My dirty little late night secret.

One week may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but if you've never done Farrell's FXB, then you can't know what an extreme and intense week it's been. So, yeah - I'm giving myself a pat on the back for making it to every class and not giving up. Because over the course of one class, as my muscles were burning or I thought I was about to actually cough up a lung, I seriously considered slinking away and making a beeline directly to Dairy Queen and congratulating myself for ending the torture with a chocolate shake. I can't decide what made me stay - avoiding the humiliation of leaving early or the personal desire to stick with it and push past the pain. Either way, I didn't walk out and I haven't had that chocolate shake yet.

I consider both to be pretty big accomplishments.

Seriously - if you know me, then you're probably not surprised that I didn't quit class, but you're surely in awe that I didn't go for the shake.

My shakes these days consist of Greek yogurt, bananas, strawberries, flaxseed, Whey protien powder, vanilla almond milk, Chia seeds and ice cubes. They're no extra thick, super sized chocolate shakes from McDonald's, but they're not all that bad. If I'm hungry enough, I can almost convince myself that it's a strawberry malt from my favorite hamburger joint.


Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.....hamburgers. With cheese. And bacon. Any dripping with mayonnaise.

Clearly, my obsession with food hasn't waned, but I'm proud to say that I've not been sidetracked by a bag of Cheetos yet. Thankfully, we have a cheat day built into our program, so I can lay off the turkey and string cheese for a day and not worry about my good carbs to protein ratio and enjoy some of my favorite guilty pleasures. But beyond that one day, I have not given in to my many daily cravings for an Oreo or a handful of M&M's. I now reach for raw almonds, baby carrots or a Granny Smith apple instead now. It is as satisfying and tasty as a big pan of brownies? Fuck no. I still want Geno's pepperoni pizza rolls instead of grilled chicken, but there's a different satisfaction in making the healthy choices and it has really nothing to do with my body and health. For the first time in a long time, I have control and self discipline in my kitchen, in the grocery store aisle and in my life.

Will I fall off the wagon from time to time? I probably will - I'm not perfect and while I know that food has a wee bit of power over me, I also admit that I really love a good meal - rich sauces, dense pastas, hearty potatoes, delicious appetizers and all eaten with a good glass of wine. I'm not giving up those kinds of meals. I'm just having far less of them.

What gets me through the night? Well, like every long dry spell, we all need to scratch that itch from time to time.

So I'm dvr'ing commercials for IHOP, Dijorno pizza, Breyer's ice cream, Keebler cookies, PF Chang's frozen entrees and Baskin Robbins and watching them late at night after everyone goes to bed.

We all need our porn.

Hamstrings, quads and glutes....oh MY!

What's more humbling than test day at Farrell's?

Grabbing ahold of the towel rack in the bathroom to hoist your "dead from the waist down" body off the toilet.

TMI? I don't care. If you've worked out your legs to the point of what my instructor calls, 'total muscle failure', you know exactly what I'm talking about. We've all been there.

Lower body workout yesterday. At one point, I saw the depths of hell. No, seriously. My legs, particularly my hamstrings - were burning so badly that I wasn't sure I was going to be able to drive home last night. Who am I kidding? I was afraid that I'd have to crawl to the car, ask an 89 year old lady to give me a shove into the passenger side and give her a $20 to drive me home.

These bands - where did they come from? Who invented them and who, in their right mind, thought that wrapping one end around your knee and slipping the other end over your opposite foot and then stretch that leg as far out as possible (appropriately called a mule kick, because I felt like a jackass for being such a wimp) for 32 reps was a good thing?

We did all sorts of monstrous and torturous things with the bands. We lunged, we squatted, we kicked, we pulled, we forced our ass muscles to wake up from their Rip Van Winkle-esque sleep and decide to play a pivotal role in well, our asses. I knew I had glutes, but they were kind of like my highschool yearbooks- stored away, under a bunch of junk and never looked at again. I doubt that I'll haul the yearbooks out, but it's high time I make use of my ass muscles; they've been stored under too much junk for too long.

