A-freakin’-ROO

The easiest yet most badass-looking obstacle

I am three days out from my next Spartan Race.  I am experiencing the requisite freakout, lamenting any and all missed training sessions and transgressions of nutrition.

It’s typical among any racer of any sort.  I get the same way before marathons and half-marathons.  I combat it with my mantra: Trust In The Training.  Because the training is the hard part: the workouts, the nutritional fueling, the early rising/late nights.  Races are the dessert, full of fun and glory during and much bragging after.

There will still be bragging after.  There’s no validity to any falsely modest statements here, am I right?  There will be fun and glory during as I love the mud, the physicality, and the one-on-one time with Hubby with nary a diaper to change (unless he’s been hiding something from me).  So why bother with the anxiety?  Because it’s what I do.

I have seen my share of two- and three-day training breaks the last two months.  Dietary missteps have been even more frequent.  Now, I stopped monitoring my food intake for aesthetic reasons long ago; I focus instead on the way I feel when I down toxic meals and – for lack of a better word – “treats.”  I tend to the cautious side because I understand what a dynamic role my nutrition plays in connection with EBV.  Does it mean my intake has reached that glorious state of perfection?  Hell to the no.  But I try.

Anyway, even more than missed training and consumption of completely wasteful foodstuffs, I continue to agonize over the bone-crushing fatigue that has been creeping up on a daily basis.  I simply haven’t been able to pull completely out of the flare up, despite relaxing my training schedule.  Yesterday was the worst: I crashed into a drooling slumber of an entirely non-beautifying sort at 7:30ish.  I say “ish” because I have a hazy recollection of texting Hubby upon the groggy realization that our daughter was awaiting parental pickup from her playdate.  My phone tells me that happened at 7:26 and that he responded right away.  I was asleep before I read that response.

Before last year’s race with our youngest Spartan-In-Training

And I could simply say, “So-the-fuck-what? I feel amazing today!”  Which is true; I do.  My freaking arises from the worry that the fatigue will settle before I have a chance to cross the finish line.  It was my sincere desire to slaughter this race in a way we could not do last year due to Hubby’s breaking his ankle in the first mile.  (He still finished.  Four miles plus obstacles.  Aroo, Hubby.  A-freakin’-roo!)  Again, it is all in my head.  I need to flush the fear, the anxiety, the freak down the proverbial toilet.

And drink some Energy & Endurance Formula before our heat.  Did I mention we’re in the 12:30 heat?  Literally – the 12:30 HEAT.  That actually has no bearing on my pre-race jitters.  Just thought I’d mention it.  I am an all-week hydrater before races.  So I drink all the water and pee ALL THE TIME.

I seem to have lost track of my original point.  Can I blame that on EBV too?

What it comes down to is this: I am deciding right now, right this very second, to release the worry.  I will do whatever training suits me in this last week vs. attempting to squeeze every last drop of sweat and strength into four days to compensate for any missed time.  Because really, that would just ensure my dropping like a deuce mid-race.  I vow to enjoy my date with Hubby, my muddy fun with friends, and the celebratory beers post-race.

Because Spartans do not quit; they persevere.

AAAAARRRROOOOOO!

A Day In The Life

What’s life like with Epstein-Barr, you ask?

Okay, so you didn’t ask.  But I feel like telling you so you can further understand all the levels of my awesomeness.  (Yes, there are levels.)

I’m tired a lot.  Not I-need-my-morning-mud-baby-kept-me-up-insomnia kind of tired.  I know those tired’s like the back o’ my hand.  It isn’t even anemia-level-fatigue.  This tired trumps even what I believed to be the king daddy of tired – New Baby Tired.  It’s all the way down to my bones, reaching its long scaly fingers reaching deep into my brain and making thoughts confusing and muddled.

There are days (like today) when I feel continuously disoriented and dizzy.  You know that head rush you sometimes get when you stand up too quickly?  Extend it.  I can curl up in bed when the toddler naps, but then it’s like the drunk spins, just without the fun prior.

