Wednesday, November 28, 2012

No One Is Perfect

"It looks like two dude docking."

This is what my trainer says, looking at Sky's shirt, halfway through our workout last night.

Personally, I don't see it.  And my trainer sure brings up "docking" a lot.


The Workout:

10 dumbbell cleans, emphasis on form, minimal whining about how it would feel better with a barbell

Holding one dumbbell between your hands, squat elbows to knees (BACK STRAIGHT!), curl dumbbell x number of times, stand back up.  X = 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

5 per position, per leg, with curl and press at the top: front lunge, side lunge, twisty backward lunge

10 per side one leg cable machine curl with a weird yoga type move (I assume everything has a name, but I can't be bothered to learn them, since I only list these out so I'll remember them later if my trainer ever dies in a firey auto crash, or I get too poor to be able to afford personal training and have to try to do this shit on my own)
10 per side weighted step ups

Attempt at pull up.  Gone.  Fuck.

I don't know where this wrist bruise came from, but it was something last night, since I have a matching pair.

My trainer has promised we'll have a barbell next week, and we're going to slowly add bumped plates (that shit is expensive, yo).  Which means we can finally start properly working on heavy lifts again.  Fuck yeah.  We won't have enough bumper plates right away to work on my deadlifts (too light mother fucker), but we can work on front squats and proper bench presses, plus real cleans.  *swoon*

Gratuitous side shot:

Random pet peeve: You're perfect just the way you are.


Everyone can improve.  Every single person can be better.  That doesn't make you a failure, but even entertaining the idea that you don't need to improve yourself, allowing yourself to remain stagnate in whatever you're doing, is depressing.  The drive to better ourselves is wonderful, and should be celebrated and embraced.  You can like who you are, but you should always also want to be better.

Also:  I emailed/commented on the blog of the two people who won my weirdo contest thing.  Congrats Heather and Jan[et].  Everyone else, thanks for your stories.  I read them all.  I'm just really crappy about replying.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Obligatory Thanksgiving Post -- Minus Thanksgiving Dinner

It's not a family holiday unless everyone is gathered around the tv, or staring at a laptop.

You'd think it was because we hate each other, but we all get along super well.  The worst thing about the holidays is being reminded about how totally awesome my NorCal brothers are, and how much I wish I saw them more than a few times a year. 

My kid brother called these his suitcases.

Family gatherings are always hilarious and entertaining.  We're all smart, and we're all smart asses.  We're competitive and snarky and a little stupid.

Which is how Sky and I, along with  my husband, my oldest brother, and my oldest brother's wife (along with two of my friends who were playing over the internet from their celebrations), ended up in a weight gain contest.

Thanksgiving morning we all weighed in.  The goal: gain the most weight by midnight.  No scaling shit down for the skinny folks.

Sky ended up winning.  He gained 11 pounds.  I don't know how that is physically possible.

I gained six, which put me in second place.

I'm pretty proud of that disgusting number.  The scale has been put away, but based on oogling my stomach in the mirror every time I go to the bathroom, the weight has all been lost again.  BY POOPING.  Obviously.  This should surprise zero readers of this shitty blog.

Anyway, Sky ended the night by passing out with a beer as a pillow.

Other random pictures:

Life is good, man.

Thursday, November 22, 2012

I'm Thankful That I Have Nothing Better To Do Than Blog This Morning

It's Thanksgiving, and there's a possibly-joking weight gain contest running between me and my brother later today.

In the meantime, remember when I did that hilarious (to me) shampoo review?  Yeah, they paid me for that.  And I said I would make it worth your while.

So, here's the deal.

They gave me $50.

I'm going to give two of you $25 (in the form of Amazon gift cards, so I don't have to mail anything).  This is not sponsored.  This is me taking money I got for promoting something and passing it on to you, since you had to tolerate that.  Because there's no way I will ever make a living blogging, and that's not why I do it, so...I logiced this out at some point.

You don't care.  You just want to know how to win, right?

Everyone is doing something today.  Even if you're sitting at work with your thumb up your ass, that's something.

