Category: Healthy Avenue (Page 11 of 12)

Fearing what we know not is normal. The road to maintenance, the journey to reach a reduced size or ideal weight is familiar ground. Notches in my belt show extensive experience. Yet weight maintenance has had limited exposure, remains unfamiliar territory, and boasts a reduced success rate. Arrival at a destination, a particular number of pounds I sought to remove, a size flashing a low number on a tag, and a proud view in a mirror have highlighted several successful stints of weight reduction. Goals of completing marathons, Outward Bound courses, and fitness programs all resulted in reaching some pinnacle, and then diving off the peak into an abyss of failure, relinquishing my crown of glory to non-movement uncertain how to maintain ultimate fitness levels. Maintenance remains a mystery.

An unlearned lesson, summed up by my quote is apropos, “When you reach the top of the mountain, you are only half way there.” Although I cognitively recognize this reality, education has eluded full comprehension, experiential practice, and success. When I view that quote literally rather than metaphorically, the irony is that my strength climbing down a mountain exceeds traversing up. On 22 and 30-day Outward Bound courses that took me deep into the High Sierras and Rocky Mountains, my temperament, physical shape, and mental acuity made elevation and ascent the greater challenge, while descending at any rate drew from my strengths in dominant fashion. Perhaps my hips and thighs, my predominant body parts, held greater strength to warrant the side to side, downward dig necessary for descent, whereas cardiovascularly and as the air grew thinner, my strength weakened and challenged my physical response deeply.

Although views from the mountain tops and peaks took my breath away like pieces of heaven clearing the vision, downward slope contained a freedom like flying and soaring towards a final destination. That freedom like an eagle’s flight always lifted my spirits, enabling me to appreciate the views more significantly and experience authentic, deep conversations with fellow hikers, while empowering the physical drive to the bottom.

Yet after every diet and physical feats’ successes, the weight returned, the muscular achievement atrophied, and failure replaced victory. I reached the top of the mountain not to recognize I was only half way there. Post diet, I would eat more and unhealthily; following each marathon, I stopped exercising entirely; and subsequent to Outward Bound trips, I lacked any physical exertion. Like a recoiling to a comfort level, the rubber band snapped back to fat and immobile, large and low-energy, sad and depressed.

Lifelong change required efforts I chose not to commit to, and resulted in relentless abandon, traveling from victory to defeat. Maintenance, approached from a far reaching arm, never received the attention it needed. Therefore, without an embrace, my full comprehension and follow through were short lived. Yet, now is my time and nothing is getting in my way. I am committed to walk that walk, follow the process, and welcome maintenance for the final lifelong descent to fruition. When I reach the top of the mountain this time, I accept that halfway is the perfect place for continuity, a slightly different technique, and energy readied for my lifestyle to continue without reservation, without a break, without atrophy. This is my final ascent to weight loss, where the climb down from that peak awaits maintenance and “the me” I was meant to be. I suspect with maintenance there is a reversal of fortune, where after considerable time in the maintenance quarter, I will feel like I am above peaks, mountain ranges and valleys, soaring high above with a freedom like none other. Fly, Lisa, Fly!

Within a community of strong, empowered women, there stand common threads of struggle that weave between our lives. No one travels through life unscathed without some childhood scarring, life’s dominoes that topple unaligned from negative human interaction.Where on the timeline each one’s healing exists differs. Incredible struggles people experience daily, surviving, thriving, and altering their circumstances continues to amaze and defy great understanding. Surviving adversity with increasing resilience is a testament to the human heart and its endurance.

As a bystander, observing scores of woes, emotions abound with empathy, gratitude, and inspiration. The survivor’s ability to speak truth, seek solace, and educate us about toughness to withstand darkness, buoyancy to bounce back, and mutual trust to share and exchange personal, painful stories is remarkable. Tremendous, thoughtful, touching responses fill our airways to breathe in connection. The exchange is heavy, but lightens life in ways unfathomable, while words and revelations empty like releasing a capsule of healing between both the giver and receiver.

Grateful for the human condition to enable such grand communication and connection, an intricate web that filters out layer upon layer, I am stupefied by its growth, size, and continuous weaving into the universe. When something as vast in spectrum corners your perspective about human connection, it inspires repeatable experiences to continue what led you there.

The common thread of pain between individuals seeking healing, resolution, and solace where atrophied bodies, obesity, and food related issues resulted, supersedes weight loss and fitness goals. Never about the physical weight, but instead the gravity of emotional weight pressed upon the human soul in need of therapeutic remedy is the common core of fitness and weight loss communities. When that connection filters fully, human empathy abounds, and healing restores the masses.

During a time-defined, focused journey (a twelve-week challenge), there is a segment when the gas pedal needs no pressure, our vessel cruises with highway monotony, and attention detaches from acceleration. Although you cannot take your hand off the wheel, your defined actions are habitual, your speed determined, and the miles pass on their own without tremendous concerted effort.

