on being an adult

by MrsFatass on July 23, 2015

Fixed Screenshot
My heart began to pound so hard I could feel it in my eardrums. When I realized that this wasn’t some joke, when I realized that you were a hundred miles away from me, uncomfortable and anxious with your own butterflies beating at your chest, I had a moment of pure gratitude. Gratitude. Thankfulness for each and every morning that you and I drove from Thing Two’s school to yours, with that extra ten minutes to sit in the car and talk until it was time for you to go.

There were mornings when I was busy or when my to-do list was long, when I silently wished that once in a while you’d ride the bus. Thank God, though, that the bus comes too early and thank God that you and I both want to sleep until the last possible minute and thank God we had 180 mornings (give or take) to talk in the car about this and that and everything, and thank God you have heard me say over and over again that all you have to do when you feel like you’ve gotten in over your head is to call me. When you are at a party and somebody starts passing around a joint, when you experiment with drinking beer and feel like you’re going to puke, when whatever plan you thought you made turns into something that is not at all what you wanted, all you have to do is call me. Call. Me. Calllllmeeee.

Yesterday was like deja vu, finding out that things were not what they seemed, and that once again you were in over your head; that again you were put there by this dad, and again you had a situation forced upon you that you just knew wasn’t right. We believed the situation had changed, and I told the internets you that this woman would never have a chance to mistreat you again. But, after months and months of her absence, you were blindsided with the news that she was on her way there. And you were a hundred miles away from home, worried that this ‘adult’ was again going to be ugly to you, or to me, or to your dad. And even with your friend saying he’d hide away in the bedroom with you so you wouldn’t have to be around her, even with the promise of swimming and boating and go carts all laid out in front of you, still you knew nothing good was going to come of any of this. You knew something wasn’t right.

So you called me.

You called me! You callllllleeeed mmmmeee. You did exactly what I said you should always do, and I did exactly what I’d been promising. We dropped everything, hopped in the car, and came to the beach. We brought you home.

You are at an age right now where you can’t wait to grow up. You think that being An Adult means that you’ll be able to do anything you want. No permission to be sought. No approval. And somehow you think that this sought after adulthood comes by turning a certain age or by acquiring certain characteristics. When you were younger, you thought it was determined by height. More recently, by the appearance of armpit hair. And of course you see the magic number 18 off in the distance.

But as your mom, I’m here to remind you that while yes you might legally be an adult when you and your armpit hair turn 18, adulting is nothing special. Everybody gets to do it just by getting old enough. It’s just a technicality. You can be an adult, but have no maturity. You can still be spoiled, or reckless, or selfish, or even downright stupid, but still call yourself an adult simply because you’re middle aged old enough.

Nope. There is more to it than just surviving your teen years. And I suspect that you are beginning to figure that out. Probably more than any conversation we’ve had in the last few months, I think that what you saw unfold last night taught you a lot about the difference between ‘technical adult’ and real man. As your father and your friend’s father stood in the driveway blinking at each other, one having just driven two hours to rescue you from the drama, the other all red faced from wine and defensive, it was pretty clear to you which one you plan to emulate.

You fell asleep in the car on the way back from the beach last night, but this morning you came in and curled up next to me ready to talk it out. We spent a little time rehashing the story, connecting the dots, trying to figure out when she became part of this picture again, and speculating as to why he would have invited her without mentioning it to his own son, or to us, or to the rest of the family staying in the beach house. We talked a little bit about secrets and breakups and divorces and giving second chances, and then you got quiet for a moment. Thinking something over.

You know what mom? you said. I’m grateful.

Grateful? That’s a big word. Tell me what you’re grateful for, I replied.

Well a big reason is because you came to get me. I was worried about that because I was so far away.

Silly goose. I will always come get you. I’d go anywhere to get you if you needed me. Now you know.

I’m just glad God put me in this family and not a different one. I don’t like drama. We’re just normal. It’s not stressful here. I’m thankful to be home.

I am too, baby. I’m so thankful you’re home. And I know that when the time comes to be an adult, you will be a great one.

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big girl panties

by MrsFatass on July 20, 2015

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Afraid to cross the beam. But I DID IT ANYWAY.

