Sugar, sugar

It’s been 6 months since I moved back to Hyderabad, and within this short span of time, I have conveniently managed to put on 3 kilos. Now personally, I already believed I was 3 kilos over my ideal weight. So this amazing detour makes that 6. Not cool, I agree.

While I was never a stickler around numbers in the past, heck I was always in the overweight BMI range, I have become a a little more particular since the great loss of 2012. You know, when I magically dropped all the baby weight and then some more in less than 6 months and suddenly became a self proclaimed weight loss guru, giving all and sundry advise around how to eat well and stay fit. Those were happy times and while I did the entire thing on my own, without shelling a paisa on a trainer or classes or a nutritionist, I made up for it by splurging on a whole new wardrobe to suit my newly acquired persona. I also got introduced to my clavicle and we have been in a steady relationship ever since.

Only in my case, apparently when you meet your own expectations, while it does give rise to a feeling of contentment, it also gives rise to further expectations. Not very unfair ones, I’d say. I had hit an all time low on the scales and I felt amazing, but when you have access to way too much information, you over-analyse and I decided that I needed to lose those ‘last 3 kilos’ to be ‘perfect’. But fate had other plans, doesn’t it always? I shouldn’t even be blaming fate in fact. Truth is, those 6 months of wondrous fitness that I achieved took a lot of hard work – regular gymming and a crazy control over food. To the extent that I was one of those weird kinds who are jabbing the details of what they ate after every meal into their phones to ensure they don’t cross the calorie limit, for a whole 2 months.

Those are the kind of things you do when you are in distress, and I was. You see, my assumption was, if you put on 20 kilos while carrying a baby, it would take a month maybe to lose it all after the baby is born? That didn’t make sense even numerically cos it takes 9 months of unbelievably uncontrolled eating to get to that stage, so there’s no way you magically lose it in one. So after 6 months of seeing absolutely no change, matters were taken into hands and handled. Results were achieved. Happiness was gained (shallowness alert). But once you are in this zone, this ‘I’m not all that bad’ zone, you tend to lose focus altogether. My case, exactly. And the only thing that makes me reconsider the fact that I do indeed need to eat healthier and get fitter is sugar.

For example, last night, after a pretty good day of eating healthy throughout, and finishing dinner, I decided to reward myself with a Rasagulla. Fair, right? Then I decided, that one more Rasagulla wouldn’t hurt. So it was had. Then, I decided that, I just had to try one of those Swiss chocolate bites, since they were quite tiny and wouldn’t make a difference. So I did. Then, I still wanted more sugar so I decided to eat some pineapple (healthy healthy!) and followed it up with some almonds (healthy! Sort of). And then I went back to the refrigerator (this is a true story, each element was had after a trip specifically for it), to see if there was yet anything else I could have! And there was this Bar One, Zo’s (I know, bad, bad mommy), and I had the damn audacity to pick it up! And all the while, this tiny voice in my head was going, Dude, you have had enough dessert to make up for a whole extra meal, and you didn’t even miss a meal today!

Then I kept it back. And picked up another slice of pineapple. Before you think I am trying to talk about the victory of willpower over, erm, no will power, let me clarify that I aim at no such bullshit. Because a ‘one day control does not a strong person make’. Because I’m increasingly becoming the kind who will replace unhealthy sweets in the diet with relatively healthy sweets and then end up having them both. Because when it comes to sugar, I can never, ever say no. And while my reason to worry about this to look fit, I can make myself sound a wee more intellectual by saying that ‘so much sugar consumption will be bad for anyone in the long run’. There.

The only ray of hope, and the other thing I cannot say no to is clothes – pretty clothes. And I have a wardrobe full of them, only some of them feel relatively snug these days, not surprisingly. So to hopefully handle this number situation, I have decided to pit my two loves against one another. Basically, no more new clothes until I fit and as an obvious repercussion, use my current outfits well. By well, we mean at least wear them a second time (even first in some cases, I can tell you, and now you totally judge me). And I hope for my sake that this works.

And while we let events take their course, we will sit back, relax  and watch. With a piece of dark chocolate pineapple in our hand.


This is tough, so we’ll let it be

I knew there was something very good about taking up this post a day thing. I just knew it. And now, I know what it is, kind of.

