blog imposter + f@t pinching

Who broke into my blog and wrote all this stuff about the gym? No, seriously. I also realize that "April" [last entry] seems like a foreign land over here on the island of "summer is almost over."

For all those just dying to know, my 6-pack has not made a shining appearance and it is nearly fall. However, in the past two months, my tolerance for fatty foods and alcohol has increased threefold. And that is something to really brag about.

I like to think that I am preparing for the marathon eating that will take place starting late October until I wake up in a pile of buttery drool and champagne on a sidewalk on New Year's Day. I will then do one obligatory crunch to declare my dedication to fitness in 2010.

For my birthday in July, a fitness buff friend of mine bought me a fitness assessment appointment plus one personal training session with her super-awesome top-tiered personal trainer. She reminded me about it and I set up and appointment this past Saturday. I actually thought I was going in for the training session, but was sadly mistaken as I was led into a tiny room with a muscle function poster on the wall and a mini-skeleton hanging in the corner which was actually kind of cute. Like the bones of an ooompa-loompa.

I didn’t realize how little I move and how much junk I eat until the moment I was in a closed room telling an extremely fit person all about it. She asked how much I worked out. I went on and on about how it’s been a while since I worked out because I’ve been in a “gym-transition” going from one to the next like The Three Little Bears. One was just the right size, but didn’t maintain their equipment and had a couple really creepy ‘staring guys’ – not working out, but the actual staff. Ergh. The next was really small, had about 5 members, no staff after 8pm, and was on the street so all the drunk people could stare in and watch – again: creepy. The next one is enormous and has all new equipment, but creepy in that it’s too big and they play no music like working out in a library of retirees.

I’m sensing a theme, as you may be. Apparently, gyms are just creepy. So, I admitted that I work out like 2 times a week, which is sort of embarrassing to tell someone with perfect calves. I then suggested she should propbably make up a workout for me to do in my living room.

Then, she asked what I eat during the day and could I remember what I ate on Friday. Ayyy. I could only remember coffee. Coffee in the morning. Then a latte. Some Kashi cereal [oh yeah, that is healthy, baby!], then an entire vegetarian burrito from Chipotle [because that one comes with a huge vat of guac], then some random pretzels, then the next thing I had was alcohol [I’m sure she loved that], then later that night … wait for it … [I mean, seriously, this never happens] another half a Chipotle burrito that was leftover from the day before. Really?

I like to think, along with 75% of the population, that “I know” what to do and what to eat but just don’t do it. Variety is the spice of life and eating like an athlete with defined abs is a slow, boring death of chicken breasts and protein powder.

And, now comes the good part. Oh yeah. The Fat Tongs. She told me to relax and started grabbing the fattiest parts of my triceps, stomach and thigh. I was literally a piece of meat. Pass the BBQ sauce. Results weren’t bad, but I only like to be squeezed by a certain person in my life and it is not her.

The trainer was a real sweetheart and she has me writing down what I eat for 6 days. I thanked her and told her I would email her my 6-day food fest on Friday. She made such an impression on me that I thought of her many times during brunch on Sunday while I was eating my Hangover Frittata made of whole eggs, gruyere cheese, chorizo sausage, lump crab meat, and covered in fried potatoes. I mean, that really is the only cure.