My F*&#-It List

So does every f*&# it.

Everyone’s got their bucket lists and they’re filled to the brim with extreme sports, extreme travel, extreme success.  Well, I’ve also got my f*&#-it list.  It is filled to the brim with extreme annoyances to which I have decided to say, “F*&# it.”  I will no longer obsess over the following past grievances.

Pounds lost.  Because, once you get yourself on that fast-movin’ fitness track, pounds are no longer a sign of progress or failure.  My weight has remained the same (between 135 and 140 pounds – I ain’t ashamed) for a good six months now.  Has my body ceased changing?  Have I achieved that lofty goal of mere maintenance of my physique?  Let me think for a moment…hell no.  I put on a whole bunch of muscle (that is a technical fitness industry term, right there) and lost a good amount of fat.  I have, as they say, leaned out.  My clothes come in smaller sizes and my ass sits at higher levels.  (My boobs are still 37 years old and there’s no cosmetic surgery in sight…*sigh*)  Inches change, photos change, clothes change…The scale?  The scale in this house is one lazy motherf*&#er.  (I swear I haven’t been drinking.  The curses just feel really good today.  Deal with it, damn it.)  It never changes.  And guess what?  Not only am I fine with it, but I couldn’t care less.  I am beyond the scale now.  And oh, how freeing!  Now the only morning ritual that can potentially ruin my day involves my inordinately stupid canines and their confusion over proper fecal placement.  But that’s another tirade altogether.

What anyone else thinks of my workout gear.  I like my funky knee socks.  I do not like to wear much (if anything) beyond a sports bra when running outside.  I wear sweatbands, headbands, kerchiefs, and falling-apart hats.  I get a lot of use out of my heart rate monitor and my lime green fuel belt.  And if it’s foggy outside – I will be wearing my neon safety vest.  You don’t appreciate my avant-garde fitness style?  Might I suggest not looking?  If I’m comfortable, if I’m stocked with water and Gu, I’m a happy Queen.  Save your disdain for fanny packs and I’m With Stupid tshirts.

Counting calories.  Now, I remain a loyal fan of myfitnesspal.  I find it to be an incredibly useful and FREE tool for those new to the fitness biz.  However, I am done with it.  I eat incredibly well (it was a long, hard journey folks.  I’ve earned that cockiness.) and I work out incredibly hard.  There’s the whole saying, “Eat clean, train dirty.”  That’s me.  I eat for sustenance and it works.  I haven’t been a regular counter for quite some time now, but I really dropped off the counting map when I dived into the Primal lifestyle.  So no more myfitnesspal for this FitGal – but I will continue to recommend it to anyone taking their first FitLife baby steps.

The Haters.  Why yes, I do have defined biceps and triceps.  And yes, I do have short hair.  No, I am not, in fact, a man.  Nor do I even remotely resemble one.  What I resemble, I believe, is your frail ego’s worst nightmare.  So please, for everyone’s sake and your own teeny tiny pride, just SHUT IT once and for all.  And those of you offended by shrinking sizes, I actually don’t prefer cheeseburgers, but thanks so much for your continued suggestions to scarf them down.  I eat quite well, and I eat quite a lot.  I know it is of great concern to you, so I promise you I am eating all manner of beef, poultry, seafood, vegetables, and fruit.  All.  Day.  Long.  Yes, I also drink my Shakeology.  If you continue to denounce this as “starving myself,” I’m going to have to assign some homework.  And I’ll insist it’s returned minus the grease stains, thanks.

Perhaps I sound bitter.  Could be because I haven’t gotten my sweat on yet today due to a sore-back-and-migraine combo that is slowly making for the exit.  Could be the weather.  Or it could actually be that the last category was the hardest to simply say “f*&# it” to.  I am a soft-spoken, generally quiet kinda gal (no, really) and I believe wholeheartedly that drama free is, in fact, the way to be.  So when the Drama Queens rear their badly-coiffed heads this FitQueen’s temper tends to flare.  Of course, it’s just another excuse to flex my guns, so in the end, I’m still happy.  I’ll be smiling as I cross them off my F*&#-It List, too.

FitPeeps like us just ain’t got that kinda time.

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