Yesterday I stepped on the scale and it told me I weigh a really unacceptable number. Ever since the summer began and put a stop to my long walks, the pounds have been slowly but surely creeping on.
I struggle sometimes with a sense of inevitability about my weight; I am thirty two now, eventually I hope to get pregnant, therefore putting on weight is just a fact of life I have to come to terms with sooner or later.
But if that's really true than I'd better invest in a whole new wardrobe because I'm not fitting into a lot of my clothing. Granted, some of that clothing is ten years old or older and it's a miracle I've continued to fit into them this long.
Maybe weight gain is inevitable, but I don't want to take it lying down, so to speak. I want to fight! I've been completely frustrated by my inability to pursue the usual exercise, so I've been bugging Keith to get me a treadmill. It's so strange, the thought of me using a treadmill. Who am I? Not that it's a bad thing, it's just so foreign an idea to me. But then so is barely fitting into the same capris that hung off my hip bones last summer.
Day before yesterday, Keith brought home a work out video titled "Walk at Home!" (He wasn't hinting or anything; I've been talking about getting one for a while now.) Yesterday, desperate, I decided to try it.
Boy, did I feel stupid. There I was, in the man room with the coffee table up on the couch, in my little black workout skort, long white legs revealed, trying to copy the steps of the giant woman on the flat screen. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and had to look away, I felt so silly.
After the first mile, I felt smoked. I forced myself to try the second mile and by that time I was feeling far less self conscious and doing the double side step and the thrusting knee lifts with elan. The third mile I was gasping for breath and I thought the lunges would undo me, but I pushed through. I still couldn't do the step-lift-back-back thing right, but what the heck? I was moving around, completely out of step but still determined.
By the time I got to the cool down period, I felt pretty darn good. I also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will never, ever take a public exercise class. Not just because I am ungainly, but because the exercises caused me to fart about as much as I sweated.
This reminded me of nightmarish PT classes where one had to do sit ups with a partner holding down one's feet. Not only did I have to worry about the gaping legs of the stupid culottes I was forced to wear instead of tighter and more practical shorts or pants, but I was forced to desperately clinch up every muscle in my lower body to try and avoid the unthinkable gastronomical event.
("Jenny! I can't believe you're talking about farts on your blog!"
"Pipe down over there, Irving.")
Anyway. I am determined to do the three mile work out every day. It's really not high intensity or high impact, so I'm sure it's safe to do while trying to get pregnant and or being pregnant. Also, it's well within the realm of exercises I've been doing, albeit infrequently, for the past two years, so my body is used to it.
I hate this whole indefinitely-trying-to-get-pregnant phase. I feel guilty about drinking the one cup of coffee I keep myself to, I can't drink alcohol, I have to not over do the exercise, I take massively large vitamins daily, and all for what? For no good reason. I've taken prenatals now for over a year. Why? I'm not getting pregnant. I would love to have a nice cool drink of Kahlua and ice at the end of a long day or a cafe au lait in the late afternoon, but I can't, because why? It never actually matters.
(I haven't gotten my period yet, by the way. But it's still not technically due for another couple of days, according to last month. According to the month before, it's late. Who the hell knows. If it does come, at least I can start my count down to Clomid.)
In other news, I'm still high on cooking. In fact, so high that the last three nights I've cooked in my dreams all night long. My last shopping trip included capers, canned sardines and a chuck tender roast, which is slated for the oven today. I have a not very sophisticated but potentially delicious recipe to try.
So far I made flour tortillas and holy crap, but they were beyond delicious. You would not think that flour, milk and salt could be so tasty, but it completely transformed our taco experience. Even the two that I completely burned (because I wasn't cleaning out the dry skillet properly and was trying to roll out the next one, brown the beef and chop onions at the same time) turned out tasty.
Last night I made a tomato and bread salad. Before I started in on this whole cooking thing, I thought I knew what flavor was. I didn't. I was pretty much living in a black and white world. Now, flavor is coming alive. I'm gone through the glass ceiling of what I thought I could do, or what was practical to do and now I realize I can do anything. I might fail; in fact, I'm certain that along the way I will produce some spectacularly bad food. I don't care, it's just too much fun.
My father's brother, Uncle Floyd (Hi, Uncle Floyd!) has made a cassolet. A cassolet is a country French dish that involves a ridiculous amount of work. It's made of white beans, cuts of duck, pork, a cheesecloth and a flameproof casserole dish, among other things.
I want to make one. And oh, I will. But first I want to master the sauces. I want to be able to make a Bearnaise sauce. And Hollandaise sauce. And Veloute, Allemonde, Espagnole and Bechamel sauces.
(And I want to loose weight...ha!)
Anyway, first things first. I'm working my way through the cuts of beef and it turns out I started with something quite familiar, as cuts from the chuck or shoulder region of a cow mostly require a wet, or pot roast (braising). After that I'll try a dry roasted Rib Roast.
This is going to make the grocery bills go way up, but I told Keith he has to think of this as a hobby, and hobbies take time and money.
"But I don't have any hobbies!" he protested and then grinned. "I'm going upstairs now!" he said quickly and escaped, before I could point out that his hobbies were currently taking up the entire front yard and one hobby was upside down on its trailer in the back yard.
Maybe his hobby can bank roll mine.
