Good Day, Soul Shine

Today has been an alternating mix of gross and muggy and torrential downpour. The good news was that the times that I was outside today were only mildly muggy and the rain was light. Today started kind of crummy because I am still hurting from being on my feet all weekend at the Mid Atlantic CrossFit Regionals, couldn't make my bacon in the oven because the pilot light is mysteriously out again for no good reason, and then I left my ID and Metro card on my dresser and didn't realize it until I was all the way inside the Metro station, had to turn around and come back for them, and was an hour late to work. Basically I was having a Monday.

Wednesday I had a good day. Henceforth having a good day shall be referred to as "Having a Wednesday." On Wednesday I walked from DC to Virginia. It was awesome.

I almost had a bad day on Wednesday because a conference call I had mid-day didn't go quite as I had hoped it and found myself getting discouraged and stressed out. I was also epically hangry because said conference call was during my usual lunch time. So, during my lunch break I went out and discovered that unlike the climate in my office that rivals the arctic circle, outside was a gorgeous late spring day. Sunny and breezy and beautiful. I went to the Corner Bakery and got a really good chopped salad and decided to sit outside and enjoy being outside for the little time that I got to spend there.

I've been on a three week break from weightlifting and CrossFit and it's been pretty miserable and I have been trying to figure out ways to motivate myself and get more activity into my life. In talking with my friend Janis about this dilemma she challenged me to either get on or off the Metro a stop or two early. I initially told her that the stops were way too far apart, but after my amazing half hour outside, I wanted more. I thought about her challenge and did some route mapping on Google and decided to walk to Virginia. If you aren't really familiar with DC and Northern Virginia geography, it's only a little over two miles from my office to the Virginia border and I decided that a two mile walk wouldn't be so bad after all.

I get off work at 5pm and usually I leave right on time to get to the Metro to catch the train home so I don't have to wait around and sit in traffic. The station is really crowded at 5pm and everyone is rushing to get home. No one talks. Every day I get packed tightly into a small train with my headphones on (that I've had on all day) and get jerked and bumped all around for a half hour and then get in my car and sit in traffic for another half hour and then spend a few hours in my apartment alone and go to bed. I'm not sure exactly what I've been rushing home for all this time. I'm not like other people on the train who might have a family they can't wait to get home to. There's no one that's waiting for me to make dinner, no kids to be picked up from daycare or taken to soccer practice. There's no dog to walk and feed. I do have Stetson, my watch duck, but I'm pretty sure even he doesn't miss me while I'm gone and doesn't mind that I leave him alone for long periods. I mean, he's never complained. Why the rush to get home?

Without a CrossFit or weightlifting class to go to, and nothing to go home to, why not take a few hours and walk to Virginia? I'd also never been to Georgetown and I mapped out a route that would take me from my office near the White House, through Georgetown, and into Virginia to the Rosslyn Metro station. I set off down Pennsylvania Avenue (headphones on, because I dig music) for an adventure. I sent Janis a message so that someone would know my plan, in case I got kidnapped.

The walk to Georgetown was nice, but the first part of it was mostly like my normal commute. It was exciting to me because it was a new path, but for everyone else, they were just on their way home. The closer I got to Georgetown I could feel a change in the people around me. People were on M street to shop and eat and be with friends and family. People were excited and were out enjoying the evening. I felt like I was part of the world again, even though I was alone. I was getting a little tired and sweaty, but the sun felt nice and the whole walk was worth it when I saw this:

 

I could have stood on the Francis Scott Key Bridge and stared out at the water until the sun went down. It was so peaceful. After an hour and half of walking, all the stress of Wednesday had melted away and all that had been weighing on my soul wasn't quite so heavy anymore. It didn't take much to turn things around. Just a stretch of road, some sunshine, and the Potomac.

 

I am definitely going to make this walk a regular, maybe weekly. occurrence. Next time, I'm wearing tennis shoes.

I also need to figure out what this place is, and how I can get out on the water. That looks like it would be amazing for the soul.

 

 



Healing

This was a difficult post to write and a delicate subject for me to discuss. Mental health issues are something often kept quiet in our society, a source of shame. I'm not ashamed of having struggled, or of continuing to struggle and fight a mental battle, but this is something I haven't really discussed with anyone beyond my immediate family. There really aren't many specific moments that one can point to in their life and say "that's when my life took a turn" and the ones that you can point to, like this one, have a definite clarity and will forever be etched in your memory.

