Argh, wtf happened to the internet this week?! Usually when I go on Facebook or wherever I am able to procrastinate over adorable pictures of cats and/or Dumbledore and/or whatever, but good Lord,  it’s apparently National Body-Shaming Week, and so I’m hoppin’ mad instead of mildly entertained. Ugghhh.

I guess people celebrate National Body-Shaming Week in a few exciting ways: If you’re a layperson, you post offensive memes about women’s bodies whereupon women of one size and shape are exulted for their attractiveness and women of another are shamed for theirs; if you’re a medical professional, it seems you celebrate by deciding to spend your money by putting up stupid-ass billboards featuring disembodied people with guts or, heaven forfend, cellulite, whilst alleging dubious claims about diet! Argh, no, please to stop?

So yeah, Infuriating Body-Shaming Piece of Utter Bullshit Number One is the meme to the right. I’ve seen a couple different of these, all with pictures of some random skinny girl I would probably recognize if I read more magazines, and then Marilyn Monroe or Bettie Page, with the general theme of “When did [modern generally-unattainable beauty ideal] become more attractive than [generally-unattainable beauty ideal from days of yore]?”

Now, I get the sentiment behind this one. A certain ideal of tallness, slenderness, and fitness has put pressure on women of all sizes for years and years, put forward by the fashion/entertainment industry. It can be a toxic world out there if you don’t fit in to what people (allegedly) find popularly attractive: Larger women get used as examples of “what [some group of people] don’t want all the time, it can be hard if not impossible to shop for trendy, fashionable clothing if you’re bigger lady, getting adequate medical care can be super-difficult, the list goes on. Hell, it seems the best roles non-skinny actresses can land are either the super-depressing tragic kind, or the “good-natured but sassy friend” or whatever [see: Gilmore Girls, and like, I dunno, every other show. Even Parks & Rec, my current fave show is guilty of this to a point, though to be fair, everyone is ridiculous in his or her own way on that show, not just my girl Donna). It sucks. But it also sucks to promote some redonk "real women have curves" nonsense* by way of responding to this, because it's feeding the same fire. First up: it's still alleging that women are only valuable if [some group] finds them physically attractive. Second: it’s not okay to pit women against each other, especially over their bodies. Women get the message all the time that we are constantly in some sort of Darwinian cage match against one another, over men, over jobs, over being considered most fashionable/in shape/successful/whatever. It’s dumb and untrue, and it makes the world a lot scarier if one’s perception of sisterhood is believing the woman hugging you with one arm has a stiletto held behind her back with the other.

Now, I’m not 100% down with the fat-posi/health at any size movement–in fact, I disagree with a lot of what I’ve read of that group’s writings–but I do believe 100% in body-positivity (to be fair there is a lot of overlap). It’s healthy to love yourself, natch, whatever you look like. More on that later, though. I’m only mentioning the fat-posi/HAAS communities because I think the best thing they’ve managed to get out there is the stone-cold fact that you can’t know anything about a person’s health just by looking at him or her. I mean, my dad is the best example of this. He’s had pancreatic cancer for close to two goddamn years now, and still looks fantastic. You would never think he had anything wrong with him, and yet he’s been in beastly chemo since his diagnosis. Christ, he went to the gym yesterday and did weight lifting. I can’t get to the gym when I have a hangover. The point is, you can’t simply look at any person out there, fat or thin, and claim to know how healthy he or she really is. It’s true that obesity can up your risk of heart disease, diabetes, metabolic syndrome, etc. but it’s also true that there are women out there every day who are in the overweight/obese category who eat right, exercise like total maniacs, and are perfectly healthy. By the same token–and here I am looking right goddamn at you moveon.org, you cannot look at a random skinny girl and decide she is anorexic. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK. How body-negative, judgmental, and icky. And how dubious a conclusion to reach based on A FACEBOOK MEME, amiright? Because unless we’re going to diagnose every cat in the world with dyslexia … you know, I’m not even going to engage further with this, it is too ridiculous. But other bloggers have, and much more articulately than me, so, good.

But, argh, wtf, it’s just too bad for common sense and kindness this week because even goddamn doctors are celebrating National Body-Shaming Week, too! See Infuriating Body-Shaming Piece of Utter Bullshit Number Two, to the left.

Behold: The PCRM, a group I usually like, has released the dumbest billboards this side of PETA, no small honor there. Every bit as bad as the “Save the Whales” campaign of whenever ago, the PCRM has erected the billboards to the left in Albany, NY, as some sort of … I dunno, anti-cheese-eating effort? AAAAHHHHWHAT. I know Americans eat a totally gross amount of cheese, which as I have noted more than once, is made from milk—a substance intended to turn tiny baby cows and sheep and goats into large cows and sheep and goats, meaning those dairy-industry claims that cheese will help you lose weight are REDONKULARIOUS—but this sort of body-shaming is a stupid, ineffective, and nasty way to try to motivate folks to cut back on the brie. First up: there are plenty of fat people who don’t eat cheese. Like, um, me? I was 40 lbs heavier this time last year and I hadn’t eaten cheese in five years. And guess what–now that I’m 40 lbs lighter, can run (knee permitting), hike up mountains, do unassisted pull-ups as of today, rock over 100 push ups at a stretch, lift heavy weights, and pretty much do any physical activity I want to … and, uh, I still have cellulite. OH NOES OMG PUT UP A PICTURE OF MY THIGHS TO SHAME THE MASSES.

Really, PCRM?! No one food makes anyone overweight; for some people, no amount of health eating and exercise will give them bodies that fit into the narrow range of acceptable/attractive in every way. That is some junk science right there.

And furthermore, how this repulsive fat-shaming fit into any of your stated goals? I just don’t get it: The message here is not one of “eat well and exercise as preventative medicine!” which is what I though the PCRM was all about according to their own, you know, “about” page. It says right there in black-on-white text that they are all about, allegedly, providing “vital information to tens of thousands of people” What is the vital information provided via those horrid billboards: “fat people are gross?” Gee, thanks!! That’s some truly revolutionary “bringing the message to the masses,” there. OMFG.

Maybe the worst part of this whole debacle is that waaaaay more motivated folks than me emailed the PCRM and are all getting the same stock response. My favorite parts have been these:

Thanks for being in touch. You’re making a good point, that people with weight problems might not be especially pleased about seeing obesity depicted on a billboard.

Um, I don’t have weight problems and … never mind.

Certainly, many people have enough self-esteem issues as it is. But that raises the question, what do we do to attack the problem of obesity?

Dude, y’all are supposed to be doctors or something. Even I know shame and fear are the worst motivators for long-term weight loss. Anyways hold onto your (cellulite-riddled, no doubt) butts, because here’s my favorite part of their form letter:

So how do we wake people up? Our ads are designed, not as any sort of “shaming” or falsified depiction of obesity, but rather simply as a view of ordinary obesity exactly as it is. If you thought “fat is beautiful” as some cultures have in the past, you would probably find the images attractive. Take another look, and you’ll see exactly what I mean.

I took another look, and OMG that’s so true! See?

I totally see your point now, PCRM! The warm, loving colors, attractive posing, and non-disembodiment featured in your billboard totalllllllly highlights human beauty if you’re just into fat chicks and dudes!

Anyways. ANYWAYS. Fat-shaming is super-gross, and scare tactics instead of science is a reprehensible approach for a medical group. Just sayin’. Stunts like this are annoying, ineffective, and make vegans look like judgmental crazy people (which, sadly, some are). They also do nothing to inform the public. Ugghhh. There’s so much better stuff out there to talk about with obesity and dietary concerns regarding the Standard American Diet and really pernicious foods like bacon and sausage and I don’t even know what else. But I guess this is dumber and easier, so yay!

Anyways. ARGH! Can we just be kinder to one another? Can we make a vow to celebrate beauty without a compare/contrast attitude that puts people falsely into opposition? Or—even better—not hold up arbitrary standards of physical attractiveness as any determinant of the worthwhileness of an individual, male or female? While we’re at it, can we also please work together to learn about how to make healthy, positive choices for our bodies and the planet? I know it’s hard, but I betcha it’ll be worth it in the end!

_________________

*What is a real woman? What is a curve? How do we define either of these terms? Is a FTM transexual like Buck Angel a “real woman?” He was born female, and he does have some curves: His enormous biceps are super-curvy (and sexxxy), but he identifies as a man/male. Anyways. The point is, it’s a stupid adage because real women come in all shapes and sizes, and anyways it’s crappy to assign concepts of “realness” or “fakeness” to something as nebulous and undefinable as being a woman.

It’s a big bright new year and likely most people (who consider January 1st the start of the new year, anyways) have made some sort of resolution. Mine, for example, is flossing. I don’t floss enough … and, frankly, I am kind of suspicious of people who do, but whatever, it’s supposed to be good for you. So, flossing: YES!

