mmm....I smell bacon

      Actually, I smell LIKE bacon is what I meant to say.  For months I've been trying to lose the baby weight, eating semi-wholesome foods and exercising to the best of my thirty year old body's capability.  People have made excuses for me since little Fin was born, "Oh  Honey, it's your third baby!" and "You're almost thirty now, it takes a little longer." My personal favorite is "You're still breastfeeding, you need the calories." Now that my baby is eating solids and trying to crawl, the time has come to get a little more serious, this shit has got to come off! So at six months post-partum, I hid away my Liz Lange maternity jeans, and began my love-hate relationship with the treadmill.  The treadmill is killer, for twenty or thirty minutes I stare at our screen saver on the computer. Brutal.  Thank goodness the weather is changing and I have started running in the great outdoors with the help of our 104 pound mutt who basically pulls me up hills.    My hubby has chosen to join my on this mission to take off the baby weight.  With every baby he, being the loyal, adoring hubby he is, is obligated to put on the baby weight, however, he does not have the "luxury" of a tiny being completely depending on you as its only source of food.  And thus, he has a little more baby weight to lose than me.
      The running has been somewhat successful, in addition to eating ok foods that are healthy but boring to eat.  What can I say, I LOVE food.  For the most part, the sweeter the better. Or salty, love salty. So tonight, wanting to stray slightly away from the wagon for a day, I thought I would make the kiddos BLTs and for the hubby and I, iceburg lettuce wedges, with real bacon bits.  I do not eat bacon often, I probably buy the stuff twice a year.  But when cooked correctly, over-fried and super crispy, I can't keep my hands off.  I fried it up, all 20 pieces, and darn it, it was so GOOD the whole family enjoyed. Buddy smiled with every bite of his BLT and asked for seconds.  Declan enjoyed his bacon between two slices of cucumbers and did away with the rest of the sandwich all together and then ate three more pieces.  The good hubby crumbled up a slice of bacon on his wedge of lettuce and made himself half of a BLT.  I sampled the bacon, to ensure it was cooked properly before feeding it to my family.  I had two pieces on my half of sandwich. Had a couple slices on my wedge.  And it went downhill from there.  Between the kids and the hubby, I could account for 7 pieces for sure, did I really take down the remaining 13 pieces of fried pig lard? Omg. I totally did.  I have been busting my butt for a month to take down a pound of bacon in a one sitting? SO BAD!

 

      The kids were pretty tired. I got em to bed as soon as motherly possible so I could go for a long run as penance against my horrifying sin.  Kissed them all, said their prayrers, put on my running clothes, opened the door and  a torential downpour began, as if the diet gods were shaking their fists at me, taunting me, "Run out here Fatty and get struck by lightening!"  Scared, yet determined, I skipped to the treadmill and hopped on.  I can never really remember what settings I run on but I feel like I am getting a little faster and like a little incline, so it's sort of like running outside. So I set the speed on 5.5 and the incline at 3.5.  Please note, I have never enjoyed running or been good at it.  My sister Tessa and I "ran" track together though high school.  She was a runner, hurdler, jumper, pretty much any event coach talked her into, she excelled in.  I threw the shot put and the discuss.  My claim to fame was on the way to a track meet in Greely, I won a game of chubby bunnies (where whoever can fit the most grapes into your mouth without swallowing is the winner) against one of the senior discuss throwers.  Running, not my thing. 
      About five minutes into the run I feel pretty crappy, my stomach is not too happy about this punishment I have selected to right things with the gods of diet.  Fifteen minutes in, I think I am beginning to ooze bacon grease out of the pores on my face and an aroma of hickory smoked bacon is, I believe, coming from my hair.  I push on.  I stare at my screen saver and start to think of how badly I do not want to dig the maternity jeans back out. I run on. I get to 20 minutes and am very near flying off the back of the workout torture device.  I choose to start my cooldown.  I might puke, I hurt all over, and I think my heart is going to explode.  I take my pulse and it is 215! So, maybe it will explode? Not too mention I've got a pound of lard floating around those arteries tonight.  Oops! The bacon was totally worth it though.

Some day, right?