Monthly Archives

April 2015


It’s Turbo time

April 3, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … tackle a Turbo Kick class.

When I was in high school, my parents had this dog, Faith. Faith started out as my brother’s dog, but a pattern of puppy passing was beginning and she eventually went to my folks. She was a weird blend of breeds and we often referred to her as Santa’s Little Helper (you know, from the Simpson’s). I am a big believer that people get one, maybe two, great four-legged companions in life, and the rest tend to be just … well, dogs. Faith was a dog. She was nervous and jittery and her hair fell out in clumps. But saddest of all, in her golden years, Faith started having the wackiest seizures. Honest to Henry, I once saw her come up onto her two back legs and hop across the kitchen, twitching like a kangaroo covered in fire ants. It was awful and, admittedly a little funny now, but I bring it up here for a very good reason. Tonight, I was Santa’s Little Helper.
At my best friend’s urging, I decided to try Turbo Kick. She, conveniently, was away for my debut and unable to witness the chaos that was my attempt at the routine or, better phrased, the complete collapse in communication between my brain and my extremities.
So many of my basic neurological functions failed me. The jabs … the uppercuts … the roundhouses … it was a system overload no one could have seen coming. I felt like the drunk girl at a dry reception. It’s not the single action so much as the combinations; combinations that repeated but never formed a logical sequence in my brain. And people were hooting. No judgement. Whatever gets ya juiced up. But it did make the tone a little like exercising in the rain forest exhibit at the zoo.
Just when a faint whisper of confidence, in the form of a knee-up-crossbody-jab series, crept closer, the instructor threw out a “jack with air”. I froze … an ironic choice of words considering I was sweating like Martha Stewart at a tax audit. It was intimidating in its simplicity. A jumping jack where the exerciser is expected to come a handful of inches up off the ground. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was my temporary coordination drought. Maybe I just failed at rule no. 76, to play like a champion. But I could not do it. Every time she came to “jack air” I faltered. Until finally …
I went for it. I anticipated it was coming and I used the last of the gas in my tubby-girl tank and leaped. Only, it didn’t look like everyone else’s. It was special. It was more spasm than sporty. It was a dolphin changing its mind mid-trick. It was so Santa’s Little Helper! It’s now my Everest.
After the class, the regulars were so sweet. Three of them actually came up and told a few of us we, “Did great for our first time.” Imagine that … strangers talking to strangers. What a concept. I think I’ll go back just for the stellar social scene.
Until next time …

Gopher Day goes awry

April 2, 2015


April 1, 2015 was Gopher Day in my little suburban slice of the world. It’s the day when neighbors, whom you haven’t seen in months, pop out to give a smile and subtle wave to signal the official close of hibernation. Masculine machines are firing up … trimming, whacking, pruning. I feel that familiar face sweat beading into formation in the sunlight through my car window. Hello, old friend! The songs sound catchier. Traffic flows like a good piece of gossip among girlfriends. It’s my favorite day of the whole year.

I pulled in my driveway to find the chicks, in various states of sweet spring activity – JoJo pushing Sloppy Joan around in an umbrella stroller. Spikey stepping up to her big girl bike with tottering training wheels. This is some serious utopian stuff, I thought … like a moron.

Any mom worth her salt knows that picturing perfection and your kids in the same space for more than a handful of minutes is a rookie assumption, sure to implode before you, leaving in its wake stinging shrapnel made of pinches, pokes and hysterics.

But this was Gopher Day! So I put history and intuition aside, and embarked on a sure-to-be-blissful jaunt around the park. And then, like the shittiest April Fools joke ever, all hell began to break loose. First, JoJo decided to abandon the bike she was on to push Sloppy Joan, which, it would turn out, meant big sis sprinting while a wide-eyed baby sat, white-knuckled with her prominent whale-spout pony flapping violently atop her head.

But this juvenile joyride was nothing compared to Spike, or as she will henceforth be called, “The Girl Who Killed Gopher Day”. Our 3 year old is notorious for bailing. Every hike, walk or bike ride to date has ended with her in a puddle of pout on a sidewalk. It’s embarrassing and it really brings my Supermom mojo down. To assume today would be different just because the sun was shining was naïve, I admit it, but I let her hop on her new Hello Kitty bike and get after it. I’d say about .2 of a mile in, we were in good shape. By .3, we were having steering issues. And by .4 we were standing next to the steed, contemplating the next move.

