Channeling the Hulk Within

When I was a kid, there, was the original Lou Ferrigno version of The Incredible Hulk.  A gigantic green guy that busted out of a much smaller and mild mannered Bruce Banner when his emotions ran high.  Tore right out of his shirt and exploded on the scene with yellow eyes an immediate threat to those around him.  For some reason, I loved this show.  The effects were terrible, it was the 70's after all, and even the make up was a little iffy.  Nonetheless, I loved it anyway.  I suppose it has something to do with my inane ability to keep all the plates spinning from a young age while letting very little escape.  Setting loose fiery unabashed emotion in this way probably fed my quiet childhood reserved psyche.

Nonetheless, I had a hard time not thinking about the beloved Hulk recently.  Two weeks ago, I ratted myself out in this very venue.  I admitted to the complacency that had set in in my own training and lifestyle, thus giving my trainer the green light to guide me in any way he felt best.  His advice?  A simple two word answer.  Get strong.  I had to really get my head around this.  He proposed I lift heavy, get fatigued, then move to cardio last when I was already spent.  He threw down a two week challenge of the complete opposite of what I have done for four years.  He must have read my mind, because my own vision of me suddenly turning green, busting out of my workout gear and lighting up the joint was a bit terrifying.  "Don't worry, you wont get huge".  With that, I put my trust in the pro. 

Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear,

And I can't help but ask myself how much I'll let the fear

Take the wheel and steer

This morning, I was in my car, post two hour workout, with four miles of running on steep inclines, which came right on the heels of the heaviest deadlifts I have ever done. Most of my major muscle groups were shaking, and I was trying to cool down with a little Incubus pushing into my post gym haze.  In that moment, I had to take the time to ask myself why it was I did not do this before?  Why did I not lift any heavier, when clearly I was capable, or push to exhaustion?  I suppose I had let fear take the wheel for a long time.  My previous injury, my fear of future injury, maybe even a little intimidation by the work it would take to be strong, had kept me exactly where I was.  I put a spin on the notion of the never running on the hills, choosing instead to power walk, as an "active recovery day", or an "attempt to work different muscle groups."  There really isn't anything wrong with power walking per se, but let me give myself a reality check.  I didn't WANT to run on the hills.  I just didn't want to do it.  It was hard.  Why didn't I lift heavier?  Same.  It was hard and it hurt a little.  In four years of training was I fit? Maybe.  Strong?  No, not really.  

So, if I decided to waiver my chance,

To be one of the hive,

Will I choose water over wine,

And hold my own and drive?

So far, I have made the choice to drive.  I have embraced said two week challenge and am learning all new lessons along the way. Slow, heavy reps, focusing in on controlling every fiber of the muscle as it is pushed to its limit. As it turns out, strength training is nothing like I thought it was.  It is not just lifting heavy shit and putting it down.  It was focus, control, effort, and technique and frankly much more mental than I imagined. I have gone on to experience total body exhaustion from putting every ounce of gas I had in me right out there on the floor.  These things have given me a whole new sense of satisfaction and a release I have not experienced.  It makes me wonder how often in life we shy away from the proverbial heavy lifting because the weight of the process just seems too heavy, and the hills just too steep.  

It's driven me before
And it seems to be the way that everyone else gets around
But lately I am beginning to find 
That when I drive myself my light is found

Maybe the trick is to instead show up for yourself, stop letting fear take the wheel, do the heavy lifting and see what happens.  For me?  I can say I am truly getting stronger and am finding a certain degree of satisfaction in the laser like focus I now have in the tasks I tried so hard to avoid. Things that are easily translating to my day to day life.
 

Whatever tomorrow brings,

I'll be there with open arms and open eyes

Whatever tomorrow brings

I'll be there, I'll be there

I suppose you could assume then that my earlier analogy of the 1970's Hulk and building strength  was incorrect.  Strength was not a total beast like loss of control.  It was something different entirely.  It was really more Bruce Banner.  The reality is Bruce spent his life controlling the beast within to channel the strength in positive ways ultimately turning the Hulk into a hero.  In that sense, that is exactly what we need to do.  We need to use our focus, control, effort and technique in heavy lifting situations to channel the Hulk that lives inside.  So, whatever tomorrow brings, I will show up for myself, eyes open, be stronger, and know with absolute certainty the best is yet to come.

