Day 4: Beast Mode – Salad Style

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Today was a pretty good day other than the -22 temps and -50 wind chills.  ugh.  My workout with Ben was good.  If there’s one thing that challenged me today, it was my hunger.  I ate on plan all day and I was constantly hungry.  It was like I would eat and my system would forget I had eaten five minutes later.  This wasn’t a “oh you’re telling yourself your hungry” or “you’re bored and your brain says to eat” kind of hungry..this wasn’t emotional. It was CARNAL to say the least.  This is a good sign that it’s all coming together.  My body is starting to amp up the way it needs in order to burn fat and start building up new muscle.

When I left Rejuv after my workout, I stopped by the local Grocery and picked up a decent sized salad I fashioned from their faboosh salad bar.  Romaine, Spinach, Mixed Greens, Mushrooms, peppers, tomatoes, egg, chicken…oh the list keeps going.  At this point, my hunger was ROARING.  You could hear my stomach.  When I got back to work, I grabbed a fork and knife, sat at my desk and this occurred.

 

I swear if anyone or anything had come between that salad and I, it would have been grim.

I didn’t post my Current Stats from Day 1 (Friday, Jan 3) so here we go:

Neck: 15
Chest:  50
Waist:  52
Hips:  59
Thigh:  28
Calf:  18
Bicep:  15.5

BMI:  43.1
BF%:  45

Weight:  300.4
Height:  5’10”
Age:  33

 

Hallelujah, Holy Sh!t..Where’s the Tylenol (A Post-Holiday Rant)

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Diet Shaming 101

Diet Shaming 101

I, honestly, don’t know which way is up anymore.  My (self-diagnosed) ADD is on a Defcon 5 red alert.  I feel like a Suffolk Punch (for you horse lay people..that’s a breed of draft horse).  I need blinders to stay on the road ahead and I officially outweigh the top weight on my scale…and I have heartburn….and my husband just opened the credit card bills and almost had a stroke….and my son pooped in the tub tonight.

Have you ever seen the “EE” on your scale?  no? well let me tell you how that works.  Step 1: stand on your scale.  Step 2:  get the “EE”  Step 3: in a panic take off any article of clothing you have on and throw it beside the scale  Step 4:  stand there..cold, naked and shocked when the scale reads 298.5.

How could this be?  There’s no way I’ve put on more than 10 lbs over the holiday.  Only pretty chicks with success stories in the magazines put on weight like that..not me.  No way! .. I know for a fact I successfully deluded myself into thinking it was ok to eat anything covered in marshmallow as long as it was at “dinner time.”

If you’ve never been at this point…let me fill you in.  THIS. is rock bottom.  THIS is when you start wishing you could just barf to make your stomach feel better, but knowing that your upset stomach is about your Total reality check in the “weight” department, you know the second your head hits the toilet, your mother will have 18 pamphlets on Bulimia at your doorstep and be calling every 5 mins asking if you’re ok.  “I’m fine mother, I’m fine. I don’t have an eating disorder.”

Sure I don’t.  I may not be Bulimic or Anorexic, but I certainly have an eating disorder.  Along with a procrastination disorder and the uncanny ability to have long drawn out conversations with myself while attempting to reason.  And by reasoning, I’m talking about bullshit.  Maybe I am only speaking for myself here, but MAN we bullshit ourselves a lot.

Long story short (too late), it’s time for me to stop dickin’ around and get some shiz done.  I’m so fired up about this right now that this herbal tea i’m drinking, may as well be crack.

Reality Check. it’s 11pm.  I have an appt with Ben my trainer tomorrow for my full restart. You can bet your boots I’ll be there. I’ll probably puke, passout or cry…oh lord don’t let it be all three…but I know for a fact that in 1 single workout, i can keep this drive alive. I can do this. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.

and if my mother calls, I’m fine!

Burpees or Boogers….I’ll take the boogers.

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I hate boogers. phlem. spit..gack!  They will make me barf in an instant.  But Burpees?  LOATHE them.  Once I had my son Timothy, it’s like ‘mama mode’ kicked in and developed a superhero like suit between the boogers and I.  On more than one occasion I have caught myself “grabbin’ a boogie”.  No kleenex. No nothing. Just my bare hand and a boogie. This is barbaric.  It’s almost like I can hear Braveheart screaming in the background “FREEEEEEDOM!” when I actually catch my son long enough to nab it.  THEN I grab a kleenex, because obviously I’m health code dyslexic, and dispose of the evil boogie.  I stand tall, hair flowing in the wind and think to myself, “Super Mom! Fighting Grime One Boogie at a Time!” then you almost hear a record scratch as Timothy puts my entire iPhone in his mouth and starts running with scissors. joy.

The moral of this long, dysfunctional tale, is that I overcame my gag reflex with boogies.  It was like a Christmas Miracle without annoying carolers and cocoa.  But Burpees? I hate them as much as Jumping Jacks.  You know the exercise that every fat person in the 80’s did in terrible grey sweatsuits where you could see every last ounce of their fat doing the cha-cha?   I know they make our cores tight and fantastic.  I know they help our Cardiovascular endurance.  I know that more than 15 in a row will make me barf.  But I don’t think that 10 Christmas Miracles in a row will make me like or even tolerate them.  So, I will go on, cursing my trainer (outloud) whilst hoisting my arse up and down doing these satanic exercises because I know that someday, I’ll hit my goal and I’ll never have to do them again.  Instead, I’ll smuggle wine into the gym and sip it while I watch another victim of the burpee have their will to live tested.