I didn't just conquer a road today. I climbed the friggin' mountain!

To get to the Terminator peak on the mountain at Kicking Horse Resort, you have to take a "road" from the gondola landing over to the mountain peak. When I visited my sister four years ago, the man-made road had just been finished a week before. The shale was still a tad loose, and I found it hard to get my footing. The first part of the road is a very steep hill, and I don't do "down" very well. At the time, I got stuck. Mentally, and physically, STUCK. I was about halfway down the second bump in the road, when it was too overwhelming to continue. I was scared. I thought I was going to fall off the mountain. My knees and legs couldn't hold me, and I didn't want to walk. At all. I called to my sister, who was ahead of me at the time, to tell her I wanted to go back. Only, I wasn't sure I could do it. The tears came. She didn't push, she just let me turn around and climb back up, huffing and puffing the entire way. She wanted to see what the fuss was about, and walked a little further along the road while I hung out at the restaurant at the top of the mountain. It was devastating. 

It has bothered me ever since, and so this time around, I was determined to beat that road. Conquer the mountain. Kicking Horse kicked me in the butt, and it was time to kick back. 

I came better prepared. Not only was I in better physical condition, I wore my knee braces and brought walking poles. My running shoes were not the old, dusty, hardly-used ones of four years ago, though I really need to invest in a good pair of hiking boots for this sort of thing. There was no way I was going to fail this twice.

And, yet, a few feet down that slope, the fear kicked back in. What the wha? How could the tears be right below the surface even still? I was surprised by the physical and emotional reaction, because it really didn't occur to me that this would be something I couldn't do. I just needed to do it to prove I could, to myself. It was slow going, and the mantra in my head was "you have to do this. YOU HAVE TO DO THIS." All the way down, picking my way through loose rocks, until I got to the flat-ish part where I could relax. I felt better once I passed the second slope, where I'd gotten stuck the last time, but the anxiety was still there. The rest of the route was up, but what goes up must come down, and I knew what I would be facing on the way back. 

Once we got around Terminator 1, the road kept going behind the mountain to the next peak, with tougher slopes. Terminator 2. I think my sister assumed I'd just walk the road, and asked if I wanted to keep going, up towards the peak. I was hesitant, I hate to admit, but I agreed. At that point, the terrain changed. It was a mountain path, not a road, with no barriers or ledges on the sides. It was narrow. It was rocky. But steps had been built into the path to reinforce it, just in the last few weeks, and that made it a little better. So we kept going. It seemed to take forever! I could see the peak, and still it was always "just around the corner." We kept going. I was hot, sweaty, hungry and out of breath from the steep climb, and then all of a sudden it looked like we'd reached the edge of the world, where land meets sky. I couldn't see any more peak in front of me, I just saw cloud. We'd made it. 

Back down was not so easy. What I discovered with this challenge is that I'm not so good with heights! True, my knees are much stronger when I'm climbing up than down, but a fairly rational fear of falling to my death on a slope that I can't get a good footing on kicks in big time, every time. The thing is, there were other people on that hike, and they all just walked normally along. I became frustrated with myself: "why is this so hard for me?" At that point, quitting wasn't an option because there was no turning back. Getting back to the beginning was the destination. One foot at a time, holding on to whatever rock or tree I could, using the poles to brace for impact, switching back and forth from side to side, one step at a time. I focused on the path, not looking up, not looking down, just looking at what my feet needed to do. Every so often I'd stop where I was sure-footed and appreciate the view and the nature around me, but when I was in the scariest parts, I just concentrated on what was directly in front of me. 

Ultimately, that's how I got there and back. Don't think about the whole thing, or it will be overwhelming. Just concentrate on the section you're in, get through, and move along. 

Having tools helped, too. Gear is pretty important, as my sister and I talked about on the way up. I was saying how much easier it is when you have all your gear out and ready, the helmets, shoes, bikes, ropes, and so they can pick up after work and go mountain biking or hiking or rafting or climbing. It's all there, right in their backyard. She compared it to my going to the gym. At first, it felt like more of an ordeal to get ready, but now I just know what I need and I go. And I have learned what gear I need in order for it to be convenient to go to the Y. Gloves and sweat bands, hand towels, hair elastics, these things all live in my gym bag. I figured out fast that I needed an easy lock with a key, and a water bottle, and now I have my routines and it works. The gear is important, so I don't regret having to use the walking poles or the knee braces. What had initially felt like crutches were just part of the adventure, just as you wouldn't go on that 2.5 hr hike without water or appropriate clothing (given that the weather changed dramatically during that time. We went from snow flurries to sunshine to rain in a matter of hours). 

Fear plays a large part in a fitness and weight loss journey. How to feel the fear, and do it anyway. I seem to hold myself back on so many things, and it's always due to some kind of fear. Learning to push through has been the biggest learning curve of all, and one which I constantly practice.

So, I conquered my mountain. My sister admitted she didn't think I would do it. Not that I couldn't, but that she thought I might stop, turn back, and she was just letting me go for as long as I felt I could. Surprise! I kept on going all the way to the top. Way past the road which was the ultimate goal. Frankly, I didn't even know that the alpine path existed, or that T2 was a place that my sis hadn't hiked before. I'm not sure she's ski'd down it yet. I just wanted to reach a mountain peak. It's maybe not as impressive as summiting a mountain where you do all the work yourself - I mean, we took a gondola most of the way to the top and the path the rest of the way was well established.

But, for a brief moment, I was on top of the world.
Literally, and figuratively. 

I got nominated to participate in the ALS ice bucket challenge. 

