It Lights Me Up

When I got to the point where I was cleared for exercise again after my injury, I went freaking balls to the wall. Working out at least two times a day, 5 to 6 days a week, pushing my body to the point of exhaustion. I definitely was making up for some lost time but I definitely was also pushing myself like crazy to lose the weight I gained while on bed rest.  

I was determined. Nothing was going to stand in my way from me getting back to where I was pre-injury. Maybe some of that drive was the subconscious need to show myself that I hadn’t lost who I was, my strength, that sort of thing, that I was still me at the end of the day, and my life hadn’t changed “that” much.

I did not let myself fall into any excuse. If I had an early morning class or work shift, working out meant waking up at 5am. If I was hungover, it didn’t matter, if I was sore, cramping, in a bad mood, really pick your favorite excuse and to me, it didn’t matter. I still showed up.

I had to show up. I was so bound and determined to move my body that I showed up and I showed up hard. I started lifting weights, I started doing CrossFit, I pushed myself to the very edge of a cliff of complete body breakdown.

I don’t recommend this at all. I had no respect for my body, the process of healing and recovery, of regaining strength properly, of rest days. None of it. I was a machine on a single lane course towards disaster.

My body bit back at me. A back injury, a shoulder injury, and a knee injury later, all within the first 7 years from my foot injury, and I couldn’t do it anymore. I had let my ego and this internal drive to show myself (not anyone else mind you, just me) that I could still perform like I did pre-injury, get the best of me.

I stopped doing CrossFit, even with a certification, I started focusing more on yoga, swimming, more into Pilates which were my primary modalities of fitness when I was first recovering, I started meditating and I started forcing myself to take rest days.

I also started working this very stressful job as a second responder and fitness became my primary avenue of self care. My outlet for stress from clients, from colleagues, from life. I would workout so I could tune out all the bullshit that was around me. The noise was too much sometimes and I didn’t know how else to handle it. So I would sweat it out. That hour became my only chance sometimes during the day where I knew I didn’t have to think about anything else. 

I started working out during my lunch break at work so I could escape my office, I started my certification for Pilates and I lost all desire to be in corporate America. I was burnt out in every single aspect and totally over it. I craved having the balance of having life, I was over being a mid-level manager, I felt like it was time to take my second chance and have a bigger impact.

Being able to move my body and see what I was capable of made me feel empowered and I wanted the women in my community to feel the same way. Even now, nothing fires me up more than having someone tell me “damn I didn’t think I could do that, but your encouragement showed me I could”. It makes me feel like I’ve won every award and every medal, it gives me the drive to keep learning, keep pushing and keep showing up.

The Desire to Push Through

I remember when I first got hurt, I was super concerned about few immediately impactful things in my life. I was worried about gaining weight, how I would still be able to work out and how I would go to college.

In retrospect, it’s kind of ironic to me that those were my immediate living life concerns (obviously from the last post you know that what I would do with my life was the overwhelming concern) because when I got hurt, no one knew how to fix me. I’m not kidding. The night I got hurt, I wasn’t allowed to eat and wasn’t given pain meds for fear they would have to do a surgical repair that night. The ER doctor was baffled at the extent of injury and told me to come back. When I went back to the hospital and met with surgeon #1, he said (wait for it, because you know it’s going to be crazy if I remembered this in my drugged up haze) “I’m not sure how to fix this but I’ll try”, to which we left and went to my family orthopedic doctor who (thank goodness) said he was out of his realm of expertise but knew someone who could fix me and boom, three doctors later and I had a surgeon, who is still one of the best doctors I’ve ever had in my whole life and a plan.

Chaotic huh? That whole process, from point of impact being hurt to surgery #1 took 9 days. 9 days of just straight up mind numbing, never moving past it pain. But I wasn’t concerned. I mean it was awful and horrible and all of those things, but I wasn’t worried. Even when we didn’t have a plan, and panic was starting to set in with everyone around me, I knew God had it under control and I would get fixed. Side note, I still see my doctor once a year for a follow, she’s still one of the most knowledgeable and dare I say intimidating individuals I’ve ever met. I absolutely adore her and still send her referrals on a regular basis, she’s just that freaking good.

College and working out was figured out too. My parents bought me dumbbells and I used to lift weights in bed. I used to do tricep dips off the staircase (I mean hey I needed arms to climb up the stairs on my butt so I could shower), and my mom drove me to my college classes. I was blessed to have people in my presence who were empathetic to a young kid who was struggling not just with the loss of mobility but the loss of independence and the anger of losing those things.

