As predicted, I did NOT make it for a whole week on the uber-punishing maple syrup lemonade detox. My heart simply was not in it. However, I DID make it through two days of the stuff, and then transitioned into three days of only eating fresh fruit and steamed veggies (no seasoning, no olive oil, no nothin’! — that’s commitment!). Much as I love my veggies, I was pretty burned out on steamed zucchini at the end of three days — but I DO feel good about leaving the caffeine behind (ugh, again…), and I do feel detoxed. Er, rather, I DID, until I, once again, found myself making those damn carrot cake muffins! I can’t stop! It’s a compulsion! I must must must perfect the recipe, and I simply haven’t been satisfied yet. Also? Jon, my Cape Town GBF, has been around a ton since his hubby is away for several weeks. Which means: certain debauchery (read: going over my calorie limit and also indulging in a glass or two of wine) and rabble-rousing (read: laughing so loudly that it’s almost embarrassing). He’s fabulous for my soul, but not so much for the ol’ diet. And oh gawd, and don’t even get me started on Sarah’s baking projects this last week (for her mother’s birthday). I’ll just say that it ALL adds up to potential ruination, and goes totally counter to the spirit of the detox — but, as Laura will likely argue, binging is nearly inevitable after sustained deprivation.

Having spent the last two months dieting and detoxing, my conclusion is that dieting, my friends, is freaking HARD. I looooove food. Love it. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, dessert dessert dessert… And also? You KNOW I love my beer and bubbly — neither of which is tremendously diet-friendly. LAME! In addition, I loooooove my coffee — but it, I must report, does NOT love me. Every time I give up coffee I remember how good it feels to be caffeine-free: I can wake up all on my own, I feel more focused, less jittery, more even in general. However, having spoken to both my honey and Miss Laura in Boston (soon to be in Walla Walla!), I was met with rather fierce resistance to the idea of giving up the stuff. The verdict seems to be that, no no no, we do NOT drink decaf! Decaf is for losers, wimps and old ladies.

But why?? Surely it’s unhealthy to be so leashed to coffee that I get severe, crippling headaches (and yep, have even been known to vomit…) if I don’t have it. That just can’t be right. Furthermore, I’m fairly convinced that caffeine exacerbates my already outrageous ADD. Going off the stuff always always always feels GOOD. Really, really good. Independent-spirited girl that I am, I like being free of my most demanding addiction.

But, well… There’s always a but, isn’t there? And it’s this: I freaking love the stuff. I love that the idea of having a cup of coffee is the carrot that lures me out of bed in the morning. I love the ritual of making the coffee — the teasing smell as I wait those twitchy four minutes until I can push the plunger down. I even like the way my soy milk swirls and changes the color of the stuff. (Before the diet? The swirls of half and half sinking to the bottom of my cup…) I love sitting down with my hot cup of coffee and checking my email — talking to no one, just me and my ritual. This ritual describes how I most like to start my day. So what do I do now? Well, I’ve started substituting herbal tea — which is lovely, but the ritual isn’t nearly as satisfying. And I’m sorry, nothing tastes like “wake up, woman!” the way that a delicious cup of freshly brewed coffee does. So… what? I’ve been toying with the idea of making soy chai lattes at home — but then, crap, am I really THAT girl? The “no, I don’t drink coffee, I’ll have a chai latte made with soy milk, please” girl? Should I trade in my boots for Birks and my cashmere for fleece and just BE that girl? Really? Or do I quietly, shamefully, in an embarrassed whisper, start ordering decaf in coffee shops? Start brewing it at home? What is it about that that feels like… giving up? Giving in to getting (gasp!) old? My 80 year old grandmother still drinks a pot of coffee a day — surely I can’t be the wimpy granddaughter with my own pathetic little press on the side for decaf? For shame!!!! What’s a girl to do??

Inevitably, I ALWAYS go back on the stuff. Always. Every time I give it up, a month goes by, and I start sloooowly slowly letting that delicious drink start wriggling its way back into my good graces. And before I even know I’ve done it, it’s sayonara herbal tea, hola cafe con leche, and I’m right back where I started. Vicious, vicious cycle!

Adding insult to injury, I’m about to move to one of the greatest coffee cities on the planet, and no self-respecting coffee worshiper (such as myself) REALLY does a permanent dive into the dreaded world of decaf in THAT city! I mean, sure, after dinner sometimes, MAYBE, but… I am not a wimp, I am not a loser (er, let’s hope…), and I am NOT an old lady! And crap, my grandmother, the 80-year-old one, IS an old lady, and SHE doesn’t even drink decaf! Ugh. It is a conundrum, to be sure, and easily the hardest part of any detox for me.

Needless to say, the detox is over, and I do feel healthier, but… Why do I feel like I may have won the battle, but I’m nowhere near winning the war?

