If but for chips ....

I try to avoid this aisle when I shop

I love chips!

Nothing fancy, just your basic regular plain chips.  If I'm feeling wild and crazy, I might venture into salt and vinegar variety.

The major problem with this love affair is that the chips love me too.  In fact they love me so much, they don't like to leave me.  They love to linger on my hips, thighs and stomach ... sigh ... such a sensuous, yet tragic love affair!

I know all about Will Power.  At times Will Power is also a very good friend of mine, yet unfortunately, he's far more fickle than Chip, he has a tendency to desert me if Chip gets a little too vocal whilst I'm wandering the aisles at my local grocery store.  I do try to avoid the street where Chip lives, but his neighbour across the road is Perrier, my effervescent Parisian friend, who is so good to me.  Thus when I call upon Perrier, Chip begin his siren's call from across the aisle, of course that's the exact time that Will, perhaps exhausted by Perrier's presence, decides to decamp.  Sometimes Will doesn't show up for hours, days or weeks.  Lets be honest, Will took an extended vacation this summer.

Funnily enough, my friend Chocolate also lives in this aisle, yet she usually is quite understated and quiet.  Sure she murmurs sweet nothings in my ear from time to time, yet usually Will is around during those times (I think he has a crush on Chocolate) and prefers to keep Chocolate to himself.  It's extremely rare that Chocolate will accompany me home from the store - the friendship remains distant and cordial, though she's always there for me when I need her.

Every girl loves a bad boy and Chip is my bad boy!  It seems cruel that when I have a hard time with Chip and decide to break it off, it's usually Chocolate that's there to console me instead of Perrier (of course, sometimes she's a bit too bubbly to have a around during a bad break up).

I thought I had left all this emotional angst behind me High School, but I'm starting to figure out that it may be a life long thing.  I think in the future I'd better be a lot nicer to Will, since I can clearly see that Chip hasn't aged a bit and will continue to look quite yummy for a long time yet.  At least my trips to the grocery store will never be boring.

I would eat more Tomatoes, but it turns out Tom is a fruit!  (hey, I thought it was funny).

A girdle by any other name -

These are really a 1950's version of -

Compression shorts just sound way more cool than the word 'girdle'

So it's been back at the gym for me, with the various sins of my rather enjoyable summer along for the ride.  I can't dwell on the fact that my weight loss train became somewhat derailed over the summer - all I can do is get back on the horse (or the train, if I don't want to mix my metaphors) and keep on riding (which works for both metaphors and literally, since I ride the bike at the gym).

One little nifty piece of clothing that I wear at the gym are compression shorts that I wear under my regular gym shorts.  This allows me to use the various pieces of equipment without showing anybody my underwear.  Now don't get me wrong, I'm no prude and I really couldn't care less if anyone in the gym saw my underwear, but some of the old boys might get a little bothered (whether that might be a positive or negative experience for them, I refuse to dwell upon).  The other excellent aspect of the aforementioned compression shorts, is that it helps to hold in some of the 'jiggly' areas of my body. 

Truth be told, compression shorts are really the new girdle of the new millennium.

Sometimes lycra can be a girl's best friend.

There's a company out there called Spanx that does the same thing with lycra, though it's meant to be worn under regular clothing.

of course the heels help

Compression shorts aren't trying to be a girdle, they're intended for serious athletes (or people like me who pretend to be a serious athlete).  Yet the really great part about them, when I enter the gym, which is covered on one side with floor to ceiling mirrors, my sins are somewhat camouflaged.   The compression shorts make me look better than I really am - at the end of the day it's all about self image and when you think you look good, there's a good chance that you might come back to the gym.  Thus a positive cycle is set in motion (which is this case is correct by literally and metaphorically). 

It Can't be Because I'm Getting Old!

Doesn't everybody do their shoulder presses in the ocean?

So I'm back at the gym.  Absence did not make the heart grow fonder.

As I previously blogged, I've decided to approach this process as a marathon and not a sprint.  Thus I've revamped my exercise program, alternating days with cardio and weight training.  My cardio is now a walk on the treadmill at 3.8 mph for 45 minutes, focusing more on burning fat, so I can bring the weight down and alleviate some of the pain in my knees.  The weight training is all about changing some of my jiggly bits, into less jiggly bits.  Plus there's the whole muscle burns more calories than fat thing, which is good for me, because I like to eat!

So Monday saw my first day of weight training begin.  I decided to use the machines, instead of the free weights.  I know there's a lot of pros to the free weights, but I can get in and out in just under an hour if I use the all the machines I need, and I've realized that an hour is the extent of my interest in working out. 

