Skin

I've seen tons of people on various Facebook groups I lurk on, as well as Instagram feeds, blogs, etc, say one of the reasons they're scared to lose weight is because of extra skin.

Well, kids, I'm living it.  So let's talk.

As of today, I'm down 161.6 lbs from my heaviest weight.  I weighed 201.4 lbs this morning.  I'm getting to the point where I like the way my body looks in clothes.  My shoulders are looking really nice.  My ass is bangin.  I wear leggings as pants because I want to catch glimpses of my own booty in mirrors and windows.  It's that good.

But.

BUT.

Nakey...yowza.  My body pretty much looks like a melted ice cream cone.  My belly and boobs have deflated like a week-old circus balloon animal.  Even my thighs and upper arms have some extra skin.  Nobody tells you when you start losing weight...things don't shrink, they deflate.  If I bend over and flex my abs, it looks like I have an extra set of jugs from how much belly skin is there.  I'm not even joking...my husband and I laughed about it for like an hour the other day.  This isn't a slam on myself, it's a straight up fact, and I like to lighten it with humor in an effort to be less ashamed of it.  Extra skin is a fact of weight loss life.  But it's not pretty.

Buffalo Bill would love me right now.  Is that joke not funny?

Am I prepared to show you a photo of my extra skin?  No.
Will I ever be prepared to show you a photo of my extra skin?  Probably no.
If you ask me nicely in person, will I show you?  No, in fact I'll probably cut you.

If you really want to see extra skin that bad, just do a google search.  I guarantee one of the thousands of images looks similar to me.

But anyway...

Imagine that you (literally) work your ass off for weeks, months, years, to get healthy and feel beautiful or get stronger or get off meds or whatever your personal motivations are to lose weight.  And your body can do some amazing stuff that it couldn't do before.  It looks better in clothes than ever before.  It's stronger than it's ever been before.  But that extra skin is still lurking there and reminding you of your former self, the damage you did to your body, and how worthless and unattractive you used to feel.  Nothing will make you feel less sexy and pretty and successful in your efforts than people commenting on it.

I've been asked, repeatedly, by well-meaning friends, if I will ever have skin removal surgery.  At this point, I don't really have enough to necessitate a surgical procedure.  Plus, the extremely few people who see me nakey either don't care and love me anyways and can laugh about it with me (the huzzband) and/or can go fuck themselves if they don't like what they see (random locker room people, I guess?).  Also...I don't have $20,000 extra dollars to spend on an elective surgery, soooooo...I'll reconsider if it ever causes me health problems.

I'm trying to use my saggy belly and newly unfortunate breasts and elephant skin wrinkly legs as motivation and a reminder of how far I've come.  I'm trying to see it as evidence of my accomplishments.  I'm trying to see it as beautiful, but this is one of the biggest mental hurdles I've had to face/cross/jump over/whatever during this process.  It's a challenge and it may never happen.

But.

BUT.

I did a 5k in May.  Yes, I walked like 85% of it.  But two years ago, there is no friggin way I could have even walked a mile without wanting to die, let alone a 5k.

I hiked an average of 25-40 miles a week with friends this summer.  Could or would I ever have done this before?  I would have wanted to, but there's no way I could have.

I discovered a love for yoga.  I never would have even tried a class before, because I was too embarrassed about my body and lack of flexibility.  I hate to sound cliche, but this has put me in tune with my body and what it wants and needs better than anything else I've ever done.  It's taught me to breathe through pain (mental and physical) and that I can tough out uncomfortable things, and the end result is worth the discomfort and work.  It has taught me to take up the space I need and to be present in my body and mind.  Holy crap, am I grateful for yoga.

I PRed an assload of lifts this year.  Are my numbers impressive?  Hahahaha no.  Does it matter?  No, because I lifted heavier shit than I ever have before.  And I can lift way more now than I could when I was heavier (which is counter intuitive to me, but whatevs).

I can shop for clothes in almost any store I want to.  It's hard to get used to this.  I'm used to purchasing whatever garments I can find in my size regardless of whether I liked them or whether they were comfortable or flattering, because my options have been so limited in the past.

Ok, so my body looks weird naked.  Yes, I still feel a lot of body shame and frankly, I feel way sexier with my clothes on than off.  But would I go back to being 363 lbs, not able to do most of the things I want to do, not able to fit in an airplane seat without a seatbelt extender and a prayer, only able to order ugly old ladyish clothes online, get short of breath walking up a flight of stairs, not be able to give my dog the exercise he needs, not be able to hike and see beautiful places, not be able to feel comfortable doing yoga, have to take blood pressure medications, not be brave enough to tell street harassers to fuck off, and be sad?

Would I have spent my entire life being thin, and thus not had to worry about extra skin at all?  Perhaps.  But I know how strong I am because I've had to work for every pound off my body and on the bar.  Every extra rep, every extra second in an uncomfortable yoga asana, every extra jogged step...I know that every single choice I make every single day has the power to bring me closer to or further from my goals.  I feel like others who may have had easier lives physically or been appreciated aesthetically or been considered conventionally attractive for their entire lives don't necessarily appreciate what they have and how easy they have it in some ways.

So what's the moral of the story?

THE EXTRA SKIN IS WORTH IT.

Gratitude

Since it's been almost 6 months since I've documented anything, I think it's safe to say I've fallen off the blogging wagon.  And I'm ok with this.

I started this blog when my gym wife Jen told me to find a way to document my Paying it Forward experience and all the changes that were no doubt going to occur in my life.

My 32nd year was an emotional and physical maelstrom, in the best way possible.  I lost almost 100lbs.  I made some new friends.  I worked my ass off, figuratively and literally.  I cried all over my poor trainer on at least a weekly basis.  I cried all over my husband on at least a weekly basis.  I cried all over my nutritionist pretty regularly, as well.  I came to terms with my habits, my decisions, my mental state, my physical state, and my life in general.  I worked really hard to improve my physical, spiritual, emotional, and mental health.

In my 33rd year, the physical changes came a lot more slowly but the mental, emotional, and spiritual "journey" continued.  I lost about 30 more lbs.  I had surgery.  I gained 20 lbs back.  I re-lost the 20 post-op mashed potato and popsicle pounds.  I made more new friends (awesome ones, in fact).  I started practicing mindfulness, and found a lot of peace in yoga practice (which I used to hate with the fire of 1000 suns) and meditation (which I always used to feel like I was doing "wrong").  Because of this (I think), I cried a lot less.  I finished my BSN and started grad school, which may prove to be my worst idea yet (but will be worth it when I'm finished, I'm sure).

As I'm rapidly approaching 34, I feel like this is a perfect time to reflect on where I've been and the changes that have occurred.  I'm insanely proud of the physical changes that have occurred, but even more proud of the mental changes.  I feel clear, focused, and determined.  I feel confident and strong (most of the time).  I feel at peace with myself and my relationships.

