MTHR TRKG Halloween Candy

So, I have made it to the gym three days so far this week.  You'd think that is a victory, and it is, on its own merits.  However, I'd like to talk about the great force of evil that has settled into my work zone.  That force is Halloween candy.  Mother. Trucking. Halloween candy.  

I knew it was only a matter of time before the evil force infiltrated into the inter sanctum of my work area, but I was hoping I had a little longer. This week, we had a vendor come in and bring swag for the online reps and when she left yesterday, she also left multiple bags of candy behind.  Now, I've been mostly good this week. I've been bringing breakfast and lunch, eating low-carb and trying to drink more water.  Sadly, Wednesday happened and I'm not going to lie, the fat girl inside me was like a school of hangry piranhas.  I figure the fat girl inside me must be approximately eight years old.  She was bouncing up and down, her pig-tails flopping as she jumped with glee and her over-developed boobs, complete with stretch marks due to premature hormones raging through her body, were also jumping up and down (sadly, that is also the age my boobs maxed out, never to get any larger. It's kind of effed up if you ask me).  Her belly like a bowl of jelly and her thighs slapping as if they were clapping along to some sort of up beat pop song.  She giggled with glee and clapped her hands.  She wanted the candy.  All the candy and nothing was going to stop her.  That bitch was damn near rabid.
 

I suspect she looks something like this...

And, to make the problem worse, it was all chocolate stuff. MILK DUDS!  Are you kidding me?  They look like something a wild animal pooped and left in the woods, but as God is my witness, I see that little "fun sized" box and I know there are four little caramels wrapped in chocolate and I need them in my life.  And it's just four of them and they taste so good and they get stuck in your teeth and give your jaw a workout and I cannot stop!  I love Milk Duds and I'm not afraid to tell everyone!  And then, because the little box is so small, I know it won't hurt anything to have a few more miniature boxes.  I mean, they are practically diet candies when you consider the size of the box!  Damn you, Milk Duds...Damn you. I'm powerless to control myself.

But wait, that isn't the worst of it.  There are freaking Kit Kats in there!  Who doesn't love a Kit Kat?  I mean, gimme a break...gimmie a break...break me off a piece of that Kit. Kat. Bar.  And again, they are like diet candies because they are just singles, little one piece single pieces...pieces of chocolate covering a crispy wafer.  I love a chocolate covered wafer!  The wafer is light as a feather, too, so again, it's just taking up air space, not really any solid space.  Freaking Kit Kats.

Oh, and look at that, here are a bunch of M-F'ing Reeces Peanut butter cups, but mini-sized.  Just one little cup per wrapper.  Like, the size of a pencil eraser, really.  I mean, so small.  And, peanut butter is protein.  Who the frick put their peanut butter in my chocolate? Who put my chocolate in their peanut butter?  I can't stand the suspense!!!  Freaking Hershey's did.  I hate those assholes for making delicious candy!

Almond Joy.  Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't, but you know what?  I wanted a nut. And, it's an almond, which is totally healthy, surrounded by coconut, again SUPER healthy.  Have you even read about all the healing power of coconut?  If you haven't, you should!  And, all of that health food wrapped in chocolate, which again, is magic.  Chocolate is proof God wants us to be happy.  There is no other plausible explanation for it.  It's divine intervention in the human experience, if you ask me.

Now, I will say, I could give a shit less about the Whoppers and the Heath bars.  What the hell is a Heath bar anyway?  Gross, that is what it is.  It has NO business in the assortment of candy.  It's presence just makes it more obvious the other kinds are missing.  It's bullshit.  I'm going to write to Hershey's candy about it, actually.  And the Whoppers, while not a bad choice, I cannot eat because the sugary inside hurts my teeth. It's an actual health hazard. I mean, dental hygiene is important.

