What I Learned

This morning was the first morning that I was able to use my employer’s new gym. I asked the husband if he would like to come with me. I didn’t want to go alone and he didn’t have any idea the last time he stepped on a scale. We hopped in the car around seven am and made the short trip into town. Once we got there, he hopped on the bike while I put my ass on the elliptical. Then I figured out how to use it and put my feet on it instead.

After ten minutes of the recommended level ten setting, I moved it down to level eight for the last twenty minutes as my military suggested workout told me to. According to Navy standards, I am to increase the levels not the time if it gets easy. I don’t see that happening any time soon.

At my twenty-minute time, the husband decided he wanted to go lift weights instead of keeping up with the cardio on the bike. Five minutes later he was done, five minutes after that my legs were jell-o and I was ready to go home. I did a cool down and left, but here is what I learned during my two completely military standard workouts.

I learned that I can complete fifty push-ups but I cannot seem to do it without bitching. I learned that I can run two miles without bitching (because I can’t breathe enough to do so.) I learned that the elliptical is a gift from the devil incarnate. I learned that I have muscles that haven’t been used in over twelve years. Most importantly, I learned that I can complete an entire workout (unlike my loving husband.)

First Things First

If you walk into the office at any time of the day, I can almost promise you that someone, somewhere, is shoveling food into his or her face. The smells waft from our break room like french-fries in a hot car. Sometimes I am able to figure out what the smell is but usually it just smells like rancid garbage.

Our small space is filled to the brim with cubicles and there is a warm body in each little cubby. Steadily they force feed themselves into morbid obesity (so did I.) At this time of year most of us are working 54 hour work weeks with only Sunday off. That doesn’t leave much time for making healthy meals and working out (some barely have enough time to shower regularly.) Most of us have fast food burgers and fries on a daily basis that contributes to the cholesterol overload in the body. We look like a cattle farm; all of us cows shoved into our own small space grinding away on our oats while the bosses fatten us up for the slaughter.

Sick of the same routine of eat, sleep, eat, work, eat, college, eat, work, eat. I approached my co-workers with the prospect of losing weight and working out. I was excited to share with them my newfound health inspiration. I was not as well received as I had hoped. They looked at me as if I had just taken away their last meal. It was that moment when that I reached down to take the dinner plate away from a hungry puppy that I lost my arm.

“Are you calling me fat?” was one response. Well, yes actually. I am calling you fat. I would not have asked you to come with me if you were one of the few who have been blessed with the skinny gene. So get off your high horse (lazy boy, couch, whatever else you use to sit on) and let’s take a walk.

Looks like I am on my own this time. Won’t they be amazed when 6 months from now, I will be at my goal weight, and they will still be chewing their cud in the cubicles. 

Amat Obesus Puella

Amat Obesus Puella means "The Fat Girl" in Latin, hence my name Puella Obesus "Girl Fat." No I don't speak Latin (idiot, no one speaks Latin.) If you're wondering who in the heck would name their child Puella Obesus...Stop reading this blog. Seriously. No one would name their child this hideous name (although Sage Moonblood and Apple are cutting it close!) (For all you Latin scholars out there I do realize that this may be grammatically incorrect. With that said, don't go correcting it. Google only allows so many name changes.)

That's me. The fat girl. Yeah, the one in the middle...what do you mean you can't tell? Clearly the other two skinny biotches on either side of me makes it easier?

I would normally say I'm proud of what I look like. Bigger is better, and all that jazz, but recently my five year old daughter has been able to out run me when we're headed for the cookie jar. This heinous act must be remedied! Not only is the little cookie thief small enough to fit through a key hole, she's as fast as a cheetah! A simple explanation of, "mommy made those cookies for herself," just doesn't seem to work with her. Her reply is generally something along the lines of, "catch me if you can fatty mommy!"

In case you haven't noticed, this blog is intended to be a humorous, rude, obnoxious, and sometimes down right dirty, journey of weight loss and lifestyle changes. If you are easily offended you have my permission to stop reading right now and browse to another blog or website that will adhere to your sensitive sensibilities.