Still Busy Doing Warrior Stuffs

Texts with Hubby
Oh, and this year's Warrior Dash viking helmet.
I posted this on Instagram.
Where you can follow me.
I'm Sublurbanmama.
I know, it's a stretch.

Happy bi-yearly blog post!

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?

I peeked in the bathroom to find my cherished only son sprawled like an octopus about the toilet - his rear inside the bowl 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 have a Poop Alarm Clock. Don't get too jelly.)

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* Ezra *cough*

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 named a private room after me gave me two free t-shirts instead of one. #baller #knowspeople

Totally not me because I'm not stupid and
know to get my pop culture info from google
and Urban Dictionary like a responsible 36 year old

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, Mama Bear needs some fly lookin' delts)(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 cool 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 not fun 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....

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 did lift two hundred and thirty five freaking pounds. Twice.

The hardest part of this year has definitely been maintaining my weight. The hard part is that gaining weight makes me so much stronger. Like, not marginally stronger either. It's like "DAYUM GURL, go on and eat those Larry and Lenny protein cookies 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 totally gets it.)

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

I'm pretty sure Jake is a meth dealer.

Delt and Trap inhibitor taping
Kinesio tape 4 lyfe

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 who is a giant PITA and made up of a billion (or four - whatever) tendons."

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 all 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.

I'll let that sink in a moment.

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. No lifting.

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 think I'm funny at all let me get away with ANYTHING.

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.

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 make sure I am doing each exercise safely and effectively tell on me to Jake when I ask to up my weights again. These guys are so much fun.

Next is 20 minutes of hands on therapy with Jake while we fight about what I can and can't do at the gym, 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*.

"Darling, it pains me that you can't deadlift."

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 incredible.

There will be Game Ready in heaven.

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.)

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.

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.)

If you missed the 90's I feel for you.
Because: this meme doe

Jake says, "Maaaaaaaybe you can try some wall push ups if you are careful," and I'm all, "I think what Jake meant 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."*

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. Finally. Hoorah.

It.Was.Bananas. - How to Lose SIX Pounds in One Night

It all started with a craving for a banana.

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 delicious 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.

***Minor Tangent totally related to this story***

Pigeon pose with a fold.
Also, if I did yoga outside the chances of me
getting into pigeon pose and *not* getting pooped
on by an actual pigeon are slim. Because I am a
bird poop magnet. (You need to click that link.)

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 kinda sorta really hurts and I'm worried I might FREEZE UP LIKE THIS FOREVER" voice), "KEMPER WHAT IS THIS THAT IS CRAMPING?!" as I jabbed repeatedly at my abdomen. Kemper was all, "Your abdominals, Dummy." 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.

Big mistake. Huge. Because y'all? My body is a big fat liar. 

Mine was consumed at 72.5 hours.

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.

*lightning flashes and the lights dim dramatically because it's time to foreshadow the trauma of the night*

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, you take care of you," I said naively, still unaware of the hellish nightmare in my future.

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. 

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 even when it was still current. But that banana was worth every hour I waited for it ... until about 5:30 p.m. when it liquefied every hint of matter residing in my gastrointestinal tract and demanded immediate release from the captivity in my body.

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 for death 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.

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 genius 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.

"Oh, Babe, what can I do for you?" he wondered in concern.

"Don't make me talk," I croaked from under a blanket.

Kevin Smith, you gave us Clerks so Imma extend
you a little bit of trust here...don't do me wrong.

The next few hours were a blur. There was a lot of Drama Queen moaning while The Horrible Sickness controlled my body. Finally, around 11:30 p.m., just in time for Jimmy Fallon, 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.)

"Say Yes to the Best"
It's like I had no choice.

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 organic cocoa crispies, so it was healthy sugar.)(#hownutritionworks) It must have been healthy because I kept it down (#proof) and I went to bed at 1:00 a.m. because Seth Myers is a terrible late night host.


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 six pounds in one night. (And yes, of course 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?)

So friends, that is how you lose six pounds in one night.

Weigh-in Wednesday: The Moment of Truth

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).

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 body weight. 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.

