Health is Wealth - Certification Determination

 

I had to call my health insurance company this week.  

It took me two minutes and forty seconds to get through the automated system and get to a live person.  Trust me, when you have an accent, automated switchboards do not like you.

Example:

"Operator"

"I think you said.  Coverage and.  Benefits.  Is that.  Correct?"

"No."

"I'm.  Sorry let's.  Try that again.  Please choose from the.  Following fifty.  Three.  Options billing.  Find a.  Practit--"

"Operator.  Operator!  OPERATOR!"

So, anyway...

I finally get to talk to a real, live human being.

 "Hello this is ____.  How can I help you today?"

"Hi ______.  I need to find out what some treatments will cost me.  I went for a regular check up this week and the Nurse Practitioner advised me to get an MRI and go for genetic counselling.  I want to find out how much those will cost me."

"Do you have the Procedure Codes?"

"The what?"

"The Procedure Codes.  We need to know why these procedures have to be done.  So if you could call and get the Procedure Codes, then call us back and---"

"Hang on.  Isn't there some way that we can do this more efficiently?  Is there any way that the Clinic can give the codes to you through an automated system?"

"Well, they can get a Predetermination of Benefits."

"A what?"

"They can call us and get a Predetermination of Benefits."

"OK..."

"Well, actually, you can get them to do a Precertifiction of Benefits and then wait till they've done that and then wait till we've reviewed and approved it and then call us back and ask for the costs and just tell the operator that you speak to that there's a Precert so that they can look up the Procedure Codes."

"OK so let me see if I get this.  I have to call them, and tell them to contact you to get a Precertification of Benefits.  Then I wait till they do that.  Then I wait till you approve it.  Then I call you and ask for the costs."

"Yes."

"And how long will it take them to get the request to you?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know that."

"And how long will it take you to review and approve?"

"Well, I can't guarantee that it will be approved, but review usually takes 7 to 10 days from receipt."

As always when dealing with the American health"care" system, I was getting really, really pissed off.

It wasn't his fault.  He's a phone operator.  I get that.  But I decided to make myself feel better at his expense, anyway.

"Well, let's hope nothing grows too much in the meantime."

"Yes, Ma'am.  Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Well, you could pray for me."

To read more in this series, click here.

You might like:

• Cut the crave
• My thighs doth protest

Health is Wealth - Hot Yoga

 

This week I went to Hot Yoga (Bikram) for the first time.

It was a fascinating experience.

My left calf is now as tight as a innocent man's bum at his first prison shower but, overall, I think it did me good.

As we filed into the room I was struck by a thick, soupy smell.  The previous class was filing out and it was like walking into a steam room that had just been vacated by a very smelly football team.  It wasn't pleasant.

There were rows painted on the side of the room, numbered Zones 1 through 5.  They have more heat at the front of the room.  I guess you have to build up slowly.  

One thing I have learnt - the hard way - about Yoga is not to push yourself too far too fast.  I once tried to contort myself too much in an advanced Yoga class (which I shouldn't have been in, in the first place) couldn't walk (I'm not kidding) for two days.  I set myself up in the back row, against the frosted windows, in the coolest "Zone".  

Around me people set up their mats, towels, water bottles... Hot Yoga means you bring a bunch of crap with you.

And then I saw them.

The yoga geeks.  The teacher's pets.  The A team.

One man, one woman.

Front row.  Practically naked.

This was not a good thing.

He was wearing that rectangular underwear that's currently en vogue with gay men... there's a store near me that sells just those, in various colors and patterns.  It's like they have a rectangle on their butt - like someone tried to airbrush over one of those squares that cover nipples in censored nudie pics.

His were blue, with a white waistband.  

I have to admit, they made his butt look hot.  Well, his butt was hot.

Naturally he had a few tattoos here and there - nothing crazy - just black ones.  You know, the kinda tatts that portray a suburbanite who dreams of being wild, not someone who actually chooses to live outside mainstream society.

His body was good or, at least, it had been.

Sadly, nature is cruel to us, even those of us in good shape.

The muscles may be strong, the body fat may be non-existent, but the skin sags.  Just a little.  Losing tone, losing shine, losing suppleness.

Middle age was written across this man's chest in a slight dip of the pecs, a minuscule slackness pulling the nipples down and a tiny loss to gravity at his belly. 

And then there was the woman.  

I have no idea where she found them, but she was wearing bikini bottoms the shape of Bridget Jones' no-sex pants.  They were HUGE, spreading across her tiny torso.

Time's cruelty hadn't passed her by either.  She was thin, but had that butt and boob shape that has lost it's perk.  Sometimes I think that, as a large woman, I get away with the disguise of the sag.  My sag is covered in a layer of fat, my curves go out as well as down.  For thin women, their small butts and boobs have no curve, no softness, just a downward orientation.  Nature is a Bitch.

I'd glance across at the Supple Couple periodically during the class because, that way, I could see where I was heading, what I MIGHT be able to do in three, or four, or five year's time.

I was sitting with my knees in front of me, my feet next to my hips, leaning back, trying to get my butt to meet the floor between my feet.  The Awesome Twosome had legs absolutely flat and were all the way back, lying down on the floor.

I was wobbling in a basic Tree Pose, falling left, getting back into the pose, falling right, getting back into the pose.  The Dynamic Duo were standing strong on one leg, other leg held up up straight in front of them, holding onto the big toe.

Ah well.

I reminded myself that Yoga is a process.  They call it a "practice" for a reason.  You're always a pupil, always learning.  There's no point at which you get a black belt.

Apart from the entertaining distraction of the Double-jointed Duet, the class was interesting in that was very different from any Yoga I'd done before.  

Even though I was in the coolest zone, I felt like the heat did actually make it all a little easier.  My muscles were a little slacker than normal, resisting the stretches less.  

The teacher did combinations of two poses, all repeated twice.  The second time around, knowing what I was trying to do (having seen more experienced people around me get it right), I was able to actually really try to do to the pose as best I could.  Get into it, feel it, work for strength through it.

The pace was reasonably slow, and there was a whole sequence where we rested briefly lying on the floor between poses.  The class was 90 minutes, and so it seemed to me I had more time to think, to breathe, to get the poses right.

I am not sure that hot Yoga will replace the classes I normally do at my gym.  I think it'll just be something new, something different, that I add to my repertoire.

And how can I resist going to a place where there are practically naked men?

Maybe, next time, there'll be a guy who's a little younger.

Hey - I might even move closer to the front of the room.

Closer to the REALLY hot zone.

Health is Wealth - Gym + other people = less pain

 

 So the other day I am catching up on email and I have daytime TV on.  Some doctor show is explaining a new liposuction technique, and this gets me thinking about my 1441 goal.

Puppy Girl has just gone to sleep in her crate and I head for the shower.  Suddenly a crazy thought jumps into my head:  Why not go to the gym for a short workout?

Before I can find a way to justify laziness (i.e. before my brain can fully engage), I am in the car and on my way.

As per usual, there are gymstractions that make the whole thing bearable.  

I love watching other people at the gym.  You can't feel the pain if you are constantly distracted by the strange goings-on around you.

First, there was the big nipple lady in the changing room.  I know that it's not the done thing to look at other people naked in the changing room (unless, of course, you are gay, in which case who can blame you?), but I swear to God these nipples were yelling at me.  If the woman had spoken to me, I would have struggled to look up into her eyes.

The woman in question was tall and thin, and no bigger than a B cup.  But her nipples had dummies (pacifiers) hanging off the end of them.  Are you detecting a note of jealousy?  Yeah, you're spot on.  Mine are like those tiny headache capsules.

I have only seen such deliciously suckable things on one other person, and she had the pale, soft, pendulous melons to go with them.  It just seemed like a strange paradox, a skinny, flattish woman with this pink things sticking out and inch in front of her.  

Anyway, after staring while trying not to look like I was staring, I finally got my trainers on and headed down to the machines.

First thing I saw, as I scanned the room, was a lady sitting on one of the reclining bikes in one of those padded winter coats, with the fur lined hood up.  The gym felt like it had a perfect indoor temperature to me and, once I was moving on the eliptical for 2 minutes, I started to warm up.  So why was this woman bundled up?

I began to wonder if she had a cold.  If she did, she really shouldn't have been at the gym spreading her germs.  I resolved to confront her if she sniffed or or sneezed.  She did neither... and so robbed me of my Jerry Springer moment.

Bitch.  

It wasn't long before more entertainment came along... the Chatty Cathy twins.  I don't know why, but there is one personal trainer who just seems to have clients who won't shut up for more than thirty seconds at a time.  

The last guy we saw her with was channeling James Joyce and going on and on with a personal monologue.  These two women that she was training didn't even need her to nod and make mmm-hmm noises - they just talked to each other.  They paused, chatting, as they got off the eliptical trainers, with the poor personal trainer trying to lead them to another area of the gym for their next exercise.  Every transition to a new exercise took twice as long as it should, and the complaining!  You would've thought they were being waterboarded.

Yak yak yakety yak.

I was sorry I hadn't brought my iPod.

When I got to the ab/stretching mats, I got my final bit of entertainment for the day.  Another personal trainer had a brand new client, and he obviously had hip problems.  The trainer was having him roll back and forth on a hard foam roller to massage his muscles with his own body weight.  He was biting his lip in pain, poor man.

"Just one more roll, back and forth!" the trainer kept saying.

"Yeah, OK, that's - uh - powerful," he said, clearly relieved it was over.

"OK!  GREAT!" the trainer squeaked.  "Now the other side!"

I'm sure he was wondering why he was actually paying a small blonde woman to torture him.

But here's the point of all this...

I WENT TO THE GYM!

BY MYSELF!

WITH NO PERSONAL TRAINING APPOINTMENT!

OK, so I haven't been since, and that was last week, but it still counts, right?

Health is Wealth - Dropping hints like bricks

 

Fluffy Bear and I made it to the gym today.  Well done us!

