My dear friend, Gretchen, who we have sweetly dubbed Bro Bro, is a total foodie. She is a total 5’2”, 100 pound foodie. She’s hardcore. She eats meat – pork, beef, rarely chicken and she eats fat, she eats noodles, pasta. It is just not fair.
I am a foodie. I adore food. I am unable to maintain Bro Bro’s height (due to genetics) and I haven’t been 100 pounds since I was 10. I couldn’t even lose weight going vegetarian; in fact, I gained 20 freaking pounds. I look at pasta and it goes straight to my hips.
Bro Bro has just returned from a lovely 4 day retreat (in a spa setting, with hiking and tai chi classes). We are overdue to get together so schedule dinner for this evening – at this awesome Korean restaurant.
I confessed to her last night that while my heart says Korean, my too tight jeans say GYM. See her response below.
Christmas has come and gone, after the loving gluttenous Thanksgiving holiday. In mid-October I started (ok Restarted) P90X and Insanity. I can’t confess to having lost any weight; however, I’m seeing muscles and definition in places that I haven’t seen in awhile. I have enough strength to do a full legit push up and lifting my chest off the floor is no easy feat. I think I maintained through the holidays until Christmas Eve when I combined Popeye’s popcorn shrimp with Uncle Yu’s Chinese dinner. Sometimes ya just have to live a little, you know?
I don’t eat great amounts of food. I bowl of oatmeal with blueberries or healthy soup for breakfast, a salad or pita for lunch, a bottle of chardonnay and a healthy dinner. You would think I have a plethora of banked calories. Yet, no. I do not. So what provokes me to double up my exercise bra and sneak out the side door so that my dogs don’t see me in an attempt to (re)join the masses that run? An invitation from Bro Bro for Korean food. That’s what.
Head phones on. I-phone in hand. Pop fitness radio on Pandora. I lumber down Jack London Boulevard with my SOFA (shirt over my fat ass) tied around what use to be my waist. The first lumbering strides were painful – OOooooo my knees, my hip, my bunion. I’m sure I looked like a drunk armadillo shuffling down the sidewalk. Meghan Trainor belting out a tune about lying lips. Bieber and his apologies. I run 50 steps (that’s really 100 when you count both feet as one step), then I walk 40 steps. Run 50, walk 40, oh look, run 60, walk 50, Run 70, walk 30 for 40 gawd-awful minutes and a total of 3 miles. It is done. I hobble around the last corner to home and limp up the front walkway, grab my yoga mat and stumble to the floor in an attempt to realign my poor body. I then eat my paltry lettuce and wait until our dinner reservation at 5:00.
So, here I come Bro Bro, Kimchi, Jhap Che, braised short ribs, potstickers and crab cakes. Awesome food and a good bottle of wine with a great, witty, loving friend. It was worth EVERY FORTY MINUTES and I just might do it again tomorrow..maybe..