I rode my bike last night. Only for 20 minutes or so, but my butt is sore this morning, so it totally counts for something. It felt so nice outside, and feeling that breeze on my face as I pedal along - I really love that feeling. I told Jimi last night I wanted to get up and go to the gym this morning - some mornings he stays in bed while I get up with the girls, and I wanted to make sure he knew I had a plan for the morning and it required him to be up and at 'em. (He's so good to me, I am trying really hard to not set him up for failure, and I know that if I hadn't said anything, and he tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep, I'd end up pissed at him for ruining my plans I made in my head and never shared with him. That's not very fair, and he never does that crap to me but I do it to him all the time. So I'm working on it.) Cora had us all up by 6, and she and I were both super congested and coughy. I nearly talked myself into skipping the workout, but dammit, that's what I do every other day. If I want to feel better, to do the things I enjoy, like working out, I have to stop making excuses and skipping shit all the time. I'm 37 and I've never stuck with anything I've started except this marriage and parenting these girls and I'm probably only sticking to these things because Jimi is just amazing and parenting isn't one of those things you can just quit doing. So I went to the gym. I walked Finn first, even. And then I went to the gym, and it was as awesome as I remember. I felt strong and got sweaty and my muscles got that awesome shaky feeling - I love everything about working out except trying to get myself to go do it.
The girls are sweet today. Loving and laughing and playing together without fighting and not whining. I bought mini ice cream sandwiches and some fruit snacks at the grocery yesterday - they are a hot topic of conversation today. Geneva has been asking for fruit snacks and trying to negotiate her way into some all day - the final agreement is she can have some with snack, at 10 a.m. She has to eat her carrots first, though. (She chose carrots - the other options were broccoli and cauliflower, but carrots won out.) That's good - she eats carrots by themselves. Broccoli and cauliflower require Olive Garden Italian Dressing for dipping, as does salad. But they eat veggies, dammit.
Looks like we have a Costco trip in our future today; Cora needs more Claritin. I still need to address that laundry. Oooo! Tonight is Game of Thrones. I love Sundays. I love today. I love this silly little life.
Showing posts with label Getting Not-Fat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Getting Not-Fat. Show all posts
Sunday, July 30, 2017
Monday, January 23, 2017
I love the gym.
It's late. The alarm will sound early. I love the gym.
My legs and ass hurt. The good hurt, the sort that says, "Oh yeah, I did something good for myself" and also "holy lord how in the fuck will I ever get my ass all the way down there on the toilet seat without dying?!"
You know what I mean. If you don't, go do 36 squats and 36 lunges and report back in 24 hours. Or just stab yourself in the upper thigh and ass cheeks. Whichever.
But I'm going to go back tomorrow. And Wednesday. Thursday, Friday, Saturday...it's like I'm daring myself to see what will happen if I actually stick to this.
Well, this week. Today. It is only Monday, after all. I would've skipped this morning if it weren't for the fact that Melinda was meeting me there at 5 a.m. Not like I can stand her up, you know?
I soaked in Epsom salts and now the stabbing isn't quite so awful. And for the record, I really don't mind it...I just have a hard time controlling the grunts and groans that associate any squat-like movements.
But I'm totally fine.
I'll do it again tomorrow.
My legs and ass hurt. The good hurt, the sort that says, "Oh yeah, I did something good for myself" and also "holy lord how in the fuck will I ever get my ass all the way down there on the toilet seat without dying?!"
You know what I mean. If you don't, go do 36 squats and 36 lunges and report back in 24 hours. Or just stab yourself in the upper thigh and ass cheeks. Whichever.
But I'm going to go back tomorrow. And Wednesday. Thursday, Friday, Saturday...it's like I'm daring myself to see what will happen if I actually stick to this.
Well, this week. Today. It is only Monday, after all. I would've skipped this morning if it weren't for the fact that Melinda was meeting me there at 5 a.m. Not like I can stand her up, you know?
I soaked in Epsom salts and now the stabbing isn't quite so awful. And for the record, I really don't mind it...I just have a hard time controlling the grunts and groans that associate any squat-like movements.
But I'm totally fine.
I'll do it again tomorrow.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
I want to sleep until it's time for my next meal.
I'm still 16 pounds from my goal weight I sorta kinda set for myself back in January. The concept of having a goal weight has gone out the window in the last few days, though, so who cares? I'm stronger than I've been in a long time, and I feel good. I'm going to stay active and keep moving. The smokes and beers are history, and like last time, it's easy - when I can't, I won't.
Today, I'm tired and so very very hungry. We've stocked up on healthy foods, so at least I've got plenty of good grazing sources. We went to a party for one of Jimi's friends - my first-ever social outing without my usual lubricants to get the conversation flowing. Between trips to the veggie tray and chip bags and water faucet, I mostly sat and watched everyone else interact while making mental lists of things to Google once I got home. I'm broken, but also sleepy and a bit preoccupied.
It's 11 p.m. and tomorrow feels like it'll be here any minute. Sweet dreams.
Today, I'm tired and so very very hungry. We've stocked up on healthy foods, so at least I've got plenty of good grazing sources. We went to a party for one of Jimi's friends - my first-ever social outing without my usual lubricants to get the conversation flowing. Between trips to the veggie tray and chip bags and water faucet, I mostly sat and watched everyone else interact while making mental lists of things to Google once I got home. I'm broken, but also sleepy and a bit preoccupied.
It's 11 p.m. and tomorrow feels like it'll be here any minute. Sweet dreams.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Boot Camp is the new Blogging
Melinda got on me again tonight for not posting. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just don't have anything good to say."
We're in our last week of boot camp, and that means I've got to make a plan quick for something to pick up next week. She's got a gym membership and an unlimited guest pass, so I imagine we'll be heading that way. I missed the window to no-join-fee membership at the YMCA, but I may suck it up and pay it and join anyhow. It's the closest gym to our house, and there's a pool that's open from 5 a.m. 'til 10 p.m. each night. It's not exactly cheap, but it's certainly not more than my health and fitness is worth.
Tonight, at boot camp, I flipped a 280 pound tractor tire, by myself. I feel like the Queen of the Fucking World. I'm Strong. I can do things that I dread right up until the second I'm doing them, and then, once I'm in the thick of it, I'm just focused on getting it done. I'm so fucking AWESOME! At least, that's how I feel during each 10 second break, after 30 seconds of pushing myself as hard as I can. When I've had too much, and I feel like I just can't do any more, I stop, and let myself take a break, and I immediately hear a voice in the back of my head saying, "Stop it, get going, get back in it, you can do this, don't be a pussy, you can do this, do one more rep, two more..." and I get back in there and do another. I make myself finish the set if they call time when I'm in the middle.
My body is changing. I met my collar bones tonight for the first time in years. I have muscles in my arms, and that fleshy part that hangs underneath is smaller and gets firmer when I flex. My legs are more toned. I bought dresses two weeks ago and the larges were too large - I bought mediums for the first time in I-can't-remember-when. I still have a gut, and that'll only disappear with more work and time, but I can see the changes. I'm still getting on the scale nearly every morning, but I've not lost a pound in weeks. This is okay with me. I've not changed my diet at all, unless we count moving in the wrong direction - pizza twice a week, ice cream in the freezer, cookies in the pantry - so the fact that I'm maintaining and still noticing positive changes makes me exceedingly happy.
Jimi's been amazingly supportive of my new regiment. The day I bought my dresses, Jimi bought me four new workout tanks, and some desperately-needed workout shorts and capris. (I'd been working out the last few weeks wearing the same pair of yoga pants - I just washed them every other day. Even Melinda noticed.) I'm much cooler in my new gear, and the clingy tops really emphasize my hard-earned boob- and back-sweat marks, showing the world just how hard I've worked. (And warning people not to stand down-wind.)
Melinda has been an amazing workout partner, and I'm so so SO glad she agreed to do this with me. If it weren't for my obligation to her, I would've stopped going weeks ago - that's just how I am. Even now, as much as I love it, I come up with a hundred excuses every boot-camp-day for why I shouldn't have to go that night - I always need to stay late at work, I would rather just go home and drink beer, I just don't want to because it's hard - but because Melinda is going to be there, and because she's counting on my ass to show up, I do everything I can to make it to class. I WANT to do it, and I feel awesome after it's over, but 78% of the reason I sit through that traffic and force myself to show up is because I don't want to let Melinda down. She's the best cheerleader, too - she high-fives and encourages our classmates, and jokes with the instructors, and tells me that I'm awesome when I'm ready to throw in the fucking towel. She makes me want to try harder. She works her ass off, too. She pushes when she's had enough. She always picks the heavier barbells and kettle bells and medicine balls, and when she can't do the assigned exercise any longer, she does squats or jumping jacks or whatever alternate she comes up with to keep her heart rate up and keep moving. When we have a water break, she always hands me my bottle if she reached it first. She's offered to share her towel when I've forgotten mine. She always hugs me and tells me she loves me before we split off to our individual cars at the end of the night. I love her too, and I'm so glad she's my friend.
