Barbells, Beards, and Bald heads Oh My!

ROOOOAAAAADDDD TRRIIIIIIIPPPPPP!

Okay, so that might be a generous description for what was, although an extremely bad@ss time, only a two hour drive and a seven hour experience. Day trip, maybe? Whatever. All I know is that this mama of four, after spending ten days at Disney World, set off on a solo adventure across state to observe what would become her favorite sport in the history of the world.

That's right. It's time for a little report of the Michigan APF Fall Open. (Since I know the majority of you reading this are learning about powerlifting with me, I'm going to try to explain everything I needed explained to me. So, APF = American Powerlifting Federation. The Open meet would offer three events - the squat, bench press, and deadlift. This is different from the meet I will be doing in January, which is just a Push/Pull; push = bench press, and pull = deadlift.)

"Hey Kemp, remember when you worked your
voodoo magic on my hip flexor? Too bad Imma
use my new found flexibility to ROUNDHOUSE
KICK YOUR FACE IF YOU TAKE MY ICED
COFFEE." (Seriously, bro, I know. Post workout
iced coffee is legit.)

The meet started at 9:00 am, but there was an informational meeting for the athletes at 8:00 that I wanted to crash. I planned to leave my house at 5:30 am in order to get there on time. My first stop was (duh) McDonalds for iced coffee. (I can see Kemper wincing at this news.)(Don't worry, Kemp, I also got an Egg McMuffin with an extra serving of egg whites.)(Somehow I don't think the "muffin" portion of that confession made Kemper feel better about the Carb Fest that is McDonalds Nectar of the Gods Sugar Free French Vanilla iced coffee.)(Total disclosure - totally worth it.)(Like, I would cage fight Kemper and win if iced coffee was on the line.)(Huzzah.)

I was honestly kicking butt on the drive over. I was flying down the highway, listening to early morning radio and Driver's Seat Performing whatever chart topper cued up. I noticed about an hour into my drive that my shoulder with the rotator cuff injury was getting a little sore from changing the radio station so frequently using my death crush of a super strong grip to hold the steering wheel, and that's when I realized I'd left my instant ice packs at home. No problem - I'd just stop off at the next exit that had a Meijer or a drug store and pick some up.

This would have been a stellar plan if the exit I chose also had a functional on ramp to get me back to the highway.

Not again.

Since I don't have a data plan for my phone (enter rant here) I couldn't look up an alternate route, so I had no choice but to get on the highway going the opposite direction and pull an illegal u-turn. Because clearly that was my only option. (Don't tell my sis the cop.)(Although she would totally agree with me out of family loyalty only.)


I finished the drive and arrived at the venue approximately five minutes after the informational meeting I'd booked it out there to hear was finished. Awesome.


The meet was held at DeVos Convention Center in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It's a really pretty building, and the APF rented out two meeting rooms for the event. One room was for the judging and the other was a warmup area and general place to hang out.

Walls of Jericho, anyone? I remember watching
Earthmover practice in the basement of the Hasty
House/Beaverland Ranch. #memories

Walking into the warmup room I was overwhelmed with Feels. Firstly, it felt so familiar. Years ago I was a hardcore music scene kid. This was back in the 90's when people wore baggy pants and *ahem* wallet chains and I got horrible tattoos and rad body piercings that I will still deny publicly ever having to this day. I embraced the counter-culture aspect of the hardcore scene. I connected to the "tough as nails/defeat is not an option/fight The Man" personal philosophy of the scene persona. I loved the freedom to be a little bit different. The freedom to embrace the dichotomy of being a sweet, quiet girl who loved screamy music filled with power chords and the inevitable breakdown.

Walking into the powerlifting meet felt like returning to my youth. I told Brian later it was like the scene grew up and got into lifting. I understood the people. I got the music. I felt the camaraderie. *sighs dramatically and gazes earnestly* It felt like going home.

monolith squat rack after it jumped
out of nowhere and tried to maim
my cheek.

I found Sara and dumped my stuff with her. I'd packed all my food for the day since I wasn't sure how long the meet would last. Sara gave me a quick tour of the meet set up and I "saw" my first monolith squat rack in person. "Saw" is the new way I'm describing running into it with my face because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going. I met some new people as we waited for the start. The National Anthem was played (totally wasn't expecting that) and the meet began.

