2.07.2010
2.04.2010
quick
I'm in the process of putting together circuits that I'll be posting on here. Should be fun. woohoo!
Snow delay today ("what snow?" I KNOW).
The gym is still something I'm addicted to, which is LOVELY. Phase 2, which I'm currently in, involves an hour of weights combined with my cardio. So I substitute a cardio hour with weights. I tried to mentally prepare myself for this by telling myself I WILL NOT CARE about the numbers on the scale this phase, but I knew I was only kidding myself. But it's a good thing I did have a half-assed effort in trying to convince myself: I've gained weight. I know that this is partly due to the fact I'm actually drinking as much water as I ought to, and also because I'm actually eating regularly. (No, I wasn't anorexic, I was just not putting much effort into finding times to eat.) So, with water and food and muscle gain, of course I'm going to gain weight. The acceptance of that is harder than I thought it would be, which is unfortunate.
The good news is that my old-lady-jelly arms aren't so jelly anymore. They're still much larger than I'd like them to be (of course) but I get satisfaction out of noticing they're firmer, if not smaller. Yay.
And I've noticed that I do a lot better emotionally and mentally if I'm not dealing with my ex anymore. Funny. So... I'm going to try to have as little contact with him as possible. Not going to the single's ward has really been helping with that.
Snow delay today ("what snow?" I KNOW).
The gym is still something I'm addicted to, which is LOVELY. Phase 2, which I'm currently in, involves an hour of weights combined with my cardio. So I substitute a cardio hour with weights. I tried to mentally prepare myself for this by telling myself I WILL NOT CARE about the numbers on the scale this phase, but I knew I was only kidding myself. But it's a good thing I did have a half-assed effort in trying to convince myself: I've gained weight. I know that this is partly due to the fact I'm actually drinking as much water as I ought to, and also because I'm actually eating regularly. (No, I wasn't anorexic, I was just not putting much effort into finding times to eat.) So, with water and food and muscle gain, of course I'm going to gain weight. The acceptance of that is harder than I thought it would be, which is unfortunate.
The good news is that my old-lady-jelly arms aren't so jelly anymore. They're still much larger than I'd like them to be (of course) but I get satisfaction out of noticing they're firmer, if not smaller. Yay.
And I've noticed that I do a lot better emotionally and mentally if I'm not dealing with my ex anymore. Funny. So... I'm going to try to have as little contact with him as possible. Not going to the single's ward has really been helping with that.
2.01.2010
That was bizarre.
I had a dream last night that a girl I hate (T) made me a Shrek-themed cake. It was decorated in brown fondant and had this sort of volcano thing going on with green goo icing. But when the "volcano" was turned on, a sort of poison was leaked out and filled the tiers of the cake. I knew she had poisoned this cake, and I already hated her, but some little elf guy came along and told me to not eat the bottom tier because it was the most affected, but if I scraped off part of the top of the middle tier there was little/no poison in there. So I had a bite.
This poison made it so my blood wouldn't coagulate. Since I had no intention of being injured any time soon, I didn't worry about it.
Later, I was taking a shower and T pulled back the curtain and tried to kill me, but only managed to stab me in the neck. I bled profusely, but lashed back at her, and she ran off. I continued with my shower and blood turned the water pink. I went on with my day, well aware of the slash in my neck, but being careful to not move it too much because I knew that my blood wouldn't clot and scab over because of the poison.
I went to a massage chair event at my church's parking lot (where I'd also eaten the cake earlier) and they had tables set up instead so we were offering full-body massages instead of just chair. I ended up working on a linebacker for the Denver Broncos, but he refused to take his bright orange shoes off. As I worked on him, his skin became invisible and I could see his muscles. As I pushed the stroke from origin to insertion, it went blue with my hand, and then became red as I returned to the origin. It was AWESOME. I mentioned it to him, but he strained his neck trying to see it, which caused his muscle to contract and remain blue. When we were getting towards the end, he tried to make a deal with me where he'd over pay me for the massage if I went with him to a tatoo parlor and picked out a new tat for him. I agreed, and ran off.
T saw me and was surprised I was alive still. Because I did eat the cake, my blood would not coagulate, but because I'd had so little, I wouldn't die from her injury and eventually the poison would flush from my system and I'd heal. She was disappointed and shocked. Everyone at church chased after her, shaking fists and yelling. She jumped in her car and drove off. Someone tailed her and they disappeared down Montano Blvd.
Bizzare.
This poison made it so my blood wouldn't coagulate. Since I had no intention of being injured any time soon, I didn't worry about it.
Later, I was taking a shower and T pulled back the curtain and tried to kill me, but only managed to stab me in the neck. I bled profusely, but lashed back at her, and she ran off. I continued with my shower and blood turned the water pink. I went on with my day, well aware of the slash in my neck, but being careful to not move it too much because I knew that my blood wouldn't clot and scab over because of the poison.
I went to a massage chair event at my church's parking lot (where I'd also eaten the cake earlier) and they had tables set up instead so we were offering full-body massages instead of just chair. I ended up working on a linebacker for the Denver Broncos, but he refused to take his bright orange shoes off. As I worked on him, his skin became invisible and I could see his muscles. As I pushed the stroke from origin to insertion, it went blue with my hand, and then became red as I returned to the origin. It was AWESOME. I mentioned it to him, but he strained his neck trying to see it, which caused his muscle to contract and remain blue. When we were getting towards the end, he tried to make a deal with me where he'd over pay me for the massage if I went with him to a tatoo parlor and picked out a new tat for him. I agreed, and ran off.
T saw me and was surprised I was alive still. Because I did eat the cake, my blood would not coagulate, but because I'd had so little, I wouldn't die from her injury and eventually the poison would flush from my system and I'd heal. She was disappointed and shocked. Everyone at church chased after her, shaking fists and yelling. She jumped in her car and drove off. Someone tailed her and they disappeared down Montano Blvd.
Bizzare.
1.28.2010
Inspired by my transplanted Idahoan.
The courage to put your goals, failures, and life habits on the internet for all to see is incredible. I admire that. I will follow. I congratulate her on her progress and her goals. I do know that what she is undergoing is difficult and sometimes will seem the hardest thing she's had to do. I know this because I've done this before.
