tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84299526463365458522024-03-05T17:53:22.469-08:00Sublurban MamaKellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.comBlogger328125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-66929592328750359252015-12-15T11:07:00.000-08:002015-12-15T11:09:28.025-08:00"You Say Goodbye"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWKR9uar4-IJSJLzkDQbqEkUJNsNuxEguLS5mL2AU_gF7GTb6GtkY0PosItLcNJNvdUyhfpkLYe9RuEzZw4HtAoxUwTsUAYQjKiibMHKoPWkBa9k6LVs9TPflNuILkdA7ZrrFHFhXhQI/s1600/Dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWKR9uar4-IJSJLzkDQbqEkUJNsNuxEguLS5mL2AU_gF7GTb6GtkY0PosItLcNJNvdUyhfpkLYe9RuEzZw4HtAoxUwTsUAYQjKiibMHKoPWkBa9k6LVs9TPflNuILkdA7ZrrFHFhXhQI/s320/Dad.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I never outgrew my 4 year old bangs<br />
#itsFASHUN</td></tr>
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So my dad died on Friday.<br />
<br />
My best memories of my dad are, surprisingly, after he and my mom divorced. There was a sweet period of about a year where I enjoyed seeing him on the weekends and we would have Important Talks about Grown Up Topics, like books and music, on a level my 12 year old brain was not accustomed to. It was in those talks that I began to see a glimpse of the man my dad could be; a glimpse of the man that my mom fell for and was capable of briefly helping to raise three kids.<br />
<br />
But in those weekends I also learned that my dad was a very broken man. He was bound by addiction, mental health issues, and an extrememly low sense of will and personal drive. No one lives inside a vaccuum, and the effects of that brokenness were not his alone to bear, and unfortunately had tragic effects on his relationships, especially those with his children. On the bright side, I have memories like this:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The Time I Got The Sex Talk From My Drunk Dad: An EPIC Tale I Will Appreciate Forever</div>
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<br /></div>
Once upon a time I was 12 and my dad was drunk and he played me Meatloaf's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C11MzbEcHlw">Paradise By The Dashboard Light</a> and said,<br />
<br />
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"Sex is wonderful, sex is great,</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
but if you do it now,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it will be a big mistake."</div>
<br />
It was like a poem<b> he didn't even mean to write</b>. If it was a rap battle he would've won. (<i>Um, Kel, I'm not sure you know how rap battles work.</i>)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0VxZSGGUSCysEUlcbkGu0TMTFabLm3WkFf5t7LAkbEVODlw8Are-ZefHMlQDrCX-TBVMEfMqnHLrlCBoaCAWH61xa8usPp_LrjFYsDgxGAuFoiqdXZmrC7yY2nk9qKBWcPnxZNYcHrc/s1600/ohio+state.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz0VxZSGGUSCysEUlcbkGu0TMTFabLm3WkFf5t7LAkbEVODlw8Are-ZefHMlQDrCX-TBVMEfMqnHLrlCBoaCAWH61xa8usPp_LrjFYsDgxGAuFoiqdXZmrC7yY2nk9qKBWcPnxZNYcHrc/s200/ohio+state.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chosen specifically for the barbell<br />
*flexes*</td></tr>
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He loved reading and passed down to me the love for a great novel, as well as recommendations of authors and a bizarre affinity for the writing of Stephen King. (Don't ask.)(But since you're asking, The Mist and The Long Walk are my favorites.) He fervently loved THE Ohio State (a love <i>not</i> passed down)(Go, Bama, Roll Tide) and the Beatles. He loved sarcasm and could be really funny and wildly, hilariously inappropriate.<br />
<br />
In the dark moments I have most of the memories you would assosciate with being the kid of such a troubled man. The last decade has been the hardest, but I'm thankful for those years because they really cemented in my heart that<br />
<br />
1. You can't save someone who doesn't want saving.<br />
2. An unrecovered addict will never love anything more than himself. That has nothing to do with who I am or what I do.<br />
3. You can't reason with mental illness. (And, for free, <b>depression is a big fat liar</b>.)<br />
<br />
The latest hospitalization began much like the others that had been occuring with more frequency over the last four months.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9cF7bsvj4zF0hLu0izvF7G8JpMySVaTrz0ToDQ6lAjGrXhA6XY5TNRD3xy4l12t9QVyrEeauz0CpWNAt1OhZjcl09rY42vDp5WuftdFGBUNMm3Oivv9DTJqdC3yczRBd4exXWNYbVdI/s1600/Dad2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9cF7bsvj4zF0hLu0izvF7G8JpMySVaTrz0ToDQ6lAjGrXhA6XY5TNRD3xy4l12t9QVyrEeauz0CpWNAt1OhZjcl09rY42vDp5WuftdFGBUNMm3Oivv9DTJqdC3yczRBd4exXWNYbVdI/s320/Dad2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because: Pilgrims</td></tr>
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I got a call from LifeAlert in the middle of the night on November 18. Dad had fallen again, but this time broke his femur. He was taken to St. Joe's and scheduled for surgery on November 20. I visited him that night. He was not feeling great (<i>Kel, it's cool you're being careful not to say how hella crabby he was</i>) and I left with promises to call and check on him.<br />
<br />
The next week did not go well for him. He developed pnuemonia and was placed on both an oxygen mask and a feeding tube. Thankfully he was still in the ICU so he had excellent care. On Thanksgiving Day he was particularly pissed about the feeding tube, but had enough spirit to fight with me about his discharge rehab plans. I received a phone call from the hospital social worker on Saturday to discuss those discharge plans.<br />
<br />
The next day he was off the oxygen mask and knew jello was on the agenda for that evening; his first solid food in a week. It was November 29th. Then, something happened.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmKbSy2A5nVDVk4wBYeBxQ4OYxkvOzF4NNakBP0wfgpu9yq2qZXVrfrdRqFQD4ip4PQVXe7V6uMqJ_l-M-mUzN-J2uopGsDEPSnGh6eOPJaQe0JlPDqy7n9rVeYHjBcUH0RWHm_NJtEhM/s1600/Dad3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmKbSy2A5nVDVk4wBYeBxQ4OYxkvOzF4NNakBP0wfgpu9yq2qZXVrfrdRqFQD4ip4PQVXe7V6uMqJ_l-M-mUzN-J2uopGsDEPSnGh6eOPJaQe0JlPDqy7n9rVeYHjBcUH0RWHm_NJtEhM/s320/Dad3.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
There are many theories. I know what I believe happened, but it will never be proven so we can only speculate. Somehow his main IV (the one in his jugular)(the one sutured and taped in place) came out. An air embolism entered his bloodstream, causing cardiac arrest, and, ultimately, a lot of brain damage.<br />
<br />
The next nine days were spent watching and waiting, in meeting with doctors and social workers, and being included in both hospital rounds and neuro examinations. The highest level of function my dad was thought to ever be able to acheive was something called a semi-conscious state. He had no purposeful response to sound, light, or pain. With united and heavy hearts, we made the decision to remove life support.<br />
<br />
It was while dropping by the ICU to retrieve my dad's cell phone that I realized I arrived exactly as they were taking him off life support. A resident and a nurse quickly shuttled me down to the family room with promises to retrieve me once he was cleaned up and settled. I stood in a room with two other families eating their cafeteria snacks and akwardly answered a call from Lauren (spoiler: she's been AMAZING through this), sharing that I was at The Exact Moment and getting all high-pitched and tight-throated in my dialogue while the other families pretended not to listen. (In truth I'm a *much* better pretender than all of them and felt like bowing at the end of my call because their pretend not listening <b>sucked</b> and I felt like they should have at least applauded the show or <i>something</i>) (something = cash)(or Starbucks)(#notpicky)<br />
<br />
To mark the seriousness of the occassion, the entire team (all five residents and his two nurses) stood respectfully in the room while I entered. I don't know what I expected in the room, but dad looked exactly the same as he had the previous week, just off the ventilator. I said some lame thing to my dad, like, "I bet it feels better without all that junk in your mouth", and knew if my dad were able he would make some horribly inappropriate and extrememly embarrassing sex joke in response to my rambling. Not gonna lie, that's when I teared up a bit. This was actually the first time I got weepy in front of all of them, and Doctor F. took it upon himself to save me a bit.<br />
<br />
"I just wanted to tell you how impressed we are with you and your <b>kickass sister Cassie</b>." (Ok, so he totally didn't word it that way but that's what he <i>meant</i>.) He continued, "We were all talking earlier about how well you've handled this." He went on to share specific things about us that impressed him, citing two questions I had asked during our meetings and how our first priority in decision making was to respect my dad's wishes. Since my Love Language is Words of Affirmation I was lapping this stuff up like iced coffee; it was a serious balm to my soul. As he wound down in his monologue of praise, I, overcome with gratefulness and teary-eyed, responded with,<br />
<br />
"Well, once the results were in and it was clear he didn't have any higher brain function, the decision to take him off life support was a no-brainer."<br />
<br />
*cue: me looking horrified*<br />
*cue: me LAUGHING BECAUSE OHMYLANTA I ACCIDENTALLY MADE A BRAIN DEAD JOKE WHILE REMOVING MY DAD FROM LIFE SUPPORT.*<br />
*cue: the docs trying to hide their smiles behind Professional Faces*<br />
<br />
My dad would've <i><b>loved</b></i> that moment.<br />
<br />
He died three days later.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByMDVa0Zd3D2-BLNYR3dc-xfa94KYK7P4nX30rMWozB-8WWnSSHkvUm2ibTX9cYKJw4H8QpBHKDHgJbELcaDpAsGlfPyLfnTWIdwIMj-rqXuBImhco5UenVGg-ylwXlYffUVSNF_ElR8/s1600/dadwithesther.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhByMDVa0Zd3D2-BLNYR3dc-xfa94KYK7P4nX30rMWozB-8WWnSSHkvUm2ibTX9cYKJw4H8QpBHKDHgJbELcaDpAsGlfPyLfnTWIdwIMj-rqXuBImhco5UenVGg-ylwXlYffUVSNF_ElR8/s320/dadwithesther.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad and Esther, 5 months before he died</td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thomas Stephen Brokaw</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
September 6, 1951 - December 11, 2015</div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRd7J5eqo9lyUtBcr5e0SVpp1z3VuTJ5Vusa3llHdpATYg4vIH6vJLl0HpRy7WCFvPKNBVR_SxZmiMvDGSkeVBXR-f1AwsrKfN8DnMe89jvy3JyNS9AwRIJxoIWZfo8wtpeEEPuqB13z8/s1600/dadslegacy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRd7J5eqo9lyUtBcr5e0SVpp1z3VuTJ5Vusa3llHdpATYg4vIH6vJLl0HpRy7WCFvPKNBVR_SxZmiMvDGSkeVBXR-f1AwsrKfN8DnMe89jvy3JyNS9AwRIJxoIWZfo8wtpeEEPuqB13z8/s400/dadslegacy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad, in the world you had many troubles. But your legacy is pretty epic. You done good.<br />
Steve, Cas, and me</td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I pray he found peace and freedom in the end.</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-32526037868690338312015-08-03T20:20:00.001-07:002015-08-03T20:20:05.953-07:00Still Busy Doing Warrior Stuffs<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIK0nPOF1k2J6w2uhkIzI9jQlV7c7U4rRfsOcSQblpdIHsx0TIApCopbALPXcqqEX6-9RamB-FU1-zzv9G1Ac2V3Lv78Su57tc2O6RgI92s6XLJChcbdsO1cjARYpymr27tqWSeqJpQs/s1600/11376241_472165989617845_1187351518_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIK0nPOF1k2J6w2uhkIzI9jQlV7c7U4rRfsOcSQblpdIHsx0TIApCopbALPXcqqEX6-9RamB-FU1-zzv9G1Ac2V3Lv78Su57tc2O6RgI92s6XLJChcbdsO1cjARYpymr27tqWSeqJpQs/s320/11376241_472165989617845_1187351518_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />Texts with Hubby<br />Oh, and this year's Warrior Dash viking helmet.<br />I posted this on Instagram.<br />Where you can follow me.<br />I'm<a href="https://instagram.com/sublurbanmama/"> Sublurbanmama</a>.<br />I know, it's a stretch.</td></tr>
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Happy bi-yearly blog post!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last week I was pulled from a sound sleep by the repeated peals of "Mama...Mama...Mama..." from across the house. It was hella early, and as I stumbled in a haze through the hallway to find the origin of my summoning, I could only speculate that the dear child who needed me so desperately was trapped in a sinkhole that suddenly struck our laundry room, or bound and held captive by suburban pirates who wanted to steal the giant container of Starbucks Skinny Vanilla Latte in the fridge, because for what other possible logical reason would the blessing from my womb be waking me at such an awful hour of the day?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I peeked in the bathroom to find my cherished only son sprawled like an octopus about the toilet - his rear <i>inside the bowl</i> with the rest of his limbs splayed akimbo. "Mama, it's about time you got here. Can you wipe me?" (1. Dude. Really? Gross.) (2. He's five. I KNOW ALRIGHT.) (I make myself feel better about wiping his tush by pretending it's my secret Super Hero identity "The Obliterator of Filth".) (Also,<i> I</i> have a Poop Alarm Clock. Don't get too jelly.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In case you were wondering if my life got any less glamorous since I last blogged, rest assured, I'm still living like a Kardashian. And by that I mean large portions of my day are spent giving attention to the derriere of one family member in particular. *cough*<i> Ezra </i>*cough*<br />
<br />
Other than living the Stay At Home Mama dream I am still plugging away with powerlifting. My shoulder is healing nicely, albeit slowly. (2000 Awesome Points for "albeit" usage.) I was officially released from physical therapy in June, and since I'd been there so.freaking.long they <strike>named a private room after me</strike> gave me two free t-shirts instead of one. #baller #knowspeople<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfVdMfcy7JWvVBVlo6h2pcgN2hcOa5V3xjLi6vkyLjbs-BaqG2doprN8QHhYXZRnDbNHfyQ9BjdWQp60kkHz4n6aCBU3AwQtcIBVtUTMXWnCw3nChQgWPEJxOfFFOe0O8o3MbZdfoV3Q/s1600/regina+georges+mom+is+cool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfVdMfcy7JWvVBVlo6h2pcgN2hcOa5V3xjLi6vkyLjbs-BaqG2doprN8QHhYXZRnDbNHfyQ9BjdWQp60kkHz4n6aCBU3AwQtcIBVtUTMXWnCw3nChQgWPEJxOfFFOe0O8o3MbZdfoV3Q/s320/regina+georges+mom+is+cool.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally not me because I'm not stupid and<br />know to get my pop culture info from google<br />and Urban Dictionary <b>like a responsible</b> 36 year old</td></tr>
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While I do miss the people at therapy I'm really really really happy to be back working towards my original goals. One thing injury cemented for me is that I know now I enjoy the strength aspect of lifting more than body building. While I do some body building work for aesthetic purposes (because c'mon, <b>Mama Bear needs some fly lookin' delts</b>)(if you didn't picture me saying that as Regina Goerge's mom, you're reading it wrong) (because I'm not a regular mom, I'm a <i>cool </i>mom) (obviously), most body building I do as accessory work for my big three lifts. There is just something unappealing about doing a million reps of a lift that works one main muscle at a time. It bores me and it is challenging in the wrong kind of way. It makes me feel like, "Oh, this is so <b>not fun</b> and the challenge is rooted solely in making myself finish the set." Powerlifting, where I'm lifting really heavy weights for a few reps, works a bunch of huge muscles at a time and has me all, "OHMYLANTA I WONDER IF I CAN LIFT THIS WEIGHT WITHOUT CRAPPING MY PANTS." (If you have to guess which of those two thoughts is more fun to have I don't even know why we're friends.) Plus? In powerlifting I get to wear a belt, so....<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6suGei28uylLx7DnSD1mPkCNCk9A45ApPBhjvk0__9azlEaWuOL9n-2i0bw8WZBMQCJiiZe7ZJDRRP3pC6mxIXq044yJfrYV-19J69WkUl8abGTig_HJWS9vzDnrOWMuducK_YwVfopA/s1600/beast+mode+inclusive+dl+pr+235+edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6suGei28uylLx7DnSD1mPkCNCk9A45ApPBhjvk0__9azlEaWuOL9n-2i0bw8WZBMQCJiiZe7ZJDRRP3pC6mxIXq044yJfrYV-19J69WkUl8abGTig_HJWS9vzDnrOWMuducK_YwVfopA/s400/beast+mode+inclusive+dl+pr+235+edited.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the closest I will ever come to being a fitness blogger/social media superstar because the level of embarrassment I had over taking this selfie at the gym was ridiculous. But there is me, in the far away mirror, rocking my capri's and Converse, and documenting that I <i>did</i> lift two hundred and thirty five freaking pounds. Twice.</td></tr>
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<br />
The hardest part of this year has definitely been maintaining my weight. The hard part is that gaining weight makes me <b>so much stronger</b>. Like, not marginally stronger either. It's like "DAYUM GURL, go on and eat those <strike>Larry and Lenny protein cookies</strike> Wheaties because = 30# PR's for daaaaaaays" stronger. And that is seductive. What's not seductive is the discovery that my favorite dress no longer fits. So this year I am finding my sweet spot, or window really, of where I'm comfortable being as far as numbers on the scale. (Honestly, there is something I like about saying, "I've lost 100 pounds." I need to weigh 153 to be truthful for that. I also want to compete in the 148 weight class when I'm ready to compete. So my happy training window is around 153 strictly for emotional reasons. And I'm okay with that.)(Kind of. It was also really nice weighing 143 pre-shoulder injury, and I have a hard time not making that my new standard for where I need to be.)(Like, I'll weigh in at 153 and feel like I'm 10 pounds overweight and I get temporary amnesia where I forget that I'm still down ONE HUNDRED FREAKING POUNDS and all I can see are those ten pounds up from my lowest adult weight and I feel like I'm at my heaviest all over again.)(Also? The Kelly that was 253 pounds wants to smack 153 pound Kelly for even struggling with this ten pound dilemma.)(But 153 pound Kelly<i> totally</i> gets it.)<br />
<br />
So there is a little bit of an update for y'all! I've gotten so many emails this summer and I appreciate every one of you that take the time to read this little blog! Thanks again from the bottom of my heart. (Which is the best part.)(Because it's closest to my tummy.)(And that's where all the cookies are.) #science</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-89375700575843778962015-01-22T18:46:00.001-08:002015-01-22T18:46:36.825-08:00I'm pretty sure Jake is a meth dealer.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzru9JuY1csqjVTd77G-uMgAezZKRYvi12I6tqeEZaPp6UQjQH79G889_RqV8hRKVKNXWueMkYmifxmr2XLQdhI-Ph9xuAbBd_9Rj0JWDwcTJ01E44WP0uiCN9X98GkRXhq_ZSQATim4/s1600/Kt+tape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKzru9JuY1csqjVTd77G-uMgAezZKRYvi12I6tqeEZaPp6UQjQH79G889_RqV8hRKVKNXWueMkYmifxmr2XLQdhI-Ph9xuAbBd_9Rj0JWDwcTJ01E44WP0uiCN9X98GkRXhq_ZSQATim4/s1600/Kt+tape.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Delt and Trap inhibitor taping<br />Kinesio tape 4 lyfe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm equally in awe and super pissed at the complexity of the human shoulder. There are a lot of little muscles, tendons, arteries and such streaming allllll through that mess. I've discovered that they are all a bit interconnected. If you make one angry they can collectively gang up on you in group protest, because apparently they have unionized and know the power of collective bargaining. Like, "Oh, Kel, you messing with ROTATOR CUFF? Let me introduce you to Rotator's friends: Pec Major, Pec Minor, Long Bicep, Delt, and Tri. Under the superb leadership of Captain Trapezius they will no longer be working for you. Until, of course, you take care of Rotator Cuff <strike>who is a giant PITA and made up of a billion (or four - <i>whatever</i>) tendons</strike>."<br />
<br />
In related news, that shoulder injury I mentioned in passing a few months ago? IS SLOWLY KILLING ME. When it wasn't healing on its own (i.e. me complaining about it and icing it sporadically) I ended up at physical therapy three times a week where they actually had a plan in place to fix my rotator cuff (and pec major, pec minor, and long bicep)(because they are <b><i>all</i></b> in on it). This plan involved rehabilitation that included not only a therapist and a team of techs but also the instructions that I not lift anything outside of therapy.<br />
<br />
I'll let that sink in a moment.<br />
<br />
No lifting. No training for my powerlifting meet. No access to my favorite (and most effective) method of stress management. No getting stronger or sculpting my body.<i> No lifting</i>.<br />
<br />
My first session should have been a heads up that I was going to need to be in this for the long haul. My assessment was with my new physical therapist Jake (who fully embraced Movember by growing a wicked 'stache and saying the words "testicular cancer" way too frequently) (and also scarily reminded me of Walter White from Breaking Bad with his shaved head and reddish mustache) (the obvious conclusion is that Jake is a meth dealer) (I'm pretty sure). He also totally reminds me of my little brother in that he doesn't <strike>think I'm funny at all</strike> let me get away with ANYTHING.<br />
<br />
Our first session went well. By well I mean I fully expected to be rehabilitated and back lifting my maxes in less than a week and Jake understood the reality of the situation and CRUSHED MY SOUL with the truth.<br />
<br />
An average therapy session starts with 15 minutes of heat, then moves on to a bunch of exercises to strengthen my back and the muscles in my shoulder. I do these exercises under the supervision of one of three techs: Matteo, Tim, or Shane. At home I call them The White Hats because they remind me of the easy-going jock frat boys from college. Their primary job is to <strike>make sure I am doing each exercise safely and effectively</strike> tell on me to Jake when I ask to up my weights <i>again</i>. These guys are so much fun.<br />
<br />
Next is 20 minutes of hands on therapy with Jake <strike>while we fight about what I can and can't do at the gym</strike>, a short ultrasound treatment (that I'm convinced is going to give me super powers a la Peter Parker and the radioactive spider bite), and finishes with 15 of the best minutes of my life spent in a machine called GAME READY *angel chorus sings*.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8aeaEbaAuqmkWz_hDfwSuS4KvVz0BaSFZNWrWGx4_q1QHCMUHFlgcn755lPXcNXxPbftq9F0Nl2ngo6BxzTe8tyV211PSG6GVZY2WsWQnp-gP5k8HkfE1dVJwaORT_Bakhl1tRLp1qU/s1600/loki.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_8aeaEbaAuqmkWz_hDfwSuS4KvVz0BaSFZNWrWGx4_q1QHCMUHFlgcn755lPXcNXxPbftq9F0Nl2ngo6BxzTe8tyV211PSG6GVZY2WsWQnp-gP5k8HkfE1dVJwaORT_Bakhl1tRLp1qU/s1600/loki.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Darling, it pains me that you can't deadlift."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Game Ready is a cold and compression machine that feels like swimming in McDonald's iced coffee while Tom Hiddleston reads you poetry and calls you "darling" in Loki's voice. I get velcroed (totally a verb) in an arm/shoulder sling and sit while it pulses icy water all around and squeezes my poor, tortured muscles. It feels <i>incredible</i>.<br />
<br />
There will be Game Ready in heaven.<br />
<br />
So therapy is both awesome and terrible. Awesome because I love the people at the rehab clinic (even Jake but don't tell him), and terrible because they give me one pound dumbbells and I have to make myself *not* act like a disdainfully smug jerk holding them. Also, the ban on lifting has been obeyed by me completely at all times. (That sentence is a lie.)<br />
<br />
It's hella hard to watch the months of hard work I put in at the gym disappear. I feel like I'm deflating. I spent the first two months of therapy nodding along to the rules Jake gave me and then going and doing whatever I wanted at the gym. That, of course, is the real reason I'm still hurt.<br />
<br />
I'm the worst patient ever and also my own greatest enemy, because me ignoring my therapist has only resulted in him being crazily frustrated with me (picture him super pissed and actually hanging his head while he says, "IT'S JUST THAT YOU ARE CONSTANTLY PUSHING BOUNDARIES" as I sit like a lectured toddler while my bottom lip quivers but also like a petulant teenager while my heart screams, "BUT JAKE, YOU DON'T KNOW MY PAIN." (Of course I mean my figurative pain of being banned from lifting. Duh.)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LM4lyUOtMcdJCSAP5xx0csJLFbqg9oSNnybImoVhxD95PIESbjlfm47b8y1iSvfLgN3o5a4bmIlTUuBhnzYBiMoMYu-aoY1Knq4mArDCUJOd0bUqFjzqJYv-BeoemDdyByikMN8CE3Y/s1600/hipster+ariel+singing+lisa+loeb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4LM4lyUOtMcdJCSAP5xx0csJLFbqg9oSNnybImoVhxD95PIESbjlfm47b8y1iSvfLgN3o5a4bmIlTUuBhnzYBiMoMYu-aoY1Knq4mArDCUJOd0bUqFjzqJYv-BeoemDdyByikMN8CE3Y/s1600/hipster+ariel+singing+lisa+loeb.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you missed the 90's I feel for you.<br />Because: this meme doe</td></tr>
