Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Back To The Gym

3 COOOOOOMMENTS! Now you speak up!
So it's that time again.

It's been a looong, long time.

I used to go to Goodlife Fitness back in Ontario. Then I moved to BC, got myself all knocked up and herniated, and was told not to do exercises that engaged my ab muscles (read: everything I like to do).

Fast forward through a horrible, painful pregnancy, continuing knee and back pain, nausea, repeated illnesses and infections, chiropractic, massage therapy, acupuncture and physiotherapy.

Still have knee pain. And back pain. And nausea.

I actually have to plan to NOT eat at least 4 hours before I exercise, or else *FRAP-PLOP*: barf everywhere.

But, I am back at the gym in BC. I am a sad sack. I try to do low impact with intensity. I kind of look like a retarded owl with its feet stuck to the ground attempting to make grand gestures. Yup. That is definitely an accurate summary.

I got a fancy heartrate watch that shows me calories burned. It's a GREAT motivator, especially when I know I really want a half-sweet iced coffee after my workout.

I've been using the My Fitness Pal app, too, to track the garbage I throw into my body. Holy hell I eat a lot of hidden sugar. It's terrifying. But I'm going to try to exercise more and not deny myself everything. A Pepsi-less or yummy coffee-less life is a joyless life to me. So I may get there eventually, but I just want to be realistic for now. The app is really eye opening in terms of hidden sugars, protein, and how carb-heavy my diet has been... FOR YEARS.

MY My Fitness Pal. HA.

I may have modified that image a tad.

So far I've lost 13 pounds since January. The double chin is still there, ready to greet you hello on FaceTime, but it's a start.

What do you guys do for motivation out there?

Turns out putting Baby D in childminding at the gym leaves us rife with illness. So I am currently writing this with a cough, mouthful of lung butter and a fever. So, no gym this week, hopefully by the weekend.

Lung butter. A nasty, beautifully accurate phrase I learned from my Dad. Tell me it isn't perfect?!?!


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Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Why I Suck At The Spa

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Wait now... not the best title for a post. I see what I did there.

No, I don't work at a spa. Nor do I suck like... well.. never mind.

What I meant to say is that I can never truly enjoy myself when at the spa, or getting some type of service done. PROFESSIONAL service. Jeez, mind on track people.

First things first - I am a whiny little bitch when it comes to massaging other people. And by that, I mean if the Hubs asks me to rub his shoulders or get the knot in his back. Like, it takes WORK, people. Then I feel all sore. I get all tense and tired and want a massage in return. In addition to just ALWAYS wanting a massage. SO, when I go somewhere for a massage and I know that is what the person does ALL DAY LONG, I just feel bad. I assume they are probably tired or sore or grossed out by so much skin. And I go in feeling like a selfish prick for wanting them to touch mah blubbers.

So, that's how we begin.

Then, there's the whole awkward silence thing. Remember this? Yeah, that made me anxious. I did, in fact, long for the next distraction.

So while I would wholly and completely enjoy some toddler-free, relaxing silence, I feel like it is socially awkward and rude to just be there, quiet. I don't know how the Hubs does it. He hates talking during things like massages and haircuts. I think he would die if he was subjected to the 3-hour ordeals I call hair appointments, where you're sectioned, foiled, bleached, washed, toned, washed again, conditioned, brushed, cut, dried and styled. A lot of talking has to happen during that. I think he would possibly combust.

So I end up asking questions and talking about stupid shit as a nicety. Feigning interest in things the provider says (sometimes it's interesting, but usually by about 15 minutes in, I just want the whole thing over with).


At the half way point, I am inevitably concerned about the tip. No, not a penis, get your mind out of the gutter. About the whole "hey, whether or not this was a good service, you're gonna think I'm a cheap bastard if I don't tip you an appropriate amount" business. I weigh the cost of the service in my mind. If I like the person. If they seem genuine (you know, despite my lack of sincerity). I weigh the pros and cons of generosity vs. setting a precedent if I am going to return to them regularly. I try to remember if I have cash on me (I rarely do), and if this place gives the option to tip on the credit card machine.

I'm usually rigid with anxiety and a deep desire to just go home.


Two weeks ago I had my first foot massage/reflexology appointment in over 10 years. I really wanted to just chill and read a book, but I felt rude. Instead, I was subjected to my provider's opinions on industry in Canada versus China, how Canada has it all wrong, how all jobs are going to the US, and how our childrens' futures are screwed. I was so f_cking stressed out afterwards... and he was getting angry, and he actually hurt my left foot.


And I tipped him too much. For reals. Then I had post-service-too-high-tip-regret.

I so long to be relaxed and not be responsible for anything for 45 minutes, an hour, whatever. And I just end up like a frozen body at the morgue, with more on my mind than when I first came through the door.

I had microdermabrasion done on my face in December. I thought I'd see what it was like. Cliff's notes: f_cking HORRIBLE. I could not wait for it to be over. And I stressed about what to leave for a tip when there was nothing enjoyable about the damn thing.

I need to get drunk first, then do these things so I can actually just calm the f_ck down.

Or be normal. There's that. I hear it's nice?

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