I Don’t Wanna Be

As I drove my son to school today, he was making arrangements for his car to be picked up.  The "appointment" was set for Thursday between 8 and 5.  Yes, a full nine hour window.  Just like the cable guy or any sort of service person for the house.  He then immediately became stressed with his already busy Thurs.  How was he going to pull it all off never knowing when these people will actually show up.  I kinda chuckled at him and explained this was one of the finer points in modern day "adulting."  Somehow, his disdain for it out of the gate tells me there is a whole lot more "adulting" realities he has yet to learn, much worse than waiting for a service person to show up.

After dropping him off, I had time to reflect on what came before this car ride.  It was a particularly impressive output at the gym.  I had my highest calorie burn to date in several years.  I had decided last week that my days of Dopey prep by keeping my paces low and working for endurance needed to end.  It was time to Spartan prep.  Yep, time to push.  Oh yes.  I had this all well under control.  Controlled output before a huge endurance run, beast mode for Spartan training.  This is me, exercise guru, motivating the masses, leading by example, watch me go..... had it all Gavin DeGraw style as my current musical selection would indicate.

I don't want to be anything 
Other than what I've been trying to be lately 
All I have to do is think of me and I have peace of mind

There is only one huge flaw in that.  Did I really have peace of mind though?  I had a good discussion with my trainer today with one very pointed question.  Why?  Why did I slow down before Dopey?  Well to control the pace, go slower to go longer, seemed logical to me.  He asked if I was sure of that answer or if it was mental?  Was it fear?  Didn't I know the harder I trained the easier it was going to be outside of the gym?  I had it backwards.  I have spent the day mulling this over.  He was correct.  I was not in control, far from it.  Like the cable guy I kinda promised myself I would show up, bring the tools and get to work, yet figured out I was still waiting in the proverbial 8-5 window for months and calling it "controlled endurance training." Here's the reality.  I became complacent.   Four years in, and here I was sporting the brand of complacency that kept me unhealthy for decades.  Yes, I trained.  Yes, I ate reasonably, but did I really push, or just use Dopey as a convenient excuse to pull back as I had pulled back many other times in my life?  Every damn time I think I have me figured out and have left the bad habits behind, they appear in front of me like an unwanted house guest.  I now found myself grieving the physical gains I could have made by now if I had not done that.

I'm surrounded by identity crisis everywhere I turn,

am I the only one to notice,

I can't be the only one who's learned

Identity crisis.  That is exactly it.  Four years of life changes to learn to be the best version of myself and yet its days like today when I realize I have a lot to learn, and where I came from will never be totally gone. As the song goes, I would suspect I am not the only one with this struggle.  I suppose there is a certain amount of comfort in that notion.  Finally the grief begins to subside as I cannot have those training days back. Instead, I was  left with the bright sunshine on a snowy day and the realization that I really do not have to be stuck anymore, and pushing myself physically to my limits is going to bring about whole new discoveries that will likely raise my proverbial bar even higher.  That is a truly awesome thought.  So maybe Gavin has it right.

I don't want to be anything 
Other than what I've been trying to be lately 
All I have to do is think of me and I have peace of mind 
I'm tired of looking around rooms wondering what I gotta do
Or who I'm supposed to be I don't want to be anything other than me 

So, here I sit ratting myself out to the masses, grateful to the trainer that called me out so that once again I could surpass my own line of crap and show up for myself, as I have for the last week, closing the proverbial service window I have left open for months.  Time to stop wandering and get busy being me because the best is yet to come.

Stepping off the Struggle Bus

My 13 year old son is going to Montreal on a field trip.  Today, as we discussed renewing his passport, as his is expired, he talked excitedly about the coach style bus they would be traveling in.  Cushy seats, TV screens and even a bathroom.  I remember it well.  The giant field trip of the 80's where we got to graduate to the luxury bus.  We could bring our favorite snacks, our gigantic Walkman with a back pack full of 80's mix tapes and we even got to sit near who we wanted to.  This was a far cry from the drab junior high bus of day to day life.

No sir.  That junior high bus was not cool.  I was always one of the last ones picked up, the bus was full and I had to squeeze in, a third person in a two person seat.  There were multiple issues here.  I was obese.  People were not exactly excited to squeeze in to let me sit.  The bus was hot, I was sweating the entire trip.  There was the random pubescent boy I would always seem to end up next to, who had yet to discover deodorant and was not capable of much interaction with a junior high girl other than awkward conversation about science fiction that made no sense to me.  Surely, anything was better than that brand of daily torture. 

I suppose you could say I have been thinking a lot about buses lately.  It probably is a function of it being close to the end of February. Shiny New Year's resolutions far in the rear view, spring way out front and I am now routinely getting messages from clients who are riding the "struggle bus."  That proverbial time when goals seem amazing, but the journey from here to there seems impossible.  Missed workouts, bad meals, feelings of failure, I suppose this would be the fitness version of Seasonal Affective Disorder.


Where was our coach bus and backpack full of mix tapes that would somehow make getting from here to there easier?  I maintain my friends, that coach actually IS the struggle bus.  We struggle by surrounding ourselves with comfort.  Comfy couch, comfy snacks, comfy company and yes, even our favorite 80's jam.  When we hit the realization that we are here, we find ourselves suddenly disembarking in the middle of nowhere far off course and angry at our own failings.

"Oh, we're not gonna take it,

No, we ain't gonna take it

Oh we're not gonna take it anymore 

As we look around this wasteland of broken promises to ourselves, I think the better answer is this.  It's time to toss the iconic mix tapes and trade them in for something a little grittier, like Twisted Sister to yank us out of our self created comfort zone.

"We've got the right to choose it,

There ain't no way we'll lose it,

This is our life, this is our song"

We need to take a minute to sit down in the virtual nowhere we find ourselves in after exiting the struggle bus to find out where we truly are and where it is we want to go.  It is time to remind ourselves our stumblings are not fatal and we have the right to change direction.  It's once again time to put pen to paper and choose the goals that matter.  Only then can we find the right vehicle to get there.  

"Oh you're so condescending,

Your gall is never ending,

We don't want nothin', not a thing from you

Your life is trite and jaded,

Boring and confiscated,

If that's your best, your best won't do"

As we redefine our goals, we are also forced to look at the negativity that resides in the comments that we make to ourselves throughout our journey on the struggle bus, and realize this form of self defeat is only keeping us further and further away from where we want to be.  As we sit in this place sifting through it all, I think we need to take another look at the boring smelly school bus we rode every single day that we labeled as "torture." 

 Maybe this is exactly where we belong.  Maybe the place we need to be is actually quite uncomfortable and sweaty because after all, it isn't the proverbial field trips that will get us there.  It's the hard work in a place we don't always want to be, next to the sweaty guy on the next tread trying awkwardly to make conversation.  So, to my fellowship of fitness seasonal affective disorder sufferers I offer the following challenge.  Head out and find the smelliest most challenging virtual junior high school bus you can and climb aboard.  Do not apologize for your sweat or making the someone else uncomfortable.  Find that awkward person on the tread next to you and make conversation just a little easier as they may be fresh off the struggle bus just as you are.  Besides, adding another person to our mutual support system is never a bad idea.  One thing building a community to support us all has taught us:

"We're right,

We're free,

We'll fight,

You'll see"

Don't ever forget, anything worth having is worth working for, no matter how many times we stumble.  We always have the right to decide we're not going to take it anymore and fight for our goals even if the vehicle to reaching them is not glamorous.  When we do that we absolutely know, the best is yet to come.  

Pain, It makes Me a Believer

Yesterday, as I was getting ready for the gym, I found myself instantly annoyed.  Shorts, sweats, uggs, tank top, sweatshirt, North Face.  Did I have my shoes?  How about my heart rate monitor?  So many layers and extra steps just to go do the least glamorous thing, train.  Nobody tells you really that behind those shiny medals you get when you cross the finish, there are a million mundane days of training just like this one that was made infinitely more difficult because it was February in upstate NY. February.  That's a whole other thing.  As I got in the car, the only thing to get me to the gym was loud, reasonably angry music.

First things first,

I'ma say all the words inside my head,

I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been

Imagine Dragons, echoing my sentiment about the cold multi layer requiring winter, but honesty it was more than that.  February is supposed to be this love infused month of hearts and flowers, at least that is what Hallmark would lead you to believe.  In my world, it is something different entirely.  Three years ago this week, I laid in a hospital bed with a fresh batch of shiny titanium installed in my left hip.  I had stubbornly let progressive worsening hip pain go for months and continued to push until three days before Christmas I slipped and had the worst pain I have ever had in my life.  Still refusing to believe anything was seriously wrong, I spent the six weeks that followed trying to walk, stretching and even ride an exercise bike,only to find no relief of the pain.  I finally caved on an unusually slow work day and asked my x-ray tech to take a picture.  Staring at the images of my intertrochanteric displaced femoral neck fracture in disbelief I had the defining moment of realizing my stubborn unwavering devotion to my new found fitness at the time, had pushed my body until I broke the biggest bone in it. A staggering thought, to this day I cannot fully get my head around it.

