I'm so tired that I literally almost left the house this morning without putting underwear on. Really. True Story. I exhausted worked my way through Bodypump (why does my whole body hurt soo much???) skipping the 20 minutes run I had also scheduled in, and was only too happy to also skip lunges and walk the track with one of the moms who needed advice on how to talk to her son's teacher (I told her: 1. Make sure you tell the teacher she doesn't know how to do her job, 2. Repeatedly mention that your child is gifted and needs special attention, 3. Recruit other moms to form a gang of righteous anger to "talk" to the teacher with you, and 4. Once you and the teacher talk, make sure you ignore every single thing the teacher said. It should go well).
I shower, get dressed, and realize that I left my school shoes out in the car. So I walk to the car barefoot, making sure to hit a few puddles that were camouflaged as sidewalk and splash water on my white dress, and see something on the ground near my car. At first I thought it was a bird. A big bird. A big bird that wasn't moving.
But no, it was my shoe. Yep, the shoe that I am wearing right now at school, was lying outside my car. In the rain. For two hours. It's soaking wet. So I walk, and one foot makes a squishy, sad sound as I walk down the hall as I make a squishy, sad face. It would be pretty pathetic if it wasn't so funny.
How much do you have to pay a masseuse to massage your butt? Seriously...anybody know? Is it extra?
Workout: BodyPump 60 minutes, Run- nope
Food:
Coffee and a donut (Wizards fault)
Carrots and hummus
Cereal
Diet Coke
Dinner?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Are you there God? It's me, Rachael...
So last night as I was shaving my cat I was thinking to myself that things really can't get much worse. (There really is nothing worse than having to shave a cat. Really. Nothing. Worse. Okay, maybe giving birth. But shaving the cat is a close second.)
But then I thought...Well, I could lose my awesome job. And all the people that I love could die in some heinous accident. And Mufasa could contract the black plague and I would have to kill her like Will Smith did to his dog in the horrible movie "I Am Legend" (Does anyone know why there are so many movies where dogs have to die? What does that say about us as a population? And I probably would just let Mufasa kill me because I don't think I could choke her to death.)
Alright, so I have it pretty good. My life is kinda awesome. But I was feeling pretty depressed about the state of the world and my bank account and knowing that there will never, ever be a fat-free ice cream that tastes good or a magic girdle or hairstyle that will make me look like Gisele Bunchen, not to mention the fact that "Everybody Loves Raymond" is all reruns. And I was driving to spinning, which is pretty much like driving to the dentist office knowing your going to have a root canal and have the cute, young dentist tell you that you're obese (duh) and you'd be such a cute girl if only you lost some weight (huh? True Story). And I was listening to really, really sad-angsty-no-one-understands-what-its-like-to-be-me-and-i-am-so-put-upon-the-world-is-a-vampire-music which just reinforces the big pity party I was throwing myself.
I was driving up Radio from Stillwater and it was so dark I had to turn on my brights. At the same time, I am talking to God, saying that if I hit a deer, seriously, my life is over, and I am just going to lay in the road until someone runs me over. Death would be better than this. There is not point in going on. I am done with the world. Blah Blah Blah.
And just as I turn on my brights, a deer dashes in front of my car. A Deer. Dashes. In Front. OF MY CAR. I saw the terror in her brown eyes, probably mirroring my own, and I could hear her heart pounding over my angsty music. Seriously. So I could hear God laughing at me and this is what she is saying: "Get your ass to spinning and quit complaining. Besides, it's raining, the road is wet and if you laid down it would totally ruin your new stretch pants".
So the moral of the story is that feeling sorry for yourself never gets you anywhere, God rarely empathizes with you and spinning is vital to life.
Who wants to do the Turkey Trot with me this year? Thanksgiving Day, downtown. Free shirt.
But then I thought...Well, I could lose my awesome job. And all the people that I love could die in some heinous accident. And Mufasa could contract the black plague and I would have to kill her like Will Smith did to his dog in the horrible movie "I Am Legend" (Does anyone know why there are so many movies where dogs have to die? What does that say about us as a population? And I probably would just let Mufasa kill me because I don't think I could choke her to death.)
