Spoiler: I didn’t cry or shit myself

This image has nothing to do with this post, but that's irrelevant.  Don't you agree?
This image has nothing to do with this post, but that’s irrelevant. Don’t you agree?


One year ago today I did not shit my pants.  Oh yes my friends, it was a distinct possibility, as it was the first time I walked into Crossfit.  Today is my one year anniversary of starting the sport that is slowly changing my life.

My best girlfriend and I got the idea in our heads that we had to try this Crossfit thing, and had signed up in advance to drop in for a trial class.  When I confirmed with the coach I asked him to promise he wouldn’t make me cry or shit myself.

His response?  He made no promises.

I knew then he was a cool dude, and am so lucky that in the past year he, his wife, and the other coaches have become a close enough friends that they’re like family.

We arrived at the box about a half hour early to sign away our lives and limbs, and got a chance to observe the end of the class before the one we would join.  I don’t remember much, except that I was TERRIFIED.  The only truly vivid memory I have is of two men, who we now know as lickable-abs and the-monster were upside down doing push ups off their heads.  Their HEADS people.  Best girl and I about bolted right then.

I will forever be grateful that we didn’t.

In some ways a year seems like a really long time, but it others it’s a drop in the bucket.  This past year has been a series of tiny baby steps towards overall health and wellness, and while there have been a fair amount of setbacks, I have absolutely emerged far beyond where I started.

Day 1 I could not do a single push up.  Not even on my knees.  My scaling was the thickest band available to me AND on my knees.  Today I can string together a solid 10 on my toes no problem, and at last test, did 27 in a minute.

My back squat has progressed from broomstick to over 100 lbs.  I deadlift 150.  I snatch and clean and jerk, and know how to load and unload that barbell like a boss.  Before Crossfit I had never EVER even once touched the “man bar” and could not tell you a thing about weight training.

Crossfit has given me so much more than great callouses.  It’s strange to realize, but a year ago I was in a very different place as a person.  I had a job that I loved, but the stress of it was killing me.  I had literally gained 50 pounds in a year, and didn’t take a single moment to step back and think about my health or sanity because of the pressure to excel.

I had an amazing marriage that was not in an amazing place.  I was fat and unhappy, and it is darn near impossible to be the spouse someone as incredible as my husband deserved when I couldn’t even take time for myself.

Finding my strength under that barbell empowered me physically, which brought back my emotional and mental strength to live the life I wanted, rather than just chugging along with where I ended up.

In Crossfit I found strength.  I found health.  I found hope.

A year later I can’t even try to quantify how much I’ve gained, or lost, because of this sport I love.

Are you gonna eat that?

eat more

Here’s something that’s hard for a slowly reforming fat girl to hear: “You’re not eating enough.”

Say wha?

But after sitting down and discussing my overall health, severe insomnia and general issues of late, this is one of several conclusions my awesome Crossfit coaches have come to.  And truthfully, I agree with them.

While it goes against every fiber in my being to even allow myself to think that in order to achieve my weight loss and performance goals I need to eat MORE, what they are saying makes a lot of sense.

Super-awesome-girl-coach laughed when she saw my face when they broke this news to me.  I guess she’s been spoonfed the same kool-aid as I have through the years.  It goes something like this:

Want to lose weight and look amazing?  Work out as much as you possibly can, eat as little as physically possible.  Only when passing out is eminent may you then eat.  A grape.  Just one.  It’ll do, we promise. 

Since she’s like, the hottest girl I know, and if I had her body I would walk around naked ALL. THE. TIME. (and yes, I told her that), I’m going to take her advice on this one.  Oh, and her advice was backed by all this cool science stuff too, so that gave her extra credibility over her super hot points.

So in short, here’s what’s wrong with me.  I’m not eating enough, and was walking a very fine line with overtraining.  As a result of my recent sickness, I am now officially firmly in the realm of overtraining.  This is affecting my sleep, my immune system, and my overall health.  I’m also not supplementing appropriately for my level of activity to give my body the tools it needs for recovery.

Well gee, who knew there was more to this whole thing than just showing up and working out?

My recipe for recovery, and to help fix my cranky and out of whack immune system, is pretty simple.

Take a few days off (done).

When I do come back, SCALE.  A LOT.  It’s ok to take a step back and give my body time to get back in the swing of things.

EAT!  Fuel my body for training and recovery.  Don’t be an idiot and count calories.  Eat when hungry, stop when full.  Not rocket science.

Finally, supplement.

I need to boost my immune system and get my cortisol levels back in check.  If for no other reason than I need to sleep.

Because when I don’t sleep I get cranky.

And then it’s more than just my health at risk kittens.

Old new names for the naughty bits


I think I’m pretty creative with nicknames for the whobityjiblets on my blog.

Evidently so do my friends.

So much so that I got a text this past weekend from bicycle-blondie with a link to “material for the blog” that directed me to a website with 35 classy slang terms for naughty bits over the past 600 years.

