Stand UP.

Stop standing like that!

I heard that one day from my very favorite physiotherapist during our warm up at the gym.

I slouch.
All the time.

It's a terrible habit and I started to say, "I can't help it...", before she cut me off with, "Yes.  You can."
And she's right.

A lifetime of being a chubby girl has trained my body to have a permanent hunch.
I am trying to concentrate on proper posture and standing tall, but I have to think about it all the time because I've been slouching for 30+ years.

Why have I always rounded my shoulders?  I don't think I would be the first fat person who wanted to fold themselves in, trying to be smaller by bringing my sides closer together.
Stick my chest out?!  WTF?!?!  Do you see how big these things are while I'm slouching?!?!  If I pop them out, they're going to take out a swath of people!!
If I stand tall, I will take up more space.
And I do did not want to do that when I was a larger person.
I'm still learning to live in this body.
I don't recognize myself in pictures and I'm quite sure the vision I have in my head of myself is different from how I actually look.

I should have stood tall and proud then, but now that there are three little peoples' eyes watching me, I feel I need to be especially careful to have good posture - which exudes self confidence through body language.
(Fake it 'til 'ya make it, right?!)
How can I tell them to be proud of themselves, while my body seems to be curling in on itself, in an unnatural looking way?
I'm careful not to criticize my body, which strangely, I never did as a larger person, but now I have to stifle it.
When you gain 5 or 10 pounds, and you weigh 210, it's not really a huge deal and most certainly will go unnoticed.
Gain 5 on a 150lb body?  Your clothes will remind you that it's too much!  Ta-RUST me!

It's important, though.
It's important that I lead by example, and although my kids will only ever remember this version of me, this, size, of me, I lived in a very different meat suit for a much longer period of time than this current one, and it's important, that they know to be confident, at any size.

More importantly, I think they need to know that their body is nowhere near as important as their heart, and that the person they are on the inside is what people remember.  What counts.
So be kind, and hopefully I can teach them that their body is just something they live in.
In a world that tells us to be always conscious of our body, our beauty, I think it's so important to try and show them that without it ever being something they have to think about, they can be confident.

I myself struggle with trying not to think so much about my physical self.
I've been focused, laser-beam focused on changing my body, but I need to now just be, so that I can raise two girls, and a little boy, who are not body conscious, but just, conscious.

So, stand tall, just be confident, and you may have to do what I'm going to do.
Fake it 'til I make it.

On the Daily

So, sometimes when I'm cleaning up my children's dishes, I take the last swig of their drink.

Done it lots of times.
Only this time, my adventurous son had put several bits of his lunch into his milk.
Mmmmmmmm.  I'll just let you imagine that for a sec...
I won't be doing that again.  Lesson learned.

I was wrangling that sweet little cherub into a restless nap today, when I thought to myself, "I wonder if I can order a pumpkin spice latte when Blake and I go on our date tonight?  I need to know what all the hype is about pumpkin spice."

The crazy, hectic, stressful chaos that is daily life, has become so normal, that in the midst of my sons screaming, kicking fight to get to slumber, I can still be daydreaming about this evenings kid-free festivities.

Now, I'm not a type A Mom and I'm certainly not one to stress over the little stuff, but I do recall in the days that Audrey may have been portraying similar behavior in spite of her extreme exhaustion, that I may have just given in, and subsequently suffered the consequences for several more hours before she surrendered to sleep, in a closet.

I'm quite sure it's more the aging process than it is raising little people, but I seem to give fewer and fewer effs about the stresses of life in general.

I know what's important and I wholly engage in what I have prioritized, but I'm finding that I'm happier than I've ever been because I try not to invest energy into sh*t that doesn't matter to me.

Raising good kids.
That's pretty important to me.

Creating and putting the effort into my relationship with my husband.
That's really important to me.

"You treat me like garbage."
She spat at me, through clenched teeth.

We had just spent an hour and a half at the park.
We had brought a friend of hers, even.
And when we walked in the door, and she asked if her friend could stay for dinner, and I said no, and she said this to me.
"You treat me like garbage."

How do I emphasize the depth and pain of her words?
As I remember that I myself have used the word garbage to describe someone else's behavior at one time or another, and now it's being spewed back at me.

I asked her to repeat it.
She wouldn't.

I told her that was the indicator of how hurtful her words had been.
If it hurts to repeat the statement, then it was too mean to have been said in the first place.
I try very, very hard not to say things I will eventually have to apologize for.
I expect the same restraint from my loved ones.

Sometimes the plan is to go something like this:

Take kids to do something fun.
Come home.
Cook and eat dinner together (Eat.  As in, the one beautiful, healthy meal I've made).
Bath/brush teeth/book.
Bed.

Sometimes most times the plan is derailed because, well, life.

Some days are bad.
They start poorly, with a giant cup of coffee through the drive thru, when I'd asked politely for tea, and then they continue to spiral into a self-pity party and end triumphantly in someone vomiting on the floor.
There are no words to emphasize the difficulty that is raising little people into grown ups who are not as*holes.
There are no words to emphasize the struggle that can sometimes be marriage and family.

I've heard that nothing worth doing is easy, and I can only cling to the hope that because it is often so damn hard to be a wife and parent and also try to maintain the original me, that maybe, just maybe we're doing something right.

Note to self:  Must try harder to appreciate the days that are easy, and effortlessly enjoyable.

Not Invisible

How many years have you hated your body?
I have hated mine for most of my life.
Hated it.
Resented it.

I hated how it looked.  How it made me feel.  How it made me feel about myself.  Hated how powerless I felt to change it.  Hated how it made my clothes look, and how it made me a target for second glances and judgemental eyes.  Hated it for betraying me.

I have hated my body for so, so long.
In this process?  Unexpectedly?  I am falling in total love with my body.

A few months ago I asked a friend to do a crossfit competition with me.  This is outside my comfort zone.  I don't consider myself a competitive person.  I like running because you are blended into a crowd.  Most people aren't "focusing" on you.  At this competition I could feel eyes, watching me.  Watching us.  And I was bursting with so damn much pride that I could feel myself well up several times during the day.  My partner, Sam, and I were focused and prepared and when I felt weak, I could hear her cheer, and I knew I could find something deep down inside me, to push through.  My friends from Crossfit Leduc were there too!  Participating, volunteering, supporting.  Amazing.

I stepped into this gym just shy of a year ago.  It was meant to be a short term stay.  I didn't want to drive into the city over the winter.  I am in love with this place.  With the people who call this place home.  I am proud as hell to be a member of this phenomenal facility.  There are a couple of events at this gym, and this past year I volunteered at one, and I chose to be a competitor at this past one.  Both experiences were humbling.  Inspiring.  I have seen some unassuming individuals do some mind-blowing things.  I have seen people bust out a PR.  I did unassisted dips yesterday.  For the first time.  I started to celebrate this win, but had to reel it back in...

"Holy sh*t!  I JUST DID THAT!  Jericho, I can't believe I just did that!"
*clock still running
"Not the time, right?  OK.  I'll just keep doing these..."

It was just one of a few memories I will take away from this competition because there were so, so many.  My friends were so strong and pushed so hard through some seriously tough workouts.  We shouted and cheered for our friends, for athletes we'd never met.  We were in awe of some of the shredded bods and their abilities.  To say that I am grateful to Annie and Brad for putting on another fantastic event doesn't begin to describe my gratitude.

To Sam:  You are f*cking strong! You are so positive and tenacious, and I knew you'd be a great partner!  You kept me afloat and encouraged me to fight when I felt depleted.  You were uncomfortable.  So was I!  But in spite of that, we crushed the day yesterday and though I didn't have many expectations for yesterdays competition, I sure wasn't expecting to make it to the finals!  Thank you for being my gym partner and for pushing me, and for pushing yourself!  You are one bad a*s Mama!  So glad I found you and all the other devoted folks at Crossfit Leduc.

From years of hate and being uncomfortable in my skin, to seeing the pics posted yesterday and not hating even one of them.  Look like a goofball?  Sure.  But I didn't look at one photo and think to myself, "ugh, I look so friggin' fat."  It's a lousy way to feel about yourself all the damn time, and I can tell you that the size of my body hasn't had much influence on how I feel about it.  What has changed how I feel about my body?  My capacity to lift heavy things and persevere through some serious conditioning.  The things this body can do are incredible, if I do say so myself, and I have a funny feeling that had I just, simply changed sizes, that the self-love thing might not have followed in quite the same way.

It's a bit of a strange transition, really.  When I was heavier, I wanted so badly, to just be small enough to be invisible.  Small enough to blend in.  To look "regular".  To be "regular" sized.  I wanted it SO badly.  The funny thing is, the change happens, slowly, and it has momentum.  Slow, but it's there.  Momentum comes in lots of forms, too.  You pull your jeans on and there's no muffin top today.  Someone who hasn't seen you for awhile mentions that you're looking good.  You're not winded when you climb some stairs.  Momentum.  Victories.  And, then, one day you're invisible.  But shortly after, you're visible again.  Because you're starting to love yourself in a new way.  Your confidence starts to burst out like sun rays.  It's an incredible, empowering feeling, to actually enjoy living in your skin.

It makes me want to shake the people who have just started their journeys - "JUST BE PATIENT!  I PROMISE YOU THAT GOOD THINGS ARE COMING!"