So, today I'm welcoming back my gluteal muscles. I imagine they'll make me pay in all sorts of painful ways for neglecting them for so long. I suppose I deserve that.

Bring on the bands, baby!

My ass has been waiting.

This aint no 48 hour miracle, that's for sure!

So, I've finished day 2 of the FXB challenge. That leaves a mere 58 to go. That makes me wimper a little. I mean, I get that it's a lifestyle change, but why can't it be successful after 48 hours? Zit creams work that fast. We feel better after two days of antibiotics. I've recovered from monster hangovers in that timespan. So, why not, after a day of cardio kickboxing that made me dizzy with fatigue and a workout that can only be defined as torture (but really Resistant Training), can I not look like a supermodel capable of ass kicking?

Because I'm the living example of what I tell my children daily: Life's not fair.

I want so desperately to remain eloquent and refined throughout this blog adventure, but as I sit here, icing a calf, stinking like Ben Gay and hoping my arms don't literally fall off, all I can think of are words that rhyme with truck, spit, block pucker, brother clucker and fun of a ditch. There is no eloquence when it involves sweating like a pig and involuntarily grunting while stretching a resistant band, also known as the devil's toy. For 45 straight minutes during class today, a stream of the most obscene and depraved words and phrases went through my head. I'm no lady during this challenge. And I guess I'm not supposed to be.

I guess you can figure out how it's going so far - exactly how it's supposed to go. I'm using muscles I wasn't aware existed in my body, creating new swear words in my head, gasping for air after cardio, learning how to like celery and wobbling around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Which I guess means, I'm doing it right. And already - I'm looking forward to tomorrow's class. That says something.

But damn! It's a pain in my brother clucking ass! (And everywhere else.)

"This is a test. It is only a test."

So, today was test day at Farrell's. This is where we mere mortals find out how badly we need to get into shape. I was completely prepared to be disappointed by my body and it's abilities. I'm thrilled to report that I wasn't horribly disappointed and that my test day results weren't as bad as I thought they were going to be. Am I ready for a marathon? Well, yes - if it involves a bowl of popcorn and eight consecutve episodes of Beverly Hills 90210. If it involves a finish line at the end of 26 miles, then no. But, maybe for the first time, it's not out of the realm of possibilities. Someday.

The rundown of my morning consisted of some fairly agonizing numbers; like weight, measurements and my fat percentage. I wasn't crazy about any of them, but they have only one way to go.....down! I met my other team members, recognizable by the fear in their eyes and the desperation in their handshakes. We aren't alone in the Farrell's World, and what a feeling that quickly became.

During presentations and fitness testing, I couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement we were all feeling and the motivation the instructors and coaches inspired us with. They've been where we are and they were there to show us how far we can go. Music blared and everyone cheered us on with each push up, sit up and step of our mile run . . . and somewhere between walking in the doors and throwing my tired body into my car at the end of the morning, I went from being scared (ok, terrified) to determined and confident.

Somewhere, at some point I realized that while it's up to me to make my transformation, I'm not really doing it alone. I have friends and family who are supporting me along the way. And some of them I met today!

This is not only a test. It's my life.

The Eve of Change

Twas the night before testing and all through the track, everyone is hoping I don't have a heart attack.

Welp, it's on folks. I'll be donning the new shoes, ready to carry me through the mile run, something called a sit and reach and a pathetic minute of push ups.

I'm nervous, excited and hoping I won't require oxygen after it's all over. Maurio and I spent a fun date night at the horse track and I watched those horses run a mile and all I could think was, "well, at least I won't have some small little man sitting on me, smacking me with a whip". Then again, maybe I'd run faster. Or maybe I need to keep my fantasies to myself.

I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be. I'm on the verge of something - I hope it's greatness. I shared my fears with a good friend this week and asked her, "do you think I can really do this?" She simply replied, "I think you can do whatever you put your mind to." With that kind of endorcement and encouragement, it'll be hard to fail. Proving her (and myself) right is up to me. In ten weeks, I'll owe her a big thank you - it's turned out to be the very boost in confidence I needed.

