Shaping up, Part 3

This is my last in this ad hoc series, because I don't want to become one of those people who constantly talk about their fitness regimen. It's really not that interesting, because I think on some level everyone is doing the same thing, or at least feeling really bad that they're not. So who am I to get in people's faces all the time and be like "Oh my god you guys, I just did so many squats, my glutes are solid FEEL THEM!"

(Side note: This recently happened to me. A friend invited me to feel his pecs. Awkward. It's not that I have anything against a congratulatory fondle, but it didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do in the middle of a crowded bar. Also, this may just be my weird sense of fairness, but I think touching someone's chest is an implied agreement that they get to touch yours.)

(Second-level side note, regarding the frequency of side notes as of late: I am finally going to see a psychiatrist about getting some Adderall. I have to wait over a month to see a doctor who's willing to prescribe a Schedule II drug, but...I don't know, something about gun control laws, probably. And outrage.)

And anyway, I haven't lost any weight yet. But something must be working, because I am hungry ALL THE TIME now. So maybe I'm growing muscle and I just need to ride this out for a couple weeks until my metabolism figures out what's going on. Still got chunky thighs, though, so I'll continue to soldier on.

They say (and by "they," I mean the health and wellness websites I read on my extremely-limited internet access at work) that a good exercise program should include aerobic, strength, and flexibility training. And I'm getting pretty good at the first two, but I've been putting off the last one, because I'm terrible at it.

Secret shame: I can't touch my toes. I've never been able to. It's why I never got a Presidential Fitness award in grade school (well, that and I couldn't be bothered to run for an entire mile). I've always blamed it on the fact that I have really long legs and a short torso, but I'm pretty sure that claim doesn't stand up to actual math, because my arms are long too. I'm just not flexible. At all. And it's really embarrassing, because who can't touch their toes? Everyone can, right? So I don't like to stretch at the gym because I don't want people to see that I can only get to about mid-calf without the fear of snapping some tendons, and not stretching makes me even less flexible, and it's a vicious cycle.

(There, now, that's all of my secrets. I'm an inflexible, weak girl with no sense of rhythm and flabby thighs. What do you say, fellas?)

Needless to say I am not ready to take a yoga class at the gym, but I do have a DVD. A DVD that I got a while back but haven't done yet, because of the shame. But now is as good a time as any to start, I figured, so tonight after dinner I loaded up the disc drive on the lapbook, cleared a Naomi-sized space on my bedroom floor, and did some yoga.


I'm not going to talk too much about the experience itself, because there are people far more interesting than me already doing that (and I use the word "people" loosely there), but here are a few observations:

• Either doing yoga makes me dizzy, or doing yoga immediately after eating a hot dog makes me dizzy.
• Controlling your breathing is harder than I thought it would be. I can do the "in for four, out for six" sort of thing, but coordinating it with a movement takes some practice. This may be the source of the dizziness.
• For a practice that is supposed to be relaxing, there sure is a lot to think about when you're doing yoga. Inhale into the pose! Exhale to your fingertips! Keep your shoulders open! Something about chakras!
• I'm not very good at visualization. At the end when you have to relax in the corpse pose (creepy name, by the way), I really had to work at it. Lower back, relax now! Butt, now it is your turn to relax! Shoulders, what the hell, you were supposed to relax three body parts ago DO NOT MAKE ME COME BACK THERE! Again, not very calming. I guess part of the purpose of yoga is to get better at keeping your mind calm. But then again, there are medications for that, and I'm pretty sure they don't involve bending at the waist.
• I didn't feel tired, or like any of my muscles were fatigued, at the end of the workout, so I'm interested to see if I'm sore at all tomorrow morning.
• I'm still feeling dizzy and a bit nauseous, and it's been like half an hour. If this turns me off from hot dogs I am gonna be pissed.

This is the start of my third week of exercising, and isn't that how long it's supposed to take to form a habit? 21 days? That could be an old wives' tale. The important thing is that I'm still doing it. And that I can shut up about it now.


Also: Hey, the blog looks different now! That's pretty cool, right? Looks like someone learned how to copy and paste two or three CSS codes!

