Um, Huh?

I had a doctor's visit this morning. I wanted her to check out my knee that has been throbbing for about a week. But I do not want to tell all-business Brenda about my knee because 1)I'm not a complainer. 2)She probably feels the same way about my knee as she does my back. 3)She could disqualify me from this competition if I was injured and could not perform my duties in the gym. Then, where would that leave me but to fight the fat on my own and we all know how that has turned out. But now since she reads this little blog - my secret is out. Hi Brenda! Please, don't disqualify me -- I'm really not hurt. But the doctor said I was ok - she doesn't THINK I have a meniscus tear. (Emphasis on Think) We will just see if it gets worse. But I can handle it. I mean, I ran seven and a half miles with a broken foot through the steets of San Fransisco. Surely I can handle a little tendonitis or meniscus tear. My point is...that I was busy this morning. I had the doctor's appointment then I had to run to the store to get some medicine and a few other things, then I was off to pick up one of my little hell-yuns from school because it was an early realease day and well, while I was out I forgot all about my mid-morning snack. I didn't really forget because my stomach was reminding me...feed me! Feed me! It has been drilled into my head-to not miss any meals. You(I) want to eat every 3 hours so that your(my) body doesn't think I'm starving it and stores all my fat. My body must think I'm starving it quite often because it has been storing it up for years. It must think I'm a bear going into hibernation and not coming out for years. But I'm trying to undo all my body's confusion. So, I picked up a protein bar to have as my snack. I thought this would be a good choice since I was out and about and in a bit of an emergency...snack wise. I told all-business Brenda about my snack of choice today, and guess what? It was apparently a bad decision. Here I thought she would say, "wow, Kelli - good decision-making. You're so smart and savvy. Way to think on your toes in a pinch." Well, let me tell you - she did not say that. She said, "how many grams of sugar were in that protein bar? That was a terrible choice. I would have rather you not eaten anything. Why don't you carry some almonds in your purse for times like these? You just ate a glorified candy bar!" Now, I am baffled. Befuddled. Flustered. Puzzled. I'm as confused as a hungry baby at a titty bar. (I'm sorry I said titty.) This just goes to show that I'm not ready to fight the fat on my own. I need all-business Brenda. I need her to make these decisions for me...because I'm not that smart and not savvy and I still have alot of fat to fight.

Not Easily Broken

Although feeling dejected, rejected and distraught after yesterday's conversation with all-business Brenda, I decided I'm not that easily broken. I truly don't know what more I could do to be successful at getting this weight off unless I started doing meth. Which I would do if I wasn't aware of all the side effects like losing my hair, my teeth, my family and you know...possibly my life. But since I am aware of all those side effects -- I guess doing meth is out of the question. (Just kidding...as if I would ever do anything illegal. I'm just saying I'm desperate -- you know?)
I went in today for another beating by all-business Brenda. Let's just say she was cracking the whip from the get-go this morning. She started yelling at me to "let's go!" while I was still in the parking lot...inside my car. She pulled into the parking lot right after I did and hopped right out and started yelling just as I was gathering up my purse and water bottles. I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. That's when it started. "Kelli, let's go! Kelli, run faster. Kelli, how many? Kelli, jumping jacks. Kelli, boxing. Kelli, squats. Kelli, move. Kelli, over here. Kelli, right here. Kelli, you're moving too slow. Kelli, we only have 4 weeks left until the next weigh-in. Kelli, let's get this fat off. Kelli, right here. Kelli, over there. Kelli, we've got to get these legs off. Kelli, how many sets? Kelli, get going. Kelli, if you stop I'm going to flog you with a baguette. Kelli...Kelli...Kelli." Ok, so she didn't say she would flog me but I'm sure she would have had there been a baguette around. Good thing she doesn't keep bakery items at her gym. I was so tired of hearing my name this morning I considered heading straight to the social security office to change my name to Thelma. But I was too sweaty and stinky and one of my little hell-yuns needed to get to school. Just to be clear - it wasn't like I wasn't moving. It's not like I was sitting there giving myself a manicure. I was moving. I was doing everything she told me to do. But, that's just how some days are when you work out with all-business Brenda. Since, I'm not easily broken, I'm looking forward to tomorrow's workout and fighting off more fat.

