Now What??

So I've spent the past 6 months eating clean, imbibing water by the gallons, working out hours almost every day, even going under the knife to make some much-needed upgrades to my hardware-- all to meet my goal of competing in a bodybuilding competition.

me at my worst, 2001, 155 lbs

me after 3 babies, 2006, 126 lbs

And like that, they're over. Done. Finito. Months of sacrifice. Two competitions. No trophies. But my best body ever, and no one can take that satisfaction away from me. Except for myself, of course. So what now? How do I not sabotage my efforts and revert to my body of yesteryear?

Do I need the constant impending threat of standing on a stage and being judged to maintain this body? Do I want to compete again in the near future?

me yesterday, 118 lbs

my best side!

If I had to answer that question after the NPC competition, I would have said, "Hells no." That experience was demoralizing, intimidating, with very few bright spots. But yesterday at the NGA show, I actually had FUN. How to account for the different experience?

First, I had my first competition under my belt. I had the nerves out; I knew what to expect; I had been through "dress rehearsal." Second, it was a smaller show. Rather than 20 girls in my category, there were 9. Initially, there had been only 4, and then 2 weeks prior, 5 more registered. Which is too bad. I may have actually placed with only 4 in the category (NGA places top 3). Third, as my trainer rightly informed me, NGA attracts a different crowd. NGA is all-natural, and for some reason, this meant more down-to-earth, less cut-throat competitors. Or maybe everyone seemed friendlier because all us girls were crowded into one tiny dressing room with one toilet sans stall. Yes, an open toilet. Never have I chatted with a complete stranger, who stood buck naked being rubbed down in tanning juice by another girl, while I peed, delicately wiping as to not smudge my self-tanner all over my thighs. Talk about immediate BFFs.

I actually shared my Bikini Bite with #1 (my nickname for the girl who not only won overall at NPC the week prior, but is also the reigning champ of NGA Pro Bikini-- thought there was a rule about not competing in a comp you've already won, but guess not-- and she won again at NGA last night.) #1 wasn't the warmest, friendliest girl, though she was nice enough as I engaged in conversation with her from the coziness of the communal pot (yes, we all know I have to pee quite often).  Not sure if she's "just shy", overly focused, or just plain above the rest of us. The girl's body is utter perfection. She doesn't even smile on stage; she doesn't have to. She just swaggers, catlike, eyes demurely half-closed as if she's gracing the crowd and the judges with her presence. I watched the head judge, a female, virutally swoon over #1, just like she had the week before at NPC. #1's husband also competes & competed last night-- it's disgusting what a gorgeous couple they are. #1 pretended to be nervous, more in an effort to fit in with the other girls than actual lack of confidence. Of course, when you're always #1, I guess there's actually something to be lost.

me & my bikini BFFs

The other girls in my category this week were awesome-- friendly, open, funny. Oddly enough, a couple others had also been at NPC the week before and had never said one word to me. I guess the NPC atmosphere is just so tense it changes people. This weekend, we were all new girls. I was instant friends with a couple girls who hadn't been at NPC-- they were vulnerable, cute, and cracked jokes with me the entire time backstage. We sprayed one another in glitter and PAM (I opted for Muscle Juice instead), pep-talked one another, and shared delightful conversations about all the food we planned to eat right after. It was so great to be surrounded by people who got it-- got what it was like to train, to diet, to stand on stage completely vulnerable and hope you didn't land on your arse while pivoting for a rear shot. Despite what "civilians" might assume, these girls were bright, funny, and talented. Many of us are moms. One was a pilot, one a cosmetologist, and of course myself a published fitness writer. Another competitor in the figure category and mixed pairs (she actually did a routine with her bodybuilder husband that was quite amazing!), is a school teacher, her husband a school supervisor. I don't know how they find the time to train-- maybe they bench press their students!

Yesterday, I knew I didn't place again, even as I stood in the line-up (though I must say, there were complete strangers in the audience aka not blood-related who shouted out my number-- I actually stood out to people!), but I did what I set out to do . . . have fun. I took what I learned from my first comp, namely more bling, bigger hair, darker tan, more confidence, and got it did. Shout-out to my baby sis Jody who made my hair look fabulous :)

me & Trainer Jill

And I did what I didn't set out to do . . . decide that this wouldn't be the end of my competition career. Dunt, dunt, dun . . . (Thanks, Jill, for getting me on this path, and for the beautiful flowers last night!)

Not sure if I'll be ready for spring shows, since I just registered for the Ogden Marathon in May, and I don't think I can combine marathon training and bodybuilding training simultaneously. But maybe next fall I can aim for figure. Because as I looked around backstage, I noticed that I was actually more cut than half the figure competitors, and probably too cut for bikini. Not sure how I'll lean out even more, but Trainer Jill thinks if I could get from point a to point b, it's not much farther to get from point b to point c. I think it may require some more nip-tuck, though, because there's nothing I can do about the loose baby skin hanging around my hard-earned abs. This is a big aspiration, because if you think Bikini has a lot of competition, you haven't seen Figure. Figure was divided into short, medium, and tall, and each still had 8-12 girls! Talk about slim odds.

But like I've learned, it's not about the trophy. Though I am tempted to go buy myself one, because, damn, it would look great on my mantle and I deserve it! If anything, I can always just enter the women's bodybuilding category, because no one ever enters that one, I'd get to do a fun routine to music, I wouldn't have to wear those blasted 4-inch heels, & I'd pretty much be guaranteed a trophy! Now there's a plan . . .

So back to the blog title: now what?? First, Vegas Ragnar! Yikes. I have not been training & realized I get to run the most mileage (21 miles as opposed to 12-16) & the longest, steepest incline! Then a brief mild respite before hitting the marathon training.

Life is just too short to sit still . . .

This Is It!

Yes, aptly named blog post, for this may well be my final show ever! The jury is still out about whether I'd ever want to do this again. It's so much hard work and sacrifice. And most people think you're crazy or conceited. And then you actually get on stage, and bam, it's over. And no trophy. Have you ever had that nightmare where you're totally naked in front of a crowd? That's what it feels like, standing in that tight pose on the stage, lip twitching as you struggle to maintain a smile. So when people ask me if I had fun, I'm not sure "fun" is the word I'd use . . .

But today I'm determined. To have fun. So when people ask, I can say, "Why, yes. Yes, it was FUN!" Even when I walk away with no trophy. At least this time, I've got the nerves out. I know what to expect & what the judges might like. My suit is blingier, my hair will be bigger, my tan darker, my poses more confident.

Pep talk over. Better start getting ready! Wish me luck, dear readers . . .

The Day After . . .

(Sorry, video footage from Ry's iphone, not the greatest!)

Ah, slept in till 8 am. Woke up with sore abs, calves, & back-- just from pose-holding! Enjoyed my regular healthy breakfast, plus some yummy treats left on my doorstep by a supportive friend-- hey, they were made with cereal (and chocolate & marshmallows & butter), so they count as breakfast food, right? Plus, I'm still licking my wounds from the night show.

Here's how the night show went: it started out well. I felt great. Relaxed. My tan looked better, my shine looked shinier, my suit blingier. My strut and poses were more confident. Too bad the judging had been done in the morning, because I felt like a whole new girl in the evening. I knew 100% I didn't place in the large category, but I held on to an inkling of hope in my small category. There were 7 of us, and 5 got a trophy. Odds were not too shabby, & I thought I might just slip in at 5th. We were all lined up backstage, awaiting to strut out one more time, have  our bios read, receive our individual applause. Then the dude backstage would tell us which 5 to go out on stage again, and those 5 had placed.

"Numbers 1-5, 1-5, line up." I was #7. I thought he had to be confused. Surely the winners didn't perfectly match up with the first 5 girls. I must confess, I was NOT the picture of calmness and gracious losing. I wrapped my arm around #6. "Guess we're the losers." She smiled, "That's okay. It was fun!" She seemed so cheerful, so prepared for this outcome. It reminded me of the end of every Survivor episode when the voted out contestant gets to say a few words. As viewers, we always admire the ones who take it in stride, reflect on what they learned, cheer their tribe on. We roll our eyes at the ones who begin a diatribe sketched with choice swear words, in shock that they got voted off and angry at the world. I realized that I was the latter survivor! I went through the whole gammut of emotions, all 7 stages of grief.

