Humility be damned: Quest is over but the well-earned hubris continues on

And here I thought Svaroopa yoga or Reiki would top the list "novel and eye-opening experiences" during Quest.

And they're up there, to be sure. I can't say as I would have ever experienced most of what I have were it not for the Quest suggestion. I'd long considered sweat a necessary component to any wellness activity. If I wasn't out of breath and in some kind of physical pain, then I might as well be napping.

My mind has changed on that account - particularly after the saltshaker Reiki experience. Those periods of rest, stretching and body relaxing may even be more important than the grunting effort of military pushups.

But even though the Quest 10-week program game to a close on Monday, there was still plenty of novelty to experience.

Por ejemplo: this thing called "pedicure."

Never had the pleasure before. They're feet, after all, and didn't consume much thought over the years unless my socks were uncomfortably wet or there was a fishing hook stuck in my heel.

Likewise, my noggin hasn't seen the inside of a salon in darn near a decade. (Attribute that to some severe PTSD following a scarring salon experience in my early twenties.)

But the generous folks at Head Games opted to extend some services my way (the remaining three Questers, Jon, Jeff and Alex, all got the royal treatment as well, as part of the Quest for your Best program).

I hadn't expected it - but heck yea, I'll take 'em up on that offer.

We all worked our tails off (an inch and a half's worth) these last ten weeks. And I don't miss the two inches that disappeared from my thighs or the inch and a half from my waist. (I believe all lost inches have congregated at the counter of my favorite breakfast spot, sustaining themselves on hash browns and Mimosas...and periodically weeping.)

And if Head Games saw fit to reward the early-morning workouts, kettlebell swinging and hours of planks, well then, I'm not going to argue with them. My new biceps earned a new haircut.

So Tuesday I got the works - the nails and the toes and the hair. The stuff most girls consider regular maintenance.

And since I'll be missing out on the professional photo shoot this weekend, stylist Maureen volunteered to snap some photos of me post-chop.

I see now why women (and some dudes) appreciate this whole pampering thing. I admit, I walked out of there feeling pretty damn good. As in Let-My-Awesomeness-Shine good. As in Humility-Be-Damned good.

Of course, that's how it usually went after a session at The Landing.

And that's how it's been the last month, when the effects of my effort could be seen in the looseness of my jeans. When I had to poke a new hole, and then another, into a belt I bought not six months ago. When I burst from a dressing room looking for alternate sizes on the clothes racks because the mediums and larges I'd brought in with me were too big.

But still, nothing beats an unsolicited compliment like, say, the guy at the coffee shop handing over my change and saying, "Have you lost weight? You look great."

Yes. Yes I do.

I admit to some anxiety over being left to my own devices. I wonder if I'll reunite with the potatoes of my life's past. I worry that jiggle will return to my walk. But those thoughts are trumped by optimism - and the still unattained goal of beating my brother in a best-out-of-three arm wrestling competition.

Michelle Obama's going to want "Shannon Bryan arms."

Translation: I'm just getting started.

Keep your eyes peeled for the July 9 issue of Switch magazine. The Questers final "before" and "after" photos and story will be revealed then in print and here on Mainetoday.com

It's not you, it's me: A carb breakup

The 10-week quest is dang near its end - only a week and a half to go.

When the program began in April, I suspected that by the time June rolled around, I'd find myself collapsed in sweat on The Landing's floor, screaming "Mercy!" and attempting to imagine my way back to a happy place.

I thought I'd be relieved to find the effort come to an end. Freedom! Right?

Not so.

All the classes and Reiki and yoga - even that murderous Kettlebell and cardio pilates - have become a routine. Less "I have to" and more "I wanna."

I don't feel like I'm taking part in some temporary experiment. I'm just doing what I do.

An added perk, of course, are the generous folks who point to my midsection or gesture to their own faces and say, "I can tell in this area."

Yea you can. Because I've been working my arse off. And it shows.

And I think we all know who I have to thank for this. That's right. Carbohydrates.

That lovable friend that comes in so many delightful forms. That constant companion. That bloater.

I make no secret of my penchant for potato products, pasta and crackers. They're the stuff dreams are made of.

But I've loosed my co-dependent relationship. I've told them that, while I appreciate their good spirits and lively senses of humor, I think we simply spend too much time together.

And they, respectfully, have given me my space. No more unexpected visits or late-night phone calls (one drunk dial aside).

I'll never be carb-less. I find too much joy in yam fries and reheated spaghetti. Oh, and the beer.

But some small omissions make such a difference.

My coffee? Now sugarless! The downside, of course, is that bad coffee is no longer saved by sweetener. And I, apparently, make very bad coffee. It's something to work on.

Gone are the day-long grazings on chips - and gone also is the end-of-the-day puff (when I all too often wondered if someone had shrunk my pants as I worked, because "I swear they fit fine this morning").

Small changes are adding up. And I find myself flexing a lot. No bulging biceps to speak of yet, but I make sure to check hourly, just in case. And if there's a coworker or friend handy, I flex for them too. Roll their eyes they might, but I think they like it.

I'll be bummed when Quest ends - mostly because I'll miss the people. But then, we'll still run into one another red-faced, doused with sweat and near death in the middle of kettlebell.

Because I'm going to stick with this whole "fitness" thing for a while. Perhaps until I have calves that scare children. And I'd venture to say my fellow Questers are sticking with it too.

(That, my friends, is what we call life changing.)

No, it's not a portable electric fence: The BodyBugg

It's been eight weeks that I've been wearing the BodyBugg.

The small electronic contraption was first strapped to my arm over two months ago (when the picture to the right was taken. According to the pastiness of my upper body, you can see it was early spring).

Now that short sleeves are more weather appropriate, my arms and the BodyBugg get good deal more sun. And more people are able to spot it and ask, "What is that?"

Sometimes they don't ask at all - they just say things like, "Cool iPod" or "That part of your parole?"

My coworker insists it's my invisible fence. I also like to pretend it's an arm-mounted walkie-talkie and I'll speak into it when out in public.

But in truth, it measures my caloric output. I'm not privy to the details, but it has something to do with body temperature and pore size. But calorie counting is its function (though, side note to BodyBugg engineers, a small, high-powered lazer would be incredibly handy).

The Bugg comes with membership to an online program - you plug the contraption in, download the data and the online program shows you the calories you've burned.

It's actually pretty informative.

I learned I burn nearly 80 calories on my 10-minute walk to work.

I burned over 400 in the Kettelbell class.

Running three times around Mackworth: 600

Two and a half hours in a canoe: 650

I also gained the knowledge that I burn 54 calories an hour when I'm sleeping.

Thus, I burn the same number of calories during kettlebell as I would during a sweet 8-hour mid-afternoon nap. Hmm. Kettlebell or nap. Tough one,

Through the course of this Quest program, the BodyBugg and I have gotten to know each other pretty well. That happens when you spend so much time with together.

I learned that he digs cribbage, but is prone to cheating. I've also learned not to call him out on it (he also has quite the temper and won't hesitate to plunge a cribbage peg in your forearm should you question his scoring).

He's a lightweight, too. He'll buy all the drinks, sure, but you'll end up carrying him out by the strap after he insults everyone in the joint and passes out on the bar.


With summer impending, I'm a little relieved to be nearly finished with the BodyBugg experience. I don't need a semi-permanent outline of the thing burnt into my bicep. But it's been an interesting contraption.

If you're interested in a BodyBugg yourself, check out www.bodybugg.com