Save your spoons for the important stuff.
That was a reminder from my dearheart Julie today. She told me that a month ago and it was something that completely slipped my mind.
Save your spoons.
Bide my time. Sit this out until it all blows over, or act on my increasing madness and do something stupid that sets my recovery back about a month.
I’ve been attempting the latter. Its been hard, way hard. While the energy is up, the body is still at about DEFCON 3. Any physical exertion past a certain point and I am pretty much guaranteed no sleep and anxiety through the night and the next day. If I sit on my ass, however, this does not happen.
It is absolutely killing me to sit on my ass. Sitting on my ass is not a mode that I have anymore. I thought I was doing ok with some light cycling or enjoying our newly purchased kayaks out on the lake, but even those activities have become too much.
It is killing me and yet I gotta do what I gotta do. Save my spoons.
I got a raise at work this week after only 5 months of employment. I guess I’m doing something right there. D wanted to take me out to dinner to celebrate, but I am like, no. I have no desire to get gussied up and appear in a formal environment right now. It is one of the many, many internal issues I am dealing with.
Instead, we gathered up the outdoor gear and he cooked me dinner at the park where we’ve been launching the kayaks. There was steak and potatoes and asparagus and cannoli and a lot of sitting and just be-ing. The waves have been rather high lately, but we’ve been digging it like that. D flew solo today. D is probably going to have to fly solo for a while.
“You know, we can get ice cream, too,” D said. “I checked with the Rule Maker.”
Save your spoons.
Forget shopped, flawless models that make you feel like you shouldn’t even touch a barbell. Here are real people – just like you, just like me – kickin’ all kinds of ass in all kinds of ways. This is your real inspiration.
A huge thank you to everyone who took the time to do this.
Would you like to contribute to my gallery? Here’s how.
This gallery is lovingly dedicated to our homegirl, Sarah “SparklyDevil” Klein, badass in more ways than human. You were the best.Sorry lj people, that got ugly. http://batty.us/fitspo/
Boog in front of the Space Power Facility. My dad’s office was somewhere off frame to the left of this photo.
Last month, my mom, Boog, and I had the fortune of being invited to observe SpaceX’s testing of their rocket fairing at NASA Plum Brook. Not only was this especially awesome to witness, but it was a rare opportunity to show Boog a bit of his history. My dad was an engineer at Plum Brook for years, and I haven’t been behind those gates in decades. I have a lot of childhood memories from there. I caught my first fish there. I fuzzily remember my dad’s work desk. My childhood artwork archive is full of drawings of the MOD-0 on the back of discarded dot matrix printouts.
So I was especially geeked that Boog was able to be there. And geeked he was over the 72″ flat screen monitors in the observation room. While he understood that there was some kind of test taking place, that was about it for him. The only wish my mom and I had for him was that he remembered the experience.
Afterward, we got a small tour of the SPF. We saw set remnants from the Avengers movie. We got to see a segment of the chamber that was not being used, and our guide pointed to Boog and noted that it was the place where his grandfather would have helped with the testing of the Centaur shroud. Later on, he jokingly pointed out the technical issues they had with the SPF as it is over 50 years old.
And with that statement, my brain cells began colliding in odd manners. My childhood memories became grandma’s perfectly preserved-in-plastic couch. They might still be as fresh and spotless as the day they were made, and maybe still usable. They are, however, outdated. These memories had their time. The memories of my dad at his work are over 30 years old. Generations of people have changed what I remember, time has changed what I remember. How I remember things as they were are not still how they are today.
It occurred to me that there were also bits and pieces of the past – iterations of me, friendships, notions – that I might have been keeping as the present for whatever reason. Maybe I got a little overboard with the nostalgia. Maybe I was a little bit in denial because I so desperately still wanted them to be true, despite them wearing out long ago.
Every single one of these pieces had some significance in my life. However, it is still important to understand when it is time to let go a little. Maybe put these notions back in the archives to visit from time to time, which gives a little extra room to allow what is present to come in.
I’ve been working with my archives. As much as I’d love to float back to previous save states, some of them are no longer compatible with the current technology, and I just might miss out on some crucial updates. As painful as it it is, some of these archives need to stay archived. I have tough times with endings sometimes.
And I still hope this experience becomes part of Boog’s archives.
Boog told me he totally knew how to kyak because he does it on Wii Sports. It turns out that he totally does.
I was going to also do a quick update on my health, but dont want to mar this post because what I have to say is rather depressing. I will do that later. Instead, just marvel at the awesomesauce of my child. I know my dad is.
Boog just came home and handed me my Mother’s Day gift. In tears. As he is apt to do, he got a little rambunctious on the walk home, tripped, and my traditional Mother’s Day flower pot broke into pieces. He was devastated.
I gave him a big hug and told him that I loved it and he did such a beautiful job on the painting. We’re going to fix it and find a new flower to plant in it.
Things that break due to an epic fuckup are still worthy of love. Don’t forget that.
In the last post where I blathered on about my food and exercise, I think I kind of made it seem like the skies opened and everything is calm, cool and happy and I am just going about my life. Truth be told, things aren’t as hunky dory as they seem.
I was on a walk at lunch the other day when I came across a stray cat lying on the side of the sidewalk. She didn’t look too hot. Her fur was wet and nasty, her mouth was horrible, and she should not get up. But she did give me the friendliest meow when I bent down to greet her.
I knew she was in a bad situation, and at that point I had no abilities or resources to take her anywhere, so I called the APL. I left a message, and what seemed like a zillion eternities later, got a call back. They were on their way to check her out. I gave them the specifics, hung up, and just prayed, trying really hard to not think of the impending storms. Or the fact that she couldn’t move. Or sick. Or that the particular area she was in wasn’t the best. I didn’t hear anything else from the APL, so I just convinced myself that they got to her and took care of her so that the ‘what if’s would not take my head.
