I'm still here. I do feel like I might be starving to death but have not succumbed yet. I'm here. I did not abandon you, my four faithful readers. But I am hungry. And grumpy. I've barely been able to muster up the energy to take care of the people that rely on me daily much less the energy to write. But I've missed you. I've missed writing about the daily doses of beatings I endure from All-business Brenda.
This little competition is almost over and I would be lying if I said I wasn't conflicted. I'm conflicted for several reasons. 1.)I'm hungry, grumpy and tired. 2.)I'm still jiggly. 3.)I'm scared about what is going to happen when I'm not going balls to the wall with insane workouts and no accountability. I need accountability in my life. I am the middle child, after all. It's in my DNA.
But it has been a rough couple of weeks for me. I broke my foot. Yes, you read correctly. Just three small stress fractures in my left foot. Which is actually the foot to break if you're going to have to be in a boot for at least 3 weeks because at least you can still drive. I speak from experience, people.
But I have a theory about why I always get injured. Are you ready for my theory? You see, I have self- diagnosed myself with Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis. Which is a rare disease where you don't feel pain. (Not really, but just go with me on this.) I believe I have a smidgen of this disease which is why I get hurt so often. My body doesn't give me any signals that I might be headed for an injury so I just keep going and going until BAM - I've broken a foot or torn an Achilles tendon. It's the only logical explanation I can come up with...so it's either Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis or just plain stubbornness. But I'm sticking with CIPA. My family might disagree but who cares what they think. Not me. I sure don't. Not one bit. Just kidding.
Still fighting the fat...broken foot and all.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Friday Night
This past weekend, one of Greg's childhood friends came to town to celebrate his 40th birthday. Hi, Todd. Hi, Cassie. Actually, he had a whole posse come in town to celebrate. Some were from Kansas City, some were from Denver and we were lucky enough to already be living here so we only had to travel about 8 miles for the festivities. His lovely, lovely wife planned a fun and relaxing weekend for all involved. On Friday, the boys golfed. G-Pat was in his happy place. The girls went to the spa at the resort where they were staying. I did not get to partake in the spa activities as I had two little hell-yuns running amok and creating chaos. Which is exactly what they do best.
On Friday night, we all met up for dinner at this very posh restaurant at the resort. G-Pat had said to me, "why don't you go find a new outfit to wear to the dinner." He must have realized that lycra work-out pants would not be appropriate attire at such a fancy place. "G-Pat, who holds a quarter so tight the eagle screams, say what?" I replied. You don't need to tell me twice and I happily went on my way to buy some new threads.
Can anyone explain to me why it is that when I want to buy a new outfit; I can't find anything I like but when I do not need to be shopping for new clothes, I could spend thousands of dollars? Why is that?
Well, I found a new shirt and some pretty awesome high-heeled stripper shoes. (Who do I think I am trying to wear high-heeled stripper shoes?) I had a pair of size 12 jeans I found deep in the bowels of my closet from another time and place when I could wear a size 12. I put my outfit together and have to admit I was feeling pretty good. My new ruffle-y shirt hid most of my rolls and my new stripper shoes made me feel like a runway model. (A plus-size runway model but a runway model never the less.) I couldn't walk very well in my stripper shoes but dad-gum it if I wasn't going to put in the effort.
Now, you're probably thinking...how could you feel good about yourself when you are wearing a size 12 and are still one and half-ton Tilly? To that I just say, because in July, I was wearing a size 22 and ready to lay in the corner in the fetal position and suck my thumb. It's true. Just ask G-Pat. So, a 12 is feeling pretty good right now.
We go to the restaurant and have a great time with everyone. But after the dinner, G-Pat and I have to get home to the hell-yuns and relieve the babysitter. We head upstairs to the valet and G-Pat says he forgot something downstairs and has to go back. So, I tell him I will happily wait for him on the couch in the lobby because I can hardly walk to the car in my stripper shoes much less back down the two hundred stairs and back up again. While he was gone, a very nice and most likely inebriated man came up to me and asked why was I sitting all alone and who was I waiting for? I told him my husband would be right back and that he just ran down stairs for a quick second. He said...get this..."You mean, he left you up here all by yourself? Shame on him. Shame on him. If you were with me, I would never leave you alone." My first thought was...that's kind of creepy but my second thought was...Holy cow, I think I just got hit on. Now, it's been about a hundred years since I was last hit on by someone other than G-Pat. So, I wasn't really sure if that's what was happening or not. But I asked G-Pat when he came back and he assured me, yes, that indeed, the guy was hitting on me. I was kind of excited. I won't lie. Sure, G-Pat hits on me all the time but I have to admit, I'm easy when it comes to him. I'm easy just not cheap. That's what I always say. Now, I was feeling really good. All of this hard work and I'm getting a little love from the male species. Even if he was most likely inebriated.
