Project 110 - Numero QuattroGet F*cken Bent

Date: 1/17/10
Days Left: 59
Weight: 120.4 lbs
Goal: 110 lbs
Loss: Nada
Mood: Ho Hum

On our walk at Crissy Fields yesterday, Maxine mentioned something about yoga on Sunday. It was eight thirty in the morning, my blackberry vibrated on the kitchen counter. It was a text from Maxine, “yoga?” “yep,” I was brief, “pick me up.” Lazy Sunday, I slummed in my sweats adorned with a glamorous bed head peddling the kids around making sure they polished their breakfast. “What time’s your class?” Shane cleaned off the dining table, “it’s almost nine o’clock.” I stopped, ran, and brushed! My teeth that is. I ignored the honking outside and pulled my hair back in a ponytail. I dashed upstairs hoping that my lemons were accessible in the mountain of clean laundry that settled in the bassinet. Sweet baby Jesus was on my side! I slipped on the yoga pants that specialized in slender, tuck, and lift. I kissed the kids and husband goodbye and dashed out the door.

I usually eat something healthy like a whole wheat toast (90 calories 10 from fat and only 14g of carbohydrates), well that’s what Hugh Jackman ate when he excruciatingly trained for the part of Wolverine in X-men. Not that I wanted a barrel chest or machine guns for biceps or anything, but it seemed logical. Today, I opted for coffee. Oh the liquid stimulant that constricts my blood vessels. There was an upside to this upper, it kicked my metabolism into scared straight program. The seventh day of rest and I was on my way to yoga. Not just any yoga, Iyengar yoga. The strictest of the strict. What was I thinking? I somewhat enjoyed Ashtanga as well as Kripalu. Bikram was disgusting. Mind you I was as limber as a slab of concrete, I jeopardized breaking an appendage. On a downward dog, Shane's ridculously flexible as well as the two kids. Effortless, he does the bridge, the shoulder stand, he can touch his head to knee. I'm one of those brilliantly tight and tense unlimber individual that brings new definition to stiff wad.

A decade ago, I did yoga for a year and a half straight six o'clock in the morning, five days a week. Needless to say my progress was stagnant. For most people, yoga was progression, flat abs, upright buttocks, slick triceps and biceps. For me, it represented patience and inner peace, but if my buttocks was romped to firm or my abs and arms chiseled, well that was just extra credit. Primarily, I just loved the way I felt after a session with mind relaxed, I could take on challenges and obstacles on an even keel. Sure, I would have like to touch my palms flat on the floor and stick my head in my butt, but that would take much practice. Today, my bent mind required some pliability, if only my body would follow suit.

Whoa. Iyengar yoga is constant adjustment. Precision. Alignment bullshit. Tuck your pelvic. Loosen your knees. Move your left butt check to your right. Bring your right hip forward. Press your navel down. Lift your chest. Squish your left artery until it cuts off all blood flow. Do you feel that? Baby Jesus in a swing, there was so much to think about in one pose that I thought my head would burst into flames. The king of all poses for us sloths is Shavasana or the dead pose, laying on your back arms at the side with palms up. Oh, the humanity.

One semester, for the entire semester, I would sneak into the hatha yoga class in college. The class was full and I couldn't wait to sign up for next semester. Screw class credit, I just wanted yoga. I did. One day, the teacher sent me off to a far away land of dream via meditation. Who knew that envisioning myself floating away from San Francisco until it was just a speck of a dot would send me snoozing. Embarassingly, I awoke on my yoga mat to the sound of my classmates heading towards the locker room. The instructor with material and attendance book in hand looked over, “Namaste.”

The disciplined stretching came just in time. My muscles thanked me. My mind thanked me. Rain was on the verge of bursting from the sky when yoga ended. It was unlike Hawaii where you could smell it in the air. In San Francisco, the sky huddled cloudless, but gray. I thanked Maxine for the mental douching as I was clearheaded and focused. I made my vegetable juice blend with the champion spiked it with fresh ginger and whirled it up in a blender with half a cup of lowfat fage yogurt. The vegetable concoction was enjoyable. Hunter asked for thirds. I made a healthy salad of mixed greens, carrots, avocado, onions, topped with one hard boiled egg. I was satisfied after the meal. Stevie Day and I laid in bed for a couple hours of relaxation, allowing my muscles a nice rest after such a hardworking week. There’s nothing like a weekend free of plans and commitment.

