Ridiculous resolutions

I have never understood the concept of a new years resolution. The idea, to me, is quite silly, simply because I believe that at any time of the year you should be able to set yourself a goal and begin working towards it. But on New Year’s Eve, it seems people can make anything happen. They appear to be fuelled by some newfound strength and self control, which they believe shall last throughout the rest of the year. I’m fairly certain that someone, at some point - possibly after a few bottles of champagne - have decided that they’re going to start growing wings on the 1st of January. It’s ironic then, with all my confusion and arrogance towards the new years resolution, that New Year’s Eve 2012 is looking to be chock full of my own. 

I have many goals for 2013, the main of which are to stress less and smile more. And 2012 has certainly showed me that getting myself to the gym at least four times a week is extremely contributory in achieving these things, especially when spending close to an hour tuning in to an audiobook on the treadmill. This has also been the year where I’ve found that stuffing my face with pizza, coke, and ice cream, is not nurturing of inner balance, peace, or a healthy body. You are what you eat, and although I am not green, lettuce, asparagus, and cucumber all make me happier, more relaxed, and less worried about, well, everything. 

2012 has taught me patience; how long it can take to cook the perfect beef stroganoff, or reach the desired number of weighted lunges. How incredibly much you can read about health and fitness and happiness and balance, feel like you’re absolutely nowhere close to where you want to be, and still keep pushing towards that lush, tranquil place you so desire for your mind and soul. In 2013, I plan to cook at least one lengthy (that is, takes me long to make) meal a day, and take as much time to enjoy it as I took to prepare it. I’m going to go for more walks in my neighbourhood, and appreciate the absolute joy my muscles and pipes feel at having reached a stamina they haven’t had since I was five years old. Most of all, I’m going to be thankful for the longterm goal I’ve managed to reach over the course of this year; I’m a total gym nut, and my idea of an incredible breakfast is the simple pleasure of enjoying a fresh raspberry smoothie. 

Happy New Year :)

Happy Eating

When I was a kid, I used to be able to eat at least three servings of food at Christmas dinner. And that’s saying a lot. In Norway, as in most other countries I would imagine, we pride ourselves in the utmost fattiness at the table on Christmas Eve. There’s medisterkaker, a sort of meatballs consisting primarily of fatty pork mince and full cream milk; ribbe, the pork loin rib, with crispy pork crackle on top; a sauce made out of said pork crackle offspring and full dessert cream; sosisser, also made of fatty pork mince, and an array of sides that are characteristic of neither health nor weight loss. 

Of course, true to tradition, all these things were served on the 24th of December two days ago. I had been looking forward to this meal for weeks, and made sure to be absolutely starving when I sat down to eat. It’s very strange growing up; everything suddenly goes quicker, you’re more pragmatic and rational, and when you sit down to eat Christmas dinner after months of practically nothing but clean food, you simply cannot fathom the absolute ordeal it is to finish just one, tiny serving of Christmas Eve food. This is exactly what happened to me. I looked to my right, at Ariz, who was struggling to keep up too, then down to my own plate, which seemed monstrously full of food I couldn’t possibly finish.

Now, don’t get me wrong; this food is absolutely delicious, and I wouldn’t ever trade it for a bowl of vegetable soup or salmon fillet. Ever. It’s so good that I hadn’t eaten much all day just to be able to enjoy it. But it was the strangest thing; after a pitiful two potatoes, one sausage, one meatball ala fat, and some sauce, I was done for. I could barely eat dessert later on, even after an hour-long break while opening the presents. I felt food pregnant - you know, the kind where you actually look three months pregnant after finishing a meal - and at the same time, incredibly healthy. 

It was as if a sort of light went up for me; I have never enjoyed that Christmas dinner as much as I did two days ago. It was almost better than the Christmas presents, and I finally realised what people had talked about for all these years, when they told me they were excited to splurge over Christmas food. The sauce (my favourite part of the meal, I kid you not) had never tasted sweeter; the potatoes richer; the sausages fuller. It was a feast for my taste buds, just like it should be. So please, eat your heart out at this wonderful time of year; it’s totally worth it.

Happy Christmas. 

Accomplishment

In some of my previous blogs, I’ve briefly mentioned how mindblowingly awesome my gym can be, but it deserves to be given a bit more attention, which I’ve decided to do here. The gym Ariz and I go to in Victoria Park is called Aqualife. It’s mainly a swimming hall, but it comes with a tiny gym on the ground floor, in which I do my workouts. There are several things that make it an excellent gym, but my absolute favourite aspect of this place is the quality of its staff. They’re a small crew, perhaps ten or fifteen, and when you go on set days like we do, these people actually take the time to make conversation with you. There’s Mish and Deb, the two old-school ex-bodybuilders with butts like Brazilian models (they’re both over 50). Then a younger crew, of whom we talk mostly to the wonderful man who’s lost his name tag and works Sundays (with a kick ass playlist) and Ebony. Just the fact that I know who these people are (and, more importantly, that they know who I am), makes this gym the best one I’ve ever attended. 

