confessions of a non-dieter.

It was my idea. I sent the email. The one with the rules. The DO NOT BRING IN KRISPY KREME DONUTS type rules. The one with the weigh in start date and the finishing date. The one to ALL of my coworkers. The one that was intended to encourage me to lose the necessary 10 to 15 pounds I’m starting to feel might be required to even FIT into my bridesmaid dress.

So we weighed in Wednesday for the first time. I went on a run that night. And then I started my Thursday off right with some oatmeal for breakfast. And though I decided, really, why ignore that mexican craving when a chicken soft taco isn’t going to kill me, I thought I was doing well. I went to the gym and faced the “Oooooh look who’s here!” voice of the trainer. I mean, pssh, it had only been like a month. What’s a month!? (Or two.)

So I was back! (And totally remembered why I like going to the gym! HELLO HOTTIES IN THE WEIGHT PIT!) And I burned! burned! burned! at the gym and I was oh so proud! The money my coworkers had to cough up for the pot that is to be won with the greatest percentage weight loss in 6 weeks is SO GOING TO BE MINE.

I drove home with the windows down and what did I find when I arrived? But the roommate, sitting on the front porch post-jog drinking a water. I walked up to the door with my gym bag and purse and she said to me, “Why don’t you put your stuff inside and grab us a couple of PBRs?” Oh no she did not. Because who can resist a PBR? Certainly not I.

So I did. And we drank it. And then hot neighbor came over and introduced himself and his dog Brewster and we drank another PBR. And then hot neighbor asked us if we wanted to play ladder golf. AND THEN, hot neighbor and his people came outside with THEIR VERY OWN PBRS and it was love! Love, I tell you!

And calories, more calories mind you. Because after you sit around the front yard long enough and you drink enough PBRs, what do you want? Why more PBR.

And Pizza Man. PBR and Pizza Man. Heaven in a shack.

So that’s what we did. We went to Pizza Man and when we walked in the waitress looked at us and said it. “Pitcher of PBR?” Oh yes she did. And when we said, “Yes, please, and can we go ahead and order our pizza? Medium with red bell peppers and tomatoes?” she said to us, “Tonight is buy one get one free medium pizza night.”

AND SO WE GOT TWO.

Hi, you can call me fatty.

dear God, it's me, kristin.

I could write a list of the people I’m mad at, right now, in my life. I could write a list, keep it on the outside of my little bubble, and not let their issues be my issues and keep on keepin’ on being happy with me. Because when I said “I’m bitter” last night on the phone with Tina, I meant it. Even while it followed a series of f-bombs as a result of the blocked roadway by construction, the truck pulled not far enough into its parking space so that I couldn’t drive by, the fear of a blown tire, and the inability to parallel park with my regular ease due to a car having already failed at a similar task before landing itself in front of my destination.

I could write a list of those people and I think I will. It’s a beginning, at least.

1. Sarah Palin, I’ll start with you. You woke me up this morning to your lack of knowledge of the Bush Doctrine. I mean, how could you? Not that I was holding you to a higher caliber than I do any other hockey mom with lipstick but really, I do. I’m suddenly reminded of Miss Teen South Carolina, thankyouverymuch.

2. If a friend comes into town from Northern California, and you haven’t seen her in over a year, and she schedules lunch with her girlfriends on a day you can’t go and she’s here for 2 weeks and seems unbothered about the fact that she’s not making much of an effort to meet up, would you be disappointed? I was in her wedding for God’s sake. And no, I haven’t gone out there to see her. And the one friend who has? The friend who she came home to go to the beach with for a week? Yea, she went on her parent’s dime a couple of times. And I’m sorry if I just couldn’t. So don’t call me and be vague about when and where you’re flying out and then try to get gossip from me about a mutual friend of ours from high school because what you’re sellin’? I ain’t buyin’.

