Sibling Smash Sessions

Apart from the initial complaint about the weather that will follow this intro, this post is pretty much just a bunch of happy!

So I'm in Edmonton currently, where it is cold as fuck, and I'm visiting my baby brother. One of the things that has been kind of awesome about getting into the gym is that it's added to the dynamic of what my bro & I share with each other. We've always been pretty close, at least from the time he stopped being an annoying shit head, so basically 16 onwards, and I know that I'm lucky to call him my friend. That being said, he's always been an athlete and pretty much always been in shape. And for the most part, not just "in shape," but more so legit fit. Hmmm...legit fit. #legitfit - new hashtag!!! But yeah, Paul has had a longstanding relationship with the gym and weights and being impressively fit. And obviously that's a newer thing for me, so it's kind of fun to come here and incorporate the gym into our sibling bonding.

On that note, Paul brought me to his gym yesterday afternoon for us to train together. Just an aside, dressing for the gym is a giant fucking pain in the ass when it's -20 outside, in case you were wondering. The first thing that happened was that I gained a true appreciation for how much I enjoy my own gym at home - shout out to Quadra Fitness! Paul and his gf have memberships at GoodLife, mostly due to the location and their lifestyle needs, and it is essentially the breeding grounds for Douche Fest 2014. Granted, we are in Alberta, but holy shit, steroids abound! I'm surprised there wasn't an on-site needle exchange. There were a lot of dudes that I wanted to take pictures of, just to send them to my #fitfam and be like, "did you know people like this exist?!" I had two faves, one being the guy who had every inch of his body covered in Under Armour that was more than likely purchased in the petite children's section. C'mon, just a little bit tighter...squeeze in there, you can do it! Oh, so you wanna do shrugs? Over and over? Awesome. Pretty sure someone had sewn him into the outfit because I think it would have been physically impossible to put it on in a conventional fashion. My other source of entertainment/terror was this super tall guy who was actually kind of hot but had decided that a muscle tank with straps that were a centimetre thin and hung down so that the neckline of the tank began at his abs (dead serious, not an ounce of exaggeration). He was basically wearing a reverse crop top. And yeah, I know that I'm being super judgie, but I'm fine with it.

Aside from some laughs via the side show, going to this gym was also a mental challenge for me. As much as I can chirp certain people at the gym, the reality is I find other gyms to be pretty intimidating, and yeah, buddy was in the world's tightest outfit but he's also pretty jacked, and it's easy to worry about whether I look like I know what I'm doing, or if someone sees me and thinks my snatch looks like it needs tweaking (to be clear, my other snatch does NOT need tweaking, it's basically perfect). And in a gym like that, where people are mostly engaged in traditional body building or cardio, do I look super out of place doing snatches and cleans? Being painfully candid, it can be a serious struggle to train in a gym that isn't my own. Fortunately, my bro kind of took the lead with regard to setting us up, and that helped me feel less lost or out of place. He asked what we were doing (apparently we were partner training, which was pretty cool, since I'm so bad ass now), and got us set up where we needed to be.

Little Bro getting ready to crush...

Once things got going, it was pretty sweet. We worked in and out, squatting to warm up (aka: our "warmie," in hockey lingo - the bro is a hockey boy), and it was fun. Once we were into our squat sets, I ended up hitting a personal best for 3 reps, which was kind of awesome. And even more awesome because it can be such a mind-fuck for me being somewhere that I feel self-conscious or out of place. A while back, I honestly don't know if I could have even done my program in an environment like that, just because it's so different from what literally every other person was doing. At one point Paul asked if I knew how to spot him while he was squatting because he was getting all serious and show off-y...I looked at him and was like, "Fuck, no, have you met me?!" As if I know anything about spotting or whatever other shit you're supposed to know. I'm just happy I know what obliques are...yep, add another muscle to my impressive knowledge base! I'm basically a kinesiologist at this point.

I know this is basically just a lengthy story about a workout, but it was actually a pretty awesome session for me. It was really great to have my brother utilizing my program and giving me props for my own successes and improvements. It was also good to be reminded that I'm not reinventing the wheel, as much as I feel like I am sometimes, and that he's been at this a looooooong time, and cleans aren't a novel concept to him. On top of it all, I was stoked that my insecurity didn't push itself to the forefront and instead, took a backseat while I focused on getting sweaty AND smashing some personal bests, no big deal. Guess it's time for that proverbial pat on the back, hey?