Today I am with my family.  My hilarious, wonderful family.  Last night my kid brother and I made fun of our grandma until we laughed so hard we were doubled over with laughter. Don't worry, she's dead, and was kind of a terrible person.  It's not like we were making fun of her to her face.  Mostly, we were comparing her to the bunny suit giving aunt on A Christmas Story, and remembering the Yarn Animal Sweat Suit, among other things.

Anyway, I am having a fantastic time.  The only reason I'm sitting here writing a stupid blog post is because I'm up before most other people, so I have dicking around time.

Again, you don't care.  You just want to know what hoops you have to jump through to win.

Just one:  Tell me what you're doing today.

One entry per person.  No bonus crap for shilling this to your friends, who probably don't care.  I don't want "new readers" who only show up for the contest.  This is to reward the people who tolerate my bullshit by passing on crap I get.  That's all.  Winners will be picked at random.

You have until Sunday at midnight California time.  "Today" is subjective.  I'd love to hear funny stories or sad stories or rants about how awful your family is, or how hilarious your uncle-in-law is.  But it's not required.  You should probably spend your time doing your thing, not commenting on stuff on the internet.

So, yeah.

Oh, um, leave a way for me to contact you if your comment doesn't automatically link to your email or blog or whatever, only because you'll probably want to know if you win.

I was the only sober one at the winery yesterday, and I still managed to look like this in a picture.

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


This is how my dog sleeps.  (He scratched his cornea disagreeing with a neighborhood cat, hence the cone-of-shame)

It's an abbreviated week (aka a wk), so I only had one workout session to forget to blog about.

12 chest presses
12 (per side) high to low wood choppers

10 shoulder presses
12 squat and overhand rows

12 tricep extensions
something else I'm sure.  Shit, this happened mere hours ago.  WHAT THE FUCK.


There were three women in there doing...half of a routine from a video on an ipad, and half stuff they were making up.  It was...okay, I don't want to be a bag of dicks here, but whatever.

It really frustrates me to see people half assing it in the gym.  There's an excellent chance they don't know any better (and I'm not a good person to educate), but it worries me that they'll, from lack of a good whatever, not see the results they want, and give up on exercise.  Like "I worked out 5 days a week for months and nothing changed so exercise doesn't work for me."  On the other hand, at least they're doing something?  I don't know.  It makes me...sad.  But it's not my job to be like "hey, ladies, if you worked a little bit harder you'd see awesomer results, yo."  Maybe they're just there to socialize?  Maybe they're all in physical rehab and this is the hardest they work?  I shouldn't judge.  But man, it's so common.  Yes, they're doing something, but just enough where it would be so easy to quit from lack of results.


It rained Saturday, which caused most of my football friends to bail, which meant it was a rainy game of catch.  But I still managed to get mud all over myself.

It's a gift.

What else?  I'll be in Napa on Thanksgiving.  I'm dragging my mom to a casual Turkey Trot Thursday morning.

Speaking of moms, my mother-in-law is a nurse near the Gaza.  Here is a really awesome write up about her, and the conflict.  (That links goes to a public Facebook image and description, just to warn you)

So, yeah, mildly political.  Feel free to go apeshit in the comments if you want.  Alternatively, tell me how much pie you plan on eating this week.  Because that's what I'm thinking about.  Pie.

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

It's National Post A Stupid Picture Of Your Ugly Face Day

I assume something like this is the last thing I will see before I die.  Mostly, I see a mirror and my face contorts in the most heinous and unflattering ways possible, and I am compelled not only to document via camera, but put in online because I am love attention.

Due to my trainer's other job (lame) I had to move around my workout schedule this week.  So, I hit the gym with him Tuesday night, and this morning.


1 min rope slams
20 sec transition
1 min step ups with two 20lb weights
20 sec transition
1 min push ups
20 sec transition
1 min treadmill (@ 8mph, 8.5mph, 9mph, 9.5mph, 10mph)
20 sec transition

(no rest between sets other than the transition time)

12 chest flies
12 (per side) split squats (weighted)


12 (per side) overhead to side lunges with a giant weighted tube (Cannot explain this well enough)
12 (per side) one legged row to stretched out half assed yoga pose thing (I have a way with words)

12 supine lat pulldowns
12 supine tricep extentions
12 squat curl and press

We did far fewer things this morning because I spent most of the time trying to convince my trainer than a grasshopper is an animal ("an insect isn't an animal" was his argument), trying to figure out what color Galactus's helmet is (I said red, he said purple, the internet seemed confused), whether you can OD on vitamins (internet says yes), and whether anyone thought Professor X was the coolest X-Men character.