I have a few fitness-related goals, too, because of course I do. I want to run a race (well, I am going to run a race: the Warrior Dash, in August), and I want to be able to bench press 100 lbs by the end of the year. Just because. Oh, and I want to conquer my fitness nemesis: the unassisted pull-up. For some reason I am just awful at pull-ups, and it’s total bullshit and I’m tired of it.

But anyways! This post isn’t about that. It’s about how not to talk about fitness, inspired by an unpleasant interaction I had today at my gym.

So I got it into my head it would be a good idea to get my body fat percentage checked. It’s a free service at my gym, and I was curious. I got it checked last year, and was in the low 20s if memory serves. I haven’t lost that much weight since then, but given how much muscle-building I’ve been doing at the gym, I figured it would be interesting to see what was going on inside my body.

This morning I’d never seen the lady sitting at the desk before, but I asked her if I could use the little weird electronic thingy they have to measure my body fat, since the personal trainer I’m friendly with at my gym had said it would be cool. The lady said sure, and led me to her office. There, I told her my weight (135 lbs) and height (five feet five inches) and age (30, going on 19). She plugged these numbers into the device and handed it to me—and I was pretty pleased when it blinked, beeped, and said 19.6%.

Woo! I thought to myself. That’s pretty awesome. I’m under 20% body fat! Rawr!

But I was just thinking this when the lady, her brow furrowed in maternal concern, said, “Ohhhhhh … 19.6 percent … hmmm.”

“Hmm?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s just … well. You’d need to be between 15%-17% if you wanted to be an athlete.”

I was sort of shocked by this—not only did that sound low to me (it is), but also … really? ‘Hmm?’ With a furrowed brow of maternal concern? And also: percentage of body fat makes you “an athlete” and not, like … being athletic? I regularly swim, lift weights, run, and hike, and yet … I’m not an athlete? Because of a number? What now?

If ever there was an IRL moment for the O RLY? owl to swoop down and hawk up a pellet of mouse bones on someone’s head, that was it.

So anyways, there I am, proud–and there she is, shaking her head. What came next, you ask? Hahaha!!

“Did you just join?” she asked, staring at my body.

“No,” said I. “I joined last year, in August I think.”

“And what do you do at the gym?”

“I run, swim … but I love weight-lifting the most! It’s so fun, I really enjoy it.”

“Of course you do,” she sneered. “It’s the easiest thing to do.”

“Uh,” I said. “Well…”

“Do you eat a lot of junk food?” she interrupted, still staring at my figure with obvious distaste.

“Not a lot,” I said, only sort of lying, because technically beer is a drink and not a food, “I’m vegan, and eat a pretty healthy diet.”

At this, her brow furrowed so much it appeared to have actually been plowed by a vigorous bucolic farmer with 17% body fat, perhaps with the aid of a stout horse with 15% body fat. An athletic horse, you get my meaning.

“Vegan means no eggs or dairy, right?”

“Right, no animal products.”

“What about fish?”

“Fish … is an animal,” I said, with what I hope was a polite smile, and added a cheerful “ha-ha I’m sure you were just joking right omg” laugh.

She stared back. “I guess I never thought about fish that way.”

I did not respond to this. Because, what? Also, I was trying to figure out a way to get away from her without actually fleeing.

“Well, the good news,” she said, in a doubtful, concerned you were hit on the head with a large boulder, but the concussion is only a mild one tone of voice, “is that the average American woman has 24% body fat. So you’re doing good by that standard.”

“Great,” I said, at this point desperate to leave her presence.

“And I’d never have guessed you were so heavy,” she said, also doubtfully. “You’re tiny—you must be really dense.”

“Okay, haha, yeah, cool,” I said, or something like that, beginning the inch-away-from-the-situation tiptoe-dance as she started to babble at me that it would be a reasonable goal to get down to 17% body fat (putting me at around, oh, 115 lbs, btw), and if I were her client and blah blah blah omg wtf bbq.

Whew! Hahah, sure, whatever. She sucked, no harm no foul. But the thing is, I’m super-duper lucky that I have an amazing, supportive family, and confidence in my own athletic abilities, because Good! Friggin! Lord! I can’t imagine how that interaction would have made me feel if I wasn’t secure in my knowledge that Crom himself forged me of Atlantean steel. Probably I would have felt like I was actually 19.6% dog poop.

I’m also lucky I didn’t have that encounter a year ago, when I was just getting into fitness (and had a far, far higher percentage of body fat!). I probably would have been really discouraged, and felt like “fitness” was some sort of insane impossible goal that only professional athletes could attain by spending thousands of dollars on equipment and training and whatever. (It’s not!) And this person is the Wellness Coordinator at my gym!

