Posts
The Xena Project
Week 17
Days without sugar: 62
Well, this is the last week of the Xena Project... officially.
As I went to pick up my Xena costume for the Halloween party, I felt that I'd been on a long journey to get there - to earn that outfit. I've braved freezing mornings, gruelling workouts, sweet temptations and confronting femme fatales at the nexus. I can see the benefit of my new lifestyle on my form and I can feel it too.
While bootcamp has been awesome, my greatest achievement so far has been over sugar. I never imagined I could break that hold. Most of you have no real idea just how enslaved I was to the reward and punishment cycle of the sweet stuff - chocolate especially. While I'd go on a diet from time to time and tell myself that I'd be okay with just having a little bit, inevitably I'd slide back to family blocks... yes blocks - the plural is no mistake. An expanding waistline is nothing at all compared to the misery of knowing how continually and inevitably I let myself down.
Do I miss sugar? No! F* no! Why on earth would I ever miss feeling like that?
Yep, the Xena project is over because I have no need for a project now.
I AM Xena! :-P
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Week 15 - Day 120
The Xena Project
Week 15
Days without sugar: 47
Tip number one: Do not wear tiger print undies to the gym. For most of you, this is probably a given. I doubt any of you even OWN tiger print undies (and if you do, please, I do NOT want to know). This month's bootcamp has an all new curiosity ... a woo girl. What is a woo girl, you ask? A woo girl is a female who often squeals 'WOOOOOO!' in public. Usually this happens in bars or concerts, is increased exponentially in the presence of alcohol and is echoed by her giggling gaggle of woo girlfriends. In the bootcamp context, a woo girl jumps up and down, squealing 'woo!' at the start of each exercise round while the rest of us are silently thinking 'eek!' Yes, the woo girl was also the undie offender.
I don't think that the woo girl is overly enthusiastic. She also giggles at the word 'backside' and when stretches require balance. I'm not sure what was more amusing this morning, her giggles or the trainer's totally bemused but professionally polite responses.
Tip number two: Don't bother researching fitness and gym attendance in modern culture. Again, I doubt any of you would do this, but ... you know, just in case. I figured I could turn to ethnographers and cultural analysts to help me understand this strange new fitness world. Instead, I found myself skipping past articles about the role of the gym in homosexual identity. I glanced through feminist rants about how women are trying to masculinize their bodies by using physical discipline to renegotiate their self esteem.
Ugh! Please!
It's disappointing at best. The body, in our culture, is fraught with complex (hyper)sexuality and negativity. We battle more than the bulge with each cardio minute. We battle with size, strength and discipline. We battle with what's attractive and what achievement should look and feel like.
I wonder if it's possible to do away with all that and just view the body as something simple, neutral and positive!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Week 15 - Day 116
The Xena Project
Week 15
Days without sugar: 43
Bootcamp started again this morning after a two week break. Sunday's rain left the ground sodden, the air cold and the stadium shrouded in grey.
"It'll be fun," the trainer promised. I muttered something vague in disagreement.
The new crew appears to be some regular gym girls. On first glance, I thought for sure they'd whip my ass. They are the toned, skinny types I always avert my eyes from. I was surprised to discover that I was the one being pushed the hardest. It was me with the 10kg weight in each hand and just me with one other girl who completed the full five rounds.
Go figure.
I also have an update on the gym bunny issue - apparently the female gym bunny does exist. The gym bunny is the busty gal in eye catching gear who walks on the treadmill and does low weights/high reps for general toning only. She is all about body sculpting. She is often found by the mirrors. The gym bunny is the one who bends at the waist to purse that perfect pout against the water spout ... right next to the gorilla pit of course (male dominated weight machines).
She is NOT the girl who rocks up at the gym with her baggy bootcamp shirt covered in dirt and sweat, her mess of curls half falling out of an untidy ponytail. She's not the girl who gives a tired, lopsided grin to the boppy dude behind the counter because she's done a total of 150 pushups, 200 squats (with 10kg weight), 200 lunges (with 20kg weight), 50 burpees and whole lotta running that morning. She's not the girl who only cares about a hot shower and how on earth to stay awake at work today.
So, in other words, I'm in no danger of EVER becoming a gym bunny. Yet, I can't seem to find a category that I do fit into. More research is required.
Week 15
Days without sugar: 43
Bootcamp started again this morning after a two week break. Sunday's rain left the ground sodden, the air cold and the stadium shrouded in grey.
"It'll be fun," the trainer promised. I muttered something vague in disagreement.
The new crew appears to be some regular gym girls. On first glance, I thought for sure they'd whip my ass. They are the toned, skinny types I always avert my eyes from. I was surprised to discover that I was the one being pushed the hardest. It was me with the 10kg weight in each hand and just me with one other girl who completed the full five rounds.
