Tipping the scales: Two weeks obese

Boy am I glad I didn't fake my own abduction and bolt north to yonder Canadian foothills this morning. Not that it isn't a swell idea. But if I'd spent the a.m. manufacturing a crime scene I would have missed out on some delightful news.

Fridays are weigh-in days - the scale being the single blemish on an otherwise fine day of the week. Last Friday I discovered I'd gained a half pound. No sweat. No celebration either.

This morning, I lost nearly that half pound.

So what I'm saying is, I'm exactly where I started two weeks ago.

Fine. I'm not going to cry about it. At least not until I get to work and can duck into the supply closet like a respectable person.

Instead Catherine set we four Questers (no Rachel today, she's in NY) up on a circuit. First stop: push ups with an elevated lower body. And bent knees. Bent knees make it easier.

There were squats and curls and medicine balls in there too - enough to fatigue seemingly every muscle in my body after the first pass. But let's go 'round again just for good measure.

Rough work, it was. But it was still sweet to watch folks walk by The Landing windows while we worked out - and yell things like, "I'm strengthening my quads and finding a connected, happy place wherein my mind is at peace and the world's negative energy is repelled. Oh, but you got a breakfast sandwich, so I guess we're even."

After class, Catherine decided to measure my body fat percentage once again (the first time, two weeks ago) had revealed I was 31.7% fat. One-third fat. Even more disconcerting, the percentage that classifies an individual as "obese" is 30%. In case you're not putting this together, I was dumbfounded to find myself in that category.

I get that no one ever asks me what gym I go to - or if I can help open a stuck lid on a jar of peanut butter. But obese? Pshaw! I don't shop at big lady stores and I fit quite comfortably into the coach seats on any given airplane.

But there it was.

For two weeks I lived as an obese person. For two weeks no one really believed me. That might be because of that whole "I'm the heir to the Newman's Own fortune" lie I was busted in a few months back. Or it could be because our understanding of "obese" is, well, bigger. There's nothing subtle about the word - or the implication.

That stint is over though, since Catherine measured me this morning. Today: 29.2%. Obese no mo'. I'll remember the time fondly, however. Look of the memoir next summer.

I suppose losing 2% body fat in 14 days ain't nuthin' to sneeze at. If I keep this up, I'll be batting off Canadians with a stick. And isn't that what we all really want? To hit Canadians with sticks?

It's on now. In a "taking it off" kind of way

It was cosmic, really, how this whole Quest thing came together.

I'd no sooner stood up determinedly at my office desk and declared "That's it. Sloth is out. I'm heading to the gym to renew my membership," when my colleague Karen told me to wait. "Don't renew it just yet. We're working on something with Head Games and The Landing - and you may be involved."

And by "involved" she meant really involved. As in Bodybugg, gyrokinesis and strangely named yoga involved. She meant heading to training sessions at very early hours.

But hell, I wasn't about to turn down ten weeks of personal training. Not that I thought I was that poorly off. I did run (read: jog slooowly) the Beach to Beacon 10K a mere eight months ago.

And I've been moderately active this winter, what with the occasional Hash House Harriers run, a Snowman Adventure Race (complete with costumes and East End sled) and many, many walks to the coffee shop (ahem - next door).

Even still, with those nearly forgotten accoutrements of summer looming - those arm amplifying tanks and those pastey-leg revealing shorts - I conceded that some toning might be in order.

Imagine my surprise then, when I stepped on the scale at The Landing for the first time in - well, long enough - and was greeted with a three-digit number I couldn't comprehend.

Those red digits flashed like the lights on an emergency vehicle. A tiny "alert! alert!" blinking there at the tips of my feet.

"I'm sorry," I said. "What?" I asked if the scale was displaying in ounces.

It wasn't.

I won't even get into the body fat percentage. Let it suffice to say that, while I accept that obesity is an issue in these parts, I never thought it'd be an issue in MY parts. But it is.

So there's that. What started as an unambitious tag-along project (following the four Quest for your Best program participants) has become an earnest crusade of my own.

A crusade that focuses on health and wellness, of course, but also on ensuring my back end isn't an exact replica of your average IKEA dining table.

We five Questers have been plugging along for a week and a half now. On Thursday a few of us took a gyrokinesis class (aka dancer's yoga). The stretch pictured above was one of the many movements I shocked my body with (bowl not included). My spine was altogether delighted to be extended in such a fashion, seeing as it spends most of its time bent over keyboards, books and sandwiches.

My body thanked me at weigh-in number one: A recorded weight loss of absolutely nothing. Even better, I gained half a pound. Sweet.

And the squats go on.