Acceptable Discrimination?

An open letter to Dick’s Sporting Goods and all stores of their ilk:

When a company touts themselves as a “sporting goods store,” one would think they are a purveyor of all things athletic. I was impressed when I walked into the glossy, fancy Dick’s Sporting Goods – it was clean, bright, and welcoming. That welcome, however, wore out as soon as I realized there was nothing there for me.

I am an athlete. I may not look like an athlete to you, DICK’s, but I enjoy many of the same pursuits as the athletes you feel are more “acceptable.” It is disheartening, to say the least, to be excited to get a windbreaker, perhaps some new leggings, or even a freakin’ sweatshirt, and find that there is not one plus size article of clothing to be had in your store.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I will admit that I can fit into larger-sized men’s athletic clothes, BUT I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO.

Discrimination against the obese is one of the last “acceptable” forms of judgement. In some ways, I get it. You look at people like me and see a fat person; you assume you are looking at someone who eats like shit, someone who doesn’t care about their appearance, and someone who is unhealthy. You, DICK’s, couldn’t be more wrong. In fact, providing your heavier customers with a selection of plus size athletic gear would be a tip of the hat to those of us who endeavor to be active.

Listen, I don’t expect to walk into every store and find something in my size. I’m not going to stroll into The Gap, Urban Outfitters, or J. Crew and expect to find something in my size, because hey are not stores for plus size women. However, you and your ilk are SPORTING GOODS STORES. You should make a point to fit all athletes, not just the ones who wear under an XL.

The fat athletes are here. We are not going away. Whenever an obese athlete comes to your stores and can’t find their size, you are losing money. You lost money yesterday, DICK’s, simply because you couldn’t add an extra couple of racks for a plus size athlete. In fact, you’ve lost even more cash, because I will not patronize your store in the future, no matter what my size, and I will not recommend you to my “normal sized” friends, either.

With disdain,

Erin Merritt, Fat Athlete

P.S. For my friends out there looking for plus size cycling gear, check out Fat Lad at the Back (https://fatladattheback.com/) in the UK. They are inspirational and just frickin’ awesome.

The Dirty Duel

This past weekend I “raced” in the Dirty Duel – a 3.6 trail run through Robinette’s, Provin, & Kuyper College Trails. This race is touted as “the toughest 5K you’ll ever run,” and is a Trail Runner Magazine “Top 15 fall race under 15 miles.”

WHAT THE F&%K WAS I THINKING?

It was around 25° that morning. Even for me, that’s cold. I made sure that Jameson and I were both prepared – we got gloves, base layers, windbreakers, and hats. As we left for the race that morning I was predictably sweating to death, but was thankful for the extra layers come start time.  

There were approximately 680 runners. A couple of folks were wearing shorts. It was insane.

When everyone started lining up, I gravitated toward the back of the pack. I was told by the race organizers that slow runners and walkers were asked to leave last, so as not to clog up the trails. This meant that I was separated from the more experienced runners in our group, including my darling son. He was planning to run the “Short & Brutal” course, while I was opting to walk the “Long & Difficult.” I was feeling pretty OK. I was nervous, but there were several other participants around me, so I figured I wouldn’t be alone. Boy, was I wrong.

The runners were released about twenty at a time. When it came to my group, it quickly became apparent that I WAS THE ONLY PERSON walking this course. After my wave was released, I was immediately passed by the remaining runners/joggers, and was alone for the rest of the race. I mean, completely alone. I didn’t see anyone in front, or behind me the entire course.

The race twisted and curved through the woods, the Kuyper College campus, the orchard, and then again through the woods. There were times where I was legitimately worried that I was lost, because I was so far in, on a tiny single track trail, with no discernible direction. The only thing that was keeping my fear at bay was the sounds of traffic coming from the Beltline. I knew that if darkness fell, I could probably make it back to civilization before the threat of hypothermia and starvation became a reality.

