Still Busy Doing Warrior Stuffs

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

Happy bi-yearly blog post!

Last week I was pulled from a sound sleep by the repeated peals of "Mama...Mama...Mama..." from across the house. It was hella early, and as I stumbled in a haze through the hallway to find the origin of my summoning, I could only speculate that the dear child who needed me so desperately was trapped in a sinkhole that suddenly struck our laundry room, or bound and held captive by suburban pirates who wanted to steal the giant container of Starbucks Skinny Vanilla Latte in the fridge, because for what other possible logical reason would the blessing from my womb be waking me at such an awful hour of the day?

I peeked in the bathroom to find my cherished only son sprawled like an octopus about the toilet - his rear inside the bowl with the rest of his limbs splayed akimbo. "Mama, it's about time you got here. Can you wipe me?" (1. Dude. Really? Gross.) (2. He's five. I KNOW ALRIGHT.) (I make myself feel better about wiping his tush by pretending it's my secret Super Hero identity "The Obliterator of Filth".) (Also, I have a Poop Alarm Clock. Don't get too jelly.)

In case you were wondering if my life got any less glamorous since I last blogged, rest assured, I'm still living like a Kardashian. And by that I mean large portions of my day are spent giving attention to the derriere of one family member in particular. *cough* Ezra *cough*

Other than living the Stay At Home Mama dream I am still plugging away with powerlifting. My shoulder is healing nicely, albeit slowly. (2000 Awesome Points for "albeit" usage.) I was officially released from physical therapy in June, and since I'd been there so.freaking.long they named a private room after me gave me two free t-shirts instead of one. #baller #knowspeople

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

While I do miss the people at therapy I'm really really really happy to be back working towards my original goals. One thing injury cemented for me is that I know now I enjoy the strength aspect of lifting more than body building. While I do some body building work for aesthetic purposes (because c'mon, Mama Bear needs some fly lookin' delts)(if you didn't picture me saying that as Regina Goerge's mom, you're reading it wrong) (because I'm not a regular mom, I'm a cool mom) (obviously), most body building I do as accessory work for my big three lifts. There is just something unappealing about doing a million reps of a lift that works one main muscle at a time. It bores me and it is challenging in the wrong kind of way. It makes me feel like, "Oh, this is so not fun and the challenge is rooted solely in making myself finish the set." Powerlifting, where I'm lifting really heavy weights for a few reps, works a bunch of huge muscles at a time and has me all, "OHMYLANTA I WONDER IF I CAN LIFT THIS WEIGHT WITHOUT CRAPPING MY PANTS." (If you have to guess which of those two thoughts is more fun to have I don't even know why we're friends.) Plus? In powerlifting I get to wear a belt, so....

This is the closest I will ever come to being a fitness blogger/social media superstar because the level of embarrassment I had over taking this selfie at the gym was ridiculous. But there is me, in the far away mirror, rocking my capri's and Converse, and documenting that I did lift two hundred and thirty five freaking pounds. Twice.

The hardest part of this year has definitely been maintaining my weight. The hard part is that gaining weight makes me so much stronger. Like, not marginally stronger either. It's like "DAYUM GURL, go on and eat those Larry and Lenny protein cookies Wheaties because = 30# PR's for daaaaaaays" stronger. And that is seductive. What's not seductive is the discovery that my favorite dress no longer fits. So this year I am finding my sweet spot, or window really, of where I'm comfortable being as far as numbers on the scale. (Honestly, there is something I like about saying, "I've lost 100 pounds." I need to weigh 153 to be truthful for that. I also want to compete in the 148 weight class when I'm ready to compete. So my happy training window is around 153 strictly for emotional reasons. And I'm okay with that.)(Kind of. It was also really nice weighing 143 pre-shoulder injury, and I have a hard time not making that my new standard for where I need to be.)(Like, I'll weigh in at 153 and feel like I'm 10 pounds overweight and I get temporary amnesia where I forget that I'm still down ONE HUNDRED FREAKING POUNDS and all I can see are those ten pounds up from my lowest adult weight and I feel like I'm at my heaviest all over again.)(Also? The Kelly that was 253 pounds wants to smack 153 pound Kelly for even struggling with this ten pound dilemma.)(But 153 pound Kelly totally gets it.)

So there is a little bit of an update for y'all! I've gotten so many emails this summer and I appreciate every one of you that take the time to read this little blog! Thanks again from the bottom of my heart. (Which is the best part.)(Because it's closest to my tummy.)(And that's where all the cookies are.) #science

I'm pretty sure Jake is a meth dealer.

