Scientific American profiled an interesting study today from the Oregon Research Institute on physio-psychological triggers that contribute to obesity:
"When neuroscientists scanned the brains of obese individuals viewing images of desirable food, they found greater activity in brain regions rich in dopamine receptors. These are the same regions of the brain activated by addictive drugs and thought to lead to addiction. “Eureka!” said many brain scientists. “I bet people exhibiting greater activity in brain regions encoding food reward will be at increased risk for obesity!” The more rewarding the food, in other words, the more likely you are to eat too much of it and pack on the pounds.
But there was another camp of researchers who posited that there was decreased, not increased, reward activity in the brains of obese individuals. Following this hypothesis, overeating serves as a compensatory strategy to normalize this reward deficit. If you find food less rewarding, in other words, you eat too much in search of finding a ‘normal’ reward experience, and thus gain weight. This phenomenon is known as ‘reward deficiency syndrome’."
Link to full article here.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Friday, June 4, 2010
What is WIM?
Since my sixteen weeks have expired, you might notice I've been writing a bit more holistically - diluting the chore of logging with the personality-laden art of blogging. Today, I'll be whining (more) about my not-so-recent-to-recent stalls, positing various hypotheses for why, and donning my aluminum-can-crushing, concussion-dodging, jock braincap to delve into the ineffable, implacable notion of WIM.
"Why'mInotgettingstronger," I bellyached to F. It'd been nearly two months of not successfully squatting the winsome weight of a hundred and ten pounds; my bench press, once on a victorious trajectory, had sputtered to a standstill at 85, and the deadlifting 165 pounds still inspired a covert tendency to cheat. The important takeaway answers from the conversation were:
Strength is range-of-motion dependent. What's that mean? Lifting a small child off the ground won't improve my ability to lift a small child over my head; squatting 110 at half the depth won't affect squatting 110 at the correct depth. Very important! I'd been operating under the assumption that gradations of depth were accessible - when I couldn't make a weight, I'd just waive it at half-mast, expecting a partial effort to contribute to a robust one. Apparently a dismal waste of time.
Rest. Eating poorly and sleeping inadequately used to be a point of pride for me - back in the days where we were young and raw enough to turn hypothetical (hyper pathetical, in actuality) desert island "survivorbility" into a pissing contest. Strength is gained during rest periods. Cardio, insomnia, and beer benders aren't restful activities, and will inhibit the build of strength.
WIM.
You'll turn up empty if you Google, UrbanDictionary, or Wikipedia Want It More. I'm in fact not confident that I have a firm grasp on the concept - owing, of course, to swinging in higher-brow recreational circles than the term typically habituates. In context, it's a (grossly) brutish turn-of-phrase employed by sports writers to describe the ephemeral quality of athletic chutzpah. As I understand it, it toes the realm of philosophical qualia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qualia) - an anima that transcends any measurable talent or learnable skill.
Not being a sports enthusiast myself, the best demonstrative visual I can call upon is Michael Phelps' seventh gold medal race at the Beijing Summer Olympics - the 100m butterfly.
I know a thing or two about swimming. Swimmers fall in one of two categories: distance, or sprint. It's a broad delineation, but it dictates training programs, lineup strategy, nutritional demands. True sprinters are the rarer breed - the 50m and 100m are simply too short for technical aptitude or developed stamina to make much of a meaningful impact. Distances of 400m and up, on the other hand, are somewhat "fairer" races - won or lost through a confluence of more 'controllable' factors.
The 200m is a dead zone - a no-man's land too long for true sprinters, but too brief for swimmers relying on superior stamina. Because it favors neither party, the 200m is arguably the most compelling and accurate battleground (certainly, the most common) for all-around, hydrodynamic superiority.
Michael Phelps isn't a sprinter. He certainly sprints very well, but like the majority of swimmers, he's primed to excel at longer distances. The Serbian butterflyer, Milorad Cavic is a sprinter. He's not as balls-out talented as MP (who is?), but there's a distinct and devastating advantage in having a killer 50m when you're competing in a 100m race. It takes the distance swimmer too long to get "fired up" - by the time his acceleration plateaus and the sprinter's stamina gives out, it's too late: a deficit of a mere 5m is too great to overcome in the last quarter of the race.
In my favorite virtual recreation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3paiELa7mA), you see that Phelps - sluggish at the start, lopping languidly and inexpertly on Cavic's turf, the 100m - is lingering in the third or fourth position entering the final meters of the race. (For context: twenty meters is covered by world-class swimmers in fewer than ten seconds.) We of course knows how the story ends, but it's no less incredible or impossible upon a tenth, twelfth viewing. One commentator, I recall, remarked that Phelps won the race even though he was slower, which feels strangely accurate. I guess he just wanted it more.
"Why'mInotgettingstronger," I bellyached to F. It'd been nearly two months of not successfully squatting the winsome weight of a hundred and ten pounds; my bench press, once on a victorious trajectory, had sputtered to a standstill at 85, and the deadlifting 165 pounds still inspired a covert tendency to cheat. The important takeaway answers from the conversation were:
Strength is range-of-motion dependent. What's that mean? Lifting a small child off the ground won't improve my ability to lift a small child over my head; squatting 110 at half the depth won't affect squatting 110 at the correct depth. Very important! I'd been operating under the assumption that gradations of depth were accessible - when I couldn't make a weight, I'd just waive it at half-mast, expecting a partial effort to contribute to a robust one. Apparently a dismal waste of time.
Rest. Eating poorly and sleeping inadequately used to be a point of pride for me - back in the days where we were young and raw enough to turn hypothetical (hyper pathetical, in actuality) desert island "survivorbility" into a pissing contest. Strength is gained during rest periods. Cardio, insomnia, and beer benders aren't restful activities, and will inhibit the build of strength.
WIM.
You'll turn up empty if you Google, UrbanDictionary, or Wikipedia Want It More. I'm in fact not confident that I have a firm grasp on the concept - owing, of course, to swinging in higher-brow recreational circles than the term typically habituates. In context, it's a (grossly) brutish turn-of-phrase employed by sports writers to describe the ephemeral quality of athletic chutzpah. As I understand it, it toes the realm of philosophical qualia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qualia) - an anima that transcends any measurable talent or learnable skill.
Not being a sports enthusiast myself, the best demonstrative visual I can call upon is Michael Phelps' seventh gold medal race at the Beijing Summer Olympics - the 100m butterfly.
I know a thing or two about swimming. Swimmers fall in one of two categories: distance, or sprint. It's a broad delineation, but it dictates training programs, lineup strategy, nutritional demands. True sprinters are the rarer breed - the 50m and 100m are simply too short for technical aptitude or developed stamina to make much of a meaningful impact. Distances of 400m and up, on the other hand, are somewhat "fairer" races - won or lost through a confluence of more 'controllable' factors.
The 200m is a dead zone - a no-man's land too long for true sprinters, but too brief for swimmers relying on superior stamina. Because it favors neither party, the 200m is arguably the most compelling and accurate battleground (certainly, the most common) for all-around, hydrodynamic superiority.
Michael Phelps isn't a sprinter. He certainly sprints very well, but like the majority of swimmers, he's primed to excel at longer distances. The Serbian butterflyer, Milorad Cavic is a sprinter. He's not as balls-out talented as MP (who is?), but there's a distinct and devastating advantage in having a killer 50m when you're competing in a 100m race. It takes the distance swimmer too long to get "fired up" - by the time his acceleration plateaus and the sprinter's stamina gives out, it's too late: a deficit of a mere 5m is too great to overcome in the last quarter of the race.
In my favorite virtual recreation (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E3paiELa7mA), you see that Phelps - sluggish at the start, lopping languidly and inexpertly on Cavic's turf, the 100m - is lingering in the third or fourth position entering the final meters of the race. (For context: twenty meters is covered by world-class swimmers in fewer than ten seconds.) We of course knows how the story ends, but it's no less incredible or impossible upon a tenth, twelfth viewing. One commentator, I recall, remarked that Phelps won the race even though he was slower, which feels strangely accurate. I guess he just wanted it more.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Live Strong?
