2016 Resolve

I wish I didn't feel the need to justify the life I lead.
Anyone else sometimes feel like they're having to give reasons why they've made their choices?

I don't agree with every choice my loved ones make.
That's perfectly fine.  Normal, even.
But it's not my life to live, so unless I'm being asked for input, then I'll just shut my trap.
Also, why should it matter what I think?  And therefore, what is it any of my business to comment?

It's hard to find value in a piece of unsolicited advice, given by someone who has never walked in my shoes.
That being said, I'm a very emotional person and I tend to carry around all advice like baggage.
I'm tired and sore from this historical practice, and I'd like to unload a little bit.
Or a lot.

I spend a lot of time in the gym, and in my running shoes.  Sometimes the kids are with me, and I really love that because I think it's so great for them to see their Mom, and sometimes a bunch of other Moms, kicking serious ass, and taking control of their health.  I also try to take them running with me, because not only is it a bit of extra resistance for me, but the fresh air tires them out, and again, they're seeing a fabulous example of how to make fitness a normal daily activity.

But sometimes I leave them with a babysitter, or my husband.
I sometimes pay for childcare for an hour or so to myself.
How is that any different from paying to get your haircut?  Or nails done?  Or go shopping?

Spending time on my health and body is not about vanity.
I'm aware that it may seem that way to someone on the out looking in, but it has little to do with how my clothes fit and loads to do with how my mind feels, and how that affects my day to day life.

It can be especially hard to get in a workout after a few days or weeks of lousy sleeps, or nights where we end up with five in the bed, often before midnight, but it's on these days, that for my personal calm and serenity, I must make the time, even for a 30 minute run, to be alone.

What I'm tired of, is feeling like I have to justify this time.
No one's demanding that I prove to them, the reasons I spend so much time on my fitness, but I'm old and wise enough to know that many judgments are made about my lifestyle.

I do not judge any other parents' choices.
I don't.

You do whatever the hell it is you need to do to survive the years where your children are dependent on you.
And then after that, how about just continue to do you.

I will not judge your life.
Sometimes we need to vent about our choices, and that's OK, but don't dwell.
If you find you're complaining about the same thing over and over again, maybe change it.

But I ain't gonna be the one to suggest that.
I'm an extreme introvert, and I truly believe that it's none of my business, because, to be honest, I hardly have the energy to deal with my own business.

Still not going to judge, though.
Being a parent is hard.
Making choices for your family.  Hard.
Hard in and of itself, that we don't also need to feel as though we should justify those choices to someone who hasn't a clue what it's like.

My 2016 resolution is to worry about me, and not about what others think of me.
For me, this will be very challenging, but I'm hoping, also freeing.

Goodbye, For Now.

We are who we are because they were who they were.

These were the opening remarks of the eulogy at the funeral I attended last weekend for a Great Uncle of mine.

He was my Grandpa’s brother and they were very much alike. 

I spent many summers at Uncle Donny and Aunt Marge’s cabin at Candle Lake.

They had a ton of grandkids, who also spent time there, and so, naturally I was drawn to their place to hang out with kids.

But I also spent time with them, because they’re easy to be around.

I remember the huge, solid wood bunk beds Uncle Donny had built in the rooms at the lake.  They were big enough to hold all of us kids, and to this day, it’s a fond lake memory of mine.

I also remember a few years ago, when many of us Cameron’s got together to do the Banff to Jasper Relay in memory of Jason Rennick.  Another Cameron gone too soon.

Christina was running the very first leg of the North side of the course.

Blake and I and the kids had gone to the restaurant for breakfast, which was reasonably priced around $18 for eggs and toast, to find Donny and Marge having breakfast themselves.

They had come, to this little hotel, quite literally in the middle of nowhere, to be there for their granddaughter to run.

Amazing.

I didn’t think much of it then, because if you know any of the Cameron brothers and sisters, this is just simply the kind of thing they do, without even thinking about it.

When I was much younger, I remember getting together for a reunion, or a holiday or just to go for a picnic or some ice fishing, and there were always people there.

Cameron’s.

I truly believe that I am part of one of the greatest family’s.

We are a tight bunch, and unfortunately, the glue that has always held us together is aging, and leaving, and it will be up to my generation to continue to hold us together.

Lives get busy and people have schedules, but I think that it’s incredibly important that my children and their children, grow up knowing that the family bond is a gift, but it’s earned and not to be taken for granted.

Our family has a bountiful, beautiful love for one another and it’s because we appreciate and respect one another, that we’re such a great bunch.

We choose to spend time together, and when we do, it’s memorable!

I sometimes feel like I’m lost in the craziness of parenting, and I forget that my goal, our goal, is to raise good, kind, honest people.

That’s it.  The rest is just minor.

But I want them to choose their family, if there is a choice.  By showing them my extended family, and Blake’s, I hope they know how wonderful it can be that your favorite people are also your family.  I hope I’m instilling that in them.

Uncle Donny, it was a great pleasure to have ever known you, and the fact that part of you is part of me, and also my children, gives me great hope that I will someday be as loved and cherished as you are.

You were a great man, and your children and grandchildren are a testament to how wonderful you were.  Gone too soon, but never forgotten.

Squeeze Your Babies

I complain about my kids.
I bitch about them all the time.

I talk about how they're exhausting, or behaving poorly, or won't eat anything that isn't processed.
I sometimes talk about them as if I might be better off without them.
I daydream from time to time about how easy and carefree the days were when they weren't around.

The truth is, though, that I would be nothing without them.
I would be an entirely different person and my heart would ache in a desperate way, for them.

For every beautiful, memory making moment, there is one or five or one hundred moments of exhaustion, and desperation and sometimes crying or shouting.

Just today we had to leave Costco, in a hurry because Ellie was screaming that she wanted a pretty dress.
SCREAMING.
Over.  And over.  And over.
(Apologies if you were there today.  Thankfully, Costco is never busy.  Except it is, and we elicited a LOT of stares.  So, I'm sorry.  I'm not really sorry though.  Sh*t happens.)

And although in those times of stress and fried nerves, when I'm trying to just get us all to bedtime in one piece, I'm grateful.

I have three, gorgeous, healthy kids.
Three.
THREE?!?!

Three little people, that the universe decided should live at my house.
And they make me happy.
Shouldn't I make me happy?

But I did, don't you see?
We created these creatures who are growing up to be profound individuals, and they make me feel like I have a fierce and intense purpose.

When I hear or read about families who are struggling to have babies, or where heinous things have happened to little kids, my entire being feels raw, and I can feel my heart, ache.

And I want to immediately hug my littles.
I want to squeeze them and kiss them and tell them I love them, because that same universe doesn't guarantee they will be here tomorrow.

In all the moments where I think my kids are awful, misbehaving tyrants, I am still eternally blessed to have them.

This weekend, my Dad and I went to Disneyland to run the Avengers Infinity Gauntlet Challenge.
My Mom came to cheer for us.  She's almost always there!
(Best parents ever.  I don't even need to defend the title.  They just, are!)
We had a very quick but adventure packed trip.

I went to Disneyland and didn't bring my kids.
It was peaceful, and relaxing and we did whatever we pleased at whatever pace we chose.

But I missed my kiddos like crazy.
I started to think about them during the race.
My chest got tight and I had to focus very hard on not breaking into an ugly, sobbing bawl-fest, where, I'm certain, hyperventilation would have occurred.

I do almost everything for them.  With them in mind.
I do loads of things just for me, but I can't go a day without thinking about them, and what I can do for them.

As I sit here, I type with one hand because my boy wanted some lap time.
I always have time for that.
(I had to take a break to play with the little trouble maker.  He demands undivided attention!)

I'm planning to write about our Coast to Coast challenge because it truly was a once in a lifetime adventure and we honestly do make some fantastic memories, but after being away from the herd for a few days, I was missing them so very much and couldn't wait to get home to smother them with smooches and bear hugs.

Even when they're pitching a friggin' fit in Costco!

Inner Chubby Girl

She's there.
She's there all the time.
Sometimes her voice is loud, and dominating.
And I give in.
Other times the voice is a quiet whisper in the background.
But it is always there.
Every.  Damn.  Day.

