To The Max

After a simply lovely recovery week with Insanity, I entered month two feeling strong and relaxed.  For about 30 seconds.  My intense love of Shaun T nearly spiraled into a dark hatred, that spiral being full of curses, tears, and copious amounts of salty sweat.  Then I remembered, oh right...It was I that chose to do this.  I'm doing this to myself.

And I dug deeper.

It sucked big balls, I ain't gonna lie.  I hurt.  I did not feel strong or badass or powerful.  I felt like the last kid picked for dodge ball and I wanted to curl into a little ball with some mint chocolate chip ice cream and watch Designing Women reruns.  But I didn't.  I stood tall when I could muster the strength to do so and pushed right through that workout.  And once it was over, it didn't seem so bad.

Then today, I did the next one.  SWEET MOTHER OF GOD.  I must continually remind myself that this feeling right here, this is what week one felt like.  And then week two was better.  Never easier, mind you.  Never easier, just better.  You will only understand if you are also doing or have done an intense workout - Insanity, CrossFit, TapOutX, or the like.  (And yes, I want to try the other two as well.)

Now, I get those last few paragraphs are not exactly what we in the biz call "selling points."  So let me show you some of the "pros." 

1.  I am stronger than I have ever been.  I did freakin' BALANCE PUSHUPS today.  Ten of 'em. 

2.  I am in the best cardio shape I have been in.  Running is pretty easy now, and I'm faster too.  Popped in TurboFire Fire 55 EZ the other day - still a great and fun workout, still love it - BUT...not the absolute killer it used to me.  Not even with my weighted gloves. 

3.  I am getting clear cut results.  As in, my muscles are cutting through my skin.  My arms, when relaxed, now look the way they used to look flexed.  Take that, First Lady Obama.

4.  I just plain feel great.  I take a lot of pride in completing these workouts and doing more and more of them every week.  It's the toughest thing I've set out to do thus far and I'm doing it.  That kinda spills over into non-workout life as well.  More steps have been taken towards teaching and training.  I self-published my first collection of posts from this lil' ol' blog.  My business is growing steadily.  Because my body is functioning better, my head is clearer, I have more energy and drive and focus...if you can believe that it was possible to have more.

I'm not saying Insanity is the program for everybody.  But I bet it is the program for more than you think.  That's right - YOU.  What are YOU doing today?  Wanna get crazy with me?

I Prefer the Term "Sanity Challenged"

I would very much like you to ask me about my workout today.  *pausingpolitely*  Okay, I'm going to assume you took that moment to wonder aloud, "I wonder how her workout went today?"  To which I quickly reply, "FANFREAKINTABULOUS!"

No, seriously!  I am now regularly making it through warmups without pausing to catch my breath (yes, the warmup is that intense).  I am even moving faster during said warmups than I was two weeks ago.  And today I made it through a good 33 minutes before I began any modifications.  My arms are doing the impossible - becoming even more gorgeous than they already were.  I know.  I didn't think that could happen, either.  Turns out, we were all wrong. 

I have these fabulous little cuts between my biceps and triceps, a darling little v-formation taking place.  It's okay to be jealous, but you don't have to be.  Because you can get them too!  Fo' realz, yo.  (I speak incredibly embarassing minivan-mom gangsta when I feel all badass about my workouts.  Fo' rizzle.)  Click on that link over there IMMEDIATELY and order up some Insanity.  I say IMMEDIATELY because that challenge group I keep obsessing over starts on Sunday.  If you show up late, we'll still take you, but you're gonna feel all awkward and out of step.  So you'd better just move your mouse a little faster and start clickin'.

