A completely logical sequence of thoughts

[caption id="attachment_472234" align="alignright" width="202" caption="No girdle needed for this turkey. She looks fab."][/caption]

I just went in to update my Results page to indicate the number of hours of kickboxing is now 18.

That made me think about 18-hour bras.

And that made me think that I really need a new sports bra to wear to the gym. Heavier dutier.

And that made me think about my conversation at the gym with my bud Kristy about how I really need to wear a girdle while working out because my stomach is just as bouncy and reckless as my boobs.

And that made me think about how bad girdles suck. Like tight pants.

And that made me think about wearing stretchy pants for Thanksgiving.

And that made me think HOLY CRAP! Tomorrow is Thanksgiving.

And so, I wish you the happiest of Thanksgivings. I hope you have much to be thankful for.

I love you all.

Rescue me … from this damn scale

[caption id="attachment_472225" align="alignright" width="224" caption="He sees dead people."][/caption]

I’m trying not to put as much importance on the scale these days, mainly because it drives me insane.

Like this morning before the gym.

I stepped on with FIVE great workouts behind me the previous week (2 Body Sculpt, 2 kickboxing, 1 treadmill), and … nothing.

The damn thing is not moving.

I’ll admit I’m pretty lax on my diet right now, but c’mon. I worked my ass off last week.

There were aching parts of my body throughout the week that I had forgotten I even have.

But that’s OK. I’m feeling stronger. More coordinated. Accomplished.

I know the weight will come off when I get strict on my diet again, which I will do.

For now, my body is getting stronger, and that is important. My lungs, heart and mood are benefitting, too.

I did start a new “thing.” My pal Alan had loaded my computer with the first season of the FX series “Rescue Me.”

I hadn’t had time to start watching it, but I made a rule for myself that I can watch it when I’m walking the treadmill.

The first episode Saturday got me through 3 miles!

Whatever works, eh?

Have a great week.

First time? Pshaw.

[caption id="attachment_472217" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Someone sketched this. It was not me. I would've given him a shirt. Or nipples. "][/caption]

So, I'm at the gym this morning, and we have to do the so-called "invisible chair" against the wall.

My legs quickly started their burn and shake, and the lady next to me said, "This your first time doing this?"

"Uh, no," I answered, my mind immediately rewinding a couple of decades to the dreaded Physical Fitness Tests in junior high and sports practices in high school.

"I should be a lot better at it than I am," I said with a laugh.

Ah well. The best part about it? It's over.

What have you done today?

Up and at ‘em

[caption id="attachment_472211" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Good morning, sunrise. I totally beat your ass today."][/caption]

Last night, my 2-year-old started this cute little thing where he holds up a letter in the colorful, spongy alphabet he plays with in the bath, asks you what letter it is, and then – no matter how you answer – says, “Good job!”

If you’ve ever had a 2-year-old, you know it’s something new and exciting and absolutely amazing almost every day.

That’s why coming home from work and going straight to the gym is rough for me. I hate missing those little moments.

Well, that and the fact that it’s also hard to get anything else done, like dinner or laundry or whatever.

Plus, I’ve gotta be honest. When I get home, it’s hard for me to pull my butt back out of the house. I just wanna get into my comfy clothes and be done with it, especially now that it’s colder outside.

On Monday night, I went to Body Sculpt, and last night I went to kickboxing. But this morning, I managed to be back at the gym at 5:45.

Man, it feels good. By 7 a.m., I am back home and finished with my workout for the day.

Endorphins activated, and nothing to dread all day.

I’m hoping to make this my new routine.

I think my son would say, “Good job!”

Don’t touch me

[caption id="attachment_472207" align="alignright" width="224" caption="Pile of pain."][/caption]

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Holy shizznit.

I started throwing some Body Sculpt classes into my routine last night.

My arms were shaky as I lifted my hands to the steering wheel to drive home last night. And this morning, I feel like I’ve been tackled by the entire Detroit Lions defensive line.

