Do you ever have those moments when you realize that you just might be the smartest person in the world? Instead of having a "light bulb" moment where a little flicker of clarity just shined down on you, you have this moment of utter certainty that outshines that little flicker of light and the whiteness of Gary Busey's teethy smile (it was brighter in the 80's)? Yeah, me too. They don't happen everyday, but when they do, Holy Moly Genius! Those moments are often short lived and cancelled out when I follow them with something like getting emotionally involved in an episode of Jerry Springer or struggling to spell the word restaurant (I hate that word; I always want to put a 'r' after the t). Anyway, I'm a genius. I say this because I have developed a new philosophy which has completely altered how I am living my life. Okay, here it goes: I refuse to live a lifestyle to sustain a body type, but I will sustain a body type to live a lifestyle. And the crowd goes wild! Go ahead, put it on a shirt with some confusing anime art and cut me a check. How simple is that thought? Oh wait, a better word, how HEALTHY is that thought?
Now, this can be interpreted in many different ways, so for the sake of me, take it how I mean it. For years I have obsessed over losing weight and trying to get a particular look. What look would that be? Well, the stereotypical basics would be ideal: long, lean cellulite less legs, Oprah-wing free arms (that part of your arm that flaps back and forth when you wave, and if you don't know what I'm talking about, then I kinda hate you, and if you're looking at your arms right now and flapping them, high five!!!!) a butt that could be mistaken for a volleyball, a stomach that is so lean and flat that I wouldn't lose my belly button when I sit down, and so forth... And then I recently woke up and realized that I am 5'1, and the span of my hand (tip of middle finger to tip of thumb when spread out) covers the distance of my armpit to hip; yep, short torso for this girl. That's not all, though. Besides the fact that I will never get taller, I like food!!! Even more than that, I like being active in many different ways!!!
I'm a beast! I love to lift!!! I'm talking about weights, of course, or your spirits :) But I feel so empowered when flipping the tractor tire, or doing weighted dips, or squatting a line backer. Needless to say, I have come to terms with the fact that I will never be 'that girl' that I have tried to be because that body type does not match my activities. I still have a serious fat roll occurrence from my midsection when I sit down; I swear, there are no jokes when I say that my belly button disappears into some unknown abyss. Cellulite: I got it, baby, everywhere! My husband says he loves my dimples, so I'm just giving him more to love. Thigh jiggle, heck, I turned it into a Zumba move. I will never be a size two but I will always be able to bench press someone that is.
With the build of my body - short and curvylicious - I would have to totally switch gears when it comes to what I eat and how I work out. And since I don't know how to drive a straight drive, I'm pretty good staying with my simplified automatic and doing what genuinely brings me pleasure: eating well balanced meals and completing regimens of cardio and weight lifting for my workouts. Oh heavens, I can't imagine, I'd probably have to run to Raleigh everyday while maintaining a diet of coffee and laxatives. As tempting as that is, I'm gonna have to say no.
As much as I want to still be a prim, pretty, priss-pot (a what?) and strut "perfection" everywhere, I just don't think my level of personal happiness would be where it is now. Yes, sister on the cover of every mag, that dress/bikini/outfit/scandal/drug addiction looks great on you, but that's you, and this is me. I am going to eat my foods to fuel my habit. Please, I make weight lifting look good...hahahhahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah, just joking, hahahahahahahahahhhhhhaaaaaaahhhahahahahahahhahahhaa, okay, I'm good. No, but seriously, think about it for me, will ya? Make a promise to yourself that you are going to choose to live your life, and make your look match your life, not your life matching your look. That was weird wording, but I don't care...I just ate some leftover Waffle House hashbrowns, and I think I OD on them....feeling full, satisfied, and a little ignorant.
It's time to be realistic, but more importantly, it's time to be healthy. So for all of you ladies out there who look at me and my blessed perfection and workout or diet with the intentions to master my art of having a cottage cheese booty, my tornado thighs (oh yeah, sister, I totally bypassed thunder and went straight to tornado because once they get to moving, there is no stopping them...holy wind draft), or my magical disappearing belly button, well, too bad. This is my body, and you have yours, a beautiful/flawless/unique/perfect one. I'm doing what I need to do to keep my full figured look (Waffle House hashbrowns...that was tough); this look may not be what looks best on me, but it's the one that feels best on me.
So, right about now, you're probably saying, "Yes, Abigail, you are a genius." And I am saying to you that you're telling what I already know, but I'll act modest anyway. And if you feel that this info is worthless, then please know that I can easily hurl kettle bell in your face. But now I must return to perfecting my body by finding more hashbrowns.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
I'll Have My Cake and Eat It Too, and Then Your's, and Your's, and That Piece...
