Bad, Worst, Worster Still

I have been avoiding writing this post. Not because I have something I am unwilling to share, but because after 8 weeks of non-stop exercise and diet fun, I am feeling BLAH. And how interesting is blah to read about?

Yet blah is inevitable when dieting. Some days, you look at your "normal" routine, and it feels dull and boring. There are mornings I wake up, and it's not that I don't want to succeed, but it all seems so vanilla.

Is there a good way to get yourself out off the diet dull drums?

I don't know, but taking a cue from my buddy Jack Sh*t, I can think of a few bad ways.... I don't like stealing what people call segments on their blogs, so I have come up with a new name.

(FYI- from now till Christmas, each post till have a reference to Christmas. Now that it's after Thanksgiving, I can get excited. Deal with it.)

Bad, Worst, and Worster Still

Bad: Decide to change all butter and oil in your diet to olestra right before a big night out.  

Worst: Going to olestra right before flying home for the holidays.

Worster Still: Making the Christmas meal with olestra for all of your family that flew in for the holidays.

Bad: Starting a low carb diet right before the holidays.

Worst: Going diet postal from lack of carbs and breaking your diet.

Worster Still: Going diet postal from lack of carbs and eating all of the food you prepared for your Christmas dinner with the family, and you eat everything on the table except the meat, leaving them a meal of turkey. That's it.

Bad: Cutting out all sugar on your diet right before Christmas.

Worst: Eating all the candy canes off your tree that were supposed to be for the kids.

Worster Still: Cutting a hole in your Christmas tree and slurping out the sap.

Bad: Packing your own meal for a big Christmas party at someone else's house. *Technically, this isn't a "bad idea" but I needed it to open the joke. You can do this. I do this.

Worst: Forgetting your packed meal and going into someone's kitchen scavenging for foods you can eat.

Worster Still: Packing your own meal for a Christmas gathering because you know that person can't cook worth a crap. And you tell them that.

Bad: Going on a fast during the last 2 weeks of December and breaking the fast Christmas Eve.

Worst: Going on a fast the last 4 weeks of December and breaking the fast Christmas Eve.

Worster Still: Letting yourself fast for 4 weeks and get so hungry that when your kids wake up on Christmas, the kids don't have presents in boxes because you ate the boxes.

Bad: Trying to diet so you can fit in a sweater.

Worst: Trying to diet so you can fit in a Christmas sweater.

Worster Still: Trying to diet so you can fit into your Santa Suit.

I have no idea how to pull myself out of the diet BLAHs, but I think I've got a few good ideas to jump start some things. I'll fill you in on the details in a few days after I get my game plan together.

It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World

Have you ever been so mad that you wanted to yell and fuss and make a scene?

I sure have.

I have this major issue with control. I like it. I like it a lot. And when I am unable to control things, my world spirals and so do I. Over the past few years, I have learned a few things that have really helped me control the right things. For example…

I CANNOT CONTROL WHAT OTHER PEOPLE DO OR SAY.

I CANNOT CONTROL THE WEATHER OR THE TRAFFIC.

I CANNOT CONTROL WHAT MY HUSBAND OR KIDS FEEL.

I CANNOT CONTROL MY SNORT WHILE LAUGHING.

I CANNOT CONTROL MY BLADDER.

I CANNOT CONTROL MY 8 YEAR OLD SON IN A PUBLIC RESTAURANT WHEN HE DECIDES TO TELL ME VERY LOUDLY HE KNOWS WHAT A LESBIEN IS.

I CANNOT CONTROL HOW THE TABLE BEHIND US RESPONDS TO MY SON’S NEWFOUND KNOWLEDGE.

But-

I CAN CONTROL ME.

I CAN CONTROL MY RESPONSES TO LIFE AROUND ME.

I CAN CONTROL MY URGE TO FIX THINGS. (Including my husband and kids)

I CAN CONTROL MY TEMPER.

I CAN CONTROL MY FEELINGS.

I CAN CONTROL MY BODY.

I CAN CONTROL MY EATING.

I CAN CONTROL MY MOUTH AND THE WORDS THAT FALL OUT OF IT.

So right now I am trying to remember all the CANS. All the wonderful things I can do when a situation is sucky. Life has had some interesting turns and twists lately. Lots of rehashing feelings from an old situation when I didn’t feel in control. I felt very controlled in this particular time of my life, and now in a grasping effort to maintain some control, I’m trying to focus on the right things.

I don’t know about you all, but when life is giving me the squeeze, I tend to try and squeeze back. That’s my kneejerk response to lots of things.

So Thursday night, I just KNEW I was going to run 5 miles on my treadmill. It’s the first milestone I have to hit so I can justify to my husband spending $50 to sign up for a half marathon in the spring. If I can hit 5 miles, then I feel comfortable that I can do 13.1 in 6 months. But first I have to hit that 5 mile mark.  I can do it too, I know I can!

 Because as we mentioned above, I CAN CONTROL MY BODY.

And I’ve been dreaming about it in my head:
Charlie steps onto the treadmill gracefully, mentally prepared for the duress of running into unknown mileage. She hits the 5 mph button ever so gracefully, and angels begin to sing in the heavens above (and their wings remove the cobwebs on the ceiling I have ignored for a month). She takes her first few steps, finds her rhythm immediately and her stride looks effortless to an audience of one. She hardly feels the physical pains most bodies would, because her new found strength carries her like a feather blowing in the breeze. She eases into that 5^th mile, and her family, feeling the excitement like shepherds on the hill in Bethlehem, rush out to congratulate her, hoist her on their shoulders and cheer. (Ok, the hoisting is a stretch, even for my dreams.)

The reality of my much anticipated 5 miles was nothing short of a SNL skit.

