Insanity Mid-Week 2

Has anybody else out there done this before?! I’m losing my mind and I’d like to know if it’s normal.

Last we talked, I’d finished my first week and I was on top of the world. This week, not so much. I don’t know if it’s that I’m not “in the game” like I was last week, or if this is part of the physical process of breaking down the body to rebuild it, or what. All I know is, doing these workouts this week feels like taking the Fit Test all over again. Except it’s twice as hard. And when it’s over, my head is spinning, I’m lying on my side in the living room, limbs splayed, and I’m telling Kane to just let me be—he has permission to eat me if I don’t get up to feed him by tomorrow night.

Possible reason this is impossible #1: Psychological. Am I bored already? Am I expecting myself to perform at a level that my body isn’t quite at yet? Am I pushing too hard in the beginning and not saving any steam for the end?

Possible reason this is impossible #2: Nutrition. This morning I made it through half a warm-up circuit, and I quit. I had NO energy, and I knew that if I kept going, I’d fail way too soon and be disappointed in myself. Waiting until after work was the smarter option. I haven’t been calculating my food. I’ve just been not eating processed foods, staying away from white stuff (bread, potatoes, etc.), and eating as many colorful things as I can. You Know Who shat on the floor yesterday while I was at work (poor guy had an upset tummy), I had friend obligations after cleaning it up, so all I ended up having for dinner was half a boiled, mashed sweet potato with about half a teaspoon of raw sugar. Hardly enough to fuel an Insanity workout 10 hours later, obviously.

Possible reason this is impossible #3: This is just part of the process. It seems like on the Biggest Loser everyone always has a really awesome first week, and then the second week comes back and kick them in the haunches. I’m not weighing myself obsessively (go me), so maybe it’s not the same thing at all. They only deal with the issue as it pertains to the scale—not as it pertains to their performance in the gym. I’m really hoping someone who’s done this program before can shed a little light into this aspect.

But anyway, I’m going to do this thing until the end regardless. I’ll keep you posted.

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Insanity: Week One Thoughts and Impressions

I survived! That was my first thought as I finished the cool-down stretches yesterday. And you know what? I kicked ass yesterday!

I’m going to break this out by day, rather than rambling for several paragraphs.

Day 1: Fit Test. This was so hard. I did make it through, and like I posted earlier, my numbers were OK. I coughed up a ton of phlegm I didn’t even know was there (I know that’s gross, but I think it drives home how intense this program is on your lungs.). My chest felt funny–it didn’t hurt, wasn’t tight, it just felt tired–for the rest of the night. The fit test was incredibly motivating.

Workout One: Plyometric Cardio. Uh, the fit test was hard? Then this was impossible. I had to stop several times during the warm up, not to mention how many times throughout the actual workout. I didn’t finish strong, and I wasn’t terribly proud of myself at the end. I knew I could’ve pushed a lot harder. This workout is essentially 2 incredibly hard circuits, about 3 minutes each, that you repeat 3 times. If you’re just starting out, I teeter between advising you to save some energy for the end (you will need it), or giving it your all and measuring where your fail point is. (Unless you’re already doing CrossFit or P90X or something else really intense, you WILL have a fail point. And that’s OK per Shaun T.) I did the latter the first time around.

Workout Two: Cardio Power and Resistance. Also incredibly hard, but I was measurably stronger on day 3. I didn’t rest during the warm up and took fewer rests throughout. There’s a little bit of strength training here, mostly modifications of pushups. They honestly seemed pretty lame at the time, but my shoulders were definitely rocking the next day. Knowing that the next day was going to be an easy day really helped spur me on.

Workout Three: Cardio Recovery. I was expecting like yoga or something. Nope. Instead I got a ton of squats and lunges. Granted, it was a recovery in that we didn’t jump all over the place for 30 minutes, and that felt nice, but it definitely wasn’t easy and still left me drenched. I actually did make it all the way through this one, without resting or failing. So… go me. In terms of the intensity, this reminded me of a CrossFit WOD I did once: as many lunges and squats as you can do in 30 minutes. There wasn’t any emphasis on being fast, which kept my heart rate down, but my legs felt like they were going to ignite and required additional stretching throughout the day to keep the lactic acid at bay.

