Eye Of The Donkey

"Nic learnt three things tonight whilst Wii boxing with her new wrist weights:

1: she thought she was using her waist/back/whatever muscles before.  She was wrong.

2: stopping distances for a hook are remarkably longer with weights than without.  Remarkably longer.

3: it is not easy to fake box with a nosebleed."

As I've finally managed to get the hang of not thumping my nose, grazing my chin, or throttling myself with the Wii controllers, I decided to up the ante with the purchase of some wrist weights. The thinking behind this was that I'd have more resistance, and therefore it would be a little more like punching a bag, instead of punching thin air.  

You can probably tell from all of this that I'm not a driver, but I suspect there's a distance/speed/likelihood of crashing formula that you have to learn. I'm sure at least there's a warning on the  side of the car?  CAUTION - MAY CAUSE MATHS PROBLEMS.

It's common sense. It weighs more than before, so if nothing else, my muscles won't be used to carrying them around, and therefore get tired faster, which will increase the chances of my punching my left boob with a right hook instead of the imaginary sand-filled bag hanging from my ceiling. But indeed, if properly thought-out, there has to be a stopping distance to exertion to muscle strength formula that might do the job.  

But until someone tells me what it is, I'll be online searching for hockey masks and triple-padded bras.

No Pain, No Gain

"Nic has now lost both resistance bands to the rigours of Wiixercise. RIP orange and green bands, you served her well.

(Except for those chinese burns, and that welt when the green decided to split mid-shoulder press and that self-inflicted punch just now from the orange finally breaking...  Actually, good riddance.)"

You know the type I mean, right? The long, flat, stretchy strips of latex, not the long, tubular, stretchy strings of probably latex too that have the added eye-blackening properties of handles on the end. I can imagine the latter would give you a hell of a lot more of a whip-like lashing should it wear out mid-use. Going by past experience I can at least guarantee it would give me a whip-like lashing should it wear out mid-use.

You use the bands much like you use hand weights. There's a slight change of emphasis in how they're held, but they can target the same muscles, plus you have the added resistance between your hands (or feet) that isn't possible to replicate with two separate weights. They're great for strength training, and are less likely that a hand weight to disturb your downstairs neighbours should you lose your grip and let it go. They're more likely to give you red stripe down your cheek or shoulder, but less likely to break your foot. All-in-all they're a handy addition to your workout tool-kit, but I'd always advise the wearing of hockey masks, balaclavas, or Teflon-coated full body armour, especially if the bands are getting a little old. But that might just be me...

Band Of Bothers

"Nic has suffered injuries from exercise before (but includes tripping over the Wii balance board and twisting her foot in this dubious list, so you may have to take its validity with a pinch of salt) but this is the first time she's received a welt on her hand from an exploding resistance band."

I may have mentioned my clumsiness before. It is a Thing. But it's not a Fat Thing, for I can be the most graceful person in the room; I am freakishly aware of how much space I take up, and will correctly gauge the clearance between people/cars/chairs so as to not nudge anything that may complain/set off alarms/scrape across the floor. Actually, my Fat Thing is to not be seen or heard, but that's a topic for a day that's not already filled with gigantic rubber bands rending asunder and creating the havoc only a gigantic rubber band in the hands of the belligerent and bored Gods of Exercise can accomplish.

No, the Fairy Godmothers who came to bless me at my crib were not your usual fairy tale characters bestowing beauty, brains, and other desirable gifts, and it is a running joke (coined, of course, by me) that when the gods were handing out common sense, I was in the other room, queuing for the chocolate machine. But it is possible to be both graceful and clumsy. I am the poster girl, in fact. I spent ten years of my life learning how to hold myself with poise, to move fluidly and elegantly, to control my body, thanks to the wonderful teachings of Miss White and her ballet lessons, and although Osgood Schlatter Disease* reared its ugly head and put a stop to my pliés and pirouettes, and instead helped me pile on the pounds, my ungainly self still kept its muscle memory and elegance of movement. Just super-sized.  