For some reason, I’ve convinced myself that it’s a GOOD idea to do the super duper detox again — you know, the maple-syrup-lemonade no-food-for-days one. The same detox that, last summer, made me violently ill for the first couple of days, and let’s not even discuss how ill I was after. But somehow, in my get-fit mania, I’ve convinced myself that this is a good idea — I’m so intent on getting healthy, I should do a cleanse, too, right?? Right. And, as luck would have it, my roommate is also interested in this cleanse, so we’re doing it together. The plan is to just do a week, though (not 10 days), since we both have plans that we don’t want to cancel next weekend (that involve eating and drinking, clearly).

I must admit, today is day 1, and my willpower is not what it was when I did this last year. I’m hungry. I’m spacey. I feel mostly good about the choices I’ve been making with food/drink lately (um, except my bizarre compulsion to make carrot cakes…), which might make a detox seem less necessary. I’m dreading the potential migraine tomorrow after 48 hours caffeine free. But still, I don’t know, the idea of a detox is appealing. I’m so stressed out about finding a job and have just been channeling that energy into getting healthy and ignoring the job search. So, I figure a little, erm, taking out of the garbage?, can’t hurt — as though, I don’t know, it’ll help to re-focus me. Plus, I’m not even doing the whole 10 days, so it can’t be THAT bad, right? Right??

But as I’ve said, my willpower is NOT what it was, so we’ll see if I can make it through the whole week. Maybe 4-5 days would be enough… Although, that’s probably not the BEST mentality to have as I kick this thing off… Well, we shall see.

I’m a month in to my most recent get-fit-lose-b-school-weight regimen, and I’m happy to report that, though not as quickly as I’d like, I am making progress. To date, I’m at least 2kg down, and definitely feeling generally leaner and stronger. It’s been pretty challenging to keep within the 1600 cal/day limit, especially given that this beautiful country is full of incredible, affordable wines, and I definitely don’t always feel motivated to go to the gym EVERY day (I do, though — I’m afraid if I miss for a second, I’ll lose my momentum and be back in Fat Pants City within 24 hours…). However, I’ve been sticking pretty faithfully to my goals and lifestyle adjustments, and yeah, I also think that the distance from the MBPoW has been absolutely critical to my success — I can literally count on one hand the number of beers I’ve had since I started this project. Whoa. Talk about a lifestyle change!!

But here’s the thing — every time I recount to someone the trials, tribulations, and varied humiliations that go along with this project (28.75% body fat? REALLY?? — and let’s not even TALK about the mortifying arm jiggle that accompanies every freaking shoulder exercise I do, ugh — my roommate here calls them “Bingo Wings,” which is only hilarious until I see my own wings jiggling away in one of my gym’s nine million mirrors, and then it just makes me really, really sad), they invariably tell me that they feel inspired to get started as well. I have a girlfriend here in CT who’s planning to join a gym, I’ve got my roommate thinking about calories (taking a page out of Lauren’s book, when she kicked my a** so hard 3 summers ago!!), and Laura in Boston, Megan in NC, and Stella in MN are all threatening to start their very own MM(f)PF personal revolutions. Which, of course, I think is totally awesome.

What’s funny about this is that all I ever say is the same thing — this is hard, my body hates me, I miss pizza and beer, I was humiliated for xyz reason at the gym today, etc. But behind all of that, I guess my message gets somehow translated to: DO IT!! (Really? All my whining and complaining doesn’t just put you off and send you right back to the bar??)

Of course, as we know, I have a notorious problem with say/do ratio — I mean, how long have I been complaining about my pants NOT fitting?? (Um, yeah, that’s still mostly true, even if I am feeling leaner and stronger. A** fat is stubborn, man!) And obviously, I can now enjoy a total surplus of free time that really, really makes it easy to force my self to go to the gym (every. single. day.). But it took me the better part of a year to get really, really serious about this. And why? We KNOW I had the time in Spain, even if not in NY. And even in NY, I could (COULD!) have made it a priority (in fact, I still have a Bally’s membership in Brooklyn that I never ever used and that I keep forgetting to cancel — oops!!). But no. It’s much easier to whine, complain, bemoan an ever-diminishing wardrobe (due to an inability to FIT any of the clothing presently owned), and then have a second serving of pasta with cream sauce and another freaking beer. (Obviously, most of us LOVE the Path of Least Resistance, and I’m no exception!!) What it finally took for me to get serious was that even my so-called Fat Pants were on the cusp of not fitting, and I thought, wow, okay, I’ve let this go too far. Enough is enough, dammit!!

However, I know from my conversations with friends that I am far from alone in my frustrations with myself and my current state of fitness (um, lack thereof). My proposal is this: let’s set some collective goals for, what?, the end of the year? I mean, I’d LOVE to be bikini ready by the time I get back to the US, but, erm… Yeah. My trainer told me that it would be pretty unrealistic to drop from 28.75% to 20% body fat in just about 10 weeks, so… That’s not going to happen. But it could happen by, I don’t know, December? I hope?

