Lemondrop

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A few short weeks ago, we were three boozehounds who loved eating and didn't believe in scales. Then came our partnership with Crunch, our suffering at the hands of Rowdy, our tough-talkin', Texan trainer, and 9-to-Fine, our personal crusade to help cube slaves everywhere get fit.

Cube slave who, you say? OK, we love our jobs, but sitting in a rolling chair for twelve hours at a stretch was rendering our behinds the consistency of Magic Erasers. Large Magic Erasers.

Since we had our epiphany, we've sort of been reborn. Instead of mid-afternoon M&M breaks, we nosh on raw almonds. Instead of Pop Tarts for breakfast, we mainline Fage. And half the office thinks we've joined the Crips since we started wearing our Exerspy armbands absolutely everywhere. (Yes, even to bed. One us of may or may not have had an incident during which the "Target Calorie Burn Met!" alarm went off during ... adult time.)

Plus, we've been logging absolutely every calorie we eat with our beloved dotFIT program.

And a strange thing happened on the way to getting buff: We fell in love with counting calories, dead-lifting kettlebells at dawn* [Erin's note: Speak for yourself. Kettlebells BLOW.], and turning our noses up at office birthday cake. (And, it should be noted, it was ICE CREAM CAKE.)

After the jump, each of us reveals how our baptism-by-fire fitness routine has changed us, in an impossibly short amount of time. Trust us, you'll back away from the Pringles after reading this.

ERIN: (Above, loving the hell out of some cottage cheese.) First of all, let me clear the air: I did not abstain from cake. If you expect me to work out and deprive myself, think again. But here's the thing: A month ago, I would have hacked off a quarter of that creamy, rich, Haagen-Dazs deliciousness; instead, I only had one modest slice*. This is probably the biggest lesson I've learned during all this: moderation. Though I have had my share of peaks and valleys:

PEAK:
Today I had a delicious steak and avocado salad at lunch. And as is standard restaurant behavior, the portion they served to me was enough to feed the entire table. While I normally would have mowed the whole thing down -- it's a salad, for crissakes -- I stopped when I was full. I also only had one slice of the delicious cranberry-almond bread from the unlimited bread basket. WILLPOWER.

VALLEY:
Yesterday, I ate a third of a jar of peanut butter -- for lunch. I blame hormones: The week before I start my period, I get super-clumsy and I want lots of peanut butter. My roommate writes messages like "Don't be a fatass, Erin" on the PB jar. She's a good friend. The rest of the jar is now in Julieanne's desk, and I have to ask her if I want some.

PEAK:
Normally, I drink when I go to a concert. But last Friday, I went to see a really fun, dancey band and I kept my alcohol consumption to a single beer during the show -- a dank, 6.6 percent real beer -- and only a few after. (Hey, I burned more than 1,300 calories during three hours of dancing -- I needed to replenish those calories or risk losing muscle mass!) I was able to restrain because I knew I'd be consuming a week's worth of calories in imported beer and sausages during a going-away party at the German Beergarten the next day. It's all about trade-offs.

VALLEY:
The morning after said going-away party, I was hurting. And in that case, the only cure is Mexican food. Lots of it. I had to roll myself home.

See, as a doctor once told my pregnant mother back in the early 1980s, "Anything in moderation."

*Confession: I noticed that there were a lot of slices -- they were already on plates and everything! -- on the table that no one was grabbing. So I secretly walked by a few minutes later to see if any was left over, but they'd already cleaned it up. I was glad. I don't know if I could have persevered.

JULIEANNE: I'mma steal Erin's format, because that is precisely the manner in which I roll. I would also like to point out that I abstained from the cake because I was planning to get loaded at a housewarming party and consume most of my allotted calories in gin form. I'm not some cake-abstaining pansy, and I don't want rumors of that nature started as they might one day affect my ability to run for office. ONWARD!

PEAK:
I have been exercising A TON and have been watching what I eat ... a little TOO well. Rowdy's been checking our food logs daily, and he's emphatic about the fact that I need to eat more to burn more. He actually said to me, "Julieanne, your homework is to eat more." When they invent time machines, Future Me is going back to find High School Me, and I'm going to shake myself and yell, "HOMEWORK IN THE FUTURE IS AWESOME!"

