Formulaic

I know that theoretically, weight loss should follow two formulas:
1. Calories burned > calories consumed = weight decrease
2. 3500 calories burned = 1 pound lost

Theoretically, these are true.

However, reality can be much less friendly than formulas would have you think. Especially when a system as complex as the human body is concerned. When I really think about the food I consume turning into fuel for propelling me throughout the day -- the proteins building into muscle, the surplus fats storing in case of emergency, the carbs burning for every day energy -- the whole thing just blows my mind. Then throw in other wrenches like stress, hormones, etc, and there's no way that we can pretend to fit our bodies' reactions into these simple formulas.

However, I think I'm starting to figure out a formula that works for me, including but not limited to these principles:
- Consume no more than 1600 net calories a day
- In order to not be starving, work out 5-6 days a week
- Generally that means 5 days of cardio and 3 days of weight training (often they overlap)

... that "formula" of sorts should lose me about a pound a week, by my new fangled calculations.
And it's been working - this morning I weighed in at 197.8! :) Woohoo!

... now let's see if my body can keep it up ...

July 6 weigh-in: 199.8 lbs

Down 2 pounds. Well, it's progress, right?

As for inches, I gained in the chest (booo, no need for that) but lost in the hips (as usual), and, oddly, many extremities. My wrists are the smallest they've ever been, as are my biceps and forearms. These are the kinds of metrics that I take specifically for days like this - when everything seems totally off, I can wrap my thumb and middle finger around my wrist and realize that they overlap more than they have in years. Small comforts.


I can see my pattern of self-sabotage.
I have a weakness for weekends.
I work my ass off during the week - last week I was at the gym every day, and twice on Friday because I had the day off - and I track all my calories religiously.
Then the weekend hits and I eat like I don't care.
For the past two weeks, I have watched myself eat 5 lbs over a weekend, then work it back off during the week. I know that to watch that happen means that it's a lot of liquid weight (some call it water weight, but in truth it's beer weight ;) ).
I watch it happen and it's like I can't stop myself.
Three weeks ago it was an engagement party.
Two weeks ago it was visiting friends.
Last week it was Fourth of July.
Either way, I find an excuse and I gorge.


But I guess the first step towards fixing the problem is to understand the problem. So consider this my first glimmer of understanding.

My first love

Wow, I've been posting a lot this week. Good for me, hopefully it'll create some momentum.

But I had a run-in today with my first love today, and I must admit, it fit me like a glove. A boxing glove.

I've written before about my first time joining a gym in Philadelphia four years ago, and when I moved to Boston in September 2006, one of the first tasks I completed - before even buying a kitchen table - was to join a gym. Partly I did this because I knew I wanted to get fit and lose weight, but partly it was because I was bored at this seemed like the "grown-up" thing to do.

So I worked out at the BSC in Wellesley for about 8 months, going through the motions, until I saw a sign-up for small group classes. Well, I didn't want to run outdoors (icky), I couldn't tell you what a "Pilates Ring" was (still can't), and I certainly didn't need prenatal yoga (and hopefully won't for a long while) ... but there was something that caught my eye: boxing.

I signed up on a whim and I fretted about it for two weeks until the sessions began. What if everyone else knew what they were doing and laughed at me? What if the class was all huge guys with giant muscles who are going to kick my ass? What if I'm so out of shape that I collapse? My inner fears nearly ate me alive, until the first class arrived.

I didn't fall in love at first. Mostly I had pain in my right shoulder (pre-existing condition) and I couldn't believe how terrible I was at jump-roping. But through my 3 eight-week sessions, I slowly gained strength and courage, skills and enthusiasm. I became friends with the only other person in the class and built a good training relationship with the instructor. For the first time in a gym, I knew what I was doing (sort of) and I looked forward to Tuesdays at 6pm. And when it came time for me to leave Boston Sports Club (I moved and there wasn't a convenient location), I knew that the thing that I would miss the most would be boxing.

I never really found a replacement for boxing, and while I love weight training and yoga and running, I don't yet feel as passionate about them as I do about boxing. I wonder if I ever will find another athletic activity that brings me the same levels of euphoria and empowerment that I feel when I'm punching in jabs, crosses, uppercuts and hooks. I don't know that it's really the boxing that I love or the memory of that first time that I thought, "I am strong, I am powerful, I can do this."

You can imagine my excitement when last night, I walked into my personal training gym and was handed a set of boxing gloves by the trainer. We'd done boxing sessions once or twice before, but as part of interval training. This time, I could tell that he had his hands full with some new clients who needed more orientation to activity than I would, and I think he remembered how excited I get every time I get those gloves near a heavy bag, so he just let me go for the full length of time, giving occasional suggestion and also forcing me to take breaks, because I would have forgotten in the midst of my boxing haze.

I'm really happy with my gym right now, but when it comes time to move on again, I think I'm going to try to get back into boxing. I don't know what it is about that sport, but when you find something that makes you feel that alive, you sort of have to follow it, don't you?