Yet, as much as I can sashay across a room and not bump in to anything, or avoid tripping up over backstage cables, or even balance in the small space between the orchestra and the edge of the stage without falling to an embarrassing, probably crumpled and broken, heap in front of the first row, you can set a glass of water on a solid, non-shoogly table in front of me, and I'll have it over in 30 seconds flat. I suspect we're all given our clumsy quota. I certainly feel I've been given mine, and most of yours, too, because for sure my lifetime allowance of adroitness is either for someone who should have shuffled off this mortal coil aged fifteen, or it has just been divided up between more worthy owners. 

Just to compound the problem, I do seem have a problem with stairs. Flat surfaces seem to be okay, but add even the tiniest chance of that clumsy gene having a say, and I'll fall down one step and break my foot, trip up a step and break a toe, and miss the kerb whilst crossing the road, fall and seriously damage my knee so badly that I now suffer from an unresolved haematoma; where the swelling from the initial injury and bruise has yet to go down. (I've been told it will do so in time, but just now it's rather like have a hot-water bottle strapped to one's leg.)

I can't guarantee being whipped by a shredded resistance band is pure clumsiness, mere bad luck, or a sign I've offended the workout gods, but it's not the first time I've been clobbered by my exercise equipment. Remember the Wii boxing Bloody Nose Debacle of October 2012? Perhaps I should consider an investment in full-body riot armour, just to be on the safe side.

*OSD, originally classed as 'growing pains' affected my father, my brother, and myself in different ways while we were growing up. It stopped me from being able to bear my weight when I bent my knees, it stopped me being able to crouch, kneel, run or dance. By the time the symptoms were becoming less pronounced, the damage had been done. Muscles had shortened, tendons had weakened, weight had been gained. Nowadays when someone is diagnosed with OSD you are prescribed physiotherapy once the initial symptoms have improved, pain killers, exercises. Back in the day we were told we would grow out of it. I'm left with knees that don't bend properly, I can't crouch, and I can only kneel if I'm balancing on my patella, which probably isn't particularly advisable. I'm hopeful that eventually losing weight, plus the addition of concentrated stretches and the general building up of very weak, and underused muscles may bring back some semblance of normal knee joints. Only time will tell.

Orthostatic Hypotension

"Nic wants to have a word with the Wii game programmer who thought crunches with punches, followed by ab leg raises, followed by reverse crunches was a good way to end a workout.

She's pretty sure you're not supposed to end up feeling like you've been cut in half..."

There's a tiny part of me that worries the infra-red sensor bar thing that you put in front, or on top, of your telly actually contains a tiny camera that sends a LIVE From Nic's Living Room feed to anyone who has access to some high-up server at Nintendo. That as soon as the Nic Is ON button starts flashing, there comes an array of bespectacled computer nerds with buckets of popcorn to a super-secret viewing room, in expectation of seeing some fat chick roll around on the floor attempting to accordion herself thin. 

As conspiracy theories go, it's not altogether outwith the realms of possibility. At best you could be the inspiration behind a new and improved range of get-fit-and-healthy games that gives a more realistic sense of movement and achievable goals. You're this tall, weigh this much, are this bendy, and once on the floor have difficulty in getting back up again? Then THIS GAME is for YOU, modelled to your precise range of motion and muscle strength! LOSE WEIGHT! GET FIT!! IMPROVE YOUR LIFE!!!!

At worst your attempts to better yourself could be getting streamed live via satellite to a horrible pay-per-view racket, and although your face may be pixelated out, each of your rolls of fat have been individually named by a dodgy online clientèle who believe they could recognise who they were watching just by how an attempted squat thrust made the subject's mid-portions jiggle. Oy.

Ignore me - I've obviously spent too long with my head below my centre of gravity this evening.

The Tortoise And The Hare

"Nic would like to believe that those 600 Wii calories she just blasted have gone from somewhere noticeable, but the reality is that it's probably disappeared from behind her right earlobe, or her left knee.

My, what a skinny and attractive behind-of-earlobe you have, madam, said no-one ever."

I notice it though. I notice it when I try on something that used to fit me at my fattest, and it is loose. I notice it in the way I can walk with someone and actually join in the conversation with more than just the occasional gasp and grunt. I notice it, but it's not really hey-look noticeable yet. But it will be. I will make a difference both externally as well as internally. Because inside I KNOW there's already a difference. How can there not be? It's rather wonderful to realise that you're making a difference in your own life.

