Two years ago on my birthday my Mom called and left a message on my voicemail. She sang the song she made up decades ago and wished me happy birthday. I have kept his message on my voicemail. It is the only recording I have of her voice.
On my birthday I listened to the message on my speaker phone so my daughter could hear. As I thought about it, she probably hasn’t heard her voice since Halloween 2007. That’s a long time in kid time. She got a big smile on her face and asked if that was Meemaw. And then she asked something that broke my heart.
“Did she call from heaven?”
Oh, the innocence of children. That one innocent question just socked me in the stomach. I wish she could call me from heaven. I know we would talk and talk for hours. There are many times when I’ve listened to that message when the voice comes on at the end that tells you to push 7 to delete the message, 9 the save the message, and 88 to call the message sender, that I have wished I could have just pressed 88 and called my Mom.
“Did she call from heaven?”
Uh, little girl, I wish. I wish you could call your Meemaw in heaven. I wish she were here in the flesh to sing to me her birthday song. I wish she were here to watch you grow up.
She could call from heaven.
I gotta be honest. I just wasn’t feeling it this week. Last week I was highly motivated, worked out like mad, and it paid off. This week I exercised 5 days out of 7 but for not as long or as hard. I missed going to the gym for the first Saturday since January. That’s not to say that I didn’t log my calories, because I did. And that’s not to say that I went over my calorie budget, because I didn’t. In fact I came in 2,408 under my calories for the week.
If there’s such a thing as the 7 year itch….could this be the 9 week slump?
Well, the results are in and
I lost .2 pounds
With most of this week off work, hopefully I’ll have more time to spend in the gym. I really do like working out. Just with some personal stresses going on in my life and some personal sadnesses as well, I just couldn’t get my act together this week.
But I will not let this derail me. A setback doesn’t mean you get set back forever. I’ve lost 10.2 pounds so far and I’m starting to notice it. Each bit of strength gained, each ounce lost, each better food choice, each calorie burned off in exercise, is a victory.
There is such a thing as working out too much. On the other hand, a phlebotomist will never have trouble finding a vein.
YES!!!! The movie “Orphan” was big fat fail at the box office this weekend. Wahoo! This is a victory for adoption advocates every where. My worry with this film is that it will possibly influence prospective adoptive parents not to adopt orphans or older foster children because of how evil this movie is. Whether we like it or not, the media influences culture and our opinions. Don’t believe me? How many people were afraid to get back in the water after the movie “Jaws” came out? I also am offended that this movie would perpetuate the tired old stereotype that there is something wrong with orphaned or foster children. Yes, they come with their problems, but how could they not be affected by losing their parents or being abused by the people who were supposed to look out for them no matter what? Using them in this way in a horror movie deeply offends me and what I work toward daily.
So, I say suck it! “Orphan” and to all the people behind the making of this movie.
Today I feel mopey and sad. I don’t know why.
I am a member of a popular Gym chain. This allows me to go to several gyms. I go to one in Layton on Tuesday night because I like the yoga instructor. I go to Roy most of the time because it’s the closest to my house. And I go to the one in downtown Ogden on the nights I hit the gym after work.
I’ve noticed there is a quite an eclectic group of people who go to the gym. Of course you’ve got the gym bunnies who are young with hot bodies who are trying to maintain those bodies. You’ve got the muscle heads who lift weights for hours at a time. You’ve got the athletes who train for marathons, decathlons, Iron Mans, you name it. You’ve got the old people who are trying to bring down their cholesterol. And you’ve got the over-weight people, like me, who are trying to get back into shape after years of neglect.
And then at my gym you’ve got King Tool, the tattoo brigade, and Captain Crazy.
Meet King Tool. He’s the young 20-something, with little man’s syndrome (he’s seriously shorter than me), whose biceps are twice his height. He’s got a spray-on tan and stares lovingly into the mirror with every weight he lifts. And in between reps he takes time out to hit on all the girls in bare midriffs. Most of them are polite. He always leaves dejected.
Next, meet the tattoo brigade. This is a group of about 8 guys who are all heavily tatted up with piercings and ear gauges who lift weights together. Normally you’d think that guys like this would be too cool to go to the gym, but they’re not. Which means they’re probably posers. They have arm sleeve tattoos, some have tattoos on their necks, and some even on their skulls. They spot each other and come and go as a pack. Best of all, they walk around the gym like they’re better than everyone else.
And my personal favorite, Captain Crazy. I watch him rock out to the tunes on his iPod in between reps for weight lifting. When the song is especially good he plays the air guitar. I’m not kidding. I keep trying to catch his eye so he can see the crazy look I’m giving him. I want to yell at him, “Hey! Stop it! Or they’ll cart you off to the looney bin.” But I can’t, because he has his ear buds in and he can’t hear me. At least it is entertaining.
I love the gym. If not for the health benefits, but for the people watching.
Monday I was having a very bad day and the hubs encouraged me to go work out my anger and frustration at the gym. So I did.
I did about 45 minutes on the treadmill and elliptical doing a cross-training program. Just to switch things up a bit.
Then I did about 45 minutes of weight lifting. I took a conditioning class in high school to avoid having to take gym (telling you how much I hate gym class is a whole other blog). In that class two things happened: (1) I learned how to lift weights, and (2) for the first time I saw muscle definition in my arms. I have biceps? Who knew.
I haven’t lifted weights regularly for over a decade. Unless you count lifting children. Skinny children. But still children.
About a half an hour into my routine I got to the lat pull-down machine. I was feeling pretty good about myself being able to lift so much weight (relatively) or at least pull down so much weight, in this case. I got up to about 40 lbs. Which I think is good considering, a) I’m female, my strength is in my legs, and b) I haven’t lifted weights in over a decade as I mentioned before.
A little while later I was working on a machine near the lat pull-down when I saw a skinny teenage boy come into the weights area. He was possibly between the ages of 13 and 16, but nevertheless, was skinny as a twig. He then proceeded to go over to the lat pull-down. He immediately sat down and was able to pull down 90 pounds. Ninety freaking pounds! And here I was proud of my 40.
It was then that I realized that a skinny teenage boy is stronger than me. Seriously his arms were the size of Twizzlers.