I was dressed in my concert black and white, waiting in the band room to load the buses for All County Band festival in tenth grade when the secretary came over the intercom. This was the first time in high school that I got called to the principal's office. Of course I got the required "Oooooh, someone's in trouble!" from everyone in class, but I was really confused because I was sure I hadn't done anything wrong. I went to a campus style high school so it took me few minutes to get from the band room to the office, very long minutes spent searching my brain for the possible cause of this meeting, stomach in knots.

When I finally got to the principal's office he looked very serious and asked me to sit down. That's when I noticed that he had one of my English assignments on his desk, my poetry packet. The dreaded 10th grade poetry packet. I don't remember exactly how many we had to write, but we spent the whole unit learning about every kind of poem from acrostic to sonnet and then had to pick several different kinds and write our own. Any topics we wanted, put together how ever we wanted. Writing being one of my strongest skills, this assignment was right in my wheel house and I remember handwriting all my poems and illustrating each page. I was very proud of my work and it was very personal. I had poured my heart and soul into those poems. I couldn't fathom what would have caused my teacher to have given my assignment to the principal.

As he started to talk to me about what I had put together and we went through the poems, the reason for his concern became obvious. He was worried about me. Almost every single poem I had written and even my illustrations were very dark and pretty much all about death and despair and misery. Being lonely and isolated. I even had a pretty stellar sonnet about having no friends, in impeccable iambic pentameter. I guess I hadn't consciously intended for that to be the overwhelming theme of my project, but as I was writing unfiltered, from the heart, what was on my soul, it shouldn't really have been a surprise that this was the result.

The principal knew me pretty well as he had also been my principal in middle school, a rare example of an administrator who truly cared about all the students in his school and knew most, if not all of them, by name. I think the thing that concerned him most was one particular poem that I wrote about a homeless girl living in an alley, contemplating the prospect of death over life. This was a classic red flag to him. That's when I really realized why I was called to the office. He was worried that I was suicidal. That's when I started to cry. Uncontrollably.

I felt scared, and ashamed, and panicked, even betrayed by my teacher. These were my private, honest thoughts, that I had only put down on paper with the intent of writing the best poems I possibly could, and now they were being used against me. They got me in trouble. The principal thought I wanted to kill myself, and that was not the case at all. Looking back now, I don't honestly think I would consider myself to have been suicidal when I was in high school. I had been bullied for the last 5 years, tormented, called names, been punched in the stomach, pushed in the mud, pelted by rocks on the way home from school, was excluded from groups in class, not invited to birthday parties and sleepovers, had my student government campaign posters vandalized, I sat the bench for about 95% of all my softball games. I was lonely, and isolated, and in pain. I felt like no one liked me and no one cared about me. I had gone to teachers before about bullying and teasing and none of them ever did anything.

I never wanted to kill myself, never tried to kill myself, never thought about or planned ways that I would kill myself. Death was, and still is, my biggest fear. I didn't want to die, but I did want the pain to stop. I didn't want to have to continue to live through that torment every day. I thought about what would happen if I died. I wondered if anyone would care. I thought about death, a lot. Obviously enough to write a whole slew of poems about it. As an adult with about 16 years worth of perspective on this now, I realize that I was subconsciously crying out for help. Demanding that someone care about me. Begging them to do something, anything, to make it all stop.

I was really angry about this situation for a long time, and vowed that I was never going to write anything personal again. I had a rough few weeks following this meeting with the principal and cried a lot with my parents, who were justifiably upset and concerned as well. For all intents and purposes, I was basically on suicide watch. My Mom told me she was afraid to leave me alone, they couldn't trust me and I couldn't convince them that I didn't want to hurt myself, I just wanted to stop hurting.

The good thing about this seemingly horrible period in my life, is that it actually did help things get better, and for that I am grateful to the teacher and to the principal. I was finally able to see that I did have people in my life that loved me and cared about me. My parents had always told me that no matter what happened out in the world, home was always my safe place to land, I would always be loved by my family. This situation helped me understand how true that was. I was safe inside my house. I was protected from all the bad things that happened at school. I can't imagine how different the situation would be if I were to go through the same torment as a high schooler now, with the added hell of cyber bullying. For many kids there is absolutely no escape from the torment and their bullies can follow them home and continue to beat them down over the internet. I realize now how lucky I was that I only had to face bullies in person.

