Dressed to Impress

1. When you work out as early in the morning as I do these days, you get dressed in the dark.  You have a 50% chance each time of putting on your clothes right side out.  Conversely, you have a 50% chance each time of putting on your clothes inside out.  It's always fun when I get to the gym and look in the mirrors to see how lucky I got.  By the looks of it though, you would think that somehow I would have a 10% chance of right side out and 90% chance of inside out.

Today: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

The Good:
I lost 5 1/2 pounds last week. And that was while I was on my period, when I retain water like Sponge Bob Square Pants. (Gross! She just said "period!"...and "Sponge Bob Square Pants!") So far I'm loving this Kristi Approved Program--it's the first diet I've been on where I'm not hungry and I don't feel deprived and am loving the resistance training. Click here to read more about it if you're interested. Let me know if you want to do it with me, I'll set you up with great ladies at Kristi Approved. Oh, and my before pictures? I won't be posting those bad boys until I have something better to put next to it side by side. Especially "the back" view picture. Holy crap.

The Bad:
Olive is teething and was up a lot last night--I got about 4 hours of sleep. When I'm tired, I get clumsy. I was running out the door today to take Ruby to school after she was just seconds from missing the bus. Blast! I was going to go to the gym to teach my class straight from taking her to school. I had my blueberry protein shake in one hand and was putting Olive in her car seat with the other and ended up dumping my shake, sending it EVERY WHERE. My car (which, yay!, has very absorbent fabric upholstery) Olive's car seat, Olive and myself looked liked an Oompa Loompa just poked the bloated Violet Beauregarde with a pin. I didn't want to be late for my class so I took care of myself and Olive but left most of the mess to clean up afterward, which took over two hours out of my day scrubbing that purple gunk out.

The Ugly:
So I wipe Olive and myself off, change Olive's clothes, get to the gym and am dropping off the girls at the child care when a cute little girl runs up and points at me, shrieking "Ew! You're all mole-y!" I smile and say "It looks that way, huh? I actually splattered blueberry shake all over myself a couple of minutes ago." But then I looked down and realized that I had, in fact, done a really good job cleaning myself off and yes, ew!, I am just really mole-y.

I Get Tongue-Tied When People Get All TMI on Me

Yesterday at the gym, I was talking to this guy who at one point was a hard-core spinner and was at every single one of my classes. He was really friendly and was sort of this father-figure for everyone in the class. And then he dropped off the face of the earth and I hadn't seen him in several months until yesterday.

Our conversation started out pleasant enough but suddenly took a strange turn:

Man: Look at you! You're huge! I can't believe it! What are you still doing at the gym?

Me: I know, I know. Hey, where have you been?

Man: Yah, it's been awhile! I was recovering from two different surgeries.

Me in my head: Do not ask any questions.
Me out loud: Well, I'm glad to see you're feeling good enough to be back in the gym.

Man: Yah, one surgery was on my knee. And the other one was on my prostate!

Me in my head: Um, Ok. Didn't ask, but whatever. And yes that would put a damper on one's spinning habits.
Me out loud: (holding back a grimace) Oh, man. Well, welcome back.

Man: That one on my prostate was no fun. No fun at all!

Me in my head: Stop talking about it! Ew!
Me out loud: Yah, I would imagine. Well, not imagine-imagine. You know what I mean. I'm not imagining anything. I-- So, uh, yah. No fun.
Me in my head: SHUT UP. JUST STOP TALKING.

Man: And then on top of it, I got that flu bug that went around. Did you get hit with it?

Me in my head: Finally, a change in subject.
Me out loud: I actually did. A couple of weeks ago.

Man: We did, too. My wife only got the throw up part of it, but it was coming out both ends for me. What about you? Which end did you get or did you get hit with both?

Me in my head: Um, WHY does he want to know this?
Me out loud: Uh, just one.

Man: Which end?

Me in my head: You must now lie.
Me out loud: I was throwing up.

Man: Oh, gee.

