The times, they are a changin.' Today was my last personal training session with Mat at the YMCA. 

He's moving on to a new adventure, taking that big risky step towards a dream, and will be independently coaching clients from his friend's new studio. It's strange: even though I will follow him to M.A.T. Fitness, (Motivation Activation Transformation) and continue training with him at Infinity, it still feels a little bit like an ending. Today we worked out at the Y. On Monday it will be at the studio. Big change. Or, at the least, things will never be quite the same again. 

Really, the changes that are happening around me are not happening TO me. The impact for me is minimal, compared to what Mat's other clients may feel, and what his Y friends and co-workers will experience. I am not losing a coach, or a friend. Training at the studio is going to be great in a lot of ways. Fewer people around means feeling less self conscious. Not competing with all the other members will mean having access to the equipment he plans for me to use, when he wants to use it. When I crack an inappropriate joke we can laugh our butts off without worrying who might be in earshot. I'm not giving up my YMCA membership, so I'll still go to classes, use the pool, and have the social connections that come with being part of a community. It's only the personal training location that is changing, and yet it's still pretty different from what we've been doing for the past two years.

We will all be readjusting in the next few weeks and months.

Change is not purely a good or bad thing, but any change can be hard. Unsettling. Mildly uncomfortable. I need the shake-up, and am ready for it. Mat has definitely been energized by it. Change is something we all need, every now and then. It's why vacations are important, to get away and have a change of scenery. It's why people move, or redecorate their homes. Whether it's a workout routine, the place you live, your job duties, or your workout - we all need some kind of shake-up in our lives at some point or we stagnate. I'm hoping that the new routine will be rejuvenating enough to kickstart my waning motivation. Still, all the change happening around me is making me a tad wistful and nostalgic. Because you can't move on to a new scene without stopping to look back and appreciate what you're saying goodbye to.

When I look back on the last two years at the Y, Mat is always in the picture. Despite having taken his class a few times, my first interaction with him was after having witnessed him break up a fight between two members, which happened right outside the spin studio window. I was impressed enough with how he handled that to tell him so. And then he ran Biggest Loser, and I got to see how he was with clients. He introduced me to strength training and the word "bad ass" entered my vocabulary. I think of all the people I met through both Biggest Loser challenges, through two summers of Outdoor Fitness Challenge, and as his assistant in Fitness Academy. I think about how much I have changed as a person, grown in ways beyond the physical strength and balance that I thought I was paying him for. I know that he touched and changed all of their lives, too. I see the members who never had him as a personal trainer but who connected with him as he wandered the floor of the conditioning centre and weight room, members who started to talk to me because I was his client and they watched what he made me do. 

They have been changed, because they knew him. 

There's a song from the musical Wicked, which makes me think of Mat every time I hear it. I have had many positive influences in my life, and this song could apply to several people, but it captures that unique relationship between coach and client so perfectly that I've tucked it away in my back pocket for that day when I finally quit personal training. The thing is, I don't know when that day will come. And now that I've worked with Mat for so long, it's impossible to conceive that "it may be that we will never meet again" even when it does. So, with this transition, it seemed like the right time to pull out the song and say thank you. On behalf of all the people whose lives he's touched, I think I can safely say "because I knew you, I have been changed for good."

Clearly, it’s been awhile since I’ve paid attention to the blog. Life finally slowed down after a chaotic summer and early fall, and as with many things, once you lose momentum it’s hard to pick it up and keep going again. I’ve lost some motivation, and while I can’t put my finger on one specific thing as the cause, I think it’s simply that it gets tiring making good choices day after day. I’ve changed a lot of habits, but not all; I’ve changed some patterns of thinking, but not all. And so I slip, one bite or sip at a time. The eating starts to get less healthy. As the pounds go back on, I feel bad about myself, and the desire to be exercising in public wanes. The days are getting shorter, the air is getting colder, and it all culminates in a loss of momentum and motivation. Even with the blog, the time and energy to sit and write is being eaten up by an overriding desire to sleep or read or rest. And most of the topics in the queue all require research. Research takes more time. Some of the writing I’ve been doing is actually journaling, personal and too private to share on the blog. That’s because it’s homework that Mat’s given me to try and kickstart the motivation. Sometimes the question being asked is way more important than the answers. So, as I work privately on writing my homework, I can at least share the assignment!