Danger exists when such stagnation occurs. The commencement of repetitive food intake, exercise routines, and easing the motivation into a lull typically serve as a holding pattern, may create plateau results, and confuse the driver with frustrating failure and the slowing process. Concluding the initial plan lacks sustainability explains the slow down, when perhaps the jammed receptors of the body are simply relaxing into equilibrium.

The status quo is the balance the body achieves with great precision. Working to prevent the body of relinquishing its weight, it attempts a balance of systems, recognizing that it has discovered its perfect response to the calories, movement, and various activity it has been given. All systems are functioning, cycling, and cruising, with maintenance as the next leg of the journey, a settling into comfort.

Unfortunately this result is not the desired outcome, but cruise control communicates differently. Changing one’s response is necessary for optimal success: decreasing and increasing calories, fluctuating carbohydrate and fat macros, alternating exercise routines and their amounts, changing food choices to prevent habitual selections, and alleviating the resting state of the pedal to the metal. One must focus energy towards pushing acceleration, rather than relenting into maintenance. Cruising is stagnation while deepening the force is a destination’s dream.

Determination, perseverance, and dedication to shifting routine, awakens the body to dominate the drive towards surrendering the weight, increasing its muscle, and ascending to a successful concentration of movement towards a driving destination of pounds dropping and kettlebells soaring. Coasting in cruise control is a hazard to a worthy weight loss pursuit. Halting the plateau and shifting the comfort level can be as easy as making a few changes in food choices, exercise amount, increasing weights, and/or altering activity levels. Getting out of the comfort zone and releasing cruise control works the body and revs the engine again for sustainable change.

Although I appreciate the boot camps and clean eating along the healthy avenue, I struggle with the unknown. What works and does not, confuses and causes me to second guess each step. Did I exercise enough, eat enough, drink enough (water), do enough to make my journey successful? Am I digestively sensitive to dairy, egg whites, or an ingredient still unacknowledged? Have I done everything to ensure success in this venture? Slow and steady may win the race, but slow and unsteady, what say you now?

When it all comes to fruition, realizing my weight loss goal, lifetime maintenance, and my primary mission of being comfortable in my skin, I want peace of mind, knowing the healthy path that led me there, and continuing to walk it daily. Much of the struggle is understanding what essentially works and does not. Throughout this process, I struggle with not truly knowing what aspects cumulatively are optimal actions. What parts are pushing the weight loss down while others fight against a tide, attempting to hold on to excess fat and pounds.

This unknown is my challenge, as the weight drops unevenly, slowly, and continues to baffle my intelligence. What I thought I knew for sure in life, is that when I did not know something, I could study it, rely on facts, and act accordingly. Yet with hormones, gut health, metabolism, and other variables affecting my body via a compilation of factors, there is no definite path. Only guidelines and tweaking to guide my journey, attempting to increase my efficiency with successful courses of action may I rely.

When on the slow end of losing weight, acknowledging that some bodies lose faster than others is excruciatingly frustrating. It is another  ‘I am not good enough’ to be as successful as others. Although happy for others’ success and yearning to possess the same superpower of weight loss speed, envy exists. I don’t want to be a “slow loser.”  My due diligence did not pay off this time; my results do not equate to my efforts. The disappointment of possibly not being fast enough causes unrest.

Yet my journey will not be dissuaded, deterred, or denied my eventual vision, a goal set with clear intention. Altering my views, my critical self judgment needs a new route. Some struggles are worthy of time, learning, and patience. The need for the mind to catch up with the body’s transformation, time for habituating the process and discovering how one’s body uniquely functions, validates the theory of a slower journey.

Embracing this slower speed erases my equating it to ‘being less than’ or ‘not enough’. Perhaps the slow I require has benefits I have not fathomed. I am worthy of success, reaching my goals, and being the best version of myself. Accepting a slow loser status lowers my extreme expectations and may alter my speed by adding a new perspective and reducing disappointment. Speed is subjective; my body decides the rate of weight descent. That speed must be perfect for my body or it would act otherwise.

Until my ultimate destination, I continue to alter and correct, delve beneath to find the tricks of the fitness, weight loss trade. Accepting the process and gliding along at whatever rate, will lead me to a victory. The longer I travel, the greater the weight journey. As we know, the essence is about the journey, not the end. As I have repeatedly said,”Everything’s going to be alright. If it’s not alright, then it’s not the end.” When I reach the end, a new journey begins. Slow loser, or longer journey? It’s a matter of perspective.

Life throws unexpected curve balls while most of us directionally challenged hitters bok while reacting. Personally I swing late, observing the pitch as foreign, unable to explain its strange, arching movement, and wondering why and how the curvature is possible. Several pitches later I start to recognize the true meaning behind the curve when my interpretation adds essence to its meaning. After years of practice, when a ball arcs in my direction, my response time has shortened; I am able to hit a single, after a couple of strikes.

Yesterday my morning started with an excruciating eye opener. Literally I opened one eye and sharp, grinding pain resulted. Though probably a long time coming from contact lense overuse, I still was surprised when it happened. My immediate thought, remove my contact lense (overnight wear) and see if the eye restored pain-free equilibrium as felt the night prior. Without any ease, I put on glasses, aware that my left eye’s vision was blurred, and attempted to distract myself with daily ritual activity, checking email, and writing a blog entry.

