Fatties and Packer Fans

Posted on November 20, 2013 by tosabarbell

One of my training partners texted me this map the other day. I lol’d.

First off, I think this stuff is funny. Americans are infamous in other parts of the world for not knowing (or even pretending to care to know) geography. According to this map, it holds true even in our own country. Of course I really liked that Wisconsin was labeled as Fatties/Packer Fans. Yup.

A horrible, but fun, game I play whenever I travel and get connecting flights into Milwaukee is try to guess who is from Wisconsin and who is coming in for a brief cheese fix. I’m getting pretty good at it. Other than the annoying habit of needing to wear Packer shirts and jerseys (by the way, I don’t understand overweight middle aged men who wear football jersey’s out and aboot. At a game? Sure. At an actual football party? Ok. But on a plane or out to the mall? Why? I don’t get it) the signs are pretty common.

Bloated from too much carbs and sugar; pale and sometimes a little sweaty, classic signs of chronic inflammation…and then there’s the skinny fats. Still pale; no color to their skin; no muscle; skin hanging,  AND still bloated from the carbs and sugar they get to eat cuz they’re skinny. Lack of sleep, stress building due to life AND not feeling 100% healthy. Yup. All over the place.

Wisconsinites have done their fair share of eating their way into disease. Blame it on the cheese? I don’t think so. But I’m getting awfully tired of it. We know several people that we watch slowly eat themselves into a diseased state. But there’s medicine for disease, right? Just take some medicine. Has nothing to do with food, “I” just have special innards. Ugh. There are catastrophic diseases that need immediate medical care. Absolutely. And we’re fortunate to be able to get medical attention to fix those. Also, just because we attempt to eat in a way that fuels our bodies for better training but more importantly better quality of life, this does not mean we’ll avoid disease. We know that. We’re just trying to do what we can to make that disease fight harder than ever to catch us. Anyways.

But excuse me while I fail to have any respect for a “board, certified Doctor” who has been taught which medications to prescribe for which “diseases” and oh by the way, I’m sure the pharmaceutical industry has absolutely no influence whatsoever in these “doctors” prescribing the medicine that is labeled on every calendar, notepad, medical computer, cotton swab, and whatever the bend over and cough tool is used in every doctor’s office in ‘Merika. Wake up people. If your doctor doesn’t tell you that you’ve eaten yourself into disease and we’re going to attempt to fix this with better food for the next 6 months because medicine should ALWAYS be a last resort! then it’s time for a new doctor.

But that’s hard. So it won’t happen. We’ll watch people we love continue to be chronically inflamed with whatever particular diet they’ve deemed satisfactory mostly because it gives them lots of hugs during the week and after all, there’s medicine. That’s easier. Le sigh…

Customers come in and say they’ve stayed away because they’re eating better and trying to lose weight. Bullshit! They’re fatter than ever. Not my fault.

Cranky

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Monday Bacon: Diamonds

Posted on November 18, 2013 by tosabarbell

There is a local diamond/jewelry center around town who loves to advertise on the radio station I listen to. So I’ve been hearing the ad progression for about a year and a half now.

They started with…I remember when I was young, and was looked down at for not having a lot of money for a diamond ring. I will never make you feel like that. You are special.

Awwwwww. Props for talking to the boys. Quality, not size. (Yes, the automatic “size” joke crossed my mind but I’m not going there. At least not today.) See, this is their ad strategery, talking to you. We’re in this together mate, I can help a brother out YO! And then he started talking to the ladies. Yup, little ole me.

It was subtle at first…ladies, you deserve the best. Bring him to our home and we’ll give you the best. Awwwww, he really cares that I have the best. That’s so sweet! It’s like we’re the only two in the room having a private conversation. That’s what the ad agency you went with told you, yes?

We’ve quickly evolved to down and out mind control. SRSLY. The commercial I just heard (I shit you not, as I write this, another commercial has popped up) has this kind old man on the radio telling me that if my man DOESN’T go to Kessler’s diamond for an engagement ring? He doesn’t love me. Yup. Kesslers means love. If you don’t have a Kessler, he doesn’t love you. ME? But I don’t have a Kessler…but the Bigg guy says he loves me??? I’m so confused!!!! I’m questioning everything about our relationship now. Well, not our mutual love for McBob’s Highlander Burgers BUT EVERYTHING ELSE!!!!

