Words of Wisdom from Piglet

My dad was drafted into the Army during the Korean Conflict. I suppose it was his military background that caused him to have strong opinions on tattoos.  I was brought up with the opinion that tattoos were the thing of men who obtained them in a back alleys of Asia in between the battle ground and prostitutes.  I think my dad was pretty grateful he had spent the Korean conflict in Germany, tattoo free.  My mom was no different in her negative opinions of tattoos.  She had graduated from nursing school in 1965 and was of the opinion everyone with a tattoo had hepatitis B.  She felt tattoo parlors were dark dirty drug dens run by motorcycle gangs and were frankly dangerous to even be near.  Then, the late 1990’s hit and suddenly there were tramp stamps and barbed wire bicep cuffs. Admittedly, I had friends get tattoos like this, but the healthy fear my parents had instilled in me coupled by my inability to commit to anything permanent on my skin kept me out of this fashion trend.

So, how was it 15 months ago I found myself in a beautifully decorated tattoo parlor in Saratoga, NY that resembled an art studio more than the stereotypical dark caves my mother depicted so many years ago, getting my second tattoo at the age of 46? Yes, I have a total of three now, the other two have their own stories I will save for another post. By the time I entered NeedleWurks that day, I had long reached my goal weight and was released to run after my hip fracture four months before that. I finally was to a place I held the notion that if I could maintain my weight loss and fitness through a broken leg, this level of health just might be sustainable, a belief I had never been able to have because of so many past failures.  To cement the notion of permanency I began to think that  an indelible visible reminder of this journey was in order.

What would said reminder look like? My tattoo was born out of  the idea that my obesity served as my cocoon in so many ways.  Despite weight struggles being on public display for the world to see, I  came to learn this same weight was as comfortable as a caterpillar's warm cocoon.  My obesity kept me safe.  I was safe from the demands of physical things.  Nobody was going to ask me to go running with them or lift anything heavy.  I was the less successful friend or family member and had been for decades so I was safe from big demands or challenges, thus limiting the odds I would take on something huge and fail... although these are things I would not truly learn until much later, I am certain this is why I never had lasting success.  As I now look back, while my conscious self was busy engaging in one crazy diet plan after another, the flipside was. I really did all I could to make my cocoon of obesity state of the art.  Outside of the poundage that surrounded me, I created an external environment that fed it all.  I had a recliner, a heated blanket, and a family room kitchenette full of snacks, along with 300 channels on a 64 inch TV to continue to feed my complacency while I existed in the confines of the comfortable cocoon. 

What you don't see in this existence is there is a fine print.  This existence is gray.  It is monotonous.  It is a soul robbing place where the security I felt was there only to keep me from being what I truly could be if I could only get out.  So many times in the last three years on this journey, I have been uncomfortable.  I was afraid of looking silly at my first Dry Triathalon, at Orangetheory.  It was my first race of any kind in life.  I was terrified of being last.  Well, guess what...I was last, but as I finished the 5K part, the last leg of the race, my son would hop back on the treadmill, as he had already finished, and run the last quarter mile by my side encouraging me the whole.  I learned that day, being last, which I previously was terrified of,  was not fatal.  In fact, it could be pretty amazing. 

There was my first outdoor Spartan Race in March.  Up and down the snowy ski slopes of Greek Peak. I spent the days leading into the race with serious concerns I may not finish or I may fall off the mountain which made me long for the comfort of days gone by, at least by a little bit.  There was no falling off the mountain in a coccon.  To be fair, sliding down the back of an icy mogul repeatedly made sitting a bit challenging in the days that followed, but this was Spartan's first winter race ever.  I got to jump the fire at that race and part of something entirely new with my son by my side.  Not to mention, a two hour grueling climb for 3 miles and many obstacles in 16 degrees, taught me so much about what I was capable of.  This is not an emotion discoverable deep into my previous cocoon of fear, complacency and carbohydrates.  Thing after thing I would do.  Each challenge different than the last helping me to see who lived beneath the heated blanket and pile of snacks.

