Hot and Unbothered

My article for the June 2012 issue of Her Magazine... Hot and Unbothered

I am a better person in the summer than I am in the winter.  I mean… I’m not a bitch between November and February.  I’m just happier, lighter, more of a glass-half-full-kind-of-a-person in the summertime.  The scorching sun hits my body and all of the pessimistic bitterness of winter melts away.  I want to put on summer dresses and wander aimlessly through the streets after dark with the humidity wrapping me up like a warm blanket.  I love summer in the south.  It’s hot – unapologetically blazing hot.

Summertime makes me want to lighten up, physically and psychologically.  It makes me want to be lithe and strong, not because I want to look a certain way in skimpy summer clothing but because I want to be light on my feet, able to sway with the breeze.  My muscles are warm, and my mind starts wandering into previously restricted territory.  I begin to dream about things that seemed impossible when there were no leaves on the trees.  I start to allow myself to imagine – what would it be like to realize one of those dreams?  What if I actually did it?

I’m talking about realistic, achievable dreams, goals that have been set over and over again and abandoned just as frequently.  Everybody has them.  Maybe you want to lose twelve pounds, learn to speak French, or go back to school for a master’s degree.  Maybe you want to appear onstage at the Ryman someday but you figure you’ll start by picking up your guitar and playing a song for the very first time around a campfire with friends.

Summertime makes me feel like everything is possible.  It coaxes my imagination to come out and play.  Life seems to start sliding forward effortlessly each year as the dogwoods bloom and the crew begins building massive music stages in Manchester, TN.  Summer rocks; winter blows.

So here’s my question to my training clients in the summertime: What do you want?  Do you want to lose some weight?  Do you want to ease your back pain?  Do you want a different job?  What do you want??  Would you consider taking a couple of months out of your whole, big, long life to consider that maybe you can actually do it?  Perish the thought.

We spend vast amounts of time convincing ourselves that much of what we would like to achieve is impossible.  There have been countless things I have spent years convincing myself were too hard, too unlikely, and/or too risky.  Fortunately after enough years of fear and foot-dragging, I usually, eventually get restless enough to challenge my inner-naysayer.

I was convinced I could never find true love.  I followed my heart cross-country courting disaster and landed in the arms of a soul mate.  I was convinced I could never lose the baby weight if I got pregnant.  Off it came.  I was convinced I could never be successful or happy if I left behind a career that made me miserable.  I did it.  And then I did it again when the next career pissed me off. 

I had a therapist tell me once, “You always seem to get where you’re going.  You just take the longest, most difficult path to get there.”  Lovely.

Why do we spend so much time tearing ourselves down?  My clients do it all the time, undercutting themselves before they get a chance to see what might be possible.  We tug and pull and procrastinate - digging up all kinds of reasons why it’s too time-consuming or too far-fetched.

For an assumption to change, first you have to imagine that maybe you’re wrong.  Maybe it’s not too hard or too late.  Maybe it’s actually possible.

After my twenties passed me by like a streaker at a minor league baseball game, I began to consider the possibility that I should go after a dream or two before wasting years convincing myself that those dreams are impossible.  I’m pretty sure it was summertime when this occurred to me, sitting on the stoop of an apartment building, wearing a summer dress, feeling like my muscles wanted to be stronger, my imagination freer.

Now, if only I could bottle summertime, stockpile it in my pantry and take a swig of it in the dead of winter when I am in need of a boost. 

Hmm.  Maybe?

I Wanted to Hate Her. I Really Did.

There was a beautiful woman at the gym today with long, dark chestnut hair. She might as well have been ten feet tall and barely had an ounce of fat on her body. She could have been a model, though you don't see too many of those in Nashville... especially not at the gym.  She wasn't doing the usual thing waify girls always seem to be doing while working out. She wasn't aimlessly gliding away on the elliptical machine, barely breaking a sweat and flipping carelessly through a celebrity gossip rag.

She was fierce, attacking a series of plyometric exercises: jumping and pushing and pounding away. She used her body weight to create resistance and gravity to challenge her balance and endurance. This woman was not messing around. She had fire in her eyes. She was an athlete, a lithe, beautiful, determined and focused athlete.