I am eating clean (yeah, so I ate pizza and Samoas last night.  Stop spying on me.) and getting my suggested 7 to 8 hours of sleep each night.  I’m drinking my water and limiting caffeine.  I’m in the taper phase of marathon training, so workouts are down.  I go every Friday morning for my B12 shots, which take effect two to three days after administered.  I am doing what I am supposed to do.

But sometimes, I wanna do more.  And that is when I get frustrated and moody and quite crybabyish.  I don’t like running slow.  I don’t like sitting in my bed, imagining that the contractors are rolling their eyes over what they believe is pure Peggy Bundy laziness.  I don’t like just running and doing squats or not playing outside with my kids or struggling to follow Hubby’s report of his day.  I don’t like it because that’s not me.

So some days, I fight a little harder through it.  Like today.  I guzzled some Energy & Endurance formula (you want samples? I got samples. Email me.) and got to work cleaning.  That felt okay so I changed into workout gear and switched on the treadmill.  I ran five miles with a 9:45 pace.  That felt fan-fuckin’-tastic.

Now it’s post-run, post-shower, post-school pick-up.  I’m sneaking an extra cup of coffee and another serving of Shakeology in hopes that’ll get me through the rest of the evening (tonight’s the big Academic Achievement Fair at school and both older kiddos have projects to show off) without growing fangs or flaunting my extreme powers of bitchiness.  Because now I am tired and dizzy and dumb again.

I know I’m still in here, somewhere.  I see me every time I run and hit that zone.  I like that me.  I like her a lot.  The thing is finding her and keeping her.  So I’m working on that, and trying not to over-Google Epstein-Barr (because there is also hypochondriac-me and neurotic-me, and those bitches can agonize).  Instead, I’m focusing on the stuff that heals me: sleep, nutrition, simple fitness.

That, and David Boreanaz.  He heals me, too.

Oh, Sealy…

Finders, Keepers

Bless the Hubby and the sleeping Rooster, I got to run outside today!

It was slow goin’ even before I left the house.  I planned on a 1:00 pm leave time and didn’t start out until closer to 2:00.  Last year, I had a routine when it came to suiting up for those cold weather jaunts.  I knew where my gear was and exactly what I needed.  This year, I’m wandering about like a confused bag lady, snatching up this and that, unsure what will be useful and what will be extra baggage.  Fortunately, my E&E kicked in and my brain cleared enough for me to dress myself appropriately.

But even those first few moments were slow and painful.  Actually, the first 45 minutes felt as though I was running underwater while breathing glass.  In an effort to be kind to my shins, I took my prescribed walk breaks (I stuck to 3:1 intervals for the majority of the run, only running through when I finally fell into my zone).  Whether it’s an overuse of the treadmill or a crash and burn of the diet sort (I’ll get to that in a moment), my body simply felt tired and used up for that first 45.

For most of our mini-vacation, I set a very good example for clean eating.  I ate the food we packed.  I drank my Shakeology.  Even when we dined out, I ordered Paleo-friendly dishes.  Then came my perfect storm.

My two older monkeys spent the night at their bio dad’s house.  It’s a good thing, but I always miss them terribly.  We’ve been the Three Musketeers for five years now, and splits are always tough on mama.  Add in the fact that – *Warning! I am about to discuss “female stuff” – it’s that time o’ the month, we had just arrived home after a week away and a full day of wrestling, and I was beyond exhausted and emotionally drained…and there you have it.  My perfect storm.  I sent the Hubby for treats and lo, he did provide.  Chocolate, ice cream, and much salty goodness in brightly colored wrappers.  The foods I typically sneer at, I devoured until my belly hurt and my soul felt soothed.

Today, I felt like the crap that goes into those foods.  Bleh.  But I refuse to wallow.  Moving forward, I must not cave, but I will not feel any guilt over this digression.  It aided to the general suckiness of those first 45, I am certain.  But again, that suckiness evaporated just as magically as it always does.