So, we walk outside to the valet and I decide I'm going to drive us home since I can't drink. I go to get in the car and my stripper shoe heel gets stuck on the bottom of my jeans as I lift my leg to get in the car. I lose all balance and totally take a digger right there in the valet line. I banged my elbow into the car door opening and it immediately started swelling. I thought I broke my arm. G-Pat reaches over the seat to try to help me along with the valet guy and I manage to get up and slide into the car. G-Pat says, "who falls getting IN a car?" Um, that would be me. I do that. I told him, "nothing like falling flat on your ass to deflate your ego and bring you back to reality."
By the way, I had my arm x-rayed on Monday and it's not broken but it does look like someone took a baseball bat to my right elbow. Now, I really have to keep fighting the fat so I can get out of these size 12 jeans and learn how to properly walk in high-heeled stripper shoes.
On Friday night, we all met up for dinner at this very posh restaurant at the resort. G-Pat had said to me, "why don't you go find a new outfit to wear to the dinner." He must have realized that lycra work-out pants would not be appropriate attire at such a fancy place. "G-Pat, who holds a quarter so tight the eagle screams, say what?" I replied. You don't need to tell me twice and I happily went on my way to buy some new threads.
Can anyone explain to me why it is that when I want to buy a new outfit; I can't find anything I like but when I do not need to be shopping for new clothes, I could spend thousands of dollars? Why is that?
Well, I found a new shirt and some pretty awesome high-heeled stripper shoes. (Who do I think I am trying to wear high-heeled stripper shoes?) I had a pair of size 12 jeans I found deep in the bowels of my closet from another time and place when I could wear a size 12. I put my outfit together and have to admit I was feeling pretty good. My new ruffle-y shirt hid most of my rolls and my new stripper shoes made me feel like a runway model. (A plus-size runway model but a runway model never the less.) I couldn't walk very well in my stripper shoes but dad-gum it if I wasn't going to put in the effort.
Now, you're probably thinking...how could you feel good about yourself when you are wearing a size 12 and are still one and half-ton Tilly? To that I just say, because in July, I was wearing a size 22 and ready to lay in the corner in the fetal position and suck my thumb. It's true. Just ask G-Pat. So, a 12 is feeling pretty good right now.
We go to the restaurant and have a great time with everyone. But after the dinner, G-Pat and I have to get home to the hell-yuns and relieve the babysitter. We head upstairs to the valet and G-Pat says he forgot something downstairs and has to go back. So, I tell him I will happily wait for him on the couch in the lobby because I can hardly walk to the car in my stripper shoes much less back down the two hundred stairs and back up again. While he was gone, a very nice and most likely inebriated man came up to me and asked why was I sitting all alone and who was I waiting for? I told him my husband would be right back and that he just ran down stairs for a quick second. He said...get this..."You mean, he left you up here all by yourself? Shame on him. Shame on him. If you were with me, I would never leave you alone." My first thought was...that's kind of creepy but my second thought was...Holy cow, I think I just got hit on. Now, it's been about a hundred years since I was last hit on by someone other than G-Pat. So, I wasn't really sure if that's what was happening or not. But I asked G-Pat when he came back and he assured me, yes, that indeed, the guy was hitting on me. I was kind of excited. I won't lie. Sure, G-Pat hits on me all the time but I have to admit, I'm easy when it comes to him. I'm easy just not cheap. That's what I always say. Now, I was feeling really good. All of this hard work and I'm getting a little love from the male species. Even if he was most likely inebriated.
So, we walk outside to the valet and I decide I'm going to drive us home since I can't drink. I go to get in the car and my stripper shoe heel gets stuck on the bottom of my jeans as I lift my leg to get in the car. I lose all balance and totally take a digger right there in the valet line. I banged my elbow into the car door opening and it immediately started swelling. I thought I broke my arm. G-Pat reaches over the seat to try to help me along with the valet guy and I manage to get up and slide into the car. G-Pat says, "who falls getting IN a car?" Um, that would be me. I do that. I told him, "nothing like falling flat on your ass to deflate your ego and bring you back to reality."
