Warning: You Don't Want to Read This Post

You've been warned.

First, I'd like to say that I am grateful to live in the modern world, where I have options for when it is my "ladies time," and I don't have to go shear a sheep or just sit in my room in a puddle of my own uterus until it is over. Seriously, I'm happy for that.

But honestly. Feminine products manufacturers, I'm talking to you. I mean, seriously? Your target consumer group consists of women who are bloated, hormonal, and bleeding out of parts of their body that usually make them very happy. Do you really have to add so much additional complication?

I don't need wings. Not on the front, the middle, or the back of my feminine products. I'm not taking flying lessons; I just need a barrier between my unstable uterus and my underwear. The last thing I want to worry about is getting the little sticky sides wrapped around the crotch of my panties while keeping them from sticking to themselves when I'm trying to discreetly change the sheets in the women's bathroom of a fancy restaurant. Just please give me a strip of absorbent fabric to lay across the crotch of my panties. That doesn't seem like too much to ask.

You cannot say you were not warned.

Let's Get (a) Physical

Today I went for my physical. They asked a lot of questions, got my vitals (temp and blood pressure), listened to my heart and lungs, took a little blood, poked, prodded, and most importantly, did an EKG.

A lot of my physical indicated that I’m doing great; temperature is normal, blood pressure was very good, goop in my lungs is normal for people with allergies this time of year, blah blah.

Doc: Do you want a steroid shot to help with your inflammation and congestion?

Me: No way! I’m not about to get on the juice, man!

Doc: It’s…no, it’s an anti-inflammatory steroid.

Me: Yeah, I’ll bet that’s what they told Barry Bonds…

Doc: No, anabolic steroids are totally different –

Me: WHAT KIND OF PLACE IS THIS ANYWAY??

I actually declined the steroid shot because I’m clearing up pretty well on my own. I have taken anti-inflammatory steroids before and they are a freaking life saver. They even save you from things from other planets. You can read about it in my blog post about the time I had an alien monster flesh eating bacteria devouring the side of my head.

Back to the results of the physical.

The one thing that I expected to be normal that wasn’t normal was the EKG. I really didn’t like that the EKG wasn’t normal.

I fully expected to go in there and have the doctor tell me “You’re healthy as a horse! Keep up the hard exercise, your heart is like a machine!”

Instead he says “There are a couple of spots on this EKG that aren’t exactly as they should be. Let’s make an appointment to do a nuclear stress test. I’d also like to ask you some questions about your boot camp.”

So, he asked me about the crying episode, and he asked me about back pain (which I don’t have), and whether I ever feel sick to my stomach during the class.

Me: Well, duh. Yeah. It’s freaking boot camp. I feel sick every time. Sometimes I vomit.

Doc: That’s a common sign of heart issues in women.

Me: Oh, but everybody comes close to puking sometimes in there. It’s part of the program.

Doc: …

Me: I’ve never shit myself, though.

Doc: …

Me: One girl nearly shit herself one day. She doesn’t say shit though. She said she thought she was going to poop her pants. But she didn’t.

Doc: …

Me: Boot camp is fun.

So because I had the emotional episode (and it wasn’t anywhere near my “emotional” time [you know, Aunt Flo, red tide, menstrual cycle]), and I feel nauseous a lot during class, and I have a family history of heart disease, AND there were irregularities on my EKG, we’re doing a contrast dye test. This is where I am pumped full of radioactive material and hooked to odd looking machines and told to walk/jog on a treadmill until I am very close to dying, and they look at something through some kind of medical doohickey. That is the technical explanation.

In all seriousness, I know that this is not a terribly big deal. The doctor did not put any restrictions on my exercise (see you all Monday!); he didn’t put any restrictions on my diet; he didn’t seem terribly worried. Had I only had one or two of the items listed above, he probably would have said let’s wait a year and see if we need to do one at your next physical; but since I had all four, he figured better safe than sorry.

Get in My Head

Today's post is going to take a bit of a different approach; I'm going to take you through the workout with me, and share a little of what's in my head. Those who know me know that there will be profanity; those who don't, well, there's your warning.

(The times are guesses; I didn't have a watch on.)