The sweet smell of baking bellowed in the air whisking me into a frenzied delight. During my nap, Shane, baked a batch of white chocolate chocolate chip cookies. It was during my first pregnancy that I discovered my love for cookies. Cookies made me weak in the knees. He made the cookies to bring over to dinner at Grundmans. I grabbed a warm cookie cooling on the rack. They just looked too perfect to not be in my stomach, “Oh my god, this is so good.” They were phenomenal. I believed everything in moderation. I was establishing a way of life. A lifestyle. Yummy.

We enjoyed an elk roast at the Grundmans for an early dinner at four o'clock. This after I hassled him through Facebook, basically inviting my family over. Kurt was on some caveman diet so dinner was definitely within my own parameters and some. The paleolithic diet was free of salt, potato, grains, dairy, and sugar. The neanderthal diet focused on nuts, fruit, vegetation, meat, and fish. I didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that cavemen didn’t have access to wonderul chard, asparagus, kale, carrots, broccoli, or almonds. They barely had access to fire. Besides the cave man was too busy ditching T-Rex and other prehistoric predators that preyed on our bobble heads like lollipops. Kurt was training for a marathon in Los Angeles and always finished what he started, alas the extreme, but not so terrible restriction, he made an elk roast with tomatoes in his Green Bay Packers crock pot, grilled asparagus, pumpkin soup garnished with pumpkin seeds and coconut milk, and a wonderful batch of sugar free dark chocolate cookies with oatmeal. Dinner, supplemented generously with salt and pepper, was delicious and successfully early.

This is Shellie “put up or shut up” back to you Bob at the studio!

Project 110 - Numero TresStick to the Program

Date: 1/16/10
Days Left: 59
Weight: 120 lbs
Goal: 110 lbs
Loss: Nada
Mood: Tragic

This morning, I was reluctant to jump on that scale, but like an injection, I had to go through with it. After last nights debacle, the goal was out of my field. I have a strict criteria for weighing myself. I only jump on the scale first thing in the morning after relieving myself from science. Secondly, I only use my home scale. My chest swelled and my head swarmed with regret as the scale tipped 120.4. What a relief! I maintained. Now all I can wish for is a couple bowel movements today.

According to the news, a storm was on the horizon, but looking out the living room window I beg to differ. I was going to avoid the gym today, as I needed to be outdoors with the family. Maxine joined us at Crissy Fields two dogs and all. It wasn’t an ardurous work out, but at least I wasn’t at home with my tush on the couch. I had to keep my cardiovascular in check. As much as I wanted to bake fresh ham and cheese scones, and eat it piping hot from the oven.


I, was realistic in my approach, as I wouldn’t be able to fight off the urge of having a small portion of one. I veered on a home made slice of organic kale frittata and direct from my Champion Juicer fresh squeezed vegetable blend of kale, frozen blueberries, beets, carrots, celery, and pear. If you haven’t noticed, kale or chard are my go to greens, guaranteed to be delicious and so delicious for you. I make sure my vegetable crisper is full of the dark green goddess.



After our walk, we were famished! As I usually mistake myself for selfish, I only brought snacks for the kids. I booked it across town before I would have a melt down. Note to self, you must eat a small meal every three to four hours in order to regulate your metabolism. After heating up left overs for the kids, it was my turn damnit. Looking in the refrigerator, it was always a quick fire challenge. I was starving at this point, I couldn’t see straight. Damn you low blood sugar! I heated the stainless steel pan lightly coat it with grape seed oil. I seasoned the skirt steak with salt, pepper, cumin. I threw a rosemary and thyme sprig into the pan and laid the protein down. I tossed mixed greens with two carrots that were strewn with a carrot peeler, ¼ avocado, red onions. I pulled the skirt steak out of the pan to rest and cooked the fennel in the steak juices and roasted in the oven for five minutes.



