I Knew at The Finish Line

A wee bit of sunburn, scrapes on my knees and elbows, bruised shin and a load of extremely muddy laundry...... that is what I have right now. Well,  that and a whole lot more. About a year ago I read "Spartan Up" by Joe Cena. It answered the question,"why?  Why pay good money to push your body to the limit?  What is the point of the cuts and bruises that follow?"  Joe had an easy answer to that. "You'll know at the finish line."

Today, I ran up a beautiful hill to find one last obstacle. A muddy hill to climb and descend followed by a long mud pit that led to a rainbow colored inflatable archway marking the finish. Five miles. Thirty obstacles. What did I know in that moment?  Well a whole lot of things.

I learned I can be afraid of heights and still climb the 8 foot wall followed by the ten foot wall without a rope just a little help from my friends.  It was a good thing that these were the 2nd and 3rd obstacles as it seemed to help me to start with a bit of confidence. Following that I learned I could carry 50 pounds of sand for a quarter mile without a problem. During that quarter mile though I was able to think about having this plus 27 pounds that I was carrying around every single day two years ago. Somehow the bag of sand seemed a bit easier.

I learned I could swing on a rope over a trench filled with mud despite being terrified I would fall in. I also learned said terror was shared with a trusted team member and not only could I do it, she could too. Somehow sharing the fear and conquering it together made for quite a moment. I learned I could scale a muddy riverbank up and down and up and down and my hip would be rock solid. There were larger rope clubs over walls, crawling yards and yards through mud with overhead boards that kept me low enough to emerge with what appeared to be a muddy beard. There were burpees in a mud pit not as penalties, but as part of the course and of course the running, tire flips, climbing over muddy hay bales and running through the woods over and under trees on their sides.  On and on it went. Wet. Muddy. Up. Down.Cimb. Crawl. Mud and the almighty slip and slide.

All at once.  There it was. Right in front of me. Fear in an obstacle. Decades of anxiety wrapped into this one thing. Flashbacks of school yard failure right there. A straight 15 foot iron pipe over a vat of mud and a sign that simply said,"monkey bars". Monkey bars. Wow. I never could do it well. I watched the other kids do it like they were some sort of spider monkey. I put this to rest a long time ago along with the rope climb and conquering the awful mile and a half run in junior high named the Cooper. Yet here it was. Monkey bars. I gripped it three or four times until I actually gave it a try. Terrified of looking silly, old emotion had a great team, and afraid of falling in. Irrational fears. Then I did it. Hand over hand. Fifteen feet across. Not one drop of mud. I stood looking at my son stunned. I said to him more than once,"I did it". He just nodded. Ok he may have thought I lost it at that moment, but that by far was my favorite moment of the day.

So as I passed under the rainbow archway I think I learned no wall is too high with a great team to give me a boost, and I am never too old to conquer longstanding fears and being able to see the freedom that comes as those fears faded away. As I sit nursing my wounds and cleaning the mud out of my ears I know in my heart of hearts every ounce of effort I put in these last two years was absolutely worth it.

In reference to yesterday's comment on the quest for the snapdragon.... my snapdragon has shown up. It is the Tristate Sprint in 2017. Crossing the finish line today reminded me once again the best is yet to come.

Snapdragons

The sun was shining bright today in the upstate New York orchard where I go in September. It was that magical day when I was made aware by said orchard that the honeycrisp apples were ready to be picked. I suppose it was about five years ago when I discovered this magical food. It is the perfect variety of crispness and sourness that I wait all year for. This orchard grows them as big as my head and to be quite honest my fantasies of eating these begin sometime in late July. Yesterday was the day. I took my 5 and 6 year old off the bus and directly to the orchard. I think they must have eaten three apiece while picking them and admittedly I took my job as token adult to be quality control as I sampled some as well. I carefully taught them to look for the ones with some red on them. Watch for worm holes and no. We do not pick them up off the ground and put them in the bag. Only fresh from the tree. Ah yes....my annual quest for the honeycrisp apple was being realized right there in the afternoon sun.

Looking at the wet grass and trees as my 5 and 6 year old wandered around eating apple after apple I began to wonder what my big race would be like. What the finish line would look like or better yet how that would feel. A lifetime of epic fails to be healthy, now 18 months of solid training with time off for the tiny broken hip and surgery....wait. I broke my freaking hip 7.5 months ago and had surgery. Sudden anxiety over that....rattling around thoughts suddenly interrupted by overflowing bags of my coveted honey crisps that two little guys could not lift. This led to serious apple sorting and a drive back to check out.

At the scales I struck up a conversation with the orchard guy. I admitted my honeycrisp addiction and  he assures me I am not alone in this addiction and really at this point there truly was no need for outside help or some sort of honeycrisp support group. As I paid I felt that final sense of accomplishment. Mission accomplished. That is until his parting words to me were,"hey, if you like those you should try our Snapdragons. A hybrid between the honeycrisp and a gala."  As I drove off trying to envision this I was struck by the sudden need for a new apple quest. The snapdragon.....yes. Next time.

In that moment I also realized perhaps I had this race all wrong. I have nothing else on the books definitely for another event. I have been invited to two other events but nothing in stone. I have a feeling I had considered this a final destination of sorts. Cross the finish line. Put a lifetime of fitness failures spanning back to grade school behind me. Beat the odds that were stacked against me after a surgical repair of a hip fracture.  I have a knack of doing that when I reach goals. Complacency.  The curse of the modern adult. This time though just maybe I should finish the race,  God willing, and look for the guy with the snapdragons. I have a feeling that is the guy who sees the best is yet to come.

School?! Again?!

My youngest child is 5 and started kindergarten two weeks ago. This is my happy go lucky, sleep loving hulk of a child at 54 pounds. I guess someone forgot to tell him he came to menstarving from an orphanage.  Nonetheless, here he is. This morning I went into his room at 6:30 for our new normal morning exchange. I wake him up and he says,"why?"  I explain he has school and in a look of absolutely outrage he says,"school?! Again?!"  This leads to the explanation he has school every day and as I explained to some friends earlier I have not had the heart to explain to him this will
Go on for the next 12 years after kindergarten. I am personally now on day six of a particularly hard seven day work stretch. No. My bosses are not masochists, I just needed to squeeze in some time at my moonlighting gig before going out of town. I put him on the bus and stumbled in for a cup of coffee in my favorite mug and began to suddenly understand his emotion.