First, shock & denial, hence my admonishing the backstage dude to double-check his list. How could this be? I had sacrificed millions of calories and fat grams for months! I had worked out 2-3 hours every day, 6 days a week for months! I had imbibed enough water to hydrate an African village for a month! Surely, this big dude with the goatee had read wrong. He gave me a look that said, sorry, sucker.

Second, pain & guilt. Pain, yes. Pain from those damn 4 inch heels that were too wide so my poor feet had to grip to stay inside with every step. Guilt for making my family live with my sugar-free, high maintenance diet for the past few months, for what? For watching me fail miserably on stage?

Third, anger. I could hardly stand there watching my newfound bikini friends win their awards. I stomped my 4-inch heels straight back to the dressing room, threw on my over-clothes, tossed those damned shoes into my gym bag, and stormed out into the hall, texting the hubby that I was ready to go. In an awkward attempt to cover up my tirade, I threw a few half-hearted "good luck"s to the figure competitors hanging around, having their suits glued to their bums. I went into the auditorium just to watch Trainer Jill do her bodybuilding routine. Of course she rocked it, and lucky for her, she was guaranteed 1st place.

Fourth, depression & loneliness. Yep. It's pretty lonely to be 1 of the only 2 who lost. It was utterly depressing to realize that I hadn't done enough or been enough. True sadness. I walked out into the hallway into my hubby's arms. His hug felt good, even if it didn't take away the sadness.

Fifth, the upward turn. The hubby told me he saw a friend from work there, who just liked to watch bodybuilding shows. His friend said I should've placed. My kids told me I should've placed. My hubby told me he was proud of me. This was the start of the upward turn, realizing that most mommies would never even try something like this. Realizing that I did accomplish something, and I had MY best body to prove it. And knowing that I got to go out to eat . . . that was indeed an integral part of the upward turn. It was already 7:30, late for our family, so we headed to the nearby Pei Wei. Partaking of edamame, lettuce wraps, egg rolls, and fortune cookies-- upward turn indeedy!

Sixth, working through. This came about through analyzing it with the hubby during dinner. "Was I really the worst one up there? Why did I lose? What could I have done better?" We realized that of the 7, #6 and myself were the only newbies. We'd never done this before, and our greenness must've been apparent. It wasn't about body fat percentage, because a few of the girls who won were much softer than I was. They were just studs at posing-- it's like they thought they were even hotter than they actually were, but it worked for them! Delusions of grandeur can pay off. And let's be honest. I was the only one up there with a stretch marked abdomen. No matter how I tried to hide it, they were there. And taut abdominal skin is integral to winning in the bikini category. Bodybuilders and figure can get away with a bit, because it's all about muscle. But not so in bikini. But the hubby assured me, I did look like I "belonged" up there.

And finally, acceptance and hope. I accepted that I lost. I accepted that the other girls had obviously met the judges approval better than I had. And I began to hope that I could do better with my next one, the NGA in Ogden this upcoming Saturday. My last chance. I'm hoping for less competition, since this one is not a national qualifier. And I know I'll be calmer and more confident, knowing what to expect. And I know how it feels to come in last, so it can't get worse-- only the same or better. And on the bright side, I'm sure I would've won Miss Congeniality if there was one offered-- I had all the girls backstage cracking up with my uncanny ability to keep it real :)

So now that I've gone through all the stages of grief, I'd like to apologize to sweet #6, who only saw my shock & anger. I know it wasn't pretty, but is it really admirable to be a good loser?

The greatest outcome from this endeavor has been the love & support of so many friends! I'm sure a lot of people just don't get it-- the bodybuilding competition scene, the traipsing on stage in a barely-there bikini, the clean eating & constant exercise-- and I know a lot of people are probably even offended by it. But I have been surprised and overwhelmed with the many people who HAVE been supportive, cheering me on, sending me kind messages of encouragement, and keeping me going! I had two friends who drove all the way to Salt Lake on their Saturday morning to watch me compete (thanks Emily B. & Nikki A.). I received many emails, texts, & calls of well wishes all weekend. Thank you, thank you, thank you for being such amazing friends and just purely good-hearted people-- you are rare & beautiful :)

Morning Show Survived!

So I'm blogging right away this time. First, because I have time to kill while I let coat #3 of Jan Tana dry. Second, because I don't want to forget the little details. Considering that I was one of the oldest ladies on the stage, my memory may be the foggiest!

Okay. So I got there right on time. Found a seat in the auditorium and waited and waited for the meeting to start. Got to scope out the competition. Immediately, I felt out of place. What I saw were girls in their twenties, who appeared adept and comfortable with the application of hair extensions, false eyelashes, and stage make-up. Gulp. I also saw, of course, extremely buff guys, who were, for the most part, inept at applying self-tanners. But that only reinforces their manliness, right?

I felt better when Trainer Jill arrived, who luckily is NOT my competition. She's in the lightweight bodybuilder category. From the posted list, she alone ruled her category. Nice. I wish my only competition was with myself. But no. I scanned the list and counted Bikini Short. There were about 20. And when I saw them backstage, I saw that none of them had nasty-loose-mommy skin around their taut tummies. I became so self-conscious that I nixed any front poses that required me to take my hands away from my pull-the-skin-taut-to the-hips. These girls were also quite comfortable with their bodies, proceeding to immediately strip to the buff in front of complete strangers. Why should they care? They were, like a hot, young Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way. Apparently, they also never grew pubic hair. (Okay, okay-- in truth they were pretty tough chicas, because I can only imagine the pain of waxing or lasering 100% of the nether regions.) Looking around, I decided for the one millionth time that my boobs were the best purchase I ever made-- it was one less thing to be self-conscious or embarrassed about.

Once in line for my turn, I overheard a coach pep-talking her clients. She was explaing the walk, and since the pre-meeting did not explain anything about where or how we were to walk on stage, I innocently inquired to this woman about that protocol. Her look let me know I needed to pay her to receive an answer, but she gave me a brash, "Do whatever you've practiced," before returning to her golden children. Two other girls in the line complimented each other and relished in their reunion. At the last show they had been in together, the one had placed 1st, the other 2nd. They were now officially Bikini BFFs. I wondered how sincere any competition friendship can be when, let's face it, every girl is your competition. I scanned the line for someone who looked as nervous as I felt. Found that girl and traded small talk about this being our first competition. Still, I felt like a fish out of water. I wondered briefly, "Is it too late to turn and run?" These girls, it seemed like pageantry was in their blood. They were so excited; they were so confident. They gave each other little pep talks, "You are the hottest! Look at those judges in the eye-- they think you're the best!" The other girl would nod, take a deep breath, then sweep onto the stage with a hip-popping strut. I tried to dig deep into my theatre arts background. "Pretend, Christy. Pretend you ARE one of these girls. Pretend you are confident. Pretend you are comfortable up here. Pretend that you love this; that this is the most fun you've ever had in your life."

And then it was my turn. All I remember is wishing my hands weren't so oily from the body glaze so that it was easier to pull my tummy taut. I remember wondering why the hell my lip was twitching while I was smiling. I remember arching my back so much on those back poses that I thought I might spasm and have to be carried off the stage in a stretcher. I remember a couple shout-outs, "Go, Christy!" One was my trainer's husband in the front row. I saw my good friend Emily & felt so grateful for her support. I saw my kids climbing the wall in the back of the auditorium, which meant my hubby was somewhere out there, even if I couldn't see him. I remember the two female judges, because they were the only ones who smiled at me and made me feel at ease. One was obviously a bodybuilder, but she seemed to have a heart of soft stuff, because her smile was motherly and encouraging. I wondered what exactly they were analyzing when they studied my body up and down. What were they jotting down with their #2 pencils?

First, I went on for Bikini Open, then Bikini Natural. In Bikin Open, I was one of 7. Decent odds, but I'm still not banking on placing. In Bikini Natural, I was one of 20. Terrible odds. And I KNOW I didn't place. I could tell when they asked 5 of us to go the side of the stage that I was in the bottom 5. I whispered to the girl next to me, "Well, that was fun." It was torture to stand there while they tried to determine placings for the other 15 girls. One girl said, "That's not what that means. They'll bring us back on; there's just too many of us." I'm thinkin', "Hello-- then they'd split us into two groups of 10, not one group of 15 and one of 5." But they did bring us back on, probably to get a final ranking on the losers.