The first email catching my eye was from an acquaintance asking if I had sent a Google Doc, and if not, to change my passwords. Next, a private message on my screen showed another asking the same. My response to both was an emphatic “no” and my morning went into reacting to a computer virus that left my entire contact list vulnerable to the corruption. With years of added contacts, sending an immediate email to warn of the potential dangers to all contacts seemed the correct course of action. With the help of a technology-savvy spouse, his morning and mine were tumbled inside out, utilizing much time to rectify this matter. Passwords were deleted and rewritten, emails were sent at lightening speed, and my blog writing time was eliminated.

With painful, blurry vision and a computer virus, my day took a tumble, teetering out of control. Prior to the morning, a snow day had been called, and my kids were now stumbling out of bed, awaiting attention and breakfast preparation. Additionally snow shovel removal awaited at the end of the driveway by our mailbox to ensure the day’s delivery. Ruckus set in as the kids responded negatively wanting attention, my eye pain and blurred vision steadily continued, and my inbox began filling up with mail delivery rejections from all of my contact list that had become obsolete over the years. Over two hundred emails snapped back with a statement of non-delivery. My offspring adjusted eventually to the slow breakfast delivery, yet arguments ensued as each made their way to help with snow removal. Tears streamed from children’s eyes as the frigid temperatures and early morning mishaps gathered steam. None of it a pretty picture, but somehow manageable.

In time, I called the eye doctor and scheduled a “fit-you-in” appointment at noon, ignored my full email inbox, made myself a cup of tea, and told the children to steer clear of me as my top might blow off my head should anything else darken my day. I began to contemplate the blurred vision, the computer virus, the unscheduled snow days trapped inside, and the clarity I could not capture from an array of curve balls thrown my way. I sighed, imagining the metaphor of mishaps in my line of view.

Perhaps I was just being hit by pitches, reacting only upon direct impact. What did it mean to have blurred vision; would I heal and see again through a clear lense? Would I clear the virus or continue to subject others to my fate? My meal plan was set off on a tangent as the events unfolded as well, skewing my success for the day. Did I not just use the phrase on Facebook for another’s consoling, “The ability to succeed is the ability to adjust”?  How resilient could I be in the face of adversity, unscheduled avenues, and the unexpected events thrown my way? I had not seen clearly until now.

By day’s end, I had a diagnosis of ‘abrasion’ to my left eye, and must wear glasses for a week until healed, or if worsened, a virus potentially could be the cause. The computer virus issue I may have fully addressed with a giant send-out to fellow contacts. Mail was delivered by the postal service, my food plan eased back into balance, and I sat aware of a successful comeback after a day of alterations to the ‘norm.’

Our reaction to the curve balls decides our fate. Should we choose to acquiesce to their aim of striking us out, our vision will remain blurred, out of focus, and deteriorating like an out of control virus, spreading like a contagion let loose into the wild. Instead the downward spiral slowed long enough to hit the ball, allowing me to run freely and access some clarity.

When life throws you a curve, examining the pitch long enough to take aim for a clear reaction is crucial. Today served me well to practice positive response, resilience and recovery. No one travels through life unscathed by the curves that derail each of us from our center. Equilibrium is achieved by reframing the situation, as to recognize it’s valuable lesson internally taught. Learning to achieve resiliency is one’s best bet against the mighty curve ball.

Six months ago, my former body existed at a considerably larger size. Yet the greatest change occurred between a three month spurt. Since then, the movement towards smaller has been limited. Although there are inclinations from the experts that as you reach milestones the pace declines steadily, many who dig deep defy the odds and succeed in far greater degrees than the mainstream. Those individuals’ speed to the finish line increases, separates them from the pack, and incredibly defines them as victors in the race for weight loss and fitness.

My aim, although wishful, hopeful, increasingly prayerful, is to be like these individuals (aka, freaks of nature). The goal is consistently not about the number of pounds, but instead my decreasing size, increased strength, and appealing image I perceive myself to be, when I glance in the mirror, clothe my body, and dance through life like no one’s watching. That result is the ultimate self-care gift to myself for knowing my worth and self-acceptance in the world, and to maintain this outcome for the rest of my life.

Times in my life when I felt more ‘me’ than I have ever been, when bombarding the world with self-confidence, was when I was a size six/eight. Though those memories recollect short-lived experiences, they resonate something I want for myself. The number on a scale cannot equate to the feeling of being a size that exudes beauty within. Whatever that size is for each person differs greatly. What matters is being the person that reflects your inner beauty. Size matters when it brings out the best in you!

Although my success cannot be measured by an inanimate object, the scale’s reign continues to plague me with its number, ultimately taunting, praising, and/or impeding my progress by its momentary emotional result. When I witness that number popping up for a weekly weigh in, I cringe with elation or despair. Either result causes an emotional response. Enabling the scale’s heightened influence weighs on my psyche, affecting my results.

