This ain't no Billy Blanks Kickboxing

Five minutes of jumping rope.

100 push-ups.

150 squats.

200 sit-ups.

That's how kick-boxing class started.  That was just the warm up.  After that?

There was still another forty minutes left of class.  Oh, and an ab routine.  Did I mention the murder on my post-two-baby abs?  I felt like such a wussy weakling. 

My tailbone is so sore today.  It hasn't been this sore since I fell on the ice at age eight and chipped it.  Oddly enough, that is where I am sore the most.  I feel like I need a little pad attached to my butt or one of those inflatable donuts to sit on. 

Before the class I felt like a scared little bunny.  After the class I felt taller and like I could really kick some box!  Like a cardboard box post-Christmas that's been sitting on the curb waiting for the trashman.  Yup, I would really tear that cardboard box a new one.

I Have Issues

Clearly, I have issues.  I realized this at two different times today.  First, I yelled at the gym television that was playing Fox "news".  I yelled, "Shut the F*ck up!  You are so IGNORANT!"  I mumbled something about "fallacies, bad research and fair and balanced my ass" when I realized that my right hand was extending and giving Fox the bird. 

It seems I have some built up testosterone in my system this week.  The cold that has be flagging has also taken me away from any gym time.  I didn't make it to kickboxing. I haven't gone on any runs either.  The idea of Body Pump or Boxing is just laughable.  I kept thinking if I just took it easy, as much as you can with two small kids, I would feel better.  The. Cold. Is. Still. Here. 

I'm going to have to move my treadmill.  Clearly, this is the problem. It's not that Fox is craptastic network full of lies or anything. I'm blaming this all on my "lucky" treadmill at the gym.  If I get kicked out of my gym for bad conduct it is this treadmill's fault.  It's right square in front of the television that plays Fox News.  Since it was the first and now only treadmill I have ever run on I am a bit scared to move to a different one. One that would be out of my comfort zone and possibly place me in front of the less inflammatory television that plays 24 hours of ESPN.  Except, stupid ESPN keeps playing these schmaltzy, 'arrow to the heart' feel good stories about athletes helping sick kids realize their dreams and I end up sobbing.  I feel the need to yell, "it's sweat, not tears!" while I run. 

Kick Some Box

Despite the fact that I'm under the weather (sigh, again.) I'm going to try kick boxing tonight. 

My attempt at boxing last week was sweat-inducing, red-faced fun, boredom and exhileration all roled into one hour.  While it is definitely an incredible workout I really was loathe to having a basketball being bounced off my stomach.  Yes, you heard me.  It came out of nowhere and immediately pissed me off.  If the instructor wanted to get more fire out of me he got a big ol' FAIL.  I don't play that way.  I felt all at once invaded and angry.  I didn't want to try harder I simply wanted to yell at him, "WTF! WTF is WRONG with you?! Are you MAD?!  I had a baby just a few... oh, wait, it was a year ago...STILL.  You don't just bounce balls off someone!!"  Get your mind out of the gutter.  You just don't do that.  When he came around again I played dead.  Back to kickboxing.

When I was fifteen, I saw an article in my local paper ran a story about teenage girls and kickboxing.  My tiny, 90-odd pound self cut the article out and savored it.  I wanted to do this in the worst way, but there was no local place to be found in the tiniest state in the country (No, I do not know what it is like to live on an island.) I felt boxed in and wanted out of my little world.  I had more aggression than was probably normal and I wanted and needed an outlet.  Kickboxing seemed perfect.  Instead, I took hangers and beat my bed working myself into a Ms. Piggy style frenzy complete with heaving breaths and wild hair. I broke glass and generally beat the crap out of inanimate objects for a few years as well.    Smoking helped too. Heh. 

I don't have so much of that agression or violent tendencies anymore.  OK, maybe just a little.  I still like to beat the crap out of stuff and bite things.  That's just my nature, I suppose.  It's one of the reasons why I like to run.  I think kickboxing will be a good thing.  I just hope I don't snot all over my gloves tonight. 



Check out my post, Ms. Anti-Princess Does Disney, over at DC Metro Moms.

Paging Billy Blanks

Remember Tae-Bo? Billy Blanks sweaty, bald head bobbing and weaving as he "punched it out" via my VCR. Oh! Remember VCR's?


