catching up

Rachel: realizing we haven’t exactly been good about writing and updating

It used to be that I longed to write. I’d push off pressing matters just to sit–sometimes for hours–in my comfy clothes, laptop whirring, warming my thighs while I typed away, capturing some pithy story or long-ass reflection on the state of my state.

My writing started out as a personal blog named after the bar I would someday open, The Swandive. I loved writing and the friends I made in the early blogging community. Virtual and long distance friendships somehow made me feel more visible, more heard. But after a while I felt like my life ran out of stories or at least stories that made for interesting blog fodder. But instead of quitting I thought I’d try and make my writing a bit more topical (not so much navel gazing/public therapy inducing/oversharing) so the blog The Sweet Bi and Bi was born. There I wrote about the intersection of my being bisexual and identifying as a christian. I liked this blog. I still do. But like a favorite sweater or a new relationship it can go from hot & sexy to comfortable & settled in real quick (especially with the ladies, amiright?!). And so it was; marriage equality came to Minnesota, “the gays” were very hip, and I was left feeling like my material sort of dried up again. I found myself still wanting to write, but without much to say.

Finally a new topic for a new blog emerged: I fat and am going to do something about it, watch me (or it aint over till the fat lady sings and “we won’t sing”). This time I would not be writing solo; both me AND my sweetie would contribute. (You might not know it dear reader, but she is the backbone of all of my writing. She is my chief editor, my soundboard, the ying to my yang, my help and my heart.)

beforeWe started out hot and heavy, literally. I am not sure why or how I thought we’d have time to document our process/progress, but somehow we were able to. The pounds were melting off, the pictures got more and more amazing and we couldn’t wait to show/tell everyone all about it. But we’ve been at it a while now, the old habits made way for new routines, and the writing (and weight loss) has cooled down a bit. I’ve closed down the other blogs, and I don’t quite know yet where this one is going. I still want to write and be heard, but I am far less clear about what to say and how to say it. There is SO MUCH SNARK AND BAD NEWS AND SHIT out in the world and I simply have no desire to add to it. At the same time I feel a little stuck. But while I am sitting here, trying to get unstuck, I thought I’d write and tell you how and what we are doing since the last time we got all fired up and wrote.

meandsweetie

We did our 21 day sugar detox – all 21 days of it. I can honestly say we liked it–a lot–and will most likely do it again. We picked up a few new recipes and some ideas for staying low sugar long term. Full post-detox disclosure: we’ve also eaten 7 girl scout cookies, made and shared a wicked-ass yellow cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles AND have had several squares of dark chocolate. Because.

We did not complete our 24 day challenge with AdvoCare (we were doing both challenges at the same time, maybe not the best idea ever). We really like the products, and have actually signed up to distribute, but when that last phase kicked in, I couldn’t continue. Oh well, live and learn.

We are finally finding our rhythm with the gym. We workout with our trainer once (or twice) a week at his bootcamp class (the most affordable ass-kicking in town at $10 bucks a class). We are at the YWCA Tuesday and Thursday nights, and starting this week we are shooting to add a Sunday yoga practice. No, I’m not kidding.

We keep plugging away, writing our meal plans and shaking our groove things. We are still slowly, but surely, losing pounds and gaining strength. But more than that, this has finally become a habit and way of life. And that seems to be a very good thing. What’s next? Hmmmmm…

blackjack

Rachel, a few days after Thursday’s weigh in.

When I was in my mid-twenties I had this boyfriend, Tony. He was in a band, had long gorgeous 80s rock star locks, and his whammy bar was something to behold. He was that boyfriend who came as a package deal, him and his two bandmates—take ’em all or have none. He was hot, and I was a sucker for the hair and guitar, so I was willing to go along with this love rhombus. They loved to play cards, blackjack to be precise. Many post-gig / post-rehearsals were spent in the car going back and forth from Treasure Island and West St. Paul. The ride there was fraught with anticipation; they were  like pumped up adrenaline junkies looking for their fix. The ride home was the stuff of roller coaster legend, and you know whether you are a roller-enthusiast. Truth be told, I am not. However, the rides to and from, being up or being down (way way down) did not keep me from the thrill that is blackjack. Deal, peek, hit me—going from the frustrating as hell, what will I do 13—and then getting the mythical 8 and the sound of a dealer hoping to make it stick. 21. Around the horn, blackjack. Dealer breaks. What a sweet sweet sound.

Thursday’s are the day we weigh in “officially” for the weight loss challenge. The week leading up to weigh in day this week I was dreading the scale. Not because I cheated—Lord have mercy—I haven’t. I dreaded it because I weighed in every day after the previous Thursday, and didn’t lose a thing. I stayed the same (or gained a pound, muscle I hope).

Now before you go and tell me numbers don’t mean anything, don’t worry I am not getting caught in that game. I know, they can’t measure strength, endurance, value and worth. But …. BUT they also don’t lie. They are objective and void of emotions. They just are. Oh lovely math whose science is so exact, true.

So Thursday at ass’oclock AM there I was, shoes off, in front of my fear. One foot at a time I stepped up on the scale and watched the numbers jumble and whir like a slot machine. Whizzing, watching cherries flip by—until     STOP: 217.3. Holy shit. That is (trying to do instant math, look up and) twenty one—TWENTY ONE! Blackjack. Jackpot.

If I were still a gambling lady, I’d start moving the chips right about now. I would double down, and place all my bets on me. I hit 21 pounds, and I can’t stop now. I am on a streak. I am HOT.