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.

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...

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

Sugar

I'm sorry it's been a few days but I've been so busy.  We have friends in town visiting and I've been playing hostess and spending the last two days outside at a soccer tournament.   I have heat exhaustion.  I think it is a hundred and forty degrees outside.  Will it ever get cool here? 

Back to the story I promised.  I have to first apologize to my four faithful readers who most likely already know this story but I think it is too funny not to share.  This happened about ten years ago.  It was during a time when clothes were all decked out with rhinestones and sequins.  Back during a time when little skinny thangs were sporting around t-shirts that said things like, "angel" or "hottie"  or "cutie"  or "little devil."  Do you remember this time? 

I think it might be making a comeback.  I have been seeing some skinny thangs around here with all kinds of bedazzled clothing.  Bedazzled hats, belts, t-shirts and even jeans --some of these clothes have more bling than P-Diddy.   

Well, one day I was at the mall and wandered into the tent and awning factory to find some clothes.  Actually, it was just a plus-sized women's clothing store (you know the one).  The womens' version of a big and tall except the only requirement is to be big not tall.  Let me also point out a very big pet peeve of mine.  I do not understand why these plus-size stores feel the need to try to copy the same designs as the skinny folk wear.  Fatties around the world usually want to hide their fat rolls under a simple cardigan set.  We don't want to walk around looking like Skinny Skeeter trying to pull off a pair of daisy dukes.  Seriously, we can't do it.  We won't do it.  I'm sorry, sometimes I need to vent.  Now, back to the story...

As I'm scanning the rack, I find a white, soft, cotton, t-shirt that says,
S U G A R written across the chest in glittery, shimmery rhinestones.  I held up the shirt to the sales clerk and said, "Please tell me y'all are not selling a lot of these shirts."  She said slightly shocked, "Why? Don't you think they are so cute?" 

I replied, "Um, no this is NOT cute and could you please tell me why in the HELL would you put a FOOD PRODUCT on a fat woman's t-shirt? Especially a food product outlined in glittery, shimmery rhinestones?  Sugar, please!  Why not just bedazzle on there...I HEART TWINKIES?"   
The sales clerk was a little tiffed and offended and needless to say, I left there without a stitch of clothing. 

I also find it funny how department stores name the sections of the women's clothing.  For example, one day I was in a big-time, foo-foo, upscale department store...Just a hint...it starts with a N and ends in a M. 

My friend, April, was visiting (who by the way, is not a fatty and is very beautiful...inside and out) and I humored her by going in to this store because I now live in the big city and there is no N_ _ _ _ _ _ _ M where she lives.  This is not my kind of scene.  I'm way too cheap.  I'm way more comfortable buying my clothes from the Wal-mart or if I feel like really loosening up the purse strings, I may splurge and go to Target. 

We were browsing around at all the over-priced clothing and I said, "oh, I would like to go over to their plus-size section and see if I can find some shorts."  I look up and scan the different sections.  I see Petite and Juniors and a section for the Working Woman and then low and behold...ENCORE.  I told April, "I'll bet you anything that ENCORE section over there is for the fatties.  I bet they call it the ENCORE section because that's a nice way of saying,"we know you fat chicks come back for 2nd's." 

We snorted and laughed so hard I think we wet ourselves.   Then, we got kicked out of N_ _ _ _ _ _ _ M's because they realized we soiled their marble floor.  Just kidding...that last part is not true.  We did not soil the marble floors at N_ _ _ _ _ _ _M.  But we did snort and laugh. 

Now, I have to go get on the treadmill and keep fighting the fat because I never want to shop in the ENCORE section again.

It's Complicated

The body is a complicated thing.  My body is especially complicated.  I don't like complicated.  I'm from Mississippi and I'm not even sure if my family tree forks.   That is why I appreciate simple things. 

There are so many things to learn while trying to fight the fat.  For example: I was running (said like Forrest Gump)  tonight at the gym.  It was an all cardio night.  Which means I hop on the treadmill and don't get off for at least an hour and a half.  (All-business Brenda said I could stop running after an hour and a half.)  I do run at different speeds and, therefore different intensities and I do take a twenty second break every few minutes.  But only twenty seconds.  That's it.  Let me just tell you...it's hard to catch your breath in twenty seconds or at least it is for this fatty.  But anyway, I checked my heart rate and was above the max level for my age.  So, I asked all-business Brenda, "what happens when my heart rate is above the max level?"  She said, "your body goes into anaerobic and you're not burning fat."  I think that's what she said.  It was something like that.  I was running my tookus off on the treadmill - I can't pay attention to everything.  But this is what I mean by bodies are complicated.  I'm running hard and fast and then find out that I wasn't even burning fat.  I had to slow down to bring my heart rate back down into the FAT BURNING ZONE.  See, complicated. 