Now, I did say my favourite quality of Aqualife is the staff. Which is kind of a lie. I think the best aspect of our gym are the every-six-weeks appraisals. Free of charge. So every other month, you get weighed in, measured in every which direction, and given a completely personalised workout program. And I had my first one since July three days ago.

I must admit, I was quite nervous going in to the gym on Thursday. In all fairness, since my first appraisal, I’ve had a whole semester of university, which has included severe amounts of unhealthy eating, bronchitis, and trips to both Bali and Thailand. Even if I hadn’t lost a gram or a millimetre, I’d still be pleasantly surprised. Thing was though, I had. The weight, to me, is irrelevant, but even there I’d lost a kilo. My proudest moment, however, was when Ebony did my measurements. In the nearly six months since my last appraisal, I have lost one centimetre both around my biceps and waist, one percent body fat and five centimetres around my hips. My blood pressure has increased to perfection, and my resting pulse is even lower than before. I couldn’t believe that I have actually become a healthier person, just like I wanted. 

On Friday, Ariz and I returned to the gym, and I went through my brand new workout program for the first time. It was heavy, but indescribably satisfying; I have reached a goal I’ve been straining towards for years: I am strong, healthy, and physically well-balanced, and the pride I feel is more immense than I possibly could have imagined. Things can only get better from here.

Wise words

Today has been one of those days where even after eight hours of sleep I woke up with absolutely no energy. I still don’t have any, and it took some serious self persuasion to sit down in front of my computer to start writing. So you can imagine the will power it took to get myself to the gym this morning. And even when I got there, all I could do was walk, very slowly, on the treadmill while listening to my audiobook. It’s a frustrating feeling; knowing you should be doing something, doing it, and then seemingly getting nothing in return. 

On Friday, I quit hospitality work for good, after two years of weekend nights spent behind the bar, serving customers with a forced smile. Yesterday I told Ariz it literally feels like I’ve been on a treadmill, setting its own pace, since July and have only just been allowed to get off; only now, with just a daytime job to worry about, am I actually on holiday. My body and mind are fried; sure, there are some pockets of energy and drive, but overall (and particularly on a Sunday), I have low concentration, focus, and energy sourcing abilities. Even finding words is taking me forever. Forcing myself into the car, onto the train and eventually the treadmill was an enormous struggle; a mission. I was very close to not even training today (mostly on account of my now decade-old excuse of having my monthly, cramped-up visit), when Ariz reminded me of something I haven’t really thought much about at all.

He said, “I’ve learnt that it’s when you least want to do something you absolutely should do it.” 

For a moment, coming back on the train from the gym, I thought about what he had just said. After a few seconds, I realised he was absolutely correct. My entire life, I’ve dreaded and worried in advance; bit my nails at the thought of an upcoming piano concert, or a session of taekwondo in front of the master. I have a serious case of performance anxiety, which is probably the main reason I enjoy individual and private workouts so much. However, every time I’ve gone through with those things I’ve feared and cringed at the thought of, I’ve gotten so much more out of it than out of things I have wanted to do. There is nothing more satisfying than patting yourself on the back with that wonderful sense of accomplishment, rushing through you in 100 kilometres an hour, at the completion of something you didn’t want to do. And it goes for everything: when you don’t want to clean the house, but take out the mop anyway, or call someone you dread speaking to; when you sit down for those two hours of study you promised yourself, or go for a walk in -15 degrees in wintertime. I think the feeling comes from reaching a goal, however small it might have been.

And even now, as I’m coming to the end of my blog, the veil over my mind is slowly lifted and my body breathes calmly in and out; once again, I have managed to complete something I thought I might skip. That goal I had played down in my mind to avoid with guilt has instead been reached, and I can at peace keep lazing about as per usual on a Sunday afternoon. 

Soothing sessions

It was nice to go back to the gym today. I say back, because I haven’t been for the last week, on sole account of my current employment situation; during the day, I sell shoes in a Birkenstock shop, and at night I either bartend or run food at Jackson’s restaurant in Mount Lawley. It’s proving just as hard as I thought it would be to stay on top of my workout schedule while juggling two jobs at once. Even when I had a day off this week, I didn’t want to spend it pumping weights; after a fourteen-hour marathon with back-to-back seven hour shifts, there’s nothing more soothing than eating ice cream on the couch. Or watching the whole Jurassic Park trilogy. I’m pretty okay with that, though. Christmas is approaching, and I’m more concerned with making it one of my best yet than forcibly rushing myself to the gym in any old spare second. 

The perk of this, of only seeing the gym’s inside a couple of times a week, is the gratitude and comfort I feel upon entering it. Rather than a place for muscular semi-torture and push, push, push, it becomes a space in which to relax and thoroughly enjoy the training. Which was part of my goal in the first place; making the gym such an integral part of my well-being that going to it would be a treat, rather than a chore. So when I do go back, I’m happy it’s on a Sunday, which is my absolute favourite day of the week to train - the gym is practically empty, and filled with nothing but relaxed, almost meditative punters. There’s no rush, nowhere I have to be or something I should be remembering to do. When the car practically breaks down on the way home, I’m not fussed. My muscles gratefully stretch as we wait for the ’91 model to cool down and make casual talk about both big things and small. 

