ALL THE FITNESS and Also Goats.

Oh my god I have been the worst ever at internets lately. I opened my Google Reader this evening to catch up on some blogs, and I was so behind I just slammed my laptop shut and started weeping.

Okay I didn’t really do that but I wanted to.

So the main reason I’ve been so lazy with blogging is because I have been crazy busy. Working full-time is enough, but I’ve added at least 45 minutes of gym time to my routine almost every single day. Once I leave work I go to the gym. Then I have to drive to get Nellie from daycare. Then we drive home. Then I make dinner. Then I do bedtime with the girl. Then I flop on the couch and Josh and I zone out to whatever show it is we are catching up on (now that American Horror Story is over, it’s mainly Walking Dead. I am also obsessed with Downton Abbey but can’t watch the third season without paying for it. WOE IS ME) and then we crash at around 9 P.M.

WILD TIMES.

My workouts have looked mostly like this:
Monday: Couch to 5k
Tuesday: Elliptical
Wednesday: Couch to 5k
Thursday: Elliptical
Friday: Couch to 5k

Recently I’ve added strength training in on my C25k days. I just finished Week 4 (my Chicago trip and then a few days of feeling kind of sickie threw me off) and will begin Week 5 on Monday. So far, I am down 11 pounds in about 11 weeks. I only just started taking measurements, so I do not know how many inches I have lost and from where. I do know that the pajamas I bought for my Halloween costume (in case you need a refresher, here is my costume from this last year)

Are now fitting better. When I bought them, the bottom button struggled to close, and the top didn’t really fit down over my hips. Now when I wear them (because they are actually very comfortable – definitely a Goodwill win), they fall easily down over my hips and all buttons close with ease. So I have definitely lost inches in my hip region, and I am pretty sure my waist has narrowed a little. I have a habit of resting my hands on my stomach when I’m in bed (I got so used to doing it when I was pregnant, I guess I just never really stopped) and I noticed that last night my lower stomach is not as round as it once was.

Progress. Yay! The most important part of all of this is that I feel so much better. I feel strong, healthy, and I sleep better at night. I have a pleasantly exhausted sensation in my entire body most nights when I snuggle into bed.

I still have a long way to go. My last weigh-in was 198, which is nowhere near where I need to be physically but with every day that passes, and with every step I take, I am getting closer to a healthy weight.

I don’t have much more to say, so I will leave you with this video of a goat screaming at Taylor Swift.

 

Hungry Hungry Headband

While trying to be fashionable and hide the fact that it’s been a while since my last haircut and my ‘do is starting to resemble a shag carpet, I have added headbands into my accessory rotation. I bought one cute one that’s brown and has a little knot on it and is whimsical, or something. I don’t know. It’s almost 10 at night as I’m writing this and I suck at adjectives sometimes.

I also bought just a run of the mill brown headband with adjustable by-your-ear thingies, because I don’t know about you but when those things don’t bend they hurt like a motherfucker.

One signature trait of headbands are those little teeth they have that makes them stay in your hair. Or something.

Anyway, the other day I dropped Nellie off at daycare. Every morning, the first thing she must do is wash her hands.

I swear, all of this eventually has to do with headbands.

She insists that I go to the bathroom with her and watch her wash her hands. So in I go, because she is my dictator. After she finished washing, she ran out of the room to play with a toy. I bent down to beg my overlord for a goodbye hug and kiss. She allowed me to kiss her on the side of her nose, which I thought was pretty generous. She  turned away to her toys, so I stood up from my crouching position and —

CRACK!

My head hit the top of a loft that they have in her classroom for the kids to rappel from   throw each other off of   play in and explore. I stumbled a bit from the force of the blow and shook my head while biting my tongue so not to spew forth a couple of MOTHER FUCKING SHIT EATERS in front of my daughter’s teachers. I found my way out to my car, gingerly feeling my scalp and fully expecting to pull back a hand covered in blood and sinew and was ready to drive myself to the hospital (no, I’m not dramatic, why the fuck would you ask me that?).

