Accountability is for the birds 

Holding yourself accountable is the most difficult part of any lifestyle adjustment. Three weeks in and I am barely holding onto the diet changes. I start strong on Monday and by Thursday I’m just over it. Over the “healthy” snacks, the low-calorie dinner, and the salads. Just looking at lettuce makes me want to have a beer.

I type this as I mentally repeat “I will go to the gym at 8 a. m.” There is no reason I can’t go. My husband is taking the child to his mom for the day, I don’t work until 10, and I’m going to be up at 7 anyways. Most likely I will have a beer while I play XBox, have trouble sleeping, and decide I’m too tired and it’s too much effort to put on clothes and drive my lazy ass the five minutes it’ll take to get there.

Lets face it, getting there is the hardest part. Anyone will tell you that. What keeps me accountable is spending money and making appointments. I know that adding at least one more day at the gym to my routine will make a world of difference, but since it’s not a scheduled appointment that is paid for, it’s easy to just not do it.

So what will keep me accountable and get my lazy ass to the gym on non-scheduled days? I’m still working that part out. If I figure it out, I will let you know.

Saturday’s weigh-in, the last day of week three: 186.6 lbs. Well that’s a familiar number.

Originally I wrote this Monday evening, on my phone. I didn’t get a chance to read through it, edit, and spell check so I held off posting. It’s 10:21 p.m. on Tuesday night and my husband is playing Heroes of the Storm with our friends. No one asked me to play and they filled up the group, so it seems like a good time to revisit and edit the post. 

I did, in fact make it to the gym. Got there at about 8:15 a.m. and did a 30 minute interval run (90 seconds walking at 3.3 mph and 90 seconds running at 5 mph). It was easier than I thought and I’m really glad I made it. Weigh-in this morning was 184.6 lbs. Hurray!

 

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Let’s take a moment and talk about what’s in our pants

too cruel.gifOh wait a minute, let’s not.  You know why? Because it’s none of our fucking business what’s in someone else’s pants.

For the love of god why is this a thing? That’s right, because people are so fucking afraid of what they don’t understand they have to drag it out into the open, publicly shame and humiliate, and then create laws against it.

I’m not going to say anything new or insightful here. Everything that needs to be said, has been said by writers who are better word-crafters than I will ever be. I’m just going to tell you my opinion on the matter because this shit is really bugging me.

I have trans friends who I care about a great deal. I don’t see them much these days, but I do keep in touch via social media. I see what is happening in this country and how cruel people are. It hurts me because it hurts them. It hurts me because it is so insanely ridiculous I can’t string a sentence together that is not laced in profanity because it angers me so much. (oops)

The people who care about what is going on in the bathroom stall next to them, they are the predators. I don’t care who is sitting on the can in the CLOSED DOOR STALL next to mine. I’m not looking through the cracks to make sure they have a V and not a D. As a populace we actually care less about people fucking in the bathroom stall next to us than the gender of the person taking a dump.

The people who want to make Trans bathroom use an issue are predators. There is no question. They are the ones who are engaging in poor bathroom etiquette to be sure that the person’s bits match the sign on the door. They are the one outing, in most cases, a complete stranger. They are the ones who are doing irreparable harm to innocent human beings who just want to live their lives every day like everyone else.

Can you imagine being the cop that gets called to deal with this? “Hello officer, I just tried to drop a deuce in the Applebee’s Women’s room and I’m pretty sure that there is a man in there. Can you arrest them for having to pee and not using the correct bathroom?”

How horrifying is that? Think about it for one second, just one. You have to use a restroom. You’re already dealing with all the bullshit involved in using a public restroom, because they are fucking gross. Now you have to worry about someone trying to get you outted? You have to deal with people accusing you of breaking the law, humiliating you in public, fucking up your already fucked up day? Can you honestly imagine the fear this ludicrous issue is causing people to live in every day?