Workout Four: Pure Cardio. Or, pure hell. Whichever you want to call it. 15 exercises, 1 minute each, no breaks in between. Even Shaun T. had to break during this one, which made me feel better. I honestly was in such an adrenaline high that I really don’t remember how this one went. I remember resting for about 10 seconds during each exercise. But I finished, and I think I finished strong!

Workout Five: Plyometric Cardio. Again. Only this time, I ROCKED it. No rest until the last round of circuit 3, and even then, I finished way stronger than I ever could have possibly done the second day. I’ll be honest, I cried a little at the end. After I figured out how my legs worked and stood up, I was just so relieved and so proud of myself that I cried. How many workouts have you ever done that brought so many [good] emotions to the surface that you got a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes? I can’t think of any I’ve done.

So anyway, I was about 500 billions times stronger yesterday than when I first started. Today is rest day, and I’m glad. I need it. But I’m already itching to find out what I can do tomorrow.

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Announcement: I’m doing Insanity!

Since my last post, I’ve been feeling a little down. I’m not a runner, I’m not a runner, I’m not a runner. That’s all I’ve been able to think about. What’s my calling? Considering how much I care about fitness, I must have a calling! When I look back at my mid-20s, I want to recall how fit I was, how great I looked. But I’ll never say, “Oh, grandchild, your old grandmother once ran the Boston marathon.” And I have to be OK with that. So then what am I? I’m not motivated enough for CrossFit, so I’m not a CrossFitter. (Anymore. I did CrossFit about 3 years ago and lost nearly 80 pounds. I highly recommend it.) I’m not long and lean, so I’ll never be a yogi.

So I started to look at my strengths. Ability to push myself? Yes. Abhorrence (fear) of working out with groups of people? Yes. Any limit to what I want to accomplish? No. Want to get big and muscular? Not really. So I thought I’d try Insanity. I saw an infomercial for this about a year ago and was incredibly intrigued by it. To tell the truth, I don’t know why I didn’t start it then. I’m sure I had some excuse. But I’m doing it now, and that’s what matters, right?

Here are my mid-week 1 impressions:

• Holy shit. This is hard. Probably 3 times harder than the previously hardest DVD I’ve ever done (Jillian’s Banish Fat, Boost Metabolism). Easily twice as hard as a Body Attack class I did a while ago.
• The fitness test at the beginning was awesome. What a great way to gauge results, as well as your level compared to the people doing it on the DVD with you. It felt good for my beginning numbers to only be a few lower than theirs.
• The fitness test also gave me a “I can’t WAIT to see how much I improve” feeling, which is incredibly motivational.
• Shaun T. is sexy. I love me some Jillian Michaels, but this is a whole other level.
• Real exercise number 1: I was winded and had to stop to rest after the warm up. I totally thought it was part of the routine.
• Real exercise number 2: I made it through the warm up, and took fewer rests throughout. It’s amazing how much your body can improve literally overnight.
• I love that the people doing the routine on the DVD have to stop and rest, too. I love it even more when Shaun T. tells them too. Doesn’t make me feel so bad for NEARLY DYING several times in 40 minutes.
• My body has expelled every morsel of phlegm it had over the past 3 days. Phlegm I had NO IDEA was even there. My lungs feel good.
• I’m totally on the first week Whatcha Got For Me Today, Shaun T.? high. I hope this lasts and it doesn’t get boring or monotonous.]
• I am SORE. In the expected areas (butt, hamstrings, quads, shoulders, abs), but also in my lower back, in between my shoulder blades, and the muscles around my lower calf/ankles. But mostly in my lower back. I had no idea it was so weak.

