El Precio y El Premio

Gatorade asks, "Is it in you?". I ask myself that question a lot these days. In case you haven't noticed Boys and Girls, I'm a lil', teeny, tiny, bit (read: majorly freakin' INSANELY) obsessive about my fitness these days. It's all comsuming. My nutrition, my mile times, calories burned, fluid intake, hours slept, stress levels. . . . it goes on and on. The chicks in my office can attest to my near maniacal fascination with all things fitness. It's starting to worry them.

With my Golden B-Day fast approaching (and the shocking realization that I am less than 13 months away from the dreaded 3-0), my focus has become laser sharp. And my goals have expanded beyond just what I can achieve at the tale end of my 20's. I have my sights on making my 30's the best decade yet and transforming myself into the BEST version of the Superchik Leogirl that I can be. I don't just wanna be better. I wanna be Freekin PHENOMENAL!

Thus, after careful consideration (meaning 2 hours of sleep and a beer or two), I have decided to try my hand at Triathlon. Triathlon season starts next spring. So, with a little over nine months to condition, my once challenging 1-2 hour workouts a day, have now become grueling, gut-wrenching, spine-bending, mind-altering 3-4 hour sweat drenching odesseys that threaten to break the limits of human endurance.

And I find myself wondering, "Is it in me?" and if so, "Is it worth it?"

It's a qusetion of whether (or not) the ends justify the means. Is the the reward worth the price?

As I'm running through 200 meter sprint repeats beneath the blazing Florida sun, engulfed in humidity so thick it wraps around me like a winter coat, I don't have time to ponder this question. Oxygen -debt doesn't allow for such frivolous musings. But, when I'm immersed in a tub full of water chilled to 57 degrees by a 5 pound bag of ice (ahhhhh, the joys of muscle recovery!), I have LOADS if time to wonder.

Is losing weight worth all this?

Answer:

HELL NO!

But finding myself is worth every single step.

What wouldn't I give to discover what I'm capable of? What wouldn't I trade to finally realize what I'm worth. . . . to MYSELF.

We have this God-awful tendency to wait around for someone else to acknowledge how great we are. I'm learning to do that everyday. I'm learning to be my own cheerleader. I have become my own BIGGEST fan. (And somewhere in the middle of this whole thing, I'm becoming a REAL ATHLETE-- YAY!).

Everyday, I learn I am stronger than I thought I was. Everyday, I learn that my limits stretch beyond what I ever imagined. Everyday, I discover that I can be anything I want, if I just have the courage to reach out and grasp it.

And yea, this knowledge comes at a price. For me, it's 4 am wake-ups, hour long Spin classes, 6- 8 mile runs, 45 min weight sessions and endless laps in the pool. It's measured in T-shirts so sweat-drenched that, when dry, they could stand up and dance a jig. It's measured in grunts, screams, and even tears.

And the reward? A mental toughness I never even knew I had.

But that's my price (and my prize).

For other people, the price is taking a second job because the bills are coming faster than your paychecks. Maybe it's giving up the luxuries of being "kept" in order to escape a life that's crushing your spirit. Maybe it's telling yourself "enough" when you really wanna make that second trip to the vending machine for those Cheez-Its or peanut M&Ms, but you know that your waist line is NOT gonna thank you for it. Maybe it's saying to yourself, "I'm gonna take a walk break instead of a cigarette break" b/c you know that walking is better for lowering your blood pressure than the cancer stick in your right hand. Or maybe it's asking that sketchy boyfriend of yours that tough question you've been avoiding b/c you know the answer is not gonna be what you wanna hear, but you also know that you GOTTA hear it in order to walk away. Whatever the price, you have to trust and believe that the reward is worth it.

We have to learn to understand that the things we want most in this world carry a steep price. It's a pipe dream to believe that the best things in life are free. They aren't. And that's true whether it be weight-loss, divorce, child birth, running a marathon, writing a screenplay, finding love, or even becoming the King of Pop (RIP MJ). It's gonna cost you something.

Face it. The truth is that the things that liberate us, make us stronger, and lead us towards realizing our greatest potential, are also the things that require the most from us. They demand a price. They demand a sacrifice.