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There is no doubt in my mind that being a trans human requires a level of emotional strength that I could not  possibly understand. I can’t, in a million years, begin to grasp what they must go through their entire lives. How strong they have to be to make the decision to transition; to tell their family, friends, co-workers. To change their name and their identity. To learn to be the opposite gender, because, lets face it; our parents teach us how to be the gender we are born. I’ve got nothing on that.

I say this with absolute love and honesty: I truly envy these people and I hope that my friends know that. I hope they all understand how incredible they are to follow their hearts to be who they are meant to be. There are a lot of us out there who have your back and if some trippy-bitch tries to kick you out of the god damned bathroom I have your back. Mark my words.

So what is my opinion on this? It is none of my fucking business.

You are a human, not a gender. You are you. If that means you use the same bathroom as me, then just used the damn bathroom. I don’t care. It is literally a place where we dump our bodies waste; why do we have to care if whoever is doing number two in stall three used to be a dude once upon a time?

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Pet peeves of mixed small group classes

I will preface this by saying I have done EVERY SINGLE ONE of these things. It’s that self-awareness that has motivated to make positive changes in how I do things. It’s easy to fall into these traps and I’m calling them out so that we all think about how we want to be the change, see the change, and help others change.stop-bitching

Stop the whining, this is hard for everyone. I’m a vocal ventor. Everything I’m thinking and feeling I tend to say out loud. I bitch, a lot. It’s a negative aspect of my personality that I have been working on for most of my life. It’s exponentially worse when I work out. I get frustrated and I bitch about it. I think there is a difference between muttering in frustrated and whining though.

Whiny people are looking for feedback. Preferably positive, but they’ll take the negative. They whine about their weight, what hurts, too much weight to lift, too many laps to run, too fast on the treadmill. They want the trainer to go “Oh, 15 pounds is too heavy, here, try five instead.” Except that a trainer isn’t going to do that. Their job is to assess the person they are working with, make a calculated decision about what that person can handle, and then push them to do it. Don’t fucking whine at the trainer or the class instructor. They feel no pity. They already have your money and your consent and they are going to do their job which is to challenge you to be better. Whining about it, especially in group class, just makes you look weak and foolish.

For me that was motivation. When  I stepped outside myself and thought “Is this what I sound and look like?” It helped me to change. Yes, I’ll bitch about something. Yesterday the trainer gave me 35 pounds to do squat lifts with. I made it through five and I swore the whole time. He realized that he made an error and I did need less weight. I didn’t beg for it, I didn’t whine about it. I did as many reps as I could until he saw that I was likely going to hurt myself. But during those five reps I put sailors to shame.

Sometimes you physically can’t do it. Don’t stop, modify. I’ve been in classes with people who just quit. HIIT and Circuit Training are big right now. Why? Because they work. I have a love/hate relationship with both. They work, but damn are they hard. I struggle with endurance and HIIT is perfect for improving that. Sometimes, though, I can’t make it through 60 seconds of squat jumps. My lungs just won’t let me do it. But that doesn’t mean I quit doing them. I slow down, for sure, but I get them done. I may not mean doing one a second. It’s more like one every three seconds, or every four seconds. Doesn’t matter, keep going. Focus on form and quality of the workout.

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If you are standing on the sidelines and watching you look like an asshole. I can’t fucking stand it when some whiny bitch goes, “This is too hard, I did like four,” and then they stop and watch everyone else work out. You know why you weigh 300 pounds and can’t figure out why you haven’t lost any weight? Because you are a quitter. Don’t cry to me about how hard it is, and you are a special snowflake. If you don’t want to do it, then don’t whine about being fat. Especially not to me, I’ve worked hard to get to where I am at. I hate every single workout, I honest to god do, but I don’t quit. If I quit I’ll still be overweight, tired, and miserable with myself.

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On top of not doing yourself any favors, you are a distraction for everyone else that is putting in the work. Yes, when I run laps I sometimes have to stop and catch my breath. Stop for five seconds to clear your breathing and get back on rhythm, then walk another ten seconds, then pick up the pace again. Someday I won’t have to do this, and I do it a lot less than I used to, but don’t just stop. If you are going to stop, just leave. You’re a negative cloud on the whole damn group.