There ya go, Disney. I wrote the SHIT out of this blog. It's because I'm strong. ;)
We're in our last week of boot camp, and that means I've got to make a plan quick for something to pick up next week. She's got a gym membership and an unlimited guest pass, so I imagine we'll be heading that way. I missed the window to no-join-fee membership at the YMCA, but I may suck it up and pay it and join anyhow. It's the closest gym to our house, and there's a pool that's open from 5 a.m. 'til 10 p.m. each night. It's not exactly cheap, but it's certainly not more than my health and fitness is worth.
Tonight, at boot camp, I flipped a 280 pound tractor tire, by myself. I feel like the Queen of the Fucking World. I'm Strong. I can do things that I dread right up until the second I'm doing them, and then, once I'm in the thick of it, I'm just focused on getting it done. I'm so fucking AWESOME! At least, that's how I feel during each 10 second break, after 30 seconds of pushing myself as hard as I can. When I've had too much, and I feel like I just can't do any more, I stop, and let myself take a break, and I immediately hear a voice in the back of my head saying, "Stop it, get going, get back in it, you can do this, don't be a pussy, you can do this, do one more rep, two more..." and I get back in there and do another. I make myself finish the set if they call time when I'm in the middle.
My body is changing. I met my collar bones tonight for the first time in years. I have muscles in my arms, and that fleshy part that hangs underneath is smaller and gets firmer when I flex. My legs are more toned. I bought dresses two weeks ago and the larges were too large - I bought mediums for the first time in I-can't-remember-when. I still have a gut, and that'll only disappear with more work and time, but I can see the changes. I'm still getting on the scale nearly every morning, but I've not lost a pound in weeks. This is okay with me. I've not changed my diet at all, unless we count moving in the wrong direction - pizza twice a week, ice cream in the freezer, cookies in the pantry - so the fact that I'm maintaining and still noticing positive changes makes me exceedingly happy.
Jimi's been amazingly supportive of my new regiment. The day I bought my dresses, Jimi bought me four new workout tanks, and some desperately-needed workout shorts and capris. (I'd been working out the last few weeks wearing the same pair of yoga pants - I just washed them every other day. Even Melinda noticed.) I'm much cooler in my new gear, and the clingy tops really emphasize my hard-earned boob- and back-sweat marks, showing the world just how hard I've worked. (And warning people not to stand down-wind.)
Melinda has been an amazing workout partner, and I'm so so SO glad she agreed to do this with me. If it weren't for my obligation to her, I would've stopped going weeks ago - that's just how I am. Even now, as much as I love it, I come up with a hundred excuses every boot-camp-day for why I shouldn't have to go that night - I always need to stay late at work, I would rather just go home and drink beer, I just don't want to because it's hard - but because Melinda is going to be there, and because she's counting on my ass to show up, I do everything I can to make it to class. I WANT to do it, and I feel awesome after it's over, but 78% of the reason I sit through that traffic and force myself to show up is because I don't want to let Melinda down. She's the best cheerleader, too - she high-fives and encourages our classmates, and jokes with the instructors, and tells me that I'm awesome when I'm ready to throw in the fucking towel. She makes me want to try harder. She works her ass off, too. She pushes when she's had enough. She always picks the heavier barbells and kettle bells and medicine balls, and when she can't do the assigned exercise any longer, she does squats or jumping jacks or whatever alternate she comes up with to keep her heart rate up and keep moving. When we have a water break, she always hands me my bottle if she reached it first. She's offered to share her towel when I've forgotten mine. She always hugs me and tells me she loves me before we split off to our individual cars at the end of the night. I love her too, and I'm so glad she's my friend.
There ya go, Disney. I wrote the SHIT out of this blog. It's because I'm strong. ;)
Friday, May 25, 2012
Just another day in paradise.
Last night was the first night we walked past the room where they hold the 101 boot camp class and intentionally headed for the room where they teach the regular class. A week ago one of our trainers told us we were ready to move up, but regular class seemed so much more intimidating. For one, those people actually look fit, whereas the 101 class is filled with people like us - puffy in the middle, new to exercise, each of us secretly hoping we'll lose weight without having to work too hard because, dammit, we showed up to class and that should really count for something. (Maybe that last part is just me.) I won't lie, I was also intimidated by the fact that they make the regular class run up this big-ass grassy knoll on the side of the building, and that shit is not fun.
But the 101 class isn't challenging enough anymore- 20 seconds of exercise, then 20 seconds of rest - I need more than that. So we followed the fit people to the glass room, and there, laid out before us, was a circuit of shit we've never seen or done before. Turns out, it was the trainer's last class, and he wanted totorture us have us work out with his favorite exercises. He's graduated from college and is moving off into the world (Alabama), and this was his last hurrah. I'm so glad we showed up for this. (/sarcasm) Did I mention this guy was a college-level swimmer and a professional trainer? Fuck me. Things like "rope slam" and "super jacks" and "burpee jacks" (whomever invented burpees is an asshole). As the trainer described each station, Melinda glared at me. "It's not too late to go to the other class, you know," she said. "Girl, we got this," I replied, lying through my teeth.
We did have it, though. It was hard as hell and my shirt and bra were soaked through with sweat when we were finished, but we totally had that workout. One minute on, twenty seconds of rest, then switch - much more challenging. I left feeling like jello, all rubbery and weak and flushed and feeling like the fucking champion of the world because did I mention burpee jacks?
I got home and Jimi and I spent some quality time hanging out on the front porch, talking about work and working out and trying to figure out which of the 20 things going on this weekend we're going to be able to attend. I made smoothies and cereal for dinner.
and then my ex-husband sent me a friend request on facebook.
My heartbeat quickened, but in an "oh shit I've been caught and I'm going to be in trouble" sort of way, which makes no sense at all. I tried to figure out why I was reacting the way I was, but I couldn't find an explanation for why my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest, and I couldn't believe Jimi couldn't hear it. My hands started to shake as I clicked on his profile and gave it a scan. Yep, same guy. I'll be damned. I accepted his friend request, but I won't lie and pretend I didn't go to my own page first, to get a gander at what he'll see, what impression he'll get, what picture my facebook page paints of my life. Fortunately, I'm pretty awesome, so I was all "sure, come on in, check it out, see what I've been up to for the last 6 years". (You can say all that by accepting a friend request, did ya know?) I mean, if I'd been so inclined and sent the request instead, I'd hope he'd give me the courtesy, I guess. I'm just surprised, caught off guard - I sort of felt, for a moment, as if something bad was intruding on something good - past onto present, sad onto happy.
It's just that I don't think about that life much anymore these days. There were good times, sure, but I was mostly sad and drunk and alone during our marriage, and he sort of threw me away like I was yesterday's trash rather than the woman he'd chosen as his wife. Typing that, I don't need to delve any further into this to figure out why I reacted the way I did last night. Isn't that enough of a reason?
I hugged Jimi tight before I went to bed - I thanked him for loving me, and for making this life with me. I'm so very grateful for him.
But the 101 class isn't challenging enough anymore- 20 seconds of exercise, then 20 seconds of rest - I need more than that. So we followed the fit people to the glass room, and there, laid out before us, was a circuit of shit we've never seen or done before. Turns out, it was the trainer's last class, and he wanted to
We did have it, though. It was hard as hell and my shirt and bra were soaked through with sweat when we were finished, but we totally had that workout. One minute on, twenty seconds of rest, then switch - much more challenging. I left feeling like jello, all rubbery and weak and flushed and feeling like the fucking champion of the world because did I mention burpee jacks?
I got home and Jimi and I spent some quality time hanging out on the front porch, talking about work and working out and trying to figure out which of the 20 things going on this weekend we're going to be able to attend. I made smoothies and cereal for dinner.
and then my ex-husband sent me a friend request on facebook.