I've got a few more days here in this hellish climate, so a few more workouts will ensue. But before I hit the gym again, I'm off to the Nike store to see if I can find myself a reverse crop top and the world's tightest pants. Afterall, when in Rome...

Meet The Fitness Village: Kyla Gagnon

So I've talked about my village and how much it keeps me on track. And since I'm going to be consistently referencing my #fitfam and all of the wonderful & pain-inducing ways they support me, I figured I should start by introducing them to you. There are a few of them, and my gratitude to every single one of these amazing people is overwhelming and often doesn't seem like enough. Making changes in the realm of exercise and diet has impacted me in a way that invigorates me, and has shown me a version of life that I genuinely have never been privy to, and without my village, none of it would be possible. There are two individuals have gone above and beyond what any person could expect, and we'll start with one of them today...Kyla Gagnon.

Me & Mayor Gagnon

I guess you could say that Kyla is the mayor of my village. I was originally introduced to her when my dearest friend Taylor (I always say Kyla is my wife and Taylor is my husband) bought me some personal training sessions with her as a gift, knowing that I needed some help when it came to the gym, and knowing that she was an incredible personal trainer. Trust me, if you think I'm a rookie now, you have no clue how little I knew back then. Fast-forward 7 years, and Kyla has become my other half. We've lived together for 6 of those years and to be honest, she is so much more to me than a personal trainer - she is pretty much my other half. I could literally gush about her forever, about how much fun we have together, how hard we laugh, how hilarious we know (think?) we are, buuuut you could probably just follow me on Instagram and you'd get the idea pretty quickly! Instead, I'd rather explain why she's the mayor of my village.

(Seriously, though, follow me on IG - @serenaastrid)

I don't really even know where to begin. I suppose what it really comes down to is that for 7 years, Kyla has never given up on me. She has watched me be super strict with diet and exercise, and watched me be lazy and eat junk food. She has listened to me pledge my dedication to getting fit, and then watched me not show up at the gym, regardless of my proclamations. She's been subjected to complaints about my body over and over again, even though she also knows I haven't been doing anything to make it better. And in spite of all of the inconsistency and the failures and the empty commitments, she has been my cheerleader. And when I actually made changes that stuck, she cheered even louder. She's been there to offer advice and resources. She's made my fucking breakfast for 6 years, just to make sure I have a healthy start to my day. And this might all sound like good ol' friendship, but it goes so far beyond that. It would have been so fair for her to have given up by now. I've been the queen of empty promises, and considering her line of work is helping people be stronger and healthier, I can't imagine how frustrating it's been watching me stop and start for so long. And yet, she's always been there, and has always seen the potential for me to be happier and healthier.

Kyla is there for the good and the bad. And trust me, when it comes to relearning how to live in a healthy way, there can be a lot of bad. The reason that so many people struggle with obesity and fitness is that it's really fucking hard to develop and sustain the right habits. I can personally attest to this, and Kyla is so incredible when it comes to having my back. She's also willing to call me on my shit, and while that might sound like not the hugest deal, it is. I'm stubborn and defiant. And it's not easy to tell someone to make the healthy choice with food, to remind them that each time DOES count, to be willing to bear the brunt of someone who feels weak and doesn't want to push through cravings. It's not fun being "the bad guy," and I can think of more than one occasion where Kyla hasn't let me rationalize eating shit "just this one time," and I cannot thank her enough for being brave enough and caring enough to step up, when she knows I'm going to be snarky and indignant, mostly because I know she's right. I owe her for all of the times she has pestered me about going to the gym when I'm feeling lazy, because she's right. She's right every single time. And it's often a thankless task, being in her shoes, and she still takes it on, and I don't know where I'd be without her.

She has trained me countless times, written out workouts for me countless times, usually with an Americano as the most compensation she gets. She also supports me when I make changes in my training, because she doesn't care if it's her programming or not, as long as it's working for me. Or maybe she does care, and just keeps it to herself. Either way, she puts my progress (note I did not say #gains) before everything else, because she's just that kind of person and trainer. She's constantly telling me how proud she is, and she makes me want to be better. Granted, it doesn't hurt that she's a smoke show who takes amazing care of her own body, and is constantly striving to be stronger and healthier herself. No big deal...