All along, I have been on the fence about this charity fundraiser which has been taking social media by storm. In case you've been living under a rock these past few weeks, the concept is that someone challenges you to donate $100 to ALS research, and if you don't then you have to dump a bucket of ice water over your head. It has morphed into donating $10 AND dumping the bucket, or else donating more money. It falls under the category of "raising awareness for ALS." Definitely a worthy cause. But, what started as mostly celebrities posting their ice bucket videos has rapidly evolved into everyone and their dog doing it, and posting it. It's gone totally viral.

It was only a matter of time before someone "nominated" me, and I wasn't sure how I was going to handle it. Would I decline or ignore it? Would I just do it and shut up about it? Would I waste the water, spend money on the ice, and feel good about it? There have been some valid questions raised about the ice bucket challenge, and I wanted to be more than a sheep simply following the herd.

As it happened, the nomination came up on my Facebook page while I was on a road trip, somewhere between Calgary and Canmore. I knew I wouldn't be able to complete the challenge within the required 24 hours, nor would I have access to a computer to donate anything. I also knew that the next day I would be at Lake Louise. A glacier-fed lake. Surely that would count as ice-water, right? And dumping a bucket of water that hasn't had to travel and which goes right back into the lake, that would have no impact on the environment. A plan began to form, and my sister texted her boyfriend to please bring a bucket and a towel with him when he met us for a day of rock climbing. 

After a few hours of walking and learning to climb on actual rocks (!!! - more on THAT experience, later), I ended the day with the challenge. Because I had already messed up the rules, I decided to make up more of my own. I was uncomfortable with nominating three other people to do it. Not only because so many friends had already done the challenge, but because there's something a little bit off about guilting, shaming, or pressuring people into either donating or making a spectacle of themselves. To address my concerns about the Ice Bucket Challenge, I "nominated" anyone who watches this video (yes, that means YOU - you're hooked, now), to do 3 things:

1) Learn about ALS. Go find a few facts you didn't know before. The "raising awareness" component of the phenomenon seems to have gone missing from a lot of videos, at best people say something like "this is for ALS." Okay. We are aware that it exists. How will funding help to cure it? To detect it? What are we raising the money for? How many people does it affect? What does it feel like to have ALS?

2) Donate money to a charity of your choice. I love the fundraising element of this. It's clearly effective, and people are talking about something and doing something they wouldn't otherwise have done. It's not exactly "slacktivism" in its worst form. But there is an impact to asking people to donate to the same charity. It means that other charities and causes receive less. People have a finite amount to donate. So, choose something that is near and dear to you, which has a personal connection. Or, choose something which is an immediate urgent need, like the crisis in Syria, or health care (ebola outbreaks) in Africa. For me, I have donated to ALS. I will also be supporting my friend Katie in her efforts to raise money for ovarian cancer, which took her mom earlier this month. And I will be donating to my friend Robyn who will raise money for breast cancer, because that took my aunt from us. If you're not sure to what or whom to donate, those are two very deserving causes and people. 

3) Do something nice for someone, and don't tell anyone about it. Don't post it to Facebook. Don't Tweet it. Don't Instagram it. Do it because being kind and generous should not be as self-serving as the ice-bucket challenge is. "Look at me! Aren't I awesome?" It is the hashtag activism and narcissistic altruism that I don't really love, so do something to balance it out for me, would ya please?

Still, it was important to me to do the challenge. In considering all the reasons not to do it, I also considered reasons to go ahead. There is a lot of good coming out of it. ALS is a brutal disease, without a cure, and it impacts the family and friends in addition to the person who has it. Acknowledging them virally? Nothing wrong with that.

And, as an unexpected bonus, we'll always have the fantastic family story to tell, about how my sister's boyfriend dumped a bucket of water on my head the first day I met him in person.

Why the Ice Bucket Challenge is Bad for you (Macleans)
Why I'm deeply grateful for the ice bucket challenge (Forbes)
Dumping a bucket of ice on your head does not make you a philanthropist (Vice.com)
The cold, hard truth about the ice bucket challenge (Quartz)

I always get a little bit nostalgic and reflective at this time of year. It's the end of the summer camp season and, as one of the Associate Directors of Camp Wenonah, I go up to camp for the final staff night. It's when awards and scholarships are given out in recognition of outstanding contributions, and a slide show of photos from the summer captures all the moments, from hilarious to heartbreaking. This year, in particular, was emotional because it was the last one for the owner/director as full-time, up-front, director dude. He's going into semi-retirement and we're looking for a youngish and energetic person to take on the tasks of the daily grind during camp. So, while many of the staff were sad because their summer was ending, I was reflecting back on a collection of summers. My entire camping history, including over 15 years with this camp. It's a time when I really appreciate how much summer camp has influenced and shaped my life.

The director used to tell us that camp was about The Cult of Personality. That is, most summer camps have similarities in activities offered, the general set-up (living in cabins, communal meals, health centre dispensing meds, morning dip, campfires), and a natural setting. The basics are there. What sets them apart is the director. It's the cult of personality, because it is their views, their vision, their voice that ultimately sets the tone for the staff to follow.

As the photos flashed by on the screen, my mind wandered and began to make the connection to other places where "cult of personality" holds true. In schools, it's the principal who sets the tone for the whole school and affects that school's reputation. The same is true of gyms, and of personal trainers. I had been drafting a blog post about what to look for in a personal trainer and how to choose one, and couldn't quite elaborate on what I meant by "good fit." Being at camp, thinking about what might change when the director takes his "step back" next summer, I realized what it was. The Cult of Personality.

Because people matter the most. Not money. Not flash. Not stuff. People.

