Hug it Out

Since the first year that I starting writing this blog I haven't really kept up the frequency of posting that I did that first year. Surely not enough to hold the attention of any kind of following I may have feigned to have. But I know that when I do post here, or when I share bits of my story on other social media platforms, it resonates with people. They've told me so. I don't always get why my story and my struggles and my triumphs connect with others, but when I do get it, it makes me wish I opened up more or more often.

I was recently challenged by my new friend Ian to start writing again. To keep sharing my story and to tell even the unexciting parts. Because maybe, seeing how I'm getting through those moments that seem like a mundane, everyday struggle moment to me might help someone else who is stuck in a struggle of their own. 

So by way of jumping back in, I thought I'd share a little about a moment I had recently that revolves around meeting and getting to work with Ian. Ian Michael is a Marine Corps Veteran who founded the Human Hug Project with fellow Marine Veteran, Gino Greganti, and Gino's wife, Erin. All three are "using [their] own experience with post traumatic stress, isolation, anxiety and depression to help other people cope with theirs – all through the healing power of a simple hug." 

I first learned about Human Hug Project from a story that was submitted to me for publication in the national newsletter that I edit for VA Voluntary Service programs. The trio has traveled the country in the last year+ visiting VA hospitals to hug Veterans. As I'm also the national "data monkey" for our service, I know that we have literally tens of thousands of volunteers and visitors to VA hospitals every year that give millions of hours of service and millions of dollars in donations to help Veterans. But for some reason that I couldn't quite name, this story resonated with me. In the pictures that accompanied the story, the joy on the faces of the Veterans receiving hugs was evident, but it was also clear that the joy was shared by those giving out these free hugs. As I researched to flesh out the article I learned more about the back stories that launched the project and couldn't help but want to be a part of it. 

One of the coolest parts of my job is getting to work with groups like Human Hug Project and see first hand when someone makes a difference in the lives of our Veterans. When something as simple as a group of ladies bringing cookies and pizza to Veterans receiving treatment in a locked mental health unit, or three people giving out simple hugs, can cause a smile or bring grown men and women to tears, you know that what you do is worthwhile. If something so small clearly means so much, how can you not want to do more? 

Meeting Ian and getting my first hug in Albuquerque.

I got the opportunity to experience the power of hugs first hand when Ian, Gino, and Erin came to speak at our National meeting this past Spring. I got to accompany them to the Albuquerque VA and participate in a hug visit. It was such a powerful day, but what really moved me was hearing their stories the next day. To hear the deep, dark places that PTSD had led them to and how hugs had pulled them out was amazing. The joy they all have when hugging masks almost any trace that they do and have struggled. The hugs are truly helping the three of them heal as much as they are helping others. 

With Ian, Gino, and Erin after hugging at the Albuquerque VA.

I met up with my new friends again two weeks ago in Dallas. They were scheduled to speak at a conference for Public Affairs Officers and made a trip to the Dallas VA to give out hugs - I got to tag along again and meet another hugger, Jennifer. We had even more time to talk this trip and as they like to say, hugs unlock stories. As we all delved deeper into our stories, I started to realize why I had connected with the project. As they had all found connections through their struggles with PTSD, I knew that I shared that same connection and that we were all going through similar things around the same time 10 or so years ago. My experience with PTSD didn't come from war, and I'd never claim to know what that's like, but it manifests itself for me in the panic I feel when I'm not in control of a car and someone I don't trust is driving. In the fact that it took me years to drive past my accident site at night. Or in the way I would stop breathing and burst in tears when someone hit the brakes too suddenly or when I see an unexpected car accident on TV or in a movie. In the way I still recoil and flinch away from oncoming headlights at night. In the nightmares I had of being trapped when I was stuck in a hospital bed and unable to walk.

Even though I'm not a Veteran and didn't experience combat trauma, I know what being broken feels like. Trauma is trauma and pain is pain. It's universally understood when you see it in someone else's eyes. Having once felt broken I know that it feels unfixable. I know that it's a hopeless feeling. I know what it's like to be in a body that feels like it doesn't belong to you because you can't seem to control it. But I also know, like Ian, and Gino, and Erin, and now Jennifer have also learned - you don't have to stay broken. Broken things get fixed. With hugs. With encouragement. You find your way out of brokenness by knowing someone cares about and believes in you. By finding your strength and believing in yourself. 