Most importantly, I feel a deep gratitude.  I have even learned to become thankful for the not-so-awesome things that have happened in my life, because they shaped me into the rockstar you know and love today (I'm also thankful that I'm so humble).  I am so, so thankful for my husband, family, and friends.  I'm grateful for my education and career.  I'm grateful that people trust me every day to guide them towards making the best decisions they can for their health.

I'm grateful for the boys (not men) and girls (not women) I've known (and not known) who mocked my body ruthlessly and publicly.  I'm grateful for my exes who cheated on me.  I'm grateful for those assholes on Fair St who made me cry in 2014 and inspired me to apply for Jen's Paying it Forward contest/gift.

Does that sound ridiculous?  It feels a little ridiculous.  How can I be thankful for boyfriends who screw around on me, people who body-shame me, strangers who make me cry?  They taught me how to be resilient, how to persevere, how to keep my head held high, and how not to give a fuck about the opinions of people who, quite frankly, just don't matter.  Those lessons were hard to learn and those skills were hard-earned.  In the wise words of Jinkx Monsoon, "water off a duck's back."

They also, in a roundabout way, contributed to the amazing process of change and transformation that I've gone through and will not doubt continue to go through as I get older.

I'm grateful to Amanda, Kim, and everyone at Nutritional Healing for being amazing sources of knowledge and inspiration.  I'm so grateful for Anytime Fitness A-West, Neenah, Kaukauna, and A-East for being my homes away from home (seriously, I sometimes feel like I should just rent out a tanning room and move all my stuff in) and excellent cheerleaders (and super fun friends).

I hate to say this adventure is done, because it feels like it's just beginning.  I know I still have a long way to go before I'm where I want to be.  I don't believe in "before and after," I think I'll experience a slow but persistent evolution that will perpetuate forever, hopefully in a positive direction.  However, I have a feeling that the public documentation of it is finished.  It feels like a time for introspection and self-reflection.

With that said, thank you for cheering me on, thank you for the inspiring words, thank you for keeping me motivated.  Thank you for being my shoulders to cry on and my cheerleaders to high-five when things have been awesome.

Choices

I actually hate this stock photo.  But I'll get to that in a second...

Choice is a beautiful, terrifying thing.  I'm able to say that it's terrifying because it's something I, as a white, straight, cisgender, American, educated woman, am able to take for granted.  A LOT.  Not to get political on you, but holy shit, I have some serious privilege and associated guilt.  Given the state of the world, I guess I'd rather have the guilt than not have the privilege, and it's crap to have to think that way.

Moving on...

Some of the choices we have to make are easy.  Do I go to work today or stay in my sweatpants watching Netflix?  Well, unless you are ill or have agoraphobia, you will probably make the decision to go to work.  Unless you don't like gainful employment, of course (no judgement).

Some are more difficult.  Where will I go to college?  What do I want to be when I "grow up?"  Do I want children?  If so, how many?  Who will I vote for (this may be easy or difficult depending on who's running)?

Some choices should be easy, but can challenge us (me) sometimes (a lot).

Will I eat this candy or won't I?
Will I work out today, or will I stay in my sweatpants watching Netflix (I like Netflix, ok?)?
Will I have all of the garlic naan ever made when I go out to dinner with my BFF?
Will I have a glass of water, or will I have a third latte?

The struggle is real, y'all.

There is a reason I get annoyed (somewhat secretly, but I'm not THAT good at hiding it) when people say they "slipped up" on their healthy eating and exercise is because it's not a slip up.  It's not an accident.  Nobody hog-tied you and forced you to eat Doritos all day (I hope).  You didn't lose your footing and fall mouth first into a pan of brownies.  The gym didn't secretly pack up and move to a different part of town without telling you.

It's not a slip up.  It's not a mistake.  It's a choice.  You may not even realize it.

I recently read an article (and no, I won't cite it, because I can't even remember where/when exactly I saw it) that said "discipline is prioritizing what you want most of all over what you want right now."  Truer words have never been spoken.  It doesn't just apply to health and fitness, it applies to everything we do.

I couldn't find the original quote, but this is close enough.  You get the idea.  Also, don't tell me what to do, Silhouette Person.  You don't know my life!

I've written about priorities before.  I'll probably write about priorities again, because it's something I constantly have to remind myself of.  I have several priorities in my life that are constantly competing for the top position.  Work, school, my marriage, my friends, my family, Taco, home maintenance, my health.

For the first time in a long time, my health usually wins the top spot.  Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes, for example, I wake up at 5am absolutely frickin exhausted.  The night before, school was my priority and I stayed up studying until midnight.  Today, as much as I would like for my personal health to be the priority and go back to bed to rest, work needs to win because I'm scheduled to be in at 6 and SURPRISE, adulthood is no fun sometimes!

Today, I probably should have worked out, but I prioritized my friends and social relationships and went out to lunch instead.

Do I feel badly about it?  Meh, tomorrow's a new day, the gym will still be there.  And it's a choice I made.  Consciously.  Deliberately.  They did not kidnap me and take me to Basil Cafe (although truthfully, I would LOVE that).  There's no excuse, there's just what happened.  The choice I made.  And it was worth it.

I also don't like to think of it as "good choices" and "bad choices."  Maybe "better choices" and "not as great" choices?  I don't know how to phrase it.  But I feel like calling it a bad choice shames us for what we do.  And I am not hopping on that train.  Are our less than spectacular choices what define us?  NO.  So why do we shame ourselves for them?

You can choose to spend your time excusing your "slip ups" or "cheating" or "mistakes" on your fitness journey.  But I can almost guarantee, you will begin to feel badly about them.

What I've chosen to do is to own my choices, without apologies or excuses.  For me, this is the best (only) way to forward movement, progress, and growth.  It gives me the freedom to do what I want with the pride I feel whenever I make a choice that improves my life.

The times they are a-changin'

It's time for a transition.  A new start.  New adventures.  A change.  *BARF*

Pictured above: ME

So.  My trainer is done training.  He's moved on to explore different opportunities.  I knew it was coming (thank god he weaned me off of his services by cutting his schedule down first).  I've been waiting for this day for a few weeks, and I've anticipated being a sad panda about it.

Pictured above: EVERYONE WHO HAS ANY INFLUENCE ON MY PLANS.  DAMN YOU.

Surprisingly, I'm not a wreck.  I'm actually feeling really good, and way more optimistic than I thought I would be.  Especially considering how anxious I am.  I thrive on routine and "change" is a big fat scary boogeyman (unless I instigate the change, of course).

My being okay with this transition is no reflection on my trainer.  Pretty sure he was frickin AWESOME and changed my life in ways I never could have or would have on my own.  Buuuuuut...

Sometimes change is a good thing.  Changing up my routine.  Changing up my guidance.  Exploring new mentors and new methods and new places.  But a lot of change can lead to stress.  Especially for an anxious little bee like myself.

In addition to my trainer leaving...

My trusty, rusty Toyota finally went to the big scrap heap in the sky.  It's been sitting in a parking lot at Van's service for a week, waiting to be pitifully hauled away.  Because of this...