Day 12: Sweat

ANYWAY...back to ME.  I am so incredibly AWESOME.  Today felt like a 10-mile run kinda high, when I just need to babble on and on about my faboo workout, how strong I am, and what sort of changes I noted in my body and my ability...but alas, Hubby went to work today.  Damn him!  I tried being all loud and "Holy CRAP! That was certainly impressive of me!" so the kids would ask, but they were only concerned as to when we would be reaching the cool waters of the public pool.  Of course, that did not stop me from pointing at my sweat and posing for photos I made them take.  Solely for the purpose of keeping up with my Fit Photo Challenge, of course.  It had nothing whatsoever to do with my endorphin rush or infatuation with how muscular I looked in my new Beachbody tshirt. 

I can't wait for tomorrow's workout to see how much I've improved there.  And I can't wait to see me at the end of the 60 days with my challenge group.  I just have a feeling Hubby will have to start wearing oven mitts...'cause I'm gonna be H-O-T.








PS: Here's what I did for days 9 through 11:

Day 9: Proud.  I am proud of my events, my progress, having my nutrition in check, and just plain proud of ME.

Day 10: My Accountability.  When it all comes right down to it, ain't nobody doin' it but me.  No one can make me press play and no one can force me to do floor sprints till I wanna cry. 

Day 11: Stretch.  As fit as I have become, I still have a really difficult time slowing down for an extended stretch session.  But I refuse to skip it because I know the vast array of benefits it provides.  So a-stretching I will go.

Stay tuned for the rest of the month...




Friendly Competition

So it seems Hubby wants a little action.  (Outta the gutter, perverts!)  He is attempting to wrangle a few followers of his own by running a P90X challenge at the EXACT SAME TIME as my own Insanity (aka "Let's Get Crazy") challenge.  Hmmph.

Now, you all know I have a deep affection for Tony and his 90-day weight training program.  It was a certainly a nice way to get in shape...so that I could move on to a 60-day training program that requires absolutely no equipment whatsoever.  *battingeyelashes*smilingsweetly*  I will always be grateful to Mr. Horton for helping me to reach a point where I'm ready to tackle a program like Insanity.  And I'm sure, in the future, I may even return to P90X here and there, for I do enjoy the fine view it provides alongside a truly incredible upper body workout. 

It's just that right now, I need my space.  I'd like to see other instructors.  It's too soon in my fitness journey for me to be tied down to just one program.  I need the cardio of TurboFire, the booty work of Brazil Butt Lift, and the upper body strength training of P90X.  Turns out, I can get all three of those in one workout...and still enjoy the view. 

I consider these first two weeks "research."  Mainly because I am far too impatient to wait until the official start date of July 15, when my group will be taking the fit test, posting measurements and before pics, and generally being all excited to start the first workout on July 16.  But I will restart with them so we can all kick ass on the same schedule and relatively same diet plan. 

And by "kicking ass," I mean both our own and those of our opposing challenge group.  The gauntlet, my friends, has been thrown.  Who will yield better results?  (I'm suppressing a chuckle, because I already know the answer.)  Time will tell.  (snickersnortchuckle) 

As Tony says, BRING IT.  Things are about to get INSANE.

Independence Day



Independence from weakness

Take a moment and think about it: independence.  What, exactly, does that mean to you? 

As it coincides with my fitness journey, this is what it means to me.

Independence from nicotine.  It's been over two years since I laid the PFunks down.  My lungs are thankful, my teeth and throat are thankful, and my family is thankful.  If you are a smoker, let this be your day to declare independence from the pack.

Independence from fast food.  I can't remember the last time I ate anything from the Golden Arches, the King, or that little red-headed slut.  I don't crave it; the thought of it makes me want to hurl.  I no longer sacrifice my nutrition for the sake of convenience.  Just recently, Chic-Fil-A went through the exit door as well.  My goal now?  Never again will I purchase food from a window.

Independence from wishing.  Wishing for health and smaller pants never got me very far.  Turns out, working for my goals not only got me there, but got me dreaming and achieving bigger and better.  I found I can accomplish more on a daily basis than I ever dreamed, or wished, I could.