Triceps

I forgot to mention in my last post but during yesterday's beatings, all-business Brenda had me do 170 tricep pull downs. That's right -that's what I said...170. Four sets - 50 reps for the first and second set, followed by 40 reps on the third set and 30 reps on the fourth set and sprinting in between each set. Let's just say it hurts to even type. I bet you didn't know you even use your tricep muscles to type. But apparently you do because every part of my jiggly, flappin' in the wind, arms hurt. Hurt bad. Just keepin' it real while I fight my fat. Moral of the story: Don't get fat. It hurts too much.

Lie Detector Test

Now, I get that I can be a head case.  I have issues. More issues than Playboy. I get it. I'm blaming middle child syndrome. I'm a pleaser. I like for everyone to get along - don't like confrontations and I want people to like me. Alot. When people say, "oh, Kelli, you're blog is so funny -ha,ha,ha, ho,ho,ho -it makes me want to keep writing. See, I like positive affirmation. I live for positive affirmation. I'm needy like that.
Well, remember in yesterday's post I told you that I thought all-business Brenda was proud of my progress? Well, scratch that statement. Forget I ever said that. Delete. Eehhnn- wrong. Try again. I got a call from all-business Brenda this morning and this is the bomb she dropped on me. She said she had been studying our pictures from the 1st four weeks and our 2nd four weeks, and she did not see much of a difference in my photos. Actually, she said, "I really need to get out a magnifying glass to see any of your changes. Then, I looked at Rose's pictures and oh, I see a big difference in her photos." I felt like she stabbed me in the heart with one of her stilletto heels. I was devastated. Dejected. A wounded puppy. My spirit - deflated - just like that. I wanted to hang up the phone and go watch 'Ol Yeller and wallow in my tears. Because you see, I'm a pleaser. All I really want besides losing 1000 pounds over the next 8 weeks is to make all-business Brenda proud.
Then she said that if she did not see enough changes in me over the next four weeks then she was going to...get this... make me take a lie detector test. Yes, that's right - that is exactly what she said. I can't make up this stuff. And you thought "all-business Brenda" was just a silly nickname. Think again, my friends. Think again.
So now, am I not only not good enough, I am apparently a liar too. I keep a journal of all the food I inhale and I even confessed to her when I ate the dad-gum cheetos. But that is not good enough either. See, I told you she likes Rosemarie better.
I told her I was confused because after the weigh-in the other day she said, "you are doing phenomenal." Those were her words. Not mine. Phenomenal. Suddenly, a few days later, 30 pounds is not so phenomenal. Now, besides the pressure of the biggest loser competition, now I have the looming pressure of a lie detector test. But to that - I say, HA! Bring on the electrodes and blood pressure cuff -I have nothing to hide! Although I am worried about one thing...I sweat like a fat girl who just wrote her 1st love letter...does that affect the outcome of the test? But all-business Brenda and all of her other clients can attest to my sweatiness. It's kinda crazy. When I leave after a workout, I look like I've just been hosed down for a wet t-shirt contest. That is why I've learned not to wear white to my workouts. I have to kick up the fighting of the fat. I'm not really sure what else I can do -I'm following the program to a tee. (minus the slight mishap with a few cheetos) But apparently I need to take it to a whole new level. Game on! Fat-Beware!

All-Business Brenda

My trainer, all-business Brenda, the ruler of my universe, the one responsible for the grueling workouts, the one who picked me out of a slew of other fat people to be in her contest...You know, I've mentioned her time or two on this blog. Well, I have a few things to say about her. I just lover her. That is what I have to say. Even though she causes me sore muscles and aches and pains - I still love her. Maybe I'm a sadist or am I a massachist? I'm whichever is the one that enjoys the pain. Not that I enjoy the pain but I do love it when I am sore after a workout. I like the feeling of knowing that I worked my muscles so hard that they have no option but to change and hopefully get smaller. Or maybe I want the muscles to get bigger and the fat to get smaller. Yes, that's it. That is what I'm striving for. Well, then she must be the one who enjoys enflicting the pain. Either way, that's us. The saddist and the massachist. I wonder if she will ever know how grateful I am for what she has done? I wonder if I will ever be able to show her my appreciation for choosing me out of so many other capable fatties that wanted to be chosen for this contest just as much as I did? I don't know. But what I do know is that even though I joke about getting up at o'dark hundred for Brenda-inflicted beatings, I truly love it. I love how we banter back and forth. I love that she is all-business. I love that she just says it like it is and does not sugar coat anything. I love how she pushes me to do things I would never dream of doing. I love how she believes in me and knows that I am capable of so much more. Now, all-business Brenda is somewhat hard to please and is not quick with the compliments - that's not her style. But despite that, I do know she is happy with my progress.