I digress.

I faithfully did Tae-Bo back when I was in college in hopes that I would build up some arm muscles. I no longer remember if I obtained those results. I think I only achieved those through Power Yoga a few years later.

I should probably break out those old tapes and find myself a VCR so I can try to brush up on "my moves" because today I will be taking my first boxing class. I recently won a free month at my local boxing gym and while I am a bit scared, it might be good for me. I can get out some of that holiday stress, work off that giant candy bar I ate yesterday and pretend that the punching bag is H's "holiday beard". Grrr... I hate that thing. It is as if we have added a fifth member of the family. I swear it is going to start talking one of these days. Every time it scratches me, I want to sedate H and shave it off. Preferably in a goofy pattern so that he will never grow it again.

I'm at Your Service. If You Want.

Last week I cried 'do over!' and I kept my promise. I met my goal. I worked out five times last week. It is the same bat time, same bat channel again this week. Five times. Yes, my knees are popping more than a box of cereal and I a bit more exhausted than I normally would be, but I'm not bloated anymore either. I've de-puffed myself and already my arms are looking a bit more toned. It's not going to be an over night transformation. Ah, to be 17 again... It's going to be a tad more of a long haul getting myself back to where I want to be, but I'm willing to do the work.

Are you?

Here's the thing. Since I began Shredding and hitting the gym again, a few months ago, I have had quite a few friends ask me all about this power-packed DVD. They have heard me talk about how great it is, how hard it is and how much I love it. And hate it.

Then they buy it. You know what happens next? Fear. Fear wells up inside them and demotivates their asses so damn fast it is like they have cement in their gym shorts. They make up one excuse after another on why they haven't even ripped the security stickers off of Jillian yet. It boils down to a lot of waiting. Waiting for someone else to do it with them, waiting for... well, quite frankly I have no idea what. Waiting for the DVD to help them lose weight and burn fat through osmosis? I'm not entirely sure.

Because they are my friends and I'm complicated, I get irritated. I want the best for them and when I see the lack of motivation it sets me into Drill Sargent mode (or Jillian mode, take your pick.) and I want to make them Shred. It is only because I want them to be their best. I want them to feel as good as I feel. I am the first person to admit how hard it is to commit to a workout plan and follow it. I've been procrastinating with the best of them for years. I am also the first to admit how fun it can be. How I love the feel of my own sweat and seeing my body change. It "doesn't come for free" though. If you want results you have to work for them. Hard. However, hard work can be fun.

All I can say is that achieving a goal takes perseverance and a lot of hard work. When you know someone has your back and can commiserate with you it is that much easier to achieve it. It's one of the many reasons I love H so much. When you have me as your friend you know I'm going to expect a lot from you but I'm also going to be loyal and help you out in any way I can.

You only have one life. There are no "real" do overs. If you want me as your own version of Jillian Michaels, then so be it. I am at your service. All you have to do it ask. I'll help you reach that goal in whatever way I can. I promise.

That applies to all my Internet friends as well.

Want more motivation?! Want to win some cash for all that hard work? Visit Loser Moms and see their weight loss contest. Motivation: It's only a click away!

Flying Deodorant Will Not Break Me

The morning started off well enough. I got TD off to Bubble Camp (best idea ever!) and took myself and The Comedian to the gym. I got in a nice run and worked up quite a sweat and was sufficiently pleased with myself. I walked into that bizarre TV/ironing room in the women's locker room and things went down hill from there.

-As I went into Warrior pose I somehow lost my balance and fell over face first. I iz wicked graceful. My face? It hit the arm rest on a chair placed in that room for optimal TV viewing.

-Next, I opened my gym bag to hit the shower and realized that I forgot my shower shoes. My feet itch just thinking about it. The entire time I was standing in the shower I could think of only two things. One, Madonna telling Letterman that she pees in the shower to kill Athletes foot. And two, scores of tiny bacteria eating away the flesh on the soles of my feet. Blech.

-Then I dried off and put on my bra only to have the strap break. Sigh. I tucked the other strap in and went into "strapless" bra mode. Since that isn't the way it's supposed to be worn the bra was bulging oddly out from my t-shirt. I pulled on my shorts and noticed that H hadn't treated the stain on them. Now clean and dried my one pair of khaki shorts is ruined. If I was TD I would have had a meltdown right then and there.