By the way, I had my arm x-rayed on Monday and it's not broken but it does look like someone took a baseball bat to my right elbow. Now, I really have to keep fighting the fat so I can get out of these size 12 jeans and learn how to properly walk in high-heeled stripper shoes.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Weigh-In Month 3
Saturday was our official 12 week weigh-in. We, meaning me and Rosemarie, dehydrated the day before. We worked out in the hot sauna of the bathroom inside all-business Brenda's gym. (Hey, I'll do anything for a little movement on the scale.) We hauled the workout step and risers into the bathroom where it is two-hundred and twelve degrees in there and stepped up and down and up and down until we were drenched in sweat and began to hallucinate. Our little plan worked because we dropped another pound. We would have stayed in there longer but we took a 3 second break to try to catch our breath and at that exact moment, all-business Brenda walked in and busted us saying the only thing we were exercising was our mouths and to get out and get on the treadmill.
But then it was weigh-in time and drumroll please......I've lost 44 pounds and 40 3/4 inches. I was .2 ounces away from being at 45 pounds but since all-business Brenda made me leave the bathroom sauna, I couldn't get that extra .2 ounces off. Oh, well. I guess that means I just have to keep fighting the fat.
After the weigh-in, G-Pat was meeting me at all-business Brenda's to drop off our little hell-yuns because he had a date with his golf clubs that morning. He came in to the gym and we showed him and the little hell-yuns my before pictures and the pictures taken from that day. They all oohed and aahhed like they are required to do but my oldest hell-yun said, "Mommy, I think you are beautiful no matter if you lose weight or not. But, now, you're getting skinnier (her word...not mine)and I could just stare at you all day long."
Now, my girl, if she is not just the most precious, little bucket of love, pumpkin muffin, sugar loaf, doll baby then I don't know who is. I love that girl and I've decided to give up on my dream of having an encounter with Channing Tatum and just focus on fighting the fat for my three most favorite people in the world. Sorry Channing.
More to come about our exciting and eventful weekend. Stay tuned...
But then it was weigh-in time and drumroll please......I've lost 44 pounds and 40 3/4 inches. I was .2 ounces away from being at 45 pounds but since all-business Brenda made me leave the bathroom sauna, I couldn't get that extra .2 ounces off. Oh, well. I guess that means I just have to keep fighting the fat.
After the weigh-in, G-Pat was meeting me at all-business Brenda's to drop off our little hell-yuns because he had a date with his golf clubs that morning. He came in to the gym and we showed him and the little hell-yuns my before pictures and the pictures taken from that day. They all oohed and aahhed like they are required to do but my oldest hell-yun said, "Mommy, I think you are beautiful no matter if you lose weight or not. But, now, you're getting skinnier (her word...not mine)and I could just stare at you all day long."
Now, my girl, if she is not just the most precious, little bucket of love, pumpkin muffin, sugar loaf, doll baby then I don't know who is. I love that girl and I've decided to give up on my dream of having an encounter with Channing Tatum and just focus on fighting the fat for my three most favorite people in the world. Sorry Channing.
More to come about our exciting and eventful weekend. Stay tuned...
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wake-up Call
Have you ever stayed in a lovely hotel and needed a wake-up call in the morning? The night before the wake-up call, you phone down to the front desk and might say something like, "yes, I would like a wake-up call for 6:30 am." Then the operator will respond with, "of course, we would be happy to ring your room at that time to make sure you get up and get on with your business for the day. Thank you and have a wonderful evening."
A conversation might happen like that. I'm just sayin'.
When dawn breaks the next morning and your snoozing away in Dreamland, the God-forsaken phone rings for your requested wake-up call. All of a sudden you're startled, scared and can't remember where you are or what you're doing or why you're even in a hotel room. Then you come to your senses and pick up the ringing phone and BAM -you're awake.
I'll get back to this in a minute but first...
My Mondays usually go something like this...
4:45 am - alarm clock goes off
I stumble to the bathroom -wash face, brush teeth, put hair in ponytail, change into workout clothes
stumble to kitchen-grab water, keys, cell phone and food journal and head out the door to all-business Brenda's gym for a grueling beating.
