My Current Jams

It's always nice to get some ideas for some new tunes for one's workouts.  This is my "hardcore sweat" playlist...and by hardcore I mean there are lots of cuss words and it makes me want to get crunk. Until I bought my "look back at it" tanktop, I wasn't even aware that it was a song.  THEN, I started listening to the Ying Yang Twins channel on Pandora, and it was almost like every song was speaking to my soul.  I do loves me some song about big booty hoes.

So enjoy my friends!  Perhaps you may add a couple of these to your rotation.

kisses and squats- Amy

#shortgirlproblems

 I did it.  I bought some workout leggings.  I got these little babies at the Under Armour outlet over the weekend.  I've been THINKING about trying full length leggings, however, I wasn't sure I could commit.  While I regularly wear capri length "leggings" to workout, just adding that extra 6-8 inches of fabric to complete the full pant leg look, kinda makes me feel that my legs go from short and thick to short, thick, and Turkey Leg.  Seriously...look at that picture.  It's kinda a big, juicy, delicious turkey leg no?  Like the kind you get a the fair?

Regardless, I bought them because they made the size 0 butt on the manikin look poppin', so I felt confident they would accentuate my trunk in all the right ways.

Now. Because the fit model for these leggings must have been 6'1" tall, I have to tuck or roll the bottom of these suckers.  You can't really notice...but I know the truth.  And then what's weird is...I fell kinda naked in them. I don't really feel naked when I prance around in my capri length workout pants.  But the final verdict...mama digs.  Mama likes. The ooonnnnllly problem is, while they look kinda precious in this picture, once I throw on my Nike Pegasus sneaks, that are sort of orthopedic looking in nature, I feel like it once again reverts to potential Turkey Leg stuck in an Orthopedic Shoe.

Oh well.  Such is life.

In other musings, I sent Rachel this text earlier (while I was eating an order of nachos in my car over lunch break...true story):

"Doesn't it ever make you sad that no matter how much we work out, we will always have cellulite"?

I mean.  It's kinda a bummer.  Can you imagine how much people WOULD workout if it did get rid of cellulite and stretchmarks?  Man!  Gym memberships would be through the roof.  I will tell you, although I am pretty sure it is scientifically impossible, that my  secret wish and hope is that if I get really big glute and hammie muscles, some of the cellulite will go "diminish".  

A girl can dream.

But for right now, I try to pretend it's not there.  

And just like Rachel said: "But honestly, if anyone can rock their cellulite like it's SUPPOSED to be there, it's us."

Amen sister.  Amen.

Where Did You Come From

One of the most beautiful things about blogging, besides feeding our narcissistic desire for love and adoration, is that you have an online journal of your journey.  I was meandering through my blogs posts last week, starting with my very first post from what seems like a lifetime ago.  I wanted to verify something that I will blog about very soon.  But along the way, I found this post from April of 2009.  Let's take a look.

Sizing Things Up

I think I started my journey at a size 28. Its hard to tell because of Lane Bryant and their trickery with the size changes...but I know I was a 26/28 in most things. I have been saving one Rubbermaid container of clothes that range from 18-22. This includes 2 pairs of 22 slacks I have hanging in my closet. One with tags still on them. I went to put them on last weekend because I was going to take a picture of how they didnt zip up, and then take another picture when they finally do zip. Well guess what...they fit! That was a pleasant surprise.

Then in my shopping quest for something to wear to Thunderbeach, I tried on some 22 shorts at Lane Bryant. They fit!

Some things in Old Navy are actually starting to fit (tops).

It's a good feeling. I havent been a size 20 in about 7 years. And I was only there very briefly. So once I get to a size 18...I wont even know what to do with myself.

What are some other NSV's I would like to see.

These two lovely rolls on my back (one on either side)...they can go.

I would like my fingers to start losing some of their girth.

I still want to be able to see what I am doing when I am shaving my bikini area. Currently I am like Edward Scissorhands down there...just hacking away hoping to get everything. And then I will discover at the beach or somewhere a huge patch I have missed. I am getting closer to this as my stomach gets smaller.

Someday I want to be able to see my clavicle.

Why arent my underwear getting baggy? I think of Sara and her post about saggy panties almost everytime I get dressed. Almost 60 pounds down and still wear the same drawers!

