I’ve given up on the idea of exercise having anything at all to do with weight loss. Obviously, I have to get my nutrition on, as well as exercise, and it only took my 42 years to figure that out. Let’s see if I can do it? My track record would say no. 


So, if my tens of followers want a CrossFit update here it is:


I still love/hate going. I still come last most days. And more importantly, I still adore everyone (except for that one guy) at the box.


I’m sitting here tonight after a particularly cardio heavy workout, which seems to be much harder on me than my lighter counterparts.


And here’s what happened next:


Now, a little backstory to begin.


My friend and favourite coach, whom I’ve nick-named Sensei, has been particularly motivating for me. She taught me more than the very technical movements of CrossFit; in fact she’s taught about the world of sports bras. She commented, one day, on my lack of appropriate bra-wear, and from then on she would regularly “call me out” for not wearing the appropriate gear. Now, this has been welcome and helpful in so many ways BUT, as I’ve told my Sensei before, I don’t like sports bras because they are hard to get on and even harder to get off.


But isn’t that just like me? If it’s hard, I don’t wanna do it. So, I’ve been working on myself, making changes that people I really admire suggest.


And then, to thank my sweet Sensei, I found her the perfect gift. I delivered it to her on this cardio-heavy night, and I made sure to wear my most expensive sports bra for the occasion. (see post photo to see gift)


And then, after celebrating my spots bra success, I headed home to shower after more cardio than my large frame could every enjoy.


Now, picture this, if you will. I’m having a friend over, and I need to shower the layer of sweat off before I entertain. I can’t wait for the sweat to dry, like Sensei told me during her sports bra lecture,  because I need to shower now.


I remove all my clothing and then stare in the bathroom mirror at my NIKE nemesis, the sports bra with the swoosh, and I will myself the strength to get it off. I’m glistening with sweat and the Godamn bra doesn’t want to move. In fact, it wants to stay fully covering one breast, and awkwardly smoosh the other while getting caught on my shoulder and across my face. It might be the most awkward and uncomfortable position I’ve gotten myself into, to date.


I began to panic and got further stuck in that fucking bra, the swoosh mangled now, the arms holes indistinguishable from the neck hole. It was a mess and my blood pressure was rising.


So, I did what any sane person would do.


I slid the bra back down my body, and got in the shower anyway. I soaped up that damn bra like it was part of me and I got clean the only way I know how.


After the shower, the bra was soaked and even harder to get off. Essentially, I fucked myself. Now, I would have to towel off the best I could, and then throw on a hoodie and hope for the best.


Would, I be stuck in the fucking thing forever? Fucking Sensei!

I sat in a wet sports bra, and a damp hoodie for the evening and I cursed NIKE and Sensei and everyone else.

Why can't they make these things easier to get on and off?

Hours later, it would be dry enough to remove. Still not easily, but I liberated my boobies nonetheless, and it felt fucking amazing.


So, there it is.


Confessions of a Fat Girl at CrossFit.

Tell me I am not alone.

I went to see P!nk in Montreal this weekend. I am sure some of you know this, as I obviously had to share it on social media. I will rank this experience right up there with the birth of my daughters because P!nk, in the words of my eleven year old, is so freaking rad. 

It may have been the concert itself, or the combination of a weekend away with the girls, with little more to worry about than where we would eat our next meal, but this weekend felt too good to be true. 

I'll share some photos below, if you care, but the point of this post isn't to share or brag that I was lucky enough to have a weekend away, but to share how that debaucherous weekend away will manifest itself on my first day back at the gym. 

I know it will be bad. We had Mimosas for breakfast and wine with lunch. We stayed up until the wee hours each night enjoyed the air-conditioned rooms of hotels with sweet energy plans and wine and snacks galore (and not snacks like trail mix and dried fruit, but rather pizza and poutine), and all the while we enjoyed the warm fuzzy feelings that accompany the thought that you can sleep-in the next day. If you have young children, this may seem like a fantasy, but I promise you, if you can organize a girls' trip away, this too can be​ you. Also, can I come?

Now a few times during the weekend, the thought of the gym would sneak back into my mind, but then I would pop an overpriced gourmet caramel into my mouth and force the horrid thought out. This was my vacation, after all, and while I have enjoyed the gym (if that's the right word), I was not going to let the idea of it stop me from indulging, and indulge I did. 

But now I am back. Reality punched me in the brain this morning when my alarm announced that I would be back to work teaching a very busy grade two class and follow that up with a visit to the gym right after work. 

The workout, as is posted each night, and most of the time means very little to me (with its HSPU's and CTB's), actually scares me this time. Now, I always know that the workout will kick my ass, but this is the first time since I began five months ago, that I will be attending the workout after spending the weekend eating like...well....my old self and drinking like, well...I guess that's all me, too.

I expect I will be sweating out litres of red wine and burning off the fresh buttery croissants only a Montreal bakery can provide.  I expect I'll be angling to get a spot by the fan, and the heat that will radiate from my overindulged self will likely burn a hole right through the gym floor. 

​I'll be back later to update this post. 

Wish me luck!

*****UPDATE

It sucked and then I died

I currently weigh in at 250 lbs.  That's 35 lbs heavier than Phillies Outfielder, Bryce Harper and 65 lbs heavier than Comeback Kid Tiger Woods. It's lightyears away from my goal, but better than where I started.

Now, my goal weight, isn't clear. I haven't exercised very much in my life, and certainly not at the level Crossfit demands, so I really don't know what to expect on the scale when I finally feel good in my own skin. 
​
And, I actually hope I hardly care when the time comes.

​It sure would be nice to start comparing my weight to female celebs or athletes, though.