The Village Mayor is ALSO the Village Smoke Show

In all honesty, I haven't even scratched the surface. Kyla is there for all of it. She reminds me on a daily basis that effort is a necessity. We go on vacation, we train. We have a night out, we train the next day. We go out to eat, she orders protein and vegetables. Well, maybe not always. But usually. And it's impossible to not want to be like her, because she's inspiring and wonderful. There's so much more to her than her physical self, but that in and of itself is the product of her commitment and dedication to being a living example of discipline and ethic. And she tries so hard to do whatever she thinks might help me. If I'm craving something sweet at night, she'll make some random concoction that fits in with my diet but still does the trick. If I can't think of what to do at the gym, she'll text me a workout on the spot, even if she has a client. When I try types of training that differ from her own programming, she focuses solely on my excitement and the potential benefits. She never brings ego to the table but instead, does whatever she can to be there for me. She is always watching me out of the corner of her eye so that she can compliment me on my training, even when she has a client. I guess the best way to summarize it is that she makes me feel supported. All the time. In every way. And that's pretty much all a person needs.

So, yeah. Those reasons, and a million more, are why Kyla Gagnon is the mayor of my village. Like I said, there are some other key people and you'll hear about them soon enough, but Ky is the person who has led the pack. I could easily have become annoying or frustrating (which I likely am at times) but she has never, ever given up on me, and my desire to be better has been allowed to grow because of her. She somehow had the patience to wait for me to connect with whatever it is inside of me that wants more for myself, and I'm so grateful that she had the ability to see it within me, and to wait for me to catch up to her insight. I know I have a lot of work yet to do and knowing I have her on my side makes it much less daunting.

If you find yourself building your own fitness village, make sure you get the right mayor. Just stay the fuck away from mine - she's busy... (Well, not TOO busy - click here  if you need a little training help, whether it's boot camp, partner training, or online programs)

My Name is Serena & I'm a Soreness Proclaimer...

I've come to realize that I do something. What is it that I do, you ask? Make fun of people who do jazzercise? That's a given. Chirp people who use terms such as #fitfam and #gains and #swole on a regular basis? Yeah, I suppose I do that. Swear too often in these posts? Probably. Actually, I take that back. No such thing as swearing too much. Fuck, I probably don't swear enough! Well...maybe just the right amount. Anyway, it seems like there are a few things that I "do," so to speak, but these aren't the things that I'm referring to.

I'm referring to the fact that I'm guilty of being what I'm going to refer to as a Soreness Proclaimer. Yep, I'm an SPer, it seems, and of late, I've been called out hard.

First off, what is a Soreness Proclaimer? A Soreness Proclaimer is someone who never shuts up about how sore they are. You know what I'm talking about. You say hi to them at the gym and they mention that their legs are really sore. (And by "their" legs, I mean "my" legs, obviously). It's all good, greetings have been shared, you're into your workout. Partway through you cross paths again. Perhaps a little banter regarding your current session and what's proving to be difficult. And then the Soreness Proclaimer decides that they should also remind you that their legs are still really sore, like REALLY sore. Like, so sore that just bending down to grab some dumbbells is a real inconvenience. At this stage in the game, you've got a pretty good grasp of how they're feeling...they're sore. Specifically, their legs are sore. That should cover it, right?

Wrong.

You see them again as you're both exiting the gym, and the Soreness Proclaimer has a weird gait happening, walking a bit awkwardly. Before you can ask them why, even though you didn't really wonder, they offer up a brief comment about how their leg soreness is contributing to this seizure-like movement they're utilizing for transportation. And then later in the day as you're trolling Instagram, you see one of their posts, which includes a gym shot and hashtags such as, #legday #squatsfordays #sosore #cantmove #hurtssogood (In all seriousness, #squatsfordays and #legday are acceptable hashtags. Because I said so).

Everything I've just described sounds a bit ridiculous, I know. And while I may not be quite as bad as the hypothetical me that I've portrayed, I'm definitely guilty of a version of this. And to be fair, I don't mean to do it. The words just kind of jump out of my mouth, like I have no control over it. I go to move, the muscles are sore because I'm super bad-ass and smash weights like a pro, the sore muscles tell my brain that they're sore whilst impeding my movements, and the next thing you know, "fuck, I'm sore..." has escaped my ladylike mouth. It's basically science. Who am I to fuck with science?

Post #EMOTM & guess what, sore as fuck the next day...