Look, I know all this stuff is pure shit.  It's made from artificial crap. It makes you fat, gives you diabetes, causes cancer, causes acne, causes inflammation and car accidents when you can't get the frigging wrappers open when you are driving. It's a veritable death trap.  But the thing is, sugar addiction is real. I get it.  But YOU try telling the little hysterical fat girl inside of me that she doesn't need it.  I'll be honest, she's mean.  I'm all calm on the outside, seemingly mature and in control of the situation, but eight year old obese Angry Pony, she is rioting and looting in my guts.  I'm just standing there and then my hands are suddenly like Spiderman's web fingers.  They just hover over the pumpkin bucket and my inner fat girl sends commands to my index finger and my thumb.  She's like a cross between an alien and a crane operator.  My arm is in there until it picks up the appropriate amount of loot and returns it to a safe place in my other hand.  I don't even know how it happens, that little bitch is just in there with her arms ready to punch a hole through my belly to get to the candy quicker.  Like, if you walk past my desk and see me sitting in my chair with octopus arms hanging out of my gut trying to grab onto any candy within reach, get the hell out of there.  The more chocolate she eats, the more powerful she becomes.  If she can punch her way through a pair of tights and an FCD (fat controlling device), she can surely take on civilian life forms.

The good news is, I've eaten most of the Milk Duds so they won't be there tomorrow.  I mean, at least in the one bag.  The other bags are in other locations.  I hope I don't discover them, but if that inner fat girl goes looking, I don't know what I can do to stop her.  If anyone has any ideas on extricating the little bitch, let me know, okay?  If not, I gotta ride out the candy season and I don't think I'm going to make it.  I'm throwing out a lifeline, people.  Help.

Boring Gym Blog

Today I had a come to Jesus meeting with the gym.  I know I pretty much said I wasn't going to write about my weight loss struggle anymore, because, really what else is there to say?  It's been a life long battle and it consumes most of my thoughts on the daily.  However, not talking about it doesn't make the problem go away. It doesn't negate the fight.  I've been putting the struggle on the back-burner for a while simply because I could not deal with it.  I could not deal with my failure and I could not deal with the daily self-loathing. 

I did, however, find some joy in letting go of the struggle for a while.  I spent more time with my horse this summer and more time riding.  That is truly what makes me happy.  It's a double-edged sword because I love to ride, but I also feel the most self-conscious when I ride.  At any rate, I have enjoyed my summer of horseback riding and being outside.  Now that the weather is changing, it's time to get myself in better shape so I can continue to ride through the winter and be in better shape next year.

That brings us to today.  My boss told me that she wanted me to start going to the gym because she knows I'm struggling.  She told me to change up my schedule so I would have time to go after work.  So, today was the day.  I'd had kind of a crappy day emotionally and had already talked myself out of going.  My boss was home sick, so she'd be none the wiser.  I closed down my computer and got my stuff so I could head out to the parking lot, but in a last second turn of events, I stopped, reached under my desk, grabbed my gym bag and headed to the gym instead.  They say half the battle is getting there, right?

I got down there and walked over to my locker where my gym shoes and gym clothes had patiently been waiting since May 10, 2015.  I suited up and headed over to the elliptical machine.  I knew I'd only be able to do it for a short time and have to rebuild my stamina and muscles.  I took a few strides and immediately panicked, I don't remember this being so hard!  Oh my word, how soft had I gotten?  This was horrifying!  But, dammit, I'm going to at least do five minutes if it kills me.  I'm three minutes in and I'm staring at the control panel and then it hit me...you have to reset the incline on this machine as it automatically has you at the highest, hardest incline when you start.  What genius thought that was the way to go, I don't know.  I set the incline down to the lowest setting and now I could function.

I completed my five minutes and headed into the aerobics room where there is a variety of equipment like exercise balls, kettle bells, weights, foam rollers, and a variety of tools that I remembered so well.  I had used all of them.  Back when I was at my high point of exercising, I was a serious gym rat and Ass Kicker would really put me though the paces.  I was already sweating from the elliptical, but I kept the momentum going.  I ran through a series of weight lifting, squats, etc.  I have a book that runs me through all kinds of work-outs and I followed one of the plans Ass Kicker had written out for me back in the day. 

