Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Potato, Potato or "I'm Fat as Fuck, but I Can Pick Up a Truck"

It's been an interesting month.

I was convinced to do a Strongman (Strongwoman? Strongperson?) competition by a couple of my less-than-balanced friends. To be honest, it didn't take a lot of convincing. In general, I can be counted on to participate in feats of athletic stupidity. I wasn't always this way. In fact, for most of my life I could be counted on to avoid all athletic pursuits as though they were potentially poisonous.

At the beginning of May, I went to see Kirk the Nutrition Guy and told him "Blah, blah Strongman, blah blah muscle mass." and he said "Blah blah creatine, blah blah protein, blah blah supplements."

It was exactly like that. You can ask him.

Poor Kirk, seriously.

Soooo...I bought a bottle of creatine powder, a bag of pre-workout, and a canister of protein powder and set to work.

Here are the results.

You'll see them in a minute.

I went into this Strongman thing knowing I was going to be a #heavyweight. 

hashtag. heavyweight.

Initially, it was funny. I was feeling pretty trim, and the idea that I was a #heavyweight was amusing. Then I started taking the creatine and eating protein like it was my job. And I got bigger. And bigger. And motherfucking bigger.  Then I got on the scale like a goddamn moron, even though Kirk told me that I was not to weigh myself under any circumstances.

Why can't I do as I'm told?

It wasn't all fat pants and belly rolls. I maxed my clean and jerk by 10#, I maxed my DL from a deficit and I maxed my back squat by 10#. That's right, my back squat. The lift that has been my motherfucking nemesis for almost 2 years now. A ten pound PR and it felt easy.  I started going to Power Club and CF 920 twice a week to work on powerlifts and Strongman stuff. I started seriously working on my bench press instead of just fucking around with it. I tried a bunch of equipment that was foreign, but awesome, and it was really fun. 

Unfortunately, the log at the comp was 
an 8" diameter and not a 5.5" diameter. Oh well.


So basically, I've been a potato, but like a really strong potato. I also learned a few things about my body. First, I do not tolerate pre-workout. Like at all. I knew I couldn't deal with the stimulant based ones, because they make me feel like my heart is going to explode and/or I'm going to pass out mid-workout. Turns out I don't tolerate beta-alanine either. It makes me feel itchy or like my skin is on fire, and it never got better. People kept describing it to me as tingling. IT'S SO NOT TINGLING. Or maybe severe itching is what the rest of the population knows as tingling and what I experience as tingling is what everyone else experiences as severe itching?

My skin is on fire here.


Oh yeah, baby, thinking about you makes me itch to the point of insanity or alternately feel like all my skin mysteriously caught fire but not in like a sexy way but rather a DANGER! DANGER! way. 

That's hot.

The second thing I learned? I can't hack protein shakes more than once or twice a week. I was squatting heavy pretty much every day, and I was drinking a protein shake as part of my "blah blah protein, blah blah supplements" gig.  By the first week in June the protein was making me so ill I had to lie down after drinking it. I fucking hate nausea, and once I started experiencing it after drinking my protein shake I started feeling ill upon smelling the protein shake. Anticipatory nausea, y'all. It's a thing.

See this shit? Fuck this shit.

So yeah. I tried supplements and they made me feel strong but also itchy, burny, fat, and sick. Going forward? Hard pass on the supplements. I'll just eat food and call it good.  Still, you never know until you try. And now I know. And knowing is half the battle, GI Joe.

Now I'm a month out from starting these shenanigans, and the competition was last Saturday. I have to say, it was fun. Waaaaaaay more fun than a CrossFit competition. For one, each event was only 60 seconds long. Two, the ratio of women with abs to women without abs skewed heavily in my favor. There were only two sportsbra girls and they were in the lightweight division.

I got 2 Atlas stones up. That was cool. I think the 150# stone is not far off.

I couldn't press the iron log, but that's a technique thing I think. I did clean it, which was something I only figured out a couple of days before the comp.

I don't know if you know this, but I'm really pretty.

The sled drag was difficult in long grass. I'll be better prepared for that next time. I did have my cleats, so that was a bonus.

I know I look blank as fuck, but this was really hard. I made it 30ish feet.

