Turbulance

On my way to Vegas, hard to type with the plane moving as much as it is! 5 days, two bags, maybe I over did it, but high shoes take up a lot of room. Big week for R, will post more when I'm not trying to hold my computer and type at the same time!

I gave up....

I didn't give up improving, I gave up posting. But I'm not going to do that, so I'm posting again.

A few weeks ago I was feeling pretty rotten about myself. I had been working out since I started posting and I wasn't getting any results on the scale. My legs looked better, but that's about it. And I was having a rotten week and sulking. Then on FB a friend noted the anniversary of the death of someone I went to high school with. She died of leukemia and left behind a 2 year old daughter and horribly distraught husband. This girl has battled anorexia during high school, she was in ballet and completely obsessed with how she looked. Where had it gotten her, and then I think of all the people she left that were so sad, or would never know her and basically I felt like an enormous asshole for caring so much what the scale said and not just living.

Then the shootings happened at the movie theater and I wanted to leave this crazy country and find somewhere quiet to live.

I want to keep working out, but I cannot obsess to the detriment of my mental wellbeing. R and I are entering a part of our lives where the kids are grown and on their own and I should be so happy and excited about what I'm going to do. Not standing in my underwear in front of a mirror saying terrible things to myself about how I look. I need to start being nice to myself, no matter what I look like or I will never be happy, no matter what the scale says.

One year younger

During a conversation last night discussing age with my darling daughter, I mentioned that it sucked I was going to be 43 this year. Every year when it gets close to my birthday I start saying my next age, you know, roll it around a little, get used to the idea. Why cling to the number that will soon disappear. Well, it seems that I got so used to it, I had myself convinced I WAS 42 and then started thinking that I would be turning 43. She set me straight, I was so excited last night to learn that I was just turning 42. Then I got upset because I thought how fucking old and senile do you have to be to forget how old you're turning on your birthday. So the happiness was short-lived, but on August 4th, you can wish me a happy 42nd birthday, and I'll take it.

Run/walk was 7.75 km today and I felt awful. Turns our 3 pieces of cheese and two glasses of red aren't decent fuel for working out the next day. The boys were having 5 Guys, and although it one of life's treasures, it's not exactly fitting in with my current plan so I skipped it. Not one fry. Before you critique the choice of wine over five guys, hello!! Wine is good for you, read the articles. I only drink it for my heart, I'm that dedicated.

A funny thing happened on the way to workout

It didn't suck. The alarm when off, even though I had that moment of complete delirium where I kept hammering my phone to make it stop, when it was R's phone making the noise. I got up and I was awake, ready to go. The first week or 5 I was pretty tired and grumpy when the alarm went off but I'm finally getting used to it. And I have to say, there was almost a hint of being ok with it this morning. I started running right out of the gate, my toe didn't hurt and I went pretty far before I had to stop and walk.

OMG and my friends boyfriend said "what's up with Laura, she looks emaciated" - he was exaggerating of course, but he simply does not realize what a compliment that was. Sad isn't it. My friend was jealous because he said she didn't look emaciated. Girls are seriously fucked up.

Can Somebody Get Me A Toe?

Last night I made plans with the Italian son to go to the track at the more reasonable hour of 6:15am. He is a sprinter and needs a track to train on, I didn't think initially that R was going to ride. The reason I didn't think he was going to ride is that he's going to ride 100 miles tomorrow, in the mountains. This would have caused me to decide to take a break the day before, but not R, he's tough (crazy). So last night I'm practically falling into a coma waiting for the broadcast of the Tour to be over. I went into our bedroom to pet the cat, and instantly fell asleep. I could still hear sounds from the TV and willed myself back up to go watch the exciting conclusion. Swung my legs over the bed and cracked my toe on the metal rail. My baby toe. The unnecessary one. I thought to myself, after I finished swearing, self, you've broken your toe this time. I stated this to my concerned family back out in the living room. They said "I think he's going to do it, look, he's on the back of so and so's wheel, he's going to win the sprint, you can't win the sprint unless you can get on the wheel of the guy in front of you, the guy in second always wins." They were clearly horrified by my statement.

I woke this morning at 6, got up and went to the track. My toe is indeed broken, and I'm such a badass I still did seven laps, 4 running. But now I fear that I will be punished for my wanton disregard of the toe. Could somebody please call John Goodman and see if he can get me a toe.

Little Black Plastic Bags

The Parketery (we live beside a cemetery - I prefer to call it a Parketery, or Dog Poo Park depending) provides these bags for the dog walkers to collect the reward their dogs leave them every morning as a thank you for talking them for a walk. I watch person after person stand and watch their dog have a shit, then bend over to pick it up with the bag careful placed over their hand like a glove. I would very much like to resurrect me darling grandfather, and R's darling grandfather and put them in our chairs. The disgust that would be hurled at the 20 year olds would be hilarious. "What in the name of Joe Jesus are they doing, what's this world come to??!!"

