Blogtober #10: Fall Mornings on a Treadmill.

Pretty clear, from the title, how I greeted the dip in the weather this early autumn morning.

Typically, I make use of the gym at the office in the mid-afternoons, having done an in-depth study of the time of day when I can have the place all to myself and enjoy the

exercise
Hot mess dot org

machines and surrounding equipment. (And maybe a dance party in front of the mirrors.) However, following a strange Exercise Epiphany (strange because I’m of the view that opening my eyes before 6AM means I want to either join a crime gang or engage in other nefarious activities), I decided to wake up after 5:30 this morning and head to the office to try an early morning workout. If you’ve read about my fitness journey here on TSP, you’ll know that I’ve done this before, waking up early to work out. And you’ll see that I’ve grumbled about it every time. Nevertheless, I wanted to break up the monotony of my schedule. Here’s what I learned:

  1. Regular gyms and office gyms don’t differ in the following: I’m not the only one who had the idea to work out super early. The gym was packed. So packed that I had to wait for a treadmill.
  2. This didn’t bode well for my I-need-quiet-time-in-an-empty-gym mandate.
  3. After such a thorough, calorie-burning workout, the ole stomach wanted to eat everything. Everything. Despite having my usual veggie omelet for breakfast and gaining that protein, I realized that I wanted so much more.
  4. Which is weird because for all my morning workouts in the past, that wasn’t really a thing. Are you changing things, 40?

Anywho, in the end, I’m glad I committed to actually waking up and doing this. Maybe it’ll happen again…

Which means I definitely have plans to join a crime gang.

Onwards, dear reader.

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Blogvember #26, #27, and #28: Life.

Three days, huh? Let’s investigate my brief Blogvember absence.



I took walks and got in some great steps.


I hung up new artwork for l’appartement. This lovely French sign means flower market. It’s not particularly centered, but just take comfort that my use of a hammer (!!!!) didn’t result in the loss of my sweet fingers.


I indulged. The caption tells you everything you need to know. Le sigh. But it was so, so good. 


More décor shopping. A birdcage as decoration is intriguing, no?

That’s all she Square pegged. Hope you had a fanstastic weekend and welcome to Monday.

Blogvember #3: On Chocolate Pigs and Resets.

Real talk: since arriving in the Lone Star State in September, I’ve been ingesting sweets and junk food like a chocolate pig. I wish I were exaggerating.

If you’ve followed TSP for a while, you know that in 2015, I embarked on a gaining health lifestyle change. I changed everything: how I felt about food, how I felt about fitness, how I felt about taking care of this body of mine. A year later, things were continuing to go well. By no means was I was challenge or struggle free, but when is life challenge or struggle free? Things turned upside down, however, when I landed in this one horse town (I’ve always wanted to say that). I moved to a city with drive-through bagel places and donut shops on every corner. I became an animal. The combination of emotional eating and availability was a death knell for all the hard work I had done for a year and a half. (There’s a place here called Nothing Bundt Cakes, for heaven’s sake. Can I live? Can I live?)

But we all have our a ha moments, don’t we? Where we shutter excuses and just decide to do work? I did last week. I became resolved. As cute as chocolate pigs are, it’s high time for a life/health/fitness reset. So far, I’ve been making better choices. Last night, I also officially restarted my weekly gym routine.


That facial expression communicates everything you need to know. I took a class called BodyCombat. The name was appropriate. My body was beaten up, in combat, and so out of shape. It was like a scene in an action film when the unfortunate villain shows up in a dark alley brandishing weapons that the hero ends up using against him. Yes, I came with nunchucks that ended up around my neck. But guess what? We have setbacks and we move on. I have a class tonight and I’ll be back at it next week. Because: goals.

Have you had to make any life resets lately? Do you love donuts as much as I do?

Rallying.

In high school, I loved pep rallies. There was something electric about all of us gathered in the gym, screaming for the basketball team or the football team and the loud music and the cheerleaders and all of that. Never mind that in four years of high school (and college, too), I never attended one single sporting event. Not one. (Are you kidding me? Leave home and miss a showing of Beverly Hills, 90210? No, thank you.) But, boy, did I love those rallies. I thought about those pep rallies this past weekend, particularly the rallying part. Those gatherings were meant to push us to action, to come to the game and root for the home team, to be energized and excited. Despite the amusing reminder that I was far more interested in the pre-hoopla than the games/events they were meant for, I was reminded of just much how much I needed that energy this past weekend when I was supposed to get my hind parts off my bed and head to the gym to work out.

