Mixed Results-- Mixed Emotions

Today is Day 8 of my 30 day experiment in Muscles.  And I'm not totally sure how to feel.  My weight's been hanging out steadily in my current lowish range (165-167) without jumping back up to 170 like I've seen after cheating in previous weeks, but without dropping either.  And today? 167.

Craaaap-tastic.

I had a pretty good idea that I wasnt going to be horribly pleased with the weigh in, and so decided I'd take my measurements, to see if there was another way to redeem the week.  And it turns out that YES.

After 1 week of squats, crunches, pushups and leg lifts, I've lost:

1/4 inch from my neck
1/2 inch from my belly
1 ENTIRE INCH from my waist

That's right.  After only 7 DAYS of this stuff, I've taken an inch off my waist.  And the 1/2 inch from my belly?  That's conservative.  I could've called it 3/4 inches.  So yeah.  I can't quite say it's been a bad week.

It should be noted, however, that I have lost exactly zip-diggity from the booty, thighs or upper arms. But in all likelihood, the booty is just not really going to go anywhere.  Some people are just more... bootyful than others.  And I am one of them.

I'm 12 pounds over weight.  I'm 40 pounds more than I'd like to be.  And it might be time to go for a couple jogs again and crank this baby up a notch or 10.  But whether or not the weigh-ins care to show it, the work is working.  The leg lifts make me want to cry and stuff, but it's working.

It's working.

It's working.

I think I can.

Some stuff about my muscles

I can't quite remember the last time I felt so terrible and so awesome all at the same time.  After giving birth maybe? Different kind of awesome. Different kind of terrible.

Today was day 3 of the Guns, Buns and Abs journey.  I thought I'd post it here so that you can all be amazed at the incredible things I'm doing.  Or scoff at how pathetic I am for complaining so much about it.  Or just join me so we can suffer together.  Whichever one floats your boat.

Remember though, I AM adding an increasing amount of crunches to this routine as well.  This week was 50.  Starting Monday, it'll be 55.  Guys, I'm gonna have sooo many muscles next month.  It's, like, amazing.

In non-muscle-getting news, I went back to work this past week, which was supremely emotionally difficult for me. This is primarily due to the fact that I am a person who tries to overreact in every available opportunity to do so. Freak out aside, it's really not so bad. We're tightening up the budget and I'm only going to be out of the house for one really long and one really short day every week. Even at this though, after my first long-ish day away from home, the baby decided he no longer wishes to eat formula (something he's always been happy to take before, even when his pops and I spend and evening out and he's with his grandma). On a side note, it's neat to learn that painfully dramatic overreaction is most assuradely an inherited trait.

When I heard he wouldn't eat, I was heading home from my second day of work, and almost immediately had my finger on the call button, ready to quit my job on the spot.  MY BABY MISSES ME AND NEEDS ME AND HE'S GOING TO STARVE IF I HAVE TO GO TO WORK! Of course back in reality, the rest of us are going to starve if I DON'T go to work, so I guess this little dude's just going to have to get used to it.  The first two managed to survive it somehow.

I can say that, despite the emotional trauma, busier schedules, and bit of added stress, there might be some real benefits to out of the house work. It's kind of invigorating to go to a place, be asked questions you know how to answer, and to  have all of your attention focused on this one little thing. If I'm really honest, I'd say that I'm always excited on the drive back home, and that I walk back in the house more envigorated than I am on most other days. Not that I wouldn't prefer to stay at home, mind you, but you gotta find a bright side.  There's always a bright side.

Alrighty then.  Bed time for this night.  Hasta la vista.  Hasta la proxima vez. Hasta cuando tengo mas musculos.  Hasta.

Challenge Accepted.

That's it. I finally got on my own nerves again.  Gettin preeeeetty dang tired of my own bull-dookie.  So it's time for a change. I'm pretty sure.  Yes. Yes.  Time for a change.

Now I'm not saying that I HAVEN'T lost any weight. I'm just saying that  it's going really slow and annoying...ly.  About 10 pounds in very nearly two months.  Nope, noooot nearly good enough.  Slow weight loss is not encouraging.  And while we're supposed to be all patient and happy with slow progress because it's vastly better than NO progress, I find myself more, well... not those things.  Slow weight loss feels like way too much work and practically no results which leads very directly to quitting. 