Today's exercise program was varied and challenging. I started just by walking the track for a few laps to warm up, then I ran laps until I got bored of running in a circle. I walked just outside the park where there are stairs and ran up and down those until my legs said "STOP!" - after I could feel the lactic acid reside a bit, I walked down to the bottom of a hill and then sprinted up. I did this 5 times. I then went back onto the track and lunged myself back to lactic acid hell. I finished with some more walking laps. I will hurt tomorrow, but I know R will take tomorrow off as he loses his mind on Tuesday and rides morning and night. So I figured I could hurt myself today.

Would like my French workbooks to come! I can't rent the villa in Provence in January if I can't speak French now can I?

Drunken Enlightenment - the Best Kind

We had friends over for dinner last night. Irish friends...'nough said. As we were pontificating over the question of age, we all came to the same conclusion. We feel no different mentally than we did when we were 20, even though now we're 40. Don't get me wrong, we may not be the assholes we were at 20, but the core of who we are has not changed. We've learned and grown and had perspectives changed by circumstance and challenge, but are still the same person. So we naturally surmised that this is probably going to be the case at 60 and so on. It became clear that it was more important than ever to get or keep our bodies in good condition because of how much it would suck to be mentally sound and have our bodies let us down. For example, I love to dance and listen to loud music. I always want to be able to drop it like it's hot. And I don't give a rat's ass if I'm too old, if "Shorty Got Low" comes on, I'm going to hit the dance floor and embarrass the shit out of whichever grandchild is being married. So maintaining an ability to bend is imperative. I do not want to be the funny grandma dancing on youtube, I want to be the badass grandma dancing on youtube.

This helped clarify why older people could be grumpy, they did not do this and are now paying the price of having a little too much eat drink and be merry. Ironically, all of this knowledge came to us as we were eating, drinking and being merry. Our poor Italian guest had quite a bit of difficulty understanding our profound discussion, but he hung in there. Not gay. Bummer. Nice kid, will have to work with what I've been given.

BUONGIORNO

Today, tonight actually, we are picking up our Italian exchange student. R brokered a deal with a colleague in Italy whereby we swap sons. Giovanni is soon 22 years old and I really hope easy to get along with, as he will be living with us for 8 weeks. I'm secretly dying for him to be gay so that I have a shopping buddy for the next 8 weeks. Can you imagine, and Italian man to shop with, that wants to shop??!!

Walked miles today, don't know how many but I just set up an app on my phone to track that sort of thing. R hasn't said anything about noticing any progress. Although he doesn't usually mention things like that for fear of offending if he says the wrong thing, or the wrong way. Maybe he's worried that if he compliments me I'll think I'm good enough and stop. Maybe, worst case scenario, there's no progress.

Ordered two French workbooks online to get ready for my French lessons in the fall. I have to make sure I'm in an intermediate class, can't bare to go through another beginner French lesson learning how to tell time and ask where the train station is. The research for the book is going well, will work on Chapter three if time allows today, which is not likely but you never know where some spare minutes will show up.

Alarming Discovery!

I noticed it last week but thought, just ignore, it will go away. It was early anyway and maybe you didn't see what you think you saw. However it happened again last night so I can't help but believe it's true. R is getting abs, like a six pack, washboard. I have flabs, which may rhyme but is oh so different! I'm not sure how to handle this, and will have to get back to you. It's a problem that's only going to get worse as he is ramping up for a race at the end of the month. No amount of butter I add to his food will make a difference because he's burning too many calories.

He said this morning on our way to workout that he was concerned because someone had to be close for me to use my pepper spray. I had that well thought out and covered already. I said I would stick my hand out showing I had pepper spray if someone started to approach and simultaneously yell "I have AIDS!"

Lights and Sirens

Fresh back from our vigorous 5am exercise in the dark, 80 degree, 91% humidity temp. R and I were checking our email, finishing up our coffee. I had just made our protein shakes. When all hell broke loose. Firetrucks and an ambulance came charging up our street and stopped. Right in front of the building with all of the pretty twenty year olds.

R said "aren't you glad we don't live across the street from an old peoples home." But I was alarmed. The pretty people, what could have possibly happened. His response, while still reading and drinking his shake, "cocaine, there's a lot of cocaine in that building." Really?? I'm not convinced, but have always been a bit naive when it came to such things.

I don't want to be carried out of my home on a stretcher. If I'm sick, I don't want to be so sick that I can't say, hey, not well, please drive me to the hospital. I don't want it to come down to an ambulance and fire truck. You're fucked if it comes down to that aren't you? I mean, not every time, but generally speaking. Then the worst thing ever happened. The stretcher came out, loaded with a person, and no one was in a hurry. They took their sweet time loading the ambulance, and when they left, they didn't turn the siren on. Damn. I wonder if there is a dog over there now without a pretty person to walk it.

Hot, Damn Hot

I never thought I would say this, but I'm glad we're exercising at 5am. It's crazy hot right now and I think that 75 at 5am is as cool as it's going to get for a while. We didn't go this morning, had to take our darling son to the airport for a trip to the homeland. It was raining anyway.

