Monthly Archives: June 2012

*If I only could, I’d be running up that hill

I’ve been thinking a lot about my half marathon in September. It feels unreal to me, yet the anxiety is building. Along with my weekly trainer sessions I’ve been trying to get my endurance up on the treadmill. I’m not really worried with how fast I’m going just yet, I’m more concerned about being able to keep a good pace. As of right now a good pace for me is somewhere between 5.0-5.5 mph, that’s about an 11 1/2 minute mile. That’s about where I’m comfortable for the time being. I can pretty much of for a long while at that pace, and that is my goal. I’ve been doing some sprints (6.0 or higher) too, just to see what it feels like. Also, all the assholes athletic-types at the gym run easily at a rate I call “sprinting”, and well, I really want to be like them. Eventually. I want to be a gazelle taking long fluid strides and just take off. As of now I can do that for about 90 seconds, then I do the whole sucking-wind-like-an-astmatic-6th-grader. By the way, I went to school with some kid who constantly had asthma attacks after recess and constantly barfed in class, usually right behind of next to me. I swear to you, I did not eat spaghetti from the time I was 11 to sometime in my early 20’s. But, I digress… Oh yea. Running. So I’d like to be a gazelle and stuff. It’s happening, kind of. I still hate the first 15 minutes of any run I start. I kept telling myself that will change, but everything I have read so far, blogs and articles and all says differently. Le sigh.

Tomorrow I’m going to try my first attempt at an early morning jog. I’ve set my alarm for 5:30 am and I’ve laid out my clothes and all. Oh, boy… Should be fun, right? I need to start doing this to see what long periods of concrete feel like under my feet, and to see what my body feels like that early in the morning. I need to get used to it. That half marathon is at 5:45 am. Seriously. I must be insane. Um, why am I doing this again?

Here’s some hardcore truth: When I run, almost always at some point I want to cry. Not because it’s hard, but because life is hard. Or, one might say that I’ve made my life really hard. I run because I’m really frustrated with how I let myself go again. I run when I miss my family and they feel far away. I run when I think of all the shitty things my ex did to me, said to me… I run when I feel overwhelmed, or don’t want to face how I’m feeling at all. I run because it burns major calories and melts fat but, I run towards the physical pain because the emotional pain of the last few years is too much to take at times. So I run, thinking I am running away from it. I sometimes imagine (not just zombies chasing me) but every heartache I’ve ever had growing smaller and smaller in the distance. I visualize a life I want on the horizon. It may seem corny, but it’s true. I keep thinking that if I run harder all the bad things will fall away from mind, my heart and leak out of my pores. And most times it feels exactly as if those very things are happening. I hear runners do this kind of thing a lot. It’s nice to know I’m not alone. I’m hoping that somewhere in the process the more I run, the more my mind will free itself of the doubt/fear/anger/pain I carry with me. And that’s where the real weight will be lost.

Be running up that road

Be running up that hill

Be running up that building

Say, if I only could…

~Kate Bush



Last Wednesday I weighed-in and have successfully made it to the other side of 210. I am now 208, and just one pound from the weight I was when I moved here. When I leave, I hope to be another 20-25 pounds lighter. Or  as I should be saying: I will be 20-25 pounds lighter when I move.

After my weigh-in I am feeling pretty good. I have acknowledged the fact that I have lost the weight of 2 small children, without the aid of surgery or radical dieting. However, I have also acknowledged the fact that along with this weight loss comes a lot of left over baggage, that being my skin.

The more my body changes the more I am convinced that those winners on The Biggest Loser all wear body shapers when interviewed at the end of the show. There is no way their skin could have possible retracted back to its healthy, supple self especially in such a short amount of time. Those people have lost major weight. I have lost major weight, and that weight I once was (twice in my life!) has left a path of destruction. What I am saying is, I have all this lovely hang-y skin around my stomach, under my arms, and the inside of my thighs. It’s getting a little better, but as continue to lose more weight, I suspect it will be getting worse. It’s depressing at times. For instance, if I didn’t have that extra skin around my mid section, I’d probably be one size smaller right now (a size 12). Also, I have muscular arms, but when I flex my biceps you don’t just see my muscle, you also see the “flags” (as Oprah calls them) on the underside of my arms. I’m striped with stretch marks too. They are light and silvery but noticeably there. My poor skin. I want to kiss it and tell it how sorry I am, and that I will never be that unkind to myself ever again. Really. I look at my naked body sometimes and whisper, I’m sorry.

At this point, I could really be down on myself, but I have to remember that extra skin and some stretch marks are really nothing when I could have made myself diabetic, or when I could have given myself gallstones the size of eggs, or when I could have given myself high blood pressure that could have resulted in me stroking-out. *side note- a client of mine who is 2 years older than me stroked out last year. She was very heavy. 