Walking into Needleworks that day I knew what it had to be.  It had to be a butterfly.  The colorful entity that symbolized me learning to fly after decades of gray darkness.  For those dark years, I can honestly say, all I wanted was to be who I am now with absolutely no idea how to get there.  Fear of the unknown, unhappiness with the present and goals that seemed completely out of reach.  I would read every book on weight loss and fitness available. Something had to get me from here to there.  Years and years this would go by until I finally realized the answer was in my kid's bookshelf.  A simple conversation between everyone's favorite obese bear and his sidekick.

Who would know Piglet could be so prophetic.  I learned that by overcoming the fear that holds us in our own cocoons, we leave the worst parts of us behind, so the beautiful colorful parts of us can fly.  There are many days I feel my wings have only begun to spread, but I have a colorful kick ass butterfly on my ankle that tells me I have a whole lot of flying left to do.

Live Like You Were Dying

It is Thanksgiving week.  As an avid blogger, I had the token being thankful blog all sewn up in my head.  I would open with the celebration of the milestone of my 700th class at OTF this week, revel in that number, relate it to other 700 things, such as how 700 pennies may only be 7 dollars, but carrying them in a sack up the side of the hill was way more challenging.  Take on the small challenges first as they are bigger than you might thing, grateful for success....blah blah blah.  Yep, it was all woven with colorful metaphors and holiday cheer, I had it ready to roll in my own mind.  In fact, I essentially had it worked out by last Thursday, well ahead of schedule.

Until I didn't........

On Friday, someone close to me received a life altering diagnosis, and is facing a large, game changing surgery.  Somehow the glow of my 700 classes with the flowery words of being thankful for reaching goals one step at a time, no longer seemed to matter.  Those thoughts were replaced by trying to find a way to encourage someone through a situation for which they had no power.  Normally, my brand of motivation for my clients involves sharing my story.  My battles against a lifetime of obesity.  My discussion of the people on my journey who convinced me I could even when I was not so sure.  Convince them they can too.  I begin to slowly open the window of possibilities for my clients and then sit back and watch them bloom into these amazing forces.  It's what I do, and I love it.

However,  how does that apply here?  How do you convince someone they "can" through an illness that is totally out of their control?  They can what?  Control what happens in surgery?  Control the diagnosis? Control the course of the operation?  The fear producing lack of control is something my brand of motivation did not apply to.  After all, I motivate by proving things are within our control, when, in this situation, they are not.   I was clearly out of my element here.  Admittedly, my attempts to encourage were largely a failure this weekend.  I finally resigned myself to the place where I simply had to wait until the recovery phase of surgery to apply my special brand of encouragement.  Now, I was the one who had no control.

Anyone who knows me knows I am a planner.  I am the person with the plates spinning on the sticks, six or seven at a time frantically transitioning from plate to plate, never letting even one fall.  I balance two jobs working every shift there is, kids' schedules, running my company, household stuff, workouts, race training .....my endless list of stuff that occupies each and every day, so no,  my own lack of control is clearly not working here.  I am a get shit handled doer, not a waiter for the right opportunity to jump in.  As I was headed in for night shift this weekend, I found myself lost in thought, contemplating the frustration of this notion.

I was travelling the New York Thruway into Albany, my iPhone on random, when suddenly a song came on I had not heard in a very long time.  "I was in my early 40's, with a lot of life before me, when a moment came and stopped me on a dime...."  Tim McGraw.  OK there is a lot of irony here.  First, I am not a country music fan.  In fact, I generally say that country music gives me a pain behind my eye.  Sorry but the white chick from Chicago is really more of a rock fan.  Yet, it had a lot of relevance to my current situation.  Why was this even on my iTunes?  My understanding was this song was about a specific aggressive brain tumor I saw many times in my ten years of neurosurgery, the glioblastoma multiforme.  Untreated, patients are dead in three months, with chemo, radiation and surgery, you get 18.  When it came out, this song was something those of us in neurosugical circles could understand and appreciate from a professional perspective.  Somehow though, this weekend I heard this song with new ears.  It was no longer professional but personal.