Now, I just have to find a job that will allow me to keep all-business Brenda after this contest is over. I was talking to G-Pat over dinner the other night about making a career change. I said, "I just don't know what I am going to do after this is over. I want to be able to stay with her but need to figure out a way of making a little extra cash. I need something that is flexible so I can still be home with our little hell-yuns but make enough money to affod these extra luxuries." G-Pat agreed. "I may have to be a phone sex operator or possibly a call girl - you know? Surely, there has to be a market for "plus size hookers." Surely, some lonely ol' guy out there wants to hook up with a big girl. Surely, there is someone out there that wants a roll in the hay with a flabby, jiggly, road map of stretch marks across her stomach, fat chick, you know?"
Then I asked him, "What do you think the going rate is these days for hmm-hmm?" He replies, "I have no idea and my name's not Shirley" (name that movie) So I asked, "well, what would you pay for a little hmm-hmm?" He said,"honey, I pay thousands for you. And by the time our life is over it will probably be in the millions. That's what I pay for hmm-hmm." Good point. Good point. Although is he calling me his hooker? I will have to think on this awhile. I'm not above it. I'm just sayin'. I'm not above it.

Can I get you a magazine?

During my workout this morning, all-business Brenda tells me that from now on our workouts are going to be grueling. "Oh, good, because up until now I thought we were just having picnics in the park." I say with a hint of sarcasm. What have we been doing for the last two months? How will I survive anything harder? Let's just say...I'm scared. I'm very, very scared. Now, I'm going to have to download Gloria Gaynor's hit song, I Will Survive on my IPOD as my theme song to help me get through what All-business Brenda is now calling grueling. I realize that song is a break-up song and getting over a man song but I'm going to relate it to my workouts. I might have to change up the lyrics to fit my needs. I'm thinking of something like this...
First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
through what you've done to my back side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how I've done me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
and now I'm back
Brenda's in my face
I just walked in to her gym
because I want to get slim
I should have changed my stupid mind
I should have ran right out the door
If I had known for just one second
what she would be doing to my core!

Go on now go hit the floor
just crunch up and down
'cause this fat is not welcome anymore
weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with cream pie
you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as I know how to run
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my fat to give
and I'll survive
I will survive -- Hey -Hey

It's catch-y right? Well, that's my new song that I will have to live by for the next 8 weeks during my grueling workouts.

It was a leg day so that means my legs now are the consistency of jello or wet noodles. There were sprints, lunges, jumping jacks, more lunges, more jumping jacks, squats, jumping rope, hack-saw thingy machine, (I don't know the technical terms for these machines) leg presses, hamstring curls, jumping jacks, jumping rope, more lunges, leg extensions and the list just goes on and on. It was brutal. Brutal, I say. After my first set on the leg extension machine, I told Brenda that it felt awkward and that the pad thing on the bottom was not hitting in the right place. It needed to be moved up closer to my ankles not on my shoes. And also that the seat back was too far back and I needed it a little closer so I could press my back up against it. So she says, "Oh my gosh, girl please, just get on here and get going." But then she noticed how awkward I must have looked and so she adjusted everything for me. Then, she asked, "How's that for you --any better? So, I said, "yes, it's much better. Thank you." She replies well, good, can I get you some iced tea or a magazine now?"
I replied, "sure that would be great and could you massage my shoulders too -- there a little tight."
She just laughed and made me do 600 more leg extensions. Not really, 600 -- I exaggerate sometimes. I'm the middle child - it just comes with the territory.

I was not accurate on my measurements yesterday -- the actual amount is 32 & 1/4 inches lost. Hey, I'm counting every centimeter here. Now, I must go rest my mushy, jiggly legs so tomorrow I can muster up the energy to fight the fat.

Dehydration

Every month before our weigh-ins we dehydrate ourselves. There are several reasons that we do this: 1)it takes a few extra pounds off of the scale 2)it helps with our pictures or at least that is what all-business Brenda tells me and 3)it takes a few extra pounds off the scale. Which is truly, my only goal in life. Well, that and raising 2 beautiful, happy and well adjusted children to grow up and be productive citizens of society. Oh, and maintaining a happy and healthy marriage to G-Pat and not neccessarily in that order. Ok, so I have 3 goals in life. I like to keep it real. Keep it simple. That's just how I roll.

