"Remember when you started swimming and losing weight, and said you'd never get a personal trainer because you already knew what you had to do?" Robyn laughed as she asked this recently, during the BadAss Dash. I had forgotten the conversation until she reminded me. Years ago, she had suggested that perhaps I'd need help along the way and should consider working with a personal trainer, and I brushed it off. "I know what I need to do, it's just doing it that's hard," I scoffed. She was understandably skeptical, because she wanted me to succeed and knew what a long road I had ahead of me. What neither of us knew at the time was that most people who lose massive amounts of weight successfully, and keep it off, generally seek outside help at some point. However, at the time, I didn't think I needed someone to tell me what to do. Not entirely untrue, especially if weight loss was my only goal. At that point, eating less and moving more WAS a viable answer. And then I hit a point where my body wasn't responding to "just eating less" and I needed someone who understood why. I needed someone who could teach me, train me, and plan programs.

I get asked fairly often about the experience of personal training. Just last week, a group of ladies at the gym stopped Mat and I after a session, and jokingly said to me: "you PAY him to torture you? Don't you have anything better to do with your  money?" Well, no, actually. Other people invest in a house, or RRSP, or education. I'm investing in my health, in me. I may have been able to lose weight on my own (doubtful, but maybe), but there is no question that I would not have had the attitude shift that came with strength training, and I would never have picked up weights or tried something like TRX or boot camp if it weren't for Mat. Working with a personal trainer and fitness coach changed my life, plain and simple.

A few friends have mentioned their interest or intent to get a personal trainer, and it is a growing trend. I used to think that hiring someone to help you get fit was only for the super-rich, celebrity types. Not any more! Thank goodness I forgot about that conversation with Robyn, pulled my ego out of my butt, and eventually found a coach to guide me on my way.

I've only had the one experience, as far as working with a coach - which is Mat, to whom I so often refer - so I polled our group on Facebook for advice and tips. Not surprisingly, people who'd had positive experiences all said the same kinds of things. And the people who have had the biggest weight loss successes, who have maintained for the longest time and who are heavily invested in their health and fitness, all have something in common: they hired someone to help them.

So, here are a few things to keep in mind if you're looking for a personal trainer. Because you can't all have mine! (Though I'm sure Mat is always willing and eager to consult with potential new clients. He comes highly recommended, if you trust me).

WHY
The reasons to invest in a personal trainer are fairly universal. Most people are going to fall into at least one category for needing a coach by their side. Usually, all of these apply on some level: 

• Motivation. Let's face it, some days you don't want to get out of bed. Paying for a session is incentive to show up. Having someone encourage, congratulate, cajole, push - whatever it is that motivates you, when a coach figures it out, you go a lot further, faster. The number one answer, when I asked why my friends got personal trainers, was "I needed someone to kick my butt!"
• Accountability. Similar to motivation, a trainer should hold you accountable. Are you tracking your nutrition? Are you showing up regularly? Do they see progress, whether it's in inches and pounds, or in sets, reps, and weights? If you sleep in or cancel too many times, do they call you on it or charge you for missed sessions? Having someone to answer to keeps you accountable to yourself, and makes it easier to establish the habit.
• Knowledge. You save your own time because they've done the work of learning, of planning a program, of researching various methods. It's their job to wade through the mountains of information and help to decide what's right for you.
• Form correction. Safety first, friends! When someone who knows what they're doing is watching you, they correct as you go, meaning you learn what proper form should feel like and you reduce the chances of getting hurt. Even the most seasoned gym-goer can benefit from having someone observe their form from a few steps away; something that is not always easy to do with just a mirror or by how you think you're doing.
• Comfort. For the newbie, everything about fitness and a gym and working out can be intimidating. A personal trainer can eliminate or reduce some of the barriers early on, even if you're only using a few sessions with them in order to become familiar with the facility.

HOW TO CHOOSE
It's important to acknowledge why you decided to look for one-on-one training in the first place. That will determine what kind of trainer you look for. Whatever your primary reason may be, once you decide to make the investment, it becomes a bit of a personal choice.

• Word of mouth / Recommendation. Ask your friends who they use and what they like about their person. It may not end up being the best fit, but there's a certain safety in knowing that others have had positive experiences.
• Observe, if you can. If you're able to watch someone in action, with other clients, work with them in a small group setting, or take a class they teach, you'll get a better sense of the person than if you're only meeting with them in a consult where they're probably putting on their best sales face.
• Ask them why they became a personal trainer. One would hope that their answer has to do with helping people. For me, I needed to know that Mat had some kind of understanding of the struggle I was in. How has weight or health impacted the trainer's life, or affected their loved ones? Is there a deeply emotional reason behind their career choice, or do they just love working out and figure they might as well get paid to do it?

OTHER FACTORS TO CONSIDER, IF POSSIBLE
These aren't always easy to assess right away. It may take a few sessions with someone before you figure it out. Choosing a personal trainer is a lot like finding a good therapist, doctor, or hair stylist! When you find one that you connect with, you know it and you're loyal for life. It doesn't always happen, and it's far better to walk away than to stay in a bad situation. It doesn't mean they're a bad trainer. It just means that different things are important to people. You have to be honest with yourself about what you want and need, or it's as unfair to your personal trainer as it is to you.

Humility and Learning
A trainer's education and previous work experience can be important, especially if you're considering someone with a private business. If you're going through a commercial gym, it's pretty safe to assume that the organization has hired someone with the necessary education and certification. What I looked for was the ability to learn, and the ability to say "I don't know, but I can find out" because nobody knows everything about everything. I'd rather know that my coach is being honest about limitations, and when Mat takes the time to research or to talk to colleagues who have specialized skills, it solidifies my trust in him.

