Water Breaks with Lori

I'm a not loser, baby.

2012-01-03T23:22:00.000-08:00

I "teach" bear crawl. Don't love it!

I hate to lose. And when I say “lose,” what I mean, is that I have performed poorly. I can do this all by myself, or this can be accomplished in a group. Anyway, I really hate it. No matter what I try and tell myself. No matter what I try to tell you. I hate it. I have a competitive drive that is like a fire burning inside me. I can’t put out its flame. Not with common sense. Not with what’s rational. Not with reason. Not with any form of anything. When I say I don’t care, I am lying. Because I always care. Always.

Is this a curse? Maybe? Possibly. My sister is a perfectionist. I am not. I have often thought of her being “cursed” with this. Maybe we are all cursed to some degree – with something. We all have our “things.” One example that comes up in the gym or garage, is that I can’t stand plates being put on a bar wrong. Numbers on the outside for bumpers. Numbers on the inside for metal plates (they butt up against the collars better this way). We all have our idiosyncrasies. The things that makes us who we are. Things that make us crazy. Things that define our lives to some degree. Or maybe to a large degree.

My competitive nature? It has both served, and ruined, me at times. Being a competitive person can either make you euphoric, or make you feel like a complete failure. There is rarely an in-between. Does this mean I cannot lose graciously? No, I can. And I do a lot. But it always bothers me. I rethink what I could have done better. What went right? What went wrong?

So what brings me to this topic today? Well, last week’s workout. What was it? It was my dear friend, Loraine’s birthday WOD at Sumner CrossFit.

So, here is the way it went. . . Loraine invites me to do her birthday WOD with the group that I train (with her) every Wednesday night. How can I say no? I can’t – and I actually want to do this -- even though I’ve been on 4 month lifting-only program. I thought it would be fun. I’ve actually missed that “pre-WOD-anxiety” that a metcon brings.

But my pre-WOD anxiety included some knowledge of where my cardio ability is right now. Not good. By choice, mind you. But that is beside the point. The WOD included “bear crawls.” A LOT of bear crawls at a significant distance. I knew what this meant. Cardio taxing. Muscular endurance taxing. Both of which I am lacking at this point because I haven’t been training in those realms. The WOD also included several rounds of the “bear complex” (power clean, front squat, push press, back squat, push press) of lifting. My wheel house! I thought this would be my “balancer” in the workout.

3-2-1-GO! I blaze through the first 3 bear complex. On to the bear crawls. One lap. Not so bad. On to the the next 6 bear complex. Feeling okay. Bear crawls, 2 laps. Getting a bit bad. Nine rounds bear complex. Not as easy as I expected. At all. Not really loving the rapid fire lifting. Kind of thinking about how much I love my breaks between lifts in my usual workouts. Then 3 laps of bear crawl. This was ugly. I was angry after one lap. Seriously pissed after lap 2. Lap 3 left me in the fetal position at every freaking corner of that stupid lap. Even with Loraine, watching, and giggling, and cheering me on, I still curled myself up at every corner, and cursed her very existence for creating this heinous workout. Six bear complex. Sweating so bad that the bar wanted to slip off my back. Two laps bear crawl. Beyond words mad at myself for being so cardio/endurance weak. Three bear complex. One lap bear crawl – slow as a sloth. A sloth! Touched the tape. Done.

As I sat there panting, in the very familiar way of days long ago, I thought about how I felt. What was my very first thought? What was my freaking- awful-freaking-time?? I had not even looked at the clock when I finished, but I knew it was bad. I already knew I wasn’t happy with my time or my performance. And when my friend Barry said, “Good job Lori!” I wanted to scream, “That’s bullshit. I sucked,” but instead, I said “thank you.” And I even laughed a bit -- because it was rather funny. Kaylor, another SCF trainer even said to me, “You were SO slow on those crawls!”

So although, I can experience this type of “failure” with composure, I will never embrace losing. I will never feel good about performing at what I feel is beneath what I am capable of. I set a high standard for myself. I can’t change that. And I don’t believe that lowering my personal “bar” will result in anything beneficial in the long run.

When I lose, or am disappointed with myself, I am seriously pissed. When I perform under par, it bothers me. I don’t care that I haven’t been training for that type of workout. I sucked. And I hate that feeling. But hating “that” feeling is what drives me. It drives me to be better. It drives me to want to be the best -- even when being the best in the room isn’t possible.

And being “the sloth” will always piss me off. Because the competitor in me is always present. Always.

Because, I'm not a loser, baby.

PS: Loraine’s time was 13-something. Mine was 19-something. Enough said. Still love you Birthday Girl. My Birthday is in April. . . Heavy Snatches Baby! Be ready. . .

Denim salvation for a Blue Jeans Baby.

2011-12-06T16:12:00.000-08:00

It's 4:26am and I've already tried on a pair of jeans and made a pot of coffee. I woke up at 3:30. There are nights when I roll over and go back to sweet slumber. And there are nights when I roll over and this little voice in my head says, "Game on, sister." And I know there will be no more sleep for me...

Today, when I rolled over and had those 30 seconds to shut down my brain and drift back off – I, instead, thought about a pair of jeans. Yes. I said jeans. I am “thinker” and my thoughts are often random at this time of the early morning. So what popped in my mind was yesterday afternoon. I had dug out this particular pair of jeans, from the bottom of the pile in my closet, to see if Sophia wanted them. I haven't worn them in forever. I'd actually forgotten about them. She decided she didn't like the way they fit. So I shoved them back to the bottom of the pile and went over to my neighbor’s house to see her Christmas decorations.

As we sat and visited, we complained to each other about our daughters getting in to our closets and wearing our clothes and using our makeup. And thought of those jeans again.

I got those jeans in the winter of 2009. I had been training really hard, my diet was very clean and I had leaned out a bit. So I did what I always do when I'm feeling good about my body. I spent way too much money on a pair of jeans -- in the size that would represent my hard work. In the size that would haunt me when they began to feel a bit tight. And this usually happens at some point. My jeans don't generally allow for much wiggle room (literal wiggle room) in weight fluctuations.

Anyway, while I was laying in bed, wishing I could go back to sleep, I remembered those jeans. I reminisced with them.

The first time I wore them, I was hanging out with a friend. I remember this because it was a week day and I was wearing "real" clothes. This sticks in my mind because I pretty much wear workout clothes Monday through Friday. I was also wearing a tee-shirt I'd paid way too much for at a Cabi Party. The tee-shirt was a "buy something because it’s my friends party" peer pressure purchase. I recall thinking how much I overpaid for that dang shirt, but thinking the jeans were worth every penny. I felt good in those jeans.

I wore them to Thanksgiving at Mom's. When I walked in the house she said to me, "I think you're too thin, Lori." I disagreed. I said, "Strong girls are lean mom, not skinny." And I felt good in those jeans.

I wore them on my 40th birthday. I thought, I'm forty, and it doesn't bother me. Age is just a number. I felt good in those jeans.

And then I remembered the day I went to put on those jeans and they were saying some very mean things to me. Things like, "Lori, you've been eating crappy carbs." and "You've spent more time training others than yourself lately." And then they yelled "Time to dial it in, chunky monkey!" I looked in the mirror, wearing those jeans, and they mocked me. They made that terrible line across the back of my legs that resembled a sneer instead of a crease -- and made me feel like my thighs were wrapped in sausage casing instead of denim. I peeled them off my body. I glared at myself, and then glared at those jeans. I folded them up and shoved them to the bottom of the pile -- because, I no longer felt good in those jeans. And then, I began the journey towards denim salvation once again.

Is my entire self esteem wrapped up in a pair of jeans? No. But do I care? Yes. A lot. I consider my jeans a representation of my training and a good diet. They are a yardstick, so to speak. They tell me when I need to work a little harder and eat a little better. They are a gauge. And they are unforgiving. They tell me what I need to hear, whether I like it or not. They are blatantly honest. I can take them or leave them. But either way, they will not budge in their assessment of me.

So, did these jeans ever fit again? Of course. But by then the love affair with them was over and it was time to buy a new pair. Life keeps moving forward and sometimes we leave things behind that we once loved. And these new jeans? I feel good in these jeans.

But today at 3:30am, I rolled over and thought of those old jeans. And how they have stayed the same, but nothing else in my life has. I tiptoed to my closet and grabbed them. I just had to know... I slipped them on. I looked in the mirror. They brought me back to a different time. And I smiled. Those jeans smiled back. They told me I'm doing something right.

Will I put them back at the top of the pile? No. They will remain folded up memories. But for those two minutes this morning? You know what?

I felt good in those jeans.

Fear Factor?

2011-11-21T22:53:00.000-08:00

She's a bit scared.

I had a conversation with a friend a few weeks ago. At one point during the talk, my friend said, “Maybe you’re afraid of what you already know.” I shot back, “I am not afraid of anything.”

My response has been sitting at the back of my mind for a while now. Because although, I am a brazen, say what I think, kind of girl – I am actually very afraid of lots things. I think that maybe, I have liked to think of myself as “fearless” when in actuality, I am only outspoken. That’s not really the point I am going toward today, but introspective nonetheless.

Anyway, it got me thinking about fears in general. And thinking about all of the things I am truly afraid of. As it turns outs, my statement, “I’m not afraid of anything,” could not be farther from the truth.

What fears do I have, you ask? Well, many of them are your run of the mill, normal fears most of us have. I am afraid of spiders. Actually, I am afraid of anything that is creepy crawly with legs and or wings. I am afraid of scary movies. Especially ones dealing with the supernatural. I am afraid an intruder will come in to my house at night and I won’t be able to protect my children or myself -- although I always picture myself beating someone in to submission. I am afraid of waking up and smelling smoke and not being able to get to my girls down the hall, the stairs, and outside, before my house is in flames. I am afraid that someone will cross the center line on Hwy 18 on my way home from visiting my mom in Yakima -- and the last thing I will see is the headlights of the car about to come through my windshield. I am afraid that I’m not a good mother. I am afraid that I am not living up to my potential. I am afraid that I am sitting and watching life from a distance instead of participating to the fullest. I am afraid of decisions I have made. I am afraid of decisions I have not made. I am afraid of not being as healthy as I want to be. I’m even more afraid of not being in control of my heath. I am afraid of failure.

She is less scared.

You get where I am coming from. I’m making my point, I believe. But the kind of fear that can be the most intrusive in our day to day life, I believe, is the fear of failure. And that is the fear I am addressing today.

Of course I can circle any topic around to Olympic Weightlifting, and this one will be no different. So let’s talk about how I can equate my fears in life to the way I “fear” a barbell -- and how I wish that my fears of failure were as easily conquered.

A barbell can be scary. It holds a bit of the unknown – kind of like life. I love it. But it doesn’t always love me back. I know what I what I want to accomplish when I see it. It doesn’t always have my best interests at heart. I have goals attached to it. It doesn’t always have the same goals. Sometimes I’m “afraid” to touch it (no, not quite like a spider, but you get my point) – because I fear the outcome. Why? Because I stand before it with expectations. Much like life. I would like to firmly believe that because I have worked for something, and I really want something, it will happen. Not always true. So I fear failure.

She is fearless.

Failure is a part of life. I know this logically, but that doesn’t always comfort me. I fear an unexpected outcome. The outcome I do not want. This negative possibility? Well, I would skip this alternative, if I could. But I can’t. Even the most successful and luckiest of people don’t get to escape the possibility of failure. Or even failure itself. So, knowing this, when we make an “attempt,” at anything, there are two things that will happen . . . victory or downfall. And that simple fact is scary. Always.

So, I am wondering if the way I approach the barbell, the “fear” that it holds for me and the way I address it – could this be a learning experience for the way I approach other fears in my life? It would be nice if it was possible.

How do I control my fear when I face a heavy lift? I tell myself four things:

1. You are not a wussy. You are badass. Yes, you are.

2. If you don’t go for this, Lori, how will you ever get any better? You won’t.

3. What’s the worst thing that will happen? You fail.

4. If you fail, you try again. And again. And again. Because you can.

She is badass.

Unfortunately, the big difference is that a failed lift is just failed lift. I get to try again, “next time.” A life failure? Well, the consequences can be lasting and far reaching. But one similar principal can be applied, however. If you don’t attempt the lift, you will never get the bar over your head, or PR. If you don’t go for what you really want in your life, you will never get it. Ever. Simple, yet, not at all. And that is where the concept of “fear” takes center stage.

So I guess if we want to think of life as a lift, we can choose to keep your fears at bay – and never PR. Or we can choose to face our fear, and deal with the outcome that comes with that decision – good or bad.

So can I look at my life the way I look at barbell? Can I be fearful yet optimistic? Can I wager the outcome based on what I believe in the moment? Can I tell myself that if I fail, or I don’t like the outcome, there is always a chance to try again? And again? And again?

No.

But it’s a lovely concept, isn’t it?

That is why life is “scary” as hell. And we only “fear” a lift.

Like a drug. Only way better.

2011-11-08T16:53:00.000-08:00

Last week was a good week. A good, good week. It was a week of PR’s. A PR, for you non-lifters, is setting a “personal record.” A personal record is exactly what it states. It is the best you’ve ever done on a particular lift.

My PR’s last week: Snatch @ 105# (previous 100#). Clean @ 135# (previous 130#). BTN Push Press @ 140# (previous 135#). Overhead Squat @ 140# (previous 135#). Seven reps bodyweight Overhead Squat @ 120# (previous 3 reps).

When you begin lifting, you hit PR’s all of the time. It’s like a constant little stream of crack-like excitement. You’re getting stronger, your technique is improving. Eventually, however, this beginning success begins to level off. The PR’s get further and further apart. And you have to work a heck of a lot harder to reach them.

PR snatch @ 105#

If you look back through my workout journal from 3 years ago, you will see it literally peppered with all caps “PR’s” and smiley faces. Yes, smiley faces. Apparently I thought I may need to be reminded of my mood at the time. Look at my journal from the last year and you won’t find any happy little faces or PR’s with several exclamation points. You will find a lot of “that sucked” and “awful day” or “failure,” accompanied by the obligatory frowned face.

I discussed in the previous blog entry why that journal looks as it does. Mostly, it is due to the fact that I’ve been unfocused. I’ve been rambling around the garage just hoping that I will magically get stronger just because I want to. If “wanting” and “hoping” paved the pathway to attainment, I’d be an incredibly accomplished individual. But we all know that only hard work will get you where you want to be. And I have been working hard. I have been focused. I am reaping the benefits.

So how great does a PR feel? What goes through your head leading up to the moment? I suppose it might be different for everyone, but I approach the situation the same way every time I make a PR attempt.

I load the bar. I stand and look at it. I am filled with a bit of nervous energy. I tell myself, “You can do this.” Sometimes my head argues back, “Are you sure?” This is a make or break moment for me. Sometimes the pessimist is yelling her ass off, making me feel like a failure before I’ve even tried. I try to shut her up quickly before she gets in my head. I look at the bar again. I grip it. Usually opening and closing my fingers far more times than actually necessary. I move my feet, pivoting on the balls, adjusting the heels, trying to find exactly where I want to be. I do this far more times than actually necessary as well. I’ve determined that it’s all a part of the ritual for me. And it’s not changing. I take my breath. It’s go time. It’s only a few brief seconds that separates success from failure.

PR overhead squat @ 140#

FAILURE. It just plain sucks. I usually say “F*#K!” after a failed lift with corresponding angry body language. It’s not because I’m not used to failing, or that it’s come as a shock. Lord knows, I fail more than I succeed. I am passionate. A passionate potty mouth. Anyway, I have always been told that you allow yourself three attempts at a max lift. Then stop. I always do four, if I need to. Part of this is my unwillingness to give up. Part of it, is that I cannot stand being told what to do. And since I don’t have a coach, I do what I want.

SUCCESS. It’s freaking incredible. And for what seems like a lack of creativity on my part, my audible response to a great lift is usually quite similar to that of a bad lift. The body language is similar as well -- fists in the air, but a smile, not a grimace on my face. In my opinion, the thrill that follows the moment after a PR can only be described as pure bliss. For those of you that don’t lift, I am sure you can imagine another experience that mimics this amazing feeling.

I don’t know what “real” lifters feel like being on the platform, in front of so many spectators and other competitors, after a winning lift. When I lift, it’s almost always, just me, a video camera and the walls of my garage. But, although there is no one watching me, except perhaps the spider in the corner –and no one to clap or give hugs of congratulations -- I can only imagine that the emotion feels just the same.

Elation. Achievement. Fruition.

I am not crazy. Anymore.

2011-10-11T15:56:00.000-07:00

I love jerks.

So apparently my entire last year of training hasn’t been for much. I haven’t gotten stronger. I’m not leaner, or meaner (well, maybe meaner in the literal sense) or more badass. I am the same girl I was a year ago. And why is this a problem, you ask? Well, why the heck wouldn’t it be a problem? If you’re not improving, what the hell are you doing?

I’ll tell you what you are doing. You are training without goals. Without a means to an end. Without reason. Without purpose. And without purpose, you’re chasing your own tail.

I know, some of you train for the pure simple joy of “being in shape.” So your goal falls under the category of GPP or General Physical Preparedness. This means you just want to be basically physically fit. Which I believe is fine, in principal, but lacks in application. Does this mean that you will be pleased with reaching a goal and then never progressing in one particular area -- because you’re already in “shape?” Yes? No? If you’re happy with where you are at – then awesome for you! Or if you think you want more? Maybe you want to get better at one thing – a better runner, football player, lifter, volleyball player? Then do it!

So guess what? You’ve got to plan for more. You need to begin a phase of SPP, Specific Physical Preparedness, or Sports-Specific. In order to excel at one specific area of your training or your sport – then you will have to train specifically to become better in the areas of training that relate to that particular sport. You have to “specifically” reach for more.

My IRM’s have not significantly increased in over a year. Really nothing has changed much. I’m not worse or weaker, so I guess that is one positive. But I can only say that I have made gains in one area of training -- my skills. My lifting technique is better. Not stronger, but better. And I have managed to learn a few new CrossFit “tricks” -- kipping knees to elbows & toes to bar, the butterfly pull-up, kipping handstand pushups. I say “tricks” because when I started CF, these moves not only did not exist, but were considered “wrong” by ROM standards. But as with all things CF in general, some “elite” athlete will find a way to shorten WOD or cycle times and then HQ will say, “Hey, check this out. Learn this if you want to be badass. Even though 2 years ago, we told you that this was ‘improper movement.’” If you don’t believe me, ask someone who has been CrossFitting for more than 3 years. Ask them if they ever saw the split screen video of Annie Sakamoto doing the proper KTE (knees to elbows) and the “cheater” version. Its funny folks, the “cheater” version closely resemble the movement that is now “games standard.” Gosh, how times change. I get this. Keep up, or get lost. Okay, I just went off on tangent -- back to the topic at hand.

This brings us full circle. My goals changed. But my programming didn’t. I didn’t adjust anything. So what happened? Well. . . As I have stated. . . Nothing much happened, which is the problem. I wasn’t sticking to any one type of plan consistently. I was floating around doing a bit of this and a bit of that. So, I am living proof that if you don’t change up your programming based on your goals, and commit to your training regimen, you will not reach a different end.

Anyway, so what is my current plan? Well, I sat down and decided what is important to me right now. I want to be a stronger lifter, first and foremost. So, I am now following a Catalyst Athletics intermediate lifting program, which will be my primary focus. My secondary goal is to maintain my base fitness with CrossFit main site metcons and some running. My intent is to stay on this path until January, when I will see where my 1RM’s are and re-evaluate my goals again.

Albert Einstein said, “The definition of Insanity is: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

I have a plan. I have a purpose. I have a goal. I’m not training “crazy” anymore.

RUN Stella. RUN!

2011-09-25T15:07:00.000-07:00

Before the race.

Today the Palomino girls participated in the Run of Hope Seattle 5k Race/3K walk. This fundraising event benefits and supports pediatric brain tumor research at Seattle Children’s Hospital. This hits very close to home for our family. Peyton Rudkin, a child very close to us, was diagnosed last November with DIPG or Diffuse Intrinsic Pontine Glioma. This is a rare inoperable brain tumor. Today we ran and walked for Peyton and the non-profit corporation, set up in her name, Peyton’s Ranch and Comfort Critters.

