Saturday, December 29, 2018

Closer to Fine


Several days ago, I found myself headed west on I88 in central New York through the hills that just seem to pop up out of nowhere.  My mind was wandering a bit as the sun began to peek through the clouds creating a great setting for some deep thinking.  I was headed into my new job I am just starting to settle into, while shaking off my old job that I finished a few days prior.  December.  This was transition month for me, two full time jobs for a total of 205 hours.  The last few weeks have been challenging to say the very least.  Aside from work demands, I had school issues to deal with, a pivotal launch for my foundation, a huge race to continue to train for, not to mention my role of resident Santa that could not go unfulfilled.  In a lot of ways, I felt like a hamster on a wheel that just never seemed to slow down.  As I was trying to reconcile the events of the month in my mind, my phone would ring, as an old friend called to do the customary post holiday check in.  How was I holding up?  What came out of my mouth surprised even me.  "Actually... I am fine."  It occurred to me in that moment, "fine" was not a word I had used in a long time to describe myself.  A whole host of other adjectives had taken its place.  There was,"sleep deprived", "stressed", "pissed off" and "downright exhausted."  I had to really think about that word...."fine".  As my brain often does, I quickly jumped to an 80's musical reference and found myself searching my eclectic playlist for the Indigo Girls, "Closer to Fine".  I have probably listened to this song a thousand times, but suddenly I found myself listening with all new ears.

"I'm tryin' to tell you somethin' 'bout my life,
Maybe give me insight between black and white"

It occurs to me that I have, in fact, lived my life with the black and white  mentality.  I suppose you could say it served me well in some regards.  Left to my own devices to pay for college at the age of 19, not finishing my undergraduate degree was not an option.  Working nights in an ER as a nursing assistant and taking student loans from anyone who would give them to me was the road.  Not having children was not an option when the blows of infertility came, so trekking the adoption road through international rules was the way.  Not having a masters degree to be a nurse practitioner was not an option, so it was working nights as a nurse in a suburban Chicago ER with a 3 year old and 1 year old at home with school during the day was the route I took.  An unwavering pursuit of goals with the understanding that my very definition and happiness lived on the other side of achievement, making any difficult path worth the effort.

"and I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains,
I looked to the children, I drank from the fountains"

Thing after thing I chased. Degrees, a ten year successful career in neurosurgery, an 8 year career in emergency medicine, five adoptions, multiple attempts at weight loss using every method modern science had to offer, all the while convincing myself with absolute certainty of what lived on the other side of these pursuits.

"Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable,
and lightness has a call that's hard to hear,
I wrap my fear around me like a blanket,
I sailed my ship of safety til I sank it"

What I found in the midst of said pursuits was me wrapped in a blanket watching TV night after night doing what I did best, hand to mouth, crunch, repeat, sinking deeper into the darkness waiting for the magical thing that was supposed to happen when I hit my next goal missing the very moments right in front of me.  

"There's more than one answer to these questions,
Pointing me in a crooked  line,
and the less I seek my source for some definitive,
The closer I am to fine"

Maybe this was it.  Maybe the magic was not in the black and white achieving versus not achieving of a goal, rather the embracing of the gray that is the journey.  The journey that is fluid and teaches us so many things along the way.  It is the surrounding ourselves with like minded people who help us take our lives less seriously and to truly see that it really only is life after all.  Maybe the trick is to learn to stop defining ourselves by the goals we set and learn to be as close to fine as we can be along the way.  

This year I have many goals in front of me.  I have physical challenges like the Dopey Challenge, 48 miles of running through Disney in four days with 6 of my closest friends, along with my third Spartan trifecta.  I have corporate goals such as a multitude of fund raising events to be able to sponsor others to get healthy, I even have personal goals like debt reduction and budgeting.  Maybe now would be a good time to challenge myself to be a whole lot closer to fine along the way than I have been before.  So, 2019, show me your best, and I promise to slow down and enjoy the ride.

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Friday, December 14, 2018

Now or Never...It's My Life

I find myself tonight in a well appointed king room at the Marriott, successfully completing day two of my new job.  My new job.  Yeah about that.  I have been a nurse practitioner for 18 years, and was a nurse for 8 years before that.  I suppose you could throw me into the "adrenaline junkie" professional category.  As a nurse, I spent a good portion of those years in the emergency room.  When I finished my masters to be an NP, I jumped into neurosurgery for ten years.  Brain tumors, aneurysms, spinal fractures, complex neurological problems.  I found myself closing skulls at 3:00 in the morning following big traumas, and holding my breath as the clock ticked away while doc put a clip on a brain aneurysm as quickly as possible so we could reestablish flow and avoid brain injury.  From there, I would make the leap to emergency medicine as an NP.  Cardiac arrests, crazy traumas, and even baby deliveries in the front seat of a car parked outside. 

Through it all, I suppose I just enjoyed the rush of the emergencies and the satisfaction of solving difficult puzzles that embodied the complex patient.  Which is why as I sit here, post 12 hour day, in my urgent care scrubs, it all seems a bit surreal.  I moonlight in another system of three urgent cares. I always said I would not do it full time.  It felt like it was a professional step backwards, yet here I am contract signed, full time urgent care  The decision was financially driven as well as having more time for my family and to take the giant leap and bet on my motivational business and my foundation to define my adult professional self rather than a 26 year ever advancing career in medicine.  As I ponder all of this over my container of naked chicken tenders, tunes playing, classic Bon Jovi would fill my room. 

