Do These Pants Make My Butt Look Big? A Day in Pictures [Giveaway!]

Props to Ice-T's wife for answering that question with confidence! But what up with the shoes, Coco?

I learned a long time ago to never ask my husband the infamous "Do I look fat in these pants?" question as the mere utterance makes him fake a heart attack. Which would be good entertainment, especially in restaurants, except that it scares the children. The problem, however, is that sometimes a girl just needs a straight answer to that question. I keep telling him that a simple, "Yes. Those pants are not flattering." will not send me running to my closet in tears but he doesn't believe me. It might have something to do with the crazed glint in my eye. Or the fact that he has found me crying in our closet before. Anyhow, that's what I've got girlfriends for. And a seven-year-old son apparently.

Let me back up.

Last Saturday, thanks to my sweet friend D (she of personal training fame) who watched my lil' Jelly Bean, I finally got to return to my beloved TurboKick! Be still my anxious heart!

That's me - the teeny little head in the back row (standing on my tip toes), 4th from the left in the Santa hat.

I'm baaaaack! And... shoeless! (Wha?)

See me literally jumping for joy? The cardio has returned to my life and it is sweet.

But after months of wearing the same two pairs of super stretchy and now stretched-out exercise pants, I was ready for some new gym togs. The universe heard my plea and answered in the form of new pants from Ivee Style. (That noise you just heard? all the Gym Buddies heaving a sigh of relief that they won't have to stare at my threadbare butt anymore.) The universe apparently does not approve of me running all my errands in my sweaty gym duds because Ivee specializes in performance gear that you can also hit the street in. Their gym clothes are more stylish than any of my Going Out clothes! That is if I still Went Out. Which I don't. But that's a problem for another day.

Which brings us to the following photo shoot, done by the aforementioned brutally honest 7-year-old. Are you ready? 'Cause I sure wasn't.

The pants, made out of soft bamboo, are as comfy as mac-n-cheese. Plus the piping made my legs look longer and my butt curvier, just as promised. Not so bad, right? Especially considering I'd been up all night with this:

She has a touch of the colic. And by "touch" I mean she cries as often as reality shows have spinoffs. Still, isn't she adorable even then?? (PS. You know you are a mom of 4 when instead of picking your baby up when she cries, you stop to take a picture first!)

But hopefully you didn't eat much of that mac-n-cheese because then there is the front view. While I can't speak for the entire Ivee line - modeled by catwalk models I now notice - these pants are not forgiving.


"How's it look? Did the picture turn out?" I asked my son. I mean he's a decent paparazzo but he is only 7 after all. He answered, "The picture looks great! But you look fat in those pants." And I said I wanted honesty. I shudder to think what he would have said had I picked the white ones.

As a point of comparison, here's the same shot of what I ended up actually wearing to the gym today:

Same body but minus the thigh bulge spotlights and the peanut gallery. So perhaps this is less of a criticism of Ivee and more of an indication that I don't know how to pick clothes that look good on me!

But enough about me - let's get YOU some new clothes! Ivee Style is offering one reader a 30$ gift code to spend on anything on their site. And no worries, if you don't have model perfect thighs either they've got darling tanks, sweaters, jackets and even tunics! To enter, head on over to their site and pick out your two favorite items then come back here and tell me what they are! Winner will be announced Monday Dec. 21!

So - anyone else actually expect a real answer to the "Do I look fat in these pants" question? How do you answer it - are you truthful? Anyone else as amazed by Coco's butt as I am?!

Update: Apparently Ivee's site is down. I e-mailed them so hopefully it will come back online soon but in the meantime, just leave me any comment and I'll count that as your entry for the contest!

My Unthankful Thanksgiving

I'll admit I wasn't feeling the gratitude today. (Which is okay, right? I mean I still have a few hours left to procrastinate my character improvement.) This morning found me walking the track at the gym, my baby in a front carrier and nothing to entertain me except my mp3 player... which was dead. So basically I spent an hour walking in small circles and muttering to myself like a crazy person, nary a Gym Buddy in sight. That last bit was the real problem. See, all the Gym Buddies were absent this morning because they were saving up their childcare hours so they could come to the big Turbo holiday sweatfest tonight. The one I can't attend because a) my baby is too young to go in the childcare and the gym management frowns on babies in kickboxing classes and b) my body isn't healed up enough yet to handle it.

To understand my extreme angst you must know this is no ordinary cardio class. Every year Turbo Jennie crafts a particularly torturous 90 minutes of kickboxing intervals interspersed with crazy dance moves that she calls her Holiday Mix. It's a total party and you burn mega calories the night before Thanksgiving so you can indulge guilt free the day of. (That's the theory anyhow - me and my neuroses are not into guilt-free anything. But I'm working on that.) I live for the Holiday Mix.

And this year not only am I condemned to the hamster wheel but I have to sit at home knowing everyone is having a great time without me, not unlike the time I went to a girl's-choice dance in high school only to have my date take off with my best friend and then watch as her date tried to get drunk by chugging bottles of breath drops. (In case anyone is wondering, no it didn't work but I ended up having to walk home anyway after they decided there wasn't enough room for me in the car.)