Finish the beating, go home, feed little hell-yuns, clean-up breakfast, shower, laundry, make beds, more laundry, fix lunch, clean-up lunch, laundry, write blog, vaccuum, fix supper, head back to all-business Brenda's for another one hour beating, come home, bathe little hell-yuns, clean-up supper, put laundry away, read a bedtime story, put little hell-yuns to bed, do some sit-ups, donkey kicks and fire hydrants and pass out on the couch until G-Pat pokes me to get up and come to bed.
But on Tuesdays, I don't have to wake up at 4:45 am. I love Tuesdays. I love not waking up at 4:45 am. We've been on fall break and yesterday was our last day of break. So, no one in my house had to wake up at all. Well, G-Pat had to go to work but he doesn't go in until 8:30. We, meaning me and the little hell-yuns, could have stayed in bed all day. Which is exactly what we were planning to do until...
I got a 6:30 am wake-up call. I was snoozing away just fine in my warm, cozy, perfect, sleep-number bed. I was dreaming about not having to wake up at 4:45 am and fairies and rainbows. All was right with my world. But then the phone rang. I was startled and scared and I couldn't remember who I was, where I was or what I was doing. I rushed around trying to find the God-forsaken ringing phone and I pushed the talk button...
Me: "Hello?"
The person on the end: "Kelli? Are you asleep? You need to GET UP! It's Brenda."
Me: "Oh, Hi, I was asleep but that's ok. Is everything all right?
Brenda: "Uh, yes, everything's fine. I just want to know what time are you going to do your cardio today?"
Me: "I have no idea. I don't even know my own name right now much less what time I'm going to get on a treadmill. I was just dreaming of rainbows and fairies."
Brenda: "Well, ok. But you need to also do 4 sets of 100 crunches and 4 sets of 40-50 throw downs along with your donkey kicks and fire hydrants."
Me: "Yes, ma'am. You bet-ya. No problem. Done deal. Mission accomplished."
Brenda: "Ok, bye."
Me: "Bye." Thanks for calling.
Then I made a bee line straight for my bed. I pulled the covers up and shut my eyes. Then I heard, "Momma? Momma? Who was on the phone? I'm hungry. Can you fix me some breakfast? Can I watch SpongeBob? Want to play Wii with me?" And so that is how my Tuesday began.
My Wednesday? Oh, my Wednesday began with a 4:45am wake-up from the alarm clock. The usual beating from all-business Brenda took place but today, a very nice lady who was working out in the gym says to me, "Kelli, wow! You're looking so svelte." I said,"oh, thank you. That's so sweet of you." Then, all-businss Brenda pipes in with..."No, she doesn't look svelte. It must just be the capri workout pants she's wearing today that make you think she's svelte."
Thank you. Thank you very much. Now, I know she's kidding and trying to keep me motivated so it doesn't bother me that I'm not svelte. But I'd be lying if I said it isn't nice to hear someone notice all of my hard work...even if it is from the capris I'm wearing.
And so that is how my Wednesday began.
I don't care what anyone says, I'm still motivated to fight this fat so one day I might actually look svelte.
A conversation might happen like that. I'm just sayin'.
When dawn breaks the next morning and your snoozing away in Dreamland, the God-forsaken phone rings for your requested wake-up call. All of a sudden you're startled, scared and can't remember where you are or what you're doing or why you're even in a hotel room. Then you come to your senses and pick up the ringing phone and BAM -you're awake.
I'll get back to this in a minute but first...
My Mondays usually go something like this...
4:45 am - alarm clock goes off
I stumble to the bathroom -wash face, brush teeth, put hair in ponytail, change into workout clothes
stumble to kitchen-grab water, keys, cell phone and food journal and head out the door to all-business Brenda's gym for a grueling beating.
Finish the beating, go home, feed little hell-yuns, clean-up breakfast, shower, laundry, make beds, more laundry, fix lunch, clean-up lunch, laundry, write blog, vaccuum, fix supper, head back to all-business Brenda's for another one hour beating, come home, bathe little hell-yuns, clean-up supper, put laundry away, read a bedtime story, put little hell-yuns to bed, do some sit-ups, donkey kicks and fire hydrants and pass out on the couch until G-Pat pokes me to get up and come to bed.
But on Tuesdays, I don't have to wake up at 4:45 am. I love Tuesdays. I love not waking up at 4:45 am. We've been on fall break and yesterday was our last day of break. So, no one in my house had to wake up at all. Well, G-Pat had to go to work but he doesn't go in until 8:30. We, meaning me and the little hell-yuns, could have stayed in bed all day. Which is exactly what we were planning to do until...