Don’t most people in this country already have a vexed enough relationship with fitness, overall wellness, and balancing the stresses of modern, sedentary life with healthy athleticism? Eesh!

This is the season when many people will join gyms, hoping to live healthier lives, and I think that’s so awesome, and I hope anyone who does so sticks with it until it’s a happy habit instead of a slog. I know I’ve never been happier than I’ve been since starting my quest to be a hard badass of legend, and I hope to pay that forward someday, in some way. But my greatest hope is that no one who is motivated to start working out and eating right has such a heinous encounter with a “fitness professional.” I know first-hand that it’s pretty easy to give up on goals, especially ones that make you sweat! Exercise and eating right isn’t always easy, but it is rewarding–and that should be the message people in the fitness industry try to promote. Not that you’re not an “athlete” unless your numbers are this, that, or whatever!

Talking about fitness in a worrisome, negative manner is not cool. Better, I think, to be encouraging; to play up the positive, celebrate success, and challenge yourself (and others, if it’s your business to do so) towards reasonable goals. Revolutionary stuff, that, I’m sure!

Omg. Anyways! Here’s hoping you all have a healthy, happy 2012! I know I plan on it—even though I’m so dense.

Nick Mamatas (who wrote Sensation, one of my favorite books I read this year), is really smart. He blogs and writes a lot about writing (I haven’t read Starve Better yet, but it’s on the list as they say), and a few days ago, responding in part to one of the usual kerfuffles over genre vs. literary writing, he said something that (seriously) moved me:

Anyway—here’s a secret. This is what creative writers should be interested in doing. Writing their own best material. Not the most popular thing, or the most acclaimed, or that which will be part of some conversation or leave a mark on this or that genre (including bourgeois realism), but that stuff that is unique to yourself and the complex of life experiences and interests and prior readings and environmental factors of which your writing is an emergent property. Writing is orthogonal to publishing and marketing. It’s also orthogonal to true mass culture. Mass culture only deals with aspects of writing—those aspects that can be reproduced according to the needs of either artisan creation or industrial manufacture. That, being the mass, is what an individual cannot control.

Happy Monday! Let’s all go be productive.

ETA: worst blog post title ever? Mayyyybe!

When I was in fifth grade I got really into dragons. I got into dragons the way some girls get into horses: I had pictures on my walls, read every book I could find in the YA section of the library, drew pictures on all my notebooks, subscribed to catalogues where you could purchase insanely expensive pewter wyverns clutching mystical orbs, you know. The usual stuff. I even kept a journal of my boring tween life—with added dragons. I had a scaly, wingéd, wise-cracking (of course) posse who would follow me around, comment on how boring math class was, etc.

My parents were big fantasy readers, which helped me read my way out of the YA section pretty quickly. My father especially: he has always loved fantasy, the longer and more convoluted/complicated the series the better, and he read a lot because of his constantly needing to travel for work. He brought home oodles of Tor and Ace and Ballantine paperbacks with covers that appealed to me big-time. It’s how I came to read Steven Brust and L.E. Modesitt, Jr. and a host of other writers.

Then my uncle Glenn (another fantasy nerd of legend) sent me a box of books, chock-full of dragonish glory. I still remember the day I got off the bus to find the enormous box sitting in the hallway; opening it up and pawing through the loot. I remember, too, which two books stood out to me the most:

It’s probably pretty obvious why I’ve been thinking about that afternoon recently: Darrell K. Sweet and Anne McCaffrey recently passed away. I admit I got a little teary-eyed at the news, both times. Both were incredibly important to me as a young fantasy reader—and a young writer.

Darrell K. Sweet’s artwork captured my imagination before I even realized who he was. His artwork was on the cover of so, so many books I read as a kid and young adult, and my own doodles of dragons were largely inspired by his lizard-faced monsters. He did the covers for the Recluse books as well as Xanth; his image of Gandalf and the Lord of the Eagles graced my cover of The Hobbit. He did the cover for Mercedes Lackey’s The Fire Rose, which I thought was the #1 Top Summer Jam when I read it (okay, I confess … I still have it on the shelf), and he did some covers for Robin McKinley, too. I still love his artwork. They are pure escapist fun, and instantly transport me to other worlds: the bold colors, the stalwart men and women, the reliable horses, the fantasy coaches. The moonlit nightscapes; the golden afternoons in magical woodland realms. They are pictures full of possibility and they ask the important questions, like, say … “Where does this road lead?” “What might we find in that castle across the river?” “Will there be monsters in the craggy snow-capped peaks?” (Yes!) “What wisdom will that dragon offer us?”

