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...

Grindin' It Out - The End is Near!

One day, my protein shaker cup will not sit beside sippy cups and baby bottles in my sink.
Someday I will not have to do their dishes or laundry or nag them to pick up their shit treasures.

Right now, we're busy, and our children don't even really do any organized activities.
We're busy because they're little and quite dependent on us.  Particularly as a Mom, I am mostly responsible for myself and three little people.
For a gal who is pretty far from a type A personality, which roughly translates to disorganized and forgetful, this is totally out of my comfort zone.

The beauty of a type Z personality?  I'm not stressed out too often.
I try not to "sweat the small stuff", because I could get so wrapped up in the details that I miss out on the memory making.
I've got a mock-race weekend and then peak weekend the next and then I taper for the big day(s)!

That means, less than a month from now - in fact, by January 12, 2015, I will be a Goofy Race finisher and second time marathoner.
C-RA-ZY!!

I've been running a half marathon or longer every Sunday for a couple of months now, which gives me lots of time to think.
I almost always come back around to how the hell I ended up here.
Married, three kids, and yet still living my dreams.

Truth be told, it's not easy.
There are loads of obstacles, challenges, and we meet them as a family.
And at this point in our lives, by family, I mean my husband and I.
And by husband, I mean the super cute fella who lives in my house and has never doubted my wild and crazy ambitions for a minute.
(Love ya babe.)

What are some things that have reared their ugly head on my path to 63.3km in 2 days?

Injury.  Chronic illness.  Childcare.  Jobs.

Have I missed a few training runs?  Yup.
Is that going to stop me from finishing?  Nope.

A very clever lady told me something about failure recently.
Had a bad day?  Ate everything in sight, so long as it didn't have nutritional value?
Missed an important workout?  Waited in traffic just to turn around and go home?

She said, just because you have a flat tire doesn't mean you slash the other three.
I.  LOOOOOOOVE.  This.

I've never considered such a thing because I am very stubborn, which can work against me because once I've eaten the  row of oreos for breakfast, the day is a bust, no?

Don't give up on yourself because of one, or two or ten slips.
Deciding that you're worth the effort is something you must do everyday.  Again and again.

I'm down 40+lbs since baby number last was born, and that's a month post partum, so all the weight that was going to "fall off", had already done so.

I have worked really friggin' hard for this and I'm excited, for a month from now, when I will celebrate my victory with several slushy, alcoholic beverages, and likely, registering for another race.
Hypo half, anyone?
Which one are you doing?

Another issue that I haven't just dealt with this time around, but every time I train for a race, and really, it's something I deal with round the clock, is disease.

I am the proud owner of not one, but two chronic ones that I will have to medicate for indefinitely.
I'm an asthmatic and I have Grave's disease.
My lungs are shotty and my metabolism works at a snails pace on it's own.
I take drugs.  Good ones.  And they keep my diseases under control.
So that I can do the things I want to do.

Why is this important?
Are there people who have a perfectly clean bill of health?
Sure.
Are there people who don't have weight struggles?
Absolutely.

Am I exempt from being my best self because I do have health and weight issues?
Hell.  To the.  No.

I sat in front of a gal one day in a stadium who proceeded to tell her friend why she couldn't do, basically, any form of exercise.
Then the two of them went out for a smoke.
But I digress.
She said that squats/lunges/any-bending-of-any-sort, hurt her knees.
She said she was too out of shape to run.
There were no fitness classes that fit her schedule because her kids were too busy.

Excuses are fine.
But own your life.

You are not a victim and the world does not owe you anything.

It's a hard truth, but all it means is that whatever choices you make, they're fine.
But don't bitch about the consequences.

Don't want to eat well?
Cool.  Don't care.

But I don't want to hear about your heartburn, or exhaustion.

Won't make time to get some fitness in?
That's ok too.

Please, please don't tell me about how a flight of stairs winds you.

When you drop some pounds, a lot of people ask how you did it.

How did I do it?
The hard way.
The don't-eat-trash-everyday-and-get-off-your-rear-and-move way.

Trust the process and be patient.
It'll come.
It'll come in spite of your health ailments.
It'll come in spite of the negatrons who doubt you.
It'll come.

Next time I post will likely be post-run, so send me good vibes on January 10 & 11!!
And Merry Christmas!