After one week, I am a little pissed that I haven’t lost more weight. I’ve lost a total of 12 pounds since November, but I want this fat to come off. I am tired of being a fat girl. I just want to be able to run far, play hard, and lift heavy things. If being fat is compatible with all of that, then I suppose my size doesn’t matter, but right now, I feel as if this weight is a barrier to my being able to do fun things like the Tough Mudder. I mean who wants to stop to try to help hoist a fat girl over a wall that she can’t get up on her own. I want to rock climb. I want to stand-up paddle board. I want to do crazy stuff and not be afraid that I’m going to hurt myself because I am fat.
I spent about an hour jogging (within my 55% to 75% heart rate range) at Ball Gym this morning. I got some funny looks for being barefoot, but people left me alone. I like running at Ball State’s facilities with no shoes, because it makes me feel like an outlaw. Though it isn’t posted anywhere, barefooting is severely frowned upon by the powers that be at good ol’ BSU! I always have my VFFs with me just in case I get schooled like I did at Meijer that time. Seriously, people, no shoes is not a crime. Sometimes I understand how skateboarders and parkour practicioners feel! Augh. Ignorance. It’s bliss, eh?
After this one week, though, I am quite a bit hopeful that I have lost the 12 pounds since November, and I want to focus more on the fact that I feel amazing! I don’t feel bloated, weak, tired, or slow. I feel fast and free and strong. I still don’t like the idea of eating animals from factories, but I hope that one day I will have my own little farm where I can raise my own food: eggs, milk, meat, veggies, and fruit. I think I can grow cherries, blueberries, and apples in Minnesota, I know I can raise chickens and ducks and grow lots of vegtables, and two little cows should provide me with plenty of milk and maybe a calf for butchering. I am not sure I want to mess with goats or sheep, but I could make goat cheese, which I love, and sell the wool from the sheep, and I do love some lamb. I think I can do this farmer thing. I think Bec was on to something when she suggested that I teach online. That would be perfect. I could farmer and teacher all at once.
In the spirit of being my own little farmer, I am finally planning to get my new tattoos that I’ve wanted. On the back of my calves I want to William Carlos Williams poem “The Red Wheelbarrow.” On the back of the left calf will be half the poem with a picture of a red wheelbarrow, and on the back of the right calf will be the other half of the poem with a picture of some white silkie chickens. This seems like a nice way to celebrate a new lifestyle, and a new me.
Reason Breeds Insanity 
YES, it ABSOLUTELY BLOWS being a ‘parkour practicioner’. As that is always an awkward-sounding phrase, you must feel that somewhere out there, exists a proper term. The proper term is traceur. Anyway, that’s enough of sounding like an asshole: the subjective illegality of parkour is one of the reasons I basically quit. I still practice maneuvers, but you can’t really ‘do parkour’ like that. The biggest reason I quit is because it is dangerous; I mean, you can get arrested and put in jail for training!
But seriously, it is dangerous both physically and fiscally to train as well. I can’t deny these factors, but it mostly was because of the danger of law enforcement.
I knew there was a name, but I was too lazy to look it up when I was writing this! Thanks for feeding my laziness by supplying me with the proper terminology.