Silent Evil has not only got us into the habit of working out but, when we do, we work pretty hard.  We are also still not as fit as we should be, so we also look like we are working out hard.  We pant, we sweat, we swear.  Yes, you read that right.  After doing 15 press ups for the 3rd time, I tend to whoosh out the odd "Fuh-uhk!"

There was a trainer there today - I don't know her name - working with a male client.  He just wouldn't shut the hell up.  She'd give him equipment, tell him what to do and, rather than starting the exercise, he'd just stand there, holding the ball/weight/whatever and keep telling her his inane stories.  I think he spent at least half an hour telling her about his recent flights, connections, people sitting near them complaining about his screaming child, and on and on and on.

A trainer has to satisfy their client, so she replied, and chatted with him, but she kept trying to start the exercises.

"I completely agree - that's just crazy.  OK, ten on each side."

It didn't work.  He'd just keep talking.  We were doing two sets of an exercise in the time he did one.

Eventually we all ended up on mats in the cool down area.  She was sitting in front of her guy, who was still talking rather than doing ab exercises.

And that's when I guess she just had to say something.  It was pretty passive-agressive, what I'd call dropping hints so bit they fall like bricks.  She turned to us:

"Hi!  You guys are working really hard today!  Good job!  I wish my clients would work out that hard... uh, when I'm not here!"

Yeah, that final bit was obviously quickly added as an afterthought.  

I never thought we'd be held up as an example to others at the gym!  

WOW!

Health is Wealth - Paradigm shift

 

A strange thing is happening to me.

I don't feel like eating naughty things anymore.

You may remember:

• the dark days of Eatathon I and II
• me eating whole pints of Chunky Monkey in one go
• the cupcake cravings which led to me devising "surprise outings" with Fluffy Bear as an excuse to go to specialists cupcake places around the city. 

I even found a new cupcake shop online before it opened in our town, and waited in anticipation for the big day.

That has all changed.

I don't crave sweet things anymore and I am just not as hungry as I used to be.

I actually went into a donut shop this week and all I bought was coffee!

That may sound like nothing to you but, for me, it's a minor miracle.

It's not that I have more discipline.  Something inside me has shifted.

• I looked at all the donuts in the glass display case and I didn't feel like having one.
• At my usual coffee shop, I don't stare longingly at the chocolate bundt cake anymore.
• When I go out to eat, I often genuinely feel like having a salad.
• I took three chocolate biscuits (cookies) with me to the living room with my cup of tea and only ate one
• I am not drinking half as much wine as I used to.
• I have chocolate frozen yoghurt in the fridge and it has been there for more than a week.

Something, somewhere, has been realigned.

And I really like it this way. 

Health is Wealth - Weekly Tally

Good Girl

• 5 mile walk
• 1 gym session with weights
• 1 yoga class
• 4 mile walk

Bad Girl

• Half a plate of fries
• Half a Sundae
• Half slice Banana Bread
• Half slice Chocolate Bundt Cake

Good Times

• Dinner with an old friend
• Coffee with an old work friend
• Dinner out with a group of friends

Health is Wealth - Watching Silent Evil

As you know, distractions at the gym tend to save me from giving up/never going/descending into madness.

Yesterday we went in the middle of the afternoon, so the gym was pretty empty.  No distractions.  Boring.  Unable to tune out the pain of lifting weights.

Then she arrived.  Silent Evil, our personal trainer.  

She had a strange blue mark on her face.  Apparently DIY, wooden planks and the force of gravity combined to give her a fat WHUMP! on her left eye.  The dangers of doing chores around the house on the holidays.

Silent Evil couldn't talk for long - she was there to torture someone else.  This poor, sweet, pretty girl was a lamb to the slaughter.  

First we saw Silent Evil give the Lamb a very thick rubber band, about 2 feet wide, and make her put it around her ankles.  Lamb had to keep her legs three feet apart and walk up and down the length of the gym.  The poor girl looked like she was holding in diarrhea.

Then Lamb had squats, lunges and ten minutes running fast on the treadmill.  Thank God we've never been made to do that!  We always get the elipticals.  

As we were leaving, Lamb was lunge-walking the length of the gym, holding heavy dumbells above her head.  Her face was purple, her arms were red, she was panting.

"Just imagine," I told her, "that each step is you kicking Silent Evil."

"Yes!"  she squeaked.  "In the eye!"

Health is Wealth - Wonders never cease

I went jogging yesterday.

 

JOGGING.

 

Me!  

 

I think some kind of natural disaster like an earthquake, tsunami or snow in Nevada is imminent, because I have disturbed the natural order of things.

 

We've been working with a personal trainer, Silent Evil, and I have now reached the stage where, if I don't exercise, I get antsy.  

 

We'd planned to go the gym, my job hunting and Fluffy Bear's work got out of hand, and we ran out of time.  Next thing, like an out of body experience, I hear myself saying to him:

"I think I'll just go for a short run, then."

 

And off I went.

 

As I hit the sidewalk outside our house and tried to fall into some semblance of a stride, I felt heavy, like I was literally pounding the pavement.  