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Jake says, "Maaaaaaaybe you can try some wall push ups <i>if you are careful</i>," and I'm all, "I think what Jake <b>meant</b> was bench pressing heavy weight with full range of motion is now approved." *Enter Lisa Loeb singing, "You say I only hear what I want to."*<br />
<br />
About a month ago Kemper put his foot down and basically told me my only job right now is to heal my shoulder. Any muscle building/strength training would have to be secondary to getting my shoulder/chest back. And amazingly, listening to Kemper's directive to rest my shoulder (which Jake had been telling me for *literally* months) actually worked. I'm on the real road to recovery. <i>Finally</i>. Hoorah.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-83665942065579647262014-11-11T19:14:00.001-08:002014-11-11T19:14:23.914-08:00A Lesson in Acoustics. Oh, and Sex Education.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHkgR8mEpVvTXNj9r_segfVDiFgABm52zrRPfLbcjQK2lGMVFfzBGgA3G4iI_qpylw6c_S878ykYpw0RGqfzSDdKfFrZKHB1qWfFZru9KB_OJpjIUjsfS0TYYNJkT7Yj_dn0emFoQLUU/s1600/birds+and+the+bees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfHkgR8mEpVvTXNj9r_segfVDiFgABm52zrRPfLbcjQK2lGMVFfzBGgA3G4iI_qpylw6c_S878ykYpw0RGqfzSDdKfFrZKHB1qWfFZru9KB_OJpjIUjsfS0TYYNJkT7Yj_dn0emFoQLUU/s200/birds+and+the+bees.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
It's rare I get one child all to myself; usually I have all four kiddos or some variation of the majority of them. So it was a pretty awesome discovery to realize that it was<i> just </i>Hosanna and I going to hear the Voices of Liberty inside the halls of the American Adventure at Epcot during our Disney vacation.<br />
<br />
A quick note about Hosanna: she is by far my quietest child, but when she is alone with mom or dad the girl does.not.shut.up. It's like she's saved every scrap of every thought she has had since the last private conversation and unleashes it wildly without a breath or beat to spare. This is both precious and exhausting. It is hard for me to process so much input in such a short amount of time, which is why I concentrate on being an <i>attentive listener</i>, which is just a fancy way of describing how I let Hosanna deliver her monologue uninterrupted while maintaining eye contact and nodding to encourage her. (Parenting: nailing it.)<br />
<br />
Our American Adventure Voices of Liberty date was no different. She chattered away, telling me all about the television show she had been watching recently. It was a reality show on TLC about a family who wanted children but had trouble having them because "the dad was missing something...or didn't have enough of something... (<i>oh.my.lanta. MOVING ON</i>) but then they found a doctor who found someone who had <b>enough</b> of what the dad was missing and the couple was able to have not only one baby but FIVE babies!" Hosanna told me alllllllll about this family as we waited for the a Capella group Voices of Liberty to sing*.<br />
<br />
*Nerd Fact= I majored in music. Specifically, voice. So I may have been a <i>little</i> pumped to finally hear this renowned group sing in the space especially designed and known for it's perfect acoustics. What are acoustics? Acoustics are the way sound behaves in an enclosed space. Some acoustics will deaden sound, some will carry it. The acoustics in the dome of the American Adventure were designed so that a group of eight singers could sing patriotic songs without microphones and be heard perfectly all around. Translation: <i>sound carries fabulously and vibrantly</i>. <br />
<br />
Voices of Liberty? Were <b><i>dope</i></b>. We sat right inside the domed shell and enjoyed every single note. Yeah, I found the girl that sings my voice part and yeah, I could have fit in her costume <strike>if I had boobs,</strike> so I'll definitely have that job someday. (I'm pretty sure that's how they cast those parts, right?) Hosanna kept leaning towards me to tell me something in between each song, but the flow was pretty steady, what with it only being a fifteen minute concert, so she never managed to get it out. She was almost bursting out of her skin as we listened to the final song, desperate to tell me the <i>one last little thing</i> that was on her mind.<br />
<br />
She held it in as the last notes died and the applause began, and, to her credit waited until the applause stopped and I was wiping the tears of emotion from my eyes (because I love a Capella music and 'Murica) before blurting, "IT WAS <b>*SPERM*</b>, MOM. HE WAS MISSING <b>HIS SPERM</b>."<br />
<br />
And the perfect acoustics of the perfect dome in the perfectly magical land that is Disney carried that sweet little message to everyone in the room. <br />
<br />
You're welcome, Disney World.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-48994400006701375112014-10-15T20:46:00.001-07:002014-10-16T11:08:53.522-07:00Barbells, Beards, and Bald heads Oh My! <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1fZz23LhjNwNMKU35bVAGFA6MsEJ1kJ7EYGQjodj1etjxWhROAT3c0s6gC0hZ8h6Z_bBUnYOfMUbEm0nMVTYJqwIiVGQGjzDB4sWrP7xMnOzr1k6F7Gn0I_Uoijp4zsWccrhI_xvYGs/s1600/does+thou+hoist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb1fZz23LhjNwNMKU35bVAGFA6MsEJ1kJ7EYGQjodj1etjxWhROAT3c0s6gC0hZ8h6Z_bBUnYOfMUbEm0nMVTYJqwIiVGQGjzDB4sWrP7xMnOzr1k6F7Gn0I_Uoijp4zsWccrhI_xvYGs/s1600/does+thou+hoist.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a></div>
ROOOOAAAAADDDD TRRIIIIIIIPPPPPP!<br />
<br />
Okay, so that might be a generous description for what was, although an extremely bad@ss time, only a two hour drive and a seven hour experience. Day trip, maybe? Whatever. All I know is that this mama of four, after spending ten days at Disney World, set off on a solo adventure across state to observe what would become her favorite sport in the history of the world.<br />
<br />
That's right. It's time for a little report of the Michigan APF Fall Open. (Since I know the majority of you reading this are learning about powerlifting with me, I'm going to try to explain everything I needed explained to me. So, APF = American Powerlifting Federation. The Open meet would offer three events - the squat, bench press, and deadlift. This is different from the meet I will be doing in January, which is just a Push/Pull; push = bench press, and pull = deadlift.)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIexio4SGdXap3wSX89ZeXm2YY2OxUIJa5TJd5BKGxanQvld5FAvCWbo0cVLeMNt6hK7xQngtv0j87k-xlTSWskamZ3jq9tJjZbAwnZuFZQba9P2glmHZOmQg9xYsIs-t-uTXkWQq7F4/s1600/cagefight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIexio4SGdXap3wSX89ZeXm2YY2OxUIJa5TJd5BKGxanQvld5FAvCWbo0cVLeMNt6hK7xQngtv0j87k-xlTSWskamZ3jq9tJjZbAwnZuFZQba9P2glmHZOmQg9xYsIs-t-uTXkWQq7F4/s1600/cagefight.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hey Kemp, remember when you worked your<br />
voodoo magic on my hip flexor? Too bad Imma<br />
use my new found flexibility to ROUNDHOUSE<br />
KICK YOUR FACE IF YOU TAKE MY ICED<br />
COFFEE." (Seriously, bro, I know. Post workout<br />
iced coffee is legit.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The meet started at 9:00 am, but there was an informational meeting for the athletes at 8:00 that I wanted to crash. I planned to leave my house at 5:30 am in order to get there on time. My first stop was (duh) McDonalds for iced coffee. (I can see Kemper wincing at this news.)(Don't worry, Kemp, I also got an Egg McMuffin with an extra serving of egg whites.)(Somehow I don't think the "muffin" portion of that confession made Kemper feel better about the Carb Fest that is McDonalds <strike>Nectar of the Gods</strike> Sugar Free French Vanilla iced coffee.)(Total disclosure - <i>totally </i>worth it.)(Like, I would cage fight Kemper <b>and win</b> if iced coffee was on the line.)(Huzzah.)<br />
<br />
I was honestly kicking butt on the drive over. I was flying down the highway, listening to early morning radio and Driver's Seat Performing whatever chart topper cued up. I noticed about an hour into my drive that my shoulder with the rotator cuff injury was getting a little sore from <strike>changing the radio station so frequently</strike> using my <b>death crush of a super strong grip</b> to hold the steering wheel, and that's when I realized I'd left my instant ice packs at home. No problem - I'd just stop off at the next exit that had a Meijer or a drug store and pick some up.<br />
<br />
This would have been a stellar plan if the exit I chose also had a functional on ramp to get me back to the highway.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WoWcWHKNezj8nlYhkC5JESe_2sl0-QgSws-0jycaY_Ovmzv0ZVHGx6i9ScgEp1GMbA5esnD59XKc_mux2i1BHD8tdNIxKVvcC7-lgh9RKg96SY68IeKMsMeNR2oX0uwd2K-yjjGWt9c/s1600/arrested+for+sexiness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WoWcWHKNezj8nlYhkC5JESe_2sl0-QgSws-0jycaY_Ovmzv0ZVHGx6i9ScgEp1GMbA5esnD59XKc_mux2i1BHD8tdNIxKVvcC7-lgh9RKg96SY68IeKMsMeNR2oX0uwd2K-yjjGWt9c/s1600/arrested+for+sexiness.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not <i>again</i>.</td></tr>
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Since I don't have a data plan for my phone (enter rant here) I couldn't look up an alternate route, so I had no choice but to get on the highway going the opposite direction and pull an illegal u-turn. Because clearly that was my only option. (Don't tell my sis the cop.)(Although she would totally agree with me <strike>out of family loyalty only</strike>.)<br />
<br />
<br />
I finished the drive and arrived at the venue approximately five minutes after the informational meeting I'd booked it out there to hear was finished. Awesome.<br />
<br />
<br />
The meet was held at DeVos Convention Center in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's a really pretty building, and the APF rented out two meeting rooms for the event. One room was for the judging and the other was a warmup area and general place to hang out.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxOWxgKiyX7VWJzxDt_fdDyFgRHJQ7jbJXadbwMKdFOz5csSE76BqjZ9QUDlrYf5ao_a3IpDfAwy-Zi3DXa-vVrPeDjgyYFMRqfkBka4cwP7lzoMmREh0U_uZBpQQoHCfWTcrrWa7Fks/s1600/WallsOfJerichoBandPhoto2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxOWxgKiyX7VWJzxDt_fdDyFgRHJQ7jbJXadbwMKdFOz5csSE76BqjZ9QUDlrYf5ao_a3IpDfAwy-Zi3DXa-vVrPeDjgyYFMRqfkBka4cwP7lzoMmREh0U_uZBpQQoHCfWTcrrWa7Fks/s1600/WallsOfJerichoBandPhoto2.jpg" height="219" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walls of Jericho, anyone? I remember watching<br />
Earthmover practice in the basement of the Hasty<br />
House/Beaverland Ranch. #memories</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Walking into the warmup room I was overwhelmed with Feels. Firstly, it felt so familiar. Years ago I was a hardcore music scene kid. This was back in the 90's when people wore baggy pants and *ahem* wallet chains and I got horrible tattoos and <i>rad</i> body piercings <strike>that I will still deny publicly ever having to this day</strike>. I embraced the counter-culture aspect of the hardcore scene. I connected to the "tough as nails/defeat is not an option/fight The Man" personal philosophy of the scene persona. I loved the freedom to be a little bit different. The freedom to embrace the dichotomy of being a sweet, quiet girl who loved screamy music filled with power chords and the inevitable breakdown.<br />
<br />
Walking into the powerlifting meet felt like returning to my youth. I told Brian later it was like the scene grew up and got into lifting. I understood the people. I got the music. I felt the camaraderie. *sighs dramatically and gazes earnestly* <i>It felt like going home.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-zEnxcoKU5vcPT0p9lAU165TyNONzJuYFX2P6rwOnKEjBc3isWq66WBqXQUYMqkYJ6UVTcZu6F9p8A-LwJhTKVvnJSrP5hTuwoj0UQXviRixyZ-pDrS80ATGiiC-bJonxivF-wIQji8/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2Bmonolith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-zEnxcoKU5vcPT0p9lAU165TyNONzJuYFX2P6rwOnKEjBc3isWq66WBqXQUYMqkYJ6UVTcZu6F9p8A-LwJhTKVvnJSrP5hTuwoj0UQXviRixyZ-pDrS80ATGiiC-bJonxivF-wIQji8/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2Bmonolith.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">monolith squat rack <strike>after it jumped<br />out of nowhere and tried to maim<br />my cheek</strike>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I found Sara and dumped my stuff with her. I'd packed all my food for the day since I wasn't sure how long the meet would last. Sara gave me a quick tour of the meet set up and I "saw" my first monolith squat rack in person. "Saw" is the new way I'm describing running into it with my face because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I met some new people as we waited for the start. The National Anthem was played (totally wasn't expecting that) and the meet began.<br />
<br />
Squats started the day. Each lifter turns in their "openers" - the weight they want to attempt for their first lift. The order of athletes is scheduled with lifts going from lightest to heaviest. This makes sense because with each new lifter the spotters only have to add weight to the bar, not completely unload it. Each person gets three lifts in each event, but the attempts are separated by a rotation through the line up, very similar to batting order in baseball. Each lift is judged by three people who individually vote if the lift is good or not. It takes 2 out of 3 white lights for a lift to be counted.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpcokAtJ5RxXiTQYrYHoiJqtzb8y_H2IOc4DYPjEld9Xclc8miIfJS2AP1ODgTRT15ftCFqGtTa7GOAzNMuwMRxJX3Cz4y99x_r55nRenJZN5vEOAq5cTwfxY5xZjx6DzmaMyrzoWroc/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2B200%23%2Bdl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpcokAtJ5RxXiTQYrYHoiJqtzb8y_H2IOc4DYPjEld9Xclc8miIfJS2AP1ODgTRT15ftCFqGtTa7GOAzNMuwMRxJX3Cz4y99x_r55nRenJZN5vEOAq5cTwfxY5xZjx6DzmaMyrzoWroc/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2B200%23%2Bdl.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Whut."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Watching people lift left my mind completely blown. Since powerlifting is an individual sport, numbers are really subjective. How much someone can lift is often considered in correlation with their body weight. For example, a 200 lb deadlift may not be that impressive to a lot of people, but when a tiny little 98 lb woman lifts it, people (um, me) be like, "Whut."<br />
<br />
After squatting came bench press. This was Powerlifter Sara's first event. I was hyper nervous, so literally no encouragement cheering was coming from my mouth yet. Sara is crazy strong, so she did great on bench. I spent a lot of time observing protocol, getting a lay of logistics, and noticing why people failed certain lifts.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxYa4-NpbEEgFsbLdDMp3t-t1RE1vmCZ0CoeUKU0qcuON0yOq4S7rH9C73_ZqsJIUFsMLKb723XQkG0SIEC63q6Qb8567EZrXXj5G8xQBLfuSHSJuSdUpgFkJ1uS7ZTova6u66SGrGbc/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2BSara%2Bbench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBxYa4-NpbEEgFsbLdDMp3t-t1RE1vmCZ0CoeUKU0qcuON0yOq4S7rH9C73_ZqsJIUFsMLKb723XQkG0SIEC63q6Qb8567EZrXXj5G8xQBLfuSHSJuSdUpgFkJ1uS7ZTova6u66SGrGbc/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2BSara%2Bbench.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Firstly, yes, this picture is huge. But here you can clearly see all the players involved in this crazy<br />
pageant of awesomeness. The woman on the left in the pink and the two men in white shirts are the judges. The two men in black standing next to the plates on the barbell are the spotters. They are there to <b>stop you from dying</b> if you fail the lift. The man in black holding the barbell over Sara is her handler Bob. Sara is on the bench with her super cute braids done by yours truly that you can not see. Not pictured: the super hot spotter who just happened to make every other picture I took that day. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
After bench was my favorite event: deadlift. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmBlCfg9dCxjQ6WTzF32c89x7fxv9R1FsDiKeBUtgtblJBCjFtO3vf8EwYR6uCsinKtIMUN1oeGaR18GvhkYh0FEPC9n5tO9YlUFUKkPi0TBzw0IWa0ItFd2tld3bL9LC0nr_LIbeGYg/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2Bsara%2Bdl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNmBlCfg9dCxjQ6WTzF32c89x7fxv9R1FsDiKeBUtgtblJBCjFtO3vf8EwYR6uCsinKtIMUN1oeGaR18GvhkYh0FEPC9n5tO9YlUFUKkPi0TBzw0IWa0ItFd2tld3bL9LC0nr_LIbeGYg/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2Bsara%2Bdl.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sara and her braids deadlifting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLGGYcpam811cEu_ehaPcs0uN1SgvUFdp05tAxoqocU4-Tv2J4aeFZbOOeFbzX9PTQ9Mmww6x70dZncjEfgttkZOo7nJ4FKWYt-_xjX7kFyQt1RaqlOlHxuftuct2GwOu7wNxOKdVRsY/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2Bdarren%2Bdl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLGGYcpam811cEu_ehaPcs0uN1SgvUFdp05tAxoqocU4-Tv2J4aeFZbOOeFbzX9PTQ9Mmww6x70dZncjEfgttkZOo7nJ4FKWYt-_xjX7kFyQt1RaqlOlHxuftuct2GwOu7wNxOKdVRsY/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2Bdarren%2Bdl.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know this dude at all but his beard is on point.<br />
Also, Brian makes fun of me every time I say on point.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
By the time we got to the deadlift portion I felt a lot more confident in my decision to compete in powerlifting. The environment is so encouraging. After I got over my nerves I was able to fully join in with the yelling* that happens when someone struggles on a lift. I watched a lot of people fail on lifts, especially in the third rounds, and <i>no one made fun of them</i>. That really changed my whole approach to choosing my goal weights. Why go conservative when it doesn't hurt to try for all you got?<br />
<br />
(*The yelling = I loved hearing one guy in particular yell encouragement to his buddies. In fact, I took his pic to show to Powerlifter Tracey because he was wearing a t-shirt from the gym where she trains and I figured she would be able to identify him. I want to be adopted into his lifting family so he can yell awesome cues to me like, "CHEST UP! SQUEEZE YOUR @SS!" because duh, <i>then I totally will </i>because his cues are both succinct and yelled with authority.)<br />
<br />
(Seriously, I totally want this to happen.)<br />
<br />
The day culminated with me witnessing an EIGHT HUNDRED FOUR POUND deadlift. Guys, this seems incomprehensible to me. You know my undying love for my Internet Boyfriend Elliott Hulse from Strength Camp? I remember my mind being completely blown that he could deadlift more than 600 pounds. EIGHT HUNDRED FOUR POUNDS? <i><b>is ridiculous</b></i>. Here is a picture of that happening:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8jhwySesELVIzsF06BBPPpHRBjcjNFBPt6450n2KT4vzx1rKDOHLkOUAx1uxPZA9s8v3HvfkPJHt63cUDjkdUcmbiYB4mmBxo8LPQMoO8JK0voOnVbCFwuFtPTX2veR4FPv5l3-xp6k/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2B804%2Bdl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8jhwySesELVIzsF06BBPPpHRBjcjNFBPt6450n2KT4vzx1rKDOHLkOUAx1uxPZA9s8v3HvfkPJHt63cUDjkdUcmbiYB4mmBxo8LPQMoO8JK0voOnVbCFwuFtPTX2veR4FPv5l3-xp6k/s1600/powerlifting+GR+meet+'14%2B-%2B804%2Bdl.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While this was happening, it was loud in the room. But when those three white lights lit up indicating the lift was good it was like OUR TEAM WON THE SUPER BOWL.<br />
(I also posted this to Instagram.)(Because did you know I'm on Instagram now?)(Sublurban Mama)(Follow that mess.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
So that is my recap of attending my first ever powerlifting meet. Welcome to the world of powerlifting y'all. Buckle your seat belts. We are in for a ride.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-22772615363851091582014-10-13T03:56:00.001-07:002014-10-13T03:56:04.739-07:00Disney World, Bootkemp, Day-Trippin', the return of The Walking Dead, and an Injury: A short tale<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRt7PNL1RymnKB4cnk6HEQoVdfI_fgYNCbMAm2_gIXieZYeyX8s8o_lcX8VLDh0m_Cavzzjd6bdcM7KFyj6JAqnIHfNwTkOY0ggfCrjHqPjOz99O6v-YfwOb-yFbSPhmVh7umZMcwhw1Y/s1600/Kelly+and+Ezra+on+a+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRt7PNL1RymnKB4cnk6HEQoVdfI_fgYNCbMAm2_gIXieZYeyX8s8o_lcX8VLDh0m_Cavzzjd6bdcM7KFyj6JAqnIHfNwTkOY0ggfCrjHqPjOz99O6v-YfwOb-yFbSPhmVh7umZMcwhw1Y/s1600/Kelly+and+Ezra+on+a+boat.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We on a Disney boat, y'all!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the great ironies of vacationing with children is often that you need a vacation to recover from the vacation once it is finished. We arrived home last Tuesday night after ten glorious days at Disney World and spent the next three days doing laundry and getting back to normal life. (i.e. consuming copious amounts of water and vegetables that the children were <i>begging</i> for.)("Begging for" is the new way I'm describing "being forced to ingest" as they whiningly requested the mac and cheese and chocolate chip cookies that comprised the majority of their diet for the preceding week and a half.)<br />
<br />
We also resumed homeschool bright and early Wednesday morning, which was as enjoyable as you can imagine returning to the real world after doing ALLTHEFUNTHINGS could be. Thankfully we returned home to find our internet was out, so we were forced to school at the public library where <strike>we could steal their wifi</strike> the fear of an audience of strangers kept the children from completely melting down in their defiance of learning.<br />
<br />
On Wednesday and Thursday I hit up the gym because as wonderful and all-inclusive as my Disney experience was, it lacked greatly in the powerlifting equipment area, and I was itching to grab a hold of the barbell. On Wednesday I deadlifted and did back and biceps, and on Thursday I benched and did upper body.<br />
<br />
That's when I admitted something was going on. (*enter dramatic suspense music*) This is how it went down:<br />
<br />
Me to Ironman Sarah who works in orthopaedics: Dude, my shoulder is being all weird. Like, it totally hurts when I shoulder press. When I'm lifting, once I get it passed my ear I'm totally fine but from my shoulder to that point it totally hurts. I even lightened my weights in front of ALLTHEBOYZ because I was scared I was going to really hurt myself.<br />
<br />
Ironman Sarah: It sounds like your rotator cuff. I'll check it out later and be able to tell for sure.<br />
<br />
Me: Cool.<br />
<br />
*Later on, as I was checking in with Powerlifter Sara and her trainer, Trainer Corey*<br />
<br />
Me: So is it cool to lift normally if I have a messed up rotator cuff?<br />
<br />
Trainer Corey who specializes in rehabilitation training: HELL NO YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING FUN OR PRODUCTIVE HERE IN THE GYM UNTIL YOU HAVE A SPECIALIST LOOK AT YOUR SHOULDER. I FORBID YOU AND BAN YOU FROM DOING <i>ANYTHING</i> AND YOU ARE PROBABLY GOING TO GET TOTALLY FAT AND LOSE ALL YOUR STRENGTH WITH THIS INJURY.<br />
<br />
(Ok, so maybe that is more of what I heard. What he actually said was something like this:)<br />
<br />
Trainer Corey: Nope. You need to see a doctor. You could really hurt yourself. If your rotator cuff is torn you could need surgery. If it's not torn but just inflamed and you don't let it heal it could tear. You could be setting yourself up for a lifelong problem if you're not careful. So don't lift anything until you know for sure.<br />
<br />
Kelly: THIS IS BS. I HAVE TO LIFT. ME ME ME ME ME ME ME. THAT IS ALL THAT IS IMPORTANT. ME. TRAINER COREY, WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE???!!!<br />
<br />
(Again, maybe this is more of how I was feeling. The actual conversation was something like this:)<br />
<br />
Kelly: *stares incredulously* But only shoulder press hurts. Can I bench? *Corey shakes head negatively* *Kelly's voice goes up in pitch* Can I squat? *Corey's head again denies* *Kelly's voice goes even higher* Can I <i>deadlift</i>?<br />
<br />
Trainer Corey: Not until you know for sure. You could really hurt yourself.<br />
<br />
Kelly: I hate you right now. Why do you have to be so good at your job? (Yep. Verbatim.)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07bwcmbJPaThB9v6-sA_IfXuDBiFDdSJEtEjwolqtif5VrGFkcEcxtJ-E_25kJw0kUUbH9LhOR0Yfv6t2VzFl_pznMBi_qVGFMb568kaxaUFl2wlNnuh2lNs6oQ3NIUtv_Uwh0bYYc9U/s1600/rotator+cuff+muscles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07bwcmbJPaThB9v6-sA_IfXuDBiFDdSJEtEjwolqtif5VrGFkcEcxtJ-E_25kJw0kUUbH9LhOR0Yfv6t2VzFl_pznMBi_qVGFMb568kaxaUFl2wlNnuh2lNs6oQ3NIUtv_Uwh0bYYc9U/s1600/rotator+cuff+muscles.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This blog gettin' all <i>medical</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next day I visited Ironman Sarah in her office where she examined me and declared my rotator cuff was not torn, but was indeed inflamed. I got a prescription to deal with the inflammation, and some worksheets full of rehabilitation exercises to do. That night I trained with Kemper. I'll write a full report of that later (because some FANTASTIC things happened there) and he did more of his voodoo magic manipulations and determined the rotator cuff injury was specifically affecting my Supraspinatus muscle and one other muscle. (I only remember the first one because I was all, "Trust me to hurt my SUPERspinatus muscle because I'm so SUPER," and Kemper was all, "It's SUPRA, Kel.")<br />
<br />
