Jackie is a tricky one, but I know enough to be scared of her

Fourth session with the lovely Jackie today. I'm starting to learn her tricks, which only makes me more nervous to head to the gym on Mondays and Thursdays.

I now know, for instance, that when she sets up a circuit of four exercises, I will be required to do the circuit three times through. ...Always in threes.

I also know that when I'm toward the end of the third round of one circuit -- sweating and straining and heart racing -- that she will start scurrying around to various corners of the weight room to retrieve items in preparation for whatever hellish circuit she has concocted next. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, ever wary of gaining any sort of comfort or confidence in regard to the props she's collecting.

For example, when she brings over a weight bench, I have learned not to think, "Yes! I get to lay down for my next group of exercises. This will be easy." Today the weight bench was used for reverse crunches, among other things, which are my arch enemy. Anyone pear shaped knows how horribly hard it is to lift your legs up and bring them toward your chest without bracing yourself in any way. I remember watching "The Biggest Loser" in previous seasons and thinking, "Really? You're really grunting like you're in labor on national TV over an abdominal crunch?" Well, today I very much sounded like I was in labor. I think that might have been the reason there were no boys in the weight room today.

The coup de grâce, however, was the stool. Jackie brought over a stool today, like a stool so high I could comfortably sit on it and work at my computer in the office. A stool so high, an adolescent could probably sit on it and swing their legs. A stool so high, I thought, "There's no way she's going to make me step on and off that thing." (Because, in the past, you see, benches and boxes have been used to step onto and kick my legs and step off about a billion times until I could practically cough up blood.)

But, oh, indeed: In a circuit of four exercises, including sit-ups on the BOSU (after my abs were already begging for mercy), calf exercises and arm exercises, she said I had to cross my left leg over my right, step onto the top of the stool and step down, alternating the leg I use, and one time there and back equals one. Do that 10 times. ...And then do the whole circuit three times.

I was a sweaty noodle when the clock struck 8. Never was I so happy to see 8 a.m. in my entire life. But, I got through it.

And having received conflicting information on the scales in the women's locker room and the hallway by the Life Center, Jackie was kind enough to break out the Iron Man scale again so we would know for sure where I'm at. Since my very first weigh-in Jan. 3, I'm down 9 pounds in 2 1/2 weeks.

At first I wasn't sure what to think about this. I'm coming from a place where, when I want to lose weight, I cut down to 500 calories or something, don't do a lick of exercise, and watch the pounds melt away.

Jackie always reminds me: "You know how to cut calories. That's not what we're doing."
She's right. I know how to do it wrong. And wrong works! It works fast! But it DOESN'T LAST. The second you start to eat even a normal, healthy amount of calories, the weight comes back on. So, this isn't about losing 30 pounds in three weeks or something crazy like that. This is about: slow and steady wins the race.

A hard pill to swallow, but having tried Dexotrim, MetaboLife and whatever other fad pill has hit the market, I'm hoping this one will have long-term positive health affects.

My heart's catching up with my mind

This post is for anyone I may have discouraged the past two weeks with my tales of woe. I had somewhat of a breakthrough today at the Y.

Just two Mondays ago, I climbed onto the elliptical, and after the three-minute mark, I was watching the clock, breathing heavy, wondering how long I could keep it up without any resistance. I went about 15 minutes, and by the end, my heart rate was in the 160s.

Today at the Y, I climbed onto the elliptical, resistance set at 5, and instead of watching the clock, I watched HGTV and glanced occasionally down to watch the calorie count climb and climb. It took 15 minutes before I started breathing out of my mouth. It took until the 45-minute mark before my heart rate hit 160. Otherwise, I was cruising at about a heart rate of 145 with a feeling like I could stay on the darn thing all day.

My trainer, Jackie, told me that my body would start to acclimate quickly. I believed her, but I had no idea how fast the cardio would become manageable. It was pretty cool. I'm sure the strength-training will take a bit longer. I've only worked out with Jackie twice, so that will take a while yet. But it was sure nice to actually feel some progress being made.

First of many small victories along the way!

