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I’ve been working on a new definition of being “good”, which involves things like working out 3-4 times a week andeating more fruits and veggies and less refined sugar because I feel better and am happier and less cranky and tired when I do these things. Under this new definition, “being good” also means taking time to do things that I want to do for myself, like write blog entries and short stories and novels; like pulling out my guitar and singing; like actually using the wonderful watercolor set I received from my partner for giftmas.

Good things. Ya know?

And as of last week, I was doing pretty good according to that definition. I got up and used the elliptical trainer a couple of mornings and was going to yoga for the first time in ages and was plotting out the next few chapters in my head…

Then I had a long Friday at work (contrary to popular belief and actual practice in many places, Friday is usually my worst workday because of developing crises in weekend programming. But I digress). I went into the first serious yoga class I’d been to in 6 weeks, having missed two for India, then had a heavy relaxation/light workout session, then a week off, then a migraine two weeks ago. I was tight. And tired. And stressed. And tight.  My body was telling me something was wrong through the whole class – weird muscle aches and cramps forced me to modify certain things. Then the instructor had us do a warrior 2 in a way I wasn’t used to and my center of gravity was off and I was frustrated and tired and pushing harder than I should have because I knew I could do the post better than I was. Then I heard the ripping sound. It was not, in fact, my awesome yoga pants. But rather was the sound of something awry in my inner thigh.

Sigh.

I’m still sore and I want comfort food and I’m grumpy and I’m reading things into innocent comments from my partner. I want to be active, dammit, and I can’t right now. We were supposed to go hiking this weekend – we have reservations at a lodge and everything. And now I don’t know if I can. I hate this. The smallest setback can completely torpedo my ability to easily like myself and to be proud of my accomplishments. And that is not good.

Another way to “lose weight” without having to diet or exercise. All you have to do is to spend a few hours in the cold, right? Well, maybe. The study is only in men, and the effects are not lasting, but you can lose 10 lbs a year by sitting around chilly.

The first thing I thought when I heard about this was “gee, I wonder how long until some brilliant snake oil salesperson starts charging people $500 an hour to sit in their skivvies in a 50 degree room?” Or “weight loss weekends” at fancy spas with long sits in the cold, a colonic and a juice cleanse?

Honestly, the only thing that really surprises me is that a quick google doesn’t show this cropping up yet.

Now, obviously (I hope), if this news can honestly help people, then great. But frankly, it sounds like one more way to guilt allegedly obese people into “bettering themselves” by doing everything possibly available to lose any weight they can at what will likely be considerable expense. Because thin = health. Except that it doesn’t. Eating nutritious food and moving your body is how you get healthy. Not by wearing pants in single digit sizes (hell, if that were enough, we could all just shop at Chicos and be done with it). Oh, yeah, there’s that expense again.

Also, I find it extremely interesting that this was the article linked on the front page of WaPo as “related” to the brown fat article. Hm. Exercise? What an idea.  Can I get mine with a healthy dose of body acceptance, please?