Search: the floah

big girl panties

by MrsFatass on July 20, 2015


Afraid to cross the beam. But I DID IT ANYWAY.

If we are Facebook friends (or if you’re in any service industry whatsoever that involves asking me the question “how are you?”) then you know that I have recently begun training for my first triathlon.

Yeah, I’ll just let that sink in for a minute.

I say it a lot. I tell everyone. Mostly because I’m trying to believe for myself that its really true. I’ve never wanted to do this before and I’m not even sure I still do, except that now I’m organizing a training club for 20 or so women, mostly first timers, so I’m in it up to my eyeballs.

And I do know that there are parts of it that I already love. I mean, aside from the shopping for clothes and shoes and gadgets. Just a few weeks in and I’ve already discovered that I love to ride the bike. I haven’t even gotten super hardcore yet, but I’m in love with cycling. And I also hate it because for the kind of riding I want to do, I don’t yet have the endurance and I don’t yet have the bike I need. And I’m impatient. And not made of money. But still. I do love to ride.

I also might love swimming. I’ve only had one practice so far, but it was a strong one. I have never been coached in the pool, and all I really knew going in was that I’m really good at floating on a raft or standing by the wall in the deep end with my friends drinking a beer an ice water on a hot summer day. So I really had no idea what to expect when I jumped in for the first time. But I can roll and I can breathe and I’m kind of fast and I only came up choking once in the entire 45 minute lesson so I think I’m going to like that part too.

The run? Not so much. For about the 58th time I’m back to C25K. And back to hating every step. Not much more to be said there.

I have thought a lot about how I want to write about my journey to triathlete. I mean, like, what angle. Based on the name of this website we know that I’m, uh, robust. And that hasn’t really changed a whole lot. But really? Other people have already written the Fat Girl Tri story in amazing and uplifting and inspiring ways, and anything I write there will be a remix of “It freaks me out, I feel out of place, I’m bigger than everyone, BUT I AM DOING IT ANYWAY.”

And I thought about my ride on the anxiety train, on and off the floah, the struggle between the part of me that loves connecting with people and the part of me that us also utterly terrified of and exhausted by consistent social interaction. But I’ve already written all kinds of posts about getting into my discomfort zone, and DOING IT ANYWAY.

And I’m kind of over some of it. I’m kind of over the memes about “adulting” and I’m kind of over the posts about “how to love an introvert/extrovert/whatever-overt”. I’m kind of over all of the rules (or are they really just excuses?) and I am tired of people whining about change but not doing the hard stuff (and by “people” I mean THIS GIRL). Know what? I haven’t ridden a bike for years. I jog slower than I walk. I already gave myself eye hickeys trying to get my goggles right. I don’t have time to cross train very much so I’m out there huffing and puffing harder than the people who pay me money every month to lead classes. I already have bike envy and I already am pressed for time to get my training workouts in and already I am worried about finishing last. BUT I AM DOING IT ANYWAY.

Nothing new. Nothing to see here. I’ve lived this life in front of you before, and you’ve lived it in front of me. This is what we DO. We take on the challenges and dig deep and make magic happen. Even when everything conspires against us. WE DO IT ANYWAY.

So I don’t know what I’m going to say during this process that will be new or interesting or funny. But I’m in training. For a triathlon. I’m not waiting for some magical perfect time. I’m not waiting until I can afford a better bike. I’m not pushing it off until next season so I have more time. I’m big, and I’m anxious, and I’m nervous, and I’m pretty sure I’ll cry during every hard workout because I’m kind of a baby. Add me to the list of crazy people women who for whatever reason find themselves setting their alarm clocks for 6AM on a weekend to sneak out while sane people the rest of the house sleeps just to be able to cross one more practice session off of the training plan. I will be grumpy and tired and sore and elated and terrified and feeling strong and having bad days and even though none of this will be news to any of you because you are all WAY more bad ass then me, IM DOING IT ANYWAY.

