My eyes, MY EYES!

I did something sobering this morning.  I took pictures of myself in my underwear.

I never really did the whole progress picture thing, so I don’t have any “before” photos to compare myself to at the moment.  Heck, I can say without hesitation, when I started Crossfit I would have rather burned out my eyeballs with a hot poker than looked at pictures of myself in my underpants.

So at least being willing to take them is an improvement.

Though I think it’s probably obvious to anyone reading that I’m not exactly thrilled with what I saw.

Now I admit, the past 6 weeks haven’t been my strongest.  I haven’t been to Crossfit much.  Between the back injury, strep throat, traveling and then getting even more sick I think I’ve been 10 days in the last 50.  Not excellent, but also just excuses.

I also have made no bones about the fact my diet has sucked.  I’ve made some concerted effort here this past week to rein in the need to eat every morsel of food in my refrigerator on a daily basis, but I’ve been far from saintly, and it shows.

My 1 year anniversary with Crossfit is approaching, and I want to be able to look at photos of myself (please God WITH my clothes on) and see how much progress I’ve made.  I know I’ve come a long way, but at the moment, it seems like I still have so much further left to go.

Which brings me to the reason I took pictures in my netherthings this morning.

I NEED accountability.  With other people, and with myself.  When I’m going to class it seems easy, the coaches are there daily holding me accountable and helping to motivate me to put in the work.  Going to Crossfit daily helps me to stay on track with nutrition as, quite frankly, I can’t eat crap and then get through a WOD without vomiting.  Problem solved!

Until I’m cleared to resume my regularly scheduled activities, I need to do a better job of holding myself accountable.  I loathe weighing myself, and want to avoid that at all costs.  I’m getting BETTER about loving my body, but I’m not quite to the point where hopping on the scale and seeing  a number I don’t especially like won’t ruin my whole day.

I keep reminding myself that I fit in smaller jeans, that I look better in my clothes, but it’s starting to feel like a long time since I’ve seen any of those incremental gains as well.

So I’m going to force myself to actually SEE them.

We’re all our own worst critics, right?  I see things on my body that I know, for a fact, my husband doesn’t notice.  So if every Monday morning before work I strap in the ladies and put on some tiny underpants and then take a picture, I’m bound to notice the tiny changes week to week that are improvements in my body.

Especially if I get my shit together.

And loyal readers, just you wait.  Eventually, I *will* post some progress photos.  I know that one day the “before” and “during” just won’t matter any more.  When that day comes, I’ll show you how far I’ve come.  Because all that matters then will be what IS!

Who’s your daddy? Mine’s the one who is pretty awesome.

I have a pretty great dad.  I have more than my fair share of memories of happy times growing up, and while he’s always been goofy and a little bit off, he’s always been everything he knew how to be as a father.

I don’t plan on having children of my own, and because of that I recognize I will never know the joy and hardship that is parenting.  I likely will never understand my dad the way that he perhaps understood his later in life, but I will always appreciate his hand in raising me, as I know I wasn’t exactly an easy kid to parent.

I really wanted to post some funny dad stories to honor him a bit for this weekend’s holiday, but as I sat down get this out on paper, I realized, I can sum up the entirety of who my dad is to me by just telling this one story.

I broke my ankle two weeks before my wedding day.  I had been on crutches and in one of those fancy Velcro boots, staying completely off of my foot leading up to the big day.  The doctor had recognized how important it was to me to be able to walk down the aisle and dance my first dance, and the day before the wedding cleared me to do so without the boot.  He also gave us the warning that someone needed to be holding on to me at all times so that I did not support my entire weight on my foot if at all possible.

Needless to say, it was a stressful few weeks leading up to the wedding.

In addition to all that, my mom had decided to do the wedding on a budget, and was pretty much the planning and executor for every piece of it.  When the big day finally came, tensions were running high as the entire wedding party decorated the hall, set up the furniture, even laid out the “aisle” on the beach, and constructed the gazebo where we would say our vows.

By the time the ceremony was set to begin, pretty much everyone was chewing each others faces off, including my soon to be husband and I.

In hindsight I realize, you can only juggle so many family members and personalities before something has to give. 

We each went to get ready in our respective areas, and as I put on my dress and made finishing touches to my make up, I was near panic attack.  My amazing sister, bless her heart, was fanning me head to toe and trying to talk me down, assuring me that everything would work out and no one would kill each other in the 30 minutes it took me to get ready.