But, it is in those moments that we grow. It's those conscious decisions, when we do that thing that comes the least natural to us, that thing that asks a price we're not sure we can pay (but we pay it anyway), that we truly begin to become who we are. It's the most amazing gift ever! And it's a gift that we have the power to give to OURSELVES.

And here's the other thing. The price isn't always huge. C'mon, we all know that pennies make dollars. Sometimes, it's those small prices that add up to huge dividends. Yea, going to bed just a little (or a lot) short of full bites. Sure, not buying that new pair of heels b/c it's just not in the budget this month blows. Yep, spending another Saturday night curled up with a good book can seem sorta lame, but it's better than wasting years of your life on a guy that just ain't it. Everything worth having, whether it's a size 6 body, a savings account for emergencies, or a love that makes you sing out loud, will require you to ante up.

Here's what I know. Shedding the weight (insert your own, personal struggle here) is just the beginning. It's the tip of the iceberg. It's what's beneath that burden that's the prize. Not just the fabulous body that you're gonna have. But the fabulous potential that you're gonna unleash. And, yea, getting there is gonna cost ya.

But, So WHAT! Whatever the price, what could be more valuable than discovering (for yourself!) just how Phenomenal you really are?

So ante up ladies. It's time to pay the Piper!

Pics Taken 07-05-09 Weight: 190.8
MEASUREMENTS: Waist:34" Gut: 38" Thigh: 26.5" Arm: 15" Bust: 38.5" Hips: 43.5"

Running in place

So, I'm in love with the new Shinedown song "Second Chance". It's not too hard to figure out why. This whole year for me is all about those rare, elusive, fleeting snatches of divine mercy that we call second chances. The song has this really cool line in it that talks about running in place. And of course I'm all fixated on it b/c, well, I run.

Now, I've always ran. I ran in junior high. I ran track in high school (even have a regional medal to prove it). However, I've always hated it. I did it because my Mama ran in high school. So I figured I should run too. Like it was genetic or something. But, deep down, I hated it. Especially if it had to be done on a treadmill. I mean, C'mon! All those miles, all that sweat, and you didn't even Go anywhere! WTF? Seriously, I'd rather watch paint dry.

Treadmill running isn't the only thing I hate. You know what else I always hated? Spinning. I mean, seriously, you're on a bike that doesn't move. You don't go anywhere. You just sit there. Spinning (read: pedaling). In the dark. It just reeks of fun! Except it doesn't.

Anyway, this is the year that this Superchik Leogirl gets serious about her fitness. And, truth be told, running in a good, old - fashioned Floridian downpour is not (I repeat NOT) a good idea if you bought your IPod to listen to music and not because you wanted a really expensive paper weight (why aren't those things water proof anyway?). So running outdoors ain't always gonna happen.

Not to mention, with a workout schedule that feels a lot like a second job, being outdoors isn't always possible between mind numbing status meetings, power lunches, family obligations and volunteer activities. So what does this Superchik Leogirl do?

She starts taking Spinning classes and learns to make friends with the treadmill. And finds out that she just might have been wrong.

It's all a matter of perspective. It's about making every workout count. Whether I'm jogging a six mile loop through my neighborhood or spinning for 15 miles at the gym. It's all about the effort. Not the venue. What equipment I use doesn't matter. My mindset does.

There are totally times when my mind isn't in it. I'm worried about those 44 reports at work I haven't even glanced at. Or I'm thinking of my nephew's latest report card. Or I'm wondering if I should really travel abroad or just stay close to home, where everything is familiar and safe. The bottom line is that, when my mind isn't focused on my goal, I'm still just running in place (treadmill or not).

So. If an unfocused mind has this much power over my workout, what type of havoc does it wreak in other parts of my life?

As unbelievable as this sounds (cause it's simply unheard of for this Leogirl to procrastinate), I started to see that there are a TON of times that I'm just running in place, even though I think I'm moving forward. For example, I have this awful habit of making plans. And making an even better plan. Then tweaking my master plan. Revising the plan. Upgrading the plan. Finalizing the plan. And then waiting for the right time to implement the plan.

And somehow, through all this planning, I manage to accomplish a whole lotta. . . . . . . NOTHING.

(Not) Surprisingly, this state of arrested progress tends to permeate almost every aspect of my life. My diet. My fitness plan. My budget. My career. My love life. My hobbies. Even my relationships with my friends and family. I'm always planning to do (fill in the blank). But, somehow, despite all my best laid plans, there's an ocean of distance between the life I see in my head and the one I live everyday. Why the Hell is that?