I got calls from two different people from the APL the next morning. They were able to get kitty, but she was deteriorating from FIV and sadly had to be put down. But they agreed that she was a really, really sweet kitty.
I am glad they were able to get to her. I am glad that she didn’t spend much more of her life suffering the way that she was. I am so, so glad that the APL is full of loving people who cared and understood enough to reach back out to me to let me know what happened. It might not be on this earth, but kitty is safe now, and for that I am glad, too. I sent them a donation this morning.
There is good in this world and sometimes you have to look really hard to find it, but it’s there.
Things have been way busy here. I’ve had a boatload of things to say but not a lotta time to throw up the words. First off, I got myself an amazing new job as a designer/creative for a small studio on the east side of Cleveland. It is absolutely fantastic and what is housed within the company’s walls is pretty amazing. Beautiful, high ceiling spaces and I have a 25″ monitor as a supplement to my 27″. There is a couch area where we all gather and discuss the complexities of logo design. My weirdness is embraced and I am encouraged to go over the top, as I am apt to do. This is, hands down, the best job of my entire career, and what I’ve been dying for all this time. There was a moment there where I thought I was just completely burnt out on the design thing, but in retrospect, this burnt-outedness really didn’t have anything to do with my chosen profession. I know now that part of it was due to just not having the right job. The rest of this burnt-outedness is due to a wad of complexities that I am slowly now unraveling.
So, if you recall, my last post was fueled by exhausted rage. In the last 3 months, I gave myself a lot of attention to figure out just WTF is going on. Extensive medical appointments proved everything was functioning normally, so I was thankful for that.
This is a post that I have needed to make for a while. It’s about high time I wrote it, because the level of rage I have is immense. So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to rage like a motherfucker.
Advance warning: I AM GOING TO BE TALKING ABOUT MY UTERUS.
So if you are acclimated to the Fitness World and are on the internet, you’ve more than likely come across images like these. Images of fitness models with Random Inspirational Quote #45024214 where the intention is to get you to PUT DOWN THE CHEESECAKE, FOR FUCKS SAKE SO YOU CAN GET SOME AB DEF ALREADY.
And while I will recognize that these kind of images are inspirational for some, and just maybe they DO just give you a little pause before you devour that cheesecake. But, I also think that these kinds of images fabricate a fantasy world in which we all head to the gym with shorty shorts on and perfectly sculpted calves and hit the treadmill and watch our abs glisten with sweat. And, just maybe, there are people out there who will not do anything to better their health because they think the gyms are full of the type of people pictured above.
It’s a fantasy. It’s a fantasy that I think wrongly distracts us from the reality of ourselves and prevents us from truly appreciating the reality of ourselves. Turning a blind eye to all the awesomesauce we currently have in ourselves. You are still worthy even if you’re carrying an extra 10/20/30/50 pounds, or if you jiggle when you deadlift, or look like an Italian sausage if you put on shorty shorts.
I am that last one, btw. Pass the onions and peppers.
This is what I want: I want to create a gallery full of *~inspirational images~* full of us regular folks. I definitely do not look *~hot~* (I love doing *~this~* to words. Its so *~MySpace~*) when I head to the gym. When I leave, I’m sweaty, full of chalk, and my hair is sticking up. I could possibly also be stinky. I want to create a resource of wonderful, truthful photos picturing people of all shapes and sizes celebrating their own selves and bettering their health. You never know – that person sitting on the bench next to you could very well be battling some inner demons that are telling her (or him) that they are not good enough because the fantasy lady (or dude) in the photo keeps telling them they’re Not Quite Right.
This is what I’d love for you to do:
Take a picture of yourself at your gym. Or outside, whatever. Doing what you do – whether its lifting, or running, or walking, or Crossfit, or Hungarian Toe Sloth Hot Yoga. The pose is up to you, but full body is preferred. There is no hiding here, there is no shame. Flaunt what you got.
Include your own *~inspirational quote~* if you so choose. It could be deep. It could be real. It could be something you’ve learned on your own journey on this here Earth. It could be some thing like “I pee when I OHP”. Whatever.
Put that quote on your image with your photo editor of choice. Here is one available online. You could feasibly get all blingee on me, but I do not want you to block your body. If you really want a quote on your photo and have trouble doing so – send it to me with the quote and I will do it for you. Trust me, I’m a designer.
Credit where credit is due. Tell me who you are and where you’re from.
Pack that shizz up and send it to me in an email. I will collect them all and start our own regular peeps *~inspirational gallery~* that we can consult often when we come across the feeling of Not Good Enough. Because that Not Good Enough feeling is crap, no matter who or what you are.
Both Dudes and Chicks apply here, btw. Oh, and you really buff people? You bring it on, too. I will honor all body fat percentages.
Spread the word. Share this post wherever you can. I want many images of all kinds of people. I think this could turn into an amazing project full of things that we really need – most importantly, appreciation for ourselves.
Fantasy is great sometimes. It can help with creativity and expand your horizons. But to stay submerged in a fantasy world 24/7 can lead to a deteriorated appreciation for what you have right now. That is what is truly important.
I look forward to your photos.
- hold myself accountable for my actions and my words.
- find something i am good at.
- discover my calling.
- make adventures.
- cultivate friendship.
- find peace.
May 2013 allow you to look back and be amazed at how far you’ve come.
Given to me, by my son.
He picked this out himself. That is a print of a cat with batwings with bonus spider and creepy dude in back.
The awesomeness of this defies any kind of words I can put to it.
To all of you and yours: have a fantastic holiday season.
Boog’s really into minecraft. As in whoa-hold-up-lets-check-the-kitchen-for-b
Such a discussion surfaced this past evening, as Boog threw a royal shitfit when I told him it was beddytime. He wanted One More Video, and One More always leads itself to Five. Or 3 hours worth. Gotta cut em off somewhere.