I had signed up for the run a couple months ago. I was planning on having the girls walk with one of the other families that were going. On our way to Seattle this morning, Stella said, “I want to do the run with you Mom.” My first response was “No, Stella, I don’t think you are ready to run that distance.” She kept begging to do it. We drove a few more miles while I thought about this. I said, “Okay, Stella. Let’s do it. But you have to try and do your best. No wimping out. No complaining.” I decided that because she and Peyton have been close since they were one and two years old, it would be a great experience to support her dear friend. Sophia decided to do the walk with her other friends that were participating.

Happy to finish!

So once I agreed, Stella began predicting how the race would go. I have run with Stella a few times. She’s quick, but her endurance isn’t very good. She was chiding me saying things, like, “What if I beat you Mom? What if I have to leave you behind?” I said, “No, Stella, no matter what, we are running together, side by side, and we will cross the finish line together.” She giggled and reminded me of what a great runner she is. Where does she get this ultra competitive nature? I have no idea, whatsoever. . .

We get Stella registered for the 5K. She was so tickled to get her timing chip on her shoe and her number pinned on her shirt. She was ready! I warned her, “We are going to start out slow to keep our pace. I don’t want you getting too tired, too quick.” She assured me, this was not going happen.

The race begins. We are around a quarter mile in and she looks at me and says, “I have a side ache.” I told her to keep breathing, relax, and it would go away. And we were not stopping. Another quarter mile goes by. She is not having fun at this point because she has realized that running is hard. She says to me, “I’m not having fun. This hurts. This sucks.” I say to her, “We will slow down. You will be fine.” Another quarter mile. “I want to stop.” I said, “No. Keep going.” She didn’t want to be left behind, so she kept up. Let me assure you that I have run over a mile with Stella several times so I know what she’s capable of. This wasn’t child abuse.

I told her at one mile, we could walk a few steps. It was during this last leg of the first mile that I was thinking about what life lesson this was teaching her. I began talking to her to keep her mind occupied. I told her that we were running for all of the little children that didn’t get to use their legs anymore. I reminded her how much Peyton wishes she could still run through the neighborhood with her. I told her that we were blessed to be able to use our bodies this way. I said, “Keep going for Peyton.” She did.

What I didn’t say to her, was the realization that came to me while thinking of the finish. These children didn’t get to choose this path – this distance. They don’t get to quit when it becomes unbearable. Neither do their parents. They are forced to endure the pain. They are forced to keep going until they reach what is to be their finish line. And I was more determined than ever to make Stella finish this race and understand why we have to suffer through what is sometimes very hard for us.

At mile two, we turned a corner and I saw a big, nasty hill ahead of us. Stella looked up and said, “Oh my gosh, Mom!” Then she started crying. I told her I was proud of her and we needed to run up it until she really needed a break. She made it half way up. We walked a bit. I told her the great thing about hills, is that we get to head back down it on the other side! She was not convinced. She was tired. Working those little legs! Her face was red and she was breathing hard. But she was fine. And I was certain of this, or I wouldn’t have kept pushing her.

Nearing mile 3, I told her we were almost there. Her response was, “How the heck far is .1 miles?!” I said, “Not very far baby.” I told her again, how proud of her I was. I spotted the finish line. She said she needed to walk, but she could see it up ahead. We took 5 steps and I said, “We are going to run the rest! Let’s go!”

We crossed the finish line. People cheered us on. I could see the smile of accomplishment on her face. We were both exhausted – me, mentally, her, physically. We finished in 37:52. The anger she felt toward me during the run, for pushing her so hard, melted away. She hugged me and said, “We did it Mom!”

When we got home, we talked again about why we did this. How we did it for the kids that can’t. Why our bodies are blessings. Why moving freely is a gift, that unfortunately, can be taken from us. And as she curled up in a blanket on the couch, she said to me, “I get it.” But does she? At eight? I doubt it. How can she, possibly? I can hardly grasp the unfairness of life at 41.

But I tried to make her understand. And someday she will. She will look back and recall the day her Mom made her keep going when she wanted to stop.

I hope she will be grateful for what I was trying to teach her.

Suck it up, Butter Cup.

2011-09-19T17:13:00.000-07:00

Not scary, until you meet her.

When I show new people (meaning women), the jump rope, I can see the fear in their eyes. And I can almost always, without fail, tell you what the first words out of their mouths with be.

“I can’t jump rope.” And every time, here is my response, “Because you’ll pee your pants?”

Let me tell you about my first experience with a jump rope, since I was in grade school. I had started CrossFit, but had yet to come across anything I wasn’t super excited to try. Enter double-unders. Can’t you hear the theme to Jaws that was playing in my head?

Anyway, I took one look at that thing and I knew what would be the unfortunate outcome of my attempting repetitive bouncing. So, I say to Brady Hubler, my coach at CrossFit Lake Tapps, “I have issues with bouncing.” I didn’t think I needed to explain in great detail, that I feared that I would pee my pants, in pretty short order, after a few brief moments with said jump rope. I was thinking that my admission would be met with compassion and understanding, considering my brave honesty.

“Well, Lori, that’s why we are jumping on rubber mats. They dry.” He smiled, and then handed me my jump rope. “Oh shit” was playing on repeat in my mind. “Oh piss,” would have been a more accurate statement, but you get where I am coming from. I jumped. I peed. I did what was expected of me. I am now pretty good at double-unders.

It’s just not jumping rope that can bring on the pee. So can jumping pull-ups, hard sprints, jumping squats/lunges, screaming at your children, gut busting laughter, sneezing, and coughing. If you’ve had children, you will probably experience this consequence. But you can’t let it stop you. No, don’t you let the pee win! Anyway, this brings me to a funny story that I would only share with my friends -- and everyone else who stumbles upon this blog.

One night, Cari and I see that double-unders are in the next day wod. So she says to me, “Hey friend, try wearing panties and a liner on double-under days.” I don’t wear panties with workout pants – because the last thing I need to worry about is panty lines or something crawling where it wasn’t meant to be during a hard wod. That’s another topic, however. But I say, “Okay. Sure.” Great plan, huh? All I will say is that, no, it did not work. And my panties were disposed of in a Wal-Mart bathroom garbage can after the fact. Yes. I had to run errands directly after my workout. And no, I wasn’t going to leave these panties in my trainer’s garbage!

So, one might assume that I’m extremely compassionate about this issue – but I’m actually not much different with new people than Brady was with me. My response is different, however, because whereas he had never peed his pants, I have. Numerous times. So instead of the words of wisdom that my trainer imparted to me at the time, I will give other words of advice. And this doesn’t just speak to CrossFit women -- Im talking to any woman who has to get on a trampoline, or show the neighborhood girls that you can do “Not this night, but the night before, 24 robbers came knocking at my door,” with the best of them.

Here is my advice, and it’s not great or fool-proof, but it’s all I have:

Dri-Fit-Fabric. In black. Wow. A brilliant material, that I am certain, a woman designed. I could be wrong and talking out of my ass, as I am occasionally known to do. So if a man came up with this concept for different purposes, kudos to him!

“Clamp that shit down.” What I mean by this, is to say, close off the girly parts, to the best of your ability. Lock your legs together. Hold that Kegel like your life depends on it.

Pee beforehand. Obvious, I know. And this doesn’t always work, but do it anyway. Pee is sneaky and likes to hide until the first jump. I swear there is a little space in my bladder reserved especially for workouts.

And finally, “suck it up buttercup.” That was posted, by my trainer, on our webpage as a personal message to me. Making the point that, a bit of pee in your pants won’t kill you. Or prevent you from finishing a wod.

Today, I PR’d doing double-unders. I did 35 consecutive repetitions. It may have cost me some tinkle, but I can always change my pants. I can’t always PR. It was worth it.

Ass to ankles, baby!

2011-09-13T15:40:00.000-07:00

My current squat. Always a work in progress.

If you do not have a good squat, you don't have much. Because if you can't squat, you can't snatch. If you can't squat, you can't clean & jerk. And if you can't lift, life is not worth living. Because why? Let's say it together... "Because Olympic weightlifting is the coolest sport on the planet." Period. Yes, you may quote me.

Seriously, without a good squat, there are around a gazillion things you can't do. Well maybe not a gazillion, but heck of a lot of really cool stuff.

The squat is THE foundation movement for Olympic weightlifting. Just listen to what Greg Everett has to say about this -- “The squat is foundational to the Olympic lifts as a position, a movement and a strength exercise. Without a well-developed and consistent squat, neither pulling technique nor pulling power will produce entirely successful Olympic weightlifting.”

Sounds like a squat is a pretty big deal, huh? So, to reiterate, if you can’t squat, you don’t have much.

Okay, I know what you are thinking "can't I just power snatch and power clean, if my squat sucks?" Well, technically, sure -- if you want to remain a wussy forever --because you'll never reach your true max lift. So if you don't care about living up to your max potential, stop reading at this point. But if you're like the rest of us total badass (or admittedly wannabe badass) Oly lifters, you'd remove a rib to PR on a lift. So if you fall in to this camp, perfect your squat.

So, what distinguishes a power snatch or a power clean from a snatch and a clean? To give a simple answer is to say, it is the height at which you receive the weight. “Power” indicates that the bar was received above parallel. But what really determines where the lift is received? Well, that comes down to the combination of the force applied to the lift, the amount of weight on the bar and the mass/strength of the lifter. So this basically means that the lighter the load, generally speaking, the higher you will be able to receive the weight. As the load gets heavier, the bar “will accelerate less and not travel as high” (Greg Everett). So here is the deal. The heavier you lift, in proportion to your strength, you will receive the bar in a lower position. You will find it necessary to get under it and receive it in a full squat.

The amazing Aimee Anaya-Everett

What exactly is the Olympic squat? The elements are defined by depth, foot position, hip position, the back, weight distribution, head, bounce, and breath – all of which take a considerable time to define. And this is a blog, not a novel, so I won’t go into the details of each, but urge you to read up on this stuff. It is super important, friends.

So, if you care as much as I do, and why the heck wouldn’t you? I would suggest that you purchase the bible of this very awesome sport, “Olympic Weightlifting, a complete guide for coaches and athletes, second edition,” written by Greg Everett of Catalyst Athletics. I don’t actually know if it’s the best book out there, but I have certainly gotten more use out of it than I’d ever thought possible. But hey, I am a chick who reads about this stuff for fun. I will assure you, however, that it’s easy to understand and it gives clear and concise information for beginners to advanced lifters. It is a must-have in my humble opinion. And we all know how humble I am.

Anyway, some lucky people are blessed with the natural flexibility to achieve the proper squat depth necessary while maintaining an upright torso posture. Others have to work hard to get there. It can be a lengthy process. Well worth the work, however. If the payoff is a killer heavy snatch, and clean and jerk? Or at the very least, you’ll look super cool doing it? Need I say more?

So, I do not want to be completely repetitive, but I will, and stress again . . . perfect your squat. How do we do this? Practice. Practice. Practice. And get some good coaching. Find someone who can recognize good/poor positioning, solid technique and therapies for individual issues. If you don’t have access to a trainer, then get on the internet and read. Buy books, watch videos. There is a lot of great information out there. Check out Catalyst Athletics. They are a super great resource for articles and videos.

I will leave you with one final thought. In the infamous words of Snoop Dogg, "drop it like it's hot." I mean your ass, not the bar.

Life is short.

2011-09-02T13:02:00.000-07:00

The girls have been fighting all day. It started before I’d even finished my first cup of coffee this morning. I was upstairs trying to get ready and I could hear them screaming at each other and beating the crap out of one another. Well, hitting in the very girly way they do. Did I intervene? Nope. I turned up the radio. I took them to a dentist apt. Then to Wal-Mart for school supply shopping. Which is a little piece of fresh hell all on its own -- made even more fun when my lovely children won’t stop pushing each other and saying nasty things in low voices. So I matched the nasty low voices and said in my most threatening manner, “Would you like your fanny's beat in the middle of the crayon aisle right now?!” After Wal-Mart, we made our way to a middle school open house. Chaos is the only word that would describe that experience. Or maybe it just felt that way to me. We drove home. I heard the words, “I hate you (insert either Sophia or Stella)” several times. We pulled in the driveway. We unloaded the car. I poured a glass of wine and went up stairs. I heard the calamity of them sorting school supplies. More screaming at one another. I decided to escort them, ever so gently, into their rooms. With the instructions, “Do not come out, under any circumstances.”

And uttered the words, “I want to jump off a bridge.”

I came in to the office to sit and write a blog on “squatting,” for a bit of a mental escape, but decided to first check my email. I saw that my friend, Elizabeth had posted a new journal entry and a birthday video about Peyton. Peyton has a rare, inoperable brain tumor. I read it and cried. I’ve known Peyton since she was one. She turned 7 yesterday. She and Stella have grown up together. We live 2 houses apart. I love this child. And I felt guilty for saying that I want to "jump off a bridge” when I have perfectly, healthy kids. Even after a day like this. I have my kids. They are healthy.

Elizabeth & Peyton

My friend, Elizabeth, has taught me so many lessons in the last several months since Peyton was diagnosed. I am in awe of this woman. She has handled this unbelievably painful situation with dignity, and grace and almost always has a smile for everyone. She has shown me to appreciate the small things. The day to day things that we all take for granted.

About a week ago, Elizabeth asked me if the girls and I wanted to go and stay with them as their house in Preist Lake, Idaho. My first response was that I couldn’t because I’d have to cancel classes last minute. She looked at me and smiled, and said, “Life is short, Lori.”

I cancelled classes. We packed our bags. We had the most amazing journey. In so many ways. It was a once in a lifetime visit. I know this now. Life is short. And I am so blessed to have shared a wonderful, five days with Elizabeth and Chad and Peyton and Ryan, and all of the other wonderful people who were there. We had so much laughter. We had tears. We shared stories. We made memories. We lived.

Ryan, Stella, Peyton, Sophia

I’d like to freeze those moments. I want to feel the hot sun. I want to feel the sand in my toes. I want to see my friend smiling and laughing with her daughter. I want to see our kids playing in the water, making childhood memories that will last forever.

I want to stand on the edge of the dock. I want to stand there with that feeling of anticipation, wondering how it will feel when my body is submerged in the cool, clear, lake water. I want to take that leap. I want to be suspended in air for that brief moment. I want to hit the water and come to the surface, laughing and saying “woo hoo!” I want to remember that feeling of peace and simplicity and pure joy.

So, I will correct myself. I do not want to “jump off a bridge.” I want to dive of the dock at Elizabeth’s house in Priest Lake, Idaho. I want life to stay in that moment. Just the way it was. I want life.

Giving Peyton a squeeze!

For more information on Peyton Rudkin and Peyton’s Ranch, please visit peytonsranch.org.

Taco temptation and wild abandon.

2011-08-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

She looks innocent,
but watch out for her wily ways.

Okay, so I know I made a rather bold statement a few weeks ago. I think it went something like, “I am done with you.” I also asked the question, “How long with I miss you?” So, now it’s time for some coming clean honesty.

Apparently, I was NOT done with you. And I will miss you for a VERY long time. I am physically strong. I am mentally, or willpower, weak, as it turns out. Shocker, huh?

For those of you who don’t care to read the previous blog entries, I’ll break it down quickly. I tried to go hardcore Paleo, hardcore cold turkey, otherwise called the Whole 30. Okay, jeez, I was attempting the Whole 30 with wine. I know, I know. Not the Whole 30 at all. I get this. Whatever. At least I am being honest. Well anyway, even the best laid plans of mice and men, right?

So, my plan was going great. I was abiding by all Paleo eating standards. Drinking my coffee with unsweetened coconut creamer. No grains. No dairy. No sugar. Grass fed beef. No nitrates, etc. Yes, I did allow fermented grapes – my Achilles heel. Again, whatever. I get where I went wrong. The whole “sandpaper theory.” Those of you, who’ve attended a Whole 9 seminar, know what I’m saying. Anyway, no need to beat a dead horse. Lest I remind you, I am sharing my journey, by choice.

I went for a weekend away, to visit Shelby. The afternoon began innocently enough with hanging out and enjoying some rare sunshine on her beautiful deck. We were getting ready to go to dinner. I was firm in my resolve. “Stick to the plan.” I told myself. I told Shelby of my plan as well. She was supportive, as all good friends are.

We get to the restaurant. I am still firm in my resolve. The waitress comes. Shelby orders wine. Resolve weakens. I order a glass. Resolve weakens more. Shelby and Ryan tell me that this place has the best “shrimp tacos they have ever had.” Wow. The best? Then we all had some great conversation. Another glass of wine. Some really great laughs. More great conversation. I think to myself, “You’re smart. You are in control. You freaking rock.” You know, all the things you tell yourself after a couple of drinks on an empty stomach. But I’m rather convincing. Even when talking to myself. I order another glass of wine. By this time I am asking myself, “When will you get the chance to have the world’s greatest shrimp tacos with some really wonderful people EVER again?!” I am actually yelling this in my head, directly in the face of my “paleo resolve.”

“Resolve” is now floating in the bottom of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. It’s at the bottom of my glass, staring up at me, gulping for breath, as I watch it drowning -- with a smile on my face.

I could share the rest of my evening, and the details that lead me towards the complete destruction of my Paleo path, but why? You’re smart people. You can figure it out. I will say that it ended with eating 3 bites (yes, I counted, as though it really mattered) of a cinnamon roll on Sunday morning – with my unsweetened coffee creamer. I am not a complete hedonist!

The end of my story? I am back on track again. But I have zero regrets. As I have said before, I believe life can be a bit of a roller coaster ride. There are ups and downs. Some “ups” are absolutely worth it, others are not. Some “downs” take you further down than you ever intended to go. But either way – get on the ride. Live. Try. Fail. Succeed. Stumble. And try again. Let loose. Throw caution to the wind every now and then.

I’m not suggesting that we shouldn’t stick to a great nutrition plan. Because I believe we should – almost all of the time. Those shrimp tacos? They were absolutely worth it. They were awesome. I’d have them again. Resolve be damned.

Sometimes you need to have a little “bad” in your life. Because sometimes “bad” can be really, really, good.

Your ass looks huge in those!

2011-08-03T17:04:00.000-07:00

We met in 1996. Here we are 7-29-11.

I think it’s amazing to have relationships in your life that have had such a positive impact and deep meaning that, no matter what, you know without doubt, you will know this person forever.

I have friends in my life that hold this very special place. Friends I’ve know long enough to endure miles separating us, months between talks, and years between visits. These friendships have included years of laughter, love and tears. We’ve both survived and celebrated various life changing events.

So this past weekend I was able to break free of family commitments and responsibilies to go and visit my dear friend, Shelby, in Camano Island, WA. It’s been two and a half years since Shelby and I have laid eyes on each other. We’ve talked just enough to keep up on what’s going on in each others’ worlds. So, you’d think that maybe we’d lost a bit of that familiar closeness that we once shared.

No. We had not. The minute I pulled in to her driveway and saw her running towards me with her beautiful, signature long, red hair, my heart melted and we hugged like the sisters we’d always felt we were. No awkwardness. No “getting reacquainted” moments -- just reciprocated love that that two dear friends have always shared.

The first night I met Shelby, I didn’t know what I’d think of this tiny, gorgeous red head, until we got to dinner and she ordered ribs. Not a salad – ribs. Sticky ribs that she got all over her hands. I fell in love with this girl. We immediately became the best of friends. We complemented each other. She was the calm, voice of reason. I was the outspoken, wild one. Go figure, huh?

Shelby and I have always had an open and honest relationship. We’ve been the ones to tell each other, “Those white pants make your ass look huge. Take them off now.” We’ve shared every random thing imaginable -- from skinny dipping to being time-share hostages in Vegas. We've survived bad haircuts, bad self tanner moments, dive bars and hangovers. Marital bliss and marital nightmares. She was the first person to babysit one year old Sophia. She held her for hours while she cried so I could have a night out. She was the first person I called when I found out I was pregnant with my second baby. I had happened to be in Sacramento visiting Shelby, a few nights prior. When she heard the news, we laughed and said we should name the baby, “Chardonnay.” She ended up being named, Estella, instead.

Of course we have been through all the stuff that some long term friends go through. We’ve had our close times. We have had times when our lives were at different places. We have had times when we felt that we thought we knew what was better for the other. We’ve tried to tell each other “what to do.” But when one of us didn’t listen, we have then tried to support one another – through the hits and misses. We’ve celebrated the good times. And then we have consoled each other through the rough times.

We’ve had arguments. We’ve been angry. We’ve cried together. We’ve felt distant. But inevitably, we make our way back to each other. I think when people share a real friendship – one that will last – you ride out the waves. If you care enough, the good times will always outweigh the bad. They will outweigh the stress of distance and life's constant distractions.