I was walking past her at one point to return my balance ball to its rightful place. She glanced up, and I couldn't help but say, "You are killing it! Well done." At first she smirked as if she thought I was being sarcastic, but when she realized it was a genuine compliment, she cocked her head, warmed instantly, and said, "Thanks!" with pride and surprise in her voice.

It occurred to me that we, as women, don't encourage each other enough, especially in the rhelm of exercise and fitness.  This modely lady was clearly not accustomed to strange women reaching out to her. I'm sure she takes a lot of resentment from other women who are jealous of her looks or her body.  What the rest of us don't know is how hard she works for it. She was grunting and sweating with the best of them, and I, for one, was impressed and humbled.

So I'm reaching out today to each of you who show up at the gym or on the hiking trail, getting dirty and sweaty, fearlessly squeezing into spandex yoga pants and braving the world of weights and treadmills.  Skinny or fat, it takes strength to get up everyday, balance work, family, friends, and maintain focus on your long term health.

My first impulse when I saw those long, thin legs was to be bitter and jealous.  Shame on me.  To anyone who sweats like a pig, I honor you.  

Weight Loss Update - As Promised

Okay, I set a goal and promised to give an update at the end of April.  I am a few days late, but here's the deal.

I have lost 35 lbs since the end of my pregnancy.

I have lost 10 lbs since I got stuck and set the goal to lose 17 more.

I have 7 lbs left to go.

Though I am not moving as quickly as I hoped, I am deeply proud of myself for getting this far this fast, for sticking to it, and for staying focused through the exhaustion of early motherhood.  I am in the best shape I've been in for years.  Not only that - after decades of struggle with body image and sugar addiction, I feel my head clearing, making room for a peaceful, healthy relationship with my own body.  

Imagine that.

The Baby Made Me Do It: Finding Freedom in Motherhood

My article for the May 2012 "motherhood" issue of Her Magazine... The Baby Made Me Do It: Finding Freedom in Motherhood

I am effectively a prisoner in my house after 6:30 p.m.  I have a four-month-old baby who lays his little self down in my arms each night and closes his eyes at exactly 6:30 p.m.  There are no more spontaneous trips out to see a band or late-night runs to the grocery store.  My husband works late, so it’s just me and my sleeping baby boy in the house most nights.  The little man and I have found a rhythm, and as the fog of new motherhood has lifted, I have discovered something I never could have anticipated.  I found my freedom.

I always figured becoming a mother would be a horror show.  Everything would come to a screeching halt, and I would live out my days a slave to the needs of my child.  I would be fat and frustrated, resentful of my husband and forever saddened by the loss of a life that could have been.  It is true that I cannot leave the house without paying another adult to sit in my place, but on all other fronts, my experience of becoming a mother has been the opposite of what I expected. 

I have lost every ounce of apathetic procrastination that I had in me.  I have never been so driven and interested in revitalizing my own life.  I am filled with an urgent desire to step out of my comfort zone and live bigger, to stop postponing my goals and move with purpose towards the woman I want to be – physically, professionally, and personally.  

As I watch my son “age” through these first few months of life, I am more deeply aware of my own youth and the value I should be placing on it.  I’m aware of the passage of time in a whole new way.  I will not be a young woman forever, just as he will not be a baby for long.  We are going to age together, and, thanks to him, I understand in a whole new way the value of my days on this planet. 

Losing the weight tomorrow isn’t good enough any more.  Calling up my new friend to come over for a bottle of wine cannot wait another week.  Not speaking my mind in my writing isn’t going to cut it.  And putting off the tattoo that I’ve been dreaming of for over a decade is unacceptable.  The time is now.  So often these things get shelved for fear of failure and judgment… fear of breaking free of the good opinion of others.

I am no longer primarily a daughter and a girlfriend.  I am a mother and a wife.  It’s my show now.  I never expected those grown-up labels to carry such power, but, happily, they do.  After turning 35 and giving birth, I think I can officially claim my adulthood.  