Thing is, since I started writing, everything I look at, forms a sentence in my head. Not a regular ‘Look, there is a bird!’ sentence. Let me give you an example. So yesterday, when I woke up, the first thing I did was drop my brand new, very beautiful phone, smack on the ground, face down. What would a normal person do when this happens? Pick it up, check it for issues? I did that. I even did some other stuff not all normal people do, but the ones with OCDs can vouch for. Like I thought I spotted a crack, and then proceeded to remove the screen guard to see if the crack was on the screen, and then confirmed that it wasn’t, so I stuck it back, but then decided to double check, so I removed it again, this time pinching the guard in the process, just to see what I already knew, no crack, but now there is a permanent air bubble I can’t fix.

Anyway, the point was, that all the while I was doing that, in my head, I was involuntarily forming the starting sentence of my ‘never would see the page of the blog’ post about something as mundane and regular as my phone falling on the ground. Yes, this is a thing. It is for real. And the fact that I am supposed to be writing everyday will ensure that you get such delightful updates from me. Yay you.

But on the whole I guess, having one sentence formed in your head doesn’t make up for a post. It’s more Twitter material, where my existence is an #epicfail.  And I don’t want to do a bullet post. Right now I mean, I am pretty sure that’s where we are heading, and I am not even talking about the end of the month. But let me stick to things I can more than bullet-fy for now. I know you think I can do that to anything (and I know that’s not a compliment), but well, whaddya know, even I struggle at times.

So moving to Pune had this big disadvantage of losing my awesome Building Complex Gym. I have been to 3 gyms before this. One was a gym close to my first job, where I paid for 3 months. The gym instructor looked like (and perhaps was) the cashier who doubled up as an instructor during ‘Happy Hours’ (11 AM to 4 PM) because there would be no one working out. Except for ofcourse me. I lasted there for a 1 month I think. And there was no impact. Then the second gym was one I joined along with the Dude right after we got married. Here we got an annual subscription. The instructor was mean, and useless, and would smirk because I was never good enough. And he would make us do some couple-y exercises, like we would stand back to back and pass one barbell, or a basketball to each other. All that was missing was some 90s song in the background, to make the situation perfect. I am thinking ‘Aaya mausam dosti ka’ (Ok 80s song then). I lasted here for a little more 2 months. Again, no impact.

The third gym was at my work place, and I loved my routine there. Firstly, I had the company of my beloved work friends. The crowd was all people we knew and would eventually have nicknames for, and joke about (I know, very horrible human beings we are). Secondly, this was not in the morning, which is perfect for lazy-ass people like the self. Thirdly, I pretty much had nothing better to do at that time because I would wait for The Dude to pick me up. The alternatives were Farmville, Scrabble on FB.  Fourthly, the gym instructor, Vishnu, was really good. I continued the routine he chalked out for me even when I stopped going to this gym. And though he too would think I wasn’t good enough, his smirk was not as mean. Lastly (but not leastly), this was free. I lasted there for 8 months I think, and then I had to stop ‘cos  Zo made a grand entry, or rather we got to know of her grand expected arrival in 8 months time. Oh, and the awesomest thing was how ALL but one of my workout buddies stopped working out almost immediately, because I was pregnant. Nice no? So much support.

Then there was my Gym no. 4 at our building complex. This gym was not as posh as the other gyms, but it had the basic equipment, a couple of instructors who would not bother much, but the biggest thing, it was just downstairs. So here I went for a little less than a year, 10 months I think, starting the day Zo turned 6 months old. Because that’s how long they said you had to wait after a C-sec to work out. I was severely over weight, with all the baby weight, and couldn’t wait to get started, and at this point I would want to mention that anyone who leaves me anonymous (or named) comments about how my priorities were all wrong, or ‘Ooh, what a mother!’ will get a virtual sock in the jaw, no space on my Blog comments page, and a curse which will make you a constipated buffalo in your next janma.

Point being, MAN! It worked! And how! I mean yes, this time I did the whole jing-bang of counting what I ate, sticking to my 4 days a week routine (especially weekends) and bam! In 2 months I was at pre-pregnancy weight, losing almost 10 kilos. And then some more, and then some more, and very soon I was I think the lightest ever, the thinnest ever, and definitely the fittest ever, running 20 frigging minutes on the treadmill without stopping. And for someone for who sports hour memories from school are those of sitting on a bench under the tree talking about which guy from what section was hitting on who, er, well, it was big. It is big.