I'm actually pretty upset with myself because I've done this before. I DID fix myself, and then I slipped. I slipped far. I ultimately destroyed the work I had done and gone beyond what I was before!
My freshman year at NMSU, I weighed 225 lbs. Obese. Morbidly obese, by medical standards. I was put under pressure by my mom to find a means to pay for college. I decided to join the Army. I met with a recruiter and was told I had to weigh 175 before I could join. I understood completely, and began to run. By the time fall semester was to start, I was in the 190s. Figuring that going to school would be a waste of time because I'd hit 175 before the semester was over, I decided not to attend and stayed home. By thanksgiving I was 180.
I got a call from Ft. Knox asking if I was still interested in joining the military and why I hadn't yet. I explained that I was, but I still had weight to lose. The guy on the phone was a real bastard and insisted I give him my height and weight to see how much I've got left to go. After telling him that I already KNEW I needed to keep losing weight, he still ran the numbers. I was prepared for the 5 pounds, but he told me that I still had to lose a "bunch" of weight. Apparently I actually needed to weigh 155. That sucked.
So I continued to run. I got a new recruiter because my first had been transferred. This one, Sgt. Ogan, was pretty retarded, I later found out. All was well at first, but then he wanted me to come in every two weeks to get measured and weighed. Eventually I got stuck at 165. Around this time, the ARMS test came out.
I was running this test myself almost daily and was passing just fine and I was totally prepared for it. The ARMS test is the physical they give the overweight recruits to determine if they're healthy enough to join. Since I was passing the test daily, I was. My recruiter was excited to get me to join and tried to slip it quietly that I still needed to lose weight in order to qualify for the test.
Why did I have to lose weight to take the fatty's test? He didn't answer that, but told me that in order to join the Army, I needed to weigh 142, but to qualify for the exam, I needed to weigh 155. (WTF) Given that the test was in a week, I asked him how he proposed I lose the weight. At this time, I was running five miles a day in under an hour, at the gym for 5 hours a day, and INCREDIBLY hot. I wasn't exactly on a starvation diet, but I wasn't feasting or eating poorly.
He assured me that it was probably just water weight and I can easily sweat it out. He coached me to wear as much clothing as I can and sit in a steam room the night before, for as long as it takes to lose ten pounds of water. I told him that there's absolutely NO WAY I can take and pass that test after losing that much water. He insisted that I only needed to be able to make weight first, and then after "We can give you a gatorade and a granola bar." I told him that gatorade and a granola bar won't make up for water, and that we were done. (There was also an issue with my MOS, which as time went on further proved that I was just a number on his bonus.)
With the Army now out somewhat of the picture, my mom began to rag on me about working more, so I picked up hours at my retail job, and continued to be active, but without my Army goals. Shortly after, I learned of an APD recruitment going on. The idea of being a police officer, like my father, was really inspiring. And, given my health, brain, and aim, I figured I'd give it a shot. (ha.) I also planned that after giving my required two years to the city, I could try for the Army again. Since the academy trains you pretty fiercely, I was bound to lose the weight that had been such a problem. Those damned 20 pounds. And, I secretly hoped that I wouldn't actually graduate the academy, just stay in long enough to lose the weight so I could go join the Army.
I met with my brother's recruiter, Sgt Aldridge, whom I should have met up with first. He completely understood my situation, and told me that when I was ready, and did it in a healthy manner, that I was welcome. So I applied for APD. I passed ALL the phsyical qualifications, and reading/math/map tests. I passed the polygraph, credit check, drug tests, TB, everything except the psycological evaluation. (I won't go into WHY, that's a different story. Very amusing.) Mind you, I was the YOUNGEST candidate that day and BEAT 150 grown men physically. Remember that.
I was physically perfect to defend, protect, and serve my city, but not my country.
I was mentally unqualified to defend, protect, and serve my city, but not my country.
No middle ground. Suckfest.
So with ANOTHER dream dashed, I was resigned to work more hours until I died. I ended up leaving my retail job for one at a call center. This job paid more, and guaranteed me 40 hours with benefits. However, it was 8 hours of sitting on my butt all day, so by the time I got home, the last thing I wanted to do was workout because somehow I had no energy. Yes, I gained weight. It sucked.
I also got myself into a very abusive relationship, which took a heavy toll on me. By the time the relationship was over, and my employment was eventually terminated 8 months later (unrelated), I had gained 70 lbs. In a year and a half.
When I lost my job, I weighed 250 pounds. I felt worthless, ugly, and had nothing going for me. I managed to almost get myself on a realty weight loss show, which never aired, and met with a trainer, Rocco, who was a complete doushebag and somewhat of a musclehead-moron. But a very successful one. I understand that much of what he did was sensationalism for the cameras. I hated training with him. I'm not his biggest fan personally, as he skipped town without telling me (but it's okay, I got a free 20lb weight vest from it. Sucka!), but he did train me hard. I lost no weight with him, as we were only together a few days.
We talked about my childhood, and he poked around to find out why I was fat when the rest of my family wasn't. What happened to ME to make me this way? I was overweight in middle and high school. I always remember being fat. I don't recall a single time where I was actually honestly happy with my body -- even during my Army training, if not especially.
My mom pulled out pictures of me as a kid and I realized, for the first time, that I was NOT a fat child. I wasn't even a chunky child. I -- I was SLENDER. Can you believe it? I almost cried, because I couldn't understand what had happened to me to make such drastic changes.
He was very specific -- WHEN did I start gaining weight and becoming unhappy with myself? We thought back and realized it was when I was 11. What happened to me when I was 11, that made me so self-aware, and start overeating and using food to suppress my depression?
When I was 11, I went out to California to babysit. My big brother had gone the year before and had a BLAST. They went all over the place, so many pictures of such fun times. I was promised lots of fun and sun and awesome times. I recall only going to beach once. In California. I went once. The zoos Dallas went to, I never saw. I felt like I had been locked up in an apartment for the summer, with a little boy who would tell me things were okay to do, only to be scolded by his mother when she came home. His mother would also be very clear about what he was allowed to eat, which was pretty much anything he wanted, in moderation. But when it came to me, she always made sure to point out that I can have the "fat fee" this and the "fat free" that.
