Effusive

ef.fu.sive

adjective
1. expressing feelings of gratitude, pleasure, or approval in an unrestrained or heartfelt manner. 

Yesterday I was able to break my lockdown and run a couple of essential errands. Weirdly, I stayed in my car the entire time, but got a lot done.

My first stop was the grocery store. I ordered via my Fast Lane app and scheduled for pickup at 2 PM. Earlier in the day, Lisa, my Fast Lane shopper, called me to discuss what products were not available (TP, eggs, milk, natch) and suggested possible substitutions. Lisa was pretty awesome, and texted me a bit later letting me know my order was ready for pick-up.

The lovely Lisa brought my groceries to my car, and loaded them up for me. I didn't touch a thing - I didn't even have to sign for my order, since the store has bypassed that requirement. 

Next I went to the veterinarian. Georgie Girl has not been feeling well, and her vet gave us two options - drop off a urine sample of schedule an appointment. I opted to get a sample, so as not to stress out my girl. My vet has instituted some really awesome preventative measures, and again, I didn't have to leave my car.

A technician came out to get the sample, and told me I could wait for the results. I watched a couple of YouTube, and fifteen minutes later I received a call from the doctor with a diagnosis. They took my payment via phone, and brought out antibiotics. 

So why I am describing a fairly mundane day of errands? Because at both stops I was positively effusive with my thanks. 

These people are risking their health to help ours. Yes, everyone in the medical fields are on the front line, and they are positively saints. But these folks, these shoppers and technicians, these underdogs, are doing what they can to ensure we stay safe. 

Are the hoarders out there giving effusive thanks to the purveyors of toilet paper?

Do the selfish folks who refuse to shelter-in-place express their gratitude to those who stay at home? 

Are we doing our best to express our approval for simple acts of kindness?

My point isn't a hard one to grasp. Be effusive. Shower your thanks on people who are working hard to make our lives just a little easier. Be unrestrained and heartfelt when praising others. These are unprecedented and crazy times, so be as effusively thankful as you can be. 

Stay home, stay safe, and be well. 

Ennui

en.nui

noun
a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from lack of occupation or excitement. 
“he succumbed to ennui and despair”

The year 2020 has been a bit crazy so far, and Michigan is now under a shelter-in-place order. There are many folks who are nervous and scared, and even some folks who have resorted to hoarding. How many rolls of toilet paper or bags of potatoes does one house need? Hopefully all the women out there are remembering feminine products! Our president, DT, is giving daily briefings which do nothing to assuage our fears or give us comfort. We are being assaulted on all sides by Facebook, Instagram, the daily news, and the unsolicited opinions of our acquaintances. 

I’m not surprised that some of us are suffering from ennui. It is very easy to become listless, bored, and dissatisfied with the world today. Every day I hear of another friend who is getting laid off or completely let go. I am trying to find a job in this crazy environment, and I feel anxious and a bit helpless. Even if I got a job, when would I even be able to start? There is very little for me to be excited about.

So how do I avoid succumbing to ennui and despair? 

1. I’ve begun playing Trump Bingo during his daily briefings. You can too! It’s fun, and also exciting to be able to call Bingo!

2. I am spending a lot of time outdoors. I love being in the woods or just sitting outside watching the dogs play. Fresh air is a commodity that cannot be hoarded and is in constant supply. 

3. I’m spending a lot more time with Jameson. I’m sure some of you have small kids who are annoying the hell out of you, but I encourage you to embrace this time that has been gifted to you. It’s not ideal, but it’s a chance to connect. 

4. I have been pushing myself to get out of bed and stay busy. I write lists and keep a notebook. It’s hard to be accountable, because I am constantly finding projects to occupy my time.

5. I am drinking. Not a lot, but a couple of cocktails help turn my mind off at night!

Friends, if you feel yourself falling into ennui, call me, write me, Skype with me, or text me. As someone who basically worships her bed, if I can grind it out every day, so can you. 

We are in this together. For better or worse, let’s at lease take care of each other (with a 6ft distance of course).

Empathy

em.path.y

noun

              the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

I think it’s pretty hard to be an empath right now. There is so much crazy shit going on in the world, and all of us are being inundated with the fears of our friends and families. For some, there is the growing fear of COVID-19. Others are worried about Trump, and how he is leading our country. Some even have families in China, or Asian friends who are being wrongly targeted. Still others might be dealing with the anxiety and panic that comes with no warning.

I hear all of you. It’s tough to be overly emotional and to “take on” the woes of the world.