Then, you have to eat some carbs because carbs give you energy but you can't have too many or the wrong kinds of carbs because they turn into sugar and sugar equals fat.  Oh, and if you don't eat, you're body thinks your going into starvation and hangs on to the fat for dear life.  Why can't my body just know that if I don't eat it's because I'm trying to lose weight and be anorexic?  Just kidding.  I don't really want to be anorexic.  I think.  So, what I'm wondering is...all that calories in versus calories out just a bunch of malarkey?  Why can't it just be simple?  I like simple.  Most of the time, I think I'm a pretty smart gal.  But when it comes to learning about all the intricacies of my body; I'm about as smart as a box of hair.

But for some exciting news...I was down a few more L-B's tonight so now I'm as giddy as a school girl on prom night. I'm going to bed now.  I'm delirious.  Plus, I have to be up at o'dark hundred for another beatin'.  Stay tuned...tomorrow I'm going to tell you a funny fatty story that happened to me a few years ago.

Still fightin' the fat... 

Oatmeal A-la-froo-froo

Last night I went to a spin class at the gym.  Not all-business Brenda'a gym but you know, the gym where I am not a member.  The gym where I don't pay monthly dues.  You know, the one where they just let me in all willy-nilly and don't ask questions.  I'm loving this gym more and more.  Anyway, I met Rosemarie there for this spin class.  It was the most fun!  (Name that movie...April?)  Not!  This morning, the insides of my ass cheeks are quite sore.  It's because they make spin bike seats so small.  They make them for people with little-bitty, teeny-weeny arses.  My arse is not so little-bitty or teeny-weeny.  My arse hangs over the side of the seat and is no where to be found.  That seat is all up in my biz-ness.  If you know what I mean.  It's a problem but I don't care because I get to go take this spin class for free. So, I deal and suffer the next day.

After the spin class, I was explaining to Rosemarie (Hi Rosemarie!)  She started reading this little blog too!  I was explaining that Mrs. Brenda changed up my diet plan to include oatmeal and egg whites in the morning for breakfast instead of my usual quick and easy ultimate meal shake.  I was telling her that I added a few raspberries, a packet of splenda and a dash of cinnamon to my oatmeal.  She asked me if I had asked all-business Brenda about adding cinnamon to my oatmeal and wasn't sure if I could have cinnamon.  "Of course, what could be wrong with a little dash of cinnamon?I'm sure I asked.  I think I asked.  I believe she said it was ok."  But then I started to panic.  I couldn't remember if I had actually asked all-business Brenda about adding my favorite spice to my oatmeal.  Did I? Didn't I?  I couldn't remember and I was afraid of another verbal lashing.  I hate those verbal lashings.  So, I hopped right in my car and called all-business Brenda.  But she didn't answer.  I called her four hundred and thirty seven more times until she answered.  Turns out, she was at her bible study.  Oops, sorry!  But I couldn't go all night without knowing the answer to my cinnamon dilemma.  I love cinnamon.  I heart cinnamon.  Kelli + cinnamon = bliss.  If loving cinnamon is wrong - I don't want to be right.  I don't think I can live in a world without cinnamon.  In case you were wondering she said cinnamon was fine to add to my oatmeal.  Oh, thank goodness.  I was so worried.  Well, this morning she told me she had been thinking about my cinnamon question and that she doesn't think I should add cinnamon to my oatmeal.  Huh?  Say what?  Come again?    She said that I need to stop trying to make my food taste good and just think of it as fuel for my body.  "It's just like gasoline for your car."  She said.  "You are so worried about making your food taste good.  You need to just eat your oatmeal and quit trying to make it Oatmeal-a-la-froo-froo."  I didn't realize adding a sprinkle of cinnamon turned it into oatmeal-a-la-froo-froo.  Who knew?  Why can't the fuel I put in my body be good tasting gasoline?  I want super-premium unleaded fuel not just plain 'ol unleaded.  But I can't figure her out.  I can't explain her logic.  I don't even pretend to understand.  I just say, "Yes, ma'am.  All-righty then.  I won't make oatmeal a-la-froo-froo anymore.  Oatmeal a-la-froo-froo is now forever banned from my recipe repertoire." 

I think I will go daydream about cinnamon and fightin' my fat.

Peanut Butter and Dairy Queen

It was a rough morning for me at the gym today. It started with a verbal beating from all-business Brenda. I turned in my daily food journal. (It's the journal where I write down every single morsel of food that enters my mouth then I turn it in before every workout for all-business Brenda to analyze.) Yesterday, I had an ultimate meal shake for breakfast, an apple with 2 Tbsp of fresh ground peanut butter, tuna with 3 crackers, a few celery sticks with some peanut butter for my afternoon snack and another ultimate meal shake for dinner.
Just so you know, the ultimate meal is a meal replacement shake -- not a juicy, melt in your mouth cheeseburger with french fries on the side. Oh, how I love french fries. I love me some french fries. French fries are my friend. French fries make my world a better place. But I had to break up with my friend about 9 weeks ago. I'm hoping one day we will get to be friends again. But I can't think about that now.

Back to my point...so for the day I was around 1050 calories. Even with my 4 Tbsp of all natural peanut butter. So, I didn't think I was doing too bad. Ehhhn. Wrong. Think again. When all-business Brenda read that in my journal, I thought her head was going to spin off. She was ticked. Irate. A verbal lashing ensued. "You're not following my program. You just consumed 400 calories and 28 grams of fat with that peanut butter. I've told you - you can't duplicate your morning snack and your afternoon snack. Do me a favor and don't ever eat peanut butter again. You are a complete moron. You are the scum of the earth." Ok. Just kidding - she didn't say I was a complete moron or the scum of the earth but I bet she was thinking it. If looks could kill, I wouldn't be writing this blog from my cushy chair in my home office, I would be sprawled out, face down on the treadmill.

I tried to defend myself with my rationalization that even with the peanut butter calories, I still didn't consume my allotted calories for the day. She didn't want to hear it. Honestly, I shouldn't even try to explain myself. I should have just said, "Yes, ma'am - may I have another beating, please." From now on, that is exactly what I will say -- "yes, ma'am. Um, yes, ma'am. Whatever you say, ma'am."

Then, later on in my workout she told me she was glad that I was wearing my tight t-shirt because she could see now that...(are you ready for this zinger?) Get this...
I look like a Dairy Queen ice cream cone. She said, "you used to just be one big round ball of fat in the front but now it's starting to come off and now you have just a couple of humps of fat, you know, like a dairy queen ice cream cone. What? That's a compliment." She said.

Really? That is a compliment? Now, I know I said that I like it when all-business Brenda throws me a bone.  Compliments keep me motivated. But this kind of compliment makes me want to go curl up in the corner in the fetal position and suck my thumb.  So, apparently, this is what I look like - in case any of you were curious. 

I have to go do 4000 crunches now so I can maybe, lose another hump in my mid-section.  I'm going to sing the Black Eyed Peas, "My Humps" while I do these crunches...  What'cha gonna do with all that junk - all that junk inside that trunk --- My humps, my lovely lady lumps...check 'em out."  

The moral of this story...Don't get fat.  Fighting the fat - sucks.

Say what?

Hold up...Wait! You will not believe what happened today during my beating with all-business Brenda. First, I ran on the treadmill...my knee hurt. But I kept on going. Then I did 9,247 different exercises. I won't bore you with all of them. But my knee was still hurting but I kept right on truckin'. Then, I had to do these straddle-jump things on a step. I believe she said do six hundred and twenty-five of them or maybe it was just forty. But either way, my knee...was really hurting. (Emphasis on really, really, really) So I started to cry. But just a little. I am not a cryer. Except for when I watch Ol' Yeller or Where the Red Fern Grows or hear a story about a mom who lost her daughter in a skiing accident and donated all her organs and then met the woman who received her daughter's heart, who happened to be a nurse and she let the grieving mother listen to her deceased daughter's heart beat inside her chest with her stethoscope. That's a true story. I heard about it on Good Morning America and the heart recipient lives here in Arizona. Who wouldn't cry at that story? I bet you're all sobbing right now. But anyway, I rarely cry. So, for me to cry during a workout (which has never happened before) you know I was feeling a little pain. But I kept on going because for some reason I have a freakishly weird pain thresh-hold.

That is not the point of this story. Who cares about my knee? The point of the story is this...after I finally finished my grueling workout, I was getting ready to leave and all-business Brenda said, "ok, I will see you in the morning at 8:00 and good workout today." My ears perked up and I thought my head was going to spin around in circles. "Um, what did you just say?" I asked? "I'll see you at 8 in the morning." She replied. "No, no, no, before that." I said. "I said, good workout today." She said.

I could not believe my ears. It's like the heavens parted and I heard angels singing. What was this I was hearing? Could it be? Surely, it was not. But, I think it was. I could not believe I actually received a compliment from all-business Brenda. I told you that's not her style. Compliments are few and far between with her. Now, I'm not one who needs to be coddled. I don't need to have my ego stroked all the time. I'm a big girl. (Literally and figuratively speaking) I can handle the truth. But it is nice for all-business Brenda to throw me a bone every now and then. Even if it was because she saw me crying and perhaps felt bad for me and my knee. So, today, I'm going to soak up my compliment. I'm going to take it all in and waller around in it. (Is it wallow or waller?) I'm going to say waller - because I'm from Mississippi and I can. I'm going to do all that while I ice my knee and think about how to keep fighting this fat.