Food is one of my favorite topics ever. This should not come as a surprise to anyone. Something that I absolutely love about me is that I have absolutely no food standards at all which leads to always having extreme enjoyment when dining. I am definitely not to be confused with these haughty-taughty food critics that claim angels sing because they just ate the insides of a twenty year aged snail drizzled in blood of a blue eyed virgin. Nope, not this girl. I'm not saying that I'll eat whatever you pull out of your couch cushions right now (I will if it's in a wrapper), but my taste buds definitely have no standards. Wa-la...food happiness all the time.
However, I do restrict myself like crazy, but only when company is present. I will do my oh-this-is-so-amazing-you-just-have-to-try-this dance in my chair every time I eat a plate of broccoli because I truly enjoy it that much. But if I took the chance to order what I wanted instead of what I feel that I should have, I'd venture to say that someone would have to pull me off the top of the table!! So, why, Abigail, do you restrict yourself and deny yourself a simple enjoyment? I dunno. I'm scared, I guess. With this easy breezy food enjoyment, I also have food anxiety. For those who know me are probably thinking, "Yeah, okay, Abigail, I've seen you eat, and you restrict yourself from food as well as Charlie Sheen restricts himself from dollar beer night, middle school girls, or headlines." I know, I know, but that's the food anxiety kicking in. There are those of us who get so nervous around buffets, covered dishes, holiday dinners, and get togethers that we over indulge. So even though you just saw me scarf down anything that doesn't require a fork (brownies, mini quiches, cheese cubes, chips, cookies, fruit, spaghetti...I promise you don't need a fork for spaghetti) that was still me restricting myself. If you could only see what I really wanted!!! Such as pulling up a chair to the buffett table and going to town. "Hey, if I'm going to "mess up," I'm going to "mess up" big time!!" It doesn't have to be that way...
It's safe to say that I have an unhealthy relationship with food. Food is my go to for all things happy and all things sad...and all things sleepy...and all things bored...and all things angry...and the list goes on and on. I can't ever eat to satisfy a hunger; there always seems to be some hidden agenda to it. But today's focus is on the over indulging and how to avoid it, it's easy. It's called EAT WHAT YOU WANT. What? That's crazy? Eat what I want? Pffffftttt! No, seriously, eat what you want and you'll finally be satisfied. That's how everything else in life works, right? "I want snow..." Bam...there's fourteen inches. Fourteen inches is amazing on that first day, but then what happens Haywood County residents? By the end of the week, we're using a whole lotta four letter adjectives when yelling at the newly settled golf ball sized flakes that have intentions of barricading us in our homes, forcing us to exercise every option of entertainment from books to board games to dressing our cats like the flying apes in The Wizard of Oz (what? don't judge me). My point, too much snow!
Do you want that doughnut? Well, you can't have it because it's mine...and that one too...just go get your own. Okay, now that you have your own, you can enjoy it. Don't inhale it, experience the pleasure it has to offer. If you sit and eat a dozen, you're either going to enter a diabetic coma, or just not feel so well (not me, I have no limit when it comes to this deep fried glazed wonder). That's because you just got too much of a good thing. But eating just one when you want just one is legal. No stupid little size negative calorie cop, who I'll probably call a skank later, will jump out from the doughnut case and force you to do lunges around the store while waving a sign that reads "Forgive me, I'm human." If you're telling yourself that you shouldn't eat a doughnut every day, I promise that as time goes on, you'll grow use to it and want it less. And if you're still unsure of this method, try this: it's just food! That's all. It doesn't have to get so complicated. There are women out there who in thirty minutes can get ready for work, pack their kids' lunches, sign report cards, walk the dog, pay the cable bill, do a load of laundry-dishes-bullcrap, make the beds, diffuse a massive argument about who-touched-who first, kiss their husband goodbye, and that's all before eight a.m. However, these same women will stare at their child's left over grilled cheese and gummy snacks for forty-five minutes before making a move...scared to eat just one bite...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I went to Whitman's Bakery with my sister today, and I got a little anxious because I didn't know if I could trust myself ordering. Even though I wanted to tell them to give me the entire left side of the menu times four, minus the date bars, I got an eclair. Yep, one eclair, and I let myself enjoy it. I was satisfied; I didn't feel like a food sinner. The eclair was not the forbidden fruit. I didn't introduce the world to sin, nor did I go up four sizes in my jeans. I allowed myself to have a relaxing moment with my sister over a pastry...no anxiety welcomed!!! And because I didn't treat it as a complicated how-many-miles-will-I-have-to-run situation, it wasn't. If you want it, then eat it, but here's the difficult part, shut up! Don't ruin the experience with a guilt trip. You can't go back in time and undo something that is stupidly innocent. So, with that being said, I believe I want something from the kitchen...hmmm...coffee...with full fat creamer...and I'm gonna get it!
