2007-11-23 14:22![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
digitaldiscipline
digitaldisciplineSo, the fitness trainer that serves our office was in to do body fat caliper tests, and I'd managed to secure a spot, because, as has been detailed previously, I don't think our Tanita scale can be trusted in that regard.
Boy, was I fucking right about *that.*
Three years ago, when K & I joined Lifestyles, as part of our welcome package, we both did the hand-held electro-resistance test, which said I was at about 23%. Seemed reasonable, since I'd done a lot of ass-sitting and not much ass-busting during my time in New Orleans, New York, DC or Pennsylfuckingvania (weekly (or less-oft) dancing at the club, the occasional helping hand when someone needed a body or bit of furniture moved).
Over the last thirteen months, having left LFF for my own self-directed workouts (which means, basically, giving up the entertainment of spin class and the eye candy in exchange for a little more money in my pocket and less driving). Like a diligent little gym rat, I put together a spreadsheet to track how I'm doing on the scale and with the tape measure, and some progress was made - about 20 pounds down, an inch here, half an inch there, etc - but the body fat number on my scale never went very far - it'd hang around 21, the occasional dip to 19, whatever.
So, the crazy lady (anyone who does triathlons is crazy) whipped out her calipers, pinched here and pinched there, jotted some numbers, consulted her tables, and laid it on me.
14.4%
Well, boy howdy, I feel a whole fucking lot better about myself and all the effort I've been putting in.
Boy, was I fucking right about *that.*
Three years ago, when K & I joined Lifestyles, as part of our welcome package, we both did the hand-held electro-resistance test, which said I was at about 23%. Seemed reasonable, since I'd done a lot of ass-sitting and not much ass-busting during my time in New Orleans, New York, DC or Pennsylfuckingvania (weekly (or less-oft) dancing at the club, the occasional helping hand when someone needed a body or bit of furniture moved).
Over the last thirteen months, having left LFF for my own self-directed workouts (which means, basically, giving up the entertainment of spin class and the eye candy in exchange for a little more money in my pocket and less driving). Like a diligent little gym rat, I put together a spreadsheet to track how I'm doing on the scale and with the tape measure, and some progress was made - about 20 pounds down, an inch here, half an inch there, etc - but the body fat number on my scale never went very far - it'd hang around 21, the occasional dip to 19, whatever.
So, the crazy lady (anyone who does triathlons is crazy) whipped out her calipers, pinched here and pinched there, jotted some numbers, consulted her tables, and laid it on me.
14.4%
Well, boy howdy, I feel a whole fucking lot better about myself and all the effort I've been putting in.