I called this post "healing" because from that moment forward, that was the journey that began. School got marginally better and I made a few close friends, but I was stronger and didn't let the things that had happened in the past weigh me down as much as I had before. I didn't think about dying as much anymore, especially after I lost my friend Josh the next year. Up until that point death was an abstract concept; losing Josh made it real. I began to cherish life and hang on to the good parts and not dwell so much on the bad, because I realized how quickly it can be taken away. I decided that making the most of the good moments and worrying about the people that love and care about you is much more worthwhile than being focused on the bad and thinking about death all the time.

As I continue through life, I can look back on this time and remember that no matter how bad it gets or how alone I feel, I always have my family and I know that they love and support me, so I'm never really alone. One reason I thought it was important to write this post was so that it might help someone else heal from these kinds of wounds. If I could go back, this is the kind of thing I would want middle school Ginny to hear. I know there are kids that are going through similar experiences now. I would tell them to keep asking for help until they are heard and find someone that cares enough to listen. They don't have to feel hopeless and alone. I would tell them to stay strong and focus on the people that do love them, because it really does get better. Acknowledging that you were hurt and being honest about how you feel are the first steps to healing, and that is a journey that I'm still on to this day. Hopefully the worst is behind me and this is another big step towards being a happier me.

You vs. You

A Very Squinty Me and Elisabeth

So I was talking with Elisabeth Akinwale the other day (she casually drops into the conversation as if hanging out and chatting with a top 10 CrossFit Games competitor and all around badass weightlifter is an everyday occurrence in her life). Last weekend I was fortunate to have the opportunity to travel to Fort Mill, SC to participate in the MuscleDriver USA Open team tryouts - an Olympic Weightlifting team that Elisabeth is a member of, in addition to being a CrossFit Games competitor. I had no delusion that I would be considered for the team, I've only been lifting competitively for 5 months, but the opportunity to compete with someone like Elisabeth in front of people like Glenn Pendlay and Don McCauley, and get coached by an athlete like Travis Mash, was something I had to take advantage of and do so to the best of my ability.  Other than the fact that she's totally cool and easy to talk to, I took away some key things from the hour or so that we spent talking about everything from CrossFit scandals to kids and what we studied in college.

1. CrossFit (of which weightlifting is one component) is the sport of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Elisabeth finished 7th in the games last year out of thousands of people worldwide. She's a pretty big deal and can do amazing things, but at the end of the day she's just a normal girl with a little boy at home. One of the cooler things about CrossFit is how accessible the elite level athletes are to the everyday lower level athletes like myself. That someone who's only been training for a year can feel a camaraderie with an athlete of the highest caliber in the sport and have the instant connection of knowing that we've had similar experiences. That I was even listed on the same competition roster as her was pretty cool to me.  I can't imagine that as a high school football player, for example, I would ever get the chance to play a game against an NFL team and then just hang out with the star quarterback afterward. There's a line between the elite and the beginner in most sports that just isn't as dark and foreboding in CrossFit as it is in other sports, at least it isn't for me.

2. In the same vein of elite level athletes being real people, it's easy to forget when we put these athletes up on their pedestals that they are just as vulnerable as the rest of us. They are hard on themselves about their performances and feel pressure to perform, much more in most cases. Elisabeth didn't have the pressure of trying to make the team or impress the coaches, she was already on the team, but even as basically an exhibition performance she had the pressure to perform well. Her name alone drew crowds of people to watch her pick up heavy things and put them down - me included. Knowing the total that she submitted, people expected her to put on a good show, and though I'd only just met her that morning, I could tell that she didn't want to let these people down.

If you think about the competition as a You vs. Everyone Else situation, Elisabeth did really well. She came in 3rd out of 10 competitors. In Olympic weightlifting you get three chances to lift the heaviest weight you can on two lifts, the snatch and the clean & jerk. You only have to hit one of each to get a total score - your best snatch + your best clean & jerk. Elisabeth did just that, hitting only one of her snatch attempts and one of  her clean & jerks. Her total was still 86 points higher than mine. In terms of Elisabeth vs. Elisabeth though,  this wasn't her best performance and she clearly wasn't happy with it.

By the same comparison, my meet in terms of Me vs. Everyone Else was not so stellar. I really couldn't have asked for a better meet though. For the first time in 3 official competitions I hit all 6 of my lifts (and was the only female to do so), I got competitions PRs on both my snatch and clean & jerk, and I totaled 101 - which was 4 points higher than my total at the RVA Open, 10 points higher than Baltimore, and my first time to total over 100. It was the best I've ever done in competition and given the fact that I haven't been 100% healthy in the last few weeks, I feel it was the best I could do on that day. Going into the competition I had the lowest submitted total, was by far the heaviest lifter, and I ended up in 9th place out of 10, only ahead of someone who failed to total. I was also probably one of the least experienced lifters. If I only looked at my performance in comparison with others, my absolute best wasn't good enough to win and I was the one that should have been embarrassed and upset. (Not to say that anyone should have been upset or embarrassed, just that coming in 9th might be a better reason than coming in 3rd.)

