catchmyfancy: graffiti of the word "verb" on the side of a building in Fitzroy, Melbourne, Australia (doing word)
Just put Sad Bottom-of-the-Fridge Leftover Vegetables into a pan to roast (okay, so the onions and garlic were neither sad nor leftover, but I do love a roast onion).

PLN continues.

I know it is sort of working because I have a cold and I look like a reanimated zombie.

Tomorrow: six hours of Wagner.  That should clear out the sinuses.

Hmmmm

Jul. 7th, 2011 07:58 pm
catchmyfancy: (dancer flexing)
Did the gym today.

Did not want to.  But I felt I MUST.

And the endorphin buzz got me through the afternoon.  (We will draw a discreet veil over the fact that I got the sniffles about 4pm and my head feels funny.  It's just some toxins making their way out of my body.  And that's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
catchmyfancy: (beach weightlifter)
....not long back from the gym.

Mike the Personal Trainer is concerned about my core muscles, apparently.  He wants to make sure I Know They Are There.

Hey Mike, with the new program (which I finally did all the way through tonight): NOT GONNA BE A PROBLEM.

yowza!

Currently enjoying two sensations not felt for a long time:

1. having changed, fabric sliding over my muscles
2. genuinely hungry.
catchmyfancy: Classical-style painting of the three graces or muses, naked, each holding an apple in her outstretched hand. (graces)

I'm feeling smugly satisfied because:
  •  in the last two weeks I put on 5 kilos (FIVE!) due to general erk and not being organised at home and falling into that "what's just one?" trap (this is not what I am feeling smugly satisfied about, oh hell no)
  • but then I went at it at the gym and managed to get my food choices back on track (ie make the healthy choices)
  • and today I had lost 2.6 of the wretched things (2.4 to go!)
  • but then Mike the Personal trainer was pleased and kinda shocked, saying thusly: "I thought maybe five over five weeks" when i was bitching about missing my target of 3kg.
  • and I got to say: "Dude: have we MET?"
catchmyfancy: (escher)
Action today:

1. LMusA
  • the lovely Anna found me the sheet music for From Rosy Bowers (Purcell).  Have printed it out and found a recording I like.

4. Geoffrey Parsons award:  
  • Tom has settled on Schlagende Herzen (Strauss) and Von ewiger Liebe (Brahms) for our two audition pieces. 
  • I went and found the soprano version of the Brahms (but the recording I love most is by a mezzo, Anne Sofie van Otter, go figure); gave it to Tom before he went away for a week (and also loaned him my shiny new Gerald Moore book, he better not lose it in the wilds of Hamilton that's all I can say; or use it to fend off the young lasses - and possibly young lads - of said township, who will no doubt think their eisteddfod accompanist surpassing fair and overly talented and thus eminently pursuable - poor Tom!); and broke the back of it tonight so I can start digging into it in my lesson tomorrow.
  • is it weird to say I'm terribly excited by the Brahms?  Not just because it's a glorious, difficult piece; but because FINALLY I have a piece that trips me up on every.single.thing I think is missing/wrong/undeveloped in my singing, the things that keep me a talented amateur instead of letting me advance to be a professional contender.  It's an excellent diagnostic tool as well as being a masterwork.
5. Stash wars: found the yellow gingham for Josie's apron, and also the interfacing for tracing the pattern onto.

6. Stuff wars: cleared out my cupboard and the one in the front room of all the plastic hangers I have ever bought, methinks.  Have made a date with Melinda to drive her home on Wednesday, which means I can deposit all the hangers into the charity bin in the church next door to her house.

8. Make the better decision:
  • had breakfast this morning, and chose fresh-squeezed vegie juice and a chicken-and-dark-leaves-in-mountain-bread roll for lunch. 
  • Had dinner at Mary and Melinda's house and got chickpea and chorizo and tomato something plus salad and more flatbread. 
  • Went and bought vegies and fruit and general Stuff tonight - spent $47, but I have everything I need for the rest of the week foodwise. 
  • DID NOT GO TO GYM, but then was not breathing overly well for most of the day, so: swings and roundabouts. 
  • Got 16 minutes before bed! (outside limit of midnight).
catchmyfancy: (escher)
A week or so ago I was meandering through old entries trying to find a recipe I posted a couple of years ago. 

