Flashback Friday: Bike Seats and Fannies of Steel

I almost forgot to post a #FBF post, so this one is coming to you late. It is almost time to dust off the old bike that I have used a total of five times. I can’t wait for the spring-I-am-totally-riding-my-bike-this-year-except-that-is-a-boldface-lie-season. Whoohoo! 

While living in Elko, I tried various workout classes and regimens, for no other reason than there was literally nothing else better to do. I did Pilates for nearly two years (yup, this fatty). I took a weights class in the old high school gym. I tried Zumba numerous times, despite being a spastic with no rhythm.  I took a Body Pump class and very nearly died. Lastly, I took one kettle bells class, and almost knocked the instructor out cold (whoever thought swinging heavy metal balls between between your legs was a good idea, anyway?). Despite my utter failures with fitness, I wasn’t giving up. I had yet to do spinning. 

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21 Minute Survival Challenge

It all started with this picture:


Actually, it started with Silver Donkeys at The Depot. Day drinking never, ever makes for a dull time.

Add some binge watching of Naked and Afraid, mix in my crazy friend, Alyssa, and you have our insane 21 Minute Naked and Afraid Challenge in the wilds of Oxbow Park, in the heart of Reno. It was intense. 

In all seriousness, this started with her idea to spoof the above picture. Obviously, the woman above is quite talented and lithe. We are not. We are the direct opposite. She thought it would be hilarious to go out into nature and take ridiculous pictures of our pudgy bodies, attempting to contort into serious yoga positions. It was insanely entertaining. Either we are hysterical, or just really, really immature 30-somethings. Well, here are our yoga spoofs:

 This is Alyssa’s version of the tree pose. It’s called, “Ride Em Cowboy”. 

  This one is called, “Smelly Poop Lip”. 

  I’m becoming one with Mother Nature. I need to work on my “serious face”, because it’s the same as my “pooping face”. 

 

  
 These are called, “We Can’t Believe We Didn’t Break the Bridge!”

  
 These are “The Warrior”, but because it took us 10 minutes to get to the rocks we stood on, these have been renamed, “Take the Damn Picture, I’m Done, and the Rocks Are Burning My Fucking Feet”.

Now, at this point, we are incredibly winded and tired, but we have more poses to do, so we forge on. Along the path, we are accosted by flying insects and there are red ants everywhere. It’s hot, we are sweating, and our mouths are parched. Suddenly…it turns into Naked and Afraid (Except we didn’t get naked. Getting arrested for public nudity is frowned upon in the teaching community).

We decide to make shelter, find weapons, and pretend to make fire, all in the name of survival. We know we would hardly make it an hour in serious wilderness, so we named our wilderness attempt, the “21 Minute Survival Challenge”.

We took photos of our attempt to survive our harrowing journey through a city park. Enjoy.


Just chilling in our shelter. We scored and found a busted guitar. It will provide great rain coverage. Two minutes in and we are really feeling the effects of dehydration. We are sweating too much. It must be 88 degrees, and the walk-in was exhausting. I don’t know if I can do this. 


Attempting to make fire and I break a nail. I was close to my breaking point here, and if it wasn’t for Alyssa’s support, I would have tapped out. It was that close. 


8 minutes in and we are still in search of food. We are dying of hunger. The energy we are exerting in search of nourishment is depleting our fat stores. We can feel our body eating our fat. We also almost died crossing this dangerous canyon. It had to be at least 2 feet down. It was the most terrifying moment of our ordeal. 

 Alyssa’s breaking point. Crotch sweat. Unacceptable! 


We decide to not expend any more energy in search of water and food. We cuddle in our shelter to stay warm. Except, it’s almost 90 degrees, and what was that? Your walking stick? 


Red ant attack! Additionally, cuddling proved awkward. 


Desperate for protein, we shamefully, hungrily consider the used condom caught while fishing. That was our low point. 12 minutes in, and things are bleak. Morale is low. Our stomachs are growling and our lips are cracking from dehydration. 


Success! Alyssa catches a water-logged, half-eaten hamburger encased in its wrapper. It looks to be only a few days old. In desperate times, one must take desperate measures. We still have diarrhea, and we are afraid we have caught a sexually communicable disease from the river. This survival shit isn’t for the weak. 


