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...

Extreme Weight Loss

Holy crap, does anybody else cry like a squalling child when they watch this show?  No?  Just me then?

AWKWARD.

Maybe it's because it hits a little too close to home.

 I always find myself rooting for these people more feverishly than I cheer for the Packers during the Pack/Vikes game (or the Packers/Bears game...take your pick).  I feel like I'm rooting for myself sometimes.  The episode a couple of seasons ago about the 30 year old infertile myrtle?  The one who used to love to sing but doesn't like people to look at her while she does it?  Uh...yup, pretty sure that episode was about me.  I watched the whole thing with my jaw hanging open, sobbing.

(Disclaimer: I do get pissed at shows like this, however, due to the poor transition between these intensive programs and "real life," which, unfortunately, often results in the contestants reverting to their unhealthy habits and gaining the weight back after the cameras stop rolling.  The Biggest Loser is the worst culprit of this abrupt shift from life in the gym to daily life at home.  Also, The Biggest Loser pisses me off for another reason...people who clearly desperately need to be there and need the guidance and accountability are kicked off when they have a less successful week, numbers wise?  That is one effed up program.  I know it makes for compelling TV, but it's kind of a dick move on NBC's part.  End of rant.)

Anyway, as I'm watching tonight's episode (I haven't cried yet, but we're only 12 minutes in, give it time) and thinking of what an amazing gift it is to be under Chris Powell's guidance for an entire year.  Can you imagine?  I can't imagine something so awesome!

And then I remember.  Silly Angie, you can TOO imagine.

While my trainer isn't famous, he's changing my life as surely as Chris Powell is changing the people featured on TV.

And Jen...my God, Jen, I can't ever thank you enough for this tremendous gift I've been given.

I can't believe I'm a month in already (5 weeks, to be exact).  In some ways, it feels like I just started (which I know in the grand scheme of things, I did) and in some ways, it feels like I've been at this forever (in a good way).  On days that I don't go to the gym, I miss it.  I know even if I'm having a crappy day, there will be about an hour of stress relief.  Like sweet, sweaty Xanax. :)

Guess what else.  I'm not on a diet.  I eat whatever the heck I please.  But what I want to eat is healthy.  Why?  Well, the reason is twofold...1) I pay big bucks to see a nutritionist and I'll be damned if I'm going to flush my FSA dollars down the toilet (not to mention wasting both her time and mine) by paying for her advice and expertise and then eating like crap, and 2) I sweat my ass off 5-6 days a week.  To the point that I get whiskey face (read: beet red), my "base layer" (if you know what I'm saying) is completely soaked and my pants start to sag because of the sweat, and I routinely wish I'd put my hair back in a du-rag to keep my sweaty bangs out of my dang eyes.  I like it, but that shit is no joke.  Do I want to "cancel out" my hard work with crappy food?  Um...no.  Hell to the no.

When I think about the way I have treated my body in the past, it makes me sad and angry at myself at the same time.  But I didn't know how else to function...I thought I needed my unhealthy habits (and resulting shape) to hide behind and as a crutch, and security blanket.

So far, my brain is changing a lot more and a lot more quickly than my body...and I'm okay with that.  I'm actually happy about it.  Not that the small physical changes I'm seeing aren't gratifying and amazing, but the change of mindset is mind blowing.

*****Also, you may be interested to know that by the time I finished this entry, the episode was 34 minutes in and I have cried twice.

The sports bra struggle

Dear Athletic wear companies (Lululemon, Athleta, Champion, UnderArmour, North Face, REI, Danskin, and others),
Those of us with sizeable bodies and breasts would like to exercise in clothing meant to do so.  I am a size 26 and 44 DD to E, and my ass and boobs need to be properly contained whilst I sweat my ass off.  Not that my Target yoga pants and Old Navy tank tops won't do in a pinch for working out, but it's clear after a half hour of sweating that these garments were not designed for serious sweating...my pants start to sag like a baby with a full diaper under the weight of the sweat that is soaking in to them instead of being "wicked away."  My tank tops are low cut (aka, meant for style, not function) and the point of working out is not to flash my cleavage around the gym.  It took me 6 months to find a sports bra that fit me while providing support (dear God WHY would you make an unsupportive sports bra for breasts my size?  WHY?  It's merely decorative and completely non-functional) and I had to order it from out of state.
I beg of you, please start making decent workout wear for fatties, and busty ladies.  Especially fat busty ladies, as I fall into this category and am speaking from a purely selfish state of mind at this point.
I hate you,
Angie

And now, the sports bra struggle...