My heartbeat quickened, but in an "oh shit I've been caught and I'm going to be in trouble" sort of way, which makes no sense at all. I tried to figure out why I was reacting the way I was, but I couldn't find an explanation for why my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest, and I couldn't believe Jimi couldn't hear it. My hands started to shake as I clicked on his profile and gave it a scan. Yep, same guy. I'll be damned. I accepted his friend request, but I won't lie and pretend I didn't go to my own page first, to get a gander at what he'll see, what impression he'll get, what picture my facebook page paints of my life. Fortunately, I'm pretty awesome, so I was all "sure, come on in, check it out, see what I've been up to for the last 6 years". (You can say all that by accepting a friend request, did ya know?) I mean, if I'd been so inclined and sent the request instead, I'd hope he'd give me the courtesy, I guess. I'm just surprised, caught off guard - I sort of felt, for a moment, as if something bad was intruding on something good - past onto present, sad onto happy.
It's just that I don't think about that life much anymore these days. There were good times, sure, but I was mostly sad and drunk and alone during our marriage, and he sort of threw me away like I was yesterday's trash rather than the woman he'd chosen as his wife. Typing that, I don't need to delve any further into this to figure out why I reacted the way I did last night. Isn't that enough of a reason?
I hugged Jimi tight before I went to bed - I thanked him for loving me, and for making this life with me. I'm so very grateful for him.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
A moment
Melinda says she doesn't like my new blog layout. Do the rest of you feel that way too? Did anyone else even notice? Is this thing on? *crickets*
Boot camp is awesome and I want to go every day. I haven't lost any weight, but I feel like a total badass when class is over, which means I have to drive home with my windows down and my music loud and my arm out the window, making eye contact with the drivers stopped next to me at red lights, raising my eyebrows at them as if to say "Are you awesome, too? Want to rock to this song with me?" Of course, they turn their heads quickly and pretend they don't notice the crazy sweaty girl making eyes at them from the car the next lane over, the one bumping her hand on the steering wheel out of time with the loud Ben Harper CD that was hot maybe 12 years ago. But whatever. Boot camp is where it's at.
Boot camp is awesome and I want to go every day. I haven't lost any weight, but I feel like a total badass when class is over, which means I have to drive home with my windows down and my music loud and my arm out the window, making eye contact with the drivers stopped next to me at red lights, raising my eyebrows at them as if to say "Are you awesome, too? Want to rock to this song with me?" Of course, they turn their heads quickly and pretend they don't notice the crazy sweaty girl making eyes at them from the car the next lane over, the one bumping her hand on the steering wheel out of time with the loud Ben Harper CD that was hot maybe 12 years ago. But whatever. Boot camp is where it's at.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Oh shit, again?
The alarm went off at 9:30 - classical music, soft and soothing and a gentle way to ease into a new day. I opened my eyes and found his blue ones - he smiled at me, then pulled my face close to his and kissed me hard on the mouth with his soft lips before putting his cheek against mine and whispering in my ear "Good morning, I love you."
Giant blueberry pancakes and crispy fried bacon with coffee and milk - breakfast took nearly an hour and a half to cook and serve. While I waited for the edges to dry so I could flip the cakes, I read one of my two new books that arrived yesterday - Stephanie Nielson's Heaven is Here. Her husband served his mission in Louisville - I wonder if I met him? The world is awfully small.
Jimi's got another week of training ahead of him and it makes me sad. One of my favorite things about our relationship is the fact of waking up next to him every morning. (see above) That said, I wasn't horribly lonely or sad in the last week, so I'm sure I'll be fine this week.
I've got that pork tenderloin marinating and I'm gonna grill the shit out of it tonight. I'm also gonna have a lovely spinach salad and a baked tater with bacon, cheese, and sour cream (greek yogurt). I made a strawberry cake yesterday on a whim, and iced it with my favorite, rainbow chip icing. There's a half gallon of Blue Bell Banana Split ice cream in the freezer. I'm going to get fat this week.
After I finish Mrs. Nielson's book, I've got Jenny Lawson's (aka The Bloggess) new release on deck - Let's Pretend This Never Happened. And then, after I've finished that, I've got hundreds of free books at my disposal via the kindle and the 'net.
And Melinda and I are starting boot camp on Tuesday. YAY!
See? No time to get lonely. He'll be back before I know it, and then life will back to normal again.
(I tried to blog on the kindle, but I cannot. There's something incompatible with the text-entry screen and it doesn't pull up the keyboard, so I can blog a title and maybe some labels, but no actual blog words. I ain't got anything all that interestin' to say no how.) :) See ya next week!
Giant blueberry pancakes and crispy fried bacon with coffee and milk - breakfast took nearly an hour and a half to cook and serve. While I waited for the edges to dry so I could flip the cakes, I read one of my two new books that arrived yesterday - Stephanie Nielson's Heaven is Here. Her husband served his mission in Louisville - I wonder if I met him? The world is awfully small.
Jimi's got another week of training ahead of him and it makes me sad. One of my favorite things about our relationship is the fact of waking up next to him every morning. (see above) That said, I wasn't horribly lonely or sad in the last week, so I'm sure I'll be fine this week.
I've got that pork tenderloin marinating and I'm gonna grill the shit out of it tonight. I'm also gonna have a lovely spinach salad and a baked tater with bacon, cheese, and sour cream (greek yogurt). I made a strawberry cake yesterday on a whim, and iced it with my favorite, rainbow chip icing. There's a half gallon of Blue Bell Banana Split ice cream in the freezer. I'm going to get fat this week.
After I finish Mrs. Nielson's book, I've got Jenny Lawson's (aka The Bloggess) new release on deck - Let's Pretend This Never Happened. And then, after I've finished that, I've got hundreds of free books at my disposal via the kindle and the 'net.
And Melinda and I are starting boot camp on Tuesday. YAY!
See? No time to get lonely. He'll be back before I know it, and then life will back to normal again.
(I tried to blog on the kindle, but I cannot. There's something incompatible with the text-entry screen and it doesn't pull up the keyboard, so I can blog a title and maybe some labels, but no actual blog words. I ain't got anything all that interestin' to say no how.) :) See ya next week!
Friday, April 6, 2012
WOW, what a weekend!
What's that? The weekend's just beginning? Oh. So it is. I'm sorry you didn't get to start yours on Wednesday.
We're just home from an amazing night at the swimming pool hotel. The what, you ask? The swimming pool hotel. You know, the one where they have a swimming pool IN your hotel room. Here, let me show you what I mean:
See? Our very own pool.
The hotel chain is called Sybaris, and I've been dreaming of spending a night there since I heard of it 4 years ago. It was totally worth the wait.
I imagine everyone in the world is reading Momastery these days, because that Glennon is one smart cookie. I found her blog over a year ago, the piece called A Mountain I'm Willing To Die On, and last March she posted Birthdays, wherein she tells the story of her first birthday spent with her husband and how he didn't know what her expectations were and she was so disappointed. Instead of brushing it under the rug, though, she made the brilliant move to *wait for it* talk to her husband, and explain why birthdays are a big deal for her and that celebrating special occasions is something that makes her feel loved. That post encouraged me to give my requests to Jimi regarding this year's birthday - and man, did he outdo every one of my expectations.
Wednesday night, he presented me with a smallish package, wrapped in red paper dotted with multicolored Christmas trees, with a card tucked in under the hand-tied pink fabric bow. He gave it to me early, saying I'd probably want to take it with us for our overnight trip on Thursday. I thought it was a vibrator - we went to the naughty shop a few weeks back and there was a great display of high-end vibrators that the sales lady claimed came with a 10 year warranty. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Turns out the warranty is really only for a year, girlfriend just didn't know her job too good. Anyhow, I wasn't willing to drop $120 on a vibrator that night, and when we came home we discovered that you could find the same thing on Amazon for $70. Score! Except I never did buy it, because, well, do I really NEED a $70 vibrator? So yeah, I thought that's what was wrapped in the Christmas paper. It wasn't. It was a kindle fire. Holy crap! A kindle?! I couldn't believe it. I spent the next few hours playing with my new toy - ha! That sounds funny after talking about vibrators. But yeah, I "bought" some free e-books, discovered our Amazon Prime account allows me one free book rental per month from the online library, ordered a protective cover for the kindle, bought that new First Aid Kit album and uploaded it to my cloud (I have a cloud!), played Angry Birds for the first time. LOVE.
(And I'm the girl who swore, when e-readers came out, that I'd never own one. Books are where it's at, I said, and no electronic device can ever be as satisfying as turning the pages on an honest-to-goodness, made-of-paper book. Um, yeeeaahh...unless that electronic device can also allow you to surf the web, read blogs, stream Pandora... I often say dumb things. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?)