My husband had to get a new job.  Which is stressful for both him AND me.  Also...

It's the beginning of a new semester.  Which means ten tons of work and no time for funsies.  And...

We have so much mandatory overtime at work right now it's not even cool.


What's the point?  Am I looking for sympathy?  Empathy?  A getaway car?

Nope, just wanted to say, as much as I hate change, and sometimes transitions can suck it, I'm handling this pretty well.

And, cornball as it seems, I feel like, in large part, it has to do with my new habits.

I eliminate stress by moving my body (exercise) or sitting completely still (meditating) and if all else fails, I take a nap.  In the past, I stifled my emotions and bottled up my stress by eating or getting drunk (or smoking stuff).  Not the awesome-ist plan ever, and really stupid when you remember that I'm an educated person.

So thanks again to my lovely health gurus.  Without your guidance, I'd be navigating all this change and transition with gin and Funyuns instead of deadlifts and cardio and naps and guided meditation.

Everyone knows deadlifts are more fun than gin, anyways.  And I can't wait until my new trainer makes me do them until I swear at her. :)

Let's talk about how awesome we are

I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty damn awesome.

I'm feeling so dang good lately, if I wasn't me, I'd want to BE me.  I feel like I'm covered in a thin layer of glitter and unicorn farts (which, btw, smell like carrot cake I think) and I want to stand on top of a tall building with a megaphone shouting compliments to everyone so they feel as good as I feel.


That sort of thing is probably frowned upon.  Also, I don't own a megaphone and the tallest building in my city (where I work, incidentally) is a whopping 10 stories.  And there is no roof access unless you work for maintenance and wear a harness.

I was thinking...what is it that's making me feel so awesome?  Good choices!  Taking care of myself (physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually).  Doing things that make me happy!

What awesome decisions have you made for yourself today?  This week?  This month?  I hope you can think of at least 10 nice things you've done for yourself this month and/or 10 amazing, wonderful things about your fabulous, bad-ass self.  Actually, I hope you can think of a lot more than that...but if you can't think of at least 10, you let me know, because we need to talk.  Every time you treat yourself with respect and love, it's a tiny victory.  Every time I make the choice to treat myself well, I picture this little turtle cheering me on:

Hooray!  Good choices!  Eeeeeeeee!

Thanks, little turtle!

Anyway, the awesomeness has little to do with weight loss at this point (though don't get me wrong, I still love that "side effect" of my nutrition and exercise plan and hope it continues for awhile).  It's about doing things that make me happy, and how those things have changed over the past year to include a lot of healthy, active things. 

I sometimes worry that people will misinterpret my newfound self-respect and happiness with arrogance and fat-shaming.  Please, please, please, don't misinterpret it, because being arrogant and shaming people are two of the last things I would ever want to do.  I've learned over the past several months that interpretation can cause serious problems and that the way a message is received is often more important than the way it's intended. 

But also...I AM AWESOME AND I WANT TO SHOUT IT FROM THE TOP OF THE JOHNSON BANK BUILDING.

And more importantly...YOU are awesome and it's high time you knew it.  If you already knew, kudos to you for realizing your amazingness.  If you didn't know, well...welcome to the amazeballs club.  It's pretty exclusive and I'm 100% sure you deserve to be a member.  The only membership requirements are to take care of yourself (whatever that means to you!) and recognize your fabulousness.  Your club t-shirt is in the mail.

Jen, Amanda, and Donovan are my dream team

As we're nearing my one year fit-iversary, there are some serious thank yous in order.  Consider this my Oscar speech to the awesome trifecta that keeps me going.

Oh!  This is so unexpected, I don't even have a speech prepared...

JEN, MY QUEEN.

Oh, Jen.  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  I adore your face off.  My life would be so different if I hadn't been fortunate enough to win Pay it Forward last year.  I would still feel like crap and treat my body like crap allllll the time.  I'd be tired and sad and miserable.  I'd be pretending to be happy and feeling anything but.  You are such an amazing role model and friend to me.  I'm SO lucky to know you!

AMANDA.

You, my dear, are amazing.  I look forward to our appointments with you and love when I run into you at the gym!  You've taught me to fuel my body to be my best and to stop treating my body like a garbage disposal and instead, treat it like the amazing, beautiful machine that it is.  Seems simple, but for me, it was a revelation!  I hope everyone who works with you knows how lucky they are.

DONOVAN.

I know you've told me I'm the one doing the work, not you, but that's not entirely true.  Without your guidance, support, and motivation, I wouldn't have come nearly as far this year as I have.  And it's not just about the weight I've lost.  I've overcome so many things by realizing and improving my strength and have uncovered self-confidence that I didn't even know I had.  A million thank you's aren't enough.

EVERYONE ELSE.

If you're reading this, you've also been an integral part of this adventure.  Whether from words of encouragement, high-fives, emotional support, listening to my constant complaining/stories/bragging, whatever. You all rock my socks off.

Setbacks and Sickness

So...winter can suck it.  Big time.  I've been deaf in my right ear because of a eustacean tube dysfunction for over a month.  It's not awful, but it's annoying, unpleasant, and uncomfortable.  Multiple courses of steroids haven't fixed it, so I'll be half deaf until they figure out the mystery of my right ear.  It's a pain in my ass, but I'm dealing.

However, the past two weeks have been awful.  I got a sinus infection about two weeks ago, which migrated down to my chest and settled into a lovely case of bronchitis.  I've been on Augmentin (finally finished it today, woohoo!) and another steroid burst (four days left, woohoo!) and I still feel like poo.

Even though my voice is back and I'm back at work after missing a few days (thank GOD, I was getting so stinkin' bored), it's hard not to be able to do the things I want to do.

I've only been able to work out twice in the past two weeks, and I had to half-ass it both times.  I tried to run last week and coughed so hard I peed my pants.  I PEED MY MOTHERFUCKING PANTS.  I thought stress incontinence was a hell saved for women who've given birth and/or the elderly.  I was wrong.  Bronchitis is a bitch.


Anyway, I took 5 days off and went back to the gym for a light workout last weekend.  Again, I coughed until I almost fell over.  Awesome.
Today, I went back to workout again, and once again, took it super easy.  I biked, I did abs, I biked some more.  It was awful, because it hardly felt like I did anything.  But I didn't cough nearly as much as last time.  Score!

Since I got sick, I've felt sluggish and lazy and gross and icky in general.  But it's impossible for me to lay on the couch all day and cough.  As soon as I was considered non-contagious, I wanted to hit the gym again.  So I started researching online about exercising with bronchitis.  I'm a nurse, I already knew the answer, and I've given this advice before, but I didn't want to believe it.

In case you were curious, here's what I found.

DON'T DO IT.

Above the neck illness (mild headache, stuffy nose) = go ahead and work out if you feel up to it.

Below the neck illness (lung congestion, cough, vomiting) = stay the hell home and recuperate.