One of my college professors even tutored me privately, which sometimes consisted of me falling asleep in our sessions from being on so many pain meds and sometimes consisted of me talking through the anger I was feeling. She gave me hope, recovering from being in a horrific car accident to being a well known, published professor.

I don’t know what the shift was for me, but I remember beginning to feel like I had hope that I could still make something of myself even though my life wasn’t going to be what I initially thought. I started thinking there could still be a way for me to make an impact and help people, improve my community and give back.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do. I hustled. I graduated college early and with honors. I stopped my pity party, I did physical therapy to the point of tears some days so I could learn how to walk again, so I could learn how to drive again, shoot so I could be confident in weight bearing on a limb that was rebuilt from cadaver and synthetic bone and didn’t feel like my own anymore. I stopped telling myself all those negative things that were keeping me from moving forward and started telling myself that I could do more, do better, be better with everything I did.

I stopped putting limits on myself, even though I had people around me telling me I was disabled and limited. I told myself I was young and had the rest of my life in front of me. I told myself I was doing nothing with my life if I wasn’t taking advantage of the fact that I had been given a second chance.

Let's Take It Back

I know we’ve talked about my foot injury before, but I’m figuring if you scroll all the way back to that post your reaction would be something along the lines of like ‘wow look at her go’, or ‘she’s so positive’ and you’re not wrong. But that’s glossing over some very serious aspects of that time in my life that I didn’t want to talk about before because I thought it would take too long and I didn’t understand if the significance of it would matter.

I mean that was a hot second ago and I’ve had a lot of time to reflect…and quite frankly get super into self development and I came to realize hold on wait yes this freaking DOES matter. Granted this is all my perception so bear with me…

I was SO young when I was injured. I mean I was 19, it was the day before the infamous nipple slip Superbowl (I vaguely remember that by the way partly because I was in so much pain and partly because I was on a SHIT ton of drugs because of said pain and injury). Maybe the benefit to being so young is that I could bounce back quickly, maybe it eviscerated the thought of being invincible and maybe it helped shape my mindset for who I am now. Maybe it was all those things. 

But my head space when it actually happened was one of sheer fucking panic. I kid you not. Like freaking terror. Not because I was hurt or anything like that, I knew I would get better. But I literally had NO idea what to do with myself and with my life once I WAS better. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love America and all that stuff, but I went into the Army and subsequently ROTC (which is where I was when I got hurt) because it would pay for school and set me up with a career. I wasn’t thinking 10 year plan, I was thinking like 20 year plan. In the course of 30 seconds, all of that was stripped away and I was left thinking “ok if I can’t meet the requirements to be in the Army and I have to figure this out, then what am I going to do?”. Isn’t that kinda crazy? Don’t worry, I won’t be mad if you say yes. But seriously, I enlisted in the Army and went into ROTC right after 9/11. The year I was hurt was the same year we invaded Iraq (I remember watching the bombs hit from my bed while I was still on bed rest). I was more confident and comfortable with the assumption that I would be going into a freaking war zone, because I had prepared for that, then I was with the concept of staying home and creating a life for myself.

Yet sometimes God pushes us to do the things that make us the most uncomfortable because that’s when we become the strongest. 

In the immediate space of being hurt,  I was MAD. Do you know how hard it is to have pent up anger and be on bed rest with NO WAY to let that anger out of your body? Ya it sucks. I was so freaking angry at everything and everyone. Myself, God, the situation, every single person around me, literally no one was spared from the wrath that was me. Because I didn’t understand why I got hurt. People would tell me that God was sparing me from a potentially more significant injury but since I felt like I lost my whole sense of self, my community and my future, I couldn’t imagine much worse. My anger was really the result of being super confused and honestly a little ashamed.

I felt like since I didn’t get hurt while on active duty, in a war zone, since I was in ROTC, it didn’t matter as much. I felt like since there were people coming home with way more horrendous injuries than mine, it didn’t matter as much.

I let myself be angry. I let myself cower and I let myself feel all of those things. I got therapy (a long way down the line) because I needed to process all these things and realize that while my story is different than someone next to me, it still matters because it’s my story. It happened to me and I get to own all of it, even the ugly parts.