Here’s the thing about empathy, though – it can be dangerous if not managed. According to Psychology Today, “Too much empathy, sometimes known as empathy fatigue or compassion fatigue, can be detrimental to one’s well-being, and can interfere with rational decision-making…” In other words, being too empathetic can cause you to lead with your heart, and not with your head.

I’ve found that since social distancing and self-quarantine has progressed, I have spent more and more time on Facebook. I was so ashamed to have noticed the other day that TWO HOURS had passed while I was screwing around on my phone. I was so wrapped up in everyone else’s world, that I forgot mine was passing by. I was on my stomach, in my bed, commenting on everyone and their brother’s posts, while ignoring everything that is REAL.

I have empathy fatigue, man. I need a little emotional freedom.

OK, so I get the irony. I’ve written this and posted it on Facebook (insert long sigh here). With this post, I am also pledging to spend more time on writing, walking, riding my bike, laughing with Jameson, playing with my dogs, and cooking goodies. I promise to limit my Facebooking and concentrate on staying happy and healthy. Hey, it’s not that I don’t care about all of you… I just have to practice more self-care.

My heart is with you all. Stay safe and practice your own self-care.

Establishment

There are a couple of ways to use the word establishment. One is to define THE Establishment, which is a dominant group or elite that controls a nation or organization. I mean screw The Establishment, right?

The other definition is the one I choose to write about today:

es-tab-lish-ment

Noun

1. The action of establishing something or being established.

I, as a person, am established here on Earth as Erin Merritt. I’m also going to establish this new blog, “The E Word.” I didn’t want to start another Skinny Screamer and limit myself strictly to weight loss and other exercise shenanigans, although this iteration will include some of those elements. Rather, I just need an outlet. To be heard. To perhaps touch one person through honesty, raw truth, and self-deprecation.  So here it is – the establishment of The E Word.

I’m pretty sure that the shine is off the silverware, when it comes to “blogging.” The ship has sailed. However, it remains one of the best ways to express myself, and delude myself into thinking that people care, or will even read this drivel. It's been yet another rough year, and I just feel that sharing my triumphs and tribulations just might help someone else to be better, feel better, or just run in the opposite direction.

If you are reading, I’d love some suggestions of other E words to use. As always, The E Word will be Erin (me), expressing my love, anger, or ennui (a word to be used at a later date).

I Cannot

Today I just cannot breathe. Every time I try to take a deep breath, my body stops me, and I am in a constant state of quiet panic. This condition, my condition, is referred to as air hunger, which is described as, “respiratory distress marked by gasping, labored breathing or dyspnea.” I’m not hyperventilating; I’m struggling. My air hunger is caused by anxiety, and creates the ongoing and distressing feeling that I CANNOT GET ENOUGH FREAKING AIR.

Not everyone who suffers from depression and anxiety experience air hunger. Alternately, I do not have panic attacks or suicidal thoughts like others do. It’s really all just a crap shoot when it comes to these mental afflictions, and I understand that for some folks it’s very hard to decipher the differences, the idiosyncrasies, and the unique configurations of our minds. 

I'm aware that you might not understand, or that you might feel burdened by my bullshit... but if you can understand just one thing, it can be that today, I just cannot breathe. My chest and ribs hurt. I'm bloated. I am fracking exhausted. 

Dear friends, I’m not telling you about my air hunger because I want sympathy or coddling. There are others in this world in WAY worse shape than I, and in need of more help and consideration. I'm not trying to take anything away from other's suffering. No, the reason I’m sharing with you today is because, even with all my faults, flaws, and afflictions, I still have hope. I feel lucky because I can walk outside, feel the breeze on my face, see the sun in the sky, and smell the promise of summer. I am alive. I have friends. I can think, write, jump, run, and swim. I can do all of these things in spite of my ailments; and it’s up to ME to make my life one of enjoyment, not suffering.

No matter how much I feel like I cannot breathe; no matter how tired I am, I have full control over ME. Therefore:

I will laugh as much as I can.

I will love as deeply as possible.

I will be kind, even when it's hard.

I will not fake being happy, but when I can, I will BE HAPPY.

And I will damn well try to do these things every day.

Going Postal

There is a great scene in the movie The Sandlot, where Squints says, "And every summer there she is... lotioning, oiling, oiling, lotioning. I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!" It's a great expression of the inner turmoil some of us feel sometimes, and what I feel on the daily. No, I'm not hankering for Wendy Peffercorn, but I recognize how feelings can build, and continue building, until you just want to explode.

I've been explode-ready for a while now. There are times when I have such a head of steam building up that my chest is tingling and my brain is boiling. Sometimes I am so frustrated and tense that I can feel the anxiety rising up my chest and into my throat, making it next to impossible to breathe. 