I think it's because, deep down, I'm banking on a second chance. Deep down, I figure that time is infinite and I'll never run out. That I can just plan indefinitely and EVENTUALLY, I'll get to it. Just gimme a sec. I'll do it. . . . later. Next year. Next week . Tomorrow.

And here's where the rubber hits the road, kiddos. Tomorrow is today. Life is not a dress rehearsal. This is IT. This is my one shot to make this life count. This day. This moment. Sure, there are times that God is merciful, and He gives me the chance to salvage something spectacular from my mistakes. But, it's pure foolishness to bank on these moments.

It's my job to make this life count. To make everyday, every second, every breath count. It's my job to focus and put my mind into every bite, every rep, every goal. Second chances are a privilege, not a right. So, it's my job to work hard and play hard. To enjoy the process as much as I enjoy the results. And to realize that standing in place has nothing to do with the equipment I have on hand as much as it has to do with how I use what I've got.

You know what? I've found out that I can burn over 500 calories in one 45 minute spin class. And a treadmill interval workout is nothing short of spiritual as I gasp for air (and maybe see the face of God) after a minute or two of running at 110% effort with about 2 seconds of recovery. I'm sure as Hell not standing in place then.

You see, the habit of running in place is like Novocaine to our ambitions. It makes us numb. Mindless. It's an effortless way of life fostered by the limitations of our drive and imagination. Aided by our fear of flying. And made triumphant by our fear of failure. It's self sabotage at it's laziest. Because, for all our huffing and puffing (read: "busyness" doing stuff we hate doing anyway!), running in place gets us nowhere.

The good thing - the silver lining - is that we have all the tools we need to start moving forward again. They rest squarely and completely within each and every one of us. Because we know better than anyone what we are capable of.

We KNOW if we're half-stepping on our morning run, giving a so-so effort towards reaching our career goals and making a mediocre effort to get ourselves out of debt. We know if we're truly focused or if we're just spinning our wheels. Just making due and getting by. Doing just enough. And we know we can do better.

So, whether you're an athlete or a CEO, a receptionist or a fry cook, a call center rep. or a stay at home mom, from the moment you're born, you're playing in the Majors. Everyday is another opportunity to be excellent. Another opportunity to be better than you've ever been.

You have to live like this is your only shot. You have to realize that running in place (read: complacency) is just another way to waste time. This life is your own personal Olympics. Your one shot to make history. There are no second chances. And this is not the time to lose focus and just stand still. This is YOUR moment. Who cares if all you have is a treadmill and a spin class?

Train hard anyway.

Si, se puede!

I've always had a mind of my own. Even when I was a child, I liked to do things my way. I was the kind of bratty kid that adults HATE. Because we're too annoying to be cute and too young to have the Hell smacked out of us. I never listened, never followed the rules, and made it my life's mission to test boundaries and push buttons. Yep Campers, I was my mother's pride and joy.

Once, when I was 6, my mom was driving around with my sisters and me. It was a sweltering summer day in the 90 degree Florida heat. The two door, '82 Rabbit my mother had was about the same amount of Hot as Dante's eighth level of Hell and you could have boiled water on those seats. It was an inferno. And I, being the privileged eldest daughter that I was, was perched (smugly) in the (much coveted and argued over) passenger side window seat (YES!).

Like I said, it was stifling and, since this was the stone age and AC in cars didn't exist yet (at least not in my world!), Mama asked me to roll down the window. And, of course, being the perfectly angelic saint that I was, I replied with a flippant and indifferent "NO".

No rhyme or reason for it. I was melting just like everyone else. I guess I just wanted to push her buttons. And it worked. She was gearing up to whip me into shape with one of those withering looks that all mothers must master before they are allowed to graduate from Lamaze class, when. . . . a police cruiser plowed into us and sent us careening into a nearby Oak tree.

The accident was bad. My mom had to go the the hospital because the force of the crash had caused her to swallow some of her teeth. There was blood. And screams. And chaos. It was an ugly scene. But my sisters and I walked away. Unscathed. All because a bratty 6 year old told her mother "No". Had that window have been down, the force of that cruiser on the passenger side door would have caused me (and my sisters) to fly out of the window. We would have been killed. That "No" saved our lives.

