The Trifecta of Oscars. Also *my* trainer feeds me gummy bears. The BootKemp Sessions - August

Not *those* Oscars.

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." Totally convinced him.)

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.

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.  That totally just happened as I was writing this. It is as gross and as rad as it seems. That was some total Karate Kid shiz right there.


So, Kemper was late which turned out to be completely awesome, because I ended up achieving a lifelong goal I didn't even know I had 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 another man named Oscar.

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: they are all in a band together.

The band
(I'm feeling really impressed with my
internet sleuthing lately. It's
like I possess the ability to operate a
basic search engine elite hacking
capability. #stillcantfigureouttexting)

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

(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.)

When Kemper got home it was a total buzzkill 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.

Take a moment and pray blessings
on Kemper because he had enough
compassion to replace the original
seat with an Old Lady Butt padded
seat. Amen.

He started our session off by introducing me to his new baby - the spin bike from hell. 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.)

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.

Don't hate, but I just can't with
the Hodge Twins.

(*Kemper doesn't make fun of me at all when I say things like, "make gains.")(Also, the previous sentence is a LIE.)

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 yelling at me 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 those moments of training when I believe someday I could be really strong.

Totally how I look without skin.

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.

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 extra special cool down planned. And if you thought that cool down included eating gummy bears you would be totally correct.

Probably 17 of the regular size gummy bears have 30
grams of carbs; maybe stick with only 1 or 2 of The
Party Bear for the same macros*.
*Kidding. Kids, don't try that at home.

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 when 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.)

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...

Until next month, Bootkemp. 29 more days and counting.

95. 155. 165. The BootKemp Sessions - June

You wanna piece of Kemper?
Find him here.

Another month and another in-person training session with Kemper. Yes, there are pictures this time. Of me. Lifting a giant tire while I pretend Elliott Hulse's camera people are filming me. They are as lovely as you can imagine. And yes, I will post them.

You're welcome.

THE homemade chocolate cake.
And Esther.
Which one is sweeter? You decide.
(One is legit louder, though. No contest.)

I woke up incredibly early Friday in anticipation of my training session that night. I drank as much water as possible to flush out my birthday feast (update - I went for the bison burger instead of the black bean)(it was meh - the black bean burger is going to be hard to top)(unless you top it with the house-made red pepper mayo, spring mix, tomato, and red onion)(*insert rimshot here*). I felt the day craaaaawwwl by* as I waited for my dad in law to come over and babysit so I could head out.

(*A mid-morning playdate with my friend Jenny totally helped. She brought her girlies over with the plan to walk to the splash park, but it was chilly and raining when they arrived so instead we broke out the playdoh because I clearly wasn't thinking about five children under the age of six using playdoh.)

Due to fear about new road closures and traffic woes, I gave myself extra time for travel and arrived at Kemper's house really early. Instead of sitting in my car and working on the grocery list like I'd planned, I had to bum rush Kemper's door because mommy bladder. In my haste to get to the bathroom I *did* take a moment to appreciate that Kemper had Rage Against the Machine playing in the gym. He totally prepared for my session.

Since I was so early I had a few minutes to meet the family. I think most of Kemper's family has read my blog when he has been the star of the show. I've "talked" with his mom via Facebook comments before, and I full on proposed to his brother, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm invited to Christmas this year. Or at the very least I'll be included in the family portrait.

Kemper has a great family. They are the kind of people whose home you immediately feel at home in. They all genuinely like each other. I have been blessed in my life to know a few families who have really done it right. The parents put in the time and fought every fight during those hella hard hands-on parenting years in order to raise loving, happy, successful adults who still desire a relationship with their parents and siblings.

Kemper's parents are some of those people.

Because I'm a trained musician.

I could have stayed and talked forever. His mom and dad are so encouraging, and his older brother Oscar (who is super fine and single, ladies) has a degree in music just like me. In fact, the whole family is musical - his mom sings, his dad plays bass, Oscar plays guitar, Kemper is a drummer, and his little sister plays piano. There will be a collaborative jam session in our future. (I will contribute vocals and random offbeat air drumming.)(Although? My air drumming is about 95% passion and 5% rhythm, which is definitely the proper ratio of an excellent air drummer.)


Kemper started our session with a quick chat about my strength training. I have been building a strength base and am ready to get stronger. Kemper wanted to take a few minutes to get my max lifting weights for a few lifts - bench press, squat, and deadlift - before he put together a 4-6 week individualized plan to turn me into a meathead get me some gainz.

