Why Yes, I Am Skinnier Now

It's not like this for serious. CREDIT.

In becoming more fit again, I’ve realized that it’s something people are very uneasy addressing.  What I mean is that though people notice the change and want to offer some compliment, they have no idea how to do so.  I’ve noticed this the most at work where my required uniform is especially form fitting, making it pretty obvious that I’ve slimmed down.  It’s nearly impossible not to notice in form-fitting Lycra and spandex.  And this makes people uneasy.

Usually this happens most with regular customers.  I’ll be working at the bar, mixing drinks like a true master of all things alcoholic and a customer will clear their throat in a way that quite obviously means “I have something to say with absolutely no idea how to say it.”  After acknowledging the dramatic throat clear, I’ll find myself in the middle of a stammering, uncomfortable conversation that boils down to asking if I’ve lost weight.

“Um, I don’t really know how to say this, but have you…um…maybe lost a little weight?”

“You know, you look different.  I guess I’m not sure, but maybe you’ve been at the gym a bit lately?”

“I think, well maybe I don’t know, that perhaps you’ve toned up some.  I’m not really sure.  I don’t come here that much.”

Actually, you’re here twice a week, but whose counting anyway?  No matter the delivery, it’s pretty obvious that people have no idea how to address the change in my body.  Of course I totally understand.  We live in a society that has – rightfully – taught us it’s disrespectful to make inquires regarding a woman’s weight.  Hell, it’s rude to make inquires about anyone’s weight.  But sometimes, regardless of the situation, it’s nice to hear a compliment.

And that, my friends, is the difference.  If it’s apparent that someone has had a positive body change odds are they’d probably love a positive response to that change.  I’ve literally worked my ass off of my body after months of very hard work.  I’ve sweated.  I’ve sustained myself on boiled chicken.  I’ve consumed more protein in liquid form than some people probably eat in a year.  And most of it has totally sucked.  It was hard and it’s nice knowing that all of it really did make a noticeable difference.  Yes, I can look in the mirror everyday like a vain little twit and spew affirmations, but nothing is better than someone else taking notice and saying something nice.

If you notice a change in someone, go ahead and say something.  If they’re anything like me, they’ll really appreciate the compliment.  After all, a girl cannot live on protein and complex carbs alone; those don’t feed the soul.

So go ahead and sit at my bar and confidentially ask if I’m a personal trainer (yes, that actually happened).  Point out that I may have lost weight.  Because guess what?  I have.

If I can generalize, remember the importance of complimenting people.  Yes, it can occasionally feel awkward to do so, but it can really make a person’s day.  It’s just nice to be noticed and – even more so – appreciated.  I’ve made it my new personal goal to compliment someone everyday because the world could use a little love.  Let’s spread love people!

Oh, and thanks for letting me know how much you like my “guns.”

And, because I like votes and I'm a shameless self-promoter, don't forget to vote daily in the Hooters Halloween Costume Contest on Facebook.  Once again I made my costume from scratch this year.  I'm hoping - with your help - to break into the top three and win some money to support my student ass.  Please help me buy Ramen liquid egg whites.

VOTE HERE!

Then feel free to LIKE ME ON FACEBOOK!  It's where the magic happens.

Sauce's First Fitness Competition

Not me.  Or my lady trophy.

And just like that I competed in my first fitness competition.  That’s about how fast the whole experience was.  I walked on stage, hit a couple poses, stood in a line and in less than a minute was judged.  I was not judged a winner.  Instead I was judged thoroughly disappointed somewhere in the middle.  My competitive streak was most unhappy.

My division, tall bikini had thirteen competitors.  Divided by height, the show had two bikini divisions: one for those under 5’4 and one for those over.  Now if this seems rather unfair, it was.  The lower division had only five competitors.  A division has five finalists.  Yes, everyone was a winner in the lower division.  In comparison, most people were losers in my division.  I got the pleasure of being first loser.  And yet again it sucks to be tall.

Anyway, judging is completed in the morning.  This consists of you walking out, hitting poses at three marks and then all lining up at the back of the stage.  They then have everyone turn around and a split second later they called five girls to the front.  This ended up being their top five.  They were picked in all of about two minutes. 