Even though we all have different experiences, we've all struggled. Time and time again I've been reminded that I'm not alone - not just in life, but in struggling too. I learned how to not get stuck in a victim mentality because everybody has tough stuff they're going through. My struggle is mine, but it's not what makes me special. It doesn't define me. It's always been my choice to let it control my life, or to take control myself - and I've chosen the latter. I've chosen to fight.

Hugging in Dallas

I got a little more involved in giving out hugs in Dallas and as we debriefed the experience that night, it hit me what a big deal that was for me. Four years ago, I wouldn't have been able to participate. The thought of doing something like that would have been paralyzing. I would have sooner hugged a wall than I would a total stranger. I would have been too scared and insecure to approach a Veteran and start a conversation, to confidently smile with my arms outstretched and ask for hugs. Not everyone is ready for hugs and even the seasoned huggers get turned down. That kind of rejection would have crushed the old me. I honestly would have believed it was because they didn't want to hug the fat girl and would have been too devastated by that thought to have been any help or comfort to anyone else. A few years ago, I honestly didn't like anyone touching or getting close to me at all. I love hugs now. They make me feel comfortable and that's been a little weird at times. 

I realized that by working my way back from broken, I am at a place now where I can help others. I can share my story, my struggles, my triumphs, and even my hugs to help those that need someone like I did. That's a pretty powerful feeling that I might never have realized I was capable of, had it not been for a simple hug. 

Macaroni and Cheesin' it with Human Hug Project, my boss, and the staff from the Dallas VA

Just an Athlete

Over the last four years, I've started thinking of myself as an athlete. I'm not a professional athlete, or a competitive athlete (at the moment), but pretty much everything that I do - from the way I eat to the way I rest and recover - is focused toward helping me be the best athlete I can be. On becoming the fittest person I can be.

Four years ago I wasn't athletic, I was morbidly obese. Twelve years ago I was stuck in a hospital bed thinking I may never get the chance to be athletic again. And in the time between then and now, in my head, I've always carried both of those facts as qualifiers to any athletic accomplishment. My very own "good, for a girl" tag on the end of each one. 

Most of the time, I do impress the hell out of myself with what I'm capable of doing and I'm perfectly fine to have that perspective as an ever present reminder of how far I've come and how much progress I've made. But sometimes I've wondered if as an athlete a time would come when I would just be good at what I do. No qualifier. Just, "wow, that was a great lift" without the "for someone who used to weigh over 300 pounds" hanging in the air. 

The thing that I've realized is that I'm the one assuming that is how everyone sees me because it's how I see myself. For the people that have been along with me for this whole journey that's probably a fair assumption though. We have that shared perspective because they saw me at the beginning of this journey and know my whole back story. They can appreciate the small victories with me knowing what I know about where I started. That's actually a pretty cool connection to have.

I've gotten much more comfortable sharing my story with others and embracing the fact that I can inspire people by doing so. Over the last few years I've been open about so many of the things that I've struggled with and let people in on my triumphs. I got the opportunity to share the story of how I lost 100 pounds for our gym blog and to speak on the same topic in front of a group of 70 or so of my coworkers at a conference and the response has been both incredible and overwhelming. I'm truly touched by the number of people that reached out to thank me for sharing, who have congratulated me and wished me well, and who have said that I've inspired them to make a change in their life. Those moments make me not care that so many people see everything I do with the same filter as me. 

A small piece of me though still clings to the little bits of normalcy I'm starting to experience. To days when there's nothing especially extraordinary about me just showing up and knocking out a workout and not finishing 10 or more minutes behind the rest of the class. To the times when I look around at the starting line of a race and I'm not the biggest person there. And to a time when someone I've known for over a year had no clue that I'd been in an accident until I brought it up. 

