I have tramp burn.
Since I'm a glutton for everything else, I suppose I should be a glutton for punishment as well. I'm probably the worst person alive to try a calorie counting diet, but what do I do? Jump on the My Fitness Pal bandwagon.
Struggle with dropping weight even though you started trying to eat more healthy options and started working out? Sign up for a diet bet website.
Never been athletic your entire life? Always been that kid on the playground that found a corner somewhere to read? Haven't played a sport since fourth-grade intramural basketball?
Decide to take fitness classes in a goddamn trampoline park.
Hence the tramp burn but be honest, you thought it was something much more fun than that.
Nope, my elbows and knees are just tore up from pressing the fifty gazillion pounds of my fat into the rough surface of a tramp as I did planks, up and downs, donkey kicks, humiliation, embarrassment, and you-will-wish-you-dieds in 30 second intervals.
You know things I can't do on a steady surface, yet alone on ground that is constantly shifting underfoot.
Thirty year olds who can't be out of shape because they have never been in shape to begin with to get out of it, are not made for the cardio intensity of pretending to be jackrabbits while doing strength training moves.
No one said I was a smart person.
Bad thing is, I've gone before. This isn't my first time. I think Einstein said something about insanity is repeating the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. So I've gone before and each time I have felt like I was courting death to take me to prom and yet I have dragged my ass back, flew my fluff through the air at velocities it should not travel, stumbled from one end of the court to the next gasping for breath and hearing every muscle in my body plead for me to please go back to the library and stop this madness, tumbled over mats in exhaustion, and counted every second of that hour in excruciating awareness and yet I go again expecting it to be different. Alas, it is not.
No one said I was a smart person, which means I will probably be back there next Saturday ready to be beat and broken again by whatever skinny little twat in yoga pants (who is clearly a sadist) tells me to do because she is pretty and skinny and alas I am not and in this world the skinny and pretty get to tell the non-skinny and pretty people what they should be doing to get pretty and skinny.
Okay, to be fair she probably isn't a twat. Not really. She is probably a completely lovely person that has tea with her great-grandmother every Sunday and sews blankets for orphans in Rwanda on her break from cooking meals for the homeless. However, it works better for my narrative if we just pretend she is a twat. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the story, know what I mean?
Speaking of twats, I feel like I should start a cookbook called "My Husband Ate This, So I Ate That." I'm not sure it would be good cause I can't cook, or help you lose weight, but it would clearly illustrate what an asshole my husband can be.
Friday Night
My Husband Ate: Grilled Pork chops, green beans, fried potatoes
I Ate: Okay I ate that, in portion control mode cause it really wasn't that bad.
Later Friday Night
My Husband Ate: Four mini brownies sent from the gods themselves warmed up in a bowl topped with slow-churned vanilla ice cream he made ME buy for him at store as I was shopping for my turkey hotdogs, turkey sausage, and turkey pepperoni
I Ate: Twelve carefully measured out tortilla chips with four tablespoons of carefully measured out salsa
Saturday Breakfast
My Husband Ate: Pancakes, pork sausage links, and thick bacon strips
I Ate: Diet coke and my own ego. I was nearly dying at a trampoline park, remember?
Saturday Lunch
My Husband Ate: Turkey and Ham on homemade bread with chips
I Ate: Similar except thirty minutes later by the time I finished weighing, measuring, and scanning every barcode into my phone.
Saturday Dinner
My Husband Ate: Grilled steak, roasted potatoes, and corn on the cob
I Ate: Some grilled steak with measured steak sauce, green beans I made to avoid the calories from the corn, and a sad little scoop of potatoes that made me depressed to even look at their buttery goodness in such a tiny serving size.
Later Saturday Night
My Husband Ate: A repeat of the brownie and vanilla thing.
I Ate: Mini Bluebell lite cheese, turkey hot dogs, a carefully measured out serving of chips, turkey pepperoni and a slice of bread. Luckily I had calories to spare.
Sunday Morning
My Husband Ate: Pork Sausage links and thick cut bacon slices like the caveman he is!
I Ate: Crumbled turkey sausage with a tablespoon of salsa wrapped in a low-carb tortilla with two eggs carefully scrambled in mozzarella cheese. Stole a slice of Mr. Caveman's bacon. Heaven.
Sunday Lunch
My Husband Ate: All the Papa Johns Pizza. Plus chicken tenders.
I Ate: Two thin sliced pieces of pepperoni pizza slowly while glaring at my husband.
Sunday Dinner
My Husband Ate: You know what I don't even care anymore. I didn't even look. Jerk. No sympathy for his hangry wife. (Look spellcheck you can sit there and say that "hangry" isn't a word all you want, but you are WRONG. It is real and it is consuming my soul as we speak) I totally caught him eating another brownie and ice cream concoction this afternoon. We had to wait for him to finish to take a walk. Plus, he drank the last Diet Coke. He's a monster. I told him if I ever hear him complain about his weight again I am decking him and no one in the world would find me at fault.
I Ate: Thinly sliced black forest ham with shredded mozzarella over romaine lettuce with four tablespoons of Lite Catalina dressing for 200 calories and then I added two slices of homemade bread with butter to take me 21 calories over my daily goal.
Bloody Hell.