If we are Facebook friends (or if you’re in any service industry whatsoever that involves asking me the question “how are you?”) then you know that I have recently begun training for my first triathlon.

Yeah, I’ll just let that sink in for a minute.

I say it a lot. I tell everyone. Mostly because I’m trying to believe for myself that its really true. I’ve never wanted to do this before and I’m not even sure I still do, except that now I’m organizing a training club for 20 or so women, mostly first timers, so I’m in it up to my eyeballs.

And I do know that there are parts of it that I already love. I mean, aside from the shopping for clothes and shoes and gadgets. Just a few weeks in and I’ve already discovered that I love to ride the bike. I haven’t even gotten super hardcore yet, but I’m in love with cycling. And I also hate it because for the kind of riding I want to do, I don’t yet have the endurance and I don’t yet have the bike I need. And I’m impatient. And not made of money. But still. I do love to ride.

I also might love swimming. I’ve only had one practice so far, but it was a strong one. I have never been coached in the pool, and all I really knew going in was that I’m really good at floating on a raft or standing by the wall in the deep end with my friends drinking a beer an ice water on a hot summer day. So I really had no idea what to expect when I jumped in for the first time. But I can roll and I can breathe and I’m kind of fast and I only came up choking once in the entire 45 minute lesson so I think I’m going to like that part too.

The run? Not so much. For about the 58th time I’m back to C25K. And back to hating every step. Not much more to be said there.

I have thought a lot about how I want to write about my journey to triathlete. I mean, like, what angle. Based on the name of this website we know that I’m, uh, robust. And that hasn’t really changed a whole lot. But really? Other people have already written the Fat Girl Tri story in amazing and uplifting and inspiring ways, and anything I write there will be a remix of “It freaks me out, I feel out of place, I’m bigger than everyone, BUT I AM DOING IT ANYWAY.”

And I thought about my ride on the anxiety train, on and off the floah, the struggle between the part of me that loves connecting with people and the part of me that us also utterly terrified of and exhausted by consistent social interaction. But I’ve already written all kinds of posts about getting into my discomfort zone, and DOING IT ANYWAY.

And I’m kind of over some of it. I’m kind of over the memes about “adulting” and I’m kind of over the posts about “how to love an introvert/extrovert/whatever-overt”. I’m kind of over all of the rules (or are they really just excuses?) and I am tired of people whining about change but not doing the hard stuff (and by “people” I mean THIS GIRL). Know what? I haven’t ridden a bike for years. I jog slower than I walk. I already gave myself eye hickeys trying to get my goggles right. I don’t have time to cross train very much so I’m out there huffing and puffing harder than the people who pay me money every month to lead classes. I already have bike envy and I already am pressed for time to get my training workouts in and already I am worried about finishing last. BUT I AM DOING IT ANYWAY.

Nothing new. Nothing to see here. I’ve lived this life in front of you before, and you’ve lived it in front of me. This is what we DO. We take on the challenges and dig deep and make magic happen. Even when everything conspires against us. WE DO IT ANYWAY.

So I don’t know what I’m going to say during this process that will be new or interesting or funny. But I’m in training. For a triathlon. I’m not waiting for some magical perfect time. I’m not waiting until I can afford a better bike. I’m not pushing it off until next season so I have more time. I’m big, and I’m anxious, and I’m nervous, and I’m pretty sure I’ll cry during every hard workout because I’m kind of a baby. Add me to the list of crazy people women who for whatever reason find themselves setting their alarm clocks for 6AM on a weekend to sneak out while sane people the rest of the house sleeps just to be able to cross one more practice session off of the training plan. I will be grumpy and tired and sore and elated and terrified and feeling strong and having bad days and even though none of this will be news to any of you because you are all WAY more bad ass then me, IM DOING IT ANYWAY.

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Fitbloggin’ Denver RECAP

by MrsFatass on June 30, 2015

It’s the most wonderful time of the year! The switch flips on all of my social media feeds, the hashtags fly, there is a soft green light cast over everything. It’s time for FITBLOGGIN’!

victoria's secret
Like so many in the tribe, I feel a certain kind of ownership. It’s OUR conference. It’s like a homecoming every year. I was there from the beginning, when my blog was still called Did I Just Eat That Out Loud, Roni still had long hair and Carla was still MizFit.