Today is one of those days. 

Many of you know that I work in a "cube farm." We are basically all in one room, separated by cloth-covered walls. Most days my associates are respectful of the close quarters and monitor their voices accordingly. I myself am sometimes a culprit - I can be very loud at times, and really have to concentrate on taking it down a notch. Today is not one of those days. Today I can hear EVERYTHING; personal conversations, business meetings, and the song Thunder by Imagine Dragons for the FIFTY-SEVENTH TIME on the loudspeakers. Oh great. Now it's Piano Man. 

What in God's name am I supposed to do right now, short of ripping some unsuspecting soul's head off of their shoulders? What can I do RIGHT NOW to get out of this environment and not run screaming to Dairy Queen?

EXERCISE. 

I'm headed to the gym right now. Peace out, my brothers and sisters. If you see me there, don't be afraid... maybe just approach with caution. 

It's You: Edition Two

Continuing in my efforts to recognize those that are awesome, I give you the second installment of "It's not me, it's YOU." 

The Brian Edition!

Not all Brians are alike - some actually really suck - but I'm honored to know a couple of really exceptional ones. 

Brian Green - is a superhero. Wherever there is sadness, Brian will be there. Whenever darkness threatens, Brian will lend you his only lamp. Whenever a bicycle breaks, or a swimmer cramps, Brian will lend a helping hand. This Brian is a frickin' champ. The Green Machine, as he is fondly called, is truly someone who would lend you the shirt off his back while giving you pointers on how it should be worn for maximum warmth. Brian is, simply put, a rockstar. 

Brian Trudeau - is the greatest brother in all the land. He is the funniest, most charming, and most inclusive person; putting everyone at ease. This Brian makes funny faces, uses silly voices, likes playing board games, and loves sharing craft beer with all who enter his home. Brian T. is super passionate and throws his heart into what he loves, whether that be smoking meat, fly fishing, brewing beer, making his wife happy, or bribing his girls to play D&D. On top of all this, he sings a mean Toto. 

Brian Carroll - is a fantastic coworker, a rowdy team player, and a childlike golfer of discs. Brian swears like a craggy sea captain, doesn't take shit from anyone, and stands up for what he believes in. He is one smartass SOB, but is loved by all. Brian is a great friend - someone who is always in your corner, and always making people laugh. This Brian is especially magnificent because he acts all grouchy and tough, but has a secret gooey center. 

None of these Brians are "my" Brians. They have wives and other lives, but I'm so damned lucky to be able to spend the quality time with them that I do. I'm glad their families share these Brian gems with me (thank you Brenda, Amy, and Sarah!), and that I get to experience a small portion of what makes them so rad. So raise your glasses to these Brians (and ignore the crappy ones). Huzzah!

Franken-boobies

By now, quite a few of you know that on February 1st, I went under the knife to get a bilateral mammography (breast reduction). For some reason I feel compelled to share my experience, just in case there are some of you out there that have ever contemplated this procedure. Be warned - there may be some oversharing here, people. You decide.

I won't go into all of the details that led me to wanting this surgery - it's boring. However, I will say that I've had issues since puberty, and was wearing a G to H cup size. They don't sell those in stores, folks. My girls had gotten completely out of hand and expensive, and I was fed up. 

Today I am eight weeks post-op. Up until now it has been a pretty terrible experience. My chest was straight up Bride of Frankenstein, folks.

Here are some of the lower moments.

• The surgery is outpatient. As soon as you are up and talking, the hospital cuts you loose. Bouncing around in the car on the way home was... uncomfortable. Once the good drugs wear off, IT HURTS. Most of you have had surgery before - I have not. Did I say, IT HURTS?
• Eight days post-op I was in the emergency room. My breast had become so hard, and so swollen that I could barely function. An ultrasound showed several pockets of fluid, so I was rushed to another hospital for a second surgery to insert drain tubes.
• DRAIN TUBES SUCK. I'm talking rubbery, floppy rigatoni noodle tubes hanging from new incisions, that trailed boob juice wherever I roamed. It was horrible. The tubes were attached by one or two stitches that constantly caught on EVERYTHING. Anytime I changed my dressings, it was an exercise in pain tolerance. 
• Sweet Jesus - the swelling! Even with the tubes I was so swollen and uncomfortable.
• The tubes were removed after a week, and it was immediate pain relief. I was like a dog getting off a leash. I almost ran outside to sing in a pasture. However, now I had two open incisions that still dripped and drained. 

