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.

S@&t Happens

It’s always something, isn't it? There is always some sort of obstacle to throw us off our chosen paths, and detour us on our journey. I figure it’s time to tell ya’ll about my obstacle, and attempt to explain my long absence from Skinny Screamer.

So, my “something” was a man. I am ashamed and embarrassed to admit that my relationship this past spring/summer was more detrimental to my mental health than I originally let on. I started dating this guy casually. I’d known him for years, and always thought he was funny and nice. He contacted me via FB, and we started seeing each other socially. Texting. FB messaging. Talking every day. This is the first time that I had dated anyone for over 7 years, and to me, was a very big deal.

I liked him. Things got physical. He met my kid. That was before he shut me out completely.

I have said to friends that I’ve never been treated with such disdain or disrespect in my life. One day we were talking normally, the next day he stopped texting, calling, and messaging. He BLOCKED me from Facebook on my BIRTHDAY. Through no apparent fault of my own, I had been completely dumped. And it really hurt.

I had already started on my weight loss journey before meeting this guy, but meeting him, visualizing a possible future of happiness and health, became a real motivation for me. I was feeling so great. I was smiling, getting up on weekends to work out, keeping the house clean, cooking, baking, and blogging. Unfortunately, when this man shut me out, it really shut me down. For the last several months I’ve been eating, drinking, and avoiding the gym. I've gained back all the weight I worked so hard to lose.

I am ashamed and embarrassed.

Recently I received two kind messages from friends, just checking in. Catie, Ginger – you are a blessing to me. You both caused me to remember WHY I was working so hard in the first place; not for a man, but for myself. I will never, ever, be able to thank either one of you enough for nudging me.

I’m digging out of my hole, folks. Not for you, but for myself…but I hope you’ll stick with me once again. Guess what? Shit happens. Shit happens, but life goes on.