But there's a lot to go, a lot to shift, and it'll be a long, long time before there's a major physical change, but that's okay. That is, actually, the plan. Because this is for life, not just a fad few months. The more I read, the more it appears that if you lose weight slowly, over a long period of time, you have more of a chance keeping it off in the long run. There's a higher possibility that your skin will shrink with you (although I do know that as a person who has been obese since her teens, I'll most certainly be left with a goodly amount, but possibly less than if I was to lose the weight in months, instead of years). There's less stress on the heart and other organs. More of a chance of keeping the weight off. I say this twice, because I think that'll be the hardest part. Keeping it off once I get to a point when I'm no longer taking years off my life, but instead adding to it. Once I get to a point where I'm at a weight that suits my body type, without worrying about BMI - something I'm inclined to believe only works for group averages, and not individuals. Will I know when that is? At this point in my journey I can only guess, but I suspect it'll centre around the amount of loose skin I can deal with, as I won't be able to afford to remove it surgically. I've read more that one story of weight gain after massive weight loss because the person is unable to cope with the side-effects, which include excess skin, and I want to prepare myself for that possible future.

Don't get me wrong - I almost salivate over programmes on the telly that turn dangerously unfit, morbidly obese beings into demi-gods almost overnight. The voyeuristic, vicarious viewing (sorry - that alliteration was entirely an accident) gives hope in a strange and lazy way to those of us who may not be quite as fat as those on the programme, who say, well, if they can lose all that, then surely I can lose some of this? It's empowering, hypnotic, but like all 'miraculous cures' a thing of smoke and mirrors. Yes, exercise more, and eat less for sure, but it's mentally useful for us to understand that they're taking part in regimes that are unhealthy (if you believe even half the stuff written about the methods used to ensure a good televisual result) and totally untenable in the long run.

So slow and steady wins the race, at least (I hope) for me, six hundred calories at a time.

A Cake Is For Life Not Just For Christmas

"Nic is reassured: her toes are still within touching distance!"

That's the problem with those pesky holidays spent away from your modern-day weight-loss torture devices; the chances of being able to carry on where you left off after a couple of weeks spent in the bosom of your cooking and baking family back home become slimmer, for want of a kinder word, with every passing mealtime.

Now, I am not one for excluding things from my diet for the sake of short-term goals - I am in this for the long haul and because of this am a big believer of moderation in all things - but when faced with a mother's home-made meals and famous short-bread, a sister's propensity to create delicious hand-made sweetie delights, and a brother who has an uncanny knack in finding three-for-two boxes of chocolates almost everywhere he goes, even the most liberal of lifestyle changers may need to take a time out.

There are a few extra pounds to work off, now I'm back in the safe arm-extenders of my Wii and have stepped on my only-judgemental-if-you-lean-too-far-one-way-or-the-other balance board, but they were totally worth it. For this change is for life, and I jolly well mean to enjoy it, Christmas cake and all!

Hampering Laundry

"Nic doesn't know what's more exhausting: one hour of cardio-boxing or changing one king-size duvet cover."

There's certainly not a Duvet Wrestling setting on any Wii fitness-type game, but you know? I'm pretty sure fifteen minutes of fighting with a heavy bedspread, and trying to escape from a cover that could swallow you whole is worth at least half an hour of  Wii baseball. Wii golf? Wii yoga, perhaps.  

I should contact the company. I reckon there's an untapped gaming population out there just aching to Iron their arm jiggle away, or have a satisfying game of Beat Your Carpet badminton. For the even more traditional we could have Washboard Scrub Rowing, marvellous for the upper arms, chest and back muscles; Pin The Heavy Washing To The Line Shoulder Press; or Scrub Your Floor Core. Primarily aimed at men and women who want to recapture those golden, precious times when life was unencumbered by modern, helpful, cheating technology, a time when you had to live by your wits and strength, and there was no opportunity for recreation because you were spending every waking hour trying not to die from starvation, the common cold, or overwork. For players aged thirteen or over, to be viewed on plasma screens of at least 42" for best all-round gaming experience.

But I'll stick with the late Twentieth-Century British adoption of the duvet, because as much as it's time- (but also, thankfully, calorie-) consuming to duel with a duvet and its second, it's still preferable to attempting Extreme Blanket Mountaineering, where the dangers include being buried from sheet avalanches, and contracting altitude sickness from sleeping on too many layers.