Tomorrow I am supposed to be joined by my friend the writer because she lost a bet. We'll see. Nothing exciting to report today because we spent the weekend inside. Will try and do something thrilling today so I don't bore you to death.

Happy Place

So, the dreaded weight in was this morning, just me alone in the bathroom, light off, stepping onto the glass bastard. 4 pounds still lost :) - yes, I waited two weeks after my return to check. But let's not talk about that.

Today in the dirty South the temperature is set to hit 104, with a heat index of 108. No good reason to go outside as far as I can tell. So, instead I've spread a huge tarp over my living room floor, laid down a 4 x 6 canvas, and have been behaving like Jackson Pollock, although I'm not smoking or drunk (yet). While I wait for the layers in-between to dry, I'm writing. Hibernation in reverse, and it's great!

The hiking trip is off, the mountains are going to be just as stinking hot, so this weekend, we will simply turn up the a/c and turn on the Tour de France. There will be beer and napping involved.

Pepper Spray

The fashionable accessory for any 5am solo exerciser. I carry the car keys in my sports bra, R's suggestion, a bottle of water, my iPhone for tunes and pepper spray. I'm a pack mule. I have a runner's belt but feel like it's overkill to strap on something that you're supposed to wear during marathon's when I'm pretty much just walking. However, if someone ever did just jump out of the bushes to attack me, I would have to ask them to wait a sec so that I could put everything down to get access to the pepper spray.

Walking up a very lonely hill this morning I came upon a man and woman having an argument on the sidewalk in front of what I presume was their residence. I'm so glad I'm not in my twenties anymore, seriously people, not worth it. Go to bed, get up, give him the stink eye when you hand him his coffee (doesn't matter who's fault it was) so he knows you're still angry, and make up by dinner. Life's too short.

R said we might skip tomorrow. He might be just testing me, so I have to play my hand carefully. Just the thought of not getting up tomorrow at 4:30 is making my eyes well. Will buy one (or two) lovely bottles of wine tonight and ply him with liquor before bed so that he's in no shape to change his mind. Off to the mountains this weekend for a hike. Which is code for leave the 103 degree temps of the city.

Slight Problem with 4:30

And not what you're thinking either. That's obvious. At 4:30 you're supposed to be asleep. The less obvious problem is waking up at 4:30 gives me approximately 3 more hours in the day to be hungry and try to ignore it. Of course exercising also makes you hungry. I'm trying to eat what I normally do in an effort to lose weight. Calories in and calories out bullshit. But I'm hungrier.

I've never been a good snacker. It's like napping for me, totally unsatisfying. If I'm tired, I want to sleep, not nap, so I avoid it. Seems very unproductive to sleep for two hours in the middle of the day while everyone works. Snacking is more difficult. I have a snack, it is unsatisfying, so then I have  the meal that I was trying to avoid by snacking. Basically I just had an appetizer and added 140 calories to a meal.  So my master plan is to wait until I can't wait any longer and then have the meal, sans snack. The three extra hours is making this a challenge. But like anything, I'm sure I'll get used to it. Like being friendly to people I don't like, or telling a decorating client that the brown sofa they just bought is absolutely what their room needed.

Bad Blogging Form

R told me that when you go on vacation you're supposed to tell your readers that you're going on vacation so that they don't think you just quit blogging. I was on vacation and will make sure I properly update you on my whereabouts in the future.

It's 8:35 am and I have been up for 4 hours. Logged 4 miles walking, cleaned the kitchen, made R's lunch, drove him to work, made my "Laura's trying to be heathy" shake and now I would very much like a nap. Oh, and the cat keeps barfing, which I've cleaned up three times, and the turtle shit all over our bathroom, which is very unusual for him, don't know what's up. But basically I think I've done a days work just in cleaning up animal fluids alone.

R and I went to Paris, my favorite place on the whole planet. I haven't had the nerve to look to see if the four pounds I lost are still lost or if I've found them. We basically ate Paris out of food. It was lovely! After being vegetarian for 13 years we've gone back on the meat, so we had menu options while there that were previously ignored and we had all of them. We've started eating meat again due in part to our son's decision to go to culinary school and me not wanting to pass up what he learns to cook.

Every morning for one week I had a croissant, cafe cream (coffee with steamed milk) and a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Can I just tell you that that kicks the shit out of my morning shake. During the rest of the day and night I basically just tried to consume as much cheese as possible. And I did a decent job with that. Only one hangover, and considering that we started drinking wine every day around lunch time I think that's pretty successful. Tip - 5 kir royals is too many, especially when combined with the wine you have with dinner.

Going to be hard core for 5 weeks, R isn't traveling so it's up every morning at 4:30 for exercise until the end of July. I should look amazing, except for the bags and dark circles under my eyes. I also have a renewed reason for dedicating myself to learning French, our friends in Paris said I can come and stay with them anytime I like for a week or two. R's a bit nervous I won't come back.

Our son will be leaving for Canada and then Italy for the summer next week. In return we will be getting an Italian. My son cooks, this kid better cook! He also better do laundry. He's going to have a hard transition otherwise, I have enough trouble keeping my own shit together.

Back amongst the living

Two days of vile sickness followed one of the best days I've ever had. Super hard to impart witticisms when you're wearing track pants and folded into the fetal position. That is when you're not in the bathroom playing guess which orifice is going to punish me this time??!!  Feeling much better this morning, fingers crossed.

The anniversary trip, 24 hours in NYC with R, was amazing! I knew that I was getting sick but held myself together and I don't think R had a clue. In fact I was so convincing I think even my body believed my own bullshit for the day, that's the only explanation for why it waited until returning to Charlotte to turn me inside out. So even thought it was really mean to me Thursday and Friday, I would like to thank it for behaving itself Wednesday.

The morning started with breakfast at the Ritz on Central Park. And when your day starts at the Ritz, the bar is set pretty high. In all my wisdom I thought it was perfectly ok to wear my platform wedges for a day filled with walking. I was already quit fucked by the time we arrived at MOMA, which wasn't very far away from the hotel. But thought it too soon to complain since I had been repeatedly warned by R. After the tiniest little security guards with very official walkie talkies let us into the museum we did what we always do. Go to two exhibits before getting bored and heading to the gift shop, where we spend scads of time. Not sure when we'll learn that if we don't spend $50 on admission, we'll have $50 more to spend at the gift shop.

From there we went to MOOD fabrics. A certified Project Runway addict will understand my need to visit this joint. It was so awesome I forgot my feet hurt. I think I touched every piece of fabric in the place, even R wasn't bored, it's that amazing. I geeked out on fabric for 40 minutes than bought my "Thank You Mood" T-shirt. At this point we were hungry again. What better place to have lunch than the outdoor restaurant at Bryant Park, where they do the Project Runway finale? Lunch was delish, a little rose to help wash it down.

It was useless to pretend anymore, I needed to buy flats urgently. We went straight to Zara, where I scored a lovely pair of royal blue ballet flats. My feet took 1/2 to forgive me, but they finally did. After walking some more we headed back to the Ritz for an afternoon nap before dinner. I still had no idea what was planned for the evening, but apparently we were going to be up late, cause R doesn't nap.

When we awoke and got ourselves looking refreshed and glammed up we headed out to dinner. Unfortunately the acquisition of a cab at 6:15pm is a contact sport and we were quite late for our reservation. We ate dinner and drank a bottle of champagne like we had entered a state fair eating contest.
Even thought the food only passed over our tongues, with barely a chance to touch, it was divine. Our lovely hostess took it upon herself to grab the next taxi so that we wouldn't be late for the theater. It started to pour down rain while we were in the cab, and in true NY fashion, the cab driver deemed us close enough and stopped a block away from the Majestic. Cue scene of dressed up couple running down a wet New York street laughing...

I have been in love with the Phantom of the Opera since before I was in love with R. It happened while I was in Fashion school. We were putting on a fashion show for the Festival of Fashion and Music of the Night was one of the songs the models walked to, wearing beautiful evening dresses. I was forever entranced. I bought the score from the original London cast and learned every word, every nuance. When I met R, I shared my love for it with him. Our wedding song was supposed to be All I Ask of You, but due to an enormous fuck-up by the bargain basement DJ that didn't happen. At any rate, I had this built up to a point where I almost didn't want to see a performance because I didn't think it could live up to what I had in my head. I was so wrong! It was the most amazing, breathtaking dream come true. I don't know how many times I cried, but it started with the first line or the opera. I can't thank R enough for giving me that experience.

The night was capped off with a carriage ride through Central Park were R enjoyed a cigar and we both did not enjoy the bad bubbly juice we picked up at the only open store. We entered the Ritz for a night cap and managed to score scotch that was $100 a shot for $20 because of the generosity of a waiter, who's ass is going to be kicked by the bartender for the next week. I didn't want it to end. Can I hit replay??

Anniversary Eve

Well, 4 lbs, not too bad, honestly after the last time I weighed myself I wasn't expecting it.

And yesterday, after trying on three lovely dresses that didn't look nice at all I was feeling pretty discouraged - BUT, then I tried on the perfect dress and was all better. I can't wait to go meet up with R in NYC, it's going to be an epic day. I hope the rain holds off so that we can explore the city all day. And by explore, we usually walk for two hours, then stop somewhere and eat. We're not very touristy. I have many things that need attention today. I will do my nails tonight right before bed in an effort not to jack them up like I always do after spending 45 minutes filing and painting.

Nasty man just walked past my balcony holding up his pants while he walked, with his nasty brown underwear hanging out. EW.

Late

WOW, not that kind of late, just late posting this morning. Busy as shit today, Mondays!