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positivity retrospective

by MrsFatass on December 22, 2014

Last January, all hopped up on BodyFlow breasts breaths and New Year’s clean-slatedness (look it up, it’s a word), I decided that my intention for 2014 was going to be POSITIVITY. I gave myself a nice, wide berth with this one, because after a few years of a lot of change, challenge, and even drama, I felt there were a lot of places in my soul and in my life that needed a fresh coat of paint.

Today I took some time to flip through my Facebook posts, and chose some of m favorite posts from the year. I love a good quote or an e-card. Maybe one or two will speak to you as well.Photo Dec 22, 7 30 13 AMGRATITUDE was a big part of my positivity journey this year. Ending my daily yoga or BodyFlow practice with a moment of gratitude, going around the dinner table with everyone naming one thing the are thankful for, resolving arguments between Thing One and Thing Two by having them write down one thing that makes them thankful to have the other as a sibling. It’s important to me to choose to have a grateful heart.
Photo Dec 22, 7 35 32 AMI decided to make it a daily practice to WITNESS AWESOMENESS. It’s easy to point out mistakes, complain about idiots, and generally just feel like the world is doing it wrong. This year I spent more time looking for opportunities to give a compliment and an ass slap a high five, and am amazed at how much shorter my list of peeves is now that I’m not always looking for them.

Photo Dec 22, 7 34 40 AMI learned to embrace my own SELF CONFIDENCE. Life is messy and shit is hard. You can feel victimized by life’s curveballs, or you can evolve. I choose the latter.

Photo Dec 22, 7 35 45 AMI gave up wishing for things to calm down. Life’s pressure is ever present. Instead of hiding from it or trying to wish it away, I ACCEPTED it and am letting it turn me into something strong and beautiful. And sparkly.

Photo Dec 22, 7 32 59 AMI’ve had my messy moments and my issues and my sadness and my time on The Floah, no doubt. But this year I let go of a lot, and have chosen to FEEL GOOD. At first I would ask myself “Who am I if I’m not being beaten to death by butterflies in my chest? If I’m not coming unglued about having to answer the phone or be social? Who am I if I’m actually losing weight and being healthy and am dareIsay happy with the state of my life?”

Turns out I’m still me. Just me without the crazy eyes frown.

Photo Dec 22, 7 32 33 AMYoga and BodyFlow are a big part of why my positivity experiment worked. The whole world would be a happier place if everyone would take one hour every day (or every other day, or once a week, or just SOMETIME) to focus on their BREATHING and to connect their movement to that breath. Yoga has been a part of my life since I was seventeen years old; some years it is front and center, and some years it’s in the way back of my closet with the clothes I just can’t get rid of. This year was a front and center year and it’s been good.

Photo Dec 22, 7 26 37 AMI APPRECIATE the beauty and the wisdom and the experience of the women around me. There have been periods of my life when I wanted to go things alone, because let’s face it, women have kind of a bad rap when it comes to friendships. But this year, with my focus on putting positivity out in the universe, there have been knock-me-on-the-head moments showing me how it comes back – in the shape of amazing, strong, brilliant, beautiful, authentic, hilarious kick-ass women all around me.

Merry Christmas, everyone. See you in a shiny new 2015!

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excuses and apologies

by MrsFatass on December 8, 2014

Photo Dec 08, 11 25 43 AM

I finally got my blog fixed. I finally got my blog fixed! And holy cow let me tell you it’s like getting to scratch that itch in the center of your back that is hard to reach. Not being able to search or read comments or have links work honestly made me not want to come and write at all. Of course Ryan found the problem and now she’s all shiny and new again. And with that, a brand new enthusiasm for coming here to tell you more stories.

I spent some time thumbing through archives now that it’s all working again. A big part of this blog has been about me figuring out my mental health. Depression and anxiety, well, they are no joke. And they are things that have been a part of my life as far back as I can remember. I didn’t really have a vocabulary for it in high school or college. I couldn’t really explain my intensity or my occasional paranoia or my insomnia or my moods. All I really knew is that there were times when I was acting in such a way that in my head I knew was completely irrational, but I just couldn’t make it stop. I called it stress, but I knew it had to be more than that, because it would send me reeling like a scaredy cat hanging from the ceiling by his claws and just not shut off.

