I woke up this morning with my fist in my mouth

Okay, I'm here to report I did not wake up 15 pounds lighter as I predicted in my last blog. However, I did wake up with my fist in my mouth, which I think indicates insatiable hunger. Now this must mean all the extra cardio is burning something, because I've never been hungrier in my life. And yes, hungrier is a word (I looked it up since I thought it looked weird).

Now regarding having hunger. It has never really been a stumbling block in my life, because I've never missed an opportunity to nip it in the bud. I mean why wait till your body tells you to eat. If you know you're eventually going to be hungry - CONSUME.

I'm counting every calorie I put in my body and every calorie I'm burning; and that equals - I'm friggen starving here. Yesterday I did the stairs for an hour and the treadmill at 3.7 with a 6 incline for 20 minutes. Today I did an hour on the stairs and 40 minutes of circuit training. According to caloriecounter.com I consumed 1900 calories yesterday and burned 2600. They want you to only burn 100 calories more than you consume, but I'm in a hurry here to get to the weight on my driver's license.

From what I can tell, the additional time spent on cardio is paying off. Now the fact that I'm irritable all time has cost me some friends (if only I could add their weight into my weightloss) but I'll win them over again when I invite them to Hollywood for the unveiling of my star on the Walk of Fame. It will probably be next to Richard Simmons.

I spend more time in the gym than a porn star does on a casting couch

I'm considering applying for a job at the gym. I say this only because I'm now upping my 45 minutes of cardio a day to 70 minutes, which equals 60 on the stairs and 10 on the treadmill, followed by 30 minutes of circuit training. I'm now officially in the gym more time than a porn star spends on a casting couch.

However, today I increased my circuit training with my trainer and one of my BFFs to one full hour after my 70 minutes of cardio. Oh yeah, my BFF has a knock-out body with legs of a Gazelle, and it takes every fiber of my being to allow her be anywhere near me in the gym.

But because I'm a giver with no resentment towards those who have better genes than I - I refrain from throwing a 10 lb. medicine ball at her when she's in the middle of her bench presses. "Hey, Robin catch!!!"

Anyhooo, I felt strong today. Yeah bring it on - I can do anything, anything I say. Except fight the PMS induced mother nature gale force winds. Today in Northern Nevada we experienced record breaking winds of 70 miles per hour, and our trainer thought we should spend a little time outside. I kid you not, the airport wouldn't let planes land, yet our trainer feels a little time with Katrina will only make us stronger.

I don't know about you, but it is incredibly distracting to have the wind blow through your ears creating an annoying whistling sound as it passes through the vacuous chamber where my brain used to be before I started training to be a Super Hero.

So with all that said, I had 70 minutes of cardio and 60 minutes of circuit - so I figure I've got to weigh 15 pounds less tomorrow morning. I'll let you know how that works out. I hope my trainer is okay tomorrow, because I just had a vision of a house landing on him and his beautiful ruby slippers.

A life lesson - never insult your trainer

I hope you all can learn a valuable lesson from me. Never, ever, ever tell your trainer you're not getting the results you want.

Try to remember you have control over your own time in the gym, so if you haven't lost a pound in a month (that is if you're trying to lose weight and lordy-bejeezus I am)just get on the treadmill, stairs, eliptical or bike for 15 minutes longer than you normally do. Trust me this is the exact course of action you want to take. Save yourself!!!!!

I say this because my trainer has now decided to change my circuit to a point that I feel we must be filming a new Iron Man competition. He points to the weights I'm to pick up. As you know weights are lined up in succession based on size. I usually pick up the kettle bells third from the left (left being the lightest). Today, he pointed in a direction very far right from the left to which point I wondered if we were heading to Searchlight, NV for a tea bagger event.

I looked at him and said, "Isn't that what they use to crush cars?" He has no sense of humor. I've insulted him therefore this is my lot in life. Planks were a at a whole new level today, in a push-up position on my hands with one leg off the ground for 60 seconds. Then get in a squat position and lift this 500 lb ball(might be a slight exaggeration) in a curl then over your head and keep doing it for three minutes straight. Oh wait, you need to squat lower -- lower -- lower. Hey Mr. Trainer Man, my butt is so close to my heel that I could accurately pee in my shoe right now.