Which is like going to look up just one small thing in the encyclopedia and coming to about two hours later sitting on the floor surrounded by open volumes.  I guess the internets equivalent is getting sucked into the TV Tropes vortex.  (Click on link at your own time-management peril).

I ended up reading the first six months of entries wherein I came to grips with physical training (and my vocal injury), and I realised a couple of things:
(a) I really suck at tag management and will now have to go back and re-tag everything
(b) posting little and often and using the blog as, ooh I don't know, an online diary or something really actually worked.  I liked being able to type the words "just back from the gym", so I tended to BE just back from the gym.

I've been updating on Facecrack, but that just dissolves into....somewhere and nowhere.  You can't go back a couple of months easily, never mind a couple of years.

These days I have multiple projects on, so instead of just one multifaceted project (like [personal profile] etfb 's Project Apple - and hey - that one worked!) I bring you THE LIST (dun dun duuuuun!)

Here they all are:

1. LMusA practical singing exam - 40 minute recital with bonus viva voce from the examiners -  Deadline: mid-Sept

2. Musicianship 6th grade (basically the written component of (1): aka just cos you can sing pretty doesn't mean you're allowed to be all iggerant and not know a relative minor should one bite you on the arse)(and believe me, in the past they have)  Deadline: mid-August

3.  Lyrebird music society recital: 5th September at 2.30pm DO come and bring all your friends 80 minute recital (or two 40-minute halves - if ever I was losing my junior journeyman status and heading towards senior in the bizarre ricocheting journey that is my musical career where I'm either an earlier-spent-force-regathered or a very late bloomer - pick one -  and looking ahead to the dim, daunting peaks of mastery, September will be the month to KNOW.)

4. Geoffrey Parsons award: 28th June in Ajuloide.  Me and Tom throwing down in the city of churches.

5. Stash wars: who will win - the fabric stash or me?  In this challenge I attempt to ignore the screams of the fabric as I cut into it and actually turn it INTO something and get it out the door, or in use around the house. Deadline: end of 2010, it's gone, it's made, or it's earmarked.

6. Stuff wars (a slightly snappier title than "jesus mary joseph and ethel merman, I am drowning in STUFF and it must go before I turn into someone who has to clear a path into the rooms they want to use...").  Deadline: right bloody NOW.

7. Garden: needs to be looked after better.  Deadline: so it's pretty in the Spring.

8. Gym, fitness, sleeping, eating - I'm giving this one no deadline, but I'll go with: make the better decision.  Every time.  It helps to have perspective: one of my singing teacher's other students came for her lesson and we were chatting about staying well and looking after yourself and all I could hear was whine-whine-whinge (yeah, she's young and fairly ridiculous, just like looking in the retrospectoscope for me) and when she said "I'll try", I have to admit I lost my temper a little and my parting line was: "as Yoda says: Do.  or Do Not.  There is no 'Try'."  It is a fabulous exit line.  But as I dodged trams across Royal Parade, I had to admit: good advice for me too.  I either make the right decision (going to bed at 11pm not 2am; going to the gym instead of sitting hunched at my desk; cooking real food instead of eating whatever) or I don't.  And no whining about the consequences.  (not the warmest and fluffiest of places to be sitting, but at least it's honest).

And that should keep me going for a while, I reckon...
catchmyfancy: (determined)
For those of you who came in late:

1. I put on weight and the gym habit suffered

2. I re-dedicated myself to the effort, using the logic that as I organise 20,000 people a year I can certainly sort myself (who is just one person and one who I happen to know pretty well) out with some minimal mental application

3. It's been working!  Am about to begin week four and I've lost weight, am feeling 40,000 times fitter and stronger, and, most importantly: I have got myself into a routine at home to keep things going, as it turns out that my instinct was correct: using my powers of sorting-things-the-fuck-out for my own benefit (for once ) to establish infrastructure has made it easier for me to sustain the effort.

Or in lay-person's terms: if you make it easy, and remove all the coulda-shoulda-wouldas, then it gets done. 