-Trying to be undaunted I went to dry my hair and finish getting ready. I realized I forgot to apply my deodorant so I pulled it out and uncapped it. The stick went flying through the air. Well, just the deodorizing part. When I picked it up to place it back inside its tube my fingers got stuck in it and I had large chunks of antiperspirant on my hands. Which then just smeared everywhere.

I really just wanted to pack it all in at this point and head for cover. Like under my covers with my 'bink', my old tattered blue blanket from when I was a kid. The one I still take out when I'm sick. Except, I'm 33 years old and things can't always go my way.

Enough goes right in my world that flying deodorant and not wearing shower shoes should not get me down. After all, there is cheese in my fridge and 'True Blood' on my DVR. That alone can make my day.

Just Pump It

Today felt as if it was the first day I went back to the gym post The Comedian. I joined the gym back in January and went regularly until I decided to become a Shredhead and train for a 5k. I ignored the class schedule taped up on the fridge and never gave it a second thought. After the 5k however, I felt I needed more. Since The Comedian has officially weaned herself with a snub nose and stiff arm to my chest I figured now was the best time. I can lose my weight and get toned up again. Simple.

Heh.

Before The Comedian I took a class that was all weights for an hour and a half a few times a week and I loved it. It challenged me and totally re-shaped my form. I felt fantastic and that I looked better than before I had TD. This new gym has Body Pump. Sounds fun, huh? Each time I think of it I think, " Just pump it. Pump it up." I took a peek at it last week and wanted to hide in a corner. They weren't using free weights. They were dead lifting with bars and discs! Oh my. Unlike my former gym there were men in there too. It was positively intimidating. Throw in the fact that by the time I'm done with the class and have driven home it's lunch time and I still haven't showered. I felt totally unmotivated. The idea of using the locker room kind of throws me. I just don't dig seeing so many naked butts and sweaty tatas. And I grew up in a naked house. Everyone always seems tanner than me and I can't understand it. I'm the whitest white girl, I swear.

It took me two hours to get our gear together and get out to the door with both girls. Everyone was ready and we headed off to the gym. After depositing the girls in the Kidz Zone (why do they misspell kids stuff?!) I walked to my class. I settled in with all my discs, bar, bench and mat. The instructor picked me out in a nanosecond and forced me up front despite my, "Seriously? Why the hell?! Grr...." comment. I loathe the front. Especially when I'm such a light weight user.

Fifteen minutes in I was feeling the burn. My quads were screaming and only the thought of it increasing my running speed spurned me on. After about three minutes of triceps I noticed the front of my shirt was drenched. My hair was wet and my arms were shaking. I feared decapitation by the bar. An hour later I felt light, exhilarated and like I was going to fall down the flight of stairs to the locker room because my legs were trembling so much. My sports bra was soaked and I just wanted a shower. Old lady junk in my face be damned!

Twenty-five minutes later we were in the car and I felt complete. The stress in my shoulders that I've been harboring was gone. I'm ready to go again. I'm ready to transform myself from post-pregnant Mom body to who I used to be. It feels terrific.

Oh, and does anyone else dry their hair while completely naked? Yeah, me neither.

Oh My Rubbing Thighs!

Since we got back from our jaunt down by the river for Thanksgiving my once taut, now jiggly little body has been aching to go back to the gym. Great! Except Sunday I began to get sick. This cold is the slowest thing ever! Days go by with no change except that I wake up worse each day. Every morning I rise with the thought, "What fresh hell is this?" as blow my nose and blood spurts out. I'm sorry if you just puked up your toast. It's true. I'm tired and stuffy and full of snot. I want to work out but don't have the motivation or the energy.

So I'm comprising a list of food I ate over the holiday in hopes that the length of it will be motivation enough.

Rolls, rolls, everywhere and I ate them!

Three helpings of cornbread dressing- none of them small

Three helpings of cranberry goo

Four helpings of turkey with tons of gravy

Mashed potatoes made with cream and butter

An entire turkey roasting pan of Huff n Puff (It's sort of like chex mix folks) and it's made with butter and all sorts of good stuff. About four sticks of butter!

Beer

Wine

Gin (which my mother tsked tsked as it would only add to my fat consumption and all "my hard work" would be for naught. There's a woman in CT screaming "I told you so" at her computer right now. If you listen real close you can hear her.)