Me in my head: I must end this conversation now before it gets any weirder.
Me out loud: Well, I need to run; it was so good to see you!

Man: You, too! So, how many months left?

Me in my head: MONTHS?!!!
Me out loud: Actually, I only have about 2 more weeks to go before my induction date.

Man: REALLY? But you're still carrying so high!

Me in my head: What in the world?
Me out loud: Yah, I guess I just carry high. Well, I'll see ya later. Take care of yourself.

Man: You, too! Go get on that treadmill and get that baby to drop so you can just pop it right out!

Me in my head: RUN! Go! Now!
Me out loud: Will do. Bye!

*On a different note: I just got home from my second-to-last OB appt where my doc told me I was "highly inducible." I will stop there and spare you the details as to WHY I am highly inducible, because after yesterday, I have a new hightened awareness of TMI. Your welcome.

And These Three Things I Swear

1. This morning the man pumping gas next to me could have been Twisted Sister's front man Dee Snyder's identical twin. Unfortunately he was not wearing any blue eyeshadow.

2. Today I went to the first yoga class I've been to in a long time. Yoga is a struggle for me but I like it. I can balance like nobody's business, but when it comes to flexibility, I'm completely horrible. I've never met anyone with tighter hamstrings than mine. Because that's the first thing I check when I meet someone. Duh. Also, my ADD kicks in and I cannot still my mind or my body; I start getting restless, looking around the room and at everyone else while they are all totally still, their eyes are closed, their chakras are perfectly aligned, they're breathing is beyond just "audible", it sounds like a freight train and I just know they are communicating with their own souls while I'm looking this way and that way and thinking about what I have to do after class and all the while trying to resist sudden insane urges like scratching my itchy nose and passing gas. Other than that though, I just try to have a good time and silently laugh at myself, which I guess I could actually get away with doing that out loud. It's not like anyone would be able to hear me over the dull roar of all that breathing. But I figure if I just keep going and trying, I will improve. I certainly can't get any worse. In fact, this is the third yoga instructor I've had who has actually laughed at me. You would think they would be zen and accepting but really, they're just as critical as the rest of us. It's cool though, because I'd like to think she was laughing with me.

3. Overheard the other day at a restaurant:
Child (about 4 or 5): Mommy! I wanted milk!
Mother: No Tanya. You're drinking Coke just like the rest of us.
Child: But, Mom. I love milk!
Mother: No.
Child: But it's good for me!
Mother: I said no! Now eat all of your french fries or you can't have any ice cream.

Sugarbetes here you come, lady.

A Very Embarrassing Moment in Just Ten Sentences

1. I always wear spandex bike shorts when I spin with seamless, padded crotches for comfort and to minimize chaffing.
2. You don’t wear them with underwear.
3. No one does; it’s just the way it is.
4. The pair I wore Friday are 4 years old.
5. At the end of class, I always go through about 5-10 minutes of stretching with everyone while we cool down.
6. One of these stretches involves standing on one foot a couple of feet away from the bike while the other foot is up on the handlebars and you're reaching towards your toes.
7. Just imagine this last sentence for a moment and when you get a good, solid mental image, proceed with reading.
8. I’ve always had a fear that someday the seams in my shorts would give way and there would be holes in my bike short’s nether regions and I’d be there in front the class, just smiling and stretching away, clueless to the rips down below.
9. That fear came to pass last Friday.
10. That is all.

Sprung From the Loins of A Rabid Sea Creature Beast

I bumped into a guy the other day who’s no longer able to attend my spin classes; we chit-chatted for a second and it was after he looked down and saw my girls that the following conversation took place:

Guy: Are these your rug rats?
Me: Yup. This one’s Ruby and this one’s May.
Guy: They’re yours?
Me: Yah.
(Guy stands there in a stunned silence for awhile)
Me: (nervous laughter) What?
Guy: They’re gorgeous! I mean, they are really, really pretty.
Me: Oh, thanks.
Guy: No. I mean, really. They’re beautiful. And they’re yours. (Half statement, half question.)
Me: (I’m losing patience at this point) Yes!
Guy: (Shakes his head in disbelief) Wow.