Squats started the day. Each lifter turns in their "openers" - the weight they want to attempt for their first lift. The order of athletes is scheduled with lifts going from lightest to heaviest. This makes sense because with each new lifter the spotters only have to add weight to the bar, not completely unload it. Each person gets three lifts in each event, but the attempts are separated by a rotation through the line up, very similar to batting order in baseball. Each lift is judged by three people who individually vote if the lift is good or not. It takes 2 out of 3 white lights for a lift to be counted.

"Whut."

Watching people lift left my mind completely blown. Since powerlifting is an individual sport, numbers are really subjective. How much someone can lift is often considered in correlation with their body weight. For example, a 200 lb deadlift may not be that impressive to a lot of people, but when a tiny little 98 lb woman lifts it, people (um, me) be like, "Whut."

After squatting came bench press. This was Powerlifter Sara's first event. I was hyper nervous, so literally no encouragement cheering was coming from my mouth yet. Sara is crazy strong, so she did great on bench. I spent a lot of time observing protocol, getting a lay of logistics, and noticing why people failed certain lifts.

Firstly, yes, this picture is huge. But here you can clearly see all the players involved in this crazy
pageant of awesomeness. The woman on the left in the pink and the two men in white shirts are the judges. The two men in black standing next to the plates on the barbell are the spotters. They are there to stop you from dying if you fail the lift. The man in black holding the barbell over Sara is her handler Bob. Sara is on the bench with her super cute braids done by yours truly that you can not see. Not pictured: the super hot spotter who just happened to make every other picture I took that day. 

After bench was my favorite event: deadlift. 

Sara and her braids deadlifting.

I don't know this dude at all but his beard is on point.
Also, Brian makes fun of me every time I say on point.

By the time we got to the deadlift portion I felt a lot more confident in my decision to compete in powerlifting. The environment is so encouraging. After I got over my nerves I was able to fully join in with the yelling* that happens when someone struggles on a lift. I watched a lot of people fail on lifts, especially in the third rounds, and no one made fun of them. That really changed my whole approach to choosing my goal weights. Why go conservative when it doesn't hurt to try for all you got?

(*The yelling = I loved hearing one guy in particular yell encouragement to his buddies. In fact, I took his pic to show to Powerlifter Tracey because he was wearing a t-shirt from the gym where she trains and I figured she would be able to identify him. I want to be adopted into his lifting family so he can yell awesome cues to me like, "CHEST UP! SQUEEZE YOUR @SS!" because duh, then I totally will because his cues are both succinct and yelled with authority.)

(Seriously, I totally want this to happen.)

The day culminated with me witnessing an EIGHT HUNDRED FOUR POUND deadlift. Guys, this seems incomprehensible to me. You know my undying love for my Internet Boyfriend Elliott Hulse from Strength Camp? I remember my mind being completely blown that he could deadlift more than 600 pounds. EIGHT HUNDRED FOUR POUNDS? is ridiculous. Here is a picture of that happening:

While this was happening, it was loud in the room. But when those three white lights lit up indicating the lift was good it was like OUR TEAM WON THE SUPER BOWL.
(I also posted this to Instagram.)(Because did you know I'm on Instagram now?)(Sublurban Mama)(Follow that mess.)

So that is my recap of attending my first ever powerlifting meet. Welcome to the world of powerlifting y'all. Buckle your seat belts. We are in for a ride.

Disney World, Bootkemp, Day-Trippin', the return of The Walking Dead, and an Injury: A short tale

We on a Disney boat, y'all!

One of the great ironies of vacationing with children is often that you need a vacation to recover from the vacation once it is finished. We arrived home last Tuesday night after ten glorious days at Disney World and spent the next three days doing laundry and getting back to normal life. (i.e. consuming copious amounts of water and vegetables that the children were begging for.)("Begging for" is the new way I'm describing "being forced to ingest" as they whiningly requested the mac and cheese and chocolate chip cookies that comprised the majority of their diet for the preceding week and a half.)

We also resumed homeschool bright and early Wednesday morning, which was as enjoyable as you can imagine returning to the real world after doing ALLTHEFUNTHINGS could be. Thankfully we returned home to find our internet was out, so we were forced to school at the public library where we could steal their wifi the fear of an audience of strangers kept the children from completely melting down in their defiance of learning.