Every time I gasped for air as if it would be my last, I'd just hear him say in a very snippy non-empathetic tone, "You wanted to work on your arms." Yeah well, I don't want my skin to sag either, but I'm not taking safety pins and yanking my skin up to my neck and pinning it.

So I hope we all learned something today. Have a great weekend.

Truth in numbers?

I hated pop quizzes in school and they are as equally cruel when you're an adult in age/weight denial. My trainer knows my fear of scales, measurements, fat scopes, etc., so he never, ever gives me a heads-up when he's going to spring a measurement day on me.

That day was today. As often happened in school, I failed - well sort of. The way I see it, he failed. He says numbers don't lie. Well okay, but even if they did, I apparently wouldn't know it based on my relationship history. And let's be honest here. I don't have any better relationship with numbers than I've had elsewhere.

He measured body fat first. Some numbers went up and some went down. Then the tale of the tape - "You've lost inches everywhere." So then the analysis went something like this: "Your body fat went up 1%, but you've lost inches." So I'm thinking losing inches is good, til he cut my 'head-in-the-clouds' thought off with, "You probably lost muscle." What? I'm sorry, I'm sure I didn't hear you right. Muscle? I'm in the gym 6-9 hours a week and I'm losing muscle and not fat.

Then I wonder, is the irony not lost on you Mr. Trainer Man that I pay you to help me lose fat and increase muscle mass? Then his words that damn near dropped me to the floor. "You need to be more disciplined in the gym and eat better."

If I had any energy in me to scream I would have, but I had just endured 40 minutes on the stairs and 30 minutes with him. But as soon as he pried my hands from around his neck, I explained - if I trained any harder, the Olympic Committee is going to start scouting me. I don't have time to train for the Olympics. I just want to fit into my size six Super Hero spandex and be on my way.

So today I've eaten Oatmeal for breakfast and tuna fish with Balsamic vinegar on it and a handful of almonds. I'm not saying I believe him, but that Super Hero outfit isn't going to get any bigger and Hollywood is waiting.

My first date with my new Irons

Aside from cardio and weight training I do actually get outside and play my hand, leg, and foot in a game of golf. For me it isn't actually a game, because I don't keep score and if you don't keep score nobody really takes you seriously. And why should golf be different from any other facet of my life?

I played 9 holes in the wind recently with my brand spanking new Callaway irons, which everyone knows I have, because between this blog, Facebook and Twitter, I literally have no secrets.

I keep thinking with all these outlets I'm probably keeping a really good therapist out of what might be fairly lucrative employment. Of course, with my luck I'd get one of the therapists who's dating my ex. I'm not talking about my ex-husband. My ex-husband is fine. As a matter of fact he's probably never been more sane since we parted ways.

Anyway, someone asked how I played with my new irons. I'm here to tell you it was much like a first date. The irons are great to look at - all shiny and new - and I could tell they wanted to please me, but not be too subservient. As with many first dates we had a lot of awkward pauses, like when the Sand wedge wanted to linger in the Sand trap too long. There were little moments such as that, which I'm sure one day, we'll look back on and have a chuckle. I can only hope the second date goes a little smoother. I did promise I would call. I'm giving it the appropriate 3-5 day rule. I don't want to seem too desperate.

This body is too old to be mine.

Yeah I said it. This body is way too old for me. As I sit here, I'm waiting for my recall letter. I believe my U.S. mother (as opposed to my Aborigine mom from previous blog) said I was "created" in Gulf Port, Louisiana. So any chance of getting my extra body parts was washed away with Hurricane Katrina. My extras became fish food at that point.

You know, this could explain the rise in shark attacks on humans. They've had a little taste and then became Super Hero part fiends. They're addicted - so they figure all humans have the Super Hero high associated with them.

Anyway my right hip hurts. I realize that was a round-about way to get to the point. But when you lay in bed in agony your mind starts on this long journey and you just can't throw down the road spikes to stop it.

Okay, back to me. I have no idea what happened. I've been diligent this month at the gym 5 days a week doing cardio and weight training. Every other day I did 150 squats (60 with weights and 90 without). Yesterday I was on the stairs for 40 minutes and only worked with weights for my arms. I did no legs. Suddenly around noon yesterday my right hip started screaming at me. Sleep escaped me because I could find no position to relieve the pain, until I finally elevated the right hip and that seemed to help.