You, friend, are about to gain confidence you never knew existed.  You are about to start shedding those feelings of hate, and you are about to reveal to yourself a body that can do amazing things, and that you just might start falling in love with.

I catch a glimpse of the new veins that are emerging on my arms, and I break into a smile.  I can see, and feel new muscles and small crevices where fat is melting away and it makes me almost tear up.  I never thought I was capable of something so incredible, and it's all my doing.  Mine.

I can see the bottom of my ribcage.  Never.  Ever.  I have never been able to see this.  I have always had a layer of soft, comfortable belly to cover it.  I have the beginnings of abs, friends.  F'real.

This body.  This body that I have regarded as my enemy for so long.  But also, this body that has helped create and house three freakin' amazing children.  That has run countless miles.  Completed 2 full marathons and 13 half marathons and one crossfit competition. This body that can squat more than it weighs. This body that can easily keep up with those three kiddos, and that does not harbour bugs to make me sick with illness.  This body.  Mine.  That I have wasted too many years hating.
Now, I am so, so proud of it.
So proud.

How About You?

I've had 16 hours of sleep in the past 72 hours.

It's OK though.  The kids get it, and I'm sure they'll be on best behaviour...
(They won't, by the way, if you were actually thinking they would try to go easy on me...)

I've worked two evening shifts, with middle of the night call backs,  followed directly by two 12 hour shifts at a casino, an hour away, as a big preschool fundraiser.  I do everything I can to help, where I can...
But I'm spent.  Wiped.  And unfortunately, the rest of my "have to" list is still there waiting for me.

Here's how a very small portion of a typical day goes...I will point out that we do not do very many activities, so if we did, you could throw chauffeuring kids around to hockey/skating/soccer/dance/piano etc. into the mix there...

Here goes...

Up at 7.  Get kids breakfast, dressed, brushed and on bus.  Clean up breakfast.  Dress Sterling...wait!  Make sure ipad is charged and snacks are packed.  Head to gym.  Take one, glorious, hour, to escape, keep my body healthy and try to set a positive tone for the day.  Pick up groceries to prep for our girl guide Halloween treat for this evening.  OH!  And maybe grab a few groceries for my own family too.  Pick up Ellie from school.  Head home to make lunch.  Unpack backpack and lunch kit.  Start laundry...wait, put kids clothes away so you have a basket to use...wait, no,  tidy kids rooms so there is somewhere for you to sit to put clothes away and so the clutter of the house isn't just another thing cluttering your mind...make your own bed.  Clean up lunch. Finally get laundry into washing machine.  Jump in for quick rinse off and then get kids outside to play.  Have to list is running in background of brain...Must remember to print and fill out Sparks forms and money for Ellie's sleepover.  Also, remember to switch dayshift so you can go to Remembrance Day celebration with Brownies and newly re-elected husband,.  Find forms for own Brownie group for our upcoming sleepover.  Finally submit receipts for all the things you've bought for Brownies.  Think, I had no idea volunteering would cost so much money...hang on!...check schedule.  Doesn't Ellie have an immunization appointment coming up?  Right!  There it is.  Oct 30.  I'm a bad Mom.  That's the day before Halloween.  OH!  RIGHT!  Must do licencing for work before Oct 31 or you'll be paying an additional $50...crap...what are my continuing ed goals going to be for this year?  Have I completed last years?  Noooo....so, I'll just slip that onto the calendar...and I should see if Blake can format my preschool lists to make sign out sheets for the football pull tickets...is that Friday?  Yes.  Must remember to go sign out tickets Friday.  I should call and follow up on the printing of those tickets, too.  I think I'm working this weekend.  Ugh.  Pick up shifts, because, y'know, bills and stuff...and I need to meet my competition partner Thursday to go through the workouts...Have you tracked your macros today?  How much water have you had?  What time is it anyways?

This is absolutely a complaining post.  No two ways about it.  I'm complaining about the fact that I am an idiot, and I can't say no, and I am just trying my damnedest to be a good Mom, a good wife, look after myself, and contribute to my community as a volunteer.  I know I need to learn to say no.  But who else will step up?  Balance is a lifelong struggle, and some days are much harder.  Like today...


And then, I think, why am I feeling so overwhelmed?

So hard to understand.

So hard...

So You Wanna be a Councilor...

I try to stay away from politics.  I have my views, they're not something I like to share.  Politics are a volatile subject and there is a LOT of passion surrounding peoples' views.  I am not spouting my political views.  I am simply giving a little bit of insight from a family who has recently been involved in municipal politics.

In one weeks' time our quaint little town, and all other cities, towns, hamlets and villages in Alberta will vote in their municipal elections.  One week from today determines how your community is run for the next four years.

My husband has been fortunate to be involved as a town councilor for the Town of Devon for the past four years, and we as a family, decided he would run for another term.

This decision did not come lightly.  The past four years have been very, very challenging.  Not only for my husband to be a part of the team that makes many of Devons' decisions, but also for our family.  He is away for this job.  He is away at times that are inopportune and inconvenient and frustrating.  It is disheartening for people to be seeking this position, with no knowledge as to how much this will affect their families' lives.

I was not much in favor of the decision to run again.  In my, obviously biased opinion, he and this group of individuals has done an outstanding job in their term.  They were all relatively new to their positions and they grew and worked well, together.  One persons weakness was anothers' strength.  My husband worked tirelessly in this position.  He received the meeting agenda and would spend hours preparing, researching, balancing numbers.  He took this job very seriously and was always able to put his own personal interests aside, to make the best decisions for our town.

The hours he would spend preparing for a meeting, would end on a Monday evening, twice a month, sometimes as early as 5:30.  So, I've mentioned that he's already spent many hours, even before the meetings, preparing?  Hours.  Not spend with his family.  Hours.  Where his mind was not with us, but was concerned with an e-mail he received from a resident about a pertinent issue.  Hours.  Time that he took, himself, to be the best councilor he could be.  For our town.

My husband has a thick skin.  He's able to hear criticism, and immediately be looking for a solution.  A rational way to appease everyone.  He knows that not everyone likes him.  He knows there are some who are exceptionally critical.  He has respect for these opinions, even.  As his wife, the one who has seen the countless hours put into the job, who has been the sole caregiver during all those hours away, this hurts my heart.  To be a municipal representative in these modern times is more difficult than ever before.  Anyone, anywhere can reach out, from behind the brightness of their screen, and type whatever disgusting thing they want.  Sometimes, the social media remarks are positive.  Far, far too often, they are nothing more than bullying.

I support those who are stepping up and throwing their hats into the ring.  It's fairly difficult to be a top critic of a current council, and not have your stakes put in.  It shows passion, and a willingness to  try to make things better.  What I worry about, however, is that there are individuals who have not done their research.  They have never attended a council meeting in chamber.  They may never even have been a volunteer.  Perhaps they know what toll this will take on their family, but perhaps not.  Maybe they know they are mentally tough and can handle the constant criticism.  But maybe not. There will be times when you will carry the stress of your own life, as well as the stress of a towns future.  This is big.  This means a lot, to us, the voters, that you are able to carry, and manage all of these stresses, with grace and poise.  You will no longer have social media as an outlet, as you are a representative of this town.  I worry that there are people who are simply unaware of the weight of the positions they're running for.

I'm writing this as a bystander.  A close one, but a bystander, nonetheless.  I am not mentally tough.  I'm soft, and susceptible to criticism.  I like my alone time.  I do not like to dress up. (Another requirement - suits are a must.  Have you considered that in your families' budget?)  Running for council isn't even on my radar.  My hope is that my husband holds a seat on the next term of council.  It is what he wants, and I think he was damn good at it.  Truth be told, though?  If he doesn't get in?  Every second Monday night, I will be glad he's home, and not stressing over the decisions for the town, only to be social media fodder the following day.

It's OK to really, really, really Like Eating. Really.

I'm dieting right now.

I've still got 16 weeks left to get to my goal, but I am currently eating deficit calories.

How am I going to maintain self control?  Motivation?  Compliance?

First of all, I'm not going to rely on willpower, but I am going to rely on the habits and routines I've been creating, but in order to successfully diet for 16 more weeks, I'm going to have something to look forward to everyday.

Every.  Damn.  Day.

If I pack my meals for the day, and I already know I've packed a bunch of crap I hate, I'm going to be a miserable b*tch while I'm dieting, and more than likely, I'm going to fail.

Food is a 'uuuuuuuuuge part of my life.  Like, I love food.  So much.

If I can't know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there's at least one thing delicious waiting for me to eat, everyday, then I am sad, and grouchy AF, and likely plotting my next donut binge...

So, what I've learned counting macros, is that I can work loads of yummy things into my day, and I must plan something chocolate-y.  It's a necessity.

I am currently sitting at a weight that I have been a handful of times in my life, but never, ever lower.  As in, the last time my scale was lower than this, my age was likely a single digit.  I'm one month in, a little under 7lbs down, and so freakin' excited to see what my bod looks like underneath the 15-20lbs I'm going to lose!  (I do plan to put back on some weight, in case you were concerned!  Lol!)

I have booked a photographer.  A great one.  She is mainly a family photographer, however I've seen what she can do, and I'm so confident in her abilities, as well as in the insight of my coach, that I have complete faith that this goal will become a reality that I will treasure forever!