On Wednesday and Thursday I hit up the gym because as wonderful and all-inclusive as my Disney experience was, it lacked greatly in the powerlifting equipment area, and I was itching to grab a hold of the barbell. On Wednesday I deadlifted and did back and biceps, and on Thursday I benched and did upper body.

That's when I admitted something was going on. (*enter dramatic suspense music*) This is how it went down:

Me to Ironman Sarah who works in orthopaedics: Dude, my shoulder is being all weird. Like, it totally hurts when I shoulder press. When I'm lifting, once I get it passed my ear I'm totally fine but from my shoulder to that point it totally hurts. I even lightened my weights in front of ALLTHEBOYZ because I was scared I was going to really hurt myself.

Ironman Sarah: It sounds like your rotator cuff. I'll check it out later and be able to tell for sure.

Me: Cool.

*Later on, as I was checking in with Powerlifter Sara and her trainer, Trainer Corey*

Me: So is it cool to lift normally if I have a messed up rotator cuff?

Trainer Corey who specializes in rehabilitation training: HELL NO YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING FUN OR PRODUCTIVE HERE IN THE GYM UNTIL YOU HAVE A SPECIALIST LOOK AT YOUR SHOULDER. I FORBID YOU AND BAN YOU FROM DOING ANYTHING AND YOU ARE PROBABLY GOING TO GET TOTALLY FAT AND LOSE ALL YOUR STRENGTH WITH THIS INJURY.

(Ok, so maybe that is more of what I heard. What he actually said was something like this:)

Trainer Corey: Nope. You need to see a doctor. You could really hurt yourself. If your rotator cuff is torn you could need surgery. If it's not torn but just inflamed and you don't let it heal it could tear. You could be setting yourself up for a lifelong problem if you're not careful. So don't lift anything until you know for sure.

Kelly: THIS IS BS. I HAVE TO LIFT. ME ME ME ME ME ME ME. THAT IS ALL THAT IS IMPORTANT. ME. TRAINER COREY, WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE???!!!

(Again, maybe this is more of how I was feeling. The actual conversation was something like this:)

Kelly: *stares incredulously* But only shoulder press hurts. Can I bench? *Corey shakes head negatively* *Kelly's voice goes up in pitch* Can I squat? *Corey's head again denies* *Kelly's voice goes even higher* Can I deadlift?

Trainer Corey: Not until you know for sure. You could really hurt yourself.

Kelly: I hate you right now. Why do you have to be so good at your job? (Yep. Verbatim.)

This blog gettin' all medical.

The next day I visited Ironman Sarah in her office where she examined me and declared my rotator cuff was not torn, but was indeed inflamed. I got a prescription to deal with the inflammation, and some worksheets full of rehabilitation exercises to do. That night I trained with Kemper. I'll write a full report of that later (because some FANTASTIC things happened there) and he did more of his voodoo magic manipulations and determined the rotator cuff injury was specifically affecting my Supraspinatus muscle and one other muscle. (I only remember the first one because I was all, "Trust me to hurt my SUPERspinatus muscle because I'm so SUPER," and Kemper was all, "It's SUPRA, Kel.")

Right now drugs, ice, and yes, upper body rest are my besties. I hate it. But you do what you gotta do, you know.

Saturday I attended (as a spectator) my first ever powerlifting meet. I drove a few hours to see Powerlifter Sara compete in the Michigan APF Fall Open. I saw 53 competitors of all ages and sizes squat, bench, and deadlift their maxes. Two days later and I'm still out of superlatives to adequately describe how it was. It was a very good thing. A game-changer, if you will. I will also write a full report on that experience, because the pics alone are worth your time even if you hate powerlifting. Trust me.

Yesterday we went to church, ate a special family lunch at Moe's (dem burrito bowls doe), and, after we settled the kiddos in bed, watched the much anticipated return of The Walking Dead.

It has been a crazy three weeks around here. I had so much fun, but I'm glad to be home. *clicks my Dorothy heels together* Happy Monday!

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.

What could *possibly* be more important than updating your blog, Kelly?

Once upon a time, there was a lovely little summer storm that swept southeastern Michigan. It brought rain. A lot of rain.

"Kelly, that is a lovely pond near your house."
"Thanks, but it's actually the road, sidewalk, and half my yard after approximately ten minutes of the rain."

One of the few vehicles that didn't stall out while driving through the neighborhood. (It's probably a FORD.) #motorcitylove

"Boy, Kel, with all that action outside, you must have been super worried about your basement, huh?"