And sure, I considered quitting.  I'll be honest.  I even tried to sell my husband on the benefits of having a chunk-tastic wife.  You know. The joys of eating massive amounts of wonderful wonderful junkfood.  Bigger boobs.  All that jazz.  And while he was quick to agree that there were certainly some finer points to un-weightloss, well, I don't think I totally won that one.

So.  Time to go in another direction.

Crap.

I can't run.  It straight up bums me out, but after 2 weeks of hardcore knee and back pain, running's been ruled out for the time being.  So new plan?  MUSCLES.  Freakin, hardcore, toned-ness, muscly muscles.  Muscles to keep my body together, muscles to keep me out of pain, muscles to look awesome and toned, muscles that, as soon as I lose the 30 plous pounds of fat I'm carrying, will show up and look IN-FOH-REAKING-CREDIBLE.

Oh yeah, and I intend to do better at dieting.  Because food is absolutely the enemy. The incredible, delicious, life-affirming enemy.*

I've decided to try out one of those 30-day fitness challenge that everybody sees on Pinterest but nobody ever actually does.  It's called something like the Guns Buns and Abs Challenge, and basically just involves doing an ungodly number of squats, push-ups, and leg lifts every day for a month.  And I'm sticking to my daily crunches, because so far that's the only exercise I've been (mostly) faithful with this year.  

So today I:

Did 50 crunches

50 squats

5 boy push-ups

and 25 leg lifts

And I took some pictures and some measurements, some stuff to re-take in a month, because if I'm going to do this, I'm sure as heck going to be scientific about it.

Does that list of exercises sound hard?  Because it didn't sound hard.  But then I did them and I couldn't stop shaking for a half an hour and so there's that.  

30 days.  30 days and the pictures should change, and the BIG GOAL is to lose at least 12 pounds so I can be a healthy weighted human again.  Although I'm pretty sure I've never lost 12 pounds in 1 month so maybe this is all a bunch of crazy talk, and if I lose like, 8 pounds instead, I'd be pretty cool with that too.

So yep, it's time to start over.  For the seven hundred thousandth time.  And from a world filled with grace and forgiveness and forgetness and lots and lots and lots of squeaky clean starts, let me say, once again: Giddyup.

*If you're actually trying to diet right now, I'm really sorry you had to read that and remember how incredible food is. And if you are dieting, this MAY not be the best place on the Internet** for you to hang out. I mean, it's better than Pinterest, for sure, but still. Not great. 

**Quick question: why does autocorrect insist on capitalizing Internet? Is it really a proper noun? Should I stop using articles before it? I'm sorry, Internet. Seems I've never shown you the respect you demand. 

Resolutioning resolutions

You guys, confession.  I am doing, like, a TERRIBLE job at my new year's resolution. You know, the one where I said I intended to be a Sexy Warthog?

Well, yep.  At least I've got the Warthog part down.

I'm starting to think that my goals of losing tons of weight, engaging in proper skin care, and shaving my legs might, in fact, have been overly lofty.  Because, dude, I am NOT DOING ANY OF THESE THINGS.  And it's really starting to bum me out.  Oh, and to add injury to insult, my 5 sad little attempts at running in the past couple of weeks have cost me my structural integrity.  My lower back is now spasming regularly, and my knees ache like nuts when I try to use them, say, for walking and things.  Because of this, I FREAKING WADDLE NOW.  I wobble from side to side more than forward because this is the only way I can move without crying.

So let's sum up.  Still fat. Still hairy. With some gnarly dry skin.  And now, walking like a partially handicapped duck.  So I'm thinking, let's just go ahead and forget those things.  I think it's time to reconfigure my goals for February and beyond, and to focus on more achievable things like showering, owning makeup, and changing my underwear on a somewhat regular basis.

Or maybe I can just reclaim the idea of sexy and make it whatever the heck I want.  For example, last night, I stayed up late to finish our taxes.  And I really can't think of many things sexier than itemized deductions. Grrrr.