Now that so many years have passed since it all happened and I can finally talk about it rationally, I know that this drop in the bucket of time in my life shaped me more wholly and completely. It is what gave me the drive and ambition to want to empower the women around me to be their best in everything I’ve ever done and it propels me forward to be my best because when you get a second chance, you have to show up for it.

Let's Switch It Up

I realize that up until now, the intention of this blog has been for me to share funny parenting stories. While I will still be doing that, I feel like it’s time to expand the horizon of this blog into something more, something still funny and still equally worthwhile.

I think it’s time for you to learn a little more about me, about how I operate and about how I integrate all of these healthy things into my life and ultimately why that matters to me. I guess on some level that’s important for Grace too so she can understand her Mama a little better. 

But ultimately, especially when you’re working with someone, be it through coaching, or even just using their workouts or recipes, it’s good to know their motivation. It’s good to know why they’ve decided to do the things they do so you can decide whether or not they’re someone you vibe with.

So coming in hot with all things mommyhood and just adulting at its finest. The good, the bad and the ugly because that’s often how life goes for all of us and if we can’t support each other then really what’s the point?

I figure my mindset shapes how I do pretty much everything, including parent, so knowing me and knowing my mindset will help you understand how I am (especially with my funny parenting antics) even more!

Why Does Everything Embarrassing Happen in Public?

Specifically Trader Joe’s. Because let’s be honest, she could totally do these things at home but it never goes down that way.

I should start by saying that having a four year old is currently OWNING me. Anyone who said that the terrible two’s were bad obviously has only had one child who is still two and hasn’t had the lovely experience of dealing with a four year old. Don’t get me wrong, I love my child too much to even describe but GAHHHHH!!!! The attitude, the talking back, the sass, are out of CONTROL. Not to mention the fact that I feel like I’m on an emotional rollercoaster every day. I’ve literally never seen a single person cycle through so many emotions in such a short duration, like 10 minutes (I’m being generous, it’s more like 5 minutes). And yes, I discipline in a way that’s appropriate for her age and all of those things, I just know that this is currently a season and it’s not a season I’m enjoying overall.

Gone is my little girl with the occasional meltdown, replaced with a child who has a HUGE opinion and is articulate to a scary degree. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still the sweetest, kindest and most compassionate child I’ve ever met, but wow when she turns Dr. Jekyll she goes FULL ON.

One of the biggest things we’ve been contending with is the selective listening and follow through (yes this is a four year old and yes I know I’m screwed when she’s a teenager). I feel like I repeat myself SO much and now I truly understand why by the time you’ve repeated yourself 22 times, you’re not longer speaking in a calm tone of voice.

But of course the one time you don’t want them to listen is the time they actually listen. We were in a rush, granted that’s how I live my life lately, and I realized after I got my purse in the car that my keys were in my purse in the car and I almost locked myself out of my car. Thank goodness for fancy fangled key FOBS that won’t allow that to happen. Of course I was frustrated by the maneuver I pulled and uttered an “oh crap”, not even realizing that the kid was RIGHT THERE.

Yes I know there are worse curse words that can be uttered, but of course this was the one that Grace decided not only to repeat but to repeat on repeat. Of course in this moment she decided to become a parrot and then when I told her that only grown ups can say those words, she started in with “But I like crap”, “Crap is my favorite”, “Mommy don’t you like crap?”.

Insert smack my face emoji here. OF COURSE. She can’t seem to listen to anything I say, she can’t seem to do anything I ask without me getting upset but this one thing she nails on the first attempt.

Side note, yes she did stop but not without some convincing.

Don't Worry Mama, I Know Those Are Bad Words

We live on music in my house. We always have music playing, in the house, in the car, it doesn’t matter. I mean it makes sense because I learned how to write and read music when I was a kid, my parents always played music for us (I have awesome memories of listening to Fleetwood Mac as a kid, still love them) and encourage my brother and I to have pretty eclectic taste when it came to our jams.

Needless to say Grace has been exposed to all kinds of music from the time she was an infant. Different decades, different genres, everything we listen to, she listens to as well. Of course this means major jam out time when we’re in the car, because otherwise car rides are boring and horrible. I mean I’m just saying, a car ride with some good tunes is life for us. I’m sure you understand.

So whoops when I realized too late that the playlist rocking out in my car one day was Mommy’s playlist with the explicit language and not the censored child playlist. Bigger whoops when the song that came on was a hip hop song that Mommy loves (and Grace does too but up until this point she had only heard the censored version) with ALL the language. Like ALL of the language. Of course I realized this way too late and when I went to change the song, not that it mattered but it’s the thought that counts, Grace BEGGED me to keep the song on.

