With Pat Benatar as my inspiration, I packed my children up on Sunday morning and headed to Assumption in an effort to have all of our souls cleansed of the week’s sins. Scott and I have already begun the sacrifice of Catholic education with our dear, sweet, angelic, never misbehaving or sassy-mouthed or tasted soap,Handsome #1, so heading to church is part of the package.He comes home with cute little prayers and songs and insists on praying alone at the dinner table, so Mass should be right up his ally, right? Not so much. Instead, the mere mention of church starts the wining, crying and I am not going chant. Or, as I like to refer to it, the negotiations.He is shrewd and cunning. He will begin with a ridiculous request like wearing his entire outfit inside out or watching 37 episodes of Pink Panther before we leave, knowing that I will say no and will eventually work his way into getting an entire backpack filled with rubber fish for the trip. As we were getting out of the car, I noticed that he had swiped his train hat off of the hook and looked like he was headed to run the Zooline Railroad. The conversation went as follows…..
Me: “Handsome #1, you may not wear a hat in church.”
Handsome #1: “Why? Will Jesus get confused and think that I am a conductor.”
Me: “Just take it off.”
He is always so happy
Then, there is my Handsome #2. He is precious with his doe eyes and darling little bowl cut. At just 19 months, his vocabulary is exploding and he likes to share his gift of language with the entire congregation as soon as it is quiet. He prefers to yell things like, “Down, down, down, down, down, down. No, no, no, no, no, no. Out, out, out, out. Maurmi, Momma, Maurmi, Momma, Brudee, Brudee. Eye, nose, nose, nose. “And then comes the grunt heard round the world that causes that embarrassing swift exit out of the pew, down the aisle and into the germ-infested cry room. It is as if they keep it 20 degrees warmer to encourage the growth of bacteria. Every child is covered in snot and slime and is rosy cheeked from their peeking fever.Once in the cry room, Handsome #2 proceeds to touch everything and every child and Monday morning we pay a visit to the pediatrician in an effort to identify the rash that has just popped up!
And well behaved
Never in any trouble
This Sunday; however, was going to be different. There would be no crying, or screaming or infections. Instead, I came prepared for the worst. Armed with trains, juice, books, hand sanitizer and snacks; I was taking charge of this Mass. Most mothers would consider this standard operating procedure. I am much more of a grab a diaper on the run, no wipes, praying that there is no poop and if you get hungry let’s hope I forgot to eat my breakfast one day this week and there is a fiber bar in the bottom of my purse that will lead to that poop that I am not prepared for, so it can’t be a long trip and if you are screaming and thirsty, Momma never gets too far away from a QT, kind of mom. This kind of parenting has always worked for me, so the overly prepared stuff was a new ball game.
Knowing that Handsome #2 was in no way shape or form going to make it through Mass among the parishioners, I opted for the cry room from the start. I arrived early, go me, and was able to take the first pew. I strategically placed myself, my children and all of our bags across the entire pew as not to encourage any of the sticky people to sit next to me. My plan worked beautifully as we were the only people in the cry room and my boys were able to be there darling selves and I could participate in a prayer or two. That was until THEY walked in.
I am certain they must be church hoppers .You know, the kind that can’t attend the same church two weeks in a row because their children act so horribly that the Priest asks for a reprieve. The parents, haggard and lowly took their twin daughters, who must have been about four, way too old for the crap that they were about to pull, to the back of the room. We hadn’t gotten to the first, “And with your Spirit,” -another bonus for me attending, and knowing some of the responses without the cue card, Mass since the change- before it started.
The two children, who I will refer to as The Most Annoying Whiner on the planet, or Whiney for short, and You Have Got to Be Kidding Me, Shut Up, or Crybaby, to protect their good names, started in with what can only be described as what I believe that a goat giving birth must sound like. The parents just kept saying, “Shhhh. Let’s be quiet, please.” And, “That is enough Winey.” “Crybaby, daddy doesn’t like that.” But when that didn’t cut it, they moved on to the, “If you don’t stop it we are going to the car.” Really? That sounds like a reward, for all of us.
Then, the running of the bulls began. They circled the pews over and over. I felt like a spectator at the Indy 500. At one point, it became so crazy, that my boys were hanging on to me for dear life Handsome #2 was petrified. He wanted out, and he wanted out fast. He began to bang on the glass window as if he were a caged ape at the zoo. People began to turn around to see what all of the commotion was about. They were shooting ME dirty looks because my child was tapping the glass. Little did they know it was a cry for help. He was hoping that someone would see him, hear him and help him to escape unharmed.
As the Mass continued and the behavior continued to degenerate, the parents got out the sugary cereal. Awesome! However, if it had not been for the cereal incident, I may not have noticed the other strange goings on in the cry room. For instance, the couple that was holding hands, facing one another about an inch apart as if they were renewing their wedding vows, the entire Mass. Nope, it wasn’t the sign of peace, nor the petitions, they were having a rehearsal of sorts among the toddlers. It was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t stop watching. Then I noticed the man that was there, in the cry room, alone. Like, no kids, no spouse, just hanging out. Why would you opt for the germ farm? Whatevs, dude.
By the time Communion rolled around, I couldn’t wait to move. I mean, between the wonder twins, Angelina and Billy Bob and creepster, I needed a break. I noticed as I was walking through the line that people were looking, smiling and laughing. I thought, how sweet, my children as so precious. I am so glad that they are well behaved. Handsome #1 dutifully held my hand as I carried Handsome #1 through the line as he played with his beloved Thomas the Train…….or was that a Tampax…………God help me! Handsome #1
Monday I enjoyed a day off with my boys, Maurmi and Uncle Jimbo at St. Louis Mills. The trip proved to be too much for Handsome #2, who passed out during his lunch. I hope will you enjoy the video and pics as much as we did. And no, he was not helped out of the chair until the proper documentation was completed.
