It's been awhile since I've spent a Sunday in the gym, "working out." Sometimes I'll go for the lane swim. I've tried the morning yoga class. But, more often, Sunday is the day that I do things with friends and it's very often active. Especially in the summer.

This weekend I tried kayaking. It had been planned for some time, but with the cold, rainy weather we've had lately, I didn't think it would happen. As it turns out, it was a great day to be outside, on a little lake, enjoying nature and one of the last days of summer weather. It couldn't have been more perfect.

It hasn't been deliberate, equating Sundays with trying new active things, or getting together with friends in fit and healthy ways. It's usually because it's the one day of the week that people have off work and are able to make plans.

But I got thinking about the spiritual side of exercise. Finding Fitness. Is it a little like finding religion? I mean, what do people get out of spirituality? They get a direction for their life, a purpose. They get strength. Sometimes they get a social group out of it, because you're with like-minded people. Most often, they get peace, a way to find an inner calm in a society of chaos.

"Working out" doesn't always do that for me. However, physical activity DOES. It's why I think it's really important to find something that you enjoy. The working out in the gym allows me to do these fun, adventurous things with people in my leisure time. On occasion, the gym IS the social aspect, or what I accomplish doing something hard or something new or something fun in a workout IS the peace or confidence I'm seeking.

And the physical strength that I build in the gym translates pretty directly to an increase in overall strength: emotionally, mentally, and - yes - spiritually. In a recent article about female bodybuilders, Dani Shugart wrote why women train, even when they're not entering competitions: "We train for mental clarity. We train because the goal of fat loss is soul-sucking, cliché, and mostly unenjoyable. We train because we'd rather look like Wonder Woman than Barbie. We train to be the type of woman nobody wants to mess with. We train to build grit. We train for habitual excellence. We train for ourselves."

I guess it really all works together. The pursuit of fitness is the purpose and direction I'm trying to base my life around, and I get a lot of the same benefits out of it that many people do by pursuing religion. It supports and enhances all other aspects of my life.

Why this never occurred to me before, I don't know. I only made the connection yesterday when, in a conversation with Mat about having to decide how much I have time to do and what I can afford to pursue, he reminded me (again), that I am not doing this for him. I don't exercise for anyone else, I do it for myself. "You find what works physically, financially, spiritually, etc." he told me.

Spiritually.
That word jumped out at me. Seemed a bit odd and out of place, but the more I think about it, the more sense it makes.

Fitness is becoming my new religion. And I can worship anywhere.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, well, Friday happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Antecdotally, we know that exercise improves mood. I've talked about it. Others have explained it. Brain-based science has demonstrated that the body's endorphins are increased and released after exercise. Which is also probably why doctors recommend exercise to patients with depression.

There is now evidence that the dose of exercise impacts the effect on patients when it's prescribed for treatment of depression, whether it is in conjunction with medication, or instead of. In a Psychology Today article called "Dose Matters: Exercise as an antidepressant" it was found that the groups in the study who did exercise alone, or exercise with medication, had lower relapse rates than the group who had medication alone. Even when drugs are used or needed to treat depression, the effects are longer lasting with exercise. The amount, frequency, and intensity of the exercise makes a difference. "The magic numbers equate to 3-5 days/week of rigorous exercise for 45-60 minutes (e.g. jogging or biking, or using a treadmill or stationary bike)—similar to current public health recommendations."

It was also found that, as for "the benefits of morning bright-light exposure on mood and sleep quality, that an outdoor workout in the morning will augment exercise’s effect even further."

Hmmm. Outdoor morning workout, of rigorous exercise for 60 minutes, multiple times a week? Sounds like Outdoor Fitness Challenge (a.k.a. boot camp) to me. No wonder I am happier in the summer!

And here I thought it was all the beer-on-patios, backyard barbeque sunny days.
Turns out, tires and sledgehammers are good for much more than just building muscle.
They're the best way to fight off depression.

Today's post is all about F-words. Fear. Failure. Frustration. Fat. Fitness. And, yeah, I was totally dropping F-bombs in Outdoor Fitness Challenge this morning.