 

My mind flashed back to a PE (Physical Education) class in school when we had to sprint accross the playing field.  A bunch of my classmates collapsed in a heap of giggles behind me because, apparently, I "run funny."  

 

For a teenage girl, this kind of moment is devastating.  

 

I instantly vowed never to run again but realized, even as that thought entered my head, that there was no way I could keep that promise.  I didn't dare become one of the losers who had a note from their mother or doctor to avoid PE and sit in a classroom alone somewhere supervised by a teacher who really didn't want to be there.  

 

Here's the thing about PE in High School.  You're not supposed to avoid it.  You're supposed to be there, make minor adjustments to the PE uniform that magically transform it into a semblance of a fashion garment, stand around looking like physical exercise is beneath you and, when actually forced to do something like sprint or throw a ball, do it incredibly well.  Then the teacher will beg you to be on the school team of netball or field hockey or something or other, and you can roll your eyes and refuse.  

 

You are not supposed to actually make an effort, like you care, and then - horror of horrors! - run funny...

 

Now that I'd had the chance to savor this particular childhood memory, I was shuffling along on the shady side of the street, head down, panting.

 

I hit the park and had a reasonably good jog/walk/pant session, the Rocky music blaring in my head when I hit some steps.

 

I could feel the heat on my face - when I exercise it goes bright red - and I was kindov enjoying the sensation of moving and challenging my body.

 

But a woman walking her dog must have thought I was about to explode in a bright red heart attack, because she insisted on walking up to me and chatting.  She said she hadn't realized this park was so big and where does that section over there come out?  I panted the name of the street that hid behind the trees she pointed at, mumbled a vague wish that she have a nice day and cranked my muscles up again.

 

Goddammit, it's so much harder after you've stopped.

 

Pant, pant, I continued on.

 

Eye of the tiger, baby, eye of the tiger....

 

Back onto the street, and some arsehole in a convertible turns the corner right in front of me instead of letting me use the cross walk.  I shook my head as he came by me and hoped some sweat hit his faux leather seats.

 

Almost home.  Keep it up.  Don't give in now.

 

Pant.  Pant.

 

Then a bee flew into my hair.  What are the chances of that happening?

 

I mean, are you fracking kidding me?

 

Frantic head shaking, jumping about and arm flapping ensued in front of the houses of all my closest neighbors.

 

"Too damn bad," I thought, as I finally got back to my front door, "I guess I do run funny.   But at least I ran."

Health is Wealth - Weekly Tally

Good Girl

• 1 gym workout with weights
• 1 yoga class
• 2 mile walk

Bad Girl

• 5 mini brownies
• 1 serving fruit tart
• 1 slice citrus cake
• 16 cigarettes
• Wine (more than two glasses) - 2ce this week
• Appetizers, incl fried food

SHIT!

Health is Wealth - Up the Poopershoot

 

Before the healthcare cover goes South, I am taking care of all those nagging health issues I have procrastinated about for the last two years. And one of them is something I have had on my list for a long time. 

Hemorrhoids. 

Yes, why hurry to have someone poke something up your anus and look at it?  But, I finally got around to it, and I am glad I did. 

So off I went to see a specialist. He turned out to be a very nice man, possibly close to retirement, so very experienced. He reminded me a little of Dr Emmett Brown in Back to the Future. Grey hair, a little unkempt, clearly very intelligent and with a wicked sense of humor.

 I guess an Ass Doctor either has a great sense of humor to start with, or develops one by necessity as he or she practices over time.

 So we had the examination, during which he decided to teach his poor hapless assistant.

"Now, Nurse Smith, what does it mean when we see a tag like this at the back of the anus?"

Um... a foozleberrydoodab?"

"Nooooooooooo. It's a bowockasnoofydoodab, Nurse Smith."

The rear entry was painless, quick and not at all embarrassing. No, I took care of embarrassing myself. You may remember my post where I explained that I forget things when I am stressed. Appointment details are forgotten, I have to rely on the satnav to get somewhere I've been before, and words escape into the brain fog of temporary IQ loss.

"Thank you," I said as I sat up, relieved.  "That was.... um... a lot less horrible than I expected it to be."

"Well!" he replied.  "I have been a doctor for many years and that is the best compliment I have ever had!  Doctor, you weren't as horrible as I expected you to be!"

Call me crazy, but he may have been a tad sarcastic at that point.  Lucky for him, I find that kind of thing hilarious.  But trust me, you don't want to laugh too hard when you have gel up your butt.

And so, the diagnosis.  

"You dont have hemarrhoids," he told me.  "You have an anal fissure.  It's very common in doctors, lawyers and people who work at [my previous employer].  Basically, the sphincter muscles are too tight and they cause this cut in the anus.  So yes, it's true what they say about people being anal."

And there you have it.  I am an anal, A-type personality.  Officially.

Health is Wealth - Notes on Nutrition

Seeing as this post may get a little intense, I've decided to put it to music. Feel free to click the links (preferably choose "Open in New Tab" so you don't lose your place on the blog) and add the soundtrack to the story.

Just Eat it

I had another appointment with Softly Concerned, and we discussed my compulsive eating habits.

