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Tex Commando

I'm not angry, just outspoken

Tag Archives: Exercise

Work and school and school and work and kids and school and work and kids and on and on and on and on.

It has been busy around here. Weird.  Being a full-time college student and full-time retail worker with children doesn’t leave a lot of time to blog. Like now, I should be studying for an exam tomorrow. But I am taking a break because I just finished a quiz and got 18/20 on it. Not bad, eh?

Do you mofos know what I’m going to college for? I don’t know if I told you. Maybe I did, but I don’t want to look back at the previous posts so I’ll tell you again. Kinesiology. Don’t know what that is? Perhaps you should look it up.

I am having such a good time doing college. On one hand, I wish I had done this 20 years ago when I was 18. I’m amazed at all there is to do at Maryland. So far, the professors are excellent, the staff are awesome, and I have more support than I know what to do with. It seems almost impossible NOT to do well.

ON THE OTHER HAND, I’m 99.896% positive that I would probably be like the other 96.873% of my classmates and not:

  • show up
  • be on time
  • participate in discussions
  • be on task in class
  • read the required material before class
  • watch required videos
  • do required assignments
  • listen to professor

Instead, I do those things. I’m the nerd in front of class knitting, taking notes, answering questions, and ASKING questions. I’m getting the most out of this whole college thing and it’s fucking exciting!!

I have taken a way longer break than I had planned for. It’s time to get back to studying for my exercise psychology (my favorite class) exam (nerd).

Perhaps when I get another break, I’ll tell you more about what Brandi is up to and how WE are doing.

(Hint: exceptionally well)


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I’m not usually the kind of person who does a lot of categorizing and listing. I also don’t do resolutions. Since it’s  a new year and all I thought, “Fuckit. I’ll do both and check in weekly.”

I know you mofos are already tuning out and picking at your nails. I know that my follow-through sucks. I know. I’m hanging my head in shame. But this time it’s going to be different. (That’s what HE said.)

So, here are some of my resolutions or goals or desires or hopes or whatever the hell you want to call it.

  1. Get myself out there more. To me, this means to expand my circle beyond the one or two friends I communicate with. I have become somewhat of a recluse over the past few months. It’s pretty depressing, and I am tired of it. I need more friends.
  2. Make myself do things even if I don’t want to. Refer to the top. I am a bit depressed. As a result, I haven’t had much (any) motivation to do anything extra. Like the things I love to do. Like cook. And exercise. And socialize. I need to make myself do these things. I know I will be happier if I just get off my ass.
  3. Challenge my creativity. This year, I plan to take it to the next level. You all know I knit, but this time I’m going to knit something difficult and beautiful. No more scarves and mittens. I used to cook all the time. I was passionate about food. It’s time to get some of that fire back into my belly. And, something different. I don’t know what it will be, but I will do something else. I have always wanted to learn how to throw pottery. I might try that.
  4. Have more orgasms. You know how it is with depression- lack of interest in sex. Not only do I have little or no interest in sex with my sexy husband, I don’t even want to have sex with myself. Lame. That’s going to change.

Wish me luck. I’ll get back to you mofos in a week with what I did on the list.

What are YOUR resolutions/goals/desires/hopes for the upcoming year?

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This shit is intimate. This blogging shit. You people know what I mean.

The filter is off when I sit down to blog. It’s in another dimension when I blog after I’ve had a drink or two. Occasionally I’ll censor what I say on here. If it’s not something I can really speak freely about I just won’t discuss it at all. Instead, I’ll send angry cussing text messages to my bitch. Or, I’ll call up my sista’ Lucy.

Sometimes I’ll put things on this motherfucker that I don’t even really ever talk  about. It’s my diary. You know, the one you don’t care if someone else reads. The other diary got burned (thank goodness). And what’s funny is that people actually read it. People – complete strangers read this blog and learn pretty intimate details about my life and my fucked up mind and what crazy shit I believe and all of that. What’s even funnier, is that I read other people’s shit and learn shit about them too. What’s even more funnier is that sometimes I meet these strangers who aren’t really strangers at all because we already know every motherfucking thing about each other. But it’s kind of awkward anyway because you are talking to someone and you already know all of their shit, but it’s weird because you don’t want to necessarily talk about their shit with them  but you do want to ask them something specific about something they blogged about but you don’t want to overstep some weird internet-blogger code and say something about something that they didn’t actually want to talk about which is why they wrote it on their blog.