The tire flip was fine. Because I was seeded last after the first event, I had to do the sled drag and tire flip by myself (there was an odd number of competitors). I could feel my heart racing before the tire flip started, mostly because I was wearing fucking short shorts and my ass was to the crowd. I took a few deep breaths and consciously slowed that shit down. At the end of the 75' I wasn't tired, which means I could've gone harder, but I finished the event so I was happy.

The proudest moment of the competition for me was the farmer carry. I don't have photos yet because they aren't posted from the event and I had my phone crammed into my bra instead of giving it to my friend. Anywho, the tire was supposedly 300# and we had to carry it 75' down and back. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to be able to get it off the ground. My max carry to that point was 270#, and the last time I attempted it I almost blacked out.  But you know what? Not only did I pick it up, I carried it something like 120'. Ultimately it was my grip that failed me. 

I finished tied for 7th of 9. It's cool.

So know I know what to work on, and I'm pretty certain I'll be doing another Strongman in the future. It's always good to try new things. I haven't pulled a truck yet...

Well, what about those results. Here they are: I gained 9 pounds (holy shit), 1.5# was muscle, 3# was fat, and the remaining 4.5# was water. Yaaaay creatine. So now my job is to shed the water and fat and retain as much of the muscle as possible. 

25% body fat again. Sigh. 


It's okay. It'll be okay. I'm a potato and it's okay. I won't be a potato forever.

Own it, Piggy.

Next up is hiking the West Highland Way. I had the foresight to purchase elastic waist hiking pants, so it should be fine. Once we're back I'll begin my training for the Marine Corps Marathon. I'll be doing things a little differently this time. Less junk miles and long slow distance, and more sprints and CrossFit. I have a weight vest, I have a sled. I'm ready to have a marathon season that doesn't involve getting weak and chubby while building mileage. Kirk's going to help me. 

That lucky bastard. 



























Thursday, April 27, 2017

Four Months to Forty or "Why Put One Foot in the Grave When You Can Jump in Head First?"

Fuck me. 2017 is about to enter it's 5th month and I'm still writing 2015 on my goddamn checks.

Yup, checks. I write checks now, because my debit card number got lifted for the 4th time in 12 months and I'm done. I have a tote bag full of nickles and I'm pissed off. Look out, Target cashiers, you're about to earn your $10/hour. I'm serious. I paid cash for things this week. I never have cash. I was a debit card junkie and now I'm all about trading glass beads and sexual favors for organic produce.

I haven't blogged in a while. So what have I been up to other than buying gas for randoms at Wal-Marts in SoCal? A little of this, a little of that. Running, yoga, CrossFit, the usual.  I've also engaged in acts of home improvement. Namely, I painted a few walls, hung some curtains, and ordered some new furniture. It was cheaper than burning this house down and buying a new one.

Mean green. That's not the new furniture.

The smalls now want walls painted in their rooms. Per C "You can just paint around all my posters". Awesome, kid. That sounds extra fun. 

P&C toothless factory got tapped to appear in a commercial for a local dentist's office. P was little Mr. Perfect as usual, and C? Well, he's all over the place but he's a charming little bastard. Mostly they were stoked to play with the games in the waiting room and eat cookies. They got a nice little gift bag for their troubles, and they had a lot of fun. 

I had a line in the commercial, too. The woman who asked us to participate said they needed a "good-looking mom" to do a line. Well, they got me. I covered my tattoo with a long sleeve shirt and tried not to look venomous. They seemed okay with it. I guess we'll see what ends up on TV. I got a Target gift card, so winning there. The nickles will wait for another day.

My program finished up about a year ago, but I've been back at Nutritional Healing once a month-ish to keep myself on track and to make sure I hit my fortieth birthday party looking (to quote IceT) bangin'. And staying healthy and trying not to die early and shit, but mostly...bangin'. It's going okay. I tried a bulk and cut, and it worked. I dropped some fat and gained some muscle. It was good stuff.

Lately I've just been feeling...large...but not necessarily in charge. It's all in my head. My weight hasn't changed appreciably and I'm continuing to gain strength.

Portrait of a heavyweight. 