Delt and Trap inhibitor taping
Kinesio tape 4 lyfe

I'm equally in awe and super pissed at the complexity of the human shoulder. There are a lot of little muscles, tendons, arteries and such streaming allllll through that mess. I've discovered that they are all a bit interconnected. If you make one angry they can collectively gang up on you in group protest, because apparently they have unionized and know the power of collective bargaining. Like, "Oh, Kel, you messing with ROTATOR CUFF? Let me introduce you to Rotator's friends: Pec Major, Pec Minor, Long Bicep, Delt, and Tri. Under the superb leadership of Captain Trapezius they will no longer be working for you. Until, of course, you take care of Rotator Cuff who is a giant PITA and made up of a billion (or four - whatever) tendons."

In related news, that shoulder injury I mentioned in passing a few months ago? IS SLOWLY KILLING ME. When it wasn't healing on its own (i.e. me complaining about it and icing it sporadically) I ended up at physical therapy three times a week where they actually had a plan in place to fix my rotator cuff (and pec major, pec minor, and long bicep)(because they are all in on it). This plan involved rehabilitation that included not only a therapist and a team of techs but also the instructions that I not lift anything outside of therapy.

I'll let that sink in a moment.

No lifting. No training for my powerlifting meet. No access to my favorite (and most effective) method of stress management. No getting stronger or sculpting my body. No lifting.

My first session should have been a heads up that I was going to need to be in this for the long haul. My assessment was with my new physical therapist Jake (who fully embraced Movember by growing a wicked 'stache and saying the words "testicular cancer" way too frequently) (and also scarily reminded me of Walter White from Breaking Bad with his shaved head and reddish mustache) (the obvious conclusion is that Jake is a meth dealer) (I'm pretty sure). He also totally reminds me of my little brother in that he doesn't think I'm funny at all let me get away with ANYTHING.

Our first session went well. By well I mean I fully expected to be rehabilitated and back lifting my maxes in less than a week and Jake understood the reality of the situation and CRUSHED MY SOUL with the truth.

An average therapy session starts with 15 minutes of heat, then moves on to a bunch of exercises to strengthen my back and the muscles in my shoulder. I do these exercises under the supervision of one of three techs: Matteo, Tim, or Shane. At home I call them The White Hats because they remind me of the easy-going jock frat boys from college. Their primary job is to make sure I am doing each exercise safely and effectively tell on me to Jake when I ask to up my weights again. These guys are so much fun.

Next is 20 minutes of hands on therapy with Jake while we fight about what I can and can't do at the gym, a short ultrasound treatment (that I'm convinced is going to give me super powers a la Peter Parker and the radioactive spider bite), and finishes with 15 of the best minutes of my life spent in a machine called GAME READY *angel chorus sings*.

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

Game Ready is a cold and compression machine that feels like swimming in McDonald's iced coffee while Tom Hiddleston reads you poetry and calls you "darling" in Loki's voice. I get velcroed (totally a verb) in an arm/shoulder sling and sit while it pulses icy water all around and squeezes my poor, tortured muscles. It feels incredible.

There will be Game Ready in heaven.

So therapy is both awesome and terrible. Awesome because I love the people at the rehab clinic (even Jake but don't tell him), and terrible because they give me one pound dumbbells and I have to make myself *not* act like a disdainfully smug jerk holding them. Also, the ban on lifting has been obeyed by me completely at all times. (That sentence is a lie.)

It's hella hard to watch the months of hard work I put in at the gym disappear. I feel like I'm deflating. I spent the first two months of therapy nodding along to the rules Jake gave me and then going and doing whatever I wanted at the gym. That, of course, is the real reason I'm still hurt.

I'm the worst patient ever and also my own greatest enemy, because me ignoring my therapist has only resulted in him being crazily frustrated with me (picture him super pissed and actually hanging his head while he says, "IT'S JUST THAT YOU ARE CONSTANTLY PUSHING BOUNDARIES" as I sit like a lectured toddler while my bottom lip quivers but also like a petulant teenager while my heart screams, "BUT JAKE, YOU DON'T KNOW MY PAIN." (Of course I mean my figurative pain of being banned from lifting. Duh.)

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

Jake says, "Maaaaaaaybe you can try some wall push ups if you are careful," and I'm all, "I think what Jake meant was bench pressing heavy weight with full range of motion is now approved."  *Enter Lisa Loeb singing, "You say I only hear what I want to."*

About a month ago Kemper put his foot down and basically told me my only job right now is to heal my shoulder. Any muscle building/strength training would have to be secondary to getting my shoulder/chest back. And amazingly, listening to Kemper's directive to rest my shoulder (which Jake had been telling me for *literally* months) actually worked. I'm on the real road to recovery. Finally. Hoorah.