Through my exhaustion I realized I had the gym scheduled for an hour later. I suddenly had the urge to say "the gym?! Again?!"  I even chuckle to myself as I think about it. I began to think about how many things in life are so important yet seem like such a struggle sometimes.  There is the "work?! Again?!" Or "laundry?! Again?!" I never think twice about making my children do the hard work yet at times have the urge to give up on my own. Giving in to the day to day "agains?!" But ignoring the personal ones. In terms of the gym I began to think about times over the years I did just that. I took the easier road in a moment of exhaustion and lived to regret missing out on the greater things that could have followed.

As for today, my son was meeting me for a workout. That pushed my mama soul to lead by example and not back out. Now I may have required my typical loud music, ok Beastie Boys today, and a few four letter words on my way to the gym through the exhaustion. What the end product of my angry drive and presence at the gym was some pretty fast rowing, conquering the jump squat for the first time since I broke my hip, an all out at my personal best and a really good latte with my adult child. Things I would never have had during a nap. It occurs to me I am pretty lucky my 20 year old seems to like to hang out with his mom sometimes. It also occurs to me one day he will have his own family and not have as much time on his hands like he does now. So I suppose the answer to my earlier question "the gym?! Again?" Is now,"Yes!  The gym. Again. 💗💗💗💗". Beastie Boys motivation notwithstanding. Besides we are four days away from race day.....I know that day I will be glad I did not take a nap this morning.

As for my youngest?  He came bounding off the bus and is now sucking on his frozen gogurt chattering endlessly about recess and friends and story time. Somehow I think he may have changed his mind to "school again💗💗💗💗".

Animal Crackers

"That was the best 3.67 I have spent in a long time. I just wanted to pamper myself". Thus went the text from my daughter the new mother. She also sent a photo of her triumphant purchase: a bag of good old fashioned iced animal crackers. These were the pink and white waxy frosted crackers with the multicolored nonpareils. Yes. These were a childhood favorite of hers cultivated by yours truly. They are a far cry from the clean eating treats I make now. They probably never go bad due to the industrial strength preservatives involved in their making. Nonetheless, through the sea of diapers and sleepless nights somehow these seemed to soothe her new mama soul.

This got me to thinking about my absolute belief in rewarding myself for goals achieved. When I first started losing weight I promised myself an Alex and Ani bracelet for each ten pounds. When I lost the first ten I remember feeling just a bit of disappointment that magically I had not transformed into some sort of supermodel. This is old thinking for any of us who have battled weight. I bought the bracelet that said,"it's not a sprint, it's a marathon". I have found this to be excruciating at times but true nonetheless. The second one was the "living water" bracelet as it reminded me of just who was the living water and who all these hopes and dreams rest on. My third was the Cubs bracelet because after all, every thought does not have to be deep and I am just a Chicago girl living in New York. Along he way there have been other rewards. Things designed to fill the space once occupied by my previous comfort, food. There is my love of a good mani and pedi as well as my constant admiration of my hair dresser who I swear is part magician.

For my daughter her reward of keeping my precious granddaughter alive and well for a whole month came down to animal crackers. Rewards were definitely in order at that point.  If she only knew that her attempt to cling to the comforts of her childhood will soon become staple food, as my Bella grows some more, along with goldfish and juice boxes. I did not have the nerve to tell her one day she will be washing mushy animal crackers out of Bella's hair and really her rewards will change to something a bit more palatable.

My next goal?  I finally for the first time in my life broke a 10 minute mile today. Not too bad considering it was the second mile I ran. The first was 10:10. That was not going to work. Now to shoot for 8 minutes in the next twelve months......my reward?  At the moment that secret is safe with the good people of Amazon....

I Just May Have a Shoe Addiction

I suppose the phone call I got in college from my mother should have been my first clue that I just may have a problem with shoes. She had found a very large bag full of my shoes in my closet. They were shoes from all walks of my high school life. Gym shoes, softball cleats and even my beloved pink converse high tops. As the bag was quite large and I had not lived at home in some time she wondered why I kept this. Did I need it?  What did I plan to do with them?  The answer to question one was probably not, and question two was I had no idea. One thing I was sure of. They would fit. Not like jeans that may become too tight or shirts that would be too small. Shoes never let me down.

The thought of this bag of shoes occurred to me yesterday as I was discussing appropriate race footwear with my son. I explained to him that although his Rosche Runs are well worn and getting muddy and ruined would not break his heart, it was likely safer for him to have obstacle racing shoes like mine. My Reebock orange, pink and yellow high tech trail shoes. I had a discussion about toe picks and mud drainage technology as it relates to climbing over muddy walls. Ultimately we got a similar pair for him ordered.

Nonetheless, this led to me going into the closet for a survey of my shoes. Yes, I realize stereotypical women love shoes. Seeing the Kardashian's closets, OK, my oldest male child is a fan and forces me to watch, I see dozens of pairs of heels by many famous makers such as Jimmy Choo. The reality is, my shoes are a bit different. My life is lived in three types of outfits. Gym clothes, scrubs and jeans. My shoes match accordingly. Looking at the casual collection I see a couple pairs of Sperry's, one pair clearly not fit for much in the outside world but fit my feet so perfectly I think I have convinced myself the newer pair just will never live up to the hype of the old pair. There is the Ugg mocassin. This is my first upstate New York winter shoe. That year we survived inch after inch of snow wondering if we had actually moved to the North Pole. A note on the Ugg moccasin to the various critics.....they have a sole. So technically they are not a slipper. Plus they were the only shoes I could safely get on after my hip surgery as they required no bending at the waist to tie. Then there are the flip flops. This is the place I dare not even quantify how many I have. Some I wear and some I do not. I look at the black pair of croc flip flops that got me all over Haiti for 3.5 weeks when I was bringing Grace and Alex home. I had no other shoes as I got stuck in country at the end and had to send everything home that I could when my husband had to leave to keep my luggage to a minimum knowing I would have two kids in tow on the way home by myself. I have the patent leather blue pumps that matched my dress perfectly for my high school reunion some years back. Then the perfect orange and red staple shoes I wore to a hospital gala.  Yes, I am one to buy the perfect shoe for the perfect dress for a special occasion. I suppose I justify it by telling myself shoes always for no matter what. So if I get the red and orange heeled strappy sandals I will have them in case another awesome dress came along for a different occasion. To be fair I have several pairs of shoes that fall into this category.

This brings me to my collection of Dansko clogs. The hallmark of anyone who works in a hospital. Black, blue, brown and watermarked....each pair representing a different period in my career. Each pair with their own story to tell of lives saved and lives lost and as any emergency medicine person will tell you....given our particular culture each pair screams almost audibly the particular brand of sarcasm we all share in my field.