Anyway, so I started the dehydration process yesterday morning which consists basically of not taking in any liquids until after the weigh-in. Did I mention I also had to work out yesterday afternoon for 3 hours without drinking a drop of delicious H2O? Then, get back up at o'dark hundred for another workout (all cardio) without a sip of water. Now, it may not sound too hard but let me tell you friends, it is pretty difficult. I'm parched. Now, you may be asking yourselves, Kelli, why would you do such a thing? It's just water weight and as soon as you drink anything -it's all going to come right back on. And to that, I say, yes, you're right, good point, can't argue with you there...however as I stated previously, 1) it takes a few extra pounds off of the scale. 2)it helps with the picture taking to make me not look so bloated. And 3)it takes a few extra pounds off the scale.
Last night, after our workout, me, Rosemarie, and all-business Brenda went to Outback for a little dinner because it was so late after the workout none of us wanted to go home and cook. The waiter came around and asked, "what can I bring you ladies to drink?" I piped up first with my cotton-mouth and said, "water, please, water." Brenda jumps in and says, "you can't have water -we're dehydrating, remember?" Then she says, "ok, waiter, let them each have a glass of water with lemon." He brings our water and Miss Brenda says, "ok but just little sips...just enough to wet your whistle." Did you ever see the movie Castaway with Tom Hanks? Well, I could feel his pain at that very moment. I would draw the water up through my straw - holding one end of the straw with my finger then barely touching it to my tongue in between my bites of salmon and green beans. Now, I realize I had it slightly better than being stranded on a deserted island and trying to get water to survive from the rain on a palm leaf. I mean, I was sitting in an air-conditioned Outback restaurant where I was being waited on and didn't have to go kill my own fish but still, I could relate. That's all I'm sayin'.
Then, came this morning's weigh-in and pictures. Well, the dehydration worked. I lost 10 lbs for the month which puts me at 30 pounds and 30 inches (I think) in the 8 weeks since I started this journey. Which by the way, I hate that word. Journey...The Bachelor and Bachelorrete shows have totally ruined that word for me since they use it in every other sentence. Oh, and amazing. Totally ruined that word for me too. They say things like..."this journey has been so amazing." Or..."that Vienna is such an amazing girl - I'm so glad she chose to go on this journey with me." Or..."Oh, Roberto, what an amazing guy. And since we decided to for-go our individual rooms and stay as a couple in the fantasy suite, he took me on a journey like no other. It was like, so amazing." So see, I hate those two words and shall now banish them from my vocabulary forever.
Sorry, I realize none of this makes sense but that is why you (my faithful 4 readers) keep coming back - because you never know what you're gonna get. Gotta go rehydrate now and continue on my journey of fighting the fat. Dammit, I did it again.

2 More Days

When I went in at o'dark hundred for my beating this morning. Miss Brenda informs me that now we are doing our weigh-in and measurements on Friday morning because the other contestant has to go out of town and won't be available on Saturday. "Back this crazy train up for just a sec." I say. "I need all the extra days I can get and I'm not going out of town so why do I need to do my weigh-in on Friday?" She gives me some lame statement about having to get it into the paper and since the photographer is coming in for the other contestants pics on Friday then I just need to do mine then too. Ugh! Ugh is all I have to say. And I now want to cry and scream, "it's not fair, it's just not fair - and stomp my feet. (I wonder if that will work?)
This is now going to screw up my Friday night plans where I was going to take up permanent residence on my treadmill for at least 6 hours before our Saturday weigh-in. I think she just likes her better. So, I told her that if the day ever arises I hope she is just as accomodating to me as she is to the other biggest loser. (That will show her) Plus, I think I remember reading something in our contract about not going out of town during this contest. I think I will bring this up tomorrow during my beating. But for now, I really have to step up the fighting of the fat -- I only have until Friday. BOO!

That's it - I'm going to Krispy Kreme

I having all kinds of wig-ga-dy-whack hormone changes going on in my body. Things like night sweats, feet swelling up at night to the size of baked potatoes, starting my period then stopping then starting up again a week later. I'm retaining so much fluid - I'm kinda like a camel in the desert. Hey, that's a good analogy because I do live in the desert and I am about the size of a camel - give or take 10 pounds.

