The Diary

That video right there? I’ve never even watched the whole thing. I’ve never heard the entire song. I’ve simply seen some pretty funny fail videos set to it. Also, it’s the sort of thing I like to yell at random times. TURN DOWN FOR WHAT?!?!

Geez, I just looked at the “lyrics” to the song. Typical Lil’ Jon minus the what, yeah, and ok. Literally, it’s repeating the phrase over and over. I bet it’s great for an entrance though with a music mashup behind it.

Two weeks ago (2 weeks already?!?!), I shared the news of getting into the Colorado Pole Championship. Now I’m on this countdown. 43 (Troy!) days of choreography and training and possible new moves remain. I will then have two weeks to polish said choreography before a rest day of picking up my mom from the airport and having more chicken. Because chicken. It’s what’s for dinner. Almost every day. And quinoa. And black beans. Some days, a girl just wants a cheeseburger, ya know? And some days, this girl has a cheeseburger. Because, hey, competition isn’t the end of the world and I like food. I just try not to look like I like food as much as I do.

And how does one do that? Well, for me, this morning, after a night of sleeping like absolute crap because my shoulders are sore as are my legs, 5am rolled around much too quickly. I was ultra-groggy and I didn’t want to get up. However, since the alarm went off and Lovey woke up to wake me up, guilt gets me out of bed. So there I was, half awake and wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed. Instead, I took it downstairs one level. I went into my thinking room to talk myself into moving. The conversation I had with myself went a little something like this:

Me: I’m tired. I don’t want to work out.

Me: Do you think other people aren’t tired? I bet they still get up and work out.

Me: It’s only Tuesday, I have three more days to work out.

Me: It’s. Only. Tuesday! Don’t be lazy so early in the week.

Me: I’m sore.

Me: Do you think that other people aren’t sore? They’re still gonna get up and train and then they’re gonna beat you.

Me: Fine.

And so, I went down one more level and had a little talk with Shaun T, and by talk I mean sweat-fest. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, after I was done fighting it out with Shaun, I took on Tony Horton. Thank goodness for 30 minute workouts. How else would I jam all this into the morning, right? But wait, there’s more! Finishing out the holy trinity of sweat and pain is Kristina N who pushes me to stretch for that split – and backbends when I don’t spend so much time trying to talk myself into working out. There’s Zumba on Tuesdays too. I think all I do any more is sweat. Huzzah!

Obsess much? Yeah, I do. And I’m not even full-on yet. I think that poor Lovey may shoot me before this is through. If he can catch me at home, that is. At least it’s only once.

Since we all (most of us) know that abs are made in the kitchen and not in the gym, I’ve been trying to keep an eye on my food intake. Making sure that I’m getting enough calories (I usually am at least 100 short for the day.) and trying to get to some magic formula that will keep me awake and able to work out but won’t pack on fat pounds (muscle pounds are fine) and will slim me out a bit…for that day. The rest of the days, I don’t really care if I look thin. With so much conflicting info out there, it’s tough to determine the right numbers for me personally and I’m not even thinking about paying a nutritionist. My best guesstimate from all that I’ve read is that I should keep chugging down the water which I’m getting better at, ramp up the protein just a touch, perhaps a tad more fiber (mmmm, Metamucil), and somehow, less carbs even though I realize that they are fuel. Perhaps I just need different ones.

Wow, what a ramble! I guess this is going to turn into my competition diary, so don’t expect much else in the way of posts for a little while. But keep on coming back if you’re interested in that sort of thing. I’m sure I’ll have something funny to say about myself most days. Until tomorrow, keep putting one foot in front of the other. It’s all we can do.


So, I have/had this bucket list, right? And I’m slowly trying to knock things off of it sort of as part of the five year plan. Not that I couldn’t crush things off the list in Mexico (and not that actually making that move happen isn’t a huge deal), but I need to get it done. I’m sure that in an older post somewhere, back towards the beginning of the year, there’s actual notation of that list. I’m fairly certain that one of the things was the 52 week savings challenge, which I am rocking by the way. $406 put away as of this Friday and $1378 at the end of the year, which I was thinking of blowing for a mountain weekend for either my birthday or Christmas, but instead will now go towards, what else, the five year plan. There’s nothing like an almost seven grand (plus interest) cushion to sit on when you leave the country.

Also on that bucket list is to do one pole competition. Now that I’m over 40 and I can compete in the Master’s division, I figured I would go ahead and throw my hat in the ring. Well, I threw my hat in the ring along with I’m not sure how many others, but my hat ended up being one of the five that are still in there. Shit, you guys! I’m actually competing against (performing with) four other highly talented ladies and I am going to have to train my ASS off just to not look like a fool up there. What have I gotten myself into?!?!