And then, 2013 happened. And all that I wrote in my last post happened. And here we are, exactly a year later, eating 3 cream filled donuts (ok that was New Year’s Eve, so it is allowed I guess), struggling to fit into those size X jeans which we so lovingly picked up in the January sale. And to ensure that we do not go to this year’s sale looking for a wardrobe that fits (again), drastic measures need to be taken.

Gym is out. Running in the cold is tough and just not rewarding enough. So for now we are treating ourselves to this. We have managed to go 13 sessions so far, and what remains to be seen is to ensure that this 13 goes on to 30 and then what next is decided upon and followed before I explode out of my current set of clothes Oh My God what the hell is wrong with me. By the way, it’s quite good, so give it a shot if you’re looking for something short, and apparently effective.

Anyway, wish me luck. I am not making resolutions but being fit and looking thin is on my priority list and it doesn’t matter if you think I am mad. Also, I am just glad I got started, and I hope it works.

I am also glad there is no word limit to the posts on the Blogathon thing because I think I just exhausted enough blah to last you 3 days. I don’t know what today’s prompt was by the way, I think it was rain. Enough for now I guess.

See you tomorrow then?

Hunger games etc.

Lately, I have been digging my way through the archives of a couple of blogs I religiously follow. These bloggers are terribly, horribly regular. And they are interesting, very. I am usually amazed at how they find something interesting to write about all the time. But when I read more and more of their posts, unable to stop, I concluded that it is not that the stuff they write about is interesting, it is just that they have the knack to write so well, that even chicken curry* becomes interesting. And no, not for the foodies alone.

Enlightenment aside, I have decided to post more often. This might explain why I am here 2 days after my last post. The disclaimer being I cannot for life make chicken curry interesting, no, strike that, I cannot even make chicken curry. What I can make is a good rasam. And I can make it all the time. Every couple of days, that would be the aim. The cool part of it is, I am sure there are people out there who like rasam. And once they get bored, and there are no takers after a while, I will drink it up myself.

So yes, for starters, the nose is better, much better. This might be the cold finally wearing off, or the fact that it is Friday tomorrow. It is amazing what wonders the mere thought of the day can do to one. And if it is a Friday leading into a long weekend, I guess that would define bliss in the true sense. Which is what I am experiencing right now despite the fact that today, which is still on, is packed with meetings.

Not wanting to jinx it already, but we might do yet another trip this weekend. Now as I already mentioned, this city might be full of roads which provide a full body rattle every time you pass through them, but what it also has is an abundance of abnormally beautiful places around. And if I, a beach person who feels all hills are the same can say this, there is some truth to it. What I have noticed however is, when the Dude mentions a trip these days, the first thing I check for is not how picturesque it is, or what are the not to miss places there, but what is that I can eat there?

Food. Somehow, after all the control exercised on food during the last year, my love for all things yum is coming back full force. In fact, my only issue with us heading out to the ghats every weekend is we are not getting to try the famous eating joints in the city. I am assuming a when the enthusiasm calms down a bit, we will start alternating between eating Zunka-bhakri at Singhad Fort and Lasagna at Arthur’s theme.

This kind of appetite will bring back the need to visit the beloved treadmill at the gym. Only, the gym in the complex where we live, has no treadmill. *Pause for reaction*. Are you as apalled as I was? I mean really, what sort of gym doesn’t have a treadmill? Also, our gym doesn’t have any cardio equipment. None. All they have is some heavy-duty muscle building equipment, and a collection of dumbbells, all of which I am assuming could be used for boinking whoever set up this ‘gym’, on the head.

But the city, and more specifically, the area I live in has something Hyderabad didn’t. Lush green spaces where you can run. So if you think about it, the world is my treadmill. Only, that is easier said than done for someone who has never run without a machine that ensures she falls if she doesn’t. So after a lot, ‘Ooh, but it’s raining, tomorrow perhaps?’, or ‘Let me settle down first and then think about running’, I finally realised that this was not an opportunity to be missed, and embarked upon a jog in the open mission. One which was highly successful for 4 days, after which the whole illness happened.

But hopefully, I should be back on track soon. Literally. And this time, without any long-lasting impact on my ageing body. Except that of losing weight, something I always want more of. Nothing as exhilarating as seeing the calorimeter show a number higher than 300.

Except perhaps a cheese Dabeli. Afterall, one needs to ensure there are enough calories to lose yes?

