No pain no gain? You got that right.

So, I've been doing Cardio Core Bootcamp for a week now. I've realized there is now a routine to things...

On Monday we have Perky Instructor who shouts "Go, go, go!" and does false counts like:
"OK, three more seconds of jumping jacks... Three.... Two.... One.... One.... One.... One.... One... One."
She likes to work our legs until we puke (as I almost did during class on Monday - I actually had to excuse myself for a moment. Something about lactic acid makes us nauseous, I dunno). But she's sweet, if not a bit too energetic. I want to discover her secret.

On Wednesday we have Pushy Instructor who will shove you into the ground in order to demonstrate a move and doesn't take well to people who go at things half-way. She is unsympathetic and out to cause as much pain as possible. I get her tommorow. Yay.

On Friday we have Cool Instructor. He is a guy. He wants us to do kickboxing. We spend Fridays pretending to ram people's heads into our knees. He mixes stern military commands ("Suck it up, Ladies!!!") with positive reinforcement ("You guys are doing so awesome!"). He is my favourite so far.

I'm proud of myself for lasting a week and I do enjoy the endorphine high I get afterwards as I walk home through the cool, dark streets of the downtown core. But when I am in it, it is the toughest thing. It is pure hell. If I don't feel like puking, I feel like fainting and if I don't feel like fainting, I feel like I will actually collapse. It's never been a case of, "Oh I don't want to continue because I'm too lazy" (which, I admit, is what I used to say in the past), but it is instead one of "I can't continue because my leg won't physically move." It's tough and especially tough for someone who has never properly worked out a day in her life.

But I feel some benefits already. I feel like I have more energy. I go for walks almost everyday now, usually just running errands, but the idea of getting up and going outside doesn't phase me anymore. I actually like it.

And today, I ran to my therapists and ran back. It was the longest that I have ever run (jogged) without stopping and that alone made me feel like I was getting somewhere. I live in fear that jogging will never get get easier for me. I see women jog past, their iPods playing, their ponytails bobbing in their wake, they look like they are enjoying it.

Well, even though I feel like being active, jogging is still hell after a minute...finger's crossed that one day it I can do it without too much difficulty. But does it? Are all these jogger's secretly in pain, counting down the kilometers until they get to stop? Or does jogging actually become doable and enjoyable after a point?

At any rate, I have been feeling better. On the down side, I have been eating more. Now I am not pigging out, but I have become suddenly ravenous and wolfing down whatever is available. Luckily I am wolfing down things like salad and multigrain bread with cheese and carrots and chicken stir-fry and brown rice. But for the first time in my life, I am actually hungry. I'm not eating out of boredom but because my body is craving this stuff called FOOD.

So, I'm not sure if this extra eating is my wrong doing or not. After all, I understand that I need to eat to fuel my workouts, but in order to get the BEST results out of this bootcamp, I should be eating less. At any rate, I stepped on the scale today out of curiousity and...

I gained FOUR FREAKING POUNDS!

????wtf?????

I can understand if this was all due to muscle...today I noticed my shoulders were firmer than normal. But come on, I have been doing this a week, muscles don't just sprout out of nowhere, it takes time! Where did these four pounds come from? I don't want them, send them back!

So, a week into this effort, I am afraid that I feel a bit disheartened. I didn't expect to drop weight over this - and I especially realized that after I realized that working my ass off increased my appetite - but I certainly didn't think I would GAIN weight.

Therefore, there is going to be some drastic measures being made:

On Thursday, I am giving up my regular glass (or two) of evening wine.

I would start now but I just opened a beautiful Reisling from Germany and, well.....

Good, Old-Fashioned Tits and Ass

I haven't done one of these travel posts on my blog for awhile. Mainly because I forgot all about it and they do take a looong time to post (think it takes you long to read them?) . Then I remembered that Ross and I still had a few days in Paris after New Years Eve, days spent riding the metro, exploring, adventuring and spending the last of our Euros.


But keep reading, I promise I will get to the part about the succulent bare boobies and jiggle-free bums that paraded in front of my eyes.

(no, that's not it)

Those days were sort of uneventful, just pleasant milling about the city, taking in the sights and sounds and permitting ourselves to do not much of anything. We did a bit of shopping, looking at the holiday displays at the Bon Marche.


And strolled down the crowded streets of the Latin Quarter(it's New Years Day, shouldn't you people be sleeping off your hangovers? Crazy French).