Let me tell you what I’ve gotten myself into. Or what I’m going to get myself into – which is the best shape of my life. I have no other choice. I have to reach both maximum strength and maximum flexibility. Of course, strength will be easier than flexibility. It always has been for me. Nevertheless, the regiment has already begun. Cardio, strength training, yoga, stretching, repeat. Of course there’s pole training as well. Yes, I am considering barfing just thinking about this. But I also know that I can do this. The judges’ feedback tells me that I can do this.

More often than not, when I’m dancing publicly, I’m trying to tell a story. There will be points in the dance where I’m really feeling something and I want to get a point across. Or sometimes I just like to hit a move that coincides with the music/lyrics. I can’t even explain how exciting it was to see the feedback and to see one judge specifically point out one of those moves. Something else I am noticing is that the big, deliberate movements that I think make me look like a spaz apparently do not do that as I was complimented on those movements too. Don’t get me wrong. The feedback wasn’t all unicorns and glitter. I do have things to work on, but they’re also things that I already knew I needed to work on. Things that don’t come naturally to me because I’m not a dancer. Grace has never been my strong suit. I’ve always been more of a brute force kinda girl. Don’t believe me? (If you know me, I don’t see how you couldn’t.) Ask my Club Med first season co-GOs. Especially the circus ones. I still fly like a beast, lol. A muscular, non-toe-pointing, grunt it out, beast. This. Is. SPARTA!!!

Now begins the choreography. I am promising no one but myself that I will give it my all. I will not slack. I will get up there and at the end of my performance, when I collapse to the ground, whether by choreography or from exhaustion, I will know that I rocked it. I will be proud of the work that I put in. And I will gladly cross this madness off of my bucket list with a smile.

See you on the pole in September.

Grind Grind Grind

Here we are, bright eyed and bushy tailed on another lovely Monday morning. As I said to Lovey this morning, only about 260 more Mondays before the 5 year plan is in effect. In the meantime, we’ll just keep on trucking, one week at a time. And we’ve got a fun one ahead (and when I say we, I mostly mean me). Of course, there are the regular T-25 mornings and the Monday/Wednesday/Friday yoga and the Tuesday/Thursday stretching, but we’re adding on a Monday pole class, Tuesday Zumba, Wednesday shooting range, Thursday chiropractor, and a weekend in Crested Butte.

Crested, where my love of all things Colorado began. It’s where I first tried snowboarding…and got a concussion (although not my first one). It’s where I gained a little self-confidence. It’s where I met famous people. It’s where I felt at home and had a damn good time. So much good food and too many great drinks. And a great note for being late to work due to a pot pie explosion. Let the good times roll.

Back to the present, back to reality. Back to the realization that my body wants to work out daily or make me pay hardcore on Monday for not exercising over the weekend. Mind you, I wasn’t a total slug. I did do some pretty intense stretching on Sunday as we sat out in the sun. Nothing warms up your muscles (to the point that I was sweating) like some good old, natural sunlight. If you’ve been following soccer at all, you’ve maybe seen the sniper video. I have moments wherein that is exactly how I feel. There’s one spot in my left leg under my glutes that, at times, feels like someone shot me, or at least stung me really good with a large rubber band. Sniper! Yeah, I keep stretching it. Gently though. Most of the time.

One of my big realizations is that by the time the weekend rolls around, I’m so beat down from work and working out, that I never want to do anything productive. I have a list just under a mile long of things that I want/need to do – clean the house, at least write an outline, study SQL, stretch more, exercise – and pretty much none of it gets done. I’ve really gotta work out how to not just go into a weekend coma starting Friday at 6pm.

In other news, the waiting is down to about 2 days to see if I’ll be performing (not competing because, realistically, I’m not at the talent level of some others) in the Colorado Pole Championship. I still am wavering between ‘why in the world did I submit and put myself in this position, please don’t let me get in’ and ‘I really hope I get in’. In the case that it’s the latter and not the former, I’m still stretching like a maniac. I may need to up my strength training, but that can wait until next week when I know for sure. I don’t want to unnecessarily bulk up because that’s what happens. There’s no being tone and getting strong. My body only understands building more muscle to get strong and hulking out of my clothes. HULK SMASH!

Since I’ve just under a million things to take care of today, and yes, I exaggerate; I’m off to take care of business. Hasta la pasta folks!

