attack and told him, politely, that his comments were degrading, unprofessional and entirely inappropriate. And that though I'm no businesswoman, I have the sneaking suspicion that INSULTING SOMEONE ISN'T THE BEST MARKETING PLAN.

Or is it?

Instead of actually interacting with his garbage, I fumed through my ab exercises and told the receptionist I wanted to cancel my membership.

Bo-ring

2010-03-08T19:48:00.000-08:00

I hate to say it, but I'm bored. Bored of uncrispy, ungreasy spinach, broccoli, zucchini, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, and the occasional head of cabbage. Lately, I wish every vegetable entering my mouth were smothered in tempura batter.

And I'm bored of staring at the same shimmery, sea-green curtain in my living room each time I work out. I'm bored of counting reps, talking to the door (the same door) which holds my elastic band.

It's kind of depressing to jump and squat and pull, all the while staring at walls. I need a change of scenery! Mirrors that make me look like wonder woman! Gigantic flat screen TVs and reality shows in which I can lose myself (instead of find myself, perhaps, which is what seems to be happening a lot these days).

Any other PCPers out there who've started talking to themselves lately? My inner monologue is so out of control, I'm beginning to scare myself. I hear voices (sometimes Patrick's). I find myself looking at every vegetable I pass on the street, going, Oooh! What could I do with you, seasonal beauty? No produce is safe.

Another moment of boredom occurred when I had my "indulgence." That was a snooze fest and a half. I hyped it up so much in my mind. What I should have done was just "indulge" with the first thing that popped into the crave-zone/sphere of my brain come 6 p.m. on Thursday: Yogurtland.

God knows of what that stuff is made. I hope it's less fake than some of that other crazy low-cal ice cream out there, but Yogurtland too makes outrageous promises. You know, they claim a mountain of some airy chemical sweetness called Mounds Peanut Butter Fudge Nut Swirl Cake is like, 60 calories a pint or something. I'm exaggerating, but the calorie count is suspiciously low. Still, I love it! Creamy, sweet, and totally custom made.

I was all set to do it, when the inner monologue started firing away. Yogurt and fruit for your indulgence? BO-ring. Yeah, it's not boring if you smother it with piles of Butterfinger bits and Fruity Pebbles!
Instead, I planned this whole elaborate day with my boyfriend in Jackson Heights -- where I'd be strategically placed to sample any number of ethnic cuisines: Brazilian, Indian, Korean, Chinese, Thai, Malaysian, Greek...I love Queens, dude!

We chose Malaysian. I was my usual undecided self. He just laughed and talked me through all the food decision making processes: Sweet or salty (or both?). Noodle or rice? Curry or steamed? Nothing really stood out to me. I wanted to go home and think about it some more, but this wasn't an episode of Seinfeld, so I just went with something that looked enticing: a coconut curry soup that once I tasted, realized I could have made at home. The noodles were all hard and yellow - a step up from Cup O'Noodles. There was not a green insight. The thing wasn't even picture worthy.

And the protein? So skimpy. The soup contained like two shrimp and a couple shreds of chicken. The broth was an oily mess, so I tried not to slurp up too much of that. Dessert was a peanut pancake (we shared), which felt like chunky Skippy spread on a sweet tortilla with a bit of honey.

Do you feel sorry for me yet?

Therefore, I felt justified in consuming two glasses of wine and a vodka on the rocks while we watched the Oscars! And I fell asleep on the couch and thus did not complete my work out, even though my boyfriend had the pull-up bar in place, even though I was all geared up for it after my totally unworthwhile carbo-loading. I just crashed.

The morning after I had a bit of a stomache ache, a little wooziness, but not much else. I was annoyed at myself for going overboard with the drinks, but in the end, I didn't feel too much regret (maybe because I passed out before I could process).

I look at food like medicine these days, which is kind of cool and practical and liberating (not every moment has to be a sensual explosion/party in your mouth). I dutifully take in my grams without much joy (and hopefully there's a placebo effect here). Hopefully this week's dosages will serve as a "remedy" for Sunday's slip ups.

Masculine Feminine

2010-03-05T08:58:00.000-08:00

How I love thee, Godard. However, I also love my curves. I'd hate to surrender the hour-glass to the PCP. Please don't turn me into a V.

Last night I saw a friend who commented that I was loosing some of my lady lumps. That was on the heels of someone else telling me that I was "turning into a boy." Yet another friend said, "You don't want arms like Madonna, do you?"

And what if I do?

These remarks got me thinking about our exercises. I'm glad we're building strength in our shoulders, chest, and back, but do I want rippling deltoids (are we doing anything to build rippling deltoids)? Because while my bras fit more snugly around my chest, the cups droop sadly like emptied pockets.

Is there a reason men and women on this program perform the same exercises? And if we're skeptical about the omission of Olivia Newton John-type calisthenics or Windsor Pilates from our exercise sheets, does that mean we've been incorrectly trained to think that there are "feminine" strengthening moves, and consequently, exercises a woman should avoid to maintain a physique that is curvier, smaller, slimmer, and softer than a man's?

