#SelfieFreeSummer - My Unfiltered Life

So perhaps you remember way back in May when I posted my diatribe about selfies and the downfall of humanity. The rest of this post may seem particularly ironic, since it will be filled with selfies. But they are selfies with a purpose, y'all. They are, in truth, the end of my selfies.

In that post I also referenced this lovely selfie from Instagram, in which I pranced about au natural:

Said selfie was taken the morning of my backpacking trip (you know, the one were I almost died in the middle of the night), where I was fresh out the shower and headed out to the woods, so I had a makeup free face and hair full of ponytail frizz. 

This was a statement selfie, even though I didn't make a big deal about it at the time it was posted on Instagram. Okay, I may have hashtagged #nomakeup #nofilter, but I promise it was more to prove a point to myself than to declare any sort of pride over what I look like here.

Posting a pic of myself, of my real self, isn't something I typically ever do.

Because, let's be honest. In my selfie posting prime, this is what you could expect to see:

What is even going on in the lefthand pic? Am I an Anime cartoon? A Star Trek action figure?

Uh. I'm sorry. What? Let's do a little side by side comparison here:

Wow. Notice any striking differences? Is the girl on the left even the same person as those pics on the right? It sort of kills me that in my selfies (which, honestly, I took multiples of before posting the perfect pose), each pic was staged to highlight whatever my current idea of beauty happened to be. Skinny? Fit? Blonde? Heavily mascara'd? (it's a word, hush) Snarky? Sure. If it showed the most pleasing image of myself to the world, I posted it.

I'm not saying this is true for all selfie snapping girls and boys in the world. But it was true for me. I could blame it on many things. The thick purple scar that drew a heavy line across my right cheek as I was growing up. The endless bullying. Living through my twenties as "the fat one," and countless other things.

But the truth is, regardless of my past, my present need to be seen as somebody other than who I felt like I was on the inside is what dictated my selfie habit.

I can't really pinpoint when I decided to stop snapping and posting so many pics. At some point, it just felt silly. In part, a piece of what was broken on the inside healed after I spent six weeks in an intense round of almost daily group therapy after Dos moved out. But that's another story.

So why am I telling you all of this? It feels radically different than those filtered, make-up laden pics above. This is the real me, filter free. I'm starting my #selfiefreesummer this weekend, which includes as much time away from the mirror as possible also. I'll cover my bathroom mirror, and avoid obvious gazes into any other reflective surfaces as possible. Obviously, as my Seestah pointed out, I have to use mirrors when driving and I'll be in front of mirrors in public restrooms, and probably some other places I haven't really thought about yet. But perfection isn't what I'm looking for.

I think that's what my goal was in my selfie phase. Some perfect image of myself, some idolized idea of what I was supposed to look like.

This challenge is about being free of my outer self-image and focusing on inner-beauty and strength. It's about ignoring what I see with my eyes and listening to who I am on the inside. Along the way, I'll post pictures on Instagram of things that matter more than how much eyeliner I'm wearing, or what angle I have to hold my arms in to get the best shot of my face. Each photo will be tagged with #selfiefreesummer.

I'll be posting every Saturday through the summer with updates on how it's going and what I'm noticing. 90 days of being selfie and mirror free carries me right to my 40th birthday. A serendipitous realization made when looking at the calendar to decide when this little challenge should end. Maybe you'll join me, and post your own #selfiefreesummer pics on Instagram. I'd love to see what you're looking at that tells the story of your own unfiltered life. Feel free to grab the graphic in the sidebar and use it when posting on your own blog about your #selfiefreesummer challenge, or toss it in your sidebar. And leave me a comment, so I know to come check out your posts!

So. Let's begin, shall we?

The #SundayCurrently - Volume 2

I'm not quite as ready as I thought I would be to give up my daily blogging. Today it's time for another round of The Sunday Currently, hosted by Sidda Thornton.

Currently...

Reading Bird by Cystal Chan. With an opening that begins with, "Grandpa stopped speaking the day he killed my brother, John," I knew I would quickly fall in love with this little book. And I have. Chan's writing is filled with the type of sentences I wish I had written myself.

Writing Now that our round of #EveryDayinMay blogging is over, I'm busy pondering what June will look like. While I'm not sure this busy month will leave me time for daily blogging, I do want to remain somewhat consistent. I'm also taking a class in crafting the short story, so no matter where my writing happens, I know it will be happening and that makes for a very happy Kelly.

Listening This is a leaf-turning, path-choosing, decision-making time, and I'm doing my best to listen to that inner voice that whispers me forward in the right direction.

Thinking The dread fibromyalgia has really been taking its toll lately. I know I haven't been eating as well as I should. It'd be nice if all the research I've done was as effective in combatting the aches and pains as actual action is! So I'm thinking it's time for a total nutritional overhaul - an experiment in food, to see what differences seem to make the biggest difference. This month I'm going raw, people. I've been sliding toward this trend anyway, having quietly stopped eating meat about a month ago (yay, closet vegetarianism!). I'll definitely be posting throughout the month about my raw food adventures, and how it changes things -- or doesn't!

Smelling We had a sleepover last night, and although The Husband woke me this morning to a huge bowl of fruit for breakfast in bed, the savory smells of bacon and eggs and sausage that the boys feasted on this morning is still wafting through the house. Also, syrup. Since no pancakes were eaten at this gluten free feast, I think my brain is just mourning my wafflepalooza lifestyle and inventing scents to tease me!

Wishing If only big moments had faster answers, decisions were easier, and children remained in their mother's arms for much longer. If only.