Right now drugs, ice, and yes, upper body rest are my besties. <i>I hate it</i>. But you do what you gotta do, you know.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHBrTeMF0SeHH2ZGXn-5gy-aQXIk2Lx1T6-0Jy_0hbz5ShdBN-pOuLl5Vd1pastpihMiUn9Uzjo7ZLG0vh3Z2gwlfLapHxHF33W_9ZJHAHqnRP8L_XIxpy_ZrhbgOLUhgHipgQghPwsI/s1600/APF+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHBrTeMF0SeHH2ZGXn-5gy-aQXIk2Lx1T6-0Jy_0hbz5ShdBN-pOuLl5Vd1pastpihMiUn9Uzjo7ZLG0vh3Z2gwlfLapHxHF33W_9ZJHAHqnRP8L_XIxpy_ZrhbgOLUhgHipgQghPwsI/s1600/APF+logo.jpg" height="320" width="237" /></a></div>
Saturday I attended (as a spectator) my first ever powerlifting meet. I drove a few hours to see Powerlifter Sara compete in the Michigan APF Fall Open. I saw 53 competitors of all ages and sizes squat, bench, and deadlift their maxes. Two days later and I'm still out of superlatives to adequately describe how it was. <b>It was a very good thing</b>. A game-changer, if you will. I will also write a full report on that experience, because the pics alone are worth your time even if you hate powerlifting. <i>Trust me</i>.<br />
<br />
Yesterday we went to church, ate a special family lunch at Moe's (dem burrito bowls doe), and, after we settled the kiddos in bed, watched the much anticipated return of The Walking Dead.<br />
<br />
It has been a crazy three weeks around here. I had so much fun, but I'm glad to be home. *clicks my Dorothy heels together* Happy Monday!Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-64669799063351301582014-10-09T08:33:00.001-07:002014-10-09T08:33:41.834-07:00If giggling over testicles is wrong, I can't be right.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVSatuyvTO_oqYwdBeAzcqB0I39lW8NCYwvkOZVXLiujZIWwgtwiI8rCw3CTKhjWu0pM7Qu8eRY_7F4V_ESVDuBw6NDcgjxtfr1sWUTsVECoJw9tZeea1bNjSL_5xHWt80lLeYtLcT_gk/s1600/topher+grace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVSatuyvTO_oqYwdBeAzcqB0I39lW8NCYwvkOZVXLiujZIWwgtwiI8rCw3CTKhjWu0pM7Qu8eRY_7F4V_ESVDuBw6NDcgjxtfr1sWUTsVECoJw9tZeea1bNjSL_5xHWt80lLeYtLcT_gk/s1600/topher+grace.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because anatomy is funny.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This is how you know you've chosen the proper Specialist to care for your chronically ill child.<br />
<br />
I am at Hosanna's biannual allergy appointment. Dr. M (who totally reminds me of Eric Foreman from That 70's Show) and I have finished talking over the important issues like the cutting edge trials taking place to cure children of food allergies, how to heal her weeping skin and the resulting infections, and what new dietary and/or lifestyle changes need to be made to adjust to her current issues, when we move on to small talk.<br />
<br />
We are discussing future plans, and Dr. M mentions retirement. I am shocked because I always forget he is 20 years older than me. He explains:<br />
<br />
Dr M: I have to take my re-certification test next year, and at about $4,000 (and a <i>lot</i> of work) I can't imagine wanting to take the test <i>again</i> ten years later at 65 years old. So I'll probably just retire and go into missions.<br />
<br />
Kelly: Yeah, my triathlon training partner is a PA for an orthopedic surgeon, and she had to help him get ready for his tests last year. It was super hard on <i>her</i>, so I can imagine how stressful it is on the testers. Or, not the <i>testers</i>, the-<br />
<br />
Kelly and Dr. M (in unison): <b>TEST-EES</b>.<br />
<br />
Kelly: *realizes what they just said* *<b>thinks of testicles</b>* *smirks* *smirk grows into grin* *realizes Dr. M is a mirror image of her own changing expressions* *are now both internally chanting, "Don't give in to the laughter, you are a GROWN UP," to no avail because they share a slight Beavis and Butthead giggle* *because they just pseudo shouted,"TESTES" and the idea of testicles is hilarious*<br />
<br />
And <b>that</b> is how you know you've chosen the proper Specialist to care for your chronically ill child.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-47190530241218391002014-09-21T19:31:00.001-07:002014-09-21T19:31:08.474-07:00Ch-Ch-ChangesYou know how sometimes you have this <i>huge</i> internal struggle that you wrestle with for months?<br />
<br />
And when you finally, <i>finally</i> decide "The heck with it; I'm balls in" you can't wait for the opportunity to tell all those you love?<br />
<br />
Because you *know* all those you love will be shocked at the leap of faith you are taking?<br />
<br />
But when you publicly drop the life-altering, life-changing decision you toiled over, all your friends and family are like, "Yeah, I saw *that* coming a mile away," leaving you wondering, "Am I really such a foregone conclusion?"<br />
<br />
So that happened this month.<br />
<br />
Yes, I'm talking about the decision to compete in my first powerlifting meet.<br />
<br />
(Y'all saw that coming, too, huh?)(Apparently I'm last to the party on this one.)<br />
<br />
At a recent training session, Kemper valiantly tried to argue one more time for the merits of going into figure competition. I finally trumped all his subtle coercion with the ultimate deal-breaker for me: modesty. There is no way around that one if I was going to go into figure competition. (<i><strike>Mom</strike> Those who may be wondering, figure competition is the one where you put on a tiny bikini and heels and stand on a stage to show the results of your months of strict diet and hardcore training</i>.) Kemper conceded if modesty was my main issue then, um, yeah, figure wasn't going to work for me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
But if not figure, then what did I really want to do? I've spent the last twelve weeks working Kemper's 5x5 strength training plan. It was a total blast and hella effective. Here are the results from twelve weeks training:<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-WoB74O51y2qBuZ9MBLt7nNGjvbcyfZuVKkX2tHjZLqOcVQn3rVnCi-M_qYaILLgjKKry20KFuwG3R9ASOExIiu6p1dCNGY-uiyCW0RGsHJd2cFqQQWR1tsHU9YFuVbFtrE-LDFVTtY/s1600/squatting+170.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp-WoB74O51y2qBuZ9MBLt7nNGjvbcyfZuVKkX2tHjZLqOcVQn3rVnCi-M_qYaILLgjKKry20KFuwG3R9ASOExIiu6p1dCNGY-uiyCW0RGsHJd2cFqQQWR1tsHU9YFuVbFtrE-LDFVTtY/s1600/squatting+170.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me getting ready to squat 170 x 5<br />Also, apparently I squat low bar naturally.<br />Because my traps are <strike>weak</strike> <i>delicate</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I started the plan at 147.9 pounds (I'm 5' 3.5" tall) and 23.6% body fat.<br />
<br />
I benched 65 for reps with a 1 rep max of 95.<br />
I squatted 95 for reps with a 1 rep max of 155.<br />
I deadlifted 115 for reps with a 1 rep max of 165.<br />
<br />
Last weigh in I weighed 146 with 20% body fat.<br />
<br />
I bench 95 for reps.<br />
I squat 170 for reps.<br />
I deadlift 165 for reps.<br />
<br />
I have yet to test my new 1 rep maxes*, but I think it's fair to say Kemper's strength training plan has been fruitful. So what's next?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQtAysSELajwNKcNfdfEQlLdGfozOZtPKgJA2xsv-HfO0nHNNiknlWLBJp1DK7gZI_VWu1sA1HMmEt5h2kmOS6bo0hGaIo1QrYiUB9ARqYD4aCpeekeMau5c4Wifmx-Fw4cDCC4uKaXw/s1600/chunky+monkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQtAysSELajwNKcNfdfEQlLdGfozOZtPKgJA2xsv-HfO0nHNNiknlWLBJp1DK7gZI_VWu1sA1HMmEt5h2kmOS6bo0hGaIo1QrYiUB9ARqYD4aCpeekeMau5c4Wifmx-Fw4cDCC4uKaXw/s1600/chunky+monkey.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's for STRENGTH GAINZ, geez.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The decision to go into powerlifting was hard for one simple, ridiculous reason. The scale. For me it started and ended with knowing I was going to need to change my diet to support my powerlifting goals, which meant I had to be okay with <i>maybe</i> gaining weight. Kemper used fun terminology like "calorie progression" to talk about eating for strength gains but I knew that was really code for "let's make you a nice, strong Chunky Monkey <strike>totally fluffified in time for all your Christmas photos</strike>". (Confession. The thought of Kemper actually uttering the words "Chunky Monkey" or "fluffified" kinda sets me to snickering.)(But it would be rad.)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-RoUQcwVsLO0yl9ESAjcm2_IyCUw4qa3LNK9E3aub1zkApOA4RE5jpdQtxB7KN-60Kwau9OkgeweuiBbtEIDtuLkGddOpghd9Mui_i71QX5wkOdvvIYakOiPoK7w6hZuV_dqOXMyeac/s1600/augustus+waters.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-RoUQcwVsLO0yl9ESAjcm2_IyCUw4qa3LNK9E3aub1zkApOA4RE5jpdQtxB7KN-60Kwau9OkgeweuiBbtEIDtuLkGddOpghd9Mui_i71QX5wkOdvvIYakOiPoK7w6hZuV_dqOXMyeac/s1600/augustus+waters.png" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This looks nothing like Kemper.<br />But the expression? Dude.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
(Also, Random Thought For Free = <strike>I made Brian watch</strike> Brian and I watched The Fault In Our Stars Saturday night and Kemper totally has a facial expression twin. The actor that plays Augustus makes so many Kemper faces it kept taking me out of the imaginary world of Hazel Grace and Augustus (that was absolutely destroying me anyway, let's be honest) because I would be all, "Where have I seen that look..." and be mystified for all of three seconds before I was like, "Kemper freaking Sosa."<br />
<br />
So what I was trying to say before Augustus Waters hijacked my life <i>yet again</i>, is that it took a fair amount of internal debate and reflection to see if I'm in a place to be able to mentally handle any body image issues that may arise because of <strike>bulking</strike> <strike>becoming a fluffified Chunky Monkey</strike> <b>calorie progression</b><i>. </i>Finally I decided, "Dude, stop being a freaking girl and just go for it." So Imma do it.<br />
<br />
What's the plan?<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiIRTSH7aEvmp5vj7BW3_jQwKBgrICHljx4Q2exQuxvRKruZu5iBUusbSzT3cr3F0csaTqsnxYGGkWjxuPuD-f9AX4bT0V-PfgQm5ReHr7WALdNGTmEb75_gVSED1uQfRGE40QzWIOgY/s1600/casshole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiIRTSH7aEvmp5vj7BW3_jQwKBgrICHljx4Q2exQuxvRKruZu5iBUusbSzT3cr3F0csaTqsnxYGGkWjxuPuD-f9AX4bT0V-PfgQm5ReHr7WALdNGTmEb75_gVSED1uQfRGE40QzWIOgY/s1600/casshole.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Sister/Police Officer Extraordinaire<br />Full disclosure: Her name is Cassie.<br />But what kind of second rate older<br />sister would let the golden opportunity<br />pass to drop the nickname "Casshole"?<br /><i>Not this one</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Firstly, I'm taking a three week break just to have fun. I'm sticking with the general outline of my strength plan (Mondays = chest and arms, Tuesday = yoga and sometimes run, Wednesday - deadlift and back, Thursday = chest/arms/HIIT, Friday = rest, Saturday = LEG DAY, Sunday = abs and HIIT) but I'm trying out a bunch of new-to-me exercises and machines. I'm training with Rachel Who Looks Like Meg Ryan on Mondays (and some Thursdays) and Powerlifter Sara on some Wednesdays and Saturdays. I trained with my baby sister (the beautiful and strong <b><a href="http://sublurbanmama.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-runs-are-contagious.html">Casshole</a></b>) last Thursday at LA Fitness. I'm playing around with stances and grips and throwing up new weights <i>just because I can</i>. HOORAH.<br />
<br />
I'll meet with Kemper the first week of October to go over THE NEW TRAINING PROGRAM. You know, the one that prepares me for my <b><i>first ever powerlifting meet</i></b>. *throws up in my mouth a little from fear* I found a meet in January that is relatively close by; unfortunately it is only a push/pull competition, which means I will only be doing bench press and deadlift. (No squatting this time.)(Which I actually think might be a nice way to ease into this sport.) I'll start The New Training Program October 13, which gives me roughly 12 weeks to prepare. I'm also attending a meet in Grand Rapids, Michigan on October 11 to see Powerlifter Sara compete, which will give me some idea of what to expect when it's my turn.<br />
<br />
I'm nervous, guys. I'm freaking out a little. I'm worried I may be the weakest person there. I'm worried I won't make my lifts. But this is good freaking out, and healthy fear. This is the fear that pushes me to try new things, to be better. These are the nerves that challenge my Navy Seal dreams. <i>Second place is FIRST LOSER</i>.<br />
<br />
In conclusion, (I love that dropping that phrase always makes me feel like I've actually made some cohesive points) here is a picture of me hitting a new PR for deadlift on Sunday morning that has nothing to do with any of this post, and everything with just wanting to post a <strike>ginormous</strike> picture of myself deadlifting TWO HUNDRED POUNDS.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxWZLF9aXZm1Lq7WqAblPJcxD9XY6OmDOPxTNRICQ1hCgn96O7z9TIknawfDImx0pGyG7xP3lUA_dBuuD8phkXt89G3g8ElFkISRBlR3GKfFZxU9oPDV4zYjRBgi2PB6GMOXSGpGmZK0/s1600/deadlift+pr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxWZLF9aXZm1Lq7WqAblPJcxD9XY6OmDOPxTNRICQ1hCgn96O7z9TIknawfDImx0pGyG7xP3lUA_dBuuD8phkXt89G3g8ElFkISRBlR3GKfFZxU9oPDV4zYjRBgi2PB6GMOXSGpGmZK0/s1600/deadlift+pr.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">True story about this picture: Lifetime Fitness is relatively empty at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, which made it the perfect time to play around with a sumo deadlift stance and see how much I could lift. I did some light sets of ten reps to warm up (at 95# and 115#) and then started rocking out two reps every 10#-20# increase. My previous 1 rep max lift was 165#; after Kemper's strength training plan I could do 2-3 sets of 5 reps each at 165#. But I'd never done more than that. When I got to 175# it was a big deal. A NEW PR! But I kept going. 185#. Then 190#. I was all, "THAT'S A 25# PR!" Then I thought, "A 30# PR would be nicer." So I did it. Then I reasoned, "I'm only 5 measly pounds away from 200 - which is a really nice number." So I pulled 200# and freaked the heck out.<br /> Then I proceeded to ask every single person within a fifty foot radius if they had a camera with them and would someone pretty please with a cherry on top take a picture (because: proof) and email it to me?!?!<br />Thankfully my new best friend Toni (a.k.a. previously a perfect stranger) ran down to the locker room (oh yes, she did) to grab her phone and take the lovely shot above which she emailed to me because she loves and supports other women who lift. And I am super, super grateful.<br />The End.</td></tr>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-35202828174029257612014-09-18T11:17:00.001-07:002014-09-18T11:17:17.351-07:00TBT - Zoology 101<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAjsXBsMzwnwL8_25yD0Q-0Xy_QfG9TGtGXEAGmHWQxbKfTF0WtcPJjju8LeP2SnDN1QqDxYpoP_LoWDIL64SCszVhTNuqWEQu62_EK8D1YjpU3dHEdUo8-PLGhrNKxH5SUePbd8MQiA/s1600/crocodile+dundee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAjsXBsMzwnwL8_25yD0Q-0Xy_QfG9TGtGXEAGmHWQxbKfTF0WtcPJjju8LeP2SnDN1QqDxYpoP_LoWDIL64SCszVhTNuqWEQu62_EK8D1YjpU3dHEdUo8-PLGhrNKxH5SUePbd8MQiA/s1600/crocodile+dundee.jpg" height="200" width="144" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">Who remembers this gem? Throwing it back to 2012.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.4799995422363px;">This is why we rule at Family Dinner.</span><br />
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Scene: We are all noshing on penne with spinach, tomatoes, and bacon. Broccoli is served as a side dish. The adults in the room have had trying days and are being overly bright to compensate out of consideration of everyone else in the room. <i>Whom they love dearly</i>. The children are all, "Mmmm, <i>bacon</i>." Then, this:</div>
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Hosanna: What's the name of that animal?<br />
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Brian: What animal?<br />
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Hosanna: You know, it's erectile.<br />
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Kelly: *snorts Diet Coke out her nose*<br />
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Brian: (eyes twinkling) Like it's dysfunctional?<br />
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Kelly: STAHP.<br />
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Hosanna: The one where in the water it looks like a log floating.<br />
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Kelly: *giggles like a teenage boy*<br />
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Brian: What did you call it, Nan?<br />
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Hosanna: The erectile. Why is mom laughing so hard?<br />
<br />
Eve: Oh, I get it. It's a <i>wrecked tile</i>. *laughs uncontrollably* AWRECKTILE AWRECKTILE<br />
A<b>WREEEEEEECKTILE</b>!<br />
<br />
Kelly: Dude. Stop. Nan, do you mean a crocodile?<br />
<br />
Hosanna: The tail whips back and forth. <b>Erectile</b>.<br />
<br />
Kelly: *tears coming down her cheeks* Do you mean reptile?<br />
<br />
Hosanna: Um, yeah. A reptile. </div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-61779888567309555912014-09-16T03:28:00.001-07:002014-09-16T03:28:34.474-07:00It.Was.Bananas. - How to Lose SIX Pounds in One Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOiQWt5UxggZagLYxcCYdoHi68txyidhjGeEZl8AJMSVcob67tkb6QNcJf0Y4QPEDPhsmoRcj_mP0fWDEuFbh5PtuZEESXYTya5AOUfZkhoXfxpBMK9ETmdIVJBQfGNicVKjZT8s5FRg/s1600/banana+scull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWOiQWt5UxggZagLYxcCYdoHi68txyidhjGeEZl8AJMSVcob67tkb6QNcJf0Y4QPEDPhsmoRcj_mP0fWDEuFbh5PtuZEESXYTya5AOUfZkhoXfxpBMK9ETmdIVJBQfGNicVKjZT8s5FRg/s1600/banana+scull.jpg" height="167" width="320" /></a></div>
It all started with a craving for a banana.<br />
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I don't eat a lot of fruit. When I do partake it's usually in the form of raspberries or blueberries because they are <strike>delicious</strike> lower on the glycemic index. I watch my blood sugar kind of closely and count the mess outta carbs, so bananas have been on my "not an everyday food" list for a while. This has not really impacted my life in any great way, since before I started training with Kemper my favorite way to eat a banana was baked in some quick bread and topped with Nutella. Because duh. But Friday found me craving a fresh, real banana in the worst way.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
***Minor Tangent <b><i>totally</i></b> related to this story***</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGajqgUyAZ4usde_XO9E0y1DziMZp5WW6Hd9XH3Xpryg7Zww3bwgtcJlZY57sdqu38wAEDIPcNhxPdgSaEsBBObDte5_PhMyCcO58jMRTumhtm8ZCsgyQRhZv4uDQYADvXOawHz2Z_YOk/s1600/pigeon+pose+outside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGajqgUyAZ4usde_XO9E0y1DziMZp5WW6Hd9XH3Xpryg7Zww3bwgtcJlZY57sdqu38wAEDIPcNhxPdgSaEsBBObDte5_PhMyCcO58jMRTumhtm8ZCsgyQRhZv4uDQYADvXOawHz2Z_YOk/s1600/pigeon+pose+outside.jpg" height="132" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pigeon pose with a fold.<br />Also, if I did yoga outside the chances of me<br />getting into pigeon pose and *not* getting pooped<br />on by an actual pigeon are slim. Because I am a<br /><a href="http://sublurbanmama.blogspot.com/2013/07/whats-smaller-than-rocket-but-packs.html">bird poop magnet</a>. (You <b><i>need</i></b> to click that link.)</td></tr>
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I've noticed lately that I've been having muscle cramps in my abdominals* whenever I try to forward fold during yoga or stretch after a workout. (*Confession = it happened at my last training session with Kemper. As I was contorting my body into a variety of delightful positions to try to loosen the cramp - picture me hula hooping without an actual hoop or any discernible rhythm - I was all (enter my "I'm totally trying not to freak out but this <i>kinda sorta</i> <i>really</i> hurts and I'm worried I might FREEZE UP LIKE THIS FOREVER" voice), "KEMPER WHAT <i><b>IS</b></i> THIS THAT IS CRAMPING?!" as I jabbed repeatedly <i>at my abdomen</i>. Kemper was all, "Your abdominals, <strike>Dummy</strike>." Have I mentioned how good I am at logic?) I've also noticed that my feet are cramping up when I do pigeon pose. (On a really fun day I get into a folded pigeon pose and then it's a giant party because everything cramps at once.) Since I used to get muscle cramps quite frequently during triathlon training, I assumed this meant one of two things: either I was dehydrated or I needed some potassium. With the dawn of the banana craving on Friday, I deduced potassium and decided to listen to my body, making plans to consume a banana sometime in the following day.</div>
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Big mistake. Huge. Because y'all? <i>My body is a big fat liar</i>. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2BL1_-cgqLIl7q1giCBkL1WKxtvlabkMIRq3KbzGvpdF-3TngieJ8p_AuYzlAEfxuU2NeXqyKSX7S5C8QGErR1aTsidZxBW9cXEafZXJhNVBk6oC98iI3xqfNQFoQhVVn83-2gz4nKU/s1600/bananas+73+hours.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2BL1_-cgqLIl7q1giCBkL1WKxtvlabkMIRq3KbzGvpdF-3TngieJ8p_AuYzlAEfxuU2NeXqyKSX7S5C8QGErR1aTsidZxBW9cXEafZXJhNVBk6oC98iI3xqfNQFoQhVVn83-2gz4nKU/s1600/bananas+73+hours.jpg" height="199" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mine was consumed at 72.5 hours.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It started out a very promising endeavor. Friday is my grocery shopping day, so I bought the most perfectly ripe banana with the plan to have it with my dinner. It was bright yellow, firm, and smelled so fresh. I entered it into MyFitnessPal and arranged all my other food around this one luscious piece of fruit. I counted down the hours until dinnertime when I could enjoy it. Then I received a phone call.</div>
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*lightning flashes and the lights dim dramatically because it's time to foreshadow the trauma of the night*</div>
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Brian was calling from work to let me know he was going to be home really late. He'd hurt his back again (this happens about once a year) and needed to go to the company clinic after his day ended. "No problem, Babe, <i>you take care of you</i>," I said naively, still unaware of the hellish nightmare in my future.</div>
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With the timetable of the night suddenly a bit different, I had to rework the timing of my original food plan. Now I would eat the banana as a snack around 5:00 p.m., take the older girlies to their Friday night teen group, and come home to eat dinner with the littles around 6:45 p.m. </div>
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When 5:00 rolled around I savored the heck out of that banana. It was amazeballs. And I'm not even the type of person who said amazeballs <i>even when it was still current</i>. But that banana was worth every hour I waited for it ... until about 5:30 p.m. when it <b>liquefied every hint of matter residing in my gastrointestinal tract</b> and <b>demanded immediate release</b> from the captivity in my body.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGXo-1iO1nMIcRTl6UEiQHPp4V9FN3MigiJcfsi2l7AAA5VtRjENOnVwslFIKVLoRTp2wLsUHBzhkzH2aEzOA_d1dfdnwkOuhbOQ_gWVyWI8z3HWU8cwxy_9N1g3xx789x-Rk-7ixk5o/s1600/puking+power+spitting+(man%2Bcards).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXGXo-1iO1nMIcRTl6UEiQHPp4V9FN3MigiJcfsi2l7AAA5VtRjENOnVwslFIKVLoRTp2wLsUHBzhkzH2aEzOA_d1dfdnwkOuhbOQ_gWVyWI8z3HWU8cwxy_9N1g3xx789x-Rk-7ixk5o/s1600/puking+power+spitting+(man%2Bcards).jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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There are no words to describe the next eight hours of my life. I drove the girlies to their event solely because I had no room for rational thought when my brain was just pleading <strike>for death</strike> for the horrible stomach pain to stop. By the time I got home with Esther and Ezra all I could do was stumble back and forth from the bathroom to the couch, whimpering incoherently all the while.<br />
<br />
Esther was a complete rock star during this time. She made sure Ezra had everything he needed as he ate his dinner, and then challenged him to a pajama contest. Which was a <i>genius</i> way for her to get his pajamas on. I hovered in and out of consciousness, but did hear Brian walk in the door around 8:00.<br />
<br />
"Oh, Babe, what can I do for you?" he wondered in concern.<br />
<br />