Looking the Part
Not once did any of my fitness friends mention a personal trainer's looks being important, and yet I have seen it stated in numerous articles that they should look the part. Again, you have to decide what's right for you. For some people, they feel that a trainer should, well, look like a fitness model, as if it's a reflection on what they know or well they coach. Frankly, I'd rather have someone who knows what they're talking about and is able to explain it, who can motivate me and who understands the importance of the personal and emotional connection, than someone who simply looks the part. That's both because of my background as a teacher and librarian (therefore, knowledge is power and the ability to explain and teach is more important than the ability to just DO), and my history with emotional eating and terrible, terrible body image. In fact, looking too much like a body-building fitness model almost worked against Mat. I made assumptions and judgments about him based on how he looked, and it was through observing him as an instructor and with other clients that I realized there was much more underneath the pearly whites. It was how he dealt with me once I became a regular in his class, and then as a participant in Biggest Loser, that I finally came around to buy into personal training sessions because I got over the meat-head personal trainer stereotype. (Sorry, Mat. I pre-judged. Thank goodness you're not a meat-head, just 'cuz you look all fitness-model-ish! This is why we don't assume).

What do you anticipate will work for you?
Refer back to the reasons that people invest in trainers in the first place. The "why" before the "how." If you primarily want someone to stand over you and yell at you, military-style, it's because you may know what to do and lack the motivation. If you're completely new to fitness, you may need the knowledge the most. I started on my own with the easy stuff, and it was when I wanted to progress into weights and needed guidance and accountability that I made the transition. It was the knowledge and accountability that was key. Within those realms, I also knew that someone who talked down to me or used shame in any way was probably going to get an earful and no more of my money, whereas for someone else that could be motivating for them. Personality matters, a lot, because you end up spending quite a bit of time with someone and you might as well get along.

Ultimately, you have to find what works for you, or it doesn't work at all. A lot of people get lucky. They show up, looking for a trainer, and they get paired up with the first person who's available. Preferably, there is some sort of system that helps to match your criteria with the skills and specialties of the trainers working at the facility. If you're flying blind, keep some of these tips and questions in mind. Above all, speak up if you're not clear about anything. A good trainer will address it.

Personal trainers and fitness coaches are people, too. At times it seems like they are meant to be magicians, but they can't read minds and only the most versatile can pull a rabbit out of a hat. Talk to them and let them know what works for you, and what doesn't. They'll learn as much as you, and together you'll grow and get closer to your personal goals.

That's their ultimate goal, too.

Want to read more about personal training? Check out some of these links:

• The 12 Biggest Myths About Personal Training
• Personal Training: What you really need to know
• Personal Training: Sexy maker or Health producer?

"So? How was the race?" All through the day yesterday, the well wishes, good lucks, and questions came in. "How'd it go? Did you finish? Will you do it again next year?" My quick answers to people were: "Hard. Cold. Wet. Fun. Muddy. HARD! BadAss." It will take me some time to process the whole thing. I'm not sure how I feel about it. (Other than sore. On that point, I am very very clear!)

There were so many things running in and out of my head before, during, and after. In no particular order:

• If you are racing with a team, have a plan for where and when to meet. Preferably off-site, so you go in together. It was chaos! Supposedly 3500+ people raced yesterday in Kitchener; officially 2030 finished, in the recreational category. As it turned out, we never did find two of the girls that we were supposed to be doing the race with. It was only the 3 of us who got dropped off together who ended up staying together. Sounds like it was more chaotic and less organized than last year, and I'm glad that we all picked up our timing chips and t-shirts in the days before, rather than the day of. Made life smoother on an already crazy day. Especially when data and wireless connections seemed to crash from overuse. If you didn't have a plan for meeting people, you were out of luck.
  
• No matter how prepared you think you are, there is no way to be prepared for the first time. The chaos. How long 7 km really is, even when it's broken up by obstacles. That pictures are hard to get when you check your bag and lock your purse, camera, phone in a locker (and then have to go get your bag again because you don't have a pocket for the locker key). That changing in a washroom seems like a good idea until you realize how many others had the same idea.
  
• Did I mention that there are 30 obstacles? Yeah. Some are easy, some are hard, some are really really really hard. Which, by the way, it's impossible to keep count of. You know you're doing about 30 obstacles, but after about 5 you lose track and you just go. Take them one at a time. 
• Things I hadn't thought about in advance: racing with glasses. I never take them off. I work out in them. I don't have contacts. So, at the last minute, I shoved my glasses into my checked bag, which left me feeling disoriented from blurry vision. Not the best feeling when it's also raining, adrenaline is high, and you're doing hills. Probably not what is meant by "the runner's high."
  
• The very first obstacle was to run up a ski hill, across the top, and back down. It had poured all morning, so everything was slick and wet. I was terrified of that descent down. As we waited at the starting gate for our heat, we watched two firefighters load up an ATV and head up the hill to rescue an injured person. It was the second-last obstacle, but they had to immobilize her (no idea what happened; rumour was a collision with another person). The cool thing was that they carried her through the Finish line. The uncool thing was that I watched it all as I waited to start, and it shifted some nerves and anxiety into full-blown terror. 
• The waiting and anticipation was the worst. Once we got started, there was nothing else to do but just go. One obstacle at a time. Just go.
• Whose idea was this, again? Why did we think this was a good idea? WHO DOES THIS SORT OF THING? I mean, honestly. Oh, and are we signing up for next year, 'cuz we get a big discount if we do it by the end of this week... (Robyn asked me this question in the middle of the race. I looked at her. "Uh, let's finish this race first, before I commit to doing it again.") At one point I looked at people passing me and thought, "why are you taking this SO seriously?" But, now I wonder, why wasn't I? Clearly, I had much lower goals and expectations.
  
• Having people at the Finish line was amazing. Jamie and Jenny had said they'd come, but I hadn't seen them when we started, and with the rain I figured they might stay home. Robyn had told her family the same thing, but when she saw her husband and girls in the spectator area, when we were just about near the end, at the two-and-a-half-hour mark, she got emotional. We happened to be at the monkey bars, and knowing her kids were watching her, I was like "Get on my shoulders. We're doing this!" At the finish line, when I climbed up and over the top of the school bus, hearing Jamie shout my name and take a picture made me happier than I expected. As it turns out, this is the kind of thing that is better shared. You want cheerleaders. You want friends and team mates. Which is also why it was special that Mary was waiting for Robyn and I to finish the last obstacle. "We're crossing this Finish line together," she said, as we all grabbed hands. Our timing chips show, to the second, that we started and ended together.
  
