Unassisted

Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped.
And I can do them without any assistance.

I can do about five in a row.

For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.

Small victory for some, but for that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.

A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yea', I'm a freakin' beast!

I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!

I am a force to be reckoned with.
This is one of the things I always tell myself.
I am not to be underestimated.

We've been testing out our strength so that we can do a whole buncha' workouts in the coming weeks and test again to see how crazy strong we've become.

We tested our 1 rep max, which is basically the weight that you can pick up one time.  Just one.
I've been dying to get to 200lbs on my deadlift, because I know I can do it.

I got it.  It was a sumo deadlift, which is a move I've done precisely one other time besides that day, but I did it.
Glistening eyes ensued.

Just a couple of days before, I got a bodyweight backsquat.

I'm in the habit of grabbing some "juuuuuuuustincase" weights for workouts where I think I might need to drop some weight.
I use to switch out for them routinely.

I need to stop taking them.

I've done a handful of workouts at the prescribed weight, which is always the recommended weight to use, which is usually heavy AF.
Just a handful.
But the victory I enjoy after those workouts is immense.
Huge.

I've settled comfortably into a middle-of-the-pack mentality, and I've been quite content to be average.
For someone who's been overweight, even obese for much of her life, believe me when I say, I've dreamed desperately about being average!
Average is a great place to be.

But I want more for me.
I want to be better, stronger, healthier.
I want to light fires in people, in myself.  In my kids.

Assisted movements at the gym are in no way failures.
Never once did I ever think I was less because I was using bands for pull ups.
We all start at the beginning and we all need to figure out what to do and how to make the best versions of ourselves.

But to be able to exercises unassisted, unscaled...
There are no words for how that feels.
But my glistening, smiling cheeks speak volumes.

One Does not Equal One

I want for my efforts to equal my outcomes.
Doesn't everybody?!?!

I want for one great day of wise eating choices to equal one pound lost.
I want for a really great, powerful workout to measure up to lifting heavier the very next time.

This, you may already know, is not the case.

Changing your body, in any way, takes time.
It can seem like 5lbs just found it's way to you over the weekend, but I have some experience in this, and it's probably a little bit of body fat and a whole lotta' water weight.  By mid week, you may be only up a true pound.
Sucks, I know.

The same goes for weight loss and muscle gain.
Only it takes a little more time for these outcomes.

Time.
That's it.

We live in a world of instant gratification.
We're bored.
We're bored of being bored.

The world is more connected than ever, and yet we can't even watch a movie, eat snacks and play on our tablets without having our phones in our hands too.

"I've decided that today I'm going to eat well, and tomorrow that damn scale had better reflect my efforts!"
Me.
This was/is totally me.

*Step off scale
*Step on again
*Lean slightly left/right/forward

I used to do this.
Almost every day.

I don't anymore, because as long as my clothes fit, I'm not really interested in a brief moment on the scale setting the tone for the rest of my day.

But for most of my life, I've expected immediate and, obviously, lasting results.
This time though, I've accepted that there will be setbacks.  Failures.  Bad days.  Maybe several bad days in a row, that by the end have my jeans stretching out a liiiiiiiiiittle bit past their recommended stretchiness.

I've accepted this.
The majority of the days are pretty good.  Mindful eating.  Calculated choices.  A good workout and then a decent bedtime.

And over time, my choices have amounted to some fairly staggering changes in my physique and more importantly in my abilities.

I know it can be hard when a plateau shows up.
For a few weeks, or maybe even months.
I know it can be so very frustrating when you're tracking foods, getting in workouts and nothing is changing.
I truly do know.
A hundred Monday start overs, I know.

Trust the process and be patient.
There isn't a person in the world who's been successful at weight loss or muscle gain or in any major change to their body, who hasn't experienced the exact same frustrations that you might be facing right this very second.
I guarantee that.

