the fat girl looses something up her rear

The fat girl kicked butt at her kickboxing class!! Whew! Yeah, I DID!!

It totally rocked. What a great work out. I sweated. I was in pain. I smiled. I winced.

Oh, and something totally gross happened. So, if you don't find gross things funny, you ought to stop reading right now. I'm serious. Stop.

The kickboxing class is a great work out. You cannot help but really sweat. I was sweaty. Very sweaty. Sweating all over, in fact.

The perspiration worked itself into my underwear. And un-stuck my, er, pantie liner. With no place to go, the pantie liner hung out right on top of my undies... until I begin the front and back kicks. Then, to my extreme discomfort, it made its way to my butt crack! Yes, that's right. I had a pantie liner squeezed in between my butt cheeks. Quite uncomfortable.

Now, I had a few choices here. One, I could just go digging down my pants and pull it out [the usual pick-a-wedgie-move didn't work]. But then what would I do with it? Not to mention, watching someone dig around in their pants is a bit disturbing. I didn't want to do that to my new sweaty friends. Or TWO, I could excuse myself and go to the bathroom to take care of the problem. But I didn't want to do that and miss part of the class. Just for a lost and traveling pantie liner. My third option was to do my best to ignore the discomfort and press on.

I chose the last option. Yuck. Luckily the class was so difficult, it wasn't as hard as you would think to focus on the class and not the icky, stuck pantie liner. And, at some point it worked its way out. Somehow.

I hope you thought that was more funny than gross. I know I did. I totally thought of all you faithful readers during my pantie liner mayhem. I knew it would make a great post.

ten miles but no magic

Yesterday I went TEN MILES on the stationary bike at the YMCA. Wow. I wow myself.

I did the Dragon Chase game, my favorite thing to do these days [work out wise, I mean. Hee-hee]. I went 5.85 miles on the bike while playing the game. [It is a simple concept; you collect a green coin and then find a green dragon. Each color is a different amount of points. The more dragons you collect, the higher your points. And, consequently, you end up bicycling miles and miles.]

After pushing myself to go 5.85 miles in 20 minutes, I decided to try another one of the "bike trails" program the preppy new bike offers. I did a route that was four miles. Made it just under 20 minutes. [Then, just to hit ten miles total, I biked about .15th of a mile.]

I can hardly believe that ME, the fat girl, can accomplish such a feat. Heck, I weigh 264 pounds!! [Last we checked, hopefully, it's less than that now.... We'll find out Monday!!]

After riding for 10 miles, I felt like a skinny girl. A fit girl. A sexy girl.

Then, I looked in the mirror. Not a skinny girl. Not a fit girl. Still fat. Still flabby. Still have a huge belly.

It feels like that ten mile ride should transform me into skinny girl. Sigh.

It's not magic. Just hard, hard work.

the @#$%^& morning work out!!!

Oh, I was such a bitch non-nice person this morning. Ack. Overly optimistic person that I am, I brightly suggested to the handsome hubby that we should just jog around the block instead of head off to the YMCA.

"Could we ride bikes?" he pleaded. There's a bit of history with the darn bikes. We invested about $300 into bikes and bike trailers last November. I have ridden my pretty bike about two times. The last time I road it some stranger made a rude comment while I drove by. That was fun.

But the husband is handsome. And I do want to be able to ride bikes with him. How romantic would that be? So, off we went.

It took all of one minute before I was huffing and puffing. Argh! Eight minutes later, my stupid weak wrists were burning in pain. Carpal Tunnel is a very non-fun condition.

See I have abdominal muscles that suck. They have carried four children and are loose and barely hold up my saggy belly fat. Requiring those wienie muscles to hold my body up so I don't have to support my weight on the handle bars just doesn't work. And then my wrists begin to hurt. And I get pretty bitchy cranky.

After the mile bike ride around the complex, we ditched the bikes and used our God-given ability to walk. Attempting to keep my heart rate at the "target heart rate" instructor Mike suggested, I actually broke into a jog. All two hundred and sixty-five pounds of me. Jogging. Wiggling. Jiggling. Such wondrous fun.

"Where did this come from?" not-out-of-breath-cute-husband asked me.

"Whatever." I replied curtly. He's lucky I didn't swear at him. I jogged until I couldn't stand it and then walked until I caught my breath. Jog. Walk. Jog. Walk.