So everyday, I tell myself and the universe that I am thankful to have made it through this… twice. I am thankful for a body that though scarred, can propel me up a hill at 6 miles per hour, or arms that can pump me into a military style push-up or pull-up. Also, I look really damn good with clothes on, especially gym clothes. All my gym clothes now are tight and form-fitting and hold everything in, which not only feels better when you’re working out, but people come up to you all the time and compliment you and your new shape. So…yea. I’ll take what I can get at this time. It’s just one of those things that I’ll have to live with. And at a certain point, when creams or Pilates or whatever the Hell people do to tighten skin stop working, after this, and after I have a child (or acknowledge the fact that I won’t ever conceive), THEN I will consider having a tummy tuck. I’m serious, I will. But that’s a long way down the road, and I’ll think about that then. For now I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing and send the occasional texts to understanding friends with an attached picture of the wreckage that is my body. Because that’s what real friends do; compare our naked, imperfect selves to each other. Did I mention I have amazing friends?

I do.

Don’t mess with me, I’m a massage therapist.

(Friday kinda sucked. So I woke up in a shitty mood and worked a long day. This post is based on my work and mood this afternoon. I’ll explain Friday and it’s revelations later.)

Things your massage therapist is thinking about you during your session:

Dude. Your feet fucking stink.

Oh. My. Gawd. Those are the biggest fake boobs I have ever seen in my life

Lady, if I apply anymore pressure I’m going to pop-out your kidney through your bellybutton

How can someone have so many ugly tattoos? Were you in jail?

I’m at your feet, how can I possibly smell your breath from this end?

Please stop talking please stop talking please stop talking please stop talking.

Please talk to me, I’m bored.

Oh how cute your teeny-tiny erection is.

You are so damn dry. How can I possibly be applying this much lotion? Loofa much?

Girl, if I can see your bush hairs poking through the top sheet, you CLEARLY need to weed whack that shit. I mean, seriously? How do you even wipe?

This has to be the smallest/biggest penis I have ever seen.

You’re snoring, already? Break time! Woo!

I only have an hour, honey. I can’t reset bones and shit. 

Oh God, you wore pantyhose all day with no underwear and I can smell your ass.

Wow, it’s a weave!

Skinny Bitch.

Bathing yourself in cologne is NOT considered a shower.

Um, you are completely naked…with socks on?

Holy shit. What the fuck is wrong with your skin! Is that…oozing?

Yea, I didn’t really mean it when I said, “take your time getting up.”

(In cases of couples massages)

You’re reeeeaaaally going to hold hands the whole time. (roll eyes)

You know, we can hear what your saying even though your whispering to each other.

How did you possibly marry this dumb fuck?

Is this his daughter?

Oh God, they are both moaners. What a horrible visual.

Gold digging whore.

Yep, you paid 75 dollars more to hear your partner snore/fart/moan in the same room as you.

They’re totally going to bang when we leave the room.

You want another picture of the two of you laying in the massage beds? uggghhhhh.


Also, sometimes we take pictures with our phones. Shhhhhhh….


I’m sore as a mother fucker today. And today is Tuesday which means double my pleasure at the gym. I did a cycle class at 8:20 this morning, and I’ll be at the evening class at 5:30. The scale is already down one full pound, so, I know the double workouts several times a week are already working. I’ve been trying to perfect my side-plank and in just a this last week I’ve gotten really good at it. My trainer likes to integrate going from front to side to front to side to front to side, pretty much until I say mercy.

I never smile when I do them, by the way. But I do feel like kind of a badass when I do them correctly. It’s happening more often.

On a different note, I’m waiting to be called-in to work today, so that basically means it’s a sit-and-do-emails while I wait for the phone to ring, because I can’t really do much else in case the call comes that I need to be at my spa job in 60 minutes. The weekdays are slow for now, but the weekends are always hopping. Thank God I have my other job at the chiropractor. That seems to be busy-ish for the meantime. And while I’m on the subject of work, can I just say that I am sick to death of people who get a massage and act like THEY are doing ME a damn favor by just showing up? I mean, what the fuck, people?? It’s a massage, not a root canal. How about a little happiness, a little gratitude when you walk in. This happens especially for all my chiro patients who are being treated for an injury (that their damn insurance pays for). BOO-FUCKING-HOO, the worst part of your day is getting a 1 hour massage as a part of your treatment plan? Give me a damn break. Oh, and people don’t seem to think they need to tip you OR say thank you these days. Which is bullshit. It’s a service. Tip your therapists! Let me tell you something, people are worried about this next and upcoming generation? Well it’s everyone who is older than me who are the assholes in my clinic. I’m just saying…  And back to the zen pace. Namaste, assholes.

Totally homesick for my family lately. I was happily called via FaceTime on Sunday and got to see my cute niece and nephew. I love those kids so much. I almost cried when I saw them, but I didn’t want to freak them out. Also, I love when kids talk at you on the phone, you know, like your deaf? HI, AUNTIE P! WE ARE GOING ON A WALK TO THE BRIDGE! WE CAN’T TALK NOW! WHERE ARE YOU?! OK BYE! Mind you, at this point, I’ve only said, hello. They crack me up. I look at them, and I see nothing but love and happiness and joy, because that’s all they’ve ever really know. I may be bias when I say that my sister and brother-in-law are amazing parents. I see those kids and my ovaries ache.