After a warm up, I did some stretches with bands to get my shoulders ready to bench press, and then the real fun began.

I have done bench press less than five times in my whole life. Trainer Dan taught me a few weeks ago, and then Trainer Mike did them with me twice. I've never benched more than 65 pounds and that felt seriously heavy. Kemper went over proper bench press form, stressing to keep my entire body tight to support the lift. He showed me how to pull my shoulder blades together, where to place my hands on the bar, and how to breathe. He had me do the empty bar a few times, and then, in true Kemper style, he started piling on weight.

Guys? I benched 95 pounds.

Just victims of the in-house drive by
They say jump squat, you say how high low.

After bench press came SQUATTING. Kemper taught me to squat about five weeks ago. The most I have ever squatted is 115 pounds. But with a little help from Kemper standing behind me saying things like, "Power!", "Push!", and "Keep your core tight!" (and, I kid you not, Bullet In The Head perfectly cued up for my heaviest lift*) I squatted 155 - twice.

(*After squatting Kemper and I had the most adorable conversation that was a totally fitting way to celebrate the day after my 35th birthday. It went something like this.

-The fifth most awesome song comes on-

Kelly: This is the best music. Did you find some "alternative hits of the 90s" station?
Kemper: Yeah. It's called Gorilla Radio. (Guerilla Radio?)
Kelly: Do you know any of these songs?
Kemper: I know some of the Rage Against the Machine songs because we covered a few of their songs. (Because he's a drummer, remember?)
Kelly: But nothing else? (Guys, there was some totally classic stuff played: Beastie Boys, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, etc.)
Kemper: Not really. It was a bit before my time.

Kemper is 22.
And I'm officially old.)

Even with feeling ancient by the time we got to deadlifting I felt like the most powerfully strong aged 35 year old stay at home mother on Kemper's block IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I was so full of jacked up energy (and I mean that as a normal adult knows "jacked" and not like a meathead knows "jacked") I just wanted to jump up and down and #liftalltheheavythings FOREVER.

Previous deadlift PR - 125. With Kemper? 165 - twice.

Weight lifting is so seriously addictive. It is the most fun thing I have done in a really long time. More fun than a night with Needtobreathe. There, I said it. (In fact, if you check the dates, I actually missed the Detroit Needtobreathe show because their ticket prices became astronomical in order to go to this very training session.)

I feel amazing when I lift. I feel strong. I feel capable. I constantly feel pushed beyond my comfort level, and I feel there is so much more to learn. I love the effect on both my body and mind. I teenage girl super bubble heart weight lifting.

After Kemper had my max weights written down, we used the rest of the session for a circuit of 6 tire lifts, 30 seconds ropes, 30 seconds rest, repeat 2-3 times. Here, for your viewing pleasure, are the lovely pics Kemper took during our session.

"Hey Kel, did you get that shirt at Costco for the bargain price of $9?"
"Why yes, I certainly did. Because fashionista."
(Also, I love this pic because dat baby tricep and baby calf)

"Kel, I'd feel a lot better if I knew you were exhaling on the lift. Too bad there's no way to check ..."
"Don't you fret, Kemper totally got a pic of my 'breathing out' face."
(dat baby calf and dem NECK VEINS)

I was all sorts of bruised and sore from that tire. I loved it.

"I wish Kelly were so skilled in technological arts that she could only figure out how to take a selfie in the mirror with her iPad. It would be even better if she didn't bother to crop the resulting photo and allowed everyone to see the reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror."
"YOU SHUSH YOUR FACE AND LOOK AT MY GUNS."

Since Friday night, Kemper has emailed me and I now have in my possession a 4-6 week strength training program. It's a 5x5 program and is filled with seriously heavy lifting. I'm not gonna lie, it scares the bejeebers out of me. It intimidates me so much on paper that I can only mentally take one day at a time as I try to work it out. What I'm going to focus on is what is going to happen with my body after 4-6 weeks of following this plan.

I am seriously stoked to find out.

A Brand New and Totally Effective Diet

This is my teenage life summed up in one picture.
I had a huge crush on the guitar player.
(Of course I did.)
"STAND DOWN" - Boy Sets Fire

I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter. I started the day with an early bird workout at the gym. It was leg day and also coincided with the first time I wore my earbuds while lifting. Apparently I feel much freer to grunt when I am focused on the music and not on the sounds I am personally making. I discovered this during a break between songs.

