Psyche Babble

December 7. 2012:

Hit a new personal best.  Down to 241.6.  Whoot!

Then came my birthday. Christmas. New Years. Paul’s Birthday.

Fun?  You bet:  Cake.  Ice cream.  Tamales. Chocolate. Welsh Rabbit. Won Tons. Pan Dulce. Caramels. Chips & Queso. Pumpkin Bread.  Carmel Corn. Iced Sugar Cookies.  Candy Apples. Mashed Potatoes. Donuts. I even had a glass of wine.     

But I ran 2 5Ks.  Worked out a LOT.  Ate really well most days.

My stated goal was to maintain, not gain. I didn’t expect a big loss.

January 8, 2013:

Hit the scale at 241.2. 

I should be all “Whoo hoo!  I rock!  I did it!”

I want to.  But I’m not. 

I admit it.  I’m disappointed.

Intellectually, I know I should be content with where I am.  I know that if I had weighed in last week, I’d have logged a gain, not a loss.  A teensy tiny loss.

It’s my Ugly Secret Self. 

I wasn’t going to tell you about her. 

I love the affirmation I get from you guys.  I love to hear about how you decided to try a new exercise or run a 5K because I did it.  I love being a positive role model.

But I have to be honest.  Ugly Secret Self is still here. 

She’s the dirty part of me that says “Sure you want healthy blood, strong muscles and great endurance, but what you REALLY want is flat abs and porn-star tits.  You wanna look good naked.”

Then she says “. . .face it fatty, even if you got down to 125 lbs, you still won’t look good.  You’ll still have that spotty red skin and those pathetic man-boobs.  Your nose will still be too long and your chin too pointy and your hair?  Please.”

Ugly Secret Self is the one who says “You know what would totally make you feel better?  Chewy Caramels. Ice Cream.  You’ve done really well, so go ahead and have some. . . .there ya go. . . now a little more. . . a little more. . . oh, you feel sick now?  Maybe it’s because you have no self control.  Tsk tsk, you were doing so well too. . . “

I hate Ugly Secret Self!  But sometimes. . . .I believe her.

Like today.

Ugly Secret Self is the reason why managing obesity is more than a matter of diet and exercise.

The hardest part of getting fit is getting that bitch to shut up.

ITA — Acronyms Rock

Who here talks in acronyms??  Me!  Me!

Sometimes it’s cryptic, sometimes it’s just easier, KWIM?

Let’s play a comments game.  I will pick a comment that has all the right answers and send them a gift card to someplace yummy.  Or maybe you’ll get the Chili’s gift card I got from Christmas.  If I haven’t used it by next week, that’s probably what I’m sending. 

I am going to list acronyms I use frequently on facebook, blogs, texts & e-mails.

You translate them, then add your own favorite acronym (with translation).

If you want to play, leave your answer on the blog.  Comments on Facebook or my personal e-mail don’t count.

Here are my 10 most frequently used acronyms:

1. LOL
2. OMG
6. ITA
8. WTF
9. BFD

I’ll pick a winner next week.

Have fun!

The Suck Factor

The kids & I recently ran into a family friend as he was leaving his gym.

So proud of him for taking charge of his health and working on his fitness!

“Hey Mom,” said #2 Son, “how come when you work out you come back all wet and when Mr. H___ works out, he just looks normal?”

I have been working with a trainer since July, 2010.  I’ve dropped some weight (not as much as I want, but whaddya gonna do?  It’s a process.)  My strength and endurance have gone through the roof.  But when Gabe is done with me for the day, it’s clear I worked out hard.

Who am I kidding?  After an hour with Gabe — or with Victor — I am a soaking wet, bright red, quivering, panting mess.  I don’t look “normal”.

I don’t “glisten” like the women in my fitness magazines.   I drip.  My hair is wet, my shirt is wet, and it looks like I pissed my pants.  It scares the hell outta any civilians who I meet on the way back to the car.


Because Gabe knows how to up the Suck Factor.  For example:

A few months ago, Gabe told me that when I do a bench press, I need to keep my legs raised with my shins at a 90° angle.  That way it works my abs with my arms.  Sucks.

Last week he upped the suck factor.  Instead of merely elevating my legs, I now have to extend them to a 15° angle every time I press, then pull them back in.  That way my C-Section scars can feel like they are rupturing 25 times in a row. 

You’ve heard of the plank.  Sometimes you plank from your elbows, sometimes from your hands.  The plank is fine for the first 25 seconds.  It’s the remaining 95 seconds that feels like an eternity.

Up the suck factor:  plank from your elbows, then push up to your hands.  Thirty times.  Five sets. 

Try one.  I’ll wait.

Sucks, right?

Two of the suckiest exercises are the burpee and the “frog jump” (or as I like to call it, the hippo jump.  Because that’s how it looks when I do it.)

