Humbled

There are times in my life when I am completely humbled.  The birth of my kids was one.  My latest endeavor is another.

On September 29th, I'll be participating in the 2012 Warrior Dash in Virginia.  It's a 3+ mile obstacle course.  Mud, fire, mud, climbing walls, mud, hills, mud, water, mud, cargo net climb... did I mention the mud?  I'd heard of it before.  Tim actually wanted to do the Tough Mudder (a Warrior Dash on some serious steroids), but we'll be out of town.  So this whole mud run thing wasn't new.  What I didn't realize was that these things are generally done to raise money for charity.  How awesome is that?  As odd as it might sound, I'm all for that sick and twisted do-something-physically-painful-and-call-it-fun kinda thing.  I think all athletes are.  And once I heard that I could not only run this Dash with amazing friends (thanks for the suggestion, Christine!!) but I that I also had the option of raising money for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, I was all in.

Now, their goal is for their Warriors to reach $250 per individual.  As incentive, they give you access to the St. Jude VIP area... it has private showers.  Did I mention the MUD?  So, $250 seemed like a small price to pay.  Shoot, I was thinking of donating that all myself, just so I wouldn't have to drive 3 hours home covered in mud.  Ew.  But, honestly...  it's more than the shower.  St. Jude is one of my favorite charities.  Always has been, and became even more so once my oldest was born.  So I'm always willing to raise money for them.  So, I set my goal for $250.  Then $500.  Then $1,000...

And I've passed them all.  Faster than I thought I could.  Never in a million years would I have thought that my ticker would top $1,225.  Yep, that's right.  One thousand two hundred twenty five dollars.  From over 30 people.  And still going!  And there is where I am humbled.  Those people.  I actually signed on to my fund raising page one morning and started tearing up.  Ok, more than one morning.  All those people stopped and decided to give money to some kids in need.  Yeah, I asked, and that was a catalyst, but if they weren't giving people to begin with, they would have ignored the request.  There are people on my ticker that I know don't have extra to give, but they did anyway.  They all gave up something in their lives to give something to a kid with cancer.  And not even a kid they know.  A stranger.  I can't even say that they're all parents, and cannot imagine having to go through that with their own kids.  Several of my donators don't even have kids.  None of them have a dog in this fight.  But they all gave.  And I am humbled.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who gave.  And a thanks in advance to everyone who will.  This has been an amazing journey, and I haven't even run the actual Warrior Dash, yet!  My people are amazing and wonderful.  You make me proud, and I love you all.

**If you'd like to donate to St. Jude, please click on the link for my fundraising page, and have at it.  No amount is too small!!**

This Journey of Mine

Everyone's body image is intensely personal.  We, as women, feel too much of a lot.  Too... fat, skinny, short, tall, busty, small... and that's just the major stuff.  Let's not forget how we feel about our individual body parts... skin, eyes, noses, arms, stomachs, butts, legs, back, hair (oh, God, the hair!) - feet, even!  I think I have yet to meet a woman who is 100% satisfied with every part of her body, and wouldn't change a thing.  Trust me, I'm not trying to exempt myself.  I'm exactly the same way.  I have a list of body issues an arm long, starting at my unruly curly hair and ending at my gnarly karate feet.

With my PopPop, about 7 or 8 years old.

Why do we do this to ourselves?  There are a myriad of things and people we can blame - our parents, society, our spouses or significant others, our peers, the movies, tabloids - the list goes on.  But the brutal truth is that we do it to ourselves. At least, that's my truth.  I have no one to blame for my struggles with my weight but myself.  Could I blame it on my family?  Sure.  If you look up "emotional eating", our Irish family portrait is staring back out at you.  Happy, sad, hurt, depressed, celebrating, whatever!  We eat.  And we eat well.  My family makes some wicked awesome grub.  So why couldn't I be one of those women who are happy to be heavy?  It sure would be easier!  Because, when push comes to shove, I'm an athlete to my core, and I just can't stand being and feeling unhealthy for one. more. minute.

