But I forgot my pants...

No doubt I was very well prepared for my first appointment. I had everything I needed. I had my Nike thermal training tights. I had a pair of yoga pants over the tights. I had my very best sports bra. I had my Vibrams. I had layers and layers of shirts. I had listened to Eminem's latest anthem. I had a mouth full of gum to battle the endless amounts of snot that come with running. I had it all.

 

 Day two. Not so much. Less enthusiasm? Nah. I was made immobile by Day one's activities so no laundry was done. No prep time.

 

I was so distracted by having to wear a regular bra that I had forgotten my gum, my scarf, and my yoga pants.

 

I was going to be cold. Really extra cold. Jiggly in the wrong places. Tasting snot the whole time. How could I make it possibly make it?

 

This is gonna suck.

 

Of course, when I had mentioned forgetting my pants to the professional,  he made no offer for me to go home to get them. There was no shortening my session...

 

We walk. Just walk.

 

This time, at the turn around spot, he does it again. "Lets run."

 

For 30 seconds.

 

No problem. 30 seconds? I can do that in my sleep.

 

Some where around 22 seconds I found myself running faster to get to 30 seconds quicker. Like 30 seconds was an invisible line on our path.

 

I know, I know... The brain does funny things at moments of desperation.

 

That continued for the whoooole way back. 30 second intervals.  

 

I was dying. Gasping for my last breath of cold air.

 

I knew it was the end when we got to the end.

 

Saying my good-bye's. Mentally distributing my personal belongings.

 

I was so happy we were done. My hour was up. I could go home and drink coffee.

 

But as usual, the time keeper had more time. And a special addition to our work out.

 

He brought out a ball. A heavy ball.

 

It read "10 lbs."

 

If I had any doubt of the professional's integrity, I would have thought that he rubbed off a "0" after the "10".

 

But I do not. So, for now, we'll say it was a 10 lb ball.

 

Pfff.....

 

Enter arm breaking chest popping moves.

 

First over my head, as if I were reaching over to scratch my back with both hands.

 

Then, this ridiculous Michael Jordan move. Over and over again.

 

Something like this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was making that face, too.

 

Alas, I survived. I made it through. No pants. No gum.

 

In retrospect, I realize that I had gotten so worked up, and put so much usable energy into the fact that I didn't have what I needed to workout. Kinda like my cousin, the self-proclaimed writer of the family. She has four freshly sharpened pencils, a style book, a source book, a dictionary, a thesaurus, a new desk, new chair, a cup of coffee, and writers block.  

 

Once I realized I was channeling my energy in the wrong task and redirected my efforts, I quickly became refocused and re energized.

 

I survived.

 

Minimum whining.

 

Note to self: careful where you put your energy.

 

There is one thing that I NEED to address. There were calls, texts, and emails regarding posting my weight...even sharing it on facebook.

 

I must confess, the most disturbing and painful part of all of that is that approximately 287 people believe that I am a direct descendant of a gorilla.

 

That I have some terrible deformity.

 

I admit it, I can see the resemblance. Those two feet are made for swinging.

 

 

 

 

I had just taken off my vibrams. I was balancing on the scale. I was leaning forward.

 

The deck was stacked against me.

 

I'm here to offer my feet an exoneration:

 

 

Knitting buddy.

I had my first morning with the professional. I was absolutely terrified. I was excited. I was on fire. I was anxious. I was cold. Really, really cold.

 

I had worked with this professional before. He had guided me through a transformation in the months before I became pregnant with the princess. His help was one of the reasons I became pregnant.

 

Go ahead. Snicker. Let it out. We did.

 

It was a bit of a joke in the family. I had get my hormones and thyroid in check before fertility was possible. Weight loss was a necessity.

 

Refocus.

 

He stayed with me through morning sickness, a root canal, and general pregnancy whining. Somewhere around month four or five I had given up. I had submitted to the myth that pregnant was my free pass on food and mobility. I dropped off the radar. And not for a lack of trying on his part, he was vigilant. But I'm a master of cutting off people that are healthy, supportive and just plain positive.

 

Fast forward three years...

 

A few days after my SIL's posting on the Warrior Dash, his name and email address appeared on my facebook side bar, "Reconnect with the professional...add as friend now." Could the signs be any clearer? I knew that if I was going to be a warrior it was going to be with him at the helm.

 

But...insert ominous sounding music... I had burned our bridge, left him hanging with no explanation. With every ounce of courage in my body I sent him a very pathetic email begging him to take me back as a client. Besides being awesome and in demand, he had no reason to respond. And I really wasn't expecting a response.

 

It didn't take long. He called. Without a missed syllable, an ounce of doubt, or any animosity, he spoke as he had always spoken. I was absolutely thrilled! Yay! Not only did he call me back but he was excited. He was all in. Double yay! "When do you want to start?"