As I walked my bajillionth lap and pondered the incongruity of a Thanksgiving event making me seriously ungrateful, a news story popped up on one of the large screen TVs. "Burned boy facing lifelong recovery" was the headline, accompanied by a picture of a horribly burned child. Then his mother came on the screen, sobbing, "I'm just grateful he's alive!"

5 points to the Big Guy upstairs: I get it, my problems are small. (Note to self: God uses HDTV.)

After that I decided to use my laps to think about all I have to be thankful for. It wasn't too many before I came to see the wisdom in Chris Illuminati's Unthankful Thanksgiving post (yes Chris, I just used you and wisdom in the same sentence):

Thankful is minor. Thankful is the feeling when a stranger points out I’ve mistakenly dropped a wad of money in a crowded store or when the UPS guy puts the package in between the screen door and front door so it doesn’t get drenched, or worse, stolen. Thankful is coming home and the package hasn’t been stolen and I can forgo a call to Amazon and beg for a replacement.

My family and friends, the coming bundle of boyhood, the upward course of my writing career and the pending book are not things to be thankful for because they are much more. They are blessings. Blessings trump thanks.

[P.S. Do check out his book! He is hilarious and awesome.]

He's right. Not only do I have a million things to be thankful for but as the good Friar tells Romeo, I also have "a pack of blessings light upon [my] back." So while I still can't go to the Turbo Party, how cool is it that I have so many fun friends that I cried because I miss them? (I know, who cries over missing a cardio class? Me, that's who.) And how blessed am I to have 4 beautiful, healthy children? And a wonderful husband? And loving parents and siblings who are my best friends? And to be healthy myself? After I covered all the big blessings in my life (all of you blog buddies and readers also made the list!), I moved on to all the little things I'm grateful for. Like an indoor track so at least I'm not walking in the rain. And the fact that it's November here and it's still warm enough that we have rain! And binkies. Bobby pins. Books. (And the letter B, apparently.) Also: I haven't had an anxiety attack in over 4 days! The hormonal tides they are a' turning! Woohooo!

In the end I was even grateful my mp3 player had died or I never would have had this little schizophrenic chat with myself. I hope that all of you - whether or not you celebrate Thanksgiving where you are - will make the effort to consider your blessings today as well. Bonus points if you aren't as whiny about it as I was!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Vote for Turbo Jennie!!

That's Jennie in front. I'm the one in the dorky hat. (It was St. Patrick's Day Turbo!)

Those of you that read this blog know all about Turbo Jennie - YMCA's Group Fit Instructor of the Year, kickboxing teacher who helped me face my sexual assault, teacher who does all those crazy "theme" TurboKick workouts (see above), owner of the Rainbow Brite sneakers, etc. This year she's going to TurboKick Camp - like summer camp but with mike packs and zebra pants - and she's running for "TurboKick VIP"! So click here to vote her! (Click the purple link that says "Vote for the elite 11" and then scroll down until you find her name - Jennie Berglund - about 3/4 of the way down.) You don't have to be from Minnesota - or even know her! - to vote! Go Jennie!

The Problem With Fitness Hair (Giveaway!!)

Well, this might do the trick. But then I might have more problems than I started out with... (photo credit)

Turbo Jennie calls it her splash zone. Not because she has any resemblance to Shamu - quite the opposite - but because anyone within a certain radius of her gets sprinkled with her sweat as it gets flung off the ends of her hair as she teaches TurboKick. Admittedly cardio kickboxing is a very sweaty endeavor but Turbo Jennie is not alone in this problem. Another instructor has to wipe the mirrors in front of her off when she's done teaching, so prolific is her sweat flippage. As for me, I routinely whip myself - or on the odd occasion some poor gym soul who dared to stand too close - in the face with a sweat-soaked pony tail. It stings! Especially if it gets me in the eye.

The problem is not that we are all super sweaty girls. The problem is our hair. Despite what TV and fitness mags would have you believe, us girls do not show up to workout with long flowing locks swinging happily in the breeze. Unless you like the taste of sweat and dirty hair, you have to restrain those suckers. The issue is how.

A ponytail is generally the first solution. Of course you have to have hair long enough to pull back into a single rubberband. Then you have to deal with layers or bangs that won't pull back. And then you have to check the mirror for "bumps" (at which point I think I just lost all the men reading). And then there's placement of the pony: the right-in-the-middle-of-the-back-of-your-head look favored by fitness models only works if you will not be laying on your back. Ab work, weights, yoga, and Pilates all hate that ponytail. So do you move it up high to the top and feel 5 again? Or do you ride it low and endure the feeling of so much hair on your neck? And what to do with the resulting ponytail "dent" when you're done?!

You may decide that the ponytail just won't work. There are still lots of options: pig tails, french braid(s), head bands, sweat bands, do rags, barrettes, scrunchies (seriously??) and the ever-popular scaffolding of bobby pins. One of my personal faves: crazy buns a la Gwen Stefani:

I'm the one on the right and don't judge me - it was Crazy Pattern Day in Turbokick. (You can't see it but my thigh-highs have polka dots on them!)

