This isn’t the blog post I thought it would be.

This is a quick blog post today. I knew I would write about Scott working out with me – I just didn’t think he would end up with a back injury from the first warm-up move. 


Me: Scott, I’m so excited you’re going to work out with me at Fusion! Burn with your boy!


Scott: I’m going to get my ass kicked, aren’t I?

Me: Are you scared of two women?

Scott: Yes.

Me: Hm.

I flashback to yesterday’s workout.


Me: You’ll be fine.

Scott and I walked into Fusion. Men filled the lobby. They looked terrified.

Shauna: Hey, girl! Is this going to be a blog post?

Me: I already started taking video.

Scott found a familiar face, our friend, Erin.

Me: Hi, Erin!

Erin: Hey! I’m so glad you two came! You boys scared?

Scott: Yes.

Me: Scott, let’s get our spot. It looks crowded already.

Scott and I walked in the studio.

Me: Looks like only the middle is available.

Scott: I don’t want to be in the middle! Everyone is staring at us!

Me: THAT’S WHAT I SAY TOO! I hate the middle. I feel like everyone is watching me. We’ll be ok. These guys don’t know what they’re doing either.

Scott and I put our mats down. Scott stretched while I put my sweatshirt and purse away. The class started.

Shauna: Welcome to Burn with Your Boy! I’m Shauna. Guys – I’m going to make you sweat. Let’s go.

Shauna led the class into the first move.

Shauna: Hook, hook. Squat. Hook! Good!

I looked over at Scott.

Scott: I don’t know what I’m doing!

Me: I don’t either. Just move.

Shauna: And 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – and one.

Shauna moved to the next move.

Scott walked out.

What the. Maybe he has to pee. 

I finished the next set of moves and walked in the lobby.

Me: What happened? Too tough after one move!?

I laughed.

Scott stood completely still in the hallway.

Scott: My back went out. I can’t move.

Me: WHAT?! Do you need me to take you to the hospital?

Scott: My back was already sore before we got here. I heard it pop. It’s not as bad as last time but it’s bad.

Me: Here, I’ll get my stuff.

Scott: No, finish your workout. Maybe if I walk around it will be better. I can’t bend past this.

Scott tried to bend his waist.

Me: Well, maybe you can walk at JC Penney?

Scott: I’m going to try that. Go. Go workout. What time will it be done?

Me: 11:15. Are you sure? I don’t have to do this.

Scott: Just let me walk.

Me: Ok, text me if you need me.

I went back and finished the class. I left immediately and called Scott.

Me: Where are you?

Scott: Truck. I barely made it.

Me: You should have texted me! Did you walk at JC Penney?

Scott: Yeah for two minutes then I almost passed out.

Me: Jesus, Scott! I’m almost at the truck. Bye.

I opened the passenger door. Scott was flat on his back.

Me: Scott, do you need to go to the hospital? Or maybe we can get you into a doctor instead of ER.

Scott: Just take me home. They’ll only give me painkillers. It needs to heal on its own.

Me: Ok, let’s go home.

Scott: I’m sorry. I really want to do that class with you.

Me: I really wanted to write a blog post about this. It would have been hilarious.

Scott: Are you kidding me?

Me: You’re always gold, Scott. It’s not that kind of blog post, I guess.

I successfully drove him home without slamming on the brakes, helped him move slowly out of the car, and got him into the house. Moving from the truck to our house took 20 minutes. We finally got him to the couch. He is trying to get up to pee but he’s restricted to flat on his back.

I’m getting him a pee cup now.

Hoping tomorrow is better. A better Scott and a better blog post.


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I dumped Scott for Cody.

I know many of you have been reading my blog for years now.

You’re probably not shocked at the title “I dumped Scott for Cody” because you know I’m scheming you with my words.

You are correct. The title is not what it appears.

Cody is a girl.

I dumped Scott for Cody. The statement is still true.

No, I’m not a lesbian. 

I dumped my old workout partner – Scott – for a new workout partner – Cody.