For the last few days, Jimi'd been telling me "We're going to Indianapolis and catching a train up to Wisconsin and back. An overnight train ride! We've got a room on a sleeper car, and there's a dining car - I think it'll be fun." "Uh huh" with a side-eye was my response. I didn't buy it. I didn't know what he had planned, but I didn't think that was it. In an effort to get the secret out of him, I told him yesterday morning, "If we're really going to be riding a train all night, I'm just wearing yoga pants and a tank top (no bra) and my grey sweater." (My friend Angie calls this get-up "fat ballerina". Or maybe that's only when you're wearing leggings, not yoga pants. Either way, it's my favorite outfit and I always giggle at the idea of me as a fat ballerina when I wear it, which is every day I can possibly manage to leave the house without a bra.) Jimi just shrugged his shoulders at my comment and said, "So long as you're comfortable." I sorta expected him to argue - I mean, what about the nice dinner part of my request? So I sat on the bed to be packed a bra, a nice sweater, some clean jeans, a comfy dress I like to lounge around in - I figured we probably didn't have reservations somewhere with a dress code if he was letting me leave the house dressed like a fat ballerina, but I didn't want to find myself with no options if we did actually end up somewhere that frowns on yoga pants in public. Jimi comes in, sees my to-be-packed pile and sighs, "What are you going to do with all these clothes?" "Just in case," I say. He put aside the sweater and the dress. "You won't need them. Trust me."
He was right. We were naked within minutes of the above photo being taken. Actually, he was already naked from the waist down - he saw me starting to take a picture and ran for the bathroom. Oops! I'm not used to a wall full of mirrors.
Ten miles outside of Louisville, he told me where we were really going. At that point, my interest in a fancy sit-down dinner was gone - I wanted to get to that pool as fast as I could. We got into Indianapolis an hour and a half before our 6 o'clock check-in, so we went to the Wal-Mart down the way for provisions. There was a Noodles & Company across the street that promised a quick meal, and it was conveniently located in the same shopping center as a liquor store and a naughty shop. On a whim, I popped into the naughty shop and bought a grab bag of novelties while Jimi bought the booze, and we headed off into the sunset toward our evening in the Den of Sin. (The grab bag was an awesome impulse buy. That's all I have to say about that.)
Our suite was amazing. For starters, you're in your own building, so you don't have to worry about hearing your neighbors gettin' freaky in the middle of the night. When you walk in, the pool is on your right, and I expected to be hit in the face with an awful chlorine smell, but there's a wall of windows dividing the suite in half and the door opens to the living/bedroom section. To the left of the door was a massage chair (!!), an electric fireplace, and the entertainment center in the corner. There were two club chairs and a round table along the side wall, and then the king-sized bed on a light-up platform jutted out at an angle into the room. A flat-screen TV hung just above the massage chair, and could be turned in any direction for your viewing pleasure. (Free porn on 3 channels.) The carpet was plush and freshly vacuumed, and there were two soft robes waiting for us on the bed. (Available for purchase, $75, buy one get one free! We didn't come home with robes.) The mini-kitchen had a small fridge (complete with bag-o-ice in the freezer section), a microwave, coffee-maker, a couple of mugs and champagne flutes. There was a huge two-person whirlpool tub, his and her sinks, and a bidet! Have you ever used a bidet? Me neither, till last night. I was impressed at the selection of toiletries they offered - toothbrushes and toothpaste, Bath & Body Works shower gels and shampoos and conditioners, cotton balls and Q-tips. I don't stay at hotels very often, okay?
Then there was the pool. They've got several different options when planning your stay, and each has a different sized pool. Ours was 16 feet long, 4 feet deep. Not enough for diving or actual swimming (though it did have a swim jet, I don't think it was powerful enough to actually swim against; I kept running into the wall.), but plenty big for hanging out naked in the 92 degree water with your honey. The next time we go, we're hoping to stay in the suite with the second floor loft, with a slide into the 22' pool below. How awesome would that be? Really awesome, that's how awesome. A pipe system hidden by fake ivy rained water into the middle of the pool - we expected it to be cold water, but it was shower-temperature; Jimi loved it, I thought it was a little too hot.
There was a normal shower in the bathroom, but in the pool portion of the suite there was also a glassed-in shower cave that doubled as a sauna. Jimi liked to sit in the steam for 10 minutes or so, getting real hot and sweaty, then turn on ice cold water full blast through the four overhead shower nozzles and the hand-held sprayer. "Like the Norwegians," he said. Yeah, I prefer to go from steam to pool, not steam to ice, but I'm probably just a wimp and doing it wrong.
Remember the kindle he gave me? Their sound system included a jack to plug into it, so we were able to pipe music throughout the entire space. They didn't offer free Wi-Fi - I imagine most of their clientele aren't interested in surfing the web much during their stay - but my phone can act as a portable hotspot, so we were able to stream Pandora all night.
Jimi is smart and suggested we sip on a concoction of lemon booze, orange juice, and champagne all night, and it was delicious. (I would've drunk more champagne, though, if I'd realized he'd paid $35 for the bottle. I'm more of a $12 champagne girl, and I prefer the sweeter ones over the Brut.) We also had crackers, and filled the mini-fridge with hummus, cheese, and a tray of fresh-cut fruit with vanilla-bean cream cheese dipping sauce. And a mini cheesecake, which I somehow completely forgot about until I was packing everything up this morning. THAT is how awesome our night was - I forgot about cheesecake.
Wednesday night we had dinner with my family for a cousin's 16th birthday, and around the table upon our arrival went choruses of "Nat, you look so good!" and "Nat, you've lost a lot of weight, haven't you?" and "Oh, you look great!" Always nice to hear, and I'm hearing it more often these days and that's really nice. But I've not really SEEN the difference yet. Sure, my clothes fit differently, but I've still not been real sure what all the fuss is about. I saw it last night, in the full-wall mirrors. I stood there in the bright lights and saw my naked self. I see what they mean when they say what they do. I do look good. I mean, I'm still carrying some extra baggage, but compared to where I've been, I look great. I recognize my body, the one I remember loathing when I was 16 and had that ittle bitty pooch and now look back on with longing because my only pooch was little and alone. I'm not down to just the one yet, but I'll get there. I can see, now, that I'm making progress, and man, that's great motivation. I laid on my back last night, on the plush carpet, and put my hands on my hips. Guys, I have hip bones again. I can actually see them and feel them. I was pretty bummed a few years back when I realized they were missing. Last night, I felt sexy. I spent something like 18 hours naked in a room full of mirrors, and I felt sexy. Fuck yes.
We spent hours in the pool, floating, kissing, laughing. We played silly water games and did handstands. We talked and talked and talked. We fed each other fruit and took turns sighing over the awesomeness of the chair massage. We watched some porn reality show on the Playboy channel and laughed at the chick giving a blowjob to the strap-on. (Seriously, what's the point?)
I'm just so happy and glad that Jimi took us on this little excursion. I'm flattered by his attention and generosity. This one night away, it was like a refresh key for the romance portion of our relationship - there was nothing in the world except the two of us, and we had a comfortable, fun setting where we could relax and wallow in being in love.
On our way home today, we stopped at the outlet malls and I bought myself a new dress. Jimi says he needs to give me more excuses to dress up, and as he dropped me at the fitting room with an armful of frilly frocks, he headed toward the Tools & More with this: "Don't just try them all on and decide you hate them and give up. Find a dress. We'll go out." Yes sir. I found a dress, but not until he came back and picked it out for me. He dresses me so much better than I dress myself - he knows while the dress is on the hanger if it's right for me; I'm doing good if I can make that distinction while I'm wearing it. Clothes shopping is typically a horrible experience for me, resulting in a complete meltdown of my self-esteem and extra beer and junk food consumption. Today it was fun, though. The 14s fit, and I may have been able to get into some 12s if I'd really wanted to push it. My favorite dress was a gorgeous red number that wasn't in my size, but was in a 10, and so I tried it on anyhow. The bodice was too tight, but it didn't look as awful as I'd expected and it wasn't uncomfortable and it would've fit well in another few months...I almost bought it. I sorta wish I had, now that I'm thinking more about it. I may go see of the local store has my size. I really loved that dress.
Jimi humored me and let me spend 20 minutes trying on rings in the discount gold and diamond outlet. I don't dare let myself read into that, or that he said, "I'm glad to get a better idea of your tastes, to know what you like best." I hate that the rings I like the best are the ones I don't want because for their price, I could nearly build a Sybaris-esque master suite onto my home. (Which we're seriously considering, by the way. That's how we're spending the first lottery check. When we win.) Honestly, when it comes to rings, all I want is the wedding band, yo.
