Chookooloonks

observation made while simultaneously looking in the mirror and getting dressed for my morning run

Regardless of size, torso fat rolls should never be bigger than your boobs.

measurements for week #7, and why self-restraint has kept me out of jail

Total cumulative inches lost: 4-1/2 inches (inches lost in the past four weeks: 0 inches) Number of days I went running in the last 7 days: 6

Perhaps I should just accept the truth: God meant for me to look like this.

In other news, yesterday, as I was running, a boy who COULDN'T BE ANY OLDER THAN TWELVE shouted out:

"Hey, baby, I like watching you run."

It is a testament to my willpower and upbringing that I didn't just change course, run over, and throttle him to a bloody pulp.

I mean, really: "hey, baby"? Little boy, you are twelve. Do yourself a favour, and get through puberty before you start trying to offend women.

measurements for week #6, and schizophrenia

Alex and me during a rainy day self-portrait, taken June 8, 2006

For the third week in a row, I've lost nothing (leaving my total inches lost at 4-1/2). I can look at it three ways:

(a) I should be happy, because I only worked out 4 days of the last seven, and given my metabolism, I should've blown up like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man;

(b) My body has found the weight it truly likes to be -- however, the weight I truly like to be is about 10 pounds less (I'm guessing -- I've been avoiding the scale), boding intense and possibly hostile negotiations between me and my body in the very near future; or

(c) The 1/16th of a mile that I've cut off of my usual running route during the last few weeks (so removed to avoid further "dumpling" incidents) is apparently critical to my fitness success, clearly establishing that construction-worker abuse is vital to any serious exercise regime.

Today, I choose (a).

In other news, this morning I met a woman I'd never met before for coffee. (For the purposes of this story, let's call this woman "Clementine," which isn't her real name, or even close, but didn't you just love Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind?). Clementine and I share a mutual friend in Houston, who suggested that Clementine contact me while visiting Trinidad to determine the country's "livability." Always happy to help a friend of a friend (and talk about Trinidad), I obliged.

It's always very interesting for me to talk to Americans about Trinidad, because I find myself feeling rather schizophrenic. On one hand, I spent the majority of my life in America, and in many ways, I understand what Americans value about their home country. On the other hand, even given my extended time away from Trinidad, I feel more Trini than American, and so I find myself "selling" Trinidad whenever I speak to non-Trinis. So even though I talked about the crime situation here (because, let's face it, Clementine was asking about residing in Trinidad, and unfortunately, you can't talk about life here without including some mention of crime), I ended up spending a majority of the time talking about the lovely people! Beautiful scenery! Amazing music! Vibrant art! The Soca Warriors, for heaven's sake! Then, afraid that perhaps my Trini bias was colouring my description to her a little too much, guilt moved me to suggest she talk to my friend Joanna, who recently moved here with her family, to get a truer version of what it's like to move here from another country. Hopefully, between the two of us, Clementine will get a somewhat accurate picture of what life in Trinidad is like.

The other thing that I noticed myself doing (which I know I do all the time), is while I was speaking to Clementine, my American accent came on strong. Having spent so much of my life in America, I can do an American accent without even thinking about it. And its tone? Completely nondescript. It's like Newscaster American -- there's no mistaking its origins in the United States, but you'd be hard-pressed to assign a particular state or region to it. It is, come to think of it, like Clementine's (and by "Clementine," I mean Kate Winslet's American accent from Eternal Sunshine, not the woman I met today, whose accent is clearly from the northeastern part of the United States). And yet, when I needed to speak to the waitstaff at the restaurant where we were having coffee, I slipped right into Trini. It's like being bilingual, without ever changing languages. At this point, I don't even know WHAT my natural accent is anymore.

So pity poor Alex, who, God help her, is surrounded by dozens of people speaking dozens of different ways to her. Her father has a distinctly Cornish accent, and I slip back and forth between Newscaster American and St. Joseph's Convent-girl Trini (there is, apparently, a special way girls who attended St. Joseph's Convent high school, as I did, speak, as compared to the rest of Trinidad). Celeste speaks to Alex in a rank Trinidadian accent. My parents speak to her in unspoiled Trini. Her schoolteacher is from Holland, though married to a Trini; and so she speaks to Alex with a Trinidadian accent slightly tinged with Dutch. All of Alex's friends at school are from both Trinidad and the rest of the world, but her best friend, Charlie, speaks with an Australian accent (though Charlie's grandmother, who Alex sees often enough, speaks to her with a Polish accent). Recently, anyone who meets Alex invariably asks me, "What is her accent?" My usual response: "Hell if I know."

Still, in a way, there's a part of me that is pretty proud of the fact that Alex is exposed to so many cultures in her day-to-day life -- I suspect very few children her age have such an international community at their disposal. But I can't help but also wonder to which country Alex will feel most of an affinity -- will she feel more English? Trini? American? Wherever we may end up moving next? I suppose time (and her accent) will tell.

In the meantime, Clementine (the woman I met today, not Kate Winslet), I hope I gave you the kind of information you were looking for. If the information seemed a bit random and disjointed, you now know why.

don't. push. me. 'cause i'm close. to. the. eeeeeedge

So this morning I was really angry. What I was angry about isn't all that important.

