Search Results for: P90x

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Seriously, I have started and stopped and started and stopped this post at least half a dozen times tonight.

First, I was going to talk about how I’ve decided I really need to be in a music video (not in a video-vixen) type of way, but, like, learning really serious dance moves, going to a destination other than Norfolk, and having wardrobe and make-up styling that makes everything else look like the cosmetics boat at Walgreens).  I think it’s the dancing that is really making me want to do this.  I peeped out a few minutes of DWTS while I was folding some laundry the other day and Nicole Sche-here-hahe- Pussy Cat Doll chick was killing it.  And I thought, “Pfft! I could do that!”  — yeah, I said that about a nurse taking my blood pressure and look where that got me.

Anywhoodle, thinking about dancing made me start thinking about Mo and Co and the myriad of  the summer plans we have finally hammered out.  In the coming weeks, the girls will be doing the following, which includes, but is not limited to Vacation Bible School, FPC camp, soccer camp, gymnastics camp, a week with the grands, a week at Martha’s Vineyard, and an art camp (relax, relax, each “camp” is really just 5 half days. I haven’t shipped them off to Swiss boarding school — yet).   I realized I needed to finish registering the girls for the aforementioned camps and finding all the requisite uniforms/gear/assorted paraphernalia that goes along with it.  I stopped typing to get on the ‘net to complete the various registrations and shop for shin guards, Sambas (how cute are they going to look!), leotards and so forth.

All this cyber shopping and deposit confirming made me kind of stressed in an end-of-the-day-and-I-still-have-a-billion-things-to-do kind of way, so instead of digging the buy-one-get-one Coldstone coupon out of my wallet and throwing the girls in the car, I opted for a glass of wine.     The girls were already upstairs in their beds, and I had no where to be. What’s a glass of wine or three between me, myself, and I?

Foolishly, I had opened a Pinot Grigio instead of a Riesling and let me tell you my friends, that makes a difference.  The sweeter the wine, the less likely I am to need a snack to go with it.  The Pino activated my sweet receptors, which forced me (really) to head to the pantry. Searching, searching, searching. . .I’m nothing if not well stocked.  I dumped some Trader Joe’s granola-esque trail mix into a dish, pulled up a cushion on the sofa with my wine glass and kicked on the TV.

Netflix has recently gifted me with another set of episodes from my newest addiction, “Lie to Me.”  I want to say I’m loving it, but it’s more like an intense crush.  The premise, a guy who can read micro-expressions in people’s faces in order to determine whether or not they are lying, is pretty unique.  The lead, Tim Roth, is stellar, but the rest of the cast is kind of meh.  Maybe because I’ve been watching one episode right after another, it’s gotten tedious.  I think I need that week in between that comes with watching regular network TV in order to fully appreciate it.

Once I had maxed out that disc, I put in the next P90X work-out disc for the morning and started moving the furniture around so I wouldn’t have to do it at 4:45am.  Yes, I am still grinding it out with Tony in the mornings.  I think I’m hitting a wall.  It’s week 8 and my motivation is going down, down, down, down. I’m at the point where I’m waking up before the alarm, but it’s still a struggle to get upright and down the stairs.  I will admit, I always feel better after I did it, but before and during, P90X can suck it.

So, I started my night-time routine of prepping for the morning, which included throwing in some laundry, taking out some laundry, making lunches, setting out breakfast stuff, setting out gym bags and tennis bags and school bags, putting out the recycling and charging my phone.  I remembered that I was going to upload some songs from iTunes, so I fished out my USB cable to plug into my computer.  When I cleared the screen saver, I saw where I had begun to finish — or was it start —  this post.

Whatever.

Any time I can get some words on a page in a fairly cohesive grouping, I’ll take it.

 

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Girl, where’ve you been?

Oh, how I wish I had some exotic locale to say that I’d decided to make my new home, but sadly, nope. I’ve just been busy. I mean, really busy, and yet, if you were to ask me what I’ve been doing, I’d be grasping as straws to tell you. Let me see if I can cull together some highlights of what’s been going down.

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Tennis — so you remember how I told you that I had been hitting the courts at least twice a week?  Things have been going really well.  My lessons and my hard work are paying off.  I can actually see improvement!  I’m breaking my bad habits while the new ones are taking hold. I’m not saying I’m ready for the USTA and any tours, but I’m feeling more confident about the regular doubles matches that I play.  I’ve been regularly subbing in this round robin comprised of 8 senior citizen ladies.  Seriously, I’m playing doubles with the Golden Girls.

