confessions {lies} & sweat stains

I have a confession.

I'm putting myself on notice...I have 18 (count em!!) eight-teen 30- minute personal training sessions that have been sitting on the books at Fitness 19 for like 3 years. I'm a card carrying member of not 1 but 2 local gyms and the downtown yoga studio.  I have 3 expired sessions at the pilates studio on Main St.  Four years ago (wtf?!), I won a Crossfit package for a month of membership and free training sessions,and NEVER cashed it in.  I have 4 brand new racquetballs still airtight fresh sitting in my passenger's seat and a racquet sharing the back seat of my car with a set of 5lb hand weights, a fitness mat, a yoga mat, and a pair of Brooks running shoes. 

I've been posing like someone who gives a rat's ass about being a gym rat.  I'm a poser.

3 years...that's 36 months...1,095 days...26, 280 hours...

I"m 31, that's almost 10% of my life 

{Father, it has been 36 months, 1,095 days, and 26, 280 hours since my last confession}

I haven't cancelled my membership because even burning that fee every month is still like 1/6 of the cost of those session I bought with a tax return a few years back when I declared it the Year of Lauren.  It was the year of Bullshit and Lies I told my body.  The lies were intoxicating, they took over my mind and my will power too. 



I have THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY FIVE PINS labeled "Get Fit" on just one Pinterest board.  Go ahead, take a look.  That's just another thing I'm hoarding.  Good Lawd, someone call the Procrastination & Full of BS Police and tell them I need to assume the position.  

So, I am writing you, whoever you are reading this blog,  along with the the inner circle of folks  who I already sent this to on Facebook, the ones I know will ride my ass and my case about it...go ahead, feel free to remind me constantly 'bout this confessional. 

I.have.no.more.excuses.

Even the guy on the phone at the gym scoffed when he looked up my account. Wow you have a lot of sessions he said... That shit ain't cheap...it's like an entire monthly mortgage payment full of sessions. If I could cash them out I would, but I can't so I'm gonna invest in some serious sweat equity. 

Martha Focker...don't let me get away with this shit again. I'm going in this Thursday at 12:30 to meet up with Dulon, his muscle shirt, the red clipboard, and that unwavering trainer's stare that makes my little excuses pee in their little pants.  He'll remember me and kick my ass again until I'm about damn ready to pass out. He'll have me running stairs and doing squats like I'm training for the Porta-potty squat Olympics. 

Skinny and flawless be damned...I'm not totally comfortable in my skin, I'm a chick with insecurities. I suck it when I take pictures, and I feel all the jigggly bits jiggling when I'd rather they not, but you better believe I've never been that girl who hides in her house cause she's afraid of a little muffin top.

  Confident is sexy.

I  know this.  I don't lack confidence, but I can always be a better, stronger, happier, healthier version of me.

We all can.  

Now, this isn't the first time I've written about this health & fitness struggle in a blog.  In fact, writing about my fitness battle has been one of the ligaments in the body of work that's been my private, personal blog for the last four years.  

But this is about accountability right?  

Ok, so here's to accountablity.  

Here they are, in all their self-deprecating, hopeful, full of sweat stains and self-loathing, spandex pants and sports bras glory. 

weight loss? boom!

yoga? bam!

Part of the glory of blogging is having it accessible at the refreshing of a web browser for some insta-motivation.  I joined a fitness bootcamp last September and I still have kept that weight off.  It was slow and oh so sweaty, but it worked. My inner Scarlet O'Hara took over and drove me to camp in the far too early morning hours before my brain was awake and then she grimaced through gritted teeth and blinked through salty sweat stained lashes one torturous squat and one breathless lap at at time.  

Bootcamp, those are the blogs I go back to when the voices in my head grow from a whisper to the thundering chants of a stadium roar telling me that I'm too tired, I have to much else to do, I can do it tomorrow, my feet hurt, my boobs hurt, I think I'm getting a cold, I have to be up early, snivel, whine, cry, pout...

That blog, it's unapologetic, guileless, and raw.  It is the sweat stain in my sports bra, the stretch in my workout pants, and the grimmace on my face everytime my muscles got ripped apart and grew back even stronger.  It's the aching, the pains, the frustration, and the gasping of my stagnant lungs.

outdoor adventure bootcamp sessions? Pow!  

and then in anthology form: 

Day 1, Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7, Day 8, Day 9, the last week

Even if you just read day 1 and then the last week, you'll see the change. 

Bootcamp, now that was a big pick me up moment, or actually it was a series of weekly pick me ups.  One of the better decisions I made for myself in recent years.  The blogs I kept about them, I just read through some of them,and damn this girl can find a way to turn a phrase.  

You know what else? 

You better believe she can find herself again in the reflection in her own puddle of sweat as she eeeks out a few more laps and drops to her knees for a few more push-ups.

You see, I can make some great decisions for myself, it's just the consistency that's the issue.  

What finally spurred this after all the years of self-sabotage?

Today's themed picture of the day from my July Photo a Day Challenge: "Mirror" 

Well this is my mirror, the 3-year old reflection of lazy procrastination on my to-do list staring me down until I finally said ENOUGH!  

I loose sight of myself now and then.

We all do.  

But I just can't close my eyes and turn away from my own reflection any more. 

I know better.

You see this isn't about body image, sex appeal, the note's in my doctor's charts, this is all about me.

It's to me, for me, about me, from me.  

It's just about me.  

This is my time and it's about damn time.

Just for good measure and to expand my circle of accountability, I'm linking this little confessional of mine to the arena of the ladies (and gentlemen) of the GFC Blog Hop. Welcome strangers and new friends. Feel free to remind me that I have set a goal and I have nothing holding me back.