When I sort of accidentally began this journey, accountability was a big thing for me. I talked about it. Owned it. Showed it. Through daily full body Instagram photos, I am holding myself accountable to myself and to (I’d like to think) the world for my fitness and health, whether I do or don’t meet my goals for that day, week or whatever.

Just recently, I’ve begun adding food pics to the mix, which I had been doing from time to time before, but that’s when I was flaky about it all and could easily have had a salad for lunch and fried chicken and mashed potatoes for dinner. You’d see the pretty picture of the salad, but you wouldn’t see and I wouldn’t speak of the fried chicken.

I guess it’s like the proverbial tree in the forest. If I eat it and no one’s around to witness it, does that mean it didn’t happen? Well, I knew that couldn’t last because even if I didn’t post pictures of every meal, I repeat, I post full body shots of myself every single day, so you would know something went awry, somewhere. I wouldn’t be telling the truth. I wouldn’t be telling my truth. And there are many parts to my truth.

The truth is, if this were five days ago, I’d have either a vodka cranberry or a glass of wine in my hand. And if I’m going to tell the truth, five days ago, I DID have a vodka cranberry in my hand, and followed it up with several more. And let’s just throw a couple of shots of tequila in there for sport, because that happened, too.

Also, a hangover happened, and though I’ve posted a vicious hangover selfie on Instagram, I made sure I got myself together before I posted my daily shot, and I still went walking/jogging.

I haven’t had a drink since Sunday and that’s in part because I’ve been thinking a lot about this accountability thing and also because a friend challenged me to a strict seven day fitness thingy that doesn’t allow for alcohol.

It’s been easy. Unbelievably easy until today, when my day wasn’t so good, when my relationship isn’t glowing that perfect glow, when I’m so annoyed/pissed/mad/sad that I just want to numb myself with a vodka neat or a whole bottle of wine. And yes, I can take down a whole bottle…and a half.

So, far I’m resisting. Sipping iced water and channeling this negative energy into new words and promoting Can’t Get Enough. And I think I’m able to resist mostly out of stubbornness and a small part of me thinks it may be an around about attempt at sabotage because my husband of course lives with me, knows my habits, my weaknesses and unfortunately, my triggers.

It’s good to get that off my chest. I’ll let  you know how it turns out tomorrow. Honestly.

Walking and Writing

So, something happened. Not that thing discussed in extensive detail right below this post, but another thing, or to be more accurate, things.

I started walking again. Now, for those of you who don’t get here often, I haven’t been wheelchair bound or anything of the sort. But, due to an ankle fracture, broken bone in my foot and the general shitty-ness of Lyme disease, my afore established exercise regimen came to a screeching halt. That was four months ago.

I hadn’t made any solid plans to start up again, but on Wednesday when I decided to walk the dog (about ten minutes, three to four times a day) my husband decided to join me and make it a joint exercise effort. I was game, but I didn’t think we’d go as far as we did.

We wound up walking over three miles. It was midday, so it was pretty hot and it took us just over an hour. The dog wasn’t too happy about it, though. I, however, felt fantastic and decided that that day would be my Day 1.

Day 1 of how many you may ask? Well, I don’t have the answer, yet. I don’t want to jinx myself or set myself up for failure by setting hard goals, but what I have done is made myself accountable to my Instragram account, where every morning, before I do whatever workout I’m going to do (right now it’s walking) I post a picture of myself. And I’m talking full body shots. Nothing from the face up with clever angling that makes me look cuter and thinner.

This is the true definition of no filter. It is what it is. Take me as I am, and how I will be, at Day whatever.

Also, I’ve been at the writing table actually writing for the past three days, averaging 1100 or so words a day. It’s chapters for a novel I plan to pitch and it’s going just swell.

Now, I generally link to Facebook and Twitter when I post my daily picture, but if I forget, am in a hurry, or my mind is cloudy as usual, feel free to follow my Instagram account (@therealtenille) and watch my journey, day by day. And oh, cheer me on! Call me out! Keep me accountable!

Let’s do this.

Somebody has to be the bitch; it might as well be me.

A little over a year ago, my sister called to inform me that she had “let” her car go back and she needed to borrow my extra car to go to work. We use the term “let go back” because that’s just what she did. She did other things with her money besides paying her car payment -like club hopping and buying clothes- but when it came down to taking responsibility, she enlisted my help.

I kindly told her that my old car was having problems. It wasn’t at that time, and that was probably mean enough, but not as mean as me saying, “Um, no, you put yourself in this situation and I’m not going to bail you out of it.” And anyways, she can’t drive a manual. *shrugs*

She dug her way out of that situation, I’m sure, but she stopped speaking to me for several months because of it, which sort of showed me something: If I wasn’t of any use to her financially or materialistically, then I was disposable. I pointed this out to my husband.

