It’s a Good Life:

 

Every once in a while,
I am just struck by how lovely life can be.

In spite of how hard bits of this week were,
there was a moment Saturday night,
when The Boyo and I came home after the 20th Wedding
(Titus and Staci Gee!),
collapsed on the floor,
Corgi between us,
and there was just this…contentment.

There was a Christmas tree.
A warm house.
A boy.
A girl.
Their dog.

And it was good.

 

The Best Dog in the World.

Looky who I found wandering around Disney!

Staci's Bouquet

Apparently:

 

According to Facebook,
today is my Anniversary with The Boyo.

Only,
we can’t decide if it’s five years or six.

(I’m sure I have that written down somewhere in a journal, somewhere)

So, love,
to you.

To us.

To five (or six) years of adventures.

To trips to Powell’s Books in which you reminded me that there *is* a weight limit on suitcases, and no, I was not allowed to wear all of my clothes on the trip back in order to get more books back with me.

To getting a small dog together, and being continually delighted in just
how lucky we are to have her.

To tea, cartoons, and Dr. Who.

To early mornings in the flower market, grinning at you over armfuls of roses.

Even to the arguments we’ve had and resolved,
because they make us better,
because they do not allow us to take each other for granted.

To hedgepigs and cephalopods.

 

To the ferocious love I have for you when you wrap your arms around me,
and I feel so, so safe.

 

The Best Boyo in the World. Seriously.

 

I love you with my whole heart, Boyo.

Discovery:

 

When I was an overweight and squishy high-schooler,
I made promises to myself in the summertime that come September,
I would be skinny,
buff,
in shape,
able to share clothes with my Q-Tip sister.

“I did sit-ups and jumping jacks before bed!
If I keep this up, I’m going to be pretty!
Boys will pay attention to me!
I won’t be an outcast anymore!”

And I kept it up…
for about a week.

Then a new book that I was waiting for would come in at the library.
Or I was exhausted from riding my bike home in the late twilight
after a shift at McDonald’s.

And I’d forget.

September came around,
new clothes were purchased,
in a larger size than the year prior.

It never worked,
is what I’m saying.

I honestly don’t know how I finally lost weight after high school.

I think it was because of a college roommate whose family only ate organic food.
I went to her house,
a lovely place of refuge in the deserts of Palm Springs,
and I remember the food just tasted…so GOOD.

I left my parents’ house,
began buying my own food,
and, no longer being under the thumb of a curfew,
I began running late at night.

(I hated that running, by the way)

Got down to the weight that I am now.

I’ve kept it for six years,
with about five pounds of fluctuation either direction,
which puts me in the tiny percentile of folks for whom long-term weight loss actually worked.

It’s a healthy weight.

I am capable of doing quite a lot at my current fitness level.

 

But.

 

I feel like I can do better still.

I’m working on creating a handbalancing performance with a friend for
Southern Faire this spring.
I am adamantly NOT in good enough shape for that right now.

And it’s hard.

Because?

Most of the women who do circus performance or serious partner acrobatics
weigh about 25 pounds less than I do.

I doubt that I will ever be able to lose that much weight without SERIOUSLY fucking up my (already) fucked up body and metabolism.

I need to be stronger.
More flexible.
Powerful.
Able to hold my own weight without flinching,
or putting all of it on my partner.

As a woman, when you’re not a tiny pixie person,
you have to make up for putting more weight on your partner.

I need my body to be better.

 

So I’m doing Crossfit style workouts every day.
Will start incorporating Tabata sprints.

Oh, and yoga, too.

Damn, I miss yoga.

I’m just tired of my body not doing what I want it to do.

 

Tonight’s workout:

3 rounds of:

25 squats
20 lunges
15 jumping jacks
10 handstands (supported or not)
5 pushups

And because I’m not COMPLETELY crazy,
1 sprint for 200 meters.

 

Bad. Ass.

Hell, Yes:

 

I will be this cool when I’m old: