It Takes A Village To Keep Me Healthy. Healthy-ish. Whatever.

I'm discovering more and more that it takes a village to keep me on track. Contrary to how I'd like to be, I am not a lone wolf. I know, I know, I seem super badass and as though I'd run my own show but the reality is, I do a whole lot better having my show ran...

I know everyone has theories about how many times you need to repeat an action to form a habit but I think it's all a load of shit. I've been training myself to develop this habit of working out like a machine and eating a balanced, nutritious diet for about a year and a half now, and there is still no habit involved. I suppose I should elaborate on what a habit is in my books, based on what people allude to when they discuss developing these oh-so-elusive behaviours. To me, a habit is something that you do regularly and as a result of instinct or inclination. That may seem simplistic, but that's where I'm at.

Now, I often do have the inclination to hit the gym. And I often have an instinct to eat a healthy meal. But I also have the inclination to sit on my ass and eat cake. Chocolate cake, to be specific. You know, a Duncan Hines special with store-bought cream cheese icing. Yesssss, that's the stuff my quasi-white-trash dreams are made of! Don't judge me...

So with this disaster of inclinations, how does one sort it all out? The village. My village happens to be a fitness village. I suppose it's the same as a #fitfam, a term that makes me gag...and yes, I know I've used it in other posts, but if you don't pick up on the intense sarcasm sitting behind it, then this is not the blog for you! Anyway, back to my #fitfam and everything it does for me...

My village is better than your village...

My village holds me accountable. My village leads by example. My village eats healthy food and works really fucking hard. My village is comprised of two personal trainers, a chiropractor, and a police officer. It's the best village on earth, because it supports me and inspires me and pushes me. I love going to the gym and seeing village members there, it makes me feel as though I have people watching me, not because they're creepy, but because they give a shit. And the thing is, my village is almost always around, at least in some capacity or quorum. But occasionally, the whole village is gone. And that's when it can be tough...

The reason this comes to mind is that last week, my village was MIA. Everyone had stuff on the go, scheduling that didn't align, workloads that were too much, crazy trips to Vegas to show everyone what a smoke-show they are (that would be a reference to one specific village member). The end result was me...on my own. And it went okay, more or less, but it reminded me of how much I prefer having the village around. You see, as I continue to go back and forth between my inclinations to smash weights vs. my inclinations to eat copious amounts of pizza, the village is there. I am continuously motivated by the village (are you sick of this metaphor yet, or what?!), and the way that they epitomize everything that has made my life better.

You know how when a really shitty minor hockey team plays a really strong team, they often tell a story about their crazy victory and how they played the best game of their lives and dominated like professionals, instead of the Duncan Tier II team that they really are? Well, my village kinda works like that. Being surrounded by committed, healthy, strong, fucking wicked people forces me to raise my game. And I'm oh-so-grateful for it. I'm humbled that these incredible people include me in their efforts and share their knowledge, when I don't bring much to the table, apart from comedic value (right, Zeus?!) and lacklustre punctuality (Tuna, this may sound familiar), or repetitive food complaints in spite of being cooked for (Kyla, please love me forever, even when I whine about stupid cravings), and never-ending yakking on the stair climber (Ty...I'm sorry I never shut up). You'll learn more about my village as time goes on but after having them gone or busy or whatever for the last bit, I just wanted to give them their first mention, because they are so integral to any success that I do achieve.

So, yeah. The village. It takes a village to keep me healthy. Or to help me while I try to get healthy. And I fucking love my village, and can only hope that they know it. Make sure you have your own village, because it helps a lot, even when you think you don't need a village. Or want a village. Because you do. And you will. And everything will be better because of it...

Sore Is Better Than Not Sore. And This Guy Is Pretty Hot...

So I'm pretty sore today. I woke up and my ass is killing me (the muscles...gluteus something...I don't know what things are called). My hamstrings are tight, and there are various other muscles that ache and pull. And I'm extraordinarily grateful for feeling sore...