Women of the PCP - are you experiencing similar physical changes and questions?

I try not to see the world through this gender binary too much. Maybe I'm obsessed with shape since it took me about 20 years to appreciate my "pear" one. When I was younger and growing up in Hawai'i, it seemed that body beauty standards for girls enforced straighter, boyish figures. Preferably petite. Among my circle of friends, I was taller, heavier in the legs, and my derriere was, well, globular. It's only as an adult that I began to see a well-endowed bottom as an asset (thank you, J. Lo).

And it's not that I think there's anything wrong with having a gymnast's body (represented above by the beloved rectangle). Who doesn't appreciate those compact powerhouses? Still, admittedly, the last thing I want to become is "masculine."

What does that mean anyway? Standards and boxes and types and charts that tell us what we're supposed to look like are stupid right? Am I just holding myself back in an antiquated, un-feminist way, by wanting to hold onto this padding in my hips?

Fun Housin'

2010-03-03T19:55:00.001-08:00

People have been talking a lot about the positive responses their changing physiques have elicited from friends, loved ones, etc. I have to say that no one's really commented on my biceps (what's up people?), and that I myself have only noticed major changes in the upper body. It's the only part I can see in the bathroom mirror (still no full-length). I tried to check myself out in the H&M dressing room, but those mirrors are so damn distorted! Same with the gym. Sometimes the slimmifying is so over the top. And no matter where I look, the parts I've always hated still exist. How's that for destructive thinking?

I think I'm okay with not "seeing" what's going on. We do so much weighing here - of chicken breasts, broccoli, and oatmeal (that's a messy one), so I'm not interested in stepping on the scale. Yeah, I feel my belt getting looser, and oh, my sneakers basically feel like they could slide off at any moment (I'm exaggerating). Sort of.

A sign of overall weight loss? I hope! My exhausted booty nearly tripped over my super sized Saucony's as I finished today's jumps.

I'm also trying to wean myself off the four cups of coffee a day. Although I almost got hit by a bus while running across the street to the Starbucks before class (it's true, folks. Addiction will kill you). I only had three cups today, and tomorrow I'll take it down to two, and then...I'll go totally insane and you'll have to read more posts like this.

But seriously. After I read Patrick's blog post about the woman who goes to the vending machine everyday, I tried to pay attention to the moments I felt I "needed" coffee. Besides the morning cup, and the one I "needed" at 6 p.m. to keep myself awake at my desk, I noticed that I tend to crave the stuff when I'm about to tackle a task I don't like: grading papers, teaching, work meetings, reading things I don't want read but should probably read because I have to teach it. You know the drill.

Coffee makes me less miserable. Adds some sweetness to my drudgery. Which means I MUST make time for writing my novel or else I'll turn into this guy:

Until next time! Cheers.

Day 47: The Salt March

2010-03-01T18:26:00.001-08:00

Alright, Mohandas Karamchand, Mahatma, the big G. I know that whole salt thing was a big deal. Those Ungrezes and their despotic colonial project. It was a drag. And I'm glad you made it after marching 24 hours to Dandi, and that you exercised your god-given birthright to that fine Indian salt!

But did it have to make its way into everything? Seriously. I have a bone to pick with some of my ancestors and their pickling practices. Behold the Indian salsa (I can't believe I have survived 47 days without this):

I miss me some achaar, ya'll. It's been so long since I've even seen a bottle of mixed pickle! Thus I can't report its sodium content.

Oh, wait, I almost forgot about these, the beloved sodium-filled papadum.... I used to eat these for dinner (that is, when I was out of popcorn).

I've thought about my visits to the motherland so many times on this PCP journey. I'm like hey, this is how my grandmother ate! Finally I've unlocked the secret of the Drop 20 Bombay Diet - as my sisters and I used to refer to the weight loss that accompanied our childhood summer trips to India. Literally, I'd cry every time I heard my mother was forcing us across the sea, forcing us to miss exciting things like camp. Who needs the Taj Mahal when there are ropes courses, corn syrup-soaked shaved ice and boys with braces ahead?

We'd whine all the way through Narita and Bangkok, all the way to Bombay, where we'd spend a month not lifting a finger, let alone a jump rope, squealing at all the "fattening" food our aunties, uncles, aunties' friend's cousin's brother's grandma's sister's in-law's cousins forced us to eat. And I'm not talking monastery, ashram, Ayurvedic type eats. I'm talking meat kebabs, thick, stuffed breads, vegetables glistening with ghee, full fat goat's milk (the horror!). Real sugar.

Miraculously, despite the sloth and daily indulgences, we'd head back to Hawai'i 10 pounds lighter, skin brighter, hair softer, etc. etc. Sort of like what's happening to us all now (minus the fat, sugar, and salt). Maybe it had something to do with eliminating preservatives and processed foods from out diet.

Another gift from the motherland that I got to enjoy today is yoga. I love my class. It's the only reason I still have a gym membership. The room is like a womb. I surrender, open up the heart chakra. I love the teacher's voice and the way she adjusts my tight hips and wayward knees. She completes me.