So I walked. I kept walking. I talked to myself, I sang a song, I cursed, and I almost cried, but I soldiered on. I’m here to tell you, dear friends, that the Dirty Duel was completely brutal. I went on a 3.6 mile hike, completely alone, terribly out-of-shape, and completely unprepared.

And then I was finished. Just like that.

My tribe was waiting for me, having changed to warmer clothes, and stuffed themselves with fresh, warm donuts and cider. There were pictures taken, and I got the report on everyone else’s race (two of our group made it to the podium, which is so inspiring). My son gave me a huge hug. I was approached by one of the race coordinators, and was given a special prize from Merrell (one of the sponsors) for finishing LAST.

Yep, I finished dead last. Other than the fact that all of you can look up my time online, you may be wondering why I’m admitting to my last place finish at the Dirty Duel. You may be asking yourselves why I would put my failure out here for everyone to see; that everyone will now know out 680 participants I came in LAST. Here’s your answer:

I SHOWED UP. I took forever, it was really, really hard, but I finished the course. There were nine other people who didn’t finish that day, and 80+ people that didn’t even show up.  

I DID NOT FAIL. I finished. End of story.

I SPENT TIME WITH REAL ATHLETES. All of whom were exceedingly kind and encouraging. Those people don’t owe me anything, but I believe they see potential in me, and appreciate the fact that I’m trying to change my stars.

I DIDN’T GIVE UP. Jameson saw me cross the finish line, even though I had struggled. I jet-packed in, and it was epic. 

You guys, my son saw me. 

Men VS Women

There are a couple of men at my company who have lost significant amounts of weight. It’s actually pretty shocking; my boss *just* started going back to the gym three weeks ago, and already looks slimmer. I HATE HIM. Another co-worker has lost over 50 lbs doing Weight Watchers. His commitment was inspiring, but he did it seemingly without having to work at it. I know that counting points is a pain, but with minimal activity, he crushed his weight loss goal. HE IS ON MY LIST. One of my favorite people here, who I don’t see very often, also dropped some poundage. He looks totally different, and all he did was stop drinking beer. WHAT A CROCK.

How is it easier for men to lose weight than it is for women? Spoiler alert: it’s really not (which really pisses me off). To be clear, men do have certain advantages, which I will illuminate here; however, it all evens out in the end. Here are the top five reason why men seem to lose weight faster than women (but only in the beginning):

Men have more lean burning muscle.

• What the frack, God. Our playing field was never even, right from the start.

Evolution tells women to "hold onto those curves."

• So we are naturally all about that bass? I get it, women are more likely to be endowed with "baby-making hips." Great.

Women are literally hardwired to crave cupcakes. 

• I'm not sure about this one. I work with a guy who eats cupcakes in one bit. He loves them... but I suspect he doesn't crave them like I do. Late at night, lying bed, with a tear running down my cheek.

Men are overachievers... at first.

• Any comment I make on this one will seem like I'm a member of the (S)he-Man Woman Haters Club, which I'm not; however, I know a lot of men, and not many would I cal overachievers. 

Even if men don't lose more weight, it looks like they do.

• Although it really chaps my ass, I have noticed the truth in this statement. Maybe this is the real issue behind my frustration. If you were to see my waist, you would notice that I've lost inches, but it's hard to see my waist under all the boob.

Given all that I've learned, and shared with you (and unabashedly stolen from Prevention magazine), I've come to a realization that none of it matters. After all, there is nothing I can do to change evolution. What I can do, and what I’ve heard a million times before, is stop comparing myself to others. I must try to remember that my journey, while shared with many, is still a solitary one. I am not a man, so why would I compare my weight loss to one? No person is created equally, so comparison is fruitless and frustrating. 

So I say, DOWN WITH MEN. Oh, I mean, men are great. I love men. Good job, men. (Don’t let the door hit you on the ass when you leave the gym.)

I Did It!

