Picture Day

This is to publicly announce that I wasn't trying to be obscure. I was not on a quest to be the anomaly. Counter-culture wasn't my method nor my intention. I wasn't making a statement or trying to set a trend. Unfortunately, I was sorely lacking style and I was so happily content with my woefully shameful fashion sense that no one saw any reason to squelch my creativity.

The extent of this awkward taste in clothing proved most painfully obvious on picture day. To be fair I have proof that the fault does not lie directly on the shoulders of my parents. At the age when they had complete control of me I was age appropriate and dare I venture to say dangerously close to "cute":

Kindergarten, although completely 90-fied and toothless, I think even then I was under enough parental control to remain age-appropriate and normal looking:

The next few years are when the questions of "why" start to rear their ugly heads.
"Why" #1, (The Mullet):

"Why" #2, (Indian Maiden):

"Why" #3, (The Clips):

The next year was only 73% my fault... I had morning volleyball practice and no desire to get ready in a locker room. Solution? Butterfly clips and a sweater vest... crushed it.

Then it happened. A transformation from socially awkward adolescent to normally awkward teen. A friend from school took me under her wing and taught me the power of makeup, eyebrow care, and appropriate teen color schemes. She taught me to worry with michelle branch, cry with Avril Lavagne, and dance to Whitney, and Celine. I had a teen makeover moment that would rival any disney channel original movie. And my picture difference from freshman to sophomore year is nothing short of a mighty miracle.

freshman:

sophomore:

So those were my picture days... how I became a "designer" whose entire life revolves around style will be a question for the ages... all I know is... that mullet pic needs to be framed in my room forever.

Recovering Fattie Tuesday: Running

A week and a half ago I completed a half marathon, which is something a good heap of the population does on a regular basis, but I proudly assert that I was more loud and whiny about it than 75% of the other humans that participate in such tom-foolery.

I'm sure the whining and social networking announcements of the race probably came across as passive bragging,but I think that the incessant references were probably more of an effort to let people know where to find my body in the event that I didn't make it. We had to wait at a tent at the top of the mountain (the whole race was downhill) and I almost wet myself 5 times from fear of having to get scraped off the sidewalk with a shovel.

Luckily I made it.

There is something magical about running. Its hard. You have to slowly work up from nothing to be able to run long distance. The first 3 miles are always hard. ALWAYS. But after all of that struggle, running is fun. It's empowering and on a serious note it was pretty powerful crossing the finish line... (on a less serious note I was choking back tears and the urge to start yelling "I used to be more of a fattie").

Many will do Marathons, more will do half marathons, I might get the crazy urge to do another one myself (and I promise to be quieter about it next time), but I guess my encouragement to recovering fatties like me would be to do something hard. Something that you can't physically do right now, but you can do through the powers of your own determination and some Jillian Michaels videos.

I'm not training for a half marathon anymore... my next goal is to grow an outstanding mustache because I think they make me look more distinguished.

Recovering Fattie Tuesday: Something New

So I've been a strong-willed proponent of calorie counting as the miracle cure for fattie-ness but recently I've plateaued. 1600 calories gets rounded down to 1200 calories real fast when you start craving cookies and ice cream. So needless to say, the scale has been inching higher and my hopes and dreams of looking like a pre-baby Jessica Simpson are inching lower.

Obviously when something isn't working you have to make a change. My beloved calorie counting is no longer working (right now) so I'm changing it and my health buddy Hailey and I have come up with a competition.

We are starting a "lower carb" eating plan. I like this challenge for lots of reasons:

A.) It is a plan that, if successful, can be continued throughout my life (its not a "diet")
B.) It paves the way for a "paleo" style eating system that I'm really interested in implementing more into my diet
C.) I get to eat as many veggies as I want
D.) At the end of the day I don't feel deprived.

Our plan is simple. Eat mostly meat/veggies/fruit. 200 calories a day can be spent on dessert/sugar OR white potatoes OR bread/pasta/rice/cereal/ or anything else that would fall into the bottom category of the food pyramid... (which, like pluto, was phased out by the Obamas). ONCE a week we can have a treat over the 200 calorie limit but that is not a free day... just a free treat.

The best part of this plan is the motivation. We made a pact that if we break our limitations in this plan before Thanksgiving... then we have certain negative consequences.... for example... I have to jump into Utah Lake ... sans clothing... from shore to water. I can assure you I will not lose.

I'm sharing this to motivate. Recovering fattie-ness is not an easy road to travel. Sometimes you have to change pace and change scenery to have success. I don't even know if this will be a successful plan... but after a week I'm 5 lbs down and finding that a refreshing change of pace from the trends of the past two months.

I hope this helps.. sorry there are not more witty quips in this post... this is mostly straight business.

Here is a preview of what will happen if I lose... except I am not a young boy...

Fake Treats:
The only thing I hate about this plan is not getting a kick of sweetness after a meal. BUT Hailey introduced me to the cure for my ailing sweet tooth!!

Get individual cups of sugar-free jello and fat free whipped cream (in a spray can)... the sugar free jello has 10 calories and the whipped cream has 5 so for 15 calories you can tame your wild sweet tooth!!

I've Never Ridden a Ferris Wheel

Warning: This contains content that 9 year old boys would find interesting and amusing and might be considered too graphic for some readers.

There are probably a grip of reasons why I'm not married (using "grip" as a unit of measurement being included in the list), but I would say one of the most hindering qualities making me a less than desirable spouse is due to the fact that I am an abominable dater.