Real friendship stands the test of time. These friends love you. They love your “goods.” They love your “bads.” They love you despite all things. They won’t judge. They will support. They don’t tell you what you want to hear. They tell you what you need to hear. Be blessed by these rare people in your life. Cherish them. And be the same for them. Be the friend you want.

True friendship is unending. It is unyielding. But it is constantly evolving. Over time, friendship takes on different dimensions, but it never loses its original character.

And most importantly, a true friend will always tell you when you’re wearing unflattering pants.

How long will I miss you?

2011-07-27T12:53:00.000-07:00

July 27 at 6:15am. New coffee. Same old me.

After attending the Whole 9 nutrition seminar this past weekend, I have decided to eat a Paleo diet, once again.

What is Paleo for those of you unfamiliar? There is a ton of information online, but here is a very simplified definition:

DO EAT: foods that make you more healthy: Meat, vegetables, fruit, healthy fats.

DON’T EAT: foods that make you less healthy: Sugar, alcohol, grains, legumes, dairy, unhealthy fats.

Dallas and Melissa Hartwig, the founders Whole 9 and the Whole 30 Program, and total badass nutrition gurus, provided me so many reasons to live this lifestyle; I simply have to give it a go. They are very persuasive people, backed by tons of knowledge and personal experience. I have done this before, for short bouts of time, but then inevitably I revert back to my former habits. It’s easy to go back to what’s comfortable. Going back to what feels good and normal to you.

Anyway, I am making some changes. But I have a lot of bad habits in place. How do I break these? How do I prepare for the journey ahead of me? Maybe you can’t prepare. Maybe you just jump in with both feet, hang on tight, and gut it out. Kind of like a really long, hellish metcon? You keep reminding yourself that it won’t kill you and you’ll be better for it in the end?

People have habits of all sorts. Good and bad. Things we love to do. Things we wish we wouldn’t. There are things we feel like we can live without. There are things we feel like we can’t. I think that a habit is developed because the behavior, whatever it may be, is rewarded to a point that makes us want to do it again, and again, and again. It brings us pleasure. Usually enough pleasure to justify the behavior. Which is why we cling to them. When you tell yourself, “You can’t do ‘this’ anymore,” whatever it is -- whatever the habitual component it holds -- leaving it behind will not be without discomfort. Habits can be like an addiction. Some of the biggies: smoking, drinking, unhealthy food, toxic relationships, etc.

Today, I am focusing on breaking unhealthy food habits. Which I believe to be the granddaddy of all habits! Because we can’t just go cold turkey on food, like you could cigarettes. Although I have never had to give up smoking, so what I do I know? Maybe there are some ex-smokers who would like to have a few choice words with me about that bold statement. Anyway, the way I see it, with food, we have to keep it in our lives. We can’t escape it and pretend it doesn’t exist. We have to make the right choices and eliminate the ones that are not good for us.

For example, I love coffee with creamer. LOTS of vanilla creamer. I’ll stick with this example, but you can insert “whatever” in to this scenario. Maybe for you it’s chips, or ice-cream, or cheese. But it’s essentially the same with anything you love, that you choose to remove from your life.

I wake up, every morning, and go straight for my coffee creamer. I grab it before I fill my cup. I look forward to it. I love it. I feel like I can’t live without it. It tastes so dang good. But it’s not good for me. It’s doing me no favors – or contributing to my health in a positive manner. It’s nutritional wasteland.

It’s been 3 days since I’ve left my beloved, vanilla coffee creamer, behind. Today as I sit here in my chair, watching GMA and drinking my coffee with a splash of unsweetened coconut creamer, I am not terribly happy. A considerable amount of indulgence has been removed from this morning ritual of mine.

Will I eventually stop missing my vanilla creamer? Will I find a substitute that is “good enough?” Will each day magically get easier, until I don’t miss it at all? Will I sit here in my chair on a morning, a month from now and enjoy this “new” cup of mine?

Possibly. I guess I don’t know. That’s what I struggle with. The process of breaking the habit. It’s an uncomfortable course. I sometimes fear my ability to get to the end. But I believe in what I am doing. So, I will persevere and imagine that the taste of victory will be sweet – a natural, unprocessed sweet that can be found only in fruit, preferably organic.

Until then, I will miss you old friend.

I am done with you.

2011-07-24T21:16:00.000-07:00

So I just got back from a Whole 9 nutrition seminar. It was a very informative day. It gave me a lot to think about. And although a lot of what I got today was very scientific and technical, here is a simplified explanation of what I am going to accomplish:

The equation of HEALTH:

HEALTH

(Equals)

RECOVERY - YOUR FOUNDATION - nutrition, active recovery, sleep

(Minus) -

TRAINING

(Minus) -

STRESS – PSYCHOLOGICAL

So, if you do not benefit my health, or you subtract from my health, or you do nothing to enhance my health...

I AM DONE WITH YOU.

Further explanation to follow.

One of these kids is not like the other.

2011-07-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

So on the 4th of July, I was hanging out with two friends of mine. We were laying on towels, visiting and soaking up the rare summer sunshine that Mother Nature has chosen to withhold from us this year. The kids were swimming and entertaining us with their childish antics.

Stella had gotten out of the pool and was standing in front of our towels, with the sun at her back. She was making “shadows” on our bodies with her hands. “Stacie, I am grabbing your boob,” Stella says as she erupts in laughter. It was rather funny. I rolled over to see a shadow hand, squeezing Stacie’s unsuspecting breast. She then walked over to Michelle, and did the same. We all laughed. Stella is a child that is always saying something, or doing something to push the envelope of appropriate behavior. I suspect she gets that from me. And I am truly sorry that I passed on that trait. But what can I do? Stifle the child? I guess some would suggest just that, but somehow I can’t. She is a very funny little girl. And I’ve always found that having a great sense of humor is an amazing quality. And personally, I love funny people.

Anyway, Stella gets around to doing her shadow hands on me, and she pauses. She giggles. She says, “Mom, when I look at Stacie and Michelle, I see ‘mountains.’ You? Not so much!” I laughed. And before I could reply, Sophia chimes in with, “Yeah, Mom, most guys like big boobs.” I laughed again. Then I gave my response, “Not all guys.”

Then I told them, it was fortunate that I didn’t suffer from particularly low self esteem. I also explained that having a small chest wasn’t the worse thing in the world – at least not to me. They ended this “small” conversation by telling me that they were certain they’d have bigger boobs than me. “Well, if that’s what you want, then I sure hope so,” was my answer.

But it got me thinking about boobs. . . breasts. . .the girls. . . or toddlers, in my case -- or whatever term you choose to use when discussing them. They are a big (or small) deal to people. All people. Apparently even my little people. I know the girls’ and their friends talk about the process of “developing” and how they think they will look and how they want to look.

I imagine they’ve been so bombarded with breast imagery on TV and in magazines, they have a sense of what they think is “perfect” or “beautiful,” even at their young ages. And that makes me a bit sad. Because I think there are so many beautiful things that define a woman. Not just “two” things.

I hate that lots of people define beauty by breast size. We can’t change what we’ve been given. We come in all different shapes and sizes. And that makes us unique. Not imperfect. I can’t work out to make my boobs bigger. I can’t eat clean and earn a pair of C’s. I can, of course, purchase them, but that’s a topic I don’t care to address today.

I’m talking about the disbelief that big boobs makes a woman more beautiful. Although, I’m not saying that they detract from beauty either. But dang it, I don’t believe that lack of large breast size, makes me any less pretty than my big-boobed counterparts. But as always, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose.

I want to believe that beauty comes from within (yes, spoken from an outwardly vain woman, who aspires to be better). It comes with self-confidence. It comes with self-acceptance. Or maybe I’m full of crap. Yes, I probably am, a wee bit – because although, my small chest doesn’t bother me, lots of other things do. It’s a lovely sentiment, though, isn’t it? I sound rather inspiring for small-chested America, don't I?

In all honesty, however, because I am flat chested, I have chosen to focus my attention on other parts of my body. Parts of my body I can control the size of. I currently have so many other areas that I’m trying to keep in check; the least of my worries is my cleavage.

I’ve never had big boobs, to even know what it’s like to get attention based on their size. Well, I did have “Pamela Anderson-esque” boobs when my milk came in after I had Sophia. My Mom was staying with me at the time. I woke her up to show her the monstrosities that appeared over night. I should have snapped a picture. And I guess they stayed on the bigger side while I continued to nurse. But then nature has a way of returning to its original state.

I suppose it’s a blessing that the size of my chest doesn’t bother me. It seems to bother everyone around me much more. My girls have told me as much. I’ve been told by friends a time or two that “I’d look great with bigger boobs.”

My response to all of them has been, “I’m fine with my boobs.” This seems to perplex everyone. But trust me. I am not lying. I am fine with having a small chest. I really am. Sounds crazy in this world of massage cleavage and implants, but seriously, I’m more concerned with the size of my ass. So, I took the route of embracing my flat chest. It’s worked thus far.

But mark my words. . . Small boobs will make a comeback. And when they do. . . I’ll be ready.

May the bridges I burn, light my way.

2011-07-11T15:47:00.000-07:00

I read this quote quite a while back. It has been rolling around in the back of my mind, stirring up debris. It really made me think. It’s one of those statements that can be taken in different ways -- or mean different things to different people. It’s all in the interpretation. I suppose primarily, because you’re either the bridge or you’re the one holding the match.

I’m trying to look it from the “burners” point of view. It’s saying in essence, “I’ve done some things. I have created damage that is beyond repair. And I am using these experiences to move on. I am not looking back.” This could mean that they will be guided by the relationships and opportunities that they destroy. It could mean that the mistakes that someone made in their past and the broken relationships with other people -- the burning bridges -- will be a guide for them later. They will learn from them.

“Burning the bridge” from a literal sense means: To cut off the way back to where you came from, making it impossible to retreat. It’s a point of no return. Figuratively it means: to make decisions that cannot be changed in the future. Or to act unpleasantly in a situation that you are leaving, ensuring that you'll never be welcome to go back.

I suppose there are times when your actions cause a bridge to burn, beyond your control. Or maybe I shoud say your "intention" -- because our actions are in our control. I also believe that sometimes a clear cut decision is made to “strike the match.” You’ve had time to contemplate the outcome and the affect it will have in your life and others'. There are ramifications for every decision we make in our lives. Nothing happens without consequence. Are there hurts and actions that can’t be undone? I don’t like to believe that, but yes, there are.

I think there are different types of burning bridges – ultimately defined by what side you’re standing on. Some bridges can smolder for what seems like a very long time. One person is trying to ignite the inferno and the other person keeps throwing water on it – trying desperately to put out the blaze. Eventually, however, if someone wants it up in flames bad enough, it becomes impossible to extinguish. Others are so quick to combust; you’ve barely had time to escape with singed hair and hopefully your eyebrows intact.

I can honestly say that there is only one occasion I can think of in my life when I burned a bridge with full intention. I was a checker at K-Mart in 1989. I had given my 2 weeks’ notice and my last day scheduled was a Saturday night. The same night all of my friends were going to a rock concert. I can’t even remember which one, but I can tell you that I really wanted to go. I called and told my boss that I wasn’t coming in. I was informed that if I didn’t work the full 2 weeks’ notice, that I would not be eligible for rehire. Ever. I was black listed from K-Mart. Forever.

So I guess I should say that I am not an “intentional” bridge burner, generally speaking. I’m cursed with always trying to always keep one foot in, and one hand hanging on. I’m always afraid, that if I let go completely, there is no going back. Does this make me a coward? Because I’m afraid of making clear cut decisions? Because I fear finality? Or does it make me brave because I’d rather battle and endure? Perhaps a bit of both.

“May the bridges I burn light my way.” No thanks. I don’t want that type of light guiding me through my life. I don’t want my life defined by the path of destruction I’ve left behind me.

So the question remains, are you an arsonist or a firefighter? I want to be the fighter.

A session of Swear Therapy

2011-07-06T08:26:00.000-07:00

Me and my perfect angels.

I am sure that this post won’t win me “Mother of the Year” award. Not that I am ever in the running for that. I’m more of a realist in that area. I know my weaknesses, just as an athlete does. I know my strengths, as well. I think I raise my daughters with a strong sense of reality. This is what life “is” – it’s not always what we wish it to be, but it is, what it is.

I was putting the girls to bed the other night and they were telling me about their days. They were both frustrated about how situations in their little lives had been handled. Disagreements with friends. Your run of the mill, little girl drama. Those of you with girls know exactly what I am talking about. Well, they were both feeling like things had been “said” that weren’t right. I asked, of course, “What kind of things?” Then they told me that some of the kids swear when they are angry. I said, “But you never do, right?” My little angels told me with the most innocent faces that, “No,” they do not use these words.

I didn’t know quite how to reply. I mean, in all honesty, I do use profanity from time to time. I am not necessarily proud of this. So I sincerely want to believe they don’t say these “bad” words. I really do. I also like to think I’ve tried very hard to teach them the difference between what adults can do and what kids can do. That just because you see or hear an adult do something – it doesn’t make it right for them. I guess the words I am looking for are that I am trying to teach my kids “age appropriate behavior.”

Okay, I am sure none of your kids ever swear. Of course they don’t. Not yours. But some kids do. Even if they never hear you do it. Even if you’ve been dang near perfect . . . anyway. Let me tell you. . . Your kids hear the words. They do. Their “friends say them.” I will reiterate “their friends” say them, because, as I have said, we want to believe, desperately, that ours never do. Right? Yep. Of course. They never say bad words. They are never mean, or hit others, either. We love to tell ourselves that. Then let’s tell ourselves that we can control what they hear on the playground, or anywhere else for that matter. But come on. Wouldn't we be self-delusional to believe our kids are perfect? So, I’m not going to say that your kids have never heard bad words from my girls. But after last night, I am thinking that they don’t come from their mouths as often as I would have thought.

So anyway, I was putting the girls to bed the other night. And they were telling me how many “swear” words” they wanted to say during their day. I took the bait; I said, “Like what word?” They both looked at me with wide eyes. They told me that they couldn’t say what they wanted to. Of course I had to know what exactly they wanted to say. I won’t lie, I was a bit scared. But I wanted to know, so I said, “Say it out loud. Say what you want to say -- anything but the “F” word.” I know, I’m conservative, right?

“What do you want to say Sophia,” I asked? “Ass.” Just “ass” was what she said. That’s it. Followed up by a meek little “Damn it.”

Then Stella. Oh, Stella. She, however . . . well, she is a bit more aggressive in nature. It was her turn. I waited, in anticipation to see what my baby girl had to say. What taboo word would she say very quietly?

“BITCH!!!”

WOW. It wasn’t meek. And it sure wasn’t quiet! It was like she needed to say it. And she said it loud!

Afterwards, while I was still a bit shell-shocked from her ferocity, she explained, rather simply, “If I was allowed to say ‘bitch,’ I’d say it all of the time.” Apparently, Stella encounters a lot of “bitches” in her eight year old world. I cannot vouch for this fact, but she is rather certain.

So I was telling my dear friend, Elizabeth, this funny story. And she said, “Wait, the girls told me about this!” They are close to Elizabeth and their family, so this didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me is that apparently, I am not that original in my plan to let them say all the “taboo” words in order to “clear the air,” so to speak. To make them not such a big deal, while letting them know that they are still not, without a doubt, appropriate to use in any situation. No matter how angry, or frustrated, or even in response to another friend using these words. I cracked up when Elizabeth said that both of her children really wanted to say “Son of a Bitch” – one of her favorites. We shared a conspiratory laugh.

Because guess what? Our children are not potty mouths in the neighborhood. I guess I should preface that bold statement with “not yet,” however.

So if you ever hear my children utter a swear word, even under their breaths, please let me know. Parenting is a long, educational process. I’ll keep trying to perfect my skills. Will I stop letting a swear word, or two, slip? No. Some of you know me really well, so if I said otherwise, you’d call “bullshit” on that statement! I will still be the girl I am. The girl who shouldn’t say the things she does. My mother does not love this about me. She does not support my bad language in any way shape, or form, I might add. She likes to blame CrossFit culture. I told her that I wish I could blame that, and a lot of things on CrossFit, but unfortunately, I can’t.

But I can promise to encourage the use of positive language, whenever possible. Which is almost always? No, always, I guess. I can encourage it ALWAYS. I will encourage my girls to be better than their mother. I can add that to a long list of things I would like my girls to be better at, than I have been.

Parenting. It’s a “bleeping” tough job.

Nice snatch. . . balance.

2011-06-14T16:53:00.000-07:00

First, it needs to be said, yet again, that Olympic Weightlifting is the coolest sport on the planet. Yes, I said, the planet. Maybe not in your world, but it certainly is in mine. It’s beautiful and powerful, fast, precise and aggressive. It’s technical and intelligent. It’s everything I aspire to be. I’ve also found that girls with great snatches are very popular among certain crowds.

So, I had a 5 pound PR (personal record) the other day doing a Snatch Balance at 120#. What is a snatch balance, you ask? Well, I will tell you. But for all you non-lifters, I should first tell you what a snatch is. It is quite simply, the most awesome lift EVER. Okay, that’s my definition. Here’s the technical one:

The Snatch

“The snatch is the first of two lifts contested in Olympic Weightlifting in which the barbell is lifted from the floor to overhead in a single movement. With it’s unparalleled speed and extensive range of motion, it epitomizes mechanical power – the performance of maximal work in minimal time – as well as technical precision.” – Greg Everett, Olympic Weightlifting, A Complete Guide for Coaches and Athletes, 2nd Ed.

See, I told you. . . It’s the most awesome lift EVER. I mean, if you can snatch, you’re cooler than sliced bread. Seriously. Doesn’t it make you want to pick up a barbell and learn to snatch? Well, actually you’ll have to start with PVC to learn the elements of the lift. But that’s a topic for another day.

Today we are talking snatch balance. It is a part of the Snatch Balance Series which includes the pressing snatch balance, the heaving snatch balance and the snatch balance.

The Snatch Balance Series

"The series of snatch balance exercise adds dynamic entry into the (receiving) position with increasing complexity and speed in order to better prepare the athlete to receive the snatch successfully.” – Greg Everett, Olympic Weightlifting, A Complete Guide for Coaches and Athletes, 2nd Ed.

And don’t we all want to receive the snatch successfully? I know I do! So what do I do to achieve this glorious skill? I practice. I practice a lot. I tape my lifts. I watch them back in slow motion. I watch for what I did right -- seeing if I hit the different positions properly. Sometimes I am happy with what I see. More often I see things that need work.

Today for example, I was snatching with a light weight, just working on technique. Oh jeez. Today my snatch was ugly. U-G-L-Y. But that’s what also makes lifting so dang wonderful. You’re never done. There is always something to work on. Get better at. It is a constant challenge. And hey, in all honesty, the things we want most in life, sometimes present challenges, right?

So this brings us to the snatch balance. It’s a skills transfer exercise and a great training tool. Here’s why:

The Snatch Balance

The snatch balance “is an aggressive exercise and demands maximal speed and effort,” -- Greg Everett

I quote him a lot. He’s much smarter about this stuff than I am. He is Catalyst Athletics @ http://www.cathletics.com, a great Olympic weightlifting website. He’s also married to Aimee Anaya Everett, my lifting idol. Anyway, what and how does this lift translate to the actual snatch? What does this movement teach us?

It teaches us proper foot transition and speed, and increases strength and confidence – all very important things when weightlifting. The lift begins with the bar behind the neck, on the shoulders in the snatch grip. Feet begin in the pulling position. The athlete will dip and drive the bar overhead while quickly dropping and transitioning the feet into the receiving position. The finish looks like an overhead squat. When you get proficient at this movement, you should be able to snatch balance significantly more weight that you can actually snatch. I don’t know if I could claim to be “proficient” at this movement, but my experience has proven this statement correct. My 1RM snatch is 100#. So yes, I snatch balance significantly more than I snatch.

I can snatch balance 120#. And that is so awesome. Until I can snatch balance 130#.

One is the loneliest number.

2011-06-13T16:04:00.000-07:00

I love being a trainer. I am very lucky to do what I do. What I don’t always love is working out alone. It’s an entirely different feeling to hit your own stop watch. And saying “3-2-1 Go” to the walls of your garage seems a bit silly. Likewise, yelling “Done!” just isn’t the same when you’re talking to yourself.

There are several things I miss about working out with a group of people; camaraderie, pre-wod anxiety, laughter, chasing someone, having someone to chase, cheering someone on, and having someone cheering you on.