And for whatever reason, whether it’s the calendar or the temperature or the (lack of) daylight, it always seems that this time of year would be the yucky part of the cycle. I found my Dr. Awesome in October. I “relapsed” and picked myself up off of the floah a year later in November. I have written all kinds of garden metaphors and melancholy reflections and I’ll start fresh next year stuff because usually throughout this time of year, I’m sort of faking my way through the B side of things.

But this year is different.

It’s been four years since I sat in a psychiatrist’s office for the first time, answering questions and being assessed, eventually walking out with an honest to god diagnosis for my wacky emotions and behaviors. I brought The Diagnosis home like a new puppy, playing with it and training it and also I had something to blame for chewed up socks or poop on the rug! (Metaphorically speaking of course). In some ways it was awesome to hear a doctor give me a diagnosis that put words to what I was feeling for so many years because I had a reason for it. There were chemicals in my brain making it next to impossible for me to handle certain stresses, fears, or suspense because it didn’t shut off like somebody else’s might. How amazing to know that really I wasn’t crazy, I just had an honest to god anxiety disorder!

But in other ways, the reason didn’t really matter. Whether or not I had a name for it, I still had to function. I still had to be able to answer the phone. I still had to be able to go to work or teach my classes or advocate for my children. A diagnosis isn’t a free pass. It’s not an excuse for bad behavior. It doesn’t mean I can act out all over my family or friends and not have to be accountable for it. It doesn’t mean I can just take my hands off the wheel and stop handling my obligations and hide away until the storm passes.

Last week I started feeling that familiar slow build. Some of it was stress – one thing that therapy helped me figure out was that even though anxiety is stressful, not all stress is anxiety – so some of what I was dealing with was just plain old stuff that any adult has to cope with. But there was a little feeling that took hold that made the butterflies beat my chest up all week. It started with this stupid thing that happened last weekend – kids tearing around the neighborhood in a car, stealing outdoor Christmas lights – and it snowballed into days of me freaking out that a car was going to hit my son when he crossed the street to go to his buddy’s house. Total fixation for days. And I just couldn’t flip the switch back to OFF. Little things became big things. A bump on my husband’s head was a brain tumor, my daughter’s tummy ache became the flu. And it all boiled over on Saturday when my already pumping adrenaline got turned up to eleven while trying to get my daughter to the float she was supposed to ride on at the Christmas parade. We were running late and not totally sure where to go and we had to run from one end of the parade route to the other, dodging throngs of people holding umbrellas (seriously, you could put an eye out!!) but we made it and she waved like a beauty queen and it was awesome. However, my adrenaline didn’t shut off like it should of once we got her there and all was well. I could hear my heart in my ears and my emotions were spilling over and my pulse was racing so hard I could see it in my temples. I was terrified but had no idea what I was terrified of and for just a very teeny split second I wondered if I was having a heart attack.

And then I kind of lost it all over one of my best friends. Like, in the part of the day I should have been relieved it all worked out, and laughing about all the craziness, I was heavy breathing and choking back tears and just trying to escape.

Yep. My little diagnosis puppy totally pooped in his crate.

But, after a little while, I caught my breath. And after a little while more, I was able to talk it out. Both to my reflection in the mirror (reminding me that all this was just a biological reaction to a perceived danger, and now it was over) and to Trophy Husband (saying pretty much the same thing out loud like a mantra). And very soon after, I was able to text that friend and apologize. I’m sorry. That was me, not you. Every anxiety button I have got pushed this morning. I’ve been fighting this off for days. I’m sorry it came out on you.

And we were all able to dust ourselves off and put the day back on the rails.

I like having a diagnosis because it’s kind of like a roadmap. I can find my way back from the crazy. And I also like that I’ve become the kind of person who can say I’m sorry. Dramatic moments can be just that. Moments. They don’t have to turn into actual drama.
Anyway, my diagnosis dog is 4 years old now and I think I’ve got him just about housebroken. And I’m feeling really good about that.