4:30 AM: Alarm goes off. Damnit. That dream was just getting good... (None of your business)

5:00 AM: In car. This is too hard. Is it worth it? Seriously, I can't imagine having to do this for the rest of my life to just not be fat. 5:30 in the fucking morning? Seriously? This is what I have to do to just look like a normal human being? Other people don't have to work this hard to not be fat. It's not fair. Whaaah...

5:30 AM: Warm-up. Okay. Feeling better. I can do this today.

5:35 AM: Group jog to first checkpoint. Hey, I'm alright. This is awesome. Candace is very cool...I like this group.

5:40 AM: Look up and see the first hill. Shit. (To be clear, this is what I thought, not what I did...)

5:41 AM: Struggle up the hill. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Everybody is encouraging me and they are awesome but they know that I'm having trouble because I'm so fat and they feel bad for me and I don't want people to feel sorry for me I can do this OKAY GET OVER YOURSELF NENA these people are on your side they want you to succeed we're all here for the same reason I'm going to die I'm going to die hey I'm at the top of the hill...

5:46 AM: Step behind parked vehicle and puke a little. ugh

5:47 AM: Run to park; do shallow lunges while everyone else does step drills on the bench. I HATE MY KNEES I HATE MY KNEES I HATE THEM WHY WON'T THEY WORK RIGHT ANYMORE DAMN IT ALL TO HELL I HATE MY KNEES

5:50 AM: Running drills up and down field. This is great...this sucks...this is great...this sucks...this REALLY sucks...this is great...

6:10 AM: Formation jog to cadence back to studio. Sgt. Ken is tough and mean...make you reach for your canteen...high-step, sprinting, mountain climb...push-ups 'till the end of time...

6:30 AM: Back at studio. I am so glad I did that. Holy shit...my heart rate is already back down! Woo-hoo, this shit WORKS...

Julia-ism; Movie Edition

Julia did this movie. I thought it was hilarious.

Movie

Thanks to The Bloggess for the tip on this website.

Because I Care

I am seeing from my site meter that people are visiting my blog, only to find that I have not updated since their last visit. This post is to remedy this (for the time being).

So. Today I took Julia to have her braces put on. In order to understand the next bit of my post , you must be familiar with this:

Beyonce/Justin Timberlake SNL Skit

So. Julia is a little upset about how her speech is affected by her new braces. She had to have some barriers put on her back teeth to prevent her mouth from closing all the way, because her top teeth could knock the brackets off her bottom teeth without them.

So, she is talking with a little bit of a lisp, until she gets used to it.

On the way from the orthondontist, I asked her to say for me, "We're the dancers."

She said it.

It sounded just like Justin Timberlake in the skit.

We cracked up.

Then, while we were still laughing, I asked her to say, "Dance biscuits."

She did.

We cracked up again.

This calmed her down, and boosted her confidence to go to school with her new braces. If any stupid jerkbag made fun of her or laughed at her, at least she could say that she had laughed at it first.

Social crisis averted.

I am so fortunate to have such a cool daughter.

Julia-ism on a Thursday

Julia: 'Cause that's how I roll; like a bowling ball. Smooth; but heavy.

Julia-ism and Today's Run

It appears that the Julia-isms are not going to be a Wednesday thing. They happen too randomly, so it's best for me to just post them as they occur.

If you are familiar with Monty Python's Flying Circus, you will get today's Julia-ism. If not, it won't be nearly as funny.

Today Julia was folding clothes for me. She pulled one of my bras out of the basket and held it up. The underwire was hanging half out, and it was sadly threadbare.

Julia: This is a late. bra.

Me: It's deceased. Dead. Pushing up daisies.

Julia: IT HAS CEASED TO BE!

............................................................................

So, today I ran six miles. I ran every step, except to slow down for two hydration breaks so I wouldn't strangle on my water. It took me 68 minutes. I can't believe it.

I did the run today on the treadmill, because I was really exhausted after a trying week, and I needed to sleep past 5 this morning. I started at an easy 5 mph pace, and did intervals of 6 mph and 7 mph, and did some hills to try to mimic outdoor running as much as possible.

When I first started running, I jogged at 4.5 mph. If I made it for five minutes, I thought that was great. The first time I made it a full twenty minutes without walking, I felt like a rockstar.

As my endurance increased and I was able to jog longer stretches at 4.5 mph, I started pushing myself to run a few minutes at 5 mph. After a minute or two at 5 mph, I had to walk, because a 4.5 mph jog did not get my heart rate back down at all. Still, I felt good about doing a little at 5 mph.