I got a 6:30 am wake-up call. I was snoozing away just fine in my warm, cozy, perfect, sleep-number bed. I was dreaming about not having to wake up at 4:45 am and fairies and rainbows. All was right with my world. But then the phone rang. I was startled and scared and I couldn't remember who I was, where I was or what I was doing. I rushed around trying to find the God-forsaken ringing phone and I pushed the talk button...
Me: "Hello?"
The person on the end: "Kelli? Are you asleep? You need to GET UP! It's Brenda."
Me: "Oh, Hi, I was asleep but that's ok. Is everything all right?
Brenda: "Uh, yes, everything's fine. I just want to know what time are you going to do your cardio today?"
Me: "I have no idea. I don't even know my own name right now much less what time I'm going to get on a treadmill. I was just dreaming of rainbows and fairies."
Brenda: "Well, ok. But you need to also do 4 sets of 100 crunches and 4 sets of 40-50 throw downs along with your donkey kicks and fire hydrants."
Me: "Yes, ma'am. You bet-ya. No problem. Done deal. Mission accomplished."
Brenda: "Ok, bye."
Me: "Bye." Thanks for calling.
Then I made a bee line straight for my bed. I pulled the covers up and shut my eyes. Then I heard, "Momma? Momma? Who was on the phone? I'm hungry. Can you fix me some breakfast? Can I watch SpongeBob? Want to play Wii with me?" And so that is how my Tuesday began.
My Wednesday? Oh, my Wednesday began with a 4:45am wake-up from the alarm clock. The usual beating from all-business Brenda took place but today, a very nice lady who was working out in the gym says to me, "Kelli, wow! You're looking so svelte." I said,"oh, thank you. That's so sweet of you." Then, all-businss Brenda pipes in with..."No, she doesn't look svelte. It must just be the capri workout pants she's wearing today that make you think she's svelte."
Thank you. Thank you very much. Now, I know she's kidding and trying to keep me motivated so it doesn't bother me that I'm not svelte. But I'd be lying if I said it isn't nice to hear someone notice all of my hard work...even if it is from the capris I'm wearing.
And so that is how my Wednesday began.
I don't care what anyone says, I'm still motivated to fight this fat so one day I might actually look svelte.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Lunges
I do lunges.
When I workout with all-business Brenda I do A LOT of lunges.
I'd rather be doing lounges. That's not really a word. What I really mean is that I would rather be lounging not lunge-ing. (Lunging just does not seem to be the correct way to spell lunge-ing -- I am aware that lunge-ing is not correct either but it's just how I'm going to spell it today. I'm a rule-breaker that way. It's just how I roll.)
But I've done too much lounging. That is why I'm two-ton-Tilly and am now having to fight the fat. (Oops, sorry, April!) (April doesn't like it when I call myself two-ton-Tilly. So since I've lost a few pounds, I will honor her wishes and now refer to myself as one-and-a-half-ton-Tilly.) It just doesn't have the same ring to it - but I will go with it.
When I lunge, I am specifically trying to fight the fat on, in and around my hips, thighs, glutes and hamstrings. Let me tell you...my hips, thighs, glutes and hamstrings are revolting. They are pissed that I made them do eight hundred and forty-two lunges yesterday. Today, my lower body does not want to move. My lower body is saying, "no, we are staying in bed and lounging--ALL DAY!" But I have things to do today, like buying Halloween costumes for two little hell-yuns and laundry and fitting in a little cardio workout at some point and doing my business in the bathroom.
I've been dreading going to the restroom all day today because my lower body hurts so bad. I'm scared, people. I'm really, really, scared.
I think I will have G-Pat install a handicap rail in my bathroom. I surely need something to hang on to while I try to lower myself down to the toilet and I can't rely on my thighs and hamstrings to help safely land my buttocks on the potty. They might just give out. Then, where would I be? But laid out on the cold tile of my bathroom floor soiling myself. It's a chance I'm not willing to take.
Maybe, all-business Brenda was right and maybe I need to just invest in some of those adult diapers after all. I'm sure it is cheaper than installing a handicap rail.
For now, I will shuffle along and get my chores done so I can go back to bed and lounge and think about fighting the fat.