The only problem was that after an hour and a half of it I had no strength for the floor jumps. My legs were shaky achy. And this after I bragged about finally finishing those guys! Anyway. Onward. I also don't have the infrastructure for the kung fu sit ups (due to weak door frames, I can't hang my pull up bar). This makes me anxious, because Patrick told me I'd love them. I would like to love them. What to do instead?

Natural Disasters

2010-02-28T07:42:00.000-08:00

This morning I opened Patrick's e-mail and wished I'd read it before I polished off those extra spoonfuls of quinoa flakes, about 50 grams over my morning allotment. Yeah, 50 grams of extra cereal probably won't bust my belt open, but it's the principle. Thanks for the reminder, Patrick. Developing consistency is an enormous challenge for me.

Guess I felt "justified" because I missed several servings of egg whites/yogurt/fruit and my dinner yesterday (And I once read that "your diet is a bank account." Yes, I tried to memorize last year's Naturally Thin).

Yesterday's appetite might have been squashed by Hawai'i tsunami-related panic, disaster-related sadness and overall feelings of powerlessness regarding the earthquake in Chile. My homesickness/mom-sicknesses/sun-sickness and bad case of island saudades died down this morning but my appetite was out of control. Hence the quinoa related indulgence.

Now onto fitness. I actually used a timer to do my planks. DAMN. Tick, tock, barf. I almost fainted after the first two sets. But I liked it! My shoulders are also in a lot of pain this week. I can't seem to raise my arms high enough during the shoulder raises, and the amount of push-ups I can do on my toes has gone down a bit. I've done hours and hours of computer work these last few days, which probably doesn't help. Any ideas on how to make your workspace more ergonomic and wrist/shoulder/neck friendly?

And, oh, SNAP. I totally forgot that this is our halfway mark! Congratulations, team! Change the lyrics here to "livin' on egg whites" for added fun.

Abs and Isolation

2010-02-25T17:40:00.000-08:00

I didn't find the 8 minute abs particularly exciting. I wanted some hardcore Pilates moves--you know, teasers, drawing circles with your toes and what not. I have this not so cute flap of skin below my belly that I'd like to part ways with, but it's got separation anxiety.

So I poked around and found some other fun things to do with my midsection, like this belly roll! Imagine rolling your new six pack around on day 90!

And, next time I go to Brazil, I'm doing these, preferably with a descendant of the Gracie family:

In other news, my muscles aren't the only things I've been isolating. You know that ridiculous anti-depressant commercial that goes, Where does depression hurt? (Oh America, I love how you try to sell us drugs and transfats at every possible interval!) Well, my depression is most definitely in my knees. The right one feels like it's on fire sometimes, and my mood is pretty much like the weather - gray and nasty.

Maybe the feelings I'd normally numb with alcohol and pad thai are surfacing and I have to let them just flow up and away like the flab and toxins. Funk be gone!

Don't Know What You Got Til It's Gone

2010-02-22T17:56:00.000-08:00

I'm talking to you, dinner carbs. Why'd you have to go and leave me?

I know we've had a rocky past - we fell in love so fast, though at times I doubted you. But things are different now. I've totally changed. COME BACK.

Alright, so I'm going a little nuts because I'm really hungry. I didn't buy enough vegetables to last me through the day so I picked this up from the Chinese restaurant down the block. I thought long and hard about inhaling the rice (no one was looking). Eventually I left it there, dejected. Forlorn.

Now I'm trying to make my milk and fruit allotment taste decadent. I boiled the milk, added some turmeric because my people say the spice is an appetite suppressant (yeah cuz it tastes like clay!). Seriously, when you combine turmeric with milk it's supposed to heal your stomach, anti-inflame, and solve all your problems or something. When my masi made it for me way back when, it was delicious (probably had something to do with the saffron, sugar, cardamom).

On top of the hunger, my muscles had zero strength today. I couldn't finish the floor jumps, and I barely made it through the shoulder raises. Maybe it's the length of my band, maybe it's me. The dips are more like dipettes -- are ya'll using chairs for this?? I don't know any chair that can bear my weight. I don't think I made it to 10 push-ups without having to do them on my knees...

I hope the rest of you are feeling stronger than I am!

Life before coffee. Who knew?

2010-02-22T11:06:00.001-08:00

It's not the getting up at 5 a.m. part that's so disturbing. That I can do. When Patrick suggested that we try jump roping first thing in the morning I thought, no sweat (literally, no sweat. My apt is a freaking ice box at 5 a.m.) I kind of liked the idea--no creepy lawyer across the street watching me huff and puff (we still don't have curtains, sorry neighbors!), silence, peace, just me and the garbage trucks, the glowing lights of the 24 hour Dunkin' Donuts/Pizza Hut/Taco Bell combo, and a revved up metabolism to get that oatmeal up and out the system!

Yeah, right.