We wound our way to the Notre Dame, where I had fond memories of being harrassed by a Tunisian man years before.



Where I indulged in hot mulled wine (mmm, public drunkeness makes you feel so warm).


We also went by the Hotel De Ville to watch people fall on their tres petite arses in the skating rink.


And walked along the Seine, attempting to be romantic and coupley.




Afterwards I found a bar dedicated to me.


And a metro stop.


The next day, we walked to the Eiffel Tower...



We were way too lazy to actually stand in line with all the crazy people, as you can see, so we just shot video and took pictures. Once again, second time in Paris and I still haven't been up the damn thing.




Then we went to a nearby cafe where we sat and drank for hours, taking a mirade of quality (read: trying to be artsy) photos, all while we killed time.




Killed time for what, you might say?


It was our 11-month anniversary and we splurged on a night at the Moulin Rouge.


The Moulin Rouge needs no explanation, but I will attempt to anyway. This cabaret "Red Windmill" is as dynamic as the seedy neighbourhood of Pigalle that it's located in.


Because it is so famous, there is a huge lineup, despite your required reservations.



And what really sucked was that you weren't allowed photos inside. Boo-urns! But they did have a professional photographer go around and we gladly forked over dough for our memento of the evening.


Being at the Moulin Rouge is a unique experience. You are seated next to people you don't know, in our case it was two old ladies. Well, one old and one REALLY old. From what I got from it they were niece and aunt and from Tel Aviv, but born in Russia and living in Paris. Or something. Whatever, the old woman had been living in Paris for 80 years. I think it was her 94 birthday or something crazy.

And to celebrate, she took her niece to see bare breasts.

It's true, the entire show the ladies proudly dance around and sing with their mammaries flying about the place. Luckily, most were petitely endowed so there wasn't too many thoughts of udders, though one voluptous blonde definitelty had some clout over the others. I was mesmerized watching hers bounce about, as was Ross...and probably every other man there.

But it wasn't just breasts! And bums! It was ponies and pirates and everything else I love.

And one insane, naked woman who got into a tank filled with live pythons and tried to swim with them. "Tried to swim," meaning that the snakes kept trying to swim away and she would literally pull on them and wrap the poor things around her body. Classic!

Here is a short video of the Ferie show that we saw:

Click Here (Opens a new window)

I should also mention that boobies aside, the food was superb. Pricey, yes - my "middle" meal was 97Euros, Ross's was...more - but so worth it. Was especially nice to have a bucket of champagne at your table and your own waiter who sneaks you glasses of Kir Royale for free. Plus there is something so decadent about ordering a three-course menu at the Moulin Rouge. You don't do that every day.

So that was the rest of our days in Paris, before the loooooong haul home with a looooong stop in New York.


And then finally our motel in Seattle, where we would stay before our drive back to Vancouver the next day.



Whew! That's all she wrote!

*****

Ok I lied. That's all I'm gonna write about my France/Scotland trip...at least on this blog.

In other news, it snowed today. Just when you think winter is gone, it pulls you back in!

Actually it was wacky pseudo snow. It was warm(ish) and sunny...and yet little white flakes were falling down from who knows where. It didn't settle or set on the ground, just made everyone look like they have dandruff.

What else? I've delved into more culinary artistry and just made myself butter chicken. It's so freakin' spicey I may just have to have another glass of chardonnay. I'm so glad I have these pre-chilled, emergency wine bottles at hand.

But hell, I deserve it.

Do you know what I had to do yesterday? Go back to freaking bootcamp! You would have though that they would have known my whole body was stiff and in pain and that I wouldn't have to go.

But I did. And this time, I had a different instructor.

This one likes to yell at you.

A lot.

"PULL THOSE KNEES UP HIGHER! YOU, YES YOU, THE FLABBY BLONDE ONE! WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS, A WALK IN THE PARK?! WORK IT HARDER! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!"

At one point I had to do push-ups only my poor, painful pecs couldn't handle it, not even the girly way.

Yet, she (Psycho Nazi Bitch) still had to come over to me, point out that I wasn't doing it correctly (ie, not going down all the way) and then proceeded to push me into the ground until I ate sweaty gym mat.