The Y is a lot like camp, for me. There's obviously a direct connection, since the YMCA runs several camps. And maybe that's why it's a gym that works for me: the organization's philosophy goes beyond the workout room, goes beyond fitness alone, and extends to the whole person. Families. Children. Newcomers. The philosophy of building character extends to how the staff treat the members, and why it feels like family. Perhaps other gyms have this community feel too. I don't know, since I've never tried anywhere else. I've bought in to the stereotypes of intimidating commercial gyms, and having heard of other people's experiences, they're often rooted in some truth. I chose the Y because it offered a pool, and most other gyms don't. But I also chose it because the admittedly more-expensive-than-most-box-gyms membership supports everything else they do. I know my membership is subsidizing summer camps, and families in need, and the child care that is offered to parents while they work out.

The Y's not-for-profit status was also a hook, for me. That personal training wasn't pushed the way it is in for-profit gyms, that classes are free, that people of all ages attend and intermingle, that the wellness centre draws folks you'd not likely see at a Goodlife or L.A. Fitness, it all mattered to me. I don't really want to feel like a walking dollar sign, I want to feel like somehow I matter. Consequently, I felt more comfortable at the Y, and therefore continued attending, and started contributing, and it has become a part of my life in a way that I really hadn't expected or planned on.

I bought in to the philosophy. Yet, each Y has its own feel, too. It's shaped by the person in charge, it's directed by the CEO and board. Who is running the ship makes a difference. You don't always know what it's going to be in advance. That's as true of choosing a gym membership as it is when selecting a personal trainer, or a summer camp. There are ways of trying to find out, but ultimately it comes down to personality.

People matter. So much more than we give credit for. We make or break people's experiences, in ways we're not always aware of.

So, it always comes back to knowing yourself and what works for you. Most gyms are going to offer the same kinds of equipment. A room with barbells, treadmills, stationary bikes and TRX straps is only the base line. Zumba or yoga or spin classes will be listed on every roster, but will have a different atmosphere and feel, depending on who's leading. Same with personal trainers: where they got certified seems to make less of a difference than how they apply their knowledge, and how they interact with their clients.

Of course, the problem with "personality" being a driving force is that it can change when the person leaves. Change is inevitable, and necessary in life, but it can be hard to navigate through. There's an air of uncertainty at camp, though such a solid foundation has been built, I'm not too worried. As much as it was the director who led things for the first 20 years of the camp's history, he never referred to it as "my camp." It was always "our camp." He shared the direction, was generous with listening and incorporating other opinions, even as he instilled his values in the campers and staff. So, when he leaves, those values will live on.

When big changes in leadership happen, the ship keeps sailing. Life goes on.
But the person will still be missed.

Because everyone is replaceable in their job. And no one is replaceable as a person,

Ruh Roh. There's a horrifying monster terrifying kids in the latest Scooby Doo movie: a fat Daphne.

In Scooby Doo! Frankencreepy, the newest movie just released, each member of the gang gets cursed. And Daphne, the supermodel-thin "pretty one" goes from a size 2 to a size 8. She doesn't grow fangs, or tentacles, or get warts in weird places. Her skin doesn't ooze or change colour. Nope. In order to make her transform into the most horrifying thing she can imagine, Warner Brothers made her fat. Size 8.

Should I even bother to point out that the average woman is a size 12 these days? Or that those of us who are truly overweight are fighting like hell to ever SEE a size 8? Or that their version of Daphne going up 4 sizes actually makes her look like a size 26? Setting aside the fact that the animators clearly have no concept of sizes, what seems to be the most problematic is Daphne's reaction to her change. She looks in the mirror and recoils in horror.

Full disclaimer: I haven't seen the movie. It was just released this week. But, in case you think "what's the big deal, it's just a direct-to-DVD kids' release" I can tell you what I know about Scooby Doo movies. They're popular. Insanely so. We are routinely pulling them for our holds list at the library, including from our holiday collection. Kids and parents don't care if they're watching a Christmas or Easter or Hallowe'en-specific version if it's the only one available. We have a lot of copies and versions and still people are hard-pressed to find a Scooby Doo on the shelf when they come in to the library, because they circulate so much. Of the 9 copies of Frankencreepy that the library has, 7 are currently out or on hold. The paperback book version of the movie is on order. It's popular. It's going to be seen.

It's going to be seen by both little girls and little boys. For the girls, it will reinforce that getting fat is just about the worst thing that can happen to you. For the boys, it will reinforce that fat girls are monsters, and that if your worst fear is to become ugly, then it means you'll be fat. Are there really no other ways in which someone could be ugly? Is fat always going to be equated with ugliness?

I was alerted to this specific example of fat shaming via the Dances With Fat blog post, Scooby Dooby Don't. She does a great breakdown of the various issues. An even better analysis is at The Good Men Project. They both point out the problems with the movie itself, and Warner Brothers' response to public outrage. (Outrage which hasn't been overly loud, but it's there in Amazon reviews, and IMDB. People noticed right away, enough that they had to issue a statement).

Not only is Warner Brothers defending the movie and claiming that they are sensitive to obesity and self image, in their statement they actually perpetuate some rather gross gender gaffes. The defense of "but her boyfriend, Fred, doesn't even notice the difference" is meant to be charming and heart-warming. I can see how it may be, if her friends truly see her and not just her appearance. Dances With Fat offers a different interpretation:

"Another great lesson girls, if you want to know if you’re ok – ask a boy. You should always judge yourself by whether or not boys think you’re attractive. If the way you look changes substantially – even instantaneously – you should not be creeped out if that boy says that he didn’t notice.  All that matters is if he thinks you’re pretty. (Boys, girls should base their self-worth on what you think of them!)"