So back to the food part, because, really, food is important.  Paramount, even.  I track my food every evening.  In my most successful times, I wake up, and already know what I'm making myself for breakfast.  There are no surprises.  I simply pack, and eat what I've decided upon the night before.  It has been one of the most empowering tools I've acquired, and considering I'm on my damn phone a lot anyways, it takes no more than 5 minutes to open up my app, plug in my choices, and then tweak them to fit my macros.  The first thing I track?  My non-negotiable.  Currently?  Protein pudding topped with crushed cookies.  It's so stinkin' good, and packs a protein punch!  I've learned that a small amount of yogurt can absorb a huge scoop of protein powder, and also that just three chips a'hoy thins can turn it into a dessert.  Tracked.  First.  Every evening.

If you're trying to shred down a few or a whole lotta' lbs, then please know that you should not eat food you don't want to eat.  Life is too short for that.  Figure out what you like and either find healthier options or make your portions smaller - I typically use a combination of these two tactics!  Bump up your meals with some veggies, maybe, or don't, if you hate them!  Bottom line, don't suffer.  You can absolutely lose weight while eating things you're looking forward to.  If you're feeling lost?  Looking for a better plan, where you can eat things you enjoy?  I'm not your gal...but this gal is! ↓↓↓

http://www.motivateandbfit.com/

18 For the Second Time

I celebrated 18 for the second time around in June.

I was 18, 18 years ago.

It felt like a minute between the first and second, even though the first seemed to take for-EV-er.  I couldn't wait to turn 18, so I could buy my own stuff, do whatever I wanted, get my own apartment...what a friggin' scam that was, amiright?!?!

I remember being around 16 or 17 and, before the world wide web was a thing, I'd written and mailed letters to the University of Calgary and Alberta, asking for information on their medicine programs.  I wanted to be a doctor, and I was so excited about the prospects of my future, that I was asking for pamphlets and letters about the schooling I thought I would embark upon.  When my packages came in the mail, I read and re-read them, cover to cover.  The idea that I could be, do, any damn thing I wanted was so scary and so thrilling, all at once!

I reflected on my birthday about what I've accomplished since I first turned 18.
I did not end up at medical school.  Could I have?  Maybe, maybe not.  Instead, I found Medical Laboratory Science, and four years after I graduated from high school, I had a University of Alberta undergrad degree, a career, in Abbotsford, BC and drove a brand new, black Toyota Corolla, and my Dad drove from Fort McMurray to the Fraser Valley approximately 26 times in a span of only 10 months...thanks again Dad (and Mom!).  Since those first 10 months post-University, when I was truly on my own, though I needed many bail-outs while living out by the coast, I've maintained my career.  I've landed a really good guy, and we've made three awe-inspiring, sometimes smack-yourself-up-the-head frustrating little people.  We've been through some sh*t, we're still here, and at 18, I never, never could have known that my marriage would be one of my greatest accomplishments.

While in grade school, I was more academic than athletic.  I didn't have to try very hard to achieve my grades.  I did have to try hard to make sports teams, and I did have to try hard to stay around 150lbs.  At 18, I felt like my whole life was waiting, ready for me to just make all the right choices and then live happily ever after.  I remember considering, deeply, applying for a pharmacy degree.  That meant five years of school, instead of four.  No damn way, I thought!  Four is enough!  Lol!  How foolish was I, that one more year seemed like an infinity more!  I did make the right choice, though, and 14 years later, I still love what I do.  I now know that my career accounts for very little, though at the time I thought it would be what defined me.  Choosing what to do in University felt daunting and urgent, like a wrong choice at this fork in the road could spiral me into eternal failure.  It didn't, and wouldn't, but we don't know these things as youth, and it's probably for good reason.

I think about the fact that a lot people turned 36 this year, and about how many of them might still be waiting for the good stuff to get going, or maybe they've found themselves somewhere they never thought they'd be, or perhaps they're sad that they haven't done what they thought they would.  The ones who aren't too impressed with 36.

I know I'm not the only one who is looking back on these years proudly, with a big a*s smile and a serious sense of accomplishment.  I could never have known that I'd be here.  That I would've done what I've done, and been so crazy proud of myself, yet still dreaming and digging deep for more, for better things for myself.  I certainly didn't wake up the day after my 18th birthday and slap my hands together with a, "LET'S DO THIS!".  I can't say I didn't make mistakes, but I can say that I did my damnedest to learn and grow from the setbacks I encountered.  I'm still making mistakes, and gaining confidence that I can be better, stronger.

Health and longevity has become such a huge part of my life, and although creating tiny humans wasn't a dream of mine when I was but a young 18 year old, it has been such a pleasure being a Mom, and teaching my kids how to care for their bodies so that they themselves get to 36 and feel a whole lotta' hell yea, I'm killing this life thing!

I don't ever want my limiting factor to be my age, or my own body.  I see patients everyday who are imprisoned in their bodies.  They are just waiting.  To see the doctor, for their ailments to, maybe, clear up, for things to be better.  People, who almost joyfully, talk about their conditions, and diseases.  Or how they take a mitt-full of medicine four times a day.  This is not how I want the next 18, or even the 18 after that, to be like.  I've worked hard to have this life, and my intention is to continue to work hard so I can always feel good about where my life has gone.  Life is short, and it feels like as soon as we realize just how short, we're already living on the back half.

I'm doing 18 for the second time, and I'm confident that these next years might even have greater things in store for me.  Not by luck, or by chance, but because I will make the choices and put in the work, so I can reap the benefits.  I'll also be 54 in 18 more years, soooooooooo...

Nothing Forbidden

D'you know how you repeatedly resolve to start fresh on a Monday, so you think to yourself, OK, self, we're going to eat trash on this fine Sunday evening, because tomorrow is a new day, and tomorrow I am ON!

And then later that evening you have that tiny, or humongous feeling of dread, like, oh shit, I ate all that delicious trash food, and now I can't have anymore for the foreseeable future...shitshitshitshit...

Well, the thing about macros, is that you don't have to have that feeling anymore.
WAAAAALA!!

So, the thing is, I myself am still trying to remember this, and I don't have to beat myself up over a weekend, or a couple of lousy days, or hell, maybe even a lousy couple of weeks.  It's OK.  My clothes are going to be real clear about the consequences of my choices, but I don't have to feel badly about it.  Talk about a victory, right?!  If there's one lesson from this I want to keep forever, it's this.  I'm tired of telling myself I'm crap, because my body might not look how I want it.  The way I look does not dictate the person I am.

I've chatted with a few people this summer, and I feel like every summer we all find the same thing. It is hard to follow a nutrition regime during summer.  It is!  I get it! There's drinking, and BBQs, and parties, and picnics and festivals and don't even get me started on mini donuts and ice cream and and and...

Can you make wise choices all summer long?  Of course.  If you indulge in every mini donut truck you find, is that OK too?  Of course.  It's your damn life, and your choices, but there are consequences, so simply be aware and do not, for the love of everything good and holy, feel badly about yourself.  There isn't one unhealthy choice that can't be undone with a few weeks or a couple of solid months of macro tracking.

I've indulged this summer.  I've had beer, and junk and made some of the greatest memories with my family while enjoying my food choices.  I've also had days where I've packed my lunch and snacks and turned down the noshing at the event. Made the choice to track smartly one day, and not tracked one damn thing the very next.  It's cool.  I'm cool with the choices I've made.

Where to next, though, amiright?
I need a goal.  Some direction.  I've needed it for sometime now, since I'm not registering for races anymore.  Aimless is not a great place to be.  I need purpose.
January 2018.
I will be standing, alone, with a very, very talented photographer.  She will be capturing, what will likely be the first and last time I will have, visible abs.
Visible abs, ya'll?!

I'm tracking closely this week as next week, I begin a four month diet.  Not giving up all of the things I love, but dieting - eating in a caloric deficit.  And then, once I show off and get loads of pictures of my muscles, I'm going to do a slow and controlled reverse diet.  Gaining back some, or all of the weight I'd lost.

Mental game must be strong.  Losing weight has so little to do with will power and compliance, and so, so much to do with learning who we really are, in spite of what we think we are.  I've considered myself the token chubby girl for so long, and I want to reinvent myself as a shredded shreddy.  (You can totally call me that for the two days I am shredded.  I'll likely be wearing nothing but a sports bra and booty shorts for those days...in January...)

I completely understand that I will not look like a magazine model.  I have a thick waist.  I have big, bulky arms and even my abs will be bulge-y.  My tummy will not be flat.  If I start this journey with totally unrealistic expectations, then I will fail.  I am honest with myself, and so I'm going to give myself a little more time than the average Jane.  My body resists change.  Very, very well.  It likes to have more mass on it, naturally, and so I may have to fight hard to get fat off.

I have built a support system to rival any, and mentally, I am so prepared to get working on this goal.  I'm scared though, too.  Can I do this?  Will I spiral?  What will I do when people have negative comments?  I know my goal isn't one everyone has, but I've written about this before - just because my goals don't align with yours, doesn't mean we can't be supportive of one another.

Donuts, pizza, candy - not off limits, but limited.  Birthdays, Hallowe'en and Christmas.  Not off limits, just planned and tracked.  I've got this. I cannot wait to see this transformation!  Here we go, Brandy!

STAAAAAAAHP with I Can't

My son eats his food wearing only a diaper most of the time.
We're beyond bibs, as in, I'm far too lazy to put on an item of clothing to protect other clothing.
So I just strip him.