I don't know what it's like to be a small person.
I've never, ever in my life, aside from infancy, (and even then I'm not too sure!) been able to eat whatever I like and not worry about the consequences.
Ever.

That's OK.
I'm not complaining.
It is my own path, and it's a pretty beautiful one to be on.
However, I just don't know what it's like.
Does everyone have this voice?  Has it always been there?

I've carried around extra pounds forever.
Still do.
Just a whole bunch less now.

But, my inner, chubby girl voice is always, always inside my head.

She's the one who says, "g'head, eat that.  It's OK."
"You haven't had a lot of sleep, and you're stressed and that spoonful of peanut butter/handful of chocolate chips/mini candy bar, or three, isn't THAT big of a deal."

I don't think she'll every go away.

"Y'know what?  How 'bout just f*ck it today.
Just be fat today, and start again tomorrow.
Although you know I don't care about that, so really I'll just encourage you to do the same tomorrow, soooooooooo...
what was the point of all your hard work anyways?"

It doesn't get easier.
You just get better.

You get better.  Stronger.

You make the choices, every day, every moment, to get you to your goals.

And when you reach your final goal, that chubby broad will still be saying shit like, "YAHOO!  We've arrived!  Bring on the cheeseburgers and poutine!  And then we'll finish it off with cheesecake and donuts!  WOOHOO!"
That b*tch never goes away.

I'm comfortable knowing that the voice is here to stay.
But It makes me uncomfortable to live in constant fear for what feels like the inevitability of a future failure.  Setback.
Gain.

That the voice will prevail one day, and then again the next day, and for a few weeks, or months or years, and I'll find myself at a weight that starts with 2 again.

She can be so convincing.  Familiar, and comfortable.
She is me, after all.

The weight loss struggle has little to do with calories in vs. calories out.
And everything to do with battling inner beasts, and conquering them, day after day after day...

Choices. Every. Day. Making Choices.

I should be putting laundry away.
Or finishing dishes from lunch.
Or starting another load of laundry, since obviously the second you put clothes away there will be another full hamper to do.
Obvi.
Really, and truly, I should be getting in the shower.

I tend to stay in my sweaty gym clothes waaaaaaaaay too long.
Ask Audrey.

Last night, I had just returned from a run, and was carrying her down to the girls' bed.
"Mom, you're warm.  And sticky.  And, kinda smelly."
Thanks, kid.
Your breath smells pretty special too.

We all tend to convene in our bed.
Thank heaven for king sized beds because many mornings there are five of us in there, and we are all still friends.
Mostly.

There are only two TVs in our house, and one of them happens to be in our room, so naturally, the kids like to spend some time up there watching cartoons.

There will soon come a day when they're not going to want to spend much time with us, and would never dream to hang out in their parents' bed.
So for now, like this morning, while they really love Mom & Dad's room, I'll take it.


School day mornings are very hectic.
Get everyone out of bed around 7.
Feed three little people.  One will decide that there's nothing they'd like for breakfast of the five  two options I've given them.
Get weather appropriate clothing onto three children.
Get oldest child's lunch and snack packed and books packed for school, and probably sign something for the teacher.
Get oldest on the bus.
Pack two littles into car, with water and snacks and head to the gym and/or to preschool.
And all before 815.
My husband has to get up an hour earlier.
But he has to get only himself ready and to work.
I would trade him a million times over, for that one hour less of sleep!

I've been shuttling the littles with me to the gym quite a bit lately, which is nice for me because then there's no pressure about getting back home to pick someone up.
I think it's good for them too, to see their Mom lifting heavy things and working out like mad.

I know it's having impact on them, when I catch my middle gal doing a burpee while she's watching some weirdo show on youTube.
Or grinders, which, of course, she makes look like a breeze.

I want to be able to show them that Mom's can have muscle.
Mom's can have a lot of muscle.
Mom's can be not so muscle-y, too, but my goal is to have muscles.

Which means less donuts.
And I'm getting much better at this, but it's so hard to give up those delicious lil' nuggets!

I was very sick for a couple of weeks and didn't eat anything of substance.
I lost 5 pounds, which promptly found their way back when I started eating again.

I also noticed a definitive lack of strength at the gym, and endurance while running.
I have worked for months, years, I might even say, to gain strength and muscle mass, and it felt like in just two weeks, I lost so much.
I will work even harder to regain what left so quickly, but it was depressing to notice the regression.

I want to have muscle not because of how it looks, (although I think it does look awesome!), but because when I have more muscle, I can eat more.

F'reals.

Most of my motivation, in life, comes from food.
I love to eat.
Always, have, obviously!

Now, though, I'm concerned with how my body performs, which means making wise choices, most of the time.
That being said, having muscle allows me to eat more, and sometimes to make less healthy choices.
Sometimes.

There comes a time, during every, single long run, when I start to talk about food, if I'm with other runners.
If I'm alone, my thoughts are almost entirely consumed (no pun intended!) by food.

Many of the races I choose to do, have fantastic food at the finish line.

I've always loved to eat.
And now I can say that without it feeling like a dirty word.

I'm at a place where I'm comfortable with the consequences of the lousy choices, and I really hate how I feel, so I choose to eat well, because I feel, well.

So, my goal is to have more muscle.
So I can lift like a bad a**, have a nice one, and eat more!
Now, I think it's time for me to make a snack...
And then I definitely have to shower.
But, food first.

Them Feels

What's odd about having a houseful of kids at different ages, yet all, still, quite small, is that a milestone for one is very different from another.

My son has started to find words.
Learning to talk has been one of my favorite things about having kids, as I personally find it's when their true personalities start to sneak out.
Sure, it's fairly evident that he's already a comedian and serious flirt, but now that he's just starting to discover words, I'm sure the scope of his humor and charm will come to fruition.
He's loud, too.  When I bring him to the gym with me, there's almost always a time that he's joyfully shouting and reaches his arms out, which coincidentally turns out to be the time I need a little push.

Ellie has started preschool and although she's been talking for a few years, the sentences just keep getting longer, and funnier.
She is our first "girly girl".
Whatever that may mean.
To us, it means she's the first kid at our house to be interested in hair, fingernails, dresses and anything pink.
She adores the word, "wonderful!", which is a strangely regal word, so I'm not sure if she's destined to actually live in a castle one day, or perhaps just drink a lot of tea.
If only her hair would grow.  She starts ballet on Friday and I've instructions for a classic bun, to be worn to each class.
Her hair won't go into a ponytail.  On the top of her head.  Or barrettes.
We'll have to manage with a nice headband, maybe.

Now, for the reason behind this post.
My oldest gal has been in Grade one for two weeks.
I'm not the most prepared Mom out there, but I always, always have a back up plan.
My backup plan was to put her into another year of kindergarten this year.
She isn't five until December, so it wasn't unreasonable.
But she doesn't need another year.

Tonight, as I read books to her and Ellie, I didn't actually read at all.
I lay there, beside Audrey, as she read, and silently let tears roll down my cheek.
Even right now, as I think about my big kid, reading, I get choked up.

Of all the milestones, this one is blowing my freakin' mind.
Crawling, walking, talking.
Huge, important milestones, and also, rather essential to living.
But this, this whole reading business.
Man.
That's about all I can say about that.

I lay there, with wet cheeks, watching her still chubby little hands hold the book, sounding out the tough words and easily moving through the sight words, or simpler ones, mispronouncing night as niket, and I was in awe.

She is an incredible little person, and on the days, aw, who am I kidding, everyday, when I think I'm doing nothing right, and I'm causing them to someday have nothing but ticks and bad memories, I lay between my kids, who surely have been tyrants all day long, and think that I have the most blessed life on earth.
One of them is reading, by herself, to me and her sister, who stops, after the book is read, and tells her big sister that she loves her before slinging her arm across her, and then they both start excitedly telling me two different stories, at the same time, not caring that no words can be deciphered in all the loud, jumbled conversations.

Man.
That's about all I can say about that.

YOLO

Life is short, 'ya dig it?
So eat the ice cream.
OK, so maybe some frozen yogurt.
Or perhaps just a little plain yogurt with some fruit, y'know, because it's healthier.

Or maybe just have the fruit.

Life is short.
Eat fruit...
...does not have the same ring as the ice cream thing, amiright?!?!