That’s an actual hug. He isn’t trying to kill her…in this photo.

One of best friends is literally riding through town today. He, along with thousands of other riders are making a trip from San Francisco to Los Angeles for AIDS awareness and to fund research. Donn has raised $5,000 for the cause. See? Told you he is bitchen. I’m meeting up with him and his partner later tonight. And tomorrow, I’m driving just a bit south to meet him at his campsite. I promised him I’d bring donuts. I may even eat one, myself- after tonight and tomorrows workouts and weigh-in, of course! My area has this ridiculous donut place. I think that by riding a bike 250 miles (Roughly- and only halfway to LA!), he may deserve a donut or 6. Donn is one of my best friends in the entire world. He has an amazing story to tell. Maybe one day he’ll start blogging again. I can’t wait to hug that guy.

He made me that scarf. He knits. He’s generous with his time and heart. He loves donuts. I love the fuck the outta him.

I have a weigh-in tomorrow. I really hate going to those WeightWatchers meetings and I feel like I can never just weigh-in and leave. I always get suckered guilted into staying. I used to really love my meetings, but now I just feel like it’s AA for overeaters. People at this particular location tell a lot of “war” stories. I’m over it. I don’t think we need to discuss all the fish and chips you ate over the weekend. Also, sometimes I feel like an asshole there. I tend to be fraud at times. Like, when I get an award and they ask how I did it. What I really want to say (because it’s the damn truth) is:

Well, I workout like crazy and always imagine I am running from Zombies or Careers when I’m on the treadmill. I pay a trainer to work me out twice a week, to the point of gagging. Also, I do a colon cleanse in my protein shake twice a week to flush the shit and bread out of my intestines. Also, I rarely eat all my points. Sometimes I just have wine for dinner and a FiberOne brownie. Or, if I’m still hungry I just smoke a lot of pot until I fall asleep. Oh, and the weeks where I decide to go and weigh-in, I workout THEN steam for 20 mins to lose any extra water weight. Yep. That’s right, mutha fuckas! Losing weight and gaining rewards, bitches!

Instead, I say:

I just workout and stick to my points. And I eat bananas for snacks.

This answer makes everyone happy. Because honestly, those people never want to know the truth. And I don’t liked to be judged.

Almost Normal

June 1, 2012

It’s funny how the start of a month is all it can take to revamp you. Not that I wasn’t entirely motivated earlier, but now with a new month comes some new goals. I have two big ones this month:

1. Must workout 6 days a week (already practically doing that), and 4 of those days must have two workouts. So that means, one in the morning and one in the evening.

2. Lose 10 pounds this month. That’s 30 days, starting right now.

(My lovely friend, Coco, is doing #1 with me. Coco is Nicole, as mentioned in my last post. But Coco is her new badass, skinny bitch, take-no-shit name. I will now refer to her only as Coco.)

I’m off to a great start already. I had a vigorous training session with Adam, and before that I jogged for 20 minutes. Tonight, I’m going hiking immediately following work. I have to take advantage of these long daylight hours. Also, it’s a local trail I do very often, so it’s totally safe.

So while training today, Adam suggested we do a body composition measurement. This measures how much fat makes up your body as a whole. It’s only slightly humiliating.  Adam sees me twice a week, no make-up, sweating like a damn pig and sometimes gagging- so for me, him pinching my fat and measuring it is almost OK. That’s what you do when you measure your body comp- PINCH AND MEASURE YOUR FLAB.

He takes a reading from this pinchy-gun-like thing. Your back/bra/boob fat, your arms (both sides) and your waist (in front, where it’s all cottage cheesy) all get pinched and then that data is calculated by your height and age. I’m at 33-34%. Sounds kinda bad I thought, only Adam told me that 30% and below are what’s considered “normal”. Are you fucking kidding me? I’m almost within normal limits. That is insane, or as all the kids are saying these days, THAT SHIT CRAY.

Normal. what does that even mean, anymore? You see, I have been heavy my whole damn life. There were very few moments in my life when I was able to shop at a regular store in regular sizes. I was skinny for a while a few years ago, but before then I’ve was heavy and pretty much obese for as long as I can remember. Obese. Normal.

It’s weird to try that word on. I don’t feel like it belongs to me just yet. But it will soon enough… That’s the goal Adam has for me this month, to get me out of the 30’s and into the 20-29% body fat range.

When we talked about this today, I kid you not, I was all teary. That happens a lot to me now. So it may get redundant when you read these posts, but just bare with me- I cry a lot.  He also told me that the other trainers spy on me and always tell him that I kick my own ass when he isn’t around. He told me he was proud of me. A trainer, proud of me. 

Who am I now? Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself.