3 Micro-Resolutions to Transform Your New Year

Most of you know that I'm no fan of New Year's Resolutions, so here is an antidote... my article for The Tennessean on 3 easily manageable micro-resolutions that could make a very real difference in 2017. The littlest things make the biggest difference in the long run. Let's give ourselves a break this new year and approach our bodies with a little kindness.

Happy New Year, you guys. Thank you for making this an incredible community of support and inspiration. I feel really blessed this New Year's Eve to be surrounded by such a killer group of human beings. Take care of yourselves tonight and into 2017!

2016: We May Not Have Slayed It, But We Survived It

A little holiday boost.

My article for The Tennessean, part 1 of 2

"2016 has been a heavy lift. In addition to the bruising political climate we’ve all just weathered, the year has been difficult or, at least, challenging for many of us, and some of us are understandably worse for wear.

"It can be difficult to remain buoyant after months of tireless perseverance. With the holidays approaching, we are expected to plaster giant smiles on our faces and ready ourselves for a brand spanking, shiny new year.

"I don’t know about you, but I have run out of steam. I have limited energy left for seasonal niceties and holiday baking, and I certainly don’t have the wherewithal to propel myself head first into next year with a pep in my step — not without taking a step back first..." More here...

Basics of Healing: 10 Easy Ways to Keep It Together

Ok guys, this has been a rough few weeks. 

I'm hearing it from my clients and friends. Those of us upset by the election have been in mourning, and the stress of Thanksgiving travel, booze, and food on top of it all sent quite a few of my people over the edge to destructive old patterns that make them feel worse instead of better. So in anticipation of the month of holiday distraction still to come, I thought it might be helpful to revisit 10 basics of healing that all of us can rely on to keep us sane and healthy through the new year. 

They might seem small, but I promise you that if you do one or more of them on a daily basis, they will make a huge difference in your ability to sleep, make healthy decisions about what to feed your body, and reduce nagging aches and pains.

1. Breakfast - high in fiber and protein if possible

2. Fresh air - get outside at least fifteen minutes a day

3. Fruit - eat some fruit midday to boost energy and curb appetite

4. Water - carry a bottle around with you and sip on it all day

5. Walk - even a 10 minute walk can lift your whole day

6. Bathe - hot water soothes the soul

7. Tea - caffeine free tea at night can decrease cravings

8. Stretch - at work, at home, any and every chance you get

9. Sleep - go to bed 30 minutes earlier. It will change your life.

10. Friends - your community is your support system. Make time for them.

Here's to waking up on January 1st, ready to handle whatever is headed our way in 2017. We need our bodies to be strong and limber so we can keep moving, keep working for good.

Reality Check: What We Value Matters. A Lot.

I came across an article last week about this image that was generated by graphic designer, Katherine Young, to highlight the stark difference between the messages girls are receiving from the media and the messages they should be receiving about what we value in them and what they should value in themselves and their peers. The image on the left is a real magazine cover, and the one on the right is Katherine's creation. The "model" featured in the second one is Olivia Hallisey, the 2015 Google Science Fair Grand Prize winner.

It's been a long time since I've been a teenager, but I remember seeing headlines like this and soaking them up like communion wine on broken bread. With messages like this front and center, it's no wonder girls get lost in beauty-centric culture and body dysmorphia before they ever make it out of middle school... and it's no wonder we did the same for generations before them.

An excerpt from Lightness of Body and Mind (page 158)...

     "Diets and fitness schemes mess us up because they are based on making us less of who we are. Don’t eat that food you love. Do this exercise you hate. The whole approach doesn’t make sense. It’s backward, and it starts in adolescence, the very first time we identify the thickening of our bodies as a defect rather than a source of power, as we ready ourselves for the challenges of adulthood.
     From there, we embark on a mission to shrink ourselves, to make our bodies smaller than they naturally are. We spend enormous energy controlling and depriving ourselves with no concept of how insane the pursuit has been from the very beginning. And then there is the backlash. All of that time and effort spent hacking away at our native bodies does nothing but send us ricocheting back to all the food we resented giving up in the first place. It backfires, and unnecessary, unwanted weight piles on.
     Enough already.
     Bodies are beautiful because of what they can do, not because of how tiny they are. It’s easy to forget what matters: the ability to bound up a flight of stairs to share good news, or the ability to stand outside on a cool, fall evening watching a storm roll in, with legs and strong abdominals to hold you up; clear vision to see dark clouds over a gray sky; ears to hear the scrape of leaves blowing on the sidewalk; the smell of rain on the horizon; and a chill on your skin."

The climb from one magazine cover to the other is steep, but for the first time in my lifetime, that climb is in motion. There is a conscious, purposeful movement afoot to value intelligence, vitality, and creativity over thigh gap and pouty lips. It's happening on Lenny Letter, in Taryn Brumfitt's film Embrace, and on social media around the world. 

Shame on designers and magazine editors who want to fill our pretty little heads with paper thin distractions, and power to any girl—or human being for that matter—using her or his smarts to get the job done and finding beauty in people of all shapes and sizes. It's up to us to shape our own values. Let's make some noise.

Softness - A Poem by Rosemary Wahtola Trommer

Love this...

Bless the softness of the body,
and bless how I have struggled so long
against being soft. I have tried to be hard,
to be firm, to be fit, to be thin, I have tried
to disappear. And after the hiking, the climbing,
the swimming, the crunching, the pushing
the lifting, the drive, comes
softness. Comes breathing,
the whole soft body breathing,
belly and chest and cheek and neck,
in and out, so softly, pure gift, with
no effort of my own. Comes softness.
My daughter this morning curls her small weight
into me and I try to make myself softer,
softer than that, soft enough
to embrace the growing miracle.
I have tried to be something other
than soft, and now, by grace, I am learning to soften,
to appreciate softening, oh beautiful
softness, oh softness I’ve hated,
I am learning to bless what is soft.        

- By Rosemary Wahtola Trommer  

Via First Sip

Fashion Freestyle

(This article originally appeared in the July/Aug issue of The East Nashvillian)

I've done a shit-ton of work on my body over the last few years, not muscle-building, weight-loss kind of work, but strengthening, supporting, and giving-myself-a-break kind of work. For most people, this sort of progress serves as an inspiration to dress that new body in beautiful, form-fitting clothes. But I find the simpler my relationship with my skin, the simpler I want to dress it.

Having worked as a personal trainer for the past 15 years, I live in yoga pants. I never acquired any kind of fashion sense — never had to and never could abide by putting anything structured on my body. Even a button- up flannel is a step too far.

Given all the money and time in the world to replace my current wardrobe with anything at all, I would fill it with jersey dresses, roll-top skirts, old jeans, and thin cotton T-shirts — the fashion equivalent of living in my pajamas.

If you throw some sunshine and a lazy afternoon into the mix, nakedness seems just as reasonable. Toss a towel my way, and I’m good to go. I don’t like things tightly wrapped around my ribs, constricting my ability to breathe, or fitted at the shoulder, reducing the full range of motion in my arms. In fact, sitting in the coffee shop writing this column, I found it absolutely necessary to surreptitiously remove my bra.

I’m a bit confused by these impulses to shed the trappings that could make my new body more obviously attractive to the outside world. I love a girly dress and can rock some wedges for an hour or two, but beyond that, keeping it together to appear even remotely fashionable on a daily basis leaves me exhausted.

Fashion should be about lightness, not restriction.

My closet, once a sparse, well-laid-out grid of shelves and rods, is now barely visible for piles of sweaters that don’t fit, dresses that make me squirm with discomfort, and shoes that make me feel 15 pounds heavier when I put them on. I don’t like any of it. And I don’t like anything I see in stores either.

I need help. I need a savior fashionista, who understands the intrinsic allure of organic cotton, to sweep in, take over, and tell me what to do.

I have no idea what I like, but I do know that I yearn for each and every item of clothing I wear to liberate my body; though I’m pretty sure this impulse leaves me looking like I’m wearing a potato sack half the time.

Maybe I’m alone in this. Maybe everyone else truly loves a pencil skirt with a nice, stiff, starched shirt and a tailored jacket on top. No question, there is power and elegance in that, but it’s not for me, at least not right now. I’ve done too much work on this body to lock it down in somebody else’s idea of beauty.