While it’s unlikely that 600 years ago anyone was blogging about the “altar of Venus” one thing is clear, I need to adopt some of these classy naughty-isms into my daily vocabulary.

“Road to a christening?”

“Fancy article?”

“Master John Goodfellow?”

Yes please!

Check out the full list here and let me know your favorites!

My sociopathic tendencies

I am terrible at talking about my feeeeeeeeelings.  Terrible.  I would rather talk about pretty much anything else, including my bowel movements, than how I feel.  I usually end up cracking a bad joke or changing the subject abruptly when things become too emotionally complex just so that I don’t need to venture into squirmy territory.

So basically, it’s a pain in the ass to be in a relationship with me.

Admittedly, there are some perks.  I rarely get upset to the point I need to talk about things, and it takes a whole lot for me to start a fight.

On the opposite end however, when I get my feelings hurt or if there is an emotional discussion I need to have,  I am a complete pussy about having it.

I remember when I was kid writing my mom notes to tell her why I was upset, rather than sitting down and talking with her about it.  I even drove her crazy, and she birthed me.

As an adult I like to think I’ve gotten at least a bit better about it, but I still hold things inside for days longer than I should and often times will resort to writing/texting or emailing when I should just pick up the phone or have a conversation face to face.  It’s not that I’m intimidated by confrontation, but that I am just so darn uncomfortable talking about how I feel.

Here’s hoping it’s one of those things I overcome with age.  But if not, there’s always email.  And alcohol.

Is the “why” really important?

I carry extra underpants with me at all times just in case.

I told a male friend this today as part of a spare clothes conversation we were having, and he was dumbfounded.

“Just in case of WHAT?!” he asked.

I’m pretty sure every woman reading this blog knows exactly what I’m talking about.  You don’t ever want to have… ahem… unexpected issues with the lady business… and not have a change handy.

Maybe not everyone is as neurotic as me and carries them in their purse, but to each their own.

That said, I have to wonder, what purpose the spare panties would serve other than that in his mind?

And then I realized, he’s a dude.  And heck, with most thought processes, I am too.

I know exactly what he was thinking.


Also, I just dropped pulled pork down my dress into my bra, fished it out, and ate it.  All while at my desk.

Because you know, you needed that extra tid bit to realize that I actually am extraordinarily weird.  The spare underpants in my purse weren’t enough.

The pork was delicious, thanks for asking.


I woke up this morning and completely on autopilot got myself to the box.  It wasn’t until I pulled in the parking lot that I actually considered the fact that I would have to workout once I got there.


That said, I’m at a solid 80% today.  Other than some congestion and not quite being able to take a deep breath without hacking up beaks and feet, I have no complaints.

And since we established last week that I’m an addict, I’m back at Crossfit.

I wore my snappy new HTFU shirt that reads “Squatting is like sex: It doesn’t count unless you go deep enough.”  It got rave reviews.  And someone earned a new nickname this morning by saying, “yeah, and quarter squats are like playing ‘just the tip.’”  From here on out, her name is just-the-tip.  You’re welcome.

Oh right, I’m supposed to be posting about the workout.  So, it took about 3 minutes into the warm up for me to realize that I would still be taking it easy today.

Warm Up:  The usual.  Seriously considered dying or vomiting during the warm up lap.  But there was an audience.  Can’t do either with people watching.

SWOD: Deadlift 5×5
Warm up: RDL 10@33lbs
1×5@ 83

Sweat was pouring off of me and I had a little case of the spins.  Yup, 100 was all I was eeking out today and I was ok with that.  I was just glad to be back in the box doing work.

WOD:  A bastard version of “Cindy”

2 minutes Cindy
1 minute rest
3 minutes Cindy
2 minutes rest
4 minutes Cindy

Score: 171 with RR

I really love Cindy, but today I really hated this workout.  Ok so, that’s not entirely true, but this was really hard.  Again with the sweating and the dizzy.  I actually ended up laying down during the rests.  I had two of my favorite dudes on either side of me though, and they both gave me encouragement.  In the end, it was a game of just keep moving.

My push ups are getting better, but by the end those were what was really killing me.  I was making grunty sex noises and I couldn’t help it, but at least I didn’t scale them.  Yay me.

I’m a dick, I’m addicted to you


I’m pretty sure Crossfit is like meth.  Granted, I’ve never done meth, but we’ve all seen the “cops” episodes with the meth addicts who get bused and go through serious and violent withdrawals, and I totally see the correlation.

Today is day 5 of no Crossfit due to the strep throat that’s creating havoc in my body right now.  I’m tweaking.  Or maybe I’m twearking?

No, after a quick google search and checking with my good friends over at urban dictionary, I’m definitely tweaking.  I don’t even think my body is capable of twearking.  That’s some acrobatic stuff right there.

Back on topic, I miss Crossfit.

