Just Your Typical Prototype

There comes a point in every distance run when I get emotional.  (I know some are surprised by this, but yes...even I have actual emotions.)  I never know exactly when it's going to happen and most times, I forget it's going to until it does.  And there it is - that little lump in my throat, moisture in my eyes (it doesn't sting, so I know it's more than sweat), a tightness in my chest (that is not from shortness of breath - I am a freakin' cardio queen now).  Part of it is simply the release that running brings me, a clarity of mind and simple joy in BEING.  When I take a step back and think on it, I could probably pinpoint when it will happen.  Any time during my second hour.  At a point along my route when I am more surrounded by nature and less by traffic.  When a really great song opens up on my ipod.  It may happen at different points and on different routes, but the feeling is always the same.  It is not only a gut reaction to my surroundings or the physicality of the moment.  It is the same feeling I get when I watch my daughter execute a perfect bar routine; when my son runs the football; when the babe has a new word to use every day.  It's pride.  Just this time, it's in myself.

That's right.  Proud of ME.  A year ago, I had not yet decided to run that half marathon.  I was in the midst of my first round of TurboFire and eating at the diner down the street three to four times a week.  I did not view myself as an athlete and my only concern was working my way from a size 10 to a size 8 and shedding the remaining baby weight.  Seriously - LOOK AT ME NOW.  I have no doubts about running that full marathon in two weeks.  My legs are itchin' for it.  I run because I LOVE it.  I add weighted gloves to every TurboFire workout and I lift with P90X.  I worked out live with Shaun T.  I drink Shakeology every single day and am going organic.  When I eat at the diner, I order things broiled, fresh, and healthy.  It all came down to a single decision.  Did I want to enjoy my life or regret it?

I've been called obsessed, told it's just a phase, that I've lost too much weight.  People feel they have the right to judge my lifestyle, I suppose, because I am so public about it.  Guess what?  I'm open with my choices because I want everyone to share them.  I actually want others to experience the fabulousness I have found.  And there is NO REASON that can't happen.  I am the same as you.  There is nothing in me that you cannot find within yourself.

I will not judge you for your shape, your weight, your size, your ability.  I will judge you for your inactivity and your conscious decisions to live an unhealthy life. I will judge you for clinging to a lifestyle that will shorten your time with those you love. When you run out of breath walking up the stairs or playing with your children - it's time to change things.  Stop telling me to "eat a cheeseburger" or that "big is beautiful."  You can love yourself as you are - but you need to love yourself enough to change. 

Your first step is simply making a commitment.  Walk.  Stretch.  Drink more water.  You don't have to jump into the deep end of the pool.  Not everyone has to run marathons or participate in obstacle races.  But everyone does need to fuel their bodies and shake them out now and again.  This isn't a debate anymore.  It isn't about discrimination.  It's about HEALTH.  It's about YOUR LIFE.  Who wants to live it on the sidelines?  And how do you want your children to grow up?

Obesity is on the rise.  We all know it.  We all see it.  Some of us are doing something about it.  I don't only want to make myself fit.  I want my family to be fit.  I want my friends to be fit.  I want friends of friends to be fit.  I didn't sign on to be a Beachbody coach just to get discounts or just to make a profit.  I did it because these programs opened my eyes to a whole new world of possiblities and fitness levels I never imagined I could reach.  In less than a year, I became an athlete.  I no longer dabble in fitness; it is now what I do and who I am.  And it is my goal to make that happen for you, too.  If you're reading this now, you've thought about it.  Maybe you've already made that change.  Maybe now you're feeling defensive because I've called you out.  I don't care.  What I do care about is that you get off your ass and stop making excuses. 

We aren't so different, you and I.  I used to make excuses for the food I ate and how I spent my time.  And then one day, I just had enough.  I was done being weak.  I was done with losing my breath, watching my kids play instead of playing with them, telling my kids to do their best while I did nothing. 

When your day comes, and you're ready to make that step, be sure to let me know.  You've never had a bigger or more relentless cheerleader than this gal right here.  I will annoy the living piss out of you when you try to explain why you're backsliding.  I will get in your face and refuse to accept whatever lameass excuse you're offering. 

You can thank me a year from now.

Rah!Rah!Sis-Boom-Bah!

My biggest supporter...

So yesterday, I had to vent.  Get some stuff off my extra-strong chest.  I grumbled and made use of a small amount of sarcasm.  Today I'd like to balance that out.  You know, just like I do both weight training and cardio (and stretching...I'm getting better at adding in the stretching now, but that's an entirely other blog entry...hinthint...)