For me, beauty is freedom, and fashion should be about freedom, too, whatever form that might take from day-to-day and year-to-year. Does this clothing free me? That’s my new criteria, and if that question lands me in an old maxi dress with a cross-body bag and a pair of flip-flops, so be it. I’m sticking with what feels right until the impulse strikes to don something more magnificent, something new that lightens my step and lifts my spirits.

Where I will find clothes that make me feel that way is beyond me, but I do have faith that they exist somewhere out there. 

Somewhere, I hope, a magical designer is combining fluidity and form at an affordable price. Until I find that elusive clothing, my uniform may not be fancy, but at least it will allow me to move.
In the meantime, I’ll glam things up a bit by doing my toes — a hint of earth-bound adventure and romance, purple glitter or bust!

#ThisIsMyArsenal - Veggies and Puppies for the Win

As the world seemed to crumble around us last week, with signs of division, violence, and unpredictability everywhere, I turned to an old friend for comfort.

I went to Trader Joe's for a bag of caramel corn and a bakery box of gluten-free fudge cupcakes with buttercream icing. My husband was out of town, and after tearfully tucking my four year old—warm and safe—into bed each night, I settled down into a long-gone version of myself, a person who finds peace of mind in a pile of sweets before drifting off to sleep.

I woke up with sickness in my stomach each morning, unsure whether it was from the sugar or a tummy ache from the lives lost and looming fear for what's becoming of our country.

But this is a new week, and what I know is this: When I mistreat my body, I lose access to the power I have to heap love, compassion, and strength on whatever little corner of the world I can reach. When my body is sick and weak, I have less to offer. So I'm doing my part.

From now on, whenever I can muster the presence of mind, this is my arsenal...

And for more reinforcements... #ThisIsMyArsenal

What's in your arsenal? Tweet pics @strengthoutside of the things you love that keep you strong, or Instagram @strengthoutsidein.

Division and hatred will not win as long as we have puppies and watermelon, wine and beautiful nights with people we love on our side!

Broken Hearts and Broken Bodies

My heart is broken from the news in Orlando this past weekend, the 50 killed celebrating at Pulse and—the day before—the slaying of 22-year-old Christina Grimmie, a singer from The Voice, as she signed autographs for fans after a show.

My heart is broken from the loss of Deandre Kpana-Quamoh, an 18-year-old track star in my own neighborhood accidentally shot and killed at a party by some kids who thought it would be cool to bring out a gun. And my heart is broken by my friend's husband who took his own life a few weeks ago, fueled by anti-depressants and deep confusion.

My heart is broken alongside the hearts of millions of other Americans and people all over the world.

It's too many. It's too awful. It's too frequent and too routine.

My job is to help people take better care of their bodies, but that is a difficult thing to do when we are all walking around with broken hearts. So I can't write about fitness on this particular day. I can't write about wellness without acknowledging the cruelty and heartache that seems to wash over us in ever more frequent waves: shootings, violence, anger between neighbors, and unmitigated rage on the roads.

I don't understand. I don't know where it all began, but I do know that with all of this rage oozing up from underneath, it's too easy to get a gun—and too easy to walk into the line of fire while going about our daily lives.

There is no place in our homes for assault weapons, and there is no reason anyone with a history of violence or mental instability should be able to walk into any old store on any old day and buy a gun, especially one designed to obliterate huge numbers of human beings in mere seconds.

I probably shouldn't bring this up. It's probably not a good idea for my career. I wrote a post about guns and playdates a while back that went viral and was warned by several people that I should be careful associating myself with controversial issues like this if I want my book to have broad appeal. By speaking my mind, I will lose some people who might otherwise be interested in what I have to say about health and wellbeing. But this is a health issue, an urgent one, and I simple can't shut my mouth about it.

We can't take care of our bodies if we don't have living bodies to take care of, and we can't take care of our kids' bodies if they are riddled with bullets on campuses, street corners, and in nightclubs. We need our bodies, free of bullet holes, to breathe and move and rejoice.

Orlando Vigil in Nashville, TN 6/12/16
(via Nancy VanReece)

Today my heart is broken, but—just like I lean on long walks and fresh air when my body feels weighed down and broken—I see no option here, other than to lean on kindness, openheartedness, acceptance, love, generosity, and truth.

Truth being the word of the day. 