I stepped on the treadmill, excited to get this over with. I started my 5 minute warm up. My left shoe stuck a little as I walked, and upon closer inspection I found it was because there was gum on my soul. I spent the next 5 minutes scraping gum off my treadmill belt (the gum had already gone all the way around a few times) and cursing my dumb luck. I then got back on the treadmill, hit the 5mph button with some acceptable frustration, and took off. It was too fast. I got out of breath right away. So I slowed it down to 4.5 and tried to remind myself it’s not about speed, but about distance.

After hitting a sorry 12ish minute mile, I decided I was going to be ok. I finally found my stride, hit my groove, and relaxed. I started singing along to my music. And thought for a moment my dream of hitting 5 miles, while touch and go at first, was REALLY GOING TO HAPPEN.

That’s when IT happened.

Charlie Horse.

I’m blaming the gummy shoe.

I don’t know if you have ever experienced a cramp while running on a treadmill, but for those who haven’t, I need to explain what transpired next.

Upon the cramp hitting my calf, my brain immediately shut off. They say in emergency situations, your mind springs into action, and you react. Not this brain, apparently. No, my mind went into hibernation for the next minute. It didn’t want to deal with what would surely happen. Which was this. My leg was unable to carry my weight, kinda gave out from underneath me, and my hand couldn’t find the off switch. IN FACT, I hit the incline button instead. I was half limping-half hopping, trying to force my mind read the options on the control panel, and the belt on my treadmill started rising up underneath me. Finally, reaching for anything to make my current torture stop, I accidently grabbed the emergency magnetic button and my rising treadmill came to a screeching halt. Which caught me and my balance off guard, and because my treadmill was now tilted, threw me back into the wall.

It wasn’t as violent as it probably sounds, but it wasn’t comfortable either.  

All of this to prove to myself I can control my body… Sigh.

I don’t really know how to end this post. It’s not an inspirational one, where I can leave you with a poignant question. I am too frustrated to think of a witty one liner to close it up like I usually do my funny stories.

So I’m leaving it at this…

WHAT THE CRAMP JUST HAPPENED TO ME?  

(Hey, I thought of a witty one liner after all!)

No Time...

I really have no time for blogging today. (FYI- this is my clock, Ironically enough, it refuses to keep the correct time.)

I have yet ANOTHER sick child (because once one of them gets something, it runs through the house like a toddler on sugar), I have to do at least 3 loads of laundry (just a personal goal), I have to work out with Tricky Nikki and McMuscles in 3 hours, and find time to run somewhere in between.

So I have no time to blog.

What I do have time to do is make healthy choices. Those happen in a split second.

I have time to love my family. Even quick hugs mean something special.

I have time to pray for others while rushing around the house like a madwoman.

I have moments to remind myself why this journey is still important to me. To others. To the world.

I have time to stop and make time for unexpected things. Gifts, situations, listening to sweet prayers of encouragement on my voicemail. (Thank you, Leebird! I LOVE YOU!)

Most of all, I'm thankful I have time at all.

So no time for blogging today, but I'll be back tomorrow and let you know how the run and workout went.

What are you making time for today?

Memoirs of How I Survived the Turkey Tumbler 5K

If my mother (Margaret the Saint) taught me anything at all, it is this:

The lessons you learn the best are the ones you learn by making mistakes.

She also taught me that seldom is the “truth” the whole story.

Like when my Bootcamp buddy Alyson suggested we run a 5K together. She said "5K". Little did I know there are 2 words you can add to 5K that turn it into something else entirely.

“CROSS COUNTRY” 5K.

To give you an analogy, it would be like me telling someone “I get a little exercise at bootcamp.” When in reality, I am usually left panting in a pool of my own sweat and pride by the end.

Today, I learned the definition of CROSS COUNTRY. The hard way. Because apparently, there is no other way that I learn things.

The morning started out with nervous jitters. I know I can run 4 miles on my treadmill. But that is in bubble world, where I see exactly how far I have gone, know exactly how fast I am going, and am able to strip to my skivvies if the urge strikes. That’s a lot of variables to try and overcome while running in a group of others on a course you know nothing about, on a cold foggy morning!

I drank my obligatory cup of coffee, drank my protein shake, and took my advil. I updated my facebook, sat on the couch, and mentally prepared myself for the 5K ahead. I wasn’t being cocky about it, just kept repeating the prayer, “Don’t let me make a fool of myself. Not today, God. PLEASE!” (I pray that lots of days…)

As I got dressed, I remembered the properties of layering. You can always take clothes off, but you can’t put more on. So I started with my foundations for running- my Enell bra, full on briefs, my “I have no bladder control” pad, and the mother of all running pants, courtesy of the Fila Body Toning System. Checking the weather channel, I added 2 pairs of socks, an exercise tank, a short sleeve moisture wicking shirt, and then (of course) my Incredible Shrinking Woman shirt. I also grabbed gloves, a hoodie, my fanny pack, and my MP3 player.

I went outside where the fog was pretty heavy, and remembered I had neglected to fill up my gas tank in the van. So I decided to take Zippy the Wondercar (Matt’s 94 old ford escort we paid a penny for) instead. Trying to find the wipers, I pushed and pulled a lot of levers, until the wipers came on and removed the foggy moisture.

Driving up to the race, I noticed that there were a lot of people wandering around. Not as many as the Shamwreck Run, but still, for lil’ Danville, there were quite a few. And I knew some folks. But first I had to get signed in. And that’s where the trouble began.

It seems that my online registration for the Turkey Tumbler wasn’t on the list. My name wasn’t there. Undeterred to let a silly thing like that stop me from 5K domination, I started going through my emails on my phone, looking for proof that I had already paid. Of course, due to a bazillion undeleted emails in my box and poor signal, I couldn’t find the email in question. So there I am, promising that I paid, letting them know I would resend the email when I got home, and could I pretty please have a running bib? They gave me one, and I had Alyson pin it on my back.

