Training Season Part 1

In high school, every fall I'd try to get in shape for basketball season. Sprints, jogging, fall basketball league, whatever. During a run one day, the cross country team was practicing and the coach asked if I'd be interested in joining the team. Perfect, I thought, I'll get in shape AND get skinny. We got right to it, 3-5 miles twice a day. Then one day our run was mapped out for us, and I could see across the field that we'd have to run up a really short, but steep hill. And the entire football team just happened to be hanging out at the bottom. Now, as a 26 year old woman I realize that wasn't actually such a big deal. But back then, I thought having to run up that hill in front of all those guys would be the end of me. So half way around the loop, I ran into the woods, bent over a little, then ran straight to my coaches to report that I had puked by the trees, and safely sat out the rest of the run. My entire team later got a lecture about how important it was to eat enough before running. A week later I got shin splints, was put on the training room bike for two weeks before quitting, then spent half of the basketball season on the bench, icing my shins.

Gym Clothes

I think part of the reason I skip out on the gym sometimes is because I can't decide what to wear. No matter what I choose, I fail. My go-to is a big man's t-shirt and yoga pants. But, I am not a man, and I don't do yoga. Then, on days when I'm feeling extra brave, I'll throw on a tank top and see what that does for me. And by "throw on" I mean "carefully try on 5 different tank tops, do some ridiculous poses in the mirror, practice-run in place, and finally settle on something that doesn't make me want to cry." But I end up leaving early because I can't concentrate. I spend half my time worried about who's looking at my butt, and the other half worried about whether or not people can see any bare skin, if I'm lucky enough to have chosen a tank that rides up. But girls wear tank tops, and they look cute. And not just tank tops, but SHORTS. Really? The day I can run in shorts is the day I run in underwear and a sports bra, because my legs will be perfectly shaped and separated enough for me to actually concentrate on running rather than how many more steps I can take before I have to tug at the tent forming between my legs. F shorts.

Nothanksgiving

...And here's a list of everything I'm NOT thankful for:

Cats
People who like cats, minus Jessica Foley
Skinny jeans
Skinny people
The Girls Next Door, and anyone who watches it
60 year old Italian men telling me they want to take me to Vegas
Finding out that the 60 year old man tells other women he wants to take them to Vegas
Forced conversations with manicurists
Men who don't hold doors open
Hearing other people's headphone music
Adam's stinky blog
Angelina Jolie
Seeing someone I know on the T
Finding only jelly left in the munckins box
Subway Jared
Old Navy mannequin commercials
Answering the phone at work
Elevator talk
How full I'm gonna be at the end of Thanksgiving day
Ordering drinks from girl bartenders
Having people show me pictures of their dog
Running in shorts
Bras that rip apart in the front, in the middle of the day...while you're laying down
Other people's feet
Being wrong
Peeing in a cup

And of course everyone prettier and thinner than me. da dunch.

Thanksgiving

I decided to make a list of everything I'm thankful for, as practice for the dinner table on Thursday.

Quick dry nail polish
French fries
An open seat on the T
An open carpeted seat on the T
Dunkin donuts
Birth control
Oprah
Windshield wipers
Black tights
Facebook Wall Posts
(1)
My boobs
Excuses not to go the gym
Splenda and Equal
Anyone who lets me know when my eyeliner is smudged
Every time Trina tells me to stop complimenting girls in bathrooms
Movie popcorn
Nana's house
Yoplait light apple turnover yogurt
Crunchy grapes
Spanx
Facebook
Pillows
People who say bless you after I sneeze
Big waves
Coats with hoods
People who don't own big dogs
Compliments, even the ones I reject
When someone becomes a 'followers' of my blog. Sers, do it.
Liz Lemon
Aaand eyeliner.

Oh and fam and friends and bf yada yada.

Ode to one of my besties

Back in high school, Courtney and I were your biggest fans. Freshman year, I escaped with you to Nana and Papa's when I was too depressed to go back to UConn. You took me home, nearly every weekend, when I needed to get away from UMass. You waited for me patiently, and without judgment, during the 6 months I couldn't drive. I cried to you. I laughed with you. I perfected both my British and Southern accents with you. You, and you alone, have heard some of my best musical performances. You took me to see Papa the morning he passed away. Together we've seen lots of new places, and been unbelievably lost in others. You've driven me home from awful dates, and taken me to better ones. I wish I could say I took as good care of you as you did me. You were my excuse to go into work late. You've helped me help my mother. You provided me a safe place to eat. Then provided me a safe place to try smoking to keep myself from eating. You've seen me at my lowest weight, but stuck with me even at my heaviest. It was with you that I really fell in love with music. You've seen me yell at some boys, and give silent treatment to others. Some jerk burnt you with a cigarette once, and there was nothing I could do to protect you. You even got hurt during a fight with a past boyfriend, and everyday I can still see the mark it left on you. You witnessed one of my breakups, and kept me strong all the way home. I love seeing you when I get out of work, and you're always telling me my coolant is low. Lately, you've been reluctant to let me in. And its getting harder and harder for me to get you going. But one thing is for sure, taurus, you've been good to me for the past 9 years, and you will be missed.