First and foremost, I'm grateful that I've learned about the different types of "pain" and "sore." I've been lucky enough to learn that there's a palpable difference between hurting because you worked really hard, utilizing proper form and challenging movements, and hurting because you actually hurt yourself. It's an empowering shift to be able to read your own body and to understand what it's saying to you, because you now understand how you'll feel after squatting and deadlifting, rather than sitting on your ass and watching Netflix. Well, unless you're watching Netflix after you did the deadlifts. Anyway. Granted, I am the same chick who dubbed traps "neck shoulders," so I might not be the ultimate authority, but regardless, I've learned how to have an effective conversation with my body, and truly listen to what it has to say, and I happen to think such skills are beneficial to all of us. And I'm generally right about everything. So, yeah...

I'm also grateful for the ability to DO things that actually make me sore. Of late there have been a few happenings with neighbours, acquaintances, and friends of friends that make me realize that I'm so incredibly fortunate to be fully mobile and physically independent. Additionally, while I do have some pounds to shed still, my body is a weight that allows me to work it hard - I'm not hindered by an extra 100lbs., I don't have joints that are creaky or breaking down. I might have bigger thighs than I'm hoping for, but they still carry me up and down when I'm doing #squatsfordays. Because that's the only way to do it. #squatsfordays #squatsfordays #squatsfordayyyyyyyys

This is Steve Cook. He is what seems to be my first #fitness crush and I figured he's probably sore a lot of the time, so he'd be on board with this post. And you should probs follow him on IG (which is why I left his handle in the pic), because waking up sore AND seeing him sans shirt is an extra-awesome way to start your day...

It's funny, being some version of sore has become the norm, in an awesome way. The reality is, if I'm pushing each time I'm in the gym, I should be sore the next day, in some way, shape or form. I'm a big fan of having to use my arms to lower myself down to pee, due to having decimated my quads. Unfortunately that can be problematic if I've gassed my arms, and my legs are feeling the 2-day pain of gains. (Fuck, I hate that word, and yet it creeps in all the time. Worst. Anyway.) So what happens if I have to go to the washroom & none of my limbs work? I'll never tell...

Like I said, I'm grateful. I'm grateful for the privilege that I'm afforded, the privilege to live a life that allows me to make changes. Because that's really what being sore or tired is all about. It's a symptom of change, of what you're teaching your body, of what you're building with your muscle, of the fat you're getting rid of. And being sore is part of that evolution, whether you're an accomplished athlete pushing yourself to the next level, or someone struggling with obesity, walking a few blocks around your neighbourhood, because starting somewhere is better than standing still and remaining paralyzed.

So go get sore. Waking up sore is a great way to start your day. Take it from me, because while I'm not a personal trainer or a nutritionist or an Olympian (or am I...?), I'm a person who is sore almost every day, and I've started to smile a whole lot more than I used to.

Boobs, Chins & Gym Laughs

In the last two days, I have managed to grievously assault both my boobs and my chin whilst at the gym. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but I don't give a shit. I work hard and I want some sort of credit for it. CrossFitters have incorporated the term "hero" into their branding and WODs, all because they jump rope with a fancy name (double-unders - fancy might be an overstatement, but you know what I mean) & walk on their hands, clearly the stuff that heroes do all the time, when they're not engaged in actual combat or rescuing people from burning buildings. As such, I feel it is only fair that I am bestowed with some sort of acknowledgement for my own heroic efforts that have resulted in the sacrifice of my body.

Just a quick deviation for the sake of clarity. I only chirp CrossFit because people seem to get so intensely offended by the mildest criticisms or jokes with regard to it, and I love a good reaction. At the end of the day, a lot of CrossFitters are legit at what they do, are in impressively good shape, and would likely make me look like an invalid if we ever went to head-to-head on anything involving a barbell, dumbbells, pull-up bars, cardio...anything at all, really. I'm putting this in here because at some point, someone who loves CrossFit more than their own children will read this and promptly mail me anthrax, which I'd prefer to avoid.

Okay, back to why I'm a hero. And by hero, I mean dumb ass who hurts themselves in a not-smooth fashion.

Yesterday I was doing cleans, one of the regular components of Program #2 designed by the aforementioned warlord, Zeus (aforementioned as in go back a few posts). I love a good clean. Who doesn't?! Basically anything with a barbell makes me feel like I'm stronger and cooler than I actually am. Well...I am pretty cool. The strength thing, that's a work in progress. Anyhow. Cleans involve keeping the barbell pretty close to your body, which in theory shouldn't be too difficult. Simple instructions, right? Yeah, maybe if your chest resembles that of a prepubescent boy. While my boobs are smaller than they used to be, as a result of doing things like cleans and eating in a clean fashion (I'm like Jerry Seinfeld incarnate today), they are still relatively big. Huge, depending on your perspective. And guess what? Big or huge boobs get in the way of a moving barbell that is sliding up your body at a relatively fast speed. And when said barbell hits said boobs, it hurts. Like a bitch. Upon writing this, I feel a bit like a nancy for complaining but whatever. Boob pain sucks. And it's not my fault that I'm clearly dedicated to the form of my cleans, so much so that I would injure my mammaries.

Wow. I've literally never used the word mammaries before, in any context.

Obvs had to keep Zeus in the loop upon hitting myself like a spastic monkey

How does my chin factor into all of this? What gym war wound could be worse than barbell-meets-boobs-barbell-wins? Well, it's not really worse. But it was pretty funny. I was doing a session with Zeus in person today, which usually means that I'll be comatose by the end, and I had to do push press. Upon having my form corrected, in a manner that helped improve the movement itself right away, I proceeded to instantaneously clip my chin on the way up. The form correction was so helpful that my face didn't anticipate the super-speed push press headed its way! I suppose the only reason I think this is funny is because my teeth are intact - the clicking sound they made upon being unexpectedly pushed together would likely be more upsetting if it had been accompanied by a chipping sound. I'm sporting a little mark under my chin, which really does me no good at all. No one will see it. Gym fails should have visible injuries that will prompt questions, so you can pump your own tires and act super bad ass. And if I'm not going to walk around jutting my chin out at an unnatural angle, you can sure as hell bet I'm not rolling around flashing my boobs and bruises (that aren't actually there), either.

I guess like any true hero, I'm just glad to have lived to tell the story. I actually can't handle even pretending to say that. There's nothing remotely cool or impressive about either - basically if my form had been better to begin with, I wouldn't be smoking myself with barbells like a moron. But both happenings were kind of funny, and everyone needs to laugh every now and then. And if you're a CrossFitter and you can't laugh at yourself, you can laugh at me for now...

When you're done laughing at me, laugh at these guys...

"Full House" & Fitness

I bet the mention of "Full House" got you stoked. I can't even blame you. How does it fit in? Realistically, it doesn't, but I felt like bringing it into the fold anyway...

I recently finished a 6 week program that was straight-up fucking awesome. (Note that this has absolutely nothing to do with "Full House.") For those of you wondering, I have essentially become an Olympian. I squat and deadlift like Kendrick Farris, no big deal. Not really. But since 99% of people reading this won't know who Kendrick Farris is (I don't know much about him myself, other than he's fucking strong - Google him), I can maybe get away with saying shit like that...

In all seriousness, though, I did just finish a program that incorporated some sweet weightlifting, predator conditioning (no, I'm not a rapist, go look it up), whilst tossing barbells around, and throughout the 6 weeks, I had a really good time. More than anything else, it was really, really hard. I don't know how else to describe it. I'd finish a workout and then say out loud, "That was so fucking hard." And that happened pretty much every single time. Sorry about the f-bombs today, but they're merited. Completing the program is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Every day was a genuine challenge. I feel like I can say that I legitimately worked my ass off (at least part of my ass...it looks a bit smaller). Having pointed all of this out & being a shameless braggart, this would normally be the part where I discuss my tangible gains.