During the conversation, he kept asking me what time I was going to bed. Over and over again. I found that to be odd as this wasn’t something he is typically obsessed with. Well, now I know why. At the apex of his shitfit, he told me that sometimes he waits for our bedroom light to go off, and he thinks he wants to sneak his laptop out and play some more minecraft. He *doesn’t* do it, but he thinks about it, and he wanted me to know.
My kid just totally ratted himself out.
There is not one malicious bone in this child’s body.
We have an inordinate amount of boxes filled with Christmas tree ornaments, as I am sure many of you do. We have a handful of ones that have special meaning to us, of course – either ones that have been handed down to us through the generations, or ones commemorating special events. But the rest is just crap – meaningless filler purchased over the years to fill up space.
I don’t like crap too much.
So we decided to make our tree a bit more meaningful and uniquely us. In case you missed the memo, we’re very much outdoorsy people. Most, if not all, of our vacations are spent in tents. This is us. D and I took a lovely hike through the pine forest a few weeks ago and collected pinecones and acorns to serve as the base of our decorations. We then spent an evening with Boog coating them in glitter and paint. Shut up, glitter totally occurs in nature.
The latest to make its roundabouts in the social media:
For the most part, everyone thinks it’s funny. Ok fine, it has its merits. Yes, there are things that women typically do in the gym, and there are things that men typically do in the gym. Stereotypes sufficiently played there, bravo.
There is an undertone to this video thats kind of rubbing me the wrong way, and I will tell you why.
That bench scene? That was totally my friend and I on Tuesday. We do that. In actuality, a lot of women do that. This video seems to suggest that it doesn’t and it is completely ironic and awkward.
There are women out there that act like “dudes” in the gym. Mind you, I am not talking about the lewd ass grabbing and come-ons that are nizz-asty and should not happen. I’m talking about the part where you see the women sweating their asses off under loads of weight, shouting encouragement at each other as they send that weight back to its origin, and hi-5 each other when its done. We do that.
We act like “dudes”.
And there is absolutely, positively nothing wrong with that.
And we’re not freakshows, or a totally hilarious comedic concept portrayed in a joke video. I still have a vagina and the inherent sexiness of my bad self is not diminished because of this. I go to the gym, I grunt, I get sweaty, I yell, I sometimes forget to wipe my ass sweat off the seat, too – and I can still look killer in a hot pair of heels and fishnets.
I would like to have it so that when I hit the gym, these “roles” are not assigned, at all. More women, I bet, would be less intimidated to become the awesome, sexy-ass powerhouses they can be. We’re trying so hard for some equality around here – are videos like these actually helping?
Break that stereotype, women. We’re better than that. I will fight for your right to do whatever the hell you want to do in the gym without being judged.
Now wipe that ass sweat off the bench, because ew.
I’ve been catching boog sporting two pairs of underpants at a time. Like, more than once. His reasoning is the arduous task of removing the old underpants takes way too long, and just putting the new ones on over them gets him to his morning game of Minecraft about 10 seconds earlier.
Way to streamline operations there, son. Mommy is so proud.
Things in my life right now are either all at 0 or ALL THE THINGS NOW. This week is one of the latter. I am thoroughly enjoying my stint with the railroad, although 10 hours of it straight with NO BREAKS EVER leads to some interesting post train land sickness in the evenings. We’ve been graced with some pretty glorious weather so it’s not all bad. Hell, what am I talking about? There was a torrential downpour Friday and it was still glorious and pretty because hi, I’m in the woods. And I get to watch the bald eagles all day, when you can catch them. I have indeed seen the baby and one of the parents.
I am the only female bike handler. The rest of the females either work concessions or at the ticket booths. This is not a reflection of any systemic sexism within the railroad, it’s just that the hired females have preferred to sling M&Ms and beer instead of bikes. Obviously I do not want to sling M&Ms.
We were a heck of a lot of understaffed this morning, to the point where the conductor got involved. Upon seeing my lovely visage as the only hired hand, conductor got on the horn to get more people. I kind of overheard him on the radio when he exclaimed WE ONLY HAVE ONE FOR THE BIKE CAR. ITS A WOMAN.
OH MY GOD, A WOMAN, Y’ALL.
…this is NOT how he meant it, he just didn’t know my name. It just sounds funny. I *AM* the woman, thanks for noticing! I am sure I could have come up with an excuse to be offended or something, but I was still wafting on a high from benching 120 this morning. He *did* ask if I was ok with lifting the bikes into the car. Yeah, it’s ok, conductor. I think I got this. Thank you for your concern.
In all honesty, I do have issues with it at some of the stops because I’m shorter, and the floor of the car is sometimes forehead level. Sometimes I gotta shotput the damn things in there.
Later in the afternoon, a lady took a picture of me hoisting her bike in because she was very impressed and told me she had issues getting her bike just into the rack on the back of her car. It all balances out eventually.
Speaking of balance – I’ve got a string of guest posts lined up from people I admire, respect, and think you should listen to. These will be posted intermittently and with no real schedule. But I am excited to have such awesome folk make words for my webspace.
So my laptop took a crap last week, and it’s left me trying to run my life the best I can by my Droid. It’s been an interesting experience. I am also fortunate to have many geek friends who can help resurect my poor computer when I reach the limits with my own geek skill. If you have contacted me in one form or another and have not heard back, the above is probably why.
In my continuing quest for adventure, I am spending the fall slingin’ bikes on the bike car for the cuyahoga valley scenic railroad. I saw an opportunity when I took Boog there for a ride and grabbed the everliving crap out of it.
I’m working with kids half my age. But if you will allow me to puff my feathers for a moment, I was asked what school I went to. I guess anyone over 30 is not allowed to be inked and sporting a Mohawk. Not in my world, friends. Not in my world.
I also got dubbed “guns” by the boys by the end of my shift, because Mom unloads bikes from the car with one arm.
My office for the fall is a train in the woods.
