Tag: MLvulnerability

Crossfit Reflection

I think the coach, the clock, and the class level lead to my hatred of my first crossfit experience.

It was a general class but there were 3 of us doing a trial in a class of about 20.

There was only a basic overview of the WOD, but there was no real talk of form or technique. Even during the warm up the coach barked at the trial folks to do mountain climbers instead of burpees, without explaining or demoing. I know what mountain climbers are thanks to Jillian Michaels, but the two other trial girls didn’t.

Even as the work out started the coach barked at us or told us we were doing something wrong without telling us how to do it right. I was beyond frustrated. I actually stopped doing one of the workouts with the weights on my second set so I could focus on my form.

I really hated the clock. I felt immense pressure to rush through things. I’m used to the clock when running, but once someone passes you, you generally don’t see them again so you don’t realize how far behind you are. I’m a very competitive person and it’s unrealistic to think I could compete with crossfitters. I dont know why they didn’t let trial people come to a foundations class instead of a regular class. Granted I don’t know how introductory the foundations classes are, but I just think it was bad strategy having trial people go to a regular class.

When to comes down to it if I’m being honest…my ego was bruised. After not doing very much weight training over the past year I need to focus on building strength before I even think about trying crossfit again and it will def be with a different coach or at a different box.

The Tall and Short of It: An Epiphany

When it comes to body image, my weight is/was only one part of my issue with my size.

Not only did a spend a majority of my life overweight, but I’ve always been “the tall girl.” I was one of a few girls that shot up in 5th-6th grade and had to wait until high school for guys to catch up…and in many cases I’m still waiting on them to catch up.

I’ve lost nearly 50 pounds, but regardless of how much weight I lose I will always be big at 5 foot 9.5 inches tall. 

Being big has always been a hang up for me when it comes to dating. 

Last weekend I went out with a guy who was 6’2 – it was amazing how little and confident I felt. Yesterday I went out with a guy who was like 5’10. In fact my roommate texted me to ask how tall he was while I was out because in less than 3 months of being my roommate she knows how height is such an issue for me. I just have a hard time feeling attractive around guys who are close in height to me and in turn being attracted to them.

As I was talking to my roommate about this after the date and IT HIT ME. Since the average american man is 5’10 and woman is 5’4 if I date guys who are an average height I’m considered/perceived as the BIG one – the weirdo. I then think of my roommate who is 5’4 and her ex boyfriend was like 5’8 and he was considered the LITTLE one – the weirdo.

I can’t win unless I date a guy who is above average in height. My big issue is being the “stand out” or weirdo. 

I want a big tall guy, but they are so far and few in between. My self confidence is always SO different in the presence of other tall people (even other tall woman), because it makes me feel less like a weird giant. 

I’m way above average in terms of height and the only way to not feel big is to be around other above average height people, and this is especially true when it comes to romantic relationships.

I hate that I write people off for not being tall enough, but my self image is so closely connected to the sense of feeling like a big giant and feeling like not the big one is something really important to me right now. I’ve put in too much damn work to not be perceived as BIG.

The Case For Former Fat Girls

**I don’t’ agree with all of this (from Thought Catalog),, but some of it struck a chord**

I am firmly convinced that former fat girls are among the best people in the world. A reformed cherub with a heart of gold and almond milk running through her veins, a former fat girl has developed the monkish asceticism necessary to subvert her metabolical shortcomings. Intellect, humor, and kindness are the vestigial sexual organ of the former fat girl that remain even as girth shrinks. Heretofore referred to as the FFG, this is my emphatic declaration of the wholesale superiority and date-ability of the Former Fat Girl.

Mar. 9, 2012⁠ By Amanda M. Duberman ⁠

First and foremost, the former fat girl does not rely on positive reinforcement based on superficiality, because she never could. Forced to develop a personality absent the praise afforded our more lithe adolescent peers, the former fat girl is often a blissful conflation of both Megan Fox and Melissa McCarthy. Armed with a compulsory stellar personality and arsenals of artificial sweeteners, the FFG’s intellect and wit are relatively inelastic to shrinking mass. The FFG had considerably more social downtime to dedicate to academia than her more buoyant, extracurricularly occupied peers. As such, GPA often corresponds proportionally with BMI, and having spent time in the upper range the FFG likely occupies the upper tax bracket. Say hello to your sugar (re:splenda) mama. 

While the lifetime skinny girl is difficult to impress, former fat girls are reliably receptive to any complement that faintly implies thinness or delicacy. Verbal adoration of her cheek bones, or even better, knobby knees, guarantees a sprint to second base. Carelessly lift her off her feet mid-dance or hug and she’s yours for life. Forgive me Ms. Steinem, but the former fat girl is often more tolerant of anti-feminist relationship pitfalls, and holds fast to her inaugural post-chub beau like she does to the last non-fat Greek yogurt at Dean and Deluca.  

Furthermore, the FFG is unimpeachably groomed. After all, prior to joining the ranks of the modestly nourished, enhancing our non-caloric dependent traits was all we could do to illicit masculine response. We can be counted on for fantastic hair, expertly applied make-up after years feigning facial definition, and strategic scarf and waist belt placement. 

Less existentially, the former fat girl tends to be easy on the wallet. Lightly dressed greens are considerably less expensive than the filet mignon an endocrinology gifted waif may elect for. March Madness can be thoroughly enjoyed without a pestering spouse given the month’s threatening proximity to bathing suit season. Fundamentally a glutton, the former fat girl may indulge her reformed hedonism (or, I daresay, oral fixation) more illicitly with you as the prime beneficiary. Our thighs, once best friends but now estranged, might just open generously after an average five-year delay of virginity loss. 

