Today is full of suck-age.
I just wrote the worst exam of my entire life, I shit you not.
To numb the pain, I did a little nerd shopping. I bought myself a genetic testing kit to see what diseases/weird abnormalities I may be predisposed to. Am I a fast acetylator?! predisposed to heart disease?! we will find out in a few weeks. Stay tuned, friends. I can't wait.
On a completely unrelated topic, I have been meaning to share this with you:
http://www.stumptuous.com/run-like-a-girl-interview-with-mina-samuels
Its an interview with a writer of a book I'm meaning to read now. If you are interested at all in women in sports, health/fitness, or think you would enjoy listening to two awesome women have a great thought-provoking conversation, then I highly recommend. Lots of "YEAH!!"'s went through my head while listening. Enjoy, friends. It's about an hour, but worth every minute of your time.
- G
Friday, December 16, 2011
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?
Know thyself.
Don't underestimate the power of this statement.
Ask yourself: How well do you know yourself, really? Much like you (probably) I would say most of the time, me, myself and I are a pretty tight knit group. I spend a lot of time with me. We're buds. We tell each other everything. I could rhyme off innumerable fun facts about me. I know what to buy me for Christmas.
But how do you know if you know yourself? It became clear to me today that the" knowing of thyself" is something of a moving target. I am a moving target.
Since coming home from my Worldwide Adventure, I have wrapped myself up in a beautiful delusion, a delusion where I think that I am somehow more "enlightened" and "self aware" now than I was before, because now I have traveled (oooohhh ahhh). No doubt, in many, many ways I am richer for the experiences I had and I wouldn't trade them for anything. But even though this past year really was about finding this "self knowledge", spending quality time with me, figuring out what makes me tick, learning to read my own emotions better, and to understand why I behave the way I do, it seems that I am no more "self aware" now than I was before I left. Dang...
Not to get all Oprah on you, but I do think that at least for a short while on the road, I attained a heightened sense of awareness about myself. When I had nothing else to worry about but my own happiness, I like to think I got me pretty down pat. It was a great time. But sadly, it turns out there was an expiry date on that state of self reflection. The "me" of only a few short months ago I knew so well....well, she isn't "me" anymore.
Allow me to put this philosophical rant in a little context. Today was an ordinary day. Sure, I'm having some stress about an upcoming exam, and I have a paper due that I am having serious mental block trying to write, but this amount of stress and demand is not anything that this kid hasn't handled before (and then some....no, and then lots). Actually, I would say today was less stressful than most days. I went to hot yoga in the morning, worked on my paper for the afternoon, and went to jiu jitsu at night. BJJ was even great. I had lots of energy and got in some good rolls. Then, on the walk home, I decided to call my parents just to say hi. My dad answered. I yelled at him, and then burst into tears.
......excuse me?
I've been trying to figure out why I've been a cranky pants for the past nearly-month. It's not just school. It can't be. This is the life I have chosen for a variety of very good reasons that I am pleased with myself for. School-related stress can't account for the venom I feel bubbling inside me every single day. It can't account for wanting to yell at old people for walking too slow, for the way I have been treating people around me who have done nothing wrong, or the elaborateness and specificity of escape plans I have been hatching in my head to run away again (only this time I would never come back). It can't account for me not wanting to celebrate my birthday at all this year (nor can being 'old' because I'm not old). For the past few weeks, I have chocked my rampant bitterness and terrible mood up to fluctuations in hormones (or rather, to put it delicately, "woman problems"), but I think that excuse has effectively expired now.
It's funny how the people close to you see right through your bullshit excuses and reasons you give yourself for acting a certain way. So, after my dad apologized for pissing me off (although remaining thoroughly baffled as to how he had managed to do that in less than a minute thirty) he mentioned ex-boyfriends name as a potential source of my horrific mood. BINGOOOOOOOOOOO. (sorry, no prize)
Bam. Crash. *Cue Niagara Falls*. Waterworks for hours.
I thought I'd been doing too well with this.
(Apologies now for breaking my promise that this blog would not be an outlet for spewing over the shrapnel of my failed relationship. I newly promise not to make this a regular thing, or to go on for too long about it.)
Yes, it hurts. Yes, I want to, in an alternating fashion, call him and tell him I think he's [insert explitive laced diatribe of your choice here] or call him and tell him it's okay I forgive him let's just forget this silly mess (but nonetheless still call him). Yes, I had already correctly identified that I am hurt and angry and sad about the situation. But apart from the initial aftershock, where have the tears been? Apart from the occasional revenge house-egging fantasy, how have I been able to function (relatively) normally? I've been trying to liken my reaction to this breakup to the downfall of my last major long-term relationship, the aftermath of which saw me morph into a bumbling self-destructive idiot with little appreciable self esteem, and not a detectable shred of dignity. I cried myself to sleep for months. And hey, isn't that what they do on TV, anyway? If it's on TV, it's normal! So why hasn't that happened this time?
I seem to have completely missed some obvious key elements. I missed the obvious that was so obvious to my dad. "Me" circa now is a WILDLY different creature than "me" circa that other relationship. This relationship was a world apart from the last. (also obvious - MY LIFE IS NOT TV). Why did I expect my reaction to stay the same when none of the variables are even remotely similar?
I am an excellent liar when it comes to lying to myself. I guess I don't tell me everything. How did I not connect the dots? My new health/eating awesomely/fitness/lets-get-the-body-I've-always-wanted regime? while not without its obvious merits and benefits (and I am enjoying the ride), it is a thinly veiled cover for me not dealing with my feelings about breaking up. It's a means to exert control over my situation because I had no control over my now defunct relationship. I lied to myself by thinking I could just carry on as if nothing was wrong. But I am clearly not carrying on as if nothing is wrong. I am wrong. I'm an angry, bitter, awful mess, and its not the fucking hormones (although they don't help) - it's him.
I'm surprised it took itself this long to manifest, but hey - now I know that I don't know where this is going. New me, new variables, different situation, I can't predict how I'm going to handle a break up this time around. It's uncharted territory, man. At least maybe now I can stop pretending I know what I'm doing?
Apparently, me calling my parents "just to say hi" is secret code (secret yes, even to me it seems) for I WANT TO EXPLODE AND I NEED TO CRY. Thinking back, I've done this before. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and know full well that I lucked out in that lottery, but calling "just to say hi" is not something I do with them regularly, for whatever reason. Usually because my mom calls me at work a lot so I speak to her often. But the few times it has happened, it goes exactly like it went today. I call, nitpick about some innocent thing either one of them says, then burst into tears about something that has nothing to do with either of them. Who does that?
I guess I don't know this me as well as I thought I did. But now that I know enough to know I don't know, I'm looking forward to experiencing all the new shenanigans I get me into.