I want my motherhood and my life to be openly, gleefully messy.  I want my son to understand that I will not be trying to squeeze him into a predetermined box.  I am not interested in defining who he is.  I hope he will be kind, compassionate, joyful, and excited about whatever he decides to pursue, but I can only set the best example I know how and watch as he becomes his own man.

He is so small and vulnerable, hilarious and full of life.  He challenges me every day to crack my heart open just a little bit wider, to be calmer and to love living a little bit more.  I may be chained to the house more often, but with my physical loss of freedom has come a powerful psychological freedom.  I may not be able to jet out to try a new yoga class at a moment’s notice anymore, but I am challenged to discover parts of myself I never even knew were missing.  Through my exhaustion after 4 a.m. feedings and endless hours of rocking and singing, I feel younger than ever.  I have a fire to get out into the world and take advantage of this body and mind while they are still in their prime.

I’m sure my little man has much more to teach me over the years, and I have a thing or two to share with him.  In the meantime, my job is to make sure he has a mom who is healthy and loving, who knows who she is and is always open to new adventures.  With his wide eyes smiling at me every morning, I don’t think it will be too hard to stay motivated.  I have to keep up.  Game on.

The Infamous Weight Loss Plateau

Stuck. That is where I am at the moment. Very stuck. Nine pounds into what will hopefully be a seventeen pound weight loss after having a baby four months ago. Nine pounds down and STOP.

Here’s the thing about weight loss plateaus… if you hit one, you know you’ve arrived somewhere. You’ve accomplished something. When you are in the process of losing weight, there are points along the way where your body wants to put on the brakes. It’s a signal that your metabolism, your muscles, and your mind need a chance to catch up and get accustomed to the new weight.

It is profoundly frustrating, but it should be seen as positive thing, a space for taking stock, recognizing the new body for what it is… a huge accomplishment. It may not be the body you are ultimately striving for, but it is different enough from what you were maintaining before that it demands a moment to catch up. Your body is telling you something. It is saying, “Hold on a second! This is not normal. What does this weight loss mean? Am I starving?? Do I need to protect myself and hang onto the weight that is left?”

The key here is to stay focused and refuse to give up

The first week of a new weight loss plan is usually pretty successful. Dietary changes are consistent and exercises are new and challenging. You are sore. You might drop several pounds of water weight because you aren’t taking in as much sugar and salt. The scale proudly reports that you have lost three pounds in one week, and you feel like you will be able to do that forever.

Week two is a slap in the face. It is often the first mini-plateau. You’ve lost the water weight, and your metabolism is carefully adjusting to the new calorie intake and expenditure. You haven’t built up enough muscle mass to make you feel tight and fit yet or to help you burn more calories during the day. The dietary changes slip once or twice. It’s week two, and it is almost always a disaster. You might lose nothing. You might lose half a pound. You might gain a pound. Anyway, it feels like a failure.

Week two is a maintenance week and should be dedicated to maintaining your behavioral changes, not worrying about the results on the scale. This is the first of several plateaus you will likely face along the way. If you can just keep your head down and keep doing what worked so well the first week, you will keep losing. It might come off slowly, but that truly is the best way to go. Slow weight loss is much more likely to be permanent… and that, inevitably, includes plateaus.

As I wait here, stuck, it is my job to quietly, peacefully reassure my body that I have enough energy to function healthfully and that it is okay to let go of a little bit more extra poundage. In order to do that, I will have to keep up the workout routine and stick to the dietary changes I have made. I should NOT suddenly cut another 500 calories out of my diet or start spending six hours at the gym every day. I want to let my body know that this is a change I can maintain and that it will feel good in the end. Do not panic. Stay calm.

If after a few weeks I am still stuck, I may need to make some subtle changes to what I am doing. I might add some high intensity intervals to my cardio routine or investigate my diet to see if there is a food or a habit I’ve been ignoring that could make a difference.

I need to treat my body and mind like they have just been through a divorce because, in fact, they have just divorced themselves of 8 pounds they were accustomed to carrying around. I need to help them understand that this new unencumbered, lighter life is a huge step forward, not something scary to be resisted.