Two days away from celebrating our 20th anniversary and I'm feeling very nostalgic. It really has been a crazy exciting adventure to be married to R. Not being one to disappoint, he has tricks up his tailored sleeve for our big day in New York on Wednesday. I really hope the weather cooperates, it doesn't look promising. I'm supposed to bring a dress, can get quite done up apparently. That means comfy day shoes, high night shoes, and flats for the aftermath.

Dreaded weigh in tomorrow. Send me positive vibes.

Instant Gratification

Let's run through my day to see why the frustration builds up to the point of screaming shall we? I wake up in the morning refreshed after having a good nights sleep (let's play pretend on that one because you and I both know it's a lie). The bags under my eyes are gone. I need to wake up, so I have a coffee, it works, every time. I'm hungry so I make my potion, drink it and I'm not hungry anymore. Should it be time for a hair cut/color, I go to the salon and when I leave, my hair looks great. Nails jacked, no problem, a trip to the nail salon will fix quick snap. Dirty clothes, one wash, fixed. Dirty body, one wash, fixed. Messy house, one clean, fixed.

Why the fuck do I exercise day in and day out, starve myself silly (and today bitchy) to get no result what so ever. Go to the gym, burn 500 calories, leave looking worse. Cause now I'm pudgy and sweaty. People would work out every friggin day if when they left the gym it actually looked like they had gone. But it doesn't work that way does it?!!  You have to go, in my case, for something like 6 months before you get one nice person - usually someone you tip like your stylist - ask if you've been doing something. That's why people are obsessed with telling people via twitter and Facebook that they've gone to the gym. Because if you didn't tell them they wouldn't be able to tell just by looking at you. I used to be annoyed with all the status updates "off to the gym," Jim just checked into Useless Fitness, "so tired from my workout." But these people are just trying to keep themselves sane. They want someone to tell them it's worth it, it's working.

There's a place somewhere in Africa where skinny men and fat women are socially perfect. I wonder how many air miles it takes to get there. Oprah found it, of course.

Round 9

Signed up for a fitness class that is boxing based. A friend and I took boxing lessons for fitness last year, bought pink gloves and everything. The problem with it was that it was at an actual boxing gym. The guy who ran the place, coach Joe, couldn't get it through his head that we just wanted a new workout. We didn't want to actually punch anyone, like ever. And I was definitely not on board with being punched. Always on us about footwork and letting our guard down. He was so annoyed all the time that it wasn't fun anymore. I brought him a cupcake once, and he went easy on us that day, but it was short-lived.

So today I go to my first high intensity 30 minute boxing workout. I get to pull out the pink gloves again. I hope my arms don't cause me social embarrassment in a group setting as they are want to do. If I remember correctly, skipping for two minutes straight is harder than you can imagine, and my least favorite part of boxing. ADRIENNE!

Lotions and Potions

I keep adding more and more to my morning smoothie with the hope that I will come up the magic cocktail that will cure all of my woes. Much like the anti-wrinkle cream hunt. To date it includes 1/2 banana, 1/4 cup pineapple, 1/4 cup raspberries, 2 tsp flax seed meal, 1 tsp straight fiber, 1 tsp honey, 1/2 cup orange juice, 1/2 cup carrot juice, 1/2 cup low fat vanilla soy milk. It doesn't taste horrid yet, so clearly there is work to be done.

Speaking of wrinkle creams. The people that make them, and the models and actresses that flog them should all be put in a vat of smelly green slime. It just isn't right to lie to people like that. If you've had work done, you should not tell me that the cream did it. Give me a closeup shot of a make-up-less 40 year old, who has not had cosmetic surgery or spa treatments. A before an after shot will reveal - nothing. Cause the shit doesn't work, yet we keep buying it. At least they wouldn't be lying.

My thighs are screaming!

And not in a good way. Damn. Yesterday was a holiday so I was by myself at the track. Today, there was a bit of a crowd. There was creepy track guy, you know, the one who's exercising in street clothes. It was just us for the first 15 minutes. Then, at 5:15, a running group of like minded crazy fanatics like my husbands cycling peeps showed up. They were 5 marathon runners there to do cross training. Then a few minutes later, a personal trainer and his game entered the track. The poor bastards, he ran them ragged while saying shit like "fitness needs to become a habit, then it becomes therapy, then a lifelong obsession." He must have had time for coffee, I didn't, so all his motivational speakery just got on my nerves. The fitness people just don't get the non-fitness people. We know all this is true, but it just doesn't speak to us like it speaks to them. For us, it is work, end of story. Means to an end. Pain. Suffering. Stick your endorphins up your ass. I'm there because I don't want to be fat. If I had a metabolism and didn't have to work out, I would be as happy, I would not feel the need to acquire a life long obsession. Other than shoes. ADVIL.

