How assumptions can make you shit your pants

This is my week one of competition prep recap.  I know.  You are wondering what the hell I am talking about.  You are also noticing a recurring theme around our house, too.  It begins with SH and ends with IT.  Yep.  We've got a lot of shit going on.  All day.  Everyday.  But when you wear a diaper all the time and shit while simultaneously stuffing sweet potato fries in your mouth, what do you expect??  Only this time, the shit didn't come from the baby... nope.  This time it was me.  Shit.

Week one:  eat a shit-ton of food.  I mean a TON.  We are talking 2300 calories.  Everyday.  From sun up til sun down and even beyond (see my video about stuffing your face before bed).  I am constantly eating, constantly preparing food, constantly thinking about what food is coming next.  Good thing I don't have a full-time job to tend to right now because I would be dying (great thing about having summer's off - you get to fill up all your time with... food).

Making the food isn't the issue.  I love to cook.  I am getting creative with what I can do with the following:

cream of wheat

oatmeal

strawberries

bananas

peanut butter

protein powder

green beans

broccoli

chicken

more chicken

maybe a little salmon

Then there is the daunting egg whites scramble every morning. I haven't found many options here.  I feel like I am eating old man ball skin.  Or it reminds me of that.  So I gag.... get the chills... try to shake it off.  Then shovel them back in my mouth.  Mmmm.  Bet you won't look at your scrambled eggs the same again.

Training is good.  My trainer, Shawna at Big Jon Fitness, kicks my ass every time and I LOVE IT.  I love lifting heavy, I love feeling burning deep in my muscle tissue.  I love not being able to do one. more. push-up.  The other day I had the luxury of doing 200 walking lunges.  Yes, that's not a type-o.  I put 200.  That was loads of fun when children tried to climb onto my lap the next day and their little devilish elbows and knees and palms dug into my quads.  They had lots of fun with my uncontrolled convulsions of that deep muscular soreness from that deep muscular burn I was talking about.  Yay!  Look at Mommy!  She is spasming on the floor!  I wanna try that!  Let's all do the Mommy! Kids proceed to lay on floor next to you, on their side, shaking back and forth like a reeled in lake trout floping on the bank in the sand.

This is all well and good, but NONE of this is what made me shit my pants.  Lets get to that fun story.

It is a warm Friday afternoon.  Children are sleeping, husband is sleeping and sweet, little wife is in the kitchen, preparing a delicious and healthy salad.  This salad will serve dual purposes: to provide a side for a company picnic the family is attending tonight and also to ensure that family has a healthy option at barbeque (because we know what the staples are).  Unfortunately, sweet, little darling wife is unable to consume this delectable salad she is creating because she is on a strict meal plan.  Once she swigs down her chocolate/peanut putter/banana protein shake, she knows what comes next.  Salmon.  Salmon and broccoli.  Dinner of champions.  Well... this soon to be champion (cue Rocky music).  Shit.

She knows there is no defrosted salmon, let alone ready to grill in time for the bbq.  What is a girl to do?  You cannot, cannot veer from the plan.  No.  That is not what champions do.  Shit.  Think.  Think.  Think. OH! We made salmon earlier... as she says the word earlier, it slowly stretches its self out as if she's breaking it in syllables for a child to spell.  She knows earlier actually means multiple days ago.  Shit.  Did anyone eat that last fillet? Is it still even in here? 

Yep.  At the back of the shelf, underneath some pre-cooked brown rice sits a lone 5 oz. fillet of salmon. Already cooked.  Already seasoned.  Just waiting.  She grabs it off the shelf.  Peers inside.  Its still pink and their are no new life forms growning on it.  She opens the container.  Hmmmm. Smells like salmon.  Not fishy at all.  Hmmmm.  It doesn't have anything weird on top of it.  Hmmmm.  She puts her nose right up ontop of it and takes a big whiff.  Hmmmm.  This is where making assumptions can make you shit your pants.  It looked ok.  It smelled ok.  The corner even tasted ok.  So she drizzled a baby bit of agave nectar ontop then stuck it in the microwave.

She had no choice.  Meal time was coming and this was going to be her only option.  So after steaming some broccoli, she threw that and the salmon together and she was ready for the bbq.  She would not be tempted by the juicy cheeseburgers or glistening hotdogs.  She would not succumb to the delicious crispy, salty calling of potato chips.  No.  She was a champion.  She was going to eat her salmon and broccoli... even if it killed her.

Around 11 o'clock that night, she got that horrific, but familiar rumbling in her tummy.  They one that says Damn you!  You shouldn't have eaten that!  And the night of tossing and turning began...

The next day.  Yep. You know how this story ends.  I don't need to go into detail about the crampy or splattering or soreness from wiping all.damn.day. You have been there.  The kicker... it was the day of my 'cheat' meal.  The meal that I get to enjoy without any reprecusion.  The meal of ANYTHING I WANT!  Shit!!!  Get better. Get better. Get better.  I had big plans for this cheat meal!  The hope of knowing that single-handedly got me through my bowel revolt.  Mind over matter baby.  I enjoyed my cheat meal... and my 2 bowls of Tillamook Mudslide Ice Cream and was ready to get back on the wagon Sunday morning.

So, what, dear friends, can we learn from this tragic experience?  Never make assumptions.  About anything.  It will undoubtedly come back and bite you in the ass... while you are hunched over on the toilet, shitting your brains out.  Oh, and never trust a fart...