Shaping up, Part 2

A minor correction to part 1: I said I wasn't doing this for my health, but the more I think about it, I kind of am. According to my therapist exercise is a good way to manage ADHD without medicine. I'm not hyperactive, so I don't need to exercise to burn off steam, but I do have really poor impulse control, especially when it comes to ridiculous, moderately skanky clothing (e.g., "OMG sequined hotpants ON SALE!!!") So really, the least I can do is make sure I look decent enough to actually wear the things I buy.
 
I'm not putting too much effort into my diet yet (I'm eating girl scout cookies as I type this), but I have started going to the fitness classes at my gym. And I have to say, the YMCA, God bless it, is the best place to start working out if you have no idea what you're doing. Fact: I am no good at moving. I may be a musician, and I may have curves, but when I move there is zero sense of rhythm and negative grace. I have done the occasional step aerobics class, and some basic choreography in high school productions, but that is about it. But at the Y, that doesn't matter! Come as you are! We'll help you get fit, and we'll watch your kids while you do it! Heck, we'll even get your kids fit! Our prices our reasonable, our classes are user-friendly, and you won't feel ashamed to take your clothes off in the locker room because everyone looks the same as you or worse!

Even so, I was nervous about going to a class that would require a lot of coordination, so I started out last Saturday with Bodypump, an awesome class where you and a bunch of old ladies and moms do strength training moves, like lunges and chest presses, to music. Squats are a little unnerving when you already feel bad about your butt, but by the next day I could feel that every single muscle group we worked was sore. This is a great class: no complicated moves, no beautiful people who are better than you, lots of fun and immediate payoff. I went again today and I did more weight this time (two kilograms more, but it's a low weight/high rep thing, so I felt good about it.)

Then on Tuesday night, high off the successes of Bodypump, Ryan and I went to a Zumba class. Oh, Zumba. How can I begin to describe this? On Facebook I called it Jazzercise plus ethnic music minus leotards, and I think that may be all you need to know. Here's a video:

Now imagine what you just saw with the type of people who work out at the Y (the aforementioned moms and old ladies). Also, we were all Minnesotan, so there was no yelling, just some polite clapping at the end of each song (none from the Lutherans, I'm sure).

I had watched a few of these videos before class so I had some idea of what to expect; however, I was not prepared to walk into the fitness studio and see it completely dark except for a few strings of Christmas tree lights and one of those spinning colored light things. Because Zumba is a party, y'all! Except that with the few people standing around, waiting for class to start and making small talk, it looked more like a junior high dance (were those good exercise? I remember being sweaty and smelly but I think that was from being surrounded by equally sweaty and smelly teens. There was also the unknown, uncomfortable feeling in the lower abdomen from dancing too close to boys. I'm sure I burned a few calories praying about that.)

Once the class started, though, I realized the reason for the dim lighting. You can't see anything, including yourself. So, for example, while on some level I knew I looked like a Barrel of Monkeys character (a monkey, not the barrel) while we were doing snake arms to the Indian song, I couldn't see it, so it didn't matter as much. And that helped a lot. I was actually enjoying myself - still struggling, and a bit out of breath and confused, but for the most part having fun.

And then, about halfway through the song, something awesome happened. Proud Mary. Quite possibly the greatest song choreography of all time, and we danced to it. And from that moment on, I FRIGGIN' LOVED ZUMBA.

Here's another video. This time, imagine it with the moms, the old ladies, and me, with a big stupid grin on my face.

(Another semi-related story: The circles I ran in during college were such that I ended up at a lot of gay parties. One such party was at the apartment of a recent graduate who was a well-respected member of the drag scene which Ames, Iowa for some reason had. Late into the night, when I was too drunk to fully appreciate it, Proud Mary started playing and the host, apropos of nothing, got up and started doing his routine to it. He wasn't in drag, and he was probably just as drunk as I was, but his lip syncing and dancing were flawless. And when you see a large, drunk, gay man give a performance like that, one that Tina Turner herself would have been proud of, man, that's something that sticks with you forever.)

I went back to Zumba on Thursday and it wasn't quite as good as the first time, probably due to the fact that I was standing near a lamp so I could sort of see myself in the mirrors. But I think now that I've gone twice I know most of the steps, so I can start working on swinging my hips a little more. That should help with the awkwardness. And most importantly, now in addition to my short-term goal (get in shape for swimsuit season), I have a long-term goal: Get me a pair of Tina Turner legs.

Because I will buy a pair of sequined hot pants; it's only a matter of time. And I will most likely wear them somewhere inappropriate (a dive bar? a friend's theater production? church?). But if I can stick with this workout plan, at least I know I'll look good. Psychotherapy: It works, people. I am proof.

Shaping up, Part 1

Here's what's been happening. At the beginning of February, I went to Fort Myers, Florida with my mom. It was awesome. I almost never go on trips in the winter so I forgot the novelty of stepping off of a plane into weather that's 80 degrees warmer than when you stepped on, not to mention several orders of magnitude more humid. Florida is awesome in February.

(Quick semi-related story about this: I went to college in Iowa, and when it was time to go back after a break my mom would drive me down. We'd leave in the morning around 8 AM, drive straight through, and arrive right before noon. WITHOUT FAIL every single time we did this my mom would remark on how much warmer it was in Ames than in Bloomington, because, in her words, "it's in a whole different planting zone." Not because we were four hours into the day. Not because the sun wasn't up when we left. Not even because Ames is 200 miles closer to the equator than Bloomington. Planting zones. I thought about asking Mom how many planting zones Florida was away from home but really, why open that can of worms again?)

My goal was to spend as much of my time there in my bikini and I think I did pretty well. (Maybe too well, once you stop and realize you're essentially wearing the same spandex-y pair of underwear for five days straight. Whatever; I rinsed them out.) We went to the beach twice, kayaking once, and on a whole bunch of nature hikes (or as we call them in my family, "death marches." Guys, listen to me: Do not go on vacation with my mom) and if you've seen my pictures of the trip there I was in my swimsuit the whole time. As someone who hates pants and probably doesn't get enough Vitamin D, I'd say this trip was a huge success.

But here's the thing: Once you get back from vacation and you've had a couple weeks to distance yourself from the experience, you start to notice things. For example, I noticed that my swimsuit doesn't cover as much of my butt as it used to. And while I'd like to blame that on the repeated washings on the trip, I'm pretty sure that spandex doesn't shrink. So that means I've either got some fabric that's displaying properties it's never been known to have, or I put on some weight, and I'm guessing it's the latter, because fuck you, Occam. Fuck you so much.

Fact: Asses should not have double chins.

Now, I know that I am not overweight by any stretch. I weigh about 15 pounds more now than I did in college, and in college I was borderline underweight. I don't want to go back to that; I have boobs now, and that's pretty cool. But things are starting to expand, and I don't have the best habits (my idea of eating healthy is "maybe if you're going to have nachos for dinner again you should eat a piece of fruit, too). So now, faced with the prospect of a whole season of bikini-wearing; now, when I can make this a purely vanity-based project and not have to think too hard about my actual health, I have decided to start exercising more.

And now it's on the internet, so I have to stick with it. Otherwise I'll be no better than a politician, and I don't think I could live with that shame.


Okay, I just got back from the gym and I've sat here for too long without taking a shower. Stay tuned for part 2, in which I recount my first experience with Zumba (spoiler alert: It was awkward).

Sort of?

I did not make resolutions this year, because I figure I sort of screwed myself over by starting therapy the month before the new year started. What am I supposed to do to top that level of self-improvement? At any rate, this has led to a lot of minor, half-joking, situational resolutions. A short list:

This year, I have resolved to:

• make Limoncello, in honor of this tweet, and in honor of fruit-flavored alcohol being delicious.
• wear tall socks with heels, because if ever there was an absurd fashion trend for me to follow, this is it.
• take swimming lessons, because as I have mentioned before I can't swim. And, sidenote, this whole idea of black people not being able to swim, which I always assumed was some racist bullshit that slave owners used to say and it somehow stuck around, is actually a real and well-documented cultural phenomenon. And I guess it's true in my own experience, it was always my mom who took us swimming, Dad never even got in the water. Who knew?
• Spend less money on clothing, because I went through 12 months' worth of bank statements last week and apparently that's what I spent the most money on. I was kind of hoping it would be fast food, because that would be easy to cut out. 
• Joint resolution with Heather: Be sexy with each other, but not with each other (there is a suggestive eyebrow raise and raised inflection in that italicized text, by the way). I don't think there was any specific reason for this resolution other than we bought Groupons for the gym that has stripper pole fitness classes and we need to use them before they expire. 
• Apply for the Fringe Festival again. This one is not so much a resolution as an acceptance of the inevitable. The misguided, hilarious, half-written inevitable.