Then I read the part where he said we should jump before "anything" - i.e. COFFEE. Jump before coffee? Talk before coffee? Open eyes before coffee? I'm sorry, is there life BC? Does the blood even circulate sans cafe? I don't think so. I don't think I've ever done any sort of exercise in my life before first spending quality time with my boyfriend, Joe, snuggled up tight in my loving grip. I once walked into a 7 a.m. hot yoga class with a mug of it. Cuz' coffee is thicker than water, ya'll. You've heard enough of my caffeine issues so I'll shut up now.

But I tried it, just to follow the rules, because rules and structure are very important to me. After whipping myself on the ankles a few times, I found focus, a rhythm. My thumping body made a nice little beat. About three hundred jumps into it, I could breathe. It was hard, but oxygen was entering the system, waking up my heavy legs. It took me longer (um, try counting when 1/10 of your brain is functioning) but I kind of liked it. Dare I say I might try this more often! I was actually starving when it came time to eat breakfast and the coffee...it just tasted... well-deserved.

Insanely early jumping makes coffee time sweeter! And that's not all - in school later that day, I didn't scream and yell at the students who neglected to do their reading! Score!

Not walking the talk. Just crawling.

2010-02-20T16:39:00.000-08:00

Days after my I Heart PCP rant, I stumble, I fall.

Thursday and Friday I traveled to see one of my bffs in Cambridge, MA. I mean BFF for life. College BFF. Amiga do peito, as they see in Brazil.

She just had a baby - the cutest thing on the planet!! Siddhartha Culbreth. I was totally unprepared for my trip; even though I packed my rope & food scale, I forgot the sneakers, the elastic bands.

Thursday morning I had the proper PCP breakfast, an apple, then dinner -- which was an awesome combo of basmati rice, corn curry, lentils, and the best masala egg whites on the planet! Spice up those eggs people! All you need are some mustard seeds, turmeric, cayenne pepper, and coriander.

I was thirsty all night from the salt (I am so over salt. Who needs it?). I eyeballed the portions but didn't worry too much since I'd skipped lunch. To celebrate Sid's arrival in the world, I had a glass of wine. Delicious. Made my mouth saltier. Worth the guilt? Not sure.

The next morning, I was too embarrassed to whip out the food scale at the table. Where'd the shame come from? My friends are hella supportive and super awesome and totally cheer through this process, but for some reason I didn't want to pull out that damn contraption - which I sort of hate. I resented it -the dinky evidence that I need guidelines. Like training wheels. Like a bib. Maybe I should have squeezed into the high chair and asked my friend to feed me my allotments, just like she did with Siddlyboo, who gets his organic yumminess doled out to him in these:

Don't know why I was so resistent to the idea of measuring. I felt like the scale would have set me - the one who needs to work hard to fit into her jeans - from "them," the beautiful trim couple who have always been beautiful and trim - even post baby! I just wanted to be one of "them," an effortlessly peaky-looking lady.

At breakfast, we had no eggs. I really really wanted an egg white but made no effort to find one. I missed my veggies and grabbed a carrot from the fridge. Thought about stealing Sid's PCP friendly veggie puree and figured that wouldn't go over so well. Watched him slurp his sweet potato pea soup with envy. Second time that day I wanted to be baby again.

Lunch was at a Vietnamese place my friend suggested. I wanted to insist that we return home, where I could make egg whites, toast, and a salad, but I didn't want to be such a pain in the ass. I managed to find a salad with poached chicken and shrimp - but I'm sure the fish sauce that came on the side was loaded with salt. I had some, feigning ignorance.

Now, on a positive note, I like the new exercises. My chest dips are hilarious. I get about a half inch down, but at least I'm moving a little now (not side to side, just longitudinally). And thank god we're doing some side ab exercises (for the obliques?). I felt like the slight ripples on my upper abs were turning my torso into my brother's, and I really need my waist to be feminine so it doesn't clash with my new she-rope. Cuz' when I lie on the beach this summer I NEED TO LOOK LIKE THIS:

Hateration

2010-02-17T12:27:00.000-08:00

Right now there is a dude in my office lunch area giving me the whoa, are you just making yourself another wrap lady? look. As if the first delicious turkey, spinach, Ezekiel sprouted grain tortilla combo wasn't enough. Listen, homey, it wasn't (he has no idea what a floor jump is, poor guy).

Technically, I could still have a third, but Imma stop so that the serotonin doesn't kick my ass and send me on a quest for a naptime cot. Remember naps? Remember cots? If it were up to me New York City would be overrun with coin operated sleep cells - sort of like that cocoon Keanu Reeves gets into in the Matrix. Add some candles, fluffy white pillows, and you have Bliss (please don't sue me for stealing this image):

Anyway, awhile back, Patrick asked us to share some of our experiences with the naysayers in our lives. Unlike some members of my peak team, I've yet to encounter someone who thinks what I'm doing is crazy. No one has told me I "don't need" this kind of program. When I tell friends about what I'm doing, they're like, "Yeah, of course you're doing something like that."

Just the other day I met up with an ex-boyfriend for "lunch." I suggested coffee, mentioning that I wouldn't be eating because...and just as I was about to launch into my PCP explanation speech, he cut me off with, "So what crazy diet are you on now?"