Each method has its pros and cons. Headbands - the elastic kind that go all the way around - pop off my head like they're spring loaded. (Speaking of head bands, have any of you tried that hair wrap stuff? I bought a roll and cannot make it work! If I tie it on my head I end up tying my hair into it which really hurts. If I tie it off my head it's never the right size. Once I get it on my head, it twists and pulls my hair. What's the trick? 10,000 high school soccer players can't be wrong...) Do rags keep all your hair down but they also make your head hot. And bobby pins, while very effective at holding hair, can pinch, twist, pull hair and sometimes sproing across the room at inconvenient moments. I'm just waiting for somebody to lose an eye in a group fit class.

My current fitness hair regimen involves a high-ish ponytail (that I can loosen and push up if I have to lay on my back) and my bangs pinned back with X-ed bobby pins. This works okay except I have to readjust several times, especially if we do headstands in yoga. Between all the hair fussing and the constant pulling on my bra straps (love the pregnancy rack, hate the double-bagging), I'm adjusting myself more than a male teen-aged swim team in their first Speedo uniforms.

One Solution - Hair Zings
Billed as "the original double comb hair accessory," the Hair Zing is a contraption made up of two hair combs (yes just like your granny used to wear) held together by a web of beaded elastic. According to their promo materials, they won't fall out, pinch your head, pull your hair or leave a crease. Ponytail dent solved! Even better is they lay flat against your scalp so you can lay on your back. You can even wear them swimming. And I got to try one out!

This is the one I picked: lots of fun colors and really stood out against my dark hair. Who wants to blend in??

So how was the Hair Zing in practice? The first issue is figuring out how to put it in. It looks really simple which is why I didn't read the directions first. I'm telling you now: read the directions first. Once I got it down though it wasn't too tricky. But then I couldn't figure out how to get all of my hair into it. No matter which way I stuck it in, there was always some hanging down on my neck. I hate hair on my neck. Hate. But I'm game for anything so I went ahead with my workout. It was a good thing I had my ponytail holder on my wrist for backup though as the Hair Zing slid right out of my hair. To be fair, I have really fine, thin hair. Headbands, barrettes, clips and even rubberbands also slide out of my hair so this probably wasn't the failure of the Hair Zing but rather my head. My real beef with the Hair Zing as a fitness accessory? It was so pretty! I know! It was all beaded and cutesy and made even a simply pull-back look like an elaborate do. The fitness downside was an everyday upside though as I did enjoy wearing it as I ran my errands. And it didn't fall out during normal daily activities.

My verdict: the Hair Zing doesn't doesn't solve my fitness hair problems but then not much does. It was really pretty and fun for everyday use and I'm excited to see what other hairdos I can do with it. (Want some ideas? Check out their website for tons of gorgeous hair pics.)

Want to try one yourself? I have THREE to give away. Leave me a comment telling me what your current strategy is for managing your fitness hair. Or tell me a funny story about your gym hair. The random number generator will pick three winners to be announced Friday.

Burn 1,000 Calories An Hour!

You've seen the workout program ads: in between shots of glistening, contracting abdominals and hyper smiling people who only sweat in socially acceptable places - your amped up cleavage if you are a woman, your shaved pecs if you are a man - comes the promise. What, you ask, can a DVD workout/exercise book/smiling B-list celeb promise me when it comes to cardio other than a perfect body, chiclet teeth and a spray tan so authentic that real sunshine is jealous? Why, the promise of amazing ultra-high superbad caloric burn of course!

I was reminded of this the other day as the Gym Buddies and I were sweating away on the elliptical machines (not our go-to workout but they were refinishing all the floors in the studios so it's what we were left with) and one of those ubiquitous exercise program infomercials came on. While we were giggling about watching people on TV exercise while actually exercising, large letters flashed up on the screen. "BURN up to 1,000 CALORIES AN HOUR!" flashed over all those heaving chests - the "up to" in conveniently small type of course.

This infomercial - may Billy Mays rest in peace - is not unique. All fitness programs, televised and otherwise, seem to make some kind of caloric promise. But how accurate are these claims? And does knowing the potential calorie burn of a workout help you make a better choice on how to sweat?

Can You Really Burn 1,000 Calories An Hour?
Anecdotal evidence first: According to my overly generous heartrate monitor of which I was once so attached to that I would turn around and go home to get the chest strap if I accidentally forgot it despite the fact that being small chested meant that it looked as if I was wearing some kind of strange back brace, I have burned over 1,000 calories in a single workout. The scene was "Holiday Turbokick" a special brand of torture that Turbo Jennie likes to put us through on occassions like the day before Thanksgiving, where we do 8 "turbos" (a high-intensity inverval lasting between 30 seconds and 2 minutes) interspersed with 4 finales or some such craziness. By the end I am turboing in a puddle of my own filth and can wring out my tank top like a Shamwow. It's enough to make a girl puke up her turkey before she even eats it, is what I'm saying. But by the time we hit cool down, I had burned just over 1,000 calories.

So it would seem possible - although unlikely (who wants to work out so hard you vomit every day?) - to attain that magic number. Except for two problems. 1) My heart rate monitor isn't terribly accurate. While I trust it's ability to read my actual beats per minute, its calorie burn function is apparently calculated based off a 6'6" male Russian Ice Swimmer. To prove this, I switched heart rate monitors with Gym Buddy Allison, who wears a Polar, and racked up 200-400 less calories per hour than my watch gave me.