I have a lot of plans for more blog stuff that will hopefully get moving once my laptop is back safe and sound. Watch this space, y’all!
Our church is having an experimental service on Saturday nights throughout August. We decided to attend last night instead of the usual Sunday morning and now I am feeling strangely Catholic.
But I would like to tell you about the Homily. Mind you, this is my own recount and it might not be verbatim. It ended with a guitar riff, pyrotechnics, and the priest moonwalking back to his seat, although D said he didn’t recall that part happening.
At the Homily, the priest talked about diet. We are told what to eat by various authorities – our doctors, nutritionists, yadda yadda. We make choices and consume things for various purposes – losing weight, getting healthier, getting stronger.
He then pointed out that we also have a Christian diet. We are instructed to practice various things by our holy authorities. We make our choices and beliefs by these instructions, and our own personal reasoning. We choose what to consume as a Christian.
However, he pointed out, that there’s a lot of fear going on today and the instructions for both are reflecting that. Eat X because Y will kill you. Eat A because B will make you fat. Believe 1 because 2 is something scary. This is truth because Authority Told You So. Be Afraid. If you don’t, the consequences are disastrous.
He told us it was necessary to really take a look at what we are consuming, believing, and doing as Christians and really consider why we’re consuming, believing, and doing those things.
It never ceases to amaze me how, when, and where these Messages From the Universe come to me.
Do you practice your beliefs because it is good and right and it makes you – and those around you – feel good, or is it out of some kind of fear of the alternative?
Are you suffering because Some Authority told you this is what you have to do in order to be a Good [insert Noun here]?
^^^^^ There are so many labels you can put at the end of that sentence.
Christian. Atheist. Person. Athlete. Skinny Person. Vegetarian. Paleo. $Label.
Are you killing yourself trying to get skinny because you’re afraid of being fat?
Are you dealing with the pain because They said if you don’t, you’re a pussy?
Consider this all today. Take a look at what you are feeding your body and soul and really think about why you’re doing that. Are you making the choices to be – and do – good because you want to be and do good? Or, are you consuming dogma out of fear of other things?
Do things and be things and consume things for the right reasons in every aspect of your life. Fear is not a very good reason.
In case you’ve forgotten just how awesome this child is in real time, here’s some footage of him performing with his father:
According to Jeremy, this was his best performance to date.
Boog has a buddy down the street. He asked if he could go visit him. I say yes and that he needs to be home when it gets dark.
So the sun goes down, street lights come on. No sign of Boog. I give him another 10 minutes or so to see if he makes good on our agreement. He doesn’t. I walk down the street to find the boys playing in the front yard with light sabers.
I tell Boog that it’s time to come home and remind him that he needed to be home when it got dark.
His reply: I know! I CAN STILL SEE OUTSIDE!
Point, Boog: technicality.
I like to spend my Sundays in denial of what I need to prepare for the week.
I also do this on Saturdays.
I decided we needed to spend Sunday afternoon on our butts somewhere else, so I hauled Boog over for a ride on the Cuyahoga Valley Scenic Railroad. It was a nice 3 hour, air conditioned, holy-mother-of-god-get-me-away-from-this-c
We listened to the audio tour (woo! free headphones!) and enjoyed the air conditioning and the movement of the train, and the opportunity to just be. I might have succumbed to buying Boog a train lego set from the gift shop.
Boog’s favorite part? Using the bathroom. MOMMY, I’M PEEING ON A TRAIN. I’M PEEING AND MOVING AT THE SAME TIME! WHOOAAAAAA!
Actually, no. I’m going to be honest here. At first, I was like, yes. This is awesome. Up your butt, Victoria’s Secret, with your waffer-thin models dictating what is supposed to be attractive. REAL women do not look like that. And I sat there all smug and validated and feeling good about me and my life for approximately 7 minutes, when my sense of objectivity bitchslapped the hell out of my need to be validated and grabbed the cranial wheel.
This image really ain’t right.
Yesterday was hot and annoying and so was Boog. I was in desperate need to get some work done, so I sent him out to the backyard to play with the dog. After working feverishly for about half an hour, I went to check on him. He was nowhere to be found in the backyard.
Checked the garage. Bike still there.
Checked the doghouse (um, yeah, he sometimes likes to hang out in there with Lady). Not there. Not in the basement, not in his room. Not in our room. Checked with the houses of his 3 friends and he was not there, either. Panic started to creep in as I wandered up and down the street calling his name at ever increasing volume.
Our neighbor across the street heard my calling and volunteered to get in his truck and scope the neighborhood and he did so. And that’s when I felt I had to initiate the most painful, scary, and mind blowing action that could ever, ever happen in a parent’s life: calling the police and telling them that you do not know where your child is.
I love our law enforcement here. Not a minute into my conversation with the dispatcher and 3 cars arrived at my house. One zoomed off to check his elementary school, another started his own search around the block. The third said, “let’s go in the house and look,” and i am thinking JESUS CHRIST DON’T YOU THINK I DID THAT ALREADY? 3 TIMES I DID. SHOUTING HIS NAME. A LOT. AND I LOOKED IN THE BASEMENT AND THE DOGHOUSE AND. HIS. ROOM. HE IS NOT THERE. NOT. THERE.
And thus, I opened the door to his room for the fourth time, this time with a cop there, too. As if by magic, the lumps of the sheets and comforter on his bed transformed into the shape of a 7 year old boy, quite obviously pooped out from his swimming lesson earlier that day and completely dead to the world.
No, seriously, the cop and I stood in his doorway and talked for like 3 minutes and my child did not. Wake. Up. Jeezus.
A HUGE wave of embarrassment and apologies followed as the cop got on the radio to call off the search. Like, I can count on my fingers just how many times I’ve had to call the cops, and I certainly don’t want to distract them with unnecessary things, especially ones that might say, “hi, I’m not very good at keeping track of my kid”
But that embarrassment quickly faded into gratitude. I am thankful we have kind and generous neighbors. I am thankful for the swift actions of the Lakewood Police Department. I am so fortunate that I have a child that does what he’s told. That he doesn’t wander, he doesn’t go anywhere unless he asks, and when he gets bored, he takes a nap. Tears of relief soon followed.