It creates doubt as it descends slowly or wavers on a plateau. My confidence weakens with a slow decline, causing me to reassess all activities contributing to losses. Should I tweak, change, or alter my behavior? Is there something interfering directly or indirectly? Am I constipated, my hormonal cycle looming, a heavy meal contributing to a slow progression to my goal? Have a strayed from the exercise, food, or guidelines set before me?

I look for non-scale signs of progress, looser clothing, body measurements and fat percentages decreasing, belt notches changing, or energy levels lifting. Yet without my size literally changing, and the scale showing a downward trend, confidence declines in the process. The scale still holds the greatest, negative power that I have yet to release. A victory is letting the number, the scale, and anything resembling such measurement vanish from my existence. Allowing it to remain a tool in the protocol of loss or gain measurement is an unhealthy unit that ought to be banned from the shed. It serves no positive purpose currently. When I release its power, its irrelevance illuminated, I will have scaled a major victory.

The expression, “You’ve Got This,” conjures a nodding bobble-head visual, confident of its destiny, assured of the route, and motoring with a knowing of how proceed no matter the obstacles, distractions, or past transgressions. Reaching a level of comfort upon your path where the energy wanes slightly, the know-how and cruise-control take the reigns, and gliding effortlessly equates with a “you’ve got this” feeling.

As if miles have stretched behind, experience, success, and routine establish a foundation. Yet familiarity can lead to stagnation, plateau, and delays upon the journey. Admiring the comfort seems harmless, but addressing the treadmill’s lack of progress is crucial. What shakes the body from maintenance is change. Breaking cycles of ‘usual’, same-old same-old, or gathering dust type behavior is to change it up. Give it an energy boost that jars the body to release its stronghold upon unwanted baggage, its extra weight.

This means altering food choices, exercise routines, and adding variety to the plan. Scrambling the usual, erasing the monotony of stability to create a little chaos seems to awaken dormancy and boost movement on the scale and within the body. Deciding what to tweak when the going is good is tricky business. Knowing what to transform takes examination of the uniform, boring, and repetitive foods, actions and approaches. With a bird’s eye view analysis eases into your heart with answers.

Once you know, you cannot not know. And with this knowing, You’ve Got This. Changing it up is good course of action. Rather than spinning wheels, take a new route repeatedly to empower the body for everlasting transformation. Stagnation leads to an unhappiness only resolved by change. You’ve Really Got This!

“I’m starting with the man in the mirror
I’m asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you want to make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself, and make a change.”
-Michael Jackson

(although a global message for change, it really starts with each individual’s transformation.)

With thirty-five years of dieting behind me, I recognize time wasted, emotional turmoil and energy expunged, wondering the outcome if an alternate choice was made at age eleven. Imagining the past orchestrated differently may seem wasteful. If healthier self-esteem existed, would any humiliation, weight, or internal talk have impacted the result as it did? Like the film, “Sliding doors,” the outcome could have been the same, with other avenues playing out towards the same conclusion. Either way, the inner pain scorched a huge portion of my life.

Periods of wearing tight-fitting clothing due to weight gain are prominent in my memory. At thirteen my pediatrician, upon my mother’s inquiry, stated losing ten pounds would be appropriate. By summer’s end, the scale dropped by fifteen, only for me to gain back twenty. That same scenario played out repeatedly with diet upon diet leading the ups and downs. With each cycle of pounds climbing, my self-esteem plummeted.

In high school, getting to the field house early for a game meant requesting the only pair of size extra large softball pants that existed. The humiliation of wearing a tight smaller size, plagued my softball days. Walking down to the field, I remember a bus driving by when a kid yelled, “Hey, Fat Ass!” Even now, my heart palpitates with the fear, shame, and depression that comment affected. I held my head down as the school bus passed, pretending I was unaffected, when inside something died, and moved deeper within.

Shopping for clothes after my hips and thighs grew disproportionately during puberty was a living nightmare I cringe to rehash with memories. Arguments with my mother while clothes shopping were nothing more than a shame festival of depressing moments, tantrums, and screaming matches, all a reminder of her lack of empathy. I was dying inside with self-hatred for my body, lacking acceptance or inner love. Not recognizing my pain. I lashed out, reactive of the inner hurt that consumed me.

Years of debilitating relationships, choosing men that matched my level of self-worth, heightened the extreme pain. Pounds increased while associated with delinquent, discouraging, and disrespectful men. Fittingly, my high school boyfriend went to the prom with another girl. I dated an ex-con abominably angry at society and the world at large, chose a drug-induced man who abused me physically until I had the courage to leave, and continued to connect with men whose priorities were never me.

Yet inside, deep beneath the gravity that weighed me down lay the innocent who wanted, needed, and fought to return to the surface. Filling the void between that inner space and the external forces was necessary for my survival. Food replaced the missing pieces of myself, and it took away pain, easing away the hurt temporarily. Pushing away the pain was my modus operandi; food served as a mechanism for efficiently and expertly expunging the uncomfortable feeling of emotions.