I spent a lot of years trying to get myself below 160# so I wouldn't be considered an "Athena" for road races. Then the fucking bastards made the cut off 150# and I sort of threw up my hands and gave up. I signed up for a competition (it's a Strongman competition and I'm gonna suuuuuuuuck at it) this coming June and the weight cut off for "heavyweight" is 150#. I weigh 163#. I could maybe sneak below 150#, but I'd have to eat nothing but kale and sorrow for the next 5 weeks, and I can guarantee all my hard-won strength would go right down the drain. 

What kind of a girl does kale think I am? I don't just give it up to any old leafy green!


So I'm a heavyweight. Honestly, I'm fine with my weight. It's that fucking label. It messes with my head. I'll get over it, and it will go back to being the joke it should be, but I had a few moments of panic today thinking about it. I have brain weasels, I think most of us do. Mine tell me I'm fat and weak and worthless. I wonder if brain weasels taste good roasted. I'm hungry. 

I got some new toys for my home gym, which is my fucking pride and joy, y'all, for real. 

Slice sled. For the pulling and pushing of it all.

This will be helpful for a few reasons. It helps develop strength which equals speed when running. It'll help me develop power for pushing which may come in handy (I may get to go back to the rugby pitch this summer). It's a practice tool for the competition...and it's fun for the whole neighborhood.

The kids love this thing. It's hilarious.

I pulled out my carry bars and basically all the weight I own and started working on my farmer carry. 

So far my max is 240# Still time yet.

I've been engaging in some powerlifting behavior with a friend. Always the chance I'll die crushed by a bar that the teeny little woman in the next rack could pick up one handed. Itty bitty women who can lift a shitload of weight just baffle me. By rights I should be able to snap her in half, yet she can bench my body weight. I can't bench my body weight. I can barely bench her body weight. Damn my giant bone structure and atrophied muscles.

Squats are happening again. Fucking squats.

FUCKING SQUATS

Squats have to keep happening. I may never squat more that 165# (my current max, and you can shut up about how shitty that is, I'm well aware), but I need to keep trying. I have some flat-ass genes that need to be fought. That's my personal dragon. I'll be trying to slay that one for the rest of my life.

I've been running more lately, mostly with the friend I've been powerlifting with. Come to think of it, she's the same friend who got me interested in trying the Strongman thing. I might need new friends. 

The MCM is this October, which will be my final marathon. At this point thinking about training for that distance makes me feel slightly ill, but I'll do it, and if I can squeak my time down into the 4:45 range I'll be really fucking happy. Go out on a high note, right? I probably should've registered as a fucking Athena. That term makes me laugh. It's the lady version of Clydesdale. It's like they said to themselves "We need a fat chick division, but fat chicks don't like being compared to horses...wait, what's that Greek statue of the fat goddess? Athena, y'all! We'll call them fat chicks Athenas!" 

There she is. Sexy. I think she has a mustache. 

I imagine dudes are down with "Clydesdale" because of their association with pulling a beer wagon, and big old horse cocks, of course. 

Holy shit. I Googled "Clydesdale penis" and this image appeared.
It is Chuck Norris with a stuffed fuckin' Clydesdale head.


In a little less than two months, fantastic husband and I will be off to Scotland to hike the West Highland Way. 96 miles in a week. We've been hiking near the house to break in our boots and try out socks and pants and other gear. I'm very excited about this trip. The chances of us becoming hopelessly lost are slim, and we will likely come back still married. We travel pretty well together, always have. That's fortunate. Of course, most of our travel consists of me saying "I WANT TO DO THE THING, LET'S DO THE THING!" and him nodding vaguely...then me bouncebouncebouncing until I can't stand it anymore and announcing "I HAVE ARRANGED THE THING! GIRD YOUR LOINS!". He then gives a heavy sigh and starts buying gear.

OMG THE HAIRY COOS.

He's a good sport, fantastic husband is. Sometimes he comes up with shit all on his own. Like this. OPEN WATER DIVING, MOTHERFUCKERS! We're gonna learn to dive! And then I will likely plan a vacation to Saba and announce "I ARRANGED THE THING!"

If I make it to 40, it'll be a goddamn miracle.