* Why chicken curry? Because I was reading a post on chicken curry when I decided to hop over and post myself.

Weight (and) watch

Did I mention that I am back to my pre-pregnancy weight?

That was a rhetorical question, by the way. I will nonetheless answer it. So yes, I am. And honestly, it is not as spectacular a feeling as I always thought it would be. Not even close. It is just run of the mill, regular. I guess that’s what motherhood and maturity does to you. You discover so many more important, and deeper things in life, that such small things, which once seemed so important,  cease to matter at all.

Yeah. Right.

If I was not concerned about the fact that what the 100 odd people sitting around think about me has a direct repercussion on that x-digit number that gets credited to my account every month end, trust me, I would dramatically throw up a bunch of papers a-la Pehla Nasha (only here we need to really search for papers, you see we are going green) and then follow it with Aamir’s swirling routine in the song, slow motion and all.

I know, I know, shallowness personified. But what to do, we are like that only. And trust me, it hasn’t been easy. I mean, I look back upon myself, the last time I was working out and all, and I am like, ‘Ah, look at that lucky girl man! All the time in the world to work out, all the liberty to choose what she wants to eat, and at the end of the day, she will go home, plonk her ass on the Beanbag, and watch Sitcoms till it’s time to sleep.’

And look at now. Anyone who knows me even a little bit would also know that I, cannot wake up early. I , cannot work out in the mornings because mornings = sleep. And I, after a tiring day of work, working out etc, need my time off, and more importantly, my sleep.

What do I have instead? I have a maximum of 7 hours of sleep each night, punctuated a minimum of three times, each break lasting between 5 and 30 mins. After all that, now that I stay closer to work and have the liberty of leaving 5 minutes before I need to be in office ( which in the past would have read as an additional hour of sleep), for no particular reason, my hyperactive little Zo , who seems to live by the thought that ‘Sleeping is a waste of time’, chooses to sit right next to my head at 6 in the morning, and bang it till I am up. On other days, she chooses to wander around the bed, and then fall off it, and then I am all bright eyed and up. So either way, I am up at an ungodly hour each morning. But since I am solely responsible for the night-time breaks, the Dude entertains her in the morning, so I sometimes catch an additional hour of sleep.

Secondly, earlier, the evenings were mine.  And now, the ownership has shifted in totality to Zo. From the moment I reach home from work, to when she falls asleep ( for that matter even after that, until I hand her over to The Dude in the morning to get ready for work), I belong to Zo. She demands, rather commands each moment. So my evenings are all about the kids play area, feeding Zo, getting her ready for bed, entertaining  her till she wants to sleep, and then finally making her sleep. After which, I sit guard next to her, with the laptop, or a book (I have a booklight, yay!) till I decide to sleep myself. Also, if I took out yet another hour from my Zo time, after spending 7 hours at work, well, I think I would generally die of guilt.

So, the conclusion is that there just wasn’t enough time to workout. Till one sane person at work, who is an eerily similar situation as mine (and is as shallow) mentioned that there was time to do everything, all we need to do is; no, not re-prioritizing, or discipline, or any such jargon; all we need to do is give up on sleep.

Bad as it sounds, I gave up on that. You see, that extra hour in the morning I could have? Well, I started using that for dragging myself to the gym. The plus here being, that my current alarm has no snooze button I can hit. So, yep, for the past month and a half, that’s been the routine. The aim is 4 days a week.

The food is a whole different ball game. Given a choice, I would do the unhealthy thing of skipping meals in exchange for junk. You see, that’s my other love. Junk, and sleep. An unfit person’s lifeline. But since I am feeding Zo, er, that’s not a choice at all. So what do I have to do? Yep, cut down on the crap. Yes, poor me had to limit my intake of all things delicious, and by default harmful, to Saturdays only. The rest of the days are all about healthy (read bleh) meals. There is an occasional slip of the will-power, but if not for that, how would I be me?

But the bottomline is, it worked. And it worked better than I thought it would. If we want to talk numbers, let’s just say that last year, we gained weight in double digits, and though we lost almost half of it when Zo was born, what was left was still in double digits. You do the math. Or don’t. Seriously, don’t. No, no, not proud of it, but come on, all those chocolates, and ice creams, and mangoes had to go somewhere.