Hoping I'd like very much to know with 100% accuracy where I am headed, and if my chosen path is one I won't regret. Oh, and my big hope for June is that I devote every spare moment alone to one of a few things: writing actual stories, practicing meditation, and moving my sluggish body!

Wearing When I went to Boston last fall, I grabbed a cute Harvard t-shirt to wear to school on our college days. I've only worn it once since then, but for some reason grabbed it this morning. I'm such a quirky little "everything has meaning" person, and this June 1st feels big and important and like a fresh start -- so I thought maybe my smart people shirt would help me brave the new month with a new perspective. (I know, right? But yes, this is how my brain works.)

Loving Having all the boys here (well, minus a few, actually) last night was a dream -- so many memories from when Uno y Dos were still children came washing over me! And I'm loving the fact that I went on an overnight backpacking trip and am planning a much longer one that will be here before we know it. I love that my mom will be here in less than two weeks and that I'll spend the month laughing with her and writing through my days. And I love, so very much, the care and concern The Husband surrounds me with, and how he supported my raw food experiment by cleaning and chopping and mixing a giant bowl of fruit for me this morning. There is so much in my life to love, right now. Maybe it really is time to start that jar of gratitude...

Wanting It's time to be less lackadaisical about my writing. About revising. About querying. It's embarrassing how melancholy and yes, jealous (so very ashamed of that!) when I am surrounded by piles of new books in the library. Oh, how I love those books. And oh, how I hate that I haven't made a true effort to have one of my own out there in the world.

Needing When I was in my undergrad program, I sat down each week and write out my to-do list and a schedule (a very, very ridiculously detailed schedule). I don't know that I would have been as successful at completing that degree without my dedication to this routine. I believe it is time to bring back the lists! Bring back the schedule. I need to somehow wrangle this full and happy life into something less like a tornado.

Feeling I'm tired of the hip pain, the brain fog, the burning skin. I'm tired of being tired. Having the aches and pains of an octogenarian colors everything else in life in shades of grey. I'm ready to find my own answers. This is my one wild and precious life, and I don't want to let go of any of it, not even for one second.

Clicking As I was looking for a link to explain the above mentioned gratitude journal, I found an actual  interactive Gratitude Jar site! How awesome is this? It reminds me of the PostSecret site (and books) but with a much happier spin. Yay!

#EveryDayinMay - It's Swagurday with my GoVoxBox!

Pop on over to read the last of Crystal's blog series on New Orleans!

Influenster is the bomb diggity, you guys. I just finished up my last VoxBox, and yesterday I received a new one! If you aren't a member at Influenster, you should definitely check it out. What's more awesome than a bunch of free stuff showing up at your house? Not much, my friends, not much. A VoxBox is a collection of products set around a theme -- my latest one is all fitness stuff -- that you receive in exchange for trying out and reviewing. Not a bad deal!

So here's the scoop on my latest Influenster swag:

Not only is it a box of free goodies, it's pretty, too!

I came home from work to find my VoxBox sitting happily for me on the coffee table. I was supposed to quickly change clothes and head out for a concert, but I couldn't help but peek inside, and I am so glad I did!

Inside I found:

• a brand new Next Step shaker bottle from The Vitamin Shoppe
• three Next Step protein shake packets (chocolate, vanilla, and berry)
• Blue Diamond Blueberry flavored almonds
• Profoot Pedi-Rock (it's soft and squishy!)
• Profoot Orthotic shoe inserts (perfect for someone about to be hiking all over the place!)
• Aqua Spa Body Creme in lavender and chamomile
• Voucher for a FREE Muller yogurt product
• Playtex Sport Fresh Balance tampons

All my pretties laid out in a row!

The shakes and new shaker bottle couldn't have come at a better time. Since I was in such a hurry to make it to Turbo's spring concert, I didn't have time for dinner. The bottle is super cute and instead of the normal little metal whisk ball that is in most shakers, this has a fun purple plastic mixer that looks like an oversized jack (does anyone even remember playing jacks as a kid or am I really that old?)

I grabbed the chocolate packet and the bottle and filled it with some ice and water. The packet says to use 8 ounces of water, but I normally don't like mine quite that strong. I used 10 ounces, but the flavor was strong enough that I probably could have used 12. It. Was. Delicious! Sort of like chocolate milk, but a little sweeter, and very creamy. Surprising, since many protein mixes can be sort of thin when only mixed with water - I was thrilled that this shake was so good! A lot of protein powders I've tried have a strong after taste or can be quite chalky. Next Step had none of that! I really enjoyed it.

You can almost see the cute little mixer jack in there!

 I am typically a big snob about protein mix ingredients, but hey -- this was free and my only real option for dinner, so I barely even glanced at the ingredients. I'll do a thorough check and see what I think when I have my next shake, and report back here. There was a pretty long list of ingredients, which is normally a red flag for me -- plus, the shake was very sweet, so I know I need to check what kind of sweetener is used. Since I enjoyed the shake so much, I am hoping that this will end up being a mix that I will buy for myself in the future!

My yummy protein drink all mixed up, and the Blueberry Almonds, too!

I grabbed the almonds to take with me, not sure if the shake would fill me up. I definitely didn't need the almonds -- the shake totally satisfied me! But I wanted to see what they were like, so I tore open the bag and gave them a shot. I love almonds, and typically buy them raw without any salt or extra shenanigans, so this was very different for me. If you like blueberry and a little sweetness added to your almond, you'll definitely like these. I'll probably stick to my raw almonds mostly, but when I'm craving something sweet, I would eat these again.

