Today, I ate five candy-cane Hershey Kisses -- I'm kind of obsessed with them and I'm on the last of my three bags that I bought before Christmas (don't you dare judge, I share them).
The problem is that I write down what I eat every single day (except Saturdays or Sundays because I'd rather not).
Five of these tiny candy-cane Kisses equals 161 calories. That is a whole lotta something for nothing.
It's bullshit. I'm just not going to count them today.
Not working hard enough, not pushing or believing enough, a flailing heart, a possible fail...the negatives that can restrain you are incredibly exhausting to carry. There is such a heaviness in allowing these pieces of yourself in the forefront.
Nothing that you have means anything without the pride in the paths you took to get there. The work that it takes to build, grow and strengthen all that you deserve and earn. So why make excuses when the reward is courage and strength? You can't become great if you don't put in the effort. Shortcuts won't push you to change.
I remember so many renditions of this practiced inspiration. Our high school varsity volleyball shirts even read, "You don't get what you pay for, you get what you work for." The volleyball had a bad-ass face flying at you, to show you just how we were going to stomp you to the ground because we worked harder than you did.
And you know what? We probably did most of the time.
Those words seem to have imprinted their forever stamp on my brain and in my soul.
When people ask me if I think it's time to slow down, to take a break, to take a season off from softball, volleyball, football...I tell them that someday I will have to, so right now it is necessary to cram in as much as I can.
Some days I do feel exhausted, and wouldn't mind a breather. But most days, nothing feels more exhilarating than using the long developed fundamentals of hard work, confidence, discipline and teamwork.
There is something to be said for laughter -- it just feels so good.
We went to dinner last night with eight other people. We had a private room, family style menu and I had a bottle of wine to myself. We joked from one end of the table to the other, talking too loud and laughing even louder.
I'm not sure that our server knew what to do with our borderline immature jabs and inappropriate stories ...though I think there must have been some sort of adult conversation.
Between bites of spaghetti with meatballs and chicken parmesan, we savored every bite of our belt-busting belly-aches. Full on happiness and contentment.
Perfect therapy.
Every day I am thankful that I met the man of my dreams over a beer bong and spilled trash.
He didn't know that I was smitten when he walked into our bumpin' (always) apartment just below his and I demanded that he help me pick up the party trash that we so carelessly left on the stoop.
He didn't know that I was fresh out of broken hearts and ready to fly solo.
I knew that he just wanted to pick up some hot chicks.
Ha, but he didn't know that I had decided that I was going to be her.
And neither of us knew how we would change each other's lives forever.
It was a courting game. So many trials, denials and errors after we'd start a night out with six slugs on the beer bong. I didn't always win, and many times he would win everyone over, except me. But it went both ways and we had one helluva ride soaring through BGSU's Falcon territory together.
We made it out alive and struggled through the after-years finding our way together. Every time that it seemed hopeless we just couldn't let go.
2012 marked our 10 years together (now married for two) and every day that I wake up to him I feel us growing stronger and stronger. There is nothing better than knowing you have a true partner, teammate and buddy 100 percent of the time.
(Mostly because he vaccums, does laundry, changes my oil and clears the driveway...just working on the dusting and cleaning the toilets.)
<3 I less than 3 you <3
Is that irony? I mean, in my world if I'm showing love to three people at one time, I'm in some deep shit. If you are loving on two people, still less than three, you are still in deep shit. So, I'm going to say that "I less than three you" really only means one plus one is two, that is less than three, and I'll be saved from shit.
Happy Valentine's Day!
I tend to look at the darker side of things. I'm sure you've noticed.
Why are there so many more words to use when writing about sadness, torment, falseness? Those words alone are prime examples of my recent vocabulary.
Is happiness just much easier to visually express that I don't find as deep of a need to express it in writing? Is it too gag-y to express true love or joy and tall tales of frolicking in fields? It might be. Just know that I do feel those things too, despite what I write, there is a lighter side.
I think happiness is so much easier to relate to, for everyone, that you just don't need the words to understand it.
You probably know what it feels like to love someone so much that you just need to reach out and touch them, hug them, kiss a shoulder or feel your heart flutter.
You know what it feels like to feel a breeze around you as you tilt your face towards the sunshine and breathe the fresh air.
You know what it feels like to be genuinely touched by someone's thoughtfulness in a gift, in a card, in a phone call.
You've had that moment when sitting with friends through a whole evening of laughter and secret stories.
And then there is sadness, empty pits of despair that you can't climb out of when you want to. You tumble, you cry, and you hide and your support system may not know what to do with you. You have to find your own expression... and mine comes from finding the words that piece together the fragments of my life that I've momentarily forgotten in the blackness.
You know how the gym is crazy busy right at the beginning of every new year? Everyone wants to pretend they love it, that they live for it. Well, not me. I avoid it like the plague.
Sometimes I get stuck going during the busy times and if I can't find an easy parking spot I turn around and park it on my couch (or say I'll bust out some Jillian Michaels but really just do some crunches and leg lifts on the floor). But I have no desire whatsoever to be at the gym right now...and not just because it's busy.
The middle of January usually marks the beginning weeks of actually having legit time to spend at home reading, and I lazily soak it up with all that I can get away with...or for as long as I can tell my guilty conscience to shut the hell up. I hold off on going to the grocery store (even Target), bathe in the lethargy of the winter afternoons and make awesome after-school snacks (mostly nachos). It's totally awesome.
I actually did make it to the gym twice this week and yesterday just did some cardio. I usually try to get in 5-6 miles at a time, but at mile 2 I began to hit a major wall. All of my energy was instantly zapped and my focus was on what to make for dinner, vacations, my current book, things that I can't say aloud...really anything except another half hour of the day's torture. But, somehow I made it to 3.5 miles for the day and I hopped off feeling sluggish but slapped my ass for a job well-done-good-enough. I did more than most people right? Hellz yes. Word. Ya heard?
But there is one person who makes me feel guilty. Every. Single. Time.
During dinner last night I made the mistake of saying that I only did 3.5 miles and that it was about 35 minutes of cardio. He says, "Isn't that bad? I mean good that you did it, but sort of a bad time?"
Really? Seriously?
Yeah, it's bad... if you are in high school, not fat, running every day at practice and don't spend your free time drinking red wine and vodka, or making sure to have dinner on the table every night.
SAFO.
I actually did make it to the gym twice this week and yesterday just did some cardio. I usually try to get in 5-6 miles at a time, but at mile 2 I began to hit a major wall. All of my energy was instantly zapped and my focus was on what to make for dinner, vacations, my current book, things that I can't say aloud...really anything except another half hour of the day's torture. But, somehow I made it to 3.5 miles for the day and I hopped off feeling sluggish but slapped my ass for a job well-done-good-enough. I did more than most people right? Hellz yes. Word. Ya heard?