• In addition to cheering and taking pictures at the end, Jamie made me stretch. You can take the personal trainer out of the gym (even if they're not YOUR trainer), but they'll still make sure you drink plenty of water and stretch your muscles. Mat had prepared me the day before, and given me pre-race instructions, and between both reminders, I am *only* stiff and sore today. At least I can still walk!
• Also? Voltaren is my friend. I don't care if it's basically old-people achy-muscle gel. My knees are loving the person who invented it! On the shopping list for tomorrow are Epsom salts.
  
• Having oatmeal for breakfast was the best choice I made all day. I didn't want anything that I'd puke up later, but I didn't want to get famished through the race. Good thing, too, because we were told it would take on average 1 hr and 30 to 45 minutes to complete the race. It took us just under 3 hours! This was partly due to a water obstacle which had a lineup so backed up, we stood there waiting for an hour.
  
• About that obstacle: it took us through a pond. Ponds are gross. Weedy. Smelly. We could have bypassed it, and saved a lot of time. But, because we were not racing for speed or time, we decided we'd rather at least attempt all the obstacles. This one had a bunch of floating barrels strapped together to try and run across. Nobody completed it while I was there, or watching. It was easier to try and when you felt yourself start to fall, to just jump in the water and swim for shore. But it was at that point, early in the race, that you realized you were going to be WET and not just a little bit.
  
• Thank GOD that I did this race with friends. It was their help and support that got me through. I would not have done the balance beam had Robyn not walked beside me, just letting me know she was there to lean on if I started to fall. In some cases, the support was mental or emotional. In others, it was a literal hand up to boost this short body over a wall, or seeing that someone was tangled on some netting and straightening it out for them. But no way would this BadAss have made it alone. Friends are just ... super awesome, y'know? <emotional sniff>
  
• Gloves were a good idea, even though it was super wet. Note to self: don't use the cheap imitation-leather gloves that bleed black dye on your hands when they get wet. D'oh!
• It was so much harder than I thought. I mean, I don't know what I thought it would be, but I was not prepared. As "fun" as it is meant to be, it was still really challenging physically and mentally. For me, at least. I was out of my element and for some parts, I can honestly say that I had no business being there. I assumed there would be more people like me. I wasn't ready for it this year, truly, but I was ready enough to get through it, and know what I might need to do for next year in order to treat it as a race and not as ... a fun-fair kind of carnival event.
  
• I didn't know how to mentally prepare. I'm not an athlete. I've never BEEN an athlete. So, I never learned how to think like an athlete. Mary and Robyn had been athletes in high school, and it showed. It wasn't just in their physical strength and ability, it was in their drive during the race. I grossly underestimated the value of learning to prepare for a competition, hence the freaking out in advance.
  
• In my head, I knew that the race was 7 km. They marked the race by miles, though, so I had a hard time knowing how much longer we had. Also, so much of it was uphill, over and over and over again. If we do it again next year, I will have a better sense of how much of the Chicopee Ski area they use, including all the mountain bike trails and recreational areas. I'll practice hills, and I'll walk the race area to familiarize myself with it. Because my calves were pretty unused to that burning sensation!
  
• Obstacles I feared in advance included the monkey bars, the slip and slide, the tunnel tubes you crawl through, and pretty much anything that had a steep downward slope. I DID THE TUBES! Tore the hell out of my elbows doing it, but I made it through. Obstacles that induced fear: the balance beam (because it was muddy and slippery), the rope climb, and the somersault. I have not somersaulted since I was a wee kid, and I started to tuck and roll, envisioned breaking my neck, and went "nah. Not worth THAT risk." With Robyn's help, I walked the balance beam. On her shoulders, I did the monkey bars (and she sat on mine to get across). 
• Our chant was "win or lose, booze booze booze!" Yeah, I was definitely racing with the right friends. That motivated us towards the end on a few occasions.
  
• Things to train for if I do it next year: running is the biggest one. Gotta be able to run in between at least a few obstacles, even just to stay out of people's way. I think I put more pressure on my knees from trying to step off the narrow mountain bike path to let dozens of runners pass than if I'd just let them feel the impact of hurrying the hell up. It is, after all a race, and I focused on finishing, not on speed (at all). Also to train for: pull ups (yeah, those were included!), monkey bars, and climbing things with less fear and without getting stuck.
• The biggest hurdle (and there were several little hurdles, which I mostly stepped over or crawled over), was this plywood A-frame wall with a rope on it. Ah. The dreaded rope climb. "Mount Wedge-more." The reason I had worn gloves. I wanted it. I needed to get up that wall. Holy crap, I did it! I had the arm and grip strength to get my feet on to the ledge mid-way up the wall and my hands could reach the top part of the A-frame and then ... and then ... Oh. Shit. And then, I looked down over the other side, at how short the rope was, at how far down the fall was, and I couldn't get myself up and over, nevermind conquer my fear of dropping. Robyn was able to do it, to get her leg over the ledge and then the Dash attendant held his hand for her to step on to get down. Mary, too, got over with his and Robyn's help. And there I was, stuck, holding up everyone else behind me. My worst fear. "I need to come down, on this side" I said. The guy came around. "Are you sure?" "Oh, yeah," I replied. I think I more or less fell on him as I slid down the rope, trying to belay myself but having very little grip left. He kept asking if I was alright. I asked if HE was! It's the only obstacle that I truly failed, but I'm happy that I tried. The opt-out was 25 pushups and I thought "psh, I can do THAT!" but I feel better that I tried the hard thing, the scary thing, and then failed it than having chosen the easier been-there-done-that choice. Next year. Next year, I will figure out how to get these short legs over high things!
  