Miz and the Mrs

I decided to become a Zumba instructor at FitBloggin’, which set in motion for me a whole new career path. I’ve been an attendee, a speaker, and an instructor; I’ve made people laugh and I’ve cried it out. I’ve made some of the most important friendships of my life at FitBloggin. It’s a pretty amazing thing.

best picture ever
And this year I chose to miss it.

Yep. This is my Fitbloggin recap, but I wasn’t even there. Well, I wasn’t there PHYSICALLY. I was there in spirit. And I was in the pocket of so many thoughtful friends who sent me texts and messages and photos and video clips and I just can’t even begin to tell you what that felt like. To be remembered in the midst of the selfies and workouts and edibles beers and laughter. Because you are all so very dear to me.

Last year I had the opportunity to lead a session with Steve about Fitblogger Tough Love.

Steve
We explored the idea that while our tribe can be so supportive and understanding that while sometimes it can be the thing that lifts us up through our trials and tribulations, it can also be the thing that holds us back. We can be a soft place to fall, because there is always someone to commiserate when the going gets super tough. I was one of many who was still working on taking the same weight off in Savannah that I was working to take off our first time in Baltimore. And while I was much farther along on the journey away from Fatass, my pants size was not the thing that reflected those strides.

Well. Here we are a year later, and I’m thinking about whether or not I’ve actually accomplished anything. I haven’t gotten a lot thinner but I have gotten stronger, inside and out. And I have continued to do a lot of things that take a lot of nerve for a fat girl. I’m still pushing the envelope, living in my discomfort zone, and you know what else? I’m still wearing a bikini.

I am also about to become a certified nutrition coach.

I’ll just let that sink in for a moment. Because I know what some of you may be thinking. If I know enough to help coach other people in making better nutritional choices, why the heck am I still MrsFatass? I know. But here’s the deal. I found what works for me. I found the thing that has helped make me stronger, helped make me feel awesome, helped fuel my training, helped reveal that I actually do have sculpted muscles, and slowly but surely it will be the thing that helps bring my weight down.

And I have also learned that while some people will lose 2 or 3 pounds in a week, I will lose.5. It sucks, but it’s me. So I’m done trying to LOSE WEIGHT and I am now eating to support my lifestyle. And I DO know how to help other people do that too and it’s because of my tribe that I didn’t just give up and grab a bag of Ruffles.

And speaking of lifestyle. I also now drive a minivan. And on the back of it? Is a bike rack. Along with my Fitbloggin’ stickers, my 13.1, and my trio fitness cling is a bike rack because you know what else?

I’m in training. For a triathlon.

Yep. MrsFatass is doing a tri along with about 30 other first-timers. I vehemently said NO WAY for many years, but then a friend brought it up and after I said HELL TO THE NO I went home and registered for it. And now our studio is putting together a training club and we are going to DO this thing in October. And I am fighting the urge to qualify triathlon, because it’s a little bitty baby one. But I’m not going to. Because it’s huge. It’s huge for ME.

So, even from a distance, Fitbloggin’ is still my inspiration and my tribe and even though I wasn’t in Denver, I was still able to soak up some of that positivity and love and I am still going to keep trying, moving forward, and basically being willing to make a total ass of myself in public if it will make you laugh and try something new yourself. I’m still living my Bikini Promise, not waiting until the perfect time or the perfect weight or the perfect size before I try something. And I hope you are too.

And when I see you all in 2016, I’m going to need twice as many hugs.

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on turning 12 and loving your mom

by MrsFatass on February 5, 2015

Photo Feb 05, 9 56 58 AM
Dear Thing One,

We had an argument over the weekend. A BIG one. You and me, well, we are tight. And it’s interesting because you are in no way a “momma’s boy”, whatever that means, but we have a relationship that is pretty unique. When you were much younger, and we were still living in Michigan, your YaYa told me that she thought you and I spoke our own language. And that she liked how I always just talked to you like an equal and not a baby. That’s how we still are. We are just honest with one another. So our argument was real, and it made us both think, and it took us both a couple of days to shake it off.

