This contest at the gym could possibly be the worst thing I've ever done in recent history. Talk about unearthing dormant eating disorder type behavior. I've become obsessed with the scale. Seriously. I can tell you what I weigh before my shower, after my shower with my hair in a towel, after I'm dressed, before the shoes and after, right after I get home from work, in my jammies, long and short pair, and right before I go to bed. And sometimes in the middle of the night. It's a bad bad thing.

Twice this week I found myself at 1:45 am standing in the kitchen eating cookies basically in my sleep.

As further proof of my loss of sanity, I actually cut into a grapefruit at lunch yesterday and thought to myself "dammit! This was supposed to be a ruby red!" instead of thinking "a grapefruit? You've got to be fucking kidding me"

I love the personal training. The workouts are interesting and difficult and I'm really enjoying that part of it. Unfortunately, I'm having a hard time motivating myself to do the extra cardio I really need to do, being as it's like 108 out every freaking day and that just doesn't make me feel like running much.

And I really feel like I'm not eating enough. I'm shaky and tired and cranky all the time and tired...did I mention tired? But I'm so afraid of adding food (see problem with the scale above). So then I go for 4 days or so feeling tired and cranky and shaky and tired and then I have a breakdown and eat 1/2 a bag of chocolate covered pretzels. Not that I did that today or anything...stop looking at me like that.

So the battle continues. And though I'll be sad when all my personal training sessions are over, and I really can't afford to continue them (time or money), I'll be so happy when the "contest" is over and I can just get back to feeling a little more normal.

I had a chicken breast and a kiwi for lunch, because today I am trying to be good, because tomorrow I have to try and make friends with the scale. but I have not had ONE glass of water yet because I just don't damn feel like it, which means I have like 6 hours left in the day to drink a gallon. slosh.

And, since I'm on the path of goodness and light, I worked out twice yesterday. TWICE. Which should totally make up for the drinking of the hurricanes and the eating of the deep fried alligator and the cake, the glorious cake. And today I am paying for it with all the terrible tiredness and the aches and ouch I didn't know I had a muscle there. But, regardless, I must venture to the gym today after work, because of the goodness and light path, and because of the damn scale that I would love to back over with my truck. Or drop out a window. Or drop out of a window, and then back my truck over it. Three times. So tonight I will be doing cardio, please think of me while you're enjoying your evening... but I can't do high intense, because my back still sort of hurts from the kickboxing I did a week ago, whereas I was completely off balance, but threw the hook anyway and cried all the way home. So tonight I will be on the damn treadmill for what will surely seem like fucking forever, to try and burn the same amount of calories that a quick 20 minutes of heart stopping vomit inducing high intense could have done. Woe is me.

Now I must go eat my pria bar (the non-barf flavored one) and drink 8 gallons of water.

I'm a lover, not a fighter.

I took my first sparring class on Friday. There was this really nice NHB fighter there that I was fighting, and though I learned a lot, I spent most of all of my 3 minute rounds being yelled at. You see, I have this problem. I DON'T want to get hit in the nose. Anywhere else? Don't care. Nose? I'll run screaming. So, as usual, I manifested my issues onto those around me, and everytime I threw a punch, I aimed for the pad on his forehead. It wasn't "on purpose", and really, I didn't even know I was doing it, but then even after he pointed it out I couldn't seem to bring myself to hit him in the face. Even when he dropped his hands and said "HIT me!" Bam...my glove hit the pad. So then he thought he'd pop me in the face a few times, but, see, I was smart enough to pick the really really stupid looking headgear that has a catcher's mask, so, no problem, didn't bother me a bit. Oh, and FYI, don't care how stupid it looks, I will ALWAYS wear that one, because, hello, nose.

then we put on leg pads and kickboxed. Which was fun, but everytime I throw my rear round I apparently drop my hand. I know this because, everytime I threw my round rear, he'd punch me in the head. After the 3rd time I said "guess I'm dropping my hand, huh?" and he said "yeah, I knew you'd figure it out".

By the time I was fighting my last round, I was tired, and as such, my aim left a lot to be desired. So, during that round, I managed to actually hit him in the face (instead of the headgear) three times. But, like I said, I have issues, so it went something like this

me: BAM (shot to the nose)
me: "Oh, Sorry!"
him: "you're not supposed to say you're sorry. You're fighting"
me: "right"
me: BAM (nose again)
me: "OMG I'm so sorry (dropping hands)
him "Don't DO that" (hits me in the face, since my hands are down)

Repeat.

Oh, and I managed to hurt my back, throwing a hook when I was off balance. But, it's feeling much better today, so hopefully no harm done.

We leave for vacation tomorrow...so I can't go this week, but I'm totally going back. Maybe one day I'll even land a punch without feeling guilty.