She's obviously not perfect, but she better be cool. I'm stuck with her (for now).
xox
Don't underestimate the power of this statement.
Ask yourself: How well do you know yourself, really? Much like you (probably) I would say most of the time, me, myself and I are a pretty tight knit group. I spend a lot of time with me. We're buds. We tell each other everything. I could rhyme off innumerable fun facts about me. I know what to buy me for Christmas.
But how do you know if you know yourself? It became clear to me today that the" knowing of thyself" is something of a moving target. I am a moving target.
Since coming home from my Worldwide Adventure, I have wrapped myself up in a beautiful delusion, a delusion where I think that I am somehow more "enlightened" and "self aware" now than I was before, because now I have traveled (oooohhh ahhh). No doubt, in many, many ways I am richer for the experiences I had and I wouldn't trade them for anything. But even though this past year really was about finding this "self knowledge", spending quality time with me, figuring out what makes me tick, learning to read my own emotions better, and to understand why I behave the way I do, it seems that I am no more "self aware" now than I was before I left. Dang...
Not to get all Oprah on you, but I do think that at least for a short while on the road, I attained a heightened sense of awareness about myself. When I had nothing else to worry about but my own happiness, I like to think I got me pretty down pat. It was a great time. But sadly, it turns out there was an expiry date on that state of self reflection. The "me" of only a few short months ago I knew so well....well, she isn't "me" anymore.
Allow me to put this philosophical rant in a little context. Today was an ordinary day. Sure, I'm having some stress about an upcoming exam, and I have a paper due that I am having serious mental block trying to write, but this amount of stress and demand is not anything that this kid hasn't handled before (and then some....no, and then lots). Actually, I would say today was less stressful than most days. I went to hot yoga in the morning, worked on my paper for the afternoon, and went to jiu jitsu at night. BJJ was even great. I had lots of energy and got in some good rolls. Then, on the walk home, I decided to call my parents just to say hi. My dad answered. I yelled at him, and then burst into tears.
......excuse me?
I've been trying to figure out why I've been a cranky pants for the past nearly-month. It's not just school. It can't be. This is the life I have chosen for a variety of very good reasons that I am pleased with myself for. School-related stress can't account for the venom I feel bubbling inside me every single day. It can't account for wanting to yell at old people for walking too slow, for the way I have been treating people around me who have done nothing wrong, or the elaborateness and specificity of escape plans I have been hatching in my head to run away again (only this time I would never come back). It can't account for me not wanting to celebrate my birthday at all this year (nor can being 'old' because I'm not old). For the past few weeks, I have chocked my rampant bitterness and terrible mood up to fluctuations in hormones (or rather, to put it delicately, "woman problems"), but I think that excuse has effectively expired now.
It's funny how the people close to you see right through your bullshit excuses and reasons you give yourself for acting a certain way. So, after my dad apologized for pissing me off (although remaining thoroughly baffled as to how he had managed to do that in less than a minute thirty) he mentioned ex-boyfriends name as a potential source of my horrific mood. BINGOOOOOOOOOOO. (sorry, no prize)
Bam. Crash. *Cue Niagara Falls*. Waterworks for hours.
I thought I'd been doing too well with this.
(Apologies now for breaking my promise that this blog would not be an outlet for spewing over the shrapnel of my failed relationship. I newly promise not to make this a regular thing, or to go on for too long about it.)
Yes, it hurts. Yes, I want to, in an alternating fashion, call him and tell him I think he's [insert explitive laced diatribe of your choice here] or call him and tell him it's okay I forgive him let's just forget this silly mess (but nonetheless still call him). Yes, I had already correctly identified that I am hurt and angry and sad about the situation. But apart from the initial aftershock, where have the tears been? Apart from the occasional revenge house-egging fantasy, how have I been able to function (relatively) normally? I've been trying to liken my reaction to this breakup to the downfall of my last major long-term relationship, the aftermath of which saw me morph into a bumbling self-destructive idiot with little appreciable self esteem, and not a detectable shred of dignity. I cried myself to sleep for months. And hey, isn't that what they do on TV, anyway? If it's on TV, it's normal! So why hasn't that happened this time?
I seem to have completely missed some obvious key elements. I missed the obvious that was so obvious to my dad. "Me" circa now is a WILDLY different creature than "me" circa that other relationship. This relationship was a world apart from the last. (also obvious - MY LIFE IS NOT TV). Why did I expect my reaction to stay the same when none of the variables are even remotely similar?
I am an excellent liar when it comes to lying to myself. I guess I don't tell me everything. How did I not connect the dots? My new health/eating awesomely/fitness/lets-get-the-body-I've-always-wanted regime? while not without its obvious merits and benefits (and I am enjoying the ride), it is a thinly veiled cover for me not dealing with my feelings about breaking up. It's a means to exert control over my situation because I had no control over my now defunct relationship. I lied to myself by thinking I could just carry on as if nothing was wrong. But I am clearly not carrying on as if nothing is wrong. I am wrong. I'm an angry, bitter, awful mess, and its not the fucking hormones (although they don't help) - it's him.
I'm surprised it took itself this long to manifest, but hey - now I know that I don't know where this is going. New me, new variables, different situation, I can't predict how I'm going to handle a break up this time around. It's uncharted territory, man. At least maybe now I can stop pretending I know what I'm doing?
Apparently, me calling my parents "just to say hi" is secret code (secret yes, even to me it seems) for I WANT TO EXPLODE AND I NEED TO CRY. Thinking back, I've done this before. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents and know full well that I lucked out in that lottery, but calling "just to say hi" is not something I do with them regularly, for whatever reason. Usually because my mom calls me at work a lot so I speak to her often. But the few times it has happened, it goes exactly like it went today. I call, nitpick about some innocent thing either one of them says, then burst into tears about something that has nothing to do with either of them. Who does that?
I guess I don't know this me as well as I thought I did. But now that I know enough to know I don't know, I'm looking forward to experiencing all the new shenanigans I get me into.
She's obviously not perfect, but she better be cool. I'm stuck with her (for now).
xox
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Update! Russian Mystery Reader is not real.
update:
Wanting to know more (and getting creative) I clicked on the link that Russian Mystery Reader supposedly found me through (blog stats are awesome).
It lead me to a website warning me about how the FBI is listening to us all through our cell phones.
EVEN WHEN THEY ARE OFF.
The internet is full of weirdos. Wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaah..... :(
Wanting to know more (and getting creative) I clicked on the link that Russian Mystery Reader supposedly found me through (blog stats are awesome).
It lead me to a website warning me about how the FBI is listening to us all through our cell phones.
EVEN WHEN THEY ARE OFF.