My Best Snatch - 45kg

My Best Clean & Jerk - 56kg

I choose to focus on Me vs. Me instead because I feel it's the best true measure of my personal success. Maybe someday down the road I'll be in competitions to win them and will have to compare myself to the other lifters, but right now competing is just about beating myself at the last meet, and I wiped the floor with Ginny from the RVA Open. Getting to talk with Elisabeth really put this into perspective for me. It's easy to pick the outlook that gives you the best result, to spin things in such as way that puts you in the best light, but you won't always see things the same way if you're not looking from the same angle each time. You can win competitions and not give your best performance, or  you can do your best and still lose. Either way, if you always compare current you to previous you, the only factor you can control, I think that's the best path to true growth and keeping yourself grounded.

This experience showed me that not being satisfied with anything but your best is what drives people to strive for greatness. To feel accomplished and deserving of the accolades when you reach greatness - knowing that you worked hard and did the best you could do, regardless of the outcome.

Strength

Something that I guess I've known but re-realized in the last few weeks is that the me that I show the world is not the same one that comes out when I'm alone. I don't think I'm unique in this regard. Rarely do you find someone that is completely open to the world - there's always a private side to everyone that few will ever see. I think that I've been pretty open about struggling with my diet and I've never tried to make it seem like I'm perfect, but I've noticed that I make better choices when I know that others will see them than I do when I'm by myself. The me that I let people see is a much stronger person, the person that I wish I was all the time.

My biggest struggle over the last year hasn't been doing the work, the physical work of weight loss. Don't get me wrong, I've definitely had struggles in WODs and had to push through injuries, but going to the gym and getting the work done hasn't really been the hard part. I like working out and feeling exhausted and trying new things and lifting heavy stuff and throwing it down. It's fun and I like being around the people at the box and being a part of the community. There have been times where I haven't been feeling great and I've had to force myself to go to the gym, but very seldom have I ever left thinking "I wish I hadn't come today."

Where I've struggled the most is internally. My inner strength and resolve has been the piece that has been my weakest point over the last year, especially when it comes to my diet, because that's the piece that is most often out of the eyes of others. I eat most of my meals alone so there really isn't anyone to judge me or enforce my choices, and this is a big problem for me. For as long as I can remember, and apparently even before I remember I was a sneaky eater. I've heard stories about me as a toddler climbing up on the counter and sitting on top of the refrigerator getting Popsicles out of the freezer and hiding Little Debbie wrappers in the couch cushions, so this is clearly not a new problem. I don't know why, but I still do stuff like this. Living up here alone, no one knows if I go have pizza or eat an entire pint of ice cream, so I do it and don't tell anyone, and it's like it never happened, right? Terrible attitude. Terrible way to live. So destructive. All the hard work that I do in the gym is just getting sabotaged by not being as strong in private as I am in public.

I can be strong and I can make good choices, I've proven it to myself over and over again. I am stronger than food, but more often than not I'm stronger for others than I am for me. At work there are always temptations - cupcakes in the kitchen, going out for frozen yogurt or coffee - at work I am usually always strong and it feels good to stand firm and say no. When I'm faced with those temptations on my own - in the grocery store or on the drive home - I don't fight myself as hard as I fight against other people. I don't tell myself no, I don't stand up for what I've chosen to be the way I want to live, I give in easier. Why won't I fight for myself and be strong because I know it's the best thing for ME?! Why don't put as much stock in how I view myself as I do in how others view me? Why don't I think that just feeling good about myself is a good enough reason to make the right choice? Why am I not enough?

I need to be strong on my own. I need to strengthen my mind and my soul. I need to love me enough to be strong for me. Now, more than ever before. Many times over the last 9 months I've felt like I'm totally alone in this journey, even though I've had a lot of virtual support and I've been working out with others and I've had coaches and teammates, I've still felt very alone. It's about to become more than a feeling. The expense of living in DC has finally caught up with me and I'm going to have to take some time to focus on getting things caught up and back on track. Unfortunately the only expense that I have that I can cut back on is weightlifting and CrossFit. I've tried to find another way to make things work and taking a break from both of those things is the only conclusion I've been able to come to.