But anyway, I got on the scale today and am only down 4 pounds. That's right, you read it right - only 4 pounds. What the %&##? All of this physical and emotional abuse I'm taking and all I get are a mere 4 pounds? Are you kidding me? I was so frustrated today that after the gym, I was seriously contemplating a run through the drive-thru of Krispy Kreme's. After all, Krispy Kreme's makes everything better. All is right with the world after you consume a melt-in-your-mouth glazed doughnut...or 16. But I didn't do it. I stayed the course. I kept on driving and went straight home to drink my breakfast. (Not alcohol, but my ultimate meal shake)
Really, the thought of explaining to all business Brenda that I had made a quick pit stop at the doughnut shop was too much for me to take. I feared for my life and my pocketbook if I were to inhale all that yummy goodness.
MUST KEEP FIGHTING THE FAT! That's the chant I will say all day today.

Who is it all for?

I've been thinking lately about who am I doing all this for? When I say, "this" I mean, attempting to lose weight, get healthy, go to these grueling workouts for hours on end? Is it for me? Sure, part of it is -- it has to be, right? They say, (whoever "they" are) that you can't do it for anyone else but yourself. It's just like alchoholics or drug addicts -- no matter how much other people want to see them succeed and overcome their disease - they are the ones that have to want it even more. Trust me, I do want it.
I truly, truly want to overcome this cycle of abuse like no one else but I also want to do it for this man...

Channing Tatum. Who? You might be asking. Channing Tatum, he's the actor in Dear John, GI Joe, Step Up and Step Up 2: The Streets.
I watched Dear John today and really ogled and drooled is more like what I was doing. I wouldn't have known what the movie was about because I wasn't watching the movie.  I was watching this fine specimen.  Heaven, help me.  I don't know him and he doesn't know me either but that's not really important now is it?  He makes me think of doing dirty things to him. Did I just say that out loud? Well, it's true and I'm not sure my nether region can handle watching anymore movies with him in them. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking if there is anyone in the world besides myself I should be wanting to do this for it's my sweet hubby and little hell-yuns. Of course, I am thinking of them. Of course, I want to be healthy for them so you know... they can have a healthy spouse and momma around to help take care of them and so they don't have to watch me lose a foot to di-a-bee-tus. Of course, I want all that...yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah but I also want to do it for Channing. Chan, are you out there? I'm just sayin'. Go, watch Dear John and see if you don't come back here and agree with me. I dare you. Now, I got to go gettin' to fightin' this fat - for the sake of me and Channing. Oh, yeah, and that family of mine too.

I Don't Care About Your Back

Always, at the end of these 2-3 hour workouts, all-business Brenda has us do some "floor work." (ie. abs and leg exercises) Well, yesterday, she handed me this weird looking contraption. It was handles with a wheel in the middle. She said get on your knees, cross your ankles and roll this thing out until your in a push up position then roll it back. And do that 50 times x 4 sets. (Sure, no problem - I'll get right on that.)Sounds easy, right? Well, let me tell you it's not. It's not easy at all. So, this lady next to me asks Brenda, "I don't have to do that thing do I?" Brenda replies, "oh, no, you're no where near ready for that - plus, I don't want you to hurt your back." So, I piped up and asked, "well what about my back?" She says, "oh, I don't care about your back." Come to think of it - she probably doesn't care about my back. I mean, I'm not a paying customer. I'm sure she cares alot about the backs and all the appendages of paying customers. But, me, I'm just a lowly 'ol fat peon she chose for her contest. I'm so glad I have thick skin (literally and figuratively speaking) and I don't get my feelings hurt very easily. By the way...pun inteded.

So, I start rolling this thing out - so scared that I'm going to fall flat on my face and the wheel of this...this thing - would leave a skid mark right down my forehead all the way to my chin and who wants to walk around like that? Not me. I already have to walk around with 500 extra unwanted pounds. I sure don't need a skid mark down my face bringing me extra attention. No sirree, I don't need that at all. But anyway, I was rolling it back and forth, back and forth about 9000 times and she said, "now I want you to roll it out and turn it to the side to work your obliques. You know, like your rolling out a pie crust. Which I know YOU know all about doing that." Then she laughed so hard. And I laughed so hard too because she was right - I do know alot about rolling out pie crust. Mmm. Pie crust. Flaky. Buttery. Goodness. I have to go now. I'm going to go do some sit-ups and think about pie crusts and fighting the fat.