There are lots of things that just come naturally to you. It has been pretty easy for you to be a good student and it has been pretty easy for you to be a good athlete. But this year you made a transition to Middle School, and with that, you’ve learned you kind of have to work for the grades and the baskets now. And that’s why we argued. Because in school you’ve done the work and learned to study and brought up the grades. But in basketball you’ve gotten frustrated and your attitude has changed and you’ve retreated to your room a bit more to pretend to be a basketball star with the hoop on your closet door, instead of doing the work in the gym and on the court.

If there is one thing I wish I could make you understand it would be that practice and training isn’t a PUNISHMENT, it’s an OPPORTUNITY. Whatever your dream is, whatever it is you decide you want to pursue, you have to come to love the preparation for it as much as you love the actual getting to do it. I was an actor when I was young, and as much as I loved performing the show, I loved rehearsals. The practice and exploration and camaraderie were as important to me as the curtain going up on opening night. I know you love the driveway basketball, and I do too. But if you want to play at the level of the players of the teams you love, then you need to do more. You have to earn the glory of sinking the game winning buzzer beater. You need to train.

And your mama can help you train. If you’d stop fighting me on it, I could help you train in many of the skills that will help you have better coordination, better endurance, more flexibility.

Plus? I know a thing or two about being competitive and can help you develop THAT skill as well. If you’d just let me.
It’s been no secret that the last year or two of elementary school were tough discipline-wise and now that you’ve finished half a school year in middle school I know my gut was right. You grew out of the elementary school rules and regulations a long time ago. You’ve never liked being treated like a baby. Not even when you WERE a baby. Having every behavior dictated and policed made you miserable, and now that you have some freedoms and some ability to use your own judgment, you’ve proven to all of us you can handle it. You keep up with your things. You are polite to your teachers. You keep your phone in your backpack. You do your homework every day.

You’re doing middle school really, really well. And I’m just so ridiculously proud of you.

This is a big year for other reasons, too. Your first dance is next week, though the jury is still out on whether or not you will go. You stay home by yourself now. You’re finally going to get the braces you’ve wanted since that adult tooth grew in crooked. You have girlfriends that want to hold your hand. We’ve talked about kissing. But I have to say that time after time after time, you prove yourself to be a good kid. A good boy. On your way to being a very good man.

I feel so very lucky and so very blessed that you and I have our special kind of relationship where we can be so close and so honest, but not codependent. I don’t think anyone would describe me as being overprotective of you, and I don’t think anyone would describe you as being too reliant on me. We just are who we are. We have a lot of respect for one another. And a lot of love. You can talk to me about anything, and I know any mom can SAY that, but I love that you really DO.

I also love that you text me every day at lunch.

Photo Feb 05, 9 55 28 AM
Happy 12th Birthday, my Doodlebug. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Mama

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kelly jelly

by MrsFatass on January 13, 2015

My group of girlfriends loves to throw a birthday party.
1
We have a whole ritual. We set up a “secret” chat on Facebook and give it a funny name. We go back and forth for days, figuring out the date and location. We hang on to ideas in photo files and scattered post it notes as we notice things that one of us may like, but then we also brainstorm all kinds of new ideas that are so personally perfect for the person we can’t even stand it. We occasionally post a birthday message in a non-birthday conversation and then have to cover our tracks. Secrecy is a big part of these birthdays. There is always A Surprise.

And, there is always a tee shirt. Each one of us gets a tee shirt where our faces are photoshopped on to a picture. Always the same photoshopped faces, but on a different picture that is somehow perfect for the birthday girl. Maybe all of us in bed with our favorite band. Or all of us on My Little Ponies. Something like that. When we come up with the design there is a lot of back patting because, well, we think we are brilliant and hilarious.

Photo Jan 10, 11 47 41 PMThe logistics get worked out and we count it down for several excruciating days. And finally, we are all together! Inevitably somebody will cry. And inevitably we will all laugh until we cry. And there is always amazing food and lots of drinks and we usually need a day or two to recover.

Over the weekend, we celebrated Jelly’s birthday.