Anyway, it is still not all done. I know it is tougher to ‘keep things this way’ than it was to ‘bring it to this level’. And I am not even making any of those kinda promises to myself. For now, I am happy, really really happy. And I want to enjoy the moment, celebrate it. So all you guys reading this are welcome to go have a piece of chocolate to rejoice my accomplishment.

You see, it’s a Wednesday, so I can’t.

Gym baraabar Gym

Fantastic Friday is here, and of course it is a holiday for all of us in India. Correct? No. Nada. You wish. I am working this Friday, and obviously, that sucks. But I don’t really have a choice. So I decided to better my ‘Torturous Thursday’ mood by shelling out some pearls of wisdom, that I have gained over my 3 odd months at the gym.

Every evening, as I work out, I need something to distract me from the monotony of the Elliptical trainer, or the Treadmill. More often than not, the music does the job, and I try to match the speed of strides to the beats of ‘Anjaana Anjaani’. But there are times when they play ‘ Tere mast mast do nain’, or ‘Tum jo aaye’, or even ‘Tujhme rab dikhta hai – slow version’ (seriously!), and then your mind needs something else to keep it off the timer which seems to be ticking in slow motion. So I decided to observe people. And categorise them. This can benefit all of you too, and the next time you think you cannot take anymore cycling,  distract yourself by  bucketing your gym-mates under these categories. Good fun, I tell ya.

The Big Guys – These are the guys who you walk up to, and say ‘I am done with my Cardio, what next’ and they smile sweetly, and say ‘Er, I am not the instructor, but I can help’. Yes, these are Gym instructor look-alikes, who you can also confuse, going by the amount of time they spend in the gym. These guys are harmless, almost. See, they are veterans, and their days of using the Treadmill, the Elliptical trainer, or any of the  calorie burning devices are long gone.Those are for the I-am-trying-real-hard-to-burn-that-extra-slice-of-pizza-off-my-waist minions like me. And the 2 Kg purple dumb-bells that certain people struggle to do ‘3 sets of 15’ bicep curls, are well, probably pretty toys for them. They will come for a couple of hours, pick the weights our kind don’t  even look at, use the bar-bells which we use for hanging our towels while working out, do a lot of grunting along with the lifting, walk around huffing and puffing, and then leave.Harmless, like I said. Except for perhaps the ego.

The Dainty  Damsels – The purpose of this category to join the gym, could be;
1. I have too much time on hand
2. Gymming is so cool, so let me try it
3. Everyone’s seen me in formals, let me show how I rock tracks and tees
This category is a minority, and has a high turnover ratio. You will always spot a couple of these in the gym, but if you try to spot them two weeks later, and they wouldn’t be the same individuals. They wear 3/4ths (shorts not allowed in our gym) showing off their delicate ankles, have their hair high up in a pretty pony tail, wear loops in their ears, and in all, look like they have walked off the gym sets from a movie, or some workout video. Perfect. Only, they will walk for 10 minutes on the Treadmill at Speed 5, then have some water, then try the Elliptical trainer for 5 minutes, drink some more water, and then leave. They return they next day, and do the exact same things, albeit in a new and fancier outfit. A couple of days later, they disappear, probably because they run out of clothes to wear, that no one has seen.

The Yakkity-Yak kind – This is a slightly, ok make it very, obnoxious category. While they can be sub-categorised into the ones that actually workout, and the ones who don’t, the main defining element is their love to talk, and talk loud. So much so, that you can actually hear them over the ‘Dabangg’ title song. They will walk to all and sundry and 1) Comment about what they are doing wrong 2) Ask them why they have been irregular 3) Talk about how they have been really busy at work or 4) sing. I know singing isn’t talking, but these kinds, in the absence of a pair of ears to listen to them, can go to the extent of generally talking to the air, or like I mentioned singing, very loudly, along with the Music system.

The I’m-too-sexy-for-my-shirt kind – The gym for them can be defined as the place which has mirrors all around. That solely describes their purpose for the visits. They will walk around, and observe their anatomy from every angle that the mirrors provide. They flex their (non)existent biceps, groom their hair, raise their eyebrows at themselves, smile, frown, and in general analyse their looks. This constitutes 80% of their schedule at the gym. The remaining 20% of the times, they lift weights, and then check out their biceps in the mirrors. Yep, pretty much that.