So there you go. During the next 60 days, I’m going to get fit(ter) or die trying.

(If I don’t post anything in 60 days, please check on me to make sure I’m not dead in my living room, still wearing sweaty gym clothes and shoes. And please let Kane out and give him something to eat if I am dead.)

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Relative. Or perspective. Or something like that.

Tomorrow morning I’m planning to take Diggity to the lake for a run. The lake we go to is freakin’ awesome. The water is clean, the fellow visitors tend to be nice and not scary, and there’s a really cool 1.5 mile trail around it. It’s the perfect length. Short on time? Do one lap, and you’ve still done more than a mile. Mile-and-a-half increments are manageable and easily dissectible, yet chunky enough that going for another really does make a difference. Three miles is a lot easier than four and a half, which is easier than six, etc.

The lake also has 4 or 5 spots where the slope is gradual and sandy enough for dogs to swim in. I’d much rather Kane swim in the lake than anywhere else around here. He doesn’t have projectile butt water after swimming there, which indicates to me it’s not as toxic as some of the other Fido-friendly swimming holes around.

Anyway, I digress. I was talking to someone at work this morning about my plans to run with Diggity tomorrow morning at the lake. She asked how far I usually run. I went into my shpeel about how when I run with Kane on sidewalk, I don’t like to go more than 3.5 miles, but at the lake it’s OK to go however far we want because the ground is soft and it’s easier on his joints, but when I run by myself on the sidewalk I like to go at least 5 or 6 miles. (Just between us, 6.4 is the farthest I’ve ever gone. I must’ve been on speed that day or something because I did it in just over an hour, like 61 or 62 minutes. Crazy.)

She had an amazed look on her face. “Wow,” she said. “I didn’t know you were a long-distance runner.”

I laughed. This girl is tall, thin, fit, and gorgeous. She must’ve meant that sarcastically.

But she was serious. Long distance runner. Three and a half to 6 miles. Long distance. Hmm….

I don’t look like a runner. I don’t move like a runner, I don’t glide like a runner, and I’m not built like a runner. My thighs are thick and musclely, my shoulders broad and heavy. I was built to carry heavy things over short distances. I wasn’t built to sail through the desert or a forest effortlessly chasing (or being chased by) another. I wasn’t built to move quickly at a moment’s notice and change direction with ease. In caveman society, she (the girl who made the comment) would run and kill the mammoth; I would load myself down with as much meat as I could manage and carry it back to camp. We each would have our jobs, and mine wouldn’t be running. I wasn’t designed for that. I just wasn’t, no matter how much I wish I was.

Or was I? Am I a long-distance runner? What is a long distance runner? To me it’s always meant a half marathon or longer. Since reading Born to Run, it’s been longer than that. Long distance? Ehh, 50 or 60 miles, give or take. Crazy talk. My runs? They’re slow, awkward, bouncy, and most of all, SHORT.

I was stunned at first. But then I immediately was filled with a feeling of “Hell yeah, I’m a long-distance runner. I’m fit and happy and graceful. I could dart out of here so fast you’d never even see me leave if I wanted to.”

My thighs are still thick and my shoulders are still broad and strong, but am I agile despite this? I know the real long-distance runners out there are shouting obscenities at me, but seriously. What makes an athlete elite? Being better than everyone else, right? So what makes a run long? It just has to be longer than the person you’re talking to thinks she can go. Is fitness relative? Why was I suddenly convinced that I was Superwoman when someone was impressed with the distance of my runs? It bothers me. If I’m this easily impressed with myself, what little thing is going to make me return to feeling like a slow-but-strong beast of burden? Hearing that someone else in the room regularly runs six and a half miles? That’s crap. It shouldn’t be that way.