I don't really know what the creators were thinking, but an animated movie like this is not made by a small group of people. It had to then pass through Standards and Practices. That means that a LOT of people saw it and nobody questioned the messages that were being sent by making Daphne a caricature of morbid obesity and calling it Size 8. Nobody thought about the potential impact on their target audience, or the people buying the movie.

“Fat Daphne” is drawn like she’s Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka, like she’s puffed up like a balloon. You know, like all of those horribly misshapen size-eight freaks out there in the real world, those social outcasts who are forced to live their lives like… normal women. Like professionals and artists and aunts and sisters and mothers WHO BUY THEIR CHILDREN SCOOBY DOO DVDs. [The creators] said “How can we make Daphne into something truly ugly? How can we make her the opposite of pretty?” And their answer was… let’s make her overweight. Let’s make her look like people’s friends and sisters and moms. Let’s make her look, not like a supermodel, but rather more like a normal girl you’d see on a normal street, and then let’s have her look in a mirror and RECOIL IN HORROR, just to make sure that all the kids watching at home know that being fat makes you into a monster.

This is the sort of example of fat shaming that will get briefly discussed in small circles and then dismissed. The movie will prosper, circulate, and be purchased. It's not going to traumatize kids directly, or scare the pants off of them the way some of the monsters and villains might. No, it will have a much more passive impact. Kids and adults will see it and think little of it, because it's so in line with what we already believe: that fat is bad, and ugly is the same as being overweight, and it doesn't matter anyway as long as your boyfriend doesn't notice and still thinks you're pretty. They'll internalize it. They'll accept it. Because they already see it everywhere else, this movie just reinforces the message.

And that's the most horrifyingly scary plot line of all.

Baloney is putting it mildly. BMI is a load of bull. And the misuse of the Body Mass Index as a measurement tool muddies the waters when we talk about obesity, and contributes to systemic fat shaming.

BMI = weight(kg)/height(m)2

Now, I'm not mathy. Numbers are not my strong suit. But even I can see that it's a relatively arbitrary formula that does not take into account all the variables which measure health. BMI doesn’t differentiate between muscle and fat, it just takes your weight and height into account. It doesn't measure your overall body fat. Leaving aside the "muscle weighs more than fat" argument, which is mainly applicable for elite athletes, more than the general population, the formula is especially flawed because it doesn't take into account where the fat is stored. And that does make a difference. Belly fat and visceral fat is far worse for your health than the blubber on your butt or under your arms. It's the waist that matters - it's what I mean when I refer to "my gut." So, even if BMI did accurately measure body fat (and it doesn't: it only measures body weight), it still wouldn't tell us accurately how healthy a population or an individual is.

So, why use it? BMI was never really meant to measure an individual’s weight or health, or to put individuals into categories. It was developed over 200 years ago, and was meant to be used as a tool to measure the overall "health" (or average weight) of a population. "The BMI was introduced in the early 19th century by a Belgian named Lambert Adolphe Jacques Quetelet. He was a mathematician, not a physician. He produced the formula to give a quick and easy way to measure the degree of obesity of the general population to assist the government in allocating resources." We do need ways to track populations and general trends, so that health care decisions and policies can be made, and using BMI in that way makes some sense ... IF you understand what is being measured. When we use BMI, we learn obesity rates. What worries me is how much obesity is being correlated to health. There are a lot of assumptions that go with the term "obesity." A better measure of a population's health would be body fat percentages, but BMI only measures overall weight.

Where it becomes really problematic is when statistics show sharp increases in obesity, and words like "epidemic" and "crisis" start getting thrown around. It's how we've arrived at a point of declaring war on obesity, how fat shaming children has become acceptable, and how screening programs in schools and workplaces seem like a good idea to administrators. What is discussed far less is that BMI category cut-offs got lowered over 10 years ago, so people woke up one day without changing one bit, only to all of a sudden be labelled overweight or obese when the day before they had been normal. This also partly accounts for the sudden increase in “overweight” people, leading to all the hysteria about the Obesity Epidemic (like fatness is somehow contagious). While lifestyles are changing and are more sedentary, when stats are used to back up the “Obesity Crisis” it’s usually traceable back to when they changed the category numbers, making it look like there was a huge spike in fatness.

What's needed is better science, and clarity in statistical analysis. How obese the population is doesn't really tell us how healthy it is, yet decisions are made based on our collective fatness. If the stats helped hospitals to purchase more beds and equipment that fit the morbidly obese, or if the stats helped city planners to include more bike lanes and sidewalks and to limit the number of fast food restaurants in areas around schools, or if the stats supported insurance companies to cover claims which currently are paid out-of-pocket, then I wouldn't be as outraged by the continuous mis-use of the BMI. That's not the case. Instead, the stats are used for headlines to hype up a crisis of epidemic proportions, which people are expected to address on an individual level. Therein lies the blame and shame.

On that individual level, don't worry about your BMI. Worry about your HEALTH. If your doctor or fitness professional uses the BMI and nothing else to determine your weight category, call them out on it. There are far better ways to determine whether you need to lose weight, and how much. Or whether it's affecting your health. "A more reliable, but still relatively simple, assessment of fatness would rely on a skin-fold score based on measurements taken with a caliper at several areas (in men, the thigh, midchest and abdomen, and in women, the thigh, triceps and area above the hip bone) that reflects the amount of fat under the skin. Or, since abdominal fat is more hazardous, simply take a tape measure around the widest part of the abdomen and another at the hips and calculate the waist-to-hip ratio. For men it should be no higher than 0.90, and for women no higher than 0.83." In addition to your waist circumference and body fat percentage, any medical professional should be assessing blood pressure, blood glucose levels, cholesterol, and heart rates.

We simply can't leave our health to an outdated, ineffective formula.

Because, as I keep trying to remind myself, you can't tell how healthy someone is or isn't just by the size of their body.