In unrelated news, I now listen to my iPod on a much lower volume.


(I have been pretend drumming for listening to Boy Sets Fire* for a two week stretch now. It's kinda impossible to fully enjoy Boy Sets Fire on anything less than the loudest setting possible. I've caught myself lip-syncing "SILENCE KILLS THE REVOLUTION" with all the passion it requires while on the treadmill. I don't feel ridiculous about this at all and instead choose to feel sorry for all the pretentious people at Lifetime who do not get to be pretend rock stars in their heads while exercising.)

(*I traveled to Chicago waaaaay back in 1998 with my friends Melanie and Josh to see Boy Sets Fire play in a bowling alley that also hosted late night rock shows.)(It was rad.)

(Brian hates Boy Sets Fire.)
(He also won't let me in his band.)
(The obvious conclusion we can draw is that Brian could not recognize musical genius even if it lived with him.)

After my Easter morning workout I hurried out to the parking lot because I knew in order to fully celebrate this beauty was waiting for me:

I know what you are thinking. "Kelly, you are a vision of loveliness first thing in the morning   are you naturally that white or do you work at it?  did you really sit in the parking lot of Lifetime Fitness and eat a Reese's Peanut Butter egg?"
Sure did, y'all.
#4gramsofprotein #Kemperwouldbeproud (Because I'm pretty sure Reese's is exactly what he had in mind when he told me to eat carbs after a workout.)

Easter was a struggle for me. I think the real problem was I had no plan on how to handle all the special holiday food. I knew I was going to allow myself some leeway (hence, the peanut butter egg), but I had to navigate a church brunch potluck and the actual Easter meal at my mom's house, and my only thought was, "Let's just see how it goes." Bad idea.

This is literally the only picture I have
from Easter. It's a blurry cell phone
picture of me and my sister. You're
welcome. (For the record, it's clear I
am taller.) 

When I take last year into account, I did fantastically well. But for this year, and knowing my current goals - blah. At brunch I ate ALLTHEFRUIT because I don't normally eat a lot of fruit, so kiwi and strawberries were like candy to me. I ate egg casserole that looked like it was loaded with spinach, but I also really really really enjoyed a homemade blueberry muffin. (To be honest, I enjoyed that muffin more than the Reese's egg.)(Please don't tell - I don't want to spoil the good thing going on between me and Reese's. We have a special relationship - it's eggselent.)(Oh no, she didn't.)

At my mom's I just ate too much. My stepdad is an amazing cook and he bought kielbasa and fresh pierogi at the Polish market. It was all so good. I also had a piece of cinnamon swirl bread and lemon cake for dessert.

At home that night I stood on the scale and was all, "Yep." Last week I weighed 154.3 at my weigh in. Easter night that scale read 157. ONE FIFTY SEVEN. Of course I totally panicked and began thinking all these disordered thoughts like, "I should totally go run at 4:00 tomorrow morning. And not eat all day. And hit Core Blast and lift before my weigh in. HEY! Maybe I can even skip my Monday weigh in and show up Tuesday. That would buy me a full extra day!" Thankfully I'm not completely stupid and the part of me that is rational was all, "Dude. Don't be crazy. You need a full night's sleep. You need to return to your normal food tomorrow. You need to drink a crapton of water. You need to do your normal workout, and then you need to SUCK IT UP AND FACE THE MUSIC and go get weighed on your normal night because you are not a cheater." Which? Is totally what happened.

I really thought most of that weight gain had to do with sodium and being bloated from all the crap food. So on Monday I pounded water like nobody's business. I spent most of Monday peeing feeling like while I enjoyed all that food, it certainly didn't change my life, and I'd much rather be down 15 pounds than eat like that all the time.

Monday night was upper body lifting followed by Core Blast. After that I went over to the trainer desk and tried to find a Kemper Replacement to weigh me in. (Which? TOTALLY won't ever happen.)(Because Kemper is completely irreplaceable unless Elliott Hulse shows up and then all bets are off.) Andrew, the trainer who offered to weigh me in, while being a fine young gentleman, totally didn't want to joke with me at all was all business because he had a client warming up on the treadmill. I had to tell him all the vital information that Kemper already knew - you know, the important things like my age and height - so I tried not to be bitter that I had to verbalize that info (*rolls eyes and enjoys her first world problems of missing the trainer that was so generous with his time*) while waiting for the scale to out me for my Easter noshing.

