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,