As most of you know, I've been training for the Barry Roubaix Killer Gravel Road Race, which is in April 2018. Check it out here: http://barry-roubaix.com/

Last Sunday was my first attempt at completing the entire 22 mile course, which spans some of the most beautiful back roads in Barry County. The weather was perfect - a cool 50° and sunny. I left a short time after my other Dusty Dames (our Sunday bike gang), and it was a perfect set-up for my maiden voyage.The Roubaix course is NO JOKE. I feel like I walked as much as I rode, and the hills. My God, people, THE HILLS. The elevation gain on the 22-miler is over 1,200 feet (massive hills, in case you didn't know). There is one "hill" called The Wall, for God's sake. 

At one point during the ride, the other Dusty Dames passed me by. I was lapped TWICE by two hot shots in jerseys and fancy bikes. The total course took me 2:48.01, which is forever... but I DID IT!! And you know what's cool? That's not the worst time ever. That's like... pretty OK! (Props to my Dames, who completed the course in under 2 hours - what an awesome accomplishment!)

I have a lot of work to do over the next several months. I need to get my cardio in shape, and get my stamina to a point where I can function on those hills. I've got a lot of weights to lift, and I need to get my shifting down to a science. But I literally have MONTHS to train. Literally, I have all winter to get into shape for the "largest gravel road race in the world."

In case you can't read into this post, I'll tell you flat out that I'm really proud of myself. A few months ago I would never have guessed I would be training for a killer race, let alone riding a bike. Not only am I doing both of those things, but I'm actually DOING them. I'm not great (not yet), but I have a lot of time to improve. Will I be on the podium in April, celebrating a first place finish? Not a chance. But will I be the fastest 40 - 45 year old woman from Venture Street in Hastings Charter Township? 

YES I WILL! 

FAT AF

I really busted my hump last week. I've been doing a lot of exercise, but this last week I was killin' it at the gym. Saturday I did Spinning AND Body Pump... in the same fracking day. Sunday? 9.9 mile bike ride on gravel. On top of everything else, I've given up meat, and have been really watching my diet. I've been straight up killin' it. 

Unfortunately I stepped on the fudging scale.

If you are anything like me, and on an incredibly hard journey to weight loss, stepping on the scale and seeing the same number every single day, or a pound or two more, is disheartening. When I kill myself in the gym and on the bike, and still the scale does not waver, it is demoralizing, to say the least. When I see that same frickin' number, over and over again, no matter how hard I try, I feel FAT AF.

Some of you may say, "What the french toast, Erin?" 

I am surrounded by incredibly fit, healthy, muscular people. While I find it incredibly inspiring to be in their presence, it also bums me out to be the slowest person on our bike rides, or lifting lighter weights in BP, or not doing positions 2 & 3 in Spinning. I can't do a flicking burpee, for God's sweet sake. These dear, muscular, fit friends of mine are so encouraging and supportive, but in my mind I always add an unspoken addition at the end of their wonderfully uplifting sentences. 

You're riding your bike so well (for how fat you are).

You are a beast in BP (for how fat you are). 

You are swimming like a champ (for how fat you are). 

You are killing it (for how fat you are). 

So, in this forum, in front of all you witnesses, I'm saying fuck you, scale. Fuck you, voice in my head. Instead of feeling FAT AF when I step on that scale, I'm going to be FREE AF when I throw that fucking scale out the fucking window. Instead of adding that unspoken bullshit at the end of sentences, I'm going to only listen to what my friends are saying, and nothing more. Fuck being hard on myself. Fuck being hard on my friends. Fuck excuses. Fuck it all.

I've become so absolutely obsessed with losing weight, that my actual life is chore. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to make excuses anymore. I want to quit frick fracking whinging and get the fuck on with my life. Right now.

Growing Muscles

The other day, as per usual, I was complaining about how sore my body was from taking a class at the gym. It was TABATA, and what a killer! My abs, arms, and thighs were seriously pained. Note to self - avoid burpees at all cost. The next day, the gang and I went for a lengthy bike ride, which made me even more sore - oh the hills! Once again, I bitched. My best girl, Rootin' Tootin' Newton, looked me straight in the eye and said, "Dude, growing muscles is hard work!"