I know, I know, I KNOW...Angie, why you no listen to your own advice??

Pictured above: me

But as many of you know, my biggest fear is complacency.  I've had this mindset that taking a break is not an option...even for illness.  Also, I worry that after missing so many workouts, I've backslid horribly and my progress is going down the crapper with each day spent away from working out.  I worry that when I'm finally able to start hitting it hard again, it'll be like starting all over again - fucking miserable and impossible and the worst thing EVER.  Sad panda face.

PIctured above: me

Well, I've had to change my mindset.  Obviously, because pushing myself too hard through the tail end of this illness could also drag it out for weeks or months - and that's the last thing I want.

I've gotten some sweet and much needed texts, facebook messages, and emails from friends and health professionals that have all told me pretty much the same thing...for the love of God and all that is holy, take it easy on yourself!

I was feeling really badly about not working out and cancelling a bunch of training appointments, but after talking with my trainer today, he also reminded me to listen to myself and ease my way back into it.  And - it's fine, shit happens, tomorrow's a new day and the gym will be waiting when I'm ready.



The moral of the story?

Sometimes your body needs a break.
I am not invincible.
I need to listen to the wisdom of others and take it easy (but I will not be skipping the gym any more...just doing easy workouts for awhile to keep myself moving).
Shit happens, tomorrow is a new day, and the gym will be waiting when I'm ready.

I just wish my lungs would catch up with the rest of me!

A despreate plea on behalf of my trainer

I'm making a desperate plea to all fellow gym-goers out there.

For the love of God and all things holy...

RE-RACK YOUR WEIGHTS.

CLEAN UP AFTER YOUR DAMN SELF.

If you want to see a generally kind, patient, positive, and sweet man (or any gym employee/polite gym-goer, really) get even a little bit annoyed, by all means, leave your weights on the machine.  Hell, leave them on the floor!  Re-rack multiple weights of plates on the same bar (this is most effective if you put 5lb plates under/before like 35-45lb plates). 

Mind you, this same man had the patience to tolerate listening to my whiny voice for 30 straight minutes today without acting upon his probable desire to smack me in the face to shut me up (but come ON, he made me do thrusters.  THRUSTERS, Y'ALL.  UGH.  Plus I'm just having one of those days...)...so it's not as if he's easily annoyed.

But what he cannot tolerate is a messy gym.

YOUR MOTHER DOES NOT WORK AT THE GYM.

YOUR CLEANING LADY/MAID DOES NOT WORK AT THE GYM.

And when you leave your crap all over the place for others (ie, employees, myself, other members) to clean up, it leaves me to draw one of five conclusions:

1) You are oblivious.

2) You were raised by wolves.

3) You are an asshole.

4) You are lazy.

5) Any/all of the above.

Ok, well this last one is sexist, but I can see how it would motivate the "bro" population to clean up after their damn selves.

Show and Tell

I'm experiencing an interesting phenomenon, in which I find myself wanting to cover my body more as it gets smaller.

It's odd, to say the least.

But not as odd as this photo that comes up when you google "very conservative dress."  Congratulations, you look like a human-sized crocheted condom.

Previously, I kept parts of me covered and hidden, all the time, no matter what.  To draw emphasis away from the parts of me that I didn't like (aka, almost everything), I wore a lot of makeup and cleavage-bearing shirts.  I've always loved my face and boobs.

Get it?  CLEAVAGE?  You're welcome, fellow nerds.

Anyway, before I started working out, eating well, and subsequently losing weight, I'd always thought that when I got thinner (notice I said thinNER, not thin.  I'm positive, not delusional) I'd want to show my body off.  New, cute clothes are a huge motivation for some people to lose weight.  Heck; new, cute clothes were one of my 1000 motivations to begin treating my body with more respect.  And generally speaking, in my mind, this involved a fair deal of visible skin.

What I've found is actually pretty surprising.

The exact opposite thing is happening.  The more weight I lose, the more I want to keep my body covered.

It's not because I'm ashamed.  It's not because I feel deformed, or gross, or like my formerly fatter self is in some way unworthy.

It's not because I have extra skin that I'm self-conscious about (not yet, anyway.  I've been lucky so far to have my skin recede with the rest of me, but I anticipate that this will be coming in the future.  It's almost impossible to escape it, so I'm just waiting.  Don't worry, I'm sure there will be some TMI blog posts when it happens).

On the contrary.

I am insanely proud of my "new" body (though it's not really new, it's just changed).

I worked (and am working) hard for it.

For the first time in forever, I feel like I own my body.

As soon as I typed the above sentence, I started singing songs from "Frozen."  Earworm level: 1000

Thus: I don't feel like I need to display it to prove my beauty, or my hard work, or my perseverance, or my sexiness, or my femininity, or anything.

I worked hard for it for ME.

NOT FOR YOU (well, not YOU specifically, dear reader...other people in general).

I will enjoy it as I see fit.

Of note, I've also completely stopped wearing makeup over the past year.  Mostly, this is practical in nature...I like a naked face when I work out.  I feel like if I worked out in makeup, my skin would feel choked and weird.  Plus, my face sweats like crazy, and nobody wants to look like a half-melted bomb pop.

Exhibit A.

 Now that I work out every day, it already means washing my face at least four times.  I didn't want to add makeup removal to that.  I'm a busy lady.

PREACH.

Here's the deal:  

While my choices are to eschew makeup (for the most part) and cover my body more than before (for the most part), these are MY choices and are absolutely not right for everyone.  

And my choices and opinions on this (and just about everything) are fluid and subject to change.

Whether you've recently lost weight, gained weight, stayed the same, grown an inch, gotten plastic surgery, are covered in tattoos or virgin-skinned, had a chemical peel, gotten dreadlocks, shaved your head, spent your whole paycheck at the MAC counter, wear combat boots or sky-high heels or Birkenstocks, or all or none of the above...

Whether you want to shake it around town in the nude, rock a burqa, or anything in between...

That's awesome!  Rock on with your badass self!

It's YOUR body, YOUR face, YOUR life.

YOU own it.

YOU earned it.

And everyone who wants to pass judgement can piss right off.

MIC DROP.  SENARIGHI OUT.

Progress update: 9 months in

Well...not quite 9 months.  It'll be 9 months on February 1.  But close enough.

To recap:  9 months ago, my amazing friend Jen (who was, at that time, a complete stranger to me) gave me the best birthday gift I've ever gotten when she selected me to receive a year of Anytime Fitness membership.  I got her call, and was so shocked I don't even think I thanked her while we were on the phone.  I stayed up late to tell my husband that night.  I was so excited and so scared.

On the day Jen gave me my membership, with some of the most awesome people I know (Clockwise from top left: Kirk, Nate, Beth, Jeffer, My awesome self, Donovan, Jen, Jena, Kate, and Mary).  My gurus and one heck of a support team.  They rule.

