#acupuncture

Fitfy:  fin

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Well, it’s happened…my odometer has rolled over.  Today is the start of my sixth decade of good fortune and ridiculousness that I’ve trademarked as my life.

While I don’t know what my fifties will bring to me, I spent last year course correcting myself after reflecting back on my first five decades during the timeframe between the holiday and my birthday.  Realizing I’d spent too much time investing in things I can lose – job, relationships and wealth – with little control at the end of the day, I committed to spending the year brushing up my favorite human.

Or, who I realized should have been my favorite human and really wasn’t.

I don’t want to dwell on the pursuit/reward cycle I’d caught myself in, unawares.  I wasn’t happy to call myself on being trapped in that unfulfillingso-called lifecycle.  I can acknowledge that I slipped innocently enough into it, having ended a relationship, slogged through career transitions, physical injuries and retethered my base of operations back in my fabulous hometown of Portland, OR over the prior five years.

But it was time to get back to a life lived with a more massive modicum of intent.

Resetting lifestyle and fitness expectations from the far outdated ideals, habits and even rituals of my renegade bachelor 30s and 40s and find an equanimity with those expectations that would provide me emotional and physical stability in this late-middling part of my life.

Fitfy.

I’d reached late December feeling accomplished, having deconstructed a lot of the fitness patterns that led to repetitive injuries.  How boring those quickly become.  Having healed up and sustained, I had found a fairly functional regimen that was private, not going to the gym was providing a sense of accomplishment vis-a-vis home workouts and stair running.

Diet was a part of that accomplishment, plenty of treat-eating and reasonably balanced meals of salads, grains and protein.  Nowhere perfect or sufficiently sustained to declare victory, but definitely a good tragectory.

I should have known that the ingrown toenail I complained about at the start of the year was just a harbinger of obstacles to come.

I awoke one day after that had cleared itself with a tender and throbbing big toe.  Walking was a less than graceful exercise in ambulatory necessity.

I assumed I had kicked my table the prior night on a hazy trip to the head.  I’m not quite familiar enough with my new digs to make my usual nightly zombie bathroom walk without running into something.

Each way.

Getting through my 6-8 miles of daily walking at work was struggle enough, stairs were out.  At least for the week.

This past and final week started with me uneating at 4 am on my way to the MAX stop on my way to work.  Barfing on the streets of Old Town very early on a Sunday morning – or very late on a Saturday night – like a drunk white girl.  How humiliating.

Plus, I missed a day of work.

Two days of eating anything other than crackers and soda water basically had emotionally landed me here

Of course, I mention it to my substitute needle man that week.  

The disturbance in my gut.

My idiomatic toe injury.

Of course, I’m typical, snarky Xtopher when I tell her.

“I dunno.  I’ve got, like gout or something.”

“That does look a bit like gout, you should talk to your PCP about it”, she says, all too chipperly.

I miss my regular Needle Man.

I email my PCP when I get out of the office and he replies with the doctor-equivalent of, “Nah”.  You could probably interpret a fairly accurate amount of disdain for eastern medicine in his reply, but at least it’s back to being just another unconfirmed trauma in my life.

Plus, a couple days later and acupuncture has done its hoodoo magic and I’m back to 85-90% big toe function.

But I’m not self-soothing with junk food and booze like I had previously when injured.  That’s a good outcome for a year of inwardly focused intentions.  My injured physical self wasn’t adversely affecting my mental self.  

I was just injured, not physically depressed, and that injury wasn’t bleeding into my mental state.  

I’m still about 10 lbs heavier than I want to be, but it’s no longer driving me to punish myself.  And during the last couple of physically busted up weeks, I’ve legitimately held steady at the same weight.

That’s actually a fine place to set off on this fresh year and decade.

Imperfectly satisfied.

Who really saw that coming?  

Fitfy:  “Cheers, bitches.” <dumbbell drop>

Fitfy:  fin

Fitfy 49:49

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Well, I guess this would be my golden post? 49 weeks into my 49th year…

Some different things have been going on lately, too.  It’s been kinda nice to experience these last few weeks of the Galby existence.