I think it’s incredibly important to take a small break every once in a while. It feels kind of like this magical, favourite time of mine called advent. My whole body takes deep, soothing breaths and the mind follows shortly after. I put on some quiet Christmas music, light a couple of candles, and sit down on the couch to write my blog after an intermediate session at the gym, which wasn’t really a session so much as a well-deserved pause from the rush of day to day life.  

Magnificent mother

I think will power is the strongest energy source accessible to humans. It’s unlimited (as long as you fuel it properly), and at times the sole engine in driving you towards your goals. The past week in Bangkok, my will power was in a completely different place than at the gym; I was busy running around the Grand Palace, or Siam Paragon shopping centre, eating street food, and striking bargains at the market. I worked out for a grand total of two (three, optimistically, if you count the 20-minute failure I mentioned in my last post) sessions, and had absolutely no desire to let my will power win over my wonderfully lazy holiday mode. 

My mother is 57 years old. She was the main reason I went to Bangkok, and she is also my top role model in the world. Wanna know why? My nearly three times as old as me mother went to the gym every single day we were on holiday. I was astounded to receive text messages from her at seven in the morning, letting me know she’d already hit the weights and was ready for breakfast with me and Ariz. The health kick is a routine my mum only started a few months back, and I just could not fathom how she managed to get up, work out, and still be the happiest chappy of our travel company. While I divulged in pasta carbonara, chocolate, pizza, pork noodles, and tiramisu, my mother didn’t budge an inch, her most unhealthy dessert being fresh mango with a scoop of ice cream. By doing this, my mum showed me that no matter how old you are, your will power is your strongest weapon of choice. 

The most important thing, then, when deciding to change your life style - cause that is essentially what you’re doing when you start working out on the regular and completely altering your diet - isn’t any cooking book or training program or new trainers. The only way you will actually succeed in your challenge and eventually reach your goal, is by constant, immovable will. 

Lazy travel

Bangkok really is an amazing hub. We arrived on Saturday afternoon, and I finally understand what Ariz means when he tells me this is a dirty, disgusting, beautiful city. There is nothing but smiling, hospitable people here, skyscrapers shooting up from filthy, colourful houses and shacks, like the pioneers in the Amazon rainforest, with the resort we’re staying at right on the river having wonderful views, wonderful rooms, and delicious, delicious... food. Uh-oh, here we go. So far, we’ve had Thai, Italian, and Hawaiian meals, and the hotel does not disappoint; they’re so filling, so tasty and yummy and oh my, I must have some of this and that and this, that it’s impossible to say no. 

“Oh, the Italian chef does a traditional pasta carbonara? I’ll have that one, thank you very much. And a bottle of Prosecco, please.” 

I’m in total holiday mode, and there’s nothing harder, nothing more inexplicably difficult, than working out when you’re on holiday. Sure, you can tell yourself that the walking and the seeing and the eating are all activities on par with a good session at the gym. But you’d be lying. They’re not. So on Sunday morning, on a very optimistic - almost naïve, I’d say - spur of the moment, Ariz and I decided to go to the gym. And we did. For twenty whole minutes I managed ten minutes on the treadmill and two sets of my different kinds of sit-ups, before we figured that it was time for the Chatuchak market. Guess what they have at the market? Food! Amazing, glorious street food; marinated pork straight off the grill and fried bananas so sweet you could swear you must’ve died and gone to heaven. Then when you come back to the hotel, you’re tired, of course, from the seeing, and walking, and eating, and you have to rest. 

Now, I’m not by any means implying that you should simply stay at the hotel when you’re on holiday. That would be the pinnacle of stupidity. I do, however, think that it’s on journeys just like this one you very easily can end up going completely back to scratch on lots and lots of hard work at the gym. I’m still going to enjoy my raspberry sorbet dessert, and the odd chocolate croissant at the beautiful hotel buffet, of course. But today we went to the gym again, and somehow, it gets me more energised, more excited, and more balanced than I am when I don’t go. So I suppose it’s a symbiotic thing; you do some sit-ups in the morning, and then you have some ice cream while walking through centuries-old, marvellous architecture in the afternoon. It’s just like Bangkok: win-win. 

Gym landscapes

There is something utterly serene about listening to a book while walking on a treadmill. As your muscles work, you’re taken on a journey far away from the gym, making the workout seem merely a minor participant in the larger scope of the play. At the moment, my ears read The Garden of Evening Mists by Tan Twan Eng to me. The book was short listed for this year’s Man Booker Prize (though it to my great despair did not win), and is so well written I’m forced to close my eyes not to miss a single sentence or word of the piece. Today, this allowed me to, quite simply, feel my workout, rather than observe it. Normally, I’m constantly checking my Polar HRM, following my body’s heart rate and calorie burn, always analytical, always observational. 

At the gym this afternoon however, my eyes remained closed for thirty minutes straight and my legs (crisper, it seemed, than normal) communicated to me in an entirely different way than they usually do. My 50-minute walk on the treadmill reminded me in some ways of going on an unexplored Disneyland ride, completely unaware of what wonders are about to ensue. My most vivid memory of such an experience is the first ever time I boarded the Indiana Jones ride in Florida, in which the wagon dodged both giant boulders and venomous snakes. None of the mechanics mattered; I was completely immersed in this make-believe story. When the ride was over, my mother and I immediately used another fast pass to enter the magical world again. 

