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."

"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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

Keep going. Whatever point you're at, do what you can, the best that you can. That's the moral of the story. Yeah, I'm giving away the ending. If you don't want to bear with me as I recount some anecdotes from the past few days, then know that the thread that ties them all together is that you have to put one foot in front of the other, and keep going.

Though, I feel compelled to point out that if you don't have the patience to read a slightly longer-than-normal post, then the whole point of "KEEP GOING" may be lost on you in the first place.
Just sayin'.

Friday's Personal Training: when I said NO.
We were playing Hit the Deck in personal training, Captain America-style. Every suit was a different exercise, and the number on the card told us how many of each I had to do. Mat let me suggest some of the exercises, even though he adjusted them, made them more difficult and complex and tied them in to the new Captain America movie. (Bosu ball = the shield!). I deliberately requested push-ups, because a few days prior I was struggling with them. I seemed to have lost my strength, and my usual response is that if there's something that is hard, or something I don't like, that's exactly the thing I should be doing. But, half way through that game, a push-up card came up, and I said "no." Mat stared at me. "What do you mean, 'no'?" he demanded. I shook my head. "No." Next card. Push-ups. I got the look from him. He got a look back from me. The next few cards were all push-ups, and it became a standoff. He was trying to figure out what was going on. "Is it your shoulders?" Nope. "Your chest?" Nope. "Then do your push-ups!" Nope. In that moment, I couldn't articulate what was going on in my head, why I was digging in my heels and refusing to do pushups. I saw the wheels spinning in his brain, having never truly come up against my stubbornness before. It's like trying to pull the sword from the stone: not humanly possible unless I decide you're the person who can do it. Most of the time, I don't resist what Mat asks of me, even if I don't feel like doing it, because he's doing exactly what I've asked of him : he's coaching and training me. He finally kept going until we got a non-push-up card, but he set the ones I'd said "no" to aside. I was running out of steam through the whole thing, but was at least able to do the Russian twists and medicine ball slams and Bosu burpees. Sort of. He finished with the last card, then looked down at the ones he had set aside. "So, what are we going to do about these?" he gently asked. The sword budged a little.

"Mat, it's my gut," I said. We'd done measurements at the start of the session. He knew how bad things were, how many inches and pounds I'd put on. "I don't have the strength in my arms and chest to do all the pushups from my feet, and when I go to my knees, all I can see is my gut hanging down. I can feel it touching the ground. The tears were THIS close to the surface, and I just didn't want to cry in front of you." Deep breath.
Him: "How can you see your stomach? Why are you looking that far down?"
Me: "Peripheral vision."
Him: "Close your eyes!"
Me: "I did! I could still FEEL it."
Him: "Do you think you can do them from the Bosu ball?" he asked. I got into position to try. As I psyched myself up, he suggested that I could also do them off the wall. In other words, there were options and modifications. He just wanted me to DO them and finish. One card at a time. I did a card, using the Bosu ball. "Do you think you can do six more?" I did. Next card. "How about four?" Card by card, push-up by push-up, we finished the deck together. Mat pulled the sword from the stone.

He had a little bit of time before his next client. Now, most trainers would probably have said, "the hour's over, we're done" or "I need to grab a bite to eat and take a break." Instead, he said, "I have some time if you want to chat. We can go down to the consult room." When he asked what happened, I said, "do you know how long it's been since I've had to drop to my knees for push-ups?"
Mat told me, "It happens. It's okay!"
"No, it's not." (Stubborn stubborn stubborn).
"Yes, it really is."

And that's how we ended the session, with the understanding that it's okay to not be able to do something today that you were able to do yesterday, or last month. With a promise to come up with an action plan, and a check in of "are you really okay?" No shame, no guilt. Just one single reproach: "Next time, don't just tell me 'no.' Tell me why."

Saturday: Group Core class
Given how Friday had gone, I had little motivation to make it to the Saturday classes I had promised people I'd attend. I was up three hours early, and still only left myself ten minutes to get to the gym, rushing in fairly late. Kept putting it off. I did not want to be there. A lot was riding on having a good workout, mentally. Fortunately, I'm comfortable with the Group Core routines, and it was a familiar and friendly instructor. By the end, I felt back in the groove of things. I hadn't done the lateral pushups as cleanly as in the past, and I kept my feet down for half of the Russian twists, but it didn't matter. The scripts for the Group Core and Group Power classes include "options." The instructors give you options and let you know which one to take if you want more of a challenge, and which ones to try if you want less, and they leave it up to you. Because it's part of the script, there's no judgment and no shame, and really nobody is watching what you're doing, anyway. The modifications are slight, and are similar enough to what everyone else is doing. I left the class starting to feel like I was getting back to my old self.

I probably should have stopped there.