The club where I work out is part of a golf and country club.  The clientele, or rather members are on the whole, my age or older.  One has to reach a rather comfortable financial spot in life in order afford a membership here.  Being retired (or unemployed, but I prefer the term retired), I'm free to work out during the day, which is when the other retired people are working out too - many of them with a personal trainer.  During my time spent in the gym, I've met a few of them.  One of my favourite's is Ruth, no Ruth has to be pushing 90 years old, she's had a double mastectomy, a hip replacement and has buried three husbands (as you can tell, Ruth likes to chat).  Ruth works out every day with the attitude, if you don't use it, you loose it!

When I arrived at the gym, Ruth was working her way through the machines ahead of me with a personal trainer.  Since Ruth is less than five feet tall, the trainer has to adjust most of the machines for her stature, which means I have to adjust them for me (sans trainer).  Ruth uses the lightest weights, so I have to come along and adjust the weights upwards/heavier to achieve the resistance that I require for toning.  This went along predictably as I worked my way around the circuit untill I came to the shoulder press. 

When I had been working out the previous winter, I had not done any shoulder presses.  There were so many other problem areas on my body that required my attention and as far as I could see, my shoulders weren't jiggly.  This time around I decided to add the shoulder press, since I've enlarged my weight training process.

Thus I approached the machine, adjust the seat (after Ruth's previous height challenged state) and naturally added on more weights than Ruth was using.  I settled in, and went to raise the weights above my head ... I must have adjusted the machine incorrectly, because I couldn't really move the weights!  I got off checked everything over, but it all looked to be in good working order, plus Ruth had just used it.  I shrugged and thought well maybe I'll just take off a bit of the weight, when lo and behold ... I could just barely move it!  I had to take off almost of the weight before I could properly do my reps! 

Oh the shame, oh the ignominy!  Ruth could do more in shoulder presses than I could.

I clearly have a long way to go ...

Tuesday I was pretty stiff and sore from the new regime.  I know this will take perseverance.

Maybe I should find a 100 year old member and follow them when I weight train!

And So It Continues ...

My husband John came home from his yearly physical last week with a generally clean bill of health.  Of course there was the usual caveat about the need to lose some weight - this in turn forced me to confront the fact that over the course of the summer, I too had slowly put on a few ... maybe more than a few pounds.  I had been assiduously avoiding the scales since early July when I came within 4 pounds of loosing the thirty pounds that I had originally set out to loose earlier this year.

Let me back track a bit.

I had been quite good about going to the gym, the 5K run that I completed with Julie had been an excellent goal, but my knees were really not taking too well to the continual pounding that I was subjecting them to.  I was constantly popping anti-inflammatory aspirins.  I knew that I was too heavy to be running so much, that a wiser course of action would be to lose the weight and then start running, but I was in such a hurry to lose the weight.  I had such grandiose plans about competing in triathlons ... but you know what they say about best laid plans ...

I fell off the exercise wagon with a whimper not a bang.

I started to play golf more and more.  It's a game I enjoy and something that John, the kids and I could do together.  We generally walk the course and it's a very hilly course.  I thought I was getting enough exercise with the golf and let the gym fall by the wayside.  I was also playing hockey once a week.  I thought I had my bases covered.  I thought wrong!

Walking the course, even in the extreme heat that we had this summer wasn't much of a cardio workout.  Then after we played 18 holes, I'd be tired and we'd order pizza for dinner.  With hockey, we played at 6:45, which meant there was lots of time afterwards for pizza and beer - you can see where this is all leading ...

I put back on 10 pounds this summer, plus the muscle that I had so painfully cultivated in the gym returned to its rather nasty, jiggly state.  I'm not back at square one, but I'm not where I should be.  So it's time to get back in the saddle again. 

I had a great summer, but it's time to head back to the gym.  I've realized that this process is a marathon, not a sprint.  This time, there will be no desperate plan to lose weight, but a return to regular exercise and eating healthily in moderation.  There'll be treats here and there, since let's be honest, life has to be enjoyed too!

So stay tuned, as I continue my weight loss journey.  Maybe as I progress, I'll actually admit how much weight I really have to lose.  Let it suffice to say it's a lot.  The thirty pounds that I initally set out to lose was just the first step ... now I have many steps. 

I will do this.

Being a Nomad

Sometimes, you just have to leave ...

In another month, I'll be starting to play in a new hockey league.  This will be my fourth season playing hockey and my third league, somehow when I started to play this sport, I never envisioned that a nomadic existence would become part of the process.  

I have played on some great teams, with some incredible people.  I've forged new friendships and won championships.  I've learned new skills, as well as recognized some limitations.  In short, I've discovered so much through hockey, but what still eludes me is finding an appropriate league to play within. 