So, to sum up, here's all the ways I might go less than gently into that good night in 2017:
1. Crushed under a bench press
2. Neck snapped by Atlas stone
3. Drowning and/or the bends
4. Heart failure while running
5. Falling off the side of a munro/whisky poisoning
6. Crushed under a scrum
7. All the generally stupid things I do on the regular

The only non-lethal activity I engage in is knitting. 

Speaking of things that make me wish for death (was that a smooth segue or what)...clothes shopping.  Fuck all clothing brands and stores. There. I said it. Shopping is a horrible, stupid activity that makes me want to throw myself off a cliff.  

Why do women love shopping? Why is it fun? Putting on ill fitting clothes in dressing rooms with shitty lighting so you can evaluate every line and wrinkle on your face and every lump, bump, and cellulite dimple on your body. I have hated shopping my whole life. The internet was the best damn thing that ever happened to me from a shopping standpoint. I can try on a brand once and then just order online forevah. 

This works fine for workout clothes. Which is like 92% of my non-work wardrobe. Shit, it's 35% of my work wardrobe, too, thanks to swiftlies as underscrub wear.  Not so fine for non-workout clothes. I don't wear non-workout clothes all that often, but when I do it's the same 3 things. So I use Front Door Fashion from time to time. It comes to my house and there's always things I never would have tried, but really like. This was super well timed today, since I was feeling the heavyweight of it all. I've never had something from FDF not fit me. Aside from the little fit issues I have with everything (condor arms, man, they're the worst), that is. Today's box had dresses, shorts, tops, and jewelry. Some of it was awesome. 

Behold...

Cutesy dress. A little short, but I liked it.

This one made me so happy. I felt like Athena in a good way, 
not a "hey, you're fucking heavy" way.

This one surprised me. I was sure it wasn't going to fit.
Oh it fit. It was motherfucking magic.

Shorts and a tank. Basic.

Poncho. I doubt I'd wear it, but I don't hate it.


These shorts are like jammies. 
With pockets.

There was other stuff, too, and I'll go through it all again tomorrow, but it was super cool to play dress up and feel good about it tonight. 

It's night 1 of 7 at the moment, and the houses are full. Fingers crossed nothing weird goes down. I'll be hanging out listening to the Cold War Kids catalog and drinking coffee. If it settles down, I might pull out the colored pencils and drop into a little zen coloring action. 

Are you familiar with Jenny Lawson? No?
Get familiar. You won't regret it.

So that's been my last few months in a nutshell. Exciting shit, yeah? My life is a goddamn roller-coaster ride.

Roller coasters. I'm totally going to Great America this summer. I don't care if I have to go by myself. I love coasters and it's been too long. I'm the asshole that laughs the whole ride...no screaming for me, just laughing until my face hurts. I live for danger. Carefully controlled danger with failsafes. Or a mouthguard. Whichever.

I'm going to have the best stories.

(Jenny Lawson "You Are Here")













Sunday, February 5, 2017

Day 4 at 3000 calories or "How A Pair of Leggings Sent My Body Confidence Off a Cliff"

I am not in a good place right now. I was prepared for eating this much to mess with me a little. Remembering the first two weeks of my program last year, the uncomfortably full feeling was expected. The bloating, the sluggishness, all par for the course.  I wasn't expecting to feel so emotional. 

I don't like emotions. I mean, I do anger...but even my anger is usually sarcastic, or at the very least simply self-destructive. Mostly I just kind of hang out at equilibrium. Not too high, not too low. It's zen in it's compartmentalized way.

The last few days I have been kind of a wreck.

Thursday was my first day trying to hit 3000 calories. I didn't quite make it, but I ate a lot and felt that I could totally handle this and it would be fine. Friday I had a great workout and was feeling very "I am so strong. Look at me deadlifting over 200# for reps like a boss." I went out for sushi with friends and ordered up 3 rolls and was all "Imma eat it ALL!"

So much food. So much water.

I ate it all, alright. But is was painful. I truly thought I was going to go full technicolor yawn after the last bite. It was delicious, and yet awful. I got home afterwards and realized I still had 3 boxes to check and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't. Fail.