I do not sugar coat blog posts. We’re all friends here and by friends, I mean real friends. Not some Facebook friend that has OMG. Best. Husband. Ever. Or an Instagram friend with smiling kids at the park, because it’s a good day with good friends! Friends also don’t let friends post videos of feet climbing a stair stepper. We get it. You’re working out.

I mean, it’s totally cool if you scrapbook your life on social media. You’re proud. We all are.

But I don’t scrapbook.

I’m a storyteller. If my husband gives me a present for no reason – he did something awful and he feels guilty. If I go to the park with my kids and friends – you won’t know about it unless something monumental happened, like the time 4-year-old Emma dropped her pants, squatted, and peed in the splash park. And as far as working out – again, you won’t know about it unless I dump Scott for Cody.

Fitness is not new to me. I’ve had a gym card since college and I use it a lot. I’ve worked out with Scott at a gym for the past 15 years. I’ve trained like an elk hunter. I’ve trained for a 5K with my friend, Heather. My new neighbors dragged me to a mud race.

I’m not athletic. I never played sports. I guess the only reason I’ve worked out for so many years is habit. And I train my body to handle something specific – reeling in a marlin, skiing in the mountains, running a 5K or a mud race. As Scott’s wife, my lifestyle is an active one.

Cody is drowning me facedown in my own puddle of boob sweat at Fusion.


There are three locations in the area but one concept – you sign up for a class at any of the locations. You show up, take the hour-long class taught by an instructor, and you leave. It’s not an open gym; it’s classes only. And if you miss the class you signed up for, you’re charged. This forces you to not be a quitter. This is good for me because I have no problem quitting free of charge.

And now I can’t quit. I’m a hostage.

That came out wrong. Let me try that again – I dread walking into the building.

Fusion’s tagline is “shock your body.” It’s printed on the door and it makes me feel like I’m going to get electrocuted if I touch the door handle. But that’s ridiculous. Electrocution.

They shock your body during class instead.

Things I’ve learned the past few weeks at Fusion:

  1. I’m the stumbling baby giraffe everyone watched on the Internet and I swear everyone is watching me. Not only am I tall and lanky but I can’t tell my left side from my right side. The mirror confuses me. Cody reminded me that everyone is lost when they first start Fusion. She gave me helpful words of encouragement like “find a spot so you can shadow the instructor” and “your days of not washing your hair are gone” and “don’t bring a tiny washcloth as your sweat rag. You might need a beach towel at first.”
  2. Barre is not pronounced “bear” as in “the bear is trying to kill me.” It’s pronounced “bar” as in “the workout is on the ballerina bar” or “I swear to God, if I make it out alive, I’m going straight to the bar after this.” Ballerinas make me cry.
  3. Cardio Sweat Lab should be called Class Swamp Ass. I asked Google if excessive sweating is a health condition. Google said I might die. I apply deodorant on my crotch now. I say this like I’m joking but, in fact, I am not.
  4. Bikini Boot Camp is not taught in bikinis. So don’t ask, guys. Bikini Boot Camp refers to kicks, jabs, jumps, and uppercuts for the next time you ask if this class is taught in bikinis.
  5. I don’t understand why we have eyebrows anymore. The sweat, you guys. The sweat. Isn’t the point of eyebrows to stop sweat from dripping and burning saltwater into your eyes? I peel off my workout clothes when I get home because they’re stuck to my skin. And then I go straight to the shower because Cody brought me to a new level of boob sweat Scott has never given me. I’m still not a lesbian.
  6. The burpees at Fusion make me see the Devil himself. Did you know burpees are a workout developed by Satan? It’s true. I saw him. Here’s what you do: Stand, drop to a squat, jump your feet back to a plank position, jump your feet to a squat again, and jump up to a standing position. Repeat. The stars come out and meet my friend, Lucifer.
  7. Everyone at Fusion has favorite instructors. I haven’t found my favorites. Each one has a special way of making me wring my sweaty hair all over my mat at the end of class. I’ve determined Satan must be a woman with a rocking six-pack body.
  8. No one will call you out if you show up with your workout pants inside out. I had two choices once I realized what my dumbass did: 1. Grab the instructor’s microphone and announce that I know my pants are inside out, please don’t judge me. Or 2. Text Cody what I did and tell her I must walk out of the building backwards, reading “Shock your body” as the door closes in front of me. I went with option 2.