Truth be told, everything is bad for you.
Even too much water can be bad - sometimes fatal!

I sure hope you wash your hair with baking soda because the chemical shit-storm in shampoo is enough to make you catch the cancer!
Watch TV?  Shame on you!  You probably shouldn't even own a television!
And heaven knows that if you're cleaning your house with MrClean, or anything other than vinegar and water, you're basically poisoning your family.
Do you cook in non-stick frying pans?  Y'know how bad teflon is, don't you?
Consume much sugar/fat/salt/kale?  Well the dia-beetus/heart disease/high blood pressure/pesticides are going to kill you one day.
Squats?  Running?  Kiss your knees goodbye.

EVERYTHING is bad for you.
But, truly, nothing is - as long as you live reasonably and use moderation.
As in, don't run 100+km weeks, for months on end.
Don't eat ice cream everyday.
(I use regular shampoo and cleaning products, off the record...because I love the smell of pinesol!  To the detriment of my own family, of course, but we all make our choices, right?)

It's simple, really, but in our seemingly mass-hysteria-media-powered world, when one study comes out concluding that fat makes you fat, we all ditch our butter for fat-free snackwell's.

Just.  Eat.  Real.  Food.
Most of the time.

Just do a bit more exercise.
A lot more often.

We don't have to get all crazy and pitch every processed food item out of our cupboards.
I still like to eat a twinkie once in awhile! I mean,  I could totally relate to the cowboy in Zombieland, lookin' for the snowballs!  Those food-impersonating baked goods are all sorts of waxy goodness!

We don't have to enroll in a five day a week fitness class, where yesterday, and for the last five years, we haven't done much more than channel surfing.
The eating part of losing weight is sooooooo much more important than the exercise, so once you've got a few healthy food habits under your belt, add a little bit of exercise - and big 'ol gold star if it's something you actually like to do!

Losing weight is the hardest thing in the world, I ain't gonna lie.
But if you take it slow and practice patience, making small, manageable changes before adding new ones, then the weight will come off.
It will.

So, basically, everything is bad for you.
Krispy Kreme sums this up much better than I ever could, so here's their brilliant marketing campaign about eating donuts doughnuts.
But only occasionally.

Self Pride

I am so very proud of my own accomplishments.

It has taken me a very, very long time to be able to pat myself on the back.

Being on the receiving side of a complimentary statement has been difficult for me, and I find myself trying very hard to say, thank you, and not offer up some self-deprecating side note as to how or why I got here.

And I had to dig deep, to figure out, that I'm doing this for me, above all.

I am proud of myself.
I have self pride.
And I don't need anyone's approval, or disapproval, for that matter, because I have to lead my life.
I have to do, me.
But I feel guilt.
Because I'm supposed to put my family first.

Why can't we be selfish?

There is a lot of judgment when one puts themselves first.

My health, now and long term, is incredibly important to me.

If I don't look after myself now, how can I expect this body to hold out for the long haul?

I guess the answer is, I can't.
I can't expect this body to endure years of neglect, and in my later life, rely on it to perform, and be healthy enough for me to enjoy life, and my adult children, and hopefully, grandchildren!

So, I'm doing the upkeep and maintenance now, with the expectation that my body will be healthy, or at least healthier, when I am aging.

And to do so, I must sometimes be selfish.

I live my life for me, but in doing so, I'm a healthier Mom and wife.
My body can keep up with my kids.
I can play on the park with them.
I can pick them up, and hold them for long lengths of time, and carry them, when they are tired.
My mind is balanced because I exercise, which makes me a happier wife, too!
Ask my husband, who knows when to kick my rear out the door for a run when I'm turning into a dark and dangerous rain cloud!

I'm aware that lots of women do not choose the path that I've chosen, and that's just fine!
I cannot offer insight into anyone's life but my own, and we are all doing the best we can, with what we have, but in my own experience, trying to be healthy has been most beneficial to myself, but also to my family, and I can only hope that my good habits will rub off on my littles!

Having goals is one of the habits I hope they pick up, but knowing that not meeting their goals isn't failure, is a life lesson I hope they take away, too.

I make goals continuously.
Once one has been met, I'm typically already moving onto a new one.

I registered for the Edmonton marathon earlier this year.
I realized that training for the full marathon was going to monopolize many family holidays over the summer, and decided that they'd sacrificed enough already while I had trained for the Goofy race, so I dropped into the half marathon.

In July, while we were on holidays, I discovered a bump on my heel.
It was uncomfortable only after I'd been running for an hour or so, and I ignored the pain.

I had a feeling, even before I started physio, (for my achilles tendinopathy as it turns out), that I wouldn't be running any half marathon this summer.
And yesterday, as I poured over everyone's race photos, and stories, I was really, really bummed.

I had hoped to run a sub 2 hour half marathon yesterday, and instead of running anyways, and pushing myself beyond my limits, and risking injury, I opted to spend the morning at the Cameron family Olympics with my loved ones.

My younger self would have run in spite of the pain.
A less mature version of me, wouldn't have been able to stand the disappointment of not running.
But this new me, knows that a relatively minor injury can become a much bigger problem in around 2 hours 10 minutes, or the time I would have likely clocked yesterday, worse for the wear and not even close to meeting my goal.

I've got a half marathon in California in November, that I'll be running in costume and alongside my Dad, again, and I'll be healed and in excellent form for that.

After that, I'm planning to shift my focus onto lifting heavier weights and doing less steady state cardio, so I'm not literally, running my ass off!
This will be a whole new ball game for me, but I'm excited to see what my body can do, while I'm busy looking after me!

80:20

Every week, I'm given another chance to make my percentages work in my favor.

Every week, for me, is usually Monday(ish), and I have 100%.
I start with 100%.
Every day, every moment, every choice, starts with 100%.
From there, I can gauge how "on" I've been.
I've never, ever been 100% "on", 100% of the time, but when I am most successful, I am around 85-90% "on", on average, for the week.

Some weeks, when there are birthdays, and get-togethers and I just don't friggin' feel like making wise choices, I may have a 40% week.

As long as I'm comfortable with the consequences of a 40% week, (read:gaining) then it's an OK choice for me to make.
Most of the time, I'm not okay with throwing away my hard work, so I strive for at least 60%.

And for me, 60% is maintenance.

To be honest, I usually think of every day as 100%.
I find it easier to split my day up into 80, or 85 or 90%, but some days are super duper great days and can make up for the not-so-great days.

Losing weight is hard.
It's hard, because you have to be incredibly patient, and diligent and committed.

That 40% week?  The one that likely had some extra hormones involved?
It might see several pounds of gain on the scale.

But I'm sure you've heard it before, and I'll say it here again.

THE SCALE IS A LYING BITCH.

Usually when you haven't made excellent choices, there was some fat and salt involved.
Salt = Bloat.

No one can possibly gain 7 pounds in a week, unless they're have a really, really good time.
Or pregnant.
Or both.

So the point is, be patient.
It takes hard work, and discipline and a long damn time.

But it WILL happen.
You get out what you put in.
Half time work, will produce half time results.

Which means it might take a little longer, but that's juuuuuuuuuust fine, because the results are for life.
Gaining didn't happen overnight, and neither will losing.

Make the percentages count.

Bikini Bods

I wore a bikini.
In public.
Where there were loooooots of people.

Nobody pointed and snickered.

Note to self - during anything UFC in Vegas, the Hotel
Gym will be crowded with posers...

No one gawked, or gave judge-y eyes.
Nobody laughed out loud or made fun of me.

The world kept turning, and nobody really noticed.

It was, most definitely, a milestone day for me.

I wore a different one the next day, and it was just, simply, easier to do.
And, I imagine, I will give fewer and fewer eff's, the more I wear them.

I should mention, that I was wearing these tiny garments while I sat by the pool at the Venetian Hotel in Las Vegas.
I spent two whole days there, while my Mom was at a nerd gathering teacher convention, doing nothing but WHATEVERTHEHELLIWANTEDTO!

It.  Was.  Bliss.

I slept in!  Til 8!  It was nothing short of merciful, as I haven't slept through the night, and then also until 8 in more than 5 years.
Both mornings I went to the gym, and didn't hurry.
The treadmill was a touch screen!  It also had a scale so I couldn't lie about my weight.
I may have muttered, "you don't know me, bitch!", at the treadmill when this happened...

