pregnancy blahs

Before I start this, let me say that I am absolutely thrilled to be pregnant and can't wait to meet he or she in six months! Okay, now that I've gotten that out of the way...what the f**k is happening to my body?! Being pregnant might be one of the hardest things I've ever done. To be fair, I didn't do myself any favors by starting a new, full-time job just after finding out I'm expecting. Dragging my tired-ass out of bed every morning, fighting waves of nausea and sitting in front of a computer all day, with about half of the coffee I'm used to consuming, is not something I would recommend to anyone. All of this might be tolerable if I knew that when I crawled back home along the interstate with the rest of the corporate zombies at the end of the day, there was a giant bottle of red wine waiting for me. But the cruelest part of this whole pregnancy thing is that you can't drink. Just when you need it the most, the bottle is ripped from your swollen hands and you're left to face the whole nine months sober. I've never really heard pregnant women complain about this and I don't know if there just saintly bitches or if they're suffering silently. What I do know is that going to a party where there is alcohol and not being able to partake is my personal version of hell. I've discovered that I have very few social skills when not imbibing. I don't even know how to have a conversation without some sort of cocktail in my hand. Sad, I know, but unfortunately true.
I'll leave you with this for now, but I'll be back to explain how my boobs feel like over-inflated tires that could blow at any minute.

Boot Camp Update

Well...I haven't quit yet, which is surprising considering what I thought after the first session. The second session nearly killed me. We did circuits, a minute each of crazy exercises like burpees, mountain climbers, engines, etc. And we repeated this over and over and over until I thought there was no way they could possibly ask us to do them again, and they did. I barely survived. And the grass we did all this on made my skin itch well into the night. It kind of felt like the point of no return, like I've come this far, there's no going back now. When Friday came around, the last thing I wanted to do was end the week with a 90-minute workout in 98 degree heat when most normal people were enjoying happy hour. But there I was, running through an obstacle course at 6:30 on a Friday night. I felt pretty good about making it through the first week and thought there wasn't too much else that I wouldn't be able to handle. Then Monday came and they ordered each of us to grab a 50-pound sandbag. Trying to grasp these sandbags while doing chest presses, squats, bent-over rows, and bicep curls was beyond challenging. I prefer dumbbells any day. What really got me was that the sandbags leaked sand into my eyes, mouth and all over my chest. Plus I broke two of them when I slammed them to the ground, which frustrated the instructor. I tried to remind her that we were in fact at a gym and there are plenty of real weights inside, but to no avail. Tonight marks session five of boot camp and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely dreading it.

Boot Camp

Signed up for a four-week boot camp class at my gym, which began on Monday, one of the hottest days on record in Northwest Arkansas.
I was already regretting this decision and then when I got there, the instructors were measuring everyone's body parts and body fat percentage (by pinching the hell out of our arms and sides) in a tiny office with hardly any room to stand.
Once that torture was over, they handed us dog tags and said we had to wear them for the next four weeks. Dog tags don't exactly match my style, so I made a mental note to try and keep it in my car at all times so I won't forget to bring it to class, which results in extra push-ups and sprints.
Then I took the opportunity to look around at the people I'd be spending Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings with for the month. Moving around a lot as I kid, I've gotten pretty good at measuring people up and deciding who I would befriend. None of these people seemed like friend potential and most of them annoyed the hell out of me with their over-enthusiasm for exercise.
They were actually excited about their dog tags.
Regardless, I tried to keep an open mind and even managed to smile at a few people. (Not the woman wearing a visor and carrying a lunch box and first aid kit.)
So, we started out with some really lame stretches that were yelled out in military style by instructors wearing combat boots. We were instructed to repeat the name of the stretch or exercise back in the same military-style cadence. I quickly wondered if I could get a way with just mouthing the words and found that I could not, they were actually watching each of us to make sure we yelled loudly, so I reluctantly chimed in and thanked God that none of my friends were there to witness.
We looked like a bunch of fools in front of the gym, doing jumping jacks and yelling in unison.
I swallowed my pride and reminded myself that I could not get my money back.
We then had to do fitness tests, seeing how many sit-ups and push-ups we can do in a minute. I told myself not to go overboard, as this was just the beginning of a 90 minute class. Plus if I kept my numbers low, I would impress everyone with my increased numbers at the end of the course.
Still, I managed to do more than everyone else and realized I'd set myself up for high expectations from the instructors.
But then it came time to complete a one-mile run, in 100 degree temps, with the sun beating down on us. I've never been able to run very much. I've tried numerous times to become a runner and it just doesn't work for me. My lungs burn and I get sharp pains in my side, not to mention I just plain hate running with no particular destination in mind. So, I walked a lot of the one-mile, gasping for breath the whole time.
I'm pretty sure I brought the instructors expectations back down.
We then waited for everyone to finish the run...we're were encouraged to run back to our teammates and cheer them on to the finish line but my body wasn't going any where. Nor was I in the mood for cheering.
So after that it was time to do the obstacle course. It was fairly simple until we got to some wires that we're supposed to crawl under on our hands and knees.
I was hot, sweaty and had no desire to get grass and dirt on my knees but I obliged. When I got up, I could feel the hives forming on my arms and legs because of the itchy grass. I knew I had about five to ten minutes before a full-on allergic reaction set in.
So I tried to wash the offending grass residue off with water and pretend I wasn't itching like crazy while the instructors handed out a "spirit stick."
Just how cheesy was this going to get?
I'll find out tonight, when I go back for round two. Lord help me.