I went in for my fitness consultation with my trainer on my birthday, and it was probably the most intimidating experience of my life.  I'm used to people listening to me, but having people watch me is completely different.  Especially when I'm doing something that is completely foreign to me, which they do professionally.  Especially with a strange man that I don't know.  Especially when that man is buff and intimidating looking.  I got home and asked Jeff to pummel me with a meat tenderizing mallet (not kidding).  That first day was brutal, physically and mentally.

I started going to Nutritional Healing about a week later.  My nutritionist's advice and recommendations were a complicated mystery of serving numbers and portion sizes.  It was a lot of information to handle at once.

9 months later.  Training is still brutal, but I'm doing things now that I never would have dreamed I'd be able to do in the past.  It still feels kind of awkward to be watched while I work out, but I'm beyond the point where I care.  I huff and puff and make weird faces and get red-faced and sweaty and have to blow my nose like ten times a session and leave covered in chalk.  Control yourselves, single guys and ladies...I look IRRESISTABLE during training.


My nutritionist's recommendations are now second-nature.  Do I still eat chocolate?  Hell yes, because it's amazing, and I'm willing to do the extra minutes on the elliptical that it takes to burn it off.

One of the most surprising things to me is the atmosphere of trust my trainer and I have cultivated.  It's a strange relationship; trainer and client.  It teeters on the border of fitness, counseling, mentoring, friendship, and teacher-student.  It's weird and excellent.  I honestly wasn't sure, at first, if I'd be able to trust my trainer and really let my guard down enough to give 100% during my sessions.  The verbal attacks I've been subjected to in the past have been predominantly from men, and most of those men were very fit; so as a subgroup of the population, I was intimidated and scared of them.  A male trainer that I don't know?  A screaming drill-sargeant, who I am to let in to see my vulnerable self?  Yikes.

Fortunately, I could not have been more wrong.  My trainer, and the other trainers at the gym (whom I ask questions of on an almost daily basis, thanks dudes) are frickin amazing.  No screaming drill-sargeanting happening.  Will he call me out on my bullshit when I'm stalling because I don't want to run?  Yes.  But will he also patiently wait while I mentally prepare myself for box jumps instead of getting impatient?  Also, yes.

Flippin awesome.

Now, let's talk about my nutritionist.  She rocks my socks off.  Every month, Jeffer and I go in to get weighed, measured, and have our composition analyzed.  I'm at the point now where the nutrition is second-nature, but questions consistently come up.  She gives us all the factual information we need, her opinion when we ask for it, and also, calls us out on our bull.  Bonus: she's fun.

So, the updates.
Let's start from the beginning, and let the photos and captions tell the tale.

This is June, 2014.  I was about 6 weeks into my training and had lost 13lbs from my start weight of 350.

August, 2014.

This is October, 2014.  I think I had lost about 60lb at this point.

And this is from today.  Down 92lb from the first photo and 79 from my 32nd birthday.  It's kind of blurry, but you get the idea.  Also, my hair looks fantastic today.

In 9 months, I've lost 79lbs.  Overall, I've lost 92lbs from my heaviest weight.
I actually weigh less now than I did when I was full of parasites living overseas.  Bonus: this weight-loss is much healthier than intestinal worms.  The more you know.
I'm down 5 pants sizes and 3 shirt sizes, 11 inches in my waist and 9.5 in my hips.
My wedding dress has room for a second person to jump into it with me.
My energy level is fantastic.
And my confidence is better than it ever has been.

Now, again, I will say this.  MY VIEWS ON BODY POSITIVITY AT ANY SIZE AND BEAUTY AT ANY SIZE HAVE NOT CHANGED.  I am a champion for body positivity and loving yourself.  As long as you are happy and healthy, I honestly don't give a crap whether you weigh 100lb or 400lb.
My increased confidence is the best thing that's come out of this, and I don't know if it's from the weight loss, how much stronger I've gotten, or both.  But it's excellent.

I'm crushing goals, kicking ass, and taking names.

AND I'M 8LB AWAY FROM MY NEXT TATTOO.

NSVs

Don't get me wrong.  Losing weight is awesome.  I feel amazing.  I look pretty good.  I feel more confident and healthy than I have in a loooooong time.

But (and this is a big but, no pun intended), I am getting more and more geeked about the non-scale victories I'm accomplishing throughout this process.

Let's discuss them, shall we?

Within the last month, I've been able to do a lot of things that I've either never done before or haven't been able to do in a long time.

1) I fit into tall boots.  Yes, the tall boots I fit into are designed for chunky calves, but this is huge for me, as I couldn't even zip those a few months ago.
2) I climbed a state park tower without having to stop and rest on the way up.
3) I voluntarily went on hikes (or, as Rae would say, "walks," since there are no mountains involved).  I love hiking but haven't had the energy or stamina to do even a short hike in a long time.
4) I scheduled a fishing trip with my pops for this coming summer.  I love fishing with my dad, but I haven't done it in almost 10 years because 1) nursing school took up all my time, 2) I got too heavy for my waders to fit me, and 3) there is no way in hell I could have enjoyed it having the low energy I've had until recently.  Our type of fishing is peaceful and relaxing and fun...but it's also exhausting, ass-busting work.  We don't fish like your typical fisherman.  There is very little "sitting in a boat, tooling around a lake, drinking beer" and lots of "let's walk cross-country through a knee-deep beaver run for an hour to the tiniest, meandering stream imaginable.  Also, try not to get in the way of any cow moose or wolves.  Also, don't fall in the floating bog.  Also, don't catch your pole/line/waders/vest/face on any tag alder.  Also, don't forget to spray your entire body with toxic tick spray so you don't get Lyme's disease.  Also, don't get lost because you will die of exposure.  Also, you are carrying a canoe, two paddles, life vests, and all your fishing gear."  It can be strenuous, but it's worth it to fish in places that less than a dozen other people on earth are able to find, navigate, and enjoy.
5) My wedding rings are too big.  This is both a victory and a pain in my ass.
6) My boobs haven't shrunk nearly as much as I thought.  My bras were all huge and I was really sad...until I went to buy new bras.  Turns out, my band size was 4 inches too big which is why I was swimming in them.  Thanks for sticking around, boobs!

The moral of the story:  The numbers on the scale are great.  I love seeing them consistently going down.  However; there is so much more to it than that.  If you're trying to lose weight and the numbers aren't agreeing with you, think about everything else you've gained through the process.  I bet you've had some awesome victories, too.

Resolutions

It's that magical time of year again.  That time were we flit from party to party, gorging cookies and fudge and Christmas crack and Dutch babies and ham and potatoes and we eat more butter than Paula Deen and more sugar than Wilford Brimley.

Yeeeeeeeeee Haw!

 The spirit of the season, for me, is being with family and loved ones...which frequently seems to revolve around food.  We go to my in-laws house for lunch, my parents house for dinner, co-workers bring delicious treats to work, neighbors bake cookies.  

How in the world do we justify this?

Well, for some of us, this is how we eat all the time, so it's just another day/week/season.

For others, we somehow have the willpower to resist everything delicious and unhealthy that's put in front of is.