Well, it's time for me to get ready for the evening show. As soon as I left the morning show, I drove to Robert's crafts and bought a blinger thinger. Got home, ate my salad, then stripped off my bikini and got to work bedazzling. I hated that I had been the plainest girl on stage. I also applied another coat of tanner, because even though I am the darkest girl naturally, I was way lighter than everyone else. Not gonna worry about the hair this time, but next week, I'm hoping my adorable little sis (who has done a pageant) can put her extensions in my hair and make it nice and fluffy for me.

Night show, here I come. Even though they say, "Everyone's a winner," it's hard to believe it when you don't go home with a trophy. But at least I've had this experience, the support of the most amazing people in my life, & the best body I've ever had, even if it's not the best body on the stage.

T-24 Hrs!

I must apologize to my dear readers who anticipate blog posts, which may be 1 of you! Having 3 kids in elementary school has not freed up my time as I thought it might. On the contrary! Now my life is full of PTA meetings, classroom volunteering, school chorus, sorting through endless piles of papers aka school work x 3, organizing said papers, which has led me to re-organizing my entire house, which led to some redecorating, which led to shopping that I probably shouldn't be doing, which led to me working harder to pay for said home projects . . . which led to my being AWOL from my blog. I'm guessing if you're female, and a mom, you totally get it. And if you're a man, namely my husband, you're rolling your eyes, sighing, and reprimanding me to just say no and sit on the couch for a minute. Alas, I am who am and it is what it is. I myself would like myself to just sit on the couch, read a book, in my self-cleaning, self-laundering, self-cooking, self-organizing, self-fun-money-earning house. Wouldn't that be dreamy?

But anywho, I'm back with a post. Because tomorrow is the day. The day we've all been waiting for! My first of two bodybuilding competitions in the bikini category (that sounds so much better than "bikini competition"). I've done the diet. I've done the workouts. I've cheated a lot along the way. But the past 2 weeks have been spot on (okay, except for the one piece of yummy sweet bread a kind neighbor anonymously left on our doorstep with the cute little ghost poem. Mind you, they left me a pack of sugar-free gum, which I appreciated and enjoyed. But slicing the bread for my kids was just too much. I ended up sticking the rest in the freezer so that I can enjoy the whole loaf after my competition!) Except for that one little mishap, I've been spot on. Plus, I took all the best of my Jill meal plans, the ones I like the most and which of course leave me the least gassy, and devised my own meal plan, which has made it easier to stick to. Still hard. But doable. Last weigh in, I hit 118.9. That's with boobage, baby! Yahoo! That's the least I've weighed since probably 9th grade. (I was a chubby high schooler).

But it's not just about the number on the scale. I truly feel better than I ever have-- I feel better than I did in high school! I feel amazingly strong, & that's my favorite result. I feel cleaner inside, more flexible, more energetic (maybe too energetic because lately, I've been waking up at 5 am, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. The hubby is a bit annoyed!) I just feel so good. Yes, clean eating is super-hard. But I look around me, at the zombie-moms, the perpetually sick, the grumpy & lethargic, and I know it really is worth it.

So I think I'm ready. I've done the work. This week, I've done the grooming. I'm manicured (already chipped-- who can maintain a manicure longe than 24 hours??), pedicured (already calloused again-- all that Zumba), hair trimmed and deep conditioned (why is it everytime I get a haircut, no matter how expensive, I have to "fix it" when I get home?). I've begun the shaving process (no, I'm not waxing. First, because I've already been lasered where it matters most. Second, because I got waxed. Once. It hurt like hell and didn't look all that great. Third, because somehow, I got the non-genetic gift of fine body hairs, meaning I can shave my legs and they're soft for at least 2-3 days. Even long, they're not stubbly. I can go all winter without shaving and have a nice, soft coat of warmth! ) I shaved my arms yesterday. Yes, my arms. Someone told me the Jan Tana looks smoother if everything is hairless. So I'm carving out some time today for miscellaneous shaving.

Tonight will be Jan Tana time, then again in the morning. This afternoon, I have to drive to good ol' West Valley to weigh-in and check-in. Thank goodness I already have my MAC makeup, because this anxiety gave me a nice zit, which I knew I shouldn't have picked at but I did and now it's 10 times bigger of a blemish than it was in the first place. Jill said the judges are about 3 feet away, so I'm hoping the aforementioned blemish is not too obvious. Tested the 3 feet vantage point on the stretch marks, too, but those can't be undid. A friend suggested PVC pipe glue, so I had the hubby venture into the garage, and lo and behold we had some. But it's blue. And exceedingly vaporous. The hubby told me this stuff melts the plastic so that it welds together, and he does NOT recommend I use it for a homemade tummy tuck! One more whiff, and I agreed. Tonight I may experiment with duct tape. But I'm guessing I'll have to stick with the hands-on-the-hip-fingers-tug trick-- smoothes out that skin in a jiffy. Though when the hands return to my side for my little strut, the judges may be appalled by what they see. I'll have to divert them somehow, urge their eyes elsewhere. Maybe a nip slip? Although that may dock points . . .

The hair. I did have a struggle decided betweening sleek-sexy-straight with bangs or beachy waves/curls no bangs. In the end, I decided the beachy waves would be great if I had a professional hair stylist. But on my own, that hair is iffy at best, and I don't want that extra stress of a possible bad hair day. I had gone to Sally's to purchase hair extensions, but suffered immediate buyer's remorse. $96 to add a little length? Would it even make that much difference? And did I want to take the extra time to figure out how to install those segments of human hair onto my own head? I showed the hubby what I bought, knowing he loves long hair. Even he said return them. So back to the store they went. I'm guessing the hair won't be what loses it for me!

It's Fall!

Yes, it's official. I've spotted some red and orange foliage dotting the mountains by my home. The air is crisp and delicious, my fall decor is out, and I really have the itch to bake! What is it about fall that makes me want to hit the kitchen and whip up some peach cobbler, banana bread, or pumpkin cookies? Alas, I am less than a month out, and I need to stay strong. I've been struggling a bit lately. Mainly with nights and weekends. Nights, because I've been having digestive issues with meal 7 & tend to avoid it, replacing it with something more appealing, like a bowl of cereal w/ low-cal almond milk or fresh canteloupe from my garden and a handful of almonds. Weekends, because . . . well, it's the weekend. And I feel like I should be "off". Off from work. Off from housecleaning. Off from carpooling and volunteer work and homework battles. Off from the restrictive regimen that is my diet. I. Just. Need. A. Break. Who's feelin' me?

I figure it gives me the boost I need to conquer the week and hit it all hard again. But I'm not sure my trainer would agree. I rarely read message boards, because frankly, who has the time. But when I have, I've noticed that this is a huge debate among bodybuilders/trainers. To cheat or not to cheat? How often to cheat and when? Most people agree that a once-a-week cheat is imperative to shake up your system and keep it guessing, making it more responsive to your clean eating. Others say, no, never. One cheat, and you've messed the system up.

Personally, I need a cheat. Sometimes several. There's something about the monotony and the precision of this eating plan that leads me to moments of honest depression. Usually, I'm okay. I've always been blessed with emotional stability, levelheadedness, and a sense of humor. But when I get in those moments, it's rough. I need a chocolate chip. An almond. A lick of peanut butter.

So . . . my current stats aren't exactly hitting my goal #s. But I look in the mirror, and I'm pretty happy with my progress. I need to not stress so much about the numbers, but numbers are so measurable, so straightforward. Once this week I hit 120.8. I was pretty ecstatic. But this morning, I was 123.3, then an hour later 122.4. Stupid scale. What happened to 120.8?? I thought for sure by now, I'd be in the teens. Not happenin'.

And that's what I get for cheating . . .

me & trainer Jill w/ Zumba star
Camillo @ National Dance Day Utah
July 31, 2010

But never fear, for it is Sunday. And I just spent the weekend rehearsing for trainer Jill's Tight Body Boot Camp DVD series, of which I am a star, & she tortured me. 3 hours worth of nearly impossible strength workouts. P90X has nothing on her! (See photo of Jill on right). So as a reward to myself, I plan to eat a nice, normal healthy dinner with my family (which totally beats watching them eat while I chew my kale and turkey), then hit it hard the rest of this week. I am determined to make it the next 4 weeks!