3. Dear trainer, I’m a little bummed. It’s not like I’m one to recognize when a guy flirts. Really, I’m not. You can call me dense if you may. Because the other day in class I saw a girl across from me trying to flirt with the guy next to me and suddenly I realized what she was doing and I was like OH MY GOSH SHE’S FLIRTING. And I had to text everyone I knew. By the third class I figured out he was married, but you see where I’m going with this? Oh, you don’t? The fact is, I’m a little surprised by the fact that you’re calling yourself “daddy” to your I guess, now, serious girlfriend’s kid. That’s all well and good but I’m pretty sure what you were doing was, uh, flirtin’ with me.

4. Let me let y’all in on a little secret. I understand. Really, I do. That all relationships aren’t fairytales. Not everything has a happy ending. And while I just may be in love with a boy in a book (more specifically, Mr. Darcy) that’s just fiction. (After all, Jane Austen’s own love life was way more dismal.) But I still think we owe ourselves something. Be it hope. Be it a chance. Something. And, truthfully, I think when you’re a parent, what you owe and to whom increases tenfold. And to my friend’s parents, more specifically her father, I think you owe a lot more than you’re giving.

5. To my love handles, right now, right here, you and I are about to rumble. You and me, and the fat around my lower abdomen, and these things I can pinch around my thighs, and don’t get me started on my breasteses (yes I just spelled it that way). I’ve been recording everything I eat and everything I burn for 2 months now. And yes I’m aware that the occasional PBR pitcher and the more than occasional pizza and those 2 jager bombs I had last Sunday night (unexpectedly, mind you) are not helping this situation but, like I said to the guy from the Apple Help Line that I spoke to last Friday, “Can’t you throw a girl a bone?” And by bone I do mean skinny.

6. I think this next one goes without saying. Or maybe it is just between me and the cussword jar (you know, the one your money goes in to when you say a bad word). Ergo, anyway. To the University of South Carolina, you know I never hated you before. In fact, I think we can agree that I was more docile than any other Clemson graduate you’ve ever met. Until this year, I kept my season tickets to your football games. And I never really had a bad word to say other than, “It just wasn’t the undergraduate school for me.” Or maybe, “I had to get out of Columbia for a little while.” And all of this was true, in fact. I was complacent about you until, UNTIL, you decided to be the most difficult thing to me in the world. You decided to redo your streets as I decided to enroll in classes. You move your fees department from the Bursar’s office the one week I figure out where that even is. You remodel my Graduate Program building and have me run all over campus. And have I mentioned, while I’m no Vin Diesel myself, YOU HAVE THE WORST DRIVERS (and parkers) IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. If you mess up my car you’ll be receiving a bill from me, rather than the other way around for once.

7. Ike, I realize we haven’t officially met yet. I’m Kristin. I’m a Libra. I enjoy long walks on the beach, preferably before you arrive. I like candlelit dinners, though I’ve never had one. And I like curling up with a good book and going to the occasional weekly football game. What I don’t like is coming home from class on a Thursday night and hearing from my oldest brother that gas prices have shot up to around $7/gallon in parts of the state and to GET GAS NOW. And did I mention the sexy outfit I was wearing when I went to get gas last night, at the closest gas station to my house, which is in 5 points? That would be my patchwork boxers and, because I usually sleep in a white tank top, I tossed on an awesome and loud Nascar t-shirt. MAYBE THIS IS WHY I’M SINGLE. And how great, 5 points after 5 was going on right next to the Exxon at the exact. same. time.

8. To The Man, is it really necessary to have me work 8 to 5? I mean, I know people that do 9 to 5. Even 8:30 to 5. I’m just asking for a little somethin’ somethin’. Something that’ll keep me from being late to work in the morning and actually make me early. And is it true that no one ever really truly loves their work? Because I’m definitely on that path. A path called I have no motivation. Commonly known as, procrastinator. Have I mentioned that I’m not sure I can help that?