Photo Jan 10, 11 48 24 PM
Her name isn’t really Jelly, it’s Kelly. But in our aforementioned hilariousness, we have adopted a new language. You know how siblings will have their own secret language so that mom or dad can’t figure out what they are saying? We have one. Mostly it comes from AutoCorrect, but some of it also comes from raunchy e-cards or people typing in text speak or a southern accent. Anyway, between my pudgy fingers and long fingernails, I have typed Jelly instead of Kelly so many times that now my phone thinks that is her name. And it stuck.

Jelly loves yoga, and she loves trio, and she loves trio’s yoga instructor. So we put all that love together, along with origami, candles, essential oils, and champagne, and we threw her a very Namaste birthday party.

5She cried. Which made us all very happy. We got it right.

I wanted to make a party favor for everybody and I wanted it to be pure Kelly. Aside from being beautiful, and aside from being pretty much The Most Hilarious Woman on the Planet, one of the ways she shows you she loves you is by being your number one supporter. Seriously. She is the first to say your idea is a good one, she is the first to defend you, she is the first to throw on some clothes and head outside to start up the woodchipper when you have to dispose of a body. And when I took my essential oil love a step further and actually made it a business venture, she jumped in with me.

So. I came up with a party favor. I found a lotion recipe on the All-Powerful Pinterest and began collecting ingredients and little glass jars, and I read and read and read until I found the 2 oils that I thought represented her well. I woke up early on party day, while the rest of the house slept, and I made a test batch to make sure it would be good stuff, and as it turns out, it smells a little like jelly. Jelly for Jelly. Er, for Kelly. Who I call Jelly. It’s Kelly Jelly.

We did yoga together and we drank champagne. We listened to music and talked and laughed and as is the usual happening, Jelly and I were the last 2 standing.
6 We are hot.

Happy Birthday, Halfway Bitch.
———————-

Kelly Jelly
(This recipe is adapted from one posted here by Kendra of A Sonoma Garden. It rocks. The ingredients are perfect, in my not so humble opinion. I just messed with the process a little and added my favorite oils. With the exception of the Vitamin E oil, I used all organic ingredients.)

7
1 C Olive Oil

½ C Coconut Oil
½ C Beeswax
½ t Vitamin E Oil
14 Drops Young Living Valor
6 Drops Young Living Tangerine Oil (Citrus oils can be phototoxic, which basically means this is is not a good lotion to wear if you are headed out in the sun, because it can irritate your skin. Choose it for the winter months or when you have about 24 hours before you plan to bake in direct sunlight).

 

We need to melt all 3 oils together so we can mix well. You can use a double boiler if you have one, or just rig one up like I do. I have a glass measuring cup with a handle that thankfully doesn’t get hot, and I submerge that into a pot of water. The water comes up half or maybe 2/3 or the way – not high enough to boil over or splash into the lotion mixture.

The beeswax takes the longest to melt, so I add that first, with about half of the olive oil. It’s probably a good 5 or so songs on the radio kind of long. Then I add the rest of the olive oil and keep stirring. Coconut oil melts pretty quickly, so I add that last. Stirring and stirring and stirring my brew.

Then I pour it into whatever glass jar I’m using. The one pictured I picked up at Hobby Lobby and it was an absolute perfect fit for the amount of lotion in this recipe. That’s what I gave Kelly. Then I made it again, doubled the recipe, and filled up 7 of these little jelly jars.2

AS SOON AS I POUR IT INTO THE JAR I tend to the cleaning of the measuring cup. Before the residue solidifies. I wipe it out super good with a paper towel and then wash it with hot water and Dawn.

Then it’s back to stirring the brew. It’s kind of a dance of scraping down the sides of the jar, stirring, and3 taking it in and out of the fridge to help it cool.

When it gets close to about room temperature, add the Vitamin E oil and essential oils. And then, you guessed it. Stir it some more.

When it’s cool, pop the top on the jar. And then give it to someone you love.

