Vacation! Subtitle: I am AWESOME.

I just got back from a frickin amazeballs family vacation.  Myself, the hubs, and my mom and pops flew out to Phoenix last week and then met my sibs in Flagstaff.

We stayed in a sweet rental house (thanks, Ma and Pa) and hiked all over God's green earth.


We saw First People's homes built into the sides of cliffs.



We hiked the Grand Canyon.

We hiked for MILES around Sedona.

We went to a weird little town called Jerome, built into the side of a mountain.

We explored Phoenix and Flagstaff.

We sat in a hot tub for hours.

We got up and drove two hours to see an amazing sunrise.

We saw tons of elk so close to us we could have touched them (if it weren't for fleas and early mating-season aggression, that is).

I got to see my college roomie and fetus friend and her husband, and meet their sweet daughter Aida.

I ate fajitas pretty much every day.

I had amazing tequila (sorry not sorry, Amanda and Donovan).




But let's talk about the best parts.

It started with me sitting in an airplane seat comfortably.  My ass fit and everything.  It was a spring break miracle.
And then.  AND THEN!  I buckled my airplane seatbelt.  Without.  A.  Seatbelt.  Extender.  For the first time since before I met my husband.
Then, I put the tray table down and it didn't smack my boobs or my food baby on the way down.
And then I hiked for miles and miles up and down and around a mountain in Sedona and kept up with my family.
And then I hiked straight down into a gorge and back out.
And then I hiked around the Grand Canyon rim.

And then I hiked into the Grand Canyon (not all the way to the bottom, I don't have a death wish) to see a fossil wall and back out.
And then I comfortably sat in yet another airplane seat, buckled yet another airplane seatbelt without an extender, and used another tray table without my boobs or food baby getting in the way.

While tramping all over AZ, I thought a lot about the last vacation I took, when my husband, my bestie and I drove to Montana to meet my siblings.  It was gorgeous and amazing, and I missed out on parts of it because I had no stamina, no energy, and was unbelievably out of shape.  Instead of dwelling on that and feeling sad, I was (am) overjoyed that's no longer the case.  I can do the things I want to (most of them, anyway) and don't have to miss out on anything I want to do because of my fitness, or lack thereof.

Amazing how much can change in just under a year, huh?

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.

Fat girl shopping

Disclaimers:
1) I am well aware of the fact that as a white American, I am privileged in ways that others are not.  This sucks and is unfair and I know it.
2) I am not trying to get into a "who's more oppressed than whom" pissing match here, just trying to make a point about something that frustrates me to no end.
3) Bah, humbug.

So.  Picture the last time you went shopping.  Just take a minute and try to recall.  What kind of selection was available in your size?  What part of the store was your size carried in?  Did the clothes designed for your gender stop at a certain size, and send all people bigger or smaller than that to a different part of the store to shop?  How was the lighting?  How did the salespeople treat you?

If you're a dude, there are a wide variety of choices available to you.  And whether you waist is 32 inches or 52 inches, your shirt size XS or XXL, in most stores, you can buy pants off the same clothes rack.  You lucky dog!  There are so many options for athletic wear for you that it has it's own section of the store.  Bonus!

If you're an average to below average sized lady, there are a wide variety of choices to you.  There are so many options for athletic wear for you that it often has it's own section of the store.  Bonus!  There are a plethora of brands and styles for you to choose from.  Chances are, if you walk into any store, anywhere (with the exception of plus-sized specialty stores) you can find multiple options in your size.

Another bonus?  Not everything is black!  Average to below average sized ladies are permitted to want colorful things.  You lucky ladies, you!

If you're an above average sized lady, you have known exactly where this was going from the beginning.

Our section of the store is about  1/4-1/3 the size of the "regular" sized ladies clothes, if we're lucky.  A sizable percentage of the options in the section are black, grey, navy, or brown (why would you want to draw attention to your fat by wearing bright colors?).  We are stuffed into the back of the store (why would you want to draw attention to fat people by making their clothing visible?).  If any athletic wear is offered in our size, there is generally one brand available and one rack of it (for example, in the sprawling cacophony that is Scheels, there is exactly one rack of Nike plus-sized athletic wear.  At Target, Kohls, and Younkers, there are exactly zero racks of plus-sized athletic wear.  In Shopko, there is exactly one rack of Energy Zone athletic wear.  I could go on, but you get it).  After all, fatties must not workout or they wouldn't be so fat, right?  RIGHT?