When my dad opened the door to lead me down the aisle, I just wasn’t ready.  Between the pain, the fear of faceplanting while walking down the aisle in front of a camera, and the fact that the last things the groom and I said to each other were bickering words, I didn’t want to do it.

My dad took one look at me and knew it was up to him to parent me one more time.

He linked his arm in mine and pulled me into a corner.  No one could see us, no one could hear us.  He gave me a hug and with tears in his eyes told me how absolutely beautiful I look.

And then, he said something to me I will never forget.  He said, “Nikki, if this isn’t exactly what you want, tell me now.  I will carry you out the door, load you up in my car, and drive away.  For the next 30 seconds I’m still your dad and I will take care of you if that’s what you need me to do.”

That was the turning point.  That was the moment I was absolutely certain that I was going to walk down that aisle and marry the only person who had ever loved me more than my daddy.

I hugged him, took a deep breath, and told him I was ready.

As we walked down the aisle linked arm and arm I whispered to him, “don’t worry, even once he signs the ownership papers, you’ll always be my dad.”

We arrived at the alter laughing and crying, and happier than I had ever been in my entire life.

So thanks Dad, for always seeming to find a way to say exactly what I need to hear.  Especially at the most important moments.

I hate bad metaphors, especially when they’re sorta right

Marriage is weird.  I’m completely comfortable admitting that as I’ve been contractually obligated to love my husband even when I don’t really like him that much for going on 9 years now, and don’t regret a minute of it.

But let’s face it, it’s weird.

What other thing in our life would we devote so much time to enhancing and improving, no matter how miserable it makes us?

I once hear someone equate marriage to exercise.  The more effort you put in the better your results kind of a thing.  That person is wrong.  If I spent as much time obsessed about my marriage as I do Crossfit, my husband would smother, wilt and die.  He is fiercely independent and so am I, he would go crazy if I put that much “effort” into our relationship.

Then again, there are absolutely some commonalities there.

In the middle of a brutal WOD, especially one that has burpees in it, I freaking hate Crossfit.  I hate it with every fiber of my being.  I can not understand why I’m doing this to myself.  I’m telling myself I’m better than this, or not good enough for this, and wishing that it was just over already.  I might break down and cry.  I might swear that I’m going to quit.  I might never want to do it again.

Then somehow, I get through it.

And the next day I’m back for more.  Not because I am a glutton for punishment, but because I realize shortly after breaking through that barrier that those thoughts in my head in the thick of it were lies, and Crossfit truly makes me happy and better.

Anyone who has ever been in a relationship doesn’t need me to spell out the commonalities here.

My husband, regardless of his frequent near-death-because-I-almost-killed-him experiences, is a burpee.  Our marriage is, at times, that really hard WOD.

We made a promise to each other early on, and through everything have kept it.  We will never, ever fight without becoming a better couple for it.

Every fight has a reason.  Something started it.  Something triggered it.  There is growth to be had from that disagreement, a lesson to be learned, and a chance to be better communicators and a stronger couple as a result.

I haven’t killed him yet.  Here’s hoping with all the Crossfit I don’t Hulk out on him and break that promise.

You might be thinkin’ it, but I’m the one saying it

Life is full of awkward moments.  Heck, I’m the queen of doing embarrassing things, and have the stories to prove it.  Despite knowing that, there scenarios that are squirm worthy no matter how you slice them that I believe really shouldn’t be.  I feel like, as a society we have labeled these instances as “embarrassing” and obsessed about them to a point that not only are they embarrassing for the person actually committing the atrocity, but they’re embarrassing for someone else to point out.  To the point that half the time people DON’T point them out, which just perpetuates this ugly circle.

So I’m putting my foot down.  As of today, I will tell anyone, anytime without embarrassment or remorse if I see them experiencing one of the following:

Walking around with pants unzipped
I don’t want to see unsolicited wiener.  You don’t want to expose your wiener unsolicited.  So I will tell you when you’re in danger.  And you will smile and zip and we’ll be on our merry way.

Having a big honking piece of food stuck in your teeth
There is no way you’re intentionally saving that for later.  Granted, it’s keeping me from looking at your boobs or noticing how ugly men’s shoes usually are, but it’s also completely distracting me from whatever life altering thing you’re trying to tell me.  Pick it and lick it and we can go back to our regularly scheduled programming.