I told her that the visualization exercise she had showed me had worked - once - but that I needed to do it more.

It's not just about sitting at home on the couch with my eyes closed meditating so that I don't go and buy a cupcake.  There's the issue of eating in public.

Maybe you read about how I overindulged last week.  I was at a BBQ and ate three helpings of orange macaroni cheese.  I believe that, when it's orange, unless it's from Leicester, UK, it isn't cheese.  So it's not like this was tickling my tastebuds to orgasmic transport.  I just kept eating it.  And never mind it being unhealthy - taking a third helping of a shared dish before everyone has eaten is just damned rude.  But I still did it.  

Why?

On Monday I went out with a friend to Happy Hour.  We ordered a plate of fries to share. And then my personality split.  The first part of me was chatting, eating, listening, eating, drinking, eating.  The second part of me was looking down on this and wondering why I ate more fries than anyone else, why I kept eating them when I wasn't hungry, why I still kept eating them when they were cold.

Why?

Such a Shame

Softly Concerned explained that overeating can be linked to a sense of shame.  While shame is a theme in our family history - long story, it has to do with our inter-racial background - I didn't think that was the key issue.

It hit the right note, it just wasn't the high note.

Under Pressure

We discussed the issue of Control around food.  My father was a very controlling man and, as a child, the only times that we let go and had fun were when we got together as a family for an event.  

These gatherings were always catered with great food.  All the women in my family - apart from me - are wonderwomen in the kitchen.  Curries, salads, stir fried prawns, creme caramel, even Chinese cooking.

So I had to be a good girl, I had to do well in school, I had to go to Church but, if we were all together celebrating something, I could eat.

So interesting how far back this stuff can go.

But that felt like an old song.  Perhaps still true, but still not the main anthem here.

Protection

Fat - especially for women - can signify protection.  Protection from sexual attention.  If you don't put yourself in the game, you don't have to take the risk.  

This one resonated for me the most.

"If you think about it," said Softly Concerned, "you tallied up your exercise and overindulgence last week, this macaroni cheese thing happened on the weekend.  Maybe you were punishing yourself."

"No," I told her, "but I think you're close.  I think I have an Internal Saboteur."

That felt right.  My Little Internal Saboteur is protecting me.

BREAKTHROUGH!

"You need to handle this the right way," she went on.  "This isn't about trying to stamp down your Protector or tell it to go away.  

What you have to do is thank it.  Say thank you for protecting me, but I'm not a little girl anymore.  I am grown woman, I am strong and I can look after myself.  Thank you for looking after me, but I don't need you anymore."

It was bizarre.

As she said that, it was heart-rending ballad time.

I felt very, very sad.

Health is Wealth - Weekly Tally

Bad Girl:

• 3 helpings of macaroni cheese at a BBQ
• 7 chocolate biscuits
• 1 pint Chunkey Monkey
• 3 candy bars
• 1 smore (gimme a break!  I'm foreign and they are still a novelty and no-one at the BBQ said they were just for the kids and that kid I took the marshmallow from wasn't going to use it properly anyway)

Good Girl:

• 1 Body Conditioning Class
• 2 Yoga Classes
• 1 hour of Namaste Yoga at home from Fit TV
• 1 Personal Training workout
• 1 Gym workout without the Personal Trainer but following her evil plan
• 2 mile walk

Health is Wealth - Gymstractions

Gymstractions are distractions at the gym that keep you from feeling your own pain.

Today mine were:

• The guy in his fifties wearing a Bjorn Borg type head sweatband thingy.  Not a good look.  Also not a good idea for me to notice him in the middle of doing 15 squats for the third time, start to laugh, lose my balance and almost end up on my ass on the floor.
• The two women either side of me on the elliptical trainers who seemed somehow psychically linked at a throat level.  They both had iPods in, so it's not like they could hear each other, yet they managed to clear their throats at the same time.  So I'm panting away and have to deal with "Hugh-hem-hem".  Eventually, I began to try to anticipate it so I'd be less annoyed, like when your husband is snoring next to you and you kid yourself that it has some kind of rhythm, and so you can steel yourself for the next choking noise.  Being on a gym machine that showed the seconds passing, I began to time them.  Turned out it was roughly every thirty seconds but, as soon as I got ready for them, there'd be nothing, I'd relax thinking they were going to miss this cycle, and then the hacking noises were back.  Thank God Silent Evil only makes us do ten minutes on the elliptical or I may have had to reach out my arms and firmly touch someone.
• The trainer who is almost at evil as ours.  I think I might have told you about him before.  He had a very fit woman screeching like she was in a very different sweaty situation at that moment.  I went up to him and asked him if he realized he could make women scream in a much nicer setting.  He laughed and said he got paid better for what he was doing right there.
• The Yummy Mummies coming out of the spin class.  Wow.  It really is true for women that, if you don't earn money, you better stay in shape so you don't get traded in for a younger model.  These ladies were looking luscious in Lycra.  I chose to see them as my Personal Goal Barbies.  I decided I'd work towards the first one's breasts, the third one's ass and the last one's arms.
• The very skinny pale guy who seems to defy physics.  How can arms that skinny pull down weights that heavy?  He must have been working out for a while to be able to do that.  Where are his muscles?  It's a mystery.