There is always the casual awkwardness when I go on dates: I say the wrong things at the wrong time, I unintentionally pretend like I'm extremely racist when I'm nervous, I forget what normal humans do with their hands while seated in cars, I order something for dinner that has giant pieces of lettuce or really long noodles, and I always race to the door with house key in hand so I don't have to remember the 90% 10% kissing rule. (and these are all obstacles I face when I'm at my dating prime).

Friday was an all time dating low.

I'm going to refer to my date as Prince Charming because A.) I can't imagine him wanting ANYONE to know that he took me out, and B.) He really was extremely charming through this whole ordeal.

So Charming picked me up for a fun-filled-first-date-style night at Lagoon... which is an amusement park in north salt lake about an hour away. The night started great. We got to the park, rode some coasters. I was feeling extra brave and less than my normal amount of awkward. This lasted awhile until something about the bright lights and the smell of funnel cake pushed me into a sweaty pit of nausea.

We finally made it over to the ferris wheel... in fact, we were INLINE for the ferris wheel and I decided that I didn't want my first ride on a ferris wheel (how have I NEVER ridden on a ferris wheel), to be with me, Charming, and everything I had eaten that day.

Hitting the point of no return on the nausea scale I asked if we could leave, a slightly defeated, but no less kind Charming obliged. On the way out of the parking lot I opened the door and puked for the first time all over the road.

Seeing the escalating situation Charming pulled a U-Turn into a gas station parking lot and in the process I projectile vomited all over the road out the window on the turn (I am not ashamed of this particular spew... it was a personal victory, the trajectory of the vomit was nothing short of a perfect 10).

In the parking lot I threw up a lot. In order to avoid my crazed heaving, Charming went into the gas station and got me drinks... and paper towels, and seeing as how I felt loads better we assumed the whole situation was over and joked about the sudden turn of events. I sipped on some diet dr. pepper and we started the hour-long trip back.

That wasn't the end. Had it been, throwing up after the amusement park would just be a quippy anecdote you tell to your girlfriends and then forget until your own kids start dating. No... about halfway through the trip back I decided I needed to sit up and talk to Charming since I had been completely ignoring him with my head out the window for the past 20 minutes and in the process I got sick again and puked out the window on the highway at 65 miles an hour successfully coating the outside of his truck, getting it on my hair and my shirt... twice.

Then Charming went into survival mode for both my sake and I think for the sake of his truck.

We flew back into town and as a final act of defeat I vomited all over my parking lot in front of my house. I heaved as he was walking me to my door. I threw up one more time and then Charming (acting as his very charming self) gave me a hug... dried dr. pepper throw up all over my shirt).

Best Thing Ever: Hubert. Charming made Hubert for me in slight mockery of my rabbity past and mostly because he is an expert craftsman and oh-so-charming. Its a good thing I have Hubert because he might be my only companion for a really really long time.

I think I owe Charming brownies... and a car wash.

Sick

In reflection of the past 4 days I've come to the conclusion that I am TERRIBLE at being sick.

This long stretch of failure to ail appropriately started a very long time ago when I was a child afflicted with self-diagnosed OCD and REFUSED to miss school and destroy my record of perfect attendance. I remember having to have a special meeting with my first grade teacher and my mom in order to plea my case for getting perfect attendance despite missing a few days to get tubes surgically inserted in my ears (no luck).

I remember one of my first acts of defiance was straight out lying to my mom about the chicken pox and telling her "it's just a bug," "nothing someone would have to miss school for."

As an adult my methods for evasively avoiding missing out on life have altered strategically but are no less desperate in nature. I do anything and everything in my power to be sick NEVER and even when necessary as little as possible.

Don't be confused, this is no act of valor. This is simply a frantic attempt to avoid pain or anguish of any kind. I am not what you would call a "fighter." I would not be the person on the episode of "I Shouldn't Be Alive" that lived. I would be the one whose photo is posted in the end in a dedicatory second of fame. I hate even mild discomfort. For example, if ice cream headaches lasted more than a matter of seconds I would probably be looking for the nearest cliff.

This is why, when I get a real illness, a real sickness, I sleep. I'm not under the impression that this is anything extraordinary except for the fact that the sleep isn't often interrupted by bouts of consciousness. My current method of avoiding missing out on the world is being unconscious until I feel better. It isn't fool proof, but after my most recent illness and unconsciousness of about 43 hours between monday night and wednesday morning I feel better than someone suffering from kidney stones, so essentially it served its purpose.

For all of you that suffer ACTUAL anguish, I applaud you. I have come to the realization that I will never be like you (for my will to live ends quickly after hitting my funny bone), but I envy your fight and your drive and encourage you to keep fighting... its what Oprah would want.

Half-sies

So, moment of honesty: I have been struggling. Food has been looking extra - delicious lately and I have succumb once or twice to the tantalizing call of the fresh peach shake or yielded to the enticings of a frozen yogurt with extra sprinkles. Its the trenches out their people and food, unfortunately, is winning.

Three recent developments will hopefully help to change my current course.

THING A.) The Democratic National Convention is currently underway, and the effort I put into being disgusted with their platform mixed with my newly revitalized patriotism and gumption towards the republican party have surely been a calorie expenditure.

THING B.) Jillian Michaels is returning to the Biggest Loser for the season 14 featuring only teens. Nothing says "extra motivation" like having Jillian Michaels work out fattie teens in my living room.

("fattie teen" is a scientific term, and a label I myself wore proudly).

THING C.) I had a horrible idea

A few days ago I thought it would be a personal victory to run for a long time without stopping. I thought... "self, I can run 3 miles... so naturally I can run 10 more than 3 miles no problem."