Classic Hot Dog Leg Pose.
I wasn't ready to post a bikini selfie...

I spent as much friggin' time as I wanted in the shower, blowing my hair dry - all the way, and straightening it.  I put on make up - even eyeliner!  Straight!  Because I was rested enough to not have shaky hands!  I put lotion on (I haven't done that since I was dating Blake!  Yikes!), and then donned my bikini to go lay by the pool and read.

BA-LISS, I tell you!

What I did notice by the pool, was that there were a lot of skinny gals wearing bikinis.

I did not say that these girls were fit.
There is a term of endearment for these girls, but I'm not going to use it.

They were skinny.

There were also loads of not so skinny gals wearing bikinis.
And everything in between.

Zarkana - it was Cirque du LSD.
Always exceptional, though.

What did I take away from this first-time experience?

Wear the damn bikini, and know that everybody looks just friggin' fine!

Don't judge, because you are not being judged.
And even if you are, behind those big, ugly, bitchy sunglasses, WHO CARES!
You bought a super cute bikini, so wear the damn thing! 
And not just in your backyard!
Trust me when I say, you look just fine!
Body confidence is so fetch right now!

Now, I'll tell you a little  story that will make wearing a bikini seem like its no big deal.
(It isn't, by the way.)

On our last, beautiful, stress-free evening in Vegas, my Mom and I walked the strip.  I wore a nice, cool dress, as did many other ladies.
We were crossing between hotels and noticed a couple of cabs waiting to turn right, except they could turn, and just weren't...
Then, right before it happened, I heard a girl say,
"they have no choice!"...
And I walked over a huge grate blowing air...
And my dress flew up over my head...
And I got a woohoo.
And it wasn't embarassing at all.
Because I had on really cute ginch.
And I look just friggin' fine.

Every Mom needs to take a trip like this.
It absolutely makes you appreciate your kids, and it's almost like taking a second vacation because you're so excited to see them after being gone for a short time!

Taking selfies is NOT my forte!

I felt like I had a new freshness about me, and for at least three minutes after I first saw them, the kids were super cool and didn't fight or scream or whine.

And then I remembered that I only kinda' missed them for the brief two and half days I was gone.

Gainzz

There is a rocking chair in our house that is a fundamental piece of furniture.
It has gently rocked three children to sleep, for countless hours.
It also reclines, which means it has tracked many hours of forgotten sleep, as well.
It was a wedding gift, from my parents, when we learned, just one day before jetting off to a tropical place to get married, that we would be parents 9 months later.
The big, comfy brown chair is where I grew a lot of love for my children.
Where, after a day that they have tested my patience to it's limits, I can rock them into a peaceful, dreamy state, and then stare at their beautiful, innocent faces.

As I snuggled my last baby into slumber tonight, I reflected on the fact that for the first time, I am able to cross my legs as we rocked together.
A very simple thing, for most, I'm sure, but I do not take these things for granted any more.

I have lost many pounds in the past year, but I have gained too many things to even begin to count.

Not taking for granted the fact that my legs can cross, and stay crossed, comfortably, is one of them.

Being a confident Mom, is another.

Someone has a camera, and would like to take our picture?  Sure!  Go ahead!  I'm not even worried about how I'll look, because I know I'll look just fine, and won't be looking for the imperfections and shortcomings of my body.

Walking up stairs and not being winded.

Choosing whatever I want out of my closet, and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it's going to fit, and not emphasize something I'm ashamed of.

Having my children come to gym classes with me, and be inspired, encouraged to be fit.
Priceless gain.

When you lose weight, there is no recipe, or instruction that says, you will feel x once you lose y amount of weight.

It's impossible to know exactly how you'll feel.
It's even more daunting, when you've never actually been at y weight.

I'm training for my third marathon (crazy?!  Right?!), and I'm a bit behind on my training.  I've mapped out the weeks until the race, and I won't get my two 32km runs in, but I'll get one in.

I ain't even worried about it.

I'm so confident in my body's ability, that I know I'm going to PR this race.

With the least amount of training I've ever done, but with the most fit body I've ever lived in, I'm going to make this race my bee-otch.

In all the poundage lost, I never dreamed of what I would gain.

Running Momma's

Today had loads of good moments.

Of course there were plenty of OHGODIHATEMYLIFEWHYCANTSOMEONETAKETHESEWRETCHEDCHILDRENAWAY moments too, but many more than that, were the mmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmm moments.

I wanted to bottle up one of those times.

D'you ever want to be able to just stay in one particular minute for a lifetime?

The minute where my 5 year old is quietly, and ever so patiently painting a dinosaur after she'd cleaned her room and also the toys up in the living room, my three year old is twirling around, spilling sparkles off her Cinderella dress while listening to Shut Up & Dance With Me, and the boy is giving me smiley, humming, goobery smooches through the gate.

I'll write about it, in the hopes that one day, I can look back and reminisce about these simple times.

I was thinking, though, about how quickly we can go from, "Yay!  You peed/pooped/sat on the potty!", to "Seriously?!?!  Does anyone flush the toilet in this joint?!?!"

The milestones are fleeting, and yet sometimes I feel like they'll never be able to dress themselves, or clean up their plates, or brush their own teeth and hair.
The biggest kid is only just baaaaaaaaaaarely fitting into my lap anymore, and so the proof is there, that they won't always be small and cuddly and want to hold my hand.

But alas, in those lovely, fleeting reminders of their sweet, dependent littleness, I'm almost simultaneously snapped back into reality because someone is crying and/or screaming and there's also likely a diaper to change and watermelon to wipe up off the floor.

*sigh*

And then it's 8:06 and we have to hustle, (man, I say that word a LOT) get out the door to get the big kid on the bus so I can pack up the youngsters and get a run in.
Snacks, check.  Water, check.  Appropriate shoes for the requisite park stop, check.

Annnnnnnnnnd, quick check of the chariot tires so the 80lbs I'm pushing doesn't feel like 480lbs.
By 8:30, I'm in my happy place, with the kids along for the ride.
One of those good moments I was talking about?  Yea, it happened right there.  Sharing my passion with my kids.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmmm.

And as we started running, she said, "Mom, I go to a' gym wif you tomowoah?", and I couldn't be upset with her for the screeching she'd done first thing that morning.
That girl has my whole heart for my whole life, even though she's got pure caverns of hellfire for a personality.

On my run, I happened upon some of my oldest Mom friends.  I've known these gals since our biggest kids were only weeks old, so that's more than 5 years!  We've seen each other go through many more additions of children and other life struggles and we still want to hang out.
It's seriously amazing, because really, there's got to be 50 kids between the 9 or 10 of us, and if you multiply that by minutes in the day, it's a miracle anyone's got the time!

These ladies have started running.
It makes my eyes well up to think about it, because these Mommas are taking their health and fitness into their own hands.
They all have small children, and some have tiny babies too.
But they're meeting, and running and learning what their legs can do.
And I am so very, very proud of them.

I received a message from one of these smokin' hot girls, where she said that she'd seen me running and was inspired.
Yes.
Just, Yes.
All sorts of, YES!

If you see me running, and it makes you want to run, then, girl, get out there!
You CAN do it!
It's so very cliche, but if I can do it, you can too.
I come from a lineage of sumo wrestlers.
Not distance runners.
You can do this!  Seriously!
It's not going to be easy, or feel particularly good at first, but you will always feel fantastic afterwards.  Always.

She went on to say that the first run almost killed her, but that she was going to go again the next night.

That, my friends, is perseverance.
And it applies to your whole life.
Keep.  At.  It.

Whatever it is you're doing that you think is hard?
Well, it's probably going to feel harder before it gets easier.

But then, suddenly, it just is easier.
You're stronger.
You're faster.
And one day, you're a runner.
Still a Mom.
But now, also, an athlete.

Good for you, girls.
You are inspiring loads of others.
Myself included.

And if I ever see you out there, I will be  honking my horn and cheering you on as loud as I can!
Welcome to the club!

Keepin' It Real

Remember when you were younger and teeter totters weren't illegal in playgrounds and you'd stand with one foot on either side of the middle and balance?
Remember how much fun playgrounds used to be, in spite of their imminent danger?