Acutely aware of the issues that patterned decades of pain, I recognized by age thirty that lack of self-worth lay at the root. Growing shards of brokenness lay fixated, to remain entrenched, until true healing repaved my journey. Allaying fears, feeling and leaning into emotions, and recognizing sugar addiction (a missing piece until now) smooth the sharp edges that used to gouge my insides while attempting solace and mending. Today I feel the bandages that await removal after years of recovery. Slowly healing, assuredly scars will lighten over time, I await the knowing of a different era when self-worth lines my heart, self-acceptance contours my existence, and self-love reinforces a peaceful, healing path.

Although numerous non-scale victories in the game of health are valid measures, the number on the scale still holds weight for the majority. Waiting for the number to drop continues to test our patience, affect our emotional well being, and antagonize us with its power. Though a number nor scale ever knows who represents it or stands upon it, the energy we give it occupies our consciousness. We allow the inanimate object to define our failure or success, affect our food intake, moods, and exercise regime, and enable havoc unnecessarily.

In turn, can we release the power we have given this square, inanimate, metal device? The pounds are solely a unit of measure, while other aspects decree golden victories, including pant size, muscle mass, and energy level. Yet waiting for the scale to move steadily or quickly downward awaits our baited breath.

I recall the first time the number signified more than just a number. Sixth grade, nurse’s office, and a public announcement of my weight and each of my classmates’ while standing upon an unsturdy, white-painted metal, rectangular prism. This memory establishes my initial relationship with this lifeless object. Recognizing the relationship began at that moment might have been a foreshadowing, but I was an unsuspecting victim of negative scale influence immediately. Defined by a number, a red flag flew for me to change promptly. Diet jargon became a language spoken fluently at home, and I listened, learned, and languished with low-fat, limited calories, and small portions for the remainder of my stay there.

Yet even post-departure, my nutrition research and knowledge development continued as information changed, recommendations were altered, and my success rate declined. My results deteriorated, the pounds increased, and a yo-yo of pounds and feelings illuminated upon a failure-ridden roller coaster. I gave the number the power to define my worth, decide my fate, and weigh upon my psyche. The losing battle plagued a great portion of my life until now. Three and half decades since that fated day at Flagg Street Elementary School, and I surrendered with a recognition that the scale can no longer have my power.

A scale shows no love, no emotion, no empathy, no compassion, nor does it give a shit whether I lose or gain a pound. Only I know my worth and giving that power away has always been a losing proposition. The pendulum has swung towards balance and stability, rocking in its center for a sane solution. Whenever I exclaim what I have been doing to improve my health, the scale still cannot grace the hills of my success. It cannot claim victory as I hold that title; my body, mind and spirit are the only ones to hold that heightened, weighty medal.

With this in mind, the release of the scale’s power has not released easily nor completely. It periodically still drives a wedge between sanity and delusion. As a tool of measure, it affects me when I allow it. Over time, my body shrinks, my energy boots, and the clothes fit. And if the clothes fit, I must acquit my guilty conscience from empowering the scale’s movement in either direction. My own fluctuation contains numerous factors the scale cannot measure. Reminded if its limited utility, I downgrade its assessment value.

If I wait for the scale to determine my success, I will allow the weight to weather my journey. The tumultuous storms previously encountered teach that sunny skies are on the horizon with change and perspective about the scale’s utility. Removing its hold upon me is a gradual process. Not a number, I am a person empowered to determine my own destiny. The scale carries no weight; the weight is mine to carry as I see, feel, and am fit.

My husband’s arrival on the scene of ‘clean’ eating’ is an awesome reality, including when a blizzard is upon us. Yet it requires intense prepping and surrendering to the possibility that electricity, cooking potential, and reheating required, are limited assets. We distinctly recall not too long ago winging it during storms. With electricity eliminated, we would sit by the fire’s light, eating prepared, processed, long shelf life food without blinking about its nutritional value, its quality or lack thereof, or how it may affect our waistline, gut, or psychological well-being.

Last night’s preparation told a different story. A dozen boiling eggs, a crock pot simmering, two trays of roasting vegetables, fourteen grilling grass-fed beef burgers, and discussion about the meals of tomorrow ensued. This spectacle of cooking prowess was not culinary cuisine’s grandeur of souffles or creole gumbos. It was simple preparatory fare for a few days of hiding in our home while mother nature shouts loudly outside.

Furthermore, underneath the surface of this preparation lies the true crux of our metaphoric crudite. It represents self care in action, the cultivation of a healthy lifestyle. Without consumable, healthy fuel for the body’s efficient functioning, a successful outcome for well being is improbable. Taking precautions when ‘life interrupted’ occurs can be filed under self respect, self love, and self survival. Time, resources, and energy must be utilized when extraordinary circumstances occur to ensure one’s success.

Our culinary creations captured a snapshot of self care that has become our “new normal.” Whether blizzard, travel, or home, we continue to defy the mainstream with our ability to navigate our needs, and energize the troops to dig deeper when the enemy attempts to thwart our success with adversity. As a team, we are stronger, braver, and resilient.