Side note, every time I reference "gains," I feel like a massive tool. So if you're judging me a bit for saying it, don't worry, I'm judging myself...

About those gains. I found that my weights for certain movements increased, which is dope. I've been excited about getting stronger with my bench press, both barbell and dumb bell, and I was particularly looking forward to measuring inches at the end of the program. Everyone has different achievements that resonate with them. For some, it's weight loss, for others it's improvement when it comes to a specific movement, maybe finding that you can run 10km without stopping, when 5km used to be your max. That being said, I don't know why you'd focus on running, since it's the worst, but whatever. For me, it's improvement with strength, and inches lost. Inches are a big one for me. I've never been super fixated on weight loss, although it's an inevitable and necessary byproduct of getting healthier, but inches click with me. Throughout this program, I've noticed my body changing, and I've been looking forward to updating my measurements to see how many inches I've lost. Upon completing the program, it was time to measure!

Zero. I'm down zero inches. In the words of every fitness douche out there, myself included, "NO GAINS."

Except that's not entirely true. And this is where the moral of the story comes in. Like, if this was an episode of "Full House," (BOOM!) Uncle Jesse would be explaining why it's mean to exclude the gawky girl next door, and what lesson DJ should have learned. And then DJ would invite the neighbour girl to come hang out, and Joey would probably do something awkward, and everyone would laugh. I'm not sure if I'm DJ, Uncle Jesse, or Joey - I'm probably the gawky girl. Anyway. I should probably get back on point...I just wanted to make good on my promise to awkwardly incorporate "Full House" into this post. Moral of the story. Right.

This really has nothing to do with anything, but how awesome are those hairstyles?! And I think Uncle Jesse is the only one who lifted...I'm just guessing, but it is John Stamos we're talking about here...

Moral of the story, fuck losing inches. At least for this round. Granted, that was not my initial reaction. My initial reaction was to feel like shit and get super depressed, and eat some cookies. Because obviously eating shitty food will help with my goals. That being said, after chatting with a couple of members of my #fitfam (gains and #fitfam in this post - brutal), I realized what a moron I was being. Maybe I haven't lost inches (if you want to be exact, I was the same overall, apart from my legs, which were apparently a half inch bigger), but I know the look of my body has changed, that I look tighter and stronger. And I am stronger. I know I am. The weights I'm lifting are heavier, and the reps have increased throughout the program. Heavier weights + more reps = stronger = GAINS. Moving forward, I'm going to dial my diet in, and I have a new 6 week program that I'm super stoked about.

I guess I just wanted to share this because it reminded me of how easy it is to feel discouraged, when in reality there's a productive way to look at every outcome, even if it's not what you would stereotypically be opting for. I've been working really hard and I will continue to do so, and because my body is a human body, there will be some variety in terms of results. And that's okay. It's also important to evaluate why you're getting the results you're getting. For me, my diet has been pretty good quality, overall, but it could use some structure and purpose, so that's what will happen. And in 6 weeks, we'll see how these changes impact my body. And if I lose some inches. Maybe some weight.

No matter what the outcome is, the next time around I'll refrain from eating cookies like a pussy, and I'll celebrate before I critique. And then I'll watch some "Full House," and learn some life lessons. Because clearly "Full House" and fitness go hand-in-hand.

Not really...

Love Yourself For Real

I think I do a pretty good job at coming across as someone who likes themselves. And these days, that's accurate, at least some of the time. But it definitely used to be a lot less accurate, pretty consistently. I suppose learning to like and love myself more, the for-real kind of love, is why I'm writing this, because I know what both sides feel like. And look like. Literally...