I don’t sugar coat my blog posts. Fusion takes me through a workout I’ve never experienced before. When I’m done with a class, I get in the car and sign up for another one.

Because I dumped Scott for Cody.



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And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?”

The Color Run.

I can’t move out of bed because of my legs.

Oh wait. I should whisper this.

I can’t move out of bed because of my legs.

I had to whisper because I am forbidden to talk about my legs throbbing in pain with Scott in the room. He is still recovering from knee surgery. Knee surgery pain trumps all-over-can’t-move-both-legs pain. Hi Scott.

You want to know what happened? I’ll tell you what happened.

I ran.

And now I’m fairly certain my neighbor is plotting my death. In Lawrence, Kansas. Home of the Jayhawks. This is a friendly reminder that I am a K-State Wildcats fan.

Two weekends ago, Heather and I were a good couple glasses of wine into the warm summer night.

Heather: Ok. So I have a question for you. Ok, before you say anything – I know you don’t run. But…

Me: Oh no.

Heather: Would you be interested in doing The Color Run if I got a group together? It’s in Lawrence in September. It would be really fun if you went with us!

Me: Yeah, I’ll do it! Those things look fun! But I am not a runner. You guys won’t sprint off will you?

Heather: No, we won’t sprint. We’ll take it slow.

Me: Ok. IN.

That was the wine speaking.

The next morning, I looked over The Color Run‘s website while sipping my coffee.

Hmmm. This does kinda look fun. Maybe I should wear a piece of flare, like a rainbow tutu or a bandana armband. I wonder if I can avoid all colors and just get purple sprayed at me. I should make faces at the cameras and point. 

Scott hobbled into the room.

Scott: What are you doing?

Me: Looking at The Color Run’s website. I’m going with Heather.

Scott: You’re going to run a 5K?

Me: Yeah. I feel like I can do this.

Scott: You realize that you will have to actually train for this. Like get on a treadmill or run outside.

Me: I’ll be fine. They’ll go slow. Maybe we can all walk.

Scott: I’m telling you now – they won’t be walking the whole time. It’s three miles. That’s a long walk. You’re going to get smoked.

Me: It’s three miles. It’s not like a marathon.

Scott: Smoked.

A week passed. I continued to lift weights at the gym. Scott reminded me to do cardio. I didn’t listen.

Another week passed. I got a cold. No gym. Scott reminded me while I was on the mend to run outside. I didn’t listen.

Two nights ago, I listened. I went for a run. Oh wait. I went for “a run“. Quote. Unquote.

I decided to take our dog, Bailey, because she could use the exercise. I also wanted to compare myself running with a 63-year-old dog, in dog years.

I busted in the door with Bailey and fell to the floor. Scott laughed.

Scott: Where did you go?

Me: Stop sign and back. Mile and a half.  Ok, fine – until I saw the stop sign then I turned. Close enough.

Scott: Bailey is not even panting. Did you even run?

Me: Yes, I ran! I panted for her. I’ve never sweat so much in my life. You runners. Seriously. How do your sides not hurt? It’s like someone turned the oxygen off outside.

Scott: I told you. You need to train. Did you run the whole time?

Me: Well, no. Not the whole time. Bailey had to pee a couple times. We stopped, lingered. She pooped. We stopped, lingered. I did run when I heard a car coming though. My legs hurt so bad. I worked out my legs at the gym too.

Scott: You’re using muscles you don’t normally use when you run. And you shouldn’t stop. You should have walked or jogged in place while she peed.

Me: OH! And my freaking cheeks jiggled! Like my face and my butt. I don’t like that feeling at all.

Scott: It’s called running. No one cares what you look like. It’s not a photo shoot.

Me: Oh.

photo-23 photo-22 photo-21 copy

So this will be my world for the next seven weeks. Heather offered to train with me in the evenings. I think she realized I am in desperate need of help when I texted her my pitstop pictures. As of today, I am officially signed up with The Color Run. There’s no going back. Heather knows where I live and she will drag my sore, lifeless legs to Lawrence if she has to.