Independence from negativity

Independence from weakness.  Every day, I make my body stronger.  I work harder, I eat cleaner.  The very rewarding byproduct of this?  Every day, I make my mind and my soul stronger, too.  The more I discover what my body is capable of, the more I realize what I am capable of in my life.  This journey has led me far past the physical. 

Independence from negativity.  I no longer devote my time to the haters, the naysayers, the two-faced gossips.  They are no longer my concern.  I will not waste my energy on those so devoted to building themselves up by tearing others down.  I am far too busy climbing to the top and bringing as many people as I can along with me.  I tend to feel happier and more content when I am helping others to feel the same.  No more exclusive clubs; in this case, independence equals inclusion.



Independence from "can't"

Independence from "can't."  I banished that word from my vocabulary and my house.  In this house, there is no such thing as "can't."  Instead, there are goals and steps to reach them.  A year ago, I was beginning training for my first half marathon.  Running is hard work and there were definite "can't" moments in my head.  I may not be able to pinpoint the exact moment that changed, but I went from training for that race to running a full marathon this year.  Excuses no longer mean anything to me, so don't try to offer them up.  I have an argument or a solution for every "can't" you give me.

There you have it.  My Fourth of July Independence Day diatribe, written in my post-Insanity endorphin high.  So now, tell me - what does independence mean to YOU? 

Earning It

You know what happens when you're so full of awesome it starts leaking out your pores? People try to steal it.  True story. 

Most of the time, it's quite flattering.  I get a rush of my own motivation when I learn others are motivated by this very blog right here.  Love that.  I feel all pumped up when new fans are added to my Facebook fan page and actually interact there.  That is fantastic.  And I jump at the chance to babble on and on about my Fit Life passions when people have questions about their very own fitness pursuits.  Adore this.  These are three of the reasons I choose to keep my accounts public.  So everyone has access to my awesomeness.  (And my business - don't forget to check out those hot little ads flashing to your right.)  All I ask in return is...don't be a behind-the-scenes stalker.  Don't twist all this positivity into bitterness.  You ain't gots ta be jealous - this club does not boast exclusive membership.  Everyone can join.

I'm gonna warn all you newbies now: when others see your results, they typically have one of two reactions.  1: "You look incredibly healthy! Tell me how you achieved such amazing results so I can do that too!" or 2. "You look incredibly healthy! I am very jealous and want to tear you down!"  See, most of you reading this fall under that first group, and I just love ya to pieces!  We're going places, you and I!  You've joined my KickOffSummer Challenge group; you've messaged me, FB'd or tweeted me, you've double-tapped my pics on Instagram.  You ROCK.  Keep motivating me, please!  You're doing wonders for my abs. 

Now you folks in Group 2...how come?  Haters don't have to hate.  And haters don't have to imitate.  See, we Group 1 people appreciate individuality.  You know the saying, "You were born an original...don't be a copy?"  That's good stuff, right there.  Learn it.  Know it.  Live it.  And relax.  Take all that energy you're expending on bitterness, jealousy, and cutting down and put it into a really fabulous workout.  Amazing things will happen for you!  Your shoulders will drop down away from your steaming ears; your frown will turn upside down; your entire ass will unclench.  And hey, we'll be right here with open toned arms, just waiting to crush you in fit hugs and slap your back with genuine praise. 

But until you make that forward step...you just motivate me.  You fuel my workouts.  Your disdain and surety that I can't do it makes me certain that I can.  My advice to you?  Until you reclaim your sanity, step aside so you don't get run over.  This here train...it's movin' at full speed and there ain't nothin' you can do to stop it.

Girl Crush

Today was the first day in a looooong ass time that I worked out without the marathon looming over me.  I trained simply to train; sweat just to sweat; killed it because I still kick ass.  I blasted through Fire 30 and Burn Circuit 1 and have plans to run through some QiDANCE practice before the ever-energetic babe wakes from his nap.  I am officially declaring this week Workout Because I Love It Week.  Not very catchy, but deal with it. 

