Do These Pants Make My Head Look Big?

My competition prep is paying off...I am seeing results on a daily basis, getting positive feedback on a daily basis, and I'm totally JACKED! 

Sometimes when I see my reflection in the mirror, I think:  REALLY?  It's SO motivating.  My hard work is so paying off.

I was at the mall yesterday shopping for a greeting card.  Having gone through my closet that morning to find something that fits -- like it's supposed to -- to wear to work (and not finding anything), I thought I'd try on a couple pairs of dress pants that caught my eye in a shop window.  Instinctively I reached for Size 4, knowing that all my 6's were too big now.  Then I thought, what the hell...try on a Size 2.  Try to get it over your thigh, T.  Everyone loves a challenge!

They fit!
The Size 2 pants FIT!!!

YES.

THEY.

DID.

Work it, T.

You have earned it.

Men [With] Hats

I must have some sort of hat fettish.  I've always loved hats, especially on men.  I see a hot man in a hat, my gaze is gonna linger a bit longer.  Wearing a hat is a strong fashion statement.  In my mind, I see it as a sign of confidence. 

While seated at a football game one chilly afternoon, I saw a 40's something guy making his way down the bleachers in worn jeans, a black T-shirt, a charcoal gray hoodie, and a white baseball cap.  I stared at him.  For an inordinately long time.  My eyes followed him all the way down the bleachers.  Sexy.  Dashing.  Masculine.  Casual confident fashion.  A great look.

Hats are sort of like icing on the cake for male fashion.  They're not always appropriate, but when the occasion allows, work it.  Strike a pose, guys.  You charm me!





Hugh Jackman

Jason Cameron


Kevin Costner (All ages ... hats work the look...)


   Matthew McConaughey (Yummy in a hat...and he KNOWS it!)

  Boris Kodjoe  (Mercy, what a smile!)



Robert Pattinson (no hat, but then why mess up that gorgeous hair?)
------ and CLEARLY the sexiest eyes I've seen
in a while!

Prepare, Train, Sacrifice

The will to win is important,

but the will to prepare

is vital.

-- Joe Paterno

Preparing meals, working out, practicing posing, adhering to my prep diet.  I sleep, eat and train.  Sleep, eat, and train.  It's a constant cycle of preparation.  It demands tons of mental and physical energy.  I know that.  I accept this challenge.  I am more than willing to prepare to whatever extent is necessary.

I have spent some time this afternoon at the gym, practicing posing, discussing presentation details, and finally, and most rewarding, training lats with my coach. 

Sponging up as much information and knowledge as I possibly can about every aspect of this upcoming competition is vital to me.  I want my form to be top notch on the lifts.  I want to exhaust the muscle, hitting it at every angle.  I want to leave the gym feeling spent and limp, yet mentally elevated, knowing that I've given 100% toward my training. 

The progress I'm making, the sacrifices I make daily, are completely gratifying.  Does it consume a lot of my time?  Hell yes.  Is it worth it?  Yes.  Do I regret any of this?  No.  Give me more.  I want more.  Work it, T.  Work it for all it's worth, and then work it more.  Train to make a difference. 

Mascots: George and Tom

My son plays noseguard for "The Presidents" at Washington & Jefferson Collge.  We attended his first home game last week, and just as we were getting seated in "our" usual section, we see the college's two new mascots walking toward us.  OMG.  I've never seen such huge, well-done mascots in my life.  There in full color and period costume were George Washington and Thomas Jefferson, making their way through the crowd, offering up the royalty wave to the cheering fans. 

And following closely behind?  Who else, but The Secret Servicemen, dressed in black suits, shades, and wired with radios, making their way surreptitiously through the crowd of onlookers and cheering fans. 

"GEORGE!  HEY, GEORGE! 
Over here!"  

I was delighted and mightily impressed with their costumes.  Too cute.

And I insisted on a picture.  It's the closest I'll ever get to a United States president.

Huzzah!

I love words.  Of course, I would; I'm a court reporter.  Words are all about what I do for a living.  Upon hearing a new word, I often will write it in my mind -- in steno, of course -- or on my lap, my fingers poised in steno position.  It's not something I think about doing, I just do it as a part of the whole processing of what I hear.  Court reporters are weird like that. 

So when I read this word today in my email inbox (I subscribe to Word-A-Day), I initially pronounced it incorrectly:  HUZ-uh.  That's not so attractive sounding. 

Curious, I read on.

huzza or huzzah

PRONUNCIATION: 

(huh-ZAH)

(Now that's more like it!  Yeah....Huzzah...cool word)

MEANING:



interjection: Used to express joy, applause, encouragement, etc.
noun: An instance of appreciation or applause.
verb tr., intr.: To cheer.

Yesterday was a huzzah day for me.  After working my ass off in the gym with my training, my cardio -- both indoors and out, total adherence to my prep diet, I have been watching the scale inching upward for the last several days.  (insert pissed off face)  No rookie at this whole fat loss/dieting/training thing, I knew to be patient, it was a meaningless number, and did NOT mean that I wasn't making progress.  Still, we women have this thing about that scale number.  It screws with our minds.  It taunts and teases and manipulates us into destructive behaviors.

No white flag having been waved, I met my coach at the gym yesterday for measurements.  She could tell I was pissed when I entered the locker room.  I cursed.  She had already heard this rant earlier in the week.  I even used the F word.  (Gasp!)  She smiled back at me calmly, as if to say 'now let's not get our panties in a wad, T,' then confidently replied, "Yes, well...let's see what we got here," and proceeded to take measurements. 

