The "Dietary Upheaval" of my lenten promise isn't that much of a surprise: No dairy, no carbs, no sugar.
Of course, the no sugar part is referring to "no refined sugar"... I eat fruits.
Well, my body--much like my personality-- is a stubborn little drama queen.
My body is histrionic as fuck, and it's causing me problems.
Lent started on Wednesday, which was a day of fasting except for the one meal of the day... in which I STILL HAD dairy, carbs, and sugar... because I do what I want.
Anyway, Lent began on Wednesday, and by Saturday morning my body was threatening public fainting.
My early morning gym session was cut short, 20 minutes in, because by my third time (of the required four) running my "clean-and-press, weighted tricep dips, and heavy squat" circuit... I became discombobulated. My body started doing that thing where my mind was totally alert "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BODY? WHY THE FUCK DO I SUDDENLY FEEL YOU PULLING AWAY? HEY! HEYYYYY!" while my limbs were just not giving a fuck... it was ready to go down as though it were just hit by a tranquilizer dart.
I put down my weight, looked at my trainer and partners, and just plopped to the floor.
The look of fear on their faces is priceless... it's something I will remember for years and laugh. That sounds mean, doesn't it? I mean, it was nice and heartwarming to know these ladies care so much for me... but the fear... it was like they were witnessing someone get shanked before their eyes... watching an enemy army running straight for a playground.
They all went into problem-solving mode, and began troubleshooting... it was great.
Of course, the whole time I sat there, shellshocked, bracing myself for the moment where everything goes black... but it never happened.
Even gym regulars were looking over at me.
See... I'm the savage of my group-- the mule, the chick who lifts heavier than... some dudes. I never have these sort of episodes in public.
"What are you doing? Tell me right now! Susie, go get her a banana," I heard.
You stupid, fucking body. Fuck you.
"It's fine guys... I'll be ok... my body's just... an asshole. I'm on day... three of no sugar and my body wants to punish me, is all," I said.
So, I sat there an explained my Lent thing.
So... while I know I am FINE... I have MORE THAN ENOUGH energy stored for my body to chill the fuck out and not have me die (goddamn, just take a glimpse at my monstrous thighs! I can live off that storage alone for a good couple of months), I have to take it easy because my dickhead body's threatening me with public humiliation. I have been taken hostage by this sugar addiction.
You're gonna faint, you're gonna faint! I'm tooo weeaaaak! You know what would make this better? A dark chocolate, extra fudgy brownie...
I'm hitting the gym, acting like some fucking Victorian-era bitch with a bad crush who sees him in the distance as she frolics around in some fucking flowery meadow... in the middle of a rainstorm and OH MY GAWD! I CAUGHT A COLD AND NOW I'M GONNA DIE OF CONSUMPTION!
My body is such an asshole.
(Actually, I think of it more as my "artsy" part of the brain vs. the analytical, logical part. The crazy duality of my composition is working against one another, as per usual, but now they're fucking around with my body's function, not my feelings. My analytical side wants to poke around and experiment with dietary changes, while my artsy part is making me overreact with the histrionic shit it's trying to pull. It's fun. Right. Sure)
I still feel weak. Me. Weak. Hahahaha.
Of course, the no sugar part is referring to "no refined sugar"... I eat fruits.
Well, my body--much like my personality-- is a stubborn little drama queen.
My body is histrionic as fuck, and it's causing me problems.
Lent started on Wednesday, which was a day of fasting except for the one meal of the day... in which I STILL HAD dairy, carbs, and sugar... because I do what I want.
Anyway, Lent began on Wednesday, and by Saturday morning my body was threatening public fainting.
My early morning gym session was cut short, 20 minutes in, because by my third time (of the required four) running my "clean-and-press, weighted tricep dips, and heavy squat" circuit... I became discombobulated. My body started doing that thing where my mind was totally alert "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, BODY? WHY THE FUCK DO I SUDDENLY FEEL YOU PULLING AWAY? HEY! HEYYYYY!" while my limbs were just not giving a fuck... it was ready to go down as though it were just hit by a tranquilizer dart.
I put down my weight, looked at my trainer and partners, and just plopped to the floor.
The look of fear on their faces is priceless... it's something I will remember for years and laugh. That sounds mean, doesn't it? I mean, it was nice and heartwarming to know these ladies care so much for me... but the fear... it was like they were witnessing someone get shanked before their eyes... watching an enemy army running straight for a playground.
They all went into problem-solving mode, and began troubleshooting... it was great.
Of course, the whole time I sat there, shellshocked, bracing myself for the moment where everything goes black... but it never happened.
Even gym regulars were looking over at me.
See... I'm the savage of my group-- the mule, the chick who lifts heavier than... some dudes. I never have these sort of episodes in public.
"What are you doing? Tell me right now! Susie, go get her a banana," I heard.
You stupid, fucking body. Fuck you.
"It's fine guys... I'll be ok... my body's just... an asshole. I'm on day... three of no sugar and my body wants to punish me, is all," I said.
So, I sat there an explained my Lent thing.
So... while I know I am FINE... I have MORE THAN ENOUGH energy stored for my body to chill the fuck out and not have me die (goddamn, just take a glimpse at my monstrous thighs! I can live off that storage alone for a good couple of months), I have to take it easy because my dickhead body's threatening me with public humiliation. I have been taken hostage by this sugar addiction.
You're gonna faint, you're gonna faint! I'm tooo weeaaaak! You know what would make this better? A dark chocolate, extra fudgy brownie...
I'm hitting the gym, acting like some fucking Victorian-era bitch with a bad crush who sees him in the distance as she frolics around in some fucking flowery meadow... in the middle of a rainstorm and OH MY GAWD! I CAUGHT A COLD AND NOW I'M GONNA DIE OF CONSUMPTION!
My body is such an asshole.
(Actually, I think of it more as my "artsy" part of the brain vs. the analytical, logical part. The crazy duality of my composition is working against one another, as per usual, but now they're fucking around with my body's function, not my feelings. My analytical side wants to poke around and experiment with dietary changes, while my artsy part is making me overreact with the histrionic shit it's trying to pull. It's fun. Right. Sure)
I still feel weak. Me. Weak. Hahahaha.
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