Off to make dinner . . .

5 More Weeks . . .

5 more weeks & much to do! I think the stress of it all, the frustration of not meeting my weekly weight goals, the lack of chocolate-- is making me hit official crazy lady status. I just threw a mommy-sized temper tantrum at my family, hubby included. Hubby, especially. Because after I finished my kale and turkey, I busily prepared my man and offspring a delicious homemade creamy tomato-basil soup, with tomatoes and basil I grew and harvested in my garden, with a side of oh-so-gooey-and-crisp grilled cheese sandwiches. The response?

5-year-old, without even tasting: "I don't like dis soup." High-pitched, drawn-out girly whine.

8-year-old. "Why are we having this?"

10-year-old, after 5 minutes of avoiding even coming to the dinner table. "Why do I have more than the girls?"

37-year-old. "Wow, that's a lot of basil."

34-year old. Tipping point. Hit. "Rant, rave, rant, rave, rant, rave. I could just make everyone eat what I'm eating!"

37-year-old. "Na ah. We'd just go to Sonic." Seriously. Is he twelve??

So now I'm blogging away my frustrations. I feel like, even when I'm not 100% perfect, I'm still eating like a saint. I'm still eating to lose weight, not merely maintain. If this is how I have to eat just to maintain, I may have to cry right now. Why won't those numbers on the scale go down? All I want at this point is a nice even 120. Shouldn't be that hard. Pre-surgery, I got down to 117. Granted, post-surgery added a couple pounds. (Not sure the exact amount. I should've placed those try-on puppies on a scale to know for sure.) 120 is so elusive. How did I ever imagine I would reach 115 for competition??

Each morning, I start positive. Gonna be a perfect day. Gonna do this! Gonna hit my goal this week! By 6 pm, I just want carbs-- bread, cereal, an apple with peanut butter. Anything but the spinach & broccoli that I prepped days ago and that smells like something putrid and soapy now.

Another voice in my crazy-lady head says, "Calm down. It'll all melt off the last 2 weeks. You'll look fine."

I watched an interview online of a bikini competition judge, explaining what they're looking for. She said personality. Yep, personality. Considering that we don't say a word, just strut, pose, strut, pose, smile, clench our glutes, I'm a bit worried "my personality" will get lost in translation. She said you can't just look at photos of bikini winners and know how they won, not like with figure and bodybuilding. Bikini is all about stage presence, confidence, and connecting with the judges. Maybe I should break out a few of my best Zumba moves? Although merely walking is about all I can handle in these shoes. Today as I practiced, I actually got a cramp in the ball of my big toe. Who knew there was sufficient muscle in that one-inch diameter of foot to actually spasm?

Based on that interview, I decided I'd focus on "my personality" today. First, after dropping off my baby to kindergarten, I went to the mall. Completely & utterly without kids! This made the momentary sadness of kindergarten immediately dissipate. The only remaining angst was how short my mall time would be. With traffic and travel and walking time once inside and potty breaks and water bottle refills, I knew my 2 1/2 hrs of me-at-the-mall time would quickly pass. I kept a close eye on my watch. The reason I had to go to the mall was to hit Nordstrom, specifically the MAC make-up counter. I had an appointment for a "make-over". I felt like a fraud as I walked into Nordstrom. I'm more of a Ross girl. Who are we kidding, I'm more of a Wal-Mart/Target girl. In Nordstrom, I see a cute shirt, check the price tag, and rub my eyes to make sure I'm seeing the decimal point correctly. So it took some of my theatre arts background to pretend like I belonged in this department store.

I was surprised at how much hustle and bustle there was in Nordstrom on an early Friday afternoon in September. So many shoppers! In this economy! I spotted the MAC makeup counter-- it was surrounded by heavily made-up fresh faces, young girls dressed in black, one with pink eyebrows, another with a giant hot pink star on her cheek and eye. After making a pit stop at the ladies "lounge" (that's how they roll at Nordstrom), I got settled into my stool for my make-over. It was actually fun to have someone else do my make-up, someone who actually does this chore for a living, who loves it, who is artistic about it, who isn't trying to get it done in 5 minutes while the laundry is drying. She gave me great eyeliner and eyeshadow tips, since my eyes are so deep-set and too close together (but whatcha gonna do?), and helped me learn how to "contour".

Once done, I had to determine what items I needed to buy here and which ones were just as good from Wally World. I decided to get the foundation, blush, brush, and contour powders there; eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, and lipcolor and gloss, I could easily use what I'm used to (aka Covergirl). The makeover must've done the trick, because when I was ringing up at Bath & Body Works later, the girl at the register handed me my receipt and added, "By the way, you are absolutely beautiful." And I got a few double-takes as I walked down the hall. Yes! I felt better stage presence already! I walked taller, with a trace of a strut. I smelled great, too, after trying on some perfume at Nordstrom, glitter body spray at Vicky's Secret, and the new sexy lotion at B&B. And suddenly, as I exited Nordstrom, strutting to the beat of the make-you-wanna-shop music, with bags in hand, my stunning make-up and delightful fragrance, I felt like I belonged in there.

New Meal Plan!

Today is my lucky day! New shoes! New meal plan! Hip hip hooray! Just gotta finish up my meals for the weekend & Monday is a whole new eating plan. Halle-frickin-lujah! If I had to eat one more bite of zucchini . . . Don't get me wrong-- I adore seasoned grilled zucchini. What I don't adore is 5-day old seasoned grilled zucchini re-heated in the microwave. It is soggy. It is limp. It is bleh. But what's a girl to do? You have to meal prep. It is just so not feasible to make each meal fresh, 6-7 meals a day, slicing and dicing and rinsing and cooking. Meal prepping is the only way.

Some meals prep farther than others. I learned I could do cottage cheese & sliced strawberries up to 5 days at a time. But roasted asparagus spears . . . 3-4 days is best. Although it's so easy to make an entire week's worth at once, which is usually what I end up doing. But by day 4, I'm stuck with soggy, limp asparagus. Not appealing. Maybe that's a huge part of why the eating is so darn difficult. Meal prepping. And nuking a once perfect piece of chicken after it's been in the fridge for a week.

Okay, so now I'm feeling a bit mean for being so happy to say farewell to Meal Plan 1 (post-vacation). I must give it a proper tribute. What will I miss the most from this past month's meal plan? Almonds! No nuts to be seen on next month's. I'm guessing this is a good thing because nuts is where I tend to nibble. I mean, who can stop at 4 almonds? Now my fats are avocado (yes!yes!yes!) and olive oil. As you can tell, dear reader, I'm pretty stoked about avocado.

I will also miss my strawberries and cottage cheese, which was the closest thing to cheesecake I'll ever get! It was simple to prep and absolutely delicious. And I'll miss the red peppers, the veggie candy. I'll miss the yummy blueberry-banana protein shake, too. My dear favorite meals, fare thee well until we meet again.

And now, a little sample of some of the delicacies my palate will soon enjoy: a corn tortilla-- O.M.G. a carb that isn't a fruit or veggie! Avocado, as already mentioned. Tuna, oh how I welcome a new protein. And peaches! I always love the fruit of the month. Lots of beans, so better stock up on the Beano. Really, I'm just ready for something different. I'm sure within 2 weeks, I'll be whining like my cranky 5-year-old, complaining, "If I have to eat one more bite of kale!" But until then, I will soak up the joy of novelty . . .

Shoes!

Guess what arrived this afternoon from the friendly brown UPS truck? Yes, yes, yes-- my hooker heels! Okay, so that sounds so trashy. Let's be honest-- the occasion was oh-so exquisite, and the shoes are actually quite divine. I slowly opened the box, delicately removed the tissue paper. Each shoe was wrapped separately in a sheer white gauzy bag, and as I pulled the first shoe out, I felt like Cinderella holding that glass slipper, knowing that this shoe was mine. I think I heard angels sing and saw a radiant beam of light pierce my kitchen ceiling. I've never seen such a pretty shoe.

