One Girls Journey From Fatass to Fabulous

So, more and more I’m getting questions from friends and readers about different ‘issues’ that arise when one takes on a journey such as mine – the one from fatass to fabulous – and I sometimes hesitate to answer them here because really, all I’ve done is get more fabulous. I’m still in my heart of hearts lazy, a lover of diet soda and a fresh bag of Ruffles, and a good 50 pounds overweight, even though I can rock glitter, eyelashes and a phony pony like no other.

So an authority on weight loss I am not.

But I got an email that I think that it may strike a chord with you all, too, so here we go:

Hello, love . . . please tell me how you juggle it all. I am having a hard time. Work, family, gym, me time…I feel SO pulled in a trillion directions and feel like I am neglecting so many things/people in my life. My kids are left with my husband or my parents when I go to the gym (unless one goes with me) and when I get home everyone is screaming, tired, possibly needs a bath, I have not eaten, dishes are everywhere, lunches aren’t packed, etc. And then I get the “maybe you should stay home more and not stay gone so much” from my husband who is only 1/2 “supportive” some of the time. My child asks me not to go to Zumba so I can stay home and be with him and he misses me all the time….ugh. This tears me up inside. Little ones don’t understand that this is for them, too….life is so damn hard. Sorry to be Debbie Downer, just needed to vent and I knew you could relate. Thanks for listening…XO

Yeah. I get it.

So, I don’t really juggle it all that well. I’m always running late or forgetting a permission slip or leaving Thing One at home for an hour while dragging Thing Two to another class. I spend too much time behind my laptop writing, blogging, listening to music, finding choreography for class, or working on marketing efforts for the business, usually while saying “just a minute, just a minute” to some member of my family who wants my attention. I will get short with my kids, and then turn around and bend over backward for a client. And the dynamic with Trophy Husband has changed too. He’s not here most evenings, so family dinners are more a special occasion than the norm, and homework and down time and things like that get passed back and forth and squeezed in and it’s all just a little bit nutty.

So one thing I do is this: I “protect” certain times from the rest of my schedule. For example, I don’t teach or meet or even work out most Saturdays after 12PM. In the spring and summer it’s about having the music blaring and the basketball bouncing in the driveway and the grill fired up. In the fall it’s about watching Michigan football. In the winter we snuggle in pajamas and watch movies. No matter how crazy the week, Saturday afternoons are off limits to work. It’s all family, all socializing, all us.

It is enough? Well. It’s never enough. But it is a start. And couple that with the fact that I’m here for most goodnights and pretty much every good morning and lots of afternoons (even though I may have my laptop fired up while we’re talking), and I can go on some field trips and I can be home with them when they’re sick, and I know their doctor’s names and their friend’s names and even most of their friend’s parents names, well? I am good knowing that even though we are busy, and that sometimes I’m not there, there are times on my schedule that belong only to my family.

Which leads into my personal lesson number two. Even if I COULD do it “all”, I don’t really want to. I love being a mom and I belong in this family. But? I don’t really want to be a leader in the PTO and I don’t really want to watch every single practice and I don’t really want to be my children’s only playmate. I like to spend time alone or with other people doing grown-up things, and I like my children to have activities that don’t include me. I think it’s good for both of us. And I’m also not sure it’s necessarily the best thing for them if I am their mainline source of care and entertainment. Because they have a Dad, too. And he? Doesn’t “babysit.” It is good for ALL of them if Dad takes over once in a while. And his answer when the kids ask for me should always “no, baby, you cannot call Mommy right now and ask her to come home. She’s taking care of her body right now and we’re going to help her be healthy. I’m going to tuck you in tonight. Let’s read a story.” It doesn’t all have to come from ME in order for it to be what’s best for them. This statement may make me unpopular, but I’m going to say it anyway: Being a wife or mom is a very important part of who I am, yes, but it is just that. A PART of who I am. MrsFatass is also a part of who I am. And I’m also a daughter and a sister and a friend and a hotass. And I run a business. I am a lot of things, and sometimes? I’m going to get home late, or not be able to cook dinner, or I am going to need to get a workout in. I’ll feel guilty about some things perhaps, but I’m not going to feel guilty about not doing the things that I wouldn’t do even if I could.