That's it for tonight.  I need to go comb out that leg hair, because personal hygiene is a real priority in my life.

OH BUT OH! I forgot to tell you!  This Friday I'm going to someplace called a salloon... sallone... saleone...sal-on?  And getting a beauty treatment.  What for my beauty.  I'll be sure to let you know if it helps me get my sexy back.  At the very least, it means my face gets washed this week! Woooo!

New Month, New Me

Happy February, Friends!

I started the month with my weigh in, landing at 168 point zip-diddly.  Not quite as low as I'd hoped, I've been kind of grounded around 168.5-170 for the past couple weeks and hoped for a sudden plummet, but it's also, officially, the lowest weight I've had since baby 3 showed up, so I'll take it.  I undid the holidays by the end of January.  

To help me watch the movement here, I've also been taking two measurements of myself:  The smallest part of my torso (right under my rib cage) and the largest part of my torso (over my hip bones and across the kangeroo pouch of my lower abdomen).  Of course I'd like to lose weight in other places, and of course it will happen, but I don't care at all to watch it happen.  It's logical, trust me.  I don't want to watch my chest shrink (because that part gives me sad feelings), and I don't really care if my booty diminishes (because I don't want none unless ya got buns, hun), and having a super skinny neck just means that even midgets and carnies can strangle me, and I'm not interested in advertising that kind of information.  I want a tighter tummy, that is all.  

So here you are, my January results:

8 pounds lost

2 inches lost from the kangeroo pouch

1.75 inches lost from my waist

So, not bad? The inches are fun to check once a month, because even when the weight isn't moving as fast as I'd like, I can be happy to see that, for example, I've lost 26% of the inches I want to see lost on my waist, and my size 12 Goodwill jeans are starting to get ever so slightly baggy.  So yeah. Hoo-rah.

And oh yeah, for what it's worth, I've started running again.  Yesterday I did 3 miles for the 4th time, and have adjusted my speed from over 13 minutes per mile to an average of 11 min, 30 seconds a mile.  And man it felt wonderful(terrible) to push this chubby body that hard.  And I kinda wanna do it again right now.  But my knee and my ankle and my lower back hurt, and I don't want to ruin me, seeing as I'm the only me I have.  So... I'll think about it.

Tomorrow is Super Bowl.  Tomorrow, we watch people engage in amazing feats of physical strength while we engage in amazing feats of physical consumption.  And yep, I'm gonna eat with the best of 'em.  Maybe I'll post some shame pictures to remind me of how diety I need to be on Monday.  That'll be good.

Happy weekend, folks.  Good luck to your favorite team tomorrow!  Personally, I was just happy to see the Patriots and the Niners lose a couple weeks ago.  I'm not really a football fan.  I'm a football antagonist? Opponent? Enemy? Detractor? Anyway, I watch football to see those teams lose.  So that was a really good day.

Anyway, once again, have a happy weekend.  Oh, and if you happen to be a midget-fan of one of the aforementioned teams, just know that my neck is thick and ropey and not at ALL good for strangling.  Just so you know.

This one is not very nice.

I slowed to a walk and glance down at my legs.  My thigh muscles stared back up in horror. "Well, now what the HELL was that???"

It was a run, my friends.  And it's time we got back in the game.

I slowed down (if you can call it slowing down, considering I was hardly moving in the first place) at 2.25 miles in to my first run in over 16 months.  At that point, I walked, stumbled, and cried a little for about another 1/4 mile, and then, get this, I ran another 3/4 mile.  And this is important because guess what?  All told, it means I ran 3 whole miles.

Boom, Beaches.

I also realized that I am an absolute jerk.  Like, a real MEGA jerk.  Okay, so maybe I didn't just realize it.  Tuth be told, this was probably information I already had.

So the thing is, it seems I can't find the gumption to keep running for miles and miles unless I have an enemy.  Who is this enemy, you ask?  And the answer is that it's probably you.  Yeah, you, right there, reading this blog on your couch, eating cheetos and hoping my writing gets more entertaining, I see you there.  And I'm talking to you.  Because I want to fight you.

