Dude, Where's My Butt?

March 2013 and I’m about halfway to my goal weight . So far, I’m down 20 pounds from my heaviest and have about 15 more to go. The last year or so has been an incredible journey, both physically and mentally.

The first Spartan Race was definitely the catalyst for this transformation, and the other races throughout the year gave me something to look forward to and work towards. When I knew I had a race coming up, I was on track. When I was on vacation at the beach, drinking margaritas every night or hanging out with friends over a couple pitchers of beer, not so much. The struggle is still in finding a balance between the wannabe-athlete-spartan-racer and the inner party girl. Still working on that.

Much like my diet, my exercise regimen has not been consistent for the last year. I had a six-month gym membership while training for my first racing season, then I decided to save the money and train on my own. This had mixed results. I live in an area with great hiking trails and amazing state parks nearby, so I was able to do quite a bit of hiking and running. I have a couple of kettlebells and some dumbbells, but I found that those did not get used very much when I was on my own. I would find a million other things to do rather than lift weights at home.

In December 2012, I tore the ligaments in my left hand and popped the joint sacs around the knuckles.  I thought it would be better in a few weeks, but it is now Mid-March,  my knuckles are still swollen and I have no grip at all. I have been to a sports medicine doctor, a chiropractor and an acupuncturist. They have helped (especially acupuncture) but they all tell me to be patient and that it can take a few months for a bad sprain to heal fully.  Between the hectic holiday season and the injury, I essentially took a couple of months off from working out altogether.

New Year’s Eve brought a big wake-up call for me – the sudden death of my cousin from a massive heart attack. He was 38. It was hard to look into a coffin and see someone a year younger than me lying there.

I joined a gym again in January. My 40^th birthday was approaching, and I was determined not to go into my forties being in bad shape. I can’t help being 40, but I can avoid being 40 and fat. Plus, the next racing season was coming up and I did not want to be the bloated, out of shape old chick huffing along the course.

While I tend to focus on how far I still want to go, I do need to stop and acknowledge how far I have come. There have been some amazing changes over the last year.

To begin with, I don’t beat myself up or put myself down anymore. Life has a way of doing enough of that. I am not one to sign on to the Oprah-style love yourself movement, but life is much better when you learn how to bitch-slap your inner critic into submission. It makes me incredibly sad to hear my friends constantly putting themselves down, especially about their weight, but that was me too a year ago.  

I also take a lot less crap from people than I did before. Maybe it is the newfound sense of being Spartan-tough, but my tolerance for BS has reached its limit. I accept that crappy situations and crappy people will always exist, but I do my best to avoid them. I no longer think it is my personal responsibility to change the world and all of the idiots in it.

The week after my first Spartan Race, I chopped off all of my hair and got a sassy new ‘do to fit my new attitude. I started making more of an effort with my appearance. I expanded my wardrobe beyond the standard mom clothes. I’m still not big on hair products or wearing a lot of makeup, but I try not to leave the house looking like a slob.

I am more grateful for my health and more willing to give up things that I know are not good for me. I’m not there 100%, but getting closer every day. I have come to truly appreciate how good it feels to feel good and very few things are better than that. Not even Girl Scout Cookies.

On the physical side, the biggest change has been losing the junk in the trunk. Yep, bye-bye booty. Hello skinny jeans - yes you, the ones that have been lurking in the back of my closet for years, because someday I knew we would meet again. Someday. Well, that someday finally came. And it was glorious. When I started this journey, I was muffin-topping out of a size 12. The day I could comfortably zip up a size 8 – well, mere words do not do justice to that feeling. At that moment, the skies parted, Divine light shone down upon me and a chorus of angels sang  Handel’s ‘Messiah’ in the background. OK, maybe that part was all in my head, but it was still pretty awesome. Those size 8s keep me accountable. If I fall off the wagon, they let me know. Right away. Without mercy. I had not been below a size 10 since high school. To be inching my way back to my former skinny self at age 40 feels great.

Before I started getting in shape, I pretty much had a big shelf-butt. I probably could have carried a cup of coffee on that sucker. Now, it is flatter, firmer and a couple inches higher than before. It actually stops moving when I do.

I can now comfortably clasp my bra without looking and feeling like a rubber band around a water balloon. The horrible feeling of the fat oozing above and below the straps, meeting in the middle on a bad day, is gone.

I have a collarbone. Haven’t seen that thing in a while. And I’m back down to one chin.

It is a strange thing to notice, but I finally have concave armpits again. I no longer look like I’m smuggling Grandma’s Bisquick dumplings under my arms when I wear a tank top.

I have some muscles in my arms and shoulders. Yes, me. You can actually see them. When I saw the after pictures from my second Spartan Race last weekend, I couldn’t believe that was me. I thought someone must have photoshopped  my head onto a fit person’s body.  No more flapping bingo wings.

My legs are definitely getting toned. All the running, hiking, squats and lunges have paid off. Maybe after a few thousand more, my thighs will no longer touch at the top.

The most stubborn part is the belly. When I started working out, I would put on my sports bra and workout pants and my midsection would ooze out in between, pale and doughy like someone had just whacked a tube of biscuit dough on the counter. My stomach is a bit flatter now and I am getting some curves back, but I still have a flabby marsupial pouch just under my navel. Most days I can tuck it down into the waistband of my pants and hold it in place with a belt to keep it out of sight.  No six pack here. Not yet anyway. You  might think "But you have twins, no wonder your stomach looks like that."  I adopted my kids, so I cannot use pregnancy as an excuse for this problem.

So, what’s next? Keep on keepin’ on, I guess. I really need to kick it up a notch and go full paleo on the diet, not just 75% like I have been doing. No more pitchers of beer. I need to make working out a priority and be consistent. After all, I’m paying for a gym membership, so I need to make the most of it. I am going to a friend’s wedding at the beach in two months. It would be so nice to finally be able to wear a real bathing suit. Not the fat mom one-piece with a skirt. And, I have a few races coming up so I need to be in tip-top shape for those. I just tackled my second Spartan Race (that story will be another post), I have the Badass Dash in two weeks, the Muck Run in May and the Mud Crusade in June.  I also have a house to maintain, a job with unpredictable hours, two kids with afterschool activities, and an impending move to juggle. Somehow I’ll get it all done. And I’ll be wearing my skinny jeans while I do it.