Weak from exertion and lack of food and water, I cannot make it back up the hill from the river. Alyssa uses her last bit of strength to rescue me. I thought she was a bossy bitch at first, but we have built a bond that can’t be broken through this experience. 


Operation Retrieve Flip Flop was a success. We really needed this win for our morale. 


Silly times! Look! We’re dirty!


Due to vicious red ant attacks, we resort to resting on a log. Lesson learned: red ants live in logs too. Only 6 minutes left. We are running on empty and are motivating each other by reminiscing about our favorite meals. What I wouldn’t do for some ribs! 


My joints are stiff from lack of water, and it takes me almost 3 minutes to exit log. We are almost late to hike to extraction! 

 
 I have never been so happy to hear a train in my life! We are so ecstatic, we cry, and hug, and cry some more! 

After our grueling 21 minutes in the wild, Alyssa and I have learned a lot about ourselves and nature. First, nature sucks, and it messes up your manicures and pedicures. It also makes you sweaty and dirty. Ick. Second, we are both confident that given an opportunity to travel to some remote location as a part of the show, Naked and Afraid, we would survive for precisely 10 minutes. Nature isn’t for the weak or lazy, and we are lazy as fuck.

 The chick at Starbucks acted like we were rabid, or on crack. We forgot we smeared charcoal on our faces. Oops. 

These Hiking Boots Were Made For Quittin’

Recently, I decided I haven’t seen enough of the rugged Nevada countryside, nor have I been on enough hikes (the last time I went on a hike I almost died from Burst Lung Due to Lack of Use. It’s a real diagnosis. Look it up. Just kidding, but really, I almost hyperventilated at least 20 times. So…that’s probably why I haven’t been on a hike since).

So, today, I got up in enough time to make some nutritious oatmeal (don’t tell anyone it was loaded with brown sugar), filled up my dusty Nalgene, and found my running shoes that were in the deep recesses of my closet.

I dragged a friend and myself up to the Galena Creek Trail off the Mount Rose Highway.

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Reasons Why I’m Fat #2,347 and Other News

I’m working on a post on Friday at 1 in the afternoon*, because I’ve been in bed for two days still feeling like I’m swinging in a yoga silk. 

Ugh.

It started last week. At the end of class, when we wrapped up like fat vampires (well, I’m the fat vampire) to cool down, the new instructor moved us so we spun in our coffins of carnival-ride-hell. It was absolutely terrible.

Terrible. 

Just thinking about it now makes me want to vom. Ugh. Bleck!

This past Wednesday, I asked the instructor not to make me sway *there it is again. Excuse me while I calm down my gag reflex*

Everything was fine until she forgot. She realized just seconds later and got me to stop moving, but the damage was already done. 

That whole night I had dreams of all sorts of nauseating things. I’d detail them, but I just can’t without my head spinning. 

The next morning, I barely got out of the shower alive. I’m a real wuss when it comes to fitness and committing to eating plans, but I’m simply not one to call in sick all the time. However, there was just no way I’d make it in. I could barely stand for five minutes without feeling like I was in a fun house of horrors. 

As a teacher, it’s usually just easier to suffer through the pain than to put in for a sub, create last minute sub plans, and ask your already-overworked-fellow teachers to help you out. 

This meme knows:


However, sometimes it’s the difference between barfing during your Number Talk and barfing with dignity in the privacy of your own bathroom. 

Already, long story short, I think aerial yoga is making me motion sick. 

Seriously, this just fucking figures. 

Right when I feel my body feeling tighter. Right when my arms have less swing. Right when I’m feeling a definition in my sausage legs, the fitness that can be thanked for this miraculous change makes me physically ill.

I try to get fit, but fit don’t want this. 

Fuck it all. Seriously. 

In other news, I guess there are worse things than fitness being attributed to sudden illness, because I got a message on Plenty of Fish by…

Adult Baby

Friends, when I received my first message from this “guy”, I thought he was the first truly honest dude on a dating site. 

Instead of finding out after you’re already invested, he’s kind enough to lay it all out, right in his username. 

Adult Baby says to me: 

I will pour myself a bowl of cereal, get more on the table and floor than in my bowl, and I won’t even notice. 

