A not so typical post

This is going to be a bit of an out of the ordinary post as I sit at a bar at SFO drinking a wine flight alone.

I have to admit, I do feel silly drinking a flight by myself. Its presentation is big and the flavors within the white wines are even bigger.

I just made myself laugh. I have no idea what I’m talking about.


I’m such a product of my generation that I find it difficult to express myself without emojis or hashtags.

Did I never mention I was a communication major?

So I’m finally going to see Austin. I literally lived 45 minutes away when stationed in San Antonio, but now I’m taking a three hour flight to visit.

I’ve alluded to life changes a lot, but I may as well just say it: I’m going through a divorce.

It was my choice and for some reason people assume it’s been easy since I made that choice.

It’s not. But I’m really good at smiling and avoiding the depths of the conversations revolved around it.

The fact is, I don’t know who I am. And I couldn’t commit myself to someone going through this identity crisis. It wasn’t fair to him.

The reason I’m sharing this is because this blog really has evolved from a workout blog to a declaration of self-love.

Unfortunately, by the end of my marriage, I was becoming someone I didn’t like. And my husband got the collateral damage of my inner struggle.

But now I’m on a mission. It’s not just about “looking good”. But I want to feel good. My mind, body, and soul. And I want to share it with others because what got me (and gets) me through this divorce is knowing I’m not alone. Knowing others have felt the same way, and I’m not a terrible person for making this extremely difficult choice.

The seasons change has been unexpectedly the most difficult, because I just want to go home – to a home that no longer exists.

So that’s why I’m going to Austin finally. It was a place I always wanted to see. I’m tired of making excuses, I’m trying to just do. Say yes to more things. I think this is equally important as a fit body and essential to a healthy lifestyle.

And a happy life.

Just say yes and drop the excuses.

Sometimes I do question if I made the right decision, but in the end I have to find myself and improve myself before I can commit myself.

It may just be a short flight to Austin, but it’s the beginning of self discovery for me.

Love yourself. Not just the cellulite, chub, or whatever imperfections you find in those amazing, one of a kind thighs, but the entirety of you.

Til next time friends!

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The go-to workout

It’s been awhile since I’ve mentioned a workout.

Remember when this use to be a fitness blog?

Well here’s one for you below!
Finally right?!

Whenever I’m in a rush, this is my go-to HIIT workout. HIIT stands for “high intensity interval training”. At least I think that’s what it stands for. I don’t care enough to check sources. This is why I decided journalism shouldn’t be my thing and I will write pointless silly blog posts instead.

Good compromise.

It’s a treadmill HIIT workout.

I usually avoid treadmills, but this one is only 10 minutes so I force myself to suck up 10 minutes of sucking.

Start at an incline of 1.5.
Walk for two minutes.
Jog for two minutes.
Run for one minute.

Go back to a walking pace, but this time at incline 3.5.
Walk for two minutes.
Jog for two minutes.
Run for one minute.

Workout done.
You burned some fat.
Got a good sweat on.
Breathing hard.
And glistening with accomplishment.

Kudos to you.

Afterwards it’s really up to you what you do. I recommend stretching.
Although I never do.
I also recommend squats. Which I only do if there aren’t many boys around the 50 pound bar.

But the beauty of this HIIT workout is it’s quick and challenging. And if you’re like me, you’ll see immediate results once your done.

At least you’ll feel as if you see immediate results once your done.

I know – girl brain.

‘Til next time friends!

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The Redemption – Another yoga pant story

This past weekend my small town was infested by zombies.

Some were dressed up as Bonnie & Clyde, bumble bees, and doctors; others were simply in normal civilian clothes with blood.

I was a mix of both.

This was for a brew crawl in my small-downtown hometown.

I just really wanted to make that rhyme.

I was originally just going to go for the brewskis, but my lady friends were all dressing up, and I felt the need to follow the crowd because I’m weak and succumb easily to peer pressure.

I decided to go for a rockabilly chick look. I thought it would be easy and inexpensive. Then I would just add blood to make myself into a zombie.

Clearly I’m super creative.

Luckily the 90s style has come back and finding a plaid shirt was incredibly easy, but I had to figure out what type of pants to wear.

I considered buying a new pair of skinny jeans, but the idea of being in tight pants while drinking beer all afternoon sounded incredibly uncomfortable. And quite possibly painful. So I decided to do the one thing I’ve preached against in a prior post – I bought a pair of cheap yoga pants.

