November 23, 2010
Keith often regales us during dinner with odd little facts he has acquired through his university studies, most specifically his Forensic Anthropology class, or bits and peices of trivia he picks up hither and yon.
Last evening, while dining on some very tasty asparagus, he casually remarked, "asparagus makes your pee smell funny. Only about 10% of people can actually smell it though."
Guess what?
I am a part of that lucky 10%.
And Keith was right.
Asparagus does make your pee smell funny.
After much soul searching, pondering and discussions with my SFL nutrition counsellor, I have come to a major decision.
I am going to return to the STU gym.
This was not a decision made lightly.
One of the things I love about working at STU is that I genuinely get to know my students.
At least their faces.
Names. . .not so much.
But that small, tight-knit community atmosphere is definitely appealing, and most of the time, I quite enjoy it.
Except when I'm in the gym.
I've tried to use the gym three different times since it opened.
And each time I leave for the same reasons.
My students.
Whom I adore almost all of the time.
Except when they knock on my closed door.
Stop me when I'm already late for class.
And ask me questions that could definitely wait until later when I am trudging along and sweating on the treadmill.
Given that I keep leaving for the same reasons, how come I am going to put myself out there again?
Because while I risk being accosted while engaging in cardio, the STU gym offers something else no other gym in the city offers.
It's inexpensive.
It's convenient.
And this time I am armed with my ipod and I am just going to keep walking and ignoring all pleas to engage while I am working out to my overly electronic dance music.
So, to my students, if you see me on the treadmill, please don't engage.
Because like getting to close to the fence at the zoo, trying to lure your overweight, cranky, professor while she is in the throes of working out is just asking for trouble.
Lots of it.
Adrenaline pumping, endophins charging, I may say something I won't regret later.
But you will.
I have lost 15.2 pounds since starting Simply for Life.
I am starting to notice that my t-shirts are a bit looser, my pants are not hugging my ample booty quite as much and this is what has partially spurned my re-interest in going to the gym.
Also, I'm a visual learner.
So when Neil said to me that my 15.2 pounds is the equivalent to 15.2 pounds of butter, two pounds of which are sitting in my freezer right now awaiting their transformation into shortbread cookies, it all made sense to me.
15.2 pounds of butter is a lot of fat.
And while I am so pleased, I also know that there are many, many more pounds of butter to go.
Oddly enough, I have noticed that the cold is irritating me more than usual.
In fact, as someone with Grave's Disease, meaning I will wander around in a t-shirt and shorts when it's -35 degrees, being cold is something I'm not all that familiar with.
The reason?
Partially, its because I've been sick.
But, apparently, the less fat you have for insulation, the more likely you are to feel the cold.
Makes sense.
Which means I am VERY well insulated.
The other thought that crossed my mind while I was treading precariously across the ice providing a sheen of dangerous slippery-ness, I realized that losing weight means losing cushion.
Cause along with being very well insulated, I am mucho cushioned.
And given my frequent propensity for landing on my butt, or other parts of my anatomy when it's icy, losing cushioning is something I have to be concerned over.
I have fallen everywhere.
Embarrasing myself on multiple occasions.
Because sometimes having children is just not enough to encourage embarassment.
And I have to facilitate it all by myself.
Unfortunately, I have sustained some long lasting injuries.
Just ask my cracked tailbone.
Cause it has a story to tell.
But that'll have to wait for later.
Not only do we not have winter tires on our car,
. . .yet. . .
. . .we also don't have the brush-scraper thingy.
We had one.
I saw it lots last winter.
And as far as I knew, we still had it when winter ended.
However, the anal retentive clean freak who lives in my house,
AKA Stephen,
. . .took it upon himself to get rid of our brush-scraper thingy.
He does this alot.
It's annoying.
Especially when your car is covered in a layer of almost impervious ice.
So, guess what Stephen is buying today?
What is it with throwing things out?
I just don't get it.
Maybe I never will.
Maybe it's just because I can't.
I lack the most crucial, critical ingredient for understand the weird and wacky things my husband does.
Testosterone.
Title Lyric: Exercise Machine by Surrogate
No comments:
Post a Comment