I loved Goldfish crackers as a child. When I went to California, I saw there was a huge box. Oh happy day! When the mother found out I'd had some, she told me only the little boy could eat them, and I shouldn't because they're for "little kids" and had "too much fat in them" for me. It felt like every time she mentioned food to me, it's fat content was a huge priorety. I couldn't understand why.
Later that summer, we visited her aunt and uncle. When we entered the house, the little boy took my hand and pulled me to the computer to show me the cool games he liked to play on it. (This is when games other than Snake and Gorilla were rare.) I was SO excited because this was definitely not something I had at home. I was looking forward to enjoying that. But as my enthusiasm for FINALLY having a good time grew, the aunt, Jackie, came and told me she had something else she wanted me to see. She told me that if I was going to play the computer game, then she wanted me to spend time with This Thing first. I was excited. What could it be?
It was a treadmill.
I never got on the computer.
Why would you do that to an 11 year old? A healthy one? I was a DANCER. I was active! I was not fat! Why would you do that to me??? This beloved Aunt Jackie would make meals for everyone and give me a fruit shake. Would push salads on me while others enjoyed burgers. I was limited in my food intake. Sweets were not allowed. Because I "can't afford to get more fat."
Worst summer of my life. And that's when it started. I came home that summer depressed, weighing more than I did when I left, and somewhat dead. My mother could not figure out what happened to me. When I told her, she was FURIOUS. My dad refused to say anything to the woman whose child I babysat. The situation was avoided for years. My condition only grew worse. I felt fat, ugly, and worthless. For all of my life.
A couple summers after, my Aunt Joyce invited me to California to "make up" for what had happened to me. I had a WONDERFUL summer. I felt so loved. I was told I don't eat enough. (I'd developed a habit of eating very little in the presence of anyone outside my immediate family for fear of being judged for being fat and daring to eat.) One Sunday, the woman I babysat for picked me up and took me to church with her. Aunt Jackie was my sunday school teacher that day. (Can you believe that the people who treated me that way were LDS? Yeah. I know.) She had cookies, wouldn't you know. She passed them around the class and when I didn't take one, she told me to. I said I didn't know I was allowed to have one. "Of course you are!" (Oh, really? Because a couple summers ago you convinced me I was fat and shouldn't eat anything besides ice.) And then when she passed them around again, and I didn't take a second, she told me to help myself. (Oh really? Coming from the woman who wouldn't let me have seconds in SALAD? Okay. B---h.)
A few years after, when I managed to convince myself to pretend I was okay with my fat self and loved myself the way I was, that woman came to visit one summer with some of her children. Her delightful little daughter sat with me on the swings of my front porch and asked me if I thought I was fat. I told her I did not. She said, "Really? Because your legs are pretty big and I think they're fat." I told her that while my legs are bigger than a lot of other people's I still don't think I'm fat. "Okay, because you look fat."
I left. I later told my mom what happened, and she told that littler girl in front of her mother to NEVER ask me if I think I'm fat. The mother turned right around to her daughter and said, "You KNOW we don't talk about that!" ...Where would the kid learn it? Honestly?
Some might wonder why my family continued to interact with these individuals, or why my father said nothing. That woman was my sister.
Until that summer, I didn't know what it was like to actually HAVE a big sister. I was SO excited to spend time with her, get to know her. To start to reunite my family after SO LONG of not talking. This woman that I was so eager to be close to, to have fun with... sufficiently convinced me that I was fat, and therefore worthless. I wasn't worth her promises of fun, as we didn't have any. I couldn't understand why my SISTER would do this to me. And for some foolish, stupid reason, I let her opinion scar my self-image and destroy me.
Now I refuse to do it anymore. Yes, she was my trigger. And up until now (if she's reading) she probably had absolutely NO IDEA she did this TERRIBLE, DISGUSTING, HURTFUL, SELFISH, VAIN, DEPLORABLE thing.
So there. Now everyone knows. This is what I've been carrying around for 12 years. It's out in the open. Everyone knows.
I will now start to record my goals and progress from time to time.
I weighed 250 lbs on December 24th, 2009. I weighed 236 on January 27, 2010. I work at a gym, so if I have no clients I'm allowed to work out. My routine is heavy in cardio. I maintain a heart rate of 127-150, which is the most efficient zone for fat burn. I had that routine for the 31 days between 14/24 and 1/25, which I call Phase 1. I enter a new Phase on the 24th of every month, and do a personal assessment where I take my measurements and have my teacher do a pinch test with calipers to determine my body fat percentage. I weigh myself on Wednesdays.
Phase 1 results: a loss of 14 pounds and 3.5" overall. My BMI went from a 42 to 40. I am able to increase the resistance on my cardio equipment and keep within my target heart range. People can see there's a difference with me. My cheekbones are more visible.
Phase 2 focus: Maintain cardio routines, but subsitute one hour of cardio for an hour of weight machines. No target body parts yet, just a full body circuit of the basics: hams, quads, adductors, abductors, lats, glutes, delts, pecs. Continue to burn at least 1,000 calories a day (not difficult). I do realize that with weight resistance comes muscle growth. I will not be upset if the numbers on the scale do not change, as muscle is heavier than fat. But I'd rather be heavy in muscle than light in fat any day.
So there. Now you all have it.
I'm actually pretty upset with myself because I've done this before. I DID fix myself, and then I slipped. I slipped far. I ultimately destroyed the work I had done and gone beyond what I was before!
My freshman year at NMSU, I weighed 225 lbs. Obese. Morbidly obese, by medical standards. I was put under pressure by my mom to find a means to pay for college. I decided to join the Army. I met with a recruiter and was told I had to weigh 175 before I could join. I understood completely, and began to run. By the time fall semester was to start, I was in the 190s. Figuring that going to school would be a waste of time because I'd hit 175 before the semester was over, I decided not to attend and stayed home. By thanksgiving I was 180.
I got a call from Ft. Knox asking if I was still interested in joining the military and why I hadn't yet. I explained that I was, but I still had weight to lose. The guy on the phone was a real bastard and insisted I give him my height and weight to see how much I've got left to go. After telling him that I already KNEW I needed to keep losing weight, he still ran the numbers. I was prepared for the 5 pounds, but he told me that I still had to lose a "bunch" of weight. Apparently I actually needed to weigh 155. That sucked.
