Amazon

18 hours in the life of a single girl

Friday night: the art of turning down a date

I had a rough week emotionally, yeah? This and this and this.

Friday morning, I was exhausted as soon as I opened my eyes. In exchange for fulfilling my adulting obligations of going to work, I promised myself that I’d spend a quiet evening at home doing laundry, sipping on some locally brewed cider and reading a book. I couldn’t wait. After a useless day at the office (#braindead), I got stuck in endless traffic – cementing my resolve to be a Friday-night hermit. By 7pm, groceries were done, PJs and fluffy pink slippers adorned me and I was all set to win ALL of the dance-offs against myself to Ed Sheeran’s Shape of you.

The phone rang as I was starting the washing machine. I declined the call.

The phone rang again – same dude – as I was cracking open my first bottle of cider. I declined the call, texting Dude1, “You’re pocket dialing me.” He replied, “No, you idiot, I don’t pocket dial twice in a row. PICK UP.” So of course, instead of picking up, I finished prepping my load of laundry. Then I hydrated myself with cider. THEN I called back Dude1 (#priorities); he was inviting me last minute to join him for foodstuffs and drinks.

In case y’all were wondering, it is impossible to diplomatically tell a guy “I’m turning you down because I prefer doing my laundry.

Ooops?

#IreallyenjoyedmyGrandmaFridaynighttho

#Itotallykilledthosedanceoffs

Saturday morning: how to unsexify sexting

Saturday mornings = savage workouts with Coach Dr. Booté. One simply does not mess around with Coach and his workouts. If he requests the pleasure of our presence at a certain hour, we show up. On time. Ready to go. That is just how it works with Coach. #bossyman

So, it stands to reason that despite finding myself in the midst of a rather successful sexting session with Hickster, when the clock chimed 11am, I told Hickster I had to go workout. He requested I send him a naughty pic in exchange for my impending silence. I apologetically refused: no time, no way I would risk Coach’s wrath! I suggested Hickster use his imagination or the internet instead, bc I’m helpful like that.

Giggling, I told Coach and the boys what had just happened. The reactions included:

  • “Who sexts at 11am?”
  • “Who doesn’t sext at 11am?”
  • “So you just gave a guy blue balls by text?”
  • “Of COURSE you shouldn’t be late to MY workouts. Clearly, this bro doesn’t realize that MY workouts are the reason you have a sextable booté in the first place. He needs to learn.”

One of the guys suggested that I send a “dirty” video of me all hot and sweaty working out like an Amazon, lifting heavy shit. “Hey baby, this is what you meant, right? I’m so dirty. And I can whoop your ass. Bye!”

Hickster didn’t find it hilarious. Hihi.

#ittakesavillagetounsexifysexting


Because sharing is caring, behold Vanilla’s dirty videos:

And another, by which time I’d forgotten the stated objective of the videos, bc I was consumed by the pain of my burning muscles.

Advertisements

Getting hit in the solar plexus, part deux

Part I (you can read it here) was a figurative hit to the solar plexus. This part II was a literal hit to the solar plexus. Both were equally traumatic.

Yesterday’s training was a sparring session at the gym. I was pumped: I hadn’t sparred in over 3 weeks because of my trip to Beirut, it was time to dust off the cobwebs and see if all my work-outs while away had paid off. Feeling up to a challenge, I asked Coach if I could spar with Cap (the assistant coach who has publicly declared that one of his life goals is to drop me to the mat with body punches. See his entertaining and violent trash-talking here and here). Coach graciously agreed, telling me that he was offering me up as a gift to Cap, since Cap would soon be starting his 2 week paternity leave, and what better way to kick off his “break” than by roughing me up? To increase the entertainment value of this sparring session, Coach insisted we go last, so that the whole team could watch as they did their cool down.

Funny, I hadn’t considered my sparring to be a form of amusement for the masses.

Right before I got into the ring, Coach added a 2nd sparring partner to the mix: Bradley – a shy, quiet, tall, 15 year old boy, with a jab that can break through cement walls, and a hair-cut similar to Brad Pitt’s in the movie Fury. #heartbreakeratayoungage Coach smirked at me, and told me that sparring with Bradley was his present to me. It was Bradley’s first time sparring with a girl. **

Round 1 with Bradley went well, although he clearly wasn’t used to sparring with a tall girl – his jabs to the body frequently landed on my left boob. Coach noticed, and told Bradley that he could boast the next day at school how he’d frequently man-handled an Amazon’s boob. “All the boys will envy you, bro!” Poor Bradley turned as red as his helmet.

Round 1 with Cap also went well: the body shots weren’t too bad. I might have even landed 1-2 of them myself!