Now, the topic of food will be covered in too many posts; yeah, too many. Food shouldn't get that much attention, but I just have way too many opinions about how women look at food, and since my opinion beats all, you shall hear it!
However, I do restrict myself like crazy, but only when company is present. I will do my oh-this-is-so-amazing-you-just-have-to-try-this dance in my chair every time I eat a plate of broccoli because I truly enjoy it that much. But if I took the chance to order what I wanted instead of what I feel that I should have, I'd venture to say that someone would have to pull me off the top of the table!! So, why, Abigail, do you restrict yourself and deny yourself a simple enjoyment? I dunno. I'm scared, I guess. With this easy breezy food enjoyment, I also have food anxiety. For those who know me are probably thinking, "Yeah, okay, Abigail, I've seen you eat, and you restrict yourself from food as well as Charlie Sheen restricts himself from dollar beer night, middle school girls, or headlines." I know, I know, but that's the food anxiety kicking in. There are those of us who get so nervous around buffets, covered dishes, holiday dinners, and get togethers that we over indulge. So even though you just saw me scarf down anything that doesn't require a fork (brownies, mini quiches, cheese cubes, chips, cookies, fruit, spaghetti...I promise you don't need a fork for spaghetti) that was still me restricting myself. If you could only see what I really wanted!!! Such as pulling up a chair to the buffett table and going to town. "Hey, if I'm going to "mess up," I'm going to "mess up" big time!!" It doesn't have to be that way...
It's safe to say that I have an unhealthy relationship with food. Food is my go to for all things happy and all things sad...and all things sleepy...and all things bored...and all things angry...and the list goes on and on. I can't ever eat to satisfy a hunger; there always seems to be some hidden agenda to it. But today's focus is on the over indulging and how to avoid it, it's easy. It's called EAT WHAT YOU WANT. What? That's crazy? Eat what I want? Pffffftttt! No, seriously, eat what you want and you'll finally be satisfied. That's how everything else in life works, right? "I want snow..." Bam...there's fourteen inches. Fourteen inches is amazing on that first day, but then what happens Haywood County residents? By the end of the week, we're using a whole lotta four letter adjectives when yelling at the newly settled golf ball sized flakes that have intentions of barricading us in our homes, forcing us to exercise every option of entertainment from books to board games to dressing our cats like the flying apes in The Wizard of Oz (what? don't judge me). My point, too much snow!
Do you want that doughnut? Well, you can't have it because it's mine...and that one too...just go get your own. Okay, now that you have your own, you can enjoy it. Don't inhale it, experience the pleasure it has to offer. If you sit and eat a dozen, you're either going to enter a diabetic coma, or just not feel so well (not me, I have no limit when it comes to this deep fried glazed wonder). That's because you just got too much of a good thing. But eating just one when you want just one is legal. No stupid little size negative calorie cop, who I'll probably call a skank later, will jump out from the doughnut case and force you to do lunges around the store while waving a sign that reads "Forgive me, I'm human." If you're telling yourself that you shouldn't eat a doughnut every day, I promise that as time goes on, you'll grow use to it and want it less. And if you're still unsure of this method, try this: it's just food! That's all. It doesn't have to get so complicated. There are women out there who in thirty minutes can get ready for work, pack their kids' lunches, sign report cards, walk the dog, pay the cable bill, do a load of laundry-dishes-bullcrap, make the beds, diffuse a massive argument about who-touched-who first, kiss their husband goodbye, and that's all before eight a.m. However, these same women will stare at their child's left over grilled cheese and gummy snacks for forty-five minutes before making a move...scared to eat just one bite...ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I went to Whitman's Bakery with my sister today, and I got a little anxious because I didn't know if I could trust myself ordering. Even though I wanted to tell them to give me the entire left side of the menu times four, minus the date bars, I got an eclair. Yep, one eclair, and I let myself enjoy it. I was satisfied; I didn't feel like a food sinner. The eclair was not the forbidden fruit. I didn't introduce the world to sin, nor did I go up four sizes in my jeans. I allowed myself to have a relaxing moment with my sister over a pastry...no anxiety welcomed!!! And because I didn't treat it as a complicated how-many-miles-will-I-have-to-run situation, it wasn't. If you want it, then eat it, but here's the difficult part, shut up! Don't ruin the experience with a guilt trip. You can't go back in time and undo something that is stupidly innocent. So, with that being said, I believe I want something from the kitchen...hmmm...coffee...with full fat creamer...and I'm gonna get it!