I want you to think about the why's of exercise and what it really means to you when you set goals. I want you to find ‘the will of fire’ (it’s what I like to call it). I want you to think back to that feeling when you have accomplished something that you may have not thought you could do. I want you to forget about those numbers and remember what makes you "bad-ass."

Write two letters. One to your past self, and one to your future self. What would you tell them to get them motivated? If it helps to get you started, write down 10 things that motivate you in life. Whether or not it’s fitness related, 10 things that you find get you going. Then ask yourself, “where are those things now?” How do you get them back in your life?

Think about whether or not you still want it, your original goals, and what you did and could do, what you are going to do to get there. What if there were no barriers to hold you back? What would the road to your goals look like? The idea behind it is really to ask yourself “what am I going to do to be the best I can?”

The letter to my future self is the much harder one to write. I mean, my past self I know. I’ve been there. In fact, it’s tapping in to that past self that I need to do in order to get that feeling back: what it felt like to lose weight in the first place, what it felt like to surprise myself, and what it felt like to believe in a goal of health (versus the vanity of trying to manipulate my body for looks). Fortunately, I’ve got a lot of writing – including the past year of the blog – to return to. And if I could go back into the past, well before starting this journey, I’d tell myself that it’s never too late to start. But whoo-boy would it ever be easier if I’d started earlier! It only gets harder the further you go. Which, in itself, is a good incentive for me to keep going. Climbing out of a backwards slide isn’t any easier than starting in the first place.

What Mat’s tapped into is the concept of writing your story. It’s more than just writing your goals. Creating a character of who you want to be, and examining you are, and who you were. Not unlike the practice of writing your eulogy as a way of goal setting – what do you want people to say about you when you die? Start with that, then figure out what you need to do now, in life, to get there – writing a letter to my future self is a reconnection with my story.

It’s well documented that expressive writing helps to process deep emotions. An article in Time reiterated the psychological benefits of putting paper to pen. “what is it about writing that calms the mind and helps us heal emotionally? There are no solid answers but there’s plenty of research showing the human mind needs meaning — a story to make sense of what has happened. Only then can it rest. Writing forces you to organize your thoughts into a coherent structure. It helps you make sense of life.”

A similar article popped up on a list of the best fitness articles of the week, last week. How To Take Charge of Your Motivation. Aside from some obvious advice, like write it down and choose one focussed (and honest) goal, the author writes “Friedrich Nietzsche said that he who has a strong enough why can bear any how. This is critical as you’ll undoubtedly encounter resistance and setbacks along the way to achieving anything worthwhile. If your why isn’t built on a solid foundation of personal meaning on an emotional level, it becomes far easier to abandon your goal whenever difficulties arise.”

At this point in time, I’ve lost sight of my original goals, which were probably pretty unrealistic to begin with. I’m working to tap back into the motivation that’s taken a vacation and to find my WHY.

"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?

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.

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?

Comparison is the thief of joy; don't compare yourself to others, only to yourself. I've told myself these words dozens of times, and most times I believe them. So, when I catch myself comparing to others - noticing who's better than me, losing more weight than me, prettier than me, stronger, faster, smarter - I try to pause and remind myself that the only useful competition is me against me. Am I doing better than I used to? Am I being the best that I can be? The problem with this tactic is that, sometimes, when the answer is "no" the letdown is even greater.

What happens when your best isn't good enough? When you compare to what you did last time, or couldn't do last time, and still you see no improvement? What about when you just can't do something, and it's not for lack of trying? You get into a pretty funky headspace, that's what.