Like, the time I met the friend of a good friend of mine. She reads my blogs and Brandi’s blogs religiously. This girl knew more about the goings on in my life than my friend did. It kinda freaked me out when she asked me about something I had blogged about the day before. After the initial freak-out, my head grew three sizes because she actually likes reading my shit.

But back to my original point. Was there a point? Oh yeah, talking to a fellow blogger. It fucks me up even more if they’re anonymous. Take Vegas, for example. I expected JZ to be some frumpy, dumpy, pathetic, lump. Ummmmmmm nope. Not even close. That bitch is Gore-frickin’-geous, funny, smart, confident, fun, and most certainly not frumpy and dumpy.

Last night, I had a beautiful conversation with Dadsprimalscream. It seemed a bit awkward at first because I didn’t want to seem all buddy-buddy like I knew him and all. Because I don’t. Not really. Then I had this funny voice in my head (Rena) saying how I needed to say the F word more and how I “don’t cuss nearly as much as I do on my blog”. But I fought the urge to be ‘Tex’ because that’s not my speaking voice. Well, it is, but only in certain situations to certain mofos. It was cool. I got over the awkwardness after a few minutes, and I am excited to get to know him better over the next few weeks.

At least with him, the awkward familiarity goes both ways. Not so with my other soon-to-be ‘client’, Pam The Realtor. She has the advantage going into this relationship because SHE DOESN’T BLOG!! I look forward to talking to her tomorrow. Pam, be sure to bring up how amazing I am during our conversation tomorrow, OK? Tell me how funny I am on my blog and how boring and normal I am in real life. (Sssssh. This is a test to see if she reads this crap every day.)

Have you met a fellow internet friend? I want your stories about me. How did it fuck you up?

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There’s just so damn much and nothing going on at the same time. Too much to actually be able to do what I want/need to do, and not enough to keep the kids from crawling up my ass.  I haven’t been doing nearly enough partying because I have to be sober to pick up my teenager from work in the evenings. That, and I have been putting my ass to bed by 10pm.

I haven’t forgotten about my experiment. I’d like to try out my evil master plan to take over the world on Dadsprimalscream , Pam the Realtor, and her daughter. Are you mofos game? I’ll be sending you an email with my contact information so we can get started on this bitch.

That’s all. I need to go make some coffee, and try to escape my house before my kids start wanting shit with me.

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My last post got me thinking. Sometimes crazy shit comes out of my head when I think. For those of you who areunfortunate fortunate enough to know me in real life, you know that it’s not always a good thing to be on the receiving end of my thoughts.

This time, however, I think I might have an idea that could change. your. life. Seriously.

You mofos know I am Personal Trainer to the stars, an elite group of men and women who entrust me with their hard-earned money to help them get fit. Until recently, my level of service has been average. Sure, I provided awesome workouts and stunning conversation, but something has been missing. That something is the Follow Up. See, I have taken it for granted that once I start training someone that they’re going to ACTUALLY work out. As in- on their own. I guess I think that if they’re paying me hundreds of dollars, they will actually DO what I tell them to do. Not usually so. Unless I bugremind them, and have solutions to their excuses.

So, when Pam the Realtor commented about someone kicking her ass in AZ, I started thinking, “Why not me?” I realized that most of the time, people just need to know what to do and have someone to tell them to do it.

So, here goes my experiment. I need three people who:

  1. Need to get healthy
  2. Have little/no motivation
  3. Have no clue where/ how to start exercising
  4. Are willing to play by my rules for 6 weeks
I don’t want someone who already works out on their own and is looking for a change. I don’t want someone who is just trying to lose that ‘last ten pounds’. I want people who are really at the end of their rope and need help.
So if you or someone you know would like to try this thing out, leave a comment and make sure to leave your correct email address in the comment form. I’m the only one who sees that information. Oh, and if I choose you, you also consent to be talked about on this blog.
What are you mofos waiting for?

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You just never know what people are dealing with in their lives. I know we all have shit, the stinky muck that makes our lives hard to deal with, and we all handle our shit differently. Every once in a while someone will tell you about the shit they’re carrying around.