While walking up and down as the treadmill changed its incline, at a steady 5,7 kilometres per hour pace, I felt like I was walking through the very garden Yun Ling, the female protagonist of Evening Mists, helps Japanese gardener Aritomo renovate and build. I could see the Malaysian mountains, trees, rocks, and plants vividly, as my legs rejoiced in the journey I took them on. The whole trip flew by, just like that Indiana Jones ride in Florida, and soon enough I had listened to a whole chapter of the book. My mind returned to the gym, while my legs continued walking, wishing themselves back to the magnificent Yugiri landscape of Eng’s wonderfully written novel. I’m sure they’ll be absolutely thrilled when we arrive Bangkok, Thailand in a week’s time, in all probability running me around the city like a child does a theme park.

Grumpy stomach

This has been an interesting week. Once again I’ve suffered from migraines, entirely related to stress, and a little bug that’s found a small home in my body. I haven’t invited either of them to stay, and I’m being extremely nice to the two, as I don’t want them to prolong their designated visitation hours. As a result of these unexpected guests, however, I only went to the gym four times this week, and guess what? It doesn’t feel good at all. The funny thing is, when I work out, I’m motivated to eat healthy, because all my body aches for once a session at the gym is over, is replenishment of two things: energy and physical rest. The energy comes in its entirety from the thoroughly wholesome, and delicious, food I eat, and when I can’t go to the gym due to silly things like migraines and obnoxious bugs, I have a tendency to feel less enthusiastic about my meal plan too.

So, today, I made cardamom waffles. I know what you must be thinking; those things certainly don’t fit into any category of my super duper summer diet. Not even close. The only thing remotely healthy in there were eggs (but with the yoke, of course) and milk (but that one was full cream). The funny thing was, the waffles, once they had been made from dough to the little heart-shaped treats they are, didn’t taste nice. I set my teeth into the first one, and instantly my body - which shrieked for sugar just a couple of weeks ago - curled itself up into a mush of stagnancy, nausea, and utter discontent. It was as if my energy level quite simply quit on me, and gave up. So I had a little sleep. Then, when I woke up, my body was shrieking for something entirely different. It wanted vegetable chicken stock soup. 

Ah, the joy of peeling a potato. These apples of the earth that have accompanied me since I was a baby, and that somehow manage to fill me up with warmth and comfort, no matter how hungry, nauseous, or sick I am. Right now, they’re boiling softly with carrots, swedes, and some serious amounts of garlic (cause Ariz said, regardless of the terrible breath it gives you, it’s actually quite the immune system booster). The smell that’s filling up the house is just right; no fatty butter ooze or packed-with-flour treats. My bowl stands ready next to the pot, and my tummy seems to be smiling in delight once again. Tomorrow morning I’m having a kiwi and raspberry vanilla yoghurt smoothie for breakfast, and salmon salad for lunch. Hopefully both migraine and bug will pack their bags and I’ll be able to visit the gym once more - armed with proper energy - by Tuesday or Wednesday. Either way, it’s like I said to my German friend, Luisa: this doesn’t have anything to do with looks. Once you hit 50, it’ll be all about staying healthy, and then, your body will thank you for the years of groundwork you’ve put into its well-being, going for long walks and enjoying the occasional vegetable chicken stock soup. 

I get a kick out of...

What a transformation your feeling of inner balance, well-being, and happiness will undergo from just a week of full-on healthy eating and working out. Since Sunday last week, I’ve been to the gym five times (missing out on two days because of a tension migraine I always seem to get just after uni finishes; my body isn’t quite used to all the spare time), and eaten nothing but home-cooked, from scratch, delicious food. The meal and gym diaries are working their magic, as is the meal planner that I’ve followed strictly all week long. I thought this diet might be the biggest challenge, but it really isn’t that hard; I only put food on it that I know I’ll actually eat, and enjoy eating at that. 

I feel stronger. At the gym, I can go for an hour with an average of 130 heart beats per minute and smile the whole time; there is something inexplicably beautiful in this raw, physical strength, like a favourite taste, but for your muscles. They thrive in their exercises and cheer whenever I push them a little harder than the day before. Then, while I’m stretching, they thank me for the time I’ve given them and their well-being, and carry me out to the car, though a little more staggering than when I entered the gym. 

What’s really important to remember when working out this much, though, is letting your muscles rest; I only ever do two days in a row with the same muscle group, leaving them to chill out when they’ve had enough. My mum told me a story from her gym, about a man who pushes himself to the absolute limit, but then has to call it quits within fifteen minutes. In one session, their trainer had to show the man how to pace himself, while telling the rest of the group that the people who start too hard, usually quit too soon. The muscles need their sleep too. But when they get that sleep, the energy levels you get back from them to do other things is fantastic; you sleep great, because your body is physically exhausted, and wake up the next morning with a buzzing mind and a huge smile. I love it.

