*GASP* A Progress Picture

I’ve blogged about progress pics before.  If you’re too lazy to click the link (which I know most of you are because my analytics tell me so) the gist of it is, posting the “before” picture literally gives me a panic attack.  Like a palms sweating feel-like-I-might-burst-into-tears panic attack.

I don’t want to think about what I looked like before I started.  And like I posted this weekend, I really really really don’t want to consider the possibility that I will end up back there any time soon.

But ya’ll I’ve got to tell you, I am so so proud of myself here lately.  I posted a pic of me flexing at the gym yesterday to Facebook and got an overwhelmingly supportive response from my friends.  The best compliment was from a friend I haven’t seen in a long time who told me that I’m the fittest he’s ever seen me.  Since the last time he saw me was about two weeks before I raced a HALF IRONMAN, that’s saying something kittens.

So to keep with my mantra of overcoming my plethora of fears, I’m saying eff it.  Without further ado, here is my progress to date.

progress pic October 2014

The picture on the left was taken right after I completed a 62 mile charity bike ride back in March, and the pic on the right was taken on Sunday.  It was leg day, but I couldn’t resist taking a flexing selfie because dem guns doe.

I remember when the pic on the left was posted to Facebook I almost cried.  That was the start of a big turning point for me when I realized something had to give.  I was riding 4-5 days per week, doing Crossfit 5x per week, and was still busting out of my size 14 jeans.  The fact was, I was sabotaging all of my success with a shitty diet and bad drinking habits.

I started slow in March, and really ramped up my efforts after a work conference in June that I had to buy a new suit in a size 16 in order to attend.  I had never been that large, and didn’t want to be again.

Today, I am SO PROUD not only of the weight I’ve lost, but of the muscle I’ve put on.  Obviously, it’s a journey.  I’m not done yet, but I can’t hide behind my fear of failure to the point I don’t celebrate my successes either.

So there you have it readers.  Feel free to tell me I look fabulous.  My ego loves you all already, so you might as well stroke it some more.

And if you’re feeling up to it, share your pics too!  Feel free to link to your blog in the comments, I want to cheer you on too. 🙂

There’s a bag in this picture?

Yesterday Christmas Abbott, one of the most badass Crossfit chicks around, posted this pic on her Facebook page of her new Fitmark Bag.

Christmas Abbott

Now, I’m a straight girl but I’ve gotta tell ya, I didn’t even notice the bag.  I’ve got a serious lady boner for this woman, and I LOVE  that she is confident enough in her body to post a pic that has no airbrushing, no “corrections”, and nothing more than an Instagram filter on it.

Not only does she have arguably the greatest butt I’ve ever seen, her confidence that goes along with it makes me a huge fan.

“Thick and sexy” is something you should really only ever say about a milkshake

I could not make this stuff up if I tried.

We have a few regular spots where we hang out on Friday nights, and with my usual group of people they always involve places the guys can play pool.

A few weeks back, we were early on in our drinking and bar hopping merriment, and decided to stop at a place that isn’t on the regular list, but has some pretty great tables.  I’m flexible, and as long as they have Whiskey, I’m easy to please.

Within five minutes of walking in the door, we realize we’re not exactly in the classy part of town.  But as I was there with hubs and another dude, I figured not much could go wrong.  We ordered drinks, got a table, and the guys started their smack talking for the night.

A few minutes later, a girl who was obviously on something other than what the bartender was pouring stumbled over to our table asking to bum a cigarette.  At least I think that’s what she asked.  She may have also been asking for a shampoo or a chimpanzee, but either way, I don’t smoke and had none of the above on me.

For some reason, I was trying to be nice to this stranger who just wouldn’t LEAVE ME ALONE.  Hubs came to the rescue a moment later at which point she says:

“Girl, you so THICK and SEXY I’m gonna steal you from your man.”

Uh, what?

My initial response was, “I’m never eating again.”

But after conferring with friends who are a little better with the slang than I, I discovered it was a compliment.

So really, my response should have been:

“Thanks.  I squat.”

After which I think it would have been totally socially acceptable to chase her off with the chalked up end of a pool cue.

Ah people.  Always good for a laugh.

Let me count the ways

There are a million things that might make someone “the one” for you.  According to my husband, he married me because I copped a squat on the side of the interstate on our third date.  (What?  The highway was freaking SHUT DOWN and I had to PEE like woah!)   He knew in that moment that I was the woman for him.

For me, I knew it the first time I watched him clean out his ears with Q-Tips and I didn’t instantly vomit in my mouth that I must be in love.  About 6 months into our relationship we went to Taco Bell and ordered $40 worth of food, I ate more than my share, and he still slept in the same bed as me that night.  That would be the moment that I knew we would end up together forever.

Last night, as I was lying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to drown out his snores that sounded more like a giant tractor plowing an uncooperative corn field in the middle of our bedroom at 4 a.m., I thought about all the things I love about him.  Then, as he inhaled with such gusto that I swear my hair started swaying from the pillow in the direction of his piehole, I contemplated the things about him that drive me crazy.

In the end, I put on the “white noise” app on my phone and drifted back to sleep, reminded that good or bad, all of his qualities are just that, uniquely his.  Whether I love them or hate them, I absolutely adore him.

And earplugs.  I absolutely positively adore earplugs.

I was totally drooling more than a Rottweiler

hot doctor

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…