I promise no more homework and only junk food in the cafeteria…
I am 1000 percent sure that he my baby daddy…
Yes, I Colleen McKernan Dorothy Dilthey Thomas will commit to exercise and a healthy lifestyle…
Fear not, I am headed to the salon on Thursday
Noticing a theme here? Not only am I an untrustworthy fool, I am lazy and indulgent too. And guess what, I don’t give a damn! The fact of the matter is, we all lie about something at some point. Before getting on your holier than though bullshit soapbox, take a look in the mirror. Is that they hair color God gave you? Oh, snap!
I would much rather be sitting on my couch watching reruns of Dr. Phil on OWN (Don’t you DARE judge me!) updating my blog while snacking on the mini candy bars that I bought for Halloween at Sam’s because I was sure that they would sell out than be the Hoochie mama on Maury testing the seventh man cause she’s sure he’s the one. I mean, really? You had sex with seven dudes within the 48 hour period that you were fertile? WFT is wrong with you? I will take my lazy, chubby life over that any day!
The chub just isn’t as cute on me….
OK, that isn’t exactly true. I will continue to bitch about being fat and not fitting into the clothes that I would prefer to be in, but I am not going to kill myself to get into them. Frankly, I don’t enjoy it. At all. Ever. Plus, my breasts are biologically ginormous and no matter what I do, they NEVER get any smaller. I am not getting them reduced, so I will just have to be content to not wear button downs and wish that I could. Big deal. I will, however, continue to wear turtlenecks regardless of the fact that it looks like I could be smuggling sporting goods, because in this particular fashion instance, it certainly draws attention away from my midsection that I despise!
These glasses also direct your attention up and make many wonder, “Why would you intentionally make yourself look like a fly??
I have also recently fallen in love with jeggings. No, I am not kidding, and I really do look good in them. These suckers are tight enough that they give me the suck in effect that I am looking for while giving the elastic freedom that we all want. I don’t give one damn if you weigh 68 pounds; EVERYTHING feels better with a little spandex. I will not, however, wear Spanx. They leave racing stripes down my body that make my stretch marks blush. I have become quite attached to these poor little divots, so I do not want to do anything to hurt their feelings. Plus, I start to have an anxiety attack 20 minutes before I have to tinkle because I am afraid I won’t get them off in time. After having two children, this is a serious concern. I am beginning to feel like a senior citizen……
A senior citizen who has a fabulous haircut and is channeling her inner Martika….
So where does this leave me, I don’t know. And, frankly, I don’t care. I am enjoying the fall, eating chocolate and watching as much trash TV as I can after my children go to bed at night. What more could a girl want? Black sparkly Uggs, of course. I made them my goal and I had every intention of losing some weight and rewarding myself. Well, that clearly didn’t happen. I didn’t become a marathon runner, or even a weight loss guru. I didn’t really do anything. I did, however hit a milestone. Scott and I celebrated five years of marriage with a fabulous weekend trip to KC. I came home with a little souvenir from Halls. Life isn’t all bad. Plus, they are black, which is slimming and makes my legs look thin.
I haven’t been a total lazy bum the last few weeks. The boys and I have gone on a few walks around the neighborhood, but nothing that has really gotten my heart rate up. While not to exercise, I have gotten out of the house from time to time including a recent trip with my mother to Wal-Mart. It was a unique outing because we did not have any children with us. I love those Irish lads with all that I am, but sometimes it is nice not to have to grab a Lunchable so that someone doesn’t go into a meat detox during the one-hour trip.
We took our time strolling through the store leisurely grabbing our wares. There were the typical incidences that occur anytime my mother and I head out together. Casual conversation, lots of laughter, listening to complete strangers give my mother their life stories as if she is a Catholic Priest in a confessional, you know, the usual. As we were finishing at the checkout and hearing exactly how many years our checker had been there, how many grandchildren she has AND her hourly wage, we made our way toward the door.
This was right before he tried to bite me. I love Halloween
Mummy, Terrorist or Burn Victim?
Our car happened to be parked outside of the door nearest to the Halloween décor. As I got closer to the exit, I noticed a very large Star Wars display. Being that I have a three-year-old child who is obsessed with the Force, I tend to notice such displays. My mother had just about made her way out the door when I exclaimed very loudly and pointed, “Look mom, a Darth!” My mother turned and had the most horrified expression on her face. I noticed her knees beginning to lock and her eyes scrunching up. Hysteria ensued. She bolted out the door doing the tinkle dance and laughing hysterically as she ran to the car. WTF was wrong with her? I didn’t think much of it and walked out the door.
“What is the matter with you?” I asked as I finally caught up with her.
“What is wrong with me? What is wrong with you?” She asked in between deep guffaws.
“Colleen did you not see the greeter?”
Greeter, what greeter, I thought. I didn’t see anyone, just the overwhelming large Halloween display. “Nope.”
“Well she saw you. Colleen, that woman was a dwarf, not a darth.”
You haven’t seen a blog from me in two weeks because I have been filming a new fitness video. No, not because I have become the model of health. Instead because I have done nothing but be a slug and Richard Simmons wanted me to come out and model for a new Sweatin video with all of the other “Big Mamas.” OK, that’s not true either. The fact of the matter is, just like every other time in my life that I have somehow committed to becoming physically fit and active; I got bored and took a vacation. I have several excuses, which I am more than happy to share.
There was a final workout, but it made me cross eyed. Wouldn’t you quit too?