The woman closest to me in age is 53 and the oldest is 78.  No joke. The first time I played with them, one of the ladies kind of burnt out in the warm up.  My partner, who is 68 says, “Damnit, Patsy! I came here to play, not to watch you huff and puff on the sidelines.  I told you to stay on your oxygen.”

Holy. Crap. Cakes.

The woman with the oxygen was quick to tell me that she’d had a mini stroke during one match, but kept on playing.  Yo! Don’t sleep on these old broads.  They’re playing through strokes, they had me running like windshield wipers all over the court for these drop shots, and they talk more trash than the Waste Management Authority.

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 P90X – What can I say? 30 days are behind me and I’m down 4 pounds and 3 inches from my waist.  Clearly, something is working.  You know, Tony Horton gives a little confessional at the beginning of each workout, going on and on about what this particular work out is going to do for you and how if you want to see results, you better “bring it”.  The ab routine, called Ab Ripper X , has this confessional, too. He’s all, “Oh you do 349 moves.  And you’ll have ripped abs, yadda, yadda, yadda.”  Then he looks into the camera and says, “Ab Ripper X! I hate it. . . .but I love it. “

I’m on week 6 and as far as me and Ab Ripper X go? I hate it. . . .no, I just hate it.

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Glee — My new favorite show!  I can’t remember how I got hooked on this one, but the next thing I know, Netflix couldn’t send them fast enough.  When that got maxed out, Hulu and I became besties.  I was walking around the house, laptop in hand so I could watch episodes. I watch the show even while the DVR is recording it. I know, it’s ridiculous.  Probably because I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, I’m living vicariously through this show.  Seriously, I lip sync “Happy Birthday”.  Anyway, I’m a “Gleek“, I’ll admit it.  First of all, I want Emma Pillsbury’s wardobe.  I even found this blog about what she wears and how you can find similar knockoffs.  Click here and thank me later.  If I could sing, I can’t decide if I want Rachel’s voice or Kurt’s. And if Mr. Shue does one more Color Me Badd/Vanilla Ice/Tone Loc cover I am going to die of embarassment for him.

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Reading — I have been looking for a good book for a while now, and I finally got my hands on something halfway decent. Of course, I burned right through it, but that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’ve got a good read.  I was reading two books at once, “Self Made Man” by Norah Vincent and “The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox” by Maggie O’Farrell, but I realized I could really enjoy the latter until I finished the former.  It was like eating my veggies in order to get to dessert.  I mean, I like vegetables, but we all know dessert and I have a very special relationship.  Very special, hence my new relationship with Tony Horton.  When it comes to those 4:45a work outs, I feel like Antoine and Blaine:

But I digress. 
I’m looking for another book to give up my household responsibilities for, so send titles my way.  

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Hanging out with BBC — My brother has been in town twice in the past two weeks, which has been really nice.  He’s come over for dinner and some quality time with the girls.  They’ve tried to con him into reading entire shelves of books, they manage to get from their chair into his lap throughout the course of a meal, and effectively relieve him of his iPhone to play Flickr Fish until someone (Morgan) cries that someone else isn’t sharing (Coever).  Last night, we went out to dinner with a girlfriend of mine and cut up like we had nothing to do tomorrow.

Several margaratini’s, margaritas, and a sangria later, the sweater comes off and the smiles come out!

We are definitely doing this again.
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Pretending to be Annie Liebovtiz — DH and I have been talking about getting a new camera.  I think I’m  ready for an SLR, even though it doesn’t have the sleekness of the compact models, and even though it means I’ll be schlepping more stuff around with me.  I’m just ready to take better pictures.  With that, of course, means learning about all the tips and tricks that go with SLR photography.  I got some books from the library, but I’m wondering if they’ve got a Rosetta Stone for Digital Photography because the vocab alone is enough to make me break out some flash cards to keep it straight.  Sure, I’d be tempted to just learn as I go, but an SLR, especially the Nikon D90 (*drool*) is was too pricey to waste time trying to figure it out.

My friend, Lacey, was kind enough to let me test drive her Canon PowerShotXT.  SO nice.  I had no clue what I was doing when I would increase or decrease the ISO (I’m still not entirely clear on what ISO is anyway), nor did I really see a difference between AV Mode and M, but I did get some nice pictures of the girls.

And DH even turned the camera on me for an impromptu snap session a la Austin Powers. 

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The Usual — I’ve been running errands, chauffeuring girls to school and playdates. I’ve hauled out the sprinkler, grilled burgers, had drinks with a neighbor (thanks, Kim), gone to the library, Target, Trader Joe’s and back again.

We took the girls to Jamestown, we went to see my parents, we went out for sushi with my brother and Morgan proceeded to eat her California rolls, Coever’s California rolls, my dragon roll and my mom’s Umi.  Then she asked for dessert (definitely my child).