Alright, so I have it pretty good. My life is kinda awesome. But I was feeling pretty depressed about the state of the world and my bank account and knowing that there will never, ever be a fat-free ice cream that tastes good or a magic girdle or hairstyle that will make me look like Gisele Bunchen, not to mention the fact that "Everybody Loves Raymond" is all reruns. And I was driving to spinning, which is pretty much like driving to the dentist office knowing your going to have a root canal and have the cute, young dentist tell you that you're obese (duh) and you'd be such a cute girl if only you lost some weight (huh? True Story). And I was listening to really, really sad-angsty-no-one-understands-what-its-like-to-be-me-and-i-am-so-put-upon-the-world-is-a-vampire-music which just reinforces the big pity party I was throwing myself.
I was driving up Radio from Stillwater and it was so dark I had to turn on my brights. At the same time, I am talking to God, saying that if I hit a deer, seriously, my life is over, and I am just going to lay in the road until someone runs me over. Death would be better than this. There is not point in going on. I am done with the world. Blah Blah Blah.
And just as I turn on my brights, a deer dashes in front of my car. A Deer. Dashes. In Front. OF MY CAR. I saw the terror in her brown eyes, probably mirroring my own, and I could hear her heart pounding over my angsty music. Seriously. So I could hear God laughing at me and this is what she is saying: "Get your ass to spinning and quit complaining. Besides, it's raining, the road is wet and if you laid down it would totally ruin your new stretch pants".
So the moral of the story is that feeling sorry for yourself never gets you anywhere, God rarely empathizes with you and spinning is vital to life.
Who wants to do the Turkey Trot with me this year? Thanksgiving Day, downtown. Free shirt.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Literary Terms
So I know that this has never happened to you, because you are perfect, but I haven't been wearing deodorant for two days. No, it wasn't because I didn't have any. I did buy some, at Target-the-most-awesome-store-in-the-world-and-how-do-they-get-it-to-smell-like-that?, but it was in the bag, in the car. I kept forgetting to grab it before heading into the gym. So I would be at the point in my grooming routine (who knew I groom? but it's true) where I would need to put on my deodorant and I would take out the empty Powder Fresh Ban container and roll it on and nothing would happen. Because it was empty. But I still did it. It's important to keep up appearances.
This morning was the morning that someone finally noticed. I mean, really, the kids at school aren't going to notice because they all smell anyway and are worried about their hair and their math homework. People at the gym smell too. But apparently, not as bad as I do. In BodyPump we start with a brief warm up and then the squat track. The squat track is a killer and also my favorite. I started sweating this morning during the squat track, as usual. (And I was wearing unwashed, but dry [and crusty], gym clothes- the same ones that I had worn to Tuesday's BodyPump. So the clothes already had a smell. I think its a kind of nice smell, familiar and summery and like the green film that covers a pond in the springtime. So I'm sweating, and the people on my left and on my right are slowly squatting away from me. The person behind me moved.
The next track is chest and then after that is the back track. Everyone is starting to mummer about a smell. One persons volunteers the idea that it must be the dumpster outside- except the windows aren't open. Someone in the back says that one of us must have stepped in dog poop, and looks at me accusingly. I can't smell anything, so I don't volunteer any guesses. At this point I don't even know that it's me. Then an old man passes out. The pregnant mom in the back is starting to gag. I start to smell something that vaguely reminds me of taco seasoning and curry and dead-marsh-smell, but I can't put my finger on where it is coming from. I look around, like everyone is doing, but there aren't any marshes in the gym that I know about.
By triceps, when I'm on my back on the mat and my head is by my armpits, I realize that it's me and my crusty clothes and my pretend deodorant. And I know why the villagers are starting to revolt. I stink and the smell is progressively getting worse as the room heats up. The smell is "cooking". As the triceps song ends, some of the moms are starting to eye me and take practice swings with their bars, cautiously advancing to my side of the room. The instructor has climbed atop her giant step (think step aerobics- we use them for lunges), turned the music off and points to me saying "IT'S YOU!". She climbs down and lights a torch. I look around for any possible exit. I'm kinda sad to be missing out on biceps because I totally rock at the set and I just increased my weight today, but I can tell that it will either be me dead on my mat and shoved in the corner, or me safe in the locker room, showering with my clothes on the get rid of the small as soon as possible.