More arguments about BMI and why it's not as clear-cut as we are led to believe:

• Obesity rates: is the BMI a good measurement? (CBC News)
• Nevermind your BMI: to measure your health, it's all about the waist (The Globe and Mail)
• Weight Index doesn't tell the whole truth (The New  York Times)
• Top 10 Reasons why the BMI is bogus (NPR)
• The Duh Truck rides again (Shapely Prose / Kate Harding)
• Yes, Virginia, the BMI is BS (Dances with Fat / Ragen Chastain)
• Don't expect government to win the war on obesity (The Globe and Mail)

I held a plank for 3 minutes and 15 seconds today.

If you had asked me if I could do it, I don't know what I'd have said. "Probably not," I'd underestimate myself. But, at the end of an hour of personal training this morning, which focused on upper body to give my terribly achy messed-up knees a rest, Mat said, "okay. Plank, and then you're done."

"Just hold it?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yup. As long as you can."
Okay. No problem. All I cared about was that I didn't have to have any knee or leg impact.

The first minute and a half were surprisingly easy and went by fast. I was a little stunned that I could hold for 2 minutes, but not shocked. I had simply never tested myself to see how long I could plank for, so I had no frame of reference. Group Core classes for half a year have been paying off, and my core is stronger even if you can't SEE it these days. Still. Two minutes with relative ease? I was skeptical.

"Am I doing it right?" I wondered aloud. Often, I hike my butt too far up in the air. Mat assured me that I was in the right position, more or less, with the exception of a slight bend in the knee that hurt to lock into place. Stomach in, core tight, butt down, heels up, body in a straight line. My arms were shaking a bit - it was the end of an arm-intensive hour, after all - but they were holding. Wrists were good.

"2:30. You're just 30 seconds away from three minutes!" Mat encouraged me.

It's no longer easy. What a difference 30 seconds make. I'm gritting my teeth, sweating profusely. "I know! I want it! Tell me when I'm at 3:00!"

I try to count, but I have no sense of time. It must be 30 seconds. My hands grip the flat floor, digging my nails into the mat. Surely it's almost at 3:00? Now I'm breathing like a woman in labour. How long can I hold? Man, I want to get to 3 minutes but it's hard. I don't make it. My knees drop, my arms give out. "Damn."

Mat gives me his Cheshire Cat grin. "3 minutes and 15 seconds. I didn't want to tell you when you got there. I wanted to see how long you could hold. Now," he points to the sweat pools on the mat, "clean that mess up."

Truthfully, I wasn't that surprised that he'd pulled the stunt. I was half thinking that's what he'd do, and held on for dear life just hoping hoping hoping it would be at least 30 seconds. My mind got me to hold on for as long as my body could stand. If he had told me when I'd reached three minutes, I would have let go. If he had challenged me to hold for three minutes, I'd have done it, out of stubbornness. When the challenge is to do something for "as long as you can" you truly test yourself. I'm also glad that he told me how long I'd already held for when I got close to the 2-minute mark, though. There's a fine balance between hearing "hey, you've gone farther than you thought, so challenge yourself and keep going!" (which was the subtext I read into "you're almost at 2 minutes"), and "you made it to your goal so you can stop now." I needed both. I needed the encouragement initially, and I needed to not know when I was getting close to the next milestone. The ability to strike that balance is what makes Mat a master of mind games, and also kind of a stinker.

Mind games. Also known as motivation, I guess.
3:15
And now I have a time to beat the next time I try holding a plank.

Health is all about mindset. In order to focus on being as healthy as possible, you have to remove a lot of the associated emotions, assumptions, and attitudes that go with it. Dr. Yoni Freedhoff wrote an article last week, published in the Globe and Mail, which introduced an informal term: Post-Traumatic Dieting Disorder. It's a phrase that sums up "it's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change!" that is becoming more popular.

In theory, I know that to be true. What I find hard to come to terms with is that lifestyle change still feels like a diet, it's just a diet that is intended to be long term. You change your habits, but that just makes you an habitual dieter. Lifestyle change means that you're not following someone else's specific rules, you're following your own, and occasionally you can break them, but there are still rules. There are still restrictions, on amounts (portion control), on when you eat certain things (nutrient timing), on what you eliminate from your options on a regular basis (bread, pasta, icing; sugar, dairy, alcohol, gluten) - regardless of your reasoning why. Whether you tell yourself "no" because you are trying to lose weight, or because you are trying to be healthy, if you deny yourself something that you really really want, it's still a diet. If you force yourself to eat things you don't enjoy "because it's good for you" then it's still a diet.

A lifestyle should be something you not only want, but that you enjoy. Which is ultimately exactly what he says: "live the healthiest life you can honestly enjoy." My problem? I want both. I literally want to have my cake and eat it, too. I want the skinny. I want the strong. I want the icing.

So, I struggle back and forth in my head, between the better option. Is it better to keep trying for weight loss, including food denial (whether you call it "dieting" or "lifestyle change" it emotionally amounts to the same thing for me), in the hopes that the end result of some fat loss will be worth the mental anguish? Or do I focus more on body acceptance, to find a way to be okay with how I look and just appreciate how I feel and what I can do? I believe it's one or the other, frankly. And because I flip flop between which path to take, I end up going in circles, starting and stopping dieting, which is the definition of yo-yo'ing.

I don't love the term "post-traumatic dieting disorder" because I think it undermines and belittles the severity of the real thing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. But there's no denying that for those of us who have lifelong struggles with weight fluctuations, obesity, and maintenance, some kind of acknowledgement of the toll it takes - mentally and physically - is needed. As he outlines below, it's no small thing, either.