It wasn't long and I was sweating puddles and breathing hard and wanting to stop.  My God, what a wimp I was.  I remembered how I used to power through those exercises and Ass Kicker would say, "ok, that's 12, do you have four more in you, or do you want to stop?"  I would always give him four more. Always.  I wanted to be better.  I wanted to be toned.  I wanted to lose weight. Today, my gut was in the way. I was sluggish.  My muscles were tight.  I looked in the mirror, saddened by what I had allowed myself to revert back to.  I wanted to throw up.  Not just because of the visual in the mirror, but because this was so much harder than I remembered.

It was finally time to stretch out and I remembered how hard we had worked to stretch my leg muscles each time. My muscles, tendons, whatever is all in there was always tight and we always had to work hard to loosen them up.  Now it seemed as if they had no stretch in them at all.  It hurt.  I had to work around knee degeneration and bad shoulders.  I laid there on the floor and managed to work my arms above my head.  I was able to inch them up until they were straight up above my head, touching the floor.  I felt a sense of accomplishment and then I realized I was stuck.  Like, my shoulders were locked up.  Shit. I thought, now what?  How am I supposed to get up with bad knees and no way to use my arms?  Even if I did manage some sort of sit-up, how in the hell was I going to make it the rest of the way?  I looked over into the other part of the gym where there is a girl that I believe is a body-builder of some sort, and my pal Harley Babe going 90mph on the elliptical with her earbuds in.  Should I just roll?  Should I get to my belly and do some sort of bloated seal shuffle?  All I could think of was Jim Carrey and how he might handle this in some sort of comedy movie.  I laid there a minute and then finally I was able to get my arm to pop out of its position.  I wouldn't die in the gym today.  Progress.

I finished up with sweat running down my face and neck, but with a sense of accomplishment.  This is just going to take a lot of time and commitment to get back in the swing of things.  I can do this.  I'm not setting any major goals, I'm not making promises or deals, I'm just going to do the best I can. 

On my way out, I walked over and checked out my exercise log in the file.  The last time I had been to the gym was May 10, 2015, before that, I had been to the gym one time on February 13, 2015.  The time before that had been the fateful workout that changed everything.  August 27, 2014.  That was the day I did the hardest workout I had ever done.  I had a 20 lb sandbag over my shoulders and I went up and down five flights of stairs three times.  I had thrown a large, ten pound medicine ball over my head to approx 10 feet up the wall doing three reps of ten.  I had done many other things that even normal sized people were not able to do. I was an athlete, I was unstoppable. I was toned. I had abs that you could see. My legs were starting to tone.  I felt better than I had ever felt before.  I was addicted to the gym.  But that fateful workout had pushed me too far.  My body broke. My hips, my sciatic, my shoulders. I could not seem to recover and the doctors could not find a solution.  I got depressed and I just gave up.  Probably the biggest mistake of my life, to date.

I stood there and stared at my chart reviewing all the workouts over the months that lead to that day. I let it all sink in.  And, a part of me let go of what could have been and agreed it was time to start anew.  I'm going to send Ass Kicker an email tomorrow and see if I can get a new workout log. It's time.  Pity party is over.

As I walked down the long hallway, I was tired, but felt good.  Surely my muscles would remind me of this tomorrow, and that's okay.  That just means I did what I needed to do.  I got to the elevator and got my keys out.  Why did I need my keys?  I didn't need my keys to open the elevator door...what the hell is the matter with me.  It took me a second and then I pushed the button that would take me up to the exit.

The fresh air felt amazing on my sweaty face as I stepped out the doors. I hadn't changed out of my workout clothes, because, why?  I'm just going home.  I walk past the smoking section on the way to my truck, red-faced, hair stuck to my forehead and one of the gals from work says, "oh look at you in comfy clothes, that's a good look for you."   I couldn't agree more.  It's the best look.