So here we are at number three. And this is a tricky one.

There is nothing quite like a positive lifestyle change to bring out the UNsupport of those close to you. For one, I think it makes some people feel bad or ashamed or embarrassed about what they are (or are not) doing, and for another, it ‘inconveniences’ spouses or family or friends around us. It’s like quitting smoking. If only one half of a couple decides to quit, this hard task becomes even HARDER because they still have to be around the habit all the time. Especially if the NON quitter doesn’t want to make any changes to help – like only smoking outside, or not while at home, and so on.

I remember several years ago when I first started working to reclaim my fitness, and began writing about it here on this blog, I went to go visit a group of girlfriends and truly expected them to be excited for me. HAPPY for me. Maybe even indulge me in looking at the new sculpted muscles my hard work was revealing.

Instead, by one person I was handed a magazine containing an article about a study that was done that downgraded the importance of exercise in maintaining weight loss. And when I ordered a salad for lunch minus the cheese and dressing, another rolled her eyes and said “my God, you’re not even gonna enjoy yourself on vacation?”

That story is just one of many I could tell.

So my lesson is this: While I can’t control the way other people are going to behave, I can control my reaction to it. Weight loss and healthy living are hard enough without having to cry over an unsupportive friend or cranky husband or whatever. I will shed no more tears over those hurt feelings. What I will do is try to surround myself with as much support as I can (this blog is one way I do that). I don’t want to saddle my children with my issues, so I will fight a good fight to model healthy eating and exercise for them.

I have a family that is very supportive. But even so, there are nights that I come home and everything has gone to shit. So I just try to manage my reaction to the shit. Deep breaths and laughter work well. And wine. And when the spouse or the kids resort to heartstring tugging, I just say to them what I might wish my spouse would say: “I’m trying to help this family be healthier. And YOU got to spend an extra hour with your Daddy. Now give me a snuggle and then get your tail to bed.”

So what about all of you? Do you have any insights to share?

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It’s National Poetry Month. Did you know? Yeah, me neither. But it is. And today is a special part of that month called Poem in your Pocket day. I think the idea behind it is to carry a poem around in your pocket and share it with people you meet throughout the day.

I’ll admit that if it’s not in the form of a song lyric, I’m not much for poetry. I’m a writer and a lover of literature, and I love to reach for words when I am searching for healing or enlightenment or understanding. But I also have to admit that I also get a lot of inspiration from fragments of poems, hooks of a great song, or even those posts on Facebook. As an example, I give you this:

Seriously. I realize they are just snack food for the word lover, and perhaps even an empty calorie snack food. But the first poem I ever memorized and presented to a group of people? Was this:

There are too many kids in this tub.
There are too many elbows to scrub.
I just washed a behind I’m sure wasn’t mine.
There are too many kids in this tub.

So maybe it’s okay that poetry isn’t really my thing, right?

I will say that this early appreciation for Shel Silverstein led to a brief stint writing naughty limericks on bevnaps for friends and patrons of a bar I worked in, but that was long ago. Different life.

Also in a different lifetime was a relationship I had with a person who somebody just suggested to me might be a narcissist. I mean like NARcissist, not just someone self absorbed or selfish. Full on diagnosable NPD. If you’ve known one, then I guarantee you are sitting at your computer right now going Oh JEEZlouise, you poor thing, I feel your pain. And probably your eye just started twitching.

If you’ve not known one, you’ll Google it, and then scratch your head and say no way do people like this really exist.

But I am here to tell you that they do. They are the kind of people who are broken, yet when you finally split from them, YOU are the one that needs to have your pieces put back together. And even though this relationship is old and deep into the rear view mirror, there was a week or two of a few of us who have known this person swapping stories and comparing notes and realizing that the words he said to me he’d also said to her and then to her but first to her and then again to me that I will admit getting lost in the past for a minute or two. To that other lifetime. To a day when I was trying – yet again – to break it off and not let his temporary charm reel me back in, when he wrote to me “How can I convince you to stay with me, to choose us?”