Saturday was a CrossFit competition at my gym. Every year I run the equipment crew. It's fun, but it's a long day and it's fairly stressful. Since I'm supposed to be eating all this food and I knew I wouldn't get much time to eat anything sitting down, I packed a cooler full of fruit and veggies and protein bars and hummus and string cheese, etc and just sort of ate all day long. I wore elastic waist pants to conceal my food baby. All day I seesawed back and forth between ravenously hungry and so full I felt ill. There was no in-between. I didn't like it.

It was a busy day.

After the competition I still had many, many boxes to check. When I got home I decided to treat myself with a dessert...which was really high protein ice cream, a protein bar, and some peanut butter.

I really thought I was going to enjoy this more.

I couldn't finish the remaining boxes. I got close, but no cigar. It was an early night, and I was asleep around 9pm like the old lady that I am.

This morning I was hungry when I woke up, thankfully.  The kids slept past 7, which is miraculous. When I woke up I had a splitting headache, so I washed some ibuprofen down with coffee and made pancakes for the smalls. Fantastic husband came home and started making hash. He offered to share with me, and since I needed those boxes, I took him up on it.

My breakfast today. It was good.

After breakfast I engaged in one of my non-exercise hobbies. Knitting. I got a kit from a mail order house and I started in on it and a fresh cup of coffee. The ibuprofen didn't help my headache.

Neither did this, really.

I paused at 10am to eat some peppers and hummus and string cheese. Use your imagination. 

Fantastic husband went for a run with the psycho dog and I made myself some lunch.  Alllll the egg whites in my oatmeal, and some fruit and nuts.  The weirdest thing with this is my total lack of desire to eat fruit. I have less than zero interest in it, and I'm supposed to eat 4 servings per day. That shouldn't be so hard.

This was tough. I had to force feed myself.

This afternoon I went out for a run. It was somewhat unpleasant. I am very, very full almost all the time now. That means side stitches. Plus I feel as slow as a barge and about as wide.

Got to trot out the white vest, anyway.

After my run I ate some carrots and hummus and string cheese, then headed over to the box for broga. After being either stationary in a standing position or crouching or essentially swinging a 45# plate like a kettlebell all day Saturday, I needed the stretch. T had extra heaters in the room. It was nice, aside from my giant food baby belly blobbing all over the place. 

What really wrecked my day today was a pair of LuLaRoe leggings my husband brought home for me. I have a few friends who sell this brand and all I ever hear is how awesome they are and how I should totally buy some. I've been on the fence. Fantastic husband wears them and loves them (don't ask). He stopped over at a dealer in our neighborhood and she gave him a pair for me to try on.

They were fucking awful. 

I knew immediately upon seeing them that they weren't going to fit. Anything labeled "ONE SIZE" is deeply suspect. I should've just told husband to just fuck off back to the dealer with them. But no. I tried them on. They hit my calves and were so tight I could barely advance them up my legs. Once I had them wrestled up to waist level, the crotch was at least 2 inches below where my actual ladyparts are. So I pulled the fabric up and...they were 2 inches above my ankles. Check the mirror for underpants visibility? Yup. Polka dotted underpants fully visible through the pants.  I thought to myself "maybe a little activity will loosen them up". 

Stupid, stupid me. 

They look like they reach my ankles here because 
they have abandoned my ladygarden.

One size. YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES.

A bigger, fatter ass than some men out there
apparently.

Fantastic husband wears a size LLR brands "Tall and Curvy". He had a clean pair so I tried those on, too. Keep in mind that I once told FH that if we ever wore the same size pants I'd throw myself off a bridge. I like my men taller than me, substantially broader than me, and overall BIGGER than me. I'm a big woman and I like big men. Maybe that's sexist or something, but it's my thing.  I approached the TC leggings with trepidation. If 4 days of 3000 calories put me in the same size pants as FH I was pretty much going to cry.

They fit like a bag.

So I'm too fat for the OS and not "curvy" enough for the TC. FINE LLR, I'M SOME KIND OF PHYSICAL FREAK. GOT IT. THANKS.

See what I mean? Emotional. 

I have a LLR dress on order. I am less than hopeful regarding the fit. Right now I'm in full on Fuck You mode regarding it. I started today just feeling kinda chubby, but like it was going to be ok. I ended the day feeling like a goddamn hippopotamus. A big, freakishly shaped radioactive goddamn hippopotamus.

