There’s a really nice guy that likes me. He’s told me he likes me, he’s told people that he likes me, he does out of the ordinary things because he likes me. And that guy is Gym Crush.  I’m flattered, but at the same time, I’m completely uninterested. At first, I thought he was wonderful – I wanted to spend all day and night with him. We shared the same interests especially when it came to fitness and nutrition. He would make healthy lunches for me and bring them to the gym. He would take me out for dinner to healthy restaurants, make me protein shakes. He took me under his wing and became my own free personal trainer. Basically, he did everything for me.

Everything sounds great right? Wrong.  All the attention, the flattery, the compliments, the food… it became overwhelming. And I never even kissed him!  Imagine what kinds of things I would receive had I slept with him?!  Gym Crush is content just hanging out with me.  He would talk about all this vacation we could take together and how he would work overtime just to pay for our trips, how convenient it would be for me to move in with him, how close he is to my job, how I wouldn’t have to pay any rent.  And, did I mention I didn’t even KISS him??  All this (to some women) sounds dreamy, but to me, it repulsed me. It’s too much.  He’s too nice.

Oh, there’s more. He would change his own schedule just to accommodate mine. He’d sleep at his parents’ house so that he would be able to pick me up and go to the gym with me; he’d make sure I didn’t drive anywhere so that he’d get to spend extra time with me in the car; he’d buy special food I like;  he’d wear certain clothes because I would mention I liked that look; he’d play house music, even though he didn’t like it; he bought a patio lawn chair because he knew I enjoyed tanning in the summer.

I felt smothered.  He killed me with kindness, and left nothing to the imagination. He was predictable and I could smell the insecurity on his sleeve. It's as though he was trying to buy my love. If I wanted to, I could easily have taken advantage of him (bitch, right?) but all this to say is that unfortunately, for me, this nice guy will finish last.

I told him straight up that I wasn’t romantically inclined to him.  I didn’t want to feel guilty for accepting every meal, every car ride, every ‘personal training’ session.  Yet, the gifts and kindness persued . At times, I found it almost pathetic. I've never been rude to him, and I would politely decline many of his offers, but it came to the point where I would have to make up stories to avoid hanging with him.  Why is it that women walk all over men who offer their undying devotion to her?  I don’t want to date an asshole, I’ve never been interested in them. But I also don’t want to date a doormat either.

So, a little advice to the men of the world: Please, have your own life. Do your own thing.  Have a backbone. Keep us women guessing.  Lord knows, if the shoe were on the other foot, and the woman was the one bending over backwards for their man… he would probably end of up leaving her. Or cheating on her with the independent secretary.  Unfortunately, it’s the sad truth.  Nice guys actually do finish last.

La Blonde xx

10:12 PM on a Wednesday night, I'm sprawled out on my couch, legs elevated, ice packs on my thighs, a heat pack on my back,  and tears in my eyes; I feel 78 years old. For those of you who do not know La Blonde... she fights. I'm training for a Muay Thai tournament in exactly two weeks and two days. Since February I've dropped over 20lbs, with 6 more to go. I was about 155lbs and I'm fighting at the weight category of 132lbs. If you asked me two months ago if this was possible, I'd think you're insane. I'd laugh in your face, and proceed to eat a Big Mac. But, I love a challenge and I've always been actively involved and passionate for martial arts. With a black belt in Karate, plenty of provincial and national experience, and a kickboxing fight (win!) under my belt, I knew this was the challenge I was meant to tackle. What I didn't know was the physical and mental strain this journey would endure.

I'm a Saturday night disco ball turned reformed alcoholic. I've exchanged my glittery pumps for Nike shox.  I can't remember the last time I ate a carb, or had any dairy. (Actually, that's not true... for Easter, I had a wheel of brie, and some noodles in my turkey noodle soup) I've turned into a complete health freak; flax and chia seeds with every meal, protein eating machine, 4-5 hours training five days a week, calorie counting freak. I've felt a similar feeling to death on many occasions. But I wouldn't change this challenge for the world.  Unfortunately I'm not blessed like some women, born with six-packs...fat loves me. I blame it on my cabbage roll, schnitzel eating Eastern European heritage. My whole life I've always been a solid 10 maybe 15 lbs over weight (so I believe, other may not think so) having to cover chunky arms and readjust my uncomfortably skin-tight jeans to fit over my sexy love handles.  That was then and this is now - I have a body I couldn't even dream of. People make comments on how much weight I've lost, how great I look, I'm excited to bikini shop, I fit into size small tops, size 4-6 jeans, and I can't wait for warmer weather to sell tickets to my own gun show. Legit, I have biceps.

