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

THE DAWN OF EUPHORIA

"I always loved running...it was something you could do by yourself,

and under your own power.

You could go in any direction,

fast or slow as you wanted,

fighting the wind if you felt like it,

seeking out new sights just on the strength of your feet and the courage of your lungs." 

  -Jesse Owens

Having had my cup of WAKE-UP java while reading a few emails, I mixed by BCAA's tonic, threw on my workout clothes, laced up my shoes, grabbed my MP3 player, and stepped outside to a surprisingly cool, crisp fall-like morning to begin my fasted cardio. 

Sweet.  Love this kind of weather.  It makes me wanna move.  Just move, move, move -- and never stop.  Makes me wanna shut out the rest of "life" and just have ME time.  Oh, yeah.  I work for a living.  Don't remind me...that hour will come soon enough.  Let me wallow willingly, wonderfully, without care in this first dose of ecstasy.

It's dark out.  Very dark.  I brace my foot against the brick of the gatepost and gently stretch, my heartbeat echoing, reverberating in the peaceful stillness, the only sound to usher me into MOVE mode. Switching on my Mp3, I quickly adjust the volume -- oops! surely everyone for miles could have heard THAT! -- and I began my five-minute warmup.  As my stopwatch hit 5:00, I began my run.  Now my footsteps are keeping rhythm with my heart, my breathing steadily rising, adding depth to my cadence.  Nice and easy, T.  Atta girl.  It feels good. 

Thirty-five mins later, having watched the sky slowly illuminate with the dawn, I slow it down to my five-minute cool down.  Oh, WHY must I stop?  WHY do I have to go to work?  Can't I just keep running on this glorious morning?

I finished my BCAA's and then began a slow hamstring stretch, then quad stretch...and slowly I reached toward the sky with my final stretch, and raising my eyes to heaven, I thanked God for a new day, for my health, and for the ushering of euphoria that I have experienced from my run on this lovely peaceful morning. 

Time to Shine

Each of us has a fire in our hearts
 for something.
It’s our goal in life to find it
and keep it lit.
- Mary Lou Retton

It's been a while since I've blogged, and it seems a lot has transpired since.  In the interim, I have taken on a new challenge:  I have decided to compete in my first figure competition.  Of the four divisions for females -- bikini, fitness, figure and bodybuilding -- I have chosen to compete in the Masters's 45 and Over Figure.  Wow.  Gulp.  This is SO DAUNTING.

I've always considered myself rather modest when it comes to doing the showboat thing.  It always makes me feel a little gushy when I receive a compliment, not really knowing quite what to say, how to handle the attention, the flattery.  I MUST overcome that tendency to shy away from the camera and develop the necessary confidence that it takes to show well, to present my best, to be my best.  It's damn hard work, but I'm up for it, and I've already begun putting in the time and sacrifice (thus my absence from my blog).

For once, I've got to get comfortable with and embrace COCKY.  Self-assuredness.  Self-confidence.  Poise.  Balance.  Beauty.  Symetry.  Charm.  It's gotta all come together somehow.  And I have ten weeks left to pull this off.

I'm thinking I should blog now and then about my progress, my energy, my diet, my questions, my concerns.  It will be rewarding to be able to look back upon my journaling of this experience.



One of the fun things I have to look forward to and to decide is choosing the right color for my suit, something that stands out, that complements my skin tone as well as my body's strong points.  This should be fun.  (But expensive!)

When I announced to my family that I had decided to compete, I wasn't sure how it would be received.  I knew that my middle son would support me, be happy for me, because he GETS IT, fitness.  And he was.  HE WAS THRILLED.  (Cool - I'm stoked!)  My oldest son?  Another story.  He said nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  Not one word.  I mentioned how much it meant to me to compete, the icing on the cake of my passion for fitness, and even more rewarding and meaningful because of my age and the commitment it takes.  Nothing.  Not a word.  My youngest just nodded, slight grin, a bit of a skeptical look on his face, as if to say:  Really?  You really ARE?  Seriously?  Oh, okay.  Whatever.  My husband has been 100% supportive from day-one, word-one.  Bless him.  He has no idea how much that means to me.  NO IDEA.

I've decided not to tell my friends.  Yet.  I need to warm up to this whole thing.  I'm testing the waters.  I'm daydreaming a lot.  My mind dwells heavily on so many aspects of this whole challenge, and it's a lot to wrap my brain (and heart) around for now. 