Anyway, as we head into week four, I've noticed the odd little ripple of cause-and-effect around me.  It appears if you make changes, unashamedly, confining them only to yourself, neutrally discussing the challenges and changes with others, and not needing other people to say "well done you" (and despite the diva tag I get labelled with about every other day, I really don't need that much approval) then you also open up the possibility of change to the people around you

One of them is Melinda sometimes deciding she does not want cake with her morning latte.  But then, she is getting into the home routine thing herself, so I think "being a supportive friend" is her way of sneaking her own self-improvement project under the radar.

Now, I like to be able to keep count of what I've done; and because it is faster and easier to do same on Facecrack (and because one half of the Management Committee is on Facecrack) then I've been doing updates after most of my workouts and after seeing Mike the Personal Trainer.  Some of the comments have been "yay go you!" and some have been a little...conflicted. 

Anyway, this is a long-winded way of saying that one of the things arising from being dedicated and organised is thinking: what ELSE have I not been doing just because of coulda-shoulda-woulda?

Which has led to a huge decluttering of the clothes and the wardrobe. 

And now I have turned my attention to the spare room, which has always been very uninspired in terms of decor.  This is probably because it is the visible proof of my Faustian Bargain with the parental units - it cannot be changed (apparently) and nobody can move in because that room is the pied-a-terre for the family, and I pay reduced rent because of it.  So it sits and is a Spare Room.  Until last week when I decided that camping out in my own house was Not To Be Borne, and dammit, just because it is a Spare Room doesn't mean it can't be nice.  

I had Ingrid and Kindi go in and work out where to hang some pictures last week.  And while I was in Spotlight the other day I decided to upgade the bed linen (which is kind of blergy and not my thing AT ALL) and wandered around the linen section till I found a doona cover I liked, and bought it, and showed Elley and she immediately hauled out a quilt which matched and promptly gave it to me to put at the foot of the bed,  which made her feel like a decluttering queen, and me feel like it was all meant to be and made both of us feel actually pretty clever. 

So it has been washed and is ready to go on the bed, but then I was not sure about the sheet situation.  So now I have hauled all my bed linen and blankets and quilts etc into the front room to do the Big Sort through and declutter some more.  I only have one head, so there's a limit to the number of pillowcases I actually need.  I have one double and one single bed for guests.  And they have (on the whole) a limited number of heads also.  

Finally, they have been exhorting us on Flylady (this may have been a while ago actually, but what the hell) to start using the food in our fridges, freezers and cupboards before buying more, so this is my thing this week: to see how long it takes before I need to buy more stuff.  I've been more than a little annoyed at how often I have to throw out food that just sat there until it went off.

So, have just made a Leftover Sad Vegetables and Beef casserole (this will be for lunches during the week and I'll be using up the seed bread loaf that's been lurking in the cupboard as the accompanying carbs); and tonight's dinner was four potatoes I found at the bottom of the vegetable crisper, steamed in the microwave rice cooker and mashed with some parmesan cheese, sea salt, pepper and seed mustard. 
catchmyfancy: (reasonably affordable)
Petrified by Fort Minor

Have put in the non-video video because really, how many moodily-lit black-and-white shots of people miming into microphones do you really need in one lifetime?

Just enjoy this song and find your inner hip-hop-happy place.

catchmyfancy: Classical-style painting of the three graces or muses, naked, each holding an apple in her outstretched hand. (graces)
A little background: weight went up.  Bad choices made with food.  Gym attendance dropped way way down.  Could feel self sort of spiralling and becoming lost and sort of nothingy.

I put this to the management committee (Ingrid and Kindilan) (incidentally: this in itself a major change in life-management, that I actually ask for help with my problems) and after talking it round a bit, we decided that it was the NUMBER which panicked me.  Being at a certain weight reminded me too much of something bad that happened last time I was down that far and so one's subconscious hath said unto me: "if you are not that weight again, you cannot have the bad time again, there ya go, problem solved!".

I got that close, and I panicked. There's no other word for it.   My sister (who has also had a long battle with her weight, even though she is 5 foot 9, blonde and completely gorgeous and never got as big as me) said she had a similar reaction when her weight started dropping.  We are very keen to compare notes this Christmas.  Anyways.