I’ve been pretty consistent about exercise recently, pulling off a steady three workouts per week.  My shoulder tried to register its complaint initially, but slow and steady got me through my ramp up without actually re-injuring myself.

A while back, I also commented that I needed to start getting my legs more involved in my workouts.  I wasn’t sure how to effectively integrate this opportunity into my home-based exercise regimen, until it hit me:  stairs.

Talk about two bird(leg)s with one stone.  I’m running 30 flights of stairs three times a week as part of my regimen.  30 flights up, 30 flights down.

Running.

That carrot my acupuncturist dangled a while has actually inspired me to find a way to re-incorporate my favorite form of exercise back into my routine.  Little warning twinges from my foot and knee reminded me to take it easy at first.  Warming up to the fresh movements after a three year absence with 10 flights initially allowed my grumpy old joints to get accustomed to the idea of this repetitive motion again.  Taking the stairs has actually been less stressful than plain old road running.

At the end of the day, I’m feeling great about this addition to my routine.  It provides that ballistic movement to my exercise once again.  I finish my workouts feeling like I’ve accomplished something.  Not just getting sweaty, but also shaking off some of the mental drama of my day.  Stuff that would have carried through with me to bedtime is just gone.

Once again.

This is the part of running that I missed most. The piece that retiring from running most significantly impacted me, the mental benefit of this physical fitness.

I’ve missed it so.  

Happy Galby.

Seriously.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m still the grumpy guy I’ve always been, but I find my grumpiness has more perspective now.  

Or, again.  

Whatever.  

That’s helpful, like I said, less important stuff doesn’t remain with me.  I’m clearer about what actually bugs me and can focus better on more significant frustrations…hopefully in order to actually be able to effect change.

All while quitting soda and significantly curbing my caffeine intake.

And no one died.

It happened quite by accident.

I was out of soda and it was cold, so I remained out of soda.  

People were getting sick around me at work, so I started hydrating at work instead of grabbing a soda or coffee to drink absentmindedly.  

After a few days, I didn’t want soda.  I found myself at the grocery grabbing some bullshit hipster bubble water to satisfy my carbonation craving instead of grabbing a Diet Coke.  Bad news for Coke stockholders, good news for me.

Before I knew it, I was five days in without coffee or soda.  On my days off, of course I indulged in my weekly coffee time with the Silver Fox.  Walking away from that with the thought, “Two days a week for coffee ain’t bad”, which was all the impetus the universe needed to dangle temptation in front of my nose.

It came in the offer of coffee from a co-worker.  I love the message that I take away from offers like these, that I’m not an entirely evil boss.  If someone that reports to me wants to take me out for coffee?  I take that as a good sign.

Way better than someone that reports to me simply wanting to take me out.

Of course, I accepted – albeit with the admonishment to not spend their hard earned money on me.  Hey, that’s still only coffee three days a week.  It’s an average I’ve been able to stick to, too.  At most, three times a week.  It makes coffee a reward versus a ritual.  That’s a good thing, in my book.

Also, sorry to you people with money in coffee stock.

But wait…there’s even more!

I was eating well, too. Don’t worry, that couldn’t possibly last.  But it’s – once again – pretty much due to me being out of food and it being cold.

For those of you keeping track, the cold has officially dealt me a triple whammy:

1) no soda

2) ran out of healthy food

3) you should see my Double Oh C recycling.  “Out Of Control” is the Chrisenese to English translation you were looking for there, BTW.

But I’ve come off of that week-plus of solid healthy eating with a sense of moderation when approaching things like hamburgers or pizza.  That ain’t bad.

All this led up to two solid days of exertion when I moved last week.

Alone.

Naturally.

My family were all out of town at the ‘Phew’s basketball thingy.

The Fox was helping his some move, and also being sick.

So I just did it.

I am a SNOB, after all…Society if Native Oregon Born.  Home of Nike, so I just do it, naturally.

Hush, Diezel.

Bed?  Moved.

Sofa?  Moved.

Bookcases?  Moved – or sold.  The new place is slightly smaller.