And so it became reality that I signed myself up for a half marathon. It was this morning while I was struggling to run two miles that I came to the conclusion that this might be a mistake.

This is a mistake for at least five reasons:

1.) I can run 6 miles tops, and that is ONLY if a rabid dog is chasing me for 3 of those miles.

2.) The race is the last weekend in October, in high elevation, at 5 in the morning... I'm going to FREEZE my cheeks off (not my facial cheeks).

3.) We are supposed to be in costume... so there is a 60% chance I'm going to die dressed as Paula Dean

4.) I've never participated in even a 5K race.

5.) I don't have enough songs on my ipod that make me want to move.

So there you have it... I may find more success with losing weight out of sheer fear of embarrassing myself at this half marathon... WHAT WAS I THINKING?? Time to put on my big girl tights and get to work I guess.

Sweet Home Alabama

Endless is the list of likenesses between Reece Witherspoon and I or more correctly Melanie Smooter and I. This fictional character in the movie Sweet Home Alabama and I bare an unlikely resemblance.

(obviously)

Okay, not in looks (alone), but also in life and experience. Lets get serious... I've never been married to a gorgeous man nor been lobbying for divorce in order to marry a mcdreamy doctor... but there are critical similarities between Melanie and I that are impossible to ignore.

FIRST, we are both designers who left our small town homes for "big cities" to further our careers. (If only the similarities stopped there).

No the main similarity lies in the hobby of our fathers. The key component that ties Melanie Smooters life to mine is the fact that both of our dads... (hers fictional/mine very very real) are reenactors.

(the handsome founding father on the right is my dad)

I really have no further explanation, and lets be clear, I have NEVER participated.

(you can NOT prove that's me)

Because of Melanie I'm reassured that despite the past or family tradition she was able to have:

and luckily that is EXACTLY what I'm looking for.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is... whether or not I've slept in a teepee... Melanie is my pillar of hope for a life of normalcy.

(this whole post is T.M.I)

Revelation

So I've been lacking a little in motivation to write and update the blog...

this is partially due to the fact that I feel inadequate when reading other blogs because (for instance) thebloggess.com does things with words and taxidermy that are simply unrealistic for me to achieve. And although the hyperboleandahalf writer has taken a bit of a hiatus from writing... she'll be back and the world will be waiting.

These gals unknowingly are my mentors / my role models, and the standard I look to for success... and you are welcome to start shamelessly following their every move as well.

HOWEVER, yesterday I had an epiphany. I'm apparently very sensitive about the topic of vegetables.

I should have known... just the other day I was talking to my coworker Alisha (with about 65% more raw emotion than necessary) about NOT counting vegetables into your daily calories. Who feels passionately about veggie calories?

So I should have seen this next conversation coming... Hailey didn't. My friend Hailey and I were talking calories (the bachelorette is over, what else are we supposed to talk about).

Hailey: "So how many calories do you think were in those scrambled eggs."

Me: "250 tops:

Hailey: "Even with the vegetables?"

Me: "Vegetable calories don't count"

Hailey: "All calories count, I'm counting them anyway."

Me: (obviously losing touch with reality) "No, the reward for eating vegetables is not having to count them. You eat them so you don't have to count them. Your body takes so much energy processing them that they end up spending more calories than they are composed of. Vegetables are so packed with fiber that most of the calories aren't absorbed. Small bug microbes in your body transfer all of the energy contained in vegetables into you muscles slowly turning them bionic. When you eat vegetables you automatically get a six pack like Ryan Lockte. Vegetables are all Danell Leyva eats. Vegetables make Oprahs hair so full and vibrant. Because of the balanced growth of vegetables across the world the polarized axises assist in the earths orbit.

... basically the further I got into my soap box rant / love proclamation for vegetables, the further I got from any facts resembling truth.

Hailey: (blinking a couple of times in disbelief) "Well I'm going to go ahead and count them"

Me: "IF YOU COUNT THEM OUTLOUD I WILL GO BAT S* CRAZY!!!"

... and thats the first time I knew... I had a dysfunctional relationship with edible plants.

and Hailey is still going to count vegetable calories.

Recovering Fattie Tuesday: Keeping Momentum

So in our quest to lose 20 lbs by October I personally have experienced a minor setback called "my refrigerator at home in Kansas is a never ending / endless supply of ample plenty for all who come to visit it." followed by "Its vacation time and calories don't count on vacation."

Embarrassingly, because of this, I'm beginning this journey to October with a bit of a deficit. (I don't know if any of you have met Arthur Bryant and his succulent Kansas City BBQ, but he is partially to blame).

In order to get back on track and adjust my habits I'm counting calories like I've never counted calories before. I'm sticking to a 1400 cal non-negociable diet to be complimented by a work out regiment that would make Tim Tebow quake in his nikes.

Here is what I'm eating:

Yogurt/granola/bran/flax - breakfast

SlimFast Shake - lunch

chocolate covered marshmallows (24= 130 cal) - sweet treat

Omelet using egg white and a million veggies - dinner (and maybe a sweet potato)

and exercise:

20 min hard cardio (breathing so hard you can't talk to someone)

3 circuits - (ex: lunges/step ups = 1 circuit)

followed hopefully by another 10-20 minutes of less intense cardio and 10 minutes of stretching (OH MY GOSH I HATE STRETCHING... my flexibility is like unto that of a hippopotamus doing a backflip)

ALSO: I'm not doing this alone. I have a partner in crime which is CRUCIAL since after a vacation of inappropriate portion sizes I need someone to continue motivating me.

