Thursday, February 17, 2011

Just Call Me Lance

So as you know, Dr. College Ex-Boyfriend suggested I lay off the Boot Camp for a couple weeks to let my foot heal a bit and said instead I should try a spinning class, or as us out of shape folks say, a stationary bike.

When I told Samuel this morning I was going to go ride bikes with Auntie Shannon he freaked out a little bit thinking I was leaving the Y and that he would be at the kid center by himself. I told him no, its a bike that doesn't go anywhere. Samuel, in his cutest little voice said, "That doesn't make any sense. How do you get exercise on a bike that doesn't go anywhere?" Love that kid.

This being my first spinning class, Shannon graciously accompanied me although she is leaving for Hawaii in the morning. She reminded me of this later when half-way a painful "climb up a mountain" she looked at me and said "one hyphenated word: mai-tai." I hate her sometimes.

The spinning class pretty much sucked for a whole 50 minutes. Sucked in a good way, like the teacher is easy on the eyes, the playlist was rocking and it was an awesome work-out but oh wow does that class suck. Why didn't anyone tell me my cooter was going to hurt that bad? Why don't they just make those seats, or saddles as they call them, out of razor blades and get it over with? 10 minutes in and I started composing a letter to Hot Jeff in my head apologizing to him that we would never, ever, ever have sex again. I seriously do not see how putting a little cushion in to those saddles is going to make anyone's work-out less effective and maybe they would be a little more apt to go back if their butt bones weren't bruised after the class.

After a few sets of 8 counts up, 8 counts down, 4 counts up, 4 counts down, 2 counts up, 2 counts down we did ANOTHER freaking mountain climb, well the rest of the class did, I mostly sat and pedaled and wondered when were we going to get to the part in the class when the instructor told us to get off our bikes and walk it up the hill. It became very clear to me that's not how they roll in spinning class and I was going to just have to keep pedaling. Pedaling. Pedaling.

So here's the good news: I did not cry. I did not throw up. I did go buy a little Schwinn gel seat slip cover and I'm taking it with me to class tomorrow because I'll be darned if I'm not stick with this awful class just because of some sort butt bones. Although believe me, there is absolutely nothing I would rather do more tomorrow than sleep through my alarm that will be going off at 4:30am. I take that back; a butt and cooter transplant sounds pretty good right about now. What would that be called? 'Ginaplasty?

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Random Musings

Tonight I fed my husband and children a smattering of things I found at Safeway and called it a well-balanced meal. Salami & cheese on a baguette, tomato-basil soup (my latest obsession) and bananas. What kind of mother am I?

I came home to a house that looks like a tornado ran through it and I'm thinking of hiring a housekeeper and chef and see if they'll let me pay them in compliments.

I have to take a minimum of 2 weeks off from Boot Camp because it appears I have plantar fasciitis. I'm going to go to a spinning class that meets at the same time instead. Boot Camp Tina said it's a "hell ride." If BC Tina is calling it a hell ride I wonder if I'm going to come out of this alive? I'm taking holy water in with me.

Wanna know the best part of the plantar fasciitis "diagnosis?" Well you know I'm seeing a local podiatrist but I felt like I needed a 2nd opinion so I Facebook messaged Eric the not-a-bastard anymore. He's an orthopedic PA and had all sorts of good information for me. Because it was so much information he ended up calling and discussing it with me and I am telling you that it was only really strange to hear from my college boyfriend, whom I haven't spoken to in like 15 years (besides FB) for foot advice for the first few minutes.

I think when 20/20 does those shows on how evil/wonderful Facebook is they should include my foot story. I personally think I have a whole lot going on that would be very interesting to the American public and that 20/20 should just follow me around with cameras for a good week or so.

Button. Have you noticed the rockin' button Heather over At The Picket Fence made me? How great is she? I have a big ol' girly cyber crush on her and her sister, Vanessa. See the code below the button? Now you can put my button on your blog and give me lots of publicity so I don't have to pay my new housekeeper and chef in compliments.

And finally. Lots of you have been asking about Boot Camp and where you too can go sign up for this particular brand of hellish torture and I have good news for you. For the rest of THIS MONTH if you go to the YMCA downtown and tell them you heard about them through The Mother Hen blog you will get your $99 initiation fee waived! How about that? And when you are so sore you can't get out of bed and all you can do is lay there and read archived posts from this blog you will thank me.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Along Comes Polly

Polly is in my Boot Camp class and we are the real-life version of that Arnold Schwarzenegger-Danny DeVito movie Twins. She is tall and thin and blond. I am...not. If we were a food she would be the spaghetti and I would be the meatball.