This is camaraderie in a CrossFit box: You pull in the parking lot. All of you have a similar feeling when you get out of your cars. Jitters, butterflies, anticipation, dread – all meshed. You hang up your bags together, read the board together -- and get the immediate urge to pee. You warm up together. Laugh a bit, sometimes laugh a lot, and tell each other that “this will be hell.” If you were Cari and I, a couple years ago, you’d wait until your coach walked in the house for a minute and you’d whisper to one another, “I can’t do this friend!” And then we would. We’d do it. Together.

Working out alone doesn’t provide me this same kind of experience. Do I still get a killer workout in? Absolutely. Do I still get jitters before I hit “start” on the watch? Yep. But what I miss is sharing it with someone. Some of my best workouts have been side by side with a great friend. You walk in, face the whiteboard, feel slight panic, gut it out and just freaking do it.

Working out side by side gives you someone to “chase.” There is nothing like having someone a couple reps ahead of you, to make you push that much harder, take one more step, or resist the urge to take a drink of water. In the same vein, being “chased” works the same way. You will do what you can to stay ahead of the pack. It creates unbelievable drive in an individual. I have experienced this first hand, more times than I can count. I firmly believe that your wod times are faster when you work out with others. I believe the group drives the level of intensity. In addition, a group provides a feeling of support. They sweat next to you. Feel pain next to you. There is a bond that forms with people that “suffer” together. If you finish first, you’re the one cheering everyone on. If you’re last, everyone is yelling words of encouragement. I’m telling you, it’s a great thing. This stuff is hard. But with a friend next to you, it makes the outcome that much sweeter.

So, I may not get the opportunity to work out in a group very often anymore, but there is so much beauty in what I get to do. Now, I get to live the experience from the other side of the stopwatch. I get to see friendships forged, and journeys shared. I get to watch people learn the value of competitive, supportive, sportsmanship. I get to watch them grow as athletes. I get to see them develop greater physical and mental strength. And although I am not arm in arm with them, I am next them. I am leading them. Every painful, and wonderful, step they take.

Consequently, I may be lonely at times, but I get to be a part of something I truly love. And it is a privilege.

Naked CrossFit Aggression.

2011-05-28T11:13:00.000-07:00

There is one and only one reason that I used “naked” in the title. The number one word that has been googled, leading the random visitor to my blog has been “naked.” Yes, isn’t that funny? Or is it sad how many people are googling “naked Crossfit women?" But the words actually make sense for my topic anyway, so I figured I’d take full advantage of the search engines.

Let’s find a synonym for “naked” -- evident, undisguised, direct, outspoken. Yes, this would define my opinions on CrossFit, or anything in general. Let’s define “aggression” -- hostile behavior, or attitude. Yes, this would define how my opinions might be received today, or in general.

Things that irritate me about CrossFit. . .

First, let me say that I love CrossFit. It changed my world and has had a hugely positive impact on my life. I think that truth is apparent to anyone who knows me, or who has read my blog. But like with any relationship, there are things that make you crazy mad and wish you could change -- even though you’re entirely committed. Makes sense, right? So, let’s go. And these things aren’t in any order of importance.

CrossFit’s use of Olympic Lifting Terminology:

This bugs me like no other. CrossFit continually uses the wrong terminology to define Olympic Weightlifting. Example: “Squat Snatch.” Okay people, there are only a couple of things that define a lift – your starting position, where you pull from, and where you receive the bar. When you see the word “snatch” – this means the lift is taken from the floor and received in a full squat. Simple as that. Unless you see it written as anything else, it’s taken from the floor and received in a full squat. If you see the word “hang, or high hang” preceding “snatch” this is defining where you will begin the lift. If you see the word “power,” this defines where you will receive the lift – with the thighs horizontal or above. Insert “cleans” in the same process. Simple.

Affiliate Fees:

This a subject brings one word to mind. Greed. When CrossFit started affiliating, I believe the fees were $500 per year. They are now $3000. Let’s talk about why this bothers me. CrossFit begin as a grassroots movement. They told us that “anyone can be successful in your garage.” Well, that might have been true in the beginning, but it certainly is not the case today. Take your average garage CrossFit gym. Do the math. Figure out how many bodies you can run through classes in your space each month and see what you come up with. I can tell you that you will find that the days of the “CrossFit garage gyms” are over. It can’t be done profitably. No way. No how. CrossFit has taken their original followers, the garage gym people, and run them out of business. That’s sad. I was a part of one. That makes me sad. Shame on you, HQ, for making it impossible for the “little guys” to survive and complete in this market.

Back-Biting among the CrossFit community:

I have had first hand experience with this. I have not only been a part of a small affiliate, but I am also friends with others in the nearby CrossFit community. Not only is there a considerable amount of bad-mouthing of affiliates within small areas, there is no sense of camaraderie among local gyms. Maybe your area is different. Ours is not. Again, this is sad.

CrossFit Main site putting up videos displaying bad form:

This is especially bad for newbies. Not as bad for those of us who know the difference, but still unforgiveable. When I started CF 3 years ago, I went to the main site to see how to perform movements. And I had a good coach. I still went there for further education. I got great instruction. It is not the same today. Almost weekly, they display an “elite” athlete performing a WOD as rx’d in an amazing time. Here’s the problem. Most of them look like crap. Read the daily comments after they post a video like this. You’ll find that I’m not the only person who shares this opinion. The wod calls for a “clean and jerk” but what they show is a “thruster.” Why not just say “ground to overhead” so all of us who give a shit aren’t offended when we see someone bastardizing an Oly lift? There is never a plausible excuse for poor form. CrossFit methodology is based on doing things right – which separates us from the rest of the fitness world.

Bad CrossFit Trainers:

There are bad coaches in every sport and there are bad personal trainers everywhere, but bad CrossFit coaches? That bothers me. Why? Because, once again, what CrossFit stands for is proper movement. It’s what we preach. It’s what we are supposed to teach. I had a recent encounter with a guy who’s been going to a local CrossFit gym, for 3 months. He casually mentioned that he “thought” he knew how to deadlift. What the F*#K? He “thought?” He ought to know without a doubt, if he’s been trained well, that he knows how to deadlift. I mean, that is awful. AWFUL. I will add that his guy didn’t know what a hook-grip is. I will repeat. . . didn’t know what a “hook grip” is. If you are a trainer and reading this, then tell me how you feel about a guy going to classes at a local CrossFit gym for 3 months and having no idea what a hook grip is? If you aren’t disgusted, then I don’t know what to say to you. Enough said.

Passing the CrossFit Level One Cert:

What does it take to become a CF level one trainer? Well, up until a year ago, all it took was around $1200. Now it takes $1200 and the ability to pass a very basic exam. Why does this bother me? Well, I believe that a good trainer should be able to physically to perform the movements they teach. When Cari and I went to our cert, we were the only 2 women who could do a muscle up. And there were many people, men and women, who couldn’t even do a pullup! Currently, anyone who has money and basic intelligence can call themselves a CrossFit trainer. I think there should be a physical exam before you are given the permission to teach others. Would I pass a test like this? I can say without a doubt, yes I could. So could Loraine, Cari, Brady, Jay, Jeff, Charity and tons of other Level One Trainers I know. Unfortunately, there are also more than I could imagine, who couldn’t possibly teach movement properly, because they don’t move properly themselves. I’ve seen them at the certs I’ve attended. Does this make CrossFit different from obtaining any other fitness cert? Nope. My point is, yet again, CrossFit is supposed to be better.

Reebok sponsoring the 2011 CrossFit Games:

Reebok makes a shoe called the EasyTone. Imagine this. . . you lace up your fancy Reebok EasyTones, and get fit by walking through the aisles at Wal-Mart! Wow. Who needs to do squats to get a better ass?! And if the shoes aren’t enough to get you to your fitness goals, then you can also purchase their line of EasyTone clothing. These have “toning bands for increased muscle activation.” Seriously? This is who CrossFit wants to promote and partner with? But CrossFit will gladly take their money for a huge purse for this year’s games. I can’t imagine anything that goes against what CrossFit stands for then shoes and clothing that claim to get you fit by doing nothing but walking around. Oh yes, I see a ton of CrossFitters speed-walking the Orting Trail “for time.” You know what gets you fit? Hard work. That’s it. CrossFit has always had this “anti-establishment” attitude. Really? What kind of message is this sending? Can you say “sell-out?”

Rant over. . .

I still love you CrossFit. I really do. Maybe we just need counseling to work through some of our issues?

I'm doing the best I can

2011-05-24T17:33:00.000-07:00

At this point in my life
I’ve done so many things wrong I don’t know if I can do right
At this point in my life
Although I’ve mostly walked in the shadows
I’m still searching for the light

You see I’ve been climbing stairs but mostly stumbling down
I’ve been reaching high always losing ground

You see I’ve been reaching high but always losing ground
You see I’ve conquered hills but I still have mountains to climb
And right now right now I’m doing the best I can
At this point in my life

I love sad songs. Songs that speak to my heart. Somehow, I find them oddly comforting. A favorite of mine is an old Tracy Chapman song called “At this point in my life.”

I’ve done so many things wrong, I don’t know if I can do right. . .

This line is self-explanatory. And if anyone reading it can’t empathize with that feeling, they are either super-human, or someone who’s lived such a perfect life, I can’t relate to them.

Although I’ve mostly walked in the shadows, I’m still searching for the light. . .

There are those happy people you know that can always see the bright side in any situation. I’m not that girl. I bought a tee shirt last year that made me laugh when I picked it up. It said “Little Miss Sunshine.” I guess only those that really know me, know how funny that is. I’ve struggled with depression for the bulk of my adult life. Actually the first time I went to see someone about it, I was 24. Does this bother me? Absolutely. But I can’t change it, so I deal with it. So yes, I spend days in the “shadows.” But do I ever stop “searching for the light?” No.

You see I’ve been climbing stairs but mostly stumbling down. I’ve been reaching high and always losing ground. . .

Life is filled with skewed perspective and distorted goals. This is only made worse if you are cursed with being someone who feels like “it’s” never enough, whatever “it” may be. There is always something to reach for. Usually it’s beyond your grasp. And when we don’t attain it, we may feel like we’ve stumbled. We’ve lost ground. But maybe, just maybe, if we actually get a hold of it, we will find that it wasn’t the key to happiness anyway.

There was a time in my life that I truly believed, and I mean I really, really believed, that if I weighed 118 pounds then life would be perfect. Perfect. I chased that number until it made me almost crazy. And then I had my baby girl, Sophia. She was a sickly baby. We had many visits to various specialists at Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital. During this time, the baby weight fell off. I didn’t weight 118 pounds. I weighed 112. But interestingly enough, life didn’t feel “perfect” even though my jeans were hanging off my body. Not at all. My perspective had changed. What I thought was the answer, was resoundingly, not.

This is just one example of how we sometimes believe if we can just do “this” or just get “that” then life will be perfect. It's often not true.

Then there is also the cold, hard reality that sometimes we try our best and we fail. Simple as that. We try. We fail. It happens. We’ve been told that if we “just work hard enough” we will reach our goals. It just isn’t true. Sometimes you won’t reach your goal. Ever. That’s when we learn to cope with lost dreams. Sounds sad and cynical, but I believe it to be very true.

At this point in my life, I’m doing the best I can. . .

I love this line. Love it. Love it. Maybe you have to hear her sing it to appreciate the feeling in it. Can’t we apply this sentiment to so many areas of our lives? Our relationships, our friendships, our workouts? Sometimes, although no one can see it, you really are doing the best you can. At this point.

I think more than anything, we want to be loved, and appreciated for who we are, in spite of our mistakes and our shortcomings. We want someone to support our crazy, unattainable goals, and then comfort us when we don’t reach them. We also need to understand that life isn’t perfect, not even close, and it’s continually evolving.

But hopefully, every now and then, we have the time to sit and listen to a beautiful song that makes us pause, and reflect. Think about our choices. What we think is important and why. How we got here and where we want to go.

And right now, I'm doing the best I can. . .

We need to consider the beauty and ugliness in our lives. It’s filled with both. Beauty and ugliness. The key, I believe, is learning to recognize which is which. And then do the best you can.

I'm not a green bean.

2011-04-27T13:20:00.000-07:00

These exact words came out of my daughter, Sophia’s, mouth the other night while eating dinner. “I’m not a green bean, Mom.” I said, “Do you mean a string bean?” At first I giggled, and then I stopped, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. And hating that we were about to have it. She said, “Yeah, I don’t look like my friends.” I asked her what she meant by that. She told me that she was “bigger” than all of them. She said that they all had skinny legs and skinny tummies. They were skinny. And she wasn’t, she said.

I wonder if my resounding sigh could be heard across the world. It held so much weight and meaning that I could not express to her. How do I respond to this? What are the right words?

I looked in her eyes, and I said what I believe, “Sophia, you are beautiful, just as you are.” She said, “But why I am I bigger than all of my friends?” Then she hit me with something I never wanted to hear. She said, “Mom, you are skinny. And you want to be that way. I don’t look like you either.”

Wow. Again, could my heart breaking be heard across the world?

I sat and quickly collected my thoughts. I had to say something that mattered. That made sense to my beautiful daughter who didn’t think she was good enough, all of a sudden. I tried to explain to her that I wasn’t “skinny,” I was “fit.” Big difference, I clarified.

I tried to put it in plain words. Being “fit” didn’t mean being the perfect size. It meant having a strong, healthy body. A body that can run fast, jump high, lift heavy things. It enables us to enjoy our lives to the fullest. We can’t compare ourselves to others, because everyone’s body is different. I told her we need to fill our bodies with healthy foods to nourish it properly. I explained the importance of exercise, using myself as an example. I tried to make her understand that I eat well and work out to keep my body “healthy” not “skinny.” I tried to say everything right.

Unfortunately, I could see that this line of conversation wasn’t registering exactly. Sophia is 10 ½ and sees girls on Disney channel that she wants to look like. Period. She doesn’t care about being “fit.” Or she doesn’t make the connection between her body, fitness and healthy eating, rather. How can I fail to make my words sink in? I can’t fail.

One thing I never wanted for my children was to worry about their weight -- for the simple reason that it has tormented me for a good portion of my life. You may think that “tormented” is a rather strong, descriptive word to use, but just ask my own Mother. She will explain that it fits just right when describing my battle with “perfection.” I should add that I was never overweight. I just thought I was. I compared myself to women in magazines, or girls I knew with twiggy legs -- just as my daughter is doing now.

I despise that our society has dictated what our bodies should look like. What is beautiful and what is not? What is the perfect size and what isn’t? But what I hate even more is that I bought in to these misconceptions wholeheartedly for most of my life. This doesn’t make me unique -- either does the fact that I can still fall victim to negative self talk and wishing that I could be just “a little bit better.” But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t pray, realistic or not, that my daughters would bypass feelings of insecurity, or low self esteem, or buy in to the same mistaken beliefs that I did.

Here’s the thing. It’s not easy. It’s not easy to feel like you’re not “perfect.” It’s not easy to make your children believe that they are. It’s especially not easy in a world where beauty and flawlessness is exalted above seemingly all else. There are no simple answers here.

So what do I do? I guess I will continue to do what I have been. Be the best example I can for my children. Encourage healthy habits. Lead them in the right direction -- towards fitness. Provide realistic pictures of strong, healthy, CrossFit women and women athletes of all types. I will support them. Tell them they are wonderful. Explain that they couldn’t be more perfect in my eyes. That they are perfect in God’s eyes. And that they were made in His glory. I will try to do my best to accomplish this, make them believe this. I will love them. Then love them more.

And maybe try to convince them that “green beans” are overrated.

I don't do cardio.

2011-04-20T15:49:00.000-07:00

I don’t do cardio. This was my motto for a very long time.

The other day at the rock climbing gym, a man asked me what type of training I did. He said, “Weightlifter? Because you’re not built like a runner.” I suppose he stereotypically meant that I Iooked muscular, and not long and lean like a runner. I wanted to explain to him that, yes, I was indeed a runner. Not a great one, but dang it, I was a runner!

Since late last October, when I bought my Garmin watch, I have ran 163.95 miles (which includes a 6 week ankle sprain recovery). This isn’t impressive to real “runners.” But for me, it’s actually quite amazing considering that the cumulative mileage in the last several months, surpasses the miles ran in the preceding 20 years. I don’t think I am exaggerating when I say this.

When I started CrossFit in 2008, I was told by Brady, my coach, “There isn’t much running.” I was relieved. What I didn’t realize is that from a runners perspective there is “very little” running. From my perspective, however, 400’s during 3 rounds of a WOD seemed like plenty of running! I’d like to say that I sucked it up in silence when a running wod came around, but I didn’t. I complained mercilessly. I should apologize for all of the dirty looks I threw his direction when I walked in and saw any sort of run on the white board.

Running any distance came hard for me because before CrossFit, I didn’t run. At all. Never. Ever. My cardio consisted of the Step Mill, the Elliptical (Epi-Glider as my dear friend says. Inside joke), and walking at an incline on the treadmill. In all honesty, I preferred to lift weights exclusively and skip my cardio whenever possible. Once in a blue moon, Cari would try to get me to run around the parking lot at our gym. I refused to run the entire way. I’d agree to run the straights and walk the corners! We still laugh about this.

But as things have a way of changing and evolving, I decided that running was something that I should try to get better at instead of constantly fighting it. I was tired of having an Achilles heel. Work your weakness. A statement CrossFitters have had thrown at them many, many times by their coaches.

In comes Cari to the rescue. Or maybe rescue is the wrong word. Support, encouragement and patience may more clearly define what my workout partner contributed to my becoming a runner “of sorts.”

We started running. Not very far. Not very fast. I got better. It became easier. I set goals of how many miles I wanted to run each week in addition to CrossFit. She ran with me every step. Sometimes I complained, sometimes I begged to stop. She’d say, “Just a little farther” or “let’s just slow down a bit.” I began to gain confidence. And after a few months, I uttered the words, “I don’t hate it anymore.”

I began to run on my own at times. By choice no less! Imagine that. I ran a few 5K races and one 10K. It was a big accomplishment. Did I set any speed records? Heck no. I’ll tell you that my best 5K was 27:05. If you run, you know that I am not fast. That doesn’t matter to me. The fact that I am doing something that has come so hard for me is as great thing.

By late winter this year, Cari began training for her first marathon after running a few half’s. I got to tag along on during some of her training runs. I worked up to running 7 miles a few times and then did 8, which is my longest run to date. I was very proud of this. So proud, I thought “maybe I could do a half…”

Well, as with lots of great plans, this one hasn’t come to fruition. Instead, schedules and training plans changed and I was on my own again. I didn’t do a good job of keeping up with my miles without someone to run next to. One week I just ran 3. The next week I didn’t run at all. Those weeks turned in to 3 months of running very, very little with weeks in between. Why did I let it go? I could come up with several empty excuses, but the real answer is, I didn’t make an effort to keep it up.

Today I ran 3.1 miles. It didn’t feel great. I think even my Garmin was disgusted with my performance. Every time I looked down to see my miserable pace, it was glaring back at me like a friend you’ve taken for granted for a long time and wanted back. Running isn’t forgiving. Abandon it, neglect it. . . it will remind you bitterly that this a relationship that you’d better nurture, or it will be gone. It might as well send you a text that reads “Hey lazy ass, you have to work hard to keep me. So until you put in the effort, I will make your life miserable.”

My running relationship is on rocky ground. Anyone who really knows me can attest to the fact that I don’t give up easily. I may stray from the course. But I find my way back eventually. Because I’m not a quitter.

Today I ran 3.1 miles.

It's brand new day

2011-04-11T17:50:00.000-07:00

Monday Monday, so good to me,

Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be

Oh Monday morning, Monday morning couldn't guarantee

That Monday evening you would still be here with me.

Monday Monday, can't trust that day,

Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way

Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be

Oh Monday Monday, how you could leave and not take me.

These are the lyrics from a Momas and Papas song. No, not a huge fan. It just happened to coincide with what I am thinking about today.

I know that Sunday is beginning of the week. However, I think that it feels like an ending rather than a beginning. Monday is the day that marks a new week for me. And how do I view this day? It is usually a time for reflection. Time spent thinking about how the last week affected my life. Are there things I would change if I could?

I suppose there are always things you would change. And at the same time there are moments that we would choose to relive over and over. We don’t get to do either, however. So we think, we ponder, we contemplate, we decide or we waver. I know that some things are in my control and much is beyond me. But still, I sit and consider all of it.

Monday can be a time for anticipation or trepidation. It can be time spent thinking about what the next week will bring to your life. What are you looking forward to? What are you possibly dreading? How will decisions you make this week change its outcome? What will you work to accomplish?

