Big is Beautiful or "RP Can Go Fuck Itself"

I am apparently unable to cut weight. 4 weeks ago I was 76.5kg and set out on Cut 3 of my RP template. It was soul sucking. I ate salad. Salad. I hate salad. But I did it. For 3 weeks I did it.

And I lost 1kg.  ONE KILOGRAM.

Ok. It's okay, I thought to myself. I feel leaner, surely I must have put on a shitload of muscle over the last 2 months and that's why I'm having trouble cutting. My arms are bigger, my quads are bigger, my backside is bigger. That's what's going on here. For fuck's sake I swear I could almost see abs.

So I scheduled an appointment for a BIA to confirm this. I figured if my body fat percentage is down and I've put on muscle then I'll just hang at 75kg and forget about cutting.

What I found out is that I'm just fat. Fatter than I was before I started cutting. 

DID YOU HEAR THAT RP? MY BODY FAT PERCENTAGE WENT UP ON CUT THREE. Please feel free to go fuck yourself. 

This means two things. 

1. I definitely can cut to 72kg because I am definitely fat enough.

2. I definitely ate my weight in Christmas cookies this weekend because I am amazing at self-sabotage.

I'm fairly certain that the 1kg I lost is back and brought 2 or 3 of it's friends to the party. Because that's how I roll. 3 weeks to lose 2.2#, 4 days to gain 8. Nobody gets fat as well as me. Nobody. 

Ridiculously easy to see. From space.

Fuck. Now I have to make a decision. Do I get back on that horse and try to whittle myself down to 72kg over the next 4ish weeks with a super low carb, high protein, modified fluid manipulation, joyless soul-sucking cut? Or do I just try to get myself back together so I don't actually become 84kg (the ceiling for the next weight class). 

Sigh.

A healthy non-cookie-related snack.

Goddammit. Nothing but meat, protein powder, kale, and fucking sorrow for the next 4ish weeks.

And I'll probably Be 72.1kg on the scale. Or 84.1, because dieting makes me fat.

HAVE I MENTIONED RP CAN GO FUCK ITSELF?

And I was feeling so positive about it, all strong and stuff. I hit a 200# back squat on Thursday after finding out that I'm fat. So that was cool.

I'm told strong is sexy. 

Ugh. Now I have to do cardio. I have to eat chicken breasts and kale and drink protein shakes and do cardio.

So I can be like this bitch. 

I don't think she has the right size shorts on. 

She doesn't have enough legs and ass for these shorts.

I guess January is for suffering, right? I'm just starting a little ahead of schedule. January is cold and bleak. I can eat cold and bleak and do cold, bleak cardio for a month or so. Probably.

Last week was strange. Aside from hitting my 200# squat it was sort of garbage. Not only did I find out that I'm fat, I had my neck and back adjusted last Monday. I've only ever seen one chiropractor in my life (Historically I've been wary of chiropractors, though I will say my previous one was very helpful) but he didn't crack my back. Sadly, he moved away. I've been lifting heavy lately and thought maybe I should line someone else up in case my back goes south again (I have scoliosis, my back goes out periodically). So I had a consultation with someone new. The first time for back cracking? Also the last time. I'll probably go back to side-eyeing chiropractic. Everything was fine for a few hours, and then it all went to hell in a hand basket.

It started with my balance going to shit. I couldn't stay in a crescent lunge at yoga that night. I couldn't hold my arms up above my head for more than a few seconds. About 10 minutes into class it was like showers of sparks were flowing down my spine and my right arm. The spark shower continued even when I stopped moving, all the way home in the car. That night I developed deep shooting pains from my low back down my glutes and hamstrings. 

Lotta shit goes on up and down the spine.

I spent all week sleeping for shit and every lifting session came with some new neuralgia. I couldn't deadlift because it hurt too much. Sparks, burning, numbness, headache...and after one heavy session my hand shook off and on for about 30 minutes. Heat helped some while the heat was applied, ice made it worse, and when my husband tried to work on the section of my back that was most locked up? I cried. I don't do that. Cry. It's not my thing. 

Finally, I was able to sweet talk my way into a prescription for cyclobenzaprine. I say sweet talk, because providers never want to write pain meds for me. I don't know if it's because I ask for drugs by name (I'm a pharmacist, yo, what am I supposed to do...pretend I don't know what shit is for?) or because my "excruciating pain" face looks pretty much like my regular face. Sorta pissed off. Maybe I look like a seeker. A shitty one, because I never score. 

Just a few Flexeril, bro, that's all mama needs.