The reason aesthetics is an effective driver is twofold:
1. Unlike that abstract notion of "health", the results are visible (and awesome!).
2. Dividends are tangible and wonderful. Clothes and sex feel tight and delicious.
I never did see the benefit of strength for strength's sake. I'm a white-collar office girl; my varsity days are far (five years this month, in fact) behind me. There are no parlor tricks, killer skillz, or social games associated with or bettered directly by the (marginal, for all intents and purposes) addition of strength. It's supremely unlikely that I'll ever be able to (or ever want to) accumulate the strength to single-handedly wield and move my mattress, fend off any real physical threat (save for a feral smallish dog, perhaps), or be the most compelling candidate for rescuing a baby trapped under a car.
"Getting strong" as a marketing campaign for weight training therefore holds about as much appeal to me as any other isolated physical endeavor. Practicing yoga only makes one better at the practice of yoga; lifting more weight is analogous, only much less fashionable.
So, it caught me by surprise when I identified with being strong several times this past week - while innovating wily maneuvers about the unlined, unfenced, unmanned dangers of the rural playground over which my darling alma matar is draped. I sprinted through milkweed, scaled dormitories, scrambled up trees as never before - for the quintessence of every object was a climbable, mountable, surmountable apparatus that I couldn't fall off, because I was falling back, gratefully, confidently, on the fact that I was strong (and also the nine+ ounces of forty-proof liquor coursing hotly like ambrosia through my veins). The next branch was far, but I trusted my footfall; the water's edge was distant, but my leap would carry me.
Obviously, this precise foolhardy high preceded many an ill fate, not the least of which was Icarus'. The point, as demonstrated in droves this weekend, is that being strong (when properly tempered with being smart) introduces possibilities. Possibilities beget possibilities; the feat of taking a literal bull by the horns allows the imagination to expand its scope considerably - intensified physicality in everyday living is only a short philosophical skip from a more concerted intellectual effort, more innovative social engaging.
So here's to living strong - and bracing for the notion of strength (power, control, leadership, capability) to line all endeavors.
1. Unlike that abstract notion of "health", the results are visible (and awesome!).
2. Dividends are tangible and wonderful. Clothes and sex feel tight and delicious.
I never did see the benefit of strength for strength's sake. I'm a white-collar office girl; my varsity days are far (five years this month, in fact) behind me. There are no parlor tricks, killer skillz, or social games associated with or bettered directly by the (marginal, for all intents and purposes) addition of strength. It's supremely unlikely that I'll ever be able to (or ever want to) accumulate the strength to single-handedly wield and move my mattress, fend off any real physical threat (save for a feral smallish dog, perhaps), or be the most compelling candidate for rescuing a baby trapped under a car.
"Getting strong" as a marketing campaign for weight training therefore holds about as much appeal to me as any other isolated physical endeavor. Practicing yoga only makes one better at the practice of yoga; lifting more weight is analogous, only much less fashionable.
So, it caught me by surprise when I identified with being strong several times this past week - while innovating wily maneuvers about the unlined, unfenced, unmanned dangers of the rural playground over which my darling alma matar is draped. I sprinted through milkweed, scaled dormitories, scrambled up trees as never before - for the quintessence of every object was a climbable, mountable, surmountable apparatus that I couldn't fall off, because I was falling back, gratefully, confidently, on the fact that I was strong (and also the nine+ ounces of forty-proof liquor coursing hotly like ambrosia through my veins). The next branch was far, but I trusted my footfall; the water's edge was distant, but my leap would carry me.
Obviously, this precise foolhardy high preceded many an ill fate, not the least of which was Icarus'. The point, as demonstrated in droves this weekend, is that being strong (when properly tempered with being smart) introduces possibilities. Possibilities beget possibilities; the feat of taking a literal bull by the horns allows the imagination to expand its scope considerably - intensified physicality in everyday living is only a short philosophical skip from a more concerted intellectual effort, more innovative social engaging.
So here's to living strong - and bracing for the notion of strength (power, control, leadership, capability) to line all endeavors.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
16 Weekish
Sixteen weeks (give or take) prior to this, the weekend of my five-year college reunion, I, spurred on by an off-handed jab at my flab, embarked upon a fairly comprehensive overhaul of my diet and exercise regiment. Five-times weekly cardio sessions (because Bones is on back-to-back, literally, everyday-) were reduced to two, then one; now none, as thrice-weekly lifting.
Nutrition-wise, I have some good days and some (very) bad days. The underlying goals have been to 1. up protein intake and reduce carbs consumed so as to appropriately supplement strength training and ensure gains and 2. to not eat "mindlessly". My good days average at about 80 grams of protein between white meats, eggs and shakes, raw greens, and lots of water; my bad days begin and end with sticky-sweet baked goods.
The results are observable, encouraging. I've gained strength, and I've come to know my own body a lot better. I'm less doughy, and, when in deficit, tawny. I successfully, conscientiously lost 8 pounds to rock a slinky dress, and I'm confident that I've got the baseline education and fitness to resume deficit eating when I need ("need") to.
Lessons learned? After gaining back the 8, I found that I look better. I feel stronger, healthier, and confident in the weight room. Dieting is hard execute, and impossible to maintain (for me, anyway). Sleep is important; I underestimated the value of sleep.
Goals moving forward? Importantly, I want to escape the mindset that an ice cream cone flushes the rest of the day's dietary habits down the drain, and that I "might as well" wait till the next day to start over. I don't want to work for "perfect" days if the result (and it inevitably is) is a really bad day following. It's hard, but I could definitely use to be a little more balanced about eating, since I'm no longer aiming to lose weight. I'll probably scale back on gym hours this summer in favor of activities that can incorporate a little photosynthesis. I'll get stronger, gradually, I suppose, but there's no rush; I think I'll cycle in more intensive workouts when the weather starts to turn in the fall.
Nutrition-wise, I have some good days and some (very) bad days. The underlying goals have been to 1. up protein intake and reduce carbs consumed so as to appropriately supplement strength training and ensure gains and 2. to not eat "mindlessly". My good days average at about 80 grams of protein between white meats, eggs and shakes, raw greens, and lots of water; my bad days begin and end with sticky-sweet baked goods.
The results are observable, encouraging. I've gained strength, and I've come to know my own body a lot better. I'm less doughy, and, when in deficit, tawny. I successfully, conscientiously lost 8 pounds to rock a slinky dress, and I'm confident that I've got the baseline education and fitness to resume deficit eating when I need ("need") to.
Lessons learned? After gaining back the 8, I found that I look better. I feel stronger, healthier, and confident in the weight room. Dieting is hard execute, and impossible to maintain (for me, anyway). Sleep is important; I underestimated the value of sleep.
Goals moving forward? Importantly, I want to escape the mindset that an ice cream cone flushes the rest of the day's dietary habits down the drain, and that I "might as well" wait till the next day to start over. I don't want to work for "perfect" days if the result (and it inevitably is) is a really bad day following. It's hard, but I could definitely use to be a little more balanced about eating, since I'm no longer aiming to lose weight. I'll probably scale back on gym hours this summer in favor of activities that can incorporate a little photosynthesis. I'll get stronger, gradually, I suppose, but there's no rush; I think I'll cycle in more intensive workouts when the weather starts to turn in the fall.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Free Personal Training Sessions Are Just. The. Pits. And Here's Why -
I occasionally employ free trials as a sales tactic at work - when a potential client (and everyone is a potential client) is dubious about the quality of my work, there's no more effective way than to jam a foot through a closing door than to offer up a risk-free, complimentary taste of the goods. During the free trial, it's my goal, as a salesperson, to demonstrate a dearth, and to satisfy it so completely, that there's no question that I'm the superior service provider. It's the client's job to defend their soft dollars, and refute the suggestion that a need exists, and scrutinize my performance. And so the dance begins; a series of interactions that's part-performance and certainly full of tension. By its end, both parties will have reached some level of utility; capitalism is achieved markets are efficient, the kingdom is saved.
