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.


A bigger, fatter ass than some men out there

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 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.