2) Even the venerable Polar can't really tell you your caloric burn as metabolism is so individual as to render any mathematical formula at least slightly inaccurate. The research in this area is more prolific than one might think. Companies that make a living off of guaranteeing a good workout have invested a lot of energy into trying to figure out what number of calories people can expect to expend using their machines or programs. What they have discovered however is that while they can predict how many calories an individual, say Michael Phelps, is burning, those results are very difficult to generalize. In addition to individual metabolisms there are simply too many other variables. Therefore, the honest companies will give you a range of calories. The disingenuous ones will use that sneaky little phrase "up to" and then give you a Michael Phelpsian number.

Why Does it Matter How Many Calories You Burn?
Every fitness expert will tell you that weight loss, gain or maintenance comes down to simple math. It's all about the calories you take in through food in relation to those you expend through daily life and exercise. This over simplified truism often leads people to think things like, "If the treadmill says I burned 250 calories, then that means I can eat a 200 calorie muffin and still come out losing!" This, in turn, has made calorie burn the gold standard in assessing a fitness program's worth.

But dig a little deeper and you will realize that not only is calorie burn not the best indicator of a workout's power, it actually distracts you from other benefits of exercise. For instance, weight lifting typically doesn't burn comparatively as many calories as cardio for the same amount of time and yet it has many advantages like increased strength, muscle mass and overall functionality. Similarly, HIIT (high intensity interval training) burns a smaller amount of calories during the actual workout but causes a much greater spike in HGH (human growth hormone) than twice the amount of traditional medium-intensity cardio. Lastly cardio exercise is good for many things like increasing your oxygen utilization and building endurance, besides just burning off last night's dessert.

Is It A Good Thing To Burn 1,000 Calories An Hour?
Ignoring for a moment whether or not it's even possible to burn that many calories, one must ask if it is even a worthwhile fitness goal to strive to burn a particular high number of calories. To get that kind of calorie burn, one would have to push very hard in a high intensity type of cardio. Much has been said - and ignored - about the dangers of too much aerobic exercise in the highest heart rate zones. It elevates the stress hormone cortisol, causes systemic inflammation, necesitates longer recovery and increases your risk of injury, just to give you the short version.

In addition, an often overlooked fact by dieters and diet purveyors alike is that the more you exercise, the hungrier you get. From my personal experience the more calories I burn, the more my body wants to replace them - and fast. What's the quickest source of glycogen for our depleted muscular system? Sugar. I have found that after a long training run, it's almost impossible for me to stay away from the Jelly Bellies and other simple carbs for the rest of the day. However, when I strength train and/or keep my training volume low my sugar cravings diminish significantly (unless I'm PMSing but that's a different story entirely). Research backs me up by showing that dieters who create a calorie deficit purely from exercise don't lose weight - because their bodies eat to adjust. So, what's the point in burning (up to) 1,000 calories if my body is immediately going to want to replace (at least) 1,000 calories with whatever food is easiest for me to scarf down?

Conclusions
Calorie burn doesn't matter. First, chances are that unless you are an Olympic swimmer, you're not burning what they say you are burning. Second, it's probably not giving you the result you are looking for. If you are exercising for weight loss, then you aren't doing yourself any favors by torching excessive calories and signalling your body to go into eat mode. And if you're exercising for fun and/or weight maintenance then calorie burn is just another number.

All of which is not to say that exercise - even an occasional session of long, intense cardio - shouldn't be done. Ask any triathlete, marathon runner or Iron(wo)man if their race was worth it and most of them will give you an enthusiastic yes. But it isn't because they burned 3,000 calories, it's because they were having fun and it gave them a sense of accomplishment. Does it mean that I don't get a great workout from Holiday Turbokick if I don't burn quadruple-digit calories? No! I'm still increasing my endurance and having a lot of fun to boot. My point: When we are evaluating the merit of a particular fitness program, there are a lot of better factors to consider than supposed maximum calorie burn.

But enough about what I think! What do you think about the calorie-burn claims of fitness programs/machines/gurus? Anyone else ever get obsessed with their heart rate monitors? Anyone have a particular fitness infomercial that they just can't stop watching??

Possibly the best workout video I have ever seen. "Eurotrain!!!" is going to be my new motto.

Bodily Functions & Fitness 101: Gaseous Emissions

I did yoga this morning. Per usual, it was a sweaty-yet-relaxing good time and I enjoyed myself immensely (fave part: the stares when I did my headstand inversion, pregnant belly and all). But there was one part at the end that got a little awkward. It's called Happy Baby Pose:
It ought to be called Embarrassing Baby Pose. Don't know why? Try it. Just do it. I don't care if you're at work. Just tell your boss it's an experiment for science. Still don't get it? Pull down on your feet a bit harder and... ahhh. There you go. Hint: it's doubly dangerous if you're a woman. As if that's not enough, yoga actually has a Breaking Wind Pose - although strangely in all my years of yoga this is not one I see often in a class setting. In fact, yoga has a whole slew of poses specifically designed to, well, expel gas from various orifices.

It's one of those quirks about being human. If you have an orifice and it is in proper working order then that means that sometimes things will fly out of it. Burping, farting, sneezing, hiccuping and if you're a woman - that other thing (which due to advertiser restrictions I cannot name but judging from the number of e-mails I get about this topic, you all know what I mean) - all happen. And for the most part you can't really control them. Sure you can "hold it" and sometimes that works. But sometimes holding it just leads to a bigger, noisier explosion in the end. (Side note: I had a friend in high school actually crack a rib from trying to hold in a sneeze!)

So I'm going to skip the recommendations on how to prevent these particular occurrences and go right to the good part: what to do when it happens. And it will happen eventually. It's not just yoga that brings out the gassiness in us. While each person has their own personal "Happy Baby" trigger, common offenders are ab works, straddles & deep squats and any class requiring a perfectly quiet room.

How To Deal With Gas
1. Hold it. This is generally the first strategy people try but unless your gas is just teasing you then this technique won't work very long. It also has the unfortunate side effect of possibly making things worse when your Old Faithful finally does blow. Case in point: One evening I made the mistake of eating a massive bowl of edamame (soy beans) 15 minutes before a Turbokick class. My body doesn't react well to soy, especially not soy that is swallowed and then jostled around to aerobically remixed Hip Hop. Being of a generally inoffensive nature, I dutifully held it in. And watched my stomach expand like a hot air balloon. Which led me to...

2. Escape. Leave the immediate area - preferably to go somewhere well ventilated like outdoors - and then let 'er rip. Be sure to walk around a bit or fan yourself with a newspaper so you don't bring it back in with you. The problem with using escape is that a) you have to have enough time to get out and often gas erupts with little warning, especially that other thing and b) you have to have someplace to go. If you are deep in the bowels (forgive me) of a mega gym then your chances of finding someplace unpopulated quickly are slim. Me and my now-tight-like-a-drum belly tried to escape but the studio was surrounded by the cardio floor, weight floor and track. I'd have to go to an entirely different level to find an exit! Which led to my next option...

3. Cover it up. If you have loud music, like we do in Turbokick, then you're golden. Belch, scream, sneeze, and even do the Happy Baby with impunity as nobody will know the difference. If you do somehow end up louder than the music you can always pretend it was part of the remix. No one will notice. If you don't have loud music, like in yoga, a well-timed "cough" or giggle can cover a multitude of sins. Unless, of course, there is a smell attached. Soy bean farts, sadly, have a very distinctive smell thereby necessitating...

4. Dispersion. It doesn't matter if you failed the physical sciences in school, the laws of nature will still work regardless of if you understand them. And the one you want to invoke here is the law of particle dispersion. What you need to do is dilute the smell so that it dissipates quickly in the air but more importantly so people won't be able to trace it to you. There are several methods of dispersion: the fan technique (generally too obvious although I have seen it done!), the wandering away technique (nice try but the scent usually follows you like the paparazzi on Jon Gosselin), and - my personal favorite - the jumping around technique. The latter requires lots of big movements in an effort to stir up the air and get some fresh stuff mixed in. The trick, of course, is to do it without letting on why you're doing it. It's a fine art and one that I'll admit I'm still working on. Oh, but there's one more little science factoid you need to know about dispersion: it doesn't work well in an enclosed environment. Like a class studio. Oops. No matter how much I jumped and kicked and punched, the gas crept across the room like a putrid cloud. Which led to...

5. Accept and apologize. Sometimes there's just nothing you can do. Everyone in yoga is doing their (silent) centered breathing and your butt decides to go off like a machine gun on automatic followed up by a high pitched squeal and a pop like a firecracker. Or you're trying this straddle move in the middle of the weight floor and you surprise all the meatheads around you with a Happy Baby incident. Or you ate too much soy and now the smell has people on the other side of class asking what died (true story). If you're all adults then chances are most people will ignore the incident out of courtesy and while you will still be red faced, nobody will say anything. However, if you're like me and the Gym Buddies, you'll probably laugh. I can't help it. I know it's juvenile but it just comes out of me. And once the perpetrator starts laughing then who can resist a good chuckle? Last resort is to apologize. A sincere straight-faced "Sorry, dude, I ate soy for dinner" can go a long way. Plus it's a small price to pay for a comfortably deflated stomach.

Although once you have reached this stage in the process you know that you're never going to live it down, right?

Any of you have a patented gas technique? What's your worst trigger? What's your most embarrassing gasseous emission story? Anyone actually get down and try Happy Baby??

Assault: On Causing Pain

Yeah, I look all innocent here, punching BOB.

It is an oft-repeated axiom that opposites attract. This is not true. At least not when it comes to people. Rather, as any social psychologist will tell you, like attracts like. I know that many people will protest "but my significant other is my exact opposite!" This is almost certainly false, else how would you have met in the first place? Most of us have quite a lot in common with those we love which is probably why the differences stand out so starkly in our minds.

This truism has positive applications. My husband, for instance, is a great lover of books and one of the smartest people I've ever met. I like to think that shine reflects on me as well. But there is also a darker side, one I was confronted with during my last Karate lesson. (Side note: why is it that Karate always seems to bring out my character flaws? None of my other workouts do this to me. And no that question is not rhetorical.)

