Archive | March, 2017

Putting the “Hyp” in Hypocrite

20 Mar

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I’m going to let you in on a secret.  I’m a total hypocrite.  I realized this during my seven mile run today.  My run time is the time where my wheels turn.  My thinking time. Time to think of the dumb things I’ve said and done. Time to think about whatever has been bugging me.  Time to think about my insecurities and my not so insecurities.  I have a race in one month and it’s my first long distance race since November’s full marathon.  So what have I been a hypocrite about?  I feel like sometimes I talk about strength and body confidence and overcoming obstacles but there are times I’m saying this stuff, and I don’t believe it when it comes to myself. I know my insecurities show in my blog, but hopefully there’s some bad ass to counteract that too.  Three steps back to go ten steps forward, right?

Exactly one month ago, I completely changed up my routine.   You know how I preach patience?  Well, I double suck at it.  I thought a month later I would be seeing some amazing things.   Little did I know that maybe “seeing” them won’t happen first.  “Keep holding on”, I keep saying.  “No giving up” I encourage.  But although I’m not ready to throw in the towel, I thought I would see a difference in the mirror.  Maybe there is and I don’t see it.  Then today as I finished my seventh mile stronger than my first, dummy me realized something.  Maybe…just maybe  I would feel the difference before I see the difference.  Maybe it was the consistency of my splits or the slightly improved pace.  Maybe it was the fact that I felt no foot or knee pain today.  Maybe I missed the forest for the trees on this one.  The fact is, I ran my longest run since November, and did I die?  Hells to the no.  In fact I’m feeling amazing…like I wanted to keep going.

So I’ve made changes to my diet again and I trudge along further.  This isn’t just a me lesson…it’s a life lesson.

The truth is that we can’t be confident all the time. The person who is appearing the most confident.  The one toting their  Instagram perfect asses around (I’m not gonna lie, I check out that stuff. I like to look at nice asses, don’t judge me!)  The one dissing the “fat person”…those people clearly have more insecurities than I do.  We all have insecurities. Admitting anything less than that is false advertising.   I’m not going to list all my “ass”ets here.  I have nothing  to prove to anyone who is reading this.  I have to be cool enough for me, even though sometimes I know I’m not. If you think I’m a cool, fun chickaroo, why thank you, my dear!  The thing is that those who only see that probably don’t get to see the messy me.  The messy me isn’t so fun.  She’s insecure and gets easily offended at times, emotional, an overthinker.  The people who are closer to me know that.  They have felt the wrath and trust me when I tell you I’m not so proud of it.  I’m impatient, sometimes needy, and I pop off at the mouth without thinking.  I don’t  always think of others.  Sounds like an asshole, right?  Guess what…we all are assholes sometimes.  Yep, even you, hot shot.  You know the trick here is simple, don’t you?  It’s  being real enough to know that you are being messy and admitting it.  I hate having to admit that I’m a total jerk right now and I’m being that way because I’m feeling insecure.  I’m a pusher.  I push away not because I am full of myself, but because I think you as a husband, friend, family member…deserve more than my messy.  It’s kind of dumb when I say that out loud. If you look at it, that’s truly not who I really am,  but insecurity and lack of confidence will do some ridiculous stuff to your mojo. I hope the people in life who have to experience my messy remember the fun chick.  I don’t need a lecture about how I act. I beat myself up more than any friend or family member can.  I promise you that.

But in reality aren’t we all a little insecure. Even the hottest of dudes who have the ladies falling all over them, aren’t they even a little insecure? (I don’ know shit about hot dudes nowadays so I’m grasping.)  The ladies who can walk around in their bikinis without a towel wrapped around them…aren’t they all insecure sometimes, or is it just me.

Let me tell you I don’t feel like a weeping hot mess afraid of her own shadow most of the time.  There are definitely sometimes when I feel like I could pass for a total hot piece of ass. Ha! Or at least whatever that equates to for a 39 year old mother of two with this ass of mine. I love that girl in me.  She’s the person I am.  She’s the fun girl without a give a damn in what people think.