Stuffed celery -half a stalks worth (also known as a little piece of heaven- celery stuffed with cream cheese and olives)

Pecan Pie

Pumpkin Pie with whipped cream

Apple Pie

Three brownies

Uncountable pieces of chocolate fudge

Apple Pie ice cream (I know. I had no idea there was such a thing either) with caramel sauce and sugar cookies.

Do you feel like purging yet, because I do.

Ham at least two servings

Ginger-ale to soothe my stomach. Gee! I wonder why!

There were some greens in there in the form of salads and broccoli I'm sure but I guess they don't really count.

And One hotel bagel with cream cheese that immediately made a home on my ass.

Yup. It worked. I think I'm going to be heading to the gym just as soon as the daycare portion opens up.

It's true all the work I did (5 days a week for 5 weeks) just got erased and now I'm pissed. It's back to the treadmill for me before I start suffering from Dunlap's disease.

You know what else? Damn we are a lucky bunch of SOB's being able to eat all this food.

Workin' It

Always a small girl I never had an issue with weight or wearing different size clothes. That all changed however when I got myself knocked up and gained 40 lbs. I swore even that would never happen. I would be that cute "I will gain 25 lbs ONLY" pregnant woman. Heh. Except I craved pork. I ate my way through my pregnancy while sitting behind a desk consuming all manner of bad office food in a way I had never done before. Fries with that?! Yes please! Two slices of cake? Why thank you!

I lost 20 lbs the first week. Easy peasy I thought. My main goal was to not be wearing maternity pants when I got back to work. Been there, done that! Ok, so they were a size up from my old pre-baby size but they weren't maternity pants! I was depressed about this and my new poundage. I joined Weight Watchers. I hit the gym in my office and at home and we booked a trip to Jamaica forever sealing the deal with myself to lose those last 10 lbs that I could not shake. Through doing things like the Perfect Run, hitting the gym (LOTS of cardio), and watching what I ate I did it! I was so proud! I can see my abs in our beach shots of that trip! I still find this fact amazing. So while I looked good I still could not come to terms with how my body still didn't look the same pre-baby. Damn hips! I'm an hourglass girl now and growing up I just wasn't. It's been a hard thing to acclimate to. Styles I wore before are now ill-fitting and I lost that sense of body confidence I once had. What else is new right?

My daughter is now 18 months. Through a few revelations and less scrutiny I've found that the only way I'm happy is if I've had enough exercise. Enough exercise to blow off steam and have a good sweat. It keeps me feeling good which in turn makes me see myself in a better light. I also try to eliminate the crap in my diet. When I eat A LOT of junk food I feel slow. It's not easy to chase a toddler when you feel slow. I challenge myself with The Nine, I work out regularly with a great gym that is supportive and has a good, FREE daycare. Really I'm Workin' It to feel good about me and to set a good example for my daughter. When my daughter rubs some cellulite on my thighs I want to cringe and yell NO! But I check myself and move on. It's not easy but workin' it never is. Run, walk, jog, Pilate's, yoga, Zumba and some strip aerobics. I've done it all and in the process figured out that I must be happy with what I have. If not, how can my daughter ever be?


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The Nine- An Update

Augh. So I was feeling pretty good. I had lost 4.5 lbs in just two weeks. I was working out and eating healthy. Lots o grilled veggies and Spirutein shakes. Then I had Girls Night and had too much wine.

Wine with brownies. And Cheese Nips. Which I NEVER eat. Oh and some M&M's. Light and dark chocolate. Right, then there was that sugar cookie thrown in too. Next day hung over slightly with my knees bothering me again I skipped the gym. Did my weigh in this morning and somehow between yesterday and today I gained three pounds.

To say I'm angry would be a mild way of putting it. Angry. Annoyed. Frustrated and discouraged. I was feeling so good. I don't like to be myself up about that after all I do have one free day. ONE. That is what happens? Yeesh.

So it's back to all veggies all the time. Water galore. Spirutein is my new best friend. Somehow in between being concious and with my family and cleaning up a rehab I have to make it to the gym.

This sort of sucks. The Nine my a**

Here's the Thing

It was a not so hot morning here in our household. Day two of 'the Nine' challenge is going fine. Swimmingly well. Easy peasey I thought as I went to the gym. I did my time on the elliptical and did some lower body toning and was ready to hit the door when I realized, "oh yeah... I need to pick up the business mail."