• It's worth wearing actual light-weight, workout clothes - even if they get ruined - because old cotton sweat pants and t-shirt feel like a loaded diaper after swimming in a pond and sliding down muddy hills! Plus, they look rather terrible in photos...
• At some point, Robyn asked "are you having fun?" I didn't have an answer. Was I enjoying it, really? Uh. No. Did I hate it? Was I angry? Nope. Neither. I was just ... doing it. I don't know how much I'd enjoy all those obstacles in a relaxed, fun context. In a race, with crowds, "fun" might be relative. Was it worth it, though? Hell, yeah. If nothing else, it reinforced the value of long-time friendships, teamwork, and goal setting.
• Most of all, it's something that nobody ever expected I would do. Least of all, me.
  

So, there is a story behind the photos, and why we have so many. I ran into a friend from university, whose husband and son were running the race. She got some good pics of us at the start. Jamie and Jenny came to cheer us across the finish line, and got some more. But, half way through the course, literally as we were debating whether the 2-mile mark meant half of 7 km or not, at the top of the ski hill where spectators were not supposed to be, I hear a voice. "Barb! Barb!" It's my dad. He has climbed the hill from the back, so he wouldn't have to pay the parking or spectator fees. "Look over here!" And he snaps a picture.

I was glad to see him, and surprised. I'd deliberately downplayed the race to my parents. I think my sister tipped them off to the fact that it was a bit of a bigger deal than I'd let on. Besides, once I found out you had to pay to get in, I knew Mr. Cheap wouldn't do it. I hadn't counted on the fact that he's shameless about getting photos he wants, and is particularly good at climbing hills and knows Chicopee like the back of his hand. Of course, we had no way to communicate during the race, with anyone, so he had no way of finding us. It was just dumb luck that he spotted me at all.

It was also fortunate that he'd spent time watching some of the obstacles, and could give advice. When it came to the cargo net, (the Australian back crawl), I listened the first time he said, "it's about the feet,  you got to push with your legs, get your feet in the net and push, don't try to pull yourself up." The problem was that I was struggling with getting my feet ON to the net, so the more he repeated himself, the more frustrated I got until I yelled "STOP. TALKING! STOP." And, I love photos and wanted proof that we'd done this thing, so when he'd make us stop and pose, or smile, I obliged. Until he wanted a do-over. "Dad! This is a race, you know! I have to keep going!"

His advice for the slip and slide was the best, though. He'd watched enough people wipe out to know that if you tried to slow down or stop yourself, at that momentum, you'd tumble or get injured. There were a lot of pile ups. I watched as Mary hit some sand instead of mud and stopped dead in her tracks. I watched Robyn go flying and then hit the ground and roll. (You can hear the thud and Mary's shrieks of laughter on the video). So, I didn't try to stop. I stayed flat and kept going. And going. And going.

I am still finding sand and mud in places I didn't know existed.

For your amusement, I give you the evidence:

So, we did it. I met all three goals that I set:
1) Finish the race. Cross the finish line.
2) Don't get injured. "Stiff and Sore on Sunday is okay; unable to work Monday is not."
3) At least TRY every obstacle. There were a few that I did half-way, by cheating a little, but every one of them was attempted. Even if the somersault was a rather weak attempt.

I think, perhaps, the best compliment my dad could have made was when he looked around, after calling my name and snapping my photo, and said incredulously, "THIS IS HARD!" From the man who doesn't give compliments readily, and who scoffed at my Megathon challenge ("I should do it with you; looks easy"), admitting that it was hard and I was doing it was high praise indeed.

I hadn't been feeling very BadAss up until then. I wasn't racing it. I was kind of playing it. But it WAS hard. It WAS a long race. It WAS significant that we finished.

We didn't just do it. We did it together. We crossed that finish line holding hands, as a team. It was a team made up of the former fat girl, a self-proclaimed diva whose husband couldn't stop laughing at the fact that she'd be getting dirty, and a brain surgery survivor. We all had something to prove, in our own way, and I think we all did.

And then we popped some champagne in celebration and said, "So. We're registering again for the next one?"

I've been on an informal quest to find a sport to play, or to find an activity that can become my "thing." It's partially behind my quest to try as many new things as I can, though that is - in and of itself - a worthy pursuit for overcoming fears and building confidence.

Initially, health and weight loss was the only goal, it was my reason for finding fitness. The longer I do it, the more it becomes habit, the more I need another objective. Otherwise, working out becomes solely for the purpose of losing weight or manipulating body size and shape. That's not the most healthy place for anyone to be in, let alone me. I feel like if I have a sport, a game, a physical activity that I really enjoy, then working out at the gym becomes a way to support and enhance that thing. It helps me to focus, and it helps Mat to plan a training program for me.

Except, I'm the girl who never liked sports. I skipped out on as much of gym as I could, and the non-traditional activities were not often introduced in grade school.

So, how do you find your game? You act like a kid and try anything and everything. And the best places to start are with your friends. When people are passionate about their activity, they tend to get pretty good at it, and they tend to want to get others involved. They love when you show interest, and they want to share that passion. What I have found in the last few years is that, as I've become active, people who are passionate about their sport invite me to try it. All the firsts I've written about? I haven't sought them all out. They've come to me, and I've said yes to trying. Each time I try something, I reflect and evaluate what I liked about it, what I didn't, what hurt, the kind of equipment I'd need, and whether it's something I could see myself doing on a regular or long-term basis.

Plus, I get to have a lot of fun in the process. Passionate people are the best way to learn about, or get introduced to, something you're not sure about.

I had such an opportunity this weekend. (I know; it was right on the heels of a vacation packed with firsts. It's becoming a great month!). Since the spring, Melissa and I have been trying to find a day that worked where she could teach me archery. After making and breaking two dates, we settled on a third. When I heard that she had dislocated her shoulder, I thought "that's it, archery wasn't meant to be." But the hallmark of an experienced instructor is that she can talk you step by step through the learning process, emphasizing proper form and technique, even without having to demonstrate it herself. She brought in some ringers for backup, and that's how Sunday became a day of friends teaching friends to shoot stuff.