The damage? I lost 1.3 pounds. I weighed in at 153. I also lost .2% body fat. (Down to a solid 27%.)

So I guess what I'm saying is that I'm now on the new Reese's Peanut Butter Egg diet because it's totally effective.

(Just kidding, Kemper.)

Case of the Mondays: Welcome to the New Age

Some of you may find it a surprise to hear I have a fairly active imagination. (Haha - sike. That's called sarcasm.) Lately most of my daydreams have been supported by the soundtrack of Imagine Dragons and their hit Radioactive. I'm pretty convinced you could never top the original, but I found this version by Lindsey Stirling and Pentatonix and it is some stiff competition. It makes my music school nerd heart leap. Also, this song has brought me the realization that I have the fiercest runway walk ever. And I apparently wear a lot of leather pants in my head. You're welcome for that visual. Welcome to the new age, y'all.

Happy Monday!

This book may scream "Soccer Mom" but it reads "ROCK STAR PRINCESS"

One of my biggest secret fears is that one day I will be at the gym, doing cardio and listening to my iPod, when a stranger will come up to me mid-workout, pull my sweaty ear buds from my ears, and before I can scream, "NOOOOO!" will stick them in their own ears in order to hear what I am jamming to.  And I will be outed for all the bad music I thoroughly enjoy.

This fear is so ingrained that if a person meanders too closely to my machine I actually reach up and shut down my iPod if the song is embarrassing enough. (I would just skip it but chances are I'm really excited that Julianne Hough is finally singing the medley Sister Christian/Just Like Paradise/Nothin' But a Good Time (from the hit musical Rock of Ages starring Tom Cruise) because I keep my music on random and it's not every day that you get great hits like that.)(Keeping it on shuffle allows me to pretend God is a DJ because I don't keep God in a box, y'all.)

On the outside, while I'm all,

Scorching reservoir?!?! I die.

in the private world kept safe by my ear buds there is a slight chance* I am rocking out to Bad English singing When I See You Smile.  (*there is a 100% chance.  It is totally happening.) (That's how I can face the world.) (Oo-oh)

Sometimes I wanna give up, I wanna give in,
I wanna quit the fight; but then I see you Baby
And everything's alright.
Everything's alright.

Or conversely, I'm being white girl ghetto with Cypress Hill and I Ain't Goin' Out Like That.

"Let's kick it ese

Commin' out tha slums, it's da hoodlums 

I'm pullin' my gat out on all you bums 

So bring it on when you wanna come fight this 

Outlaw, I'll kick ya like Billy Ray Cypress Hill"

My video face is much more angst-y,
Amy Lee.

Other times, while I'm looking 110% committed to my speedwork on the treadmill, I'm really on stage at American Idol tearing it up with my performance of either Evanescence's Call Me When You're Sober or Tracy Bonham's Mother Mother. Occasionally I catch myself looking too hardcore in the mirrors opposite my person, but honestly, it's hard to mask the legendary internal performances that are routinely taking place.  Because? I am that good.

If it's a premenstrual introspective day, I let Anna Nalick sing Breathe (but only until I get in my car and then I own that mess), or the Bangels sing Eternal Flame.  Debbie Gibson also takes a turn with Lost in Your Eyes.  O-Town's All or Nothing just kills me because those are some heartbroken boys who are only asking for some exclusivity in their relationships.  Is that *really* too much to ask?!

"Don't make me promises
Baby you never did know how to keep them well
I've had the rest of you, now I want the best of you,
it's time for show and tell"
Just look at those faces.  How could you, Baby?

I have gotten a bit caught up in the music and accidently air drummed to the following songs while on the treadmill, elliptical, or stationary bike:

Green Day - Longview (I got thrown out of a Green Day concert when I was fifteen.  No joke.  I found myself with my friend Matt standing outside Cobo Hall in Detroit wondering how we were going to get home because all of our friends - and rides home - were still inside the venue because they didn't try to run for the main floor/mosh pit from their balcony seats, get caught by security, and literally thrown out onto the streets.)(P.S. Mom, I will deny this ever happened if you try to talk to me about it.  I am still your favorite angel of a child.)

My Chemical Romance - Welcome to the Black Parade  (I had a four run streak where I pretended to be the drummer for My Chemical Romance the entire run.)

Rage Against the Machine - Killing in the Name (I won't do what you tell me.)