1.It was too damn hot-This could be viewed as a reasonable excuse. We did have record hot temps and it would be dangerous for even the most seasoned professional to be out running. I do, however, have a very nice air-conditioned alternative. My father gave my mother a brand new top-of-the-line treadmill for Christmas. And since my parent’s driveway is exactly 0.6 miles from my own, there is no reason that I did not use said treadmill. Let us also not forget that my mother watches my children four days a week and I am there the other three as well.
The heat caused me and my children to become dehydrated. What 15-month-old doesn’t need a 44oz DC?
2.I was too tired-Why shouldn’t I be tired? I work a full time job, I have two small children and I have to keep up with housework. How could I possibly fit in 30 minutes of exercise? Well, chubby, since you are the first woman ever to have a job AND be married with children, you certainly should get a pass!
3. There was a lot of TV to watch-Trying to balance exercise when Hoarders, Jerseylicios, Teen Mom and Intervention are on is tough. You add in Toddlers and Tiaras and Dance Moms and you might as well start serving my meals in the bedroom. I have several hours of trashy television that I need to watch on a weekly basis and I prefer to eat crap while I watch them, this combination does not lend itself to exercise. Instead of working hard to look good, I relied on the all black approach to hide underneath.
Black Clothing is slimming
This much black eyeliner is appalling
4.Brennan messed up my C25K App-Of course I will blame it on the baby! He somehow got a hold of my phone and removed the app, or so I thought. When I went to reinstall the app, I was told that it was already installed. What is a girl to do? Perhaps scroll through to the absolute last apps page on your iPhone and see that he simply moved it, idiot!
5.We have no healthy food in the house-It is hard to follow a proper low calorie diet when you cabinets are stocked with sweet and salty carb-filled delicious treats! When the bananas turned brown, I tossed them. Perhaps it would have made more sense to waddle on over Schnucks to replenish the supply instead of living off of a diet of fiber bars and Cheez its, because that was all that was around.
If there are no healthy options at home, by all means, eat out
6.My body is broken-Because my thyroid doesn’t function properly, I am sometimes rendered a useless slug. Almost a year ago I was literally falling apart, and I had no idea why. I went to the doctor to be treated for severe depression and left with a prescription for Synthroid. It turns out that my thyroid levels were so out of whack, I had likely been functioning without it for YEARS! How do you not know that? The hair loss, extremely itchy skin and absolutely no desire to get out of bed in the morning was alarming. The fact that I was so fat and bloated that my face looked like someone had blown me up with a bicycle pump was what finally made me think, hmm something is wrong here.
Guess which one of us is 8 months pregnant and which one can barely open her eyes through the bloat?!?!
And there you have it. All of the reasons why I could not do anything but eat and be lazy for two weeks.Now, I am pissed at myself. I should be close to finishing the C25K program, but because I chose fat Colleen over healthy, I have to start again with week 5! It pisses me off even more because I really wanted to be down to my wedding weight of 149 by my fifth anniversary on September 30, but instead I have gained two pounds and I am at 164.
But what pisses me off the most is that I promised myself that if I got to 150, I would buy myself a darling pair of sequined Uggs. They are over-the-top and borderline hideous, but I LOVE them and could totally pull them off! Instead of being cozy in a new pair of Uggs, my fat ass will be staying warm with all of the extra fluff that is still hanging around my thighs and stomach. God, I am so aggravated with myself. I knew this would happen, it always does, but I am bound and determined to get it back together tomorrow. So help me God, I want those boots. I will be dragging myself out of bed in the morning. No, I am not in it for the healthier lifestyle, the sense of accomplishment, the athleticism….Hell no, I want to strut my stuff in some cute boots and skinny jeans………….But for now, I am going to bask in the glory of the delicious chocolate chip pancakes that I made for dinner and tune into some trash TV.
God these are so ridiculous, I HAVE to have them!
While my weight gain may only be two pounds, I am afraid that it may have seriously altered my physical appearance, at least in the eyes of my youngest son. I was picking the boys up from my mom’s last week as I always do. They were upstairs in Uncle Jimbo’s room, which happens to have a Goodfellas poster hanging on the wall. I heard laughter coming from the room, so was all too eager to join in the fun. Jimmy was holding Brennan who was pointing at the poster and saying, “Momma, momma.” No, he wasn’t showing me anything; he was pointing at Paul Sorvino and calling HIM Momma…..Perfect…..
Coming off of last week’s monumental failure, I decided that I either improved or I would have to start posting pics of my flab and semi-faded stretch marks as some kind of motivator. Realizing that I would see some of you at an upcoming reunion, mass or Sunday night dinner at mom and dad’s (let’s face it most people reading this likely share some of my DNA) at some point, I feared that this action would not only cause me humiliation, but also great sadness when I saw you sporting eye patches covering the wounds from washing your eyes out with acid after viewing the pictures, so I thought I had probably better not. Instead, Chubby had to control herself at the QT and not grab the chocolate bars. Instead, I managed to waste money on 32 oz Diet Cokes, winner, and several scratcher cards, loser after loser after loser.
Sam&Libby’s and a Blossom Hat would have rocked this outfit
Due to the fact that my running schedule was completely destroyed the week prior, this past week only consisted of two runs. The first took place on Tuesday morning when most of you were still snuggling and hitting the snooze. I like my morning runs. I feel good the rest of the day and I like the fact that before I consume anything for breakfast, it is essentially calorically negated. While all of these things are nice, there are a few things about the early morning run that are not so nice. Like the kids waiting for the bus in the morning. While I am sure that no one is going to chase me or beat me up, or even spit at me, I know that they are laughing. I think back to when I was 10,11,12 maybe 31 1/2 and I would see some pathetic fool walking Francis Park jamming to Richard Marx on their Walkman while rocking the Umbros and thinking, what a loser. I am now that woman, sans the perm and Tretorns. God I would love to get my hands on a pair of those, or some Sam and Libby Bow Shoes, Damn Gina!