Archery is not completely foreign to me, at least not as much as some activities are (or will be). I've seen it done at camp, had to help out with wee campers (as in, keeping the ones on the sidelines occupied and safe while other staff instructed those at the shooting line). I just hadn't actually done it myself. After reading the Hunger Games trilogy, I totally wanted to be Katniss and get my hands on a bow and arrow. After this weekend, I can safely say that if I had to survive based on my shooting skills, I would make a terrible Tribute who'd die in the first few chapters. But, as a skill to try again, as something to work on and hone, this is something I could see doing.

What was particularly interesting to watch was some of the other first-timers going through what I habitually go through. I go in to any of these new activities with a will to try, but very little ego; I assume I'm going to be bad until I surprise myself. For people who are used to being good at most sports, who've been active their whole lives or who are physically fit, there's often an assumption that they'll be really good at it right away. Seeing the same frustration that I often feel, and observing the same kind of growth and progression to "hey, I am getting good at this!" was rather fascinating. That's when I wasn't busy bruising myself by badly aiming one too many times at Bambi.

Eventually, I'm going to have to stop playing and pick something. I can't reasonably expect to be good at anything if I only try everything once. Regardless of which "thing" I pick to pursue, it's going to take practice. It's the testing the waters that is teaching me what works for me and what doesn't, and it's how I can start to narrow down a commitment to one or two pursuits. I just can't keep flitting about forever, delaying a decision.

I've tried: racquetball, climbing (indoors and out), Ultimate Frisbee, hiking, canoeing, white water rafting, and archery. On the bucket list to try are: water polo, kickboxing or a martial art, rowing, kayaking, volleyball, biking. Fencing would be cool, because ... swords. Or, y'know, something else I haven't even thought of yet.

What I know is that motion matters, so start-stop activities (raquet sports, most field sports) wreak havic on my knees. What I know is that surface and equipment matter: snow and ice activities or things with wheels on my feet are out. No roller derby for me. What I know is that I like a certain level of agression. Finesse? I could do with a bit of zen calm, but what fuels my fire is having to rely on strength or power (or just throwing my weight around). What I know is that I need a challenge that is mental, with a bit of strategy mixed in with that brute strength. What I know is that I am comfortable in and around water, it's the least impact on my knees, and usually involves nature and being outdoors.

I think I'll get a membership to the indoor climbing gym in town, as a start. Look into whether there are recreational water polo teams in the vicinity. Keep rowing on the top of the list for next spring or summer, at the start of the season. And, in the meantime, whenever the opportunity comes up to try something I've never done before, the answer will continue to be "yes!"

Fitness, after all, should be fun.

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. 

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?

A funny thing happened on Facebook last week. I had posted a photo over a year ago, celebrating reaching the milestone of 100 lbs lost. I posted the same century club picture that is on my About page. At the time, it got a lot of "likes" and comments, and then it faded into the background of my timeline. But, as with all things on the Internet, it's not like it went away. It is still there, still tagged, still part of the me that is represented on social media. So I shouldn't have been shocked when one person found it, a year later, and hit the "like" button. It happens, when you add friends after the fact and they get curious and go through your photos, or even when a longtime friend gets bored and just wants to stroll down your memory lane. But, the way Facebook's algorithms work these days, it's the pictures and posts with the most recent activity that get to the top of your friends' newsfeeds, and so it started all over again, as if I had just posted the photo that day. The likes and comments rolled in again, even from some of the same people who had commented a year ago.

It felt completely and awkwardly different this time around. For one thing, I can't currently make the same claim. It was a big deal to see the number on the scale that indicated a triple-digit loss. I maintained that for the better part of the year, but am currently up. By how much, I'm not sure, as I haven't stepped on a scale in two months other than during measurements with Mat. The obsessive tracking and weighing and restrictive eating I did to get there hasn't been my latest lifestyle. I've got to get back there. So, how I feel about that "milestone" today is quite different than a year ago: what I was proud of reaching then, I am now humiliated for having lost in a backslide, embarrassed because I couldn't hold on to that goal.

The other thing that made me uncomfortable with the deluge of well wishes was that it made it seem like I lacked humility. Like I had to re-post such a milestone because I haven't done anything since. Truth be told, I wasn't all that comfortable with posting it the first time, for the same reason. At the time, I wasn't blogging and I wasn't talking openly about weight loss or fitness. I needed to acknowledge it, somehow. Now, when I do talk about it, it is with the understanding that it's an ongoing struggle. It's really not often going to be "hey, look at me! Look what I did! Congratulate me!" It's just "hey, this is hard. And this is what I've learned or how I feel about it. Who's with me?"

It felt important to acknowledge that moment in time. A lot of advice columns in women's magazines suggest that you should celebrate every step of the way, every pound, every size, every interim goal. I didn't do that. I was internally proud, but I didn't outwardly celebrate. I'm not sure why. I have a friend who's on a similar journey and she reached her own momentous milestone recently. She'd been thinking for months about what she'd do to celebrate when she reached her goal, and at one point she asked me what I had done to celebrate 50 lbs, and 100 lbs. I think I now realize why I never did.

It's because the journey's never over. I couldn't let myself get so focused on a goal, small or large, to the point that I had a planned celebration, because I know that once you reach that goal, you don't magically stay there. Life fluctuates. When you turn 50, when you celebrate a 50th anniversary, it means you've crossed a threshold and leveled up and you are never going back. Weight loss is not like that. You don't reach the end of the game board and claim "I win!" and put the dice away. You keep playing, and sometimes you land on a square that sends you backwards.

I also don't want to over-celebrate weight loss as an accomplishment, and seeing the accolades and congratulations for getting less fat, it feels ... too much. Like it's all that I am. Like, all the other things I've done in my life and have been proud of are somehow less significant. It is just a tad too defining for my comfort. Surely, I have contributed more to the world, made more of an impact on people's lives, than by losing weight. Haven't I? Shouldn't I?