Maintaining weight is a little bit like that.
It's pretty difficult to stay perfectly balanced, but like a teeter totter, you can easily keep either side from hitting the ground.

I've been maintaining for about a month now and quite enjoying it.
I'm not in my "ideal" body, but I'm taking a break and practicing for what will be my life when I do get there.

I've never really stopped to think about that.
The fact that there are a million plus ways to lose weight, and God only knows everyone knows exactly how to gain weight, but there's not a whole lotta love for the maintainers.

I was looking for a nutrition coach because I felt, and still feel, that when I'm ready to take this body further, a coach is what I will need.

I was going a million miles, thinking that any minute now my body would reveal all the hard work I'd put into it, and when I wasn't seeing the vision in the mirror I've been hoping for, I wasn't disappointed but rather motivated.

But I know myself and I knew that this was heading to a bad place.
A place where if I went all in, and failed, that I might end up with 50 or more extra pounds due to frustration.

I'm not going back to where I was, ever.
And since I'll be maintaining for the rest of my life, why not take a break and "practice"?

It's quite a lot easier to maintain than it is to lose, but it's difficult in ways I couldn't imagine.

I'm not stepping on my scale, which is a whole other level of freedom I never knew I needed.
I'm letting my (new) clothes tell the story.

I also know that I'm not more than 5 pounds from my original goal weight at any given time because I do weigh once a week.

I get to have a little more flexibility in my diet.
I get to eat a couple of extra "mini" cheats during the week.
Salted.  Caramel.  Timbits.
Uh huh.
They da' bomb.

I think I'm coming close to feeling ready to continue on and change my body a little bit more, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared of how I will look with 10 fewer pounds.
Will anything even change?  Or will my belly just get more wrinkly?

If you'd have shown me a picture of how I would look at this weight, 6 months ago, I'd probably have been ecstatic, but now that I'm here, I'm sad.

Are we ever truly happy with our bodies?
Am I allowed to be let down by my body?
Am I allowed also to know that it can do amazing things and appreciate it, but also be deflated a little at the hard work that has resulted in this?

I'm entitled to feel how I feel, and I'm being completely honest, although I know it can be frustrating to hear someone who's a little bit or a lot smaller than you, complain about how they look.

That used to be me.
But I am trying to be transparent and paint a picture of the weight loss struggle that isn't all rose-colored glasses.

I bought another bikini.
I think I've got four now.
I'm planning to wear the hell outta' them this summer because, well, shit, I've got three kids and I think I look pretty darn okay in a bikini at this stage of my life!

My arms are looking more muscular, and I'm quite sure if you look waaaaaaaaaaaay up at the top of my midsection you might see a glimmer of ab definition.

Last week, on the eve of my last baby's first birthday, I was at the gym and I grew a few tears in my eyes as our arses were being handed to us in killer workout, because I have never been so strong, fit, or capable in my life.
My last kid is turning one and here I am, keeping up with, and sometimes on par with,  some seriously phenomenal athletes.
Not even one year ago I had still been pregnant, and yet here I was, killing the workout with no modifications.  None.  Just doing it.  Like everyone else.

A very real concern for me, is what am I going to do?!?!
Do I want to gain muscle?  Run marathons? Triathlons? Crush PRs?

I'm not even sure, and it's overwhelming to try and decide what my goals will be, while letting others fall to the wayside, but it's also exciting to think that I can truly do anything I want to with this body.

Chasing 5:40

I ran my 12th half marathon a couple of weeks ago.
Not to toot my own horn, but I'm getting pretty good at them!

I haven't trained as much as I'd like, which was a choice, but I still felt good.

I still made a goal for myself, and I smashed it.

I'd decided that I wanted to do better than 2:15, and I was pretty sure I could do around 2:10.
I did a 2:08:47.

What was frustrating about that particular experience, was that my first 10k took me 1:05.
That means, the second 10k, and an additional 1.1km took me 1:03.
Negative splits, or, running faster in the second half, is a good thing, but this race wasn't evenly matched.

Boo.

I could have, and should have been closer to 2:00.
Next time.

But it's OK.
I've learned not to beat myself up, because I will most definitely have another opportunity to be faster.
A 5:40min kilometre will get me a sub 2hr half.

I've known this for quite some time and I want it soooooooooo badly.

I'll get there, because I've made a goal of it, and I'll make a plan for it.

But I also make goals within goals, and mini goals.

I virtually have a goal every day, be it for a workout or in my everyday job as a Mom, and often, both.
See, like today, I'd like to not yell so much.
It's hard.
Really hard.
And I didn't even aspire to not yell at all.
Just not so much as I usually do.

When I walk into the gym and we get started on the workout, often we'll know approximately how much time it will take.
I always choose a person in the class to keep up to.
And I often make mini-goals within the workout, which has seen me through some very trying sets.
It's made me stronger, and it's proven to me how resilient I really can be.

Also, I workout with some strong, fast motherf*ckers and it makes me crazy proud to see them crushing goals too.

I've looked at our family schedule for the next month and I can't make it fit an extra workout in, but come mid June I'm going to take a month and do 12 classes a month, or 3 a week, instead of 2.

I am friggin' jacked about this!

I'm excited to see how my body/running/life will change and I'm really starting to enjoy the gym.
I truly don't have an end goal in mind, but I'm damn sure I'll have some along the way.

This guy.
Right here.
Cracks us up and completed our family.

Totally unrelated to my post, but I thought I'd share a pic of my littlest when he was 5 days old.
He turns one in two days and I'm sure I'll be a blubbering mess, as it's the last, 1st birthday we'll celebrate.
He's such a beauty, isn't he?

Today, I'm Wearing Mascara.

Y'know how some days are just not Friday enough?
It's Thursday.
The most frustrating day of the week.
Alllllllllllllmost there...but not quite, sucker!!

From the moment my beautiful children got up today, the first sweet things out of their mouths were whining and screaming.
Yay.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!  I WANCHOOOOOO!"
"I no want enfing fo bekfest."
"I'm tired of school!  Why do I haaaaaave to go?!"
There was also a crying baby in the background, because no day is complete until everyone is crying.
All at once.

I could actually visualize a me-shaped hole in the wall where I was planning to run through it to escape.
And then I had to suck the boogs out of someones head and the tiny paper filter who's ONLY job it is to keep those boogs out of my mouth, failed.
Friggin' gross.

Also, I've got dried, crusted oatmeal on my shirt - which isn't a huge deal, except that I don't actually put real pants on everyday, and when you put real pants on, you have to put on a nice(ish) shirt, and so I did, and then when I was feeding my almost-one-year-old, he gave me a big smooch with his oatmeal face.
On my chest.

Can't complain too hard about that because it was super cute when he dive bombed me with affection.

Damn kids!

I need an escape.
I need a workout.
But I'm not scheduled to have another one til next week and it's too cold to pack these guys up and go running...
OHMIGOD!!!
*sigh*
Deep breaths.
We will get through this!
Sober!  Workout-free!

GAH!  My middle literally just came upstairs from where she was decompressing in front of the TV and reached her little face, complete with cracked and scabbed chapped lips, up for a kiss.
My heart is melting into a puddle.

And there ya have it.
The universe always comes through for me.

D'you think there's a kiss quota?
Like, can we kiss our kids too much?
'Cause I kiss mine a lot.
I'm talking, envision Pepe le Pew(sp?) smothering that poor cat while she's trying to pry him off of her.
It can be kinda like that.
What if I meet the quota?  And I can no longer smooch them?
I really, really hope there's no such thing.
Because I think all Momma's love to kiss their littles.

At least I never have to worry about getting lipstick on their faces.
Because I've never worn lipstick.

I don't actually wear makeup all too often.

I wear it so infrequently that my girls have no idea what to do with it.
Ellie, the middle one, will take an EOS lipbalm and apply it to her entire face.
You go girl.

I want for them to do whatever they like when the time comes that they are able to make the choice about makeup.
(Also, when is that time?  In my head, it's around 18, but I have a strange suspicion it's much sooner than that...)
If they want to experiment, cool.
If they want to go au natural, that's cool too.
If they never want to shave.
Ever.
That's alright.