Then we waited. Me and Alyson and her husband, Preacher Joel. We talked, laughed, and while the fog lifted a bit, I couldn’t help but notice that God was neglecting to warm things up. While my top half was toasty, my rear was quite the opposite. I had Preacher Joel take a pre-race picture of me and Alyson...

 then we headed over to the start line.

Meanwhile, I bumped into my longtime friends, the Palmer family. All of them- mom, dad, 2 daughters, and 2 grandkids were all running the 5K. Maridale (the mom) casually mentioned how diverse the track was, and that the part through the woods was really pretty!

HUH? WOODS? (You may recall that the woods and me do NOT get along)

I asked her meekly “Is the route hilly?”

Maridale, a very seasoned runner with lots of full on marathons under her tiny belt, said “No, it’s not bad at all!” At that point I was becoming aware that this 5K wasn’t going to be like huffing out 4 miles on my treadmill at home. It would be something else indeed…

We got to the back of the crowd, and got ready. I reached into my fanny pack for my gum. I ALWAYS run (and exercise in general) with gum. It helps take my mind off the hard work I am about to encounter. I found wrappers, but no gum. The munchkins I reside with are notorious for helping themselves to Mama’s gum stash.

That’s when I started to panic.

AND THEY’RE OFF!!!

The race began, I was still searching for gum, feeling the wrappers for potential ABC (Already Been Chewed) gum the kids or I had left behind, and I still didn’t have my MP3 player going. Everything was all wrong! And yet, I had to start running.

With my hands still digging in my fanny pack, I started out with a slow and steady stride. I finally got my earbuds in for my music, and decided- while it was a minor inconvenience to be sans gum, I’d make it just fine. I knew I could do this. It was just going to feel longer than normal.

Up and down. Round and round the track wove. Around parking lots, baseball fields, wet grassy stretches, and I was doing pretty well. Until we came to the tree covered woodlands.

And my heart skipped a beat.

I have only been in the woods ONE time since we were stranded out there with the kids (if you haven’t read that story yet, you should. It’s worth it), and the one time I went was with the security of my big brother- who rivals Chuck Norris in my head. Yet God has been drawing me out of my fears this week- making me face them, one right after another, and it’s pretty much been nonstop for the last 5 days. Apparently, today would be another notch in my bedpost of fears faced.

Besides, I was in a GROUP of people, it was morning, and I had my iphone in my fannypack. Chances are if I got lost, Alyson and Preacher Joel would come looking for me. They both know I HATE the woods.

So I ventured in.

And my goal was to run out of it as fast as I could. Get in, get out, bada bing, bada boom. The girl running in front of me however, did not share the same sentiment. And she was one of those “wide runners.” I don’t mean fat. She was pretty small, prolly a 7-8 if she had extreme water retention. No, I mean she took more than her fair share of the path. (I bet she’s a bed hog) I couldn’t really get around her. And she jogged really really slow.

I decided to use this time to regroup. Focus on things other than the “beauty of nature.” (I prefer the beauty of my couch and Netflix) I turned up my music, and followed in a leisurely jog. It felt like hours in the woods. It was only about 10 minutes, but I am hesitant to dismiss the possibility of a glitch in the time space continuum.

Up and down, round and round. Leafy covered paths and trees galore.

Yippee. (fingers dripping with sarcasm as I write that.)

Out of the woods at last, I passed little miss “I’m here for the fun of running slowly” and started cooking. One problem, though: I need gum. It helps keep me from getting thirsty, and I keep my stride in line with my chewing. I needed gum. And I had none.

I started asking others “Do you have gum?” and they all looked at me like I was an alien. Who was this crazy woman (her shirt declaring she was incredible AND shrinking) asking for gum in the middle of a Cross Country 5K?

No one had any, and I started considering my options. Desperately, I might add. I could pick up a twig and chew it, but if I fell- not improbable- I’d cause serious damage. I could suck on a rock, but sometimes I breathe too deep and accidentally swallow things. That wouldn’t do with a rock. I momentarily considered digging for gold in my nose and chewing a booger, but there were too many people around me, and that would be uncouth. I finally settled chewing on “pretend gum,” which was much more imaginative anyway.

Up and down, round and round. CROSS COUNTRY is miserable for the likes of me.

Alyson was eons ahead of me, having successfully avoided the time warp I experienced in the woods. Preacher Joel was just enjoying the run, alternating between walking and running. Mostly running. I walked/jogged with him a bit, and finally… there it was.

THE FINISH LINE.

But first I had to conquer one last hill. Preacher Joel said “Power through this. Push up that hill! They will see you running to the finish line!”

So me and my imaginary gum shot out like a very exhausted novice runner on her first cross country 5K lightening bolt. I summoned every ounce of energy I had left, and ran like mad. And as I got to the blessed end, I shouted out (to the guy yelling out the times of all the runners as they passed) “JUST DON’T SAY AN HOUR OR MORE. LIE TO ME!”

But he said “You are way under an hour! 41 minutes and 53 seconds! Good job!”

And that wasn’t a lie. WOW.

So Alyson and I, drinking Gatorade by the unattended trophy table, went ahead and awarded ourselves with some turkey trophies. Preacher Joel snapped some pics of our illustrious (and totally bogus) honors.

(Don't worry, we put the trophies back when we were done)

As I chatted with a few more folks, still amazed by my time (and doing spontaneous happy dances to celebrate my victory), I headed back to Zippy the Wonder Car. Remember all those levers I messed with to get the wipers on? I had accidentally turned the headlights on and didn't have a clue they were on while I was running. Zippy was as dead as a doornail.

You can’t win them all, I suppose…

But at 41 minutes and 53 seconds (you may recall on this week’s previous video, I ran a 5k in 45 minutes 45 seconds, so I was WAY faster today, and that was on a Cross Country course!), I already had my win for the day.