Milestones and goals are funny things in health. I understand why it's good to celebrate each step of the way. It is a long haul and a slooooow process. It's easy to get discouraged, so we celebrate victories along the way. Using other accomplishments which were also slow and time consuming as a comparison, I can see that it was one assignment at a time, term after term, that I earned three degrees. I celebrated after handing in each essay, after walking out of each exam, and after walking across each stage to get my diploma. The difference in those cases was that, once I was done, nobody could take it away from me. I still have the academic gold medal I earned doing my Masters degree. Those goals, once met, they are yours. And the process is a checklist of one thing at a time. Regardless of what goals you set for yourself in health, there isn't actually an end. No finish line until you're dead.

Perhaps, then, losing weight is more like a competitive sport. You win some races, and - once won - nobody can take away that medal or title. Well, until the next time the race is held. You probably have a lot of games, and some you win, some you lose. Athletes can never sit back and just say "yep. I'm the best." It's all about the next event. Even the greatest names in their sports eventually grow old, retire, get out of shape or injured, and are replaced by someone who's better, newer, faster. Life shouldn't be that kind of competition, but at times it feels like it, whether I'm competing against others (bad, bad idea) or whether I'm competing against my younger, fitter self. Or, in this case, competing against my first-time-around-the-block self, when the weight loss was slightly easier because there was so much to lose, and my body wasn't used to it. I'll admit, I have a bit of envy for those who are dominating their weight loss, hitting their goals, and doing so well. It's hard to step back and say "they are at a different point in their journey" because the part of me that liked the attention, liked how I felt at that weight, is stamping her foot and whining "but I wanna be back there and still have that feeling, too."

Most people need encouragement and congratulations. I'll admit, I liked a lot of it, too. I wanted to feel proud. I wanted to feel successful. And much of the praise was sincere and heartfelt. When genuine emotion was conveyed, I felt it and all of the comments - then, and now - were appreciated. The danger in being overenthusiastic about someone's body is that those words linger when the body changes. It's why I try not to comment on people's bodies, positive OR negative. I'd rather let them know how they made me feel, or how proud I am of something they said or did. I rarely even acknowledge haircuts unless the person brings it up first, and I try to be careful in talking about weight loss when it's raised in conversation. Because the over-exuberant praise when you're at your lowest size becomes a deafening silence when you put weight back on, and that silence speaks volumes.

I usually start with a point, when I blog. This was more of a ramble. There's no pretty little bow to tie this up with, no lesson to learn. (Other than, perhaps, Facebook is weird and people should pay attention to dates, read comments, or think about it for just a second before hitting "like"). Social media has changed our real-life privacy settings. Which means that I get to hear a lot more positive comments than I would have otherwise, and they are always there for me to go back to when I need a boost. I just don't get to control when that praise comes out of the blue or where it comes from.

And perhaps I needed the reminder that humble pie is always on the menu, and to never get cocky about the milestones I pass on this journey, because it ain't over yet.

Sally brought me to my knees.

I did not crush her, like I'd hoped. However, she did not totally defeat me, either. As far as completing a challenge for Megathon, it was a success. I set a goal, raised money, and did the whole song. (Sorry, donors; you don't get your money back!)

I had never been able to make it all the way through the song in any of my practices. On the morning of Megathon - in fact, in the days leading up to it - I knew that if I finished it would not be out of strength or endurance, but out of stubbornness, pride, and adrenaline. That's pretty much how it played out. I did have to drop to my knees. And nobody cared. The hugs, the high fives, and the words of congratulations at the end told me that everyone there accepted that I'd done it. I think what's bothered me since then is that I didn't do it perfectly. Does it really count? Can I actually say, "I did it"?

Let's break it down, shall we?

I started out pretty strong. You can tell the point at which my arms start to shake, and if you look closely, they start to turn a little bit red. Sally, she burns! It is the holding down, the tricep-like plank, which is the killer. It's not the 30 pushups. Certainly not just doing 30 in over 3 minutes. It's the holding down. That becomes apparent when, after a long Old Miss Lucy hold, I don't have the strength to push back up. I drop to my knee, just for a second, to get the leverage to lift myself.

If this was a competition, that's the point at which I'd have been out. Challenge over. You lose.

Since it was not a competition, but a personal challenge, I got myself back up and kept going. You can see me shake my head a little. I know I'm in trouble at this point. I'm mad that I dropped. It surprised me. It wasn't a mind-over-matter issue. My body caved. It became a mind-over-matter battle later on, which I think you can tell from the faces I'm making. Someone said it was like I stopped hearing the song and just went into auto-pilot. I wish I had. I was inside my head. I realized that I was making some motions but I was not really pushing myself up or down. In fact, as I was editing, a passer-by saw the video and said, "You call that a push-up?" Well, no. No, I don't. By the end of the song, my form starts to go, and it's more like I'm humping the floor. My back, my core, started to tire out. I was just thrusting my gut down and butt up, instead of maintaining the straight line and using the chest and arm strength I'd started out with. I was just holding on for dear life, willing my arms not to give out. By the end, they were most definitely not real push-ups.

Finally, for the last 5 push-ups, I do drop to my knees. I missed a push-up (one up, one down) to get myself into position to continue doing them from my knees. (Which apparently are "girl push-ups" and real enough that they kinda, sorta count towards the challenge?). So, my form was off, meaning the push-ups were not full (not all the way down) and the holds were not true holds. I had to use a knee to get myself back up, and I missed at least one full up-down push-up. Technically, I didn't complete the challenge. Why, then, does it feel like I did?

Without further ado, the evidence*:

It was the cheering. It was the encouragement. It was the Megathon atmosphere. THAT'S why I felt like it was a success. People will say a lot of things to make you feel better and to justify anything. I heard all kinds of truths, like "I couldn't do that!" or "others in the class tried along with you and quit much earlier" and "push-ups from your knees are still push-ups" and "well, it's a really hard thing to do." One very astute guy asked, "how long did you train for that?" And my honest answer was, "not long enough!"

Truth be told, I had no business thinking I could condition myself for that challenge in under a month. It was a naive, cocky challenge to set for myself, tossed out because I couldn't think of anything else to try, and I had just seen the video idea a few days before. I thought it looked cool. I had no idea just how hard it would be.