Tuning into these distractions, I almost made it through my whole workout.  But not quite.  My heart started racing about 40 minutes in and I felt a bit nauseous.  This is only my second workout since having the cold for a week and a half and I am amazed at how much strength I have lost.  On the other hand, I am a lot stronger than my first workout after the cold.

Still, my lungs are not clear yet, and the haze of pollen isn't helping.  So my heart starts beating the bongos and my stomach starts churning the breakfast smoothie and my first thought is about the article I read where people who have heart attacks usually have them when they have colds and are active and I am mentally scanning my arms for shooting pain and I have to sit down and rest.

Then Fluffy Bear reminds me I have an inhaler in my handbag in the locker room and I come back to reality.

Silent Evil put us both back on the ellipticals - thank God the throat clearers were gone - then abs, then stretch.  Then off to Peets Coffee for a frozen soy coffee blended drink which is 180 calories of happiness.

Whew.

Health is Wealth - Cut the Crave

Another visit this week to Softly Concerned, our Nutritionist.  

I told her that the major problem I was having is that I am having sugary cravings again.  Back on the Eatathon!

She began by telling me - just as she did last time we met - that I am craving sugar because I'm not eating enough protein.  She explained that protein is slow release energy and, if the body doesn't have enough of it, then it asks you for quick release energy - sugar and carbs.  

I tend to not have much appetite for large pieces of meat or poultry these days, I don't buy three soy lattes a day anymore and, now that I'm not working, I can't go up to the cafeteria and buy my favorite protein bar.  So I guess my protein intake has gone down.

"How about protein powder in your morning smoothies?" she asked.  

It was one of those slap-your-forehead moments.  Of course!  I used to have protein powder, I ran out and I forgot to replace it.

That's the thing about seeing a nutritionist.  It's not about being lectured, it's about being educated and reminded.

Softly Concerned went on to tell me about healthy choices for something sweet - some dried apricots, a fruit.  

"Nope," I told her.  "Doesn't always cut it.  Frozen yogurt doesn't do the trick, I want Chunky Monkey.  A bran muffin doesn't do it for me - I want a donut."

"Hmm," she said.  "Considering the stress you are under, there is a psychological factor here."

No frackin' kiddin'. 

"Let's do an exercise together," she said.  "You can do this the moment you have a craving.  First, sit down comfortably and make sure your feet are on the ground.  Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths.  Now visualize your higher self, the person you want to be.  Healthier, thinner, whatever.  Just conjure up that image and consider it for a while."

She paused, while I contemplated my thinner, healthier, richer self, who didn't have to work and had incredibly thick, lustrous, shiny hair.

"Now think about what it is that you really want at this moment.  It isn't a cupcake - that is a substitute for something else.  Is it love?  Is it rest?  Are you tired, fatigued?  Do you need a hug?  Need to cry?  Just take a few deep breaths and find out what is really going on.  The more you do this, the easier it will get."

She paused again while I figured out what I needed.  Because I didn't have any cravings at that moment, I didn't come to an obvious answer, but the fatigue thing did resonate for sure.

"Now that you know what you need, think about how you can give it to yourself.  If you are tired, can you go to bed and just rest for two hours?  If you need a vacation, is there some way you can get out of town for a few days?"

"If you can't give yourself what you need literally, then spend some time imagining it.  The subconscious doesn't know the difference between reality and imagination.  So you might take a moment to imagine yourself on a lovely beach, basking in the sun, listening to the waves lap the shore."

She paused again to give me some time.  It was a lovely image.  I imagined everything she said - I just added a cocktail in a pineapple with two straws.  

Then she moved in her chair a bit to break the spell.  I opened my eyes.

"By the time you work through this exercise," she said, "your craving should be gone."

I haven't tried it yet, but I am sure this is going to be a very useful technique.  

And I bought myself some protein powder.

Health is Wealth - Eggs Akimbo

Went to see Softly Concerned, our Nutritionist, this week. Because my allergy test showed I am "Highly Reactive" to eggs, I have to do an exercise to see how they affect me.

First, I had to not eat any eggs for two weeks. Next, I have to reintroduce them and record the results.

Step 1: Egg whites

When she told me this I had no idea how I'd eat just egg whites without making merigues. Luckily, I managed not to verbalize that thought - I don't think it would have impressed her.

"Try an egg white omelette," she suggested.

I refrained from saying that I didn't see myself as a Hollywood Princess who orders off the menu. What I did say was that I'd seen them referred to on TV, and always thought they sounded disgusting.

"Actually," she said, "they aren't bad."

So I made myself one for lunch today and put mushrooms and onions and cheese in it. And - horror of horrors! - it wasn't that bad.

Step 2: Egg yolks.

I have to boil and egg and eat the yolk. I'll make sure I have lots of water close at hand. Egg yolk by itself doesn't exactly slip down easy.