Maybe I’m more fit than I think. I can bust out pushups and squats like nobody’s business. I can hold a steady 10-minute-mile for an hour. I can finish Level 3 of Jillian’s 30-Day Shred without stopping, resting, or puking. (Before you judge, try it. That sonofabitch is tough.) Hell, I handle a 100-lb. know-it-all Doberman puppy on a day-to-day basis, and I think nothing of snatching him up by the neck and bringing him face-to-face with me. So in light of all these facts, maybe it shouldn’t bother me that I can’t run a half marathon or that I’m carrying an extra 20 – 30 pounds on my hips. Maybe I should start focusing on how awesome and fit I am rather than hiding or exaggerating how fit I’m not. When fitness is relative, what better anchor than yourself?

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Eating Cleanly, Doggie Style

Before I get started, let’s just put something out there: I don’t have much going on in my life. In fact, 85% of my life revolves around my dog. I work so that I can feed and keep him, ALL of my friends are dog people (and the closest are trainers), I go to the grocery store to buy him chicken thighs and pick up a few things for myself while I’m there, etc.

I also love to cook. As I am now single (and actually when I wasn’t single—Jeff did the majority of the cooking) and dieting, I don’t cook a lot. I cook healthy meals for myself, but they are simple and relatively bland, and are a means to an end (not starving). I miss cooking. I miss having someone to cook for. I miss putting a lot of thought and effort into a meal. After all, aside from speech and tool usage, isn’t congregating around a meal one of the things that makes us most human? Isn’t that how we show love and how we nurture one another? How we celebrate and mourn?

Even more than I love my dog and to cook, I am fascinated by tinkering with diets. Biochemistry is freakin’ awesome. Maybe deep down I’m a control freak. I love controlling diet and watching the results. It’s amazing how much you can change the way this marvelous and magical machine we call the human body works just by changing what you do with it and what you put in it.

My own clean eating experiment is going well. (Uh… except for the half a loaf of French bread I just ate. And the beer I’m getting ready to drink.) I’m steadily dropping weight, my skin is clearer, I have more energy, my hair is thicker, my nails are stronger and growing faster. I think tinkering with my own diet even more would make me feel deprived. I am a highly emotional woman, after all, and I need chocolate, coffee, and something crunchy that’s not a carrot every now and then.

So as I was scooping Kane’s breakfast kibble this morning, I asked myself, “Why am I still bothering with this junk?” (Kane is on a half kibble, half raw diet.)

He gets the best kibble there is to buy. Given his cooked/processed chicken intolerance, general skin issues, and my own haughty nature, our choices of kibble are very limited. I’m not knocking the brand. California Naturals has been a Godsend since I’ve had him on it. His skin and poop have improved wondrously.

But it’s still kibble. It still has grain in it, it’s still a substandard meat source, and it’s still processed in a facility that, though I’ve never been there or investigated, I’m willing to bet is less than clean and not exactly animal friendly. Nothing against California Naturals, that’s just how the dog food business works. It’s gross. It’s disgusting.

I’m seriously considering switching him to an all raw diet, and being done with kibble once and for all.

The pros:

• I can buy organic meat in bulk and save about $15/month (as opposed to buying kibble)
• I’m one person with a full-sized freezer, so there’s room to store bulk meat
• I’ll get to cook for someone I love again
• I’ll get to tinker with someone’s diet who can’t sneak half a loaf of French bread behind my back
• I have the time and money to do it
• I’ll get to research more about biologically appropriate diets
• I can do a before-and-after assessment
• If what I’ve read thus far is true, my Diggity will live a longer and healthier life
• It’ll cost about the same or less
• I’ll have a sense of superiority over people who feed kibble
• I’ll have something to talk about at parties

The cons:

• It will be more time consuming
• I will have to monitor his vitamin and mineral intakes, which is more labor intensive
• I will have to spend weeks researching how to do it right
• I can’t find a vet (aside from the glorious Dr. Karen Becker) who agrees that biologically appropriate food is indeed appropriate, so I’d have to be prepared to fight that argument any time it was brought up
• Travelling will be kind of a pain—keeping his food cold and clean
• I’ll have to start making his treats: no grain means no grain
• I won’t have an excuse to go to Care-a-Lot as often
• We won’t be able to go for a walk without being stopped a billion times for a stranger to tell me how beautifully toned and shiny he is

In all seriousness, this is something I’d love to give a shot. The Interweb is a scary place full of bozos though, and they all seem to know what’s best for my dog. Have any of my loyal readers (or reader, Patty) had any experience transitioning to an all-raw diet? Do you have any input? Any comments or results to share? How did you get started? What books should I read? I’d love to hear any thoughts or suggestions!