Round 2 with Bradley started off ok, except I noticed that he stepped up his aggressiveness, possibly in response to Coach’s embarrassing comments. He made me work on my mobility, to avoid getting pinned against the ropes. Everything was under control, nice give and take until the last few seconds of the round, when Bradley got me in the corner, and delivered a perfect right to my solar plexus.

For a split second my mind was all, “No big deal, I can continue boxing” and then my body decided that nope, standing up was no longer an acceptable activity. Down I went, both knees to the mat. I looked exactly like this guy, except with much better hair:

In front of my entire team. I got heckled pretty bad. And then Coach decided to deliver one of his coaching moments:

Ooooooooooooooh YEAH!!!! What a punch!

Everybody, just to give you guys a little context: Bradley here for the longest time refused to train with girls. To the point that I had to speak to his mom, and explain to her that Bradley needed to learn to respect my girls: they are Amazons, and can take and give a punch like any guy! And now look, look at how far he’s come. (waves at me)

Bradley, look at those muscles on her! It takes a real man to handle a woman like that, and boy did you handle her good. I’m telling you, at school tomorrow, all the boys are gonna envy you when you tell them what you did!

Meanwhile I was still on all fours, unable to breathe or crawl out of the ring. Great coaching moment, but I would have preferred if it had happened to somebody else.

Boxing. Always entertaining. Sometimes painful.

 

 

**Coach rarely allows for co-ed sparring: for the safety of his boxers, he is very strict about matching his boxers to appropriate sparring partners, based on height, weight (+/-15lbs max), strength and experience. Due to the normal strength & weight difference between guys and girls, there is little opportunity for mixed sparring. He only allows the more experienced lighter guys, the ones that can control their power at will, to occasionally spar with the bigger, heavier girls (myself, and 1-2 other girls) to give us girls the opportunity to broaden our experience, without putting us at risk of excessive power.

 

This Friday brought to you by a vain Amazon 

Convo with Bballer:

  

The art of being woman:

I can feel this way (pic above), yet still fret about how my jeans are too tight. I can feel that way and still feel completely incompetent due to my inability to stick to a nutrition plan that would allow me to drop the 10lbs I promised Coach I would months ago. 

But at the same time, I’ve learned to dress and shop better, to highlight my body’s strengths. I’ve learned to enjoy getting ready in the morning and constructing an image for the day that I’ll show the world: sometimes girly, sometimes powerful, sometimes nerdy, sometimes whimsical, sometimes beautiful, depending on my mood. The variations are endless. (The only variation I am still uncomfortable with is the sexy one. How well that fits with my Vanilla personality! Consistency is key, so they say.)

When I look at myself in the mirror, even on the most PMS-y, bloated day, I’m happy with what I see. Even though my belly is not flat, and my pawg-y butt and thighs have a bit too much jiggle, I’m content. My body and I have been through a lot together: we have the scars to show for it. It’s taken me a long time to learn how to take care of it, and often I still get it wrong. But by working together, overcoming injuries, some of which are decades-old, my body now allows me to box. I know my body is doing the best it can, and it’s my job to try help it along, and appreciate it for as long as I can. Because the day will come where my body will tire out and start to fail, whether due to illness or old age. When that day comes, I want to be able to look back on my life and say to my body, “we had a good run together. Well done.”

This Amazon business ain’t easy.

The struggle is real

This week has not be a good week. Crazy hours at work, tight deadlines with big consequences if missed resulted in me skipping 2 workouts out of 4 this far and stress-eating to the point of making myself ill. I have been working myself up, feeling overwhelmed, undisciplined, incompetent and FAT. The negative self-talk is back in full force, “you really should learn to control yourself, you’re such a pig – eating all that chocolate, again! Have you seen how bloated you look, how can you call yourself an athlete with that nasty diet, you know better, why is it that you go through this over and over again, you never stick up your diet plans, you promised Coach you would drop weight TWO MONTHS AGO, I bet that cafeteria worker laughs at you everytime you buy a candy bar…”

And then, a friend, a girl I find sooooooo pretty, and fashionable (a real 10!) tagged me in this picture on Facebook, along with a bunch of her other friends whom I’ve always considered to be way hotter than me:

  
She tagged ME. On a day where I was proud of myself for limiting myself to two Kitkat bars (as opposed to my usual, significantly higher, daily intake of chocolate). 

This is the second time this has happened to me in recent memory: I get clear feedback that how I perceive myself vs how others perceive me is way outta whack.

Reading the words on that photo, I realize I can and should call myself a fit woman. And that all my imperfections, so obvious to me, do not detract from the positives of my body. I should celebrate my victories (consistent training, prioritizing my workouts, developing a powerful skill set and athleticism) even as I work towards minimizing my weaknesses (an overdeveloped penchant for chocolate and jellybeans and French fries and booze).

I should learn to be kinder to myself, and see value in who I am. THAT is what being an Amazon is all about.

#owningit