Ok so the song stays on. But so begins the conversation about bad language which pretty much was the 4 year old explanation of how there’s bad words that you don’t say out loud, but when it’s in a song you can sing along with the song in your head. Silently. I think at one point I even told her that there were words in the song that she would NEVER hear Mommy (or anyone else in her life for that matter) say out loud.

Conversation over, song over, here I am thinking maybe I dodged the proverbial bullet. Ironically, I was even thinking wow she let that go way faster than I thought she would have.

I was wrong. Of course I was wrong. So the next time we get into the car, the music comes on and Grace tells me, “Mommy, can we listen to the song with the bad language so I can sing along to it in my head?”. Whoops.

Tabata and Grace

There’s nothing more motivating then trying to workout and having your kiddo yelling at you that you’re not trying hard enough or going fast enough. I have to be honest it’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. She’s normally sitting, I mean of course right, she wouldn’t actually BE working out, and typically she’s having a snack. The whole time she’s enjoying her leisurely moment, she’s yelling at you that you should be going faster and doing more. I have to say when she does this, I fast forward like 20 years in my mind and see her doing something like motivational speaking or fitness instruction or something. That kiddo does NOT suffer fools easily and needless to say she does not easily accept people’s excuses as reasons to avoid doing the work.

So I’ve learned when I work out, if she’s watching me, that I’m either going to get heckled (while having to take breaks to tickle her), or my workout needs to be as quick as possible because she’ll get over me doing my own thing quickly. We are at that age after all where she wants me to be at her beckon call, for her convenience so me doing my own thing doesn’t tend to last very long.

Which means when I’m working out at home, it’s usually a HIIT workout, normally Tabata (because that’s my favorite interval) and I’m done in less than 10 minutes. Tabata means that the work interval is twice as long as the rest interval, traditionally it’s done as 20 seconds of work and then 10 seconds of rest, but really you could make the interval be any length you wanted, as long as the rest is half as long. So one work interval and one rest constitutes a round and you do that 8 to 10 times. Your goal is to get as many repetitions as you can during the work interval. It’s the perfect interval for kids, I’m actually almost convinced that whoever invented it had a toddler running around their feet.

The best part about Tabata is it never gets easier and you can repeat the same workout because every single day (and your subsequent performance) will be totally different.

Here’s a fun one for you:

8 to 10 rounds:

20 seconds of work: Jump Squats

10 seconds of rest: Burpees

Grace and the Ball

It doesn’t take long to realize that working out is a large part of my household. I think it all started for me with my injury, and this subconscious pressure to make sure that I was active so I could maintain my mobility and make sure that I kept my body healthy. It just makes sense. I have to make sure that I can continue to weight bear properly and that my joints are all happy so I can continue to have a good quality of life. 

While that’s definitely a large part of my active lifestyle, I’ve also come to realize over the years that working out is my selfcare. It’s what I need to keep my sanity during the crazy days, sometimes it’s my only hour to myself during the day, and oftentimes it’s when I have moments of clarity and creativity. 

Now it’s even bigger than all of that because I have this responsibility to this amazing kid to show her what living a healthy lifestyle looks like, what working out for your body looks like, and what it looks like to really take care of yourself.

Granted I’ve had to get creative since I had my kiddo with my working out time, and also super flexible because working out doesn’t always happen how I want it to or really when I want it to happen. So needless to say, we have a TON of workout equipment at our house. To the point now where I don’t even need to have a gym membership because I can do everything I need to do at home. Fortunately, because I know how to write my own workouts, coming up with new and hard things to do is never really an issue.

One of my newest additions to my home workout equipment is this little Pilates fitness ball. I know not everyone knows what this ball is all about, but if you’ve ever done Pilates, you definitely know what this ball can be used for and how much it can change the dynamic of a workout. Predominantly, it’s used for inner thigh work, which has all kinds of benefits from picking up your pelvic floor to helping the health of your knees. Regardless of its versatility, it definitely can take a workout to the next level so of course having one at home was a necessity not a want.

Unfortunately, when you have a house with a kiddo and puppies, a ball is a toy. So I’m constantly telling someone to leave the ball alone and having to hide the ball so it doesn’t get accidentally popped. As of late though, the kiddo is starting to understand that the workout equipment isn’t for her to play with and as she gets older, she wants to see how to use the equipment.