Having big boobs is the only part of being fat that I like.  Seriously, my cans are amazing (please don't take the way I look in a sport bra as my normal appearance, because those things are mashed the eff down SO MUCH it's borderline painful in my sports bra). Lately, it's kind of been a pain in my ass, though.

Exhibit A: My search for a sports bra.  Appearance is not important in this arena, I'm going to the gym to sweat my ass off, not to look cute and show off my cleavage.  However, some of you will remember last year's struggle to find a decent sports bra that supports the ladies adequately.  The search actually brought me to tears on multiple occasions.  Target, Walmart, Younkers, Shopko, Macy's, Kohl's...none of these stores support (ha, no pun intended) fat girls exercising.  Specifically if you are larger than about a 40 C.  The 44 DD I needed?  Haaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha, take your big jugs and get outta my store.  Even Lane Bryant, a store that ONLY sells fat lady clothes, doesn't believe in big boobed ladies exercising, because the sports bras there (mercifully available in my size, woot!) had absolutely no support whatsoever.  What's the point of making a "sports bra" for DD sized cans if its not going to keep them in one place?  If my boobs hurt after 10 trial jumping jacks in the fitting room, no way are they going to make it through an actual workout.  The Enell bra which was recommended to me by so many people is like a titty straitjacket.  It hurts SO.  BAD.  And apparently, this is the whole idea.  I thought I had the wrong size until I called customer service.  After describing the process of putting this bra on as "a nightmare akin to wrestling a rabid monkey," the woman said "Yeah, that sounds about right." Yikes.

This woman is clearly sedated.  That's the ONLY way one could smile while wearing this monstrosity.

 Also, it turns out in sports bra land, my boobs are bigger than they are in regular bra land, because I ended up with a significantly larger cup size than I have ever worn before.  What the everloving crap?  No WONDER I can't find something that fits me...my sports bra size is super uncommon.  Anyway, to score me a suitable bra, my sister had to go to a lingerie specialty store in Portland, Oregon, and mail me a bra.  She had to mail me a motherfucking bra.  From Oregon. The staff there helped us over the phone and she went in a rainstorm on a Sunday night to buy me a bra, because there are literally zero supportive sports bras in my size in Wisconsin.  NONE.  The Anita Extreme Control blah blah blah whatever it's called flattens my boobs down and straps them in like none other, but that shit doesn't move at all.  I highly suggest picking one up if you are busty.  Buy it here: http://www.anita.com/us-en/Products,Anita_active,MAXIMUM_SUPPORT:5527_Sports%20bra

Extreme control, indeed.  This shit is no joke.

Exhibit B: Why oh why oh WHY are the boobs the first thing to jump ship when you start losing weight?  One of the serious injustices of the world...my pants still fit but my normal bras are too big.  My brand new, hella comfy, hot looking bras now have room for me to smuggle things in the cups.  I could start shoplifting citrus fruit and chicken cutlets, and carry them out of Festival Foods sight unseen, in my bra.  This is the bullshit of all bullshit.

So, to my less busty friends I say this: you may wish for better cleavage or more curves.  But when it comes to working out, the itty bitty titty committee is where it's at, and I am envious.

Safety

When I started this process 3 weeks ago, I didn't think I'd ever come to think of the gym as a "safe haven" of sorts.

Gyms are intimidating.  They usually smell weird.  They're full of muscley dudes and super fit ladies that snicker at the chunky girl trying to do leg presses, who doesn't even realize she has a 25# plate on one side and a 35# plate on the other.  What an idiot that chunky girl is!

Wrong.  Oh, so very wrong.

Gyms were intimidating.  Now this gym is familiar.  Also, it doesn't smell weird.

There are a lot of very muscular dudes and super fit ladies there.  But most of them weren't born that way.  They all started somewhere.  One will even come up to you and say, "Do you realize you have 10 pounds left on the right side than on the left?  The plates are such similar sizes it's hard to tell if you're in a hurry."  And will then STOP HIS WORKOUT to help you find the plate you need, and will bring it to you.  Said muscley dude will be impressed when he sits down on the chest press machine after you and realizes you are both using the same weight.

The reason I say the gym is my "safe haven" is because of what happened to me that made me enter the "Pay it Forward" contest in the first place.

I had started walking to and from work, as a baby step towards better health.  It was minimal, but it was SOMETHING.  My walks to work helped energize me before a long day of sitting in front of a computer, and the walk home was a good de-stresser.  

One day, as I was walking home, two assbags on the front porch of a crackhouse on Fair St began shouting at me.  It's important to note that I was on State St, which for those of you not familiar with my neighborhood, runs parallel to the street these guys were on and is a block away.  

