“Toe jam” or “My loss has no gain”

The Mass Media Meltdown is over with. My weight loss numbers are still unknown (I didn’t have time to weigh myself on Monday, so I’ll do it Tuesday. Anyway, the numbers that I do know and do want to share with you are not pounds lost, but inches.

Before the MMM began, each person was measured around their neck, shoulders, chest, waist, hips, thighs and calves. The leg measurements, the thighs and calves, count as four measurements, one of each for each leg.

I lost 6.5 inches off my waist. I went from a 62 (that was the trainer’s guess as he didn’t have a measuring tape long enough) to a 54. I lost another 7 inches off my shoulders. Total inch loss: 19.25 inches.

And I am ashamed on a very fundamental level. Not because I lost this, but because of how much more I could have lost. I didn’t try as hard as I could have or apply myself to the fullest extent. I got by because I saw my coworkers were winning us the fight and I was okay with just so.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

This weekend, I went to St. Louis with five coworkers, including my boss. The car ride to and from St. L was with my boss and another coworker, both of whom were in the MMM. Both were adamant that I had to not let this die and not just drift through this (and I am grateful to them for both their concern, their encouragement and the degree to how persuasive they are trying to be). I’ve already joined up at the gym and will continue to do what’s good for me because I want to, not out of some sense of obligation or competition.

But first…

Cyrus tried to kill me again.

WARNING: This post has a vomit warning of over 9,000. If you just got that joke, please try not to vomit yourself. If you didn’t, just keep going (unless you don’t want to be grossed out).

Last week, I was lying in bed late in the evening when I heard an unfamiliar noise. Unfamiliar noises demand instant investigation when one has a psychotic kitty in the house, so I sprang from the bed.

Unfortunately, my right foot was perfectly placed to be smashed right into a swiveling office chair at the foot of the bed.

Score – Dariush: 0, Cyrus: 1

The toe, she is broken. I set her myself. Unfortunately, the nail on the toe was also bent backward and up and was quite painful. Not good, but I managed to just grunt and whine a lot.

The next day I was doing laundry (yes, I am domesticated, like a puppy) and Cyrus decided it would be an absolutely AWESOME idea to lie down on the hallway floor right behind me. Of course, I stepped back, felt fur on my foot (cat owners, you know the sixth sense of about to put full weight on a kitty and the body’s immediate response) and sprang to avoid injury and pain to my little friend. And of course, I stubbed my toe. The broken one. And yes, the nail sustained further damage.

I spent the next five minutes swearing at the cat and making very rude gestures at him and trying not to scream or cry.

Fast-forward to Monday when I was being measured at the gym for my weight loss. As he was measuring me, I stubbed my toe AGAIN on his shoe, leading him to immediately question why I had started whimpering and wincing.

THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. THIS IS WHERE IT GETS HORRIFIC.

Back at the office, I inspected my foot to find the damaged toenail now bleeding nicely into my sock. In pain, angry, frustrated and just feeling insane, I went into the bathroom, propped my foot up on the sink and proceeded to remove the toenail by hand.

Several years ago I had to remove a toenail because of a similar injury and I found that if I do it slowly, I can ignore the pain Mr. Spock-style and get the job over with (and the last time involved leeches, salt and scraping, so this wasn’t that bad, to be honest).

And there it was. With a little bit of pain and a good dose of insanity, I pulled my own toenail off. And then, just to further cement how tough and macho I am, I disinfected it with alcohol wipes. I think the only way to have been more manly at this point would have been to cauterize the wound with hot metal and then to anesthetize myself by bashing my head into a wall.

NO MORE WARNINGS. DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, IF YOU VALUE THE CONTENTS OF YOUR STOMACH, TURN BACK NOW!

I kept the toenail. Here’s a picture.

And… that’s about it for now. Hope I didn’t gross you out too bad. I’m going to try and start posting at least every other day (more to come on this topic later), because I have been slacking and that’s bad. And not cool, either.

But you know what is cool?

I’m growing a mustache…

More on this later.