Swimsuit Shopping Never Really Gets Better
One would think, that working out pretty much non-stop for about eight months would make swimsuit shopping easier. However, nothing is easy when you have two little girls who come along for the adventure. Nothing is easy when you're a woman and your eyes are trained to see flaws before all else.
I've spent the last couple months pining after a swimsuit I spotted in the Eddie Bauer catalog. A halterkini with an apron back on it; it's exactly what I wanted. The price was stopping me though until I found it in another store on sale.
The choices in swimwear, if you're looking for a blousey one-piece that covers you from your knees to your neck seem to be endless in my area. I happen to live in a county where the average shopper is a heck of a lot older than I am. Also, people in my county like to eat a lot, and not things like organic fruit. Think bologna, pot pie, mashed potatoes, that kind of stuff. There are also ash trays in the dressing rooms (not used anymore-thank God, but still).
I loaded up on different sizes of only three different swimsuits because there was pretty much nothing to choose from, and went off to find a dressing room with the girls.
I don't know what it is about Lil C, but as soon as we get into a try-on room, she's Lil C amplified. She was busy making faces in the mirror, pushing her sister off the bench and discussing her own body parts quite loudly. I could already hear the old lady in the dressing room beside me clicking her tongue and sighing with disgust when Lil C called her sister a "poopyhead" which seems to be her new favorite. Fortunately, the child lives for pretzels and "flushies" (that would be slushies) at the mall so once I threatened her with living without her treat, she stopped discussing her butt so much.
Instead the girls decided to discuss mine.
Big I was clearly opposed to anything exposing any amount of stomach area skin and Lil C wanted to see as much of it as possible. I tuned the two of them out and made my own decision. I put the swimsuit on hold and moved on to the next store.
Here's some good marketing advice for Victoria Secret: if you want to sell swimsuits in the store in the area where I live, you should try stocking more than one tankini. I've had suits from VS in the past and loved them. When I saw they were carrying some of them in stores, I was ecstatic, but I wasn't after I hit the dressing room.
There were bikinis that were tried on as an ab experiment-to see if that P90X Ab Ripper workout is really all it's cracked up to be and if the months of medicine ball and incline board combinations really did their thing. The bikini's weren't bad if I could zone out the faded stretch marks from carrying Big I and Lil C on my stomach. There was one bikini, marked down to $25 and it was very tempting; but then I started thinking that I would probably be wearing it at the pool this summer beside some 17 year old who got breast implants for her birthday and decided the cost wasn't worth the eventual humiliation.
I moved onto the one tankini VS sells in my local store and the top was awesome. I was contemplating buying the suit when I turned around to get a glimpse at the back and saw the word "hitched" with a little pink heart on my butt. I hadn't noticed that when I grabbed the bottoms out on the floor of the store.
Big I got a look on her face that said, "Oh no you don't" and I ripped that thing off as fast as I could. We have rules in this house about wearing words on our butts. We just don't do it. We discuss our butts enough in this house; we don't need more words drawing attention to them. And yes, if you've ever been wearing pants or shorts that declare your butt is "juicy" or "pink," it's me laughing at you from behind. Sorry, but that stuff is ridiculous.
We moved on to the final store where I tried on a Kenneth Cole swimsuit that I liked the looks of last year but felt like I couldn't pull it off. I was pleasantly surprised to see that I could totally pull it off this year. Lil C voted for getting that one, but Big I convinced me that purple was not my friend and to go back to the first store, so I did.
I'm now the owner of this halterkini with two bottoms: the one Lil C liked that shows more skin and some tribal skirted bottom thing that was Big I approved. Apparently she doesn't want even a hint of a "cheek" embarrassing her at the pool this summer in front of her friends. She didn't say this; I can just tell.
What I've found after working out so hard this year is that even after all the hard work, it's still possible to be critical of your body. Although I certainly can't complain about not having tighter abs, I can still complain about the faded stretch marks and some extra skin post pregnancy. Although there's no denying my leg muscles are better than they've ever been, there's this little band of skin right above where the bottoms stop that could definitely use some tightening.
I've got a week to be pool ready and two weeks to be beach ready; and frankly, at this point, after all the workouts and dojo time in recent months, it's time to say enough. If someone is going to concentrate on that area I think needs tightening, then they're concentrating on me way too much.
According to the girls, I look like a princess in my new swimsuit; and in case you haven't heard, post-pregnancy stretch marks are the sign of a true warrior. You heard it here first.