Saturday: Boot Camp
Twenty minutes after Group Core, the noon-hour boot camp started. I'd seen this class run, but had never taken it. Between work, personal training, or my social life, it just wasn't a class I could make it to. With other friends having announced they'd be there, it seemed like a good week to give it a shot. It was, unfortunately, also a week which was not representative of how it's usually run. The three volunteers who are known for that class were off. It was a pity, because they offer three levels of physical ability and therefore provide options to follow. As an observer, I thought the class seemed like one that could be taken by almost anyone, at any level of ability. On this day? Not so much. It was running. Like, a LOT of running. And when we weren't running, we were lunging, squatting, and generally doing high impact or knee-intensive motions. It only took about 20 minutes into the 60 minute class for my knees to start making their displeasure with me known. "We are not happy that you are torturing us! We are going to retaliate with pain! If you do not cease and desist, retribution will be swift!" I wanted to bail. I really really did. I just ... I couldn't. I had to keep going. I thought, "you've been in enough classes, you've been trained, you can figure out your own modifications, even if they're not providing suggestions." So, when the group ran back and forth from one side to the other, I thought "what is it they're wanting us to get out of this? Heart rate up? Okay. I'll do half-Jacks, the low-impact version of Jumping Jacks." Only, it was humiliatingly obvious that I was taking an option. I stood out like a sore thumb. As I walked in a circle, as quickly as I could while most of the other participants ran past me, another guy caught up to me and said, "this feels a lot like gym class." And I knew that he didn't mean it in a good way.

It was an eye-opening experience, because it had been a long time since I'd taken a class where I felt that way. Overly visible. Embarrassed. Other. It went against everything I've said about classes at the Y: that nobody is watching you, nobody is judging you. Whether they were or not, I sure felt like all eyes were on me. Not a good feeling.

Sunday: Swim
After the Saturday boot camp, my knees were killing me. Like, old-lady-needs-a-walker creaking and cracking KILLING me. I needed something low impact. I needed something I was good at. I needed to feel successful and invisible and confident all at the same time. So I went back to my roots, and got into the pool. It was lane swimming that got me going on the fitness journey, and it's my go-to at times like this when I need a re-set. Back to the basics. But I was reminded of how swimming got me over some big hurdles, both physically and metaphorically. One lane at a time. Don't think about how long you have been in the water, or how many lengths in total you have to do. Take it one lap at a time until you get to ten. And another ten. And another. And so on.

Come on, let's get to the point already!
On Friday, I resisted the idea that it was okay to take the option. I felt weak for even needing to. By Saturday, I was wishing that options were provided. In both cases, it was my pride that got in the way. All mental. And in both cases, the key was not whether I could do the entire class at full intensity, it was to finish. To keep going. To do my best with what I had in that moment. It may not have been my all-time best, but that doesn't matter. Mat knew it. He didn't care how well I did or how many I did, I think he just knew that it was important that I finish (or else he'd be facing some much bigger mental hurdles to have to coax my butt through in the future).

If you want to change, you have to put one foot in front of the other. The only alternative is to stay stuck.

Keep. Going.

It's time to give my Fitness Coach his due. Mat did two things in our session last night. He pointed out that I hadn't written about him in awhile. (Groan. But, it's true). And he came up with a last-minute killer workout that did exactly what I needed it to. He deserves to have his praises sung, I'll give him that.

There are lots of great and obvious reasons why people work with personal trainers. In the future I'll compile advice and tips for when you're looking for your own, 'cause you can't all have mine! I've written before about how I chose Mat, how I finally went from group training to one-on-one sessions. For now, I'll keep him happy and make it all about why I am lucky to have found my Fitness Coach.

Last night was a great example. I emailed him late in the afternoon to say "I'm having a crap day. I need a stress release. I don't know what you have planned ... but can you bring out the boxing gloves?" Here's where I have to confess that I enjoy hitting and punching things, working out aggression through medicine ball slams and other rage-y exercises. It's something I discovered while working with Mat, when he introduced new implements like the sand bag, after taking a workshop at his own professional development conference. At any rate, when I got to the gym, he had an intense and exhausting HIIT-style circuit ready for me. "I designed this for you with an angry heart!" he proudly told me. It worked. I left that place ready to crawl into bed, the stress of the day gone, no longer feeling like I was balancing on a precarious ledge.

When they asked me to write a testimonial about the personal training experience, this story is the one that came to mind, because it so perfectly captured all the elements that work for me:

Knowledge
You get focused attention from an expert who knows how to adapt a program to your needs. That stretch wasn’t in his plan, but he knew what I needed and how to show me. I told him what I needed ("stress-release therapy") and with little advance notice, he was able to come up with a plan that worked. He is always learning, developing professionally, and I respect that above everything. (Hello: Librarian and teacher, here!). He also shares the knowledge, wants you to learn it for yourself, and so he explains the what and the why. It's what makes him a coach more than just a trainer putting you through your paces. He expects you to grow.