The point of this post is KEEP IT UP. Fall down for a few days and nothing is lost!! Get up, and keep going. Any move in the right direction is a victory!! 20 by October here we come!!

This gives an accurate summary of my food choices for the past 9 days ... if I can pull my stuff together and get back on track... so can you:

I Believe I Can Fly

So I'm getting ready to embark on another adventurous trip across the Rocky Mountains to my beloved motherland: Kansas (Home to the fighting Kansas State Wildcats).

I promised myself a few years ago that I would never drive that ridiculously long drive ever again, but the only alternative to driving (due to the geographical lack of a large body of water) is flying (or horseback... which would be way more fun, but considerably less efficient).

Flying and I have a rocky relationship. Thank you "We are Marshall", "Lost", "Tailspin", John Denver, and Alanis Morissette's "Ironic" for making this dysfunctional relationship possible.

I HATE to fly. I don't actually hate the normal parts of flying. In fact, I find something poetically liberating about taking off 43% of your clothes in rapid fire movements while simultaneously stacking all of your current worldly possessions in a plastic bin. I don't hate standing in long lines. I don't hate walking 5 miles to my gate, and I don't mind waiting two hours for the flight attendant to call final boarding. I don't hate delays and I don't hate airport food. Each of these things are simply a means to an end, and that "end" is avoiding the actual flying part at all costs.

I HATE flying. I am terrified of flying. This fear should have been squashed the first time I successfully took off and safely landed at the correct destination. It should have be dulled in my mind every time I think about how long planes have been around and how many successful flights are made on a daily basis all over the world (They successfully flew in an episode of the Andy Griffith Show... RIP). These, however, are not the thoughts I have when I'm squished into a seat that was meant to comfortably seat a 9 year old.

The straight panic begins right when the flight attendant starts their safety spiel.

"Remember, quickly bring the mask to you face to begin airflow and secure your mask before assisting others."

I automatically think to myself: "I'm definitely not using that mask. If we are going down I definitely don't want to be conscious" ... then I always wonder if I should tell my neighbor so he doesn't get any heroic ideas about "assisting me" with my air mask...

I also look around the plane and legitimately feel bad for the passengers and their families and how we aren't going to make it. I start to get short of breath and start praying almost out loud and making "deals" about how I will work harder to find a husband if only we make it through this flight (not blasphemous: I'm being super sincere at the time).

Then the plane takes off and I panic until the flight attendants start the drink cart. Then I study their faces for the faintest hint that something might be abnormal (I promise you that if I ever have a flight attendant with a facial tick, I might wet my pants mid flight).

So I have had all of this flight anxiety each time I have flown home or anywhere else in the world and I'm not stranger to the sky. I've discovered one magical potion that assists with my flying phobia. I discovered the magic that is Dramamine.

Dramamine doesn't take away the fear. It doesn't make me watch something different on my iPod (since I want to be watching one of my favorite movies if the plane goes down). No, all dramamine does is make me so loopy that I almost say out loud "Hey everybody, this plane is going down, but thats ok, i love to fly."... and I just sit in my squished seat with my ankles around my neck and my elbows in my abdomen and smile...

20 by October (who's with me??)

So today marks a challenge that is going to be a few months in the making.

(sorry, I had to put down my fattie late night snack so I could type with both hands... obviously this challenge is much needed)

I am in dire need of tightening up my eating habits and getting back on track (which I'm finding to be an ongoing effort, and probably a natural ebb and flow of weight loss (especially if you have fattie tendencies... guilty). So here is the plan:

I'm going to lose 20 lbs by October and you're going to do it too... if you want... comma, backslash, if you need to. If you are 5 lbs below healthy weight please disregard this call to action and go eat a donut.

The goal is October because we aren't going to be crazy, just conscious... (also I plan on being a pixie stick for halloween and you don't see any curvy pixie sticks, unless they are soggy, but no one likes soggy pixie sticks.)

I have about 20 healthy lbs to lose and I'm giving myself over two months to do it so I can lose 2 lbs a week. Ultimately, I'm hoping I can lose 25 lbs before October, but I'm going to keep it real and lose at least 20. If you have 10 lbs to lose, then lose 10 lbs by October. If you are more than 75 lbs overweight, it would not be unrealistic (according to my findings by watching the biggest loser and extreme makeover: weightloss) to lose 30 lbs or more by October by following the same regiment I'm doing.

So let's start this. Today (or tomorrow if you're like me and need a last day to whatever the H you want before you start to make healthier choices)

This is NOT a diet... this is a jumpstart into what I SHOULD be eating always anyway.

I would also like to invite you to take a "before" pic today and jump on a scale to calculate your starting weight. As you go along if you would like to share things that are working, tricks you use, and stumbling blocks, feel free to leave a comment with your email address and you can write a post for me!! Everyone loses weight differently and my methods don't work for everyone so the more people that share their success the better off we ALL will be.

I'm going to be updating my progress and what I am doing frequently, so if you are falling off track and need a jump-off point hopefully it will help.

FOR TODAY:

1.) Weigh in. Figure out what your goal is for October and write it down.
2.) Tell someone. Keep yourself accountable (or tell the internet)
3.) Drink 5X more water than you did yesterday. (this might kill me)
4.) Write down your calories! Just do it.

My plan for today:

250 cal breakfast (granola (barely any), bran, yogurt (fit and light 80cal), flax)
200 cal lunch (pretzels and veggies)
100 cal snack (my TRICK OF THE DAY)
630 cal dinner (cafe rio. 1 chile relleno, no cheese, no tortilla, no sour cream, no happiness)

I have a short 30 minute work out planned because I don't want to do anything too hard if I'm already going to be a little hungry.