Empire State of Actuality

Arrived in New York yesterday, however Friday night I got into a screaming match with my mother on the phone. She was screaming and being UGLY, while I was trying to yell over her to be mature and rationale (two things she is not).

I was worried about coming home, especially since “you’re a selfish fucking bitch” was the last thing she said to me before hanging up on me for the 3rd or 4th time. Never in my life have I had ANYONE speak to me like my own mother did. And without any reason (no wonder I live 1,000 miles from my favorite city in the world).

So I was not looking forward to seeing her. I even made backup plans in case she decided not to get me at the airport. She showed and acted completely normal. Made no mention of her insanity. I chose to swallow my pride and bite my tongue, it’s easier that way. I’m used to her antics, but this was a new low – however I was determined to not let her ruin my trip.

I went on what was supposed to be an 8 mile run yesterday evening, but ate concrete mid-way through mile 6. I’ve NEVER tripped and fell while running. My hands got pretty ripped up, but I’m okay. Ended up doing a touch over 7 miles. It’s always interesting running through my hometown and “rediscovering” it. I also ran my the water – I love the ocean air in my lungs.

Now I’m on a train to Penn Station than going to Grand Central to take a train to Connecticut to see one of my besties.

I have some time to wander the city tomorrow – may go to freedom tower and the world trade center memorial. THEN tomorrow night I get to have dinner with some fabulous fitblrs!

Comes the Dawn by Veronica A. Shoffstall

I posted parts of my last post of my Facebook as a note. A friend commented on the quote at the end and said it’s part of a poem. I didn’t know that! Here’s the poem, it’s like another little gift from my dad.  

After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
and company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to understand that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises.

And you begin to accept your defeats 
with your head held high and your eyes open,

with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child.       

And you learn to build your roads on today

because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans

and futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
so you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
and you learn and you learn…

with every goodbye you learn.

Daddy 4.25.49 – 11.18.07

Today marks 4 year since I lost my Dad. 

I’m measuring those years within his “dash” in daylights – in sunsets. In midnights – in cups of coffee. In inches – in miles. In laughter – in strife. In LOVE!

We shared a love of many, many things, especially musicals. RENT was one of our favorites and after he died “Seasons of Love” took on a new meaning. 

Back in January 2010 a friend of mine challenged me to measure my year in cups of coffee, which lead to measuring my miles, my body, my health and the rest is history. 

I get a lot of joy and satisfaction in measuring my life. It makes life seem a little more permanent and a little less fleeting at times.

There are times everyday where I wish I had my Dad to call. I wish he could see me now (well I believe he can), but I wish I could see him. I know he’s with me every day, every mile, every thought. 

I can’t help, but wonder just how into my racing he would have been. He was always my number one supporter and cheerleader. I loved making him proud. He would have gotten such a kick out of me running/racing. 

I’m fairly certain he would have come out to California to see me run my Marathon. I actually first went to LA with him, back in grad school. He lived in California for a few years when he was in his 20s. They were some of the best years of his life and I think that’s all part of the reason that drew me to run in Cali (well that and David Cook if I’m being honest).

Here are some of the posts I wrote last year about my Dad around his anniversary if you’re interested.

Our Last Day

Missing You Every Day Daddy

Dad’s Gift to Me

I’ll leave you with this. One quote I remember my Dad telling to me in a time of struggle in my life was, “Plant your own garden instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.” That quote has meant so much to me over the years. YOU only have one life and YOU need to make the most of out of, right now.

I love you Daddy.

This is my perfect quote for this time in my life.

rxingmyassoff:

“Take chances, take a lot of them. Because honestly, no matter where you end up and with who, it always ends up just the way it should be. Your mistakes make you who you are. You learn and grow with each choice you make. Everything is worth it. Say how you feel, always. Be you, and be okay with it…”

Thanks for posting this Katy and thank you ALL for your support. Especially in regards to my post yesterday. I love you all and you all keep me sane. It’s eaiser to be honest here sometimes and I SO appreciate that.

I’m doing much better today. I even ran 2 miles and did Level 3 of shred with one of my students tonight!

Unraveling

ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS GO TO SPIN CLASS WHERE I COULD SWEAT AND CRY PUBLICLY IN THE DARK.

But NO, spin class was FULL. FULL. It’s never been full in the 14 month history of me going to gym class.

It was the straw that broke the camels back. I had to drive home before I lost it. Which meant sobbing, gutwretching sobs in my bed just now.

I am not doing well guys.

It doesn’t help that my newsfeed is chock full of pictures and updates of Wiley and his new girlfriend. What the serious fuck. He rarely used facebook, he’s acting out of character overall and hurting me in the process.

I broke down privately a few times at work today. I just don’t want to be at work anymore. I want to be at a new job back in the northeast near all my friends and family. I’ve wanted that for a long time and especially now.

I’m also struggling because next Friday, the 18th, will mark 4 years since I lost my dad. I can’t even get into that now.

In “strange ways to kick me when. I’m down” news my arch-nemisis (yes I have one) got married this past Friday. She looked beautiful and happy. It made me sick and jealous all at once. Especially the pictures of her dad walking her down the aisle.

I’m drowning in my glass case of emotions and I don’t know how to fix myself. All I can do is write. Writing has always been my escape and a way to heal. Believe me my paper journal is chock full of pages of the past few days, but I needed to put it here too.

I’m not the biggest Bible verse/Scripture person, but this has popped up in my life twice in the past 24 hours:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declared the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jeremiah 29:11