I duck under grandpa, who was trying to take me from behind, shove the pregnant woman over and run out the back door, onto the track where I am trampled by a pack of cross country runners. I only have an arm fracture and a black eye.
(*Okay, so I totally hyperbolized the above story. But the majority of it happened the way that I said. Except for maybe the torches.)
This morning was the morning that someone finally noticed. I mean, really, the kids at school aren't going to notice because they all smell anyway and are worried about their hair and their math homework. People at the gym smell too. But apparently, not as bad as I do. In BodyPump we start with a brief warm up and then the squat track. The squat track is a killer and also my favorite. I started sweating this morning during the squat track, as usual. (And I was wearing unwashed, but dry [and crusty], gym clothes- the same ones that I had worn to Tuesday's BodyPump. So the clothes already had a smell. I think its a kind of nice smell, familiar and summery and like the green film that covers a pond in the springtime. So I'm sweating, and the people on my left and on my right are slowly squatting away from me. The person behind me moved.
The next track is chest and then after that is the back track. Everyone is starting to mummer about a smell. One persons volunteers the idea that it must be the dumpster outside- except the windows aren't open. Someone in the back says that one of us must have stepped in dog poop, and looks at me accusingly. I can't smell anything, so I don't volunteer any guesses. At this point I don't even know that it's me. Then an old man passes out. The pregnant mom in the back is starting to gag. I start to smell something that vaguely reminds me of taco seasoning and curry and dead-marsh-smell, but I can't put my finger on where it is coming from. I look around, like everyone is doing, but there aren't any marshes in the gym that I know about.
By triceps, when I'm on my back on the mat and my head is by my armpits, I realize that it's me and my crusty clothes and my pretend deodorant. And I know why the villagers are starting to revolt. I stink and the smell is progressively getting worse as the room heats up. The smell is "cooking". As the triceps song ends, some of the moms are starting to eye me and take practice swings with their bars, cautiously advancing to my side of the room. The instructor has climbed atop her giant step (think step aerobics- we use them for lunges), turned the music off and points to me saying "IT'S YOU!". She climbs down and lights a torch. I look around for any possible exit. I'm kinda sad to be missing out on biceps because I totally rock at the set and I just increased my weight today, but I can tell that it will either be me dead on my mat and shoved in the corner, or me safe in the locker room, showering with my clothes on the get rid of the small as soon as possible.
I duck under grandpa, who was trying to take me from behind, shove the pregnant woman over and run out the back door, onto the track where I am trampled by a pack of cross country runners. I only have an arm fracture and a black eye.
(*Okay, so I totally hyperbolized the above story. But the majority of it happened the way that I said. Except for maybe the torches.)
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
All the lovely people...
So I didn't workout this morning. Last night, after working all day at school and then heading over to Huntington in Coon Rapids for four hours, and stopping at the townhouse to feed the cats, I finally made it home at 9pm. I was dead on my feet. Plus, my ass muscles are so tight from all the squats and cycling and never-enough-stretching-yes-I-know-I-should-stretch-more-thank-you, that I easily rationalized sleeping in a little and skipping Wednesday spinning. Grim will probably throw a party.
You can see what kind mental state I was in. I still was dead when I woke up and it was easy to rationalize in my pleasure centered brain that I deserved a large Caribou Mint Condition with an extra shot of espresso and an everything bagel with onion and chive cream cheese from Bruggers for breakfast. I mean, not that I have to defend myself, but I didn't eat dinner last night and I am going to have cereal for lunch, so it's totally fine to splurge a little, right? Right. (Mom and Dad don't you dare say anything about this when I get home.)