Still, I got what I needed and after a few days of solid, muscle-relaxer-induced sleep I feel almost normal. Just a little bit of a twanging sensation across my right shoulder remains, but I was able to run without inducing pain or sparks so that's positive. Later today I'll put a barbell on my back and see what happens. I'm hopeful. 

I need to be in tip-top shape so I can torture myself really, really effectively with chicken, kale, and cardio. 

If I get fatter doing cardio, lifting, and eating nothing but meat and veggies do you think I could get written up in a medical journal? Because that has to be impossible, right?

We're gonna find out. 

Oh, also I did my roots...toning went better this time but it did get a teeny bit purple. Also I might have melted some of my hair off. Just a little bit, though.

Closer to white blonde than before. 

Also, my nose is really long. Wow.

Tossing around the idea of dyeing it silver, but I can't decide if it'd look edgy or if I'd just look old. 

Would it look like this?

Or more like this?

I mean, I fully expect to look like Bea Arthur in about 25 years. About the same height, similar build, similar face, same general sense of dude-ness. It's cool. I'd probably skip the shoulder pads, but it was the 80s, no judgement on my girl Bea. It could be worse...I'm just not looking to go there right this second. 

It's veggie time. Except not potatoes or carrots because too many carbs. I can't wait to go back to dieting. I love dieting. 

Kill me. 

Abs are Made in the Kitchen or "Nobody Wants to See Your Cellulite in a Singlet"

I haven't written for a while. Lots of stuff has happened since September. Mostly the things happened in October.

I did a CF competition. 

Team Active Bitch Face. We placed third in the old lady division.

I did a Strongman.

I'm so fucking pretty I can hardly stand it.

I placed mega-last so it's a good thing, too.

I ran the Marine Corps Marathon.

It was miserable. Hardest thing I've ever done.

Eyelashes on point, though.

And after all that...I did something stupid.  I registered for a Powerlifting meet. A Powerlifting meet. Do you know what that means? I have to put on a motherfucking singlet in front of live action people.

One of these.  In public.

I ordered an XL, because I'm a big potato

and in Virus land every woman 69kg and over is XL

Except when they're a Small.

Fucking Virus.

Only I don't even get to wear that unattractive thing, as it's not IPF approved. For the record, the Virus XL didn't fit. It was advertised as compressive and it wasn't. I sent it back. SO MUCH FOR YOUR SIZE CHART, VIRUS. KISS MY 76.5KG ASS. 

Instead I get to wear an even MORE unattractive thing. This thing. But in black. Size Large because "Unisex". 

Ha. Unisex. Even this phantom model has a bulge.

I don't have a bulge. I'm a manly looking woman,

but even I'm not quite THAT manly.

Unisex clothes can go fuck themselves. Ha. See what I did there. Actually, I suppose that would be hermaphroditic clothes. Wait, no...parthenogenetic clothes? I'm starting to forget my nomenclature. It's hell to get old.  It's also hell to be a big woman. Am I a small man? A medium man? A large man? Depends what brand we're talking about. Trying to get something that fits my body AND my condor arms? HA. HAHAHAHAHAHA. A unisex article of clothing that fits my wide ass hips and also my narrower ribcage? HA. I say HA. I am not at all peevish about this. 

I've been known to wear some objectionable shit in my basement gym, but there are no real live people there. My squat rack doesn't care if I wear a sports bra and booty shorts with my gut hanging out over the waistband. My squat rack doesn't judge me. My squat rack loves me and wants me to be happy. 

This is my squat rack. It needs a name. I think it's a girl, but I'm not sure.

Isn't it beautiful?

Oh! Oh! and it has safeties for benching, too!

Here I am attempting to arch. It's a work in progress.

We did invest in a sturdier, longer bench. The bench in this photo is now just for sitting on while I rest or change shoes. ALL THE GYM STUFF, Y'ALL.

As an aside? Whenever this song comes on while I'm squatting? I sing the lyric 

as "The rack I squat in? I bought it."

Back to the meet. There's another catch beyond the singlet. I registered as a 72kg (158#) lifter. Let's just say I don't weigh 72kg right now. My last known weight was 76.5kg (168.3#). I've hopped on the scale once or twice since my last "official" weight and in spite of a pretty drastic cut, my numbers have been all over the place. I should've started cutting in earnest months ago.

I make a lot of poor choices.

Cutting weight sucks balls. It is two months of uninspiring food, and if you know me, you know I like mealtime to be an event. Eating isn't an event these days, it's an obligation. I started out with terrible cravings, and now that has tapered off to a general dissatisfaction with everything I put in my mouth. I don't even want to eat anymore. One might think "Hey, starvation is probably great for cutting!" except I need to be light AND strong. Not eating doesn't make muscle. 