As of yesterday, I was only 1 pound lighter on the scale since the 15th of August, BUT!!!! upon measuring me -- two places on the arms, two places on the thighs, two places on the hips, two places on the abs, and top of bust/back area (bra fat area) -- I discovered that I lost inches in every single area --- EVERY SINGLE AREA. Yet the scale shows only one pound difference. I lost one inch off the top of each thigh alone, and in only that short amount of time.  

HUZZAH!!!

If I were to have let the scale discourage me as I watched it creep upward, I might have said F this, I'm gonna eat whatever the hell I want.  Enough of this crap!


I didn't.


And as an extra measure for my morale, I took the day off -- a much needed rest and recovery day -- and went shopping at the mall.  I bought two new pairs of jeans, one a Size 4, one a Size 6.  Fit like a glove.  LIKE A FRIKKIN GLOVE.  Yessssssssssss, World.  I AM making progress.

It ain't supposed to be easy.  And good things come to those who wait, work, perservere. 

My mission ain't over, but it sure feels GREAT to know I'm on the right track.  My prep journey continues, fortified with renewed energy, determination, and persistence.

To Wee, or Not to Wee -- THAT is the Question!

By the beginning of the fourth quarter of my son's football game last night, I found myself faced with a huge decision:  Do I try to keep from peeing my pants (I could not wait another 15 minutes+) or do I make the trek to those disgusting porta potties (there were only TWO) sitting just beyond the end zone in a very dimly lit area. 

Porta potties disgust me.  That is an understatement.  I have never understood how they pass the CDC's test for permissible use in public places.  I mean...really? 

Those poor people who work in the porta potty industry.  I can't imagine:  "What do you do for a living?"  I install and empty porta potty reservoirs.

My neighbor's son called her last week from Richmond to tell her that he had been at an event with his young daughter, and had made a visit to a porty potty.  While inside, he accidentally DROPPED HIS CELL PHONE in the abyss of poop and pee.  It was a brand new cell phone.  He panicked.  His dilemma:  Do I walk away and leave it, or do I take the plunge and try to retrieve it?  (I'm laughing my ass off as she is telling me this story.)  As it turns out, he wrapped his entire arm and hand in pretty much an entire roll of toilet paper, reached in, and fished that sucker outta there.  O>M>G>!

I'm not so sure -- no, correction -- I'm absolutely sure I would not have bothered.  Sometimes ya just gotta walk away.

In my case last night, it was either pee my pants or head to the germ pits and relieve myself.  (Note to self:  Start carrying a paper mask and hand sanitizer in my purse.)  I opened the door handle, entering apprehensively, and got to the business at hand as quickly as possible.  (WHY don't they have hand sanitizer dispensers mounted inside these monstrosities?) Thoroughly disgusted, yet relieved, I exited the porty potty.  I glanced about furtively, a sense of humiliation having taken over me for having to resort to this necessity. 

Sometimes we HAVE no choice.  When nature calls, there is no voice mail.  You either answer, or you suffer the consequences. 

Memoria De Facto

Letters are among the most significant memorial a person can leave behind them.

  ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

As I was searching my office today -- my desk, files, boxes -- I came across several letters and cards I had received from friends, family, acquaintances.  Some were rather dated, at least by more than seven or eight years.  Some more recent.

As I opened the correspondence, my gaze fell upon the handwriting, hastening memories to me at the speed of light, instantly transported to my side by time and space and recall, placing the author in the forefront of my memory.  For that fleeting moment, while gazing at the handwriting, recalling the penned words, it felt as if I could hear their voice, touch them, hear them speak, or laugh, or cry.  I could feel their warm presence beside me.  I could see the life in their eyes through their penned words upon paper.  They were once more real to me.  Lasting.  Tangible.

I began to read with piqued interest, my heart warmed by this recall of memory.  Some of what I read made me laugh.  Some made my heart hurt.  Some even annoyed me.  Others sparked memories long forgotten.

Since my mother's passing over a year ago, I have come across letters, notes, cards that she had penned to me over the years.  Reading them now is far more meaningful than they could ever have been at the time they were first received.  I stop and stare at each word, each letter of the alphabet, and then read and re-read, again and again, until my heart is bursting, satiated by her loving words to me that I hold in my hand.

Far more meaningful than any email or digital correspondence, having a piece of paper that I can hold in my hand in a person's handwriting engulfs my heart and soul and shouts for attention.  Reverence.  Acknowledgement. 
It happened.  It's credible.  It's lasting.

SOMETIMES WE JUST NEED ASSURANCES.

It's why I so lovingly covet handwritten recipes that have been given to me over the years, some so stained from spills of ingredients that I can almost no longer read them.  Yet to reprint them or to retype them onto a nice, sterile recipe card would somehow seem blasphemous.  Countless scores of cards, letters, recipes, handwritten messages that collected over the years.  One might see them and label it "clutter."  But to me, they're precious memories, far too real and meaningful to ever part with for the sake of preserving order or prompting tidiness. 

Preserving these memories with care, simply to hold any one of them in my hand and witness the handwriting of its author, brings to life once more sweet, subtle gestures of the heart from one human being to another, adding the de facto seal on each coveted keepsake.  Tangible mementos of the heart to keep alive forever and always. 

"The Word that is heard perishes,

but the letter that is written remains." 

 - Proverbs