And I lost 1kg. ONE KILOGRAM.
Ok. It's okay, I thought to myself. I feel leaner, surely I must have put on a shitload of muscle over the last 2 months and that's why I'm having trouble cutting. My arms are bigger, my quads are bigger, my backside is bigger. That's what's going on here. For fuck's sake I swear I could almost see abs.
So I scheduled an appointment for a BIA to confirm this. I figured if my body fat percentage is down and I've put on muscle then I'll just hang at 75kg and forget about cutting.
What I found out is that I'm just fat. Fatter than I was before I started cutting.
DID YOU HEAR THAT RP? MY BODY FAT PERCENTAGE WENT UP ON CUT THREE. Please feel free to go fuck yourself.
This means two things.
1. I definitely can cut to 72kg because I am definitely fat enough.
2. I definitely ate my weight in Christmas cookies this weekend because I am amazing at self-sabotage.
I'm fairly certain that the 1kg I lost is back and brought 2 or 3 of it's friends to the party. Because that's how I roll. 3 weeks to lose 2.2#, 4 days to gain 8. Nobody gets fat as well as me. Nobody.
Ridiculously easy to see. From space.
Fuck. Now I have to make a decision. Do I get back on that horse and try to whittle myself down to 72kg over the next 4ish weeks with a super low carb, high protein, modified fluid manipulation, joyless soul-sucking cut? Or do I just try to get myself back together so I don't actually become 84kg (the ceiling for the next weight class).
A healthy non-cookie-related snack.
Goddammit. Nothing but meat, protein powder, kale, and fucking sorrow for the next 4ish weeks.
And I'll probably Be 72.1kg on the scale. Or 84.1, because dieting makes me fat.
HAVE I MENTIONED RP CAN GO FUCK ITSELF?
And I was feeling so positive about it, all strong and stuff. I hit a 200# back squat on Thursday after finding out that I'm fat. So that was cool.
I'm told strong is sexy.
Ugh. Now I have to do cardio. I have to eat chicken breasts and kale and drink protein shakes and do cardio.
So I can be like this bitch.
I don't think she has the right size shorts on.
She doesn't have enough legs and ass for these shorts.
I guess January is for suffering, right? I'm just starting a little ahead of schedule. January is cold and bleak. I can eat cold and bleak and do cold, bleak cardio for a month or so. Probably.
Last week was strange. Aside from hitting my 200# squat it was sort of garbage. Not only did I find out that I'm fat, I had my neck and back adjusted last Monday. I've only ever seen one chiropractor in my life (Historically I've been wary of chiropractors, though I will say my previous one was very helpful) but he didn't crack my back. Sadly, he moved away. I've been lifting heavy lately and thought maybe I should line someone else up in case my back goes south again (I have scoliosis, my back goes out periodically). So I had a consultation with someone new. The first time for back cracking? Also the last time. I'll probably go back to side-eyeing chiropractic. Everything was fine for a few hours, and then it all went to hell in a hand basket.
It started with my balance going to shit. I couldn't stay in a crescent lunge at yoga that night. I couldn't hold my arms up above my head for more than a few seconds. About 10 minutes into class it was like showers of sparks were flowing down my spine and my right arm. The spark shower continued even when I stopped moving, all the way home in the car. That night I developed deep shooting pains from my low back down my glutes and hamstrings.
Lotta shit goes on up and down the spine.
I spent all week sleeping for shit and every lifting session came with some new neuralgia. I couldn't deadlift because it hurt too much. Sparks, burning, numbness, headache...and after one heavy session my hand shook off and on for about 30 minutes. Heat helped some while the heat was applied, ice made it worse, and when my husband tried to work on the section of my back that was most locked up? I cried. I don't do that. Cry. It's not my thing.
Finally, I was able to sweet talk my way into a prescription for cyclobenzaprine. I say sweet talk, because providers never want to write pain meds for me. I don't know if it's because I ask for drugs by name (I'm a pharmacist, yo, what am I supposed to do...pretend I don't know what shit is for?) or because my "excruciating pain" face looks pretty much like my regular face. Sorta pissed off. Maybe I look like a seeker. A shitty one, because I never score.
Just a few Flexeril, bro, that's all mama needs.
Still, I got what I needed and after a few days of solid, muscle-relaxer-induced sleep I feel almost normal. Just a little bit of a twanging sensation across my right shoulder remains, but I was able to run without inducing pain or sparks so that's positive. Later today I'll put a barbell on my back and see what happens. I'm hopeful.
I need to be in tip-top shape so I can torture myself really, really effectively with chicken, kale, and cardio.
If I get fatter doing cardio, lifting, and eating nothing but meat and veggies do you think I could get written up in a medical journal? Because that has to be impossible, right?
We're gonna find out.
Oh, also I did my roots...toning went better this time but it did get a teeny bit purple. Also I might have melted some of my hair off. Just a little bit, though.
Closer to white blonde than before.
Also, my nose is really long. Wow.
Tossing around the idea of dyeing it silver, but I can't decide if it'd look edgy or if I'd just look old.
Would it look like this?
Or more like this?
I mean, I fully expect to look like Bea Arthur in about 25 years. About the same height, similar build, similar face, same general sense of dude-ness. It's cool. I'd probably skip the shoulder pads, but it was the 80s, no judgement on my girl Bea. It could be worse...I'm just not looking to go there right this second.
It's veggie time. Except not potatoes or carrots because too many carbs. I can't wait to go back to dieting. I love dieting.