So the Management Committee's solution was thusly: Mike the Personal Trainer would weigh me once a week and not tell me the number, just the direction (was it down, up, or the same) and adjust my program accordingly. 

And I recommitted to being at the gym four times a week.  Except being me, I'm all about completeness, and I did a week of five sessions, and good food choices.  My mate Fiona (the very short one, not the very tall one) was in residence, and cooking for the two of us and making sure we were both breakfasted and sorted out was really really good for re-setting my routine - in much the same way that the best way to reinforce your own training is to teach someone else.

At the end of last week, I got to see Mike struggle not to give me more than "yes it's down, yes it's a good result."  He paused and went: "it's a really good result."  Pause.  "no really, a great result." and I had to say: "Miiiike," before he stopped himself.    (This week, some dodgy food choices, but godsdammit, I've done my four sessions and tomorrow is Mike and another weigh-in, and hopefully he'll have another struggle.)

It's completely liberating not having to think about numbers, just to do the work.   There's been other benefits: feeling stronger, feeling hungry and then un-hungry in the correct sequences, feeling smug (oh, you can't beat that one to get you through the day), being just about comatose at 10pm and sleeping deeply for seven or eight hours, and I think I look more like a human being; but then there's been a mental readjustment, viz:

I should like to extend special thanks to two younger blonde girlies in the gym, one who was doing some stretching and balancing work near me on the stretching mats; and one who came scurrying up the steps as I was leaving.  Both of them in their mid-20s, both of them with beautiful taut, trim bodies and both of them looking driven and so haunted

And everything sort of clicked into a different perspective as I thought back on how I'd gotten the body I had/have now.  And here it is: I have had an absolutely lovely time.  I did a lot of rowing in my early 20s (which was also large amounts of fun even if hard work) but that sort of faded away, and by then I was back into choirs.  I wasn't hitting the gym, I was singing, going to parties, working, singing some more, having fun with boys, eating whatever I wanted, wandering about and going to cafes, doing craft, visiting my friends, eventually travelling (and in London I drank a LOT of beer - while doing all of the above might I add, only slightly more soggily and with a hybrid accent) and then I came back to Oz and did more of the same.  As I recall, my way of saying "I love you Melbourne, I shall never leave again" was to eat and drink my way across it and lordy we have fabulous food in this town!

Yes, there was an emotional rollercoaster in there, and depression, and we won't go anywhere near the relationship with the maternal unit; and the vague odd attempt at being fit or eating the right things, but I can safely say that I never scurried up the gym steps looking like demons were just behind me whispering lies into my shell-like.

But then there comes a time in a person's life when having a body that soaks up whatever you throw at it becomes more inconvenient than useful.  That time is now, and this is what I've decided to do to make sure I last for at least the next 40 years.  This is my version of Ctrl+Alt+Delete.

I'm not sure if I made my point in all of that, but I feel VERY excited to have made it!

catchmyfancy: (health)


Haven't been able to type these sentences at 6pm on a weekday for about a million years (maybe TWO million years): Just now back from the gym.  Ick - I am all sticky.  There are funny-looking people there with bad fashion choices. And cute boy sprinters running around the track outside. 

Feels marvy.  

And now, a report on the conntinuing d-r-a-m-a-ette that is my Double Life. 

Which is, (because it amuses me - and because I am all sweaty) couched as a Really Bad Interview of a Sportsperson the day after a Sporting Clusterfuck.  The interviewer's name is Ron.  We can therefore take Ron's tact, sensitivity and suit straining over his middle-aged paunch as read.

*ahem*

Q: Are you over the crushing disappointment that was your sub-standard performance in the Liederfest Final?    
A: I suspect it will niggle for approximately, ooh, the entire rest of my life. 

Q: And yet you seem sort of chirpy. 
A: It is indeed true that I have recovered most of my natural Chirp, thanks, Ron.

Q: Why is that, exactly?  After a screw-up like that, I mean: come on.
A: Well, Ron, once I'd calmed down a little the reason it happened finally came to me.  I find that NOT KNOWING why is the worst part of it, don't you?  And the reason was: I was very tired and stiff and sore after running two ceremonies and then rushing home and off to the venue to sing in the heat, all on the same day.  It affected my breathing and my energy levels and I even sang one top B flat flat.

