A Bulgarian Named Viktor.

This morning the Tribe did "Collin" which was 6 rounds of this:

400m sandbag carry (run.walk.wince)
12 push press 55/65#
12 box jump (tire)
12 sdhp 55/65#

6 rounds.

6.

I hit my wall on round 2.

2.

I hate it when that happens. Obviously my decision to house a tres leches parfait and half bottle of wine last night was ill advised. Whoopsie. I was in a weak place and after successfully installing a tiled backsplash (and using a wet saw, thank you very much) I was in full blown MAMMANEEDSAGODDAMNTREAT mode. Unfortunately, the treats I keep choosing give me zits and mood swings, so I need to manage this a little differently. The satiating effects of a tres leches parfait and many glasses of red wine will be hard to replicate, but maybe I can get close?

What's your favorite MAMMANEEDSAGODDAMNTREAT treat that doesn't destroy your sandcastle of healthy eating? I need suggestions...

In other news, have you heard of a Bulgarian sandbag? Didn't think so.

They look like this:


And now, thanks to Bonita, I have a 27# Bulgarian sandbag of my very own.
His name is Viktor and we are totally in love. Totally. He's going to help me train to climb that damn mountain. Oh, that damn mountain. I'll make it there.

While we are on the subject of Places I Long to See....

She's Riding a Pterodactyl Whilst Holding a Kettlebell

Click the image to enlarge...

And if you like her, wear her around!

I Love You So Much

Get yours here...

Because throwing something heavy up over your head and then throwing it back on the ground is satisfying.

For the entire month of June, post Le Cray-Cray, I was packing up all my belongings and living with my ex at the same time. Sometimes when I say things out loud, they sound INSANE, and I feel like I had one of those moments right now. Anyway. Because I was in a veritable shit storm of change, I gave away a ton of stuff. Tons. Some of it out of anger (most of that ended in shards on the floor, not on the shelf in Goodwill), some of it because if I'm ever a size 12 again and not pregnant, please someone help me, and mostly because I just didn't have the emotional capacity to pack more than what was absolutely necessary. Packing that house was a sad mixture of sobbing, yelling, laughing and tequila.

And now I have no workout pants.

What's a girl to do when it's 5:30am, 45 degrees, and she has no warm pants? Improvise with capris and knee socks of course.

The workout involved my absolutenewfuckingfavoritemoveEVAR, PLATE BURPEES. These puppies combined with my awesome ensemble of skin tight capris and knee socks made me feel like an over grown child. Crossfit WODs + feeling like a kid is the best combination for success.

These are plate burpees, fist pumping totally optional, and don't feel like you have to watch the entire 3:44; all they do is get up and get down:



Fun! That was paired with some single arm snatches (snicker) with a 25# db (pr!), which were accompanied by many an f-bomb. Does the single arm snatch come without an f-bomb? Gosh, that's like bacon without awesome.

I was a bit more into throwing that plate down than the cavemen in the video and I did not use a 50# plate. 25# was the weight, and I think this picture of Anna from the women's challenge sums up how fun it felt. But I was laughing a lot more.

The secret to living well is making sure you laugh as much as possible. Don't ever forget that one.

Dear Balance, I slightly hate you.

True confessions:

I ate several donuts last night and a piece of pizza. Preceded by 2 peanut butter cups, half of a cinema sized snickers, "southwestern" egg rolls, a mini twix, a beer, and the conscious decision to accept the consequences of my very deliberate face plant off the good eating pony. Guess how swollen my eyes are this morning? My eye bags have bags. My wild Sunday of being a total sugar slut comes after a two week paleo-zone clean up attempt. I call it an attempt because I didn't quite nail it. Since Le Cray-Cray came along, I haven't been my typical hard-nosed self in regards to training or eating well. I do miss my structure, but figuring out how the hell to mix it back in with my new life is proving to be a challenge.

It's reminding me that incorporating that structure isn't comparable to flipping a light switch, it's a daily chore. I hate that. A lot. I know the steps and I've done them many, many times before and so difficult about this time around? Well, due to Le Cray-Cray, I became a different person at break-neck speed. I'm still getting to know who this person is and quite frankly, she doesn't have the energy to be such a critical bitch to herself all the time. While this has a mountain of positive implications to my life as a whole, it's proving to be difficult when it comes time for me to say no to bad eating and skipping workouts. I needed that bitch to keep me in line.

The next 16 days are going to be sore. The two year anniversary of anything tragic is a very curious, limbo-esque stage. Not far enough ahead to warrant nonchalance of any kind and not so tender, but still enough to bring tears if thought about too deeply. The sadness right now is not complicated by grief or searing emotional pain, and I feel like I'm stuck in a transition point where happy and sad emotions greet and can exist simultaneously; it's gentle and not demanding. Being in this strange limbo sadness phase is making me realize that the balance I'm seeking between critical bitch and sugar slutstress can't be forced and is going to take more than 14 days to set straight. Just like I work every single day to gently move myself back to an emotional center and fix the holes life so eagerly punched into my core, so it should go on the eating/training front.

And right now, that epiphany is really annoying, because, being an adult sucks when you want to act like a child.

Lesson of the Day

"Even the bad shit is a gift."
-Evelyn Lepore

Happy Birthday Eve, you are missed.

Ha. Oh. Right.

Three and a Half Seconds About Life from Eran Hilleli on Vimeo.