I'm sick about this decision. I'm dreading it. It's going to suck. I've convinced myself of this already. It doesn't feel like the right decision, but I don't know what else to do. My outlook thus far has been that CrossFit is what is helping me save my life and I've given it top priority to the detriment of many other things and I just can't seem to make it work anymore. Beyond the financial struggle, trying to make CrossFit work in my life made everything else more difficult. I'm paying more to commute, spending more time commuting, going longer without eating, eating late, getting home late, sleeping less. I spend more time in pain and tired and feeling beat down - I don't feel like I'm able to recover. I don't feel like my life is set up in such a way that I can be successful.

What really worries me is that I'm taking away the only thing that makes me happy and my only source of social interaction. I'm worried about staying strong under those conditions. I'm worried about being strong enough to not only stay on track with my diet, which I've already been having trouble with, but now staying on track with working out. I've been doing CrossFit for over a year now, so I've learned a lot and I know there are many things I can do without a barbell and equipment to keep myself in shape while I'm on this break. The hard thing is going to be keeping myself accountable and motivated to actually do it. To not come home every night and sit on the couch for hours and then go to bed. To keep myself interested in working out when I don't have anyone to motivate me. I think that was a big reason why I wasn't able to stick with any kind of exercise program before - I lacked the motivation and drive and initiative and I needed the support of others to help keep me on track. So what am I going to do now? How am I going to do?

I'm more scared to take the next few steps forward than I have been since the first day I stepped into a CrossFit box. I've come too far and made too much progress to let it all slip away from me, I'm just terrified of how difficult it's going to be to stay strong by myself, for no one else but me. This next chapter is truly me against me. I don't want to have fight this fight alone, but if I can make it to the other side, I think I'll be much stronger for it.

Obstacles

Ginger, Jennifer, Me, Sami, John
(Not Pictured: Diane - she was behind the camera)

This weekend I did my first (and probably last) obstacle course race, the Rugged Maniac 5K, with some great friends from back home. In the continuing tradition of challenging myself, going outside of my comfort zone, and testing my fitness in grand ways, Rugged Maniac is something that I would have NEVER considered a year ago. There are many things about an obstacle race that are so not me - mud, climbing things, heights, tunnels, the threat of injury, wet feet... but as much as I tried to talk myself out of it (and get others to talk me out of it - believe me, my Oly coach tried) and as much as it seemed like a bad idea, I still really wanted to give it a try and see how much I could do.

During the three mile course and the four hour drive home I had a lot of time to reflect on my experience and wax a bit poetic on the parallels I found between the race and life and in particular, my journey.



Here's what I learned:


1. Starting Isn't Easy. With this particular race you had to climb a four foot wall just to get into the
holding pen at the starting line. I immediately felt a little defeated, knowing I couldn't get over it on my own. How was I going to get through this race if I couldn't even start?! That's what teammates are for. Shout out to John for giving me a foot hold and hoisting me over the wall. Sometimes you need someone to throw you over the wall, kick you through the door, push you into the pool... Starting isn't always easy, it's often the hardest part, but if you have someone to help you, it's a little bit easier.

2. Get Dirty Right Away and Get it Over With. Sometimes it's the best policy to jump in head first. Don't try to ease into it or find a way to just dip a toe in, go all out and give it everything you have. If you're already dirty in the first hundred yards it won't be so difficult to get even dirtier a mile or so in. For me, starting my journey like this was key - full commitment to changing my diet, four WODs a week (sometimes five), no use being afraid, no excuse to not at least try everything new. Get dirty and get going on the journey.



3. Don't Get Used to Smooth Terrain. Just when you get used to the level path, dry out a little bit, get your breath back, that's when the next obstacle appears. The course/life/any worthwhile journey isn't going to be a straight-shot, level road that's easily followed. If it was, what would be the point? Feeling pretty good about getting through that barbed wire crawl? Think you're in the home stretch? Well let's trudge through six pools of waist deep mud the consistency of peanut butter. Okay? Celebrate the little victories along the way, but don't get comfortable and forget you're still on the course. You better be ready for the next obstacle that crosses your path, because it will. It always does.



4. Hold on Tight and Be Ready for Others to Rock the Cargo Net. Any time you're trying to do something new and difficult there are going to be moments where you doubt yourself and will want to turn back, climb back down, and give up. Rarely do you exist in a bubble where what you are doing is unaffected by others. Other people who might be on the same path, other people who are taking a different approach, other people who are going to jump onto the cargo net or roll across it and cause your stable foothold to be shaken. Don't let go, don't cry, hold steady, keep your head down, and keep moving forward. Eventually you'll get across and be glad you didn't let the others rocking the cargo net allow you to fall through a hole and be stuck dangling 20 feet in the air with a rope wedgie, so to speak.