The Torture bearers ‘Bas, aur nahi hota!’. Ok, we’ve all been there, done that. At least I have. But I usually try and keep these declarations of ‘I’ve had enough’ to myself. But not everyone. Not these guys. They will push themselves for the crunches, do more lifts than they find themselves capable of, and with every additional number, you will see a change in their expression. They scrunch their eyes, they grit their teeth,  and they resemble to a great extent our very own Bollywood hero who has been tied to a pole and is being battered with a baseball bat for not not revealing the secret to that invention which can destroy the world. And after every few counts, they let out a very audible groan. So much so, that after a while, you start smirking, thinking about really strong you yourself are.

The ‘Run-Forrest-run’ category – Their aim – weight loss. And that’s it. Their schedule., enter gym, target 1 – Weighing machine, target 2 – Elliptical trainer/Tread mill. 45 minutes later, you see a sweaty individual, with a drenched Tee, and a pool of sweat under the machine used. This category has selective vision, and they refuse to acknowledge anyone standing behind them for however long, waiting to use the said machine, until their timer strikes the stipulated 45 minutes – 1 hour. This category is one of the few who actually take the dietitian seriously. And usually you will find others timing their visits to gym to suit ( or more clearly, avoid) schedules of these individuals.

Visitors – This category in all probability enrolled when the gym was inaugurated. Mainly because, it existed. Once a month, they have a sudden guilt trip of how they do nothing for physical fitness, and they visit the sacred gym. A couple of days later, more important ‘work’ comes up, and they disappear again. But they ensure that their enrollment is justified by making these scheduled, if not frequent trips. These guys will actually know and talk to the big guys, more so because they have known each other for a long time. If you see these people, and happen to ask if they just joined, they will respond with a ‘ No-no! I joined a year ago! Yeah, been a little irregular’ with a very annoyed expression on their face. If you are regular enough, the next you see them would be the next month, around the same time.

Me – Of course, I saved the best for the last. Well I still do not know what category I belong to. I cannot be called regular, 4 days a week is the maximum I seem to be able to do. In the gym, I am anything but dainty, my hair is never in place, I sweat like I have the whole Arabian sea inside me and needs to get out, and I seem to have picked my rattiest (albeit super comfortable) tees for gym. I do not talk while working out, because, honestly, I cannot. I am too busy being breathless to be able to get words out of me. I dislike the mirror in the gym, because I think it makes me look fat, and I believe the gym mirrors are so to motivate people (yeah, someone told me, so?). I already mentioned that I keep my face devoid of any expression, and the only sound I am capable of generating is that of wheezing. I hate Cardio, I love weight training, but I have to do some bit of running, because well, I am not ‘a big guy’. And I am assuming that my 4 days a week status does not categorise me as a visitor either. So, whoever does not fall in any of the other categories, falls under the ‘me’ category.

So that’s that, and I am done. I hope that was useful. I still have some time to go at work, which means some more of torturous Thursday remains. But then there is Friday, which is not cool this time, but then, we have the Weekend. And you all know, I live for those. So I will continue counting down to the weekend that seems so far, while you guys have an awesome long weekend, and a beautiful Diwali!

The workouter

I have nothing to write about. It is indeed very sad. And I have all the time in the world. Then from tomorrow I won’t have time because it is the close week, and I will be all busy, and bugged. But if it helps, I have been very regularly reading and commenting on others’ blogs, so much so that my reader has unread items in single digits. And most of those are from Highheelconfidential, because I can’t check that at work. Too many pictures.

Having said that, the only two new developments in my otherwise routine life have been 1) The Dude is in fact travelling the whole of the next month and the rest of this month starting next week, which by the way, sucks. 2) The gym.

Point 1  we wont talk about because it only makes even more depressed if that is possible. Point 2, I did not want to talk about because whenever I talk about such things, they get jinxed. So crossing fingers, touching wood, and putting kala-teekas or whatever it takes to keep this one thing unjinxed, I am going to talk about it, for the sake of the blog.

I am not sure if I have mentioned it  before (ok, I am sure I have, I only started it that way because it sounded nice. To me) but I belong to this team of super-geeks who do super geeky stuff with numbers et al and try to present the same old numbers in different ways, forms and colors, to ensure it pleases the biggies spread across the world. Now this work, though sounds interesting (or doesn’t, actually it doesn’t), can actually get mind-numbingly monotonous. Anyhoo, considering I have been doing this for over 5 years now, the brain is somehow tuned to it, and as long as we are in companies that are relatively liberal with their Internet usage rules, I know I will survive.