I miss the anticipation of the WOD.  The excitement in the minutes leading up to when it’s posted the night before.  The immediate reaction of “oh fun” or “oh f*ck” as soon as I see what maniacal plot the coaches have for us the next day.

I miss the thrill of walking into the box.  The smell of 6 a.m., the groggy hello’s from fellow class mates.  The moment that the first “that’s what she says” joke comes out, and we all start waking up a bit.

I miss the barbell in my hands, even when they’re sore and hurt and bleeding.

I’m craving that “oh my God I’m going to die.  Or puke.  But probably die” mid-WOD feeling.

And for the love of gluten free mac and cheese I miss that post-WOD endorphin bliss where you kind of want to do it all over again.

Ok so how all of that has anything to do with meth I have no idea, but I figure in some ways addiction is addiction.

And baby for Crossfit, I am one hell of an addict.

So THAT’s why he glows


I’m wearing Christmas underpants today.  Not because it’s laundry day.  Nor is it because they were on top of the panty drawer.

It’s because this particular pair of underpants have a giant Rudolph across the front of them, and every time I wear them I think about Rudolph muff diving.  It makes me giggle endlessly.

Not because I’m a sicko who is actually into bestiality mind you, but because I’m a sicko in general.

And let’s face it, when you feel like crap, you need all the giggles you can get.

Free entertainment with $50 copay

bad parenting

When I close my eyes it feels like my eyeballs are going to “flame on” and burn a hole through my eyelids.

Oh the joy of running a fever.

It would seem that my unfortunate favorite pastime of licking the shopping cart handles at my local Wal-Mart has caught up to me and yet again, I’m sick.

This time I managed to escape without my typical strep throat, but I’m still stuck with a nasty sinus infection coupled with tonsillitis and a cough that could wake the dead.   According to the doc I’m in for 17-20 days of this fun, but he took pity on me and gave me some cough syrup with the good drugs in it, so at least I get to be in a coma for a solid 50% of it.

Luckily, trips to the doctor (ie our friendly neighborhood urgent care clinic) always result is some excellent stories, so you my readers are in luck.

People watching at the doctor’s office is pretty much some of the best people watching around.  Yesterday was no exception.

As I was filling out my paperwork, a woman about my age entered with six (count them SIX) children ranging in ages from two to eight.  That’s a lot of back to back procreation my friends.  The two eldest needed to get their physicals for school.  She and her brood sat down so that she could fill out paperwork and for the next 10 minutes I witnessed what could only be described as the seventh circle of hell.

Was it the seventh?  Is that the one where screaming waterfighting minions take over?  Maybe that’s the fourth.  No matter…

Her six children ran screaming through the waiting room.  They discovered the drinking fountain, and proceeded to have a water fight.  They climbed on chairs and counters, then jumped off exclaiming that they could fly.  Their mother didn’t even look up, or bat an eye.

I cowered in the corner for fear they might start breathing fire or announce their plans to take over the world.

At this point, one of the nurses came out and told the kids they could not behave that way.  She explained to the parent, and her children, that jumping off the furniture was dangerous and could cause accidents, and that having water all over the floor in a medical facility was a real hazard.  The nurse then proceeded to get paper towels from the bathroom to clean up the mess, all while keeping a watchful eye on the children.

Only when she finally walked away did the mother finally speak up.

What pearls of wisdom did she have for her children?  How did she use this moment to teach them the appropriate way to behave?

She hollered at them, “Ya’ll are so BAD!  I hate all of you!  I can’t take you anywhere.  They always ask me to leave because of you.  Is that FAIR?  IS IT?”

Her children were quiet for a solid 10 seconds before they started their antics again and she went back to ignoring them.

I was more grateful than I can even describe that I had my headphones with me.  While children make me crazy, in this particular instance, it was the mother I wanted to throttle.


Thank goodness for making a pact with handstand-push-up-guy that I was coming this morning at 6 a.m., otherwise I would totally have given my mattress more love.

When I woke up my shoulders, abs, quads and achillies in my right foot were all sore… figured it made sense to go and deadlift, box jump, toes to bar and do some ball slams so that I would hurt everywhere tomorrow.

Warm Up:  Pretty much the usual.  Captian America was coaching so we did a few of the things in different order or more/less reps.

SWOD:  Deadlift x3
Warm Up:  10 RDL @33
Warm Up:  10 @83

1×3@ 103
1×3@ 133

I feel like we did one more set than that, but I know that we worked to 133.  It felt heavy and I was happy not doing any more with how sore I already am.

WOD:  12 minute AMRAP
10 box jumps
15 toes to bar
20 slam balls

Score:  3+28 with knees to boobs and 20 lbs slam ball

Other than my hands feeling like someone was holding them over a fire and dumping battery acid over them the entire time I was doing toes to bar, this was fun.  I officially have two blisters on my left and one on my right, and they hurt.  Here’s hoping a day of rest over the weekend will give them time to turn into manly meaty callouses so that I can stop complaining.