Working on our fitness

After hearing the rave reviews of a few trusted friends, I recently purchased a home workout program. I figured, hey...I like weight training. {Little known fact: I took a semester-long weight-lifting class in college. It rocked.} I want to combat my genetics and likelihood of osteoporosis. I need something productive to occupy myself while The Husband is on the night shift. I want to look good in my birthday suit, dangit! So with the magic of eBay, the postman delivered my new evening lineup in all its plain brown packaging.

I perused the extensive pre-workout booklet, complete with claims, disclaimers, claim jumpers...whatever.

Got a little intimidated by the prospect of pullups. {With my noodle arms?}

Measured measurements {cringe}.

Took photos {double cringe}. In a swimsuit {be still, my heart.}

Gagged a little upon reviewing said photos.

Made a note to burn the evidence once I've hit my goals.

Made a deal with the devil to BRING IT if this workout would alter the unfortunate state of my derriere.

That's gonna be ME...P90x workout poster, by Beachbody

So, fast forward to a quiet evening that showcased my husband in one room, quietly reading. I was in the next room, punctuating his rare reprieve with a showcase of huffing, puffing, and growling just to get through the workout. I finished feeling a little nauseated; as my girl Becca put it, the creator of this workout is indeed merciless.

Much to my surprise a few days later, I came home from work to find Bart toweling off and looking spent.

Me: "What have you been up to?"

Husby: "Just did the first P90X workout."

Me: {Impressed, because he has no time for adequate sleep, much less a punishing workout} "How did it go?"

Husby: No reply. Beats a rapid exit to the bathroom to spit out the small episode of throwing up he has just triggered from BRINGING IT so hard.

I wasn't quite sure what to say...it's a beast of a workout that will induce one to throw up. But it's also a committed individual that puts out enough steam to get to that point, eh? So I patted the poor, worked-over Husband on the back and commiserated on our bootcamp session.

Fast forward again...Bart has been on night shifts, and I've been working days + some evenings on call. In short, we haven't seen each other much this month. {I'm only partially joking when I call his training program a widow-maker.} So I only heard this update yesterday:

It would seem that, due to an injury of sorts, Bart has been taking a break from the rigors of the P90X.

Husby: {Flexing his arm} "Hey, I forgot to show you; I have pitting edema on my triceps from doing the  P90X."

Med-speak translation: Pitting edema = abnormal fluid retention and swelling in soft tissues = bad. Can be caused by high blood pressure, poor heart function, or--in this case--seriously overdoing it.

Me: {Poking at said arm} "Has this been going on for a week?"

Husby: "Yeah. I kept watching my fingers for pain."

Med-assessment tipoff: If it gets out of hand, said swelling can act like a tourniquet and may cut off blood flow and nerve impulses downstream.

Me: {Perking up my slightly-alarmed-nurse radar} "Have you had any numbness in your hands?"

Husby: "No...pain would come first, numbness would be last."

Worst-case med-scenario:  If excessive swelling sets in, it may be necessary to prevent tissue damage by making a long incision--a fasciotomy--along the swollen tissues. Hurts like a mother. Risk of infection. Not fun.

Me: {Shaking my head because this is a doctor who knows he should listen to his body instead of pushing it past its limits. And because as a wife the head-shake is a rather harmless alternative to getting all shouty/exasperated.} "Baby...you are a dingbat. This workout says to BRING IT, not KILL IT."

So there you have it, folks. A moderately cautionary tale. A chuckle at the expense of Husby's triceps. A reminder to listen to the bod during your fitness quests.

BRING IT!    Oh, wait. It's already been brought.

Evolution

Charles Darwin

Once again science has taken over my life in the form of my own theory of evolution. Since coming to Portland the species known in our house as chocolatiere maximus has undergone quite a transformation. Darwin never would have predicted this dramatic of change in only three generations.

Let me present the first of the species.

Bodum Chocolatiere

This was my Christmas present two years ago and was a constant companion throughout the winter months of Denver. With shaved chocolate from Williams-Sonoma several pounds were added to the scale whenever I stepped on. The results were good but the froth was not as consistent as one would like.


A night visiting friends since coming to Portland opened my eyes to the second generation of loveliness and I had to have one at once. According to some in this household I have a track record of buying things for myself right before Christmas that Santa was already planning on providing. I have yet to see any real proof but the rumor is out there doing damage to my good name.