Raising Opposites
On karate nights, Mr. BBM will often paint with the girls. They use water colors and they really look forward to painting with Daddy. I got home after the girls were in bed and Mr. BBM showed me what they had created tonight.
Mr. BBM: (Shows me Big I's painting) "This is a girl and over here it says something about a garden."
Me: "It looks like 'In the Garden, Oh So Beautiful.' Nice!"
Mr. BBM: "Yeah something like that."
Mr. BBM: "Here is Lil C's."
Me: "Hmm, what's that?"
Mr. BBM: "Um, she said that is a dead girl."
Me: "Great."
This is why you should really be careful when you name your children. Big I's name means "consecrated to God." Lil C's? "Prophetess of Doom."
Yep, I'd say it fits.
Why My Kitchen Should Have a Hose and a Drain in the Floor
This post was originally called "Just Don't Expect Me To Do Stairs." That was before I had to do so much more than stairs.
I worked out with my trainer last night for the first time in many weeks. I had told him a couple weeks ago that I was getting bored with my leg routine and wanted some new challenges. I felt like my knee was up for it. At the time, he talked to me about a workout he had in mind for me, but I needed to be "ready for it." I had no idea about all the new kinds of torture my trainer would be able to dream up for me.
I had no idea how a barfing child could complicate matters even further.
First, my trainer grabbed a step and a 10 lb. medicine ball. I had to start with my right foot on the step while holding the ball off to my left hip. Then I had to step up, pull my left knee up and at the same time bring the medicine ball across my body and above my head. My trainer had been telling me about the importance of compound movements like that and how it would help me with both strength and endurance.
The next set was straight squats with the heels of my feet on these squishy ball things to help with form. I had to hold a 15 lb. kettle ball out straight in front of me while squatting. The second set of these I had to hold for a count of three before coming back up. The last set? I had to hold for a count of five and he always makes me hold the last one of each set for a count of 10.
Killer.
Then it was wall sits for a minute at a time before tackling lunges. These weren't your ordinary lunges though. With a five lb weight in each hand, I had to lunge, go all the way down while lifting my arms straight out to shoulder height. He had me lunging my way across the gym and I was wondering how something that looks so simple can be so difficult. During the last set, I lunged down and didn't stop until my knee had touched the floor. My muscles simply quit on me. It was like they had a mind of their own and were screaming for mercy. I got back up though and finished the set strong. It helps when your trainer stands there and yells at you, "Get up!" on the last one. You kind of don't want to say no to the guy who can have a 30 minute conversation with you while doing non-stop pull-ups.
But the lunges weren't over. The next type of lunge was stationary while holding a 10 lb. medicine ball out in front of me and twisting my upper body in the direction of my front knee. I sucked it up through three sets although I really wanted to just lay down and whimper by this point.
We weren't done though.
Next came calf raises, leg extensions and leg curls. We did high reps for three sets, and then it was on to abs. When I was finished, an hour after the torture had begun, my trainer told me he was impressed. He said he doesn't know that many girls who can get through all of that. We checked my body fat percentage: 18.3% and BMI 19.9 and decided I was definitely on the right track.
I came home last night walking with a stagger, and I knew this morning was going to be rough. I had no idea.
I managed to get Big I up for school and out the door, but it was only thanks to a railing on either side of my stairwell that I was able to make it down the stairs without having to sit, scoot, boom, the way little kids do. I had plans to clean the house today but scrubbing the kitchen floor was not on my list of things to do. My mop broke, and since I can't kneel on my knees, mopping the floor is now a half hour of squatting and pain, and that's without having done the most intense leg workout ever the day before.
At 11:30, I got a call from Big I's school. She was in the nurse's office with a terrible stomach ache, nausea and a sore throat. I had to come get her immediately. You see, swine flu is in the next school district over from us. Four confirmed cases already, and an additional two pending but probable.
I had her home and resting comfortably within 15 minutes, with a warning from the school nurse that if she spiked a high fever, I had to take her to the doctor immediately. I was busy catching up on the phone with a friend who had called while Big I napped on the sofa. All of a sudden, there was this terrible noise, like a burp from the deep dark depths of hell and Big I came tearing out into the kitchen moaning. I started screaming for her to run as fast as she could when she stopped on a dime and let loose.
Barf on my kitchen island. Barf on my stools. Barf on my wall. Barf all over my tile floor. Barf under the table where Lil C was sitting peacefully eating her lunch.
