Adventures in babysitting

Aptly named because that's what it feels like I've been doing. I have had, essentially, a teenager representing my office. Well hell, what else would you call a hostile, vulgar drama queen without the sense to at least try to hide the Facebook addiction from me during work hours? Thought so.

And oooh, did Mama Bear ever get defensive! Rather than imagine for one second the idea that getting rid of this malignant tumor might've actually been a last resort, lest we disturb our relationships with people whose faces we stand a good chance of seeing in the parking lot every day, and lest we find ourselves without a receptionist, and in the cumbersome position of having to search for, identify, acquire, and train a brand-new one...from scratch.

The only way this little darling couldn't have seen this coming is if she was either purposefully ignoring the series of clue-by-fours pistol-whipping her on a weekly basis from the top-down (maybe thinking she could charm her way around them), or doing her best impression of an ostrich clutching an iPad, or her socio-psychological past is so fucked up that the only way to get through to her is to holler at her, clocking her upside the head for punctuation. Occasionally the fleeting temptation was fun to imagine sometimes, but considering our families started walking upright many generations ago, it wasn't going to materialize, so don't bother getting all lawyerly on me.

While I can understand and appreciate someone's dysfunctional past and subsequent scarring that comes out in the form of hostility and overcompensation for past hurts, repeat after me: it's not my problem.

Yep, that's right. It doesn't give anyone the right to bring it into my office or ignore our disciplinary actions, subsequent ongoing training, on-the-fly advice/directions, or what have you. My clock, my office, my rules.

My significant other, too. Oh yes, the plot thickens, because yes, she did try to go there. Consciously or not. And it would've been one thing for him to be the only one to say that, but it seemed to be a recurring theme among several PATIENTS in the first few days following her departure. NOT cool, but definitely damage-controllable.

The funny part is, I have no need to get revenge. Why? Because 1) I'm civilized and mature, and 2) the best "revenge" (if you could call it that) is to live well. During the first 72 hours after we fired this little chickadee, we reactivated about 5 patients, got 5 new patients scheduled, FILLED my available appointment times such that my significant other will have to pick up some slack, and got more paperwork packets returned to me properly in 2 days than I had in 2 months.

Meanwhile, Generation Y self-described homewrecking Brat and Barfly Mama are still bickering like cats and dogs on their way to buy yet another needless glittery purse, blaming others for their own mistakes, and leading shitty lives that will ultimately go nowhere, because they're not smart enough to learn from those mistakes.

To them I say Fuck You and Good Riddance. You don't have a CLUE as to how utterly relieved I am that my office is no longer held hostage by your juvenile crap. Good luck repeating your same patterns at your awaiting string of low-end jobs; I hope that you smarten up long enough to learn from at least ONE of your mistakes.

I've got the power

Despite all my rage, I am still just a chick with what would be a hot-esque body if I didn't have a Buddha belly in the making. I realized that I was otherwise semi-hot by looking in the full length mirror, side-profile, as I was working out. Dang, I'm lean. Oh, except for the baby bump. Yeah, about that... 9 weeks from today and counting.

But that's neither here nor there. About that mirror, while working out. Yeah, I did it - I joined a gym. I realized I needed to start working out. Again. Yeah, I know this ain't my first rodeo; we've done this before. But I'm serious this time.

What's changed, you ask? Glad you asked. Well, the biggest key factor is, I now know that getting rid of my belly by working out, eating right, and taking supplements alone isn't going to happen. No, you cannot dissolve tumors--not even benign ones--with a healthy menu and a treadmill, even if you throw some bad-ass supplements into the mix. So I'm kind of off the hook, and I have other, more promising options waiting for me in the golden light at the end of the tunnel.

So why return to the weight room? The reason is simple: I want to FEEL better. How's that? Of course, I wouldn't mind looking well-cut, either. It'd be nice if someone looked at me and said, "wow, she takes her vitamins." Why does Nadia have all the fun? But no, really, my brain wakes up after I've worked out. It jolts to life and suddenly I can think again. Suddenly I can make jokes again. And yet, as pumped as I am, I can sleep better that night.

It's fun to unleash my Inner Jock. Like an estranged lover, I've missed it for years. I like lifting weights with such effort that I sweat and breathe hard. I like grunting and counting my reps out loud. I like watching my arms flex even when I'm working my legs. I love moving the pin up to load heavier weights. I like feeling the burn. I like the slightly nauseated, definitely appetite-suppressed feeling. I like it when my legs feel like jelly when I leave the gym. And, sickly enough, I like the growing soreness that peaks on the second day that makes it a little tough to get up and walk and reminds you that you're building muscles you forgot you had.

I try and vary it up. I might not even have strictly divided upper or lower body days. I might do a combo. I might do squats, pecs, triceps and abs (including obliques) on one day, wait a day for recovery, and then do calf raises, bicep curls, hand squeezes, and lat pulldowns the next day. Then I might do abductors, adductors, some slow kicks (glutes!), and some forearm work after that.

I've realized I'm allergic to cardio, though. Don't laugh; I did fine with 30 min on a treadmill, but not 35 - and I had a huge histamine release for the entire next day. So do not try that at home. Seriously, ditch the bike unless you're going to build strength with resistance or something. But don't pummel yourself with aerobics. You are not a hamster.

So this time, it's not about losing weight. That'll happen on its own in due time, provided my body is functioning properly and I'm truly healthy. It won't happen until then, though. One could say that getting healthy is a prerequisite to losing weight. This time it's all about the feeling good, the general physical conditioning and fitness. Exercise? Fuck that, it's a bad word. I prefer words like "fitness", "physical activity", and "play". There; doesn't that sound more fun? "Exercise" sounds like a life sentence.

It's still me, a water bottle, and my iPod. But this time, my head is on straight and it's part of a larger plan.