always rest so you can do your best

I did my first long run yesterday. When I say long run, I mean over 6 miles. I’ve been doing 10k runs regularly which are just a hair of the 6 miles miles. So now that I have that down I’m doing bigger runs to see what my body feels like. I have no problem with the endurance at all. I owe that to hours and hours of cycle classes in which sometimes go for over and hour. When I am out running, I sometimes imagine myself on a bicycle in class, because there are moments there where I feel like I can go on forever.
So anyway, on to the yesterday’s run. I woke up, got ready, loaded-up my new fanny-pack-water-holster thing, packed 3 fig newtons (just in case I needed some carbs and sugar) and hit the road jogging. I did 8.7 miles in 1:50 mins. And I think I would have had a much better time if there weren’t any hills involved. I have not been doing any kind of hill training at all because my approaching half marathon is completely flat, but yesterday I picked a route with inclines just to see how they feel.
When it was all over, I felt totally great. Aside from having runner’s poop all was well. And to be clear, I made it home, sat a while then literally had to run to the bathroom where I’m pretty certain I lost 4 pounds in 30 second. Shit really does happen. But I digress.
My issues that followed weren’t apparent immediately. But later in the evening and even early this morning, I started putting things together.
The day before my run, I had worked all day, a nine our shift with just two 15 min breaks. I was under hydrated and under nourished all day. I tried to make up for it when I got home, but I already felt a full blown migraine coming on. Still, I drank a bunch of water that night and ate a good meal. But I had a beer with it. The headache remained so I went to bed early. I woke-up the next morning very early and started pounding the water. I had peanut butter on toast and a banana, and I felt ready. Tired, but ready.
When I was all done and back and showered I was still feeling the runner’s high and aside from sore feet was in a good mood. I rested the remainder of the day drank over a gallon of water and made myself a nice healthy meal of fish and a baked potato for dinner which I could not finish. I went to bed fairly early. I woke up 2 hours later and vomited, not because I had food poisoning but because my body was just not used to the exertion. And I think trying to cram in 48 hours worth of water into 10 hours was just a bit much.
This morning I went to the gym and tried my normal monday circuit. I jogged for 30 mins and then started doing arm and upper body training. I immediately had to stop. While in a plank position, my arms gave-out from beneath me and the room swayed and tilted. My ears rang. I felt like I was going to vomit again. So I just sat on the mat and breathed deeply. I consulted with my my fitness soul sister and we decided I was overworked, underfed and completely depleted. It was at the movement today where I realized just what a delicate balance it all is. You really need to pay attention to what you are putting into your body to make sure you can perform your best, before AND after.
In my head I was on a mission to run that long distance no matter what. But in reality you must prepare and you must recover properly. It’s no joke. Some people do go out and run 9 miles a day, but how long have they been doing that for? And how new is it to me? Yep. I fucked up. I’m just happy to have really learned this lesson now, and not the day of my big run -which I will prepare for meticulously.

On a lighter note, I ran down this major road in my area yesterday. It’s a long stretch of highway and the only direct way into my town. I drive it everyday. I see people on their bikes and running more often than not. There was a time when I would drive by those runners and think how awesome they looked, how that was the ultimate badass run in my area. When you run Los Osos Valley Road you know know you aren’t fucking around. And that was me yesterday, part of that No Fucking Around Crew.

Here is a picture from my last 10k run. I can’t even believe I am this person sometimes. Notice the big smile.


Love and Loss

(First and foremost, before you begin to read, know that I am still full of hope.)

There are moments when I lose all faith in men. I know that sounds awful, but it’s just the truth. I haven’t even really been looking for a partner, or trying to date. But I did put it out there into the universe that I wanted to be noticed, and the universe heard me. But as we all know, the universe has a strange sense of humor.

In the last few months I have had several men float in and out my life rather quickly. Sometimes they left before I even realized they had crept into my sight. None of them had the will or the capacity to really get to know me though. But here are a few examples of what happened.

A boy invites me to a BBQ, does not show up because he decided he needed a Papa Smurf tattoo instead. I’m not kidding.

After several months of flirting with me, The Physician’s Assistant at my office sends sexy text messages to me, approaches me in my massage room and kisses me in a way that says, let’s get naked, then never follows-up or calls or texts me again.

A friend’s friend wants to meet me after seeing several pictures of me. When we finally have a conversation, the first thing he wants to know is how old I am. When I tell him 36 (he is 25), he then precedes to tell me how good I look for my age, but really that was out of his range. *I wasn’t even all that interested…

Met a boy at a bar through a mutual friend, we hit it off. He calls several days later and remembers all kinds of details I told him about myself the night we met. I swoon. Me have a date, a great date, and make plans to meet-up again on the weekend. The events that followed after our meeting went something like this; he saw fat pictures of me on Facebook, deleted his friend request, didn’t return my phone call asking him about the weekend, and I never heard from again.  It may sounds silly, but I cried. A lot. I also got really drunk and cried the next day too. Pathetic much?