Standards fall with every child.
Their hair is a mess?  So what.
What about the food on their face from breakfast and/or snack and/or lunch?  Who cares.
My five year old looks like she got dressed in the dark.  With one hand.  Because the other hand was busy holding a melting fudgsicle.  Big deal.

I complain a lot about my kids.  I'm far from a perfect parent.  I do my best, and I truly love them to bits, but this is a really, really hard gig and the day-in and day-out grind can really get to a Mom.  These kids have truly shown us what matters, and can turn any day, every day, into a great one.  We are not just existing, going through the motions, we are guiding these crazy kids into independence.
I am grateful and lucky, and even while I am crying because it's just been a horrific day, I know that I live a life many could only dream of.

To say I love them  like crazy in one breath, and then to turn to them and growl-yell at them to clean up their messes, would summarize daily mom life.  That's the honest truth.
And I get tired.  Tired of being their Mom.
Love 'em to bits, but I need my space, and I need to decompress after a long day of stupendous behavior- and by stupendous, I mean friggin' awful.

Working out is my safe haven.  My brain clear-er.  My let it out here, because when 'ya get home, those crazy kids will be waiting and you betta' know there will be fresh messes to clean up, but also shouts of "MOM'S HOME!".

I posted on facebook one day, this picture:

I stole borrowed it from a fitness motivation site because it rings so, so true for me.
I struggle an incredible amount with the crazy witch demon in my brain who tells me I can't.  She's right.  I believe her.  I am not a "heavy lifter".  Except I am.  I am whatever the hell I put the work in to be.  And that goes for anything in life.

Why do we give that little jacka** so much power over us?  My brain says, "man, that's a lot of weight.  I'm not sure I can do this."  I haven't even touched the bar, and I've failed.

"Y'know, we were about this weight before and it was totally fine.  Just stop here.  You look great."
As in, there's nowhere to go from here, so just quit and live in this lovely, comfortable, my-clothes-fit place.

I want to go further, I want to do more.  I want to be better.  This self-doubt garbage has got to stop, and I'm working on it.  I am.  It's difficult, but I'll take on the challenge.  I live my life in a way that I can hopefully be around for a long time - I demand it, and my kids deserve it.

Stories

I love doing special things, impromptu dates and staycations with the kids, and although I want to document every beautiful thing that happens, I'm learning to hide our memories away from social media and away from them so that they aren't learning that unless someone is photographing and posting about our activities, then it might not have happened.

I don't remember there being a camera at every event when I was growing up, and some of my most amazing memories have no concrete evidence, except that I can catch a faint scent and be instantly transported back there.  I don't want to share everything and I don't want to be always searching for my phone telling them to smile.  I know for a lot of people, capturing every moment is important, and I respect that, but for our family, we choose not to share everything and we sometimes don't bring cameras at all.

I started writing this blog when there was only one kidlet, and we've grown by two more of them, and in the evolution of this running commentary of our life, I came to realize that this blog will be a kind of autobiography of our life, and of all the crazy things they've done over the years.

I attempted a baby book for the first one, and that got summarized into a different book so that I could pitch the ugly "baby book".  I bought each of them an erin condren notebook (beautiful stuff, BTW, if you're looking for a new personalized journal!) so that I can someday start to hand write each of their stories.I continue to sit down and jot notes about the early years, because the sleep deprivation tends to steal those memories the fastest, but I know that when they get a little older, they will want to read about what they were like when they were babies.  How I felt when they were growing in my belly.  In my years spent growing up, I've discovered that I'm not much of a photographer, but I do like words.  There are loads of pictures of them, but I am taking it upon myself to be the storyteller for this family.

"I lawyu Mom", he says, then wraps those chubby arms tightly around my neck and screams right into my face, "RAWWWWWWWWWWW!!".  This little boy.  My last baby.  He has simultaneously made our family feel complete, and tested me like none of the other two ever has.  He has started finding words, which makes life a whole lot easier, as I am trusting wholly that he's leaving the screaming phase behind in favor of words and sentences.  "Leemeloooooooone!".  (Leave me alone.)  This is one of his most beloved sayings right now.  We started off as two humans in this family, then added a little girl, and another, so that when he finally came along, there was already quite a lot going on.  He is feisty and loud, and yet I think he may be introverted like his Mom, as I sometimes find him in his room with the door closed, playing quietly with his "rae-cars" and "monserTRUCKS".

Ellie.  She is quickly rising to the top.  My performer.  Superstar.  Singer extraordinaire.  She lives for dressing up, finger nails (of which she has none because she has inherited the Kellington nailbiting!), having her hair done (also which is lacking as this childs' whispy hair grows not), and everything that glitters.  This girl who is exceptionally caring, but also flighty and forgetful.  I think she is the most like me and although most people see my children and immediately note how much they look like their Dad, I am told most often that Ellie looks like me.  She belts out lyrics to songs I swear she's never heard before, but the passion and feeling she gives is breathtaking.  She is all things princess, although we like to avoid that word in our house.  There isn't much denying it!

The oldest.  The first.  The one who changed everything.  Audrey.  It literally makes me have to swallow emotion when I think of her because she is such a spectacular person.  She is so, so clever.  She is thoughtful and kind, reserved and quiet.  There hasn't been an easier child to raise, than her.  She is a frustratingly picky eater, and is so much like her Dad that I sometimes think that he was exactly like her as a child.  Stubborn, but generally right.  She and I are reading the first Harry Potter book and she will quickly correct me if I miss a word or use the wrong one.  Not very snuggly, like her brother, but she will stealthily sneak up and be under your arm before you have a chance to notice.

Life goes by fast, like real, real fast, and I can only hope that these stories I've been writing will be something for them to read when they're older,and to know what it was like at our house when they were small.  This blog is often about my own personal health and fitness journey, but I want for it also to be about them, and for them.  It really is all for them, isn't it?

Self Support

Just because your goals don't align with mine, doesn't mean you can't still support mine, and I, yours.

The road to success has pitfalls,  Traps.
Many I can see coming.
Many I have encountered before.
Sometimes though, I'm blindsided by something that I not only didn't expect, but that should have been an encouragement, a support in my corner of the ring.

Not everyone will support your journey.
Be OK with this.
It is yours, after all, and you must own it.

My oldest daughter asked me the other day, "Mom, why are you trying to lose weight?"
It's a question I've been expecting, in some capacity, and I think I have pretty stellar body image, so it's something of a victory that it's taken 7 years for her to broach the subject!

I answered her.
I'm not exactly trying to lose weight.  Do you think I'm trying to lose weight?
"Well, you're dieting, and diets are for losing weight."
True.  Check mate.

Well, Audrey, the lifestyle I'm adopting is simply called flexible dieting.
It's not a diet though.
"Then why aren't you eating with us?"  (They're having hotcakes at McDonald's.)
Because I ate already, I'm satisfied, and I don't really want to eat pancakes.
This appeased her and she continued eating her pancake.
I felt compelled to snack on her pancake, simply to prove that I could eat what I want, but I didn't.
I preach that I must be self-inspired and contented with myself, and this is an action that would imply otherwise.

Do you think I need to lose weight, Audrey?
"No.  I never have."
She says this in a matter-of-fact kind of way, mid-bite and carries on.  Like it's never crossed her mind that I've ever needed to change my body.
I want her to keep that.  Not only for me, and for all the women in her life, but for herself one day when she's comparing herself to, well, whoever.

She's one of the good ones.
Clever, gentle and kind.
We've begun at a young age to show our kids that talking about our bodies is only OK if we're being positive, or talking scientifically.  It's a bit of a tricky thing to teach, and one that gives me some anxiety.  How do we protect them from the tricky people?  How do we show them how to love their bodies?  How do we instill in them the grace to notice, but not judge, when that is what, especially as women, we are always expected to do?

The girls are in swimming lessons, and last week I couldn't help but overhear a Mom commenting on her tween daughters' body.
"You're such a skinny mini.  You should eat a sandwich or something!"

Most certainly it was meant in jest, but I caught Audrey's eye after she heard this.
This is something I don't think she has never heard, and yet, most of you reading have heard something like this before, either directed at yourself or someone you know, I'm sure!
Body shaming comes from a hurt place, an ugly place, a place where we are not comfortable with our own bodies.  I understand that we won't always be happy with ourselves.  That's OK.  I wake up some days and just feel lousy, fat.  I just want to hide in the covers and eat donuts and watch Netflix.  I'm allowed to have these feelings, and I might just have a donut that day, but it is not OK for me to project my crappy feelings onto someone else.

Support can't be expected.  It can't.  We have to learn to dig deep, on our own, and know that this process is hard for everyone.  Know that although it may seem easier for some people, it really isn't. The easier days for you might be the grinding ones for someone else.

I self-implemented a challenge for the summer.
It was to be the summer of the bikini.
I was going to wear nothing but bikinis all summer, no matter where we went swimming.

It took all of a few days for me to realize that I don't give a crap about wearing a bikini all summer.  I do not need to do this challenge to feel damn good about my body and to wear a friggin' bikini.  I already do.  I do not have a six pack, or even a flat belly but you better believe that my bikinis were damn lucky I was wearing them!