"Nope. Not at all. Just this winter we dropped a pretty penny on waterproofing the basement. All that work held up beautifully. However, all the waterproofing in the world is no match for when the SEWER backs up."

If you're wondering if crib mattresses float, the answer is YES.

Also, boxes and bins float, cardboard disintegrates, wood and fabric absorbes... it was like a real life science lesson. Homeschool. Speaking of, to the left is all of our homeschool curriculum.

Our humidifiers = death by water.
There has to be a joke there, somewhere.

Also, sanders and saws and other miscellaneous tools do not like to swim.

And the final verdict? About six inches of sewage.
Thank God for that pump. It worked tirelessly all night and Tuesday dawned bright and early with only a squishy and puddley (totally a word) basement to be had. 

Once the water was gone I could survey the damage...
I stopped counting at $1000 worth of curriculum destroyed.
(For those that know what I'm talking about - on the right is the ENTIRE Answers in Genesis God's Design for Science curriculum. Also lost - two years of My Father's World. The deluxe kits. Ouch.)

On Tuesday night help arrives in the form of eleven strong young men ready to haul out our possessions and do whatever needs to be done.

Seth, John, and Hosanna wash all the sealed but submerged food and drinks that were floating around the basement. Our pantry was downstairs. We saved $70 worth of soy milk, $50 worth of canned/jarred goods, and 20+ unopened gallons of water. We lost anything in cardboard, or anything absorbent.

Salvageable goods begin to take over our home.
(Aren't we blessed to have so many salvageable goods?!)

Destroyed goods go on the right in our garage, salvageable goods on the left.
(pictured (the destroyed goods) = furniture, an amp, MY PLYO BOX)

First day of garbage. I honestly stopped taking pictures at this point except for what we needed for insurance purposes. We have filled to overflowing two bagster dumpsters (most of this was with the drywall, baseboards, doors and other construction debris that accrued from the restoration process) and filled the entire easement with trash. The following week's garbage looked similar. 

Our focus now is on sanitizing the salvageable goods. Every item that touched the water has to be washed with an antimicrobial, washed with clorox, and then thoroughly dried. Anything solid wood needs to go through the same process, but then be re-varnished afterwards. My elliptical survived but needs to be taken completely apart and every surface washed and disinfected. We need a professional to do that.

This has been such an overwhelming undertaking. I came down with a sinus infection and double ear infections after days of sorting/cleaning the wet basement. We started homeschool less than a week after this all happened. (We're doing online school so we didn't have any wiggle room.) We needed new furniture so we had somewhere to sit. I've never had insomnia, but these past two weeks brought many nights that I finally fell asleep at 5:30 a.m., only to have Ezra wake me up at 7:00. Because poop. Or milk. Or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, please.

My Pollyanna Thankfulness List:

*Nothing brings the neighborhood together quite like disaster. Everyone is out on their front lawns chatting it up with whoever is out. People gather to help haul, or share dumpsters, or pass along contractor names. A family down the street that came away relatively unaffected brought us vegan cupcakes. Vegan cupcakes. They are my new favorites for life.

*Welp, the basement has been on my Must Clean Out list for years. This is one way to start/finish that project.

*Antibiotics and iced coffee - did you really think I could go a whole thankfulness list without mentioning iced coffee? It's like you don't even know me. After three days of the antibiotics for my sinus and ears I felt like a new person. And while the melatonin I bought at GNC isn't touching my insomnia, the Quest bars I bought during that same shopping trip are making me deliriously happy.

*Comparatively, we came out pretty okay. We lost a ton of stuff. We have a huge cleanup in front of us. But there are people in Metro Detroit who lost their entire homes. Their homes were moved off the foundations from these floods and are now unsafe and uninhabitable. I belong to a flood recovery group on Facebook and there are people dealing with six feet of water in their homes. I am thankful for just six inches of sewage. (There's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

*Lifetime Fitness and Kemper - working out has been my sanity. I can forget and just lift and feel accomplished and so much better.

*Friends and Family. You guys. I have no words for how blessed I am. Here is a happy little picture I took with Sister Wife Rose at a wedding Saturday.

Me and Sister Wife Rose = the best kind of trouble.

Happy Friday everyone! Enjoy that weekend!