And as for Anne McCaffrey … oh my stars. For many years I was firmly convinced Ms. McCaffrey was the greatest writer in the entire goddamn universe. Seriously. I was an unattractive, lonely outcast like so many other nerdy adolescents: I got bullied by awful girls in the locker room and battled the worst acne, lived in an isolated neighborhood without many other kids—let alone ones who shared my interests—and could not dress myself to save my life, which didn’t help the whole “unattractive girl with terrible acne” thing. Her books provided me the escape I needed.

I read most of the Pern books more than once, and obsessively read and re-read the Harper Hall trilogy. Riding the bus, I dreamed of someone coming to take me away from middle school like F’Lar comes for Lessa or T’gran/Masterharper Robinton for Menolly. I spent more than a few hours wondering what color dragon I’d most like to ride, whether I’d rather be a harper with fire lizards or a dragonrider, made klah, etc. I bought The Dragonlover’s Guide to Pern with my allowance. I got a perm, because if there is one thing old covers for Anne McCaffrey novels will inspire in a young lass without much fashion sense, it is a love of big hair.

Actually, both McCaffrey and Sweet are equally guilty for inspiring my love of seriously big hair, come to think of it—but, more seriously, they also showed me a lot of exciting possibilities, when I was a young woman searching for her sense of identity. Anne McCaffrey was one of the first, actually maybe the first female author of non-YA SFF books I really got into. She wrote big ol’ fantasy epics, just like the boys, and reading her, it occurred to me that hey, I could do that too! Also, her main characters were often fierce females … and, when they weren’t fierce enough, or too bitchy—or sweet—for my liking, it made me realize I could write the ladies I wanted to see in books. And Sweet’s artwork is rich in warrior babes as well as warrior dudes, which I always appreciated.

Thanks for inspiring my love of ferocious ladies, rich fantasy worlds, and badassery, you two.

The end of October and the first weeks of November have been very busy what with turning 30, signing my first book deal, finishing up a major goddamn project that ate my life for a year (huz-fucking-zah), and whatever else has been occupying my time. Jesus Christ, it’s Thanksgiving next week! (Or, rather, “Thanksliving,” as Article 10, Section 2 of the Vegan Code mandates I call it: “Vegans shall be required to rename and/or feminize any and all foods associated with meat or meat-consumption, e.g. “Thanksliving” “shepherdess Pie” “cheatballs” “pepperfauxni”, etc.”)

But seriously, it’s been a good few weeks. My dad was just approved to be part of an experimental study for pancreatic cancer patients, which means he’s off of traditional chemotherapy and taking a combination of pills to combat the tumors. Also, he turned 64 today. (My mother says this answers the eternal question of “Will you still feed me/will you still need me/when I’m 64, because she is adorable.)

Additionally, I had a rockin’ Big 30 Birthday. My homeslice Brad and his ladyfriend Suzanne came to visit, and we went hiking, ate too much food, and had a big old Halloween party. Pics!

Here’s me at the Halloween Party as Han Solo. Who’s scruffy-looking?

Raech as a vampire hunter:

John and Jesse as 24 and 21 from The Venture Brothers:

Brad as one of the dudes from this awesome OK Go music video, and Suzanne as the girl with the dragon tattoo:

aaaaaand the punch I made that gave Jesse one of the most hilariously awful hangovers I’ve ever witnessed. Recipe here!

The next night, at the 30th Birthday Bash, me and John:

Jesse and Raech:

aaaaaand me getting all red-faced and teary-eyed upon being given the complete Jem and the Holograms DVD box set:

Woo! So yeah, good times. I’m excited for upcoming things too, like eating too much and going on a long hike next week, starting a new fitness regimen (with part of a birthday windfall I purchased a new program from Sandra, who guided me through her Virtual Boot Camp), and, I dunno, some other stuff.

Oh shit, I almost forgot! I got tattooed for my 30th b-day! Here’s a picture of the tattoo, and also part of my right boob:

Soon: a recipe for delicious Thanksgiving-flavored Cheatballs!