Now, I warm up at 5 mph. I can run at 5 mph for a long time, without getting my heart rate very high at all. It is a recovery pace for me now, and after pushing myself at 6 mph or 7 mph for a few minutes, I can slow down to 5 mph and recover completely to a comfortable zone 2 heart rate. That amazes me.

I know that my current pace is not very impressive to seasoned runners; it's still very slow, even for a distance runner. It is so much more than I have ever been able to do before, though, and I am so excited at my progress. I am in awe of every step I run. When I began my training, I could not imagine doing what I can do now. It is so exciting to think what I'll be able to do in three more months!

One of Those Nights

Tonight was one of those nights when the reasonable part of my brain was completely pummelled by the fatgirl part of my brain.

Fortunately, this does not happen very often anymore; but when it does, resistance is futile.

Here's how the dialogue went inside my head tonight:

Fatgirl part: Peanut butter. We desperately need peanut butter. Right now. Now. I SAID NOW!!

Reasonable part: We shouldn't be hungry; we had a decent dinner, and all our nutritional needs have been met today. We really should be satisfied and...

Fatgirl part: PEANUT BUTTER PEANUT BUTTER PEANUT BUTTER NOW NOW NOW

Reasonable part: Okay; let's have a small serving of peanut butter on some celery...

Fatgirl part: Peanut butter sandwich. Big glop of peanut butter on soft yummy bread. Now. NOW.

Reasonable part: Okay, well, then let's enjoy it; I'll toast the bread and it will be nice and flavorful so we won't need as much...

Fatgirl part: &*^% TOASTING IT TAKES TO FREAKIN LONG JUST GIVE ME THE PEANUT BUTTER SANDWICH I NEED THE SANDWICH RIGHT NOW GIVE IT TO ME GIVE IT TO ME...

Reasonable part: ...


Yeah. Fatgirl won tonight, and I wolfed down a very yummy peanut butter sandwich. That isn't so bad, but I really shouldn't have been hungry. I know that that sort of thing is going to happen every now and then. Fatgirl is just too strong to fail every time. She's like way more powerful than Lex Luthor.

I suppose I have to throw her a peanut butter sandwich every once in a while to keep her in check.

Wednesday Julia-ism (on Thursday) and Why the Hulk is Really Totally Awsm.

Me: Where are your shoes?

Julia: In the back seat of the car.

Me: ...

Julia: You know, there are only a handful of people in the world like me. Who forget their shoes.

Me: ...

Julia: And we are awesome.

............................................................................

Okay, sorry the Julia-ism was late. Yesterday was a little busy.

So, last night I went to the gym for the first time since conquering the alien flesh-eating bacteria that attacked my throat (I've decided that I don't believe the doctor when he says it was just a normal, earth-dwelling bacteria. I think he just didn't want me to panic.).

I did arms and abs for my strength training, and I ran two miles on the treadmill. It felt great. And by great I mean like I had been beaten to within an inch of my life with spiked baseball bats by angry UAW workers. Because UAW workers are mean when they are angry. Not as mean as the Hulk, who is only mean to bad guys so I guess that isn't really considered mean but actually vigalante-ish, but still they can be mean. I assume. I really don't have any contact with UAW workers, so I don't have any frame of reference for this statement. But now it is on the internet, so it must be true.

And yes, I totally ripped off this writing style from the Bloggess. Because she is really cool and I want to be just like her. I'm not nearly as funny as she is, but I plan to study her with the intensity of a James Joyce piece until my blog is indiscernable from hers. I have started formulating my plan to begin stalking her, but it looks like that is going to be too much work. So maybe I'll just stalk her long enough to find out where she lives, then I can break in and throw her in my trunk. I think I can get her husband to help. Then I'll keep her in a pit under my garage. Everyone wins.

I'm not really going to start trying to write like the Bloggess. I've just been reading her a lot lately and her style is kind of running through my head. Like an earworm, but in the brain. So a brainworm. Which is totally disgusting.

Steroids Rock.

No, I haven't started shooting the juice to improve my running time.

I finally went to a real doctor for my throat. It was so inflamed that he actually prescribed a round of steroid anti-inflammatories along with the antibiotics. I've never taken steroids of any kind before, but man, do they help with inflammation pain! I took today's dose at 8:00 this morning, and by noon I was able to eat without wanting to weep from the pain.