"This ain't a song for the broken hearted,
no silent prayer for the faith-departed"

Not a song for the broken hearted?  Maybe I should skip this one.  Giving up what I know and love so well to forge into the unknown had it's own grieving process.  What was I going to do without the adrenaline rush of trauma or the solving of a difficult medical puzzle?  How was I going to stay fulfilled professionally??  What if I got bored putting bandaids on in the urgent care, or my foundation did not grow the way I had hoped?  Reflecting on this, I suppose in some ways I really am a bit faith departed in this moment.

"This is for the ones that stood their ground,
It's for Tommy and Gina who never backed down"

Standing my ground is something I have become proficient at as a provider.  I can fend off the drug seekers without even a single dose of medication and have learned to always keep myself between the patient and the door for those patients who feel it is necessary to come at me physically when the answer is no.  I have learned to navigate the back halls of any ER to avoid the drunken marriage proposals of the regulars, and which of the said regulars would require chemical and/or physical restraint to keep the rest of the staff out of the line of fire of flying fists and the uncontrolled spewing of various bodily fluids.  There was the compartmentalization of emotion necessary for the time spent with families who suddenly lost a loved one you had five minutes previously done chest compressions on.  Yessir.  Eight years in this environment on the heels of ten years of neurosurgery, I pretty much knew all the tricks of the trade.

"Tomorrow's getting harder, make no mistake,
Luck ain't enough,
You've got to make your own breaks"

For the last two years, I have been working in two emergency rooms and three urgent cares for more than full time hours.  Countless hours of work, with limited sleep due to crazy shifts and home demands, as my brain could not loosen the reigns on my professional career to consider doing something different, with a denial of the fact that it just may be getting harder. The cumulative trauma of death and abuse just may be having an effect after all of these years.  Maybe it is time to think about making my own break. Maybe lowering patient acuity in a high end urgent care is not so bad.  After all, my new gig had beautifully appointed facilities, a keurig for coffee on demand, and even snacks. 

"It's my life,
And it's now or never,
I ain't gonna live forever,
I just want to live while I'm alive."

Transition is never something I have been particularly good at.  As destructive as it was, there was even a comfort in my 45 years of obesity.  I filled a role for others, I was good at it, and I was comfortable.  I knew how to do that just like I know how to be a nurse practitioner and so many other things.  I deluded myself to believe there was total satisfaction in these comfortable places.  However, I am coming to see that what really exists in those places is not the actual ignition of spirit, rather the same old drunks in the corner spewing unknown bodily fluids, and a partial death of emotion when the compartment it was getting shoved into suddenly gets so full it busts right open.  Real growth in spirit just may exist in taking risks, shoving away a fear of failure, grabbing life by the balls and moving in all new ways.  So here I sit in my royal blue scrubs, preparing to change into my own logo and get to work motivating my 320 sharks, and start the process of letting loose of the 26 year career that has defined my adult professional self, to bet on me, something I have never been brave enough to do until now.  Yes, there is a part of my brain that is afraid I will fall directly on my face and find myself only putting bandaids on until the end of time, but there is a bigger part terrified that I will stay in my comfort zone and absolutely never know.  Either way, win or lose I will know:

"I did it my way,
I just want to live while I'm alive."

So, thank you Mr. Bon Jovi for the subtle reminder that it is entirely possible that the best is yet to come. 

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Monday, November 26, 2018

Trapped in a Bad 80's Prom Dress

In the spring of 1987, I was a senior in high school living in the western suburbs of Chicago.  Senior prom was quickly approaching. Senior Prom.  Those two words in and of themselves invoked a certain sense of insecurity deep in my psyche.  My track record of being asked to dances in high school was perfect.  A perfect zero that is.  Growing up the nerdy fat girl seemed to put a damper on such things, nonetheless, at the time I was being told from multiple sources I would regret it if I didn't go.  Ultimately, I would be set up with a friend of a friend who went to a different school. With that taken care of, it was full on 80's prom mode.

Image result for bad 80's prom dresses white

I think the thing the girls of today in their sleek skimpy gowns do not understand is that back then, we were all about the poof.  The "Gone With the Wind" style of gigantic gown that required multiple layers of crinoline skirts underneath to make you as wide as the door from the waist down.  We dyed our shoes to perfectly match and found a way to make our hair as wide and overdone as our dresses.  I will never forget mine.  It was a floor length white gown with a fitted bodice, that required a tight corset with metal stays to hold me together (side note, God bless the good people of Spanx) and gigantic poofy sleeves.   Oh yes.  I was ready for prom 1987 style.

The evening would go as you would imagine for a blind date for a couple of 17 year olds.  My dress was so big, it was awkward in the car, and I am still not sure how I got through the revolving door at The Ambassador East Hotel on North State where The Pump Room would serve us our dinner.  We would go on to the dance and do what any 17 year old does on a blind date.  Have a series of awkward dances with a stranger I didn't really have anything in common with and multiple trips to the bathroom with my best friend to gossip about the cool girls we never really fit in with.  The night would end with an awkward hug and a little peck that landed somewhere between my lips and my cheek from a person I would never hear from again.  To be fair, I do not even recall his name.

As I went in the house that night, it was time to get out of this marshmallow mess that somehow seemed the height of fashion at the time.  That's when the real struggle began.  The invisible zipper. The zipper hidden on the side of the dress that had a layer of fabric over it  that had to be moved to get at the damn thing.  Unzipping, I found the zipper got caught on said fabric at every millimeter.  I could not get it down, I was trapped in the damn dress at 1:00 in the morning.  At that point the corset was poking me.  I was tired and frustrated from an awkward evening, and just wanted to be out of the damn thing. I finally had to wake my mom up who somehow had some magical method to undo it all in the blink of an eye and find the me that existed under all of that.

I had occasion to think about the tragic prom dress trapping of 1987 this week.  On Thanksgiving Day a client of mine and I braved the 8 degree cold to take on the Troy Turkey Trot.  We ran the 10k first and the 5k second.  This special shark has lost well over 100 pounds, and has come so far since her first 5k in June.  We ran the same pace for a change, prior to now, I would either run my own race, albeit a little quicker than her, or stay back to keep her moving.  There was none of that on Thursday, as we ran the same.  Much to my surprise this baby shark would even take off a block from the finish completely smoking me at the end.  This, at the time, was my proudest Mama Shark moment to date.  She had beaten her own demons and come out to smoke her mentor. I rested on the  satisfaction I experienced with that until it happened.  Race pictures.  Race pictures happened.  My earlier pride paled in comparison to this single photo.  It was taken 5.75 miles in.  Here we were stepping together with a look on her face of an unmatched freedom I have never seen in her before.  That expression right there trumped any pride I had in her beating me.



People ask me sometimes what it is like to spend decades of life fighting the demons of obesity.  Well, its kinda like being trapped in a God awful 80's prom dress that you have no idea how to get out of .  You wear this uncomfortable monstrosity everywhere you go for all to see, regardless of the venue, changes in season or fashion.  You are acutely aware of others' opinions of said horrific dress , and wish only to get out of the damn thing and feel like a normal human.  Yet what should be so easy, a zipper, somehow won't budge.  The harder the struggle over it, the more uncomfortable the whole thing becomes.  Over time you come to learn, at least if you are fortunate enough, that there is simply no real escape until someone else can quietly come to your rescue in the wee  hours and teach you how to work the invisible zipper for yourself.  When you are finally able to start to do that, the tight corset of obesity lets loose and you are left with the real person under the crinoline, and a carefree freedom that anything is possible with the right amount of support and tricks of the trade.

I guess that brings me back to the original statement.  Given that it was an awkward blind date, in a dress I could not get out of, did I actually end up regretting my senior prom? Well, I guess I could answer that with asking the same question about being obese.  Do I regret my multi decade long battle with obesity?  Looking back I would have to say no to both.  Both things made me the person I am today.  I have the privilege of taking these experiences and using them to help people emerge from the prisons of their own ugly dresses and learn to embrace the amazing person underneath. That makes any struggle worth enduring and reminds me every single day the best is yet to come. 

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

These are Days

Well here it is, it's my birthday.  Forty-nine.  Damn that's a big number.  It's close to 50, a half a century.  It's the time in life they start to use the phrase,"middle aged."  God, that's terrible.  I was pondering all of this as I drove to work and feeling myself slip into the funk that goes with such thoughts.  My mom was not here to sing to me this year like she used to, which in and of itself was grief inducing.  Adding insult to injury, I get the extreme pleasure of a ten hour beat down in a busy ER on my birthday.  I suppose I could request it off, but I guess I don't see the point of that either.  The kids are at school all day, I would just end up doing mundane household chores and somehow scrubbing toilets for my birthday was less appealing than the belligerent drunk in the hallway I was sure to cross paths with.

As I was in full on pity party mode, lost in my own thoughts, Natalie Merchant would come to my rescue.  I am admittedly a self proclaimed child of the 80's, a Ten Thousand Maniacs fan from way back. “These are Days” would change my mental gears into a silent reflection over the events of recent days. 

These are days you'll remember
Never before and never since
I promise

I spent the weekend hosting a wide variety of events, after months of planning, for my sharks of 1DOS.  Admittedly, Friday I was a bit like a crazed maniac as I ran last minute errands, stressed over people being aware of the schedule of events, coordinating out of towners, playing hostess to the opening lunch I was late for due to a T Shirt snafu at the printers, thing to thing I would go until I finally found myself on a treadmill between two clients in an afternoon workout at Orangetheory.  Grateful for the stress reducer, I was finally able to cut loose some and begin to enjoy the day.  To my left was a shark who has struggled with weight, and is now finally trying to make the transition from walking to running.  I was able to give some pointers as this is a transition I know all too well.  After the last successful running block I saw the look of astonishment when my shark outs with,"I guess I can be a runner."  That A-HA moment, similar to the one I had two years ago, that reminds me every single day why I do what I do.  Not a moment I will soon forget.




Will the whole world be warm as this
and as you feel it
You'll know it's true
That you are blessed and lucky
It's true that you 
Are touched by something

From the gym we would make a quick turn around to a local Brewing Company for dinner with more Sharks.  Twenty people would turn out to raise a glass and share a lot of laughs.  A team of my trainers would come to support us, although I'm pretty sure they didn't recognize most of us out of sweaty work out gear and under lighting that was not orange.  I would find myself sitting back and just observing as people from different areas of my life became one under the umbrella of 1DOS forming common bonds as we learn to get through this thing called a healthy lifestyle journey as one mighty shiver.  I would hear the laughter, and see the formation of inside jokes, with a whole lot of good natured teasing.  In that moment, I truly knew I was touched by something and blessed to call these people friends.  