I can’t hold down a job, unless posting horribly written Yelp reviews about massage parlors that offer happy endings counts as a job. 

You will have to clean up after me, because I’ve never bought a cleaning supply in my life. Not even a trash can. Is that a cleaning supply? 

This is what I thought. For a quick minute, I thought maybe he was kind of secretly smart and almost kind for being just so outright about his immaturity. 

Then, the term “Adult Baby” was explained to me. 

I’ll never be the same again. 

Just google it. Just.google.it. 

It doesn’t happen a lot, but I’m speechless

I am pretty much convinced that every  dude on every dating site out there just wants to get in your pants or they want you to change their pants. 

I’ll pass. 

I thought for a quick minute that maybe they weren’t all creeps, because I was talking to a really intelligent and witty guy. It was more than just talking. We met for drinks and he took me to sushi. Other than talking way too much and being incredibly long-winded, he seemed like someone I could really see myself getting to know. He knew how to form a complete sentence. He knew who Gary Oldman was. He had a job. It seemed like a win. When I didn’t respond to his endless sexual innuendo jokes that obviously meant he was trying to talk sex, he was suddenly not interested. Cool, bro. 

They seem to all be like this. 

He didn’t even get it…



I’m just…

I don’t even know. Maybe I’ll know in my next blog post. 

Well, I’m off to Google, “exercise that won’t make me motion sick” and to delete the dating site apps on my phone. Or, do I keep them for the sole purpose of endless entertainment? 

What a varied and exciting life I lead. 

*Obviously it’s not Friday anymore. Even more obviously, I’m a total procrastinator and didn’t finish my post on said Friday. 

Seven Minutes in Heaven-Help-Me

Image courtesy of Popsugar Fitness


I am, quite possibly, the laziest, weakest bish on this planet. You think you might be the crowning winner of this coveted title? Just wait, you will be voting for this fatty real soon. 

I was sitting at a work training a few weeks ago. As usual, I was eavesdropping. Two super fit women were discussing this app that follows you through a seven minute workout. Seven minutes. 

Gurrrrrl, that’s so my kind of workout. Forget those hour long, sweat and puke sessions at the yoga studio. Forget the bike rides around the block that take me the rest of the night to recover from. Forget spending my hard-earned Netflix and chill with Ben & Jerry time on being uncomfortable and sweaty. F that noise. 

So, obviously I downloaded the app and gave it a whirl. 

I imagined myself looking exactly like the fit chick in the video, because in seven minutes I can do anything. 

Anything. 

Actually, seven minutes is a long time. I can’t do anything in seven minutes. Well, I did something, but it looked nothing like the stupidly svelte girl in the video. I didn’t look a thing like the girl who didn’t even break a sweat. The girl who doesn’t even need to do seven fucking minutes of fitness. 

This was the breakdown of my seven minutes of shame:

Oh, this is easy!! I can do a million of these over-the-head-body-ball-things.

I can feel my abs growing stronger and stronger. 

My arms are going to fall off and I’m going to die. 

No effing way it’s only been 45 seconds. 

Hold up. 

My timer has to be glitching. 

Oh, phew! The next exercise. I almost puked. 

Um, I can’t balance on a ball on my side and lift my leg. Like, that’s humanly impossible. 

Well, I  can, but I can lift my leg about a millimeter off the floor.

Hey, it’s something! 

Oooh, a lay down one! I totally rock the socks off lay down fitness. 

Ow. This hurts my tailbone. 3 is good. 

Yussss! Another lay down one and all I have to do is lift my legs into the air as I hold myself up, balancing my gut on the ball. 

Simple. 

OK. That was a barf burp. 

Gross. 

I’m feeling insanely sweaty. I’m gonna skip the push ups to take off my bra. I don’t want to sweat in my bra. I just washed it two months ago. 

I’m feeling much better. That break gave me the oomph I needed to get me through. 

It’s been three fucking minutes???? 

I think I’ve given this all I’ve got and besides, I’ve worked so hard, I’m literally seeing stars. 

Maybe it’s not medically safe for me to workout? 

Well, I think I’m done. Seven minutes is the maximum amount, and it takes time to get to that level of endurance. 