“It’s easier to be brave with two.” – Winnie the Poo

My favorite author/teacher, Brene Brown, taught me about courage, vulnerability, shame, and resilience, all prerequisites for much needed mending and healing. Most vital is “being all in” with whatever avenue I choose. To fail while placing myself in the arena is a life better lived than having not taken action or attempting triumph at all. The quote (below) by Theodore Roosevelt has inspired me to face fears, walk into the fighting ring I previously ignored, and dared greatly in places of adversity. Leaning into fear has proved emotionally satisfying, strengthened my risk-taking, atrophied muscles, and placated my past into dormancy.

Yet the past, believed healed, forgiven, and laid to rest relinquishes from the ashes like rekindling firewood with determination and persistency. Memes engrained reveal my weaknesses and are triggered, reminding me of the brokenness that shadowed decades of fear, destructive downfalls, and distress. I anchored myself to those equated to my established self-worth, and reached the bottomless pit of despair by age twenty-nine. With a miracle of inspiration, understanding, and recovery, I captured my life, turning the corner at a crossroads, venturing into a new dawning day with a life worth living.

Healing has zigzagged, yet found smooth ground by the new decade’s end. Two scores of life rattled the past into a sacred burial, rediscovering the meaning of unconditional love, self-care, and acceptance of life into an arena of worthiness, self-acceptance, and strength. Today I live with a badge of courage, honor, and determination, overcoming the obstacles, a resilient existence. The struggles to overcome my past enable me to appreciate the distance from then to now.

My avenue of change, growth, and healing are fluent, and flow unevenly against a tide like a rubber band that wants to resume back to equilibrium after stretched in one direction. The repeated recoiling when the trigger has been pressed continues to impede my progress, like two steps forward and one step back. Yet onward I trudge through disarray, disorganized trenches to discover I am indestructible, resilient, and strong beyond measure.

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.” – Theodore Roosevelt

I am Daring Greatly!

During this avenue of health and well being, I refuse to shortcut the process. I choose to fail while daring greatly, or triumph with high achievement. To know victory or defeat, pertinent for a worthy existence, is to live open heartedly. In the arena, I shall thrive, survive, and succeed for having entered, fought, and battled with all that I am. It is my destiny to live my best life, full of ambition, risk, and daring greatly, as not to regret attempting what I deemed impossible. Without the limits, anything is possible. Without the limits, healing is accessible. Without the limits, I am who I was meant to be.

Why commit to a time-consuming fit lifestyle and clean food regime that differs from the mainstream, while towing the line of weight loss and well-being? Reaching a stable space, feeling that anything is possible, and achieving peace within regarding my body, mind and spirit are all integral to the whys of this journey.

“Comfortable in my skin” is paramount, a self-acceptance and gratitude for the body given to me. Able to visit my closet and drawers with ease, optimism, and cleansed of the past unfitting, unbecoming, uncomfortable wares, in exchange for loving what I wear, excited to exhibit a daily ensemble of clothes, is one goal worth reaching. To don a bathing suit upon a beach, lounge in a swimming pool among friends, and saunter down my own hallway confident that my body represents inner peace, love, and acceptance that lies within tops the priorities as well. Living an energetic life, one of longevity, presumes action is required including numerous steps taken, push ups completed, and kettlebells lifted, as well as consumable fuel pumped and digested from efficient, healthy, and “clean” food.

Although these reasons validate my journey and motivate my walking the walk, this health expedition is about healing the brokenness. The remnants of sugar addiction that linger from childhood, that fed my emotions rather than enabling full expression, filling a void where unconditional love felt limited, and reaching the depths of worthiness beneath the brokenness are significant “Whys” that motor me towards a novel space I see in the distance. Healing is not about losing weight, nor completing a 120-lb. deadlift; it is about achieving what I deemed impossible, knowing I am worthy of greatness and peace within that lay consumed by fear and anxiety no longer needed for me to survive. For this fear factor to plummet, healing is a prerequisite.

That is my main “why” with other “whys” dangling as the icing on the kettlebell, waiting to clang loudly when I have achieved the impossible, making my vision reach fruition, and arrive at a place of true healing. This keeps me chugging, focused and dedicated to the proposition that one day I shall feel whole, and devoid of something missing. Until that day, I remain steadfast upon this journey.

Feeling like a truck rolled over me is not the greatest reaction upon waking, a reminder of the intense StrikeFit exercise class I experienced yesterday. Roundhouse kicks, upper and lower hooks, varying punch combinations including those empowering hammers, cardio versions of squats, sit ups, and surfing burpees, all intensified by speed, balance, agility, and a kickass instructor. Instead of laying low, I am invigorated by its outcome, a stronger heart, leaner arms, tighter core, and solidifying legs.

The increasing strength from intense boot camps and strikefit classes energizes, empowers, and engages every part of me. Feeling younger, stronger, meaner and leaner, the best version of myself materializes, with layers of alabaster gradually forming a masterful exterior. Achieving the inner masterpiece to match the outer sculpted core is where the real work exists.