"Go back to Burger King, fatty!" was the last thing I heard before I started crying and fuming.  Apparently, my appearance was so very offensive to these jerks that they felt the need to shout insults and slurs and profanity at me from an entire block away.  Across their yard, a parking lot, and two other yards.  I came home in tears and collapsed into my husband's arms.  Immediately he knew what happened, as unfortunately, this has happened to me before, on a bike ride in Sturgeon Bay.

Two jerks took away my morning energizer.  They took away my afternoon de-stresser.  They made me feel vulnerable and violated and awful.

My favorite route to and from work, and incidentally the safest route (the only direct route that doesn't go past the train tracks where there are always questionable creepers hanging out at all hours), has effectively been stolen from me.

I don't feel safe walking that way to work anymore, not because of any physical threats, but if those dudes have so few boundaries that they feel it's acceptable to verbally attack a complete stranger from a full city block away, I can't help but wonder what other boundaries they lack.

I feel safe at the gym.  Nobody there has ever said anything other than helpful, sweet things to me.  Even my trainer, who pushes me like crazy, is always helpful and nice.  There's no "get in your face and scream" techniques involved.  Thank GOD.

Nobody cares if I'm only walking on the treadmill while they're running.  Nobody cares that I'm only lifting 15lbs and they're lifting 45.  Nobody cares if my ass jiggles when I exercise.  Because we are all there, working on our goals at the same time.  

Pride

Have you ever been so proud, you felt like your heart might explode right out of your body?  

But you don't want to make said pride known, lest people think you are a peacocking jerkface?

Squawk.

Maybe you haven't wanted to share how proud you are of yourself, just in case you fail.

As have I.  But guess what!  I'm older and wiser, and I'm at a point in my life in which I don't care.  I don't care if people think I'm a peacocking jerkface.  Because I know how hard I'm working every day.  I know how much my attitudes and motivation have changed in such a short time.

And guess what else.  Failure is so much different than I once thought it was.  If I am working hard, sweating my ass off and making good decisions, and the outcome is not what I wanted or different than I expected, have I failed?  Nooooooooooo.  Because I didn't give up.

Success!

That's all, the end. :)

Things

Questions I have and things that will happen to you after you start working out (and by you, I mean me):

1) Why didn't anybody tell me that workouts are AMAZING for rage management?  I should probably preface this by saying I don't generally have rage issues, I'm not an extraordinarily angry person.  But there are a very select few people on earth that I hate with the fire of a thousand suns.  Slamming a (conveniently head-shaped but quite sizeable) medicine ball into the ground repeatedly as I silently curse their very names is so very therapeutic.

Attention assholes: This is your stupid head.  I will drop it like 4th period French.

Hint: it's this.  I fucking HATE this shit.  

2) Don't EVER tell your trainer which exercises you hate.  He will evilly use this information against or for you (depending on how you look at the situation).

3) You will secretly know that #2 is for your own good.  Dammit.

4) You will watch other people working out and think "holy shit, I can't do that!"  You will have to remind yourself that just one short week ago, you DREADED your first workout and thought it'd be awful...turns out, it was, but you look forward to your workouts now because it was also friggin fantastic.  Also, you need to remind yourself that you whipped through one of your workouts so much faster than your trainer expected that he had to wing it and come up with more shit for you to do on the spot (boom, bitches).  Then you will think "holy crap, my week was awesome.  I can do a lot of stuff."  Then you will rephrase... "holy shit, I can't wait to learn to do that."

5) When your trainer tells you that you should be excited when he introduces you to burpees, you will momentarily suspect that he has a serious crack habit, and then remember where you are and who you're talking to, and that suspicion will pass.  No disrespect, my friend, but excitement for burpees?  Player please.

6) Why in the holy hell did nobody share this secret with me: eating well is 1 billion times easier when you exercise regularly?  Going into it, the thought is "man, I have to focus on TWO life changes, not just one."  It seems pretty daunting.  The reality is; when you sweat your everloving ass off, you don't want to fuck it up and/or waste your time by going home and eating crap.  I'm actually kind of pissed about this one (not really...but also...yeah).

7) On a similar note, you will start to crave meat like a caveman.  Even though you are a vegetarian and haven't had meat in about 2 years, and the butchering/prep process grosses you out to no end...you will still want meat.  Dammit.

This will be you.

8) You will become a huge dork who blogs about working out.

Perception vs Reality

This is what I feel like when I work out:

These are eerily similar to what I look like when I work out:

My face when I hear "time for box steps!"

Me on the treadmill.

Aaaaaaand...what my face looks like after a half hour.

The end.