So I continued to run. I got a new recruiter because my first had been transferred. This one, Sgt. Ogan, was pretty retarded, I later found out. All was well at first, but then he wanted me to come in every two weeks to get measured and weighed. Eventually I got stuck at 165. Around this time, the ARMS test came out.
I was running this test myself almost daily and was passing just fine and I was totally prepared for it. The ARMS test is the physical they give the overweight recruits to determine if they're healthy enough to join. Since I was passing the test daily, I was. My recruiter was excited to get me to join and tried to slip it quietly that I still needed to lose weight in order to qualify for the test.
Why did I have to lose weight to take the fatty's test? He didn't answer that, but told me that in order to join the Army, I needed to weigh 142, but to qualify for the exam, I needed to weigh 155. (WTF) Given that the test was in a week, I asked him how he proposed I lose the weight. At this time, I was running five miles a day in under an hour, at the gym for 5 hours a day, and INCREDIBLY hot. I wasn't exactly on a starvation diet, but I wasn't feasting or eating poorly.
He assured me that it was probably just water weight and I can easily sweat it out. He coached me to wear as much clothing as I can and sit in a steam room the night before, for as long as it takes to lose ten pounds of water. I told him that there's absolutely NO WAY I can take and pass that test after losing that much water. He insisted that I only needed to be able to make weight first, and then after "We can give you a gatorade and a granola bar." I told him that gatorade and a granola bar won't make up for water, and that we were done. (There was also an issue with my MOS, which as time went on further proved that I was just a number on his bonus.)
With the Army now out somewhat of the picture, my mom began to rag on me about working more, so I picked up hours at my retail job, and continued to be active, but without my Army goals. Shortly after, I learned of an APD recruitment going on. The idea of being a police officer, like my father, was really inspiring. And, given my health, brain, and aim, I figured I'd give it a shot. (ha.) I also planned that after giving my required two years to the city, I could try for the Army again. Since the academy trains you pretty fiercely, I was bound to lose the weight that had been such a problem. Those damned 20 pounds. And, I secretly hoped that I wouldn't actually graduate the academy, just stay in long enough to lose the weight so I could go join the Army.
I met with my brother's recruiter, Sgt Aldridge, whom I should have met up with first. He completely understood my situation, and told me that when I was ready, and did it in a healthy manner, that I was welcome. So I applied for APD. I passed ALL the phsyical qualifications, and reading/math/map tests. I passed the polygraph, credit check, drug tests, TB, everything except the psycological evaluation. (I won't go into WHY, that's a different story. Very amusing.) Mind you, I was the YOUNGEST candidate that day and BEAT 150 grown men physically. Remember that.
I was physically perfect to defend, protect, and serve my city, but not my country.
I was mentally unqualified to defend, protect, and serve my city, but not my country.
No middle ground. Suckfest.
So with ANOTHER dream dashed, I was resigned to work more hours until I died. I ended up leaving my retail job for one at a call center. This job paid more, and guaranteed me 40 hours with benefits. However, it was 8 hours of sitting on my butt all day, so by the time I got home, the last thing I wanted to do was workout because somehow I had no energy. Yes, I gained weight. It sucked.
I also got myself into a very abusive relationship, which took a heavy toll on me. By the time the relationship was over, and my employment was eventually terminated 8 months later (unrelated), I had gained 70 lbs. In a year and a half.
When I lost my job, I weighed 250 pounds. I felt worthless, ugly, and had nothing going for me. I managed to almost get myself on a realty weight loss show, which never aired, and met with a trainer, Rocco, who was a complete doushebag and somewhat of a musclehead-moron. But a very successful one. I understand that much of what he did was sensationalism for the cameras. I hated training with him. I'm not his biggest fan personally, as he skipped town without telling me (but it's okay, I got a free 20lb weight vest from it. Sucka!), but he did train me hard. I lost no weight with him, as we were only together a few days.
We talked about my childhood, and he poked around to find out why I was fat when the rest of my family wasn't. What happened to ME to make me this way? I was overweight in middle and high school. I always remember being fat. I don't recall a single time where I was actually honestly happy with my body -- even during my Army training, if not especially.
My mom pulled out pictures of me as a kid and I realized, for the first time, that I was NOT a fat child. I wasn't even a chunky child. I -- I was SLENDER. Can you believe it? I almost cried, because I couldn't understand what had happened to me to make such drastic changes.
He was very specific -- WHEN did I start gaining weight and becoming unhappy with myself? We thought back and realized it was when I was 11. What happened to me when I was 11, that made me so self-aware, and start overeating and using food to suppress my depression?
When I was 11, I went out to California to babysit. My big brother had gone the year before and had a BLAST. They went all over the place, so many pictures of such fun times. I was promised lots of fun and sun and awesome times. I recall only going to beach once. In California. I went once. The zoos Dallas went to, I never saw. I felt like I had been locked up in an apartment for the summer, with a little boy who would tell me things were okay to do, only to be scolded by his mother when she came home. His mother would also be very clear about what he was allowed to eat, which was pretty much anything he wanted, in moderation. But when it came to me, she always made sure to point out that I can have the "fat fee" this and the "fat free" that.
I loved Goldfish crackers as a child. When I went to California, I saw there was a huge box. Oh happy day! When the mother found out I'd had some, she told me only the little boy could eat them, and I shouldn't because they're for "little kids" and had "too much fat in them" for me. It felt like every time she mentioned food to me, it's fat content was a huge priorety. I couldn't understand why.
Later that summer, we visited her aunt and uncle. When we entered the house, the little boy took my hand and pulled me to the computer to show me the cool games he liked to play on it. (This is when games other than Snake and Gorilla were rare.) I was SO excited because this was definitely not something I had at home. I was looking forward to enjoying that. But as my enthusiasm for FINALLY having a good time grew, the aunt, Jackie, came and told me she had something else she wanted me to see. She told me that if I was going to play the computer game, then she wanted me to spend time with This Thing first. I was excited. What could it be?
It was a treadmill.
I never got on the computer.
Why would you do that to an 11 year old? A healthy one? I was a DANCER. I was active! I was not fat! Why would you do that to me??? This beloved Aunt Jackie would make meals for everyone and give me a fruit shake. Would push salads on me while others enjoyed burgers. I was limited in my food intake. Sweets were not allowed. Because I "can't afford to get more fat."