I’m telling that little story to lead into this one. We have another “extra” vehicle that we don’t drive much. It’s an SUV and I joke a lot about it being the “borrow car.” When a friend or family member’s car breaks down and they can’t (read don’t want to) fix it right away, they borrow it. This has happened four times since it became our extra vehicle. First it was his sister who kept it for three months before I made him get it back and when he did, she had scraped it on the side and didn’t tell us. Next it was an ex-coworker who borrowed it twice for a couple of weeks at a time because her husband’s car was down. Yes, she borrowed a vehicle for her husband (who the fuck does that!). Oh, you had to be there to hear me bitch about that one.

This time, it’s his cousin whose truck is down and this is how the husband got me – he said his cousin needed to borrow it to go to an interview the next day and I was fine with that, but when the truck didn’t return home the next day or the next week and still isn’t there, I asked about it, to which the husband replied, “Well, I told him to keep it until he’s straight.”

Until he’s straight? When will that be? And who decides? If someone is supplying you with a vehicle that you have to do nothing to maintain besides putting in the gas you need to drive it, how fast would you move to get your own vehicle fixed? Maybe you don’t know a lot of people who would do this (hell, I don’t), but it seems to be a thing with my in-laws and he refuses to put his foot down or even check on the status of our vehicle.

When something happens to it, though, WE have to pay for it. We pay the insurance. We pay the taxes. Everyone else just gets a free ride. That’s why I always mention selling it, or I’m always wishing someone would just wreck it or it would break down, then they’d have nothing to borrow and you know what else, they’d probably no longer have any reason to associate with us either…which is sorta fine by me.

Bitch of the Family, Over and out.

Bitchin’ Boots and Nice News

After a big ole boot debate with my cousin last night (who insisted that prissy me couldn’t possible own a pair of Timberland boots), I had to pull mine out of my closet and show her.  They’re at least five years old and after every winter I tussle with throwing them away thinking they may be going out of style.  But I keep holding on year after year because, well, they’re cute and they’re comfortable.

When I showed her the shoe, she bent over laughing because it had a heel not unlike my other boots.  I had to actually show her the little etching on the side to prove that, yes, I do wear Timberlands, heel or no heel.

Anyway, I had a point to this story…oh…boots!

Two to three weeks ago I received a pair of knee-high wedge heeled boots in the mail that I couldn’t comfortable zip up over my calf (that’s the first time I said that out loud).  This morning, on a whim, I decided to try them on and they zipped right up.  No struggle, no assistance.

(Mumble, mumble) pounds down now, though I honestly don’t intend this to be a weight loss blog. Skinny jeans with my Tims tonight.

But – the other good news came in my inbox.  Four of seven of my super short-shorts are accepted, barring being cut by the publisher.  I need that.

Anyone know why one ass cheek would be sore and not the other?!

The Snap Trap

Apparently, my ears never tire of hearing the most jaw-dropping, eye-bugging, just…out there things, because as I was working away on the elliptical, my favorite reader and friend said to me:

“Your legs are getting really strong.”

To which I responded: “Thanks, but strong legs aren’t really what I’m going for.”

And she said, head cocked, confused: “What, no snap trap?”

Me: “No, no snap trap.”

She: “Girl, I’ve had somebody trying to get caught in the trap all day!”

Sixteen pounds down, though I’m trying not to be number obsessed.  My body tells the true story.  I’m getting these curls straightened today (temporarily!) and hopefully that won’t deter me from working out.

I printed out that fucking story that just won’t finish itself no matter how much I tell it to for the umpteenth time and we’ll see how that pans out.

And..well, that’s all.

Weight A Minute

While I’ve been basically quiet, and not writing much, and feeling, if not saying, pretty blah about life and such, I’ve been doing something else – working on my weight.

Body image is probably the one thing I don’t run my mouth about on this blog and that could be because, in all honesty, though I am overweight and do have health issues relating to being at an unhealthy weight (like hypertension and type 2 diabetes), I don’t feel self-conscious about it.  I hardly ever feel un-sexy.  I sleep naked often.  I dress sexy when the clothes fit ;). And I’m not morbidly obese, just too big for my small frame, and I’m living with another health issue that my larger size doesn’t help – lyme disease.

I didn’t intentially go on a diet, and the easiest way to explain it is that I realized that I consumed three steaks in two weeks and saw how sluggish I was and knew that I needed to detox.  So, for a few days I went with veggies, fruit and water.  I started light, low-impact excercise and began seeing results.

My joints feel better, I’m sleeping better, I feel happier and I’m not craving the bad stuff.  Now, if only I could flip the creativity switch back on.  I really don’t know what’s up with that…