Sunday, July 13, 2008

i've never held back on my eating, and any mention of 'diet' by any already rail-thin girl would be shot the evil eye. in the past, my high metabolic rate was the reason i could snack on bars after bars of chocolates which seem to miraculously seep outta my pores with me lifting nary a finger, other than to change channels on the remote.

but age is catching up. and with that, other things seem to slow down. my metabolic rate, being one of them,

once upon a 5-years ago, i started running. shortly after, im taught me swimming. so for a while, i went a little crazy with the waters and spotted a tan that wore itself on for more than a year. what started these was vanity, rather than anything else. cos i finally realised i couldnt fit into my 25-inch levi's. that's some Vanity with a capital 'v', man.

but as these routines wore on, i found other reasons to keep going. exercise was a natural mood-lifter, headache-buster, stress-reliever and pms-curber. and once i got the hang of it, i found out that i didnt want to stop, partly because the routines weren't half as hard as when i first started, and partly cos i knew if i were to stop, that all the work that i'd done for months would be for naught- and i'd have to start over; from scratch-which really is, the hardest part. and so, i continued running through the years (the swimming i kinda got tired of), and now looking back, at the risk of sounding conceited, i'm kinda proud that i stuck to that routine.

pretty soon, i wasnt running to fit myself back into that levis anymore, cos that's checked off the list, but rather because i kinda enjoyed it (sicko) and cos i know i have to to take care of me. i had some basic weights exercise to go along with the running. and even though all these were done in wimpy yana's standards, which apparently wasnt sufficient, the exercise left me feeling good. perhaps it was the endorphins, or just some emotional, psychological by-product that comes with knowing you're taking care of yourself or the success of completing your intended rounds- or really, a mixture of everything. the headaches and flus became far and few between, and the compliments from strangers too, though far and few between, assured me that i might just be doing something right.

its noteworthy to state that somewhere along the line, i did become just as heavy as i did when i first couldnt fit into my jeans. but miraculously, those tattered jeans (now taken to be the ultimate yardstick), fit this time round and somehow, i didnt think i look as puffy as before.
i think my wimpy workout's got something to do with it.

fast forward 5 years later, and i'm ashamed to say the workouts werent as frequent as before. the singapore bay 'fun' run- a term presumably coined by some freako whose twisted idea of 'fun' involves a 6-km run on a sunday morning- that i did last year was the start of the downfall. cos ironically, after its completion, it felt like such an accomplishment that i laid off running for 2 weeks. by then, the fasting month's set in, which is naturally a period i dont do any workout unless i wanted to drop to a size '0' (NOO!). this was followed by the pre-wedding, where i was busy trying to gain the 3 kg i lost during fasting so as not to look so sunken, then the married life- where i was busy being blessed and burning my skin baking muffins, cookies and-what-other-nonsense-have-yous (as you might know by now). then work started. we all have our excuses, and my ultimate would be 'work'. that and the fact that went i got home, all i wanna do is to stick to im like glue (that, i'm truly exceeding expectations in).

i cant say i didnt try, though. jogging and stairclimbing with im during the weekends, exploring my new environment on my own, and once got creeped out while jogging at an ulu stretch of road, with posters of 'beware of molesters' staring at my face, feeling that i couldnt jog a step further, but pressing myself on the double cos, it was maghrib, that place was ulu, i was alone, and the biggest push of them all: i was takut.
always the chicken, this yana.

and then, the months drew on. like i said, we all got our excuses. for some reason, i got very, very tired. so i stopped. and for that reason, i got very, very, heavy.

its a tad bit embarrassing to admit, but i gained 4 kgs these 7 months. gasp! this needs to stop.

if there's one thing that i've never compromised thus far, its the eating. in fact, i do believe part of the reason for these workouts was so that i could get away with eating a cow. i've always told im, how i knew with utmost certainty, that i'd have surely gained weight if i werent working out. i ate whatever i want, whenever i please- despite getting a few dirty stares from calorie watchers over the years. (in a similar fashion, some rolled their eyes when they knew i exercised). i relished my food. those dishes i especially loved, i made them at home, so that i could serve myself second or third helpings without looking like a weirdo. (let's face it, ordering 3 bowls of tom yam at one go is kinda kooky. and finishing half a baking tray of brownie straight from the tray, is almost unheard of.)

but now, with age catching up faster than i can run, irony has come full circle, and gone to bite me in the ass. of all the things i can eat, i'd have to eat back my words. whilst i don't count every last calorie i'm ingesting with my every last delish morsel (life's too short to beat yourself up like that), i'm more careful about the things i stuff in my mouth now.

everything is moderation (you wimp, yana!), like the cake with 3 layers of pure durian filling we had yesterday... mmmmmmm.

anyways...

recently, we got ourselves a neat, little elliptical. and i'm getting back on track again. twice a week workout's not nearly the minimum, i admit. but i'm getting there, starting slowly from scratch-which like i said, was really the hardest part. grrr....

there's no illusion of transforming into some wickedly-toned bods of jessica alba's or eva mendes. these people hire personal trainers, dedicatedly put hours into their workout each day and watch what they eat religiously.
personally? i just don't want to slide into the happy-housewife trap.
the happy part, i don't mind. the trap, i don't quite fancy.

r.z 6:36 AM  0 comments