"Oh my God! Don't move!" I screamed and hung up the phone. I should have known that barfing episodes like this don't come with just one round. I didn't want her to have to walk through the vomit to get to the bathroom, but when she started hurling again, I just told her to jump over it and get in the bathroom.
It was as I stood surveying the damage to my wall and floor (a good 10 ft trail of barf to the bathroom) that I strongly wished I would have remained working full time and let Mr. BBM stay at home with the girls full time. They usually barf at night and I am on kid duty while Mr. BBM cleans up the stuff. I can't stand cleaning up the stuff.
Meanwhile, Lil C continued to eat her lunch. How on Earth she managed that, I will never know. My stomach still threatens to reject my lunch if I even think about the puddle that was my kitchen floor two hours ago. I'll probably forgo eating the rest of the week thanks to that image and subsequent clean up.
As I cleaned up the puddles, I started dry heaving (excellent for already abused ab muscles); and my legs screamed out in pain from having to squat down.
It's now after 2:00. Big I says she's feeling a little better and is passed out on the sofa. I just finished bleaching the bathroom, and hand scrubbing the kitchen floor and have surrounded her with plastic bag lined buckets.
It took me over two hours to clean up two rooms and although I'm feeling horrible that she's so sick, I have to say that she looks rather peaceful right now, compared to the horrible burning feeling in my thighs and calves that is anything but peaceful.
Not the Only Girl With a Trainer Problem
This morning I got a message from my regular trainer. He wanted to know why I was "cheating" on him and had an appointment scheduled with the guy who bear hugged me on Tuesday.
I never scheduled an appointment with him, but apparently the guy put me in his book for 10:30 a.m.
Um, no.
When I agreed to let him show me some exercises, it was casual, like if I'm here, cool. If not, whatever. I was planning on not being around. I didn't want to be bothered again.
I immediately left a message for my trainer, the bear hugger's boss, and told him to cancel my appointment. It wasn't until this evening, on the way home from the dojo, that we were finally able to talk.
I went through the blow by blow with him and when I got to the part where he grabbed me from behind? First there was silence and then there was a staccato "What? He did WHAT?" I reiterated how it had gone down and my trainer was very upset. Apparently this isn't the first time that a woman has complained about this particular trainer being pushy and "overly sexual."
I told my trainer I didn't want to make a huge deal about it. I don't want to feel uncomfortable coming to the gym and being around that trainer. I told him I was letting him know because if that guy does what he did to me to someone else, they might have a sexual harassment case on their hands. I just wanted to make him aware.
He cut me off. "Girl, you just keep coming and doing your thing. You have nothing to feel uncomfortable about! You let ME handle him. I'm going to handle him."
I asked him if he could put a note beside my name in the computer that says, "All trainers-Leave her the hell alone." He said he would take care of it. Knowing him, I know he will.
I'm getting a free work-out out of it with my trainer; and I trust that I won't be having any more awkward martial arts conversations at the gym.
I'm tempted to arrive with my nunchaku so if he gets anywhere near me, I can just start swinging to create my safe zone. Then again, he'd probably think they are cool and tell me he's a 9th degree black belt in "brass knuckles" or something. On second thought, I think I'll leave the nunchaku at home.
What All the Martial Artists Warned Me About
The gym gods were all aligning against me today. I should have skipped; but instead I got Lil C ready and got on my way. I only had an hour before the Kid Zone was closing so I had to hurry. The first main road I turned onto has a speed limit of 35. Big I's school is located along this road and during certain times of the day, it's a school zone with a 15 mph speed limit.
I was following another car. They were going faster than I was going, but the cop pulled out of the school parking lot pointing meanly at me with his lights flashing. Fantastic.
Meanwhile I'm sure all my neighbors are driving by. The only people who use that street are people who live in my neighborhood. The officer approaches the car and he's an older man. I take off my sunglasses, turn the radio off and hope that Lil C is pouting. He lets me off with a warning for going 25 on a road where the speed limit is usually 35, but the school zone lights had just turned on. I did not see them flashing and swear they had turned on right after I entered the school zone. As I'm getting finished up, a police SUV pulls up behind the cop car with his lights on too. What? He thought he needed back-up or something? Maybe they planned on busting me for not registering my hands as deadly weapons or something.
