Husband's brilliant idea for Lent is to give up cheese. Of course, that means I'll need to give up cheese too, because otherwise he won't be able to eat anything I cook (on my 1-year, 5 a week, 3 ingredient minimum cooking challenge). He usually gives up alcohol. This means he'll be less cranky, but I will be more cranky, because I love the shit outta some cheese. Probably why I'm 40 pounds overweight and have high cholesterol, but whatev.
A friend/grad school colleague has agreed to train me at the gym for free, since he's working to get his certification and wanted me as a guinea pig. Ugh. I told him my "goal" (other than being less of a fatty) is to pass the fitness test for super awesome federal agency that investigates stuff. Not that I'm 100% for certain I'd like to be a super awesome agent that investigates stuff, but I know 100% for certain that I don't want to not do it solely because I'm a fatty. So that means a lot of arm and chest work, so that I can eventually do those awful pushups. When I took the written exam, I was great on situps and sprinting, but needed to shave 1 minute off of my 1.5 mile run time, and needed to be able to do twice as many pushups (14 minimum). Since then, I've gained 10 pounds and spawned another human. Let's just say, I'm starting from scratch again.
Anyway, I'm supposed to be doing the full workout every other day. I did it once last week, with my friend. I've done it once this week, without him (we're meeting every two weeks). I just can't seem to find the time to go to the gym. The problem being I have to go when there is childcare there for Vee, and the Y has odd hours, and I'm competing with Cora's activities too. I got a ballet conditioning DVD, so I really need to do that on those nights I couldn't make it to the gym. And don't even get me started about eating a shitload of sugar cookies. Sigh. My pants are tight. It makes me sad. I'm sad so I eat more cookies. Okay, so being sad doesn't make me eat more cookies, I just like cookies. But it sounds better than saying I just have no self-control.
On the cookie front, I made these ridiculous Wilton heart-shaped cookies on a motherfuckin stick. It took me like 3 hours last night. Seriously, domestic goddess, I am not. Maybe some sort of domestic lesser spirit being. Domestic sprite? Domestic daemon? Oh well, at least they tasted good, the ones that ended up in my belly.