I found no blood so I carried on with my day. It wasn’t until later on that I was scratching my head when my fingers grazed the sore spot from whacking myself senseless on a toddler loft. It felt crusty but also kind of peculiar, so I headed to a mirror where I saw this:

The teethmarks + important brainthings happening in my thinker

Remember those headband teeth I was talking about earlier? When I hit my head, the teeth DUG INTO MY MOTHERFUCKING SCALP. See those dots? Those are from my headband’s hungry little stabbing teeth of misery and pain. I’ve been branded by Goody. My scalp belongs to them forever. I think they’ve actually got some kind of tracking device implanted in my brain now, and I will probably end up being forced to compete in the Hunger Games. Which sucks, because I have zero survival instincts and I’m fat and can’t run.

So the moral of the story is: don’t wear headbands with teeth, because you never know when you will be a fucking dumbass and whack your head on something that you knew was there to begin with but weren’t thinking about, because all you could think about was getting to Starbucks for a pumpkin spice latte before you were late for work. And also, do cardio regularly because, you know. The Hunger Games and zombies.

I Suck at Fashion.

 

So, I suck at fashion. Like, a lot. I have never been good at fashion. I never really cared about fashion before, but I think that becoming a mom has broken my Fashion Give A Fuck. I put so much energy into my job, into my writing, into raising my child, into attempting to give my husband the attention he deserves that at the end of the day when it comes to things like clothes? My Give a Fuck is broken.  I am Give A Fuck-less.

I see women flouncing down the street, looking all cute in their little flowy shirts and adorably flattering and waist-cinching chunky belts, and their cute little strappy sandals or whatever, and oh look! Their toenails are painted like TUXEDOS, or butterflies,  or something just as adorable and Pinterest-inspired. And here I am, meandering down the street wearing a tank top with beads falling off it, a pair of jeans that I’ve worn and washed so many times they don’t really even have a color anymore, dingy flip-flops, peeling nail polish, and my greasy hair haphazardly clipped back just so it’s out of my face. OH and with a toddler-sized pink backpack with butterflies covering it strapped to my back. Honestly, I’m just happy being out of the house and not having to watch Dinosaur Train for the NINETEENTH TIME.

We were taking a family stroll downtown this weekend. I watched other moms frolic about with their families, looking all adorable in their cute activewear, trendy tennis shoes, and flippy pony tails. I caught my reflection in a store window and startled myself. I was wearing a green and black-swirled shirt that was too big, a pair of baggy black capris that have really crossed the length threshold and aren’t really capris, but aren’t really pants either, beat-up shoes (and mismatched socks but you couldn’t see that, because the cuffs were both white. I WIN AT DRESSING MYSELF), and greasy hair. It was like TROLL COMES FROM UNDER BRIDGE TO PLAY. CHECK OUT MY OILY, UNKEMPT HAIR AND CHILD COVERED IN WATERMELON JUICE. MAY WE JOIN YOUR FAMILY IN A GAME OF DISCGOLF?

“I have to go shopping today,” I announced to my husband with a wild look in my eyes.
“O….kay…” he said. “What brought that on?”
“I wear the same five things repeatedly. I look like I’m homeless. Going shopping. Alone. Might be a few hours.”

So I went shopping. I hate clothes shopping, especially now that I’m overweight. I went to Kohl’s first. I entered the fitting room with an armload of items. I rejected each one of them because:

  • They were too small.
  • They clung to my Mom Gut and made it look like a saggy kangaroo pouch.
  • It enhanced the wrong curves on my body – the ones created by my back fat.
  • They made me look too old.
  • They made me look too young.
  • I am a condensed version of a human being, and they made my legs look two inches long.

I began feeling depressed, convinced that there was not a single item of clothing anyone had created, EVER, that flattered my body.

Then I reminded myself that my body was different now than it was before I had a child, and I just needed to invest some time finding clothes that worked for me.
So I did. I took my time, carefully picked out some items and walked out of Kohl’s with a shirt-dress that looked cute. I headed to Target to find shoes, and ended up with another outfit. I never did get shoes, because I still can’t figure out what would go well with a teal shirt-dress. Any suggestions? Here’s the dress, if you’re curious.

I guess what I learned from shopping on Saturday is that I have to accept the fact that I have to invest some time and effort into picking out clothes, and think outside the box a bit. Maybe my Give A Fuck isn’t entirely broken. Maybe it’s just rusty and needs a little oil. And now, thanks to my new shirt-dress, maybe I can go play with the fancy downtown folk on Saturday afternoons. My kid will probably still be covered in watermelon, though.