Because I finally found it.  My zone, my zen, my love of running.  I smiled at drivers, at dogs, at people walking dogs.  I snuck loving glances at my neon-covered feet and bopped my head to the music.  I felt that little twinge of disappointment when I realized my time on the road was coming to a close.  It was enough that I am already looking forward to my runs next weekend.  So I found it, and I’m keeping it.  In the words of my toddler, it’s MINE.  MY zone.

Oh – and my shins feel fabulous.  I know you were wondering.

 

Gym Buddies

I have big dreams for an at-home gym with all the trimmings and none of the toys.  It’s far in the future, and I typically do my jumps and lifting while sidestepping superheroes and Matchbox cars.  I suck it up and do my best to pretend that really, I’m in a room of mirrored walls (to better watch my form and admire my changing definition) with all my longed-for equipment at my fingertips (the collection is building slowly but steadily).

It never works.  That daydream inevitably grinds to a halt with sounds of sibling irritation, jumping on my bed, or simply, “MomMomMomMoooooo-ooom…MomMomMom…” You get the picture.

Today was different. 

Yes, the surroundings were the same.  But after I put in my 30 minutes on the treadmill, I was followed by first my daughter and then my son, both logging 1.5 miles as part of their 5k training.  We chatted about runs and inclines while I did an abs pyramid, discussed upcoming races while we stretched, sucked back water as we recovered.  We were M&M Gym rats together, and it was quite nice indeed.

I set such a great example, I’d like to pat myself on the back for a moment if I may.

There’s been a lot of talk about how we can best achieve our goals (the phrase “that’s not fair” in reference to anything is no longer permitted here).  It’s gratifying to see that sinking in.  Running is not mandatory here.  They want to actually run a 5k and they have witnessed that training is a prerequisite for any race.  They asked for treadmill time and were absolutely delighted with the entire process (it was the boy’s first time).

And here we all are, sweaty and proud and energized.  I’m pretty thankful for that.

She’s in training. ❤

Just When I Thought I Was Out…

 

“Just when I thought I was out, the pulled me back in!”

It’s happened again.

A race has been dangled in front of me…and of course I want to grab it.

So here goes training for Marathon #2, this time in Pittsburgh and with a buddy.  (See, Nes, it’s in print – kind of – so now we are committed to this thing.)  I’ve got plenty of time to get back into the swing of training – I haven’t been workin’ my Newtons since the Hat Trick – and I’ve got the combined reward of a shiny new medal and time with my gorgeous college roomie.  It’s pretty much a no-brainer.

Of course, there will be logistics to consider for this marathon: hotel room, travel expenses, and whatnot.  But that’s the easy stuff…The hard stuff will come as the winter months drag on and I’ve got longer and longer runs to log.  Not that I haven’t done that before.  Remember how much I rocked last year while prepping for Run for the Red?  Yeah.  I’ll rock twice as much this year.

Because I’ve already got a marathon and all its required training under my ever-smaller belt.  I’ve got a Spartan under there too, and the Hat Trick.  And Insanity.  I think the Pittsburgh Marathon is starting to shake in its boots…

It looks scared, doesn’t it?

Today marked Day #1 of training with an easy peasy 20-minute jog and Burn Circuit 1 with Chalene.  I have decided to drop my two-a-days of TurboFire and ChaLEAN Extreme and do the hybrid schedule with my challenge group instead.  I will not be stressing myself out with over scheduling; I know I can’t fit in every workout my body wants to do, so my requirements are now marathon training and the hybrid.  At least for the next 2 1/2 months…then we move on to the next challenge group…

Anyway – despite a cold and months of insomnia attempting to drag my cute little rear down, I totally kicked ass today and feel fairly fantastic right now.  And I swear that’s not just the E&E formula talkin’.  (It’s the endorphins…)

SuperQueen

I feel like I’ve discovered a whole new superpower.

I can lift heavy.