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by MrsFatass on July 3, 2014

Tough love session
Technically this was my fifth Fitbloggin,  but I’m not sure it actually counts. It was a drive-by attendance. I wasn’t in the group shot OR the 5 year attendee shot. While I was thrilled to make it for the Ignite session, I didn’t get to do a workout or participate in another session other than the ones I had the privilege of leading. And some of you know the twists and turns it took for me to get there – my usual plan was struck down due to work, so I retooled in order to be able to honor my commitments and still get to see my friends. But it was hard to let it go on for the fifth time while I was at work, getting texts from my friends who were conferencing. But whatever. I’ve said a hundred times – as long as there is a Fitbloggin’, I will be there. This conference has my loyalty and my heart. And let’s be honest, it is a huge reason why I don’t have to pay outrageous therapy bills. So if one year had to be a drive-by, so be it.

But it was truly a different experience for me. I had to cram the entire experience into 20 hours, and  I just couldn’t completely immerse myself in it. Half of my brain was still on work; our trio 800 number rings to my personal phone, so I still answered every inquiry and handled several Facebook PMs/email messages too. I was totally still working. And also? I brought a date. At some point after it was decided that I would be the one to stay back and run the studio this year, it opened up some time during the much-slower holiday week following the conference for me to help get my kids back and forth from my parent’s house in Florida. Part of that meant bringing my daughter to the conference. Which, while wonderful, did make for a very different Fitbloggin’ for MrsFatass.

I coasted into Savannah on fumes. For the fifth time I rolled in both needing my people AND needing to be needed by my people. The free hugs get a lot of press, and for being a person with intimacy issues, I am still able to handle those with aplomb. But what really makes the experience for me are those stolen conversations in tiny pockets of the hotel, where our handles melt away, and MrsFatass and DubyaWife and 265andFalling and MizFit and Roni’s Mom and I’m a Drama Mama and YummySushiPJs and KyraTX and Mission Meltdown and FitDawn and GlamNellie and NachoMama become Sue and Christine and Steve and Carla and Gerri and Thea and Heather and Kirsten and Dre and Dawn and Nelle and Margo. (There are so many more, but I couldn’t possibly list everyone) (but I know you get the point) (and yes I know that Thea and Steve have changed their blog names). I love those moments where the blogs disappear and we are really all just old friends. Or new friends with old history.

I look back over the things I’ve gone through with all of you Fitbloggers over the last five years. You all helped me get off of the floah and get help for my anxiety. And you wouldn’t let me just pop the pills; you held me accountable for the therapy too. You helped me form a new career, disallowing any “I’m too fat to do this” and pushed me way beyond Zumba teacher. You all made me a fitness professional. You wouldn’t let me eat another can of beans standing over the sink. You got in my pants. You quietly loved me even when you didn’t know exactly what was going on. And you freaking put on your bikinis!!

I don’t know how I would have made it through some of those experiences without you.

But it’s time to call myself out on a few things.

  1. It is impossible to hide the weight I have steadily put on over the last year. Maybe a little longer than a year. I don’t know for how long or exactly how much but it is at least 20 pounds in the wrong direction. I weigh more now than I did when I delivered my children.
  2. I don’t really know why I’m gaining weight.
  3. I am embarrassed to say that. There are so many people who want a new body without doing the work, and I swear that person is not me. I am not hiding a box of ho hos in my closet. I am not secretly making taco bell runs. I have all but given up sugar, soda, fast food, and there are rarely any processed foods in my pantry or freezer. I don’t eat cheese, for Pete’s sake. NO CHEESE! And in those moments when I make the choice to eat too much, or to eat something bad for me, I don’t lie about it or pretend it’s okay because I stay in my calorie range or turn a bad meal into a bad month. I don’t do that anymore. I am different now. Ask my friends – I have even been seen taking cucumber slices to a Mexican restaurant so I won’t eat the chips!
  4. But I am still gaining. And I fear that I’ll go to a doctor who won’t believe me, who will just hand me some bland “diet plan”, or who will assume I don’t know about healthy eating, healthy living, or weight loss. Or who will think I’m lying.
  5. I am worried about changing up medications and sacrificing the handling of My Crazy for being able to lose weight again.
  6. I love being strong. I love having endurance and being able to do mud runs and working out every day. My self-confidence is real. But I hate wearing regular clothes because none of mine fit. And I am fricking tired of being the fat fitness instructor. I want my body to reflect my work.
  7. When I sit on my bed with my laptop, my chin roll lays on the front of my neck, and it gets sweaty. And I can no longer see what I’m doing when I’m shaving my bikini area. I get lower back pain when I vacuum or work over my garden pots. None of these things makes me happy.