We might focus on things we have ahead of us. Things on our to-do list. This could include working on things quite simple like pull-ups and ring dips, or getting caught up on laundry, paying bills, etc. Or it could include something much more challenging -- like surviving skate night with your children. If you don’t think this belongs on the “more challenging” list, I would ask you when was the last time you’ve navigated a minefield of elementary children littering the roller rink, just waiting to be run over. . . Or you could be competing in the CrossFit Opens, or tackling 30 muscle-ups for time. It can be anything really. Categorize how you will. If it’s going on in your world, it feels either important or impending.

However you decide to spend your Monday, think about this. . . If the path of your life can be altered by a single moment – would it not be prudent to take the time to consider what will occur over the course of an entire week?

Ain't no mountain high enough

2011-03-16T15:21:00.000-07:00

It’s been a long time since I have felt truly inspired. I have been doing CrossFit for almost 3 years without a break. It’s been my passion. It’s what I love. But I’ve recently found something that made me feel alive. And for the first time in a very long time, I believe I have found something new to grab on to.

Bouldering is rock climbing with no ropes. That simplifies it to an extreme, but that’s the quick definition. I went to the Vertical Club in Tacoma and tried it a few weeks ago. I was so intrigued that I dragged my friend Michelle with me to take a beginning bouldering class. I absolutely loved it.

What an experience. Totally new and different than anything I have ever tried. Challenging in a way that made me feel like my early days of CrossFit. I want to be good at it. What I know about climbing wouldn’t fill a thimble. But that doesn’t matter. The exciting part is the learning process. The journey.

I find it fascinating. There is a technical aspect. It’s like looking up at a puzzle and trying to solve it before you’ve touched the pieces. There is an emotional aspect. It’s scary and exhilarating and thought provoking.

It occurred to me that climbing up a wall is really a metaphor of life. You try and sometimes fail. You get up and try again. You make progress and you fall again. You walk away, regroup and try again. You know if you give up, you’ll never figure it out. You’ve left unfinished business on the table so to speak. You try again. And maybe that’s why I am so drawn to it. I can relate to the concept.

You’re at the bottom looking up at this wall in front of you. Staring up you’re trying to find your path. What is the best way to go? Will I make it? And just because you think you’ve found your way, doesn’t mean you’re going to get there. You can spend too much time in one spot. You don’t know which way to go, so you do nothing. You hang on until you can’t hang on any longer. Or you make a mistake. You’re at the bottom once again, looking up and trying to figure out how you will make it up the next try. Very much like life.

Most of us don’t start out with a plan and believe we are going to fail. We want so desperately to believe we can control the outcome if only we take the right steps. If we following the right path. Well, it doesn’t work that way. Life throws curve balls. You miss a foothold. You falter. You fall.

And unlike climbing, no one can tell you exactly what to do get where you want to go. Life isn’t a sport and sometimes you can’t figure it out. Time and time again, you might find that you simply cannot solve this particular puzzle.

Anyway, as I sat and watched people almost glide up the wall with such ease, I found myself thinking that, just like life, you can fight your way to the end, one ugly step after another, or you can keep trying to learn the skills to gracefully make your way to your destination.

I’m going to keep climbing. I’m going to keep learning. Searching for my “right” path. And when I fall, I will get up and try again. . .

Who turned the light off?

2011-01-27T15:25:00.000-08:00

I’ve only cried two times after a CrossFit WOD. The first time was after doing “Murph.” The other time was today. Today I did “Holbrook.” Another Hero WOD. I hadn’t made that connection until just now. Anyway, that’s beside the point. My reason for crying after “Murph” was from complete exhaustion. My reason for crying today was quite different. Don’t get me wrong, I was certainly tired. But what brought me to tears was the realization and acknowledgement of the path that had gotten me to this day.

My friend, Jay Roughton (see pic), owner of CrossFit All In, wrote a post the other day that spoke volumes to me. It was called “Find your Switch.” Read it when you get a chance, crossfitallin.blogspot.com (Jan 24, 11). To paraphrase what Jay was saying is that people can either go through the motions, or they can tap in to that part of themselves that goes beyond just completing a task. It’s that part that doesn’t say quit, doesn’t give up, doesn’t back down, doesn’t make excuses. Being ON means that you give every ounce of yourself to everything that’s put in front of you.

I’ve taken a lot of time off in the last few months. The reasons are numerous and don’t really matter at this point. Reasons don't change the outcome. Oh yes, I still CrossFit daily. But. . . my switch has been OFF. This awareness left me in tears, sitting in my car, after a tough WOD this morning. It might not bring everyone to tears. I am an emotional girl, I guess. And passionate about what I love.

Today, I met a new friend and fellow CrossFitter, Loraine, for a workout at her box, Sumner CrossFit. I knew what I was walking in to because I’d seen the WOD online before I left. I had some anxiety. I always do before a WOD, but this was different. Some of it was new surroundings, new faces and being out of my comfort zone. However, if I was completely honest, it was how I thought I might do that was driving most of the fear. As it turns out, I was spot on in guessing how it might go. I basically had my ass handed to me on a platter! I was so wholly disappointed in my performance. It wasn’t my time, or who beat me. It was that I should have done better. I didn’t lose to anyone but myself. I lost the WOD because it had the better of me from the first rep. That made me angry. At myself.

You see, when you turn yourself off for any length of time, you will bear the consequences, both mentally and physically. Mentally, you lose your drive, lose confidence, and lose that competitive edge that drives CrossFitters. Those are things that others don’t necessarily see, but you know it’s there or its lack thereof rather. You start defeating yourself before 3-2-1-Go! The physical ramifications are quite clear. You suffer a decrease in overall strength, power, and intensity.

CrossFit is like a rollercoaster; a heart-pounding, kickass rollercoaster. If you take a step back from the one that takes your breath away -- the one that pushes your limits, and jump on the kiddy rides, you will pay the price. That is certain.

So how do you turn back on? Well, I imagine that one needs to decide that they want to get back in the game. I mean, you have to really want to flip that switch back on. And stop making excuses for yourself. Or telling yourself all the stupid reasons why you gave up. Stop thinking in terms of “used to be.” “Used to be” means nothing. What you are now is what matters. Embrace that. Be okay with it. Listen to the wakeup call and be grateful for it.

My wake-up call was today. It may have left me in tears. It may have humbled me, but it didn’t break me. Stay tuned.

Look better naked.

2011-01-11T18:04:00.000-08:00

If you ever follow the CrossFit main site, you know that in the last month there have been a couple of pictures, posted on the front page, that have caused quite a controversy. Of course I can’t resist weighing in on my personal opinion. I have so many opinions; I figure it’s only fair to share with everyone.

These pictures featured topless (from the back) CrossFit women hanging from a pull-up bar. I could not resist taking my own picture in the same manner. I should also add that my dear friend, Cari and I, took topless pictures, in board-shorts, of ourselves to mimic a humorous CrossFit parody over a year ago. We should have submitted them to CrossFit HQ. Apparently we were ahead of our time. I won’t post those pics. She would kill me. Anyway, let’s just talk a moment about what is seen in a picture like this.

Here is what I see. . . Well, first and foremost, I do not see a woman being objectified. I also do not see anything obscene, or racy, or even outright sexy. What I see is the back and legs of a woman who trains. I see a woman with visible muscle tone – which means she’s worked pretty hard for it. I see someone strong enough to hold her body weight over a pull-up bar. I see someone who is proud of her hard work. That is simply all I see.

Here is what some other people have seen in photos like this. . . Outrage. Sexism. Objectification. The comments have been numerous and very impassioned. This certainly strikes a nerve with some people. Quick to criticize. Form judgment. They critique musculature. Question ability. Form opinions on the women in the pictures.

My question is why? Why do they care that I, or anyone else, choose to pose for a picture to display my aesthetic physical accomplishments?

I think it makes some people uncomfortable. For many reasons, I’m guessing. Modest sensibilities at the top of the list? Thinking that this distracts from “serious training?” By the way, it doesn’t. Even girls who’ll pose topless, want to kick your ass in a WOD.

I don’t know why so many people are seriously bothered by pictures like this. Should I be more modest? Heck no. Or maybe. I don't know. But I am 40 years old. I am proud of my body. I should be able to show it without criticism. And it’s not like I walk around a gym topless. It’s just a photo. We see photos of ripped dudes almost daily on CrossFit.com. Do we complain? Do we cry outrage? No. We take in the beautiful view and say “thank you.” This outrage is specifically placed towards women. Not fair, people.

There seems to be an element of the CrossFit community that still hold on to the belief that a “fit” woman should not care about how she looks. Or show it off. That is complete crap. The vast majority of CrossFit women, started CrossFit training to find the means to ONE end. . . to look better naked. Now, I will say, I also believe they found (as I have), that there is more to fitness than fitting in to a smaller pair of jeans. Although, even the hard-core, would appreciate those sides affects.

My point is. . . Yes, I care about my performance in the gym. Yes, I care about my numbers, my max lifts, my physical accomplishments. But yes, I also care about how I look. And yes, that fact contributes to my drive to work out. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. Look at a picture like this. Appreciate it, or don't, for what it is, and read nothing more in to it.

This is a picture of my fitness journey. And I am proud of it.

Today. Was the day.

2011-01-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

Unless you have loved a pet. I mean, really loved a pet, you need not read further. This will seem not worthy of the attention or emotion I am giving it.

That was your warning. . .

Almost a year ago, I wrote a blog that begged the question, “When do you say goodbye” to a pet. I woke up this morning with the painful answer.

It was today.

My dear cat, Winni, was 17-1/2 years old this morning. Her tiny little body had withered down to just barely 6 pounds. Today I watched Winni go.

Here is what Winni meant to me. What she represented in my world.
She and Charlie (her sister) were my first pets as a real live grown up. I took pictures of them like they were my children. I think I even have the kitten “brag” book of photos somewhere near where I am sitting. They were so tiny when we got them that they could crawl under the doors of our mobile home (yes, I said mobile home. On an alfalfa field. In Omak). I watched them grow, shred my curtains and I loved them dearly. They made many moves with us. They went from “country” cats to “city” kitties and back again. We lost Charlie to kidney failure 5 years ago. Yet another truly heartbreaking experience. But Winni. . . she’s been in my life every step of the way. Through countless moves, 2 babies, lots of laughter, lots of tears. She’s been the one constant.

And she’s one tough bird. She was always a little thing. We called her “skinny Winni.” Only about 12 pounds in her heyday. But tough as nails. A great hunter. A perfect cat. Never had an accident. Never scratched. Very loving. The best cat you could ask for.

I have watched her health ail for quite some time now. I kept doing everything I could do to make life easier for her. The final step was to move food and water down stairs because her arthritis made walking up uncomfortable for her. I put cat boxes everywhere. But she just didn’t use them. It wasn’t her. She was lost in a world of aging and maybe even pain she couldn’t tell me about.

So last night as I watched her stumble off the couch, barely catching her balance, I knew it was time. I knew without a doubt I was capable of putting her out of pain. I knew I was being selfish. I finally knew. I loved her more than watching her deteriorate any further. I told Dion to pet his cat last night. She laid with him for a while.

I woke up this morning with purpose. I didn’t tell anyone what I was going to do. I made sure the girls gave all the cats “some love” before they went to school. I called the vet. I made the appointment. I laid on the floor with her in front of the fireplace and petted her while she purred. And we stayed there until it was time to go. I held her on the table while they administered the “medicine.” My hands were the last thing she felt and my eyes were the last thing she saw.

I brought Winni home in a carrier on the front seat of my car. She was afraid of what lay ahead of her. I remember holding my hand close to her and Charlie, assuring them I would take care of them and everything would be all right. I took her “home” today in a carrier on the front seat of my car. She was afraid of what lay ahead of her. I held my hand next to her and assured her I would take care of her and everything would be all right.

She is at peace.

CrossFit Does Not Hurt

2010-12-20T19:17:00.000-08:00

People talk about CrossFit being “painful.” Pain is relative isn’t it? What hurts one person doesn’t hurt another. Some people have a higher tolerance than others. Some people respond differently to pain. I personally think that pain from a good workout isn’t like “real” pain at all. Sure, it hurts, but it’s short lived. By the time you’ve pulled your sweat drenched body off the mats and made your way to your car, the pain is over. Well, isn’t that the best kind of pain ever? The kind that only lasts for a short while?

Let’s talk about CrossFit pain. Yes, your lungs will burn. Yes, your muscles will ache. Yes, you will get bruises. Yes, your hands will tear and bleed. Yes, you will cry when you’ve been push past the point of exhaustion.

Big freaking deal. Suck it up. That’s not real pain. Pain from a CrossFit workout is good. You will be better for it in the end. You will feel exhilaration at the end of it. You are blessed to feel this type of pain. Blessed. So many people don’t get the opportunity to feel this type of pain. You can move your body. You can complete a WOD. You GET to do this. It is a gift to move your body! And it is a a gift to feel this glorious type of pain. Because other types of pain are not so glorious.

Pain from heartache is bad. Whatever kind of heartache. Its just awful. It’s a hurt you can’t get away from. You can’t catch your breath. You can’t “walk” it off. Or foam roll your way out of it. It’s not like DOMS. It doesn’t get worse on the second day and then miraculously get better on day 3. It’s a pain that lingers.

A dear friend of mine is watching her daughter suffer with an inoperable brain tumor. She is six years old. That is pain. I cannot comprehend this type of pain. And I love this child. This is real pain. Real, awful, raw, pain.

The heart doesn’t recover nearly as quickly as other muscles. And it can hurt for an unimaginable length of time. I think it may be the only muscle that may never heal after it’s been broken.

So when I am running or doing a WOD these days and it “hurts,” I think of her, and I chastise myself for thinking I am in “pain.”

God bless you, Peyton. You are in my every prayer.

Please pray for Reyton Rudkin.

It's all different now.

2010-10-28T18:23:00.001-07:00

There is only one thing certain in our lives. . . Nothing will stay the same. Everything continues to change. And change isn’t always comfortable. In fact, I’d say in most situations, change isn’t something that we willingly embrace, no matter how it comes about.

There is change we choose. And there is self-serving decision. There is change we don’t choose. There is change that is selfish, and that is selfless. Change that is good, and change that is bad. It’s either chosen or imposed. Either way, it is defining in its existence.

Change is a tricky process. I know, because I have lived the last 18 years of my life with big changes. I have moved to seven different cities in the last 18 years. That means leaving and starting over a lot of times. Finding new friends, missing old ones. I have determined however, that although leaving is hard, the people you leave behind suffer more. No matter how the leaving comes about.

The person moving on has the benefit of experiencing new things. Even if those things are scary and unknown. The excitement comes with newness. It may not be easy, but it’s new. New is better than the “same old thing.” The person you left behind – they miss you. I’m not just imagining how this feels. I have lived both sides of this, too many times.

Sometimes we are the ones who are choosing the change. I’ve been told recently by a dear friend, “We need to constantly evolve.” Maybe that’s true. It goes along the lines of what I said before, that nothing will ever stay the same. But that one is hard too, when it involves two people. One person wants to “evolve” and one person was happy with the way things were. Or maybe not happy, but not willing to let go of something that was so great at one time. Why do we want to hang on to what was good, even it if isn’t anymore? Well, that’s another topic, I suppose.

I guess if I am really honest with myself, I tend to avoid change because it’s easier to stay the same, although, if you ask my Mom, she’ll tell you that “choosing to do nothing is making a decision in of itself.” I know I’ve shared this gem before, and I may again, because it seems to keep coming back at me in my life, over and over again.

Some types of change are harder for me than others. A change in a relationship is very difficult for me. What I’ve learned about myself, over the years, is that I am a keeper of people. I don’t “discard” people very easily. I can get rid of clothing I don’t wear, and that no longer suits me, was last season’s style, doesn’t fit well, not flattering, the reasons go on and on. . . but people? Well, I hold on to them for much longer. It’s a curse and/ or a blessing. I tend to love people beyond their “value” in my world. I hold on to people for what they “have meant” to me, what I “want them to mean” to me, what I “thought they meant” to me, what they “do mean” to me. You get the point.

So apparently, I choose to stay the same, a lot of the time, unless I have no choice. I choose to not make the hard changes. Why? Because, obviously, that’s hard! But that may change as well. . . because life is a work in progress, right?

They called me Popeye.

2010-08-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

Definition: By Mayo Clinic staff
Chronic exertional compartment syndrome is an uncommon, exercise-induced neuromuscular condition that causes pain, swelling and sometimes even disability in affected muscles of your legs or arms.

Really? Who knew? Could this happen to me? YEP.

I’ll tell you a little story. Well, the “little” part won’t appy to size of my arms, they were HUGE. . . I did Angie on Wednesday morning. Thursday I was sore. Normally sore. I did heavy cleans that day. Thursday afternoon I was very sore. Abnormally sore. My biceps were slightly swollen. Mobility was tight. I said to Brady, “My arms have never been this sore, ever. Ever!” Friday morning I was in a lot of pain and my elbow started to swell. Friday the pain and swelling was worse. My arms were bent at about a 35 degree angle and wouldn’t budge. Saturday, worse. Sunday, worse. My arms were close to double their normal size. Minimal range of motion. I was scared. Monday, slight improvement upper arms, forearms getting bigger. Tuesday, swelling moving downward. Wednesday, huge forearms and wrists. Thursday, turning a corner. And so there it goes until finally looking “normal” the following Monday. Quite a process. My life for 12 days. . . pain, swelling, ice, elevation. And I was called "Popyeye" on several occasions. Luckily, I kept my sense of humor, most of the time. And let the record state, that I harbor no ill will toward Angie. It wasn’t her fault. It’s just life. Things happen.

Injury. It sucks. It hurts. It can be scary. It can feel like complete body betrayal. No one wants their training to halt because of unexpected injury. But isn’t injury always “unexpected?” It falls along the lines of “accident.” We don’t plan for it, we don’t think it will happen, but sometimes the body says “no more.” In my case last week, my body said at the top of its lungs, “HELL NO. NO MORE. NO MORE AT ALL!”

So what now? When injury occurs, your first thought is “why now?” I don’t have time for this now. And what you really mean is that you never have time for an injury. But try to focus on what you can do while you’re healing instead of all of the things you can’t. Easier said than done. I was literally envious today when the wod included “ground to overhead anyway.” I was the one holding the PVC pipe. Sad times.

We can be left feeling like we’re taking one step forward and three huge steps backwards when we suffer an injury. How long until we get back to where we were? How far behind will we be? Where could we could have been if it hadn’t happened? It can be disheartening to say the least.

Fitness isn’t always a steady course. It’s kind of like traveling on rolling hills. At times it’s a long steep up-hill battle, with rewards at the top. And sometimes you cruise along like nothing can stop you. Then sometimes you crash at the bottom. . .

It’s at that moment when you have to get up, brush the dirt off and do what it takes to begin the long climb all over again.

It’s worth the effort. I do believe that.

Two-piece. No-peace.

2010-07-19T19:34:00.001-07:00

Just say the words , “bikini season” and every women in ear shot will feel a chill down their spine. "Wait," the mind says, “Don’t I have more time?!” No! It is upon us, like a plague that comes around once every year. . .

Why is this season such a nightmare? It’s kind of sad that we wait all year long to get a bit of warmth and sunshine and then it's burdened by the feeling of doom. . . At some point we will be expected to shed the comfort and security of our pants and be forced to reveal what usually only our bathroom mirror is privy too. . . our fannies and backs of our legs.

And if you’re like nearly every woman on the planet, you tell yourself that by “June” you will be ready to bear your legs and midriff. It’s what most of us work for, all year long. It’s the time when we will reveal our months and months of hard workouts and good nutrition choices. We will strut our stuff in short shorts, tube tops, and bikinis. Rock our hard bodies. Own it. Like only CrossFit chicks can.

Right? Oh, wait. . . no, most of that is complete crap. Because even those of us who work out -- five or more days a week, watch our diets, and care about PR’s and WOD times, and obsess about our Oly form. . . are as insecure as anyone else.

At the core, the majority of women, are not satisfied with who we are. Our boobs are not perfect. Either too big, too small, too saggy. Or for some of us, they are almost non-existent (which is fun while living in the world of implants). Our tummy’s pose all sorts of issues. Extra cushion, which is quite stubborn. Stretch marks. Our little gifts from our babies. Crepe-paper-extra skin which doesn’t go away, even when the extra pounds do. Our assses. Well, I could write a whole page about asses. They are too big, too flat, too floppy, too droopy, too dimpled, too. . . well, you get the point. And don’t even get me started on the area we call the “saddle bags,” or the “butternut” as my dear friend refers to hers.