Tis true!  At least, I’m lifting heavier than I did before – and I’m loving it.  Even as I sit here, sweaty and panting post-CrossFit Mamas, my upper arms are quivering.  I picture them as happy pups, hence the quivering results from severe tail wagging.  Because I am so elated with my workouts these days.

Granted, I’m pretty much always elated with my workouts.  But I was away from my weights for so long that they feel all new and shiney.  And they actually are new and shiney.  I have begun using my Selecteks on a near daily basis and those babies are F-I-N-E fine.  Seriously.  If you lift at home and plan on continuing to lift at home – make the investment.  I can’t wait to start the challenge group with these beauties.

And before we get to the “but you’ll bulk up” phase of the convo, let’s recall that I am, in point of fact, a female and therefore will not bulk up.  This body doesn’t produce those sorts of muscles.  I can lift as heavy as I want and I’ll just get prettier (and more capable of kicking your ass when you insinuate I possess any sort of masculinity).

So anyway – rest day from running, quick 10 rounds for CrossFit Mamas, and now off to shower before the big Homecoming game.  Go, Slaters!

Happy Friday, SweatItOuters!

Get Up and Go (Back To Bed!)

Let me just tell you about my morning – and give fair warning that I, Readers, am about to whine my firm tushy off.  Because thus far, the day is not one I care to remember.

Woke up sick – muscle achiness, congestion, headache, itchy/sore eye – for the second day in a row.  Dishes still piled in the sink from last night (oh, dishwasher! Where art thou?).  Werewolf lost his lunchbox.  Babe still teething and also congested.  Dogs still unclear about proper defecation/urination spots.  Rain.  Nearly late for school.  Babe broke fruit bowl (and in the process destroyed my precious mangoes).  Bills are due.

“Hold on,” you say.  “That’s just life.”

Exactly.

I may not muster the attack mode I generally use for workouts, but I will be running and lifting and lunging this naptime.  I took a full on rest day yesterday, snuggling with Babe and watching copius amounts of Sesame Street.  Two days in a row with no workout would not bode well for this FitMama or the rest of the M&M Clan.  Plus I have sincere hopes of sweatin’ the nasties out and ridin’ some endorphins through the rest of the afternoon.

Nor am I taking this series of annoyances as a sign to indulge in crap eating.  Not so long ago, I would have dived face first into something chocolate, forks be damned.  Okay, so last night Hubby surprised me with Colbert’s Americone Dream after the monkeys were safely tucked in and unable to share.  And I did partake.  I partook a lot.  We rarely see it anywhere plus it’s election season.  That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

One dalliance…and today I’m back on it.  Paleo waffles for breakfast, Shakeology and black coffee for snack.  Steak leftovers for lunch and pork roast with apples is already cookin’ away in my trusty crockpot.  (Did I mention the handle on the crockpot lid broke off?  Another point to Wednesday.)  I’m downin’ my water and not even tempted by the remaining Americone Dream.  (My belly’s reaction to last night’s deviance is still too fresh in my mind.  Bleh.)

No lying about either (although I have been eyeing the pillows and I felt some bitterness watching Babe snuggle in for his nap).  I managed to get actual chores done while catching up long-distance with my big sis and I’ve still got that workout on deck.  There’s baking to be done, laundry to fold, and business plans to be made.

I just gotta finish this mug of coffee and some E&E first.  A Queen’s gotta get her energy somehow.

*Want your own supply of Energy&Endurance for days like today?  Visit my site and click away, my friends!  It’s workout magic, I tell ya.

http://www.beachbodycoach.com/JMILLER343

 

The Word of the Year

The word of the year seems to be “motivation.”  Who has it, who doesn’t.  Who needs it, lost it, harnessed it, found it.  Without it, your ass is glued to the couch, the bed, the chair.  With it, your ass is shakin’ to the beat of life.  So what’s the secret, you ask?  How do I get me some of that, you wonder?  Well, come here…lean in close…

…I don’t know.