So yeah. There’s that.

But, fear isn’t a reason to let this take me back into the dark. So. Here is what I’m going to do.

I’m going to schedule my physical. I will call on Monday.

I’m going to make this a blog again. Holy crapballs I’ve missed writing with you guys. I’ve shied away because there are so many daily life people who come here now and so for a long time I felt like I couldn’t write with the same freedom that I once did. But you know what? This was my blog and you were my people first. So I’m just going to have to figure this out.

I’m going to set my MFP diary back to private. I have the worst case of diary anxiety you have ever seen. It’s irrational, but that’s kind of what anxiety is all based in, right? Irrationality? So yeah. It hasn’t really served me well since making it public a while back because it lost its honesty. So. I’m changing it back.

I’m going to keep doing the hard work. Even though I don’t have answers yet and I’m teetering on the brink of frustration and depression about my weight, I’m not going to give up my efforts. I will keep tracking, keep writing, keep moving, and keep trying to look at life through a positive lens. Because even if I had some totally rare disease that would make it impossible for me to ever lose another ounce, I’m not going to stop moving. I’m not going to curl up and die.

And next year when it’s my turn to be in Denver from beginning to end, I’m going to be one thankful bitch.

* This post was inspired by the session Fitblogger Tough Love, which encouraged us to be willing to both give AND receive more honest, accountable feedback as we pursue our health and fitness goals. Please join us in using the hashtag #JustTrollin or #TribeLove to highlight a comment or post as coming from a place of Fitblogger Tough Love (FTL?). Interested in catching what you missed at the session? Read the live blog summary HERE.

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like clockwork

by MrsFatass on March 26, 2013

There is another blog author somewhere who writes something once a year about her anxiety and depression being cyclical and that there is some study that states that there is one month a year where there is a higher incidence of such symptoms in people who experience them that may have to do with circadian rhythms or something like that (as opposed to stoppage of meds or life bottoming out or whatever) and so even when things are looking up, for those of us who are a little bit nutballs, this particular month can put us on the floah, just because The Universe says so.

Don’t look at me like that. It’s a thing. Whatshername said so. Google it.

I don’t remember the month she names (surprising no one) but I can tell you that for THIS nut ball, it’s generally spring. And wouldn’t you know it, according to the calendar, spring sprung just five short days ago.

And right on time, here come the butterflies.

If you all are new here, the definition of anxiety that my Dr. Awesome (and therefore I) uses goes something like this: a physiological response to perceived fear or danger (emphasis on the perceived). And those of us who are disordered lack the chemistry to be able to shut off that fight or flight a timely manner. Or at all.  So basically I don’t need any real reason to get all whacked out (though usually I DO), and then once I get going, it just snowballs and snowballs because my brain doesn’t let it go once the spider grabs his suitcase and moves out of the house.

I have used medication to help me deal with this. And I’ve done a lot of other things too. Meditation and creative visualization and music and long walks on the beach (but never ever martinis food wine). (okay maybe occasionally wine). And of course there is this little known thing that I like to do from time to time that is a high energy mixture of endorphins and emotion and sweat and release that is happening here and there. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called Zumba.