Last year, I went on vacation with my best friend. We went to Stone Mountain and decided it would be fun to get on the Sky Mountain Ride. Now what this is, for those of you who believe in self preservation, is a "ride" where you're placed in a harness and then strapped to a string and told to navigate yourself around an obstacle course that's about 300 ft in the air. Did I mention you're only attached by a string?

This all seems REALLY entertaining when you're on the ground. Unfortunately, it sort of loses it's luster when you're actually IN THE AIR. In a harness. Attached to a piece of dental floss. Doesn't seem like much fun then. Seems REALLY stupid then.

I wanted to chicken out SO badly. I wanted to be a punk, tuck my tail between my legs, and live to fight another day. But I couldn't. Because she was DOING it. I couldn't be the wimp. I had already said I would do it. I had already said "Yes".

So I swallowed my fear (though I SO would have preferred to be swallowing just about ANYthng else! Chips. Cake. Fettuccine Alfredo . . .. the list is endless!) and instantly grew the biggest pair of cojones this side of the Mason-Dixon line. Then, I navigated that course.

And I LOVED it!

It was exhilarating and scary and wonderful all at once.

Sure, my heart stopped about every 30 seconds. Sure, I was scared witless the whole time. But I DID it. And that "Yes" turned out to be one of the most rewarding things I've ever done! I had a blast! (Later, I found out that she wanted to back out too, but didn't because of me. Go figure. )

So I started to think about the power of "Yes" and "No". I'd heard about this idea (Thanks Sylvia!), but never paid it much attention. But now. . . .

"Yes" and "No". Two tiny words that pack so much power. Have you ever stopped to think about how much our lives are defined by those two words. "Yes" and "No".

Our lives are a testament to the choices we've made. Thus, they are essentially shaped by those two words. They are formed and created by the things we say "Yes" to and the things we say "No" to. Whether it's our finances or our marriages, our jobs or the food on our plates, it all comes down to "Yes" and "No".

And neither is more important than the other. Because they are inseparable. They cannot exist apart from each other. For every "Yes" there is an implication of "No" and vice versa.

When I said "No" to being held captive and paralyzed in a marriage that was killing me, I was implicitly saying "Yes" to the life transforming power of freedom. And as I learn to say "Yes" to loving MYSELF more often, I am implicitly saying "No" to those things that shatter my self-esteem and exploit my insecurities. Saying "Yes" to me is, in effect, saying "No" to a lot of the foolishness that flat-out serves no purpose in helping me become the best Suprchik Leogirl I can be. (And moreover, stress and foolishness cause wrinkles! So NOT the look this Leogirl is going for!).

And one word over the other isn't the key to success either. Your life won't be roses and peaches because you always say "Yes" and it won't be miserable because you always say "No". Life is about balance. The right path isn't found by a string of "Yes"s or a string of "No"s. It's somewhere in the middle. And it's there, in that middle ground, that we find ourselves ready to make smart choices.

Sometimes we say yes, sometimes we say no. But the goal is to make good choices that lead us towards becoming the best versions of ourselves that we can be. It's about learning that our "Yes"s and our "No"s have POWER.

They have the power to create and the power to destroy. They have the power to challenge and the power to allow us to remain mired in mediocrity. They have the power to heal and the power to harm. They can save lives or they can end them.

Those words challenged me to experience something that scared me. And I walked away with the knowledge that I am stronger than I think I am. Those words have led me towards becoming more confident in myself and less willing to accept what isn't good enough for me. They've helped me discern who I want to be and given me the courage to become that person.

They even saved my life.

What will they do for you?

The power is yours.

Pics Taken: 04/19/09 Weight:197.2 Measurements: Waist(38"), Bust(40"), Hips(44.5"), Thigh(28"), Arm(15.5"), Gut(42'')

Pics and Stats: The Numbers Game

Just to let y'all know

I will be posting some new updated shots. I have my next weigh in on 04/19/09 and I'll be posting new full body shots then. Thanks for the suggestion! Didn't mean to keep you guys in the dark :)

P.S. here are my weigh-in/picture post dates from now unil my Cali vacation:

04/19/09
05/04/09
05/19/09

Check back often to clock my progress!