After calling the top five and viewing them front and back, they called up the rest of us and we also posed front and back.  At this point, I was called forward along with another competitor.  Generally this is a very good sign and I figured I was being compared for inclusion in the top five.  This was not the case.  Rather than comparing again – which is common in big divisions – they put us back in line and moved us off stage.  And that was it.

After judging, given that I had been moved, many people thought I was a shoe in for a top five finish.  I felt confident as well, sure that I had at least landed myself a fourth or fifth place.  Really I didn’t care as long as I got a trophy.  I’m a girl.  I like shiny things that say I’m awesome at stuff. 

Since judging was over, Dreamy and I decided to have a little lunch at which point I let myself go a bit.  Yes, I had to put on a bikini again, but the hard part was over.  I had earned an effing tamale.  And rice.  And a daiquiri.  And ice cream.  Yes, I ate all of that before putting on a bikini six hours later for the night show.  I only felt marginally guilty.

The night show is basically just all flash.  Since the judging is complete, they parade everyone around and hand out prizes.  It’s easy.  I went out and hit my poses again and then they called the top five.  One name.  Two names.  Three names.  Four names.  Five names.  WHAT THE EFF?!  None of the names belonged to me.  I left the stage dejected as they begin announcing the places of the girls left on stage.  Why hadn’t I been called?

Initially I got mad.  I got upset.  I let it get me down.  Yes, I’d gotten sixth and done well overall, but being an intensely competitive person I wanted more.  I wanted that shiny, lady statue.  I wanted people to know how well I’d done.  I wanted recognition.

I was about halfway through the best burger and coconut milkshake of my life when I realized I really didn’t effing care.  No, I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped, but I still had accomplished something pretty amazing.  I’d been incredibly dedicated for months.  I’d worked hard and while the results hadn’t led to a silly trophy, they had led to a strong, confident body.  And as awesome as it would have been to get totally wasted while carrying around a trophy in the shape of a buff lady, the physical and mental results are far more rewarding.

Besides, judging is subjective.  As Dreamy reminded me, “Any given Sunday, babe.”  And inappropriate football movies aside, he was totally right.

Then, a few days later I checked my email.  Now generally I don’t get many emails at According to Sauce.  So when I logged in and saw two, I was pretty excited.  But what really got me was the fact that apparently my journey and hard work had inspired someone.  Both of the emails said that I had motivated them to get off the couch, go to the gym and make a change in their life.  Reading those two messages left me feeling so incredibly inspired.  While it’s nice to do something for you, it’s something else entirely when that personal change can positively affect another.  That was never my plan, but I’m so glad it’s become an outcome.

So will I do another fitness contest?  Honestly, I’m not sure.  While I enjoyed the process, the diet left me with a short fuse and nearly entirely changed how I treated those closest to me.  Nothing – no matter how much you like it – is worth treating those you love poorly.  Let’s not sugarcoat; I was a raging bitch.  I’ve heard that though changes in mood can be common they are avoidable with changes to the diet, but if it’s not than I’ll be going into retirement.

What won’t be changing is my dedication to maintaining a healthy lifestyle.  I’ll still be mindful of my dietary choices.  I’ll still go to the gym.  I’ll still treat my body the way it deserves to be treated, because it feels good to do that.  And maybe – if I’m lucky – I’ll inspire another person or two.  It’s not a lady trophy, but it will certainly do.

P.S:  I treated my FACEBOOK fans to a peak at what I looked like at the contest.  Feel free to become a fan and take a look!

One Day

A glimpse at my Halloween costume.  And my
abs.  I'm proud of both.

I am effing hungry.  I leave for my first fitness competition tomorrow and all I can think about is eating a carb sandwich that is fried in bacon fat.  I realize that makes no freaking sense.  That’s how bad I want really, honest, shitty food.  Ironically, I have been eating a ton, but all the chicken, asparagus and more chicken just isn’t cutting it anymore.  I need bread.

Really I think it’s mostly a nervous thing.  Suddenly that thing I’ve been working toward for months is here.  It seems like only a sort time I ago I was twelve weeks out.  Well twelve became eleven and eleven became ten and now I’m here.  One day. 