Fair enough. For years, this guy watched me embark on a series of ridonculous "programs" that required me to combine ice cream and turkey slices and renounce fruit for two weeks. And he didn't even dump me! Instead, when I came over to his apartment, he'd hide the Doritos, the Nutella, and roll his eyes as I denied myself stuff like berries and pasta.

Back then, I thought if I touched bread, I'd implode. Thanks to me, 99.9% of our "meals" turned into hour-long sessions of anxiety ridden restaurant/kitchen drama. I remember when I caught the flu, he pleaded with me to stop the stupid diet, but I wouldn't. And still he didn't dump me! Instead he made me no-carb chicken soup. And after all that wasted obsession, I remained basically the same shape (though my psychology was in the toilet).

So listen all you haters -- this is the real thing! It's not magical, and Patrick doesn't have the secrets to the universe (well, maybe he does, but he learned them the hard way too). PCP is about common sense and work -- grueling work -- the stuff real change is made of. So get back into your cocoons and make some change! One jump at a time.

Day 33. Weak in the knees.

2010-02-16T04:25:00.001-08:00

The floor jumps leave me quivering like a piece of panacotta, or rather, like a "16th century courtesan's inner thigh" as I once heard Nigella Lawson describe the dish...

I have to stop, sit down, stretch my legs out and massage my knee caps after about 12 of those bad boys. I am keeping my hands out to avoid falling over, but I still land with a huge thud that makes me happy I live above a bar.

The other notable occurrence involves my V-Day indulgence, which was pretty boring. I decided to go for quality instead of quantity with some super awesome dark chocolate, a fig, and some spoonfuls of this chocolate mousse pudding that I tried to make for my sweetie (didn't come out so great - secretly I was stoked because how can one be led astray by droopy bland pudding?). It happened so fast, it was over, we laughed, we cried, I wanted sugar and white bread all night. Seriously, I kept thinking about ripping apart huge doughy processed wonderbready baguettes and smothering them in Nutella or something.

Speaking of sweets, I went back to my roots to come up with some breakfast friendly veggie dishes. Check out this carrot halwa. Mine didn't look this good:

But it was pretty ok...just boil your allotment of milk and carrots (the full portion of your veggie quota) and add a few cardamom seeds, cinnamon, clove, saffron if you have it, until the carrots are soft and the milk has evaporated. The natural sugars in the carrot make this dish breakfast sweet enough if you, like me, miss your morning jam.

Other than that, I've been feeling pretty good, besides wanted to switch to Lactaid for the rest of this program. Sorry to sound like a high school boy here, but is anyone experiencing a war with their stomach? I.e., letting it rip at the most inopportune moments? SERIOUSLY. I can't control it, and I wonder if it's this dairy that's making me run to the bathroom every 1o minutes.

Enough about that. Hope you're all feeling awesome and jumping up a storm!

Day 30. Love yourself!

2010-02-13T14:17:00.000-08:00

I can't believe we're a third of the way there! That is, if we think of this process as having an "end." I hope it's just the beginning. I've been tired and cranky and craving things but physically I can do more--like carry 56 pounds of laundry like, 20 blocks (ok it was only 25 pounds and it was a block and half, but still, I had a computer, a bag full of books and another bag full of housewares, so there).

These past few workouts have sort of killed me. My knee has been bothering me - all tight and achy on the right side and behind so that it hurts to straighten it. I could count the number of times I fell during the floor jumps, which is an improvement from the first time - I kept tipping forward and met my granite countertop with a nice little smack. I think the last time I hit my head on the edge of the counter I was about three. I also catapulted (an attempt to save myself) into an open electrical socket while trying to turn my living room into a racetrack (was trying to do make all 40 creeps in one "lap"). Think we'll have to child poof our apartment.

Since love is in the air, allow me to partake in this consumer madness.

All I want for Valentine's Day is this she-rope. A digital jumprope that counts! And comes in pink! Because counting is too hard for this attention deficient girl. I tried you know, stacking coins and then removing one each time I completed 100 jumps, but I found it too much of an interruption. Plus, this rope costs less than a dozen roses this time of year!

Also, if you're listening, darling, I wouldn't mind a box of these:

The PCP version of course.

I'm thinking I'll save my indulgence for tomorrow. I've agonized about how to treat myself and after ogling a pastry case at my favorite cafe and fondling a bottle of Malbec the other day (think the sales guy was going to ask me to ahem, leave), I decided to just wait until the time was right, whenever that is...

Hunger!

2010-02-11T07:35:00.000-08:00

I've finally gotten used to this constant eating and I'm worried! It's 10:30 a.m. and I've already polished off my breakfast and morning snack...seriously, I'm salivating.

I'm having some trouble with the workouts; specifically, keeping my body in balance for those floor jumps (um, has anyone else just toppled over while doing these? And how do you land?), and transitioning between the V sits (do your legs touch the floor between each one?).

