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 with more 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'll be back later to update this post.
Wish me luck!
A year ago September I weighed in at 286 lbs. That is exactly one pound heavier than Duke’s phenon power forward Zion Williamson (285 lbs) and four pounds heavier than Yankee outfielder (and the only Yankee since Mo Rivera that makes this Red Sox fan think twice), Aaron Judge (282 lbs).
When I started Crossfit in January, I weighed in at 268 lbs (I’m 5’10’’). That's 6 lbs heavier than The Rock and 18 whole pounds heavier than a healthy LeBron James.
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.
I decided I had better start a fitness section to this blog, because if you came her looking for information about autism, or special needs parenting, or any of the other bullshit I tend to spew, you might not be too pleased to read about my foray into Crossfit.
So, the first post on my brand new blog section I’m going to call:
Couch to Crossfit!
Fat to Fit…. (Nah then I really have to get super fit)
MomBeast….Hmmmmm, I like it, because it suits me outside of the gym, too.
Okay, here goes.
Want to see some less than flattering photos of a 42 year old 250 lb mom at the gym?
That’s kinda weird, but scroll down for more. I’ll post them as a “before”........ I hope.
It’s been 14 and half weeks and and 49 visits to the gym and FRANKLY, I don’t know why I’m not skinny yet.
Now, recently I was lamenting to my husband about my lack of 'skinnyness', and he said some stellar words, and I kinda want this on a t-shirt: "Why don't you stop worrying about how much you weigh and instead worry about how much you can lift?"
I want to get there. I want to think like that and maybe I will soon, but for now I’ll soldier on. And while I am here I thought I might tell you the top ten recurring thoughts I’ve had at Crossfit:
An overweight, overworked special needs mom who found Crossfit.