So much for chivalry.

I realize eventually I’ll need to get back on that horse and ride. One day I will. I just had some very hard realizations through this all. Losing weight hasn’t made my life easier or better in every capacity. That’s not to say I have the burning desire to be fat again, because believe me, I do not. But I think there was this part of me that thought when I was at a certain weight/size men would see me differently and react. Well, that has happened, but love isn’t exactly knocking down my door. Just because I’ve lost nearly 80 pounds, I am not bullet proof when it comes to the disappointment of rejection. I had forgotten what that felt like. Losing weight doesn’t make your heart an less sensitive. I also think maybe I’m just not ready for all this yet. I needed validation that I was attractive and I got it. I need to embrace that, so I don’t want to dwell on this for too long. Honestly, I just don’t have time. And secondly, I don’t want to be that “I just need a good man” type. I know there is more to life and with that I acknowledge just how much better a lot of things have gotten since the drop in weight.

Here is my good list:

-I’m smaller. I’m in a size 14 now. A true size 14. No 16’s can stay on my hips. It’s funny. Shopping is suddenly so easy.

-I’m faster. I recently ran my second 10k of the summer. I took a 10 whole minutes off my time between the first and the last run.

-I’m happier. Exercise does wonders of your psyche.

-I have more energy. In fact, I took some photos for a good friend of mine this week, and it was an all day thing. I was up and down ladders, crawling on the ground, running through sand- and I wasn’t breathless once. I didn’t even break a sweat.

-People tell me how good I look- VERY often.

When I start making lists of good things that are happening, I understand just how much I need to focus on the very important things right now. Meeting a man shouldn’t really be a priority. I have a half marathon to run in 6 weeks. I start another semester of school in 4 weeks. I’m 3 pounds away from breaking the 200 mark. I’ll be moving at the end of the year and have many things to tie-up. THOSE are the things that really matter right now. That’s where my focus needs to be.


This is my new favorite running song. It’s pretty fitting right now.
I am Titanium

The other kind of Independence Day

Suddenly, it’s July.

Back in June I had posted that Coco and I were going to not only do double workouts, but try and drop 10 pounds as well in the 30 days June had to offer. So, this is what happened:

I worked out A LOT. I did double workouts 4x a week, and 2 regular-day workouts as well. I ate better and actually ate more. I quickly discovered that the more you workout the more you actually have to eat. Hmm… So that’s why I was feeling so shitty for all those months! (DING! DING! DING!) I ran my ass off, I doubled up training sessions and by the last week of June, I hit a wall. I was tired, sore and slightly unmotivated. I ended up going to LA for a long weekend and though I brought my running clothes, I chose to eat well (as in NOT well), visit people I love, and rest. It did wonders for me. And when I went for a run on Monday morning I felt a sense of renewal and was astounded by my increased energy. There is something to be said for “rest days”. And I really hate it when my trainer is right! But yea, it went well. And even though I had two days of eating totally shitty (I actually drank a 32 oz vanilla shake one night) I didn’t gain my seventy-something pounds back. I didn’t gain any weight at all in fact, which makes me realize just how fast my metabolism is burning. Amazing. I’ll get back to this thought in a minute. As for total weight loss for the month of June… THREE POUNDS lost. Just 3. Not 10. And I can live with that, because it was a hard three pounds to lose. And if that meant I got to have a vanilla shake before dinner one night, then it was totally worth it. Also, I can now run 5 miles in just about 1 hour. That’s pretty fast, mutha fuckas! Yay, me! I’m going to take every victory I can right now, because that’s what keeps me going. So that was June.

New goals for July:

Break 200. I’ve been saying this and wanting this since April. 200 is my arch nemesis. Seriously, I have not been under 200 for years. And the last time I was, it literally lasted like 12 hours, then I lost my shit over something ridiculous and started to gain weight again. Yea. Awesome.
In order to break the 200 mark I have to give up alcohol. I already started. It’s been 6 days so far and I have already lost 1 pound, so I can already tell my body likes what it’s feeling. I drink a lot. And by a lot I don’t mean a lot everyday, I just mean everyday. I always have wine at my house. I always have wine with dinner or after dinner. It was how I was unwinding. It was my “reward” for all my hard workouts. But all that has proven to stop the progress I am making. So, alcohol has got to go.
It’s kind of a busy month full of get-togethers, so I’ll allow myself a glass or two per occasion, but I can already tell I may change my mind. For instance, last night I went to a baseball game, complete with fireworks and lawn seats. I actually drank water. WATER- not icy beer with a hot dog on the side. I brought an apple and a banana to eat too. Yep, I sure am fun these days. It’s going to be totally worth it in the end, so I’m doing it.
My last goal for July is to take the fear out of eating. As I mentioned before, I was surprised that I didn’t gain all my weight back after a weekend of bad eating. I was surprised. Because in my mind eating bad is what got me into this mess and if I waiver from my good eating habits for just one moment it’s all coming back. Well, that is just ridiculous. I can eat the occasional cheeseburger and I won’t gain 10 pounds overnight. I CAN. Because I didn’t gain all that weight in one night in the first place. I gained it over a long period of time of not loving myself or believing in who I was or could be. That’s how I got there. I got there from eating out from a drive-thru 15x a week. I didn’t gain it from eating at Chili’s and having a margarita with my girlfriend. And I really want to be that carefree from time to time. I don’t want to stress when there is a special occasion, or if I have horrible PMS and need a whole bag  a giant handful of Kettle Chips. It’s OK to have those things sometimes. I should be able to do it without feeling horrible about myself. It’s not everyday I do that, but it is everyday that I eat really fucking well. So I need to calm the fuck down and enjoy those moments when they occur. I’m going to try to anyway.

Losing weight has become a continuous mind fuck. You are constantly trying to talk yourself into working out, eating well, getting faster, getting stronger. You flex your muscles everyday and try to look beyond the loose skin and saggy boobs. You tell yourself the scale doesn’t matter because the clothes are loose. That is a hard thing to do- even though the outcome is still awesome. These are all great things, but they are exhausting. It’s a full time job. When people tell you that you are obsessed, you want to scream at them THAT’S HOW SHIT GETS DONE! Because it is how shit gets done. You have to flex and workout your mind just as you do your body, so that you’re both on the same page. That’s how it works. It’s hard. And if you’ve ever had to lose a large amount of weight, it’s even harder.

But I’m feeling less crazy these days, and that is something. And like I said before, I’ll take every victory I can right now.

*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.


*For a minute there, I lost myself…

I have written in almost 4 months. Life got away from me.

What I mean is, school  was really fucking hard and it required more time than I ever imagined. And that was just one class. It did however require lab hours which took A LOT of my spare time. Seriously, I am so over thinking about anatomy for the meantime. But I still want to be a nurse so, Yay for me! I scored a B in the class. I’m totally happy. It was the hardest B I have ever worked for. I’m ready for A’s now. I promised myself I wouldn’t think about next semester for a week or so. So… I’ll start thinking about that on Monday.

I don’t know where May went. I’m surprised that we are already 6 months into the year. I feel like a lot has happened. No wonder I am so tired. Like, really tired. I don’t know how parents do it. My two jobs and pets, along with my past semester AND working-out 6 days a week almost killed me. But it didn’t. Anyhow, here’s what happened in the last 4 months.

I managed to lose some serious weight and inches! 

I increased my training session to 2x a week with my lovely trainer, Adam. He has seriously been working my ass off. I don’t even remember if I was seeing him last time I wrote, and I’m too lazy to look.  That boy has me doing all kinds of fun things, like weighted step-ups, military push-ups, transitioning pull-ups, running up hill, and lots of things that make me want to vomit. But, yay for me. I’m 210 now and wearing a size 14. In fact all my 16’s are too big for me and all my XL tops just look silly when worn. I have no clothes practically, unless you count gym clothes, but I just don’t care. I’m 3 pounds away from the weight I was when I moved here almost 5 years ago. I’d like to lose another 20 pounds this year. This is where it gets hard though. I’m gaining a shit ton of muscle, but the scale has slowed some. It’s ok though. I’m really fucking strong. Wanna arm wrestle? Also, I ran my first 10k. It took me about an hour and 20 minutes to do it. I ran about 90% of it. And at the finish line I cried. It is one of my greatest moments in my life, thus far. Oprah Winfrey once said, “Running is the best metaphor for life, because you get out of it exactly what you put into it.” It’s so true. I ran my ass off, just like I worked my ass off these past few months.

The Move

I’ll be moving back to LA at some point. It’s official. With the passing of my grandmother comes the settling of her estate. Once that is said and done, I’ll be planning a move back to LA. It’s really time. I’m happy here, but not really happy here. And I’m lonely more times than I want to admit. I’m so glad that I have made good friends and have 2 great jobs, when a lot of people in this area can barely find one. I have made the most of my time here. I’m now checking-off just the last few things on my list before I leave. I’m thinking it will be right after Christmas, if all goes well. It’s exciting and scary and a huge relief all at once. I left LA as someone I am not now. I kind of miss that girl. I’m hoping to rekindle a happy-middle-of-the-road relationship with the old me. To be continued…

