Archive of ‘weightloss’ category

I’m startin with the Chub in the mirror.……

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!
*****Blog Bonus*****
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…..
It is like look­ing in the mir­ror

I’ve been waiting for a girl like you.….….…

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. 
Teenage Dream.…
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…..
Fail­ure
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!
****Blog Bonus****
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……
Wow, how frightening…shiver, shiv­er.…..

Shame, shame I know your name!

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
***BLOG BONUS***
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!

Girl you looks good.….…..

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 know she 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…..
Idiot

Total­ly Geek Sheik, notice the hot new blonde do!

No Way Jose!

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

G is for Goddess.….…

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 2x4. 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

I will survive, I hope.….

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.…

Start­ing Weight 167 lbs
Bust 42
Waist 34
Hips 40
Arms 12
Thighs 22

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.

Pass the sequins and baby oil, Momma is gettin in shape.….

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………..