It was mostly out of frustration, because I am not good at being bad at things. And it was a morning when everyone else was faster, stronger, better and I just kept losing. We had to loop a fire hose ("Firehose!" - another F word) through a tire and pull it like a work horse, and then stack another tire on, drag it back around the giant tire, and so on, until we were pulling a stack of 4 tires. I kept getting myself stuck as I tried to manoeuvre around the giant tire. At one point I shouted: "I HATE PHYSICS!" The thing is, not all the tires are the same size or weight, and the pavement is uneven, and turning a pile of tires is like turning the Titanic (it happens slowly and in a wide arc, you can't do it in a tight turn), and we'll just go with THAT as the reason I was sucking so badly. I don't usually make noises when I work out, the way lots of people do. I sweat, and I glare, and I pull ugly faces, but I don't grunt. Today, I felt a level of frustration that required some primal scream therapy and I let out a few "aaaaarghs" along the way. It made me feel a tad better, but didn't help with the momentum. On the last round, when the others were done and I had one tire left - the biggest, honey-cruller tire that we all try to avoid - I threw down my fire hose and said, "Fuck it." Yes. I gave up. I capital-F Failed. Because, no matter how bad you are at something, you really don't fail until you stop trying, but I'd had enough. We were running out of time, or Mat probably would have made me finish, but I think even he could see that I was at a tipping-point of frustration with myself.

I don't like to fail. I mean, nobody does, but I don't deal with it very well. Which is probably why, for most of my life, I didn't often try things unless I had a sense I'd be good at it right away. I'm learning to overcome that, and in fact have been going out of my way to try new things lately. Any new thing, especially if I never even thought I wanted to do it. Some have surprised me, when I expected to be terrible and was far better than anyone would have guessed. (Firearms. Shot a hole dead centre through the X in the target!). Some things I've been as bad at as anticipated, but I didn't care, it was just for fun, so it is much easier to see the humour it in. (Frisbee, anyone? It's a comedy of errors when I play). It is when I take something seriously, like being strong or not losing, or when it's something that I have been able to do in the past and all of a sudden one day I can't, that's when I get super frustrated. 

Fear also rules a lot of what I do and don't do. It's more than just a fear of failure. Sometimes it is a physically paralyzing fear. On Wednesday morning, in the outdoor class that did not get rained out, we used the giant tires to do burpees off of. All well and good. Until Mat says, "can you jump up on the tire?" Like, a box jump? Like, actually land on the tire and NOT do a face-plant into the centre? That is exactly what he meant. Jump from a standing/crouching position onto the tire and jump back down. Before making it part of the burpee, he had to see if we could each do it. When it came down to it, I had a lot of false starts, my mind saying "jump!" but the message not translating to my legs or feet. What they heard was "NO! This will hurt! You will fall! You can't make it!" Eventually I did it, but it slowed my burpees right down. What should have been "burpee (plank, jump the feet in, jump up), box jump, tire flip, repeat" became more "burpee, pause pause pause try to box jump pause false start box jump, tire flip, repeat." I knew I could do it. I was trying to do it. Initially, I wasn't sure I could. The very first one took the longest and Mat was patient and coaxed me through it. "What is it, your knees or that you'll fall?" he asked. "Both," I muttered. I tried to visualize myself jumping up and back down. "Don't over-think it," he advised, "that's what's holding you back." I finally stepped up, and jumped down, to see what it would feel like. I did half of the jump. And then I kept almost starting until I finally did it. Didn't even Faceplant.

You know, it was a lot like when I taught swimming lessons. I watched dozens of children do the exact same thing when learning to dive. Get into position. Crouch. Tense up. Just when you think they're going to launch themselves in, they stop. Fear freezes them. Same with me and the tire. Fear kept physically holding me back from completing the motion. It was not a conscious action; I really didn't have full control between my brain and my body. I suppose the fact that I did it in the end was a small victory, though it shouldn't have taken as long as it did for me to get it.

Jumped a tire on Wednesday. Fear. Had a great personal training session on Thursday (including more than one compliment from Mat, leaving me Flummoxed ... another F word). Fitness. And failed fantastically at being first with the fire hose and tires on Friday. Frustration.

I'll just have to take everything from this week and use it to fuel the fire in the future.
Feel the fear, and do it anyway.

Fortitude.

They say that the first step to addressing a problem is admitting you have one. Clearly, I know that disordered eating is an issue for me. What makes it tricky to sort out is exactly HOW it is a problem, because that affects the way I handle it.