Truth. 91 Americans die every day from gun violence; 7 of them children. Truth. America's gun murder rate is 25 times higher than that of other developed countries. 

Truth. We need universal background checks, common sense gun law reform, limits on the sale of automatic and semi-automatic guns and ammo, and pervasive gun storage and safety education for people licensed to own and carry. Truth. We need to elect politicians who are willing to enact the laws we need to keep our families safe, and we need to categorically reject the representatives who won't. 

There is a groundswell of people working on this, and joining them has kept me sane through these tragedies piling up on top of the other. You can find more information here: Moms Demand Action or here, Everytown for Gun Safety.

Find your local chapter; donate to politicians who are brave enough to take a stand; and vote like your life depends on it, because it might. And then go home and tuck your kids into bed. Shield them until they can't be shielded any more from the heartbreak. Teach them to treat their own bodies and the bodies of everyone around them with loving kindness, and hope like hell that they don't end up at the wrong movie theater or in the wrong classroom at the wrong time.

May we all find a better way, someday somehow, to handle these fragile broken hearts of ours.

Give Me Shelter

(This article originally appeared in the May/June issue of The East Nashvillian)

Thursday at 5 p.m., 30 minutes before I had to be back home for my sitter. I was heading in the back door to bury my nose in the computer for a few clandestine moments of research and writing before my son discovered my presence, but as my foot hit the last stair leading to the back door, something in my deepest, aching heart-of-hearts called out for me to stop.
     Half an hour stretched out before me, so instead of going inside, I turned and sat on the step directly under my feet. The sun had dipped behind the edge of the neighboring house, still bright, but not overbearing. The leaves were back in their full glory after a brief but real winter, gracing me with verdant shelter. I imagined I would find silence there, but instead I was met with a cacophony of bird sounds: steady banter, chatter overhead.

   I don’t really like birds. They scare the living hell of out me when they get too close. Their sharp beaks and primordial legs are just fine kept at a distance. But in this moment, on this day, I listened. And they spoke. And I wondered what they were talking about.
     Their conversations persisted urgently, rhythmically, and I was uncharacteristically transfixed. What were they talking about? What was so important up there? Were they scouting locations for nests? Looking for love? Grieving the loss of an egg that never hatched?
As I sat, listening to them, I had a creeping sense of exactly how far removed I have become from the natural world, the hushed and thundering world that exists beyond the boundaries of my insulated home and numerous devices.
     I’m a city person, always have been. I love it all: sidewalks and people, morning showers and soft sheets. I don’t long to lay my head down in a sleeping bag on hard dirt at night, but there is something increasingly missing in the drumbeat of “when” and “how” and “how-much” that populates my city-dwelling days.
     I dragged myself away from the birdsongs that evening and wandered back inside, thinking I still had time to “accomplish something.” But time had flown away. I was due upstairs, but my head was still in the trees. What were they talking about?
     The next night, in dead-stopped gridlock in the heart of downtown, I was confronted with the stark truth that my gentle, midsized city was rapidly evolving into a full-throated metropolis — which both thrilled me and broke my heart. I gazed at the sea of brake lights and realized that if that’s how it’s going to be, I need a counterbalance to the pull of urban life. I need birdsongs and clouds and leaves on trees, and if I don’t take the time to see and know those things, I will lose something of enormous value — and my son will, too.
     Another email, another hour spent staring at a blank screen in search of ideas, is not only fruitless, it’s heartless. It’s a vortex of pixels. Don’t get me wrong. I adore my screen time. I love connecting with friends old and new, and I value this maddening laptop that enables me to purge my thoughts. I fill it up with all kinds of inventive things when I have something to fill it with, but when I look to it, or to my phone, for inspiration, they leave me cross-eyed and lifeless. The birdsongs, on the other hand, are very much alive, full of intrigue.
     I’ve hugged a few trees in my day and will definitely be hugging a few more in the years to come. In fact, the bigger the city gets, the more trees I plan to embrace, sap and all.
     Bring on the chaos of a city in flux. Come what may, I’ve got birds in my backyard, and trees and leaves overhead, ready and willing to give me shelter from the steady hum of Wi-Fi forever worming its way through my skull.
     And to discover what the birds are talking about, I’ll turn to the experts. My 4-year-old and his trusty pit bull will most definitely have a theory or two on that.