And then we drove home and kissed the puppy and the kitty and lived happily ever after the end.
I started this post right after we got home, maybe around 5ish. It's after 9 now. Jimi's been sleeping for hours - he says he pulled the bottom fitted sheet off the mattress when he was pulling back the covers on his side of the bed last night, and he never got it back on all the way, so it balled up underneath him all night and was lumpy and so he didn't sleep well. That's not the hotel's fault, he does that at home too. Even if he'd slept as soundly as I did, we didn't sleep long enough, there was too much excitement to be had. I'm probably going to be in bed myself before too long - it was a fantastic night, and I'm appropriately worn out because of it. My arms and legs and back have that good I-got-a-good-workout stiffness and soreness from so many hours in the water. I feel relaxed and calm and happy and in love. I'm content with my world, right here, within these walls.
32 is already better than 31, and it hasn't even officially started yet.
We're just home from an amazing night at the swimming pool hotel. The what, you ask? The swimming pool hotel. You know, the one where they have a swimming pool IN your hotel room. Here, let me show you what I mean:
The hotel chain is called Sybaris, and I've been dreaming of spending a night there since I heard of it 4 years ago. It was totally worth the wait.
I imagine everyone in the world is reading Momastery these days, because that Glennon is one smart cookie. I found her blog over a year ago, the piece called A Mountain I'm Willing To Die On, and last March she posted Birthdays, wherein she tells the story of her first birthday spent with her husband and how he didn't know what her expectations were and she was so disappointed. Instead of brushing it under the rug, though, she made the brilliant move to *wait for it* talk to her husband, and explain why birthdays are a big deal for her and that celebrating special occasions is something that makes her feel loved. That post encouraged me to give my requests to Jimi regarding this year's birthday - and man, did he outdo every one of my expectations.
Wednesday night, he presented me with a smallish package, wrapped in red paper dotted with multicolored Christmas trees, with a card tucked in under the hand-tied pink fabric bow. He gave it to me early, saying I'd probably want to take it with us for our overnight trip on Thursday. I thought it was a vibrator - we went to the naughty shop a few weeks back and there was a great display of high-end vibrators that the sales lady claimed came with a 10 year warranty. Have you ever heard of such a thing? Turns out the warranty is really only for a year, girlfriend just didn't know her job too good. Anyhow, I wasn't willing to drop $120 on a vibrator that night, and when we came home we discovered that you could find the same thing on Amazon for $70. Score! Except I never did buy it, because, well, do I really NEED a $70 vibrator? So yeah, I thought that's what was wrapped in the Christmas paper. It wasn't. It was a kindle fire. Holy crap! A kindle?! I couldn't believe it. I spent the next few hours playing with my new toy - ha! That sounds funny after talking about vibrators. But yeah, I "bought" some free e-books, discovered our Amazon Prime account allows me one free book rental per month from the online library, ordered a protective cover for the kindle, bought that new First Aid Kit album and uploaded it to my cloud (I have a cloud!), played Angry Birds for the first time. LOVE.
(And I'm the girl who swore, when e-readers came out, that I'd never own one. Books are where it's at, I said, and no electronic device can ever be as satisfying as turning the pages on an honest-to-goodness, made-of-paper book. Um, yeeeaahh...unless that electronic device can also allow you to surf the web, read blogs, stream Pandora... I often say dumb things. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?)
For the last few days, Jimi'd been telling me "We're going to Indianapolis and catching a train up to Wisconsin and back. An overnight train ride! We've got a room on a sleeper car, and there's a dining car - I think it'll be fun." "Uh huh" with a side-eye was my response. I didn't buy it. I didn't know what he had planned, but I didn't think that was it. In an effort to get the secret out of him, I told him yesterday morning, "If we're really going to be riding a train all night, I'm just wearing yoga pants and a tank top (no bra) and my grey sweater." (My friend Angie calls this get-up "fat ballerina". Or maybe that's only when you're wearing leggings, not yoga pants. Either way, it's my favorite outfit and I always giggle at the idea of me as a fat ballerina when I wear it, which is every day I can possibly manage to leave the house without a bra.) Jimi just shrugged his shoulders at my comment and said, "So long as you're comfortable." I sorta expected him to argue - I mean, what about the nice dinner part of my request? So I sat on the bed to be packed a bra, a nice sweater, some clean jeans, a comfy dress I like to lounge around in - I figured we probably didn't have reservations somewhere with a dress code if he was letting me leave the house dressed like a fat ballerina, but I didn't want to find myself with no options if we did actually end up somewhere that frowns on yoga pants in public. Jimi comes in, sees my to-be-packed pile and sighs, "What are you going to do with all these clothes?" "Just in case," I say. He put aside the sweater and the dress. "You won't need them. Trust me."
He was right. We were naked within minutes of the above photo being taken. Actually, he was already naked from the waist down - he saw me starting to take a picture and ran for the bathroom. Oops! I'm not used to a wall full of mirrors.
Ten miles outside of Louisville, he told me where we were really going. At that point, my interest in a fancy sit-down dinner was gone - I wanted to get to that pool as fast as I could. We got into Indianapolis an hour and a half before our 6 o'clock check-in, so we went to the Wal-Mart down the way for provisions. There was a Noodles & Company across the street that promised a quick meal, and it was conveniently located in the same shopping center as a liquor store and a naughty shop. On a whim, I popped into the naughty shop and bought a grab bag of novelties while Jimi bought the booze, and we headed off into the sunset toward our evening in the Den of Sin. (The grab bag was an awesome impulse buy. That's all I have to say about that.)
Our suite was amazing. For starters, you're in your own building, so you don't have to worry about hearing your neighbors gettin' freaky in the middle of the night. When you walk in, the pool is on your right, and I expected to be hit in the face with an awful chlorine smell, but there's a wall of windows dividing the suite in half and the door opens to the living/bedroom section. To the left of the door was a massage chair (!!), an electric fireplace, and the entertainment center in the corner. There were two club chairs and a round table along the side wall, and then the king-sized bed on a light-up platform jutted out at an angle into the room. A flat-screen TV hung just above the massage chair, and could be turned in any direction for your viewing pleasure. (Free porn on 3 channels.) The carpet was plush and freshly vacuumed, and there were two soft robes waiting for us on the bed. (Available for purchase, $75, buy one get one free! We didn't come home with robes.) The mini-kitchen had a small fridge (complete with bag-o-ice in the freezer section), a microwave, coffee-maker, a couple of mugs and champagne flutes. There was a huge two-person whirlpool tub, his and her sinks, and a bidet! Have you ever used a bidet? Me neither, till last night. I was impressed at the selection of toiletries they offered - toothbrushes and toothpaste, Bath & Body Works shower gels and shampoos and conditioners, cotton balls and Q-tips. I don't stay at hotels very often, okay?
Then there was the pool. They've got several different options when planning your stay, and each has a different sized pool. Ours was 16 feet long, 4 feet deep. Not enough for diving or actual swimming (though it did have a swim jet, I don't think it was powerful enough to actually swim against; I kept running into the wall.), but plenty big for hanging out naked in the 92 degree water with your honey. The next time we go, we're hoping to stay in the suite with the second floor loft, with a slide into the 22' pool below. How awesome would that be? Really awesome, that's how awesome. A pipe system hidden by fake ivy rained water into the middle of the pool - we expected it to be cold water, but it was shower-temperature; Jimi loved it, I thought it was a little too hot.
There was a normal shower in the bathroom, but in the pool portion of the suite there was also a glassed-in shower cave that doubled as a sauna. Jimi liked to sit in the steam for 10 minutes or so, getting real hot and sweaty, then turn on ice cold water full blast through the four overhead shower nozzles and the hand-held sprayer. "Like the Norwegians," he said. Yeah, I prefer to go from steam to pool, not steam to ice, but I'm probably just a wimp and doing it wrong.
Remember the kindle he gave me? Their sound system included a jack to plug into it, so we were able to pipe music throughout the entire space. They didn't offer free Wi-Fi - I imagine most of their clientele aren't interested in surfing the web much during their stay - but my phone can act as a portable hotspot, so we were able to stream Pandora all night.
Jimi is smart and suggested we sip on a concoction of lemon booze, orange juice, and champagne all night, and it was delicious. (I would've drunk more champagne, though, if I'd realized he'd paid $35 for the bottle. I'm more of a $12 champagne girl, and I prefer the sweeter ones over the Brut.) We also had crackers, and filled the mini-fridge with hummus, cheese, and a tray of fresh-cut fruit with vanilla-bean cream cheese dipping sauce. And a mini cheesecake, which I somehow completely forgot about until I was packing everything up this morning. THAT is how awesome our night was - I forgot about cheesecake.
