Catching up...

Ahh...let's see...what's new around here...


We made it through the Holidays.


Forrest was accepted into JPII.


The house is back into pre-holiday shape and looks bare to me.


And, we have officially closed our Infirmary.


Mark's mom moved into her new home last week. She's still in a wheelchair, but she has adapted to it. In fact, she's conquered it. She can do just about everything...except drive and walk. In a few weeks the doctor will replace her pink cast with a boot.


Chloe went back to school today. She has lost 12 pounds, and although her appetite isn't back to it's pre-surgery state, she is eating again.


She still talks a bit funny and the doctor wants to check her again in one month. If she doesn't sound better, another procedure may have to be performed. We are just believing that she will be fine by her next appointment.


As for my word for the year...discipline...it seems to be sticking.


One of my Christmas gifts from Mark was a Personal Trainer. I began working out with her on Tuesday.


I had to go in at 12 due to some other things going on that day. I was happy to find the gym mostly empty (there were only two other people working out). Ashley (my trainer) was busy with someone else when I got there, so I started "warming up" on the treadmill.


She came over, we chatted...well, she chatted, I answered in short syllables between huffs and puffs.


Now, one of my rules when selecting a trainer was NO BARBIES ALLOWED. I mean seriously, I already feel bad enough about my less than stellar physique...I definitely don't think a tee-tiny-perfectly-made-up-peppy-little-Barbie-in-a-skin-tight-work-out-outfit is going to help me in the ole self-esteem department.


Ashley, is fit. Ashley is trim. Ashley looks athletic. Ashley looks realistic. Ashley doesn't put on a full face of make-up to go to the gym to work out. I like Ashley.


First, we measure, weigh, and figure BMI. Joy of joys. Don't you love it when you read on the little American Heart Association chart that no, you're not "a little overweight", no, you don't have "just a few pounds to lose", and no, you're not "big boned". Nope, what you are is OBESE.


Now, that is just an awful, hateful word. Unfortunately, it's the truth. If only I were 5'7...sigh. Tall people get to weigh more and I really don't think that's very fair. I mean, they already get out of having to ask for help while reaching for things on the top shelf at the grocery, why do they get to eat more too?


Where was I, oh, yes, obese. So that was fun.


Then we were off to assess my "fitness". HA.


Fit. I was fit. I was strong. Now, I am an obese weakling. Nothing like a good ole dose of the truth to help in the DISCIPLINE department.


Three words threw my hopes of having retained a shred of said fitness while on my march to obeseness...WEIGHT BENCH LUNGES.


What's a weight bench lunge you ask?

You put your left foot up on a weight bench (that's about 24" off the ground) to form a 90 degree angle. You hold onto a shoulder height bar with your right hand. Then, this is the fun part, you push your left foot onto the bench to rise to a standing position on the bench, and tap your right foot on the bench. Replace right foot on the floor. Repeat. Fifteen times.


Go do bicep work.


Come back to weight bench. Repeat. 15 more times.


By the third and last set of 15, I was DYING.


Ashley, God bless her. She called me Wonder Woman. Really loudly. In an "outside voice" loud voice. Yes. She did. A few times. Especially during the lunges.


Did I say I was glad the gym was empty? Because, let me tell you, I did not look like Wonder Woman. I looked like Puff the Obese Dragon doing less than graceful lunges.


On Wednesday, I could barely, and I do mean barely, make it up and down the stairs in the house.


On Thursday, I was sure we would work my calves and not my quads. Oh no, not so. More quads. I can barely walk.

Just thinking about how my buns and thighs are going to feel if I have to squat into a chair is enough to keep me standing and avoiding the toilet.

You know what though, it feels so good. Good to know that I am taking control and forcing my body back into shape.

I can't decide if Ashley is my least favorite person...or my new most favorite.