My Name Is Janie, and I'm a Diet-aholic

I called my trainer today.

To, you know, bitch whine.

She didn’t answer.

So, I instant-messaged another trainee, Melissa, on Facebook.

She called me back.

Here’s how it went down.  (disclaimer: I may have taken a wee bit of poetic license.)

Me:  I wanna quit.

Her: You can’t quit.

Me:  I want to quit. I gained weight. I’m having irregularity. I’m not a happy camper.

Her:  You drinking all the water you’re supposed to be drinking?

Me:  Yes. I feel like I’m about to pee my pants every freakin’ minute of every freakin’ day.

Her:  I was discouraged, too, but I’ve lost X amount of inches!
Me:  Whooooopeee Freakin Weeeeeee.  That's so refreshing to hear!  Really?  That's awesome.  Now, back to me. It's all about me, don't you know that? I wanna quit.  I gained weight and I’ve been being so good.

Her:  Don’t quit.  Get measured.  Grab another gear.  Quit your whining.  Life is good.

Me:  I think I’m gonna hurt her when I see her.

Her:  I can tell by your voice you’re about to turn left out of Natural Foods and head for Starbucks.  Don’t do it.

Me:  Freakin’ clairvoyant.

Her:  Okay.  Turn right.  Go to the house.  Get your snack/veggies/shake.  Do something right, Janie, because I’m tired of talking to you on the phone.

Me:  Okay. Thanks for calling me, and encouraging me.

I go home, make a meal replacement shake, throw ice and a zucchini squash into it, and drink the sucker.  It was awesome, really!

I felt so much better about myself.

But I'm really worried about Starbucks.  Without my daily Venti 7-Pump No Water Chai, Extra Hot drink, they're probably going to go out of business.  And at this rate, I’m never gonna use my iPhone pay app, OR get my black Starbucks card.

Wherein We Have Failure To Communicate - Part 1

Friday morning, I went to the gym, then to the grocery store.

Our local HEB is amazing at 6:10 a.m.
The shelves are almost full, the stockers working furiously.

There is a special fresh asparagus I love, packaged.  I grabbed 6 packages, none to expire prior to 1/20/13.  YAY.  Score!

I come home, lug in three flats of water before ThatManILove, who is furiously working on a super major major project on his computer, even realizes it.  And the groceries, too.

TMIL:  Babe. I’m sorry.
Me:  No big!  I’m good.  

And I start unloading groceries, trying to be quiet.

I get to the asparagus.  And I just have to celebrate.

Me:  Babe.  I knocked it out of the park on this asparagus.

TMIL: (gets up from the table) Babe, I gotta talk to you.  I really cannot get distracted.  And your tone startled me! Why would you be upset at this time of the morning?? Please, I’m almost at the deadline, I’m really making headway and…What?  Where are you going?

(About at the headway part, I actually stuck my fingers in my ears, turned around, and headed for the bedroom.)

(Oh, yes, I did.) (I'm like 10 years old or something.)

TMIL:  What’s going on?  Why would you have that tone this morning?  Are you okay?

Me:  Listen to me.  Let me tell the story from my perspective.

TMIL: What perspective?  I know exactly how this went down.

We are flat talking over each other.  He thinks he’s right.  I know I’m right (and therein, the mystery ends.  If it doesn’t, it should.  Ya know??).

We finally get quiet.

Me:  Yeah?  Wanna listen, then?  Let me paint you a picture.

He did decide to listen.  I talked.  He looked at me quizzically.

TMIL:  Seriously??  Babe?? That's what happened?

Me:  Seriously. Freaking asparagus.  I guess I needed to celebrate asparagus.

We laughed. 

I’m so proud of the work he’s doing on this project but hooooooly mooooooly it’s taking a lot out of him!

It’s never boring around here.

Snow Ice Cream vs….Bahama Bucks?

Snow?

In January?

In West Texas?  Where, last week, it was probably 60 or 70 degrees?  And then, it snowed? Ah, well, one thing is certain about this part of the country:  you never know what the weather’s going to be like.

We definitely need the moisture.

Not that we had enough snow in Midland to build a snowman...much less, make snow ice cream.

But that’s why we have Bahama Bucks, baby!  Year-round snow cones!  And gooooooood ones.

I might as well spread them on my derriere, because that’s exactly where they end up...eventually, anyway.

But you’d be proud of me...I’ve not had one this year. Not yet, anyway.

Bahama Bucks may go bankrupt without my every other day business.

My favorite order there?

Birthday Cake.  With Cream.  Snowcone.

It’s the B.O.M.B., I’m telling you.  Tastes just like snow ice cream, with sprinkles. 

I’ve tried the same version in skinny....it just doesn’t do it for me.

It's Nicole's fault I ever tried Bahama Bucks.  Though, it's not her fault I now have become a top patron.

Anyway, I’m going to try to stay away from that establishment...cut down my visits to every once in a while instead of every once in a day.

A.d.d.i.c.t.e.d.

So, how's your New Year going?

A Trek Less Traveled Or Some Verbosity

It’s New Year’s Day.

We are heading north from Kerrville to Big Spring to pick up our Wonderdogs.  If you’re new to this blog, the Wonderdogs = Zack and Zanna, both German Shorthairs, trained hunting dogs...who, by the way, have their owners trained perfectly to do their (the dogs) will.

New Year’s is a time of resolutions.

We really haven’t made any resolutions...but tomorrow?