But I can't say I don't worry about how the world will receive them based on what they choose.
There is no "right" way, and no matter how they'll choose to present themselves, they will be judged, and I hate thinking about that.

Do they get to judge others' appearances?
No way.  Nope.

I need to let that stressor go, because it's useless to worry about something that hasn't happened and even more useless in that I will have no control over that situation.

What I can control is how I teach them about beauty.
If you want to wear makeup, g'head!
It's fun!
But...do you have to wear makeup?
Of course not!
Do you have to fit a certain size to consider yourself beautiful?
No, no, no, no, NO!
Just be yourself, girls.
You are beautiful, just as you are.

They need to know that.
From us.
Forever.

I need to know that too.
For myself.

Faking it

A few weeks ago, we celebrated Easter with my family up North.

My family has turkey on special occasions.
Actually, if you know my family, they have turkey a lot more than that.

More than any other family I've ever met.

Like, once a month, we have turkey dinner.

Ask my husband.  He loves it.
Except he doesn't.  In fact, he'll say, "are we having turkey again?"

My Dad mentioned that he needed to get a few things on turkey roasting day.
A turkey baster was on his grocery list.
For a family that cooks a turkey at least every three weeks, I thought this was odd, so I asked.
"What happened to your old turkey baster?"
He explained...
"I had an emergency in the garage."
 Of course.  Get in the car.  Let's go get a new one.

While I was in Fort McMurray, I ran out of my favorite protein powder.
I went to the local Popeye's because I knew they carried it.

The guy who works there, who is ca-ute, asked me if I was looking to lean out.
What?!
DUH??
Isn't every woman looking to "lean out"?
Cue nervous laugh - of course nice-looking-bodybuilding-guy.  I'm trying to lean out.
YOU DON'T KNOW ME!!  YOU DON'T KNOW MY STRUGGLES!!
Now, please, just give me my giant tub of birthday cake flavored powder, so I can get outta this place where I don't belong!

Feeling like I deserve to be in a place like that, or in the gym, or not at the back of the herd of people at the start line of the race.
This is new territory for me, and although I've worked crazy hard to get to this place where I do, in fact, deserve all those things, I'm finding the biggest struggle is making my brain match the place where my body is at.

Losing weight is relatively easy.  Energy in vs energy out.  Create a deficit.
The mental challenge is by far the most difficult.
And a challenge I must accept, if I want these results to be life long.
Fake it til you make it.  And so I shall.

I DO deserve to be the healthiest version of myself.
I DO deserve to have killer triceps and a new marathon PR.

I had to drop my bar a couple of times today during the workout.  I finally broke out my wrist straps, and took my badass-ness to a whole new level.
I deserve that too.
To be a badass.

If You Never Get After It, It'll Never Get Got

I took my oldest gal with me to physiotherapy the other day.
The kind ladies who work there gave her some coloring books and crayons.
There were 64 crayons in a pristine Crayola box with a sharpener on the back.
SIXTY-FOUR crayons.
And a sharpener?!?!

I'm in my mid thirties, with three kids and I had no idea that it was possible to, a) get 64 crayons, and b) purchase such a large package that it comes with a built in sharpener.

True story.

I have also discovered that you can purchase a larger box of crayons than 64.
How many shades of green does one child need?  Seriously.
But, am I stifling her artistic abilities because she doesn't have 17 shades?

I'm failing, again.

Damn you, Crayola and your plethora of colors!

The gym I go to is connected to the physiotherapy clinic, and I caught myself reminiscing about the first few times I started going back after baby #3.
(Am I ever going to get used to that?!  I still think, "WOW!", in my head, after saying that I've got three kids.)

I remember standing in the gallery, watching the class before mine do Turkish Get Ups.
I put capitals on that because this movement deserves that kind of respect.
(Google it.  You won't be disappointed.)

At the time, I completed the workout, but I would have lifted a light weight and probably been relatively slow.

Neither of those things is a bad thing, or makes me a lesser athlete.
I was just in a more beginner place.

Now, however, I'm able to do 25lb kettlebell Turkish get ups, and I'm able to do them relatively fast.
I can also flip a freakin' tire.
Lots of times.
And deadlift allllllllmost as much as I weigh.
Seriously cool stuff!

When I sometimes think about where I came from, I could cry.
Actually, a lot of times, I do.
This process has been hard.
This process has tested me.
This process has shown me what I'm really made of, and yet, I continue to underestimate my abilities.

I want more for myself, and to get there I'm going to need to do more than try.
I'm going to need to fail.

"You'll never know unless you try."
No.
I'll never know unless I fail.

I'm adopting this as my new motto, because today, at the gym I was inspired.
Like, really,  inspired.
I deserve this.
I deserve anything I want because I'm going to put in the work to get it.

I choose lighter weights than I'm capable of because I'm afraid.
But I'm going to be pushing harder, because to get what I've never had I need to do what I've never done.
If you see me lifting more than you think I'm able to, you're probably right.
But I know that if I have to drop my bar, or drop some weight to finish my set, that you're not judging me for that.

THAT'S what I love about my gym.
If you're struggling, someone will give you the encouragement to get at 'er and finish.
Support is what we all need, really, and it's nice to feel like you're part of a team that wants you to meet your goals as badly as you do.
I heart Spark.

I'm meeting with my nutrition coach tonight because it's time for me to get into the nitty gritty business.
I've lost weight, but I need some new guidance, different guidance, and I'm able to recognize that the time is right for that.

Bicep.  Pump.
I'm tellin' ya, I'm goin' after it!
And maybe some abs, but we'll see how much sugar I'm willing to give up.

Me and sugar, we've had a strained relationship, but I think we can work out a compromise.

If you read my blog and you've ever felt inspired or motivated, that's amazing, thank you!
Everyone needs that!
Know that I take inspiration as I need it too, because I'm not quite where I'd like to be, but I'm close.

I've stopped calling it a journey, because that implies that there is a final destination.
And now I know, that I've always been here.
I'm the same.
I'd just like to see a bicep hump...

A Few Lessons Learned Along the Way

In the past four days I have cleaned up every imaginable body fluid.

Urine, poop, puke, boogers, eye goobers...you name it, I've wiped it!
Two of my kids are in diapers (one is allllllllllmost potty trained, or elimination communicated, or whatever you wanna call it - she's wearing ginch a lot of the time - WOOHOO!), and yet I've cleaned urine off of a kitchen chair and poop off of the carpet.
Two places where those fluids do not usually reside.

We are well into the second go of toddler-hood at our house, and by no means are we experts, but there are definitely a few things we've learned in our journey.

The number one, most important thing we've learned is...

We aren't experts.
Period.
We aren't even experts when it comes to our own kids - one day their favourite food is eggs, the very next day they can't fathom that such a revolting food can exist!
Kids are tricky lil' buggers.

Since we got hitched, almost six years ago, kids have been a part of our lives.
Our first made damn sure we knew she was on her way just one day before we hopped on a plane for a week-long all-inclusive vacation that included our wedding.
It was a blissful holiday.
"Why does everyone smell like BO and cigars?!?!"
I said that.  On the plane.  Not in an inside voice.
Pregnancy is so lovely, and fittingly so, is the beginning of parenthood.

So, newly married, unexpectedly excited to be pregnant back then, and somehow, we've muddled our way through six years and as of yet, we're relatively unscathed.
As in, our marriage is still in a good place, and our kids are pretty cool.
Sometimes.

We've made our marriage priority number one.
Is this the right order of importance for every family?
By all means, no.
Is any of this information applicable to every family?
Nope.
Just mine.
If you're reading this, or any blog, for that matter, or, if I'm being totally honest, if you read anything on the internet at all, know that it is generally information only, and not the rules for life.

There are a few things that we know now as our youngest will be entering into the toddlerhood years.
We know that we must have a sense of humour.
We know that there will be freak outs.  Lots.  We will all have them.
We know that being parents is the hardest job.  Ever.
We know that sometimes we won't be getting a whole lot of sleep.
So therefore, our nerves will be fried.
And therefore it might be a "yelling" day.
And, also, that's OK.
We know that there will be times that we are just surviving and if my husband and I are just friends at the end of the day, that's a victory.
But we have to work at keeping the romance.
Because without that, we're just roommates raising kids together.