I quickly unwrapped the second one, pulled all the fluff out, and tried them on. Length perfect. Width to be expected. I have unusually narrow feet, my only body part that belongs on a supermodel, it's so long and skinny. I debated about going a size down; they don't offer half sizes. But I'm worried my toes will pop over the front, and that just looks tacky, right?

Initially, I thought, this isn't too bad. I can walk in these. But the more steps I took, the more I felt muscles in my ankles that I've never used before. Talk about toning shoes!

So the advice I had received about walking to the mailbox . . . Trainer Jill gave me even better advice. Do NOT wear these shoes on asphalt/cement. They will get shredded; they will look used and abused. Practice on carpet, any surface that will not damage the shoes in any way. So, sorry, neighbors . . . no free shows! Unless you'd like to come over and sit on my couch; I will happily strut myself. Because that's what these shoes make you want to do.

I am in love with my shoes. Fondling my pretty shoes, I momentarily forget how hard this eating plan is and just think, yes, it is totally worth it to have a good excuse to buy these shoes. Luckily I did my homework and found the same shoes Christine Marsh Designs has for $75 at Fitness Pro Direct for $44. Maybe I shouldn't share that info; now you're all going to run out and order these shoes so you can feel as tall and pretty as I feel walking around my house :) Alas, if I've started a new trend, let it be! All women should feel like a supermodel sometimes . . .

Emotional Roller Coaster

If you had run into me yesterday around 5 pm, you would've met with a frowny face and a disgruntled attitude. I had just met with my trainer and confessed all my shortcomings with the diet. I admitted the nibbling. In response to my honesty, she gave me a "pep talk". All about self-discipline and the ego and committing to decisions. I nodded profusely, yes, yes, okay, okay. But inside, I was feeling defeated.

my mom, me, & beautiful sisters

Just the night before I had had a fun girls night with my sisters, who both agreed that I was WEIRD. I drink my coffee weird (flavored stevia and organic soy milk); I eat my chocolate weird-- yes, this was one of those cheats, but it's 90% cocoa, almost no sugar & a bit of protein. I offered my sisters a bite; one refused and one spit it out upon tongue contact. My entire diet is weird. My smelly asparagus pee is weird. Not to mention my bedtime routine is weird, which is abnormally long due to the intake of supplements and vitamins, removal of contacts, removal of make-up, peeing, flossing, brushing teeth for 4 minutes straight, washing face, moisturizing, administering of Latisse (courtsey of the makers of my implants), stretching (which I actually skipped while they were there), and peeing again. My unique habit of repeatedly folding and unfolding the crisp hem of my pillowcase between my finger nails is WEIRD. Don't get me wrong. I laugh about all this because I like being weird. I was feeling mighty proud of myself for being weird.

But then I met with the trainer and felt too normal. I cheat. I nibble. I'm an emotional eater. I'm wishy-washy in my commitments. I succumb to social eating. I pout internally because I want cheesecake and chocolate and cupcakes and brownies and bread. I felt like a failure.

So yesterday evening, I was down in the dumps depressed. So much so that I lost my appetite completely. I had to run to Costco and I didn't sample a thing. I had to prep my meals for the remainder of the weekend, and I didn't even nibble. I had to make two giant fruit salads for the back-to-school teachers luncheon the PTA puts on, and I . . . okay, well, I tasted to make sure the canteloupe was edible, but really, I didn't nibble as much as I usually would. And suddenly, I felt better. I had spent hours in my kitchen and hadn't eaten but perhaps 100 calories. Trainer Jill has challenged me to go 6 days with no cheating. Not an extra almond, not a lick of the peanut butter knife, not an extra bite of chicken, and surely not a piece of bread or a cookie.

Luckily, I like a challenge. This morning, I woke up with a new attitude, a new determination. And I've done great today. I've felt great today. I haven't been hungry or mad or depressed or bitter. The fact is, she's right. If I can go 6 days straight, I will get the cravings, the temptations, the nibbles out of my system. That voice in my head that says, "Just one bite won't hurt." Or, "You worked out so hard today; you've earned a few extra calories." Or, "You've got plenty of time; don't peak too soon." That voice is what I need to overcome. And I can do it. And then hopefully my days will be more ups than downs.

It truly is an emotional roller coaster. At times I wonder why the h* I'm doing this to myself (and yes, I swear with first letters only); it's crazy. I want to be normal. But then I experience these amazing epiphanies, this occasional enlightenment, and it's not just about the eating, the workouts, the sacrifice of sugar and chocolate and oatmeal and bread. It's about willpower. And determination. And a kind of strength I never knew I had. It's about being weird and being okay with that. There's a strange sense of peace when you realize that you really can survive if you don't eat that cookie, and when there's no emotions attached to the not-eating. Usually, there's still that yearning, or if you do eat it, there's that guilt. All those emotions-- that's not peace. But when you pass it up with absolutely no emotions involved, that's really quite something. And it's rare.

Now-- will I ever compete again after October 2010?? Usually I say NEVER. I'm already announcing my early retirement. But, then again . . . who knows what I'll say when I've actually finally done it?

3 Weeks Down, 8 to Go!

So I've been terrible about updating because my progress has been so terribly SLOW. Which is frustrating when I'm gnawing my way through 2 cups of celery instead of enjoying my warm bowl of oatmeal every morning, day in & day out. I think my problem is I want quick results; I expect quick results with the strict eating regimen I'm on. And when I don't see it, I start to get what is termed "the nibbles"-- I thought I made this up myself, but after reading a bodybuilding blog, I realized everyone gets the nibbles. The term probably goes as far back as the neanderthals-- frustrated after unsuccuessful hunting and gathering, they probably ate anything mildly edible that they happened upon. Only I don't eat anything-- I nibble a few extra almonds here, a few raspberries there (which aren't on the regimen right now), some watermelon (I justify this as my water intake), and if I'm really naughty, the crust of my child's whole wheat PBJ. I know, that sounds pathetic, but you don't realize the joy to the tastebuds of that "accidental" run-in with peanut butter. Besides, it's hard to overcome my previous belief system: that if it isn't on MY plate, the calories don't count.

So I get the nibbles. And it's my guess that the nibbles are holding me back. Today I weighed in at 123.8, down only 1 pound from last week. (It didn't help that last night was a huge family birthday party, i.e. Costco cake, and Friday night was a BBQ with friends.) That's about 2 hours of intense exercise a day, on 1300 cal a day (plus nibbles). My tape measurements are more encouraging. I've lost about 1/2 inch from each thigh, 1/4 inch from my waist from last week. The mirror is even more encouraging. I am beginning to see that oblique arch; my abs are pretty stellar (underneath the nibbles fat); my arms are sleeker; my legs are becoming more symmetrical (right and left measurements are matching more). Symmetry is an important part of what judges are looking for, or so I've read, so I've been working on that. When I look in the mirror, I yell at my scale. What does Mr. Weight Watchers Scale know anyway? It always says my body fat is 23%, no matter if I weigh 130 or 117. Stupid $60 scale. Cost more than my hooker heels I just ordered . . .

I'm feeling good, though, going into this next week because a.) the hubby is going on a work trip. For some reason, when he's gone, I eat less. I'm too busy to even sit down when he's gone, and I don't have to watch him chowing down on chips and salsa and whatnot every evening.  b.) it's the last week on this eating regimen. Yes! Granted, the next round Trainer Jill gives me may be even harder. I've lucked out some with the strawberries and red peppers and grilled zucchini. But anything, ANY.THING. you have to eat every day for 4 weeks is going to make you depressed after awhile. You begin to feel a dreariness, a monotony, like, haven't I lived this same exact day? Didn't I live it yesterday and the day before yesterday and the day before that?? Wake up, eat your meal, work out, eat your meal . . . yada yada yada. I'm excited for a new meal plan. Fingers crossed . . . I'm guessing every regimen will have some basics in common. First and foremost- spinach. Lots of spinach. It's the biggest iron source when you're not eating red meat. It has very few calories. And it's filling. Popeye had it right about spinach. I'm guessing more turkey and chicken, though I'd love some mahi instead. Mahi's pricier, but oh so tender, and you can eat more of it for the same caloric value of a teeny weeny piece of chicken. I wouldn't mind tuna either. As far as veggies, I'm guessing broccoli because I haven't had broccoli in awhile. I'd be good with that. Though the zucchini has been arriving on my doorstep for FREE from my kind neighbors, and the broccoli in my garden is beginning to dwindle. And the fruit? Last time it was grapes and pineapple; this time a little banana, blueberries, & strawberries. Really, I will take all the fruit I can get and any fruit she so kindly gives me! I'm kind of a fruit fanatic! What I know for sure is that there will not be chocolate, ice cream, cereal, or bread anywhere in my meal plan.