There really is no way to avoid these bus riders. They stand there and they stare. There is one fella in particular that really gives me the creeps. You know him. He is the one who looks like he is wearing his dad’s clothes, grey sweats, glasses and eating a bagel. He isn’t one for fashion, he is one for snacks. He doesn’t care about taking a shower, he is playing WOW all night. He is 12, oily and awkward and I think that he is in love with me. He looks at me longingly. His dream girl is approaching, it is as if Foreigner is blaring in his ears and I am appearing out of a cloud. I am his Bo Derek running up the beach, his Christie Brinkley in a red corvette, Tawny Kitaen dancing on the hood of his mom’s mini van. His eyes are locked on me as he chews. I can’t look away from his direction either. Not because I am interested in being his main squeeze. Instead it is worse, so very much worse. I could briefly consider going all Mary Kay Letourneau than to battle with the vicious beast behind him.
It is gray, round and furry. It is so close to me I can almost hear the purring. If that son of a bitch comes one step off of that porch these school kids are going to get the scare of their lives. I am jogging at a slow pace and staring it down. In my head I am chanting, “Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me. Dear God, please keep me safe.” I feign a smile in an effort to ward off the beast. Unfortunately, my boyfriend takes this as an invitation and smiles back. His head is filled with ways to ask me out and I am simply hoping to survive the next 10 feet. Thankfully, I make it pass the kitty and hot lips and I continue on my way.
You would cry too, no probably not…
I figured that I had encountered enough romance for one morning, so I would avoid the other bus stops and head in a different path on my way home. This proved to be my biggest error in judgement to date. As I was rounding the corner, I noticed a large blue truck in front of me. No, not a Ford, Chevy or GMC, lucky for me, it was trash day. Awesome.
What exercise enthusiast wouldn’t love to be following a truck filled with crap? To make matters even more exciting, we were traveling uphill. I have described my athletic abilities before, so let’s not get confused here. Running uphill is at very best a semi-fast walk filled with panting and panic attacks that I may be thirty seconds from death. Well this truck driver saw something in his review mirror that he quite enjoyed on Tuesday. So instead of putting me out of me misery and moving his stank ass a little faster, he decided that it he wanted to cruise through the neighborhood just a smidge more swiftly than me. In essence, I could have pushed him and the SOB would have traveled faster. There was nothing that I could do. I was downwind of an idiot who was trying to send me the vibe and all of my neighbors trash. Awesome. I continued with him for about 30 more seconds and stopped. Just quit moving in the middle of the street. I was totally tempted to flip him the bird, but figured that he could flip a trash can on me, so I resisted. Eventually, loverboy got the picture and he moved along. I made it home unscathed and without participating in an extramarital affair even though both potential suitors were tempting.
One of these mornings, my kids are going to wake up and find me passed out like this
My second run took place on Friday night. Total loserville. It was 7:30 and I knew that I would be getting up early the next morning to hit some garage sales with my mother, so it was one of those now or never moments. I chose the now and I failed. I failed miserably. It was C25K W4D3 and I couldn’t do it. I don’t think that it was because I can’t run it, I just chose an extremely hilly course that was completely out of my comfort zone. I didn’t totally quit. I continued the workout walking, so I still got some exercise in. As a reward to myself for doing such an amazing job and not quitting, I ordered a large cheese pizza and ate it in bed with my husband watching the Blindside…..Colleen 0 Fat Colleen 110…..
Saturday morning I decided that I needed to pick through other people’s discards at a rummage sale and get really nosey while visiting a few homes for garage sales. It always amazes me that people, including myself, will pay money for something that was lovingly remarked as, “Get this s*&$ out of my house now.” The first stop of the day, I found an absolute treasure.
I wonder if this is still part of the gym curriculum at SJA?
I am not sure how I feel about the manner in which I found it. This is a Time Life 20th Anniversary Edition. However, only the first disc is out of its original package, which means that someone opened one disc, played it and said, “F*&% this!” Poor, Richard, he was just trying to help……
What is my weightloss this week? I have no idea. My scale is completely and totally useless. It gives me crazy numbers all the time. As a matter of fact, it told me that I gained two pounds in the shower this morning. Well, I have been using volumizing shampoo and a bit of it MAY, have rolled down my back and shoulders………Since my clothes fit the same, I am deeming my weight the same for the week!
This week’s idiot moment is brought to you by my parents’ driveway. I was picking the boy’s up from Maurmi Daycare last Tuesday evening. As always, it was a huge production leaving the house with Finnegan fighting me tooth and nail to stay. I decided to get Brennan into his car seat first and then go back into the house to get Finnegan. All of sudden out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge, thick snake. Naturally, I started screaming, causing Brennan to start screaming. As I dove into the car for safety, I turned to see if the snake had moved any closer to me…….Idiot……
Dear God, last week was a disaster. It started out OK, really, it did. Tuesday, I completed W4D1 of C25K and was feeling good. Aside from the fact that I began to hallucinate toward the end of the run and found myself saying Hail Marys to get me through. At one point during my final run when the simple prayer wasn’t working, I broke out into a panting rendition of Hail Mary, Gentle Woman in the hope that somehow the time would miraculously countdown to nothing before I died.
I was really near death at this point
I headed into work on Thursday morning not expecting much to happen. The week had been good so far and I was feeling motivated and happy. I began my work day as usual and started drinking my 67 glasses of water, which has become routine. Because of the inordinate amount of water that I have been consuming, multiple trips to the bathroom have also become routine. After washing my hands during one such trip, I moved to the left to grab a paper towel and that is when I was swiftly smacked in the face with the plastic cover on the paper towel holder. It hit me directly between the eyes pushing my new sexy specs up into my forehead. The force was so strong that I began to have that feeling on my nose that sort of feels like a tarantula crawling on your face. Thankfully, this bathroom is a one stall wonder and I wasn’t putting on a live performance. I gathered my composure and made my way back to my desk.