Needtobreathe - the live recording of Prisoner (Actually way more intense than the  studio version.)

Harvey Danger* - Flagpole Sitta (Lyric I loved until I found out they were being ironic hipsters back in 1997 and really making fun of me - "I wanna publish zines, and rage against machines, I wanna pierce my tongue it doesn't hurt it feels fine.")

<3  RIP

Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit (How can you not air drum to this?)(Maybe you're just in a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial, a denial ... )

Beastie Boys - Sabotage (also I forgot where I was and did the dog bark out loud in Sure Shot while on the treadmill)(That's worth about 40,000 Awesome Points if you're keeping score.)

P.O.D. - Boom (here comes the boys from the south)(I saw P.O.D. play in a church gym circa '98-ish.)(A church gym, y'all.)

The Breeders - Cannonball (actually this was accidental air guitar)

*Do you remember Harvey Danger?  They were kinda a big deal in 1997.  And by "big deal" I mean they were on TRL once.  I totally met them in a very "Needtobreathe type moment" where I knocked on their tour bus door outside of St. Andrew's Hall in Detroit and they let me and my friend Megan come inside the bus and interview them for my zine.  Because it was 1998 and I had a zine.  Which was kind of like a blog.  That I typed on a typewriter and printed at Kinko's and distributed at actual record stores.  Because I was DIY and this was before computers were a thing.  Because I'm old.*

I have a ton of music I would like to write about, but I am listening to my iPod as I write this and House of Pain's Jump Around is now blasting in my ear.  I find that I have to sign off and go dance because that song is pretty much a command to move.

Thanks, Babe. It's not all fun and games being a blogger.

Happy Hump Day, y'all.

Johnny Depp and Jack White: The Men Who (Almost) Changed My Life

Weird, right?  My future will never be the same.

So this is what could have happened during the Great Disney Extravaganza.  (This portion is best read while having Tiffany's Could've Been playing in your head.)(Don't know it? Click here.)(You're welcome.)

When we were eating our lunch outside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Magic Kingdom and I was a little *stressed* we might miss our Fastpass time for the Jungle Cruise (which was dope), I could have insisted we stay and watch the pirate show that was starting on the stage ten feet from my person and worry about the Jungle Cruise at a later time. Then, had we stayed, I might have noticed that the man playing Jack Sparrow on the stage ten feet from my body was actually Johnny freaking Depp.  Because apparently sometimes Johnny D likes to sneak in to Disney World and play Jack Sparrow for fun without announcing it to anyone.

Had I chosen to stay and been the only person to notice with my keen Sublurban Mama Spidey Skillz (actually a thing) that it was really Johnny Depp, I would've stalked trailed behind him politely until he noticed and addressed me.  Then I would introduce myself as the huge What's Eating Gilbert Grape fan that I am, and also compliment him on his amazing work on 21 Jump Street (both versions).

Johnny Depp would recognize from my fine bantering that I'm probably a world class blogger (obviously), follow me on my blog, and in his next public interview, make it known that he is a Sublurbanite.  My blog would blow the heck up, and I would be bigger than The Bloggess, landing my own book deal(s) and becoming a famous New York Times Bestseller, while simultaneously fulfilling the occasional demand to be interviewed by the real David Letterman.

However.  Instead I rode the Jungle Cruise.

That elephant?  Animatronic.  Don't you feel let down? Guess who's not animatronic?  Johnny Depp.

That Jungle Cruise was a pretty costly ride.  It cost me my entire retirement plan as I lost my book deals as well as denied me a best friendship with Johnny Depp. (Which?  Priceless.)

Or it cost me the opportunity to take his picture from ten feet away.  Semantics.

So that is the story of how I did not meet Johnny Depp.  Honestly, his loss.  Totally.

"I can't believe I don't read Sublurban Mama."

This is the story of what could have happened if our friend Ed wasn't so darn reliable and Jack White had a bigger bladder.

Picture this.  It's the Saturday of our return around 1:00 p.m. and we are back at the airport in the D. I am wrangling a toddler who has had little to no sleep over the course of seven days.  He has had more chicken nuggets and apple juice than one child should consume in a year.  He has been confined to a bus seat, stroller, airplane seat, and a stroller again for six hours.  So I let him run wild exercise a bit in the baggage claim while we waited for our ride, keeping one eye on the curb to make sure we were ready* when Ed arrived.

