Live Our Lives in Chains

"Pinball Wizard", "Owner of the Lonely Heart", "I Can't Drive 55".....thus went the rocking playlist for the power workout the other day. The trainer, who is likely half my age, admitted with a chuckle,  had never heard half of the songs. Well, the other forty somethings and I had a great time singing along and in my case, tormenting my 20 year old working out with me that day, who surely would have preferred a little Wiz Khalifa to power through that 300 meter row.

By the time I hit the tread blocks, I was ready for the all outs that would surely come being a power day when I found myself suddenly blindsided. Hit square between the eyes with the musical styling of the Eagles. More specifically "Already Gone". I had not heard this in probably a decade. . As I sang along in my head, as singing out loud had two problems. First, I cannot carry a tune and second, running at full tilt on the treadmill does not lend itself to breathing let alone singing. However, there are times when you hear a song that feels a bit like an old shoe but suddenly seems all new again.

Well I know it wasn't you who held me down
Heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free
So often times it happens that we live our lives in chains
And we never even know we have the key

....and there it is..the reminder of all those times in my life I had blamed other people for my struggles with obesity. I had the bullies who's words were all too easy to settle into. There were those in my life who needed me to be that fat person to fill a need in their own lives.  I had my self imposed limitations where I put myself in that box. The one where I was convinced I "will never be thin, I am
Just not made that way" "I am not a runner and never will be" The laundry list of "I can't do that" which includes everything from wearing clothes not found in the plus size section to sticking to a healthy lifestyle to running a mile to ever even considering being on a rower.

 I was reminded I did live my life in chains. In my mind's eye I see the large links on the iron chains that wrapped around the Marley brothers from the Dickens classic. Each link a different representation of the things that kept me from reaching goals or moving in a positive direction. There are people on some of the links, other links hold my own limitations I have placed on myself some new, some so old that those links had been deeply imbedded in my own psyche. As I have battled through all of this, little by little snipping off link after link over the last two years:   diet, exercise, attitude, and changing relationships, I find I still am surprised by these links falling away. As the song goes, I finally learned I had the key all along.

So as I puff along through the LONG all outs that day...a full minute sprint might as well be a decade in this new runner's world,  I realize it is time to embrace the old me before I put her on a shelf as she has made me who I am today but at the same time realize she is already gone. That being said, it is time to lace up the Nike runners I love so much and have at it again. The big scary race is in 21 days and the only way to silence that little voice in my head from one of those chain links that says "maybe I can't do this" is to get to work so I can truly as the song goes."sing that victory song".

Car Cleaning Confessions

I have a confession. I drive a mom mobile. No not quite a minivan as even I have certain lines I cannot in good conscience cross. This busy working mom of five is a step down on the mom car continuum. I drive a suburban. Said suburban has the obligatory "SUNY Albany Mom" sticker on the back sandwiched somewhere between my orange theory sticker, of course, and my "OBX" sticker, which serves as my reminder that no matter how difficult life is at times, come July I will be able to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic. In that sense I resemble every other mom of a large family I know.

Being the hauling kids car, I am sure I am like most other moms.  My car collects crap. Papers from Sunday school. Forgotten half eaten snacks and a wide collection of clothing. Now to be fair, to hear my husband tell it my car likely houses something else. Chickens. He enjoys pointing out at any given time he fears he will open the doors and chickens will fly out. I mean really. Chickens. After all he should know they do not fly.

Regardless, I find every few days I need to locate a large trash can and pull up to unload the latest remnants of kid related refuse. Today was that day. One of my day off tasks. I must confess however, my car today had bread. The bread from two days of breakfast sandwiches from Starbucks. The bread was still neatly in the white Starbucks bag no longer holding the egg and sausage it once did.   Ok. This one was on me. It dawned on me, in that moment, that somewhere there is an entire landfill full of the bread I stopped eating about two years ago. Honestly, I have done all kinds of things with bread in two years. Thrown it away. Fed it to the dog.....anything by put it in my system.  Ah my beloved bread. Prior to two years ago I made my own bread from scratch, rising and kneading the dough and carefully watching it brown to perfection. I made all kinds of bread even the sweet kinds like pumpkin and banana. Yes bread and I had a love affair that was only mirrored by my ability to fit into nothing less than plus sized clothing.

Now here I sit planning for my next race in 3 weeks and two other races in the coming months finally grasping my own metabolic issues and understanding the relationship between carbs and my weight, I find the end of this love affair with bread and my ceremoniously throwing it in the trash today more like slaying a dragon and less like cleaning out my car.  I realized how much better my life is without it. Now as a side note...I have considered lobbying the good people at Starbucks to give me a low carb option to avoid my abuse of the local landfill with my bread wasting problem. Will save that for project for another day, and just to set the record straight only three beach towels, a cooler, several empty water bottles, some straw wrappers and an old apple were found in there. No chickens. Tonight's chicken came strictly from Price Chopper.