Then there are gym shoes. Lots and lots of gym shoes. I will say in a general sense I am a Nike girl. Long narrow feet with a high arch make them perfect. Through this journey I have had all kinds. Runners, Frees, custom rosches and currently a hybrid shoe. Each shoe tells a story like a photo album of sorts. Some were rewards to myself for goals met and others purchased out of changing workouts demanding something different. The story of next week's racing shoe probably the best of all. I had wanted to race. I was terrified I could not do it. When I successfully completed the dry tri a year ago I ordered these. Just what I would need for a mud run.  I figured if I invested in the shoe it would push me to get there. Many times I have cursed the shoes. Three months of crutches had made me wonder if this was ever going to happen. During that period it was as if they mocked me. Yet today I dust them off and try them on. As always, shoes did not disappoint. A perfect fit. Here we go....a year later. 7 days to go!.

The Ragtag Team of Awaken

"He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree....."
Thus is the backdrop for my ride to work as I plug along on the thruway in my giant suburban mom mobile. Anyone who knows me knows I have fairly eclectic musical tastes as it would not be unusual for this David Crowder Christian classic to be followed by some Guns N Roses or even some Ed Sheeran. I suppose at the end of the day it would make me having a bright future as an award winning DJ fairly unlikely.


As the song progresses I find my mind wandering to:  a cooler with ice, some cans of fit aid, kind bars, water, a spare set of clothes, God don't forget that. This goes the ever growing mental checklist for my first five mile mud run next Saturday. I must admit my heart pounds ever so slightly at the thought. I set out to be fit enough to do something like this for 19 months and here I am 9 days away. It is terrifying and exciting at the same time. Nineteen months of work, with six weeks off for an injury. Here it is.

I suppose outside of the obvious, what is unique about this event is that it is something that I actively recruited a team for and helped organize. I have organized lots of stuff before now, well....I do have five children, so just organizing a regular week for me I suppose takes a higher level of organizational skill than people with smaller families. Honestly, at times breakfast is a major production. Nonetheless, here I go with my assembled team for a physical even. At the moment we are a fairly unmatched team of five. I think I am the oldest at nearly 47, my son is the youngest at 20 and there are three others in between, one of whom is a Spartan racer of epic proportions taking on the Ultra Beast at Killington this weekend. (Good luck Juan!). So why are we together?  We represent Awaken Church. The nondenominational church home I attend. Something about this combination of people who came together under this spiritual umbrella has settled my over the top chronic anxiety  over running and this big race to occasional mild palpitations. Besides, having my Spartan racing pal there means he will be strong enough to pull me over the muddy wall if I can't do it myself. As these thoughts occur to me I hear the final line "I don't have time to maintain these regrets when I think about the way He loves me...". Thank you Mister Crowder for that very powerful reminder of such things.

With my mental list done and deep thoughts settled I finally pull into the parking structure of the hospital to hear the next track. Adele "Rolling in the Deep". Oh yes. We will be deep. Deep in mud and in that moment we will almost have it all.....  Let's Go Team Awaken!

Flawsome

Recently, through the miracle of social media I had a friend introduce me to the word "flawsome". The word refers to the ability to embrace the flaws and still be awesome. Today, I had a chance to really put the phrase to good use. You see....I am a grandmother. A fairly new grandmother at that. My daughter had baby Bella almost four weeks ago. My daughter spent some time yesterday talking about how she wished she had been thinner before she got pregnant. She felt if this were the case, the post partum struggle to find her new normal would be easier. It made me think about how often important events happen and we begin to wish for something different that had come first. I think about a particularly difficult 10k I did some years back. In the weeks that followed the event I had ever so many blisters to make we wish I had trained more or well....at all. It is as if tapping the retrospective wish granting virtual fairy godmother would somehow have me wake up healthy and somehow conquer that race like an Olympian.

It occurs to me that the entertainment industry has made a lot of money allowing us to lose ourselves in the fantasy of the fairy godmother or even the genie in a bottle to grant our every wish. These are great escapes but far to often I think we lose ourselves in the notion of wishing for something better or different in our past to account for being somehow less than we think we should be in the present. For me, the constant wishing did absolutely nothing but hold me hostage to the failures and not looking toward where I could be.

The diet industry in a similar fashion has had their share of fairy godmothers and magicians promising a quick fix in a matter of days which is probably what makes a lot of them so attractive. Trust me. I drank the cabbage juice, took the pills, made the shakes and nursed the surgical scars. Nothing actually granted my magical wishes until I found the people who felt I was flawsome even when I was still wishing. These people helped me to see every little gain was to be celebrated until little by little every little change amounted to a huge leap into the place where I now am, almost two years into my journey. Some of these folks are friends. Some are family and some are my beloved trainers who laughed at me when I said "I can't" and held my wishes tight so I could learn to grant them myself.

I explained to my daughter that maybe she was not what she wanted to be in this moment, but she was better than she was yesterday and will be better tomorrow as long as she embraces who she is flaws and all. Then take her wishing and figure out what she can wish for today that is attainable. Apparently that wishful attainable scenario had something to do with wishing to replace cheap diapers as they relate the poop of a breast fed baby and a heck of a lot of laundry. Not being in medicine like me, her exposure to this sort of thing prior to now has been somewhat limited.  She met that goal yesterday and I think this Fairy God Nana may need to help that wish along with a cyber trip to Amazon. As far as her body image goes she has already dropped some of the baby weight and she is mothering like a champ. That is the most flawsome thing I can think of for her today.

As for me, my wish is to have a PR in something every single week. Inching along little by little making slow and steady progress. Like yesterday when a trainer decided he needed to take the class I was in and occupy the treadmill and later the weight station and later the rower next to me.   This was so daunting to try to perform for a member of the team that helped make me what I am today. These people have taught me to be my own genie in a bottle and I was going to show them just what I was now made of. The best news was I did not die or fall off the treadmill as I ran my best all out at 7.5mph. I did not die when I rowed at nearly 400 watts and I did not give myself a concussion doing a 25 pound single arm snatch all PR's for me. In those moments I was free from all those years wasted on wishing and overcome by the notion that the best is yet to come.

A final note to my dearest daughter....may you continue to be flawsome just like the rest of us. Do not give up on what you can be, kiss Nana's baby Bella, tell her I will see her in two weeks and most importantly may the rest of your  day be leaky diaper free.

Sunday Funday Chicago Style

Yesterday was Sunday Funday at Orangetheory Fitness. That translates to represent your favorite football team. So there I was in the middle of Giants/Patriots country standing tall only Chicago Bears orange tank top. Yes. I know they are not the top team in the league, but probably what my working out pals do not realize is that during that two mile power walk uphill I was able to reflect on the Bears I grew up with. These were the Bears in their heyday. The days when Jim McMahon was quarterback, Ditka was king and everyone knew the Fridge was more than just an appliance. We all knew the Super Bowl Shuffle with our Wayfarers on.