I remember when I was a newer runner.
I would get out a few times a week for a 5km run, and each time it was difficult.
I may have gotten faster, or maybe the hill didn't seem quite so daunting, but nevertheless, it was difficult.
Then I would see another runner out, and think to myself, why does it look easy for them?
I've been a regular exerciser (exerciser?  One who exercises?  No idea...) for my entire adult life and throughout most of my teen years too, and in all that time, I can honestly say that exercise has never really gotten easier.
I have most definitely become stronger and more efficient, but it isn't easier.
If it's easy, is it worth it?

So that person I saw running, who was making it look easy? 
Those folks I see at the gym who can make enormous weights seemingly fly up over head?
It wasn't easy for them.
They just maybe had been at it for a longer time.

Some Other Kind of Blues

I'm sitting at the computer, eating cottage cheese right out of the container.
Mostly because the alternative is to eat the roll of cookie dough that's in the fridge.

The baby blues are a common and accepted reality for many Moms.
I was good and prepared to have some kind of post partum depression after each one of my babies, but I never suffered from it.

What I feel might deserve a name, though, is the toddler blues.  The grade-school blues.  The I-have-three-kids-and-some-days-I'm-drowning blues.

Somehow I feel that once we've "made it" through the sleepless nights and completely dependent baby stage, that us Moms must be alright now. 
"You've muddled through those tough first months, and now you're good, so go forth and be excellent".
But lots, and lots (I mean lots) of days are far from excellent.

Some days I just want to be alone.
Many days I would do anything for them to not whine MOMMY even once.
You can ask for me, call for me even, but the constant screaming and/or crying MOMMY is enough to drive me to drink.
(If you are getting through all of this without drinking, then you are a certified hero.  Seriously.)

I've been really stressed since the fire.
I feel like once we become Moms there's a low level of stress that simply comes along with the gig.
That's OK.
That's normal and I can deal with that because it's been there since the beginning.

This additional stuff, though, has been heavy.
My IHaveTos are feeling really, really heavy lately.
Weighing me down.  Making me sad.
And I can admit that.
I'm struggling.
I'm asking for help and my white knights are showing up.
Grateful doesn't come close to the feeling I have when Grandma shows up to whisk one of the heathens away.

I did not suffer from PPD or baby blues, but I think maybe I am suffering from some other kind of Mom-induced blues and I'm comfortable enough to ask for help, and then to go take care of myself.  Depression can be debilitating and all-consuming, but I'm hoping that some early actions will keep me in the game, because these little people need me and I'm more than willing to model good mental health, which sometimes means that assistance is required.

Now excuse me, please, while I first don my own air mask...

Have a Little Faith

Trust the process.
Trust.  The.  Process.

Most of the time I have to just have blind faith that the changes I'm making are having an impact on my body.
Sometimes though, the changes are measurable and visible, and that's when all of the sacrifice and hard work pays off.

Measurements can come in the form of clothing, which is really friggin' cool!  Or, they can come as a PR, or personal record.

Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped, which just means I use momentum to help swing my body up.
And I can do them without any assistance.


I can do about five in a row.

For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.

Small victory for some, but during that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
Again.

A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yeah, I'm a freakin' beast!

I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!

I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not to be underestimated.

I lose sight, I lose faith and sometimes I fall far, far away from my goals.
Sometimes my clothes that fit just one month ago are pleading with me to put the timbits down.
Sometimes life is very, very stressful and I stuff junk in my face to try to feel better.
Old habits die hard, and to be honest, I don't really see stress eating ever going away entirely.
I just try to keep the monster quiet for the most part with alternative remedies that don't involve food.
It's been a sad couple of months for me, and my emotions are speaking loudly - telling me that some carbs will make it all feel better.
Truthfully, sometimes the carbs DO make me feel better.

I don't always resist, and I don't always feel bad  about giving in.
I'm finding the balance, and I'm learning not to beat myself up, because it is so very pointless.