A plateau demands patience. You can’t rush genius after all, and if you’ve lost five pounds toward a fifteen pound goal or two pounds toward a fifty pound goal, that’s exactly what you are, a weight loss genius. It is incredibly tough to lose weight. You will get stuck, but keep moving forward. Don’t talk yourself out of it. Keep your eye on the prize, and don’t waver.

These last eight pounds I have to lose are pounds I was carrying before I got pregnant. It is the weight I swore I would drop before having a baby but never did. After walking around bloated and bulbous for nine months (and a few months after that), I’m tired of being squishy. I know where I want my weight to be, and I’ve never been so motivated to get there.

I’m at a plateau. My body is telling me, “This is where you were when you got pregnant. Let’s stop right here in the comfort zone.” But that’s not good enough anymore. I need to let my body rest here for a week or two and then give it a kick start to let it know I can be better, stronger, and lighter.

I’m not taking no for an answer.

East Nashville and a Pittie Named Elvin

My article for HER this month, April 2012, their neighborhood issue... East Nashville and a Pittie Named Elvin

I knew I loved East Nashville for its sidewalks, ripe with block parties and chance meetings. I knew I loved it for the constant flow of young couples with strollers and countless dog walkers, beautiful people with beautiful puppies. I loved that I could step out my front door every day with my goofy, kind-hearted pitbull, Elvin, his butt wiggling gleefully as he surged out into the world, and we could walk for miles discovering new scents and new sidewalks, making friends along the way. We stopped regularly to say hello to the adorable black and white pittie on 12^th and Forrest, the firefighters hanging out in front of the historic firehouse on 16^th and Holly, and the ducks swimming at Shelby Park.

I knew I loved East Nashville, but I had no idea how much East Nashville loved me back.

On the night of October 7^, 2011, my husband, Ken, Elvin and I went out on what would be our last walk together, tracing the sidewalks from 5 Points to the park. I didn’t know that night would be the last time I would tuck Elvin into bed and lay my head down next to his, listening to him breathe and drifting off to the train whistles in the distance. If I had known, I would have kept right on walking, in the hope that I could fend off the sun at daybreak.

The following afternoon I was sitting in our guest room, sorting through some paperwork. I called Ken over so we could stare lovingly at our Elvin through the window overlooking the back yard. We watched him circle, around and around, in search of the perfect spot to land, and when he found his resting place, my heart swelled. I turned back to my work and never saw him again. He disappeared from our backyard that afternoon, made an appearance at Beyond the Edge, a bar up the street, and then vanished into thin air.

Ken and I lost our minds. We thought the rest of the world might think we were nuts for the depth of pain and loss we were feeling and the lengths we were willing to go to get him back. We were wrong. Before nightfall, we had an army of people looking for him, hitting the streets and posting flyers all over the neighborhood. I was beside myself, trying to manage a growing sense of dread, when I looked around and realized that our living room had filled with friends, acquaintances, and perfect strangers - kind, selfless, animal-loving strangers - ready to help us implement a fully developed action plan to find our boy.

When a stray dog is seen wandering the streets of East Nashville, he or she is generally picked up by a random dog-loving citizen and reported to East C.A.N., Camp Chaos, Dogs Deserve Better, or Labor of Love. Within hours, information is disseminated through social networks and on the East Nashville listserv. The dog is returned to his or her owners, and a happy ending ensues. If an owner can’t be found, there are dozens of foster families who love and care for the dogs until forever homes can be found. It is the puppy-power underworld of East Nashville. The rescues go into homeless camps to bring dog sweaters and provide needed veterinary care. They brave dark alleys and respond to reports of dogs chained outside season-after-brutal-season. They make East Nashville a safe place for dogs and the owners who love them.

Just yesterday, almost four months since Elvin went missing, someone forwarded me a post a stranger wrote on Facebook. The man said that when he speaks to people all over the city and beyond, he tells them he lives in East Nashville and they say “Elvin!” Our boy is famous; the good people of East Nashville made sure of it. Every time the phone rings with a new lead, we are encouraged. We are still looking and so are the hundreds of people who have reached out to us in support.

Since losing Elvin, Ken and I have learned about the kindness of strangers. We’ve made treasured new friends. We’ve learned that we live in a close knit, compassionate community. We’ve learned that we must always find ways to reach out to people around us who are in need, and we know now that we cannot take our time together as a family for granted. We have also learned that the train whistle late at night can be a lonely, scary thing when one member of the family is lost in the world.