At the grocery store, my new favourite section has become the vegetable and fruit aisles, which is the first thing you walk in to once you’re through the doors at our local Coles. Thank you, clever store manager organising person. Veggies and fruits take up 50% of our trolley now, accompanied mostly by poultry and seafood (and the odd kangaroo - delicious, chock-full-of-protein meat). I frown at the ready-made, processed, lets face it, crap, that takes up too much space in the store, and smile when we hit the fresh food deli. 

“Can we grab some salmon, fresh calamari, and a filet of that cool fish from Tanzania, please?”

We cause a hold-up with our order, and a lady looks surprised at all our seafood.

“What are you making?” she asks politely, though seemingly overwhelmed.

“Oh, just, you know, lunch and dinner. We heard seafood can be quite good for you.”

The woman smiles and explains that that’s why she’s at the deli too; for some of that healthy seafood stuff. I can vouch for that. Salmon salad is my new favourite, with sprouts, cucumber, rocket salad, and spinach. And some capsicums for a treat. Delicious, and filling, and makes my tummy, and insides, and mind, smile. A big smile, every day. Then, as my first-week-completed treat on Friday, I had strawberries with a bit of sugar. Nothing with one billion ingredients. Nothing I can’t identify what is. It feels good knowing what I’m putting into my body; it keeps thanking me for it after every meal. 

Super duper summer time

The day before yesterday, I finished my second year of university, finally creating the time slots in which I can once again dedicate myself to the clean eating, working out, happy body, happy mind health kick. It feels quite amazing. To invest in this new program (which includes eating at least three entirely healthy meals a day and working out at the gym every day), Ariz and I ventured to Kikki K - aka organisation heaven - to purchase a meal planner, workout diary, and food log book. We’ve both started filling them out; a great tip from Ariz’s trainer Deb, 54-year-old ex-bodybuilder who could just as well be 40 from the looks of her. 

“You’ll have the tightest ass in Perth,” she says to Ariz, as I watch him struggle through deep lunges with an added 30 kgs in his hands. 

The books keep you organised, focused, and entirely honest, which are all essentials if you want to succeed in any kind of long-term fitness or health goal. And it’s fun, cause you reward yourself with little treats when you’ve completed a day, or week, or month, of hardcore fitness. We’re going for a Guinness later.

Yesterday, I visited the gym in a healthy state for the first time after my bronchitis months. The workout was absolutely thrilling. I didn’t wheeze, I didn’t feel dizzy, and I ran. It’s been so long since I ran on the treadmill, and it was indescribably fantastic. Then I re-visited my old friends, the lunges, as well as the severely missed sit-ups. Unfortunately, I’ve managed to obtain an inflamed tendon in my thumb, so weights are no-can-do for the moment; my appraisal on Thursday should fix that one right up. 

Then there’s the issue of the food. Having been sick and ridiculously busy with university, my diet has also gone severely down-hill. I’ve gained more fat-kilos than I want to mention here, so since my health kick - and it will forever be known as the health kick - started yesterday, a serious clean-up in food has been made (yes, this far, being the last two days, being nothing in the long term, but reach for the stars, right?). Back at Kikki K we purchased meal planners, and set up two completely different menus; Ariz is trying to gain weight, and I’m trying to lose it. My menu mostly consists of protein and vegetables now, with some complex carbs, like quinoa, brown rice, and rye bread, in between. I made myself a delicious salmon salad for lunch yesterday and followed up with calamari and capsicums at night. It’s a huge transition for my body; my stomach shrieks up at me: “What is this?! I have to work again? But I was so comfortable passing it all on to the fat cells...”

The great thing about healthy food is that you can, and should, eat loads of it. I’ve realised that in order to keep this going, I will have to actually make my own meal plans, and ensure that I enjoy everything on them to hold in the large amounts; if I have some superior force telling me what to do, I’ll get sick of it, and quickly too. Deb pointed out that it’s important to load up on poultry and seafood; I now have red meat once a week, and carbohydrates only with lunch. Unless you have an extremely high metabolism, your body isn’t going to process those carbs overnight, so it’s important to get them all dealt with before you go to sleep. Handy tip. Thanks, Deb.

As I entered the gym today, I felt like myself again for the first time in a long time. I did 45 squats, 60 lunges, 74 sit-ups and ten minutes on the treadmill among many other exercises, with some energy to spare at the end of my session. I cannot believe I’m excited to get up at 7 AM tomorrow morning for another workout. The summer, it seems, is finally here.

To the gym!

Today I returned to the gym. Nothing quite like heading back to a place you haven’t visited for the last four weeks. It was almost a bit nostalgic; my friend the treadmill, the equipment, machinery, and other regulars working out. And, of course, the staff member who always plays the best music and has the kindest smile in the world.

“Long time, no see, guys! Where have you been?” 

“Bronchitis,” we reply in dismay, looking with longing and bittersweet sadness at the room we are facing.

“No shit. That’s no good. Well, make sure you take it easy as, yeah? It’s like starting from scratch when you’ve been sick and away for this long.”