And yet others live a primarily healthy lifestyle but have a holiday free-for-all.  Why?

SWEET, GLORIOUS, NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS ARE COMING!

Yes!  That moment when you wake up on January 1st, the whole glorious year ahead of you, is amazing.  It feels like a clean slate!  Every mistake, silly thing, "cheat" day, skipped workout, foul remark, sin, whatever that you participated in over the last year seems like a distant memory...it might as well not exist any more.  You are perfect and your track record is unblemished.  New year, new start.

Remember that scene in Forrest Gump when Forrest and Lieutenant are celebrating New Years with Cunning Carla and Long Limbs Lenore?

You can almost smell the stale cigarette smoke and Dr.Pepper fumes, can't you?

Well, either Carla or Lenore (which one, I haven't the slightest) has a great line, even though she's only in the movie for like 2 minutes.  She says to Forrest:

 "Don't you just love New Years?  You get to start all over again.  Everybody gets a second chance."

And it's so true.  "New year, new me" is the motto of so many people I know.  New Year's Resolutions is one of my most and least favorite traditions.  I've never really gotten in to NY Resolutions - I've always been more of a birthday resolutions type of gal.  For me, turning another year older is a fitting time to try to make a positive change; especially one you've been thinking about for a loooooong time but haven't had the motivation/courage/gumption/ability to try to achieve.  But that's just me.  Lots of people are gung-ho about their NY Resolutions.  And really, ANY time is a fitting time to make a positive change in your life...but New Year's is a milestone date, and people take the opportunity to make promises to themselves.

Preach it, Morpheus.

Until about a month in.  Maybe more if they're REALLY dedicated.  And then a lot of people fall off the resolution wagon.

I looked up some statistics on New Year's Resolutions from the Journal of Clinical Psychology (and no, I will not cite it in APA format).  Apparently 75% of individuals last through one week of their new resolution.  Seventy-one percent last two weeks, 64% make it through an entire month, and only 46% are succeeding at their resolutions after six months or more.

Forty-six percent.  Less than half of us who make resolutions will be successful at six months, and my guess is, even less will be successful long-term.

Why?

THINGS GET IN THE WAY.

We have jobs.  We have wives or husbands or partners or girlfriends or boyfriends or significant others.  We have kids.  We have dogs or cats or parakeets or potbelly pigs or horses or lizards or hedgehogs.  We have houses to maintain.  We have bills to pay.  We have graduate school.  We like to marathon Netflix in our spare time.

In short: We have lives.  Busy, exhausting, stressful lives.  

Another way of putting this:  We do not make ourselves a priority.

Yet another way of putting this:  Some of us thrive on martyrdom and don't ask for help/support when we need it.

We ABSOLUTELY need to make ourselves a priority.  And we ABSOLUTELY need a support system.

I've had a huge mind frame shift this past year, where I'm treating myself like the "leading lady" of my life for the first time, and it's amazing.  

Don't get me wrong...sometimes my "wants" still come after others' "needs."  When my husband is sick and needs me to go to CVS for cough drops and Theraflu instead of getting a second workout in, I do it.  When my dog needs to be walked so I have to take a study break, I do it.  When a co-worker's child is in town from across the country for only a few days, I pick up her shift so she can spend time with him.  But it's all give and take.  When I'm sick, Jeff brings me pho and tea.  Taco rewards me in snuggles and by being adorable.  My co-workers are so flexible and help me out by picking up extra shifts when my sister is in town (and during finals week).  So I'm not saying be a selfish a-hole 100% of the time.  You have to make others your first priority at times.  That pretty much goes without saying.

However, we need to set goals for ourselves and make them a high priority in our lives.  And we need to surround ourselves with people who support our goals and ideally, share our goals.

When I told my husband I wanted to go back to school, we both went about making my success in school a high priority in our lives.  My husband got a new job so we could move to Appleton, I got a job in Appleton, we found a place to live in the area.  We decided to put the quest for a human baby on hold, but decided to get a dog so we'd still have something cuddly to come home to (that's slightly lower-maintenance than a human child.  Slightly).  I made sure my work hours would work around school, he made sure his work hours would allow him to occasionally see his wife.  My success in school is a high priority for both of us because it affects both of our lives.

The same thing happened with getting healthy.  When I was given my ATF membership (thanks Jen, my queen!) and we started seeing a nutritionist, we both started eating better and calling the other one out on unhealthy habits.  When we inadvertently sabotage ourselves or each other, we talk about it.  Eventually, Jeff saw how freakishly strong I was getting and decided to join the gym, too, before I could beat him at arm wrestling (kidding...this may or may not be why he joined.  Also, I will never beat that monster at arm wrestling).

I consider my friends and family a big part of why I've been so successful at last year's birthday resolution.  They support my goals and several of them are either trying to get healthier or living insanely healthy lifestyles already.  It really does help!  

And no, I'm not saying to give up your friends and get new ones.  If your resolution is to quit smoking, by no means do you have to stop hanging out with your smoker friends.  But you do need at least one person in your corner who doesn't smoke or who has successfully quit smoking, to cheer you on and back you up.  They will be your sounding board and motivator.  They'll put you in check if/when you mess up.  They are an integral part of your success.

I'm lucky, I have a LOT of people around to keep me accountable.  The gift-giver, Jen.  Do I want to let her money and time go to waste?  HELL to the no.  Likewise for my nutritionist and trainer...if I don't follow their instructions and do what they tell me to do at home and at the gym, I'm essentially wasting their time and straight up disrespecting them.  I frequently ask myself "What would Amanda/Donovan do?"  I want to be alive, mobile, and healthy for as long as possible to keep being ridiculous with my husband, besties, sibs, and parents, so they're motivating, also.  Even my dog keeps me in check...he needs daily walks and I need to find the time and energy to do it.  And despite his teeny little legs, that fool is FAST.

The moral of the story is this.  Set a resolution if you want.  Or change today.  Whatever works for you to set and achieve your goals!  Any time is a fantastic time to make positive changes in your life.  Whether that includes fitness or not, strive to be even more awesome in 2015!  Find yourself a support system that will help you meet your goals.  You are worth the time and energy and I hope you can find a way to prioritize your goal this year!  

One last comment: Fellow gym-goers, I know January can be frustrating.  The gym is flooded with newbies.  The squat rack is always taken (usually by somebody curling).  Your trainer is booked out for weeks and there's even a wait for cardio machines.  

Welcome, resolution gym-goers!  I hope you stick around so I'm not the new kid any more :)

Two things to keep in mind: 

1) As stated above, 54% of the resolution gym-goers will be gone in 6 months (which may make you happy but actually is pretty depressing when you think about it).  So hang in there, you'll have the gym to yourself all too soon.

2) You were new once, too.  Be patient and don't be a butthead.  Hope they stick with it so in a few months, they'll know what they're doing and can spot you.

Done and done.