 

Fast forward to 5:30 a.m. 27 degrees.

 

It was cold...

 

I didn't want to leave my warm bed...

 

The princess had coughed all night, the dogs were up and down...

 

this wasn't the best day to start my mission...

 

I knew I could not cancel. No rescheduling. No excuses. If I had given him one more reason to cut me off, I would be stuck with a crappy twenty-something-gum-smacking-spandex-wearing-trainer. It would be me waving the white flag on day one.

 

It wasn't terrible. I had some enthusiasm. I was happy to see him. Grateful for his trust and second chance.

 

We started with a brisk walk.

 

Not bad.

 

He talked. He's a story teller. A good one.

 

He wraps you up in a warm, cozy, comfortable story.

 

Makes you feel safe, like a baby in mama's arms.

 

I was so pleased that I had a nice walking buddy. This was fun. I knew that at any moment we would be exchanging recipes and knitting techiques.

 

Then, bam. He drops it. Smooth as butta...

 

"lets run."

 

Did he not know it was 5:30? A.M.? Did he miss the fact that it was -50 degrees...in my head?

 

Whether he did or did not, he didn't care. He had a job to do. He was in charge. He is the professional.

 

 The whole time I was thinking (whining internally) "are we there yet....'cause I'm gonna die...I want my mommy...I want my knitting buddy back...."

 

When it was all over, despite the gasping for breath, numb tear ducts, frost bite on toes, I had the nerve to say, "that wasn't bad. I'm ready to get serious." Just as soon as I said it I wished I could rewind and delete. Wasn't I just bragging that I had learned to hold my tongue? It was too late. He heard me. I saw it in his eyes.

 

Did I mention that he is the time keeper? Oh yes. The hand that holds the clock rules the world.

 

He found a few extra minutes in our session. Brilliant.

 

Sprints.

 

A million of them, I'm sure of it.

 

Needless to say, I was imobilized the following day.

 

Lesson learned.

 

Be careful what you ask for; if you're going to do something, do it right; if want to get the job done, hire a professional; Keep your mouth shut; etc....

Pooh-poohers not welcome here.

As I prepare for my evolution, I am forced to look over what has worked, and most important, what has not worked in the past. Having reflected, I KNOW that there are three solid rules that have held steady. Three solid pieces of advice I wish I had been given yeeeears ago.

1. Know where you are.

For years I have watched the biggest loser. I have watched people parade their jiggly bodies, dressed in nothing but a sports bra and bike shorts. I have seen with my EYES their flabby bits and have gasped in horror. I have been thankful that I wasn't that bad. I was not to that point. Who does that? Those people have serious issues.

Gross. Pretty bad, right?

I have the fabulous ability to hear what I want to hear. I see what I want to see. I have to force myself to apply my fabulous uncle's best advice: be circumspect. Ok, UH, I'll be circumspect. Even when it sucks.

This is me.

Ouch. That is a seriously sucky reality check.

I have to see that. I have to know where I am in order to know what I need to do to get to where I am suppose to be. It is important to know that I am 5'3", 230 pounds, 52" hips, 42" waist, 44" bust line. Here's why I need to know:

I can continue going through life thinking that's not me, I'm not that bad. But maintaining that is lying to myself. I have lied to myself. I am that bad. I do need help. I need to make a change. I am not healthy, I am shortening my own life, I am blocking my own path, I am being a terrible example to my children. I won't pretend that cutting out coke for a week will help me get to where I need to be. Eating a salad at lunch and a cheeseburger at dinner is not a diet. Snacking on ingredients while I cook a semi-healthy dinner is not healthy. And that is not what I need in order to leave the place where I am at, now. 230.

I won't wallow in it. I am moving forward. This brings me to the next solid truth.

2. Get professional help.

Find these people. They are professionals. They are born to kick your ass.

I tried running with friends, working out with my husband &  joined a gym. All lasting no longer than 2 weeks. There is no accountability in friends. No matter how good their intentions are. They are my friends, forgiveness is required. Missed runs are not a problem for good friends. The check-in girl at the gym is not going to call me and ask why I have never used my membership.  Being where I am, there is a need for accountability. If I had the skill set to do this alone then I would have done it years ago. Find a trainer, pay him in advance.

And finally...

3. Stop putting obstacles in your own path. Really. Stop it.

Steven Tyler once said, "No food tastes better than being thin feels." 