But then the hypocrite in me shows up.  How do I sit here and preach what I do to all of you and “pretend” to be positive.  The answer is simple.  Because I want to believe it too. And I know that everything I’m saying is true, I just don’t feel it sometimes and maybe if I say it to you, it may click.  Do you feel it clicking?  The truth is that if I look back to where I started.  I believe every ounce of this shit I shovel out.  And it’s proven that I have felt it enough to turn my beliefs into reality. I’m good at succeeding when I believe.  You can be too!!!

So let’s all agree that sometimes we have to shovel out positivity even if we aren’t feeling it. You absolutely hear everything you say to yourself and what you say matters.  When you tell yourself you’re nobody…you exude that.  People feel your vibes.  So turn it around. Be kind to yourself.  Say nice things to yourself.  And so maybe you don’t believe them right away…I promise you will.   Look for the good in yourself, and in others.  Match their effort and do kind deeds.  You won’t be sorry.

On the other hand though, remember that it’s impossible to be perfect.  Sometimes the hypocrite comes out.  The one that tries to be everyone’s cheerleader but may not believe it so much for herself (or himself).  The messy creeps in and lashes out.  And life doesn’t feel so great. That’s why it’s life. We can’t always be neat, sometimes messy is just ok.  Bring me your messy…bring me your  worst and know that I’ll sit through it.  Let me be your hand when you need one.  Because quite honestly…I am blessed to have that person who sometimes can’t take much more from me…but somehow does and shows me there is a way to the surface.  God Bless him….seriously. I also have the most amazing friends.  Some ignore my moments and silently forgive and move on.  I have listeners and rainbow throwers (those are the ones that always see the pot of gold even when I can’t).  And I’ve got friends  who call me on my shit.  I need and appreciate all those people in my life.  You have them if you look…I betcha!

I’m mostly pleasant and positive…mostly.  But damn that insecure gal, I truly hope to be seeing less of that as I keep groovin’ forward, but she will always be inside. Damn her !!!!! lol

If you are feeling less than perfect, a little messy today, give yourself a break.  But put those fancy pants on tomorrow and climb up to the top.   There is so much waiting for you just beyond the surface.

No regrets…

Until Next Time,

DP Babbles

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Irish for a Day

15 Mar

 

A couple of years ago, the hubs started learning how to play the bag pipes. At the time he started, the vision of kilts, kilt checks and my son running around in his underwear attempting to play on his dad’s precious practice chanter were not at all a reality or something I thought could be a reality. Nor did I realize what being a “member of the band” would be around St. Patrick’s Day. It’s been a parade kind of couple of weeks and I’m excited to see him blowing like a champ!  (Yep, I went there!)

So my experience at this weekend’s local St. Patrick’s Day parade was my first ever.  I’m Italian (Nutalian as my son puts it) and I’m not a big parade person. I had no idea what was in store for me while trying to support the man of the house.

The kids were so excited to see their Dad in action. Little did I know that “in action” meant chicks stopping him left and right for picture within the first 10 minutes. And you know what else it meant. Lots of drunk people.

We finally left our celebrity to line up and wait for his big entrance. The parade was all sorts of amazing. Beaded necklaces, “gold” coins and candy flying everywhere.  We got to see him up first which was fun. In the spirit of how reserved he is the following text convo ensued between me and a friend:

Me: I should totally follow up his fanfare by flicking some panties on his bag pipes. He’d die, I’m sure. Lol

Her: I dare you!

Me: I so wish I had some handy. Damn it!!!!

So now I’m regretting not thinking of this idea earlier at home when I could have stuffed a pair in my pocket. But I’m also surrounded by a bunch of adults who act like they’ve never seen beaded necklaces or candy.  I’m telling you these people were diving for necklaces. This shit was cut throat. They didn’t even seem that drunk.  Some dude actually tried to fight my son for a necklace. And there were plenty to go around so….he needed a beating. I was sure that if there weren’t children around people were going to start showing their goods for it. Next text:

Hubs: Ok I’m done and we’ll be in front of the bar.