On Saturday, I’ll be taking the stage to compete in the smallest bikini I have possibly ever seen – funny that’s also the most expensive I’ve ever purchased.  I’ll be tanned and made-up and pose with perfection.  But what you won’t see as I stand on stage and flirt with judges are the over twenty pounds I’ve lost (and that’s keeping in mind that I’ve gained a significant amount of muscle).  You won’t see the two a days I’ve put in at the gym.  You won’t see how strict I was with my eating.  You won’t see all the work it took.  You’ll just see the result in bejeweled baby blue and clear high heels.

Sitting here on the couch I’m honestly amazed with how strong I feel.  I know that I have willpower and drive.  Without either of those traits I’d never have found myself here.  Even if I don’t place, at least I know that I can get myself to this place.  And that is saying something no matter where I end up.

I’m nervous.  I’m hungry.  I’m excited.  I’m ready.  All I need is a ridiculous spray tan and some butt glue.

And a medium rare burger and fries on Saturday night.  And popcorn.  And beer.  Eff it, take me to a buffet.

Caroline

“And how old are you now?!”

And that’s how, between sets of pull-ups, I met Caroline at the YMCA.  At first, I was annoyed.  When I go to the gym I am not one of those social girls.  I am one of those far less common “leave me alone so I can sweat like a pig, but have a really hot ass to show for it” kind of girls.  I don’t like to be interrupted in the middle of my workouts.

“I’m twenty-six”

“Married?”

“No, not married.”

“Kids?”

“Nope, no kids yet.”

“Well you keep being fit and keep being beautiful for you and you’ll be eighty-five like me with all the doctors saying you’ll live to be 105.”

Caroline could probably curl 45s.  CREDIT.

And that’s a pretty good introduction to one of the most wonderful, yet totally insane little old ladies I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  One of the reason I love the YMCA – and have kept my membership despite having access to the gorgeous student recreation center on campus – is because it is full of old people and not dumb bitches.  And Caroline is quite possibly the best of them.

Before I knew it, Caroline began regaling me with the high points of her long life.  There were two husbands.  There were four kids.  There was three years spent teaching in Germany.  Caroline was one big over-share after another.  This was officially confirmed when she told me all four of her children had been conceived while she was wearing a diaphragm much to the chagrin of husband number one.  Too much?  Probably, but when you’re eighty-effing-five going on 105 you can say whatever you freaking please.  Birth control failures included.

After something about her second husband being initially married to a woman who was “more beautiful than Elizabeth Taylor and just as promiscuous,” Caroline began talking about inner beauty. 

“You know I’ve met at least forty people with scars and burns and ugly outsides; people that have been pushed around because they looked a certain way.  But I didn’t ever mind that and I looked right in them and met the most beautiful people in the world.  You’re one of those few people who are lucky to have the beauty on both sides.  It’s a gift that you should spread to the world.  The world needs all the love and beauty it can get.”

Then Caroline reached up, squished her hands onto my cheeks, smiled wide and said she couldn’t wait to see me more.  And as I got back to my pull-ups, I realized I couldn’t wait to see Caroline again either.  Caroline had told me her whole history and made my day in all of about three minutes.

I hope I can live me life half as fabulously as Caroline is living hers.  I hope that one day when I’m eighty-five I can drop a bomb of knowledge on some unassuming twenty-something on a random Tuesday morning at the YMCA.  I want to spend my life being Caroline awesome.

I will however not be trusting my woman parts to a diaphragm anytime soon.

To Your (My) Health

I’ve always considered myself a pretty active person.  I did run track after all.  But after graduating – and not constantly having someone telling me how to work out and when – I certainly eased into a not so consistent workout plan.  Rather the two or even three-a-days I had grown accustomed to, I instead fell into a schedule of half-assed cardio seasons.  I mean I still worked out (because I do love it) but it was nothing compared to what my body was used to.

Two months, two months, two months.  CREDIT.

Then you pair that with food.  Because I was always getting my ass kicked with lifting, running, form workouts and plyos I just didn’t really think that much about what I was eating.  While I ate fairly healthily, I enjoyed my fair share of sugary sweets and greasy fried foods.  I love food and I didn’t hold back if I didn’t want to.

And then finally you get a job at Hooters.  There is almost nothing better as a lover of wings than being hired as a Hooters Girl.  Wings are everywhere.  Of course being a Hooters Girl means wearing the uniform.  And the uniform isn’t quite as fond of wings.  At first I just didn’t care.