Dear folks involved with the Conan the Barbarian reboot,

Let me break it down for you because I guess it wasn’t obvious enough:

1. Here’s what ladyfriend and/or love interest should look like in a goddamn Conan movie:

Note the muscles and weapon; the costume that allows for freedom of movement and babealiciousness both. See the film itself for how she should behave. Cliffs Notes version: Doesn’t need to be saved all the time, cracks wise, commits awesome acts of brutal violence without squealing or looking appalled at herself. Also, she should be wise and cunning and her lines should be more substantial than “Eeeeek!” or “Conan!” in that save me because I am a girl tone of voice.

2. Regarding Sidekicks

Sidekick Pirate Man in the reboot does not look like he would be up to the task of, say, crying for Conan because Conan will not cry, being Conan. Actually, while we’re on that topic, New Conan totally looks like he’d shed a manly tear, which, whatever. Anyways. Subotai was awesome enough that he was actually of use to Conan in the original, where as new dude just has, I dunno, a boat.

3. On Villains 

What the hell is this:

While I admit we do a bit better with Zym’s daughter, Marique, neither are as interesting or compelling as Thulsa Doom. I’ll admit James Earl Jones is a hard act to follow, but come on! Khalar’s just a schoolyard bully with a creepy daughter. Marique would have done better on her own. . . but then those involved would have had to give a girl character a personality and lines and stuff, which seemed a bit hard for some reason I guess, here in 2011.

Anyways, Thulsa Doom could make an acolyte jump to her death with just a wave of his hands and a come-hither look. Just sayin’. It’s basic stuff that villains should be interesting. Frankly, they should be show-stoppers in S&S films! The key is that a good villain should be more than just the reason the Hero is doing stuff. Otherwise. . . yeah.

Anyways, due to the critical reception, I doubt we’ll get another Conan film anytime soon. But if it happens, I sincerely hope those involved will try a bit harder. The new Conan film was pretty awesome for its first 45 minutes, then took a nosedive and quickly went into freefall. All it takes is a good script with interesting characters, folks. Kid Conan was a good character, so was Corin, Conan’s dad. After that. . . good lord.

Sincerely,

Molly

***

Anyways! Moving on to another letter I needed to write:

Dear folks involved with the Fright Night reboot,

You’re all awesome, thanks for making a great film. I really appreciate all the work and time and effort and care you put into the remake. It was completely enjoyable and smart and gory and wonderful. Mad props! 

xoxo,

Molly

I went on a hike for my cardio today, and it occurs to me that as hiking was one of the main motivators for my recent foray into fitness, I should probably talk about that for one of these Boot Camp posts.

Hiking, man. I live in Colorado, and so I have plenty of mountains everywhere to hike around on, up, and down. Since moving here I’ve conquered a few trails of note, some of which I’ve even bothered to take pictures of, but there are many I have yet to explore. Some of them, however, are beastly to the point that I’m intimidated to start them, so I’ve been focusing my workouts on building up my strength in my legs and increasing my cardiovascular capacity.

When I moved out here, the landscape awed and inspired me, which is why I’ve been writing (and, uh, rewriting) this novel set in the Rocky Mountains. But I had this moment of clarity a while back, as I was hammering out something about my protagonist making her way through the wilds, when I realized she was more of a badass than me when it came to hiking. I had one feeling regarding this: Total bullshit. I have no problem with her being more of a badass than me when it comes to any number of things, since obviously she is the protag of my novel and I am not competitive with my imaginary creation when it comes to any of the more ridiculous things she can do well … but hiking? Come on, I live here! It was time to remedy this imbalance. It was time … to become more of a badass.

In the fiction I enjoy consuming, writing, and editing, characters routinely do all kinds of crazy stuff. They might cover many, many miles in a day through serious terrain, solve crimes, conjure demons, invent in time travel, accomplish various feats of strength, slap a ghost, talk with beasts, wield heavy or at least challenging weapons with expertise, raise the dead, or really anything at all. Badasses are awesome, and badassery comes in many forms. And while I’ll likely never solve crimes, talk with beasts, invent time travel, or heaven forfend, raise the dead, I can get strong and flexible, hike up mountains, and even become skilled in martial arts.

Right now I’m more focused on getting strong and covering distances (though I have a guest pass to my local YMCA and I plan on checking out kickboxing and/or kendo), but still—badassery. It’s become more of a priority for me, and I’m enjoying my newfound confidence and abilities! It’s a challenging process, but totally worth it, and I recommend it for everyone who feels they have to experience being a badass on a purely vicarious level. So not true!

