Take That Miley

I took the little dog on a jog this morning through the country club next to my neighborhood in attempts to pick up a man... to work on my cardio. I'm coming up at one and a half miles and this pick up truck slowly drives past me. The forty something driving the service vehicle idles past me grinning creepily and waves. If I could read his mind, I'm sure he'd be saying something like this

So here I am, running like 4 mph (not sexy), dripping in sweat (mildly attractive), and rocking the greasiest of hair styles that is only possible when you wash your hair once a week (how do you like them apples). Why is this guy undressing me with his look then? I look over after he is gone at my shadow and its dawns on me. My ass jiggles more running than Miley's does twerking at the VMA's. And really, I'll take that as a compliment for all the larger ladies trying to get in shape.

For this accomplishment, I have a couple people to thank.
The Sun, I know you aren't a person, but you helped me see my shadow.
My best friend's boyfriend, Daniel, who introduced me to the dead lift and squat. Without him, my ass would just be giggly, but now its big and giggly.
And last but certainly not least, my mama. Because obviously, I got it from my mama.

So Miley, don't be too upset, but I can twerk better than you without even trying.

You'll be okay, I promise.

Willpower Vs Donut Holes

My work had one of its normal bimonthly potlucks the other day. The enemy was there. Little powdered donut holes were staring me down. And no, I'm not exaggerating whatsoever. Next to them was their equally tasty cousin buttercream cake and then down the table was their friend Dominoes Pizza. The real kicker was the Tootsie Roll Pops displayed in tin buckets on the tables. I managed to avoid the break room for an entire 24 hours, which wasn't too difficult for the 15 hours I wasn't there. But for those nine, torture. But the truth is, one little donut hole can't do too much damage. Health-wise, it is about 50 calories, it's high on the glycemic index so it would spike my blood sugar causing a crash, has preservatives making them delectable for days or weeks after they are made. But with all that said, there is much worse you could do to your body.

So for that whole day at work I did great. Then the next morning, I could no longer steer clear of those glorious powdered sugar balls of heaven. And damn, it was good. I beat myself up mentally for the remainder of the day to later do great at the gym, almost as if a sort of punishment for being so naughty. But really, what is it that drives all of us? It's never about the donut hole. 

I was deadlifting today which is by far my favorite thing to do.

Face of happiness.

I'm great at the deadlift if I do say so myself. I lift almost at an intermediate level of training just within months of beginning. I was getting in the zone to pull up the bar when a face pops into my head that gives me that extra push to pick up the bar and stand. Later after the workout, my gym was offering free health screenings AND I KILLED IT. My cholesterol, great. Blood sugar, borderline low. Triglycerides, superb. And what prevents me from still feeling unhealthy?

The face I saw that pushed me in the lift. The face of the guy who was the first guy to turn me down since middle school. He never gave me a reason but I was convinced it was because of weight. I forget all other aspects of my health which are overall great except my weight. In my mind, that's why no one has come out of the wood work in attempts to date me. So why do we do this to ourselves? 

I know beauty comes from within.

I know God created me in his perfect form. 

And I know whoever I'm going to grow old with won't see my imperfections as flaws, but simply, just as part of me

What I really want in the gym is peace of mind. In the future, I'm want to be driven by health and well-being, not his face.

Strike that.

In the future, I am going to be driven by health and well-being.

Plateau is a 4 letter word.

Hi my name is Gillian Trouble Andrews. I am a lifetime dieter.


When I started to get into shape on January 12th this year, I didn't really know what to expect. When I first started going to the gym, I was always a couple steps away from a panic attack. It was the first time I hadn't relied on a safety net though. I started on a Saturday though. It may not seem like a big deal but I was always the girl who was changing her life on Monday. So when I woke up that morning, I thought to myself that if I started today, I would have an extra two days of training that would make Monday all the more bearable.


Well its Monday.

I find myself at a bit of a plateau since January. I didn't lose a ton of weight since the beginning of the year, about 10-15 pounds. My weight seems to fluctuate fairly regularly so I don't really know where I'm at. I know my weight does not define me. I can run two miles under 25 minutes. I am almost at the intermediate level for the female deadlift standards in my weight class. I easily work out four hours a week. So why do I let the numbers 1, 9, & 8 define how I feel about myself?

Here is the thing, I let all the progress I make in the gym become undermined when I eat. I hope you know I'm writing this while polishing off a beautiful Alaskan Amber Ale. Food has been my crutch for so long, it is the hardest thing to change. I eat in secret which makes it all the worse. I look at the fridge like I used to look at weight racks and treadmills. Where I could see just an opportunity just to make food to sustain my body or even make it better, I freeze. While peering in to the fridge this morning, there were tons of eggs, milk, strawberries, milk, and whole grain cereal. What did I go for? The sausage Chicago style pan pizza. I went to the gym and killed it and to celebrate, I went and got frozen yogurt. I went to Sam's and stocked up on a fruit and veg galore, but what am I drinking? Craft beer.

I want to be intentional about how I fuel my body. This isn't about a number. Unfortunately, that jerk of a number on the scale is a fairly good indication for me at where my health is. I could easily lose 15% body fat. Easily. I want to not rely on making jokes at my own expense for being the fat kid. I want to feel confident enough to date. I my want my little sister to not be worried about me. I want the little girl I mentor through BBBS to know the strength of a female. I want to not be afraid of what I could do if I actually tried.

So here it is. I promise myself to be good to myself through nutrition, exercise, and love. I promise to take care of myself and not go back on my word. I promise myself to remember that even know I'm not superhuman, I always have the opportunity to be super.