I am certain that I must have experienced some type of head injury because there is simply no way that the events that were about to take place would have happened otherwise. Up until this moment, I had every intention of continuing the rest of the week as planned. I had three amazing weeks under my belt. But suddenly and without warning, temptation reared its ugly head and instead of turning in the other direction, I dove head first into the proverbial Old Country Buffet.
It started out innocent enough. I made a mistake on a project at work, no one’s fault but my own for not reading the directions AT ALL! Instead of sloughing it off like a normal person and moving on, I decided that I most definitely needed a piece of chocolate. One of my offices is most conveniently located directly next door to a discount retailer that sells just about everything. Instead of grabbing a single, lower fat but largely delicious 3 Musketeers bar, I decided to go for the 94 piece variety pack. Yes, 94 pieces. I know what you are thinking, “Colleen you certainly didn’t eat the whole bag, right?? No, of course not, after grabbing about 15 pieces and shoving them in a desk drawer, I surrendered the bag to a coworker and asked that they be locked up indefinitely. That lasted exactly one hour. I handed them off thirty minutes before leaving and had the bag back in my possession within the first half hour of the next day and they never left my side from that point on. I consumed half of the bag!
Richard I am so ashamed!
My binge didn’t end with 55 pieces of chocolate. Heavens no, I was bound and determined to be successful at something, so overeating and making myself feel like shit physically and emotionally was the winner! Throughout the next four days I ate in no particular order, McDonald’s, St. Louis Bread Co., Favazza’s, Baileys Chocolate Bar, Pizza, Pot Roast, Dairy Queen Ice Cream Cake and Peanut Butter M&Ms. This was just during normal meal times. I also took in a matinee on Saturday and 4500 calories in popcorn, twizzlers, junior mints and whoppers. But don’t worry, I wasn’t completely crazy. I washed it all down with a 44 oz DIET coke! I certainly can’t justify empty calories to drink!
If it weren’t for these two and the Smurfs….
What happened to the running you ask? How often do you see a hippopotamus charging through your neighborhood? All of this high calorie uber delicious food made me feel as if I weighed 1000 pounds and my motivation slipped right out the door. Unfreakingbelieveable. One week I am vowing not to look like “one of those rap guys’ girlfriends” and today I feel like Richard Simmons should be knocking on my door and dragging me to Maury Povich! OK, so that is dramatic, but really, how do the 1200 pounders get that way? By working really hard like I did last week! I am finishing up the last of my deliciously salty sweet pretzel M&Ms as I type and I will be back in the game tomorrow. I mean, really, you can’t possible expect me to not finish the bag, right?
Eat the Chunky or be the Chunky…..that is the question
Despite all of the crap that I consumed, I only gained 1/2 a pound this week. I am absolutely unsure of how that is at all possible, but the scale doesn’t lie. I hope…….
I took my friends to Schnucks this afternoon to stock up on fresh produce and to say hello to our pals
Idiot moment of the week, as if the afore mentioned wasn’t enough. I was walking into the back entrance of one of my office locations this week when I unexpectedly hit a pot hole and did a dismount that would have made Kerri Strug stare in awe. You see, in the midst of sticking my landing, I danced right in front of the O.A.T.S van that was dropping people off next door. I guarantee you that despite and physical complication that those poor people might have had, I most definitely took the gold medal for looking the most handicapped!
One of the most basic necessities for a positive workout experience is the properly motivating soundtrack. Since day one, I have found that artists such as Ke$ha (note the proper use of the dollar sign), Gnarls Barkley, Billy Ocean and the occasional NKOTB song have kept me going. It is so simple to get lost in the moment, “Hey, hey, you, you, get into my car. Who me?” I have been known to coyly look over at a passing vehicle, only to find a 70-year-old man in a Buick not a hot Jheri curled Billy Ocean in a convertible. Since I don’t live in Miami and it isn’t 1988, this past week, I found a whole new motivation.
The Sun was blaring even at 6 am
It seems like I go to Schnucks every day. I am not kidding, the checkers, managers and deli employees know my children’s names, birthdays and blood types, we are there that often. On one of last week’s first trips, I went to flip the station and accidentally hit the CD button. The CD player in my car gets about as much use as the record player in my parents’ basement so you never know what you might find. What began to blare from the speakers was pure college and a collection of the most vile, disrespectful, vulgar rap music that I had heard in years. I was THRILLED! The fact that my two babies were in the car meant that momma wasn’t going to be able to enjoy her spoils until the next day. Upon returning from the friendliest stores in town, I immediately uploaded the CD to iTunes and it was entered into my iPod for the next morning’s run.
I began with a quick warm up listening to the sweet words of Ice Cube and We be Clubbin’. I wasn’t overly inspired by these particular lyrics. It certainly has a nice beat, plenty of uses of the f word and is mildly degrading to women. It wasn’t until I started the real meat of the work out that things began to get particularly philosophical. You see, Ice Cube was quickly followed up by Juvenile and the classic, Back that Azz Up. This is where my workout went from sweating to a vow to reach my goal weight.
