The Decimal Doesn't Move (duh)

I recently sat down with my 10 year old 5th grader to help him with his math homework.

I say I sat down to help, but the truth is that arithmetic and are are actually not the best of friends. In fact, I get sweaty palms and feel a warm flush just thinking about my own experiences in ye old math classes.

I was what fancy folks now call Gifted/SLD with very strong verbal skills and frighteningly challenged mathematical skills. Most of my teachers didn't understand my kind of ability back then and I spent a lot of time feeling humiliated by both my inabilities (why can't you get this) and my abilities (how can someone so smart be so dumb). Suffice it to say, these memories do not signal the highlight of my youth.

It helps for you to know this because it will explain the emotional roller coaster that I experienced from approximately 4:15 to 4:30 on that fateful afternoon.

I heard the call, panicked, put on a happy face and sat beside him. My knee twitched as I pulled out my iPhone and opened the YouTube app and took a deep breath. (This is what I do when my kids ask for help outside of the language arts. There is always someone out there who can help me out). Then I saw the assignment: decimals & exponents. We were dividing numbers like 1.23 by 10 to the second power.

Hot diggity! This is math I actually know! Bring it.

My posture straightens, my brow cools. Heck, I place the iPhone face down on the table, turn to him and begin. I am eloquent (if I do say so myself) and share all the secrets I learned when I, too, had to divide and multiply decimals by integers of ten.

I smile conspiratorially, lean in & say, "This is my special trick: When you multiply, you move the decimal to the right; when you divide, you move it to the left. Like this,"

Then I launch into three examples that are truly breathtaking by all accounts. I look back at my son, expecting an amazed expression -- after all, I am just short of David Blaine level when it comes to math magic at this moment -- and he is looking at me with pity.

He shakes his head slowly with soft eyes, the way you do when someone is trying, but just not quite getting it. Then he says, "Mom, the decimal doesn't move."

Blank stare.

He tries again.

"Decimals don't move, Mom. They are fixed." He speaks the word slowly, as though I am hard of hearing or maybe not so good at the English language or maybe recently suffered a bump on the head.

He continues, "Numbers move. Like this" Then he launches into a brief explanation that involves a chart and arrows and other things that I just can't explain so I'll give you a visual (see below).

As he does, he stumbles onto the answer to his original question. He is excited; as always, my pint-sized Taurus loves to learn and he loves to be right.

He is doing his celebration dance (lots of "uh huh's" and "go me's" with a very funny face) but I am not sure what to do. On one hand, I am ecstatic that he found the answer. Ecstatic that he loves to learn and loves to succeed academically. On the other, I am back in time, feeling like I am lost in the math world. I am afraid that this corner of the academic world has (once again) left me behind and I have no idea what in the world he is talking about.

I feel obsolete and inadequate.

This is when the personal impact of the new shift to Common Core hits me. It is not as cut and dried as some folks would make it out to be. It is a wonderful and terrifying thing. It represents a change in what I knew -- and I didn't know much in that area -- and presents a whole new way of teaching and learning that leaves me (an educator by trade) feeling confused and inadequate, yet excited by what this could mean for students. At the same time, it is the key to my 5th grader "getting it," so much so that he can use what he knows to think rationally and deduce the correct process he needs to use.

The educator in me knows that is good stuff. Really good stuff.

So while I am uncertain and I am leery, I am also excited and encouraged. And I can't help but wonder if someone had laid a similar foundation down for me, would I feel the way I do about math today, or would I be empowered by my deductive reasoning skills the way my son has?

Not sure, but it's definitely food for thought.

Until next,

No Gimmicks, but Still Golden

Today I read on Facebook that a friend lost 20 lbs.

She looks amazing: lean, strong, happy.

There's a comment or two that emphasize that she did this with "no gimmicks" just clean eating and working out. I couldn't help wondering what people might think in response to this.

As I've gone through my own fitness journey, I've had people try to get me to go with gimmicks. Worse yet, now folks are hitting me up for quick fixes like I have a secret stash of crack and we are in an alley somewhere.

I don't know what to say: gimmicks don't work.

If gimmicks worked, the weight I lost on a gazillion fad diets over the years (Atkins, cucumber/vinegar drink thing, lettuce diet, you name it; I did it!) would have worked. I would have lost weight and ridden off into the sunset with my perky little rump.

It didn't happen for me.

It isn't likely to happen for you.

You can't get a shot and live off of 500 calories a day or sprinkle something on your food or restrict yourself to only certain foods, none of this, etc. and expect your body to respond as it should. Oh, you might get a short term response, but in the long term that fat is gonna slap you like a gelatinous boomerang. It will not be pretty people. Not pretty at all.

I think I've said it before, but I will say it again: It takes time, energy and determination to gain weight; it will take time, energy and determination to lose it.

These are the brakes.

The friend I mentioned above happens to be a fitness professional. She teaches kicka$$ classes in the DFW area. The kind of classes that make you pray out loud, maybe even grunt from time to time.

Consider that: She works out for a living. She knows what she is doing and has the support of one of the best personal trainers I've ever met. And it still took 6 months to achieve her hot, lean look. Six. Months. Although she was trading fat lbs for muscle lbs, that still works out to less than a pound a week.

People come to me and want to lose twice that in half the time. I'm not sure that this is realistic, but I am certain it is not wise. More certain that anything that fast is not likely to last long term.

Here's what I am thinking. Consider making small, sustainable changes in three-week segments. Here are five small steps to get you started:

1. Integrate a comprehensive supplement (multivitamin, Shakeology, calcium, iron, magnesium, B12). 
2. Establish a realistic workout program and stick to it.
3. Commit to one serving of root vegetables every day (carrots, beets, sweet potatoe, jicama, leeks).
4. Integrate one serving of leafy green vegetables every day (spinach, cabbage, brussel sprouts, artichokes, collard greens).
5. Spend 15 minutes listening to or 10 minutes reading positive, edifying words (personal development, spiritual, work related, goal oriented content) each day.

If you concentrate on committing to one goal at a time for 3 weeks each, that will take you just under 4 months. I'd love to know how the scale moves and your measurements change with this simple series of commitments. No fireworks, no rah rah, but you will succeed and change your life.

I am rooting for you and believing in you.

Until next,

Engagement: A goal worth pursuing

A few years ago at about this time, I set a goal for myself.
That year, the goal was engagement.

I wanted to feel planted in each moment and often (far too often) I felt that I was only feeling the true impact of events after the event had passed.

I ran, ran, ran full throttle through each day and in the quiet moments -- like 3 minutes before I succumbed to exhaustion -- I would smile when I remembered the tenderness of my children's kiss. The wonder in their eyes. The sadness that lingered in the corners when they waited for their turn to hold my attention, undivided. The subtle kindnesses of my husband. The smile from a clerk in the market. Anything. They tickled the edge of my consciousness like falling snowflakes, melting before I could really grasp the impact of each.

As with most things, I mastered this skill when I was at work but by the time I got home there was nothing left. It was a difficult, disconnected time in my life.

Years later, life has slowed. The old me would probably make small gagging sounds if she saw how slowly my days pass, often doing only one task at a time and moving to the beat of a slow bass line rather than a racing snare.

Some days I wonder if the sacrifices I've made to live life at this slower pace are worth it. Other days, there isn't a doubt in my mind. Today was one of those days.

I have a woman in my seated strength training class who recently started attending classes again. She is stately and graceful and kind. She also suffers from dementia as a result of Alzheimer's.

I am new to her which means that on any given day or time she may know me and she may not. All we have for certain is each moment. In that moment, she may not know my name or my face but -- if I am engaged and present -- she will always know my kindness.

Today we shared an hour. We began laughing and hip shaking to the beat of "Kansas City" by Wilbert Harrison. The 30+ years between our ages melted and there was a fierce shimmy breakdown as we giggled like school girls. The class began and I could see her focus fade and return throughout the hour. As she left she remembered me again, we connected over my new found home in a town she'd lived in for years and then she was gone again, body present but mind lost somewhere in time.

This is why we must claim each moment. Why we must pay whatever price there may be for living fully in the present, for seeing each person truly. In an hour and fifteen minutes, I may have had 10 minutes of clarity with this beautiful woman. Perhaps less. But each moment was precious. Each moment lifted my spirit and recharged my soul. I would like to believe that her spirit and soul felt the same.

As you "resolve" this year to make changes for the better, know that it may take years to inch toward your goal, but the measure of a worthy goal is in the beauty revealed as a result of its pursuit.

I wish you love.

Until next,

Confronting Your "Why Nots" - First Steps to Committing to Change

About a week ago, a FB friend asked for input on why folks who have lost weight/gotten in shape finally made the decision and stayed commited to it. Further, she asked what their reasons were for resisting this process in the first place. What kept them in that unhealthy, unhappy boat?

I surprised myself by my response. I knew EXACTLY what stopped me from losing weight. Almost like I'd rehearsed it: the words flowed like a poem I knew by heart, like lyrics to a favorite tune. In fact, it was harder to explain how/why I made the change than it was for me to explain why I didn't for so many years.

Interesting.

That, my friends, is what is on my mind today. I know that so many people are thinking of what they'd like 2013 to bring. I also know that many of these folks will list weight loss as one of their goals. Ultimately, I know that the reasons and rationales that have kept them in an unhealthy pattern will return like theives in the night to attack these well-intentioned efforts.

I believe, with every fiber of my being, that you must face the opposition, size it up and get real about the challenges they pose if you are going to be successful with any campaign. Behavior modification isn't war, but it sure can feel like it.

So what to do, what to do?

Before you get real about your "why," get real about your "why not." Your "why" is the reason that motivates you. It is the fire that keeps you moving forward toward your goal. Conversely, your "why not" is the wet blanket that threats to douse that fire. It is the secret inner monologue that has allowed you to find yourself in the place and space you currently inhabit.

Today, I'm encouraging you to confront your "why nots." Understand what has been stopping you so you don't get sucker punched by these ideas when they pop up later & threaten to side line your efforts.

In my case, I stayed heavy for so many really good reasons. First, my focus was on being a good mom, being a great teacher, and being a good wife. None of these required me to be physically different. After all, my days of clubbing in clingy clothes were over. Who was I trying to impress? Just my husband and he was fine with my curves. I wasn't trying to catch a man and the one I had was happy.

To be honest, my "motherly figure" was actually a plus at work because it made me completely non-sexual. Kind of a plus when you are teaching hormone-heavy teens.

Further, it was easier to deal with adults when I was overweight. Women weren't catty. Men weren't hitting on me. Heck, I didn't even draw a second look most of the time.

My extra weight was a cocoon of warmth that was sexually neutral and the epitome of zero threat. I wasn't so big that I was somehow offensive or socially unacceptable. In so many ways, it was perfect!

Can you imagine how difficult it is to choose restraint, hard work, exhaustion, embarassment, frustration and fear every day when these things were the alternative?

Losing weight is hard. At least it was for me. I had to change what I ate, how ate, when I ate, why I ate. I had to change how I moved, when I moved, why I moved. I had to feel my body melt and morph and mend. Worse yet, I had to watch it happen. It didn't always look good and it wasn't fun.

In those quiet moments, I was choosing between the warm blanket of pounds (or my fat wubby :-) and the cold loneliness of sore muscles and the feeling that something was always missing from my plate.

Surpised to find me say these things? I know, it might not be what you'd expect from a motivator, but a big part of success is facing the situation from a place of honesty.

Ya gotta get real. Yes, there were some things about being overweight that felt like major benefits, yet there were also some aspects of that life that sucked, plain and simple.

I felt uncomfortable in almost everything I wore. An outfit never looked like it was supposed to look on my body and fabric folded in embarrassing ways.

I couldn't wear dresses. I went years without wearing a dress because if the wind blew that fabric flattened molded against my curves and NOT in a good way.

My skin had marks all over it from where fabric or skin rubbed and chaffed. It tooks months after I'd hit my goal weight for these marks to go away.

My asthma went ballistic. I was having trouble breathing when I sat down and watched movies because the rolls and boobs applied too much pressure to my chest. True story.

I got winded going upstairs. My home became a house of yells and shouts because that was the fastest way to communicate without actually tackling those stairs.

My husband loved me as I was, but I didn't feel sexy at all. There are aspects of intimacy that really require you to feel sexy in your skin. You are a completely different person behind closed doors when the skin you are in "fits." & that's all I have to say about that.

I realized that I wanted to let my sons know that they can have a nurturing mom who is also fun, healthy and yes, sexy. I started thinking about the true message I was sending to them: that sexy women are associated with pre-motherhood and that post-motherhood that all shuts down. What man looks forward to that? Would that silent message impact their decision to commit to someone, would it cause them to resist the idea of building a family?

I knew that once the weight left and I got noticed people might get mean. People  might remember that I was a female, that I was a sexual being, and that (for whatever crazy reason) might make me a threat. I don't like drama. Kinda hate it. I don't like cattiness. Kinda hate it. I don't like it when folks are mean to me. Really hate it. But, if it comes down to a choice between my health and someone else feeling threatened: That person can suck it. Seriously.

Ultimately, the weight loss journey became the single most profound of my life. I reclaimed certain parts of my personality and gained a new-found strength. I learned to deal with conflict graciously instead of avoiding it using unhealthy habits. In short, I had to put on my big girl panties and deal with the real world on my own terms instead of hiding from it in a 60 lb fat suit.

This is what you have to remember when you are making changes. Yes, it can stink in the moment; be honest about that. But when you are being honest, remember to also be honest about the fact that sometimes when we make a wrong turn, the journey back to the right road is long and bumpy. That is a basic truth, so deal with it. The cherry on top is that you gain so much more than you could ever lose.

It won't be fun while you push toward this goal.

You will go with out things you'd like to have.

You will miss things you've had that feel familiar (and good).

You will be uncomfortable. Sorry, it's true.

And you will be stronger and better and healthier and more balanced than you could ever imagine.

You will be more centered in your own shoes because you will have defined yourself, from the inside out.

This is what you have to think about when you commit to a major lifestyle change. List your why nots. Write them down and then give a reason each isn't valid. Post them somewhere you can go back and review them when you need them. Acknowledge that you are losing more than just the weight and then realize that you are gaining something each and every day.

This is where you will find your fuel: through honest release of what is lost and faithful pursuit of what is gained.

Stay tuned for more on the role of journaling as you move toward success!

Tis the Season to Stay Sexy!( New Vlog on YouTube)

Rise of Creative* Fitness

Cool things are afoot in the fitness world, folks: Beachbody is merging with Powder Blue Productions.

I won't pretend to have a complete handle on this thing, but I can tell you that two fitness powerhouses are joining forces in a way that I believe is new to the fitness world.

From what I understand, many of the formats that you love in the gym like PiYo and Hip Hop Hustle will soon be available at home in your living room just as TurboKick and Les Mills PUMP are now.

Conversely, many of the formats that you love at home like Insanity and Brazil Butt Lift will soon be available in a gym near you just as P90X technically is now, although I am not familiar with any locations that have it yet.

Before you start slipping into a someone-put-peanut-butter-in-my-chocolate and someone-put-chocolate-in-my-peanut-butter vortex, I implore you to keep your knickers on (and perhaps to remember that a chocolate and peanut butter combo is quite delicious): from where I'm sitting, this move is brilliant.

If you add the new a la carte movement in group exercise (like Group FX), that provides pay per event fitness "concerts" with fitness rockstars, I think I'm noticing a trend here. It looks like fitness is actually being led by the consumer for a change.

As a fitness fan, I have to say I dig it. I dig it a lot.

Consider your frustration with classes that you love being cut at random. It happened recently at a chain that I worked for. All of a sudden, Hip Hop Hustle and PiYo were gone from the schedule in a poof! Wham, bam, thank you but it's gone, ma'am. If you couldn't get it at your gym, you were pretty much screwed. You could go to another chain, but that might mean losing your favorite instructor or losing another program that the chain chose not to carry for whatever (very corporate) reason.

No matter what, there always seems to be a sacrifice when it comes to fitness and I'll admit, as an instructor, Beachbody coach and participant, I have wondered why.

Why can't I get the formats I love with instructors I love at times I love? Okay, maybe not all at once, but can I get a little Zumba at home on a Thursday at midnight? It's weird, but yes. Yes I can. There is a Wii game, an Xbox Kinnect game & a series of awesome Exhilarate videos to soothe my craving. I can find it at my local gym and even in the club (Zumba-ritas, anyone?) in some cities.

I suppose that's what I want for my other formats as well: Access. Let's keep it real, it is hard enough to include exercise in our daily lives without adding hoops and hurdles to complicate the process. When I find what I love, I want to be able to get my sweat on without a headache.

It's funny, when Beachbody launched Les Mills PUMP at home, a friend who taught PUMP in the gyms thought it was competition. Huh? I don't see TurboJam & TurboFire undermining TurboKick in gyms. Not in the least. If anything, my love for gym Turbo made me realize that I NEEDED access at home. Nothing is worse than a Turbo fiend without a funky groove and a punch/kick combo. Trust me, very twitchy & kinda sad.

So what does this mean for folks who aren't associated with either Beachbody or Powder Blue? Do you even have a runner in this race? I think so. In my opinion, community and choice are two of the most important factors in a successful fitness program. If you've been an island on the free weight floor, it might be cool to collaborate over the BodyBeast program. If you have been busting your hump at home with Insanity, you might take that craziness to a whole other level in a gym setting -- I know the Nike Training camp folks seem to love it and that is both an app and a class in the gym.

If nothing else, consider a world that allows you to choose your own date, time, location and format. Kinda cool, huh? With this kind of unprecedented creativity, your excuses would all but disappear. And, of course, that's a good thing!

In fitness and freedom,

*Rise of Creative is a reference to Richard Florida's book, Rise of the Creative Class (a good read!)

Always something more to be grateful for

Funny how a new place always brings new blessings and new opportunities. Yes, moving can be scary. But as a former military kid, child of divorced parents and as one who had a somewhat free-wheeling young adulthood, I have moved over 20 times and I can tell you that moving can be an amazing opportunity for renewal, growth and discovery.

For me, moving to Texas was life-changing. My marriage strengthened. My faith strengthened. I became a healthier, more balanced person whose time and energy allocation reflected her values.

Now, it seems, Louisiana is bringing me delicious little blessings anew.

It's been two years and a few months since I made a lifestyle change. Committing to fitness was a decision that was a long time coming and, like most folks, my journey is/was laden with a complicated web of emotion.

As a wife and mom, one of the major motivators for my transition was that I wanted to be a better me for my family. The strange thing is that my family kind of complicated things. My husband is not really into fitness. He's always been naturally slim and active in the "I played ball in school" kind of way. My younger son is also naturally thin and he is also naturally active -- playing outside, etc.

My 12 year old has my bone structure, my father's build, and my natural reluctance to physical exertion. He also has my love for food. And so, it seems, he's inherited my predisposition toward collecting and hoarding weight. When I caught the fitness bug, he was sure to keep his distance -- didn't want to risk catching it, ya know.

Like many parents who start this journey hoping to be a role model, I have found myself saddened by a new quandary. How to help my child understand the value of all we are and all we've worked to become and understand the importance of personal development.

I'm not one for sugar coating: Being overweight isn't okay and it's not cool. It also doesn't make you a bad person any more than any other unhealthy choice does. So how do I convey the need to feel good about himself at the same time I convey the need to work on areas that could make his quality of life better?

While many facets of my life were amazing in Texas, this one fact -- my son's personal battle with weight, activity and eating habits -- tugged at my heart strings.

It's true. He has developed into a kind person who is considerate of others and who has learned how to balance his emotions, engage the world respectfully and conduct himself with integrity. When I call this kid a rockstar, I am not overstating his indisputable awesomeness. Still, I know a little something about weight and the truth is, people shy away from activity and overindulge in food for a reason. As his mom, that's what I'm interested in helping him with next.

Of course, when you are 12 and male, your mom is probably dead last on the list of folks you want to talk fitness with. My son is no exception. Unfortunately, my hubby is a team sports guy and my son is not, so that's a dead end. For my love of Beachbody, he hasn't found a perfect fit in the Bb family. And my gym in Texas required him to be in the kids club (nursery) till 12. Upon his 12th birthday, he was released into general population & I am cool, but not quite that cool! He's still my baby & there is no way he's going out there to fend for himself on the fitness floor.

So whodathunkit? Life brings us to Youngsville, Louisiana and the big gym here is a little place called Red Lerille's Health & Racquet Club. This gym has a workout facility for kids from 9-12 so BOTH my sons can establish a healthy appreciation for fitness. There are basketball courts that kids can use (the ones at my old gym were there, but they were often contracted out to groups for practice and my kids were too young to use it anyway). I'm not sure if you can see it, but there's an indoor track that borders it on the second level. Again, I'm cool, but not that cool. Gotta get my mommy-stalk on!

There is a conditioning room just for kids from 9 -12 that has treadmills, stair masters, medicine balls, a TRX (OMg!), staffed conditioning hours (included with membership) and even kettle bells and Nautilus machines (for later). And there are pools with open areas to swim -- like with an actual stroke -- in open water.

Click here for more photos of Red's.

This place is insane & it's more than I could have ever dreamed of. More than I knew to hope for. It's crazy to think that I could discover my heart's desire here, in very last place I could have ever expected. As you move through your day -- through your life -- I encourage you to remember the amazing possibilities that exist for you if you keep your heart open and trust in the infinite possibilities.

Here's to a new chapter in family and fitness. Can't wait to keep you posted!

Settling In - Youngsville, LA Part 1

Okay, it might just be me, but when I move to a new place I have a (secret) internal social scavenger hunt that starts up. It will probably sound nutz and I may be completely alone, but it's true. When I have satisfied this list, it's like I can finally take a deep breath and cozy in to my new digs.

The funny thing is that I didn't realize that I do it until today. You might just share this little quirk, who knows. Here is a quick recap of mine.

I drove into downtown Lafayette (which is kind of an oxymoron, but whatevs, it is what it is) to find dirty gas stations, Church's chicken restarants and narrow streets. Cool, I think, that's like Ybor City -- hometown digs. Of course, here no one is speaking Spanish.

As I moved into Youngsville, things got country. Real country. I'm talking beaters, jalopies and frame houses nestled in sugar cane fields. Cool, I think, my family is from Groveland and Wildwood. Been here, done this.

I pull into my street and I start to feel my lungs constricting. I don't know this mix. Not personally, at least. There are turn of the century homes, 1960 ranch style (like mine), what looks to be an antebellum mansion diagonally behind me and a row of mobile homes scattered in the mix.

Um. I don't know about this.

As the day progresses, I see random dogs running up and down their property and shirtless barefoot kids throwing rocks for fun.

Um. I don't know about this.

There are other things that make me feel uneasy, like I am most certainly not in Kansas (or Texas or Florida to be more precise) anymore. Things that remind me that not only am I in the country, but I am in the deep South, like folks that seem alien in style, presence and possibly even mindset.

I start to feel like I can't breathe. What have I done? Where have I brought my family? I think of pressing questions, you know, the truly important stuff like where will I go to get my eyebrows thredded?

In the midst of my panic, we lunch in Southeast Lafayette. At McAlister's. Heck there is a McAlister's in Southlake. My friend Robin's husband works for them. McAlister's is in the Target shopping plaza. I know Target! 

I waltz in, partially to get home stuff, partially to fulfill my need for the familiar, and it happens. I see a woman in workout clothes with three rambunctous boys orbiting her cart. Okay, people workout here. Check. I still haven't found a single gym with group ex, but these folks are working out somewhere & it's only a matter of time.

I see another with hombre-dyed hair, tan skin and a maxi tube top dress. Style. Check. I see a third chatting on a cell phone, her nails are done and she's mentioning grabbing sushi for lunch. Sushi. Check!

I see another African American woman with what appear to be threaded brows and a great hair cut (yes, silly stuff like that matters & no, it's not racist. I think it's normal to want to see your own identity mirrored in your environment.). I stalk her and get her stylist's information. Hair stylist. Check!

No dice on the threading, but it's early & hope springs eternal.

Somewhere between the bath mats & the broom, I feel my chest relax and my shoulders fall just a bit. This town may be foreign in a million ways but there are many, many things that feel like home.

As I exit the store, I look up and see a family: African American mom, white freckled dad in khakis, and two biracial boys bouncing around the pair. I don't know them from anywhere, but I look at them, full on. They seem harried and exhausted in ways that only suffering through Target with children can cause, but that's all. They don't look oppressed or tortured or praying for a way out of this town.

I realize that this is what I've been waiting for, for assurance that every quiet fear I've had about the potential for racism in this state, this town, this move may be a challenge, but it won't be the defining experience. As my breathing shifts into a fully relaxed state I realize that I have been waiting for this final thing on my unspoken checklist.

And I know. I know it will all be fine because I've got everything I need.

The Cost of Fitness

In my (new) line of work, I often get questions that have to do with the cost of fitness. These discussions take many forms. Sometimes, we are talking about money. Sometimes we are talking about time. Sometimes we are talking about behavior modification. At the end of the day, I spend a good deal of time talking about the cost of fitness & I'd (surprisingly) like to spend a little more.

Here is my theory. EVERYTHING has a cost. Everything.

Obesity has a cost. Crumby diets have a cost. Low levels of physical fitness have a cost.

Don't think for one moment that it's inexpensive to keep buying new clothes in bigger sizes or something new because everything else makes you look fat. Don't think for one moment that restaurant food isn't far, far more expensive than home cooking. Where I live, beef costs more than vegetables. Don't think for one second that injuries related to obesity -- like the mystery fracture in your foot or leg or hip, the one you got from everyday movement or the breathing issues or the lethargy or the blood sugar problems -- are inexpensive. They most certainly are not.

Fitness also has a cost. You have to make time to work out. Of course, you have to make time to sit in front of the television & hit the drive through as well. You have to pay for at home workouts or gym memberships & these aren't cheap. Even free workouts like walking, running or biking take some level of financial investment for shoes and clothes, etc. If you research online resources, you'll be using time to do so. Time to read, understand, organize and implement your workout.

Convenience -- to both ends -- has a cost. Prepared foods have a price. Sedentary options - cable TV, video games, hours spent downing high calorie foods & drinks while you talk - have a price. Conversely, convenience for fitness costs money as well. Trainers save you planning and research while providing motivation and expertise, but they aren't free. At home DVDs - the good ones -- are created for maximum results in a prepackaged system, but that takes moolah. Bootcamps & group ex programs combine the benefits of both with the added plus of socialization, but -- you guessed it -- they take money.

Lastly, there is the issue of time. Let's face it, you didn't get out of shape and/or overweight by accident. It took decisions regarding activity & nutrition over a sustained period of time. Losing weight requires the same commitment. It will take time. When I was on a weight loss journey, I would tell myself that if I can lose this weight in half the time it took me to gain it, then that's a 200% improvement. Not too shabby.

Ultimately, the truth is that it all has a cost. In the end, you have to examine the payoff -- because you are getting something from whatever choice you are making, we are humans & that's how we are wired. I find myself listening to the folksy voice of Dr. Phil: "So how's that workin for ya?"

Until next,

Thanks, for nothin'

Ah, so we are 3 days in to the month of thanksgiving and already the fur is a-flying.

Today's question: Is it appropriate to place expectations on gratitude?

I have my own theories on whether it is appropriate to place expectations on people's actions in general, but we are getting ahead of ourselves here. For now, the issue I'd like to explore is that of expectations for gratitude.

Specifically, what I expect you to be thankful for and how I expect you to demonstrate that appreciation.

This week Facebook status updates in my little corner of the universe have been sharing what folks are thankful for. Sounds innocent enough, right? Apparently not.

You know that tradition of not naming names during acceptance speeches lest someone be forgotten? There has to be a little wisdom there. I've heard of a couple different scenarios in which a person's gratitude shoutout left someone feeling snubbed.

Are thank you's like chewing gum? Should you not dare to "unwrap a stick" unless you brought enough for everyone?

Now here's a sticky wicket if I've ever seen one. What if I'm thankful for friend A, but now friend B is hurt? Am I supposed to not be thankful to friend A? Should I keep it a secret, lest I offend? If so, how is that fair to friend A? If this is the case, when does it end? And -- I know I'm being a tad ballsy here, but what the hey -- at what point do adults need to take responsibility for their own choices?

Call me crazy, but when we act in kindness I thought it we were supposed to do so with no strings attached. Then again, that would be me extending my expectations on others and this is how we ended up here in the first place.

Long sigh.

So today's blog is less about me discovering insight and more about me arriving at a conclusion without any real way too express my reasonining. For me it's a gut feeling that says sometimes, every now and again, folks might need to take a breath, pull on their big girl (or boy) pants, and get over themselves.

On the flipside, I've been there -- on the corner of "What about me?" and "Why do I even bother?" avenues. I'm not proud of it, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it stings when I contribute and someone else gets the accolades.

Petty? Maybe.

Human? Undeniably.

I can't help wondering about this one and wishing I had the sense that I know exactly where I stand on it. Moreover, I can't help wondering what others think so give me whatchagot!

Until next,

Body Attack @ Red Barn

Okay, let me first say that I realize this title sounds like a horror flick or an adult film of some sort. I know. While there was grunting and sweating, I assure you it's not that kind of blog.

Yesterday I attended the Red Barn health club's launch of two Les Mills programs: Body Attack and Sh'Bam. Here are my thoughts on the experience.

My friend Nidrah & I shared the 30 minute drive down 820 to Mansfield and the first thing that we discovered was that it's a real barn. Like, cows & pigs & hay real. Okay. Second thought, is that these folks know how to host an event. There's a parking attendant & friendly staff members to welcome us in. Love it! & the experience is all up hill from there.

Speaking of uphill, they have an all terrain track outdoors with whimsical touches like vintage cars. Nice. I'm excited within the first few steps inside. A stage with a vintage car as a backdrop & sparkly lights that read "Red Barn." There's also what looks like a church pew in the back where folks are stowing water & gym bags. Now I'm giggling. This is going to be a blast.

Then the workout begins & we are sweating and grunting so much we don't have time to give each other "what were we thinking" looks. We are in "the zone." For Insanity lovers, Body Attack is like chocolate cake with ice cream on top -- goooooood stuff!!! Athletic style training with enthusiastic motivation & fun music. Loved it.

Then came Sh'Bam. You may wonder what on earth you could possibly want to do after 55 minutes of plyometrics & athletic drills. Typically, I'd tell you nothing. Maybe a little couch time with a bucket of water. However, I have to say, that Sh'Bam was a fun way to punctuate such an insane workout. Instructor Nicole Sanchez was a hoot! I'm still not sure which was more fun -- the workout or the instructor -- but I know that when it was time to go I was a little sad & that's saying something when it comes to an intense morning of fitness.

So that's the scoop. A unique setting, a challenging workout, an encouraging & welcoming staff. What more could I ask for? I'll tell you: I'd love to do it again soon!!!

Until next,

A Cheeky Confession

Well, the time I've spent with Leandro has been fabulous. Brazil Butt Lift was good ole cheek smackin fun, but now it's time to move on to Brett's Rev Abs.

The plan is to kick start Rev Abs on Thursday, 9/1 and work through the program until December. I'll take that merry old month off & hit P90X2 hard come January 1.

I have to say that it feels odd starting a new program without having shared the Brazil Butt Lift experience with you. I kind of feel like I snuck that one in -- all DL & what not. Here's the truth of it:

1. I just can't bring myself to take a pic of my booty -- not the pre or post booty. Sorry. I know I should be a bigger person, but the very thought of showing ya'll the bum bum makes me do a brown girl blush - which you can't see, but it's sooooo there! I will say, that I've received my husband's full approval and he is willing to provide references upon request. (Not really, my husband is painfully shy &, per the new booty, blissfully happy.)

2. Speaking of the brown girl thing, it's kind of embarrassing to admit that I even needed booty intervention. I mean, we should have that in the bag right? Wrong! Oh, lord, so wrong. I have never had any booty to speak of & I come from a line of flat & wides so consider that one myth that is officially de-bunked! I knew Leandro's moves were working when folks started commenting on my rump. One woman actually bemoaned a sagging rump while dismissing mine as "natural." Ha! Natural my a$$. It's all Ipanema walks & Samba tornadoes over here baby.

3. I have to say that the whole process has been one of those closet endeavors. You know, the secret workouts you do and only talk about after it works. Kinda like getting hair extensions, new boobs or a tummy tuck. No one announces it before. You use back entrances & call in sick. But after, you're all nonchalant when someone notices that you look great but can't quite put their finger on why.

And so, here I stand with my bum finally bigger than my gut. It's kinda nice. & yes, you will now be tempted to sneak a peek at the old rumpus-ka-dumpus the next time we meet. It's cool. I'm on the other side of the hump now (excuse the pun).

Now, the plan is to attack my tummy. The basics are in place. By some unexpected miracle, I've managed to pull the post-cesarean "apron" back into place. I even have fledgling muscles in place. I have just enough success at having things I NEVER even imagined that I say, what the heck? I'm goin for it & I'm goin public - so there!

Do I seriously think I can do it? You bet this sweet rump I do!

Until next,

Inception

Everything that is or was began with a dream. - Lavagirl, from The Adventures of Sharkboy & Lavagirl

So, I've been off the grid for a while. Life has been an amazing ride that I am still having difficulty wrapping my brain around. For starters, I'm kinda living the dream. I know, corny. True just the same.

I'm working online pretty regularly which is SA-WEET! I love helping people reach their goals and written communication has been my life for so long.

I'm also doing well with Beachbody. I can't even begin to explain what it's like to match people with products and services that they want and need -- AND get paid for it. Mind blowin.

The ringer though, the absolute booty smacker, is that I'm now teaching 7 group exercises a week. Seven. Me. I can barely even type the words. It took so long to believe that I could be here, let alone taking others by the hand and leading them along with me in the fitness journey.

It's all true though. Deliciously and divinely true.

Funny thing is, I never even dared to dream this dream for myself. Other people - I like to call them fitness angels - came along and did it for me. Betty Gutierrez, my personal trainer, kick started the idea that I prefer athletic style training. She said this when I was nearly 50 lbs overweight and had almost no cardio endurance. At the time I was so embarrased by her confidence that I could hardly make eye contact.

Before that, I didn't play a single sport in my youth - at least not without quitting after a week or so.

Mindy Lawhorne looked at me (without laughing) and suggested that I be trained as a Hip Hop Hustle instructor. Me? Did she see that I was still cardio-challenged? Did she see that I was still a little, um, fluffy? I'm sure she did, but she also saw what was inside & planted a seed in the soil of my soul.

Amanda Wold challenged me to become a Beachbody coach and later to vlog my Insanity journey which sounded so ridiculous that I just had to do it. I mean, who in the heck would even know I was on YouTube? Turns out the joke was on me with over 100 views on some of those :oP.

There were countless others who came along with sunshine and cool drinks of loving water to cultivate my dreams. Their efforts are what bring me to you, in this moment, with these words:

You can do it. You may not even know what "it" is, but know that it is within your reach. It's there now, waiting for you to claim it.

Until next,

Should You Become a Beach Body Coach?

Inner Monologues

Today I'm thinking about inner monologue -- the conversations we have with ourselves to fuel our actions and often, to justify and excuse our inaction. It's been on my mind for a little while now after a few conversations and observations throughout my week. However, today the thoughts weigh more heavily because of what was mentioned in a friend's blog.

Amanda's blog was on bridalplasty -- the reality competition to get plastic surgery for a wedding - and the ideas that spring from that. One such idea was the opposition that declares the value of who a person is and not what they look like. Sounds golden, right?

Maybe not. I happen to be from the camp that thinks that content and appearance are not mutually exclusive. Who says that you can't be a good person and an attractive person? Who says you can't be a real piece of work who is unattractive to boot? I'll tell you who, no one.

If I didn't think it would embarrass them to no end, I'd list people I know personally who are drop dead gorgeous, who have healthy bodies and who have hearts of gold. Seriously. Why shouldn't you shoot for external improvement?

Most people are smart enough to know that their inner battle with physical responsibility is externally obvious. They are growing wider, their skin may be dulling, their activity slowing. Let's face it, sexual interest or even sexual identity may be waning. In my own personal history ALL of this was true. At 35, I was settling down into the identity of a teacher and mother in a world ruled by anonymous servitude.

You can see it my pictures -- or lack thereof -- in the times I said that things were "for the kids" (in my home or class) not for me. In the way I approached everything as though my life was purely that of a supporting cast member, here to make everyone else's dreams come true. I didn't want to be the focus, because then, I'd be the focus. I didn't want anyone to look because then they might really see. Make sense?

What I'm saying is that I didn't want to be examined, to be judged because I knew, deep inside, what they'd find. I wasn't old enough to quit -- no one is until they leave this earth -- I had no real excuse for dropping out of life and running to the arms of my food and sofa.

I think that others are similar in some ways, and that it boils down to inner monologue - the conversation we have within ourselves. I think it goes a little something like this:

I know I am living an unhealthy lifestyle. I overeat, or use food for friendship, comfort, reward, escape, you name it. I am not active and am scared of what would happen if I tried. What if I looked ridiculous? What if I hurt myself?

I thought these words, that's how I know folks think it. I'd been scared of sitting on certain chairs, my son's platform bed, etc. for years for fear that they would break beneath me. I was TERRIFIED for months that something would happen to me at the gym, I'd pass out, and people would have to carry me -- anywhere.

And that is what is common to the internal monologue of so many overweight people: Fear. From the root to the toot, there is fear all up in that thing. And what happens when we are afraid? That's right: Psych 101, fight or flight.

I think the temptation is clearly present to opt for flight: come up with a million distractions and justifications. As a matter of fact, for years I allowed people to tell me I wasn't that heavy, that I was fine. I heard it from my friends and from my husband and I tried like heck to make it stick. But you know what, no one can challenge the truth of obesity. No one can take away the fact that I was afraid of what my body couldn't do and where I was headed if I didn't stop. And still, I danced around the reality for years.

My old favorite mantra: Looks aren't everything. I was pretty once, now I'm a good person, a faithful wife, and a loving mother.

Does everyone feel this way? No. Of course not. But I'd be willing to bet some do. My thought is that you can fight just as easily as you can fly. Lying to myself, finding creative ways to eat off the radar, buying more and more clothes in ever increasing sizes was just as hard as losing 40lbs. Seriously. You just have to change the inner monologue.

My new favorite mantra: Looks aren't everything, but feelings are. People matter, relationships matter, starting with me and my relationship with myself.

My new internal monologue:

I don't want my sons to think that they have to choose between a faithful wife and loving mother to their children and a someone they are sexually attracted to. My husband is a good man and he deserves to have someone who is both good to be with and fun to look at. Most importantly, I want to be here and to be strong so that I can share in my family's life, rather than simply supporting it.

So the ultimate truth is: it all comes down to the thoughts you replay in your mind. These thoughts will guide your actions, become your character and shape your destiny.

Until next,

Lost Loves

I grew up asthmatic and allergic in the days before Zyrtec or Claritin.

Most of the time, I existed in a world of fantasy and imagination, of quiet thoughts and contemplation, against the backdrop of the world around me. Yes, I played and laughed like normal kids, but often, there was a steep price to pay. Steam treatments, inhalers and steroid-based medicines that induced terrifying nightmares and hallucinations. Not fun.

Since my parents divorced before I started elementary school, I spent summers with my father. God love him – a newly single, body building veteran with an ultra prissy, imagination-driven, somewhat delicate little girl. I can only imagine what must have been going through his head as this little person loaded into his car each holiday.

I think my dad did what most men do when in doubt about unfamiliar, female territory: he looked to his mother for help. I haven’t asked, but I suspect this is how I came to spend so much of my visits with my father in the small country Florida town my father grew up in with my maternal grandmother and three of my father’s older brothers.

My grandmother was amazing; she was beautiful and handy and read exhaustively. She could talk about everything from football to gardening to biblical theory. Like I said, amazing. My uncle Harry, a perpetual bachelor, lived with her. A mountain of a man at what seemed to be 500 plus pounds, he would talk to me in the cartoon voices of Disney characters and perform ventriloquism acts with the family pets. My uncle John lived across town; he was a ringer for Barry White: massive, long hair and deep bass voice. Uncle John replaced his dining room with what I can only describe as a stage that raised him and his myriad instruments above me by a foot or so – at the time, he may as well have been floating in the clouds. The man was literally larger than life.

When I was younger, Uncle John was married and I had cousins there I would visit, building memories in a home filled with jazz. But it was my Uncle Art who was the career family man. He and my Aunt Octovene had 3 children, one of which was a daughter almost my age, and this was where I spent much of my time.

There’s a man (I think he may be an ex-drill sergeant) who is often on television. He’s got that commercial where he’s got a guy on a therapist couch complaining and he throws a box of Kleenex at him while he suggest that they head over to mamby-pamby land. I crack up every time. Partly because I love that guy – he’s a hoot! But also because he reminds me so much of my Uncle Art.

Art was an advocate of manning up before anyone ever even coined the phrase. A career veteran, he always kept his hair high and tight, his clothes tidy, and wasn’t one for trips to “mamby-pamby” land. Of course, this is why I loved him, because he embodied the idea of being a tough guy who had the capacity for gentleness. Whatever it was you were considering – and over the years I’ve made some flat out whacky choices – he’d call you on it, period. There would always be accountability, but there was also always love. I watched this “tough guy” care for his wife through illness, watched him get down on all fours with his grandchild and nameless other tender moments. He was the equivalent of Clint Eastwood holding a fluffy kitten, inspiring trepidation and sentimentality all at once.

It was during my time with Art & his family that I ventured outside in to the country (allergy laden) air all around the town. My cousins and I got into more trouble than you can shake a stick at, and I learned to just get out there. Heck, if you get sick you do; deal with it then. Today, live – get outside and get on an ATV or walk for what turned out to be miles and spy on neighbors or run from rustles in the woods. That’s what childhood is about. That’s what life is about.

I credit much of who I am with the influences of my large and diverse family – particularly now that I’ve made so many recent life changes and been forced to identify (and champion) who I really am at the core. So many of them touched my life in ways that pushed and challenged me to be stronger, prouder, gentler, and more loving than I was the day before. This is truly one my greatest blessings.

It is probably selfishness now, more than anything that makes me weep with loss. You see, death has taken my grandmother, my Uncle John, my Uncle Harry, and yesterday, it took my Uncle Art.

A chapter of my childhood feels like it is fading softly from the pages of my personal history and it hurts like heck. So today, and every day on, I’ve decided to honor my uncle in the same way I’ve honored those before. By committing to and perpetuating the very traits that they embodied and that I so adored. I will continue to strive for strength, grace, love, creativity, laughter, and personal accountability. This is their legacy they have given to me and this is the legacy I hope to provide for the generation that follows.

My hope for you today is that you will find a way to tap into and to cherish that which is most valuable in the people you love so that regardless of what life has in store you can always claim that beauty as your own.

Until next,

Purposeful Fitness

My rump has been dragging for the past couple of days. It's been one of those weeks when I've found myself laying in bed and crying while watching marathon DVRd recordings of "The Vampire Diaries." Just plain nuts.

Add to that the feeling that I've been floundering - two full days in a row when I feel I have absolutely jack to show for the preceeding 24 hours.

I am certain there are myriad reasons for my slump -- some physiological, some situational, others just par for the course of life. However, one of the key advantages of integrating fitness into your life is that you don't have to stay there forever. Exercise releases feel-good emotions that can move you from cold prickly status to warm fuzzy groovin in no time (sorry if I lost you on those highly technical terms).

Right now, I've just completed an hour of Insanity & rather than feeling insane, I feel balanced and focused. Further, I feel positive about the day like I've already kicked booty and took a few names and it is only 10 AM!!!

If you consider the difference between the last couple of days and today, there really isn't much in the way of disparity except for one itty bitty difference: purposeful fitness.

What's the difference between garden variety fitness and purposeful fitness you ask? Well, as you may well expect, it's all in the purpose.

Consider the boost you get from setting goals and attaining them. While you're at it, consider the boost you get from doing something you doubted you could accomplish. Now tack on a boost of adrenaline and endorphins. Feelin it?

Pretty gosh darn spanky, right? You might just be feeling like you want to high five everyone you meet. Maybe smiling at some random bystander for no reason. That's what purposeful fitness will do for you. If there is a reason for your workout (and not just because you feel your rump/gut/thighs need to be punished into submission) you will approach it differently; you will engage differently; you will recover and reflect differently.

Consider the idea that today, you want to accomplish a specific goal with your fitness regime. It can be anything: 5 minutes of full extension in a group exercise class, 2 extra pushups, an extra 0.4 miles of walking, one extra trip up and down the stairs, whatever. Visualize yourself accepting that goal: you might be doubtful, frightened of failure, challenged and even humbled in the process, but when you do more -- and you always will do more when you purposefully aim to do so -- you will be flooded with positivity.

Why? Because success fuels confidence; confidence fuels courage; and courage fuels positivity. By the way: the reverse is also true. Avoidance fuels failure; failure fuels fear; and fear fuels negativity.

Okay - time to go supersonic - think about the influence your positivity has on others. Think about the idea that success also builds faith -- fear's evil nemesis -- and before you know it, you will find yourself believing in all sorts of things. The inherent goodness and value of others; the hope and grace influencing your life and that of your family; the idea that anything is possible and attainable.

Imagine the vibes you'll radiate as you interact with your partner, your children, your coworkers, your friends, some random neighbor with a beard. . . Before you know it, you'll find yourself bordering on exuberance, filled with gratitude, and you will feel that you have accomplished the unimagineable. Don't believe me? Try it.

What do you have to lose except a serious case of the ho hums and maybe a few inches.

Until next,

The "Before"

So, I was skimming through the Team Beach Body message boards a couple of days ago & found Victoria who is on the P90X journey. The woman is amazing, but the point that most resonated with me was that she had trouble finding an isolated "before" photo. Turns out that she used her daughter as a human shield when it came to the cameras, too.

I actually laughed out loud because this was my M.O. as well. My buddy Theresa has trouble even believing I was ever heavy. The thing is, I didn't stand in a room wearing a bathing suit to be photographed - at the time, that sounded like crazy talk! There was no way I would humiliate myself like that. Now I wish I had.

If all goes as it has, I'm about a week away from 40 lbs lost and that feels significant for me. I have only just graced the folds of the "overweight" and escaped the "obese" classification. That feels HUGE (pardon the pun). I've lost over 9 inches from my chest alone -- that doesn't even sound possible :o) -- and can now buy bras like a normal person, in a normal store that actually fit.

Each of these changes, don't have squat on the energy, confidence, joy, enthusiasm, spiritual reconnection and self-love I've rediscovered.

The one downer is that I didn't know it could be done - didn't dare to claim it with a "before" photo. I just knew that I would take it one day at a time and see what happened. I was 20 lbs into this weight loss journey before I even dared to look up and around.

So today, as I unveil my 2004 "BEFORE" photos -- me at my highest 206 -- I want to encourage you to claim it. Go somewhere, grab a camera (use a timer if you can't bear to have a witness :o) and get to clicking. Success is yours; right now.

If you don't believe it, that's okay; lucky you, I have enough faith for the both of us!

Until next,

Aw Crap!

Yep, I know what you are thinking. Language! - lol

But it's only 9:20 AM and I have already reached Fooey status.

Doggone it if I didn't get stuck less than a quarter of a mile into my run short of breath and terrified I wouldn't be able to make it forward or backward. I made some pretty crumby choices yesterday that resulted in said quagmire.

First, this waiting to workout until after work business just doesn't work for me. I may have to work out twice, but I need the endorphins from my morning cardio just as much as I need caffine or my daily Shakeology. Dear Lord, I needed a butt draggin wagon yesterday for crying out loud.

Then, to support a local charity I ate at Ghengis Grill - a wonderful Mongolian stir fry place, if you know your limitations. Ah, the magic of "if." Apparently I did not know (and/or observe) mine & went for not one, not two, but three kinds of seafood. Add spices & peanut sauce and you have a perfect recipe for crappy choices - excuse the pun.

So then, I rushed my kids to church, scarfing this down as I made the 15 minute drive and by the time I was home, woah baby! I was so sick there was no way I was doing insanity -- I could barely sit up and focus on my son's long division homework.

Ya know that phrase, what's done in the dark always comes to light? Well, that was yesterday and today when I be-bopped my happy hips outside in the beautiful Texas morning air, my lungs were not having it. Seafood, peanuts, and cold air with sans inhaler, sans Zyrtec? Really? Smoke crack much?

It should be no surprise that I found myself humbled and sitting on the curb trying to breathe.
So boys and girls, today's lesson is that every choice we make, no matter how seemingly harmless or covert, will come back to us. The fuel we choose for our bodies makes a difference. Every choice is relevant - that relevance can be downplayed or managed, but it always impacts the way your body runs and reacts.

Until next,

Fun Fitness Find: Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel

Okay, so this one is straight from the "keeping it real" files.

If you are getting back into fitness, chances are that you have some area on your body that is occupying a bit more space than originally intended. If you are anything like me, this inconvenient little truth might just result in a little chafing.

Thunder thighs scrubbing?

Extra boobage rubbing the inner arm?

Bra strap screeching back and forth?

It happens to the best of us so don't feel bad. I was watching this hilarious dance show called Dance Your A$$ Off that is like an odd hybrid of Biggest Loser & Dancing with the Stars and a TV commercial for Lanacane Anti-Chafing gel came on. At first I giggled, but an ill-chosen wardrobe (boy shorts connected to an adorable tennis-style skirt) made me a believer.

I drew blood on my inner thighs at an early morning bootcamp run in said skirt and re-thought the genius of the product. About a month and a half ago, I slipped into my local Walmart and grabbed a tube. Since then, I've found that it also counteracts the scrubbing of my bodybugg on the inner arm and my braline (shoulders & chest).

The result? No more irritation & the darkening on my skin is fading. Hey, now that showing a little skin is actually a possibility, I gotta cover my bases :o)

Until Next,