And because I have a serious addiction to lotions, I also opened the Aqua Spa and put some on my hands and arms before leaving for the concert. Super happy that the smell isn't overly pungent; it's a soft lavender that isn't overpowering but lasts for quite a while. The creme is thick but not oily, so I will absolutely use it again.

I'm looking forward to trying out the ProFoot products soon. The Husband and I have an overnight hiking trip next weekend, so that gives me the perfect reason to test those out. So far, everything in this VoxBox has been amazeballs, so I'm excited to try out the rest!

What about you guys? Any new favorite products you've tried out lately? I'd love to hear from you!

#SOL14 - Write Through the Pain

I often tell young writers (and old, I suppose) to write what's difficult -- those hard stories are worth writing because it helps us process the truth in those moments. They aren't easy to write because we don't like to think of them. We don't want to face the ugliness in something we said or did, or something terrible that happened to us. We don't want to face our weaknesses, our regrets, our secrets. But writing down those words can be just the salve we've been searching for.

Easier said than done, I know.

(If you're tired of hearing me whine incessantly about Pilates, this would be a good time to stop reading. Just take the above tidbit of writing knowledge and move on, friends, because honestly, I'm writing the rest just for me.)

I was half way through my Pilates routine tonight. Alone in the house, just my cheerful Blogilates video, me, and a yoga mat lying on the wooden living room floor. The movements shouldn't have been difficult. Standing shoulder and back work. No weights. Just my own muscles against gravity and motion. Less than a year ago, I would have torn through this workout without difficulty. Six years ago, I could have done it with superb flexibility and ease.

Tonight I took several quick breaks, rolling my shoulders back and stretching my neck by letting my head roll slowly back and forth. After each break I picked right back up where I left off, determined to make it through each motion. Finally, the series ended and it was time for lying glute work.

I sank to my knees, feeling the floor push back up against me. This shouldn't hurt, I thought, my knees should not feet like they are being smacked with a hammer. I was angry. Tired of the aches and pains that seem to be the rule that governs my every move. I laid down on my back, pressed my arms and palms of my hands flat to the floor, bent my knees and pressed my feet into the mat. Cassie Ho, the video's motivating instructor, began a series of pelvic lifts, raising her butt into the air as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I followed along, enjoying the music and focused on keeping my ab muscles engaged. When I workout, I pay close attention to my muscles, wanting to fully engage through each movement. Each push and pull, tension and release letting me know that yes, I am getting stronger.

With the video coming to an end, I struggled to keep up. My shoulders ached against the hard floor, my hips burned each time I lifted myself up. I did not give up. But instead of feeling stronger, I felt weary when it ended. My muscles were tense, so I decided to do some deep stretches to work some of the kinks out. Still on my back, I lengthened one leg and crossed the other one across my body until my knee hit the floor. I stretched my arms out to either side, breathing through the stretch.

Everything hurt. Tears welled up. Angry tears, filled with disappointment and hurt. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, letting the tears stream down my face. I thought about how in 14 years, this house we just bought will be paid for. Thought about the talks The Husband I have had about traveling and hiking and adventuring together as we get older. Thought about the way my body felt in each spot it made contact with the floor, buzzing with a pain and weakness I am still not accustomed to. I switched positions, letting my other leg stretch, feeling the tightness in my hips loosen slightly. But not enough.

I rolled up to sitting, pulled my feet together in front of me and leaned forward, placing my elbows and forearms onto the floor, my palms down, fingers splayed out flat. I leaned in and my back bellowed loudly. A new wave of tears rushed forward.

Working out has never been painful for me. Difficult, sure. Sweaty, always. Invigorating, definitely. But never painful. It hurts my pride even more than my joints and muscles. It hurts my ego. It hurts my belief in how strong I am. It hurts, but I continue. And I write it all down because even though it hurts and it makes me rage on the inside, I believe it will get better. I believe that each time I push through the anger and the pain, I win just a little. Even if I cry. Because crying isn't a sign of weakness. And pain isn't a sign of defeat. And anger doesn't mean I don't appreciate each day I am blessed with. I'm still thankful for what I can do, because I know there are many out there who struggle more. I'm still hopeful for the future, because I know it exists. I'm still determined not to give up, because giving up isn't in my nature. And I'm still writing, even though it is embarrassing. Because that's how we heal.

#SOL14 - Eviction Time

Pilates was difficult today. I'm not as strong as I used to be; my body groans with each motion. It's as if each joint and muscle is a jealous child, waiting for the opportunity to be heard. During planks and cobra position, my wrists bark up at me, begging for sympathy. Going into bridge must be modified; my arms refuse to support my body. My hips buzz with hot electricity during leg work. With each roll up, my back grimaces with disapproval.

It's a funny thing, this weakness. It came in quick and silent and occupied my body without asking permission. A squatter, claiming stakes.

Oh but weakness, you don't know me. You may have danced around my path time and again, looking for a home, but you aren't welcome here.

You don't know how stubborn I am, how bristled I become when told, "You can't." You haven't noticed the way I come alive at the slightest sign of attack. You must never have witnessed my fierce competitive streak.

My mom has told me since I was very young that in the face of any obstacle my retort was always the same: I can do it! I can do it myself.

So weakness, you may think you've won. My muscles may ache and my joints can complain, but we aren't finished yet. Pack up, squatter. Aches and pains won't stop me, this ridiculous new world called Fibromyalgia won't shake me.

Difficult is my forte. Time for you to find a new home.