TRICK OF THE DAY:
I LOVE these freaking candies! And at 10 cals each, they satisfy my sweet tooth and leave me feeling a little bit like I just ate ice cream. (I found them at walmart).

Personal Living Space

Occasionally, from time to time, something will spark a thought that will make suppressed memories bubble to the surface. I had that happen the other day.

I had done an exceptional job of jamming this particular memory so far into my past that it was hidden behind a Deanna Carter Cd Jewel Case and an old Giga Pet.

I had completely forgotten until 2 days ago that I used to have (by personal CHOICE) dog wallpaper. Incase you require further clarification that means that the wallpaper lining my room had painted puppies on it.

To compliment my dog wallpaper was a stylish and sophisticated dog pattern comforter and puppy throw blanket.

What better to adorn your dog wallpaper walls than giant (scholastic book fair) posters of your favorite critters? Thank goodness for you Scholastic. Because of you, I was able to have not only one dog poster, but three. If I'm not mistaking, there was a charming picture of kittens in a bucket tastefully tacked to the wall as well.

This littlest pet shop (of horrors) didn't stop at dog decor you could buy store. It also became a craft project. My friend (of whom I will not name due to the emotional scarring it caused her) and I would actively cut out dog pictures and tape them to my closet door.. in collage form.

This phase probably should have lasted right up until N'Sync's first single... but unfortunately that is not the case. My walls were "enhanced" by the furry faces of canines until my sophomore year of HIGH SCHOOL....

The minute my walls reached a normal teenage color and bulletin boards with boy bands replaced the puppy posters I shoved that memory so far back into my file of recollection that it took 10 years for it to come back to me...

I sort of wish it hadn't.

Recovering Fattie Tuesdays: Calories

PLEASE NOTE: the sole purpose of posting before/after pics is because I have a gross fascination with other peoples before/after pics so I figure if anyone else is equally as enthralled I didn't want to disappoint...

Today is 99% about calories, .0075% about Bob Harper, leaving the remaining percentage to Oprah (always).

Awhile back I was struggling with losing weight despite the fact that I was working out like a line backer (which is convenient since I looked like a line backer), so I decided to start counting calories. I had avoided this method previously because I didn't want to be one of those people that was calorie obsessed and carb obsessed and I was avoiding the whole tactic.

This is not a joke: on my first day of counting calories we decided to go to Famous Daves BBQ for dinner (my FAVORITE college restaurant) because we found one in Salt Lake. I got a "healthy" salad (filled with a dusting of lettuce, BBQ chicken, corn, beans, cheese, bacon, dead puppies, and sadness), and I ate 3 nostalgic corn bread muffins leaving a couple to take home. On the way home, AFTER eating I looked up the calories on "My Fitness Pal" and immediately CHUCKED the remaining corn bread muffins out the window yelling "SATAN MUFFINS" at the top of my lungs...

That was my first experience with calories.

After that calories and I have a solid and lasting relationship built on trust. Together we have learned the value of give and take, mixed with the perfect balance of compromise. Its all about intake vs. output and making sure that the calories I consume are less than or equal to the calories I spend. For me, my perfect caloric intake if I want to maintain my weight is 1600 TOPS. If I want to lose weight my perfect caloric intake is 1200 calories (before exercise). Some might disagree with these numbers but this is just my trial and error findings for me and my body... I'm not sure what Dr. Oz would say about these findings... but Dr. Scholls and Dr. Pepper say I have moves like jagger.

Anyway. Bottom Line for today... if you are struggling... count calories. You will definitely be calorie/carb obsessed, but join the bandwagon, it works.

I'm leaving you with .0075% of Bob Harpers "rules"... which I live by mostly... when I feel like it... he's not the boss of me (Oprah is).

Running is Weird

So I decided something: Running is strange.

When I am going through a running dry spell and try to go for a run for the first time in awhile I realize running is HORRIBLE!! Ultimately I come to the same conclusion: anyone choosing to run is clearly a Masochist. (that comment was for you Britany) Running is painful and hard and horrible and when you haven't done it for awhile you feel awful afterwards and it feels like you're 2/3 dead and the part that isn't dead is yelling silent profanities in your head about how you're a glutton for pain and "shouldn't you be sleeping or at least eating something with sugar in it instead of putting yourself through self-induced torture?" I would also stare shamelessly at the hard core runners with the water bottle belts and think: "They clearly hate happiness."

If you can trick yourself into getting past that first week of awfulness and run sporadically, I feel like you get into the second stage of weird. Its that stage that running is NOT fun, but its kind of like a game. Like "Oh you ran 10 minutes, well (condescending laugh)... I ran 11 minutes on a .05 incline so I guess we know who the real winner of life is." and you give yourself weird goals... like "I can't go to bed until I've ran around the block 3 times." and although you're not making any real leaps in athletic ability, your brain tells you that you're a monster freakin champion. It is also in this stage that if you skip a few days and then run a few days later your body makes you feel like you haven't skipped a beat and you run like you've never ran before... and then the second day you feel like you're going to have to be scraped off of your bed... running is weird.

The weirdest stage is the next stage... If you stay with it and actually gain some real "running muscles" (biological scientific term), you enter this world that people only read about but never really understand unless you've been there. Running turns from this necessary evil into something closer to a euphoric rush. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN??? One minute you're plotting how to kill the family cat of the inventor of the treadmill, and the next you have Lisa Frank characters jumping through your head while you're jamming to J. Beibs on a 5 mile run. RUNNING IS WEIRD!!!