I know that I must decide and win this in my mind first before I can go any further.   My body knows what to do.  That's the easy part.  I have to win in my mind.  I have to master my mind.  It's my biggest hurdle that looms. 

And I will.

It's ME VS. ME. 

I will draw energy from my passion and focus strongly on the power it yields.

This won't be easy.  I understand what is expected of me in the weeks ahead.  I know it will be grueling the last few weeks, and especially the days leading up to the competition.

Finding balance with life, and work and this newly found commitment will prove what I'm really made of.  Like a muscle, the requisite courage to achieve can only be strengthened with use.  I choose to face this challenge with courage and intensity and purpose.

Another Hot n Muggy Monday

Adrian:  Hey, can you tell me what's your name?
"My name is Roosevelt E. Roosevelt."
Roosevelt, what town are you stationed in?
"I'm stationed in Poontang."
Well, thank you, Roosevelt. What's the weather like out there?
"It's hot! Damn hot! Real hot! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking."
Well, tell me what it feels like.
"Fool, it's hot! I told you again! Were you born on the sun? It's damn hot! It's so damn hot, I saw little guys, their orange robes burst into flames. It's that hot! Do you know what I'm talking about?"
What do you think it's going to be like tonight?  
"It's gonna be hot and wet! That's nice if you're with a lady, but ain't no good if you're in the jungle!"
Thank you, Roosevelt.

Too good!  Some of the best lines from this incredibly funny movie.  How I can relate!

Laughter...It's the best distraction when you find yourself in a really crappy mood, and there doesn't seem to be an end in sight.

It's the weather!  This heat and humidity!  This shit is getting old. 

Wait -- Where have I heard this before?  Wasn't it about six months ago everyone was bitchin' about the cold and crappy winter?

Is there a place on the planet that doesn't have these extremes?  I'm tired of being trapped inside 24/7.  The only tolerable time to be outside is at sunrise, and there's even a blanket of mugg at THAT hour, evidenced by the opaque condensation clinging to the windows.  But at least the sun hasn't made it to full blown scorch mode yet.  I suppose it would be a tad easier to tolerate if we were one of the lucky ones with a pool in our back yard.  But we're not. 

Our Weather Guy is predicting cooler temps this week.  But that's what he gushed about LAST week.  It didn't happen.  Not gonna hold my breath.

The thing about this muggy crap -- it plays such havoc on my mood.  Hey, I'm already pre-menopausal.  Add to that miserable muggy weather, and it's just not much fun being around me.  My poor family -- victims.  I just go into LEAVE-ME-ALONE mode.  I don't wanna cook.  Nothing tastes good anymore.  What do ya eat when the weather is like this?  I crave, but I don't know what I crave.  Don't wanna go anywhere.  Don't wanna talk to anyone.  Don't wanna do much of anything.  Just prefer to crawl into a dark, cool cave and hide there till fall. 

I find myself using mind games every day to distract me from this heat-induced misery, but I'm desperate for ideas.  And I'm frankly tired of pretending.  Tired of the mind games.  Tired of smiling when I don't really feel like it.  I'm just ... tired. 

Okay.  Shifting into coping mechanism mode here:  So I'll play one more mind game.  I'll pretend that what the Weather Guy said this morning IS reliable.  I'll look expectantly to Hump Day.  Ah, yes, how much nicer it will feel out by then.  I can taste it!  Sure.  Yep, I can tough it out today because that's only two more days of waiting for the breather.  And at that point we'll be through one-third of the hottest month of the year.  I can do this.  Yep.  What's a couple more days.  Mind games... 

C'mon, Weather Guy.  Don't let me down this time.

If It Ain't Broke...

 ... I guess it's okay to "fix it." 

I've never seen an uglier, more pitiful-looking cell phone in my life.  And I thought I had it bad.  My sons have smart phones and data plans, and I'm still wobbling along with my basic phone -- but at least my standard little phone has a qwerty keyboard!!!! Bonus!  Lucky me.

And then there's my friend Karen's phone...

Yes.  That's duct tape.


And this would be the end view of the phone.
Time for new duct tape...?

And this would be the back view.  (Note the sexy, sleak "lines" of this "slimline" baby!)

"But it still works!" she pleaded in defense. 

Needless to say, we laughed our asses off, those in attendance to witness such a spectacle.  We considered contacting the Smithsonian to see if they would be interested in a donation to their historical archives.  Of course, she would have never consented...

I left there feeling spoiled.  My poor, pitiful "dumb" phone was looking pretty smart afterall. 

There's "basic" and there's BASIC.  I guess everything is relative.