Tuesday, February 06, 2007

So my first day at boot camp...

Wow, 15 minutes into it, I thought I had made a HUGE mistake. No way in effing hell was I going to make it through the class. It was like gym class in HS all over again: the panting, the heavy breathing, the jumping jacks, the fucking lunges and crunches...plus you've got a surly drill sargeant (albeit a cute one) barking at you, there's far more laps around the gym than I care to remember and about 35 other people running with you (past you). Like a bunch of rabbits. Or in this case...bunnies. Beautiful ones.

Oh yeah, most were veterans of this camp, too. "This is my third year," confessed a lean, very tan blonde with startlingly white teeth and about 7% body fat. Speaking of fat...not one person there was what I consider "overweight" -- about 90% were very lean and athletic (talk about intimidating); the others may have a few pounds on them. But still fairly lean. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the camp is held at a place called The Lodge, a massive, very upscale neighborhood facility that caters to doctors, lawyers and all the folks in town who earn 6-figures and higher. Aren't wealthier women known to be leaner? (Like tennis athletes? Yes! That's exactly what 90% of them reminded me of!) Or...maybe the camp really burns the shit outta fat. Hence the repeat clientele.

Somehow, I made it through and afterwards...I felt...completely fucking amazing! The tension, the heaviness in my muscles and the depression --- gone. I felt light. Like a tissue blowing around in the wind. That sounds so gay. But true!

I decided to grab some coffee and read a few magazines at Borders afterwards. I think I'll make going to Borders *after* camp a tradition. It was quite nice reeving my system with a strong, hot cup of Americano while paging through Dwell and ReadyMade magazines.

All in all -- a wonderful day. I go back on Thursday. Twice a week. For five weeks.

Man, the sprinting/running is gonna be a pain. If anything will help me lose the last 10 pounds -- boot camp will.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

road show

Okay - so 15 days on the road with various breaks (hopefully) to head home isn't as bad as what I thought was coming from the freakish clowns who run the dept (aka VPs). Some folks will be on the road for much longer. Shouldn't complain, so I won't.

Even though I have a toastmaster's meeting after work, making my day extra, extra long, I managed to wake up at 3:30a this morning for a 1.5 hour work out at the gym. Well worth it; now I feel great or as good as can be expected before I head off to Corporate.

Bulemia at bay, too. Tonight is typically a purge night; will be a challenge. But I can't have the forehead-mark come back; it looks hideous.

Today I look nice. Hip (and healthy).

Monday, February 06, 2006


Hate to keep bitching, but when a VP comes knocking on my cube and wants to send me on the road for 40 days because some other VP doesn't want to travel -- well, I have every right to be pissed off. I think I'm more ticked that I've allowed it to bother me all weekend. Hasn't really happened yet, but I got word Friday that I may be "asked."

I'm sure I will be approached this week -- go on the road for 40 days or else. Am willing to negotiate: like, travel once a week, 2-3 days out of the week. That's fair right?

Fuck them. I have got to get out of Corporate. I could not live with myself (or be at peace ) if I gave up an entire month of my life for this crap.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Q & A - go away

Inbox at work is filled with vapid questions. Don't have the answers or the energy to argue. And if I had the answers, I wouldn't share them with you. Not unless you were on my side. And if you were on my side, you'd have to tell me so; I am no mind reader.

Leave me alone devil women. Know-it-all cunts.

All I want is a 26" inch waist.

And Friday's conference call to go away.

And Saint Anthony to help me find what I've lost.

Tuesday, January 31, 2006

hate me today

Emotional vampires everywhere. Am at work; where else would I be on a bright, brisk morning when the sun is out?

My drinking and binging are out of control. I am out of control.

Made big decision this a.m.: Dumped out an entire bottle of Hind Tail (aka: Yellow Tail, the extra tall bottle) that Roscoe got for me last weekend. Hid all the “A” in the house from wanton eyes (mine). Reason being, last night I came home from work and poured a sweet glass of the red stuff with every intention of consuming at least three or four more servings. After a brief buzz, I went to work in the kitchen, oinking down as much grub as I could swallow (and only the tasty stuff, too, like bean & cheese soup, salmon salad w/ chick peas and Thai dressing, a weight watcher’s biscuit with Laughing Cow cheese…)

And if that wasn’t enough, I headed upstairs to the hiding place in my closet where I stashed Roscoe’s V-Day presents: chocolate- covered fortune cookies and Ferrario Rocere (sic - no time to look up the damn spelling) bon bons. Ate them – every last one. Then promptly visited the bathroom for a 10 minute purging session.

Afterwards, I looked at myself in the mirror. A heart-shaped strawberry-colored patch had erupted in the center of my forehead. All from the stress of vomiting. Honest – it’s in the shape of a heart and resembles a burn, like from a curling iron. Was still there this morning. I am all too familiar with this red patch though, as I experienced it last week after downing copious amounts (read: four strong servings) of Vodka & Tonics, chowing on health food and yacking it all up. The patch fades, but it remains with me for at least four days, serving as a friendly reminder *not* to do what I’ve been doing at least three time per week for the past year.

I have porcelain white skin. No blemishes. The red patch stands out like a gun shot hole, only flat and smooth and shaped like the internal organ that keeps my blooding pumping. I don’t fully understand why it’s that shape, but I have ascertained it’s esoteric presence is a symbol of desire…the desire to somehow find a way to stop this self-condemning habit and (somehow) love myself. Stop the hate inside.

Am giving up the flask for awhile. A long while perhaps, or somehow limit myself to special occasions (uh - yeah). Until I reach my goal of losing 10 pounds. The purging too – no more. I’m 36 years old and tired of feeling like a lonely fat 16 year-old, which is the age when this whole habit started. After Dad died.

Work out at the gym 5-6 days each week. For the amount of time I spend there, I need to see results (addicted to body image as well). “A” and binging does nothing for my size or the scale. Keeps me the same - stagnant, imprisoned. Wrecks my body and self-image. I feel like utter shit afterwards, too. Weak and miserable.

If I am to do this though – and give it all up -- I will have one hell of a fight. Mainly with myself, overcoming the “urge” to both drink and over-eat. And the need to purge afterwards. I liken this urge to those demonic cravings of wanting a cigarette after giving up the two-pack a day habit more than four years ago. It’s *that* bad. A terrible ache inside. And yet another addition I have to overcome.

Tonight will be difficult though because it’s traditionally a purge night. Mondays and Tuesdays. And sometimes Wednesdays or Thursdays. Friday is when Roscoe comes over (with his 12-pack unless I bitch; then it’s a 6 pack with a Tall Boy). So no purging when he’s around.

What to do with Roscoe is an entirely separate issue. An impossible one. He’s fourth on my list of additions. One I doubt I’ll ever leave behind.