Q: So you're saying it wasn't your fault then?
A: Er - no?  Just that my usual policy of attempting to keep work and singing seperate meant I didn't take into account the effect one would have on the other.  I KNOW that the day after a ceremony double-header I'm usually moving around like I'm 90.  Just forgot that 90-year-olds very rarely win national singing competitions. 

Q: How did old people get into this interview?  We're not supposed to talk about old people.  It depresses our 18-30 demographic and the advertisers will go away.  I'll be made redundant.  Don't you know there's a global financial situation??
A:  Here, breathe into this paper bag.

Q: <indistinctly>: So.  What. Should.You.Have.Done.In.Yourpreparation?
A: Glad to see you're a professional, Ron.  To answer your question: What I needed to do on that morning was some fairly vigorous exercise - the gym or a swim - to get everything loosened up, energised and...flowing again.   Treated myself like an athlete - a tired, grumpy one - instead of a voice that was somehow mysteriously not connected to a body.

Q: .........

Q: I got nothing. 
A: What's written on those cards you've been holding?

Q: <reads slowly> What's the next event on the hor - horizon? 
A: Well done you, Ron.  That's a three syllable word!  Next is any number of competitions....but then there's my Music Lovers Society Recital on 16th May, and this will be my main focus.  That and hitting the gym, sleeping, practicing like crazy and eating a LOT of fruit and vegetables to stave off the inevitable change-of-season Lurgy already doing the rounds in my office.    I am NEVER letting work interfere with singing ever again.

Q: Do you have anything to say to the viewers at home?
A:  Yes - THANK YOU to everyone who sent me messages of support (when I made the final) and concern and sympathy (when I bombed out so badly).  It meant a lot.  Three brave souls even came to the two performances...and that is a LOT of lieder to sit through if you're not really passionate about lieder.  Which is most people.  Really.

Q: I have to go and interview a surfboard-riding dog now.
A: No worries.  Good to see you're living the dream, Ron.

 

 

catchmyfancy: (contented sun)
 Yes, there he was today, down in the Big Boys Weights Area doing some - er - Big Boy Weights: Captain Juxtaposition himself.

Still with the head of a Geeky Sun-Deprived Scholar, all pale and blonde and interesting, wire-rim glasses firmly in place.

Still with the tall, lean, barrel-chested, long-armed, muscled-up body of a Demigod or Other Minor Deity Who Really Works His Gym Membership.

I was completely fascinated.  And stared.  And stared, while he did weights things and I pedalled along four kilometeres to nowhere on an exercise bike.  

I had to be careful, because the Thousand-Yard In the Zone Stare, the There is Nothing Else to Look At Besides Walls and Gym Equipment Stare; and the PHWOOOAR Stare are mightily similar and I think he sensed the weight of my interested (and zoning in and out of lustful) gaze more than once.  Whoops.   And he's still all of about 20.  Whoops x 2.  

Could.Not.Look.Away though.  It's like someone put the odds and ends in the Person Assembly Components drawer together and thought: "yeah, okay.  It will do.  Go forth kid, and confuse women with odd tastes."
catchmyfancy: (destiny)

Apparently the the Universe is realigning itself in an Alexandra-friendly configuration.  

Consider:

1.  My birthday is on 7th August.  Which is a THURSDAY.  It is hard to get into a party mood on a Thursday.  And the following Saturday  (which would be the logical Jour Du Partay) I have two ceremonies to run.  Blergh.  Which leaves me a Sunday which means I will be doing an Afternoon Tea at Elley's.  Which will still be fun, but not, you know, a Partay.

But then:
I saw that Vampire Weekend are coming to Melbourne!  On the 6th of August!  Which is the day before my birthday!  And I got a ticket! Which means I can go out on a Wednesday night and have a really good reason to dance and drink and have a Jolly Good Time and see in my birthday with a drink in my hand!  (Or feeling ill at the very thought.  Whichever.  i'm good.)