Which, I guess, is what made it a true challenge. If it's not hard, if it doesn't test your limits, you don't grow. I didn't set a goal that I knew I could easily reach. I hoped I would, but I didn't know whether I could, and this one most definitely challenged the boundaries of what I thought I could do. That's why I'm proud of it, and why I was all smiles at the end. A co-worker asked me today, "did you ever, in a million years, think you'd be doing something like that?" Hell, no. Not only did I never think I could do it, I don't think I'd have ever wanted to or been willing to.

As metaphors go, this  is in line with the whole weight loss journey: KEEP GOING. I fell. I quickly got back up. When I couldn't keep going at the intensity I had started with, I didn't stop, I didn't quit, I modified. I took the option, and fell on my knees. Sally brought me down, but she didn't keep me there. And, at the very end, I chose to end strong. I knew I just needed to hold the last plank and the song was done. Rather than staying on my knees, or collapsing, I got back up and stayed until it was truly over. Get back up, always. Keep going. Keep going. Keep going.

And, every so often, shoot your mouth off and commit to something that seems way beyond your reach. It may start out as a joke, as this one pretty much did. So ludicrous a suggestion that it could only be funny, until you start to take it seriously. It didn't take long for the challenge to become a thing. A big deal. Something for me to focus on and work towards. I'm convinced that the big-ness of it was the reason that I got as many donations as I did. I reached for the moon, and even though I didn't land, I ended up among the stars. 




*the fine print: the video is edited. Had to be. The beginning of one video was started after the song did. And there are parts where you can too clearly see other people's faces. What has not been edited is how many pushups I did, or when/where/how I did them. I show when I drop to my knees. You see all the good, the bad, the ugly of the challenge. It's just sound quality and splicing that you'll notice, because it's cobbled together with free software that is pretty basic.

I’ve been thinking a lot about goals in the last month, and it came up again in depth last night. I recently wrote about climbing the wall at camp, and how I started my journey by swimming. I signed up for the Badass Dash. I had to set a personal challenge for Megathon. Even with the Olympics starting, I think about those athletes and how this is a pretty ultimate goal, the culmination of years of training and hard work. I've learned a lot about goals in the past few years, about setting them, reaching them, and even failing them.

Conceive, Believe, Visualize
First, you have to have an idea (Conceive it). It may not even
come from you, it could be a suggestion, but once it takes hold in your head and your heart, it’s yours. If it excites you, it’s a goal worth pursuing. And in your core, you have to Believe it’s possible. Self-doubt may creep in, but that’s different than not believing that you can do it, or that you deserve to. See it in your mind. Visualize. What does it look like when you reach your goal? Not just what does it feel like, or what you think you’ll get. Don’t think about this step: you need to be able to close your eyes and SEE it. That end goal, as much of a pipe dream as it may seem, is your anchor.

Up to this point, these aren’t really goals. They’re dreams. Goals require action, so if you don’t move on to the next steps, what you’re doing is engaging in magical thinking. It’s no longer a dream, or a goal, it’s just a wish. So you have to…

Act. “Take massive unrelenting strides in the direction of what you want. And understand that hurdles, obstacles, and setbacks are just part of the molding process of turning you into the person you need to be to experience what it is you want to achieve. These tests are an important part of the process.” (Chris McCombs)

You have to have some sense of where you’re going, if you're going to set out on a journey. Or you could end up Through the Looking Glass, in Wonderland, having wild adventures like Alice. Fun, but ultimately exhausting and you end up back in the same place you started.

Planning your Road Map
I didn’t consciously start with the end in mind, I didn’t visualize myself 100 lbs lighter, I didn’t do any of the usual goal-setting techniques. But, I’d learned (and taught!) about S.M.A.R.T. goals and goal setting through the myriad leadership courses at camp. Something must have stuck, because as I look back now, I realize that I was actually following that model. I just didn’t write it down, and I didn’t verbalize it to myself. 

With swimming it was the number of lengths in a specific time that was my goal. I got there. Well, at first it was just showing up enough days in a row. Once I reached that small goal, I set a new one. Increase the amount of time spent in the pool. Then, I increased that to number of lengths during
that time. With the climbing wall, the goal was clear from the start: reach the
top. Just do it. It was a different kind of goal to set because there was no progression, it was a one-time thing. In each case, it was something concrete – focusing on the action, not the result. I told myself that I was not going to think about weight loss, that wasn’t the reason I was swimming. It was for my health, and my strength. The goal I set was positively framed. 

Track your Progress
Another thing that I did, just because I’m a Type-A detail-oriented librarian-teacher-type, was to track my activity. When I started swimming, I just tracked which days I swam, in a Word document – a green Y for yes, I went, and a red N for no, I didn’t. It didn’t matter for how long, I just needed to see a lot of green, and no red twice in a row. After a few weeks, I started writing how long I swam for (in minutes). After a few months, I started counting how many lengths I did, and included those. It is why I knew the first day I got to 100 lengths in under an hour. I hadn’t started out with that goal in mind, it developed over time as I got better, and only because I was writing it down. At that point, I was not sharing the document with anyone – no accountability – but it was new enough for me that it was like my own little secret source of pride, and commitment to myself, and I wanted to be able to write down that I had gone, and I started to push myself to aim for 100. 

If writing details down is not your sort of thing there are other options. Apps like Habit Goal on smartphones, for one thing. If you’re a more visual kind of person, you may like my friend’s red-green-gold star sticker method. A gold star means clean eating AND working out. A green star means one or the other (working out but not having a perfect eating day? Still an accomplishment. Celebrate good food choices even if you don’t work out). A red star means you did neither. Visually seeing how many days a week, or in a row, you hit the green and gold stars helps to keep you on track, even when you have those red star days. 

Keep Adjusting Your Sails As The Horizon Shifts
At the end of last year, I floundered. I had no clear goals to work towards, and I was mentally adrift. I’d lost the 100 lbs and knew I wanted to keep going, but that big round number had come and gone. I hadn't re-set my goals in awhile, so I didn't have an anchor. Nothing to focus on but the vague "weight loss." Tying a goal to my weight, to what my body looks like, tends to send me into a pretty negative headspace. But when I set goals that are based on actions? I get excited. It seems manageable, attainable. I tell people about it. And it boosts my mood and attitude, overall. 