Why is it that some times I can say no, and at other times my willpower completely fails me? Why is it that some foods hold more sway over me than they do over someone else (and vice versa)? More to the point, what do I do about it? How do I decide what is the best course of action, until I really understand the "why" behind my eating?

I was tasked with identifying what type of hunger I was fueling when I ate, not just tracking calories and macronutrients in a food journal, but also considering WHY I was eating at that time. It goes a long way to explaining why I'd choose a particular food.

What need am I meeting when I eat? I need to learn to ask myself before I choose something (not after, in hindsight): "What is this doing for me? What is this doing for my body? And are the answers in sync, or in opposition?"

Stomach
We can't survive without food. I suppose life would be easier if we could, because there would be no constant struggle for choice. But we need to eat. It's fuel. And when we eat to fuel our body, when we choose based on that physical need, we're feeding our stomach. The meals that are planned in advance fall into this category. The snacks that balance out the macros (protein, carbohydrates, fat) fall into this category. When I eat before and after a workout, when I eat because otherwise I'd pass out, when I eat because it's been too long since the last time I ate, I am fueling the stomach hunger.

Sometimes when you feel hungry, you may actually be thirsty. It's a sign that you're starting to become dehydrated. Drinking water on a regular basis helps to stem some hunger pangs, and if you are diligently tracking your food intake and feel like you are eating enough but still feel hungry, try some water and see if it helps. It occurred to me once, as I was feeling a tad peckish at the mall, and instead of food I bought a bottle of water. The impulse to chug it down told me I hadn't had enough water that day, and sure enough, I felt much better and no longer hungry after a few minutes. Craving crisis averted.

Heart
Most people eat on an emotional level to some extent. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about: at least three days a month the chocolate cravings kick in along with those hormones, amirite? It's a coping mechanism for stress and sadness. Emotional eating is a bit of a conditioned response. I think we often give it a negative connotation, but the emotional eating can be positive, too. Celebrations often focus around food. We socialize and bond over food. So, many comfort foods become associations with events. Thanksgiving and Christmas just wouldn't be the same without dressing (or stuffing, depending on your family's lexicon). Because of that, comfort foods are not necessarily "bad" ones, or the highly addictive foods. It's whatever you've learned to associate with feeling better. It can be cultural. It's learned. And it doesn't matter who you are, there is something that you turn to that makes you feel better when you're upset, stressed, angry, sad, or bored. Whatever that is, recognizing that you're eating to fuel your heart - your emotions - is important. It's not a bad thing, until it gets out of control or if it prevents you from dealing with your feelings and then moving on.

Head
Distinguishing between the head and the heart is hard. They intersect, overlap, and look similar in some cases. Another complication is that the head holds both the mouth and the brain. Mouth hunger is all about cravings. You want a texture, a specific taste or smell. Salty or sweet? Crunchy or creamy? You know you're not hungry because there's a fridge full of veggies but you open every cupboard looking for something that you want, something that will satisfy. That means the hunger is in your head.

But head also means the mind, and so I'm including eating disorders in this one. Because Binge Eating is not usually about an emotional response, and it's not about mouth hunger. That may be a trigger, hence then confusion. But, for me, once a true binge is triggered, it's all head from there.

I think that food addiction also falls into this category. I've been trying to research food addiction and there's a lot of information to wade through. It seems that sugar addiction is the most widely studied and acknowledged. Sugar appears to be as addictive as cocaine. On a less severe scale, food companies spend billions to perfect the balance in the sugar-fat-salt trifecta. Which is why a lot of processed food and fast food are so damn hard to resist. The more you have, the more you want. Sounds an awful lot like addiction to me.

Unpacking the real difference between cravings and addiction is the messy part. Scientists and sociologists will argue the difference between the two. The devil is in the details. For me, the important part is taking action. And if it helps me to treat cravings and binges and an eating disorder as an addiction, so be it. It's something I'll be thinking about and writing about in the next few weeks.

In the meantime, I find myself thinking more about my surroundings. Too many times, the answer to "why are you eating this? Why are you craving this?" is "well, because it's there."

Learning to be mindful about eating is part of my current process.
It comes back to the 5 W's: not just for good research, reporting, and writing!

Who do I eat with - who influences me?
What do I eat?
Where do I eat?
When do I eat?
Why do I eat?

I sat in my car after personal training today, bawling like a baby.
This is a rare occurrence.