So I order my coffee and I head over to the connected bagel place and order my bagel. The shop is filled with very fancy, shiny people (one guy was driving an Audi convertible and made a loud squeaking noise when he got out of his car and stepped ankle deep into a puddle. It was pretty funny). I'm waiting by the register for my bagel with three Martha Stewart look-alikes and two Tom Brokaws- all of whom are sort of snarling at me. The group are all looking me up and down because we are playing that fun suburban game called "Which-one-of-these-is-not-like-the-other-Which-one-of-these-does-not-belong?" And I totally stick out with my beat up Tevas and wet hair. Plus I'm fat and there aren't that many fat people in Perfectville. At least that I have seen. Maybe they keep them locked up. Or maybe I haven't discovered the fat part of Perfectville yet. I console myself with the fact that I totally could take them all, even if I just sit on them.
The girl comes over brandishing my bagel- and I can tell its my bagel because she is making eye contact with me. Now, this girl doesn't like me, and didn't like me when she took my order. Don't ask me how I could tell, I just could. And I can see in her eyes what she is about to do, and I am silently begging her with my now large puppy dog eyes, please-don't-do-it-please-don't-do-it...
and she yells, as loud as she can so that people in both Caribou and Bruggers can hear her, "EVERYTHING FAT FATTY BAGEL WITH EXTRA FAT FATTY REGULAR ONION AND CHIVE CREAM CHEESE FOR THE FAT GIRL". Everyone turns to stare at me because there is, of course, no one else in the entire world who would order something so disguesting. I hang my head and step forward, extending my hand. She holds the bagel with two fingers like it contains kryptonite, and drops it in my outstretched hand. One of the Martha gasps, she must have never seen anything so horrific before. Then the girl turns to Martha and says sweetly, "Fat free plain bagel without carbs with fat-free-carbless-tasteless-calorieless-cream cheese for someone who knows how to take care of themself". Martha takes it and turns to go. We lock eyes. I can't take it anymore.
I stick out my tongue at her. And leave.
You can see what kind mental state I was in. I still was dead when I woke up and it was easy to rationalize in my pleasure centered brain that I deserved a large Caribou Mint Condition with an extra shot of espresso and an everything bagel with onion and chive cream cheese from Bruggers for breakfast. I mean, not that I have to defend myself, but I didn't eat dinner last night and I am going to have cereal for lunch, so it's totally fine to splurge a little, right? Right. (Mom and Dad don't you dare say anything about this when I get home.)
So I order my coffee and I head over to the connected bagel place and order my bagel. The shop is filled with very fancy, shiny people (one guy was driving an Audi convertible and made a loud squeaking noise when he got out of his car and stepped ankle deep into a puddle. It was pretty funny). I'm waiting by the register for my bagel with three Martha Stewart look-alikes and two Tom Brokaws- all of whom are sort of snarling at me. The group are all looking me up and down because we are playing that fun suburban game called "Which-one-of-these-is-not-like-the-other-Which-one-of-these-does-not-belong?" And I totally stick out with my beat up Tevas and wet hair. Plus I'm fat and there aren't that many fat people in Perfectville. At least that I have seen. Maybe they keep them locked up. Or maybe I haven't discovered the fat part of Perfectville yet. I console myself with the fact that I totally could take them all, even if I just sit on them.
The girl comes over brandishing my bagel- and I can tell its my bagel because she is making eye contact with me. Now, this girl doesn't like me, and didn't like me when she took my order. Don't ask me how I could tell, I just could. And I can see in her eyes what she is about to do, and I am silently begging her with my now large puppy dog eyes, please-don't-do-it-please-don't-do-it...
and she yells, as loud as she can so that people in both Caribou and Bruggers can hear her, "EVERYTHING FAT FATTY BAGEL WITH EXTRA FAT FATTY REGULAR ONION AND CHIVE CREAM CHEESE FOR THE FAT GIRL". Everyone turns to stare at me because there is, of course, no one else in the entire world who would order something so disguesting. I hang my head and step forward, extending my hand. She holds the bagel with two fingers like it contains kryptonite, and drops it in my outstretched hand. One of the Martha gasps, she must have never seen anything so horrific before. Then the girl turns to Martha and says sweetly, "Fat free plain bagel without carbs with fat-free-carbless-tasteless-calorieless-cream cheese for someone who knows how to take care of themself". Martha takes it and turns to go. We lock eyes. I can't take it anymore.