I just saw the preview for the Captain America movie and there was a line about how “a weak man knows the value of strength.” This is likely probable, and we lovers of genre fiction could, I suppose, extend it laterally to apply to us: “the nerd knows the awesomeness of badassery.” Hellz yes.

x-posted to my LJ

I’ve decided, as a “motivational practice,” to blog once a week during Virtual Boot Camp. Last week, I talked mostly about my initial efforts to be more fit, as well as the sorts of things I’d been doing for myself before starting the boot camp. This week, having now completed a full week and then some of VBC, I’m going to talk about the awareness of and appreciation for certain things which working out has recently given me.

First: Food. I will always love to cook, bake, and eat. I’m good at preparing delicious meals, and I enjoy it. It’s rarely a chore for me. But, having discovered over the past week and a half what it really feels like to be “body-hungry” (needing to eat to nourish one’s body—used in contrast to being “mouth-hungry,” which is one’s desire to eat tasty things regardless of need), I can say that eating when you’re super-hungry from exercise makes food more delicious, which is awesome. To wit: I went on a hike last Sunday, up at Rocky Mountain National Park. It’s a gorgeous hike, as it takes you to three different lakes, and it’s more than decent exercise for the likes of me, as it’s 3.5 miles round trip, with a 600 ft. elevation gain. My husband and I did the whole thing in about 2 hours, including a lunch break. We ate at the terminus, and let me tell you, the sandwich I made us was the most wonderful thing I’d ever put in my mouth. Sure, this was in part because it was a freshly baked, hollowed-out rosemary loaf smeared with homemade olive relish and then stuffed with spinach and a bunch of vegan salami and bologna, but it was also because I had goddamn earned that sandwich. This is how I’ve been feeling at every meal. Even my usual wrap come lunchtime tastes divine.

Second: Sleep. I usually have quite a bit of trouble falling asleep and then staying asleep. Not since starting boot camp! I’m sure I’ll eventually adjust, but recently I simply cannot stay awake past maaaaaybe 11 PM, and when I fall asleep, I sleep well. Deep snoozin, big dreamin. I am also now all of a sudden now waking up around 6:30 AM naturally, which is let’s just say. . . atypical for me. True, my normal wake-up o’clock is a mere half-hour later, but the thing is, recently when I arise I’m all like RAWR! IT’S A NEW DAY! And I’m just not that sort of girl. That may be changing.

Third: Hot Water. I’ve always liked showering. I enjoy being clean and the process by which that is achieved. These days, though, I enjoy it ever so much more, and it’s not just because of my Lush collection. There is nothing, I have found, so wonderful as a hot, hot shower when you still have that “Whew! I did it! And am slightly sore!” feeling after working out. Especially, for me, post-weights. It’s just so delightful, feeling gym-gross sluicing away down the drain as your body relaxes. I know by working out with weights I’m gaining all sorts of health benefits and stuff, but seriously, it’s worth it purely for the aahhhhhh feeling of hot water beating on my shoulders while Lush Sea Vegetable or A Ring of Roses perfumes the whole bathroom.

And that, friends, is what I’mma go do right now. Woo!

x-posted to my LJ

For a few months now I’ve been more fitness-concious. I haven’t talked about it here because (1) I apparently, like, never blog anymore, (2) I am typically quite self-conscious about matters body-related, and (3) generally, with stuff about diet and exercise. . . what is there to talk about that’s interesting to others? But then I got to thinking about it. I’m doing some fun things, utilizing some neat tools, and seriously: losing weight and exercising every day has honestly done every single thing fitness folks claim. My general mood has improved, my energy level and self-confidence have increased, and after an initial “unnnngh this suuuuuucks” period of adjustment, I really look forward to exercising, cooking healthy stuff, and eating reasonable portions of said “healthy stuff.” Plus it has been pretty important to me of late, and this is my friggin blog. Nobody reads it anyways! Hilarious. Anyways, here goes. . .

The Story so Far!

Diet:

I’ve been counting calories via SparkPeople and cooking out of low-fat/low-cal cookbooks such as Appetite for Reduction.

I resisted counting calories for a looooong time, for a number of reasons. When I finally decided to give it a try, I went into it with the expectation of finding it annoying, boring, or obsession-making. Thankfully, it’s actually been quite interesting, fun, and helpful! Since starting this practice, I’ve traveled twice and not been able to track as vigilantly, and I’ve actually missed tracking, because it’s a, I dunno, “centering practice” or some such yoga-sounding thing. It makes me mindful of what I put into my body, and that in and of itself is helpful. It’s so easy for me to mindlessly snack, especially at night, so holding myself accountable has been very important.