If you happen to be a personal trainer by trade, the strategy subsists analogously. "Heather", thirty-three and reeking of Mid-Atlantic strip malls, sat me down to demonstrate the dearth - expose, through some form questions and 'test's, my insecurity, my inexperience, my ignorance about diet and exercise.
H: What are your fitness goals?
H: What's your diet like?
H: What would you like to change about the way you look?
As the client, it was my job to defend my disposable income against her witchcraft, by exhibiting that there was no dearth - that I was perfectly confident, clever and capable:
M: To squat 120, press 100 and deadlift 170 by July. I'd like to increase posterior chain strength to compensate for anterior dominance. I used to be a swimmer.
M: I'm on a macrobiotic diet. I consume approximately 80 grams of protein daily.
M: Nothing.
We advanced to the mat, where she again reapplied the pitch, while I reapplied resistance. I sassed my way through some warm-up exercises; she remarked that my hamstrings were abominably weak. I disagreed on the form she recommended; she cited the American Academy of Sports Medicine. (I met defeat on the push-up mat; I breezed through two sets of fifteen; she countered by assigning two more. Red-faced, puffing, dripping sweat, I had to fumble a nod when she said, triumphantly and didactically: "See? That was hard, wasn't it?" Never get in a land war in Asia, never challenge a Sicilian when death is on the line, never put your push-ups where your personal trainer's mouth is.)
The second reason personal training sucks is that it's so goshdarned dogmatic. Working out is, after all, an endeavor of vanity. Subscribing to an exercise and nutrition regiment - and then making a concerted effort at adhering to it - takes so much devotion that it's impossible not to take different denominations personally. I'm not really combative by nature*, but this woman was getting under my skin with her questionable directives, and I hers, with my arrogance and impeccable form.
I ultimately survived - both the hour with Heather and the ensuing sales pitch - unscathed, save for some upper-arm soreness the morning after.
*Not really
H: What are your fitness goals?
H: What's your diet like?
H: What would you like to change about the way you look?
As the client, it was my job to defend my disposable income against her witchcraft, by exhibiting that there was no dearth - that I was perfectly confident, clever and capable:
M: To squat 120, press 100 and deadlift 170 by July. I'd like to increase posterior chain strength to compensate for anterior dominance. I used to be a swimmer.
M: I'm on a macrobiotic diet. I consume approximately 80 grams of protein daily.
M: Nothing.
We advanced to the mat, where she again reapplied the pitch, while I reapplied resistance. I sassed my way through some warm-up exercises; she remarked that my hamstrings were abominably weak. I disagreed on the form she recommended; she cited the American Academy of Sports Medicine. (I met defeat on the push-up mat; I breezed through two sets of fifteen; she countered by assigning two more. Red-faced, puffing, dripping sweat, I had to fumble a nod when she said, triumphantly and didactically: "See? That was hard, wasn't it?" Never get in a land war in Asia, never challenge a Sicilian when death is on the line, never put your push-ups where your personal trainer's mouth is.)
The second reason personal training sucks is that it's so goshdarned dogmatic. Working out is, after all, an endeavor of vanity. Subscribing to an exercise and nutrition regiment - and then making a concerted effort at adhering to it - takes so much devotion that it's impossible not to take different denominations personally. I'm not really combative by nature*, but this woman was getting under my skin with her questionable directives, and I hers, with my arrogance and impeccable form.
I ultimately survived - both the hour with Heather and the ensuing sales pitch - unscathed, save for some upper-arm soreness the morning after.
*Not really
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Hi, Ma!
Last night my mother, a serial hobbyist, revealed that she's taken on baking bread. "Loaves and loaves of bread; I eat so much bread!" "Well, don't eat. . . mindlessly," I cautioned. "No, I don't eat mindlessly," she gushed. "I eat this bread with my whole mind and my whole heart! I'm okay with a B-, C+ grade in staying healthy."
Bless her.
Bless her.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
REFEED CITY
I went into uber-deficit (read: very bad weight training) mode in the four days leading up to my formal affair, so as to compensate for my hair and make-up inexperience. The best thing the dress had going with it was its slink factor. I donned big jewels, big lips, big hair (inadvertently channeling Sandra B. -to show solidarity!) little dress, and a hundred and thirty-sex pounds (that's right, 1-3-6) of primp and confidence. Judging from my ex boyfriend's inability to make eye contact for the first hour after I made my entrance, I think I can say I killed it.
The three ensuing weeks have been filled, not unlike the moist sugary centers of creme-sandwich cookies, with moist sugar. I scarfed a half-dozen Dunkin' Donuts the morning-after (after brunch); the floodgates open, I rediscovered pastries, ice cream, whiskey, pasta, and, most winningly, accessibly and destructively, creme-sandwich cookies. Pleasingly, it took about ten days to gain any weight at all - I was still all narrow boy-belly and golden tan until just last week, when I reached, and hovered comfortably at 140 lbs.
One forty. As a Big Girl - accustomed to shouldering Big Girl inconveniences (the ill-fit rompers, the involuntary air of austerity, the dreaded Big Spoon Syndrome) - the number haunts me. I'm -dare I say it? - self conscious. It's not a Big weight to be sure; but while my build is stubbornly svelte, and my clavicular lordosis* lends itself to the appearance of delicacy, there's simply something about being Big that runs counter to femininity. (135, on the other hand, ekes out 'winsome'.)
Numbers aside, though, it's got to be said that I look better at 140 lbs. I don't apply "too thin" lightly - I admire thinness, aesthetically speaking. Taylor Momsen, in a skeletal blaze of cigarette smoke and cigarette jeans, is addicting to look at. There's something ethereally striking, almost academic about a really willowy woman - the prominent leanness of Angelina Jolie supersedes, in my mind, pin-up types (quite low-brow, really) and athletic figures.
Of course I realize that weight isn't a particularly relevant component to endearing appearances. A 98 lb Jessica Simpson retained, albeit on a smaller scale, her bux.
Angelina, meanwhile, makes a lanky pregnant lady. The frame on which one carries one's weight is the determinant of perception - and mine, as it were, isn't "skinny". Infuriatingly, I look "too thin" without actually being too thin! The frumpy turn of phrase 'being comfortable in one's own skin' is the inevitable solution.
*Not a medical term
The three ensuing weeks have been filled, not unlike the moist sugary centers of creme-sandwich cookies, with moist sugar. I scarfed a half-dozen Dunkin' Donuts the morning-after (after brunch); the floodgates open, I rediscovered pastries, ice cream, whiskey, pasta, and, most winningly, accessibly and destructively, creme-sandwich cookies. Pleasingly, it took about ten days to gain any weight at all - I was still all narrow boy-belly and golden tan until just last week, when I reached, and hovered comfortably at 140 lbs.
One forty. As a Big Girl - accustomed to shouldering Big Girl inconveniences (the ill-fit rompers, the involuntary air of austerity, the dreaded Big Spoon Syndrome) - the number haunts me. I'm -dare I say it? - self conscious. It's not a Big weight to be sure; but while my build is stubbornly svelte, and my clavicular lordosis* lends itself to the appearance of delicacy, there's simply something about being Big that runs counter to femininity. (135, on the other hand, ekes out 'winsome'.)
Numbers aside, though, it's got to be said that I look better at 140 lbs. I don't apply "too thin" lightly - I admire thinness, aesthetically speaking. Taylor Momsen, in a skeletal blaze of cigarette smoke and cigarette jeans, is addicting to look at. There's something ethereally striking, almost academic about a really willowy woman - the prominent leanness of Angelina Jolie supersedes, in my mind, pin-up types (quite low-brow, really) and athletic figures.
Of course I realize that weight isn't a particularly relevant component to endearing appearances. A 98 lb Jessica Simpson retained, albeit on a smaller scale, her bux.
Angelina, meanwhile, makes a lanky pregnant lady. The frame on which one carries one's weight is the determinant of perception - and mine, as it were, isn't "skinny". Infuriatingly, I look "too thin" without actually being too thin! The frumpy turn of phrase 'being comfortable in one's own skin' is the inevitable solution.