These are days you'll remember
When May is rushing over you with desire
To be part of the miracles you see in every hour
You'll know its true that you are blessed and lucky
It's true that you 
Are touched by something
That will grow and bloom in you

Saturday brought with it my favorite Spartan Race, the Fenway Sprint.  This was my first Spartan two years ago, so it is near and dear to my heart.  This year we were a mighty team of 12 with 8 newbies all learning to conquer their own fears.  There was a moment when our oldest racer would fall off the rings rolling her ankle.  She would simply strap some ice to it, push on and finish.  Nothing was going to stop her. She would later find out she had a fracture.  Her grit alone was awe inspiring.  Another team mate would walk away from the A frame and try to do burpees.  After I chatted with her she decided not doing the obstacle would make her angry with herself for a long time to come.  Three of us escorted her back to it.  Unbeknownst to us, she silently cried out of the fear she had as she got on the net.  We talked her up the net one step at a time to the top.  Reaching the top, the sun would hit her face, her favorite song would come on and she would scream,"Oh my God, I love this song".  She would sing the whole way down and shed the happy tears that she did not let her own mind stop her.  As we crossed the finish, a mighty shiver, many tears were shed by our newbies, well truth be told, me too, and once again, I knew this was what life was meant to be, growing out of comfort zones and investing directly in your own abilities to find a happiness that before those moments did not exist.






These are the days you might fill with laughter until you break
These days you might feel a shaft of limelight 
Make its way across your face
And when you do you'll know how it was meant to be
See the signs and know their meaning
It's true

Sunday would bring with it a different team of racers taking on their first 15k, shattering their own perceptions of their capabilities and all finishing.  However, my favorite moment came when the formerly timid shark terrified of her first real 5k in June, not only took on the Spartan on Saturday, but the 15k where she ran the entire race without stopping.  One hundred and twelve pounds down, running 9.5 miles at a stretch and crossing the finish with the biggest smile I have ever seen.  My congratulations would be cut short as an old college friend of hers would approach her to tell her how amazed she was at her journey and how she had been following along for the 13 months she has been on the road to good health.  Watching her reaction as she had her own shaft of limelight in that moment reminded me again what my own why was.  




So, I guess it is safe to say that my pity party at being nearly half a century old has ended courtesy of Natalie Merchant and a mighty Shiver of 312 Sharks that continue to amaze me every single day.  As I look to the year ahead, there are a lot of new goals to be had and I absolutely know that even at middle age.....the best is yet to come.







Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

Here I sit bundled up in my standard Upstate New York issued Uggs and Northface, seat heater on, avoiding the 44 degree weather outside, as I wait out my son’s football practice. It’s already dark out and it’s not even 6:30. The full on realization of what the next few months will bring in terms of snow, blow and the inevitable relentless aggravation of my Raynaud’s Syndrome, causing my hands to be numb until spring. As the depressing weight of that thought sinks in, my random playlist once again proves to be the great equalizer.  It was the sudden sound of calypso that brought me out of the anticipation of the winter funk. Jimmy Buffett’s,”Changes in Lattitudes, Changes in Attitudes.”  This song takes me back to summers in college spent around a keg with good friends and much more carefree times.

I took off for a weekend last month just to try to and recall the whole year, 
All of the faces and all the places 
Wondering where they all disappeared 

This year. What a whirlwind. Three Spartan Races, a Sprint, a Super and a Beast, completing my trifecta for the second year on a row. Cape Cod Ragnar and Adirondack Ragnar for hundreds of team running miles. Several 5 and 10k’s with various motivational clients of mine, where I got to see people do things they never thought they could, which was truly an honor. Then there was that other thing. The big thing.  The half marathon. The thing that kept me up nights long before I did it. People kept saying,”yeah but you did a 20 mile Spartan Beast on the side of a mountain in West Virginia, so this is no big deal.” Oh but it was. At a half I didn’t have my 6 ft 6 business and race partner to pull me along if I ran out of gas, like when he helps me over the 8 foot wall at mile 12. My original race partner and biggest cheerleader, my son, was not at this race.  This was on me. I was the only one in charge of finishing.  I was in charge of if I ran or walked and nobody else. My first huge battle of me versus me.  It honestly felt a bit like operating without a net.



Changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes, nothing remains quite the same   

I arrived at the start line long before my other teammates, who I came to know as simply my 13.1 sharky half sisters, as my ride was dropping another of our group off at the full marathon start line.  Little by little my sisters would arrive in our fancy matching shirts and we would set out to change our own latitudes.  When the gun went off, I would see our team truly bound us in name only and it was time for me to set out to race.  There would be two members of our team who took off into the sea of humanity ahead of me, and three were behind.  I found myself on the long downhill course, despite the crowd of other runners, suddenly very much alone.   I watched my watch and decided I was ok at a 10:50 pace, not overly anxious, and I seemed to breathe ok.  At one point I would emerge from the bike trail and ultimately come across a set of railroad tracks and see a bearded man holding a cardboard sign reading,"GO SHARKS".  Huh.  Sharks.  Like my team.  The Sharks.  That's cool.  I would later come to find out he was a family member of a teammate and was actually rooting for us, not some other sharks like I assumed.  There was the cool overcast day, with a fine mist so I was not overly hot, and I seemed to be slowly passing mile marker after mile marker.  So far so good. 