I directly attribute the warning without a ticket to Lil C looking adorable in the backseat with her little lamb stuffed animal sitting on her lap, and to me wisely deciding to turn off the T.I. I was listening to when he approached.
I should have known right then and there that my workout was doomed.
I arrived at the gym with about 40 minutes to squeeze my workout into and got started. I did higher reps and less sets and tried to blow through the sets as quickly as possible. I kept noticing one of the new trainers sort of following me around. He seemed to be trying to get my attention but I had my headphones in and I was doing my best to appear invisible.
It was when I got on the dip machine that he came over and started talking right in my face, ignoring my headphones. I couldn't just ignore him so I pulled one out. He was critiquing my form. Apparently, I needed to adjust the machine a little better. Normally I would have, but I was in a rush. I had 15 minutes left and I still had two arm exercises and abs to do.
I thanked him for his help but he didn't stop there. He wanted to show me how to do it properly. I began thinking about another guy from my dojo who joined the same gym. No one ever bothers him, he says. Why do all the trainers bother me all the time? Why did all the crazy people always want to talk to me on the bus when I lived in Pittsburgh? I'm guessing the answer is one and the same.
Then I was distracted from these thoughts as we got into the conversation that every martial artist dreads, the one I've been warned about, similar to when you say you're an English teacher and people ramble off some Shakespearean quote and ask you to name the exact play, Act, line and character. . .
"I haven't really seen you here before" he said. (My God, I'm thinking, I finally know what super power I would choose if I could have one. I'd be invisible!)
"Yeah, well, I've been on a two week break from the gym and you look brand new. That's probably why. I've been coming since October."
"Oh, well what do you normally do for your fitness routine?"
Here we go, the hard sell for a training contract. Been there-done that.
"Well, I go to karate a couple times a week, and come to the gym mainly to rehab my knee."
"No way, you do karate!" he says excitedly.
"Yeah," I say looking at my watch.
"How long have you been doing karate?"
"About five years now," I said. (I should have said, "I started yesterday.")
"I LOVE the martial arts," he said. "I'm like an 8th degree black belt in wrestling" (I'm assuming there is added emphasis on the "like").
"Really? I didn't know they had black belts in wrestling" I say.
"Wow, that's so cool that you're a girl and you do martial arts," he chatters on.
"Uh-huh."
"So what would you do if I threw a punch at you like this?"
He throws a slow punch that stops about 12 inches from my face.
"Nothing," I said, "that punch is of no threat to me."
"Well what if I would do this," he says, throwing two punches that both land about 12 inches from my face.
"Nothing," I said, "your punch is still like a foot away from me."
I check my watch and tell him how I'm trying to squeeze in a quick workout, but he doesn't get the hint. He walks behind me and grabs me in the middle of the gym in a bear hug from behind. I'm sort of shocked that he would just wrap his arms around some girl he doesn't know, but I just stand there knowing what's coming next.
"What would you do if I did this?"
"Well, you are doing that, so if I thought you were going to hurt me and you weren't just screwing around, I would drop into a solid stance and first distract you by stomping hard on your foot. I'd probably start trying to loosen up your grip by getting my elbows moving. Then, I'd probably use a heel-butt kick to your groin. I'm guessing by then you would probably let go. You're shorter than I am and I have long legs so it would probably work. Then, as you're doubling over in pain, I'd elbow you in the face as hard as I could trying to hit you in the eye, nose, or chin. Or, depending on how you're gripping me, I might just drop down and elbow you in the groin on the way down."
"Well, I'd try to take you down" he said, "before you could do that."
He was inches shorter than I was and he wiggled around a bit, apparently trying to take me down, but I continued to just stand there. He finally let go. I was mentally heel-butt kicking myself for even mentioning karate.
"So you said you were rehabbing your knee. What's wrong with it?"
"I had ACL reconstruction" I said.
"Want to come in on Thursday and I'll show you some good exercises for it?" he asked me.
"As long as you promise you're not going to try to sign me up on a training contract and you're planning on showing me something I don't already know."
"Nah, I won't do that (he is so lying), but hey, can you teach me some karate stuff some time?"
Why an "8th degree black belt in wrestling" would want me to teach him some karate is beyond me.
What I should have said? "Sure, but that will require a $149 enrollment fee, plus $40 per 20-30 minute session. Can I sign you up now? Let's sit down and talk about it. It will change your life, the way you workout. It will change your body."
Instead, I told him I had to get back to my workout.
Invisible spray-someone invent it and send me some pronto.
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