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.)