Participating in the 90 Day Challenge requires $25 and a cute smile 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 too 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.

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.

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:

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. 

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.

Linking up for Weigh-in Wednesday with Heather, Erin, and Ash.

Recovering From A Binge In 4 Easy Steps

Picking yourself up after a dive off the deep end 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.

1. STOP EATING CRAP. 

Seems simple enough, right? It's totally not. Because you will still want to eat allllllllll the crap. Why? It's delicious. 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. That literally happens. And since they are in your system (because maybe 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.

Seriously. STOP.

2. Meal Plan like a mother. A really organized, anal retentive mother. Who likes to eat.

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.

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.

Here are some of my meals from last week. Don't get too jealous of my food photography skills, plating ability, or adorable orange toenails that sneaked into the first picture 1970's Corelle dishes.

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)
365 calories, 12 carbs, 20 fat*, 29 protein
*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.

Lunch option #1 = 2 cups of broccoli coleslaw with 5 oz grilled chicken. (Not pictured - Pure Protein shake)
308 calories, 11 carbs, 6 fat, 55 protein
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. was 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.)

Lunch option #2 = Parmesan meatballs and 1 cup broccoli.
255 cals, 9 carbs, 13 fat, 23 protein.
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.

Dinner = Post Deadlift Feast. 5 oz grilled chicken, 1 serving veggie kabob, 1/2 cup brown rice.
381 cals, 29 carbs, 13 fat, 49 protein
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.

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.

3a. Drink all the water. Every drop of it. (Unless you live in Toledo and are under the water advisory.)(Then travel with everyone else in your city up to Michigan and buy our bottled water.)(Especially Absopure water.)(Because they pay our bills, yo it's the best water around.)

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.)

3b. Sweat it out.

Deadlift bruises in various stages. Lifting
ain't always pretty when you're clumsy.
Also - jammie pants sighting #1

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 again 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 show up. Do something you like 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.

4. Order crap from the internet and schedule the delivery for your first few days recovery.

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.

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.

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.
"Hey, Kel, look at you gettin' all fancy staging that shot on your wood floors."
*puff of hot breath on my fingernails, rubs them on shirt*

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.

Picture me fangirling to Brian, "BRIAN. CHELSEA KARABIN WROTE MY NAME." Also, jammie pants sighting to your left.

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? Garbage. #Betterhomesandgardens Two: this is the most comfortable shirt I've ever owned. Three: NSV; it's a unisex small. Whaaa?

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.

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.

Happy Monday!

When 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.

This is the deal.

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.

But.

There are days 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.

A DEFENSE MECHANISM.

But here it is: I had a terrible week, and I ate to cope. I ate a lot. And I ate a lot of foods I never eat. Like, once I ate a piece of leftover pizza while 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. (A.K.A. Everyone's Best Friend.) (Sorry. I know it's not funny, Kemper.)(But I joke around when I'm uncomfortable.)(IT'S A DEFENSE MECHANISM.)

So, how much did I truly eat? I ate a weight gain of four pounds in three days much. It was so bad that at one point Brian, who has never policed my food (even when I've asked), actually took hold of me by both shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said, "KEL. Snap out of this."

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.

I hate excuses. An excuse leaves no room for responsibility. An excuse says, "Look at what happened to me," and not, "Look at the choice I made 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."

That's a big fat lie. 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.

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.

So, Reasons I ATEALLTHETHINGS last week:

1. I was discouraged. It can all be boiled down to that. I had some really crappy workouts last week. I felt weak, I felt tired, I felt fat, and I felt like I was sick and tired of working my tush off just to be "normal". (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 I have to work so hard to accomplish this? (*the world's smallest violin is playing in the background*)

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.

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 and I could die at any moment." I didn't feel out of control. I felt defiant. I felt like no matter what I do I'm never there. There 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 there 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.

"Kel, THEHECK is this?"
That, my friends, is a vegan vanilla LEGO cake with
vegan soy buttercream frosting. And it's purple,
per the birthday girl's request. This is what happens
when you try to get fancy because vegan cake
crumbles, my kids are allergic to fondant, and vegan
buttercream refuses to set.