So I gained weight.  It was inevitable.  But I won’t sit here and pretend I gained tons of unwanted pounds.  Obviously I was still able to pull of the uniform of a Hooters Girl.  I just felt heavy.  I felt off.  I felt lazy.  In short I didn’t feel like me anymore.  And while I looked fine to everyone else, that just wasn’t good enough for me.

Finally, I decided to really do something about it.  I stopped saying “I’ll start on Monday” and just effing started.  And let me tell you, at first it totally sucked.  It wasn’t so much the more consistent and focused working out, but rather the showing up to Hooters and avoiding everything delicious and eating salad after salad after salad.  That was torture.

But I stuck with it as much as I wanted to order a greasy Strip Cheese sandwich drenched in extra hot sauce.  I started bring my own food to work to avoid temptation.  I added a morning bootcamp to my cardio routine and introduced more lifting.  I started feeling like me.  I wasn’t as tired – even when waking up at six to hit the gym.  I felt happier.  I just felt good.

Please note the size of that bitty bikini in relation to my heels.

And then I went totally insane and decided to sign up for a bikini fitness competition.  I even went out and purchased a miniscule, shiny bikini and five-inch clear heels (the normal uniform of a fitness competitor); I made the decision and I committed myself.  That decision has taken my already healthy eating lifestyle to regimented, four-hour meals of specific amounts of protein and starchy carbs.  I am one of those crazy people with both a bathroom scale and a kitchen scale; I even use them both daily.  I drink protein shakes.  I no longer drown my sorrows nor celebrate my happiness in the bottoms of margaritas.  I go the gym twice a day even when I think I don’t have the time.  I am bastion of fitness.  Don’t worry I scare myself too.

But here I sit today, just under two months out from my competition, toned, healthy and nearly twenty pounds lighter than I was in January.  Did I think I even had twenty pounds to lose?  Hell no.  But I did and it feels amazing.  My abs say hello.

I’ll be so ready for that shiny, little bikini.

I'm Health Nuts

Every year as swimsuit contest time comes around Hooters goes into health mode.  Suddenly girls who never think of what they eat, let alone visiting a gym, become obsessed with changing their bodies.  Now, let me make it clear that the vast majority of these girls are between 18 and 20-something and still have dream metabolisms that can take fried food on like champions.  It’s not they’re unhealthy on purpose, it’s that with a nearly perfect body that can down cheeseburgers with little to no consequence counting calories is usually pretty far from mind.

Wings is not part of
Dr. Hooties' healthy
menu prescription.

Of course many of these girls don’t really do that good of a job with the whole healthy thing simple because it's so very out of the ordinary for them.  For example, a girl might have a salad for lunch but she’ll get the Cobb.  Which is not just a salad, it’s a salad with three chicken strips on top not to mention bacon and cheese.  And of course they have it with ranch.   Or they’ll get a salad and have a hearty side of cheese fries.  Sorry, not healthy.  It’s a start, but it’s only the first inch of the healthy diet marathon.

I, on the other hand, am generally very conscious of what I eat and how I exercise.  It’s not that I constantly need to keep my weight in check, it’s that eating healthy and working out just makes me feel better.  And of course, being a college track athlete the whole working out and eating right thing really became a way of life for me.  Yes, I do love a big plate of grease with a side of cheese now and again but it’s certainly not the norm.

With my habits I tend to be the go to girl with diet and exercise questions – especially before the swimsuit contest.  Generally the questions are pretty generic and involve me talking about what I do day in and day out as far as eating and working out.  Sometimes this is met with further questions and sometimes it’s met with shock.  Usually it’s somewhere in between.

So there I was answering the “how can I be healthier question” and giving my usual spiel one day.  I gave an overview of my eating habits and how that's really the biggest part of losing weight and getting a lot of visible toning.  All that was fine until I started talking about working out and eventually got to how P90X can be a really good option for a lot of people because it pretty much tells you exactly what to do.

“Oh P90X!  I’ve heard about that.  Can you tell me more about that?”

I oblige and start lining out how it’s a muscle confusion program built on variation.  Blah, blah, blah.  When I get more into the actual substance of the P90X workout plan she stops me.

“Um, I just figured it was a pill or something to help me lose weight.  I don’t really want to work out and all that hard stuff.”

Face meet palm.