The tire pulls struck again. The last time I wrote about stacking tires and dragging them behind me with a fire hose like a pack mule, it was also a Friday. I believe I dropped a lot of F-bombs and finally quit on the last one. So, when Mat had us start out with that very same exercise this past Friday, I knew it was redemption time. I had come in to the morning Outdoor Fitness Challenge with the mindset that I would give it all I had, take it super seriously, do what was asked and not make "can't" or "no" part of my vocabulary, get a great workout, but mostly just offer a strong performance. I was in a great giddy mood, wide awake, with a four-day weekend looming ahead of me.

Three steps in and that all changed in an instant.

Stuck. Again. For some reason, I can't figure out how to hold the fire hoses, how to wrap them around me or get them to hang over my shoulder just so, in order to get momentum to pull the tires. The other participant had no problem. She just took off and trucked along, making it to the end and back before I could even move a few paces. Same thing happened last time, only EVERYBODY could do it except for me.

I got mad.
Like, really really really mad.
At what, I don't know. Myself? The tires? The ground? Mat, for making me do something he knew I couldn't do? The unfairness of life itself? Doesn't matter. It wasn't rational. It was just the temper that I'd learned to control in most situations coming to the forefront, and I saw red.

This was now a fight to the death and I was going to win against those tires. More F-bombs flew out of my mouth and I raged as I adjusted the tires and the hose, desperately trying to just figure it out and make it work. The top tire kept falling off the pile. Finally, I stopped, threw the ends of the fire hose down, and looped it through all three of the tires together (it had only been looped around the bottom one, with the other tires piled on top; standard set-up which worked for everyone else). The problem with losing your cool and getting frustrated is that losing control often makes things worse, and just as Mat cautioned me to be careful with the fire hoses that still had the nozzles on the end, I whipped them around and knocked myself on the back of the head. Ouch. Didn't care. Re-adjusted, tried to use brute force to keep moving forward. The tires still toppled, and I had to go back and stack them up, and I swear if I could have cut them into little pieces and hurt them, I would have.

By this time I had barely made it to the end of the parking lot, and the other participant had long since finished and was waiting at the other end, with Mat. They were too far away to see or hear my face or words, but I'm sure they knew the point I was at, by my body language. The top tire just wouldn't stay on the pile, even though it was looped with the fire hose, and I got vengeful. I wanted that tire GONE. The problem is, there's no fast way to pull a rubber hose against a rubber tire, and even trying to take it out became an added level of frustration. Once free, I chucked that tire to the side and kept going with two tires, glaring at Mat the whole way. Threw the ends of the fire hose down with a satisfying clang of metal hitting pavement, and growled "no more of that drill. Done."

He looked at me. "Go get the tire." I looked back at him, huffing and puffing and sweating. Staring showdown. In his best stern parent voice, he repeated, "Go. Get. The tire." I wanted to argue, to say, "piss off" or "no, YOU get it" or "I'll get it at the end when we clean up" but I could also feel the tears coming and knew that a walk back across the parking lot and away from the others was probably for the best. Angry tears fell. I got the tire, and again hurled it as hard as I could, off to the side, when I got back to our starting point. It landed against the fence, close to where we pile the tires, and it might still be there, because I refused to touch it again.

Fortunately, Mat didn't expect me to. On the next round, we worked together to pull the pile of tires, and then the sledgehammers came out. Let me tell ya, I channeled all my rage into bashing the hell out of the tire. I was able, technically, to do the rest of the boot camp: push-ups, presses with the fire hose, waves and squats and a gazillion sledgehammer slams. Some zen-like balance work at the end, with eyes closed to challenge our senses. I did it all, but the damage was done from the very first drill. The mood was tense. I didn't talk, didn't want to look at anyone, and the script in my head was very different than the one I usually have.

"What's wrong with you? Why can't you do what everyone else is able to do? How come you're not getting any better? Are you stupid? You suck. Are you even doing this right? Slam that sledgehammer faster, pick up the pace, you're not even on par with everyone else and you're supposed to be better than this. Seriously, you can't go any faster than THAT? Your form is wrong. The hammer is bouncing, control it. Can't you do anything right? All you have to do is stand on one foot and hold your knee up for a second, and you can't even do that. You suck. You suck. You suck. You're trying your hardest and you still can't do it. Why aren't you getting stronger, getting better at this stuff? You're all talk. Poser. Fitness Pretender. What if this is as good as it gets?"

