A Fathlete finds her face in week...Eight?

You may notice that the Running Diva shirt is back, because I wanted to see if there was a difference in the first few weeks I wore it and now. And there is, particularly around the...chestical region. They're smaller, which is not what I was going for, actually, but I'll take it.

I also notice that my face is noticeably smaller and more defined, which is kinda cool. I didn't have the most stellar Fourth, nutritionally - I had rich Italian food Thursday and Friday, and on Saturday, Man Friend and I ate pretty much one meal. At a blues festival. Conch in fritter form met rum in runner form. Somewhere, Jillian and Bob from "The Biggest Loser" are crying. And trying to find me and beat me up.

But I worked out all but one day of the weekend, and I'm back on track. Tonight I have a fancy party on Miami Beach, in which the bar is open and the appetizers are kicking. But it's gonna be awesome. We're getting it done!

Remember the Fathlete...before she pigs out this weekend!

I love this picture, and will remember it fondly after tonight's fondue GNS (Girls Night Scarfing), and tomorrow's Italian food GNCM (Girls Night Caloric Massacre) and whatever The Manfriend and I get up to this weekend.

Viva la holiday!

I love working out, and I love healthy food. But the more weight I lose, the harder it is not to get cocky and eat what I are yesterday (the words "Spana" and "kopita" figure prominently.) Tomorrow, I plan to work out for like two hours and be a monster and tear it up and be fabulous. And I don't wanna screw it all up because the two people who read this blog will be upset with me.

I just love food so much. It makes me happy. Soooo happy. And sometimes it's hard not to focus on it and love it and eat it and call it George. But I'm gonna keep looking at this picture, and then looking at the one at the beginning of this journey, and decide which is closer to the one I wanna look like.

Yeah. I like this one too.

If only cheese wasn't so sexy.

The Biggest Fathlete Week 6: Wow. My stomach is flatish.

And here it is. It's not six-packy and might never be. And this is not the best quality photo, but there is actual muscle there. I show you this in the spirit of the actual "Biggest Loser" contestants, who have to wear sports bras when they're 80 pounds overweight. I am not done, and don't want you to think that I think this is perfect. But it's not bad. You didn't see what it used to look like.

I am now, unfortunately, paranoid that it's gonna all end. I am getting obsessed, and Leslie is a bore when she's weight obsessed. Ask anyone.

How do you guys stay focused without being crazy?

Two better pictures of your Biggest Fathlete!

Yesterday's photos were sorta stinky, so here are two better photos to show the ol' progress, in which you can see my face. Which is sorta Buckwheat-Goes-To-College. But they're post-workout. What are you gonna do?

A Fathlete Doesn't Want To Be The Fat Bridesmaid.

My close and dear almost-sister Kiki is getting married, which is why she flew me to Pennsylvania last weekend to do bridesmaid stuff, like meet her cake guy (fab!) see her wedding dress (I cried!) and get fitted for my beautiful bridesmaid dress, which is a lot prettier with me not in it.

Crappity.

I am trying to nudge myself off this plateau I'm on, but nevertheless felt pretty good about my weight going into the fitting at David's Bridal (and Lord, ain't that place a racket!), up until I actually put the dress on. I wasn't even phased, at first, by the presence of the two skinniest bridesmaids, because they're hot in their little skinny own way, and the Fathlete is hot in her own big-butted, muscle-woman, back-fatted way. Each to their own hotness, I say.

The problem was the size of the dress, which I knew would be bigger than my usual. And the bride, who now weighs about 12 pounds (and is gorgeous) warned me that she'd fit into the size I was about to try on, and Sister is much smaller than me. So when the smaller size, which is one up from what I usually wear, was too tight in the breasticles, I didn't mind. The next one up, a size I have not been since the late 90s, didn't fit either.

Uh-oh.

This meant that my dress, even though it's gonna be taken in, is in a size that I have never worn, even though I am not half the fat-ass I was in the late 90s. I know that it's my boobs, not everything else, and that I'm not really that size.

Bu I don't want to be at all. So I'm not gonna be. I promise you - and me - that when I get fitted for that dress in July, it will be a size smaller. At least. I know this is gonna hurt. But it's gotta happen.

A Fathelete Starts The New Year Mostly Right!

Quick note: As the first day of this hopefully smashing new year dawns, I am ending the vacation eating portion of my vacation early. This means I am not eating everything put in front of me (Hello pie, my secret lovah!) and pretending that it doesn't count. I can see a little extra pinchiness around certain areas (Hello, pie, my secret lovah!) but shockingly everything still fits, even though I've worked out once since I've been here.

Seriously.

So obviously, God either is sparing me from my laziness or waiting until I get back home to slap me with some delayed reaction blubber. Tomorrow, my sister and I are going to some class at her gym called Soul Grooves, which she says is a butt-kicker. I am working on my natural lack of coordination with Armando, my dance guru, so this might be fun. Hell, who am I kidding? It's still gonna hurt like a mofo...Hey, Steve Zahn is gonna be Monk's brother! I love Steve Zahn! He's the Seann William Scott of my generation, yet not so Seann William Scott-y! 

I'm sorry...where was I? Yes...umm...Soul Grooves. I'm a little scared of it but I have a soul and have been known to groove. So we'll see what's up.