When you smell.  Bad.
B.O. is totally one of those things that you won’t notice on yourself until it’s really, epically, offending all of those within a 30 mile radius bad.  Granted, it’s also one of those things that isn’t exactly easy to point out to someone.  But here’s my logic.  Chances are, you’re aiming for at least passable hygiene and don’t mean to smell like a walking cadaver.   Maybe you don’t realize you’re missing the mark.  I will tell you my friend, and even help you pick out new deodorant should you so desire.

Chillin’ with a booger dangling from your nose
Usually this one is easily remedied by my wiping my own nose which you then do in turn and get the pesky little bugger, but if that doesn’t work, dude I’m just going to tell you.   Otherwise, eventually you will look in the mirror, realize that it’s there, and wonder why nobody told you.

Melting my face with your dragon breath
I don’t care if you had onions and garlic for lunch, they invented toothpaste for a reason.  If I can smell your breath from where I’m at, it’s bad.  If you’re one of those close talkers and DON’T take super extra precautions to make sure you’re not killing me, then you’re kind of just asking for it.

So what say you world?  Will I be the obnoxious bitch that people just don’t know what to do with when I step up to the plate and keep them from having these embarrassing moments, or will I be the person that you find yourself forever grateful to because I told you what no one else would?

Regardless, I hope to make the world a less ewwwwwie place.

I was totally drooling more than a Rottweiler

For anyone who hasn’t realized this by now, brace yourself.  I’m a total pervert.  I’m pretty much constantly telling myself dirty jokes and holding back random “that’s what she said!” outbursts in polite conversation.  I’m extremely adept and keeping my own highly inappropriate commentary to myself, except in a handful of circumstances.  Anytime those walls come down there’s always a funny story that follows.

Case in point, the hole in my filter that appears when I am in pain.  I’m sure we all remember what happened the last time I went to my Hotty McHotterson back doctor and he was jabbing around asking me if it hurt.

Today was my follow up visit.  Since I’m certain you’re on the edge of your seat allow me to put your mind at ease, my back is healing pretty fantasticly.  The lovely doctor has prescribed me another round of painkillers and suggested I begin physical therapy to help continue with my progress.

That aside, he did poke and prod me and make me darn uncomfortable by asking me to do things that hurt and then pushing on the ouchie spots.  I get that’s his job, but I was a little grumpy pants about it and evidently during one of the firm pokes he also poked a hole right through my filter that I didn’t even notice.

So near the end of the appointment he says to me, “See, I told you that you would heal without me really having to DO anything to you.  What about now?  Do you want me to DO something to you now?”

He was not being unprofessional.  We had been discussing an injection of some super painkiller  at the site of the injury that would evidently give me super human strength but come with some potential risks and side effects, none of which I liked the sound of.

But seriously?!

A super-hot, muscular, blonde haired blue eyed doctor who just spent the better part of 15 minutes feeling me up and I’m supposed to NOT react to that?

I opened and closed my mouth to speak no less than 5 times.  I really tried to hold it in.  My self-control was just below the surface, so I simply said, “What sorts of things are we talking about Doc?  It just got really warm in here.”

Credit to him in that his response was something along the lines of telling me to not get too excited, and we would stick with the physical therapy for now.

Thank goodness he had a trusty assistant there to wipe up my drool when he left the room.

I feel kind of awful that he had to put up with me, but you know what?  I’m in pain damn it.  He can deal with it.

Now for that cold shower…

Hot supernatural sex… yeah, you’re gonna read it aren’t ya?

I admit it, I’m a glutton for trashy fiction.  Specifically anything involving zombies, vampires, werewolf’s and lots of hot supernatural sex, but I can really dig pretty much anything with a snarky female main character who kicks some butt.

Since I was doing my best hermit impression this weekend and didn’t get off the couch but to pee or refill my sippy cup, I got a lot of good trashy reading in.  The iPad, complete with the Nook app truly was my gift from God, as I literally had unlimited trashy novel potential right at my fingertips.

I’m sure some of you are curious as to what I read, and it’s possible some are even looking for recommendations.  Allow me to answer your question without leaving you in thrall, I will never EVER admit the titles of these books, nor will I recommend any of them one way or another.