It's a nice reality check, when I start to worry about my current size 10 or 12 pants...that once I was excited and felt blessed to be getting close to a size 20.  It should be noted that while the "losing" phase of any weight loss journey is hard and full of ups and downs, there are so many rewards along the way.  There are so many nonscale victories.  Every 10 pounds lends itself to another potential accomplishment.  Fitting into an airplane seat, getting your groove on (I'm talking about dancing people!) without looking like a wet rat (it should be noted that I still resemble a wet rat after a few minutes on the dance floor), running, fitting into a new size...are all things you get to experience and celebrate as you shrink.  But once you get to the maintenance phase, otherwise known as THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, new victories are few and far between. So appreciate where you are.  Appreciate your improvements. 

But let's check in on that wish list of other NSV's I wanted to see:

These two lovely rolls on my back (one on either side)...they can go. *They are gone.  But every once in awhile, if I am perhaps getting a little plumpier, they can peak out again.

I would like my fingers to start losing some of their girth. *I used to wear a size 10 ring.  I believe my engagement ring is a size 7.5. I don't think they are going to get any smaller.  My appendages were apparently always meant to resemble little Vienna sausages.

I still want to be able to see what I am doing when I am shaving my bikini area. Currently I am like Edward Scissorhands down there...just hacking away hoping to get everything. And then I will discover at the beach or somewhere a huge patch I have missed. I am getting closer to this as my stomach gets smaller. *I can see my cho-cha now.  Although if I want to really make sure I'm getting a level 5 whootanany shave, I have to pull up loose belly skin.  Oh well.  You win some and you lose some. 

Someday I want to be able to see my clavicle. * I remember a post I made the day I discovered my clavicle.  I believe it was in a Walmart dressing room. I believe there were tears. An interesting sidenote, I stumbled upon a picture of me from about 4.5 years ago.  I was the same size as I am now, but my clavicle was really prominent.  Then I realized the difference is that I have built my chest muscles since then.  Turns out, the more chest muscles I have, the less I see that clavicle.  And I am okay with that.

Why arent my underwear getting baggy? I think of Sara and her post about saggy panties almost every time I get dressed. Almost 60 pounds down and still wear the same drawers!*Damn it!  I should have saved a pair of underwear!  Maybe I will go buy a size 9 and see how they fit!

Whiskers On Kittens and Warm Woolen Mittens

Well basically this post has nothing to do with Kittens or Mittens, and everything to do with Whiskers.  Last year around Christmas time, I ponied up some dinero and bought myself a Groupon for laser hair removal.  Zap zap.  I WANTED MY WHISKERS GONE.

Those bastards are still there.

No less.  No softer.  No finer.

And every once in awhile...I get a creeper.  A deep hair that instead of popping out and thus falling victim to my fine tip tweezer, it decides to grow underneath my skin, creeping sideways like a vine of ivy on the side of a beautiful victorian house.  And then I have this welt like thing...usually on my chin.  And of course I want to touch it.  And mess with it.  And then...BAM.  It looks like I have level 5 MRSA.  (I don't think there are levels of MRSA...it just sounded more dramatic).

Well yesterday, I got that little sucker out.  And by little, I mean HUGE.  It took two days, and Exacto knife and then a sewing needle.  I should have placed something next to the hair for size reference...like a penny.  Or a banana.

It's gross.

And now I have shared it with you.

How I Workout These Days & Other Assorted Pictures Showcasing Me

People are asking me all the time, "Amy.  WHAT does your workout look like?  How do you maintain your bikini competition figure?"

Okay.  So no one asks me that.  Sometimes I make things up.  But that's why you like me so.

But I do find it interesting to see what others are doing...so I thought I would share what a normal week looks like for me.

How I workout has evolved tremendously from how I first started working out post-op.  My first foray into moving my body to get the scale moving was about a month post-op, when I decided to sign up for my first 5K (you can read about that here).  And then Tracey and I started to go to a bootcamp taught by a hard body little lesbian (revisit the moment when Heather was "just" Heather here). When I first started going to bootcamp, we went maybe 2 to 3 times a week.  I believed in things called "rest days".

Then I started dating Heather.  And I started working out a little more. Really focusing on lifting, but more in a circuit style set up.  I wanted to gain muscle mass.  I wanted to lose fat.

Then 4 years ago on January 1st, I started running.  At that point, Heather thought running was "stupid", and would say so as I drug myself out of bed to plod the streets alone.  I started running for me. Then running became a way to stay conditioned for all of the obstacle course races we were doing.  Tough Mudder, Spartan, Savage, Superhero Scramble...we were doing them all...and I didn't want to be the weakest link.