#SOL14 - The Difference

Another walk. Another round of Pilates. The tight pinch that pulls all my muscles together somewhere between my shoulder and my neck is beginning to loosen. The ache in my lower back, though still there, has become more of a murmur than a yell.

Resting meditation. Nighttime visualization. Daylong focus on what matters.

More water. More real food. Even though this puppy is interfering with any hope of a full night's rest (okay, it's my fault too -- puppy is snoozing by nine and I'm lucky to be asleep by midnight), I have more energy right now than I did a week ago.

I haven't stepped on the scale. I won't. I know I'm not fit, and I'll know when I am. The scale is a liar that creeps in and whispers disappointment. No "before" pictures. No measurements.

What matters is I'm moving. I feel better already. The focus is on health, not appearance. That's what matters.

Each day a littler healthier, a little happier, than the day before.

#SOL14 Every(thing on my)body Hurts

I read that a slice isn't a list. But today, my mind has been sliced up across a timeline; a list of wins and losses in the past eight years.

Eight years.

It's like a lightbulb the pops and dies -- just like that, and it's gone.

Last September I willed myself back into the healthy lifestyle that I love. I always feel best when I'm eating real food and moving my body daily. In November, I injured my shoulder. I ignored it, thinking it would get better.

It didn't. In December, the Husband suggested a chiropractor. I went. Along with looking at my shoulder, they took back x-rays. The verdict: a backwards neck and leaning tower of Pisa back.  For nearly two months I was at the chiropractor three times a week, doing an odd assortment of physical therapy and adjustments.

My back and neck, which had never hurt before, now burned with daily chronic pain.

I went to a shoulder specialist. And a back and neck specialist. They saw no reason in the x-rays my chiropractor took for me to need such radical therapy. They gave me a steroid shot and sent me to a physical therapist.

For the next month and a half I went to physical therapy twice a week. I went through the prescribed stretches at home every day.

My shoulder is 95% back to full strength. My neck and back, though better, still hurt throughout the day. I lean over to turn on the bath faucet, and my back cries out. Stoop down too quickly to grab my shoes in the morning, my back cries out. Roll over too quickly in bed.... yep, you guessed it. I spend the day rolling my head from one side to the other, rubbing my neck, trying to release the tension. Nothing seems to help.

My doctor, upon palpitating specific points on my body, considered fibromyalgia. An entire battery of lab work was ordered. Every other possibility they could think of ruled out, the final diagnosis became probable fibromyalgia.

"Stretch," my doctor says, "Stretch, stretch, stretch. Fibromyalgia loves the stretching."

I stare at her blankly, nodding, but I'm thinking about 2007. June. Six months after I made my decision to stop living an unhealthy life. Six months after I started walking, then running, five days a week. Six months after I stopped eating all fast, fatty, and fried foods. Gave up soda for water. I was strong. Healthy. Happy. I could workout without pain; I could work out with joy.

Now, stretching hurts. Sitting hurts. Everything, it hurts.

I'm trying to find my way back to a place where I want to PUSH myself into caring enough to do something about it.

But even that, it hurts.

#Slice2013 - Day 28 of 31

Have I mentioned lately how much 2013 has been rawking my socks off?

I mean, let's get serious for a minute:

• Completion of savings budget? Check!
• New home? Check!
• House remodeling successes? Check!
• Possible career enhancing opportunity of ultimate rockstar happiness? Check!
• Dos' knee surgically repaired and healing beautifully? Check!
• Back on track and eating clean? Check! (YES! Finally! Yay! It feels sooooo good!)
• Writing daily, working on new ideas? Check!
• New fitness venture, enabling me to motivate myself and thousands of others -- while working with the inspirational fitness diva from The Sweaty Betties? Check!
• Ability to bring people along with me on this unbelievably fabulous fitness adventure? Check, check, and uber-check!

And there are other blessings as well -- too many to list, too many heart-happy moments, too many smiles, too much joy to keep all to myself.

Loving life, my friends. And there's still more to come!

#Slice2013 - Day 27 of 31

in·ev·i·ta·ble  

/inˈevitəbəl/

Adjective Certain to happen; unavoidable

"What are you doing today to make your dreams inevitable?"

I watched an inspirational video last night by Don Bodenbach, and this was my take away.

What a fantastic word. I think all the time about goals, and what it takes to "reach my goals." But there is something very different between reaching for something and making it inevitable.

So today, I focused on what I needed to do to make my goals unavoidable. Today I acted on that simple mantra.

Success is won moment by moment, and today? I was winning it.

And even better, when I am in the zone and focused on the positive, I'm creating a more successful environment for everyone around me: my family, my students, my amazing new fitness team.

So. What are you doing today to make your dreams inevitable? I want to know what works for you!

#Slice2013 - Day 26 of 31

Yes.

What an incredibly powerful word.

Recently, I was presented with an opportunity that my typical anti-risk sensors would have screamed no at. Please recall: me = panicked hermit crab skittering away from all things new!

Maybe it was the timing, maybe it was the presentation, maybe it is simply that I'm doing my best lately to ask myself what are the possibilities instead of what if I'm wrong.

All I know is that I'm excited. I'm hopeful. I'm believing that good things will happen.

I look around at success stories and I wonder, what is the real difference between their success and mediocrity?

It could be said that it's resilience. Perseverance. Dedication.

But honestly? I think it all boils down to belief.

Believing in oneself. Believing in opportunity. Believing that trying and failing is better than not trying at all.

The other day, Dos sent me a text message that made me realize the importance of walking the walk -- not just talking about believing, but making purposeful decisions that turn belief into action. I'm sharing it here.