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!

Ch-Ch-Changes

You know how sometimes you have this huge internal struggle that you wrestle with for months?

And when you finally, finally decide "The heck with it; I'm balls in" you can't wait for the opportunity to tell all those you love?

Because you *know* all those you love will be shocked at the leap of faith you are taking?

But when you publicly drop the life-altering, life-changing decision you toiled over, all your friends and family are like, "Yeah, I saw *that* coming a mile away," leaving you wondering, "Am I really such a foregone conclusion?"

So that happened this month.

Yes, I'm talking about the decision to compete in my first powerlifting meet.

(Y'all saw that coming, too, huh?)(Apparently I'm last to the party on this one.)

At a recent training session, Kemper valiantly tried to argue one more time for the merits of going into figure competition. I finally trumped all his subtle coercion with the ultimate deal-breaker for me: modesty. There is no way around that one if I was going to go into figure competition. (Mom Those who may be wondering, figure competition is the one where you put on a tiny bikini and heels and stand on a stage to show the results of your months of strict diet and hardcore training.) Kemper conceded if modesty was my main issue then, um, yeah, figure wasn't going to work for me.

But if not figure, then what did I really want to do? I've spent the last twelve weeks working Kemper's 5x5 strength training plan. It was a total blast and hella effective. Here are the results from twelve weeks training:

Me getting ready to squat 170 x 5
Also, apparently I squat low bar naturally.
Because my traps are weak delicate.

I started the plan at 147.9 pounds (I'm 5' 3.5" tall) and 23.6% body fat.

I benched 65 for reps with a 1 rep max of 95.
I squatted 95 for reps with a 1 rep max of 155.
I deadlifted 115 for reps with a 1 rep max of 165.

Last weigh in I weighed 146 with 20% body fat.

I bench 95 for reps.
I squat 170 for reps.
I deadlift 165 for reps.

I have yet to test my new 1 rep maxes*, but I think it's fair to say Kemper's strength training plan has been fruitful. So what's next?

It's for STRENGTH GAINZ, geez.

The decision to go into powerlifting was hard for one simple, ridiculous reason. The scale. For me it started and ended with knowing I was going to need to change my diet to support my powerlifting goals, which meant I had to be okay with maybe gaining weight. Kemper used fun terminology like "calorie progression" to talk about eating for strength gains but I knew that was really code for "let's make you a nice, strong Chunky Monkey totally fluffified in time for all your Christmas photos". (Confession. The thought of Kemper actually uttering the words "Chunky Monkey" or "fluffified" kinda sets me to snickering.)(But it would be rad.)

This looks nothing like Kemper.
But the expression? Dude.

(Also, Random Thought For Free = I made Brian watch Brian and I watched The Fault In Our Stars Saturday night and Kemper totally has a facial expression twin. The actor that plays Augustus makes so many Kemper faces it kept taking me out of the imaginary world of Hazel Grace and Augustus (that was absolutely destroying me anyway, let's be honest) because I would be all, "Where have I seen that look..." and be mystified for all of three seconds before I was like, "Kemper freaking Sosa."

So what I was trying to say before Augustus Waters hijacked my life yet again, is that it took a fair amount of internal debate and reflection to see if I'm in a place to be able to mentally handle any body image issues that may arise because of bulking  becoming a fluffified Chunky Monkey  calorie progression. Finally I decided, "Dude, stop being a freaking girl and just go for it." So Imma do it.

What's the plan?

Baby Sister/Police Officer Extraordinaire
Full disclosure: Her name is Cassie.
But what kind of second rate older
sister would let the golden opportunity
pass to drop the nickname "Casshole"?
Not this one.

Firstly, I'm taking a three week break just to have fun. I'm sticking with the general outline of my strength plan (Mondays = chest and arms, Tuesday = yoga and sometimes run, Wednesday - deadlift and back, Thursday = chest/arms/HIIT, Friday = rest, Saturday = LEG DAY, Sunday = abs and HIIT) but I'm trying out a bunch of new-to-me exercises and machines. I'm training with Rachel Who Looks Like Meg Ryan on Mondays (and some Thursdays) and Powerlifter Sara on some Wednesdays and Saturdays. I trained with my baby sister (the beautiful and strong Casshole) last Thursday at LA Fitness. I'm playing around with stances and grips and throwing up new weights just because I can. HOORAH.