9. The boy that asked me for my number last week? Y’all wanna know about him? To him, I’m not mad. Maybe more so I’m mad at me. He makes me laugh. He’s a little bit witty. He texts me funny things, like how he can’t wait to show me his dance moves this weekend because he’s been practicing all week. But how he still thinks I’ll probably embarass him again with my skillz. (Yes, with a z. A z that’s all me and not his actual spelling.) And when I told him, “Act confident. Be confident,” he told me, “Thanks coach, I believe I can do it now. You’re even better than Tommy Bowden.. booyah!” And I laughed in a ball on my bed. But other than that? Am I attracted to him? I don’t know, maybe a little bit. Have I considered any further than that? Not really, no. And it really makes me wonder what I’m doing with myself. If I’m just holding out for the kind of guy I just can’t have.

10. Hello 7 am, you come mighty early. To my dear father, I love you. But if you think I’m going to make it to your house at 10 minutes to 7 tomorrow morning so we can roadtrip it like sardines to Clemson, you’ve got another thing coming. Oh? I have to leave my house at 6:30 am to be there? That’s awesome. Because if I do, by some grace of God, make it to your hizzy in time, after seeing Corey Smith tonight and going downtown to meet Phone Number Guy, I won’t be happy. Last week? You thought I looked put together? Last week I was hungover. This week? This week I’ll be a grumpy old tired wreck. Clemson tigers, if I do this for you, YOU BETTER FREAKING PLAY WELL.

not so gym-errific.

Last Thursday I was at a friend’s house with BFF LA, watching USC lose in football. After we entertained ourselves with enough bad football (I’m allowed to say that), we called a friend of ours that lives in Miami and were talking to her on the phone. She used to work at my gym.

“What’s up with The Trainer?”

“Oh! I miss him!!!!!” She’s dramatic and blonde. Love her. “He had a girlfriend back when but OMG Y’ALL SHOULD TOTALLY DATE!!”

“Um. Girlfriend. Hello. Awkward.” That’s totally me.

“No! OMG! I have to call him back anyway! This is so AWESOME!” I think squealing commenced.

When I was at the gym Tuesday, I saw him. I’d finished running and doing some of the weight machines and was headed downstairs to do abs. He stopped me.

“So, did those exercises I showed you a while back make you sore?” He asked me this after we’d covered both Clemson and Carolina’s football schedules and predictions.

“No. And I must say, I was disappointed.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “That’s all I’ve got, then.”

“You can do better than that,” I told him as I headed downstairs to try to rediscover my abs.

As I was leaving that night he called after me, “I’m gonna have to pull out the big guns next time. This is putting me to the test.” Really, I thought, I’m not that impossible to wear out at the gym to the point of pain.

Last night I was back. I’d just come from a reception at my dad’s office where they had sponsored the honoring of South Carolina women who are making a difference in politics and through public policy. I had to cover it for the paper.

I changed clothes and headed back upstairs from the locker room, did some weight machines and jumped on a treadmill before I realized The Trainer was there. After running, after the stair stepper, after doing abs and some more weights, I headed towards the door, nodding in his direction. “Do you want me to walk you out?” he asked me, coming from behind the counter.

Now, before you go getting all giddy (and thankfully for myself, I was a step ahead) my dad had just finished giving me a lecture about the need to be escorted out in the evening. My mom had talked to me about it on the phone while I was at lunch. A girl was raped just outside my gym, as she was getting ready to go into her apartment which is above where I workout, at 9:30 pm Sunday night.

“That’d be great,” I told the trainer, laughing awkwardly. “My dad already lectured me about my safety and wanted someone to walk me out.”

“That’s how us dads are,” he said.

Scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeaaaaccccccccccccch.

I thought on that one for awhile and I have nothing.

Totally sounds like he’s saying he has a kid, doesn’t it?

This morning I woke up still thinking about it. That is, after Crist stopped singing “rise and shine and give God the glory glory” on my wake up call.

I went to the gym for an uneventful workout. I sat on the bike reading from my assigned reading for class today. When I finished, I headed downstairs to do a set of crunches on the reclining bench. I walked into the small room and saw that the only person in there was the last person I wanted to see.