And then we parted ways but geez, don’t sound so surprised, dude. I know I'm no super model, especially early in the morning, sans make up and clad in gym-wear but throw me a freaking bone.
Apparently, my "jealousy makes you ugly" theory (see previous post) has been proven to be more correct than I thought.

Tales from the Gym

I think if I was going to my high school reunion this fall, I would cause a couple of heart attacks when some might learn I've turned into a gym rat. As I've previously established, I wasn't exactly athletically inclined in high school. A quick jaunt to the lunch line to grab a burrito, a Squirt and a bag of peanut M&M's was about the extent of my physical exertion. Of course, there were those bursts of days when I decided I was "fat" and in a panicked frenzy to have my size 6 bell-bottomed jeans fitting at the optimal capacity, jogged around the neighborhood with my old buddy Elizabeth. Believe me when I tell you that on more than one occasion, there were actual king-sized Hershey bars in our hands while we did it. I was so stupid then, on so many levels.

Though I just claimed myself to be a gym rat, I actually don't think of myself as one at all. I usually come in 5 minutes before my class starts, I teach my class, I chat with my class a little afterwards while we wipe down the bikes, switch shoes, etc. I find myself cutting conversations short so I pick up my kids from the nursery and make a bee-line for the door. I'm not chummy with the jazzercise ladies, I don't have any lifting buddies. I just do my job then get the heck outta there and on with the rest of my day. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had no idea what went on at the gym outside of the spin room, my little box of ignorant bliss.

I'm training for a 5K. A 10 week program, because trust me, it's going to take all 10 weeks to get me to be able to run a 5K. I could spin all day but running is a whole different animal. Anyway, I've added 30 minutes of running onto my workouts and it's enabled me to be exposed to the seedy underbelly of Life at the Gym, as I peer across the facility while huffing and puffing on the treadmill and yes, I have even ventured into the locker room.

The Women's Locker Room
Oh, the horrors to be found.

*The older you are, the longer you wait to get dressed after you shower. Your hair is dry, your makeup is on, you've told the entire room about your daughter's miscarriage and you're still naked as a jaybird.

*The younger you are, the more likely you are to go to the bathroom and scream from your stall to your friend on the opposite side of the locker room.

*Most people get their clothes on, THEN put on their deodorant.

*If you choose to put your clothes on in the privacy of a bathroom stall, you will get strange looks after you emerge. As you are coming out of the stall and notice these looks, if you stare really hard back into their eyes, you can literally see into their imaginations--they involve large birth marks, growths, rashes, etc.

Observations From My Perch on the Treadmill
*Not all gym-goers have a sense of humor. There is man who gets on the treadmill around the same time I do and our relationship is a "Hey, I acknowledge you with my token head nod" sort of relationship. So this morning, he gets on the treadmill next to me and we're both on the kind that have little TV monitors attached. I'm running along and after awhile, I glance over at his screen, expecting ESPN or maybe some hoochie mamas shakin' that thang but what do I see? It's Martha Stewart rolling the inside of a giant handbag with a lint roller. Excuse me? To top this image off, let me give you an illustration of this guy. Late 50's. Skull and bones do-rag covering a completely bald head. Waxed handle bar mustache. Motorcycle boots. (Yep, on the treadmill.) He sees me see what he's watching and I can't not say something. So thinking we're at the point in our head-nod-only relationship where I can take it to the next level to snappy small talk, I say "So. Martha Stewart, huh?" Expecting a funny remark back, I am quite taken aback when he turns to me and growls "It's broken." Oh, so that's how we're going to be now? Well, expect no more head nods from me, dude.

*If you wear weight-lifting gloves, it is more likely that you will grunt while lifting weights. Male or female, doesn't matter.

*Personal trainers like to touch their client's elbows.