Second thing second,

Don't you tell me what you think that I could be,

I'm the one at the sail,

I'm the master of my sea

 I would say, staring at the x-rays and the blatant ugly meltdown that followed after a call to the orthopedist during my shift, I was seriously questioning my ability to master my own sea.  Besides, I can honestly say that statistically speaking I knew the cards were stacked against me in regaining any sort of activity level.  The six weeks of crutches that followed my February surgery in ice and snow brought with it a lasting fear of water on the kitchen floor and ice on the driveway.  My hip would never be the same, and my pity parties were epic at that point.  Since that time, I have been more tentative mastering my fitness sea. The comeback has been slow, and despite the physical gains since then, the mental scars left behind have been a bit more challenging.

Third things third,

Send a prayer to the ones up above, 

All the hate that you've heard has turned your spirit to a dove

The ones above. Yes.  That's the other issue with February.  This year makes 12 years since my best friend and sister-in-law died for no good reason.  It marks the birthdays of my own mom and my mother-in-law, who also were strong women in my life, both of whom passed suddenly. My mom a year and a half ago, and my mother-in-law 13 years ago.  Perhaps this truly was not the tune to listen to on the way to a workout I didn't really want to do.

I was chokin' in the crowd,

Building my rain up in the cloud,

Falling like ashes to the ground,

Hoping my feelings, they would drown

I would arrive anyway and do my best to put on my best Mama Shark game face.  After all, this was a fundraising class and I had made a promise to my friends.  What met me when I got there was 11 members of my Shark Shiver, laughing and singing along for the full hour.  Hell, there was even some pretty funny dance moves in the transitions.  I couldn't help but shake the funk that arose on the drive over. I would come  to realize in this class that I may want to consider laying off  my annual, oh my God I broke my hip and it was my fault pity party, and instead embrace the laughter of the moment and enjoy the gains I have made despite the odds not being in my favor with this type of injury.

 Back in my car I would go headed to a local eatery to meet these amazing women in my life now.  The music would pick up right where it left off.

Pain!!! You made me a believer,

Pain!!  You break me down and build me up,

Oh, let the bullets fly, oh let them rain,

My life, my love, my drive, it came from....Pain

I had to stop driving to think about that for a minute.  Incomprehensible loss, devastating injury, the season of February hitting once again.  All of those things made me who I am.  My hip taught me I just might be a little tougher than I ever gave myself credit for, after all, I have done 9 Spartans, two Ragnars, a half marathon and the Dopey Challenge in the post op period.  So what if my gains were slow, I was still gaining after all.  I also learned a valuable lesson about balanced training.  As far as the hole in my life left by the women who left me that mattered most, it has allowed me to cultivate a new tribe of strong women who love and support me making this thing called life so much more full, even in the absence of family.  I would ultimately pull into the restaurant and spend the next hour and a half with 5 members of my tribe laughing and retelling stories of our previous times together helping me to see I have truly entered one of the greatest seasons of my adult life. 

Last things last,

By the grace of the fire and the flames,

You're the face of  the future,

the blood in my veins   

Maybe this was really what loss and hard times was about.  If we look hard enough we find there is a greatness that can exist when our trajectory is unexpectedly forced in a new direction.  Pain can truly help us to see we all have a strength in us we know nothing about and a beauty we have yet to see that lives beyond difficult times. 

As we all got into our cars, my tribe and I, I took a good look around.  There were smiles and friendship and vows to get together soon.  Would I trade the things that happened that made past Februarys anything but flowers and hearts?  Well, I can't, but what I can do is focus on the beauty that has followed the pain and realize even more that the best is yet to come.  