With all of my running and all of my cunning 
if I couldn't laugh I would just go insane

Around mile 8, though, I think I started to falter a bit.  My legs were sore, but I had yet to walk.  I found my brain entertaining the notion of stopping.  Eight miles was good, right?  Besides, I had just seen another runner jump into an SUV at an intersection.  I began to wonder if I could summon an Uber.  It wouldn't be so bad really, perhaps they could drop me at the park entrance and I could appear to finish like a normal person.  In those moments when the doubt crept in, I suddenly felt the presence of someone next to me.  I looked to my right and found a red matching tank top to mine.  It was Jill.  My trusted training partner who more often than not, can be found on the treadmill next to mine.  She's known to rap as she runs, and cheer me on for every little gain.  She ran one of my very first 5k's with me as my leftover anxiety from a childhood of gym class bullying dared to get the best of me.  She listened to my ridiculous rantings in the third mile that day and got me through that by reminding me in that moment it was not my body saying to slow down, it was my brain. I was so excited to see her  and to tell her I was eight miles in.  I had not walked.  I had maintained a 10:50 pace and I felt confident and good.  The right person in the right moment.  She would jog along and document this exchange on film, a far cry from our first race, as we did the eight mile selfie, and then would take off ahead of me. 



 Later, she would go on to have her own epic finish.  They announced her name as she crossed the line, as they did she let out an excited,"woot!" As she did, she would lose her sunglasses, the ones bearing my logo, and all six feet of her would trip into a baracade. stumble a bit and ultimately bend over to pick up her glasses so that the finish line pic is directly of her ass. A story that is still being routinely retold, with a lot of social media reshares.  



Oh, yesterdays are over my shoulder
So I can't look back for too long
There's just too much to see waiting in front of me
And I know that I just can't go wrong

In the end, I would emerge in the park in Albany still plugging along to the finish, leaving a lot of my insecurities of trusting myself to take on big things independently behind me on the 13.1 miles my body had just covered.  I would rejoin the three that finished ahead of me and cheer on the two that finished behind us and in usual team fashion, our token celebrator Lydia would bust out the prosecco.  We would laugh about the soreness we felt or the butt print of sweat we left on the seats we sat in right after the race.  



If we couldn't laugh we just would go insane,
If we weren't all crazy we would go insane

Since the race, our race team would go on to plan for more crazy stuff like two races back to back next weekend, or the Dopey Challenge, a 5k, a 10k, a half and a full marathon in four days in January.  Somehow we find through the crazy of the physical challenge, a laughter that is unmatched and an unsurpassed sanity.  So, thank you to my half sisters who showed up to help me take on me.  Times may be a bit less carefree than my early Buffett listening days, but many of the faces that appeared around the keg in those days have not disappeared and are still fixtures in my life.  For that I am truly grateful.  Learning that changing latitudes figuratively and physically truly does bring with it a new attitude and that is the best is yet to come.


Wednesday, October 17, 2018

It's All About the Climb

A day off.  This is such a rarity for me, especially the last few months when my life has been jam packed with my regular emergency room gig, plus racing, plus corporate events for my other two businesses.  Don't get me wrong, quickly growing businesses are a good problem to have, but it does come at a price.  For me it was the mocking of the ever growing pile of clutter that littered my entryway.  I had piles of Adirondack Ragnar stuff from late Sept, kids' cheer and football gear, a wide variety of jackets for four kids who need to be prepared for weather that has ranged from frost producing to 80 degrees in the last month.  Yes, I had looked forward to today.  I had even put it on my mental calendar.  I was attacking this mocking pile and finding the tile that existed beneath it.

So there it was, portable speaker on, my usual random play list going and a full scale attack on the pile.  I got it all done, with one thing left to do.  Unpack my race bag that had my medals that had yet to be ceremoniously placed on the rack.  As I walked to my makeshift office that exists just under the bay window in my front living room, ironically, Miley Cyrus' "The Climb" would come on just as I passed the amethyst colored urn on my mantle that is the temporary home of my mother.

"I can almost see it, that dream I'm dreaming"

I was suddenly reminded of the last time I saw her.  She was sitting across the table from from me on the lanai of a rental house in Florida 18 months ago.  We had had a dinner of Philly Cheesesteaks, an ironic find of hers living in Florida, but was something we had eaten when we briefly lived in Philly as kids.  I was explaining to her that I had 10 friends and we had made a motivational group to keep going.  We were planning this virtual 5k we would all do on the same day.  Everyone knew me from someplace else so we were 1DOS.  On and on I would go about my makeshift group of friends just trying to learn to be healthy. Given her and my track record of failing diets for decades, this was a concept she could get behind.  My mom was never an athlete, so the concept of a 5k was a little foreign to her, but she supported my recent 85 pound weight loss and recovery from a hip fracture and wanted to see the medals we had picked out for finishers. 

"There's a voice inside my head saying you'll never reach it Every step I'm taking, every move I make feels lost with no direction, my faith is shaking, but I gotta keep trying, gotta keep my head held high"

As I looked at her urn, I though about her sudden death and the circumstances surrounding it and suddenly clearly saw how shaken I was through the months that followed.  Over time, the footing would start to feel a bit more solid, and it got easier to look past the grief into the challenges unfolding in front of me.

"There's always gonna be another mountain, I'm always gonna wanna make it move, always gonna be an uphill battle, sometimes I'm gonna have to lose"

As I hang up my Adirondack Ragnar Swag, the medals I earned taking two twelve man teams to a relay from Saratoga, NY to Lake Placid, I paused for a moment to look at the Tongue Depressor medal. Tongue Mountain.  Freaking Tongue Mountain, six miles total, four miles up with 754 feet of elevation gain, and two miles straight down.  The hardest leg out of 36.  This was not to be my leg originally. The original team captain had an injury and I stepped in as captain.  I ended up taking the leg too.  In the weeks beforehand, I secretly was petrified.  I had never done this type of running straight uphill for miles, it was in the dark, and I was running with another person who is so much faster than me.  I told her I would slow her down.  I told her I would do my best to finish, but was not altogether sure I believed I could.  She assured me that speed was not an issue, we would do it together.