I’ve gone to a baby shower, I’ve been to birthday parties, I’ve hung out with my girlfriends more than I have in months and I’m loving it.

I’ve been told I’m “too smokin’ hot” to wear flats all of the time, so I’m working heels into my wardrobe rotation.  Point of Clarification: You know you need to make some changes when you throw a pair of heels on with some jeans and folks start asking you why you’re all dressed up!

 Sadly, I did something to my knee last week, so I’ve been “keeping off of it” but really, that just means, I’ve scaled down from 20mph to about 18mph.

 I’ve been working on this post for two days!  More like eight if you count the six days it took me to organize this in my head.  I haven’t spell checked it either.

I’m just too busy.

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It’s Been Brought’n

DH and I have recently secured our seats on the crazy train by starting the P90X training program.  I know, I know, it’s that incessant infomercial with Tony Horton demanding that you “Bring It!!” in order to get that ridiculously ripped physique you’ve been hiding behind those extra pounds from last years  Christmas/Kwanzaa/Hanukkah.
At first I was a huge skeptic.  I mean, I got taken by Billy Blanks and Tae Bo.  I did The Firm — I mean, an alum from my high school was one of the testimonials!  And those things do work. Just not when you’re downing margaritas, grilled ribeye fajitas, and guacamole a couple of times a week — not that I would ever do that (now).  My allegiance has been to the double W and the YMCA.  However, after all of that, I do find that my clothes continue to shrink from non-use.  DH had reached his own max tolerance level and suffice it to say, we’d reached a point where enough was enough. 
My brother, in his infinite wisdom, stared doing P90X without reading the materials. He hooked himself up with a guy at his gym who had read all the stuff and somehow they’ve forged an unlikely alliance where they do the routines. Anyway, by the time we decided to get in on the action, my brother was well into his 90 days.  He thoroughly enjoyed telling us how relentlessly Tony Horton pushes you to “Bring It”,  how your body will sue you for alienation of affection, and how pylometrics is nothing short of walking on broken glass with a hot poker shoved up your kiester.  
There’s a guy who does the jump training video, and he has a prosthetic leg  A prosthetic leg! 
I fully expected to drop dead after the first day. 
Thankfully, my body has responded to the hours I’ve logged in at the Y, in particular at Ginny’s step aerobics class.  I’m not saying that I didn’t break a sweat during that first go round of Chest and Back, but I seriously considered putting my Y membership and my tennis membership on hold until the 90 days was up.  There was no way I could do all that.
DH and I are doing this madness together, which is nice.  We boost each other up, we egg each other on. We tease each other when certain noxious gases rip out during squats and sit-ups.  I had to stop in the midst of the Ab Ripper X routine because every time DH did a sit up, he let out this groan that sounded like a rusty nail being scraped down the side of an aluminum washboard.  My abs were sore from the laughter, not the Mason Twists.  And when the decline pushups smacked me around so that I literally landed on my face,  my arms quivering (I was fully prepared to spend the rest of my life inhaling carpet fibers in exchange for regaining use of my arms), DH was there to gently assist in lifting and lowering me so I could finish the set.  My goal is 5 reps and oh, I loathe each and every friggin’ one. 
Anyway, the one downside I’ve found is the time of day we’ve chosen to do this thing.  In order for us to do this together, we’ve decided to get up at 4:40am and just hit it.  Ugh, it’s ugly.  I’m on autopilot at that ungodly hour.  Somehow, I manage to get a sports bra on the right way, my feet in my cross-trainers and my body down the stairs in one piece.  By the time we’re done, all my pistons are firing, the girls get up and we get our day going. 
By 11am, I’m usually ready to hibernate. 
The other day, I dropped the girls at school and ran some errands.  The sun was shining, the sunroof was open, and I had about 10 minutes of limbo time between the end of one errand and the time I had to scoop up Coever.  I was getting kind of sleepy — all that Vitamin D coming through the windows and all.  I tipped my head back a bit, and few minutes later, I sneak a peek at my watch.  15 minutes had gone by!  I motored in to get Coever, kicking myself for nodding off.
“Hey,” says her teacher, “Did you go tan today?” 
“What?”
“Your face!  It’s so tanned and flushed.  Looks good.”
Uh-oh.  Once, we get back to the car, I sneak a peek in the mirror.  Not quite raccoon-esque, but falling asleep in the sun for even 15 minutes can do a number on your face.  
Note to self: If you’re going to bring it in the morning, make sure you bring the sunscreen for the afternoon car catnap. 

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