Boog woke up a whole hour later, and I told him what happened. He got a little look of worry on his face and said, “didn’t you see me go into my room?” and I told him no, I did not, and he hugged me. Because my child is awesome and compassionate and understood that his mommy was scared.
I know, as parents, we all will have these moments. It might be like this, or it might involve sneaking out of the house to go be debaucherous with teenage friends. These are sometimes things that we parents have to endure, as it’s the process of parenthood. Just like everything else in life, parenthood *is* a process – there’s never a time when you can claim ‘ultimate’ parenthood, because there will always be new things to experience and challenges to face, whether you’re 20 or 80. Regardless of where you’re at in your parenthood journey, you have to agree with me that the first time you have to go through something like this is absolutely, excruciatingly painful.
I am glad mine is over.
Yes, I’m going on and on and on about this program. Deal. I cannot tell you just how life changing this program was for me. In fact, the ‘getting ripped’ part of it? I consider that the side effect. I will sing this program’s praises until my lungs collapse and shrivel up into raisins from the lack of oxygen. And then I will keep singing and look like an idiot because hi, no oxygen.
Anyway. One of the mens finalists, Peter, is doing something awesome. He’s offering up a scholarship that covers the cost of the full year’s program. Everyone, regardless of financial situation, deserves an opportunity to experience something like this. I am sitting here, right now, thanking all the powers that be that I am finally free of pretty much everything that was dragging me down mentally and physically. And yes, this freedom was because of LE. LE helped me conquer some really deep shit in my head that I have failed to conquer my entire life.
At risk of divulging too much of my own personal financial situation, I fell unto some *rough* economic times during the program. I sacrificed a lot to stay in it. If I didn’t have D backing me up I probably would not have made it. I am currently sitting on the aftereffects of some of those sacrifices. I don’t pull this kind of stuff, ever. THAT’s how much this program meant to me. To have someone out there offering something like this to me would have been an absolute blessing.
Herein lies the link:
If you are considering the program, but are worried about the money, please do sign up. You deserve it. If you are rolling in cash and know me and realize just how much this has meant to me and think to yourself, “hey, if batty received SO MUCH from this program, it must be pretty awesome,” please consider donating to Peter’s scholarship fund.
Well, shit howdy, check me out:
(I’m #8, btw.)
As I’ve been told, 450 women were enrolled in LE for this round. 450, and narrowed down to 20 finalists, and there my ass is smack dab in the middle.
Those other women aren’t competition, though – 10 of them were on my team and will forever be labeled as ‘sisters’. Others have become friends. All of them, even those not listed, have amazing stories to tell and I have nothing but mad respect and love for who they are and where they’ve been. Because – and I will tell you this over and over and over again until my last dying breath – those outsides cannot have lasting changes applied to them if the insides are not in check.
Our team was named the Cynergistas, named after our fearless leader, Cynthia, who was a past winner herself. She coached, and supported, and guided, held our hands when shit got difficult, and cheered us when we were able to go on our own. God, I love that woman.
We had shirts made. I might have had a hand in making them. Heh.
Same goes for the dudes. A lot of fine, solid men on that finalist list.
I told maybe all of 5 people I was doing this program. I didn’t tell more because I was afraid I’d fail. What’s funny is that failure is no longer a catastrophic demonstration of incompetence for me – failure is how I learn. Failure is how I grow. Failing is great because I get smarter and wiser and leaner and faster and stronger.
I know there’s a lot of you out there who have been following me and my epic body transformation journey since the post pregnancy days. I know you know just how much effort and energy I’ve put into all of this. What makes me awesome *now* is that I get it. I get it all. I get that there are some things you cannot get in some mindless attempt to go on cruise control for the rest of your life. I get that there are things you just can’t *get*. Your life is a journey, not a path to a destination – there is no ‘there’. Its a series of failure and experimentation and success and experience.
Anyway. I am proud and honored to be one of those 20 women. I’m in amazing company.
So. Freakin’. Proud.
“You know, they have things to prevent weeds and stuff.”
But, I do not want things in my garden. Putting things in my garden is, like, the equivalent of having a kid and then sending them off to a nanny to be raised. What’s the point in having it if you’re not going to do anything with it yourself?
Plus, everything tastes better if you have a hand in growing it. That includes kids.
My gardens are my zen moments. I go there to recharge and recenter, or to process the noisy in my head. Bad day? I hit the garden to weed. I peek out the window every morning – just after firing up the coffee pot, of course – and just observe. Like a black cherry tomato is going to bust a move right in front of my eyes or something. Between my efforts and what we get from Bay Branch Farm, we benefit from some pretty good eats for a majority of the year. My garden isn’t a novelty, it’s a necessity. It is my responsibility.
Yesterday was D’s birthday. I cooked for him. Well, I always cook for him but I made it extra special last night IF YA KNOW WHAT I’M SAYIN’. He remarked on how I have changed his palate – that he now can appreciate the intricate complexities of avocado used in a cheesecake because it’s not drowning in several cups of refined sugar.
Our food is a necessity. It’s our responsibility. It should not be an afterthought. It brings us joy and love and strength and life and the will to live. This stuff is golden.
You cannot forge quality relationships from a base of corn syrup solids.
They’re having some kind of beach party today, so they were required to bring a beach towel. You can’t carry a beach towel without having a fabulous Hawaiian shirt. It just would not be right.
After today, I have a 2nd grader. This kid right here is turning out to be pretty alright.
So I have not blathered on at length about fitness and/or nutrition on this hear blawrg for quite some time. If I recall, it’s been way over a year.
There’s a reason for that. I f@#%@)^ed up, big time.