Wednesday night we had dinner with my family for a cousin's 16th birthday, and around the table upon our arrival went choruses of "Nat, you look so good!" and "Nat, you've lost a lot of weight, haven't you?" and "Oh, you look great!" Always nice to hear, and I'm hearing it more often these days and that's really nice. But I've not really SEEN the difference yet. Sure, my clothes fit differently, but I've still not been real sure what all the fuss is about. I saw it last night, in the full-wall mirrors. I stood there in the bright lights and saw my naked self. I see what they mean when they say what they do. I do look good. I mean, I'm still carrying some extra baggage, but compared to where I've been, I look great. I recognize my body, the one I remember loathing when I was 16 and had that ittle bitty pooch and now look back on with longing because my only pooch was little and alone. I'm not down to just the one yet, but I'll get there. I can see, now, that I'm making progress, and man, that's great motivation. I laid on my back last night, on the plush carpet, and put my hands on my hips. Guys, I have hip bones again. I can actually see them and feel them. I was pretty bummed a few years back when I realized they were missing. Last night, I felt sexy. I spent something like 18 hours naked in a room full of mirrors, and I felt sexy. Fuck yes.
We spent hours in the pool, floating, kissing, laughing. We played silly water games and did handstands. We talked and talked and talked. We fed each other fruit and took turns sighing over the awesomeness of the chair massage. We watched some porn reality show on the Playboy channel and laughed at the chick giving a blowjob to the strap-on. (Seriously, what's the point?)
I'm just so happy and glad that Jimi took us on this little excursion. I'm flattered by his attention and generosity. This one night away, it was like a refresh key for the romance portion of our relationship - there was nothing in the world except the two of us, and we had a comfortable, fun setting where we could relax and wallow in being in love.
On our way home today, we stopped at the outlet malls and I bought myself a new dress. Jimi says he needs to give me more excuses to dress up, and as he dropped me at the fitting room with an armful of frilly frocks, he headed toward the Tools & More with this: "Don't just try them all on and decide you hate them and give up. Find a dress. We'll go out." Yes sir. I found a dress, but not until he came back and picked it out for me. He dresses me so much better than I dress myself - he knows while the dress is on the hanger if it's right for me; I'm doing good if I can make that distinction while I'm wearing it. Clothes shopping is typically a horrible experience for me, resulting in a complete meltdown of my self-esteem and extra beer and junk food consumption. Today it was fun, though. The 14s fit, and I may have been able to get into some 12s if I'd really wanted to push it. My favorite dress was a gorgeous red number that wasn't in my size, but was in a 10, and so I tried it on anyhow. The bodice was too tight, but it didn't look as awful as I'd expected and it wasn't uncomfortable and it would've fit well in another few months...I almost bought it. I sorta wish I had, now that I'm thinking more about it. I may go see of the local store has my size. I really loved that dress.
Jimi humored me and let me spend 20 minutes trying on rings in the discount gold and diamond outlet. I don't dare let myself read into that, or that he said, "I'm glad to get a better idea of your tastes, to know what you like best." I hate that the rings I like the best are the ones I don't want because for their price, I could nearly build a Sybaris-esque master suite onto my home. (Which we're seriously considering, by the way. That's how we're spending the first lottery check. When we win.) Honestly, when it comes to rings, all I want is the wedding band, yo.
And then we drove home and kissed the puppy and the kitty and lived happily ever after the end.
I started this post right after we got home, maybe around 5ish. It's after 9 now. Jimi's been sleeping for hours - he says he pulled the bottom fitted sheet off the mattress when he was pulling back the covers on his side of the bed last night, and he never got it back on all the way, so it balled up underneath him all night and was lumpy and so he didn't sleep well. That's not the hotel's fault, he does that at home too. Even if he'd slept as soundly as I did, we didn't sleep long enough, there was too much excitement to be had. I'm probably going to be in bed myself before too long - it was a fantastic night, and I'm appropriately worn out because of it. My arms and legs and back have that good I-got-a-good-workout stiffness and soreness from so many hours in the water. I feel relaxed and calm and happy and in love. I'm content with my world, right here, within these walls.
32 is already better than 31, and it hasn't even officially started yet.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Typical
One of our drivers asked me yesterday if I've lost quite a bit of weight - it feels good to hear that question.
So I celebrated last night by eating White Castle and a honey bun at 10:30.
I have such amazing follow-through skills.
So I celebrated last night by eating White Castle and a honey bun at 10:30.
I have such amazing follow-through skills.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Travelling pants.
I bought a pair of pants at Old Navy probably four years ago; size 16 boot-cut navy corduroy with a mid-rise waist and a little notch cut out just under where the belly button goes. Jimi convinced me I should buy them, but I've never worn them. They fit me like a sausage casing when I brought them home - they buttoned and zipped, but just because you can wear something, doesn't mean you should. For months they were kept in the bag in which I carried them home; the bag would be tossed from this side of the room to that. Eventually, the bag was thrown away, but the navy pants stayed folded and tagged, moved from pile to pile until making their way into a drawer. Then we moved. The pants found a new home in our new home - on a clothes hanger, in the basement. There they waited, and there they were forgotten.
These aren't the first pants to have received this treatment at my hands. I've almost always got at least one item of clothing I'm holding onto because I bought it too small or I "outgrew" it and I just know that I'll eventually fit into it and be super cute and everyone will love me. I still remember with longing the khaki green button-fly soft jeans I wore to my bridal shower in May 2002 - oh, those pants were so soft and worn and fabulous, and they made my ass POP. I was skinny then, but just starting on my weight-gaining journey, and I wore those favorite pants of mine weekly, until I couldn't deny the growing muffin top any longer and they began to take on sausage-casing status, and then I retired them to the back of the closet. I never forgot about them, though, and each time my ex-husband and I moved to a new apartment in a new town, I found those pants and packed them away and promised myself that one day I'd be able to wear them again. I never wore them again, though - I tossed them out, along with so many of my hopes and dreams, when I was leaving El Paso and my marriage behind.
The navy corduroys, I forgot them until today. I'm in a sort of awkward in-between stage with my clothing and my weight; while some of my clothes fit better (the smaller-sized stuff I was holding onto with hope), most things are slightly too big and therefore a bit frumpy. As I was changing out the laundry, I was dressing myself in my mind, trying to think of new combinations or items I've not worn in a while, and I looked over at the things hanging and remembered - "Those pants. I wonder if they fit now?"
Sorta.
These aren't the first pants to have received this treatment at my hands. I've almost always got at least one item of clothing I'm holding onto because I bought it too small or I "outgrew" it and I just know that I'll eventually fit into it and be super cute and everyone will love me. I still remember with longing the khaki green button-fly soft jeans I wore to my bridal shower in May 2002 - oh, those pants were so soft and worn and fabulous, and they made my ass POP. I was skinny then, but just starting on my weight-gaining journey, and I wore those favorite pants of mine weekly, until I couldn't deny the growing muffin top any longer and they began to take on sausage-casing status, and then I retired them to the back of the closet. I never forgot about them, though, and each time my ex-husband and I moved to a new apartment in a new town, I found those pants and packed them away and promised myself that one day I'd be able to wear them again. I never wore them again, though - I tossed them out, along with so many of my hopes and dreams, when I was leaving El Paso and my marriage behind.
The navy corduroys, I forgot them until today. I'm in a sort of awkward in-between stage with my clothing and my weight; while some of my clothes fit better (the smaller-sized stuff I was holding onto with hope), most things are slightly too big and therefore a bit frumpy. As I was changing out the laundry, I was dressing myself in my mind, trying to think of new combinations or items I've not worn in a while, and I looked over at the things hanging and remembered - "Those pants. I wonder if they fit now?"
Sorta.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Boot camp and me, we're friends.
I'm diggin' this boot camp shiz, yo. It's hard as hell, and tonight, when we did box jumps for two minutes after rowing 500 meters in 2 minutes, I wanted to quit so bad, but I didn't, and I busted out 5 more and then the timer went off and we stopped and my brain felt like it was going to blow up. But it didn't. And so I went and did the next round of torture.
One of the trainers said, "The best feeling is when you're finished and you walk out that door and you know you've pushed yourself." Lots of murmurs of agreement and head nods between swigs from water bottles. "I don't know," I piped up, because I can't help but try to be the center of attention, "drinkin' that beer while soaking in that tub after I get home feels pretty damn good." And then he told my partner to give me extra resistance on the next round of exercises. He was just mad that I was right.