The moment I put these babies on, I could immediate see my skin through the fabric.

No bending necessary.

That should be the brands tagline.

As much as I despise see-through yoga pants, I made sure my 90s style plaid shirt was long enough to cover my ass. Since, well, “no bending necessary”.

The day of the brew crawl I got a lot of compliments on my zombie costume. However, I was mistaken for Rosie the Riveter instead of a Rockabilly chick,
and I got asked to do this pose a lot:


I guess it’s close enough.

As I stood in line waiting for beer, I would squat, lift my knees up, fidget freely in my “no bending necessary” yoga pants.

I felt so free and alive without the restriction of a tight waistline.

As I stood in line waiting for beer, I announced to my friends my satisfaction of my investment in my cheap yoga pants.

As I stood in line waiting for beer, making this announcement to my friends, a random zombie passing by said “I wish I made that investment too” as she messed with her waistline.

So with this said ladies and gentlemen, I retract my original claim of how much I hate cheap yoga pants. This prior weekend they came through without disappointment.

Now what does this have to do with fitness you ask? Well, thanks to my TRX , DUT, and killer core classes, I have the confidence to shamelessly wear “no bending necessary” yoga pants in public.

You know, like, in front of people.

Working out regularly boosted my confidence enough to try something I was initially opposed to.

Trying something new and feeling confident in “no bending necessary” pants. I would say that is quite the accomplishment for one weekend.

And just for funsies – here are some photos of the zombies.

‘Til next time friends!





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The Healthy Comment

Fellas, I know you all mean well when you tell us ladies we look “healthy”, but let’s come up with a better euphemism for nice ass.

Is it bad I’d rather be sexually harassed than referred to as healthy?

What does healthy even mean? Back in my high school days I was referred to as “thick”.

Again, just tell me I have a fat ass.

Being healthy is a lifestyle; one that probably includes less drinking and cookies than my current lifestyle.

I got drunk with my friends and insisted on eating my best friends three-week old wedding cake. After she well-advised me not to, my insistence and determination wasn’t abating so she hesitantly cut me a piece of the purple fondant cake.

I ate it.

Admittedly not my proudest moment.

My point is, healthy does not describe me, so let’s come up with a better adjective.

The fact is, I like my curves. I love my big ass, and I do squats to make it even bigger. This doesn’t mean I’m not self -conscious at times or don’t fantasize about being skinny.

I don’t need to go into societal pressure and norms of how women are perceived in our culture, but in the back of my head I’m just as guilty as the next girl for thinking skinny is the only sexy.

So I can’t help but take a comment as “healthy”, as a way to describe how not skinny I am. Therefore, not sexy I am.

I know. I know. Crazy girl brain.

Here are the adjectives I do prefer:
Perfect (😉)

That’s all you get. So let’s avoid the “healthy” and “thick” descriptions to describe the non-skinny ladies.

That’s talking to a lady lesson 101. You’re welcome.

Til next time friends.

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Bummed-outness: we’ll pretend it’s a word

Last week I was feeling a bit melancholy.

God that’s a dramatic word: melancholy. (Place back of hand on forehead) “I’m so melancholy”.

I just really wanted to use that word from my sixth grade vocab test.

Thanks Mrs. Kardin.

I’m lying. I don’t remember my sixth grade teachers name. I made that part up.

But real talk: I was a bit bummed and slow motion last week. Usually what fixes this problem is a jog around the reservoir.

This isn’t always the wisest decision.
Back in July I was having one hell of a rough day, so I decided to go jog at 1:00pm

1:00pm in the middle of July.

July at 1:00 fucking pm!

I can’t even feel bad for myself because this was just an all around dumb idea.

It was 90 degrees with direct sunlight beaming on me (and I swear only me) no shade in sight with my pride quickly dwindling.

A mile into the jog I was hating life but had to trek on. I couldn’t let complete strangers (wisely walking the reservoir at 1:00pm in the middle if July) know I was sucking.

Nearly a mile and a half into it I saw a bench and decided to do abs. I wanted the complete strangers around me to think this was all part of my plan when in reality I was about to die.

Talk about a melancholy moment.

Before mile two came around I wound up walking. I went to the grass to look like I was stretching but instead cried because I couldn’t release my sadness during the jog. In fact, the jog only made me more sad.