If YOU recall, and God bless you if you do because you’ve been THAT interested in my life as to keep track of such things – that flatters me. Anyway, the last thing I admitted to publicly doing was Paleo. Primal. Whatever. About 2 years ago. (Holy shit, 2 stinkin’ years?) And, shortly discovering the message of P/P, I ended up looking like this:
Not too bad, eh? Well. Then Stuff happened. My BGOD wasn’t looking as enticing anymore. I got tired. I got tired a lot. Many things required effort. I could not hear a lot of what was going on around me over the sound of my own self righteousness.
A mere 3 months (no, NOT an exaggeration in the slightest) after the above photo was taken, the below photo happened.
Whoa there, homeslyce. WTF happened? Truth be told….*I* happened.
This holiday season was absolute imperfection. Money was horrible, we were scrambling and scraping to get what presents we had under the tree. The adults got no gifts this year. Half the lights made it up on the house outside. Our Christmas tree was crooked and full of holes and remained undecorated until about the 22nd. The pinnacle of imperfection occurred right on Christmas day, when this beloved tree toppled right over onto its side, just barely missing the couch. It was about then when I was sent into fits of laughter, because this was by far one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had. Like seriously, that could NOT have been planed better. It was pretty epic.
Striving for some idea of ‘perfection’, in any circumstance, tends to make us focus on what’s bad about us. We look more at what we’re *not* and less of what we *are* at this very moment. We reach for things out of our grasp, and then hate ourselves more when we fail.
This is an *amazing* display of athletic performance and creativity and has absolutely nothing to do with your penis.
The recent facebook trend of sharing images with text on them kinda gets on my nerves. It’s like the social media equivalent of hanging up the “Hang in there!” cat poster on your wall, or having a coffee mug that says I HATE MONDAYS To each their own, though.
Sometimes one of these little rasterized motivators actually contains a good message. I think this is one of them.
I don’t think leaner = healthier, but if you’re sitting on your ass all day shoving crap food down your gullet, you ain’t healthy. Period.
OK, first off, I wanna thank y’all for the kitten pile of support I received on my bitchy ramblings post – both here and on LJ. I am so appreciative of you guys, you don’t even know. I’ve been a weeeeee bit pressed for time as I am in a drive for new clients, so I haven’t been able to reply to everyone yet. Slowly but surely. But I seriously appreciate you, I do.
We have a vegetarian meal once a week now and we (and when I say ‘we’, I mean ‘I’) call it VegeWednesdays. Why not practice Meatless Mondays? Because Mondays are Meatful Mondays, that’s why. You gotta keep things in balance, yanno.
Red Lentil and Chickpea Curry with Kale
- 1 c. red lentils, dry
- 1 15 oz. can chickpeas
- 1 15 oz. can diced tomatoes
- 1/2 c. diced onion
- 3 cups chopped kale
- 2 T red curry paste
- 1 T lime juice
- 2 T olive oil
- 1.5 c. water
- salt, to taste
In a large-ish skillet, heat up the olive oil, and saute the diced onion until caramelized. Add water and lentils, reduce heat, and let it simmer for about 5 minutes. Dump in the tomatoes, curry paste, and lime juice and stir it up. Cover your skillet with a lid and let it cook for another 10. Add kale and chickpeas, stirring until the kale just begins to wilt. Cover again, and cook for…oh, i dont know, another 10 minutes…until the lentils are tender.
Fast and easy and absolutely perfect for this string of crap cold and rainy weather we’ve been getting, and according to D, “this was excellent, thank you.” But then, he says that about everything I make. heh.
When I started writing this, I had just come in from a pre-dawn bike ride. I’m up at 4:30 am most days, and in the BGOD by 6am 5 days a week. I limit the crap that goes into my body. That’s not to say that I don’t go out occasionally for a hunk o’ cheesecake at one of Lakewood’s fine establishments, but you’re not going to find me clawing at the Hostess display at Giant Eagle. This is pretty much automatic for me now. This is what fuels me now. This is part of my life now. And, if you told the Me of 10 years ago that this is what I’d be doing, I would have told you that you were completely whackjob.
This is called self improvement. The Me of Today is leaps and bounds away from The Me of Yesterday. I feel pretty dang good. I am more calm, more focused, more optimistic, and more centered than I have ever been in my entire life.
And the most mocked, which completely blows my mind.
Unseasonably warm weather is horribly deceptive. Here we have warmth, and sun, and blue sky, and people running around in shorts and out doing stuff on their bikes again – and it makes your body shift back to summer. Your head thinks it’s summer. Then you look around at the tomato plants that have long since crapped out expecting to see new blooms, or the zinnias that now look like they’ve been set on fire for any new growth. Brain goes, “Oh hey! It’s summer. Grow!” and, of course, that won’t happen, because the tilt of the earth’s axis is now in such a way that is depriving northern hemispheric plant life of crucially needed sunlight. Despite the mental rejuvenation of that summerlike day, EVERYTHING ELSE AROUND YOU IS SLOWLY DYING.
Lily isn't just a fabrication of some Sesame Street fantasy world. She is real life.
Sesame Street has introduced a new muppet. Lily is stricken with poverty and often goes hungry. She will make her debut in a prime time special called Growing Hope Against Hunger.
Just from what I have seen online so far, the reaction to this has been utterly ridiculous. Over on Facebook, our local Fox affiliate asked readers for their opinions on the matter. Now, I fully well recognize that Facebook ain’t exactly the Harvard of internet intelligence. You can argue “what did you expect from Facebook?” all you want, but the reality is that Facebook is probably THE most popular and widely used website for social interaction, and with that, it’s pretty safe to say that the Facebook population’s mindset reflects the general mindset of America.