What! The! Fuck! Are we so stupid that we buy into a local ad campaign that something so meaningless represents love? SRSLY. Ok, yes, I think diamond rings are beautiful, I enjoy my diamond that I had reset after my divorce. (BTW, my ex didn’t get a Kessler diamond, I guess I see where we went wrong.) They’re sparkly and pretty and in all reality, probably make us gals sit a little straighter when we’re sporting them. That’s fine. Bigg’s mum lost her wedding diamond at a Bears game earlier this fall. That made me sad, her too. But now she has a new one set that makes her happy and me too and I kick myself every single time I leave her place because I forget to ask to see it! Every. Time. Diamonds are fun. FUN. **update, since I’ve written this, I saw Bigg’s mum’s diamond. It’s a beaut!

Not love. Not a girls best friend. Not a depth gauge as to how much my bigg guy loves me. It’s a thing. A stone. That’s all. It’s like saying you can get hugs from food…no you can’t. Shut up. You can’t get love from diamonds. Hey Kesslers? Shut up!

The commercial I mentioned above is a new one. A Christmas engagement ring with three diamonds. Cuz, ya know, one diamond is ghetto. Don’t be ghetto. (Where’s THAT diamond commercial? I’d actually GO to that store.) At the end of it, and you really won’t want to believe this but it’s true, the kind old man says in his warm voice, “Merry Christmas, we love you.” 

I nearly choked. You LOVE ME? Bitch please, you don’t even know me. I gave the radio a look that’s a mixture of ‘what’chu talking about Willis’ and ‘WTF!!!!’ Here are a couple of their tag lines…

Give her a Princess…and guess what that makes you?

With a choice like this…you’ll BOTH live happily ever after.

Dear Kesslers diamond, you don’t know me. Shut up. I don’t love you back. Shut up. I’m not so stupid that I allow you to talk me into the fact that keeping you in business is my man’s obligation or else he doesn’t love me. Shut up. Not only will I NOT ever take part in keeping you in business, I will do my darndest to spread the word that your ad campaign is full of shit. Dear old guy talking (could be Mr. Kessler himself, I don’t care), stop trying to tell me my guy doesn’t love me if he doesn’t by your diamond. You’re wrong. You’re offensive and you’re wrong.  Your ad agency lied, you don’t come across as warm and “loving.” You come across as desperate, so desperate to make a sale that you try to bully someone into it. Fok off.

Really want to show your girl you love her? Make her a different tasty meal once a week; pick up your socks; build her a kickass gym in the garage; give her lots of hugs and oh, try this one…tell her you love her. Duh. Oh wait, my guy already does this stuff. So he DOES love me! And we didn’t even need to go to the dipshit Kesslers store to prove it!! Ok, less confused. All is well.

I have never hated a man enough to give his diamonds back.

Zsa Zsa Gabor

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And I’m 120!

Posted on November 14, 2013 by tosabarbell

Two things. First…our hotel in Vilnius was attached to the Tennis center and Z’s gym. Most of us were on the 4th floor so stairs were out of the question. The mini sized elevators were, well, mini. Bigg and I fit and once we had a tiny eastern European man with us but he was smooshed to the door and it was kinda awkward. I commented right away that I’d like to see how many Strongman we could fit in this thing. Think clowns and a VW bug, YO!

2nd…by far two of my favorite new friendly Strongman in Vilnius were Alex Moonen the Dutchie and Rob Frampton the Brit. I’m finding I really like the Dutchie’s. They’re direct; and honest; but kind; kind of. They’re probably a little abrupt but I really respond to that. Go figure. Also, when I handed Alex Highland Games Minion and told him his story, he jumped right in…

Vilnius 064

The funny thing about Alex also is that when he has his beard, he and the Bigg guy look a lot alike in the face. In fact, one of the amateurs called Matt Alex when they saw him in the lobby our first night. Anyways, Alex is funny; and strong; and smart; and witty; and an awesome dude to hang out with. Rob Frampton proves that those Brits are just all around great people to befriend. He’s hard working and at the same time self deprecating to the point of hilarity. He has a sweet side that was similar to what I also noticed with Loz in Findlandia last spring. Somewhat soft spoken but ready to crack a joke at a moment’s notice. We basically kidnapped Rob for post event drinks with Marcel and Dutchie Strongman Simon Sulaiman (another awesome Dutchie of course.) It was chill but a great time. OH! Rob also does an amazing American accent that sounds like a combination of North Dakotan; nerd; and hilarious. We always knew where Rob was when he’d yell, “Hey Matt!!” from anywhere. It was awesome.