No one needs to be reminded that you used to be skinny. Hey, guess what, most of us used to be skinny. Some have never been skinny. No one cares. I bring this up too, and then I kick myself for it later. This is one of the most recent issues I’ve had with myself that I’ve been trying to change.

If someone asked me why I was doing this my answer used to be, “I was in pretty good shape a few years ago and I looked really good, I want to get back to that.” My new answer is, “I’m trying to better myself, get fit so that I can keep up with my kid. I want to play sports with my kid, help him practice, chase him around the yard.” There is truth in both, but one makes me sound like it’s all about image, and we need to steer away from that. If it comes up in conversation, then fine, just don’t let that be the reason you are there.

An old classmate of mine once said to me, “Now that I’m fat I understand how you felt all through high school.”

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While she was probably attempting to empathize with me, I don’t think she grasped just how horrible this made me feel. First off, she considered me fat when I was in high school.  Was I larger than she was? Yeah. It’s all a matter of perspective, really. I was taller, broader shouldered, and built a little buffer. Fat? Maybe it’s time to retire that term. But to tell me that she “understands how I felt?” What did she think I felt? Did she think that I spent every waking moment of my teenage years hating myself for being fat? Shaming myself? Shaming others?

Sometimes it did really bother me, sometimes I was able to shrug it off. Usually there were triggers and this once-upon-a-time twiggy bitch definitely was a trigger. So lets all stop and think about what we are saying when we go to the gym and announce to everyone that we “used to be skinny and that’s why we’re there.”

I’m no expert, and that’s exactly why I’m writing this blog. I’m going to sound like a real bitch sometimes because a lot of times I  lack a filter. I think that’s also why I write.

Monday’s weigh-in: 190 lbs (fuck.) Got a C on my food journal for week one (I’m assigning my own letter grade, but I think my trainer would agree.) Share with me your workout pet peeves.

Back to back workouts and dieting sucks!

green-hairGetting my hair colored was vastly more important that my regularly scheduled Monday training appointment, I ended up rescheduling for 8 a.m. Tuesday.  I was reminded that I actually prefer to work out at 8 a.m. The Bad news is that it set me up for Tuesday-Wednesday back-to-back workouts. Blugh.

As expected I am struggling hard with the dietary aspect of this whole thing. It’s easy to say “I’m going to do this!” than to actually follow through. Food is tasty. Also, like many mothers, I struggle with the need to eat on the fly, whatever is within reach and can be consumed in under 15 seconds. Until this point, my daytime meals consisted of toast, cheese sticks, cookies, and granola bars.

Now some may say, “You know this seems like the perfect opportunity to eat an apple!” If only apples had a flavor when you eat them and not that weird, acidic tang ten minutes after you ate it. I would love to dip apple slices in peanut butter to make them palatable to me, but no, then the toddler expects to suck the peanut butter off the apple, and most likely, try to eat it as well. Something I have struggled with is eating an apple directly. See I’m the type that has to cut my apple up, otherwise you might bite into something you can’t see. There are bugs and worms and gross things in apples, I’m not going in blind!

One of my bosses recommended lunch meat rolls.  She said she will take a slice of lunch meat, low fat cheese, and maybe a little lettuce and roll it up and chow on the fly. This is not a terrible idea and one I will be trying. (Note to self, buy lunch meat.)

Did I also mention how HARD it is to diet when you work at a pizza joint? One that has an amazing tap beer lineup? My willpower worked serious overtime today. There were donuts (from Greenbush!) and a pepperoni crew pie.

Up until last week, crew pies tended to be some experimental monstrosity that I would avoid. Sometimes we got something simple, like cheese or pepperoni, but most times someone would put on a blindfold, grab from random cambros, and throw the toppings in the general direction of the crust. (This is likely untrue but it’s what I imagine happens back there every time I see one of these artistic nightmares). Ever since I started this diet and swore off pizza (ok, a slice once a week won’t hurt anyone) it’s suddenly all one topping, simple pies. Today was a huge test of willpower and I proudly say I passed.