Love,
Leadfoot

Screw the Bus

Last week I went to visit some friends after work, and decided to explore a new bus route to make my commute quicker. So I step onto the 47 that is jam jam jam-packed, and get stuck just inside of the door behind a STINKY white guy with a long red-haired ponytail. So it gets to a point where I can no longer take it, and I squeeze past him and another idiot who refused to move down the bus to make room for others. So, now I have nothing to hang onto except those swinging handle straps that hang down from the overhead poles. DO NOT EVER GRAB THESE FOR BALANCE. The bus took a sudden turn, and before I know it I'm spinning, feet pivoting, out of control and dangling from the handles as I continue down to the floor of the bus. I knew it was bad, but only realized JUST how bad it was when I saw every person around me reaching for me with a horrified look on their faces.

The man sitting nearby made the biggest effort, as he desperately reached for my arm, missed, and then went for the next-closest body part. MAH BOOB. REALLY? Except it wasn't just a grab, it was more of a grab plus a hard pinch at the end. When he realized what he'd done, he looked at me, pulled away faster than he reached out, and then refused to look at me for the rest of the ride. So did everyone else, so not only did I have have to stand there alone, sweating, with no one to laugh with, but my boob really hurt, too. Next time I'll take the T.

A long post about a long night

Last year, I reached a point of desperation in my attempt to lose weight. Instead of sticking with weight watchers, I thought I'd give Overeaters Anonymous a try. Mum told me she thought it was a great idea, and heard it wasn't only for people who are obese. So I thought, maybe this is just what I need!

It was not what I needed. I walked in to the church, and wandered around its dark, scary hallways until I ran into a lady. Let me be more specific: a humpback lady. Like legit humpback: bent-over, hump-on-back, drag-a-leg humpback. She asked if she could help me, and I cringed as I heard myself say outloud for the first time "I'm here for overeaters anonymous." "Follow me!" she said. Perfect.

So I followed her to a large, wide-open room where we met Tony: a seemingly semi-mentally challenged Italian man with pants that didn't quite make it past the ankles. HB, Tony, and I began gathering chairs and setting up a circle. At this point, I've already decided I hate my mother, and can't decide if I want to laugh or cry.

So about 12 more people pour in, and we're ready to start. But before I continue, I feel the need to describe the group. Now, I'm hoping anyone reading this knows that I'm a caring, kind, non-judgemental (for the most part) individual. But dear God in Heaven this group had no one even close to normal in it. Not weight-wise, life-wise. So, as if I hadn't been down on myself enough to the point where I came to OA, I'm now sitting among some of God's finest mistakes. What a terrible thing for me to write.

The "leader" starts off with a prayer. Everyone's eyes are closed. God is being talked about, and strength, and will, and I realize this is a horrible, horrible mistake. So others start to share things about how their weeks have been going, how long they've been "abstaining", and who they're(not) dating. I can't help noticing this chubby little woman in her 20's. With tourette's. So that of course added some much needed flavor to the group dynamic. And then there was a 40 year old woman, not very big but probably the heaviest of the bunch, who out of nowhere blurted out, "I JUST NEED TO HAVE SEX. I MEAN ITS JUST BEEN FOREVER AND I NEED TO HAVE SEX, YA KNOW?" No one knew. No one laughed, and no one looked at her for the rest of the night.

So after closing prayer, I booted it out of there faster than Tony averted his eyes from my chest each time I caught him. Three times, like, c'mon Tony. As I walked away I felt MUCH better about myself, my life, my friends, my dating life, and just about anything else I could think of, all thanks to my new (yet, already old) OA friends. I spent the rest of the night crying and laughing at the same time over the phone with my mum. Weight watchers for life.

An introduction...

My cousins have this game they play. Every time something embarrassing happens to them, they picture it happening to me instead...which in turn makes the story much funnier than it was with the original characters. My life seems to be a combination of bad decisions, refusal to learn from my mistakes, funny (funny-odd, not funny-haha) encounters with others, and constantly feeling embarrassed. Oh, and over-eating. If you don't get embarrassed easily, or find enjoyment in the embarrassment of others, this blog is not for you. For the rest of you, ...you guys are jerks. Let's have some fun. Ew, what a weird way to end a blog entry.