They're not always thinking what we think they're thinking

As a gym newbie often surrounded by physically fit gym veterans, I’ve been spending a lot of time not making eye contact with people. It’s crazy to watch some of these buff and agile women in spandex climb up onto a machine without a lick of disdain on their faces, eager to get a good sweat going. (The look on my face before mounting the elliptical mirrors that of a contestant on “Fear Factor” about to eat a plate of worms.)

Like the other day a woman I recognized walked into the Life Center. She taught step aerobics classes I used to take four or five years ago. A few of the girls called her “Killer Beth” because we’d all be totally out of breath by break, let alone the end of the 45-minute workout. Killer Beth climbed up on an elliptical, cranked up the resistance, and went at it. It looked like she was cross-country skiing away from a polar bear for the better part of an hour, yet still able to keep up a conversation with her neighbor. (My resistance was set at 2, and I looked as if I was taking a leisurely stroll through the park.)

So, needless to say, I keep to myself. Always kind of a little self-conscious. (I’m so American, aren’t I? So sure that everyone in the room gives a crap what I’m doing.)

Then the other day, I’m in session No. 2 with my trainer, Jackie. And it’s going pretty well. But still, I was in the free weight room where mostly big, beefy boys hang out and get buff. And there are usually always a couple of muscley hunks buzzing around, pumping some major iron. That day was no different. There was a guy in there working out, and I couldn’t help but feel like he was snickering to himself watching me poorly handle my 5-pound dumbbells.

I was glad to move back to the Life Center for some other exercises, except I’d forgotten my purple Hannah Montana water bottle in the weight room. I ran back to retrieve it, and as I scooped it up, the guy smiled and said, “My daughter would be so jealous. She loves Hannah Montana.”

I thought, huh, maybe when we assume people are judging us, they’re actually thinking something totally different. Food for thought. Still, I don’t think I’ll be striking up any conversations with my elliptical neighbors. I couldn’t keep it up if I tried.

I can do this, I can do this ... I think I can do this

Well, it's day 2 of full-body muscle aches. I could barely sleep last night. Every time I extended my arms, I woke up in pain. But I was determined this morning to get back to the gym. Two or three people told me yesterday, as I was hobbling around in agony, that it actually helps to workout. Loosens up those muscles.

I got some funny looks walking into the Y, but I managed to get into the Life Center and onto the bike. I was really surprised. My muscles loosened up. The pain subsided. I felt amazing! So amazing that after 20 minutes of that I decided to give the elliptical a try. I went 25 minutes no problem (until I got kicked off by a nice man who informed me he had reserved the machine. After two weeks at the Y, I had no idea you had to reserve time on some of the machines on a white board on the wall. Woops!) So I switched to another elliptical and went for another 10 minutes.

All was fine until I climbed off the machine and made my way toward the locker room. Funny thing happens to overworked muscles that loosen up nicely during cardio. They tense up with a vengeance when you stop working them. My whole body tensed! I could barely walk again! I had to take the elevator to the lobby.

And by doing so, I had to pass the office of a friend of mine, Joe Tougas. (It's so awful running into people you know at the Y when you look absolutely awful.) There I was, going about 1 mile per hour, legs barely able to propel me forward, and he's standing in the doorway watching, big smile on his face. "Moving kind of slow there," he said.

Joe was kind enough to walk at a snail's pace with me to the lobby. We chatted about this blog, and I fretted a bit about the fact that my editor, Joe Spear, wants to run a column about this in the Sunday health and fitness section. Sort of writer's remorse, I guess. Worrying that a lot more people might pay attention to this little journey of mine. That's when he said, "Well, we'll link to it to on our site." ... Yay.

Mostly I'm kidding. The support is AWESOME. Everywhere I turn there are people asking me questions and giving me props: How’d it go today? It’ll get better. You’re doing great. Pain means you’re working hard!

It truly helps. Reinforces confidence. In the past, I’ve kept diet and exercise a secret. It’s embarrassing, and plus, I knew my long history of false starts, so declaring it to friends and family would mean having to admit when I’d failed again. The funny thing is, the public declaration is a big part of what’s keeping me motivated this time.

