in case you missed it. i like winning things. and people who win. gold medals. you know.
in case you missed it. i like winning things. and people who win. gold medals. you know. (never over it)

To know me is to know I am competitive. There is a lot of mellow in me, a lot of “I could lie on this beach for 24/24 hours every day,” but then there is this side that says things like “I just peed so fast. That was the fastest anyone has ever peed in this bathroom,” and “no I’M the sweatiest person here.” Out loud. To other people. I like to feel like I’m always winning at something, so it’s fun to make everything a game.

In that spirit, I’ve signed up for a bet I can’t lose. It’s called Dietbet. You throw up your credit card to lose 4% or 10% of your body weight in one month or six months. If you can’t make your goal, your money goes to the winner’s pool (or charity), but if you make your goal, you keep it, plus winner’s bonus.

I thought this bet would motivate me, because money and competition. And it came at a good time, since for Lent I gave up alcohol, chocolate, and french fries. (In full disclosure, I destroyed a sampler platter at Appleby’s the day before I weighed in to start. Tee hee.) But I managed to go over my mark and lost 10 pounds in a month, even winning an extra 13 USD! I feel like I should get some extra credit for it, since I’ve lost this same 10 pounds twice before, so it’s really like losing 30 lbs, right? Hashtag math.

this speaks to me on a spiritual level.
this speaks to me on a spiritual level.

Funny moment – at some point, weighing in every morning, I realized I was standing stark naked on a scale, clenching every muscle, sucking in and holding up my boobs in one hand, like holding things up and in was going to fool the scale into thinking I was lighter. (I will not describe the weird position I then got in to see how much lighter I could possibly be without various fleshy body parts. I will not.) (I will show you in person. But I will not describe. I have some manners. Like two.)

To help facilitate the weight loss goal, I’ve signed myself up for a gym. All Portuguese, 1.25 mile walk from home, and to make it even more fun, it’s apparently the gym of the beautiful people. Brazilians are more attractive than is necessary, but they take it to a new level at the gym. I am not that heavy, but I am the largest woman I’ve seen at the gym. Like, I’m starting to wonder if there is a pre-gym that the normal-looking people go to first, to get good-looking enough to audition for this gym.

Everyone is totally groomed. There are no sweatpants, no creepy old guys. Women work out with their hair down, makeup, jewelry. I think I am the only one that sweats. Here are some of the terrifying outfits I see:

10919077_425081577665823_517960636_n workout brazil work out

I would dislocate something trying to get in or out of one of those.

Personally, I’m always looking a lot more like that scene in Bridget Jones where she’s cycling so hard on the bike that she loses control, her knees hit her chest and she falls off the bike.

But it’s fun to be in air conditioning. There are a few tvs, so I’ve become addicted to what I’m starting to think is a culturally inaccurate and slightly racist soap opera about Indians. I am picking up some excellent Brazilian slang via closed captioning (which, naturally, I race against myself to read and translate).

this movie. so quotable.
this movie. so quotable.

The first few times I went, I was SO PROUD. “Look at me on this treadmill! Going so fast! So many miles accomplished! I’m in better shape than I thought!” Then I realized all the machines were set to measure in kilometers, not miles. DANGIT.

I felt good about just getting myself to the gym today. I did NOT want to go. I sent videos of myself pretending to sleep, literally going “honk….shooooo…” to my sisters, begging them to motivate me to go. But then I went, woo, so I decided to congratulate myself by making guacamole for dinner. Well, there were no avocados at the store. Also no tortilla chips. Because when you don’t live in the United States, you can’t always get what you want.

Devastated, I got in line with my zero lactose milk and goat cheese, and then…I saw…Ben & Jerry’s ice cream….on sale!!! Vanilla Bean. 9 reias. First of all, that’s barely even ice cream, because there’s not even chocolate in it! So it’s not cheating on your half-hearted attempt at a diet. We’re not even transferring that to a bowl! Spoon to mouth that bad boy! Never mind that I’m lactose intolerant!

and suddenly, it was gone . . .
and suddenly, it was gone . . .

Except I REALLY minded an hour later when I got home, looked down, and realized I had somehow eaten the entire thing in a haze of melted emotions. So once again, I’m bargaining with God to take away the tummy rumbles, promising I will start to honor my lactose intolerance, and I will be a better person in the world, if He will smite the part of me that convinces me that everything that hurts will feel better if I just keep adding enough M&Ms.

I’ll keep you updated on that.

In other news, today is the two year anniversary of Seghs and I arriving back in California the end of Rachel’s Revival and Relocation Tour. We drove from Mistakes were Made, North Carolina, all the way to Home, California in a week or so, hitting NOLA, absolutely ALL OF TEXAS (#neveragain), Spring Training A’s vs. Giants, and then finally home to the Bay Area.

throw flashes back at this floof.
throw flashes back at this floof. our first photo!

This means it’s also the two year anniversary of meeting my dog for the first time. So, Kizzy, because you have meant so much to me, I dedicate this blog to you. Love you, boo.