Has It Really Been Four Weeks?

How did that happen? Do you ever feel like you just blinked and months went by? I swear that’s how I feel about the time span between Christmas and now.  I’m positive that it was just 9 days ago that I was watching J open her Christmas presents. For that matter, I’m sure it was just a year or two ago that she was born.

I’m always hesitant to wish time away. I try not to say “I can’t wait for X, Y or Z” because time already goes by so fast. I don’t want to get to the end of my life and regret wishing away the boring days due to always being in a quest for the exciting ones. Although lately, there hasn’t been enough free time to have a boring day. In fact, boring sounds pretty fabulous right about now.

Here’s to a boring day for all of us and the luxury of enjoying it!

A Lightbulb Moment

This morning talking with Kelly, I was sharing my displeasure with the lack of family dinners at my house. In the past, we always sat down at the kitchen table and had dinner together. All three of us, every evening at 5:00pm unless we happened to be going out to dinner or on vacation. Then when I joined the gym, I didn’t eat dinner before working out at the evening classes but I’d still sit down with Ben and J and have some almonds or something small before dinner. Now we’re at a point where we’re never at the table together and we’re rarely eating anything close to the same meal. It’s seriously bothering me.

Through our conversation it hit me that the idea of family meals represents a normal, happy family. And that’s what I find myself trying to create over and over. I’m trying to grasp at all these aspects of what a perfect family should be because that’s not what I had but it’s what I want for my daughter.

When she’s nearing 40, will she really be sitting reflecting on a lack of a nightly, perfect family dinner? Probably not. Maybe the the hours of quality time that we spend together each day outweighs where we are sitting while we eat. Maybe this is one of those things that I think is about one thing but it’s really about something else. Hmmm, interesting things for me to ponder today!

“Easy” Is Killing Us

I like to think that the “Health & Fitness” category on Pinterest isn’t really an accurate reflection of the mindset of the general population. But I fear that I may be wrong. And frankly I choke a little even accepting that the majority of items pinned in that category could be called health or fitness. “Thinspo” and fuel for negative body image, yes. Health or Fitness? Not so much. I won’t even give time to discuss the pins that are full on instructions for eating disorders.

One to my point . . .

“This is so easy!”, “OMG, lose 15 pounds in two minutes a day!”, “Finally an easy weight loss plan!”

When it comes to health and fitness, is easy and quick really our only requirements now? Have we become a society so demanding of immediate gratification that we can’t see beyond the next fourteen days? We aren’t fruit flies. Our lives do not begin and end in a matter of days. I think we’d be alright if the fitness plan we’re following is closer to “Doable” and “Challenging But Attainable”.

We’re underestimating our true power and abilities. When we do this then even if we reach our fitness goal, it’s likely not to last. How many of you know someone that lost X number of pounds doing some radical diet? And did it work for them in the long run? I’m betting not.

We are so much smarter than this! If you’ve ever been a college student, or a parent, or a even simply a chess player then you know, in your heart, that the good stuff takes time. Being fit and healthy isn’t something to simply check off of your to-do list and then leave it behind like a basket of laundry sitting on the dryer. This is the rest of your life. And it’s ok if the progress isn’t always “easy” or “quick”.

Extend the same grace and understanding to your self as you would extend to your child or a friend when they’re struggling with a change. “Easy” doesn’t last anyway.

My Mom Finally Died

When I was 20 years old. It took nine years to get to her funeral.

“Pick disease is a form of dementia characterized by behavioral changes such as deterioration of social skills and changes in personality. Intellectual impairment, memory loss, and language deterioration may also occur. Most cases of Pick disease are sporadic in nature, but a genetic form of the disease is recognized.” -Web MD

Three little sentences. The proverbial front door to a whole house filled with “crazy”. Because that’s what Pick Disease looks like to all your sixth grade friends and neighbors. “Crazy” because why else would your mom be walking around the neighborhood begging for food in her nightgown. “Crazy” because there’s no socially acceptable way to explain why the kids are locked in the house with the curtains drawn day after day after day. “Crazy” whispers the court employees while you sit with your sister as they decide if you’re going to remain in the care of your parents of be shuffled off to some state run child program.

“Pick Disease”

Eleven little letters that defined 27 years of my life. To this day, their weight is still enormous on my soul. You see, when your mom dies, at 45 in a nursing home, hair askew, arms twisted and contorted in a permanent froze state, wearing a diaper, with no fucking clue who you are, it breaks you in a way that is impossible to image. At 17, one of the nurses looked at me with pity and said “I don’t know how you do it.” Rage filled me. I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE! And how dare she imply that I did.

I don’t know why I’m telling this. I didn’t expect for this to be my blog post today. Maybe this is my ten seconds of insane courage. To lay it all out there and force my hand to clean it up and start to move on. Goodness knows my coping skills thus far haven’t been working for me. I do know that I am so ready to be free of those three sentences and eleven letters. To not worry that every forgotten task is the onset of a genetic fate. To have an “off” day and be able to just chalk it up simply due to hormones or lack of sleep. To not worry that someday I might not recognize Miss J.

I didn’t have a choice then. But I can choose when I let go of her and this freight train of fear and hostility and pain.

“I’m choosing now.”

One little sentence that will hopefully be defining the rest of my life.

