Potato Girl vs Spin Class

You know how in a friend-pack there’s usually the one who’s “that guy”?  Maybe he or she dresses a little out there compared to the rest, maybe they laugh a little too loud, maybe they are obviously not up-to-snuff when it comes to whatever task is going to be done.  Basically “that guy” is the one who takes the heat off of the rest of the group.  I believe that I am “that guy” when it comes to athleticism…or lack there of, that’s why I believe I was asked to come along on my latest adventure: spin class.

I almost think it was in jest that my friend, we’ll call her Margaret for the sake of this tale, invited me along for this adventure.  Basically I envision when Dear Mags was thumbing through her rolodex of friends to join her at a new spin class, she had two routes to take either 1: someone who knows the ropes and can help guide her through this new experience OR 2: someone who is more out of shape and will make her look like a gazelle.  Maggie-Waggy chose the second option.  Enter me.

 

On an unassuming Tuesday I get the PING of a new email and see Margaret-a is inviting me to an hour of bicycling torment, not to be the person who turns down a challenge(this could also be why Mags dropped me the line).  I fire back: “I’m in”, I’m sure to Maggie Mae’s full surprise.  Fast forward a week.  There I am getting locked into pedals to this death machine.  For the next 58 minutes I spun my legs as fast as my potato-shaped legs could spin without me fearing that I lose all coordination and fall off the metal cycle of doom.  There were a couple of times(okay several) where my legs had a different idea than my brain and my whole body came to a less-than-graceful kerthunk of a stop.

The environment was bumping with music videos blaring to drown out the heavy panting and possible groaning of the group…or was that just me?  The tunes were good, a little Eminem: because nothing says thug life like spinning in a group of almost middle-aged women in different varieties of leggings and then a little George Michael for those actual middle-aged spandex wearing mamas.  The pace and position was changed enough to keep it interesting and as to not completely kill the group(okay me again).  Overall it was fun…ish?  I needed about a half a week for my keister to recuperate but it was a “good” workout in the way that romaine salad with cucumbers is a “good” lunch.  It does the job but it isn’t the bright spot in my day and I definitely don’t crave it.

However if Margaret calls me and asks me to go again, I probably would…just not this week.  I still haven’t gotten George Michael’s “Freedom” out of my head.

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Here I am: back on the weight-loss wagon. I somehow or another mustered up the…muster…to kick myself in the butt and make better choices. Day ONE of this turning over a new leaf journey, my coworker wanted to go out to lunch: at Boston’s Pizza. I said no. He was confused. I explained that I’m on a mission to make better choices and that’s like rolling in chum and jumping in the ocean; there’s a chance I won’t get eaten by a shark, but it seems like an unnecessary risk to my end goal. Fast forward 3 ½ hours: I’m sitting in Boston’s Pizza with two of my coworkers. They are dining on sandwiches that look AMAZING! I am eating a Santa Fe salad with grilled chicken, which was good. I mean it wasn’t crunchy Buffalo chicken slider good, but it was very good…for a salad.

First obstacle: success!

I am participating in a dieting/lifestyle/membership type of community, so I have coaching/mentor/annoying sessions. I met with my coach who was RAIL thin. I mean skinny. I am not skinny. I’d have to lose 100+ pounds to reach the level of skinny that this coach was flaunting, NOT that I want that.

Her perky optimist skinny self asks me if I feel like this is a good time to start this magical journey? I replied “No.” She looks somewhat deflated and perplexed. I went on to explain that there IS no good time to start. I am in an ag-centered business, and we are going into harvest. That means plot tours, dinners, snacks, donuts and other treats will be aplenty. School also started so there’s even more of a pull for me to just find the nearest box of breaded wonder in the freezer, crank the oven to 425 and make dinner appear. No one wants to WAIT for anything. That being said: I need to do some changes, so if I can make it through this next month or two, it should be downhill from there. If I can tackle Autumn with the calling of chili, creamy soups, bread bowls and pumpkin spice everything, I can surely dominate Christmas.