Back to Basics Cocoa Latte

This proved to be a welcome addition and yet was hard to clean up. The froth was better than previous but still unable to compare our favorite chocolate shop. Portland had unfortunately created something of a hot chocolate snob.


Fortunately Santa was not deterred by the previous impulse buy and set out to provide me with the best.

Bialetti Hot Chocolate Maker

Santa really came through on this one. It is a cross between a Ferrari and a hot chocolate maker. There is a special mixer that will make the froth as much as you want and I have since learned that adding Guittard chocolate chips works just as well as the shaved chocolate at a fraction of the cost. The latest of the chocolatiere species is in use almost every day.

Good thing I started P90X, although it was over a week before I could lift my arms high enough to type this post.

Portland Diners

Since coming to the Northwest I have learned a few things. First, it rains in Portland. It is ALWAYS raining. When we found out we were coming here everybody in Portland would say "at least it doesn't rain as much as Seattle." Which brings me to the second point of knowledge, people are liars.

One good thing about the rain is that it forces sane people inside (there are also a lot of insane people in Portland but that is beside the point) and so these people create amazing food. This must have been how Pine State Biscuits was started. When we pulled up to this hole-in-the-wall place it was raining (shocking I know) with a line that came out the door and around the building. We got in line behind two guys who KNEW food by the look of them. Katie asked them what they would recommend and without hesitation they said "the Reggie". May I present for your viewing pleasure this creation.

The Reggie ~ by Katie

The Reggie has been featured on the "Diners, Drive-ins and Dives". It has a buttermilk biscuit with fried chicken, cheese, bacon, a fried egg, and sausage gravy between the biscuit. Some might call this a heart attack stack however I can promise that those who will partake will die happy. Besides if more people eat this I will have a job for a very long time.

Now the rest of you come visit so I have an excuse to go back and get one!

Navigate THIS.

I've previously kvetched about how tricky it can be to find one's way in the meandering avenues of Portland.  If the destination is anywhere other than my place of work or the revered chocolate shop, we {mostly me, in fact} rely heavily on the magical, mystical capabilities of our GPS.  Our live-in-tech-support, also known as Mah Huzbin, set up a voice-activated feature that allows us to push a steering wheel-mounted button and speak our requests to the "Geepus".  In fact, if we press said button and command her to "Go home", the device will guide us back to our doorstep.  {This option has inspired Bart to start calling her Lassie.}

The concept is genius. The execution, however, could use a little fine tuning.

Tonight we merrily rolled along to our date destination, guided by the trusty device. The Lassie had a small fit of navigational anxiety as Bart rounded the block to find a parking spot. {She has noisy minor meltdown if our actual route doesn't coincide with her recommendations.}

The Lassie punctuated her protest with a series of chirps, beeps, and squawks.

Bart responded by calmly telling her to go to hell.

And the blessed thing obliged by starting to find a route to the requested location.

Anybody want to come along for the ride?

Twenny-ten

Christmas lights in the Columbia River Gorge, January 2010

This time of year always feels like a study in dichotomy...

On the one hand, there is the final deflated schlump from weeks of zany holiday carryings-on.

On the other hand, there is a certain fresh-scrubbed sensation to January's reflections and new endeavors.

{And then there's the gripping hand for all you other closeted science-fiction nerds out there.}

I'm not particularly enamored of New Year's resolutions {hasn't there been enough of a physical and mental binge without adding a glut of list-making to the mix?}, but I am a goal-setting-throughout-the-year kind of girl; I prefer to pace my passel of self-improvements.

Simply because I like to write down my serious aspirations, here are a few of the big contenders.

Music. Be both a performer and a partaker.  


Dates. With a get-out-of-the-doggone-apartment adventure at least bimonthly. 

Speak positively. Or zip it. 
Hmmm... 
I may find myself resorting to the latter at work. 
I pre-emptively reserve the right to two grouses/gripes per day. 
I am crabby in all this rain...My head may implode on this one.

Visits home. To CO and to ID at least twice.


Feed the right side of the brain.  
Schedule a class or "experience" at least quarterly.

Not really resolutions, these, because they are already part and parcel of my nefarious plans for world domination long-term goals. But I do like to be able to check in on myself now and then...

Best wishes to you in the adventures of this new decade!