She speaks the truth.

Newton said some other stuff, but I must confess I was crying too loud inside to actually listen. (Just kidding, Beckers, I listened, and did my own research for this post.) All-in-all, this has been a very informative week, and I'm about to drop some knowledge on you.

*** The following medical info was borrowed (stolen) and paraphrased from BuiltLean contributor, John Levya. He's wicked smart. ***

Did you know there are 650 skeletal muscles in the human body? I'm pretty sure 639 of mine were screaming during my workouts this week. Here's what's interesting: after a workout, your body repairs or replaces damaged muscle fibers through a cellular process which fuses the fibers together to create new muscle protein. These fibers increase in thickness and number to create growth.  

Added to the new muscle fibers, there are satellite cells that also contribute. When you work out, specifically when you lift weight or pump it up, you damage your muscles. This causes inflammatory molecules and immune system cells that activate the satellite cells. Those little guys help to repair your damaged muscles to grow big and strong. So, in conclusion, growing muscles is, in fact, hard work.

I've been sore all week. Wednesday night I almost got stuck in my bed, because my abs were so sore I couldn't sit up. I had to call my dog to jump in the bed, so I could use him for support. Still, with Newton's wise words ringing in my ears, I went to Body Pump on Thursday... and lived. I did more than live, I actually really liked the class, and will definitely make it a part of my weekly schedule. 

Today, my muscles are repairing and growing. Because of the shoulder work in BP, I can't lift my arms above my head; however, I am now educated enough to embrace the pain, as it means my muscles are responding! I can definitely feel those little satellite cells jumping into action and building me some nice, strong, healthy guns. Next summer I will wear nothing but sleeveless shirts when it's sunny. 

I'm mostly writing today so that I can encourage you to just get out there and damage some muscles. Don't be afraid of being sore - relish it! Don't be shy about taking a new class, or trying a new exercise - just do it! I know its corny, but try every day to be the best version of yourself; get outside, breath the fresh air, be kind always, and GROW SOME MUSCLES.

SIDE NOTE: Your muscles also need REST and GOOD NUTRITION to grow. Don't ever forget your rest days!

Meat is Murder (To My Health)

Did you know that just one serving of deli meat per day raises your chance of developing cancer by 50%? I didn’t either, and I feel a little pissed off right now.

If you’re like me, and a product of ‘70s parenting, you grew up consuming copious amounts of animal flesh, believing it was healthy. Our parents encouraged us to get our protein, all the while believing that three squares a day of meat were the way to go. They didn’t know any better than most of us do now. We are excited for summer BBQs, a huge ham for Easter, and roast beef on Christmas Eve. We have adopted, much like our parents did from theirs, a “meat and potatoes” lifestyle, never knowing that this lifestyle is more detrimental to our health than SMOKING.

Yep, I said it. Eating animal flesh, in some ways, is worse than smoking tobacco.

I recently watched the documentary ‘What the Health?’ on Netflix, and I urge you all to do the same. Little did I know that the meat I’ve been eating my whole life is full of carcinogens and various other poisons, and is more of a contributor to diabetes, heart disease, and cancer than is SUGAR. What the health!? Unfortunately for me, I was eating a deli chicken sandwich while watching, and almost puked up my lunch. When you realize you’re eating poison, it’s hard to justify taking another bite.

I can admit that I am absolutely shocked at how Americans are slaves to the food industry in our own country; that our government makes money off of our sickness and ignorance. That our food industry has been hijacked by big business and profiteering. Sweet baby Jesus, it's insane how hoodwinked I feel right now. To be blunt, I feel stupid to have been lulled into a false sense of wellness.

I've been thinking about giving up meat for a while now. Learning what I have, there is really no debating the benefits of a plant-based lifestyle versus that of a meat-based one. Simply put, the animal proteins I ingest are clogging my arteries, starving my blood vessels, and contributing to my dependence on modern medicine to avoid illness. The science is there, people – and I, for one, am anxious to reap the benefits of going meatless. Honestly, the logic is pretty simple; to be fully healthy on the outside means healing from within.

