Sit and Spin

Spin class has been awesome and three days a week is the magic number. One day on, one day off. Perfect amount of time to rest in between so that each class I can kick it my hardest. I'm finding that my "midway" tension level has increased this week. I figure I'll increase the levels a teeny bit each week to keep my muscles from getting used to the same work. I'm also finding the urge to vomit after class has appeased a bit. Thank heavens. I keep an apple or similar in my gym bag to immediately replenish my sugar levels and I drink Gatorade instead of water to keep me from "bonking" (also known as 'passing out') during the session.

I love having professionals push me into a routine I wouldn't have otherwise tried. I love having the competition of other people in the class and feeding off the adrenaline overload. When I work out by myself I find I don't push myself nearly as hard; because there's no one there to see me cheat, no one there to hold me accountable or tell me I'm not really trying, no one there to make me cry in agony at the sheer exhaustion of a good work out. I work out hard! haha! If you ain't cryin', you ain't tryin'!

Exercise aside, what I find hilarious at the gym are the locker room habits of other women. Several walk around wearing absolutely nothing. And I mean nothing. Not even socks. They go from the second floor of the locker room down to the first floor where the big spa and sauna are, up and down the stairs ... in nothing.

Some women dry their hair and put on their makeup ... in nothing. Staring at their 3-d naked selves in a room with mirrors on all walls. One woman even sat topless putting curlers in her hair.

Now, I have no issue with other people being naked, but I still don't like the idea of me being naked in front of them. I guess I'm just surprised that so many other women are comfortable enough to put it all out there. I was raised to be modest so I guess putting my goods out there on display (even in front of a bunch of other naked women) is going against my grain. Maybe one day when I'm a bit more comfortable with my body I'll attempt it. But probably not. I'll still be the one putting my robe on to walk to the showers. Sorry, ladies.

Everyone loves results

I've been back on a strict weight watchers model "diet" for the last week and a half. I also started attending spin class three times a week at my gym. I've been grumpy and horrible to my husband over the last month, mostly because I'm so insecure and uncomfortable in my skin, and that needed to stop. I'm working on it. As best I know how.

Stepped on the scale this morning for the first time in one week. Down two pounds. Right on schedule. It was just the boost I needed to work even harder in spin class tonight. Burn baby.

Now I just need to work on easing up the grumpiness. Poor Neil. (sorry, babe)

A dream and fresh eggs

I rarely dream. But I dreamed last night and actually remembered it this morning.

I had a baby. There was no birth scene, otherwise it would have been a nightmare. I just all of a sudden had a baby girl in my arms (ok, so maybe it was a nightmare). She was wrapped in a pink blanket and had the most amazing smile. We were in my old house in Wisconsin and I'm not really sure why. But when I woke up I found myself trying to go back to sleep to see more. It didn't work.

I had such a happy, peaceful feeling in my dream, but I know in reality I can't do the baby thing. Given my high stress levels and mental fragility, I'd ruin any child in my presence long enough to be affected. They'd grow up angry and afraid of everything: afraid to take risks, afraid to look others in the eye, afraid to challenge themselves, afraid of disappointment. And I wouldn't be able to deal with my influence in that.

So I've thought a lot about donating my eggs. My birth control implant will run out when I'm 30 and you can donate between the age of 25-33. Neil is against the idea. Not because I'll be riddled with fertility drugs and off-limits for 6 weeks at a time, but because he's creeped out (for lack of a better term) with the idea of my genes existing in the world. I really don't feel that way at all. I guess the desire for me to help others is greater than the concern of them having a child with my genetic code.

I know how I'd feel if I really wanted a baby and was unable to. Most women desperately do anything to make it happen anyway. Some adopt. Others want more control. And who am I to judge someone wanting as much control of a situation as possible? I feel if I can't be a good mother myself, I can at least help someone else be a good mother or father. It's this deep-seeded need to be useful. Because I feel so utterly useless most of the time.