Happy to be finished by horrified by those roots
Back that Azz Up has always been a favorite of mine. I have great memories of performing every word to this on my 21st birthday and being quite proud. If you must know, I do remember all of the lyrics and I most definitely was singing along as I made my way down Valleyside Dr.As I began to run a little faster and sweat a little harder, I began to get in the zone. I was focused. And suddenly, it all became clear. “Girl you looks good won’t you back that Azz up. You’s a fine mutha f*&Ker won’t you back that Azz up.” Wow….no, I won’t. Would anyone? I mean really? What kind of woman would find this an invitation for a good time? While I am long out of the dating game, I am quite certain that had those pretty words been whispered to me in a dimly lit watering hole, that I would not have become starry eyed and jello legged. I would have been more inclined to tell him what kind of mutha he was.
I certainly didn’t want to label myself a thirty-something prude, so I decided not to hit skip and allowed my iPod to work its magic. I was soothed by Dr. Dre and Snoop and their classic collaboration, Nuthin’ but a G Thang. I am not really all that sure what a G is, but I am pretty sure that I am not one. Nevertheless, it helped me to keep up my stride. I was making my way through the neighborhood waving at other joggers and looking at old ladies picking up there newspapers and could not help but wonder, “You never knowshe could be earnin’ her man, And learnin’ her man, and at the same time burnin’ her man.” They all look innocent…….
Sweat rolling down my face or a tear from the shear embarrassment of those eyebrows
Next up was Hoochie Mama, another lyrical masterpiece. “Big Booty Ho……..” It echoed in my brain and I felt the fat under my skin move up and down as if in a ridiculous hurry to disappear. I began to envision voluptuous women in string bikinis washing cars and massaging dirt bag men with gold teeth, cigars and ridiculous smoking jackets and silk boxers with large kisses on them. Faster, Colleen, faster, get that heart rate up and that sweat rolling. I realize that it is highly unlikely that I will ever be recruited for a video by a rap giant, however; my physical appearance has begun to resemble what I consider to be the you-really-shouldn’t-be -in a bikini-because-you –have-had-two-children-but-if-you-toned-up-would look-great-in-a-one-piece type. The big booty hoes, well, they aren’t following my line of thinking. They let it all hang out and the rest of the world suffers.I know you know what I mean. You are laughing, but wondering if your yoga pants are just a bit too tight and some of that fluff is trying to escape like dough rising in a bread pan. You just looked, didn’t you?
As I rounded the corner I was further inspired by the long-lost lyrics to Dazzey Duks. (Can anyone tell me what happened to Duice?….Didn’t think so.) “So if you get it, got it, good so dip the dugout these damn dazzey dukes are turnin’ out.” I have no idea what this means, but it sounds good. I am fairly certain that I would much prefer to be able to fit into a pair of dazzey duks, fear not this will NEVER happen, than to “Put em’ on the glass,” You bet, that came up next. But I digress; being able to fit into a pair of short shorts like the Nair girls would certainly mean that I had reached some kind of fitness milestone. So thank you, Duice, for putting me right where I needed to be. You helped me to recognize that ‘a little junk in the trunk,’ is OK, but I would in fact need is, ‘a six pack and a helluva rump.’ You have given me a goal.
This week’s weigh in was 162, which appears to be up a pound, but in fact my weight was unchanged. I purchased a new scale that made me one pound heavier than the scale that I had been previously using. So, I weighed myself in both spots and I have come out to zero change. I am not discouraged; instead I am even more motivated to keep eating right and to keep moving.
I mean really, those roots?!?!?
On an unrelated note, I had a big idiot moment today. I went in for an eye exam this evening. I have not been to the eye doctor in many years because I have nearly perfect vision, or so I thought. Because it had been so long, I had to have my pupils dilated. The doctor informed me that this would cause things to be a bit blurry and that he would be back in a few minutes. Certain that he didn’t know what he was talking about, I decided that I would check my FB and send a few texts. This is how well that worked out.
Upon finishing my exam, I found that I needed a slight prescription for my right eye. This gave me an excuse to go out and by some hot new geek sheik specs. When I was leaving the office, they asked if I had sunglasses because my eyes would still be quite sensitive. I assured them that I had a pair in my car and I would be just fine without the complementary Darth Vader shades that they were offering. When I got to the car I did find sunglasses, unfortunately they were a pair from the $1 bin and made to fit Finnegan…..
This past week was a bit of a mess. Maurmi Daycare was closed, so Finnegan and Brennan traveled all over town to spend time with family and friends. Because of the crazy schedule, my exercise routine was a bit out of whack as well. After a fabulous morning at the Magic House, I got in my C25K W2D1 Monday afternoon. The kids napped at Maurmi’s while I ran on the treadmill. I fully intended to return on Wednesday morning, watch a rerun of Dance Moms and think happy thoughts listening to Chumbawamba…..yeah, not so much. I was too damn tired on Wednesday to get up at the crack of down, so I skipped it. I figured that I would get my run in on Thursday, nope, that didn’t happen either.
Thank you Finnegan for this awesome shot of my lovely arched eyebrows
Overcome with guilt and the realization that my laziness would have to be in print the following Monday, I made a promise to myself that I would be in the basement on Dantonaire on Friday come hell or high water. I went to bed relatively early on Thursday morning so that I could get to my parents’ by 7 and still make it to work on time. As I drifted to sleep and dreamt of chariots of fire, I had no idea that my grand plans were about to be rocked.
At 5:45 am, I began to hear bells, loud, continuous, mind-numbing bells. I jumped from bed and caught a quick glance of myself in the mirror. I looked a bit like a rooster with raccoon eyes. Apparently I forget to wipe my face with the knock off Oil of Olay cleansing cloth the night before and the Lancome had traveled from my lids to my cheeks. Luckily, my cheap hooker look was softened by my Charter Club blue lamb nightgown. Despite my knockout look, I proceeded to the front door to see who in the name of God decided they wanted to come for a cup of coffee at this hour.