So the past month or so, I realised that my daily routine provided some sort of exercise to only one part of my body, my fingers. Which helped me press lift buttons, or otherwise, typed away the whole day. And as was expected, this was met with an extremely stiff protest by the neck (notice the pun? Stiff protest? Stiff neck? Haha, I crack myself up).. So I revived the little bit of Yoga I claim to know and meticulously did it for a whole month, leading to good results. All was well, especially the timings, because I would always reach home in time to do Yoga and then proceed on to dinner and some household chores (aka cutting truckloads of veggies, which deserves a separate post, I swear).

However, The Dude decided that he was bored with his work and so shifted to another role, which needs him to be at work till 7:30 PM. Sad. I know. Now to travel with him, I would need to be at work till 7:30 too, which is totally against my basic ‘overtime does not mean hard work’ principle. And I do not want to give wrong impressions you see. So I decided to use the additional hours productively, and well, decided to join the office gym

Everything has its share of pros and cons and substantially inconsequential bits, and this does too. So I will tell you what these were

The Pros;

– It. Is. Free. And you know that is a huge plus especially when you have a history of paying and not turning up and having truckloads of guilt along with the junk food and extra weight.
– It is at work. So there are no’ Oh, who will go till there’, ‘too much traffic’, ‘can’t wake up’ excuses. It is right next to the cafeteria, so if you can go for a snack, you can totally go to the gym.
– It is good. Well equipped. And I know I don’t use most of the equipment there, or for that matter even know the right names (I have my alternative ones though)  but it feels nice to have them around. Very professional.
– My team guys are already part of the gym. Which translates to non-stop entertainment.
– And the most important. Hello, I’m working out!

The Cons;

– The day seems to revolve around ‘When will I go to the gym’. No meeting requests post 5:30 PM are even considered.
– Too many acquaintances. Ok, team people is a plus, but having people I usually maintain a hi-hello professional distance from watch me do ab-crunches, er, not so much.
– The pain. The pain. Oh my God the pain. Ok this is temporary, but right now, it is there. And how.
– The dietitian’s expectations of me. So she suggests that I have oats (2 tablespoons), one egg white, 4 almonds, and a glass of carrot juice for dinner. Aww, how kind eh? Oh, and before you worry, we have completely ignored her existence.

The inconsequential details;

– I am in awe of the regulars. Dude, 15 minutes of running on the tread mill, 20 minutes on the elliptical trainer, and then 15 minutes of rowing? What are you? A machine?
– I am this (imagine index finger and thumb stuck to each other, ‘this’ referring to the space between them) close to throwing my 2 kg, purple colored dumbbell on some people’s heads. Said people spend 2 hours at the gym, of which more than one is spent walking around, commenting on others routines, or in general proclaiming how exhausted they are. In extremely, loud voices.
– The grunters. Oh the grunters. There are a couple of heavy weight champions who only come to pick 25 Kg barbells, lifting them some 10 times, and leaving, albeit grunting everytime they do it. A grunt here will be defined as Wiki does. Anyway, the issue is, invariably these ‘sounds’ take me by surprise. And I am afraid that if I miss a heart beat when the heart rate is at the highest, the results might be irreversible.
– Oh, and of course, my awesome capability for destruction. I had gone a whole week and a half without destroying anything, so yesterday, I happened to ‘adjust’ the seat of the cycling machine in the gym for the first time, and somehow managed to raise it to the highest level instead of getting it down. Then, I was told that it operated on a ‘hydraulic jack’ and would take a long time and effort to get it down again. Sad. In my defense why do they make such user-unfriendly devices at all?
– I like green tea. And people think that is weird. Is it?

Today it is a week and 3 days since I joined the gym, and I haven’t bunked yet. Tomorrow, I have to, because I have my month close and I kinda think that I should really show that my priority at work is actually work, and not the gym at work. Doesn’t look good, and if there is no work, there won’t be any gym either right? In terms of evolution, we have improved from walking on the treadmill to running on it, albeit for short durations, increased the resistance on the elliptical trainer from 7 to 8 to 13(!) yesterday, and have also started weight training. Good, yes?

And till things get even better, I will continue. Towards my endeavour to get fit, get strong and get more food to feed my blog. Stay tuned!

Hup. Two. Three. Four.