The other day I was with Kyla and Tyra, two of my clutch #villagers and after probably the third soreness proclamation, both of the morons started chirping me about it. "Hey, do you think Serena's sore?" "Not too sure, maybe she trained legs yesterday." Well, guess what? I DID train legs, along with whatever other muscles are involved in squatting and push pressing and doing thrusters (no fucking way was I typing thrusting there...), and all of those things in copious amounts led to my legs being sore. And when I would go to move, my muscles would yell at me and call me mean names. And it just so happens that I'm a verbal person so when these things happen, words come out of my mouth. And those words often pertain to me being sore. So, yeah...I was sore and they got to hear about it. Repeatedly. And I don't even feel bad.

And if I want to think of it in a fashion that is solely designed to cater to my needs, I'll point out the fact that it's preferable for me to have become a Soreness Proclaimer than to be a Fatness Proclaimer or an Out-Of-Shape Proclaimer. I'd rather be bitching about how sore I am than be complaining about feeling super out of shape or about being fat. Granted, those complaints happen from time to time, but nowhere near as often as my Soreness Proclamations, and they come from a much less happy place. Being a Soreness Proclaimer, at least for me, has a hint of pride attached to it, knowing that I've done something that has genuinely impacted my body and because I'm 7 years old on the inside and want to play show-and-tell, I talk about it. It's a new kind of pride and I suppose there's novelty in anything shiny and new. And I think we all crave recognition and praise, in all shapes and sizes, and sometimes when we've worked really hard in the gym, we just want to make sure someone else knows about it.

So, yeah. My name is Serena & I'm a Soreness Proclaimer. And before you pass judgment, odds are pretty fucking good that you're one, too, if you're reading this blog, so shut it.

Adductors & The Journey

So I've been having a pretty bad run when it comes to productive and healthy habits, at least with regard to my fitness and diet. I'm not going to get into that, because I haven't written for a bit and I'd rather jump back in with a post that is happy and positive. Because when I start talking about what a gym-loser I've been for the past 2 weeks, it will be the opposite of happy and positive.

So. Happy and positive...

Monday was a day that went better than anticipated and I wanted to say thank you to my friend for that. I was feeling super lazy, impressively unmotivated, and it was proving to be a roadblock, as I had committed to myself that I was going to hit the gym. In spite of that commitment, it wasn't looking promising. I've been struggling a lot with my program and being consistent, and unfortunately, making a commitment to myself is rarely helpful. For me, I do much better when I'm accountable to someone else. I hate the notion of disappointing someone I care about, especially if they have shown that they care about me and my well-being, and it's an amazing motivator, at least for me. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm supposed to be doing it for myself but I'd rather be honest about what truly pushes me and get the results, even if it's not how it's "supposed to be."

With that established, as much as I was supposed to be ready to sweat for my own benefit, it didn't seem like it was going to happen. Fortunately, my oh-so-fit-and-gorgeous-and-strong-friend Nikki sent me a quick Thanksgiving text, checking if Kyla was hosting a little holiday boot camp action. And Kyla was. And Nikki wanted to go. And if Kyla and Nikki were BOTH going to be there, working and working out, it seemed like I should probably be there, too. No one wants to be the lazy third musketeer! Well, actually, I'd be pretty down to be the lazy musketeer but more so in a secretive way, with no one knowing. And since they'd both know if I wasn't there, I kind of had to go.

And so I went. And had my ass kicked. I love a good barbell but holy shit, it's easy to forget how much plyo and body weight can fuck you up! In a good way, of course. My adductors were sore as fuck the next day. Adductors, for the record, are pretty much the only muscle that I actually know the proper name for, so I like when I have real reason to mention it...

Boot Camp with Kyla! And a big Russian hat...

I'd like to say that a moment of true inner strength got me there, that I wanted to prioritize myself. But that would be bullshit. I didn't want my friend to think I was lazy. Not exactly Hallmark material. But guess what, it got me where I needed to be. Even better, working out next to Nikki pushed me even harder, knowing that she works super hard and that if nothing else, Kyla and the class deserved the respect that legit sweat is indicative of. So I got sweaty, tried not to let Nikki beat me TOO much, and had a better start to my week than I had anticipated.

I guess I feel like sometimes it's more about getting there, as opposed to how you get there. Don't get me wrong, the journey can be pretty important, too, but sometimes, no one gives a shit about the journey.

That Time I Was A Little Bitch...

If I recall, one of my posts talks about hitting that moment where you want to quit and then pushing past it. This touches on a similar notion but ends a little differently.

This time the story ends with me being a bit of a little bitch...