And if you live in a smaller town, things get worse.

When I lived in Door County, I had to drive for an hour JUST TO BUY  BRAS THAT FIT ME.  That's right.  The closest bras that fit my body at that time were in Green Bay.

When I was home for Christmas this year, about 70lb lighter than when I lived in Door County, I wanted new sweatpants, because my old sweatpants fit me 70lb ago and made me look like a hobo.  Even being several sizes smaller (but still a fat girl by all standards, really), I had to go to three stores to find a pair of suitable sweatpants.  SWEATPANTS.  I was not exactly seeking high-fashion...I just wanted something soft to wear to sit on the couch and watch Twilight Zone re-runs.

But seriously.

There are a lot of cute little boutique stores close to my apartment, and I like to window-shop (and sometimes actual-shop).  These boutiques are tiny, have a tiny selection (as most boutiques do, hence the name), with a tiny size offering (small and medium, large if they're feeling generous), and exorbitant prices.  But it's fun to go.  They also sell shoes and bags and household items and things that are accessible to my fat self.

My experience when shopping at these places has been fucking horrible.

If you are fat and walk into Hey, Daisy! for example, the employees will look at you, pause, and then go right back to talking to each other without so much as saying hello.  This happened once and I was annoyed.  This happened again, and I was infuriated.  So I decided to do an experiment.  Of all the specialty shops downtown that sell clothing, exactly one was welcoming and friendly when my fat self walked in (Thanks, Beatnik Betty's!).  The others must have decided that fat money doesn't spend the same and disregarded me.  Yes, I am aware that I will never ever ever fit into your clothing, but there are entire sections of your little store dedicated to things that I might have liked in my life.  That is, until you decided you didn't want my money.  I'm all about supporting local businesses, but downtown Appleton really needs to step up it's customer service game.


Again, I am aware that there are worse atrocities than being shoved to the back of the store to buy a limited selection of shapeless black clothing, and being treated poorly in a retail store.  I KNOW.

I've written about this before.  Why am I revisiting it?  Because it is still happening.  Because it sucks.

Also, because as I get closer and closer to not needing to shop in the fat girl section any more, I get more and more pissed that a fat girl section exists.  It's sizeist and sexist that my father and my husband, with their very different body sizes, can buy pants, belts, and shirts off the same clothing rack, and that my BFF and I, with our different body sizes, can't.  We have to go to opposite ends of the store to get every single garment except shoes.  Sometimes, we have to go to entirely different stores.

Double standard.

Not cool.

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...

Finances

I haven't been able to post much recently because school, while amazing, is sucking up all my free time and brain cells.  I have a love-hate relationship with school, just like I have with working out.  At the time, It can be terrible...it's exhausting and hard and frustrating at times when I can't do something or can't figure something out.  But I know it's making me better and I love how I feel when I accomplish something, so I keep doing it.

So here's the scoop.  I've been working out with my trainer for almost 5 months now.  Which is amazing...sometimes I feel like I just started out (which I know in the grand scheme of things, I did) and at times I feel like I've been doing this forever.  It's become a habit...if I go more than one day between workouts, I feel icky and weird and sluggish and kind of gross.  I've learned some valuable lessons, such as (TMI alert, if you're squeamish about lady problems, move on to the next paragraph) you shouldn't avoid it when you have the worst fucking menstrual cramps of your life, because it will actually make them better.  Maybe days when you feel dizzy aren't the best days to try to do a bunch of burpees.  And for the love of God, EAT SOMETHING BEFORE YOU GO TO THE GYM.

But I'm super scared right now.  I only have one more month with my trainer.  Well, I should say one more sponsored month before I have to figure out how to pay for his services, because I want to keep him.  And when I say I want to keep him, I should be saying I need to...let's be honest, I need the push and the accountability.