That Magical Phrase

"The best is yet to come". This phrase seems to have become a mainstay of this magical decade in my life better known as my 40's. I have found it can be used in just about every aspect of my life. There are days like yesterday, when I hit a personal best on the treadmill and it comes out triumphantly from me as I see even better things in my training future.

There are other times it comes in a low voice, almost shaky surrounded by question marks from the pits of my soul. For example, waiting through a painful 3 year Haitian adoption full of crazy twists and turns and frustration, often the phrase was uttered to try to convince myself it would be ok and I would one day hold my babies permanently, that day did come. Or when I was laying in a hospital bed February 8 of this year with a hip full of new hardware after spending a year training. I had to put my anger at this injury at bay with this phrase.

Today, I am faced with a wallet a little lighter and an email confirming me as team captain for Team Awaken confirming my registration for a Spartan Race November 12 with my partner in crime Jack. There was something so exciting about that yet terrifying at the same time. The terrifying came as I replayed lots of different things in my mind today. The statistic that only 50% of hip fracture patients ever get back to their previous level of activity, yet am looking to go beyond that. The fact that I will be 47 two days after the race. Really?  Taking on a first Spartan race at my age?  I have heard that from several people. Maybe I should just swim, take up something safer....all things I have heard fairly recently. All these things allowing that magical phrase to get quieter and quieter in my soul.

Then...as my patients were all simmering waiting for tests and my charting was caught up I found myself stumbling across an article. Sister Madonna Buder. I had never heard of this woman but what I would learn changed my day. She is an 86 year old iron man athlete, not to mention Catholic nun, still competing 17 hour races annually. She began her race career at 48 when she was encouraged to discover the link between mental, physical and spiritual well being.  This completely resonated with me as I searched to find my physical health by shutting out the negativity in my life and letting my spiritual side be my guide as my earlier blog posts talk about. This woman even broke her pelvis and recovered only to race again. I have no idea what those post fracture statistics look like but they cannot be all that different than my hip. Ironically, she broke her pelvis training just like me and my hip. She has now raced almost as long as I have been alive which is staggering. I am finding I have spent the rest of the day learning all I can about this lady and as I do that shakey, low voiced questionable "best is yet to come" has gathered some steam and is growing more and more solid.

So, although the Spartan Team Awaken is small, we are mighty and must live by Sister Madonna's example that come Nov 12.....the best is yet to come.

Finding the Calm

52 hours in 5 days, one day off followed by 5 more days of the same and it is only day 4 of this craziness. Add that to some of the messiness of life has weighed heavily on me lately. To date I have found exhausting myself completely at the gym has been an effective tool for dealing with things,  however today, my ride to my moonlighting job proved to be a bit more restless than usual. Even my 2.5 mile run plus floor and rowing at OTF at 6:15 this morning had not settled things much in my soul.

I found my mind wandering on the drive through the messiness of it all hoping to find the magical

solution when I suddenly found myself northbound on the thruway 70 miles an hour through the rolling hills of upstate NY. A familiar drive for me, as until August I did it morn less than 3-4 times a week. Now my primary job takes me into the city of Albany. The opposite direction of this. So, today was the first time I had gone this way in about two weeks.  Today I was struck by the fiery bursts of fall color starting to peek through the green. The sun was out, not a cloud in the sky and in that moment it was as if a picture of vibrant colors against the bluest of skies had been painted only for me. 

Seeing all that fall beauty reminded me of something. This caliber of beauty exists despite the trials of life. It emerges even when the answers do not. It also reminded me that in the craziness of the last few days I need to look hard for the beauty in the midst of the chaos. I will admit I may or may morn have pulled out the iPhone camera in an attempt to capture that moment on camera to save for later.....it resulted in a great picture of the window of my suburban and the highway. The colors were so bright, so expansive and so big a camera just was not enough. Perhaps God's way of telling me to enjoy it in that moment not when I could no longer see it. 

In that moment, a song came on. Anyone who knows me knows I am one who believes in the notion that there is a song for every mood and situation. In fact my daughter Grace is named for the Matt Maher song "Your Grace is Enough" as her adoption took so long and was so difficult, Grace was all I had in those moments. Then there is the polar opposite sentiment as I have a need for the Beastie Boys for the killer out of bed for the 5:00 am workout.  I have the 80's for long car rides to torment my 20 year old and on and on. I generally have one rule when it comes to music. No country. Just is not my thing. However today,  for some odd reason my Sirius radio went rogue. I suddenly was aware of Taylor Swift coming through the speakers. Not someone I generally listen to but in that moment as I drove the last few miles toward my exit almost disappointed the ride was over and I was leaving this setting the perfect phrase came on. It is something I think about in this moment finally in my sweats after a sixteen hour day still reveling in the sudden burst of color that brought me an oasis of calm in the crazy of life.