The further I get down this road I realize that more and more people that I encounter won't know the me that was over 350 pounds or the me that broke both legs. Those are very important parts of my story, I'm not ashamed of either, but I know that they aren't the only things that define me. I'm not a victim. The scars of both will always be with me, but like any scar, I know more about them and am more acutely aware of them than anyone else. 

Last month I ran in a 5K Color Run and internally I was stoked about how much I was able to run and thought a few times about how it wasn't long ago that I had to learn how to run again and couldn't make it around the gym parking lot. The cool moment for me though was not feeling like everyone else was looking at me as "fat girl running." And the even bigger win was not thinking of myself that way. Letting go of the victim mentality. I wasn't the fastest or the slowest. I was right there with everyone else, not really struggling, not in pain, just running. I was just another runner. Just an athlete.

Finding Stillness

Change is a constant. 

Apparently, it's one of the only things that you can truly count on, just behind death and taxes. That doesn't mean I have to like it, right? It's a hard truth I've been forced to accept over and over and just typing those words causes my chest to tighten because change is probably the most difficult challenge that I face daily. I mean, hello... my entire blog has been about me trying to handle change. 

A few weeks ago I had my yearly performance review at work and my boss (who clearly has me pegged) wrote that "Ginny desires and functions best when things are a bit more predictable and stable..." But noted that I've handled changes at work well and demonstrated significant growth in that area. Which is good news because it is something I've consciously been working on over the last few years. It's still difficult for me though. 

I do like predictability and stability. I like order and structure. I like to feel safe and secure. I function best when I feel like I have control over things in my life - when my schedule is fixed and steady, my room is clean, my inbox is managed, my action items are written on my to-do list, my food is prepped, my desk is clean, and I know where to find things (usually because they're sorted or put in some kind of order). I alphabetize, number, label, and color code as much as I can. I like to line up things and space them equally. I've always felt like it's not really a problem because I can function when I don't do these things (maybe not as well...), but I find it comforting and feel like if there can be order, it's more pleasing to have order. If things can always be the same, why not keep them the same? Why not stand where the ground is solid? 

Because you can't. Because that's not real life and it's not living. Because change is constant. Because you can't control everything.  Because growth happens outside of your comfort zone. Because you can't decide that a circumstance or a schedule or the people in your life are constants. Because as soon as you do, they're bound to change, and if you rely on those things as your foundation and a change comes that causes you lose your perceived ability to control them, that's when everything falls apart. And therein lies the problem. 

The truth is that change is so tough for me to handle because I've been approaching it all wrong. The important conclusion that I've come to recently is that change is difficult to handle because you can't control it and you can't handle it. 

I went to a conference in September for work and one of the keynote speakers was a guy named Jon Gordon. His message basically centered around building a positive work environment, especially in the face of change. He left the audience with a challenge to choose a focus word that would guide you in the coming year - the one thing that if you were able to keep it at the forefront of your mind would inform your choices and improve your life. He did a meet & greet/book signing after the address and said he wanted to hear our "words." As I listened to him talk it resonated more with me in my athletic pursuits than it did with my work life and I told him as much when it was my turn to have my book signed. I told him that I felt my word actually was "positivity" and told him briefly about how I'd been working back from an injury and that my coach had been helping me to stay positive through the process. 

Jon recommended that I read a different book than the one of his I'd just purchased - Stillpower by Garret Kramer - and I'm glad that I took him up on the recommendation because it's been very helpful in me coming to the realization that maybe I've been approaching change the wrong way. 

The admittedly over-simplified message I took away from Stillpower was that the key to me finding the stability I desire to navigate my way successfully through this journey is to seek it from within. That my struggles are not a result of external factors and the resolution isn't going to come from the outside either. That maybe I've had such a hard time with each change that's come along because I didn't have that stillness in me and thus wasn't functioning from a state of well-being that would allow me to get through a change without it totally wrecking me. I didn't understand that I was talking myself into change being a problem I couldn't control, rather than the changes actually being problematic.