I pull the P.O. box key out of my purse as I collected T.D. from the daycare. I set the key down on a kiddie table to pick her up and we leave. I trot on over to the mailbox place next door only to find I'm sans key. Yup. I left it in the daycare at the gym. I collect my mail anyway and head back over. Maybe a three minute interlude. I trudge back to the playroom, T.D. in arms. I tell the caretakers about the key. I look at the little table now populated with tiny tots coloring. No key. I search the bathroom. No key. I quickly scan the room's floor. Nada. I explain the situation for the third time to the nice playroom ladies. They look through toys. No freakin' key!

It's at this point that I begin suspiciously eyeing the tiny tots. I ask the ones coloring first, "Have you seen a little key? Just one key? It was on this table." The abnormally quiet little sages effectively tell me "No. No key here." There's a pack of four to five year old's across the room. Surely one of them has my key! I want to yell out, "Ok kids! Listen up! There's a key missing and I want all of you to empty your pockets. I'm going to frisk you now." There's a baby in a carrier. Maybe he has swiped the key? I leave the playroom telling them I'm going to the front desk to let them know.

I lug T.D. to the desk and leave my name and number as I pilfer through the key basket. Maybe I dropped it in there? I search outside the gym. Zip. No key. As I approach my car I realize that I'm no longer just parked next to the curb but also wedged into my spot by some sedan. A sedan, with the bumper sticker- "I like to spoon and fork", is so inexplicably close to me I couldn't get into my door even if I was Nicole Ritchie thin. Exasperated I wrench open the other side door and shove T.D. into her strap-laden car seat. I'm sweating only a tad bit less than I was on the elliptical machine. I climb over the passenger seat and into the driver's side managing to stab myself in the left buttock with my water bottle sitting in a cup holder. That'll leave a mark. Rubbing my tush I sigh... a lost key that I'll have to pay to replace because the spare was lost months ago.

I dump the contents of my purse on the seat next to me. I search through diapers, wipes, lip glosses to numerous to name, tiny kid barrettes, tissues- floral at least and unused thank God, gum, pens, writing notebook, and curse the suddenly huge bag. No key though. I want to scream. Ok so I do scream, but only for a minute.

Pre-T.D. this type of stuff just didn't happen to me. I was so together. Now I'm always sweating and grunting, feeling like I'm running a marathon that has no clear route. Sitting on my ass in an office was nothing but banal and annoying compared to life today where I could recreate a box of cheerios just with the contents of my car. At least my nails are always done.

Challenge!

Some people do thirty day challenges (what crap!), others don't even bother. Not being a competitive person myself (unless it involves something like a reading contest) I'm reluctant to even consider doing any sort of "challenge", but when H brought up the easy peasy '5 Day Workout' challenge (say it like the french!) I said yes.

Rules: Individual must workout (break a sweat) for at least 30 minutes each day for five days (M-F). Loser does whatever the winner has chosen as a prize.

Prizes: If I win, H has to paint my bathroom. The tile is in. It's oh so pretty, but it needs a new coat of paint which is languishing in my bathroom being used as a toilet paper roll holder. All hardware will go up then too. THEN I won't have to use the paint can to place my toilet paper on. What luxury.

If H wins, I have to perform certain services a certain number of times a week. Men. They are all the same. Each time we hold a competition? The prize is the same.

Day 1- Monday. Hit the gym running. Literally. I do 45 minutes of cardio and all the weight machines. Whoo hoo! Feel the burn baby! H also makes it to the gym.

Day 2- Tuesday. Gym again! Tried to persuade my neighbor to walk with me but she was having nothing to do with it. More weights, stretching and 35 minutes of cardio.

Day 3- Wednesday/4th of July-Holiday. Gym is closed. Booo! Take the dog for a run while H uses new jogging stroller to take T.D. out on his run. See each other mid-run and wave amicably. Each of us thinking, "I'm so gonna whoop your ass!"
Discuss challenge with girlfriends over 4th of July bash. Hoots of laughter make the men question our sanity. When I describe H's prize they all agree they will get me out the door each day no matter what. They all agree. Men. They are all the same.