One day, the kiddo grabs the ball, puts it in between her legs as she has so often seen me do (for inner thigh work), does a single squat and gets this look on her face like ‘OH NO this is NOT happening, I HATE this.’ She took the ball out, placed it down, looked at me and said ‘No more Mommy, I’m done.’ So I looked right back at her and said ‘Baby you’re literally like every single client I’ve ever had in the studio in the past several years who used the ball for the first time. I know. It’s awful.’

Needless to say, she’s learning what she likes for fitness and what she doesn’t like and I’ll be there to continue to teach her along the way.

Her Magic Wand is Broken

What a tragedy right? So is the fact that my kid is totally NOT napping when she should be as I write this blog. Ugh, this phase of transitioning out of naps has totally NOT been our golden moment because she so desperately still needs to sleep and just won’t, there’s just too much going on inside that brain of hers to let her rest. But that’s another story for another time.

This one is about my kid and her magic wand. Which actually is appropriate for her not napping because it has me reflecting on how much really things have changed since I became a Mommy. We went from her wake up being at 4:30a everyday (yes I’m serious, I thought I was going to die from exhaustion) and her first nap being in the stroller during Sully’s walk, to her having only one nap a day and walks consisting of a park trip to wear her out.

Now walks are just something she tolerates. Because it’s exercise for the puppies, she knows she has to stay in the stroller so I know it’s not the most exciting way for her to spend her time. But in reality life could be worse, so walking we go. Granted I do try to make it as fun as I can with running commentary about the trees, all the things I see, that sort of thing.

But we also are collectors of sticks on our walks. For some reason the trees around where we live give the BEST sticks in the whole world. The costume designers from Harry Potter literally could’ve used these sticks as wands in the movies, they’re that good.

Naturally the kiddo calls them her wands and regularly does magic spells while we’re walking. Because why not? It keeps her entertained and quite frankly watching her imagination go wild is also super entertaining for me.

So one morning we’re enjoying our walk and she’s super excited because Mommy found a particularly AMAZING stick, and she’s saying “magical wand, magical wand, turn me into a Princess.” She’s also turning the dogs into various creatures and the trees into other things, basically she’s having a ball and living her best life.

Then she turns to me and says “magical wand, magical wand, turn Mommy into a Princess” and I promptly remind her that Mommy is the Queen, not a princess and she says “oh yes Your Majesty” (did I mention my kid calls me Your Majesty? She came up with that one on her own and I’m not fighting it).

She looks at me again, takes up her wand and says “magical wand, magical wand, turn Mommy into a Queen” and then starts banging the wand on the side of the stroller and yelling “WHY AREN’T YOU WORKING WAND??”.

I had to stop walking I was laughing so hard. Her comedic timing is ON FIRE and the best part is that she doesn’t even realize that she’s being funny.

The Mulan Superhero Princess

She Wants My Car

Sometimes the things that come out of my kiddo’s mouth astound me. There’s really no other way to put it. I don’t know how she comes up with this stuff. It makes me wonder who at school is talking like that or if she heard it on TV or even from me without me realizing it (because let’s be honest we’re all guilty of those moments).

Nonetheless, she surprises me. It’s not always crazy stuff either, sometimes it’s super sweet things like the big hugs and thank yous I get for washing her sheets and blankies, or the prayers she says at the end of her day. It’s such an insightful experience for me because I get to see how much she really is taking in from the world around her.

Apparently part of what she’s taking in right now is that she is a little kid who will one day become a big kid and becoming a big kid means she gets to drive my car. Or so I’ve been told. By her. Multiple times.

So I guess I need to realize that she won’t be my little one for forever, even though I should already realize that because she’s almost as tall as me and she’s only 4. And as she grows it does mean that she’ll be able to gain more independence and be able to have more responsibility, blah blah, adulting isn’t fun ALL the time (but she doesn’t know that yet).

At least now every time we’re in MY car and she tells me how much she loves Mommy’s car and how one day she’ll be driving Mommy’s car instead of Mommy (and in Mommy’s mind, I have a super nice Range to ensure that I still have a car when she takes mine), we also get to talk about how driving a car is a HUGE privilege. It’s not something that just happens, well at least not for me, and if it’s something she wants then she has to have responsibilities like a job.

Because cars cost money, lots of money, and there’s no way to pay for a car without a job, well I guess there are tons of ways to pay for a car without a job, but she doesn’t need to know that because that will NOT be the case for her.