Feeling Discouraged

~~SERIOUS POST AHEAD~~

So, I have fallen off the nutrition wagon.

I've had at least 4 chunks of cookie dough at 160 calories each.

I've dipped Crunchy Cheetos in hummus. It's better than it sounds.

I've had a piece of lasagna the size of my hand, crab rangoon and even white rice with my chicken and veggies.
This is just in the past 12 hours.

I will not be running tonight. I am however wallowing in fat, carbs and disappointment.

It is really hard to become a sponsored athlete. I don't have boobs. Seriously, no boobs, ran them off. I'm not a bikini model. I'm not a figure model. That's just not that type of athlete. I don't have a crazy inspirational story, I'm just a determined person who puts in the work. I'm certainly not saying that a lot of the athletes don't deserve it, I'm just feeling like I could be a good product athlete too.

I want one of these companies to believe in me as much as I believe in me.

Girl Problems Vol 2

It has been a long time. I didn't die from the supplements, but after filling half of an 8 oz cup with my saliva during the workday I found our relationship untenable.

So, you're caught up.

Now I have a question for fitness buffs out there. Crossfitters, OCR girls, athletes with teats in general, whatev:

Have you ever burpeed and squat box jumped so hard you partially ejected your tampon?

I have made a complete ass out of myself in several awful ways: broke a bone in the top of my foot by stepping into a cat bowl; underwear friction burn on my clit making me penguin walk; broke 2 toes doing a cartwheel (poorly) in a hotel hallway 100% sober.

I did not understand what "until failure" truly means in the fitness world.

I'm going along hating the burpees but feeling like a badass because I was sucking it up and even doing pushups with them. Came up at the end of 25 feeling off. I started checking stuff off: abs in, back flat, knees soft.... wth, okay. Next up 52 seconds of squat box jumps.
Abs in, check.
Knees soft, check.
Land in a squat ass tight, check.
Repeat and...
OH WHAT THE BLOODY HELL. Partial poon plug ejection.

Okay, I've got great muscle control, I'll just.... flex it back in, finish out the class and secure it. Let me tell you, as soon as you stop you have the instructor's attention and the eyes of all 3 men in class and the suction power of my coot is severely diminished. Period performance anxiety I guess?

I try anyway. Feel like it's good enough to wait for the break at least.

10 seconds of jumps left.
Abs in, check.
Knees soft, check.
Land in a squat ass tight, check.

SHIT. There is no sucking that up. So I walk out of class trying to clench in a way that prevents this squishy little surprise from snaking its way out of my thong.

Since I was woefully unprepared for jettison powers Crossfit kegels so I built a TP barricade and hoped for the best.

Now you know the real dangers of burpees. Secure your strings ladies.

You, sir, can eat a bag of dicks....

So, I'm going to the gym, training, being better about what I eat. (Shut it Miffy, I'm still burning more than I eat even if one day a month lunch is pizza dipped in bacon with a side of pb cups swimming in froyo.) I'm not a small person, but I'm at a fine weight for my height. I just don't like that number, for moral reason - the scale is a lying whore mainly. Doctor is fine with my ass in its natural state. I don't like the number, me, no one else, me. So I'm working on it.

But, there's this math that just doesn't add up for me. I've calculated my recommended daily intake (RDI). My phone app says 1800, good, okay, reasonable. Livewell says 1500, eh, not going to make that goal most of the time. But GNC and my insurance company both say my BMI is moderately overweight and my RDI should be 1200-1300.

If I lived off veggies and protein shakes made with water, was able to deal with the horrible tire-fire, garbage leather doughnut eruption syndrome it causes, and didn't start eating office supplies I could barely swing those numbers.

I think it's all a very creative ploy. GNC wants me to buy their sunshine and rainbow supplements to calm the hungry hungry bitchy hipo in my head enough to function. The insurance company wants me to snap after one too many protein "leaks" and sugarsluts taunting me with their non-touching thighs and armloads of transfat carb popsicles they call lunch. They want me to go to jail so they don't have to pay for my "overweight" medical care. What they fail to understand is that it wouldn't be a little snap, and I would blaze the "underweight" trail right to their door.

1300 + me = Satan with a carb hangover and a very sadistic ice cream detox persona. My BMI can kick their BMI's ass any day and it's going to stay that way. So, they can eat a bag of dicks, I hear they're low fat.


To keep up with my promised agenda, now, more things I intend to teach children just because I can.
Lie of the night:
After a certain age, the human body cannot digest dairy. If you have enough ice cream in a single day, catch it as it comes out, and re-freeze it, you can have another sundae!