Mat had sent me a link to a video, in an email that just said, "this reminded me of you today." As I watched the clip on my phone, rain pouring down the windshield, the tears came streaming as what he meant sunk in.

This hit me right in the emotions. I think it was because the email came so immediately after the hour of personal training to which Mat was referring, and I watched it before even leaving the YMCA parking lot. So I was relating to it on a deeply personal level.

It was a tough hour with a lot of sweat and very little rest. We were in a multipurpose room all to ourselves, and Mat had pulled out all the toys that told me from the moment we started that this was going to be an intense training. Boxing gloves. Sand bag. Weighted vest. And a no-nonsense, not-here-to-be-your-friend, you'll-do-what-I-tell-you attitude. Dude was out for blood, sweat and tears. He got two out of the three.

I was panting harder than a dog in summer, after 5 minutes of warming up.

Near the end of the hour, he had me planking and pulling the sand bag through, from one end of the room to the other, with 30 mountain climbers at each end. "For every time you put your knee down on the floor, you have to do 30 more mountain climbers," he told me sternly. My shoulders ached. My butt kept sticking too far up in the air, prompting a broken record of "BUTT DOWN, BARB!" from Mat. He doesn't usually use my name, so when he does, I know he's not messing around.

Half way through round two, my shoulders gave out. Or, rather, I let them. Maybe it was my mind that gave out. Despite the consequence of more mountain climbers (meaning more time on my hands, which would tire my shoulders out more), I dropped for a break. "Fuck," I sighed. As I moved back and forth, Mat both encouraged and cajoled, to keep me going. "Don't listen to your mind. Keep going. Keep going." After giving him the extra 30 mountain climbers, and a brief rest, I went for the third round. "Don't let your knees drop. You can do it."

I have to tell you: it was HARD. I could feel the blood pressure in my face, knowing how beet-red it was. My arms shook. I was clinging to that floor for dear life. Gritting my teeth, making every ugly barbarian face imaginable. And I did it. No knees.

Then.
Then he says, "you're almost done. 5 minutes. Russian twists with the sand bag."

I started to laugh. Uncontrollably. I mean, I barely made it through what I thought was the final exercise of the hour. I sat slumped against the wall, unable to feel my upper arms beyond the burn, panting profusely, and he thinks I can slam a 25 pound sand bag from side to side?

"What are you laughing for?" he asked, in all seriousness. "I wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't think you could." I laughed even harder. He waited. I caught my breath, calmed the giggles, and picked up the sand bag.

And I slammed the hell out of it, back and forth, 30 times.

So, it was in that context that he sent the video. I don't know why it made me cry. I know it was supposed to be inspirational. (Don't worry, Mat; it was. You did good). I know he was proving his point: he knew I could do it, and I did. I just had to get out of my own way and stop doubting myself. It's the kind of thing that makes total sense on a motivational poster. Your body won't go where your mind won't let it. Mind over matter. Believe you can, and you will. We say it often, but do we really mean it? Or do we even recognize the value of fortitude at times other than the big game, the grand finale, the climax of the story?

This was supposed to be just another workout on a wet and rainy Thursday, before going about my regular work day. There was no swelling music in the background. No crowd cheering. No competition. Just Mat, standing there with his arms folded, expecting something of me.

Believe me, I thought every single thing that football player said in the video:
- "it hurts"
- "he's heavy"
- "my arms burn"
- "it's too hard"

And Mat paraphrased the Coach: "Don't tell me you can't give me more than what I've been seeing."

I don't know how we learn to dig deeper and give our actual best, a true 100%. Except that when someone is beside you, believing in you, expecting it from you, even if you think they're nuts, it somehow becomes possible. It is the expectation that smashes the limits you set on your self.

The mind is so powerful. When you give yourself a limit, you work within that limit.

And that's probably why I was crying. Once you realize that you have it in you, you have to face the harsh truth that whatever excuse you give yourself, it's just that: an excuse. It's a lot scarier to admit that you can do more than you think, more than you allow yourself, because then you have to live up to those expectations. Even when it's on a small scale. You raise your own bar. Nobody really wants to ask the question "can I honestly do more? have I done my very best?" because we know the answer.

You can do more. You can always do more.

"Don't quit until you've given your very best. Keep going. Don't give up. It's all heart from here."

Mat proved me wrong today. Well, as he pointed out, I actually proved myself wrong.
I don't usually like to be wrong.
Today, I am okay with it.