I stick out my tongue at her. And leave.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Is it only Tuesday?
So today in Body Pump (lifting weights to music), sweat butt boy was behind me. This didn't bother me as much as the fact that he could not look me in the face and left-to-get-a-drink-from-the-drinking-fountain-every-time-I-came-anywhere-near-him-to-get-weights-or-try-to-make-eye-contact-with-him. I mean, geez, I wasn't going to get to close to him, I just wanted to make eye contact and point to my black pants, reassuring him that he won't have to see my sweaty butt again. Alas, I heard him asking for the St. Paul Y schedule at the desk- I don't think I'm ever going to see him again. Luckily, my black stretch pants held up under the strain of my behind- no sweat or holes, only white hair from my dog and some fuzz balls from the wash. I'm such a classy lady.
Body Pump was full today, but most of the ladies head home after class or hit the elliptical for their four-hour-high-intensity-workout-to-the-morning-talk-shows. Usually, the shower is not a problem. But as I meandered into the locker room I was hit with a wall of steam from the shower. No, I thought to myself. No. No. No. I walked toward the showers- and they were all full. &*%$! DON'T THEY KNOW THAT I AM BACK!!! I walked to my locker and grabbed my stuff, hoping that one of the ladies would be clearing out in the next ten seconds. As I walked toward the showers, something caught my eye. I turned. It was HER (you know, that woman who lives at the gym and does every machine and weighs eighty pounds and has perfect children named Jackson and Emmery). She had her towel, shampoo, etc. She locked eyes with me at twenty paces and stopped dead in her tracks. I turned fully towards her and straightened my back, making myself taller. There was going to be a throw down- Perfectville style. "Did I see that all the showers are full?" She spat. I nodded. She scowled. I scowled. A crowd of naked perfectville moms started to gather around us whispering "Is your money on the fat one or the one that looks like a ferret?". Someone in the back started to chant "Fight, Fight, Fight...". I dropped my stuff to free my hands, never breaking eye contact. She dropped her stuff and stepped towards me. I started to snarl picturing the fight scenes from Eclipse in my head (I heart you Jacob...) and then
all three showers shut off at the same time. We both looked towards the showers and then towards each other. She shrugged and bent down to pick up her stuff. I picked up my stuff. She graciously let me get into the first shower- so I didn't have to punch her in the head.
My shower was awesome. And long.
Workout: BodyPump 60 minutes
Food:
Frosted Mini Wheat's with Skim Milk
Carrots with Hummus
Leftover Pizza
Apple with natural PB
Dinner?
Body Pump was full today, but most of the ladies head home after class or hit the elliptical for their four-hour-high-intensity-workout-to-the-morning-talk-shows. Usually, the shower is not a problem. But as I meandered into the locker room I was hit with a wall of steam from the shower. No, I thought to myself. No. No. No. I walked toward the showers- and they were all full. &*%$! DON'T THEY KNOW THAT I AM BACK!!! I walked to my locker and grabbed my stuff, hoping that one of the ladies would be clearing out in the next ten seconds. As I walked toward the showers, something caught my eye. I turned. It was HER (you know, that woman who lives at the gym and does every machine and weighs eighty pounds and has perfect children named Jackson and Emmery). She had her towel, shampoo, etc. She locked eyes with me at twenty paces and stopped dead in her tracks. I turned fully towards her and straightened my back, making myself taller. There was going to be a throw down- Perfectville style. "Did I see that all the showers are full?" She spat. I nodded. She scowled. I scowled. A crowd of naked perfectville moms started to gather around us whispering "Is your money on the fat one or the one that looks like a ferret?". Someone in the back started to chant "Fight, Fight, Fight...". I dropped my stuff to free my hands, never breaking eye contact. She dropped her stuff and stepped towards me. I started to snarl picturing the fight scenes from Eclipse in my head (I heart you Jacob...) and then
all three showers shut off at the same time. We both looked towards the showers and then towards each other. She shrugged and bent down to pick up her stuff. I picked up my stuff. She graciously let me get into the first shower- so I didn't have to punch her in the head.
My shower was awesome. And long.