(An aside:  It was wickedly hard to find pictures of myself through the years.  I've always had a tendency to want to be behind the camera, another fault I'm working on.  So, missing from here are some "fat" pics, but also some of the great "thin" pics during my competing years.  :::sigh:::  should have taken more of those!) 

At my 8th Grade Grad

Freshman year,
getting a little
chunky

Let me share a brief history with you.  I wasn't a heavy kid.  I was active and healthy.  I played soccer and I swam.  I played outside with my friends constantly.  At some point, maybe 5th or 6th grade, I started getting chunky.  My Mom helped me get back to healthy by 8th grade-ish.  I stayed that way for a while.  I wouldn't say I got "fat" in High School (I saved that for adulthood), but there were definitely stretches of time where I dieted to get some weight off.  I was definitely heavy when I got my Black Belt.  And those of you that know me don't get to try to deny that to me - I've seen the pictures.  Then I thinned down again, and started competing.  I'm 5'4", and built like my Dad - which is to say, somewhat like an oak tree.  Oops, sorry... I meant to say that I have a "muscular build".  I have a little waist and big thighs.  If I work my weight training routine wrong, I bulk instead of define.  So, despite my "ideal weight" (remember that chart in Health class?) being 115 pounds, I weighed in at a very comfortable, defined and lean 128.  That put me in a size 5/6.  I was good with that.  Great with that!  Still hated my hair, though.  And my karate feet kept getting gnarlier.

Senior Year
Trimming down

Starting to head
up again,
late '93

Then I got married, stopped competing and had two kids.  It crept up on me, but I got heavy.  Meh, screw the PC stuff - I got fat.  At my heaviest (known) weight, I was 215 pounds.  Did I mention I'm only 5'4"? there are women who have been on The Biggest Loser who weighed less than that at the start.  Now, this was before I got pregnant with my daughter, Casey.  And I met a lady who started my ball rolling.  An angel.  She's one of the most amazing women I've ever had the privilege to know.  Her name is Sandie Lynch, and she started ATP Health and Fitness.  I lost almost 30 pounds with her, getting down to 189 when I got pregnant.  Our goal was for me to not gain more than I had already lost during my pregnancy.  Sandie only wanted me to gain 10-15 pounds (perfectly healthy, by the way, for someone who is already overweight - it's just all baby), which goal I didn't meet - I gained around 20.  Then lost some (spitting out a baby does that).  Then gained some (eating like a piggy does that).  Then leveled off around 200 pounds.  And had a newborn, and now a toddler, plus that energy driven 7 year old.  Which makes it pretty hard to get together with Sandie's schedule.  So... I called Nutrisystem.  And here I am.  About to reveal my real, unfortunate-but-getting-better numbers.

December '94.  You don't need a
full body shot, you can see it in
my face.

My weigh in day, I was 202.8 pounds and my BMI was 34.9.  In layman's terms, that put me well into the realm of obese.  Obese?!?!  Me??!  But...  I've been an athlete my entire life.  Surely, they're not calculating muscle mass.  And no one used those annoying calipers to pinch me, so they must be wrong... right?  Bleh.  It was way to far into the range to be that far off.  So... time to change it.

I've been doing Nutrisystem for 11 weeks, now, and I weighed in this morning.  I have lost 27.6 pounds - I now weight 175.2 pounds.  I've lost 11.5 inches - 4.5 of which are in my waist (only one stinkin' inch in my thunder thighs, though).  And my BMI has gone down by 4.8 to 30.1.  Still in the obese range, but barely.  And, I can now say that to call a chick who is now wearing a size 10 "obese" is asinine.  I bought it when I was wearing a 16, but not now.  I am not obese, I don't care how you calculate it.  Pppplllttttt!

This is my current "before" shot.  It's the last picture
I can find of me - December '11.  Stay tuned
for the "after" shots!