Go figure.
I also have an update on the gym bunny issue - apparently the female gym bunny does exist. The gym bunny is the busty gal in eye catching gear who walks on the treadmill and does low weights/high reps for general toning only. She is all about body sculpting. She is often found by the mirrors. The gym bunny is the one who bends at the waist to purse that perfect pout against the water spout ... right next to the gorilla pit of course (male dominated weight machines).
She is NOT the girl who rocks up at the gym with her baggy bootcamp shirt covered in dirt and sweat, her mess of curls half falling out of an untidy ponytail. She's not the girl who gives a tired, lopsided grin to the boppy dude behind the counter because she's done a total of 150 pushups, 200 squats (with 10kg weight), 200 lunges (with 20kg weight), 50 burpees and whole lotta running that morning. She's not the girl who only cares about a hot shower and how on earth to stay awake at work today.
So, in other words, I'm in no danger of EVER becoming a gym bunny. Yet, I can't seem to find a category that I do fit into. More research is required.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Week 14 - Day 112
The Xena Project
Week 14
Days without sugar: 39
I posted a status on facebook that wondered if I was at risk of becoming a gym bunny. What does the term actually mean? Today, I consulted my good friend Google. According to reliable sources like Wikipedia and the Online Slang Dictionary, a gym bunny is '(gay) A muscular gay man obsessed with improving his physique.' Oookay, so now I'm less worried about turning into one than I am about the people who 'liked' my status (you know who you are).
In real terms, what does it mean to be a true gym bunny? I don't think I look like one, but I do frequent the gym 3+ times a week. I own enough gym gear to clothe me for a week, but they're not exactly brand label, lycra outfits. I'm slowly getting comfortable with the cultural dynamics of the gym. Although, I have to say, it still bewilders me sometimes.
I never want to get as comfortable as the subject of yesterday's nexus shock (the nexus is the ladies' bathroom). A woman ironed her clothes in the nexus wearing nothing but a g-string the whole time. Granted... she deserved to feel comfortable about her body, but yeish!
What really identifies a disciple of the body temple? "By this you shall know my disciples, that they ... own three fitness first hats and can't sit still at work, they run up the escalator and use the stairs voluntarily, they hover at the edge of office morning teas and pull faces at the food on offer."
At what point do you cease to be a 'one of us' and start becoming 'one of them'?
Week 14
Days without sugar: 39
I posted a status on facebook that wondered if I was at risk of becoming a gym bunny. What does the term actually mean? Today, I consulted my good friend Google. According to reliable sources like Wikipedia and the Online Slang Dictionary, a gym bunny is '(gay) A muscular gay man obsessed with improving his physique.' Oookay, so now I'm less worried about turning into one than I am about the people who 'liked' my status (you know who you are).
In real terms, what does it mean to be a true gym bunny? I don't think I look like one, but I do frequent the gym 3+ times a week. I own enough gym gear to clothe me for a week, but they're not exactly brand label, lycra outfits. I'm slowly getting comfortable with the cultural dynamics of the gym. Although, I have to say, it still bewilders me sometimes.
I never want to get as comfortable as the subject of yesterday's nexus shock (the nexus is the ladies' bathroom). A woman ironed her clothes in the nexus wearing nothing but a g-string the whole time. Granted... she deserved to feel comfortable about her body, but yeish!
What really identifies a disciple of the body temple? "By this you shall know my disciples, that they ... own three fitness first hats and can't sit still at work, they run up the escalator and use the stairs voluntarily, they hover at the edge of office morning teas and pull faces at the food on offer."
At what point do you cease to be a 'one of us' and start becoming 'one of them'?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Week 13 - Day 103
The Xena Project
Week 13
Days without sugar: 33
The Xena Project is three months old now. The no-sugar decision is one month gone and eleven to come. When the Xena Project began, I boasted that I would disappear before people's very eyes. 'You won't even see me when I turn sideways!' I proclaimed. Three months in, this is hardly the case. The goals have changed a little. I'm more interested in bounding up the stairs without catching my breath and in doing pushups on my toes than I am about dropping dress sizes. Still, there's no denying it anymore, the Xena Project failed.
I set out to prove that the padding would fall away if I just started taking better care of myself. No diets, no gimmicks, just good food and a bit of exercise. Sure, some if it did fall away. The only problem is that I achieved half my goal in twice the time and using three times the effort it took last year.
I'm not dropping the project. It's now more of a lifestyle than a particular goal. I'm healthier than I've ever been. I'm just disappointed that I'll have to resort to gimmicks and strange eating patterns to get the result I want. I feel disillusioned and disappointed. It's like hearing a preacher say that God doesn't satisfy quite like a snickers bar or finding out that Michael Schumacher can't parallel park. How can I admit to you all that healthy eating and exercise just doesn't cut it?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Week 13 - Day 103
The Xena Project
Week 13
Days without sugar: 30
Why does she have her shirt rolled up like that? OMG, what a poser. Is that all the weight he's going to lift? Just five minutes on the treadmill! He watched himself in the mirror that whole time. This chick is clueless.