*Not a medical term
Thursday, April 22, 2010
TasteSpotting
taAre you familiar with TasteSpotting (http://www.tastespotting.com)? It's a food porn / recipe meta-filter, and I daily get about 70 photos via my RSS reader that look like this, and I don't even like lemons, but they compel me to desire 1. cake 2. moving into my own studio following this lease cycle in order to practice baking, cooking, serving.
Lemon Syrup Cakes
Lemon Syrup Cakes
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Charcuterie of Death
I noticed this morning that a portmanteau for "cheese" and "meat" is "cheat".
Which is really, cosmically apt, given that since the start of high-protein, deficit eating, charcuteries are my "cheat" of choice - I know that they're calorically dense, and fat-laden, but there's less guilt and terror involved than cheating with Cake, Cookies, and Candies, because:
1. you must share a charcuterie, and adhere to Small Food sharing etiquette. Social shame prevents me from stuffing my face
2. it's fatty, but it's also protein-heavy!
3. it's pricey, especially at places like The Ten Bells (where I ate last night)
4. it feels* like less than a meal.
The biggest con is that charcuteries are inevitably, must-edly accompanied by wine and bread. I limited it to a small glass of Petite Blanc last night,and tried to fill up on raw oysters before getting into chorizo picante, duck rillette, and a very creamy goat cheese.
*feelings . . . count!
Which is really, cosmically apt, given that since the start of high-protein, deficit eating, charcuteries are my "cheat" of choice - I know that they're calorically dense, and fat-laden, but there's less guilt and terror involved than cheating with Cake, Cookies, and Candies, because:
1. you must share a charcuterie, and adhere to Small Food sharing etiquette. Social shame prevents me from stuffing my face
2. it's fatty, but it's also protein-heavy!
3. it's pricey, especially at places like The Ten Bells (where I ate last night)
4. it feels* like less than a meal.
The biggest con is that charcuteries are inevitably, must-edly accompanied by wine and bread. I limited it to a small glass of Petite Blanc last night,and tried to fill up on raw oysters before getting into chorizo picante, duck rillette, and a very creamy goat cheese.
*feelings . . . count!
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Weekend Roundup
The weekend roundup:
-Bad food days on Friday / Saturday evenings, owing to a wonderful, tasty duo of dinner parties featuring French cooking, wine, cheese and cake. -2 deficit days, which sets me back to 15 days to go. Sad face.
-Good lift on Saturday; mini-lift on Sunday.
-Procured a dress! After much scrambling around Midtown - SoHo BarneyDale's, becoming panicked at unbecoming, uneconomical choices, I made an eleventh-hour drop into my favorite little vintage boutique. Miraculously, they pulled out a luscious one-off unlined satin, backless vintage slip dress that fit like a dream - and for $100! It needs a little bling, but it's succulently slinky and quite unique for a black, floor-length dress. It's deliciously clingy also - which is inspiration and threat to be extra-conscientious with regard to deficit this week.
The only problem is the sunburn pattern on my back.
-Bad food days on Friday / Saturday evenings, owing to a wonderful, tasty duo of dinner parties featuring French cooking, wine, cheese and cake. -2 deficit days, which sets me back to 15 days to go. Sad face.
-Good lift on Saturday; mini-lift on Sunday.
-Procured a dress! After much scrambling around Midtown - SoHo BarneyDale's, becoming panicked at unbecoming, uneconomical choices, I made an eleventh-hour drop into my favorite little vintage boutique. Miraculously, they pulled out a luscious one-off unlined satin, backless vintage slip dress that fit like a dream - and for $100! It needs a little bling, but it's succulently slinky and quite unique for a black, floor-length dress. It's deliciously clingy also - which is inspiration and threat to be extra-conscientious with regard to deficit this week.
The only problem is the sunburn pattern on my back.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Day 5!
And feeling pretty good! 7 days until my next weigh-in; 8 days until Black Tie Formal Event. I've been just CHUGGING water lately (I reckon on the order of 80+ ounces, daily), which hasn't been two hard, because they've turned on the A/C in the building, and the wretched cold keeps me sipping at warm water all day long. I'm aiming to hit the gym all 7 days this week (I'm four for four, so far), and to take one day off next week. To get my toes done. Or something.
I'd be really stoked if I could get down to sub 137 lbs by the end of next week, and down to 135 by mid-May, but, honestly, I'll be relieved when the weight loss phase is over and I can prioritize trying to FREAKING SQUAT MORE.
I'd be really stoked if I could get down to sub 137 lbs by the end of next week, and down to 135 by mid-May, but, honestly, I'll be relieved when the weight loss phase is over and I can prioritize trying to FREAKING SQUAT MORE.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Thighs Have It. . .
Cottage cheese is a fantastic diet snack, because it tastes so truly awful that I can't have more than a couple of spoonfuls before totally losing my appetite.
Onwards!
Yesterday was a good example of a good lift day, with no added weight. I did one slow set of 85 on the bench press, but I probably have at least 2 more lifts before feeling confident about moving on. My bench press is slowly but surely catching up to my LB squat. On that front, 100 is still a fairly challenging set. I had a very solid deadlift at 155; I'm allowing myself to graduate to 160 (huzzah!) next time.
Formals. Are. A reason. To attend graduate school. I'm so, so thrilled to have been invited to Yale's annual Pump & Slipper ball. It's in precisely 10 days, which coincides nicely with Project Deficit (3 successful days down; 15 to go). I popped into Max Azria last night to pre-screen some formal wear, and remembered (from high school prom, a decade since!) how devastatingly I fill out an evening gown.
I can't find a photo of the L'atelier gown online, but these two were both pretty solid affairs. Unfortunately, the black was a little boring, and they didn't carry the one-strap number in my size.
I'll be making a concerted effort to land a killer ball gown + accouterments this weekend, with bride-to-be N in tow.
Yesterday was a good example of a good lift day, with no added weight. I did one slow set of 85 on the bench press, but I probably have at least 2 more lifts before feeling confident about moving on. My bench press is slowly but surely catching up to my LB squat. On that front, 100 is still a fairly challenging set. I had a very solid deadlift at 155; I'm allowing myself to graduate to 160 (huzzah!) next time.
Formals. Are. A reason. To attend graduate school. I'm so, so thrilled to have been invited to Yale's annual Pump & Slipper ball. It's in precisely 10 days, which coincides nicely with Project Deficit (3 successful days down; 15 to go). I popped into Max Azria last night to pre-screen some formal wear, and remembered (from high school prom, a decade since!) how devastatingly I fill out an evening gown.
I'll be making a concerted effort to land a killer ball gown + accouterments this weekend, with bride-to-be N in tow.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Caving to Cravings.
I shan't!
I'm hungry!
I'm back on deficit, after eating my face off over the weekend. Beer, soba, ice cream, chocolate, a freaking Monte Cristo brunch plate from Prune. . .
This is day 2. 17 days (an arbitrary number) to go.
I meant to recall, also, that I finally finished all the chocolate protein, and replaced my office stash of ON and my home stash of Muscle Milk with Cookies 'N Cream, and Vanilla "Creme", respectively. Big thumbs up for CnC; haven't gotten around to sampling VC, but I just pulled back the safety seal and got a hefty whiff of nasty pasticky vanilla flavor.
I'm hungry!
I'm back on deficit, after eating my face off over the weekend. Beer, soba, ice cream, chocolate, a freaking Monte Cristo brunch plate from Prune. . .
This is day 2. 17 days (an arbitrary number) to go.
I meant to recall, also, that I finally finished all the chocolate protein, and replaced my office stash of ON and my home stash of Muscle Milk with Cookies 'N Cream, and Vanilla "Creme", respectively. Big thumbs up for CnC; haven't gotten around to sampling VC, but I just pulled back the safety seal and got a hefty whiff of nasty pasticky vanilla flavor.
Stalling
. . .used to really, really depress me, but I've realized that it works better for me not to be too aggressive with weight-add. Since weight-adds come in intervals of 5 pounds, and I'd really prefer for them to come in intervals of 2 or 3, I prefer to take a weight from extremely challenging, to quite confident before advancing. This usually takes 2-3 lifts (although I was stuck at 65 on the bench press for an inordinate amount of time); even if I haven't added weight, strength build is still evident between adds, and that's pretty amazing.