The internet is full of weirdos. Wah waaaaaaaaaaaaaah..... :(
Procrastination Nation
Hey gang.
you may have noticed (or maybe not) that the momentum for this blog got lost somewhere over the last few weeks. I know.
I attribute that to a few things - one being a genuine lack of anything interesting to say, and the other being my discovery of a genuine lack of any readers. I found the "statistics" button and learned that no one in fact reads my blog, except for someone from Russia (so big shout out to my Russian reader!). But I went out with Ms. Muscles the other night to to see some all female Muay Thai fights (totally awesome) and she assured me that she is an avid reader and "tsk tsk"d me for not updating it lately. So this one's for you, Muscles!
So what to say? Well, I think moods are a funny thing.
I say this because, the past few weeks I have been FUCKING MOODY. Like, wanting to punch kittens moody. My life has been a LOT of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html
and a little of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html
And let me tell you friends, it is no way to live. I wish I could tell you that I've come up with some magic recipe for how to deal with this concoction of hormones/moody chemicals whizzing around in my brain and body, but I have not. Still working on it. Instead, I remain a bitch to deal with on pretty much every level.
So while not writing in my blog for the last few weeks, what have I been up to? Well, as per my rut status, not much. But I can tell you I think I have earned a Master's degree in Self Sabotage in the intervening time. No-dairy diet? pfft. Losing weight? haaaa. New outlook on life?!? not so much...I am nothing if not a slave to my moodiness - moodiness that seems to require me to stuff my face with corn chips at 10am on a Wednesday morning (meanwhile, paradoxically, making sure I buy the grass fed beef at the farmer's market). What is up with that? I keep wracking my brain for some funny and/or light-hearted anecdote to interject here - but crazy brain here keeps preventing me from thinking life's a peach.
Promise to update again when I think of something fun or interesting to write about. It's exam time - it's not like I don't have some procrastination to do...
xox
you may have noticed (or maybe not) that the momentum for this blog got lost somewhere over the last few weeks. I know.
I attribute that to a few things - one being a genuine lack of anything interesting to say, and the other being my discovery of a genuine lack of any readers. I found the "statistics" button and learned that no one in fact reads my blog, except for someone from Russia (so big shout out to my Russian reader!). But I went out with Ms. Muscles the other night to to see some all female Muay Thai fights (totally awesome) and she assured me that she is an avid reader and "tsk tsk"d me for not updating it lately. So this one's for you, Muscles!
So what to say? Well, I think moods are a funny thing.
I say this because, the past few weeks I have been FUCKING MOODY. Like, wanting to punch kittens moody. My life has been a LOT of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/05/sneaky-hate-spiral.html
and a little of this:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html
And let me tell you friends, it is no way to live. I wish I could tell you that I've come up with some magic recipe for how to deal with this concoction of hormones/moody chemicals whizzing around in my brain and body, but I have not. Still working on it. Instead, I remain a bitch to deal with on pretty much every level.
So while not writing in my blog for the last few weeks, what have I been up to? Well, as per my rut status, not much. But I can tell you I think I have earned a Master's degree in Self Sabotage in the intervening time. No-dairy diet? pfft. Losing weight? haaaa. New outlook on life?!? not so much...I am nothing if not a slave to my moodiness - moodiness that seems to require me to stuff my face with corn chips at 10am on a Wednesday morning (meanwhile, paradoxically, making sure I buy the grass fed beef at the farmer's market). What is up with that? I keep wracking my brain for some funny and/or light-hearted anecdote to interject here - but crazy brain here keeps preventing me from thinking life's a peach.
Promise to update again when I think of something fun or interesting to write about. It's exam time - it's not like I don't have some procrastination to do...
xox
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
CAAAARRRRBBBBSSSS....nomnomnom
Hey Kiddos.
Yesterday's training went well. Barf Class was awesome - and somehow I remained full of energy for the entire thing. Only one of the exercises was totally humiliating (walking mountain climber pushing things? I kept falling over because my legs would give out). Yay?
Usually I'm pretty good about not stuffing my face when I get home from working out, but yesterday roommate A had made some pasta, and he foolishly offered me the rest of it. As soon as those carbs hit my lips it was sweet, sweet heaven. I devoured that pasta, oh yes I did, and then proceeded to down a massive bowl full of sticky rice from dinner....from dinner made two weeks ago :( In the haze of my carb lust I paid no attention to best before dates. There was no stopping me. I am not proud. What's interesting though, is that I recognized this pig out as simply being HUNGRY because I worked really hard, and had nothing to do with eating for the sake of eating. If I was eating for taste or the sake of eating or wanting something tasty, I would have devoured the cookies and cupcakes on the table, baked with care by roommate M, but which I have barely touched. No. Instead I freely chose the 2-week-old white rice. Why?
Well, I've been thinking a lot lately about exercise and fitness and happiness. Forever, I have held onto the opinion that if I work really hard, stick to eating good food, get to be as fit as I want, and therefore look how I want, the happiness will follow because I will be hot and awesome and then nothing can stop me. TURNS OUT that's not how it works. When I was slaving away at my previous miserable job before I went traveling, I got to a point where I was eating pretty good meals, and training a lot, but I made a lot of mistakes and it was hard to stick to most of the time. I'd eat really well all day, then come home and "reward" myself with something delicious but bad for me a few times a week. On the weekend all bets were off and I'd eat myself silly, usually downing some sort of greasy pub food a few times. Although it wasn't out of control, I still used food and the concept of "reward" copiously to make up for how miserable, out of control, and belittled I felt in my career. I trained to support my crappy eating habits, rather than training to make my body work better.
Since I've come home from traveling, and I feel respected and valued in my new position, it's been remarkably easy to do good things for myself. I don't finish the day feeling like I want to punch kittens or just sit and zone out in front of the TV until sleep comes. Food, although clearly still one my greatest pleasures, is not a reward for having endured something terrible. It's enough of a reward to feed my body with good things that make me feel and function better. Working out is something I look forward to, rather than just some more torture I have to put myself through before I can reward myself with a bag of buffalo and blue cheese potato chips (those are delicious). Heartbreak notwithstanding, I'm happier now that I have been in many a-year. And for that reason, I think my fitness goals are going to come a lot easier than I expected.
I've already lost 5 pounds! :)
It is, however, a cruel joke of biology that the boobs are always the first to go, but never the first to be packed on. Mother nature can be so catty sometimes.
Today's workout will be training again with Ms. Muscles followed by some hot yoga. Did I mention Ms. Muscles and I are going to see the nutty bananas tornado of crazy that is the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince - PRINCE - this weekend?!?!? Wicked....we're going to party like its 1999. Except maybe a little differently, because I don't want to party like I'm 14 years old again. There was a lot of bad hair.
PEACE! :)
Yesterday's training went well. Barf Class was awesome - and somehow I remained full of energy for the entire thing. Only one of the exercises was totally humiliating (walking mountain climber pushing things? I kept falling over because my legs would give out). Yay?
Usually I'm pretty good about not stuffing my face when I get home from working out, but yesterday roommate A had made some pasta, and he foolishly offered me the rest of it. As soon as those carbs hit my lips it was sweet, sweet heaven. I devoured that pasta, oh yes I did, and then proceeded to down a massive bowl full of sticky rice from dinner....from dinner made two weeks ago :( In the haze of my carb lust I paid no attention to best before dates. There was no stopping me. I am not proud. What's interesting though, is that I recognized this pig out as simply being HUNGRY because I worked really hard, and had nothing to do with eating for the sake of eating. If I was eating for taste or the sake of eating or wanting something tasty, I would have devoured the cookies and cupcakes on the table, baked with care by roommate M, but which I have barely touched. No. Instead I freely chose the 2-week-old white rice. Why?
Well, I've been thinking a lot lately about exercise and fitness and happiness. Forever, I have held onto the opinion that if I work really hard, stick to eating good food, get to be as fit as I want, and therefore look how I want, the happiness will follow because I will be hot and awesome and then nothing can stop me. TURNS OUT that's not how it works. When I was slaving away at my previous miserable job before I went traveling, I got to a point where I was eating pretty good meals, and training a lot, but I made a lot of mistakes and it was hard to stick to most of the time. I'd eat really well all day, then come home and "reward" myself with something delicious but bad for me a few times a week. On the weekend all bets were off and I'd eat myself silly, usually downing some sort of greasy pub food a few times. Although it wasn't out of control, I still used food and the concept of "reward" copiously to make up for how miserable, out of control, and belittled I felt in my career. I trained to support my crappy eating habits, rather than training to make my body work better.
Since I've come home from traveling, and I feel respected and valued in my new position, it's been remarkably easy to do good things for myself. I don't finish the day feeling like I want to punch kittens or just sit and zone out in front of the TV until sleep comes. Food, although clearly still one my greatest pleasures, is not a reward for having endured something terrible. It's enough of a reward to feed my body with good things that make me feel and function better. Working out is something I look forward to, rather than just some more torture I have to put myself through before I can reward myself with a bag of buffalo and blue cheese potato chips (those are delicious). Heartbreak notwithstanding, I'm happier now that I have been in many a-year. And for that reason, I think my fitness goals are going to come a lot easier than I expected.
I've already lost 5 pounds! :)
It is, however, a cruel joke of biology that the boobs are always the first to go, but never the first to be packed on. Mother nature can be so catty sometimes.
Today's workout will be training again with Ms. Muscles followed by some hot yoga. Did I mention Ms. Muscles and I are going to see the nutty bananas tornado of crazy that is the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince - PRINCE - this weekend?!?!? Wicked....we're going to party like its 1999. Except maybe a little differently, because I don't want to party like I'm 14 years old again. There was a lot of bad hair.
PEACE! :)
Monday, November 21, 2011
monday funday
I know you've all been waiting with baited breath, so if you must know, the farmer's market was amazing this week. AND - I converted another roommate to the cult. We had coconut french toast for breakfast and it was all I could have asked for and more. Also, in my weekly game of "what the fuck is this?" where I find a random vegetable I've never tried and buy it - I tried sunchokes. According to the delightful farmer girl I bought them from, they are in the sunflower family, and also known as Jerusalem artichokes. They baked up nicely with a little olive oil and marjoram. Kind of like a crunchy, nutty, potato. Mmmmm....
This weekend was full of successes and failures. I wimped out of going to Barf Class on Friday because I was really tired and thought dragging my ass through ladder sprints and (failed) chin ups might make me cry. So I took J's advice to "train smarter" and took the night off. I also wussed out of Saturday jiu jitsu for the same reason...my muscles were still killing me from Thursday!!! But I did go to hot yoga, and I did show up for some rolling with J on Sunday to help her prep for her competition this coming weekend. According to her, it seems like I'm "back now", which makes me really happy. I feel back to jiu jitsu now. I still suck, and will continue to have no technique for a while, but I do feel like the last couple weeks have put a little more fight back in me.
In other news, I have hit a mental road block in submitting my volunteer application for the John Howard Society because I have to provide 3 references. What is it about asking for references that I hate so much? It's not hard. Academia requires me to do it all the time. But I hate it. every. single. time. It's not like anyone has ever said NO before...I don't know what it is but it seems almost impossible to drum up the energy to ask sometimes.. But now that I've put it out to the internets, I have to do it to avoid shaming...so I will mail my application off this week.
Other than that my weekend wasn't that exciting. Tonight is Barf Class and jiu jitsu.
Huzzah!
-G
This weekend was full of successes and failures. I wimped out of going to Barf Class on Friday because I was really tired and thought dragging my ass through ladder sprints and (failed) chin ups might make me cry. So I took J's advice to "train smarter" and took the night off. I also wussed out of Saturday jiu jitsu for the same reason...my muscles were still killing me from Thursday!!! But I did go to hot yoga, and I did show up for some rolling with J on Sunday to help her prep for her competition this coming weekend. According to her, it seems like I'm "back now", which makes me really happy. I feel back to jiu jitsu now. I still suck, and will continue to have no technique for a while, but I do feel like the last couple weeks have put a little more fight back in me.
In other news, I have hit a mental road block in submitting my volunteer application for the John Howard Society because I have to provide 3 references. What is it about asking for references that I hate so much? It's not hard. Academia requires me to do it all the time. But I hate it. every. single. time. It's not like anyone has ever said NO before...I don't know what it is but it seems almost impossible to drum up the energy to ask sometimes.. But now that I've put it out to the internets, I have to do it to avoid shaming...so I will mail my application off this week.
Other than that my weekend wasn't that exciting. Tonight is Barf Class and jiu jitsu.
Huzzah!
-G
Friday, November 18, 2011
Shut up about the farmer's market!
Ahoy, mateys.
Happy to report great success from my training session with the awesome Miss N, now to be known only as "Ms. Muscles". Having never done it before, I was skeptical about lifting with someone. I was worried it would be embarrassing, as I look and feel like a dork while lifting, and I just generally prefer to keep witnesses to a minimum. [Case in point: yesterday while doing some....okay I dont know remember what they're called....thingys where you hold onto a chest height bar, stick your feet in front of you and pull yourself up....the bar slipped off the rack and I fell flat on my ass with a nice kaboom! Coolness fail. Also, I could have really hurt myself.] But I gotta say, I'm reformed. It was nice having someone to train with, and Ms. Muscles is an awesome training partner. It really helped with motivation and curbing the temptation to slack off and not finish a set. So, if I could move my arms this morning, I would raise them up and give a big high five to Ms. Muscles :)
And the post-workout roomie get together wasn't so bad. Laughter was had. The Guinness might have helped (I drink Guinness now), but all in all it was fun. I didn't even go bananas with the food - even though I had sort of intended to. I was craving something smothered in cheese, but instead had the burger with salad (I was told the wild boar sausage was only "appetizer size"...wah wah).