To strengthen the mind in support of a brawn built external frame and a clean interior continues to occupy my daily deeds. Eating clean, resting fully, meditatively walking through life with mindfulness, and living open heartedly, are integral tasks towards my own version of nirvana. Fueling my thoughts with necessary action steps to maintain healthy habits is a constant, fed with intention, focus, and energy. My mindset must maintain the visual outcome, the desire for a destiny that lives long past its initial goal of size, strength, and scale outcomes. Peace of mind, self-acceptance of my body, and a self-love unfelt in a heart that was always worthy, are the ultimate pinnacles for my success.

Until then, the journey continues.

Without adequate sleep, I struggle. Cranky, craving crap, and careening out of control result from lack of z’s. This week proves no exception. When exhausted, I open the refrigerator to examine its contents without inspiration. I simply want to grab everything and anything. It may begin with the acceptable, primped and prepped foods, but soon, I contemplate items not on my fueling foods list; my mind wanders.

A temporary hiatus from the responsible, mindful, rational mindset, I visualize the pantry full of delectable goodies, sugar-filled, and healthy-ish junk food. Foods that wrap my success into a tailspin if given the chance lay only steps away. In good conscience, this closet of characteristically cravingful carbohydrates hardly affects my psyche. Yet add a sleep deficit to the daily concoction and my acute senses enable the smell of sugar from a mile away.

I knock my head gently against the refrigerator door, close my eyes, and see myself wanting, falsely needing, believing that my power is waning in droves. My heart hurts from the conflict of feeling weak, desiring strength to oppose an unruly addiction versus the obvious desire for anything from my children’s pantry of doom. The sugar seems to taunts me, begging me to inhale its sweetness, reach for the boxes that contain it, and reneging on my commitment for change and self-care.

Inside I cry with anguish yet relief as the courage to dissuade the addiction wins the argument, pushing me from the kitchen entirely. I cringe that my mind went asunder so easily after months of success, where fueling my body healthily has strengthened every inch of my being. The addiction feels new, fresh, as if yesterday began my journey, like a struggle needs to build a muscle to remember the good outweighing the bad. Yet my experience educates that this is the power of the food addiction. It arrives in droves when weakened, ready to pounce when emotionally despondent, and able to infiltrate when mindfulness dissipates.

Sleep deprivation weakens me physically and mentally, creating dysfunction. Addiction is empowered when sleep lacks. The disturbance disrupts mindful, disciplined, and purposeful behavior. My success relies on these elements. The more I snooze, the more I lose … Weight, that is.

Upping the calories? What? Must have gone off the deep end at the asylum to recommend that strategy. Yet the latest analogy resurfaces, intuitively knowing its accuracy for success. A former trainer recommended higher calories long ago, yet clean, unprocessed, and no added sugar and grains were not on the docket. Fueling the body effectively in order to create an efficient energy system is curiously a novel concept from past protocol. Yet my experimentation is in  motion.

An initial hundred calorie leap marks my initial dosage for proof of concept. As the pounds drop, I will delve even further. Imagining a furnace, adding coal to burn hotter with more intensity, it fuels the flames, infuses energy and burns brighter; this emulates the body’s fueling mechanism. Adding useable, healthy fuel at the right times in right amounts ignites the body to burn on a continuous flow without the ebb of starvation or slow down.

Fear prevented me from trusting this process sooner. Time spent tweaking, experimenting, and patiently examining the process I deemed wasteful. Yet time, patience, and perspective have changed my mind. Speed diminishes my long term success if not fully understanding my body’s ability to fuel itself, and run efficiently. When wanting success immediately without proper process, I waste valuable resources of knowledge. Yet now that I know better, I cannot pretend not to know.

I rise again taking on water over the plank, heaving it off me to start once again. Rather than sinking into failure, each day begins with an appreciation of another dawn, a thought, intention, and visualization of actions yet to come, and a new start to improve upon yesterday. Lessons from the past seem imperative to live today’s twenty-four hours in improved fashion.

Woke yesterday without a morsel, awaiting my first meal until hungry. Unfortunately that set the wheels of metabolism to slow its pace, awaiting a need to put all gears in motion. After five hours of awakened existence, I approached my first food cautiously aware of the error. Eat too quickly and food as fuel alters into the opening of Pandora’s Box; it creates a bingeing effect. Unfortunately, the late start pushed calories down the line until time ran out, causing a backlog of food uneaten. Mistake to be rectified tomorrow, I said, where tomorrow is now today.

Although everyday represents a new beginning, today I learn from yesterday, ensuring tomorrow receives the gems of all that came before. Eat early, eat often, and create enough time before it is too late. Bring it!

Ruffled, rattled, and flustered from my own hand, mind, and heart today. I met with some special cronies, my monthly favorite confidantes, who discuss goals, offer advice, inspire, and lend a listening, loyal ear. My share includes my success within the fitness community, staying true to my path, committed to transform and heal the inner brokenness that remains shattered. Shards shadow my path, await mending of the past, and a cleanse of my spirit.