On Friday we had to workout with a partner and since I was standing next to Polly she turned and looked at me and said, "Wanna be my partner?" First of all, how sweet is Polly? Who wants to be my partner in Boot Camp? That class is filled with hard core workout freaks and I was thinking the only person who would want to be my partner would be someone who had just called the suicide hot line and felt like they needed a really good laugh and that watching my face turn different shades of red and purple would surely cause them to realize that their life was worth living.

For the split second before Polly asked me to be her partner I was convinced it was going to be just like 5th grade when everyone is picking teams for dodge ball and Steve Downing and Ryan Hunt are the team captains and its down to you and Sammie Fee and Steve picks Sammie.

Ok, I digress. Anyway, tall Polly and I were partners for this sick and twisted exercise that involved bungee cords of torture that we put around each other's waste and then took turns pulling each other around the track. It turned out to not be that bad until we had to turn around and do it backwards.

When I was telling my Mom about the exercise she said, "Oh yeah, I've seen that on The Biggest Loser" as if that's supposed to make me feel better. "Oh yeah, I've seen that on that show where they torture fat people and call it entertainment." Oh yeah...

So anyway, bottom line: Polly blessed me. And seriously, who doesn't need to be blessed at 6:00 in the morning when they have sweat dripping down their face and a spilled chocolate protein drink on their shirt? Yes, I dribbled some of it on my shirt in the car, on my way to BC. Polly told me she thought it was blood! Ha!

One final thought from yesterday's Boot Camp. What is with all those stupid freaking mirrors all over the place? Seriously. Yesterday during our cool down, for the first time since I started, I didn't feel like I was going to vomit or pass out. I was feeling so good about myself and feeling like a rock star and like Comcast was going to be calling me to star in my own On Demand workout show when I caught a glimpse of my butt in one of those mirrors. It startled me. No kidding--IT STARTLED ME. I was like "when did Gigi (who has an enormous ass) get here?"

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Drama Queen

Today Samuel got his foot stuck in the door. It bruised it a bit but didn't break the skin. He was able to walk on it but was screaming like a banshee. I mean screaming so loud that I became 100% certain there are alien life forms and that Samuel has been chosen to communicate with them through his painful screams.

He made me carry him to the couch and asked if I would prop his foot up. Then he had the audacity to say, "I have a bad foot just like you Mom." No you don't Samuel. In fact, I told him just that: "No you don't Samuel. I know excruciating-talk-to-aliens-foot-pain and this isn't it." He didn't seem to buy it and just kept talking to the aliens. It's almost as if he thinks I'm being melodramatic.

I said, "Samuel, can you please stop screaming so loudly; it is going to be okay?" and he said, "Why do you keep saying it is going to be okay? It is never going to be okay ever again."

See what I'm living with? I'm living with myself. Only a worse version of myself: a 4 year old, out of touch with reality, version of myself.

If aliens really wanted to make contact with someone here on earth they should have chosen me over Samuel. I can give a much more accurate account of things.

Oh my gosh, while I was spell checking this Samuel said to me, "Mom, come over here and kiss me. I am close to death." Hahahahahaha! Is he English?

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Shout Out

A shout out to Jana Avison who did this gorgeous header for me. I'm too lame to figure it out and Jana not only did it for me, but then revised it after I asked her to.

How awesome is that?

Thanks Jana!

Monday, February 7, 2011

The Devil Lives in Cone Lunges

I made it to Boot Camp today. I got my butt handed to me on a sweaty platter. Oddly it felt wonderful. Thankfully my pants were black.

What is it about that class that is so addictive? I wish I knew so I could cut it out and go back to sleeping in. My arm held out great--thank You Jesus. There is something to be said about adrenaline and every other part of your body being on fire to make the pain in your arm dissipate.

On an unrelated note, Molly died. Seriously. Why can't this family keep a hamster alive? I swear I am doing everything right yet this is the second one to die after having her for only 6 weeks. Even though we all seemed to be a lot more attached to Molly than Riley there weren't as many tears. In fact, there weren't any tears at all up until I told Samuel we weren't going to get another hamster. Hot Jeff piped in and said we could get a dog. What??? A dog? Why would I add a 3rd factor in to the ruin-Jen's-carpet equation?

On another unrelated note, I am having my sleep evaluated tonight at Willamette Sleep Center. I have to be there at 7pm--that's like a whole 3 hours before I go to bed! It sounds positively delightful. The rooms are so cozy and there is a big TV and wireless internet. Sounds dreamy to me--I'll probably sleep wonderfully and they'll tell me there's nothing wrong with me. More to come on the sleep study experience for sure!

