I'm a Professional

I just got out of the shower from a post-walk. As much as it pains me to admit, I have accepted that I am not going to be able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want without doing something to balance out the horrendous calories. I tried the kale diet. That went to kale. I did bootcamp--which WORKS, but I'm restricted to only "light" exercises from my doctors. We don't want to shake up anything that could be potentially growing down under. Basically, that leaves walking or doing nothing but watching my belly grow; not from a baby, but from Pepsi, sweet tea, and anything that has the last name 'Lay', first name 'Frito'.

 

I've been walking quite a bit since I got back from the beach the last week in June. Considering I always gain like 5 pounds while on vaca, I military dieted and walked like a crazy person the first week we got back. I felt like I had lost 15 pounds. Then I started my period. The scale only showed a 2 pound loss. Bitch. Since then, I've moderated what I've been eating and I've been walking everyday for an hour. I finally got courageous yesterday and looked. I'm down another 5 pounds. Too bad I leave for the beach again in 2 more weeks. It's a vicious cycle, I know.

 

Although I'm the biggest whiner and complainer when it comes to exercising, I'm a professional walker. I grew up in Victoria on Main Street that has a sidewalk parallel to it from one end to the other. All during high school and even for a few years after, Ryann and I would walk every night, weather permitting. If you left my house on Third Street, went to Central, turned back around and headed to Wright's, it would be like 4 miles. No wonder I was a size 10 and looked fabulous from the years 2001-2005. (Sidenote: I didn't realize this until I look at pictures from the years 2001-2005. I'm sure I thought I was 'fat' then too. Hey, I'm a girl. It's what we do.)

 

Since I've been walking lately by myself, I've had plenty of trips down memory lane. I also can't help but compare "going walking" now to "going walking" then.

 

This is the Evolution of a Professional Walker.

 

THEN: Ryann and I could carry on a conversation the entire walk, thus enabling us to talk crap about every person that passed us. Which was pretty much the entire population, considering we walked Main Street in VICTORIA.

 

NOW: I can barely listen to myself inside my head because the deafening noise from my heavy breathing echoes against the speakers in my ears.

 

THEN: We'd walk in short booty shorts and tanks.

 

NOW: I walk in too-big-for-me tshirts that cover me up and yoga pants/capris that prevent Chub Rub. Chub Rub is a serious medical condition that causes severe soreness, itching, and lack of important baby-making efforts.

 

THEN: It never failed. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME we walked, we'd get hollered at suggestively from sketchy black guys at Little Bee. Sketchy white guys riding by in sketchy Honda Civics with hubcaps missing. And let's not forgot sketchy rednecks that passed us at least 5 times a night and always hollered something mildly inappropriate.

 

NOW: All sketchy black guys, sketchy white guys, and rednecks look at me with concern, probably thinking, "Is that girl gonna pass out?" or "Why is she so red?"

 

THEN: We knew basically every person that passed us. We waved at practically every car that passed.

 

NOW: I live in a fairly middle class area but walk where the rich people live. Every car that passes me is a BMW, Mercedes, or is owned by a doctor. Plus, I'm pretty sure if you combined my age with Mike's age, we'd still be under the average age demographic for our area. These people are either too snobby to wave at me or are too old to even see me.

 

THEN: One of us would say, "Do you wanna keep going?" Then the other would say, "Sure, I'm good."

 

NOW: (to myself) "OMFG. Let me make it to the next mailbox. I'm good. Huff. Huff. OMG. What time is it? This is crazy. Huff. I can't breathe. I can't breathe! Is that a car behind me? Gasp. Huff. Huff. Let me suck in so I don't look that terrible in these spandex. (*sucks in*) Huff. Huff. DON'T SUCK IN! DON'T. SUCK. IN! Can barely breathe anyway, much less holding my breathe til the car passes. Huff. Huff. Huff. Okay. Next mailbox. What time is it now? Is that a rain cloud? I need to head back. I don't need frizzy hair on top of this already hot-mess. Huff. Huff. I can't breathe. Huff. Doc...tors say...you real..ly on..ly need..... 30 minutes...of...ex..er...cise a day...anyway. It's...been like...40. Can stop...at...any..time..now. Huff. Huff. Just make it to the next mailbox!

 

As you can see, many things have changed from walking when I was 17 to walking when I'm 27. At least I'm doing it, I guess. In addition to being a Professional Walker, I've also accredited myself with other Professional titles this summer.

 

Professional Paler: When at the beach, I'm a full on Professional Tanner. (I mean Christ on a cracker, that's even my middle name!) However, these cloudy days have been BS. I can literally see the color absorbing into my skin on a daily basis. IT'S JULY! Where is the SUN!?

 

Professional Hair Grower: I've always had pretty fast-growing hair. Not just on my head, but on legs and underarms as well. Since taking additional folic acid, I've discovered the hair on said places grows like freaking weeds. I shaved last night at 5:30pm. When I got in bed at 11:30pm, I already had stubble. Coming from a girl who only shaves her legs like twice a month in the winter, shaving twice a day is becoming a real drag. I'm often concerned that while walking, sketchy black guys, sketchy white guys, and sketchy rednecks are staring at me with concern because they think I'm wearing boots with the fur...yet it's just my crazy hairy legs sprouting over my Nike's.

 

Professional Reader: Okay, I'm ashamed. I started working on a book several months ago. I'm up to 20,000 words (YAY!) but I need like 90,000 to publish. In the past 3 days, I've read 4 books. Yes, yes. Admitting the problem is always the first step. While my book is good...and I mean GOOD! I keep comparing it to what my favorite books are and I'm psyching myself out. I've also found myself editing my favorite author's books which is a cool learning process for me and it helps me work out the snags I've found in my own story. When I reach 50,000, I have a small group of test-readers that I'm sending it to  to make sure its something people would actually buy. Hopefully, that'll be before the first of August. Which leads me to...

 

UNprofessional Writer: I have so many things in my head that I want to blog about but it literally takes me over an hour to bust out a post. I'm very critical of myself (HA! Bet you didn't know that, loyal blogger-followers!) so I'm constantly reading and rereading what I write before I click "publish". I get asked all the time about posting on a regular basis, like daily or weekly. I'd love to be able to do that, but let's be honest. I'm a total lazy ass. "99 chores but I ain't did one" kinda lazy. Also, I feel guilty for not writing where I SHOULD be writing. AND I feel guilty for not giving my other jobs as Professional Reader and Professional Tanner/Paler my undivided attention on these long summer days.

 

But like all true professionals I know, we eventually get the job done. It may kill me, but at least I'll be a richer, skinnier, and hairier Kristin who will probably be pushing a honkin' stroller on my walking route with a kid I can't talk to because I'll be out of breath. Also, because I know you still have your lips turned up in disgust--I shave *maybe* twice a week in the winter. I exaggerate for dramatic purposes if you didn't already know that.