Post TurboFire...actual sweat, actual abs.

I was so focused on the race that I think I lost a teeny bit of my bounce.  Now, I lovelovelove running and I lovelovelove having a day that's all about being proud of me.  But I also harbor some deep feelings for Chalene and the way she makes me sweat.  Maybe Throwback Week would be better.  Because every time I press play for TurboFire, I can't help but be reminded of that long ago first workout when I thought I just might die before I finished (and upon finishing, when I realized I couldn't wait to do it again).  THIS is the program that made me fall in love with training again.  THIS is the program I gush about, and have gushed about even before I became a Beachbody Coach.  Because THIS is the program that stole my baby weight and readied me for my first half marathon (even before I was challenged to run it).  THIS is the program that restored my confidence in my body and took it to higher levels of fitness than any I'd reached before.  THIS is the program that made me believe I could tackle any class, any event, any challenge.  THIS is the program that helped me reclaim me.

See, there's this strange thing that happens postpartum.  Your focus shifts, as it ought, to the precious and beautiful babe who needs all things from you.  It's an overwhelming force, this whole Mom thing, and one that can swallow you whole if you allow it.  I had reached that point - that constantly tired, constantly distracted, constantly waiting for my cue - that I had reached twice before with my older lovelies.  I avoided spending too much time in front of the mirror (which should have aroused my concern for myself much sooner) and favored stretch pants and long sweatshirts over skinny jeans and fitted tops.  Luckily, there came that bright shining moment when I was just done with it.  I could continue to be a whining mass of blob-ness, complaining about my shape and exhaustion, depressed over choosing clothes every day...or I could change.  Change sounded much more fun.

And for once, my unwavering belief in all things infomercial worked in my favor.  I am not (totally) ashamed to admit that I am a sucker for advertising, especially when put forth in such a "newsy" and "factual" manner.  And TurboFire appealed to everything I'm a sucker for: lose weight fast, look pretty, and as an end result, be kind of bad ass.  I HAD TO HAVE IT.

And thus began my love affair with Chalene.  I dropped ten pounds and two sizes in my first round of TurboFire.  I remember my once-fitted yoga pants sliding off mid-tuck jump.  I nearly cried that day, I was so freakin' proud of myself.  The funny part was, my goals had already changed.  I had signed up for that half marathon and was already contemplating mud races.  I wanted muscles.  I wanted to do pushups on my toes.  I had to order ChaLEAN Extreme. 

And that worked too.  I found biceps, triceps, and an actual ass.  Turned out I was stronger than I ever believed possible.  I became even more kickass.  So I bought Push, Chalene's NY Times bestselling life coaching book.  I learned not only how to set goals, I learned exactly how to attain them.  My three main goals for this year are already done; it's only MAY.  So I have to pick new ones.

There's always a catalyst, an inspiration any time you change your life.  I can honestly say that an infomercial was my catalyst, and a woman I have never met was (and continues to be) my inspiration.  The thing I find happening more often, though, is this: I am my own catalyst and my own inspiration.  When I wake up every day, I am the one pulling on my sneakers and shrugging into sportsbras.  I am the one scheduling sweat time into my day.  I press play and I throw myself into every workout. 

So, if I can do it...it kind of makes you think, doesn't it...?

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny...

...Old Navy leopard print bikini...Isn't that how the song goes?  It SHOULD.  At the behest of my dear darling daughter (who may have just entrenched herself as my Current Favorite Child), I tried on a bikini this evening whilst shopping for more workout gear.  She is a fairly avid fan of both animal prints and bikinis and was quite enthusiastic to dress me.  I, however, was more hesitant.  Sensing my reluctance, the CFC said to me, in the sweetest and most melodious voice to reach my ears, "You have to wear one this year, Mom.  You can now.  Because of all that exercising you do."  How could I refuse such a wonderful child?  Add in the fact that when I did my measurements this morning, my waist had gone in 1.5" and it was a no-brainer.

