Parting Thoughts...

Before I wax poetic and all that about this experience, I really want to express my gratitude to . . .

1. My halfside, Pacato, the best teammate EVER (who never broke a sweat no matter what kind of mood I threw at him)
2. Patrick and Chen, who ran the show and led the way (particularly, Patrick, in the areas of enthusiasm, knowledge, encouragement, and balance)
3. My core group, Shelly, Naomi, Denise, and Jonti, for their empathy, humor, and wonderful example
4. The past PCPers whose presence and accomplishments were inspiring
5. All of you who have been reading, commenting on the blog and other online outlets, and offering your support in person—your presence has made this experiment that much more worthwhile

You will all be handsomely rewarded at the end of this post with a

GRATUITOUS BIKINI SHOT.

Leading up to the end of the project, Patrick issued a challenge: visit the gym. I confess to giving the gym my money for the past three months without actually popping in to say hello, and it was with some trepidation that I met this assignment. It felt to me like “go forth to the locker rooms and judge.” I’m in no position to cast stones. I tripped up plenty on PCP (minor addictions to cookie-baking and dried fruit.) Just three months ago, I was a hamster on the treadmill, plugging away, thinking “Not much seems to be changing, but at least I’m here.” But let’s be fair. We do the best we can with the information we have, and we’ve gotten ourselves into quite a pickle. What started decades ago with the best of intentions—processing foods that will feed your family for less money and time—has backfired into a costly cycle of obesity and disease. (To really hammer this point home, check out these maps.) How can we begrudge anyone who is trying to reverse the damage?

The problem is, the real workout isn’t in the gym. It’s in your kitchen. Change your diet, and you will change your life. Three months with no other choice isn’t a bad place to start. If you’re thinking about signing up for PCP, do it. Three months go by so quickly. It’s not easy, and it’s not always fun. But in the end you come out with a real prize you can show off—yourself. And you’ll probably get a bonus reward of seeing the changes you make influence the people around you.

Ultimately, I saw Patrick’s challenge (Observation #1: the gym smells), and I raised it: I cancelled my membership. By now, I am confident I can get a complete workout at home. Even better, I plan to spend my monthly gym money playing capoeira, revisiting the horseback riding lessons of my childhood, and trying to make yoga a regular part of my life. I’ve always been a serial hobbyist, and why shouldn’t I have fun with my new physique?

Which brings me to the Big Reveal. Let’s take a look back at Day 1, shall we?

And finally, what we've all been waiting for . . .

THE GRATUITOUS BIKINI SHOT.

If you're curious, I weigh only two pounds less in the bottom photo than in the top . . . so THROW YOUR SCALE AWAY.

I started this challenge intending to become a TOTAL BADASS. And you know what? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.

Thanks, everyone!

P.S. Patrick? I believe this is the point at which you COMPLETE me. I've always wanted to have a reason to say that.

Time to Celebrate!

DAY 90! DAY 90! DAY 90!

I think we all deserve gold stars.

I just finished my final work out and packed my food scale waaaaayyyy in the back of the hall closet. I'm so stoked that I finally get to take this baby out into the real world to see how she flies.

Just gotta snap some final pictures before Pacato and I celebrate with brunch. Then I'm definitely going to the farmers' market for a cup of hot apple cider. And I'm totally eating this peanut butter and jelly chocolate bar I've been saving. And then perhaps to a movie. Seriously, I'm especially excited because I didn't think I'd be free to do any of these things till tomorrow.

I've been kinda cranky this final week, had some trip-ups, and didn't exactly feel so Peak-y . . . but when I woke up this morning and looked in the mirror, I realized I AM SO PROUD OF MYSELF.

I'm proud of Shelly, Jonti, Naomi, and Denise, too. Congratulations, ladies! And thank you so much Patrick and Chen for the work you've put into our experience.

I'll be back soon with some parting thoughts and, more importantly, TOTALLY  BADASS photos.

A Momentary Break for Some Culture

So . . . I went to see the New York City ballet perform the Nutcracker last night. How lovely! However, I was slightly distracted by two things:

A) The muscles on the Sugar Plum Fairy
You could literally see the definition through her tutu. Something new to aspire to . . . if I was a professional dancer . . . or queen of all the confections in the land.

B) The head candy cane was jumproping through his hula hoop
If you can really call it jumping rope without a rope. Dancing, dancing, dancing . . . HOLY CRAP! Did he just jump through his hoop? I felt shamed for my poor morning workout performance. How come I trip on my big toe and he sails through a hoop and keeps right on dancing—in a peppermint-striped clown costume?

Anywho, there's no video evidence to do the trick justice . . . but I did find this:


Almost the same, no?

PC-PMS and a Case of Senioritis

Dude, I totally have senioritis. Not like, wow-I'm totally-as-buff-as-I-need-to-be-senioritis . . . but like, I-can't-wait-till-I-finally-graduate-from-this-place-and-can-really-be-myself-at-college senioritis. Like, I-should-be-studying-but-instead-I-just-ate-some-cookie-dough senioritis. (Immediate stomachache, btw.)

I should take a page from my freshman year Econ 10 class with one of the toughest teachers on campus. It was the only class in four years for which I read the textbook cover to cover. (If this was a blog about bad study habits, we could go on and on. Anyone remember Surge?) Economics (math, really) doesn't come naturally to me. I am an entirely intuition-based operation. The only way I stood a chance in that class was to seriously apply myself. I made a B minus. Worth more than all the higher grades in other classes.

Unfortunately, I have a simultaneous bout of PMS. And . . . I think one more week is all my body—and my relationship—can take with this noxious gas. Is that just me? Am I doing something wrong? It's the eggs. It HAS to be the eggs.

Ahhh! I can't believe it's Day 83!

Only one week left. It's the final countdown!



And yes, I did just jump rope to Europe. It was totally BADASS.

Just Took a Peek at This Morning's Workout...

After four sets of 1 minute and 45 second planks, my post-workout may look a little like this:


"Excuse me, sir? Could you pass me my banana? I don't think I'm going to get there before lunch."

Two Miles in the Snow . . . Uphill Both Ways

We belong to the Park Slope Food Coop (which has something of a reputation.) It's about a half mile from our house, but two cartons of eggs, a butternut squash, sweet potatoes, onions, eight gazillion bananas, milk (for Pacato), six pieces of frozen salmon, a box of clementines (mmm . . . clementines), whatever else looks good and in season, and $137 later, it feels like miles and miles and miles.


The walk home is about the time my PCP gratitude really kicks in. My heart's pumping. Thump thump thump thump. My arms are about to give out. I am thinking, how on earth would I get all this food home if I didn't have all these muscles?


Granted, if i wasn't doing PCP right now, I probably wouldn't be buying so many groceries. Nor would I be thinking strategy in the produce aisle (heaviest, most colorful possible veggies plus greens equals meal.)

Details, details. . . .

Mmm . . . clementines

Happy Day 80, everyone!

Operation Failure: COMPLETE

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 1, 7:45 PM
Capoeira abs: 10 sets of 20

8:30 PM
PCP abs: 10 sets of 16-18

Number of minutes it took to achieve ab failure: 1

Believe me, my v-sits weren't pretty. But what the hey, I threw in some 8-minute abs anyway.

10:30 PM
Now I'm on an exercise adrenaline high . . . which should get me through just long enough to make tomorrow's lunch before I sllllooooowwwwwllllllllllyyyyyyyy crash and burn. . . .