Which is why I don't usually work out in the mornings.

In other news, I now have a bullhorn in my car, so I'm about to get even more annoying than usual.  Alternatively, it will get lost in my car, along with all the trash and filth that I accumulate, and will never be seen again.

How the fuck is Thanksgiving in 8 days?  Whoa.  It was like la la la summer la la la BUY A FUCKING TURKEY MOTHERFUCKER.

Technically, my mom buys the turkey, since we drive up to Napa to celebrate with her, but still.  Dude.

Things I like about Thanksgiving:

-losing at board games to my family
-crispy turkey skin

Things I dislike about Thanksgiving:

-spending 10 hours on a drive that normally takes 6 at most

That's it.  Fucking rad holiday, right?  Right.  RIGHT.  right.  Left.

Sunday, November 11, 2012


If I don't write up my workouts immediately after I do them, I forget pretty everything we did.

Which sucks, because we're doing cool stuff.

Thursday we did curls where I had to lie my upper arm against an inclined weight bench.  I'm describing it poorly, but it was totally something I'd seen in weight lifting movies.  I don't know why, but doing things that are recognizable exercises for crazy buff dudes always makes me feel good.  I get irrationally upset when we do things that don't  I don't know.

So, all of the carefully planned "this many of this" that my trainer laid out for me over the last two weeks have flown the mental coop.

This is the highlights reel:

-I can do about 38 kb swings in a minute.  The first time I did this my trainer insisted I counted wrong.  He counted for me the next round.  BOOM.  Five rounds of this made me kind of want to die, man.  But it also feels good.
-My legs feel about the same running 6mph as they do running 9.5mph (for quarter mile stretches).  My lungs are the limiting factor.  Also, 9.5mph on the treadmills we use suck, because I don't feel comfortable stretching out my stride.  I don't want to touch the front of the treadmill or fall off the back and [is it a humblebrag if I'm in no way humble?] my legs are long enough to be an issue sprinting on normal treadmills.
-My trainer finally got a bar, so once we get some plates I can go back to deadlifting like a bad ass motherfucker.

(My trainer is a giant dork)

Me:  My arms feel...not sore?  Like the skin is really tight.
Him:  That's THE PUMP!

And then he loaned me a DVD of Pumping Iron, which is going to be amazing.

To round out my swolucation I've been reading The Hulk comics, which are smart and snappy and so, so sad.  I want to swoop in an save both Banner and Hulk, and make everything okay.  Ug.

What else?

This blog is pretty much a fashion show of shirts I sweat through, so it probably doesn't come across that I spend my days in tank tops and jeans (casual office, no on site clients).  But Thursday I went to a trade show and had to pretend to be an adult.

Minus the "I took a picture of myself in a bathroom" aspect, I think I did okay.

Never fear, adulthood didn't last long.

(Note here about how adults can act ridiculous without being childish, blah blah blah, everyone knows that, pretzels are delicious, visible nose hair, piano)

Yesterday during football I:

-semi pulled a groin muscle.  Ish.  I don't know.  It hurt, now it hurts less.  I don't know the wussy terminology for these kind of aches and pains.
-jammed my thumb.  Catching the ball is hard you guys.  (note:  during a kick off the ball was coming toward me, and as I stared up at it I yelled out "It's....a football!"  I am both a wordsmith and a genius.  Yeah.  I don't know either.)
-Got fucking elbowed in the goddamn ear.  That shit hurts.  It still hurts.  I woke up a few times in the night because I rolled over to my left side and put pressure on the ear.  Mother fucker.  It's supposed to be two hand touch.  Lame.