In the end, I still got a good workout. I kept going. And I did everything Mat asked of me. From his outside perspective, watching me, he said that it was good. That's because he couldn't hear what was in my head. To me, everything I did was wrong. I sucked.

So, once everything was cleaned up and put away, I just got in my car and left, mumbling something about having a good weekend. I was not out of the parking lot before the sobbing started. All through the balancing portion, when Mat had us close our eyes to remove one of our senses (and, as he explained later, to keep it just about ourselves, remove any other competition), I was glad for it because if anyone had looked closely they'd have seen my jaw and lips trembling, and when I opened my eyes the tears that had accumulated behind the dam of closed eyelids dropped onto my cheeks, mixing with the beads of sweat.

It became a life-lesson kind of day.

This is where I have to give Mat his moment of glory, because it was in the debriefing and reflective discussion that he truly shone, and the difference between personal trainer and fitness coach was apparent. A trainer might have let it go, or followed up during the next session. I was only home for a few minutes when I heard from Coach Mat. He followed up via text. "How are you feeling? Do you want to talk about it?" He combated just about every one of my arguments about why I sucked, with what he saw. "You are capable of achieving incredible feats. You have to be willing to look them in the eye and say 'yes I will,' and you did. I didn't see the tires falling, or the rock that was stuck under the tire. I saw your will of fire, the 'fuck this I am going to do it no matter what, even if I have to toss a tire in the grass' which, I might add, was quite impressive." Okay. The last part made me laugh and disarmed some of the anger. And "will of fire" sounds so much more poetic than "RAGE" doesn't it?

During the back and forth texting, he asked "You didn't quit, did you? You tackled what I asked you to do?" And that struck the nerve that this post is based on. When do I stop using that as the fall-back platitude? When do I say "not quitting" is good enough?

When we met for lunch to discuss the morning more thoroughly, I explained to him that my thought process is "well, if I can't be good at X, I'll be really really good at Y." Through school, it was "if I can't be good at sports, I'll be an excellent student." Which worked, most of the time, for motivation and dedication. I hung all my pride, all my hope, on being smart. I put all of my emotional eggs into one basket, so to speak, and when you do that and the basket breaks, you're pretty screwed. When I'd fail a test (and I did, occasionally, spectacularly), or somehow "lose" academically, I never really dealt with it well. That's what happened at Outdoor Fitness Challenge. I have put all my eggs in the "being strong" basket, thinking "well, if I can't be thin or pretty, I'll just focus on being really strong." So, when I'm not, I lose my cool.

If I had written or posted this immediately following the boot camp, the ending would have been something along the lines of "when does 'at least you didn't quit' stop being good enough?" That can't be the default platitude every time I have a bad workout or a temper-tantrum meltdown. "At least you didn't quit."

But is simply not quitting really so bad, if you're trying your best as you keep going, even if you're not actually GOOD yet? After the texts and the lunchtime conversation to debrief the day, as well as the distance and perspective provided by a good night's sleep, I feel a little differently about it. I still think I could and should be doing better. I expect more of myself. But, no matter how good someone is, nobody has 100% success rates. Sometimes, you DO suck. Aiming for 100% is okay if you don't truly expect to get there. Success rates vary from business to business, but none are ever close to 100%. When I worked at camp, we had incredibly high expectations of staff because these were children, people's most valuable possessions left in our care. In a cabin of 10 kids, if 9 had a great experience, that 90% success rate was not good enough because it meant that one child had a terrible or traumatic time. But 100% is not realistic. No matter how good I am at my job, I can't help every patron find the right book for them, every time. No matter how great a teacher is, they will not impact every single student in the same way. And no matter how awesome a coach is, he will have some clients who don't reach their goals. Still, for those of us who expect a great deal from ourselves, we continue to aim high, despite the over-reaction of anger and frustration when we fall short of our reach. There is a fine line between giving 100%, and expecting to attain 100%.