Sweet Caroline, Reflections on the Dopey Challenge

My mom always wanted six children.  She attacked this goal immediately after marrying my dad.  Three kids in 28 months, she was well on her way, but that dream was not going to be a reality as a blood clot in her lung nearly took her life and mine when she was pregnant with me.  I am the youngest and the only girl.  Growing up with siblings essentially the same age meant we went through all stages of childhood at exactly the same time. Probably the most challenging being our teen years.  My oldest brother was a rock and roll guy and had a wide variety of Springsteen, Aerosmith and Grateful Dead albums.  My middle brother more into English music like The Beatles,  Elvis Costello and Peter Gabriel.  As for me, I was the stereotypical 80's pop fan, preferring my Madonna and Prince.  Nonetheless, when it came down to us getting to an age to start going to concerts my mom was adamant that we could not go on our own until we went to a concert with her. She was going to teach us the ropes of concert going.  To be fair, I think really the case was she wanted a night with her children that all seemed to be launching into their own independent lives at once.  Nonetheless, the three of us found ourselves on the slanted grass of the open air venue better known as Poplar Creek just outside of Chicago bracing ourselves for a full evening of Neil Diamond in the mid 80's.  Here was Mom, Maverick jeans and red bandana tied around her neck, bic lighter in hand prepared to sway to her favorite,"Sweet Caroline".  My brothers?  Well....  Think two teenage boys at Neil Diamond.  They occupied their time heckling the poor guy who apparently was not handling his alcohol well one blanket over.  This led to a phrase still used at family gatherings,"Hey buddy, how bout another Mister Salty?" as this poor guy with booze exiting where it shouldn't had a box of the fancy 80's brand of pretzel on the blanket next to him.  Then it would happen,"Sweet Caroline."  My mom sang her soprano best swaying side to side loving every minute of her time with her children. 

This past weekend it was my turn to join two other moms, and two other friends as we took our children to The Dopey Challenge.  Some moms take their kids to concerts, some of us take our kids running, or was it them taking us?  Regardless, here we were.  A year ago I blogged about this grand event.  A 5K, a 10k, a half marathon and a full marathon in four days.  It seemed like a crazy challenge to me by a good friend, and initially, a "Dopey" idea.  A little research into the actual character of Dopey taught me that Dopey actually was not dumb.  He was simply the youngest and had no need to speak as others spoke for him as he simply followed along the path the others laid in front of him.  I decided that my job in this challenge was to continue to forge my own path apart from the one so many others expected of me years ago, and to learn to develop my own voice.

I suppose in the greater scheme of things the 5k, the 10k and the half were easy.  I had done all of these distances before, and seemed to come through them just fine at the Dopey too.  I had my usual running team and we took off and did our thing like we always do.  Then it happened.  I found myself at 5:30 in the morning in the last corral slowly inching toward the start line of the marathon.  My 22 year old son and faithful sidekick at my side.  The rest of our team was spread out through other corrals, so this was different too.  I would find myself wrapped in mylar and suddenly break into a sweat in corral H, nerves or just a 49 year old garden variety hot flash? I couldn't be sure with my spinning mind.  I was in the last corral as I had not submitted my half marathon time in preparation to start any sooner.  The sixteen minute pacers for the race carrying their purple Mickey ear balloons about 30 yards behind me.  The balloon ladies.  Our team has more colorful names for these menacing women, who if they catch you will remove you from the course.  I did what I always do in times of stress, I reiterate the plan over and over to my son,"We come out at a 12:30 pace until we hit Magic Kingdom.  That's almost six miles in. We take a recovery walk there, enjoy the sites, and settle back in for another seven until we hit Animal Kingdom...." 

He knew all of this.  I had told him a hundred times.  He gave me the patronizing smile and said,"will you just relax?"  No.  No I couldn't.  The seeds of doubt were strong.  I was doing a distance I had never done on the heels of three previous days of running totaling 22.4 miles.  Nonetheless, Mickey would perform,"Don't Stop Believing" karaoke style, we'd have some brief fireworks and we were off.  Watch on. Pace Checking.  Playlist solid.  Trusty boy by my side.  As I mentally tried to settle in my son would tap me.  I suddenly became aware he had been trying to get my attention. 

"What?!"  It came out louder and more annoyed sounding than I anticipated.
"Listen!!!  Sweet Caroline."  There it was.  Mile one.  A high school marching band.  How does my son know this?  Well.... one off handed comment about being a Neil Diamond fan to my mother landed him floor seats at the United Center in Chicago at the age of 16, as my mother tried to convince security this was not her grandson, rather, she was a cougar.  This was her date. 