Now, the topic of food will be covered in too many posts; yeah, too many. Food shouldn't get that much attention, but I just have way too many opinions about how women look at food, and since my opinion beats all, you shall hear it!
Friday, July 15, 2011
I'm Two Awesome (haha...pun totally intended)
And now for a little brainstorming! Tell me, my lovely darlings, how familiar are you with some of these expressions, phrases, facts, or questions:
May I have the last four digits of your SSN?
Just gimme your cell number!
How many miles does it have?
And now let's check your heart rate...
I'm hating the gas prices...
Yes, I want a #1, a #3, and add a milkshake.
How many credit hours did you complete this semester?
Rinse and repeat.
Well, America has voted!
BOGO!!!!
And let me tell you about the interest rate...
On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the best...
94 % fat-free
Date of Birth:
We waited hours in line.
What's the score?
Hi, welcome to Chili's! How many is in your party?
Octamom
I clocked you going 75 in a 40.
Your blood pressure is...
GPA:
It had how many hits?
Please turn to page number...
The amount of debt you have...geesh!
Congrats on the race! What was your time?
How many sides do I get with the entree?
You must be 48 inches tall to ride this ride.
How much money should I leave for a tip?
I need to get my credit score checked.
Do 3 sets of 10 four times at least three days this week.
The recommened number of hours for sleep is 6-7.
Mailing Address:
I graduated number 34 in my class.
Look at that! Do you know how frustrating it is to be over the top horribly bad at math when the world functions on numbers?!? I once took the GRE and then they sent me my scores (more numbers) with the percentage of those who scored under me. I had a single digit percentage in math for those who scored lower than I did because my score was soooooo low that the single digit percentage won a hypothetical game of limbo for getting under mine. It probably pulled it's poor percentage back out (ha, how's that for some alliteration...take that math). There's no excuse for me being bad at math because the use of numbers is everywhere. I want you to brainstorm and think about how many important life decisions were made because of what the numbers were. Your success is measured numerically...that can't be argued. It's proven as early as your GPA and follows you all the way to your income. Some people are lucky and land a gravy job without any effort, and they live this gravy kinda life. By gravy life I mean that it looks really good, but the "gravy" is full of gelatinous lumps (aka debt), a questionable skin (aka ignorance), and unidentifiable meat products (aka moments that end on The Maury Show), and then there are those of us who are awesome at our jobs and get paid with I Owe You's, a big thanks to the state of North Carolina for that one. (I apologize for offending gravy.)
We, the frustrated ones, can't help but feel like our personal success is measured by numbers, too. How many calories does that have? How many miles did you run today? What's your jean size? What's your BMI? How much weight have you lost? How much weight have you gained? What percentage of fat is from calories? How many servings are in that bag? How many diets have you tried? How many inches is your waist? How many times did you mentally box yourself in the gut for thinking about a craving that you'll refuse to indulge in while working out in a sauna at what temperture wrapped in how many plastic bags while lifting twenty-five lb weights during your Insanity Workout at four in the morning after having lost three hours of sleep because you feel guilty for tasting a fat-free bread crumb? TOO MANY TIMES, but the bread crumb was totally worth it!
Yes, I admit it; there are times when I feel only as good the number on the scale, and I'm never happy with the number. What kind of spiral am I creating for myself? Not a healthy one! But I can't help it because everything else in life is defined by a number. For instance, ladies, if you didn't know what I looked like and you saw these numbers describing me, what would you think? I'm 5'9", 117 lbs, size 0 jeans, 34 C.....oh, I can't even go on because I hate her! The only time a 0 has been on my jeans is when it followed a 1, and that's when I was skinny. Seriously, those numbers make me want to punch a man in the face. Holy soapbox moment diverted...