5 Thoughts on The Biggest Loser Hubbub

As anybody who reads this blog knows, I am not a fan of The Biggest Loser. It is what it is... entertainment. But it has absolutely nothing to do with the reality of living with excess weight, losing it, or keeping it off. So when three different people emailed me yesterday asking my opinion of the latest study that came out about the contestants of the 2009 season regaining much of the weight they lost, some gaining even more, I was far from shocked. 

It's obvious that many of them would have regained the weight, but I think it's important to address some of the issues mentioned in the New York Times article about what happened to their metabolisms and what those changes mean for long term weight loss. The conclusions are not as dire as they might seem.

1. Massive, rapid weight loss is unrealistic and unsustainable. Dur. That has been common wisdom for a long time. Under the bizarre and extreme circumstances that they lost the weight, we should not be surprised that they gained it back.

2. Health-wise, weight loss of 5-10% of body weight is enormously beneficial for anyone who is overweight or obese. In other words, a 250 pound woman who loses 15 -25 pounds can expect to feel better and have better health outcomes. Period. It's about how we feel, not about how we think we look. Big can be beautiful, but if we don't feel so good, small increments of weight loss are worth the effort and much more easily maintained.

3. Changes in diet and physical activity should be sustainable. If you can't imagine doing it for the rest of your life, don't bother. Move and stand whenever and however you can. Become a hummingbird. Flutter about constantly and you will boost your metabolism. Physical activity is good for you regardless of weight loss.

4. Make muscle maintenance part of your fitness routine. Muscle burns more than fat and keeps your metabolism up. You only need a few minutes a day of strengthening exercises to make this happen. See my new series of 5-minute workout videos or sign up for the newsletter to get a new one in your mailbox every two weeks.

5. The article talks a lot about hunger. The hormone, leptin, does drop in people who have carried and lost a bunch of extra weight, but hunger can be remedied by eating a ton of high fiber, high water content foods... fruits and vegetables... and lean protein. You don't have to be hungry. You just have to find foods that you like, that fill you up and don't pack on the pounds, and eat a bunch of them before the hunger hits.

We should not be trying to glean any wisdom from The Biggest Loser, except that it doesn't work. Though this is an interesting scientific study of biology and extreme weight loss, what happened to most of them will never happen to any of us. Metabolism naturally drops when body weight drops, but with slow, steady weight loss, the calories we burn will remain in line with our body size. When you are smaller, you need to eat fewer calories. It's an unfortunate fact, but that's the reality. Not a problem if the changes have come naturally, sustainably aligned with the reality of our lives. 

If we assault our bodies by starving them and beating them down with 8 hours of pounding exercise every day, we will mess them up. That's all. No big surprise. 

Publisher's Weekly Review of My Book!

You guys! Excuse me while I dork out for a second. My book was just reviewed by Publisher's Weekly. I've been reading their reviews for years, and I'm so excited they covered my book. Not only that, they liked it too! See below.

"Coomer, a personal trainer and health coach, takes a novel approach to weight loss that rejects calorie counting, dieting, and strenuous workouts. In this inspiring and compassionate book, she shares her own struggles with weight and body image, as well as her realization that deprivation and treating the body as the enemy rarely work. Coomer asserts that the more effective approach is to replace poor eating habits with small, positive changes. Instead of restricting foods, she argues, one should supplement them with healthy choices; rather than working out in a gym, find a pastime that you love, and then stick to it relentlessly. Coomer shares illustrative stories from her clients, noting that those who emphasized enjoyment of life fared better than those who followed restrictive diet or exercise plans, which often were eventually abandoned. Slow, constant weight loss, she contends, is the more effective route; in a chapter called “The Tortoise Totally Wins,” she demonstrates how “slow and steady” wins the weight-loss race. Readers seeking quick fixes and recipes won’t find them here. Though Coomer does include some familiar, practical tips (e.g., pack a lunch rather than eating out; reduce portion sizes), she mostly digs deeper, focusing on transformation and long-term well-being."