Due to a strange confluence of events involving one classmate pinned down by hostile fire in a government-sponsored mock terrorist attack (she leads an interesting life), another blithely enjoying a Missy Higgins (LOVE her!) concert and a third pleading pregnancy (like that's an excuse), Karate ended up being just Sensei Don, the Senior Student (who has a title - "Sempei", I believe), and myself. You'd think they'd take it easy on me but no. We did some warm up drills and then went right to my favorite rounds of two-minute punching intervals with the pads.

The lesson of the evening was elbow strikes. As per my usual, I couldn't get my form right at first and spent the first couple of rounds growling at myself in frustration but once they tweaked my stance and angle, I managed to hit with some power. It made me laugh. And not in a girly hee hee, look at me hit something way but closer to a muwhahahah maniacal laugh that just bubbled out. I couldn't help myself. Sempei Bill was taken aback. "Wow, you, um, really like that!"

He had no idea. I didn't just like it. I loved it. It was like the time I went crazy with the punches and split my knuckles open. I didn't even see the blood; all I could think about was how to hit harder and faster. Nothing felt as good as the thwack of my elbow connecting with the pad. So here's where it got scary: part of the allure was that it was an actual person holding the pad. I imagined I was hitting them. Even now, I'm embarrassed writing that and feel like I owe them an apology. (Sorry, guys!)

See that crazy glint in my eye?? Be afraid. (Also, see how red my knuckles are? Ouch.)

After the drills got us nice and sweat soaked, we moved on to middle blocks and punches, taking turns on each other - no pads involved. At first when I punched, Sensei Don moved in front of my hand. See, he had to because I wasn't aiming for him. I was punching rather randomly at the air in his general vicinity. I thought I was being respectful - I mean social convention says it is not nice to hit people, even if they do walk in front of your fist. He corrected me, saying that it is actually quite disrespectful to not throw a real punch when instructed to do so by your teacher. That I was, in essence, calling him weak. So he told me to try again saying, "One of the hardest things with beginning karate students is to get them to throw a punch. But someday you're going to really want to bring Bill or I down."


Someday? Try today. I had never before considered that that was a viable possibility but now the thought of actually hitting (or throwing!) someone hard enough to take them down made me vibrate with excitement. For a brief moment I was overcome with an urge to hit him as hard as I could, to see blood, to cause pain. It played perfectly in my mind's eye and I was shocked at the thrill it gave me, rather like that scene in the first Lord of the Rings book where Galadriel goes all Evil Psycho Elf Princess when tempted by the ring (oh yes I am that nerdy! And also, now I know what I'm going to write on my next t-shirt). I scared myself with how much I wanted to do it. Even in spite of the fact that (3rd degree blackbelt) Sensei Don would have me eating carpet before I made my first move. Even in spite of the fact that I have no idea how to begin "taking someone down." Even in spite of the fact that Sensei Don has never been anything but kind to me and killing Gym Buddy Megan's husband might make the gym a wee bit awkward. And even in spite of the fact that I'm a nice girl.

It is that last thought that was most upsetting to me. You see, G. used to love to cause me pain. Physical, emotional - either was good, both were preferable. He enjoyed setting it up, inflicting it and then watching me (and others) suffer. It was the fundamental dynamic in our relationship and continued on over time and distance through the court case. I still remember the shock I felt when I finally realized that all the pain and humiliation were not mere byproducts of him living his life and me being in the way, but rather calculated attacks. Why would anyone do that?

For a long time I chalked it up to an innate sadistic nature. True sadists exist, albeit rarely. But what if G. was not a sadist? What if I demonized him in order to sanctify my victimhood, an effort to make the blacks blacker and the whites whiter? I do like my worldviews clear cut. And what if - and this thought frightens me more than I will admit out loud - we are more alike than I previously thought? Was that what it was like for him when he held me down and choked me until I saw shooting stars, both of us knowing that help and friends were a mere 10 feet away and yet I could not and he would not make a sound? Did he get that same hot rush? Did his hands tremble with excitement like mine had? Did he picture my blood and tears perfectly in his mind's eye? Did he laugh?

And, most importantly, does that mean that I harbor the same impulse to harm? If you want to play a fun party game, think of the things that annoy you most about people. Chances are those things are your personal weakness as well. You hate them because you are them. I am deeply afraid of cultivating that instinct to hurt in myself. I am afraid of Karate if it brings that out in me. Some of you may say that this is just my body's way of learning how stay safe. That I've been violated so it only makes sense that I would feel a need to defend myself.

To which I would reply, with shame, that it was not about the defense. As I stood in my bathroom later that night after my Karate lesson was long done and everyone was safely in their beds, examing the bruises on my arms from wrist to elbow that were already beginning to swell and purple, I knew what it was. It was aggression.

I am my own worst nightmare.

I'm not exactly sure what I hope to gain by telling you this. I can't hardly expect people to chime in with "Oh no, Charlotte! You're totally normal, I dream about killing random people all the time!" Even if you do. And most of you are too kind to say, "Might be time to talk to that doctor about some more happy pills, sweetie." At best I suppose this might give me more personal space in TurboKick. Except that it really bothers me that I feel this way. How do I make it stop?