And I'm hoping for you, no matter what your goals are, that you find the strength to take your belief in them, turn it toward yourself, and believe that you have everything you need to transform your belief into the actions that make your dreams come true.

#Slice2013 - Day 25 of 31

Up late.
Worked hard.
Cried - joy, not sorrow.
Learned much.
Laughed more.
Helped friends.
Sleep now.

#Slice2013 - Day 20 of 31

I've found (often) that when I struggle to find something to write about, the truth is the problem doesn't really lie in finding a writing idea.

Most often, it's a problem of not wanting to write about the thing most pressing on my mind.

Take this month, for example. Nearly every day I've found myself at 10 or 11 at night, shouting, "Oh no, I haven't Sliced!" before dashing off to grab my laptop. (Procrastination, much?)

Even then, I sit poised at my screen (which, no kidding, glares angrily at me, as if even the laptop itself is saying, Girl, you ain't kiddin' no one!) with fingers hovering over the keys, trying to come up with something worthwhile to say.

It goes a little like this:

Write about how you're struggling to keep it together.
No, that's lame. Stop whining.
Write about how upset you are with yourself for not eating the healthy foods you know you should be eating.
Geez, you are such a broken record. Just start eating healthy and then you won't have to write about not eating healthy! Duh. Besides, how many times can you possibly write about struggling with food?
Okay, fine. Write about how you used to workout --and love working out-- all the time.
OMG WHY ARE WE STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS STUFF?? 
Um, okay, I guess I'll write a poem or about work or maybe a book I read, then...

I'm not making this stuff up, guys.

Almost. Every. Day. This. Month

And the truth is, I don't write about the food stuff and the workout stuff and the health stuff because I am ashamed.

I'm ashamed that five years ago I was in the best shape of my life, never let a morsel of fast food or soda or candy enter my mouth, worked out like a beast three to five days a week, and was HAPPY. I'm ashamed that I let the difficult times in my life become a food-fest and I stopped working out. I'm ashamed of how much weight I regained. I'm ashamed that last year I paid a trainer for six months to help me get back on track and I DID get back on track, but then I immediately fell back off again when I switched jobs last year and fell under the stress bus again. I'm ashamed of this cycle I keep going through because WOW how am I not smarter than this??

So for 21 days I've ignored what is most on my mind because I don't want to whine about it. After all, I caused the problem myself. But I feel sort of hopeless in this area right now, and each morning I wake up and tell myself I'm going to be better ... but then I don't.

So for 21 days I've wanted to say all these words that basically amount to: I'm ashamed.

And writing about it helps, because once I see the words I realize that it's the shame that is keeping me down. Shame likes to hide in the quiet space in our heads. The space we don't let people see. Shame is very comfortable moving into those spaces and taking up residence. And shame will stay a long time -- our whole lives, if we let it.

There is no room in a healthy life for shame. Shame is the thief of joy. And although I can think about the things I want and the things I believe, it isn't until I write them down and see those words that I can fully process what it all means.

Writing the truth is important, especially the big truths that we don't want to see. The ones we want to hide from. But that's where shame likes to hang out...

And shame is the thief of joy.

So for tonight, I'm celebrating truth and joy.

And for tomorrow, I'm practicing putting more joy in each of my moments, because that's where success lies. In the joy of every moment, practicing following the path I want to be on.

(I finally had the courage to write this because a friend on FaceBook shared this post on forgiveness at jonacuff.com)

SOL Tuesday: WTMNBN, Part 3

This post started here, moved forward here, and has landed rather quietly on the doorstep of today's Slice of Life post. I hadn't intended to share this today, but it seemed to want to be heard. Sometimes, you just have to follow the words home again.

My last WTMNBN post left my story ten years ago, in 2002. I struggled with my self image and my weight for the next 4 years, shedding and gaining the same 20-30 pounds -- as if my body were part of some twisted bungee jumping adventure. Always bouncing around, never stable.

In 2006, my mom flew in from Illinois for a visit.  It was a normal Mom visit -- filled with food, food, and more food. Mom loves the following things more than most things in life: onion dip, M&M's, Coca-Cola, bread & butter, and Taco Bell. Or McDonald's. This sounds cruel, but it isn't intended to be. I love my mom dearly. It's her lifestyle that makes me cringe.

She woke me early in the hours just before dawn on the day she was supposed to return home. She was in tears, her body hunched over, her arms wrapped around her belly. It didn't take long for me to realize this was more than an ordinary stomach ache. As the sun came up, we headed to the hospital.

My mom was rushed into a room that was roughly the size of a walk-in closet. Honestly, there are probably closets out there larger than her room at the hospital. There was nothing on the walls, no counters or cabinets, just stark white floors, walls, and ceilings. A rounded bench jutted out from one wall; as if seat and wall had been molded together from a single piece of Play-doh.

Later, the nurses told us that they had been out of rooms, so my mom was placed on a gurney in their holding room for drunks and other "crazies" that can't be trusted in a normal room. It made for an interesting experience, to say the least.

I watched my mom sleep through the next several hours, only waking to request something to drink or a warmer blanket. She was pale and weak; her face tired, her body slack. I had no idea why she was in so much pain, why her digestive system had blood in it, or what the possible diagnosis would be.

I was scared.

Hospitals have always petrified me. I've spent way too much time in emergency rooms, outpatient clinics, overnight stays -- you name it, I've been there. To this day, every time I walk into any type of medical environment I have to fight back a wave of nausea.

But this was more than my typical hospital-paranoia. I spent hours that day worrying that I might lose my mom.