So, about food. I've been pretty good with the food. I cook a lot now. Roommates can attest to the fact that I stink up the kitchen all too frequently. Dairy-restriction aside, I'm not super anal retentive with my diet (poor choice of words?). My philosophy is that I'm going to eat good food whenever I can, and make an effort to make sure "I can", often. If for some reason I failed to plan ahead and I can't, or I just really want a fucking brownie, it won't be the end of the world. But basically, food for me lately means learning to love leftovers. LOOOOVE them. I pack lunch and dinner for school every day. That is probably my least favourite part of this whole thing.
And then, friends...then there is the magical place that consumes my Saturday mornings. I have to tell you, I am well and truly in love with the farmer's market just up the street from my place. It's silly, but it makes me happy. I am excited by produce in a way I have never been excited by produce before. And I've discovered it's the kind of place that you either "get", or you don't. I brought ex-boyfriend there one BEAUTIFUL October morning (it was magical), and he wasn't really into it like I was into it. One of my roommates came with me last weekend, and I have now converted her. We are having breakfast there tomorrow morning (YES. They have an awesome breakfast stall that opened up because they moved inside for the winter. They go all winter!!). Imagine...fresh organic coffee....buying delicious vegetables that are grown LOCALLY from the people whose tender loving care went into them....free range eggs from Newmarket! NEWMARKET! I know where that is!. I won't go on a big tirade about how the more I learn about where food comes from, the more I don't want to eat things from the supermarket, but just know that it adds significantly to the magic of the farmers market. And it makes me try new vegetables. Who knew I liked candy cane beets? Not me!! Romanesque? wonderful! It's like eating math! (google it)..... I talk about it a lot.
Training tonight will be the "fight training" class at my gym. It is the class I have affectionately dubbed "barf class" because it usually makes me work so hard I want to puke. I think J might be there, I remember her saying she "barfs on fridays". Sounds like a terrible thing to go through, but I feel like a superstar afterwards, and I can see it making a difference in my cardio (which is terrible, currently). So barf class it is! Updates tomorrow after I'm done basking in the glow of the market.
And now, it's time for real school class. Two hours of feeling like the dumbest person in the room? Yes, please! BRING IT.
-G :)
Happy to report great success from my training session with the awesome Miss N, now to be known only as "Ms. Muscles". Having never done it before, I was skeptical about lifting with someone. I was worried it would be embarrassing, as I look and feel like a dork while lifting, and I just generally prefer to keep witnesses to a minimum. [Case in point: yesterday while doing some....okay I dont know remember what they're called....thingys where you hold onto a chest height bar, stick your feet in front of you and pull yourself up....the bar slipped off the rack and I fell flat on my ass with a nice kaboom! Coolness fail. Also, I could have really hurt myself.] But I gotta say, I'm reformed. It was nice having someone to train with, and Ms. Muscles is an awesome training partner. It really helped with motivation and curbing the temptation to slack off and not finish a set. So, if I could move my arms this morning, I would raise them up and give a big high five to Ms. Muscles :)
And the post-workout roomie get together wasn't so bad. Laughter was had. The Guinness might have helped (I drink Guinness now), but all in all it was fun. I didn't even go bananas with the food - even though I had sort of intended to. I was craving something smothered in cheese, but instead had the burger with salad (I was told the wild boar sausage was only "appetizer size"...wah wah).
So, about food. I've been pretty good with the food. I cook a lot now. Roommates can attest to the fact that I stink up the kitchen all too frequently. Dairy-restriction aside, I'm not super anal retentive with my diet (poor choice of words?). My philosophy is that I'm going to eat good food whenever I can, and make an effort to make sure "I can", often. If for some reason I failed to plan ahead and I can't, or I just really want a fucking brownie, it won't be the end of the world. But basically, food for me lately means learning to love leftovers. LOOOOVE them. I pack lunch and dinner for school every day. That is probably my least favourite part of this whole thing.
And then, friends...then there is the magical place that consumes my Saturday mornings. I have to tell you, I am well and truly in love with the farmer's market just up the street from my place. It's silly, but it makes me happy. I am excited by produce in a way I have never been excited by produce before. And I've discovered it's the kind of place that you either "get", or you don't. I brought ex-boyfriend there one BEAUTIFUL October morning (it was magical), and he wasn't really into it like I was into it. One of my roommates came with me last weekend, and I have now converted her. We are having breakfast there tomorrow morning (YES. They have an awesome breakfast stall that opened up because they moved inside for the winter. They go all winter!!). Imagine...fresh organic coffee....buying delicious vegetables that are grown LOCALLY from the people whose tender loving care went into them....free range eggs from Newmarket! NEWMARKET! I know where that is!. I won't go on a big tirade about how the more I learn about where food comes from, the more I don't want to eat things from the supermarket, but just know that it adds significantly to the magic of the farmers market. And it makes me try new vegetables. Who knew I liked candy cane beets? Not me!! Romanesque? wonderful! It's like eating math! (google it)..... I talk about it a lot.
Training tonight will be the "fight training" class at my gym. It is the class I have affectionately dubbed "barf class" because it usually makes me work so hard I want to puke. I think J might be there, I remember her saying she "barfs on fridays". Sounds like a terrible thing to go through, but I feel like a superstar afterwards, and I can see it making a difference in my cardio (which is terrible, currently). So barf class it is! Updates tomorrow after I'm done basking in the glow of the market.
And now, it's time for real school class. Two hours of feeling like the dumbest person in the room? Yes, please! BRING IT.
-G :)
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Who doesn't love pros and cons?
Hey gang.
Alrighty, so yesterday's jiu jitsu was a mix of pros and cons, but overall I'm proud of my progress. We did open-guard/X-guard stuff, which I am notoriously terrible at.
Overall...
Pros:
- I rolled!
- I didn't get tapped!
- I wore a mouthguard for the first time in years and it wasn't totally terrible. I've been lucky in the past, but I feel I'm way overdue for a punch in the face/knee to chin mishap. Do not want a terrible teeth accident.
- Managed an ankle lock on a much bigger dude
Cons:
- Said ankle lock on bigger dude was purely opportunistic...he was 5 seconds away from gi choking me and I probably wasn't supposed to do that to a white belt (well...blue with white in the middle? I don't understand the new belt system)
- I wussed out before the time was really up
- Rolled with smaller white belt dude and spent the entire time in turtle and/or with him having my back.
