I can’t fucking bake. You saw the Jello mold. Pathetic. Yet, I try. Like most things I can’t get right, I still try. I believe my kid is watching everything I do, and although I can’t fucking do much, I want little Johnny to see me trying. All you got is your effort, you ain’t got that, you ain’t got nothin. These are oat muffins, healthy shit I tried baking today. They look like little mounds of poo. I am proud of the effort, not so proud of the result, but fuck, I tried, right? They taste nasty, I don’t give a shit, I plan on eating all of them if it fucking kills me (not in the same sitting, though, I’m on a diet, remember?) I can’t show Johnny his mother’s a quitter. I made 2 dozen, FML.
Monthly Archives: December 2011
I am still getting the hang of this thing, turns out I did the ab rippers yesterday instead of today, but it’s fine cause it just means I got a small repreive after I lifted 3-5 pound weights for an entire fucking hour. Because I’m used to lifting heavy pots and pans during dinner time, which are stuffed with pasta, cream sauce, and American home made chilly, my abs are ripped underneath all the jellyfat that I have accumulated over the years.
Oh ya, I got muscle, you can see it when I squeeze my arms really hard. Okay you can’t see them, but you can feel them. ( I can feel them. a little.)
I am looking forward to sculpted biceps and smoldering shoulders that I plan on rocking out in my hubby’s wifebeater , which reads “I went to the gym and all I got was this fucking T-shirt” at the local pub. Well I didn’t go to no gym, and I am on day 3 so bite me!
Tomorrow I plan on taking a rest- because I only managed to work out Sunday, Monday and today because my kid was sick, I needed to make a jello mold for my mother-in-law’s Christmas party and didn’t have any time. These are the excuses I have managed to wedge into my work out.
Next week I plan on pulling a six day week of P90x, no more excuses, I will BRING IT- Jello mold duties or not.
P.S. The jello mold above is what I hoped mine would look like. The one below is more like the one I made, I put catfood on top of it, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to eat it. Sally my mother- in- law didn’t even notice and said the “granola” was a nice touch-
So it turns out the plyometrics version of P90X are for people who are Marines or Spartans, of which I am neither. Clearly I didn’t read the directions. That’s what happens when a work out program on TV comes with a fifty page handbook- fucking confusing.
I’m a chubby chick who wears an imaginary cape that I tuck into my underpants, hoping the superhero inside me will emerge. I’m no Thor, just an ordinary chub who needs a program to help maintain a sleeker hotter version of myself. WHICH IS WHY I’ve decided to follow the P90X LEAN VERSION. It’s a lot more attainable. DO NOT try the plyometrics version if you have lived on burgers, fries, and Snickers for an un-Godly amount of time- (as I have).
LEAN VERSION: More attainable, still hard enough to make me say fuck in between lifts, jumps, and Tony screaming to “Bring It.”
DAY 2: Today was CARDIO X- What is this? It is forty five minutes of fucking hard jumping jacks, punches, kicks and a series of killer sweaty moves that I spent a good portion watching on the sofa as I breathed through a paper bag. 45 minutes my ass! More like 15. I ended the day with Tony’s 15 minute ab X workout. Fucking hard. My abs feel like they’ve been punched, removed from my body stretched, pummeled and tortured. The good news? I”m so sore, I’m in no shape to make my way to the fridge for that chocolate milk beggin for me.
Thunderwoman has made it 2 days. We’re not celebrating with banners yet. Oh wait, Is that an ab pack I see forming? Na, my ripple just got stuck under the elastic of my spandex pants…fucking tease.
Day 3 is tomorrow, Bring IT!
Okay guys and girls, the tip of the day here is, “Don’t Smash Your Face”- this was said by some guy on Facebook. I liked it. I smashed my face several times today during the work out. I look like Cher after her fourteenth surgery.
Today is day ONE
It is Sunday. Who the fuck gets up early on Sunday? The paper boy and fucking junkies who need to get their fix before the shakes start, that’s who.
Well I’m up early. That’s what fat girls who make big commitments do to prove they’re rock stars inside. We get up. Get up early on fucking Sunday and turn on the TV.
Only today, the TV has a large man wearing tight clothes surrounded by other neanderthals. They look like Marvel characters. They look like- like like- skinny versions of me.
They call him Tony Horton. He’s the trainer leading my work out this morning. He has a disproportionately large head. It is making me feel less scared. How hard can a man with a very large head work out already?
Warm up is hard. I am coughing, there is snot forming out of my nose, probably all the extra phlegm from last night’s milkshake feast.
The idea of P90X is to create muscle confusion. Apparently our bodies are fucking stupid, making our muscles easily perplexed. I am staring at some blonde with large abs she looks like GI Jane’s lost sister. I hate her. I assume her brain is also jumbled and confused making her a skinny idiot. That makes me feel better.
Man I wanna be her.
Back to the work out. Today we did polymetrics. It’s as difficult as it is spelled. You’re supposed to do 20 reps of everything.
I did three. Apparently the big head has not worn this P90XMAN down.
Maybe tomorrow will be better. Power shake is for dinner. Grrreat.
P90X is a series of DVD’s which you watch every day in your living room while wearing work out clothes that no one should ever see you sporting in public. The commitment requires you to work out six days a week. SIX FUCKING DAYS a WEEK! The only thing I’ve ever done that consistently is fucking pee.
The idea is that it mixes up your muscles, you get exhausted then you want to fucking stuff your face all day.
You’re supposed to go on their lean diet too. Something about soups, lentils and power drinks. What the fuck is a power drink? When’s the last time you drank something and got full? Uh, NEVER.
Tomorrow is day one.
(Notice how I say tomorrow. I’m eating a doughnut right now as I push send.)