 

 

 

 

***So this is the part of the post where I add the disclaimer that within the recipe, there are links to certain products. These are products that I actually used and have deemed my personal favorites, and you know what? They are affiliate links. Which means if you decided to shop using those links, I would earn a couple of bucks. This is also the part where I tell you that my blog is not about to change and become one big commercial. It is not going to be a constant plea for you to buy things from me. Promise.***

***But also note that if you WANT to buy things from me, you can. I’ll use that money to totally buy a round at Fitbloggin’***

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let’s dance

by MrsFatass on January 5, 2015

THING ONE: Sitting on the couch with his blankie under a blanket, eyes wet and glassy.
MRSFATASS: Honey! You okay? What’s the matter?
You’ve carried that blanket around since you were a year old. Now you’re only a head shorter than I am, and have strong square shoulders and long legs, but darn if you don’t still look like my baby from time to time.

THING ONE: Wiping at eyes. Nothing!
MRSFATASS: You sure?
You’re so not good at hiding it.

THING ONE: Blink. Blink.
MRSFATASS: Come here.
Come on my sweet boy. You don’t have to be sad by yourself. Come snuggle your mama and let me remind you how powerful the hug of a parent is.

THING ONE: Stuart Scott died, mom.
MRSFATASS: I know, sweetheart. I saw it this morning as soon as I woke up. It’s sad, huh?
It’s funny how things can happen to people we’ve never met, but how we can be so deeply affected by it. It’s happened to me, too, baby. People who I only know through their blogs or their writing or their photos. Or people who I watch on TV. And enjoy. And feel like I’ve come to know.

THING ONE: He was funny. Do you think he knew he was going to die when he was at the ESPYs?
MRSFATASS: I think he probably knew, yes. But it was important for him to be there.
Sometimes when people know their end is coming, they get a burst like a second wind or something. So that they can handle a few things before they go. I think that’s God, baby, helping us do some of the things we need to do before it’s time for heaven.

THING ONE: I remember Big A, but I don’t think I got as sad as you and Dad when he died.
MRSFATASS: You were so young. It’s okay. I know you miss him and enjoy remembering him with us, but when you’re five I don’t think you’re supposed to experience things like adults do. You’re too young to process it all.
And I hate it. I hate that now you’re old enough to really feel what happens when somebody dies. I hate it.

THING ONE: Mom?
MRSFATASS: Yes baby?
THING ONE: I don’t want you to die.
MRSFATASS: Oh honey, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m here hugging you right now. And I love you.
THING ONE: But anyone can get sick. Right? Like, it could pretty much happen like any time.
Yep. That’s totally true. Anything CAN happen like any time.

MRSFATASS: Yes baby, that’s true. But you don’t have to spend any time worrying about it. You know why?
THING ONE: Why?
MRSFATASS: Because no matter what, you know I love you and I know you love me. We say it to each other when we wake up, when one of us leaves the house, when we are texting, when we are getting ready for bed at night. If for some reason something awful did happen, you’d always know that the last thing we said to each other was I love you.
THING ONE: Snuggling in for another hug.
I love you so much it hurts.

THING ONE: Hey mom?
MRSFATASS: Yep.
THING ONE: Now that Christmas is over, can I start telling you what I want for my birthday?
MRSFATASS: Absolutely.
*******************************
There have been so many moments this year. So many of our tribe members wrestling with these issues of love, of loss, of everything changing because of someone taking a final breath. And so many of these moments have brought out the best in people. So many of these crappy situations have taught us to live more authentically, laugh loudly, and to dance our way through because there is incredible beauty in pain. To avert your eyes is to miss out.
FitBloggin’ 15 is just 6 short months away. I again have the privilege of planning our Zumba dance party! This year I propose that we dance not only in celebration of that which is joyous, but that we dance to honor the painful times of our tribe. To lean on each other and lift each other up. To demonstrate what we mean when we say #tribelove.

You bring your thoughts and memories and touchstones. I’ll bring music, and once again assemble a group of friends to help me lead this special class. And we’ll take an hour to honor those we love and those we’ve lost, like only we can. Together.

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the year of the woman

by MrsFatass on January 2, 2015

Photo Jan 02, 7 07 53 AM

“Is it only for women?”

Every day, someone asks me that. We talked about it a lot before we opened, whether or not we would market exclusively to women. I was hesitant in the beginning, because while I was sure there would be people who would seek us out because of that, I wondered about the potential clients who would NOT come specifically BECAUSE of that.