There you have it. I have seen the future, and it is now. And it is fucking ridiculous.

Christmas time lightning round update post

• I should be sewing right now. I SHOULD BE CRAFTING. I have presents to finish. Lots and lots, although not all due by the 25th. So I came downstairs to sew, then I ate some nachos, then I decided to update my blog, then I spent about half an hour reading TOVA test manuals, and here we are.
• I took what I am pretty sure was a TOVA test on Monday (do you see how I foreshadowed that in the previous bullet point? I am literary devicing the hell out of this post). It had numbers instead of little boxes, so it may have been a different brand than the one in the link. Anyway, it was horrible, and I don't have the results yet. The doctor said that generally if the person looks away from the screen during the (15 minute OMG it was so awful!!) test they have ADHD, and I read everything she had posted on the walls. But still, I'm worried that I failed the test, or passed it, however you want to look at it, and that's not what the problem is and then I'm back to square one of not knowing why everything about me is wrong or how to fix it. And I am just going to continue to freak out until I know exactly what I need to do, because I am irrational and this is how I do.
• Bell choir plays on Friday night at 11:00 for the Christmas Eve service and I have no idea how it will go because I had to cancel practice Monday because of the snow. Actually, I had to cancel practice via ad hoc phone tree from my car stuck on I94 in the middle of snowstorm + Vikings game gridlock. Monday was a stressful day, guys. 
• Ryan got me a photo book of all our Disney World food pictures, plus a shit-ton of chocolate and random wasting-time books. I am getting him an Arduino, which he asked for. I have no idea what it is, so I looked it up on Amazon, clicked on the first product that came up, and bought all of the "Frequently Bought Together" products. Total cop-out gift, I know. He may get something sewn too, if there's time, which there won't be, because I still have a few bullet points left in me. Onward...
• Speaking of the food picture book, I've noticed lately that a lot of pictures of me could be classified as food porn. Not food porn in the food-blogging sense, like "Oh, hey, the editor called, he was wondering if you could Photoshop a few of those water droplets out of the picture you sent over. That tomato looks a little too juicy." I mean in the actual sense of food and porn, like, there are a lot of pictures of me sticking phallic shaped foods into my mouth. Case in point, my current Facebook profile picture. What's that all about? And, more importantly, is there a way to monetize this phenomenon? Surely there has to be a fetish for photos of people eating food in an accidentally sexy manner? My knowledge of nontraditional sex is limited and I'm afraid to Google it.
• Holy crap, I just Googled it. Food porn (the blogging kind) has a Wikipedia page with a subsection titled "Actual Pornography." If this page had pictures (why wouldn't this of all pages have pictures!?) it would be the best Wiki article ever.
• Clicked over to the Google image search and was confronted with several pictures of women wearing bacon bras. HOLY CRAP AGAIN.
• This is probably a sign that I should get back to the Christmas presents. Here are a couple quick previews:

There are more, things that aren't far enough along to have photographed. But I've got the rest of the weekend, really. How does Santa do it, one is culturally obligated to wonder at this time of year.

Okay, back to work. But one more bullet point I just thought of.

• "Lightning round" is a pretty inaccurate title since it implies some sense of speed and I took about half an hour to write this. But what would be better? Potpourri, or something like that? Miscellany? Clusterfuck? That last one is the most accurate but I had a swear word in the title of my last post so I need to self-censor this time around.

Ugh. Time to try to salvage some productivity out of the night.