Dear friends, I’m not going rogue here. I’m not jumping on a bandwagon, or adopting a holier-than-thou vegan attitude. I’m merely trying to tell you that I’m making a new choice that I feel will be right for my weight loss goals, my well-being, and my life. I am fully aware that this change will be a difficult one to make. I know that my dad will think I’m crazy, my kid will be flabbergasted, and my commitment will be questioned. I know that I’m infinitely flawed, and I might not succeed 100% of the time. I know all this, and yet I’m still thrilled to take the leap. 

30 Pounds Ago

I would never walk around Chicago, in 90° heat, without giving up (or dying).

I would never register for, or finish, the Holland 100.

I would never wear bike shorts in public.

I would never consider joining a triathlon relay.

I would never wear skirts, for fear of chub rub.

I would never consider dating.

I was never brave.

I didn't realize my worth.

I was so, so very sad.


Thirty pounds is important. I've been stuck at 30 lbs down for several weeks now, and was having difficulty keeping my motivation. It took yesterday, a dismally bad day, for me to realize what a difference that loss has made in my life. 

As I wandered unfamiliar streets, sweating my ass off, and feeling vulnerable, I realized that I was...comfortable. I was not out of breath. I was not struggling to walk even long distances. I even ran a bit. I was able to imagine how much more difficult my ordeal would have been, had I been carrying a 30 pound weight around with me. 

Funny how that thirty pounds felt like the weight of the world.

TIRED

Man, I’m tired.

Single mom. Full timer. Cyclist (sorta). Workout enthusiast (that’s a stretch). Pet owner. Cook. Chauffer. (Smoker, joker, midnight toker.) I do it all, every day.

I know there are a lot of others out there, right now, who can claim exactly the same resume, and so I’m not having a pity party. However, I can fully admit that I’m damn tired, most of the time. My job is mentally difficult, and often stressful. I don’t sleep well at night, despite the CPAP and the good bed, so I wake up as tired as I was when I went to sleep. I worry a lot. All of these reasons, and so many more, meld together to create one dragging lady (and I use that term loosely).

One thing I tried today was getting up early (5 AM!) and meeting a friend to go swimming. I thought, why not? If I work out in the morning, I’ll have more time in the evening to spend with my kid, get chores done, and relax. Also, school will be starting up again soon, so I’ll have loads of homework to complete. Problems solved, right? The perfect solution, for sure.

You know what, though? 5 AM is EARLY, my friends!

Actual photo of me at work today:

I’m not coming to you today with answers I’ve already found that work for me… simply because I have no answers to give. I haven’t figured this one out, ya’ll. So this time, I’m asking all of you for help. What are your tips for putting a pep in your step? How do you combat those early afternoon drowsies (without caffeine and chocolate)? HOW THE HELL DO YOU GET EVERYTHING DONE? What are you willing to sacrifice in your life to fit everything else in, and still binge watch It’s Always Sunny? I’m looking for help this time, folks. Seriously, help a sister out.

Rise of the Phoenix

So, here’s the scoop.

I’ve lost 30 lbs. I went down an underwear size, and my pants are all too big. I’m stronger, I can walk without wheezing, and I’m faster. People are beginning to notice these little changes, and it’s been great.

HOWEVER, I’ve been stuck at 30 down for a couple of weeks now, and have been getting a bit discouraged. Cue a week of “rest,” which is typical Erin. I didn’t count calories, I spent time in my room watching TV, and I finished some easy projects that were plaguing me. What I didn’t do much of was exercise.

This is the damage that I constantly inflict on myself. I use a million excuses to rest, to let things slide, or to just quit. I am a master of convincing myself and others that I’m still working hard, still plugging away, but in reality, I’m damaging my chances of a lasting life change.

