Having a workout buddy is one of the best ways to stay on track with an exercise regimen. Shari recently signed up for 24-Hour Fitness and committed to being my gym buddy. I decided that it was high time to start using that dormant gym membership of mine.

Gung-ho and with the promise of a M&M McFlurry on the flip side, we hit the gym together for the first time yesterday afternoon.

Here’s what we did:
20 minutes of cardio on elliptical trainer
15 minute of cardio on treadmill
60 minutes of strength training on the circuit (3 sets of 15 reps per machine)

Needless to say, an hour and a half of training on the first go-around was a little ambitious, to say the least, but when you’re working out with a friend, time seems to go by quickly. We left the gym aching, but energized — especially after rewarding ourselves with a coveted M&M McFlurry (and a cheeseburger for me). I know, it seems a tad counterproductive to make a McDonald’s run directly after the gym, but we hadn’t eaten since 10:30 am and by that time it was pushing 6:00 pm.

Despite the endorphins flowing like mad, I couldn’t deny the headache that had come on toward the end of the workout. By the time I arrived at home after dropping Shari off, pain had been shooting from my neck and shoulders into my head, giving me a debilitating headache that landed me in bed. I took an Alleve and drank a small portion of Miso Soup, but the headache grew worse and began to make me nauseated. Perhaps I overdid it?

I watched an episode of “What Not to Wear” on the DVR and fell asleep before 8:00 pm.

When I awakened in the morning, a good 12-hours later, I recounted the experience to Hubby and said, “I knew exercise wasn’t good for you.” Perhaps only when you’re a crazy extremist like me.

Although the workout knocked me the heck out last night, I feel great today and am looking forward to our next gym session.

Appointment #2 with Infertility Specialist

“If I can see your tubes, that’s not good,” he said before inserting the ultrasound probe where the sun don’t shine. “Keep your fingers crossed.”

It’s hard to cross your fingers when your fists are clenched. As an extremely modest person, I have a difficult time with tests like this — especially when it’s conducted by a doctor who is only a year older than my husband. This is the singular reason why I chose a female ob/gyn. Unfortunately, there aren’t many female Infertility Specialists, at least none that are very well-known. I decided to trade modesty for a doctor who came with high praise from my ob/gyn, impressive credentials, and a great success rate.

In his next breath, he sighed and said, “Oh, bummer. I see your tubes. You’re going to make me work hard, aren’t you?”

I tried to muster a chuckle and forget that my legs were stirrups and my bare bum was exposed to two strangers in lab coats.

Today, my Infertility Specialist did a vaginal ultrasound to see what we’re dealing with. He gazed at the mysterious shadows on the ultrasound monitor, dictated notes and measurements to a resident who quietly recorded them in my chart.

He turned the monitor toward me and identified different parts of my innards and explained what was wrong with them. “You see this? This is your tube, it’s swollen, we’re gonna need to remove this one. The other one doesn’t look too bad. There’s some damage here… Lots of endometriosis…” All of those shades of grey meant very little to me, except for the fact that what he was telling me wasn’t good. Not at all.

The bottom line was that there was quite a bit of “cleaning up” to do in there. At the very least, the removal of a fallopian tube, excision of endometriosis growth, and a bit of exploration to see if the polyps grew back. Unfortunately, this could not be done through laparoscopic surgery. We’re talking about surgery with an incision similar to that of a Cesarean section — with a recovery period of 4 weeks.

Since I attained permanent status less than a year ago at The Office, paid leave is at a premium. I don’t even have enough leave accumulated between sick leave and annual leave to cover the 4 weeks. I suppose I’ll need to find out what other options exist, such as TDI or LWOP (leave without pay - doh!). Aside from the leave concern, there’s the major issue of finding a willing replacement for me. Now, that’s hard to come by.

After the surgery, I have the Depot Lupron treatment to look forward to. (Think: Post-menopausal.)

The doc instructed me to work out the details with The Boss on a good time for my prolonged absence, then call back to schedule the surgery. In the meantime, to prepare me for the surgery, he put me on birth control. Of course, I know it has something to do with regulating my hormones and all, but it still seems a little ironic to me.

Tonight, I took a birth control pill for the very first time in my life.

It’s going to be quite a year.

As Hubby and I watched an episode of “CSI: Las Vegas” on the DVR, a small moth flew in front of my face, then swooped down to hover near the floor to evade me. With the speed of Mr. Miyagi, sans the chopsticks, I slapped the carpet four times, effectively obliterating him.

Puzzled, Hubby peered down to see what I was doing. “What are you doing?”

I looked up at him with an evil glint in my eye and replied simply, “Killing.”

“Um, I’m sleeping in the other room tonight.”

Dancers from Tamagusuku Ryu Senju Kai
perform “Shikikuduchi”

Yesterday, we went to the Japanese Cultural Center of Hawaii to check out their New Year’s `Ohana Festival. The festivities were spread across the grounds of the JCCH and Moiliili Field with cultural activities for the kids, entertainment, craft vendors and food booths.

Teru Teru Bozu

It was a cool, blustery day with gusts that blew the rain clouds clear out of the sky. Teru Teru Bozu dolls hung from trees in the courtyard in hopes of keeping the showers away. Whenever I see Teru Teru Bozu, I feel nostalgic for my youth — even though my homemade kleenex Teru Teru Bozu had failed me and I learned not to put my hopes in a wad of kleenex and a rubber band.

A young Okinawan dancer from Tamagusuku Ryu Senju Kai
performs the children’s song: “Akata Sun Dunchi”

Another thing that never fails to fill me with nostalgia is seeing Okinawan dance performed. Two local dance groups were featured on the JCCH stage. Sensei Frances Nakachi of Tamagusuku Ryu Senju Kai featured her younger students (pictured above) who performed the very same dances that I learned and performed as a child. Having started in the endeavor of learning traditional Okinawan dance at age 5, the songs and dances of my culture have always been an integral part of my life.

In recent years, with a demanding work and school schedule, I had put all of my extra-curricular activities aside. Since finishing my schooling in November, I have been eyeing the calendar to plan my return to the dojo. However, with the added complication of my infertility treatments, it looks as though dance will need to take a backseat again, at least for now.

Nevertheless, whenever I hear the ten-tun-ten of the sanshin, my feet start to tap and I want to jump up and join the dancers onstage. It is my hope that I may return sooner rather than later. Who knows, maybe someday I can encourage our daughter (or son!) to pursue this great tradition as well.

What makes you nostalgic?

Time for another Friday 5 to celebrate the coming weekend!

1. How high is your guilt threshold?
My folks gifted me with a guilty conscience strong sense of right and wrong. I remember as a young child, I put a fish net on my doggie’s head to see what he would do. Of course, he was quite bothered by it, trying in vain to paw it off his head. Immediately, I thought: cruelty to animals! I rushed to remove the net and proceeded to apologize to him and pet him incessantly, which was probably equally as bothersome as having a net on his head. I felt guilty for weeks after the incident. Come to think of it, I still feel guilty about it. Oddly enough, if I had a pesky little brother and put a fish net on his head, I probably would not have felt nearly as bad about that — but rather would have thought it to be hilariously funny.

Sorry, tangent. Did I answer the question?

2. How strong is your resistance to sweets?
My resistance to sweets is pretty flimsy, at best. At worst, completely non-existent. One thing I cannot refuse: ice cream. Unless, of course, I don’t have a dose of Lactaid with me. Dark chocolates are difficult to resist as well.

3. How long is your fuse?
It depends. Behind the wheel during afternoon rush hour traffic: about an inch. With people, face-to-face, I try to afford a long fuse. At least long enough to keep me from detonating in their presence.

4. What is the quickest way to get you hot (you know what we mean!)?
Tender huggles, sweet nothings, and soft kisses.

5. How sensitive are you to ambient noise?
Very sensitive. I cherish peace and quiet.

Your turn. What are your thresholds?

Since my cold seems to be on the decline, I’ve begun easing into an exercise program. Being leary of the potential for relapse, I’ve decided to start slow. I’ve added a 30-minute yoga or stretching regimen to my routine, scheduled neatly between my evening shower and bedtime.

I’ve never been extremely flexible, even in my youth, but now I’m just downright stiff. I blame the stress.

This is day #3 of PM Yoga/Stretching. Admittedly, it’s not a mind-blowing accomplishment, but it’s a start. I hope to keep this up at least 5 out of 7 days a week.

Yesterday, I did some strength training for my arms and legs with hand weights (5 lbs. and 6 lbs.). I had good intentions of doing a cardio workout today, but the cream cheese/salsa dip weighed me down and subsequently kept my arse glued to my desk chair for most of the night.

Aside from the obvious benefit of weight loss, I am also hoping that this attention to fitness may result in a less-stressed body, creating a more hospitable environment for the possibility of growing a baby in there somewhere. I am a bundle of nerves and tense to the core. I know that things must change in order for me to become mother material and I’m hoping that these baby steps toward taking better care of my health may take me in the right direction.

I’m considering creating a separate blog to track my eating and exercise habits, but I’m debating about whether I really want to have yet another blog to neglect update. Would it be too bothersome to include those prosaic details here?

I brought home lunch today. A healthful serving of turkey chili full of yummy veggies like corn, bell peppers, and soy beans and half a scoop of brown rice. Although I purchased a side order of Korean-style brown sprouts from the company cafeteria to complement my healthful lunch, I still felt rather hungry by the end.

I quelled the afternoon rumblings of the tummy with a Diet Pepsi, two cups of green tea, and a few stolen peanut M&M’s from across the hall. Then, the entire rush hour drive home, I daydreamed about what decadent snacks lay waiting for me in my fridge.

Now, I sit here eating an artery-clogging concoction of cream cheese, spicy salsa, shredded cheddar cheese and tortilla chips. I realized that I had an arbitrary sense of entitlement that allowed me to indulge in this late-afternoon, dinner-spoiling snack. I exercised yesterday and avoided eating a 1,500 calorie plate lunch today; therefore, chips and dip should fit well within my threshold. Right? *ahem*

Well, at least it’s low-fat cream cheese.

After this rock in my stomach digests, I think I’ll exercise to my “Fat Burning Dance Party” DVD. Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. Wait until you see me bust a move. No, that is not something you will see on a vlog entry anytime soon. Believe me, that is for your own good.