And I heard them exclaim as I laced up my shoes, "Get to it Michelle, you can do whatever you choose!"

Game on.

Spandex is my friend.

Working out isn't new to me. I've been a member of our local YMCA for years. I've even devoted months at a time at various classes; turbo kick, Y pump, cardio conditioning and I made a pathetic attempt at high impact step. I have the appropriate attire and an expensive pair of shoes, all at the ready for this brand new chapter in my life.

What I need is a sports bra. One preferrably made by NASA with technology created only by rocket scientists. I'm no Pamela Lee Anderson, but the girls need support!!! I have several sports bras, but they've all seen their day, so I'm on a mission for a sports bra that I can rely on for absolute support and a modicum of comfort. Gracie and I are heading out tonight to find Mama a bra that will hold everything still that should be still; because let's face it - not much else on this ol' body of mine will be still!

I will impart one of my many pearls of wisdom that a mother should share with her daughter: Spandex is our friend. And for the next 10 weeks, spandex will be my very best friend.

I'm still holding out hope that NASA will save the day and offer up a technologically perfect bra. They put a man on the moon, for God's sake! How hard can a superior sports bra be?

Two more days.

The girls are nervous!

Dead Woman Eating

I've always wondered, if I knew it was my last day on Earth, what would my last meal be? Would I go for a deep dish pizza loaded with pepperoni, Italian sausage, mushrooms and extra cheese? Perhaps a mountain of garlic steamed crab legs and a vat of hot, rich butter. Maybe Hunan shrimp over lo mein noodles with crab rangoons and steamed potstickers. Of the 31 flavors at Baskin Robbins, how many would I pile onto a sugar cone for my last dessert? Which piece of cheesecake would I order from the Cheesecake Factory? A blizzard or a peanut buster parfait from Dairy Queen?

If I were given carte blanche for my last mortal meal, what would it be?

That's how I feel this week: I'm Sean Penn and I'm heading down the Green Mile.

At what point did we turn food into something with so much power over us? Seriously, who hasn't fantasized about what they're going to have for lunch on a given day? Who doesn't look up online menus of restaurants they're going to later that evening - just to salivate over the options they'll have. Who doesn't love those damn Cheddar Bay biscuits at Red Lobster? Sorry, I got sidetracked by a coupon for Red Lobster sticking out of my coupon basket. When did food become such a force in our lives that when making the choice to eliminate the unhealthy options from our daily lives, we feel like we're losing a limb? Or worse, as in my case - I feel like my execution day is upon me.

I'm emotionally preparing myself to say goodbye to all the fatty, greasy, delicious foods that I've grown to love, but have grown to.....well, they've grown on my hips. I feel like I'm losing my oldest, dearest friend. But here's the thing; I know I don't have to say goodbye forever. I need to learn how to have a healthy relationship with nachos. Even the deepest and most profound relationships sometimes need a little distance to rethink the relationship, establish some boundaries and to figure out each partner works. Clearly, I don't work well with a can of Pringles just yet.

I'm taking a break (Ross and Rachel style) from Keebler, Frito Lay, Hostess and Nabisco. We'll meet again and I'll be stronger then. I won't lean so heavily (pun intended) on them for comfort and support. I'll know when I've had enough and when to put them back in my pantry.

Until then, I'm getting acquainted with fruit, vegetables, protien, whole grains and maybe yogurt. I can't make promises on that one. For me, yogurt has always been like chunky, sour milk. But that's my issue and I'll have to get past it.

In case you're wondering: a slice of deep dish, a plate of crab legs with hot butter and a side of Hunan shrimp. I'd get garlic bread instead of potstickers, but it would be smothered in mozzerella cheese. And always, ALWAYS the peanut buster parfait. I mean, really....did you even wonder?

Three more days.

Dead Woman Eating.