Here, the article in its entirety: Aim for the healthiest life you can enjoy, not just tolerate

And some of the most poignant, impactful quotes:

• Dieting is predicated on suffering and humans aren’t built to suffer in perpetuity.
• Why, despite knowing better, do we blame ourselves when the nonsense fails? Could it be a case of suffering from post-traumatic dieting disorder (PTDD)? Because, really, what are modern-day diets, if not traumas? They’re generally some combination of undereating, overexercising or blind restriction. People on diets are trying to live the healthiest lives they can tolerate, rather than the healthiest lives they can enjoy.
• PTDD is not a formal diagnosis, but rather a shared constellation of symptoms: recurrent dieting has led to feelings of failure, shame, hopelessness, insecurity and sometimes even deep and abiding depression. Their body images are often worse than when they started dieting in the first place and their relationships with food are anything but healthy – in many cases they feel threatened by the very foods they love most. They can also become socially withdrawn and their personalities can change, which in turn can negatively impact their closest relationships and lead some to believe themselves unworthy of love, marriage, intimacy, health or a normal lifestyle.
• The triggers of PTDD lie not just with a person’s chosen diets, but with society as a whole and the hateful weight bias that permeates it. Whether it’s shows such as NBC’s The Biggest Loser, which teaches that scales measure not just pounds, but also success and self-worth, or whether it’s well-intentioned health professionals suggesting that unless a person reaches a particular weight their health is doomed. Celebrities’ weights are endlessly critiqued, with popular magazines shaming women, mostly, when they “pack on the pounds.”
• Society’s overarching message is that thinness is attainable if a person wants it badly enough; failure is simply a reflection of personal weakness and laziness.
• Rather than deny imperfections, we need to embrace them, and in turn dieters, instead of trying to live the healthiest lives they can tolerate, need to start cultivating the healthiest lives they can enjoy.

Shark Week is wrapping up for another year. Okay, so sharks have nothing to do with my gut, or weight loss, or nutrition. I don't really care one way or the other about sharks, yet every summer I get sucked in to Shark Week on the Discovery channel. Which ends up taking up a lot of my time, and got me thinking back to when I truly was a couch potato.

I've been able to kick two habits I used to have, which impacted my weight and health dramatically. The rest? Not so much. Food choices and exercise are continual struggles, but giving up pop and switching to pretty much only water was the biggest single influence on my health. The other was weaning myself off of TV.

Shark Week has been a bit of a reminder about how watching TV is a slippery slope back into bad health. Couch sitting. Bad posture. More snacking; mindless snacking. And guilt over the things that didn't get done, which should have got done. Yet, there I sit, unable to tear my eyes away from the sharks tearing the flesh off their prey.

TV used to rule my life to the point that I'd work social engagements around "my shows." This was back in the day when weekly TV was the way to watch, when the term "watercooler show" meant something because everyone would watch one episode at a time and then have to wait. These days, the shows that people get really into can be watched almost in their entirety on DVD sets or Netflix, and even if you watch new episodes weekly, you can catch up on-demand or PVR it and watch at your convenience. I'd have had far fewer excuses for missing the gym as a teen and young adult had I had the kind of TV options that I do today, but back in the olden days <cough cough cough> I stopped what I was doing at 8:00 pm to watch the show of choice, and then ended up staying glued to the tube for the rest of the evening. But, even when you can watch shows at your convenience, it still sucks up an awful lot of time to sit there and just absorb.

I still have shows I watch, of course. I have tried, over the years, to wean myself off of TV and deliberately not gotten sucked in to starting new programs. The more someone tries to tell me how much they think I'd love a certain series, the less likely I am to start watching because if I don't start, I don't get hooked. If I get hooked, I'm really hooked.

See, I'm a true binger. I binge eat. I binge read. And I binge tv-watch.
Clearly, finding balance in ANYTHING in my life is an issue, not just with food.

So if I turn the TV on for anything, I tend to leave it on. Shark Week comes at the end of a long and busy summer, and when I come home mentally and/or physically exhausted at the end of the day, it's a perfect way to unwind and relax before jumping into chores or blogging or work prep for the next day. The problem is that I get sucked in and then none of that happens. I stay on the couch.

And, as it turns out, it's as important for my health (and yours!) to stay off the couch as it is to stay out of the water. Shark-infested hunting-ground water, that is.

While it may feel relaxing, initially, and in small doses, to sit on the couch and veg while watching things move on a screen in front of you, in the long term it's not. Studies have been done on the relative happiness of people who watch more and less TV. Guess who's happier? You got it: the people who watch less of the boob tube. I think it's because, even if you're not being physically active, chances are you are being social, or mentally active, or sleeping. You're doing something productive. You are exercising your mind. Did you know that reading a book elicits the same brain wave patterns as doing yoga? Truth. Sleeping regenerates your brain cells in a much needed way, in addition to providing your body with rest. There are many sedentary activities which are stimulating for the mind, but watching TV is not one of them. No matter how much valuable information about shark behaviour you're gleaning.

So, I've had my week of sloth-like rest.
Sharks are fascinating creatures.
But it's time to get off the couch and get back in the water.

I have several posts half-written, all on topics that feel ... big. Not ones to just hammer out and hit "publish" recklessly. So, in the meantime, as I enjoy the beautiful summer weather outside and away from a computer, as I wind down our busy summer programming and start to think about vacation time, here's a video I've been holding on to for awhile.

It's not about weight loss or nutrition or exercise, specifically. It's not even just about sexuality, though that's the foundation from which she begins. It's about being honest, with yourself and with others. And if that doesn't relate to every aspect of health, then I don't know what does. Any change begins with a deep breath and getting real.