Sensing a general frustration and seeing smoke off JoJo’s heels, I simply suggested Spike leave the bike, walk with us and then practice when we came back around. If my future self could have intercepted the words from the mouth of my present self, everyone would have come through just fine. But there was no going back.

Me: Babe, let’s just go enjoy the walk and we’ll try again when we come back this way.
Spike: But Mama …
Me: Spikey, it’s such a beautiful day, let’s go try to catch JoJo!
Spike: No, I want to ride my big girl bike!
Me: Then hop on and steer it, like you were before.
Spike: It’s not working, Mama!
Me: OK, then let’s just walk for now.
Spike: No!
Me: Honey, Mommy’s gotta go catch up with your sisters. You coming?
Spike: No! I want to ride my bike!
Me: OK, well then you need to head home, hon.
Spike: Noooooo! I wanna ride my bike! [cue tears]
Me: Spikey, I’m not doing this here.
Spike: [cue screams]
Me: I have to go now. [Walks away nervously splitting my eyes to keep one on each set of children.]
Spike: [Screaming, blubbering dialogue I can’t decipher]
Me: [Runs back, picks Spike up and puts her in our fence. Neighbors at a standstill.]
Hank: [Chases Spikey around the backyard like a farmer after
a greasy pig until he catches and carries her, sack-of-potatoes style, into the house, where screams can still be heard because the windows are open because, you know, it’s freaking Gopher Day.]

JoJo, Sloppy Joan and I continued on our loop, which was, all things considered, nice.

I was naïve. I see that now. I thought I would be taking a mental snapshot of my three little ladies riding and strolling and smiling on the first sunny day of spring, and I would want to write about it and store it away in my heart forever. But I’m writing about this. And you know, sometimes that’s just the way walks go.

What the scale said in March

April 1, 2015


This is a depressing update because the scale said I was still overweight, basically. It did. not. move. For a whole month. One of our longest months at that. It wasn’t like it was February, which is so short no one can, realistically, get anything done.
The scale says:
Down – 28.4
To Go – 18.6

The humiliation is good, guys, really … it’s good. I mean, I need a tablespoon or twenty of humility. (See how I equate everything to food?) A week goes by and you eat a tub of Trader Joe’s Dark Chocolate Almond Bark Thins and a few Apple Fritters, and you think, Monday is the day. The day I search Amazon for more Trader Joe’s chocolate. I blame the Mayans and Aztecs, actually.

But, April – sweet, spring-has-sprung April – that’s where it’s at. “A” is for “April” and “A game”.

The plan. The progress.*

– Completed February 5 (100%). Considering another round (post-Easter, of
course). Any takers?

Kayla Itsines 12-week Bikini
– On Week 9 (75%). This guide is badass. More to come.

Join a Gym – Officially members and regularly attending Spinning
and attempting TurboKick tomorrow. Aw, snap Billy Blanks, what! (80%)

Clean Eating – Why do I even keep this on the list? Note to self: Meal prep is magical. Get back to what works. (-2.1%)

Half Marathon – I am registered. I have also selected a training program to get me to a place where I can do my real training program come July.
This was a realization best served by someone else. In my case, a coworker who moonlights as a marathoner, but more to come on that later. (1%)

Calorie Tracking – It sucks. Keeping a food journal is like the ultimate sensory cock block. The smells aren’t as sweet. The bites aren’t as beautiful. It’s all one big finger in your face, disgracing your dairy and desserts. But I’ll be damned if it doesn’t work. (Unless you’re Whole30-ing.)

Hiking – Got my boots and JoJo chose a hiking trip to mark her 6th
birthday in May. We’re going places. (3%)

Yoga – Every Sunday (10%)

Slim & Sassy essential oil – I sip on this stuff at least twice a week. I don’t
know how I’ll know when I know it’s doing something. (5%)

*These percentages are based on complete bullshit because I don’t know
how to do math or quantify something like “Clean Eating”.