Which brings us to today.  Today I workout 6 days a week...with usually one "rest" day.  We run 3 days a week.  Depending on my goal for the month, I run anywhere between 12-15 miles a week.  Heather runs with me now...well...a long ways in front of me...because she realized she is an exceptional runner and thus, running is no longer "stupid". But what really keeps me motivated now is our puppies.  Let me introduce you to Bear & Cotton:

After my Shelby passed away last year (2013), my heart healed enough to start longing for another dog that would be "mine".  Yes we have Honey Mae and Bubba...but Honey Mae would get in the car with any stranger (she is a doggie whore) and Bubba loves me only when he wants to love me).  Well, our friends were in the market for a new puppy as well and they told me about these Australian Shepard/German Shepard puppies they were going to go look at. I asked Heather if I could get one and she sent me, with $50, to "look".  Did she expect me NOT to pick out an adorable 6 week old puppy?  DOES SHE KNOW ME AT ALL?  Well I fell in love with Cotton (on the right). ANOTHER friend decided to adopt the boy, Bear.  But after just a day, they decided they weren't dog people and asked if we wanted him. And that is how we went from 3 fur children (we cant forget Kitty), to 5 fur children.  But look how cute they were...

It turns out though..that in addition to being precious...they are also little bastards.  They chewed things.  They ate things (the wall, furniture, Heather's $200 Oakleys...on her birthday) and so with the voice of Ceaser the Dog Whisperer whispering in my head (dogs act up when they are bored), I started running with them. 

And they love it.  They run on a coupler.  We started with just a few miles, and now we are up to 7 miles, with stops only for water.

It's helped with the distruction...although they still will destroy something for no good damn reason from time to time.  I love running with them.  Please note I did not say I love running.  But it gives running a sense of purpose.  And I know they are having a great time...which brings me a little joy to an otherwise hateful situation.  Having canine running companions has been an immense motivator for me and my running.

So that's the cardio part.

Now for the lifting.

That's Heather's back.  Not mine.  I know you were briefly confused.  This was taken in our garage.  During our "retirement" we made a little gym in the garage.  Now my car lives outside.  Naked to the elements. But it was worth it.

So I lift now with a dedicated purpose.  The days I don't run, I am lifting.  Each day has it's own body part or body section.  Chest day, leg day, back day, etc. After finding employment, and thus receiving a paycheck once more, I rejoined Planet Fitness.  Heather is motivated to workout alone in the garage with no audience, but mama needs people around her to keep her pumping iron.  Well I don't need it, but I like it so much better.  And Planet Fitness is just 1 mile from our house...so off I go. My favorite day is leg day of course, because that translates to butt day.  And it's so true what they say.  Once you see progress...that's when it becomes an addiction.  

So many girls are afraid of lifting heavy because they don't want to look like dudes.  Well I don't want to look like a dude, or this lady here...

But I do want big muscles.  I want clear definition.  And because I do have fat on my body, my muscles are going to need to be big to see that definition.  And I love feeling strong.  I love knowing I am strong.  So I try to lift for at least an hour on those days.  I am always sore.  Which isn't always a good thing.  But I can usually feel my workout for days afterwards.

Here's me and my delt (shoulder muscle) painting our friends kitchen.  Hello delt.  I love you.

I became an official steakhead when I set up my damn phone and took a selfie at the gym.  I tried to be stealth and prayed no one saw me doing it.

Here we are after a run.  Heather, me, and my nipple.  I apologize about that.  But since the new girls got installed..my nibs after a run have a life of their own.

Here's a pic of me and my boyfriend Frosty.  This was part of a door decorating contest at work.  I won.  Duh. (Okay...so I tied.  But I won)

I also got a bike for my birthday in September!  A beach cruiser for...cruising the beach!  Which really means beach bar bike crawls.  Which is fabulous.  Her name is Blue Nelly.

I believe that is the day I introduced Rachel to the Monte Cristo sandwhich.  A deep-fried wonder that you dip in rasberry jelly.  It brought a tear to her eye.  One of the reasons I love that girl...she feels food in her soul like I do.

And speaking of Rachel and food.  She took me to the fair this year!  We live about a mile from the fairgrounds, but for some reason my real lifepartner hates the fair.  I mean...rows and rows of heart attack inducing food and rides put together overnight by gentlemen with no teeth that may or may not kill you (the rides, not the nice teethless gentlemen)...what's not to love?  So Rachel was my sugarmama and Heather dropped us off like she was our mom and we were going to the mall on a Friday night.  