I realize I just sat here and bragged about myself for the last two paragraphs, but I swear I have a point to all this. And that is.... if you believe in something, go for it. If you don't like something, change it. Your body is an actual machine, never doubt its potential. Yeah, easier said than done, right? But it's your life, it's your body, it's your mind, and you have the power to do what you want and and be whomever the fuck you want to be.

Yesterdays, we did something at the gym called "Shark Tank": you fight 6 rounds at full speed and power, with 6 different guys (yes, guys) 2 minutes on, 1 minute off (traditional amateur fighting rules) no break, no time to think. Each of these men had a good 20 - 100lbs on me. I was scared shitless and immediately began doubting my skills.  I was 30 seconds from getting into my car and saying fuck it -- a much more viable option. But I didn't. Instead, I put on my gear, got my legs chopped at with kicks, my head beat in by punches, and got tripped up and fell on my ass. I felt like my lungs were going to explode and developed insta-bruises all over my body. And after all of that I immediately bawled my eyes out. Real manly of me. I wasn't crying because I was getting beat on, I was crying because I was mad at myself.  All I could think about was that these guys were so good, and so quick and so strong... I discredited all of my abilities. I doubted the fact that I'm just as quick, and just as good and possibly (when I land a wicked right cross) just as strong. The more the guys would come up to me to give me a pat on the back, offer words of encouragement, support and constructive criticism, the more the tears would flow. I even cried on Gym Crush's shoulder. It was then that he reminded me of a painful truth: I am my own worst enemy. (Insert Pink song here)

As cliché as that sounds, it's the truth.  I lost even before I entered the ring. Why can't I just be proud of myself for trying? For all my accomplishments? I'm so hard on myself for everything! I wonder if there are other self-destructive women/men out there like me? Other people notice my success and see my potentials, so why can't I see it for myself?  I entered the "shark tank" with a negative mind, negative thoughts and thus doubting my skills, I doubted myself. I've been told by people  before that I'm "never satisfied". It's probably the harshest thing to hear.  And it's something that I'm working on. 

Again, point of this blog is to join forces as women and men, and fight that little voice in our heads that tell us we cannot do something. (And to prove I'm not an asshole man eater... I have feelings too, see?) So, FUCK that little voice. You know which little voice I'm referring to... it shows up at the gym to remind you how much your legs are burning. Oh, and forget about that next round of squats, just quit! Don't go for that extra 10lbs on the barbell, you can't handle it. You should start your diet... on Monday.

I know that the only way I'm going to win my Muay Thai fight is to mentally prepare myself. It's. ALL. Mental. It's not about how much speed, or strength or training I have... if I don't have in my head, I've already lost.  Your body won't go, where your mind won't push it.  So, I'm going to WIN. It's that simple.

Thanks for reading. Good luck my beautiful followers in whatever it is you do.  Follow your dreams and never give up. Believe in yourself, love yourself first and foremost and the best of things will come your way.

Be proud of yourself in everything you do... I hope to someday take my own advice!

Amour toujours,

La Blonde xx

Disclaimer: Thank you to all those who have supported me through these brutal months. Gym Crush and THE Ex have been inspirations to me, and without their patience and support, I seriously do not know what I would do. Their shoulders are both wet with my tears, their ears burning with my bitching and complaining. I can't even begin to describe how much these two men mean to me.  Thank you to my friends, coaches, men who beat me up, and my family. I am truly blessed. Oh, and for you guys who have made it to read this far. I apologize, I'll never be this sappy again. It's unbecoming... like the title warned: A moment of truth and vulnerability.... xx