Now wait, before you cry foul, let me assure you that I’m not quitting. I’m like that phoenix in the Harry Potter books, who grows, bursts into flames, then grows again. You all should know by now that consistency is not my strong suit, and I can fully admit that this is a (sometimes) fatal flaw. I am a fallible, inconsistent person… and that’s OK. I grow, flame out, but will grow again. Thankfully I keep learning through it all.

Now that you’re all caught up, I’ll let you know what is on the horizon for me. I’ll be training for a couple of very specific events, and that training starts NOW. On July 15, I’ll be participating in the Holland 100, biking for 18 miles with my buddy Dan. I’m told this is not a race, and that there is a pancake breakfast halfway through the ride, so I’m looking forward to damaging some flapjacks.

Up next is the Shermanator, a triathlon relay in August (http://shermanatortri.org/index.html). I’ve really got to put my game face on for this one, since my sweet friends, my fellow Dusty Dames, will be counting on me to pull out a good performance. I will be doing the cycling portion of the race, which is 10 miles. I have given myself a speed goal, and hope to crush it.

So, I guess if you see me riding on the streets of Barry County, please don’t honk, but feel free to wave. I would like to say that I hope to make you all proud, but I really don’t care so much about that. I want to, and will, make myself proud; only then will I rise.

I Love the Smell of Camphor in the Morning

So, I’m 41-years-old.

I’ve heard that 40 is the new 30, and I guess mentally that is probably correct. However, I still have a 40+ year old body; one that I abused in my childhood thru early 20’s when I was dancing. (Did you know I was once, ages ago, a professional dancer?)

So here I am, 41-years-old, pushing my body to produce the results I know I can achieve… and my body is pissed about it. Right now I’m experiencing every ache and pain this vessel can throw at me. My foot hurts badly enough that it’s painful getting out of bed, my thighs aches after Spinning, and my knees hurt from riding my bike.

Every night I find myself lubing up with balms, and using all manner of pain relieving patches. Seriously, if they made a suit out of Tiger Balm patches, I’d buy three. Many of these salves for aches and pains contain camphor, which smells DELIGHTFUL, is soothing, and cooling. I’ve just discovered that this delightful substance comes from a tree, which hails from Asia. SIGN ME UP. I want exclusive, on-demand access to this glorious tree and its menthol-ly goodness.

According to the webpage, http://besttreestoplant.com/trimming-trees/the-camphor-tree/, the camphor tree is the official city tree of Hiroshima, Japan. After the city was destroyed at the end of WWII, this fast-growing tree helped bring the city back to life.

IF THIS ISN'T A METAPHOR FOR MY LIFE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS. 

Whether I'm biking, lifting, swimming, weeding, or just walking, the sweet camphor tree (in a roundabout way) is bringing me back to life; helping me to recover for the next workout, and the next adventure. I love the smell of camphor, because it means I've done my best during the day, and pushed myself to a new level of fitness. Therefore, I embrace the aches and the pains, and the lovely smell of healing, because it means I'm changing, and coming back to life. 

By the way, I do have a birthday coming up. (Hint, hint.)

This Ain't for Sissies

It’s turning out to be a rough week for me. Perhaps I’m tired, maybe I’ve been pushing myself too hard, or maybe it’s because the 11^th of May is my mother’s birthday, and I miss her deeply and terribly. Maybe it’s because Mother’s Day is on the 14^th, and I just want to pull the covers up over my head.

Seems like it doesn’t take much to push me off-kilter. And damn if I’m not the most insecure person… that when I’m in one of these “moods,” I start to question myself, my friends, and my purpose. So I start to take drastic measures. I start trying to correct the things that are wrong, even though nothing is really WRONG. I turn into a blithering idiot and a big sissy.

I fabricate, I deprecate, I abdicate.