Up a creek (yep,*that* creek - literally) without a paddle. Also, when it rains it pours.

MY FIRST EVER VLOG. 

Y'all - try to contain your excitement. 

Here is a video to prove how Midwestern I am.

Also, just send me some love. For real. It's crappy here. LITERALLY.

(Sewage jokes, already? Too soon, Kel.)

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

More on Monday (not to be confused with Moron Monday)(which I can see you assuming because you've read my blog before)

Since I skipped Five on Friday, I am going to do a short but sweet More on Monday post for you because alliteration.

One = I am totally a winner

Everybody hands go up

AND THEY STAY THERE

Like, for real a winner. I was entered in a raffle at Lifetime Fitness for a month of free personal training when I did my last weigh in for the 90 Day Challenge (results with pics coming soon). Guys? I WON. I meet with a trainer twice a week for a month starting tomorrow. I asked Kemper about the trainer I was assigned because ain't no one messing with what Kemper is doing with me, but he's never heard of him. I probably got the newest newbie on the block but that's okay because IT'S FREE PERSONAL TRAINING FOR A MONTH. I'm going to give this new trainer my current workout schedule and "suggest" what I'd like to do during our time together. Is that rude? I don't even care. I really really really hope he's a meathead.

Two = I am totally sore

After my last session with Kemper I was all, "Maybe I can lift heavier than I have been," especially since he told me the last rep or two of every single set should be hard, and not just the final set as I had been basing my weights on. So I've been working my tush off at the gym with heavier weights (I upped my deadlift from 85 pounds to 105 pounds and my squat from 105 to 115) and ohmylanta does my body appreciate it. I can tell it is appreciation my body feels because it has been screaming in gratitude from my chest down. I even hit up the bottle of Aleve so I wouldn't take it out on the sweet kiddos that never aleve me the heck alone, even when my level of pain indicates I'm probably over exaggerating  being a giant weenie dying.

Three= I am totally tired

1. Don't get too jealous of my awesome baseball hair.
2. Yes, that's my friend Rick of our camping trip fame
photobombing this picture of me and two of my
lovelies.
3. I packed a protein bar for a snack when everyone
else got oreos and candy. I BETTER LOSE
WEIGHT THIS WEEK.

Clue number one that Brian and I are getting sooooooo old? After our weekend we are both fried. Like, "getting prepped to cage match over who got to take a nap Sunday afternoon" fried. (Brian totally won.)(But only because I had another event.) Friday we drove down to Toledo to see the Mudhens get destroyed by another minor league team who I cannot name to save my life. (Confession? I hate watching baseball. It has to be the slowest game in the history of sports. I love going to see the Mudhens once a year because we go with our church and buy out almost a whole section. This is fun because visiting and not watching the game.) Afterwards there were fireworks. We got home with four kiddos a little after midnight.

Saturday was a wedding of some dear family friends two hours away. We got home just in time for me to take off my heels and go grocery shopping. I did some paperwork and hit the hay because Sunday was church, errands, and a concert. Wonder what 34 years old is like? Being exhausted by the previous few days events where the latest one was midnight.

Four = I am totally ready to kill my neighbor

My favorite part of music school was a little amenity called "Practice Rooms". Practice rooms were little soundproof spaces where one could take a nap  make out with someone like that one time at Band Camp  practice their instrument without bothering anyone else. Some may think, as I am someone who majored in music, that I enjoy hearing it regularly. You would be wrong. I am very particular about noise level and do not appreciate the same two measures of practiced trumpet music for fifteen minutes. Which is exactly what my neighbor is now sharing. And is an improvement over the thirty minutes of scales that were the prequel to the main attraction.

OHMYLANTA NOW HE'S DOING THEM STACCATO.

I'm about to yell, "GET A ROOM!" and he will totally understand what I mean.

Five = I am totally premenstrual

Chocolate is not your friend, Kelly.

Chocolate does not share your goals, Kelly.

(repeat ad nauseam until Cheat Meal)

(whoever says Cheat Meal can't include the last Reese's Peanut Butter egg left from Easter I will cut you.)

STEP AWAY FROM THE TRUMPET AND NO ONE GETS HURT.

JACK.IS.BACK

So today I was going to write this super informative and helpful post about lifting and diet because I felt I owed it to everyone to write something of substance since I was MIA Friday.

But.

