I applied for grad school about 2 weeks ago, and just got my undergrad transcript in the mail Tuesday. I was pretty worried that I would have to take the GRE (ugh!), so I ordered the transcript to figure out if my last 60 hours had a GPA of at least 3.0. It took a bit for me to figure out HOW to do that (I'm a social worker, not a damn mathematician!), but once I did....
WOOHOO! 3.302 for the last 65 hours!!! Yipeeeee! No GRE for me!
Today I received a letter in the mail saying that I was accepted into the Social Work program, but not yet accepted by the university itself. Okaaaaaaay...?? It makes sense, but really, it doesn't, but whatever. I'm going to grad school!!!!! (Woohoo x2!)
In other exciting news, I have officially OFFICIALLY decided that I can no longer do this jelly-belly (Mmmmm, Jelly Belly's!), chunky-monkey (Mmmm, Ben & Jerry's), love handles (ick)BULLSHIT. My weight was consistent in high school, and I gained the freshman 15 my sophomore year (Thankyouverymuch, 18 packs of The Beast, and Taco Bueno runs at 2am, every frickin' night). Need I say why I gained weight and also got my one and only D in school EVER?? (F-ing Statistics class!) I started running, and lost that sophomore 15 pretty easily. I don't even remember stressing about it, or starving myself; it just sorta fell off.
Now? Not so much. After having my girl (almost 3 frickin' years ago! Ohmy.gosh.), I weighed only 5 lbs. more than my pre-pregnancy weight. Within about 6 or 7 months, I was down to my normal size (besides the gynormous boobies). Then, when I moved into my current home, I started to notice that some of my clothes didn't fit as well. I blame it on several things:
-Lack of exercise
-Changing my eating habits, and then trying to change them back
-Homemade ice cream
-Dulce de Leche ice cream, in little handy-dandy containers, that I can conveniently hide in the door of the freezer, and NO ONE KNOWS.
-Those f-ing 100 calorie snack packs, that DO NOT FILL ME UP. It's like that damn chip commercial-Bet you can't eat just one.
Nope, sure can't.
So, not only are my clothes not fitting well, but I'm so.tired.all.the.time. And my thighs rub together. And my arms, which have always been muscular and big in a good way, are now big in a not-so-good way. I actually see (GASP!) cellulite on my upper arms. And my hips, which have pretty much sucked since I got pregnant, are wayyy out of shape. I mean, why the hell can't my hip swivel like it used to during crazy sex? Why must it cramp up, to the point that my entire leg is rock hard, and I'm crying because I cannot move it-ouchouchouchouch-don't touch me!don't move my legs! help! Ack! My hip, my hip, my hip!!! My jelly belly has transformed into an upper jelly roll. The backs of my thighs look like I got hit with some buckshot. Or hail. Or a carton of cottage cheese. My boobs are even more boobaliscious than usual. My bras are getting a bit, overwhelmed, shall we say? And yes, I realize the assets I have, but they are also such asshats, because they are a pain in my ass.
In all honesty, the last time I got on a scale, I had gained 20 lbs. Which makes me a mere 12 lbs. from my weight when I was 9 months pregnant.
I just can't do this shit anymore. I'm only 30, and my body is screaming 'You are fucking 80! Bahahahaha! How 'bout them apples!'
And yes, I have said this before: I am sick of this shit. And I begin to exercise, and I eat more of the stuff I really love (fruits and veggies). But then life gets in the way, and exercise falls off the priority list (very busy woman, I say!).
What has changed this time, you ask? Well, you could say I had a bit of an eye-opener. As in, my eyes opened, my eyeballs actually fell out, and rolled under the couch with the tufts of dog hair.
I saw a picture of myself that my mom took while in Mexico. I was in my bathing suit, standing on the stairs of one of the pools. And it is not pretty. At all.
Those of you who know me, have all said this: Oh, you look great. Oh, you must wear the weight well. You look the same. You are too hard on yourself.
And I am the first one to tell you that whatever area of your body you are sensitive about will be the first area you look at when you stand in front of the mirror, or look at a photo of yourself.
But this? It is ridiculous.
I just cannot do it anymore.
So I signed up for a boot camp. I start July 14th, 3 days a week, for an hour each day, for 4 weeks. I am so excited. I need to see some results to keep me going. I need to hurt all over, puke, and guzzle a few gallons of water after each workout. I need to be so worn out that I get another burst of energy. I need this.
I also need this to make myself feel better inside. Let's face it: in this country, people focus on the outside. The color of your skin, the brand of clothing you wear, what neighborhood you live in, what kind of car you drive.....
No one takes a good long look on the inside unless they like what they see on the outside. So, I can't really be happy inside, until I am happy with my outside. I know that it shouldn't be that way...I need to embrace my body, accept myself, blah blah blah, insert more psychobabble here. But really, it comes down to this: I don't feel pretty, I don't feel sexy, I don't feel attractive. I don't see those things when I step in and out of the shower. I just don't. I know it could be worse. For sure. But this is 'worse' for ME. So, I'm off to make a change, and hopefully start to like my outsides a bit more in the next month, so I can start to feel comfortable with my insides again.