But then x 2:
I now have a reason to go to Vodka, Borscht and Tears on a Thursday night - the actual real birthday evening.  Plus hair of the dog.  Plus getting the Partaying/Drinking/Squeeing Loudly in Public thing out of my system before my parental units (and hopefully sister and niece) arrive for the rather more sedate afternoon tea on the Sunday afternoon.

2. My house is a god-awful mess.  It is impossible to know where to start.

But then:
I did some dishes.  In a, you know, not-starting-anything-huge-in-fact-not-looking-too-hard-at-what-I-was-doing in between chatting with Shiv and voraciously reading fanfic and ignoring the television.  My kitchen is suddenly back from the brink of Science Experiment status.  Ha!  

3. Kwan at the coffee place makes crap coffee 

But then:
Nah, Universal Realignment does not apparently cover Kwan's chronic daily overheating and roughing-up of my latte.  It's like he has a special anti-talent.

4. There are no hot boys at my gym

But then:
There was one tonight who was Mr Chest and Arms and Shoulders and was pale and interesting and had wire-rimmed glasses on, people.  Yowza!  I had to make sure I was studying the display of my cross-trainer whenever he looked up from doing the seated row with the arms and the chest and the....ooooo.  Excuse me for a moment.

YMMV

Mar. 28th, 2008 01:08 am
catchmyfancy: (training)
Tonight at the gym, during a particularly torrid moment on the treadmill, my right heel suddenly went OUCH.

Subsequent investigation revealed that I had worn a big hole through the fabric, lining, and foam-like substance at the back of my year-old runners.

There was no warning - the shoes literally went from dead comfy to completely unwearable in the space of 20 minutes (and I have a blister on the back of my right heel that can be seen from space as proof).

At first it was all about limping back to the office and cursing the good peeps of New Balance for their shoddy product.

Then my brain kicked in while I was getting changed and said to me thusly: "Holy fuck - I WORE THROUGH a pair of runners!"

It's an expensive way to feel smug.

Nonetheless: ****SMUG****.

Tomorrow I'll actually have to go swimming instead of hitting the gym.

And on Sunday I get to take my old shoes to the Athlete's Foot and say "another pair of these, thanks!" because the label on the tongue showing the model and size is still readable.  Ha! 
catchmyfancy: (Default)
I got some (not to worry, quite goodish) news today that sent me into a fully-fledged Monty Python Pepperpot Lady Panic.

Thought of myself as steady and rock-like, as person who could cope with anything the world chanced to throw at her.  Turns out I'm actually the type who wanders around the office saying: "Burma! Burma! Burma! Burma!" under her breath.  

Although I am assured that the entertainment value was pretty high for those who got to listen to the trickles, splashes and plops as my brain melted.

Soooooo - not really as such recovered from Summer o' Doom yet.  

Went to gym.  This made things tireder and sticker, if not better.

 
catchmyfancy: (work)
 Deep, DEEP in the middle of WhinyStudentFest right about now.

All rather tedious; and when I say no, they tend to drive off in a vintage 1957 snit.

But sometimes - oh yes, there are sometimeses(es), like this afternoon when one student actually started listening to himself in the midst of some long convoluted explanation about why I should give him What He Wanted and interrupted himself with: "Heh.  You know what? That's a pathetic reason.  Never mind.  Sorry to bother you" and hung up.

Only the fact that I was sitting there with a dropped jaw (plus, you know, six years of resolve-hardening in the fiery furnace that  is Yewni stewent admin and this is my dance space and that is your dance space) stopped me from offering to immediately have all of his babies.

Have been to the gym.  There was gruntage and drippage and, you know, the usual.  A new Hot Boy Sprinter on the block.  *yawn*

Home to make PJ pants for Miss Ingrid and  throw out some stuff like one of those slopey grills and other bits and pieces that are cluttering up the house.  The Parental Units will be in residence on Friday, after all.
catchmyfancy: (contented sun)
Just back from the gym.  Huzzah!

The Athletics Club peeps let me down today - nobody with any talent, of either sort.  Poot.  Still did extra on the treadmill hoping anybody of any Hawtness would appear, but nope. Nada. Zip. Zero.  I was reduced to perving lightly upon a weightlifter in the Big Boy Weights area downstairs.