I'm bad at math, so I'm an English Teacher (I mean, I still sucked at English, but not as much as math. Be prepared to spot errors upon errors because I refuse to proofread myself. It's summer break for crying outloud). I love words, not numbers. So today, I am making a declaration: From here on out, I will not be defined as a number. This past Saturday, I weighed in and I didn't like what I saw, but a close girlfriend gave me positive words, and you know what? I listened, and I didn't let the number get to me. However, my inner fat kid doesn't always provide me with nice words, so that causes an internal struggle (future blog post). Even when the scale says what I want it to, it still does not define Abigail. Puh-lease, do you think the awesomeness of Abigail Newton can be measured by a number...? Uhhhhhhh, are you really thinking about that? Is that something that you just had to contemplate...get to steppin'. Anyway, there is a time to celebrate a number and there is a time to ignore it. Celebrate that you have how many supportive friends and family; celebrate the moments when you laughed until you peed yourself; celebrate all those days when you are physically able to get up and do something; celebrate you and your age!
My husband tells me everyday that I'm beautiful...and even though that phrase consists of two words, the meaning behind them can't be measured by anything. When I hear those words, I become them. I'm not a number on a scale, I'm beautiful, and so are you. I challenge you to surrender your number obsession!!
May I have the last four digits of your SSN?
Just gimme your cell number!
How many miles does it have?
And now let's check your heart rate...
I'm hating the gas prices...
Yes, I want a #1, a #3, and add a milkshake.
How many credit hours did you complete this semester?
Rinse and repeat.
Well, America has voted!
BOGO!!!!
And let me tell you about the interest rate...
On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the best...
94 % fat-free
Date of Birth:
We waited hours in line.
What's the score?
Hi, welcome to Chili's! How many is in your party?
Octamom
I clocked you going 75 in a 40.
Your blood pressure is...
GPA:
It had how many hits?
Please turn to page number...
The amount of debt you have...geesh!
Congrats on the race! What was your time?
How many sides do I get with the entree?
You must be 48 inches tall to ride this ride.
How much money should I leave for a tip?
I need to get my credit score checked.
Do 3 sets of 10 four times at least three days this week.
The recommened number of hours for sleep is 6-7.
Mailing Address:
I graduated number 34 in my class.
Look at that! Do you know how frustrating it is to be over the top horribly bad at math when the world functions on numbers?!? I once took the GRE and then they sent me my scores (more numbers) with the percentage of those who scored under me. I had a single digit percentage in math for those who scored lower than I did because my score was soooooo low that the single digit percentage won a hypothetical game of limbo for getting under mine. It probably pulled it's poor percentage back out (ha, how's that for some alliteration...take that math). There's no excuse for me being bad at math because the use of numbers is everywhere. I want you to brainstorm and think about how many important life decisions were made because of what the numbers were. Your success is measured numerically...that can't be argued. It's proven as early as your GPA and follows you all the way to your income. Some people are lucky and land a gravy job without any effort, and they live this gravy kinda life. By gravy life I mean that it looks really good, but the "gravy" is full of gelatinous lumps (aka debt), a questionable skin (aka ignorance), and unidentifiable meat products (aka moments that end on The Maury Show), and then there are those of us who are awesome at our jobs and get paid with I Owe You's, a big thanks to the state of North Carolina for that one. (I apologize for offending gravy.)
We, the frustrated ones, can't help but feel like our personal success is measured by numbers, too. How many calories does that have? How many miles did you run today? What's your jean size? What's your BMI? How much weight have you lost? How much weight have you gained? What percentage of fat is from calories? How many servings are in that bag? How many diets have you tried? How many inches is your waist? How many times did you mentally box yourself in the gut for thinking about a craving that you'll refuse to indulge in while working out in a sauna at what temperture wrapped in how many plastic bags while lifting twenty-five lb weights during your Insanity Workout at four in the morning after having lost three hours of sleep because you feel guilty for tasting a fat-free bread crumb? TOO MANY TIMES, but the bread crumb was totally worth it!
Yes, I admit it; there are times when I feel only as good the number on the scale, and I'm never happy with the number. What kind of spiral am I creating for myself? Not a healthy one! But I can't help it because everything else in life is defined by a number. For instance, ladies, if you didn't know what I looked like and you saw these numbers describing me, what would you think? I'm 5'9", 117 lbs, size 0 jeans, 34 C.....oh, I can't even go on because I hate her! The only time a 0 has been on my jeans is when it followed a 1, and that's when I was skinny. Seriously, those numbers make me want to punch a man in the face. Holy soapbox moment diverted...