After 10 hours of sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting and letting my mind wander rampantly through the land of the delirious and back, we found out my mom was suffering from diverticulitis -- a completely treatable disease caused by her years of atrocious eating habits.

I remember a few things vividly from that day:

1. I was angry. Watching her lie on the hospital bed, I envisioned the same situation years into the future -- with my own kids sitting by my bedside. Me, missing out on graduations and weddings and grandchildren -- all because food was more important than family, my own health, or my future.
2. This thought crept around my brain, and refused to leave: every choice we make to eat foods that are from a fast food place, too fatty, or fried... every time we choose to sit on the couch all night instead of being active... every choice we make that favors flavor over fitness -- is also a choice for a long, slow, painful suicide.

I stopped over eating. I stopped indulging in Ben & Jerry's. I stopped drinking soda. Stopped smoking. Stopped the secret McDonald's stops on the way home from class at night. 

I started walking. Every day. I started researching heart healthy, nutrient rich recipes. I started truly taking care of myself, for the first time in my life.

I invested in the art of being me.

By 2008 I was healthier, stronger, and slimmer than I had ever been. My 35 year old body put my 17 year old body to shame.

And I wasn't doing it for vanity. I didn't want the skinniest, prettiest body. I didn't place an emphasis on how attractive I was.

I wanted to live. Plain and simple. For a long, long time.

The measure of my success was found in the energy I had, the laughter I shared with my kids, the ease with which I could run and play outdoors with my nieces and nephews.

If something was known to be unhealthy, I didn't let it near me. It wasn't difficult. I thought of my mom, lying in that terrible hospital room, I looked at my children, who deserved a mom that cared more about them than she did about food.

And I just did it.

It would be a perfect fairy tale if that were the end of my story. It is, after all, a beautiful "happily ever after".

But there's more to this story.

Today just isn't the day to tell it.

Slice of Life Tuesday: Rejecting the Rat Race

Somewhere after midnight Saturday but before the sun popped up with its bright hello on Sunday morning, we put down our bags and laid down our heads and uttered silent thank you's to our beds for still being here to greet us.

It's good to be home.

But home comes with many invitations, and I find myself hypersensitive to the pull of the never-slowing hamster wheel of activity our society has created.

There are birthdays to plan and school supplies to buy and lessons to prepare. Dogs need walking and clothes need washing and I need exercising! Children want dinner. Bills must be paid. And did I mention lessons must be written?

I tend to throw myself in every direction at once, like one of those crazy amusement park octopus rides with arms flying everywhere, spinning wildly out of control.

As long as I keep everything neatly packaged and spinning perfectly, as long as everyone is having fun -- well, there's no harm in that, right?

Perhaps. At least, that's what I used to believe.

But a new thought has been tapping my shoulder and begging to be noticed. A quieter, less juggle-minded, calmer thought.

What if, instead of attending to every invitation, every idea, every request -- what if -- I carefully choose how I spend my time? What if instead of spinning and whirling and juggling, I simply relax and let life flow. I can choose how I spend my time and define my own priorities instead of allowing them to be defined for me.

This year I will regard the many invitations to join the rat race very carefully. This year I refuse to let another person or idea dictate what is important for me and my family. This year, when stress levels rise and anxiety begins to creep inside my classroom, my home, or my mind, I am prepared to sweep them away with these words:

1. First, do no harm. (Positive thoughts about myself and others)
2. Breathe and be in this moment only.
3. Do something kind every day, for myself and others.

More on these three concepts later. For now, it's time to cuddle up with a good book. The dishes can wait.

Going Primal

I just finished reading The Primal Blueprint by Mark Sisson.  I read the first few chapters out loud to The Husband, since we were driving down the road and I wanted someone to share the information and discuss it with me.

I love reading this way, plunging through a few paragraphs, stopping to throw out a comment, reflect, ask questions, discuss connections.  Reading PB was transformative for me, but I think perhaps not for the same reason as most people.  Maybe I’m wrong.  You tell me.

Here’s what I learned, as a brief incredibly long and rambling timeline:

January 2007

Thrown into nutritional reform due to my mother’s midnight Emergency Room visit (which resulted in a diagnosis of diverticulitis).  I swore off everything fried, fatty, and fast, dropping my nightly Ben & Jerry’s pint for more veggies and fruit.  Although I was overweight at the time, my main concern was changing my horrible habits so that I would still be around when I had grandchildren and actually be healthy enough to enjoy them.

I searched the aisles at Barnes & Noble until I came up with a heart-healthy cookbook that would help me reach my goal of less processed food prepared quickly for a hungry family.

I joined the local Y, and dropped in every day on my way home from student teaching, spending 30-45 minutes either walking or slowly jogging.  The weight machines were curious, elusive aliens that I watched but never approached.

June 2007

In only six months, I had dropped 70 pounds.  I walked for graduation at a happy 150, smaller than I had been in high school.  I had moved from daily walks to running 2-3 times a week.  Even when we went out with friends, I opted for lean meats and veggies.  I loved the way I ate; I no longer felt tied to calories or the scale.

August 2007

My first teaching job begins.  I learn quickly how difficult it is to maintain a healthy lifestyle when surrounded by doughnuts at staff meetings, chocolates during training, and baked goods from parents.

January 2008

At 165, I seek out a personal trainer to help me learn my way around a weight room.  I’m petrified about lapsing back into a life of unhealthy eating and a scale that reads 220 or higher.  For the next six months I meet with my trainer 2-3 times a week to lift hard, do minimal cardio bursts, and sprint through the parking lot dragging her along behind me.  I give up running; cardio is boring once I discover the fun of my new circuits.