Oh, and to any potential nay-sayers, let me just say: really, this is about feeling good and comfortable in my body. I don’t like to be squishy and pudgy and out of shape. As Megan would say, I don’t like to put on my favorite pair of jeans and feel like a stuffed sausage! So yeah, fine, women are always under a lot of pressure to be leaner, skinnier, more perfect, blah blah blah. But I think we can agree that MOST women (maybe all of them?) really, really like it when their favorite pair of jeans look kickass on their asses, right? And THAT is what I’m talking about. (My Citizens jeans, specifically, haven’t fit for about 2 years. And they’re my favorite and I love them and they WILL fit again!!)

Anyway, never fear, non-OMM(f)PF-participants. I am NOT going to convert Sin Logica into a weight loss blog, even if it is ALL I’m really thinking about at the moment (um, yeah — I think we know that I have a tendency to obsess… I can’t tell you how many times a day I think about how many calories I’ve consumed… and actually, I’m hoping that goes away before it becomes a real sickness — plus, it just sort of makes me uninteresting, doesn’t it?). I will continue to chronicle, as ever, my life as a b-school student/exchange student/etc.

Alright, so: who’s in? Who has a kickass, lose-that-ass, make-my-EFFING-pants-fit fitness goal to meet by the end of the year? And how are you going to do it? (Obviously, I won’t be able to keep up this personal trainer business for much longer. I love it, but man, even in SA it’s just not sustainably affordable…) And I’d love to hear some purple-faced, man-this-sucks anecdotes from those of you who are participating, because if we can’t laugh at this process, well… I think we’ll probably just cry.

So far, I’m still not feeling terribly settled in here, and I’m trying to remember if it took this long for me to feel comfortable in Spain — probably not, since I already knew Raul, and my social life with all the other MBAs kicked off nearly the moment I arrived. Here, it’s so very different — all of the other students are all already acquainted, and I’m the lone exchange student in the group. Don’t get me wrong — they’re all extremely friendly and approachable, and have been very welcoming. But they also have more course work than I do, and are still at that early, stress-y stage in the MBA. Having already been through that stage (and then some!) I can relate, but have no interest in re-tracing those stressed-out steps.

Luckily, Megan and David were here last week, so I got to pretend that I have a social life. We went to a few really great restaurants, a halfway decent club, and spent a wonderful afternoon last Sunday at Cape Point, the most South-Westerly point in Africa. Once again, rather than narrate, I’ll illustrate with photos. Of course, this is just a handful. It takes a year to upload these to the blog, so you can see the rest here.

Luckily, I have my new gym regimen to keep me busy (been there 9 out of the last 10 days! and it’s not getting ANY easier! wheeeee!), as well as fun veggie/vegan cooking projects. Earlier this week, I made some yummy soup from Laura’s blog, and my roommate made a delicious black bean one. (Yeah, it’s about to be winter here. Winter? In MAY? Yep — in the Southern Hemisphere, friends. Luckily, I think the winter here is more or less equivalent to, say, Santa Cruz or Barcelona, so it won’t be that bad. That said? Rain and fog are still indisputably soup weather.)

The thing is: I just can’t seem to get comfortable here. Yet. Maybe it’s the in-your-face racial divide. Maybe it’s the nine million cautionary tales I’ve already heard about walking the streets after dark (which is a big DON’T!!!!!) or getting in the informal taxis (think: giant gypsy cabs, like in vans, but with routes, and, if I understand correctly, more or less run by the mafia — probably totally safe, as so many people take them, but potentially a place to get mugged, stabbed, kidnapped…. too many years of watching Law and Order, methinks, and I can’t get myself to get in the damn things, so I’ve been paying for taxis to and from school — no public transportation… thank goodness it’s relatively cheap to do that!). Maybe it’s the WAY too present evidence of the difference between the “haves” and the “have nots.” Maybe it’s just that I don’t really have friends here yet. Maybe it’s the cats pissing in my room. (Did I mention there are FIVE of them??) Probably? It’s all of the above. Still, though, I know that this, ultimately, is an incredible experience, and that all of that discomfort must ultimately dissipate and leave my horizons broader than they were. Until then? Like I said: the gym, good eating, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of studying and business plan writing.