Friday stopped me on a dime.  The weekend was spent going over and over test results and facing mortality and the ramifications of that, feeling helpless just like the song said.  However, the song reminded me of something very important that did not happen, at least until now.  Seeing this as an opportunity.  This is a positive opportunity to see what life has to offer. This was an opportunity to truly live like we are dying.  We could see a chance to break out of the routine and see exactly what can experienced right here and right now.  He talks about skydiving, ok side note to my Spartan Team, clearly if the A frame freaks me out this may not be for me...Rocky Mountain Climbing, ok this.  If I can climb the mountains of WV for 20 miles, taking on some snowy Rockies, yeah that would be amazing.  Then there was the notion of the mechanical bull....a whole other thing.  There seems to be so many opportunities in life we ignore because of our perceived notion of limitless time or our ideas that our own limits prevent us from these experiences.

As I fantasized about my own possibilities in life, I finally began to realize that maybe my job, in this scenario, was not to encourage this person through the situation for which nobody had any control, but instead, help them to embrace the best life has to offer right here and right now.  I now know this is really more what Thanksgiving is about this year.  A grateful heart that we have been given an amazing opportunity to live like we are dying each and every day, not 700 classes or whatever the latest PR is for the pull over.  For some. this notion will be the simple appreciation of a glorious sunrise over a beach with crashing waves, others an amazing dinner around a beautiful table with family and for others it will be jumping out of an airplane.  No matter what it is, through the trials of life we need to see that every day is an opportunity to see the best life has to offer.  The chance as Tim McGraw so eloquently puts it, to love deeper and speak sweeter.  It makes me think maybe, just maybe... I need to seek out a bull named Fumanchu.

When a Playlist, is Not Just a Playlist

Today is my birthday. Today I woke up and I was 48. It seems dangerously close to half a century, such a big number. However, on the bright side, when it is your birthday workout at Orangetheory, you get to make the playlist.  Last night, I spent some time combing through some of my favorites and tried to anticipate what my favorite 8:45 crew would enjoy the most.  These people have become my family.  We generally sing, laugh and encourage one another in a way I have never been blessed to be a part of before now.  Ultimately, there it was.  Twenty-five of my favorite bad ass tunes that push me through long runs and workouts outside the studio, sent to my trainer. I was all set for a fun morning of crushing it with my friends.

What came back to me was a bit different.  My trainer sent me the confirmation that she was all set with the music with the comment that,"you could tell it's an emotional one, but it's for your birthday so people have to deal with it."  Wait.  Emotional?  I was not so sure I knew what she meant.  I sent AC/DC and Aerosmith after all, among other things. 

As I entered the lobby, I would discover a birthday greeting with the tally of the classes I had taken at Orangetheory in 2 years and 7 months, 692.  Wow.  That was a pretty big number.  No wonder this felt like home.  When it was time for class, we would enter the studio to find "Raspberry Beret" was playing.  A nod to my 80's teenage years when I was that obese child dancing around my own room, just a wee bit self conscious to do it anywhere else.  As we mounted the treadmills, "Black Betty" started and it was time to move past the warm up and right into push pace. In that moment, I began to think about all those 4:30 am mornings early in my training when getting out of bed seemed to be the most cruel joke of all.  In the dead of winter, I would have to bundle up, put this on in the car and weave a string of profanity as I traveled to the studio.  I would have to convince myself the misery of this night owl being up at this hour was far worse than the disappointment that would surely come later if I didn't go, and worth the satisfaction of a workout complete.  I would always find those two things to be true, but it didn't stop my early morning pre workout antics any.  In fact, at times, my schedule will not allow for anything other than 5:00 am and in that case, Black Betty and profanity is still a thing.

"Back in Black" would  then usher in an endurance segment as I would be reminded of college days gone by.  The days when my friend and I would hit up The Cue in Iowa City to play pool and drink more than our share of beer.  In those days, we would have several hilarious capers involving a keg put in a car the wrong way causing a broken hatchback windshield, or long discussions during walks home in the wee hours.  Little did I know, 25 years later, this same friend would find encouragement in my story, lose the weight himself, complete a Spartan Trifecta this year with me and now help me run 1DOS and become a huge inspiration to many.