So, armed with this new perspective and yet another looming big change on the horizon, I've set my sights on becoming still. Not necessarily pushing out any negative thoughts about change, because I think there's still room to feel what you feel about situations and circumstances, but understanding that if I'm having trouble it's not because of the change but maybe I just need to understand that I may be at a low state of well-being in the moment. I hope that I'm able to approach change differently this way and be able to see the other side - the possibility and the opportunity and the transformation that comes with change, rather than being focused on things not turning out how I thought they might.

I can do this.

Focus

One of the best pieces of coaching/advice I've ever received was simply to focus on my own game. To worry about myself. To "put your game face on, put your head down, and do work." And, to trust the process and believe that what I'm doing is right - to pick a path and stay on it. Starting out it's not something I would have imagined I would need to hear, but after three years I've found that I'm much more competitive than I realized and referring back to this cue tends to solve a lot of problems and answer just as many questions.

I knew that CrossFit was going to be difficult. I expected that trying to lose close to half my bodyweight would continue to be one of the tougher challenges I'd ever face. On that front, I wasn't wrong. What I didn't anticipate was how much I would struggle mentally and emotionally through this journey. How exercising and nutrition would test me on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. Maybe it shouldn't be as hard as it is, but then again, if it was easy it probably wouldn't mean as much.

Photo by Jason Collins - Brickhouse Media Team

I've found many of the things that are difficult for me come very easily to others. That's just the way life shook out, and it's okay. It's been important for me to accept that my struggles are what they are, but also to realize that I'm not alone in the fight. Yes, not everyone has trouble resisting the urge to be destructive to themselves by binging on terrible foods - but there are many ways to be destructive. Many ways to derail one's progress. Many wrong roads to turn down. Many things that put a person at odds with what they think they want in the moment, and their ultimate goals.

That's why it's important to focus on my game, my goals, my nutrition plan, my workouts. Those are the things I can control. Wasting time wondering why she gets to do a particular skill in class or why he can eat ice cream every weekend and why I can't do either is stupid. It only takes focus away from the skills I'm working on to make me better and the food I need to eat so that I can be healthy and lose weight and make all the things I want to be able to do easier. If I'm not looking at the road in front of me it's not a question of if, but when, I'm going to stumble. 

And so we all fight on.

Three Years of Questions. One Answer.

If you were to ask my coach how many questions I've asked in the last 3 years it would likely elicit the "look" and a generous estimate that would land north of 15,000. But beyond all the questions that I've asked about CrossFit and nutrition and training and programming and shoes and how to fix what hurts...the question I've asked the most is one I ask myself pretty much every day. Multiple times a day. Sometimes after every rep during a workout.

"Why am I doing this?!" 

The answer is simple, but it's one that I have to be reminded of often. 

Because I have to. Because I can't afford to fail. Because it's what is going to save me. 

It may seem a bit melodramatic, but it's my truth. It's why I take it so seriously. 

It's probably taken me all of the last three years to really focus in on that truth and to fully understand the answer to why I'm doing what I do. It's taken all those other questions and many frustrating hours in the gym to get my head back to where it was on day one. Back to the big "why" of it all.

CrossFit is many things to many people, and I'd be willing to bet that while most people fall into similar categories they all answer their own "why" a little differently. For a small few - owners, coaches, pro athletes - CrossFit is a career. For others it's a means to another athletic end - those using CrossFit to enhance their game in some other sport. Some people are chasing the feeling they had competing and training in high school or college. Some do CrossFit to get stronger and healthier for their jobs or so they can take better care of their families. Some show up at the gym with the primary goal of just looking better naked. For still others it's a hobby, stress relief, social hour, time away from real life, an escape... The answers are endless and all completely valid. That's what's so great about the community and what draws people in. That this one training methodology can mean so many things to so many different kinds of people. That it can help all these people reach all those different goals.

For me CrossFit isn't a hobby and it's not something I'm doing for fun - even though it's become something that I love to do. CrossFit is a treatment plan. It's the path I chose - over medicine, over surgery - to treat my diagnosis of type 2 diabetes and morbid obesity. "Morbid" being the keyword there - a word that has its roots in the Latin words for death and disease. That's what I'm fighting against. I'm doing what I'm doing so I don't have to worry that I'm going to die early. 