My illustrious (said firmly with tongue in cheek) hockey career began in a league called True North Hockey.  Its primary attraction stemmed from the fact that it offered adult beginner hockey.  The first half of the season was spent acquiring basic hockey skills and the second half of the season was spent playing games against other beginners in the same league.  It was an idea situation for me.  I was also lucky, in that I was placed on a team that consisted of many wonderful people.  I played in True North for two years, the arena wasn't the greatest (on one of the ice surfaces, the gates to the bench would barely open), the change room washrooms only had urinals (quite the logistical problem for a female), but what became fairly obvious fairly quickly, was that adult recreational hockey was really about the social aspect as well as about the hockey (in that order).

Regretfully, John and I had to leave the league after the conveners of the league agreed to let Jamie play with us in their summer league and then suddenly reneged on their agreement, yet refused to refund our money.  In short, they took our money, but wouldn't let him play all the games that were paid for.  In the end we were put in the untenable situation of being right, but if we protested any further our team would be penalized. 

It's a life lesson;  in that being right doesn't necessarily equate with being treated in the right way.  We couldn't teach our kids a lesson about the honour of standing by your words if we didn't live by the same tenets ourselves.  Our teammates tried to argue with the league on our behalf and did threaten to leave the league, but in the end, being right is sometimes lonely and our team chose to stay in the league whilst John and I moved on.  We knew it was our battle and not theirs, and there were no hard feelings on our part, but it doesn't lessen the disappointment that we felt in having to leave.

Luckily we landed on our feet (or skates as the case may be) in a new league called Hockey Toronto.  It was a loosely run league for low to mid level players that was suitable for my skill level.  Again we were fortunate in that we were placed on a team that coalesced well.  There was also another married couple on the team (which is rather rare in hockey) as well as another female who played while her very patient husband faithfully watched from the stands.  The six of us soon formed the core group at the bar, with the other members of the team joining in at various times. 

Like True North Hockey there were issues with this league as well.  The schedule was rarely posted more than a week ahead of time, which made it difficult to plan around with regards to work, meetings and picking up kids from work.  It was supposed to be a co-ed league, yet some of the teams didn't have any female members and at times the rosters seems to be somewhat elastic from week to week, since some teams would have highly skilled players come out to play which would result in a less than enjoyable experience for a low level player like myself.  On the whole though, I enjoyed the league and decided that it was better to accept it for what it simply was, rather than what I wanted it to be.

Unfortunately, Aaron, who is half of the other married couple on our team, as well as being a key component in our social circle (he's really good at pouring the big team pitchers that we get at Boston Pizza), had a run in with the convener of Hockey Toronto.  To be honest, I'm still confused as to what the issue might have been and since I wasn't privy to any of their conversations and interactions, it wouldn't be fair for me to comment on them.  In the end, Aaron was asked to leave the league.  Suffice it to say, I was faced with the decision of leaving with Aaron (lets be honest, John would play wherever I wanted to play) or stay with the team.  It all became somewhat similar to the song I know an old lady who swallowed a fly ...  Aaron leaving meant the his wife Meghan would leave,  Aaron and Meghan leaving meant that Leela would leave (which meant her husband Randy would leave too) since the three (+ 1) of them joined the league together.  Leela was the one that gave our son Jamie a summer internship at her company ... So job and beer pouring ... it was a simple decision - John and I decided to leave the league too.

So once the dust settled, it appears that we'll be playing in the Russell Hockey league.  I'm now under no illiusions that there won't be issues with this league too.  At least it's a league for players who are over the age of 30, which should be a bit better for us.  I'll let you know how it works out - I know Toronto is a big city, but I think I'm running out of hockey leagues ...

Practice ... I Mean We're Talking About Practice!

 One of a least 100 pictures I have of

Guinness leaping in the air to catch the ball

He's a dog who puts everything he has into chasing a ball -

every single time he goes after the ball

The other day, John, Madie and I were playing nine holes at our golf club.  The course at our club is a challenging one with narrow fairways, a great deal of water (the Don River intersects the course 14 times over 18 holes) and some challenging bunker placements.  Overall the course demands forethought and an ability to place the ball; rather than hitting it and hoping for the best (which is how I usually play the game).  But, lo and behold on the 9th hole during my approach shot to the green, from about 130 yards out, I sunk my shot!  It was a spectacular shot to an elevated green, that landed about 10 feet from the pin and promptly rolled in.  If I was a pro and it were a televised game, it would have certainly made the highlight reel!

To say the least, I was absolutely gobsmacked (such a great word, that North Americans don't utilize enough)!  Though I have to admit a great deal of luck went into the shot and I probably couldn't come close to repeating it ever again in my life.  I ended up double bogeying the hole (I know, quite the accomplishment given my final shot), due to a rather unfortunate tee shot that ended up in the river, yet even with the unfortunate score, I was quite happy, because what I think is happening, is that all my practice is starting to pay off.