- Publisher's Weekly

Recipe for Sanity in a Maddening Election Year

(This article originally appeared in the Mar/Apr 2016 issue of The East Nashvillian)

I've always been a moderately political person. I was psyched to vote in my first election at age 18 and have voted at every opportunity since. I ditched school once in high school to go see Bill Clinton speak and was so worked up on my way home that I got into a minor car accident. I watch the news most nights and enjoy lively debates as long as they don’t turn vicious. I’ve never had any doubt it’s worth the effort to stay educated and involved.
     But 2015 was a watershed year for me. Maybe it was the terrorists joyfully masquerading as martyrs, gloating over bloodshed all over the world; the gun violence and blatant racism still plaguing our country; or the astonishing rise of politicians riding a popular wave of bigotry that I would prefer not to know exists in our midst — whatever the reason, I reached my saturation point.
     I didn’t want to hear about that world anymore, and I certainly didn’t want to see the images. I wanted to ignore it, but when I tried to shut out the noise, it seeped in around the perimeter of my days. It popped up on televisions in public places and littered my Twitter feed with viral evidence of human brokenness.
     Overexposure didn’t solve anything, but neither did willful blindness. Ignorance felt icky. It made me feel even more vulnerable, like a sitting duck — powerless over my own safety and even more powerless over the well-being of my 4-year-old son.
     So I peeked out over the edge of my own exhaustion and panic and noticed something I never fully appreciated before. People in my own community were getting shit done while I was busy whining about the state of world affairs in my pajama pants. It was up to me whether or not to join them.
     So I put on some pants — real ones without an elastic waistband — got together with some of those intrepid people, had a cocktail, and discovered that I’m not at all powerless. I’m a roaring, raging, mommy badass with a fire to keep my kid, family, and friends safe from harm and free to live their lives — and I’m far from alone in that effort.
     There are a whole bunch of folks tucked in amongst our tree-lined streets who not only give a damn, but who are doing something about it. Every day. And they are not old and crotchety with nothing better to do, like I previously would have guessed. They are some of the most engaging, energetic, and caring people I’ve ever met.
    In his State of the Union address back in January, President Obama spoke about “daily acts of citizenship.” He talked about going above and beyond, reaching out from our secluded, narrow lives to help somebody out, to vote, to shop local, to volunteer, or speak out on an issue we care about — be it animal rescue, veterans, equal rights, gun safety, homelessness, or early childhood education.
     In spite of 2016 being an election year, there will be less TV for me this time around. I’ll keep up with the basics, but after that, enough is enough. I’d rather spend time with people who give me hope, women and men who give a damn and are doing something about it — starting somewhere, doing something about something that matters.
     There’s no power to be found in footage of S.W.A.T. teams on autorepeat. In that coverage, we will only find fear and loathing. Power comes from showing up and taking action, so that someday, maybe, we can all go peacefully back to our PJ pants. 

     Terrorists and politicians peddling hatred for a living have no place in my world, but hating them back isn’t the answer. The answer is in farmers markets and fundraisers, art classes, yard sales, and music festivals. Maybe I’m just getting old. I don’t know, but pouting and throwing things at the screen isn’t doing it for me anymore. I need action, and there’s no shortage of things to act on, right here in my very own town.

"New Year, New You" Can Kiss My Grits

I have to confess that I'm writing this on an overcast, snowy day, on a Friday when my son has attended precisely zero days of school this week. Maybe, just maybe, I might be slightly manic, but here, on this day in the end of January, I've hit my ceiling with the bullshit "new year, new you" promotions plastered on the edges my web browser. 

It's January. It's snowing. It's beautiful and cold and everything has stopped.

I want to eat all the things. I want to eat oatmeal cookies for breakfast. I want to eat veggie chili and mashed potatoes, and my husband and I are sparring over left-over Indian food. Popcorn will happen later, with tea and dark chocolate.

And it's fine. It's all fine. In fact, it's pretty damn fantastic. New year, new me. Snow days are snow days, and most days are not. All I can do on any of those days is take care of my body and the bodies of the people I love in best way I know how. And right now, with ten inches of snow out our windows, the best thing we can do for those bodies is go roll in mounds of snow, come home, curl up, warm up, and eat something real, with substance, something that will leave us wholly satisfied.

I somehow missed the glut of diets and fitness schemes around New Year's this year. I was sharing a small hotel room with my husband and 4-year-old in the days surrounding New Year's Eve, so I didn't get any time to sit around watching a bunch of grown-ups on TV pick apart their year-gone-by and wring their hands about the magnificent or terrifying 365 days on the horizon.

