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!