I'll meet with Kemper the first week of October to go over THE NEW TRAINING PROGRAM. You know, the one that prepares me for my first ever powerlifting meet. *throws up in my mouth a little from fear* I found a meet in January that is relatively close by; unfortunately it is only a push/pull competition, which means I will only be doing bench press and deadlift. (No squatting this time.)(Which I actually think might be a nice way to ease into this sport.) I'll start The New Training Program October 13, which gives me roughly 12 weeks to prepare. I'm also attending a meet in Grand Rapids, Michigan on October 11 to see Powerlifter Sara compete, which will give me some idea of what to expect when it's my turn.

I'm nervous, guys. I'm freaking out a little. I'm worried I may be the weakest person there. I'm worried I won't make my lifts. But this is good freaking out, and healthy fear. This is the fear that pushes me to try new things, to be better. These are the nerves that challenge my Navy Seal dreams. Second place is FIRST LOSER.

In conclusion, (I love that dropping that phrase always makes me feel like I've actually made some cohesive points) here is a picture of me hitting a new PR for deadlift on Sunday morning that has nothing to do with any of this post, and everything with just wanting to post a ginormous picture of myself deadlifting TWO HUNDRED POUNDS.

True story about this picture: Lifetime Fitness is relatively empty at 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning, which made it the perfect time to play around with a sumo deadlift stance and see how much I could lift. I did some light sets of ten reps to warm up (at 95# and 115#) and then started rocking out two reps every 10#-20# increase. My previous 1 rep max lift was 165#; after Kemper's strength training plan I could do 2-3 sets of 5 reps each at 165#. But I'd never done more than that. When I got to 175# it was a big deal. A NEW PR! But I kept going. 185#. Then 190#. I was all, "THAT'S A 25# PR!" Then I thought, "A 30# PR would be nicer." So I did it. Then I reasoned, "I'm only 5 measly pounds away from 200 - which is a really nice number." So I pulled 200# and freaked the heck out.
 Then I proceeded to ask every single person within a fifty foot radius if they had a camera with them and would someone pretty please with a cherry on top take a picture (because: proof) and email it to me?!?!
Thankfully my new best friend Toni (a.k.a. previously a perfect stranger) ran down to the locker room (oh yes, she did) to grab her phone and take the lovely shot above which she emailed to me because she loves and supports other women who lift. And I am super, super grateful.
The End.

Five on Friday: Before and After Pics

1.

This is my basement before the Great Sewage Flood Clean Up of 2014: 

So much floating...

Everything floooooooats...

This is my basement after the Great Sewage Flood Clean Up of 2014:

"Kel - that's an AMAZING home gym! I can't believe your friends Mike and Jenny gave that to you! And what's that other stuff? Did someone also give you a stationary bike *and* a punching bag?!"
"I know, right? My friends are AMAZING."

"What about all those new dumbbells and adjustable dumbbells? And the curl bar?"
"They were gifts from my Aunt Bonnie and my friend Gerry."

"Is that an adjustable bench (with a plate rack thing and a ton of other stuff you probably don't even know how to describe) that someone GAVE YOU FOR FREE?!"
"Yep. Gerry is the jam."

2.

This is Esther before the I'm Tired Of All These Snarls And The Resulting Tantrums When I Brush Her Hair Haircut:

Finally lost her first tooth!

This is Esther after the I'm Tired Of All These Snarls And The Resulting Tantrums When I Brush Her Hair Haircut:

Fantastic Sams is fantastic. (Also, don't hate on FS; $11.00, yo.)

3.

This is the Living Room before we turned it into the Homeschool Room (post flood when all our crap had to be stored upstairs):

"Um, wow Kel, it's totally like you were a hoarder."
"Post flood I was ready to call A&E myself."

This is the Living Room after IKEA threw up all over it we turned it into the Homeschool Room:

SCHOOL IS AMAZING!

So studious. Much learning.

4.

This is my lovely toe before Hosanna a child dropped a ten pound dumbbell on it:

All sweet and unsuspecting.

This is my lovely toe after Hosanna a child dropped a ten pound dumbbell on it:

Three days out. Oh, and even after having four kiddos, a dumbbell on the toenail = the WORST pain I've experienced in my life. Sometime I'll share the horror story that is drilling into your own toenail with a safety pin to release the blood in the hopes of saving it.

5.

These are my lovely Sister Wives and I before we grew another year hotter wiser:

Sister Wife Rachel, Sister Wife Lyndsay, me, Sister Wife Rose
September 2013

These are my lovely Sister Wives and I after we grew another year hotter wiser:

Rachel, Lynds, me, and Rose
September 2014
(*Bonus points if you spotted my bandaged toe*)

Happy Friday!