I've gone over to the dark side

And I mean that quite literally. It's fucking dark at 5 am. Yet there I was, at the track, me and the dark. And only one song loaded on my phone, that got old fast. I did a walking/run combo for and hour and 15 minutes. The run length was determined by my body's refusal to run any further and still maintain normal functions, like breathing. When I was able to breath again, I would run again. After I was finished that portion of the workout, I found a great little spot to wrap my resistance band around to do some arm exercises. Unfortunately, in this perfect little spot, I was immediately attacked by a herd of gnats, so I had to move. Undaunted, I finished my resistance workout, with intervals of suicides in-between each set and felt quite accomplished. I felt great, home, showered, fed and off to meet a decorating client. Then I came home and went into a coma on the sofa for two hours. I'm going to be sore as shit tomorrow, and the alarm is going to go off at 4:25.

Fer Reals?

People in Russia are reading my blog...yet nobody seems to want to comment. A "hi" would be appreciated :)

Long Weekend Glory

R actually slept in - and then got up and made coffee. I want to go hiking in the mountains as a change of scenery and a cooling of temperature, but I don't want it to turn into a huge expedition. Hiking for 3 hours at a nice pace, not a cross training opportunity for crazy cycle pants. Must sell my case.

I have to change things up, the pilates is making my muscles stronger, but it's not cardio and the pooch is firmly in place. I have two big trips coming up that I want to make improvements before. I'm running out of time for this, just two weeks. It's so freaking hot in this God-forsaken place that outdoor exercise either has to be done at 5am or after a 3 1/2 hours drive to the mountains. I ran last year, but it generally doesn't agree with my crocked spine, however, it's fast and effective. Might be my only choice - get up with crazy pants and run. I wish personnel trainers weren't so expensive, it works, that's why they can charge what they do.

I feel like a big hunk of dodo

Too much red wine. My head was pounding so much this morning that my back teeth hurt. I didn't even think that I was drinking that much, but the evidence is overwhelming.

R sucker punched me last night. I met he and his boss down in our parking garage and he looked my outfit up and down, then looked at me and said nothing. Awesome, I can't change out of what I thought was a cute outfit into something else because they have arrived. So I was even more self conscious than usual the whole night. Two of the guys that came over have stunning wives, who I always feel inferior to. I just sat there talking to them imagining that they were looking at me and thinking, at least she can cook. I had changed six times before deciding what to wear, guess I should have stuck with #5.

My breakfast drink tastes horrible this morning. I don't feel funny today.

Moose-hunting lottery opens in Cape Breton

Ah, my people. However, not on board with eating moose.

R and I were watching the Giro d'Italia last night. As with all bicycle races, there are crazed fans at the tops of mountains who like to chase the riders for as long as they can. And I noticed something. These men that run alongside the riders screaming at them are usually less than fit, it's probably the most exercise they get all year. They love to take their shirts off so we can see their bellies bouncing along as they try and maintain the riders speed. Men. Imagine if you will the same scenario but with women, you can't. There will never be an instance where chubby women go and locate the fittest of fit girls they can find, waving there arms madly so that the camera can capture side by side image for posterity. Check out how I look next to this perfect specimen of woman. The moment where they show themselves to be chubby and desperate. Men don't care, and I'm jealous.

Dinner guests tonight. That means I have to cook really good food that I won't be able to resist. But I shouldn't have to. I've decided that I can eat whatever I like, just half of what I would normally. So I'm hungry, but not denied deliciousness. We are having a green salad with honey dijon dressing, boeuf bourguignonne with sautéed onions and mushrooms, roasted potatoes and chouquettes for desert. And I literally have to start cooking in 1/2 hour if I want to feed them at 7pm tonight.

Seriously...

One pound. I've exercised every day, well, except when we were in Canada. I've cut my portions in half and I've lost one lousy pound. This is the time I start to think about drastic measures. Which only serves one purpose, making me immediately hungry. Right after I decide to do my shake for breakfast and lunch, my stomach starts to growl on cue. I need a cheerleader. But I want Jennifer Aniston, Madonna, Heidi Klum. An old bitch like me that had managed to keep her shit together. I want to eat with them everyday for a month and exercise with them. I hope they're paying. Maybe I should make a youtube video request to these ladies, it works for people who need dates. If I only new how to work the flip cam, and youtube. It would also mean taking a video of me, which I'm against. This is going to require some thought.

The dangers of NASCAR

We live in the middle of the city, a southern city. It's NASCAR week, so our city center is about to be invaded with race fans. Here's the danger. If you lived here you would understand. Unless you are 20 something and currently in the market for your primary care giver (that's husband to southern women) you are not too worried about fitness. That is unless said primary care giver has more money than the average bear and you have to maintain a certain look to maintain him. But there's lipo for that.

What I'm saying is, in the south, for a 41 year old like myself, I'm fit. My dress size isn't in the double digits and my food of choice is not fried chicken, biscuits and gravy. I want to do better personally but the social pressure here to do so is minimal. If you take all this into account, then add NASCAR race fan wives, I look amazing. For the next week, while I'm battling the reformer, I will look out my window and see men and women alike wearing tank tops and jean shorts, sneakers, ball hats (some equipped to hold beer) and white sunglasses; all sporting bellies that my husband has horrible names for. Where's the incentive?