Day 4- Thursday. Bit of a snafu. Powerwasher guys coming at 9. Gym only open with daycare at 8:30. Will never make it. Wake T.D. up early, shovel breakfast in her piehole and strap her into stroller. I trudge along the neighborhood streets without caffeine, sweating and silent. It's too early for even me. I did it though. Take that conference calling husband already at work, not the gym!

Tomorrow is the final day. I'm so gonna win! I'm actually quite enjoying this Challenge! (say it like the french!) and would even like to extend it another week. Who knows what I could get done then. Perhaps request my prize to be a pedicure and eyebrow waxing? Lord knows I need it!

A Little Bit of Green

Green with Envy.

I like to say that I work "really hard" on how I look. Except I don't. Oh, I may put in more than some people- I until recently kept my hair and highlights in check. I put on make up daily. Moisturize. I work out too. Except I work out sometimes sporadically or don't push myself hard enough and as I said before it's my own fault if I don't look the way I REALLY want to. I like to eat too much and I like to eat some pretty "bad for you" foods on a too frequent basis. I berate my thighs daily but so far that hasn't galvanized them to depuff and shed some poundage.

Then today I found out that the oh so cute girl at my gym who I always see in practically every class has two kids. Yup. Two. She's a stick and oh by the way, she gained 60 lbs with each one. That last kiddie is all of six months old if that. Sigh... Now she's teaching a class.

I'm just a little bit green. Green with Envy that I don't have that motivation to rock a body like that. Geez... Though after hearing that I did put in an extra ten minutes of cardio going really really fast and then did a full round of weight training. No more 30 minutes for me! I'm now munching a salad.

To make it worse I took a trip to that oh so fun Safeway. I will now refer to that site as the 13th Ring of Hell. Seriously. Again, I dashed into the place after the gym for a gallon of milk. Annoyed that the Safeway organic kind was past expiration date again, I bought the name brand. I sweating, arms tired from lifting, thought that I would be in and out of the store lickety split. I didn't get a cart. It's just a gallon of milk I thought. Ha. Ha. I'm not really laughing. I again mistakenly thought the 'express' line was meant for fast people. Those of us who enjoy a quick trip. Standing in line behind Mr. I HAVE NO EARTHLY CLUE I felt my arms begin to quake and shake with the weight of T.D. I struggled not to just throw her on top of the conveyor belt. This guy. I just...no words. He has no earthly clue and I really have NO clue as to WTF he was doing. Neither did the cashier.

He had a debit card or a rebate card or SOMETHING. Whatever it was, it wasn't working. He started with an $8 purchase and went down to $4 and nothing would go through. I began to feel bad for him thinking he has that little amount in his account. After fifteen minutes of fiddling though he pulls out a wad o' cash and easily peels off enough money for the entire purchase. WHAT?! Why on earth did we just go through this? At this point T.D. is wiggling and wrangling to run and make a mad dash for some display. I am still sweating, in pain, and feeling the beginnings of a migraine. I just want out! STUPID STUPID SAFEWAY. Not even good enough to make it to the 7th Ring of Hell, but hellish just the same.

Bone Ass Tired

I am tired. Bone Tired. I can't understand it. T.D. actually slept through the night sans pacifier. We've gone two days now and counting and it's getting easier. I'll admit that today when she started a meltdown at the grocery store I almost dug out the emergency bink from my purse. I didn't though. I stayed the course. I'm the "decider" you know. Instead I tossed her a McCall's seasoning packet to gnaw on and it was all good. Really. I'm amazed myself. I digress though. Back to me being bone ass tired. Somehow between sleepy time last night and now I feel as if I got hit by a mack truck.

I might be that hour and a half long Power Sculpt weight class I took yesterday. Oh yeah. That's right. It seemed only semi-difficult at the time. Ha. I'm not even that sore. I thought my body might turn to jello right afterwards but somehow I pulled through despite the 50 tricep reps inflicted on me. The crunches. On the ball. Off the ball. Pick up your weights. Change your weights. Get the bar (I need a bar!). Steady those arms. Lots of work. I didn't think I would be able to wrestle T.D. into her car seat afterwards. So today I'm knocked on my ass. I have no desire to do anything, but read and sleep. I am at home...

I leave you with this picture. Maybe after tomorrow's Power Sculpt class I'll start to feel more bad ass like this.