Ugh, I’m such a girl sometimes.

That was the last time I jogged the reservoir.

So this past Sunday around 1:00pm (you think I would learn my lesson) I got my dreadful yoga pants on and SF Giants hat and went back to the reservoir.

I wasn’t sure if I was even going to be able to jog. Sure I’ve been working out, but 30 minute gym sessions isn’t exactly prepping for a three-mile, hilly cardio session.

I got to the reservoir and my VW told me it was only 76 degrees out.

Already a better start.

I put on my “Reminds me of Summer 2014” playlist and started the jog.

With the cooler weather, a solid playlist, and my bummed-outness (I feel like sadness is too dramatic of a word for what I was feeling last week) motivating me, I managed to do the full three miles. In fact, by mile three, I figured why not do four.

I did four miles without expecting to complete one! And I did it all right under 40 minutes. Usually I keep a much slower pace if I haven’t ran outside for awhile. I don’t even want to discuss how slow my pace usually is, but we’ll just say it’s comparable to a pleasant trot.

In the end, the four miles outside during a transitioning season with Public Enemy playing in my ear, I found it incredibly hard to be sad (oops: Bummed-out) for the rest of the day.

Sometimes a little unpleasant emotion can spark something wonderful inside.

There’s always a bright side 🙂

Below I posted a pic of the four songs that remind me of Summer 2014. You don’t have to listen to them, just know they mean something to me.

And take that as an invitation to share your playlist with me.

‘Til next time friends!


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The Bridesmaids Dress

A couple of weeks ago an absolutely amazing couple got married and I was privileged enough to stand by the bride’s side during the beautiful ceremony.

This is just a sexed up way to say I was a bridesmaid.

I had ordered the bridesmaids dress in June. It was a very snug fit when I bought it, so naturally when I picked it up a month later I avoided trying it on again.

Deep down I knew the truth.

Weeks went by and the unused dress hung alone in my closet protected by the plastic it was delivered in.

Weeks went on and in the back of my head I kept reminding myself “you know you have to face the truth”.

Finally on one Thursday night at 11:00pm (because that’s a great time to get shit done apparently) I unwrapped the virginal bridesmaids dress, slipped it over my thighs, up to my chest and zipped it halfway.

There was ruching at the waistline (it’s where the fabric is kind of bunched. Being around girls trying on dresses, you learn useless terms like this) so I figured that’s why I couldn’t zip it up.

I asked my roommate (my younger sister) to try and zip it up.

“It’s not zipping Rik”.


So I go to my other roommate (my younger brother) and ask him to zip it up.

“Umm Rik, it’s not going up”.


This is the moment shear panic arises. Here I had months to try on the now tainted dress and I waited just a few weeks prior to the wedding at 11pm at night when everything is closed to try on this god forsaken, condemned dress!

And yes I am fully aware that is a run on sentence, but I figured it was necessary to portray the panic I was in at the time.

Panic wasn’t the only thing I was experiencing; then there was shame because I had gained enough weight for the dress to not fit around my fucking ribcage. Who gains weight around their ribcage and not in their boobs?

Thanks genetics.

I had thought these things only happened in sitcoms.

So I had to face the music and called in for a larger size. Still bummed I had gained a few pounds, I decided I had to work on my back since the dress was a strapless and I wanted to look my best despite the few extra pounds I had gained.

So I started going to the gym and did rows, assisted pull-ups, and a few triceps because tri’s are sexy.

By the time the wedding came around, I tried on my new sized dress and zipped it up.

It fit perfectly!

But then I looked at my shoulders and back and instantly was self-conscious because I looked buff and less feminine in the dress.

What the fuck is wrong with girl brain?!

Really? I’m self-conscious because I’m too buff?

Moral of the story – there’s no winning in the weight category! Love your body no matter what!

That and no one likes how they look in a bridesmaids dress. So get drunk to not care and dance your little ass off! Because if you’re a bridesmaid, chances are someone you absolutely love gave you the privilege of making you part of their special day and that’s really all it’s about.

Til next time friends!

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Daily Ultimate Training (add intense voice)

I haven’t posted in awhile because I’ve been uninspired.

That is…

I recently joined the UFC gym where they have Daily Ultimate Training. First off, you have to say it with a deep voice similar to the Resident Evil Two title screen from the Playstation 1 video game. For the youngsters out there, Playstation 1 was the console prior to 3 and 4. (I’m just assuming ya’ll weren’t around for the 2 console either.)