First, watch this video. Even if you've seen it, you'll want to see it again. It's pretty amazing:

"We all have closets. All a closet is, is a hard conversation. Hard is not relative. There is no harder. There is just hard. Inside, in the dark, you can't tell what colour the walls are. You just know what it feels like to live in a closet. At some point, we all live in closets and they may feel safe, at least safer than what lies on the other side of that door. No matter what your walls are made of, a closet is no place for a person to live. When you keep the truth about  yourself a secret, you are essentially holding a grenade. If you do not throw that grenade, it will kill you."

When I first saw this, it resonated so much with me, because living in a morbidly obese body was a lot like living in a closet. It was one that the world could see, unlike other closets she mentions. I may not relate directly to the traditional "coming out" experience, but I can understand what it's like to have to hide your identity. Enough people have responded directly to my posts about Binge Eating Disorder with some element of surprise and gratitude and the sentiment "you're so brave to put that out there" that I understand even more just how much I hid for a very long time.

She nails it with the grenade analogy. Hold on to something for too long and it will explode in your hand. Whether it's anger, hurt, negativity, or a secret, holding on to anything but love, hope, and happiness will eventually blow up all over you. I have a forum now, a way to come out about whatever I want to, and it no longer feels brave when I do. It just heals. I am now trying to figure out not only who I want to be, but who I *am.* Who I might have been if I hadn’t arrested my development at the angsty teenage years. If I had stepped out of my closet, and truly lived.

Identity is huge. I don’t want to just be the fat girl. I don't want to be the formerly-fat-girl. I don’t want to be the girl with the eating disorder. I just want to be … me.

The thing is, now that I can finally fit into a closet, I don't want to live there.

Endurance. Mental strength. Drive. Determination. Willpower. My mind has been occupied with the concept of pushing yourself, all weekend. So much so that I am compelled to write it out just to make sense of it all.

It started even before Friday's disaster of a workout. On Thursday, I had a personal training session with Mat. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for a conversation in between sets. "We gotta talk about yesterday. You might be getting too comfortable." I couldn't think of what I had done at Wednesday's Outdoor Fitness Challenge that would elicit that comment. "Think. What did you say?" I thought hard. Oh, right. One of two things that will always get a rise, an immediate reaction from him: either 'no' or 'I can't.' I had said, "I can't" and when he'd growled "what did you say?" instead of taking it back the way clients usually do, or trying just a wee bit harder, I repeated it loudly and clearly: "I SAID I CAN'T."

Mat admitted that I don't do it often enough to be a pattern, so maybe it wasn't a matter of me getting so comfortable with him that I was sassing him or being disrespectful. It's been a trend he's noticed lately with many clients and others at the gym. Maybe it's because in summer we're in mental vacation mode. It's hard to give maximum effort when you're tired, when you're looking forward to time off, or when schedules all around you are in flux. And because he's seeing it everywhere, he zeroed in on it when I did it, too. I explained to him that it wasn't a personal reflection on his coaching. At that specific moment, I really couldn't do any more of what he was asking. We'd just finished a leg crank, it was nearing the end of boot camp, and he had us holding a squat for as long as we could. My legs were burning, my knees were aching, everything was shaking, and I stood up pretty quickly out of the squat and said, "I can't." What I meant was "I can't keep holding it." It wasn't "I can't, EVER." It wasn't "I can't do it at all." It wasn't "I won't." It was "I can't hold this pose without standing up and then going back down, but if you're asking me to hold for as long as I can, at this very moment I can't hold it any longer." But all I said, and what he heard, was just "I can't."

In our discussion of it the next day, I realized that there are specific times and activities where I'm more likely to say "no" whether it's to myself or to the person telling me what to do. I roll my eyes and shake my head a lot in spin class (especially when they say "hill climbs"). I allow myself to get annoyed and cut a swim short when the lanes are busy and someone comes into 'my' lane. When I try to run and the shin and knee pain kick in fast, I stop immediately and say "see? I can't run" instead of pushing through, or doing a run-walk combo to build up the skill. I am not putting in my maximum effort. It's not a reflection of Mat. But maybe it's more of a problem than I realized, because until he pointed it out, that "can't" was a total non-issue in my mind. I didn't even question it. Slump? What slump? There's no slump, here.

And then, well, Friday happened.

Sunday was a great day. I finally made it out to Grand River Rocks to try climbing. I'd only ever done it once, at camp. That was over a year ago. But in order to build grip strength, and really work the mind as much as muscle, there's nothing quite like rock climbing. Two friends had just done the belaying course and had a two-week pass where they could bring a friend for free. I got to be that friend, and it was awesome. I think I'm hooked. Captain Cautious was gentle with me, explaining everything, assuring me that I didn't have to make it to the top, I should just do what was comfortable. But in my mind, the challenge was to the top, or not at all. I didn't care how long it took me, I was just gonna make it. And, it was far easier than the first attempt at camp. We climbed in different ways, on different walls. I always did the easiest levels, but I could make it to the top each time. And each time, when I was about 3/4 of the way up, the thought crossed my mind "okay, you're good, you can go back down now." I had to decide to keep on going. When we tried bouldering, that's where the fear kicked in for me. You're not harnessed in, so if you fall, you fall off the wall. There's tons of padding and it looks like it would be hard to hurt yourself, but knowing me, and knowing my knees, just landing on them the wrong way could be disastrous. I went up that thing with the mantra in my mind that I could NOT fall, though near the top I started to think about what would happen if I did. It was in the coming down that the true fear kicked in, both because I was high up and because my body could feel that there was a slope down. Once I was climbing down backwards, it was better, but I couldn't see where I was going. It was not a debilitating fear, I never got stuck, but I'm not sure that the heart rate was due to the cardio and effort required. Pretty sure it was pure adrenaline. I trust the harnesses and the gear to keep me safe. I do not trust my own body! Still, the point with climbing is to make it to the top, to build strength, and especially to challenge yourself by trying harder and harder routes. Somewhere, each of us has a voice inside that will say yes or no to things. That will allow you to quit or to keep going. Climbing tested that, and I kept going.