Ah . . . I might as well stop guessing. I'll know by this upcoming weekend. I'm sure you, my dear readers, will be hanging on the edge of your seats just waiting to know, too! Until then, enjoy this little list I came upon . . . I actually get some of it now:

You Know You're a Figure Competitor When:

1. For a few days each year your toilet seat is brown and this time it ins't the husbands fault.


2. You can honestly say you have spent more on a bathing suit than your wedding dress.

3. Five inch clear hooker heels are your footwear of choice in your own home (and not just in the bedroom).

4. Someone asks about the man in your life and you tell that Gym is fine!

5. You have two sections in your wardrobe. Contest-season and Off-season. And they aren't mix and match.

6. Your top three priorities on any given day:

A. Workout.

B. Eat Clean.

C. Check the fitness forum board.

Not necessarily in that order.

7. You can name any pro figure competitor by seeing her butt alone.

8. When someone wants to take your picture, you immediately spread your lats, tighten every muscle in your body, point your fingers and SMILE!

9. You take more pills daily than your 80 year old grandmother.

10. Your idea of dressing up is taking your hair out of the pony tail its been in for a week.

11. If you have had someone close to you, hide food from you in your own house.

12. An easy day is lifting and only 1 cardio session.

13. Instead of carrying a Gucci pursue you accessorize with a Coleman cooler.

14. Waking up so sore you can barely move puts a smile on your face.

15. You cant do any work because you are to busy counting down the seconds until your next meal.

16. The faint smell of Pro Tan gets your heart pumping faster than your man's cologne.

17. You leave a little trail of Splenda packets, tupperware, and empty water bottles everywhere you go.

18. Your hubby makes you pee in the guest bathroom because every meal includes asparagus.

19. You consider Beano an essential part of your supplement regimen.

20. Your jaws are sore because you can't stop chewing sugar free gum!

21. You spend at least 5 minutes grilling your server at a restaurant, and another five minutes re-writing the menu until you've got a meal that meets your diet's specifications, and then you devour it in less than 60 seconds flat!!

22. You consider a day when you only have to make ONE trip to the gym a luxury!

23. You think about having relaxed hands and sticking your butt out while standing in line at the grocery store.

24. You consider condiments and diet coke taboo!!!

25. And your neighbors start gossiping that you've had lipo cause there is no way a girl could get that fit in 12 weeks!

Week 1, Take Two . . .

Here we go again . . . Why? Because after surgery & vacation, I gained all my weight back. Yes, sucks, I know. It truly is so much harder to lose than to gain. But let's face it: I was in serious denial if I thought that Blue Bell wasn't gonna catch up to me!

So I started the new eating plan this past Monday. As always, I must refrain from providing all the juicy details, but I will divulge that it entails a lot of celery and spinach, so much so that I've had to visit Costco 3 times in the past week for re-stocking!

Day 1 and 2 were rough. Sugar detox. Need I say more? I was depressed. Not just sad, but mildly clinically depressed. Not to mention irate. It didn't help that the hubby was out of town for work, so I was doing the single-mom thing. (Shout-out to single moms, btw.) I had all of my mommy jobs, in addition to all the daddy jobs, aka garbage, dog, kids to bed, and generally making sure the house is safely turned down each night. I was running myself ragged, and on minimal caloric intake. On the plus side, I was so busy I never had to resort to my "distractions list" to help me wait it out till the next meal. And I never really felt starved. Pretty difficult when you're consuming 3 cups of spinach, 2 cups of celery, 2 cups of peppers . . . I just REALLY wanted sugar.

But I was so disgusted with myself for gaining all the weight back that I knew I wouldn't cheat. I wasn't going to give up on the first or second day. I had been here before, and I knew that if I could survive the first few days, I'd be good to go for months. Still, knowing I can do it doesn't make the doing any easier.

On day 2 as I partook of meal 2 between workouts 1 and 2, I remembered that model I met during the Zumba photo shoot, the one who said she had just won in a bikini competition. She had complained about all the oatmeal. I remembered that conversation, and I suddenly felt angry at the world. (Yes, I know this sounds all very dramatic. I'm bringing you into the world of sugar rehab, people, and it ain't pretty or rational). But here was my train of thought: Oatmeal?? That girl won and got to eat lots of oatmeal?? Has she ever had broccoli, green beans, or celery for breakfast? expletive. expletive. I would kill to have oatmeal on my meal plan right now. Does my trainer know about this oatneal eating plan? And if so, why is she depriving me?? Alas, that model probably hadn't just eaten her way through 4 gallons of Blue Bell; she was also young and had never birthed kids. And she didn't look like she had ever had any body fat to begin with. Ugh. Genes. That girl has good genes. No excuse. I did this to myself. Suck it up for now. Lose this fat. And maybe one day, I'll get to arise each morning, knowing that the greatest warmth processed for human consumption awaits me in a bowl of plain old-fashioned oats.

I got over the bitterness fast when I stood on the scale on day 2 and 3 and 4, and each day I had lost about half a pound.  It's nice to see results right away, though I know I'm not supposed to stand on the scale until Sunday morning, but I needed the reassurance.

one meal calls for 3 cups of spinach! in order to get it down, I chopped up 2 c. for a chopped salad & added 1 c. to the egg whites for a frittata. voila!

Not only has the eating plan gotten stricter, but my workouts have been amped up. Trainer Jill met with me on Monday, for what I thought was just a quick "let me show you these exercises you can do on your own later". But no. She put me through the workout. Hard core! I think I may have cried for my mother. This, after I had already taught an hour Pump Mix, an hour Advanced Yoga and had an hour of Pilates Fusion coming up that evening! Yes, count it. 4 hours of muscle. I mean, I've conquered 4 hours of cardio (marathon) but never have I done 4 hours of strength training in one day. I almost thought I'd roll out of bed the next day and look like Trainer Jill. I mean, something magical had to happen after that much strength training. But no. Just a bit sore all over. Luckily Tuesday was cardio day . . .

Figure vs. Bikini vs. Bodybuilder

So everyone asks me what the heck I'm doing and what the different categories are . . . I had considered Figure, but what I really want is a Bikini body, so that's the direction I'm headed for my first competition! Yes, I have a date, October 9th, Cottonwood High School. Now that I have a real date in mind, I am more mentally ready to commit to the program. No more fluffing around like I have been . . . at least once Monday hits! Trainer Jill is working on my new eating plan and workout plan & I'm excited to have an end goal and a realistic timeline. It was hard to stay on top of it when it seemed so faraway and vague; besides, I had plenty of time. Why rush and hit my peak too soon, right? (This is my rationalizing the Blue Bell Binge of 2010.)

So for my interested friends . . . here are some pics from last year's winners of the competition I will be doing, and you can see what I'm up for . . . it's seeming less and less crazy everyday! Then you can compare to where I am now, & you can see what a long road I have ahead!

http://www.npcutah.com/PHOTOS/WINNERS-WEB/index.htm

Post-Vacation

Oh my naivety! I re-read my last post & am embarassed that I must post this confession . . . vacation was harder than I thought it would be.

We arrived around 1 am into Miami and headed to a hotel right by the airport. Despite being drop-dead tired, we set our alarm to get up so we wouldn't miss the highly-praised free breakfast buffet. I ignored the enticing wafts of bacon and pancakes and headed to the made-to-order omelette line, where I ordered an egg white veggie omelette. Yum! Then I hit up the oatmeal and stirred in a little cinnamon and vanilla. I did have a bite of bacon because it was the overcooked super-crispy kind, just the way I like it. (The hubby likes it fattier and limp-- gross!) So far, so good.