I have committed to training so much that I often feel I just ought to be committed.  Most days are two-a-days, with each session ranging anywhere from thirty minutes to over an hour.  That's a pretty big chunk of time with four monkeys, two dogs, two cats, and one engineer needing my everpresent guidance and ordering-around.  Yes, there's naptimes, school times, work times in which to wedge my sweaty alone times, but often enough, I have to create that space when all these creatures are actually home.  Which means I must depend on them to allow me to utilize that time.  Hubby must tend to monkey spats and tattles, doggy doody (hehe), and any random need the smaller creatures may find they have while I smile, wave, and run away.  Without Hubby, my long runs would be nonexistent.  And there would be no foot rubs while I describe them in great detail to what I am sure is his sincere interest.  (I'm sure his thoughts are more along the lines of "mmmm...beer" but I still like to pretend he's enthralled with my breathing ease at mile nine.)

Running away is the best.  I get to be all alone, no distractions.  Their little legs are just too short to catch up with me.  But (sigh) sometimes it is not to be...Sometimes, I must work out in the living room while the house is full up with others, just waiting for that moment when my breathing gets heavy...so they can ask me why the sky is blue, if I've seen the new commercial for that plastic toy that will break instantly upon being touched, or (my personal favorite) - "Hey, Mom...guess what?"  It can totally suck to exercise at home...but it can also be the most rewarding work out of my week.  It's not every day that people are amazed at what I lift or how high I jump.  Chalene Johnson does not peek out from the television screen to admire my pumps.  My favorite, though, is when they enter the room in sweats and sneakers, wristbands and tank tops, and ask if they can join in.  They tend to fade out when the steps get too fast, but they slide into a nearby chair and chat to me, compliment me, and encourage me in my sweaty endeavors. 

I'm aware that the naysayers I wrote about yesterday exist in greater numbers, but their power is minimal when compared to my own personal cheerleading squad.  And it extends beyond the M&M Estate.  When I ran my ten miles last month in my hometown, my finish line included sisters, children, nieces, parents...even my parents' neighbors.  At least three times a week, I find personal messages on Facebook or hotmail, thanking me for inspiration and offering congrats on just my training.  I haven't even finished my race yet, and the cheers are pouring in.  I wish I could get you all gold-plated megaphones or dollar-bill pompoms...but that will have to wait until my Beachbody business takes off just a tad bit more...All the same, I thank you from the bottom of my ever-fitter heart, because without you, I couldn't keep on keepin' on the way I do. 

*MWAH*

Listen, all y'all...

One of the curious side effects of living a Fit Life is the negativity from those not partaking in it.  I am very public with my love of fitness and my desire to share this lifestyle - and this has been deemed offensive by some who choose not to do so.  There are those who wish to sabotage progress, undermine confidence, and question intent.  To those naysayers, I simply say, "Pffft."

I mean, come on.  Why does my workout/healthy eating/event training offend you?  And if you find it so repulsive, why do you follow me?  I mean, other than the fact that I'm witty, gorgeous, and incredibly intelligent? 

I have been told that I am overtraining and am unaware of the correct training methods.  Uh huh.  Fortunately, I know better.  I am lucky to retain the knowledge I gleaned during my years as a CERTIFIED personal trainer and aerobics instructor.  I may not be an expert, but I have a very good grasp of appropriate training levels, and what I am unsure of, I research.  What I most enjoy is that these statements are often issued by people who have little or no knowledge themselves (nor do they have a desire to learn).  They seem to be of the opinion that if they want a statement to be true, it simply is.  Poor, poor other-people-who-know-little. 

Another popular method of undermining confidence of strong women?  The "you'll bulk up and look like a man" approach.  Of course (slapping my forehead and rolling my eyes)!  If you train rigorously and enthusastically, you will no longer be feminine!  You'd better back off...before whatever Napolean making this statement starts to feel threatened by his own lack of physical strength...Seriously.  As women, we DO NOT bulk up.  We lean out.  Please, strength train.  Do more push ups than that guy next to you.  If you're lucky like me, that guy will high five you for progress and compliment your newly ripped arms.  Because that's what real men do. 

I find myself amused as well by the "it's just a phase" routine.  Because, I'm guessing, we women don't have the stick-to-it-iveness to, well, stick with it.  Must be one hell of a phase.  Just as long as your know-everything-about-everything-without-really-knowing-anything phase?  Because I have a feeling that's not really a phase, either...Fitness has been a part of my life since my teen years.  It became a serious focus again over the past year as I decided to return to my prior career.  This "phase" is leading me back to college, a new business, and recertification.  (psst...I think your phase is leading you to social awkwardness and lonliness...)