On my way to the doctor this morning, I was thoroughly convinced that he was going to tell me that I had an aggressive, alien, flesh-eating bacteria taking up residence in my throat and the only course of action was to just suffer it out while it eats the entire right side of my head. I was ready to ask if he could just give me a cyanide capsule to bite down on to speed up the process. He could bill my estate (since my insurance doesn't pay for diddly).

Turns out it was just a run-of-the-mill (though I was right on the aggressive part) non-streptococcal bacterial infection. Steroids and antibiotics should have it cleared up shortly. I know you were all worried.

So I won't be showing up in any super-secret area 51 medical journals with my half-eaten head preserved in a formaldehyde jar. All in all, I think that is for the best.

Wednesday Julia-ism

The other day, as I was driving Julia to school, we heard a commercial for Kay Knives.

Me: Kay Knives? Never heard of it.

Julia: (to the tune of Kay Jewelers commercial) Every kill begins with Kay...

Where does she get this quick wit of hers?

Wednesday Julia-ism

Julia: Dude, listen to my bellybutton!

Me: ...

Yeah. Don't even ask for an explanation.

'Tis the Season for Giving!

I've decided to set individual sponsorship levels for my friends who would like to donate to my fundraising efforts for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Levels are as follows:

Nena Obviously Didn't Think Anyone Would Donate This Much Sponsor
$5000 – I will shave "Thank you [your name]" on the side of my head before race day. Or whatever you want me to shave onto my head, as long as it fits and won't get me arrested. If I get arrested because you wanted something lewd on the side of my head, you have to post bail but honestly it might be totally worth it because I mean how many people can say that they were responsible for a friend who was raising money for a charity getting thrown in jail? I will take a photo of my mutilated scalp and send it to you, in case you can't make it down to Nashville for the race to see my humiliation in person. This is for individuals only; businesses get their own set of TNT sponsored benefits for this amount of money. And no fair getting together with other people to raise the money. This is limited to one sponsor, because my head isn't big enough for any more than that. So act quickly.

I am the Bomb Because I Totally Donated a Buttload of Money to a Great Cause Sponsor
$100 – I will write "[your name] TOTALLY ROCKS" down the side of my leg in purple Sharpie on race day morning. You'll receive a photo of my defaced leg to remind you forever how awesome you are. I can do this for up to six sponsors, if I write one down the front, side, and back of each leg. And you don't get to dictate the color because purple will match my jersey and if I'm going to be defaced with permanent ink then at least I should have the dignity of being color coordinated. But if you really want a different color, throw in another twenty bucks and you've got it.

I Seriously Rock With My Giving but My Sponsorship Title is Lame and Nena Needs to be More Creative Sponsor
$50 – I'm running out of ideas here; how about I write your name in puffy paint on my jersey? I'll use the glittery kind. Glitter rocks.

Giving is Cool. I'm Cool. So I Gave.
$20 – I will be forever grateful and I'll mention you and how awesome you are to everybody I know. I'll brag about you on Facebook, MySpace, and my blog. And on the Weight Watchers Message Boards. And in comments on blogs of people who have no idea who I am. And in casual conversations with random coworkers. Everyone will be really sick of hearing about you, actually.

So, since I know that you are totally cool because you're reading my blog, go to my Team in Training homepage and make a donation. It will make you happy. It will make me happy. Everybody wins.

Funny Cat Photo Friday

New Blog Weekly Segment

I stole this idea from another blog I read, Lindsey's Rantings, but I think I will have enough material to keep it up.

I am going to start a weekly blog entry called Wednesday Julia-isms. My daughter frequently says things that make me either 1) laugh out loud 2) scrunch my forehead and say "yeah. um, what?" or 3) fall into a deep philosophical musing. So I'm going to start jotting them down and sharing them here on my blog. I only regret that there have been so many in the past that have slipped through the cracks of my memory.

Tonight's Julia-ism:

Me: I wish I could go through a book as fast as you.

Julia: Yeah. When I'm reading a good book, one that I'm really interested in, someone could shoot me three times in the butt and it wouldn't distract me. I would just like look up, and say, "wait; what?"