So there you have it, faced the gym, survived. I'm pretty much like that climbing vine plant called Kudzu.  You can't kill that shit.  It will be back, even if you think it's gone.  I'm like that.  Like a robot walking out of the smoke, flames and mass destruction...living for another battle.  That's me...kind of...but mostly I'm that plant weed thing.

Sweaty, but proud.  Also wearing my t-shirt from the first 5K I ever did.

Happy Anniversary, Shark Bait

Today I celebrate 9 years of marriage with my beloved Shark Bait.  We've been together a total of 12 years.  It seems like a drop in the bucket compared to some people that have been married a lifetime, but if you compare it to Hollywood, we are lifers. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about what marriage is really like.  There was a post on Facebook about a month or so ago that was a 7-Day Spouse Challenge where you post a picture of you and your spouse on FB everyday for seven days.  It was just an opportunity to post something light-hearted and positive.  Some people criticized it as portraying a life that wasn't really real, or bragging.  I didn't think that at all.  I looked at it as a celebration.  I didn't do it to rub anyone's nose in our alleged happiness, to prove anything or to show my spouse that I loved him.  I did it as a fun thing on FB and it was an opportunity to look through a bunch of pictures and memories to find some shots of us, which are usually selfies, since we do things on our own a lot.  There was even an article written that blasted the 7-Day Spouse Challenge talking about how it made other people feel and that it made everyone roll their eyes and that the participants were trying to portray a life that didn't really exist.  My response was, "Wow, bitter much?  Seriously, it is FB, they are pictures, everyone knows marriage is hard."  Of course I'm not posting pictures of the hard  times because we don't take selfies mid-argument.  We don't capture on film when one of us is wrapped around the toilet with the stomach flu and the other person runs to the store to get butt wipes because the sick person can't use toilet paper on their ass...not even one more time.  Those things don't make it to FB because who wants to see that?  NO ONE (However, blogging about it, that's GOLD).  Anyway, I could go on about it, but what I'm saying is, marriage and relationships are challenging, they are sometimes hard, a lot of work and hopefully worth the effort.  I mean it has been for us.

One of my best friends always told me, "I don't know why you wanna find a boyfriend and get married.  It's not as glamorous as you think it is.  It's picking up their tightie-whitie's off the floor with skid marks on them and putting up with their crap." Alas, I was 30 years old and the clock was ticking.  I was sure it wasn't as grim as she depicted.  As luck would have it, I met Shark Bait a couple years after that.  I was especially in luck because he wears boxers, picks up his own underwear, and to date, I haven't found any skid marks.

Our marriage, from day one, has been challenge after challenge.  One month before our wedding day, Shark Bait lost his job of 10 years.  There was no period of marital bliss.  We immediately had a wedding to pay for, a house payment, bills and all that hard financial stuff to deal with.  What followed was several years of Shark Bait going from job to job and spending a lot of time either laid off due to lack of work, or looking for a new job.  It was a huge strain.  We ended up going through all of our savings and eventually losing our house. We also found out we couldn't have kids.  I eventually had to go through losing my Dad after a battle with cancer. All of it was heart-breaking. We likely took selfies during that time, many of which I am sure were put on FB. None of them were captioned with phrases like, "We are scared, we argued about money last night and we don't know what we are going to do."  But that was the reality.  The reality was also that we were committed to each other, this relationship, this marriage and we were going to be okay, no matter what. 

Fast forward through a lot of life happening.  I mean, we have had a hell of a year this past year alone, but here we are, stronger for all we've been through. Sure, there are days I want to punch that guy in the gut, for no reason at all, or because he left the door open on the medicine cabinet for the one millionth time, but mostly, I am thankful for him.  When I stop and think about all the comfort this relationship brings me, I can't even imagine my life without those things.  For example:

• Unlimited spider assassination and removal.  All I have to do is yell, "Spider!" and no matter how big or how small, Shark Bait comes in an instant and saves me.  Look, I know they are trying to kill me.  The frequency and increased size of the spiders is a direct indication they are stepping up their game to catch me and live off of my dead body for centuries.  I could easily feed a colony for eternity.