We rode the ferris wheel.  We ate funnel cakes, weiners encased in cornbreading (aka corndogs), sausages, and ice cream.  I got stuck after my corndog and vomitted my pepsi up in public.  Rachel loved me anyways.  These are signs of a bestie you see.  We went on rides for hours.  Man...I can't wait until next year!

It should be known that Rachel and I have a problem when taking pictures like this.  She has a peahead.  I have a big head.  We tried to account for that...it didn't really work.  

You may recognize Rachel from a post last year...okay...you probably wouldn't recognize her because we looked a hot tough mess:

But over the past year Rachel and I have become great friends.  And after my other WonderWoman BFF Carmen left me to move to Alaska...

I was alone.  Who was going to appreciate fatty and naughty food with me?  Who was going to shuffle alongside of me when I ran?  Who would I share vastly inappropriate personal details with?...okay...so that last one could really be a vast majority of individuals...but you get my point.  So one day Carmen and Heather told me about Rachel.  She had been working out with them over their lunch break, she had Gastric Bypass many years ago (10), and was getting ready to have plastic surgery to fix her tubesock boobies and get a tummy tuck.  So I introduced myself and the next thing you know, Rachel is sending me pre-op and post op nudie pictures of her results.  I mean...once you see someones nipples...how can you not be fast friends?  Her openness with sharing her results was really the catalyst for me to finally go see a plastic surgeon.  After that, she joined our Gunz n Glutes race team and the rest is history!

So happy HumpDay readers!  

kisses

Everybody Poops: Part 53

I am going to tell you a fictional story today about a girl named Azalea*.  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.**

This morning Azalea, her finance Smeather, and their two puppies went for a run.  Seeing as how it was Monday morning, and a Monday morning following a glorious work-free 4-day weekend, Azalea thought she might need a little extra boost to get her up and moving…so she took her preworkout supplement, usually reserved for days where she was going to lift and thus be close to a bathroom.  This preworkout supplement would prove to be a mistake…in about 40 minutes time.

(It should be noted that a few days prior, on their previous run, Azalea had to go poopy at the gas station, so now whenever she sees Tom Thumb, there is some Pavlovian response in her bowels, and she thinks she has to poop regardless of whether that holds true or not).

Let’s continue with the story.

Well, with one mile under their belts, as the cold winter wind of the Florida Panhandle whipped through her messy bun piled on top of her hair, Azalea began to feel something.  Something was brewing.  Something was knocking on the backdoor if you will.  But seeing as how Tom Thumb sign was lighting up the dark morning sky up ahead, Azalea decided to let out a little runner’s toot to test the waters.  She didn’t realize that Smeather, who from time to time on their runs (because she runs so much faster than Azalea), had ran back to her and was now running directly behind her, and thus, directly in the line of toot fire.  So a quick couple of toots and one tiny scream and disgusted moan later from her poor life partner caught in the cross hairs, Azalea knew that there was something “on deck”…but she decided to suck it up and try to make the run home.

Sometimes hindsight (pun intended) is 20/20…because…

About 1 mile later…Azalea had to poop.  Not just a “eh, I can wait til I get home but it’s going to be uncomfortable running squeezing my butt cheeks together” kind of poop…but a full on “the babies coming and it feels breach” kinda poop.

Decisions needed to be made.  And quickly.  The sun was rising…it would be daylight in mere moments.  Smeather had just run ahead (after Azalea had told her she had to poop…but apparently Smeather had more faith in the situation than was warranted). And most importantly, Azalea and the puppies were running past a patch of woods.  After they past those trees…it would be nothing but neighborhoods and front lawns.

So that’s when it happened.  And it happened so fast that now looking back, Azalea can’t really be sure of the exact details.  But today is the day she became a real runner.  Today Azalea pooped on the side of the road.

In less than 20 seconds, because the entire experience was cut short by an oncoming car, Azalea yanked her capris down, held the puppies at bay with one hand, and balanced like a sad little gymnast, hoping not to poop on her neon Nike Pegasus running shoes. Headlights were approaching (can no one poop on the side of the road in peace I ask you?)...time to wrap things up...

Azalea stood up and hoped nothing remained to be done because now it was a mile back to the house.  Logistically, things were a nightmare.  The last thing someone wants to deal with when they have to poop unexpectedly and without toilet paper, is the fact that they are wearing a thong under their running capris.  So she left them kinda only a half pulled up underneath it all.  She started running again.