Worst summer of my life. And that's when it started. I came home that summer depressed, weighing more than I did when I left, and somewhat dead. My mother could not figure out what happened to me. When I told her, she was FURIOUS. My dad refused to say anything to the woman whose child I babysat. The situation was avoided for years. My condition only grew worse. I felt fat, ugly, and worthless. For all of my life.
A couple summers after, my Aunt Joyce invited me to California to "make up" for what had happened to me. I had a WONDERFUL summer. I felt so loved. I was told I don't eat enough. (I'd developed a habit of eating very little in the presence of anyone outside my immediate family for fear of being judged for being fat and daring to eat.) One Sunday, the woman I babysat for picked me up and took me to church with her. Aunt Jackie was my sunday school teacher that day. (Can you believe that the people who treated me that way were LDS? Yeah. I know.) She had cookies, wouldn't you know. She passed them around the class and when I didn't take one, she told me to. I said I didn't know I was allowed to have one. "Of course you are!" (Oh, really? Because a couple summers ago you convinced me I was fat and shouldn't eat anything besides ice.) And then when she passed them around again, and I didn't take a second, she told me to help myself. (Oh really? Coming from the woman who wouldn't let me have seconds in SALAD? Okay. B---h.)
A few years after, when I managed to convince myself to pretend I was okay with my fat self and loved myself the way I was, that woman came to visit one summer with some of her children. Her delightful little daughter sat with me on the swings of my front porch and asked me if I thought I was fat. I told her I did not. She said, "Really? Because your legs are pretty big and I think they're fat." I told her that while my legs are bigger than a lot of other people's I still don't think I'm fat. "Okay, because you look fat."
I left. I later told my mom what happened, and she told that littler girl in front of her mother to NEVER ask me if I think I'm fat. The mother turned right around to her daughter and said, "You KNOW we don't talk about that!" ...Where would the kid learn it? Honestly?
Some might wonder why my family continued to interact with these individuals, or why my father said nothing. That woman was my sister.
Until that summer, I didn't know what it was like to actually HAVE a big sister. I was SO excited to spend time with her, get to know her. To start to reunite my family after SO LONG of not talking. This woman that I was so eager to be close to, to have fun with... sufficiently convinced me that I was fat, and therefore worthless. I wasn't worth her promises of fun, as we didn't have any. I couldn't understand why my SISTER would do this to me. And for some foolish, stupid reason, I let her opinion scar my self-image and destroy me.
Now I refuse to do it anymore. Yes, she was my trigger. And up until now (if she's reading) she probably had absolutely NO IDEA she did this TERRIBLE, DISGUSTING, HURTFUL, SELFISH, VAIN, DEPLORABLE thing.
So there. Now everyone knows. This is what I've been carrying around for 12 years. It's out in the open. Everyone knows.
I will now start to record my goals and progress from time to time.
I weighed 250 lbs on December 24th, 2009. I weighed 236 on January 27, 2010. I work at a gym, so if I have no clients I'm allowed to work out. My routine is heavy in cardio. I maintain a heart rate of 127-150, which is the most efficient zone for fat burn. I had that routine for the 31 days between 14/24 and 1/25, which I call Phase 1. I enter a new Phase on the 24th of every month, and do a personal assessment where I take my measurements and have my teacher do a pinch test with calipers to determine my body fat percentage. I weigh myself on Wednesdays.
Phase 1 results: a loss of 14 pounds and 3.5" overall. My BMI went from a 42 to 40. I am able to increase the resistance on my cardio equipment and keep within my target heart range. People can see there's a difference with me. My cheekbones are more visible.
Phase 2 focus: Maintain cardio routines, but subsitute one hour of cardio for an hour of weight machines. No target body parts yet, just a full body circuit of the basics: hams, quads, adductors, abductors, lats, glutes, delts, pecs. Continue to burn at least 1,000 calories a day (not difficult). I do realize that with weight resistance comes muscle growth. I will not be upset if the numbers on the scale do not change, as muscle is heavier than fat. But I'd rather be heavy in muscle than light in fat any day.
So there. Now you all have it.
11.22.2009
11.16.2009
So Totally Single
And it sucks. I've never felt genuinely emo before, but now I kind of am. I'm actually, for the first time in a long time... actually... Sad.
11.08.2009
Just a couple things
I was scratching my head, and I felt my hair. I started to freak out for a second, because I was like, "What the crap is going on with my hair?! Why does it feel so freaking lumpy?!"
Duh. I permed it almost two months ago.
I'm tired of people that complain about their life, continually make BAD decisions, and then complain some more about how their life sucks. Things won't get better if you don't try to make them better. Jobs suck, relationships (or lack thereof) can suck, being hurt by previous relationships REALLY sucks, and not fitting in at church is lonely. Trust me, I know. But drinking, sleeping around, shooting off at everyone, letting yourself get offended where none was intended, focusing on your own ridiculous self, and dwelling on negativity will NOT fix anything. Seriously. And I'm amazed/annoyed/amused that I'm seeing this exact same behavior from multiple individuals at the exact same time.
And I have a few rants about the branch's mission plan, but I'll get on that another time.
Duh. I permed it almost two months ago.
I'm tired of people that complain about their life, continually make BAD decisions, and then complain some more about how their life sucks. Things won't get better if you don't try to make them better. Jobs suck, relationships (or lack thereof) can suck, being hurt by previous relationships REALLY sucks, and not fitting in at church is lonely. Trust me, I know. But drinking, sleeping around, shooting off at everyone, letting yourself get offended where none was intended, focusing on your own ridiculous self, and dwelling on negativity will NOT fix anything. Seriously. And I'm amazed/annoyed/amused that I'm seeing this exact same behavior from multiple individuals at the exact same time.
And I have a few rants about the branch's mission plan, but I'll get on that another time.
9.14.2009
Why my school is the abso-bloomin' bestest
I graduated from the massage program at the top of my class. Weeks after I graduated, I re-entered the school to study in the Fitness Technician program. Since it's a "medical" school, we all have to learn the basics in Anatomy and CPR and such. Seeing as how I've already taken those classes, my credits were supposed to transfer (so my tuition also went down) and I would get a vacation from school. Woohoo!