One of our toughest, and still ongoing, lessons has been that we must put each other first.
It can be very hard to consider one another while in the sleep-deprived, threenager-screaming, somebody's-always-crying, dad-to-day circus grind.
But we've found that when we are a unified team, and we love each other first, the parenting seems to come a little easier.

Our kiddies will only be small for a short time, but they will be adults for a long time.
We're trying to make sure that we're leaving good people to the world, and not just good kids right now.

It's a tough job, we know, and so to all the parents out there, you're doing a great job.
Keep it up.

My nearly-three-year old is currently watching a Barbie music video.
I'm still doing a good job.
Although you should know that she's going to have a freak out in a minute when I take the iPad away...

Wipeouts & Recoveries

Balance.
Normalcy.
Being able to say "f*ck it", sometimes and eat whatever you please.

THAT'S life.

Most of the time, though, I eat well.  Really, really well.

I read recently, on Instagram, where a gal compared her body to a car.
A niiiiiiice car, like, say a Rolls Royce.
A car I will never own.
Or see.

What kind of fuel goes into a Rolls?  Costco regular?
Yah, no.

Premium gas.
PA-remium.

If I want my body to perform like a luxury car, I must feed it like a luxury car.

Junk in = junk out.

So, most of the time I eat well.

Some of the time though, I eat (and drink!) with reckless abandon.

That's life.

I used to eat like that a LOT.
Like, most of the time, a lot.

Now, it's a treat, and I am fully aware of the consequences, so when my jeans are snug and the scale says, "WHAT THE EFF?!?!", I am the only one responsible.
Am I the only one to blame?  No.  Blame is one of the reasons I was heavy for so long.
Have a great time, feel like a total glutton, and then move on.
Do NOT beat yourself up.

It's just food.
It shouldn't have enough power to make you feel sorry for yourself for days.

We recently went on a family ski trip to Panorama.

It's a big, steep mountain.
Steeper, in my opinion, than our regular ski haunt, Marmot Basin.

I've been skiing for a long time, and shouldn't be afraid of the mountain, but this time, I could actually empathize with folks who are afraid to, "fall down the entire mountain."

I was afraid to fall down the entire mountain.

I didn't, but I sure felt like it was a real possibility.

It isn't.

I also didn't, "fall down the mountain" on my weight loss journey.

Did I stumble?  Take a step (or pound) back?
Yep.

Was it worth it?
Heck yes!

Spending time with my family on one of only a few trips we get to go on together, food is definitely a part of the celebration.
Big breakies, followed by lots of skiing, and rounded out with spaghetti dinner, poker and potato chips.

And drinks.  Alcoholic drinks.

Mmmmmmmmmm...Malibu & pineapple juice...amiright?!?!

This video is 11 minutes long.
Consider yourself forewarned.
Audrey is skiing.  F'real.

It's a really, really good time.

What does it take to get back to "normal"?

Just doing it.
Realize that eating whatever you want is ok, for a short time, and that there are consequences, but then get back to real life when the party is over.

Don't be weird and not have the birthday cake.
Eat it, and know that maybe tomorrow you eat squeaky clean to compensate.

Have balance and enjoy life.

Besides, it's bad luck not to eat birthday cake at the party.

Never Lose Yourself

In everyone's weight loss journey, they will have one, or two or thirty, "AHA" moments.

Moments where something just clicks.

It can be something small, like figuring out that you don't have to eat kale if you don't like it.
It can be something big, like trusting in the process and keeping at it, even when there is little to no change on the scale.

Or, simply,  it can be realizing that you're capable of more than you thought.

When I go to the gym and see that the workout is cardio heavy, I'm kind of excited.
I have a ton of endurance.  Endurance that I've built over months and months of marathon training.
TONS.
When I see that the workout is strength based, I tend to be reluctant and load my bar a little lighter than I think I should.
Yesterday?  I had a PR, and then power cleaned (google it!  It's badass, yo!) another 7.5lbs on top of my PR!
It was an ugly lift, but I did it.  And I learned a lesson.
Keep my arms straight as long as possible.  Thanks, Kim.

The fear when one is preparing to run further than ever before, is, "Can I do this?  Will I have to stop?  Turn around before it's time?  Do I have the endurance?"
The fear when one is lifting a weight they've never done before is, "Am I going to drop this friggin' bar and look like a total doofus?"

Veeeeeery different fears.

I always carry cab money when I have a long run to do.
I've yet to use it.

There is no cab money when you're lifting.
It's a different beast altogether from running, and I'm really falling in love.

I have some very achievable goals to get at this year, and what I mean by that is, they're things I've done in the past, and I'd just like to be better.
I've also got some goals that will take me to a brand new place.
I'd like to start seeing some muscle definition, which is something I've truly never had.  My body has always had a comfortable, familiar softness, and these ridges, edges, juts are all new and I'm really starting to love my body!  That is something else!
If you decide to venture out on a weight loss journey, know that you are going to totally fall in love with yourself and what your body can do, not just how it can look!

I frequently call my husband after a gym workout and let him know how awesome I am, how well I did and how much I lifted.
He always replies, "I know, I tell you all the time how awesome you are."

That guy.

I'm going to post a before and after pic.
A splendid gal recently told me that our bodies are nothing more than "meat suits" that we wear, and strangely enough the following events occurred just days following these words.
Think about that for a second.
It's just a meat suit.

My grandpa passed away in 2005.  He was easily one of the most influential people in my life and I miss him dearly still.
The year following was the most difficult of my entire life and I gained some weight.
A lot of weight.
When I saw friends and family the following summer, I remember many of them not recognizing me and giving me sympathetic head tilts.
There aren't a whole lot of pictures of me during that time, because I did NOT like being photographed, but my good friend Nikki came to visit me in B.C and took a photo of me while we had a visit on the patio, and I've forever thought of this as my "stereotypical" before picture.

She happened to find it and send it to me.
I sent it to my husband and family because to me,  it was such a shocking picture.

Picture on the right is from today.
The potty sticker chart is not mine.  I swear.

I sent the photo on the left to my family, and this is what I got back from my hubby almost immediately.

"I'd have married you then, too."

That guy.

My Aunt Cindy wrote back, "You've worked really hard Heather - loved you then, love you now."

We are always our own worst critics, and of course when I, personally saw the photo, I saw my enormous body.

My family?  They just saw me.
Maybe a little bit bigger, but still me.

What I'm trying to get at, is, your body can change, in many different ways - ask any Mom - but fundamentally, you are still the same person.

You might just live in a bigger or smaller meat suit.

(**Stay tuned because the bicep pump is 'gon be REAL this year!)

Goofy's Race & a Half

Alarm goes off at 330am.  That's not a wake up call.
That's getting up in the middle of the night, on a chilly Florida morning, to don your tank top, shorts and Disney-inspired running costume to get to the starting line for the first of two races.

All I have to say about that first morning is, thank GOD my Dad was there!
I'd seen a picture of his costume, but it was glorious in person!
(Also, very easily recognized, as he got many more shout outs on the race course than I did!
Anna costumes were a dime a dozen.  Who knew?!)

We went out to the bus stop to catch our own personal bus to the race.
At 4:15am, there weren't many on the bus, and in actual fact, we hadn't realized that athletes were advised to be on a bus before 4am.
Whoops.

Still, there was loads of time to check my bag, stand in line at a port-a-potty, not knowing that 100ft further there were no lines, and finally, walk the mile to our corral.

Every.  Single.  Corral.  All 16 of them, got fireworks.

Well done, Disney.  Well done.

Being in a corral more near the back than the front, we waited almost an hour to cross the start line, and then ran juuuuuuuuuust faster than walking pace for the first few miles, because the hoards of walkers were thick.

No biggie, because the intention was to take it easy anyways, to save my legs for the marathon.
(Thanks for running a snails pace with me Dad!)

We saw loads of characters, stopped to take selfies, a bathroom break or two, and before long we were at the finish line.
It was the slowest half marathon I had ever done.
Also, the easiest.
And most fun.
Annnnnnd, most emotional.

Most memorable moment?
Running behind the scenes of Disney and turning a corner to see the castle, lit up with white lights, right before us as we ran down Mainstreet USA.
I know, it'll come as no surprise, but I cried.