"<i>Don't make me talk</i>," I croaked from under a blanket.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rcdGpUHomsVuICWpW0J4gmTm_QG_fsP_RcE0zZ_9IJks-M-YKw9ZFhYGT9_msTLSJlucjCW9XqBws_iPTYGd2lzkZcJZhUAGGKha4RA0S0fNvxnt9ZuAkI8SWUbt-vf57K8i7b7M3ak/s1600/tusk.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rcdGpUHomsVuICWpW0J4gmTm_QG_fsP_RcE0zZ_9IJks-M-YKw9ZFhYGT9_msTLSJlucjCW9XqBws_iPTYGd2lzkZcJZhUAGGKha4RA0S0fNvxnt9ZuAkI8SWUbt-vf57K8i7b7M3ak/s1600/tusk.jpeg" height="186" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin Smith, you gave us Clerks so Imma extend<br />you a little bit of trust here...<i>don't do me wrong</i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next few hours were a blur. There was a lot of <strike>Drama Queen</strike> moaning while The Horrible Sickness controlled my body. Finally, around 11:30 p.m., <i>just in time for Jimmy Fallon</i>, I started to feel some relief. I rolled over onto my side without feeling as if I were reclining on broken glass. I smiled at some of Jimmy's antics. I started sipping water, and, because Jimmy Fallon, I even laughed out loud at the ridiculousness that is Justin Long's new movie Tusk. (A man kidnaps another man and turns him into a walrus?! Whut.)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1Xmp57QoeyPuiW2AvSbqdyHZ09QJGuThU_J_wmn2Hr10SRoZVC3bkc4LLgZx3R86RwFA-lXfz8viEw1BjQJUrCTNz0n17GeeFHpbWqRnwNmowG54NqG67IcUQcDIBtKVBqhBB3w2TOM/s1600/cocoa+crispies.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO1Xmp57QoeyPuiW2AvSbqdyHZ09QJGuThU_J_wmn2Hr10SRoZVC3bkc4LLgZx3R86RwFA-lXfz8viEw1BjQJUrCTNz0n17GeeFHpbWqRnwNmowG54NqG67IcUQcDIBtKVBqhBB3w2TOM/s1600/cocoa+crispies.png" height="200" width="125" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Say Yes to the Best"<br />It's like I had no choice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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By 12:30 I felt well enough to try some cereal because I was suddenly hungry as all get out. (Yes, Kemper, the bad cereal on top of my fridge that I feed my children.)(But it was <i>organic</i> cocoa crispies, so it was <b>healthy</b> sugar.)(#hownutritionworks) It <b>must</b> have been healthy because I kept it down (#proof) and I went to bed at 1:00 a.m. because Seth Myers is a <b>terrible</b> late night host.<br />
<br />
<br />
Saturday morning I woke up at 8:30 and felt completely fine. But when I stepped on the scale later that day I discovered I had lost <b>six</b> pounds in one night. (And yes, <i>of course</i> I gained it back by the next day once I was rehydrated, but can we take a moment to celebrate the only upside (albeit a short lived one) to the misery I endured on Friday night?)<br />
<br />
So friends, that is how you lose six pounds in one night.</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-17915360315320935152014-09-11T20:53:00.003-07:002014-09-11T20:53:31.065-07:00Five on Friday: Before and After Pics<div style="text-align: center;">
1.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is my basement <i>before</i> the Great Sewage Flood Clean Up of 2014: </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-cKroRsh0E8yzVUWqeV75DoyZSTJ1pnGNrc-Fl7zf1vD8XhtbP-_banJe3kNAVDGSVmqmtC0B09IwfS8_7_jwdpH9BZEoXkm17PzRxZs5ExfIoUgqCT5qejW2pjyQElnC8zKRHE9bUU/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%231+with+floating+crib+mattresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-cKroRsh0E8yzVUWqeV75DoyZSTJ1pnGNrc-Fl7zf1vD8XhtbP-_banJe3kNAVDGSVmqmtC0B09IwfS8_7_jwdpH9BZEoXkm17PzRxZs5ExfIoUgqCT5qejW2pjyQElnC8zKRHE9bUU/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%231+with+floating+crib+mattresses.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much floating...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MaCXbumFFCv__kyCBxqceRgtNt9B9haKqqVLbsV9Bm8qO7C7Uh4XhNwtulCDaFYp-9fqAbF5bFrnz1YkYlqroLc6SbeJQ_tiDLPezr0C75-Qi-FYJRgYxItD97qKfgDkrxUM8Bt46T0/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%232+-+puzzles+and+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1MaCXbumFFCv__kyCBxqceRgtNt9B9haKqqVLbsV9Bm8qO7C7Uh4XhNwtulCDaFYp-9fqAbF5bFrnz1YkYlqroLc6SbeJQ_tiDLPezr0C75-Qi-FYJRgYxItD97qKfgDkrxUM8Bt46T0/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%232+-+puzzles+and+desk.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything floooooooats...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This is my basement <i>after</i> the Great Sewage Flood Clean Up of 2014:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7CHYsbA6ICTjYQTRXgWbGdlkLuotqARFdO9lDMNXxZE5Cdg2yB0GvudO3_pLPNhtNPQSqMh02zxg5g2wO-jmNmYvlEIy8eVwPL_bHJONU4V37s9AbKKf01zZKkQEPEwEVTCSVh_z7vs/s1600/basement+gym+%231+roose+machine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH7CHYsbA6ICTjYQTRXgWbGdlkLuotqARFdO9lDMNXxZE5Cdg2yB0GvudO3_pLPNhtNPQSqMh02zxg5g2wO-jmNmYvlEIy8eVwPL_bHJONU4V37s9AbKKf01zZKkQEPEwEVTCSVh_z7vs/s1600/basement+gym+%231+roose+machine.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Kel - that's an AMAZING home gym! I can't believe your friends Mike and Jenny gave that to you! And what's that other stuff? Did someone also give you a stationary bike *and* a punching bag?!"<br />
"<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red;">I know, right? My friends are AMAZING.</span></span>"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCq-cO-hbfVuVZgHrh09QsWlSjHQBbFpgD9V5rE8kGuJ0eAA-NT50HATdOPTT1_HX9b3MN3mnyIUfm8EUXx6NZXKBm9zbrhtlwNri781E0dLT6kb-vav4hed1pj3O8xBJGc_VpMH_Q8-I/s1600/basement+gym+%233+-+dumbbells.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCq-cO-hbfVuVZgHrh09QsWlSjHQBbFpgD9V5rE8kGuJ0eAA-NT50HATdOPTT1_HX9b3MN3mnyIUfm8EUXx6NZXKBm9zbrhtlwNri781E0dLT6kb-vav4hed1pj3O8xBJGc_VpMH_Q8-I/s1600/basement+gym+%233+-+dumbbells.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What about all those new dumbbells and adjustable dumbbells? And the curl bar?"<br />
"<span style="color: red;">They were gifts from my Aunt Bonnie and my friend Gerry.</span>"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GnfFdDRFII1W0rf7vAakJDeNUNulvEhhBnqjMKp7rgIXe7WqAD17EgVI3rugGqO-0Kyt7S6dWJfQLVc6MMwVMaBp2mlE5c6rTqlG_eF50evA5xKXJyeapk-HYs7JdThxrF4sECuUFkE/s1600/basement+gym+%234+-+bench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GnfFdDRFII1W0rf7vAakJDeNUNulvEhhBnqjMKp7rgIXe7WqAD17EgVI3rugGqO-0Kyt7S6dWJfQLVc6MMwVMaBp2mlE5c6rTqlG_eF50evA5xKXJyeapk-HYs7JdThxrF4sECuUFkE/s1600/basement+gym+%234+-+bench.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Is that an adjustable bench (with a plate rack thing and a ton of other stuff you probably don't even know how to describe) that someone GAVE YOU FOR FREE?!"<br />
"<span style="color: red;">Yep. <i>Gerry is the jam</i></span>."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
2.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is Esther <i>before</i> the I'm Tired Of All These Snarls And The Resulting Tantrums When I Brush Her Hair Haircut:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidePaerhcwrF9rNSB2BeO9-C-qx-jJd30QTVs-zedIFJPGmtRLaOdP30dEYqjt4om7IomEfYW1bOObdg7AJeamj-SdphT8MhEmw37aQPG8VYkBm577GtePj8rjCHhwUmGfFXPa8HnPq80/s1600/esther+loses+her+first+tooth!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidePaerhcwrF9rNSB2BeO9-C-qx-jJd30QTVs-zedIFJPGmtRLaOdP30dEYqjt4om7IomEfYW1bOObdg7AJeamj-SdphT8MhEmw37aQPG8VYkBm577GtePj8rjCHhwUmGfFXPa8HnPq80/s1600/esther+loses+her+first+tooth!.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally lost her first tooth!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This is Esther <i>after</i> the I'm Tired Of All These Snarls And The Resulting Tantrums When I Brush Her Hair Haircut:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMj-8fuLaAhzgprVUVsWNdnr2eLqMpdF6kMd1RRVERveC_5XQzC1SxEDS0YeC1idUhuLUbzgdfG7s8r1xcY4nagQGOKwBpHgIaIE6yNiRZSNYx15buJaaT_8e5IGz9q5eFVsIIH4H5YY0/s1600/esther+gets+a+haircut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMj-8fuLaAhzgprVUVsWNdnr2eLqMpdF6kMd1RRVERveC_5XQzC1SxEDS0YeC1idUhuLUbzgdfG7s8r1xcY4nagQGOKwBpHgIaIE6yNiRZSNYx15buJaaT_8e5IGz9q5eFVsIIH4H5YY0/s1600/esther+gets+a+haircut.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fantastic Sams is fantastic. (Also, don't hate on FS; $11.00, yo.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
3.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is the Living Room <i>before </i>we turned it into the Homeschool Room (post flood when all our crap had to be stored upstairs):</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidi_2tRCXOU0gmwwcI8pvjse1b1b9uBAgjCtF9Mn2rVM7slmdTJSjtuLoTFEyBQ0o1Dnxmzi6n48SynpSivC5TGGIywJhJ1T7AzTfBhyphenhyphentV5KThtY9GZ6gOhCalfEK9CycApHem-vLu2kU/s1600/living+room+post+flood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidi_2tRCXOU0gmwwcI8pvjse1b1b9uBAgjCtF9Mn2rVM7slmdTJSjtuLoTFEyBQ0o1Dnxmzi6n48SynpSivC5TGGIywJhJ1T7AzTfBhyphenhyphentV5KThtY9GZ6gOhCalfEK9CycApHem-vLu2kU/s1600/living+room+post+flood.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Um, wow Kel, it's totally like you were a hoarder."<br />
"<span style="color: red;">Post flood I was ready to call A&E myself</span>."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This is the Living Room <i>after </i><strike>IKEA threw up all over it</strike> we turned it into the Homeschool Room:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVS5M7MUmjlSXUqzN-ttRXgOu4LYCGYcWJCYAS30cAe-oPqg8-342gL-hZWlpWn2WeMePRCzRKdc6X8JLHCfBuxkl7AKaaBW5F7zjDNOW78n7pxN6n1fH7LSaqpQdn833kQv2Zr-dYnrI/s1600/homeschool+room+%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVS5M7MUmjlSXUqzN-ttRXgOu4LYCGYcWJCYAS30cAe-oPqg8-342gL-hZWlpWn2WeMePRCzRKdc6X8JLHCfBuxkl7AKaaBW5F7zjDNOW78n7pxN6n1fH7LSaqpQdn833kQv2Zr-dYnrI/s1600/homeschool+room+%231.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SCHOOL IS AMAZING!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntBRCI2DHL2uXwwduYOPK5ZwmAsk0yDjYPT1mrE75R35boke2AGF8LnnTPu_hUJaNk4B1s77hQjHIkag1tUsTQeCOlQtWgT2s0nWBTJ8dmAMdT9JUZEwLUhjAOoSa5abeYNlf2tUPVg4/s1600/homeschool+room+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntBRCI2DHL2uXwwduYOPK5ZwmAsk0yDjYPT1mrE75R35boke2AGF8LnnTPu_hUJaNk4B1s77hQjHIkag1tUsTQeCOlQtWgT2s0nWBTJ8dmAMdT9JUZEwLUhjAOoSa5abeYNlf2tUPVg4/s1600/homeschool+room+%232.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So studious. Much learning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
4.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is my lovely toe <i>before</i> <strike>Hosanna</strike> a child dropped a ten pound dumbbell on it:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyANqmuws-RScwRZqbU2TySJh3z97KK5nYv_VhlWa-YA71cODiRaEdJZiRkLGaArSx04wWa_t7dYKQHXCwVkZNSqpwEx6cCpVyUwU2x2audHmOdnqt8X8FyPjfxx1wxsjQhV7zk4QoCA/s1600/kellys+toes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyANqmuws-RScwRZqbU2TySJh3z97KK5nYv_VhlWa-YA71cODiRaEdJZiRkLGaArSx04wWa_t7dYKQHXCwVkZNSqpwEx6cCpVyUwU2x2audHmOdnqt8X8FyPjfxx1wxsjQhV7zk4QoCA/s1600/kellys+toes.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All sweet and unsuspecting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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This is my lovely toe <i>after</i> <strike>Hosanna</strike> a child dropped a ten pound dumbbell on it:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_z-KYK7TI9L_FMeUY4cFZFm6rb0vY_4VvRhcL3_QtQ_rdNghaTZFnquWRwgSynpAz0rh1p44J42GDUZ_-5CXOa0m9rlNiYITbwXXuNwUmxtiG1fbIYM12-UhLHvVlLI0IevPxQr-VFO8/s1600/hurt+toe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_z-KYK7TI9L_FMeUY4cFZFm6rb0vY_4VvRhcL3_QtQ_rdNghaTZFnquWRwgSynpAz0rh1p44J42GDUZ_-5CXOa0m9rlNiYITbwXXuNwUmxtiG1fbIYM12-UhLHvVlLI0IevPxQr-VFO8/s1600/hurt+toe.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three days out. Oh, and even after having four kiddos, a dumbbell on the toenail = the WORST pain I've experienced in my life. Sometime I'll share the horror story that is <i>drilling into your own toenail with a safety pin </i>to release the blood in the hopes of saving it.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
5.</div>
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These are my lovely Sister Wives and I <i>before</i> we grew another year <strike>hotter</strike> wiser:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQZi6ciV9TN2Y5RzPB2PxHUMEHmovkfNDe_88Q63OZbVlNYo2iHl3Q-0cYXNhLjD53KnhZ2KRKoQIYe8CxVTYAAcdGZ2BGr1li-C1EhytdDY2wxM0atXQCAO8kEH9SLX8aZT5RMtW4bQ/s1600/sister+wives+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVQZi6ciV9TN2Y5RzPB2PxHUMEHmovkfNDe_88Q63OZbVlNYo2iHl3Q-0cYXNhLjD53KnhZ2KRKoQIYe8CxVTYAAcdGZ2BGr1li-C1EhytdDY2wxM0atXQCAO8kEH9SLX8aZT5RMtW4bQ/s1600/sister+wives+before.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sister Wife Rachel, Sister Wife Lyndsay, me, Sister Wife Rose<br />
September 2013</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
These are my lovely Sister Wives and I <i>after</i> we grew another year <strike>hotter</strike> wiser:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqmJTLHevowW5cCxjsxkb4kQMHIWP-_ZnpvunKpryVfil6AeUXw-rc9f2VTx_bM8YURnFNszWDR1uuPelcKAQnr1TNspkUynbs0Cg3N4SldvVz6H9fRdM7pCzcYuCb4oJhMjHQVBR6FI/s1600/sister+wives+after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZqmJTLHevowW5cCxjsxkb4kQMHIWP-_ZnpvunKpryVfil6AeUXw-rc9f2VTx_bM8YURnFNszWDR1uuPelcKAQnr1TNspkUynbs0Cg3N4SldvVz6H9fRdM7pCzcYuCb4oJhMjHQVBR6FI/s1600/sister+wives+after.jpg" height="281" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rachel, Lynds, me, and Rose<br />
September 2014<br />
(*Bonus points if you spotted my bandaged toe*)</td></tr>
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Happy Friday!</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-2341011915294018202014-09-01T20:01:00.002-07:002014-09-01T20:01:12.057-07:00When Hate is a Good Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQDnmqPovBtICrUuFRQdFsGGXYJzUbLJXGQKLNIN3B9epkKs0AOwJDd3RwXNOWinOeK6yyc8MGScEWsyldbxT6UZcNQp91jqgLt4mjMrNgYNURRpuFQN0m_qEJq4O1Z3L3LEyB7VMBAw/s1600/leg+day+meme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQDnmqPovBtICrUuFRQdFsGGXYJzUbLJXGQKLNIN3B9epkKs0AOwJDd3RwXNOWinOeK6yyc8MGScEWsyldbxT6UZcNQp91jqgLt4mjMrNgYNURRpuFQN0m_qEJq4O1Z3L3LEyB7VMBAw/s1600/leg+day+meme.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
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Powerlifter Sara and I have created a new rating scale on which to judge a particular workout. Since she pushes me so hard while we are lifting, it's based roughly on how much I hate her the following day. It ranks as follows.<br />
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Hate</div>
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Loathe</div>
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Detest</div>
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Abhor</div>
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Despise</div>
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Our very first leg workout earned a DESPISE level, so it's become the standard against which I measure all other workouts. Nothing has come close to that first workout. Then, this weekend happened... *enter ominous music*</div>
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On Saturday we met to have a lovely little squat session. Kemper's* strength training plan called for squatting, leg press, lunges, and a superset of hamstring curls and single leg bridge extensions. (Normally I view leg press as a throw away because <strike>it's not squatting</strike> I don't really enjoy it as much as squatting. Sara, however, is a leg press DOMINATOR. She can leg press over a thousand pounds, which means she pretty much maxes out all the machines at Lifetime.) </div>
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I ran a half mile to warm up and then met Sara on the seated leg press. She had me do 4 sets of 8 reps as heavy as I could handle. She told me to push through my heels so I would feel it in my quads as much as possible. The weight was heavy enough that the last few reps of each set I could only concentrate on breathing and pushing and lowering the weight. Then, because Sara is a BEAST she had us do single leg presses. I dropped the weight in half and did three sets of ten reps with each leg. My quads were quivering. (That sounds like the title of a really bad powerlifting romance novel.)(Note to self: Quivering Quads as a debut novel?)</div>
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Next we headed over to the squat rack where HISTORY WAS MADE.</div>
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It started like any other squat session. I did some leg swings (even though I was really warmed up from leg press, I'm a creature of habit) and some hip openers. I squatted the bar 10 times, focusing on form and explosiveness. I did the same with 6 reps of 95 pounds. Then we went straight from warm up to our working set. It went a little something like this:</div>
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1 set of 5 reps at 135. 1 set of 5 reps at 145. Start to feel nervous because the heaviest weight I've ever squatted reps at is 150. Start to think about the 3 full sets ahead of us. Feel like maybe I should try to convince Sara we should do another set of 145 so we don't get too ahead of ourselves. Attempt to enforce this plan. Am FULL ON DENIED as Sara takes us up to 150.</div>
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Do 1 set of 5 reps at 150. Smile like a neeeerd because 150 was easy. Do 1 set of 5 reps at 155. Do 1 set of 5 reps at 160. Freak out because *that* is a new PR. Look at Sara. Her eyes are twinkling and she says, "Let's do ten more. 170."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNoNwDoc_uzVGgQm9I9IiPAA_KeQdL-oasQbderY-BaFIqzbObwF51MpHA4aZrgKuVUtD1tc3Vz9f2Y-eqhyphenhyphenqoD6UM0_xn1VYOV6Ib2k515n1aJOb8rCK8tnHF3oUZGvwVqqs-bnbXA9Q/s1600/squat+session+%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNoNwDoc_uzVGgQm9I9IiPAA_KeQdL-oasQbderY-BaFIqzbObwF51MpHA4aZrgKuVUtD1tc3Vz9f2Y-eqhyphenhyphenqoD6UM0_xn1VYOV6Ib2k515n1aJOb8rCK8tnHF3oUZGvwVqqs-bnbXA9Q/s1600/squat+session+%231.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thinking about it. "Dude, it's just 170. It's only 25 pounds more than your <i>entire body weight</i>. <b>You</b> <b>got</b> <b>this</b> <strike>or you might crap your pants</strike>."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhq7-sqT7s1aJy7RcED557oqD89VboHlxzUdc0Ga3pNVVF1AD1p64N2r3pSUY7wNh061nV1LuZMplsMLnkGt1j-vaOrziO0Fv5q6s7ws0JyjEsjCHNA6AxU8Nz1zijWkyEMDageE0moDY/s1600/squat+session+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhq7-sqT7s1aJy7RcED557oqD89VboHlxzUdc0Ga3pNVVF1AD1p64N2r3pSUY7wNh061nV1LuZMplsMLnkGt1j-vaOrziO0Fv5q6s7ws0JyjEsjCHNA6AxU8Nz1zijWkyEMDageE0moDY/s1600/squat+session+%232.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the moment my career as a booty dancer in rap videos started.<br />
#dattushiedoe<br />
#tushie because #suburbanmom</td></tr>
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Sara put down the camera to spot me on this lift because <i>one hundred and seventy pounds</i> but guys? I squatted 5 full reps at 170 pounds. PR #2 of the session.</div>
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Next was walking lunges (I used 25# dumbbells and we walked the length of the free weights back and forth twice) and then superset 3 sets of hamstring curls and single leg bridge extensions. My hamstrings were screaming at me during the last set.</div>
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We finished up the workout with some cardio. I ran on the treadmill while chatting with Sara. I daydreamed slightly about iced coffee, and realized that since it was LEG DAY I was totally going to go to McDonalds and get it. Lifting: making your daydreams a reality.</div>
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I waited all the next day for the workout to rate DESPISE level, but it never got there. Part of me thinks it was because I spent a fair amount of time foam rolling and stretching afterwards, and part of me thinks it was the BCAA's I've been taking after my big lifting days. (Also, don't tell Kemper because <i>maybe</i> I haven't asked him about that yet.)(But I <i>am </i>feeling a difference since I added BCAA's to my post workout regimen.)(I just giggled because I have an actual post workout regimen.)</div>
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Even with the Squat PR this workout only rated a solid LOATHE on our super scientific scale. Which is still really really awesome.</div>
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Today is a rest day which means yoga is happening. *Commence happy dancing* </div>
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Enjoy your day, y'all!</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSHzHVxkdc8NNuHAG9mfme5779Uv9CPVhq-B8dRRuOYQ33QGUj1NnYgle_VhScKPZB3PtDqKh31n9MOzf6HAkNce3vYl_81KVdmAtJXfvyHkeSqYrTGpKeQzrVxJ-6h0avf3LBvWvTWA/s1600/kemper+and+his+grandpa+color.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioSHzHVxkdc8NNuHAG9mfme5779Uv9CPVhq-B8dRRuOYQ33QGUj1NnYgle_VhScKPZB3PtDqKh31n9MOzf6HAkNce3vYl_81KVdmAtJXfvyHkeSqYrTGpKeQzrVxJ-6h0avf3LBvWvTWA/s1600/kemper+and+his+grandpa+color.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Super Fine Brother<br />Oscar's Little Brother Kemper.<br />He's fit, fun, and a family man.</td></tr>
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*Laaaaaaadies - Kemp is on the market. And since you all have been so quick to inquire about Kemper's Super Fine Brother Oscar (three marriage proposals!)(I'm a little disappointed there weren't more)(because he's <i>totally</i> Super Fine)(and a good hugger)(and <b>plays guitar</b>), I would be remiss if I neglected to mention that Kemper is *enter my singsong voice* avaaaaaailable. Email your proposals to Sublurbanmama@gmail.com (If this results in an actual relationship I am charging Kemp a finder's fee <i>and</i> I get to sing at the wedding. I can rock out some Ave Maria like nobody's bidness.)</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-91202681360588989982014-08-22T01:14:00.001-07:002014-08-22T01:14:18.391-07:00What could *possibly* be more important than updating your blog, Kelly?Once upon a time, there was a lovely little summer storm that swept southeastern Michigan. It brought rain. A <i>lot</i> of rain.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUD8H_iF9dABm8dTGURY2WHJ6SwHSJ4uhru8anEInhc3OiIiBypVshxiXhBwWe77Yj03clgNNGZbD99T95fc8H0e7I44nowqQJgnJCwinwzS6hvImafGXlWLBUKh1YCgmjyRmpdy0Q4A/s1600/flood+2014+-+road+flood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAUD8H_iF9dABm8dTGURY2WHJ6SwHSJ4uhru8anEInhc3OiIiBypVshxiXhBwWe77Yj03clgNNGZbD99T95fc8H0e7I44nowqQJgnJCwinwzS6hvImafGXlWLBUKh1YCgmjyRmpdy0Q4A/s1600/flood+2014+-+road+flood.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Kelly, that is a lovely pond near your house."<br />"Thanks, but it's actually the road, sidewalk, and half my yard after approximately ten minutes of the rain."</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVcdWPnfquppWpXydwBd_vqufX059uh07EhCj3Q4GPnkijtGyLQzDv_i8jq8M3CXjlJ9rABE6QojQpGAwoerwpS-c44q27Cp6pOztVwvGd9oKH7oz4NVoaW8HweB5pnYV1FE63qWWE6Xk/s1600/flood+2014+-+road+flood+with+truck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVcdWPnfquppWpXydwBd_vqufX059uh07EhCj3Q4GPnkijtGyLQzDv_i8jq8M3CXjlJ9rABE6QojQpGAwoerwpS-c44q27Cp6pOztVwvGd9oKH7oz4NVoaW8HweB5pnYV1FE63qWWE6Xk/s1600/flood+2014+-+road+flood+with+truck.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the few vehicles that didn't stall out while driving through the neighborhood. (It's probably a FORD.) #motorcitylove</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: center;">"Boy, Kel, with all that action outside, you must have been super worried about your basement, huh?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 16px; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
"Nope. Not at all. Just this winter we dropped a pretty penny on waterproofing the basement. All that work held up beautifully. However, all the waterproofing in the world is no match for when the SEWER backs up."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WSsGcpHSvvfsYkOkDnFVvS-CVi3POtZ4eX_zmwpqN9bnNUVvsS7SBQiHCl_3gQ4awNh4w7rfiEV1spKVW3nL-fqWmS-CnkQ6F0OBAlkt5WMaYh8bM3aA_mUrbq2fVaKo3XYwJu0g6Ng/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%231+with+floating+crib+mattresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WSsGcpHSvvfsYkOkDnFVvS-CVi3POtZ4eX_zmwpqN9bnNUVvsS7SBQiHCl_3gQ4awNh4w7rfiEV1spKVW3nL-fqWmS-CnkQ6F0OBAlkt5WMaYh8bM3aA_mUrbq2fVaKo3XYwJu0g6Ng/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%231+with+floating+crib+mattresses.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you're wondering if crib mattresses float, the answer is YES.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3CTtRLCy6PV_Gb1OMNe9zJYEArP19QRZ9RPZE6Q7PzYTqaDqCcejFEe2VBFdVbZzLR6A7RC_uds0mjLvRU3Jb-Z_2rtLewtb9kHFmnL1eB2izSHGkS-QI5yYA_Z_seL_f3w_WMSKMvM/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%232+-+puzzles+and+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu3CTtRLCy6PV_Gb1OMNe9zJYEArP19QRZ9RPZE6Q7PzYTqaDqCcejFEe2VBFdVbZzLR6A7RC_uds0mjLvRU3Jb-Z_2rtLewtb9kHFmnL1eB2izSHGkS-QI5yYA_Z_seL_f3w_WMSKMvM/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%232+-+puzzles+and+desk.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, boxes and bins float, cardboard disintegrates, wood and fabric absorbes... it was like a real life science lesson. <i>Homeschool</i>. Speaking of, to the left is all of our homeschool curriculum.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KjLDSVqE4wrVXQFaHaG4mocF2SPPISFM90RILhbtE_wXXAq8iQQNCQ4Tzbk1gdGW4GFpiNQJXDV_sirvxh7ciu8Ja7ftshm8L9ndEkDnOarY4mguzx2yduXIA8cA4ojCrSCtLeGg5Po/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%233+pantry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1KjLDSVqE4wrVXQFaHaG4mocF2SPPISFM90RILhbtE_wXXAq8iQQNCQ4Tzbk1gdGW4GFpiNQJXDV_sirvxh7ciu8Ja7ftshm8L9ndEkDnOarY4mguzx2yduXIA8cA4ojCrSCtLeGg5Po/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%233+pantry.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our humidifiers = death by water.<br />There <i>has</i> to be a joke there, somewhere.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9Rbx6SI3t45w-YNU5m9M7tFucYF4FLEVr6SMh4B6hQY1dfZ-tKRlWxfKM4N0kt3nHz0TjH5JWrjTsYJwh9GkM30hKJwPiSQmJbNUJinsaO0K4Rog0EyxxeausSFuOAdsknWiZjfqFPg/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%234+workshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy9Rbx6SI3t45w-YNU5m9M7tFucYF4FLEVr6SMh4B6hQY1dfZ-tKRlWxfKM4N0kt3nHz0TjH5JWrjTsYJwh9GkM30hKJwPiSQmJbNUJinsaO0K4Rog0EyxxeausSFuOAdsknWiZjfqFPg/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%234+workshop.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, sanders and saws and other miscellaneous tools do not like to swim.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f1inb6S213DVxQWbm7nMEsV0kToTTvxBLgYeWaNCHg08QI-mvg4zbYoEiZwRTftkbQBU4Q6S-L4AvykE9Y9lOnc1HGP-_cP_a63rZijqKkdi5Una_s4lsMhongYjAfIqBCpkmrSLokY/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%235+ruler+and+pump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f1inb6S213DVxQWbm7nMEsV0kToTTvxBLgYeWaNCHg08QI-mvg4zbYoEiZwRTftkbQBU4Q6S-L4AvykE9Y9lOnc1HGP-_cP_a63rZijqKkdi5Una_s4lsMhongYjAfIqBCpkmrSLokY/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%235+ruler+and+pump.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And the final verdict? About six inches of sewage.<br />Thank God for that pump. It worked tirelessly all night and Tuesday dawned bright and early with only a squishy and puddley (totally a word) basement to be had. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLwIZrha5Hpmh6uSdqguv4J8eOytgnPIYItefY5cAqia1JdXtqqJsJD0oZCO7nil8rO_6Lt5wwnzqYaGDgAdJ-igQcRHaZrwtymuMMq8HLUPbWsLxFapoyMuFidLIuC3X6GxQdtqk6XE/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%236+curriculum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipLwIZrha5Hpmh6uSdqguv4J8eOytgnPIYItefY5cAqia1JdXtqqJsJD0oZCO7nil8rO_6Lt5wwnzqYaGDgAdJ-igQcRHaZrwtymuMMq8HLUPbWsLxFapoyMuFidLIuC3X6GxQdtqk6XE/s1600/flood+2014+-+basement+%236+curriculum.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Once the water was gone I could survey the damage...<br />I stopped counting at $1000 worth of curriculum destroyed.<br />(For those that know what I'm talking about - on the right is the ENTIRE Answers in Genesis God's Design for Science curriculum. Also lost - two years of My Father's World. The <i>deluxe</i> kits. Ouch.)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