I guess I was the day’s biggest Turkey after all.

Now, to start training for the Illinois half marathon in April with the Palmers…

Are you there, God? It's me, Charlie...

Dear God-

Normally I like to keep my letters and talks with You to myself.  Which my blog readers should be thankful for, cause we ALL know how I like to talk and write.

But for some reason, I feel my heart being pricked to be open about my letter to You tonight.

I honestly don’t have a specific thought or concern, though I have tons of each. All I know is that I keep feeling something inside my heart that can only be said in a very specific way:

I feel like a kid the night before Christmas.

Now, I have serious reservations about even the mere mention of Christmas anytime before Thanksgiving. Christmas has become so commercialized that we are jaded to its true meaning. And I’m the first to admit I would rather celebrate Easter. That’s when You really did something incredible.

But I digress.

A kid the night before Christmas. That’s precisely how I feel.

Granted I have had the flu this week and am currently writing this letter with various OTC medicines in my system and wearing my green monkey pajammers, so a kid mentality isn’t really a stretch. It seldom is.

But tonight, I am filled to the gills with a nervous energy. Like something is going to happen tomorrow that changes everything. Do I know what it is? Not even a clue. Will I know it when I see it? Boy, I sure hope so.

But UNLIKE a kid at Christmas, I know that not all gifts come to us at once. Sometimes, they take years to unfold. Maybe a wonderful gift that is in store for me is started into motion. So maybe I won’t see it at all. Perhaps I won’t see it for a long time. But I will know it’s there- moving, alive, in action.

I'm pretty sure I sound like a babbling idiot. But I know what I mean. I hope others do too.

And I’d rather be a kid the night before Christmas than a kid the night before parent teacher conferences. That is not a good feeling at all.

I’ve lived that way for a lot of my life. That feeling that the dam is going to break any moment. That any second now my life is going to bust into a million pieces and I will be left shattered. I have played out that scenario over and over again in my head. That feeling of dread. Uncertainty. Impending doom.

But the night before Christmas, well- that’s all about hope! Possibilities! Unknown gifts that were intended only for us. Not because we deserve them. But because we have someone who loves us. We are the apple of someone’s eye.

We are cherished and spoiled on Christmas morning. There is no mention of diets or failures or shortcomings on Christmas morning. There is only the feverish unwrapping of delightful things that bring joy and unmerited favor.

I have no idea what You are planning for me tomorrow, God. Only YOU know what is in store for me.  I have many requests out there floating around. Some are selfish, like for a big house of our very own. Some are reverent and constant, like for immediate healing of people I love. Some are out and out silly, like to win the lottery. But they are all heartfelt, and each one could be hiding just around the corner.

 Because You have my list.

More importantly, You have my number.

You know exactly what I can handle, and when the time is right. I’m glad You are omnipotent enough to realize I ask for impossible things, and know gosh darn good and well I couldn’t handle them.

Just like losing weight. I BEG You to make me skinny overnight. But YOU choose to let me win this battle day in and day out, so I won’t ever take it for granted. So that it won’t seem like a miracle, but a hard fought battle that I walked away from victorious. Bruised and battered, to be sure. But confident that it has remained important enough to keep working for, and worth enjoying.

So, whatever it is You are cooking up for me there in the clouds (or wherever you reside- I really don’t care what neighborhood You are in, as long as we can find each other!) I am excited. I will take whatever it is with joy and jubilation. Your blessings will delight me tomorrow. No matter how they are wrapped.

So, that’s my letter to You tonight. Let tomorrow be amazing. Let me dance with happiness.

And seriously, I wouldn’t hate it if You reconsidered the skinny overnight request.

More love than I could ever express-

Charlie

Fat Girl Running

I RAN 4 MILES.

 

This video may or may not contain nudity.

 

(Right, it totally doesn't. All my special bits are completely covered up.)

 

But I have to say, condensing down almost an hour's worth of footage is not an easy task. I got it down to a little over 6 minutes.

 

See, I know you have OTHER things to do besides watching me run!

 

Although it's pretty funny in places. You will know them when you see them.

 

Now, may I present to you a close and personal look at me tackling my fear of distance and jogging...

 

Please enjoy "Fat Girl Running."

 

 

 

...when we remember the pain...

I remember it like it was yesterday.

I had just brought a newborn Tim home from the hospital. It was the first night we were home, and I was alone with a 2 year old, a 1 year old and now a 5 pound 4 ounce teeny five day old baby.

(This was long before the days of Matt and living in a safe house- back then my life was tormented in a constant state of fear. Even a shadow would make me jump out of my skin.)

Having had 2 other babies recently enough, I remembered the absolute worst part of postpartum recovery wasn’t the breast feeding or the sleepless nights or the exhaustion. For me, it was the pain of having that first bowel movement. Because I had peritoneum stitches with the last 2, I couldn’t shake the pain I knew I was going to have when it finally happened. Even though Tim was born when I was only 8 cm dilated, and no stitches were required.

So just like I do with lots of things, I held that first poo as long as I could.

I was on day 5 of my nopoo campaign. And my body had had ENOUGH.

I was forced to go in and sit down on my throne and push.

What I am about to describe I am telling you so you can laugh. I can laugh about it now, but I shall try to revert back to my agony so you get the full effect for laughter’s sake. And I PROMISE- I would not subject you to such a story unless it related perfectly with a point about dieting.

While pushing out 5 days worth of fecal debris, (actually 6 if you count that I didn’t poo on the table while having Tim) I quickly discovered that the backdoor was unable to accommodate the sheer volume of what my rear was packing. Terrified of how much it would hurt, I reached back and tried to massage the area, spreading my “starfish” with 2 fingers to help the process along, a trick I was hoping would alleviate some of the pain.

What happened instead was Frank, my pregnancy friend and hemmeriod, decided to crack under the pressure.