Motivation and Accountability
He pushes me, challenges me, and forces me out of my comfort zone. He won’t let me tell myself “I can’t.” When I meet those challenges, it doesn’t just give me a better workout or change the shape of my body, it builds confidence. When Mat tells me to do something that seems outrageous or impossible, I give him a look, and he just says "don't look at me like that, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could do it." Most of the time he's right, and that's the reason I've seen progression. It's the reason I've even attempted things that I'd always told myself were off the table (like weight lifting). "Don't underestimate me," he says. "Dude. I'm not. I'm underestimating ME," I tell him. Sometimes you need someone else to believe in you, to show you that you CAN, so that you can start to believe in yourself.

Trust
He’s there to catch me when I fall, and he has literally “got my back.” I know I’m always safe, physically and emotionally, especially because he checks in and asks. I don't know if he even realizes the significance the phrase "I'm right here" has for me, but with the trust he's built, I know he really is right there. And when my arm gives out on that last rep because he's done his job and given me just enough weight to press, he knows when he has to actually catch the barbell and when I've got it.

Personal Connection
We have fun. We laugh. Because of that, exercise has become something I enjoy, not just something I have to do. It can be as simple as joking during rests, or as complex as coming up with a themed workout. I knew I could work with Mat as a coach when he led a Zombie Apocalypse workout in class just before Dec 21, 2012. Now, that's a sense of humour that works for me!


Ultimately, the strength has to come from within myself. He can’t do the work for me. MY core has to hold me up, keep me in balance. That giant stability ball is like life: throwing you off balance, giving you every excuse to fall off and fail. But Mat is there, standing behind me, coaching, cheering, correcting, watching, instructing, supporting, praising and motivating. It's not an easy profession he's chosen. I'm only one of many clients demanding his time and energy. I've nearly squashed him, taken him down with me a few times, when I have almost fallen off the ball of life. Yet he's helped me get back on each time.

A fitness coach helps you stay on the ball.

I’ve been working with Mat since January 2013. While I have lost 100 lbs and am still working towards weight loss, what has been truly life-changing is my shift in focus towards fitness and strength training. Much of that comes from him and what we focus on. With the increase in my physical strength has come mental strength. It’s not about what I’ve lost, but what I’ve gained. Confidence. Resilience. Pride. Respect. Health. Happiness.

And it’s because I have a great fitness coach in my corner.
"Thank you" just doesn't seem like nearly enough for someone who has changed your life for the better.

Because I raised the most money for Megathon of all his clients, I got to train Mat for an hour on Saturday. (More on Megathon, and my personal challenge, another day - once I process the experience and figure out how to edit & upload the video footage). Now, for most people, the chance to exact payback on their personal trainer and fitness coach would be a carrot to dangle in front of them, enticing and encouraging them to solicit more donations. It wasn't really on my radar until very generous friends and family started giving, and I realized it was likely that I'd have to come up with a plan. $2200 later (that's 11 children assisted by the Strong Kids campaign, for a year's membership at the YMCA, camp weeks, swim lessons, etc.), and we found ourselves with an audience of Y staff and regulars, all wanting to see Mat sweat a little. Well, okay. A lot. They wanted to see punishment!

I had a few goals when planning this workout. I wanted it to be safe and not actually hurt or punish him. I wanted it to be hard, to make him sweat and have to bring some kind of intensity. I wanted to see if I could do it, if I could plan a workout that made sense. I wanted it to be fun for me and for Mat. And I knew it would have to entertain, if people were just going to sit and watch someone work out for an hour.

Which is how we ended up doing Jedi Training.

Sadly, I am not very good at planning a training program, so it wasn't particularly balanced or in a very logical order. Bit of a fail on that end. I kind of approached it half like a camp theme day and half like a library PD day program. Still, I came up with a lot of potential ideas and one of the hardest things was to narrow it down to what could be done in an hour. This is what I ended up choosing:

Use the Force Bosu Balance
As we were getting near the end of things, I wanted to throw in some balance stuff. I also wanted to incorporate my plastic lightsabers, because that's not something you get to use every day! My original plan called for having Mat stand on the Bosu ball, with one knee raised up, holding that position while passing an object back and forth in his hands, keeping his arms up the whole time. He'd had me do that a few weeks ago with a medicine ball. I was going to have him use the lightsaber. However, I realized that a lot of the people watching had been sitting for awhile and were probably getting a bit bored. My library programmer instinct kicked in, and I said, "who's going to join him in the last few rounds?" So it turned into a much more fun, albeit less workout-y, lightsaber battle. One guy balancing on an overturned Bosu, another on the balance board, hacking away at each other like little boys. Audience members (myself included) enjoying every minute of it.