I've been getting to the gym a lot lately.
It's stress relief during this trying time, and it's one of my happiest places.
I'm noticing that almost weekly I'm lifting heavier than I've ever lifted before - and not just for one rep, but for many, many reps!

I'm pushing over 100lbs above my head on a regular basis - which for me, is a huge accomplishment!

Much more than my skinny jeans looking bangin', I LIVE for PRs.
I get so excited and emotional every single time I lift heavier than before.
Losing weight has been the most amazing side effect of the heavy lifting, but I will never again focus on my scale because it is relatively unimportant in the grand scheme.

My butt is growing (in the good way, right V?!), and I did not take a compliment recently about it, but instead dove into the self-deprecating shit that comes naturally to me.
That is something I need to get better at - still.

Having faith that significant changes take time - sometimes a very long time - is one of the greatest challenges I've encountered.
If I put in the work, then changes will happen.
If there's one guarantee in life, that just might be it.
Nothing else is a given, really.

So, self, have a little faith in me.

Have a Little Faith

Trust the process.

Trusting anything can be so difficult!

Most of the time I have to just have blind faith that the changes I'm making are having an impact on my body.
Sometimes though, the changes are measurable and visible, and that's when all of the sacrifice and hard work pays off!

Measurements can come in the form of clothing, which is really friggin' cool!  Or, they can come as a PR, or personal record.

Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped.
And I can do them without any assistance.

I can do about five in a row.

For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.

Small victory for some, but during that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.

A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yeah, I'm a freakin' beast!

I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!

I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not to be underestimated.

I lose sight, I lose faith and sometimes I fall far, far away from my goals.
It's been a sad couple of months and my emotions are speaking loudly - telling me that some carbs will make it all feel better.

I don't always resist, and I don't always feel about bad about giving in.
I'm finding the balance, and I'm learning not to beat myself up, because it is so very pointless.

I've been getting to the gym a lot lately.
It's stress relief during this trying time, and it's one of my happiest places.
I'm noticing that almost weekly I'm lifting heavier than I've ever lifted before - and not just for one rep, but for many, many reps!

I'm pushing over 100lbs above my head on a regular basis - which for me, is a huge accomplishment!

Much more than my skinny jeans looking bangin', I LIVE for PRs.
I get so excited and emotional every single time I lift heavier than before.
Losing weight has been the most amazing side effect of the heavy lifting, but I will never again focus on my scale because that is so far in second place that it might as well be 50th.

My butt is growing (in the good way, right V?!), and I did not take a compliment last week about it, but instead dove into the self-deprecating shit that comes naturally to me.
That is something I need to get better at - still.

Having faith that significant changes take time - sometimes a very long time - is one of the greatest challenges I've encountered.
If I put in the work, then changes will happen.
If there's one guarantee in life, that just might be it.
Nothing else is a given, really.

On your Fourth Birthday, Lady Ellie

I sat in the room with my enormous belly underneath my folded hands.
The other Mom's from my midwife group had brought their new little babies, some as old as three weeks already.

I had to hold back tears, and pronounce that, "it's easier to be pregnant, than have a new baby to look after".
I hated waiting for the arrival.
One day over due, then two, then six.

Then my brother married the most wonderful girl, and still, a week overdue and celebrating in Jasper, no baby.
I gained a lot of weight.  I was friggin' huge.
I really didn't want to be pregnant anymore, and I just wanted to meet you.

You had your own plan then, and still do.

The day you were born was both the most hectic day of my life, and in complete contrast, your birth was my most calm, and relaxed.

This is you.
Wild and unbridled, and yet, you can be so, so sweet.
So kind and generous.

And in the very next breath, you are breathing fire.

My second born girl, you have grown into a beautiful, strong, unapologetically independent kid.
Not my baby anymore.
You're growing tall and losing your adorable baby chub, and your strength and grace is starting to shine bright.

It's impossible for you to be turning four, as I remember vividly your birth day as if it were moments ago.