Regardless of how fit I have or haven't been throughout my life, no matter the number on the scale, I've faced challenges with being kind to myself with regard to my physique. And in the face of that, I have often maintained that it's not a big deal. Because if it's not a big deal, no one can tell me to do something about it. If I express that I don't care if I'm a bit curvy (which is the word I would use to describe myself because "fat" felt awful...and true), that I have a connoisseur's palate and as such, would rather have a few extra pounds than eat lean protein and vegetables, then I didn't invite advice, no matter how helpful or legitimate. I was too busy having fun with my friends to be at the gym all the time. I was so in love with life, so fulfilled, that nothing needed to change, and I certainly didn't need to change the way I looked. Except I wasn't that fulfilled. Except I did need to change the way I looked. And this is why...

The way I looked was the direct result of lifestyle habits that were unhealthy. Period. I looked overweight (to whatever level you identify with, based on your personal standards). And I looked that way because I was that way. And I looked and was that way because I ate the wrong foods, often in portions that were excessive, and I avoided physical activity as much as possible. And yeah, I get that I'm not exactly a fitness model now and being frank, I still have weight to lose, and that's just fine with me. Because I'll lose whatever it is my body needs to lose (note that I'm focusing on what my body needs, not whatever societal esthetic I've been brain-washed into valuing). Because I am so much healthier than I used to be, and as a result, my body looks different. Am I shooting for a super specific look? Not overly. Am I striving to become skinny? Nope. I want to be healthy. I want to be my healthiest and strongest, and to know that no matter what "look" that produces, that my body is well cared for and prepared to dominate for years to come. Can you imagine if I'm around to write this blog for another 50 years?! You should be so lucky...

I happen to think the sweaty smile is the happiest one!

I personally don't think there is a right or wrong outcome, because individual bodies do not respond to exercise and diet in the exact same fashion. But they will have similar results. As an example, if you consistently squat, your ass will change. I don't know how it will change, but it will change. If you start eating broccoli instead of Doritos, you will have less fat on your body. I don't know where it'll drop from, but it'll drop. And that's kind of the point. Doing shit that's good for your health will make you healthier.

It's funny, there's a lot of discussion about self-love and acceptance of late. I've read a piece online about an overweight woman who has challenged a social media company because they wouldn't let her show her body in a less-than-fully-clothed fashion, even though skinny/jacked/whatever chicks can. And I think she's got a super valid point, in terms of morality and equality and acceptance. People love how much she loves herself, and if I recall, she's on her own fitness journey, as well. Hers, and various other stories, seem to be sparking a lot of conversation about ignoring critics when it comes to being overweight and embracing your body. And that's wicked. I love the idea of promoting self-acceptance and self-care and self-love. But the thing is, loving yourself to me means that you would want to ACTUALLY love yourself, and maybe I'm off-base here (probably not), but I think that would mean taking care of your physical health. If you love yourself for real, there's no way you'd actually want to fill your tank with bullshit food and let extra weight wear your joints down. What about your heart? Your heart is the metaphorical Mt. Everest of love - you can't let Mt. Everest down! Too much? I don't care...

Here's the other side of that coin, the other side of making healthy choices. Your body WILL change. Even if you don't want it to, even if you love every extra pound or inch you had before, your body won't care what you think and instead, will respond to this new expression of love. And it will change. And guess what? If you really-truly-with-a-cherry-on-top love yourself, you'll still love yourself. Because authentic self-love isn't tied to a specific look or size, it's tied to legitimate worth and that worth is inextricably linked to your health. And that's okay. It's okay to say fuck all the people who criticize you for being chubby, and it's also okay to take measures and make choices that impact that chubbiness. You are not caving to the bullshit or pandering to morons who have their own self-esteem issues to tackle, you are prioritizing yourself and letting the results be what they may. Losing weight or getting more fit or eating healthier foods doesn't validate those who criticize people who wear a size 4 or bigger, it validates YOU. It lets you love yourself, no matter what else or who else is out there.