I am, however, still overweight.  Despite the size 10, I'm still not comfortable.  Too much cellulite, too big a muffin top, not enough muscle showing.  And, although I'm getting better, I still need to work on my habits.  Like, when I was trying to decide on something to do to celebrate making it halfway to my goal, I still jumped to food.  "Ooooh, we'll go out to dinner!  I'll treat myself to dessert!"  Yeah, not the direction I'm supposed to be going in.  Manicure, pedicure, massage, getting my hair done...  those should be the treats I jump to these days.  But, you know...  I'm a work in progress.  And I'm hoping to get enough work done to get to my goal body and stay there.  What's my goal weight?  I'm not really sure.  I say 135-140 (I figure a bod that popped out two kids might not get back to that 128 that my 20's enjoyed), but that's just to have a number.  I'll know when I get there.  I might be 145.  It might be 130. It's really not about the stupid number - it's about me, and feeling comfortable in my own skin.  And being healthy.  And being able to put aside my body image issues so that I don't model them for my daughter.  Making sure my husband has a hot wife is a plus, too.  =D

"The Ultimate Manufactured Man"

Years and years ago - sometime in 1996, I think - the people in my life were... concerned, we'll say, about my choices in men.  Not because they were horrible human beings, or anything, just that they weren't as into me as my people thought they should be.  So, one of my instructors sat me down, and we made a list.  I haven't looked at the darn thing in years - not since I met Tim - but something reminded me of that list today.  And, since our 9th wedding anniversary (12 years together) is coming up on May 17th, I thought I'd get it out (yes, I keep stuff like that) and look at it for fun, see how he did on the checklist!

My handsome husband on our wedding day

Positive traits he must have
Good looking to me
Kind hearted
Athletic
Intelligent
Caring
Consistently Perceptive
Strong Willed
"No wimps"
Fun loving
Independent thinker
Spontaneous
Dedicated to me
Passionate
Outgoing
Sense of humor
Integrity

Hmmm....  So, far, Tim's kicking butt!  He needs a little work in the spontaneity department - he's a planner - but I also find that much less important as an almost-40-year-old-Mom-of-2 than I did as a 20-something-year-old single girl.  On to part 2!

NOT Acceptable
"Wimpy"
Negative
Condescending
Dumb
Too macho
Mean
Prejudiced

The best decision of my life was saying "yes."

Psh.  My husband totally knocked it out of the park.  Good thing I chose him.  And I'm SO thankful I waited for him to appear.  <3

One of Those Days

My son.  The good one.

I love my son.  I truly, truly do.  He's a wonderful kid.  He's kind, loving, considerate, smart, snuggly, respectful, athletic...  I couldn't have asked for more.  He's the best son I could possibly have wished for.  I just want to hug and love on that kid all day long.

On the other hand, sometimes I really don't like him very much.  He can be a pain in my @$$.  He can be mean, hateful, inconsiderate, dumb, stand offish, disrespectful, spiteful...  and when that is the son I'm faced with, when that is the Connor that shows up, I just want to wring his little neck.

I try to breath.  I try to remain calm.  I try to be reasonable.  I occasionally succeed.  Someone (a lot of someones, actually) once told me the biggest lie about my parenting ability that I've ever heard.  Before I was a parent, of course, so I had no idea how horrid the lie actually was at the time.

"You're such a great Instructor, being a parent is going to be a breeze!"

And I actually believed that!  Oooohhhh, how naive I was.  I suppose the argument could be made that because I had all these coping skills from teaching martial arts for so long - 10 years before I had Connor - that God decided I needed a challenge.  What is that twist on the old saying?  "God never gives you more than you can handle... I just wish he didn't have so much faith in me"?  I'm feelin' that!