The burpee is that drop-to-a-push-up-then-spring-back-up-then-jump.  The frog jump is just a simple jump forward 6 inches and land in a squat.  Do it as often as it takes to cross the width of the football field.  It’s the kind of move 8 year olds do when they are pretending they are avoiding lava.    It’s not so much fun at 47.  There’s no avoiding the goddam lava — your quads will feel like they are made of it after the first lap.  And there are many, many more laps.

Up the suck factor:  Burpee, then frog jump. 

Gabe has the Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup theory:  Two great tastes that taste great together.  Only replace the word “taste” with the word “Pain”.

Case in point:  Bear crawls.  Plus pushups.  PLUS suicides.

Bear crawls are the exercises where you crawl your 47 year old size 18 ass across the room on your hands and feet, butt in the air.  My 4 year old LOVES to bear crawl with me.  He weighs 28 lbs. I weigh 8&1/2 times that.

Suicides are where you run to the cone, touch it, then run back.  Then run to the further cone, then back.

Suck Factor:  20 pushups, bear crawl to the first cone, 20 more push ups, bear crawl to the second cone, 20 more pushups, bear crawl to the third cone, 20 more pushups, bear crawl to the fourth cone, turn around and come back the same way.

By now, you must be saying “For God’s sake, don’t do it.  Tell Gabe NO!”

I’m not going to tell Gabe “No”.

Because Gabe has never made me do something I couldn’t do.  When I started working with him, it took me 5 minutes to bear claw my size 26 ass across the room.  I could do no more than 10 burpees at a time.  I could only do pushups from my knees.  When I started working out I was soaking wet and bright red after 5 minutes.

I still sweat.  I’m still red, winded and tired at the end of a session.  But that’s only because Gabe knows how up up the suck factor.


Resolution Time!

It’s time to make those resolutions again!

Here are some of mine (in no particular order):

1. Run a 5K every month.

Remember how I made that my goal for 2011?  Remember how I did it?  Remember how I lost a bunch of weight that year?

Remember how I DIDN’T have that as a goal in 2012?  Remember how I only ran like 4 times all year?  Remember how I didn’t lose hardly any weight at all?

You probably don’t remember that part on account of I HAVEN’T BLOGGED FOR SHIT IN MONTHS.

2. Blog every week.

I miss blogging.  A lot.

I fubar’d my  Big time.  (don’t click the link.  It goes nowhere.)

So I am playing with other domains.  Thought I wanted a variation of giftoffat, but now I am thinking of trying something else.  I’ll letcha know.


Grad School is part of the reason I have sucked at blogging.  I’ll be done in December 2013.  Fingers crossed.

4. Go to Confession every 2 weeks.

While on my blog hiatus, I went on a spiritual retreat with a bunch of other women.  It was really great except we fucking cried the whole time.  Sometimes you just gotta cry, ya know?  The retreat was supposed to make me all holy & shit.  Well, it didn’t.  But it did remind me of the value of Reconcilliation.  And frequent reconcilliation WILL make me all holy & shit.

(To all you anti-swearers out there, I maintain that there is a big difference between “Fuck That” and “Fuck You.”  I never say the latter.  If I do, it will come to confession with me.)

5. Have a date with my husband every month.

This is an awsome goal.  And I probably should tell him about it.  Heh.

We’ll keep ya posted!

Love, Mary A

This should have been our Christmas Card Photo.  But we didn’t take it until after we already send cards.  Dammit!


Christmas Zombie

I am one of those sanctimonious souls who constantly bewails the aggressive pre-Halloween marketing of Christmas. 

I’m really kind of a PITA.

I flat out refuse to participate in Black Friday because I find it obnoxious to spend so much time, money and energy on crap no one really needs.

Again, total PITA.

But on the Saturday after Thanksgiving?

I become a Christmas Zombie.

I didn’t realize it until I unpacked my groceries a few minutes ago.

I now own:

3 different “Christmas” home fragrances:  Christmas Tree, Cinnamon Sparkle and Candy Cane.

Candy Cane Oreos

Christmas Tree shaped snack cakes to send to school with the boys this week.

Holiday sparkle nail polish

4 “gift sets” of soap, a wash puff and lotion to give to God knows who.  Teachers I guess.  ‘Cause teachers never get dozens of soaps, lotions and wash puffs every single year. 

A Christmas Cranberry candle.

In my defense, I didn’t buy a tree. 

I already have one.

Might put it up tonight. 

What a PITA.

Turkey Chased

Happy Thanksgiving!

I should be cooking and cleaning, but instead I’m trolling Facebook and blogging. 

I did a Turkey Chase this morning.

A Turkey Chase is a cute name for getting up too early on a day off to run 4 miles with 500 people who are faster than me.