When cooking, please be aware that I’m also cooking for said husband as well. As much as Shane denies that he’s not a picky eater, he abhors repitition. This coming from the same guy that disallowed his food to touch one on another on his plate as a child, so his mom confesses. He has an obsessive compulsive food disorder, no biggie. Another footnote about said husband, he was born to be blunt that could permanently scorn a weakling with no backbone. It’s the truth. He proudly mistakes it for honesty, “What do you want me to lie? I’m just being honest.” He volunteers willingly without the recipient’s request. Luckily, with my seven brothers, I came ill equipped with a very thick skin and wit to match. If it was another woman, well they would simply fall fashionably and insecurably to pieces.

“Thanks hon, this is very delicious.” He scarved his food down.
“Your welcome.” I daintily ate my food as eating slow as my digestion will thank me later.
“We should really eat more skirt steak. Gawd, this is good.”
“Yep.” I agreed. Although if I served it this week, it would go against his code of repetition. I would have to serve it a couple weeks from today.


That evening I roasted an organic free range air chilled chicken. I’m a marketing victim and was wooed by the term air chilled. I don’t know what it meant except that maybe it was put in a refrigerator to prevent it from perishing? Plus the sign read $2.79/lb unsure of whether that was cheap or expensive, I bought it anyway. I walked the sharp edges of my financial budget. I made a simple rosemary roasted chicken. I then sautéed some onions and mushrooms in the remaining chicken juices and tossed in steamed dino kale. One can never go wrong with vegetables, I made a side of roasted carrots that were al dente. Nothing worse then overcooked carrots. I loved the crunch. The entire meal was butter and oil free. As much as I love finishing my food with butter, I was on a mission to 110.

This is Shellie "I can't believe it's not butter" back to you Bob at the studio!

FaternizingProject 110 - Day Numero Two

Date: 1/15/10
Days Left: 60
Weight: 120 lbs
Goal: 110 lbs
Loss: Nada
Mood: innocuous

My dinner with the girls didn't go so well. I was pretty much ambushed from the get go. De La Rosa, new restaurant in the Marina, only accepted reservations 45 minutes out, Sofia fellow Virgo is best known for her organizational skills and punctuality, was held -unintentionally- back by yours truly. I told her I'd be there by 7:15pm. Interpretation that's the time I left the house. I tragically raced my way to lower Pacific Heights, hoping to salvage loss time. "My late ass is outside," I sent a text to Sofia from her driveway.

"Don't worry girl, Aussie is at Walgreens with her new babysitter. and De La Rosa accepts reservations 45 minutes out so we're on the books." Suddenly, my anxiety was set to rest except for the fact that finding public parking in the Marina was like a needle in a haystack. It was just my luck that the Benz R350 is a luxurious living room on wheels or as my girlfriends call it "the Super Shuttle," squeezing into a compact parking spot would be ultra convenient.

The restaurant was a slew of blondes and their conspicuous designer bags, riding boots, pencil jeans, cashmere sweater. The Marina was the sweet slice of San Francisco where the women wore the usual trite bling and the men followed suit. As a thirty something, I was more tolerable of the the Marina district sort. Needless to say, I didn't break out in a head-to-toe rash. As a brunette, it felt powerful to be sitting amongst an ordinary slew. Our name was down on the list, so the general manager for a knack for organization, played us like a game of chess, "hi ladies, I have a group I'm moving from the bar to the tables, so please follow me," He dropped us off at the bar. I was hoping to eat dinner before nine o'clock, now seemed like a harebrained idea. In the core of my will power to lose ten pounds, I started the late evening with a traditional Manhattan. According to the Daily Plate, one glass of a traditional Manhattan is 130 calories. It was Friday night, I threw caution to wind and enjoyed my bourbon, bitters, and vermouth.

Earlier that day, I made the effort to go to Libby's Turbo kick box class. I thought it would be the perfect end to a perfect week of objectives and goals. My quads thanked me. My hamstrings thanked me. My arms and shoulders thanked me. I gave my hundred percent back push, front push, bringing my guard with me, following up with hooks, jabs, and double jabs. I was a sweating animal that had to return to the office after a delicious workout, but returning to the office after busting out to LL Cool J's "Momma Said Knock You Out" made it an end to a perfect week.