On Tuesday night help arrives in the form of eleven strong young men ready to haul out our possessions and do whatever needs to be done.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMvh7A47png-_vdygKV3v6zWtNdbTrmwbowaIncj4Y6DS1pT9ekdSJnKsGsx0vDu9gyedGWvb5b63tCwZU75i6G6XxjeeMdolBOg0Kr9ZlJXF3zJ3A1ZtjjQ4XltxUXgwSulK-TIHKfo/s1600/flood+2014+-+help+arrives!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEMvh7A47png-_vdygKV3v6zWtNdbTrmwbowaIncj4Y6DS1pT9ekdSJnKsGsx0vDu9gyedGWvb5b63tCwZU75i6G6XxjeeMdolBOg0Kr9ZlJXF3zJ3A1ZtjjQ4XltxUXgwSulK-TIHKfo/s1600/flood+2014+-+help+arrives!.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seth, John, and Hosanna wash all the sealed but submerged food and drinks that were floating around the basement. Our pantry was downstairs. We saved $70 worth of soy milk, $50 worth of canned/jarred goods, and 20+ unopened gallons of water. We lost anything in cardboard, or anything absorbent.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56J1OsGyJg_2HrQjUG8L4ETvxfKAUdnGGGNBJdx-zuJC0s6DZtB_TrOG_62A697EaaI7DaZ5u1wFaTX_N6ocQIexMATtGqyikwdmsjq3EFf5rEqKnreviDXOPy0e9HBHQtue3EtbgkMo/s1600/flood+2014+-+hoarders+front+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56J1OsGyJg_2HrQjUG8L4ETvxfKAUdnGGGNBJdx-zuJC0s6DZtB_TrOG_62A697EaaI7DaZ5u1wFaTX_N6ocQIexMATtGqyikwdmsjq3EFf5rEqKnreviDXOPy0e9HBHQtue3EtbgkMo/s1600/flood+2014+-+hoarders+front+room.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salvageable goods begin to take over our home.<br />(Aren't we blessed to have so many salvageable goods?!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xL8byNuCHLzI-EnYS49FfBq4iCKGaualPa6uwngn5Mzixm0W4VDMOtO1V_0rW7nIOZGrxJOjffdbYZ2-AJqLsKD7imyiBFsaVqMadD4YH3LsJAB4wHBDvPFUlPTB9UsYujC3vRind3o/s1600/flood+2014+-+hoarders+garage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xL8byNuCHLzI-EnYS49FfBq4iCKGaualPa6uwngn5Mzixm0W4VDMOtO1V_0rW7nIOZGrxJOjffdbYZ2-AJqLsKD7imyiBFsaVqMadD4YH3LsJAB4wHBDvPFUlPTB9UsYujC3vRind3o/s1600/flood+2014+-+hoarders+garage.jpg" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Destroyed goods go on the right in our garage, salvageable goods on the left.<br />(pictured (the destroyed goods) = furniture, an amp, MY PLYO BOX)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolOr9sXqRxh_VC75u3SQl8c47OQOC7CNV6PsnCdzj3fQLsMFogPTB0BsUgo8ZC7u0kmz6I3Tbot9mNQBChoHF_d7Qd41fyZHOICjQfkadMygn5NobYh9odtvDR1HAhuOOKcFWXZotSA0/s1600/flood+2014+-+first+day+garbage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolOr9sXqRxh_VC75u3SQl8c47OQOC7CNV6PsnCdzj3fQLsMFogPTB0BsUgo8ZC7u0kmz6I3Tbot9mNQBChoHF_d7Qd41fyZHOICjQfkadMygn5NobYh9odtvDR1HAhuOOKcFWXZotSA0/s1600/flood+2014+-+first+day+garbage.jpg" height="298" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day of garbage. I honestly stopped taking pictures at this point except for what we needed for insurance purposes. We have filled to overflowing two bagster dumpsters (most of this was with the drywall, baseboards, doors and other construction debris that accrued from the restoration process) and filled the entire easement with trash. The following week's garbage looked similar. </td></tr>
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<br />
Our focus now is on sanitizing the salvageable goods. Every item that touched the water has to be washed with an antimicrobial, washed with clorox, and then thoroughly dried. Anything solid wood needs to go through the same process, but then be re-varnished afterwards. My elliptical survived but needs to be taken completely apart and every surface washed and disinfected. We need a professional to do that.<br />
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This has been such an overwhelming undertaking. I came down with a sinus infection and double ear infections after days of sorting/cleaning the wet basement. We started homeschool less than a week after this all happened. (We're doing online school so we didn't have any wiggle room.) We needed new furniture so we had somewhere to sit. I've never had insomnia, but these past two weeks brought many nights that I finally fell asleep at 5:30 a.m., only to have Ezra wake me up at 7:00. Because poop. Or milk. Or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, <i>please</i>.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
My Pollyanna Thankfulness List:</div>
<br />*Nothing brings the neighborhood together quite like disaster. Everyone is out on their front lawns chatting it up with whoever is out. People gather to help haul, or share dumpsters, or pass along contractor names. A family down the street that came away relatively unaffected brought us vegan cupcakes. <i>Vegan cupcakes</i>. They are my new favorites for life.<br />
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*Welp, the basement has been on my Must Clean Out list for years. This is one way to start/finish that project.<br />
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*Antibiotics and iced coffee - did you really think I could go a whole thankfulness list without mentioning iced coffee? It's like you don't even know me. After three days of the antibiotics for my sinus and ears I felt like a new person. And while the melatonin I bought at GNC isn't touching my insomnia, the Quest bars I bought during that same shopping trip are making me deliriously happy.<br />
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*Comparatively, we came out pretty okay. We lost a ton of <i>stuff</i>. We have a huge cleanup in front of us. But there are people in Metro Detroit who lost their entire homes. Their homes were moved off the foundations from these floods and are now unsafe and uninhabitable. I belong to a flood recovery group on Facebook and there are people dealing with six <i>feet</i> of water in their homes. I am thankful for just six inches of sewage. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)<br />
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*Lifetime Fitness and Kemper - working out has been my sanity. I can forget and just lift and feel accomplished and <b>so much better</b>.<br />
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*Friends and Family. You guys. I have no words for how blessed I am. Here is a happy little picture I took with Sister Wife Rose at a wedding Saturday.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDsj9913U1l2cm14IOJPCxpnVPGcpN6ikrbRek-2piTNnK9Z3hkjXSFNEAbFZV7ZZqn3ZbeSr9mlOEkcl5O5CwyveKkp7TKw3Npn7RZjCJgj7wfP8hV3BBkXqZYNjIXBN0irxVse6L0o/s1600/flood+2014+-+pete+and+rachel+wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnDsj9913U1l2cm14IOJPCxpnVPGcpN6ikrbRek-2piTNnK9Z3hkjXSFNEAbFZV7ZZqn3ZbeSr9mlOEkcl5O5CwyveKkp7TKw3Npn7RZjCJgj7wfP8hV3BBkXqZYNjIXBN0irxVse6L0o/s1600/flood+2014+-+pete+and+rachel+wedding.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Sister Wife Rose = the best kind of trouble.</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy Friday everyone! Enjoy that weekend!</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-53004737011144429712014-08-14T01:51:00.001-07:002014-08-14T01:51:19.312-07:00The Trifecta of Oscars. Also *my* trainer feeds me gummy bears. The BootKemp Sessions - August<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNAE62pzsF9lllR1q84divcKRf1PCxGoMPZVmoYWyik9PKj1bcVr9UkaGVBZ80qDq-q-sYpAvBud-jIsoiSeqmbEJqQ7_16PR0tpFdA-Pnk_dfGS4rDEqMas800ylJ-AsyXD4jZYsA2A/s1600/trifecta+of+oscars.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNAE62pzsF9lllR1q84divcKRf1PCxGoMPZVmoYWyik9PKj1bcVr9UkaGVBZ80qDq-q-sYpAvBud-jIsoiSeqmbEJqQ7_16PR0tpFdA-Pnk_dfGS4rDEqMas800ylJ-AsyXD4jZYsA2A/s1600/trifecta+of+oscars.png" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not *those* Oscars.</td></tr>
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Firstly, thanks for the love about my basement woes. Special thanks goes out to Jessica, who left my favorite comment ever: "You make waterlogged look SEK-SAY!" (In fact, as I was ankle deep in sewage I was all, "Good thing I'm so sek-say.")(I also reminded Brian of this whenever he was tempted to snap at me for nagging him about when we could turn on the fans already.)("Babe, don't be mad. I'm sek-say." <i>Totally convinced him</i>.)<br />
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I'll update further about the mess downstairs later. Today is a happy post dedicated to my favorite workout of the month = the BOOTKEMP SESSION. I was scheduled to meet with Kemper Wednesday night at 7:00. Traffic in southeastern Michigan is hit or miss due to the aftermath of the flooding. Some roads are still closed, while others have increased traffic due to re-routing. I wasn't entirely sure how driving to Kemper's house was going to go, but I ended up pretty much sailing through and getting there a few minutes early.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQBYl_Nwr4RodbPv4VPNf-sII09xaKE_pvR_w6iZLo1t3vfsoH71HfCDfNheu_Zsb_J1Lf5MOJrkM-W10yhcp1728k-aTHgZvfDBbjJDx_Ro1admVnPMHb4rfuChmTomLLHEqBzKgtRw/s1600/mr+miyagi+fly+quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQBYl_Nwr4RodbPv4VPNf-sII09xaKE_pvR_w6iZLo1t3vfsoH71HfCDfNheu_Zsb_J1Lf5MOJrkM-W10yhcp1728k-aTHgZvfDBbjJDx_Ro1admVnPMHb4rfuChmTomLLHEqBzKgtRw/s1600/mr+miyagi+fly+quote.jpg" height="222" width="320" /></a></div>
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Kemper, however, was coming from work and either got stuck in traffic or was just running late - OHYLANTA - STOP THE BLOGGING PRESSES. I JUST CAUGHT/SMOOSHED A FLY IN MY BARE HAND. <i> That totally just happened as I was writing this</i>. It is as gross <b>and</b> as rad as it seems. That was some total Karate Kid shiz right there.<br />
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<br />
So, Kemper was late which turned out to be completely awesome, because I ended up achieving a lifelong goal <i>I didn't even know I had</i> in his absence. Kemper has a dad named Oscar. I'd never met an Oscar in my whole life until I met Kemper's family. Then, because knowing them is like the gift that keeps on giving, I discovered that not only is Kemper's dad named Oscar, but so is his older brother, Kemper's Super Fine Brother Oscar. (Although the family just calls him "Oscar".) BAM! I suddenly knew two Oscars. BUT IT GETS BETTER. Because as I was hanging out with Oscar Sr. while waiting for Kemper, there was a knock at the door, and in walked <i>another</i> <i>man named Oscar</i>.<br />
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Just when you think that meeting three separate Oscars in your lifetime is the pinnacle of Things I Never Thought Would Happen I discovered that Kemper's Super Fine Brother Oscar was in the basement waiting for Oscar Sr. and Oscar #3 so they could rehearse for an upcoming gig because: <b>they are all in a band together</b>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7c_hR-8yl9iPPMwXfQ9o0SyZ41rGkct_3b2FK6RxT9TlxkeDe2QG5kJqkZwqCcUhUNORm06EtYgDErr7lEZhyphenhyphenH4s9ZM92i7gu_6wezW8ALofGq37XfCaP6ugHqK4RWDEpa7lUHSgIRys/s1600/export.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7c_hR-8yl9iPPMwXfQ9o0SyZ41rGkct_3b2FK6RxT9TlxkeDe2QG5kJqkZwqCcUhUNORm06EtYgDErr7lEZhyphenhyphenH4s9ZM92i7gu_6wezW8ALofGq37XfCaP6ugHqK4RWDEpa7lUHSgIRys/s1600/export.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The band<br />(I'm feeling really impressed with my<br />internet sleuthing lately. It's<br />like I possess <strike>the ability to operate a<br />basic search engine</strike> elite hacking<br />capability. #stillcantfigureouttexting)<br /></td></tr>
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I totally crashed their basement band practice. It was just like high school. It made me feel like I wanted to go get more bad tattoos and piercings and probably find my Van's and baggy jeans because I am still so hardcore. But this time the basement band practice I was watching was comprised of a trifecta of Oscars, and they were playing a Collective Soul cover. #justcheckedoffmybucketlist<br />
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(Also in the band is a man named Luis.)(And Kemper's mom Renee who I didn't realize is a bad-A rockstar singer.)(But she wasn't there when I was there.)(So now I have to see them gig so I can get my groupie on with the whole group present.)<br />
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When Kemper got home <strike>it was a total buzzkill</strike> I was super happy to see him because I look forward to training all.month.long. I was especially excited to see him because he promised we could work on my bench press and my form for rear delt raises.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_fcpeKhQhtZTtrC-dZxpt32tlKL3Q8nMBCIW-4WaMMBwn7Y3gqs3FzM2kjpBFmTnDlX3Insqj3IhvgUTYQ1XaVbmJk6LecB8cC916JNNBC8ejRwJ8gLYhU0MeyaFNEmC33tXoJiX0DE/s1600/spin+bike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_fcpeKhQhtZTtrC-dZxpt32tlKL3Q8nMBCIW-4WaMMBwn7Y3gqs3FzM2kjpBFmTnDlX3Insqj3IhvgUTYQ1XaVbmJk6LecB8cC916JNNBC8ejRwJ8gLYhU0MeyaFNEmC33tXoJiX0DE/s1600/spin+bike.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Take a moment and pray blessings<br />on Kemper because he had enough<br />compassion to replace the original<br />seat with an Old Lady Butt padded<br />seat. Amen.</td></tr>
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<br />
He started our session off by introducing me to his new baby - the spin bike <strike>from hell</strike>. After two days of hauling up waterlogged possessions from my basement my quads were fried, so I did my best to warm up without complaining too loudly. (Meaning I tried to use my Inside Voice when I was all, "DUDE. KEMPER. MY QUADS CAN'T DO THIS." I'm pretty sure I smiled sweetly when he adjusted the resistance, so yeah, I'm a darling of a peach to train.)<br />
<br />
After warming up my arms with resistance bands it was time to bench. I've been feeling a little better about bench press lately. A huge part of my problem of not progressing like I want with bench is fear when I don't have a spotter. I'm afraid to go heavy because I know I'll get trapped under the bar. Lately I've been doing my bench day with Rachel Who Looks Like Meg Ryan, and she's been spotting me. I've really seen some gains* in the last few weeks. The last time I benched with Rachel, I did 1 set of 5 reps at 75 pounds (1x5@75), 2x5@80, 2x5@85, and 1x3@90. Those 90 pound reps were huge for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGW3yQUxDQ6UiF_luaXrNBCsXeutymH56pUaub6GGo72EpAVNHEnj-5ykZACeQmqRUYmHShW6mc2q0HTow9_W_f4j5PIxXvtLuwRBqCK6qZwCZcWp1z8it-ay5ryR_nCVOBYGCMbXbzE/s1600/HodgeGainz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYGW3yQUxDQ6UiF_luaXrNBCsXeutymH56pUaub6GGo72EpAVNHEnj-5ykZACeQmqRUYmHShW6mc2q0HTow9_W_f4j5PIxXvtLuwRBqCK6qZwCZcWp1z8it-ay5ryR_nCVOBYGCMbXbzE/s1600/HodgeGainz.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't hate, but <i>I just <b>can't</b></i> with<br />the Hodge Twins.</td></tr>
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(*Kemper doesn't make fun of me <i>at all</i> when I say things like, "make gains.")(Also, the previous sentence is a LIE.)<br />
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I was looking forward to benching with Kemper because it's my weakest lift. Kemper has been talking a lot about the importance of power in my lifts. He really wants me to explode on the lift. So during bench he really pushed me to go for all I was worth. The crazy thing was that those "power" reps with Kemp <strike>yelling at me</strike> felt heavy but not crazy heavy. I handled the 85 pound sets like nothing. As it always seems to go in Kemper's gym, I ended up doing my last set with what I thought was an impossible weight: 95 pounds. It's <b>those</b> moments of training when I believe someday I could be really strong.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivegtSYgjxz0ex5dEIhm1CZU0jZibVZXzSkIRTK-3efLc5g1iEuXB7Nz-U0krnFu-74in9RXnTknV8yxRSY7NQkNe8b5o4c9wG734u1moqdrw-d5uKVW25yQH8214WKWb-80tkVTQ0WDk/s1600/rear+delt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivegtSYgjxz0ex5dEIhm1CZU0jZibVZXzSkIRTK-3efLc5g1iEuXB7Nz-U0krnFu-74in9RXnTknV8yxRSY7NQkNe8b5o4c9wG734u1moqdrw-d5uKVW25yQH8214WKWb-80tkVTQ0WDk/s1600/rear+delt.jpg" height="183" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Totally how I look without skin.</td></tr>
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After bench we moved on to standing shoulder press. I recently moved to 30# dumbbells when I do these at Lifetime, but have only managed to consistently do 6 reps a set. Kemper got three sets of 8 reps out of me. Hoorah. Next we superset rear delt raises with lateral raises. We spent a decent amount of time on form here, which I'm super thankful for. I've watched Youtube video after Youtube video of rear delt raises, and every one leaves me confused. It was awesome to have Kemper walk me through them, keeping his hand on my actual rear delt so I knew where to squeeze with the raise. I hate feeling like I might be wasting my time at the gym, so I now feel confident I can do these on my own and hit the right part of the muscle.<br />
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We finished up with push-ups superset with tricep pushdown. Push-ups have gotten so much easier; I've really seen a vast improvement in the last few months. Kemper had to help me with the last few reps of the pushdown set. I think he really just wanted to be done because he had an <b>extra special</b> cool down planned. And if you thought that cool down included eating gummy bears you would be <b>totally correct</b>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8LdiqpvmMIZWiDYbtRX6kKoQ66M80hw01jFPFcEgTl3zIOYTjC8M7_Mrhx3sGcRnS2OrC_zSA9Qs4Oiy7W-roawj76gVl4Jl2cpcyVph61TPSYjwBmQGwnyB1wCclCGvuYJi155Jec50/s1600/gummy+bear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8LdiqpvmMIZWiDYbtRX6kKoQ66M80hw01jFPFcEgTl3zIOYTjC8M7_Mrhx3sGcRnS2OrC_zSA9Qs4Oiy7W-roawj76gVl4Jl2cpcyVph61TPSYjwBmQGwnyB1wCclCGvuYJi155Jec50/s1600/gummy+bear.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Probably 17 of the regular size gummy bears have 30<br />grams of carbs; maybe stick with only 1 or 2 of The<br />Party Bear for the same macros*.<br />*<i>Kidding. Kids, don't try that at home.</i></td></tr>
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Kemper discussed really scientific things like the effects of dextrose on glycogen stores verses the effects of fructose on glycogen stores while we noshed. He quoted nutrition facts; 17 gummy bears have 30 grams of dextrose rich carbs that will basically feed your muscles after a heavy workout = GAINZ. We shared a total bro moment (and are decent gummybear-eating partners because I eat the white ones and he eats the reds). (The only downside to him knowing I like the white ones is that <strike>when</strike> if all the white ones mysteriously disappear he will know who to blame.)(I'm blaming Oscar because there are three of them to sort out, which should give me adequate time to make a get-away.)<br />
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Another awesome happening is that this girl got herself a Bootkemp t-shirt to wear proudly at the gym. The Meathead clothing collection has officially begun...<br />
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Until next month, Bootkemp. 29 more days and counting.</div>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-38528155376320590752014-08-12T09:43:00.001-07:002014-08-12T09:43:06.041-07:00Up a creek (yep,*that* creek - literally) without a paddle. Also, when it rains it pours.<div style="text-align: center;">
MY FIRST EVER VLOG. </div>
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Y'all - <i>try to contain your excitement</i>. </div>
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Here is a video to prove how Midwestern I am.</div>
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Also, just send me some love. For real. It's crappy here. LITERALLY.</div>
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(Sewage jokes, already? <i>Too soon, Kel</i>.)</div>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-40648256316203337092014-08-06T07:31:00.001-07:002014-08-06T07:31:20.087-07:00Weigh-in Wednesday: The Moment of Truth<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBVKCetuvDUBNGzDcTLR1ZIuJYL6NFtRKZUbmh0ueG2XuZySuttq48JJdksOGYqjjo40F6KkBMOQPT1hUqdOk2ko8o9XyE-NOsuAwqedud4CCSnpFoATCRc-jxxX7ZTK1Ac779ridIfQ/s1600/90+day+challenge+keep+calm.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQBVKCetuvDUBNGzDcTLR1ZIuJYL6NFtRKZUbmh0ueG2XuZySuttq48JJdksOGYqjjo40F6KkBMOQPT1hUqdOk2ko8o9XyE-NOsuAwqedud4CCSnpFoATCRc-jxxX7ZTK1Ac779ridIfQ/s1600/90+day+challenge+keep+calm.png" height="200" width="171" /></a></div>
Last week I celebrated Weigh-in Wednesday with a lovely four pound weight gain after an impressive three day binge session. I knew I had to get my crap together because Saturday was the initial weigh in for the Lifetime Fitness 90 Day Challenge (which I am participating in once again).<br />
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I decided to do the Transformation Challenge instead of the Weight Loss Challenge because I really, really, really want to see my body fat at 19%. When I did the Weight Loss Challenge this spring I went from 37.1% body fat down to 23.5% body fat. (And 168.9 lbs down to 149.) Now that I'm strength training, I'm not entirely interested in dropping <i>body weight</i>. I'm more interested in dropping FAT. I'm finally at the place where I could stay close to the same weight and be mentally okay with it as long as my body fat was dropping. Because a maintained weight + a lower body fat percentage = MUSCLE GAINZ.<br />
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Participating in the 90 Day Challenge requires <strike>$25 and a cute smile</strike> a fifteen minute initial session with a trainer who will weigh you in and then try to sell you everything under the sun. I don't hate on that part <i>too</i> much because I understand it's part of the curse of being a trainer at Lifetime Fitness. (Pros of the job include: the opportunity to hang out with yours truly, which I'm pretty sure we can agree is why the trainers still show up to work.) Since Trainer Corey can't seem to shake me (because Powerlifter Sara is officially my friend and those two are like peas and carrots) I signed up to weigh in with him.<br />
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I was nervous. Like, seriously nervous. My weigh in was at 9:30 on Saturday morning. I knew from past experience that trying to mess with your weigh in through dehydration (don't hate, you know you've done it) negatively affects the accuracy of your body fat measurements. So I went in well hydrated (like, please let's hurry this up so I can pee already), prepared to see any sort of number on the scale.<br />
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Trainer Corey (who used to work at Merry-Go-Round in high school)(#baller) unveiled the moment of truth for me Saturday morning. Thankfully he also captured the unveiling via the camera on his phone (hence the glare) and emailed it directly to me so I could share it publicly. So, here it is: the unveiling of my current stats:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvqAfgeflvQOcY_WSwQiuc0mR6G8_4k0x8sEwAp2-NgxMd9sjK0wFQrHrafWfWhFzIhdIBMVL62kHQcJxYm5y1e2SnWHGaATs6zC-4kd754mq1MUXwzwxQLwHu59y0w9tJlSTubo87xI/s1600/Weigh+In.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvqAfgeflvQOcY_WSwQiuc0mR6G8_4k0x8sEwAp2-NgxMd9sjK0wFQrHrafWfWhFzIhdIBMVL62kHQcJxYm5y1e2SnWHGaATs6zC-4kd754mq1MUXwzwxQLwHu59y0w9tJlSTubo87xI/s1600/Weigh+In.jpg" height="293" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let me decode this for you. Basic stats on the top. Let me direct your attention to my current weight of ONE FORTY THREE POINT FIVE. Down three and a half pounds from last week. YES. More of *that* please. Also, check that little box in the lower left corner where it says "Obesity Analysis". See PBF? Percentage Body Fat = 21.6%. My body fat has gone down almost two whole percent since I started Kemper's strength training plan six weeks ago. </td></tr>