Still, I can’t help but be cautiously optimistic. I’ve had many moments when I was SURE this time was different. That big moment of inspiration that says “Today’s the day.” My 25th birthday. My 26th birthday, and 27th and so on. The first episode of every new season of "The Biggest Loser" for the past few years. Every January 1st since I was 16. When my mom lost all her extra weight. Exactly six months before an upcoming vacation. Then five months before, then four, then three ...

Truth is, if I’m doing this correctly, there really won’t be a day when I can declare victory. A lifestyle change means I will still be with the program years and years from now. So I guess ... one day at a time.

My body is ANGRY

I knew it would be bad this morning after eight hours of sleep, not moving the muscles I had just overworked a half-day before. But I had no idea how bad it would be.

At 6 a.m., I laid in bed, stiff from head to toe, trying to work up the nerve to put my feet on the floor. Finally, I closed my eyes, swallowed hard, threw my legs over the side and stood up ... and then yelped.

I stood there in pain, wondering how bad it would be to walk. And once again, my expectations weren’t high enough. I walked to the bathroom like I was on stilts. I tried to brace myself on the banister, but that only made the muscles in my arms cry out for mercy.

Sitting down is a whole other matter. It’s like I physically cannot do it. I get halfway and have to throw myself the rest of the way into the chair.

And then there were the 14 stairs I had to descend in order to leave the house. I tried one standing up, and I couldn’t believe how hard it was to stay upright. PAIN. It was just pain, all through my legs. I wondered if this is how I would die. Tumbling down all 14 of these stairs to my death.

So, it had to be done: I sat down and scooted my rear down every last one of those stairs. There was just no other way.

I honestly still debated this morning about whether I should push through and put my hour in at the gym. I Googled the night before about whether it’s OK to workout with sore muscles. Apparently, if you’re able to, exercising (cardio) an already overworked body doesn’t do further damage. So I was going to try it.

But then I went to the back door and saw the snow piled up and there was no way I was getting out of my driveway. So my workout time was spent shoveling and snowblowing.

Maybe that’s OK. Give myself one day to rest a bit, and I’ll make up the hour on Saturday.

So now there’s just the rest of today to face, walking around like an 80-year-old on an icy sidewalk. At least my coworkers know what I’m up to, and we can all get a good laugh out of this.

But today happens to be the first day of spring semester at MSU, where I teach editing. I wonder what those kids will think when I hobble into class today.

And I wonder how I’m going to get down the stairs to get there ...

My trainer wants me dead

I may still have conditioner in my hair. I really don't know, because I couldn't raise my arm high enough to check.

My trainer must want me dead. That can be the only explanation for what happened today at the Y.

It was my first full session with Jackie Vroman, who, despite my above statement, is quickly becoming my guru. She's sweet and encouraging, but she proved today that she's going to push me as hard as she can to help me get results.

She really did. We started with arms. At first I thought, "This is easy. Really? Just 12 bicep curls and three other arm exercises with 8-pound weights? Piece of cake." Two minutes later, I was sweating and my arms ached. That's when she said we'd be doing three sets of all four exercises.

"How? How will that be possible?" I thought.

That pattern of thinking went on for the duration of the hour, with me questioning how I would complete the task provided -- everything from lunges to these weird back kick movements -- and, for the most part, finding one last bit of energy to push through.

How hard was it? Twice I had to ask to stop because my heart was racing, pounding out of my chest. At one point I felt so light-headed I literally could not focus on the words coming out of her mouth.

Meanwhile -- as I'm face down on a weight bench, sweating onto the mat, face apple red, grunting my way through one last tricep exercise -- there are a couple of guys circling the weight room who looked like they belonged there. I laughed to myself when I imagined what they must have thought, as I laid there like sweaty roadkill.

Yes, for many reasons, today was an exercise in humility. But Jackie reassured me that strength-training gets much easier fairly quickly. And soon, 8-pound weights will seem like child's play, and I'll be able to do a ton more lunges without wanting to kill myself.