I had never before had a hemmeroid break, but I gotta tell you- when you are all alone with 3 babies and you start bleeding out your anus, you panic. I grabbed the phone and called the OB nurse on call and frantically told her I my predicament.

“I haven’t pooped in 5 days because I just had a baby and now I am sitting here on the toilet trying to go and it’s as big around as a dinner plate and now I have popped a hemmeriod and it won’t stop bleeding and I still can’t get this poo out and I think I might not ever be able to poop again and I’m going to die of blood loss and I need to know what I can do because I am here all alone and I just can’t deal with this because it hurts to bad!”

I have no idea who that nurse on call was, but I’m sure she wished it was her night off.

So she did her absolute best to walk me through some breathing and pushing exercises to help deal with the impacted sewage bursting forth from my body. In the meantime, Tim began crying (he was in the other room of course) so I stood up- sort of, I was really much more hunched over- with a giant turtle head sticking out of my rear, washed my hands, brought my baby and his carseat into the bathroom, and began nursing him with one hand while sitting down on the toilet with my other hand trying desperately to grab hold of the piece sticking out (which Frank was lubricating and made it slippery) and holding the phone in the crook of my neck with the on-call nurse still trying to keep me calm.

Finally, after 10 minutes of tears and what can only be described as sheer pain, my bowels had been cleared out, and the nurse was able to hang up (and schedule her next impromptu vacation, which she would take as soon as her shift ended).

Tim had fallen asleep in my arms, so still in a hunched over stance, I set him in his carseat one handed, washed my hands again, and began the process of cleaning myself up.

It was horrible, and looked like a crime scene, because I couldn’t get Frank to settle down. I was thankful for the king size pads you get from the hospital, which I placed inside my drawers as I eased back up to standing. The pain was almost unbearable. Just as I had suspected.

I flushed the toilet and grabbed a warm washcloth to re-wipe my posterior, and glanced back at the toilet. My 5 day trophy didn’t go down.

So I flushed again.

And again.

AGAIN.

Nada.

I realized that the remains were TOO BIG to go down the toilet. I couldn’t just leave it there, so I grabbed some rubber gloves and reached in to get it. I couldn’t even wrap my hand around it, it was so big. So I scooped it up and put it into a plastic bag and threw it into the trash. Horrified at what had just come out of me as I washed my hands again (even though I had been wearing gloves), I walked over to my sleeping baby boy. I looked at the diameter of his head. I walked back to the trash, and pulled back the plastic bag a little and looked.

They were almost the same size.

Yeah, it was that big.

WHY AM I TELLING YOU THE MOST DISGUSTING STORY YOU HAVE EVER HEARD???

(I admit, this is gross, even for ME!)

If I had allowed myself to go on day 1 in the hospital, or day 2 when I was first home, or even day 3- it would never have gotten this bad. It would have still hurt, but the pain would have been a lot less.

But because I was scared, I let my fear dictate how my body responded. I held it in. By trying to keep myself from hurting now, I made the pain much worse for me later.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had done something about my weight sooner. If I had dealt with it when I was only 30 pounds overweight, I wouldn’t have to work so hard now. But I didn’t. Because back when I was 30 pounds overweight, I knew that I didn’t like the pain of diet and exercise. Not one little bit.

And today, I felt this entire scenario play out again. Not on the toilet, thankfully, but the similarities were obvious.

Last week, when Todd and I were unable to hit our 4 miles running, my body hurt. I tried, but for 3 days my legs ached, my ego hurt, and it scared me because of the pain.

Today, I tried to conquer the 4 miles again.

But I had psyched myself out about it.

Every step felt painful. I was constantly out of breath. I once again couldn’t find my groove, and I walked a good portion of a run that ended up being a half mile sprint and a 1.5 mile walk back home with my head dropped in shame.

I GOT SCARED.

Well, I learned my lesson from the last time I dealt with me and Frank. Sitting around being afraid of the pain doesn’t do any good. Holding things in only makes it worse in the long run. (What a statement THAT IS!)

So, in order to give my family and myself a win-win situation, here’s what I’m gonna do:

I am going to clear off my treadmill (still hiding under clothes mountain. SIGH) TODAY. Then Matt is going to help me go the distance. I am going to run at LEAST 3.25 miles. And we will film it. Because I’m not going to be ruled my fear. I’m not going to hide behind the unknown. I’m going to DO IT. And I’ll film it so ya’ll can see. (I won’t show the whole time of me jogging, just the highlights.)

We have to break through our fear. We need to make a break for it today. NOT tomorrow.

We can remember the pain, but it CANNOT STOP US FROM DOING GREAT THINGS.

We have to make a run for it.  

McMuscles and the Groupies

(Today is a long post. But it's worth it, I promise.)

Thursday was a rare day. A holiday fell in the middle of the week, and that meant Tricky Nikki could join me and my insane daily workout routines at the YMCA.

BOTH OF ‘EM.

We started the morning by going to water aerobics. Aqua Jillian was so excited I brought a friend- I felt like I was back in vacation Bible school! It was nice to have somebody to talk too while working out in the water, especially Nikki. We make everything fun. Even exercise. Although water aerobics are pretty deceiving, because you are having so much fun, it doesn’t feel like a work out. It feels like you are a kid in a pool having fun.

Except you are surrounded by Blue Hairs that don’t want to get their hair wet. Which keeps your little kid splash instinct to a minimum.