I'm wearing my fat shirt. 
Wanna fight about it?

You should be glad I hated those stupid leggings. More for you, 347 women who are going to comment on this post to tell me how much you puffy unicorn heart your LuLaRoe leggings. Go ahead. Use the word buttery so I can slap it out of your mouth.

After showering and pulling myself together, I headed downstairs to eat again.

I needed to put protein down without volume. 
Protein shake FTW.

Then I still had to eat because I still had some motherfucking boxes to check.

It was at this moment I began to hate food.

But I ate. I shoved all the food into my big, fat, freakishly shaped goddamn fucking mouth and BEHOLD.

Every stupid fucking box checked.

And now I'm at work and I have to start eating again in about 90 minutes. And I don't want to. Because I hate food. If I never had to eat again it would be too soon.

Someone told me yesterday that they wished they could get a pass to eat this much. HERE. TAKE IT. I hate this. I am just ANGRY and SAD and my body is STUPID and HUGE and SLOW. 

Jesus. I need it to be Thursday. I'm gonna tear the head off a goddamn lion. 

Now if you'll excuse me I need to fill up my water pitcher so that I'll be plenty hydrated for the epic cry I'm going to have when I get home tomorrow morning. 

And I still have that fucking headache. 



















Thursday, February 2, 2017

Radical Self-Care or "I'm So Full of Outrage, Where Do I Put All This Food?"

Hello again. It's 2017. Can you believe that shit?

I'm going to Scotland in June. This is Aberdeenshire. 
I'm not counting the days or anything.

Or really any of this shit? 45 has taken office. It's been 13.5 days and I'm already about 20 years older. I have donated to Planned Parenthood in Mike Pence's name about 6 times, to the ACLU in 45s name about 4, I've written upwards of 20 postcards to Paul Ryan, and I made 3 pussyhats...one of which marched in GB and the other made it all the way to Washington DC for the protest.

Come on. That's funny. Admit it.


I'm trying not to exhaust myself, because this is going to be a long fight. I don't want this blog to turn into a political forum, because that wasn't how it was conceived, but I also don't want to come across as completely tone deaf. Because let's face it. The eating/exercise habits of a 40 year old white lady aren't top priority for most people right now.

Wanna talk politics? Or religion? Or about really anything? I'm game. Seriously. I love that kind of discussion. A couple of rules, though: 1. You need to back your shit up. And it better not be Brietbart, you dig? 2. It can't get emotional. Mommy don't play that. 3. If you at any time belittle my intelligence, or question my work ethic? We are done. I don't use that tactic. 4. If at any time the words "libtard" or "snowflake" enter the conversation? We are done. 5. Call me a cry baby, and be prepared to drown in my liberal tears.

Lemme know when you want to have a sit down. Bring coffee. Or beer. Political discussions can get fun when you're hammered (right, Trish?).

That said, we do all still have lives and responsibilities. Kids, dogs, motherfucking houseplants, whatever. We still have to take care of ourselves. I still have goals and aspirations, and focusing on those things gives me a little respite from the constant barrage of is-it-real-or-is-it-fake bullshit that's flying around right now.

So. Moving on.

I went to see Kirk this morning. You know. Nutrition guy. I've decided to have a BIA and a little sit-down once a month this year. To keep me accountable, and to keep me working towards being the best 40 year old me I can be. I've been holding steady at less-than-chubby-but-not-exactly-lean for some time now. My waist remains 29" (and halle-fuckin-lujah for that). This month my hips were down. I was grumpy about it, because I'm trying to build this booty. Kirk found that amusing. Apparently I am his only female client that reacts badly to a smaller hip measurement.

As an aside, the front desk lady told me I inspire her. I was all "WTF are you talking about?" then she pointed out that my little testimonial is in the loop on the screen in the lobby. That poor child has to look at my blue-haired self on repeat every day. I need to send her a fruit basket by way of apology.

AAAAAnnnnnnyway. After I got all analyzed, Kirk asked if I'd ever thought about playing with my calorie intake to jumpstart my metabolism.

It was pretty much exactly like this.

And I was all "Sure, what's the worst that could happen?"