You, dear reader, know about my gaining health journey. You know that regular exercise is part of that. But if you live on Planet Earth, dear reader, you also understand the weight of winter. The desire for carbohydrates. The laziness. The doldrums. The inertia. Due to all of those things and quite honestly, having reached a weight that I find mostly satisfying, my visits to the gym have been sporadic, at best. And I can’t accept that. Sporadic for me means eventual oblivion, the disappearance of this routine I’ve built for almost a year. And since my goal is to be healthy and maintain the strides I’ve made so far, sitting on my bed and bemoaning the interruption to my sleep is just not an option.

But I couldn’t rally. I couldn’t. On Saturday, I woke up when the alarm

bosses
But this boss did.

dinged and lay there, gaping at the ceiling. Eventually, I rolled myself out of bed. Since I go to bed with my gym clothes on for mornings that I plan to work out (yep, you read that right), I slowly pulled on my shoes. I sat down. I told myself to stop playing and to get going. I stood up. I sat down again. After several minutes of this silly back and forth, I stumbled into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, bid a hasty goodbye to my mother, and went to the gym. It was a fantastic workout. On Sunday, the same things happened. This time, however, I walked in and out of the house three times before I abandoned my efforts and returned to the couch on the living room, muttering to myself that I was late anyway and didn’t have time. No workout happened.

What happened, y’all? Particularly on Sunday? Why couldn’t I walk to my car and just turn it on and go? Why did my motivation, already tattered, essentially give out until I found myself on the couch, chewing on a health bar and berating my lack of energy? Could be an assortment of answers. But like a pair of dangling, ignored gym shoes on a Sunday morning, I will leave them unanswered.

Today, I have my gym clothes here at work. When I’m done for the day, I’ll change and head to my exercise class this evening. The rest of my exercise schedule this week is planned, and I hope to see all those plans through. Realistically, this may or may not happen. But I intend on sticking to my schedule, and I intend on sticking like glue.

Even if I have to call upon my inner 15 year-old, sitting in a gym with gleaming eyes and a giddily racing heart, excited beyond measure, I will rally.

Reader, have you had mornings like this? How did you push yourself? Tell me in the comments, won’t you?

Fabu Fashion Thursday.

Hi there. So this week, my plan was to wear clothes that actually fit. Since I’ve been losing weight for the past few months, a number of my tried and true choices are starting to look like someone is playing a prank on me and sabotaging my outfits. (No one is, by the way, for my fellow paranoids and conspiracy theorists.) In other words, my clothes are too big. Of course, you will hear no complaints from me, really, concerning that; I’d rather my clothes be too big than the other way around. But quite honestly, the sloppy/slovenly look is never appealing, no matter how much I kind of enjoy hoisting up my pants because they’re slipping down. Anyway, the goal this week: to shop in my closet for clothes that I had long abandoned because of how super tight snug they were and to try them now. I wish I would have documented the entire week for you, actually, now that I think about it.

SN: Next week, every day will Fabu Fashion Week. I’ll pic daily for a mini-feature on what I’m wearing and my continuing mission not to look like Stevie Nicks’ younger sister (although that wouldn’t be bad at all, because I’m obsessed with her). It’ll also be a chance to stick with my goal since I’ll be accountable to the few of you who support This Square Peg. (Endless kisses, by the way.)

Back to today.

fabu1

You like? I do. Pretty simple, which is how I roll most of the time; a nice combination of work casual. Basically, though, I’m happy to report that the pants fit great. I didn’t have to do any hoisting, that’s for sure.

Deets, if you’re interested:

Awesome Pants that Fit – Ross

Cute polka dot blouse – gifted to me by Mom. (By the way, it’s large and it’s loose! That has never happened to yours truly!)

Jacket – Sears. Look don’t sleep on the Sears dinosaur. When I went in last week, I was pleasantly surprised by the chic dressy/work casual options I saw. I’m not putting it on the list of places I’ll race to, but it was nice to confirm that it’s a viable option when shopping.

That’s it for this Fabu Fashion Thursday. What are you wearing, dears?

there’s really no other way to say this…

guns

…I think I have guns.

Look at those arms. Look at them. You see some kind of definition there, don’t you? Don’t you?? I snapped this photo last week in the dressing room of my favorite place, Ross, while trying on that dress. And dare I say it, I think my hanging out with weights on a weekly basis might be doing something.

Here’s to women with no upper body strength hoisting 20 pound kettle balls.