Dresser?  Moved.

Ok, that last one was a bitch.  But, just done.

After all that, I expected to hurt.

For a while.

But I just didn’t.

I’ll chalk that up to doing a lot of little good things for myself consistently.  And that’s what this year has largely been about.  That and accepting my present physical situation for what it is and fixing what I reasonably can while accepting – forgiving – what I can’t.

Honestly, there’s still room to fix or improve.  And I will.

But The Brazilian made another guest appearance in my life the other night, and when he complimented my butt…I didn’t correct him!

“Alex, I’ll take Self Acceptance for priceless, please” – Me!

I can live with this.

Fitfy 49:49

Fitfy 49:39

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Missed these little check-ins from the final year of my fifth decade?

Fret not, they’ve not been pushed far from the front of my mind…they are only a trip past my bathroom mirror away, as a matter of fact.  But, this final week of the third quarter of this trip around the sun for me seemed like a good time to check-in again.

First some obvious accountabilities:  exercise and diet.

Exercise:

I’ve quit my gym.  That may not seem like anything but a big step backward, but I think it’s not.  Sure, this was initially a financial decision, the money I spent on gym membership could be better spent on wine, after all!  

I kid.

What I came to realize, though, was that at this time in my life, lifting weights was problematic.  More of a tether or a crutch for my old fitness mindset of recreating or restructuring my physical self…making it into something it’s not.

I have some 4-25 lb dumbbells at home that I can use for a variety of toning exercises when the mood hits.  Overall, that’s what I want to rediscover: tone.  My arms were as thick as my neck in my 30s – don’t get excited, I’ve been called pencil neck before. My chest and ankle measurements might make you wonder if my “father” was, in fact named Frankenstein.

What happens to that forced physique when you stop feeding it iron plates is not pretty.  Over the past three months, as I’ve changed my exercise regimen up – mostly changed it to “rest” – is that those muscles have softened.  My chest does not have as much in common with a 35 year old man as it maybe does with a 50 year old woman.

And that’s ok…for now.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want either of those racks.  But it’s a stop on the way to slimming down.

So, what’s this new regimen?

It’s more intense cardio based, as far as structured exercise goes.  Spin class.  God bless RevoCycle and the Filipina Fox for getting me back into spin!  I really love it…it’s prohibitively expensive, so I’ve been on a little break for the last few weeks, but the time commitment vs results impact is exactly what I want as I try to return to a slimmer silhouette overall.

The remainder of what I’ve been doing outside of mini weight workouts at home and spin class is lifestyle exercises.  Things designed not to get me out of the house and into the gym, but rather to get me out of the house and outside.

Hiking, mostly.  I live in the Pacific Northwest…God’s Country.  I have 40 miles of trails in Forest Park, a quick two mile urban hike away.  I live on Park Ave – between 8th and 9th St in Portland’s Alphabet District.  My stretch of Park is between Everett and Flanders – do not  stalk me…you’d be gravely disappointed.  Forest Park has an entrance at about 28th and Thurman.  That’s 14 blocks over and 19 blocks up.  

Easy.

Until you see this, anyway.

We all need a little touch up now and then, eh?  That’s what this year-long theme is about!  But I found an alternate entrance a few blocks further up the hill and have had myself a couple of nice 10 mike hikes over the last few weeks.  It rained almost all of last week, but today on my weekend agenda…yeah!  More hiking!  

Now…

Diet:

Ugh.

Remember, what I didn’t want to do was overcorrect here and go radical self-deprivation by only allowing myself chicken and broccoli for dinner.  That usually leads to chicken and broccoli for most lunches, too.  And that leads to Unhappy Xtopher.

Also, I didn’t want to not drink.

I wanted to eat real food, have real junk food and get my drink on when I wanted to.  Be that when hanging out with friends or doing a little self-soothing after work.

I’d say the one thing my diet is missing right now is protein.  In eschewing chicken, I’ve become cognizant of the fact that I’m not chewing enough of anything that used to be alive.  Almonds, peanut butter, lunch meats and tuna ain’t cutting it.