Survival Of The Fittest

"Nic managed to give herself a bloody nose with an over-zealous right hook tonight, thanks to losing her grip on the Wii-remote. She has now vowed to stick to knitting, where stabbing herself is the only real danger..."

I think I've be de-selected by nature. Clumsiness in conjunction with throwing one's fists around one's face is just asking for trouble when you're me. Yes, it can be said that this evolution thing could not have foreseen the advent of pretend physical activity; of hurling oneself around a non-existent gym punching imaginary bags, but this clumsy gene? Humanity should have been rid of that a long time ago, in my humble option.

I am heartily glad this game (My Fitness Coach Cardio Workout [updated link to Amazon]) gives you the option of either using two separate Wiimotes, or one single Wiimote connected to the Nunchuck, because if it was the latter only, I'm pretty sure I'd be wearing welts around my neck and arms. Not this season's look for your Fake Boxer Around Town, I'll be the first to admit. But then, neither are blood-encrusted breathing holes. For the unbloodied rest, though, it's an awfully fun way to spend some cardiac time and perhaps I might venture into the world of reviewing once I've stopped my life-force flowing from my nostrils!

I should consider asking Santa for some spatial awareness for Christmas. And a jumbo box of Kleenex. I've a funny feeling they'll both come in handy.

Storm In A Teacup

"Nic found doing her Wii cardio boxing accompanied by a rip-roaringly spectacular thunder and lighting storm rather too invigorating, as now she can't hold her well-earned after-cuppa without her arms shaking from muscle fatigue!"

It's like making a workout mix-tape (ah, sigh) MP3 playlist, that includes 'Ride of the Valkyries', 'O Fortuna', and the Sacrificial Dance at the end of 'The Rite of Spring' and not realising that the chances are much greater of it making you punch harder, swing faster, or kick higher than the usual pop hits of the 80's and 90's that normally chaperone your workout. Stock, Aitken and Waterman ain't got nothing on Zeus, Thor and Jupiter!

Never gonna give you up? Hah. More like never gonna let you drink that tea down.

Wii Less Fat

"Nic is grateful for two things today: the geniuses at Nintendo for designing the Wii; and her wonderful family, for getting her one for Christmas.

As of today she is 2 stones down, people! (That's one whole chin in layman's terms!)"

Never underestimate the power of a 'game' when it's combined with the will to change, the generosity of family, and a love of cake.

Muscular Antipathy

"Nic is knackered.  Truly knackered."

The things you do. The things you hope your muscles will do again, once they've decided not to hate you any more. Wii Fit ain't got nuttin' on this baby. Now please excuse me, my muscles won't let me sit upright for much longer...

Wii Fat

I lost the equivalent weight of half a bag of sugar last week. Where from, I couldn't tell you.  Probably from one of those areas that nobody would notice anyway.
  

Oh Frank, can you see? That spot behind her left earlobe? I'm SURE it looks less flabby.

But I did, after all, make the decision that I wanted to shift some of this superfluous gorgeousness, and when I was presented with a Wii Fit (second-hand - who can afford these things for new nowadays?) for Christmas I decided it would be worth a try.

Now, I say gorgeousness, but I know you can hear the steady drip of sarcasm. I have been told there are men in the world who like their women voluptuous and well-padded, but I have yet to experience the phenomenon. Or myth, as I prefer to all it, worthy of the greatest story-tellers. Probably the Brothers Grimm.
  
I do realise that I'll never be the 21st century ideal 'thin' and even Rubens would call me chubby, but it would be nice to get some contour back to the full moon I call my face, and have less wobble around my lower portions. So I'm trying my best. To be honest, I don't think that the current skeletal ideal is either healthy or attractive, but then seeing as I am neither healthy nor attractive at the other end of the scale (if you'll excuse the pun) I won't throw boulders...

It does help that I have no life (see, I knew being alone would come in handy one day), so I can devote an hour and a half every evening (except Sundays, because, hell, there's good telly on Sundays and although you can take the girl from the couch, but you can't take the couch from the girl for long) to stretching, punching and stepping my flab away. "This is YOUR fight against YOUR fat" as the boxing instructor informs me. Repeatedly. Really, self-abuse notwithstanding, if I could have punched my fat away, do you not think I'd have already done it? Hell, one of the bullies at school would have done it for me. That generous soul obviously saw the future when she decided my stomach would make a good punching bag.