I have failed to get back to the comments for this particular subject, so I’m going off of memory, so scuse because I cannot quote verbatim. However, here’s a selection of the comments I recall:
Here’s an infographic of complementary food flavors. Researchers scoured 1000 recipes from BBC Food and Epicurious and mapped out the common flavor pairings in a beautifully minimalist design. I’d love a large print of this for my kitchen - not only for the aesthetic qualities, but also for those days when I seem to be grabbing the same shit.
Please note that potato can be paired with potato. Ace.
Sweet crappin craps. It’s been almost *2* months since I’ve updated. My bad, really – the summer was explosively busy. Next thing I know, the earth pulled the plug on Ohio’s heating system and boldly announced SUMMER IS OVER. GO HOME.
I still have an infinite crapload of posts to make from our summer adventures. I am going to probably post a series of summer recap posts, because this is my record of Cool Shit I Get To Do. So, like, deal if that does not interest you. That is, if anyone is still even reading. Then I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? I can talk to myself all I want!
Anyway. One thing I’ve brought back into my diet has been beans. I cannot even tell you how much I’ve missed them, and I’m glad to have them back. This spurs from a long ass story that will eventually be revealed in the upcoming months – it is still being written.
Since it was cold, rainy, nasty – and did I mention COLD – there was no outside time for us today. No outside time = Batty going into the kitchen to make up shit. Fortunately for you, this shit is delicious, my friends.
NEXT WEEKEND??!#@! Holy hell, this summer is flying. Next weekend is my other charity ride for the summer, the MS 150. I am actually looking forward to it this year – although, not so much with this god awful weather we are having. That’s gonna be brutal.
So, this is my last call for donations. You can donate online here:
and read up on all the awesomesauce that the national MS society does.
Even, like, a dollar would help. You should give me that dollar because heyo, have we been paying attention to the weather outside? I’m gonna bike 150 miles in this weather and sleep overnight in a high school gym with no air conditioning. I think that warrants at least a dollar. Think of my pain.
I have been totally slacking on the blogging. All of a sudden, it was all, BAM, bike ride, then BAM, vacation to south carolina, then BAM, a family reunion for D, then BAM, I got my 20 year high school reunion this weekend.
All of which I need to write about. Still.
But, this week marks my 10th year of blogging. 10 years of my hilarious life out in the public of the intarwebs for all to wonder how in the hell I made it out alive. I do read back from time to time, sometimes to relive some definitive rock star moments, but mostly for the reassurance that I am indeed a better and stronger person from when I started.
More of my life soon.
So, hey. I still am writing a big ole post about the Bishop’s Bike Ride, because yay, what an experience. But for now you get another monumentous occasion in biking history, the day my own kid flew on his own two wheels. Which, obviously, everyone takes this giant leap in their own childhoods or wherever, but this is MY KID and thus THE MOST IMPORTANT EVENT IN CYCLING HISTORY TODAY.
I don’t think Boog was even 3 when I jumped all over the “I will be the one to teach Boog how to ride without training wheels” tip. But I was pretty adamant about it, and thankfully Jeremy was kind enough to let me follow through. Biking is an incredibly huge part of my life, and I wanted to be the one to teach Boog this skill. It might seem a little petty and small, but hey, importance is relative, I guess.
I distinctly remember my dad teaching me how to ride. Up and down the sidewalk I went, feeling all badass until I went to do a turn in the Mellen’s gravel driveway and gashed the everliving fuck out of my knee.
D and I took Boog to a park nearby with a decent enough hill that also would not scare the crap out of him. Hills are so much better to teach a kid on than the traditional ‘hang onto the bike seat and run’ route, because gravity and momentum allow them to actually get an honest feel of balance, and when they crash, there’s not 5 miles of pavement waiting to peel their little faces off.
So we start up just a little way up the hill – didn’t want to go too far and have to pay for some therapy – and I gave him a few instructions on what he needed to do, and I wasn’t really precise with them because I figured this would probably take some time for him to learn. He got on that bike and rolled down and I figured again that he would just kinda fall over at the bottom.
But he didn’t. He kept going for an impressively long distance that invoked applause from a random lady who happened to be walking by with her dog. We brought him up again, and this time D took over near the bottom and ran in front of him, encouraging Boog to keep pedaling and try to catch him. And that got him even further and you could see the confidence building inside his little Boog head.
Soon we were off the hill and in the parking lot, where he could ride back into the grass. Then I’m finding myself only having to hold the bike steady to let him take off. Then he’s doing complete circles in the grass to get back onto the pavement. And then he’s completely ignoring the grass and doing laps in the parking lot, and he may or may not have had an unfortunate run in with a parked car, but we’ll just pretend that didn’t happen.
All of this amazingly happened in under an hour and a half. It staggers me just how quickly he picked everything up. He still has a few issues with getting himself started, but he’s working on it. I am completely proud of him, and he was so excited he called Jeremy to tell him to take the training wheels off his bike at Jeremy’s house and to throw them in the trash.
That’s my boy. Soon he’ll be tearing up the roads, more than likely alone, because all of his friends think he’s too fast for them and therefore pass on riding with him, much like what happens to mommy. But that’s ok, I’ll gladly let him ride with me.
I am off to do the Bishop’s Bike Ride later today. Umlaut has been tuned up courtesy of Spin, bags are packed, and I am rarin’ to go, I suppose. Outlook for nice weather for the first two days isn’t looking too good.
Thank you, so much, to you generous souls who sponsored me. The Episcopal Church rocks and they do great things, and I am proud to be a member of a faith that advocates such community and diversity.
See y’all at the end of the week on the other side of 250 miles.
I was watching some obscure cartoon on Nickelodeon with Boog last night, and I ask the question “whose Boog are you?” which he has dutifully been trained to say, “I’m mommy’s Boog!” Which, in the earlier years, obviously was a conditioned response, but now he does it with meaning and feeling. Good boy.