It's good to be reminded that we're allowed to love ourselves where we're at today, at this moment, but to also acknowledge that this love is not lessened by the desire and the action for more. If you love yourself for real, you'll recognize that you also have to take care of yourself for real, and diet and exercise are a very real part of that. I know, lots of "real" in there. But guess what, that's why I'm writing this, because if it isn't real, it isn't worth it.

Push It. Push It Real Good.

Yep, you read that right. I'm quoting Salt-N-Pepa shamelessly. Because when it comes to the glorious space that is the gym, that's what you've gotta do. Yesterday I had a wicked workout. And the only reason it was wicked was because of the last 4 minutes and what they entailed. They entailed pushing it. And I pushed it real good...

(PS: I promise something amazing at the end of this post, so just read the whole stupid thing...)

The workout itself is a part of my program, something designed by one of my #fitfam members (I swear, every time I type #fitfam, I like myself less...but I can't stop. Won't stop. Nike. If you don't get that, too bad for you). It's a dope program & generally speaking, I'm always jacked at the end of a training session. Yesterday, however, nearing the end, I was struggling. It's a 4 round workout that likely has a specific name for how it's structured, but considering I barely know what my quads are, knowing what my workout style or structure or whatever is called isn't going to happen. See below to attempt to understand - translate at your discretion! I've been doing these workouts for 6 weeks and I still don't know what half the shit means...Zeus/Zeke, the program designer, has likely grown weary of my redundant questions.

Anyway, so I was halfway through the second round of the last 4 movements (you'll notice that there are 8 movements in total, divided into 2 sections), and I started having a little chat with myself. I had killed the first half, upped my weights for my bench presses & rows, and was pleased with myself. Unfortunately that dissipated rather quickly, as the second half involved dumbbell military press, which I suck at. Period. I was getting super tired, super quickly, and wanting an out badly. Hence the chat. 

I started explaining to myself that since I was pretty tired and had done a good job to start, I could likely just do 3 of the 4 rounds, and that would suffice. I mean, I was super sweaty and still had to do my finisher, which involved treadmill hill sprints (Zeus is a warlord, essentially). So that was that. I started the 3rd round, finished it up, panting like a rabid dog, looking as attractive as physically possible, and mentally preparing myself for the reward of quitting! Except it didn't really go that way...

As I went to rack the barbell I was using for my push press, literally holding it so it was already partially replaced, I stopped myself. I almost tripped on the bench (super smooth), and brought it back down, because I felt like such a loser quitting. And suddenly I needed to finish my workout. So I did. I pushed through it, and guess what? I lived. And I was stoked. It's almost comical how that little piece of pushing through fatigue/laziness/fear/discomfort is so very gratifying. Now to be clear, I don't advocate pushing to the point of injury or anything like that. There's a reason that I used the work "discomfort," rather than "pain," because for me, there's a difference and discomfort is acceptable. I don't want to hurt myself but I definitely need to feel uncomfortable. It's the only way to improve, in my humble (abrasive?) opinion. Pushing through that last round didn't hurt me...I was just that much more tired. And guess what, you should be tired when you leave the gym. That's the point.

Moral of the story, ignoring my inner dialogue that was offering me the opportunity to bitch out afforded me the opportunity to be oh-so-very stoked about a training session that could have been average, had I not pushed it. So I guess I'm just saying that it's worth keeping in mind, that pushing it could be the difference between feeling proud of your efforts, as opposed to knowing deep down that you had a bit more in you. Because it isn't just about trying, it's about how hard you try. Period. You won't be able to convince me that "almost all of it" is enough, because it's not. Your tank should be on empty, because it's the right way to do it.

I guess I could have entitled the post, "Try. Try Real Hard," but then I wouldn't have had a reason to share a sweet music video. And really, that's the only reason I write this stuff...