Hasta!

Everyone has one

I was listening to Eminem the other day (old Em, not any of this "Crack a Bottle" ? crap) and one of the lines in the song was about how his insecurities could eat him alive. And I thought to myself, "Huh, I hear you ,Dude". Only thing is, with me, it's the reverse. It's me trying to gobble up my insecurities.

I'm an emotional eater. If I'm happy, I eat. Sad, I eat. Angry, I eat. Lonely, I eat. . . ya'll get the idea. For every emotion I have, there's a food for that. Kinda like Visine. Food is my barometer for life. It's my constant.

I used to say that I didn't have an addictive personality. I'm not into drugs. Not huge on drinking. I don't gamble. Don't stay up all night surfing the net for porn. Nada de eso. I've never had any habit in my life that I just couldn't walk away from. Except food.

Food is my drug of choice. Completely legal. Absolutely available. All day. Everyday.

And I am completely addicted.

I'm a junkie.

Just as sunken, frail bodies,and track marks are telltale signs of heroin addiction; so is it that pudgy, doughy tummies and back fat are a dead give away that you (or your loved one) is caught in the throes of a heartbreaking food addiction. Yes boys and girls, there is a food addict near you! (Why isn't there an add campaign for that?).

My body is a walking, neon poster for the ills of food addiction.

But where does this addiction come from? Is my brain hard wired for this? Is it genetic (Thanks Dad!). A bad childhood? Or is it something deeper?

It would be easy to blame all this on things I can't control. My genetics. Insanity. Something! But deep down I know that's a bunch of hogwash. This isn't insanity. But it is in my head.

The truth is that my emotions feed my frenzy. I let my emotions feed my frenzy.

I don't like to deal with unpleasant things. I never really have.

So, I eat my misery. I slurp down my bitterness. If my day (or life) gets ugly and mean, I'll look for (and find?) something that resembles joy and peace hidden inside the wondrous delights of Lindt White Chocolate truffles (yeah, like the whole bag!) or the salty decadence of Lay's Sour Cream and Onion chips. And I'll tell myself it's OK. I'm good. I'm happy.

But it's a lie.

The layers of fat that wrap my body like a burly winter coat are a testament to the last fight I had with my husband.The globular boobs that hang from my chest and threaten to pop the buttons on my shirt are the result of a little (or a lot!) too much fun at my best friend's party last weekend. The flooding tide of tummy fat that threatens to burst the zippers of my pants, that's looking a lot like that report at work I missed the deadline for. My exploding rear end that keeps straining the the seams of my pants, that's that day I had this horrible epiphany that I would always be alone. The muffin top that bubbles over the edge of my jeans, that's the day I thought about all the things I regret.

See. This addiction isn't much different than any other. It has it's triggers. It's wrought with it's excuses. It's riddled with it's own broken promises. But breaking these promises seem unusually vicious. Because these are broken promises that we've made to OURSELVES!

Do you know how many "Last Meals" I've had? Only to have the same "Last Meal" the following week? And the week after that. And the week after that. And the . . . . . Stop the insanity!

So the first step is admitting I have a problem.

Like everyone.

Because everyone has one. Everyone has a crutch. Everyone uses something to hide behind so that they don't have to feel the things that hurt too much to talk about. Whether it's drugs or alcohol, porn or gambling, video games or . . . food, we all have something.

The trick is learning to control our emotions rather than letting them control us. It's finding that strength within that says "I'm better than this". It's about replacing something that's killing you with something that brings you closer to the fullness of life. It's about finding real and lasting joy and peace and not settling for cheap substitutes. It's about seeing through the lies of our insecurities (and our addictions) and knowing that we have so much more to offer. It's about finding that thing that's holding us captive and fighting like hell to be free of it.

And getting mad as hell if anything tries to stop us.

Sometimes that means getting a new routine. Sometimes that means finding a new place to hang out. Sometimes that means a new job. Sometimes it means changing your phone number. Sometimes it means moving away. Sometimes it means making new friends. Sometimes it means a whole new life. Sometimes it means saying "Goodbye". And sometimes it means just walking away.

And everytime it means making a choice between the poison and the cure.

What do you choose?

