Me, Myself, and I

A few weeks ago, my friend, Diana came over for a visit, just as I was finishing my daily workout. I apologized for running late but she was excited to check out P90X. She's a fitness trainer and loved that we were just hanging out in exercise clothes. I suggested that she grab my roommate's mat and join me for Ab Ripper X, a 15 minute killer ab workout. Being the fit gal she is, she jumped right in. Afterward, she admitted that though it was a solid workout, she would never go through with it on her own. I argued that while it's good to have a workout partner for motivation, sometimes it's nice to work at your own pace. Especially if your workout partner is a foot taller, almost one hundred pounds heavier, and male. She thought I was lucky to have someone to workout with every day and push me to do my best. After these past few weeks, I think Diana's right.

My boyfriend (and P90X partner) got a job out of town and though I love him dearly, I was looking forward to a bit of alone time. We've spent time apart before, while visiting family or on business trips, but I couldn't remember the last time I was home by myself. Years, I think. For a few peaceful weeks, it would be me, the dogs, and the fall weather. This lasted a few hours. The first night, I had trouble sleeping, which is unusual because I've fallen asleep standing up on public transportation before; I can sleep anywhere. I got up and double checked that the doors were locked, played some Ryan Adams, and forced myself to keep my eyes closed. It eventually worked until I woke up in the middle of the night, twice, for no reason. I was anxious and not sure why.

The next few nights were the same until I worked my first closing shift of the week. Closing shifts at my restaurant are more more than eight hours long, making it easier to fall asleep at the end of the day. But then the next morning, I was so exhausted and sore. The last thing I wanted to do was workout, especially Legs and Back, the two biggest muscle groups. I started to think about what Diana had said, about how hard it would be to workout on her own. I was starting to agree. I knew that if I skipped a workout, that might make it okay to skip another, then another, and I didn't want to let myself down like that. I had already skipped my Yoga the day before. A few years ago, I might have fallen right into this pattern. No, I definitely would have. I reminded myself that I was doing this for me and had to hold myself accountable.

I had to learn to depend on myself for motivation. My new trick for holding myself accountable? Take a picture. When I'm at my sweatiest and my weakest during my workout, I snap a picture of myself, with P90X in the background, with my iPhone. I'm giving myself proof that I have what it takes to completely shed my old, lazy habits and fight to get what I want. The next time I'm feeling like curling up in my bed for another hour, I'll have that picture to remind me I don't need someone else. I have all I need inside of me. And if I'm feeling really low, I can email or text that photo to my family or friends (or out of town workout partner), for an extra boost of pride. When the workout is done, I always feel better than I did just sitting on the couch.

I'm sorry for all the times I looked down on people for not doing their best, when they don't have someone to push them. My alone time has taught me a valuable lesson. I had forgotten just how hard it can be to go it alone. I need reminders to break me out of my funk, just like anyone. It's easy to get stuck, especially when you're alone. We'll reach for the quick fix, the easy out, unless we have something to remind us just how easy it can seem to workout once you get started. Something inside me takes over and wants to sweat. Now I understand why the guys at the gym stare at themselves in the mirror so much. Maybe it's not as narcissistic as it seems. They need proof. They need to be held accountable. The mirror image is their motivation. So if you see me at work, or out and about, staring at a picture of myself in a sports bra on my iPhone, try to take it easy on me. I'm probably just having a tough day.

Mind Over Menstruation

Like Dexter Morgan, I too have a "dark passenger." She's unpredictable, over-emotional, foggy, bitchy, whiny, moody, and nearly impossible to control. Fortunately for my loved ones, she only visits once a month. She's known by many names to different women; Red Menace, Crimson Tide, Aunt Flow, The Rag, The Period. When she visits me, she might best be named "The Dark Side of the Moon," because she brings out the very worst in me. My cravings for sweets and salty treats are multiplied and I've been known to polish off an entire bag of Milano cookies in one sitting. I let the smallest things bother me until I'm rude and obnoxious to others, without even thinking about it (and when I think about it, I still feel okay about it). Sometimes my cramps are so painful, I allow them to interrupt my daily life. I've spent entire days curled up in bed, straight up hating life.

