In Which I Am Insane With Insanity

Here lies the sweaty Beckie Young
who keeled over like a piece of dung.
She wanted to work out
despite the feelings of doubt
and now she is dead on the floor.

I started Insanity today. I didn't start the diet yet, as I had to get all the shit that was left over from when Amanda and Evan visited out of the house (read: in my digestive system) and go to the grocery store.

Did my measurements (what the crap, when did I get flabby again?) and weighed myself. After talking myself out of hanging myself over the number that flashed on the satanic scale, I did the Fit Test, which apparently you're supposed to do every so often so you can see how much better you're getting as the time goes by.

I made it halfway before I ended up on the floor like this. Cue twitchy lungs, the need for albuterol, excessive (even for me) sweating, and the urge to curl into the fetal position and pretend that I never spent $80 on that workout again.

So we all know that I'll be doing it again tomorrow.

In Which I Hate Mother Nature

Watch out, world, it's that time of the month.

If you think this is too much information for me to share, you obviously don't know me. There's no such thing as a verbal filter for me, and among nursing student/now nurses, there's nothing like the gross stuff to move along a conversation. A good bowel movement? Very important in the ways of assessments! Green vomit? Maybe it's gastroenteritis or maybe you just had too much green frosting on your cupcake last night. Burning when you pee? Gosh, I hope it's not the syph.

So I'm bitchy, and grumpy, and I gave up bread for Lent so my intake of carbs is WAY down, hence making me even more irritable.

I MAY have eaten my weight in ice cream yesterday.

But, today is a new day, and I have...

A BRAND NEW PAIR OF RUNNING SHOES!! (and awesome calves. I know this.)

So with my new shoes on, I approach my old nemesis. I didn't work out yesterday because Dan and I had to spend the morning at the DMV. I forgot to pay my registration last month...oops! So I decided that I was going to just work a little harder today to make up for it.

My phone let me run 3.85km today in 28.5 minutes, so I figure that's good enough for me. For the most part, I've cut my kcals down to between 1200-1500 per day. I'm really enjoying my Just Dance 3 for the Kinect and I find that this makes me sweat as much (if not more than) jogging on the treadmill.

I just hope no one sees me dancing around, because I totally show my white girl dance skills on this game.

In Which I--Wait, What?

I started using the Couch to 5K app on my phone. The idea is for you to train to do 5k in 30 minutes. I've done the C25K thing before, but never on my phone. So there I am, my timer counting down (you didn't really think I did over two miles in fifteen minutes, did you?!), running along (okay, running for 60 seconds and then walking for 90. Leave me alone, I'm taking baby steps in my fight to not be fat here, mmmkay?), and my phone chimes to tell me I'm done.

Um, what?

According to my calculations, 2.18 miles is roughly 3.51 km. That's 1.49 km less than what I was trying to attain.

Even my phone app thinks I'm too much of a wimp to do a full 5k.

In Which I Dream of Killing Jillian Michaels

There is less than two months until my sister Jessi is getting married. This means that I will be stuffed into a halter style bridesmaid dress and three and a half inch heels, given a bouquet of flowers, and be forced to stand in front of a congregation of friends, family, and people I've never met.

Commence panic.

Now really, I let myself go a little. I put on about fifteen (okay, twenty) pounds since April, just from being lazy and not eating right...and too much beer.

So I planned this whole diet and exercise thing, and the first thing I did was get onto Amazon and find myself a workout DVD. I watched Biggest Loser for the first time this past season, and so I figured I would start there. It led me to Jillian Michaels.

While Jillian's face bothers me, there's no denying that the chick has an awesome body. So I bought it, and started yesterday. I also decided that I'd go back to the Couch to 5K program on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Match that with a 1500 kcal diet and I figured I'd be good.

Of course, because it's me, it didn't end up that way.

Y'all, this Shred in 30 is HARD. I think I'm fairly in shape, even for being slightly overweight. But Jillian kicked my ass up and down and then made me wish I was dead. Then my stupid ass went to the gym and attempted to do the C25K thing.

I was supposed to start with a brisk 5 minute walk and then alternate 60 seconds of jogging with 90 seconds of walking for twenty minutes.

I FAILED.