In front of me stood Jose, as the name on his shirt clearly identified him, one of the 47 people that showed up to put our new roof on. I knew that they were coming, but never in a million years did I think that I would be seeing them in my sexy attire. I gave him the A OK to head to the top of my house and then thought to myself, well DUMBY, what are you going to do know? Clearly I wasn’t going back to bed and it was way too early to head to my mom and dad’s. The YMCDilthey is protected by two fierce guard Maltese whose bark is so deafening, it would certainly wake my father and scare the crap out of him, so I was stuck. Either I try to head back to sleep with what sounded like a bowling game being played above my head, or I could get really crazy and run outside.
The ominous sky was not a deterrent
As you can imagine, running outside was a terrifying prospect. I had never done it and really didn’t want any of my neighbors seeing me, but I had no choice. I slipped into my clothes and out the door I went. As Jose and the crew were climbing the front of my house, I set my iPod to Billy Ocean and off I went. I was quite surprised that I was enjoying being outside. I wasn’t watching a clock, I was looking around. I walked, ran, listened to my music and before I knew it I was halfway through my workout, and my legs began to burn. Once again, I hated the walks and couldn’t wait for the runs.
Thrilled to have completed the first outdoor run
When I returned from my run, Jose and the crew were packing it up and heading out. No, I hadn’t been gone eight hours, just thirty minutes. Apparently they just wanted to wake us all up early because they didn’t do a damn thing. Nope, this was a tease. The real work would begin on Monday. One more weekend with our sad, hail-damaged roof. I thought nothing more of it and went on about my day.
The official time when I returned to my kitchen, way too early for this……
Because I blew it and didn’t get my work outs in on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I had to plan for another run on Saturday. I fully intended to head over to my mom and dad’s around mid morning and finish W2D3 on the treadmill. Jose, he had other plans.
Saturday morning arrived with a bang, literally. This time Jose chose not to ring the bell, instead he and the herd of elephants that he brought with him proceeded to jump up and down right above the master bedroom at 6 am on Saturday. WTF? Who works on a roof on a Saturday? And at 6 am. I have the luxury of very good sleepers who prefer lay low until at least 8, so this was destined to kill me. What is a girl to do? I wanted to go out and beat the hell out of him, but instead, I laced up and headed outside.
The weather was pretty beautiful on Saturday morning. The humidity was low and there was a nice dew on the grass. As I warmed up to the Spice Girls Wannabe, I casually made my way up Crestside Lane to the familiar loop that traveled the morning before. I failed to remember that it was Saturday and I briefly thought to call 911 when I saw the throngs of people running down the street with high chairs, rockers, like-new home gym equipment and tools. And then I realized what I was witnesses. The crazy Saturday morning garage sale enthusiasts were in full force. I really wished that I had been more aware of the signs because I would have felt much safer out of the hoarders’ way.
Too bad I noticed this after I was nearly killed by a runaway station wagon filled with treasures
These people were nuts. It was barely past the crack of dawn and they were clad with fanny packs, shopping bags and $30 worth of nickels! As I glided past the four-family HUGE sale, I realized that as much as they were entertainment for me, I was likely entertainment for them. I could just hear the cackling…
“Look at that fool. All dressed up and not one bit of grace or form.”
“Mmm hmm, girlfriend must have lost a bet.”
I dodged the crazies and continued to make my way through the neighborhood. I really started to feel sore early. Two workouts spaced a mere 24 hours apart was not the best idea. Instead, it was a long hard lesson. Just as I was ready to give up, I was quickly inspired by the lyrics that were blasting in my ears, “Like a thief in the night, who can’t get enough. I am willing to fight, cause I’m a soldier of love.” Well, Donny, that has absolutely nothing to do with my quest, but I will take it and press on. “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, when the going gets rough………….
I look I joined Jose and the crew upstairs!
Thirty quick minutes later, I was home and unscathed. My front lawn, well that is a whole other story. Jose and the crowd had gone crazy and really made a dent in the work. Little did we know they would be at it for a full 15 hours, but the new roof was completed in one day. I would like to thank Jose and his amigos not only for a job well done, but for getting me up and moving so early. I liked getting my workout done early and I really enjoyed running outside. I intend to keep it up, weather permitting.
30 minutes later
This week I weighed in at 161. I am a pound lighter for the week and down a total of 6. Life is good!
You can really tell that I am losing weight in my face
I have officially made it an entire week and I am not dead. I am not even really sore. I have been stretching my muscles properly, warming up and cooling down so I feel good. Well, all except for the area between my shoulders that feels like someone has beaten me over and over with a 2×4. In my quest to become physically fit, I bought all the right things. I got cute new shoes, fabulous arch supports, darling little shorts and one of those built in bra running tanks. It was all about looking great so that I could run in style in my parents’ basement on my mom’s treadmill watching reruns of NY Ink and blasting Gnarls Barkley without a soul in site. There was just one minor problem with my new ensemble, those little running tanks aren’t quite made for us ladies who bare more of a resemblance to Dolly Parton than Jackie Joyner.
I completed my first workout on C25K and I felt great. I was sweating, which is highly unusual. I mean, let’s be honest here. I may have been on all of the sports teams in grade school, but I was known more for the matching blue and gold bows in my hair and some fancy socks that my athletic abilities. But I digress. I made it through workout one and I felt good. In an effort to stay on the up and up, I have taken post workout pictures to prove that I am actually doing this and not just typing a bunch of bullshit.
At this point, I am proud as a peacock.
Here is a little proof that I do sweat.
I proceeded with C25K day two. I felt a little twinge in my left shoulder but I kept going, I thought I just must have slept funny. I am stretching and exercising and, well I look good, so it can’t possibly be anything that I am doing. Hmm, IDIOT, how about that super cute running tank?!?!? You know the one that every time you move makes your breasts feel like they are trying to jump right out of your shirt and escape this torture? Perhaps that is part of the problem? I figured that before workout three, I might take a trip out to Ann’s Bra Shop and just get fitted. What could it hurt, right?