Of course, the losing weight part is subjective, or at least it is to the balance board. Lean 2 degrees in any direction other than straight up while you're attempting to register your avoirdupois, and your 'weight' increases or decreases by pounds, so if your balance isn't up to keeping your centre of gravity dead-centre (which, when you're fat and using a balance board, ISN'T standing straight up, top-of-your-head-on-a-string-pinned-to-the-ceiling style, because your excess weight means that you have to lean forward/backwards (depending on where it's located) to make sure the red dot that indicates your centre of gravity hits the centre of the televisually-represented board.
  
Before I realised the force could be both with you and against you, I would come away from the weigh-in feeling either elated or utterly depressed, depending on whether left gravity or right gravity was being particularly strong that day. I've lost two pounds.  WOOHOO - this thing is a MIRACLE and I'm starting a new religion, complete with balance board altar and chocolate sacrifices!  Or, I've put on three pounds. Excuse me while I douse the fire of my hopes and dreams with the salty despair of my tears. So, I take several tries to get that middle balance... Better that than 'losing' 3 pounds only to find out the next day that you've put on those same 3 pounds again. Fickle. The board is fickle.

And talking of fickle, may I bring to everyone's attention the biased method of measurement known as BMI, or Body Mass Index. Yes, you can tell it your height and it'll spout out what your BMI should be according to how far away the top of your head is from the ground, but won't take the contextually important body build into account. So, if you're built like a brick sh*t-house, with broad shoulders and a pelvis that could comfortably birth a small whale, or, because these things are equally problematic for the small-framed amongst us, built like a rake, with narrow shoulders and equally fine bone structure throughout, then BMI isn't going to be particularly accurate. Or useful.

I believe it helps that I've learned to ignore the setting and go straight on to pounds lost (or gained, according to the wind direction and the rotation of the tides), because although I am fat and short, if my build is not taken into account to assess my ratio of portliness to health, then I'm not going to get a fair reading, so the whole BMI shebang is not deserving of my attention.

But please excuse me, I must go and say a small prayer to the Board of Boards, burn a few calories in lieu of incense, and hope for a following wind. It is time to sacrifice an hour in the pursuit of someone else's ideal me.

disclaimer: all being said, I've lost 16 lbs since the end of January, and I can now touch my toes without having to re-attach them to my feet afterwards. But, as always, it is much more interesting to write about the dark side of the board...

Pimp My Balance Board

"I have a Wii Fit age of... wait for it, wait for it... 29!!

HAH!

Balance and posture, it seems, are everything!"

Which is just as well, considering the kind Wii Balance Board also informed me of my weight and left me shocked and, if I have to be honest, rather nauseous. It's all fun and games until that moment, but training the Wii-mote at the starting point of this graph (a graph that will hopefully, eventually, chart a downwards path) and having those numbers flash, almost crudely, on screen, is horrifying.

But at least this monstrous piece of technological entertainment has decided that (thanks, I'm sure, to good posture and balance learned from an early age at ballet class - warning in advance: comments will be moderated!) it thinks I'm ten years younger than I really am.

Silver linings to add sparkle to my stupefaction.

In The Beginning

there was a Wii. Although, technically, it was Christmas 2011, but spiritually it was indeed the beginning.

Yes, there was a Nintendo Wii, and I saw that it was good. The Balance Board, Wii-motes, and other accoutrements were also good. And rather over-whelming in their entirety, as they were all a gift to me from my family, thanks to a friend of my sister's timely selling of one she no longer used.

It was also time for a change, for you see, I was fat. No, not just fat; I was enormous, and had been all my life, and I finally realised I needed to re-create myself anew.

But you don't need the full story just now, or what else will I have to write about in the future?  

Hello world, here's my blog, and don't mind me if I blurt out the entire reason for its existence in one post. 

Pff, where's the writing fun in that? 

So there we are in the beginning, the Wii and I. And lots of I. But we needed less of I, or at least I did, (I suspect the Wii didn't have very strong feelings one way or the other) and I knew just how to get started...