I mean, there’s really no other way I go to Lawrence.

Kenny Chesney.

June 2002. Manhattan, Kansas. I just ended my sophomore year at K-State. I decided to live in Manhattan that summer so I could take a few summer courses and make some easy money working at the local snow cone shack.

Scott was my new boyfriend at the time. He decided to live with his parents for the summer. To this day, he regrets that decision because he could have prevented me from making a dumbass out of myself in front of Kenny Chesney.

It’s 2002. Kenny Chesney was not the huge superstar he is now. Or maybe he was. Hell, I don’t know. I didn’t listen to country music back then. This was 3 years before he married Renee Zellweger. His album “No Shoes, No Shirts, No Problem” was just released a few months prior. “Young” and “The Good Stuff” were two of his popular songs at the time. I had to google all of this because, like I said, I didn’t listen to country music.

It was a hot Friday afternoon. I had the day off from work and classes. I went where I always go with a day off – the gym. I guarantee I was whisper rapping with headphones to “Hot in Herre” by Nelly while on the elliptical machine. No one had iPods in 2002. Everyone used arm band radios.

I finished up my workout and headed for the door. Some guy working at the front desk stopped me.

Hey! Come here. Look at this.

I walk over and look at the sign-in sheet he was drooling over.

Look who’s here.


See? Kenny Chesney!

Who’s that?

Big country singer? He’s in town for Country Stampede. He’s headlining tomorrow.

Oh. Hm. Cool.

I leave and get in my car. I call Scott on my cell phone.

Hey, you love country music. Do you know who a Kenny uh…I think he said Chesney?

Kenny Chesney. Yeah. He’s there for Country Stampede.

Oh. Well, he’s here at the Rec. Some weirdo guy was drooling over the sign-in sheet.

GO BACK IN THERE. Mark, Julie is at the gym and Kenny Chesney is there working out. Yeah! I know! Out of all people, Julie runs into Kenny Chesney! Ok, I’ll ask her. Hey, Julie. You there? Go back in and get his autograph.

Are you serious? I don’t know who he is or what he looks like!

Please! Go back in and ask the guy to point him out for you.

An autograph? What about a picture? I can go back to my apartment and get a camera.

He might leave! Just get his autograph.

Ugh. Fine. I’m all sweaty and I have no make up on. Whatever. You are lucky I have no idea who this guy is.

I go back inside with a pen and paper. I walk up to the weirdo with the sign-in sheet.

So, uh, where did this Kenny Chesney go?

He’s upstairs with the weights. What are you doing?

Getting his autograph for my boyfriend. What does he look like?

Ok. He has an orange Tennessee shirt on. He has a black hat on too. He also brought his huge trainer. You won’t miss him.


I walk up to the weight room. Weirdo was right. I didn’t miss him. Kenny was standing, talking to his 300 pound trainer in between bicep curls. Everyone in the room was staring at them, whispering and pointing. No one would come within 10 feet of Kenny.

Geez, who is this guy? Whatever.

I walk up to Kenny. First thing I noticed was his height. My memory tells me I was at least a head taller than him but according to google, he is only 3 inches shorter than me.

Hi. Are you Kenny Chesney?

He smiled.


Oh. Can I have your autograph for my boyfriend? He’s a huge fan of yours.

He laughed.

And you aren’t?

Ha! Um, I honestly have no idea who you are.

I give him my guilty smile.

He laughed again and started to sign the piece of paper.

What is your boyfriend’s name?

Scott. Thank you so much for doing this. Sorry for interrupting your work out.

I looked around. Everyone in the room had their mouths wide open in shock.

Oh, it’s fine. Here you go. What is your name?


It was nice to meet you, Julie.

He looks me in the eye and puts his hand out. I shake it. His eyes fall to my chest then back to my eyes again.

NO! Uhhhh…did he just do that?

I mumbled thanks and walk off with Scott’s autograph. I run back to my car and call Scott again.

Did you get it?

Yeah, I got it. Perv looked at my boobs.

What? What happened?

