I'm not a green bean.

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.

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

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

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?

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.

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.

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.