At one point during the workout, we transitioned to the rowers for a distance row.  I found myself next to a guy I train with often.  Kid Rock's "All Summer Long" would come on as he and I would find ourselves watching eachother's monitors trying once again to beat one another as we often do. Of course, this involves a certain degree of trash talk we have all come to love in this class. In this moment, with the references to summers at the lake, I was reminded of another time when he and I were on the rowers when he would push with such force off the foot plates he would explode the water drum causing a tidal wave that would splash onto the treadmills, demonstrating that being over 50 did not mean we were not capable.  In fact, I am not so sure anyone else has done that.  Yes, maybe hitting that half century isn't so bad.

Back to the treads we would go as "Walking on Sunshine" would come on.  Katrina and the Waves would sing out this 80's classic as my closest training friend would occupy the tread next to me screaming this was her favorite song.  It was appropriate too.  She has walked a very similar path to mine.  Polycystic ovarian syndrome, large weight loss, crushing goals she never thought possible, even scaling an 8 foot wall just one week ago at the Fenway Spartan.  She has a habit of screaming encouragement to everyone on the floor, truly spreading the sunshine wherever she goes.  To be honest, after doing several races with her, I can say my mile time only is what it is because of her encouragement.  She has a knack of reminding me all of my past failures don't matter and that any limits I have are likely just mental. 

There would be songs that appeared in other blog posts like "Wake Me Up" where I discovered that I really had spent the last three years finding myself, when I had no idea I was lost in the first place.  "Born this Way" would take me to the early days when my mom died this summer and I needed the reminder that despite her being gone, she still believed in me.

Song after song....I think maybe my trainer was right.  Rather than the badass fun playlist I made it out to be, this really was more a musical journey through my three year quest for health and fitness.  Seeing my fitness family sing along and laugh to it all reminded me how lucky I am to have people in my life who believe in me so I can do the same for others, and how fortunate I am to have come this far, while at the same time reminding me that there is so much more to do.

When the hour was up, it was finally time for stretches.  We were drenched, out of breath, and still laughing... "Only the Good Die Young"  by Billy Joel is what came on.  Why would I pick this?  Several people asked me.  Was it about good versus bad? Be bad and live forever? Not really.  Not in my mind.  It was more about playing life safe versus busting out of my own comfort zone that existed in insulation of fat I walked around in  for decades and seeing what it was the world has to offer.  For now I choose to run with my dangerous crowd of ferocious sharks and believe at nearly half a century, that the best is yet to come.

Nobody Really Sees the Underwear on the Mat, Spartan Reflections

I have a problem with the gray microfiber towel I use to cover my yoga mat.  Things stick to it in the dryer.  If I am not careful, I end up unfolding the towel in the middle of the studio only to find a hot pink tie dye pair of my underwear right there for all to see.  Let's just say it has happened more than once.  For some reason, it always seems to be the same pair of underwear.   I have had to develop a special maneuver where I quickly wad up said underwear and quietly walk out to my cubby and stash it in my shoe absolutely convinced every other student has seen this and maybe I just needed to go home and not face these people for an hour of hot yoga as they judged my underwear choice or lack of ability to successfully fold laundry.  I manage to always power through it though, as it is an important part of my Spartan Training.

As a matter of fact, this weekend, I found myself at my fifth Spartan Race, exactly one year after my very first race at the very same venue, Fenway Park in Boston.  One year ago, I was terrified.  Finally, I was winning the war of my lifetime struggle with obesity. I was 85 pounds down, and I had started to have some level of fitness I had never thought possible and I felt the almighty Spartan, would serve as my quintessential slaying of a lifetime of demons.  Later, I would learn it was only the beginning, and I had a lot more slaying to do as I took on the trifecta this year.  Nonetheless as I entered Fenway, this year, I found I was overcome by all of the emotions that flooded me a year ago.  The familiar obstacles I was so terrified of at first, followed by the shock of actually completing them.  There was the view of the first baseline where I crossed the finish line one year ago and burst into tears into the arms of my ever supportive son, suddenly realizing I could do so much more than I thought.  

