My ADD strikes again

I just discovered a pair of my husband’s underpants in my gym bag.

I have no explanation for this.  His clothes and my clothes don’t even go in  the same dresser, and this particular pair of boxers don’t even resemble anything that I own that might cause me to think they’re mine and stuff them in my bag right out of the laundry.

Following this discovery I dumped out my entire gym bag in my cube at work just to double check that the three different pairs of knee high socks that I can only seem to find one of didn’t end up in there as well.

They didn’t.

But I do have four sports bras, three pair of socks, a pair of my own underpants, my cycling kit a change of shirt for tonight and sneakers.  I like to be prepared because I frequently forget an item or two when packing at 5:30 a.m.  Like I apparently did today.

Notice anything missing?

Yup, pants.

So it’s possible I’m going to have my post-ride beer in my husband’s underpants.  Because I’m that awesome.

Rub it riiiiigghhhtttt there

foot massage

Moaning loudly while getting a pedicure at a swanky spa is, apparently, frowned upon.

Granted, I know this on some level. I’m not a total idiot.

But after a great week of training that left my calves and ankles feeling like I had auditioned for Swan Lake or something, I absolutely could not control myself when Olga got in there for the massage portion of this weekend’s primping festivities.

I suppose the three mimosas made me a bit more relaxed than usual, but the staff and guests seemed to be in agreement that my reaction was a bit over the top.

I’ll remember that for next time. As for this time, at least I held back from whimpering “don’t stop, don’t stop” right when she got to the good part.

Taking applications. Sex faces required.

I’m used to getting strange looks from people.  Clearly, I have a tendency to speak my mind.  I also have the uncanny ability to fall up the stairs, knock myself unconscious when sitting down, twist my ankle while riding a roller coaster, or get attacked by wild dogs while crapping in a cornfield.

So yeah, I get a lot of “what the hell?” looks from people, and with good reason.  They don’t bother me.

However, one thing that does burn my biscuit a little is getting  judgmental “what in God’s name is that girl doing” looks when I’m doing something that maybe isn’t all that unusual.

Say for instance, a Crossfit style workout in a non-Crossfit gym.

Husband and I are traveling this weekend, and I have at least two workouts planned where we’re staying.  We’ve stayed at this resort before, and I know that is has one of the most fabulous fitness centers I’ve ever seen.  It most certainly rivals that of some of the Globo Gyms in my area.

During past trips I’ve done Crossfit style workouts in this gym involving burpees, double unders, dumbbell snatches and dumbbell squat cleans, push presses and more, and have always had a full audience of gawkers staring at me open mouthed and breathing heavy trying to figure out if I’m having a seizure or a really great workout.

Sometimes it irks me.

This time, I’m going to be prepared.

First off, I’m going to wear my favorite new workout T that says “Squats are like sex.  They only count when you go deep enough.”  I figure, it sets the stage for what’s to come.

I will begin by foam rolling my inner thighs while moaning and making sex faces, as after that nothing I do will be any weirder.

Beyond that, I don’t have anything truly special planned.

It might sound insane, but I really want to do 100 burpees for time.  The last time we did it there was a 10 minute cut off and I had only made it to 86 reps.  I want to know what my time is for the full 100 and then work on getting it under 10 minutes from there, as one of the Open WOD’s this year will inevitably have some sort of burpee madness that I want to be prepared for.

I also missed a really awesome “death by power cleans” WOD on my 1 year anniversary at the box, and really want a chance to take on that workout, so that is planned WOD #2.  I can’t remember if they have a bar there or if I will be doing them with dumbells, but either way, bring it on.

Stay tuned for the update on Monday, but methinks I might have to recruit a partner in crime to take pictures of my audience during this performance.

Any takers for the job?

Yup, I said it

foam roller

The foam roller at Crossfit saw more action than my husband did last night.  Then again, when I think about it, that foam roller was probably jammed firmly into at least 6 different peoples crotches throughout the course of the day, so I guess I’m really grateful that my husband doesn’t see THAT much action ever.

I love the foam roller.  It’s one of those things that, when you use it, it’s totally acceptable to make both sex noises and faces and no one judges you.  In fact, they’re probably making them too.

Last night we foam rolled our inner thighs.  Being the super freak that I am, it seems the only place on my inner thighs that ever get tight or sore is right up near my… ahem… where my thigh connects to my pelvis.

Looking around at the group of 10 or so of us who were sweating and panting and splayed out on the floor, it seemed I wasn’t alone.

Never mind the thoughts of just how sanitary, or not, this whole thing was.  The one thing I was trying desperately NOT to think was:

“I think this is as close to an orgy as I’ll ever get.”

But of course I thought it.

And then pretty much fell apart in a fit of giggles with everyone around me wondering what the hell was going on.

I didn’t admit it then, it was too bad even for me to say out loud in the moment.

But there it is kids, one of the many things I think but (thank God) do not say at Crossfit.

I admit, I deserve a throat punch

My colon is on a war path today.

It might have something to do with the entire bottle of wine I drank last night.  Or it might have something to do with the fact that the entire bottle of wine chased down pretty much an entire Chinese restaurants worth of every deep fried, delicious, MSG infused thing you can think of.

And that was just dinner.  Furthermore, that was just yesterday.

Do you ever talk to yourself?  I do.  And not just because I’m nuts.  Sometimes, talking to myself gives me some perspective.

This morning my conversation went something like, “Nicole, why did you do this to yourself?”

I’m sure you all remember last week when I was whining about my health, learning that I need to eat more, and was super motivated to figure this whole thing out.

Feel free to throat punch me today for doing exactly what I said I shouldn’t do, and eating more of all the wrong things.

Literally, all of them.

I’m pretty sure if you could name something that could potentially have negative health effects or inflame my immune and digestive system, I ate it over this weekend.

I don’t even have a hollow leg to blame it on.

I’m determined not to beat myself up any more than I already have and find a way to learn and move forward.

I am very lucky in that my downfall is not lack of knowledge.  People who simply do not KNOW how to be successful have a really hard path to try to follow.  But me?  I know exactly what I have to do.  My path while not easy, is simple.  I simply need to execute the plan that I already have, and use the knowledge that I’ve already gained to do the things that I know will allow me to be successful.

If knowledge is power, I’m freaking Wonder Woman.  Now let’s crack that whip… er… I mean… lasso.


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.