That all being said, I'm woefully stalled on the squat at 105 lbs, and it's not even a subtly confident 105. It's been a month.
That all being said, I'm woefully stalled on the squat at 105 lbs, and it's not even a subtly confident 105. It's been a month.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Exhibitionism
I make a pointed exhibition of getting started on the bench-press. I can't lie flat in a ponytail; I get a sick little pleasure from letting down my now quite-long hair, shaking it loose in a patently suggestive manner, reclining, assuming an aggressively kittenish supine bridge, and then pumping some iron.
Mm-hm.
Mm-hm.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Some Catch-Up
So, I took myself to New Providence, The Bahamas for the turning of the (p)age, recreational swimwear, protein bars, and a couple of books in hand. I did virtually nothing; ate like eight different kinds of fresh fish, slept, swam, read, kinda half-assed some stretching, and felt like a partial babe because my abs are like 70% to looking pretty babesy.
JetBlue, though really sloppy out of their JFK hub, was fan-freaking-tastic in the islands, escorting me through security and onto a direct to Kennedy flight (I'd booked a long, cheap, layover-laden option) - getting me on the ground in NYC at 2PM EDT, which allowed me to spend my actual birthday in the sun, at the gym, and eating sushi in the East Village, as opposed to lounging at Logan International.**Reminds self to send a note of thanks to Tiffany's boss**
I hit 80 pounds on the benchlift on Wednesday, which I feel great about. Making minimal progress on the squat - still struggling to do a perfect 105. I'd like to be able to, at the end of my 16weekish (Labor Day Weekend), be at:
Benchpress: 100 lbs
HB Squat: 115 lbs
OHP - dumb-bell: 60 lbs
OHP - bar-bell: 65 lbs
Deadlift: 170 (Vanessa Hudgens can do it!)
I've been eating dessert the last couple of days. Treats courtesy of S and C, respectively. I weighed myself on Wednesday and that damage was only 1 pound, and some blotchy sunburn, so we're doin' okay.
JetBlue, though really sloppy out of their JFK hub, was fan-freaking-tastic in the islands, escorting me through security and onto a direct to Kennedy flight (I'd booked a long, cheap, layover-laden option) - getting me on the ground in NYC at 2PM EDT, which allowed me to spend my actual birthday in the sun, at the gym, and eating sushi in the East Village, as opposed to lounging at Logan International.**Reminds self to send a note of thanks to Tiffany's boss**
I hit 80 pounds on the benchlift on Wednesday, which I feel great about. Making minimal progress on the squat - still struggling to do a perfect 105. I'd like to be able to, at the end of my 16weekish (Labor Day Weekend), be at:
Benchpress: 100 lbs
HB Squat: 115 lbs
OHP - dumb-bell: 60 lbs
OHP - bar-bell: 65 lbs
Deadlift: 170 (Vanessa Hudgens can do it!)
I've been eating dessert the last couple of days. Treats courtesy of S and C, respectively. I weighed myself on Wednesday and that damage was only 1 pound, and some blotchy sunburn, so we're doin' okay.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Fail (Romper+Sushi)
I took yesterday off, and instead went romping for a romper (unsuccessfully - clothing item not intended for un-average-sized torsos), and then, craving some good Nipponese and sunshine, compromised a rather obstinate moral principle by dining at Sushi Samba to appease S's cocktail appetite. I reminded myself in 2004 never to eat here again - and forgot. And paid dearly.
Not only was the experience quite monstrous (the server spilled a large quantity from another patron's plate onto my bag, staining the purse, my sunglasses case and gym tote with FISH JUICE), my Topo roll arrived with minimal salmon and maximum rice. To compensate for the former, they comped us a jumbo shrimp ceviche and a mochi ice cream dessert, which I ate, in full violation of all caloric deficit by-laws. Oh, also, the food was comically overpriced - my roll, her 2 slivers of sashimi and cocktail amounted to $65.
The only thing keeping me from Yelping the tarnation out of it was the very awesome head waiter, who knelt at my feet to scrubbed my possessions with baking soda water, put up good-naturedly with S's hassling (which was excessively abrasive last night), and resembled Eric from Entourage.
Not only was the experience quite monstrous (the server spilled a large quantity from another patron's plate onto my bag, staining the purse, my sunglasses case and gym tote with FISH JUICE), my Topo roll arrived with minimal salmon and maximum rice. To compensate for the former, they comped us a jumbo shrimp ceviche and a mochi ice cream dessert, which I ate, in full violation of all caloric deficit by-laws. Oh, also, the food was comically overpriced - my roll, her 2 slivers of sashimi and cocktail amounted to $65.
The only thing keeping me from Yelping the tarnation out of it was the very awesome head waiter, who knelt at my feet to scrubbed my possessions with baking soda water, put up good-naturedly with S's hassling (which was excessively abrasive last night), and resembled Eric from Entourage.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Turning Into Monsters
I want to share some thoughts on the barrage of information about womens health and fitness out there, in part, I admit, to save this blog from becoming a food and fitness log only.
I trust F's expertise on most everything anatomical and nutritional, but it would be a comfort, a validation, and a joy if information on strength training and macronutrient eating existed at all in the millions of mainstream sources on fitness and dieting. Squatting for Your Spring Break Bod, for instance. Weighing in on Free Weights. In Cosmo. Or on iVillage. Or on a blog written by an articulate, pedestrian working woman, and not a fitness model or strength coach, and not disgraced with credibility-reducing bad stock photography and low-brow man-puns.
I want to read, in short, that my program has been tried and tested by the most bangin' bodies in Hollywood; that Alessandra and Adriana are dead-lifting; that vegetarianism, Pilates, and weekly cheat days are all a farce with regards to looking better naked.
I've not found these things. Every woman aged 22 - 40 can spout off the ten or so dieting tips that ladies' journals monthly repackage, but little to no digestible, accessible, female-friendly information exists on the benefits of lifting heavy weights.
What gives?
I suppose one answer is that strength training simply isn't very accessible - it requires membership to a proper gym, a good deal of fairly inflexible free time, and some real reading, if not customized instruction by a qualified coach. But considering the billion$ women collectively spend on institutionalized dieting, cosmetic surgery, form-flattering underwear and yoga classes, shouldn't this option at least be in the running?
I wish I'd started blogging about the experience earlier, to serve as a ab ova usque ad mala diary to provide some direction and camaraderie for the curious and the aspiring. I want to be able to one tell you, in good faith, that it "worked" - that my body looks and feels different; that there's lasting fat loss and postural corrections; and bone strength, cardio fitness, and energy levels have markedly improved.
So! Maybe one day I will.
I trust F's expertise on most everything anatomical and nutritional, but it would be a comfort, a validation, and a joy if information on strength training and macronutrient eating existed at all in the millions of mainstream sources on fitness and dieting. Squatting for Your Spring Break Bod, for instance. Weighing in on Free Weights. In Cosmo. Or on iVillage. Or on a blog written by an articulate, pedestrian working woman, and not a fitness model or strength coach, and not disgraced with credibility-reducing bad stock photography and low-brow man-puns.
I want to read, in short, that my program has been tried and tested by the most bangin' bodies in Hollywood; that Alessandra and Adriana are dead-lifting; that vegetarianism, Pilates, and weekly cheat days are all a farce with regards to looking better naked.
I've not found these things. Every woman aged 22 - 40 can spout off the ten or so dieting tips that ladies' journals monthly repackage, but little to no digestible, accessible, female-friendly information exists on the benefits of lifting heavy weights.
What gives?
I suppose one answer is that strength training simply isn't very accessible - it requires membership to a proper gym, a good deal of fairly inflexible free time, and some real reading, if not customized instruction by a qualified coach. But considering the billion$ women collectively spend on institutionalized dieting, cosmetic surgery, form-flattering underwear and yoga classes, shouldn't this option at least be in the running?