Because it’s different for everyone.  What worked for me may not work for you.  That doesn’t mean I’m not going to go on and on and on about what worked for me.  Trust me, I will be babbling about what worked for me long after the cows come home from wherever they’ve been (and seriously, why are those cows always leaving home and where exactly are they going? Party animals.).  But you need to figure out what motivates you.  And, in my own personal experience, I find there are different sorts of motivation I require at different times.  So…I am, once again, about to extoll the virtues of what motivates me and how and when.  (That is why you stopped by, isn’t it?)

Motivation Sort #1: What Gets Me Off My Inert Ass.  Before the sweating even starts, there’s the battle of simply starting.  Which often times is the biggest battle of all.  Whether you’re slidin’ outta bed before the rooster even consideres crowing (hey, I live in rural PA.  Deal with the farm imagery.) or your workouts have to wait until…well, until the owls start hooting (sorry)…it’s often that simple decision of lacing up your shoes, shrugging into that sports bra, pulling on those shorts.  There are different things that get my blood pumping.  Sometimes, the thought of the workout itself is enough.  I love flexing my new muscles and pushing my lungs to capacity…most of the time.  But – and I’m about to spill something top secret here – I’m HUMAN.  No, seriously.  There are moments when even I, the SweatItOut Queen, do not care to sweat it out at all.  I can blame fatigue, boredom, anemia, injury.  The fact is, when I don’t wanna, it’s mostly just that I don’t wanna. 

That’s when I gotta pull out the big guns.  (That’s imagery that goes along with rural PA as well.)  See, now my hobby is my business.  Those five extra pounds could be five less orders, five less clients.  This often keeps me in line late at night when the rest of my household companions are snoring peacefully (and quite loudly, thus my wakefulness) and I find my tastebuds hankering for something coated in either chocolate or breading.  Anyway – I digress.  I am motivated by my strong desire for my business to succeed.  There’s one way to get my rear in gear.

Other ways include sipping on E&E Formula (takes me from negative energy to SURPLUS ENTHUSIASM in ten minutes or less), watching Insanity or TurboFire infomercials, perusing Pinterest for motivational pictures of fit bodies.  Anything to remind me of how I’m gonna feel when I’m all done.  Which is not guilty, not regretful, not tired.  Sweat instills the exact opposite of those feelings in me. 

So I got started.  What more does one need, you may ask.  Let me tell you!  You need Motivation Sort #2: What Keeps My Ass Moving.  Because sometimes, you may have the get-up-n-go to start but not the drive to finish.  Some workouts just plain BITE IT. You know the ones.  The programs you started with the best of intentions and the highest levels of excitement only to shove them guiltily into a darkened corner so as not to be reminded of their existence.  For me, it was spinning.  Now, I have friends who ADORE spinning and I am incredibly happy they have discovered their soul mate workout.  I bought my padded shorts.  I shuffled into class faithfully…for about three weeks.  Not for me.  Turns out MY soul mate workout was TurboFire (I may have mentioned this once or twice).  I find Chalene Johnson to be highly motivating at EXACTLY the points I require her to be so.  When she yells, “YOU’RE NOT TIRED!” at the moment I am ready to toss my weighted gloves aside…well…I find I am NOT TIRED.  I believe her.  And that little mantra, in her voice, clicks in my head during some hard runs as well.  So to sum up this point: FIND YOUR SOULMATE WORKOUT.  Not only will it resolve Sort #2, it may even resolve Sort #1.

And then, of course, there is Motivation Sort #3: What Makes Me Do It Again.  And Again.  And Again.  And…well, you get the picture.  If my soul mate workout begins to feel stagnant (which can happen from time to time; thankfully, we always reconnect enthusiastically), I have other programs I love nearly as much – HipHop Abs, P90X, yoga, RUNNING, QiDANCE, step, ChaLEAN Extreme.  I also have the reminders of my upcoming events.  Can’t brag if I don’t do ’em.  Can’t do ’em if I don’t train.  I like to brag.  A LOT.  So that’s a preeeettty big motivator, right there.  I enjoy looking at photos of myself from events and seeing how much fitter I am than I was at my previous event.  Makes me feel kinda good about me. 