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Thoughts While Running

Mile 1:

It’s really hot out here!

I think about weird, random stuff when I run.

Maybe I’ll do a blog post about what I think about when I run?

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

I really like this neighborhood.

I wonder if anyone’s watching me.

I’m glad I wore Bermuda shorts.

Good call on taking ibuprofen before leaving.

What time did I leave?

Mile 2:

I wonder what Jeff’s doing.

It’s so hot.

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

[Upon passing/smelling Hardee’s] I may throw up.

Would anyone care if I threw up right here?

Why are there always half-eaten chicken bones outside of Rite Aid?

I need new running shoes.

No, I want new running shoes.

My knee hurts a little.

I wonder if I smell bad?

Nope, that was a homeless guy I smelled.

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

What should I wear today?

I wish I were drinking a gallon of cold water right now.

I want some new nail polish.

What color?

Mile 3:

OMG, it’s so bloody hot.

I wish I were running through a sprinkler right now.

How long has it been since I ran through a sprinkler?

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

Did I wash all of my mascara off last night, or is it dripping down my face right now?

[Upon seeing some EVMS students checking me out] I should’ve worn my running skirt.

IT’S SO HOT.

My knee is crunching. It hurts.

My hair is so wet. It’s sticking to me. I hate when my hair sticks to me.

Can anyone hear my knee crunching?

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

Heels or flats today?

Last Half Mile

I don’t know if I’m going to survive. IT’S SO HOT.

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

Breathe in in, out out. In in, out out.

I wish I were in Antartica now.

I’ll regret that in January.

Where will I be in January?

I should try to find some running tights and thermal shirts on sale.

OUCH! Sweat in the eyes.

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

Kane’s not even out of breath. Jerk.

Breathe in in, out out.

Five more blocks.

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

OK, time to kick it.

What if I faceplanted into the sidewalk right now?

Breathe in in, out out.

Just make it to the steps and I’m done.

Belly button into the spine, shoulders down, head up.

End results: 3.6 miles, 37 minutes, 1 poop stop, 4 marking stops, and 1 stop for traffic. Not bad.

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Running, Meet Jiu Jitsu. Jiu Jitsu, Running.

Until now, I’ve been incredibly lucky with Kane. We’ve had no real issues. But as I’ve mentioned several times, he’s growing up. And things are starting to change.

He’s a happy-go-lucky boy. Very laid back, sweet, and affectionate. But within the last week or two, he’s become really… well, aggressive. He growls a lot. He lunges and barks and people and other dogs. And skateboards? Holy shit—you’d think a homeless guy with a whistle and hotdogs strapped all over him just walked by, based on his reaction. This is not the dog I’ve lived with for the past year. What the fuck is going on?

Things culminated yesterday morning. We get up early. When I let him out first thing, I rarely put him on a leash. It’s 5:15 and no one is usually around. Yesterday morning, there was someone on the sidewalk. Kane ran at them, barking and snarling. The poor guy was terrified. Of course Kane didn’t touch the guy, but that’s still way inappropriate and not cool.

We got dressed and started our run. We hadn’t made it 50 feet before Kane lunged and barked at the paper lady. I spent the rest of the run really annoyed with him. Where is this coming from?! On the last half mile, we run alongside a big field. About halfway down the field, we met a small, long, hairy dog and a man walking toward us. Kane and I got over into the grass so they could pass on the sidewalk. That little asshole did it again—he lunged at and started barking at the other dog!