Step 3: The whole egg

I can't wait for this one. Ah.... to eat an egg again. To fry it, sunny side up, a little crispy on the edges, the yolk soft, the white cooked but not hard... Slice of toast buttered while still hot so the margarine melts into it...

Food porn.

Health is Wealth - More Silent Evil

Finally!

A work out where I didn't feel like my muscles were made of a combination of pain and jello!

I felt good today! I still sweated and panted and made the odd "Oooooof!" but, in general, I felt OK.

And it was surprising because I very inadvisedly went to a Striptease Dance Class last night.

Like all dance class instructors, ours - let's call her Sexy Lady - demonstrated moves only once or twice, then ran through them with us at a reasonable pace another two times and then put on music with a beat so fast we had to stumble through the steps without feeling the fun of the dance.

Eventually, I think Sexy Lady got the hint that we weren't keeping up and put on songs with a slower BPM and we were able to bump and grind like supersluts.

I learnt fun things like the Kitty Kat - stand with one foot in front of the other, hip distance apart, straight legs and walk your hands down your front leg, bending over as you do, butt out like a watermelon on sale.

Lots of sexy squats, rolling the hips in circles, rolling your back and sticking "the girls" out, as Sexy Lady called them.

I woke up this morning with an aching arse and throbbing thighs. My knees were both scraped from crawling along the floor - good morning Neosporin cream!

So, you understand when I say that I really expected not to survive training tonight. In the car on the way home, I had a solo little brainstorm session of excuses I could use to make Fluffy Bear go on his own.

And then I had a great workout!

How fracked up is that?

I might - might - have actually enjoyed it.

Once we got to the mats at the end, Fluffy Bear was telling Silent Evil about how I was crying in pain after the class last night. When he picked me up, I made little whimpering noises when I got into the car.

"Was it a hard class, Honey?" he asked.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

"Those girls seem to be OK," he said, pointing to two pretty young things who were in the class with me emerging from the gym.

"Frack them!"

"Look, Honey," he pointed, "they're jogging home!"

"Run them over! Run them over!"

Silent Evil smiled softly as we told her this story. She looked at me while Fluffy Bear's head was turned while he was stretching.

"You know what we call girls like that?" she asked.

"No, what?"

"Dirty Bitches!"

She's Evil, but it's my kinda evil.....

Health is Wealth - Thinning out Fattie Boom Boom

Explanation of Fattie Boom Boom is here.

To see more work by the artist who did this picture, click here.

Back to see Softly Concerned, our Nutritionist. I first posted about her here.

Since my first meeting with her, Fluffy Bear has been to see her, we have filled out three pages of diet diary and I've had an allergy test, learning I am "highly reactive" to eggs. [Read my rant about this here.]

And so, we were back again. We crammed into her improbably small couch (designed to make you realize you're fat?) and she, having disturbingly found lime green Merrells which matched her lime green accented track suit, hauled out our files.

Alert: Digression in progress.

I now own a pair of Merrells, having sworn I'd never buy that sort of thing. I am still valiantly resisting owning anything by North Face or stepping foot into REI. As God is my witness, I will NEVER go camping. The Merrells seem to have wormed their way into my life along with our dog and an SUV. However, my rule is that walking shoes are like SUVs - if they aren't covered in mud, you shouldn't be in them. They are NOT a fashion item. Pristine Merrells with a pristine tracksuit annoys the living shit out of me.

She talked through our diet diaries and we discovered:

• We don't eat enough protein


• Buying that little snack (lemon cake, bran muffin, banana bread) to go with your overpriced coffee is lethal


• When Fluffy Bear is away he eats badly at restaurants - Salmon sushi has a horrifyingly amazing amount of calories


• When Fluffy Bear is away I eat badly at home - four soy lattes, five protein bars and cereal do not, apparently, a healthy diet make


• My eatathon and intense cupcake cravings could be because we are now working out twice a week with Silent Evil

"When you exercise, you burn sugars and carbs first," explained Softly Concerned, "so that's why you've wanted cupcakes. Think about when you are in the hospital for major surgery. They don't wait until you are crying out in pain, because giving you drugs then will take time to get into your system to help you. No. They give you a painkiller every 4 hours. You need to do the same with carbs. Get ahead of the cravings. Have rice pasta, have healthy bread. Make sure there are carbs in your general diet. Don't wait till you find yourself driving out to Dunkin' Donuts."

Damn, no more pints of Chunky Monkey with pregnancy-type cravings as an excuse.

"Now, about the eggs..." she began.

I pulled a pouty face. "I love eggs!" I whined. "But I have to admit, the week I had fried eggs for breakfast on Sunday and two egg salad sandwiches in the week, I felt tired all the time."

"That could be an effect," she said, and went on to tell me that I had to cut out eggs for two weeks and then come and see her. Then she was going to explain a structured way that we would re-introduce them and record what happened.

"Does that mean nothing with eggs in it? No cakes, no pancakes?" I kept whining.

"No, just cut out actual eggs," she soothed.