What is it about some guys that just.. puts an awful taste in your mouth?

This guy that I just can’t stand at all was there. And after we said a casual “hey” back and forth, I went on with my bidness. I did my crunch all at once, all together, without taking a single break. I did them and I walked out without another word.

The thing is, I knew he worked out there. I knew he did, in the mornings. But I also thought, what are the odds? And I thought, we’re adults. And while he may be a dick, I’ve known him for 10 years and really, I’m okay with going back to the casualness of our old friendship if I never see his smile again (yea, I know that’s unrealistic) or if he would just act like he hadn’t seen me since high school (another unlikelihood) or maybe if he would just grow a pair and put on his best poker face, like the one I’ve mastered.

Because in any event, that really did put a bad taste in my mouth. One that wasn’t washed out by coffee (or a pumpkin spice latte) because I haven’t yet mastered that tolerance of taste.

all things gym related.

The other day I walked into the gym just as the trainer was headed out. “I was about to put an apb out,” he said to me, his smile still there. He was insinuating I hadn’t been there lately.

“I’ve been here. Just a little later at night or you haven’t been here, like Sunday.” It was true. I had thought I’d see him one of the days but I hadn’t. And I had been working out. It’s been 2.5 weeks and I haven’t missed a day. Yet.

I was sitting on the hip abuctor machine the trainer calls the good girl/bad girl when the guy next to me reached over and touched my arm. I pulled out one of my earplugs to hear him ask me a question, him thinking I worked at Half Moon Outfitters because that’s the t-shirt I was wearing. When I answered no he asked, “Do you kayak?” He was looking for something and I suggested another store and we talked for, seriously, like a couple of seconds. “I’m Sean,” he said to me, reaching out his hand to shake mine. “Kristin,” I said.

The next day I saw him in the gym he was riding a bike. He waved and I smiled.

There is a guy at the gym that I see every night when I go later to work out. He is about 6’5″ and he stays in the free weight area most of the time, except for once when I saw him walking on the treadmill one afternoon. He wears hats. Once a newsboy cap. The next day a baseball hat. His 5 o’clock shadow is always there. And so are his muscles.

I wonder, sometimes, if every gym has that one guy you can watch while you do a machine, as he does pull ups or lifts weights with ease.

Last night, I walked into bunko still in my gym clothes, wearing a long sleeve shirt over top.

“Hey skinny minnie!” The girls called to me when I walked into the house. “You look good! You’ve lost weight!” They said those words to me.

“Have you weighed yourself?” One of them asked me.

“I’ve only lost like 6 pounds,” I said, smiling but still feeling like I wish it were more. I wish I could say 10 or 15 or somewhere closer to my goal.

But I guess there are other rewards along the way.

be still my sweat.

I walked in the gym slowly, gradually, making my way towards the front. I saw that the trainer was talking to someone, though he looked up and smiled at me as I headed that way. Taking his advice from the previous day, I made my way to the weight machines. Arms – Legs – Abs. When I finished up, I walked back by the front desk to head towards the cardio machines.

“I’m hurtin’,” I told him, as I went to walk by.

“From yesterday?” His big grin was fixed on me as he asked the question.

“Yea – I think a mix of the weight machines and the way I did the stair stepper yesterday. My calves. Ah, they hurt.”

“I’m telling you. One word: Arms.”

“Yea, I know. I just don’t ever really know what to do with free weights,” I told him. I’d told him that before.

“Hey – all I wanna do is hang out with you. Show you what to do. I told you that yesterday and you were all eh.”

“Well.. you know.. I didn’t want to take up your time,” I said, in truth. I wasn’t really sure when he came to me as I did a leg machine and talked about the free weights and how he could show me what to do, that he meant then, right then. That he meant I wasn’t going to have to pay the whatever it was going to cost for him to help me.

“I was offering.” He was still smiling.

“Okay, then. Next time I come in and you’re not talking to someone I’m going to come over and say, Hey, what are you doing? Want to help me?”

“And I’ll do it.” How matter of fact.