My jumps were a mess last night. I need a new rope. I lose count, space out, wonder if I'm on 400 or 800...curse my "stability sneakers" which make my legs feel more like lead.

I'm also having preemptive panic attacks about Patrick's mention about living a coffee-free existence. I'm not going to think about it (LIVE IN THE NOW!) but, I had some nightmares last night.

Kidding, sort of.

Any past PCPers out there who can tell me how you survived without coffee, the nectar of the gods???

Half empty

2010-02-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

Everywhere I go I see perfect set ups for incline pull-ups. Like this road block here -- which I happened upon in Park Slope, only there were TWO of these bad boys all lined up for me. How awesome would it be if I had just plopped down in the middle of the street and started pumping them lats?

And then I started thinking: it's a sign from god. Our road blocks are just opportunities to get stronger, right? So what's yours?

Mine's drinking. Straight up. Not like I need Dr. Drew to intervene or anything, but I do miss that glass of wine to take the edge off. Now I take the edge off with jumps, which is super awesome when you have to pay for your own heat in a super drafty apartment (who knew? Skippin' is the most economical way to steam up!).

However, allow me to introduce you to my new addiction:

Yummm...just looking at that cup makes me want to go to sleep so I can wake up and get me some.

Patrick told us that he used to drink tons of coffee when he first started PCP, and like, it's awesome and everything, especially in this cold (clutching a cup while you commute is such a good hand warmer) but I'm pretty sure these four cups a day (often coupled with a ton of raw veggies) are burning up my insides and eating away at my liver or something. But because of the three measly hours of sleep that I got last night, I could still put my head down on this desk and sleep through winter...

But have I mentioned that this apartment emptiness (we still gots no furniture) is awesome for jumping? I just finished two workouts because I missed yesterday (exhaustion, exhaustion, I still had my eyeliner on when I finally caught some zzzss) and tried Patrick's trick (pointing our toes up instead of down). It feels better on the knees, which were aching like mad last week, but I tripped up a lot. Then I almost broke my door frame trying to set up that pull-up bar.

You can't escape me pull ups. One day, I'll get you.

BTW: Here's a list of fun things you can do during those 15-20 second breaks between sets that you always feel like skipping:

1. Apply a fresh layer of top coat (all the dish washing is ruining the manicures, so take some preventative measure people)
2. Flip through your TV channels and laugh condescendingly at that dude selling that crazy looking ab torture contraption, then realize that you're enlightened and don't need to condescend, then wonder what it would be like if Oprah tried the PCP (we'd ALL be famous, ya hear?)
3. Marinate your dinner protein in... every spice in your cupboard.
4. Read them blogs. I love reading your blogs when I feel like quitting!

My humps, my humps....

2010-02-06T03:57:00.000-08:00

Good morning and happy snow day!

Score one for this sleepy teacher who stumbled out of bed to teach an 8 a.m. class and then happily discovered she could stay home and work on her neglected PCP blog. Sorry, students. I know you were dying to discuss that Henrik Ibsen play, as was I. Though today I did have a slightly more interesting lesson in mind--the screening of a fascinating, frightening, enlightening movie called Food, Inc.

Watch it, learn, and give up eating Tyson chicken for life.

Speaking of removing hormones, antibiotics, and animals raised in feces from your diet, a few days ago, Patrick asked us to share some of those not so expected bodily changes that accompany revolutionizing one's eating and exercise habits. Besides slipping into my jeans a bit more easily, I am enjoying the "unseen" benefits of clean eating and isn't it rad? We get quality and quantity.

My older sister, who studied Iyengar yoga in India, always lectured us about "emptying our bowels" before our first meal of the day, and after every meal throughout the day. I used to laugh at how much emphasis she put on our trips to the bathroom, but now that I'm processing everything at rapid speed - getting rid of the stuff I don't need, the way nature intended - I can see what she means. This new lightness helps me feel strong, capable, and confident as I move about my day.

Speaking of getting rid of excess, on Thursday a friend commented that my "booty was shrinking." My first instinct was to grab it protectively, and plead, Don't go! Don't go! Then I figured I could do without the extra fat on my hips and thighs. Plus, all those lunges are totally going to give me some of that Rihanna/Fergieliciousness! I am SO wearing this outfit on Day 90:

In other news, though I don't notice a big change in my photographs (it depends on the light, I guess) I've noticed that my skin isn't the bumpy mess it normally is when I'm going through my monthly hormonal fluctuations. People around me have said I seem more relaxed since I've started the PCP and I have to say that while the pressure to follow every rule is a bit much (self-imposed?), I do find the detailed plan totally liberating because I'm not the one setting the guidelines for what and how much (my friend Emily mentioned this in her blog when she was ending the PCP. Check it).

Sure, when I saw that my lunch carb allowance was upped to 220!!! I thought, duuuuuuddeee! That's some serious whole grains! Have you ever consumed 220 grams of bread/pasta/cereal in one sitting? It takes discipline, focus, concentration! I had to turn away a student last week because it took me like, 40 minutes, to plow through my lunch! And the pre- and post workout snacks? What if you eat dinner after your workout, and your afternoon snack beforehand? What's a girl to do?

Reminds me of the diet Hilary Swank was on while training for Million Dollar Baby. She had to get up in the middle of the night to drink egg whites. It takes work to become a machine, people.

So here's a tip, team. If you find yourself reaching for your forbidden beloveds, the now dejected/pushed-to-the-back-of-the-shelf jars and bottles of sugar, olive oil, and sea salt, here are some ways to incorporate them into the PCP -- by buffing that bangin' body of yours with homemade exfoliating scrubs! Like this one, which kind of looks like a margarita....

Treat yourself!

Trusting in the Process...and Carbs

2010-01-30T14:09:00.000-08:00

This week was chaotic. I started some new jobs, packed, unpacked, repacked, discovered my scale wasn't properly zeroed (I thought the baguette and a half at lunch was more then usual), jumped almost 400 jumps without stopping, finally got a chance to box and punched out the stressed about moving day, which is tomorrow! Finally! A home. A place to do my incline pull-ups without breaking furniture. A huge kitchen in which to experiment with fish.

As far as our new diets go, mine looks almost the same as last week. It did make the skeptic in me go hmmm. Especially since the other peakers have reduced carb grams. But, alas. I must continue to devour loaves of salt-free whole wheat bread. Que pena! For a moment I thought about secretly slashing grams myself, because I just can't believe I deserve all this bread and pasta! What's up, dude?

Remember when Lindsey Lohan gives Regina those Caltine bars in Mean Girls, promising weight loss? And then...you know what happened.

Jokes aside. My insides feel hella clean and I have a moderate amout of energy despite having slept for two hours last night (must work on that). So, here is my Week 3 photo. This is what happens when I have to set up cameras myself. Good luck, my fellow Peakers!

Day 11: Pushing, Slipping

2010-01-25T16:10:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I did my workout in the gym to avoid destroying my friend's furniture (last week I had some close calls with the living room furniture, the ceiling light, and his dog).

There was a class going on in the mirrored "group fitness" room in which I like to do my thing, so to kill time I hit the treadmill. I haven't been on one of those in months. I thought I missed running. I watched CNN, I lost myself. But twenty minutes into it I was so bored and resentful. My knees were angry with me. I wanted to start the real workout.

Finally, I got to my PCP moves! Completing the push-ups with the bars, though a gazillion times more difficult, are yielding some serious results. I feel myself sitting straighter on the subway, in class, as I type this little here blog! I can't wait to build a stronger upper body so that I can actually pull and lift myself up and out of just about anything - a fence, a window, a horse.

Now for a confession.

I debated ignoring this little Saturday night slip up (what happens on Saturdays stays on Saturdays??) but what's the point? We're here to be transparent, to admit our mistakes and grow from them.

So, on Saturday I found myself unusually stressed out with the apartment search, and after a rough conversation with an old friend, I felt defeated. At a birthday party later that evening, I couldn't seem to relax. I also didn't eat enough that day, having taught from 8 am - 3 pm with no food (it's just too hard to eat that much while teaching!). My mind kept racing with negative thoughts; I felt anxious, unsettled. Rather than talk myself out of sabotaging my health, my promise to myself, I had a drink. Just one. But it was a big one.

I know this slip does not signal the end of the world, but I'm embarrassed about how I cheated myself of the opportunity to maintain discipline during the first week of this plan.

So...who else is having these issues? And what are you doing to stay strong?

DAY ATE: Can't handle the pollo.

2010-01-22T13:38:00.000-08:00

I'll admit, I was highly unprepared for day 8. Still between apartments, I spent the night at my sister's house, where we had our last dinner of popcorn (my weakness, sometimes my dinner of choice), veggie dumplings (with like a quart of soy sauce...how I will miss you, shoyu), a tofu salad thing that was made in a factory, carrots and hummus. It's what we call a smorgasboard. Usually we pick at it while watching vapid TV television (gonna miss you too SNOOKS! Long live Jersey Shore summer 09!). We shared everything, but...I probably went over my 1/2 limit. Throwing it all away before the race. Sodium heavy self-sabotage.

I woke up bloated, disoriented, and thirsty. Luckily I had my jump rope.

When it comes to protein, I am generally a lentil/tofu/fake meat product kind of girl. I love those Chinese restaurants that serve "mock sesame chicken," i.e. MSG-laden doughnuts dipped in hot and sour sauce. I know those soy items are very processed, but I'm a little unaccustomed to (and straight up scared of) preparing chicken and fish. The smell, the fleshiness, the glistening gooey pinkness. The danger of contamination.

Being Indian, I didn't grow up rubbing down steaks and searing/braising/brining animals. This protein thing is going to be a challenge. My friend, an Italian, is going to help. We'll start with fish. Things you can wrap in foil and stick in the oven. Things that don't involve a cup of soy sauce and some brown sugar (part of my fave teriyaki recipe. You, who can still eat sugar, try it: Aloha Shoyu, agave, ginger, and star anise with green onion for garnish).