So this time around, rather than hiding in my room, eating a ton of fattening goodies, and drinking lots of beer, I’m changing it up. I’ve been riding my bike. Weeding hops. Taking walks. Eating LESS. The weird thing is, I still feel like I’m hiding, because I’m following relatively solitary pursuits. The difference it, being alone on my bike doesn’t make me feel like a jerk. Walking through the woods on my own doesn’t allow me to eat four donuts, and weeding in the quiet whisper of tall grass, and the rustle of hops doesn’t feel BAD. I’m alone, but it feels GOOD that I’m blessed to be so.

Please don’t get me wrong, or misunderstand – I still love my son, and love spending time with him. We still watch FaceOff on SyFy, go to movies, and even exercise together. We are still a team… but sometimes you don’t need a team to get shit done. Sometimes, when you’re having a rough time, and are trying to avoid pitfalls, you just need to man up on your own. 

I don't really know what else I can say right now, other than to assure you all that I'm holding firm. I've lost weight, and I feel too good to screw up again. I have inspiration and determination like never before. I'm holding firm. I may be holding firm by the fingertips, but that's OK. 

F#@k Quitting

The title of this post is a direct quote from my sister, when we were discussing a day when I was under my calorie total, but I had eaten a bunch of crap. Not fast food crap, but gummy bears, chips, no lunch, and a thrown-together meal of cereal and an apple. It was just one of those days when I didn't prepare the night before, and was too tired / lazy / whatever, to make an effort in the morning. Here is part of our conversation (and I hope my sis isn't mad that I'm sharing):

My sister is my partner in crime, and my support in the journey to weight loss. We are both active on My Fitness Pal, we encourage each other, and we push each other to reach our highest potential. Even when I told her I was going to Spinning on Saturday, and she told me I was crazy, she still texted me later to find out how it went. I also have three very dear friends who I see every week (and sometimes every day) that ride with me, lift with me, and walk with me. I have another friend who messages me all the time, to keep track of my cycling goals and to cheer me on. 

I am very, very lucky.

I think today, if you don't take anything else from this post, you will at least remember how hard it is to lose weight on your own. Remember, always, how hard it is to work out on your own. Remember, today, that quitting is easy when you have no one to whom you are accountable. 

Find a friend. Get a buddy. Pick a partner. 

Whatever you do, don't go it alone, and don't quit. Cause quitting is easy when you're alone. And if you need a friend, buddy, partner in crime, please give me a ring, cause you can never have too many of each.

#fuckquitting

Slow Your Roll, Butthole

"Slow your roll," per the Urban Dictionary (which everyone knows is the only dictionary worth considering), is something you say to your bro when they are getting out of control, or acting obnoxious. There have been times when I've said this to Jameson, when he's getting ahead of himself, or a coworker, when he's asking too many questions without giving me time to answer. Recently the statement has taken on the new and sassier addition of "butt hole." It just rolls off the tongue, and it's classic Erin. 

I have a coworker who recently started Weight Watchers. He is 55 (ish). He does not work out. A large majority of every day is spent behind his desk. Yet, he has lost 58 POUNDS in only a few short months. Did you read that right? YES - 58 FREAKING POUNDS. Doing nothing but counting points. I love the guy, but every time I see him I say (under my breath), "slow your roll, butt hole." I called him today to compliment him on his tux at a recent black tie event. He laughed and went on to explain that it "hardly fit me, because I've lost so much weight." Ugh. Keep it to yourself, bro.

We all know that there are times when it is SO HARD to be patient. I'm finding myself feeling this way more and more often. You see, when a commitment is made, the follow-through should be immediate, right? I mean, when I decided to lose weight and get in shape, it should happen overnight, to my mind. I've changed my diet, my lifestyle, and my outlook. I work out, I spend all possible hours outside. The pounds should be practically melting away... in theory. Whoever came up with the healthy way of losing only two pounds a week was full of shit. 

Having said all this, folks, I'm starting to think that maybe I'M THE BUTT HOLE. My whining, complaining, self-flagellating behavior is getting old, even to me. My friends were kind enough to cheer me on during a 10-mile gravel ride yesterday, and I told them at one point to SHUT UP. I was only mostly kidding. When they were cheering, I was all like:

Damn it, it's true. I am the butt hole that needs to slow her roll.  