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 spectacular 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 fifteen times.) Next time I'll chew gum while I'm decorating and ask Brian to cut and serve.

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.

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 Kemper is not my babysitter. 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.)

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 not fair that I have to work so hard for something that comes naturally to other people, but that's life. Everyone struggles with something. This is my thing.

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 Pinterest board "dem macros doe" 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.

I survived this one, friends.

Thanks for the accountability, Internet.


Linking up today for Weigh-in Wednesday with Heather, Ash, and Erin.

Fat Mom Brain

Did someone say, "RIVER OF CHOCOLATE?"

There are moments as a mother when you will completely lose your shizz past any level you ever thought possible. Like, kick a hole in the wall/throw gracefully toss 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 again, you have the freedom to just walk away without a care. Permanently.

But you can't. It's irresponsible at best and illegal at worst.

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.

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.)

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 because you need to feel better right now.

Welcome to the Fat Mom's head.

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 temporary. Or, do you choose to feed your body? Do you feed your goals? Do you choose to do the harder thing and suck it up, Buttercup, and don't settle for the cheap fix?

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 on a rest day 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.

Now, if only I could stop screaming like a banshee.

*sigh*

Baby steps.

Five Things I'm So *Totes* Crushin' On

1. Youtube Fitness Vloggers - Omar Isuf and Chelsea Karabin

Omar's shirts

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 equally 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?

Chelsea's shirts

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 that.

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 how to be a bro 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.

"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."

2. Foam Rolling

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 ... calves (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*.

*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 including, but not limited to, a lot of drugs.

3. New Playlist 

Probably one of my favorite Kanye tweets of all time.
I think it's the "uuuuugh" at the end that seals it for me.

Apparently my master plan to mess with Kemper's head as much as possible continues because I've gotten sick to death of Rage Against the Machine and have moved on this week to some new music that I will play ad nauseam and then swear off for a year. Current lifting list includes (I didn't watch these links so they might be NSFW - heads up) P.O.D., Downset, White Stripes, Awolnation, BoySetsFire, and of course, Kanye. I'm running to Cage the Elephant, Weezer, and Harvey Danger. (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!)

4. Iced Coffee and fresh Peaches

Or, go to McDonalds. Or, even better, call Sister
Wife Rachel and she will come over with her
home made cold brew iced coffee that will blow your
freaking mind and you will thank Jesus that she is your
Sister Wife.

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 gulp delicate lady sip.) Right now I am drinking them as a pre-workout before my big lifting days because that makes it seem healthier to me only.

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.

Have I mentioned how much I LOVE summer?!

5. This picture comparison

25 years old, 253 pounds

35 years old, 145 pounds

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. 

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.

Life is crazy and wonderful, everybody. Have a marvelous Friday and enjoy the mess out of your weekend!

Go Shawty, it's yer birfday

Truth
#science

Today I celebrate the sixth anniversary of my 29th birthday. If you are a math genius you can figure out I have run out of time to do stupid things. I mean, the excuse of "well, I'm just in my early thirties" only works when you are actually in your early thirties. (No matter how you try to spin it, the sixth anniversary of my 29th birthday is solidly my mid-thirties.)(And rounds up to 40 years old because math is a jerk.)

I have to say that my thirties are my favorite decade so far. I realize I only have three others to choose from, but having found years 0-9 somewhat lacking in autonomous achievements (aside from learning to walk and talk, that was pretty dope) and years 10-19 being a crapstorm of hormones and the pressures of making huge life-defining decisions (as well as some awesome fashion, let's give the '90s its proper due), the contest is simplified to my twenties and thirties. In comparison, my thirties win hands down.

Thirty is awesome because you still feel like you are twenty, but without all the naivete that comes with being so preciously young. You understand a lot more about the world while simultaneously knowing you know very little about the world. It's like living an oxymoron. You still have lots of energy (when your children aren't sucking it away with their nightly puke fests) but also the life experience that allows you to really value time, so you don't fritter it away doing stupid things. (I mean, ideally, of course.)