Drinks On Me! (Yes, That Means a Giveaway!)

If you think my food quirks are weird, you should try buying me a drink. Truly, it's a wonder I still have friends that will be seen with me in public places any more.

Gym Buddy Paul found this out the hard way the other day at a TurboKick social gathering (that's right - we're all such TurboFans that we get together outside of Turbo to talk about Turbo. Sometimes we even bust out our moves together. Think line dancing. But louder. And with violence. It's hawt.) Paul noticed that I was the only one in our raucus group sans beverage and in an effort to be chivalrous, offered to buy me a drink.

That's me, lower left flexing my guns! Tough crowd, no? Wouldn't want to meet us walking down a dark alley. Mostly because we'd fill the alley. And if it was dark there would be a lot of smooshed toes, I'm sure.

For most people - make that normal people - this would be a no-brainer. But we all know by now that I am not normal. And so I declined. "Are you sure?" He looked worried, perhaps wondering if I might pass out from dehydration like I did once before in TurboKick when he happened to save the day with a VitaWater. I am not known for my common sense.

But this time I was not just being boneheaded about my (in)ability to do fasted-state cardio. Let's start with my religious beliefs. I'm LDS and so that rules out anything alcoholic. (Side note: I may be the only person you've ever met that has never, not even once, tasted alcohol. Don't worry, I'm still fun at parties - I've prepped an impressive list of stupid human tricks that I can whip out at a moment's notice. ) We also choose not to drink coffee or tea. (Additional side note: but hot chocolate is okay. You know that decadent Stephen's gourmet cocoa? Invented by an LDS person, natch. I think we account for 75% of the world's hot chocolate consumption.) All of which might be well and good - many LDS folks manage to have perfectly lovely social lives, even in a liquid setting - until you add my personal neuroses on top of it.

I don't like drinking my calories. This eliminates 90% of beverages. I also don't like artificial sweeteners. And that eliminates the last 10%. I haven't had soda in years. So what do I drink? Ice water with lemon. Unsweetened herbal teas. Maybe milk if I'm feeling really kicky. In case anyone is wondering, smoothies, with their numberless calorie-laden ingredients and dubious supplements and faux-health foods and fruit stripped of all fiber, are my own personal hell. Welcome to the wide wonderful world of Charlotte's mind.

And yet there are a select few beverages that I will drink if the stars are aligned just right and my meds have kicked in, my favorite being pomegranate juice. I love pomegranates. Persephone is my favorite of all the Greek mistresses. And the juice? Is a tart-n-tangy antioxidant cocktail that has the added bonus of turning your lips a really awesome shade of red. (Seriously, I would kill for a lip gloss in that color!) I will break my no-calorie beverage rule for good pomegranate juice.

And the good folks at POM Wonderful decided to help me spread the stained love. One thing that has always got me about pomegranate juice is the wide disparity in taste and price among "100% pomegranate juice." POM Wonderful cleared that up for me. Apparently most of the other brands are manufactured in countries that do not check the contents of what they sell, allowing things marked as 100% juice to actually be cut with a variety of other, cheaper juices. The POM juice is the only brand guaranteed to be 100% pomegranate juice and nothing else. And come on, nobody likes their drugs - nutraceutical or otherwise - cut with cheap fillers! I tried out a bottle of POM next to a glass of a cheap frozen brand. I could a difference in the juice even before drinking it and the tastes were completely different.

You up for the health-nut version of the Pepsi challenge? The POM Wonderful people are giving five of you a free bottle to try it out and see if you can't tell the difference. Just leave me a comment below telling me what your favorite beverage of choice is to be entered into the contest! Winners to be announced Monday, contest NOT limited to the U.S. Wahoo!

So, anyone else out there nutty about drinking their calories? Also, big question of the day: do you call it "soda" or "pop"? (If you answer "coke", you just outed yourself as a Southerner and will be forced to show off your adorable accent every time I talk to you!)

PS> Gym Buddy Paul: Your kind gesture was very much appreciated! Thanks for being my friend even though I'm certifiable;)

And Now For the Talent Portion: Finding What You Are Good At

I got a fabulous compliment the other day. My friend R, a hilarious Brazilian woman that can Samba like nobody's business, pulled me aside after Turbokick. "I have to tell you something. Did you see those ladies in the back in Zumba the other night? Well, they wanted to know who you were because they all said, 'Wow, that girl can really move! She's got great hips.'" Then R leaned in conspiratorially and added, "And they're real Latinas so they know good Salsa when they see it."

I spent the rest of the day beaming and checking out my latin hip action in every available reflective surface. (I am a favorite among the late-night stockers at Target.) The reason this compliment meant so much to me is that despite spending a good portion of my life dancing - it is one of my top 3 favorite things to do - I am not a naturally gifted dancer. And I've been around dancers long enough to know that there is such an animal.

I'm not graceful, I don't pick up choreography particularly fast and I have to really work to not look like a marionette with a hyperactive puppetmaster (true story: I have actually hit myself in the face during Hip Hop.) All of which is not to say I'm a horrible dancer. I'm not. It just doesn't come easily to me. That was true when I was on a swing dance team in college and it is true every Monday and Thursday night in Hip Hop and Zumba.