*Detroit Metro Airport is a little intense about the curbside pickup.  I always feel like I'm shooting a war scene while airport employees hustle us along with shouts of, "NO PARKING!" "NO STANDING!" "LOAD UP AND GO!" "KEEP IT MOVING!"  There is no meandering towards your ride. There is no room for idle chit chat.  When your ride arrives, you book it (not a prison joke). Because that's how Detroit rolls.

It was at this time that I saw Jack freaking White.  Jack White of the White Stripes.  Jack White just chilling out twenty feet away, looking up at the baggage claim board, searching for his flight numbers so he could collect his luggage the same way I did a half an hour earlier.  It's like we already live similar lives.

I freaked the heck out trying to find my camera, which of course was in my purse which was in the basket of the stroller buried under everyone's jackets.  Seriously?

As I was frantically pawing around for my camera, Jack White turned and started to walk away...straight to the bathroom.  And I couldn't follow him because it's illegal I think famous people deserve some privacy although if I was a dude I totally would've been there.

But that's okay.  I'm patient.  I could wait for Jack to finish his business.

Except this is when our super dependable friend Ed showed up in our minivan, ready to escort us home.  (Disclaimer:  Ed is the jam.  I appreciate him so much.  He got up at o'dark thirty the week before to drive us to the airport, and was giving up his Saturday afternoon to be on call to come and drive us home.  He is awesome.) I'm not trying to imply that Ed ruined my life with his impeccable timing, but if I was given five more minutes, this would have been my future.

If I would've made it over to Jack White, I would've offered him a ride home.  And because my minivan packed with four kids and a week's worth of luggage for six people is way more inviting and comfortable than some personal and private Metro Car, Jack would have jumped at the chance to accompany us.

On our drive home, Jack would be witness to my unparalleled air drumming (which is 95 percent passion and 5 percent actual rhythm) and be so blown away he would insist that we jam together in real life.  This would lead to a new collaboration with Jack freaking White and Sublurban Mama that would obviously go double platinum and provide me the rock star lifestyle I know is somewhere in my future. (This may happen with Jack White, or happen as part of a cover band at Disney World.)(I'm still undecided.) 

But none of that will ever happen; Jack and I have no future, because our meeting was over before it began.

So while I tried to corral the kiddos into the minivan, buckling car seats and booster seatbelts, I glanced over my shoulder into the airport to see Jack again.  And I did see him once more. Forlornly, out the window of my vehicle, while it was driving away.  Slowly but surely driving away from Jack White who never got the pleasure of meeting me.  My nose may have rested on the window, my palm pressed beside my woebegone face while I mouthed, "Jack."  (Okay, maybe that's just me being a bit dramatic.)

"Hi, I'm Jack White.  I can't believe I grew up so close to Kelly and we never crossed paths.  Now, as I have a return visit to my hometown, I still can't believe I didn't meet her.  Looks like money and fame can't buy you everything."

"This ain't a song for the broken-hearted" - Bon Jovi

If anyone out there is involved in a scavenger hunt and you still need to find

1. A little old Asian lady showering naked in the group shower and singing opera while soaping up because, let's face it, the acoustics in the shower are sublime

then come to my gym. I've got her.

And I'm so jealous of her.

I want to be her. Not the whole "little old Asian lady" part because it's impossible. You know, genetics. Not even the "showering naked in the group shower" part because I'm a BAM* who already does this.

*this may be a bit overstated. I might shower naked in the group showers because on the first day of swim class everyone else was doing it and I couldn't figure out a way not to disrobe without being the weird "dressed while everyone else is naked girl".

It's the "singing opera while soaping up" part that gets me. As a former music major, I sing opera frequently at home. I sing it in my car. I sing it to my husband whenever I want to stealthily pick a fight. My four year old even acts out a character she calls "Opera Mom." But I do not have the balls to sing opera in public while naked.

But the little old Asian lady has 'em. (Figuratively, I mean. It is the women's locker room.)

Singing opera in a place reserved for downward cast eyes and private toweling off is a bold move. It says, "I don't care. Look at me. I look nothing like a super model and I'm totally okay with being naked and having you look at me.  I'm all about having fun and enjoying the moment when I want to. In fact, if the floor wasn't a bit slippery I might skip to my locker. Because I'm that carefree."

I want that.


So today I'm going to discover my inner Naked Opera Star. 


(This next part is best read while having Bon Jovi's It's My Life stuck in your head.)