Last night I went over to my old gym for another workout while Lifetime is under construction. I had a glorious epiphany that sums up what has been happening during my thirties. I realized that when I worked out at my old gym I was terrified of the free weight section (sound familiar?). After I ran or did floor work I would purposefully walk out of my way to avoid strolling through the free weights with all the boyz and their muscles.

But last night I headed straight there to find a squat rack and lift. Since it's such a small gym everyone was all up in everybody else's business due to space issues. I had to interact with the guys simply to avoid a collision. I felt like I belonged there. I looked like I belonged there because I was confident I knew what I was doing. When it came time to deadlift I caught the eye of the biggest man there and asked if deadlifting was allowed at this particular gym because it's not really a Meathead Mecca. (It's more family friendly and filled with teenaged bros and only a handful of adult meatheads.) His eyes got all wide and homeboy got excited when he answered, "Um, yeah. You can deadlift over in that squat rack."

So I deadlifted in the squat rack without a care in the world. A year ago I never would have done any of that. I find that my thirties have been spent making gainz - and I'm not just talking about the physical kind. I have grown emotionally, learned to take chances, and have tried so many new things. I think a lot of it has to do with the confidence that has come from losing 107 pounds (yeah, that's right, I'm at 146!!!), but I think the perspective that comes from being older definitely helps.

So on to my birthday. The plans for today are to EATALLTHETHINGS. Breakfast, snack, lunch, and afternoon snack will all be my usual, but dinner is GAME ON. We are going to my favorite burger place (Basement Burger Bar - holla!) and I'm eating a black bean burger and sweet potato fries. I'm also making my own cake this year because if I'm eating birthday cake I want it to be amazing. Like, not from some bakery amazing. Homemade chocolate cake with icing is going to put me in a food coma in roughly 13 hours. NOM NOM NOM.

Happy Birthday to ME!!!!!

Not a drop of pig's blood anywhere.

true story bro.

Wednesday I verbally spewed posted about my decision to put on my big girl panties and face my fear of lifting weights at the gym that evening. I was nervous all day long, and even tried several times to talk myself out of it. Thankfully I suck at negotiations, so when Brian got home from work I headed to Lifetime and prepared to finally lift heavy weights with the big boys during peak hours.

The first thing I did when I got upstairs at Lifetime was find a treadmill and warm up. I prefer the treadmills over by the weights because they are much closer to the TV's  I can spy inconspicuously on other people working out  they are newer and my running is smoother. I usually run about a half a mile. I chose a treadmill in plain sight of the squat rack so I could torture myself for a full half mile in preparation for squatting.

When it came time to get off the treadmill I totally couldn't do it. I was all, "Maybe I'll run another minute," except multiply that thought times five. I ended up running a full mile before I realized I was going to burn my legs out if I kept that mess up. I needed to just.freaking.do it.

Both squat racks were in use. I picked the one closest to me (a.k.a. my favorite rack and the only one I've ever used) and the dude on it said he had two more sets left. I thought about deadlifting first, but there were already three guys lifting there, and someone was working the ropes, so space was already really tight. Within a minute the other squat rack opened up, so I bee-lined it over and claimed it like an alpha male. (i.e. I threw my crap down and kicked off my shoes like I was IN MY OWN HOUSE.)(Because WHO'S HOUSE IS THIS?!?! MY HOUSE, BEACH-ES)(I may have been listening to Eminem rap Won't Back Down on my iPod at that time.)

(Also, "beach-es" is for Lauren.)(You're welcome)

I'm kind of glad I got the rack I was on because there was no mirror, so I really couldn't obsess over who might be watching me. I took a deep breath and actually self-talked. I was all, "You got this, Kel." It was totally like a Nike commercial in my mind only. I squatted the bar to warm up, then did a set at 65#. I did two sets at 85#, and a final set at 95#. It was interesting to note how much easier it is to squat at night as compared to 4:00 a.m. I was really warmed up and felt so much stronger. I felt like I could have gone another 20# but my heart rate was so high from nerves I called that set a victory and moved on to deadlifting.

Two guys were already set up in the area I needed to be in, so I waited until I caught their eyes and they gym pantomimed (you know, the non-verbal communication that happens when everyone is plugged in to some kind of device) that of course I was welcomed to set up as well.