And now, I have this Challenge Group.  They make it all fun and stuff.  Their daily photos and their incredible support of each other (though most of them have never met) is highly motivating.  We are only on the fourth day, and I’m already dreading Day 30 when I turn them loose.  Which is why I need to get my fix with another group.  I have become a Challenge junkie.

These are just some of the things that work for me.  When you stop back, you’ll hear them again, but they’ll be sprinkled with other ways I trick myself.  I can only take you so far…you know, you can lead a horse to water (thought I was done with the animals, didn’t ya?)…but you can’t make him put on running shoes and sprint around the track.  Find your WHY.  Polish it up, make it all shiney, give it a spot on the mantle.  Then get to sweatin’.

Legend…Hold the Dairy…

I talk a LOT about the exercise side of fitness.  It’s my love, my passion, my addiction.  And yes, it gets me results.  It makes me stronger, faster, leaner…more irresistible.  Plus, it’s fun.  I get to kick, punch, run, dance…and I typically only have to do so for one to two hours a day.  Which, I feel, is pretty easy.  The nutrition side of fitness…that side which glowers upon regular chocolate cake consumption and does not condone a daily intake of Funyuns…that is not so fun.  And, until recently, it was not even remotely easy for me.  Good thing I like challenges and being told it can’t be done.

I was never what anyone would label “a healthy eater.”  I was more likely to fall under the category of “eternal grazer” or “garbage disposal.”  I ate massive amounts of food in single sittings with constant snacking energizing me between meals.  And I ate things like Weis dessert bowls (frequently enough that my coworkers began calling them “Jen Bowls”); king size Snickers bars; 20-piece McNuggets with three different sauces so my delicate pallette would not get bored.  We frequented the diner down the street so often that we had our own booth and the waitresses knew our “usuals.” 

Then I started TurboFire and started dropping pounds and inches.  I was, to put it mildly, quite pleased.  I continued to drop when I picked up running, and I started gaining muscle when I began using ChaLEAN Extreme.  But that mid-section still looked suspiciously poochy, as though it might be carrying something.  And it was.  It was carrying Big Macs, taco pizza, everything fries, and too many desserts to name (but all containing chocolate).  I took a moment to be frustrated, to feel depressed, to pout and whine and stomp my feet regarding the unfairness of it all.  Then I turned to my favorite place for change: Beachbody. 

I wanted more results and I wanted them faster.  I ordered HipHop Abs, E&E Formula, and my first round of Shakeology.  I signed up for my personalized meal plan and started using myfitnesspal again.  I returned to Body Confidence by Mark McDonald. Things began happening. 

First, I fell in lust with Shaun T and in love with E&E.  Then I made a lifelong commitment to Shakeology, which led to a lifelong commitment to (mostly) clean eating.  Because here’s the thing: I have that shake in the morning, and I find it ridiculously easy to maintain healthy eating for the remainder of the day.  My body gets what it needs, so minimal (if any) cravings follow.  For a girl that used to hide candy bars in the freezer so my kids wouldn’t get them, who used to stock an entire file drawer at my desk with snacks ranging from funsize chocolate bars to entire boxes of cereal…that’s kind of a big deal. 

Now here came the most kickass part of all the kickass-edness (yes, it’s a word!): I had ab muscles under that pooch! And a waistline!  For the first time since junior high, I saw flat abs in my future.  I don’t even have to flex.  They just pop out.  It’s like every day, I’m more awesome.  It’s hard to believe, right?  How does one so awesome continually find more room for awesome?  Barney Stinson ain’t got nothin’ on this girl.  Legend…

Speaking of dairy…Yeah.  I don’t do that anymore, either.  At least, the occasions are few and far between.  I originally cut it out as part of the Body Confidence jump start plan, but found that not only did I not miss it, I felt better overall.  And after being dairy free for a few weeks, when I had a small glass of milk…Let’s just say, things weren’t the same between me and the white stuff anymore.  Which just makes decisions that much easier still.  Again with the awesome.