Non-Dad-Bod Xtopher needs some red meat.

Shut up, Diezel.

Other than too much pasta in my diet, I’ve been happy with my intake.  Oddly, I’ve found myself craving kale lately.  I should definitely give into that, I bet my body is feeling less nostalgic than it’s actually trying to tell me it needs something.

My alcohol consumption is steady, I know you were worried.

I find that my drinking has become less…binge-y and more consistent.  Neither in a bad way.  When I was drinking before, I’d drink for several hours, ignoring the fact that I was setting records with how many drinks I could consume in an hour.

I’ve gone from drinking 2-3 drinks an hour for several hours to drinking 2-4 drinks a night.  Maybe I drink 5-6 nights a week versus 3-4 nights a week, but I’m not waking up groggy after and I find myself deciding to have another beer versus just giving into habit or simply being handed one by an attentive bartender.

All this came to the front of my mind during last week’s acupuncture appointment.  My Needle Man had been diagnostically probing my abdomen and when he was done, instead of quickly pulling my shirt back down and making a comment about covering my shame, I began absent-mindedly playing my belly like a drum.  He smirked at me and when I realized what I’d been doing, smiled sheepishly and apologized.

He made a comment about enjoying seeing such self-acceptance in today’s body shaming culture.  Someone just innocently enjoying their body without realizing it – literally, in my case, he said – was refreshing.

I told him that I planned on enjoying my body in not so innocent ways later, which gave us both a chuckle.  That may sound a bit depraved to you, but we talk about my sex life almost as often as we talk about my digestion.

If we’re gonna talk shit, nothings off the table.  Plus, there’s a couple of treatments he does that have a great reproductive side effect.  It may not be strictly necessary in my case, but that doesn’t mean it still can’t be appreciated!

The conversation eventually led to – well, directly led to – how self-acceptance was kind of the theme of 2017 for me.  I described how nothing I did physically replaced running in my life, how I could run in the rain but cycling and hiking in the rain were no-goes for me.

“Why don’t you run anymore?”

So, I gave him the back story and then short-handed it to “bone density issues in my lower legs”.

I’ll short-hand his response to “There’s a needle for that”.

Me:  Do not get my hopes up.

Not at all, he told me, cautioning me that it will take time and be something I have to build up to, but there’s probably no reason I shouldn’t count on running again.

So, as I enter the last quarter of this Fitfy (mis)adventure, I find myself looking forward to an unexpected and welcome gift for my 50th birthday…an evening jog to close out my work day.

It’s just what I wanted.

Fitfy 49:39

I’m A Hypochondriac…

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Kinda.

It’s hypochondria, but in a cute way.  For my own amusement, really.  It’s like a non-fatal version of The Red Shirt Diaries.  Just a little mental entertainment.

Am I secretly an only child?  Someone who grew up as part of a brood shouldn’t really have developed this idiosyncratic inner realm of self-sufficient entertainment.

Maybe I imagined my siblings as part of this rich (now semi) private head-world I retreat to.  Do you think my parents just play along with it?

“Humor him.  He might be dangerous.” – The Parentals

More likely, this is all the fault of the prophet Bill Murray and HBO.  One too many viewings of What About Bob during my delayed onset formative years.

Too much hair in my sink?  Alopecia. 

Stiff neck?  Cancer, obviously.  This is actually happening right now.

Gastric distress?  Norovirus.  No way that it could be too much garlic in last nights dinner…

But at the same time, those self-diagnoses have created some interesting ironic moments in my doctors office.

I say interesting, he says, “Stop googling symptoms and just come into the office”.

I don’t know why he’s such a killjoy.

Well, maybe one or two for instances come to mind…

Like the time I had self-diagnosed with shin splints.  I’d been increasing my running after making myself single again in an attempt to rid myself of the dreaded Relationship Body.  Somewhere in there, my mind decided I was at that age where I needed to dip my toe into the realm of Extreme Sports, as people do as they age.  Nothing crazy like the Iditarod…just the Seattle Marathon.  