Race Day looked totally different this year though.  My son Jack and I were back, however this year I brought a team of ten,  six of whom were new racers with me, and I was the team captain.  I even had the honor of having our Spartan trainer Juan run with us.  As I reminisced in my mind about my experience one year ago, I was able to size up the emotions of my newbies.  There was J, she is six feet tall, yet she spent the days leading up to the race voicing her fear getting over the eight foot wall.  There was K, with the history of gym class fails, voicing sincere doubt about completing the rope climb despite successfully doing it in our training.  There was M, a distance runner who had no confidence she could do any of the walls as she felt she lacked upper body strength.  There was L, our oldest racer who doubted she would finish and feared she would hold us back.  There was D, a power lifter who doubted her agility to navigate the course.  There was K number two, who at a very young age had a stroke and has spent recent years fighting her way back to good health, but still had fears and doubts about the race, and then there was C.  He was our youngest runner, at 16 who was not so sure about any of it, and with a foot injury was not altogether sure he could finish but wanted to try.  

As we set out in our matching shirts that stated the motto of our Team 1DOS, "If it excites you and scares the crap out of you at the same time it probably means you should do it."  In my year of racing, I must say fear is involved every single time, and I believe today was no exception for any of us.  However, little by little, obstacle by obstacle we worked together.  A mighty team of sharks that was so much stronger as a whole shiver than any single one of us would be on our own.  We would witness J conquering the eight foot wall and begin screaming and jumping up and down as she said,"I DID IT!  I DID IT!".  K would conquer the rope like she climbs every single day, M would toss over the four foot walls all by herself with a look of surprise as she handled them easily.  L would go to the ball slams and pick up a men's 25 pound ball and complete the challenge without even realizing she could use 15's.  K2 would get on the z wall and zip across like a champ.  Finally C would cross the finish line with his mom watching suddenly convinced if he can do this at 16 there were probably much harder things in life he could do.  My son Jack would nail the multirig despite there being a cleverly placed baseball instead of a ring toward the end.  Juan, our fearless trainer would patiently wait for us and guide us along with advice, motivation, making obstacle racing look easy and provided a ton of laughs.  Personally speaking, for the first time in 5 races I would land the spear throw.

There were so many great things that happened that day, on that field.  Every fear that my newbies had were my fears one year ago, and I got to be there as they pushed past them all.  Just when I thought a race could not get as emotional as the Beast in WV, watching them all win gave me an emotion of pride and joy I don't think I have ever experienced before.  However, to be fair, I did know before the race none of these six ladies really had anything to be worried about.  J is tall enough the walls are no big deal, K can climb a rope, I have seen her do it, M has upper body strength as I have trained with her and seen it, L has the stamina and ability to complete a two a day workout at Orangetheory so clearly a one hour Spartan is well within her wheelhouse, D is a fantastic runner as I have trained next to her and watched her go faster and faster,  K2 has accomplished so much in her recovery since her stroke becoming a fierce advocate for breaking through the limits of what stroke patients were thought to have while encouraging others, and C? He began his Spartan training on day one months ago with a 6 mile run and pole climbs.  So many self imposed fears and limits that are simply not reality and not visible by anyone else.

Which brings me back to the hot pink tie dye underwear that seems to appear on my yoga towel.  I began to wonder how many times we convince ourselves that everyone sees every single insecurity we have and then take those insecurities as fact? How many times do we fail to take someone telling us we are capable of things at face value and believe it?  Just like I put the lost underwear away in the cubby with no one the wiser, these ladies put their insecurities, real or imagined away to run this race with a grace and style that truly humbled me as their captain

I realize, I need to be careful about checking my towel before I leave the house, but even if I miss the freeloading underwear, it does not change my willingness to once again attempt a successful eagle pose based on who sees or doesn't see.  At the end of the day, it is just underwear, much like our insecurities are just insecurities not paralyzing monsters that take us out of the game.  Seeing six people learn that very thing reminds me once again, the best is yet to come.