And of course, I was having I day and a half. Everything that could go wrong was. I didn’t sleep well, I was UBER CRABBY, and then we add the usual “Charlie Fiascos” that seem to happen:

Couldn’t find my swimsuit

Dropped my toothbrush on the floor and it landed on a kid’s pair of dirty underwear

Running late

But I made it regardless of outward circumstances, and there we were, solving the world’s problems and burning calories. We got to the part where we use the aqua dumbbells…

(They feel like nothin’, until you get them under the water, when they become very difficult to work with) and I am all gung ho. Cause my friend is there. I kinda show off a little. And Aqua Jillian keeps a pretty close eye on me. (Can’t say as I blame her…)

So we are working the dumbbells, and low and behold, I got the one dumbbell that is missing an end piece that holds the dumb thing together, and one of the foam circles pops off. Which of course only happens when I am trying to show off how hard I am working. And there it is, floating before me when I’m supposed to be doing bicep curls. Well, Tricky Nikki and I have no choice but to get a severe case of the giggles.

Meanwhile, I keep wrestling my impaired dumbbell up and down. And then the second foam circle pops off. Which does NOTHING to help with the giggles.

Aqua Jillian (her real name is Lorri, but it’s more fun to call her Aqua Jillian) (I like nicknames if you haven’t noticed) AJ is watching all of this going on and hearing the commotion I’m sure we are causing. She keeps plowing through the exercises, while going over to the tub of dumbbells and grabbing another. Which was for me. I’m not ever going to get off easy in her class.

She tosses it to me, and I let the broken one float away.

We resume the workout, and get to underwater chest presses, pushing our pretend weights down into the water. Again, it’s one of those things that sounds easy till you try it. By then, Nik and I have gotten our giggles back under control, and we are working it. It goes back to being all business.

Until the dumbbell AJ gave me pops a foam part, just like the first one. Some days, I think I should take the hint and just go back to bed.

The class ends, we go back to our homes and continue on with our day.

 I am a big believer in sweat pants, but the stupid things never have pockets. And I was sorting my mountain of laundry on the dining room floor, so the pedometer I usually keep on my waistband kept falling off, as I was reaching, bending at the waist, and squatting a lot. It’s a pretty expensive piece of gadgetry, so I try to take good care of it. I decided the best place for it was on my waist band right above my buttcrack. Back where I wouldn’t keep knocking it off.

Which was a great idea.

UNTIL…

(please, you knew there was going to be an unti)

Until I totally forgot it was there while racing into the bathroom to poo. I whipped my pants down, pooed (I’m a power pooper. I wait till the second I think I’ll explode, cause I don’t have time to spend 30 minutes easing into the process), wiped, then whipped the sweat pants back up.

I never realized I begin this pants process before fully standing up.

I DISCOVERED I pull my pants up before fully standing when the outside lip of my toilet seat happened to catch the edge of my pedometer, yanking it from my waistband, and flipped it backwards.

Right back into the toilet I had yet to flush.

The next 20 minutes can best be described with 6 words.

Q-tips. Bleach. Hair dryer. Shoot me.

(Readers cry “What about McMuscles? He’s the star of the title, you know…” OK, moving on!)

So that was the first half of my day. Most girls would tuck it in after a day like that (especially after doing uncountable loads of laundry) but me?

OH HECK NO. I was just getting warmed up.

Thursdays are a standing work out night with McMuscles. The kids have Tae-Kwon-Do at the YMCA, our oldest- Amy- now works on the evil-eptical and little weight machines, so I am free to let McMuscles torture train me. The changes I have seen in my body after just a month have been astounding (I’ll do pics later. Maybe a video if you ask nicely!) so I really enjoy lifting weights with him. And tonight his usual workout partner was down (get better soon Greg!) so it was just he and I.

He taught me a new exercise tonight to workout my back, which is already pretty strong from counterbalancing my front half. I was getting impressive numbers and feeling like a total rock star.

Then Tricky Nikki joined us.

And that’s when things got ugly…

I have mentioned before (both in this post and in others) that I tend to work harder when Nik is there. We never are mean about it, but we love pushing the other person just a tad closer to the edge than we would go if working out alone. We’ve been doing it since we were 19. Heck, we even got accidentally pregnant at the same time! (MINE is older. By 9 days…grin…)

Poor McMuscles was now surrounded by Team Pink. And we don’t screw around when it comes to working out. Sure, we always have fun, but we are both serious about getting our bodies into pre-baby conditions. (For me, though, it’s “never seen before” conditions- Nik has always had a banging body. I’d hate her guts if we weren’t besties.) And the whole mess starts with such an innocent comment.

“How many reps did SHE just do?” I’m not going to say who said it first, because that part doesn’t matter. It was going to be said by one of us eventually!

And McMuscles realized he had a polite “weight-lifting duking match” on his hands. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance.

So she and I are determined to out rep the other. Doesn’t really matter what weight it was, just the number of reps. However, we also know that both of us are so A.D.D. and/or sleep deprived that if we start talking while the other person is counting, we can throw them off track.

“How many reps was that?”

“I don’t know! You were breaking my concentration. But probably 8000 or so…”

Yeah, that’s how WE roll.

And there is McMuscles in the middle of it, trying to get his workout in too, and dealing with the cutest cat fight he’s ever seen in his life.

But it’s not so bad for him.

People are starting to know that he is THE McMuscles of Big Butt Bloggy fame. That’s kinda fun. Plus, all the guys that work at the Y are now reading my blog to see what they can read about their buddy McMuscles.

He’s getting to be a kind of a big deal.

Nik and I were attacking those dumbbells like they were the last cashmere sweater at Macys on December 24^th, and even though we were both DYING from achiness, we kept curling those girlie dumbbells like there was no tomorrow. Almost to the point of sheer stupidity. Nik started giggling and said “These remind me of you this morning. You going to pop the end of this one too?”

Oh well, we work our abs when we laugh, so it's all in the name of exercise.

Finally we admitted defeat (or perhaps it was world dumbbell domination?)  and went for a drink. My niece Gabbi was working out with my Amy, and they were talking and yacking like their mamas do. And as we walked by them while going to the water fountain, Gabbi said she had enough room in her shorts waistband to tuck her water bottle in there.