Having been (note the tense…foreshadowing!) a lifelong runner, I just decided to gradually lengthen the duration of my runs.  Some training plan, eh?  It was that increased training intensity that led me to attribute my lower leg pain to shin splints.

Power through, bucko…just a few weeks left and then you can back off.

Or, y’know, mention it to your totally self-absorbed doctor during your annual check up.  I hadn’t planned on it, I was just so caught off guard when he asked me about me during my appointment that it just sort of came out.

Like premature ejaculation.

Literally, since he followed up with, “How long has this been going on?”

“About a month…maybe six weeks?  But I just assume it’s normal with the extra training.” AKA: it happens to everyone.

And just like that awkward sexual encounter, my running life was over.

“Call this guy and make an appointment.  And for gods sake, stop running.”

Me:  

Him:  You fractured your tibia.  You’re retired from running.  Find some other way to exercise.

Me:  <puts gun in mouth>

But I’ve written about that struggle in other blogs.  Go find it if you’re that curious.  

Then there was that time that I’d followed orders and not googled my symptoms.  Just meandered across the intersection and into the office.  

It’s really great when you live diagonally across the street from your doctors office.

I mean, no reason for google.  It was just a cold I couldn’t shake.  But it was terrible:  headaches, snot, fever.

“Do you have allergies?”, he asks like he doesn’t have my entire medical history right in front of him.

“What, are you playing solitaire on that thing?!?  You’ve been seeing me for almost a decade!  Of course I don’t have allergies.” I get cranky when I’m sick.

Crankier.

He goes on to make his case, trying to sell me on his theory.

I’m sitting there, shaking my head and thinking I got that doctor that finished last in his class.

Desperate for relief, I ask – for the sake of argument – what the treatment would be for allergies.  Maybe there would be some benefit even from the wrong medicine.

Him:  I’ve already sent some prescriptions to your pharmacy.

Smug bastard.

Turns out, I have allergies.

So, maybe he wasn’t the worst student in his med school class.

That doesn’t mean that that pain in my knee wouldn’t be better served by my insurance company approving knee replacement as an elective surgery.  Acupuncture is working just fine at reducing the pain and increasing functionality, but, c’mon…it’s just delaying what is obviously the inevitable.

To a recreational hypochondriac, anyway.

I’m A Hypochondriac…

Missed Poopertunity!

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There I am this morning, tapping out a blog entry on my way to work.  Part of my effort to do something productive on my way to work instead of getting sucked into the Facebook.  Granted, it was about poop, but still…I never said my MAX Blog Challenge entries couldn’t be frivolous.

The challenge of writing on a deadline is that you may miss the opportunity to really reflect on your topic and make the most of the opportunity.

Case in point…or two.

I’m unusually triggered by things in my day to day life that pull me back to the pop culture of my past.  Or, the advertising campaigns of my past, I’m not sure those would fall under the pop culture umbrella.

I say “jinkies” more often than is probably cool.  I’m pretty sure zero is the number of acceptable times a cool person utters jinkies.  Here I’ve done it twice now in one paragraph.

Jinkies.

I’m also unusually attracted to the absurdity – and probable 70s era unchecked misogyny – of feminine hygiene ads of my childhood.  There’s two scenarios that frequently pop into my head.  Things I rarely say aloud, but are there, bouncing around my head as potential rejoinders in conversation.

It’s ridiculous, the inside of my head.

The mother/daughter walk on the beach scenario that starts off with the daughter vulnerably asking, “Do you ever have that ‘Not So Fresh’ feeling?”

Yeah.  That went through my head when my Needle Man was peppering me with questions about my digestion.

Consistency?

Color?

Clean up?

Gassiness?

“What was that third one again?” – Me

Equally absurd is the response that makes a run for my lips when I’m asked at the beginning of each session recently, “How have you been?”

You see, I’ve been quite well.  Pain, managed.  Previously unbeknownst digestion opportunities are…solid.

So, when asked, instead of saying, “Things are great!” my brain attempts to shove the words “I can ride a horse!” out of my mouth.

Because, apparently feminine hygiene products of days gone by – I hope…if not, my apologies to any frustrated equestrians – restricted ones ability to ride astride.