Two weeks ago, I saw that my Anatomy class would be starting soon, and I checked with the department head to make sure my credits had been tranferred. They hadn't. He, Gilbert, told me to get in touch with my admissions rep, Kathy. I went to Kathy who told me, "Oh, that's nothing I deal with, go talk to the dean," and walked off on her merry way. I emailed the dean, Terri, and got no reply. I emailed her twice. Nothing. So I emailed Ginny -- the lady in charge of the school's massage clinic - outside of my department. She forwarded it to Gilbert. He said he'd take care of it. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.
I went to school on Tuesday, the day the Anatomy class started, and asked Gilbert if my credits had transferred yet. He said he didn't see why they shouldn't have, but go talk to the dean to make sure. I went to see Terri and got to wait 45 minutes for her to come to school. Woot.
When I do get a chance to see her, we're in the office discussing the situation. I'm miffed, clearly, because it took so long to get this handled. She asked how long I've been in the program (since June) and then was surprised that we're just NOW taking care of it. Derr -- that's why I'm annoyed. She's going through my massage grades and sees they're all A's, except for that one blasted B. She asked what happened (as though I'd crash landed and killed 75 children or something) and I told her that it's hard for me to get a solid A when I'm tested on things I haven't been taught. "Wrong answer," she said. "Except that's REALLY what happened. I was angry about it." She asked why I didn't come to her and dispute the grade. [Seeing as how quickly THIS matter was being addressed... right. And I remember a classmate being given a failing grade in that class because she refused to get deep tissue treatments -- BECAUSE SHE WAS LESS THAN 12 WEEKS PREGNANT. YOU DON'T WORK ON FRESHLY BAKING BUNS-IN-OVENS!]
Anyhow.
So then she asks how my other classes are going. I laugh a bit, because those have been frustrating me as well. Especially this last class, Group Fitness, because AGAIN we're being tested on things we weren't taught. My teacher saw that the test was not on things we had covered, so she made it an open book final. Which is GREAT. Except for the part where the test was on the FIRST edition of the textbook and we'd been issued the SECOND, and the questions on the final were not addressed at all. The definitions they were asking for were NOT in the book. I read BEYOND what we had covered and still nothing. Pretty annoying, really.
She then starts talking about how that's just a simple matter of updating our information and tests and shouldn't take long to solve. (Meanwhile, I still have the grade from that final. Should I dispute that?) And she started yakkin' about how she goes over textbooks before publishing, as a kind of editor or something; as though I'm supposed to be comforted that my dean edits textbooks while I'm STILL being tested on things I haven't been taught and aren't in MY textbooks anywhere. But whatever. She also went on about how teachers are getting frustrated with paper tests because this IS a medical school, we need to be hands-on, so they're starting to push hands-on tests and that should solve the problem (of the test I ALREADY took?) so there. I told her that the hands-on portion was GREAT, but it was the WRITTEN portion, which is still PART OF THE OVERALL TEST, that was poorly executed.
I love how she took my original problem and twisted it into a problem I didn't have, and then solved THAT problem. Best. Dean. Ever.
So then she shunts me out to wait for her to finish paperwork or something and says she'll be right back. When she actually just shoved me on to someone else. This other guy comes out a few minutes later, shakes my hand and apologizes that all of this has gone on. He tells me not to worry because he's going to take care of it. I never saw him again. Two minutes later another admissions rep came out and had the paperwork I needed to sign. I like how they had an admissions rep, not my own, do this. And my admissions rep was on the other side of the office, totally aware of what was going on -- she had to sign something as well.
Then I get to go to the registrar, who puts me on a non-schedule, tells me when my next class starts, what it will be, and finishes everything. Awesome.
What a great Tuesday.
On Thursday, I get a call from my admissions rep telling me that the paperwork was wrong and I get to come in and sign it all over again. Since it was a voicemail, she also told me that if she's not there when I am, the paperwork is in her box and anyone else can help me at that point (which is the most helpful she'd been this ENTIRE FREAKING TIME). I went in Friday, signed it. Done. I get a voicemail a couple hours later from the Administrator they think I'm NOT annoyed with, giving me a "friendly phonecall reminder" that my classes start on October 13. Pfffft.
And, and, and. I've been in this Fitness class since June 29. We work out together. When I get on the scale, the numbers never change. I've been out of school for a week, working out my mom, doing MY exercises. I've lost 5 pounds.
Two weeks ago, I saw that my Anatomy class would be starting soon, and I checked with the department head to make sure my credits had been tranferred. They hadn't. He, Gilbert, told me to get in touch with my admissions rep, Kathy. I went to Kathy who told me, "Oh, that's nothing I deal with, go talk to the dean," and walked off on her merry way. I emailed the dean, Terri, and got no reply. I emailed her twice. Nothing. So I emailed Ginny -- the lady in charge of the school's massage clinic - outside of my department. She forwarded it to Gilbert. He said he'd take care of it. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.
I went to school on Tuesday, the day the Anatomy class started, and asked Gilbert if my credits had transferred yet. He said he didn't see why they shouldn't have, but go talk to the dean to make sure. I went to see Terri and got to wait 45 minutes for her to come to school. Woot.
When I do get a chance to see her, we're in the office discussing the situation. I'm miffed, clearly, because it took so long to get this handled. She asked how long I've been in the program (since June) and then was surprised that we're just NOW taking care of it. Derr -- that's why I'm annoyed. She's going through my massage grades and sees they're all A's, except for that one blasted B. She asked what happened (as though I'd crash landed and killed 75 children or something) and I told her that it's hard for me to get a solid A when I'm tested on things I haven't been taught. "Wrong answer," she said. "Except that's REALLY what happened. I was angry about it." She asked why I didn't come to her and dispute the grade. [Seeing as how quickly THIS matter was being addressed... right. And I remember a classmate being given a failing grade in that class because she refused to get deep tissue treatments -- BECAUSE SHE WAS LESS THAN 12 WEEKS PREGNANT. YOU DON'T WORK ON FRESHLY BAKING BUNS-IN-OVENS!]
Anyhow.
So then she asks how my other classes are going. I laugh a bit, because those have been frustrating me as well. Especially this last class, Group Fitness, because AGAIN we're being tested on things we weren't taught. My teacher saw that the test was not on things we had covered, so she made it an open book final. Which is GREAT. Except for the part where the test was on the FIRST edition of the textbook and we'd been issued the SECOND, and the questions on the final were not addressed at all. The definitions they were asking for were NOT in the book. I read BEYOND what we had covered and still nothing. Pretty annoying, really.