Because, come on, let’s be serious. Women can be tough. We can be judgmental and even catty and sometimes when we are feeling insecure we inadvertently make somebody else feel even worse. And I was just concerned that if we sold to hard the “women only” message, we would lose the people who heard that and had flashbacks to some heartbreaking middle school mean girl scenario and I just didn’t want that to be part of the marketing plan.

So I voted to keep things coed.

As it turns out, 18 months later, we are mostly women. And it’s pretty amazing because somehow we were able to create the atmosphere we dreamed of before opening, where it would be judgment free and supportive and team-based. And lo and behold, after all of these months we are seeing these women form bonds that extend past the studio, past our races or our charity outings, past sweaty workout clothes and pony tails and into the rest of our lives. Friendships happen right before my eyes.

I’ve never been a particularly lonely person, and even though I can be entirely socially awkward, I’ve still managed to have very good friends in my life. And I say ‘lucky’ because while I have had people who were good to me, I haven’t always great at reciprocating. I get really focused on what’s in front of me, and forget to be thoughtful, to remember birthdays or anniversaries, or to be that thread that holds a friendship together. So I’ve been thankful to have people in my life who can forgive that, who will have those “pick up right where we left off” kind of friendships with me after I’ve fallen off the grid for a while.

I don’t know if it’s being in my forties now, or if it’s a result of my Positivity Pact of 2014, or if it’s the fact that I’m potentially pre-menopausal, but I have become very sentimental. Or maybe I already was sentimental and now I’m just more comfortable letting it show. That’s probably more truthful. I’m more comfortable with the unpretty, and I want to witness the hard stuff along with the laughs. And once again I realize I’m very lucky, because as this thing inside me shifts and I want friendships that are complex and messy and real, I look around and once again find myself surrounded.

2014 was the year I fell in love with the women in my life. At work I see them lifting each other up. High fives and honest, celebratory cheers. I see the new Facebook connections and how their faces start showing up in each other’s photos. I see them talking more and more in between classes and figuring out the six degrees that connect them and I hear them inviting even MORE friends to come to the studio. “I just KNOW she can do it”, “I just know she’d love it here but she’s nervous,” or “she needs to take some time for herself.”

And in my own personal life I am in love with the women who let me bring them dinner, who will celebrate their birthdays with me, who will come over without calling first and who will hang out in their yoga pants. I love how we don’t have to be embarrassed and can laugh both AT and WITH and how our husbands can have a good time together too. I’m in love with how we can be different but still find strong common bonds, how we can disagree but it doesn’t have to matter, how uninterested in perfection we all are but how we still challenge each other to do our best. I like knowing their mothers and their sisters and talking about buying a place together at the beach and having plans, like way out in the future, because we all know that we’re connected for always.

And I love my from-a distance friends. I love those women who I see once a year – or maybe not even – who still make me feel like a force in their lives, and I love the women who were once every day friends who are now like once every five year friends but it isn’t any different because while our faces or our hair or our geography may have changed, our hearts and our connections are still the same.

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And I love the little girls who are our women in training.

Photo Jan 02, 10 57 47 AM

2014 was my year of the woman. I’ve got my circle of them and I am going to hold on.

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December 22, 2014

positivity retrospective

Last January, all hopped up on BodyFlow breasts breaths and New Year’s clean-slatedness (look it up, it’s a word), I decided that my intention for 2014 was going to be POSITIVITY. I gave myself a nice, wide berth with this one, because after a few years of a lot of change, challenge, and even drama, […]

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December 18, 2014

look and listen, through the years

December is always a contemplative month. For different reasons, with different overriding emotions, but it’s always a month that’s good for finding me staring off into space at some point, laying in a bathtub until the water is cold, taking a dog for a short walk that turns into miles, just lost in thought. This […]

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December 8, 2014

excuses and apologies

I finally got my blog fixed. I finally got my blog fixed! And holy cow let me tell you it’s like getting to scratch that itch in the center of your back that is hard to reach. Not being able to search or read comments or have links work honestly made me not want to […]

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