And, no, I do not work out and eat "rabbit food" simply to fit into a certain size.  Looking fabulous is a very pleasant bonus, but not a reason.  I exercise for strength, health, and to train for specific events.  No, I am not running too far.  Those distances are building towards a marathon and are part of a plan designed by perhaps the most well known running guru ever (Jeff Galloway).  The cross training is not overly intense.  It will be the reason I can scale walls, crawl through mud, and leap obstacles during my Spartan Race.  The best reason of all?  I am a role model.  Four little pairs of eyes are watching how I live my life.  I prefer to not watch life from the sidelines.

So much negativity can be daunting if you allow it.  Lucky for me, I know better than to believe it.  Plus, I am blessed to have a bevy of cheerleaders rooting for me.  I love the surprise messages in my inbox telling me I have inspired someone else to get moving and do something healthful.  It spurs me on with a smile on my sweaty face.  Although, I must admit, those bashers can certainly push me through a workout, too.  Nothing adds to a good TurboFire punch or kick like imagining the face of someone who has told me I can't do it. 

"So, so, so, so listen up 'cause you can't say nothin'
You'll shut me down with a push of your button?
But you, I'm out and I'm gone
I'll tell you now, I keep it on and on"

The (Sweat) Trickle Down Effect

In case you haven't realized yet, fitness is something of a priority in my life.  I love it the way I used to love chocolate cake...well...like I still love chocolate cake (but only on occasion, I swear!).  I feel so passionately about living a Fit Life that I have chosen to share my overzealousness with all of you, Dear Readers, on a daily basis.  Well...if you follow me on Facebook or Twitter, I suppose I share on more of an hourly and sometimes minute-ly basis...but I warned you fair and square.  So imagine, if I'm so dedicated to bombarding you with my obsession, how much my darling little monkeys get to share with me.  How lucky are they?!?

Tony Horton is a household name.  My 6-year-old requested Shaun T's autograph when I went to his Insanity class last weekend.  I'm pretty sure my toddler's first phrase is going to be "You're not tired!" from watching so much TurboFire.  They inquire about Shakeology flavors.  My nearly 8-year-old has sworn off McDonald's because it makes her feel "yucky."  This pleases Mama immensely.

I can wish and wish I had started living a Fit Life so many years ago, but the fact is, I am living it now.  I am leading by example.  I share run times and training efforts with them on a regular basis (they pretend to find the nuances of minutes and miles enticing info) and they even join me from time to time.  Seriously - what's more adorable than itty bitty biceps being flexed or hearing that little determined voice tell me "I am gonna finish this thing"?  When my son sees me struggling, he cheers me on, telling me that my "pumps are getting bigger!" And in this case, pumps are good! They are my bi's and tri's, having been carved out from the layers of pregnancy flab I had previously carried in their place.

To my extreme joy, we ran/walked our first family 5k this past Thanksgiving, some of us glued and feathered (turkeys and Native Americans) and some of us buckled and in black (Pilgrims). My Mother's Day gift for the past two years has been a family entry in the Susan G. Komen 5k in Philadelphia followed by a trip to the zoo (as if we don't live in one already).  This year, it has been suggested that we may even run it together.  Be still my healthy heart!  Runners too! Brings a tear to a mother's eye... And this summer - oh! this summer!!!!  After Hubby and I finish our first Spartan, we'll be cheering till we're hoarse for our Junior Spartans as they navigate their first mud race.  The girl especially cannot wait to get dirty! 

Aside from random bouts of interest in my at-home workouts and scattered events, these monkeys are active all year long.  We have a cross country runner (<3), football player, gymnasts, wrestler, baseball player, wrestler, cheerleader...and in the past, we've had a dancer and bowlers.  The toddler just began his first foray into the sporting world with a gymnastics class.  The girl plans to try her hand at basketball next year and both boys have discussed martial arts.  Alas, there are only one mommy and one daddy to handle such voracious schedules, so we must limit them to one activity per season each.  And even that can squeeze the life out of some of Mama's workouts - but I am happy to sacrifice a little of my sweatin' time to encourage their Fitness Passions!  When I see my daughter execute a perfect reverse flip on the bar or watch our wrestler pin an opponent, I feel a pride even greater than the one I feel at a finish line.  Hard to believe, but some things eclipse even my ego. 



And during those rare days in between practices? Bowling.  Roller skating.  Biking.  Hiking.  Or even just the park.  Some of our best nights are spent playing Wii.  Dance Dance Revolution is a family favorite (though only our gal has any rhythm), but we can bowl a mean virtual game, too.  We are a family on the move and I plan on keeping it that way.  Fit kids are happy kids.  Just take a look at those cheesey grins...