There was still time left in the hour, for which I was not completely prepared. I had a few backup ideas up my sleeve, but they were all a bit too intense for the ending and I hadn't formulated the ideas all the way in my head. (How to turn centipedes into AT-AT walks, for example. Or chin-ups.). So, I set one last challenge. "Who's going to join Mat for..."

Hyperspace Holds
It became a plank challenge, simply to see who could hold a plank for the longest, and who could outlast Mat. There were 4 brave souls who joined him on the floor. Two of them were kids. I tell you what, those kids kicked butt. They held their planks for an eternity! Long enough that I gave them the plastic "may the force be with you" bracelets that I had intended for Mat, had he completed his training.

So, I think it was fun. I definitely came away with more of an appreciation for the planning that goes into training, not to mention the knowledge and education required as a foundation, and not just by Mat. He wasn't the only personal trainer around, some of his colleagues and coworkers were watching. At one point I was distracted, trying to take pictures of the lightsaber duel, and the boys said, "how much longer do we have to do this?" I said, "uh, another minute." A voice behind me laughed. "Spoken like a true trainer," she said. "Always 'one more minute." I also got to feel what it's like on the other side. I usually am the one who's sweating, cursing, thinking "this is so hard!" It's actually kinda boring standing there, watching, especially when you don't know what you're looking for. And when I could see that something I'd planned was causing pain, I didn't know how to modify it. Communication was key: I may not be quite so quick to roll my eyes every time Mat asks how I'm doing or what my knees are feeling. I roll my eyes because I think to myself, "stupid question, isn't it obvious?" But ... no. No, it's not obvious.

Seems like we are always in training, Mat and I. Even when I think I'm coaching him, I'm still learning.

I found out tonight that Outdoor Fitness Challenge, or something similar, will be back again this spring and summer. Given the brutal and seemingly eternal winter we've been having, this seemed like as good a time as any to look back on those summer mornings spent in the parking lot of the YMCA.

Flipping tires.
Flicking battle ropes.
Carrying sandbags.
Pulling fire hoses while planking.

Feelin' Bad.Ass.

Running around the picnic shelter, over and under picnic tables, grabbing and chucking tennis balls in the grass, doing pushups off of tires, running ladder drills, hill sprints, and holding squats. Basically, doing whatever Mat felt like making us do. It was small group training at its best, and I loved it.

What worked for me was not just the size of the group, or the activities themselves. Don't get me wrong: they were hard, they were fun, and they were something completely new and foreign to me. The thing that worked FOR ME was that it was outside. We only had a few days of extreme heat - which often included freezies at the end! - and it was not a particularly humid summer. In fact, some of the very early mornings were a bit chilly. It felt ... well, it felt a lot like summer camp. Like getting up early, when the mist was still rising on the lake, heading down for morning dip. That's the feeling I got when I pulled into the parking lot for those early mornings. There was a bond, a comeraderie with the others in the group, the ones who'd dragged their butts out of bed to be there with you.

I spent some part of every summer between the ages of 8 and 30 at summer camp. It's in my blood. You bet your butt I loved the Outdoor Fitness Challenge. And I was pretty wistful and nostalgic when it was over.

I didn't fall in love with it at first, though. After two rounds of "Biggest Loser" (another small-group program), I was more confident, but I still had a moment when I emailed Mat and said, "um, are you SURE that I can do this? It's not going to be too much for me?" His reply? "Don't worry. I'll bring out your inner Ninja." Not exactly the reassurance I was looking for.

Sure enough, after the first day, I thought I was gonna die. Smashing battle ropes against the pavement for a few minutes burned out my arms out in a way I hadn't felt before! I think I said afterwards, "man, I thought I was in shape. I guess not." But this was simply a whole new level. And I was starting over from the bottom. By the time the 8 weeks had come and gone, I was no longer as intimidated by the kinds of things Mat threw at us. It was always still hard - or as hard as you wanted to make it - but I didn't feel like the Tin Man for days afterwards.

I have to remind myself that this is what I signed up for, with the Badass Dash. Those obstacles on the course will make a tractor tire and fire hose seem like a Fruit Loop and shoelace. But the training? The training for the race will be where the community happens, where nature and fitness come together once again. I hope that this year's training days and times will work into my schedule as beautifully as they did last year.

Now we just need the snow to melt and the sun to come out, already, so things can warm up.
Or the sun beating down on the pavement will remain a distant memory.


* I should note that this really WAS a group training, even though all the pictures are of me. I just didn't want to post photos of people who haven't given their permission. I wasn't the only one crazy enough to show up at the crack of dawn to get my butt handed to me. Honest.