For lack of a better analogy, when I joined CrossFit I basically checked myself into an obesity rehab program.  There are all kinds of rehabilitation programs, not just the ones for drug and alcohol - I spent a month in an orthopedic rehab center after my accident. Rehab is hard work. Most people don't go to rehab for fun, because there really isn't much fun to be had. They go to get better. To fix a problem. 

Looking back on my last rehab experience there was a lot of pain and frustration and tears and soul searching... CrossFit rehab has been fairly similar. When I first went to the ortho rehab I had just gotten out of the hospital, I was stuck in bed, I couldn't sit up, I was barely able to eat and keep food down. I was a mess. The second time I was there I came in completely dependent on others for everything, but I had just been cleared to sit up and bear weight on one leg. After two weeks of hard work I could get in and out of a wheelchair and a bed, I could dress myself, take a shower, use a regular bathroom, and stand for very short periods of time. 6 months later I was basically back to being a somewhat normally functioning, self-sufficient adult.

If I look at my three year CrossFit journey in that same way it's really not so different. This past weekend Brickhouse celebrated our 5th Anniversary (and I my 3rd) with a workout that took us all over town to the first two training locations. It was a great way for all of us to look back on where we started both as individuals and as a community. I was worried going in because the workout included over a mile of running and it's still really difficult for me. It hit me on the run that even though I was struggling and had to walk most of it, I was still able to run short distances and that little bit was more than I could do three years ago. I doubt I could have even walked the course when I started. 

When we made it back to the location where I started training a wave of memories came rushing back. In sharing those with my coaches it became even more clear that I'm on the right path with the right people. I'm not the same scared girl that first walked into that brick building three years ago. I'm not afraid anymore that I'm going to die early because I have a plan and and a team behind me and I'm fighting. Yes, I may not be able to run a marathon or lift as heavy as I want to... but I can walk over a mile without pain and I can get up off the ground without a convoluted set-up of plates and rings and the help of two other people. My burpees may not be fast or efficient but I can do them on the ground and not using a bench. 

When I joined Brickhouse three years ago it wasn't to make friends and have fun and be competitive. It wasn't because I was bored and needed a hobby. It wasn't with some grand vision of having a fabulously chiseled body. I knew I had to do something to change my life. To save my life. I didn't know if I could even make it through the first month and it blows my mind that I've stuck with it and trained consistently for three years now. It makes me really proud of myself and the choices I've made.

I'm forever grateful to my coach and teammates for the support, encouragement, and inspiration. For understanding and helping me answer my "why" and being there to remind me when I get distracted. For keeping me focused on the things that will help me reach my goal and making sure that everything I do has a purpose to that end. It means more to me than I can ever fully express.

*Photos by Liz Bateson - Brickhouse Media Team

Excited and Scared

March hasn't been a good month for me in a long time, for good reason, but if the last few weeks are any indication of what's to come I feel like I'm set up for a pretty amazing month. 

I've been on the #roadto100 for 8 weeks now and, though it's been challenging, I'm currently feeling pretty good about the process. I've gotten my food prepped every week, I'm increasing my water intake, I'm losing weight, I feel like my endurance has drastically improved during workouts, and the most exciting development is that I've started lifting more than an empty bar in class. 

My overall goal is becoming fitter by losing weight so I've been trying not to push the weightlifting aspect too much. As much as I may want to be a "badass weightlifter" one day down the road, that's not my focus until I get down much closer to my goal weight. I have to admit though that it's definitely more fun to lift heavy things along the way and to find out that I still can lift them.

Since about December of 2013 I have scaled almost everything to around 35lb-55lb lifts, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less depending on how I was feeling on the given day. I wasn't cleaning or snatching from the floor, only doing hang power or hip versions of the lifts, often subbing dumbbells for the barbell. It took me a long time to be okay with doing all that and to fully realize it was the best course of action. Because I'm stubborn and impatient.