I'm bringing sexy back (Not)

For the record, sexy left this girl a long time ago. Sexy hasn't been seen in quite some time. Sexy packed up and left town. Sexy is GONE and I don't think Sexy is ever going to return. Sure, I've tried to write and call but Sexy never answers. Sexy ain't coming back to these parts. Oh, how I miss her.

I wore my new tight tank top for my grueling, relentless workout tonight. (Which was so NOT sexy) Oh, yes, I did and I even sported my new outfit on over to the soccer fields to drop off my two little hell-yuns at soccer practice. (only because I had to go workout not because I thought I looked good - just to be clear) And honestly, I felt and looked like a total jack-ass. Who do I think I am wearing a tight tank top and spandex capris? I don't think I'm anybody -that's who I think I am. I certainly don't look like an exerciser - I look like a two-ton Tilly trying to pull off an exerice outfit because my trainer thought it would be more motivating. Well, hell-yes it's more motivating. I look like one of those 300 pound girls you see at the Wal-mart thinking they are all that with their daisy dukes and muffin tops and more rolls than Pilsbury. God, I wish I had their confidence. Only, I KNOW I'm not all-that and I also KNOW I have more rolls than Pilsbury. Oh, I am fully aware. It was brutal having to watch all those bulges and rolls flopping around in the mirror at the gym while I sprinted on the treadmill, did up-downs on the step, jumping jacks, trainer-haters, mountain climbers, elliptical machines, more treadmills, jumping jacks, frog jumps, jumped rope, jumping jacks, suicides (which by th way is a really good name for that exercise because after doing 4 sets of those - I wanted to go sit in a garage with the car running and the garage door shut -- but there was no garage to park my car so I just had to go back in do more jumping jacks.) Then there were squats and lunges and more jumping rope and floor exercises - planks, sit-ups -throwing and catching a medicine ball while laying down then sitting up and throwing again, more planks, the roman chair, more sprinting, more ab exercises, donkey kicks, side kicks all for 2.5 hours. Did I mention the jumping jacks? Which, according to my heart rate monitor said I burned just over 1400 calories. I'm tired and I really miss french fries. Really and truly I do. There is no better food on earth. But now, me and my tight tank top are motivated so I can't have french fries - so now I'm tired and ticked. Plus, I have to get right up at 4:45 in the morning to do it all over again just so I can keep fighting the fat. Maybe, one day, sexy might answer - I doubt it but a girl can dream.

New Shirts

Once again, I had my pre-dawn workout and everything went great. But as I was leaving to take my one little hell-yun to school, all-business Brenda calls me. This is how the conversation goes:
Me:Hello
Brenda: Yeah, Kelli, Hi, um, this is Brenda. I need you to go out today and get you some tight fitting tank tops.
Me: Um, what-cho-talkin-bout, Willis?
Brenda: Well, I'm tired of you wearing these big and baggy t-shirts to work out in and I just think it will make you feel more motivated. Plus, you'll be uncomfortable.
Me: Um, ok, are you under the impression that I'm not motivated and that I all of a sudden feel like I'm skinny?
Brenda: Oh, no, I just think this will make you MORE motivated if it's tight -then we will be able to see better results. Then, you're not hiding under all those t-shirts.
Me: Oh, all-right but I just want to make sure you know that I'm not hiding under the t-shirts and I'm well aware of what morbidly obese looks like and I am fully aware that I fit that profile. So, tight shirt or not - I still know I'm fat. But, I will go get some tight tank tops.
Brenda: Ok, then BYE!

I hang up thoroughly confused and now anxious about my workout tomorrow for when I have to wear this tight tank-top and a little concered that I won't be able to breathe with this constricting fabric. Stay tuned for the update.
Just one more way I'm motivated to fight the fat.