I wish I'd started blogging about the experience earlier, to serve as a ab ova usque ad mala diary to provide some direction and camaraderie for the curious and the aspiring. I want to be able to one tell you, in good faith, that it "worked" - that my body looks and feels different; that there's lasting fat loss and postural corrections; and bone strength, cardio fitness, and energy levels have markedly improved.
So! Maybe one day I will.
Romper, Ho!
Morning, F.
Yestereve was blustery, but I split out of work to procure (in vain) a romper:
A year ago, I didn't think I'd be coveting jumpsuits or lifting barbells, but life, unexpected. It happens.
Anthropologie didn't carry the stock as advertised on its website, so I trudged to the gym and completed a quick light-lift set, followed by an even briefer run:
2x8 Romanian Dead-lifts, alternating with 2x8 Pendlay Rows (just the bar)
2x8 Romanian Dead-lifts, alternating with 2x8 Pendlay Rows (bar + 20 lbs)
4x5 barbell squats, alternating with 4x5 barbell OHP
1x5 low-bar squats @ 65 lbs. Form forward!
3x5 barbell benchpresses
1 mile quick sprint
Abs work (2 x front, left, right planks)
Dinner, late, was a pecky affair. Patchwork fridge contents conspired to supply 3 slices of turkey breast sandwich meat and 1 fried egg on a piece of wheat toast; 1/2 grilled zucchini; a handful of roasted pumpkin seeds; 1 orange; 1 string cheese. Wow, that kinda looks like a lot. Sad face.
Breakfast this morning were an orange and the quotidian morning Muscle Milk.
Yestereve was blustery, but I split out of work to procure (in vain) a romper:
A year ago, I didn't think I'd be coveting jumpsuits or lifting barbells, but life, unexpected. It happens.
Anthropologie didn't carry the stock as advertised on its website, so I trudged to the gym and completed a quick light-lift set, followed by an even briefer run:
2x8 Romanian Dead-lifts, alternating with 2x8 Pendlay Rows (just the bar)
2x8 Romanian Dead-lifts, alternating with 2x8 Pendlay Rows (bar + 20 lbs)
4x5 barbell squats, alternating with 4x5 barbell OHP
1x5 low-bar squats @ 65 lbs. Form forward!
3x5 barbell benchpresses
1 mile quick sprint
Abs work (2 x front, left, right planks)
Dinner, late, was a pecky affair. Patchwork fridge contents conspired to supply 3 slices of turkey breast sandwich meat and 1 fried egg on a piece of wheat toast; 1/2 grilled zucchini; a handful of roasted pumpkin seeds; 1 orange; 1 string cheese. Wow, that kinda looks like a lot. Sad face.
Breakfast this morning were an orange and the quotidian morning Muscle Milk.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
String Cheese O'Clock
Is there any greater pleasure, late in the afternoon, than peeling fibers of low-grade mozzarella from a waxy chode of cheese?
I think not.
I think not.
Food Log (PM), and Whining
For those of you who have never yet experienced the power and glory of a diet-friendly frozen meal, they're definitively worse in quantity and quality than any low-brow, single-serving, cheap eat that comes to mind - diner food, airplane food, middle school cafeteria food, prison food (probably).
The Lean Cuisine creation, above, is an apt icon for the category - one smallish slab of colorless Processed Meat laying limply in a pool of salty stew-sauce; one serving of veggie-doused starchy filler food. Incredibly (or not?) the whole ordeal manages to stay under 300 calories (my midday Chicken Medallions Over Wild Mushroom Rice netted out at 220), and is savory and temporally filling.
So, after day. . . I dunno, 10 or so of DEFICIT EATING, the hungries aren't plaguing me much anymore. They're there, to be sure, and even though I'm checking the time left until I can whip out my snack arsenal (string cheese, today), I'm not nearly as miserable as I was a week ago.
Also, I splurged on recreational swimwear today AND overnight shipping so it'll arrive before I peace out to the islands on Saturday:
The Lean Cuisine creation, above, is an apt icon for the category - one smallish slab of colorless Processed Meat laying limply in a pool of salty stew-sauce; one serving of veggie-doused starchy filler food. Incredibly (or not?) the whole ordeal manages to stay under 300 calories (my midday Chicken Medallions Over Wild Mushroom Rice netted out at 220), and is savory and temporally filling.
So, after day. . . I dunno, 10 or so of DEFICIT EATING, the hungries aren't plaguing me much anymore. They're there, to be sure, and even though I'm checking the time left until I can whip out my snack arsenal (string cheese, today), I'm not nearly as miserable as I was a week ago.
Also, I splurged on recreational swimwear today AND overnight shipping so it'll arrive before I peace out to the islands on Saturday:
Obligatory Food Log - Tuesday AM
Busted. F had a micromanagement flare-up, and I had to fork over this URL, as well as oblige to a daily intake and activity log. At least I can do it here, where I can make the numericals lyricals and scintillate the weights.
So far, I've had:
1/2 serving of Muscle Milk with a 1/2 cup of milk, and water
1 orange (I bought oranges!)
Water intake is roughly 70 oz on weekdays, where I tend to get restless and want to go ogle the untouchable vending machine, and instead angrily chug a bottle of water a couple times a day.
So far, I've had:
1/2 serving of Muscle Milk with a 1/2 cup of milk, and water
1 orange (I bought oranges!)
Water intake is roughly 70 oz on weekdays, where I tend to get restless and want to go ogle the untouchable vending machine, and instead angrily chug a bottle of water a couple times a day.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
CRAVINGS!
I had a seriously good dining day yesterday.
One half serving of lean Muscle Milk and one egg for breakfast, one full serving of ON Whey during the day, one proteinous 280 calorie frozen lunch (I even discarded some of the noodles - it was a chicken pasta primavera), and a salmon teriyaki steak with some steamed broccoli for dinner. I didn't make it to the gym (fancy, nutritious dinner was escrow for staying late in the office), but, being a nice evening, I walked 35 blocks downtown rather than take the train.
While I woke up with that nice sunken belly feeling, the hunger pangs are a little incessant today! It's almost 1PM - I'm staving off lunch, but I had an apple mid-morning, on top of the usual Muscle Milk and egg for brekky.
One half serving of lean Muscle Milk and one egg for breakfast, one full serving of ON Whey during the day, one proteinous 280 calorie frozen lunch (I even discarded some of the noodles - it was a chicken pasta primavera), and a salmon teriyaki steak with some steamed broccoli for dinner. I didn't make it to the gym (fancy, nutritious dinner was escrow for staying late in the office), but, being a nice evening, I walked 35 blocks downtown rather than take the train.
While I woke up with that nice sunken belly feeling, the hunger pangs are a little incessant today! It's almost 1PM - I'm staving off lunch, but I had an apple mid-morning, on top of the usual Muscle Milk and egg for brekky.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
To Battle Hunger Cravings, I -
Have a beverage. Preferably a low / no cal one, like coffee, water, or diet soda. Drink until I have to pee. That'll usually kill forty minutes or so, by which the craving or pang will have passed.
Take a walk. I get distracted easily. Ups the NEAT total.
Get upset. Nothing strips me of a hankering or appetite than a good virtual brawl with a friend, thumbing through my ex's photos with his new squeeze on Facebook, or talking to my mother.
Work out. Sweating blunts my appetite, weirdly.
Go to sleep. Although rendering oneself unconscious falls definitively under 'last resort', it works.
Things that don't work:
Calorie counting. It's like that study where the parents just started paying fees to pick their kids up late from daycare. Beyond a point, it's all just numbers and abstraction.
Looking at pictures of skinny people. Does this work for anyone? Looking at her makes me feel hungry.
Eating a little. Floodgates. Open.
Wednesday Morning
The weight deficit formula is so simple that it's brutal. 3500 calories per pound / 7 days per week = a 500 calorie deficit per day to lose one freaking, measly pound per week.
500 calories is the size of a small meal, so trying to lose MORE than a pound a week when you're reasonably trim already (I'm an impatient girl, and on a time line!) seems really daunting.