Workout: BodyPump 60 minutes
Food:
Frosted Mini Wheat's with Skim Milk
Carrots with Hummus
Leftover Pizza
Apple with natural PB
Dinner?
Monday, September 13, 2010
I'm BAAACCCKKKKK!
Well, for those of you dying from suspense, I did not lose or gain any weight this summer. The wedding came and passed and I did not die. Well, I almost died. But here I am, a new school year and the threat of another wedding looming on the horizon and I am still where I was when I started (for the most part- a moderate weight loss, but it might as well be nothing at all).
So I started with spinning this morning. I figured it wouldn't be too bad, and that Grim would go easy on me because, I mean, really, I am pretty fat. So he should either ignore me or take pity on me- those are the fat rules. People either pretend you don't exist or treat you like a sick puppy. But there is one more rule- the rule of HATE. Some (okay, the majority) HATE fat people and treat the like the fat is catching and the fat person should be burned alive in front of a cheering crowd in a football stadium before the big game.
Grim hates me. HATES. I put my bike in the back, in the dark but it is directly across the room from him. Every time he looks up, he sees me. And he seethes. He looked up and yelled, "Faster"...then he looked up and said "COME ON!!!"...and then he said "HHHAAARRRDDEEERRR!!!"...and this was my experience in spinning this morning. Every though my bike is 15 feet away from Grim, I was covered in his spit by the end of class. My ears were ringing from his screaming. My legs don't work. I've had to ask the director at school for the extra wheel chair and I have to give the students a dollar to roll me from class to class.
Also, one reason I love to go to the gym, and keeps me going, is my elaborate fantasy that every man in class has a secret crush on me. I mean, hey, I might not be the most svelte woman in the room (and I'm not even close- all the perfectville soccer moms are hot!hot!hot!) but I am young and funny and I have contact lenses now, so I am totally cuter then I used to be. Anyway, my favorite guy was on a bike next to me this morning. I worked my ass off just so that anytime he looked in the mirror to check his form and "accidentally" checked me out at the same time, I would look like a professional biker (which, no matter how hard I work, I never will). After the biking, we have a little stretching time. I purposely had my back to him, so when I stretched my glutes, he would have a great view. Not to brag, but in my little spandex pants (I won't even tell you how time consuming it is to get those things on) my butt looks pretty awesome. So as I was bending over, I snuck a peek at my guy and he was totally checking out my little toosh. He eyes were wide and he emitted a little startled cough. I knew it was from the shock at seeing such a cute behind and smiled to my self. Score! So after we had put our bikes away, and I had slowly made my way to the locker room (I was hoping that he would ask for my number, but he is probably waiting until it is closer to the weekend), I checked myself out in the locker room mirror. My eyes went wide and I emitted a startled cough. I had ... butt sweat. BUTT SWEAT. Yep, that's right, in my grey stretch pants, was a giant butt sweat mark. It even made its way to the front. I looked like I peed my pants. It was shaped like China and totally dark. There is no way, NO WAY that he could have missed it. Or that anyone else in class missed it, as I chatted with everyone about their weekends. So the lesson here is: he probably will never be asking me for my number, unless he likes sweaty women who look like Russian beet farmers, and I will never, ever wear grey stretch pants to spinning again. EVER.
Monday: Spinning 45 minutes
Food:
Frosted Mini Wheat (low fat and high in fiber- yay!)
Water
Carrots and Hummus
Chili
Apple with natural PB
Pizza with grandma
So I started with spinning this morning. I figured it wouldn't be too bad, and that Grim would go easy on me because, I mean, really, I am pretty fat. So he should either ignore me or take pity on me- those are the fat rules. People either pretend you don't exist or treat you like a sick puppy. But there is one more rule- the rule of HATE. Some (okay, the majority) HATE fat people and treat the like the fat is catching and the fat person should be burned alive in front of a cheering crowd in a football stadium before the big game.