CFC was right.  I looked gooooood.  Six pack abs.  An actual waist.  I very much wanted to take this suit home with me.  Alas, due to "all that exercising" I do, I actually was in dire need of new (smaller) workout clothing and the budget does not allow for both necessary and frivolous on the same day.  I hated to return the bikini to its home, but I relished the knowledge that not only did it fit, it made me look AH-mazing. 

Yes, I exercise to be strong and fit.  I love the feeling I get when I'm sweating through TurboFire and ready to bust through the walls with my energy.  I am uberproud that I now do push ups on my toes and run insane amounts of miles every weekend.

But I gotta own up.  I rather enjoy the outer evidence of all the hard work I've been putting in.  I can't get away with running about town in a sports bra and compression shorts, no matter how much I sometimes wish I could.  When my new core catches my eye in the mirror, I can't ignore the chemistry.  I love my new self.  A lot.  So much so that every now and then I swear I hear the first few bars of "Stayin' Alive" when I walk through the living room.  My hips have an extra wiggle after a workout and I find myself lost in my biceps.  They say on average, we fall in love four times in our lives.  Well, I turned out to be one of those times for myself.  I am 99% sure Hubby is perfectly fine with that. 

After sizing myself up in that dressing room, it was incredibly easy to glide past the warm pretzel smell of Auntie Anne's.  I cared nothing for the caramel bars lurking in Gertrude Hawk or the myriad chips and crunchy snacks I enountered when we stopped for groceries.  The only thing going through my mind was how I'm going back to Old Navy in two weeks and buying that damn bathing suit.

Claiming Space

I used to exercise as a means of disappearing. That is, I wanted to shrink my body and by proxy, the space I took up in the world. Looking back, I believe it was more than living up to those gorgeous glossy photos in magazines or the slick images on television and in the movies. It was less about being noticed and more about folding into myself. I am not the only female to be cut by comments tossed my way as if the edges weren't sharp. It begins in elementary school when suddenly simply being a girl becomes a detriment both on playing fields and in social circles. In high school I was told that my cheerleading uniform made my thighs look too thick. In college I was informed that I was almost pretty enough to model...but not quite. A significant other felt I cut my long hair out of spite and stated that pregnant women should never dance, successfully halting my second trimester groove along with ABBA. It was not until I became the mother of a daughter that I started seeing these comments for what they truly were: panicked attempts to regain control. I was simply starting to shine a little too brightly and those small men were frightened by a strong woman. I wasn't looking for their approval and thus earned their disapproval. What do I want for my daughter? Certainly not for her confident stride to falter beneath such pitiful assaults. And as the mother of sons, I strive to make certain they will never use launguage so callous and lastingly hurtful. Because though the years distance me from it and perspective has altered my view, I still feel that initial sting. I yearn to transport myself back to those moments, with my thirty six years of experience and strength, and reply that actually, my thighs are muscular and strong so I can support my teammates; I am beautiful no matter my hair length, color, or style; and there is no better time in a woman's life to dance than when she is dancing with her unborn child. So now, I exercise as a means of expanding myself and my life. I take part in events and races, charity walks and classes. My presence grows every day. I look nothing like the magazine covers. I look like a busy mom of four who is often unable to find the time or inclination to apply makeup but always manages to carve out at least thirty minutes to exercise. My hair is short again, with a dash of pink. Sometimes I 'hawk it out and feel a little like a Warrior Queen with my newly ripped bi's and tri's. And the man beside me reminds me everyday that I am amazing and that as I age, I am only becoming more beautiful to him. So, ladies...train like girls. Sweat. Pant. Grunt when those last three reps or that last mile are pushing you towards (good) failure. Be proud of how far you have come. If your goal is to lean out, do it. But never ever disappear. I've been saving space for you right here.