I'm bad at math, so I'm an English Teacher (I mean, I still sucked at English, but not as much as math. Be prepared to spot errors upon errors because I refuse to proofread myself. It's summer break for crying outloud). I love words, not numbers. So today, I am making a declaration: From here on out, I will not be defined as a number. This past Saturday, I weighed in and I didn't like what I saw, but a close girlfriend gave me positive words, and you know what? I listened, and I didn't let the number get to me. However, my inner fat kid doesn't always provide me with nice words, so that causes an internal struggle (future blog post). Even when the scale says what I want it to, it still does not define Abigail. Puh-lease, do you think the awesomeness of Abigail Newton can be measured by a number...? Uhhhhhhh, are you really thinking about that? Is that something that you just had to contemplate...get to steppin'. Anyway, there is a time to celebrate a number and there is a time to ignore it. Celebrate that you have how many supportive friends and family; celebrate the moments when you laughed until you peed yourself; celebrate all those days when you are physically able to get up and do something; celebrate you and your age!
My husband tells me everyday that I'm beautiful...and even though that phrase consists of two words, the meaning behind them can't be measured by anything. When I hear those words, I become them. I'm not a number on a scale, I'm beautiful, and so are you. I challenge you to surrender your number obsession!!
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Interrupting a Thought with a Thought
I was just writing a new post when a thought came to me, and I felt it urgent to switch gears. I just want to say thank you to all those who have been reading these posts. Not only the reading, but the many conversations that I am honored to have with everyone pertaining to this topic. I love being at the gym and being approached about all the genius (haha) I have to offer. It's theraputic for me to put my thoughts into words, but to know that others are relating to the countless hours spent weighing lettuce leaves makes it that much more worth it. So I just want to say thank you to all my mirror hating, fat avoiding, calorie counting, treadmill training, cellulite obsessing, "skank" watching, body comparing, self destructive followers (and I say that with so much love). You know I've got your back because I know you got allllllll of mine...there's a whole lot back there...I advise the use of a fork lift ;)
*Thanks to you ladies for your comments following the posts. I tried to respond and it wouldn't let me. So know this...you're beautiful...it's that simple!!!
**New post coming up super soon...as quick as my jean size..grrrr
*Thanks to you ladies for your comments following the posts. I tried to respond and it wouldn't let me. So know this...you're beautiful...it's that simple!!!
**New post coming up super soon...as quick as my jean size..grrrr
Friday, July 8, 2011
"Love Me, Praise Me, Thank Me..." Oh, Hush Your Face...Unless...
Students can do one of two things: cause me to have a drinking problem, or on a more positive note, exceed any expectation I ever had for them. With that being said, I have really developed an appreciation for an icy cold "beverage." Seriously though, I love being a teacher, but something that drives me nuts is when students want to be praised for doing what life expects from them, like existing. Apparently, being alive is exhausting and requires a huge pat on the back. For instance, a typical response that I have recieved after having asked a student why they didn't complete an assignment is this: "Uhhhhhh (eyeroll...the most dramatic one ever!!!) well, I was soooo busy last night. After school, I had to go to my locker, get my books, walk to the school bus, go home, and like I had to open the door and take off my shoes, and then I had to eat because I was STARVING, and so I walked all the way to the kitchen, and I searched through the pantry, but then I remembered a candy bar in my bag, so I walked all the way back to the front door, but I was interrupted by a severe itch in the middle of my back, and I couldn't reach it, so I found a corner on the wall, and while I was trying to scratch my back..." I think you get the point. I find it ironic that they can give me forty-five minutes of brain numbing excuses about how they were so "busy" but then when I ask them to write a journal entry describing their weekend, they are all the suddenly cursed with the most eventless life ever.
Just because you're not in high school anymore doesn't mean that you still don't do this. Heck, I do it everyday, and do you know how I know?...I'm a list maker. Yep, I make a To-Do List. About 2% of the To-Do List is there to keep me focused and about 98% of the list gives me bragging rights about what I accomplished. It can get bad, though. I think I have literally put Brush Teeth on the list, which doesn't make me that much better than my students. We live in a world where we want to be praised for every little thing that we do, even if it is what is expected! "Please, tell me I'm awesome because I got dressed, went to work, and provided for my family." Those are the people I want to karate chop in the goozle.
How is it, though, that we want acknowledgement for everything from everybody, but we can't give it to ourselves when it is deserved? We are our own worst critics. No one sets the bar higher for ourselves than we do. Teaching aerobics and strength training classes has given me the opportunity to have amazing relationships with fellow gym goers, and I have had intimate conversations with all of them. Each person disregards how much weight they've lost, how much energy they've gained, the new drive they've acquired, and they focus on how much more they have to do or what they have yet to do. Why can't those be our sixteen-year-old-I-didn't-do-my-homework-because-I-was-so-busy moments and go into a long list of things they have done?