So, I went on my morning run and I was just trotting along thinking about how much I love to run... which is WEIRD since I've always thought runners had no grasp on reality.

{Let's have an honesty moment real fast though (I don't have a grasp on reality)... I thought this morning I was zooming... I figured I probably ran 4 miles since I'm super fast (like unto a gazelle) and in my head I run 8 minute miles when in reality I ran 11 minute miles ... so obviously I'm barely clinging to real life events}

REGARDLESS of how fast I run, somewhere along the line RUNNING BECAME FUN?! I don't know how this happens... I think the bottom line is running is weird.

(hiking is way better always)

Somebody Should Have Told Me

Seriously? Someone should have told me. When I was younger I had no sense of fashion (whereas now CLEARLY I'm sort of akin to Nicole Richie). As a kid I just wore whatever the "h" I wanted. I liked dogs? easy... dog shirt... NAILED IT! Oh I like pooh bear? Why not wear pooh AND all his friends... NAILED IT!! Oh like that country music song on the radio? Well naturally wear a fake leather vest and a bolo tie (fact)..... This mentality for fashion lasted embarrassingly long into my older childhood.

Through a combination of my mom's parenting style of letting me be a free spirit / live my own life, and my size / inability to wear normal kid clothes my fashion suffered (understatement).

Because of that we are left with photos like the one featured below.

NOTE: DUE TO THE GRAPHIC NATURE OF THIS PICTURE VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Adventures with the Elderly

I may have an unrealistic perspective of how likable I am. I feel like in general I am at least tolerated by most people with no respect to age, race, or gender. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that most people would want to be strapped in next to me on a 20 hour road trip, but I also don't think most people cringe at the thought of eye contact or a brief conversation with me. This is true for most everyone except the 87 yr + crowd.

For some reason the advanced-age elderly hate me and I have some theories as to why. It could be because I'm incredibly awkward around that particular demographic. All of a sudden as soon as I step into a care home I forget what to do with my hands and how to talk to humans. I then start this awkward high pitched baby talk that is over-accomidating and extremely inappropriate for someone with 60 years of life experience on me. Because it sounds like I'm talking to a toddler it is, understandably, extremely patronizing.

This anxiety was born years ago when we would go caroling at the care home at Christmas time with my 4-H club (yup 4-H club... that will be another post for another day). We went into one ladies room to spread christmas cheer and she said to my little brother "You look very handsome" and then turned to me and said "You look well fed," and thus my old person anxiety began.

After a few more traumatic caroling incidences in the following years I agreed to go to the care home with puppies from the humane society to share the joy of puppies with the elderly. I figured this was a fool-proof plan because even if the old people didn't like me, I would be hiding behind the peace-offering of an 8 wk old puppy. Of coarse these desired results were not what I experienced. The very first wheelchair I approached held a lady that screamed so loud that I about needed to borrow one of their adult diapers. I like to think it was because she had an irrational fear of adorable puppies, but in my heart I know that the screaming didn't start until we made eye contact, and so continued my strained relationship with the old.

So Monday when I found out we were going to a care home to play bingo, a twinge of fear bubbled up to the surface. I brushed the fear aside thinking that "I am an adult now," "I can talk to other adults even if they are more advanced in age". So confidently I sat down by an elderly lady to play.

I should have known. She clearly had the ability to talk, but she would not talk to me. She just stole an extra bingo card and got her game face on while I asked her questions like "where are you from?" "tell me about your family." Each of these questions were met with a scowl. When we started playing she let me help her locate the numbers (she was keeping tabs on 3 cards because she had already screamed at me when I tried to give one of her cards to a lady that didn't have one). As the minutes went by my voice got continually higher and increasingly condescending.

"Did they call G60?"
"No"
"YOU FORGOT TO COVER G60"
(high singsongy voice): "They haven't called it, but I can't wait until they call another number you are so close to winning girl"... (she was nowhere close to winning and she knew that, and she was also not 5 years old).

She then began blatantly blaming me when other people won... she almost hit the lady next to her that won and then she thought better of it and instead projected her hatred onto me. She scowled at me and mumbled incoherent words about how bad I was at bingo.

She never won, but at the end to get us all back for her lack of bingo success she tried to shove her stolen bingo card into the back of her wheel chair. When I tried to sneak it out of her wheel chair she caught me and slapped me.

I was the only person that got hit by their old person that day.

Recovering Fatty Tuesday- Exercise

For recovering fatty tuesday this week I wanted to share a few things I've figured out about exercise and food (only as it pertains to recovering fatties... not Michael Phelps).

So I've gone through a few phases of weight loss and in each phase I had different tactics in exercise... here is what I did and how it worked...

Phase 1: Mika on the mind
I ran every morning for about 20 minutes (blaring Mika's "Life in Cartoon Motion") super slow around the neighborhoods at K-State. When you're 250+ lbs, running 20 minutes is like unto a marathon. I would add literally 30 seconds of time on at a time and maybe MAYBE worked up to 23 minutes tops. I supplemented my 20 minute runs with long walks and sometimes going to the gym on campus. Mostly the name of the game was moving, it didn't really matter how.

I also ate way less. I wan't calorie counting then, but I was dabbling with eating more healthy food.

I lost about 50 lbs doing during this phase.