I'm not even going to get into what happened when I was handed a jump rope and was told to skip. When I was little I was never invited to jump rope...I was always the one twirling the damn things. This is why:

If I didn't trip over my own feet, get my legs tangled up in the cord or wasn't hitting myself in the face with the thing, I was hitting other people in the face with the rope as they tried (in vain) to sneak past me. None of this was on purpose though, I am seriously that uncoardinated. Although I did try a little bit when Miss Fit passed within reach.

I wonder how I will manage to embarass myself further and whip others with my inane clutzyness tomorrow?

Where am I? What's going on?

An hour or so ago, I was wandering around downtown Vancouver in a daze. I slowly schleped down West Georgia street, not knowing really where I was or what I was doing. I ended up at a Starbucks and proceeded to have great difficulty ordering an iced coffee...words were coming out of my mouth but they weren't making much sense. The Barista noticed my camo ballcap with the words Cardio Core Bootcamp on it and forgave me for being a fuckwit.

This is what I will have to look forward to for the next month. This is me after Bootcamp.

At any rate, I did survive it, which is a lot more than I had hoped for.

The "camp" was held indoors at Fitness World (in summer, it's held in Stanley Park), in one of the aerobics rooms. There was about 30 or so people there, mainly female with a few men scattered about.

I was relieved to see most of the women were slightly overweight just like me, so I didn't feel too self-conscious.

*start rant* That was until I noticed a few thin women...one, especially, was perky, fit, tanned and blonde.

"What the hell are you doing here you skinny Lululemon beyatch?!" I yelled at her. "Trying to upstage us all, or what?"

OK, so I yelled it at her in my head, but the point is: if you are already fit and toned, why are you here? Just go to the gym like everyone else does, don't join a bootcamp for fatties and then proceed to rock the push-up test harder than everyone else...and longer than the instructor did it for. In fact, it prompted our instructor to make a remark about the program not being a competition.

I can tell Miss Fit is going to be on my nerves for the next few weeks.

*end rant*

That was just one rant and I have many more so I think I'll just call the whole rest of this post one long rant. Keep in mind my writing skills at this moment are quite nonexistant, I think I recieved a lobotomy while I was there.

Anyhoo, the hour consisted of non-stop excercise led by our leader. She wasn't the one to yell in your face, instead she was full of boundless optimism and energy...which somehow made me prefer the "spit in face" method. At any rate, she kept us going. And going. And going. Non-stop. For one full, nauseous hour.

After the ten minute "warm-up," which consisted of 30 people running with their knees high in a circle, I was ready to throw in the towel. At least, I would have if the program was up to me. But it wasn't and we were pushed to go on and on. This was not even our cardio day so it was all about the weight training. I used to like weight training. I always thought it was the "easy" part.

Nuh-uh.

The weight training was more like circuit training, with different groups of us rotating between the ball, the steps and the bands, working on our muscle groups with cardio in between. This ensured we wouldn't get bored.

I was too busy dying to care if I was bored or not.

Literally, I felt like I was going to puke during my push-up test.

Also felt like puking when I started using the stretchy bands to work my arms and the band slipped off my foot.

Hit me right in the face.

Ever had someone snap an elastic band on your arm? Well, enlarge that band by 100 and apply it to your face.

And then I really felt like puking when they took me aside for measurements.

Oh dear.

My weight is one thing, but the width of my thigh? The horror. I'm even wearing the wrong bra size - I'm MUCH larger than I thought...which reminds me, a sports bra would probably be in good order too. I don't want to have to worry about elastic bands AND boobs snapping in my face.

A good note though, was that they didn't weigh us. It's obviously more about losing inches than pounds, which is great because that's what really counts. And speaking of my weight and inches: if it's a notable difference (and I don't know how it won't be if I'm going to be burning my lungs and buns off 3 times a week) I'll be sure to let you know at the end. Finger's crossed!

So, to sum up my first day at Bootcamp: I survived. It was tough. It was scary (especially when you have to run around with all these mirrors around you). It was challenging (tripped over my own feet while trying to keep up with a certain excercise...it's times like this that being naturally clumsy is NOT endearing). It was...not fun. But I don't regret starting it and I'm excited to see how far I will come. After all, the first class is down. It can only get easier from here on in.

Though ask me how I am doing tomorrow and it might be a different story - one filled with many explicit words.

***
In other news, I am going to the Police in May. Woot! And I have an extra, single ticket if anyone should be so interested to be doing a doo doo doo and a da da da.

Shedding the Winter Skin

Unfortunately, I do not wear pantyhose (except on special occasions) so I can not use that as an excuse.

Tomorrow I embark on my one-month venture into achieving a new body and spirit.

Yup, I start my cardio-core bootcamp. I've already got an email from them - full of encouraging words such "gonna make you sweat" and "push it till you drop" - hmmmm. At least I hope it was from the program and not some porno spam.

Anyway, they also noted that I would be weighed and measured (EEEEEK!) and would have to push-up test(OH), sit-up test (MY) and do a timed run (FUCK!). Yes, so I am not looking forward to that. I have an idea of what I weigh and I only have about 8 pounds to drop so it's not like that part will be too embarassing (but choosing whether I should share that weight with you...erm, we'll see) but I can tell them right now that push-ups are non-existent.

At least I think they are.

Hold on, I'm gonna drop to the floor and try it out.

Yes, so push-ups are nonexistent. As are sit-ups (do crunches count?). And as for the timed run...I'm gonna see if I can skip that humiliation that harks back to Gym Class and just say "What would the slowest time be? A 60-minute mile? OK, let's say I do that."

In the end though I am really looking forward to it. I haven't been so down about my weight lately, except the other night when trying on clothes to go out but anyway, and it's because I know the wheels are in motion. Things will get done, I will lose weight, inches and feel strong and disciplined.

I even signed up to do a Cardio Salsa class at the local rec centre, however the teacher never showed up when I went there the other day. I was even motivated to get my groove on (despite an ever-so-slight hangover).

Surprisingly, I wasn't too upset. Though I had walked through the rain to get there, I was in a chipper mood. I started applying the whole "new perspective" thing to what I saw. And what did I notice by looking about instead of having my eyes on the ground:

*I saw this dog-walking lady that I have seen a few times before. She's fairly old but walks four GIANT beige dogs that pull her off in all directions. Just seeing them come down the street, everyone has to cross to the other side.

*There is one street nearby that is filled with heritage houses, newly painted and restored with bright red finishes and yellow trim. Walking down it makes you feel like you are in a verdant English town, not the middle of a crazy city.

*One street had a colorful tile mosaic embossed onto the corner, right into the cement. It was like permanant street art.

*Winter is officially out. Though the nights can still be cold and the rain is miserable at times, everything is green. Grey sky but green ground, green trees, green plants. There is a freshness to the sea-breeze and tulips have started to come up in some gardens. Cherry Blossoms have appeared on a few lucky trees and birdsong is more pronounced than usual.

*Starbucks is having "Coffee Fest" at the Sheraton Hotel on Thursday. Heck, I don't have anywhere to be, I might as well check it out.

And last but not least, this whole perspective thing has made me want to branch out more into various facets of my potential future. My mum just arrived back from Mexico the other day(she's been gone for 5 months...5 months on a boat, can you imagine that?) Anyhoo, she suggested that why not try out on-camera journalism and broadcasting.

Education does sound appealing, especially as it puts off the whole "getting a real life" thing but I didn't want to go through that all again and be commited to something for two years. However, they do have a part-time course, one day a week for 12 weeks, that deals with on-camera interviewing and skills. You get practical experience too which is what we seriously lacked at my old SHIT-HOLE of a "University." So, come April 16th, I'll be adding a little more experience to repetoire.

Maybe I'll branch out even further, starting looking into getting more specialized...there is an Intermediate Wine Certification course I have my eye on. I don't know what that would get me, but wine is something that seriously interests me (and no, not just to drink...though it helps).

I like this positivity thing. It feels like the possibilities are endless...in a good way, for once.

You lose some, you win some

Thursday morning I woke up and was immediately faced with the odd goal of "How to look like a bride."

The night before, my agent called and gave me more of a low-down on the situation. Ken Kwapis, the director of Licence to Wed, which is now officially re-shooting in Vancouver, wanted to meet with me at 10:30AM at the Vancouver Film Studios, and I was to bring headshots and a resume. My agent advised me to not show up in a wedding dress (damn!), but to wear something "upscale casual" and have my hair and makeup done like it was my wedding.

Right. My wedding. See, hard enough as it is to believe, I've never been the kind of girl to plan out my wedding...I have no idea where it would be (though my parents have this strange notion that I will be getting married at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club and that I would be dropped off there by my dad's sailboat...keep dreaming Dad), haven't given much thought to the dress and definitely have no idea what my hair and makeup would be like. I didn't want to jinx myself.

So it was a bit odd to find myself pondering how I wanted to look for my fake wedding...it reminded me of getting ready for Graduation.

I settled on putting my hair up (like above, left) and attaching a fancy hairpeice to make the bun more elaborate and went with subtle makeup. And by subtle I mean, I was wearing a lot of makeup, it just didn't look like it. I even had on believable false lashes. I always thought that because I did go to Makeup School For Film and TV at Vancouver Film School, that I would be able to do my face myself.

Nuh-uh. No matter how good you are at doing your make-up, I would advise leaving your face to the proffesionals on that day.

So, off I was to the film studios, with rudimentary headshots in hand (I just printed out a recent B&W picture of me, I hadn't had headshot done since I foolishly wanted to be an actress, about 6 years ago). I didn't even bother with a resume since I don't have any real acting experience and I didn't think they would be impressed with my journalism background.

I arrived at the production office to find another girl waiting there. Soon she was joined by another girl...the two girls knew each other from other extra work and were soon chatting away.

I felt out of place. Not only because I didn't know them, but they both looked similar.

They both had blue eyes, square jaws, light hair...and biggish noses. I'm not being catty but I did start to feel like I stood out...though not neccesarily in a good way. They had the look of just your average pretty girl...albeit with big boobs....and they reminded me of servers at Earls or any other sort of semi-trendy restaurant. Then there was me, with my hair up, my petite ski-jump nose, small face and brown eyes.

After waiting for quite awhile (turns out there was a fourth girl, but she never showed), we were called into Ken's office.

He was a pleasant, happy-looking guy and not one of those intimidating film directors, which was great. He shook our hands, took our pics from us and then informed us that he was basically just going to stare at us for a minute or two and then we would be on our way.

Ready, set, STARE!

That was pretty much the extent of the interview. He talked to us, but the other girls seemed to embrace it more and were more animated. I felt like I really didn't belong there. The only thing that I got excited about was the fact that he seemed to stare at me for a pretty long time...though that's not always a good thing. On the plus side, it was judging us purely on our faces. We never even had to take off our coats so he never knew how un-skinny I was.

Then we were sent on our way. On the drive home I thought about reasons things could go in my favour or not. My hair was up, more bridal style and I had a white coat on, again, more bridal, where as the other girls had dark coats. I had a prettier face, more innocent looking, but not as "sexy" as the other girls. Then again, the other girls looked a lot alike and maybe that's the look he was after. I also didn't have a resume, so perhaps I wouldn't be remembered so well.

What an odd thing to be worried about, when you think about it. Did I look more bride-worthy than the other two?

Anyway, an hour later my agent called and informed me that I did NOT have the part. I felt utterly dissapointed, more than I thought I would. I wanted to wear that bloody dress, damnit!

But...

She then went on to say that the director liked me and wants to use me in Licence to Wed on Monday as either a waitress or a bar patron. The wage too is higher than what extra's normally get so that was an added bonus...maybe it's more than just background work? Plus, I reminded myself that out of all the Extras/Actressses in Vancouver, he chose me and three other girls.

That's got to count for something.

So I guess it worked out. Being a bride will have to wait until one day when some guy is stupid enough to marry me, but hey, I can easily play a person in a bar. And I still might be able to stalk Jim from The Office ( I really should find out his real name).

*****************************
In other news, I am so sick of gaining weight for no apparent reason (other than the fact that I eat like my boyfriend but can't afford to) and feeling like a slug that I have taken a proactive approach and signed up for Cardio Core Bootcamp.

Yes, I did sign up for it before but they never got in contact with me. This time, they have to...they have my deposit. They owe it to me to whip my ass into shape and make me feel like Jodie Foster running the obstacle course in Silence of the Lambs until tears are running down my face and drill sargeants are screaming in my ears. I've also started jogging...but I'm finding that since I am soooo out of shape, it is an extremely long learning curve. An extremely long, painful, limping, wheezing learning curve.

Nonetheless, I plugged away at it for an hour today and hopefully, with time, can build up enough stamina to go the distance. I just want to be proud of my body and not ashamed of it, and yes even though I did lose 18 pounds (and now gained 10 back) last year due to the South Beach Diet an NO excercise, I just want to get fit, get tone and feel strong. And no diet can do that alone.

So here's to new oppurtunities and getting off my fat ass!