This blog has become an update on what’s going on with the McDonald-Trent state of the union. I might as well keep that up since I really don’t have anything else to write about. I’m sure I could if I climbed out from under the rock I’ve been trapped under for the last three months, but I can’t lift it for SO many reasons.
We are trapped under the weight of everything we moved from Kansas and weights, literally, because I started weight lifting, actual weights, and not my fork. Yes, the kind of weights you find in a gym. The kind of gym that requires membership, drive in your car to gym…has anyone that knows me regained their composure yet? I’m moving on.
So we moved half way across the country and survived the drive. I think there were only one or two towns that looked suspiciously like, “The Hills Have Eyes” towns, or that town from the blockbuster Paris Hilton movie, “House of Wax”. There was no traffic, no incidents, got a little out of the way once, no terribly drastic weather for more than twenty minutes. It was an uneventful drive. The worse thing that happened was that we didn’t eat in any major cities (very disappointing for us). We were threatened by cannibalism only once because of it, but recovered with the help of warm, two week old snacks that we found under a seat. Pork rinds are delicious.
Once we arrived at home number two, we got a storage unit, and dumped everything in there. Best way ever to avoid unpacking for three out of four of us. Gwen seemed to arrive in Kansas with two suitcases and back in North Carolina with three suitcases, four very large Rubbermaid bins, three large purses, a stuffed pillow case, and a hammock.
Now that we have successfully avoided unpacking and pretending like we own nothing more than what already exists in this house, the movers called to remind us we had another truckload on the way. Crap.
We had the moving company meet us at the storage unit and dump everything else in there. We brought some stuff back to the house all of this is really boring and just results in more unpacking and a lot of mess. What’s really exciting is that Mason and I managed to gain a lot of weight with some very unhealthy eating habits, and adding a margarita a day to those! Why margaritas have to have a THOUSAND calories in them I will never know!
Mason likes to work out but hadn’t since he got home from the Stan. Mason also likes to take a lot supplements and things like protein and more supplements. We like to do things together. Let’s join a gym! Terrible idea. I’m a “let’s spend 10 minutes on the track, at two miles an hour, and go get a taco” girl!
Mason lifts really heavy weights, and drinks protein but doesn’t smell like a garbage truck. I cry over three pound weights, he coddles me, let’s me give up, gives me protein, and I smell like a garbage BARGE that’s been set on FIRE. This is fantastic. Reeally bad plan. I now hate the world and think starving is my best option to get my wingspan triceps to be smaller. instead of giving up and hiding under my bed (plan A), I hire a trainer (plan Z). How did we get from A-Z? B-Y were just really good excuses but not good enough to actually work. We also tell another friend who is a supplier of supplements, and really really supportive of weight loss, that we would like help.
We join the gym, we hire the trainer, the supplements are in the mail, but wait! There’s more! Mason has supplements, the trainer has supplements, everyone has supplements! They are everywhere! I have the first meeting with the trainer, and by meeting, I mean torture session, and the only supplement I want is motrin when I’m done. Four sessions later the only supplement I still want is motrin. I am typing this with my teeth and a pencil. Impressive huh?
The punisher asked me what exercises I’ve done; I gave her a blank stare. I’m not lying when I tell you, dear reader, that I can’t even spell exercise. Thank you Oprah for auto correct! I didn’t even get close enough on my first try for auto correct to come close to the right suggestion. It only suggested “excursions”.
Two weeks into my fitness misadventure and all I’ve learned is that every machine looks the like the rack, feels like the rack, and my tears taste like a protein shake. I’ve not gained enough muscle or lost enough weight to be happy with any progress or lack thereof for all the pain I’m in (and yes, I’m already pretty certain I AM doing it wrong). I told my trainer I needed a safe word; it was her turn to return the blank stare, and I wasn’t the least bit surprised!
I’m pretty sure a quick study on how to avoid vanity and throwing away mirrors (along with the clothes that don’t fit) will be much more effective and much less painful!