Actually, I did not come in last.

Last year, I came in last.  DEAD last.

In 2011 I ran a 5K every single month.

In 2011 I lost a lot of weight.  I got down to 244.  (I know that sounds like a lot, but my highest non-pregnant weight was 298.  That’s a lot for a 5’4″ woman)

In 2012, I did a 10 K in January, a 5K in the summer and the Turkey Chase today.

Know what? 

If I want to be good at running I need to do more of it.

It’s not that I didn’t work out this year.  Gabe kicks my ass almost every day.

I kept the weight off.  Well, I put some back on. . .then lost some. . .then added some. . then lost some more, but I just weighed in at 243.

Yeay!  I lost a pound.  This year.

I also worked full time, took a full load at school and was a first-time Scout mom.  I didn’t blog much tho.

What I am saying is, I am not beating myself up for not running a lot this year. 

I’m just going to plan to run a lot more next year.

One 5K every month.

November’s will be the Turkey Trot. 

I might come in last.

Turkey Trot 2011.  Notice how no one is running BEHIND me.

Identity Crisis

Once upon a time I was a blogger.

I had a domain name.

I had followers.  And commenters.  I even got spammed.

I started the blog to talk about why being fat isn’t the worst thing in the world.  I wanted to share with the world that being fat has advantages. 

It does.

I found that being fat gave me presence.  And presence gave me courage.  Courage to speak out against bullying, prejudice and hatred.

Size awareness is important to me.  I will continue to write about it often.  But it gets a little. . . strident after a while.

Sometimes you just wanna have fun.

So I wrote fun things.  Silly things.  Tacky things. 

Then I became interested in getting fit, so I wrote about the funny and embarassing and triumphant things that happen to a fat girl who works out. 

I loved writing.

I loved reading the comments and hearing from people that they liked my writing.  I loved the attagirls and the affirmations.  I loved the blog friends I made along the way.

And then. . .

I guess I forgot to pay someone.

My domain name,, suddenly stopped directing to my blog. 


Somewhere, somehow, I pointed the domain to a host or somthing and agreed to pay a $10 hosting fee.   When it was time to re-up, my card had expired.  SInce their contact e-mail was one I check every 3 years or so, the message to update the payment expired.  Oops.

Can I find all my user names and passwords?

Uh.  No.

Every time I think I have it handled, Go Daddy says “it may take up to 3 days to respond”.  Dude — in 3 days I’m gonna be doing something else. 

So fuckit.  I’m done.  I need to move on. 

I need to get a new domain name. 

So I’m thinking of or  

Whaddya think?

I’m No Quitter

My brother is getting married in a few weeks.

We’re thrilled.

Mostly we’re thrilled that he’s found such an amazing person to share his life with.

I’m pretty sure my dad is thrilled that he’s marrying a girl. 

He’s 42.  We were starting to wonder. 

I got these shoes to wear to the wedding:

I thought it might be wise to give these hotties a test drive, as I have been known to . . .um. . . . fall off my shoes. 

So I wore them this week.

I walked.  I twirled.  I swung my feet in the air to show people my cute new shoes.

I felt so sexy.

I felt so TALL.

I felt such pain.

In my toes. 

Those beautiful shoes rub against my big toes. 

By noon, I switched to flats. 

The flats hurt because of the giant throbbing blister on each big toe.

I would drive through the pain, but agony takes some of the sass out of your walk, ya know?

But my toes are better today.

So this weekend I am buying some of those shoe insets that will keep me from sliding forward so much.

And I’m gonna try again on Monday.

Because those shoes are worth it.


Greatest Strength

You know how sometimes your greatest strength is also sometimes your greatest weakness?

Like, people who are really great at being organized sometimes can’t just let go and go with the flow?

One of my great strengths is that I am a communicator. 

The correlating weakness:

I have a big fucking mouth.

I don’t mean to.  I just can’t seem to STFU. 

Anyone ever tackled this before?  Any ideas on how to fix it?


I recently gave you a “Peek into Purgatory” where I described all the fun things Gabe makes me do on this:

“1. The Box. This is where the Burpees happen. Burpees are the fun thing where Gabe makes you drop to your hands, kick your feet out behind you to a push-up position, then bring your feet back in, then jump. Gabe likes to do sets of 25. Sometimes 30. Sometimes more.

The Box is also for Mountain Climbers and Step Ups. Gabe likes to do those in sets of 50 or 100. I mean, Gabe likes ME to do those in sets of 50 or 100.

Also, Gabe loves to do four sets of everything. Sometimes he likes five sets. Five sets of 30 burpees is 150 burpees. Just in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Gabe read the post.  Then Karma set in.

Today?  I had to do 300. 

Scared of what I have to do tomorrow.