My logic seemed reasonable to her so the interview was basically over. Then it was my turn so I asked some fundamental questions: how much caffeine can I have? When you say “no” alcohol, what exactly does that mean? Okay so if I were to have a little vodka, can I do a swap somewhere else? Does hard liquor count? But rum and diet cola is basically fine? Etc.

So I’m off like a herd of turtles on my journey of being less squishy. I don’t have super-lofty goals. I’d like to not startle myself when my camera is flipped to selfie-mode. I’d like to reduce jiggling when I brush my teeth. I’d like to fit into the same pants I wore last year at this time. I’d like to not be winded after I run upstairs to escape the boogieman after my 3AM bathroom break. I’d like Miss E to stop asking me if I’m pregnant. You know I’m keeping it realistic.

But seriously, liquor with diet pop is okay right?

Nickels and Dimes

Warning: this blog is me whining about something that really isn’t that big of a deal. This maybe due to a lack of caffeine…possibly vodka…I really love my child’s school and their communication is fantastic, so take the following with a grain of complainy salt.

Before I became a parent, people would say things like “I hope you are ready to not get any sleep”, “kiss sleeping in goodbye”, or referring to me now getting to be a “mommy zombie”. They were right, when Miss E was born, she would sleep maybe 3 or 4 hours on a ‘good’ stretch. Hubby and I would try to alternate who would get up to try to keep some kind of sanity, but since I was the primary food source, that didn’t always work. I always recall people giving that warning.

Now over five years later, our kids sleep like champs. Once they both zonk out Hubby and I can share 10-12 hours of undivided whatever we are doing. Miss E is now in Kindergarten and now I’m wondering where all of those warners went: school will nickel and dime you.

Okay put down the pitchforks and torches, I think public school is TOTALLY worth it. I think the dreaded back-to-school list is a drop in the bucket and I have absolutely no problem chipping in for Miss E to have wide markers, #2 pencils and headphones for class. Miss E has been in school for almost two weeks. A day or two into school, she brought an order form where we can order school gear. How convenient! I like the ease of checking the backpack folder for opportunities to support the school. A day or two later, an order sheet for Homecoming school gear: oh, okay…well I don’t think my Kindergartener needs to capture the memory of her first Homecoming, but some kids might.

The next day: how to fundraise for your school online and Miss E can win PRIZES. Okay ya bastards…I sold a crap-ton of fruit for the FFA back in my day, but I was a driving high schooler. I remember beating on doors(yes I PHYSICALLY walked door-to-door) and tried to sling magazine subscriptions to raise money for prom and I sold gift baskets to raise money for cheerleading. I was engaged. I was competitive. I was a teenager. This fundraising platform has nothing to do with the child doing anything, it’s basically hitting up the parent’s social network. I digress. I ordered, I emailed, I shared to Facebook. Miss E has a blinky ring, a splat ball and some other item sure to break the first 10 minutes she has it coming her way. Check.

Last Friday, I see another order form(for those of you counting that’s the fourth in 11 days). It’s picture day! Order some photos of your kid to preserve yet another memory. For F’s sake. I’m trying to Dave Ramsey my family out of debt and this school sends me an easily validated reason to spent money at the current rate of twice a week! So in the car while driving the kids to daycare, I scrawled out another check to the school for the cheapest money-saving package I could order.

Miss E decided last-minute to wear one of her well-loved shirts. She took a foot to the face from her little sister(accidentally). She also has a top tooth ready to fall out any day so yes YES this is a moment in history that I sure want preserved. I forgot to pack a brush too, so I am imagining rows of dolled-up children in their cute little fall dresses and mini bowties, with perfectly sprayed and placed locks. That won’t be my kid. Miss E will look like she came screeching in at the last second in a partially soiled Las Vegas souvenir tee, wild-woman hair and a couple teeth missing. That’s how we roll. Authentic. Authentic and broke.