Monthly Archives: August 2015

Weak attempts

This last week, my hubby and I went to Las Vegas.  We do not gamble, but we had a conference there, and since it was closer than the last conference they had, we thought we’d go.  We drove to Las Vegas.  Wonderful trip!  15 hours the 1st day and 10 hours the 2nd.  What a shock.  Las Vegas is HOT!  It felt like a convection oven!  In order to save money, we got a “free” hotel if we went for a sales presentation for time shares.  (More about that in a financial blog I think.)  But the conference was good, and the trip was fun.

I had protein-heavy breakfasts, and to get to the locale of the conference, we hopped on a shuttle and then walked about 1/2 a mile or so to the convention hotel, and then another 1/2 mile inside the hotel.  It was BIG!  We had dinner at the convention, and they gave us wayyy too much food, and, *pats self on back* I didn’t eat it all.  Then we hoofed it back through the hotel to the street and then the 1/2 mile back to the shuttle for a ride back to our hotel.  We were fighting travel lag and so Sunday morning, we had a very late breakfast.  We had to go to the sales presentation, but it didn’t make financial sense, so we declined their gracious invitation to buy in.  We had supper then headed back to see the Bellagio Fountains.  That was amazing!   Once more took the shuttle, and walked 1/2 a mile, enjoyed the show, walked back 1/2 a mile.  Now that doesn’t seem like much in the way of exercise, but remember that at 9 PM, it was still about 95 degrees!  Obe was comatose.  Hardly woke up during the whole time we were in Vegas.  Started to come around on the way back, but I had another complication.

Due to the very very dry weather, I had prodigious nose bleeds!  I couldn’t blow my nose, or sneeze, or laugh for that matter, and it would just run!  Ewww.  So when we stopped in OK city for lunch, I was not at all hungry.  Wednesday, same problem.  I had to call in sick because I couldn’t stop bleeding on myself.  I was ok on Thursday though.  Obe wants to make up for lost time and is tempting me with pie and burgers and more pie.  Bad Obe!!!!

2 weeks without trainer… dat dat dahhhhhhhhhh

Sherry is petite.  5’3″ and all muscle, she’s in her 50’s and can do T planks, bicep curls with 40 pound weights, and a whole spin class without breaking a sweat.  She’s sweet.  She feels guilty when the workout she gives me makes me sore.  Lately, due to time restraints and vacations and such, we have taken a break from training.  Of COURSE we were going to continue to log our foods and come in for training.  She wanted an update every Saturday.  We promised we would give our food logs and exercise logs and current weights to her.

“Free at Last!  Free at Last!…”  Haven’t put a foot in the door of the gym for 2 weeks.  Haven’t kept track of anything going into my mouth.  Haven’t weighed myself in a month.  I’m not free.  I’m a slave to my fat.  My fat, which I believe I called Obe, says YOU ARE HUNGRY.  Then he laughs maniacally when I try to find something healthy and end up doing a vacuum cleaner impersonation.  I did a concert last night where I played the drums.  There was no air moving on the stage, and hot lights.  I got that 1 little trickle that runs down your back.  My little trickle didn’t stop there though.  It gathered its buddies and turned into a small brook that ran all the way down my leg!  I was soaked when I got home.  I had a snack of cottage cheese and a fresh peach.  I have to go to the gym today just to weigh if nothing else.  Didn’t walk yesterday–95 degrees and 200% humidity.  I’m wondering if I have to start completely over when I get back into training.  That is so depressing.  At one point, I was down to 187.  I quit going and ballooned up to 215.  I can’t do that again.  That would be stupid.  Obe thinks this is amusing.  I have resolved I am going to get in shape.  Obe says, “Round is a shape…” and then he giggles.  I am going to get down and STAY down below 200 pounds.  Obe says, “You could have your husband sit on you.”  Obe is laughing so hard he has tears in his navel.  I hate Obe.

Any psychologist reading this would say I was devolving, and having delusions.  I might even have a multiple personality developing.  He’d ask, solicitously, “and how are we feeling?”  and we’d reply, “We have no idea how you and your personalities feel, but one of mine is confused and angry and another wants to beat the snot out of you.  Obe thinks this is hilarious.  He asks why I haven’t named the others in his crew.”  “Shut up Obe!”