More pros: Put on a shirt today that I haven't worn in a while (because last time I tried it was too small :( ) and it fits me now. So maybe something is happening there. Although the number on the scale says otherwise...
More Cons: I have mixed feelings about using scale numbers to monitor progress. Obviously it tells you nothing about body composition, but it would be nice to have some easy way to track progress. I have one of those body-fat-percentage measuring scales but I find that feature to be pretty much useless. Back in the day when I lost a bunch of weight, it had the nerve to tell me I had a higher body fat percentage than before I started training. Wrong! I can see the muscles!! I think it just spits out random numbers.
I'm not totally married to the idea of an "ideal number" for my weight, but it would be nice to be able to track meaningful changes on a regular basis so I can see what's going on.
Even more f'n pros: The no-dairy experiment seems to be working. For those that don't know, I stopped eating dairy of all kinds (milk, cheese, etc.) November 1st. I've had psoriasis for years and it seems to get much worse as winter comes. It gets dry, itchy, and quite painful. On a whim, I decided to try some diet experiments. The two biggest culprits (so I've heard) are diary and grain. Since I don't eat much grain to begin with, I thought I'd give no dairy in my diet a whirl. And guess what! It's been a few weeks and my psoriasis seems to be disappearing. It's practically gone from my arms. My shins are a lot less red. I don't need to bathe myself in moisturizer every morning. I slipped up last weekend and had cream in my coffee, and that night my legs were itchy and a little sore. Would it happen that quickly? I don't know. Is it in my head? It's possible. But I don't think so. I ran my hand over my forearm yesterday and shocked myself at how it felt.
In other news (a definite con), I ripped my red leather jacket this morning :( Maybe now I will attract fewer weirdos, but I love that thing. (recent selections include "Um... I need to tell you that your jacket is OBSCENELY red" and "Is that your lucky red jacket? It looks like your lucky red jacket. P.S. I'm a writer/fortune teller/creepy people-watcher/pick-up-artist can I see your hand and tell you your fortune? I think we have a special connection.")
So yea. Pros and Cons. Love them. Tonight is weight training with N (and her friend who I have yet to meet) then the inevitable (a little dreaded) undergrad roomie reunion....ugh. As my current roomie A advised me this morning, "poop jokes will help break the ice". Maybe I'll give normal conversation a try, and leave that as option #2.... (see what I did there?)
Ciao
- G
Alrighty, so yesterday's jiu jitsu was a mix of pros and cons, but overall I'm proud of my progress. We did open-guard/X-guard stuff, which I am notoriously terrible at.
Overall...
Pros:
- I rolled!
- I didn't get tapped!
- I wore a mouthguard for the first time in years and it wasn't totally terrible. I've been lucky in the past, but I feel I'm way overdue for a punch in the face/knee to chin mishap. Do not want a terrible teeth accident.
- Managed an ankle lock on a much bigger dude
Cons:
- Said ankle lock on bigger dude was purely opportunistic...he was 5 seconds away from gi choking me and I probably wasn't supposed to do that to a white belt (well...blue with white in the middle? I don't understand the new belt system)
- I wussed out before the time was really up
- Rolled with smaller white belt dude and spent the entire time in turtle and/or with him having my back.
More pros: Put on a shirt today that I haven't worn in a while (because last time I tried it was too small :( ) and it fits me now. So maybe something is happening there. Although the number on the scale says otherwise...
More Cons: I have mixed feelings about using scale numbers to monitor progress. Obviously it tells you nothing about body composition, but it would be nice to have some easy way to track progress. I have one of those body-fat-percentage measuring scales but I find that feature to be pretty much useless. Back in the day when I lost a bunch of weight, it had the nerve to tell me I had a higher body fat percentage than before I started training. Wrong! I can see the muscles!! I think it just spits out random numbers.
I'm not totally married to the idea of an "ideal number" for my weight, but it would be nice to be able to track meaningful changes on a regular basis so I can see what's going on.
Even more f'n pros: The no-dairy experiment seems to be working. For those that don't know, I stopped eating dairy of all kinds (milk, cheese, etc.) November 1st. I've had psoriasis for years and it seems to get much worse as winter comes. It gets dry, itchy, and quite painful. On a whim, I decided to try some diet experiments. The two biggest culprits (so I've heard) are diary and grain. Since I don't eat much grain to begin with, I thought I'd give no dairy in my diet a whirl. And guess what! It's been a few weeks and my psoriasis seems to be disappearing. It's practically gone from my arms. My shins are a lot less red. I don't need to bathe myself in moisturizer every morning. I slipped up last weekend and had cream in my coffee, and that night my legs were itchy and a little sore. Would it happen that quickly? I don't know. Is it in my head? It's possible. But I don't think so. I ran my hand over my forearm yesterday and shocked myself at how it felt.
In other news (a definite con), I ripped my red leather jacket this morning :( Maybe now I will attract fewer weirdos, but I love that thing. (recent selections include "Um... I need to tell you that your jacket is OBSCENELY red" and "Is that your lucky red jacket? It looks like your lucky red jacket. P.S. I'm a writer/fortune teller/creepy people-watcher/pick-up-artist can I see your hand and tell you your fortune? I think we have a special connection.")
So yea. Pros and Cons. Love them. Tonight is weight training with N (and her friend who I have yet to meet) then the inevitable (a little dreaded) undergrad roomie reunion....ugh. As my current roomie A advised me this morning, "poop jokes will help break the ice". Maybe I'll give normal conversation a try, and leave that as option #2.... (see what I did there?)
Ciao
- G
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
There's No Crying in Baseball
Yesterday was my 2nd foray into the murky, sweaty world of hot yoga. I went after work to the 6pm class. Let me tell you, there is a world of difference between the Sunday morning hot yoga crowd, and the Tuesday evening hot yoga crowd. Most notably a difference in SMELLINESS. I walked in the door and the whole place stunk of feet - gross!!! But never one to wimp out over bad smells (lest we forget jiu jitsu often involves rolling around on the floor with boys who haven't yet discovered the magic of LAUNDRY) I persevered to the sweaty, sweaty end. I sweat so much my fingers pruned up and I had a pretty solid dehydration headache this morning.
On the up side though, you feel like a rockstar afterwards and I already notice a change in my flexibility.