Must get home.

Must bathe.

Must put these clothes in the wash.

At some point, Smeather ran back and asked Azalea “You gonna make it?”  Azalea looked at Smeather and said, “I pooped”.  Smeather’s  mouth dropped open and she stared at Azalea.  “NOT IN MY PANTS”, Azalea screamed. (as if what really happened was much better). “IN THE WOODS”.

All Smeather said was “Well are you going to keep running or run home?”

"Home!  I HAVE TO WIPE”! (Smeather was wearing her earphones and thus it was necessary to yell…Azalea just prayed no one was outside of their homes at this point.) So Smeather ran on…laughing and muttering.

Azalea made it home.  She showered.  She threw her clothes in the wash.  And she waited for her lifepartner to get back. 

When Smeather walked in, still laughing and now clearly saying “I can’t believe you did that”…Azalea said “SAY YOU LOVE ME!  Say you love me even though I pooped!”

Smeather:  “I love you even though you pooped….I just can’t believe you couldn’t have held it”.

Azalea:  “You smelled that fart babe!  You know it was real!  It was either poop in the woods or in my pants! I had to decide”!

So how does this story end?

Well. With some life lessons to be sure. 

1.    No bowel movement inducing preworkout before runs.

2.    Perhaps the fiber gummies the night before coupled with a preworkout supplement was not the best idea either.

3.    If you think you have to go and there is a gas station en route.  Go. For the love of God…have your life partner hold the dogs and GO.

4.    A tiny packet of wipes in your running fanny pack can’t hurt.  Mmmkay?  Be prepared.

5.    There is no shame in your running game if you have to poop mid-run.  Oh who am I kidding.  There is some shame.  You feel it in your soul.   Or…at least that’s what Azalea told me.

So happy Monday friends!  I hope your day started off a little better and a little more hygienic than our friends mentioned in the above story.

*So maybe Azalea is a fictional name.

**So maybe all the characters appearing in this work are in fact NOT fictitious.  I ain’t saying.  I am a lady.  A LADY!***

***Sometimes ladies have to poop!

Ass Love

Something happened over the course of the last year. 

I started to love my body a little bit more. And I started to love my ass.  I mean...like in my mind...have a great big old booty.  I've built it up a little bit.  It looks nice in pants...although sometimes yes...the seams of my dress slacks are pulled a little taunt...I like to attribute that to extra squats...not extra cookies. 

As those of you who have been reading my blog for years well know, I am a legend in my own mind.  I had reverse body dismorphic disorder as a big girl...hell I even sent my pictures to Lane Bryant once when they were having a modeling contest...and I was sure that my 5'4" frame would not be a factor.  I was kinda sure I would win.  I haven't heard from them yet.  It's only been 9ish years though...so maybe they are still sorting through the entries.

My point is...man I can get sidetracked whether quickly can't I?...is that perhaps my ass is the same ass I have been toting around for years.  But I started to believe it is rather awesome.  And that has really made all the difference.  And I don't stare at it and dissect it and pick out all the flaws.  If I see the cellulite...I tell myself...nah...that's clearing up.  If I look at it and it's not as high and firm as I regularly thing it is...I stop looking and whisper internally...your white girl booty is the envy of all races.  I stumbled across these words on instagram the other day:

 

It sums up what I am trying to say.  I think we spend so much time analyzing all the little things that are wrong with our bodies, that we begin to see things that aren't really there.  We begin to hate things that others don't even notice.  We fixate so much on the things we hate, that we don't appreciate the beauty in the mirror.

 

So lately, when I am naked in the bathroom doing various nude poses resembling cheerleader moves from my one year stint in 1997 as a cheerleader, or from the latest episode of So You Think You Can Dance...and I see my inner thigh hanging like a loose version of an elephant ear...I try to not look directly at the inner thigh elephant ear.  I make it go away.  I focus on something else that IS amazing on my body.  Oooh...is that my trap popping out?  Hello quads.  How are you? 

I mean really...it's like a body love version of Field of Dreams...but instead of "if you build it, they will come"...it's "If you stop hating it...you may begin loving it"...

It does occur to me from time to time...as I am strutting around Planet Fitness with my 'look back at it' tank...that people may be looking back at it and thinking..."um...does that girl know she got a fat booty full of cellulite"...but then I find myself a full length mirror...crank up my Pandora set on the Ying Yang Twins station and I hush those haters (my internal smack talking haters).