Tuesday, March 15, 2011

It's All Fun and Games Until RuPaul Comes On...

Alright. I know. It's been a while since I posted but I have been extremely busy. There have been many events going on in my life and just for fun, I will itemize them below.

1) It's Girl Scout season. This means that I have to spend every waking minute that I am in public dodging, blocking, running from and diverting little girls in brown sashes. I know the tactics of these little demons because I used to be one. I would wind up eating half of the boxes of cookies, but I could sell them like Donald Trump sells real estate. The secret? Find the weak one in the crowd and pounce! Unfortunately, I am the weak one in the crowd and these little Beiber-lovin'-sash-wearin'-cookie-peddling pests know it. The best means of diversion that I have used so far this season has been pretending to be on my cell phone while walking past the table at Walmart. I loudly said "I don't know Mom. Taking him off of life support is your decision, but I think it's something we really need to consider." A simple concerned look from a Brownie Troop Leader mom and I was in the clear.

2) I broke my a**. Seriously. People are always talking about "busting their a**" or "breaking their a**" at work? I legitimately broke my a**. 15 stairs and I hit every single one of them on the way down. Why you ask? One, because I have no balance. Two, because if you are going to do something right, you better give it 110%: and that includes falling down a flight of stairs. So I have been a bit, er, gimpish the past few weeks.

3) I'm a graduate student. Enough said.

So, I thought that I would get back into the updates that I have on my current plight in losing weight. We (and that would be me and all of the stuffin' that comes with it) are down 61 pounds and have another 30 to go before my brother's nuptials on May 28th. Here I was all excited to announce this challenge to him, only to hear "What?? We don't have time to make alterations to the bridesmaid dress. Don't lose the weight. It will just complicate things." Ah, the motivation and support my family provides. I foresee a public speaking career in their futures.

30 pounds in 75 days? Well, on the Biggest Loser where they have Jillian to yell, scream at and then beat you with your own limbs, they average anywhere from 5-12 pounds a week. That's promising. But my magazine cut-outs of Jillian all over the apartment (including inside the fridge) do not hold the same accountability and force. So I am not too positive on the matter. What I do know is that I am hitting the gym full force without any exceptions. Although the thought of giving up exercise for Lent crossed my mind. Then I remembered that I gave all my "old" jeans away and I would be forced to wear a burlap bag if that were the case. No one needs to see that.

So yesterday I ventured back to the gym (which I have graciously avoided since the great A** Busting of 2011) and got back on the dreaded treadmill. Of course, next to me, was a cellulite-free beauty queen (minus the sash) running full speed and barely glistening. After two puffs on the inhaler, I was ready to go. Bring it 5k. I didn't care how long it took, just as long as I finished it. I put the head phones on and as Kelly, P!nk and Miranda blared into my ears, I kept looking at Princess Petite and wanting to pull the emergency cord right off the machine. But anger management has paid off and I decided it was in both our best interests not to. Then, like an answered prayer, she slowed to a walk and finally descended from the machine. Thank God. My self-esteem was about to plummet to unrecoverable levels.

Within about 10 minutes of her absence, gasping for air and praying to God, Buddha and whoever else is out there that I survive, I finished the 5k. I slowed to a walk and regained my blurred vision. I went to click the ipod on my arm to "stop" but instead I somehow hit shuffle and RuPaul's version of "Supermodel- You Better Work It" came on at full volume. Why it's on there, I have no idea. But while walking I could start to feel the urge to make the treadmill into a catwalk. Knowing that no one was in there, I may or may not have started to strut just a bit. Ok, more than a bit.

But, like all things in my life, nothing lasts forever because in the mirror I saw someone standing behind me, (judging of course) and then looking on in horror as I lost my balance and held onto the handles for dear life, knowing that if I flew off this treadmill for the 100th time, my broken a** would never recover. I reached for the emergency stop button, slammed it, stood up, smiled at the nice gentleman (still judging) and walked (not strutted) out the door.

My dreams of being a Victoria Secret angel died on that treadmill. But I am sure that my onlooker's new facebook status was amusing to all of his friends and family. If I can't provide you runway beauty, I can entertain you with my handicaps.