"A'int about how fast I get there, a'int about what's waiting on the other side, it's the climb"

My partner and I took off on the dark forest lined road, headlamps lighting our way, not even able to see the true hill that lay in front of us.  As predicted, she was faster, but kept tabs on me, not letting me give up on such a hard run, that truthfully was so steep in areas, I had to switch from a shortened incline stride of running to a longer stride of a walk to feel like I was covering any ground at all.  The setting was dark, and the trees I was sure were good camouflage for the legendary bears that lived in these mountains.  Oh yes.  Surely I could not outrun one of those on this hill.  Later, I would find out there was a reported clown on the course, now that would have truly been terrifying at that juncture. Somehow or another though, we would finally hit the fourth mile and begin the descent.  

"The struggles I'm facing, the chances I'm taking, sometimes might knock me down but, No, I'm not breaking.  I may not know it, but these are the moments that I'm going to remember most yeah, just got to keep going"

I had no idea what to expect on the other side, I had never even thought about it really, as I was so concerned with making it to the top.  As it turned out the decline down for two miles was every bit as steep, a whole new experience.  Truth be told, I had always been a bit afraid of that sort of decline so I was not altogether sure how it would go, but as it turns out me, gravity, and a certain element of unabashed fear did quite well together.  My partner proudly announced we did the first mile in 9:38.  Wait.  What?  I had never run a mile that fast on the road.  She gave me a look and said,"so, that's your fastest road mile?"  I said,"yes".  She smiled big and said,"No it isn't.  This one is.  Let's GO!" 



We kept going down, down, down... I could feel the anxiety creep in that I needed to stop.  This might be too fast.  I called to my running partner who had gotten in front of me on the narrow road, sensing the fear in me she said this,"Amy.  Pick your head up, focus on my back and go...."  

It was just starting to rain as we crossed the Tongue Mountain finish and got our medals after an incredulous 9:18 mile.  I would love to say all of the moisture on my face was sweat and rain, but that would be a lie.  Happy tears of conquering a mountain and the utter humbled feeling of the overwhelming support from my co-captain who is also a friend I have grown to love so much.  



Many other things met me on the other side of this climb.  There were new friendships with my two teams of 12.  There were so many individual firsts I had the utter joy to watch and celebrate.  There was the after party in a large rental house in Lake Placid where I am sure the laughter could be heard all around town.  More importantly there was commitment.  Commitment that now after conquering all of this, there surely are bigger mountains to take on and other things the 24 of us can do that we never imagined before.  


























"Keep on moving, keep climbing, keep the faith baby, it's all about the climb"

Looking back at the paralyzing months after my mom's death, I'm quite certain that in her absence all she wanted for me all along was to keep my head up, focus on my tribe that is here in front of me for guidance, keep the faith and just keep pushing.  I think I will do just that  because I firmly believe the best is yet to come.




Monday, October 1, 2018

A Baby Shark Learns to Swim - Guest Blog

Running a motivational health and fitness company, I have the unique gift of watching people realize they are capable of so much more than they have ever dreamed.  Today, I had the great pleasure of sharing the one year anniversary of her fitness journey with Adriana Brown.  Down 103 pounds and just getting started, I am proud to have her as a Team 1DOS Shark and this week's guest blogger.  Here are her reflections of a year in wellness.  