I have bitchen friends

No really. I do. Without my friends, I am only half the person I want to be. Without my friend Steph, I would have never attempted to even try to run. I’m running now. A LOT. Without my friend Donn, I wouldn’t be able to laugh at myself as often as I should. We laugh a lot. And he is a bad ass mother fucker! He is participating in his second AIDS Ride next week. He’ll be riding from SF to LA. Talk about commitment. I am in awe of him. My friend Tana has also lost a shit ton of weight. She has actual “guns” now. As in, two tickets to the gun show while pointing to her arms. I want guns. I want to be her. She is my daily text-o-love about food and work-outs and well…shitting. Shitting a big part of weight loss. I’m sorry, but it just is. One day you might see that for yourself. There is nothing as gratifying as a giant poop fest the morning before a Weight Watcher weigh-in. But along the way I have also become great friends with someone I have never actually met before. My girlfriend Nicole, who I met while on Flickr like forever ago, has also been the constant source of support and guidance through this all. And yes I’m serious when I say her and I have never actually met. Like I said, we knew each other only by the photography we were interested in. But later we became Facebook friends. And then after that we became real friends. I’m not going to tell her story because that is her own to tell some time, but I will say this: She totally gets me, and I totally get her. We grew-up with the same beliefs, the same body image issues, and the share a lot of the same challenges now. We even teeter around the same weight. There are many times when she has motivated me to do more, simply because she implied I was worth more. That’s the thing with weight loss/gain. You constantly doubt your worth. I work at it every damn day. She helps. Last night Nicole told me she was going to write to Dr. Oz and tell him our story, how we are cross-country workout buddies who have never actually met. She mentioned that maybe he would get us on the show and we would finally meet and workout and share our favorite recipes and such. I told her she was a fucking genius. But even if that never happens, I know one day we’ll meet. Maybe by then I’ll be teaching a cycle class, she’ll be teaching Kettlebells. That’s what works for us. Those are some goals we share. Anyway, she is awesome. I’m very blessed to have her, and everyone else who makes a difference in my life. I am very rich in friends. And in the last 6 months that become the shining truth everyday.

SO… I’m hoping I’ll get to do a lot more writing now. Because, basically I have a lot of shit to complain  talk about. I’ve been keeping a list on my phone of things I would write about eventually. I know you’re excited, right? All five of you who read this are fucking stoked!

Here’s to an amazing Summer, with more growth, more surprises, and more changes along the way.

I feel alive again.


The fire I had under me on January 1 quickly cooled 3 classes into my new semester. I had completely forgotten what it was like to be a student, and though putting aside hours for class time seemed easy at the time, I didn’t account for actual homework hours, lab hours and commuting, while still working 2 jobs. This weekend I decided to drop my college algebra class, because frankly, I was sinking. I think I would have done alright, if I could have made time for a tutor, but that was just one more thing to add to my already piling list. I did keep my very demanding anatomy class. And that class is HARD. I have had anatomy before in massage school and took an honors human anatomy/physiology while in high school, so I went into it very cocky. Well, to my surprise the difference in those classes was like comparing garden weeds to a forest of giant red woods. Had I not had any background at all I’d be losing my mind daily, instead of just the bi-weekly crying jags I have lately. ahem. It was all too much, I’d reached my limit.
School is hard. So, there’s that.

A couple of weeks ago I decided to hire a personal trainer. I felt like I was ready to start the Jillian Michael-type workouts to increase my strength and endurance and help me drop the rest of this weight. I need someone to help me push myself to my most extreme physical limitations. So, Adam, is the new man in my life. He’s tall and lanky, awkward and kinda dorky, but incredibly smart and encouraging. He also had mad education skills, and mote degrees in his 26 years than i’ll ever see in my lifetime.
If anyone’s ever watched The Biggest Loser, you’ll know there’s all these great moments when trainers tell the team members things like, dig deep, one more rep, you can do it, let me see you explode up that step…and so forth, well, that’s exactly what Adam does for me. Seriously, I’m amazed at what this 223 pound body can do. AMAZED. But also, I’m so sore at times that I’m screaming when I have to set down on the toilet. I kid you not. Like, scared-the-cats screaming. It’s been eye opening. But I need this. And I need to feel proud of myself about this aspect of my life, because I feel so shitty about others. But that’s a blog for another day.

I registered for the Disney Half Marathon in September. It was 160 dollars to sign up. But I figured once I committed and threw down the money, I would make myself really do it, and not just talk about it. Also, because I’m constantly on a budget, I chose to do that instead of getting my hair done. Seriously. Who the fuck am I? Because you talking about a girl who lets nothing stand in the way of her and her well kept hair.
Something has clicked over in me.

I had so many big plans for me this year, it never occurred to me what kind of sacrifices I’d have to make, or just how hard those dreams would be to obtain. But this morning I got up, I decided not to give up on myself just yet. One day, I know that will change to not ever.