"....and when I got home, before I said Amen asking God if He can play it again...."

Out of the Comfort Zone.....Again

As I have had to take a couple days to unpack from my trip I just now realize they are gone. By "they" I mean my favorite pair of Columbia black flip flops. Rugged enough for any beach or rocky shores, yet supportive enough to do a full day of errand running without a problem, yet versatile enough to wear with any outfit. In fact, when I was in Arizona a friend pointed out in the desert heat they were starting to melt a bit and I took great care to move them out of the sun.

These shoes have many memories in them. Past vacations where I wore them to watch the sunrise over the Atlantic in the Outer Banks to watching the sunset over the Gulf of Mexico on the beach at Marco Island. They held the memories of pool days with my babies, an epic cruise to the Bahamas and now an epic girls' weekend. I suppose from that Kistner it could be surmised I am a bit of a beach girl. I have often said I needed little more than a stick and a tarp and the sound of roaring waves. I suppose I had always envisioned this pair of flip flops would work well in that vision too. I guess in the end I am a bit lost without my shoes today but it reminded me of something. Taking this journey to change my entire life I have had to leave a lot of old favorite things behind.

I have had to leave behind foods I truly loved such as chips.....ah chips. I have left behind some old habits of dealing with life in unhealthy ways, and left behind a whole lot of sleep for those early morning OTF sessions. I have begun to now think those old ways and my old life was as simple as my favorite comfortable pair of flip flops. Never wavering, always the same. Trapped in a sea of complacency disguised as a comfortable shoe.

As I wrestled with my latest goal.....do I run a Spartan Race for my birthday?  I find I have submitted to my earlier complacency and have started to come up with reasons why not. It was simply more comfortable to rest on the laurels of the mud run.  Eighteen months of training, 5.5 miles of mud and 30 obstacles and a good cry at the finish line. All in all an epic day that surpassed anything I could have imagined for that experience.

Resting on that experience I realized it was becoming more comfortable to just put other things ahead of this Spartan Race now that it is getting close.  I needed to go see my granddaughter. I should probably work. The holidays were close to that race. It was becoming easier to pick a different race much further away. As I do this I have once again found myself in that usual place of  anxiety over being able to do this. Paralyzed in my own comfort zone.  As I found myself doing the dreaded burpees at OTF I had several people remind me of the role of burpees in the Spartan Race and I decided it was time to get moving. As I cautiously tossed out the inquiry on social media to see which of my teammates wanted to do this I found the response terrifying. The team is being assembled as we speak with an offer to help us train in an obstacle gym between now and then.

So there it is. Comfortable shoes gone. Comfort zone once again shattered. Cheers to my team for pushing me into a birthday celebration the likes of which I have never seen before, and here's to our next five weeks of training. Guess this means I should ask for new flip flops for my birthday too, may this pair see more happy times and epic memories than the last.

Girls Weekend Reflection

It would seem I have been on a bit of a hiatus for a week or so. The reality is I have been traveling. First to see my granddaughter then on for a girls' weekend in Arizona. I have often wondered about but what that type of weekend would look like. It was not something I had done before and I was seeing women I had not spent time with in 20 years. Coming off the plane in the nice warm desert from a chilly upstate New York I began to relax immediately, with the friendly face of my old roommate meeting me right in baggage.

In the days that followed, I would have a great reminder of what it was to be 21 again. Carefree,  and laughs that I have not had in a very long time. I did not eat clean,  I probably drank more than I should have and trained only one time in 5 days. A complete departure from my current life which has become strict with the diet and training not less than an hour a day. I keep stats of my fastest runs and rows. My graph of PR's with weights....on and on it goes.  Through it all, rather than feeling the guilt of not being stringent with my diet, or for the first time being away from my family for a time that belonged  only to me, I felt renewed. In that space lives the 20 something girl who learned to be on her own with the support of these women.  With these women I had made the transition from shy overweight girl to successful adult.  It reminded me of where I came from and where I ended up and certainly the debt of gratitude for shaping me into who I am today that I owe these women I am blessed to call sisters.


So, as I got up this morning, starting the washer, making lunches, preparing for the gym and a ten hour shift I have no regrets for my pizza eating or beer drinking weekend. I feel renewed and ready for a triumphant return to the gym and finalizing plans for a race next month. Mostly I realized I had learned something. People always tell me to take a day off. Have one bite of something I shouldn't. I usually dig my heels in and say no. I was even the one crutching  it into the gym ten days post op after hip surgery. Not that dedication is a bad thing, but finding renewal just may matter just as much. Now I may rethink that in an hour at OTF when I take on my run for the first time in days, but know the bigger picture will matter more.

So to my girls I say thank you for reminding me who I am, and more importantly, helping me find balance in the care of myself. So.....pack those cactus shaped shot glasses away carefully, see ya' next year bitches!  Love you all.