The next time I do this, I’ll give it more like 70%. Soon I’ll be giving this 100%, and I’ll be rocking a smoking hot bod. 

This workout deserves an extra dollop of Tru Whip with sprinkles! 

Guys, I only half-assed my way through three minutes of a seven minute workout. 

I think there’s no hope for me! 




Sudden Summer Shame 

Hey! It’s been a minute, but I finally have a new Shopper Lottie post up. I guess I was too busy getting my summer body on. Haha. Just kidding. I was too busy figuring out how best to eat my latest addiction (Tru Whip and rainbow sprinkles) without gaining any more weight. Losing the Winter of ’02 Weight for Summer Campaign ended when I couldn’t quit Taco Tuesday. Ya’ll know. You know. 

Check it out here:

Sudden Summer Shame
I’d love to know if you have any good tips for cleverly disguising or proudly displaying your not-ready-for-summer-bod. Let me know in the comments over at SL! 

Quit Judging Me, Fitbit

Damn, Fitbit. Why you gotta play me like that? Between Friday and Saturday, I logged 33,806 steps, walked 14.91 miles, was active for 258 minutes, and I have a blister on my toe in the shape of Owen Wilson’s nose, yet my Fitbit is still harping on me today to get my steps in? What’s that you say? You mean, I have to move everyday? I should log 10,000 steps everyday? You mean…I’m not done?

*blank stare*

So, in order to do this thing called, “fitness”, and to be successful at said fitness, I have to do it everyday?

Never mind. I’ll just be returning this here Fitbit, if you don’t mind.

*Rustles in cabinet looking for Crack Cup*

Only half kidding. In all seriousness guys, 10,000 steps a day for someone whose favorite pastime is savoring rainbow sprinkles with a dollop of Cool Whip while watching past episodes of Biggest Loser on Hulu is asking a lot.

My grand weekend of getting in some killer steps was thanks to a quick trip over the hill to San Francisco. Not like, a marathon or anything (obviously, that was your first guess). 

If you have ever been to San Francisco, you know transportation in the city is either: a horror-themed roller coaster-like driving experience, with hobos popping out when you least expect it and you’re honked at for not mowing down pedestrians or it’s a serious walking nightmare experience. I chose walking, and damn those bunions hurt (just kidding, I don’t have bunions. I don’t even know what they are, but I bet they’d be hurting if I had them).

So, I guess my grand walking adventure in San Francisco where my thighs almost ignited due to rubbage did not, in fact, make me instantly fit and svelte. 

Oh, the pain and suffering! 

 

One of my favorite cities, the City by the Bay.


 

How you doin?

 

Getting my steps in by crossing The Golden Gate Bridge.


 

Garlic with pasta from The Stinking Rose. Amazing.

 
  

A view of the city from Alcatraz.


 

So.much.rain.

 
 

Clam chowder in a bread bowl from Boudin’s.

 

Pure effing Heaven. Funfetti. Cake batter. Rainbow sprinkles.

 

 

Walking up Lombard Street almost did me in. I had to stop every other house to catch my breath. Seriously.

  

My how-come-I’m-not-skinny-yet-face.

 
My rant about my demanding, asshole Fitbit turned into some pictures from the trip. You’re welcome. 

  

Small Triumphs 

I’m trying to live a healthier lifestyle, despite being Fatty McCupcakes. It’s a process and, if I may, I’d like to compare it to withdrawals addicts experience. Yes, really. My mind craves the sweet carb-y goodness of cupcakes, but my body can’t take the abuse any further. It’s a real battle, an immense struggle. I would like to share how I’ve made some (subtle) changes to my frame of mind and behavior. 

1. I ate one Girl Scout cookie. Not the whole box. Win.

2. Instead of purchasing a new IPhone, I preordered the Fitbit Alta. I.cannot.wait.until.it.arrives.

  My phone looks like this and, still, I chose the Fitbit. That is true dedication, my friends. 

3. I ate one cup of Multigrain Cheerios with 3/4 cup nonfat milk and four strawberries for breakfast today. AND I didn’t go back for three more cups of cereal to eat with the rest of the milk, either. 