I’ve not a single regret about walking away from that relationship and this post isn’t even about that. This post is about having a poem in your pocket. And a few days ago somebody put THIS poem in my pocket. And it might seem dark or depressing, but I think it’s so astoundingly honestly beautifully written. Painful and raw and anxious and miserable, but all dressed up in its Sunday best. The perfect response to all of the chatter. The fin.

And it made me thankful, yet again, for the life I have and the people I have in it. I am thankful that The Universe knows better than me on so many things. We go through hard times and think we’ll never recover. And then a lifetime later, we get the chance to see that even though it sucked at the time, life moved on.

Every now and again The Universe is kind enough to remind me that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

What They Wanted, Stephen Dunn

They wanted me to tell the truth,
so I said I’d lived among them for years,
a spy, but all that I wanted was love.

They said they couldn’t love a spy.
Couldn’t I tell them other truths?
I said I was emotionally bankrupt,
would turn any of them in for a kiss.

I told them how a kiss feels
when it’s especially undeserved;
I thought they’d understand.

They wanted me to say I was sorry,
so I told them I was sorry.
They didn’t like it that I laughed.

They asked what I’d seen them do,
and what I do with what I know.
I told them: find out who you are
before you die.

Tell us, they insisted, what you saw.
I saw the hawk kill a smaller bird.
I said life is one long leavetaking.

They wanted me to speak
like a journalist. I’ll try, I said.
I told them I could depict the end
of the world, and my hand wouldn’t tremble.
I said nothing’s serious except destruction.

They wanted to help me then.
They wanted me to share with them,
that was the word they used, share.
I said it’s bad taste
to want to agree with many people.
I told them I’ve tried to give
as often as I’ve betrayed.

They wanted to know my superiors,
to whom did I report?
I told them I accounted to no one,
that each of us is his own punishment.

If I love you, one of them cried out,
what would you give up?
There were others before you,
I wanted to say, and you’d be the one
before someone else. Everything, I said.

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What winning the Fitbloggin’ Roommate Lottery looks like.

Damn autocorrect!

Oh my God. When was the last time we talked? Why haven’t I returned that email she sent yesterday? Please be okay! Please be okay please be okay please be okay please be okay…

Doing the Ugly Cry of Relief.

The closest thing I have to a race tee shirt to wear today. Which is fitting for many reasons. And I think it’s time for me to run my FIRST 5K. In Portland. With Dani and all of the Fitbloggers.

We’ll call them whatever the heck you want to call them. Shakeweights it is.

 Last year we #effbomb38 together. This year you are gonna get yourself hugged. HARD. Be ready.

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There is a time when passing classes in the gym is just like passing classes in Junior High School. All full of drama and cliques and looking people up and down. For people who go to a studio or gym or health club to do something they really love, that activity – whatever it is – should be the most important class there is. People want their same spot of their favorite bike or their favorite room. And I get it. It takes a LOT to fit an hour of exercise into an already overscheduled day, so of course you want it to be just exactly the way you want it to be. Your time is valuable!But that feeling can morph into thinking that YOUR time is more valuable than ANYONE ELSE’S time and that of course leads into MY class is better for you than YOUR CLASS and before you know it you’re a Zumba instructor packing out classes in all of the specialties reminding people over and over about how strong they are inside and out and your FB wall is full of messages from people who are excited about being able to do pushups or chin ups of fricking Bulgarian Split Squats for pete’s sake and we’re all high fiving and feeling confident enough to try new things and then IT HAPPENS!!!! THIS appears on Facebook and somebody shows it to you and asks you to respond:

This isn’t so much a you obviously have no idea what happens in a Zumba class – or in one of MY Zumba classes post as it is a don’t be an ass clown post. I mean, really? It’s not hard enough for people to get through the door of the gym every day, what with crazy schedules and needy children and weather and stress and plain old I DON’T WANT TO that you have to get on FB and see somebody making a fingerquote joke fingerquote about your soul mate workout?