5. Pick Your Battles/Know Your Limits. There are likely to be obstacles in your way that are seemingly insurmountable. They may or may not actually be impossible for you to overcome, but sometimes you have to weigh the difficulty of continuing to struggle and expend energy on a task that you really don't have to complete to move forward against the benefit of saving that energy for the things that really matter, like finishing and not getting hurt (my main goal for the race). There were several obstacles that I went around without trying (like the walls because I didn't have anyone that could help me over them and I wasn't strong enough to get over them on my own) and others that I tried but failed to complete, like scaling a muddy hill by pulling yourself up by a rope, all the while keeping yourself from being snagged by the barbed wire overhead. I tried, I really did, but at one point I had nothing left in my arms, couldn't get a foot hold, and realized that if I kept trying I would eventually hurt myself. So I chose to go around without finishing the obstacle, but was okay with the choice because I gave it a good try.



6a. It's Okay to Choose the Path of Least Resistance... especially if it means not falling into a smoldering fire pit. See also #5 above. When I got to this obstacle, knowing that my jumping ability is limited to about a four weight-plate height and distance, and gauging the middle of the fire pit to be more than that, I chose to jump over the end that was lower and not as far across. I still jumped over the fire and got to the other side, I just scaled it to my ability. I didn't necessarily take the easy way out, I just accomplished the task in a way that prevented failure and being burned alive which, in my humble opinion, is always the most desirable outcome.

6b. Avoid Being Burned Alive Whenever Possible. This really needs no further explanation.

7. Be Not Afraid of Dark Tunnels. You may not be able to see it, but there is a light at the end. Even if you can see it and feel like you'll be in the tunnel forever, if you keep moving forward a little bit at a time, you'll eventually make it through. There are moments in any journey when you get mired down in darkness, doubt, and get focused in only on how much you're struggling. It can seem never ending, but try to let your eyes adjust to the darkness and you may actually be able to see that every little step you take forward, even if you're crawling along a half inch at a time, is progress that will eventually lead you out of the tunnel. In situations like this it also helps to have a friend at the other end saying "follow the sound of my voice" assuring you that you won't get stuck in the tunnel and you're just five more good pulls away from getting out.




Me and Jennifer
She clearly finished long before me and was already clean.

Thank you to my fellow Rugged Maniacs (Ginger, Jennifer, Sami, and John) for taking on this challenge with me, and especially Diane for sticking with me through the whole course, capturing all these great moments, and being the voice at the end of the tunnels. I couldn't have done it without you.

Baring It All

So yesterday was pretty overwhelming. I thought it might be. The entry from October where I posted comparison pictures had, up until now, gotten the most hits of any post I've put up... and I was fully clothed in those pictures.

I knew it was important to post my before and after pictures to make myself face the reality of where I've been, where I am, and get focused on where I want to go. It makes the journey real and worthwhile. Those results are tangible and measurable and seeing myself in all my fish-bellied glory is something that I needed to keep myself grounded and remind myself of why I work hard. Why I need to continue to work hard. As much progress as I've made, I am far from ready to kick back and take it easy.

Another reason I thought it was important to post the pictures is because it was challenging. It took me way out of my comfort zone, and that's where the most growth happens. My sisters joke that I am Amish or Mennonite because I have an aversion to wearing anything I deem to be too revealing, especially low cut shirts. They will argue that "low cut" is relative and that my idea of too low is anything lower than a turtle neck. This is a gross exaggeration and I will stand by that statement. Truthfully though, I've just never really been comfortable in my own skin. I've been ashamed and embarrassed and I guess I felt that the more I've been able to keep covered up the more I could protect myself...from teasing, from judgement, from any number of things.