She then starts talking about how that's just a simple matter of updating our information and tests and shouldn't take long to solve. (Meanwhile, I still have the grade from that final. Should I dispute that?) And she started yakkin' about how she goes over textbooks before publishing, as a kind of editor or something; as though I'm supposed to be comforted that my dean edits textbooks while I'm STILL being tested on things I haven't been taught and aren't in MY textbooks anywhere. But whatever. She also went on about how teachers are getting frustrated with paper tests because this IS a medical school, we need to be hands-on, so they're starting to push hands-on tests and that should solve the problem (of the test I ALREADY took?) so there. I told her that the hands-on portion was GREAT, but it was the WRITTEN portion, which is still PART OF THE OVERALL TEST, that was poorly executed.
I love how she took my original problem and twisted it into a problem I didn't have, and then solved THAT problem. Best. Dean. Ever.
So then she shunts me out to wait for her to finish paperwork or something and says she'll be right back. When she actually just shoved me on to someone else. This other guy comes out a few minutes later, shakes my hand and apologizes that all of this has gone on. He tells me not to worry because he's going to take care of it. I never saw him again. Two minutes later another admissions rep came out and had the paperwork I needed to sign. I like how they had an admissions rep, not my own, do this. And my admissions rep was on the other side of the office, totally aware of what was going on -- she had to sign something as well.
Then I get to go to the registrar, who puts me on a non-schedule, tells me when my next class starts, what it will be, and finishes everything. Awesome.
What a great Tuesday.
On Thursday, I get a call from my admissions rep telling me that the paperwork was wrong and I get to come in and sign it all over again. Since it was a voicemail, she also told me that if she's not there when I am, the paperwork is in her box and anyone else can help me at that point (which is the most helpful she'd been this ENTIRE FREAKING TIME). I went in Friday, signed it. Done. I get a voicemail a couple hours later from the Administrator they think I'm NOT annoyed with, giving me a "friendly phonecall reminder" that my classes start on October 13. Pfffft.
And, and, and. I've been in this Fitness class since June 29. We work out together. When I get on the scale, the numbers never change. I've been out of school for a week, working out my mom, doing MY exercises. I've lost 5 pounds.
8.18.2009
Righty-o
Everything seems to be going pretty well these days, overall.
My dear Dollface has moved back upstate to be with her family, and we've acquired another roommate in her stead, and are expecting another soon. The new additions are The Artist and The Dancer. I think we'll get along fine.
Princess and Ravenhaired Beauty are sharing a room, and I will be sharing with The Artist and The Dancer. The Artist has just bought a bunkbed which she and I will share (I HAVE BOTTOM!) and The Dancer will use my old bed.
Edward Cullen and I seem to be okay. I'm just a lot more demanding that I thought I was. Oh well, I am, after all, Goddess Divine. I require attention.
School has been extremely frustating. For reasons unexplained, my class has not been allowed to train with the 2nd Wheel (200 level) students. However, the 1st Wheel EVENING students were still allowed to train. Which is a load of bullhonkey -- we're going to the SAME school, pay the SAME tuition. Why can't we have the SAME education? Load of CRAP. Sitting around watching National Geo is NOT my idea of secondary education. However, Apollo College does. I WILL be ranting about this in my student survey. For a good long time.
Because of that MONTH-LONG period of not being allowed to train, my teacher got another job and left. >:| When the school is being so stupid that the TEACHER leaves, what do you think the students are thinking? I was seriously upset. I, myself, was not caring at all anymore. It became a crap class; no point in even trying because not even the administration cares.
I have a new teacher now, and miraculously, we're allowed to workout again. I'm SO GLAD to be allowed back in the gym. I don't know what happened that made it so we couldn't train with Teacher1, but now that Teacher2 is here, we can finally get a move on. But don't think I still won't have a thing or two (or 7 billion) to say in my student survey.
I work at Massage Envy. I absolutely love it. Every job has its ups and downs, but I'm rather keen on this one. I would like to get another job at Riverpoint Sports & Wellness, and work there on my Envy days off. I'm decently busy at Envy; I work 4 days a week, a six-hour shift. I usually wind up with 4 clients, which is pretty sweet. And if they tip on their credit cards, I get a pretty sweet paycheck, which I'm REALLY looking forward to this Friday (for a multitude of reasons, but I'm excited to see my overall payout). The bummer is that I'm only paid $15 for an hour's massage, but at the same time, I have everything provided FOR me: table, sheets, laundry, creams, gels, oils, music, location, clients. If I were to be doing this all on my own, even though I'd earn more per massage, I'd have to deduct all my business expenses from that number, so when it all boils down, I'm happy with the $15 -- for now. ;)
I have repeat clients! I've only been there three weeks and I already have a following. It's so exciting. I really like what I do. I have people lying on my table and in the middle of the massage, I get this surge of gratitute for my job, and think, "wow, I am actually being PAID to do this." Ever hear that saying, "Get a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life"? EXACTLY. I LOVE my job.
There was something else I felt inclined to post, but it has completely slipped my mind... let's see, hair got permed... I'm getting it under control... OH!
Leetle Seester went to school! I miss her hardcore. ...Sniffle...
My dear Dollface has moved back upstate to be with her family, and we've acquired another roommate in her stead, and are expecting another soon. The new additions are The Artist and The Dancer. I think we'll get along fine.
Princess and Ravenhaired Beauty are sharing a room, and I will be sharing with The Artist and The Dancer. The Artist has just bought a bunkbed which she and I will share (I HAVE BOTTOM!) and The Dancer will use my old bed.
Edward Cullen and I seem to be okay. I'm just a lot more demanding that I thought I was. Oh well, I am, after all, Goddess Divine. I require attention.
School has been extremely frustating. For reasons unexplained, my class has not been allowed to train with the 2nd Wheel (200 level) students. However, the 1st Wheel EVENING students were still allowed to train. Which is a load of bullhonkey -- we're going to the SAME school, pay the SAME tuition. Why can't we have the SAME education? Load of CRAP. Sitting around watching National Geo is NOT my idea of secondary education. However, Apollo College does. I WILL be ranting about this in my student survey. For a good long time.