Tell me about it. I almost felt like Ariz and I should have high-fived before embarking on the workout that only lasted thirty minutes, but felt like at least and hour and a half. I got on the treadmill, and started walking, with a resting heart rate about twenty beats a minute quicker than usual. Oh yeah, I have a heart rate monitor now. It’s really cool. It’s from Polar and keeps track of my heart rate, calorie burn, workout efficiency, and gives me weekly summaries of how I’ve been doing. For the past month Ms Polar hasn’t had much to report, of course. Calories burnt: Zero. Time spent at the gym: Zero. Stamina: Zero. She doesn’t actually tell me about that last one, although I do feel like she stares compassionately at me from time to time. She certainly did today. 

My goodnes, I’m unfit now. I mournfully set the treadmill to my regular fat burn program, at three levels less than usual and four kms an hour instead of nearly six. It started off all right, and I thought “Hey, maybe I’m okay. Maybe I can speed it up to five kilometres and hour.” No can do, mister. Once the incline went up, I was in big trouble. My heart rate was resting at 99 beats per minute when I started the walk - ten minutes later, I’d hit 140, and I wasn’t even doing Norwegian military marching speed. By fifteen minutes I was wheezing, and had to call it quits. So much for cardio. 

Ariz wasn’t doing any better - he was wheezing over in the weights section, but I figured I should try some muscle work. Even if just for the fun of it. Away I went at 0.0 miles an hour, finishing off with a grand total of TWENTY FOUR lunges. Oh. my. god. I stretched, and half an hour after we’d entered, we left.

“How’d you guys go?” the lovely gym instructor asked us on our way out.

“Terrible.”

“You know what? I think it’s great you’re coming in here already - it’s not been that long. And you just gotta keep it calm, yeah? If not you’ll get sick again. Take it easy, guys.”

“Thanks.”

Back in the car, we collapsed onto our car seats, had each our delicious Carnarvon banana, and finished the bottle of water we’d left half-full in the gym. Ms Polar looked up at me. 180 calories. 30 minutes. And a peak heart rate of 152 beats per minute. Man, I gotta work hard to get back to where I was. But, damn, it’s good to be back and going. 

Bronchitis comeback

Bronchitis has taken its toll on Ariz and me for the last three weeks. We’re finally coming off the cocktail of antibiotics and medicine we’ve been on, and have slowly begun making our own food again (note: making six different meals a day when you’re in bed with a 39+ fever doesn’t really happen. Maybe in the movies). Because I’ve been so sick, though, I’ve fallen way behind at university, and since semester is coming to its end, there is just so much to do. Which equals not enough time for religiously following Clean Eating Mag’s weekly menu.

Our solution is still clean. My friend, Shereen, forwarded me a link to thehealthychef.com not long ago, which is a website founded by Teresa Cutter. She’s a leading Australian cook of the healthy sort, and showcases some absolutely delicious recipes that are still made from scratch, and still composed of lovely ingredients. We decided then, to quite simply steal some of Cutter’s recipes and combine them with the tricks we’ve learnt from the clean eating crew. So simple! 

And on the note of clean eating, I realise I’ve actually never divulged much on this topic. I’m sure most of you know kind of what it entails, but here’s an easy definition anyway. In its most simplistic form, clean eating means: eating lots of plants (veggies!); including meats in your diet; enjoying grains (like brown rice, pasta, cereal); reading the labels on what you buy; eating fewer ingredients by trying to purchase food that has no more than 3-6 ingredients in it (this is the toughest one!); eating 5-6 small meals per day.

(from http://www.thegraciouspantry.com/what-is-clean-eating/, which also lists a couple of other methods for clean eating, and some excellent recipes)

Of course, a direct effect of following these principles is that you cook everything from scratch, at home. It usually takes a lot of time, but the finished product is so delicious, and so good for you, and you feel just fantastic for having spent the extra time and effort on your health. What I’ve done this week is cook three different main dishes, but cook them in large portions to provide lunch the next day, or dinner a few days later. This is great if you’re a student or have a busy week ahead of you; just cook loads on a Sunday or another spare day, and freeze the food for later enjoyment. 

First off, Ariz made an absolutely delicious chilli con carne, filled with gorgeous vegetables like celery and carrots, extra lean beef mince, beans, and of course lots and lots of chilli. This lasted us for three meals, and was really good on its own. We tried it with quinoa too, for some added protein, which I thought completed the dish. The recipe is here:

http://www.thehealthychef.com/2012/04/chilli-con-carne/ 

On Thursday I had a full-on cooking session by myself, in which I made both a lean bolognese and a beef stroganoff. The stroganoff was my absolute favourite; carrots, onion, lean beef (cut off ALL the fat from a big piece of steak), rosemary upon rosemary, whole button mushrooms, garlic, beef stock, and some yummy port made it full of flavour. Perfect for autumn time in Norway, for those of you reading from there ;) Here’s the recipe:

http://www.thehealthychef.com/2012/05/lean-beef-stroganoff/ 

Then I went on to cook a bolognese, a dish I usually associate with grease and white pasta, so I was a bit surprised to find it on Ms Cutter’s recipe page. This thing is so full of vegetables, though, that it’s hardly your regular Italian restaurant dish. Celery, grated carrots, red onions, brown mushrooms, and lots of tomato puree were just a few of the delectable ingredients in this very clean bolognese. Here’s the recipe:

http://www.thehealthychef.com/2011/10/low-carb-spaghetti-bolognaise/ 

In total, these dishes covered us for approximately three dinners and three lunches each. Pretty good and time manageable.