The biggest part of my struggle to maintain an exercise program has been seeing it through, especially during these desperately painful days. Saturday morning, I woke up and discovered my "little gift" had come right on time. Normally this would be a huge relief but I had made plans to take a Pilates class for the first time ever and I was not about to sit on my ass and set myself up for failure. My nearly twenty years of experience as a menstruating woman as taught me that while my cramps can be immobilizing, if I get myself out of bed right away before the pain comes, I can charge myself into superwoman mode. Then, I feel invincible and ready to conquer whatever physical challenges lie ahead. I have recently learned that this is actually a real thing, similar to a "fight-or-flight" release of adrenaline. I've also read that physical activity can help alleviate the pain of cramps as well. I made the decision that I am not going to allow my "lady time" to interfere with my life anymore.

Besides, I used to be a dancer. How hard could Pilates be? I had heard of Pilates for years and to the best of my knowledge, I understood it to be a series of movements similar to yoga or ballet, meant to lengthen and strengthen, making your muscles long & lean as in a dancer's body. Though I had given up on having a traditional ballet body years ago, when I stopped growing up and started growing out, I still hold dear my ballet instruction and regard it as the foundation for my posture, grace, and love of movement of all kinds. Plus, my amazing friend, Diana is a Pilates instructor so I knew I'd be in good hands. She's friendly, full of positive energy, and I couldn't wait to learn from her. It is worth mentioning that Diana's nickname amongst her clients is "The Punisher." I quickly remembered this and I made sure she was crystal clear about my "situation" ahead of time, with the hope that she'd take pity on me. I had no idea what was in store for me physically. Nothing could save my lady parts from the killer workout known as Pilates.

Through a simple misunderstanding, no doubt due to my monthly fogginess, I wrote down the wrong location so I arrived five minutes late for class. I was glad that I'd had the chance to speak with Diana in the car on the way there (hands free, of course) so she knew I'd be late and had everything setup for me. I hurried inside and immediately began taking off my shoes and socks, claiming a spot for my belongings along the wall. Barefoot and anxious, I stood up and faced the row of bed-like contraptions known as "Reformers," each with a young spandex-clad woman balancing on top. I gingerly took my place beside the empty torture device Diana had saved for me...in the very center of the row. No hiding in the back of the class in Pilates.

Diana was a fun and attentive instructor. She gave me a crash course on how the Reformer worked. I might best describe it as a cross between a rowing machine and a bed, with a movable section called the carriage that is flat instead of having a seat built in. The creator, Joseph Pilates, based his design on a hospital bed. Joseph was in England during WWI, working as a self-defense instructor for Scotland Yard detectives. He rigged springs to actual hospital beds so that bedridden patients could exercise against resistance. Let me assure you, his design works. I took a deep breath and jumped right in with the rest of the class. It seemed easy enough, familiar positioning, and then omigod. I felt the burn immediately. Thousands of tiny little muscles in my thighs, hips, and groin were working for the first time in years, a sharp muscle memory of the dancer I used to be.

Unlike other times I attempted to return to the world of dance, I didn't feel intimidated, I felt alive! Though my balance was a bit off, I figured out the Reformer as I went along and I just loved it. It felt so familiar and yet so new. I found myself doing the movements to the beat of the music. Even the clubs songs I'm forced to listen to late night at work were suddenly fun and motivating. I guess a little too fun because Diana had to remind me numerous times to slow down my movements to get the full effect. "You can't go slow enough. That's how you'll work those muscles." Then, she reminded the class to flex our ab muslces in order to protect the lower back. I listened and gave it all my all.

The next morning, I rolled out of bed as though my core were made of bricks. Muscles were sore that I'd completely forgotten even existed. My obliques had never been that sore! It was wonderful! I spent a good chunk of my Sunday, my favorite day off, reading up on the history of Pilates and the ins and outs of this amazing total body workout. By midday, I was convinced that Pilates was for me, and that I should never try something for the first time during my lady time. Ouch. My cramps were in full force and I didn't want to move. I setup camp on the couch and spent the day trying to talk my roommate and her boyfriend into fetching me things so I didn't have to get up. I allowed myself a much needed day to rest, relax, and recoop.