I really enjoy Crossfit and use a lot of those functional exercises in my Zumba Toning and Zumba Sentao classes. And I enjoy spinning. And yoga. And Piloxing (okay well I haven’t actually Pilloxed but I will soon) and I can’t wait to start teaching a hoop class. But what I don’t enjoy are the people who let their enthusiasm turn insensitive or too self focused. Because, for one, we should ALL be cross training. You can think you’re as in shape as anything, but if ALL you’re doing is ONE thing, then you’d be SHOCKED by the arse kicking you’d take in another type of class or activity.

But for another, the bottom line is this: The best form of exercise a person can do is the one that they will DO. Regularly. Consistently. And occasionally wholeheartedly. Whether it’s Crossfit or Zumba or swimming or indoor cycling or kettle bell class or walking the dog or what have you. The MOST important part is that it hooks you enough to make you keep doing it.

And the whole attitude of my choice kicks your choices ass? Sucks. And not in a good way. And is more a reflection on your personality than your sculpted muscles.

So how about we all play nice and enjoy loving what we love without putting somebody else down, you think? Let’s go out today and give at least one person some encouragement. I’ll start:

You are kicking some serious ass! Keep. It. Up.

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So my little family finally stopped coughing, threw put away Chipwrecked, and got on with life. And as luck would have it, the first day Spring Break was OVER, in came the 80 degree and sunny weather.

Better luck next year.

Last Tuesday we got all riled up about making a simple change OUTSIDE of the gym that would support our efforts INSIDE the gym, remembah? Drink water! Wear a good sports bra so I can go ALL IN when I work out! No wheat! No sugar! Meditate! 10,000 steps! Fruits! Veggies!

I said I would wear my Polar HRM every day and eat one raw meal every day, and then after posting I added a third: Roll out on my foam roller once a day.

Ready to see my tick marks?

KaBLAM!!! ZERO tick marks!!! Like, it’s almost as if stating my goals out loud made it impossible for me to get it done!!!

Well, here’s the deal. Last week was NOT the MrsFatass Workout Suckhole Extravaganza, it was the MrsFatass Ruin my Spring Break with Influenza. So I’m totally giving myself a break there.

I was back in the studio Monday sweating it out, but it took me a couple of days to locate the chest strap for my HRM (I finally found it under a pile of clean laundry I needed to put away, along with my copy of It Starts With Food) so today’s the day for that. I also already have my raw lunch waiting for me in the fridge. The foam roller is and will always be my wild card, but we’ll say. Today is only April 10. I have LOTS of time left for lots of tick marks, and you know what? So do YOU.

How did it go for ya’ll?

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I have been bombarded by The Voice. Message after message. You’re nothing. Not good enough. Not enough. Not worthy. You don’t belong here. You’re not real. YOU, MRS.FATASS, ARE NOTHING SPECIAL.

Where does The Voice come from? I mean, I don’t read Cosmo, so I don’t think it’s airbrushed models and articles with makeup and fashion tips about transitioning from Boardroom to Bedroom in Three Easy Steps or whatever that can make me feel inadequate. And I’m raising a daughter (and also a son), so I’m constantly hugging and laughing and building up and trying to fill my home with messages of love and support and positivity. I do Zumba for a living, for Pete’s sake, so I have kind of a constant influx of sexy music and whooping women and endorphins all around me. Plus, have you seen me? I’m freaking fabulous! Seriously. I’m hot. And smart. And know how to make pasta from scratch. So how is it even possible that a person who has all this going on even hears The Insidious Voice telling me that I’m less than?

Several years ago (11??? 12??? Holy crapballs) when we were preparing for the birth of our first child, Trophy Husband and I decided it was time to make a choice about faith. Like, as a concept, we both had it 100%, but this is where the whole I’m spiritual but not religious thing tripped me up. Because I am full to overflowing with the ability to believe in something. I don’t have to be able to define the pick and roll to be able to cheer myself hoarse watching my Wolverines play in the tournament. I don’t have to be able to see you readers to believe each one of you possesses the ability to make the changes in your lives that you write about on your own blogs. And I don’t have to wait to be a lean size 6 before I run my own group fitness business. The ability to believe exists inside of me, but I don’t always know what to put all that belief in.

