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.

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).

...

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.

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.

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.