His eyes dropped from my eyes to my boobs and back to my eyes again. Whatever. I can’t really imagine that guy on a stage. He’s so short. And he’s soft spoken, very polite. Other than his not-so-polite eye flicker. I swear, all you guys are the same. Bunch of pervs.

You need to stop taking so many women studies classes. I’m sure it was in your head.

Uh, no. Your little Kenny Chesney dude looked at my boobs. I’m just stating a fact. I’m not bothered by it. I seriously need to see him on a stage sometime. There’s no way he’s entertaining to watch.

Go with your friends to the concert then! You’d have fun.

I have to work. Country music sucks.

Well, thanks for getting that autograph for me. You have no idea how lucky you are to meet him.

Not a big deal. I’ll see ya next weekend. Bye.

Fast forward to 2013.

My boyfriend, Scott, and I are now married with kids. We hang out with the same group of college friends. Scott and I still use any free time to work out at the gym. Scott listens to old school Usher and Nelly on his iPhone at the gym. I listen to Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw, or Eric Church. I have gone from saying country music sucks to listening to nothing but country. I know very well who Kenny Chesney is and all the words to his songs.

Exactly 11 years later, that “short, soft spoken, polite, other than the not-so-polite eye flicker” guy sang to tens of thousands of people at Arrowhead Stadium. And I was one of them. I was in the crowd holding up my beer, dancing and singing along to “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem.”

"Whatever makes you feel like a rockstar...."
And “Whatever makes you feel like a rockstar….” That’s right, Kenny. I’m still hitting up the gym.

Kenny was drenched in sweat, bouncing all around the stage singing his heart out, pounding his chest. He was smiling the whole time, having as much fun as I was in the stands.

Kenny and Eric Church.
Kenny and Eric Church.

Kenny Chesney is a completely different person on stage than that Kenny Chesney guy I met in college. I did find one similarity though. The music videos shown behind Kenny on stage had one theme: drop dead gorgeous women in tiny bikinis on a beach.

He totally still does the eye flicker.

Repost: Running.

I can’t think of a better time to repost my feelings about running.

Scott has plans to run the Rugged Maniac this weekend with some friends. Facebook makes it very clear that running a 5k or 10k is the hip thing to do. My neighborhood is filled with runners every night. I am sure there are runners in the morning but I have a sleeping-in-until-the-last-possible-second problem to even notice. A few friends of mine ran the Kansas City Marathon this past weekend. Shut. Up. 26 miles of running with no music? 26 MILES. Say whaaa?! 

You guys are all crazy. All of you.

I wrote this a couple years ago. My feelings have not changed:

Scott wants to run the 5k in KC next month. Scott doesn’t normally do much cardio. I’m actually shocked he told me he’s going to do it. He sticks to lifting free weights.

Then Scott asked me if I would do it with him. And asked me again tonight.


N-freakin-O. I hate running, no, no – LOATHE running. I don’t even know how long a 5k is. It sounds awful. My best mile in high school P.E. – 12 minutes. And that was trying really hard. I generally came dragging in dead last.


I know I should do it more often. It’s free. It’s a good way to exercise your heart. I’m all for getting a good sweat while in a spinning class. I enjoy swimming laps. But running? Ugh. There’s just something about it that makes me want to quit immediately. I just get so bored. The whining starts in my head:

My side is cramping…My lungs hurt…Why are my lungs burning? I’m not a smoker…Screw it, I’m walking…My iPod ear piece keep falling out of my tiny kid ears…I’m done…Here. Here’s, a check for your 5k charity…Take my money and YOU run…I’d rather be under a bench press.

Yeah, I’ll do like 10 or 15 minutes tops on an elliptical machine or bike at the gym. But then I’m off to the free weights with the grunting men for an hour. Or a weight lifting/toning class.

I like the feeling of shaky jello limbs when I’m done. I like the achy burn the next day. I love protein shakes. I even secretly love working my legs so hard that I have to let myself sit…sit…sit….FALL on the toilet seat instead of squatting down normally – you men have it so easy. If I don’t have some kind of  pain somewhere, I get antsy to get back into the gym. I take pictures every so often to compare my muscles. Much to the embarrassment of Scott, I am constantly flexing in front of the gym mirrors in between sets. I’m the only one that does this in public. I just like seeing results.