I practice golf, far more than I practice hockey.  It shows in my golf game and it certainly shows in my hockey game!

Guinness, is our family dog.  He's a rescue dog whose highly attached to our family and to chasing a bright pink tennis ball.  At times, I think he'd have a hard time deciding which is the more important to him, and in my heart of hearts, I fear the tennis ball would win out (but only if it's bright pink).

Guinness is walked three times a day now.  Actually the term 'walk' is a bit of a misnomer, since the only walking that takes place is on our way to or from the park (or school grounds or beach).  Once there Guinness single mindedly chases a ball.  Oh, there are odd interruptions to take care of doggy bodily functions and he might deign to give a fellow pooch the odd sniff, but all in all, he's incredibly focused upon chasing said pink tennis ball.

He's absolutely amazing at leaping and twisting to catch the ball in mid air.  He's never been taught to do so and he's quite aware that he can remain on the ground to catch the ball, but I think he prefers the challenge of an acrobatic catch.  We use a device called a "chuckit" which is an elongated arm that holds a tennis ball and allows the thrower to gain far greater distance with their throw (another positive to this device, is that it allows the thrower to pick up the ball without touching it, an important feature with a doggy saliva soaked ball).  We throw and throw and throw ....  Guinness loves it.

Today while I was throwing the ball for Guinness I got to thinking and then to timing.  I throw a ball approximately every 30 seconds and usually we're out for an hour - which means

1 outing = 120 throws (catches and returns)  ... yes we are approximating
3 outings per day (120 x 3) = 360 throws (catches and returns)
7 days per week (7 x 360) =  2520 throws (catches and returns)
52 weeks per year (52 x 2520) =  131,040 throws (catches and returns)

OK I know there are days he doesn't get three outings, but there are other days, like on the weekend when John takes him to the beach for a couple of hours or when we go to a cottage and it lasts all day ... so I think it all works out ....

This since Guinness is 3 ... 3 x 131,040 = 393,120 throws (catches and returns).  Or 3 hours per day x 365 days per year 1095 hours per year which is 3,285 hours over Guinness' lifetime so far ...

No wonder he's good.  We're talking about a lot of practice .... now only if I could do that with my golf or hockey skills ... I'd still never be as good as Guinness is ... and I even use pink golf balls!  Maybe I should look for a bright pink hockey puck!

Always the Pylon, Never the Star

I know I am ... but what are you?

I have come to the inevitable (and probably self obvious to others) conclusion, that I'm not going to improve in my ability to play hockey.  It's been a gradual realization, made more apparent by the improvement in my golf game.  I started playing golf a year ago and I'm substantially better (don't get me wrong, nobody is trembling on the LPGA).  I started playing hockey almost 4 years ago and I'm pretty much at the same level as I was when I came out of the beginner program.

It's a simple combination of age, lack of natural ability and lack of practice.  I love the game and my attitude has never wavered - I enjoy the camaraderie, the exercise and the excitement.  I'm proud of the skills, however meagre, that I've garnered along the way.  I want to play the game, I don't want to watch it.

Playing is the crux of the matter.

Last night I played a game, in which I might as well been a pylon.  The opposing team had so many highly skilled players, that carried the puck end to end at such speed, that I might as well not even bother to be on the ice.  It was frustrating, but due to their mockery, it was embarrassing also.  One individual on their team even made disparaging remarks about my level of play when I attempted to take puck from him. 

Such a game isn't fun for me, I fail to see why it would be fun for them.

I play in a league that it supposed to be both co-ed and for the low to mid level player.  This is a recreational league, a beer league would be the best description.  It's a league where my skills belong. 

I get it why some guys want to play in low level league, so they can play with their buddies (or in my case, so my husband can play with me).  What I don't understand, is some of these better players seem to feel that they have to showcase their abilities as if the scouts from the NHL were sitting in the stands. If you're 18 years old and just out of AAA hockey, of course you're going to fly by the  49 year old premenopausal woman whose been playing for four years.  I get it the first time it happens, you're young, you get carried away, but when it's still happening in the third period and then to mock me at the same time ... well now you're just looking pathetic.

It was frustrating.  It was demoralizing.  It wasn't fun like the game is supposed to be.

In a way, I feel sorry that there are people who need to make themselves feel better, by making others look bad.  Buddy, if the highlight of your life is streaking past me on the rink, then your life is pretty small. 

I still went out afterwards and had chicken wings and beer, enjoyed the company of good friends, bitched and complained about the game and then let it go.  I got to spend the evening playing with my stepson (whose highlight of the evening is the premium beer, which he doesn't get while away at university); I then got to return to a beautiful home. to a husband I adore and my stepdaughter who will play golf with me tomorrow.  Life is good, I still won.