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I planned and charted the mess outta my diet between the end of my binge on Sunday morning and my Saturday weigh in. That's six full days of hitting my calories and my macros (mostly). I followed my training plan as written (meaning I didn't add a ton of cardio as "penance" for the preceding week)(and I actually substituted a shorter HIIT rowing workout for a longer steady state run). I will take it and be happy. Following the plan WORKS, y'all.<br />
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Linking up for Weigh-in Wednesday with <a href="http://www.prettystrongmedicine.com/">Heather</a>, <a href="http://www.shesabigstar.com/">Erin</a>, and <a href="http://www.ashsrightdirection.com/">Ash</a>.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-83811679275046531342014-08-04T03:44:00.001-07:002014-08-04T04:42:41.072-07:00Recovering From A Binge In 4 Easy Steps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Picking yourself up after <strike>a dive off the deep end</strike> slight stumble in your quest for healthy living takes a few purposeful decisions. I've found that the best way to regroup and get right back on plan is to follow these simple steps.<br />
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1. STOP EATING CRAP. </div>
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Seems simple enough, right? <i>It's totally not</i>. Because you will still want to eat allllllllll the crap. Why? <i>It's delicious</i>. Crappy food tastes wonderful because fat and sugar are stupid good, and when they are combined it's like happy chemicals explode in your brain. Literally. <b>That literally happens</b>. And since they are in your system (because <i>maybe</i> after your binge party if you were to spontaneously evaporate it would be in the form of Iced Cappuccino) your body will crave that mess until you fully detox. So get ready to suck it up and live out a Basketball Diaries-type withdrawl (pretend you're Leonardo DiCaprio)(but without, you know, the prostitution) and just.stop.eating.crap.<br />
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Seriously. STOP.<br />
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2. Meal Plan like a mother. A really organized, anal retentive mother. Who likes to eat.</div>
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Just because you fell into a vat of chocolate covered Doritos doesn't mean that getting back on track needs to be full of Punishment Food*. (*Can all my Fat Mom ladies out there please acknowledge the existence of Punishment Food? This is the super strict diet you follow after you eat too much to make you feel better about your choices while still allowing you to feel defeated and miserable because it is all bland and tasteless. An example of this is broiled, unseasoned, boneless, skinless chicken breast served with plain, broiled asparagus. There are only two benefits to this meal: 1. You can feel like a martyr eating it because you are suffering for a greater cause (this is a popular benefit if you happen to be a bit Drama Queen-esque)(*looks around innocently at who this might be because it's certainly not yours truly*) and 2. Asparagus pee.<br />
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Coming off a binge is the perfect time to fall in love with real, healthy, good food again. I plan out my meals for the week and prep them. I choose meals that I really like; ones that I will look forward to eating. That way I'm not tempted to stop and grab something that may be part of my regular eating plan as a splurge every once and a while (not pointing any fingers, but McDonalds Southwest grilled chicken salad, that one's for you). Coming off a binge, the extra sodium, artificial ingredients, and elevated sugars in those splurge meals are not something you need to have messing with your detox.<br />
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Here are some of my meals from last week. Don't get too jealous of my food photography skills, plating ability, or <strike>adorable orange toenails that sneaked into the first picture</strike> 1970's Corelle dishes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPhx2YOfu1fMTBkxHefjcaUdwsCEitmv_SiPmNBzwfgOL-xKEsaSMP7o0DRB6wDFdYofzPm8CSg5qqJUQ6D96MSgXABf5-X1vvwWnjzGpDkio9FS91IHHLfUPILg-u7l71qT7JKwUVzc/s1600/food+-+breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcPhx2YOfu1fMTBkxHefjcaUdwsCEitmv_SiPmNBzwfgOL-xKEsaSMP7o0DRB6wDFdYofzPm8CSg5qqJUQ6D96MSgXABf5-X1vvwWnjzGpDkio9FS91IHHLfUPILg-u7l71qT7JKwUVzc/s1600/food+-+breakfast.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Breakfast everyday. 2 eggs, 2 egg whites. Trader Joe's sprouted bread (you hush your mouth), 1 Tbs Meijer natural peanut butter (not pictured: tea with sugar free creamer) <br />
365 calories, 12 carbs, 20 fat*, 29 protein<br />
*the fat thing = I eat most of my fat during the day. I also eat a high fat diet. Breakfast usually has about a third to a half of my fat for the day, which is both tasty and hugely satiating.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch option #1 = 2 cups of broccoli coleslaw with 5 oz grilled chicken. (Not pictured - Pure Protein shake) <br />
308 calories, 11 carbs, 6 fat, 55 protein<br />
I season the snot out of that chicken with dried herbs and spices and grill it; the broccoli slaw I just saute with water in a non-stick pan to soften it. (You could totally add oil or salad dressing to dress it up, just adjust the macros.) (Fun Fact for Free = My counter top is Corian and may have been chosen (a.k.a. <b>was</b> chosen solely) because the color is called "Granola". Clearly, there was no other appropriate choice for the kitchen.) (And yes, I chose our wall color for it's name: "Sweet Cream".)(This is why I did not go into interior decorating.)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCocEjKAWbdwYXQ9U1uWOy2qcHfAzYqCma-riTHVhBdO5UPhPiPopYmNmkDhDn6ua9BIt4lhZ4sVYS59j0mGla26tFubJljvfcKLr982t4j2lPXDzGU-HOSdDpw5o_UPzWX1XAGuzRO_c/s1600/food+-+beef+parm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCocEjKAWbdwYXQ9U1uWOy2qcHfAzYqCma-riTHVhBdO5UPhPiPopYmNmkDhDn6ua9BIt4lhZ4sVYS59j0mGla26tFubJljvfcKLr982t4j2lPXDzGU-HOSdDpw5o_UPzWX1XAGuzRO_c/s1600/food+-+beef+parm.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch option #2 = <a href="http://www.ibreatheimhungry.com/2013/03/low-carb-meatballs-alla-parmigiana.html">Parmesan meatballs</a> and 1 cup broccoli. <br />
255 cals, 9 carbs, 13 fat, 23 protein.<br />
I can not say enough about this recipe. AMAZING. I could eat this every day. My macros are slightly different from hers because, well, I entered all the info using my own ingredient brands, and then weighed each meatball, so, yeah, #science.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8GFd-qpL26grK-BNKLrq9K0NPdbNzpAUxRqgeCf0tDoyJEbrQbDCQHgCZBA8RkeK-7Gd2gMVQGe6aqHDdirMLjlrVNqM0Q7qbNMyraIPIbMs6K9Qn50kxbjmbCDtersZah9T7KO5yyI/s1600/food+-+dinner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8GFd-qpL26grK-BNKLrq9K0NPdbNzpAUxRqgeCf0tDoyJEbrQbDCQHgCZBA8RkeK-7Gd2gMVQGe6aqHDdirMLjlrVNqM0Q7qbNMyraIPIbMs6K9Qn50kxbjmbCDtersZah9T7KO5yyI/s1600/food+-+dinner.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner = Post Deadlift Feast. 5 oz grilled chicken, 1 serving veggie kabob, 1/2 cup brown rice. <br />
381 cals, 29 carbs, 13 fat, 49 protein<br />
Truth? Normally I'd eat double the amount of rice post workout. Dem carbs. But GNC has a sale on Quest bars this month and this is probably what my dinner looked like if I'd snarfed an entire Cinnamon Roll Quest bar on the ride home from the gym. Quest bars - you complete me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I loved all of this food. It filled me up, nourished my body, and helped me get back on track. I didn't have to think about what I felt like eating, which, really, is only an opening to dwell on foods I shouldn't have right now, and an entirely unhelpful event for my goals. I just ate what I already had. Done.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
3a. Drink <b>all</b> the water. <b>Every drop of it</b>. (Unless <a href="http://www.toledofreepress.com/2014/08/02/do-not-drink-water-advisory-issued-for-city-of-toledo/">you live in Toledo and are under the water advisory</a>.)(Then travel with everyone else in your city up to Michigan and buy our bottled water.)(Especially Absopure water.)(Because <strike>they pay our bills, yo</strike> it's the best water around.)</div>
<br />
Water is seriously the best friend a girl can have, post-binge. It rehydrates after all the salty and processed foods have stripped your body. It flushes you out (pardon the pun). DRINK ALL THE WATER. Added benefit? If you drink enough water you will be too busy going to the bathroom to think about sneaking chocolate chip cookies. (Mostly.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
3b. Sweat it out.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-wqCmyK88IWpkY3YktQBEDK4aJEuo7KTFf9YJYSODxqMDxL_uNeTtr3lgnd2Wyy_nCJBwXto9AXYj5cTCm4p18-9nnG7VEeQ3GdnaFVRw0cct-F0CU6ydX1HMijJcNb99_070kwSUbw/s1600/deadlift+bruises.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw-wqCmyK88IWpkY3YktQBEDK4aJEuo7KTFf9YJYSODxqMDxL_uNeTtr3lgnd2Wyy_nCJBwXto9AXYj5cTCm4p18-9nnG7VEeQ3GdnaFVRw0cct-F0CU6ydX1HMijJcNb99_070kwSUbw/s1600/deadlift+bruises.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deadlift bruises in various stages. Lifting<br />
ain't always pretty <strike>when you're clumsy</strike>.<br />
Also - jammie pants sighting #1</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm going to be honest here, working out is not usually something I have a problem with. Even when I'm shoving treats in my mouth like Twinkies just got discontinued <strike>again</strike> I'm still at the gym almost every day. I truly enjoy working out. But if this is you who slacks off in this department, get up and move your tush. You will feel so much better after you sweat a little. (Similarly to post-binge eating, this is not the time for Punishment Exercise. You know these workouts. This is not the time to #killit #beastmode #gohardorgohome if you don't feel like it. This is a time to simply <b>show up</b>. Do something you <i>like</i> to do. I did a deload for the first two days post-binge. Per Kemper's instructions I kept my weights high but my overall volume low. I love HIIT training on the rowing machine. So I did that instead of the steady-state cardio my training plan called for. Why? I enjoy it. Good food and exercise are a gift to my body; the post-binge workouts I choose are like Christmas morning.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
4. Order crap from the internet and schedule the delivery for your first few days recovery.</div>
<br />
Okay, full disclosure: this was totally a happy coincidence. My internet buys just happened to come last week and thank you, Jesus, because it was such a happy moment to get not one, but two packages in the mail.<br />
<br />
The first was a birthday present from Lauren (who actually gave me a TYR gift card a whole month before my June birthday because she was worried that with the birth of her first child my birthday would get lost in the shuffle)(she is available for How To Be An Awesome Best Friend lessons). I finally got around to ordering a new suit and swim cap.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8ISZWf9m4PhTtaGbqQvhHDDa8xE4oyCKhaI-4aIUPvc1FFFrzBNS6TuhwzBpCdMXMUrYvZnJDgxxJtFx3qeHD00D5gpnIQNnwp-lv87UzqVZlLQMneRptkr5xPLMeOg7BtCv9abim-I/s1600/tyr+package.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8ISZWf9m4PhTtaGbqQvhHDDa8xE4oyCKhaI-4aIUPvc1FFFrzBNS6TuhwzBpCdMXMUrYvZnJDgxxJtFx3qeHD00D5gpnIQNnwp-lv87UzqVZlLQMneRptkr5xPLMeOg7BtCv9abim-I/s1600/tyr+package.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The people at Lifetime Fitness will forever be grateful that I finally have a new bathing suit. I also got a sweet Lycra swim cap because I passionately *hate* (yeah, I went there) regular swim caps.<br />
"Hey, Kel, look at you gettin' all fancy staging that shot on your wood floors."<br />
*puff of hot breath on my fingernails, rubs them on shirt*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Also, powerlifter/Youtuber Chelsea Karabin, my internet best friend* (*probably she has no idea who I am) sent me the t-shirt I ordered and I may have flipped balls when it came I was so excited.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlKRIr_ranzrk0EwZeVXCqbEtQRot-PP3R64IYB8gvdvBa8MLJjCriLFP5OEZjisY_KuakblqeV0WJt8zabX4PWJAjsjtY5qk4RYM8o1zzLCmrUl4bZDEYx9Po7NlV4EU6JctV41kJNQ/s1600/package+from+chelsea+karabin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlKRIr_ranzrk0EwZeVXCqbEtQRot-PP3R64IYB8gvdvBa8MLJjCriLFP5OEZjisY_KuakblqeV0WJt8zabX4PWJAjsjtY5qk4RYM8o1zzLCmrUl4bZDEYx9Po7NlV4EU6JctV41kJNQ/s1600/package+from+chelsea+karabin.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture me fangirling to Brian, "BRIAN. CHELSEA KARABIN WROTE MY NAME." Also, jammie pants sighting to your left.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIT4EKLg4QDSnnneRjY9u0O7kvldIO3afcBJJ9kq3CWmTeMG-2WhE785g-P-nHUWuW-_xPjbZ-r_QKem5YdS8vqvog91zDmHksd3S36MPVHR25C7ygn9Kpn5PlM3XnCBnygxCidJvhazY/s1600/P1050523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIT4EKLg4QDSnnneRjY9u0O7kvldIO3afcBJJ9kq3CWmTeMG-2WhE785g-P-nHUWuW-_xPjbZ-r_QKem5YdS8vqvog91zDmHksd3S36MPVHR25C7ygn9Kpn5PlM3XnCBnygxCidJvhazY/s1600/P1050523.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One: this is as real life as it gets. Yep, that's my hair. Yep, that's my breakfast pan still chilling out all filthy on the stove. Over my shoulder? <i>Garbage</i>. #Betterhomesandgardens Two: this is the most comfortable shirt I've ever owned. Three: NSV; it's a unisex small. Whaaa?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So that's my official guide to Recovering From A Binge in 4 Easy Steps. To end this, here is a selfie with my sister who is awesome. Just because.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoKwSpglx6RlIf9YARL-EPQp2pjIBRzXhhiL8CkJsJiwkq6VBEI-rv7RDwviw5XqSrVnArLavSRaV3bNYVWrKLgL2cnq48us0Qy4JS4E8H7YAxmTeA3OldbTL3gZ2GDfFX65cjD5qZvI/s1600/P1050521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOoKwSpglx6RlIf9YARL-EPQp2pjIBRzXhhiL8CkJsJiwkq6VBEI-rv7RDwviw5XqSrVnArLavSRaV3bNYVWrKLgL2cnq48us0Qy4JS4E8H7YAxmTeA3OldbTL3gZ2GDfFX65cjD5qZvI/s1600/P1050521.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is totally not accurate. I'm waaaaaaaay taller than her. Also, waaaaaaaaaay taller is the new way we describe about a quarter of an inch.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy Monday!</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-61139303300830400262014-07-30T03:38:00.001-07:002014-07-30T03:38:20.493-07:00When you *totally* fall off the wagon. Like, way off. Like, fall off the wagon and then get on another wagon headed straight down Gluttony Avenue.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqY6A2PvXKJ8gdbnbkQAytRkjjY-I9CtGxW6P7m3Vi7XBmkdKpOnzbEMw51VJC3jd70Z7A1f0sf9hauhWA6LjBvTFgix5i2Uhd-9dWSM05JXLXJsxeEUqEGW_A_OSnRZkhnclkjBc_yM/s1600/99+problems.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwqY6A2PvXKJ8gdbnbkQAytRkjjY-I9CtGxW6P7m3Vi7XBmkdKpOnzbEMw51VJC3jd70Z7A1f0sf9hauhWA6LjBvTFgix5i2Uhd-9dWSM05JXLXJsxeEUqEGW_A_OSnRZkhnclkjBc_yM/s1600/99+problems.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></div>
This is the deal.<br />
<br />
There are times it's awesome to be a weight loss blogger. When the scale is in your favor, your "after" pictures get accolades, or when people ask for advice and you feel like you have something helpful to share - it's great to be a weight loss blogger.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
There are <strike>days</strike> moments when you fall completely off the wagon and you feel powerless to stop it. In the back of your brain you think, "I'm going to have to blog this crap," because you can't pretend it didn't happen, and you think about allllllll the people that you are accountable to through your little corner of the internet. Instead of feeling inspired you feel crushed by the accountability and guilty that you may be letting someone down.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjKxsceafiozwdFOT6nc-hlrYkuKrM43Ohkjg9Nu0WldOX5GaNPGgax5aiBcUXEQlkXt5NKSCZwexLHD5JAq6J9jkNgy9NptZd8YnVlZqclwNqT_q1iwJvyrnrW5toBlpyOet1mhFErk/s1600/soon+fatt.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjKxsceafiozwdFOT6nc-hlrYkuKrM43Ohkjg9Nu0WldOX5GaNPGgax5aiBcUXEQlkXt5NKSCZwexLHD5JAq6J9jkNgy9NptZd8YnVlZqclwNqT_q1iwJvyrnrW5toBlpyOet1mhFErk/s1600/soon+fatt.jpeg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A DEFENSE MECHANISM.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But here it is: I had a terrible week, and I ate to cope. I ate <b>a lot</b>. And I ate <b>a lot</b> of foods I <b>never</b> eat. Like, once I ate a piece of leftover pizza <i>while</i> dishing out Chinese food because I couldn't wait the thirty seconds it would take to get fried rice in my pie hole. If you are what you eat then this last weekend I was Birthday Cake wrapped in pizza while wearing Lucky Charms and sweating Sweet and Sour sauce. (<strike>A.K.A.<b> Everyone's Best Friend</b></strike>.) (Sorry. I know it's not funny, <i>Kemper</i>.)(But I joke around when I'm uncomfortable.)(IT'S A DEFENSE MECHANISM.)<br />
<br />
So, how much did I truly eat? I ate a weight gain of f<b>our pounds in three days</b> much. It was so bad that at one point Brian, who has <i>never</i> policed my food (even when I've asked), actually took hold of me by both shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said, "KEL. <b>Snap out of this</b>."<br />
<br />
I am so disappointed in myself. I was at 143, so close to my Holy Grail of 140. Now I'm hanging out back at 147. This is literally the story of my life.<br />
<br />
I hate excuses. An excuse leaves no room for responsibility. An excuse says, "Look at what happened<i> to</i> me," and not, "Look at the choice<i> I made</i> in response to my circumstance." Excuses cut out any opportunity for growth, and excuses foster weakness. They are a way to say, "Don't worry, you poor thing. It's not your fault. Anyone would have reacted that way."<br />
<br />
<b>That's a big fat lie</b>. I am not powerless over my thoughts. I am not held prisoner by my emotions. And *I* am the boss of how I react to difficult situations. Huzzah.<br />
<br />
I do believe in reasons. I want to know the reasons behind the choices I make. Knowing these reasons teaches me, and helps to prepare me for handling situations, should they reoccur. And they always do.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, Reasons I ATEALLTHETHINGS last week:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kEqOE_RWCMJs_tddYuWV5aSb471ctHi6fRI8OHGdgBMnD9EG3FN9dRF2Lixlc6yhlmzQ5NIGIsaXsYiyRcCi2tE2X33hJXD6J6xD2FULRgECsmcXOxSfPppMbOFwiTKK0ILhFow5EkY/s1600/yet+another+impossible+standard+for+women.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_kEqOE_RWCMJs_tddYuWV5aSb471ctHi6fRI8OHGdgBMnD9EG3FN9dRF2Lixlc6yhlmzQ5NIGIsaXsYiyRcCi2tE2X33hJXD6J6xD2FULRgECsmcXOxSfPppMbOFwiTKK0ILhFow5EkY/s1600/yet+another+impossible+standard+for+women.jpg" height="200" width="176" /></a></div>
1. I was discouraged. It can all be boiled down to that. I had<b> </b>some really crappy workouts last week. I felt weak, I felt tired, I felt fat, and I felt like <i>I was sick and tired of working my tush off <b>just to be "normal"</b></i>. (Can I get an Amen from all my FAT MOM sisters out there?!) I don't want to look like Barbie. I don't want to be a figure competitor. I just freaking want to *not* look fluffy. Why do <b>I</b> have to work so hard to accomplish this? (*the world's smallest violin is playing in the background*)<br />
<br />
I came home from Wednesday's awful workout to indulge in the worst timed cheat meal in the history of the world. I cheat meal every Wednesday night. In hindsight following the plan was not the best decision this time. Next time I'm discouraged I will reschedule cheat meal. I already know cheat meals for me are a really sensitive thing. The occasional indulgence helps keep me on track, but they also have the potential to usher in a tsunami of binge eating, which is exactly what happened this time. My cheat meal turned into a three day nosh fest.<br />
<br />
Then a friend's mom died very unexpectedly Thursday morning. She was only 49. Instead of being all, "Wow, I should look at life as a gift and live it to the fullest," I was like, "What's the freaking point of going to all this trouble to track my macros/deny myself pizza/work at the gym? At the end of the day I'm still fat <i>and</i> I could die at any moment." I didn't feel out of control. I felt <i>defiant</i>. I felt like no matter what I do I'm never <i>there</i>. <i>There</i> seems to be this mythical land where I am no longer the Fat Mom, and I work my heart out and it shows on both the scale and my body. I get momentary glimpses of <i>there</i> in my daily life, and normally those glimpses give me the hope I need to persevere. But feeling so discouraged made me want to RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE. It's like my brain decided to show my body who was boss by eating my rapidly gaining weight in Combos. Because logic.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOeGiBwyIWrWjylJdmt95eL1jhjes3B2MjQAPAwpWroWaXBUJdRk7jDHsVSohCnYdeK4RXO88AUlHKaVef867dW26qWQATuSNu0Pa24DiXOc8R_edaf-PcQ1hrNfA1iedTLLcMD8B_hE/s1600/lego+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOeGiBwyIWrWjylJdmt95eL1jhjes3B2MjQAPAwpWroWaXBUJdRk7jDHsVSohCnYdeK4RXO88AUlHKaVef867dW26qWQATuSNu0Pa24DiXOc8R_edaf-PcQ1hrNfA1iedTLLcMD8B_hE/s1600/lego+cake.jpg" height="173" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Kel, THEHECK is this?"<br />
That, my friends, is a vegan vanilla LEGO cake with <br />
vegan soy buttercream frosting. And it's purple,<br />
per the birthday girl's request. This is what happens<br />
when you try to get fancy because vegan cake<br />
crumbles, my kids are allergic to fondant, and vegan<br />
buttercream refuses to set.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
2. Baking. One of my kiddos had her birthday party on Saturday. Since she is one of my sweet "food allergy" kids, I had to bake her cake from scratch. Then I had to make her frosting from scratch. Then I had to decorate her cake. (Which, I'm not going to lie, was a <i>spectacular</i> Pinterest fail.) Then I had to cut and serve cake and ice cream to 15 people. That's a lot of opportunity for bites, licks, and nibbles. (Or, giant slices of cake eaten when self-control finally reaches it's threshold after you've touched cake and ice cream <i>fifteen times</i>.) Next time I'll chew gum while I'm decorating and ask Brian to cut and serve.<br />
<br />
3. I was physically in need of some rest and recovery. I needed to pay attention to my body and take some notes from Wednesday's workout. Eventually I did. I took two full rest days (Thursday and Friday) and went light on Saturday. I ended up squatting my 5x5 program, but only did 135 pounds. I lightened my leg press, hamstring curls, and lunges each to about 75%. I messaged Kemper about deloading, and he told me what I needed to do, which was not actually lighten my weight, but decrease my volume.<br />
<br />
I actually wrote Kemper a joke about eating a ton of simple carbs being a part of a proper deload and he wrote back "Haha, I don't think so." I sat and looked at his response for five minutes wondering how I could communicate that I was serious and falling the heck apart. But at the end of the day <i>Kemper is not my babysitter</i>. He's not my AA sponsor. I am a grown-@ss woman and cannot cry to my trainer when I'm in a spiral. I can't expect him to drop his life to hold my hand and tell me not to eat crap food. (Although, now that I think of it, gyms really need emergency training sessions and/or hotlines for people in this situation. #milliondollarideaoftheday)(Kemper, you can have that one for BootKemp for free.)(You're welcome.)(Lollipop gift.)<br />
<br />
I know - because I've read my share of weight loss blogs - that this is a common post to read, but it's not one I've ever had to write. It is scary, embarrassing, and shameful. And it's not okay. I know what I want. I know my goals. I know the path to get there. I am worth the time, effort, and hardship it will take to get there. It's<b> not</b> fair that I have to work so hard for something that comes naturally to other people, <i>but that's life</i>. Everyone struggles with something. This is my thing.<br />
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I feel like I need to announce, "My name is Kelly and I'm three days back on track," or something. Getting out of bed at 5:30 on Sunday morning to go do abs and HIIT was sooooooooo hard. But I did it, and everything else seems to be following suit. On Sunday I planned and prepped my food, and for three days now I've followed/enjoyed the plan. (*Check my new <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/ironmama/dem-macros-doe/">Pinterest board "dem macros doe"</a> for the most amazing Parmesan Meatballs ever.*) Monday's bench day was awesome; I felt really good so I did my normal training plan, and even did 3x6 at 30# per dumbbell for shoulder press. I dropped in on a yoga class on Tuesday. I feel like I'm me again. It's still hard, but I think it always will be.<br />
<br />
I survived this one, friends.<br />
<br />
Thanks for the accountability, Internet. <br />
<br />
<br />
Linking up today for Weigh-in Wednesday with <a href="http://www.prettystrongmedicine.com/">Heather</a>, <a href="http://www.ashsrightdirection.com/">Ash</a>, and <a href="http://www.shesabigstar.com/">Erin</a>.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-52130190514576375962014-07-28T16:03:00.003-07:002014-07-28T16:03:51.520-07:00That time I got put in Time Out at the gymSaturday is my squat day. I mentally prepare for this, like, at <i>least</i> a day in advance. I daydream about the barbell on my shoulders, the weights I'm going to <i>crush</i>, and mentally rehearse the feeling of pushing up from a squat. What can I say? <strike>I'm a giant nerd</strike> I love to squat.<br />
<br />
Last Saturday I slept in a little, drank some coffee, and headed to the gym. "SQUAT DAY," I may have been singing in my head. (Also, picture me twirling and doing heel kicks, because in my head I have both coordination and agility.) I felt <b>so good</b> as I walked up the stairs at Lifetime. <i>Really</i> <i>good</i>, I noticed as I was warming up with some foam rolling. In fact, as I prepared to find a squat rack I started to wonder about <i>why</i> I felt so good; I wanted to pinpoint the reason so I could repeat it in the future. My preworkout coffee was the same. Maybe the extra sleep? But man, I felt like I could FLY. Would simply having extra sleep have that effect? If only they could bottle that up and sell it in pill form ... <i>ohmylanta</i>.<br />
<br />
I suddenly knew why I felt so good. It must have been the early morning muscle relaxer I took for my neck. The same muscle relaxer that would probably completely ruin my squat plans for the day. Maybe I was just being a drama queen; I could squat on muscle relaxers, right?<br />
<br />
Powerlifter Sara was vehemently opposed to that plan. And unfortunately so was her trainer, who had the authority to <i>ban me from squatting for the day</i>. It was like I got put in time out but as a grown up. I straight up stomped my foot and probably announced I was having an internal tantrum. <i>Trainer Corey did not care</i>. I grudgingly substituted Sunday's Ab and HIIT workout for Squat Day and sucker-punched my bad attitude in the throat because First World Problems, anyone? (Also? My workout was AMAZING. Muscle Relaxers as Pre-Workouts 4 Lyfe (except on heavy lifting days)(which are actually the only days I take a pre-workout)(because Kemper tells me just to drink coffee)(but I already bought Cellucor C4 and that mess is expensive so Imma use it up)(but daaaaang, did I feel good doing Battle Ropes <i>a tiny bit relaxed</i>.)<br />
<br />
(I came home from the gym and wrote a hilarious* (*this is subjective) post about how I'm an accidental druggie. I was all set to post it last Monday. But then I read Jennifer Weiner's book We All Fall Down and it is about a suburban mom who gets addicted to pills and it all hit too close to home and ruined the joke for me. So I trashed that post and now have this drivel up a week late. Thanks, *Addiction*. You've ruined it for everyone.)<br />
<br />
The moral of the story is: Never let a trainer overhear you ask about muscle relaxers and heavy lifting. Also, "<b>You're not the the boss of me</b>," actually holds no persuasive power at Lifetime Fitness. You'll thank me for both of those tidbits one day. Probably.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-2912470510301859582014-07-22T11:31:00.001-07:002014-07-22T11:31:03.221-07:00Fat Mom Brain<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKDM4PjcAXiT5463Wzp7ZhIBpiFQmyBmhDPNHAU6DSf-2Ha28V5SaW1K7Ij89xojPgvmiTmp2fVhhKhie_EwcfrLRCviJvmRe91riQfZkqCCT34E5G2FWFfiwx-hyWhn5nUObU1zJuVU/s1600/augustus+gloop+kneeling+by+the+river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizKDM4PjcAXiT5463Wzp7ZhIBpiFQmyBmhDPNHAU6DSf-2Ha28V5SaW1K7Ij89xojPgvmiTmp2fVhhKhie_EwcfrLRCviJvmRe91riQfZkqCCT34E5G2FWFfiwx-hyWhn5nUObU1zJuVU/s1600/augustus+gloop+kneeling+by+the+river.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did someone say, "RIVER OF CHOCOLATE?"</td></tr>
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There are moments as a mother when you will completely lose your shizz past any level you ever thought possible. Like, <a href="http://sublurbanmama.blogspot.com/2012/06/super-nanny-nailed-it-me.html">kick a hole in the wall</a>/<strike>throw</strike> <i>gracefully toss</i> a frying pan to the floor/screaming banshee lose your shizz. In those moments you will want nothing more than to walk away and pretend these little spawn of Satan are not yours, you have no responsibility towards them, and you are free to live in a bubble where, if someone is rude to you, or throws something at you, or ignores your instructions for the millionth time, or hits/bites/pinches his sister <i>again</i>, you have the freedom to just walk away without a care. <strike>Permanently</strike>.<br />
<br />
But you can't. It's irresponsible at best and illegal at worst.<br />
<br />
I'm sure a holier person, a Godlier person, a more grounded or centered or patient person would handle these moments better than I do. Maybe they excuse themselves from the room to "regroup" or grit their teeth and pray, "Jesus, take the wheel," as they handle the situation du jour.<br />
<br />
But what really happens in those moments, if you are a Fat Mom (which is more of a mindset and less of a physical description, I'm learning), is that you will want to self-soothe with spoonfuls of the frosting in the refrigerator leftover from a recent birthday cake, or fistfuls of the Doritos allowed in the house because they normally don't tempt you, or entire cases of the 100-calorie snack packs you buy the kiddos as treats. (Fudge-striped miniature Keebler cookies? Why, don't mind if I do. Yes, I want all eight packs, thankyouverymuch.)<br />
<br />
You will just want to take a fleeting moment and eat whatever you want, macros/calories be damned. Your mind will disengage from the chaos of whatever familial storm is raging, and you will take a mental tour through the pantry to see what you can cram in your mouth <i>because you need to feel better right now</i>.<br />
<br />
Welcome to the Fat Mom's head.<br />
<br />
In those moments you have a choice. A choice about what to feed. Do you choose to feed your emotions? They are quite demanding. They are loud. They are immediate. They are seemingly inescapable. They are also <i>temporary</i>. Or, do you choose to feed your body? Do you feed your goals? Do you choose to do the harder thing and <i>suck it up, Buttercup, </i>and <i>don't settle for the cheap fix?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Today I compromised. I may have Augustus Gloop-ed the heck out of some junk food in my head, but I did not inhale a quart of ice cream in real life. I may have gone to McDonalds <i>on a rest day</i> and ordered a sugar free vanilla iced coffee, but I did not eat a Big Mac with fries. And today, I'm calling that compromise a Fat Mom Brain victory.<br />
<br />
Now, if only I could stop screaming like a banshee.<br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
Baby steps.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-21625656894959955262014-07-21T03:39:00.001-07:002014-07-21T03:52:50.016-07:00Housekeeping!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5UxUBfSuVIxa7Yj1rin2_c5S-WPUklys7ZwBbmqmSkmr7fy-remJfryee6WCW8Jd5_Z3rEeDJFduqXVhBMaebSnfDjQ0yfC1mH_KkDHEG2V9Cb14osQIipPQ4tuitfW3eCTF9HOZod0/s1600/senior+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5UxUBfSuVIxa7Yj1rin2_c5S-WPUklys7ZwBbmqmSkmr7fy-remJfryee6WCW8Jd5_Z3rEeDJFduqXVhBMaebSnfDjQ0yfC1mH_KkDHEG2V9Cb14osQIipPQ4tuitfW3eCTF9HOZod0/s1600/senior+pic.jpg" height="320" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"How did she master the over the shoulder<br />
pose at such a young age?"<br />
Don't question genius, y'all.<br />
Kelly@Sublurban Mama, class of '97</td></tr>
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If you look up a little you may notice a new tab on my blog. For those of you that haven't been around for the whole ride, you may wonder "Who the heck is Kemper?" every time you read a post. Well, click on that tab and there is your answer. (Or, just click <a href="http://sublurbanmama.blogspot.com/p/bootkemp.html">here</a>.) I've included lots of pictures that I <strike>stole</strike> re-purposed from Kemper's personal Facebook account*, so there will finally be a face to put with the name for all you visual people out there.<br />
<br />
*I guess I'd never truly Facebook-stalked Kemper before. I know, I'm a bit disappointed in me, too. I spent about an hour this weekend going through Kemper's photos to find some to use for this post and ohmylanta, what an education. Since he is 22 precious years old, high school was literally less than five years ago. People mature a lot** in that time, and Kemper is no exception.<br />
<br />
(**For your viewing pleasure, and since this is a throw-away post that's really about another real post I'm sharing, here are some lovely high school pics of yours truly. Please, take a moment to enjoy the 90's in all their none- of-us-had-cell-phones-but-we-did-have-pagers glory.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZ5xn1JRFJqgpMIf6sZQmjMlYQTcMu1Bo24EBTDVc_sAn8Z-BpB1HXR1StKJ6P4N-vdHSAfHYzY5ITG_zjQvxMv8UjSE-uN5jm5hkwTyb0LzlZO21tHm7lDb0ejPziE0s7pUvp7H7xW8/s1600/cross+colours+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZ5xn1JRFJqgpMIf6sZQmjMlYQTcMu1Bo24EBTDVc_sAn8Z-BpB1HXR1StKJ6P4N-vdHSAfHYzY5ITG_zjQvxMv8UjSE-uN5jm5hkwTyb0LzlZO21tHm7lDb0ejPziE0s7pUvp7H7xW8/s1600/cross+colours+crop.jpg" height="320" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">CROSS. FREAKING. COLOURS, YO.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFffTnTntbUuNxr5dmrrnLB264mSHx6ziUwmYXUu07Wo9p2uqj_yaGCRO0lVDucXRfluENI9xMPr1lST1PQ0DvQL_AjMtg5umjMUNzF_2pc1xvK5NxtZNicli8anRKgProSUfGwEyvD0/s1600/homecoming+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFffTnTntbUuNxr5dmrrnLB264mSHx6ziUwmYXUu07Wo9p2uqj_yaGCRO0lVDucXRfluENI9xMPr1lST1PQ0DvQL_AjMtg5umjMUNzF_2pc1xvK5NxtZNicli8anRKgProSUfGwEyvD0/s1600/homecoming+crop.jpg" height="320" width="205" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kristen, Corrie Beth, and me. And we are totally just posing like this, not dancing (<strike>this was way before teenage girls danced like they are starring in porn)</strike><br />
Homecoming circa 95(?)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5oY3q3kMfoTYk_Kg8hyttFmYXqaP-SBJnAvc92tMzIhow73Bk6EMBlhnwXlzr-W-5L3e4NsDCC3oKhNOzFfhyGbydw1MldRCtW-_O3ePFXLP7IaqV-mI99RpHOxLXi26RmAvCuCNRuY/s1600/me+and+cas+crop+hs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF5oY3q3kMfoTYk_Kg8hyttFmYXqaP-SBJnAvc92tMzIhow73Bk6EMBlhnwXlzr-W-5L3e4NsDCC3oKhNOzFfhyGbydw1MldRCtW-_O3ePFXLP7IaqV-mI99RpHOxLXi26RmAvCuCNRuY/s1600/me+and+cas+crop+hs.jpg" height="320" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only I could find an outfit that summarized the 90's ... pffft, I'd probably need to find white denim overalls and then cut them off. Sibling love, y'all. Dressing alike, it's not just for toddlers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6l_cRIzCuIJucsnFVMuqlHh5kIXxPDcs6YGQ2yuYecZUSIwXwHRaHMeKI_UqLoscEdMDu1EWAP4ULcSehXZBhYay8GzV_Prfm8mqOK2IIIH_2SrPa0cVYAXjRO1nhdX0HRsfxrXEBxWM/s1600/fresh+college+crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6l_cRIzCuIJucsnFVMuqlHh5kIXxPDcs6YGQ2yuYecZUSIwXwHRaHMeKI_UqLoscEdMDu1EWAP4ULcSehXZBhYay8GzV_Prfm8mqOK2IIIH_2SrPa0cVYAXjRO1nhdX0HRsfxrXEBxWM/s1600/fresh+college+crop.jpg" height="320" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This picture is really an accusation. All my friends and family = DOES NO ONE LOVE ME?!?! You all let me keep that haircut for YEARS. Also, holy weight gain, batman.<br />
(Please note the dog tag necklace and gaged earrings as I was trying to stretch my ears)(Because I was sooooooooooo hardcore.)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
There you have it, folks. For this week I'm working on another new tab with all the info about what I've changed in my diet and exercise since I wrote the "How to Lose 100 Pounds" tab, and a few other posts about assorted general awesomeness (totally a word). My friend Rachel Who Looks Like Meg Ryan is coming to the gym with me tonight which means two things: one, I'll have a bench press spotter!!!! and two, two hot mama's will be getting STRONGER tonight. <i><b>Hoorah</b></i>.</div>
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Happy Monday!</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-23604540850934362902014-07-17T21:38:00.002-07:002014-07-17T21:38:44.893-07:00Don't cry for me, Argentina - The Bootkemp Sessions - July<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6aJut_e-ZrEsDBOnaObIf9kMeOhJMtpMXjWTp8US_3RJEt6tzTmkcsXDvyQwOvllALrVPz2iK2mEwxqwVH-yJ3Rq8NCla0vMdxCEIT-1P1Ve4uRXLvGsqww7JjnYdKe3G_AIh_oVQKI/s1600/argentina+soccer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6aJut_e-ZrEsDBOnaObIf9kMeOhJMtpMXjWTp8US_3RJEt6tzTmkcsXDvyQwOvllALrVPz2iK2mEwxqwVH-yJ3Rq8NCla0vMdxCEIT-1P1Ve4uRXLvGsqww7JjnYdKe3G_AIh_oVQKI/s1600/argentina+soccer.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't want to get too braggy, but since this *is* my<br />blog, I just wanted to let you know I was quite the<br />soccer player back in the day. Like, way back. When<br />I was five years old and played on an all male team <br />because they mistakenly thought "Kelly" was a boy's<br /> name. I never officially touched the ball, but I could <br />stand still inside the two foot diameter circle the <br />coach put me in and "play defense" like nobodies <br />business.</td></tr>
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Do you know how I know I'm finally getting really comfortable with Kemper? I was at his house for almost a full five minutes before I had to use the bathroom. I'm pretty sure that's a new record and an indication of beautiful days ahead.<br />
<br />
I think <strike>stopping at McDonalds twice to pee on the way over helped</strike> I was distracted by my excitement to give Kemper the sympathy card I picked out; my poor Argentinian trainer was understandably crushed after Sunday's World Cup Final, and so, with the help of Hallmark and Google translate, I was able to convey my condolences with hearts, flowers, and the phrase "Alemania chupa*" (Germany sucks) all in one missive.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjbGlqio100VClPsoLW0Ydu9KjmaIoKk6Z4AB2oQgEKRPXf-tr3tbGXRy0E7MSr3WoN9uZRJj4HqGgJuDnWS57nZiuplPwY-mMd2sFxHKEhkRINNRCd5wg-KpLA_i3pc7dfUpexhbIok/s1600/pollo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjbGlqio100VClPsoLW0Ydu9KjmaIoKk6Z4AB2oQgEKRPXf-tr3tbGXRy0E7MSr3WoN9uZRJj4HqGgJuDnWS57nZiuplPwY-mMd2sFxHKEhkRINNRCd5wg-KpLA_i3pc7dfUpexhbIok/s1600/pollo.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#protein</td></tr>
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*Since my Spanish is limited to what I've forgotten from two years of high school instruction (don't worry, I've held on to the important words)(like, <a href="http://www.spanishdict.com/translate/tu%20mama%20es%20facil">"tu mama es facil"</a>), I had to spend a fair amount of time picking the perfect phrase to write in the card, and <b>then</b> translate it. I mean, these words would be the only personalized way I could communicate my heartfelt sympathy. Unfortunately, correctly translating grand verbose sentiments takes a hella long time, so I settled for the summation of: Germany sucks. (Hilariously, the first time I tried to translate, it gave me "Alemania inhala" which translates directly to "Germany inhales", so yeah, I'm pretty glad I'm a diligent fact checker**.)<br />
<br />
(**Not a universally true statement.)<br />
<br />
Kemper received this card with a gracious heart, and totally didn't drop it on the floor and give me an "Oh, COME ON" look. I giggled wildly and bounced on my toes in delight, much the way my children do when they've pulled one over on me.<br />
<br />
Once the shenanigans were over we took a few minutes to talk. Kemper checked over my food diary and macro breakdowns for each day. I eat way more fat than I thought, but as long as I'm still losing (143!!!) he is fine with me sticking with it. (I swear it's all healthy fats - eggs, avocado, <strike>double cheeseburgers</strike>, nut butter, etc.) I still have problems eating ALLTHEPROTEIN but relearning to eat is a process, so, you know, <i>someday</i>. We also discussed things like short-term/long-term goals and came to the conclusion that I still have no concrete idea of what I would ultimately like to do. (Good luck coming up with a training program for <i>that</i>, Kemp.)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmkZbsx8NUpB-w7YKhZuVAfGS1DRMx6uR7WMFmhJVeMpX-9R42eCHbZqcbocoNb7eklseoXbaIAQNPT_bZ9My8DqT9LruHI3upEknFDspaIL-fVuNHSiQ8kvmWgMBxDJCEkLszF6r_3Q/s1600/beyonce+deadlift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKmkZbsx8NUpB-w7YKhZuVAfGS1DRMx6uR7WMFmhJVeMpX-9R42eCHbZqcbocoNb7eklseoXbaIAQNPT_bZ9My8DqT9LruHI3upEknFDspaIL-fVuNHSiQ8kvmWgMBxDJCEkLszF6r_3Q/s1600/beyonce+deadlift.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dear Internet,<br />Thank you for this.<br />Love, Kelly</td></tr>
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The real fun began with DEADLIFTING. (Well, first I had to warm-up with jogging in place and butt kickers and other things because Kemper is a <strike>slave-driver</strike> <i>professional trainer who cares about my health</i>.) We did a few warm-up deadlift sets, and then moved on to my current weights. I did 1 set of 5 reps (1x5) @ 135, 2x5 @ 145, and 2x5 @ 155. Kemper tucked my chin down a little (Apparently Miss Vanity Smurf watching herself deadlift in the mirror does not help her form). My biggest problem right now with lifting for strength is waiting between each set. Kemper wants me to wait 2-3 minutes between each set to give my muscles time to chill out. Do you have any idea how long 2-3 minutes is when you are waiting to do the thing you love to do?<br />
<br />
It.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Is.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Forever.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Thankfully Kemper didn't suffer too much during this time because I kept up a steady stream of stellar <strike>monologue</strike> conversation because I can fill some silence if given the opportunity. I definitely didn't whine about how long 2-3 minutes are. Like, ever*. (*lie) Kemper used this time to try to sell me on music that wasn't made in the 90's. <i>It's going to be a tough sale, dude.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV0pEUVGOSi89W0bByTdAlz5Pe7yfmX67ggWd3WxQYzK76cst-tJGZQEO73Kpz3TCyzF4nRDZMEp6GhOprzo_kspKimODuAvFUASlAT_sqnClMwQpBpJNZa_Takhyphenhyphen9sp7ciJMCxs29j4/s1600/gravity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV0pEUVGOSi89W0bByTdAlz5Pe7yfmX67ggWd3WxQYzK76cst-tJGZQEO73Kpz3TCyzF4nRDZMEp6GhOprzo_kspKimODuAvFUASlAT_sqnClMwQpBpJNZa_Takhyphenhyphen9sp7ciJMCxs29j4/s1600/gravity.jpg" height="200" width="177" /></a></div>
After deadlift it was time for barbell rows. <a href="http://sublurbanmama.blogspot.com/2014/07/learning-ropes-literally-my-top-3.html">Powerlifter Tracy</a> taught me how to do them a few weeks ago, and Kemper approved of her prescribed form. He wants me to change up where I'm rowing (either to boobs or to bellybutton) every other time I lift to work all the parts of my lats. I did 1x5 @ 75, and 2x5 @ 85. 85 pounds was a lot heavier at Kemper's house than at Lifetime Fitness. My working theory about this is that probably because at Lifetime I lift on the second floor, and the second floor is much closer to outer space, and in outer space there is no gravity, and, you know, because of osmosis, <i>obviously</i>, <b>weights are lighter at Lifetime Fitness than at Kemper's house</b> = <i>science</i>. My other working theory is that Kemper <strike>yelling</strike> urgently encouraging me to, "SQUEEZE" my lats together every time I rowed may have worked me harder than I was used to. I don't know. They are both working theories. You decide.<br />
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We moved on to the lat pulldown. This was probably one of my favorite moments of the whole session. Firstly, because Kemper busted me for cheating my lat pulldown, and I have been doing it that way forever without knowing I was cheating, and now it's been corrected; secondly - totally a word - lat pulldown exposed my lack of power which <i>could</i> be my next training goal; and thirdly, because Kemper ghetto-rigged the whole setup which was all sorts of encouraging to me.<br />
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I sometimes get stuck in the mind frame that everything has to be perfect in order to accomplish anything. If I'm going to run distance, I need *this* specific water belt, *these* specific shoes, and follow *that* exact route or I can't do it. If I'm going to do Thursdays HIIT workout and someone is using all the slam balls, I can't say I really did it when I subbed box jumps for ball slams. Like, in my head, there is a right way and a wrong way to do something, and doing it the wrong way doesn't count. (I know. If only Kemper offered therapy for my brain as well as for my body.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13qOTuZFO7u5LIsYkW5gts9kI6idgN1YQ2c5pnzNaFX0GLBqAhib4EpQwym8qKpr9niszv2t1NIZtrYAs8QCD0YpyRSdqJP51u2KU8JlkY_3bOrmRj3zB3cgppNfe1V9akCja54FN7MY/s1600/are+we+there+yet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj13qOTuZFO7u5LIsYkW5gts9kI6idgN1YQ2c5pnzNaFX0GLBqAhib4EpQwym8qKpr9niszv2t1NIZtrYAs8QCD0YpyRSdqJP51u2KU8JlkY_3bOrmRj3zB3cgppNfe1V9akCja54FN7MY/s1600/are+we+there+yet.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ohmygawd, Kemper, <i>calm down</i>. <br />I think you need a Snickers. <br />You're not you when you're hungry.<br />(Snickers = PROTEIN.)</td></tr>
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Kemper trains in his garage. His gym is an awesome set-up. While he doesn't have everything Lifetime has, <i>he makes it happen anyway</i>. Kemper doesn't have a lat pulldown machine. Instead he hooked up a lat pulldown bar to his squat rack and a pulley contraption, and then belted me to a stool with a resistance band. (This part was hilarious. I was honestly too horrified at seeing the band cut through the fat rolls on my stomach to say what I was really thinking, which was, "Kemper just belted me in like I'm a toddler going on a car ride," which of course made me want to ask, "Are we there yet, Dad?" a million times.)<br />
<br />
The takeaway is that it is better to get your crap done using some ghetto rigged mechanism than it is to not get it done because you couldn't do it the way your Type A brain thought it<i> should </i>be done. (And just maybe some dude named Voltaire said it better when he said, "Perfect is the enemy of good.")(To-may-to / to-mah-to, whatevs.) I freaking loved this lesson, and my perfectionist heart needed to learn it.<br />
<br />
Next TRX band rows <b>kicked my tush</b>. They were harder for me than deadlifting. (Also, I've come to the conclusion that a lifetime spent being overweight has solidified that I will always, regardless of current size, worry that something won't support my weight. Before I would lean back to do the rows I subtly* glanced up to read the weight restrictions on the bands - 200 pounds - and even then I wondered if 57 pounds was enough of a cushion to get by without crashing to the floor.) (*subtly = lie. I announced that whole train of thought so Kemper could also enjoy the crazy. Because I'm a giver.) We superset TRX band rows with bicep curls and for all you meatheads out there - I got swole. *giggle*<br />
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We ended the workout with back extensions and me showing off that I can do real push ups now. (Coincidentally, this is when Kemper's Super Fine Brother Oscar made a brief appearance.)(Ladies, I will forward all your emails directly to him.)(But I will probably read them first.)(Because I'm nosy.)(But I'm a good secret keeper.)(And I'm loyal.)(So you totally don't have to worry about me being all up in your "workin' your game" business with Oscar.)(You're welcome.)<br />
<br />
Kemper worked his voodoo magic on my hurt trap. Also, he discovered that it is not really my trap. It's some muscle in my neck. He did some manipulations and some other things that he took great care to explain but because he spoke it in his Science/Anatomy Trainer Language and I'm a visual learner I will never remember it until I see it written down. But I <i>did</i> pretend to do a cannonball belly flop (in my head) when he told me to lie down on the yoga mat because it looked just like the waters in the Caribbean, so rest assured there was <i>something</i> of importance going on inside my head during this time.<br />
<br />
(Then Kemper's mom Renee came out and offered me some freshly made juice.)(And <i>Renee</i> appreciated my sympathy card.)(She's currently my favorite.)<br />
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Every time I meet with Kemper I AM SO EXCITED TO BE TRAINED BY KEMPER. This is followed by a crash the next day when I realize I now have a WHOLE 'NOTHER MONTH before I can train with Kemper. It's kind of like the day after Christmas when you are a kid. You know, when you now have 364 days until Christmas.<br />