So I ask him if he’ll still say that he’s Mommy’s Boog when he’s 17, and of course he looks at me funny and replies with the Boog version of Well Duh Mom, Why Wouldn’t I? And I’m thinking, ah, child. Soon you will get older and you’ll venture into your own little pon farr and you’ll haaaaaaate everything and everyone, and especially your parents who are SO EMBARASSING. OH CHRIST MOM DONT MAKE ME SAY THAT IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS.
And I will hold him to that, and I WILL make him say he’s Mommy’s Boog in front of his friends, and remind him of that night on the couch during the summer when he was six that he PINKY SWORE TO ME and he has a bound contract to fulfill. And partially because my parenting role model is Roseanne.
But, right now, he cannot possibly imagine why he would ever not say that he is Mommy’s Boog. I am cherishing it while it lasts.
T-ball has mutated into not an actual T-ball game where you get the ball if it’s coming to you and try to get it to first base, but rather a contest to see who can get the ball first and then keep score of how many times you got the ball first. Throwing it to a base is totally unnecessary. This has lead, in certain situations, like when the ball occasionally rolls into the outfield, to have every one of the 15-some-odd players to run out into the outfield to claim the ball. 15 child pileup. Also, crappy behavior from select children. Not the child’s fault, but a result of parents that reinforce the unique special snowflake syndrome, because reprimanding a child for bad behavior is wrong. Hooray, child! You got the ball! Good job! We’ll just gloss over the fact that you knocked down 3 of your teammates to get it. Oh, and it was hit to 3rd and you’re playing 1st.
Fortunately Coach has noticed this and continues to try to get the kids to, you know, actually play ball. He had a good talk with the team after the last disaster of a game to help them understand that they have certain spots on the field and that’s where they have to stay, regardless of where the ball goes. And if he has to, he’ll draw circles on the field so they know *exactly* where they have to stand and they CANNOT LEAVE THAT CIRCLE.
I really hope that happens, because it would be epic.
I got some flack for ragging on Zuzana on my post on unhealthy body images. Actually, I got some flack for ragging on Gwyneth, too. Look, I am not ragging on these women’s characters. I am sure they would both post a nice message on my facebook wall on my birthday. Hopefully with a picture of a puppy. Truth still stands, though, that a lot of women use them as body role models and I dont find either of them to be sporting healthy levels of body fat, muscle or no muscle.
So now I am going to post images of women who I think have healthy bodies. Mind you, I am personally drawn to women with more athletic physiques. Women with muscle tone are sassy. This is, obviously, just my opinion and I don’t want anyone coming back at me saying that I think your squishy bits are ugly.
I was gonna preface this with some tirade about healthy eating, but fuck it. Sometimes you just gotta try a Luther Burger because it is just that wrong. Donuts by Amy Joy because we’re localvores, dontchya know.
It was epic. 6 pack still there? Check. Back to the grind tomorrow.
I know, I keep asking everyone for money.
This one’s for Pedal to the Point, of which this is my 3rd year participating. It is probably one of the most grueling rides I do during the year, not because of any hills, but because the route is 150 miles of mostly treeless, Ohio cornfields in August, where the temps on the road have been previously recorded at a balmy 105 degrees. By day 2 I am usually riding half naked. I sleep overnight on a gym floor and eat an ungodly amount of bananas.
When I started this ride, I really didn’t know what MS was about. I just did it because it was a long bike ride I could do for charity. But then my friends started donating to me, and all of a sudden there were a lot of people I knew who knew people who suffer – or have suffered with MS, and I had no clue. And when you hit the lunch stop, or are on the last mile of the ride, and you see these people in wheelchairs waving at you and thanking you for what you just did and you have absolutely no clue who they are. But you know *what* you just did will hopefully help them someday. And it is truly a kickass feeling.
All donations go straight to the National MS Society to aid in their research to find a cure. My fundraising page is here. And if you have a loved one with MS, please let me know, and I will add them to the list of people I ride for.
As always, I thank you in advance for your generosity.
In my travels around health/fitness forums, it seems that most females have two body types as their *~inspiration~* for their body goals. In some cirles, it’s this:
And in others, it’s this:
Neither of these, to me, are particularly healthy. The first is Barbie, and the second is Barbie with the Fun Lovin Workout Girl Muscle Add-on Pack. Gwyneth Paltrow’s diet is absolutely atrocious, and Zuzana’s “workouts” remind me of the parts in Jumpin’ Jack Flash where Whoopi Goldberg’s computer transmits the Russian Exercise lady.
I would like to ply them both with sammiches. And I don’t even eat sammiches.
There are too many people out there with the fear of eating and wanting to be skinny. They cut their caloric intake to alarming levels and push themselves to exercise. For a few days, it works great, and then all of a sudden they dive face first into a cheesecake and then hate themselves for not sticking to it.
That’s not failing. That’s your body trying to reclaim what you keep depriving it. Your body will always win out.
Last week, while dining out with some friends, I encouraged a female friend of mine to eat up. She said, “I would eat like you do if I worked out like you did.” I didn’t say anything at the time, because I’m horribly slow like that, but what I really should have said was “If you ate like me, you’d *want* to work out like I do.”
People need to get out of this “eat less, exercise more” mentality and start focusing on getting your body to expend more energy than it consumes. You might be thinking, “duh, isn’t this saying eating less?” and I will say absolutely not. If I eat too little, I’m on the couch and mentally forcing myself down to the BGOD. Bump up my food intake, and I’m hitting new PRs and then wanting to run a couple miles afterward. Continuous and severe calorie restriction will only make you fatter later on.
People need to think less about calories and more about nutrition. Cultivate your metabolism with proper eating habits. Focus on these:
instead of trying to get by on these:
And if your exercise routine consists of only things where you are able to watch a movie, post on facebook, or talk on your cellphone while you do them, then you are doing absolutely nothing for your body.
Stop abusing, and start respecting. If you don’t change your mindset, whether its a worry about eating too much, or fearing a category of macronutrients, or wanting to be just “skinny”, you won’t get anywhere.