One of the trainers said, "The best feeling is when you're finished and you walk out that door and you know you've pushed yourself." Lots of murmurs of agreement and head nods between swigs from water bottles. "I don't know," I piped up, because I can't help but try to be the center of attention, "drinkin' that beer while soaking in that tub after I get home feels pretty damn good." And then he told my partner to give me extra resistance on the next round of exercises. He was just mad that I was right.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Altruistic gestures.
Jimi sent me an email this afternoon: "Want me to have an epsom salt bath waiting for you at 8 o'clock?"
Tonight was my first full boot camp class. He's so sweet, right?
I went to class. I worked out really really hard. I walked through the door at ten till 8.
He was up and at 'em right away - "What can I get you? Want me to start a bath? Are you hungry?" I was a little overwhelmed with the attention. I walked around a little bit, trying to get used to this strange feeling in my muscles - I'm not used to that post-workout jelly feeling. It's pretty new to me. I kinda like it.
"Yeah, okay, I want a bath." I started the water, he went after the epsom salts. I got my book and a beer (ha!) and climbed in. He sat on the toilet and rubbed my back down with a homemade tonic of his - witch hazel, tea tree oil, eucalyptus oil. He told me to lay back, to relax.
And then he reached over my head, and from the shower caddy he withdrew my razor, and laid it on the side of the tub.
"You know, just in case you were feeling up to it, now's a good opportunity..."
Someone just lost all their banked blowjob points.
Tonight was my first full boot camp class. He's so sweet, right?
I went to class. I worked out really really hard. I walked through the door at ten till 8.
He was up and at 'em right away - "What can I get you? Want me to start a bath? Are you hungry?" I was a little overwhelmed with the attention. I walked around a little bit, trying to get used to this strange feeling in my muscles - I'm not used to that post-workout jelly feeling. It's pretty new to me. I kinda like it.
"Yeah, okay, I want a bath." I started the water, he went after the epsom salts. I got my book and a beer (ha!) and climbed in. He sat on the toilet and rubbed my back down with a homemade tonic of his - witch hazel, tea tree oil, eucalyptus oil. He told me to lay back, to relax.
And then he reached over my head, and from the shower caddy he withdrew my razor, and laid it on the side of the tub.
"You know, just in case you were feeling up to it, now's a good opportunity..."
Someone just lost all their banked blowjob points.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Here, let's try this...
On a lark, I bought a $29 Groupon for a month of unlimited Boot Camp classes. Orientation was yesterday - we did less than a minute each of reverse lunges, pushups, ab twists, pull-ups, squats, planks...and there was something else, but I've blocked it out apparently. I was jelly at the end. How I'm going to make it through 45 minutes of this - or how I'll walk the next day - is beyond me. My shoulders, my ass, my knees - oh ouch! That means good things are happening, though, and that's the entire point.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Dress Debacle 2011 - OVER. And poop.
In other news, the Dress Debacle of 2011 has resolved itself.
The shop where we purchased the dresses has apparently experienced chicks like me before - they've got this nifty little policy that says if you pay them an extra $10, you can return your too-small (or too-big, I guess) dress and they'll order the correct size.
A dress that fits me will be in next week. Problem solved!
I'm not giving up, I'm being realistic. I was nearly having a panic attack every time I thought about it - about how awful I was going to look with one of those zip-in panels, or worse, having to tell my friend that I can't do it because I can't wear the dress I bought for the occasion. That's not really an option, you know? It's kind of a big deal, a person's wedding.
I feel like a total quitter, but I don't care. That dress will zip come mid-October, and I'm not going to starve, lose sleep, or have to get back liposuction. And I can still work my butt off and get skinny again - but I won't have the lingering "I hate myself" guilt if I eat an extra 100 calories throughout the day.
The shop where we purchased the dresses has apparently experienced chicks like me before - they've got this nifty little policy that says if you pay them an extra $10, you can return your too-small (or too-big, I guess) dress and they'll order the correct size.
A dress that fits me will be in next week. Problem solved!
I'm not giving up, I'm being realistic. I was nearly having a panic attack every time I thought about it - about how awful I was going to look with one of those zip-in panels, or worse, having to tell my friend that I can't do it because I can't wear the dress I bought for the occasion. That's not really an option, you know? It's kind of a big deal, a person's wedding.
I feel like a total quitter, but I don't care. That dress will zip come mid-October, and I'm not going to starve, lose sleep, or have to get back liposuction. And I can still work my butt off and get skinny again - but I won't have the lingering "I hate myself" guilt if I eat an extra 100 calories throughout the day.
*********************
Completely off subject, but can I mention how much I absolutely hate smelling other people's shit? Some truck driver came into the office yesterday and asked to use the bathroom. I didn't think anything of it - until he was gone for 10 minutes. When he finally came out, a waft of stink followed him down the hall, into the vestibule, and out the door. "Oh fuck," I thought. I went searching for the air freshener, getting a quick tendril of stink every now and then, which helped keep me focused on my mission. I finally found the spray in Kim's office and made my way back down the hall toward the source of the offensive odor.
The bathroom door was ajar by about 6 inches, and the light and fan were on inside. I held my breath and approached, Oust can held out directly in front of me. I reached my arm only just inside the door and held down the nozzle - and then I had to take a breath in
I woke up on the floor of the hallway, gagging and with tears streaming down my cheeks. Okay, I didn't really pass out, but I may as fucking well have. Jesus Mary and Dominic, that man must've been full of pure unadulterated evil and it was escaping from his asshole.
I really hate smelling other people's shit.
And then Kim got to work. "Before you even go into your office, I want you to walk down the hall and stick your head in the men's room and take a big whiff," I instructed, honestly believing she would do it without question.
"What, did someone take a big shit?" Why was she not walking down the hall?
"Yes. OMG YES."
"And you WANTED ME TO SMELL IT?! Thanks a lot, Friend."
"Only because you were hiding the air freshener in your office! I nearly died searching for it!"
****************************
I'm so happy Friday is here. This has been the longest 4-day workweek EVAR. I'm over it, and I need to recharge. If I could call in sick today, I'd do it. Oh well. I'm going to focus on the good. It'll all be fine. Every little thing gonna be alright.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
I'd give up, but that's not going to make that dress fit, either.
Remember when I said something about how if I cheat I'm only cheating myself? I was so bad this week, and it shows on the scale that hasn't moved in the right direction.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
It's okay though. I'm regrouping. I'm accepting my consequences and making new plans. 5 miles yesterday - yes, it was the hottest day of the year, at 106 or so. Yes, 2.5 miles were very uphill. Yes, it sucked balls. Yes, I felt awesome after it was over.
And then I took a cold shower and Jimi got in with me and when I was finished I opened the shower curtain to get a towel and there stood Jimi's brother and his friend, hollering out "Who's in the shower?" as I flashed them full frontal.
Oh, and my soaking wet panties, shorts, and tank top were strewn throughout the hallway, just enough to make sure they'd have to step over each piece to get to the living room.
They were like an hour early showing up to the house, for the record. I don't generally shower with my boyfriend with the bathroom door open and sweaty clothes all over the house when I'm expecting company imminently.
We all pretended like it didn't happen.
Two miles this morning, not uphill, and it's pretty cool and comfortable outside right now. I'm going to have to do that at least every morning before work. And I've gotta get serious about the upper-body toning - I don't know how else I'm going to melt away enough back-fat to get that fucking zipper closed.
My inches are moving, though, and in the right direction, even. Just not as quickly as I'd like. I wanted magic - two weeks in, I wanted that dress to fit perfectly and that scale to say beautiful things I've not seen since my (very) early twenties.
I want to eat cake and ice cream so bad. And an entire chocolate Easter bunny covered in a quart of peanut butter. Instead, I think I'm going to go to the grocery and stock up on a bunch of Paleo grub.
In other news, it's Sunday, but not just any Sunday - it's Sunday before a no-work Monday, which makes it like a Super Saturday. No bellyache at 6 o'clock tonight when I realize work is again looming on the horizon.
Happy Sunday!
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
It's okay though. I'm regrouping. I'm accepting my consequences and making new plans. 5 miles yesterday - yes, it was the hottest day of the year, at 106 or so. Yes, 2.5 miles were very uphill. Yes, it sucked balls. Yes, I felt awesome after it was over.
And then I took a cold shower and Jimi got in with me and when I was finished I opened the shower curtain to get a towel and there stood Jimi's brother and his friend, hollering out "Who's in the shower?" as I flashed them full frontal.