As Nik and I were waiting for our turn at the water fountain (some guy was getting a drink) I said “I’d love to have enough room in my shorts to keep a water bottle.”

Nik goes “Is that a water bottle in your pants or are you just happy to see me?”

And that was pretty much the beginning of the end of us. Mostly because we could hear the guy getting a drink start choking on his water and laughing. And then going back into the workout room, a college age guy had on a shirt that said “I swear it’s THIS big.” And we threw all sense of propriety RIGHT OUT THE WINDOW.

From that point on, it was one comment after the other, with McMuscles’ girls barely giving him a chance to jump in. (Although he DID make a comment to me about “I don’t know if you can lift that, but Nikki sure did.” GAME ON, BUDDY.)

Pretty soon I asked him “I don’t know, are you SURE you can handle BOTH of us at the same time?” In hindsight, that’s a pretty awkward question to ask a guy. I meant it completely innocently, but it just sounds wrong.

His reply?

“I want to answer that, but I’m pretty sure whatever I say will end up on your blog.”

I guess he has a point there.

Today, I can’t move. At all. I haven’t checked in with Tricky Nikki yet, but I bet she’s gonna be sore too. The GOOD NEWS is that she wants to get in on the weight lifting now.

So McMuscles- it’s official.

You now have GROUPIES.

Congrats man. You’ve come a long way!

The Warm Morsels of "Feel-Sorry-For-Yerself" PIE

I am going to come right out and say it.

It is hard for me to lose.

Take that any way you want.

Cause no matter how we slice this not-so-peachy pie, we encounter the crusty truth.

I have a hard time losing weight. I have a hard time when I can't accomplish something I set out to do. I have a hard time losing.

In fact, the only thing I don't have a hard time losing is my set of keys. Or my sanity.

I say this with the humility of a bonafide loser. Cause I am back down to 175 at last. And that counts. But let's not forget I was there once before. (Or twice. Or a gajillion times.) And the plateau is broken.

But this has become more than a fight with the scale.

This is an all out knock down drag out fight with myself. And my mental status as a prior(ish) fat girl. And what I am really capable of.

I am doing all sorts of things that are shocking and surprising me. Running, lifting weights, measuring food, etc.. Somehow, though, there is still a glitch somewhere inside me. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For me to find out that this is all a ruse. That it's not going to work. That I will fail. LOSE.

Like last night. My big bro and I attempted to run 4 miles. I couldn't do it. Instead of focusing on the fact that I ran longer than I ever have before (3.25 miles) I set my sights on the fact I couldn't hit 4. And it really bummed me out. Even after seeing 175.8 on the scale, what did I want to do?

Sit in a corner and cry like Jack Horner with a big ole pan of Feel-sorry-for-yerself-pie.

I have issues. But we knew that already.

Having a blog like this (focusing on weight loss) puts a considerable amount of pressure on a chick. Like if I don't lose weight, people will stop reading. I will lose my support system. My voice.

Then, there is the fact that when I am kicking butt and taking names, people get jealous. (And before you think "No way!" I will say YES, MA'AM, THEY SURELY DO. I have emails to prove it.) Because they feel bad if they aren't doing something about their own personal well being.

Frankly, kids- I understand that. Instead of hearing inspiring words from another blogger, I have been known to get envious of their motivation, their success, that they have a funnier blog than mine. I put myself into this imaginary competition where I am the only person aware of who's playing along.

Does anybody else do that?

Somewhere along the way, I started biting off more than I should chew. I started setting my sites on the big picture. Go the distance! Hit the numbers!!! And that is no way to live. Unless you want to live in a white jacket with long sleeves and buckles in the back.

Well, I have had enough!

Today I am picking up the gauntlet. (Because I have previously thrown it down.) I am going to stop dragging my ego through the mud, and do something I don't often do.

Nurture.

So today, I am going to start celebrating the SMALL victories. The ones that I have been glossing over- ones that used to strike me with such awe and wonder, I almost fainted. Like:

I no longer have a 50 inch waist. 36 inches now.

My kids don't think I'm fat.

My hubby enjoys the body I have right now. (he always has, but now- kittens is more fun.) (And yes, kittens is code. My daughter reads this blog. I can't afford college AND therapy for her...)

I can run a mile faster than I could in high school.

I am ferocious in the weight room at the YMCA.

I no longer require a nap after water aerobics.

My boobs have stopped hanging so low. (Seriously. They aren't covering my belly button any longer. Which is good, cause when they were low my button smelled like cheese.) (Don't ask how I know that.)

The cellulite/cottage cheesyness is almost gone from my booty.

My booty is almost ready for quarters. I could probably start bouncing dimes...

I have pushed through countless plateaus and am still plugging away, almost 2 years since I started this diet.

I still get excited about it.

I RAN 3.25 MILES. (See, I got back to my original point)

I get back to my original points.

My rantings and ravings make some people laugh. (Nervous laughter is included here)

I don't look in the mirror screaming anymore.

I don't step on the scale screaming anymore.

I can't pull off a bikini yet, but I feel pretty good about my one piece.

I can finish this journey one step at a time. They just won't be in 4 mile increments while running. Not today, anyway...

I WILL get 4 miles before Thanksgiving.

I AM HAPPY.

So stick that in your feel-sorry-for-yerself pie and bake it!!! (That was a note to self. You don't have to bake anything.)

What are the small victories YOU are celebrating today??? 

Who's your MAMA???

(Charlie clears her throat and gets that stern mama evil eye going.)

Ya’ll.

SERIOUSLY, ya’ll.

I’m kinda speechless. And confused.

Because when I pour out my heart on a post, I get 0-2 comments. Maybe 5, if it was really touching.

But when I talk about my pubes?

9 COMMENTS.

Oh, did I mention my blog hits were
THROUGH THE ROOF YESTERDAY????

Ahem.

