Beep. Beep.

ya'll. this week has been ridiculous. in a good way. and this is probably the longest blog post ever written. so prepare yo'selves cause I have a lot to say.

 

It's been, by far, the best week I've had as far as food and workouts go (minus leg day) in months. MONTHS I tell you. I don't really know what happened other than I really started thinking about how to make some shit happen. Like. I lost a ton of weight in January, like 15 pounds that month because I was working with Darin, going to crossfit and zumba on the regular and watching everything I ate on myfitnesspal. I also started thinking, hey nessie. You said you wanted to eventually compete in a bikini competition and I STILL laughed when I typed that, so what are you doing to make it happen? Darin can write you 7 katrillion workouts and tell you what to eat, but if you don't do it...it's not gonna happen. ever. like ever. So I decided to try and be a little more serious, and so far so good. decisions made? make an actual, honest effort to drink my gallon of water a day, especially on the weekends. I don't know why I think weekends are free for alls sometimes. Like I don't have to anything because it's Saturday. Also like last week, make sure to keep accurate records of the weight I used for lifting. and I may take some legit progress pictures but they will be for mi pequino ojos (my little eyes for the non spanish speakers among us) only. I just don't really know how/where to start. I've lost 98.5 pounds but I'm still no where close to where I want to be. I mean let's be clear, I'm a hell of a lot closer than I was this time last year. but this time next year I want to be at my goal. And I'm the only person who can make that happen. I saw a quote on someone's pinterest that said "some of your activities should be viewed as an investment and not a sacrifice"...which made me think that I really do need to get it together with how I view my workouts and eating. It's not a punishment. I don't have to eat sweet potatoes because I said a bad word. Which let's be clear, I don't think there are enough sweet potatoes in all of the South to make that happen. Agricultural deficiencies in the South isn't the point being made here. The point is (there is one?) that other than that leg workout, I look forward to working out now because I feel like I have a new purpose and a time frame and I need to figure out a way to keep that motivation. because it's like the wind. it comes and goes. Which I think is normal (it may not be, but I'm far from normal), but finding balance is hard right now for me.

 

I keep looking at basically the only picture I have of me at my heaviest weight and it makes me so. freakin. sad. Like. I remember crying most nights because I didn't know what I was going to do. and I'm crying while I type this hahahaa. I'm completely crazy and I know that, but really. I know I write a lot of riff raff and bitch about a lot of stuff but I am SO close to having lost 100 pounds which is insane. I flip back and forth between these extremes of being proud of having lost that much and then thinking I shouldn't be proud because I let myself get THAT much overweight. I'm not really sure how to feel honestly.

 

let's talk about Thursday. ALL ABOARD THE STRUGGLE BUS. Seriously. Beep beep yall. So, I got up at 430 in the effin morning because last week I didn't have enough time to do my cardio. What a shame. That workout still sucked more than Miley Cyrus at the VMAs. yes I went there. what a whore. but she got exactly what she wanted, more publicity. Also let's not forget the song was called blurred lines, not amazing grace. But back to struggle city, I got mad during part of my workout. the part where I do 714,951 squats and Romanian dead lifts. After round 2 when I was telling myself...oh good. 3 more to go. I got angry thinking that was what Darin thinks I'm capable of, and decided to act like a 3 year old and kick a stability ball. well I kicked said stability ball straight in to the wall, which came promptly back and busted my nose and made it bleed. THEN, not 10 minutes later, I dropped a 15 pound weight on my right index finger and was fairly sure I broke it. I was SO mad. So I finish my workout. down a protein shake, shower and go to work. Only to realize that I signed up to give blood. So, I chug some water and go on my lunch break to do so. Nicest guy in the world took me to the little cubicle where they ask you if you're a whore. Seriously they ask you like 3 different ways if you have sex for money. "do you have sex for material gain?" "do you have sexual intercourse for money?" "do you have sexual intercourse for monetary donations" like DO I LOOK LIKE A PROSTITUTE? No. I work at the hospital. You have my badge in your hand. I don't need to shake it on the street corner for 5$. obviously I would be the worlds worst prostitute for reasons I don't think I need to say. Like I'm obese Denise and I have no tolerance for stupidity nor do I know what the going rate for that kind of thing is. really. stop asking me. And they ask you throughout the questionnaire and usually I get to answer the questions on a laptop but some of the more awkward people read them to you. But anyways, he pricked my finger the first time which is THE WORST PART and lo and behold, I'm anemic again. So let's try the other hand because sometimes the readings are different. it hurt SO BAD and it was lower on my left hand. So I got the no-go for donating and the guy was like "you didn't fail, it's not your fault"....um I know it's not my fault buddy, and this isn't something you fail at. You fail college classes. You don't fail giving blood. So then I just walked back over the bridge to my office and put my head down for a few. all aboard the struggle bus. beep. beep. bitches.