I did wear a bikini for 10 days straight.  I can tell you that I most certainly did the comparison.  Y'know, the one you do in your head, as brief as it might be, to the other gals in bikinis.  Only the ones in similar life situations, though.  Under 20?  You're not in this judgment.  Under 30?  I'm not counting you either.  But if you've got a bunch'a little kids and you're not able to relax and read a book either, well then, you and me lady, are fair game, and don't think I didn't see that extra second of a glance you gave me.  I fought the urge to judge, compare.  I fought it hard.  I fought it with the knowledge that my girls are noticing things like this and I've told them these things are not OK, but I always the lose the battle, virtually place myself side by side with these women, and the only person who feels the repercussions of this, are me.

Self-support, to me, means being able to kick my own arse through my workouts, but it also means being kinder to myself in the mirror.  This battle is tough.  It isn't for the weak.  It takes guts, and ambition and a tenacity you've never had, I'VE never had.  Would I be here if I'd had the tenacity before?

Dad.

You were only 20 when I was born.
Garth was already here, but was not even two, and so at 20, you and she were veteran parents.
Two kids.
You worked.  Hard.  Damn hard.  No time for an education, and so you relied on hard work and tremendous work ethic.
We moved.  To Fort McMurray.  At the time, it was to be temporary.  A place to gather bearings, find footings and eventually move back to Saskatchewan.
Instead, it became home.

We moved a few times before finding that little gem on Beaverglen.  It was here that you and she did, what I would think to be, the bulk of your growing up, and into adulthood.  Only 25 when we moved into that house, yet there were two kids who were starting grade school.  Seems unthinkable to me, that at 25, you did what I'm doing at 36.  Unthinkable.

There were struggles, fighting, usually between Garth and I, and loads and loads of smile-so-big-your-face-hurts good times.  We were together.

Everyone thinks that their Dad is the best Dad.  I smile, agree and without ever having to say one word, simply know that the truth is, that my Dad is the greatest.

Dads come to be in a way that Moms, and women can never understand.  We, as the growers of the babes, have different instincts, nurturing instincts.  It's, in some capacity, built into our genetic code. But Dads, now, they have to find their way, muddle through a new title with new expectations, without ever having had that physical connection to their baby.

I think for a lot of guys out there, being a Dad wasn't really on the radar.  Not a dream they've had since they were a child.  I'm not sure about my Dad, but at 18, he likely hadn't even had the chance to think much about it, before it was happening.

I know from chats with my Mom, that he needed some guidance in the beginning, and I don't think that's uncommon.  I know this to be true, as my own life partner needed, and still needs some gentle prods himself!

My Dad is gentle, and kind and soft in an unprecedented way that for much of his life, I'm sure, may have been viewed as a shortcoming.  He has taught be, without a doubt, some of the most powerful lessons and continues to exemplify how vulnerability and contentment are so much greater than being right.

I've read the book Don't Sweat the Small Stuff several times in my life, and I like to read it periodically to remind myself what's important.  I still remember the first time I read it, and thinking to myself how my Dad embodied every recommendation.

"If it won't matter in five years, it doesn't matter now."

It's a good one.
Basically, let that sh*t go.  It's not good for you.

When my first baby came along, and I didn't have a good goddamn clue what I was doing, I had this quiet confidence that my Dad, and Mom, had my back.  No matter what I did, I knew they would be there, anytime to lend a hand, or an ear, and that their tireless efforts in raising me, were going to make me a good Mom, in spite of my self doubts.

My Dad has supported me through some of the ugliest experiences anyone should ever have to go through.  He's been there through my ever challenging teenage years, and I might even venture to say, the more challenging young adult years.  He has been my running partner since the very beginning, more than 20 years ago, and through the crazy goals and ventures that fitness has brought to my life, he has never, not once, had anything negative to say.  He gets it.  He understands the importance of health and fitness and has not only been my #1 cheerleader, but often sets out on his own to achieve his best self.

He fills my gas tank, with a stealthy, "just running to grab a coffee, but my truck is loaded, so can I take yours?", he simply loads my children up and takes them to run errands on one of the million weekend trips to Devon, even though he has just worked a 60 hour work week, and then driven 5 hours.  He will come to get me, and a herd of drunk gals, no questions asked, in the middle of the damn night.

My Dad has taught me my value, and that it has exactly zilch to do with how my body looks and everything to do with my actions.  He has taught me to be a "do-er".  He has shown me the benefit of building things with my own two hands.  He has been the greatest example of what I deserved in a partner, and I think I did a pretty great job choosing one!

Everyone thinks they have the best Dad, and I will agree with you when you say yours is the best, because he is!  To you.  How fantastic to have so many phenomenal dudes stepping up and taking their title as the greatest?!  This is NOT a bad thing!  Me though, I truly think I do have the best Dad, and way more than that, my kids have known and will gather their own teachings from the greatest Papa alive, and also right next to their own Dad.  Happy Father's Day, guys!

What If??

I've been adding some runs back into my routine.
Just running.
However far I want to, whatever speed feels good, just running.
It feels so good.
Like putting on an old, worn pair of boots that just, fit.

I started out walking whenever I felt tired, or discouraged.
Being kind to ourselves sometimes comes in the form of a walk break.
Then, get back at 'er when a good, uplifting tune fires up, or I just want to get home faster!

When I'm easing back into running, I tend to walk the hills, inclines and generally any kind of slope that puts demand on my body.
Then, as the weeks go by, and I get stronger and faster, I start running those sections.
Slow, at first, then at a regular pace, and after a month or so, I might even be in the midst of a sprint interval on that same hill.

And it always begins, with "What if?"
What if I just run it this time?
So, rather than falling into a walk, I just slow my pace and run the damn hill.
Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?!

How many times do we succeed at something, simply because we had the courage to think, "What if?", rather than, "Oh, I can't do that!"

What if I can get this barbell up to my shoulders?  What if I can push through this next set of moves and not rest?  What if I can ride up this hill without stopping?

You can.

When I started running, at 15, I ran around Beacon Hill.
Still love to run around Beacon Hill!  All 4.8km of it, right boys?
Shortly after I picked up running, my Dad and brother would join me.
We would run out of our block, always turn right, then head down the hill, for a short straight stretch, then walk up the shorter, but steeper hill.

One day, after my Uncle Matthew asked why we walk only up the hill, we realized, it was just always what we'd done.
The next run, we ran the entire thing.
And all the runs after that.
And just because we were now wild and crazy, we sometimes ran left out of the block instead of right, which meant that we finished our run with a long, steady uphill climb!

We all get complacent.  It's a pretty strong individual who doesn't ever sit back on their loins at some point, and take a rest once in awhile.  We relax, lace our hands behind our heads, and relish in the work we've done.  It's just natural for us to get comfortable.  Doing something new is scary.  It's unknown, so then it's probably hard, right?  But how do you know?

I'm not a motivated individual, so obviously I'm not a motivating individual, but I would challenge anyone who's reading this sentence to try something new.  Now.  Not tomorrow, when you're feeling better, not in six months when you've lost some weight or gained some strength.  Now.  Maybe it's going outside for a 10 minute walk!  Actually, even a 5 minute one would be something new, no?!  I've hit quite a few PRs in the last year, I've smashed some goals, and I've been patting myself on the back for awhile over these accomplishments and it's time now to step away from that safe, cozy spot.  I'm going to try, and I'm going to fail.  And then I'm going to try again.

I have grown into a person who would rather make an attempt than feel regret.  Still not considering myself self-motivated, but I am goal-oriented!  I have definitely looked back on some of my earlier years and wondered what the deuce I was doing with my life, but as age will do, I've matured and I've learned that I want for this moment to be great, because I don't have control over anything else.  I want all of my today's to pave the way for the tomorrow's.  It starts with small change, but change, nonetheless. How many times have you thought to yourself, did I give that my best effort?  Did I put my best self out there?  Could I have done more?  Why did I wait?  Lots, I bet.  Me too.  I want to live my best life.  I want for my family to see that anything is possible, but, as the old saying goes, you just have to try.

Because, what if?

This is My Mother's Day

12:39AM
Today.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I just need a little help."

It's just barely Mother's Day, and also happens to be my sons' 3rd birthday, but my husband feels he needs to apologize for waking me.
Why?  Because barf-pocalypse had just occurred in my middle daughters' room.

The Mother's Day expectation is absurd, in my opinion.
I've read a few articles this week, many of which outlined "What Mom's Really Want This Mother's Day". 
I disagreed with one in particular, which began, with a bullying tone - I want to sleep in until my eyes open, I want my family to take me to brunch, I want my kids to get along, I want to be waited on hand and foot, IwantIwantIwant...and on, and on...

Has anyone ever enjoyed such a fictitious day?  Let me re-phrase, has anyone enjoyed such a fictitious day, and not had to clean up make up for it the following day?

We honor Mother's on this day.  All of them.  Inclusive.
Some Mom's are entirely alone on this day.  Who's going to take them to brunch?  On a limited budget, probably.  Get real.  There are Mother's-in-waiting, to celebrate.  There are Moms who never birthed a baby, who are raising kids.  There are Moms who have lost.  There are Moms in heaven. There are loads of Moms who are, *gasp, working today!  One friend of mine is working today on a maternity ward!  Can you imagine how glorious that will be for a handful of women!  Yet, she is not being pampered today.  She is at work.

I realize that the celebrations can come in all different ways, and that I cannot judge another family.  I'm not.  I just hate this unrealistic expectation that it's a day off for Mom's.  Should it be?  Hell.  Yes.  Can it be?  Not for a lot of Mom's.