I'm nonetheless comforted by the perhaps apocryphal rumor that metaconditioning and power lifting elevates your resting metabolic rate for the subsequent 12, 24 or 48 hours, depending on which sources you appeal to for your fitness hyperboles. Yesterday's program, following range-of-motion exercises, and the acquisition of the so frikkin' fit plaidastic Superdry Lumbar Twill Shirt looked like this:
Goblet squats : 3x8 @ 25
Kettle ball swings 3x15 @ 25
High bar squats: 2x5 @ 70
Overhead press (with a barbell!): 3x5 @ 60
Pendlay rows: 3x5 @ 75
Planks: 3 @ 1 minute front, right, left
It's a sorry day when your post work-out treat is a cylindrical piece of foam that doesn't even belong to you, but I actually looked forward to a good, slow, long roll.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Confessional
I just ate a chocolate-chip muffin top, swiped from the conference room.
Cake is thine enemy, but it's the fatty food groups' femme fatale, the most deceptive, divisive, eeeeevil of the lot.
Cake I shall shun.
(It's my birthday in two weeks.)
Cake is thine enemy, but it's the fatty food groups' femme fatale, the most deceptive, divisive, eeeeevil of the lot.
Cake I shall shun.
(It's my birthday in two weeks.)
Monday, March 22, 2010
F on Protein Intake
I like meat ohkay. I prefer white to red meat, usually, and though I've never been a vegetarian, I've definitely gotten the 'ick' feeling when sinking my teeth into a hunk of flesh before (typically when I'm high). The shakes - I keep ON Gold Standard Whey in the office and Lean Muscle Milk at home - have been a happy substitute, but I have a hard time keeping up with the daily recommended intake. 3-4 shakes daily? Are these people mental? I put the question to F, my trusty nutrition almanac. He's tried and digested enough information to serve as a sort of metafilter on topics related to fitness and nutrition. The brief transcript, below:
me: i've read a lot of conflicting recommendations on protein intake - some say about 30% of diet, others .5-.75gs x body weight in pounds. what's actually the right amount, and why?
me: i've read a lot of conflicting recommendations on protein intake - some say about 30% of diet, others .5-.75gs x body weight in pounds. what's actually the right amount, and why?
F: ok, so there's a big difference between protein "requirements" and optimal intake
The former is basically a count of the minimum protein that should be consumed before negative physiological reactions and muscle-wasting take place
most RDs (registered dietitians) use these silly metrics to make their claims
there's a big difference when it comes to goal-oriented protein optimization research
the ranges there are between .8gm/lb and 1.8g/lb
F: here's one read that analyzes some of the relevant research
Essentially what we have are two things that make it different than recs for "protein to get by"
1. We have body comp goals (i.e. preservation of lean body mass, and loss of fat) and
2. We are lifting heavy weights
F: also, this is a nice wrap-up of a full series examining various aspects of protein sources (you can read all if you're interested, or just this one for the takeaways)
Background
I figure that since I've turned on the 'public' setting for this blog, I ought to provide a little background about my training program, which commenced on January 29, 2010, and how it came to be.
An off-the-cuff comment from F this past winter ('you could stand to lose 10 pounds of fat') got me thinking. I was, like I said, offended - I'm accustomed to being met with envy, and not criticism re: my physique. I engaged him about it the following day, and he stuck to his guns about it. We met, and he took me through some general education about nutrition, fitness, and goals:
Nutrition
-Eat more protein. I'm virtually a vegetarian - meat is expensive, labor-intensive, and, I thought, really caloric-dense. I learned that calorie-dense is okay, so long as it's also energy efficient. To this end, I purchased whey protein powder supplements, and started FreshDirecting frozen chicken bulk packs to replace my nightly noodles.
-Eat less starch. This is hard, because I love bread, bagels, donuts, noodles, rice, cake. The best I can recommend on this front is discipline.
-Drink less. I'd been meaning to, anyway, so, done.
Exercise
-Resistance training. F taught me how some power-lifting basics, and put me on a schedule of low-bar squats, bench-pressing, deadlifting, rows, overhead presses, and abdominal work. I like cardio, which I'm permitted to do still (but in moderation). This program resembles a personalized rendition of Mark Rippetoe's painstakingly didactic Starting Strength. I confess that I can't really get through it despite F's egging on, but it's a really, really, really specific treatise / instructional manual on the wonders and mechanics of a few basic lifts.
I think the most salient and lasting piece of advice F gave me on this front was something about the body evolving in order to catch up to what's being demanded of it. Move more weight, and it will get stronger.
It's been fun, because progress comes very quickly for beginners. My current PRs (is there anything more crass than fitness-related acronyms?) look like this, for 3 sets of 5 reps:
Low-bar squat: 110 lbs
Bench press: 70 lbs
Overhead dumbbell press (I can't smoothly handle the bar): 50 lbs
Deadlift: 155 lbs
Pembley Rows: 25 lbs
Per this, I'm only slightly better than 'untrained', which feels a little unsatisfying for the last 7 weeks, but I guess that means I was something pathetically weak prior.
I've got some other, lighter squats, the very ubiquitous Romanian Deadlift, and some more mobility work framing the thrice-weekly regiment (which includes selectively from the above).
An off-the-cuff comment from F this past winter ('you could stand to lose 10 pounds of fat') got me thinking. I was, like I said, offended - I'm accustomed to being met with envy, and not criticism re: my physique. I engaged him about it the following day, and he stuck to his guns about it. We met, and he took me through some general education about nutrition, fitness, and goals:
Nutrition
-Eat more protein. I'm virtually a vegetarian - meat is expensive, labor-intensive, and, I thought, really caloric-dense. I learned that calorie-dense is okay, so long as it's also energy efficient. To this end, I purchased whey protein powder supplements, and started FreshDirecting frozen chicken bulk packs to replace my nightly noodles.
-Eat less starch. This is hard, because I love bread, bagels, donuts, noodles, rice, cake. The best I can recommend on this front is discipline.
-Drink less. I'd been meaning to, anyway, so, done.
Exercise
-Resistance training. F taught me how some power-lifting basics, and put me on a schedule of low-bar squats, bench-pressing, deadlifting, rows, overhead presses, and abdominal work. I like cardio, which I'm permitted to do still (but in moderation). This program resembles a personalized rendition of Mark Rippetoe's painstakingly didactic Starting Strength. I confess that I can't really get through it despite F's egging on, but it's a really, really, really specific treatise / instructional manual on the wonders and mechanics of a few basic lifts.
I think the most salient and lasting piece of advice F gave me on this front was something about the body evolving in order to catch up to what's being demanded of it. Move more weight, and it will get stronger.
It's been fun, because progress comes very quickly for beginners. My current PRs (is there anything more crass than fitness-related acronyms?) look like this, for 3 sets of 5 reps:
Low-bar squat: 110 lbs
Bench press: 70 lbs
Overhead dumbbell press (I can't smoothly handle the bar): 50 lbs
Deadlift: 155 lbs
Pembley Rows: 25 lbs
Per this, I'm only slightly better than 'untrained', which feels a little unsatisfying for the last 7 weeks, but I guess that means I was something pathetically weak prior.
I've got some other, lighter squats, the very ubiquitous Romanian Deadlift, and some more mobility work framing the thrice-weekly regiment (which includes selectively from the above).
The Weekend Roundup, Super Superdry, Crystal Parr
So the weekend weren't bad. I had a decent lift with F on Saturday, on top of a very good meal-plan. I think the key is staying a bit hungry at night. I'm not usually ravenous when I wake up, no matter how long the fast, so I can get by with a shake and a little protein food. On Sunday, I tried to go shopping to, you know, find rewards, but didn't end up with anything except several hours' walking in the West Village, which, hey, is alright.
(Of note: I discovered the full-loaded-with-awesome Superdry Lumber Twill Shirt, just not in my preferred size (S) and color (blue). Must check out SoHo flagship store.)
The weekend's one Carbinal Sin was a green tea frozen yogurt (+ blueberries and kiwi) following frisbee. And yes, IT WAS A SOCIAL EAT.
Some calorie-cutting measures for the next 5 days (larger chunks just ain't manageable):
-Make bed. In the mornings. Wake up circa 7:15AM; spend a little time tidying up.