 

I haven't had ONE bite of anything that I wasn't supposed to eat. Tonight is the first cheat meal night that I honestly deserve. and I can't fucking wait. I plan on eating a bowl of frozen yogurt with cookie dough and cheesecake as big as my head. with marshmallow sauce and maybe some reece pieces. I also have a can of mountain dew and a pack of poptarts ready for consumption too. weirdly enough, I can tell a difference in the way food makes me feel now. Like..when I eat "good" (like normal people) I don't feel NEARLY as tired. at all. I can workout and come home and not feel like I need to lay down. I haven't had fast food in 9 days. which is sadly a record, but it's fine.

 

and the next beach body coach to hit me up on instagram is gonna get it. like STOP. DO ANY OF MY 98 MILLION POSTS HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH INSANITY, P90X OR SHAKEOLOGY? no. no they do not. Stop trying to push insanity or t25 down my throat. I prefer weight lifting to jumping around in my living room like a hippo on a bad meth trip with Shaun-T yelling "lets go!" and "keep your core tight", so LET IT GO. It's. not. happening.

 

I joined The Rush! my contract with the Y is over in like 3 weeks anyway, and I was over it. it's too small. It's SO freakin weird but I'm not nearly as anxious at the rush. Except the only time is when I'm using the leg press machine that you actually load the plates on. I feel like people judge me when I use it and that's the ONLY machine I feel that way on. I'm weird. this isn't news. but. I guess because in my crazy little mind there are enough people there to make me feel like no one is watching me. Which, obviously my rational mind knows that no one gives a damn what I'm doing, but sometimes I felt that way at the Y. It's big enough to where I also dont feel like I'm right on top of the other gym goers. Though, the lady signing me up was pushing their personal trainers. I was like um, I've lost almost 100 pounds and I have my own trainer and she was like oh. well if you want, I can hook you up with a free session and he can take measurements and get your body fat percentage. HOWWWWW is that supposed to make me want to do that?! no. no. no. hell no. I am not going to have the boy who looks like the situation know anything about me. He was sitting there drinking his pre-workout like he was sipping on wine and staring like he had a mental problem. Hey ass clown, middle school called. Spiking your hair like that is only cool if you're 12. Not 35. His name badge said something like "Coach T" ...I'm sorry, we're not middle school football players and if I'm going to talk to you, I'm not calling you "coach T"....I want your name, or I'll make one up for you. and I promise it won't be as nice as "coach T"...dickhead. And also explaining to that lady that I didn't want her damn personal trainers was like explaining the seek part of hide and seek to Helen Keller. Good news though. I got "all locations" which I guess means every rush they've built and a month-to-month contract and no enrollment fee because I work at Mission! I joined Friday, and it was a 10 minutes of sprints day, so I did that...and some 'splorin. I found a glute machine I like, and I did some bicep curls on the hoist machine because I LOVE those machines. I also looked around the free weight area but I also don't like to get in the way. They have a pool and a hot tub but there was the creepiest looking man EVER, E.V.E.R. in it, so I doubt I'll ever use it. I don't what to know what happens in that pool area.

 

Anyways ya'll. if you're still reading...bless you. I know I ramble and it's weird that I say all this stuff, but I like my blog and I like to make people laugh. so thanks for reading and being a part of my journey here. that's all I have to say for now (about. damn. time. I know) so until next week, my friends.