I went to the gym last night, outside class, just to work out. I have to say that I was completely out of place. I felt so illegitimate amongst all those heavenly bodies all pushing, sculpting, posing and scoping ... yes scoping everyone else out. I hadn't realised how intense the culture of comparison was, never noticed until I found myself at the gym without a trainer or a friend to distract me.
There's an immense difference between the public sector gym downstairs and the private gym I now go to. At work, there are a couple of gods and goddesses, but it's pretty much a group normal people wearing baggy clothes to hide their baggy thighs. They huff and puff on the equipment. Their faces go red. Their hair sticks out at funny angles.
At the private gym, the ratio of divinity to normality is intimidating. Is there such a thing as designer sweat? How much straining of those thick, corded muscles under thin fabric can a girl take before she disappears into the ladies' workout room to catch her breath? How much of that tanned, toned, tiny outfitted posturing can a girl take before she trips into the cardio section to pound her self esteem back into shape?
I've never felt so observed before, so self-conscious. The gym is its own nation with a fashion, culture and language. I was a stranger in a strange land and I'm sure they could spot the tourist from across the room. I wonder, do I have the courage to stick it out long enough to turn ex-pat in gymland?
Week 13
Days without sugar: 30
Why does she have her shirt rolled up like that? OMG, what a poser. Is that all the weight he's going to lift? Just five minutes on the treadmill! He watched himself in the mirror that whole time. This chick is clueless.
I went to the gym last night, outside class, just to work out. I have to say that I was completely out of place. I felt so illegitimate amongst all those heavenly bodies all pushing, sculpting, posing and scoping ... yes scoping everyone else out. I hadn't realised how intense the culture of comparison was, never noticed until I found myself at the gym without a trainer or a friend to distract me.
There's an immense difference between the public sector gym downstairs and the private gym I now go to. At work, there are a couple of gods and goddesses, but it's pretty much a group normal people wearing baggy clothes to hide their baggy thighs. They huff and puff on the equipment. Their faces go red. Their hair sticks out at funny angles.
At the private gym, the ratio of divinity to normality is intimidating. Is there such a thing as designer sweat? How much straining of those thick, corded muscles under thin fabric can a girl take before she disappears into the ladies' workout room to catch her breath? How much of that tanned, toned, tiny outfitted posturing can a girl take before she trips into the cardio section to pound her self esteem back into shape?
I've never felt so observed before, so self-conscious. The gym is its own nation with a fashion, culture and language. I was a stranger in a strange land and I'm sure they could spot the tourist from across the room. I wonder, do I have the courage to stick it out long enough to turn ex-pat in gymland?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Week 12 - Day 96
The Xena Project
Week 12 - Day 96
Days without sugar: 24
Many of you think I'm crazy. Somehow I feel like I'm the lucky one. I get up at the crack of dawn and work out hard in the fresh morning air. I find it easy now. I jump to wakefulness instead of slowly swimming through the groggy black seas to hush my bleating alarm clock with a heavy thwack.
It has its downside, though. Last weekend after a late night out dancing, I sank into bed at 2am. At 5am, my flatmate found herself stranded in the valley and rang home in distress. I drove in, picked her up and then tried my very best to go back to sleep.
Only, my body had other ideas.
Waking up at 5am meant one thing. BOOTCAMP! The fact that it was Sunday, the fact that I'd only gone to bed a few hours before and the fact that I clearly wasn't doing pushups, burpees or sandbag weighted squats was totally lost on my body. A 5am wakeup meant exercise endorphins and that was that.
Still, it's better to greet the day with energy and expectation ...
Week 12 - Day 96
Days without sugar: 24
Many of you think I'm crazy. Somehow I feel like I'm the lucky one. I get up at the crack of dawn and work out hard in the fresh morning air. I find it easy now. I jump to wakefulness instead of slowly swimming through the groggy black seas to hush my bleating alarm clock with a heavy thwack.
It has its downside, though. Last weekend after a late night out dancing, I sank into bed at 2am. At 5am, my flatmate found herself stranded in the valley and rang home in distress. I drove in, picked her up and then tried my very best to go back to sleep.
Only, my body had other ideas.
Waking up at 5am meant one thing. BOOTCAMP! The fact that it was Sunday, the fact that I'd only gone to bed a few hours before and the fact that I clearly wasn't doing pushups, burpees or sandbag weighted squats was totally lost on my body. A 5am wakeup meant exercise endorphins and that was that.
Still, it's better to greet the day with energy and expectation ...
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