When I grow up..

I feel guilty about not writing more.

But I've worked six days out of seven this week.
And I am la tired.
That's a good excuse right?

No?

Ok, how about the fact that I worked two midnight shifts this weekend, slept for three hours and then played all day in the sun today? It was such a lovely day, I couldn't waste it in bed. And I spent it with such lovely people.

We watched an acrobatic group preform today. 2 males and 1 badass female. All self taught. Watching them reminded me of learning to swing dance in high school and how the six of us would watch a dance video, and then try to duplicate the aerial tricks. We were self taught too. We had so much fun and so many bruises. I miss the folly of youth. We were sure we would graduate from high school and perform for our bread and butter.

Life turned out a little differently. I'm ok with that. I'm sure my body thanks me for not continuing a career in dance.

However.
After watching the acrobatic group... I think I found a new career path.

Recording the little things

My not so little brother Tanner sent me a really sweet text the other day:

"Most kids my age get to say that their first album they ever owned was Britney Spears or Backstreet Boys. I get to say mine was Weezers Blue album. Thanks for being the cool sister and buying it for me on my tenth birthday."

And I thought to myself. Ohhh.

Only there's a small problem.

If you had asked me yesterday, I would have said that I gave that cd to Travis for his birthday.

I hate realizing that my memory is getting fuzzy. Maybe I should stop filling it with useless knowledge and music lyrics.

Or

I could keep a better journal.
I've been been keeping an online journal since 2005. And I've done a really good job of documenting major events, emotions and rants. I have not done a good job of documenting the day to day life. The little things. If I had perhaps there would have been an entry like this:

"Tanner's 10th birthday today. All he does is play basketball and listen to music. So I bought him Weezers Blue Album. I hope he one day appreciates the fact that his first cd isn't Britney Spears."

Then it wouldn't matter if my memory goes fuzzy. Cause it would all be saved. Recorded. For better or worse. So I'm going to try better to capture the little details. All the boring, little details.
Lucky you.

So yesterday's entry:
Woke up at eleven, poked The Boy till he woke up, tried to go sun worship but got tangled in the bedsheets for an hour, finally made it to the pool, worshipped for an hour, went to the gym and tried to convince myself I like to run. Finished running and cursing the gods, then shower, food, errands, finally finishing painting the house, movie, drinks, more drinks and then sleep.

It may not be my most exciting day, but it was MY day. A relaxing day that will probably fade from memory but leave a warm fuzzy spot in my fuzzy memory.

Memories of Ireland

In honor of today I am dredging up pictures from days of old.

So old that I still have looong hair.

I miss this place. And these people.
Someday I'll go back.

But only after I've seen the rest of the world first.

Happy St.Patrick's day!

Lesson from the Boxing Ring

UFC GYM part 2


I was given a compliment at my kickboxing class today that I'm not sure I wanted. We start the class by doing jump rope for 15 minutes, then a 10 minute stretch, then 10 minutes of abs. After that the real class begins. So the other day after we do the warm up the instructor/teacher/coach/guy who scares the shit out of me walked up to me and asked what other sports I did. I responded by sheepishly admitting that I used to dance but it's been a while. He looked confused for a moment at the idea that a dancer was trying to learn how to fight, then shook off the confusion and told me that I looked great, that he could see muscle on me from across the room.

This made me smile for all of about 2 minutes before I started a mini freakout in my brain. See, girls want to be toned. We do not want to be muscular. We want to look like this:

Not this:

So when the instructor/teacher/coach/guy who scares the shit out of me said he could see muscle on me... well it wasn't quite the complement I wanted. The Boy reassures me that I do not look like a body builder but I am now motivated to do cardio until my heart stops.

But putting my insecurities aside....

There are seven girls in the class I attend. There's also about twenty boys, but today (for once) I'm not going to focus on those hot muscular bodies that raise my temperature and imagination. Well, mostly not focus.

ahem.

Seven girls. I've given them all nicknames that will help my readers understand these unique women that have decided to learn how to fight.

Lets start with the Viking Queen. The Viking Queen is blond, tan, 5'8, wears men's boxing gloves and is built like a ship. The women has more muscle then ligaments to be attached too. I've never seen her smile but there's a look of satisfaction in her eyes when her gloves make impact.
The Viking Queen scares me a little bit.