If I learned nothing else over the last 15 months or so, it was what my limits were and the importance of being honest about them. As much as I still question it, I know the difference between being injured and hurting. I learned where the line was, when to push up against it, and when to back away. I learned that it was more important to just move and move safely than it was it move big weights. I learned that I'm the only one that knows what's going on with my body and I can't be effectively coached if I don't share that information. 

About the time all that finally clicked in, like a few months ago, was  pretty much when I was healed enough to start thinking about pushing a little more. The problem was that I was now afraid and I started using that fear as an excuse. When I started pushing more in workouts and it got tougher I was quick to blame my back. To use that impending tightness as an excuse to stop, not trusting that I was capable of doing more without hurting myself. 

In just the last 2 weeks I've been given (what I hope is) the green light to start testing myself even more -  putting weight on the bar, lifting from the floor, participating in the Open. I've been on top of the world in these two weeks because as scared as I've been of getting under heavy weights again, it honestly feels amazing and so far what I've been able to do is pretty damn close to what I could do before I got hurt. What scares me now is getting carried away. I'm scared that I'll get over confident, try to lift too much, and end up getting injured again. 

CrossFit media recently released a series of videos showing behind the scenes footage and interviews from the 2014 CrossFit Games. What stuck with me was the frequency with which "mental game" came up from multiple athletes. More than any one physical skill, it seemed that athletes credited the mental aspect as a weakness they've worked on, a strength that gives them an edge over their competitors, and a part of their training that made the biggest impact. It's important for me too because I think my head holds me back more than my physical limitations.

It's not that I don't trust my knowledge or my coaching. I have trouble trusting myself to make smart decisions. I have trouble trusting that my body won't let me down. I constantly question everything and get paralyzed by a need to do everything "right" and to be reassured that I am in fact doing it right. 

So that's where I am now. Learning to walk that line between recognizing the fear and allowing it to control me. The difference between pushing the limits and rushing into things with reckless abandon. Being excited about lifting again but not getting so caught up in my numbers and PRs that I start losing sight of my real goal. Trusting that after almost 3 years I know myself and my abilities well enough to make smart decisions about my training. 

The 2015 CrossFit Games Open starts tonight and since I had to sit out last year I'm more excited than ever to participate. I'm probably going to do the scaled version of all the workouts, but I really am okay with it. I plan to step into the Friday Night Lights each week with realistic expectations, with a plan to focus on keeping things in perspective thoughout the 5 week competition, and in doing so, not be afraid that I'm not good enough, strong enough, or healed enough to push my limits.

Fighting

The last six weeks have not been easy, or fun, or exciting. They've been challenging and full of daily inner struggles that have been more difficult than they need have been. But surprisingly, I'm making it through. I'd like to say that each day is a little easier, but I'm honestly still going back and forth between, "this isn't so bad" and "why the hell am I putting myself through this?" Sometimes hourly.

I try to make it simple and tell myself that it's not going to be fun right now, that this is the time for hard work. The plan is easy, everything is laid out for me, all I have to do is exactly what I've been told. I tell myself that I can choke down all the raw spinach in the world, no big deal. But it sucks. Most days, it sucks. 

And that's the fight of it. Doing the hard work, no matter how much it sucks, because you want something much more satisfying than a tasty breakfast. Because as uncomfortable as you feel running, or squatting, or doing burpees... living at over 300 pounds hurts more. 

And I know that it's worth it and that the day will come when it's fun again and that someday everything won't suck so much, but I have to push through all the tough days to get back there. My challenge though is to make the fight more rewarding in the moment. To not get so stuck on the idea that it's difficult and find the little pockets of joy along the way. Recognizing when things are easier to do. Like running again and being less winded. Doing a full length bear crawl. Not having to stop in the middle of every workout to ask for a modification. 

I don't want to look back on this time and feel like I spent it being miserable when I should be proud of the work I'm doing to be a better me. All the choices I've made are my own - I've accepted this challenge, chosen to follow this plan, and put my trust in it. No one is forcing me.  So, the experience can really only be as miserable as I choose to perceive it to be, and it's about time for a new outlook.