-No bananas. The fruit of the week is "orange".
-Get some oranges.
-Paint your freaking wall, already.
So, you know how Crystal Renn has been receiving loads of positive media attention lately? She's this plus-sized supermodel who's "revolutionizing" the fashion industry:
I hate the press. It's stupidly reinforcing the exact same idea as very thin models do - that weight has anything to do with a person's appeal. Whether it does or doesn't, and to what degree it does or doesn't remains to be studied or argued, but let's not forget, that aside from being a size 12 or whatever, Crystal Renn (top), like SkinnyChick Alessandra Ambrosio (bottom; the current media martyr), is really hot:
Right. I could gain OR lose 30 pounds to approximate these women's weights, but it's not going to make me hot enough to make a celebrity living off my looks. You know why? Because I, like every other run-of-the-mill human being on the planet, don't have a million-dollar face. My body wouldn't distribute a weight gain or deficit in a flattering, million-dollar way. I'm not photogenic (in the least); I have poor posture, dry skin, splits-endsy hair that I'm too cheap and lazy to ameliorate. Maybe the message to young women (or whatever) is to learn what competitive advantage means, and what yours are.
(Of note: I discovered the full-loaded-with-awesome Superdry Lumber Twill Shirt, just not in my preferred size (S) and color (blue). Must check out SoHo flagship store.)
The weekend's one Carbinal Sin was a green tea frozen yogurt (+ blueberries and kiwi) following frisbee. And yes, IT WAS A SOCIAL EAT.
Some calorie-cutting measures for the next 5 days (larger chunks just ain't manageable):
-Make bed. In the mornings. Wake up circa 7:15AM; spend a little time tidying up.
-No bananas. The fruit of the week is "orange".
-Get some oranges.
-Paint your freaking wall, already.
So, you know how Crystal Renn has been receiving loads of positive media attention lately? She's this plus-sized supermodel who's "revolutionizing" the fashion industry:
I hate the press. It's stupidly reinforcing the exact same idea as very thin models do - that weight has anything to do with a person's appeal. Whether it does or doesn't, and to what degree it does or doesn't remains to be studied or argued, but let's not forget, that aside from being a size 12 or whatever, Crystal Renn (top), like SkinnyChick Alessandra Ambrosio (bottom; the current media martyr), is really hot:
Right. I could gain OR lose 30 pounds to approximate these women's weights, but it's not going to make me hot enough to make a celebrity living off my looks. You know why? Because I, like every other run-of-the-mill human being on the planet, don't have a million-dollar face. My body wouldn't distribute a weight gain or deficit in a flattering, million-dollar way. I'm not photogenic (in the least); I have poor posture, dry skin, splits-endsy hair that I'm too cheap and lazy to ameliorate. Maybe the message to young women (or whatever) is to learn what competitive advantage means, and what yours are.
Friday, March 19, 2010
143
I've admittedly got a mental block against dieting. I've never been truly unhappy with my weight or physical appearance before. I've had the luxury of eating what I want, when I want for most of my life - which is, additionally, active and happy. I like cocktails; I love dessert. I smoke pot so as to more deeply enjoy the crunch of cookies when I'm stoned. I enjoy restaurants; indulging in and reviewing 3-hour tasting menus by famous French chefs is one of my favorite hobbies.
So when F told me to read that book - the Tom Venuto one full of anorexic adages ("Nothing tastes as great as thin feels" or "Hunger is the feeling of fat cells dying") - I was offended. I am thin. People have been jealous of my physique my whole life. I'm 5'11 inches, and a very consistent 143 pounds. My thinness occurs (luckily?) in the most observable regions of my chest, neck and shoulders, such that when I drift below 140, I look sunken, even though my thighs and belly look fine.
So why do I want to lose 10 pounds? F suggested that I find some mental strategies, so I decided to put into writing the goals I have, and why.
1. The challenge. I like quantitative goals, traceable progress, numerical benchmarks. I like it when the numbers on the treadmill move. That's probably not the best reason to run (or to lose weight), but I'm not really interested in dropping clothing sizes (generally a 2 or 4), and 10 pounds seems like a substantial and difficult thing to do.
2. It's a feminine weight. Big girls have complexes with regards to the size of the opposite gender. I'm not -usually- heavier than my mate these days, but boy, in high school and in college, it was a trial not to be. There's some residual longing to be the type of girl that looks slight next to a man; the kind that they could catch handily in a swoon, or throw over their shoulder without throwing out their backs.
3. I'm not really sure I'd "look better naked" (or who I'd be looking better for), but if it's actually liable to happen, then I guess I'm down. 3. falls far, far below 1. and 2.
Now. Why do I eat more than I need to?
1. To prove that I can. This is a point of pride, and changing this part of my person will be hard, and furthermore, distasteful. I hate girls who count calories. I look down upon people who worry about their weight. I want to show that I'm not like them.
2. To reward myself. I celebrate successes at work, and in life, with food. I even celebrate good dieting with good food.
3. Out of boredom. It doesn't occur to me to feel hungry when I'm out and about, which should be easier given the weather's turned so nice.
. . . and how to fix?
1.
-Dine less with other people. Less with men, whose impressions, and women, certainly, whose jealousyies I revel in.
-Don't smoke pot. Just. . . don't. Once the social and dietary inhibitions go, I'm really fucked.
2.
-What's a better reward? I hate buying shit, and there's no pressing list of material possessions that I covet. Will have to think on this one.
3.
-Cake.
On the business of concessions
I think we have to draw the line somewhere. Sorry F, but if I'm going to make a real mental commitment, I can't be calorie counting. It's . . . gay. I promise (myself) to do better, but the accountability's gotta be internalized, and not via FitDay.com.
So when F told me to read that book - the Tom Venuto one full of anorexic adages ("Nothing tastes as great as thin feels" or "Hunger is the feeling of fat cells dying") - I was offended. I am thin. People have been jealous of my physique my whole life. I'm 5'11 inches, and a very consistent 143 pounds. My thinness occurs (luckily?) in the most observable regions of my chest, neck and shoulders, such that when I drift below 140, I look sunken, even though my thighs and belly look fine.
So why do I want to lose 10 pounds? F suggested that I find some mental strategies, so I decided to put into writing the goals I have, and why.
1. The challenge. I like quantitative goals, traceable progress, numerical benchmarks. I like it when the numbers on the treadmill move. That's probably not the best reason to run (or to lose weight), but I'm not really interested in dropping clothing sizes (generally a 2 or 4), and 10 pounds seems like a substantial and difficult thing to do.
2. It's a feminine weight. Big girls have complexes with regards to the size of the opposite gender. I'm not -usually- heavier than my mate these days, but boy, in high school and in college, it was a trial not to be. There's some residual longing to be the type of girl that looks slight next to a man; the kind that they could catch handily in a swoon, or throw over their shoulder without throwing out their backs.
3. I'm not really sure I'd "look better naked" (or who I'd be looking better for), but if it's actually liable to happen, then I guess I'm down. 3. falls far, far below 1. and 2.
Now. Why do I eat more than I need to?
1. To prove that I can. This is a point of pride, and changing this part of my person will be hard, and furthermore, distasteful. I hate girls who count calories. I look down upon people who worry about their weight. I want to show that I'm not like them.
2. To reward myself. I celebrate successes at work, and in life, with food. I even celebrate good dieting with good food.
3. Out of boredom. It doesn't occur to me to feel hungry when I'm out and about, which should be easier given the weather's turned so nice.
. . . and how to fix?
1.
-Dine less with other people. Less with men, whose impressions, and women, certainly, whose jealousyies I revel in.
-Don't smoke pot. Just. . . don't. Once the social and dietary inhibitions go, I'm really fucked.
2.
-What's a better reward? I hate buying shit, and there's no pressing list of material possessions that I covet. Will have to think on this one.
3.
-Cake.
On the business of concessions
I think we have to draw the line somewhere. Sorry F, but if I'm going to make a real mental commitment, I can't be calorie counting. It's . . . gay. I promise (myself) to do better, but the accountability's gotta be internalized, and not via FitDay.com.
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