Then came Monday. Dreaded Monday. The day I told myself I had to "get back to work being the best me I can be." I simply didn't want to. I felt horrible and I was still sore from Saturday's masochistic Pilates class. I didn't even roll out of bed. I just laid there, whining to myself like a little baby. Then I realized I had to walk the dogs. So I bargained with myself and babystepped my way through the whole miserable day. I threw on some clothes, sunglasses, and took the dogs outside. Then, I got myself a latte to help wake myself up. I made a healthy and delicious breakfast and caught up on a few episodes of the Colbert Report. Then, I looked at the clock and reasoned with myself.

If I sit here, I'll just keep sitting here. I'll end up sitting here all day, just like yesterday. Do I really feel as bad as I did yesterday? No. Then, I need to get up. So, I did. I put on my workout clothes and shoes. I told myself I only had to do whatever I could. Making the effort was enough. The scheduled workout was Chest, Back, and Abs. I knew there was no way I was doing Abs but I would just do my best, and forget the rest. Those first ten minutes were a definite challenge. But wouldn't you know it, when my body got used to the level of activity, I pushed myself just as hard as I did the week before. I just focused on form, breathing ,and hydration. And when it came time for Abs, I felt good enough to do that workout, too! Doing the best I could, one thing at a time, changed my physicality, my mood, and ended up changing my entire day for the better!

I showered, ate a late lunch, and felt so good that I took the dogs for an additional and extended walk through my neighborhood park. Fall is my favorite time of year and it was the perfect Fall day, complete with lots of leaves and a slightly cooled breeze, rare in the Valley. I did some reading, watched House, and even felt good enough to start this blog. For the first time, I felt I'd handled my menstruation with balance and, of all things, logic. But above all else, I didn't let myself give up and that one decision made all the difference. My dark passenger is finally learning to ride shotgun and keep her damn dirty hands off the wheel.

Do Your Best and Forget The Rest

I've always found mantras to be...cheesy. I think that's why I never had much high school spirit. As a rebellious teen, I valued the individual over the collective. I was weary of becoming just another sheep in the herd; who knows where I'd be led? Besides, I couldn't bring myself to chant "Go Norsemen" without laughing. I used to feel the same way about chanting in yoga class. Is it that different from the mindless mass droning of a Catholic ceremony just cause I'm sitting on the floor in a pretzel? And what's going on while my eyes are closed?

For me, it's obviously a trust issue. I can't just go along with something I don't believe in. Finally, I've found a mantra I can get behind, without feeling too dorky; "Do Your Best and Forget The Rest." P90X creator, Tony Horton, uses this catchphrase to pump up his students. Do I like that it's catchy? Sure. Do I like that it rhymes? Of course, I do! But what's really important is it's simplicity. The message is about balance. Do your best, give it your all, but don't overdo it, or push yourself so hard that you hurt yourself. On the other hand, if you lose your balance, get tired, or need to catch your breathe, take a break but MOVE ON. Don't get hung up on what you did or didn't do. And that's exactly what I focused on during today's workout.

The bane of my existence is currently Plyometrics. For those of you who aren't professional athletes or P90X grads, Plyometrics is hell in my living room. Almost an hour of squatting, lunging, jumping, leaping, squatting while jumping, jumping while lunging, and other combinations of hip, thigh, and calf torture that prepare you for movements necessary for involvements in sports. Imaginary jump shots, tires, jumping Pete Townshends, jumping jacks in squat positions...ugh. After last week's Plyo workout, it was at least three days before I could sit down or stand up without wincing.

Needless to say, I was not looking forward to today's workout. But the goal I set for myself for this week was to complete all six workouts no matter what and I wasn't gonna let myself off the hook. (Neither was my boyfriend/workout partner!) I put it off, found other things that HAD to get done first, and laid in bed longer than usual this morning. I said it was the "rare occurrence of rain in LA" but I'm from Michigan. I know what rain is like and it actually makes me feel more grounded. Finally, it was 7:30 pm and I knew that if I didn't workout very soon, I'd start to wind down and either have a crappy workout or worse, skip it altogether. That was not an option.

