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The problem is that I don't have much time to spend at the gym, so I was really pleased one day when, while I was plodding along on the treadmill for what seemed like forever, one of the
Read more: http://www.livestrong.com/article/15964-cardio-interval-training-treadmill/#ixzz29iv2WYSS
According to the instructor, this yielded much better results than simply trudging along slowly at a low intensity for hours on end. It was absolutely torturous as he stood next to me checking that I was not cheating. His drill sergeant routine, though very useful, convinced me that I will hate to work with a personal trainer. As a people-pleaser, I was more focused on not disappointing him than on results. Although, come to think of it, that may not be such a bad thing if it gets me to perform at my best and, in the end, yields better results than I would have achieved by myself. But, right now, that is a moot point since a personal trainer falls out of our budget. (waaay out).
Anyway, I generally only get to spend 30 -40 minutes at gym. That means spending 20 minutes on the treadmill doing interval training. I only cover about 2,5 km in those 20 minutes, but then I am doing some of that distance on an incline of above 4.0. Am I right to assume that that time is not too bad for a very unfit beginner?
I then spend the other 10 -20 minutes on other equipment doing the same type of varied intensity training.
A few days ago I had covered more than my usual distance within the allotted time. Though sweating like a pig, I felt awesome. I was convinced that I had lost a ton of weight. I even felt lighter. I was sure that I was as skinny as the toned blonde girl I'd been admiring for the entire 20 minutes.
Until I walked past a mirror. Blasted mirror - snuffing out my short-lived fantasy so cruelly.
I've also adjusted my eating habits, incorporating more fresh fruits and veg, wholegrains and some protein. But more importantly, I have reduced my portion sizes. It was while chatting to the guy who signed me up at the gym a few months back that I realised that I eat way too much. Seriously, I eat much more than what I need to survive. I eat when I'm stressed, nervous, depressed or unhappy. I eat when I'm bored or when Aisha (2) is in the middle of a tantrum with which I cannot cope. I use food as a crutch; especially sweet unhealthy snacks.
Cutting back on sugar has been really difficult. In fact, to be really honest, I'm not doing too well in that regard. Yes, I eat less chocolate at night, but that's not really saying much - it simply means that I've cut down from three quarter slab to about six blocks of a Cadbury slab per night. Still way too much, I know.
But at least now I have the decency to feel bad when I pig out. (Surely that counts for something?)
I was really stoked last week when I noticed my jeans fitting more loosely. Even my panty, which had been starting to fit like a G-string, was once again fitting like normal pair of briefs (which it actually is). I was on a high when I got to the gym; overcome with a tremendous sense of achievement. I was even brave enough to step onto the scale.
The damned thing showed that I have actually gained a kilo since starting gym. (Whaaat!!!)
But I'm not giving up. I choose to believe that the scale is in fact faulty (useless piece of crap). Or that muscle does indeed weigh more than fat (despite articles I just read stating that this is a myth).
So, as I'm sitting here, sipping a mug of green tea and munching on a blasted eat-sum-more biscuit (Aisha waved the darned thing in my face - what was I supposed to do?), I am psyching myself up for an energetic workout at gym tonight. I'm actually really looking forward to it.