When I workout with all-business Brenda I do A LOT of lunges.
I'd rather be doing lounges. That's not really a word. What I really mean is that I would rather be lounging not lunge-ing. (Lunging just does not seem to be the correct way to spell lunge-ing -- I am aware that lunge-ing is not correct either but it's just how I'm going to spell it today. I'm a rule-breaker that way. It's just how I roll.)
But I've done too much lounging. That is why I'm two-ton-Tilly and am now having to fight the fat. (Oops, sorry, April!) (April doesn't like it when I call myself two-ton-Tilly. So since I've lost a few pounds, I will honor her wishes and now refer to myself as one-and-a-half-ton-Tilly.) It just doesn't have the same ring to it - but I will go with it.
When I lunge, I am specifically trying to fight the fat on, in and around my hips, thighs, glutes and hamstrings. Let me tell you...my hips, thighs, glutes and hamstrings are revolting. They are pissed that I made them do eight hundred and forty-two lunges yesterday. Today, my lower body does not want to move. My lower body is saying, "no, we are staying in bed and lounging--ALL DAY!" But I have things to do today, like buying Halloween costumes for two little hell-yuns and laundry and fitting in a little cardio workout at some point and doing my business in the bathroom.
I've been dreading going to the restroom all day today because my lower body hurts so bad. I'm scared, people. I'm really, really, scared.
I think I will have G-Pat install a handicap rail in my bathroom. I surely need something to hang on to while I try to lower myself down to the toilet and I can't rely on my thighs and hamstrings to help safely land my buttocks on the potty. They might just give out. Then, where would I be? But laid out on the cold tile of my bathroom floor soiling myself. It's a chance I'm not willing to take.
Maybe, all-business Brenda was right and maybe I need to just invest in some of those adult diapers after all. I'm sure it is cheaper than installing a handicap rail.
For now, I will shuffle along and get my chores done so I can go back to bed and lounge and think about fighting the fat.
Friday, October 15, 2010
So Much Better
I'm back.
I'm sure you were so worried. Thank you.
I tried to go workout with all-business Brenda on Wednesday but she said, "Go home. You can't come in my gym if you're sick and contagious."
But at least I tried to make the effort. Even if I couldn't breathe and knew there would be no way for me to run on a treadmill -- I showed up. But since she sent me home, I went back to bed for 48 hours...straight. Not really, but close. G-Pat even took off work to take care of our two little hell-yuns so I could sleep for 48 hours. Isn't he the best? Gosh, I love that man!
I lost all sense of taste. I didn't want to eat. Anything. It was a glorious 3 days. It was like my prayers were answered. My dream came true. I could have cared less about food or eating or tasting or chewing. For three whole days, I had no relationship with food. Me and food...we broke up. But now, we are back together. Oh, how I wish I could stay away but somehow like a bad boyfriend, I keep coming back.
Did you ever see the movie, The Devil Wears Prada? "I'm one stomach flu away from my goal weight."
That's how I felt this week only I had a sinus infection not the flu and I'm about nine hundred and twenty seven stomach flu's away from my goal weight.
But I did lose six pounds for the week. I even surpassed my goal that all-business Brenda wanted me to hit by next Friday.
All-business Brenda was so proud. This is what she said to me today...
"Oh, Kelli - that is awesome. I'm so proud and I take back every bad thing I've ever thought about you and said about you. Give me a hug! I'm so glad you got sick."
All of the above statements are true. I can't make this stuff up.
I'm just glad I'm finally getting a little love around here. It's about time. Although, by tomorrow she will have taken it all back and won't be proud anymore. She'll probably be back to holding a grudge for the time I ate the extra peanut butter. For now - I'm going to soak it all in because this my friends, is what motivates me. It doesn't take much...just a little encouragement every now and then.
Now, I'm heading back to see all-business Brenda for a second dose of cardio. See, I'm motivated to keep fighting this fat.
I'm sure you were so worried. Thank you.
I tried to go workout with all-business Brenda on Wednesday but she said, "Go home. You can't come in my gym if you're sick and contagious."
But at least I tried to make the effort. Even if I couldn't breathe and knew there would be no way for me to run on a treadmill -- I showed up. But since she sent me home, I went back to bed for 48 hours...straight. Not really, but close. G-Pat even took off work to take care of our two little hell-yuns so I could sleep for 48 hours. Isn't he the best? Gosh, I love that man!