Tharms and Llantas

Ok. So here is where it gets ugly. Not just sorta ugly either. But straight up, butt boonkie, Medusa-must-be-your-mama ugly.

So I took a coupla days to write out everything I ate. I mean EVERYthing. And the results were. . . um. . . how shall I put this. . . .horrifying?disgusting?shameful? None of those really fit. I'll put it to you like this. They were as bad as the Bush administration was incompetent. Yeah. Like that.

I wish I could say the horrors stopped there, but that would just be flat out lying.

I want to have a full out, no-holds-barred account of what the hell I've done to myself. So I took pictures. No, not those typical fat girl pictures that are only taken from the neck up. Not those bleary, indistinct internet chat room shots that are taken 2 miles away from the camera either. Oh NO! I took 'em up close and personal. In a sports bra and panties. After a meal. Where my atrophied abdominal muscles had no Hope of restraining the cushions of lard that decorate my mid section. I knew the results were going to be tough. But I had no idea just how vicious the truth could be.

If I were a weaker person, the sight of my burlap shaped body might have driven me to suicide.

I stared, horror stricken, at the massive tharm (an arm that is more thigh than arm) that hung from the soft, rounded cap of my shoulder. I looked on, disgusted, as an entire Goodyear Tire display circled my stomach and I realized that I was large enough to give birth to a small whale or an entire village of pygmies. I looked at my thighs and realized that dimples are only cute on dark haired, hard bodied Mario Lopez look alikes. They have absolutely NO sex appeal on the backs of thighs. I cringed at the orb of my bottom as it drooped somewhere down by the Florida Keys. And I started to cry.

But the more I gazed at the photos of a body that resembled a boot leg Botticelli portrait from Hell, the quieter my crying got. The longer I glared at the the colossal columns of fat that surrounded me, the less I felt like crying. As it dawned on me that every fold, jiggle, and waddle was a direct result of what I'd done to myself, my blood boiled fire hot. And I got MAD.

I got mad at me. I got mad at how I allowed myself to be presented to the world this way. I mean, who Does this to themselves? What person, with even a sliver of self esteem, would treat themselves so poorly? Not a Leogirl who knew what she was worth.

Now don't get this twisted. None of this has to do with what other people may (or may not) think of the suprfly Leogirl. It ain't about that at all. It's about the way that how we treat our bodies is a reflection of what we think of ourselves. It's about how worthy we believe we are of having our own needs met. How much we believe we deserve care, and love, and respect.

Looking at those pictures made me relize that I'd stopped caring about ME. This Leogirl had diappeared. I was chasing other things. I was running. And somewhere in this marathon of life, while I was busy trying to find people to love me (read: find me worthy and see how special I am), I'd forgotten to fall in love with myself.

So here I am searching. Trying to find something to fill up all that empty space inside. And food is always there. Like a cheap whore. Always willing. Always waiting.

But food can't fill those empty places inside. It can't drown out those vicious voices that keep whispering, "You're not good enough". It can't erase the little digs that burn like acid in those tender places of your soul. It can't be your friend or your lover or your savior.

Nope. Sorry kiddos. Life isn't like that. You see, for all of our seaching, the truth is the best friend/lover/savior you're ever gonna get is staring right at you in the mirror. It's the image that you see in every self portrait. It's the shadow that follows you everyday. It's You. Beautiful. Imperfect. Sassy. Insecure. Exquisitly Flawed. You.

You see, as I looked at the pictures, I saw a lot of things I wanted to change, but I saw a lot of things I liked too. Yeah, my arms are big, but they were strong enough to move a whole house when my husband abandoned me. My thighs are flabby, but they were strong enough to carry me six miles across the finish line of my first 10k. My ears are kinda big, but they never fail to capture the rhythm of my nephew's laughter. My mouth, ever so flawed with its overbite and cross bite, can speak languages, resolve problems, offer advice and kiss pain away. And my tummy, large and flabby, still makes a perfect landing spot for my nephew's head when he runs full speed into me for a hug.

These pictures are B.A.D. But they are also a starting point. A mirror of where I've fallen short and a bridge to what I could be. . . . . .

If. . . . .

The possiblities are endless.

Pics Taken: 03/29/09 Weight: 211lbs Measurements: Waist (40"), Bust (43"), Hips (47"), Thigh (29"), Arm (15.5"), Gut (42.5")