Bye, Bye, Birdie

I was so excited this morning, because when I stepped on the scale I was down a pound; but my buzz was quickly killed by a bird flying into my den when I opened the door to my garage. Not wanting to come home to a house full of bird poop, I spent much, much precious morning time trying to coax the little shit to fly outside.

If you've never tried to get a bird to go where you want it to go, let me try to explain what that is like. You've heard the term "herding cats?" Piece of cake by comparison. Birds are wiley, spastic creatures with limitless energy and zero sense of direction.

At one point, it hid behind my trophy case, where my husband's pool cue fell on it. Let me just add here that until this happened, I did not know that birds could scream. I thought I had killed it, and I felt horrible, horrible, REALLY HORRIBLE. All I had wanted was for it to get the frack out of my house and be free! Why did you have to go and get yourself killed, you little dummy?

Then, I saw its little beak open and close. Great. The poor thing was not dead; just badly injured and probably dying. Now I feel even WORSE, because I can't kill it (ew ew eeeeew) to put it out of its misery; but I can't just let it suffer endlessly until it dies...

So, I get a plastic bag to drape over it so I can sweep it out of the house. Maybe a cat will come and kill it quickly so it doesn't suffer so much. That will make a nice meal for some random cat. A nice little circle-of-life bonus that I can maybe convince myself to feel okay about. I drape the bag over it, and guess what? The little f@cker flies over to the other corner of the room! He is okay, he was just stunned! Yay! I'm not a birdkiller!

Crap. I still have a bird in my den.

By this time, I have to get my butt out the door, or Julia will be late for school. I'm already going to be 30 minutes late for work.

So, I'll be coming home to a den full of bird poop. Good times, good times.

Bikram (Hot) Yoga

So, I've been chatting with my friends on Weight Watchers message boards about this yoga style, called Bikram Yoga, that everyone was raving about. One woman said she feels so refreshed and relaxed after the class; another said she felt like she could climb a mountain afterwards. They all say they burn so many calories and it has helped their weight loss significantly. Every comment from every lady was positive; they love it. "I've got to try this!" I thought.

So, I signed up and attended a Bikram Yoga class on Friday afternoon.

Here's the general rundown on Bikram Yoga: it is a series of 26 yoga poses, each repeated twice and at your own level of flexibility/strength. What sets it apart from other yoga styles is that it is performed in a heated room, between 95 and 105 degrees (our class never got above 97). The heat is supposed to relax and heat up your muscles, allowing them to stretch deeper without injury. The sweating is supposed to be cleansing, and all of this together is meant to result in a relaxing, detoxifying, healing, and energizing experience for beginners and experienced yogis alike.

Here's my reality of Bikram yoga: it is ninety minutes of exactly how I envision the most gruesome and torturous levels of Hell will be for the worst of humankind.

When I first walked into the room and lay down my mat, the heat didn't seem so bad; it was like a nice, balmy day at the beach. I thought it was going to be great like all the WW ladies had said, and I was really excited. I set my heart rate monitor to start counting calories, and I sat cross-legged, waiting for the teacher to begin.

The first few poses were nice. I was careful not to overextend myself, and I tried to just relax into them, focusing on my breathing like the teacher told us. As the class went on, however, I began to feel nauseous. The poses became more challenging, my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest (although it was still beating relatively slow), and my body felt weak and fatigued all over. I took breaks, drank water, and performed the poses at the easiest level possible, but I can still think of at least four times that I thought I was going to die; and two other times that I prayed in earnest for the sweet relief that death would bring. I have never been so physically miserable during exercise in my life; not even when I did the Memphis in May Triathlon.

When the class finally by the grace of God ended, I stepped out into the blissfully cool 75 degree lobby area, and started to feel my will to live slowly return. I had the same feeling that one has when just getting over the flu; you can still feel the effects of the misery you've been in, but there is a glimmer at the end of the tunnel. I drove home feeling like I had been trampled by wild animals. I never had that feeling of relaxation or exhiliration described by so many others. I was just glad it was over.

According to my heart rate monitor, I burned a total of 525 calories in the 90 grueling minutes of Bikram Yoga. The next day (Saturday), I burned 565 calories in my one-hour Zumba class, which is tons of fun and does give me energy afterward and make me feel like I could climb a mountain. I think I'll stick with Zumba. Just maybe.

It's not that I hate exercise. It's not that I hate sweating during exercise. I just hate Bikram Yoga.