So, after enjoying some food-filled, booze-laden fun last week, I've been trying to hit the gym hard and eat healthy. The reason I don't say eat "healthier," as opposed to "healthy," is because eating Doritos for 3 meals a day would likely be "healthier" than what I was throwing back in Vancouver. So after returning home, I knew I needed to revisit my general lifestyle habits and try to counteract any actions that had potentially fattened me up in 4 short days.

The food side of thing wasn't too bad, because a lot of healthy food tastes really good. Funny how that works, but it's true. I enjoy most of the meals that also happen to be conducive to my goals, and as such, getting back on track, as opposed to eating truffle cream spaghetti and chocolate mousse (not even scratching the surface, you have no idea...), isn't too difficult. Chicken tastes good. Halibut tastes good. Tomatoes taste good...even when they're not served with bocconcini. So the food side of things is alright.

The gym, however? Welcome to my personal world of pain...

One day this week, I literally found myself saying out loud, "Don't be such a little bitch, finish it." I'd like everyone to take a moment and picture me, sweaty at the gym, barbell overhead, actually speaking out loud to myself about not being a "little bitch." Does it get better? And by better, I mean worse? Absolutely. The next phrase that I deemed appropriate to share with myself was, "quit acting like such a pussy and finish this." I'm a 30 year-old woman, telling herself not to act like a pussy. Actually? And guess what? I finished. Some. Most. Almost all. Okay, all, I finished it all, but it was pathetic. Or it felt pathetic, anyway. Now, that being said, I often find that after having a lacklustre workout, your next session feels great. You're motivated by having pushed through the tough parts, and revitalized for the new endeavour!

Not so much...

Next day, I slacked off and didn't train at all. Day after that? Such a struggle. Start to finish, I felt like I had regressed a year in my skill and strength, and would be lucky to walk out of the gym alive. And it's funny that I felt so bad about my workout, because I actually PR'd my bench press, which is pretty fun, but even with that, everything felt like such a battle. Movements were awkward and laboured. I was out of breath, yet not breaking my usual sweat. You know, the type that rivals a geyser - that kind of sweating is my specialty. Super enjoyable with my giant boobs, too. Everyone loves sweaty, giant boobs. Slash no one does. But whatever. No giant, sweaty boobs for this dumb ass, since I couldn't get myself to sweat if I tried. And I did try. It's just that trying looked like a limbless giraffe that had suffered a stroke. Whilst trying to smash weights. Because that's clearly what giraffes are into. Giraffes love to lift. They're all about #gains, right? (As if, a real giraffe would kick your head in for discussing #gains. I wish I was a giraffe so that I could kick people who say #gains. Except for when I say it. It's cute when I say it.) Okay, maybe a little giraffe overkill but whatever. I wasn't sweating, I could barely move my body in a fashion that resembled training, and I just felt like shit. And it sucked because it wasn't a one-off, I'd been in disaster mode for a few days.

The mouth is smiling but the eyes are crying, "Help! I'm being a total pansy ass!"

Turns out telling myself not to be a little bitch hadn't worked. I was, in fact, being a little bitch.

Keeping all of this in mind, I have taken measures to throw myself back into the game. I've got a session scheduled with Zeus for tomorrow morning, and he'll remind me what it feels like to sweat for real. And I know I'll care about impressing him and so being a pussy simply won't be an option. And I'm confident that after a week of struggling to push past this plateau, I'll be ready to go. Shit, I'll likely Instagram a bunch of gym pics, maybe hashtag #fitfam or #gymlife, perhaps a little gym mirror selfie? If you're lucky...

The reality is that I hate feeling like such a failure in the gym, and I hate that it lasted more than one day. However, I'm going to try to move away from dwelling on negative bullshit, and say that I'm glad I've employed mechanisms that will hold me accountable and force me to push past the lull. And it'll work. That's why I have my #fitnessvillage - they get me back on track when I struggle. Even when my struggles are taking a bit longer than planned to be over.

And yes, I understand that the way I felt was likely a bit over the top but the truth is, that sticking with these lifestyle changes sometimes requires being a bit harsh. I've mentioned the importance of self-love and forgiveness, and I stand by that, but some days self-love includes a little tough love, and what I need right now to refocus is to be firm and call myself out a bit. I can give myself a pat on the back this weekend... Slash pats on the back are for pussies.

So tomorrow I plan on getting my ass handed to me, in the best possible way. And I can assure you that tomorrow morning will be the time I ran the barbell's show (pretending we can talk about a barbell as if it's a human), not the time I was a little bitch. I mean, because that was the other time. You know, the time I just talked about? Right. I'll stop now...

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.