Friends, as of 7:55 this morning, I have officially lost 25 pounds since moving away from Nebraska. Not a HUGE number, but it's a 25 pounds less than I was last year at this time. And damnit, it is staying off come hell or high water. Seriously though, Jacy and I polished off three boxes of Girl Scout cookies last weekend and I didn't gain an ounce. It's gone for good.
I had a goal in mind when I started (which I'm about 40 pounds away from), but really it's just become a great journey for me. I've realized the importance of a healthy lifestyle instead of just focusing on a number. Sure, I get off track every once in a while, but I'm not secretly binging on fast food in my car. The biggest, most helpful thing to ask myself everytime I shove something in my mouth is, "Would I eat this in front of Ryan Lochte/Josh Hartnett/Jillian Michaels/Bob Harper?" If the answer is "Aw, hell no," then generally I put it down. Sometimes when I'm out to eat with friends I'll still indulge, but I'm not eating an entire plate of shit food. Instead, I'm just having a few bites of shit food and then I'll go back to my regularly scheduled program.
I'm also not being a giant lump of lard who never works out. You know those people who NEVER work out and still remain thin as a rail? (ahem, my BF Maggie...jerk). Yeah, well I'm not one of those people. The gym is my frienemy. But recently the gym has become my bestest friend in the whole wide world....thanks to one delectable gentleman.
Folks, I have this humungo, gigantuano crush on a boy at my gym. (Yes, after contracting Bieber Fever, I now call grown men "boys" and have begun using the word, "crush," to define my feelings for boys.) But really, a "crush" is the only way to describe it.
You know how when you were in ninth grade and you had a "crush" on the hot senior who dated the hottest girl in school? Yeah, that's what's happening here. I feel very Molly Ringwald in 16 Candles. Every time I go to the gym, I find find myself pouding it out twice as hard on the dreadmill just to show him how much of a beast I am. Fortunately for me, he somehow always manages to park his cute behind on the treadmill right beside me. Unfortunately for him, I kick his ASS every time. He runs 6 mph, I bump it to 8. He's at 6 percent incline, I put mine at 12. I kick ass so hard that I almost feel like roaring after my workout. Sadly there is one major downfall to my beast-dom....
I am the sweatiest mo' fo' on the planet.
Dude, I don't even drink my recommended 8-10 glasses of water every day and I still manage to ooze. I swear to you, if you put a 5-gallon bucket by my dreadmill, it'd be at least half full by the time I'm done.
Can you see my dilemma here? How disgusting must I look after my workouts? I try to wear colors like black or navy blue while I work out, but it's tough to hide my hair from looking like I just stepped out of the shower.
I'll be honest with you, this guy isn't even out of my league. I'd probably have a shot with this guy in a bar setting. But how the hell can he find me the least bit attractive when I look like I just ran 10 miles with a two-ton hippo riding me piggy back? It's impossible. Jacy keeps saying, "Ohhh, just make eye contact with him and then give him a smile." Yeah, Jace, I totally would if sweat didn't run down past my eyebrows and block my contacts so bad. Who doesn't love a chick who looks like she just got done seizing/sobbing uncontrollably/fighting off pink eye?
But in all honestly, I'm hoping he'll look past my sweatiness and see my inner badass. I mean, what other girl does 100 squats with 25 lb dumbells in each hand? And really, in the end, this whole "being healthy" business is about ME, not some cute guy with big arms and a nice tan.
But damn, watching him in the gym sure helps me on my journey.