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.