Grim hates me. HATES. I put my bike in the back, in the dark but it is directly across the room from him. Every time he looks up, he sees me. And he seethes. He looked up and yelled, "Faster"...then he looked up and said "COME ON!!!"...and then he said "HHHAAARRRDDEEERRR!!!"...and this was my experience in spinning this morning. Every though my bike is 15 feet away from Grim, I was covered in his spit by the end of class. My ears were ringing from his screaming. My legs don't work. I've had to ask the director at school for the extra wheel chair and I have to give the students a dollar to roll me from class to class.
Also, one reason I love to go to the gym, and keeps me going, is my elaborate fantasy that every man in class has a secret crush on me. I mean, hey, I might not be the most svelte woman in the room (and I'm not even close- all the perfectville soccer moms are hot!hot!hot!) but I am young and funny and I have contact lenses now, so I am totally cuter then I used to be. Anyway, my favorite guy was on a bike next to me this morning. I worked my ass off just so that anytime he looked in the mirror to check his form and "accidentally" checked me out at the same time, I would look like a professional biker (which, no matter how hard I work, I never will). After the biking, we have a little stretching time. I purposely had my back to him, so when I stretched my glutes, he would have a great view. Not to brag, but in my little spandex pants (I won't even tell you how time consuming it is to get those things on) my butt looks pretty awesome. So as I was bending over, I snuck a peek at my guy and he was totally checking out my little toosh. He eyes were wide and he emitted a little startled cough. I knew it was from the shock at seeing such a cute behind and smiled to my self. Score! So after we had put our bikes away, and I had slowly made my way to the locker room (I was hoping that he would ask for my number, but he is probably waiting until it is closer to the weekend), I checked myself out in the locker room mirror. My eyes went wide and I emitted a startled cough. I had ... butt sweat. BUTT SWEAT. Yep, that's right, in my grey stretch pants, was a giant butt sweat mark. It even made its way to the front. I looked like I peed my pants. It was shaped like China and totally dark. There is no way, NO WAY that he could have missed it. Or that anyone else in class missed it, as I chatted with everyone about their weekends. So the lesson here is: he probably will never be asking me for my number, unless he likes sweaty women who look like Russian beet farmers, and I will never, ever wear grey stretch pants to spinning again. EVER.
Monday: Spinning 45 minutes
Food:
Frosted Mini Wheat (low fat and high in fiber- yay!)
Water
Carrots and Hummus
Chili
Apple with natural PB
Pizza with grandma
Monday, April 26, 2010
April 26th- Summer Dreams
I think we did something to make Grim very, very angry. Remember Grim, my spinning instructor? The one who must-have-at-sometime-been-in-the-army-and-now-confuses-soccer-moms-with-soldiers? I usually take a bike in the back, and this morning was no exception. I like the back of the workout room- it's dark, there's a fan, it's away from the mirrors, and most important- no one can see the tiny hole in the butt of my new workout pants showing my flowered Hanes! Anyway, I'm in the back, and I'm thinking to myself throughout the entire class..."His spit projectile is amazing". I mean, I had to wipe off my glasses at least twice!
Not that I'm complaining. I like being yelled at...it makes me feel like I'm doing something right. The tension on my bike was so tight that the tighter-thingy (technical, I know) wouldn't turn any further. It was like biking in mud. Glorious.
The swear was pouring. The lady next to me was crying. Grandpa fell off his bike sometime in the first five minutes, but we left him on the floor until class was over. By 6:15 he wasn't the only one kissing the wood.
I looked Grim in the eye as I was walking out after class...he bared his teeth. I think he likes me.
Exercise: 45 minutes spinning
Food:
Fruit and Veggies
Maybe a crust of bread
I'm on the prison diet
Not that I'm complaining. I like being yelled at...it makes me feel like I'm doing something right. The tension on my bike was so tight that the tighter-thingy (technical, I know) wouldn't turn any further. It was like biking in mud. Glorious.
The swear was pouring. The lady next to me was crying. Grandpa fell off his bike sometime in the first five minutes, but we left him on the floor until class was over. By 6:15 he wasn't the only one kissing the wood.
I looked Grim in the eye as I was walking out after class...he bared his teeth. I think he likes me.
Exercise: 45 minutes spinning
Food:
Fruit and Veggies
Maybe a crust of bread
I'm on the prison diet
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)