But what is also true is that I have a lot of tenacity. When I love something, I do it all out. I Salsa at home in my kitchen with a child holding one hand and a sippy full of curdled milk in the other. (My kids' favorite game to play is hide the sippy cup from mommy. Nothing says fun like playing hide and go seek with a ticking time bomb of rotten milk!) I corner the best dancers after class and beg them to show me the tricky part just one more time. I watch dancing tutorials on YouTube and despite my general ban on television and movies, I will watch any movie - no matter how plot-challenged - if it has dancing in it. (The final dance scene from Stomp The Yard still gives me goosebumps. The Humpty Dance from Step Up 2 is a classic at our house. And hellooooo Center Stage with the magical spinning costume change!) This passion, it's a gift.

We all have gifts. Every single person is naturally good at something. Our instinct, born of spot-the-cellulite mag covers and hypercritical television shows, is to focus on what we're bad at rather than our talents. But I think this life is about making the most of what you've got rather than bemoaning what you haven't. So here's the deal, I want all of you to come up with three things that you are good at. Take your time, think about it and then post what you know is true.


I'll go first:
1. I'm persistent. (Sometimes like a pitbull but we'll call it a gift.)
2. I'm willing to try something even if I know I'm not going to be the best at it.
3. I can laugh at myself.

So tell me what you are good at! Are you a good listener? Are you great at motivating and inspiring groups of people? Do you have perfect pitch? Or great balance? Can you make conversation easily with strangers? Or three free-throws in a row? Unwrap a Starbust using only your tongue? I want to hear all about what you're good at! (If you can't think of anything, call your mother. That's what we're here for!)

How To Enjoy Your Workout in Three Easy Steps

Gym Buddies Andrea (who will never ever get hit by a car while running at night), Sarah, Allison, Sunshine, Me, and Serena

People sometimes ask me, "How on earth do you find motivation to workout every day? Don't you get bored?" The next time someone says this to me I'm going to whip these pics out of my wallet and answer, "How often do you get to wear a gold lame (accent on the e, thankyouverymuch) leotard, pink chuck T's and rat your hair Whitesnake style all while getting the workout of your life?" True, not every night is '80s TurboKick night at my gym - and thank heavens for that, it took me 20 minutes to use the bathroom and I had wedgies from three different angles - but this is just a great example of the kind of party people I sweat with. So how do you get your own bore-proof workout, you ask? I'll tell you in three easy steps:

Step One: Find a Great Teacher
Sorry kids, Turbo Jennie's already taken but there are a ton of great fit instructors out there. It's amazing the difference a good teacher can make. Gyms attract big personalities so find somebody whose personality matches what you need. Love a cheerful, Energizer bunny type with pumping music? Check out step aerobics! Dream about a warm and soothing voice reminding you to breathe ('cause you know you forget)? The yoga teacher's got your back. Miss the verbal abuse and tough love of your childhood? Bootcamp Sargent's knocking on your door!

This may be my all-time fave pic of Turbo Jennie. Not only does she rock the pink tights but she still looks like she could punch my lights out. And all while wearing a fanny pack. Awesome.

Step Two: Find a Great Class
Some people prefer to workout on their own. Which is all good but if that is you then you are the only person responsible if your workout is boring. The rest of us apparently want someone else to blame. My little dancer heart loves choreography and so I naturally gravitate towards TurboKick, Hip Hop and Zumba. But others love the structured burn of a group weight-lifting class. And still others like some instruction but at their own pace, like bootcamp. My advice? Try it all. Even if you don't like it, at least now you know.

All the folks in my TurboKick class who dressed up for '80s night. We made the others stand in the corner and chant "We're not worthy." Kidding.

Step Three: Find Some Great Friends
Now this step is really important. A lot of people want to skip this step. They come in the gym, do their workout and then leave. But having Gym Buddies has benefits that go far beyond just having someone to giggle with when you trip over the weight bench you were just sitting on or squeak one out during yoga. They help you stay accountable. They make you feel welcome. They can lift you up on a down day. They can encourage you to get out one more mile or one last set. They can lend you a hairband if you forget yours or a shoulder to cry on if PMS hits hard. Say hi. Smile. Strike up a conversation. I promise it will be worth your time.

The Unitard Twins. The scary part is that neither one of them had to go out and buy their unitard... hmmm...

Ted sporting a totally rad mullet and a mean set of abs. You'd never know from his erudite comments on this site that he was hiding the incredible hulk under all that Upstanding Citizen shtick.

The Glitter Sisters. Gym Buddy Allison and I are way shinier than should be allowed at the gym. True story - as I walked around the track one of the personal trainers who usually works mornings did a double take. I felt compelled to explain "It's a costume. For '80s night." His face lit up with relief, "Ah! I just figured this was your 'nighttime look'" Because every girl needs an evening look. For the gym.

And there you have it! Happy workouting!! And HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

So tell me - you guys have a special Halloween workout lined up? Anyone going to a costume party? Tell me all about your costume! Don't forget - Monday starts a brand spanking new Great Fitness Experiment and you're going to love it. Two words: suspension training. Wheeee!