We had some time to kill before we could check into the condo in Weston, so we drove to downtown Miami and went to the Bayside shops. My one rule for vacation was (besides the McDonald's at the airport) no eating at chain restaurants, or at least no restaurant we can eat at in Utah. So for lunch we opted for Bubba Gump. We didn't want to carry any leftovers, so Ryan and I split a shrimp avocado salsa and chips (yes, carbs!) and shrimp and veggie skewers. Not perfect, but pretty good choices. Except for the drink. Can I just say, Florida in July is exactly what I anticipated-- sticky hot & humid as a bikram studio! Those specialty lemonades sure looked like the solution!

After that, we headed to Weston but made a stop at a local Super Walmart we drove by accidentally. This ended up to be a big mistake. Apparently, everyone in Florida shops at Walmart on Friday. And they don't just get a few items. They FILL their carts. They fill multiple carts. And yes, the checkouts in Florida are just as slow and understaffed as the ones in Utah. But in Utah, no one FILLS their cart at Walmart. That's what Costco is for. I thought I could just run in, grab a few essential groceries, and be out in 20-30 minutes. The kids were asleep in the car, so Ryan waited. As I stood in the checkout for 10, 15, 20 minutes, I could feel Ryan's impatience. I wondered if I should just leave my cart & go, but I had come too far to turn back. Plus, the couple behind me in line were very nice & I enjoyed learning their entire life stories while they berated Walmart lines. This would never happen in Utah, this instant story-sharing amongst strangers. In the 20 minutes we were in line, I learned about the husband's horrific customer service experience in McDonald's just a few days before (another reason to avoid the symbol of American eating), that he had a good friend in Lindon, UT, that his wife survived a brain aneurism at age 17 and had a metal plate in her head, that she left her church after her first husband cheated on her multiple times and her ecclesiastical leaders advised her to forgive and forget. Yeah, the guy was a talker, but I appreciated the distraction. When I finally got rung up, I raced to the car, waved good-bye to my new friends, & completely ignored the fact that I had to pee after drinking all that yummy, sugary lemonade. The hubby was too annoyed to let me go back in and pee, so the ride to Weston was torture.

Long story short, I had accomplished my next move in my healthy vacation: healthy groceries. I stocked our fridge with broccoli, blueberries, sliced turkey, chicken, salmon, salad greens, spinach, egg whites. In the pantry was my oatmeal and peanut butter and bread for the rest of the fam. Needless to say, the hubby went to the store later to get sodas and other various drinks & chips.

Also with the best of intentions, I had packed several workout outfits. I checked out the fitness center when we arrived. It left much to be desired, but I figured I could also go running or work on Zumba choreography.

So those were my intentions . . . Now for reality.

I worked out twice. To my credit, I did go running & survived about 3 miles. In July. In Florida. Mid-morning, because I stayed on Utah time. It was my first run post-surgery, and it felt pretty good, if you like running in a sauna. I also attempted to use the elliptical machine in the fitness center, but it was archaic and didn't work me out at all. I also tried the "weight" machine, one of those all-in-one pulley systems. I had to get pretty creative with it to work hamstrings, and it was impossible to do most upper body on it. I did a good 10 minutes of abs with both workouts I managed to squeeze in.

The rest of vacation was busy, filled with excursions, family time, swimming at the pool, shopping, eating. It was exhausting, and every morning when I weighed my options: set the alarm and get up early to workout, or sleep in because hallelujah the kids were still sleeping . . . well, I did what any mother of 3 on vacation in a king-size bed would do. I got up . . .  to pee. Once or twice . . . and went back to bed! It was amazing to NOT have to be anywhere by 8 am.

Granted, our activities weren't lazy by any means. Even shopping was laborious, as we explored the labyrinthian Sawgrass Mills Mall, one of the country's largest outlet malls. It is endless. We only covered half of it in 3 hours (the hubby stayed behind to watch the World Cup finals and do laundry-- any excuse to NOT go shopping). Our feet and legs ached by the end. The kids were whiny, tired, and bored. You think I exaggerate, but I saw grown women, who were clearly not as in shape as I am, sitting atop those rental strollers, their sugar daddies pushing them along from store to store. No lie.

We also went snorkeling in Key Largo. With our 3 kids. Have you tried snorkeling with a frightened 10-year old clinging to your arm?  It's a workout. (btw, that's my sis in the pic, not my 10-year-old!) We spent a day at Hollywood beach and swam out as far as we could, to the buoy that marks the no-swim zone. (The hubby was freaked out about the possibility of sharks, which made the swim that much more exciting.) There was no down-time, no lying in a chaise reading a book. Because it was too damn hot. You had to be in the water or in the air conditioning. So at the beach, we spent all 4 hours in the water, swimming and doggy paddling and wading. The white hubby was fried at the end of the day, despite 2 applications of spf 50.

Besides our active excursions, we were staying on the 7th floor, at the very end of the hall. Anytime we had to "go back to the room" from the pool--for forgotten sunglasses, a snack, whatever-- it was a major time-consuming ordeal, even with the elevator. Once I tried to take the stairs because I knew it'd be faster, but I was locked out of the building from the stairwell, had to jog all the way down and go around and take the elevator, & more than once I was so distracted by the humidity that I got off on whatever floor the elevator first stopped on (they all looked exactly alike upon stepping out), realizing as soon as the doors shut that I was NOT on floor 7 & I'd have to wait all over again for the elevator to come back to me. Seriously. I would have preferred the stairs.

The heat and humidity was so stifling that any movement you made outdoors felt like a workout. Which I guess is why I justified my consumption of gallons of Blue Bell ice cream! And the fact that you CANNOT get Blue Bell ice cream in Utah. I had wanted to get a few different flavors in pint sizes, but all the local Publix had in great variety were the gallon sized. I knew I had to have the Banana Pudding. Ooh, and the Pistachio Almond. Ohhhh, Tropical Paradise, doesn't that sound yummy? Coconut ice cream with pineapple and macadamia nuts. And yes, yes, yes Groom's Cake to satisfy the chocolate craving! I figured we could share with all the relatives; it'd be gone in no time. However, they were all stored in MY freezer. Guess who ate most of the Banana Pudding, straight out of the carton?? In the moment, I didn't even care that I'm mildly lactose-intolerant and ice cream makes me bloated until I look 6 months pregnant. No, no. I lived in the moment, with no regard for 10 minutes in the future. That cold, gooey banana ice cream with whipped cream swirls and nilla wafer chunks was worth the stomach pains and gas baby I would inevitably incur, or so I thought in the moment. 

It was disgusting, in the bad way. Needless to say, I put on a couple pounds on vacation. This was NOT what I needed after my post-surgery hiatus. I am back to square one with my weight, though I attribute a couple pounds to boobage and a little to muscle. I have a lot of work to do. But I know I can do it. Because I've done it before. I hit the gym yesterday, the real one. Taught my cycle class (and was dying-- did I really acclimate to sea level that quickly because this altitude was killing me!) then tested myself on all my usual weight exercises. Sadly, it was obvious I had lost some strength. I had to drop weight on everything. Still can't do lats or pull-up machine post-surgery either.

But I'm staying positive. On the bright side, my body should really respond to my workouts & diet now. And I have no plans in the near future to visit any state that sells Blue Bell ice cream :)

Phase 3: OMG!

So, phase 2 didn't last long. I kept cheating, switched back to phase 1, kept going back and forth trying to figure out what worked best for my body. Trainer Jill saw me waffling about and sent me a very specific NEW meal plan, to be followed for the next 4 weeks. Same meal plan, every day. Again, I've promised to not share exact details, but let me at least tell you about breakfast . . .

For the past four days, I have eaten a large portion of broccoli, a large portion of green beans, a small portion of hummus, and 6 hard-boiled egg whites. Oh, and my coffee to help me stay sane and to wash it all down. (Now don't get on me about the coffee. I have recently discovered it, and I don't know how I survived the past 10 years without it. Considering that most of my family & friends should have Diet Coke running intravenously in lieu of the 64 oz. mugs, I seriously do not understand the double-standard, but to each his own.) Back to breakfast . . . It was taking me entirely too long to chew up all those green chompy veggies. I felt like the lazy cow in the field, chewing her cud. Mama just doesn't have that kind of time in the morning! So today, I tossed my lightly steamed veggies into the food processor and let it whir away just to the point of chunky, not pureed. I mean, I do still have all my teeth, so I have a little pride. Then I topped the mish-mashed veggies with the hummus, scooped it into the egg whites, and ate it like a very strange devilled egg. Yum. Surprisingly, hummus is delish any time of day. (I was highly dismayed that Costco did not have my fave hummus in stock on Thursday! They ALWAYS have it; until now that my diet depends on it!)