Still, judging by the Return of the Sweat-Stain of Doom, it was a good, fast 40-some minutes.

Which is a small consolation, give my vocabulary appears to have atrophied in just a few short years, and I now speak the langwidge of Cheezburger.
catchmyfancy: (Default)

New Hair
Originally uploaded by Catch My Fancy
I took my dried-ends-and-far-too-long hair off to the Uni hairdresser today and came out with this instead (thanks to Mel for letting me use her laptop's photobooth to snap this).

I've lost about four inches (fnarr fnarr) and it's layered all to heck, and when I'm in motion it moves too. So I bounce and my hair bounces and I wonder if people watching me are getting motion sickness.

The hairdresser was this eensy asian girl who openly coveted my hair, and talked about sticking my cut-off hair onto her own which made me shift in my chair somewhat. (Note to self: don't ever fall asleep there or may wake up scalped and hairdresser walking around with hair on her head going "look at my beautiful new hair, mmm.")

Cutting all my hair off did not seem to sap my strength any, although Mike the Personal Trainer did his best in our session today.

Fortunately, because this has been a buggering week, my heartrate went up a little higher than he was expecting and I got to go down ONE (count it, one) level on the cross-trainer today. I got all sticky.
catchmyfancy: (training)
 ....er, that's it, pretty much.

Hot Boy Sprinter was back on the track today but as it is a cool grey drizzly evening here in Melbun, the only thing one could perv upon was his calves.  And very nice they were too.  Some amusement afforded from him doing fancy-schmancy-elite-sprinter-bounding-backwards-while-doing-heel-clicks moves while Catherine Zeta-Jones was belting out All That Jazz on m'iRiver.

Oh, and one of the boys who works for Mike the Personal Trainer was training a client as I walked past.  Trainer Boy was all smouldery brown eyes and broad shoulders.

Apart from that, the usual sweatage from the usual routine.  Oy.
catchmyfancy: (training)
  just back from the gym and it was a rather lacklustre effort - nothing fast or fun - felt like I was pushing shit uphill with a pointed stick at times.

Still, 20 minutes on the cross-trainer, and did my weights.  

But the Clueless Men of the Melbun Yewni gym saw me through - one of them making such a dog's breakfast of doing an ergo that I laughed all the way up the stairs from the Big Boys Area and then one of them doing some lovely muscly things on the other side of the weights machine.  ooo-er. 

A fast 38

Sep. 26th, 2007 06:58 pm
catchmyfancy: (Contented)
Just back from the gym and GLOWING somewhat (rather like my cute new little userpic).

But I've finally finally FINALLY got there and almost very nearly under my own steam too.  

(Thanks btw to [profile] depleaterwho was waiting for [profile] whooz_queen to come out of our building and who cheerfully - if bemusedly - acceded to my plea to walk the 100 metres with me to the gym building to make sure I went in).

And I didn't melt or explode or turn into a Liberal voter or whatever it was my subconscious was worried would happen.  Ha!

Paradoxically my fitness is better but my heartrate when I go hard on something is a bit more elevated than either Mike the Personal Trainer or myself would like.  

The iRiver was all loaded up with new boppy songs and I swear it gives you a new lease on life at the gym, especially during cardio sessions.  Best new songs to sweat to: Grace Kelly and Love Today by Mika.  That boy can sing and I could listen to him forever.

22 minutes on the treadmill (I added an extra minute after I got a bit carried away and sent the iRiver flying off the treadmill and had to scramble off to get it.  Just as well my face was already bright red, no need to spare my blushes).

Then 10 minutes on the bike and finally a nice steady 1500m on the ergo.  

I spent ten minutes attempting to teach a young lad who got on the ergo next to me and was just doing it appallingly How Not To Screw Up His Back and Row Efficiently and he sort of got it but he was in the headspace of realising he needed to learn and yet not wanting to admit that he needed to.  Ah well.  When I explained why the most efficient way to row grew out of having to handle a 12-foot oar and why the ergo mimicked this, he just went "whatever", so this is my thought also - let his parents pay for his chiropractic and physio.

Have finished dripping sweat so am now orff home.

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August 2017

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