Mammograms at the Y?

So if you keep up with me you know I am on a journey to become a plus size model. If you don't keep up with me, NO...that does not mean I am eating super sized meals topped with gravy in order to get there!

I have been devoted with my recent YMCA membership and must admit, I'm enjoying it. My workout buddy, Jess, and I attend regular water aerobics classes, sweaty treadmill sessions, and a strength training program. The physical transformation we are seeing, and will see, is going to be worth it. Heck, the eye candy is worth it...but that will be in another story.

Last night was water aerobics and then the beginning of our phase 2 strength training. We both weighed in and lost weight, which is a super plus. We did the normal fitness routine of body fat and BMI analyis, discussion of our phase 1 circuit, and decided what we would add for our phase 2. I had asked "Cutie Alan" about a machine that firms the backside...the one that you lay on your belly and pull your legs up behind you. He suggested that it was used mostly by men and one of the machines we had been using gives the same results. I asked why it was used mostly by men and he said that women felt uncomfortable laying down with their rear in the air....meaning men would just stare. I said, "Sign me up!" After all, in my mind, I have three physical things going for me.....eyes, breasts, and junk in my trunk.

After I finished my flirting with "Cutie Alan" he took Jess and I around to introduce us to our new machines. We would find out soon enough that our new program was really designed by Satan. OMG!! My body was put in some pretty compromising positions with one machine in particular. I pointed that out to "Cutie Alan" and he quickly responded with something along the lines of "that is the reason it's behind this pillar". Nearly all my parts were exposed!

The next machine felt really good on my back but when my reps were over I had to have help getting out of it. No lie. Jess had to pull me out because I was stuck in this god-awful position! It's a good thing we are able to laugh at each other during these moments.

After our introduction of the "Hades Herculean" routine it was time to do our remaining reps on our own. I get in the one that spreads my legs to an almost dislocated state...no problem. Move to the next one....I get stuck in it again. We move on down the line, easily thru the machines we had in phase 1 (but 5 lbs more weight). The last one we get to is the "chest butterfly"....a new phase 2 machine.

Neither of us are lacking in the chest area. As mentioned before, it's a gift. However, as with any gift, you have to take care of it. With this in mind, I push thru my first rep of the "chest butterfly", hardly able to finish 10, 11, and finally 12. Jess does her first rep. Time for my second rep. I get in, press the handle to make it a comfortable fit, pull the pads together, apart, together, apart......then it happened.

I heard this crash and the pads immediately SLAM together, pinning my boobs as if they were in some kind of vice. I have no idea what my face looked like but I was about to burst into tears when I said to Jess, "my girls are trapped". I couldn't get them out! Imagine, I'm sitting on this bench, my back against a pad, and my boobs are stuck in this mechanism, not allowing me to move forward.
She pulled the handle back from over my head and determined I had not locked the machine properly.

As soon as she "released" me I got out of that demon machine from hell. I think she could sense the pain I was in and repeatedly asked if I was okay. I swear if I had sat there any longer there would have been a puddle of milk on the floor....and I'm not even lactating! I can only imagine it's what a guy feels like when his "boys" are injured.

I am at the age to have had one mammogram and it wasn't a pleasant experience. This made my mammogram feel like a fondling. I'm now wondering why "Cutie Alan" was more concerned with my arse in the air and not with this machine about to "castrate" my breasts.
If I'm going to reach my goal I've got to be more careful with my goods.

Peace my peeps.

Jenny Bruce Heifer

I can't make this stuff up.....
To those who have read my notes before, you know I dream alot. Too much. Last night, once again, proved no different.
You know how we tend to dream things we've thought about, talked about, seen, etc. during the day? Happens to me, too. I'm weird but not any different than you. Here goes....
I am the only woman in a department of men. Needless to say, I'm popular. I don't know if it's my supply of Willy Wonka candy, my darling personality, my ability to listen even when I'm screaming on the inside for the person to shut up, or my rather voluptuous breasts. Does it even matter? Anyway, they all stop by my office dozens of times a day and talk. They talk about their wives, girlfriends, work, weekends, our boss, sports....anything, and they talk about it. So needless to say it didn't surprise me when one of my "regulars" stopped by yesterday and talked about how slow work was. He went on to say that if it got too bad he could go back and work his farm. He said he would buy some "feeder calves", fatten' them up and sell them. He went on and on and it was then that I was screaming inside that I'd rather be submitting a document than listen to this man talk about fattening a calf up to be the quarter pounder it will eventually become.
Part two...
My last status post mentioned something about me knowing what I wanted to do. I stated in a response that I was going to trim down and be a plus size model. I will never be skinny. I don't want to be skinny. I heard growing up that meat is for the man, bone is for the dog. I live by that motto. I am big-boned and have curves, and I can do everything a little woman can, and just as well. Heck, I've heard a man scream my name more than once....you dig? ;o)
I'm getting somehwere with this...trust me....
So in the middle of the night I am dreaming about calves and weight loss. The two are not a pretty combination. I wake up thinking I have to lose the amount of weight equal to that of a calf. WTH? I promise I do not smoke 'da dope.
I say to myself...OUTLOUD....in the middle of the night..."Jenny, you have to lose the equivelant of a heifer.". So I immediately start to giggle that I'm carrying around extra weight equal to that of a heifer. It comes to mind, the Jenny Bruce Heifer has to go in order to achieve my plus size model goal.

When I lose this "heifer" I'll still be curvy and sexy, I just won't have half my body mooing or looking for a tit.