October 1, 2017. I put off this date for so long. Scheduled, cancelled, rescheduled. Rescheduled again. Why was I so scared? Oh I know, all of the training I had done my entire life from being a very active athlete nearly stopped once I went to college. Did not pay attention to what I ate and had no desire to work out anymore the way I used to or at all. So why be nervous about this class? It was just going to be one class anyway. Oh right, it’s a class of 22 other people who didn’t know me who would see me. They know it is your first time there. My mind spins with thoughts of people judging me. Here I am just walking at a 3.1mph speed on the treadmills and using the lightest weights. And I have my first class with one of the toughest coaches. What the hell am I thinking? After that first class was over, you know what? Why not just sign up and see. You can always cancel the membership if it didn’t work out. Signed up for more classes – only went to ones that my first coach I had was doing and my mom was in. Jeez, no way am I comfortable to go and workout without my mom at 23 years old. After all, she was the one who encouraged me to go with her and has been my biggest supporter my entire life and especially this last year when I have needed it. Mom can’t go to class, oh let me cancel this then. I can’t go alone. It took almost a month and a half before I could be comfortable enough to branch out to other coaches and start to workout alone. December came and I thought I was ready to increase my membership. Maybe I could get used to going almost every day. I was still walking, yet knew I could be running. That very first coach I had, he stood next to my treadmill one day and hit the speed increase to get me to a light jog. Told me to “leave it there. Do not touch that speed. I want to see what you can do.” What the hell was he doing? I can’t run and definitely not when other people can see me. But, maybe this was the first time since I started at Orange Theory that someone was trying to prove to me that I can do things that my mind says I can’t.
December brought a lot of new faces and the start of some new friendships. Of course here I am, meeting people that my mom knew. Staying quiet as I am very shy. No one I felt would understand me. Boy was I wrong on that one. Now that I can put names with faces, things became easier. I had people in my corner other than my mom, people who were encouraging me when we worked out together. Perfect! Just in time for the Transformation Challenge at the gym! Eight long weeks of who could lose the most percentage, not just pounds. The competitive person in me kicked in. I thought I was doing everything right. I wasn’t that hungry anymore. I felt like I was giving my body enough fuel to workout and be able to last the entire day. Friends challenging me to increase my speeds or pick up heavier weights because they knew I was ready but my mind was telling me, “no freaking way can you do that. That speed is too fast. Those weights are too heavy.” Yet, I still did it. Halfway through the challenge, I hit a mental wall. I got frustrated in class easily, I start dealing with severe leg cramping, I wasn’t working out to my potential. That first coach I had notices and pulls me aside after class one night and gives me a pep talk just to help get me through the rest of this challenge. That eight week challenge? Yeah, I lost 25lbs in that time, almost 50lbs since I had started in October. Great! I must be doing something right. I can keep this up, no problem! WRONG! Not properly feeding your body or staying hydrated will only cause you harm. Don’t I know this? I’m an athlete. Months and months of what I just thought was leg cramping from just working out every single day at the level I was turned out to be dehydration. I tried everything to get rid of the cramping – Pedialyte, FitAid, Amino Acids. It got better, but still had the leg cramping. I was given a suggestion from someone to drink half my weight in water and then work your way up to a gallon of water a day, maybe that would help. I’m sure my response was something like, “you’re crazy. There is no way I can drink half my weight! That is a lot of water!” But I did it, and she was right. The severe cramping in my legs were gone after a while. But there was still the eating troubles. The strict calorie restriction. It was okay to workout the way I do and only eat around 1000 calories a day right? I burn anywhere from 500-600 calories in a workout plus the 36 hour after burn and I’m losing the weight I wanted. I am at a point where I could tell myself if one class was good, two were better! I didn’t need the extra calories anyway. While all of this was a process, I was still causing more harm to myself by not doing things properly. I ignored every symptom I was having and only paid attention to what the number on the scale was saying.

That “S” word. Something I hate. I was coming up on my 24th birthday, I had the day off of work and could workout with some of my favorite people that morning. Very few knew that I would step on the scale for the first time in almost three months. I was able to put it away and forget about it but had June 1st circled on my calendar to see how far I had come in eight months. I knew what my goal was to be under at that point, but didn’t tell anyone. The biggest smile came across my face when I walked out from stepping on that scale knowing I was below the goal I set. And those people waiting to see me? Yeah, they knew. They just wouldn’t know how much until after class. I challenged myself to squat the weight I had lost with dumbbells. Yep, lets stack two dumbbells because that number was 75 pounds in eight months. As if that was not enough anxiety with waiting three months to step on a scale, try going for a run after that class with someone just so they can prove to you that you can absolutely do things you say you can’t.

That post-class run proved to be one thing I needed in order to show myself that I can trust myself outside of a group workout. I was so thankful to have that person there to talk me through it since she knew exactly what was going through my head. I had no belief in myself that even just a short jog outside without stopping was even possible, but she knew I could do it. In reality, that little run was just a test for a 5k we ran together two days later. The messages the night before of “I can’t do this. There is no way I can run an entire 5k without stopping once. I don’t want any of you running with me. I’m just going to slow all of you down.” What did I get in return? “You can. You just don’t know you can. And I’m not leaving you behind. You can absolutely do this.” That 5k, I could have cared less about the time I finished that race in. Great, I finished 18 minutes faster than my last 5k just ten months before. What was most important to me was running the entire race without stopping. Did it cross my mind? Hell yes it did. Right within the last mile of the race. I was surrounded by people that day who would not let me quit on myself like I had so many times before. Coming up to the finish line I’m told, “when we hit that tree, you are giving it everything you have left to finish.” Nope. My mind was telling me “I can’t f*&#ing do it. I can’t go any faster.” Whoops. Did I just say that out loud? No, there is no way I actually said that. This was followed up with “You f*&#ing can. Now do it.” Shit, I did say that out loud. Everyone I was running with was starting to run faster. I better do the same. Finishing that 5k and coming across the finish line with that same person who keeps telling me I am absolutely capable of things my mind is saying I can’t and getting one big hug followed by “look at that f*&#ing time!” 36:41. Did I actually just do that? Yep. I just proved myself wrong. 


Maybe I can do this.

Sticking to the running theme, Orange Theory likes to have benchmark workouts. Endurance days are my favorite, but I have severe anxiety when it is the one-mile challenge. My last challenge was 9:29. Two weeks prior to the challenge, I ran a 9:11 mile, but still had doubts that I would get below a 9 minute mile. There was no way. My paces felt much slower lately. There was absolutely no way I would be able to get sub-9 minutes. Well, have that conversation in the lobby with someone who knows how to challenge people and push them to nearly getting sick because what is the worst that can happen.. you puke! I took my usual treadmill #12 and in he comes with a marker to write on the mirror in front of me “8:45. It will suck!” As we get ready to start the challenge, I had my mom to my left. He comes into class and hops on a treadmill two over from me. My mom seemed glad to tell him she would switch treadmills with him so he would be running next to me. Probably because she knew how bad I wanted to be under 9 minutes and if there is anyone that will get you to that goal, it would be him. Through all my anxiety thinking about the time I wanted to get this mile under, I started that run and no matter how high we kept pushing the speed increases, I was still comfortable. “When we get to .85 of a mile, we are jumping the speed and going as hard as we can. If you puke, you puke.” One mile, 8:38. Again, did I just do that? Wait a second. Nearly 11 months ago I was walking at a pace of 3.1mph on the treadmill and now I’m seeing one mile in 8 minutes and 38 seconds. Right there may have been when the believing in myself and my abilities hit me. I truly have come a long way.