VALLEY:
I live alone and have the World's Saddest Fridge (not to be confused with my Cry For Help stove, the top of which is a bar and the oven of which is full of hoodies). The World's Saddest Fridge helps keep me from overeating by having next to nothing in it at all times. One night this week I got sort of faced and ate the only thing that was in it -- a container of hummus. A literal. Container of hummus. With a spoon. (It's OK to be grossed out.) Weirdest part? Hummus is so freakishly healthy that it was only like 350 calories. So, I suppose this is more of a personal low than a real fitness "valley."

PEAK:
Today, at our progress check, I was delighted to learn that I am down from 24 percent body fat to 21.8. I immediately emailed the father whose approval I demand at random, lunatic intervals. He seemed sort of proud. AREN'T YOU PROUD OF ME, DAD? ARE YOU PROUD OF ME YET? DAD, I'M OVER HERE!

VALLEY:
I still reeeeally hate eating breakfast. Have I mentioned that I really hate breakfast? Usually the first meal of the day for me is the "Nancy Spungen special": coffee, smokes and lots of high-pitched whining. Rowdy is all about shakes (ha ha, not that kind, fellow drunks), so I bought a blender and some protein powder and soy milk and bananas. Before our session this morning, I summoned a level of gag-reflex suppression I usually reserve for the orthodontist and Valentine's Day*, chugged a shake, a bottle of Vitamin Water Zero and a Five Hour Energy, then hit the gym. This was a poor decision! I felt like I was working out with a fanny pack full of chunky liquid.

Overall, however? I'm actually buffer and fitter! You could bounce a quarter off my ass right now.

*Ha ha, kidding! I'm always alone on Valentine's Day.

CARRIE: OK, fine ... so I'm the only fool calorically virtuous person who didn't eat birthday cake. But hey, I've got a lot more to lose. (Weight, that is.) And I really am completely obsessed with my Exerspy band and dotFIT. I think this is because I've never been a dieter. So, OK, I'm coming to it a decade too late, but it's amazing to learn that weight loss isn't -- despite what some people say -- about your spiritual outlook on life. It's cold, hard math. Folks: a pile of carrots? Something like 8 calories. Iced coffee? Under 10. My best friend, French baguette? Mmm ... more like triple digits, all headed straight for my proverbial hips. But these days, I thrill to the tips of my toes every time my band bleats, "Calorie goal met!"

PEAK:
I have to admit, so far, I've been sloughing off on the cardio. But Rowdy has been putting us through our paces lifting weights. We cuss and moan every time he leads us to that darn kettle bell, but I can feel my abs starting to emerge from underneath all the superficial fascia* they're currently buried under. And after three weeks of grunting through that last push-up, the scary, mean metallic calipers say I've shed 2.5 percent of my body fat. (Only 22 percent more to go!) What I don't know is whether body fat is just like water weight and varies wildly depending on whether you get pinched with your tennis shoes on or off.

VALLEY:
Alcohol. My "death-to-your-weight-loss-goals" valley. I only thought my biggest weakness was bread. Thing is, you know all those studies that say that one glass of wine a day is good for you? Well, I always thought it was safer to drink two, you know, just in case. But now I know that that's roughly 200 calories a day, which if you do the math (MATH!), that's a pound o' fat in eight days. Just saying. And can I really be blamed it if I drank six beers and two piña coladas the size of my head at my husband's birthday party? C'mon, that shouldn't count.

PEAK:
Caloric mindfulness. Yes, it's taken counting calories like a Hollywood hopeful to turn me a little bit Buddhist. But the thing is, I now think about whether I've eaten enough protein in a given day, or whether I really need to fortify with a snack that's the dietary equivalent of loving kindness. And this from the girl who would shovel down peanut M&Ms so she didn't faint on the way to fetching her 5 p.m burrito lunch. Bottom line: dotFIT is my Boddhisatva.

VALLEY:
I'm inconsistent. I log like a fiend, then friends come into town, and I skip three days, and have you ever tried remembering what you ate for breakfast last Thursday? So I bought myself a cute little pinkish-purple Moleskine notebook and I fess up there like it's my eighth-grade diary until I can get to a 'puter again and come clean. No, really, look ...

*Real medical term. My sister's a doctor. I once made her a T-shirt that read "fascia-nista."

Check back next week for exciting details of our fitness adventures ... some major missteps, and a few triumphs. Spoiler: There will be Cheetos.

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