So on this sunny Monday morning I am thankful for sleep studies and friends who are holding me accountable. What are you thankful for today?

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Don't Cry For Me Argentina

You'll have to forgive this blog post, it is going to be a little stream of consciousness and maybe it will contain some bad grammar and maybe some bad spelling because I think I'm a little high. The atomic fire ball in my foot is throbbing (thanks to way too much grocery shopping today and standing in lines at Costco and Super Walmart for way too long) and my arm hurts--story is coming up--and I'm under the philosophy if one pain pill is good then two pain pills are better and instead of knocking me out they've kind of wired me. Not in a where-are-the-cheetos way but in the I'm-trying-to-sleep-but-can't get-comfortable-and-can't-shut-my-brain-off-way. I'm thinking a little bit about how if I accidentally overdosed (which I don't think you can do off of just 2 vicodin) how everyone will think I'm Heath Ledger but mostly I'm feeling kind of sorry for myself.

Sidebar: I know you guys like the funny posts so I'll try to pepper this post with some funny lines but I am high and I am feeling sorry for myself so you'll have to just sit through a gloomy post. I've heard that whatever emotion you're feeling when you get drunk, that emotion is just magnified. I haven't had a lick of alcohol but I'm thinking that may be true of narcotics as well. To make up for my doom and gloom, in my next post I'm going to write about the time Traci and I found a bleeding guy in the parking lot of the Metra and drove him to Lockwood because we thought he had been shot. Yes I said Lockwood and not the hospital. I think you'll like that story.

Ok, so here's why my arm hurts. Today Emily and I ran out to my in-laws' house before we ran some errands. MIL Cheryl had picked up Em some new clothes and we were going out to get them. When we got there the front door was locked so we went around back. Well because I was wearing my sporty new running shoes and because I am in Boot Camp and all of a sudden think I am an athlete I was kind of like jogging and I bounded up the back path and on to the wet deck and totally wiped out. My arms and legs went flying and I somehow hyper extended my right arm and I could tell immediately I pulled or tore something in my bicep. (Upon reading this post this morning Hot Jeff has informed me that the injured part of my arm is not my bicep. Nor is it my tricep. Its right in the middle of the two and he doesn't know what muscle that is.)

(Um, seriously, I would make the worst drug addict ever--my skin is so itchy. Can you take benadryl with vicodin?)

I hopped right up and brushed myself off and carried on with my day. My arm has really hurt all day though and while at Costco pushing that huge freaking cart and lifting 175 pounds of frozen chicken breasts and laundry detergent I started to think about Boot Camp and how my arm may not feel better before Monday.

I'm going to go off on a tangent right now. You have been warned.

I know some of you that read this blog are not Christ followers so this may sound a little hooie-hooie or like the vicodin is talking but honest to goodness I feel like I'm being "attacked" by the enemy. The Bible is very clear that Satan is out to steal, kill and destroy. The enemy doesn't want us to thrive, live life to the fullest, be healthy or to be joyful. He wants us to be miserable and depressed and overweight (along with a whole host of other things). He is the opposite of light. He is the opposite of goodness. He is the opposite of health--he is death.

So when I make a choice to get healthy; to lose weight and join a class that is going to help me lose weight, be disciplined, live a healthy lifestyle, fight my depression with endorphins, live to see my kids grow up, He is going to hate that. I believe he is going to try and thwart my efforts. He may do that through tempting me to stay up too late watching TV so that I can't drag my butt out of bed at 4:45am. He may do that through tempting me with food. He may do that through injury.

Right now I am feeling really pitiful with my aching foot and now my aching arm. I pushed through the pain in my foot last week and I was really proud of myself for doing it and I planned on continuing to just keep on pushin' on (because I love to be a walking bumper sticker). To be honest though, I'm wondering if I can push through the pain in my foot, the pain in my arm and the natural pain/soreness that comes from a vigorous workout.

I don't mind being transparent. In fact, I know that I very often cross the line between transparency and TMI. So this is what you're getting tonight--me being super transparent and vulnerable and writing that I feel pathetic. I feel banged up. I feel klutzy. I feel fat. I feel incredibly discouraged. Some of that comes from my own insecurities of wanting to control what people think of me--something you know I've been struggling with for over a year now. God showed me this control issue that I have last year at women's retreat and has been gracious enough to keep bringing it to light so that I can recognize it, name it and then pray for the Spirit to help me let it go of it. So I am totally aware that some of this discouragement is really a fear that Shannon or Kara will just think I'm looking for excuses to get out of going to Boot Camp. I know that in my dysfunction I don't want Tina the instructor or Lori who stands behind me or that guy in the red shirt or the girl in the grey pants (all of them whom I've known all of one week) to think I'm a quitter or that I can't handle it.