Alert: Digression in progress

It doesn't sound so bad until you are on vacation and you stop at a diner for breakfast. Have you ever noticed how the menus are all about eggs? I ended up choosing a waffle that was covered in some disgusting sloppy preserved strawberries (I thought they'd be fresh - silly me!) and watched Fluffy Bear scoff corned beef hash with two fried eggs. Torture.

Next, we talked about alternative cereals. Quinoa, Barley, Buckwheat. Softly Concerned had a file with a page on each and a packet showing what they looked like in dry form. Fluffy Bear tried the "takes too long" defense but each page had data including cooking times and we lost that argument right speedily. And so, back to oats for breakfast sometimes, with berries or honey or Agave syrup. After seeing her we went to the deli counter and bought some Tabouleh, which was surprisingly good.

Seeing Softly Concerned is kinda like going to see your mother, resisting all the advice she gives you, going back out into the world and finding she is right about everything and being really annoyed by that fact.

And so....

We need to eat more shellfish rather than red meat.

We need to balance protein and carb during the course of every day.

We need to look up some recipes and get out of the habit of always buying the same shopping and cooking the same things.

Sigh. We've both put on weight so we better make the effort...

Health is Wealth - FBB gets no Humpty Dumpty

If you want to see more by the artist who painted this picture, click here.

FBB = Fattie Boom Boom. See explanation post here.

If you assumed Humpty Dumpty had something to do with humping, I am sorry to disappoint you. This is all about eggs.

When I was kid, my nursery rhyme book portrayed Humpy Dumpty as a big egg that fell off the wall and cracked.

Anyway, Softly Concerned, my Nutritionist, suggested I have an allergy test. So I went to see my doctor and allowed her phlebotomist to poke me with a sharp thing and suck my very life blood out of me while I scunched my eyes closed and tried to visualize a tropical beach, and I duly posted it off to some lab or other.

Softly Concerned emailed me with the results.

I am "highly reactive" to eggs.

SHIT!

I love eggs.

I love boiled eggs, poached eggs, scrambled eggs, fried eggs.

• Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon


• Fried eggs and bacon


• Poached eggs on cooked spinach


• Soft boiled eggs with bits of toast to dip into them


• Hard boiled eggs with mayonnaise


• Egg salad sandwiches


• Boiled eggs in Salad Nicoise


• Quiche...

I haven't spoken to Softly Concerned about what this means yet.

Will I have to give them up completely? Will I have to give up anything even containing eggs? Cupcakes? Pancakes? Chocolate cake?

Will I have to embrace Vegan cafes, previously the brunt of my scornful wit?

It's really too frightening to even think about.

Health is Wealth - One Hundred

The other day Fluffy Bear was recovering from a punch in the face at the dentist and I saw Silent Evil on my own.

She set up a routine of exercises, like she normally does, which included squats in front of a soft ball. This ball was lower than the benches and plastic balls I had done squats in front of in the past. So it meant I had to really lean back and get my butt down there to touch it. Still, when I saw it, I thought 'I can do this!'

"Blimfy squats," she said.

"Twenty?" I asked, sure that was what she'd said.

"Thirty," she whispered.

"THIRTY?!?"

But it's pointless arguing with her. She just keeps talking quietly, looks you in the eye and, somehow, with her 100ish pounds, manages to look very, very scary.

Thirty squats it was.

We continued with the sequence of exercises, then she gave me a two minute break. Then we started again.

I don't know why I thought it would be different on the second round. But I did. But - Nope! - thirty squats.

By twenty I had to rest. On number 26 I barely made it back up to a standing position.

And then she started me on a third round of the sequence. Through my tired and sweaty fog, I begain to realize what this meant - ninety squats during the course of this workout.

On the last set, number 20 nearly got me. I leaned sideways and remembered to tighten my core just in time. The last ten took, it seemed, forever.

But I got through them!

On the way home, I began to think about the whole workout, and realized that, if you count the ten warmup squats we do, that made for a nice round number.

Fluffy Bear opened the front door to me as I - slowly - climbed the steps to our front porch.

"ONE HUNDRED SQUATS!" I yelled at him.

"ONE HUNDRED!"

He made me a cup of tea. Cures anything, a cup of tea.

Health is Wealth - Divide and Conquer

Silent Evil launched a new tactic the other day. She pitted us against each other.

You might not see it that way. You might think that, really, what she did was quite sweet. You might think it offered us the chance to show our love for each other.

But you'd be wrong.

Because no matter how hard you try, when you are exhausted and trying to hold the plank pose, a second seems like an hour.

Why is this relevant?

Because, apart from the lunges and the squats and the dumbell lifts and the weight-ball lifts and the press ups and the pull-downs and the walking with heavy weights, Silent Evil put us in a position where each of us could contribute to the length of the others' pain.

She put one of us on a weight machine where you do pull-ups. She made the other hold a plank pose on the floor for as long as the first took to do ten pull-ups.

I tried to make light of it by telling Fluffy Bear that I'd go faster if he promised me jewellery, but he was too tired and sweaty and hurting to respond.

My ten pull-ups felt like seconds. His ten pull-ups, as I held plank, felt like hours.

We didn't talk to each other much in the car on the way home.

She really is evil.