I lost all sense of taste. I didn't want to eat. Anything. It was a glorious 3 days. It was like my prayers were answered. My dream came true. I could have cared less about food or eating or tasting or chewing. For three whole days, I had no relationship with food. Me and food...we broke up. But now, we are back together. Oh, how I wish I could stay away but somehow like a bad boyfriend, I keep coming back.
Did you ever see the movie, The Devil Wears Prada? "I'm one stomach flu away from my goal weight."
That's how I felt this week only I had a sinus infection not the flu and I'm about nine hundred and twenty seven stomach flu's away from my goal weight.
But I did lose six pounds for the week. I even surpassed my goal that all-business Brenda wanted me to hit by next Friday.
All-business Brenda was so proud. This is what she said to me today...
"Oh, Kelli - that is awesome. I'm so proud and I take back every bad thing I've ever thought about you and said about you. Give me a hug! I'm so glad you got sick."
All of the above statements are true. I can't make this stuff up.
I'm just glad I'm finally getting a little love around here. It's about time. Although, by tomorrow she will have taken it all back and won't be proud anymore. She'll probably be back to holding a grudge for the time I ate the extra peanut butter. For now - I'm going to soak it all in because this my friends, is what motivates me. It doesn't take much...just a little encouragement every now and then.
Now, I'm heading back to see all-business Brenda for a second dose of cardio. See, I'm motivated to keep fighting this fat.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Sick-O
I'm sick and must go to bed.
The End.
Good-bye Forever.
Just kidding. But I am sick and I do want to go to bed. I have a sore throat and can't breathe through my nose. I have a fever. My head hurts. I want to vomit. My left knee hurts. I have shin splints on my right leg. Is it just one splint since it is only on one shin? I will have to ponder this. I want my momma to make me homemade chicken noodle soup. But I can't eat momma's homemade chicken noodle soup.
I worked out this morning at o'dark hundred. It was uneventful. I didn't want to talk because my throat hurt too bad. I just wanted to get down to business so I could go home and suffer in my own bed. But I can't go to bed because I have two little hell-yuns running around here. They don't care if I'm sick. They still want me to fix them breakfast and lunch and probably supper too. Although I did speak a little this morning. I told all-business Brenda not to stand right in front of the treadmill that I was on because I did not want to sweat or spit on her and therefore make her ill. Although maybe if I had not fore-warned her, then she might get sick and might not make us work out. Naaaaahhhh. That wouldn't happen. She would still make us work out and she might even be harder on us because she wouldn't be feeling well. She would probably say something like, "we don't have time to get sick around here. We have to get this weight off. Let's go. Move faster Kelli." I can just hear her now.
I don't know if I would be able to handle that so now that I think about it...I'm glad I told her to get out of my sweat, spit ridden running zone.
Do you think it's a problem that I am now hearing my trainer's voice in my head?
I'm going to lay down now so later, I can muster up the energy to keep fightin' the fat.
The End.
Good-bye Forever.
Just kidding. But I am sick and I do want to go to bed. I have a sore throat and can't breathe through my nose. I have a fever. My head hurts. I want to vomit. My left knee hurts. I have shin splints on my right leg. Is it just one splint since it is only on one shin? I will have to ponder this. I want my momma to make me homemade chicken noodle soup. But I can't eat momma's homemade chicken noodle soup.
I worked out this morning at o'dark hundred. It was uneventful. I didn't want to talk because my throat hurt too bad. I just wanted to get down to business so I could go home and suffer in my own bed. But I can't go to bed because I have two little hell-yuns running around here. They don't care if I'm sick. They still want me to fix them breakfast and lunch and probably supper too. Although I did speak a little this morning. I told all-business Brenda not to stand right in front of the treadmill that I was on because I did not want to sweat or spit on her and therefore make her ill. Although maybe if I had not fore-warned her, then she might get sick and might not make us work out. Naaaaahhhh. That wouldn't happen. She would still make us work out and she might even be harder on us because she wouldn't be feeling well. She would probably say something like, "we don't have time to get sick around here. We have to get this weight off. Let's go. Move faster Kelli." I can just hear her now.
I don't know if I would be able to handle that so now that I think about it...I'm glad I told her to get out of my sweat, spit ridden running zone.
Do you think it's a problem that I am now hearing my trainer's voice in my head?
I'm going to lay down now so later, I can muster up the energy to keep fightin' the fat.
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