For now -- body aching absolutely everywhere, to the point of being scared to have to climb stairs -- I remain embarrassingly out of shape.

However, one piece of good news: After one week of exercise and calorie counting, I'm down seven pounds. Woo hoo!

Knowing when to ask for help

I turned 30 three weeks ago. Dear God, did I ever turn 30. ... Didn't take it well. I remember a time not so long ago when the idea of growing old was so far into the future that it wasn't even worth thinking about. I don't feel that way anymore, and it's making me seriously examine where I'm at in life, sort of letting it sink in that every day is precious and I'd better start making good use of my remaining youth.

The first thing that always comes to mind for me when self-relection kicks in is losing weight. I've been a yo-yo dieter since the age of 12. That means for the past 18 years I've been mindful of every single thing I've put into my mouth. Every Hot Tomale has been met with guilt, every Christmas cookie met with self-punishment.

I've been successful many times in losing a bunch of weight. But I've always done it by cutting calories to an unhealthy degree. I've done the 500 calorie per day diet; the eat whatever you want one day, then starve yourself every other day diet; the low-carb diet; the liquids only for two weeks diet; SlimFast; calorie counting; low-fat; low-sugar; as-much-fruit-as-you-want; etc., etc. etc. I know about every berry, every miracle pill. But what I haven't known is how to lose weight in a healthy way that is also permanent -- the dreaded phrase that all candy and cookie lovers hate to hear: lifestyle change.

So as all of this is going through my mind around my birthday, I was editing the article about Monte Meyer for Mankato Magazine. He is an MSU pastor who was 600 pounds 18 months ago and has lost 240 pounds and counting through eating right and exercising. In the article he made the decision to get help. He started working with a personal trainer, which was a big financial commitment, but one that was well worth it, he said. He also noted that he used to spend a significant amount of money on take-out, anyway, so now that money is being channeled into the trainer.

This really made sense to me. I've always been the type of person who had the "Back off, I've got this" kind of attitude with every task or challenge. Very independent. But after 18 years of failure, it's time to admit I can't do this by myself.

Enter my personal trainer at the Y. I won't mention her name until she says it's OK, but I started meeting with her last week, and she is absolutely what I need. Our first true session isn't until Monday morning (1-9), but she's already holding me accountable and giving me goals and deadlines, all of which I need.

She took my measurements, and I had to get on the Iron Man scale, which is so cool and scary. By sending a signal through one foot that goes through your body and out the other foot, it tells you your weight, body fat percentage, bone density, metabolic age and the minimum number of calories you should be consuming. My numbers were scary, but none more than my metabolic age. I won't give you an exact number (in fact, you won't be getting many numbers out of me at all!) but it was higher than my chronological age, that's for sure.

I considered day 1 of my journey last Monday, Jan. 3. I set my goals, did my first weigh-in, and hit the gym.
My trainer says ...
I have to workout 5 hours per week. I have to limit calories and keep a food journal. I have to drink 10 glasses of water per day. And I will meet with my trainer an hour on Mondays and Thursdays for cardio and strength-training, with cardio on my own on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays (and weekends if I don't make it to 5 hours during the week). My "last-chance workout" was today for week 1. I'm going to weigh-in every Monday morning, so I made sure to put in a full hour today.

I realize more than anything that accountability is what I've been lacking until now. I feel like I have someone to answer to now if I have a bad day. And I thought I'd broaden that sense of accountability by blogging about my journey here. Even if two or three of you check in to see if I'm sticking with it, that's a great motivator for me to keep going. And who knows, maybe I'll inspire someone the way Monte did for me. If I've learned anything the past 18 years it's that people like me are looking for any kind of motivator or inspiration to start and stick with it. It might be as small as a pair of jeans we used to fit into, or a boyfriend we want to look good for, or someone else in similar shoes who shows us it's possible.

I'm not going to lie, this is HARD. I hate exercise, and I love CANDY. Bad combination. But with help, I honestly feel like I can change my habits over the next year.

So maybe I'll see you at the gym! I'll be the one with the purple Hannah Montana water bottle (inside joke) and a look on my face like I'm barely clinging to life.