If Zumba were human, he’d my best friend. My person. The first thing I reach for in the morning and the last thing in my mind when I fall asleep at night. With Zumba I can be myself. Silly or sexy or adventurous or dramatic. The one I want to be with when I am elated and can’t wait to share, or the one I need to be with when I just can’t bear pull myself out of bed. Zumba has been my savior, my lover, my partner in crime, my inspiration, my cheerleader. And the primary thing keeping me out of the nuthouse.

Yeah, Zumba is kind of a big deal. To me, anyway.

So over the last few weeks I’ve been experiencing a sort of surge in symptoms for whatever reason, and I’ve been leaning hard on my BFF named Zumba. I have been teaching a gazillion classes and feeling stronger physically but have had to work harder and harder and harder to reach that point where my workout actually provides my brain with that release of the crazy. Did you hear that, blogosphere? My main source of calm in the eye of the storm is . . . losing its effectiveness.

The dynamics of this relationship have changed, and, well, I am feeling a little, um, anxious about living with my anxiety.

Now don’t get all up in arms about this. I mean, I am not breaking up with Zumba any time soon. I’m a commitment girl in my heart of hearts, and also quite stubborn when I pick something to love. I just can’t give up when it gets hard. Some people can, but I prefer to dig in and hold on and try to make it all work.

Nothing has taken care of me better than Zumba, and I am devoted. Teaching is my favorite thing to do, and that won’t change no matter what I do to keep my head in check. So I have to adapt to a new reality. This is not going to be an exclusive relationship, me and Zumba. Not if it’s going to work. I am going to have to redefine commitment, go against my monogamous nature, and let some other players in the game. Woodson and I have taken a few runs together, and I have enjoyed reconnecting with C25K. And have any of you tried Piloxing? It’s asked me out a few times. Maybe I’ll eventually say yes. I also need to hit up Mrs. Tim’s few remaining yoga classes before she follows a moving truck to New Hampshire in a few weeks. So I guess maybe I’ll have to pull out my high heels and go on a few dates. And try not to think about Zumba courting others in the meantime.

Sounds silly I know. But I’m nervous, blogosphere. This is kind of hitting me right in the insecurities. But if my bond with Zumba is as strong as I thought it was a few weeks ago, then we’ll make it, even if we’re not exclusive. If we can keep making each other feel like a priority, then anything’s possible.


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book club

by MrsFatass on July 8, 2012

St. Augustine Book Club

I know. I keep writing a post to say Hey! I’m back! and then I disappear again. I keep thinking I’m on top of things, and then the rug gets pulled out and I’m back on the floah.

But this time I’m pretty sure I’m serious. I’m back. I’ve had a couple things happen recently that keep telling me to get my head out of my ass and get on with life again. First, that’s what somebody said to me. Not in those exact words – the words this person used were actually a bit more harsh – but the point was made that enough was enough. And this person was absolutely correct. Second, more and more people from my real life here are finding out about Mrs. Fatass, and actually saying things to me about reading it. Like, to my face. Which is terrifying wonderful and agonizing flattering, to have people say that they want more. More Mrs. Fatass. Thing is, I have a bunch of partial ideas for things I’d like to talk about, but my writing muscle is out of shape. I haven’t been exercising it. It’s no longer all toned and sculpted and awesome. It’s flabby, that writing muscle of mine.

But that, blogosphere, is the only muscle I haven’t been exercising. The rest of them have been teaching anywhere from 10-12 classes a week, working with a trainer, and getting compliments on their emerging hotassedness. I’m not a bunch of sizes smaller, but I am one size smaller, and had a wonderful girls night out with Mrs. Tim wearing a dress that I’ve had for a while but never been able to fit into until now. Rumor also has it that my shoulders are starting to have this thing called definition and there may be some similar thing happening with my ass.

Which brings me to a third thing. I was asked by this hot ass to be a contributing writer for a new website she’s launching very soon, and when she pitched the idea to me I said SURE before she even got all the words out because holy shitballs, somebody out there still considers me to be a writer. So I was sure to accept before she navigated her way over here and realized I’ve been dormant for months weeks.