This post was going to be about compulsive weighing but then I got pissed at a stock photo and the theme changed

Does anybody else feel chained to their scale?  Or weigh yourself frequently?  Like...daily?  Or even multiple times a day?  Just to see how things change throughout the day?  Or find out how much your clothes weigh?  Or how much that burrito sitting in your stomach weighs?

I can't decide if it's out of sheer, morbid curiosity, or if I am legitimately addicted to my scale.


**But now, a rant.**

I had a lengthy blog post planned regarding frequent weighing, and how I'm ridiculous and step on my scale out of habit like 5 times a day, because I'm weird and I love to weigh myself.

Instead, I bring you this:

I hate this graphic SO MUCH.

I found this image while searching for suitable stock photos or memes to use for this blog entry.

For some reason, it made me irrationally angry.

Does the number on the scale immediately make you feel the need to exercise?  If it does, exercise is your punishment for being "fat," and that is seriously messed up.  First of all, being "fat" is NOT SOMETHING THAT DESERVES PUNISHMENT.  It is a state of being.  Lots of people on this wonderful earth are fat, and they do not deserve punishment simply for being fat, or eating bad food, or gaining a pound.  

STOP USING EXERCISE AS A PUNISHMENT FOR "BAD" BEHAVIOR!  Exercise, while not always fun, shouldn't be used that way.  How do you expect to enjoy an activity when you feel like you have to do it because you were "bad?"  Exercise is an amazing privilege.  Even when I am silently cursing my trainer for making me do those Roman chair ab thingies that make my shoulders scream and I look like a moron, at least a teeny, tiny part of me is glad I can use my limbs (however feebly) to do them (like 4 of them at a time, on a good day...but still).  Every time I am forced to run, I hate it so fucking much.  My shins hurt, my hip hurts, I get out of breath.  It's awful.  But guess what, I can move one leg in front of the other.  Tons of people probably wish they could run, and can't.  So I'm going to suffer through it and then appreciate that I did it.  Even though it's the worst thing ever.

Gah.  I hate that frickin image so much I could spit.

This is more like it.  Enjoy your body and USE IT!

This, I love.  Don't take it for granted, indeed.

My apologies if this entry makes no sense...I was absolutely hell-bent on writing about frequent weighing and why I think it's the devil but I love it so much...but that image just struck a chord with me and I couldn't stop myself.

Getting compliments and insults at the same time is so very unpleasant and awkward

So.  I am starting to feel weirdly naked.  Even when fully dressed.  I feel exposed and vulnerable and it's bizarre.  Eventually, I think it will be liberating and freeing, but I'm not quite there yet.

I've shed a small portion of my fat suit of armor and I feel like a naked little baby animal, all new and awkward and exposed.

"Hey everybody!  Come see how naked I am!"

I'm not deluded.  I know that I have a lot of "armor" to go before it's completely shed.  Trust me, my eyesight is fine.

It's challenging, however, make this transformation.  It's bizarre to go from being viewed negatively to viewed negatively AND positively simultaneously.  When you're fat, people view you as one of a few things:

1) Invisible

2) Disgusting

3) Someone to be pitied

4) Asexual

5) Lazy/Slovenly

Think I'm kidding?  Do a google search for the phrase "fat people are."  It will auto-fill with some horrible things.  Even worse is if you just search for the phrase "fat people."  You don't even need to hit "enter," the auto-fill suggestions are bad enough.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.

After awhile, you get used to being seen this way.  That doesn't make it okay, but it does make it routine.  The people who shout horrible things at you still hurt, but they no longer surprise you.  In fact, it surprises you when you can walk down the street without getting judgemental looks or words hurled at you.

During the weight loss process, you are in limbo.

Strangers still play Judgey-McJudgerson; staring at you, peering into your grocery cart (and being shocked that a fat girl is buying organic chicken, almond milk, and veggies instead of Cheetos and two-liter bottles of Coca-Cola), laughing, taking pictures of you on their phones (we see you, by the way), shouting things at you from their cars or porches, offering unsolicited weight loss advice, telling you that you could be pretty if you lost a few pounds, etc.  It's the same old crap.  Because to them, you're still a slovenly, disgusting fatty.  Because they can't see your beautiful heart and whip-smart mind and loyalty and revolting sense of humor.  You're just an anonymous fat girl, and must therefore be harassed and verbally abused and "helped" immediately. It's their duty!

On the other hand, people who know you tell you that you're motivating them.  They tell you you're an inspiration, they're proud of you, and that they look up to you.  This is really flattering and nice and SO AWKWARD AND UNCOMFORTABLE because you have no idea how to process people saying nice things about your appearance other than your parents (obligated by blood or adoption paperwork to think you're beautiful), sibs (obligated by years of torment as children to think you're beautiful), and spouse (who you somehow duped into thinking that you're beautiful - probably with sex and amazing cooking skills.  Sucker).  

And you want to say thank you but it feels awkward to accept compliments because you're not that used to them.  Then you feel like a giant tool for awkwardly smiling and saying "uh...thanks" because you have no idea how to process this without turning it around and finding a way to focus the attention elsewhere.  

And it's so goddamn nice to hear nice things about the way you look that it makes you mad at yourself and feel a little less like a feminist for being so happy that somebody praised your appearance (even though the people who know you are praising not only that, but your dedication and hard work as well).  And it's so nice to hear that you kind of want to cry, and that makes you feel even MORE awkward because you cry all the time as it is and that makes other people feel uncomfortable which makes you feel EVEN MORE FRICKIN AWKWARD, if that's possible.

Have I mentioned how awkward I am?

It kind of makes you want to make business cards with pictures of your formerly fatter self on them that say "FUCK YOU, I AM IN THE PROCESS OF BETTERING MYSELF, ASSHATS.  What have you done to improve yourself today?  NOTHING." to hand out to mean strangers.

But that would be mean, and it's not polite to call people names.

Even if they are asshats.

It's challenging to have this evolving vision of yourself while being viewed in two completely different ways based on your physical appearance by those who know you and those who don't.  Also, you are used to having a fat suit of armor on to keep observations and judgement away from your fragile little heart.  And as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, the armor is melting away and you feel naked and weird.

And awkward.

If I didn't say that already.

Comfort Zone

I like my comfort zone.  A lot.

It's comfy (hence the name).  I know everybody in it.  I can wear my sweatpants there and there's usually chocolate.

Here's the thing though.

Nothing new or exciting happens there.

Sometimes, that's ok.  Comfort and stability aren't necessarily bad!  In fact, they're two of the things my marriage is built on (along with ridiculous goofiness, fiery debates, trust, and gin cocktails).

But if you stay in it all the time, things will get stagnant.

To make a change, you need to get the hell out of your comfort zone.  Whether the change is in your health, your education, your career, your family, or whatever it is that needs alteration in your life...it's not going to happen if you're sitting in your comfort zone wearing sweatpants and eat chocolate.

Believe me, I know.

It's not easy, and it's not always fun.  I may well be the most awkward human to ever grace the earth.  I make people feel less weird about themselves just by being naturally awkward and bizarre.  )It's ok, I own it.  And you're welcome, everyone).  I've made a complete ass of myself stepping out of my comfort zone more times than I care to count or recall.

Take it from me, the queen of awkward.

There are a shit ton of memes about leaving your comfort zone.  As you may have noticed by reading previous blog posts, I am a big fan of memes.  I find some of them hilarious and perfect for my purposes.  (See above.)

Also, I find some of them corny as hell and not entirely accurate.  This, for example:

100% FALSE.

LIES.  Life does not begin at the end of your comfort zone.  A good portion of your life can be lived successfully in your happy little comfort bubble.  Part of your life SHOULD be lived in your comfort zone, or you will probably die of a stroke by age 30.  Too much stress is not good, and stepping out of your comfort zone is stressful as shit (at least for me...but again, I'm anxious and awkward).  

This one, however cheesy, I find to be partially true:

Only partially true...I'll get to that.

I do like that slice of cheesy goodness above, but like I said, It's only partially true.  Why?

THERE IS NOTHING MAGICAL ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS OUTSIDE OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE.  

It's not magic, it's hard fucking work.  

It's blood, sweat, tears, tears, more tears, hard work, more sweat, unfortunate facial expressions, that dream where you show up to school on the first day naked, anxiety, falling on your face, more sweat, and possibly some more blood.

It's also not 100% unicorns and rainbows.  If it was, nobody would be in their comfort zone, ever, because being out of it would be too spectacular and amazing...and then "out of the comfort zone" would become "the comfort zone" and vice versa, and that is some Inception shit that I can't even handle right now.

We put a comfort zone inside your comfort zone so you can comfort zone while you comfort zone and my brain just exploded.

Anyway, here's the point:

Don't feel badly about lurking in your comfort zone.  It's nice and warm and cozy in there.  I love my comfort zone.  

But don't be afraid to get out there and shake it up.  I guarantee, if you do, your life will change.  I can't guarantee that all the changes will be amazing.  Some of them might suck. 

The only person I can speak for is myself, and mine have been frickin amazing.

I get it, you're "too busy"

Seriously, y'all.  I am exhausted.  ALLLLLLL the time.  Too much on my plate.  Burning the candle at both ends.  Full-time employee.  Full-time student.  Full-time wife.  Full-time mom (yes, my dog counts, shut up). Full-time ass kicker.  6 days a week in the gym.


 And I swear to God and sonny Jesus, if one more parent says to me "You think you're busy?  Just wait until you have kids, then you'll REALLY know what busy is!" I'm going to punch them in the throat.  Yes, I am aware that kids are quite the time suck.  Yes, I am aware that being a mom is "the most important job in the world" (thanks for invalidating my life, BTW...in spite of my fruitless uterus, I am aware that mothers are important).  You chose to have children, and I'm sure it's been an excellent choice for you, just as I am choosing the priorities in my life, and they are fantastic.  Guess what isn't on my list of priorities, ever, at all.  Lectures from sanctimommies.  SEACREST OUT.  RANT OVER.  MIC DROP.


But I digress.


What can I say, I like to be busy.

I try not to glorify it, because I don't always feel like it's the healthiest.  Certainly my stress level is nothing to envy.

What's the point?

Throughout my entire adulthood, I've felt this busy all the time.  But I really haven't been.

Working on my undergrad degree at UWSP, I felt SO STRESSED.  Trying to graduate with a decent GPA while working 15 whole hours a week and working out 3x weekly was quite the task.  How would I EVER be able to do that?
Quick math: 15 credit hours of class per week + 15 (ish) hours of work + 3 hours of working out = 33 hours of committed time each week.  This means I had 135 hours of free time.  135 mother effing hours to sleep, and study, and eat, and hang out with my friends.  135 glorious hours.  Every.  Dang.  Week!
Not sure why I felt so busy when I spent most of the free-time I didn't think I had hitting the bong and drinking gin (note to all, especially co-workers and my trainer: I NO LONGER HIT THE BONG.  Please don't judge me.  My early 20's were spent in a marijuana-clouded stupor, but I really like my nursing license so that shit was cut from the roster).

When I moved to the Marshall Islands was probably the only time in my adult life when I haven't felt stressed by responsibilities.  My responsibilities there included: 1) show up to teach, 2) try to be on time, but if you're not, nobody really cares, 3) have something planned for the kids to do, 4) don't show the kids your knees, EVER, or they will think you're a prostitute, 5) have a pulse, 6) try not to die of dysentery.  It was pretty awesome.

Flash to nursing school: 12 credit hours of class per week + 16 hours of clinicals + 24 hours of work = 52 hours of committed time.  Even during nursing school, which every nurse who ever lived will tell you is the worst thing ever, I had 116 hours of unaccounted time each week.  I can tell you why I felt so busy with so much "free time," it all boils down to nursing care plans and memorizing medications.  Blerg.

Fast forward to now.

12 credit hours per week + 32 work hours per week = 44 hours of committed time each week.  (Truthfully, I have 50 committed hours, because I count my gym time as a commitment, not "free time.") I have 124 hours to sleep, cook, play with my dog, study, hang out with my husband, work out, etc.  I feel insanely busy, because again...I spend the majority of this free time studying.

But here's the point...

Everybody is given the exact same 24 hours per day to spend how they choose.

Nobody is guaranteed how many of these 24 hour periods they will get.

You can choose how to spend your days.

If you want to spend them laying on your couch watching Knight Rider re-runs, no judgement.  That actually sounds pretty awesome.  If you choose to spend them reading Hyperbole and a Half and screening your phone calls, invite me over.  If you choose to spend your "free time" asleep, with your kids, macrame-ing yourself a pair of jean shorts, cosplaying Twilight, teaching your dog to fetch your slippers, streaking down College Avenue, smoking crack, protesting, setting fireworks off at inappropriate times, or any other frickin weird hobby you may have, that's your prerogative.

"We're going streaking!  Through the quad, into the gymnasium!  You come too...bring your green hat!"
*NOTE: if this is your hobby, you are hilarious and I want to be best friends with you.  One of my best friends used to like to streak and flash back in our college days, and she is my favorite.  You could be my favorite, too (just saying)*

But I don't want to hear that you're "too busy" to work out or cook yourself healthy meals.

Guess what.
You're not.
You're just choosing to spend your time differently.

And that's fine.  Like I said, it's your life and you have every right to spend it however you want.  I am just growing weary of parents, students, newlyweds, business-owners, and people from pretty much all walks of life telling me they are "too busy" to make their health a priority.  That is straight-up bullshit.

Saying you are "too busy" is a weak excuse which will not be tolerated.  So if you use that excuse with me, be prepared to be called out on it.*

*Unless you are a single parent of 8 who works 90 hours a week and manages a menagerie of 35 pets by yourself while juggling chainsaws and simultaneously recovering from major abdominal surgery. Then you probably don't have time.  Everyone else though...