My point is, we all have parts of us that we don’t care for. Even hate, I suppose. And it’s a bit different for all of us. I hate my legs. My vastus-intermedialus, vastus-lateralus, and specifically, my vastus-medialis. In layman’s terms, I hate my quads. I am quite muscular. And although I appreciate what my legs do for me, I wish they’d have chosen to be a bit smaller in that area. I see other girls that lift and are strong. They don’t have legs like mine. Mine are big. I can’t do a dang thing about it. Except try to find a way to appreciate the benefits of my legs. And my small boobs. . . and . . . every other part of my body that I wish I could change.

You see, all of us struggle with body image. Even the girl that I watched at the 2010 CrossFit Games this weekend -- who I thought was “perfect.” She doesn’t believe that. She’d have a list all her own of all the things she wishes she could change. A list of self-imposed imperfections.

So what do I do with this knowledge? Knowing that none of us believe we are good enough? That all of us fall short of where are want to be?

As an intelligent woman of faith, I should know, without doubt, that “we” insecure women are all so very wrong. We don’t know how good we have it. We are bitching about little “things” while others are dealing with disease or birth defects. We are focused on “perfection” rather than “well-being.”

I should be grateful for my healthy body that I work so hard for. Embrace my legs for their strength. Be thankful for the tiny breasts that nursed both of my daughters for almost 5 years. (Yes, I said TWO daughters and FIVE years. Gasp. Different topic). I should know that the stretch marks on my body, mark time – time of a blessed life lived. I should know that my imperfections make me unique, not horrible. Being able to work out is a piece of good fortune and moving my body is a gift.

I should laugh in the face of bikini season. But even knowing what I do, the stupid, insecure girl in me. . . doesn’t.

Burpees are free.

2010-07-07T17:08:00.001-07:00

Motivation, priorities, excuses. All of these things affect your workouts. We are either extremely lacking or highly motivated. We either make it a priority or we shove it to the end of the list. Excuses come in many, many forms.

Motivation, for me, comes in waves. Some people are motivated by failure. I am not. I am motivated by good things. A great lift, a good WOD time, a run that I didn’t hate. These are things that spur me on to have the same experience the next day. Of course every day can’t be a good day. I try to tell myself, “good days, bad days.” But I have to admit that my motivation begins to lack when I feel like I’m not doing well, or performing to my potential. That’s when the "inner quitter” in me says “who cares?” Who cares if I lose? Who cares if I am strong? Who cares how fast I run a mile? Who cares what my Fran time is? And then I shake myself and say, rather loudly, “I DO!” And that tends to get me back on track. Steers me back to being the motivated athlete I want to be. So, like I said, it comes in waves.

I also believe that setting goals helps me greatly. I sit down and make a list of what I want to accomplish and in what time frame. I don’t just think about it. I write it down. Everyone needs goals. Or else we’re purposelessly wandering through weeks of wods and lifts, never getting to where we want to be. We need purpose. With purpose, we’re motivated to meet our goals. And then we need to prioritize our lives to make meeting these goals possible.

Prioritizing our lives can be quite complicated, especially when it comes to working out. It’s often the first thing that people will push to the bottom of the list when they are busy. But not for me. I can honestly say that when it comes to working out, it’s very near the top of my priority list. I don’t schedule anything that gets in the way with my workouts. Some would say this makes me selfish. And I will agree that it is my choice to make it more important than other things in my life, but does that make me selfish? I don’t think so. Isn’t that what we all do? We all make time for the important things. It’s about finding a balance between the things we have to do and the things we want to do. On my “want to do” list, working out takes the top priority. And I’ve been blessed to make that work. My schedule is easier to manipulate than it is for some, I fully admit that. I also make choices with my time. But it may not always be such. I may not always have this amount of freedom. And then I will re-prioritize my time to make it work. Because it is that important to me. And if you want to be fit, really fit, then you have to make it a priority, you can’t make excuses.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. Rarely are they valid. But I will say that I thoroughly believe that all of us can make excuses for any and everything that we do or don’t do, and the way anything turns out. “I can’t workout because I am sick.” Not usually true. I’ve worked out sick many, many times. I use the rule of thumb, “would I call in sick if someone was paying me?” You may not be as good, but you will survive. Sometimes I think it even helps. “I can’t workout because I was up late and I’m hungover.” Sadly, I can attest to the fact that surviving a CrossFit wod hungover doesn’t rate high on my list of good times, but you will live. I promise you. “I’m too busy.” Can you rearrange your schedule to accommodate a workout? How many of hours of TV did you watch this week? Or talked on the phone? Find the time. Most of us can. Treat it like a very small part time job. Don’t negotiate when it comes to your workouts. “I’m too sore.” Never true. You’ll be fine. Unless you’re dealing with an injury, get your butt back in the gym. “I don’t have the money.” Add up your Target receipts. Then add your Starbucks receipts. Then add your fast food receipts. This one usually comes back to our talk about priorities.

Of course sometimes you are actually too sick, or too busy, or too broke. There are circumstances when all of the above reasons are beyond your control and you just simply can’t make it work. I totally get that. I am speaking for the majority of us. Not all of us. But just be honest with yourself. You’ll know if your reason for skipping a workout is valid. Just get back to it when you can.

Remember, 50 burpees for time is a great WOD. It’s short, maybe not-so-sweet, but it won’t cramp your busy schedule. And trying to get it done in less than 3 minutes is a great goal to be motivated to accomplish. You can do it at home or anywhere for that matter. And burpees are free.

Be motivated. Make working out a priority. Stop making excuses.

Taking a a break.

2010-06-22T17:57:00.000-07:00

I haven’t had much to say lately. And that rarely happens to me. Just ask anyone who knows me very well. I can usually talk for two people at once. I may even talk over the top of you to get my point across – or a thought out. It’s not because I don’t value what you say, or that I don’t want to hear you. It’s just that when a thought arises, I feel like I need to get it out. Right then or I may forget. But that’s not really true, because I have an excellent memory. I can remember what you were wearing to a BBQ three years ago. But my mind does tend to jump around quite quickly, and I am apparently a very selfish conversationalist. I apologize for that. But I should warn you, it will not change.
Anyway, I’ve always been told that if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all. I guess I have taken that advice to heart of late. I’m sure my Mother wishes I would have followed that advice several years ago. But we’re not talking about years ago, it’s now. And lately I’ve said nothing. At all.
Has it helped? No. I don’t think it has. I think being silent has not been good for me. I think that retreating in to yourself may not be a place where some of us should go. I’ve never been solitary by nature, so when my behavior goes in this direction, red flags go up everywhere. It’s a blessing and a curse. No, I suppose it’s JUST a blessing. I am very grateful for everyone in my life that knows me so well that when I deviate from the norm, it doesn’t go unnoticed. I am lucky.
I have had my quiet time. I am ready to talk again. I hope those of you who are still listening will continue to see what I have to say. And thank you for sticking by me and continuing to read whatever I write.
Until next time. Soon.

Little girl. Big personality.

2010-05-24T15:44:00.000-07:00

Raising daughters can be challenging. And I am just at the beginning of what that means. . . It would be wonderful to ask my Mom what she thinks about this topic, but I will save that for another time. Today, I am going to talk about Stella.

My Stella. She is seven. She’s a spit-fire of a girl. She says it like it is. She doesn’t take no for an answer. She is loving and tender, but has a tough side that is ever present.

And she is so different from Sophia. Which isn’t a bad thing, and I suppose that I am quite different from my own sister. Actually, I am very different, but there are things about us that are amazingly similar that everyone doesn’t see. Anyway, that isn’t what this is about.

Recently I have become aware that my “baby” is wanting to be “older.” She is showing this to me in so many ways. For example, I have become “embarrassing” to her. In so many ways. I have been told that kissing her in the classroom is not allowed. Its embarrassing. Putting my hand down her shirt to feel her skin. That very embarrassing. Okay, maybe I can see her point there. But in my defense, she is my baby girl, and I have had access to her wonderfully soft skin since giving birth. Can I be blamed for wanting to touch it when I can? But I guess that time is passing. How sad.

She’s also become so aware of her “standing.” We bought her a new bike last weekend. Unfortunately for Stella, she is a bit short, which means that she has to choose from bikes that come with training wheels. Stella hasn’t used training wheels for years. She was mortified, to say the least, that she would have to purchase a bike that came with such wheels. We tried telling her that we’d take them off the second we got home. But that was not great consolation. In the end, Stella and I had to walk 100 feet behind her Dad to exit Wal-Mart, so no one watching would ever think that said bike would belong to her. And we had to purchase an after-market kick-stand to appease her!

Then she came home the other day and told me that “Wyatt is in love with me.” I told her I thought she was too young to be in love. She replied, and I quote, “Dude, I want to know what it’s like to have a boyfriend!” I repeated that I thought she was too young and that she needed to be friends with boys at this point. Next thing I know, she is coming around the corner with tennis balls tucked up in her shirt, representing breasts, and she declares, “I am nineteen. Now I can have a boyfriend.”

So today, Stella comes in the door from school with a bounce in her step. I say “What’s up baby girl?” She says, “I have a boyfriend now.” I said, “Wow. How did that happen?” She replied, “I asked Grace to ask Wyatt to be my boyfriend and apparently he said yes.” So I asked her if it had occurred to her to wait to have him “ask her?” She said, “ No, why would it?”

Well, Stella has begun a path for herself. A path of “I will get my own.” Is it a good path? I guess that remains to be seen. I think it’s a great thing to know what you want and go after it. But I also think there is something to be said for patience and all things happening in their own time.

One thing is for certain, she is one very determined little girl. And that alone will serve her well.

What was I going to do?

2010-04-29T13:41:00.000-07:00

This is dedicated to my sister, Lisa. I am her “favorite blogger.” I am also the only blogger she reads. I love you. And thank you for being my biggest fan. . .

I washed my face with hair mousse last night. This of course wasn’t my plan. I had just gotten home from teaching a class at CFLT. I was tired. The girls were complaining about getting ready for bed. The cats were on my counter wanting a drink from the sink. All I wanted to do was get in to my pajamas, wash my face, put on my numerous wrinkle-prevention products and relax on the couch. And my mind was racing about all kinds of things I need to do and was trying not to forget. So after applied said “cleanser” to my face, my first thought was “wow, this is sticky.” It was about that time that I was trying desperately to scrub off mascara with no luck, that I realized that I was indeed washing my face with hair product! I looked in the mirror. My eyes were squinted at this point because, just so you know, mousse stings, and I said to myself, “You are losing your mind.”

I’ve been a bit distracted lately. A bit “off.” I’ve always thought of myself as highly organized – and not forgetful. Not like my sister, Lisa, or Trisha Brock “organized” – but pretty dang good. But when I really look at my life, I think that statement only applies to me as an employee. And that’s maybe because I put a “job” before my personal life when I have one. I can say that I am an exemplary employee. Never miss a deadline. Never had a poor review. Always did my job to the best of my ability. Was it because I got paid? Or because I felt appreciated? I don’t know.

Over the last 9 years, since becoming a Mom, I’ve tried to be my former “organized” self. But I think I’m finally ready to admit, that this isn’t the best job for me. Don’t get me wrong, I am doing it and getting it done. I keep a clean house, bills are paid, and the girls are where they need to be on time. They are well loved, and well mannered. I think by most standards, I do a good enough job, although I usually feel a bit crazy.

So maybe I’m not as “on it” as I thought I once was. Or maybe I only think about the stuff that I want to, and the other stuff just goes by the way side to be dealt with only when absolutely necessary. There is so much to remember and keep track of. Specifically when you have school aged kids. Do you know how much paper comes home with kids? I wish I was the Mom who always knew what was going on at school, but I’m not. I usually scan the kids’ folders and unless something really jumps out at me, then it gets a quick deposit to the recycle bin. And then Cari or Michelle reminds me about Skate Nights and Muffins with Mom. I should write this stuff down.

I’ve also determined that I am not good at remembering upcoming special occasions. If you’re my good friend and you’ve rarely received a birthday card over the last 10 years or so, well then, already know this about me. My sister has told me several times that if I kept an updated calendar of these important dates I’d be fine. Unfortunately, I do this some years and some years I just don’t. But don’t worry, it does work both ways – I really won’t hold it against you if you forget my birthday. I promise.

So I have decided to get things in order. Come up with systems to remember things – and places to put everything – from birthdays to school activities, CFLT business, and of course my personal life. I am capable of this. I just have to make the time to do it. Make organizing my life a priority, instead of just dealing with things as they present themselves. In the long run, I’ll be much better off having a true plan of action rather than having my, at times a bit flighty, brain clogged with all of the random things a women/wife/mother has to think about. It seems rather overwhelming and time consuming to try and come up with a better strategy, but what I am doing now certainly isn’t efficient and is clearly not working.

First line of business? Separate hair products from face cleansers on the bathroom counter!

A great snatch and other happy things.

2010-04-09T18:24:00.000-07:00

My days didn’t start great this week. Nothing horribly wrong, just your run of the mill “not great” mornings. The girls started fighting at the breakfast table, brought it upstairs, yelled when I brushed their hair “gently” – so I showed them what “hard” felt like. Sophia told me at the last minute that she needed lunch money. Stella panicked because one of her library books didn’t get read. I didn’t have any money in my purse for “Friday’s treats.” Bobby the cat, puked up hair bands left on the floor by the girls that he’d eaten. . . in about 7 places. The other two cats had been trying to eat the pet fish for breakfast, so I need to re-tape the tanks the kitchen counter. My husband called at my busiest time and was irritated that I didn’t have “five minutes to talk.” Both girls picked completely inappropriate outfits for a very cold windy day because they saw sunshine. I had to make them change. If you’re a Mom you know why this is an awful process. My computer won’t connect to the internet consistently and I can’t figure out why, which is a problem when you need to pay bills and you do this online. And finally, I have somehow gained somewhere in the range of five or more pounds – I don’t weight myself, but my jeans are saying very nasty things to me. So when even your workout pants feel tight and you have to look for your loosest tank, it kind of puts you over the top, so to speak. Anyway. . . like I said, nothing life threatening. . . just life.

So what do I do when I’m having a bad day? Or consecutive bad days? Well, here are a few of my “go-to” things that make me “happier” for the moment. I’m not going to tell you any heavy-deep-and-real things. My happy little things are sometimes rather shallow and simple. Some are physically productive. None are in particular order. And I do not do all of these things on a given day. But on very awful days, I just may do them all!

New lip gloss. Always makes me smile. Even though I generally purchase a shade very similar to what I already own. I still like putting it on. I’m a bit of an addict.

Phone calls. To anyone who will listen to you. Usually a best girl friend. I’m very blessed to have several to choose from. They sometimes probably wish they could be put the bottom of the “call” list.

New jammies. Nothing feels better than putting on a new pair of p.j.’s. I just like them. I put them on very early on Friday nights when we have nothing going on. I own A LOT of jammies.

Self-Tanner. A pale girls’ best friend. Nothing makes me feel better than seeing a bit of color on my skin. Especially when I am feeling a bit frumpy. Brings me back to the days of Yakima sunshine and baby-oil suntans.

New sweat pants. These are great because they are never tight. So if the above mentioned five pounds are bothering you, you can avoid tight jeans and put these on and feel a bit cute.

Painted toe-nails. A new coat of polish can do wonders for your mood. Not sure why pink toes make me happy, but they do.

Picking up big weights. There is nothing like a great snatch or a heaving clean & jerk to clear your head and make you feel powerful.

Muscle-ups. Not everyone can do these. A very cool thing to remind your self that you’re capable of.

Coffee. Not the kind your pour from your pot at home – the kind you pay too much for when you’re with a friend. And then drink it with that friend. You’ll start taking about things that don’t make you irritated, or you may re-hash the things that do, but either way, you’re getting it out of your system.

Wine and great music and dancing. Enough said.

I lied, there is one heavy-deep-and-real thing that I do when I’m having a really bad day. I call my Mom. She makes me happy. She’s the most amazing women in the world. She’s lived through anything that comes at me and can make me see what matters and what doesn’t. Sometimes however, she can make me mad. This is usually when she’s making sense and I choose not to, but I love her more than anything and value whatever she says to me. I hope she knows this. I think she does.

This is not my be-all end-all list of things that can change my mood, but they are right up there.

Simple things that make me happy. What do you turn to when you’re needing a pick-me-up?

Like fine wine

2010-04-05T17:00:00.001-07:00

This is a picture of me at age 24. Tomorrow I turn 40.

Is this a life milestone? It would seem to be if you follow the media or ask anyone nearing the age. Apparently I’m about to become an official “Cougar,” although I’m not certain if that applies to married women, or not. I’ll take the title either way. I think it makes us “older” women sound tough and like a force to be reckoned with. Complementary, I believe. But black greeting cards and balloons everywhere? It leaves one to believe that turning forty is near death. Dismay. Depression. Midlife crisis? It doesn’t have to be. Or gosh, I hope not, because it’s happening to me.

Am I overly concerned about entering my forties? In some ways, yes and in some ways, not all at. My body is healthier and stronger now then its ever been. That’s a good thing. I also spend more time these days thinking about what I want to do when I “grow up,” and not wanting to waste time on things not worth the time or energy. Another good thing. But I definitely spend a lot more time thinking about combating wrinkles and grey hair. Not a good thing. But besides that, I'm realizing, that turning 40 isn't such a big deal. I wake up and a feel just like I did 20 years ago. Well, that’s not entirely true. After a “late” night, I suppose I don’t recover like I did in my twenties. But in the moment, I still party like I am! Don’t tell me that I don’t dance like the twenty-something’s -- or look just about as good. . . in a dimly lit bar. . . around midnight. . . ahhhhh. . . the things we tell ourselves. But I digress.

My Grandma used to look at photographs of her current self and tell me that she wondered “who is that old lady in these pictures?” She said that she didn’t feel as old as she was. I’m very much the same. Maybe we all are. Those of us who want to remain young, tend to “feel” like we are ageless. Ageless. What an amazing concept.

I’ve met people who are young and think of themselves as “old souls.” There are people who are young and act as though they are much older than their calendar years. I wonder why they would want to run from their youth. And I know people who haven’t let the year they were born dictate their interests, or slow them down in the least. They still do all of the things they loved to do when they were younger. They haven’t bought in to the idea that we have to discard what we loved to do as kids because we’ve grown older. That is the person I will be.

“Ageless” can be applied to our behavior – but our aesthetic appearance as well. This is a topic all on its own, but I will apply it to my specific concerns. What do we do when we see those awful lines between our brows? The deep lines in our foreheads? I swear that I have been “surprised” and “pissed” for my entire life. I have lines that will tell you as much. They won’t go away. I’ve tried every wrinkle cream known to man. They won’t budge. Botox? Restalyne? Not sure where I stand on all of that yet. We should embrace the aging process. I always said, “never.” I said that many years ago. . . For now, what you see is all natural. But I will tell you when or if I decide to go that route. And I just may. As far as grey hair goes? NEVER. I will color my hair and get rid of those obnoxious little silver devils every 6 weeks or so forever. Seriously.

And what do I want to do with the rest of my life? Turning 40 doesn't mean I need to know today. But I will admit that this time of my life seems to be filled with retro-intro-spection. It’s my time to figure out who I want to be, if I don’t already know. And I don’t, so there you go. I suspect that I will take life as it comes, one day at a time, like I have, for the last as many years as I’ve been responsible for making my own decisions.

I was born April 6th, 1970. Tomorrow I turn 40. It will be a good day indeed.

It's how you play the game

2010-03-29T12:38:00.000-07:00

It doesn’t matter if you win or lose. That’s what we tell our children. But is it what we really believe? I mean, who doesn’t love to win? Winning is awesome. Winning feels good. Winning is so very, very cool. It rocks! But is it really what matters in the end?

I’m a competitive person. I always have been. I was in 4-H as a child. I still have my box of ribbons and trophies. I also had one of the fastest horses in our neighborhood growing up. It was either me on my horse Toby, or Gwen on her horse Little Man who came in first in races. I always liked first better than second. I like winning card games and am quite happy when I stomp someone playing Yahtzee. I enjoy nothing better than being the house Guitar Hero top-dog for the night. I won’t even let my children beat me if I can help it. I rationalize this by believing it will make them tougher in the end. In high school I raced my 1976 Subaru down several gravel roads trying to beat guys next to me. I’ve even competed for the attention of boys with other girls. . . that shocks you doesn’t it?! And of course, there’s CrossFit. No, competition there, huh?