I was only able to jog for 2 of the sessions, and the sweat was pooling in that unfortunate spot between my boobs. I got a cramp in my side, and while I tried to do the whole "breathe like you're breathing through a straw" thing, I couldn't do it. I made it 20 minutes, and then had to give up.

And felt like an epic failure.

This morning, I attempted to hop out of bed, but I had to carefully ROLL off the bed, because my abdominal muscles are so freaking sore. During my short walk to the master bath, I realized that my ass cheeks were burning. Squats and lunges and jumping are just hateful to my glutes.

So we'll see how this goes. I am masochistic, so therefore I'll be doing it again when I get out of clinical today. I've packed my lunch for school (apples, cheese stick, half a pb sammich), I'm currently eating some apple and cinnamon oatmeal, and I put fat free creamer in my coffee. I can do this, right? It's only 25 pounds...

Right?

In Which I Decide To Make This A Lifestyle Change

I realize that it's been a week since the new year began.

I also realize that by now most people have given up on their resolutions.

It hit me last night: This isn't just a 2011 resolution. I want to become a healthier person for the rest of my life. It's really hard to take the first steps, but today, that's what I've done.

I started taking my medications again. As an almost nurse, I know I was wrong in stopping them, but as an insecure woman, I didn't want the stigma of being labeled as "crazy". Over the past several days I've come to the realization that depression and anxiety are diseases and I need to treat them as such, regardless of what people think. I'm not crazy, I just have a chemical imbalance and I live a very stressful life between going to school, working, raising two children and being a supportive wife to a husband who works 14 hours overnight in a position that he's very new to. I'm also a daughter, a sister and a friend who prides herself on being there for anyone whenever they need me.

So meds were the first step. Working out is the next. I'm heading to the gym after I get off the computer. Five days a week, no excuses. I'm going to start going to 90 degree yoga once a week. I loved going to yoga when I was doing it with my best friend Dejan, but somehow we fell out of it. I figure that I love yoga, and I already sweat like a pig, so I might as well have a reason for sweating (note to self: buy clinical strength deodorant/antiperspirant).

Yet another step is taking the starches out of my diet. No rice, no potatoes, no pasta (GAH!), no bread (DOUBLE GAH!) and NO BEER (kill me now). It just goes straight to my stomach and since the hubs and I will be going to the beach for our 8th anniversary in May, I'd really like to be able to wear a bikini. Bikini=goal. Add into that that I will be a bridesmaid in not one but TWO weddings this year, it would make me really happy to actually look good in my bridesmaid dresses (though I know I won't be nearly as beautiful as my best friend Christie and sister Jessi, of course).

Mostly, I just want to stop hating myself when I look in the mirror. It was suggested to me that I write a list of 10 things that I like about myself in dry erase marker on my bathroom so I can remind myself of that every day. I came up with three things...that can't be a good thing. I'm hoping to slowly but surely add to that list.

Let the start of self-discovery commence.

In Which I (Stupidly) Listen To My Best Friend

I've been in a funk recently. Between school, work, the kids, the husband, and all the studying, I'm just worn out. I've been having some problems coping with things and today when I told my best friend Dejan that I was feeling icky, he had the brilliant idea that we should go running.

Now, while I did reach my original goal of 170 lb that I had set 2 years ago when I was 250 lbs (I'm actually 166 lbs as of today), I still need to tone the flab. And I haven't worked out in a couple of weeks because of being so busy...and let's face it...I'm lazy.

However, Dejan is not. He goes to the gym almost daily (he has a schedule set up) and is way more buff than I am. He drinks his little protein shakes and eats his tuna and lentil for dinner (it smells like vomit and looks even worse) and is all into working on his fitness.

In my lapse of insanity, I agree to go with him and actually get kind of stoked about the idea of running outside. I run on a treadmill, people. In a climate controlled gym. With filtered air.

What in the hell was I thinking??

It was a beautiful day here in G-ville, temps were in the 60s, sun shining, and there was a pretty boy running in front of me with his dog that I love almost as much as my own children. I was fine...for the first 2 minutes. Then we headed up a hill.

Running outside in the hellacious Greenville allergy-inducing air killed me. I made it for about the first mile before I made my running partners slow it down, then I let Dejan talk me back into running again. He allowed me to stop so he could talk to one of the umpteen million people here in town that he knows and I tried to calm my pounding heart and soothe my aching lungs while attempting to stay in the conversation.

