My trainer is stalking me

I don't know what my trainer's problem is. He keeps texting me with the old "When are you coming back?" He's the only man that has ever begged me to come back - and I find -- I'm annoyed with it. I've only been gone for a few days - weeks - well it hasn't been a month yet.

Doesn't he know that Super Heros sometimes need a break. I mean really, you can only take so much of, "Help me, Help me!" "Oh no the train is coming!" "Little Johnny is getting mauled by rabid wolves!!!" Hasn't anyone ever seen Will Smith's movie Hancock? Geez. Give a girl a break.

I only felt a little bad about my break when one of my BFFs was choking in Mexico and my other BFF had to pick her up and slam her against the table to dislodge the unchewed carne from her trachea. She used such magnum force, I'm pretty sure her kidney popped out too. But the gusto with which she slammed her was sure impressive. I was just thankful she had spent so much time with me, because clearly, she's learned something.

By the way, we have two kidneys, right? For all the Champagne we consumed, I don't think her body will notice a missing organ for at least another 6 weeks.

I was so fascinated with the sound of my own teeth gnashing and gnawing on my carne grande, and the swirling of the Veuve on my tongue, that I didn't notice her choking until she was splayed on the center of the table like a holiday pig sporting an apple.

So with that said, I'm going to call my trainer back. I hate seeing bodybuilders beg and BFFs suffer.

I'm a stubble-faced fat guy in a lawn chair

So now I feel like an impostor rather than a super hero, because due to many factors, I haven't worked out in 13 days. Today is (read this with a slow melodic menacing tone)dum, dum, dum, dum, DOCTOR day. I loathe DOCTOR day.

Even though I went through the psychotic scale ritual this past week to overcome my fear of scales - I'm terrified. I've decided to give myself a 10 pound advantage for this weigh-in. The way I see it in my mind, I woke up emaciated this morning (remember, in my mind), but I'll be having a coffee meeting at 9 which will add an instant 2 pounds. Amazing what a little liquid will do to expand your body mass.

Now, on the other hand alcohol does the exact opposite - it sucks any and all hydration particles you may have in your system. That's the only time I actually see my cheekbones. Anyway back to the scale. So yes, the clothes..... all the clothes I'll be wearing, because I suddenly live in the antarctic. So this scale reading will be off the charts. Roy Scheider needed a bigger boat in Jaws. Me thinks my DOCTOR may need a bigger scale. I hope I get through this day.

I've tried to explain to my daughter how hard it is to be me. She doesn't understand the caricature of me (in my mind) is that of a stubble-faced, shirtless fat guy sitting in a lawn chair with a cigar in his left hand and a watering hose in his right. Yet I have to jump out of bed every morning and mold myself into a combination of June Clever and Pamela Anderson. With such a laborious task ahead of me every morning - it's truly a wonder I don't have a pharmacy of hallucinogens in my bathroom.

Hey, have a great day and if you need to feel better about yourself, peek over my fence and look for the lawn chair.

¿Dónde está el patrón?

Here it is, the month of reckoning. For anyone who has read through my plight since January knows this whole Super Hero fiasco started in January when I was informed I'd be going on a girls' weekend to Cabo, which commences this Thursday. So my entire reason for creating this blog has come to a resounding head.

Although I have not worked out for the past week due to travel and miserable allergy illnesses, my body was shocked out of the 2-month plateau and I'm now down to 137 pounds. I know, not a super model does this weight make, but super models can't fight crime. Now if you need a champagne glass sucked dry or a powdered mirror wiped clean, they are your girls.

Okay back to me. Yes, I weighed myself. I had a moment of truth - not really - the fact is I'm going to the Dr. this Wednesday and they have this torturous ritual of putting you on the scale for the whole world to see - so I decided instead of going into anaphylactic shock there - I'd have a private moment at home with my own personal hell so I wouldn't jump out the window of their one-story building. I know it wouldn't actually hurt me much, but I'm guessing I'd look like an idiot doing so. So I did it to preserve my dignity.