You can come home now, Elvin. Your Dad and I have learned our lessons, and we have many, many new people and puppies waiting to meet you. I still walk the sidewalks everyday looking for you, and I still have your favorite rawhides in the pantry. Please come home, buddy. We miss you.

G-bye Fat Jeans

So... the fat jeans I bought post-pregnancy are falling off. Just thought I'd share. It feels damn good. I think I'll keep wearing them for a while until they get nice and saggy. 3 lbs away from pre-pregnancy weight, 11 lbs away from goal... whoop!

Cost-Benefit Analysis: Making Good Choices Is a Daily Struggle

My article Cost-Benefit Analysis: Making Good Choices Is a Daily Struggle for the March issue of HER is out. I'm coming clean about cupcakes and wine.

It is 11 p.m. I’m achy from my workout yesterday and feeling pretty good about it. I ate well today except for three large squares of chocolate from the Pound Plus Trader Joe’s 72% Dark Chocolate bar after dinner. My waistline is blissfully unencumbered by elastic-waist, cotton and spandex yoga pants. I didn’t get out for my three-mile walk today because I snoozed on the couch instead. My ten-week-old baby is going to wake up in an hour or two to eat. Another glass of wine would be nice… and maybe a snack… some of my husband’s peanut butter cereal perhaps? God, what I wouldn’t give for a hit of Red Velvet from Cupcake Collection right about now.

It’s all too familiar. Old patterns are crying out to be repeated, but there is a bigger issue at hand, a large looming goal waiting to be met. I have vowed to lose my baby weight and a little bit more by the end of April, a grand total of 17 pounds. It is a pact between me and myself. I have made many of these agreements before. Many. Of course, most of them were never fully met. So, this time, if I have any hope of reaching my goal, I have to stop and ask myself… bottom-line, bare-naked, absolutely truthfully “Why haven’t I met my goals before and why should this time be any different?”

Somehow, someway, in the past, the cupcakes were always more important than attaining the body I was shooting for. My goals were not unreachable, but the choices I made on a daily basis belied my stated objective to lose weight. I set a goal; I got distracted; it got cold outside; I went out for the night; a girlfriend came to visit; we sampled the local cuisine along with a few vodka martinis, and eventually I forgot about the objective altogether. Choices were made day-after-day, and they were not in support of my fitness goals. I remained a mildly chubby but very enthusiastic personal trainer. Nothing changed. I was willing to pay the price for cupcakes and martinis. That choice was just fine at the time, but as of now, I am not willing to pay that price anymore.

It’s a cost-benefit analysis. There is a caloric “cost” for the unhealthy choices we make every day. How much will that pizza cost? A whole lot of calories and fat. What is the benefit I get for choosing to eat it? I get to eat a yummy slice or three. I get to feel full and happy. I get to share bonding time with friends as we tear into the pie together, but I pay a steep price as I walk around every day, uncomfortably squeezed into my fat jeans.

I know I can lose 17 pounds this time around because the cost is no longer worth it to me. The benefit of an hour at the gym is greater than the benefit of tater tots. I don’t know how long it will take, but I do know that this time I am in search of a new identity, not just a new body. This is about more than weight loss. It is about how I want to feel in my life going forward from here. I don’t want to skip out on river rafting because of a crippling fear of bathing suits. I don’t want to spend my time in the car contemplating how my pants are digging into my abdomen. I don’t want to feel weak and tired. Finally (after a year of giving my body over to pregnancy and recovery) how I feel inside of my skin matters more than cupcakes.

I would prefer to sleep instead of working out. I like to drink red wine every night. I would eat sugary baked goods every day if I could… but it’s time for different choices now. New choices aren’t so hard to make when the vision at the end of the tunnel is so much more alluring than the potholes along the way. I’m ready to make choices that support the woman I want to be. The baked goods and the excuses to avoid breaking a sweat are going to have to go by the wayside for now.

The wine? Well, that's a different story. If the wine pads my hips with a soft little layer of love, that's a price I'm willing to pay.

