November 04, 2011

Back from the dead.

Well, not really.

I am beginning to notice a pattern, when I start training for a tournament my writing falls to the wayside.  And it's not because I don't have the time. There is an internal wall in my brain that becomes very stingy and unable to play well with others.  Like a petulant child the wall stands, not sharing.

So here I sit, like a couple months ago, in the Rodeway Inn in Cypress (very economical hotel choice BTW), wonderful husband at the table across from me, contemplating tomorrow's Mundial No-Gi event.  This will be my first time competing as a brown belt, which is a brown/black division.  This will also be the first time I compete in the lightweight division.  Dropping to light has been a back-burner goal for a couple of years that I thought about, then promptly discarded time and time again.  However, since becoming more and more of a Paleo eater, I dropped from my usual 150-147 to 142-145 without much heartache.  I thought, well, what if I put a little bit if effort into dropping down, what then?

Well, I'll tell you, this has been an interesting journey.  I started with the basics.  No dairy.  One portioned carbohydrate source per meal, and only before or after a workout.  For the first couple of weeks on my drop plan, breakfast consisted of fruit sprinkled with a little bit of granola for crunch, and Almond milk.  A typical dinner/lunch consisted of carrot, broccoli, and spinach chopped in the food processor, then topped with a lean protein source and rice.  I snacked on one serving of pistachios throughout the day.  This plan got me from the 142-145 range to the 138 -141 range with no sweat.

Then I had to get under 138.  No problem right?  3 pounds?  One Bikram class right?

um.   no.

That granola sprinkled on my fruit?  Gone.  The liberal serving of fruit at breakfast?  Portioned.  The haphazard pouring of the Almond milk?  Portioned to 1/2 cup.  Snacks?  yeah, right, dream on.  so beyond gone.  Dinner? Portioned portioned portioned and small.  My careless use of Emergen C packets in my water? Gone.  The last two weeks have been and adventure in down to brass tacks, no messing around, calorie counting, portion control, and measure control.  Measuring cups and spoons are not just for baking Xmas treats.  I quickly learned that sugar and wheat are my mortal enemies when cutting pounds.  Oh, and coffee.  My beloved strong two cups of coffee has been cut down to one half strength cup, and the last two days completely eliminated for the more friendly green tea.

My body has responded in good and well, un-fun ways.  The good:  my workouts have improved.  My wind is better, my running is faster, smoother, and more relaxed.  My movement and speed are better and consistently improving.  One of my concerns with dropping to light was losing strength and stamina, but the opposite has taken hold, and I feel wonderful.  (On a more vain note, I look damn fine too!)

The bad:  The scale has suddenly become a snarky, principal lead player in my life, laying there emotionless and cold on the floor as I step up to learn that my despite my efforts, my body, whilst performing well, wants to be a b**** about giving up those last three pounds.  As if it's planning for the Great Depression or something!  Come on body!  I kept saying.  Look at those hips!  There is plenty to give up!  Over the last week, my excitement has turned to fist shaking frustration as the red lights flash "137.4" and "138."

Which brings me to this week.  This Week.  Did you all know, that tuna and celery mixed together with lemon juice is really good?  I mean fantastic.   Better than pizza even.  Seriously.  You are all convinced right?

Well whatever, yeah we all know that's a bunch of malarkey, but the scale is reflecting my efforts again.  This morning I weighed in at 133, then fluctuated to 134.6 by the afternoon, but I am finally in the zone.  We just had dinner at Souplantation where I dined on a small plate of greens, broccoli, a tiny bit of egg, and water.

The prod that has kept my head in the game is constant self reassurance and pure bull headed stubbornness.  I keep telling myself I can do this and that I WILL do this, and as I sit here the night before a fight of firsts, I know I HAVE DONE this.  I have written in a previous post, this is not a dress rehearsal.  It's so easy to make plans and not follow through, always putting that goal on the back burner.  Many people do this all their lives and look back to so many ventures never dared.  I had to dare this time.  I thought, how can I NOT?  It's a whopping few pounds to lose!  In the wide scheme of life, it's small potatoes. But it was a goal.  A goal that has been an ignored wallflower at the prom.  

And about my fight.

My first (hopefully first of two) is against Ana Maria Gomes Soares.  She is a black belt.  Has.  Been.  A Black belt.  For several years.  She is from Brazil.  (gulp)   My plan is simple.  Move.  Keep moving.  My offense has improved by leaps and bounds this year, but I have wide stretches of acreage for improvement.  My movement and timing are my strengths.  I will go for EVERY advantage I see.

At the tone, the time will be 10:00 pm.  And time for me to end this long post.  Night night.

Train well!

Dag


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