Happy Independence Day

The day in bulletpoints:

  • T-25 lower focus – I am creating an awesome ass.
  • Yoga – A bird pooped on someone else’s mat.
  • Fourth of July parade – It starts and ends in front of our house as we live across from the community pool. A fire truck leads all the kids and adults on bicycles around the block. Then there’s hot dogs, the pool, and the firefighters hosing down whomever wants it.
  • Rain, sun, rain, sun, rain – The weather was crazy today.
  • Pirates win! – Raise the Jolly Roger
  • Listening to/watching from afar when this neighborhood tries to blow off some fingers or something.

Said it before and I’ll say it again: If it ain’t being simulcast on ‘DVE and put up by the Zambellis, it just ain’t fireworks.

Memory Lane


Music both makes me lose control and helps me to stay in control. It’s so much of my life that I don’t even realize it until I’m put to task to really think about it which I was by today’s writing prompt – talk about three songs that mean a lot in your life. Lots of songs come to mind, but I think I can narrow it down to three. Oddly enough, these three revolve around some painful periods of my life. From oldest to most recent:

1. Never Say Goodbye – Bon Jovi: Oh, back when I was an insecure teenager, this song…on repeat. Many a tear was shed to this song and not only by me. This shit was like an anthem to us. Slippery When Wet was our soundtrack. Funny thing is that I’m pretty much the only one of us that said goodbye in moving so far away from where these memories, both good and bad, were created.

2. I Will Always Love You – Whitney Houston: Yep, I had just seen The Bodyguard with my at-the-time boyfriend who is also my daughter’s father. Again, insecure teenager falling all be-doop-be-doop with an older guy who showed me some attention. Gawd was I a moron back then. I got smashed in the rose-colored glasses with a huge rock when I was trying to be helpful to him and he told me, “I don’t need you (to blah, blah, blah).”  But of course all I heard was “I don’t need you.” Crushed. But, lesson learned.

3. I’ll Be Missing You – Puffy, Faith, 112: This is, by far, the toughest one. I almost teared up just thinking about it as I’m typing this. There was a period of time, probably close to a year, where I couldn’t even listen to this song. It would come on the radio and I would immediately turn it off. On the morning of my father’s funeral, my brother played this song. Constantly. It was the only song I heard all mo(u)rning.

Every step I take, every move I make

Every single day, every time I pray

I’ll be missing you

Thinkin of the day, when you went away

What a life to take, what a bond to break

I’ll be missing you.

Damn. Crying at my desk. Miss you, Dad.

Ok, ok, let’s move on to things that are a little more on the ‘dude, that’s sad!’ topic. Last night, I woke up around 1 with the worst headache ever. I considered taking a Tylenol but deemed it too much work to get the stupid bottle open. Instead, I tried to relieve some of the tension in the muscles in my neck and went back to bed. Well, surprise, surprise, guess who was still around when I got up again at 5. It took a half an hour of just sitting still to get it to go away just enough to get my workout in. Headaches suck. Fortunately, it did go away. Exercise fixes everything. No choice for those blood vessels but to open up and pump for all they’re worth (I actually realize that there is a choice, but I’m not that unhealthy. I hope.) and get some blood to my poor head. After I was all wonderfully sweaty, I did some splits stretching. I think I’m stuck in the same place that I’ve been in for a couple of months. It may be time to get that front foot up on a yoga block so I can make it those last few inches to flat.

Still going down that fitness road, this month, I decided to try to count my calorie intake/output. Before you go all off the deep end on me there, know that I’m counting because I think that I’m not getting enough calories in a day. As crazy as it seems, not enough calories is just as bad as too many calories. Maybe not just as bad, but not good. Yesterday, at the end of the day, I was in a 250 calorie deficit. I could have and should have had a shake before bed to fix this, but I was too sleepy to make it downstairs to the fridge. You might think, oh, well, 250 calories isn’t bad. It is. When I’m aiming for a healthy 1355 a day, missing 250 means a lot. I think that my actual calorie count may have made it to 1355, but factoring in workout Wednesday left me low. And, think of it this way: missing 250 calories a day for a week is equal to not eating for a day and change. So that doesn’t work. I’ve been unknowingly sabatoging myself by not eating enough. I think that in a couple of weeks, I should be back into a good food routine to match my exercise routines. I feel as though I can weigh 140 as long as it’s not a jiggly 140. I’m looking at you, belly fat! Be gone!

I think that I’ve rambled quite enough for one morning. In case you don’t wander over my way this weekend, I’m wishing you all a happy and safe fourth of July. Try not to overeat and I’ll try to take my own advice. Although I fully plan on crushing some steak this weekend. Mmmmm, red meat. Such a nice change from chicken, pork, chicken, pork, chicken. Feast on!