I’ve been in Cape Town nearly a week now, and let me just say — WOW. I haven’t done a TON of exploring (yet!!) but I’ve loved everything so far. It’s amazing to step out my front door and smell the ocean, walk down my street and see it. There’s no way anyone could argue that the ocean doesn’t have a presence here, as I might have done in Boston or even (gasp!) Barcelona. The Atlantic is rugged and raw and real, and I LOVE it. I’ve now spent several days walking along the ocean-side promenade, both towards and away from Cape Town, and every time it’s just as magical. It’s a bit like walking on East Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz, actually. And definitely as beautiful. I’m delighted to have the ocean be such a presence in my life. As soon as I can get myself a bicycle, I’m planning on having it be my primary mode of (daytime…) transport, and hope to ride along the promenade 7/8 of the way to school. (Um, yeah… no public transportation, per se, in Cape Town. I have yet to experiment with the sketchy-looking van-taxis that my roommate seems to think are safe enough and only cost R5 or so, versus a regular taxi that would be about R50… Hm… I don’t know, man. They look pretty damn sketchy to me. But, erm, when in Rome…?)

Having all this free time, though, has been a little strange, especially given that it’s a generally accepted truth that venturing out alone after dark is a BAD idea. So basically, I’ve been eating and cooking good food every day, getting out to walk for a couple of hours or so, and spending the evening watching tv, reading, hanging around the house with my housemate, and playing on the internet. Oh, and I’ve been off the booze this whole last week — giving my liver a break, you know (also, what am I going to do? go to a bar by myself? yeah, no). And I know that it’ll all be different as I start making friends, and I’ll have REAL excuses to leave the house and whatnot, but yeah, it’s been odd — healthy, but odd.

So, once again, I’ve decided to attempt to dedicate myself to losing all the damn weight I put on in B-school. (Seriously. I just can’t live like this anymore!) As luck would have it, there’s a personal training gym down the street from my house, and (hurray for the exchange rate!) it’s relatively affordable. The place is beautiful, and has huge windows overlooking that gorgeous ocean that I love so much, which is a total bonus. I got myself all enrolled yesterday, and met for the first time with my booty-kicking trainer today. Um, yeah. Apparently, not only am I a giant fat-ass right now (for me — 66kg, gasp!!!), I’m also REALLY (really, really) out of shape. I guess today was a “light” workout. (Light? LIGHT?! Light workout my A**!!) I thought I might die at LEAST three different times. I had no idea that personal training would mean working every major muscle group AND feeling like a total fool. (My trainer is, like, thisbig, adorable, Vietnamese/Canadian, and ALL muscle — I was so embarrassed every time I had to ask for less weight on something that the tiny woman could do with her pinky! BUT, she’s a total sweetheart and really good at postive reinforcement, so she definitely wasn’t TRYING to make me feel like a g**damn heiffer.) The worst part? Sprints. In the gym. With a medicine ball. Suddenly I’m the fat kid in gym class, or Chunk from the Goonies, or something (doubled over, panting “hey guys… GUYS… just… guys… just a second…” pant pant pant). The horror!! Especially when my trainer says, as I heave my fat ass from one end of the gym to the other with the bright orange medicine ball “It’s not a jog! Come on! Visualize those pants you want to wear!!” And I’m thinking “I AM running!! What the hell? Eff those pants!!” So then I force myself to push harder, and she says “Good! Only 30 more seconds!” which nearly makes me cry, because really, I’m no sprinter and it’s HARD, and my face is turning seventeen shades of purple, and I want to drop the stupid medicine ball, and I finally finish, and want to collapse and die, but am congratulating myself internally for at least completing the excercise without falling on my face and maybe now I’m done for the day — but NOOO! There are lunges to be done! And tricep curls! And squats! And hey, guess what? Another set of effing SPRINTS! Dear god, it was humiliating. Oh, and yeah — this is the gym where the SERIOUS fitness nuts go, so, while it was the middle of the day and there was (luckily) almost no one there, there was only one person in the whole place larger than I am — and she’s freaking PREGNANT! Gah!! And my trainer is so dear and sweet and positive that I had to force myself to smile all the way through it and act cool, purple face be damned (“Yeah, I can handle this, no problem… wait, how many more? … uh, yeah, no, it’s fine… really…” Smile smile smile…). Meanwhile, my face is now a deep shade of crimson, I have sweat dripping out of every pore, and I want to fall on the floor and die. And again, this was the LIGHT workout. Even more fun? I’ll be keeping a food journal and sharing with my trainer. Awesome. Turns out it’s a good thing that the beer here isn’t very tempting, eh? When she told me I need to try to cut out 500 calories a day (combination of diet and exercise) I almost fell of the elliptical machine! I mean, I’ve been eating well, but sheesh! This is going to make partying with the classmates challenging, to say the least (“just a white wine spritzer for me, thanks” — nooooo!!!). Tomorrow I have to go back to the gym for a half hour of cardio and more punishment to my abs (yay!) and then I’ll be seeing my trainer again on Friday morning (8:30am, yay!). Um, I don’t know what I’ll do if she wants to give me more than a “light” workout. Hopefully not hyperventilate and die, because that would be REALLY embarrassing… In any event, I guess I can expect some results from this one, right?