 I eat my cereal in a mug so it looks like I have more than I really do. Genius, right?
4. I went on a walk four times last week. It felt good to be outside, inhaling the cool air tinged with the smell of fireplace. It felt good to get my blood pumping, muscles working. 

  
  
5. Perhaps due to my better eating choices and physical exercise, I didn’t get a premenstrual migraine this month for the first time in six months. 

Small gains that may seem silly to some, but these little things have given me the motivation to keep on, keepin’ on. 

#fattymccupcakesgetsfit

 

Can I Add This to My Resume?

I am so excited to announce that I have been given the opportunity to write for a local magazine. Never did I think that this would be an opportunity available to me. Sure, in my most wildest dreams, did I wonder, but never did I let it settle in my conscious as something that could be a real possibility. Yet, here I am, announcing this wonderful news.

The magazine is called Bliss Babe, and is a women’s health, beauty, and fitness publication.

You might all be wondering what Fatty McCupcakes could possibly have to do with a fitness, beauty, and health magazine. I mean, have you seen me? Have you read my posts about my baked goods addiction? Have you witnessed my epic yoga failure? Apparently, a lot of women relate to my struggles. Apparently, all women struggle with diet, fitness, and feeling beautiful. They are not just my struggles, they are our struggles.

Now, I need your help. The creator has mentioned that it is possible that some of my existing blog posts could be published in the magazine. With that, I need to know which ones would be the best to be featured in an actual magazine *EEEK*.

Below are three possible categories I could be writing about, with links to blog posts falling under that category. If you are new to following me, or missed some of these, and you need something to do, well…I would be forever grateful if you could check these out. At the end of this post are links to 3 different surveys (I have to upgrade, as in pay to have more than 1 question per survey, so um, no. Sorry).

Beauty

Lipstick

My Hairy Life

An Ode to Hairy Women

Health

Why You Gotta Be Like That, Carbs?

Be Cool, Alright?

Fat Clap

Free Donut Day

Get Out the Way, Bitch

Fitness

Whip My Ass Ass

Yoga Farts

21 Minute Survival Challenge

Below, you can find the links to the surveys. If it weren’t for all of the people who read the crazy crap I write, this would not be happening! I would be honored to use your suggestions for what should be featured in the magazine. Thank you all so very much.

Beauty Blog Post Survey

Health Blog Post Survey

Fitness Blog Post Survey

Thank you’s and CUPCAKES!

Whip My Ass Ass

So, my boyfriend has been going to personal training kickboxing three times a week (he’ll probably look like a white mustachioed Oscar de la Hoya in a month-f*%#ing men), and while he’s gone, I hork out on junk and watch Netflix. 

It occurred to me that it’s not really in my best interest to get even fatter while my boyfriend beefs up. It’s one thing if you’re polishing off a package of Oreos, together, in stained, oversized t-shirts, in front of American Horror Story, and a whole other nasty animal to glutton alone, while the other is being punched in the stomach by an MMA fighter. It’s kinda not fair. 

So, I thought- what better time to drag out my dusty yoga mat and bust out a couple sloth-like moves. 

Side note- anyone remember the reason I started this blog-the yoga journey I kicked off like a bat out of hell? Or, more like a fat girl with no real idea that it would require an immense amount of effort I wasn’t ready to give? Yeah…that’s not embarrassing or anything. 

So, my yoga mat wasn’t just dusty from little use, it literally was crusty-hard from old sweat from my last yoga session, 45 years ago. It actually almost cracked in two. 

Well, I promptly threw it back into the closet and about gave up, until I remembered that I’ve always meant to be a breakout dance star, a la Flashdance (or more realistically, MTV’s Made). So, what better idea than to Whip/Nae Nae my way to fitness?

I don’t really have anything to say about my solo dance party, other than if you’re going to sweat it out to Just Dance, and you have as much rhythm as a flag pole, close your blinds, your curtains, and turn your lights off. Ain’t no one ready to see what you think is “dancing”. 

My Whip Nae/Nae looked more like “Quick/Call 911/I Have Whip Lash. 

FYI: flexibility is a prerequisite to whipping your whatever. 

I fear I’ll never be able to turn my head, freely, to the right again. 

This is why eating the rest of my Mom’s cream cheese pumpkin bars was a better idea. 

It’s like I never learn.