Phase 2: Frustration Station
So I got down to about 200 lbs and moved to Utah. Utah has a way better outlet for working out. I did EVERYTHING under the sun to work out. I hiked and biked and ran and swam and all sorts of other things that rhymed. I burned through TONS of calories and got pretty fit. I also got a personal trainer and worked out more, but I wasn't seeing kicking results.

During this phase, because I was killing calories, I was STARVING always... which is not an ideal situation for a recovering fattie. I decided to eat lots of things that I had deemed healthy. I ate with no limit peanut butter on whole wheat tortillas, whole wheat pasta, fruit, sinful salads and loads of peas. Each of these things are fine in moderation... some even pack some extra nutrients I think (according to Dr. Oz), but I had no concept of intake vs. outtake and because of that I was eating more than Kirstie Alley after a bad day.

I lost 40 lbs during this stage

BUT THEN: I gained it all back because in order to maintain that kind of diet, I had to maintain that kind of exercise and somehow I fell off the wagon.

Phase 3: Get Serious
This is my current phase. Still working at it. I found out that I had to count calories in order to lose weight. Period. I started working out less and eating smarter and I think I've found a decent balance.

I still struggle with portion size, but now I just eat the TAR out of baby carrots and cucumbers and I don't seem to gain weight back so I guess vegetables are fair game for recovering fatties.

I'll get more into these phases I'm sure (or else I'll run out of stuff to talk about) but the moral of the story today is: Find balance, and eat the calories you spend. Eating smart works better for me than working out like Jillian Michaels (Oh my gosh I love Jillian Michaels). And its true, and science, and endorsed by the makers of Texas Instument.

One Letter Short of "Normal"

I've gone throughout my whole life trying to figure out who in my family I am most similar to. For most of this time I've thought I was most like my dad. Which is true, I have a lot in common with my dad (namely my mustache), but probably just as much in common with my mom... it hasn't been until recently that the curtain of ignorance has been lifted and I discovered just how much I'm like my grandma Norma...

Unfortunately it doesn't stop there. In the past couple years the likenesses have reached a concerning level. Each time I talk to her or see pictures its like getting a glimpse into my future.

For example the following photo:



Grandma Norma is wearing a hot pink hoodie. I may or may not already own 3 hot pink hoodies of similar style and although I don't have transition lens glasses, I feel one step closer to my fate.

We also have a similar idea of what is appropriate for the mail. For example... who would send a picture of themselves with an elvis m&m dispenser? well I would ....



... and apparently so would grandma Norma.

My grandma is commendably agile on the internet for her age and I wouldn't be shocked if she started out-blogging me in the upcoming months but her Facebook messages are my favorite. One such post to her nephew (concerning recent tornado warnings): "Everyone is fine. Came close to Derby. We all went to the basement at 9:30 with our basket full. I take all my jewelry, medicine, money, water and Jack. Hope all is well there."

(Incase you were wondering "Jack" is either referring Jack Daniels or my Grandpa, the verdict is still out on that one.)

Even just last week Grandma Norma posted this picture on her wall:



This, I believe, is the most concrete example of how I am/will always be my grandma Norma. She took this photo with the intention of screen printing it on fabric and whip stitching it on my cousins quilt as a joke (because who would want a picture of their grandma and grandpa adoring a purple flower on their quilt besides me?)

It is because of these examples that I know... without a shadow of a doubt, who I most resemble in the family. This isn't a disappointment Grandma Norma is one of my favorite people on the planet... we are both just one letter short of Normal ...(but she really is...)

Chocolate the Duck

In commemoration of this being the first friday of my blog I'm going to relate one of my favorite stories. The story of Chocolate the Duck (based solely off of 100% true events).

When I was younger I was not the most agile young person in the neighborhood. I had features more similar to the pillsbury dough boy than a ballerina which aided in my lack of coordination. Because of my stature, while every other 7 year old girl was naming their pets after disney princesses, I named ALL of my pets after food (and not healthy food, eventually I had a rabbit named carrots but that was years later and a complete fluke).

At some point my parents decided that they would enrich their children's lives by raising baby ducks from eggs and letting us discover how that whole process works. Essentially this was a great idea (remember we have a barn in our backyard which made us sort of believe we lived on a farm).



All of the ducks hatched and I automatically liked one more than all of the others. It was light brown so naturally I named it chocolate (not even a specific kind of chocolate) ... just chocolate (please note that jasmine from aladin is also brown and a disney princess... had I not been a little fattie I MIGHT have made that connection).



Because chocolate was my favorite duck and a little slower than the other ducks I always walked with him in the back of the duck line on the way to their makeshift pond (my turtle shaped sandbox)



One day on the way to the sandbox I stepped on chocolate and by a combination of my lack of coordination and sheer mass I squished chocolate and he died.

Later on that night I wrote in my little journal (verbatim): "Today was a heartbreaking day, my pet duck died."

I did NOT take responsibility for my actions. Not even in my journal!! I guess most killers don't... poor chocolate

face of a killer in spandex:

The Barn

I had an epiphany recently that is comparable to when I discovered that the "D" on "Disney" wasn't a G, and when I figured out (last week) that Flo Rida spells "Florida." These were all pretty big discoveries in my mind but nothing more of a shock to me than when I figured out a couple years ago that not everyone has a full sized barn in their suburban back yards.

This is my dad:

My dad is a manly man. He wanted to build himself a barn to put his manly things in. So he built a barn. There is nothing wrong with that...

THE PROBLEM was that because I was so used to it being there I thought EVERYONE had a full sized barn in their backyards. I don't know how I came to this conclusion. I only had to look in my friends backyards and compare the size of their sheds with the size of our shed to know that ours was considerably bigger.

It wasn't until I was about 18 that all cylinders started firing in my head and I made all sorts of connections. I realized that FACT: most people did NOT have a giant barn in their backyards FACT: most sheds did NOT have attics and FACT: most barns that size held animals.

This was a jump off point for me. It was after this epiphany that everything else in my life started becoming clear... I didn't have a normal childhood.

The Best of Intentions

The following is a series of unfortunate events:

Background (and one second of serious): I know so many giving and generous people that do amazingly charitable things for others but most (by no lack of trying) pale in comparison with my friend Hailey... She is just one of those people that is generous with tangible things as well as having a personality that makes everyone she meets feel important and worthwhile. I don't think many people have a talent for charity like Hailey.

SO... in a crude effort to try to be more like that... we (her roommates and I) decided we would attempt to paint her room while she was on vacation for a week...

Without getting into the gory details of the event... I'll just share what I can remember of the card we ended up leaving on her bed at the end of the ordeal... it went a little something like this:

The 10 steps of sucky service:

1.) Run out of painters tape mid tape job
2.) Apply base coat
3.) Run out of base coat
4.) Buy more base coat
5.) Read 3 tutorials on how to apply Valspar Metallic paint
6.) Apply first coat of metallic paint using these techniques
7.) Use swear words when first coat looks like Michael Jackson's underwear (thin, silver, and streaky)
8.) Apply a second coat of metallic paint more vigorously
9.) Run out of Valspar Metallic Paint
10.) Go to Lowe's, find out Metallic Paint discontinued
11.) Order Metallic Paint from Valspar
12.) Find out Valspar only ships in quantities of 4
13.) ERRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
14.) Put everything back, clean room, act defeated

We left the room with a streaky dark silver splotchy new paint color... I don't think "dying seal" is a recognized paint color, but its probably the most descriptive of the color we ended up with (please note this was due to paint job, not color choice).

The Moral of the story is, we are up for hire if anyone has a room needing painted...

sorry Hailey...

Good thing we weren't doing service for someone who was really sick or given the luck we had, they may not have made it...

Recovering Fattie Tuesdays

I don't want this whole blog to be about fitness... infact, if the majority of my life isn't about fitness then writing a blog about fitness would be a disaster... HOWEVER... I am a recovering fattie and I've learned some tips along the way for all of us that would last a little longer than the rest in a food shortage situation.



That is me. I'm not any different, it just takes me less time to get up the stairs (actually that may not be completely true, I had calves of steel back then). But I found some things that helped me be a more healthy person in general which led to a skinnier me. So I guess every tuesday I'll try to share some of this insight.

Piece of advice #1: Salads are the world's greatest lie.

In my expert opinion based off of scientific research (filled with wikipedia references, and Oprah quotes) 99% of salads are filled with hatred and 0 nutrients. Most people already know this. BUT when I was overweight the word salad acted like a neon sign saying "HEALTHY."

Moment of Truth: Cafe Rio "salads" are burritos with extra lettuce and the added bonus of ranch... so basically you're eating a ranch burrito. Caesars salads are chicken bowls with cream, chef salads are meat pies with ice berg lettuce sprinkled on top and basically most salads are just a giant pit of confusion and high cholesterol.

I realize that most people are not fooled by the antics of the "salad" and Bob Harper / Jillian Michaels have helped with that...but if ANYONE is deceived into thinking that any salad on the menu has less calories than a small steak... you're fooling yourself.

That is my first tip. Avoid salads... unless they are gross.. you can eat gross salads... they have nothing bad in them...

Supa-Fly

Today I was thinking about my musical preferences which lack sophistication to say the least. When Avril Lavigne and Rascal Flatts are at the top of your "most played" list (fact), your musical palette leaves something to be desired.

More recently I've discovered a wide gap in genre is weaseling itself into my iPod. When I scroll through my playlists it is the worlds most horrible mix between Tween Disney Pop and grungy, obscenely descriptive rap. One second Selena Gomez is singing about being perfect just the way you are and then next song is Ludacris or Chris Brown.

The problem isn't that either of these genres are good or bad... The only thing I don't understand is how I can be running on the treadmill and JAMMING (with hand dancing) to hipster tween music one second and JAMMING (with hand dancing) to "I just want to see you strip" the next second....

Maybe its supposed to be like that? "Who says you're not perfect" when you're "stripping because it late girl"?... who knows... maybe I'll just go back to listening to country exclusively.

(please don't think I'm endorsing rap... I just like those sweet, sweet beats)...

Day 1:

So in a burst of ambition I decided that today would be the day I started a blog. Its not like this should be a life-altering experience. I'm 25, I should be responsible enough to handle a blog by now. People my age have two kids and can keep them alive... I should be able to keep one blog alive... For my first post I wanted to share a piece of personal information. A deep look into my addiction. There is something about sharing information with the entire world that makes people start purging loads of personal information and practice passive aggression that I didn't understand until today. But I wanted to share with you my addiction of frozen yogurt. Cliche comment. "oh I'm addicted to pop," "I'm addicted to chocolate." These are comments flippantly applied to anything consumable and enjoyable and usually unhealthy, but I literally think I have an addiction to frozen yogurt. I think there is a clear distinction and that distinction lies in what I would do to get it. Today, I'm conning myself into hiking the Y. Why am I subjecting myself to this after work activity? Because if I go on a hike I can get frozen yogurt, simple. Another sign of addiction is if you would be willing to eat someone else's half finished yogurt... not only would I, consider it done.... Infact, I think I normally ask "are you planning on finishing that."