Because of that MONTH-LONG period of not being allowed to train, my teacher got another job and left. >:| When the school is being so stupid that the TEACHER leaves, what do you think the students are thinking? I was seriously upset. I, myself, was not caring at all anymore. It became a crap class; no point in even trying because not even the administration cares.
I have a new teacher now, and miraculously, we're allowed to workout again. I'm SO GLAD to be allowed back in the gym. I don't know what happened that made it so we couldn't train with Teacher1, but now that Teacher2 is here, we can finally get a move on. But don't think I still won't have a thing or two (or 7 billion) to say in my student survey.
I work at Massage Envy. I absolutely love it. Every job has its ups and downs, but I'm rather keen on this one. I would like to get another job at Riverpoint Sports & Wellness, and work there on my Envy days off. I'm decently busy at Envy; I work 4 days a week, a six-hour shift. I usually wind up with 4 clients, which is pretty sweet. And if they tip on their credit cards, I get a pretty sweet paycheck, which I'm REALLY looking forward to this Friday (for a multitude of reasons, but I'm excited to see my overall payout). The bummer is that I'm only paid $15 for an hour's massage, but at the same time, I have everything provided FOR me: table, sheets, laundry, creams, gels, oils, music, location, clients. If I were to be doing this all on my own, even though I'd earn more per massage, I'd have to deduct all my business expenses from that number, so when it all boils down, I'm happy with the $15 -- for now. ;)
I have repeat clients! I've only been there three weeks and I already have a following. It's so exciting. I really like what I do. I have people lying on my table and in the middle of the massage, I get this surge of gratitute for my job, and think, "wow, I am actually being PAID to do this." Ever hear that saying, "Get a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life"? EXACTLY. I LOVE my job.
There was something else I felt inclined to post, but it has completely slipped my mind... let's see, hair got permed... I'm getting it under control... OH!
Leetle Seester went to school! I miss her hardcore. ...Sniffle...
7.02.2009
Disappointment of the Relieved Nature
Right after I finished my clinic duty at school, I had a meeting with Career Services and they had sent out my resume to various massage businesses. So they said. I only got a call from one business, who I will decline to name, but I'll just call it Spice Girl Mobile Massage (as the actual first name is that of one of the aforementioned group members). So I get a call from Michael at Spice's saying he's interested in hiring, so we go through the whole application process and have an interview and whatnot.
Let me explain the nature of Mobile Massage. Someone calls this phone number and then a massage therapist is sent to their home. That is what I would do, I'd be given an address and then I'd go work on a client in their home. Absolutely no problem with that. However, I later learned that the majority of the clients were male. That was a little unnerving (honestly, how many guys actually are into the idea of massage? that's kinda girly).
Anyhow, I'm told that I'll be given a schedule Monday. Thursday comes and I still don't have it. I emailed saying as much and requested it be resent. Friday I checked and it's still not there. I went to work that evening at Hollywood and didn't worry about it.
Later that evening I get a call from Michael saying he has a client for me. There were three problems with this: 1- he called at 7:15 and I'd written on the application that I wasn't available after 6; 2- he called June 26th and I put on the application that I couldn't start until July 1st (because I needed to know what was going on with my license); 3- he tried to give me a client and I DON'T HAVE A LICENSE. That is ILLEGAL. Just sayin'.
I point out the part where I'm working that night and that I couldn't work until July 1st anyway and then Michael starts yelling at me about how I didn't say anything about that. I told him it was on the application. He again yelled at me that "after all the time we talked on the phone, emailed, and face to face, you never said ANYTHING about starting july 1st!"
"...Right," I agreed, "because it was on the application!" Yeah, that thing I had to fill out in order to WORK for you? Yeah, I filled it out. And that was one of the questions. Of course I didn't bring it up -- YOU ASKED FIRST! I figured you'd read the document YOU made me fill out! Foolishness, I know. Sorry.
"Well, you do what you need to do at the video store," like keep my job by not walking out? "and this massage will go to Spice. Good luck with your career." And he hung up on me.
Hahahahahahahahaha. I can laugh about it now, but I was really disappointed over what happened. But honestly, if that's his brand of professionalism, I'm glad I'm not ranked with it. If this is how the company is run, I'm glad I'm not a part of it.
So... no going to the homes of strange men to work on their naked bodies after all. Eh, no skin off my nose.
Let me explain the nature of Mobile Massage. Someone calls this phone number and then a massage therapist is sent to their home. That is what I would do, I'd be given an address and then I'd go work on a client in their home. Absolutely no problem with that. However, I later learned that the majority of the clients were male. That was a little unnerving (honestly, how many guys actually are into the idea of massage? that's kinda girly).
Anyhow, I'm told that I'll be given a schedule Monday. Thursday comes and I still don't have it. I emailed saying as much and requested it be resent. Friday I checked and it's still not there. I went to work that evening at Hollywood and didn't worry about it.
Later that evening I get a call from Michael saying he has a client for me. There were three problems with this: 1- he called at 7:15 and I'd written on the application that I wasn't available after 6; 2- he called June 26th and I put on the application that I couldn't start until July 1st (because I needed to know what was going on with my license); 3- he tried to give me a client and I DON'T HAVE A LICENSE. That is ILLEGAL. Just sayin'.
I point out the part where I'm working that night and that I couldn't work until July 1st anyway and then Michael starts yelling at me about how I didn't say anything about that. I told him it was on the application. He again yelled at me that "after all the time we talked on the phone, emailed, and face to face, you never said ANYTHING about starting july 1st!"
"...Right," I agreed, "because it was on the application!" Yeah, that thing I had to fill out in order to WORK for you? Yeah, I filled it out. And that was one of the questions. Of course I didn't bring it up -- YOU ASKED FIRST! I figured you'd read the document YOU made me fill out! Foolishness, I know. Sorry.
"Well, you do what you need to do at the video store," like keep my job by not walking out? "and this massage will go to Spice. Good luck with your career." And he hung up on me.
Hahahahahahahahaha. I can laugh about it now, but I was really disappointed over what happened. But honestly, if that's his brand of professionalism, I'm glad I'm not ranked with it. If this is how the company is run, I'm glad I'm not a part of it.
So... no going to the homes of strange men to work on their naked bodies after all. Eh, no skin off my nose.
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