I have until 1/20 to make weight. I can't water cut because it's a 2 hour weigh in and dehydration is not my friend from a performance standpoint. So I actually have to lose 4.5kg. TEN POUNDS. In reality I should probably lose more like 12 pounds because I'm pretty sure we don't weigh in butt naked, and since weigh in is at noon it'll be more like curb weight vs. dry weight. 

Goddammit. If I'm not at 74kg when I weigh next I may just scrap the whole thing and tell the lady in charge of the meet that I need to move up to the 84kg class.

There goes my Wilks score.

On a positive note, I've been enjoying all the barbell work. I really have. So far I've maxed out my bench, dead, AND squat at more than I thought possible for me and it seems there's more in the tank. I can rep out squats at much heavier weights than at any time in the past. I don't even mind doing them, and I used to hate them. I've invested in knee sleeves and an Inzer lever belt that is a truly beautiful and alarming piece of equipment. I have a short torso. The distance between the bottom of my ribs and the top of my iliac crest is not a lot of real estate. In the past I've worn tapered belts to avoid compressing the bottom of my rib cage. The new Inzer belt isn't tapered.

It's, um, hefty. Every time I snap it shut I'm pretty sure

I'm going to pinch my belly flubber in it.

I love the way it feels when I'm in the act of lifting, but closing it hurts a little. I'm fairly certain there're going to be bruises along the base of my ribs. Sad thing is I think it should be a notch tighter...but my rib cage is in the way. Today I tried to push it down a bit because it was hurting my ribs and I couldn't because skeletal structure, y'all. 

Oh hey, it's also the holiday season. Have I mentioned cutting blows? Yeah, it blows more during the food-a-palooza that is this time of year. One thing that's on my side is the fact that I'm not allowed to have holidays at all, ever, so at least I'm not tempted by lovely meals with my family.

Health care careers FTW.

I'm on social media hiatus at the moment. I started by deactivating my Facebook and Instagram accounts for a week and removing the apps from my phone. The accounts are up again (chances are you're reading this linked from my FB page, since nobody actually goes to my blog website), but the apps aren't on my phone and they won't be until after the first of the year at least. Frankly, I can't handle all the holiday posts. Your family is lovely. Really, they are. But I can't deal with the constant stream of  smiling faces and holiday jollies.  For the fourth year in a row, I'm working the winter holidays, and because schedules hate us, so is my husband. My kids weren't home on Thanksgiving, and they won't be home on Christmas. They'll be with people who love them, but not with us. I'll spend close to 14 hours in the hospital on Christmas Day, working my own shift and covering for a co-worker. Hell, even the day we selected for our family gift exchange was fucked around by an order-in. I'm reachable, I'm not hiding in a hole or anything, but I'm full on Bah Humbuging it at the moment, so be warned.

A party you say? Oh, sorry, I work that day.

Yup. That day, too. Allllllll those days around the holiday.

That's my shift. 

I'll be keeping the obsidian shards of my cold, bitter heart out of your holiday celebrations. You're welcome. And for those who would say "You're atheist AF, why do you give a shit about Christmas at all?" I give you this (it's actually pretty interesting, debauchery for all!). 

This Party is About Jesus now, m'kay?

I like debauchery and excess in all it's forms. Just keeping Yule sacred.

Looking through the archive of this blog was interesting today. Last year I had some goals. I actually hit most of them. There are three still outstanding, but there are still over 2 weeks left in the year and I have max days coming.

1. 100# snatch (current max 95#)

2. 200# squat (current max 180# set today with a max out this Friday and next Friday)

3. 250# dead (current max 235# and I got 255 off the floor two weeks ago)

My main goal for 2017 was to triumph over my flat-ass genes (or at least keep that shit from sliding down the backs of my legs). I don't know if I've reached the mountain top, but I'm on the way to the summit. I no longer fit under a barbell, and there's definitely more going on back there now than there was before.

And these aren't even flattering pants.

I guess my new goal for the New Year needs to be set, right? Well, I'll start with something that'll get me a t-shirt. A 600# total to earn my entry into the Ghrino Club. Current total: 535. Holy shit that sounds pathetic...but my bench has improved dramatically of late, squatting feels like a completely different ballgame now, and if I can find a decent pair of pee panties my deadlift is going up to 275# easy (I don't like to wet myself in front of strangers and that causes me to bail out of lifts when I feel the floodgates opening...so now you know that about me). That 535 is 30# higher than 6 weeks ago. Six weeks for a 30# overall improvement. That's pretty good, right? 600# is in the bag for 2018, bruised ribs and all.

So. I'm going to grind for the next 2 weeks, skip over Christmas, and head straight into the New Year.

New Year, same old me...

All 76.5kg of me. 

#sorrynotsorry