You made your own plans to arrive and although your Nana, sister and I spent the entire day killing phone batteries while timing regular contractions walking around West Edmonton Mall, it was less than one hour of discomfort before you made your grand and magnificent entrance.

We were going to call you Grace.
I still adore that name, but it was evident almost momentarily that you were meant to be an Ellie.

Spunky and radiant.

Your smile is sometimes all I need. 
Your imagination is like none other and when you lean on the window sill at the front of our house, I can only dream of what you might be thinking.

Your Dad and I, and I'm sure your brother and sister, want you to know, on your fourth birthday, that we love you bigger than Texas and that life without you would be un-glittered and utterly boring without the glamour and charm you bring every day.

Happy birthday Ellie!

Fork McMurray

Before I could properly say "Fort", it was Fork McMurray.
This is the same way my three year old says it now.

I wasn't born in Fort McMurray.
We moved there when I was four months old.
It's the only hometown I've ever known, and in my lifetime I've seen it change from a virtually unknown city of 35,000 to a bustling and easily recognizable metropolis of more than 80,000.

I left to go to University, and aside from a couple of boomerang stays of no more than a few months at a time, I haven't had a permanent residence there since I was 18.
Even still, I've never felt more like I'm "home" than when I'm rounding the corner from Highway 63 onto Beacon Hill Drive.

We moved into the house on Beaverglen Close when I was barely 6.  It was the summer before I started in Miss Cox's grade one class.
My first night, I remember looking at the pink patterned wall paper and seeing Laura scribbled on a bit of wall where the wallpaper had been peeled up.
Laura Tees, who lived there with her family before us.
I remember my brother and I exploring the neighborhood  and finding a park with a tire castle and zip line and some immediate friends.
It was a large neighborhood.  One of the largest in the community of Beacon Hill.

When I was a little older, I wanted to paint my room white.  We put hand prints in different colours of pastel paint all over the bottom half.  Any time a friend came to play, they were to provide a semi-permanent mark of themselves on the wall.
We renovated that house many times over, making it more and more our own.
Added a deck, then later removed it, and built a new deck.
Dad and I built the entire garage one summer, with only a little bit of help.
It is still one of my greatest accomplishments.

We discovered our lifelong passion for running, and ran around Beacon Hill countless times.
Garth, Dad and I would occasionally go out together, but more often than not it was just Dad and I, and maybe the big yellow dog, Belle.

I discovered I had been accepted to my chosen University program, standing in the kitchen one morning.

I felt the most intense heartbreak of my life in the house.
Went through some very difficult years of bullying and mean girl bullsh*t.

I remember having my shoulder accidentally dislocated by Andrew in the basement, when I was in grade school.
Dad shook a bottle of salsa one day and it went all over the roof because the lid hadn't been put back on quite right.

It's still very fresh and raw, and it's not even "my" house anymore.
I'm not even the one dealing with this unimaginable loss.

I can't even begin to think that I have any idea how my parents, my brother and sister-in-law and 1600 other families, feel right now.
I don't know how you all feel, but I do know that everyone will grieve this loss differently and I will, without question, support you in whichever way you need.

The house is gone.
Reduced to a pile of ash and rubble.
The memories of that house, I will put to paper, so that they will never die, and so that my children and their children can read about the wonderful things that happened in Beacon Hill, and not just the enormous tragedy of May 3,2016.
I'm posting this so that's it's current, but like many of my blog, or journal entries, I plan to return and add memories and thoughts.

Four people grew up in that house.
My parents were just 25 when we moved in, so they themselves were coming of age, and I'm sure have their own memories, separate from mine.
I know my brother would have his own set to think on and smile about.
I'm not sure how I'll feel when I go to see the place where our neighborhood once was, and I'm not sure I even want to go see it.
What I'm certain of, is that the fire didn't take away any of the important stuff.

I love you guys all so very much and I'm so, so sorry that this happened to you and to all the people of Beacon Hill, and the other communities in Fort McMurray that were devastated by the fire.