Wedding Weight Woes: Just Say No to the Battle with the Scale

My latest article, Wedding Weight Woes: Just Say No to the Battle with the Scale, is out in Her Magazine's February Bridal Issue. Check it out!

There isn’t much that I love more than a wedding. I got married over three years ago but can still be found covertly recording Say Yes to the Dress on my DVR every Friday night. It’s a sickness, really. There is something so alluring about the romance of it all. Beautiful dresses and flowers, reluctantly adorable men in tuxedos, and the promise of eternal love and commitment. It’s all so picture perfect, isn’t it?

Therein lies the trap.

Picture perfect is all about appearances, and appearances, for many women, are inextricably tied to body image. When it’s our turn to be the bride, so many of us take what should be a happy celebration of our connection with our partners and turn it into a referendum on our bodies and sense of style, fixating on tired, old insecurities as the big day approaches.

As a personal trainer, I get a lot of calls from women trying to lose weight in advance of their weddings. They want to be able to pull that corset tight and fulfill the dream of how they should look in their wedding pictures. I get it. By all rights, it is the one time in our lives when it seems like everything should fall blissfully into place, and for some women it does. I have seen clients and friends drop weight without cutting out so much as a single serving of Manchego. When it happens that way, fantastic. However, if it doesn’t, if a woman maintains her regular, real-life weight, should her day be any less celebrated? Should she feel any less blessed, beautiful, and loved?

Many of my clients who start exercising madly before a wedding end up disappointed because their goals are set too high or they don’t have the time or energy to make the changes necessary for significant weight loss. The struggle to lose weight is something they face every day whether there is a wedding on the horizon or not. I wish they could see the wedding as a reason to let go of that struggle rather than a reason to fixate on it. There are much better, much more wonderful things to think about in anticipation of the day you get to have everyone you love in one room, supporting you and wishing you well.

As my own wedding approached, I lost weight completely effortlessly for the first and only time in my life. Frankly, it was a bizarre feeling. The war I waged my entire adult life was suddenly no war at all. The stubborn ten pounds I could never kick suddenly lifted off and floated away. I felt like an idiot for wasting decades and incalculable amounts of energy battling myself over pounds that could be lost in a blink under the right circumstances. But my momentary reprieve from the weight loss Ferris wheel proved to be a mirage. After the big day, every pointless pound steadily crept back on like a dear old friend coming over nightly for a glass of wine on the couch and a few hundred old episodes of Say Yes to the Dress. I went down; I went up. And the funny thing is… it didn’t matter one bit to my husband. He loved me down, and he loved me right back up again.

Weddings can bring that magical lightness of being, or they can bring enormous pressure and frustration. The brilliant truth of the matter is that the husbands-to-be are always in love with their women just the way they are. They proposed marriage that way, and they want their brides to be the beautiful people that they have adored from the very beginning.

So I tell my clients: we will do everything we can to help you look as sexy and stunning as possible. But the best way to insure that you will look happy and healthy on your wedding day is to be happy and healthy, strong and fit, to exercise and get lots of fresh air, to celebrate the upcoming day and put your focus on spending the rest of your life with the person you love. It has absolutely nothing to do with losing weight or dropping a dress size. It has everything to do with confidence and joy. Letting go of the pressure to lose weight is easier said than done, but if you are taking good care of yourself, your beauty will shine brightly in the photo on the mantel "from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health."

Fruit and Veggie PILLS... Say What?!

Centrum has come out with a new fruit and veggie PILL...

"Centrum ProNutrients Fruit & Veggie is 100% naturally sourced from grapes, blueberries, raspberries, plums, carrots, and tomatoes. Each MiniTab harnesses the power equal to one serving of a blend of fruits and vegetables."

I'm sorry... WHAT?! No, no, no, no, no! A pill cannot be "equal to" eating fruits and vegetables. A pill has been stripped of all of the fiber, water, phytochemicals, and essential life forces that reside in whole, fresh food. Please do not buy this crap!!! Berries, plums, and carrots taste good all on their own. I promise!

AAAAAAAAAGH!!! (Sarah runs off into the horizon pulling her hair out as she goes)