The first step to getting over my extreme modesty was actually being in the car accident, and I was pushed head first into that when I was cut out of the Jeep, moved to a stretcher, and promptly cut out of my clothes in the middle of the street by members of the volunteer fire department and rescue squad. That is still one of the sharpest memories from that night - how cold it was and how mortified I was to be in just my bra and underwear with all these random guys standing around, never mind the fact they were probably more concerned with the bone sticking out of my leg. Anyone who has been hospitalized for any amount of time or has had a baby can attest to the fact that there's no use trying to be modest when you're hospitalized. The reality of being bed bound with two broken legs, unable to sit above 60 degrees for three months is that there are many things you simply cannot do for yourself including going to the bathroom, bathing, and getting dressed. I learned very quickly that unless I wanted to be dirty, naked, and covered in my own filth, I was going to have to accept help from whomever was available when these needs arose - be it nursing students who I had sold textbooks to (praying they didn't recognize me or remember me when I went back to work), somewhat creepy middle-aged male nurses, my Mom, my sisters... it took a lot of deep breathing and going to another place, it never got "comfortable", but it was eventually just part of my daily routine and part of my reality.

 
In more ways than just physically this blog has helped me put myself out there to the world. I've never been this honest and open about my life and my feelings and I think it's made me much more confident. Being honest with myself and the world is slowly chipping away the armor that I've so desperately clung to for so many years - especially since there's been so much positive response from everyone that has been reading my posts and following my journey. This journey has also been largely about learning to be strong and independent - learning to fly with my own wings, as my friend Amanda once told me. Not just standing on my own, but moving beyond that and truly soaring. When people see you flying with your own wings, she said, they take notice. I feel that when I'm writing and sharing my story with others is when I'm able to fly.

It's still a little weird to me though because I feel like I'm baring my soul to complete strangers and there are people out there in the world that know a whole lot about me and I don't even know their names. It's even weirder to think that people who I know from high school or college, or people I see everyday, have read my blog and now know way more about my life than even people in my family ever did. I almost feel like I should sit down with these people and get them to spill out their innermost thoughts and feelings. It's only fair right? Reciprocity isn't what this is all about though. At its core this blog is a selfish way for me to get my feelings out and reach out into the world and not feel so alone. By seeing that people are reading and commenting and sharing it with others, that's a fair enough trade for me. The added bonus is when I get messages and comments that I've helped someone else or inspired them in some way.

Writing comes easily for me, sharing my writing has been a little more difficult, but definitely worth the anxiety of hitting the "publish" button and instantly freaking out about how it will be received. It's humbling to check my stats and see that a post has been read by 100 people. To think that there were that many people who found what I had to say worthwhile amidst all the clutter of the Internet is pretty cool. When I checked my stats today and saw this, I was blown away.

I find it both crazy and awesome that in one day my story reached over 850 people (at the peak). If it made a difference to even one of them, or helped even one person decide that they were ready to change their life, then I would post a million half naked pictures of myself, every day of the week. (Don't worry, I won't - that's too much for even me!)

Thank you all for your support, encouragement, and for being my people to reach out to. I hope you'll stick with me through the next year, it ought to be a great one!

So Far...

Earlier this year a friend introduced me to the band Delta Rae and I immediately connected with their music. One song in particular, Is There Anyone Out There, has become a little bit of an anthem for me on this journey, as the lyrics just seemed to land perfectly on my soul, especially these:

 

So far from where I started.

So far from where I wanna be.

I often feel like I focus more on the second part of that lyric than the first; only looking at the road ahead without appreciating the miles I've already walked. Finishing up my first year this week gives me the opportunity to do just that. So many changes have taken place over the last year and there are so many ways that I can measure the progress I've made.

 

The first and most obvious measure is my weight. When I started CrossFit last April my sole focus, driving force, reason to WOD, was weight loss. My big audacious goal was to lose 100 pounds in one year. I could have done it. I came pretty close. I decided back in January that I was going to give "not weighing" a shot and see how things went. I was only going to weigh at competitions. In hindsight, I don't think I was quite ready to let go of the scale. I started out last April at 353 pounds and I weighed in at 120 kilos (or 264.5 pounds) at the RVA Open, which is only 1 kilo (2.2 pounds) less than I weighed in for the Baltimore Open in February. 2 pounds in 2 and a half months is not what I'm used to. During my Whole 30 challenge and the first several months I was averaging 10 pounds a month.

 

The only things I can point to as to why I only lost 2 pounds from February to April are that I was too lenient about my diet and that my training has been more strength focused and less "high intensity functional movement" focused - ie, I've been focusing on my Oly lifting and not doing CrossFit workouts. It's likely that my diet has more to do with not losing weight than my training, but both are areas that I need to evaluate moving forward and make sure that I'm getting the most out of both if I want to continue to see the scale go down. I think I'm also going to bring the scale back out of the closet and weigh more often. It's one of the only things I have right now to keep me accountable. I always get the "you're building muscle" argument when I bring this up, and I get it, I really do, but I honestly don't want to be 265 pounds of muscle. I don't think I'm quite at the point where I don't still have fat to lose and or that I'm pound for pound replacing my fat with muscle.