Tonight is jiu jitsu (BJJ). I have to keep telling myself that the saying "if you want to get really good at jiu jitsu, you have to do jiu jitsu" (or something like that) is true and I need to live by it. I can't remember who said it but they were probably really really good at jiu jitsu. I'm quite truly, honestly, frustrated with BJJ at the moment though. There's a lot of pressure that comes with slapping on a blue belt when you no longer feel like one. For those of you that don't know, the gym I train at expanded a LOT while I was globetrotting last year. There are so many new faces I have no hope of remembering everyone's name any time soon (although bizarrely, many of these people know MY name...which makes me feel like a) a celebrity and b) a jerk). One of the issues for me is that when people of a lower belt rank see you as a higher belt, and you roll with them, they expect something from you. A good fight, a challenge, to be taken to the cleaners, or all of the above. I'm not capable of giving that something right now and it's embarrassing and makes me not want to roll at all. I need to get over this immediately because the only way to get good at jiu jitsu is (say it with me)....to do jiu jitsu.
So tonight, I will hang up my sissy pants and get in some rolling. The extra weight I'm carrying around makes my stamina considerably less right now, but I hereby declare that tonight will be a night of hard rolling and not wussing out. I will have my face smushed into the mat. I will get choked/armbarred/footlocked and probably all three. AND I WILL LOVE IT AND ASK FOR MORE.
I'M GOING TO DO SOME FREAKIN' JIU JITSU.
Peace :)
On the up side though, you feel like a rockstar afterwards and I already notice a change in my flexibility.
Tonight is jiu jitsu (BJJ). I have to keep telling myself that the saying "if you want to get really good at jiu jitsu, you have to do jiu jitsu" (or something like that) is true and I need to live by it. I can't remember who said it but they were probably really really good at jiu jitsu. I'm quite truly, honestly, frustrated with BJJ at the moment though. There's a lot of pressure that comes with slapping on a blue belt when you no longer feel like one. For those of you that don't know, the gym I train at expanded a LOT while I was globetrotting last year. There are so many new faces I have no hope of remembering everyone's name any time soon (although bizarrely, many of these people know MY name...which makes me feel like a) a celebrity and b) a jerk). One of the issues for me is that when people of a lower belt rank see you as a higher belt, and you roll with them, they expect something from you. A good fight, a challenge, to be taken to the cleaners, or all of the above. I'm not capable of giving that something right now and it's embarrassing and makes me not want to roll at all. I need to get over this immediately because the only way to get good at jiu jitsu is (say it with me)....to do jiu jitsu.
So tonight, I will hang up my sissy pants and get in some rolling. The extra weight I'm carrying around makes my stamina considerably less right now, but I hereby declare that tonight will be a night of hard rolling and not wussing out. I will have my face smushed into the mat. I will get choked/armbarred/footlocked and probably all three. AND I WILL LOVE IT AND ASK FOR MORE.
I'M GOING TO DO SOME FREAKIN' JIU JITSU.
Peace :)
Monday, November 14, 2011
Lift it up. Put it down. Repeat.
Hooray! Excellent news.
Once estranged for some time, I have recently re-connected with an old friend and roommate from my undergrad. We shared a mutual love of bad TV and Prince, and a hate of our stats prof, and now she works in the building next to me!
In the intervening time it seems she got awesome with the weight lifting and even entered a figure competition a while ago. Although there will be no grease or spray-tan this time around, we are going to lift weights together this Thursday and she's going to bring her good workouts. We're going to women's-only gym hour, which roughly translates to nobody-in-the-gym hour, so all the more room for us to sweat and yell and maybe cry a little. I'm excited! I've dabbled in lifting weights for a long time now, but haven't seen any real results because I have no idea how much weight I should be lifting and/or reps/sets I should do of said exercises. Mostly I just lift until my muscles scream and I think that I'll be sore the next day. So I'm pumped to work out with someone who knows what she's doing.
As further punishment, we are then going to dinner with our other old roommates from undergrad, who neither of us have spoken to since we parted ways those years ago. Neither of us can say with a straight face that we are even remotely excited about this, but we have already agreed to go and have decided that we are probably going to need to drink a lot so I hope there is cheap beer. And, since the idea of showing up there looking anything less than completely put together and happy and successful (despite what is actually going on) is out of the question, tonight I will be getting a haircut. Cross your fingers she doesn't make me look like a crazy wizard.
In other news, in the name of doing stuff, I have filled out a volunteer application for the John Howard Society of Toronto. Basically they help people who are in trouble with the law, or homeless, or often both, with resources and bettering their lives. This didn't totally come out of nowhere - I went to a lecture last friday here given by a nice lady who works there and does all sorts of neat research about homelessness, addiction, and incarceration, and how it's all one big vicious cycle. It got me thinking anyway, and I'm going to take a stab at working with them in some capacity for no better reason than because I want to. They look like a place that does REAL things for people, and doesn't just "promote awareness" all the time. Maybe I'm missing something, but I think being "aware" of cancer/aids/homelessness/killer bees/etc. seems like a whole lot of talking and not a whole lot of doing. So I will not be promoting "awareness" of homeless people. I think the fact that they camp on the street where you can see them makes everyone pretty much aware that it's a problem in this city.
Hopefully they call me.
Happy Monday - peace out! :)
Once estranged for some time, I have recently re-connected with an old friend and roommate from my undergrad. We shared a mutual love of bad TV and Prince, and a hate of our stats prof, and now she works in the building next to me!
In the intervening time it seems she got awesome with the weight lifting and even entered a figure competition a while ago. Although there will be no grease or spray-tan this time around, we are going to lift weights together this Thursday and she's going to bring her good workouts. We're going to women's-only gym hour, which roughly translates to nobody-in-the-gym hour, so all the more room for us to sweat and yell and maybe cry a little. I'm excited! I've dabbled in lifting weights for a long time now, but haven't seen any real results because I have no idea how much weight I should be lifting and/or reps/sets I should do of said exercises. Mostly I just lift until my muscles scream and I think that I'll be sore the next day. So I'm pumped to work out with someone who knows what she's doing.
As further punishment, we are then going to dinner with our other old roommates from undergrad, who neither of us have spoken to since we parted ways those years ago. Neither of us can say with a straight face that we are even remotely excited about this, but we have already agreed to go and have decided that we are probably going to need to drink a lot so I hope there is cheap beer. And, since the idea of showing up there looking anything less than completely put together and happy and successful (despite what is actually going on) is out of the question, tonight I will be getting a haircut. Cross your fingers she doesn't make me look like a crazy wizard.
In other news, in the name of doing stuff, I have filled out a volunteer application for the John Howard Society of Toronto. Basically they help people who are in trouble with the law, or homeless, or often both, with resources and bettering their lives. This didn't totally come out of nowhere - I went to a lecture last friday here given by a nice lady who works there and does all sorts of neat research about homelessness, addiction, and incarceration, and how it's all one big vicious cycle. It got me thinking anyway, and I'm going to take a stab at working with them in some capacity for no better reason than because I want to. They look like a place that does REAL things for people, and doesn't just "promote awareness" all the time. Maybe I'm missing something, but I think being "aware" of cancer/aids/homelessness/killer bees/etc. seems like a whole lot of talking and not a whole lot of doing. So I will not be promoting "awareness" of homeless people. I think the fact that they camp on the street where you can see them makes everyone pretty much aware that it's a problem in this city.