• Hugs & Kisses.  Shark Bait is pretty affectionate. I get unlimited hugs and kisses.  He holds my hand whenever we are in public, in the truck, sometimes while we watch TV.  I always get a kiss and hug before I leave for work and I always get a kiss and hug when I walk through the door or when he comes home.  I always get a kiss before going to sleep each night.   

• He supports my pony love.  It doesn't matter how much time I want to spend with my real ponies or how many stuffed ponies live in our house.  He supports that.  I mean, there isn't really much he can do about it, but he doesn't try and stop me.  I interpret that as support. 

• The bathroom door is open. We don't really have any secrets. Some people say the bathroom door open thing kills the romance.  I don't know about all that, but there is a level of comfort one can achieve just understanding the body does what it does and that everybody poops.  Oh, and girls fart.  I didn't actually start this, Shark Bait did.  Eventually, I just went with it.  We have had a lot of moments that might make the average person cringe, but hey, if I have a bump on my butt I can't see, I need that investigated.  Just saying, it's like living with a doctor.

• Tall Guy.  I'm 5'6".  There is a lot of stuff I can't reach.  Shark Bait is there to save the day.  All I have to say is, "Tall Guy...."  and he comes to my aide.  It's like having a step stool with arms.

• "Hey Baby...."  This phrase usually produces a response, "What's up, what do you need?"  And then he gets me whatever that thing is I need, because, first, I need stuff and secondly, I'm probably on the couch with my feet up and my good dog Spanky is on my lap. You can't disturb a wiener under a blanket, it's an unwritten law. Clearly, I am not able to move and Shark Bait is there to save the day.  

• Back Scratching.  Shark Bait is the best at back scratching.  Not big on foot massage, but rocks it at back scratching. 

• Door Opening.  Shark Bait is kind of old-fashioned.  He opens doors for me.  He ushers me through crowds either by putting his hand on my back or holding my hand and leading me behind him, thusly clearing a path.  I appreciate that. 

• "I love you."  He says this many times everyday.  There is never a day that goes by that he does not say it at least once. 

• Tells me I'm beautiful.  It doesn't matter if I just woke up, have the flu, am dressed to the nines, with make-up, without make-up, buck naked or in my pink pony magical footie pajamas.  He always says I'm beautiful. 

• "Are we EVER gonna do it again?" If I send that text to Shark Bait, it's like a bat signal for sex. That's all I have to say and it's on like Donkey Kong.  Who says the romance is dead?

 These are a lot of little things that make everything else that life throws at us manageable.  Notice, I didn't say that he bought me beautiful jewelry, a big house, a new car or took me on some extravagant vacation.  All that stuff doesn't bring me the comfort and security that the everyday stuff does.

At the end of the day, even if there is a dead, rotting possum under the house that we can't find, at least I have Shark Bait to reach the scented candles on the top shelf.  I mean, that's love.  You won't find that on a Hallmark card. Life is still hard.  We still have challenges, we still have arguments, but at the end of the day, there is a kiss and an "I love you."  I probably take that for granted sometimes, but I shouldn't because not everyone finds that.  I don't feel like a lucky person most of the time.  I'm a glass is half-empty with a crack in it kind of person, but I am lucky I found Shark Bait, or that he found me. 

So, take that, Facebook.  Take this blog link and gag away.  Roll your eyes.  Say that I'm bragging...because I am. 

Happy Anniversary, Shark Bait.  Love you more.

P.S. Shark Bait, if you eat the last bite of that 7-layer cake from Claim Jumper, I'll take you down. (This is part of any relationship - Chocolate negotiation. It's a thing.)