As you can see, workout two was a bit more strenuous
See that little bead of sweat? That fell from my head to my leg. Disgusting…..
No, I am not fast, but I am moving.
I strolled into Ann’s with my children in tow to pick up a quick sport’s bra in a 38DD, because, well that is what size I need and that’s the end. When asked if I wanted a fitting, I said, sure. I figured I might as well let the woman earn her keep for the day. I disrobed in front of she and my children, which started a line of questioning from Finnegan that would make any interrogationist nervous, but that is for another day. Colleen, my bra fitter, quickly whipped her measuring tape around me again and again and finally said, “Well you are a 34G.” Um, WTF did you just say. How is that even possible? Do they make those? I figured, what the hell. Let’s do this. Colleen presented me with a Goddess sports bra, that to my total shock, fit perfectly. It was comfortable and I felt supported. Holy mother of pearl! I will embrace my inner Goddess and wear my bra with pride. Twenty minutes and $44 later, we were off.
My third workout was so much easier. My back still hurt, but the throbbing had subsided. I found myself able to run and not look down at the clock as much because my neck was killing me and I was ready to quit. The sweat was pouring off of me. It was disgusting. I am so not used to that, but in a weird way, I liked it. I feel this intense sense of accomplishment. At this point, I think that I will make it to the end.
I started to lose my mind after workout three.
My fitness routine, coupled with healthier choices. Lead to some success. I am quite certain that I consumed an entire watermelon, a flat of strawberries and 1000 carrots. I managed to eat a burger and fries and some to die for horseradish sauce, without a tremendous amount of guilt. I have also upped my water consumption from none, to close to eight glasses a day. I have survived on nothing but Diet Coke for years, so this is quite a change. I am not going totally tap here. I mean, I am not crazy, I am drinking peach flavored water which makes it tolerable.
So after all of this, where am I? I am proud to say that I weighed in at 162 today. I lost five pounds in the first week. I am not expecting this again this week, but damn it feels good to start.
My favorite three-year-old friend joined my for a post workout photo shoot
Day one is done and I must say, I feel pretty good. I ate reasonably and decided not to kill myself on the treadmill and never go back. Instead, I am easing myself into the C25K training program. The first workout was tough, I was sweating a lot, but I did it. The whole thing. Never in my life have a run that much, ever……Perhaps a couple of times in my life my speed has accelerated due to a meow that I can’t quite place and I am sure that my death is impending, but beyond that, I have been lucky to walk briskly.
Do I think that I am on my way to America’s Next Top Model material tomorrow, perhaps, but I won’t be getting my hopes up for seeing Tyra anytime soon. Instead, I am going to take this in stride and see what happens.
I must say, I was so bold as to take some measurements. At this point, I am not sure how comfortable I really am with writing them down, but I suppose if I don’t then what is the point, right. So here we go….
I realize that these numbers aren’t particularly huge or sickening sounding, but they aren’t ideal either. I am looking to drop about 20 lbs. That would put me back to what I weighed when I got married. If I lose 15, I will be hovering around my weight when I got pregnant with Finnegan.
As I am sure the three people that will read this will want to know, I intend to weigh in on Mondays and I will measure again in four weeks. I am not expecting a huge change before then, so you will just have to control yourselves.
There is probably nothing in the world that I loathe more than exercising. I hate it. I realize that there is a bit of irony here being that I have a slight obsession with Richard Simmons.But let’s be honest. I am much more apt to sit on the couch poking fun of the dancers Sweat to the Oldies while enjoying an ice cold Diet Coke (back in my younger years it was more likely a Budweiser and a Salem Slim Light) than to actually break a glisten with Richard. Exercise takes a certain bit of athleticism, which anyone who knows me realizes that I have none. It also requires rhythm. Again, I am seriously lacking in that department.
Why in the world would I ever subject myself to this torture if I do not possess the basic human qualities needed to succeed? Because I am scared shitless of becoming that thirty-something mom who looks like it, that’s why. I have a fear of one day sporting yards of elastic in my pants and cute cuddly animals on sweatshirts. I don’t want to be known as the mom that wears the bright red lipstick because it takes the focus off of the rest of her dumpy physique. Am I dramatic, absofreakinlutely, but I am also realistic. I am not getting younger and I have birthed two beautiful babies, things just aren’t like they used to be. But before you start thinking, but it is natural and wonderful and beautiful. I am also not interested in the badges of motherhood crap. This isn’t girl scouts, this is real life. No one is gathering around the campfire to celebrate stretch marks and sagging boobs. Instead, we all lift and separate it as much as we can and move on with our days.
In addition to the exercise, I am also adopting some better eating habits. I am the Diet Coke queen of the bi-state area and quite frankly, I am certain that my insides are likely melting, so I will do my best to substitute water for my usual nectar of the gods. I am also going to eat more fruits and vegetables and cut out the heavenly french fries and grilled chicken wraps from my beloved McDonald’s. I am in no way going to deprive myself of anything, that just wouldn’t be fair. I am subjecting myself to the equivalent of medieval torture, so the food choices will be better and everything in moderation.
Alas, here I am. In an effort to regain some semblance of my younger life and body, I am starting a quest to get in shape. I don’t want to, but I am making myself. I have done this so many times before, but ultimately quit one or two days in because no one knows, no one cares and it doesn’t matter. In a refreshing new twist, I am making myself accountable. Blogging makes it real and more challenging. I am going to post it and be honest. If it doesn’t kill me, then, well let’s just hope at this point that it doesn’t kill me! Come on Colleen, let’s get it together………..