As a personal trainer, people come to me when they’re desperate enough for a change that they’re willing to spend lots of money for my help. They’ve tried or haven’t tried or don’t know how to try to get moving to lose weight. They feel like shit, the sluggish and sticky mess that comes from years of inactivity, look like shit, a soft mess of flesh and bones, and treat themselves like shit with the self-loathing and ugly stories they tell themselves. Unfortunately for some (most) people, even spending hundreds of dollars isn’t enough. They think it’s enough to meet with me once a week. What they don’t realize that they still have to work on their own. What they don’t expect is that I will call them out on that shit, the lies they try to tell me about how they are working out on their own, because I can tell when they are making the extra effort.

I don’t like excuses. Hmmm, let me rephrase that. I won’t accept their excuses. I like excuses. I use them all the time. I’m pretty good at using excuses. But you know what? I can. I’m not 40 lbs overweight. Besides looking awesome in a mini skirt, being skinny means that you can afford to make the occasional excuse. HOWEVER, I ask the hard questions and also have plenty of solutions. That’s a good thing about being a know-it-all, a person who knows everything. (How am I doing, Rena?)

This morning, when I asked my client why she’s not doing her ‘homework’, the classes and workouts I gave her to do on her own between sessions, she practically broke down in tears. She started listing all of these familiar symptoms. And when I asked her if she’s depressed, she could barely squeak out an answer. This, mofos, is what I live for! Not making people cry. You assholes know that I’m too nice for that. The cat’s out of the bag already. I’m a caring bitch. I live for helping people. I live for being a friend and a motivator to my clients. I live for the opportunity to help someone transform into something they never thought possible.

So, I’m trying a new approach. I’m sure it’s just ‘new to me’. I hope it’ll work. I’m going to send her personalized reminders throughout the week. I’ll send her a reminder to pack her gym bag and get it in the car so she can workout right after work. I’ll check in with her to make sure she’s doing her at-home workout over the weekend.

I hope my efforts will make a difference in her life to not only to get physically healthy again, but emotionally healthy too. I know with depression, sometimes just knowing that someone else in the world cares about you can make a huge difference. Don’t worry- I do not think I am a substitute for psychiatric care. I encouraged her to see a psychiatrist and start getting treated by a trained mental health professional, and I will continue to encourage her to do that until she sees one.

But DAMN! I am excited! The look on her face said it all. I am doing EXACTLY what I need to be doing right now.

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So, today was one of the most beautiful days so far this year. It was perfect bicycle riding weather. Not too hot, perfectly sunny, cool breeze. After I dropped my 5 year old off at school, I hopped on my bike and rode 7 miles to the gym. It was fantastic! I didn’t even fear for my life once during the ride. Usually, there’s some jackass car-driving bully who tries to run a bitch off the road. But none today.

I did a quick wardrobe change at the gym and attended my favorite class EVER. Step. I sweated and stepped and squatted and stepped and sweated and sweated and stepped and jumped and squatted for an hour. IT WAS GREAT!!!!

Except for the part where we had to run in place.

That part was fucking annoying and stupid and I hated it. Why? I’ll fucking tell you why: everything from my belly to my ass shook. Like goddamn jello. My ass jiggled, my thighs jiggled, my belly jiggled, even my back jiggled. MY BACK?!?!? Yes, my back jiggled. Maybe it was my love handles.

I don’t like to jiggle. I’m too soft. I hate it. I don’t want to jiggle.

Maybe you jiggle. I don’t judge you. I don’t care if YOU jiggle. Your body can do whatever the fuck it wants to do. It’s MY body that I care about. It’s MY body that I have to stuff into my clothes. And it doesn’t even matter what size they are- I’D STILL JIGGLE!!!

So, after I jiggled stepped, I hoisted myself onto  got on my bike, and rode the 7 or so miles back home.

It was pretty awesome. I felt like I accomplished something towards getting my jiggles to go away. It’ll take some time. Perhaps less beer and wine. And my sick, twisted brain is secretly wishing for a little stress to fuck with my digestive system so I can’t eat. Just a week. Or two. Just enough to lose a couple of pounds.

Awwww, shit. Exercising is better. I know. Don’t preach.

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