I did it

I guess I should update the below post finally. I made it through the cleanse, although I didn't really complete day five because it was my grandmother's funeral and it's just nearly impossible to bring your own food to a wake. Regardless, I lost five pounds and I felt great. The best part though was that I'll continue to eat like this. I've been eating quinoa and lentils and kale and spinach and I LOVE it. Making those foods a priority in my diet makes me feel so healthy and clean. I don't think I could go back to eating cheeseburgers and tater tots. At least not as frequently as before. It's amazing what we put into our bodies without giving it much thought. This cleanse made me slow down and think about the role of food in my life. Food was intended to nourish, heal and help our bodies perform. When I think about that, I'm way more likely to eat a big bowl of fresh vegetables than a bag of Cheetos. I may or may not be wearing the dress this weekend, which was my initial goal, but I'm happier, healthier and wiser now thanks to that five-day cleanse. I think I will do it again soon and I know I will continue to incorporate all of the foods and tips I learned about into my daily diet. I just might have an occasional beer and slice of pizza every now and then ; )

Here goes...

I'm preparing to start my cleanse tomorrow. Got my grocery list, some crazy recipes and my motivation: the dress.
I'm determined to wear this dress to my friends wedding in three weeks and right now I look like a bull stuffed into a tight dress.
When I get sick of eating raw broccolli and drinking carrot juice, I will look at this dress. Better yet, I might just try it on and get inspiration from the stuffed bull effect.

This is going to be hard, but I can do it...

Summer Cleanse

I am dirty. Not in the "need to take a shower" way but in the "there's a lot of crap in my body that shouldn't be there" way. Hence, I've decided to embark on a 7-day cleanse. One of my best friends has established her own business, Thrive Whole Living, and part of her business is guiding people through these whole food cleanses. So, in addition to eliminating some of the bad stuff swimming around inside me, I get to support my friend. I'm a little nervous to say the least. Mostly I'm nervous about not being able to have a glass of wine when I want it and need it. And believe me, there are many week nights, after a long day at work, when I really and truly need it. But...I'm going to sacrifice those little indulgences for the greater good of my body. For the next week, it may be all I can talk about, so I'm going to spare my friends and use this blog as my daily cleanse diary. After all, this cleanse is going to be about more than just the physical tidying, I'm really hoping it will free my mind of some of its toxic waste (see the Fat and Ugly post below). I'll keep you posted.

Okay, so I'm feeling much better since that last post. I tend to forget how vital exercise is to my overall mental health. If I'm not working out, I start to feel lazy, fat and ugly (as noted below). So...I'm trying, really trying to get back into a routine of working out every day. It's a slow process, but I'm getting there.