I was busy with Team Umizoomi, Denver's Natural History Museum, and total amazement at the recreational weed phenomenon dotting the street corners of Colorado. I was living, walking, moving, and breathing, not thinking, dieting, plotting and scheming. 

This year I am living, in my body, not outside of it... the start of a promising year.

Jellybean, the tiny snowman

There's Only One Resolution Worth Making

(This article, Resolution Beat Down, originally appeared in the Jan/Feb 2016 issue of The East Nashvillian)

I spend a lot of time in January coaching my clients on New Year’s resolutions, mostly trying to talk people out of pursuing them. There are a whole lot of cockamamie schemes floating around in people’s heads at New Year’s and even more disappointments in the adrenaline nosedive that follows.

Whether high or low, the holidays tend to bring catharsis. All bets are off. Caution is thrown to the wind, and optimism runs high about our ability to make abrupt changes in the wake of that catharsis. We ride up and over New Year’s Eve only to find ourselves crashing back to earth on the other side. Distractions creep in, and resolve withers.

Momentum is a lovely thing—until it runs out—but as a personal trainer who gravitates toward slackers and misfits (of which I am most definitely one), I love it when the momentum runs out. It makes me sit up and pay attention. It’s a turning point where all the fun begins, the place where we have the most potential to have a lasting impact on our lives and bodies.

You made a resolution. You tried. It was no fun, so you gave up and found yourself back at square one. Par for the course. At that point, do you sit around waiting for the next big event to spur you on for a week or two, before giving up again? Or do you figure out what you can legitimately do, forevermore, until the end of your ever-loving days to make your body feel better? If you can sort that out, your whole trajectory changes.

Productive habits that can endure the fallow, aimless months of February and March, October and November, are the ones that end up being transformative, but the only way for them to be transformative is for them to stick. And the only way for them to stick is if you’re actually enjoying them, at least a little bit. 

Your resolution didn’t work for one of two reasons: either it was too extreme, or it didn’t have anything to do with your life and the passions that drive you. In other words, it messed with your vibe rather than feeding it. If you don’t like your new routine, rest assured that you’re going to quit it. Thems the facts.

Any master plan you have to improve your body or mind needs to be steeped in things you love to do that make you feel better in the here and now. If you hate cooking, why would you resolve to cook more often? Make smarter choices at restaurants instead. If you hate getting up in the morning to work out, don’t bother. There are countless moments filled with countless ways every day to have a positive impact on your body. Walks can be taken. Push-ups can be done in living rooms nationwide. Going to bed an hour earlier instead of snacking mindlessly in front of the TV can happen—if you bother to notice that it reliably makes you feel lighter and more alert.

Your resolution shouldn’t be about finding tedious hours to exercise or eating like a bird. It should be about filling in the cracks of your life with active, healthy, invigorating things that you happen to love, whenever and wherever you can—no matter how small they might seem. Over the course of a lifetime, those choices make all the difference. If you don’t fill in the cracks with stuff that feeds you, they will fill up with whatever byproducts of living happen to seep in while you’re busy just trying to get by.

Transformation comes from a million little changes, not one big one. It doesn’t come from boot camp at 5 a.m. on January 1^st. It comes from doing a few small, simple things that make you feel better and stronger on January 26^th, 27^th, and beyond. And when those few things become easy and habitual, it comes from adding a few more.

So when willpower and momentum collapse in on themselves this year, have a look around from your uncomfortable comfort zone. See what you can do easily, that will make you feel physically better, and go do it. Sign up for a pottery class. Set up a walking date. Volunteer. Have a piece of fruit. Get some fresh air.

Nurture your body. Strengthen it. That’s the only resolution worth making.

Happy New Year!

So I'm a personal trainer and totally not supposed to support this sort of mischief, but this photo (posted by my friend Mignon Francois of The Cupcake Collection, Nashville, TN) sums up perfectly how I believe every new year - every day for that matter - should be approached... with pleasure, playfulness, and a sense of humor.

Cupcakes, y'all. Happy new year!

#getit #goodtimes #goodhealth #lightnessofbodyandmind