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So. 29 more days until I train with Kemper. Look out for some GAINZ until then, y'all.Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-69762112123483971682014-07-10T22:25:00.003-07:002014-07-10T22:25:49.450-07:00Five Things I'm So *Totes* Crushin' On<div style="text-align: center;">
1. Youtube Fitness Vloggers - Omar Isuf and Chelsea Karabin</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HvjhYHAMDGcakRqG9V3U8vrYne0saF7Q0Ojh09hpW2zArJS4HqvqJ7y7W_8WNZQ6NfC8YIW9x0P5_H_ffc95aEXWmzfU9uVMaKFqkemdTtmCCRYp1Z2cYSVzFloiGU1Q19Uj1Bwmjwc/s1600/rascol+tank+green.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_HvjhYHAMDGcakRqG9V3U8vrYne0saF7Q0Ojh09hpW2zArJS4HqvqJ7y7W_8WNZQ6NfC8YIW9x0P5_H_ffc95aEXWmzfU9uVMaKFqkemdTtmCCRYp1Z2cYSVzFloiGU1Q19Uj1Bwmjwc/s1600/rascol+tank+green.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://omarisuf.myshopify.com/">Omar's shirts</a></td></tr>
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My allegiance to Elliott Hulse is still strong; however, he's starting to jump the shark a bit for me with his Lean Hybrid Muscle email bombardments. I mean, I know we both <i>equally</i> want for me to come and train at Strength Camp, but he's gotta lay off trying to sell me crap via email, you know?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIUhhwrTijJ5Jor1ePkE6MtRj4jpayQwDlsDpoNsvY7gCto9Vdr075yRLkHMi6u-a1PHLITIFKK19MWpZYkDHWznxvHbgcbRGY0Hy4RhwPfCWTgQeCpJF5qG70GtR-xBCTUgkLp7USJM/s1600/chelsealifts+hoodie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjIUhhwrTijJ5Jor1ePkE6MtRj4jpayQwDlsDpoNsvY7gCto9Vdr075yRLkHMi6u-a1PHLITIFKK19MWpZYkDHWznxvHbgcbRGY0Hy4RhwPfCWTgQeCpJF5qG70GtR-xBCTUgkLp7USJM/s1600/chelsealifts+hoodie.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://chelsealifts.com/">Chelsea's shirts</a></td></tr>
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Lately I've been binge-watching everything by Chelsea Karabin and Omar Isuf. Chelsea is strong and feminine, and she's everything I want to be when I grow up. It's really been helpful to watch someone live out counting her macros, even if they are really different than mine. Plus her home gym sometimes has twinkle lights, so there's <i>that</i>.<br />
<br />
Omar is just freaking adorable, but he's also funny and smart (which honestly seems a bit overkill). I've learned a lot from his videos about training, form, and <strike>how to be a bro</strike> gym etiquette. Both Chelsea and Omar have apparel lines and I've bookmarked several things from each of their shops for when I don't have four kids and can experience disposable income again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oY2mD8SJgPD3kzAI6_NY2jpXaERRnips2NQ0Ee-4bjubP_RmYI3UzA7NVmLva3pBxMNDh5hwcbJKRtyRMA9v3PJ3rb8bteFT2oKScjF3FoHzQcOF0UyuZRO5WfmpSLnKtaU-SNxrfn0/s1600/omar+isuf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-oY2mD8SJgPD3kzAI6_NY2jpXaERRnips2NQ0Ee-4bjubP_RmYI3UzA7NVmLva3pBxMNDh5hwcbJKRtyRMA9v3PJ3rb8bteFT2oKScjF3FoHzQcOF0UyuZRO5WfmpSLnKtaU-SNxrfn0/s1600/omar+isuf.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I could train the mess outta Kelly. I'd probably be boyz with Kemper, too. Also, don't hate me 'cuz I have no calves."</td></tr>
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2. Foam Rolling</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAMTdBb3OB9-OrC39qSf4rhuSlxjN9m_QnORVW2ZdfV7d4rYwe-hK8wLcW-tBLzJwIJDcYbOWYFXPFC1yQxf2B-yaj3Vq1Al8wiOyyLL_MNanQMNOsyEhtj5XsgqRaERloR4xODliVhI/s1600/foam+rolling+dwight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAMTdBb3OB9-OrC39qSf4rhuSlxjN9m_QnORVW2ZdfV7d4rYwe-hK8wLcW-tBLzJwIJDcYbOWYFXPFC1yQxf2B-yaj3Vq1Al8wiOyyLL_MNanQMNOsyEhtj5XsgqRaERloR4xODliVhI/s1600/foam+rolling+dwight.jpg" /></a></div>
Be still my heart - I have finally been seduced by the magic of the foam roll. As a runner I attempted to roll my IT band and it hurt so much I just quit. While it's still hella painful, I have noticed a huge difference in my glutes, hamstrings, and ... <i>calves</i> (who knew?) from when foam rolling and I started goin' out a month ago. I recently began foam rolling my lats and have been using a tennis ball for my left trapezius*.<br />
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*Remember my trap injury last fall (from my crutches)(the crutches that I had to use for my broken bone spur)(the broken bone spur that derailed my half marathon dreams and helped me gain 15 pounds)(the 15 pounds that ultimately led me to Kemper)(which was actually one of the best things to happen in my fitness life). Well, that trap injury has reared it's ugly head again. I'm hoping the next time I meet with Kemper he can use the same voodoo magic he used on my hip flexor to help my trap, but until then I've been doing everything I know to keep it from completely seizing up again <strike>including, but not limited to, a <b>lot</b> of drugs</strike>.<br />
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3. New Playlist </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xSqeHovkliJ9kQcBbH7_Shu2ce9dsy-YmIT5hau5LX9HKUlgR_kTkji8ajF3Gc7jY6GBe7dnZzs7-XzlrO8IOvZNkXQoObcCFNB1G-gvUSp7s1X8sDewK1ujtO9T9D6R-0JDJDyyR8g/s1600/kanye+tweets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xSqeHovkliJ9kQcBbH7_Shu2ce9dsy-YmIT5hau5LX9HKUlgR_kTkji8ajF3Gc7jY6GBe7dnZzs7-XzlrO8IOvZNkXQoObcCFNB1G-gvUSp7s1X8sDewK1ujtO9T9D6R-0JDJDyyR8g/s1600/kanye+tweets.jpg" height="227" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Probably one of my favorite Kanye tweets of all time.<br />I think it's the "uuuuugh" at the end that seals it for me.</td></tr>
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Apparently my master plan to mess with Kemper's head as much as possible continues because I've gotten <b>sick to death</b> of Rage Against the Machine and have moved on this week to some new music that I will play ad nauseam <strike>and then swear off for a year</strike>. Current lifting list includes (I didn't watch these links so they might be NSFW - heads up) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufb6T-av-rU">P.O.D.</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H6IQxhkVIEw&feature=kp" target="_blank">Downset</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0J2QdDbelmY&feature=kp">White Stripes</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gH2efAcmBQM">Awolnation</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3pDE7NfNI8&index=1&list=PL79ECD7CB44FA2704">BoySetsFire</a>, and of course, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsO6ZnUZI0g&feature=kp">Kanye</a>. I'm running to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0tsm0EhCJM&feature=kp">Cage the Elephant</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5q4K8BOURQg&feature=kp">Weezer</a>, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBgmC_USeoM&feature=kp">Harvey Danger</a>. (Not to get too braggy, but once I invited myself on Harvey Danger's tour bus and scored both a pre-show interview and a photo pass for the show. Because I don't respect boundaries. BAM!)<br />
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4. Iced Coffee and fresh Peaches</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZh1P1ChbQzhKsKgtVnSVRPX9F6ang3_YkICFQ9EKFCCzckpY4Izpl1Y1Gsy-1ogyD1s3Sr9yBDntpojUg5DQXeHGUWscHWb7mZBEfDhrxLYWoms_Ifg8yScSxkF6NC-m1BhuHioZx0hM/s1600/how+to+brew+iced+coffee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZh1P1ChbQzhKsKgtVnSVRPX9F6ang3_YkICFQ9EKFCCzckpY4Izpl1Y1Gsy-1ogyD1s3Sr9yBDntpojUg5DQXeHGUWscHWb7mZBEfDhrxLYWoms_Ifg8yScSxkF6NC-m1BhuHioZx0hM/s1600/how+to+brew+iced+coffee.JPG" height="160" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or, go to McDonalds. Or, even better, call <a href="https://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_176995917"></span>Sister<br />Wife Rachel<span id="goog_176995918"></span></a> and she will come over with her<br />home made cold brew iced coffee that will blow your<br />freaking mind and you will thank Jesus that she is your<br />Sister Wife.</td></tr>
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This summer I am single-handedly keeping McDonalds in business with purchases of sugar free French vanilla iced coffee. OH.MY.WORD is that stuff amazing. (And please shut up about the laboratory of ingredients I'm dumping in my body with each <strike>gulp</strike> delicate lady sip.) Right now I am drinking them as a pre-workout before my big lifting days because that makes it seem healthier <strike>to me only</strike>.<br />
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Also, peaches. I don't eat a lot of fruit but again, after big lifting days or HIIT workouts from hell, I have been enjoying the mess out of peaches. I keep a stash of napkins in my car (usually from McDonalds, natch) strictly to catch the peach juice that dribbles down my chin as I inhale that fruit on the way home from the gym.<br />
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Have I mentioned how much I LOVE summer?!<br />
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5. This picture comparison</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmngLHMwprw2EIh5G5IvqjDqotPFVjjPJuQ1m4OJzfswpzkCOg9VazQ-EXvhB70Z4hZWf6oPQfGigKzPrmuNCnAOZLM2CP37Sk6rKCMRsrvZaEsqcicTOKryXNIO98sTnRA1sGyaAYGg/s1600/BigGirl+Crop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEmngLHMwprw2EIh5G5IvqjDqotPFVjjPJuQ1m4OJzfswpzkCOg9VazQ-EXvhB70Z4hZWf6oPQfGigKzPrmuNCnAOZLM2CP37Sk6rKCMRsrvZaEsqcicTOKryXNIO98sTnRA1sGyaAYGg/s1600/BigGirl+Crop.jpg" height="320" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">25 years old, 253 pounds</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpJr35i87EOBjszPnBK8xSenH6vOkTRd3-oH1ymbiZXv911-Q78xCe2FkIxOQvs4J4T7bcb-J6q4GLWlsehIsmFQGvl4hv7cRhkBqJBFwPXRcCH0YUQxZT3M_SZUqvQqwiuhGeamQrq0/s1600/summer+nights+distracted+by+dogs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQpJr35i87EOBjszPnBK8xSenH6vOkTRd3-oH1ymbiZXv911-Q78xCe2FkIxOQvs4J4T7bcb-J6q4GLWlsehIsmFQGvl4hv7cRhkBqJBFwPXRcCH0YUQxZT3M_SZUqvQqwiuhGeamQrq0/s1600/summer+nights+distracted+by+dogs.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">35 years old, 145 pounds</td></tr>
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There is so much about these pictures that I love. In the top picture is a woman who loves her kiddos. She reads them lots of stories and does puzzles and plays tea party with them. She likes to laugh, she likes to dream, and she wants a full life. But she's also hiding. She hides behind a child in almost every picture taken. She would never, ever be photographed with food or, heaven forbid, in any kind of form fitting clothing. </div>
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The woman in the bottom picture just got done with a squat session at the gym. She squatted heavier than she thought possible, and is celebrating with a delicious dinner of brown rice, black bean burger crumbles, and lots of salsa. Her arm is still bruised from lifting a tire two weeks ago with Kemper (which she still maintains was crazy fun). She is sunburned from walking with her kids a half mile to the splash park where she wore her bathing suit in public so she could join in the playtime. She stacked the firewood in the background with her three year old son "for fun". She is distracted by her neighbors dog who just went FREAKING INSANE, and then laughing because life is crazy and wonderful.</div>
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Life <i>is</i> crazy and wonderful, everybody. Have a marvelous Friday and enjoy the mess out of your weekend!</div>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-49163911675540662302014-07-09T02:59:00.002-07:002014-07-09T02:59:53.393-07:00Dorian thinks I can't read - my top 3 favorite moments during Week Two<div style="text-align: left;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_f1X6vv-VulDplLjFXh2QT1BHr3iEHpQK-IVSlEoIKUVqusQ1nCsbIZ1ajp8oJXODH7-R4FjCXUAQkN5652avDQIX5OJbAWDJIMk6YljO-V2Vb6c1Y5a6lUX9neAv2kBCzsFLFJ6LWBI/s1600/jennifer+lawrence+awkward+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_f1X6vv-VulDplLjFXh2QT1BHr3iEHpQK-IVSlEoIKUVqusQ1nCsbIZ1ajp8oJXODH7-R4FjCXUAQkN5652avDQIX5OJbAWDJIMk6YljO-V2Vb6c1Y5a6lUX9neAv2kBCzsFLFJ6LWBI/s1600/jennifer+lawrence+awkward+face.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just have trouble with, you know, <i>reading</i>.</td></tr>
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Just in case you were feeling like you could never hope to attain my admittedly stellar social skills, I am here to assure you it is much easier than it seems.<br />
<br />
Example: being memorable to new people. This is how you do it.<br />
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Trainer at Lifetime: Hey. I've seen you around. What's your name?<br />
Kelly: I'm Kelly.<br />
*trainer sticks out his hand to shake mine* *I immediately start to worry about <i>my palm sweat</i>* *but remember I should be polite and continue with my part of this introduction* *but am too preoccupied with worry over <i>palm sweat</i> as I shake his hand and gaze at his name tag to make any sense of the letters there*<br />
Kelly: And what's your name?<br />
Trainer: *sees me looking at his name tag as I ask* *looks down in confusion at the tag* Uh, I'm Dorian. I didn't know if my name tag was upside down or something.<br />
Kelly: No, it's fine. I guess I just have trouble with, you know, <i>reading</i>.<br />
Dorian: *thinks I'm serious* *has now cataloged me as "The Girl Who Can't Read* *awkward tension ensues as I wonder how much more awkward it would be if I stammered out, "No. I can totally read. I was just worried about my <i>sweaty palms </i>and couldn't focus on the letters in your name."* *wisely decide I'd rather be "The Girl Who Can't Read" than "The SWEATY PALMS Girl" and stay quiet*<br />
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Nailed it again.<br />
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Week two of my new strength training plan has been hella fun. It's almost better than the first week because now I know what to expect. I've seen gains on both my bench and my deadlift, and survived a last minute trip to Chicago without my workouts suffering. It took some slight rearranging, but with Friday as a holiday and Brian home from work it really freed up time for me to fit it all in.<br />
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Here are my favorite moments in Week Two.<br />
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1. Partying with the Sara(h)'s</div>
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On Wednesday I deadlifted with new Sara. (This is Sara with no "H".) She is one of my powerlifting buddies. It is really great to lift with someone so much stronger than me because it changes my perspective about my own weights. Instead of going into my heaviest lift thinking, "Dude, this is going to be so freaking heavy," I can see it's nothing in comparison to what Sara is lifting, and that somehow makes it seem lighter to me. Lifting with Sara also gives me confidence that with proper training I can lift HEAVY someday. (Like, for real, this girl was throwing on 45's like nothing.)<br />
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On Friday I met Sarah (Ironman Sarah with an "H") to teach her how to deadlift. It was my squat day, so as soon as I finished squatting we started going over deadlift form. I channeled my inner Kemper and basically tried to recall everything I've ever heard/read/seen/been taught about deadlifting. I *think* Sarah enjoyed it; I know I loved hanging out with her because it's been a hot minute since that has happened. (She is nursing a foot injury that has drastically reduced her training, and has even taken her out of this year's planned Ironman in Canada.)(Of course she is making due with <i>only</i> a half Ironman a little while later.)(What.a.slacker.)<br />
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2. Making time for Chi-Town</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Lxl-28OP7bEh8tUpVXv6osXLreGnRJgHQ4LkEJqy2mgm-m4dU2KqXD3DTcdfs9PT_YoPvDbGuUSGHOmq-cfa4kr7wVVfnplHgzLmCzWCKuydNrbOISYexhqAJErji7A9RBg2V7Sbfyc/s1600/chi-town+at+ostrowskis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Lxl-28OP7bEh8tUpVXv6osXLreGnRJgHQ4LkEJqy2mgm-m4dU2KqXD3DTcdfs9PT_YoPvDbGuUSGHOmq-cfa4kr7wVVfnplHgzLmCzWCKuydNrbOISYexhqAJErji7A9RBg2V7Sbfyc/s1600/chi-town+at+ostrowskis.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">back row: Stan, Brian, me, Steve, Natalia, Cassie<br />
front row: Gary, Peggy</td></tr>
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My baby brother used to live in Chicago, but moved to San Francisco a few months ago to pursue his tech dream. He just finished up the 12 week program at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/App_Academy">App Academy</a>, and decided to make a brief visit home to Chicago to visit his lovely fiancee Natalia. All his Michigan family decided to make the drive (about 5 hours <strike>with pee breaks</strike>) for a pool party at Natalia's parents' house on Saturday.<br />
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I was a little concerned about fitting in all my workouts, but Friday is normally a rest day, so I did Saturday's squatting on Friday, and then got up super early Saturday to get in my Sunday workout before the drive to Chicago. It was so nice not to have to worry about getting anything done once we were home on Sunday. I could just take the day nice and easy as a rest day. (We also celebrated Ezra's fourth birthday. My BABY is four! Where does the time go?)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ2Ktv4DsXWC3Yb4jzPLMu5o5oQHCCM-d8jIKlz3rag5CQ5J60M6bna3EKH-NHQO1sOkKW2MGycOFV19H46BJ1CLvH9fhkDzSDVor9JOMNc-H68lleIQCVE_4bvXznfV_cblpVPZS3as/s1600/ezra+is+three.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ2Ktv4DsXWC3Yb4jzPLMu5o5oQHCCM-d8jIKlz3rag5CQ5J60M6bna3EKH-NHQO1sOkKW2MGycOFV19H46BJ1CLvH9fhkDzSDVor9JOMNc-H68lleIQCVE_4bvXznfV_cblpVPZS3as/s1600/ezra+is+three.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This kid is awesome. Probably gets it from his mom.</td></tr>
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3. AB DAY!!!!!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzbeNaZxMFPgtjCx8kjALLMu4JFhi73bfTJ8BCLxbiS5O2kfx2mVBTxMsmOb0finLUiIDT4hA26KO7N7vFrRTT9whwHY-vgJW2cnKi2mf4mv27l2CX8JZGjvOQALHXq7q3GDMZk1s4jg/s1600/declined+situps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzbeNaZxMFPgtjCx8kjALLMu4JFhi73bfTJ8BCLxbiS5O2kfx2mVBTxMsmOb0finLUiIDT4hA26KO7N7vFrRTT9whwHY-vgJW2cnKi2mf4mv27l2CX8JZGjvOQALHXq7q3GDMZk1s4jg/s1600/declined+situps.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy's hair turned all sorts of emo on the way up.<br />
I use a weight plate, not a ball.<br />
Because <strike>it's got handles</strike> I'm TOUGH.</td></tr>
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If you've read my blog for any length of time, you know about my love/hate relationship with Ab Lab. Ab Lab was my favorite form of torture at my old gym; a twenty minute class of non-stop abdominal work that left me begging for mercy. Lifetime has a Core 30 class that is similar, but the timing isn't ideal for my schedule. Kemper's training plan has a whole day dedicated to abdominal work and I FREAKING LOVE IT. My favorite exercise by far is the weighted decline sit ups. This is where I am on a declined weight bench (so it's almost like I am upside down)(the stretch in my back feels amazing) with a 25# plate. As I sit up I reach the plate overhead and then lower my body back down over a count of four. I could do these forever. And by forever I mean I do 4 sets of 10 and self talk encouragement during the last set.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuD9jEm01r8JxINBXKZlm2wy-PiVPqEnywe_t3dAhcSQFkI6MymOrxfJ1SrXAwwbww25s9juMGff-A95jMwM4GUXSKE-aEMxwaAuZ_qa0DlPo693TrOGwXKzJkm0h-eORCSoA4UxBwiM4/s1600/captains+chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuD9jEm01r8JxINBXKZlm2wy-PiVPqEnywe_t3dAhcSQFkI6MymOrxfJ1SrXAwwbww25s9juMGff-A95jMwM4GUXSKE-aEMxwaAuZ_qa0DlPo693TrOGwXKzJkm0h-eORCSoA4UxBwiM4/s1600/captains+chair.jpg" height="200" width="157" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Captain's Chair<br />
Dorian Who Thinks I Can't Read <br />
showed me where to do this. Along <br />
with being illiterate, I'm apparently <br />
blind and couldn't find this contraption<br />
even after 3 laps around Lifetime. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I also superset the Captain's Chair with 1 minute planks, and do ab pulldowns*.</div>
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*Story for free: Kemper had me youtube some of these exercises since he somewhat trains me from a distance because I only see him once a month. The <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fbujeH3F0E">ab pulldown video</a> looked totally easy, and I was all, "Pshaw. I got <i>that</i>." When I went to execute my new found knowledge of the ab pulldown, I totally didn't factor in the physics of counterweights and crashed right on my forehead before I even did one rep. So what I'm saying is that with enough clumsiness, ab pulldown works your abs <i>and</i> your pride. </div>
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Keepin' it graceful, y'all.</div>
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Here are the stats:</div>
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Week Two</div>
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Bench press:</div>
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2 warm-up sets (1x8 @ bar, 1x6 @ 60#)</div>
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1x5 @ 75#</div>
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3x5 @ 80#</div>
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1x4* @ 85#</div>
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*this is the set I totally biffed my last rep and had to get rescued. But I upped my weight so, yeah, happy girl.</div>
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Deadlift:</div>
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2 warm-up sets (1x8 @ 65#, 1x6 @ 95#)</div>
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1x5 @ 125#</div>
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3x5 @ 135#</div>
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1x5 @ 145#*</div>
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*This is the set I did with Sara. I did not expect to up my weight because last week was so hard, but I felt like I could have gone 10 more pounds at the end.</div>
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Squat:</div>
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2 warm-up sets (1x10 @ bar, 1x6 @ 95#)</div>
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1x5 @ 125</div>
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3x5 @ 130</div>
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1x5 @ 135*</div>
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*this set was hard, I'm not gonna lie.</div>
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This week I also saw my weights for barbell row, leg press, and hamstring curl go up. I'm feeling strong and also operating on a calorie deficit. BOOM.<br />
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Have I mentioned how much I like this strength training program? <i>Because I totally do. </i><br />
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Happy Wednesday, y'all!</div>
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Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8429952646336545852.post-41349056913923630072014-07-07T03:44:00.001-07:002014-07-07T03:44:27.530-07:00The time I threw up Redneck all over my blogI hope everyone had a <strike>fun</strike> safe Fourth of July filled with FREEDOM and bald eagle sightings. My holiday Facebook feed was filled in equal measures with pictures of pyromaniac celebrations and of animals quaking in their thundershirts (accompanied by pet-owner rants of the evils of personal firework displays). The Sublurban Mama household mirrored the conflicting views found on Facebook with the Matriarch of the homestead having an affinity for keeping all the digits God gave her and her offspring, and the Patriarch believing that the slight possibility of dismemberment is worth the rapturous joy of <b>blowing crap up</b>.<br />
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Below is <i>actual real life footage</i> of the festivities that took place at our home this past weekend. Neighbor Don was innocently trying to capture the cute little display he had going on in his driveway when, four seconds in, you can hear him remark, "They have four," and Brian's show begins. So really, we videobombed their home videos. (Haha. We <i>literally</i> bombed them.)(And almost our minivan.) Here is 17 seconds of the longest night of my life <strike>other than labor</strike>.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/AgrIglXRQ2A?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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'MERICA.</div>
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(Brian's response to this post: "Kel, you know the only reason I put on that show was so you would have something to blog about, right?" Totally, honey. I could tell it was a huuuuuuge sacrifice.)</div>
Kellyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11900821122113660173noreply@blogger.com0