Along the race, there were many marching bands, who must have been up at 2am to be out, and ready to play for us.  Amazing doesn't even begin to describe it!

Enthused spectators, many, many posters and cheers from fellow runners made it one of the greatest races I've ever done.
And I never came close to a PB.
Because this one wasn't about time.
It was about endurance.

Near the end, there was a full Gospel choir.
Gold robes and all!

It was a perfect day.

And then, quite quickly, the day turned from half marathon celebrations, into marathon prep and before I knew it, I was getting on another bus, this time at 355am, to head to the start line of the marathon.

I don't think I've ever felt so focused, as I was on that morning, two weeks ago.

But I had to pee.
Bad.
The race had already started though!
WHAT DO IT DO?!?!?!

I took a chance.
I went to the port-a-potties and stood in line.
I also got to the start line with plenty of time to spare.
Thank you, corral L.  Thank you.

I started the race similarly to the day before, bobbing and weaving in between walkers.
For the most part, the first half had a lot of the same bands, characters and signs as the day before.
And to be perfectly honest, the first half was a bit of a blur.

As soon as I took the first few steps past 21.1km, I felt that my own personal race had only just started.
Those steps felt like they were transporting me from ordinary, to extraordinary.

Those steps felt like the warrior in me came alive, and where my months and months of training were going to begin carrying me.

I had run a very, very consistent pace during the first half, because I wasn't sure how I'd feel.
But once I got to that point, I realized I had a ton of gas left in my tank, and so I picked up the pace.
Slightly.

I knew we were going to run through the Wide World of Sports, but I did NOT know that we would run on the same track my kids had run their race on just three days before.
I did NOT know that I would begin to hear the song and then subsequently see a giant inflated Baymax, both from Big Hero 6, en route to the Wide World of Sports.
I was sobbing so hard I had to pull to the side because I was starting to hyperventilate.

Why is that significant?
Audrey's favorite movie, at the current moment, fleeting as it might be, is Big Hero 6.
And that song?
It's called Immortals.

To say that I felt immortal that day, about sums it up.

I totally felt immortal.
Until one of my blisters burst around mile 21.
Gross, right?

Well, as gross as it was, it came nowhere near the shooting pain it caused me.
I knew I had blisters, but I was on such a high I really didn't notice much.
Until then.
I stopped.
Dead in my tracks.
Then, I altered my gait a little bit and carried on.

To say that a marathon is twice as hard as a half, is about as accurate as saying having two kids is twice as hard as one.
It's not twice as hard.  It's 100x harder.
And running a marathon has little to do with physical endurance and much to do with overcoming your mind.
Your body can be trained to do almost anything.
It's overcoming your inner thoughts of, "why the f*ck are we doing this, again?!?!", at mile 4.

My goal had been to finish.
My time goal had been 5:30 or better.
My watch, said I ran 42.2km in 4:58, but Disney's clock logged me at 5:00:39.

I smashed my PB by 9min, but that :39 is what motivates me to register for another marathon.

There was a ton of emotion over those two days.
When that stranger put the medal around my neck after the race, I cried.
I must have had constant tears for a few minutes, as I gathered my water, powerade and banana, as a man came and put his arm around me and said, "good job."
And when I saw my family for the first time after the marathon, I burst into full tears.
Two weeks post race, and when I hear some of those songs and think about some of the moments, I still well up.

As soon as the races were over, I felt relief and also sadness.
What now?

It was a huge, huge accomplishment, and yet just one day later I had to stifle myself from thinking and saying that it was, "no big deal."

I struggle with acceptance of accolades, and I'm trying my hardest to simply say, thank you.

I did it.
I did it.

And I will treasure these memories forever.
Both the ones I've shared here, and the secret ones I'll keep for myself.

Now, judge not, but here are the photos from the races!

The last two are the only ones from the marathon.
I was focused, remember?

Fireworks.
For everyone!

 

First characters, Jack Sparrow and Captain Barbosa.
Also, first realization that I can't take selfies to save my life...
 

In front of the castle.
Un.  Real.

 

Wreck it Ralph & Vanellope.
I'll admit that we took some pics, simply so we wouldn't forget who we'd seen.
We're old.

Mickey and Goofy.
Two namesakes of the races

Jack Skellington and Sally.
And our eyes.
Dad has never seen this movie!
C'mon!  Jack sKELLINGTON!
 



They guys from Aladdin!
And probably the best selfie I took all day!

The start line of the 2015 Walt Disney World Marathon.

The reason I almost need medical aid...
Darn kids!
 



ThangYa. ThangYa Vurry Much!

I made a goal for myself.
I made this goal back in 2013.

Run the Goofy Race & a Half.
I deferred this goal because running a half and a full marathon at 24ish weeks pregnant would have been stupid.

Fast forward to 2014.
Goal back on track after third baby arrives in May.

This goal was big.  It was lofty.  It seemed, at times, like something I really couldn't do, but being an eternal optimist, I figured training for it was at least good for me, so why not carry on?
And then, the goal was becoming imagined.
It was changing from a goal, into a dream.
Into something much bigger than I ever thought it was.

A few months before the race, after flights and hotels were booked, I went for a training run with my Dad.
He asked me, if there was any doubt in my mind if I could do it.
I responded, reflexively, no.
I knew then I could do it, even though only a month before I wasn't sure at all.

The rest of this post may read something like an acceptance speech.
And in many ways, it is.

I want to start at the beginning.
My family.
Since I started running, in high school, they have been behind me 100%.
They have been at many of my races, and often I have run alongside my Dad and brother.
These guys might not know it, but they carried me through my first marathon.
I wouldn't have completed if not for them.
My Mom has been my greatest supporter, in all of my endeavors, be them athletic or weight loss related. 
They are so supportive, that 6 weeks before this race, they secretly decided to come.
My Dad, last minute, and with the half marathon being sold out for months, registered with a charity, so he could run with me.
He also had a costume hand made to run alongside my Anna.
Prince Charming.
Don't worry.  Ya'll will get to see it!
(The tears are falling on my laptop currently.  They have been freely flowing for a couple of weeks now...)
A few days before we left for Florida, they surprised me by letting me know they were coming.

Ugly tears.  Blubbering, sobbing, air-sucking tears came. 
I still can't find the words to express my gratitude.

My husband.
He has known that I'm a runner from the day we met, and he knows me well enough to know when I actually need to tie up my sneakers.
When I told him I wanted to do the Goofy race, like any other goal I've set, he said, OK.
And I knew that he would pick up the slack that training for a marathon leaves behind.
He would rearrange his schedule and put his own goals aside, so that I could achieve mine.
And one day, I'll return the favor.

Audrey, Ellie & Sterling.
These guys are the biggest reason I run.
Lifelong challenges with my weight have lead me to a place where I know that running can erase some of life's stresses at the same time that it's making me healthier, and also happier.
I'm a better Mom because I run.

BMS Bootcamps.
I've exercised my entire life, but I've had lousy eating habits, and I wasn't doing quality exercise.
These guys taught me how to maximize my time spent working out, and how to eat right.
They built my base so that the two pregnancies I had during my time training with them, amounted to relatively easy birth experiences, and quick recoveries.
They built my base.
So that I could dream big, lofty dreams.
I gained confidence.
I discovered the kind of training I was going to need to smash my goals, and although I don't regularly work out with BMS anymore, I still participate in the nutrition challenges, and I have met some of the greatest trainers I've ever had there.
If you are feeling lost, or are new to exercising, I highly recommend you check them out!
There is something for every level of fitness and you will meet some fantastic people who want the best outcomes for you!
www.bmsbootcamps.com

Spark Sport Conditioning.
This is where I've leapt from after leaving BMS.
It's here that I'm seeing that I have no limits.
I'm pushing harder than I ever have and I've seen the most noticeable changes in my running performance.
I've learned where I need to scale myself when approaching long distance training runs or races, and where I can add 5 or 10 more pounds and risk dropping my bar.
I've learned how much my body can lift.
And lemme tell you,  It.  Is.  Amazing.
I have new goals to get at, and I know with these guys, I will annihilate them.

I'm probably leaving people out, but this is post one about the marathon weekend.
I'll save the deets about the race as well as my poorly taken selfies of my Dad and I running the half.

For now, I'll just try to contain my emotions...