Yeah, Xtopher…ask yourself what topic could possibly be less comfortable to discuss than poop; which, as I recall reading…everybody does.

Apparently, before “wings” things were a little leaky in the feminine hygiene world, making ballistic activities a little haphazard.

Nonetheless, if the products haven’t improved, at least the advertising has?

But, there I am, randomly mentally sideswiped by the urge to blurt out “I can ride a horse!” when a simple “Everything is hunky-dory” will suffice.

What?

Cool people don’t say “hunky-dory” either?

Yeah, right.

Missed Poopertunity!

My Most Poopposterous Post

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Alright.  You were warned.

I almost feel guilty writing on this topic while listening to the always classy Annie Lennox, but that’s all part of the dichotomous nature of Xtopher.

Excellent taste in music.

And…


There’s also Dad Humor!

I really am the complete package.

Seriously, though…today is my favorite day of the week.

“Monday?!?”, you ask with appropriate incredulity.

Not for me, Sundays are my Mondays.  For me, Mondays are Acupuncture Day!

“And all this has to do with poop, how?” – You.

One of the disarming things I was asked on my first – and every subsequent – appointment was “How is your digestion?”

My response was, true to Xtopher form, something along the lines of, “Good I guess. It looks different going out that going in…except corn, of course”.

On the topic of poop, that would probably be enough to cause most people to careen away from the topic.  My Needle Man, though…special breed.  

He persisted.

Consistency?

Color?

Clean up?

Gassiness?

I tried to tap out.  Poop jokes are one thing.  Serious conversations about my – ahem – digestion in a brightly lit small room – while sober! – with a stranger were strange territory for me.

More than I could…digest, you might say.

I turned, suddenly, into what many of my friends probably would pay to see:  monosyllabic and nearly mute.

He let me off the hook with a, “Tell you what, I’m gonna throw a couple points in for your digestion and we’ll talk about it next week”.  I was fine with that, not yet fully on board with the effects of acupuncture.  I was managing my own expectations around results.  

If my pain was managed:  win!  

Anything above and beyond that was gravy.

Actually, I was kind of worried that dividing the focus of his efforts would dilute the results.

Not to worry, though.  In addition to immediate lessening of my back pain, increased mobility in my knee and a bit of a draw on my plantar fasciitis, I did notice a change in my team’s performance at the super bowl.

And he hit it on the head:

Consistency!

Color!

Clean up!

Gassiness!

I was suddenly strutting around with Ass Confidence.

Here’s a recent pic of me turning to flush:

Yup.

I’ll let you off the hook with no further detail.  Suffice to say, I walk into that small, brightly lit room each week ready to talk shit.

So, in addition to the incredible pain relief I get from acupuncture, I also get a bonus:  relief from my college freshman diet.

And that makes Monday, a notoriously shitty day for everyone, my favorite day of the week.

Catch you all on the flush side.

My Most Poopposterous Post

Fitfy:  49.6

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I had this great idea for goals that would refresh my commitment to working out consistently.  I thought it would be fun to commit to five cardio sessions that matched the distance I walked at work during my five day week.  I was thinking it didn’t have to be on the exact day…my work week didn’t have to be mirrored by my cardio days.

It’d be a lark!

I mentioned it to The Silver Fox during coffee on Saturday and…he poo-pooed it!

I think it was just to prove a point.  Occasionally, he’ll get bristly when I call him things like an enabler or supportive.

I think over correcting gives him a good chuckle.

Me, on the other hand…tell me something isn’t a good idea and dollars to doughnuts, I’ll try and make my point!

Ergo, here’s what happened at work last Sunday:

The 5.5 miles walked at PDX on Sunday meant my cardio goal for the evening was another 5.5 miles on the elliptical at the gym!  Of course I needed to make a statement by ensuring at least me work and cardio weeks began on the same day.

Sure enough…stubborn Xtopher made his point.

On my way home from the gym, I couldn’t stop thinking about the pasta with Italian sausage that I was gonna dive into when I got there.

