The Chin-Up Bar...FAIL

I need to install a chin-up bar in my home gym. I don't want to tear out a wall to do it.

So, I found an easy-breezy chin-up bar. Got it at a good price. You put it together, and it fits over a door frame without installation. I bought it, got home, was uber-excited for the new addition. Assembly was a snap (I love kits that include the tool for the screws and bolts).

Sadly, the door frame in the basement and the chin-up bar will not be friends. One side, just above the frame, is obscured by a big, metal vent, which is where the top of the chin up bar needs to rest.

Grrr.

Looks like if I want to use the chin-up bar, it's going to have to be used somewhere upstairs. I'm afraid if that happens, it's going to be used more for hanging my scrubs or bras while they hang dry.

Now looking for other options...

Say Cheese!

Now comes the time that I dread the most: The Before Pictures. Part of this process, you take a before pic (Day 1), a pic from Day 28, and then your last day (Day 90). You're supposed to notice this big difference and stuff.

I love taking pictures, just not of myself. There are not a lot of current pics of me for that reason. I hate having my picture taken. I loathe it. I'd really rather go to the dentist.

To make matters worse, it is recommended that I wear minimal clothing. Not naked pics, but something to the tune of a two-piece outfit, like a bikini.

Gulp.

But, I will do what I must, and then try to forget about it. I will not be posting those pictures here. Not until the end of my project. And even that is iffy.

Looks like you're going to have to find something else to fap to.

The Boom-Boom Room

I bought my house almost four years ago. It was such an amazing event for me. If you would have told me ten years ago that I would be buying my own house, on my own, I would have thought you nuts. Buying a house was something you did when you were married and planned on having kids. I remember feeling compelled to buy my own home when I lived in an apartment, and police stormed the apartment directly upstairs from me. I had a good job, a great income. Why not buy a house instead of rent?

Today, as I sit in my living room and look up at the cathedral ceiling, I can almost taste the terror I felt the day I closed. The excitement I felt afterwards as I walked through the empty house alone. My house. Even after all this time, I still can't believe it's mine.

I've grown into my house quite nicely...save for one room. It's a finished room, in the basement, just off the garage. The previous owners had converted it to a child's playroom, complete with multi-colored foam blocks on the floor, the same you find in daycare centers and gyms (but those floors are usually solid black). What the hell did I need a playroom for?? I didn't have kids, and in light of recent medical developments, there is a strong possibility I may not ever have that opportunity. So, the room just sat vacant. My kid brother used it as a makeshift tattoo parlor when he lived with me. I put all my books on the built-in shelves. But other than that, it's housed my ironing board, and whatever odds and ends that didn't sell from last year's garage sale. I've contemplated many uses: another guest room, an art studio for the ex (when he wasn't my ex), a relaxation room where I could read or just listen to music. A room with infinite possibilities, reduced to storage.

It finally occurred to me that I could convert it to a home gym. The floor was already set up for it. There's room for a treadmill, a stationary bike, a bench (for weight-lifting), and still enough floor space for 1-2 people to work out to DVDs. The floor is squishy enough to be kind to joints, and being in the basement, the house won't shake when you jump around.

So today, I started getting the room ready. I boxed garage sale stuff (to be donated later), swept, put my old television in the corner and bought a new little DVD player (you can pick them up for practically a song now). Mom is even getting excited about this project and plans on coming over to utilize the home gym. Mr. Recommendation is even going to build a high shelf for the television so it frees up even more floor space. Maybe for a little fridge for cold bottles of water and protein shakes.

Heather's House of Sweat, coming to the quiet subdivision of Fairway Hills.

All About Me

I hate my life.

My job. My personal life. My body. Instead of sitting around being bitter about these things, I decided to do something about it.

My job...I'm currently shopping for a new one. It's not that I don't like being a nurse, I like nursing. I hate the floor I work on. I work with a bunch of girls who, it would appear, never left high school, and a manager who seems to enjoy being Big Man on Campus. I've seen the pictures of him as a teenager. A gangly, uber-dork of a teenager. I suspect that being BMOC later in life, for him, is probably a pretty sweet deal. At any rate, I'm looking at other floors to transfer to. Stat.

My Personal Life...that is still working itself out. My boyfriend (who I was sure was The One) and I broke up. The reasons depend on who you ask. There's always three sides to every story: mine, his, and the truth. When the dust settles, I think it can be confirmed that it was a misunderstanding that blew up to epic proportions...but the damage is done. I still love him, but I'm sure I'll get over it. I try not to obsess over my romantic life (or lack thereof). If it happens, it happens. If not, I'll just take another trip to the Caribbean.

My body...I've never been horribly happy with my body. When I was a kid, I was always tiny, which is why I was the favorite target for bullies. Before I entered high school, I was always a slight 88lbs, 4-foot nothing. Hell, I remember apologizing to the school nurse when I finally broke 100lbs. When I hit high school, nothing really improved in the bully department. Going to lunch was a painful experience as no one wanted to sit by me for a various number of reasons: they didn't want to incur the wrath of said bully, my family didn't have the money or influence it took to hang out with the cool crowd, I wasn't nerdy enough to hang out with the Nerd Herd, not athletic and outgoing to hang out with the jocks, and I wasn't having sex and drinking to hang out with the "Scuzzies", and the band nerds (which belonged in) didn't have their own clique. No, I usually skipped lunch and holed up in the library during lunch period. Instead of food, I ate books. I'm fairly confident that my record for most books checked out in that library still stands to this day.

Toss that in with the fact that I skipped breakfast, it's safe to say my crappy eating habits formed early. I'd skip meals, then have a big meal that probably wasn't well balanced. It doesn't help that I work nights and maintain an odd schedule anyway.

Now, I'm reaping the rewards. I'm the biggest I've ever been. Joints hurt. I can't run around the house, much less around a track field. I don't feel very attractive. Let's face it, I'm no spring chicken, and my family has a pretty solid history of heart disease and diabetes. For now, my blood sugar is normal, my blood pressure is on the low side (unless I'm pissed about something), and my heart is strong.

Time to head things off at the pass.

A few coworkers mentioned that they did this extreme workout regimen. I don't make decisions lightly, so I researched this said regimen. Overall, positive reviews. A guy-friend and fellow Husker fan swears by it, and he's uber-hot (but too young for me, so don't even suggest it). So, I decided to bite the bullet and get the P90X program. Guaranteed to kick my ass in 90 days. I like structure. I like routine. I like shit spelled out to me. This sounds right up my alley.

The kit should arrive by Friday. Meanwhile, I must prepare.