Oh, and my soaking wet panties, shorts, and tank top were strewn throughout the hallway, just enough to make sure they'd have to step over each piece to get to the living room.
They were like an hour early showing up to the house, for the record. I don't generally shower with my boyfriend with the bathroom door open and sweaty clothes all over the house when I'm expecting company imminently.
We all pretended like it didn't happen.
Two miles this morning, not uphill, and it's pretty cool and comfortable outside right now. I'm going to have to do that at least every morning before work. And I've gotta get serious about the upper-body toning - I don't know how else I'm going to melt away enough back-fat to get that fucking zipper closed.
My inches are moving, though, and in the right direction, even. Just not as quickly as I'd like. I wanted magic - two weeks in, I wanted that dress to fit perfectly and that scale to say beautiful things I've not seen since my (very) early twenties.
I want to eat cake and ice cream so bad. And an entire chocolate Easter bunny covered in a quart of peanut butter. Instead, I think I'm going to go to the grocery and stock up on a bunch of Paleo grub.
In other news, it's Sunday, but not just any Sunday - it's Sunday before a no-work Monday, which makes it like a Super Saturday. No bellyache at 6 o'clock tonight when I realize work is again looming on the horizon.
Happy Sunday!
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Bleh
This dieting thing sucks when the scale's not moving.
And when you really want something you love but you know you shouldn't because it has too many calories but you do it anyhow.
Wait. Maybe there's a connection...
And when you really want something you love but you know you shouldn't because it has too many calories but you do it anyhow.
Wait. Maybe there's a connection...
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Mowing is serious bidness.
I came in from mowing (90 minutes, 653 calories burned) (Really?! That seems like an awful lot), and stripped down to get in the shower. There was a spot of grass on my upper thigh; I went to brush it away...and it crawled closer to my girl bits.
"Holy crap, I think there's a tick on me!" I yelled to Jimi, who was in the next room, dressing to take over/finish up the mowing. He came in and closely examined the squirming spec I was trying to squish between my fingers.
"Yep. That's a tick."
"It was headed for my no-no place!" I was leaning over as far as I could, desperately trying to see into my vag to make sure there weren't any ticks in there. I stood up and looked my beloved straight in the eye, "Is there a polite way to say 'Baby, will you check my butt crack for ticks?'"
He smiled at me sweetly, "Take a shower first."
True love.
"Holy crap, I think there's a tick on me!" I yelled to Jimi, who was in the next room, dressing to take over/finish up the mowing. He came in and closely examined the squirming spec I was trying to squish between my fingers.
"Yep. That's a tick."
"It was headed for my no-no place!" I was leaning over as far as I could, desperately trying to see into my vag to make sure there weren't any ticks in there. I stood up and looked my beloved straight in the eye, "Is there a polite way to say 'Baby, will you check my butt crack for ticks?'"
He smiled at me sweetly, "Take a shower first."
True love.
I think my scale is a broken liar.
Today it says I'm back to where I was Friday, down 4.4 pounds for the week. Of course, 20 minutes later, it added on another pound, but I'll be damned if I'm claiming that extra pound. I'm trying now to decide if the scale was lying yesterday or if it's lying today. I'm guessing my bad choices and over indulgence last night are coming back to haunt me, which is why the numbers moved up instead of down this morning.
Oh well. Today's a new day. And my inches shrunk - not by much, but enough to make me not drown my scale-related sorrows in a tub of ice cream.
And for the record, I didn't do THAT badly yesterday - I was very good at the fair and only had half a corn dog and an ear of roasted corn (no butter, no salt - not because I was depriving myself, but because that's the way I always eat corn on the cob). But...I thought all the walking I did and my good behavior for the week justified a splurge of fast food calories for dinner. And then I made chocolate-covered frozen banana bites and ate a few more than I probably should've. Bad Natalie! Bad!
Oh well. Now I know what a bad idea that was and I won't make the same mistake again. And today's yard-mowing day...do you know how many calories are waiting to be burned in my 3/4 acre lot? A whole freakin' bunch, that's how many.
I'm going to have to mow around this, though:
Oh well. Today's a new day. And my inches shrunk - not by much, but enough to make me not drown my scale-related sorrows in a tub of ice cream.
And for the record, I didn't do THAT badly yesterday - I was very good at the fair and only had half a corn dog and an ear of roasted corn (no butter, no salt - not because I was depriving myself, but because that's the way I always eat corn on the cob). But...I thought all the walking I did and my good behavior for the week justified a splurge of fast food calories for dinner. And then I made chocolate-covered frozen banana bites and ate a few more than I probably should've. Bad Natalie! Bad!
Oh well. Now I know what a bad idea that was and I won't make the same mistake again. And today's yard-mowing day...do you know how many calories are waiting to be burned in my 3/4 acre lot? A whole freakin' bunch, that's how many.
I'm going to have to mow around this, though:
I'm not sure what happened - it was fine Friday night, but this is what it looked like Saturday morning. No storms or hurricanes or tornadoes rolled through - I guess it was just this branch's time to go. Our good friend Steve happens to be an Arborist, and he's kindly offered to come over today and help make the problem go away, which is awesome because I hear tree people are very expensive.
In other non-fat-related news, Jimi bought me a new pair of shoes yesterday. He does that about twice a year, because he's a shoe whore and I am the opposite - I will wear a pair of shoes every single day until they are falling apart around my feet. So he bought me new shoes, with the logic that if I have several pairs of athletic shoes to choose from, I won't wear the same pair every single day and completely ruin them. (Secretly, I think he was just itching to spend some money - the tax-credit check for the house (the one we closed on almost 2 years ago) finally arrived this past week. Also, all shoes were buy one, get one half off, and he was already buying a pair for him, so you know, he had to buy a second pair. HAD to.)
Today's Comment Love Day over at FTLOB.
I'm going to go say hi to some new blogs, and then I'm gonna walk the dog and earn some extra calories for the day. Happy Sunday!
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Still not typical...
5.8 pounds in 6 days.
This countin' calories thing ain't so bad.
The only real change I've made is not drinking three or four beers each night and not snacking from 7 p.m. till bedtime. Which, I realize now, is a huge change in calorie intake, but cutting that stuff out hasn't been difficult. I'm holding myself accountable for my choices; I know that I could have that treat, but I'll have to accept the consequences.
Not measuring my inches till tomorrow. I hope they've shrunk.
Meanwhile, we're going to the Kentucky State Fair today - which means I'm probably going to blow my wad calorie-wise, but I'll walk my ass off, so maybe it'll sorta almost be okay.
Happy Weekend!
This countin' calories thing ain't so bad.
The only real change I've made is not drinking three or four beers each night and not snacking from 7 p.m. till bedtime. Which, I realize now, is a huge change in calorie intake, but cutting that stuff out hasn't been difficult. I'm holding myself accountable for my choices; I know that I could have that treat, but I'll have to accept the consequences.
Not measuring my inches till tomorrow. I hope they've shrunk.
Meanwhile, we're going to the Kentucky State Fair today - which means I'm probably going to blow my wad calorie-wise, but I'll walk my ass off, so maybe it'll sorta almost be okay.
Happy Weekend!
Friday, August 26, 2011
Results not typical.
I've dropped 4.4 pounds since Sunday.
I was excited yesterday, when I hit the 3.8 pound mark. And then I didn't exercise because I'm still sickly, but I was really close to my calories (only 115 over, even after 2 slices of pizza!), so I wasn't going to stress too much if the scale didn't move this morning.
It moved. Down another 0.6 pounds.
It's not much, but it's the motivation I need to keep doing this. I know the rapid weight loss will slow way down or even stop before all is said and done, but for now, this feels awesome.
Kimmie hasn't seen me since Monday afternoon - yesterday afternoon she was all "I can tell you've lost three pounds, your waist looks smaller." I'm friends with her because she says nice shit like this to me all the time.
I'm doing it, people! I'm going to fit into that dress, and it's going to be awesome.
I was excited yesterday, when I hit the 3.8 pound mark. And then I didn't exercise because I'm still sickly, but I was really close to my calories (only 115 over, even after 2 slices of pizza!), so I wasn't going to stress too much if the scale didn't move this morning.
It moved. Down another 0.6 pounds.
It's not much, but it's the motivation I need to keep doing this. I know the rapid weight loss will slow way down or even stop before all is said and done, but for now, this feels awesome.
Kimmie hasn't seen me since Monday afternoon - yesterday afternoon she was all "I can tell you've lost three pounds, your waist looks smaller." I'm friends with her because she says nice shit like this to me all the time.
I'm doing it, people! I'm going to fit into that dress, and it's going to be awesome.
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