I had a moment of panic when I realized the metal thingies (or, as Kemper calls them, "the weight clips") I needed to use were all taken, and the only ones left were the black ones. Yes, the same black ones Kemper has at his house that I couldn't figure out by myself and still didn't really understand. Still, I had to use something because it's what you do. I walked over all calm and collected and picked up the black ones and prayed Lord Jesus, please gift me with spontaneous mechanical skillz and He totally did because I figured that mess out in roughly two seconds. #miracle

Now that I looked like I knew what I was doing with the black clips I was free to deadlift. This was a bit trickier because I was facing a wall of mirrors and also surrounded by people, so I didn't need to obsessively imagine who was looking at me, I could see it with my own eyes.

The consensus? Nobody really cares what I'm doing. That realization could have been vaguely disappointing if I was someone with narcissistic tendencies. (Haha, that's a blogger joke.) I did my normal deadlift set, and felt the same way I did about squatting; I think at night I'll be able to lift a bit heavier.

I finished with the rest of my leg day routine. I've changed it up a bit since my last post about leg day, mainly because since then I've trained with Kemper and he showed me some new things to add. I did reverse lunges with kettlebells, some Romanian deadlifts with a 45# plate, plie squat jumps, bridges, leg extension, and hamstring curls.

I was so freaking jubilant at this point that I decided to extend my cool down run with intervals. I did about 2.5 miles of a combination of sprints, high incline walks, and recovery jogs. I was so happy and proud of myself I forgot Brian needed me home because he had an 8:00 appointment and I pulled in the driveway at 8:30. Total wife fail. (But don't worry, Brian is as awesome as he seems and reacted by saying, "I'm glad you're not dead. I have to go," and the minute he returned from his appointment said, "So how did lifting go?" because he's the Best Husband Ever.)

So, yeah, being a nighttime meathead was fantastic.

In other Really Important Life-altering News: I have some weight loss updates.

First, here are the picture results of the 90 day weight loss challenge. I feel like they would be way more impressive if I was wearing a sports bra and some shorts but Brian would kill me there are teen boys from my church that read my blog occasionally and I got a rep to maintain, y'all. This first picture is me at 168.9 and 37% body fat.

These are my Second Day Jeans. Those are the jeans that are miserable to wear the first day but finally fit you the second day. In this picture, even the Second Day is looking pretty uncomfortable. Also, the arms of that shirt were cutting off my freaking circulation.

This second picture was taken a few weeks ago. 149.9 and 24.4% body fat.

Same clothes straight out of the dryer. Hot. Literally.
My Second Day Jeans are now too big to even be First Day Jeans and have been put in my Big Girl Pile under the bed.

I haven't posted any weigh ins for a while for a few reasons. One was that it was harder than I thought to sneak onto the fancy scale at Lifetime. I wanted to use the same scale for consistency purposes but also because it gives me body fat percentage. I was able to weigh myself twice during my 4:00 mornings, but I have been suffering a tenacious plateau for a few weeks. I've been hanging out at around 150# and between 24-25% body fat since the challenge ended. I had/have no idea why but it is what it is.

But last Thursday I weighed in with the new trainer* (because remember I won a month of free personal training at Lifetime?!) and I weighed in at 150.3 and 24.8% body fat. We decided that every Thursday I could weigh in with him, so last night I got on that scale and weighed in at 147.9 with a body fat of 23.6%. ONE FORTY SEVEN POINT NINE Y'ALL. That, my friends, is my LOWEST ADULT WEIGHT EVER. (*Picture confetti falling from the ceiling because that totally happened in my mind*) That's also my lowest body fat percentage, so I'm a happy girl.

(*I'll write about the new trainer once we've had a few more sessions.)(You know, to be fair and all.)(Spoiler: he's not a meathead.)

I'll leave you with this crappy iPhone picture awesome shot of my Saturday night 13 Years of Wedded Bliss Anniversary Date cheat meal. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did :)

What you can't see - my turkey sandwich is on cranberry walnut bread. Also on my sandwich? Apples. And yes, that *is* diet coke. #partyhard