Fit + Flabuless!

TTT kicked my upper bod today and I love her for it! She distracted me from the pain of really heavy chest and shoulder presses by telling me stories about and imitating her drag queen friends and acquaintances. You have no idea how hard it is to bench press 2/3 of your body weight while a 5-foot tall bubble-butted blondie body builder prances around like a queen. She also gave me a derishus, citrus-cilantro scented candle and a t-shirt for my birdie last week.

Pam gave me a beautiful heart-shaped stone yesterday for my birthday, too.

I am realizing something huge, at a heartfelt level here. Y'all are my family. I was born into some crazy shit, for better, for worse, but I've cultivated a family around me who are not related to me by blood. We are related on a much deeper plane. We choose to connect not because we have to, but because we truly care about each other.

How fucking great is that?

I likes it. I've also realized that my love and connection to hooligans such as Dr. Dr. Ramon and Mr. IB isn't about a sexual love, it's about family. Those mufuggahs are my family. They know me, they get me, they've seen me grow up right before their very eyes, they put up with me from time to time, they piss me off royally, but they're there for me in the ways they can be. And most of the time, it ain't enough. Ain't that family?

I feel liberated.

Well. It's tough to feel fabulous or flabuless after the splendiddley time we had in SF. Nuthin'll ever be the same again, as far as I'm concerned.

And this is a good thing.

I hit the gym hard yesterday with TTT--burned up 600 cals or more on the ARC and then did a serious leg workout. Today I'm feelin' it. Might run later.

I've been eating eggs, cans of soup and Amy's frozen dinners. I ain't grocery shopping before I head East. Hell with that.

I feel invigorated by the trip--centered and happy to be me. Working on learning to embrace my largesse wherever I am, not just in places where it is particularly appropriate, i.e. San Francisco. I'm learning to sit with my longing, observe my own desires rather than aim for instant gratification and/or satiating desire. You can learn a lot about yourself by being present in your own desire without being attached to the expectation and potential pleasure that might come out of satiating the desire.

This means: I don't have to move to SF right away; I don't have to wear a size 4 jean; I don't have to be in a relationship with anyone but myself right now; I don't have to eat dessert with every meal; I don't have to ever run a marathon again; I don't have to work for peanuts in the hopes that one day the institution I work for will create solid space for me.

I am Fine. I believe walking that labyrinth with the intention of Clarity has already kicked in. My aim is to enter all things the same way I entered the labyrinth last Thursday: open to observation, receiving, and meeting myself exactly where I am.

Big, fat, juicy kisses to you and Mr. C for coming out to SF, for witnessing my life, for letting me be who I am--for better, for worse, and for all-around being the finest, fun-est travelin' (aka, whorin'drinkin'brawlin') partners around. Being with y'all helps me be who I am. Cain't ask for better than that.

Not really, but I wanted to keep the theme of boxes going.

Went to the new gym again today and put in a full hour on the elliptical. Their elliptical machines are some different model than the ones at the old gym, but the same manufacturer. This is only important because, after an hour on these new ones (which has been my standard-length workout, you know) at lower resistance, I thought I was going to die today. Like, almost-blacked-out-felt-nauseous-got-weird-dizzy-sweats-and-had-to-sit-down-for-a-really-long-time- thought I was going to die. Either those machines are a lot fucking harder, or something is suddenly very wrong with me. Yeesh. I really am quite concerned.

Anyway. My really-long sit-down happened to be in front of a full-wall mirror in the ladies' locker room, and as I sat there struggling to recover, a few things occurred to me:

1. I am such a fucking pear. It irritates the shit out of me.
2. I've lost a lot of weight. And yet, I'm still really fat. It irritates the shit out of me.
3. I've been working out regularly for over a year, and I like it and feel better, but still am quite unhappy with my body, which, in case you hadn't guessed, irritates the shit out of me.

So now I'm thinking maybe I should join something like that evil LA Weightloss or something. Because I really just need to concentrate on losing fat. And that tends to do that rather quickly.

I know you say we are only separated by a few pounds now and I can't complain like I used to, but the fact is, even if we weighed the very same, I'd still be fatter. I just would. I'm shorter, for one thing. And, well, I dunno, something is just different. I think I could honestly need to lose another 60-70 lbs. to look normal. So I reserve the right to continue to complain and make crazy crash-diet plans while simultaneously encouraging you to love yourself as you are.

Feel free to start throwing things at your screen.

So, my colleague brought in a homemade chocolate cake with vanilla buttercream frosting today. She told me she was going to. It's one of the reasons I hauled my dead ass into the office on a day I really didn't have to. Because she was on her way out as I came in, and I arrived in her office announcing I was on cake patrol, she gave me the last two slices in a cake box. 'Course I ate 'em already. Right out of the box. With a blue plastic fork. As I was huddling around the box and shoveling in bits of cake, another colleague came into my office to ask me a question.

Caught!

We laughed our asses off.

Now I'm suffering from a weird sugar headache/buzz. And my teeth feel furry.

I am not to be trusted around cake. Dammit!

And it ain't even my birthday yet!

Other than that, I had a good workout today with TTT. I sandwiched it between two cardio sessions, and dang if I wasn't sweatin' a good bunch. Good thing, too--almost cancels out the cake-in-a-box fest!

How you?

Both what I am in posting, and what I want in my life.

Well, I got up early yesterday and hiked up to the new gym location and put in 40 minutes of elliptical excitement, for a grand total of 80 minutes of activity.

I planned to do it all again today, but then I got terribly sick, so I've been sleeping off and on most of the day.

I have actually eaten today though, bad things, o'course, because Dr. P. was still here until late this afternoon. So I had a cupcake for breakfast, a hummus/baba sandwich and fries for lunch, and I've just had dinner of boniato mash and ground lamb leftover from the meat pie prep, and some bacon.

I said it: bacon.

Did you know turkey bacon and regular bacon has the same number of calories per slice?!?! I thought I was saving calories by eating turkey bacon! Turns out I'm only saving fat! Damnit!

Oy. I'm about to hit some more Theraflu and tuck in for the night, in hopes I can sleep this cold off before tomorrow, since I will be working every day for the rest of this week in hopes of earning extra cash for the trip. Oof.

Whuzzhappenin' in your fit and flabuless world these days?

Aunt Flo came to visit early today, which explains my crankiness and bloat, especially yesterday.

I've been good and running, except for yesterday and today. Tomorrow I'm back to TTT.

I'm hungry.

You?

Funny might not be the right word.

For example, on the very day that your too-tight jeans fit and you declare renewed long-term commitment to exercise, your fucking gym closes house. Damn. At least you were looking around for something new anyway, right? Perhaps the universe is trying to help you make a choice. Perhaps it will play similar tricks in other areas of your life. . . .

And I don't exclude myself from this trixy universe equation. I'll be forced to make all kinds of choices here pretty soon. Stay tuned. . . .

In the meantime, and on the fit and fabuless front, TTT kicked my lower body hard on Friday and I am feelin' it. Feelin' it even more after I went for a 40-minute run this afternoon. Running is good. I should do it more often. It makes me a better person: less moody, better at inhaling and exhaling, less likely to eat pancakes in the middle of the afternoon cuz I'm bored, etc.

I acquired more chicken breasteses from the organic butcher and I've already set them to crock potting. Oh how I loves the one-pot meals. I believe the Germans have a name for such hearty, homestyle, culinary delights. But I'll be damned if I know that word.

Today the sun shone clearly over the lake and a warm breeze wrestled with the fallen leaves. I can't believe it's almost the middle of November and so fucking glorious. Made me get out and run.

I might try to haul my ass to the gym tomorrow and do an upper body workout and spinning. I miss the spinning. I love the weight training, and I'm wondering if I'll get fitter faster if I double my efforts (as in four times a week instead of two). Might be asking too much with my schedule, but we'll see.

It's so disheartening to be working, working, working, and see no real results. Bummer deal. I guess I have to be patient with this thyroid game and just keep doing what I'm doing right. Maybe this is a better approach anyway. No crash dieting, no crazy fitness plans I can't sustain. This has to set me up for life. Cuz this thyroid thing isn't a one-time deal. It will always be with me and I'll always have to fuck with it. Argh.

Oh, the demons. . . .

I am reveling in the feeling of those damn jeans I've been bitching about forever perfectly hugging my imperfect ass.

At last, they fit without struggle. And this is after the smothered fries and pastrami and wings and apple pie weekend. While I'm on my period.

Amenhallelujah!
Hallelujahamen!
Mummerofuffleaggieramtamalingdang!

Hot damn! So relieved I'm a-speakin' in tongues!

I'm off to put in my fifth consecutive gym day, man. Because if that's all it takes, shit, I'm about to live up in that piece...

You're just having a rough go of things, lately. I know how you feel. I myself have slipped quietly into pensive-misery mode, for various reasons, which you know, and also guess who's surfing the crimson tide right now, and is as such extra maudlin?

