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Get Uncomfy Fat Lard.

This Chubster has some new routines!!!

After speaking with my beautiful bad ass trainer, she sent me my next couple weeks of training. I looked it over, and all that kept going through my mind was, “I DO NOT JUMP.” This bitch was not meant to leave the ground. I’m fucking solid.

In high school team gymnastics, I was ALWAYS the base. I was not meant to be thrown, flown, or otherwise lifted from the good earth.

And here my trainer has me jumping over, on, and to either side of things. Not only am I pretty sure I’ll look like a penguin…

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The post jump walk is particularly impressive.

…but I’m already trying to figure out how I can best strap my girls to my chest as tightly as possible. That struggle is real.

However. Once I got over this initial fear based reaction, I am determined. It’s time to get UNCOMFORTABLE. I’m applying the mildly accurate saying:

“In order to have something you’ve never had before you’ve got to do something you’ve never done before.” – a twat

But I’m going to run with it for now. This of course means doing something (aka. Jumping) that makes me uncomfortable, over and over again. Not like I don’t do that daily just trying to put on a pair of jeans.

Haha Jeans. I’m hilarious. More like stretchy pants. Cause nothing says “I’ve given up” like yoga pants on a chubby chick.

Not that this stops me from wearing them. Yes I’m a Fatty in yoga pants. But I’ve earned the right. I gym. You can’t tell by the strategically placed rolls and  cellulite that I’ve covered my body with. That’s just a disguise so you’ll underestimate me.

I may be soft and “curvy” as the more politically correct fat chicks out there prefer to call it, but I am strong af.

The other day in the gym I was doing clap push ups. A beautiful blonde bombshell who couldn’t have weighed more then my left leg approached me and told me she was impressed. I asked her why. She said, she didn’t think I would have been able to do those. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but honestly, I don’t think she meant it in a mean way. That didn’t stop me from fantasizing about how far back I could bend her stringy little neck while I smiled and chatted in a friendly manner.

DISGUISED.

Watch out skinny bitches, I’m undercover AND uncomfortable af.

 

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The Ugly Run

I’m a chubby girl who has grand plans to become an American Ninja warrior. I will leap tall buildings in a single bound and walk away from free donuts. I will run a 10 minute mile, so help me god, I’m determined it will happen.

But for now, I ugly run. And by run I mean, jog. By ugly, I mean I jiggle and wiggle in places I didn’t know could. I jog in intervals; 1 minute of walking with 30 seconds of jogging and I repeat that until I have come to 45 minutes.

Right now I am doing a whopping 18 minute mile!!!

I’m not belittling myself. But I am acknowledging, it needs to improve. There was a time where I would beat myself down for doing so poorly. It is amazing how miserable I like to make myself. If I wasn’t running at a 12 minute mile level, well, I might as well not eat for the next couple days and train extra hard. Cause, you know, that is what I deserve. Time to “suck it up” and “pull myself up by my bootstraps”.

This mindset inevitably led me to injury, and burn out. I also HATED THE JOURNEY. It sounds a little corny, those workout motivational quotes. Sometimes they make me want to claw my eyes out and pull out my nose hairs I get so annoyed. But the one that says “It’s the journey, not the destination” or some cornball antic like that. It’s gets me in the feels.

Back when I was pushing myself too hard and hating my body, consumed by my meal prep, worried about what everyone thought about me, and determined to be some kind of super woman…I HATED that quote. Because I was already pushing so hard, I felt the destination should have already been upon me.

Sad thing is, even if I had “made it” to whatever my goal weight was, I would have still been unhappy and disappointed in myself, because that is what I had conditioned myself to believe was true about me.

Today, when I look back at those progress photos I took of myself, it makes me want to weep. I WAS IN AMAZING SHAPE! Seriously, I needed a slap. It’s so sad to think of how much I disrespected myself.

Now, much MUCH heavier then I was then, 3 years ago. I am reattempting to run.

I’m reentering the world of training, and watching what I eat. But I am enjoying it. I want to be more conscious of my weight as it comes off, and the feeling I get in my brain as those chemicals change. I want to be a part of the journey, and less intensely consumed by the destination. Because the destination will happen no matter what, if I do the the journey with respect for myself.

This morning, when I got off the track that I ran indoors, I was SO FUCKING PROUD. I did it! I kept my heart rate at 160 beats per minute (give or take 10 beats) for 45 minutes, and I felt great!

I could hear my thighs clapping as I ran, but I just appreciated the applause.

My boobs felt damn close to tearing off my chest and slapping my in the face, but I didn’t quit, I let those babies bounce and I didn’t care who saw.

I sucked wind, and I made it happen.

I even passed a couple people. They looked to be about in their 70s. EAT IT YA OLD BUZZARDS!  Hey, take the win amiright?

Anyways that’s my thoughts for today.

1st post!

Day 1 of the Chubb Wars.