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.

1 comment:

  1. Amy - we are heading to Scotland at the end of April. I can't wait.