So where does this leave me 365 days after I made the decision to get myself healthy again? It leaves me down 103 pounds – something I never thought was possible. It leaves me with so much more happiness. It leaves me with so much more confidence that I have never had before. I am stronger, faster, fitter, and healthier. I am smiling more than I ever have. I am starting to believe that all the things I never thought were possibly for me – absolutely is possible. Even when I give some serious push back, I have still signed up for races I never anticipated doing.

What is on the horizon now that I am one year down? Well, I will be doing my first half marathon in a few days. I am signed up for my first Spartan race just one month later. Call me crazy, but I am also doing the Disney Dopey Challenge. Four days, four races – 5k, 10k, half marathon and full marathon. I have also committed to do the Spartan Super next year in Chicago.. AND it is on my birthday! There is no telling what I will do or commit to next. What I do know is I have found an amazing family that has made me see that anything is possible. And maybe, just maybe.. I got this!


 


 End Note:  Tonight I had the honor of celebrating her one year anniversary workout with Adriana.  She crushed her previous mile time by nearly a minute.  Yes, Baby Shark, your best is truly yet to come.  

Thursday, September 13, 2018

I Want to be Running When the Sand Runs Out

Heading into the Spartan Beast on Saturday, I found myself at  a crossroads in several areas of my life. My overthinking brain was on overdrive with personal decisions I need to make. Do I stick with something I have always known or do I forge ahead betting on myself in a way I never have before? These are the lifestyle altering choices I am facing that keep me up at 3:00 am.  Well that, and I work every shift there is, so "normal sleep cycle" is not a phrase I am familiar with.  Nonetheless, I suppose that is why The Beast didn’t really consume my thoughts ahead of time like it did last year. Besides, I was racing with my core team of just three others.   The four of us have done 6-8 Spartans apiece. Most of these were done together. However, throughout  the year this year, we always brought with us a tribe of newbies.  Much as I love watching people experience their own victories, this was a race where it was just us.  The core four racing sharks taking on the Beast.

Image result for attica indiana atv park

As I had not really looked at the venue ahead of time, I was a little surprised at what greeted me on the course.  Not snow, mud, a mountain or stadium steps.  Sand.  Lots and lots of sandy multicolored gravel that made up the dunes of the ATV park in Indiana. I had convinced myself this would be a midwestern “flat beast”. Surely it would be easier than the punishing 20 miles of the mountains of West Virginia we did last year.  Little did I know, sand dunes are hardly flat, or small. Up and down I went, surprised at how well the titanium in my hip seemed to like the sand.  The downhills were faster, and the uphills, although not solid footing, were not slippery like the mud of the Chicago Super either.  I even said to my team that this was the first time in a race I could say I was past the notion of,"this is going to be hard, but the medal and sense of accomplishment will be worth it" to "I am loving being on the course.” This statement alone was so far removed from my first Beast as I screamed over and over again, "I don't got this!”

There were the cargo nets of the A frame and the vertical wall, both of which were quite loose, in fact, on the vertical wall, it was so loose that when the person ahead of me got off the obstacle,  the net went slack and slipped down six inches with me on it.  As scary as it was, I reveled in the fact that I was on the back side, not laying across the top of the metal frame ten feet up paralyzed with fear like I did a year ago. There were however, all new fears to face, a huge culvert to walk through with rushing water and rocks, a rushing stream to wade through, and a sandbag carry on inclines up and down in ankle deep sand.

As I was considering how far I have come as a racer earlier this week, a song came on.  I swear my iPhone has some sort of uncanny timing.  In the random playlist of hundreds of songs, it spewed out Rascal Flatts,"When the Sand Runs Out".  I started chuckling at the irony of the sand reference, until I suddenly stopped dead in my tracks and found myself in serious contemplation. To be honest,  I am not really a country music fan, but this song exists on my list as it was one my sister-in-law loved.  She was my family, my friend and confidant.  She fought obesity right along with me and we even had weight loss surgery a day apart 14 years ago and did our recovery together.  When she died without warning 12 years ago it was like losing a part of myself.  It suddenly occurs to me that this song is actually about visiting a friend's grave and the message from beyond.

...and the voice of my old friend whispered in my ear....
"I’m gonna stop looking back, and start moving on, and learn how to face my fears,
Love with all of my heart, make my mark, I wanna leave something here,
Go out on a ledge, without any net, that's what I'm gonna be about"

Suddenly, three years of  conquering fears, changing from the inside out. as the song goes, has me emerging just like I did from the sand dunes on Saturday.  The answer to a question I have wrestled with now clearly answered.  Sticking with a known as I have for so long no longer matches who I am learning to be. It is a comfort zone that will ultimately hold me back and relying on others for the validation I can now offer myself. It is time for me to realize that in order to make the difference and leave my mark I need to bet on me and live life for all it’s worth. So here I go, set for the next phase of the best life has to offer. As I look at the finish line pictures I realize I did just as Lisa would have wanted, I was running when the sand ran out. Thank you my friend for the gentle push in the right direction and the reminder that my best is yet to come.

Image may contain: 3 people, including Karl Koelle and Amy Summers, people smiling, outdoor and nature