Being the best hypocrite I can be, I do this often. Everyday I tell my husband a list of things I didn't get done, or I tell him all the ways I cheated on my "diet" or how I slacked at the gym. I tell my friends how much weight I still have to lose, how many miles I haven't run, how many classes I missed, all while shaking my thighs back in forth to create the jello mold look of jiggle to prove how fat they are. Why can't I focus on the fact that I have lost the amount of two toddlers in the past few years; I have run countless races; I can bench press my mom! People, this is coming from a girl who once lived a day where she didn't get off the couch for ten straight hours and ate cake batter out of the bowl all because she was too lazy to do the dishes to clean the cake pans from the cake she ate the day before! Yeah, that was me...I'm proud and sickened all at once when I think of that day. Anyway, I can't tell you how far I have come, but my inner fat kid still tells me how far I have to go. Please, let go of those everyday chores you want noted by others. Great, you fed your dog! (S)he and I are both grateful that you're doing your part to be a decent pet owner. Focus on the "real" that you have done and lavish in those accomplishments. I have "been there, done that" and my inner fat kid often lets me forget the journey I have taken to make that type of life my past, not my present. But I know better, and I just need to practice it. Celebrate the you now, not the you yesterday, not the you you see for yourself down the road, but the you today. Because the you today is the you I have to ineract with, and if you bum me out, you will get karate chopped in the the goozle.
Just because you're not in high school anymore doesn't mean that you still don't do this. Heck, I do it everyday, and do you know how I know?...I'm a list maker. Yep, I make a To-Do List. About 2% of the To-Do List is there to keep me focused and about 98% of the list gives me bragging rights about what I accomplished. It can get bad, though. I think I have literally put Brush Teeth on the list, which doesn't make me that much better than my students. We live in a world where we want to be praised for every little thing that we do, even if it is what is expected! "Please, tell me I'm awesome because I got dressed, went to work, and provided for my family." Those are the people I want to karate chop in the goozle.
How is it, though, that we want acknowledgement for everything from everybody, but we can't give it to ourselves when it is deserved? We are our own worst critics. No one sets the bar higher for ourselves than we do. Teaching aerobics and strength training classes has given me the opportunity to have amazing relationships with fellow gym goers, and I have had intimate conversations with all of them. Each person disregards how much weight they've lost, how much energy they've gained, the new drive they've acquired, and they focus on how much more they have to do or what they have yet to do. Why can't those be our sixteen-year-old-I-didn't-do-my-homework-because-I-was-so-busy moments and go into a long list of things they have done?
Being the best hypocrite I can be, I do this often. Everyday I tell my husband a list of things I didn't get done, or I tell him all the ways I cheated on my "diet" or how I slacked at the gym. I tell my friends how much weight I still have to lose, how many miles I haven't run, how many classes I missed, all while shaking my thighs back in forth to create the jello mold look of jiggle to prove how fat they are. Why can't I focus on the fact that I have lost the amount of two toddlers in the past few years; I have run countless races; I can bench press my mom! People, this is coming from a girl who once lived a day where she didn't get off the couch for ten straight hours and ate cake batter out of the bowl all because she was too lazy to do the dishes to clean the cake pans from the cake she ate the day before! Yeah, that was me...I'm proud and sickened all at once when I think of that day. Anyway, I can't tell you how far I have come, but my inner fat kid still tells me how far I have to go. Please, let go of those everyday chores you want noted by others. Great, you fed your dog! (S)he and I are both grateful that you're doing your part to be a decent pet owner. Focus on the "real" that you have done and lavish in those accomplishments. I have "been there, done that" and my inner fat kid often lets me forget the journey I have taken to make that type of life my past, not my present. But I know better, and I just need to practice it. Celebrate the you now, not the you yesterday, not the you you see for yourself down the road, but the you today. Because the you today is the you I have to ineract with, and if you bum me out, you will get karate chopped in the the goozle.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
I Know Something You Don't Know...Oh Wait...