And again, my point behind all this rambling is THIS: if I, the bacon-loving, chocolate-cake-shoveling, fried-cheese-inhaling garbage disposal and former champion of all encased meats, can not only change my diet and garner control over my eating but am actually SATISFIED with my current intake…then so can you.  I don’t wanna hear crap about healthy foods being too expensive.  I don’t wanna hear “but my kids won’t eat that.”  I especially don’t wanna hear “but that’s too difficult.”  I will slap that french fry right outta your mouth. 

Fact: eating right will extend your life.  It will extend your children’s lives.  Less sickness equals less prescriptions and less trips to the doctor.  Fact: your kids will eat what you provide.  You’re the parent and you make the rules.  When my children complain, I make them this deal: get a job, do the shopping, prepare the meals.  Then we can have cheeseburgers and potato chips every night.  Guess what?  We’re still eating organic veggies and grilled fish or chicken.  Fact: the more you do it, the easier it gets.  The only difficult part is the first two or three weeks.  Once those devil toxins are cast from your body, you will crave things like cantaloupe and mixed greens and water.  And then I won’t have to keep slapping you.  Which is nice for both of us.

And now that I have finished my Dwight Shrute-like diatribe, I’m going to go sip my green tea, read a little Mama Llama with the babe before he naps…and then I’m gonna rip into HIIT 15 and some ab work.  Because Shakeology gave me the energy to do so.

Movers and Shakers

The rain.  The gray.  The chill.  It does not induce warm and fuzzy work out feelings in me.  It induces DVR, good book, and warm tea feelings.  What to do?  Race day is creeping closer and skipping scheduled training is not an option.  No matter how sweet and snuggly that napping babe in my bed looks to me. 

First step: mix up some E&E.  On my far-too-early-to-be-sane running mornings, when I can barely open my eyes, this is my go-to.  I sip as I watch the morning news and suddenly go from justifying why bed is better to MUSTRUNNOW.  And it works just as well on a rainy late morning, even if Bethenny Ever After is waiting on my queue.  I am sipping it now, and my fingers are racing to be done with the blog so I can get groovin’ with Chalene and TurboFire. 

Second step: read my own freakin’ blog.  It reminds me not only of why I am doing this, it makes me WANT to do this.  I seriously inspire myself.  Call it conceit if you want, but then I might call you jealous.  I think it’s better when we all just choose to love me and sweat it out together. 

Third step:  PRESS PLAY.  Once I hear the Turbo music, my butt gets a mind of its own.  It starts shakin’ and movin’ to the beat, dragging my well-muscled arms along for the ride.  How did I live life before running and TurboFire???  I don’t know how I went so long, but I know for sure I ain’t goin’ back!  Increased energy, drive, focus…It’s all taking up residence on a permanent basis.  I bought TurboFire as a means to lose my baby weight.  Turns out it was a means to losing an unhealthy life and a catapault to an entirely new world.  I had no idea that THIS body could do THOSE moves and LOVE IT. 

Once I’m done, I may have more words of wisdom to offer you.  Or I may be too busy following TF up with a leg workout.  Probably the best thing for you to do is join me.  Grab some sweat bands. (Yes, I use them.  I don’t care if I look like an 80’s gym flashback.  This chick sweats like a pig.)  Grab some weighted gloves.  Grab two or three bottles of water (because I care about your hydration, and you should, too).  Meet me at the Beachbody gym and let’s GET IT DONE.  (E&E makes me type in ALL CAPS too.)

You can be sore tomorrow, or you can be sorry tomorrow.  Every day, it’s a choice.  You give me excuses, I stick my fingers in my ears and yell “BLAHBLAHBLAH.”  I don’t speak weenie.  I don’t accept it from myself, and I know you’re just as dedicated and strong as me. 

So drop and give me twenty.  (Or fifteen.  I can do fifteen pretty good ones.  Next week, we’ll be up to twenty.)