Trophy Husband and I, we decided to put our faith in a Christian God. We found a place where we felt loved and accepted and nurtured. A place where we could really believe in what was being preached, and not feel like we’d have to come home and debrief the family or UNteach things they might hear that we disagreed with. It was going to be our safe haven, helping to guide us through the strong task of molding these little baby humans (and ourselves) into healthy, compassionate, loving, service focused adults.

Right. So we fast forward a few years and what started out as a peacefulness about church and God evolved into me holding on to holding on to religion with white knuckles as we began the Hard Knocks portion of our lives together. Losses and illnesses and careers spiraling downward and me on my knees until they were bruised and raw praying and praying because that’s what I was supposed to do, right? God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, right? I’m supposed to pray and worship and I will be blessed, RIGHT??? It was the way to get through the shitstorm and end up having happiness and security and the ability to pay our bills and take the kids on an occasional vacation to Disney World, RIGHT??? RIGHT????

When we ended up losing our house and moving hundreds of miles away from family and friends to this little southern town that may as well have been on the moon, and once the boxes were unpacked and I learned my way to the grocery store (and the ABC), I realized that something inside of me had changed. And God and I? We went on a break.

And I took all that ability I had to believe in promise, and hope, and love, and I gave it away. Which left plenty of room for The Voice to move in. Even now, when I’m kind of at the top of my game, with opportunities all around me to seize and evolve and succeed, I hear The Voice telling me I’m nothing special. I’ve given him more than just the bottom drawer of my dresser or a place to keep a toothbrush. I’ve allowed him to unpack his baggage and tell me where to put the couch and start hanging his own pictures on my walls.

I guess there are some Voices that just can’t be quieted. Even by Zumba.

I don’t know if God and I are going to get back together or not. But I do know that yesterday morning, for the first time in probably over two years, I felt a real need to seek a different voice. So I got up and put on a skirt (and a real bra, not a sports bra) and I went to church. I thought that maybe if I was super quiet and tiptoed out, The Voice would stay asleep for an hour and I’d get to somewhere by myself for a change. I got there, and not 3 seconds after I walked through the chapel doors I was tackled by somebody I met in class who hugged me and hugged me and told me how happy she was that I came. And another friend saw me and picked up her things and brought them to my pew to sit with me.

Call me crazy, but that made me feel just a tiny bit special. I mean, in church? Changing pews is kind of a big deal.

I listened to the minister encourage us to consider that there are lots of things that we attach to faith that aren’t really faithful at all. It’s us projecting our own stuff on God, bending Him to fit or justify what we want to believe or do. He said “I encourage you to take a look at your past through a different lens. Relearn your history. Take a fresh look at your values with a new perspective.”

Huh.

On the drive home The Voice was pissed because I didn’t tell it where I was going and it couldn’t find me when it woke up so it could begin the day’s work of telling me what a screwup I am. But once again, something was different. Something inside felt a little bit stronger. And I realized that, for a minute or so anyway, my reaction to The Voice was not to react at all.

I began thinking about some of the lowlights and some of the highlights of my last couple of years. My reflex is to attribute each thing to something else. Shitty things happen because I’m surrounded by shitty people or am in a shitty circumstance. Or, amazing things happen because of the amazing people around me. Nothing really happened because of me because what was I? Nothing special.

But yesterday I began considering the fact that all of those things existed inside of me all along. The ability to fail or succeed or be happy or miserable. To open a business or write a book or to love and be loved or lose weight or learn to play golf. Or fail miserably or break up or piece back together a broken heart.

It’s all already there. I can do all of those things without having to give all of the credit (or the blame) away. Because I’m something special. Something very special.

And so are you.

I don’t know that I’ve silenced The Voice completely. But I’ve just begun the process of blocking it.

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