Google Analytics is now thoroughly jacked up. It thinks I'm popular.

And I am SPEECHLESS.

(And honestly, I’m kinda proud. I suppose I have a certain niche in the market. It’s the low-brow half of the market, but still…) (Thbbbbbt, low-brow!!! I'm way lower than that!)

At first, I was embarassed that I associated Hillary from The Other Mama with that post. But as it turns out, I was doing her a favor... oh the layers of irony from that...

So, give aways. We all love 'em, we all enter them, and so help me- I better get more than 9 comments on this one- I'm giving free stuff away. Seriously. And EVERY COMMENT COUNTS AS AN ENTRY IN TODAY'S GIVEAWAY.

Cause I need to feel like you love me for more than my woman pelt. (And you need to go back and see what Jia commented on that last post. I was crying from laughter...)

First of all, if you haven't checked out the Fitbloggin' site- the main blog for the conference I am speaking at in May- you need to head over there. They are giving away an iPod shuffle. And Fitbloggin was the whole reason I started running in the first place. I signed up for their 5K, and figured it would take me until May to hit 3 miles. 

NOPE. In fact, last night I ran 2.7 with no problems. And that was after Bootcamp and a workout with McMuscles. (Singing to herself, "Charlie's a rockstar...") And now my bootcamp buddy Alyson and her hubby and I are running a 5K in a few weeks. More on that later.

But back to the bestest giveaway ever...

I'm excited because Hillary sent me this fantastic sheet that gives all the information we need for a give away. I'm going to copy and paste it here!

Mint Julep Monograms Giveaway Information:

As a true Southern gal, Hillary has always appreciated a good monogram. She has combined her love of cute gifts and personalized items to create Mint Julep Monograms- an online monogrammed boutique to customize a special gift for you or a loved one. She offers original gift ideas for babies, teachers, girlfriends, family and all holiday needs. She may or may not be drinking Mint Juleps while monogramming (okay- most likely not, but wouldn’t that be lovely?).

Here’s some info about the giveaway:

You will receive a $30 shop credit to be spent at http://www.mintjulepmonograms.com/

-First entry: visit my shop and comment with their favorite item

-For additional entries you can:

• join my facebook fan page (www.facebook.com/mintjulepmonograms)

• tweet it

• blog it

• follow Charlie's blog

• follow my blog (http://www.theothermama.com/)

Here is all my link information:

Store: http://www.mintjulepmonograms.com/

Facebook Fan Page: www.facebook.com/mintjulepmonograms

Personal Blog (where I sometimes talk shop): http://www.theothermama.com/

So you can pick and choose how many entries you want to do. She has some random winner generator, so it's all in her nimble hands, which may or may not be holding an actual Mint Julep. (I love you, Hillary!) Just check in here WITH A COMMENT or on her blog and let us know what you did.

But her stuff is A-DOOR-A-BLE. She recently made me a special order- a skull Bible cover. And it rocked so much, my Bible thanked me for putting it in such a sweet cover. (No, really, it did...) See? 

So there you go. Check out Mint Julep Monogramming and see what you love. Hillary has it all.

Cause she's the Other Mama. And that is nothing short of awesome. 

All entries must be completed by 11:59 PM CSTon Wednesday November 10th, 2010.

Worth 2 in the Bush?

Today, I am going to be THAT BLOGGER.

The one who likely talks about something that makes you uncomfortable.

But I am wearing my sense of humor today, so I’m throwing caution to the wind and going with it.  I suggest you do the same.

And to keep things light and funny, this post will be brought to you in prose.

This weekend I took a short break from the grind

Of my diet and workout routines.

Because a lesson came up that threw a small wrench

In the gears of this workout machine.

It started on Thursday while in the bathtub

My sweet little razor in hand…

There deep in the tub this girl shaved all her legs,

And continued to shave no-man’s land.

I started to trim just the edges,

Around my bikini bathing suit line.

But at first glance I thought it was crooked,

So the edges I tried to refine.

I’d try to remove just a little,

From the left side first, then the right.

But before I could stop, I bald eagled it.

And thus began my strange plight.

For you see, when a girl goes this far with her bush

She will learn lessons galore,

Like adding an Always with razor burn

Will drop you down straight to the floor.

Uncomfortable doesn’t quite cover it.

In fact, of this iceberg- the TIP.

With no hair down there to help soften it-

Your pads will induce quite the grip.

On Friday while suffering through bootcamp

Oh, I learned this lesson well.

With the jumping and running and flouncing about,

I was in bikini burn heck.

Every step that I took was so painful

And left me in such agony!

I almost walked out of that exercise class

And was ready to be absentee.

But I suffered and puffed through the fire in my shorts.

Determined to get through the time-

While yanking, adjusting and grabbing my crotch

And looking a lot like a mime. (Get it? Cause mimes are always trying to get out of the box? I was trying to save my…. Ah, you get it.)

The class was soon over and I hurried home

To swiftly soothe my sour honey pot-

And grabbed me a tube of some Desitin D

And slathered that stuff on the spot.

The stinging, the pain, the sheer agony-

The suffering your pal Charlie felt

And all because I hadn’t stopped to preserve

The volume of my woman pelt.

So I took the weekend to give it a rest

In the hopes I would soon feel no pain

I’m the first to admit the thought did cross my mind

To rush the process with a bit of Rogaine.

I sat on the couch all this weekend,

Composing this blog in my head,

Mother Nature adding insult to injury.

So just like an eagle, I spread.

The lesson I learned is one you can learn too-

If you're working out avoid the chappy-

And please take a cue from your bloggity friend

Don’t EVER get too razor happy.

(PS, for enduring this post, there will be a really awesome give-away tomorrow from Mint Julep Monogramming, thanks to my buddy Hillary at The Other Mama. Start looking now at the items you like, and come back tomorrow to see how you can win!!!)