We would sing loudly,"bup ba da da da...."  I was ok.  A push from mom and I could push the nerves away and settle into the task at hand.  The rest of the course there were little things along the way that reminded me of where I came from and how it was I was here.  There was the guy at mile 2. An older guy, not altogether fit looking with a shirt that said,"Why am I doing this?  Because everyone said I couldn't"  somehow a not so gentle reminder of my bygone days of gym class bullying.

At mile 6 we would enter the Magic Kingdom just as the sun rose over the castle reminding me there just may be a wee bit of magic left in the world.  We would pass the tea cups and I was reminded of a time I previously blogged about where I sat on that very ride with my mom as she got to enjoy Disney through the eyes of her grandchildren.  We won't mention that her and I were both obese at the time, my son turned the wheel faster and faster til we were all dizzy, and her extrication from said tea cups became a wee bit more entertaining than we cared to admit.

At mile 8 we would catch up to Anita.  Anita is a special friend of mine.  She broke her ankle in November at her first Spartan Race.  She was doing this anyway.  She had started several corrals before me and was walking, but she was doing it.  She had found a walking partner named "Dory" who reminded us to "just keep swimming."

At mile 10 I would come up on a runner with the celtic rings that make up my logo on his shirt:  body, mind and spirit, reminding me how all of these things brought me to this place doing this thing and now I have a whole shiver of sharks behind me who I have the honor of helping get to their own amazing places.  Passing the halfway point at Animal Kingdom brought monkeys and roller coasters and a euphoria that wow.  I just may pull this off.

Then it happened.  ESPN Wide World of Sports happened.  We hit that venue at mile 17.  The sun was high in the sky and it was 80 degrees.  My legs hurt.  My back hurt.  I was drenched and every single fiber of my being wanted to be done.  Weaving in and out of ball fields and soccer fields.  Relentless sun.  I felt blisters on my feet.  I was walking and running now, well the running was not pretty, but I was doing some of that.  I heard the words coming during my longest walk this race yet,"I can't.  I just can't"  ESPN went on for 3.5 miles that seemed like 20.  Make it stop.  For the love of God get me out of this place. However, it was in this place we were rejoined by Anita.  How did she catch us?  That woman walks an astonishing 13 min mile.  We were at mile 20 and it was time to take my cue from this woman.  It was time to take past setbacks and cast them aside and persevere.  In that moment I decided to walk the rest with her.  I'd love to tell you that made it easier.  I'd love to tell you my legs weren't screaming and I wasn't ready to summon an uber, but those things would be a lie.  Anita and my son found themselves battling the voices usually only I can hear, but had somehow escaped out my mouth."I can't"  "I just don't think I can go on" "What made me think I could do this"....... The list was endless, but they were patient reminding me over and over I could.

Just about the time I was sure my legs would not go one more step, from a speaker on the course,"Where it began, I can't begin to knowing......"  Sweet Caroline.  My cue that even my little mama would not let me quit from heaven.  I burst into tears right there at mile 23.  I was overcome by a mixture of grief and encouragement.  Grief that the one person who would have given anything to be here was not, and encouraged that she found a way to root me on anyway.  With the big ugly cry out of the way we would hit the boardwalk, phone ahead to our team who was a half mile ahead, and prepare for our big finish.  Our team would hand us frozen margaritas and we would excitedly cross the finish 48.6 miles from where we started. Three moms, three twenty something children, and another amazing friend would link arms, shed a tear and be once again thankful to have found such an amazing tribe to conquer the impossible. 

"Sweet Caroline,

Good times never seemed so good"

As I sit here looking at my six medals from the races I reflect on what it was I set out to do.  Did I find my own voice on the course as I thought I would?  Quite the opposite actually.  With a little help from a my son and a good friend I found a silence.  A silence from the loud negative voices  that seem to have taken up residence in my brain for so many years.  Did I forge my own path?  Not really.  I, instead, got to follow in step with the absolute grit and grace of someone else who did not let her own setback hold her back, to get an insurmountable task done.  I also learned that no matter how much I miss talking to my mom, and how much I grieve that she is not present for my big accomplishments now, she is still here in spirit rooting me on in her proverbial maverick jeans and bic lighter, swaying side to side just like she always was.  Will I do this again?  oh yes.  Only next time I will do it better, because as always the best is yet to come.  

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.

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.