Monday, July 15, 2013

Days 10, 11 and 12 and my SIL's Rockin' Bod

So my SIL, Jane, came to visit last month. She's a personal trainer and has four kids. She looks like she could easily hold her own in a wrestling match with that Stacy Keibler chick (who honestly doesn't look like she'd make it a round with Jane- I mean Stacy is smokin' but her bod is not nearly as ripped as one would think it would need to be to be in the ring). Jane is RIPPED in all the right places and not ugly at all. As a matter of fact she's hot.

She and the fam went to Florida back in May and she's telling me this story about how everywhere they went people would come up to her and ask her how she got her body or if she was a professional volleyball player or whatever. People notice her, I mean she's not only 'fit' but her arms are cut, she legit has a six pack (she has a picture on Facebook in her bikini, nothing showy, just a pic of her and her sister at the pool- I'd post it but I don't think she'd appreciate it) and her legs are amazing. You see her and think, "Dammit, that girl does way more than just work out a few times a week."

Apparently they were on the beach one day and saw some people approaching them and thought, "Oh here we go again."

And yes, the people come up, ask her if she's a volleyball player, have the conversation with her that her body is awesome and go on their way.

Meanwhile my BIL is laying on his back in the sand, beer in hand, with his hat over his eyes and ponders, "You know, I'm kind of getting tied of this nonsense. No one has come up and asked ME how I got MY body."

Jane looks at him in his current state and says, "You know honey, I think they can figure it out."

I laughed. It was pretty funny.

So Jane and I go to Hot Mama to shop that weekend. I don't think I've ever actually purchased anything from there but I like to walk about and look at the merchandise (and then go replicate the cute things I see there at Marshall's...because I'm fucking innovative, that's why...) and pretend that I'm a legit customer. As we're walking about the store one of the sales associates comes over the Jane- not me, JANE- and says, "Wow! You must really work out- what do you do?"

Suddenly I felt my BIL's pain. I get it dude, I get it. 

So Days 10-12...things are decent. Days 10 and 11 were both Level 2- they were great, lots of sweating and panting. Day 11 was actually pretty funny. Because it was Sunday- Weigh-In Day- I got on the scale. It was like 139. Fucking scale. I fucking hate you. You are stupid and I hate you.

I head down the the basement all dejected like. Get my ass kicked, chug a ton of water and go upstairs and weigh myself again...I don't know. I'm special like that, what can I say?

I get on the scale and it says 135.2. (eyebrows lift), "Huh," I say getting off the scale. I stand there and wait to confirm what I've just seen.

Gru is there with me, "Oh well we did drink a lot last night..." he says trying to offer me some consolation.

"No, it's the other way," I say in a daze, "Hold on."

I get on again.


OMG! Happy Dance! I know it's only five pounds from my legit starting place but I haven't seen 135 in well over a year. I am crazy happy.

I go through the day floating on air, happy, still being good. Here's the deal- I haven't told most of the people in my life I'm doing this because I'm waiting to see when or if they'll notice. So far only one person has said anything and here's how it went. At cheer last night I was sitting next to another mom and she says, "Well my daughter had a good compliment for you yesterday."

"Oh?" I say thinking what a rough sleepover we had just had the night before (so. much. fucking. girl. drama....can't handle the meanness)

"Yes, she lifted up my shirt and poked my fat and said I needed to work out like you."

(SCORE! granted it was a nine year old that noticed but still...I'll take what I can get at this point!)

Well, then I woke up this morning.

Fucking scale. Said I was back up to 136.2. Stupid fucking scale.

I went to the bathroom and suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Well, hello?" I said kindly.

And in busted my Big Fat Dumb Period.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," I said as he busted through, "Umm, nice to see you again..." thinking that this explains a whole helluva a lot regarding my scale situation this morning. That guy is a hoarder- holds onto all kinds of excessive baggage and water-weight. Bloater. Hate that friggin' guy.

He sat down on my couch, busted open the Cheetos and a full-loaded Coke, "Burrrrrrrrrrrppppppp...uh, excuse me, sorry about that (wipes belch from his mouth). I'll only be staying like a week or so if that's OK with you?"

Like I fucking have a choice, I thought.

I went downstairs and left my monthly visitor wallowing in his own filth while I got my ass kicked by Jillian. Day 13. "You know, fuck him," I thought, "I"m doing Level 3 just to show that asshole who's boss!"

Did Level 3...brutality. Most of it I can handle but the Level 3 cardio kicks my ass. I hate 'high knees' and some of the other plyometric exercises- the jumping- ugh. Hate it. But I struggled through, probably a few too many '5 second breathers' today- but tomorrow will be even better.

And we'll be one day closer to my unwelcome visitor hitting the road and leaving my scale and me in peace again.

SS, who used to be super happy to see my Dumb Period- now that I'm 'fixed' it's just a nuisance...

1 comment:

  1. I have two friends who are like your SIL. They are married to each other and both are personal trainers. Sometimes they compete in triathlons with some other friends of mine. So the whole team will be standing there in their 'outfits', those tight stretchy suits you wear to compete in, and people will come up and compliment just the two of them. Everyone else is like invisible. No one sees anyone except just those two. Makes everyone feel super awesome. The thing is, I knew him back in high school. We would both be in the weight room at the same time. Nobody else looked like he did. I'd pick up the same weights as him and not get even half the results he did. It's just always been that way for him. I assume its the same for his wife, but I don't know. Anyway, I long ago gave up hope of anyone ever coming up to me and say 'nice abs.' Yeah, I don't have abs. I never had abs. I don't think I ever will have abs. My goal is simply to not have a gut. I'm not saying you shouldn't dream big and aim to match your SIL. I'm just saying for me I don't have much faith that I can achieve it, so my goals are much less. This is probably the wrong attitude to have, but I don't have Jillian here in the house with me to cheer me on. It's just me and my running shoes or my bike. I need to get back to a gym sometime soon. But you, you rock. You keep on rockin' that daily workout and I'm sure you're going to impress us all because I remember the photos of you from your modeling days and you have some good genetics. My genetics are like the Hyundai of DNA, but you got some supermodel DNA going on there. I know you can do it.


Oh c'mon, don't be shy, leave a know you wanna and honestly, you'd make my entire day and you want to have that warm fuzzy feeling don't you? Mmmk, thanks!