ANYWAYS! All of the above comes to this. When we arrived back to the hotel after Sunday’s competition, Bigg, me, Alex, and Rob crammed into the tiniest ever elevator including their gym bags. Tight fit. We tried to check the max load of the elevator but couldn’t read the writing. We started ticking off the weight load of our group. Bigg: 165kg; Rob: 160 (ish..don’t remember exactly); Alex: maybe 160ish, again, don’t remember exactly. We were quiet for about 5 seconds when I piped up and said, AND I’M 120! Rob didn’t bite at all but Alex gave me a side-eyed look with a face of near panic thinking…I don’t think she weighs 260 pounds but I don’t know what to say!!!! Poor Alex. Matt pshhhh’d and quickly said that of course I’m not 120 but I said, Well I’m big and strong! With relief, Alex said yes, strong for sure.  Poor Dutchie.

Big and Strong. I actually work really, really hard to be big and strong. Now I don’t want to be big and fluffy, but I do want to be big and strong. Cuz as the Lady GaGa says, I was born that way. I was talking yesterday with one of my clients. David is in his late 50’s, slight build, and keeps us healthy and strong with their Ono Hawaiian food. He weighs about 150 pounds and squatted 60kg yesterday for the first time. He’s awesome. Anyways. I remarked that the last time I weighed 150#??? Probably about 9th grade. Maybe. I know when I was 16 and got my first drivers license my weight on that was 175 (I didn’t know you could lie about that stuff back then.)

Now, I wasn’t a 10th grade fatty. I did ok. I could have done more conditioning but all we knew back then was running and that just wasn’t happening. So I’d run around the bases in softball but that was it. Point is, I was born big and strong. Now I’m stronger…and bigger. There are just some places that middle age puts some fluff. A better off season diet; high volume training, and kettlebells are taking care of that and what it doesn’t, well I’m not going to sweat it. All’s well. I do ok.

I’m obviously not 120…but big and strong? Yup. Born that way…taking advantage of it, YO!

Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.

Mae West

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Comfy

Posted on November 13, 2013 by tosabarbell

The local radio station posed an interesting question yesterday as I listened, swinging a few of my 500kb swings a day. What is your favorite comfort food? People called in and gave the usual junk answers, Twinkies (thanks dogs for them that they’re back!); Mountain Dew (that’s a food?); cake (that’s a food?); pasta; chili dogs, etc. Basically, which food do we turn to when we need comfort.

Uhhhhhhhh, huh?

Food doesn’t comfort. Duh. Food fuels. Food is prepared. Food is processed in our bodies. Food is savored by our taste buds assuming you haven’t killed them with too much sugar and carbs (which many of you have but don’t even know it.) But comfort? Someone’s going to have to explain that one to me.

Ohhhhh, I see. When someone is stressed or sad, their HABIT is to consume shitty food and they’ve talked themselves INTO the idea that it is needed for comfort to feel better. Nice. (Insert V8 forehead punch here. Ya, punch. Don’t waste time with a silly palm bump. Punch some common sense into that sugar hazed brain of yours.) You don’t want to give up this shitty food, which by the way, is keeping you from feeling your best and gives you the ability to think clearer to deal with the issue you needed “comfort” from in the first place.  Gotcha. Comfort on…

Habits can be changed. It’s hard at first, but completely doable. It’s much easier to change a habit then to talk yourself out of some misled attachment to an inanimate object that you believe you need just cuz you’re having a bad day. Food holds no power people unless you are starving. Like, really starving. As in, I have to humble myself and take my family to a shelter for dinner just so they can eat and thank gods that we HAVE a food shelter that will take us. Starving. Chances are 99.999999% that that’s not you. So food? NO. POWER. 

Lots of us work hard in the gym. Right now, this is some of the hardest work I’ve done. High volume; throws drills; watching my food (2# of ground turkey with onions and brown rice still needs to be made up for the next couple of days); kettlebell swings, with an Oly or Throw day thrown in there. Why in the hellz would I then go and eat a meal that will not only make me feel like crap for two days OR send me into some type of sugar/carb coma, but completely derail my progress??? I don’t want to feel like crap. I want to feel big and strong! Crap isn’t comfy. It’s crap.

So I had to think long and hard about a “comfort food” for me. I’m going with blueberry pancakes. I’ve always enjoyed blueberry pancakes, with just a hint of powdered sugar and a good mix of blueberry AND maple syrup. As much as that sounds good right now, I know the after effects would be so miserable it’s not even a hint of temptation. When I want to be comforted I’ll go snuggle with one of my kids; or my Bigg guy; or my dogs. Dogs are great for comfort. If you think you need food, get a dog. And if your dog doesn’t give you comfort, get a different dog. SRSLY.

His touch was like heroin in my veins, and I was a grateful addict.

Kitty Thomas, Comfort Foods

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