Then he said he wanted me to eat 2800-3000 calories a day for the next week, then cut back to 1800-2000 for 3 weeks. I currently eat 2000-2200 calories a day. 

3000 calories is a lot of fucking food. I mean, when you actually eat it in the form of food. 

I'm fairly certain this quantity wouldn't be an issue.

I will admit that it sounded pretty great while I was sitting in the office. Mostly because you have to fast before a BIA. I'm a shitty faster. I get sort of murdery. So after agreeing to this little experiment, I went to Starbucks and got myself a latte.

Dairy, motherfucker.

I briefly considered stopping for a donut or somesuch. But I didn't. Because I am committed to fitness. Actually it's because I missed the exit I needed to take for Uncle Mike's and I was too lazy to turn around. But you know, also committed to fitness. 

Got home and made myself some egg white oatmeal.  With all the egg whites that exist in the universe. Or like 6. Whatever. 

Oh gods. So full.

Playing this game means I have to go back to measuring everything so make sure I'm not overshooting or undercutting myself. Sigh. But it's okay. I can totally do this. I can. This is a pep self-talk. 

Since I have to work tonight, after I ate I laid down for a little nap. I got a couple of hours, which is great. Tonight is a one-off because the Ice Bowl is Saturday and I took PTO so I could sleep before and after. Sleep is important. If I don't get enough I am very unpleasant.  

When I woke up, I ate some more.

8oz of meatloaf. Gah.

I had to break out the big dinner plate. This was fine until it was about half gone. Then I questioned my life choices and forced that shit down my gullet.

And if you're going to eat big, you better lift some shit.

Heavy (for me) pause squats, and some deficit lunges.

I also almost threw a kettlebell through the wall. If you're arms are itchy, so you put on some lotion? Wash your hands before swinging a KB. I imagine 53# would really fuck up the drywall. Fortunately I just felt silly. No water pipes were broken, praise cheeses. 

Once all that happy horseshit was done, I took my dead ass legs out for a run with a fellow Nasty Woman.

I am apparently quite fond of purple.

It was cold. It was windy. We did a 5K and marveled at the fact that it wasn't dark at 1730. 

Then I ate. Because that's what I do.

Old faithful.

After my little snack I was out the door again for workout #3. Full disclosure: I've been taking a belly dancing class for the last month. I am so fucking awkward in this body. It's too much arms and legs. Sometimes I feel like I'm wearing a badly constructed meat suit. My brain says "Oh yes, I see how that is done." Then my body is all "Hold my beer." So I took my food baby out in public. 

I wore this in public. Yes I did.
Avert your gaze from my pasty whiteness.

I've always found belly dancing really beautiful and exotic. Yeah. Not the way I do it. I imagine most women would view me lurching around the floor and wonder "Is that poor elderly woman having a seizure?" I suppose most men would be so turned off that their genitals would just wither and die right there. Attempting to do the movements in sequence at more than a snail's pace is comical in the extreme. Tonight I was concentrating so hard that I got a headache, and I wasn't even wearing a jangly belt. Deep frowns of intense concentration are very sexy. 

I should never dance. It's an insult to the art form. Now that I think of it, I guess I don't ever dance.

Once I was home it was into the shower to get ready for work. First I drank this.

Fast protein.

Then I showered up, leaving my disgusting hair as is, so I could hustle downstairs to pack my (ridiculously gigantic) lunch and try to cram some more food in.

I was short a grain and a "nuts and seeds". So Ezekiel toast with Sunbutter it was.

I had to convince myself to eat this. 
Full on, out-loud pep talk.

Fantastic husband just loves to listen to me whine about having to eat so much. I can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

So I packed up my stuff and put it in the new car I accidentally bought on Tuesday and headed to the salt mine.

Accidental BMW.

Along with all the foodz, I'm continuing to drink all the water. I am responsible for the drought in California. Sorry about your bathwater, people.

I am so full I hurt.

So how did I do today?

Not great.

The difference between 2800 and 3000 calories is a protein box. As you can see, I missed many boxes. In my defense I didn't have my first meal until 1100, and I had to nap today. I'll be better the next couple of days. Maybe. Or maybe I'll burst. That's a real possibility.


If you see me during the next week and I'm not eating, remind me to eat. Thanks in advance.