Chores need to get done.  There is a week to prepare for, as loads of Moms will be heading to work bright and early tomorrow.  Children still need raising.  Bathtubs still need to be cleaned after midnight use.

Ellie's room had vomit nearly everywhere.  I took her straight to the tub and stripped her and drew a warm bubble bath and washed her from head to toe.  She laid there for a long time, as I'm sure the water felt good on her icky-feeling tummy.  I waited.  I cried a little bit, because I despise when my kids are sick without me.  It makes my heart ache to think about them being alone when they're throwing up.

This, is my Mother's Day.
I wouldn't want it any other way.

All the things that we're expected to be exempt from, are the things that, in fact, make this day possible.
These three people, my kids, are the reason I get to participate in this day.  My youngest child, the bonus boy, is three today.  It's his birthday.  Mother's Day cannot overshadow this.  My school-aged daughters made heart-felt, lovely gifts for me at school.  This, is my Mother's Day.

My Mom looks prettiest when she is with Dad.
Audrey filled in the blank with this.
She is a clever and observant girl, and to say that we have struggled this year?  Well, we have.
And yet, she thinks that I look pretty when her Dad and I are together.
This, is my Mother's Day.

It bothered me, too, that my husband, my partner in all of this, who will have his day in about a month, felt the need to apologize for asking for help.  The hell?  Of course!  This day had been happening for 40 minutes, and he already felt like he shouldn't disturb me.  Again, get real.

I don't wish for a day off.  I feel that it's unrealistic.  At least right now.  I actually have no wishes.  The greatest things to ever happen to me live at my house, and that is just, enough.

Maybe the sleeping thing.  I could have used a sleep in...

Flexible Dieting, Ya'll!

This post is a bit of a "wake-up-and-smell-the-fact-that-there's-a-better-way!" post, than a motivational one!

Do you know what a personal trainer is?  Group fitness?  Gym membership?
OF COURSE YOU DO!
I'm sure you're familiar with at least one of these things.
What do they have in common?
One hour.

You could even go so far as to give that time a range.  Thirty minutes, 90 minutes, hell, even two hours.
This is a relatively small amount of time in your day, right?

What are you doing with the other 23?

Exercising is easy.
If I'm being perfectly honest, though?
You don't even really have to work out, to get results.
Really!

We're all familiar with exercise and getting fit and lifting weights, and doing Zumba and blah, blah, blah...
But have you heard of a nutrition coach?

Maybe, but maybe not.
You can easily get an hour of exercise in, using any number of means, but some people, likely loads of people, could use help with the rest of the day.  The eating part of the day.  The 3-6 times you are choosing food throughout the day.
A coach?  She can help you, and mine has done nothing less than overhaul my entire way of thinking about food.
No more fear, no more "working off those calories", no more guilt.
None.

If you're interested in a new way, but not a quick way. If you're tired of being afraid of food, or your clothes not fitting, or what you're going to eat at that birthday next Saturday, then you might consider a nutrition coach.  In my opinion, you should consider a nutrition coach over a personal trainer.

My coach teaches flexible dieting.  I realize the word dieting implies that we're giving something up, but I assure you, I have given up nothing.  Not one thing.  The only thing "diet" about the whole thing is that you will be in a calorie deficit - so, you will be consuming slightly fewer calories than you are burning.  This process is slow.  It's meant to be.  It's also pretty easy, as in, like I mentioned, I have given up nothing!  Still going to parties, still going on dates, still working treats into my week.

Where did I come from?  Why did I need a nutrition coach?
I have been heavy my entire life.  I didn't just gain weight when I was pregnant.  I haven't yo-yo'd 40 or 50lbs, I have had, and used a gym membership since I was in high school, and I have been overweight always.  I am also a runner.  I have the experience of 13 half marathons and two marathons under my feet, and on the very weekend I ran a back-to-back half marathon and marathon, I weighed 5lbs more than I do today, and had very little muscle to show for a heckuva'  lot of work.

You cannot out train a bad diet.
A lifetime of terrible eating never caught up to me.  I had always been large.  I had always had terrible, closet eating habits.
Brandy has given me every tool, every opportunity to contact her, and more encouragement than I've ever had.  If you'd like to have a crazy fan in your stands as you trek along on your body transformation, then Brandy is your girl!  You can have all the faith in the world in yourself, but there will be days of doubt.  A coach can be the pillar for you and can guide you, lift you when you feel like you're failing.

I still have work to do.  I am patient, and kind to myself in a way I never have been but I am also armed with the tools and the freedom to choose and I feel assured of myself, with the help of my coach.  I feel so good and I have no fear when I am making my food choices all day, every day.  This Sh*t works!

Slow & Consistent

Do you want to change your body?
Are you ready to live in a body you've always dreamed?
I can tell you what you need to HAVE IT ALL!

Time.

That's it.
Have you got time?
Good.  Then stick to your plan, keep your eye on the prize and try to be patient.
I know it can be hard.
I know, baby!  Hang in there, keep plugging away!

I thought I'd lose more every week, or be smaller by now.
Hasn't everyone on course for weight loss thought this at some point?
By now...by now has been 90 days, give or take, and according to my progress pics, my body is doing nothing less than morphing into one I don't hardly recognize.
Only 90 days, and I feel as though I'm about half way to a crazy, never-achieved-before goal.

"I thought I'd be done by now."
Where are you going in such a big damn hurry, though?
We're always trying to get the BBD - bigger better deal.
Even when it comes to significant physical change.

But what do you think is waiting for you at the finish line, the end?
This is where one of my biggest hangups is.
I just want to get to my goal.  See the number on the scale that I'm aiming for.  Buy smaller clothes and look cute AF in them.
But then what?  What happens next? 
That's it.  Then I'm there.  That is it.

Wherever you go, there you are.
Funny how that can apply to life.  Just, life.

My scale moves, but Im'ma be honest - some weeks it's just squeaking a tiny bit lower, but loss is loss, and sometimes there's even gains, but even when I gain, I'm frighteningly OK with it, because the noticeable changes in the way my body looks are astounding.

I'm at the stage of my journey where I'm hearing the comments.
People I haven't seen in awhile are noticing the changes.
My clothes are fitting hella good.
I have shoulder definition, ya'll!
If there's one part of my body I have always wanted to change, it's my rounded shoulders.
Them babies got some nice angles and curves now!  Mmmmmmm hmmmm!  Tank top season is upon us!

I'm not "there" yet.
I'm a lot closer, and I most certainly expect there to be some slips, some mistakes, a day or two here and there where nasty old habits creep.
That's OK, because I've got the time.
I'm committed and I've got nothing but time.

Junkie

Food addiction.
Binge eating.

It's difficult for me to even write those things, and yet, terms like this have defined me for much of a my life, almost 30 years, in a closeted kind of way.

Do you think that as an alcoholic is heavy within the clutches of the addiction, that they are telling people that they're an addict?  How about a drug user?  I'm quite sure it's not until any kind of addict seeks sobriety, will they be open to calling themselves an addict.

I had a very difficult day the other day.  For no particular reason, was it a bad day.  Just a few, little things, that got to me in a way that was not proportionate to their gravity.

It was so bad, that I reached out to my nutrition coach, to ask her if the urge to binge ever goes away.
In one moment of that day, I felt overwhelmed with the desire to make myself feel better with food.

This has been my cycle, to some degree, for almost as long as I can remember.  I have medicated myself with food, just as an addict would with wine, or prescription drugs, or gambling.
We have a "crutch", to help us get through the crap parts of life, and sometimes, a lot of times, I would even say, this crutch is simply an addiction that we haven't faced yet.

I remember making a bowl of raw cookie dough and eating the entire thing.  I would take a bag of cookies out of the pantry and eat the entire thing.  Oreos were my choice, if given one.  I also remember shaving bits off of a cake, in the hopes that maybe no one would notice that 1/3 of it had been eaten.  It filled the hole.  It made me feel so comforted and almost euphoric, for a moment.
I still know this feeling.  I remember.

I worked through my moment of weakness.  I did not binge.  I stuck to my planned macros, and I felt so very accomplished at the end of that day.

I am working on sobriety.  Isn't that an interesting way to think about it?
I am trying very, very hard to stay sober from binge eating.

I realize that there are people who binge a lot more, or more frequently than myself.  I also know that there are alcoholics who can put down a flat of beer and a couple of two sixes a day, and others who are drinking a bottle of wine every evening.

Potato, po-tah-toe.  Addiction is addiction.

In my mind, on that day, I was simply facing some demons.  Sobriety is hard.  Stopping a food addiction cycle is hard because food is required to live.  Moscato, not so much.

For a lot of my life, though, I was living to eat.  I mean, really living in the anticipation of what I was going to eat next.
I still do, but now there is thought behind what's coming next and I feel good afterwards, instead of guilty and remorseful.

I wondered if I should even post something about this day and this light bulb moment for me, but then, just like many of my posts, I remembered that there is almost certainly someone struggling or dealing with the exact thing I was that day.
I have never gone to a self help meeting.
I have sought help, but it was in the form of therapy and now my phenomenal nutrition coach.

Addiction can be overwhelming. Gripping.  It can be stifling and suffocating.
I knew I needed to get past that moment, but I wasn't sure how.