I can think of a million meals that are good enough to die for. And I mean that. If I keep indulging in these fabulous meals I will go to the grave for them. Literally. Perhaps because I love food more than I love myself? Perhaps. I won't go into the psychology of it, but I put that obstacle in my own path. I can't keep buying a cheeseburger and fries and tell myself the lie that I am only going to eat a small portion of each. Lie. But it's not always food. People, family especially, are the hardest obstacles to remove. If I tell someone that I am making life changes and there response is anything less than, "That's awesome, you are going to rock it!" they are being labeled an obstacle. I'm avoiding them like the plague. I decline their calls. I do not go out of my way to make them a part of my life. Anymore.

Pooh-poohers not welcome here.

I won't be ugly, I won't confront, I'm not on that mission right now. I'm fixing me. I can't be anything to anyone else if I am nothing to me.

We'll see what day one brings.

Warrior, Princess, etc...

About a week ago my beautiful SIL posted that she was going to run the Warrior Dash. The Warrior Dash is a 3.5 mile course of mud, sludge, obstacles- dirty ones, sweat, bugs, and fire. Oh yes, fire. Towards the finish line one of the final obstacles is the warrior flame. I thought, 'That looks like fun. I wish I could do it.'  If you know me at all, you know that neither my mind nor body are warrior material. I like to think that one day I will be athletic and fit; and my mind will be sharp and wise. One day. Not this year, though. I've too much to do. I have intentionally put just enough on my plate to leave absolutely no room for any extra-physical activity.

In the days following her post, the word 'Warrior' kept creeping up in my head. Is God trying to tell me something? Nah, if he were, it certainly would not be about warriors, we have much more important things to discuss. I have a hefty to-do list for God and being a warrior was not on the list. I mean really, think about it, Warrior: a person who shows or has shown great vigor, courage, or aggressiveness, as in politics or athletics. Nope, not me. As usual, God's plan was not align with my plan and I found myself thinking of, writing, typing, or saying, "Warrior," a few times a day.

I thought about my grandfather and my uncle. Their life was laid out as an obstacle course. They defied, mastered, overcame their obstacles. Warriors indeed.

I thought about my cousin and her brain tumor. It was supposed to take her months ago. It was supposed to be a death sentence. It wasn't. She didn't allow it to be those things. Warrior.

My friend from high school. She has earned her helmet and shield battling ALS. Every morning she wakes up and opens her eyes is a battle won. Warrior.

My SIL. She made a huge decision to leave what was comfortable and what was familiar for what was right. Fierce warrior.

I think about my #1 parenting role model. She battled the mine fields of Autism, nay-sayers, and dim prognosis. There were no support groups, no web-sites, and no doctors to turn to for answers. She smiled, held her head high, dug-in and did what was right for her baby. Beautiful warrior.

I've thought about the boy, how proud I am of him. He is such a warrior. Everyday that he gets up and goes to school he runs a course of obstacles. He interacts with his peers -mud & sludge- he keeps up in class -another dirty obstacle- and he comes home with a smile on his face ready for another day -flaming finish line.  Absolute Warrior.

I thought about Natalie. She is very much a little princess warrior of lip gloss and innocence. I thought that one day I wanted her to harness her powers and be a warrior when she wanted to be, but never because she had to be. Princess warrior.

All of these thought rolled back around to ME. These were all very defined battles. Very tough obstacle ridden battles. I declared myself thankful that I have no real battle of my own. Any battles that I have fought, I usually created. So why now? Why warrior? Why a muddy race? Really?

Everything that I had allowed to happen in my life, in the absence of self esteem and in the absence of God, came to a head last year. All my poor choices and burnt bridges collapsed in around me. My battles were self inflicted. I placed obstacles in my own path.  The thing that takes you from wanting to do something and connects it to doing (and finishing) something was only removed by me. I had settled for mediocre. I was teaching my children to settle for mediocre.

Realizing this, I declared 2011 as my year. If the Mayans are correct, then I want it to be a spectacular year. I have been unraveling the weave of mediocrity very gently, without much noise or fuss. I have made choices opposite of what is comfortable. I have held my tongue when I knew my razor sharp words could cut to shreds. I have planned a steady exit strategy when all I want to do is run away. I have hit the 'delete' button when it would have felt so good to click the 'send' button. I have started and finished projects. I have begun the evolution into the person I was supposed to be, who God intended for me to be, before everything else got in the way.

The answer to the 'why?' is clear, now. Mud is my nemesis. Exercise is my antithesis. Obstacles are my frienemy. It is time to do what is uncomfortable, what is unfamiliar, what is dirty. What is not normally what I would do. No more wishing and not fulfilling.

With perfectly applied lip gloss, and P!nk on the ipod, April 16 I will run the 3.something miles, climb a stack of hay, crawl through mud, weave through trees, maneuver through tires and jump a flame. Not raising any funds. Not for the conceit or vanity of it. For the self-esteem of doing and finishing.  Not doing it in the name of anyone else but ME.