I’m not sure what came over me or what happened next, but the next thing I knew, Kane was on his back in the grass, my iPod was about 10 feet away from us, I was on top of him on my knees, and I had my hand around his throat telling him, “That’s. Enough.” I held him there for a good 30 seconds and stared at him, heart racing, sweat dripping off me. I’d absolutely had enough, and I was ready to strangle him if he gave me any resistance. He didn’t. I eventually let him up and we finished our run.

I called Ralph as soon as we got home. His answer? “You have a teenage male dog. Not only that, you have a teenage male Doberman. What did you think was going to happen when he started to mature? You need to get your head in the game, Mom, right now.” I spent most of yesterday analyzing and formulating a plan for dealing with this most unpleasant behavior. I’ve had a take-no-prisoners attitude ever since, and things have been tranquil. Ralph gave me strict instructions to “come down like a hammer” on him when he steps out of line, and to “smoke him” when he exhibits any outwardly aggressive behavior.

I have no issues with him meeting aggression with aggression, with handling unwarranted conflict with swift and warrior-like brutality. (This is my philosophy for people, too, by the way). But I’m not OK with him starting conflicts and initiating aggression. It’s unseemly, frightening, and a complete waste of energy for both of us. This is normal, Ralph said, for teenagers. Especially males. And especially male Dobermans. He said for a lot of things, it’s going to feel like we’ve gone back to square one for the next few weeks or months. Great. I spent $1000 and hundreds of hours already on training, and now, at almost a year and a half old, I have to go back to the beginning? Awesome. Ralph said it’s different this time. This time he knows what he’s not supposed to do—I just have to make sure it’s never worth his while to do it anyway. He’s going to start testing my boundaries and disrespecting me, and I have to be ready. I have a feeling we’re both in for a very interesting ride. Oh, and that super nice collar I bought? Jerko won’t be wearing it for a while. We’re back to his choker and e-collar for a while, until this settles down. Thank God for e-collars and caffeine.

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Slow Motion

Have you ever seen one of those slow-motion shots on Discovery or TLC of a bullet being shot into a tank of water? For a nanosecond, all remains as it always has been. There may be some ripples on the water’s surface, but there’s no indication that something traumatic is about to happen. And then slowly, the bullet hits the glass tank, and then the water; molecule by molecule, all hell breaks loose. Water separates from tank, glass separates from water, and atom by atom, the entire structure is disassembled.

For a while, each individual water and glass atom (no idea what the atomic numbers are here; forgive me and go with the image, sciency jerks) hang separated, suspended. You can look at the disarray as a whole and tell what used to be there. But you can also tell that whatever this melee used to be, it will never be again. The pieces will eventually fall back to earth, and there will be an entirely new structure to behold. You know this will happen. But looking at the constellation of glass and water, it’s almost possible to believe that they will hang like this, motionless, for eternity.

This is how I feel today–like every single atom in my body and mind has been ripped apart and is hanging suspended over me, waiting to fall back into place. I feel stagnant and anticipatory at the same time. It’s not just love: it’s work and school (or the possibility thereof) too.

When I was a little girl, my grandfather used to make me sit still while he poured rubbing alcohol into the scrapes I got from climbing trees. It has to sting, he said, and then you can go play again. (I guess nobody told Papa that hydrogen peroxide would sterilize without making me wish I were dead; but then where would I get my metaphors?) When I was fat and on my way to healthy, I beat the piss out of my body. It has to hurt now, I told myself, so it doesn’t hurt worse later.

I don’t know what the pragmatic thing to do is at this stage in my life. This sort of stagnation isn’t something I can pour rubbing alcohol on or sweat out. Maybe at this point in my life I’m just supposed to get up, breathe in and out all day, do my job, take care of my dog, and come home and be still. I’m not even really sad about it; I just want something to happen, whether it’s getting a new job, (hell, or getting fired from my job at this point), getting into grad school, moving, getting another puppy, buying a house, SOMETHING. But maybe the fragments aren’t ready to fall into place.