Daily Ultimate Training (DUT) is the non-copyrited version of Crossfit for UFC. They even have a little room with a garage door to hold the classes.


Admittedly, there isn’t much lifting. But with the whole Crossfit debate on Powerlifting, and speed, and injuries, it probably is a liability to add them in.

Today was a team workout. Whichever team completed the workout the fastest won. (Spoiler alert: we got second place. Or the first ones to lose. However you want to look at it.)

The workout was 80 tire flips, 60 fireman carries up stairs, and 40 sled pushes. We had to work together to finish the full amount of reps (these aren’t individual reps but total reps for the team). I doubted the coach when he said the fireman carry would be the most difficult. I mean all we had to do was carry two 25- pound plates by our sides up and down stairs. No lifting involved.

I got to stair three and my forearms were killing me. By the way, this was after we each had to do 100 Kettlebell swings to “buy into” the team workout. This whole buying in concept was confusing to me, especially with such a large number of reps.

You mean to tell me I have to do 100 swings just to be able to do the workout? Are you sure that’s not the workout?

Because usually that’s my workout.

So after the 100 Kettlebell swings, I did maybe one fireman carry and decided that was best left up to my little sister who was on my team. She seemed pretty content walking up and down the stairs sweating. So I chose to flip the tire.

I’ve never actually flipped a tire before, but they are surprising heavy. I had to ask the coach how one flips a tire. He said bend down.

Not in a sexy way.
No he didn’t say that part.
But I have to tell myself this ever since I was a kit kat girl in Cabaret my senior year of high school; I now have a tendency to bend down rubbing my knees while opening my legs.

Muscle memory people.

Back to the tire flip: I have this amazing ability to over think the simplest task. So I awkwardly bent my knees (not in a sexy way) nearly a foot from the tire.

Where do I place my hands?

Under the tire clearly, but I had to ask Nos (yes, that was our coach’s name) this out loud.

Out loud.

After a few failed attempts, I got the hang of it and got my team a solid 16 flips.

Everything was going pretty steadily (especially with my little sister rocking out the fireman carries), but as soon as we hit the lead and finished the 80 flips and 60 carries, the worst thing could of happened, there was only one sled and three teams. When we finally whined to Nos long enough and lost our lead, he said we could then slide the tire. This wasn’t an even exchange, because the tire weighed far more than a sled with 50 pounds, but at this point we were trying to catch up and didn’t want to waste any more time.

The tire was a two-man job for sure. It would get stuck against the wall, it was heavy and it was at a less convenient position than the sled. But that didn’t stop my team and I. There were four of us racing the clock: My little sister – the fireman carry champ; my little brother – the tire flipper even hell fears, and Sarah – the UFC employee on her lunch break with really cute makeup.

We had one more slide with the tire before we could finish. My little brother and I pushed, then my little sister went to the side to help maneuver, then Sarah pulled. Suddenly this heavy tire became light and we were able to slide it with ease.

I feel like that’s a good metaphor for life:
The more you help each other the easier life is.

We made our last slide and suddenly our team workout was finished.


Then Nos says, “20 burpees to buy out”.

Wait what?

Because 20 burpees is usually my workout.

Til next time friends!

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In case last weeks post didn’t emphasize it enough

I’ve done something I’ve never done before: I posted a bathing suit pic on social media.

It’s kind of a copout because I used Instagram filters to make me look less white.

But either way I did it!


I told you all about a month ago I would review the Body by Vi again. I was on point with it for a solid two weeks. I lost the weight I had gained when I started my new job, my skin cleared up, and I was eating less.

This photo is not the outcome of that diet.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still doing the Vi diet because I do like what it does for my skin and it’s easier to maintain my weight. But this photo was taken during day three of drinking (fourth of July weekend-don’t judge me), in the midst of ordering pizza, and after eating fancy cheese with exotic wheat thin flavors.

I have a before pic ready to post with the Vi diet, and I was prepping for the after.

Then fun happened and I got off track.

I realized waiting to post an after pic wouldn’t of been a true representation of my outcome. I would of done the diet fairly strictly then I probably would of taken a morning pic and adjusted the lighting to make the after pic look more in my favor. Only then returning to my usual non-strict diet routine.

