you want me to get into…what?

“How much do you weigh?”

When I saw the tiny little two-prop Cape Air plane, I knew I would be asked that question. And, I knew I couldn’t lie. I don’t have much of an issue with telling people my weight. All winter long, if I had my ski bindings adjusted, I would have to offer up my weight to people I saw on a daily basis.

But, for the plane ride, I went a little farther with it. I stated a weight I knew to be a little higher than my actual weight. I don’t know why I felt it was necessary to add ten pounds to my figure, but I am terrified of flying, so my brain wasn’t exactly thinking all that clearly.

My brain was thinking clearly enough, however, to notice the guy behind the counter didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his eyebrows. He didn’t even look up at me. And, that’s when it dawned on me. Am I heavier than I think I am?? Do I look like I weigh that much?

way too many of these

After two weeks in the tropics drinking nothing but Painkillers (rum, orange juice, Coco Lopez, and nutmeg) and eating nothing but butter and cheese and more butter, I stated my weight for the plane ride home with much more certainty. Again, no reaction from the guy behind the counter.

I got home last night, wiped away the spiderwebs on the bathroom scale, changed the acid-encrusted batteries, and hopped on. Not only am I heavier than I thought, I am 20 pounds heavier than I thought.

I’ve already gone through the “muscle weighs more than fat” and “the guy at the airline has been trained not to react when a woman offers–nay, practically declares–her weight” arguments. Cutting to the chase, I don’t want to die.

Don’t let me fool you. I didn’t ski. I did this, mostly.

Let me circle back to this winter. I’d like to apologize for being quiet all season. At the risk of sounding like a big whiner, winter for me is intense. I work at the ski resort 40 hours a week–which includes at least two days a week getting up between 4 and 5 in the morning and I’m an owl so that just throws me off entirely. I also work on freelance up to 30 hours a week. And, I like to have social drinking time. And, I like to eat out. And, the dog needs to be walked three and four times a day. In short? You know how much I love to write, but I have my country’s 500th anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it.

Reading that last paragraph fills me with shame. Am I really complaining because I work at a ski resort and I have too much freelance work? Do I have a place to live? Yes. Do I have resources to eat? Yes. Are my loved ones mostly healthy? Yes. Am I happy and grateful? Shut up. Of course. My biggest complaint is that I’m a lazy shit sack and I eat too much. This is crazy.

Carrying on.

The ski season ended for me on April 7. (Just there, I linked last year’s end-of-season video but I think it’s so beautifully edited, I could watch it over and over.) On April 9, I hopped a plane to go sailing for my father-in-law’s birthday (it was spectacular), spent a few days in Tortola, a couple nights in San Juan.

Not allowed to complain.

At all.

And, now we’re back.

Sorry. No. I have to post just one of many pictures I took in San Juan. We stayed at the Gallery Inn and it was, in a word, amazing. My friend Caroline suggested it (and, no, Caroline, I did not get pregnant there like some people…ahem), and it was more than I even anticipated. Sculptures, amazing rooms, parrots in the building, beautiful ocean views, rooftop overlooking the city, crazy spooky old building, and nobody there.

I can report that since I started this blog, even though I haven’t been writing, I have gotten my strength back, mostly from walking the dog up the side of a mountain every day and skiing almost every day. Whenever I could walk, I would. I walked to work. I walked to meetings in other buildings. I guess that’s about it, but when you live on the side of a mountain, everything is uphill. Both ways. Oh my god it sucks.

eggamuffin and coke

But, my diet? That’s another thing. I survived on eggamuffin sandwiches, BBQ potato chips, and bourbon. Every now and then, I would eat a salad, but only if it was smothered in cheese. Even the occasional yogurt would be full-fat vanilla yogurt, aka pudding.

My body is just plain weird now. The good stuff: My butt is no longer attached to the backs of my knees. My calves have some nice definition. My thighs are rock hard. (Oh, that just triggered a memory. I went to see a friend play some music in Portland a few weeks ago and after a few drinks I was convincing everyone to squeeze my thighs. Then, I would go, “Hard. Am I right?!” I’m obnoxious.)

But but but, my top half? Jesus. It’s a mess. My midsection continues to grow and I have no strength in my arms–I couldn’t haul myself onto a kneeboard last week. The easiest watersport ever and I couldn’t do it. I also couldn’t work a standup paddleboard–I’ve even used those before. I know how they work. But, nope. No strength in my core; no strength in my arms.  I look like the hanker for a hunka cheese guy. My muffin top has a muffin top.

So, even though my lower-body strength is entrenched in the plus column, my weight remains decidedly on the plus side. (Heh. You like that play on words? It’s good, right? No?)

Today, I did a few things. First, I got on the elliptical. I figured I’d be good for about 10 minutes since I haven’t set foot on that thing since last fall. I was on it for 30 minutes and could have continued for another 15-20, no problem. So, yay for me.

Second, I signed up for Weight Watchers. I don’t plan to follow the program to a T, so I know I won’t lose 50 pounds or whatever–for instance, I don’t intend to stop drinking alcohol, although I will stay away from Painkillers for a very long time. I like the program because it totally taps into the gaming/OCD side of me. I want to fill in all the blanks and earn all the points and use the points I have. I don’t need, nor want, the meetings, the daily affirmations, and the “atta girl” stuff. But, checking off the little drinking water tabs and filling in my workout? I am just dorky enough to LOVE that.

Honestly, Phippsburg. Waterfalls now?

Third, after an hour-long walk through the woods around Sprague Pond (Phippsburg, you are such a delight), groom and I joined the YMCA. The Bath Y is freaking incredible with an indoor track, racquetball courts, a pool, etc. I’m not a confident swimmer, never actually having learned as a child, so I plan to take a swimming lesson this week. I need to get my face in the water. Even though I loved snorkeling and thrashing around in the ocean these past couple of weeks, I just…I don’t like being in the water sometimes.

But, I think I’d like to try to swim for exercise. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that before, so we’ll see if I actually do it.

Tomorrow, I’ll take a few laps on the indoor track at the Y and hop on the bicycle. I recognize neither of those will do anything for my upper-body strength, but whatever. Baby steps.