Maybe that's the only way to get better: just don't quit. I can't afford to put myself through the emotional hell that I did yesterday, every time. But my arms and legs can tell you that they definitely feel yesterday's workout today! Mat's last text sums it up: "You did good Barb and I'm proud of what you did today, even if you're not. You completed a workout without quitting, you smashed the shit out of that tire and regained focus, you did good. Now accept it and remember, next time you will crush it even more."

He's right. I can't compare how I performed one time with how well I performed a previous time. Factors change. All we can do is give our very best, every time, and hope that "better" eventually comes.

So, I guess I've answered my own question. When is your best not good enough?
Never.

And if there's a chance at free training sessions, you bet your patootie I'll be doing it through My Fitness Pal. I'll
overlook the fact that it makes it easier for Mat to check what I'm eating than my giant binder with photos that I'd bring him each month. Prizes! Free stuff! I'm in.

And, hopefully, I will also soon be back on track.

Which video is the best? You tell me! Vote for your favourite.

The Summer session of Outdoor Fitness Challenge started this week. The twice weekly, 8-week Spring session ended about two weeks ago. There were a few days when we had pictures taken, and I put them into video slideshow montages.

I just couldn't quite decide on which music mix to use, so I made 3 short videos. Feedback was that the pictures moved too quickly, so I added a fourth video which is longer, but lingers on each photo for those who want to see every drop of sweat or grimace of effort.

I'm going to leave it up to YOU to decide which one is the best! Watch them all then vote for your favourite. There's no real prize, here. Nothing more than sharing the videos with people who've heard us talk about the ODFC for the past two months. It gives us all a way of showing what we went through. As one friend who joined me for the drop-in option one morning observed, "Sufferfest was better than I thought." But it was still, some days, a sufferfest, and a camaraderie grew out of the shared experience: muscles that were sweaty, stiff and sore. And strong.

It's an outdoor boot-camp style of class, technically considered small-group personal training. I did it last summer, when it was brand new, and I was immediately hooked. So, when Mat offered it again this year, there was no hesitation for me to sign up (especially since it's the closest thing at the Y that can approximate training for obstacle course races, like the BadAss Dash). That friendships formed and strengthened was a bonus. It's one of the best things I can say about small-group training, in general: you get to know people in a way that you simply don't through classes or one-on-one training, but you also work with a personal trainer who can adapt a program for each participant.

Below are the videos. I hope they capture how much fun we had, while working our butts off.

Then, let us know which version you enjoyed the most!

A cornerstone to fitness is routine and habit. Whether it's making a schedule for exercise or maintaining healthy eating habits, it usually involves some kind of plan. It's when plans go awry that I get in trouble.

I've been in a solid routine through the weekdays, as far as working out. Personal training twice a week, Outdoor Fitness Challenge class twice a week, and a Tuesday evening back-to-back class schedule that fits beautifully into my work day. Those times are non-negotiable for me; I know I'm showing up, no matter what. I don't have to think about it. Weekends are far more hit-or-miss because of work and social obligations, but there are classes I can sometimes get myself to, or else those become my rest days.

In other words, it's been awhile since I've been on my own, trying to come up with my own workout.

That's the scenario I found myself in on Monday. I had a personal training hour booked for the evening (already a change in routine; I usually work Monday nights and train in the morning, but in June work demands a flexible schedule to accommodate school visits and outreach). Just as clients sometimes cancel on him at the last minute, Mat had a "life happens" situation and late afternoon I got the message that we were going to have to reschedule. Okay. Plan B.

Only, coming up with another plan can throw me off when I've been counting on Plan A. This has always been true for me, not dealing well with unexpected changes, and it's something I've had to work on to get much better with my reactions. As I saw it, I had a few options:

• Do nothing. "Oh well, Mat cancelled, guess I'm off the hook for the night."
• Find a friend to go back to the hill I tried on Sunday, to practice more hill runs.
• Check the Y's schedule to see what classes were offered in the evening.
• Go in and do my own workout. On my own. By myself.