As many of you know or may someday find out, getting healthier can be hella expensive.  Don't get me wrong, it's the best money I've ever spent (aside from my nursing degree and my travels).  But nutritionist visits, constant new clothes/alteration of current clothes, future gym membership payments (my gym is free for me for another 6 months, thank GOD for Jen Mott) and training sessions are expensive.  Plus, I'm paying tuition at a private university for the next 3 years.  Also: bills.  You get the picture, and I'm sure you can relate.

I guess what I'm trying to say is...if you want to get healthy, MAKE THE INVESTMENT.  I'm freaking out right now about how my husband and I are going to financially make this work (P.S. he joined the gym and got a trainer this month, too!  So excited!!!  And so freaked!) but it's such a high priority for us right now that we'll find a way to make this work.  Some of you may remember my blog post from this summer about simplification...well, ditching cable and phones and other things was all part of getting us ready for this crazy expensive fall we're having.

Also...not looking for sympathy, just putting it out there.  A lot of people have commented to me "I wish I could afford the gym/nutrtionist/trainer/etc but I can't."  The point is: we can't either, but this is worth the other sacrifices we're making.  Make yourself a priority.  And maybe, you don't even need a gym or a trainer!  You can youtube lots of fitness stuff and workouts for free, which is great if that's your bag!  I, unfortunately, need people to keep me in check and push my lazy ass past what I want to be doing (which is sitting on my duff watching Parenthood reruns).

Progress Update

Honestly, I don't think I look very different than when I started this process of attempting to become the incredible shrinking woman.  Apparently, other people think I do.  The compliments I'm getting from friends, family, and co-workers are so rewarding.  Even more so, perhaps, are the comments I get from randos at the gym (and staff, too!)...it's extremely validating to have your hard work noticed.

So, let's start from the very beginning.

This is me and hubs at Yellowstone in August, 2013.  Note: the lump above my boob is chapstick, I didn't have any pockets.  Also, it was seriously like 105 degrees that day.  It was sweaty and hot and miserable and BEAUTIFUL.  Give me a home where the buffalo roam, indeed.

Shortly after this photo was taken, hubs and my bestie (hi, Ali!) wanted to take a hike.  I decided to sit it out, blaming my photosensitizing meds (I had been having excruciating headaches earlier that summer and was on a buttload of neuro meds that made me prone to sunburns).

Truth: I just didn't want to slow them down or (embarrassing horror of horrors) have to turn back before them).

This is me in June, about 1 month into my workouts and nutritional overhaul.  I had lost 13 lbs when this picture was taken...slightly more than the weight of baby Taco.

I had started feeling REALLY good for the first time in a loooong time.













This is what I looked like today, after a day of work, an awesome workout, and a delicious Chipotle burrito:

Under the amazing guidance of Donovan (my trainer), Amanda (my nutritionist), and Jen (my mentor and rockstar workout buddy):

I have lost 40 lbs since 4/28/14.  

I'm down 53 pounds total from my heaviest weight ever (in 2013).  

I've increased my percentage of muscle by 0.3% (which, to be honest, doesn't sound like much, and I'm actually down a couple pounds of muscle overall, which pisses me off to no end.  However I'm so happy that I've been able to maintain enough to increase my percentage as I lose weight).  

I've lost 5 inches around my waist and 5.5 around my hips. 

Last week, I had to throw away ALL my underoos and buy an entirely new drawer full.  

My bras are too big (all but one sports bra, truth be told) and that needs to be my next investment.  

My favorite jeans slide down over my butt when I try to put them on.  

When I have time to sleep (ha), I am sleeping like a damn corpse (and I mean that in the best way possible).  

I am energized and happy and feeling awesome.  

Even though the visual progress is slow (at least to me), it's really awesome to see my numbers change...to see my hydration increase, my muscle maintain, and my fat plummet.  

One more thing I need to address...body positivity.  I have always been a big believer in beauty at every shape and size, dressing in whatever makes you feel happy and confident, and fat acceptance.  I've been asked if, now that I'm trying to lose weight, my beliefs have changed.

NO they most certainly have not.

My reasons for weight loss are as follows:

1) Health, first and foremost.  A lot of fat people are healthy, I was (am?) not.  I have sleep apnea and take beta blockers, and the day I can bash the shit out of my c-pap machine with a baseball bat like the copier in Office Space will be the best day of my life.  I'll have a party to celebrate; you're all invited.

2) Happiness.  I know a lot of fat people who are happy and beautiful.  In fact, two of my girl crushes (we're facebook friends...you both do amazing makeup...one of you I met through my sista and one of you I met through WAIT...but I will keep your identities secret like Clark Kent) are voluptuous ladies, and they are unbelievably sexy.  Like, ferociously sexy.  Their spouses are two lucky, lucky dudes.  Whoa...tangent.  Anyway: I did not genuinely feel either of those things on a regular basis.  It's important to know: my coping mechanisms were (and are) extremely flawed: food was my drug and I numbed myself with it.  I needed to learn to deal with my feelings and stress in a more positive way, without turning into an alcoholic or a heroin addict (not kidding, not mocking, it's a genuine concern of mine).  I struggle daily with actually addressing my stresses and problems instead of just burying them under a mountain of junk food.  This process is raw and painful and ugly and amazing and I have cried more in my life over the past 4 months than I have ever before in my life, because I let myself feel every emotion that comes into my brain.

So could I be fat and happy?  No, because of my issues with food and my inability to cope with things.  Can you be fat and happy?  Hell yeah, and if you are, more power to you.  If you're not, do something to make yourself more happy, less fat, or both.  But know this: losing weight is not a magic ticket to happiness. 

:)

Slugsville

I've been feeling super sluggish lately.  Weirdly heavy and slow.  Not sure what the deal is, because I've been sleeping pretty well.  My diet hasn't changed since May.  I'm kind of annoyed.
It came to a boiling point for me when I couldn't finish an entire 300 workout earlier this week.  Not because I didn't have the stamina, but because I had 30 minutes with my trainer and I just couldn't get the whole thing done in that time frame.

Pictured above: Me, apparently

I was fucking PISSED.  Not at him, at myself.  I should be able to get a frickin planned workout done in a half hour.  But for some reason, I have been feeling extra slooooow lately and my energy level has been for crap.
I went through my routine, my diet, my daily schedule, and realized the only change is that I have worked out every day since June 24th.  Most of those days have been at Anytime, a few have been with friends at other gyms, and a few have been "wogs" around my neighborhood with my dog (wog = walk/jog, aka my version of running).  Huzzah, good for me!  Except I think maybe my body needs a rest day.
I'm sure there are a lot of you that are like, "but Angie, I've worked out every day since 1994 and I feel fantastic!"  I'm happy for you, and actually quite jealous.

So.  Tomorrow, no matter how weird I feel skipping the gym, I'm not going.  My first rest day in 6 weeks.  Keep your fingers crossed that this is what I need to re-boot and start feeling amazeballs again!

Buddy Workouts

As much as I enjoy my one-on-one time with my trainer, my GOD I love buddy workouts!  Tonight I got to work out with the lovely Sandy and Jen...both women who have done amazing things.  AMAZING, powerful, inspirational women who I am so lucky to know and call friends.

I managed to keep up with them, didn't die, trained with a trainer I've never worked out with before (which, for those of you who know how awkward I am in new situations and how much Xanax it requires for me to do things that scare me, is an accomplishment in and of itself) AND the session was an hour, which is twice as long as I normally work out with my usual trainer (and at the end of my normal half hours, my body is completely smoked and I just want to pass out).

I laughed SO hard during this work out, it's hard to know if my abs are sore because of the core circuit (which was challenging) or because Sandy is HILARIOUS and I couldn't stop laughing the entire time!

Also...does anybody else feel like they're cheating on their trainer when they work out with someone else?  I know they all work for the same place and are colleagues and support ALL the gym members, not just the ones they train with...but it kind of made me feel like a gym slut.

With that said, it was awesome.  I had to do wall sits and push ups, which I HATE.  But I also got to do ab mat sit ups, planks, ball slams, rope slams, and lots of kettlebell stuff, which I LOVE.  And even the stuff I hate wasn't too bad, because I had my lovely partners in crime there to cheer me on.

If you go to Anytime and ever want to do a buddy workout, LET ME KNOW!

Thanks, Sandy, Jen, and Kirk for an awesome hour!!

Awkwardsauce

Anybody else have exercises that make them feel HELLA awkward?

There aren't many, for me (so far)...amazing, since I feel at least a little awkward on a routine basis.

  But I have to say, the few that are awkward make me want to giggle like a twelve-year-old in sex ed class.

I submit for your approval...exercises that, while effective, feel really silly:

Make sure you use protection.

Exhibit A: Hip thrusters, or glute bridges, or whatever the heck you want to call this particular exercise.  It feels like you're trying to hump the ceiling, or are auditioning to be...ahem...a "dancer."  It always makes me want to giggle uncontrollably, because my maturity level is below average for a professional woman of my age.

This person's outfit isn't nearly slutty
enough to be doing pole squats.

Exhibit B: Pole squats.  They even SOUND hilarious.  Again, super effective and a good first step into squat-land...but I feel like I'm in stripper school, and I have a hard time not singing "Hot for Teacher" or "Cherry Pie" while I do these.









That's about all, for now.  Surprising, given my infantile sense of humor.

Fat Jokes Fuel my Rage

***I originally wrote this blog on 4/3/14, right after those buttheads on Fair Street shouted nasty things at me.  Those of you who followed my old blog probably recognize it...though it has been tweaked and more things have been added to it.






This is going to sound really weird, coming from someone who's fat.  But do you know what I love?

Fat jokes.  

Seriously.  I love them.  Not because I find them funny (the same way I don't find racist, homophobic, sexist, or other cruel jokes funny).  Because they're not funny.  Not at all.

I get it, because she's a whale.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA FUNNIEST GODDAMN JOKE EVER.  Or, shut your stupid mouth and IMMA CUT YOU.

They fuel my rage.  They motivate me.  They make me want to punch people in their stupid faces.

So keep telling them, jerks.  I LOVE that shit.  With every joke you tell, my determination grows.  

I think of every fat joke, every cruel name I've been called, every asshole who has shouted hateful things at me from their car, or their porch (I'm talking to you, North Fair Street crackhouse) when I'm working out. 

WHY IS THIS FAT BITCH WEARING LEGGINGS?  HOW DARE SHE WEAR SKINNY PEOPLE CLOTHES?  Releasing mob of angry villagers with pitchforks in 3...2...1...

 As I do my lat pulldowns, I imagine the weights slamming down on your head with each rep.  When I row, I picture my elbows landing right in your stupid faces. 

In all seriousness, if you find these jokes funny, you are an asshole and I have no use for you.  If you find these jokes funny, you clearly have no respect for me anyways.  And yes, I am just as "sensitive" about sexist jokes (because I have a vagina and a SOUL), racist jokes (because not everyone is white and I have a soul), homophobic jokes (again, I have a soul) and other ignorant jokes (because I'm smart and have a soul).  

But keep telling them.  The rage pushes me to be better.

And furthermore, stop saying things like this:

"I love you like a fat girl loves cake."  If you must know, I much prefer pie to cake.  Also, I eat salads every motherfucking day.  So shut up.
"What's the point of having big boobs/an ass that won't quit/curves when you're fat?"  So...my fat cancels out my booty and cans?  I can think of one person who would beg to differ, and guess what!  He lives with me and is legally bound to my ass and cans FOREVER and you don't and aren't, so shut up.  Also, by this logic, "what's the point" of being thin if you are completely flat chested and look like a twelve-year-old boy?  Guess what, it's your body so I don't care! :)  ***Also, no, I do not think small breasted women look like boys, because breast size does not equate with femininity or beauty.  I'm just saying, it's just as ridiculous an example as what's been said to me.
"You have such a pretty face."  To most of you, this sounds like a compliment, but fatties can quickly read between the lines.  So shut up.




If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.  Except fat jokes, of course.  Fat people aren't discriminated against or anything, so it's fine.