Then there is the Diva. The diva is Latin, 5'8, curvy as a winding road, and wears a push up bra under her sports bra. She also wears sparkly gloves. I suspect she bought them at a stripper store with the rest of her workout outfit. She prances around and is very talented at batting her eyes.
I would like to box the Diva's ears.

The Professional also scares me. She's been attending classes since she left the womb and winning championships a month after that. She's 5'5, thin and lean and has all the anger of the minority class bottled up. Her form is flawless, a thing of beauty. I could watch her fight all day.
I do not want to box The Professional.

Then there is The School Marm. The only way I can describe her is beige. She's super thin, white skin and beige hair. She would look better in a 18th century school house then in boxing gloves. But she shows up day after day. You're eyes would slide right past her except she wears bright green gloves that demand attention. Her form is sloppy and her punches don't hurt yet you can't help but want to pretend they hurt just to see her smile.
I'm glad the School Marm keeps coming back.

A girl I like to call The Mother has only recently started to show up. She started with her husband, and the two of them are both... soft. She has soft blond hair, soft features and a big soft belly. She doesn't have any kids but she's perfect for a welch's juice commercial. I suspect she doesn't really care for fighting but keeps coming back because her husband loves it.
I like to imagine The Mother bringing us all juice boxes after a fight.

Liliʻuokalani (If you don't get the reference Liliʻuokalani was the last queen of Hawaii) has supposedly been fighting for quite a while. She's Hawaiian, close to my size and looks built to fight, but the one day I sparred with her she not only had terrible form but complained about the force of my jabs. The jabs that I was throwing at 50% strength. Like, really whined about it. I hate whiners. Then she proceeded to throw all of her jabs to the left of me, like she was afraid I would get hurt if she actually hit me.
I am not a fan of Liliʻuokalani .

And lastly there is the Princess. The Princess is my height, all of 5'3. She wears spandex shorts and recently installed hair extensions. Her make up is perfect at the beginning of each class and slightly smeared under the eyes by the end of class. I'm not sure how she does it but she manages to shake her ass while she jumps rope. In the spandex, you can't miss it. She also wears pink gloves.
This post is actually about The Princess.


On this particular day The Princess and I were the only girls in attendance. The instructor/teacher/coach/guy who scares the shit out of me paired us up even though she's more advanced. The drill today was a combination of jabs, elbows and knees. I started with the drill and The Princess was on blocking duty. I had barely begun when the instructor/teacher/coach/guy who scares the shit out of me stops me and says "hit her harder. She'll sure as shit hit you harder then that". The Princess only grinned at this. So I started to jab for real. And do my knee kicks for real. Now, granted we do have pads but The Princess just smiled at every elbow I threw and managed to say really encouraging things without sounding condescending. By the end of the round I was exhausted and exhilarated. Sparring with her was kinda fun!

Then it was my turn to hold the pads and block while she went threw the drill. My only word of warning was "I really like knees, so tell me if it's too hard".

And then The princess and her little pink boxing gloves proceeded to kick my ass.

I could distantly hear the instructor/teacher/coach/guy who scares the shit out of me laugh in the background.

By the end of class I had learned my lesson.
Don't judge a boxer by her pink gloves.

Hmm, not under the bed, not in the closet.. Where did I put it?

I need motivation.

I think I accidently threw it out a few weeks ago, cause I can't find it anywhere in my apartment.

Oops

So now I have to find new motivation. And motivation is something you can't just go out and buy. Although if someone figured out how to package motivation they'd make a killing.

So I'm looking for motivation to exercise. I love my UFC gym but the way the classes are set up I can only attend 3 days a week in the middle of the day. Which makes is hard to attend. 3 days a week I work 12 hour days, which makes it extremely hard to work out those days.

It doesn't help that I'm lazy.

Last year I was training for a triathlon with the lovely Racheal. I didn't enjoy the training but I enjoyed to company. And I think that's what I need now, company. But I seriously doubt that I'm going to find someone with a similer work schedule as me.

Why is it so hard to exercise? It's good for you. It makes sleeping easy. Erases stress. Makes you look fabulous...
So why do we hate it so?

I read other peoples blogs. I see their status updates. Wanting to be more fit is a really common theme. So why do we all complain about it but so rarely do anything about it?

Shouldn't the above reasons be enough motivation?

Hell, shouldn't bikini season be enough motivation?