Now, that's embarrassing

I keep thinking about yesterday's post. I keep thinking that I should be embarrassed by the fact that everyone now knows I started my menstrual flow and tht I need a tampon the size of a submarine torpedo missile. But really I'm not embarrassed about that. Is it weird that I don't get embarrassed that easily? I mean, I do get embarrassed if I trip when I'm out in public (which happens quite a bit-weird, I know) I could just be walking along somewhere like at the gym and not the gym that all-business Brenda owns (although I have tripped there too) But at the regular gym. The gym that I don't belong to. The gym that I don't pay any monthly dues at. The gym that I sometimes just show up to and say I'm a guest of so and so and they let me right on in to go take a spinning class. Yes, that gym. (Don't judge!) I tripped at that gym the other day as I was leaving and a group of high-school or college kids were walking through the door as I was leaving and I tripped...on NOTHING. That's right, I said I tripped on nothing. It was just that I didn't pick my feet up. I was likely just shuffling along because I was tired from said spinning class and was too lazy and tired to actually pick my feet up. Then I felt like a jack-ass because all the kids were staring at me and I just pretended to look down to try and find out what I tripped on...was it a rug? Nope. was it a rock that somehow got tracked in from someone's shoe? Nope. It was just the rubber sole of my shoe against the slick tile floor. At that moment, all I could think about was that Ellen DeGeneres stand-up routine when she talks about people who trip on nothing and then suddenly start jogging like they meant to start jogging at that exact moment then they get about 5 feet down the sidewalk and stop jogging and say, things like "and I'm jogging and now I'm good." Did you see that stand-up routine? If not, you should. It's really funny. But see, I'm not that quick. I didn't act like I was jogging right out of the gym. Not that I would have been fooling anyone. No, instead I just looked like a jack-ass that just tripped on nothing and there's no way to hide from it or to recover. So, instead I just let these punk-ass kids laugh at me and I laugh too because I'm sure it was really funny. I was also once humped by a dog. (not by choice) but that's another story for another time and that, my friends, was very embarrassing.

This one's a doozy - don't say I didn't warn you!

This is a doozy of a story so I hope you're ready. This may be a little bit too much information but that's just how I roll. I just lay it all out there. I'm an open book, what you see is what you get, keeping it real...you get my drift, right?

So this is how the story goes...I roll in to the gym this morning at o'dark hundred and get started on the treadmill (good God the dreaded treadmill). Well, I get about 1/2 way through the workout and I start feeling like crap, stomach cramps, my legs are like cement blocks trying to sprint but I have to stop every two minutes because I just can't go. Let me back up a sec, I've been feeling a little pms-y for a few days -- just gross and irritated and everyone bugs me. Plus, yesterday, I was so hungry I was ready to eat the ass off of a dead rhinoceros but instead I had 6 cheeto puffs. I haven't had one bad thing to eat since I started this whole biggest loser contest and I can't believe I blew it yesterday. Not once, have I had even a morsel of something I wasn't supposed to have - I mean nada, nothing, zilch. And then yesterday in a frenzy of hunger I see my two little hell-yuns eating some cheeto puffs and I tell you it looked like the best thing I'd ever seen. Now, you're probably thinking - it was only 6 little puffs what's the big deal? The big deal is that for people like me once I slip up -that's it -it feels like I've sabotaged the whole thing and that's the way all-business Brenda made me feel this morning. Like, I was the scum of the earth for eathing those puffs. She gave me the "this is a once in a lifetime opprtunity speech and you're getting $5000 of free training..." All the things I already know and am ready to smack myself across the face...and why you might be thinking why would I tell all-business Brenda about my slip-up because I'm an open book, telling it like it is, keeping it real that's why. I've got to go burn off some cheeto puffs - that's what I need to do - keep on fightin' this fat. Keep reading for the doozy story --it's coming up. Sorry I got off on a little tangent there but it is part of the story.

So as I was saying, I made it through half of the workout when all of a sudden I have got to go to the bathroom. Brenda hates it when I take a bathroom break (which is why she told me to get some adult diapers.) But I never did get those adult diapers -did she really think I was? So, I come out of the bathroom and quietly walk up to Brenda and say, "Um, I just started my period." (Secretly, I was hoping she would say oh, go on home and take care of your business.) But no, instead, she announces to the entire gym (ok, so there were only like 6 other people in the room but still 2 of them were men) "Oh, ok, do you need a tampon?" Me: "yes, Mrs. Brenda, that would be great." Brenda: "Allright, hold on, I got to go out to my car." She comes back in with this tiny, little ob tampon about the size of my pinkie (maybe even my pinkie toe) So, I said, "what the hell kind of tampon is this? This must be what the teenagers are using so they can be discreet when they don't want everyone and their brother to know they've started their period. But, I have a wide-set vagina and the only tampon that can help me is one that is the size of a submarine torpedo missile." She says, it's the high tech-kind -pull out the little thing but don't pull it out too far or you'll ruin the whole thing. You want me to come in there and demonstrate how it's done?" "Um, no thanks - I think I can handle it. But I don't think this is going to do one thing for me and my wide-set vagina." She says, "well then just line your panties with some paper towels and let's get movin." Meanwhile, the other 6 people in the gym are laughing hysterically at the two of us. After, I finish the rest of my workout and was getting ready to leave, I apologized to everyone for having to know ALL my business. These are just a few of the things I have to deal with while fighting the fat. See, I told you it was a doozy.

