What's Next?: Mission Get Fit

January 15, I was told by my work physician that I was unfit. Unfit for what, I ask. Unfit for release into general population? Unfit to practice? Unfit to parent? I would have believed all of those before the truth.... physically unfit.

Let it be known that I feel that a Dutch doctor, with his six feet of ectomorphic physique, has no idea how well I fight my non-ectomorphic Romanian genetics. Seriously, if he came to one of my family reunions, he would give me a gold star.

Despite my excuses and a fair amount of pouting, a plan had to be made. The plan revolves around accountability once again. This time I am trying it with enthusiasm. Ra-ra.

I have now been using the website livestrong.com for a couple of months to enter foods, exercise, water intake, weight, goals, etc. for the intent purpose of losing some (or all or more) of the weight I have gained since moving to Europe. Way too easy to screw up. Love it.

Helpfully, I am on yet another Russian mission where the food is, well, not that difficult to turn down (excepting the pouting and disapproving looks from the Russian kitchen staff). I also have easy access to an in-house gym (small gathering of non-commercial fitness equipment) and the wine really sucks so it has been easy to cut that out as well. When I first started this great, life-altering adventure, I was concerned as to whether I would be able to keep up these positive changes once I returned to the world of cheese and good wine. The answer to that concern? I could show you the weight “loss” graph but I’m just not willing to share that much at this point; it’s not pretty but I held the newly cast away kilograms at bay though not many more joined them. Baby steps. I've come to terms.

Speaking of wine, when I fired up the livestrong.com account I had a huge shock: there was one recorded day, before my incarceration, that my red wine consumption constituted 50% of my caloric intake for the day. Soooo not cool. Please at least act surprised.

My professional dieting recommendation (because I can do that now); if you are going to drink, it is best not to eat anything. Everything balances out better that way, trust me.

Also, speaking of wine, I do occasionally take these opportunities, while away from home, to prove to myself (and my father) that I am not an alcoholic and, I am happy to report, I am not! Last mission I was without wine or any other alcohol for 23 days; long past the Delirium Tremors window. Good to go. I did, however, have a problem weaning myself off the green tea and carbonated water but that’s another issue.

Back from my digression....

I am all about the gadgets and accountability. After a kick-ass start at the Russian sponsored Fat Farm / Rehab Clinic (also known as my work assigned accommodation), it was important to find a way to keep on the positive side of the graph once I was home. Purchases: one digital scale, one heart monitor, one supercool gadget that made my heart monitor talk to my iPhone and one million iPhone apps that would record, graph, play inspirational music of my choosing and email to me everything I did to gain or burn a calorie. I am truly a puppet.

But, I am a successful puppet thus far. How do I measure success, you ask?

Most days, the scale is no longer the enemy. Knowing that the third floor window is dangerously close, the scale still quivers some days before giving a readout. Those days are becoming fewer.

I have given away a few items of clothing that are too big. Well, three to be exact but I am also fitting into things that I have had to brush dust off of.

I crave the morning work-out. That is seriously surreal. The trick is to make sure that the appropriate attire is closely standing by. I am a half hour into my morning jaunt before I realize that I am out of bed; perfect. If I had to look for a shirt, I would stay under the cozy duvet. Knowing my limitations is key.

Hail to the cheerleaders! I am so fortunate to have the support of my Hubbybaby and the rest of my family. The Amazing Man tells me that I look great, sexy and all that (though, suspiciously, he didn’t tell me that I wasn’t all those things in December)... but, now I’m more so. Yay! Liam-the-sixteen-year-old boy has congratulated me on my 5 km time being a mere four times what his is and, my daughter quickly and quietly whisked away my slightly over-sized clothes before I could change my mind.