Me: I really want to be in front of the bar. The bead diving here is getting ridiculous. I’m sure Jax is going to get to see some boob shots soon. Not too shabby for 6?

So we did catch the mother load in terms of beads. The kids were happy. I looked like I worked really hard to get those beads, and I didn’t even have to put “the girls” to work. Although I may have “slightly” elbowed the dick who fought my son for a beaded necklace. It was the same dude who caught 6 beer coozies at once and stuffed them all into his back pocket like a crazy person. I had no idea it was about to get crazier!

The plan afterward was that the band was to play at this bar. My daughter was already showing signs of her hangry and my son…he’s just ready to be social. All of a sudden the crowd around the bar didn’t feel so breathable.  I started talking to one of the band mates. We were talking (or yelling loudly in each other’s ears) about kilt checks and whether my husband wore drawers underneath. So I just looked at him wide eyed…

Me: It can’t be true that you are all walking around here free ballin’ it.

Him: really?  Check it out…(lifts kilt and bares it all…)

Me: Well then. I feel fully initiated into the club. 😳

By now my daughter is done with the drunk people. The boy wants to dance a jig of some sort but there’s no room. As the hubs line up to play, I run to get pizza to stuff into my hungry 10 year old’s mouth…but she starts to cry. Cause there’s no where to eat and she’s tired and hot and hungry and there’s sweaty drunk people around her. So one hysterical kid, a crazed dancing son and a tired mom holding a pizza box in the middle of the a drunk crowd. Before you know it one drunk chick is trying to comfort her and the other one lifts Jax up and starts dancing and pointing screaming “look at yer daddy! He’s over there!” And of course she’s pointing to the wrong guy. Didn’t matter because Jax was having the time of his life with this brand new cleavage he had acquired. My daughter’s now sobbing in the middle of a bazillion bagpipe  players and I stand there like an asshole holding up a pizza box praying for Calgon to take me away.  And let me just tell you being an Italian holding up a f*cking pizza box in the middle of an Irish festival…not popular. It was quite the scene.  I felt bad. I totally didn’t see my husband even play…but he knew we were there somewhere.

We were officially done. At least I was. My daughter was. Jax was ready to party all night long.  I didn’t know I’d have to pack a shank in my panties in order to go to a parade for crying out loud! But after all was said and done, the kids did admit they had a good time, I was proud, and he was happy.  And no one died!

Funny thing is, I loathed the bagpipes before. They were a symbol of sadness and only had I heard them at Police Officers’ funerals. But today, holding a crying ten year old, and a pizza box…I changed my mind. (Shhhhh… Don’t tell him I said that!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles

 

8 Weeks to a better ass…or something like that

8 Mar

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So, every January  for the past three years, I have embarked on an 8 week fitness challenge with my bootcamp.  Every year I had learned something different.  The first year I learned (after placing second) that I actually could work some magic when I put it all together.  I was very into running and my body wasn’t saying screw you to running just yet so my results were pretty amazing.  Year two, I learned I was really good at wasting my money.  Because I was a lazy shit who ran  but didn’t do much else.  This year though, I learned a little more.  I figured I’d share.

The goal was to eat 80 percent clean, work out 5x per week and make weekly goals, We of course needed to log our food and our instructor looked at what we were doing.   Our weekly goals didn’t need to be weight loss oriented. As a matter of fact she encouraged other goals.  A few weeks into it I lost my running coach so I was faced with having to change it up.   This is what I learned…