So now that I have established I like winning, let’s talk about losing. Based on what I’ve just said, one would assume that I think “losing” is just awful. But believe it or not, I don’t think that. There is something to be said for giving it your best and being happy with the outcome. I know what I said about how cool it is to come in first, but there are times when the one you’re competing against is yourself. It’s then that you need to think about what it means to win.

Define “winning” for yourself. What does it really mean to you? Gaining a sense of accomplishment that you didn’t have the time before? A new PR? In my mind, that’s winning. Winning is sometimes just finishing. Winning is bettering yourself. Winning can be overcoming something that you fear and conquer. Each circumstance is different, but the result is the same.

In addition, there is “good-natured” competition and there is “win at all costs” competition. I am a fan of the former, rather than the later. Losing gracefully is of equal importance as to winning gracefully. Maybe this is something I should learn when playing board games.

Here is what I think. And it’s what I try to live by, although I don’t always. . . Work your ass off. Play smart. Push your boundaries. Go the distance. Do every thing that “they” say to do when you want to achieve greatness.

But remember . . . Sometimes the outcome isn’t “First Place.” Second Place is not the “First Loser.” And sometimes you just did your “Best.”

In any event, try to believe in your heart that YOU’VE WON.

Easy question. Tough to answer.

2010-03-25T16:31:00.000-07:00

A friend asked me the other day, “What do you want out of life?” The strangest thing happened. I realized that I didn’t really know. Or rather, I could not quickly answer the question. I think we get very caught up in day to day life without ever taking the time to think about what it is we really want -- and then going the next step of actually working towards attaining those things.

So I sat and thought about what I wanted. I thought and I thought. I wrote down my list. It’s in no particular order. Actually it bounces all over the place as I thought of things. I suppose that’s okay. It’s not like life happens in order or with any rhyme or reason.

Some are easy and tangible. Some are harder to reach. But I think the idea is to know where you are heading or where you want to go. Try to do this. I think you’ll find it harder than you think if you get really specific. Things like I want to see the Grand Canyon. Or I want my children to have fond memories of experiences from their childhood. Or have a job that’s rewarding. Or be able to sit in peace with your own thoughts. Or get to share those thoughts with a friend that enriches your life. Or have enough money to support your desires without letting it define your happiness or success.

I imagine there are some things on everyone’s list that will never come to fruition. And maybe that’s okay too. We can’t have it all, can we? But there are probably some things on that list that we can.

Life should be challenging. You shouldn’t just let it happen to you, although the vast majority of us do just that. For instance, ask most people why they do the job they do and they will tell you “they fell in to it.” That’s not bad. We all have to do what we have to do. And of course “do-over buttons” are pretty rare to come across. Life and circumstance can dictate what we do and why we do it. I understand that. But shouldn’t we try to make our lives what we want them to be? That’s easier said then done, of course, but it’s worth shot.

My friend, Kim Derting, is an example of a woman who knew what she wanted and went after it. She’s now a published author with her first book, “The Body Finder,” just having just been released nationwide by Harper Collins. Her second book, “Desires of the Dead” will be out in 2011. She could have decided that at 40, with three children and a busy life, that her desire to be published was a pipe dream. But she did the hard work. She took the leap. She’s reaping the rewards. She inspires me every time I think of her.

My Mom has always said that “not making a decision is making a decision in of itself.” So in that vein, letting life just come at you without knowing what you want from it, is like saying that you don’t want any control over what happens. Right?

Well, I don’t want my life to just “happen.” I want to live with love and joy and challenges and goals and desires and wishes and abundance. I want to control what I can and accept what I can’t. Wishful thinking? Maybe. Probably. Too much to strive for? Never.

Chasing Cari. . .

2010-03-16T22:09:00.000-07:00

Although I have several of what I consider to be “weaknesses” relating to my fitness, running is number one on my list. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me. Maybe I was born with little lungs? Maybe my feet are extra heavy? I don’t know, but it continues to be something that I struggle with.

I have feelings of dread whenever I see running as a part of a WOD. I would rather do almost anything than run. And from a CrossFit standpoint, when talking about the functional aspects of our training and how it relates to everyday life – well, I still can’t see that running any sort of distance, beyond a sprint, is necessary.

I have argued this theory several times. If a bad guy is chasing me, I’m not fast enough to stay ahead for very long – maybe 200 meters, tops. So even if my endurance could outlast him, my slow legs will be the determining factor for him actually catching me. So what is the point? And I’m only partially kidding. Part of me, really believes this to be true. The other part, however, knows the fitness benefits of running.

So why do I continue to try and get better at it, when I most definitely do not like it? Well, mostly because I can’t stand “something” beating me. I can’t stand that I am not good at it. And I sincerely want to get better. So here’s been my plan. . .

I decided to get a couple of 5K races on my to-do list. The first one, I had never ran anything over 2 miles. My time was 35 minutes. Awful. Awful. Awful. I told myself I didn’t care about my time and that “finishing” was what mattered. I lied. I wanted to do better. So, I signed up for another.

Did I prepare? No. But I did manage to beat my time by a considerable amount. Second 5K. . . 28:23. Wow! I was so excited, I signed up for another. What does this tell me? I am chasing being “better.” And that’s the mind of a true CrossFitter! Chasing getting better, chasing a better time, working on my weaknesses.

Today, Cari and I hit the Orting Trail for a short 2 mile run to work on “my weakness.” We decided to chat and listen to birds and forgo ipods this time. As it turns out, my heavy breathing nearly drowns out nature, and apparently Cari and I have told so many stories, we may be "running out. " Back to music next time!

Live and learn. Or “run” and learn as it was today. Either way, I will make a new play list, throw on my shoes, and chase Cari’s red pony-tail, down some road, dreading each step, self-talking my way to the end, another day, towards my goal, until. . .

I reach another finish line.

(thanks friend)

I want to be Aimee

2010-03-07T18:12:00.000-08:00

When I grow up I want to be Aimee Anaya-Everett. Who is she, you ask? She is a phenomenal national champion Olympic weightlifter. Actually I am in awe of many women who lift big weights, but I just happen to enjoy watching Aimee. I watch her form. I slow down videos, watching every single movement of her pulls. I wish I could ever be like her.

It’s kind of a funny thing to be pushing 40, and wish that you could turn back the clocks a bit, and be a professional Olympic weightlifter. I guess you’re never too old to try something, but I imagine that I’ve missed my window of ever being “good.” It’s something to work towards, however.

I am fascinated by the sport. For those of you who don’t know about it, there are two lifts in Olympic weightlifting – the clean & jerk and the snatch. Both are such incredible movements. My personal favorite is the snatch. I love the feeling of getting the weight off the floor and over my head in one fluid movement. These lifts are like a work of art. They are quick and explosive, beautiful and precise.

I especially love the technical aspects of the sport. There are so many elements to piece together, each one dependant on the other to have a successful lift. To me, it’s a continual work in progress. Even when you think you’ve gotten “okay” at the lifts – there is always room for so much improvement. I think that’s what I love most about Olympic lifting. You’re never good enough. You’re always working to get better. It pushes you every time.

This week I had a Snatch PR of 94#. I was thrilled! I was alone in my garage and had failed 2 attempts before going for the last one. I tried to visualize my success. I took my breath and went for it. I made it. With the bar overhead, I yelled to the walls “YEAH!!!” A wonderful moment that I wished I could have shared. That’s how exciting a PR is. It’s a moment when you conquer something you thought might be bigger than you can handle. Sheer exhilaration.

I have a goal of snatching my bodyweight some day. I have a ways to go. I really wanted to be in the triple digits by my Birthday in April, but I don’t think I will make it. And my max snatch isn’t terrible for my size and my extremely amateur status. But it could be better. And it is nothing, and I mean nothing at all, when you compare it to what good women lifters can get off the ground.

I recently watched a video of Aimee snatching 86 kg which is approximately 191#. And I just saw a picture of her snatching an inconceivable 91kg. Doesn’t that seem unbelievable? How extraordinary that she can get that much weight off the floor and over her head! And it’s a beautiful thing to watch. Check out some of Aimee’s and other amazing athletes’ videos, who train at Catalyst Athletics (cathletics.com). Go to the “workout” menu and watch any of their training.

You will be as inspired as I am.

Go ahead, let it out

2010-03-01T10:58:00.000-08:00

I am a crier. I cry for so many reasons. The obvious is sadness. But I also cry out of frustration. I cry when I am happy, when I am touched, when I am joyful. I cry when I am scared. I cry when I am very tired. Or in pain. I don’t think this makes me a weak person, I think crying is an emotional release, granted, my very common emotional release.

Some may tear-up more often than others, but everyone cries. There is not one person who is immune to the feeling of tears welling up in their eyes only to have them roll down their cheeks – sometimes taking a trail of mascara with them. Tears are like a window to your heart. It’s hard to pretend that you’re “fine” with wet streaks down your cheeks. Or the tell-tale puffy eyes that follow a good cry.

But let’s face it, sometimes you would really prefer to be able to keep your emotions controlled. You’d think this desire would make it easy. Unfortunately, it’s not for me. Sometimes I try to tell myself, “I will not cry.” And then I do. I once cried at the school because Stella was suffering from separation anxiety and I was forced to walk away from her while she was sobbing. I think the women in the office didn’t quite know what to say to me. They wanted to console me, I am sure, but I also know that I made them uncomfortable. That’s just one example of wishing I could turn off these tears of mine at will.

Crying makes others feel helpless. That’s because people in general don’t like seeing someone who is visibly distressed. We also have a tendency to want to say the right thing when someone is crying. We want to fix the problem. Because just watching someone cry without trying to fix the problem makes us feel rather powerless. We want to make someone stop crying. That’s our goal. Stop crying so we can believe that you’re better.

My neighbor’s cat died yesterday. She was crying. I wanted to do all the things I just discussed. But she was just sad. And there wasn’t a thing in the world that I could say or do that would make her feel better. Most times we can’t control our own tears, let alone the tears of others. Sometimes people just need to get it all out. Until they are done.

This brings me to a couple of conclusions. First, I need to stop telling my daughters to “stop crying” several times a day. They most obviously get it from me. Second, I will apologize ahead of time for crying in your presence – making you uncomfortable, and leaving you wanting to fix the problem – because I am certain it will happen at some point.

Hello, my name is Lori, and I am a Cry Baby.

Angie. . . Oh, Angie

2010-02-26T17:38:00.000-08:00

I had two goals today. One, survive “Angie” in one piece. Two, beat Brady. I accomplished the first, but not the second. But that’s okay.

Here is the breakdown of a bitch or lady (however you choose to see her) like Angie. . .100 pull-ups, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 squats.

I look at WOD’s with 100 or more pull-ups with trepidation. Not only are they hard, really hard, but I full on expect to rip. And although know one dies from torn up hands, it does make washing your hair the next day a bit of a challenge.

Staring at the pull-up bar last night before 3-2-1-go, I wondered just exactly how far I would get before the damage would begin. After the first 30, I looked at my hands. They hurt, but appeared to be hanging in there. After 60, they hurt very bad, and were pinching. Around 85, I was certain that I would need some taping very soon. But the most wonderful thing happened at 100. . . I checked my hands. . . and my hands were in one piece!

This was the first time ever to reach the 100 mark without blisters and bleeding. This was a good day. I have renewed faith in these hands of mine. My hands accomplish amazing things. My hands aren’t beautiful, but they are tough. They are the hands of a CrossFit athlete. I have great hands! I am thankful for these hands.

Some of you might be asking why I choose to put my hands through such an ordeal. The short answer is “because I can.”

They think I am beautiful

2010-02-21T18:59:00.000-08:00

My daughters say the funniest things to me. They love me and tell me I am the most beautiful woman in the world. But they also tell me a few other things about my appearance. I think often, how fortunate that I have a fairly solid self esteem, because if I didn’t, yikes. . .

Sophia was having a sleep over with a girlfriend last night, so it was just Stella and I for the evening. I asked her what she wanted to do and she decided that a Mom and daughter bubble bath was in order. I was looking across the tub at her angelic almost 7 year old face with her smooth, flawless skin, bright eyes and darling little firm body and I think I was genuinely envious for a moment -- and then truly amazed that I could help create such a perfect little person. I said, “Stella, you are absolutely beautiful. I wish I looked just like you.” She looked at me and said with complete sincerity “Mom, you’re beautiful. And you do look like me. I might always be younger and prettier, but you’re the most beautiful Mom ever.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Stella will tell you like it is. What ever is on her mind will come out at the exact moment she’s thinking it. I’ve been told that she’s a bit like her Mom in that way.

Then when we were sitting on the couch later, and she was really staring at my face, and she asked when she will get wrinkles. Again, I laughed. But she told me, with certainty, that she liked mine just fine. About the time she asked if she should “pull out” the little grey hairs sticking up out of head, I told her, emphatically, that I would prefer she leave my grey hairs alone – I need all of the them, I explained to her. And then I told her to watch the movie and stop staring at me! I can only take so much scrutiny in one evening.

I’ve had these moments with Sophia, my 9 year old as well. I was getting out the shower one day and she walked right up to me and pushed my boobs up a bit and told me that they would look better “there.” Obviously, we’re a family with few boundaries as far as personal space goes. Anyway, she announced to me she was going to have big boobs, obviously, unlike mine. I was laughing at this point. After another perusing once-over of my naked body, she added that my backside was a bit floppy. My immediate thought was “Do you know how many squats I do? Doing the best I can little girl!” But then she finished up by telling me how beautiful I was.

Trying to end this “complement” session with my oldest daughter, I broke some things down for her, gently of course. I said, “Sophia, there is a good chance that your boobs will not be bigger than mine. Either way, you get what God gives you. And as far as my “floppy” back side is concerned, it’s really pretty okay for my age -- and your very “bootylicious” backside (her word for her butt) will look just like mine someday. It’s called gravity. Same for the boobs. Things don’t stay where they are supposed to after children and aging. You do the best with what you’ve got.”

Now it was Sophia’s turn to laugh out loud. She didn’t believe a dang thing I said. But she assured me once again, how beautiful she thinks I am. And unlike her, I chose to believe exactly what she said.

Getting from point A to point B

2010-02-18T15:47:00.000-08:00

I was driving down the road the other day with a friend who was lamenting about “feeling fat” and not being able to get a handle on her diet. She said to me, “What’s wrong with me, Lori?” I replied, “You don’t want it bad enough.” I offered to her the suggestion that maybe she wasn’t “unhappy enough” to make the tough changes she needed to make to get to where she wanted to be.

And I really meant it. Sounds harsh, but it’s the absolute truth. We are all capable of getting to where we want to be if we’re willing to get through the “whatever it takes” to get there. At the heart of it, we’re okay with where we’re at, or we’d change it, right?

That simplifies things to an extreme, I realize this. And I’m not suggesting for a moment that I don’t get it. I do. I’m not immune to having similar feelings. There are many things I say I wish were different, or I want to accomplish – but what am I actually doing to bring about this change? I think we all wish that “wishing” would make our goals or dreams come true.

I want to be a better runner. I really do. It irritates me that I should be a better runner. So what should I do? Run more. What do I do? Avoid it like the plague. And yet, I still sit and tell myself that I wish I was better. It’s ridiculous. It’s obvious that I want it, but not bad enough to make it happen.

Maybe not trying goes much deeper than “it’s too hard.” Maybe we don’t believe in ourselves. We don’t believe that we can ever get to where we want to be. The possibility exists that no matter how hard we try, we won’t reach our goal. We won’t get what we want. It’s overwhelming, seemingly insurmountable. Or maybe we doubt that the road to getting there, all of the sacrifices, will be worth it in the end. We do know with certainty that it will be long and hard. So to avoid trying, we say things like “Well, it’s not so bad. I’m pretty okay.” Or there is my favorite question, “Where does my quality of life factor in?” Well, maybe if you’re quality of life equation includes weekly cheeseburgers and fries, than being super-lean may not be a possibility in your world. And it brings me back to. . . “You don’t want it bad enough.” Apply the sentiment to whatever you want, it makes sense.

It’s easier to never really try. Then we didn’t fail. We didn’t even get that far. Is failure harder to swallow then choosing to not go there at all? For most of us, we’d answer a resounding, yes. We’d prefer not having to acknowledge our failures. Failure sucks.

So do we choose to hover above all of things we truly want because the path is challenging? Gosh, I hope not. I don’t want to live like that. I want to have the courage to jump in with both feet, give it my all and pray that I have what it takes to reach my final goal. I want to have faith in myself and believe that I can accomplish whatever I set my mind to. It’s what I want my children to believe.

What do you want? What do you want bad enough to go through pain and possible failure to try and get to? Do you want something that is worth suffering for, until it gets easier? Maybe the really, really hard changes are the ones that will bring the greatest positive outcomes to your life. I don’t know. That will be for you and I to find out. . . if we so choose.

It’s a small, small CrossFit world

2010-02-17T13:52:00.000-08:00

The day “Water Breaks with Lori” was featured on the CrossFit.com Affiliate site, I received an email from Jaime Arashiro (that's him kneeling in the picture), the owner of CrossFit Peru. He asked if he could translate my “Blood, Sweat, Tears, and Pure Joy” post in Spanish on his site. Of course I said I would be flattered. What a complement to have someone be moved by something you’ve written, enough to feature it on their own website.

The next day, as coincidence would have it, I clicked on the CF Affiliate site to find that Jaime’s box, CrossFit Peru was being featured as the “CrossFit Affiliate Snapshot” (crossfitperu.com). I thought how wonderful it was that I could get a visual of Jaime and see what his gym and programming was all about.

And then, 1 week later, when I was attending a CF Level 1 Cert at Rainier CrossFit, I looked up and sitting just 2 rows ahead of me, a man was wearing a CrossFit Peru tee shirt! If you’ve ever attended a Cert, you’d know why I never got a chance to ask him about his experience in Peru, but I was delighted to share the story with Jaime. It made me realize how very small our world is. And how closely linked we all are.

Jaime isn’t my only far away CrossFit friend I have. I met a wonderful women and badass CrossFit chick by the name of Kim Malz from Connecticut over a year ago via the comments board on CrossFit.com. Cari and I were comparing times for the wod “Angie” and we came across Kim’s post and were blown away! I just had to email her and ask her “how did you get a time like that?” I didn’t really think she’d respond, but she did. Kim is an amazing coach and inspirational athlete, a mother of three and a breast cancer survivor. I reached out to her and it opened a door of friendship and a professional relationship as well. I’m proud to say that I designed the CrossFit Persevere logo for her box (crossfitpersevere.com). Look for Kim at the CF Games this year. She qualified and competed in ’09 and I have no doubt she’s be there in ’10.

I met Jay Roughton, owner and coach of CrossFit All In (crossfitallin.com) through Brady, and was lucky enough to get to design his logo too. Now Jay is one of my favorite “blog” buddies. I read his daily posts and give him my two cents – sometimes my many opinions might not be worth more than that! And if you were on the ball and got registered to go watch the CrossFit Games Sectionals in Monroe, WA – go and yell your lungs out for Jay. He’ll be competing. He’s a fantastic athlete with spot-on form and great fun to watch.

And these are just a few of the phenomenal people I have connected with through CrossFit. I predict that one day, CrossFit will be as common in the fitness world as “Ballys,” but for now, we remain a somewhat close-knit-across-the-gobe family that I feel so blessed to be a part of.

When do you say goodbye?

2010-02-14T06:30:00.001-08:00

I think the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was have my cat, Charlie, put to sleep. Maybe if that’s the hardest thing I’ve done, than compared to others, I have been blessedly lucky. It was over 4 years ago, but I can still recall the exact moment I handed her over to the veterinary, never to see her again. I think about that day, and feel like that was a defining moment for me. I was alone, with my furry best friend, sitting in a little room deciding to end her life. I had to make the decision all on my own. No one could tell me what I should do. I had to do what I thought was right for her. She was very ill. I ended her pain, and created my own.

I’m faced with making this same decision again very soon. It’s scary to feel responsible for making decisions such as these. Once you make it, there is no turning back. Charlie’s sister, Winni, is not doing well. At almost 16, she’s lived a great life. She’s been a great cat, a perfect cat. She’s one of those cats that you wish you could clone. She’s never had accidents, never scratched anything she wasn’t supposed to. She’ll lay in your lap for hours, purring loudly. She has a very loud meow and loves to "talk."