Luckily, we seem to have picked a place across the street from 20 somethings on the man hunt. So I think if I only go outside during dog walking time I should be ok. That's when they're in their full dog walking regalia of spandex. Showing off their "i've never had children and I don't eat carbs" bodies.

On your marks, get set, close the blinds!

Boy finds finger in Arby's sandwich

The reformer is depressing me. I still can't "use the reformer to walk myself back up". And if I'm to keep working out in our bedroom, the giant mirror beside my has to go. I keep looking at the TV and what it's supposed to look like, and then looking at the harsh blast of reality in the mirror. My arms are really jacked up, I am a cripple. The driving force, besides the bathing suit and hot husband, is that I don't want it to get worse. So I am committed to keeping up the pilates torture with the hope that my body will remember that it used to be more flexible. I will occasionally pop in the aerobic dance video to remind myself that I'm also horribly uncoordinated, you know, for balance.
I finished that book, and I was angry with her. Not for (spoiler alert) leaving him in the end, but for turning down the personnel trainer and diet program. Bitch, do you know how expensive it is to have a personnel trainer four days a week. Idiot. I would have crossed out everything else that kinky bastard had in the contract and said I would like to get in shape first if he didn't mind. There's no explaining people.

50 Shades of stop telling me what to do

As a wanna be writer, I'm trying to read the book everyone is talking about. It's erotic and scandalous and yet all I can think about is how bad her writing is and how she's raking in money for this piece of crap. Am I focusing on the wrong thing? Not to mention that I'm so annoyed on the behalf of the "submissive". If I had to name the single biggest annoyance in my life, it would be being told what to do. Even when someone is trying to help. Just try and teach me something, you'll understand. Pretty sure R will never try and teach me anything ever again. Or work with me, or be my trainer.
Neck is feeling better today so I'm back to the reformer. Which seems like something Mr. Grey would use if he'd thought about it. I'm feeling good today, like my outfit, planning a night out with a friend. A friend who will guarantee I will feel like shit tomorrow. But that's the price we pay for the love of laughter and wine. She is also a writer, and shares my scorn.

Man dies during lap dance.

The research I read yesterday said to make the titles of your posts more exciting so that people would read your blog. This news headline caught my eye so I thought I'd give it a try :)

The verdict on my three choices yesterday, I picked advil and finished the dining room. It was the most logical thing to do. I've had an "o"pifany, not having a TV is going to make me skinnier, and make my house cleaner. When we moved, we couldn't decide if we wanted cable or internet TV. We still haven't decided. So last night at 9 o'clock, what was I doing? Washing the dining room floor of course. Idol was on, I was meant to be spending my time watching a painfully drawn-out elimination. I am realizing how many hours I have spent watching the Today show in the morning and all reality TV in the evening. I never want full time TV again. I have hulu, if I'm dying to see a show, I can look it up. But I will never plunk myself down on my still drop sheet covered sofa again and actively look for something to watch so that I don't do other things. Did you know you can't eat and clean at the same time. Unsanitary. You also can't paint and eat at the same time, or type. I'm going to look fabulous! And luckily you can still drink wine during the above mentioned activities, although with painting, keep it to a minimum. Neck still sore today, shocker, based on yesterday's picture hanging marathon. Must run and get more advil, I've got shit to do!

Oh Dear....

I have scoliosis - it's not debilitating or anything. I'm just not allowed to take a job as a piano mover or paint the Sistine Chapel. I once had a cute little aerobics instructor ask me in front of the class if I was a cripple because I couldn't lift both arms over my head at the same time.

Over the period of the last three weeks, we have moved (no pianos), I have painted all the main rooms in the new house. They have gorgeous 12' ceilings. Flown to Canada and back and started a new workout routine. Along with other extra curricular activities. When I woke up this morning, my neck refused to lift my head off the pillow. That's its job, moving my head. My neck turned in a letter of resignation at some point during the night and now I am left with a job opening necessary to complete the renovation of both house and body. This leaves me with three options. Take 8 advil and pretend my neck still works. Go get a massage that will take three days to have any effect but is easier on your liver than 24 advil. Rest. I suck at the last one, especially when there is decorating to be done! Not sure how today will go.

On a side note, my husband said last night while discussing who would play us in a movie, he's Ben Affleck, no argument - that I reminded him of Mini Driver. Um, I love her, but she has jawline issues, i.e. a massive one. I have the before mentioned turkey neck. I don't see it. I said I would rather Marion Coltillard. Apparently there is a boob difference that could only be corrected by surgery. And folks, that's neck money.

Genes

Just looked at the photos from my parents 50th wedding anniversary, also this past weekend. There are some powerfully bad genes in the pool. Definitely wish I had more of my dads side. This turkey neck of mine showed up in every single picture of every single relative on my moms side. I wonder how much the surgery will hurt when I get it? I was happy that my sister chose to include as many unflattering pictures of me as were possible without calling the album, Bad Pictures of Laura. Isn't it a rule somewhere by the way that you don't take pictures of people eating? I thought that was a rule!? Gives me tons of options for my before and afters. Must finish painting the dining room, then hit the reformer. Which is better than when it hits me.