My weekend was pretty awesome. Busy awesome. Friday night was Mom Busy (a.k.a. filled with Saturday errands because Saturday was filled with other happenings), Saturday was an all day women's retreat -without any kids!- where I got to spend tons of time with Sister Wife Rose and eat homemade guacamole, and Saturday night filled with bath time, laundry, and back episodes of the Blacklist. Sunday was the gym, church, baseball, working over at our rental house (which we are renaming the "Soon To Be Sold house"), and food prep while watching Ocean's Eleven on network television. (I am always impressed with the way they recreate the naughty words when they edit a movie for television. When I watch it's like a brainteaser for decoding swears.)

But the real reason there is no substantive post is seriously, can anyone even pretend to pay attention to anything today when I know we are all just counting down to Jack Bauer's return tonight on 24: Live Another Day?

(From just the previews I have concluded that my girl crush on Chloe is still well founded. Because not only is she still "Chloe", she has a tough girl look going on as well, which completely works for her.)(In unrelated news, I've composed my letter to Dirk Vermin from Bad Ink pleading my case for a tattoo redesign. As cool as it is, I really don't want to go the rest of my life with a broccoli tattoo in the middle of my back.)(Also, I've been searching Pinterest for haircuts.)(Because I'm .7 of a pound away from earning a haircut and eyebrow wax.)(For the sake of all humanity, pray I get it today. The Sasquatch Eyebrow look went out with crocs and socks but I am currently rocking it hardcore.)(Thank God for bangs.)

So friends, in conclusion, stay strong. 8:00 p.m. will come soon enough.

I think the answer is, "Why *wouldn't* you wear Cookie Monster underpants?"

Subtitle = A precautionary tale of a non-scale ... victory?

Everyone needs a go-to friend for discussing their unmentionables. Me, I have Sister Wife Rose. This is mostly because not only does she have extremely passionate thoughts on the subject, she also has an Expert Opinion as a cheer leading coach. (i.e. underpants are a big deal to those who move a lot in teensy little skirts.)

Since I'm entering a new phase in my fitness journey (*snort* - for Kari) I have a fresh dilemma. Namely, what does one wear while squatting? After a solid twenty minute discussion with Rose about panty lines and other things of vital importance where Major Life Decisions were made, our conversation ended something like this:

Me and Rose being photo bombed by Brian.

Kelly: ... and all I could think while dead lifting was this, "Dude. Please don't let me be wearing my Cookie Monster underpants."

Rose: What woman in her 30's (who, let's be honest, could totally pass for her 20's - editor's note) wears Cookie Monster underpants?

Kelly: I think the answer is why *wouldn't* a woman in her 30's wear Cookie Monster underpants?

Rose: *the Rose look* (if you know Rose you totally know this look)(it communicates "you are a dumb@ss" really well)


It was with that conversation fresh in my mind that I took the kiddos to the park yesterday afternoon. The FUN Park (which changes routinely depending on the whims of my children) was only a quarter mile away and was a perfect afternoon destination. Traveling with a three year old slightly affected the overall pace of our walk (haha, that's a joke because I'm pretty sure there were snails that beat us there), but we made it and it was gorgeous out and there were a ton of families and other kids to play with and life was grand.

(I kept myself occupied by practicing box jumps onto the benches that surrounded the playscape because they were the perfect height for someone 5'3.5" who is terrified of jumping onto the boxes at the gym. I felt like a Crossfit rockstar while nailing the jumps (even landing softly - Elliott Hulse would be so proud) even though I realized after the first jump that I would have to hold on to my pants because they kept sliding down. This messed with my (admittedly awesome) form a little bit, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices in order not to, I don't know, get arrested for indecent exposure.)

It was on our return trip home that I finally had the answer to the question that up until then I only knew to be rhetorical. The question, "Why *wouldn't* you wear Cookie Monster underpants?" Ready? This is why.

Sometimes, when you are trying to hurry a three year old across a busy road before the signal changes, and you pick him up in one hand, and hold his three thousand sticks and pinecones and Special Rocks collected from your quarter mile walk in the other hand, you will quickly discover that you have no hands left to pull up your pants that are now seriously sliding down your hips in celebration of your recent weight loss.