We will have a grand time, you know. Oh goddamn, I still haven't ordered that cake. What did we decide on, again? Ladybug? Chocolate swiss hussy cake or whatever it was called? Lemme know so I can actually really do that tomorrow. Shit, I also think there have been evil changes to my flight plans that I have to check out now...

In other news, I have been very good about the fitness plan this week--I've made it in to the gym every day since Monday, including three hour-long cardio sessions, one 45-minute long cardio session, and a self-directed strength workout. Big whoops for me, yay. Eating has been...eh. Okay. Today was very good--superfood juice, coffee, most of a Clif Z bar, steak, salad, a candy apple (ok, so not great, but not horrible, either). I'll be trying not to screw that up before beddie-byes tonight, but as I am about to head to the starchucks to NaNo, I might get a pumpkin muffin in there too. That or a little pumpkin spice latte. Mmmmmmm. Yummers. What? I don't do both anymore, at least!

Today I had another session with Lynne and talked about all kinds of random things, but really we talked about how, even with all the trauma I endured as a child, in some ways I was a little princess, so now when I go out into the world and face rejection or criticism, I shut down as a defense and flee situations that could lead to said criticism/rejection. True that, sisterLynne. I kinda knew that, though.

Anyway. Talk later?

And I'm blaming it on my thyroid for now. But it's terribly frustrating. Side effects that started out orgasmic have suddenly metamorphed into a flaming skin rash and a numb tongue (Tweren't the lollipops and Mr. Goodbars a'tall). I see my doc tomorrow, but in the meantime, I'm fucking miserable and seriously depressed, to boot. I'm trying to remind myself to be gentle with myself, but it's so hard. And you know, thanks for reminding me that you love me, because when a gal's feeling lousy and depressed and completely isolated, it's easy to forget such blatantly obvious truths. So, it's me who's so solly. . . . But I'm still crazy.

And rude. I know it's just mean to say I'm not looking forward to SF when I've orchestrated the whole trip, made myself the center of it, dragged you and Carlos into it to spend your hard-earned money and time with a bunch of hooligans (whom you'll love, by the way). We'll have a ball, no doubt; but right now it's hard to see that anything will be okay again, ever.

Mind you, a tweaked dose of TSH could make me a walking orgasm again. Which I'd prefer. Of course, now I realize that what I thought was orgasm might actually have been little seizures. Not good. And in fact, could freakin' kill me.

Which sometimes doesn't sound like such a terrible alternative, honestly. But then, there's depression for ya. The real problem is t'ain't nothin' sounds good or worthwhile: living, dying, working, sitting on my ass, dancing, dating, writing, not writing, here, there, running, standing still. Even potentially scoring a ticket to U2 doesn't thrill me the way it should. I guess that means this is serious.

Grrr.

Oh my dear sweet baby Jesus Lord, woman!

Not good. Not good at all. What is wrong? I mean, I know there have been some things here and there but I didnae realize it was really bad.

I sowwy! We must chat (uninterrupted, this time.) You free in the morning?

You know we all loves you!

And not in the good, "We got tha . . ." kind of way.

No exercise today, my tummy hurts from eating too much curried chicken and the rash on my neck is itchy. No wonder I'm in a funk.

Not to mention San Francisco doesn't sound like fun anymore to me. Too bad I've already spent 900 gaddamned bills on it.

I just don't feel like being in my skin anymore. Maybe that's why I developed this rash. Yeesh.

I also can't find my freakin' iPod and it's depressing the hell out of me.

I'm a mess. And I'm tired of being a mess.

It must be time to go dancing.

I'm just tired of all the shit, man. Tired of working so hard with no payoff--literal or otherwise. Tired of wanting stuff that never shows up. Tired of being tired. Tired of trying to correct a destroyed thyroid. Tired of being fucking cheerful and inspiring for others when inside I'm all damp, crumpled, dead leaves that have fallen off the dying trees. Make those curried, damp, crumpled, dead leaves.

Oh fuck me. This is just depressing.

You still having fun on Coney Island? How many hot dogs have you eaten today?

Yup, eatin' crazy all weekend.

Like, buffalo wings and smothered fries crazy.

Pastrami sandwich and apple pie crazy.

Just, bad (derishus) stuff.

Also, I'd like to point out that them there shots we did with out bartender were not on me...they were on the house. Yup, our bartender gave us free rounds and did shotties with us. Loves him. I do. In case you were wondering, he was at our favorite skinny, poetic pub. We're going there all the time when you come.