  1.  I learned I’m one unorganized shit! I mean my weekly goals consisted of cleaning out my closet, pantry, bathroom etc.  My husband still can’t find where I put my panties when he folds the laundry but they are organized!!! “Where’d you put your underwear? You organize things and I’m so lost. ”  “In the little drawers in my closet!” UGH! So, I learned that the more organized I am, the more successful I am.  I also learned that I have a “Bra-blem” At least that’s what my kids call one drawer devoted to bras.  I digress.  I’m a little more organized than when I started and it has made a big difference.
  2. I learned that although I want to be a better runner, I really want to be more fit first.  My personal observation and those close around me is that my body is used to running, and running slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.  That’s what my body knows. In that I also learned that maybe in order to be more successful at one thing, I have to get better at others. So  I’m working on building muscles. Lifting weights, resistance bands, squatting like its nobody’s business.  I guess if we all want to monitor my progress, just keep an eye on my “ass”ets.  I miss my running coach, but Im still going to make her proud.  I just have to make me proud first.  I haven’t felt proud in a while.  But holy shit, the next few weeks are shaping up in my favor.  I also learned that I can work around my injury and that I’ve been babying it a little.  That could be total bullshit of course.  Maybe my foot is just healing.
  3. This is the biggest thing I learned.  I learned that emotional eating gets me no where except disappointed.   Before this eight weeks, if anything bothered me, I could totally eat my way through a bag of Doritos and a Snickers bar.  This eight weeks, I was placed in stressful situations and holy sweet baby Jesus,  I didn’t turn to food.  Shit, I didn’t even think about it.  I actually used working out as an outlet.  I kicked ass at kickboxing or dropped and did push ups.  I know this all sounds like bulls*t, but its true.  I thought it was weird too.  I’ve lived my whole life as an emotional eater.  I used to sit through Weight Watcher meetings where the Lecturer actually had conversation with her food.  I don’t really want to spend time being emotionally attached to chicken nuggets or ice cream.  I don’t want to talk to them either.  I’d rather make a healthier choice and sit here and talk to people that matter to me, not my food.
  4. I learned I’m never going to be an itty bitty teeny weeny in that little polka dot bikini.  I learned that it’s ok.  I learned that the real people in life actually think I’m a hip and happening chick no matter what.  I’ve learned what a real definition of sexy is to me.  Sexy is being beautiful with all of your imperfections.  Sexy is putting real effort into being strong.  Sexy is loving yourself and being confident.  Guys and Girls, I tell you.  Not loving yourself and not being confident is actually not very attractive.  So own your thighs,  your big or small boobs. Own all of it.  Yep, you’re allowed to have moments, but don’t dwell on them.  Just keep groovin’! Changes happen when we believe and think positively.
  5.   I learned that I was starving myself.  I got sick halfway through and could barely eat, but when life resumed, I still couldn’t get all my calories in.  The numbers on the scale didn’t budge and they haven’t since. Working out 4-5 days a week with some of them being double workout days is tiring…especially if you aren’t eating.  It’s mind boggling thinking you can’t actually starve your way to weight loss. You really do have to eat.  I severely underestimated the calories I was supposed to be eating and the scale suffered.  But I’ve got the idea now.  I want to know how eating 1900 calories a day is going to help a sista out. But I’m going to trust the process.  I actually believe it’s true, but I’ve been sabotaging myself for months now.  So, now I sit and wait. Really I’m not sitting, that hurts too much right now.  I know I’m done starving myself.  Amazing how easy it is to put away 2000 calories of wine but yet I’m over here dying cause I’m stuffed full of grilled chicken and brussel sprouts.

These things I learned are not a one size fits all lesson.  Things are different for everyone unless they are the facts.

The facts are that you can’t eat shit tons of crap food and be healthy.  There are people who can eat shit tons of food and still maintain their figure but that doesn’t mean they are healthy.  The fact is that muscle burns fat, and I don’t have enough.  The fact is broccoli is always healthier than french fries and cheesecake…but we all know what tastes better!

The fact is that being fit and healthy is never going to be an easy endeavor for me.  And it may not be for some of you either, but I promise  that if we keep working and we don’t give up, good things are going to happen.  Change it up.  Do something that scares you, but that   makes you realize how badass you are.  I mean, for reals…as I was heaving over the Orange Theory potty this morning after 6 out of 10 all outs.  I was scared…but I was feeling pretty damn bad ass when I went back in for more.  There’s no giving up bitches, just puke and keep moving.  (At least that’s what I’m telling myself!)

Until next time…

DP Babbles (and squats like a badass too!)