Back on topic: A brutal personal training appointment Tuesday morning and an equally brutal group class Wednesday evening has led to a hungry, crabby, painfully sore momma who has little patience for anything or anyone. The positive thing I can take away from all of this is that I wasn’t the whiniest quitter in the group on Wednesday. I was proud of myself for this fact, and I will likely rant about this at a later time. Probably after our Saturday morning group class. I think that will be ugly.

I’m sure there are some life lessons to be learned in the past couple of days. They will come to me later. For now I’m taking the little victories and running with them.

Tuesday Weigh-in: 187.9 lbs

Wednesday Weigh-in: 186.4 lbs

Week one complete

I have about 20 minutes while my hair changes color in a stylists chair, seems a good time to catch us up on the completion of week one.

Two words: it sucked.

I was feeling positive about my diet, a little less so about my workouts. I did not go in for any additional gym time, and I haven’t done anything at home (come on, how hard is it to do a dozen crunches while the kid eats a bowl of fruit? Planks while he naps?)

Took a look at my food journal and, well crap. I am a carbohydrates whore. I love me some carbs and everything that seems “healthy” is full of them. This is the hardest part for me. I hate fruit, I hate vegetables, I love bread. I love pasta, and pretzels, and fucking girl scout cookies. Oh and the between meal snacks, curses!


Every week we have to turn in our food journals and I fully expect a lecture from my trainer. While most days I managed to keep my caloric intake to around 1600, about 60% of my calories come from carbs. Yogurt is starting to grow on me, which is a good thing, but I have got to find a way to make greens more palatable.

 

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As far as work outs go, class with a new trainer on Saturday was interesting.  Everyone in these classes are very “U rah rah lose weight, go team!” This should be a good thing, but can be a little overwhelming. When it comes to work-outs, I tend to be a lone wolf. I focus all of my energy into surviving, tune out everything and everyone else, make it through. We would be about half way through a rep and I realized “maybe I should be cheering people on.” Let’s just nope past that and expend all my energy grunting through the lift and move to the next thing. We were finishing up the workout and I kept thinking “This was not terribly challenging today” and I was disappointed. Then we did a set of eight kettle bell exercises to finish off the hour. I wanted to cry, finished last, and about died on the floor. Our trainer then tells us we are only doing once through today, but next time plan for six times through. I’m reconsidering my 8 a.m. Saturday class now.


All-in-all, this is going about as well as I expected. I weighed in on Saturday at 188.0 lbs, I ate better than normal but not well enough, and I hate everything. Sunday I walked around like a person whose muscles had been torn apart and put back together; so like a person who exercised well. I can do this. Bring on week two.

And on the fifth day thy temple demanded a milkshake

I knew that the dietary part of this whole thing was going to be the worst. I. Love. Bad. Food. 

I made it through a day of “healthy” snacks, stayed under 1700 calories, and did not have a beer. (Technically I did not have a beer yesterday but I was hungover so it doesn’t count.) ((Sampling less than 5 ounces of beer as part of my job doesn’t count.)) (((Trust me, I am an expert at excuses.)))

I did good today. Baby steps. But as I crawl into bed and pat myself on the back for making it through the day without buying a large cookie for my lunch, I am seriously craving a milkshake. Specifically, a chocolate custard shake from Culver’s. The same Culver’s whose blue glow I can see from the window of my office, right behind my computer monitor. 

Dieting is the worst. Rewriting how you see, taste, and experience food is worse than the worst. 

Day three and this is already hard!

I’ve had 1,337 calories today and it’s only 3:30. Come on! I’m even trying here! 

Still dealing with the sickness and my trainer was super cool about it. Probably because of the inability to breath through my nose, gasping breaths, and a face the color of a pomegranate, he took it easy on me. It was a disappointing set back as I could tell I wasn’t doi nearly as well as either of us would have liked. It’s only he first session, it’ll improve I’m sure. 

Weighed in at 188.7lbs. I’m going to blame the two pound increase on my shoes.