Neophyte No-no's: Battle Scars

I'm not sure how many people who read this blog have ever battled with body image. I'm not just talking weight, I mean anything: skin, proportions, you name it. If you've been battling, I can only assume that there have been wins and losses, ups and downs. There are days when you are sailing and days when you are scraping the barrel's bottom.

These are the moments that I've been considering lately.

Actually, I sat down to write this blog yesterday but couldn't. You see, I made a commitment a while back to use my words responsibly. I think that the ability to write is a gift that I've been given, by God and the Universe, for a purpose that I don't entirely understand. However, like Arthur's gift of Excalibur, it can be weilded to liberate and inspire or to damage and degrade.

I'm committed to using my gifts for good instead of evil, but don't think for one second that the alternative isn't tempting.

So what's the connection between body image battles & words that can cut like mythical swords? It comes down to wounds, retaliation and recovery.

The battle to love yourself despite all the negative messages and artillery that come hurling your way can be overwhelming. Once we figure it out, I think there is a temptation to go a little medieval on those we feel were hurtful in the past.

Maybe it was a comment, a look, whatever, but something someone said may have made you feel like less, like a failure for not winning in this one particular aspect of life. I know that at 201 pounds, I had many such stings. Too many to name, some too hurtful to remember.

One of these came from someone close to me, very close. On a visit to her home, this person spent time going on and on about how good she looked and how much weight she'd lost. Then she gave me a top to bottom appraisal and with a spark of inspiration, she broke her thought and said, "Oh, we should see if you can fit some of my old clothes, I mean, they are entirely too big for me, but you might be able to wear a few."

It's been years now and the ache of that humiliation still lingers.

You see I'd always been in shape until I had children, worked full time, and lost myself in the onslaught of newly defined roles. I didn't realize it, but this person felt inferior before, when I was "on top". Now, that the tables had turned, she took the opportunity to make me feel as small as she'd once felt.

I received a call from her recently. Seems word of my weight loss had traveled. Rather than catching up or talking about what we normally would, the conversation was consumed with confessions of weight gain and eating blunders.

Guess the universe turned again & once again, I was on the winning side.

This was a little something I like to call a defining moment. The point when your words and actions define who you are and who you are committed to becoming.

Here's what I chose to do: Say nothing. I'm not your food and fitness priest; there is no sense in confessing to me because I have no desire to judge or absolve you. Heavy, thin, fit, or fat. I don't care. Your battle with your body is your business. I love you because of who you are, not because of what you look like.

At 201 lbs, I needed love. Moreover, I deserved love. I deserve the very same thing right now and will continue to deserve it tomorrow. Part of loving yourself is protecting the person you need yourself to be. I need to be positive. I need to be gentle. With others and with myself. No urge for revenge or retaliation is worth losing what both provide in my life.

In my humble opinion, that whole cycle of attaching worth to your body image is nuts. You can't wait to look the way you want so that you can feel worthy of love. My self talk during the fitness journey has always been that I am worthy now. I work out because I am worthy, not so that I can become worthy.

Whereever you are in your journey, I hope that you will embrace the idea that you are worthy and that worthiness is the fuel, not the finish line.

Until next,

It's not you, it's me

Okay, so I know you've heard this one before -- that it's not you; it's me -- but stick with me on this one.

I have walked around having what is tantamount to an out-of-body experience in the last two weeks.

I actually used the words "claw ___'s eyes out" in several different contexts. Me? Yep, perky Patty herself.

I've bemoaned my thin skin, my aggravation, I even fist-pumped to "We're not gonna take it!" by Twisted Sister when it slipped into the play list during spin on Wednesday. Forget the Ghost Rider, I have been hell on wheels people.

All the while, I've wondered what gives. What, exactly, is the dealy-o? Then as usual it all came together after a little girl time, a little rum, a little facebook and a good night's rest.

While chatting with a few members of the goddess squad last night, I realized that what I'd perceived (and received) as a series of insults were really just people responding to the new, clearly defined and strengthened me. I am positive because I want to be. Because I am blessed and I enjoy having the joy I feel exude from my words, my smile, my life.

Would you believe that I was offended because I'd been described as " really overly excited?" When one of the goddess squad members called me "exuberant," my little heart took flight. C'mon. I'm an English major, folks. While "overly excited" might not get an "A" for delivery, the message is pretty darn similar so what's up with being offended?

This same series of revelations continued througout the evening, through my dreams and into the morning when I read a newer friend's post. She wrote of not riding the fence, but asserting who you are with pride and confidence. As I read, my light bulb came on.

You see, that's what all of this is really about. It's about me knowing who I want to be and even about me becoming that person. Since it's still new, I'm kind of like Jake Sully in those first clumsy moments in the avatar: It feels new and right, but it also feels alien and raw.

Truth be told, I didn't know exactly how to take comments about my positivity -- do I bust out with a "What you talkin' bout, Willis?" or do I gracefully say thank you? The same holds true for other new experiences that have me feeling a little shaky in the knees.

Now that my older son is moving up and moving away, what is my purpose in his life, in this role as mom? Will I be ready for the new ways in which he'll need me?

Now that I'm defining myself, how do those who've known me for years navigate the newly defined territories and boundary lines?

I'd like to believe that "becoming" is like blooming into a beautiful little flower, but it isn't always. It's more like waking up in a 10 foot avatar suit and knockin crap over while you get your stuff straight.

Ya see, in the time that I've been asking myself what on earth is up with the cold-pricklies that have been coming my way, I may have wanted to look inward on this one. I don't fault myself for the awkward moments, the graceless slips, but I do own my responsibility to figure it out and to own the fullness of this process.

Thank God for the guides that inform my path.

Until next,

Bring it, baby!

The last 14 days have been a wild ride, not the kind that is fun. Nah, this is the kind that sucks hard core. Still, I find myself wanting to run at the day like Phoebe in Central Park screaming "Bring it, baby! Bring it!"

First, the context: Here's a recap of the highs and lows.

Sunday. First, I woke up with a horrible rash on my neck. Apparently, I am now, at 36 years of age, allergic to shellfish for the first time ever. Go figure! On this same day, I woke with a kink in my neck that limited my ability to look left -- very Derek Zoolander. As a special cherry on top, I got my monthly visitor that day as well. Yum! I couldn't use Icy Hot to calm the kink because of the rash, so I was one crampy, splotchy Frankenstein's monster for days.

Thursday. I hit the 30 lbs. down mark (woo hoo)! & that was absolutely wonderful! My husband offered me chocolate cake to celebrate and I honestly didn't want any. Thank you, Shakeology!

Friday. I hyperextended my right leg while furiously attacking the AMT machine (similar to an eliptical) at my gym. Still, I'm training so I have to suck it up & foam roll my self silly :o)

Saturday. Like sunlight screaming in the face of a hangover victim, the terrifying reality that I am, in fact, registered to run the Jailbreak on September 19th hit me as I huffed and puffed up and down teen weeny hills. Despite my desire & perceived ability, I wore the wrong clothes (a cute little running skirt) and ended up with chaffed and bleeding thighs. I took two days off, but again, I'm in training so I had to suck it up!

So you can see I was kind of all over the place so to speak and maybe this is why I was feeling a little delicate. Maybe this is also why, when faced with a few nice-nasty comments and WTF situations in a row, I was left wanting to claw someone's eyes out. Maybe that's why I dreamed of punching and kicking my way through the faces that had left me feeling like someone else's punching bag.

Did I mention I'd started Turbo Kick Boxing? That might be relevant.

Oh, & I also saw the movie Kick Ass last week? Loved it. This might also be relevant.

Interestingly enough, I was talking to my mom about a situation where she felt that petty high school sensation of others being mean for no frickin reason at all. She was in shock. Afterall, she's pushing 60; isn't that sort of nonsense supposed to be over at this point in life?

Apparently not.

And apparently the fact that I'm pushing my own boundaries, meeting my own goals, finding such personal balance and peace doesn't make me exempt from what I perceive as attacks either.

The difference is that I've been kicking ass and taking names -- the miles, the pounds, the fears have all been falling by the waste side in the past 6 months -- and I am not the person I once was. I'm all for taking on life's ups and downs, for grabbing the bull by the horns and getting it done, but when it comes to having someone else's crap dumped on me, well, that's where I draw the line.

My new nature, the healthier, more engaged me, likes to look for the lesson in experiences. So what's up with this little nugget? I think the lesson is that no matter what, there will always be two battles raging. The internal and the external.

Getting fit is partially about the internal battles. Fighting the voice in your head that questions your ability , your strength, and pushing through to prove just how kick ass you really are. Then there are the external battles. Those that hit you when you aren't expecting them, when you haven't had the chance to steel yourself emotionally. What then?

I can't pretend to know for sure, but I can say this. I have a life time of proof that points to my ability to do anything through faith, presence and determination. If anyone has reason to fear, it definitely isn't me.

Until next,

Losing it

For me, this week has been all about losing it.

On one hand, my boys are home for the summer and at times I've felt that there is a serious (and very real) possibility that I could find myself sucking my thumb and sitting in a corner one day soon. But that's not the kind of losing it I'm talking about -- at least not today.

Today I'm talking about the other kind of losing it. Here's the situation:

I spent three hours going through my closet and sorting out what fit and what didn't on Monday. It's looking like a ghost town in there now.

Several of my button up shorts slide on and off without my having to touch the button or the zipper.

My sexy, stretchy fuzzy pants (also lovingly known as my "work pants") droop and sag in the booty. These days it's far more like trash in the stash than junk in the trunk.

And yes, the absolute most horrifying of all. . .
My boobs look like sad little raisins melting in the cups of my bra.

Of course there's a big part of me that is ecstatic!!! Afterall, this is what I've been working for. I wanted to get healthy, to get fit, and these are signs that I'm on the right track.

Since March, I've lost 18 lbs. My body fat is down from 31% (that's obese) to 27% (that's on the beefy side of healthy). I've lost four inches from my chest, 5 inches from my waist and hips and one from my thighs (I swear those suckers don't want to budge!). And it's all good.

The thing is, as I was tossing out my clothes and internalizing that almost everything will soon need to be replaced, I felt oddly uncertain.

Some of these clothes have been my security blankets. The faithful friends that covered my gut or camoflaged my butt. These are the bras that kept things locked and loaded. This is the me that I knew had to change, but it's also the only me I've known for a very long time.

Maybe it was PMS, maybe it was end of the school year nostalgia. I don't know. But I found myself sighing as I went through my closet and feeling a pange of sadness. It's one thing to hope for something; it's quite another to receive it.

Ah, but just as I felt like I was slipping into the folds of self-indulgence, my hubby walked by with his typically perfect timing. He tapped me on my melting boob and said, "Hey, it's time to go shopping -- your stuff doesn't fit, so go buy more already."

Ka-blam! That snapped me right out of my reverie!

What's a girl to do? He's practically demanding that I shop: Are there any words more sexy than "Go Shopping" in the English language? If so, I don't know what they are!

The man has a way with words, gotta love him.

Tiny Victories

One of the (many) reasons that I started working out this spring was my kids. It was very important for me to project all of the things that being a fit mom will project: healthy eating habits, physical activity, fun and positivity.

I've always tried to set goals and share discussions with them regarding what it will take to reach them, but physicality has never truly been a major part of my relationship with them.

Having two sons, I kind of hid behind the excuse that daddy will play with them; I am here to nurture and love them. Then daddy got busy with a new job and mommy, well, mommy was still pretty much holding down the position of sofa jockey. I didn't do heat, or sweat, or discomfort and playing with my boys in the Texas heat meant experiencing all three.

It didn't take long to know this was wrong. To know what the real source of irritation was when I had to go upstairs to answer a question (that it was physically exhausting) or to understand that my older son was putting on weight because he was spending more and more time with me (fast food + AC + sofa = 10 lbs on his 49 inch frame).

So now it's been 4 months since my own personal commitment to moving toward all over fitness and the tiny victories are starting to come rolling in.

For Mother's Day, my 7 year old listed my weight as 30 lbs (God bless that boy!) and said that the activities he enjoys most are playing with me and cooking with me. Image after image in his little book dedicated to me featured me active -- playing, singing, laughing, chasing.

I'm guessing you know I cried. And cried. And cried.

I was touched, but it was more than just mother's pride. It was plain old fashioned pride, the kind that comes from trying something that's hard and coming out on the other side with something to show for your efforts.

On Tuesday, I passed the boys' school and saw my 10 year old standing outside at PE. He shouted, "Mom!" and when a few friends looked around, he said, "That's my mom, yeah, she's doing her morning run." I felt so proud. Heck, I'm crying now as I type.

Today, I spent the morning with my 7 year old, jumping and dancing and playing in the sun. Then I hustled over to the 10 year old's class where I joined a couple of other moms and led the kids through Simon Says, Heads Up Seven Up and the Hokey Pokey -- all fairly physical games, all games in which I participated.

I burned 1400 calories by 1:30 in the afternoon and I didn't feel exhausted in the least. I felt a little giddy to tell you the truth. I'd kind of forgotten how fun it is to play.

You see, this is what I wanted. I wanted it all, the full spectrum of life and not just the numbed existence that comes from cocooning yourself in inactivity & food. Tiny victories, yes, but magical ones nonetheless.

Until next,

Fun Fitness Find: Blinged Bodybuggs from blingmythang.com

My newest fun fitness find is my blinged bodybugg armstrap from blingmythang.com. (Big thanks to Jen Boatman!)

Do I need it? No, but I love it!

I got it in the mail today and you'd have thought it was Christmas! I was a blur of woohoos and baby, did I need it after having not one, not two, but three servings of stove top cornbread stuffing with oysters & cranberries.

I opened my blinged thang and felt like Cinderella getting a dress for the ball. I high tailed it out of here and hit the gym -- again -- just so I could take it out for a twirl.

I know that no one needs fancy styles or clothes to work out. There's a woman who walks the trail I run who wears some sort of old leather flats on her morning journey. It also looks like she's wearing cut off warmup pants and her husband's old jersey. It's the same outfit every time I see her and I am certain that she is burning calories and feeling great.

She shakes her head at me the way you indulge a silly child as I run by, clad in matching outfits, bodybugg on one arm, lime green IPod on the other, Head bobbing to Ludacris. I can only imagine what she'll think when she sees me whizzing by with my thang just blinging.

I don't care, I'm Cindy in glass slippers running like it's five till midnight.

And yes, my husband just smiles at me with that smile that says, "That's why I love you baby, because you are sweet, but just a little bit crazy."

It's all good.

Here's the deal: When I work out, I can think of a million reasons to just stop. To sit my rump down on the concrete or wood or spongy gym floor and say, "To heck with it." Then I catch a glimpse of myself and I see a bright happy color -- the lime green or pink of my shirt, the screaming orange of my Ryka shoes, coordinated blacks of my pants and visor -- and I look the part, I feel the part.

Truth be told, that money used to go toward burgers and fries. Now I cook dinner and pool the cash for workout toys. How can that be wrong?

I like pretty things. I like to feel good when I catch my own reflection -- Lord knows it's been a while since I could truly say that. For now, I feel like my blinged thang is the equivalent of Dorothy's ruby slippers; it is sparkly and it can help me tap the strength inside to be where I so long to stand.

Until next,

Mantra De Jour: Adapt-Innovate-Overcome

And so, before I say anything more, I have an announcement: I write you today, 1 pound lighter.

You'll never guess how I did it -- I ate less and burned more. I know! Who knew? Crazy!!!

But seriously folks, that's the secret: 3500 calories in deficit. Every time.

Now on to the mantra of the day, "Innovate, Adapt & Overcome."

There's a guy with a suspicious amount of energy in my Sunday Shadow Boxing class who shouted this phrase during the class a couple of weeks ago. At the time, the instructor was having technical difficulties that amounted to no microphone and no music. Her attempt to remain upbeat was impressive, but the tell-tale hives showing up on her neck were not fooling me.

This is when Super Enthusiastic guy (while bouncing in place like Tigger) said, "That's cool. Innovate, Adapt & Overcome."

In the week and a half since, his three word phrase has become my mantra. When I see a challenge, I try to figure out which of the three paths will lead to a solution. Here are a few cases in point:

Innovate
Try something new or a new way of seeing/approaching what you are already doing. For me, it's been running. This is something new, something terrifying, and something exhausting. Still, it's jumpstarted my cardio stamina like nothing else. Today I finished Zumba and felt like I could do more. Three months ago I wanted to throw up 30 minutes in.

Little by little, yard by yard, I'm running longer and faster. I'm also getting a little more efficient thanks to a few tips from Betty the Meanie. It's amazing how trying something new or trying something old in a new way can take you to a place you didn't think you could reach.

Adapt
Sometimes, the key is to simply accept what's happening and figure out a way to make it work. For whatever reason, food is a major issue for me from 1 to 4 p.m. almost every day. This is usually when I screw up on a grand scale. I've tried many options, but the fact is, that this is a struggle. My new plan? I simply adapt to the situation. No one major meal, but a deconstructed one that simply finds me grazing like the munch hound I am during this window of time.

I like to eat and I think about food on an unnaturally consuming level during these times. That's cool, I am who I am. Now the trick is to find a way to adapt to the situation, to change at least one factor so that all the pegs fit nicely into place. So far the deconstructed meal is working for me (I mean, I lost a pound people, so that clearly makes me an expert -- LOL).

Overcome
Then there are the icky things that lurk on the periphery of my fitness program. Things like that funky Spartacus Workout that Betty the Meanie gave me. It's got mountain climbers and T-pushups for crying outloud! First of all, the very sound of something like a Spartacus Workout sounds crazy to me. Doing it hurts like the dickens. But doing it alone? finding the motivation? That is just plain insane.

You see, I may like sexy hips & arms, but I also like not feeling like I'm going to die. Thinking about this workout reminds me that I will probably feel like I'm going to die if I do it. And that's exactly why I have to do it, at least once a week.

As you may or may not remember, I recently had to start at ground zero with two exercises -- pushups and lunges -- because my form was wrong. Bad form can cause problems like working the wrong muscle and can result in odd physcial structure and even pain. I was humiliated to have to relearn push ups after I prided myself on finally graduating to the "real" kind and not "girl" push ups. Alas, my arms were not bending deep enough, se la vie.

Knowing this, Betty the Meanie introduced a new exercise routine that only includes four exercises (the good news) that you repeat 5 times (the not so good news) in the span of 20 minutes. One of these, is a round of 10 push ups. Seriously? If you are quick with math, you'll catch that this means 50 pushups in 20 minutes.

Ah, but we are overcoming, are we not? So guess who cranked the things out -- me! And I'm ecstatic, because guess whose tatas are lifting -- that's right, me, baby!

For me, the major challenge associated with this little mantra, Innovate-Adapt-Overcome, is that it forces me to push into the unfamiliar and, truthfully, uncomfortable zones. It forces me to try something new when I feel very stupid, like the lunges Betty the Meanie has me doing across the width of the gym in front of everybody like a total yahoo.

It means recognizing that some challenges need to be conquered and others simply require an adjustment on my part. I love food and I don't plan to stop eating it any time soon or to replace it with disgusting things or fads or whatever. But I realize that there has to be some change, some adaptation.

I also realize that there are some things that really suck and just aren't fun no matter how you slice it, but that have to be done to get the results I'm seeking. At those times, I just have to man up (or woman up in my case) and get the thing done.

Adapt-Innovate-Overcome. I like this one & I hope it brings you some encouragement as well.

Until next,