*There are people that work out in their business-casual clothes. Imagine a man on the elliptical in a button down, slacks, and loafers. He works up a nice sheen, hops off the machine and saunters out the door. Probably thought he'd work up some nice pheromones for his administrative assistant before work. Ew.

Boundaries, people.

Older man at the gym: So you’re a spin instructor.
Me: (No time to chit-chat) Yep.
Man: So you’re probably working on your Health Science degree?
Me: Um, no. I graduated from college, like 7 or 8 years ago.
Man: You did? Oh my. Where did you go to school?
Me: BYU. In Utah.
Man: (raised eyebrows) Oooh…so you’re ONE OF THEM.
Me: (forced smile) Yep. I am.
Man: So you’re married?
Me: Uh, yah.
Man: So you didn’t (makes two clicking sounds out of the side of his mouth while simultaneously thumping his fist on the counter) before you got married?
Me: (After a stunned silence) That’s kind of personal…but no. We didn’t (make the same two clicking sounds out of the side of my mouth and simultaneously thump my fist on the counter.)
Man: I just know I dated a Mormon girl once and man…woo! She made me abide by all your rules.
Me: Well, good for her. Um, I’ve gotta go get my kids. See ya later.
Man: You’ve got kids?
Me: (half turn back around while still walking away) Yah.
Man: Well, that's good that everything turned out ok (makes that same double click sound)
Me: (I don't bother to turn back around) Yep, see ya later.

Athleticism Later in Life: Part Four

So now that I've had Ruby, not only am I fat but I am also crazy.  I don't feel the need to explain this part, as most of the people who read this blog have children and know that when you become a mother, you also become insane.  Case in point: only an insane person would put this picture of themselves up on the internet.  But there I am: a new, tired, fat, crazy mother.  And I do mean "mother," not "motha."

As the months wear on, the fat only compounds the craziness, so I try dieting.  It helps get rid of some of the bulk but makes me even more of a raving lunatic, so I decide to do the only thing there is left to do:  I am going to head back into the gym with the actual intention of sweating.  The night before turning over this new leaf, I take a look at an online class schedule and see what fits in between Ruby's nap times.  Spinning, which is indoor cycling.  Ok, spinning it is.

The next morning, I arrive 10 minutes early because I don't want to be that girl: the one who comes in late, acting sheepish and tip-toeing exaggeratedly.  But instead, I'm that other girl: the one that shows up 10 minutes early, which is almost worse.  The spin teacher that day, who is lean and muscular and is wearing 18 less

 layers of clothes than I am, teaches me how to set up my bike.  She informs me that I have abnormally short legs and short arms, which means we put all the bike's settings as if Webster was going to ride.  People start to trickle in, all types, which I like.  But I quickly calculate that I am the second fattest person in the room, something that when I find myself doing, I hate myself for.  The instructor turns on the music, which is mediocre.  The class is an hour.  I last 20 minutes.  I go home, sit on an ice pack and take a full course of Aleve.  But I go back the next week, readjust my bike to fit at least Rudy Huxtable and I last 10 minutes longer.  And then I come again the next week after that and I last 20 minutes longer until, before I know it, I have made it all the way through the class to be there for the cool down.  I continue to go and start losing the weight, which encourages me to keep going. I start spinning three times a week and what do you know?  I'm good at it.  To make a long story short, I get certified to teach it, which come to find out, I'm even better at.

What spin, especially teaching spin, did for me was way more valuable than just getting pesky baby-weight off, it gave me the confidence to use the body I was given and to push myself.   Working out has become one of my favorite things to do, not only spinning but yoga, kickboxing, hiphop, step - whatever it is, I just enjoy the challenge and have learned to block out the negative voices in my head that tell me to fear failing, to fear looking dumb, to fear being the second fattest person in the room.  There is something special about the confidence that comes with becoming good at something you didn't originally think you could do; it has a domino effect in all other aspects of your life, I've found.  You start to think "Hm.  Maybe I'm not the person I thought I was.  Maybe I'm much more than that." And that has made all the difference.