My trainer will be so disappointed this morning that he can't torture me. I'm going to tell him that Hannibal Lecter, no wait, that guy eats people. I'm going to tell him that Lex Luthor and his Kryptonite has struck once again. This Super Hero is still waiting for her recall letter. On another note, if any of you have a clue what "human" ailment could explain this, I'd be happy to hear it.

Back in the groove

I've been out sick for the past few days with a sinus infection. And I have to tell you that my brilliant self on the first two days thought maybe working out would help excrete things other than the gallons of sweat I already unload during each session. After two days of that I stayed in bed/couch for 3 consecutive days. Brilliance comes after a couple of setbacks. I learn, just not swiftly.

Today, on my first day to recovery, (I deem it that, even though no one from a medical background has had even a glimpse of me) I sauntered into the gym like I'd never left and grunted through 40 mins of stairs, 3.2 miles; and 40 mins of weight training. I went extra because my trainer was there training someone else, and I know it makes his skin crawl to see me doing so well without him. Neener, neener.

I then raced home, and since the word of the day is swift, I swiftly showered, dressed and went to, well, LUNCH. I had a brothy spinach and mushroom soup and blackened salmon on a salad.

After returning home I took one look at my, how do I say this nicely, Rubenesque dog. I know that sounds so wrong (you picture red lipstick on him don't you?) Okay he's fat. I'm thinking let's get the whole family in shape. I pull out the leash, change clothes and out the front door we go.

He's so excited, his Kim Kardashian butt is wagging and we're heading down the street. I have my trusty baseball bat perched upon my left shoulder, just begging for a stray dog to challenge me and lard-butt. I only smacked myself in the back of the head three times before realizing a safer position for the bat might be to rest at my side.

So we strolled along at a good pace until something I never saw coming -- happened; I fell. I have no idea what happened. I was walking along singing skip to the loo my darlin and suddenly I'm staring at pavement; and my knee, my knee is screaming. I feel compelled to mention at this point I may have had 1-3/4 glasses of wine at lunch, but I'm pretty sure there was some uneven pavement. My $150 distressed Calvin Klein jeans have got to be worth at least $200 now. And my knee with fresh road rash, has to be, well, priceless.

After a carefully thought-out stint on the ground, I rose with dignity and moved on. Lard-butt actually enjoyed the reprieve. You know your dog is out shape when he continues to stop at the door of any random car parked on the street with the hope in his eyes that you may open "said" door for him to climb into and drive home.

We made it through a 40 minute walk with no threats from terrorist dogs, or UPS trucks (Lard-butt loves to chase UPS trucks - not sure what they ever did to him). I'm home now and I can't quit thinking about that Brooke Shields commercial from the 70s or 80s. "Nothing comes between me and my Calvin Kleins." I got news for ya. They break quicker than a condom.

Clearly February was a wash

I know, I'm a lame blogger. I never said I'd be going pro. So I'm back after a few days, okay call it a month and we'll pretend February has 31 days. So what's my excuse? LIFE! I've read about, I've heard about - and it finally actually happened to me. I was too busy.

First of all, in spite of my respite from blogging and my 8-day trip to Hawaii and my week of "short-bus" legislative session, I somehow pulled through the 31-day February with 13 days of work-outs.

I'm too pretty for math, but that is damn near half the month, but clearly no Super Hero will be jumping out of any cake from that paltry showing. Oh yeah, speaking of cake - it was my birthday in February too. Anyway, before I left for Hawaii I had one last chance workout session with my trainer that I must share with you.

It was total humiliation. My trainer shows up with these super huge blue rubber bands that looked like they came off a newspaper read by the Jolly Green Giant. He takes these dirty nasty things and hooks them together to form a figure 8. Get it? A hole for each of us.

I have to climb in one loop, place it on the front of my hips and he gets in the other loop behind me and leans back on the band while I'm supposed to lunge forward with all his weight to pull. So that's fine, except for the fact that when I pull forward - all my bulges of fat envelop the band, like if you were to pull a string tight around a tube of dough.

I'd love to tell you no one was watching, but I'm afraid we now have the attention of the entire gym, because, well, because this was Asinine by anyone's definition of the term. It gets better. Next he tells me to sprint. What? I have an audience and I'm going to sprint with a full-grown black body builder in tow?

OMG. That's it. That's why I haven't blooged. I've been scarred for life. I've spent 31 days trying to block this out of my mind. This is my first step to recovery. So glad I shared.