Body For Life

All of you know that I struggle with my weight. I have been athletic my whole life in spite of a twenty five year brain fart experiment with cigarettes. Well, those babies are gone now and most days, I can't believe that I was hooked for so long.

This year (in a few short weeks), I will turn forty one. Nearly a month ago, Dallas and I started training using the Body For Life plan. I'm having a whiny love hate relationship with this program.

LOVE:

1. Helloooo carbs! I got to welcome "closed fist-sized" portions back into my diet again. Since I have been blessed with man hands, I actually get a taste of mini peanut butter cups whole grain and fresh veg goodness.

2. The Eat For Life cookbook is amazing and written for domestically-challenged people like myself. It doesn't demand much brain power. Dallas plans our menu a week out, we shop for it on the weekend and I cook most of the dinners on Sundays. Pizza Hut is no longer on speed dial. It's like waking up every morning and having your wardrobe pressed, starched and expertly coordinated for you, except it's food.

3. Continuing with the food theme (no obsession here): We sit down to dinner as a family every night, which is hugely beneficial to the kids. It anchors them, I think.

4. One more thing about the food: I eat six meals a day. Yes, six. I am constantly putting something in my mouth which satisfies that whole Freudian id and oral fixation thing.

5. The workouts are short. For years, lack of time was the excuse that I used avoid the gym because after all, I had Magnum PI, I mean, Friends, pardon me: American Idol to watch. The longest workout is a hair over 30 minutes. Besides, I have a DVR that has learned my television habits and records all of my favourite shows automatically. I was shamed into leaving the excuses behind along with my leg warmers.

6. Ass looking less like cottage cheese and more like a two dimensional apple. Good, right?

HATE

1. There are only two ways in which a 4:30 wake up call is appealing: sex and an early morning flight to a beach, Piña Coladas and cute cabana boys. Otherwise, leaving our warm, cozy bed to put on runners and head to the gym bites.

2. Please don't misunderstand me. I am NOT complaining (much) but a fistful of carbs is minuscule unless you are Shaq O'Neal. The cat coughs up hairballs larger than my alloted portion of carbs. It's all good, though. I just lick the plate more often these days.

3. Most of my favourite workout songs like this and this have lyrics that objectify or malign women. I hate that I love them; I find myself humming them and shamefully, I know all of the words.

4. This program requires discipline. I actually have to expend effort. I'm thinking that as a reward for all of my hard work, I'm going to treat myself to a little Botox and some Restylane. After all, the goal of this whole process is to tighten and smooth the body. Therefore, it's really not that much of a stretch to expect an unwrinkled forehead to go with a newly sleek bum. The logic is there, folks.

So this weekend, I will have my picture snapped in a bikini (involuntary shudder)and my fat percentage determined with a set of caliphers. I will be updating the progress on a weekly basis. We had to go to this method because the scale is unreliable. Apparently, I am gaining muscle at the same rate that I am losing fat so while my weight remains unchanged, inches are being lost.

Blah, blah, blah.

The truth is that I needed some sort of quantitative, positive way to track my progress because I am an imperfect woman who would sell her children for a pint of Haagen Dazs.