That at least explains all the dick jokes

So I've been going to see a therapist. It's been okay, really. She's nice. She's also an ordained minister, which is kind of cool, but also weird, because you know, am I allowed to talk about sex? Because all of it thus far has been premarital (not that I have any specific reason to talk about sex, it just would be nice to know how awkward I should feel if it were to come up). But she is a Lutheran minister, so at least I know she doesn't think I have demons. We are a demon-free people, on the whole.

I've been learning a lot of interesting things, mostly about myself, things that I already knew because somehow I have managed to become really self-aware, which I think is part of the problem, because I'm critical. Anyway, they were things I already knew about myself but didn't put together as a cohesive whole, because I have a serious thought maintenance problem. They're just...in a cloud or something. A big electron cloud, and my head is the nucleus, and Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle is directing the show. Is that too esoteric? Is quantum physics not an appropriate topic to use in an analogy? Because I have thought long and hard about this (critical self-awareness, you see) and quantum physics is the best I could come up with. My thoughts are wave packets and it is impossible to know where they are and what they are doing at any given moment. (That's not exactly what the uncertainty principle is, but for the sake of the metaphor it works. Also, the electron cloud of thoughts is hazy and green. Obviously.)

So we have been discussing what it means to have hazy green negatively charged sub-particle thoughts, along with a lot of other, non-bastardized scientific terms like "working memory" and "executive function," and oh, hey, it turns out I have like all of the symptoms of ADHD. What?? Come on.

To be honest I kind of expected it, and a former therapist recommended I get tested for it, but at the time I was busy trying to keep myself from wanting to die, so I forgot about it, then I remembered it again but put it off, and so on for five years, right up until the point a few weeks ago when I was convinced I was getting stupid and about ready to become a recluse. Because that is what I do. With everything. And, also, it's always better to err on the side of blaming yourself for things like this. I didn't want to come across as a victim or an excuse-monger, you know.

So next week I'm going to take the test, which I'm scared to death of, because 1) it's long, and I'm afraid I won't be able to concentrate long enough to answer questions correctly, and 2) I'm afraid I won't be able to think up good examples for the questions I'm asked. But maybe they've factored that into the test already? I don't know. I do know, not on the subject at all, that Ryan was overjoyed that I told my therapist I hate movies because they're too long. Because that is totally what I'm going to focus on fixing, Ryan.

But regardless of how the test turns out, I already feel better. This is validation in a way, this idea that something is wrong, yes, but it can be fixed. I remember it was the same way with my depression a few years back - I didn't start to get better until I had read a ton of research on depression and convinced myself that it was an actual, medical problem, not just my ability to fix myself. Plus, just having a term to search for on the internet is cathartic, really - today I found an article that had a 10-step guide to using a day planner to make lists and OH MY GOD THAT IS THE BEST THING EVER.

Seriously, I told my brother to get me a planner for Christmas. I'm pretty excited about this. There may also be color-coded post-it notes.

Bottom line: Things are gonna be okay, I think. They're about to get expensive, because next year my deductible goes way up, but I'm not taking classes next semester (I *may* be on academic probation...another warning sign I guess I missed...) so this is what I'm going to work on. Organizing. Color-coding. Paying bills in a timely manner and filing them in an easy-to-access-come-tax-time spot. Oh, and not being so hard on myself. In that vein, all future references to "bullshitting my way through life, desperately hoping I don't get caught" will now be referred to as "developing and maintaining effective coping strategies." I'm no expert at either, but I think cognitive-behavioral therapy and public relations may be the exact same thing.

There you go. I probably have ADD. So I'm not stupid. I'm just an 8-year-old boy.


Edit: OH MY GOD I JUST REMEMBERED THIS! The greatest South Park episode of all time!

Timmy 2000
Tags: SOUTH
PARKmore...

Sad part is, that's my favorite book...I was totally yelling "It's a gold car! It symbolizes money!" at my screen the whole time... :)

Naomi Beck, Tiny Playwright

My brother is in town this week so yesterday we all got together and went to the buffet at the casino, because we are a classy bunch of people who appreciate the option of eating multiple portions of pig in a single meal. After brunch we went back to my mom’s house, where I was cajoled/guilted/forced into going through some of my old things which are still in her basement. I moved out almost six years ago but I’ve never been motivated to dig through the piles of books and papers, mostly because I knew I’d end up sitting and reading everything. But faced with everyone’s prodding I finally agreed to spend 15 minutes cleaning out an old nightstand.