And also, after sleepless nights, lots of stomachaches, and the realization that my blood pressure had gotten dangerously high, I left my marketing job at the gym. Even better, I’m teaching Zumba pretty much full time, and have entered into a ridiculously awesome partnership with two other instructors and we’re teaching like crazy. Including…teaching classes in our very own studio! Okay, it’s a little room inside a bigger Martial Arts studio, but it’s our little room. And I can sit in it before class and still smell the fresh paint and look around and see something that I made with what’s inside of ME, not what I did because of somebody else’s influence on me.

Last week I found myself back with my folks at their place in Florida, running there at least in part because I wanted to be their little girl again. Or at least feel that safety and comfort that I felt when I was their little girl. And after a few days in the hot sun and the salt water, some wine, lots of hugs from my mom and my aunts and my cousins, and about a gazillion laughs about who has or has not read 50 Shades of Grey, here I am, back at the keyboard.

I’m back.

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by MrsFatass on April 30, 2012

What is that saying about the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over, but expecting a different result?

Well, now that it’s all out in the open that I’m struggling, I guess I can follow that up by admitting that I am also insane. I am doing the same things again and again, expecting that somehow they’ll turn out different. Or that I’ll turn out different. But really, I’m not much different today than I was 7 months ago when I was laying on the floah. Well, I’m upright. And my ugly hair has grown out. And I have taken to wearing super short Athleta running skorts and tight tee shirts to work because I need the endorphined up manly men to stop by my office to see what I’m wearing so they can go over to the coffee pot and objectify me. I’ve found that being objectified is about as good as it gets on those days that I feel like a chubby, middle aged depressed chick with a trunk full of baggage.

And as long as we’re on the topic, the Honey Baked Ham story…

Gym Eye Candy Guy: I look at you and it makes me crave Honey Baked Ham.

Me: (Blink. Blink.) I feel like that’s supposed to be a compliment, but I just can’t quite make the connection. Can you explain?

Gym Eye Candy Guy: Think about it. At Thanksgiving, the turkey might be the centerpiece. But it’s the Honey Baked Ham the men want to devour.

Yeah. I’m totally okay with that right now.

I finally agreed to go to counseling with Trophy Husband and our first appointment is next week and the truth is I am whacked out scared because once you say things out loud, they’re real. You can’t say them and then see that they crush or infuriate or amuse or embarrass the other person and then take them back. You can’t un-say them once they’re out there. And even though we have this shared experience of the last 14 years together, I just don’t know what he’s going to say once we’re in the room with a third party and a couch and a professional opinion. We have been horrible communicators and swept lots of things under the rug and I don’t know if we’re going to counseling to try to work on our relationship or if we’re going to counseling to try to decide if our relationship is worth saving or if we’re going to counseling because we both think it’s the other person who is batshit. I don’t know if we’d even agree on the reason for going. I just don’t know.

I guess all of the stupid shit I do to try to stay ahead of the beast has been put on pause.  I’m not  happy about it, but it is what it is. And also, I’m not going to stop curling my hair and wearing short skirts that push the boundaries of the dress code. But I’ll slow down. And I’ll go to therapy.

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February 16, 2012

real women reveal: how Zumba changed my life

Yesterday, I learned that this piece on went live. I, along with 7 other women, answered the question “how did Zumba change your life?” I answered that question in about a zillion words, and that answer was boiled down to just a few, and as people always say when somebody writes down what they […]

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January 19, 2012

flipping the bird

I read something yesterday that I just can’t shake. I’ve read her blog for probably five years or so. She’s been writing it for more than ten. I’ve read every word. She’s got a lot of fans, and she’s got a fair number of haters. I’m not a hater. I personally think taking a little event […]

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December 26, 2011

i’ll be waiting

Pre-post warning: I don’t really know where I’m going with this one. But it’s been a long time since I just listened to music and typed from my heart. Things here have been moody and self indulgent the last few months, but I’m contemplating letting all that go in the new year and getting on […]

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