I went back and forth for the rest of the day on which option to choose. I could have given myself any excuse to simply skip that day. I was tired. My throat hurt. I had a ton of work that could'a and should'a been done instead. It was raining (no hill runs). I didn't know who'd be around the Y or who taught the classes (no social impetus to motivate me). The classes which I'd have been interested in started too early for me to make it from work, or so late that I'd have to go home in between, losing momentum and making it exponentially less likely that I'd get my butt back out the door. Everything pointed to calling it a scrub day.

Except, there was a small voice in my head that said, "no." No. If you skip this planned workout just because Mat cancelled, then you are making this about him. You are relying too much on him. It's your body. It's your health. You can do this. Just go.

Without a plan, I showed up at the Y. Lesson number one: always keep your gym bag packed and ready in the car. I had done that in the morning, not fully knowing when I'd leave work or whether I'd go home in between. It made it possible to go directly to the gym; do not pass GO, do not collect $200. My mindset was to do SOMETHING, even if it was to just plug in the MP3 and jump on an elliptical. Second lesson: something is better than nothing.

It was about 20 minutes in to the sweaty elliptical routine when I started to think, "okay. You've done enough. We're bored and tired and there's still that mountain of chores to do. Let's go." And then I caught a glimpse in the mirror. I noticed who else was around. Two familiar faces, both clients of Mat's. I wasn't sure if they just happened to be there, or if he'd cancelled their sessions too. Either way, I noticed that we were all on machines (treadmills, for them; they can run).

An epic debate began in my head. Old me vs new me. Or, maybe it was lazy Barb vs competitive Barb. I don't know. The same little voice that said, "go. Do something" was saying "come on, how long have you been at this? You've learned nothing from Mat? Honestly. You are embarrassing yourself - and him - just hiding away on this machine." I needed a plan. It's a hangup I seem to have about doing anything other than easy cardio machines. There's an entire conditioning centre, and I've used just about everything in it, but it's always been with someone who's wearing a shirt that says "trainer." It's always been with a signal to everyone else that it's okay, I'm allowed to be here, someone is showing me what to do.

I felt like I didn't belong there otherwise.
I felt like I'd be judged.
I felt like everyone else knew what they were doing and I'd look like a fool.
Then, I felt like an idiot, because none of that is true.

Deep breath. Think. Watch the others and what they are doing. Calm yourself and THINK about what Mat would make you do. Form a plan.

Which is how I got off the elliptical and on to the Captain's Chair. I started with a few knee raises to do some core work, but mostly it was a mental game to remind me that I was the boss of myself. I am my own captain, steering my own ship. Sorry, Mat. My coach is awesome, but on this day I didn't need him.

Then I grabbed a medicine ball and a kettle bell. My hand hovered over the 15 lb. "Mat's not here, he won't know the difference." Wait. What? No way, Jose. I use the 25 lb in personal training, so I'm using it on my own. Start swinging. Do some pushups with the medicine ball. One hand on the ball, the other on the floor, push up, roll the ball to the other hand. 10 times each hand. Exactly as I've done countless times before. More swings. More pushups. A bit of stretching. Sprint for 3 minutes on the bike. Do a bit of rowing. Okay. Now. NOW you can say you've done a workout. Whether it was good or not, whether it was effective or well-planned, I finally got off the machines and used the conditioning centre like a big girl.

I can do this.

You know, I still need Mat. He watches my form when I'm using weights, which is why I haven't injured myself yet. He understands how to put together a program that makes sense. There are so many reasons to work with a personal trainer that I don't know how or when to say "it's enough, no more sessions." That's a blog post for another day. But I also think there's a danger in over-relying on someone else - anyone else - for your own health and fitness. This was a great reminder that I can be okay on my own. I just need to get smart and come in with a plan.

And I don't have to have an all-or-nothing reaction if those plans happen to change.