Then the bastard made me run again. AND he made me do stairs, insisting that the stairs would help tone my ass, which in all honesty, could use a bit of toning. And by a bit, I mean a lot. All of me needs toning.

Anywho, so we finally made it back to his house, after 3 freaking miles of running through the park, downtown, and through the historic district...and I died.


I think I look like one of those chalk drawings left behind after a hit and run.

In Which I Do Not Die

Today was the second day of this five week period of nursing classes. For those of you who do not know me in real life, I am a first year nursing student. The school that I go to does their program in five week sections, so I have three "classes" in one semester. This means I am doing the same amount of work in one five week section as a student in a four year program does in their one semester. Doesn't exactly seem fair, eh? Oh well.

Anyway, so second day of class. Yesterday was the first, and my husband had to work, so I made the decision to wake up at 0400 to go to the gym. I was so tired when I got there that the entire workout was just half-ass. Burned about 250 calories in 45 minutes. Not bad, but not great.

Today, even though I tried, I just could not get out of the bed at 0400. So I got up at 5;30 and got the kids ready for school, then went to class myself. But class was only til noon, so I went right after class.

My treadmill was taken, but my sheer rage that came up was quickly soothed by the friendly man who was working out with me. He actually lives in the same building as I do, just on the third floor. I've seen him around, but never had the chance to really talk to him. We had a wonderful half hour of conversation while I killed myself on the e-is-for-extreme-lliptical. We discussed the weather, how much I miss New Hampshire, my kids, my school, what he did for a living before being retired, politics...it was nice to have a workout buddy. He even praised me for my workout skillz.

I love this man.

So anyway, after my new buddy finished his workout, I hit the weights (figuratively) and grunted over my now 20 reps instead of 10. I am upping the ante, as they say. 20 pounds at 20 reps for all my arm exercises, 70 pounds at 20 reps for my legs (people always comment on my fantastic calves. not exactly what I would like to be complimented on, but I'll take what I can get).

After the weights, I went to the treadmill. The treadmill and I have a love-hate relationship. I love the way I feel after I work out. I'm energized, I feel like I can take on the world, and I see the calories shedding away via that little kcal counter. However, I feel like my knees are going to fall off, that my ass might begin flapping in the wind, and when I look down I can see my thighs jiggling if I'm wearing shorts. I suppose that I just choose to look at the positive and try not to peek down at my thunder thighs.

So I get on there, and I'm doing a warm up, get bored with the 2 mph walk, bump it up to 4 mph, then get bored with that and start a jog. I don't know what mph I was running, I was too busy trying not to fall and remembering how my father taught me to breathe (in-in, out-out) that I wasn't focused on that. But I'm listening to Taio Cruz's "Break Your Heart", The Veronica's Untouched, and Joan Jett's Bad Reputation and I'm running like my head is on fire and my ass is catching. Finally I look down and I see that I've done a mile...IN LESS THAN TWELVE MINUTES!!

Commence celebration. I'll wait while you do the "Beckie Happy Dance".

Granted, it was a 11:54 mile, but that's the fastest I've ever done a mile! Finally, it seems all this hard work is paying off. I did however, have a mocha frappe and a cinnamon melt with my best friend before class this morning, but I am trying to avoid the feelings of guilt I have over that.

Life is good.

In Which I Learn a Valuable Lesson

Today Dan had to work, so I went through the early morning chaos alone, which always sucks. Get the kids up, eating breakfast, get their clothes, tie their shoes, assure daughter that the reason her tummy hurts is just because she doesn't want to go to school, make sure everyone has their backpacks, clean up breakfast, fight with daughter to brush her hair, cuddle the boy who doesn't want to leave Mommy, find my keys, grab a Slim-Fast, realize that I'm naked, get dressed and throw contacts in, find sunglasses, lose keys, find iPod for workout, tie my sneakers, tear up house looking for keys, remember my phone is on the charger, then realize that the keys are in my hand all before 0645 when my daughter has to be on the bus.

An extremely organized friend of mine wants to come and organize my life because organizing makes her happy. I told her good luck.

Anyway. So after I dropped both my kids off I went to the gym. When I was hurrying to get dressed, I put on my gray yoga pants because I haven’t done laundry so all my clothes are dirty because I wanted to. In doing this, I learned some VERY VALUABLE LESSONS today during my workout.

Lesson Number 1: Girls sweat. This isn't like the movies where the skinny girls get off their treadmill and come off smelling like roses. I'm freaking drenched and no flower would ever wish to smell like I do right now.

Lesson Number 2: When you go to workout, bring a towel with you. Said sweat leaves marks on the gym equipment and then you're stuck wiping it with your shirt, hoping that no one sees you.

Lesson Number 3: Do not wear gray yoga pants to work out when you sweat like a 350 pound man because it will look like you peed your pants. Case in point...


Lesson Number 4: Even if you have been working out for over a month, this is no reason to attempt to run at an incline of 7% at 8mph. If you do, this will happen...

You will die.

Dear Mom, if you are reading this, please send some new workout shorts, maybe a tank top or two, and some clinical strength, maximum power antiperspirant. Love, your sweaty daughter.

In Which An Old Guy Tells Me I Have A Nice Ass

After yesterday's startling discovery of being less than 180 pounds, I was pumped. I figured that I had to keep it up because my goal of 165 pounds is within reaching distance. I vowed to keep on the veggie diet, to continue going to the gym and resisting the yumminess that is everything in the Publix bakery.

I was up and at 'em early, dropping the kids off at the bus stop and daycare, trying to restrain from doing the now patented 'Beckie Happy Dance' as I pulled out of my son's daycare parking lot. I went home and sucked down a Slim-Fast so as to have something to work off, fooled around on facebook, played a round of 'The Price is Right', then headed to the gym. Try as I may, I didn't make it there before 9am.

Not getting to the gym before 9am meant one thing. The office was open. One of the downsides with working out at my apartment complex gym during office hours is that the staff does periodic tours with interested residents-to-be. The other downside is that both girls who work in the office are ridiculously thin. I'd kill to have either of their bodies, though one of them has a nasty girl-stashe. Wax that crap, woman!

But I digress.

So I'm literally running my ass off on the treadmill (I'm taking a break from the elliptical) and super slender non-stashe office chick comes into the gym, giving this old guy wearing shorts and black socks pulled halfway up his calf a tour. I pull one earbud out of my ear, trying to be respectful and say hello even though Muse's Uprising is blasting out of the tiny ear piece and I'm running with a 4% incline at 6 mph. Here's what happened:

Office chick: This is our gym, which is open 24 hours a day for our residents. This is Beckie, one of our residents who is here often.

Me: Hi, how are you?

Old guy: Doing better than you, I guess. Keep it up honey, soon your thighs will be as nice as your ass.

Me: ...

Office chick: Right. So the model apartment is right this way...

Awkward much? Such is my life.

In Which the Elliptical Kills Me

SlimFast has been purchased. Celery stalks have been washed and precut. Gallons of water are ready for the drinking. I went to the gym at my apartment complex and stood my tech-tarded ass there for about five minutes, overwhelmed by the machines and all their buttons. After giving myself a mental peptalk, I made myself put on my size 5 (all right, all right, my size 7) big girl panties and stepped on the “low impact” elliptical.

“Start moving for Quick Start,” it said. More like “Start moving to commence death.” About 3 minutes in I wondered why exactly I was doing this, because no sane person would put herself through this. Decided “screw this” and flipped open my cell for the Wok and Roll Chinese takeout that is my speed dial 7, wondering if I could time I just right to arrive home as the food arrived. As I flipped open the phone, I rested my eyes on a picture of a certain half-naked eighteen year old that I have as my wallpaper background. This induced fantasies involving said eighteen year old and I lost myself for a moment, causing myself to fall off the satanic elliptical.

I regained my composure, set the machine to an acceptable setting and went on. Sweat poured down my determined face, pit stains marked my shirt, but I continued on, until my thighs had created so much friction that a small fire had started in the crotch of my pants. As I put the fire out with my Life is Good water bottle and took a swig of the remaining aqua, I checked my workout summary, pleased to see I had endured 30 minutes of fat burning and heart attack inducing exercise.

Headed home to shower off, was tempted by unsupportive husband by the three evils Cs: Chinese, Chocolate and Chicken Fried Chicken. Was able to overcome temptation, so all in all, I chalked the day up to a success.