Shane Koyczan “To This Day”

If you haven’t been lucky enough to watch Shane Koyszan’s spoken word anti-bullying poem yet, then take a few minutes to watch his recent Ted talk which included a live performance. No matter what your experience growing up was, there are lessons to be learned in this piece.

Seeing Circle City Take Off

**Disclaimer** I know this round of BTWG is suppose to be about me going through the program but I can’t totally separate my business mind out of my personal mind. It’s all tangled up in there. So it’s natural that the business side of Circle City would creep in to this blog too.**

With that disclaimer said, I am so damn excited about the future of Circle City! Watching a small business start to really take off it so much fun. All these little victories, a new member one week, then another, new classes, a video on the evening news, a newspaper write up, new faces at Guest Days and workshops, etc. It’s like how a train starts moving. You know those first few moments where it’s just slowly gaining ground? That’s Circle City right now. But then what happens? Yep, pretty soon it’s plowing along. Moved not just by the energy being put in to it, but also by the energy of its own momentum. To be able to see that happening from this side is thrilling.

If you’re in the Indianapolis area and you aren’t currently a Circle City member, you need to check it out. We’re going someplace incredible and you’ll want to be along for the journey!

https://www.circlecitysc.com/

Those Moments Where You See How Much You’ve Changed

Today mine was when the thought of “235 pounds isn’t that much” wafted through my brain. It was immediately followed by my brain going “who the hell said that?”

And even though I ended up having to strip 30 pounds off the bar for my second and third round, I’m still damn proud of my first round and more so that my first thought wasn’t fear or hesitation. I went right to “hell yeah I can do that.”

That’s why I think every woman should be encouraged to learn more about weightlifting. True weightlifting. Not with soft, padded ten pound bars and pink dumbbells but with real plates and bars that you earn callouses from. We all need more “hell yeah” moments in our lives.

Exercise as Meditation

I came across an interesting article last night. It presented the idea that certain types of workouts result in meditation or a variation of meditation. Thinking about it, I have to agree. I think Hell Week is an excellent example of that theory. I haven’t been able to put a name on the place where my experiences with now two Hell Weeks have taken me, but I’d say meditation would be it. That moment where I came to accept the physical task my body was going through but my mind became silent. All resistance had stopped. The constant “to do” list stopped playing on its endless loop. I was just there. Totally present in the moment.

To read the full article, visit http://www.tabatatimes.com/enter-the-wod-a-form-of-meditation/

Watching the Decline of Grandparents

Goodness it’s happening fast. It seems like in a blink I’ve went from having a set of fairly independent grandparents to suddenly not. Just over the past couple of weeks I think they’ve both aged years. And the hardest part is that neither my sister nor I know how to proceed. Hopefully my cousin has some ideas since her mom, their daughter, is traveling for the winter to warmer weather and we’re just kind of left here to muddle through. Neither of us have any kind of power of attorney, nor know much of their current medical care issues. My sister and I don’t even have my aunt’s cell phone number. Yesterday the police were called because my grandpa, who’s 90 years old, can’t hardly hear and won’t wear his hearing aids, showed up at a local hardware store and according to the clerk he was acting “funny”. I’m guessing the story my grandpa tells about their single, middle age female neighbor being a spy tipped him off in the “funny” category. (I am so not lying. My grandpa actually believes the government has planted a spy in their working class neighborhood.) The clerk knew my grandfather rarely went anywhere without my grandma so he called the police to check on them. The police officer ended up getting hold of my sister and after he assured her there was nothing wrong, he said he just wanted to make sure someone was coming in regularly to check on them. Grandma’s had two strokes and this winter seems to have taken her squarely in to the feeble category. And they fight, constant screaming at each other. Yesterday Grandpa told Grandma he wants a divorce. *Sigh*

It’s quickly becoming apparent that they aren’t going to be able to continue living on their own, yet the only person that can really take any action isn’t even around. So I feel like we’re just sitting here, waiting for the inevitable to happen while managing the chaos. I can’t take them in. Our house is two stories and not at all an appropriate solution. My sister’s house isn’t an appropriate living situation either. As far as I know, my aunt has made no plans for their long term care. I hope I’m wrong but based off of what my grandma has said, she thinks they can just live out their days in their house as long as someone comes to check on them once a week. Uh, yeah, that’s soooo not the reality that I’m seeing. And apparently the police don’t think that’s going to work either. *Double sigh*

Almonds Aren’t the Enemy

I caught myself doing it again. Vilifying food. This time it’s almonds. The under currents of it have been there for a few months. Little flashes of “hmm, they’re in everything” and “there you go, eating an almond meal muffin after you had whole almonds at breakfast”. My little pack of almonds from the meeting yesterday are still safely tucked in my bag. Like a trophy to self deprivation. When I spotted it this afternoon and felt a glimmer of pride, I knew.

So logically I recognize It’s the start of moving them to the “bad” category. I can and have done it with many perfectly healthy foods. It’s not so much about the actual almonds, it’s more about recognizing the behavior and mindset and stopping it. There’s so many foods already sitting firmly in that category. I don’t want to let more go. And just having this list of “bad” foods, sitting there, holding a sort of power of me, is destructive. The guilt that comes from eating those “bad” foods is huge and the list of “safe” foods shrinks month by month. I jokingly say that I like to stitch together quilts of guilt and then wrap myself in there. There’s miles of truth in the joking though. Somewhere along the line I think I deserve to wear the guilt. A never ending penance for eating.