(You hush. The defensive line is actually good this season. I’m certain their tackles hurt.)

As you can see from the picture, I had excellent intentions during class with 3-, 5- and 8-pound weights.

By the end, however, I was doing all 3-pounders and secretly wondering if anyone would notice if I just did the motions with no weights.

I kept the weights, however, after gym owner Gary yelled, “Heyyyy! Misty’s back!”

Hard to hide after that.

I also learned a valuable Mom Tip yesterday morning: If your 2-year-old runs to you yelling, “Ewww, gwoss!” do NOT smell his finger.

Have a good day.

Love thyself?

[caption id="attachment_472201" align="alignright" width="300" caption="I stole this picture of Kristy from Facebook."][/caption]

I went to kickboxing with my good friend Kristy again last night. Something about her being there with me makes it suck so much less.

That's why I'm completely bummed that she is dumping me for a personal trainer.

What? My profuse sweating and incessant whining aren't inspirational? Pshaw!

Oh, well. I understand. And I wish her the best of luck. This crap is hard.

But I'm disturbed by my realization yesterday. I realized that I can totally let myself down, but I don't want to let down my loved ones.

So whenever Kristy said she'd be at kickboxing, I was there, too.

Now, I feel a little scared. Or pessimistic. I have only myself to answer to.

And "myself" has gotten quite used to my letdowns.

Why do I care more about others than myself? Why is accountability to myself not as important?

Something to ponder over the weekend. Have a good one, folks.

Crossroads

"Courage is being scared to death - and saddling up anyway."

— John Wayne

I can't stop crying. It's been that way a few days. The last time I really remember crying this much was back at the end of the summer of 1999.

I was wrapping up my summer internship at The Journal, and they had offered me a full-time job. You'd think I would have been happy, but I couldn't stop crying.

It was the only real offer I had at the time, and I was flat broke. I knew I really had no other option, and that I was never going home to Kentucky again. I knew there was a very good chance it could mean the end for me and my boyfriend (now husband), who was still in Kentucky.

Most of all, I knew things were changing. They would never be the same again.

I feel like I'm at that moment again in my life, 11 years later. I'm standing at a crossroads.

Change is necessary. It's here.

I just don't know what to change or where to go.

Oh, sister

[caption id="attachment_472174" align="alignright" width="191" caption="Peace be with y'all."][/caption]

Good lord.

I should consult a calendar before I declare to the masses (all 14 of you) that I am going to start dieting and exercising again.

Did you know last week was Halloween? With buckets of candy plus a Halloween party? Plus two birthday parties? With CAKE?

So despite my near-death experiences at the gym, I managed to gain a pound for the week. Yes, gain.

I guess it would’ve been worse without the workouts, but sheesh.

Speaking of Halloween, wasn’t I just lovely as a nun?

Here’s how I chose that costume: “Hmm,” I thought as I perused the selections at the Halloween superstore. “What do we have here?

“Slutty, slutty, slutty, slutty, tarp-like.
“I’ll take this tarp-like nun costume, please.”

Next year, by God, I’m going slutty.

So, let’s talk about the rest of this year. Having now consulted that magical calendar, I see Thanksgiving is a mere three weeks away. And then there’s Christmas.

We’re entering mass noshing season, people.

It would be really easy for me to close up shop here and say it’s helpless and I’ll see you at the beginning of the year.

But I’m not doing that.

I’m still hitting the gym (I have witnesses), and I’m gonna be sensible about what I’m eating (once I detox from all this Halloween candy).

Having never been sane, I try to imagine what sane people do in these situations. And I’ve come to this conclusion (though a sane person can correct me if I’m wrong): They don’t look at the impending holidays as helpless situations.

They realize that we have a good three weeks until then to lose some weight, and then enjoy themselves at Thanksgiving. And then they’d get right back to kicking ass until Christmas, enjoy themselves then, and then get right back to kicking ass again.

So, that’s my plan. This is not helpless.

I can do it.

Join me?