I’ve talked here and elsewhere about Appetite for Reduction, so I won’t go on too much about it. I know this sounds ridiculous and impossible, but. . . I lost 8-9 lbs before I even started this whole endeavor just cooking dinner out of this book every night—not tracking my whole day, not putting in the time exercising, just using the book. It’s great: the recipes are tasty and varied, and now that I’m tracking calories, it’s so helpful to have the calorie count, like, there so I don’t have to bother with calculating it myself. And though I’ve been a longtime “fuck you, salad” sort of vegan, there are salads in there that don’t annoy me.

Exercise:

Yoga, walking, and occasionally hiking helped me lose a ton of weight, and without much fuss at all. I’ve now (more below) added in more intense exercise and some weight training, but I did that because I wanted to, not because I plateaued or anything. I’ve steadily dropped pounds simply making sure to just be more active every single day, and yeah, it’s awesome for my mood and my general mental health.

Moving Forward!

The next eight weeks I’ll be doing Sandra Wickham‘s Virtual Boot Camp. Basically, she’s designed a personalized cardiovascular and strength-training series for me (and the other participants!) based around what I’m interested in doing for health. It includes some weight lifting and a whole lotta of cardio, since I’m still interested in losing weight. I’ll be eating the same way—high nutrient-density, low calorie—but the boot camp thing means I’ll be doing intense activity 6 out of 7 days of the week. Whew! The first day I went for a long hike, then today, I did my first strength-training: shoulders and chest, and man I already feel it. Jesus. I think tomorrow, for x-training purposes (the x makes it seem more fitness-related, doesn’t it?), I’ll be biking after an early-morning airport run (Jesse and Raech are Florida-bound!).

More later as I have more to talk about, but if this is at all interesting, I’ll be Tweeting about things more frequently than I blog, I’m sure. Yes, I’m now on Twitter due to peer pressure, and my “handle” or “moniker” or whatever it’s called on Twitter is @molly_the_tanz, and I’ll be “hashtagging” the whole thing as #vbc. Huzzah!

x-posted to my LJ

I’m happy to announce that my article on the Choose Your Own Adventure series has gone up on Fantasy Magazine! It was a lot of fun to write, mostly due to the awesomeness of my friends who were willing to be quoted/interviewed, and the series authors I was privileged to speak with, Edward Packard and Ellen Kushner. Fun times! And while you’re over at Fantasy, be sure to check out Kat Howard’s fiction, “Choose Your Own Adventure,” which inspired my piece, and J.T. Glover’s Artist Spotlight on the artist who did our cover this month, Max Bertolini.

April means a few publications for me! Later in the month I’ll have an Author Spotlight on Fantasy, where I got to interview Jonathan L. Howard about his upcoming story for our magazine—and while he and I were emailing back and forth, I did another interview with him for Strange Horizons. I’ll post about those when the time comes!

But let’s chat about the real reason people are on the internet: pictures of cats.

Last summer my beloved calico kitty Penelope (AKA “the Pod”) passed away after a battle with fatty liver disease. She was incredibly special, and was with me for only 11 short years. There is no way to explain how much I loved her. She was around when I graduated high school, there for me when I’d visit during college, and I brought her with me when John and I moved in together my senior year. She came with me when I graduated and moved to Fort Pierce to do social work, and to Tallahassee when I went back to school for my Master’s. She was in the plane with me when I flew to Boulder to live here. So many major life moments together! I still miss her so much.

She and I had a ritual where every night she would jump up on the bed (after “asking permission” with her special meow), and she would snuggle up in my right armpit. Never the left! She was a weird cat. Anyways, we’d snooze like that until she decided it was time to move to my feet and sleep there for the night. It was always such a great end to the day! Any stress or unhappiness just melted away as she purred and purred. She’d also get in my armpit to sleep when I would study on the couch. Usually it would make me sleepy, too, but the Pod felt naps were more important than grad school, and how could I argue with the wisdom of cats?

Therefore, to honor all those happy hours we spent together, I got a tattoo in that exact spot:

The wings, as you can see, are calico, just like her. The strawberry motif I picked because her favorite toy was a catnip strawberry. She never let our other cat play with it. It was hers, and she loved that thing to the last—literally. When the vet came to put her to sleep, we could tell she was nervous having so much attention paid to her. She was always a little shy with strangers. I put her little strawberry in her heated bed with her. Seeing it, she was able to relax and not be so scared.

I miss my gentle kitty, and now she is still a part of me.

But enough sad stuff! Here she is as I remember her best, looking longingly at other people’s food. . .

AND THEN STEALING IT!

Crazy cat lady before 30? That’s me!