Hopefully they call me.
Happy Monday - peace out! :)
Sunday, November 13, 2011
So THAT'S why they call it hot yoga...
So I went to my first hot yoga (Bikram Yoga) class today. I've always wanted to try it, today was as good a day as any, so I signed up and I hopped on the TTC and away I went.
The basic idea is you do some yoga poses (26 altogether in a 90 minute class) in a room heated to 40 degrees. What they did fail to mention in the brochure is that all the ladies doing this class are hot. I do not mean they're hot because it's a 40 degree room. NO, I mean they are freaking ripped and beautiful and mostly naked. Unless they're in the changeroom, where they are then entirely naked and talking to each other about "juice cleanses" (I said they were hot not smart). I'd normally judge people for this - in fact one of my roommates (let's call her Cheese) graciously warned me before I left the house that there might be nudity and to be careful not to accidentally touch any old lady bums - but if I looked like these ladies I'd probably walk around naked too. Unfortunately for everyone, the hot yoga dudes do not seem to be experiencing increased hotness benefits. Wah wahhhh :(
So apart from being more than a little intimidating, I am now wondering - is hot yoga going to make ME that hot?! If so, you can sign me up for a lifetime membership. Sign me up for 17. I'm reeeeally hoping it's not the juice cleanse.
The class itself was actually alright! Good thing I didn't run screaming from the heat, because, never one to refuse a bargain, I managed to purchase 30 days of classes for $30 before even attending a single class. I am a sucker! Also a good thing because, even if you do get hot and panic-y, they DO NOT LET YOU LEAVE THE ROOM. It is a 90 minute heated prison.
All in all, hot yoga = sweaty, smelly success.
- G
The basic idea is you do some yoga poses (26 altogether in a 90 minute class) in a room heated to 40 degrees. What they did fail to mention in the brochure is that all the ladies doing this class are hot. I do not mean they're hot because it's a 40 degree room. NO, I mean they are freaking ripped and beautiful and mostly naked. Unless they're in the changeroom, where they are then entirely naked and talking to each other about "juice cleanses" (I said they were hot not smart). I'd normally judge people for this - in fact one of my roommates (let's call her Cheese) graciously warned me before I left the house that there might be nudity and to be careful not to accidentally touch any old lady bums - but if I looked like these ladies I'd probably walk around naked too. Unfortunately for everyone, the hot yoga dudes do not seem to be experiencing increased hotness benefits. Wah wahhhh :(
So apart from being more than a little intimidating, I am now wondering - is hot yoga going to make ME that hot?! If so, you can sign me up for a lifetime membership. Sign me up for 17. I'm reeeeally hoping it's not the juice cleanse.
The class itself was actually alright! Good thing I didn't run screaming from the heat, because, never one to refuse a bargain, I managed to purchase 30 days of classes for $30 before even attending a single class. I am a sucker! Also a good thing because, even if you do get hot and panic-y, they DO NOT LET YOU LEAVE THE ROOM. It is a 90 minute heated prison.
All in all, hot yoga = sweaty, smelly success.
- G
What To Expect When You're Expecting (To Find This Blog Entertaining)
Well, hello there...
Today, after years of mocking the self-indulgence of blogging/bloggers, I'm one of those assholes.
I haven't entirely figured out yet why I'm doing this. What I do know is that I seem to have all these big ideas lately about stuff I want to do, and that these ideas mostly begin and end somewhere in my head. I guess the rationale for this blog is that if I commit a slice of my life to the interwebs, I will at least feel a sense of shame (and who doesn't respond well to shame?) if I don't follow through with things. Even the illusion of having people read this (quite possibly in the absence of any actual readers) will supposedly help. Since I've spent a stupid amount of time feeding the procrastinasaurus on here lately anyway (Stumbleupon.com....holy shit it's a time warp do not go there if you value your time), I'm going to try to be useful with it.
So why should you read this? I don't have a good answer for that. Like I said, I find blogging a pretty self-indulgent exercise. I'm not qualified in any particular way that makes my musings more interesting/thought provoking than anyone else's; I'm just some girl trying new things. Maybe you're voyeuristic (creepy?) enough to find that enticing. Maybe I just forgot to return your phone call and you are wondering if I am still alive.
I'm a 25 year old girl of the ginger variety, and I live in Toronto. I'm a new graduate student hoping to stumble my way towards a Ph.D. in pharmacology sometime this century. I've had a total life upheaval in the recent past. Last year I quit my job to spend a year traveling, and I have now returned home to life as a student; not because I'm a masochist who doesn't like having money or that I crave letters after my name, but because I'm now doing some research I'm really excited about and challenged by. Nowadays, I just got dumped by someone not-so-insignificant to me who I thought (rather deludedly) was going to be around for a very long time. While this hurts like a bitch, I'm refusing to wallow in a tub full of my own pathetic-ness (nooo no, this blog will not be a pity party). Instead, I'm going to use this time and opportunity to get ideas out of my head and get awesome.
For now, the big idea is that I want my pre-traveling body back. I want to compete in jiu jitsu competitions again. I want to be able to say when I'm really old that at least at one time, I could see my abs. I want to be able to do some freaking chin-ups! So for the time being I guess, this blog will be about that. There - committed. Take that.
First, some playground rules:
- I am not a writer. This is a blog, not my thesis, so grammar police - put down your pitchforks. Sometimes I'm a little liberal with the semi-colons.
- If you think there's a good chance we interact enough for you to make an appearance in the occasional posting, you are welcome to pick your own nickname. If you don't, you might end up with one that's unflattering because I'm not that creative. For example, if we recently had a bonding moment over cheeseburgers, I might just refer to you as "Cheeseburger". You'd probably prefer to be called something like "Handsome Stud" or "Warrior Princess"
- No Negative Nancy's please. If you have shitty mean things to say, keep them to yourself.
I have some pretty high hopes of success at the moment. I have a good running start. I'm in a better place emotionally than I have been in more years than I care to remember. I've lost a significant amount of weight before, so odds are good I can do it again. My eating habits aren't terrible. Life as a grad student is pretty flexible (at least for me - I got really lucky and I know that). I live in a house with friends who make me laugh (my appreciation of this post-breakup CANNOT be expressed enough).
So here goes! Today's adventure is Hot Yoga. While the idea of doing exercise in a boiling hot room in air saturated with other people's sweat does not sound appealing (or sanitary) in theory, I have it on good authority that it's great and I will love it. So this fine November Sunday I am going to drag my cold ass out of the house to sweat it out with some other sweaty folks.
Stay tuned....
:)
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