Apparently my Super Hero status is going to come in handy in Cabo, because unbeknownst to me - folks seem to believe bad things happen to good people (FYI, using the term "good" loosely in association with my crowd) in Cabo. Not to worry, I've already run through several scenarios in my head at 1:30 this morning on how I'd take over the bad guy(s). I thought maybe I should have learned some jujitsu - but I'm convinced that by the time I crouch into my crane stance, their AK-47 will have already pierced my brain and all those with me. I'm strong, but I don't have that Super Hero speed down yet. You can actually still see me move.

At the end of this post I've come to learn that I have a new addiction and it is in fact an addiction to writing about my faults and foibles, and those of my BFFs - so I am going to continue down this Blogolicious journey till I get shot in Mexico.
¿Dónde está el patrón?

The most difficult part of Super Hero training is learning to fly

I think I'm finally over my fascination with my rib cage. Now I want to lie flat on my back with a ruler across my hip bones without it balancing like a teeter totter on the junk in between. Hey, a gal's got to have goals. I think we've all established that I'm not real cerebral.

I explained last week how my trainer had me in a plank position with one leg off the ground for - I don't know, a week - alright 30 seconds. For you non-plankers, you should know this is a very submissive position where you are perpendicular to the floor - face down - and supported only by your forearms and toes, so your back is in a straight, plank-like position and you hold it for 60 seconds. So you can see that perhaps lifting one leg off the ground might make this a little more difficult.

Well I've got news for you - that was nothing. This week Mr. Trainer decided I should get in a plank with one leg off the ground and the opposite arm straight out in a Super Man flying position. It was at this point when I questioned if he could possibly figure out a difficulty level one notch up from this - and that was when I remembered, yes this could be done with no arms and legs. I know this because my BFF Be-Be mastered this position just last year.

She had not informed us she had been practicing this trick, so you can imagine our surprise when she was walking toward us and suddenly she was splayed out in full Super Man flying formation. I was very impressed, however, I don't think she held that position off the ground for very long. I think recovery from that little trick takes a while, because once she hit the ground she stayed down for a little while.

She realized she had made only one mistake when performing this very advanced maneuver - she should have put her phone and purse down, because those items did go flying off in different directions.

It saddens me to say - I will never be able to reach her level of expertise. I know you should never say never, but I want her to bask in the spotlight on this one. As it turns out, she beat me to Super Hero status.

Earthquakes make less noise than my stomach in the morning.

As I was yanked out of a deep sleep this morning from the nagging sensation to hunt down a large beast like a Neanderthal emerging from his cave, I felt something weird around my mid-section. It was something I've not been familiar with in recent years. I raced to the bathroom to get a closer look when I realized -- Adam hasn't cornered the market on ribs. It's not just a biblical term anymore. I found my rib cage.

Of course, now instead of being elated that I can actually feel them - I have fear. OMG, I hear of people breaking their ribs and how painful that can be. Let's face it, these puppies have been swaddled like Tiffany stemware in bubble wrap for quite some time now. I'm vulnerable here.

With that said, I hop on the scale with a cheerio attitude (I felt British for a moment) thinking okay!!! This is going to be my day. What? There must be some mistake here. I've been sweating my arse off, eating like someone who has no taste buds and now this? I'm convinced I need a new scale. The needle must be broken. It hasn't moved in two months. Oh I know, everyone says, muscle weighs more than fat, yadda, yadda, yadda. I've got news for you, one pound of muscle weighs the same as one pound of fat. They both weigh a POUND.

I do realize that I've only upped my workouts since this Monday, so I clearly haven't shocked my body enough to let go of the fat it has become very fond of over the years. I'm on a Plateau and I'm ready to jump. I'm only joking, don't call the Hotline. I'm fine really, but the next time you see me and go in for the big hug, be cognizant of the ribs.