You can't throw down the child, and if you are a mom worth your merit at all, you know you can't drop ALLTHESPECIALTHINGS collected because it will ruin your child's life for at least 15 loud minutes forever. You will try to outrun the rapid descending of your pants, knowing that there are approximately fifteen cars witnessing your Parade of the Unmentionables as they wait for the light to change. You will attempt to catch your pants around your hips with broadening your running stance while simultaneously sticking out your tush, which looks as cute as it sounds. And just in case all the drivers were missing the big show because they were distracted in their cars, your nine year old will yell, "HEY MOM! I CAN SEE YOUR COOKIE MONSTER UNDERPANTS!" just to encourage everyone to check out the situation.

Safe on the other side of the road you will gently set down your child, and calmly pull up your pants like you were totally okay with flashing the world because you are secure in your choice of underpants. You should get an Oscar. (Like, the award.) (Not Oscar the Grouch underpants.) (Though I can understand the confusion this post could cause.)

And that is why, just maybe, you *wouldn't* wear Cookie Monster underpants.

Stress Eating, Meningitis, and Taking It Back to 1990

Monday's post was meant to be the beginning of a weekend update, but I tend to forget that I'm a tad verbose and needed to cut it off at my Friday night wardrobe descriptions. So instead of offering the minutiae of the rest of my weekend, I've changed gears and now want to offer a completely helpful post about how I handle stress.

This weekend was a tad bit stressful. I fully handled it with an ample supply of tortilla chips and salsa at a Mexican restaurant while on a rare day date with Brian. I followed that Food That Didn't Count with three hard shell tacos and two diet Cokes. I totally felt better for the hour I was there.

Later that evening, when Chris and Stacy came over with their kids even though I had mistakenly planned that it was our turn to go out, (and consequently was completely unprepared for four extra kids after being out all day long) I soothed with a hot dog, dill pickle chips, and some diet Cherry Pepsi. Also, cookies.

At that point, I was all in for March Nosh Fest.

In the spirit of "Go Big or Go Home", I continued my streak on Sunday with iced coffee (of course I did), a microwaveable breakfast burrito, a Hot Pocket with a pretzel crust and filled with cheese and bacon tomato, and ice cream.

It was a lovely and delicious two days. Then I remembered my Monday night weigh in with Kemper.

Call me a lot of things, but I'm not a liar. I do however, joke about hard things in order to alleviate tension.

*minor tangent*

(*Case in point* One of the hardest things this weekend was that my sister was hospitalized for meningitis. The first three days of her admission were spent waiting for the labs to get back with us about what kind she had. I visited Saturday afternoon and did the following things:

Hey girl, this mask you need to wear to avoid
sickness could never mask your beauty.

1. I immediately renamed her day nurse. This was because when I showed up I was greeted by the signage covering her door filled with horrifying doomsday proclamations about her condition and the precautions I had to take in order to enter. I went in search of her nurse so I could get the run down on contagious diseases and the mask I needed to don. I was waiting at the nurses station when her day nurse walked up. At first I thought I was being punked because it was like JACKSON FREAKING AVERY was talking to me about medical type things and surely someone was messing with me by trying to convince me I was living in Grey's Anatomy.

I'm just sayin' the boy was attractive.

When I finally saw Cassie, I commented, "Dude, he's not too bad looking." She replied, "Oh, Dan?" I answered, "Dan? You mean D@mn, as in 'D@mn that boy is fine," which is probably my favorite joke of the whole weekend. We even varied it, calling him Lieutenant D@mn before dissolving in fits of giggles like twelve year old girls.

2. After several nurses commented on what an easy patient my sister is, I decided they were not complimenting her. Clearly, these statements were veiled attempts to communicate that she needed to up her game. So we put together a game plan to be the most fun patient ever that probably involved a lot of jokes about poop. It was hysterical and inappropriate and exactly what we needed to get her through to her eventual diagnosis of Aseptic Meningitis which was the kind we all wanted. Phew.

*end tangent*

So, back to dealing with stress by joking. I tend to get away with some things because I joke about them. On Monday night when I found Kemper to weigh me in, I didn't lie at all. I said my planned greeting of, "Dude, I totally ate this weekend like it was the only way to get into Heaven." I expected Kemper would laugh and give me a psuedo-serious lecture about good decisions and having a plan for dealing with stress, but instead he looked crestfallen and said, "What happened?" before drilling me about everything I ate and how I exercised. He actually groaned when I mentioned my Mexican Feast. I started haltingly editing my verbal food diary as he looked more and more upset. I felt like I'd let down The Master.