Sure, I’ll admit to reading them.  But I’ll be a unicorn in a non-fiction biography before I admit to more than that.

My husband teases me all the time that I read the crappiest stuff for being so intelligent.  I have no good excuse.  I think at some point in my geeky young adult life I decided that  I would read marketing and advertising books, learn leadership and management best practices, and keep my publicly seen bookshelf readily stocked with volumes that help to enhance this whole “smart girl” thing I’ve got going on.  But, if I was going to read for pleasure, it was going to be mindless.

I’m happy to report that I am full to the brim with mindlessness today.  And while I will never share with you publicly what I’ve read, I am ALWAYS looking for recommendations.  So followers, if you have any guilty pleasure authors or books you’re willing to share, I would love to hear them!

In the meantime, I’ll be elbows deep in my zombie horde trying not to get bitten.

I hope whatever I just hacked up wasn’t important

I try to be a positive person.  Granted, I’m also a horribly sarcastic bitch most of the time, but I’m generally positive.  The glass is always half full.  We are always half way there.  I count up and celebrate my accomplishments rather than counting backwards from what’s left to do.  That sort of thing.

But I gotta tell ya, my grumpy pants are firmly on, and have been for the past several days.

Truth of it is, I’m sick of being sick.  I’m sick of not feeling like myself.

Nearly 6 weeks ago I injured my back, and since then I have been either in pain or sick (or both!) every day.  I’m at a point where I’m pep talking myself just to get out of bed, and trying to find things to look forward to in the day to keep going.

Yes, I realize this is horribly melodramatic, but I know for certain that I’m not the only person to feel sorry for myself when things seem to not be going my way.

I’m looking forward to this weekend in a way that I can’t even begin to describe.  Today is my 12^th day straight of work, and I badly need the break.  Not just for my body to recover and heal from whatever this newest infection is, but to psychologically reboot myself and get back to who I am and who I want to become.

I posted yesterday about all the things I look forward to doing when I’m well, but today I’m simply focused on getting through the day.  Having things to look forward to is fantastic, but my focus today is simply on getting well.  No need to pressure myself with anything more.

Breathing through my nose… oh how I miss thee

I’m officially back from the big kahuna industry conference and am relatively unscathed from the experience.  Minus the fact that I’m sick again.  My voice is almost completely gone making me sound like a yipping Chihuahua any time I try to talk, and I’ve got some sexy phlegm thing going on again as well.

I evidently have the immune system of a tsetse fly at the moment.  I suppose just finishing my last round of antibiotics, and then promptly exposing myself to a germ infested airport and conference hall probably wasn’t my best choice.

Do I sound negative and sarcastic?  Ok good, because I am.  I’m sick of being sick.  For nearly a month I’ve felt like crap and I’m over it.  Actually, that’s the problem.  I’m not over it, but I’m ready to be.

As I would rather not wallow in my own self-pity, I’m going to focus on happy thoughts.  Specifically, what I will do as soon as I am able and well.

I will go to Crossfit! 
I was able to hit the gym at the hotel the first day we arrived before the black plague of death got its claws in me and get in a pretty awesome workout.  I did it Tabata style and got some of the best looks.  I think I would have been ok had I been able to avoid the grunting.  But as a true Crossfitter, during the single arm DB snatches there was grunting.  Lots of it.  I guess sounding like you’re having mad passionate sex in the weight room draws attention.  Good to know.

I will ride my bike!
I missed my bike when I was away.  I had a sort of epic 32 mile ride right before I left and am anxious to repeat that process.  I like that I’m seeing gains in my cycling ability, and know that the more I ride the more I will see so I’m ready to get back at it.  Although, given all the beer at the conference, I’m NOT ready to be back in spandex in public just yet, so maybe my phlegm hiatus isn’t the worst thing in the world.

I will clean my house, again!
After my last bout with Strep throat I cleaned every inch of my house with bleach, replaced our toothbrushes, washed our sheets and comforter and basically took every precaution I could to put us in a germ free zone.  Obviously, I didn’t have that much control over all the grungy public places I’ve been over the past 5 days.  When this is over, I’m going to sterilize everything again to be sure that this is the last time that I have to deal with the snotty-fest that has been my life lately.

Between the power of positive thinking and the power of powerful antibiotics, I’m sure I’ll be better in no time.   In the meantime, I’ll be leaving the cranky pants at home and chugging along the best I can.