The bill split between the three of us, broke down to twenty seven dollars a piece. The bill was a steal, but didn't equate to the delicious dining affair. The fat doesn't stop there, we ordered two desserts to finish the wonderful meal. I had a few bites of each dish on top of two slices of the pizza. Sinful. Awful. Tragically delicious. Did I cash out on my work out today? I love food. Maybe that's my problem.

This is Shellie, "driving in the fat lane" back to you Bob at the studio!


Breakfast:
-cup of coffee (1t brown sugar / splash half and half)
-a slice of Orowheat

Lunch:
-3 spears of steamed asparagus
-2 oz of roasted eggplant
-3 pieces of pineapple
-3 strawberries
-3 oz roasted chicken breast

Dinner: Calorie Count Indefinite
-Manhattan 130 Calories
-1 glass of Pinot Griggio
-Eggplant Caponatina w/burrata
-Carpaccio of gold and red beets
-Meatballs n marinara
-Proscuitto di Parma w/Arugula, Mozarella pizza
-Bombolini
-Coppa Mela: vanilla gelato, scoop of apple pie, creme anglaise, spiced caramel topped w/bourbon

Project 110 - Day Numero Uno

Date: 1/14/10
Weight: 120 lbs
Goal: 110 lbs
Mood: Tepid


Dumper, I had 3/4 of a sopressata sandwich made with love by husband. Yes, I know I broke the carbohydrate after dark rule, but I was planning to meet up with my girlfriends at a pub crawl in the Mission District in a couple hours. I couldn't show up with a bunch of red shrub in my stomach. An amateur move like that would have me throwing up with miss porcelain in a public bar. Gross. Instead, I needed some sustenance to sop up the Manhattan I was planning on having.

Obviously, it'll take some getting used to like the time I swore off meat for a month and the first day I made a potato leek soup. "I can't wait to eat this soup, it'll be so good." I was determined to see this through.
"I thought we weren't eating meat for a month?" My husband blind to the obvious.
"Um, yeh," I stammered.
"Then what is that?" He pointed to the lardons of pancetta I had frying in the pan.
"Crap." It was a dry start to the no meat mission. Did I go for a month without meat? Why no. It was a half brain idea to start off. I was bored at the time the idea was hatched.

My sweet Hunter was spun on something sweet, he ran the house amuck. Unsure if he had access to a stash of complex carbohydrates i.e. candy in the storage unit of his tricycle. I found a half eaten rotten banana once as well as witnessed him pouring fresh squeezed orange juice in that tricycle storage unit. Needless to say, my little toddler was revved up and needed that sugar demon to be exercised from his little body pronto. By the time, he gave in to sleep, it was ten thirty and my son cashed me out. I was pooped!

I never made it out to the pub crawl. Worse, I've been resting my muscles for two whole days. That sandwich was sitting in my belly waiting to be outsourced! To think I talked a big talk, my first downtrod yet. It’s only been a day, foil! The road to losing this measly ten pounds (feels like a hundred pounds), is a short one. I shall prevail. I can do this. I've plans for dinner with girlfriends. Remember small sips of champagne. Do not finish everything on the plate. Wish me luck, wish me strength!

Breakfast:
-cup of coffee (brown sugar / half and half)
-vegetable fruit juice (kale/blueberries/pear/carrots/celery) Sounds grosser than it tastes
-organic handmade fresh tortilla(90 calories / 10 from fat)
-hard boiled egg (boring)

Snack
-engrossed in work, lost track of snack break

Lunch (with Vanessa at Yank Sing):
-Pork Siu Mai (Eeeek)
-Shrimp Dumpling (Shriek)
-Miso Halibut (Yum)
-Shanghai Dumplings (Fuuuuuuck)

Snack
-Walnut Date Bar – 160 calories / 60 from calories from fat. Shit on a shingle, not good!


Dinner:
-Radicchio Salad
-1/2 head of radicchio
-1 T Olive Oil
-1/2 t champagne vinegar
-1 T chevre goat cheese
-3/4 of a sopressata sandwich on whole wheat (hell on a spit)



This is Shellie, "trying hard not to polish off this bottle of bubbly" back to you Bob at the studio!