In one of past interviews with Oprah (this was a few years before I inspired her to create her OWN network) she and I discussed my many ingenious philosophies about the correlation between the mind and the body. To be honest, I had to say yes to the interview after the many phone calls I had received begging for me to make an appearance. That’s what friends are for. This was around the same time my eighth book hit the New York Best-Sellers List. I know I don’t need to tell you that because you already own my whole series, Making Cellulite Work for You, not Against You, or Under You, or On You, or You Get the Point…, and have read each one religiously. I know this because, well, it’s me, and duh, I’m awesome, so why wouldn’t you want to hear what I have to say. But just to reiterate what you already know, this book went into how my help was sought out by the celebrities who now set the standards for health and beauty. Jennifer Lopez has always been proud of her curves, but look at her now, see her glow…ha, that’s just a little evidence of what I do. After Beyonce heard this, she flew me out to help give her the self confidence she needed to wear nothing but stilettos and leotard for a video shoot. I also discussed how Jillian Michaels attended my lectures in order to gain a heart…one that actually feels for people. She’s made massive strides in that area. I have worked with many familiar faces, and my success rate is 110%. Yes, my extreme astuteness can be measured outside off 100%. I can’t help those who are jealous…cough cough, oh excuse me, not jealous, but are doubtful of my intellect. I’m just saying that a lot of Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz’s lectures look incredibly similar to my nonsense doodles and random notes that I make subconsciously when watching mindless television, like CNN. I usually throw them out when I gain back my wits. Bless their hearts, I think they’re intimidated by my many medical and psychology degrees I’ve obtained throughout the years. Oh, you didn’t know I had so many. Yes, dear, how much time do you have? I’d love to discuss each one and explain to you, my lovely darlings, why I am credible…
Whoa! Hold up there, darlings! Whoever said I was credible? I can tell you right now that I am a plain-Jane-kinda-girl. I do not have any “papers” showing that I am a credible source of information and what I say goes. Even though I’m allowed to implement that rule in my classroom, and I do it beautifully, I understand that we live in a world full of, “And what makes you so special?” comments and attitudes. We have to jump through a thousand hoops, provide every piece of documented paperwork with our name and social on it, and promise to sacrifice our first born just to get preapproved for breathing free air. Seriously, it’s ridiculous. “So, Abigail, what makes you so special?” asks my inner fat kid. The answer is simple: Been there, done that! (That little phrase actually gets under my skin because there is no subject to the verb…ahhhhh). I often get looks of contempt from eavesdroppers when they hear me give someone advice on living a healthier lifestyle. What gives me the right to offer guidance when I can’t guide myself? I answer that with another commonly known quote, “Do as I say, not as I do.”
Throughout the years, I have been shocked that people are completely unaware as to what being healthy means. It was freshmen year of college when I looked around at other students who were eating breakfast, and this was the first time they were in control of that decision. There were students eating Snickers Bars between two slices of pizza that have been deep fried in year old cow butt fat with a side of a dozen doughnuts dipped in gravy followed by a Mtn. Dew spiked with Redbull and beer. I was disgusted and jealous all at the same time. If I ever said anything about the choice of foods, I often got a reply of, “Well, it could be worse.” My first thoughts were usually, “Yeah, you’re right, you could have easily woken up and given yourself a mainline of lard straight into jugular, but this is better.” But I was just as guilty as they were because I was making poor decisions, but defending them because they could always be worse…for instance, when eating that breakfast I’d always make sure the Mtn. Dew was diet.
It took a couple of years for me to decide to quit saying that it could be worse and start focusing on the reality that it could be better, and I could create a plan to make it better. And this I’ll elaborate upon and share in a future post. I have lived both an unhealthy and a healthy lifestyle. Right now, I guess I could say that I am living a healthy lifestyle with either unhealthy withdrawals or relapses. And yes, in a future post I’ll define what I think is healthy and unhealthy. I just know what it feels like to live in both worlds. One is full of no expectations because of excessive weight being carried, and the other is full of off the wall standards for knowledge and self control because of teaching workout classes.
My overall point is that anything I have to say is strictly an opinion or advice gained because of direct experience and not because I slept at a Holiday Inn. I have been scoffed at and then praised. I have been ridiculed and then admired. I have been pitied and then envied. I have been safe and then dangerous. I have been ignored and then noticed…all because I have been fat and then fit. And now…now I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated because I keep falling off of the wagon and landing on Taco Bell. This usually leads to extreme guilt followed by Arbys (Uh, Cinnamon Bites…are you kidding me? They should call them Little Pockets of Utopia Bites and then put a warning label on the package explaining how highly addictive the melted deliciousness is). Once I feel defeated, I ask my amazingly perfect husband (who lives in a different time zone) why he let me do it. And this is exactly why I chose to work out my frustrations in this way, publically. I have said many times that I’m not alone when battling with this struggle, and hopefully, while I’ll be sifting through my experiences I’ll help someone in some way. That’s all I have to offer. You don’t have to believe me, listen to me, read me, or question me. I’ll tell you right now, I’m not credible, just personal. I am not some sought out expert on this subject because I have studied about it and made world altering decisions. But I can’t help but to feel like I have something to offer. I am girl that was once fat then fit and now frustrated. But not for long (winky face)!
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