I'm sure I will still have these feelings.  I'm sure they'll always creep up when I'm feeling weak.  I'm also sure that as I learn about myself, and my triggers and that I am abso-freaking-lutely deserving of everything I work for, that I will be able to stamp them out with more and more ease and resolution.

I feel strong today, and I am so proud that on that day I was able to do the right thing, and reach out to my support, instead of burying myself in a box of timbits.

Progress...sometimes bit, sometimes small.  But always getting better.

A Few Things About Me

I'm never sure how many people actually read my blog, and I write it more so I have a story to pass along to my kids, and their kids, but today I thought I'd randomize it!

I'm also not sure how much "story" I've ever shared, and so I thought I'd share an entire post about me, and a bit about how I've ended up here.

A few things you might not know about me?  Maybe you do?  I love to eat.  I do.  I'm usually thinking about eating WHILE I'm eating.  I equally love to lift weight and move my bod, but that hasn't always been a good balance!

Good, nice hotels are one of my favorite things in the world.
Falling into a perfectly made, all white bed is my heaven!  Add some food, in bed, and now we're talkin'!

I will forever and always be an optimist.  I like to think that I will try to find the good in any situation, though I might find anger and frustration along the way, too!


I am also an introvert.  My most comfortable place is my home, with my people.  And that's it.  I struggle hard to be a scheduled, organized, play date Mom, and fail, usually.  That being said, I also love the group atmosphere of the gym, which is a little weird!  The people there are like family,so it wasn't awkward for long!

I have almost always been involved in sports in some way.
I swam competitively until I was 15.  My events were always distance.  I have been built for endurance my entire life!
I played almost every sport in High School, and to this day, many of my favorite people are from those days!

I played on the senior volleyball team when I was in grade 11.  But was cut for my grade 12 year, and that is still a painful memory for me.

I have been in love three times.  I have had my heart pulverized once. 
When I met my husband, I thought we were going to have so much fun, and then by summers end, be done.  He continues to break the rules and though I don't believe in soulmates, he is my best friend and our relationship is one of my greatest accomplishments.

I don't have a flying clue how to do hair or makeup, and I would really like to learn!  Takers??

I have a degree in Lab Science, and of four years of mainly science classes, my best grade was in English!

One of my greatest fears is letting go of my children.  What if I've failed them in some fundamental way?  What if something happens to them?  What if people are mean to them, and they are too soft to handle it?  I waste a fair amount of time worrying about silly things, but for the most part, I'm a chilled out person.  Those "what if's?" can be all encompassing, though, hey?

I am messy and disorganized and I like to fly by the seat of my pants.  I do not live and breathe by a calendar. I feel that this can be frustrating to the people in my life, sometimes!

My Mom and I have complimentary tattoos.  I also have a big piece on my back, and I'm pining for another one from a different artist.  All are done by girl artists.

I have never, and would never classify my body as skinny, or small.  I have battled with my weight for as long as I can remember.
Much of this blog is about my most recent years, and also most successful.  With age comes wisdom, or something like that.  Also, I don't give a flying eff what anyone thinks of my body anymore.  This has been SO liberating!

I am a runner.  My one true passion is running.  I cannot wait to run races with my kids!
I have run 13 half marathons and 2 full marathons.  Nothing has shaped me, or taught me more about life, than running.

I am only now at a place in my life where I do not worry about food, and about what will happen if I fail.  I'm not failing.  I won't fail.  It's up to me, but it's not scary or stressful anymore.  I have been overweight my entire life.  Sometimes as much as 80lbs - not pregnant.  I have gained and lost a mitful of times, but I wouldn't categorize myself as a "yo yo dieter", as I've never been at a goal weight long enough!  I tend to just stay overweight, to varying degrees.

I can't even say, "this time is different!", or, "this time will be the last time!", because truly, this time doesn't feel like some path I'm trudging down to get to a terrifying and unknown destination. This time doesn't feel like I'm going through one set of motions in the hope that once I "arrive", I will then switch to another set, with a sigh of relief.  All I'm doing is being consistent, accountable and planning a little bit, and as a nice result, I happen to be transforming my body.  This time I'm not frightened.

Food Control

Everything is bad for you.

Ever think to yourself, "I can't eat that."

Yeah.  Me too.

I do it all the time.
Many times, I actually think to myself, "I am eating according to my goals, and that donut/cake/fourth-slice-of-pizza doesn't work for my purposes."

I can, in fact, eat that, (whatever it may be), but it means I will have to make room for it somewhere in my calories for the day, or, I don't make room for it, and accept the consequences of that choice.

I am a grown ass woman, and every time I'm at the grocery store, and that heavenly scent gets to my nose, y'know, the fresh baked bread/cookies/something from a lovin' oven...my mouth waters.

It is a powerful, powerful choice not to pile trash into ones cart.  It is a choice to load up on good, healthful foods.  There's not one damn thing stopping me from grabbing the 40pk of powdered donuts.  Not one.  Except my own self.  And the fact that I value my body too much, and know my self too well, that I won't buy them.

I can buy them.
I just won't.

Can't and won't are really different words, and give power one way or the other.
Food doesn't have a lick of control over me, so why the hell would I give it that?

Now that I've written about powdered donuts, I'll be wanting one for the rest of the day...better work something into my day for tomorrow!
(For the record, I don't even really like those 108 day old donuts, but don't you always think they're going to taste good?  They don't.  I'll save you the $4.99...)

I'd be lying if I didn't say that a part of me exercises in order to eat.
I do.  Working out doesn't buy you a whole lot of calories, but I can safely say that I can eat an additional couple hundred a day compared to a sedentary version of me.
My most recent realization is that those extra calories can make or break my workouts.  Good fuel = good outcomes.

In my normal life, I am a distance runner, but I am taking a break due to injury.
(I might also be falling entirely and hopelessly in love with lifting.  *sigh.
I heart my barbell.)
When you are training for long, long distances, and running upwards of 40km a week, you can eat a little bit more.
My drug fuel of choice was always, always baked goods.

Costco cookies?  Hell yes.
Two bite brownies?  Get in ma' belly.
Any kind of pretty, flaky pastry?  Mmmmmmm hmmmmmmm!

Carbs.  Carb load day is truly the most glorious day, and although I never dared step on the scale, and I knew that my food was going to be stored fuel for a 2,3,4 hour run the next day, I loved every minute of it.  I run for two reasons - mental clarity, and food.  The end.

I'm sure I could have chosen more healthful options, but my own body responds well to processed carbs during long runs.
No leafy green things and no whole grain anything.  White, glue-y carbs.  The.  Best.
Also, though, no fried foods, so although I would love to be a donut fueled runner, that would be as disastrous as a giant salad.

I miss those days sometimes, and I feel as though when I do get back to running, I will be older, and let's face it, this body needs a little more care than I've given it in past.  I may not be able to eat the highly processed stuff, and I may be hanging up my shoes for marathons, but I will tentatively venture there when the time comes.

Til then, I'll just keep lifting heavy things and putting them down, and maybe adding a few miles in every week.

As for those sinful glue-y foods?  They're no good for lifting, so I indulge very, very infrequently now!
(That's a win, if you're counting!)

A Lifetime of Counting

I wrote this in November.  It's not new, just newly published.

I am so, so sick of salads.
I have been eating salads since I was around 7.
I don't mean that I occasionally ate salads, I mean I actually ate salads almost daily since I was 7.
My Mom tells me about a time some family had gone out for breakfast, and I tried to order a salad.
For breakfast.
Salad.
Eff.

All through high school.
Chopping lettuce.

University?
Lettuce.

I know that loads of people eat salad a lot.
But I feel like I can safely say that I've been eating them for around 10 years longer than the average person.

Sometimes I feel cheated because I have always struggled with extra poundage, and yet, I've never, ever been able to indulge.  Eat whatever I want.
During high school, I remember the hoards ordering plates of fries and gravy day after day.

Instead, I ate rice cake peanut butter sandwiches.
Chicken broth and melba toast.
Vegetarian pizza pops.
Because, at least there were a few reconstituted veggies in there, right?!?!

Even then I knew that those pizza nuggets were deep fried, and not a good choice.

Before counting calories, or macros, or weight watchers points was a "thing", I bought books from the store and memorized calorie counts of common foods.
(I was constantly pointing out to my friends how many calories their food choices had - sorry guys!)

Many people I talk to about weight issues will say that when they got out of high school/turned 30,40,50.../got married/insert major life event, is when keeping weight off became difficult.

I can empathize, however I've been going to weight watchers since I was 7.
Grade two.

So when I chat with you, and at 35 you're finally having to watch what you eat, I kinda' wanna punch pinch you.
If you've gone most of your life not having to pay attention to what you eat?
I envy you more than you can know.
There are far worse burdens to carry, however carefully watching my intake has been mine for my entire life.

The whole thing.

I've been a bit too relaxed with my eating habits lately, and a few pounds have found their way onto my body.  I'm aware.  I'm uncomfortable.  And I know I need to tighten up my diet and put more colorful food into my mouth.

Of course, today has been a good, solid Monday, but I'm going to finish off the box of girl guide cookies we bought today.

Don't worry.  I shared.
That's a lie.
I ate all the vanilla ones by myself.
They were delicious.
Never miss a Monday though, right?

Me & Him

I tend to only post sporadically about my husband because I mean for my blog to be about my own personal journey, but today I want to share a little about him.