I'll start by owning it when I forget I'm riding a stationary bike at the gym and air drum the heck out of the handlebars.  No more staring intensely at the odometer in shame, hoping no one caught me out of the corner of their eye.  I will meet the gaze of College Muscle Man in the mirror and even invite him to play air guitar.  Because I'm not into Musical Exclusivity.


In a completely clear, super wide grocery aisle?  I will get a running start and ride the shopping cart.  


When I am alone in my minivan and at a particularly poignant moment in my interview with David Letterman, I will soldier on even at a stop light next to a car filled with people who can see I am talking to myself/Imaginary Dave.  Clearly.


Today I will embrace that I sing the talk box parts in Livin' on a Prayer, because honestly, how can you have any kind of soul and not want to imitate that sound?  And while we are on the subject of Bon Jovi (you're welcome) I'm going to go ahead and cry while I'm singing because I'm still premenstrual I really feel for Tommy and Gina and I'm just so proud of them that life is so hard but they are going to make it.  


When I finish my workout and go straight to Burger King to order a Hershey Sundae Pie, I will never pretend to be on the phone when I get to the window and say, "I'm coming honey, they are literally putting it in my hand right now," because I want the teenage BK worker to think that obviously my husband has some dude version of a pregnancy craving, and I, the devoted wife, am lovingly fulfilling it for him. Because of course this Hershey Sundae Pie is not for me.*

*I'm not committing to it that I've actually done this.  Definitely not more than once.  Twice tops.

NO MORE!  If Naked Opera Star wants Hershey Sundae Pie (and has worked out and responsibly fit it into her meal plan) she will eat it without disgrace! (But maybe with some chagrin if she's in her workout clothes.  A tinge of chagrin is okay.)

Today I will discover my inner Naked Opera Star.  And embrace her, soap and all.

"Second place is FIRST LOSER." - the Navy Seals

Memory Lane: Written in November, 2010, a few weeks into Couch to 5K training.

Because I don't want you to think I am TOO cool, let me be clear: I don't think about Milli Vanilli often. (At least not when I'm running.) Mainly, when I'm running, I think one thing.

Do. Not. Stop.

Okay, actually I think many other things as well (as demonstrated in previous entries). But most of the other things I think about are imperative to distracting me from the other thing I could think about - why I should stop. I've noticed the rest of my thoughts fall into four main categories.

1. Extremely difficult (junior high level) algebraic math calculations focusing mostly on the variables of time, speed, and distance run. The majority of this time is spent correcting original calculations and panicking when I forget or change a number in the equation that could affect my running. Specifically, by adding more time to my running. Within this category exists a sub-category called "Bargaining", which involves me making deals with myself. These deals are comprised of rewards that in Real Life are wholly unrewarding (i.e. "just make it to the bridge and you get to CHECK YOUR STOPWATCH") but in Running Life are equivalent to getting ice cream from the ice cream truck. In other words, it's kinda the BEST THING that happens all day ... until you eat your treat and realize you paid $4.00 for a popsicle with a gumball stuck on the top. (Or get to the bridge, check your stopwatch, and see you have four more minutes to run.)

2. Assumptions about what other people are thinking (about me). I actually have way too much to write about this subject to share it here, so stay tuned for future notes for more detail about this category. But as a teaser, know that just because you are convinced that the teenage girl who is laughing hysterically as you approach (from having just run up The Hill) is laughing hysterically AT YOU, she might be laughing because a duck is chewing on her shoelace.

3. Air drumming. I am forever grateful for the invention of the iPod armband simply because, if for no other reason, it allows me the freedom to fully commit to air drumming when I run. (Bonus Fun Fact: I think Rage Against the Machine actually uses cowbell. When's the last time you played air cowbell?)

4. Amazingly awesome hormone driven fantasies centered around egomaniacal grandiose achievements that have not occurred. An example of this is when David Letterman or Ellen Degeneres invite me on their shows to marvel at how I've cured cancer, stopped war, or rescued Brittany and/or Lindsey from the depths of their personal ruin. Other times I'm invited as a motivation speaker to the Navy Seals; my visit ends with observing the Seals jog on the beach, each yolked with a 400 lb log. They stumble to the end of their run and tearfully exclaim, (with MAN tears) "If Kelly can finish her run, SO CAN I." To which I reply, "Sailor, second place is first loser. Man up."

Tomorrow I run 14 minutes/walk two minute cycles. Hoo-Rah!