Okay, yes it is.

I mean, really: do you think it's unreasonable for me to be angry because my babysitter was late... AGAIN... with no explanation, no phone call, and she has yet to give me a cell phone number that works, even though she has, wait for it, THREE cell phones? The number I called this morning was answered by some friend she lent it to. Honestly.

When she waltzed in TWO HOURS LATE with only a half-hearted explanation ("When I left the house this morning, it started to rain." RAIN! Hello, it's the TROPICS!), I blew her head clean off her body. Then I went for a run -- my first in three days, since lately I've had Many Pressing Obligations.

As I walked out of the house, the sun was already blazingly hot, because -- allow me to direct your attention to this globe -- the Equator is here, and Trinidad is righthere. So I stepped out of the gate...

...and had the best run I've had thus far. Seriously, I was so busy stewing that I didn't notice I ran more than I ever had before. And so, my little kumquats, I've discovered the key to my stamina:

Unmitigated fury.

measurements for week #5

Total cumulative inches lost: 4-1/2 inches (inches lost in the past two weeks: 0 inches) Number of days I went running in the last 7 days: 5 (swam the other two)

Ladies and gentlemen, I believe I have reached what is called a "plateau."

measurements for week #4, or thank god i haven't blown up like a balloon

Total cumulative inches lost: 4-1/2 inches (inches lost in the past week: 0 inches)

Now normally, I would seriously be moaning about the fact that after 6 days of running my tookus off, I seem to have not run ANY of my tookus off. Normally, that is, if I hadn't eaten enough food this past week to support a small starving country.

What IS it about having guests that makes it okay to eat like you're craving to be supersized? I mean, forget for a while that I made more rum punch than should be legal, or that we spent the last two days in a hotel known for its good food, or that for some reason I've felt the need to cook as much Trini food as I can force down poor Unka Dan -- nothing says I have to eat it. I mean, let's face it -- none of this food is new to me.

Ah, but apparently something does say so, because I've been eating like I'm representing Trinidad & Tobago in the Olympics, eating is a new event, and I'm going for gold. I've drank gallons of rum punch, and eaten unseemly amounts of food. And get this -- for superstitious reasons that are too odd and obscure to go into here, I felt the need to force a beer down my throat while watching the World Cup match, because I truly believed that if I didn't, the team would lose. And I despise beer.

Hey, but it worked, didn't it?

So, anyway, I'm grateful that after all this overindulgence, I don't look like the side of a barn. And actually, I'm starting to notice the shape of my body changing (and in a way I don't find offensive), so that's good too. No complaints here.

Tomorrow, however, we fly to Tobago, and stay at an all-inclusive resort for the next 4 days. For the uninitiated, "all-inclusive" means that all the food we can eat and all the alcohol we can drink is included in the nightly rate.

I. AM. DOOMED.

(How are you doing?)

measurements for week #3, and some random observations

Total cumulative inches lost: 4-1/2 inches (inches lost in the past week: 2-1/4 inches)

Well, definitely better results this week. I actually managed to run every day -- I still don't enjoy it, but watching the numbers on the tape measure get smaller makes it more bearable...I guess. On the upside, my friend Joanna tells me it looks like I've lost weight (I actually have no idea if I have or not -- I haven't stepped on a scale), so, of course, I had to tackle her and kiss her full on the mouth for making her kind observation. She was alarmed, to say the least.

Kidding. She wasn't that alarmed.

Anyway, a few more thoughts:

1. My knees are killing me. I'm told cod liver oil tablets are good for your joints -- anyone know if this is true? And since the cod liver oil tablets I found this morning expired in 2004, anyone know if the "fish oil" tablets I also found in our cupboard (exp. 12/07) would manage to do the same thing?

2. Last Thursday, because of a confluence of circumstances coming together in my favour, I was able to get out and run at about 6 a.m. Of the two-mile route, I actually ran about 75%. It was about 70 degrees outside.

The following Friday, I wasn't able to run until 8:45 a.m. Of the same route, I ran about 25%. It was about 95 degrees.

Coincidence? I think not.

3. Little known fact: my ex-husband was born on 6/06/66 -- which means, had we remained married, I would still be living with a man who turns the midlife-crisis-inducing age of 40 today, 6/06/06.

Bullet: dodged.

measurements for week #2, or why this would normally be the time i'd throw in the towel and stuff my face with chocolate

Total cumulative inches lost: 2-1/4 inches (inches lost in the past week: 3/4 inch).

Three-quarters of an inch. I've been doing this miserable running thing all week long, and have lost a mere three-quarters of an inch.

This, my friends, is where I consider that perhaps it's not worth it. Even though I've figured out the gait at which I need to run to ensure I don't lose my breath (yay!), my legs still feel like lead sacks of water (boo), so my running-to-walking ratio has not significantly improved. And thanks to an unbelievably unforgiving mirror at the hotel in Grand Riviere this past weekend, I realized that cellulite is slowly eating my entire body, and my ass is continuing its death march down the back of my legs.