Ugly and Fat

Lately I have been feeling more like my 19-year-old self than the mature 31-year-old I'm supposed to be. At 19 I wore big baggy clothes, I avoided social activities and I hated, despised, the way I looked. I had no good reason to have such a low self-esteem but I did. I was miserable. Nothing my family or my friends said would change the way I felt about myself. As time went on, I sought help, I took medication, and things got better. I never fully appreciated myself and the way I looked but I wasn't as handicapped by it either. I enjoyed social activities, I didn't let my image in the mirror stop me from doing the things I enjoyed. I was better.

And then, out of nowhere, I started to feel ugly again. I've been angry and sad, all because of the way I look and the way I want to look. I turn down invitations from friends because I can't stand the thought of getting dressed, putting on make-up, only to be dissapointed by the way I look.
The intelligent part of me knows how stupid this is. There are people who are actually suffering from serious afflictions. I am healthy, I have everything I need. I shouldn't be upset because I'm not a size two, or my skin isn't perfect. But I am. And it effects every part of my life.
I don't want to get up and go to work. I don't want to hang out with friends. I lash out at those closest to me. And I'm starting to realize that this is a real problem. And I know I'm not the only one that suffers from it.
I know there are so many girls and women who feel ugly and fat and they let it get in the way of living their lives.
I want to do something about that. I want to change myself and then offer my experience, my advice to the other women who feel this way.
But the hard part is first being able to change myself. I have to stop thinking those words UGLY and FAT every time I look at myself. I have to do something...

a year later

Hard to believe it's been a year since I turned 30. I recently decided that I'm going to be turning 30 again this year. I mean if Britney Spears and Tiger Woods can have do-overs, I should be able to do the same, right?
So, I'm redoing 30. And this time I'm celebrating. Last year, I reached this milestone at a time when everything in my life was changing. A relationship was ending and a new one was just beginning. While the new relationship has proven to be one of the best moves I've ever made, it was hard letting go of the old. Letting go is never easy and it has been particularly difficult for me to let go of various things throughout my life. I still have my childhood stuffed animals for god's sake! And only recently made myself pack some of them away. (Did I just admit that?)

Anyway, my point is that last year's birthday was not so much a celebration but yet another change I was trying to deal with.
This year, however, I'm in a much better place...and I'm ready to celebrate....turning 30 again.
I'm not ready to move on to 31 just yet. I want another year to enjoy 30.

All about Scott

My boyfriend was offended that he wasn't included in this blog, which, in my defense, I haven't been very loyal to and just recently let friends know existed (yikes!). Regardless...I've decided to devote an entire post to him so he doesn't feel left out any longer.
So...this is dedicated to Scott, Scotty, or Scoot as my niece calls him.
I met Scott a little over a year ago and he has changed my life. I once called him my superhero when he was helping me move out of the house I shared with an ex. Since then, he has continued to amaze me with his super powers. With him I feel safe and protected and most importantly...loved.
I've given him a lot of grief over the past year and he has bravely endured it.
He has become so much more than a boyfriend. He is my best friend and my biggest supporter. He has introduced me to new friends, who I am grateful for. Every one who meets him, immediately loves him. My family adores him. They say he is the best thing that I have ever done.
I have to agree.

Spring is a slut

I feel like I've been waiting for the arrival of Spring for so long now that I'm on the verge of giving up on it altogether. The few nice days we've had here and there have been nothing but big slutty teases and when it comes time to really put out, Spring buttons up her top and puts on a cardigan. Okay...so maybe that analogy is a bit of a reach, but I do sort of feel like a horny frat boy who keeps getting the promise of getting laid without the follow through.
I recently decided not to look at the forecast and if I woke up to a sunny day it would be a nice surprise, if not...it would be a let down but at least I wouldn't spend the entire week prior dreading the 30-degree forecast. But wouldn't you know people just love to talk about the weather. Every where I go I hear "can you believe they're expecting snow?!"
No...as a matter of fact, I can not believe it...don't want to believe it. I've put away those ugly snow boots and brought out the flip flops. T-shirts have replaced bulky sweaters.
I've been patient up until now. But I can not, will not, wait any longer. Spring, it is time to put out. You've made me wait long enough and the time has come.