Tomorrow starts day 1/10 of working out.  10 days in a row.  I figure it’s the only way I’m going to get back on track.  I was working out 3 mornings a week with my trainer, until late September, when the last push of my event season happens. (Not that I'm a freakin' event planner, but I could so do event planning…in my sleep.  My oil patch event season lasts through October.)  And then, I realized through this time that I’d really not been sleeping, figured out I was having a hard time breathing, and I went to the doctor.  

Who promptly diagnosed me with asthma and allergies.  And scheduled a sleep test, which I failed, because, DUH....I couldn’t go to sleep.   I passed my allergy test with flying colors.  I was allergic to almost everything.  Which pisses me off (but I bet you knew that) to no end.  So, allergy shots.  Three each, twice a week.  I’m going to go through the regimen (I think, the third such in my life?) and be healed.

In my early walk with the Lord, I did some studies on diseases...and found many of them have a spiritual root.  Because, you know, by His stripes, we are healed, right?
Yeah.  And the spiritual root of allergies is...fear.  And I’m one who’s never scared of ANYTHING.  So, I’m a little pissed that, somehow, I’ve opened a door to that stupid thing.

I’ve got some spiritual work to do, as well as some physical work to do.

I’m getting back on track. I have to do so. I have some goals, like visiting Clara Wiggins' work, The Transformation Initiative, in Kenya.  We sponsor some children in that organization, and we want to meet them, as well as see if there's any other way we can help out. I have to be way more fit and hardy than I am at present.  It’s going to be a long trek, but I’m pointed down the path and slowly and surely, I will arrive.

I’m also going to try to get back on track with writing. I function better when I take a minute to journal...and in the past, have done it on this blog.  I’m going to try to be more open, and not just tell you the crazy stuff that happens in our lives...though I’m sure you’ll get a little of that.  And, at first, you might get a little whining...because my trainer is determined I succeed.  I’ll try to keep it at a minimum.  Promise.

I promise.

Whiny Butt (okay, it's the week of the butt posts.)

My trainer you’ve gotta be getting tired of hearing about her laughed at me today.

Not sure if it was because I couldn’t do the freakin’ plank, whatever that is, (and I know what the celebrated plank is, believe me) or some-other awful thing she wanted me to contort and do, and by the way, do 20 repetitions each side. No wonder I'm falling down on the stupid toilet.  I swear it would be easier to wet my pants.

I told her, huffing and puffing and sweating like a hog running from a 55mph Polaris,  “I’m going to get better, I promise.”

And she said, “I know.”  In my head, I could hear a little sneer "bwahahaha, my pretty, I'm going to GET you!"

Me:  “I’ve gotta quit whining and just rope the hell up.”

She: “Girl.  You don’t whine at all.  I have one client that tells me no for 30 minutes of her workout.”

Me:  “No?  It’s an option? Seriously?”

She:  “I mean she tells me she’s not going to do the exercises I ask her to do...for about half of her hour.”

In my head: “Dang. I mean, what’s the freakin’ point of coming at all? That woman MUST be a bit** RICH.”

Holy Butt Cramp

My butt is taking me back to a conversation I had yesterday at the gym.

Trainer:  Your backside and legs are going to be sore tomorrow from all this workout.

Me:  I’ll try not to whine too much.  I'm getting better at working through it!

Fast forward to today:

Ouuuuuchhhhhh! 

Walking Wounded

Son of a billy goat!

I am sore from working out.

"Woe, dee-spair and agonyyyyy on me. Deep dark depression, excessive misery..."

I knew it would be bad, but I didn’t know it would be this bad.

I can’t walk without moaning.  I can’t breathe without moaning.  I turn, and I gasp.

I would take drugs...but I really don’t think they’ll help.

I’m thinking about stopping any fluid or food intake because it hurts to just sit on the toilet.

And Tuesday, I’m going to do it all over again? At 5 a.m.? 

What in the H. E. Double L was I thinking??

Pushup, Smushup

Oh, my Lord.

This morning, at 5 a.m., I went and met my personal trainer and did my evaluation. 

Or should I say, she did my evaluation.

I now know I am WAY out of shape.

I now know I have WAY too much body fat, even though I’ve lost 50 pounds.

I now know I don’t have half the flexibility I used to have.

I now know I can’t do one - 1 -  you know, like “three, two, one? - pronounced “won” - pushup.  One stinking pushup.

I thought a pushup was a bra type, dammit.

I now know I can’t do lunges, or squats, since I hurt my knee prior to the Alaska trip.

Nothing like a little self-realization to make you feel secure and good about yourself.

I might as well not go, right?  Right?  (C’mon, give me some affirmation here.  I only need one little excuse to quit - you know, before I even get really started?)

To her credit, she didn’t laugh at me every time I failed, or even make fun of how out of shape I am.  Thank God.

She did smile and say, “You’ll get better.” Which sounds an awful lot like:  “Bwahahahahahaha...I’m going to get you, my pretty!”

And hot?

Jumpin’ Jehosaphat, it was HOT in there.  At 5 in the morning!  HOT!!!

I’m on the treadmill.  And she’s pushing the incline up, doing my cardio evaluation.  I finally told her, “Hey, it’s hot in here.  I’m menopausal.  I threaten to CUT my husband when I get too hot. Just saying.”

She smiled, and turned on the oscillating fan.    Little does she know, in that one beautiful action, she may have well saved her sweet little life.  

It's never boring around here.