I must confess that despite my best efforts this spring to get into a bikini for the first time in 20 years, I failed and generally know why.
When I moved from Texas to New Jersey, I had not been overly active as compared to the way I used to be. Actually, since mid November when I broke up with a man who would've fit under the category “opposites don't attract”, I went off my diet a bit. Comfort food was my friend, and I didn't run my usual six miles a day. I was having a very hard time taking my own advice.
It also didn't help when I had my first major fall while running. Actually, when I hit the ground, it looked more like a baseball player trying to steal second base - I slid on my chest, stomach, and legs for several feet until momentum no longer carried me. I went down with a garage door opener in one pocket, an ipod wannabe around my neck, and my cell phone in the other pocket. Of all the things that caused injury, it was the garage door opener in my left pocket. Upon returning to running 3 weeks later, which didn't feel too bad, I then slipped and fell in bathroom, hurting the left quad again. I hung up my sneakers until mid February until I had some mental mapping of my new location in New Jersey.
I had decided the cold wasn't going to be an excuse, so I went out and purchased a cheap set of thermal underwear. Determined, I took to the streets for my first 3.5 mile run, thinking it would go fast and easy, which neither it turned out to be. My lungs hurt, and I didn't think my slow down in activity would've made such a difference in a short period of time. It took a couple of weeks before I could run the 3.5 miles comfortably, and on the first really nice spring day…I fell once again, and hung up my sneakers. Another fall wasn't going to keep me from getting skinny.
During the winter, I figured I had managed to drop down to maybe 130 pounds (I couldn't tell as my scale had been shipped to New Jersey ahead of me six months prior to my departure from Texas), but after the move, the first thing I went looking for was the scale. I had to have some idea where I was beyond how my clothes fit; it registered 137 pounds. This still leaves me guessing that I might have been as low as 125 pounds during my best period.
I was fitting in a size six pair of jeans, which was probably closer to a real size 10, and had outgrown my size four which I fit in while dating the man of my undoing, which I'd guess would be closer to a size 8. The “size six” jeans have a 32 inch waist, while the “size four” jeans have a size 30 inch waist; I was able to fit into a “size two” pair of jeans of the same label, and I've got second hand pants with a 29 inch waist I was fitting into.
After my fall, I decided to get back into the P90X routine, only moving it up a notch to the “doubles” (twice a day). I wasn't seeing the results I wanted, so I added in a few of my old vitamin friends as well as an additional program called Turbulence Training. I was working out hard, got back down into my “size four” jeans and to 131 pounds, and for the first time I was starting to see a tiny bit of four pack abdominals peeking out!
As the old proverb states, “…the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away”: I managed to land a part-time job that put me on my feet in dress shoes for hours at a time. I thought it was a blessing, but it turned out to be a punishment. My feet hurt so badly at the end of shifts, I would be limping for hours afterward. I dreaded working the night shift, only to be back in the store less than 12 hours later for an opening, with little recovery time.
After a few months, I was let go, but I still have a reminder of my time there. I went from 131 pounds to 140 in two weeks; I also have black spots on both my big toe nails I'm guessing are bruises. All my hard work from the spring had been essentially undone.