Not that I'm discouraged or anything.

BUT! I shall persevere, my little kumquats, because (a) I said I would, and (b) it is entirely possible that my poor self-image may be arising, at least partially, from hormonal fluctuations. I'm just saying.

Anyway, hopefully those of you who've joined me on this challenge are doing great -- and if you're not, don't give up, it's not too late to keep going. Trust me, I feel your pain -- but don't give up!

So ... anyone else want to share their progress?

something of a contest, and measurements for week #1

A Valentine's Day card Marcus made for me years ago, using Mardi Gras beads he bought while on a business trip to New Orleans

In exactly one month, Granny the Great will be celebrating her 100th birthday.

One hundred years old.

As you might expect, there's going to be quite the fête -- lots of friends and family gathered to celebrate her special day. Of course, Granny the Great has been very clear on how she wants to celebrate -- it is to be an outdoor evening celebration, and she came up with the guest list herself. Woe to the person who crosses Granny the Great when it comes to her plans.

Here's the thing, though: what the hell do you buy someone on their 100th birthday? I mean, really: not to be irreverent, but by 100 years old, surely you own everything you could possibly want or need. And it occurs to me that something as trite as, say, a photo album, just doesn't convey the sort of meaning that you'd want to convey to your grandmother on her 100th birthday.

So, any ideas? As background, my grandmother is sentimental, funny, and sharp as a whip. While her mind is quite together, however, she is rather frail -- I mean, let's face it, she's 100 years old. So spa weekends and that sort of thing are out. If anyone comes up with a great idea that I use, I'll... I'll send you a small memento from Trinidad. Deal?

Seriously, I could use your help. All suggestions welcome!

_____________________________

Total cumulative inches lost: 1-1/2 inches. God bless water weight, people. As a point of interest, even though this calculation only includes measurements of my chest, waist and hips, I also lost an inch off of my thighs and 1/2 an inch off of my upper arm. I didn't diet one bit (remember my steak-and-eggs breakfast?), so this is why I have to think that this is just water-weight. Also, I ran 5 out of the last 7 days, and for what it's worth, I hated every minute of it. But it was my promise to you that I'd report in that kept me going --- way to have my back!

So those of you who said you'd join me, please share how you've done in the comments section, below. Don't be shy. We're all in this together, remember?

running for my life

Dried streambed through bamboo, next to the road in front of our home

I am in such sad shape.

Okay, that's not entirely true. I benchpress a reasonable amount. I can do 100 crunches in one go easily without breaking a sweat. But my aerobic capacity? Pathetic. Really. It's the running thing -- I just can't do it. This is odd, because I'm a walking champ. I have no doubt that I could walk a half-marathon cold without training, at a pretty decent clip (say, 4-1/2 miles an hour). I could probably do a full marathon with merely a couple of weeks training. But to take that pace up to a slow jog? I'm useless. I can't even go 200 feet, I bet. Push me to run, and in no time flat I'm heaving and coughing and alarming anyone who is close enough to witness.

Anyway, this morning, as I was coming up with items to feature on Blogging Baby, I came upon this article in Scientific American. The article basically says that married mothers who work outside of the home are healthier and slimmer than their stay-at-home counterparts. I found this article vaguely offensive, although I can't really put my finger on why. Is it because I'm inferring some sort of insidious implication that women who stay home with their kids are lazy? Or maybe it's just that I feel healthy, and am incensed that the article would intimate otherwise?

Or perhaps it's just that I'm petrified that now that I stay at home with Alex, the article might actually be right?

The truth is, I think as far as my life is concerned, the article is dead wrong. I've lost weight since staying at home, and Lord knows that without the corporate stress, I'm a far nicer person. Still, the article has prompted me to forevermore prove that its premise is inaccurate:

This morning, I went running.

People, it was ugly. I only went about 2 miles, and I probably actually ran only about an eighth of it, walking and wheezing the rest. This cannot continue.

So I'm making this public commitment that by July 16th, my 39th birthday, I'll be able to run the entire 2 miles. That's right people, when those of you who are attending BlogHer see me, you'll find yourself gasping, "My GOD! Look at the SLEEK RUNNER'S PHYSIQUE on Karen!"

Okay, perhaps that's a bit unrealistic. But hopefully, you'll at least notice my healthy glow.

Anyway, to make this interesting, every Tuesday between now and then I'll make a note of how many inches I've lost -- keeping in mind that I won't be dieting, since I don't believe in it, so I don't expect a drastic change. I do however, expect some change, so I'll measure my chest, waist and hips and put the cumulative inches lost at the bottom of every Tuesday post. And since misery loves company, feel free to join me -- particularly if you're a stay-at-home mom. Find something you enjoy to do, get moving, measure yourself on Tuesdays, and leave you cumulative inches lost in the comments. Do it anonymously, if you'd like, but let's get fit together. The worst that'll happen is that we'll all look better in bikinis, right?

Okay, then. Only 8 more weeks until July 16. Ready?

Go.

_________

Cumulative inches lost: 0