Because of my stupid bronchitis I haven’t been allowed (by my own lungs; imagine that, your own lungs telling you off for exercising) back into the gym, but I’ll hopefully start going again next week with a very calm start-up. I’ll let you know how that one goes later. Enjoy the food! Thanks for reading :)

Food, glorious food

On Monday, I got sick. Again. So, no appraisal at the gym on Tuesday, and no workouts this week; just bedtime, bedtime, and more bedtime. I’m currently on antibiotics (not so clean eating, I guess), and waiting for my fever to leave, though the guy seems to like sticking around. He’ll just have to suck it up once I evict him; who likes a fever tenant anyway? 

As a result of my health, then, this week has been all about the food. And my oh my what delicious food we’ve eaten this week. Our shopping list included another round of absolutely glorious groceries, and we’ve become quite the shopping experts, dancing from aisle to aisle with our colourful A4 paper of vegetables, meats, and healthy carbohydrates. As I’m typing, I’m eating an exquisite snack of ricotta, banana, and peanut butter. And that’s just a snack.

While lying in bed and cursing my yet-again-arrived disease on Monday night, Ariz made Provencal Salmon Burgers. Oh. my. god. It took about an hour and a half to prepare the damn things, but once they were finished, I declared it the best meal on our diet so far. Herbes de Provence (substituted by fresh rosemary and thyme by us), capers, olives, salmon fillets, Dijon mustard, and onion all blended together in glorious unison (yes, we own a blender now), and creating a flavour explosion so strong I seriously needed to re-think the word “taste”. Yes, I am a salmon lover, so I might be biased, but goodness me, those things were good. 

Here’s the recipe: http://www.cleaneatingmag.com/Recipes/Recipe/Provencal-Salmon-Burgers.aspx

Then there were two particularly delightful breakfasts among many others. One was porridge, with frozen raspberries, almonds, cinnamon, and some maple syrup. I don’t understand how healthy food can be so astoundingly delectable; well, I can understand it, but the little fat kid in me is wondering why all these fruits and vegetables are so much tastier than mud cake and hamburgers. 

Heavenly porridge breakkie:

Next, Banana Morning Tarts. Yum, yum, yum. Homemade tarts, and no ordinary tarts, mind you; these were made out of blended walnuts, whole-wheat pastry flour, whole-wheat regular flour, frozen macadamia oil, milk, lemon juice, and a bit of baking powder. The result? Little, alien-looking tartlets (we haven’t gotten around to buying tins yet), which were part tarts, part cookie, and part bread. All the gorgeous nuttiness went really well with the filling of: banana, maple syrup, greek yoghurt, walnuts, and cinnamon (yes, we’re suckers for cinnamon, and it’s all over the recipes!). Melted on my tongue like nobody’s business.

Finger-licking tartlets:

Tartlet recipe: http://www.cleaneatingmag.com/Recipes/Recipe/Sweet-Savory-Tarts.aspx 

Last, but certainly not least, I had shrimp this week. And I liked it. Which my mother will tell you is unbelievable. I had a serious shrimp fetish as a kid, but since about twelve I haven’t been able to stand the little things. This week, though, we made broiled shrimp. Over rice. With peas, garlic, lemon juice, and soy sauce. And it was mouthwatering. I ate the whole thing, shrimps and all, and even found myself enjoying the taste I’ve detested for so long. Thank you, clean eating. 

Here it is, shrimp saviour:

Of course, I haven’t been entirely, entirely good this week either. But I’ve been sick, and still am, so I’m going to excuse myself with that fact (terrible, really, considering bad food makes you a lot worse than good food), and not share anything about my misbehaviour. Though there might be, just maybe, a tiny bit of Crunchie lying next to me on the bed. Or maybe the fat kid in me just wants there to be. Either way, I’ll do some extra sit-ups when fever packs his bags.

‘Till next time. Thanks for reading :)

Bali backslip

This week, I’ve been naughty. Coming back from Bali with no more (or less) weight on my bum, I figured all that delicious Indonesian food, while of course being practically fibre and protein empty, couldn’t have been that bad for me. Ensuing this thought, the week has been equally filled with healthy food, and very unhealthy food. On Wednesday, I had a pizza from work (no, no); on Thursday, I had terrible sushi from university (no); on Friday, I even had a cheeseburger from Hungry Jacks (that’s Burger King in Australia). For breakfast. And then we had deep fried chicken at a Chinese restaurant for dinner. No. No. No. 

I think that since we did go for long walks in Bali, and did work out (for 20 minutes one of the days we were there), and did go for one long bicycle trip, we figured that clean eating is good, but not essential for sustained and long-lasting energy. That was until we went to the gym on Thursday and had absolutely zero performance ability. I felt pathetic. And I did try blaming it on the fact that I hadn’t worked out for a long time (go figure, since my activity level was the reason I ate poorly in the first place), but after forty minutes of dragging myself through what used to be a perfectly simple obstacle course, I finally faced the truth. I had no energy, because I’d been eating food with no energy. And so had Ariz. We called it quits after fifty minutes, and decided that when we went grocery shopping next, we’d go back to the dedicated health freaks we had been when first starting this eating project. 