And her health is going down hill. She’s not acting like herself on most days. She moves very slowly. She has arthritis. I have to pick her up to drink from the sink because that’s what she prefers and can’t get there on her own anymore. She has a dry cough that never goes away. She gets confused. She forgets where the cat box is from time to time. She’s frail, tired and just old.

Is she in pain? I get asked that. And I really don’t know. With Charlie, I knew. I’m not sure about Winni. I certainly hope she isn’t. I wish she could tell me. Am I being selfish because I am not ready to lose her yet? What is her quality of life? Again, I don’t really know. But she’s still happy to see me when I pet her. And I did watch her bat at a piece of paper yesterday. . . Is that justification? I question myself. When are we ever ready to lose a loved one?

I know compared to human life, this shouldn’t be so hard. But somehow, when you truly love your pets, the heartache you feel is very real and very painful. And really, can grief be measured by “importance?”

Having pets – ensures you certain heartache at some point. We love them. Care for them. And most often, we outlive them. So every day I pray that I will find my little old girl, Winni, curled up on her favorite bed pillow, having drifted off peacefully. I pray for this, not because I am ready for her to leave us, but because I don’t want to be the one responsible for her passing.

But in the end, I will do what’s right for her, not me.

Life’s tough when you’re five. . . or 39

2010-02-09T21:26:00.000-08:00

I was walking through Target with Stella, then five, and she was asking me for something. I don’t even know what, but I said “no.” And then I followed it up with the ever popular Mom line “life is tough when you’re five isn’t it?” She stopped, looked at me with a deadpan expression on her little face and said “Yeah, tell me about it, Mom.”

I have similar conversations with my 9 year old, Sophia, who tells me on a daily basis, how difficult her life is. How considerable her problems are, and that I just don’t understand. For the most part, I don’t understand, because to me, her problems seem quite small. The significant part of that thought is “to me.”

It occurs to me that we are all so selfish with our own problems. Our problems are superior to everyone else’s – to us. My Mom is fond of pointing out what could be worse than what I’m facing. I usually respond with something like “Yes, Mom, and I could have no legs or arms either.” I know what she’s trying to get across to me. I know that there are problems bigger than mine. But the point I am trying to make is that -- today, this problem, the one I’m dealing with this very minute, is a very big deal to me, right now. And rationally trying to compare it to something much worse will not make it go away. It’s a good theory however.

Quite often, I think we choose to plod selfishly through our own lives. We spend more time thinking about our own circumstances than anyone else’s. Comparing our own plight to others, either consciously or unconsciously saying things to ourselves like “if only they knew how good they have it” or “they wouldn’t be complaining if they were going through what I am going through” or “she calls that a problem?”

Should we validate the problems of others, even if we believe them to be trivial? Yes, we should. Should we rate each others troubles based on what we decide is worthwhile? No, we shouldn’t. It is my responsibility to step outside my selfish nature, and listen when Sophia tells me her life is “awful.” Even if I don’t believe it to be true, at that moment, to her, it very much is. And Stella truly believes that being her little self, is quite tough at times. We should all listen supportively when people we care about are having what they consider to be trials and tribulations in their lives. We should try to not judge, but instead empathize.

Remember, my big problem may be a little problem to you. But it’s mine. And to me it’s worthy.

The road less traveled

2010-02-07T08:09:00.000-08:00

We’ve all been there. We’re in a rut, or at a stand still. We want something different, or we need something different. But change is scary. And most of us are reluctant to head in a new direction, especially if it’s far different from where we are at.

We can reach these “forks in the road” several times in our lives. There is a moment when you need to take that leap of faith and go in the direction that is maybe not the easiest of the paths. Or you decide to stay where you’re at – dissatisfied and bored, wanting more – but at least you know what to expect. Right? Or is it right?

It’s been my experience, taking the hard road, although filled with uncertainty, may get you to exactly where you need to be. I can apply this to several decisions I’ve made in my life, but the one I will share with you is how I found CrossFit.

My workout partner, Cari and I had been training together for over a year. I don’t know how many of you have done classic weight training, but I tell you that after a while, you’ve experimented with every rep scheme and split known to man, and will find yourselves very bored. We used to pour over Muscle and Fitness Hers and Oxygen just looking for something we hadn’t tried or seen.

It was around that time that a young man in our gym told us about CrossFit and Brady Hubler. He told us that we would “love it!” He also described a few wods. . . yikes. We checked out the CrossFit main site and were skeptical. It looked rather intimidating, but our interest was sparked. We had to do something different.

We came across Brady one day passing in the hall at the gym and I decided to tell him that we wanted to try a few sessions with him. The rest is really history. It’s wasn’t easy in the beginning. Not hardly. We thought we were in good shape when we met him. We weren’t. We thought we were pretty tough. We weren’t. We felt like we’d “done it all.” Not even close. I will say that we had never really trained until we met Brady.

It was the best decision we’ve ever made. We quit our fancy gym to workout in a garage. We left all that was familiar to learn entirely new movements. We suffered through nausea, muscle soreness we’d never felt, exhaustion and fatigue we never knew existed. We had the experience of being coached for the first time – which is a relationship that is far different than the one you share with your “globo gym” trainer carrying a clipboard. We were pushed, encouraged, yelled at, cheered on. In almost two years with Brady, I can say that we’ve been through quite a lot. We’ve transformed ourselves physically, found a renewed competitive nature that drives us, and mental strength we didn’t think we had in us. But there is one thing we’ve never experienced – boredom.

We took the road less traveled. We’ve never looked back.

Blood, sweat, tears and pure joy

2010-02-04T09:58:00.000-08:00

Blood.
Bloody hands from 100 pull-ups. Bloody knees from hitting the aggregate during walking lunges. Bloody shins from deadlifts. Bloody knuckles from sandbag cleans. Knowing, without a doubt, that the pain is worth it.

Sweat.
Pouring from every part of your body. Wiping it from your eyes, pushing wet hair from your face. Damp clothing sticking to your skin. Looking forward to being drenched from an impossible wod. A deep sense of accomplishment.

Tears.
Crying during the last mile of Murph from exhaustion. Crying because of a terrible morning at home and getting to let it out. Grateful tears for the positives changes being made in your life. Getting an emotional release in a supportive environment and being accepted under any circumstances.

Pure joy.
Having a coach push you to your potential. Reaching beyond what you thought was physically possible. Having someone to tape your hands or bandage your cuts – pick you up if you fall. Hold your hand if you need it. Laughter among friends – the kind that doubles you over. Knowing that someone is always cheering for your success. Finding a feeling of family apart from your own. Indescribable camaraderie. Learning what you’re truly made of – and being proud of who you are. Unforgettable moments shared in a garage.

All these things can be found at our small box that we call CrossFit Lake Tapps. All these things you won’t find at your local gym.

Am I exaggerating? Being melodramatic? Not one bit.

Who's afraid of the big, bad. . . scale?

2010-02-02T17:09:00.000-08:00

Almost all women share a universal fear of the bathroom scale. The numbers on a scale can turn intelligent, sane women into irrational, crazy ladies. Men, I can’t speak for you, but I imagine that some of you are tortured by that little rectangular demon as well.

It doesn’t matter if the world thinks you look great. There is a number in your head that you want to weigh. That’s your “magic” number, or maybe you call it your “feel good” weight. When you see “it” in digital numbers, staring up at you, the angels will sing and you will skip through the day, light as air, like nothing in the world can bring you down. It’s true.

So what’s your number? I know you’re thinking of it. And if it makes you smile, then you might be “there" right now. If you’re frowning to yourself, well, I know that you’re beating your self up, right at this moment, for that hand full of Kettle Chips you had this afternoon while standing in the pantry.

I personally hate the scale and the power it holds over me. All of us in our right minds know that our weight can fluctuate fairly significantly through the course of a week. But that doesn’t stop us from seeing “the number” and letting it ruin a perfectly fine day. Which is why I decided quite a long while ago, to throw the awful thing deep into my closet and only take it out when I am certain I will like what it says.

I told my friend once that the key is to step on the scale after a good stomach flu – or seriously terrible hangover. Look down and see that wonderfully low, dehydrated number. . . burn it in to your memory and decide that is what you will weigh until you’re dumb enough to step on the dang thing again!

I am ignorance is bliss kind of girl. I don’t need to know I gained 2 pounds. I really don’t. You can’t even see 2 pounds on a body. So, I have found something that works far better than a scale for keeping my weight in check. I try on jeans. Yes, it’s as simple as that. We all have the pair of jeans in our closet that are a bit tighter than the rest of the pile. That pair is my “scale.” Currently they are a pair that I don’t even wear any more (when I can, that is) because I’ve had them so long.

I wake up in the morning – not all mornings mind you. Just mornings when I am feeling like I’ve been eating like crap all week and hoping it hasn’t caught up to me yet. I walk straight to my closet and put on my scale jeans. Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised. Sometimes I peel them off in disgust and vow to do better this week. But either way I don’t see the little fluctuations in my weight. I don’t need to. They tell me all I need to know about the size of my body. And remember, it’s the number that makes us so crazy.

So, find those little jeans in your closet. You know which ones. Dub them your “new scale.” They won’t be completely forgiving, but they won’t spit ugly numbers at you in blaring red, neon lights either.

Even my lip gloss is tough

2010-01-30T21:26:00.000-08:00

Yes, I wear lip gloss to the garage. Mascara too. I do my hair and take time to decide on what I feel like wearing. I have several pairs of what I call “workout earrings.” I also shave my legs daily and put on self tanner in the winter even though I never wear shorts. Oh, I think I just heard a few of you gasp! But I’m also covered in bruises, have seriously calloused hands and scars on my fanny from Tabata sit-ups.

Does putting on make up before a workout give me the label “high maintenance?” Maybe. I do believe it means that my appearance is important to me. But I don’t think it indicates that I have “insecurities” to “cover up.” I only wish that applying cosmetics could remove any insecurity a woman has!

Over the years during my time spent in gyms, I’ve heard all of the comments that some women make about girls like me. “I can’t believe she bothers putting on make-up to work out!” My gut reaction to that statement is “Why do you care?”

I’ve also heard the ever-popular, “I don’t have time to get ready before I go to the gym. Must be nice.” Well, I am calling BS on that one. It’s all about setting priorities. I have 2 little girls to get off to school and places to be in the morning as well. I choose to make the time. We all have time to do the things we want to do. Just be honest and say that you don’t care – or that is isn’t important to you, which is fine with me. I applaud your choice. So, please don’t criticize mine.

Girly-girls are just as tough as anyone else. Do not doubt that for an instant. I would also warn you to not make assumptions about her athletic ability based on her appearance. That girl standing in the corner with the perfect lip gloss just might kick your ass in today’s WOD. And watch out, there are a lot of us hard working girly-girls darkening the doors of CrossFit boxes everywhere.

Do not assume that I care less about my workout because I care about how I look when I walk in the door. I’ve never had a poor WOD time because I was having a good hair day. And my lip gloss never slows me down. I can assure you that. At the same time, I would never suggest that my make-up free counter parts are not ass-kickers as well.

So why do I bother? When I look good, I feel good. And when I feel good, I perform well. But the simplest answer is. . . It’s who I am.

Poker-faced? Not hardly.

2010-01-29T11:03:00.000-08:00

There are people in this world that can shield their emotions and thoughts from everyone. You never quite know what they are thinking. How they’re feeling, where their mind is at. I would NOT be one of those people.

I’ve been told by my closest friends, and my mother, that they know how I’m feeling by hearing the first words out of my mouth, or seeing my face. I just choose to live my life like an open book. I’m very generous with sharing my thoughts, maybe too much sometimes. I’m one of those people that can’t keep it all in. Not enough space in my crazy head to hold in the things I need to say.

The down side to this quality of mine is that I frequently get asked “What’s wrong?” And if I say “Nothing,” well, they almost always know that I am lying. So what I really need to say is “Yes, something is terribly wrong, but I am not ready to tell you right now.” Just give me a few minutes, I can’t keep quiet for long.

The positive side, I will never get an ulcer. I don’t hide what I think. Everyone knows where they stand with me, good or bad. It’s kind of a liberating feeling. I get to be exactly who I am, because, even if I wanted to, I can’t pretend otherwise.

If I am sad, you will know. I don’t project to the world that everything is perfect when it’s not. If I am happy, you will know it, because I will want you to share it with me. I guess if you want to be in my life, you’ll have to take me for who I am. And if you don’t, you’ll probably hear about it.

Do you hold your cards close, or lay them out on the table?

I, Client, take you, Coach

2010-01-26T16:22:00.000-08:00

The relationship that a client shares with a trainer is very special. It’s imperative for the two to mesh in a similar way that you would in any other relationship. You have to believe that your trainer has your best interests at heart. You have to trust them. You have to know that they will protect you from injury, the best they can. You depend on them for emotional support and lean on them to get you through physical adversity. They should build your self esteem and praise your accomplishments. Is this a lot to ask of someone? Yes. Is it too much to expect? No.

But as with any person you meet, you may or may not find this connection with your trainer. This is why you need to evaluate how you feel about that person, following your first session. We just admire some people more than others. Everyone has specific personality traits or physical characteristics that will either appeal to you -- or emphatically will not. I strongly believe that it is a requirement to like him or her as a person – as much as you value their knowledge of fitness. We want to please people that we like. We seek their approval. We will try just that much harder for someone who we value.

Under the guidance of a good trainer, you will reach your potential. How this is accomplished, depends entirely on how you respond to their coaching style. It’s my opinion that the best trainers find the balance between tough and kind. They are as motivating as demanding. Some days they need to be uncompromising to get the best performance out of you. They also know when to bend down, and put their hands on your shoulders, and give you the encouraging words you need to hear.

Finding true fitness is a journey that requires a skilled partner to lead you. There are a lot of amazing trainers and coaches. But there are an overwhelming number of unremarkable ones as well. You’re paying this person -- you better be getting what you need from them. Find someone who wants to not only work for you, but with you. At the same time, it needs to be said, that training is a two-way street. You will get out of it, exactly what you choose to put in. Don’t waste your time or money if you don’t want to make the effort.

The bottom line is. . . If you’re serious about training, then you need to find a relationship with a coach that seriously works. And if you’re relationship with your coach isn’t working, find a new one. This isn’t marriage – you don’t need to “work at it.”

Fly by the seat of your panties. . . or not

2010-01-24T15:32:00.000-08:00

My daughter came home from school one day -- walked in the door and said, “Mom, I think I am wearing your underwear.” She then proceeded to pull up her shirt to reveal what appeared to be several yards of white cotton spilling out of the top of her jeans. Let me just say, that these we’re not my sexy undies. These were sleeping undies, and every woman understands the difference. Anyway. . . I say to her, “Didn’t those feel funny when you put them on this morning?” She said, “Well, they did, but I didn’t feel like changing, so I just wore them anyway.” My daughter is a fine example of someone who flies by the seat of her pants -- or more specifically, her Mother’s panties.

Decisions, decisions. How do you make yours? How we answer this question, and what it says about who we are, sets us apart as individuals.

Some people are driven by logic. It this type of analytical process that guides them. They look at a situation and determine the pros and cons. They think about what comes next, and the effects of their choices. They lead with their head. Some people are driven by emotion. They do what “feels” right -- right now. They live in the moment. They throw caution to the wind, and decide to deal with the possible fallout some other time. They lead with their heart.

Very simply, “thinking” is logical and “feeling” is emotional. Are you a thinker or a feeler? Maybe we’re all a little of both. I do believe, however, that we lean more one direction than the other in most circumstances. Is either better or worse? I guess it depends. I do think that perhaps, the logical person might miss out on experiences because they over-analyze everything. But along the same lines, the emotional person might have regrets based on snap decisions that felt right at the time. Potential positives and negatives to both.

When you look at your life, what has dictated your decision making -- emotion or logic? If you know me, you already know how I answered.

What did she say?

2010-01-22T06:48:00.000-08:00

I have been accused of having a trucker mouth, once or twice.

One day, Sophia was sitting at the counter while I was making dinner and having a very profanity-free conversation when she decides to give me options for “other” words to use in place of “swear” words when I am angry. I find this humorous on a few levels, but the one that is at the forefront is that that my children obviously “do as I say and not as I do.” This, in this particular scenario is a very good thing. I have really good kids. Anyone who knows them will attest to this. They do not get in to trouble at school for swearing on the playground.

So, here is what I think about profanity. . . There is nothing quite like a well placed expletive to make your point. Of course, I am acutely aware of knowing my audience before I do this. Wait, that’s not always true. Sometimes these words slip out of my mouth before I even realize it. This may be due to issues with self-control, of which I have little. Okay, I try to be aware of my audience before I let “them” fly.

And I wouldn’t say that I am necessarily proud of my use of obscene language, but I’m not quite ashamed either. I think too much has been made of “bad” words. They are just words. Just adjectives. We give them the power they hold. If society didn’t make such a big deal out of them, they wouldn’t be such a big deal. Is an F-bomb going to permanently scar anyone? I think not. I think our behavior is far more damaging than our language.

I also do not believe that my occasional (okay, often) use of profane words reflects my intellectual identity. I believe that it indicates that I am a person of unbridled passion. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of a stretch. But it’s not that I don’t have the vocabulary to support using alternate language. I choose to keep these words in my verbal arsenal. I will concede however, that there is a time and place for bad language. When I am really angry? Yes. When the cat pukes on the floor and I step in it. Yes. After a missed lift? A resounding YES. You get my point.

I will leave you with this final thought. . . What is offensive to some, is simply colorful to others. And who really f*#king cares anyway?

The Channel Keeps Changing

2010-01-22T06:43:00.000-08:00

Most nights, I roll over at some point, open my eyes and look at the clock. I am always hoping that it’s somewhere near morning when this happens, because I know that once my mind realizes it’s awake, I won’t be dozing back off any time soon.

I suffer from “thinks-too-much-syndrome.” I’m certain it’s not an actual condition, but for me it’s quite real. My mind bounces from topic to topic, sometimes faster than I can keep track of the thoughts. And if the constant stream of thoughts isn’t enough, I’ll start playing a song in the background, which unfortunately is always on repeat.

What do I think about? It varies from night to night. Sometimes I am thinking of all the things I need to do today. Or all of the things I didn’t do yesterday. Sometimes I will recall something from my past. On certain nights, I can do all this simultaneously. I’m nothing, if not a good multi-tasker. Last night I was replaying a conversation with a friend. I am sure that everyone does this. You question what you said, and how you said it. You realize that once you say something, you can’t retract your words. Or more important, you can’t go back and say the things you wish you had. But knowing this doesn’t stop me from trying. I get to play both people.

As I lay there wishing I could turn off my head – while carrying on this part real, part imaginary dialogue – it occurs to me that conversations are like verbal minefields. You step around topics that you don’t want to address. Or more honestly, are afraid to talk about. We avoid the uncomfortable because if we can avoid it long enough, we convince ourselves that it might go away. But just like a landmine, it’s still there, even if you don’t acknowledge it. You can try to walk gingerly past the bombs in your life, but one day, when you’re not paying attention, you’ll step right in the middle of one. It’s then when you’re forced to deal with whatever “it” is.

Well, at least that’s what I tell myself at 3:07 am.

Click. Just like that, the channel in my head changes and I start wondering how painful today’s CrossFit WOD will be. And my song is stuck on the chorus.

Does my butt look big?

2010-01-22T06:26:00.000-08:00

Flaws. It’s what most of us see when we scrutinize ourselves in a mirror. How we view ourselves is an interesting thing. Often, we choose to focus on the negatives. I don’t like my legs. I pretty much never have, but I’ve been told numerous times, that I am lucky to have strong, muscular legs. I have had a hard time seeing the good in these “lucky” legs of mine – visually speaking. And my legs are just the beginning of the lengthy list of what I consider to be my “flaws.”

I have a friend who refers to her backside as the “butternut.” She’s not complimenting herself when she says this. But what I see, is a beautiful, strong, CrossFit athlete that manages to get her “butternut” across the finish line, more often than not, ahead of anyone else.

What I find very interesting, however, is our inability to view ourselves the way we’re viewed by others. . . especially, those close to us. Why can’t we love ourselves despite our flaws, the way those that love us do? I don’t pick apart my friend. I don’t see her flaws. As her friend, I explain to her that she’s perfect -- just the way she is. I do this, not to make her “feel” better – but because that is the way I SEE her.

We all have flaws. Some are literal, some are perceived. But most are invisible to those that KNOW who we are. Let’s all try to look at ourselves through the eyes of someone who loves us. We might be happier with what we see.

Flawed, but loved. . .