Anyway. I need some greens and fiber in my life at this point. I really, really do. So I went and steamed up some rapidly disintigrating asparagus and turned it into a cold asparagus salad and I think that will be my lunch today, man. Mmmm, fiber.

Back on the path, more or less (Well, you know, there will be slips as long as there is fun to be had).

How you?

I tried on every damn pair of jeans in this dreary town yesterday, and I finally, finally went home with a pair of Calvin Klein's that shows off my ass-ets in its/their best light, methinks. But damn if buying new jeans isn't a harrowing experience. I tried on everything from sixes to fourteens and nothing quite fit until my strangely blue CKs came down the pike, or rather, appeared before my eyes on the rack. I'll be wearing them in SF, so you'll get to see my ass in these pups. Lucky you!

And I see why you have been neglecting this blog with all your cheap drank drankin' and wing wingery going on with Dr. P. As long as you're having fun, lady!

I've been cooking up pots of weirdly delicious things like miso soup with cannelini and mustard greens and a lovely crock pot full of organic chicken breasts with curried tomatoes. Hopefully it'll help shrink my waist on the way to SF. All I want is to feel good there, here, everywhere, you see? Dang.

Haven't properly worked out since Thursday; that's why I'm attempting to focus more on diet. I'm telling you, I'm golden as long as I cut myself off at a certain time. That time has been 6ish lately. Works, dude.

And I've booked my trip. Flying into LGA on Dec. 1 and flying out on Dec. 10. We should be able to work some good, fun times in together, dontcha think?

Keep having fun, lovey, and please post something soonish rather than laterish!

The ups, the downs. . . . as long as you end up on the low end, I guess. And better to know, I s'pose. Not me, though. No going back to the scaley scale. TTT told me I look skinny today, but she might just be being sweet cuz she no showed yesterday. That's okay. I'll takey the complimentos.

Remember how I wanted a sammich on Tuesday? Well, today I ate three. Naked. Not me, the sammiches. Meaning no mayo or anything so not so fatty.

Yesterday I killed my legs all by myself at the gym after a bunch of ellipticallying while waiting for TTT. Then I went for a run in the evening just cuz it was so purty out. Today TTT slaughtered my upper bod--that shit I can't do on my own. I'd poop out.

Early this morning I attempted to be nice and avoid parking in the maintenance guy's pile o' leaves in my parking spot, but in doing so, I hit the metal pokey thingy coming off of his stupid little golf cart, seriously scraping up the side of my car. I tried to be all cool about it, but then I burst into tears.

I HATE being out of control. Which is exactly what Pam and I talked about today. All I can do is take care of meself which happens to mean allowing myself to be vulnerable emotionally. I'm capable of receiving physically, but emotionally is another story, seeing that I grew up as an emotional barometer and human shield for everybody around me. It worked for me, though, cuz it let me be in command. So, now letting myself be vulnerable and not being in charge of everything and everybody and not having all the answers and not even really knowing if there's ground beneath my feet really sucks for me. But I'm working on stepping aside from the shield . . . trusting others to take care of themselves so I can have a little fun.

Damn if life isn't hard. I'm tired. But I want to hear more about your Pammy, aka Lynn, or rather how you've changed in her presence.

When we finally do talk, remind me to tell you about my conversation with my former Dr. Dr. P.

Or something.

So. Eats. Aside from the bacon cheeseburger madness from Tuesday night, I've been quite good so far this week. Soup, roasted chicken, more soup and roasted chicken...a salad! Once I had a salad! Weehaw!

Excercise-wise, I'm doing okay. I skipped yesterday, but did cardio Monday, Tuesday and today, plus a strength workout today. And I'm right where I was pre-starchfest weekend, which is amazing, because that means I've lost four bloat pounds in three days.

Saw Lynne today. She's very interesting. She manages to tell me I'm a failure but pick me up by saying I really shouldn't be. I'll explain on the phone.

Anyway, I am going to go have some lunch (soup, maybe I'll go crazy and have some tuna salard, too).

Sigh.

How you?

I've eaten nothing but Halloween candy today and now I can't feel my tongue. Imagine what that shit is doing to my insides. mr. goodbar my ass. Too bad I can't find a mr. goodbar to keep me warm at night.

No run this morning. Marathon day of teaching, reading, writing, meetings, taking class, then going for beers. I should eat a sandwich for strength.

Actually, a Guinness before the meeting that may seal my fate as a professeur might better supply the strength I'm after.

Was there a time when life was good?