I'm still hopelessly in love with playing.  I'm getting slightly better each week.  I'm getting more comfortable with my teammates.  I enjoy the challenge.  I enjoy being part of a group.  That's the big part.  Being part of something where people set aside time once a week and expect to see each other, and it's fun, but it's also a little bit important.  And if you don't show up, people miss you.  A club, but where the core membership is small enough that people care.  I've never really had that.  I tried to start my own little club in college, but people were more concerned with being college students.  It wasn't a slight on me.  I saw all my friends all the time.  There was wasn't a way to put some sort of club title on it.  I don't know.  It feels cool.  I feel special.  I like it.

Back to running, I guess:  In the past week I've proven to myself that I can still run far, and I still run (sort of not really because I didn't try too hard) fast.

This is where I shut up, nut up, lace up, and pound out some hard work again, right?  So why am I sitting on the couch typing this shit up instead of going outside and running?

Because I still don't want to.  I want to be awesome, but I don't want to do the work to be awesome.  I enjoy it when I'm running, but that hasn't translated yet to wanting to run.  I'm both stubborn and lazy, which has me at an impasse.  Stubborn Rose says "run, dipshit.  You'll enjoy it.  You're good at it.  Go prove it."  Lazy Rose was too busy watching old episodes of In Living Color (I found it on some spanish channel and now have 17 episodes on my DVR!) to respond.

So, there's that.  I like it still, but I don't really want to go do it.  Huh.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

What Kind Of Idiot Runs A Half Marathon Untrained?

What kind of idiot runs a half marathon untrained?  After running maybe 13 miles over the past three months?

This kind of idiot.  Obviously.

So, months ago, when things were pretty, before I ragequit running, I signed up for like, 400 races.  And systematically DNSed every single one.





So, this was a $30 trail half marathon.  And I was totally going to not show up, because that's how I roll these day.

But then, I got an email from Heather.  Heather is awesome and I love her and wish she lived closer.  Orange County may as well be a billion miles away when you factor in traffic.  Clearly, I live in hyperbole land today.  Anyway.  Heather emails me, asking me if I'm signed up for the Chino Hills Half.  Of course I am.  I'm signed up for everything.

So she signs up, too.

Crap, now I have to show up.

I guess the two weeks prior to the race where I didn't run further than across the street now counted as taper.

[Disclaimer:  Don't run long races untrained.  It's stupid.  I am a shitty role model, in case you haven't figured that out.  Seriously.  Train for your shit and rock it.  Or whatever.  I pretty much don't care.  Just don't half ass your fitness for three months then think you can run a half.]

So, I showed up.  And it was lovely.

I can not think of a single thing wrong with this race.  It was cheap.  It was well organized.  They had awesome food before, during, and after.  It was well staffed.  There was a long sleeve tech shirt and a medal.  It was goddamn beautiful the whole time (albeit hilly.  Shocking for a trail run, I know).

Stole this from Heather.

So, I neither died nor crippled myself for life.  Which really only reinforces my laziness, because look what I can do after doing nothing.  I mean, obviously I didn't PR.  I feel stupid even typing that.  I should probably delete it.  But I won't, because I'll lazy.  Everything I do in my life really just points to how lazy I am.  Anyway, I did fine.  That's not the point.

The point is I had an awesome time.  For me, a good race heavily rests on good company, and Heather is awesome.

Afterward I made it back home in time to catch the last hour of my weekly football game, trading trail shoes for cleats, and bragging about how amazing I am/explaining why I was so filthy.  (note:  I took an awesome picture of my feet after taking off my socks, but, um, feet are weird, so why would I force others to look at them unless I have a toe nail falling off and want to make everyone vomit.)

And then I went home and tore carpet out of my garage.

I was a little sore over the last few days, but I'd be concerned if I weren't.

The lesson learned here is:

1.  My body is awesome even when I don't put forth effort;
2.  Jesus fucking christ, Rose, if you actually, ACTUALLY, oh, I don't know, fucking TRIED instead of being a lazy sack of shit, you'd probably be a pretty good runner.  Not great, but pretty good.  If you can shit out a decent race with zero miles under your belt, you're pissing away some natural talent.  Fuck.

With that said, I'll go back to shitting all over everyone on FB who disagrees with me politically.  That's what I'm supposed to do, right?  Dance on the graves of the losers and lambaste the people who voted in opposition to the propositions I supported?