I was facing a huge gap between my unrealistic and vague end goal, and what I could do in the present. I had to readjust, and I went back to the basics and re-set my goals to much easier ones to reach, so that I could achieve something. No matter how small. Getting back to the habit of consistency was the new goal, because I needed to feel successful again.

Short and Long, Big and Little 
Think about each goal in both the short and long term, and in big and little increments. I have a big goal to work towards: the Badass Dash in September. From the February vantage point, that’s still a long way away. Which is why this Megathon challenge, in just a month, is a great short-term goal. I will be keeping my eye on that ball, focusing like a laser beam. And in order to get to that goal, I know that I have to do something specific every day. I started by just trying out the push-ups to the song. Established the base line. Now, I do it each morning, and try to get further than the day before. Even if it’s just by one push-up. Ideally, with that kind of progression and practice, I’ll be able to reach the goal of finishing the song. But I also have a fitness coach in my accountability network, to help me work on strengthening the right parts in the right way, so that it’s a truly “smart” way of reaching my goal.

I lost focus when I had no goal to work towards, and when it was tied to what my body looked like. I’m feeling better and more excited these days, and it’s because I have both short and long term goals, which are based on actions, not results. They are actions that I can control – like training and practicing. I'm not worrying about the outcome, just what I need to do to prepare myself for each day.

And that's making me feel pretty S.M.A.R.T.

On March 1st I will participate in the YMCA Megathon to raise money for the Strong Kids campaign, which “helps one individual, one family, and one child at a time.” Funds raised support families and children by providing a child with a Health and Fitness Membership, access to active programming, swimming lessons, and youth leadership programming, or by providing the opportunity for a child to have a day camp or overnight camp experience for one week.

I hate fundraising. I mean, I really really really hate asking for money. You haven’t seen me do it since grade school, and there’s a reason. There are lots of important causes, which I support by donating, but not by asking for donations.

So, why Megathon?

It hits close to home
I know the kids this money will impact. I live close to the Y, and I know my community, and there is a high need for support. These are the kids who live in my neighbourhood. They are the kids who run up and down the halls of my building in the winter when it’s too cold to go outside, who kick their soccer ball against the wall outside my window because it’s the only patch of lawn they have, and who make forts out of old mattresses beside the dumpster in the summer. They are the ones I see in my library programs (the lucky ones, whose parents take them to the library). They are the ones I see when I’m doing outreach, in community centres (the ones whose parents don’t know what a library is!). I know the kids this money will directly impact, and it will be immediate and visible. You may not know them, but I do.

It’s not about “childhood obesity” it’s about fighting inactivity
I love that the focus is on encouraging kids to get healthy through activity. Without getting TOO soap-boxy, I believe that health can’t be measured by weight alone, so I find the war against childhood obesity unsettling. What we know is that activity, exercise, has a greater impact on health than the amount of fat a person has. Megathon celebrates this by encouraging personal physical challenges, and the money raised goes to providing children with positive experiences. It may not be Camp Wenonah, but even the fact that the money will send kids to any camp at all is a plus in my books.

There’s a Literacy connection
The libraries are connected; we’ve provided a booklist of recommended reads. The children’s challenge includes reading for 15 minutes a day. Megathon is mostly about physical challenges and exercise, but there is an acknowledgement that reading and literacy play a vital and key role in overall health. That’s a message I can get behind because it’s the message I promote daily in my own work.

They had me at “hero”
How can I say no to a campaign that asks “will you be a hero for kids?” Especially given how much I talk about health and fitness, how could I possibly turn down the chance to be a hero to at least one or two children? Whether it’s been through summer camp, in a classroom, or at the library, making a tangible difference in children’s lives has always been at the core of what I do. It’s not heroic, it’s just me. I love the idea of getting to be a hero for a day.

So. Will you help me be a hero, and by supporting me become one in the process?
(click HERE to donate online)
   

The Pledge
I’ve taken the day off work (yes, used a precious vacation day), and will spend it at the Y. Some of that time will be spent volunteering. I’ll also participate in several of the group classes that will be offered. (If I do them all, it would be 5 hrs of exercising! It's all about endurance), and a TRX 40x40 challenge. In addition, I’m setting a personal challenge for myself.

"Bring Sally Up" Pushup Challenge:
While playing the song "Flowers" by Moby (Bring Sally up, bring Sally down), move to the upper pushup position when you hear the words "Bring Sally up", and move to the lower pushup position when you hear "Bring Sally down." It is 3:25 minutes ... 30 pushups/planks.

Last year at this time, my goal was to be able to do the pushups (from my knees, mind you) in Mat’s class without humiliating myself. That was it. Now? I can do a real pushup. I want to be able to do tons. It may not seem like much, but I want to try and do ALL of the pushups in the Bring Sally Up challenge. See the video below for how long it lasts, and how hard it is. At the moment, I can make it to 1:24 in the song … which is 3:25 long! I have a lot of work and practice ahead of me this month.

If you wanna see me try, pledge your support!

Came across a few videos of people using the song "Flowers" by Moby to do challenges involving up and down movements. Most commonly, pushups. The super-hard-core CrossFitters will do squats, often with a bar on their back. Frankly, I think the pushups seem hard enough as it is! The song is pretty long.

Even the guys in the video below start dropping out one by one.

Maybe this will have to be a side challenge for me. Something to work on until the Badass Dash. I've gotten better at pushups and planking, but that really only means that I can do them, from having not been able to do them at all. This? This is several steps up when it comes to power and endurance.

It's a little bit like making the parents in my Baby Time program at the library do the "Grand Old Duke of York" with their babies, walking in a circle and lifting the kids up and down. "When they were up they were up, and when they were down they were down." Except THAT song is a lot less intense. The Duke's got nothin' on Sally.