The damage wasn't as bad as I expected. I gained a half a pound but also 1.6% body fat. Kemper spent close to a half hour talking with me about my goals (it totally felt like I was back in high school visiting with the school counselor) (except I'm a 34 year old GROWN UP and Kemper is 22 precious years old*) before offering to train me (FOR FREE) on Tuesday because he really felt like I needed to "lift heavy". (And I, of course, am just as skeptical about "lifting heavy" as I am about this high protein/high fat diet that works amazingly well when I follow it.)

(* this is how I know Kemper is 22. When I was being scanned for weight and body fat percentage I made a joke about feeling like I was in Total Recall, and Kemper looked a little blank. I was all, "Tell me you've seen Total Recall", and he was all, "I saw a few scenes of the remake," and I was all, "Dude, that will not do," because the original Total Recall was so terrible that it is amazing. I was all, "How old are you?" (did you totally just think of Twilight and read that in Bella's voice because if not you're doing it wrong) and he said, "22," and I died a little inside when I did the math and realized I could have babysat him. He was nine when I got married. Because I was then fully off my game I voiced those thoughts out loud before stammering, "I mean, I don't mean I could baby sit you now... I meant back then, you know, when you were a kid ..." before trailing off in stellar fashion. Kemper smirked, so I punched him on his baby fine skin. (Sike.)(That never happened.)(The punching thing, I mean.)

I'll write next on my experiences "lifting heavy" in a post I've titled "I thought I was in labor but I was just lifting heavy." Y'all come back now, 'ya hear?

A velour jumpsuit and some house slippers

source

I really wish I was some kind of fashion blogger so I would have taken a picture of my "running errands on a Friday night" outfit. Because between us, I'm pretty sure I nailed it.

After a long day homeschooling the kids, a library trip, and an afternoon spent doing our Saturday chores because our Saturday was already spoken for, I fed the family dinner (the new way I'm describing telling Brian there was leftover pasta in the fridge) before heading out the door at 6:00 p.m. to handle some of the normal weekend errands that needed to be squished into a Friday evening.

My first stop was Wal-Mart to pick up Hosanna's meds, and I was reassured that my decision* to wear my old running shoes with a pair of bookcut jeans one size too big was spot on. Not only was this pairing a comfortable choice for the task at hand, it adequately communicated "Soccer Mom that has Given Up" in ways words would fail.

The only way I would wear this is if it wasn't a
cute little charm on a delicate chain but a pendant
at least six inches big that blinged out across my
stomach like a Run DMC clock.
(source) 

(*my "decision" occurred without any conscious thought. These items were what I was wearing to scrub toilets and mop the hardwood floors all day, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I saw that look pinned on Pinterest.)

Next I made my way to Target to get wipes - because remember that we only use Target brand diapers and wipes? I am so thankful Ezra is now sans diapers, but we still use baby wipes for a myriad of things that have nothing to do with their intended purpose. Target was also the original home of my new kitchen towels, Eve's birthday presents, and a few odds and ends for Easter and Lauren's baby shower, all of which I adopted and brought home with me Friday night.

The only part of my look that had me a tad unsure was my t-shirt choice. While I originally grabbed my brown Ewok t-shirt from Hollywood Studios in Orlando, Florida (#designer), cleaning the bathroom got unintended Nasty on it, and so I made a last minute grab for my favorite grey boyfriend tee from Target. This is my most loved shirt, and can be recognized by the slight staining in the armpits from two years of faithful wear. On the positive side, it was the catalyst for the decision to go ahead and purchase an identical brand new grey boyfriend t-shirt from the stacks on sale for $5. I will probably keep both out of sentiment for at least a month.

My major stop for the evening was Meijer for groceries. As I caught sight of my reflection in the automatic doors as I was entering the store, I was pleased to notice my Mom Ponytail swinging blissfully on the back of my head with every step I took. It was the perfect hairstyle for the rest of my look, and I plan to do a step by step tutorial in the future. (I think the real way to master this particular Mom Ponytail is to need your bangs cut, and then commit to using your mouth to blowing them out of your face for a good twelve hours prior to leaving the house.) Stay on the edge of your seats for the coming of this life-changing instructional video, please.

Please file away this post so you can use it as a point of reference for getting dressed for this coming up Friday night, and please, feel free to share it with all your fashionista friends.