On the floor on Thursday afternoon, struggling with my twelve sit-ups (thinking, ‘Oh my god, I’m so unfit’), and taking a break halfway through, I hear the deepest grandfather voice I’ve ever heard uttered in that ground level gym. 

“You know, you won’t get any training done if you just stare out into the universe,” the old man says, laughing sympathetically at my distress. 

I am mildly annoyed. “I know. I’m just out of energy.” I carry on with my sit-ups. 

After a while, I pass him again, and smile, trying to reprimand my rudeness. 

“You know, I can’t place your accent,” he says silently this time, and I laugh at his sweet, almost childlike approach. 

“Norwegian,” I say. 

“Oh, lovely. Do you like Grieg?” Jason goes to the gym every days, and is 70 years old. Impressive. I’m going to stop winging about my 36 sit-ups now.

Yesterday, we bought groceries. They were 244 dollars and 56 cents, which is more than half of my weekly salary at the bar.  But there’s so much of them. Ariz calls me the Tetris Queen now; we have a three-shelf fridge. It’s tiny, but somehow I manage to fit all the food anyway; all ten bags of it. Lovely, lovely food. Artichokes, strawberries, capers, kalamata olives, shrimp, walnuts, mozzarella, turkey breast, thyme, red wine, broccoli, salmon fillets, rosemary, Greek yoghurt, mango, pork chops. All these things (and at least forty more) are on our grocery list. Yum. 

Here’s the shopping list: http://agilityfiles.cleaneatingmag.com/PDFS/ShoppingLists/CE19ShoppingListsWeek1.pdf, which goes with week 1 of this meal plan: http://agilityfiles.cleaneatingmag.com/PDFS/ShoppingLists/ce19mealplan.pdf. 

Today, we went to the gym, after two days of eating deliciously healthy food again. The difference is, to say the least, incredible. Because there is literally more healthy energy in my body, guess what? I have more of it to spend too. I spent 45 minutes on the treadmill, and another 35 doing weight work; I burnt 620 calories. I’m back. We had hummus, scrambled eggs, brown rice cakes, and tomatoes for breakfast; an unblended pomegranate banana smoothie for snacks (that is, yoghurt, banana, pomegranate juice, and protein shake) - we don’t actually own a blender yet; and now, I’m about to make a couscous lemon salad. We’re having shrimp for dinner. De-li-cious. 

I also thought I’d show you what I look like, just to prove that I’m very normally built. Kind of normally built, anyway. I have crooked legs, enormous hips, a thin waist and green eyes. If I look any fitter further down the track, I’ll let you know. 

See you next week :)

Hungry, healthy, happy

So, I started this project a couple of weeks ago, but that was before I went to Bali for five days and completely submerged myself in delicious, fatty, Indonesian food. Totally worth it. But here I am again: square one. Or at least one and a half. 

Me and my fiancé got pretty serious about working out a few months back, and started going regularly to the gym at least two times a week. Even though we’re both health freaks (sort of), we were still eating regular food, which was too fatty, too low in protein, too high in carbs, and just not nutritious enough. Having opposite metabolism systems, my fiancé was losing weight, and I was gaining. 

Now, don’t get me wrong; I do not care what I weigh. I’m 176 cm tall, and weigh 79 kgs at the moment, which any BMI chart would tell you is overweight. My lovely gym instructor, Lou, however, tells me that you really shouldn’t care about the weight; as long as you don’t look obese, you probably aren’t. So when we got back from a six week food splurge in Norway, Ariz and I decided it was time to get serious about health; we started going to the gym three to four times a week, and I was given a full appraisal with an accompanying workout program. Our diet was still a problem, though, and we didn’t really do anything to actively change it. 

Until one night, when I was surfing the web (that is, Facebook), and came across the Ashy Bines bikini challenge. The page was covered in gorgeous before and after shots of girls apparently having tried this amazing diet that worked. I was almost about to buy the 70-dollar Bines starting pack when my critical, web-smart half kicked in, and I eventually found a complete uncovering of this scam. I mean, this chick actually tells girls that lettuce is bad for you, cause it’s high in sugar levels. Not so much, perhaps. What Ashy did mention time and time again, though, was clean eating. 

I googled the term, and discovered the Clean Eating Magazine online, which was full of meal plans and shopping lists. Absolutely brilliant, I thought, and introduced the idea to my fiancé, who was sceptical at first, worrying it was just another unhealthy, weight fixated diet. But when we went to the grocery store to try it out, we both discovered that the ingredients were balanced, healthy, and yummy. When we started cooking with our food, it just got better. 

Back from Bali, now, we’re back on the plan, and I’m so excited about it that I want to share my experiences, from both the kitchen and the gym. For me, though, it’s all about the health; I want to be fit, have a nicely beating heart, eat good food that keeps me going, and feel good, both inside and out. 

This is week one. Hope you'll join me :)