Ok, speaking of the girl in the grey've been very patient so I'm going to toss in some funny. On Wednesday I got to Boot Camp and there was a lady in there wearing the same workout pants as me. And it just made me laugh because she looked ADORABLE in her pants and I looked like I was carrying around two Christmas hams in mine. It absolutely cracked me up. This was also the day and these were also the pants that taught me you have to wear black workout pants to class because the grey really shows off your crotch sweat. If I can teach you anything let it be that no one wants to see your crotch sweat. You're welcome.

So, where was I? Oh yes, about to jump off a metaphorical cliff.

I don't know where I'm going with all of this. I guess I just needed to get it off my chest. Do you ever wish I would just journal about this stuff instead of sharing it with the whole-wide-internet? You know I used to journal back in high school and college and I was a very melodramatic journaler and I was always copying lyrics from songs I heard on the easy listening station to try and summarize my feelings. Sometimes no one can say it better than Lionel Richie--you know what I'm sayin'?

Ok, one final thing before I take my loaded self to bed--I haven't had a label for all my Boot Camp writings so I've been putting it under the "Can You Believe I Don't Have a Label For This" label but I think I've come up with 2. I'm going to put a poll up at the top of the blog and let you guys vote the winner. Here are your choices: "(I Feel Like I'm Gonna) Boot Camp" or "Boot Camp Chronicles". You can also vote for your favorite in the comments section.

Thanks for listening. I would hug you if you were here. And like Kenneth the page says, "All good hugs last for at least 10 seconds."

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Tina Eats Her Young

Tina greeted me at this morning's Boot Camp with an unreadable "I read your blog." I looked at her skeptically wondering if she was going to make me drop and give her (a modified) 20. She started laughing and said she loved it. Whew. It looked like today would be just a normal amount of torture.

I was nervous about today's class for several reasons and only one of them was if Tina had stumbled upon The Mother Hen and if I would have to pay severely for it. The biggest concern was that I have a heel spur on my left heel and it was KILLING ME after Monday's class. By Monday afternoon I had made an appointment with my podiatrist to see if I could get a cortisone shot and by Monday night I was hobbling around like Gigi and making my husband and children wait on me hand and foot.

Alas my podiatrist would not give me a cortisone shot citing "I'll be damned if I'm going to give you a cortisone shot because you'll feel better and go prancing off to that class when you should be doing non-weight bearing exercising in the pool". Ok doc, number one: I rarely prance. I mostly parade. Number two: Pool exercising is so geriatric. Number three: What kind of doctor says 'I'll be damned'? Number four: Non-weight bearing exercises? Ok, so I have a few pounds to lose but its not like I need a crane to get me out of my house man.

The good doctor did give me some anti-inflammatory pills. And some Vicodin. You know you have seriously had your fanny handed to you when you need narcotics after the class.

When I was complaining to Hot Jeff last night that the doctor would not give me a cortisone shot he said, "I think he's right. Its not like you're Kobe Bryant or anything." That just seriously irritated me because I loved, loved, loved the idea of having a cortisone shot so I could go to class because that is just such a real athlete thing to do. All athletes play through the pain with a cortisone shot. It is so Jennifer-Grey-Dancing-With-the-Stars-finale. Thanks for robbing me of my real athlete dream Dr. Old School.

So back to class today and why Tina eats her young. For the majority of the class we had to carry around a 25lb. weight. And I don't mean carried it around as a group as a team building exercise on working together, no I mean doing flights of stairs carrying a 25 POUND weight. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Wall sits with a 25lb. weight on your lap. Walking the track carrying a 25lb. weight. More wall sits with a 25lb. weight.

It was during one of those wall sits and shortly after Tina told me to "get down" and "get your shoulders back" that I realized Tina has never heard of the Geneva Convention. IF I could have spoken (not enough oxygen) and IF I wasn't afraid of her, I would have gently reminded her of it. And I'm certain she would have laughed her little maniacal laugh and made me take a lap.

When I got home sweet little Samuel was up and watching some "Curious George". He smiled and said, "Mama, where have you been?" "I was working out with Aunt Shannon" I answered. "Did you throw up again?"

"Nope, I sure didn't." But there's always Friday.