When Hate is a Good Thing

Powerlifter Sara and I have created a new rating scale on which to judge a particular workout. Since she pushes me so hard while we are lifting, it's based roughly on how much I hate her the following day. It ranks as follows.

Hate

Loathe

Detest

Abhor

Despise

Our very first leg workout earned a DESPISE level, so it's become the standard against which I measure all other workouts. Nothing has come close to that first workout. Then, this weekend happened... *enter ominous music*

On Saturday we met to have a lovely little squat session. Kemper's* strength training plan called for squatting, leg press, lunges, and a superset of hamstring curls and single leg bridge extensions. (Normally I view leg press as a throw away because it's not squatting I don't really enjoy it as much as squatting. Sara, however, is a leg press DOMINATOR. She can leg press over a thousand pounds, which means she pretty much maxes out all the machines at Lifetime.) 

I ran a half mile to warm up and then met Sara on the seated leg press. She had me do 4 sets of 8 reps as heavy as I could handle. She told me to push through my heels so I would feel it in my quads as much as possible. The weight was heavy enough that the last few reps of each set I could only concentrate on breathing and pushing and lowering the weight. Then, because Sara is a BEAST she had us do single leg presses. I dropped the weight in half and did three sets of ten reps with each leg. My quads were quivering. (That sounds like the title of a really bad powerlifting romance novel.)(Note to self: Quivering Quads as a debut novel?)

Next we headed over to the squat rack where HISTORY WAS MADE.

It started like any other squat session. I did some leg swings (even though I was really warmed up from leg press, I'm a creature of habit) and some hip openers. I squatted the bar 10 times, focusing on form and explosiveness. I did the same with 6 reps of 95 pounds. Then we went straight from warm up to our working set. It went a little something like this:

1 set of 5 reps at 135. 1 set of 5 reps at 145. Start to feel nervous because the heaviest weight I've ever squatted reps at is 150. Start to think about the 3 full sets ahead of us. Feel like maybe I should try to convince Sara we should do another set of 145 so we don't get too ahead of ourselves. Attempt to enforce this plan. Am FULL ON DENIED as Sara takes us up to 150.

Do 1 set of 5 reps at 150. Smile like a neeeerd because 150 was easy. Do 1 set of 5 reps at 155. Do 1 set of 5 reps at 160. Freak out because *that* is a new PR. Look at Sara. Her eyes are twinkling and she says, "Let's do ten more. 170."

Thinking about it. "Dude, it's just 170. It's only 25 pounds more than your entire body weight. You got this or you might crap your pants."

This is the moment my career as a booty dancer in rap videos started.
#dattushiedoe
#tushie because #suburbanmom

Sara put down the camera to spot me on this lift because one hundred and seventy pounds but guys? I squatted 5 full reps at 170 pounds. PR #2 of the session.

Next was walking lunges (I used 25# dumbbells and we walked the length of the free weights back and forth twice) and then superset 3 sets of hamstring curls and single leg bridge extensions. My hamstrings were screaming at me during the last set.

We finished up the workout with some cardio. I ran on the treadmill while chatting with Sara. I daydreamed slightly about iced coffee, and realized that since it was LEG DAY I was totally going to go to McDonalds and get it. Lifting: making your daydreams a reality.

I waited all the next day for the workout to rate DESPISE level, but it never got there. Part of me thinks it was because I spent a fair amount of time foam rolling and stretching afterwards, and part of me thinks it was the BCAA's I've been taking after my big lifting days. (Also, don't tell Kemper because maybe I haven't asked him about that yet.)(But I am feeling a difference since I added BCAA's to my post workout regimen.)(I just giggled because I have an actual post workout regimen.)

Even with the Squat PR this workout only rated a solid LOATHE on our super scientific scale. Which is still really really awesome.

Today is a rest day which means yoga is happening. *Commence happy dancing* 

Enjoy your day, y'all!

This is Super Fine Brother
Oscar's Little Brother Kemper.
He's fit, fun, and a family man.

*Laaaaaaadies - Kemp is on the market. And since you all have been so quick to inquire about Kemper's Super Fine Brother Oscar (three marriage proposals!)(I'm a little disappointed there weren't more)(because he's totally Super Fine)(and a good hugger)(and plays guitar), I would be remiss if I neglected to mention that Kemper is *enter my singsong voice* avaaaaaailable. Email your proposals to Sublurbanmama@gmail.com  (If this results in an actual relationship I am charging Kemp a finder's fee and I get to sing at the wedding. I can rock out some Ave Maria like nobody's bidness.)

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.