Chafing

I've noticed lately that my sports bra has started to feel a bit looser but I'm so cheap I really don't want to go out and buy anything until I'm done with this competition or I reach my goal. (Hey, I've lived with Patterstein for 13yrs - he's rubbed off -what can I say?) SO, last night after my grueling 2 hour workout, I noticed I was chafing under by bra line around my chest. I put a little neosporin on it and went to bed - no big deal. Well, this morning during the grueling workout the chafing go so bad that I now have open wounds right under my boobs - it hurts - BAD. So, I gave up and did the last hour of my workout with no bra on at all. Can I just say there is a reason we should wear bras during our workouts. I had to cup my big ol bosoms in my hands while running on the treadmill. Sprinting actually. You need your arms to help you while you are running. My ta-ta's were flopping all over the place and it was cold in the gym so now I have nipple burn to go along with my chafing. These are just a few of the things I have to go through to fight the fat. Moral of the story: Don't get fat and buy a sports bra that fits.

GNC and protein

After my workout yesterday, Miss Brenda told me that she was going to change up my diet a bit and wanted me to start drinking a protein shake in the afternoon. She told me to go to GNC and get this one particular brand that she recommended since as she put it "my muscles are soft." (No, shit sherlock - I'm two ton Tilly - why do you think I'm here?) But, I just say, "yes ma'am - they are and I would drink blended up cockroaches if it's going to help make my muscles hard."
So off to the GNC store I go. I walk in and the dip-wad behind the counter asks if he can help me and I tell him what I'm looking for. Do you know what his response was? Let me tell you. He said, "oh, ok, are you buying this for someone else?" I replied, slightly stunned, "Um, well, I know what I look like and I know it doesn't look like I exercise but yes, it is for me - believe it or not." What? Did he think I was a personal shopper for someone just be-bopping in to buy my boss some protein? Then, he says, "well, what are your goals?" Um, what do you mean what are my goals? So, I say, "oh, Im really looking to bulk up - I just don't think I'm big enough, ya know?" (Dipshit) My goal is to lose 1000 lbs in 3 months - got any magic potion in here that can do that? Now, give me my damn protein and let me get gone. I've got some fat to fight.

Biggest Loser Weigh-in

We (me and Rosemarie the other biggest loser competitor) completed our 1st 4 weeks of training. It was so hard but I must admit I have enjoyed it. It's funny, the cycle I get in because as most of you know, I'm either an all or nothing person. When you know you're making smart decisions about eating and in an exercise routine then you feel better about yourself and life in general. But when I'm on the other end of the spectrum, like a pig at a troth, then I feel generally crappy about myself and my world. So, I like this cycle that I'm on and hopefully, won't go back to the dark side.

On Saturday, August 28th we had our 1st weigh-in. I lost 20 lbs and 24 inches. Ok, so the paper says I lost 19 lbs but that's only because she made me weigh with my shoes on. But I did do an unofficial weigh-in with my shoes off and it was 20lbs. Plus, I like that number better anyway. Then, we had to take those God-awful pictures again and she posted them on her website. We were looking at the before and after pictures side by side and all-business Brenda and Rosemarie were oohing and aahing over the difference. But all I could think about was that Friends episode when Rachel and Ross were at the doctor's office for her 1st ultrasound of the baby and the doctor kept pointing out the different parts of the baby and Rachel acted like she could see the baby but once the doctor left she admitted to Ross that she couldn't see it. Did you see that episode? Well, that was me looking at the photos. I couldn't see any changes. Now, I know I am my own worst critic but seriously, can't see the changes. I can feel the changes but I don't see it. So, since I still have so far to go I'm going to keep fighting the fat.