Yet today my first memoir resurfaced, my completed first draft submitted for perusal a year ago, practically to the day. Engaged in the draft writing process after meeting with my editor then, just as suddenly, as if a line had cris-crossed along my heart, I stalled abruptly. My stamina halted, the momentum waned, and I sat mysteriously wondering what happened for days, trying to retrieve what once shined, but now lay deep in despair.

His response about forgiveness for my mother’s actions, he claimed was incredulous. Yet although I am certain I have fully forgiven her, what piece of my story lacked integrity. What lay beneath the pages that lacked synchronization with the rest of the tale? To revisit my memoir, my life, my past would have delved further beneath the surface than I was willing to travel at the time.

Yet as I stated today, I shall return to retrieve the ashes I lay, burned into my book, for a later visit. My timing first necessitates full healing, a knowing that I have arrived at self-acceptance, self-worth, and self-love. When that clock ticks of a knowing, I shall retrieve my story and tell its true ending. Until then, as my great friend to my right shared today, I will remain patient until the knowing comes.

My transformation is just beginning to take hold beneath my feet, the success and results digging deeper roots toward my ultimate destiny. When I look back my old self is a dissipating image, vanishing from my psyche, allowing the new self to emerge slowly, but impressively. Like contouring lines materializing gradually, engaging focus and clarity, a sculptor I have become of my life.

Like Pygmalion’s alabaster creation, I meld my being into the image of my choosing. Each choice, each visual cue, each determination to better myself, adds to the sculpted form I craft. The continual creation molds me into the shape I was destined to become, aligning with nature, outfitted as my authentic self. Arriving at this fate, I feel ease, peace, and rightness, like a knowing where I was meant to be. I am my own sculptor.

My husband has infiltrated my private, inner circle at The Fitness Asylum. Be careful of your wishes; the result may differ than expected. Better or worse, his arrival has carried a mix of emotions.

Reminded of awaiting our second child’s birth, questions arose. Would I have enough love for number two, when my love for number one was over-the-top emotional bliss? Was I strong enough to care for two children when one seemed all I could handle? Should I rock the boat when we were sailing beautifully into the sunset? The results, overwhelmingly in favor of all areas of life proved worth the risk. Upon his birth, our second offspring doubled the love, in our home, one sibling to the other, and within my heart. The decision felt foolhardy to have ever wondered if adding a child to our lives was the correct one, when how much he added to our lives was significant.

Therefore, when my spouse took interest in my secret inner circle community, program, and lifestyle, I had questions that spewed within, wondering how I might handle the transition while I was grappling on how to make this journey sustainable and successful for myself. Would I have to be responsible for his food preparation, his exercise schedule, his potential failure and/or success? The kettlebell of questions was weighing heavy upon me.

For fifteen years, I have encouraged, role-modeled, nagged, yelled, and swore at the man I love to get his act in gear for the sake of himself, his children, his friends, his extended family, his business, and me. Yet after all my words fell upon deaf ears, I layed off and relented that until he decided to choose a healthy lifestyle, and practice self-care, I no longer could cheer or raise my hopes to any great heights.

Oh yes, each time I saw sneakers exit his closet, morsels of healthy food disappear from the fridge, and an out-stretched man exercising in the wee hours of the morning, hope would build, until those sights vanished again. Although dangerous to keep raising one’s expectations and hoping for change that result in defeat, I continued to hold out hope, wanting and waiting for change. I am his better or for worse partner in life. If this was the worse, then life had given me many gems and my wealth was considerable. Anticipating that better was eventually around the corner, I secretly trusted the man I married to want the best for himself when the time was right, and long before ‘too late’ reached him.

Now he has chosen, my hopes and fears aroused by the unknown outcome. As the body challenge approached, excitement ensued, but no conversations of how to proceed occurred. Six months ago, I dropped into a successful space, within a supportive community, and found myself changing, healing, and achieving what was deemed impossible to the masses. My weight loss, exercise journey was coming to fruition, and its sustainability was all I contemplated. How to continue the route with as much excitement and vigor as day one was my only task. With a spouse in the mix, how might that change, affect my ability to focus, energize, and realize my dreams? Was his presence a hindrance or helpful?

I prepped my food, and some for him, realizing that within two days, my refrigerator would empty quicker than usual, and begin I would to repeat the process. Wondering how twelve weeks at this pace could persist, when a whole lifetime lay ahead, I trembled to imagine. Yet within a day, he was cooking, prepping, talking about the journey, and responsible for his part. This is the better of our ‘for better or worse’ journey, believing it will last long after twelve weeks.

His first boot camp was a success, followed by soreness, enough to inspire rather than defeat. “Sore today, strong tomorrow” says my water bottle. Overall, his experience with the class and food has energized his outlook. The sign up for the body challenge was easy, the followup not impossible. Sharing the journey with him has brought us closer in a way I thought had vanished long ago. Having endured the worse in this arena for extended periods, the better has arrived, better late than never.

Our ‘For Better or Worse’ is off to a burpee start for the better!