Obviously, I have been tappin' the Beano. I discovered Beano Meltaways, & I'm in heaven-- strawberry-flavored, dissolves in an instant, and you only need one to do the job of 3 regular Beanos. Now I just need to dump them out of the bottle and into a Tic Tacs container and I'm good to go in any public setting. Unless the kids see it and start nagging for a Tic Tac and curious store and restaurant patrons wonder why I'm yelling, "No, these are MINE and they're expensive and I won't share!" Although, on second thought,  my son could really use some . . .

So I'm a few days into this new phase of dieting, and I already look leaner. Admittedly, I was not too keen on it when I saw it on paper. In addition to broccoli for breakfast, it requires me to eat a plethora of spinach, (and not in yummy fruity shakes but in its leafy, stemmy glory), cottage cheese, a food I have to choke down-- it's a texture thing. Bleh. And greek yogurt. In between workouts. I wasn't sure if it would stay down during my Zumba class, but after a couple songs, I felt fine. The problem is I do my own workout before I teach a class, and I was going too long without a meal. So now I'm prepared. Toss an ice pack and my yogurt into a baggie (and a spoon when I'm smart and remember it), and I'm good to go.

Trainer Jill wasn't lying about the cooler thing. I have to keep one on hand, filled with whatever meals I'll need at certain time increments throughout the day. To be unprepared is to fail. Because that's when blood sugars get all out of whack and you go for the nearest edible thing around, eat too much of it, and screw up your blood sugars even more. It's a vicious cycle. Then your mealtimes get all messed up, too, and your macronutrients, and your math, because then you'd have to figure out your proteins, complex carbs, and fats all over again. It may be hard to follow this regimen, but at least the thinking has been done. Am I in the mood for Mexican or Italian? Doesn't matter. It's time for cottage cheese. Should I eat an apple or a banana? Neither. They're not on the menu right now. See? No thinking required. What is required is trust. Trust that my trainer knows best. Trust that my body will respond the way I want it to. Trust in myself, that I have the willpower to not give up on this crazy goal I've set for myself.

It's amazing how, when you take away mindless eating, you have no choice but to face yourself. Face your fears, face your issues, face your self-deceit. I have these moments, when I can almost hear aloud my ego and deeper self arguing. My ego pouts, stomps, kicks, whines, "But I waaaaaaaannnnnnnt it! I want a banana split. I want a bowl of cereal. I want a bag of pita chips. I want a jar of peanut butter!! I want it, damn you, and I deserve it, and it's really not that bad, and it tastes so good, and I just waaaaaaaaannnnnnt it!" And then my deeper self just watches. Observes. Doesn't judge. It asks me what I really want. And then I close the pantry door and walk away. Because what I really want is to reach a goal that requires much sacrifice, time, and patience. In that moment, I won. Too bad it doesn't always end that way. But the deeper self does make sure that it's just one spoonful of peanut butter or just 2 pita chips. It's my deeper self that reminds me, if I slipped a few times today, get back up and do it right tomorrow. Stop wallowing in the mud of regret, guilt, and shame. Because that's when you get so muddy, so entrenched, you decide it's just too hard to get back up.

Some of my fitness class participants were so inspired by my progress and journey that they asked me to put together a challenge for them. A one-month program to empower them to lose the fat or to change their eating & exercise lifestyle. So I initiated my first ever Fat Blast Challenge with Christy. I advertised it for a little over one week. We have almost 40 participants! I really do hope they achieve success and feel empowered with the knowledge they need to change their lives!

Well, my last meal time is calling my name . . . peace out!

I'm a Zumba-Model . . .

Okay, so this sounds like a much bigger accomplishment than it really was. Let me paint you two pictures. One is reality. One is fantasy. I'll let you figure it out.

Story #1: I hear via facebook about auditions for Zumba dancers for the new Zumba game for Playstation and wii. I get all the details, go to the auditions, where hundreds of sexy-adorable Zumba girls from all over Utah are lined up, number in hand, and I await my turn. It finally arrives. I stand in front of a camera; they take my photo, front back, then some video footage. They say, you'll know by tonight. I wait by the phone anxiously all evening. It doesn't ring. I check my messages the next day. Nope. I figure, oh well. Tough competition. But then Monday I get a call. They sent me an email, probably to the worng address-- they need me, they want me! Today! I scramble for a sitter for the kids, try to work out their schedules, throw my veggies and turkey into a cooler, and go. When I arrive, I'm rushed to hair and make-up. Everyone adores me, tells me what an amazing dancer I am, raves about my natural beauty and awesome tan. I see other Zumba dancers I know, and we pow-wow and swap choreo. We high-five and hip-bump and say zumbalicious and we love Beto. We hug good-bye, promise to facebook each other, and return homes to our families, who are of course awaiting to hear about our adventurous day.

Story #2: A production company is not too thrilled with the original cover of the new Zumba video game. They hand the task over to another studio, and I happen to know a guy who works there. He hooks me up with the info, I go audition. It's nice and easy. No one else is there. I see a short list of names of people they've auditioned so far & ask how many they're taking. Oh a couple girls and a guy. They'll let me know by that evening. I don't hear anything, so I figure, oh well. It wasn't inconvenient to audition, so no harm done. But then Monday I get a call. They want me! They need my expertise! Today! I scramble for a sitter for the kids, try to work out their schedules, throw my veggies and turkey into a cooler, and go. When I arrive, I'm introduced to several different people, the camera crew, the hair and make-up, the models. The professional models. The professional, gorgeous, flawless models who have never Zumba'd before. I'm asked to show the models how to do some Zumba moves. Realization hits: I'm not "the looks". I'm "the talent." I get that same heavy feeling in my gut that I felt at Governor's School for the Arts in high school when my faculty advisor recommended that I direct instead of act. Once they see these models dance, though, they ask hair and make-up to get me ready. Now I get to be in the shots, too. Though I'm not sure if they'll actually use these, because I'm not color-coordinated with everyone else. They switch the male model's outfit so he matches me better, and I feel a bit more relieved. They wanted me bare-midriff, and I feel self-conscious about my stretch marks next to these young, dewy-skinned female models with long torsos, petite waists, perky round boobs (real or not, I still want 'em) and abs you could bounce quarters off of. I feel old. And wrinkly. But man, I've got the moves. The director keeps asking the models to move more like me, swish their hair like I'm doing, and follow my lead. When we have breaks, I stop dancing, drink water, call my kids. The models watch themselves in the mirror and a couple nibble on some packaged Nabisco mini-cookies. One model doesn't. She's the one who just competed in the bikini competition on Saturday at Cottonwood Hieghts High School and won for her category. She complains of eating only oatmeal and egg whites, and right now I'm envying her because I wish that were my diet.

Okay, okay. You've guessed by now that story #2 is reality. I want to pause to briefly defend the professional models. Despite their unintentionally making me feel so self-conscious, what with their flat abs, straight white teeth (yes, I'm still wishing my parents had gotten me braces), perfectly-wide-apart eyes, cute caucasian noses, and thick, non-graying heads of hair . . . they were actually quite nice. If I looked like that, I'd watch myself in a mirror every chance I got, too. Hello. The hair and make-up girls were kind enough to feed me the "you don't look old enough to have 3 kids" line. And let's face it, the production crew really did NEED me. But to all my gorgeous Zumba friends . . . I didn't get this spot for being an amazing Zumba dancer (I can immediately think of several who are better than I am within a 20-mile radius). I got it because I had a connection. And I am so grateful for that connection.

Connections. Connections lead to ooportunities. Opportunities lead to adventures. Connections only come when you're willing to let people into your life. When you appreciate people, even if they're not all exactly like you. Even if they don't share your beliefs. Even if they don't match your personality. Even if they don't love sushi, or like to exercise, or read books. This is the way I try to live my life. Some people think that's superficial, that it's best to only have a few close friends who are exactly like you, and everyone else is, well, a waste of your time. Persnally, I like my way better :)