So here I am, eight weeks after the surgery, and I am finally pain free, other than just a little discomfort at the end of the day. Sleeping on my side (either one) is still a little hard, and a bit painful. I am still nowhere near the size my chest will be eventually, and I've still got angry skin around the incisions, and a bit of swelling. I'm having some body issues - I don't look like myself, and my boobs are weird, and it's freaking me out a little.

Do I regret it? No.

Someday I'll look back on this experience and laugh, and wonder what took me so long to take the plunge. I'm sure the memory of the pain and limitations will fade, and I will look in the mirror and see some impressively perky sport boobs.You'll know when that time comes, because I'll be running, biking, or swimming past your house will a smile on my face.

It's Not Me, It's You

I've gotten some feedback lately that has really made me think, and made me evaluate the way I speak to people, and the way that I am perceived by the general (and not so general) public. I really, really appreciate the help, although some of it was painful; but the constructive criticism allowed me to take a step back and really inspect my attitudes and how they affect others.

I thought a lot. I examined, inspected, and reflected so much, that I'm pretty sure I smelled smoke from all that hard introspection. One thing that I realized is that I talk an awful lot about myself. This blog is different, of course - it's for me to share my thoughts and adventures, in order to help others, or at the very least, make people laugh. My conversations in public are a much different story; I seem to find ways to relate every story back to me, and often use sarcasm for cover when I'm feeling nervous or challenged.

You know that old break-up line, "It's not you, it's me," right? I'm sure none of you have actually heard the line personally, or said it, but I bet you're all familiar with the premise. Well, for the rest of this entry, it's not ME, it's YOU.

It's You - Edition One:

Amy (little sis) is a powerful force of change in this world. She truly cares about people and speaks out when she feels others are being undervalued. She texts her niece and nephew to check in, and has appointed herself their very own college advisor. She loves people fiercely; in fact, she does everything fiercely, from loving, arguing, and teaching, to playing games and making ice cream. She is a bright, fierce light.

Becky (wife & BFF) is a beacon in the night. There has never been a person more steady and more steadfast than this wonder of a woman. Any time spent with Becky promises to be full of belly laughs, raunchy statements, and joyous revelations. Plus, she can do EVERYTHING and ANYTHING she puts her mind to. Seriously, she is a marvel. Becky can bring home the vegan bacon, and fry it up in a pan.

Skyler (good buddy), whether he likes it or not, is a go-to guy. He is dependable, creative, hard-working, and constructive. Skyler is the greatest girl, dog, and cat dad there ever was, and fearlessly defends the people he loves. He is entertaining; he performs daring feats, and loses stuff all the time (like his bright orange hard hat). Hilarious!

Dan (cycling marvel) is such a wonderful person. He is caring, thoughtful, and the best damn cheerleader anyone would ever want. Dan is one of those rare individuals that actually WANTS his friends to succeed, and will do anything he can to help that happen. He is the master at "dropping a line" to say hi, check in, or just tell a joke.

This is just the tip of my "It's not ME, it's YOU" iceberg. Don't worry or feel left out - you will most likely receive the spotlight in an upcoming post. I am so thankful that I'm surrounded by some of the greatest folks in the world, who all deserve the very highest accolades. I worship at your altar, all of you. Whether I show it or not, it is about YOU.

Hibernation

Much like a mighty Grizzly, I have spent much of the last two months hibernating.

 The beginning of winter is tough for me. The first snowflake, while beautiful, reminds me that the days are getting shorter, and the holidays are quickly approaching. I inevitably start thinking about less light, less kindness, and less patience; I dread Christmas and imposed time with family. For some reason, during that time of year, work is exponentially more stressful – that final push toward the end of the year is always a struggle.

So I hibernate.

Every day after work, when I should be working out, spending time with friends, or cooking dinner for my family, I tunnel under the covers on my bed and turn out the lights. I binge-watch meaningless television, start endless numbers of crochet projects, and cuddle with my dog. I read four books in December, and started a 5^th. Inevitably the house gets messier, laundry goes undone, and errands are pushed off until the next day (and then the next). The cats run out of food. The snack cupboard develops cobwebs. Cereal is the preferred dinner.

Still, I hibernate.

What is that affliction called…? Yeah, Seasonal Affective Disorder. I have that, and isn’t it so telling that the acronym is SAD?  This disorder is a type of depression that’s related to the changes in seasons. It usually begins in the fall, and continues through into the winter months, sapping energy and affecting mood.

Hence the hibernation.

There is a big change happening in my life in the next month. Everything I do from now until the beginning of February will be in preparation for the “new” me. I’ll keep you posted, but until then, please wish me luck. Send some good juju my way, and hope for the end of this perpetual winter ennui. Fingers crossed that my hibernation will soon end.

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.