Sass in the Suburbs
Heartfelt opinions & anecdotes from the crazy girl next door
The Good, the Bad and the Skinny
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You may have noticed that I haven’t posted in a few months; I’ve literally been working out the entire time. I have once again subjected myself to a weight loss contest.

I’m no mathematician but left to my own devices (Myfitesspal, Fooducate, Couch to 5k) one of the first things that had to go was the 5000 calories of crunk juice I was guzzling weekly.

They tried to make me go to happy hour and I said NO, NO, NO. I’ve traded in the faithful, It’s Five o’clock Somewhere, I Love this Bar, SHOTS, SHOTS, SHOTS and Closing Time, for boredom. I went from Robo to Sobo faster than you can say, “hold the fun.”

We are told to love the skin we are in, but the sad truth is that it seems like everyone wants skinnier skin. Of course it doesn’t hurt to eat a salad every once in awhile but it also hurts less to eat a steak and cheese on occasion too.  In the sort of words of Sarah Silverman, treat yo self. We have to stop going to extremes and meet in the middle, pretty much the exact opposite of a Biggest Loser contest.

On my journey of semi-sobriety and calorie burning sweat-a-thons I’ve had a few epiphanies.  It is difficult and annoying enough to worry about your own weight, let alone worrying about 12 other people’s. My hubby for one is sick of hearing about it.  It’s pretty demented if you think about it and thinking about it has left me with a lot of questions.

Why in the heck is it so hard to figure out the nutritional content of microwave popcorn? Is it still considered juicing if I add vodka? If I tree falls in the forest can I drink tonight? Is there such thing as being too skinny or is this merely an old wives tale made up by Sir Mix-a-Lot? How do we stop the madness and recognize that there are two sides to every story?

While proving to the world (or just your friends) that your body is a temple and that you are better than carbs, GMOs and day drinking, IS extremely gratifying—dieting and working out do have their hang-ups.

I’m a planner by nature/profession but it’s very tiresome planning out every drop of booze I want to drink. Spontaneous drinks are the spice of life! Once more, even on the carefully calculated days that I pencil in the suds I can barely down a sixer without barfing or blacking out. It’s as if I never even went to college.

You also don’t want to end up like Snooki. Snooki was so fun and full of life, liquor and pizza. Nowadays she is an annoying, whiney, emaciated horse mouth with a Super Mario brother baby-daddy.

Another conundrum,  there are certain situations in life where  you are required to drink and eat queso, i.e. baby showers, weddings, all holidays, funerals, birthdays, promotion days, Tuesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, Hump day  and Sundays.  Oh, and Thirsty Thursday, duh.

In the final leg of this sadistic ritual I am proud of myself even before seeing the final results; which is cray, considering I am an overly competitive person.  I’ve always been own worst enemy when it comes to the quest to stay fit and trim; but this time I feel like Robo and Sobo have combined forces to not only meet my goal weight but to create  a lifestyle filled with newfound knowledge and skill.

I’m pretty sure my two-a-day workouts will act as a catalyst to much improved coordination, balance and strength. So, if anyone plans to fight a bitch or participate in a dance off anytime soon, holla at your girl. #twerkalert

I’ve learned to hold a conversation without booze.  This, thanks to a sober night where I reached for, and tried to drink what I assumed was a beer and what in reality was a lit candle.

The Redskins have won every time I haven’t drank this season, which  means we can blame us sucking for the past 20 years on my drinking problem. And vice versa.

Even though I’m “well on my way to being shredded” I would be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to motor-boating a triple chocolate truffle cake, getting carpal-taco syndrome and coming in first place in a biggest boozer contest.

I exit this challenge with zero regrets. I equate it to child birth—thanks to biology the excruciating pain, sweating, sobriety, psychosis and pooping episodes will all magically escape my memory in case I ever decide to do it all over again.

Big ups to my Biggest Loser peeps–fierce competitors, supporters and friends. And of course to Chef Little Bear.

 

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