Why am I such a bitch crank when I work out? Here's my evaluation: I am pissed off at myself for being so out of shape. Pissed. This is NOT who I want to be. I want to be able to jog a dad-gum-mile! I want to be able to ride the darn bike and not be winded two minutes into it. I am mad at my body.

Amazingly, the hubby thinks my bitchiness crankiness is sexy. Whatever.

deep in the thougths of an exercising fat gal

I had my first "aerobic/cardio" workout Friday night. Led by an incredibly skinny woman who was nauseously excited about exercise. These are the thoughts that ran through my mind during the tortuous one hour work out. Are you ready for this?

***

Am I the biggest one in here??

No, thank God, no. She's bigger.

That instructor's butt is so tiny. How did I end up right behind her?? Now everyone will see me when they are watching her...

Oh my word. There are mirrors everywhere. A wall full of mirrors?? Great. Just great.

So that's how I really look.

Yuck.

My stomach is even huger than I thought.

My head is so tiny compared to my body.

Yuck.

Yuck, look at the way my belly scrunches up when I raise my legs up. Ick. Hope no one else is looking at me.

Good thing I'm here; I obviously need to be.

PAINFUL! Muscles are screaming.

It's only been FIFTEEN MINUTES??

Why am I smiling?

Richard Simmons "Sweatin to the Oldies" flashbacks...

Do what?

Um, how do I get my body to bend like that?

Wow. I did not know I would sweat... there.

I....can't...........do..........it................

Don't cry, don't you dare cry.

Just walk out, Fat Girl, just walk out.

I can't quit. I won't.

Don't cry. Just do your best.

We're done? We're done!! I did it!! One hour of fat torturing, muscle inspiring exercise. I did it.

the fat girl challenge

I'm really having issues with the Thin Within program. The weight is just not coming off [quick enough]. I agree that I need to find healing; to find the "real" reasons why I overeat. I know that is truth. But I really want to do more in the "physical", so to speak, while I work on the "spiritual/emotional" side.

Speaking of the Y... They are doing this "Lose to Win" thing. I've been thinking about joining the challenge. Oh, it scares me to death. To think of putting myself out there for the world to see. OK, just for the YMCA world to see, but still. What if I'm the biggest person there? What if the rest of the "overweight" bunch are those who are trying to loose the "last ten pounds"? I guess, I'd win the contest. But, still. STILL!

The deadline to join the challenge is March 23rd. It costs $65. We could afford it, if we wanted to afford it. The details are vague. The flyer states that there are "prizes, incentives, meal ideas, nutrition tips, group meetings, etc." Big sigh from the fat girl.

What do you think? Oh, I know what you're going to say. You guys are all on the same note. "YOU CAN DO IT, FAT GIRL!" The fat girls smiles. Thanks, guys. Your positive comments are, well positively encouraging.

the fat girl works it out

OK. So, let's see how well I write with a baby on my lap. Here goes.

I hadn't been in the Y since August. We bought the membership January 2008. I was not intentionally one of the throngs of New Years Resolutioners. I joined because I needed moments of sanity in the midst of my mothering and I hoped the Y [with its childcare offer] would give that to me. It did. I loved it. Then I got pregnant and felt like crap. Working out became yucky and I quit. Also I grew weary of bundling up three kids, dragging them to the Y, unloading them, walking slowly into the building, signing them in... etc, etc, etc. Any excuse would do, those were the ones I held up as my "why I don't go" banner.

Then, on Monday, Hubby asked if I would go work out with him at the man gym [a.k.a. the base gym]. I tried to be polite as I scoffed, "what? work out at the gym where it's 98% buff men? I'm sorry, Honey, but no." The next day I asked about working out at the Y instead. He checked with his supervisor and that's how we ended up at the Y. At six am.

Anyway. I walked. Thirty minutes. It felt good. I did get bored after the first 15 minutes or so had to use creative thinking to make it through. Hubby wanted me to lift weights with him. I couldn't. I used to do that. Sixty pounds ago. He so wanted me to. All I could think about was how fat I am. How it would look to see this rolly-polly, fat, ugly body lifting weights. The athletic looking men crunching away didn't help. What if they think I'm fat? Wait, I am fat. But, I couldn't stand the thought of them secretly making fun of me. So, Hubby lifted weights alone. I loitered in the lobby. Chatted with Skinny Secretary. Read the bulletin board. Debated on joining the 5k. Ha.

OK. So, there's a solid post. Baby is fussing now. Must go. Bye.