Somehow, that morphed into a can of Progresso, a bottle of wine and a half bag of Cretor’s.  What?  I was too wiped out to cook!

FML.

But…

At least I can say that 5.5 miles on the elliptical = 633 calories, and I have it on tenuous authority from Little Buddy that a bottle of wine is 620 calories…

So, there’s that.

Then on Monday, this happened:img_1856
I mean, c’mon!!!

I put a pin in that lil hurdle and took the day off from the gym.

Tuesday is acupuncture day, so ditto on the day off.  I intended to go in at my regular 6:00 am start time and leave at 1:00 that day, get to the gym by 2:00; lift, do some cardio – especially since it was only a 5.1 mile day – and then head home to shower before my 4:45 appointment.

I can have it ALL!!!

Except I forgot about a standing – particularly when I make alternate plans – meeting at 2:00 on Tuesdays.

Oy.

Fine.  Day two off from the gym…but I could make up ground on Friday and Saturday.  I mean, it’s not like I wanted to go to the gym every day.

So, Wednesday I go and knock out a nice lil 5.26 cardio sesh.  It’s like I got a point to make.

I don’t remember Thursday, although, I do know that it’s my Whine Down with The Fox to detox from my work week and get mentally prepared for my “weekend”.   The not so secret ingredient is wine.

Oh, wait…now I remember.

So, how about that Friday workout?!?

I got my lift on with a nice full body workout and then went upstairs to do some cardio.  I ended up riding out the full hour, even though that put me in between any of the remaining goals from my work days.

img_1860There was an extenuating circumstance or two…I had a celebrity look alike stretching in front of me for the last 20 minutes of my session.  The guy that plays Ryan from Quantico.

Not just stretching.

More what my dog trainer would call presenting.

Rawr.

I definitely got time for that!

Saturday, I intended a good old lather, rinse, repeat type workout – at least as far as the cardio went.  I did a full body workout with weights on Friday, so I was out for recovery on Saturday.  The Fox and I did coffee in the morning and then compared notes on the rest of our day.

Me:  errands and gym before my grandfather’s 95th birthday outing.

I needed kitty litter.

He:  off to the grocery to grab some fixins for an hors d’oeuvre he was taking to dinner that night.

I say “night”, but both of our dinners were starting early.  My family’s reservation was at 4:00, because:  95 years old eat early.  He was due at his friends’ at 3:00 so that their dogs could play around in the yard while it was still light out.

Somehow, I ended up getting a ride along for my kitty litter errand as he went to the grocery.  Oh yeah…it started raining.  Like, biblically raining.

We went to Mud Bay, got some litter – he also decided on the impulse to grab some toys for his pup.  Then we hop in the car and go after some of what I can only call…the best hummus on the planet.  I hope I didn’t undersell that.  Seriously, though…if you are in Portland, you need to get a chance to grab some King Harvest Hummus.

So good!

You can only get it at a few places.  The closest place to us is the New Seasons Market over in the Conway district.  As we walked in, they had a yoooge stack out of Juanita’s Tortilla Chips.

Great chips.

The best.

Even better are the Chilipeno flavored variety.  And they had Sweet Chili and Jalapeno, too.  Neither of which I had tried…and they were 2/$5, so…yeah, that happened.

But, I thought it might make a nice lil treat for after the gym.

Until I realized that it was really raining now.  I guess I was just kidding about it raining hard earlier.  This was a downpour!  So, I figured that I could go to the gym after my grandfather’s shindig and plus, if I went to the gym and then had a snack of chips that I can never stop eating, I would probably be too full come dinner time.

Just like I was too full at 7:30 when I got home from dinner.  I guess I conveniently failed to factor in that we were eating at The Old Spaghetti Factory.  Not exactly light fare.

But, still…27.6 miles walked – briskly, I might add – and 16.5 miles on the elliptical?  That ain’t too bad.  The Fox was right, I’m not up to matching my walking output on the elliptical yet.  Nor am I anywhere near the work/life balance getting to the gym five times in a week requires.

But there’s a goal for the next few weeks!

Fitfy:  49.6