 

Nevertheless, 88.5 pounds is still a lot of weight to lose in a year. It's more than I've ever lost with any other diet or exercise plan. I can't always tell the difference, but I can definitely see it in pictures. When I look back at some of the pictures from the year before I started CrossFit, I can't believe that I was ever that big. I knew that I was, but it has started to feel like I'm looking at a person I don't know anymore when I see them.

I'm starting to get more comfortable with and confident about my new body, but there are still things I'm not happy about. I'm having to come to terms with the reality that being as big as I was has consequences and even as I lose weight, things don't just spring back into place. It can be a little disheartening, but I try to focus more on what my body can do now rather than focusing on every minute detail of how my body looks. I can squat deeper, lift heavier, move and run faster, jump higher, and get up off the floor - all with less pain and less struggle than a year ago. Walking and standing are even easier. The other day I spent 3 hours on my feet prepping food and cooking for the week and didn't even realize that I had done so without pain until I was finished. I used to not even be able to stand long enough to wash a load of dishes without my back hurting. That's huge.

 

From head to toe I am a smaller person now. I have lost weight in my face, I have a neck now, I can feel my collar bones (it's much more painful doing cleans without that padding), I found my ribcage, my stomach is much smaller, I can feel the muscles in my arms and legs (no more cankles), and I even went down at least a half size in my shoes. I have replaced my work wardrobe 3 times in the last year. I started out wearing anything from a 26/28 to 30/32 or 2X-5X (depending on the store) and a 9 to 9.5 wide in shoes. Now I can wear a 22 in dress pants/jeans and a 12, 14/16, 18/20 in workout pants (again depending on the store). I can wear large unisex/women's XL or a 14/16 in shirts. My shoes are now 8.5. I am able to borrow clothes from my Mom for the first time in more than 15 years. When I lived at home and had to help with my sisters' laundry I used to fold their clothes thinking, "there's no way anyone can wear something this small" - now I say the same thing about my own clothes. I can't believe that I fit into these sizes...I still feel like I'm so much bigger than I am. Another big goal for me has been being able to wear the cute women's clothing options out there, especially in regard to workout clothes. I know it's not all about looking cute at the gym, but I didn't want to feel frumpy and manly either. Women's clothing is sized weirdly so there are still certain brands that I can't get into yet, but I recently got my first workout tank tops and am slowly building a dangerous Lululemon wardrobe.

It's a little weird mentally for me to exist in this new body. I don't know myself as an adult at this size and in my head I'm still much bigger than I am in the mirror. I look at myself in person and in pictures and I see the parts that I don't like magnified. I carried (and still carry) the bulk of my excess weight around my midsection, and even though my butt and belly have shrunk considerably, they are still the biggest parts of me. I need to just accept that for what it is and focus instead on the parts that I do like. I'm pretty fond of my calves and deltoids lately. I'm still not super comfortable letting people see my before and after pictures, but I think it's an important part of this journey and I'm proud of my progress. I have also found that being courageous enough to post them has helped others, so here is my full year of progress (though I don't have a picture for every month):

 

 I didn't get a good head on picture for day one, but this is a comparison of my progress at the end of my Whole 30 challenge and my progress after 1 year: 335 lbs vs. 264.5 lbs

 

 And finally everything comes full circle from Day 1 to Day 365:

 

I look forward to the day when I can shift my focus away from weight loss and be content to focus on my performance as the main measure of success, I'm just not there yet. Long term I don't really have a magic number in mind. I can't imagine myself at any weight lower than 200 because it's been so long since I was that small and I haven't seen the 100s as an adult. I've always thought it would be cool to be one of the "People Half Their Size" that get featured in People magazine, which would put me around 176. I've thought about it in terms of which weight class I compete in, but as a 75+ kg lifter, I would need to be under 165 for the next lowest class... that seems awfully small to me and I don't want to look sickly. What I do know is that I want to be under 200, just for the sake of not weighing 200 pounds. Once I pass that landmark I hope that I can be okay listening to my body, continuing to build muscle, and letting my performance dictate how I ultimately fall into a good weight for me, whatever the number on the scale ends up being. 

 

I also look forward to saying goodbye to Day One Ginny for good and letting Day 365 Ginny be my new "before." I may still be far away from where I'd like to be, but I will continue to move forward with frequent glances in the rear view mirror to appreciate how far I am from where I started.