It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Most of the things I found I threw out right away - old magazines, homework, more stickers than I care to admit, that sort of thing. But I had plenty to keep, too. Old music flash cards (this was out of pure laziness - I assume that someday I will need to teach someone notes and key signatures, and I will be happy that I don’t have to make my own flash cards), a few letters from my dad (he used to write one to my brother and I at the start of each school year), some school awards, a letter I wrote to a former teacher but never sent, decorated with the aforementioned sticker collection (confession: I have had a crush on every male teacher I’ve ever had since junior high. I kept the letter more out of embarrassment than anything. I don’t think I can even read it!), and, probably the best thing that I forgot I had/did: a play I wrote when I was seven.

Yeah. I wrote a play! See, when I was little, I had a ton of career aspirations, but the one I remember having for the longest was writer. Or more accurately, a flight attendant, so I could see the world and meet a lot of interesting people to write about. I was a practical child. I remember writing stories all the time, but as far as I can remember, this was the only play.

So here it is: The Big Trip, by a seven-year-old Naomi, transcribed with spelling/punctuation/style errors left in. A few notes:

• Tania was my best friend at the time and Aubrey (spelled incorrectly throughout) is her older sister. I believe we performed this for the kids in the nursery at church. As I recall, it was a total flop.
• The parts are written for the performers rather than the characters, which I guess shows that I was writing it from a directorial perspective. It should be pretty easy to figure out who the characters are, because they usually introduce themselves. In the scenes on the planes, I'm the flight attendant.
• The Peabody is a real hotel in Orlando, Florida. My family had gone to Orlando the previous summer and seen the duck march there, and I was absolutely enchanted. As far as I know, the catch phrase was of my own invention.
• At the top of the first page I had written and crossed out "Daddy and Naomi's Big Adventure" (supposed to be a play about the time Dad and I took the car to the shop and rode the bus home) and on the back of the last page I have "The Mystery of the Lost Items" (no idea what that was supposed to be about). Even back then I couldn't finish things :/
• I still do not know the difference between a scene and an act, so I can't comment as to whether that is correct or not.

Enjoy!

The Big Trip
by Naomi Beck
Naomi, Tania and Aubry
(written March 1992)

act one Tania’s House - T.A. office

Tania: This house is getting very dull. I think I shoud go on a trip. I’ll call the Travel Agent right now. (Tania dials the phone)

Aubry: Travel Agent office. Miss Conolly speaking.

Tania: Hello, I’d like to go to Florida and reserve a hotel there, too. Do you have any?

Aubry: Yes. I have a hotel and a flight for you. The hotel is the Pebody and I’ll get your flight pass ready for you. You can pick it up tomorrow.



act two Travel Agent’s office

Aubry: Here is the pass. Have fun packing!

Tania: Oh, Thank you! I’ll have fun!

Aubry: You don’t get it. Bye.




Seven Weaks Pass
Act three on the plane

Tania: Wow! This is neat!

Naomi: Buckle your seatbelt. This plane takes off in five minutes.

One Hour Later

Naomi: Here is your meal. Enjoy.

Tania: This is good!



Act four the hotel

Naomi: Pebody, Pebody, Pebody! May I help you?

Tania: Yes, can I get the key to my room

Naomi: Here it is. Have fun.



Act five Tania’s room

Tania: This is a nice room! (Tania relakses then gets her swimsuit on)

Aubry: Hello, I’m the maid. I’ll clean your room for you.

Tania: All together, this is worth all the money I paid.



One Week Passes
Act Six on the plane

Naomi: Well, it’s nice seeing you agin!

Tania: It’s nice seeing you to!



2 Hours Pass
Act seven Tania’s house

Tania: Wow! Was that ever a good trip!

Aubry + Naomi: Well Tania, was your trip good?

Tania: I just said that. Come on, let’s go! I’ll tell you all about my trip.

(Everybody walks away.)

The End