June 2008
I am a lean, mean, muscled machine.  I feel strong, healthy, more vibrant than I can ever remember.

Summer 2008 in a Nutshell

Although I made huge physical strides in 2008, and felt better about myself than I had throughout my life, I suffered a huge hit on a personal/family level, which I allowed to tear me down.  This was my fault -- not the problem, but my intense reaction to it.

I spent the summer in a daze, hurt and depressed.  I abandoned workout out, rarely ate any of the fortifying meals I had become so accustomed to; in fact I rarely ate anything. (At first.  Then came the tsunami of food.)

December 2008

By the end of the year, I managed to pull myself back together, but the damage was done.  I was out of my routine and lacked the willpower to get myself back in the gym.  I was still fairly close to the same body shape and weight from earlier in the year, and I think I let that safety net become a guise for my new lackluster desire for optimum health.

Summer 2009

Back to my old habits.  Fast food, soda, lying to myself.  “Everything in moderation is okay,” I told myself.  At 170 pounds and  too financially strapped to head back to my personal trainer, I decided to make changes on my own.  My thoughts were completely different from my original 2007 desire for health, however.  I missed the image in the mirror.  I missed how 
I felt when I was lean.  Let’s face it, I missed feeling sexy.  With a roll of fat popping out of my skinny jeans, I was angry with myself.

The pictures I had taken along my journey haunted me.  Flat belly, strong biceps, lean legs.  I wanted it back, and I wanted it FAST.

The focus was not on heart-healthy nutritious foods anymore.  I needed minimal calories, high protein for muscle building, low fat, low carbs.  I needed immediate results.

I was back in the gym, walking or running or climbing for one or two hours at a time.

I was back in the gym, lifting weights, when I wasn’t online researching methods to build muscle and drop fat as quickly as possible.

Oddly, with all my sprints and long runs and heavy lifting and minimal food -- nothing changed.

Well, nothing changed quickly enough for me.  I dropped about 10 pounds (mostly water I’m sure) and toned out a little, but mostly all I ended up with was an insane hunger for more food, and frustration over my slow results.

In the months that followed, this became my pattern.

Work my butt off, starve myself with packaged “foods”, get discouraged and binge.

Honestly, you’d think I just plain became an idiot during that time period.  I already knew what worked -- I’d done it before!  


But I was so hellbent on quick answers that I kept chasing my tail.  Never getting any closer to my goal, always getting further away from a healthy self image.

February 2010

I discover Lyle McDonald’s Rapid Fat Loss plan.  Less than 20 grams of fat and carbs a day, lots of protein, and forums full of people (mostly men) proclaiming oodles of weight loss.  The problem?  They complain of dizziness, nausea, low energy levels, and random digestive issues.

No matter, I can totally do this, I think.  And I do.  Egg whites, tuna, veggies -- no fruit, no nuts (which I miss terribly) -- but for 4 weeks I manage to feast on mostly protein.  I drop 12 pounds, look leaner, and actually feel pretty amazing.  Lots of energy and mental clarity.  I wish I could eat little to no carbs all the time, but Lyle’s book talks about glucose and your brain and metabolism issues -- and honestly, after a while I just get sick of tuna.  And eggs.  And turkey.

Off for another round of yo-yo’ing.  

June 2010

I read Born to Run by Christopher McDougall.  I remember my original love for running, learn a lot about tribal nutrition, barefoot running, and survival.  Something in the back of my mind begins to click into place.


July 2010
I’ve been following the blog Diary of a Modern Matriarch  for a while, but she started a new blog, Primal Matriarch.  It’s all about “eating primal”.  I’m digging the recipes she shares, and the abundance of fruits and veggies she talks about.

I email her, and she tells me about PB by Mark Sisson.  Lots of veggies, fruits, nuts, meat, eggs ... and the list goes on.  All the foods I love. (It reminds me of the Rapid Fat Loss Plan, but doesn’t swear off all the delicious fruits and nuts and dairy that I crave)

As I read the book I’m talking with The Husband about this horrible merry-go-round I’ve placed myself on.

All in the name of the perfect body.  Beauty.  An image.

Yeah, it makes me sick too.  

We talk about how when I originally lost 100 pounds it had nothing to do with how I looked, and everything to do with how I felt, and how I wanted to feel in 30, 40, 50 years.

PB reminded me that what matters most to me is not how cute I look in a bikini, but how much time I’ll be able to spend running down the beach with my grandkids when I’m all wrinkled with time.

It reminded me that when I was able to lose weight and get healthy I was NOT eating processed junk.  I was enjoying real foods: foods rich in color and taste, that grew out of the ground, could be eaten raw, and didn’t require an expiration date for me to know if they were okay to eat or not.

It reminded me that when I enjoyed working out I was lifting heavy, playing around with cardio, and sprinting once in a while.  I was doing these things in short sessions, a few times a week.  Not every day; not for hours at a time.

It reminded me that the way it all started for me -- nothing fatty, fast, or fried was exactly what I needed; what I should have returned to instead of banging my head against the pantry door looking for answers that don’t exist.

I have come full circle.  The way I originally became healthy was by having a true desire for health, no matter how long it took.  I looked for foods that would strengthen my heart, deter cancer, lessen the risk for various diseases.

When I lost my way, I tried to find every shortcut home possible.

I learned there are no shortcuts.

I’ve been eating primal for three days now.  I feel stronger, less bloated, and proud of my choices.  Sure, I’m giving up grain, but I feel I’m getting a lot in return.  No more calorie obsession.  No more starving myself.  No more praying for a quick fix.