Growing up in the 80's in Chicago held lots of greatness. There were the Cubs, who were not very good at that time but the fans had heart and soul. It turns out in the last two years that fan loyalty would be greatly rewarded as they at long last head into the post season. Probably my most nostalgic memory is the food. Ah. Food in Chicago.

First there was the pizza. living in New York now I can say  there is a huge difference between Chcago pizza and what my friends in New York consider pizza. Chicago pizza has a crispy sturdy crust rather than a flimsy crust that requires some sort of folding over technique making it a pizza sandwich of sorts. In Chicago we have deep dish pizza, where arguably the best comes from Gino's in the city. I doubt there is a kid from the suburbs that did not find themselves putting their name on the wall over a booth somewhere in that place. In Glen Ellyn we had Barones. Anyone from there knows this is the hometown favorite. It was such a favorite I would often hear my own mother wish we could have that for Thanksgiving. Sausage and mushroom on little squares of crispy goodness....Later on, trips home from college always meant at least one meal from there. One fateful night one of my brothers and I were home for a weekend. We had both been out with our respective groups of friends and had gotten home hungry. He suggested we hit up Barones for a late night snack. I, of course, was a broke college student but he assured me he would buy. When the bill came he instructed the waitress to give it to me and promptly got in the car and drove away, waving at me through the front window of the restaurant. After I panicked for a few minutes and then he came back laughing that he had gotten me good. That night I was eternally grateful I did not have to wash dishes.

Second, there was Italian Beef. Portillos. Red and white bags of greasy wonderment. Italian beef has nothing to do with pasta or red sauce. It has to do with a slow braised beef braised with Italian spices served on a soft white roll soggy with the juice topped with peppers. Complete nirvana on a bun. Portillos is also famous for their Chicago style hot dogs, yes. They essentailly have a salad on them. Yes they are on a steamed poppy seed bun. To my New York friends this seems strange but to us Chicagoans it is just normal. Plus Portillos was the only place I know that had crinkle cut fries as I mentioned before....fries. One of my many food vises.

Yes. Chicago food.  Yes I am aware that this combination of saturated fats and high starch offerings likely contributed to my lifelong problem with obesity but it does not stop my nostalgia for my Chcago roots. During that time side pony tails were side pony tails and neon and rubber black bracelets resembling Madonna were simply cool.  My nostalgia for all things Chicago was probably only fueled by the trainer playing "Rock the Casbah" just as I entered my 10% incline at 4.4 miles per hour reminding me once again that the 80's may be over, the Bears are likely not a Suoer Bowl favorite, and I no longer live in Chicago, but as time has proven....you can take the girl out of Chcago but not the Chicago out of the girl.

Race Day Reflections

Race day finally arrived bright and early this morning.  The day itself was overcast and gray, but muggy.  We had no rain out on the course though and for that I was certainly grateful!  It was so interesting the things that came back to me as I pulled into the parking area of Ellms Farm.  I instantly became nervous.  Running Anxiety.  I have had it enough times to now think it just must be a thing.  If it does not exist in the DSM, I would maintain that it certainly should.  My favorite sidekick and I took off for the check in and got our bibs and we were ready to roll.  The thing I noticed first was the course had been changed.  The start line was last year's finish line and vice versa.  So much for having confidence in the course.  Enter worsening running anxiety.....although I will say I did my best to cover this for a well crafted selfie, because in the golden age of social media, all important events require the well crafted selfie.  This being my first race since breaking my hip certainly qualified as an important event.

Finally the air horn blew and we were off.  Climbing over the incline shown behind us and down the first slide off to the gravel trail.  OK....in that moment I realized there were two problems with this scenario.  I had failed to consider that inflatable obstacles are not stable.  Rocking and rolling and being tossed around.  In this moment I had to add yet another thing to my list of things that were completely different after a hip fracture.  I believe I have now started to get to the place where my life is broken up into two parts in terms of exercise.  There is the BHF (before hip fracture) and AHF, (after hip fracture).  I realized the instability of the obstacles was probably the most challenging and I had to take them on much slower than I did last year.  I am proud to say I did complete them all.  I shall now be queen of the bounce house.  Problem number two was running on gravel.  I have run a lot in the last 2.5 months.  I have gone as far as 4 miles at a time.....yeah on the treadmill or the flat, paved, bike path.  Gravel was a bit more challenging not because it hurt, but it fed my fear of falling AHF quite well.  For the record, this is a very healthy, nearly irrational at times, fear.  Drops of water on the tile floor, ice outside, a kid quickly zig zagging in front of me all seem to provoke a fairly emotional reaction.  Anyway, the instability of the obstacles and the gravel both got my wheels turning as to what types of training I will need to do to help with stability issues.  I see regular dates with a bosu ball in my future...

What was so ironic about all of this was last year, the running was hard.  I could not run the whole way because, by that time, unbeknownst to me my hip already had a stress fracture.  Running hurt.  The cardiovascular piece was not there either.  So, those bouncy obstacles were the best part of the race.  Today, all in, we ran it all finishing the whole thing in 35 minutes.  Down the last stretch we came around the corner and were instantly disappointed it was over.  Last year, as I came up that hill I committed to running the last little bit and finish strong.  Now, that same run was the easiest and I once again realized my running anxiety was such a waste of time especially in light of the fancy metal and finisher's shirt I scored at the end. Anyone who has raced before knows this to be the best part.  Now if only I could score a Queen of the Bounce House Tiara to show off to my Spartan Racing pals...

Probably my favorite thing about today came through Timehop.  It was a meme that I posted a year ago as I struggled to keep going.  As I have talked about before, staying on the path to health and fitness can be really hard.  It truly is a solo journey which is easy to walk away from when the only one you are truly accountable to is yourself and the past attempts at walking this road had resulted in dismal failure. A year ago I still had significant weight to lose.  I was in pain with my hip and stretched thin with work and family.  Working out at OrangeTheory was still very hard even taking the easier options on things.  There were moments I questioned if I could keep going or even if I could ever get where I truly wanted to be.  I must have had one of those moments exactly one year ago today when I posted this. 

 

 

 

Honestly?  I think I am finding out.....

The Miracle of Racing

As I wade through yet another recovery day as tomorrow is race day it gave me a chance to redirect my soulful pining for Orange Theory, and my low lying anxiety that exists with every workout day missed as if somehow I will wake up the plus sized lady I once was. Today's reflection is on my first solo race of last year. One year ago I ran the Insane Inflatable 5k. My sidekick was stuck with cheerleading duties at U Albany and I was on my own.  I considered for a brief moment playing the sympathy card and pushing my ever understanding husband to come with the kids. However at that point my 3 youngest were 4,5 and 10. To have that brood in the midst of a crowded place with inflatable stuff was probably not something that would make me wife of the year. My second option was to not go at all. After all I had never done any kind of obstacle racing and now with nobody there to push me through like I had with the dry triathlon about six weeks earlier it seemed so daunting. 

Yes. I took a gentle ribbing from Spartan Racing friends who teased about my "silly little bounce house thing". Maybe this was the thing that pushed me as if I bowed out of this event it would have made facing my own quitting that much worse. So I went. I pulled into a local farm on a warm day in Sept and parked amongst the recently harvested corn rows. I walked to the check in by myself and had a good look around. Lots of groups from every walk of life and fitness level and every age. As is human nature, I found myself looking around for people who probably would be a little slower than me or maybe struggle a bit. Not that I wanted them to fail, I just did not want to feel the anxiety of being last that had been instilled in me back in my Hadley Junior High days and being the last one finishing the Cooper. 

Finally it was my wave time. We were off. Over the obstacle, and down the trail I went. One by one I took on the obstacles. Some of the runners were faster than me, some were slower. However, I will never forget one woman. She outweighed me by about 50 pounds. She did not appear to be the picture of fitness yet there she was running along the trail and ultimately encouraging me. She explained she had started racing a year before and had fallen in love with it. We did a good chunk of the course together as she pushed me along and reminded me when you take on obstacles size does not necessarily matter. Ultimately we got separated but she tossed a few words of encouragement to me as we did. That I will not forget. 

Finally I came up on the last hill. I could see the final slide gleaming in the sunlight and I realized I just may be able to do this. To some it may have seemed like a silly bouncy house thing, but to me, that last slide looked a whole lot like the backside of Mount Everest. As I slid down I realized that I had conquered this race all by myself, not because of someone else dragging me, pushed along by the kind words of a stranger, but essentially by myself. In the moment of the photographer snapping my picture as I slid down, I began to realize I was probably capable of more than just this, not only in the world of obstacle racing but in life. 

So tomorrow I will set off on the same race. This time with my sidekick Jack, my 20 year old son and life coach who is really more like the Batman to my Robin. This is now one year later, the race is now our warm up. What once looked so huge and so scary is the warm up for our much bigger 5 mile 30 obstacle race in two weeks. Yes. The terror of that impending event is already keeping me up at night. Nonetheless, it is amazing to me what one year can bring. Cannot wait to share my race day reflections and as always believing the best is yet to come.

Labor Day

Labor Day. The end of summer. Kids back to school and moms, ok when I say "moms" I am actually more or less referring to me, enjoy a cup of coffee uninterrupted by demands for breakfast with a healthy dose of SpongeBob. It also symbolizes the end of summer and by the end of summer I mean the end of a season that strikes fear in the heart of overweight women. Bathing suit season. Winter is one thing. Hoodies. Sweaters. Big jackets. All things designed to hide a multitude of sins. However, a bathing suit is not that forgiving. For a girl who would like nothing better than to live on a beach somewhere and never wear shoes again, the notion of finding a bathing suit at my former 77 pound heavier self was terrifying.

When I was a kid there were few options in swimwear. In general, it was the speedo racing suit or a string bikini. Very little in between. I can still remember my favorite speedo suit. It was marbeled orange.  I spent a lot of time at Sunset Pool in Glen Ellyn, a suburb of Chicago where I grew up. It would not me unusual for me to be there six hours a day. In those days at age 9 or 10 I could ride my bike the couple miles there and just turn up for dinner. The question is, did I ever competitively swim?  I did. I was about 7 or 8 and was one of the few kids who could get from one end of the pool to the other with the cursed butterfly stroke. I hated it then and hate it now. Michael Phelps I am not.

So bathing suit shopping was hard. Many times in my adult life I would take ten suits into the dressing room only to have 10 failures. My parts did not fit into those. Not well anyway. I would ultimately settle on some sort of one piece that simply did not suck. If I had the opportunity to wear said not sucking suit, I would spend my time either in the water or laying on the beach or pool deck. Any other activity required the obligatory cover up. I mean really "cover up" has just matriculated to be a kinder way to refer to a mumu, mostly because mumu was too close to what I would consider a cow noise. Perhaps we have now graduated to a more politically correct name for that garment. I would also see these really big women in the "swim dress" which at that time I refused to give in to as to me that clearly meant I had given up. What 28 year old wears a swim dress anyway?  Not this girl.

Then I had weight loss surgery. I had a whole new set of problems. I had loose belly skin. So by this time the good people at Spanx had broken into swimwear and my life was suddenly better. There are other shape wear swim wear companies who cater to this struggle and for that we are all incredibly grateful. Miraclesuit, as it turns out is true to its name. However, these things are expensive. $100 or more depending. Plus the problem with that industrial strength spandex is when it gets wet and you have to use the bathroom it does take super human strength to wiggle in and out of the thing. Thus the popularity of the tankini. Whoever thought of that seriously is owed some gratitude from me.

Well, bathing suit season may officially be ending and my current tankinis are fading. Which brings me to my big event of the day. In a few weeks I will have a reunion with some of the greatest women I have ever known. My sorority sisters. These women laughed and cried with me during those years and probably still hold some of my life's best times in their hearts. We have rented  a house in a warmer climate and had the chance to buy a new bathing suit. For the first time in my adult life, I ordered a regular suit. Not shape wear. Not plus size. Just a regular tankini with a bit of a flowing top to hide what remains of my belly issues, which are 100% better secondary to the dreaded routine "core blasts" OTF treats me to several times a week. The suit was $17.98. I ordered it thinking if it did not work I was not out much. It arrived today and worked perfectly. Will post pics from my trip....

The point is this. This journey is full of fear. Fear on more levels than I realized. Each day finding a way to conquer even the smallest brings me one day closer to my goals.

Because Some of the Best Things Come From Bacon

In high school most of us could not wait to be seniors. We had an open campus and were allowed to leave for lunch. I remember going to McDonalds. I would have what was generally my go to indulgence. Fries. Not just any fries. Fresh from the fryer, crispy and hot enough to just about burn my tongue with the perfect coating of salt. The perfect marriage of fat and salt. Yes. I am a savory indulger. Yes I liked sweets but really the fat and salt fed my soul much better than anything. This brings me to the topic of bacon.

Beloved bacon. In the early 90's the trend was the low fat diet. Yes. I did that too. Funny I can still tell you how many fat grams are in various foods. Like 11 animal crackers have 2. However, this period of time demonized my beloved bacon. High in fat and salt and not felt to carry much in the way of nutrition. In fact it was just about deemed the devil's food. I learned to eat turkey bacon. Ok and on that topic. Turkey bacon. Ever tried it?  It is dry. It is chewy....as in flossing for days chewy and in no way resembles the real deal. That is why I say "learned to eat". Definitely an acquired taste and in no way fed my urges for savory salty fried food.

Fast forward to the good Dr Atkins. A pioneer in the low carb movement. He suggested bacon was our friend. This notion immediately made me a fan. As I moved my way through better fitting low carb diets, as I currently am a big fan of a modified paleo. It is all the paleo plus dairy for me. I am a cheese lover from way back. This type of eating allows for bacon and lots of it. What was once the greatest demon in dieting is now my hero.

I have learned to do all kinds of things with bacon. My current passion is combining it with natural sweeteners. For example wrapping carrots in bacon, roasting it, and putting pure maple syrup on as a glaze or like I did last night, doing a similar thing with spiralized butternut squash. I put bacon on my romaine heart lettuce wraps, and as I learned in Haiti, bacon marries perfectly with fresh avocado.  More on the spiralizer and my love for it to come. For me, bacon has soothed my savage french fry loving soul, however there are lots of other foods I have given up that I still hunt for a replacement for. Take crackers for example. Nothing crunches like crackers or even chips. Yes I know raw vegetables are crunchy but it just is not the same. I have played around with using coconut flour and almond flour in things but the consistency is not the same. Will just have to keep looking. For now, I will rest in my love of bacon and be grateful it is no longer the demon it was made out to be.

The Cooper

Presidential Physical Fitness Test. The Mile. The Cooper. Good Lord the Cooper. In the culture of Hadley Junior High the Cooper struck fear in my obese heart. It was a mile and a half run that was done a couple times a year. One lap around the whole school yard followed by this crazy dirt trail. I could not run more than a hundred yards let alone a mile and a half. This was all made worse by the horrible red polyester gym shorts and red marbled ringer tee with my name written on the front in magic marker. Being the 80's, this ensemble could only be completed with the accessory of long tube socks and a kickin' pair of suade Puma's.

I remember the anxiety that came before this. I knew I would be last. I knew I would be wheezing and I knew I would be sweaty the rest of the day. Each running of this horrible thing did not disappoint in this regard. Then there was the locker room. We had a car wash style shower where it was essentially a tunnel to walk through with shower heads at various heights. We had green stiff weird smelling towels not much bigger than hand towels. Not to mention my existence of the fat girl in a locker room. I shudder just thinking about it. All of these things brought together an air off awfulness when the word "Cooper" was uttered by a way too excited gym teacher.

Today, I sit four days from my first race this season. I will admit it is twice as long as The Cooper. It is for fun and goes off in waves so there really is no chance of being last. I have traded the tube socks for high performance Under Armour socks (anyone who knows me knows I clearly have an under armour addiction, and may in fact need an intervention).  I have traded suade Pumas for Nike runners and polyester does not exist in my wardrobe. Nonetheless, the anxiety of running still exists even when my biggest obstacle this weekend is just an inflated tower and there is even beer at the end. Last year I ran this as a regular race. This year it is a warm up for a much bigger, much more terrifying 5 mile mud run two weeks from now.

I am finding that saying "life begins at the end of my comfort zone" rings true. As I move further along it becomes readily apparent my comfort zone had a pretty small radius before now. I am learning to embrace the phrase,"if it is really scary must mean I should do it". Time to put the trauma of the Cooper behind me and take on the obstacles one at a time.

Time to Work Out. Damn it.

Well today will make my 9th ten hour shift in 11 days. I work as an ER nurse practitioner in a busy city based ER. The work is challenging, fun at times and devastating at others. Nonetheless, the schedule is unpredictable and all over the place. In total I work 14 shifts a month but some weeks are heavier than others. This stretch is particularly long due to me being out of town in a few weeks. It is stretches like this that make everything difficult. My ever growing pile of laundry that mocks me each day is case and point. The kids go back to school this week which meant my one and only day off was spent running for haircuts, getting school supplies and trying desperately to be sure there was some food in the house when I am not. That made Friday more like a marathon than a rest day.

So, translate that to healthy lifestyle changes. How the hell do you get a workout in when there are so many other things to do?  Well lots of times I get comments like,"I don't know how you do it."  Now, in the past I would say that I would be the first to make a comment like that. However, belonging to a gym that charges if you miss a class is a great motivator. I also play this game with myself where I put the master calendar in front of me and schedule each day's Orange Theory class weeks in advance, wherever it will fit. Sometimes that is 5:00am, other times 7:15pm. I can honestly say I think I have been to every time slot they offer. Ah....the life of a shift worker. Nothing is consistent.

Yes. This sounds like a good idea. Schedule time to workout. Put it down and make it work. There is only one downside to that logic. It is getting up at 4:15am to work out when you have worked 12 hours the day before and are staring down another twelve on that day. This requires a wide variety of inspirational things to get there. First, there is the music. For this I apologize to my neighbors. Yes. I know that the music emanating from my monster Suburban of a mom mobile may be a bit much at 4:45 am, especially when it tends to be old school heavy metal like Guns and Roses, but I need something to wake me up at that hour. Second, I find a carefully woven web of profanity on my drive to the gym is particularly helpful. No. I don't want to be out of my f'ing bed. No. I did not decide this eight hours ago as I was still at f'ing work. Yes I realize by not canceling earlier I will be charged. No. I do not want to be charged.  I realize I have carefully selected my time slot so someone else cannot have it. However, I now find a healthy loathing of the poor wait listed person who could not get into class as they are likely cozied up in a warm bed and I am not.  Damn it. Why the hell did I sign up for this?  The beauty of said tirade to the back drop of 80's heavy metal does seem to bring my heart rate up a bit to be ready for class.  A word about said profanity to my church friends and fellow Christians. I have reconciled these episodes with the understanding that hour of the day was deemed "ungodly" at some point in history which allows for me to say ungodly things for that period of time.

What follows this ugly scene is me pasting a smile on my face and exchanging pleasantries with the rest of the rise and grind crew who appear about as awake as I do. What follows this is a workout that frankly is not as good as later in the day when I train, but a workout nonetheless. Calories burned. Sweat dripping and the urge to curse heavily stops. What follows is nothing less than bliss when there is no line at Starbucks at 6:05 when I get to have a latte that I swear tastes better than any other latte any other time of the day.

The 80's

I am a child of the 80's. Those were the days. Prince had me wearing a raspberry beret, Katrina had me walking on sunshine, and Bon Jovi wanted me dead or alive. I even subscribed to every teen girl's fantasy of having John Cusak in a long trench coat with a large boom box standing outside my window blasting Peter Gabriel. In my old age now, I do get to see John Cusak now when my brother, who has extremely good Cubs season tickets texts me his picture in a complete attempt to tease his little sister. It works. Then there was the hair. The huge hair. The bigger the better at that point. I am sure my alpha gamma delta sisters would probably verify there is likely a huge hole in the ozone over 200 South Summit in Iowa City even to this day from our love of aquanet.

Yes. Those were the days. One thing the eighties had that was not so nostalgic was bullies. A friend following along with this blog reminded me yesterday of the comments that were made to those of us unlucky enough to be overweight children. Yes. In the 80's bullies were bullies. There was name calling, spit ball throwing, house egging and notes left in lockers. I had all of that and more.

There were the straightforward bullies who could come up with nothing more creative than "fat". Then there were the more creative bullies. One that stands out is a kid who kept calling me "Jonah" thinking he was so clever all the while realizing Jonah was the man inside the belly of the whale. Not the actual whale. My shyness and poor self image at that point prevented me from pointing that out.

In those days, bullying was part of being on the school yard. A well placed punch when it involved boys was tolerated in retaliation. Now these things would involve police, lawyers and sensitivity training. It has been encouraging to me to see this sort of change. The movement afoot to accept physical differences no matter the cause. However, for this of us products of the 80's we still carry this stuff around. This makes the negative voices in our heads a wee bit louder and complements tough to internalize.

For me, fighting off the negativity is a constant struggle even now. I have found the best way for me to turn down the voices is through exercise. Thinking I could not achieve any measure of success goes down when today I rowed faster than yesterday or lifted heavier, or even something as simple as two weeks ago when I did a 90 minute Orange Theory and simply did not die. Oh the negative voices will always be there but keeping in perspective they no longer own me as they did in my childhood is a great feeling.

As a side note....yes I still rock out to the 80's. Nothing like a little Culture Club to get revved up for an ER shift. However I think all would agree....leaving the neon wardrobe and big hair that could not even be tamed with a banana clip behind was truly something to be thankful for.

Reluctantly Embracing the Chemistry

Trunkal obesity, Apple shaped, big gut, chicken legs.....yep all phrases that seem to describe the basic body archetype I fall into as do many members of my family. Now that last one is really more a relative term. Legs appear chicken like relative to the larger mid section. Regardless, this is me. Call it what you will. Over the years this particular shape began to take focus in the medical community. What did it mean?  Well, I think the most mainstream definition in females is something called "metabolic syndrome", or in some cases, like mine, "polycystic ovarian syndrome". Big fancy words that mean basically the body makes insulin, the tissues are just resistant to using it properly. Translation?  Anything that raises blood sugar like sweets and carbohydrates like bread make me fat.

Now this is not something I knew all along. In my obese laiden childhood I was simply fat because my family was for the most part overweight. Genetics. There are a laundry list of things that lead to obesity. Genetics, thyroid issues, medications.....the list is actually quite long. For me it meant two things. The first was long periods of resignation to this. I have this. I will be fat. I cannot fix it. See?  I have labwork and paperwork that support this notion. So there it is. The cool thing about that particular brand of resignation is it allows for an acceptance of the larger version of myself and serves as a license to just eat what I want and be sedentary because I cannot win this war anyway.

There is a whole uncool side of that too. That is the side that is pissed. Pissed off that I will never achieve what thin people do, or so I thought. It is this anger that would lead to the multitude of failed weight loss attempts. The commercial diet programs where I could never quite reach the goal. Not to say theses were bad diets for the most part. Each one offers something that is relevant and helpful. However, in retrospect I can honestly say my failure likely came from my reluctance to accept my own chemistry. Take Weight Watchers. "Eat what you want"'they said. Perfect. I did not have to let go of the foods I liked. The breads. The pizza. The cookie. .......oh the cookie......having a Girl Scout Thin Mint fantasy moment......  Anyway, I carefully measured and counted points. I would lose. Of course I would lose. I had traded my resignation to fatness to being on calorie count. The losing would stop eventually. I would stall out and then quit. Why the hell should I meticulously count points if the scale would only mock me in the end anyway.

Even after gastric bypass, where my eating was surgically restricted and my ability to tolerate sweets was taken away I still decided I needed sweets in my life.  There is really only so much savory one can tolerate. I tried artificially sweetened stuff like sugar free candy or sugar free protein bars. Guess what. After a particularly unpleasant experience after eating a "low carb" protein  bar....yep, thought I might be dying.....it was explained to me by my dietitian that some people process sugar alcohols the same as sugar. It turns out most "sugar free" stuff has sugar alcohol. That is me. So that leaves most heavily artificially sweetened things out.

In a triumphant,"I will have carbs and be healthy" moment I jumped on the whole grain bandwagon making a trip to whole foods for every whole grain known to man and made granola. Yep. Cannot lose with that either. Damn it. It just did not seem fair that others could have all the carbs they wanted yet I could not. Not even the "good carbs". As a side note I now maintain that particular phrase is an oxymoron.

So, what it boils down to is this. My body chemistry is such that if have to make a choice. Carbs of any kind or be fat. Period. I decided nearly two years ago to cut the carbs and see what happened. Well first things first. Nobody, I mean nobody, can live on bacon and eggs around the clock. It sucks. Despite the hype, bacon does lose its appeal when that is all you have. I have always loved to cook, so have had to refocus on just what I was making.  I challenged myself to make things with some flavor. Most importantly, I challenged myself to color. Once upon a time I had seen something on TV about "brown food". All unhealthy food was brown. Fried. Bread. Starch. All brown. So when I cook now I like to count how many colors I can get on the plate and more importantly, how does it taste. I figured if I was dealt this hand I might as well own it.  It has not been all sunshine and roses. I have had some epic fails in the kitchen just like anyone else. Food that did not even remotely resemble the picture on Pinterest or taste anything like I thought it would but I am figuring it out. My latest passion?  The spiralizer. Zucchini noodles with avocado pesto was my latest conquest.

So, where did that leave me? Leaving the carbs behind 20 months ago has left me 77 pounds lighter.  It gave me a stunning appointment with my PCP who told me to stop my insulin resistance lowering medication last time "because you do not need it."  Yet, at the same time I have developed a new phobia. Fear of carbs. Trust me. It is a thing. Now I need the occasional carb to enhance my performance in the gym and have a healthy fear of what carbs do to me.

Nonetheless, this comes to mind to say that lots of us have been dealt the obesity hand for one reason or another, but it is possible to stop cursing the hand and instead embrace that chemistry and try to move on to a completely different place.

Sidekicks

It is my understanding that every hero needs a sidekick. Batman had Robin after all. I suppose if I am to be considered a hero of sorts, championing the broken road known as health and fitness, I guess you could say I have a fairly unlikely sidekick. My relationship with this guy began almost 20 years ago. I was 80 miles northwest of Moscow sitting in an orphanage where the heat was up so high in the dead of winter I thought I would sweat to death. The workers brought me this little starving baby we would name Jack and claim as our very own. When we got home I found this seven month old to be only 14 pounds. He was too weak to cry or roll over. He was fairly lifeless. The pediatrician at home sat me down and somberly explained,"you realize this baby will not be OK don't you?"  I explained to him he would be fine. He just needed a mommy and some food. He looked at me like I was nuts. As a nurse practitioner now for 16 years in retrospect, I likely would have said the same if I were in his shoes. I brought Jack back five weeks later. He had gained weight and completely caught up developmentally by then. He has been absolutely better than OK since.

Over time, he would grow into my mini me in a lot of ways. Of my five children, all adopted, this was my daredevil. Flips over a flight of stairs at the age of ten that would ultimately lead to a brilliant competitive career as a power tumbler and trampoline gymnast. Later, that skill set  turned into collegiate cheerleading. At the same time, he was still close with his mama. My partner in crime for movie nights and crazy reality TV. The guy who brought me ice water and had my husband drive him to the movie store to pick something out when I had my hysterectomy just so he could hang out with me in my recovery. When we moved to NY two years ago we found a gym we liked. That summer he knew nobody here and neither did I, so we started going to the gym. I walked while he ran and over time things got easier for me physically. Frankly, I was happy to squeeze out the last little bit of time before he left for school. As the days dwindled and my baby was leaving he one day looked at me and said,"mom. Promise me you will keep this up."  Jack keeps his emotional side close. I will never forget the look on his face or the tone in his voice. In that moment, I realized it was one thing to let myself down. Hell. I was good at that. To let him down though..... That was something different entirely.

I kept going even after he moved out, and later I would have that fateful conversation regarding my place in the familial pecking order mentioned in another post, to continue my motivation. The good news was, although my baby was gone, he was not far. He goes to school about 25 minutes away. When I started going to Orange Theory I remember telling him about it as by this point he had become the guy I was accountable to for all things exercise.  I begged him to try it with me. He kinda chuckled. He was a collegiate cheerleader. Lifting. Training. His comment,"ok, but I feel like it won't be that bad". He came with me and was surprised at the intensity. He loved it. This led to event number one. A dry Tri. As in a dry triathlon. He and I were going to do it. 2000m of rowing, 300 body weighted exercises followed by a 5k. I signed us up completely convinced I could not do this. Yet his original,"promise me" conversation played over and over in my head. How could I tell him no?  I couldn't. The day came. I was nauseated that morning as I was terrified of making a fool out of myself. Terrified of letting him down. It had been a full year and 40 pounds after the original promise. Yet was terrified. I could not run the 5k. My hip hurt by then. I power walked it and was the last one done. However, the last half mile, my sidekick who had long since finished his own race hopped back on the treadmill and ran with me while I finished, always my biggest supporter. I remember being grateful to him and another training friend who did the same. This is where the dim lights of orange theory came in handy. The tears were not visible and likely confused for sweat.   Following this we would go on to do another race, Color Me Rad a few weeks later. Again, my sidekick pushing me through as we got doused in color. I could not run as fast as him but he did not seem to mind. In a few weeks we race again for the first time this season and for the first time since breaking my hip. Look out five mile mud run. We are ready for you!

Since then we have trained together many times. Him cheering me on as I got back to running and me watching his wattage on the rower as I try to beat him, and for the record I often do. Nonetheless, for his whole life I always hear how "lucky" he is that I "saved" him from the orphanage.  I was a hero.  Well?   thereality is at this point I think he has become the hero and is saving me, rather than him being my sidekick. I suppose I have now become the Robin to his Batman. The good news is he is a starving college student and I do not need to send up the bat signal to get him here. I just need to light the grill and summon him with paleo friendly dinner and maybe dangle his Orange Theory monitor in front of him.

Recovery Day Reflections

I suppose having a rarely taken recovery day today is as good a time as any to share the little shop of horrors known as my hip. My left hip to be more exacting. How does a 46 year old woman break a hip?  In some ways I would love to say it was horrible osteoporosis or some whacked out bone defect. The reality is it was none of those things. It stemmed from my subconscious thought of "if one is good, two are better". This is a phrase that can be applied to a multitude of situations. Two dollars are better than one, my former self probably believed two donuts were better than one.....  Well I came to believe somewhere last summer that if I can do one OTF class in a day, I surely could do two. I had already lost about 40 pounds by then and the gains were more and more obvious. So, there I was. Two classes a day. Morning and night. Lots and lots of laundry happening there....have never accumulated so many sets of sweaty clothes.

Then it happened. I was challenged to a stepping duel. The fitness tracker type. One week. Most steps wins. Well....what I came to know about myself is I hate to lose. I mean HATE. My challenger hates it too. So there I was. OTF at least once a day. Trail walking about 2-4 miles a day some
days and still behind. My hip started hurting. By the end of the week I had accumulated over 104,000 steps to still come in second. Not sure what was hurt more. My hip of my pride. Probably the second but that is a story for another day. That hip pain would keep me off running or walking for two months. I became proficient at the stationary bike at OTF and ultimately it got better. Being in medicine I decided it was just a bursitis from overuse. About six weeks after that I aggravated it again running on inclines. Later I would slip in the house. I never hit the ground. I never fell per se, just slipped. That would lead to a very long six weeks of difficulty walking and crutches before my stubborn self finally gave in for an X-ray. The XRay would show the head of my femur had completely snapped off. For my medical peeps that would be a displaced femoral neck fracture. I was in surgery two days later getting a fairly intimidating compression screw placed.

What followed was two weeks on the couch, six weeks total of crutches and some time for a difficult reflection on the notion that two may not always be better than one. The pain in the beginning had been a stress fracture. The pain when I slipped was one of the biggest bones in my body coming apart.

Now.....I did not stop working out. Ten days after surgery I was cleared to go back to the gym for upper body. Yep. Ended up crutching into the regular gym and fighting off the old ladies on the arm bike doing their cardiac rehab. If gutting out the humiliation of fighting off said old ladies and surviving ten miles on the arm bike does not build character I am not sure what does. For me, I learned that I cannot bull doze my way to fitness by adding more and more. I can trust the process and take recovery when I need at. Thanks to a particularly hard workout of inclines today is that day. Will there be fear that magically I will go backwards and lose all my gains before my class tomorrow afternoon? Of course, as history has taught us, my line of logic on fitness and health has the accuracy of a funhouse mirror.