Marriage isn't always peachy.
Social media shows us all the beauty in peoples lives, but you won't find the pictures or posts about everyone's struggles.
That, we all keep to ourselves.
Sometimes, there is nothing more than a name change and some pictures of a past life seem to disappear and the slate is wiped clean.
That's the beauty of social media.
It is whatever we want it to be.

But I've found, that there is something endearing about the ugly bits of marriage.
The parts that we keep out of the limelight, and to ourselves.
We hash it out, and learn a little, and still decide that being together is the best choice.
And in some cases, it's not.

And no matter the outcome, we're stronger because of it.

My husband is, what I might call, an old-fashioned man.
A "man's man", if you will.

He's not too in touch with his feelings, but he knows when it's important to reach down deep and figure things out.
Sometimes, because I've said, "figure your sh*t out."
He is, very, very clever.
He is the rock, where I am allowed to be soft and emotional.
We fight, and sometimes say mean things to each other.
Reeeeeally mean things.
We are far, far from a perfect couple, but we choose to remain on the same team because, truthfully, it's generally a super cool team to be on.
And every day, I'm glad he's stuck with me.

I was having a bit of anxiety over my oldest kid starting grade two this past year.
I know it's not a big deal, really, and I'm not upset because she's growing up so fast, (she is, for the record), it's that in a short time she will be bringing homework home and I'm nervous for the day I won't be able to help her with math because it was never a strong subject for me.
I cannot begin to tell you how much I love the fact that my husband will take great pleasure in re-figuring out how to do the math with her, as well as the other two, when the time comes.
I just said pleasure, as in, he is probably already excited for this.
My partner is going to fill in the gaps.
We will figure things out, together.

Even on the days I tell him I want to break up, because I'm hormonal and he forgot to stop at Costco, so now I have to go tomorrow, with three kids because he has a business lunch at a fancy restaurant with some big wigs, and it's just not fair.
Even then, I choose him.

There are days when he is not my favourite person.
Many days.
We have three little kids, and we have to coordinate schedules and try to make sure everyone is doing enough of the things they want to do, so there's minimal complaining when we have to do the things they're not so fond of doing.
With five lives being lead, under one roof, and of the five lives, only two of which are by grownups, that leaves a lot of chores to do, and a lot of parenting.
We're tired.
All the time.  Like, we don't even talk about how tired we are, because it's just simply assumed that neither one of us got three or four straight hours of sleep, in the past six years, and we're OK with it now.
We created this life together, and that's simply one of the unfortunate consequences.
The rest of the consequences are so, so awesome.

We make sure to take time for each other, and try to reconnect on a regular basis so that we're simply not tag-teaming the kids while we go do our own things.
We ask for help so we can go on dates.
We went on three dates over one weekend, simply because we had sitters and we need to take advantage sometimes!
Those three dates were "banked" for the weeks that will go by with no dates!

My guy is incredible, and loves his family fiercely and all those years ago, when I met him, I could never have dreamed that he'd be the man he is today, and that we would be leading this wild and crazy life together.
I could never have imagined that after a decade, I still sometimes stop him mid-sentence to lay some sugar on him.
When I met him, I distinctly remember thinking, "Yea, this one could be fun for a little while!"
I wasn't interested in marriage or kids.  And neither was he.
And yet, here we are, ten years later, and we are pretty darn great together.

How a Mom is Born

This is a bit of a different post, for me.
I usually chat about my day to day life, but this is something that's near and dear to my heart.
If I ever win the lottery, I will immediately apply to Midwife school and then I will offer it for free.
I wish that everyone who wanted a midwife, could have one.

I've had three babies.
Three different birth experiences.

Bringing a baby into the world really doesn't take very long.
It is rather a daunting task while you are pregnant with the child you will eventually birth, but in reality, it's a small, small portion of time.

And yet, any group of women who have had babies, will almost always get around to sharing their birth stories.
It's our rite of passage.
Our common denominator.

If you have children, then you (or someone), gave birth to them.

How is it, though, that those hours, or, sometimes minutes, and (bless you) in some cases, days, can shape a woman so distinctly?

I mourn the birth I never got to have with my first.
I think that's OK.
I wish it had been different, and I had've been  stronger, or more resilient.
I wish I hadn't eaten so many peanut butter cups for breakfast, and had pre-eclampsia.
I learned from the experience, but the truth is that in some ways, I feel like I failed her before I ever laid eyes on her.

The birth of my second and third babies were entirely different experiences from my first.
I'm a midwifery advocate and I wish it was more available, but I would like to think that I don't push midwifery care on anyone who isn't interested.

If I told you that my second two births were much more calm, even serene, and connected me to my husband in a way I can't put into words, would I be strung up for ostracizing hospital births?
How about if I had a hospital birth myself and could actually compare births from a personal point of view?

Epidurals?
Fantastic!
Once I got mine in the hospital, I was sailin'!

Natural birth with no drugs whatsoever?
Life changing.
I have run marathons and lifted gigantic amounts of weights (at least, for me), and I've never felt more powerful than when I had those babies.

Everyone has a different birth story to tell, and no one is better, or worse, than any other.
They are personal, and so sometimes won't be shared.
We are allowed to have negative feelings about our experiences, but the fact is, that the end result is the children who now live in our homes, and more importantly, hearts.

If you're a woman and are interested in the strength of your body,  then I strongly encourage you to seek out a midwife early on in your pregnancy.
If you're a woman and you're not too fond of pain and would just like to get the drugs,  have a baby and get home, I would also encourage you to seek out a midwife.
If you could give a flying hoot who takes care of you during your pregnancy, and you'll take any and all drugs, then good on you too!  All we have to do, is help these babes evacuate the premises, in a safe way for Momma and baby.

There is hoards of research to try and help you make an informed choice, but it's important that expecting or soon to be expecting Moms know that you are free to choose a caregiver for your pregnancy, and mostly, I encourage you to do that.
Select a caregiver.

Fries, no gravy. And diet coke, please.

I've just set the kids down with their dinner.
A double package of MrNoodles split into three bowls, and one snack plate with cucumber, cheese and veggie straws.
Y'know, for the vitamins.
I use to give them each a snack plate, but I got tired of throwing away two entire plates of food, and one that was nibbled on.
Now I just throw away one plate of food, and put three, empty noodle bowls into the dishwasher.

My own eating is pretty darn healthy.  Lots of veggies and lean meats, fruits, cheese, smoothies.
I'd like to say that my good habits will eventually fall onto my kids, but the fact that I scraped a plate with tiny pepper pieces that had previously been in meatballs, from the other adult individual, who I will not name, who also lives at this house, says that I'm not entirely confident in this.

I have a long way to go in my wellness endeavors.
I've come a long way, but just yesterday I had an overwhelming desire to eat some raw cookie dough.  Not even a choice binge for me, but the desire was there, nonetheless.

I "built" a cookie into the following day, which was really satisfying not only to look forward to, but to devour, post workout.

I also still, preeeeetty much all the time have the desire to abandon all notions of health and wellness and eat pizza, and wings and beer...

And I still may.  Probably will, one night, truth be told, which is OK, just not so frequently as it's not a damn good treat.

I've been inspired to write a bit about the beginnings of my struggles with weight.  The actual beginning was when I was around five.

A relatively traumatic event happened to me, at the hands of a stranger, and I started gaining weight, unintentionally, for lack of a better word.
(Later in my life, during counselling sessions, I learned that this is a common response for young children.  We think that if we're "bigger", then the bad thing won't happen to us again.)

I wouldn't say that my struggle with my weight began until I was around 15 or 16, though, as I never remember being concerned too much.

During high school, I played almost every sport.  I also swam competitively until I was 15, outside of school, so fitness has truly been a part of life forever.
I didn't focus a lot on what I ate, but I do remember restricting and counting calories, but also binging.
I started drinking diet coke in high school, and I rarely, rarely had fries at the school cafeteria.
And never, with gravy.

I don't remember my friends every having anything to say about my size, but I do remember a particularly jaded boy I had broken up with, telling me I was fat.
At the time, I was probably a size 10, and fit.
But I still had a little belly.  I've never, ever had a flat belly.

That teeny, tiny moment in time had a profound effect on me, and is still a strong memory.

I also had a boy I was seeing in my early twenties, tell me that he didn't see my obesity as a problem.
I never spoke to him again after that, though I recall my cell phone "blowing up", and this was before that was a commonly used term.

My true struggles, difficult and grand, as they were, began after my grandpa died.
I piled on weight.  Fast.  Forty pounds in 6 months, and it only got worse, but I stopped getting on the scale.
My size 16 clothes, that fit like sausage casings, told me the truth.

Getting under 200lbs is still one of the greatest things to happen to me.  It felt like exploding a glass ceiling.  Like I could have easily stayed where I was, and probably had a different, but still content life, or I could start dreaming and reaching giant goals. 
I decided to try to reach my full potential.

It took a long time, and I still gain weight easily.
Creating healthy habits starts from childhood, but it's not "ingrained", I don't think.
Many people, are able to recognize that they grew up eating less than nutritional things, and correcting it.
I buy ichiban in bulk at Costco.  I also buy cucumbers, peppers, carrots, cheese, yogurt...
I'm trying not to feel badly about the junk they eat, because, after all, they're still kids, and should get to eat junk a little more often.

My advice to my teenaged self?
Eat the pizza pop.  Your metabolism is at it's prime, now, girl!
Also, you look just fine.