What's a girl to do?

We went home for our daughter's college graduation on Thursday. I tried to fit the reformer in my carry-on but I had three pairs of wedges and those suckers take up a lot of space. And it was after all a celebration. What I didn't try was saying no to any and all food and drink put before me. I'm just now awakening from the food coma so I can't remember everything but here's an example....Lobster Poutine. For those unfortunate souls who do not know what poutine is, a "normal" poutine is fries, gravy and cheese curds, already a decent heart stopper. Lobster poutine was fries, gravy, lobster and hollandaise. Hear in the south they say "so good you wanna slap your momma". R's mom and my mom were MIA so I slapped myself. That was followed all weekend with equally healthy and delicious choices. There was cake, there was deconstructed "apple pie" made with beignets and cinnamon ice-cream, carbonara, fish chowder...oh dear. I had a carrot smoothie on Friday to make myself feel better. R was just as bad but the only way he would gain a pound is if he put on a backpack filled with rocks. The penance this week will be painful, and totally worth it. I'm now the pudgy mother of a college grad so that's pretty cool.

the "Reformer"

Windsor Pilates...me, a mat, and an heavy duty rubber band. I can't believe I still have all of my teeth. Had to hook my feet and arms into this contraption and on several occasions was instructed to use it and my core to get me to an upright position. Not once did I make this work in an attractive or efficient manner. My core refused to cooperate. The only thing I was grateful for during the 45 minutes workout was that no one was there to see me struggle and watch the bands come flying off my feet. Shoulders and back sore. Must double up on the mat today. And wear mouth guard.

OUCH

Going to hurt tomorrow, based on the fact that I hurt now...

Is the universe trying to tell me something?

So, I get my "going for a gym tour clothes on" you know the ones, they look sort of gymy but you wouldn't be expected to spontaneously workout in them. And I walk up to Elements (not Evolution, that's a bar) - door's locked, I peek through the window, the joints cleared out. I call the number, they have not moved, it's been disconnected, they're toast. What does this mean, when you looked over all of the gyms on Sunday, read all of their promises, carefully picked one, and they've gone out of business. The one that spoke to you, failed. Back to the computer to look up other gyms within walking distance, there are two. One does shit I've never seen before with silks and rubber, like the Pink MTV music awards act. The other is the exclusive gym of the bankers, so it's no surprise that the fees are outrageous. I go to the dance studio that my friend and I had been taking "La Blast" classes from and see about private lessons, that would be fun. $95 per lesson. Unless I can get fit in one lesson a week, this will not do. So I do it, I go to Barnes and scour the workout videos, don't judge me. I buy three, pilates and a mat, dance cardio and some 30 minute a day miracle, I can't resist those. I know what you're all thinking, a girl with the kind of historical hatred of working out needs others to motivate. Well, I also bought a bathing suit, and put it on, and stood in front of a full length mirror in bad light, and eventually opened my eyes. I have my motivation. It's third drawer down in my closet, and I will use it when necessary.

The Gym Membership

We have just moved into a new place, that means new neighborhood, new gym. Or new company I give permission to take money from my account on a monthly basis in return for being able to say I belong to a gym. The gym is called Evolution, sounds promising. Mr. was up at 4:30am to go cycling. How, I ask you, am I expected to compete with this?! If it wasn't' difficult to park I would probably drive the 2 blocks to go to the gym because I hate being hot and we live in the south, but that seems extremely at odds with my current goal. So after I drive him to work, I will summon the correct amount of enthusiasm and head to were a super fit girl will pretend she understands my predicament. This woman who has been an athlete her whole life will tell me how she too hates going to the gym, as she walks me through the place for the tour, I will bounce a quarter off her ass. I will leave feeling accomplished, almost as though I have worked out, I was after all at the gym. I will of course require new workout clothes based on how the other women look, even though I will carefully time my workouts to hours when the gym is empty.

Exactly One Month Until our 20th Anniversary

I met a wonderful, good looking man and married him almost 20 years ago. At the time we were both 21 years old. He was racing motocross. He had also played hockey at a high level and was a catcher in baseball at some point in his sporting history. R is just one of those athletic guys who is good at whatever he decides to do. At the time, I didn't appreciate what I was stepping into. I am not athletic, have never been the sporty girl, although throughout the years I have made attempts. After 20 years of marriage I thought I would be able to let my guard down, not totally go to shit you understand, just "relax" a little. But damned if that man isn't just as fit and good looking as he was the day I met him. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will never put ice-cream to my lips without the guilt. Not only is he good looking, he's successful and without making you all barf, the most wonderful caring human I have ever met. So as I reach my 42nd year without donuts, and still managing to get a nice little one around my middle, I have decided to document "being in love with a beautiful man" - a year of self improvement. If you can't beat him (I did once at bowling, just a string mind, but still) join him. I will become some sort of athlete, I will take up a hobby which is terribly intellectual, and I will walk into a room on his arm and not feel like a mole.