I want to fight you, and be faster than you, or run farther than you, and even though you're probably skinnier than me, I will fight you.  I will beat you. I. Will. END you.

But it's okay though, cuz I know you want to fight me too.

I know, because I once had a bunch of people read my blog and say they thought maybe they'd like to start running too.  And then all of a sudden, I'd notice them posting about runs, signing up for races, and talking how they got all faster and skinnier than me. The inspiration?  If I could do it, ANYONE could.  As far as I'm concerned, that's a freakin war cry.  But you know what?  I don't fight a lot of those people any more, because some of them got way better and so now it hurts my feelings, and I long ago learned to never enter into a land war in Asia.  Or fight with someone who is better than you.  I'm pretty sure that's what that means.

Competition is good.  It keeps you striving, keeps you trying harder.  No, it's not particularly "nice", but as I've said, I think that maybe I'm not very nice.  And certainly, nice girls wouldn't growl so many obsenities under their breath as they rounded mile three and it felt like their knees were about to surrender to the unyielding truth of gravity.  And let's be honest, nice doesn't get you sexy.  It just gets you nice.  And maybe it helps you make friends, but I'm still contending that friends are overrated.  

So that's it for tonight, folks.  The baby has begun to unleash The Toots, which is a pretty good sign that he's about to wake up and I'll be required to be a mother again.  Until next time, happy weekending!

Fat Jeans Skinny Jeans. Jeans Jeans Jeans.

Word of advice: when you're at threat level- "kill yourself" about your own physical appearance, do not, DO. NOT. go shopping for jeans.  Nothing good can come of this.

::Sigh:: so, I bought some new jeans. Friday, after I wrote that post about how craptastic the diet was going, I finally went out and got me some new fat pants. It was horrible. They are not attractive.  I do not look attractive wearing them. But they can button over my bizarrely shaped body, and so I bought them. 

I chose to shop exclusively secondhand for this trip, because I'm not spending real freaking money on a pair of pants that's going to make me sad either way.  Which brings me to my mild frustration: My fat pants cost me 5 bucks. The Goodwill has raised their prices.  Their jeans used to cost like, $3.50, and all of a sudden they're 5 freaking bucks. I know it's still only five bucks, but I didn't want to spend more than I expected on depressing clothing. 

The worst part was that my brain had no idea what size I was. My brain was a size six. I saw the size 6 jeans hanging on the rack and thought, those should do.  Boy was I wrong. I tried on everything from 8 to 18 because I just didn't know.  I was having flashbacks to the ONE worse jeans buying experience I can remember, 7 months after my daughter was born when I was still about 190, but figured it was time to move out of maternity jeans and accept my figure as it was. That trip netted me 2 pairs of size 14 "mom" jeans that still cut in too much at the waist, jeans that I could almost never bring myself to actually wear. Maybe I should've kept them to celebrate how far I'd come.  Maybe I should've kept them because they'd probably fit me right now. But I didn't. I destroyed them immediately. 

I regret nothing. 

So, on to today, my new pants are a size 12 and originally from the Gap and they are still tight around the waist. But they button.  So they'll do. And I simply can't keep wearing yoga pants everywhere for the next month, can I?  No seriously, can I??  No, probably no. 

The trip though, had one unexpected and "yes I'm crazy, I don't care just leave me alone now" highlight. While Goodwilling, I found an exact pair of size 4 jeans that I'd been hunting for, back in the day of skinnier me. Of course I couldn't try them on, I probably couldn't have gotten them much higher than my knees had I tried, but they're the exact smaller version of my size 8 jeans that I FREAKING ADORE. Those jeans were built for my body, I'd swear to it. When I'd lost too much weight to wear them anymore, I went back to Kohls, multiple times, to see if I could find a 4 in them.  I never could. They didn't exists.  But at the goodwill, they DID exist and I was compelled to buy them.  This is my argument against free will. 

So yes, to sum up, I went on a mission shopping for fat jeans and instead I bought goal jeans. But for 5 bucks, a girl can dream, can't she??

Yes. Yes, I think she can.