I also randomly started REALLY wanting another puppy today. Of course I can’t do it. It’s hard enough finding a place to live for 1 Doberman when you rent; I can’t imagine trying to find a place for 2 of them. In perusing my breeders’ web sites, I did see that there is a 2-year-old red, intact, Russian male Doberman in Alexandria who needs a good (and very firm) home. Just putting the word out there….

Kane and Cynder early last summer.... I'm feeling a bit nostalgic for puppies tonight.

For now I’m going to keep breathing in and breathing out, and loving my dog and myself the best I can.

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I Should Be Running with My Dog

I should be running now, instead of writing this post and eating a delicious bowl of soup. Whatever.

I’ve been busy today. My stupid dog (also known as the love of my life and the Heinous Canis) woke me up before 7. Awesome. I putzed around on my brand spankin’ new computer for a little while, and then decided to do some home improvement-type projects. Of course I had to wait until my ex-boyfriend/friend/roommate/lover woke up, because I’m incapable of making any sort of purchase at Lowe’s or Home Depot without his blessing. No really, I am. I always buy the wrong thing and have to go back a million times, and by then I’m no longer interested in the project.

On the docket today was painting my bed and dresser. Both are super old hand-me-downs. I found the bed, one of those really old metal ones, in the attic of my grandparents’ barn. It’s like a hundred years old or something. I painted it a deep chocolate brown a few years ago, but I wanted something new for my new apartment (which I got yesterday, by the way). So 5 cans of textured graphite/charcoal/dark grey spray paint went in the cart. The dresser I found in my parents’ basement a few years ago and painted brown and cream. For it I got a quart of deep steel grey satin finish paint and some new silver knobs. Very trendy and chic. So two new pieces of furniture. The cost: $87 plus 3 hours of labor. Not bad.

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Operation Don’t Be A Fat Ass: Day One

Day One of Operation Don’t Be a Fat Ass went pretty well. I went to bed super early last night so I’d have no I’m so TIRED! excuse this morning when it was time to work out. It worked: I was refreshed and excited. I also didn’t eat anything before my workout (who eats at 5 a.m.?) and 35 minutes into Jillian beating the piss out of me, I got a little weak. But I “dug deeper” (Thank you, Shaun T. Insanity infomercials.) and got through it. I’m hoping to reach the Puke Point this weekend, just to see where that point is now. I’m guessing it’s way lower than this past summer. (If you’ve never thrown up from working out [too] hard, I highly recommend it. It’s not something a normal person should ever strive for, but I think anybody who cares about working out should experience it by mistake once.)

Kane got no love from me this morning—other than breakfast and his goodbye kiss on the nose, of course—because I had to be across town at 8 to see an apartment. Naturally after I fought downtown traffic to get there, the lady called to cancel. Something about somebody being sick and taking kids to school. Whatever. Stupid kids and their school. I need a place to live! I’m hoping this is one of those worth-waiting-for situations that will work out in the end. It looks like a great place to be alone forever with my Heinous Canis.

No reason for this. It’s just super handsome.

I’m planning to do some obedience drills with him tonight during and after our walk. His Heel in motion is beautiful, but I’d like to tighten it up a bit when we’re stationary. We also need to work on his Knee command. (The Knee command instructs him to come from wherever he happens to be and to take the shortest route available to sitting by my left side.) He gets so excited when he does it that he often leaps in the air and does a 180° turn there, his bottom landing squarely beside me. Though not the classical style, I’ve got to say, it does make me happy that he gets so much pleasure from “working” for me. I can’t say I’ve ever done anything that made me so excited. Unless, of course, somebody was calling me into the kitchen to lick cake batter-covered beaters. Ahh… one day, sugar. You will be mine again.

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