GO TEAM 2010!

Yogamotions

2010-01-19T18:28:00.000-08:00

It's the fifth day. Cinco de Diet. Things are going swell eating wise. I thought I'd be reaching for all the stuff I know I won't be able to eat/drink, in oh, two days, but I just didn't have time. I'm going through a demoralizing process called the New York (in this case, Brooklyn) Apartment Hount. Worse than holding plank for six days. Worse than giving up chocolate for life, which I would so do if someone could just hand me my dream apartment on a platter. Slathered in butter cream frosting. With a cherry on top.

Today I was at a friend's house for my workout. I'm sure both his neighbors and his dog appreciated my thumping. Sans jump rope, I tried to emulate the motions and intensity of skipping by doing something my boxing coach taught me: jump forward and back instead of just straight up and down. My knees were hurting a bunch so I hit hot yoga, where I proceeded to sob through half my poses. Google confirms that shedding tears is normal when stretching, but I wasn't ready.

It's a good thing I was also sweating buckets, so no one noticed my tears of...joy? Sorrow? Stress? Something had to be released, emptied.

So I'll say later on and leave you with a quote by Isak Dinesen. Words to live by: "The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.”

Day 3: Revolutions not Resolutions

2010-01-17T06:37:00.000-08:00

I approached last night (Saturday) with some fear, knowing that I was going to see friends with whom excess drinking and eating is routine. I left the house hungry, because like an idiot I'd only had a small lunch (no breakfast--never again, never again will I skip this meal) of egg whites, broccoli, and half an apple.

So there I was, with the people and treats I love most in the world, all at one table: friends, family, and french fries. And I mean, hella frenchfries. French fries heaped on plates surrounding me like a barricade.

My line of defense involved chicken soup. I tried a friend's fry, and ended up drinking two glasses of wine (this is an accomplishment people--seriously). Instead of the usual sugar-salt-liquor induced buzz that accompanies most of my restaurant meals, I was focused on the food, the conversation, and the newlywed bliss of my dear friends, Toni and Scott.

Later, I felt like a failure for having the wine. Or maybe just half of a failure (since we're cutting back on food, why not self-flagellation too?). Instead of scolding myself for being a wimp who couldn't just follow directions, I kept thinking about next week's picture, what I was going to look like, and why I couldn't stop obsessing about my image.

Here's a sampling of my destructive inner thoughts: You're so vain. People around the world are suffering, have lost their homes, their loved ones, and you're twisting yourself into a pretzel trying to decide if you should reach for that goddamn fry. GET A LIFE.

Surprisingly though, this morning, when I finally figured out how to upload my first day picture, I thought, hey, that's not so bad. I have always been self-conscious of my lower body, and was surprised that the photo didn't reflect what my usual dysmorphia.

A picture can tell us a lot, but our thoughts speak the real truth.

Rather than simply resolving to let go of the pressure I put on myself to look a certain way (isn't it funny how we can see the beauty in others, and not ourselves?), I am going to make it my goal, my mission, to be motivated with thoughts of how a stronger body is going to REVOLUTIONIZE my life. How when I'm fit, I'm happier, faster, calmer, nicer...you know the drill. Better prepared to change the world. One plank pose at a time.

Sending my fellow PCPers lots of luck, high fives, and fist pumps. You guys rule!

Day 1: Overnourished. Apparently I am.

2010-01-15T13:46:00.000-08:00

Aloha! Welcome to my blog.

I'm kind of scared to be here, and a little nervous that there are pictures of my bare midsection on the interwebs, but whatevs. Maybe you'll want to rock the PCP after reading, just like I did after watching my girl, Emily, from last season, become even radder and badder than before (didn't think that was possible. You rule, gurl!)

This is what I was thinking as I approached my first day as a PCPer:

Once upon a time, when I was a high school teacher (that project also lasted around 90 days, yet did not yield the same results I'm hoping this will. And p.s., every high school teacher on the planet, especially my mother, deserves a medal/hope diamond/gold star the size of Kansas), I was required to watch some videos on classroom management by this guy named Harry Wong.

As much as I wanted to hate on him, I kind of loved the guy. He made a good, pretty obvious point about teachers and their responsibilities to students on the first day of school, a rule that applies to all "beginnings," which is that THE FIRST DAY CAN NEVER BE DONE OVER. How a teacher behaves on this non-refundable day sets the tone for the rest of the year. We can never go back. The children will remember it always (i.e. if you come off as a slacker, they will attack.)

I hope this rule doesn't apply to diets, or to this blog, because all day my inner monologue was full of slacker-isms. I kept wondering if this week's task, to "only consume half" of what we normally eat meant that I could drink half a bottle of wine tonight.

Yeah, I'm greedy. I probably eat way too much. I hope this, among other behaviors, will change over the next 90 days. I am determined to prove that I can stick to a program this structured and rigorous, which is an important challenge to meet since I've been on the verge of quitting so many other projects in life (more on that later).

Thanks for reading, and good luck to the rest of my team! I'm so happy you're here.