The BadAss Dash is coming up quickly. It weighs heavily on my mind, as I see photos on Facebook of each weekend race, from Ottawa and York Region and across North America. I see what kinds of obstacles I may face. Truth be told, these are not elite or overly demanding tasks. Thousands of people participate every weekend. The goal of the race is not to be good, not to have the fastest time, but simply to finish. To just keep going and complete the course. There's far less pressure when you go in with that mentality.

Endurance was my main focus on Monday as I swam. It was a civic holiday, so there were no classes at the Y and it was modified hours, but the pool was open for lane swims for 3.5 hours. I tried to time it so that I'd be there when the fewest number of folks were taking up the lanes. The last few times I'd tried to swim, I made it for about 20 minutes before getting annoyed and getting out. The lanes are not wide enough in the leisure pool for two people to swim in, the way they are at many of the City pools I'm used to, and you inevitably hit each other as you go back and forth. So, I was chagrined to see that all the lanes were taken up when I got there, and two of them were by walkers! No lie. At least they didn't have pool noodles, but if you're going to walk and lunge back and forth, you don't need a lane for it, you can use the parts of the oddly-shaped pool that are off to the sides. Fortunately, a lady called to me and said, "I'm almost done here, do you want this lane?" And, for the next hour, nobody else came who was lane swimming. There were a few more floaters and a family with kids who stayed in the shallow whirlpool area, but I had the lanes to myself. No excuses.

My goal was 100 lengths, or about an hour. When I got in, I negotiated with myself, "okay, minimum half an hour, then you can see." I already didn't want to do it. I should mention here that 100 lengths is not all that impressive; it's a 20 metre pool. At one time I was hitting 100 lengths of the more standard 25 m pools, in under an hour. But since I'd joined the Y and have been doing more dry-land exercise, I'm out of practice and out of the swimming habit, so it had been a long time since I've reached that number. This was going to be more of an endurance game than a cardio workout. If it was just about heart rate or speed, I'd do sprints in under half the time and get out and be on my way. No. This was mental preparation for the Dash, and to see if I could break the "no" habit I'd gotten into with cardio. This swim was all about not quitting.

The first 40 lengths were quick and easy. I'd been doing about that much all along. And that's usually the time when I'd tell myself I'd done enough and could get out. The next 30 were the toughest. I was tired. Bored. Had done the all different strokes I usually move between. Did some more legs-only. When I need a bit of a break I often do arms-only breast stroke, because it's slower than the full-body front crawl or back crawl, but after the day of climbing my forearms were sore so breast stroke was not much of a "break." The last 20 lengths are always where the magic happens, because you're nearing the end. I can picture the number of lengths going down. The finish line is in sight, and I get a second wind to push through and go just a bit faster. Where does the power and energy come from, and why isn't it there in the middle? I imagine that runners go through something similar. It's just one length at a time. One step at a time. One stroke at a time.

Endurance. I'm better at that than at speed. And that's what I was thinking about as I swam. When the goal is just to finish - whether it's to make it to 100 lengths, or to get to the top of a wall, or to cross a race finish line - I know I can do it. I visualize it. I can break it down into small parts. One length. One rock. One step. One obstacle. One at a time. I can do it because the goal is to keep going. And when you need that little break or slow down, you allow yourself to take the pause, because you're not stopping.  You don't care if you're affecting your time. You simply catch your breath and then tap in to the energy you reserved. You just.keep.going. When it's about speed, I tire out and give up way too early. Very few of those 100 lengths were fast, at my full capacity to push.

When Mat and I talked about the times I say no to him, or to myself, we realized that it's mostly on steady-state cardio (boring! repetitive!) or things which I don't enjoy doing, which is the high-intensity maximum-effort drills. It's almost never with weights, because I like how I feel when I can do them. I like what I get emotionally out of it. And, while it may be hard in the moment, I know that as soon as I put the weight down, it's over. The pain or high heart rate or effort stops. Endurance-based activities which are all about finishing, period, I am less likely to give him grief over because I can slack or back off. I don't have to give maximum effort the entire time, I just have to get 'er done.

Crap. What does that say about me? I don't like to work hard? I don't wanna have to give maximum effort because it's uncomfortable when my heart is about to thump out of my chest and the sweat is pouring into my eyes? That's what it comes down to. And what I think contributed to Friday's meltdown.

There's still an inherent laziness that underlies all of this for me.
It's what got me to 270 lbs in the first place.
It's what is holding me back now.
I'll work, but I don't like to work THAT hard.

Is it possible to have some drive, some determination, a wee bit of willpower, or just enough mental strength to endure ... and to still be lazy? How do you learn to not quit? How do you find a true desire, a WANT to push yourself to a breaking point? I honestly don't know. And therein lies the tug-of-war struggle.

What Mat is seeing is the mid-point between old me, and potential me. The me I kinda think I want to be, but am not sure I *can* be. I'm past the point at the beginning of weight loss journeys, where the hurdles are habit and just showing up to try. I've got that. I try hard enough to get by. It's pushing myself into discomfort - out of that "comfort zone" - and doing it on a regular basis. That's the only way I'm going to get out of the stalled slump of a plateau I've been in for a year and to see continued change.

The real question is: how badly do I want it?
Enough to truly overcome laziness?
Or am I just going to finish the race?