I need to stop making excuses like, I'm just starting, or I'm still too fat, or I'm too old to do this. I need to be patient and let this training happen; let this weight loss just happen. I need to shut my mouth, work hard, and work often, because nothing in this world happens overnight. I need to slow down and just roll...butt hole.

Hills Are Hard

There are all sorts of cliches about climbing hills. I'm sure you've heard most of them. 

"If we all climb together, we could climb the highest hill."
"Life's a climb, but the view is great."
"You can't climb uphill by thinking downhill thoughts."
"There is an uphill for every downhill, and a downhill for every uphill."

And seemingly the most popular hill quote ever, from Nelson Mandela...

"After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb."

Frankly, I'm not really one for motivational sayings. I can do motivational things for others, but like I said above, a lot of this stuff is just cliche. The truth is - CLIMBING UP HILLS IS HARD. Like, a real ball-buster. Bicycling up hills is hard. Just ask this guy. 

I was at the grocery store this weekend and saw a friend who is a fitness guru; someone who trains other people to be healthy. This TINY BAD ASS rode the Barry-Roubaix, the largest gravel road race in the world, on a FAT TIRE bike; a bike that outweighs her by several pounds. Naturally I asked her about biking the hills in Barry County, and how much trouble I was having just getting UP. She told me a story that I'm taking to heart, and sharing with you.

Once upon a time, Tiny Bad Ass was training with another woman to ride the Barry-Roubaix. They were tackling the "Three Sisters," who Barry Countyens know is a killer section of the race that has three huge hills. It's possibly the hardest section of the race, and terrifying to behold. The trainee was finding it impossible to get up these hills, and actually fell several times. (Apparently when you are "clipped in" and lose momentum, you can just topple right over.) Tiny Bad Ass felt completely responsible for this woman's scrapes and bruises, and decided to take a break from training. 

The next time out, the trainee rode alone. When she came to those dreaded hills, she said, "Not this time, bitch." After much struggle, she made it up and over those sisters.

"Not this time, bitch."

In my humble opinion, all those motivational sayings are only empty words coming from posters and calendars, or out of the mouths of people we don't even know. It seems that the most motivation we can offer is that which we give to OURSELVES. I will never have a personal cheering squad, and I know I'm most vulnerable, and more apt to quit, when I'm alone. I'm thinking next time, when I'm failing to get up those hills, I think of the words of that wise and all-knowing sage, and just say, "Not this time, bitch."

My last post, almost exactly two years ago, was about how I was struggling to recover from a slight. I made light of the hurt, brushed off the pain, and poo-poohed my wounded pride. I was flippant by thinking that people who are damaged should "just get over it." Man, I'm such an asshole. 

You see, that's the thing about depression. No matter what successes I may have achieved those years ago, no matter how great I felt after an exercise session, and no matter what good I had done for others, my depression just frickin' pulled me under. And under. I became social. I tried spending more time with my Broads and with other good friends, I started drinking (a lot), but then I just...quit. I was happier laying across my bed, alone in my room, binge watching Netflix, and EATING. 

Nowadays, I still spend time in my room, but a lot less. I get outside, I spend time with dear friends on my own terms, I smell the fresh air, and I laugh. There is so much laughing happening, you guys. If only laughing would burn calories - I'd be like 110 lbs by now.

So here's the reason for my writing you all today. I know you've all heard this before, and I have absolutely no reason to assume that you care, but I am once again walking the line to better health. I'm not doing it for a man (although getting a man would be nice), I'm not doing it for my son (although he would love to have a "skinny" mom), and I'm not doing this for my friends (although they love me, and want me to be healthy). 

I'm doing this for me. Only me this time.

So, I bought a kickass little bike, and I'm training for the Barry Roubaix. I re-joined the gym. I'm counting my calorie intake and making better food choices. More importantly, I'm spending time outside by a fire, in the woods, and flying kites. 

I'm here to kick ass, folks. Watch out.