This is the only body I have to work with.  I’m worth more than a constant, frustrating hunt for a shortcut that doesn’t exist.  

I’m worth more than always wanting a body that is only seen in airbrushed magazine ads of 14 year old girls.

I’m worth a lifetime of healthy eating, playing in the sun, enjoying myself and my family.

Nutrition is my Cheshire Cat

Would that I were wise enough to wander though the maze of macronutrients, carb cycling, and cutting phases, this post would not even be necessary. I do, however, need to remember what I have in my arsenal of nutri-knowledge, before tumbling into the deep end and never returning...

In 2007, my mom was down for a visit.  We ended up in the ER one morning because she was in severe pain that refused to be soothed, topped of with bleeding from places one should never --I repeat never-- be bleeding from.  10 hours of sitting with a parent in a hospital room with little communication to the outside world can do a lot to a person.  My mom, lover of all foods fried, fatty, and fast, has never been a bastion of health.  I sat watching her doze, wondering what it would be like for my own children to sit with me, having no idea what was happening, no idea what was to come.  Ten hours of wondering and worrying, as I am prone to do, and the result ended up being rather simple.  One, she was diagnosed with diverticulitis and given a fairly strict diet to keep future episodes from occurring.  Two, I decided that I never wanted my own children to fret over me all because I happened to also have a ridiculous obsession with all things fried, fatty, and fast.

At the time, I topped the scales at nearly 220, enjoyed a nightly pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish Food, and hid the evidence of my daily McDonald's trips in ways that included stopping at gas stations along the way home to toss the remains of my salty, fat-laden day.  Fairly embarrassing to admit, hugely devastating to live.

Immediately following the ER visit and my mother's return to Illinois, I literally ransacked my home -- all the temptations -- cookies, chips, ice cream --oh the lovely ice cream-- went in the trash.  These were replaced, after hours of googling and researching and book reading, with real food.  A concept I had never truly considered.  So gone were the days of processed meals and in came a life lived for quite a while from my Heart Healthy Meals in Minutes cookbooks.  My children wrinkled their little noses at the vegetables, lean meats, and startling lack of carbs in our new meals.  My family grimaced when I measured and counted and scrutinized every bite that went in my mouth.

I was on a mission.  I was not going to be 50 and unable to play with my grandchildren or enjoy the latter half of my life, resigned to sit on a sofa with a Diet Coke and a remote control.

So I was at the gym, doing the only thing I knew to do at the time.  I ran.  First, I ran for 30 seconds.  Then a minute.  Two.  Five.  Ten.  A silent mantra played in my head the entire time, "I am victorious.  A winner.  A princess, royalty.  Undefeated, unstoppable, I am a warrior."  And on and on it went, my music rattling through my brain as I forced myself to keep going, keep going, until there was just nothing left for me to give.

And I continued my nutrition research, eventually giving up the sugar free pudding and South Beach cookies that I had substituted for the delicious carbs I loved so much, and leaning to add in some protein powder here, some extra veggies there.

Six months later, I had dropped 60 pounds.  I weighed less than I had in high school, felt better than I could ever remember, and had more confidence that I knew what to do with.

And still, I continued to dabble with nutrition, trying to find the truly healthy foods.  Surely the holy grail of all that is good for you was out there somewhere.

Happy with my weight loss, but not exactly thrilled with the sagging flesh left in its wake, I sought out a personal trainer and was introduced to my new love -- weight training.  I threw out cardio, tired of running, running, always with the running, and spent my time grunting and groaning and sweating until I was deliriously dizzy and muscles were forming where I had never seen them before and I for the first time ever thought

I am an athlete.

It was a truly miraculous event.  I loved how strong I was, loved how far I could push myself, loved watching my form in the mirror as lifted more and heaver each month.  It was intoxicating.

Time can be a tragic thing, and upon reaching the height of my fitness regime, I also hit the low of my previous marriage.  It was as if life was being sucked away from me, and I spun out of control for about 6 months.  No care for nutrition, no desire for workouts, just a 24/7 path of self-destruction that I get sick when I spend to much thinking about now.

Fast forward a year and a half, and I'm finally in a place where everything is emotionally back in place and I'm ready to take care of my physical self again.  So I'm back in the gym, back on the right path nutritionally, but still irritated as hell whenever I read up on the best macronutrients and the proper calorie intake and everything in between.

I get that we're all different, and there is no perfect number that magically works for everyone.  But can I tell you something?  I really wish there was!  I like rules, I like systems, I like lists.  I like everything to fit into a neat little container that is easily sorted.  Nutrition is not The Container Store.  It's not neat and tidy, not easily navigated.  It's hunt and peck, baby, try a little of this, work on a little of that, throw in a pinch of luck, and you find the perfect balance for a rock hard body.

But for a worrier like me?  I'm constantly wondering if my calories are too low, or God forbid, too high. Did I eat enough protein for maximum muscle building?  Am I eating carbs too late in the day?  Would I be better off cycling carbs?  Is my metabolism screwed for life due to my insane inability to stick with it, dammit?

You see the problem.

Whenever I get like this, I have to put myself back in that hospital room with my mom, remembering the whole point of it all is health, Kelly, and nothing more.  Yes, I want rock hard abs, and yes, I have competition dreams, but in the end, if all I ever do is add years to my life and the ability to enjoy my children and my children's children, shouldn't that be enough?

Yes.  And sometimes... sometimes, sometimes, I can remember that, and breathe.