Instead, this pic above is a far better representation of my daily life.

I still drink, order pizza, workout, sit in front of a desk all day, eat cookies.

The list goes on.

This pic isn’t the outcome of diet or self discipline, it’s the outcome of being confident. I would of never posted a suit pic a year ago and I was in much better shape then.

I can’t emphasize enough to love the body you have. Treat it how you would want to be treated. Me personally, I want to drink and dance my not-so-little ass off. So that’s how I’ll treat my body.

And when I want to eat pizza, I’ll eat pizza.

And when I want to do 100 squats-you guessed it-I’ll do 100 squats.

In the end, do what you need to do for self love!

Oh my God!
Super cheesy post, I know!
But it’s so true!

In case you’re confused who I am, I’m the one on the left with goofy glasses and laughing. My arms and blotches on my back (don’t wear lace in direct sunlight) are the only indication I am Italian, while the rest of my body is from the Finnish bloodline.

Embrace the summer, the fun times, and don’t be hard on yourself. It’s okay to drink, order pizza, and post bathing suit pics of you and your amazing friends on Instagram.

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In the words of Christina – because you’re beautiful

Due to some major life changes, I recently moved back in with my mom

I’m 28 years old.

With this major life change comes additional roommates: my brother and sister.

They’re 17 years old.

And yes they are twins (that always seems to be the immediate follow-up question).

Not only do I feel old when I try to explain to my little sister the area code rule through song she can’t make reference to, but now weight is the number one topic of choice.

Constantly being surrounded by two women (occasionally three when you add in my older sister’s visits) conversation inevitably turns into confessions of eating cookies and Doritos while passionately grabbing an area of our bodies with both hands and looking angry. (My area is the outer thigh.)

I forgot how toxic it is to be around other women. We’re constantly criticizing ourselves and (even worse) each other on our flaws.

And I’m guilty of even using the term flaws to describe my outer thighs. It’s negative connotation only reinforces my need to be self conscious.

The fact is, my outer thigh is my outer thigh. As much as I hate it, it’s my body and I love my body. This need for us to find “flaws” in ourselves is mind boggling to me.

I earned the little definition I put into my body. True I could put more work, but who the fuck cares? Really? As cheesy as this sounds, your body is your temple, love it, embrace it, grab parts of it passionately and be proud of it.

No angry face this time.

I work out because it makes me feel better at the end of the day. Not because I want to lose weight.

My point is, instead of being around the women you love and have superficial conversations about what you want to improve, look at yourself and really embrace the body you have. Tell yourself what your proud of. Tell them what to be proud of and you MAKE them take that compliment.

Both of my sisters have amazing legs I would kill for, shoulders of athletes, and thin ankles (I don’t want to talk about that one).

Think positively of your body. You’re the only one with it. Every dimple, every scar, every “pooch” is yours and yours only. And that’s what makes you beautiful.

And Kudos to anyone who picked up the Ludacris and Nate Dogg reference.

Til next time friends.

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I’ve come full circle

Lately I’ve been a little stressed.

A little stressed is a euphemism.

I wish I could say I was one of those people that could hardly eat when stressed, but in fact, I’m quite the opposite.

I’ve been eating nonstop and incredibly unhealthy for instant gratification.

Oh how I wish I dealt with stress by unintentionally starving myself.

It also doesn’t help that I sit all day at my new job. It’s a great job I am incredibly grateful for but very low impact.

Very low impact is also a euphemism.

With my other jobs, it really didn’t matter if I ate a burrito for dinner.
And it’s safe to say, any given day of the week, I was probably having a burrito for dinner.

If you ever lived in the South then moved back to California, you too would find a new appreciation for burritos, and then want them always for dinner.

Basically what I’m saying is-I’ve gained a few pounds.

That is not a euphemism.

These few pounds have caused me even more stress, therefore more eating.

It’s a vicious cycle.

Regardless of my early morning gym workouts, I do need to put more effort into my diet to counteract my low impact job.

I’ve decided to go back on the Vi diet.
Just for a little while to gain control of my stress-eating and save money on meals.

I’m not sure how long I will be on it for, but I like the poetry of going back to where it all began.

Basically what I’m saying is, I’m reviewing the Vi diet again!

Maybe I’ll post pictures this time.

That was a lie.
I won’t.

‘Til next time friends!

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