I would rather work hard lifting weights than feeling like a hamster on a treadmill. I would rather train for a bikini fitness show than run a 5k. I would rather do 1,000 situps than run once around my block. Are you getting my seriousness on this running issue? For me, it sucks. I think everyone should find something they love for exercise – whether it be weights, walking, swimming, biking, or join the other crazies running. You need to love it so you won’t stop. I know a lot of you that read my blog love to run. Don’t worry – I think you’re just a tiny bit crazy. I understand the addiction that you runners seem to have – I just have it towards weight lifting.

So Scott keeps bugging me to join him. He said he would take it easy for this 5k. His easy is my “passing-out”. I know very well that Scott is an overall great athlete. He would smoke me out of the water. If he wants to be easy on me, he better have intentions of walking the majority of the way.

I will be joining Scott at the Rugged Maniac. I found a glorious thing called a spectator pass. Sign me up. I’ll cheer you guys on from the sidelines while attempting pull ups on a tree limb.

Forced workouts.

They say “nature” gets you back into shape after having a baby. Constantly holding a quickly growing newborn forces you to put on some muscle. Breast feeding helps lose calories. Chasing a toddler gets you off the couch and moving around.

Then there’s my kids, ages 2 and 5. I’m past the newborn and just about out of toddler stage – although Kate still asks me to carry her often. They have never been to a daycare. The only time Emma has been in that kind of setting was preschool last year.

Scott got the whole family passes to a gym nearby when we moved in out new house. Scott hasn’t gotten much use of it since tearing his ACL. But I started taking the girls to their childcare while I work out. The girls love it. They love it so much that they will ask to go to the gym. No, not ask, they beg me. Every. Day. They love playing with “new” toys. There’s a mini gymnasium for them to play with balls. There’s a kid door leading outside to a fenced in turf. Huge macs preloaded with games. A TV bigger than me with preschool programs running at all times. There’s a hide and seek area. They love it. They don’t want to leave when I come pick them up. All of this is awesome and some days not-so-awesome.

I swear during a class workout, think it was Bar Strength, I thought I was going to flat out die. As I was walking back to the childcare, I was cursing to myself at Kate and Emma for begging me to go to the gym. Some days I’m so tired and sore from previous day’s hard workout, I just don’t want to go. One day I only had 30 minutes to workout because the child care closes early on Fridays. I upped my weights and went through my workout as fast a possible. The next day, I could barely move. *Note to self, good 30 min workout technique. One day at class, pretty sure the lady next to me heard me whispering “eff you, Kate” while putting out the last few pushups. If you know me, you know I hate cardio. The most I do is 10 min, maybe 15 on the ecliptical to loosen up my arms and legs. I spend the rest of the time at a strength class or lifting.

This has been going on for 2 months now. Forced workouts whether I want to or not. I will take the girls to the gym almost every time they ask because I mostly just want some time to myself. Even if I have to pay for it with pain.

My kids did it again as “older” kids. They got my body back in shape. I don’t weigh myself unless I’m pregnant so I’m not sure on my weight. Fortunately, weight is not an issue with me. But I’m showing muscle. I have abs. Those 6-pack abs I wished for in college (and desperately tried to get in abs/back class twice a week) are finally starting to show up, 2 kids later. I’ve impressed Scott with my shoulders and arms…and he’s hard to impress since he makes fun of my lankiness constantly. He still says I need to work on calves but I’ll take the criticism as a challenge. Pulling the 75 pounds of kids in the wagon for 40 minutes a day while taking Emma to school is becoming easier, especially when going up hill.

I have found a reason to go to the gym 5-6 times a week, most weeks. It’s to get alone time. But the changes I’m seeing aren’t too bad either. I think if every mom used the child care (or mothers-day-out or preschool or daycare or husband or however you get rid of the kids) every day for time at the gym – and I do mean EVERY DAY no matter how tired you are, we could all enjoy our halloween candy a little bit more.