Every day, I feel sorry for myself. Sorry for the fact that I am as unfit as I am. And every day, I resolve, or at least say to myself that I would be starting some sort of a fitness regime to put things right. Soon. Only, soon never comes. Or in the few cases it does, it ends even sooner.

It would be incorrect to say that I have never made an attempt at losing weight getting fitter. From burning a hole in my pocket for a gym membership to endangering my taste-buds by going on weird-ass diets, I have done it all. If I revisit my earlier encounters with ‘good health’, I would have the following cases to highlight

Circa 2004. K campus. With all the classes, extremely haphazard schedules, amazing breakfasts that were always missed, and dinners which were better off being missed, one would think losing weight was an obvious outcome. But no. Turns out that the 2 AM Maggies, the super-rich chocolate shakes, and the self-made samosa chats, along with the hot chocolates after each class from the ‘Fresh n Honest’ lady, would not only balance the effect out, but would in fact tip it to the other side. The year saw majority guys making trips to the newly upgraded gym, and the girls taking daily walks up and down the hill. That prompted me to try it too. Only, I lasted all of 3 days, and now I think I should not have quoted this as an attempt in the first place.

Circa 2005. The first year of work, and of realizing that I in fact had no life on weekdays. With both the other roomies joining gyms at work, I was all enthusiastic about doing the same too. Only, the gym near my office was much more expensive than the in-house gym that the other two enjoyed. But armed with a will like never before, I still went ahead and enrolled myself, for a 3 month package, because that was 20% cheaper. The first month was pretty good, and I managed to go 4 days a week, and control my diet too, mainly because I would never wake up in time for a breakfast. But as soon as the second month arrived, well, as usual, I gave up. To some extent, the roomies were to blame, because they stopped too.

Circa 2007. The arrival of the Mom. Ma stayed with me for the 3 months after Pure-veg ex roomie left to B’lore (ditcher!) and before I was to get hitched to The Dude. And everybody in this world knows that the advent of the mom in the household which has till date survived on Maggi and curd rice, can only mean spoilt, pampered taste-buds and an ever expanding waistline. Again, not a good thing for someone who intends to fit in to the wedding clothes chosen and handed over for stitching in the somewhat slimmer days. So The Dude and I took it upon ourselves to go for early morning walks every day. Those were the days when 6 AM meant midnight for me, so that was a tough task alright, but I managed. For almost a month. Before work took me to London, and The Dude to Amreeka, and Bam! That was the end of the morning walks.

Circa 2007 again. The happily married couple decided that gymming together would be so romantic. And of course, would help them use the existing clothes for a longer time. So a gym was joined, and this time, despite historical evidence, the super-enthusiastic couple went ahead and took a year long membership! Explanation being, ‘Baby, we would never miss a single day when we knew how much money we were wasting by doing so’. Yeah. Right. The encounter with the gym and Disgusted face lasted a month and half, and then it was goodbye health. And money. Sob.

Circa 2008. Ok. So we are unfit. And we are incapable of indulging anything that remotely resembles physical activity. So let’s diet! The thing is, I have never ever stopped myself from eating what I like. And just like every lucky individual, my basic criteria for liking anything requires it to be deep fried, or chocolatey, or deep fried. Except for Subway sandwiches. Which by the way, I only like with cheese and mayonnaise. Heh, you get the drift. Anyway, so I go on this week long GM diet after having read so much about it, and after all the struggle with the icky amount of fruits to be consumed, and the compulsory 8 glasses of water per day, I actually managed to ‘flush out’ a couple of extra kilos and inches off me. But of course, I swore never to put myself through it again.

And obviously, I was wrong. Circa 2009, I had consciously managed hour long Yoga session everyday for almost 2 months. And all was well, until I changed jobs. And then again, it was back to the zero physical activity regime. That made me go on the GM diet again, and this time, I was pathetic. Not that I didn’t stick to the menu, but I guess the fact that I abhorred the whole concept so much now, probably ensured that it was not as effective this time around. And of course the fact that I ate an ice-cream on day 6.
Anyway, the whole point to this post is simple. I feel unfit. I feel lethargic. I have a back ache, and a neck pain and all sorts of ailments. I don’t drink water. And all this is making me very cranky. I need to do something about it, only I don’t know what. Or rather, I don’t know how. And I know that writing about it won’t really solve the issue, but then when do we write for resolutions huh? So all I can do is wish and hope and pray that we resort to some kind of a healthy lifestyle.