Part of me feels like I shouldn't complain.  He really is wonderful most of the time.  And I've seen other people's kids.  Some of them, I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.  And Connor's bad days really are few and far between.  But when they're bad...  they're epically bad.  Last week, he had a complete melt-down-fly-apart.  Over what, I can't even remember, that's how minuscule it was.  But he was in a funk the entire day.  He lied, he back talked, he threw a tantrum, threw stuff, kicked his headboard like he was running on it, he screamed - yes, SCREAMED at the top of his lungs, both at us and just for the sake of screaming.  In our house (as in mine when I was growing up), when you are asked (read: told) to do something, you say "Yes, Ma'am/Sir" and you do it.  You might ask if you could please finish/do this-or-that first, but you most certainly do not cross your arms, stomp your foot, put a puss on and say, "NO."  That right there sends me 'round the bend.  And that happened a lot that day.  I wanted to choke him.  He was so insolent, I was at a loss for a solution.  I was so angry, I couldn't think straight, anyway.  So, I sent him to his room to avoid the throttling that I knew I would later regret, and prayed that Tim didn't hit any traffic on the way home.  He was no better for Daddy, apparently (I got to escape for a grown-up meeting.  Yay!). Although it took me the majority of the afternoon to be done, Tim was at his wits end within an hour of me leaving.  I say it's the Chinese in him.  No patience for disobedient children.

I frequently flash to Bill Cosby's bit about children not being able to sleep properly without a good beating.  Sometimes I think he might have something there.  Maybe it's lack of sleep (i.e., lack of a good beating) that's causing this abhorrent behavior.

You will be thrilled to know that despite all of this, I have not, in fact, wrung his neck, throttled him, choked him or beat him in any way whatsoever.  I haven't even so much as muttered an inappropriate expletive.  Thought it...  yes.  Said it... no.  I may have told him he was "acting like a brat", but I've never actually called him a brat.  Fine line, I know, but sometimes I need to split hairs, ok?  Because I do get angry.  I do yell.  But I try to take a deep breath and act like he's not mine.  Like he's one of my students.  I try to step back, be objective, and deal with the crap as it comes.  I'm not always successful, mind you, but I'm getting there.  And one of the things that keeps me motivated to deal with him?

I know that tomorrow, he will wake up and be the sunshiney, smiley, happy, kind, loving, considerate, smart, snuggly, respectful kid that I know and love.  And thank God for that, because if that other kid, that wretch, got out of bed in the morning, one of us would not make it to old age.

Growing Up

Today is my birthday.  At somewhere around 1:00 today, I'll officially be 37 years old.  I have no problem advertising that, because I have a 7 year old who does it on a regular basis.  He also likes to announce that "my Mommy is older than my Daddy!"  He's a real charmer sometimes.  :)

I also find that I have no great connection to the number 37.  When I was a teenager, 37 seemed pretty darn old.  I mean...  that's almost forty, and forty is downright ancient, isn't it?  Only...  when I was 15, my Mom was 43, and she was no where near ancient.  She didn't look it, and she didn't act it.  So, the older I got, the more my Mom redefined my perception of "old".  She turned 65 this year, and doesn't look or seem - physically or mentally - a day over 50.  If even that.  For Pete's sake, I have a friend who's mother-in-law is 65, and she's with a walker and oxygen.  Talk about contrast.  Then there's my Martial Arts Grandmaster.  Grandmaster Rhee is 81, and up until he got hit with the shingles last year, he was doing 100 push-ups in under a minute.  And over 1,000 a day.  AT EIGHTY!!  So, yeah...  I've had some people in my life who have forced me to continuously redefine the meaning of "old".

So, what is "old", then?  Certainly, it's not any given number.  I'm turning 37 today, but I still feel like I'm 25.  Even though it's cliche, age is just a number, and old is just a state of mind.  I'm sure I'll get to the day where I both look and feel "old", but I pray that day is decades and decades and decades away.  For now, I get to enjoy my blessings for my birthday...  I am so thankful to have so many of them, and these two are my favorite...