As soon as my dinner had digested, I stood up, took a deep breath, reached my hands up to the sky, stretched, and changed into my workout clothes. Listen up, friends, changing into my workout clothes, even when I don't feel like working out, is the surest way I've found to follow through. It may seem silly but there's a reason why police officers, bellhops, even us lowly waitstaff have uniforms; it puts you in the mood. I feel much different in a sports bra then I do in a big, comfy sweatshirt. When I lace up my shoes and walk on the cushy padding, I start to feel springy and ready for anything, rather than barefoot and relaxed. It also makes me accountable. There's nothing more disappointing than skipping your workout and taking off sweat-free exercise gear.

Next, I drank a quart of water. My biggest problem has been dehydration. It's worse in LA where the air is very dry, but especially in the Valley, where I live. When I was studying vocal music in college, I was required to have a water bottle with me at all times to keep my throat and vocal chords clear. When I started Round 1 of P90X, the first thing I did was buy this big, pink water bottle so I could carry it everywhere. I still don't drink as much as I should, but I drink at least one full bottle before workouts, then refill it to sip on during the workouts. When I'm not properly hydrated, it's harder to breathe and I get headaches within the first 15 minutes. Today, I did it right and it made all the difference.

The real key for my second Plyometrics workout was that simple little mantra. I started the workout anxious, nervous that I'd end up in pain like the last time. My boyfriend reminded me that giving in to my dark side would only counteract my goal to move forward. I grimaced less but continued my trepidatious warmup. I tried to clear my mind and focus on the movement. Then, Tony Horton repeated that oh-so-famous saying and something just clicked. Of course I'll do my best but that doesn't mean I have to kill myself. I'll jump as high as I can to break a sweat. I'll squat as low as I can to "feel the burn" and when it burns too much, I'll take a break. I'll just do my best, and forget the rest. That's exactly what I did. I left last week's torturous workout behind me and focused on my form, breath, and hydration.

I was pleasantly surprised at how well I did! Leaps and bounds above my first Plyo attempt. I was present, working hard, and letting it all roll off my back...literally. It was one of the sweatiest workouts I've had so far and totally worth it. I was so glad I tackled my Plyo fear and I even envisioned a day, weeks from now, when I would be mistress of all things Plyometric. And I smiled a sweaty smile.

Sometimes A Rebel Has To Sit Down and Ask Herself; "What the hell am I resisting here?"

As a child, I was the stereotypical tomboy. I had short hair, got into fights with boys, and strangled my best friend during Latch Key (she started it). I played catch with my Dad, rode my bike everywhere, and loved to climb fences, until I ripped the skirt of my school uniform. I played soccer, softball, volleyball, was a cheerleader for my middle school basketball team, and even trained with my high school track team for a month until I got shin splints. As I got older, I was much more interested in the performing arts and I had less and less time for sports.

By the time I got to high school, not only was I a full fledged theater and choir dork, I hated sports. I became bitter and jealous. I despised anyone wearing a letter jacket. All the attention and money went to the sports programs, and us singing and dancing freaks felt rejected, regulated to Building C, on the other end of the school. When Pointe Chorale won gold medals at the State Solo & Ensemble Festivals, our community barely noticed. But when the graduating seniors on the Varsity Baseball team came back from the State Championship game, in the middle of graduation, the entire crowd stopped to applaud their victory. Bah humbug.

As a college freshman, I quickly became a party girl and stoner, the complete opposite of physical fitness. My roommate, Colleen used to invite me to go jogging with her. My answer was always the same; "I don't run unless I'm being chased, and even then I'd probably try to talk my way out of being attacked." My free time was spent sleeping late, recovering from hangovers, and curing "the munchies" with Taco Bell or Mac & Cheese. At the very least, I was still dancing, until I injured both my knees by rehearsing for a show without properly stretching or wearing kneepads. My own lazy-hazy ways directly led to a very painful week, weak knees for the rest of my life, and the emotional pain of watching the show from the audience and wasting almost two months of hard work.

As a young adult in New York City, I tried my best to steer clear of anything sports related, even sports bars. There was nothing more revolting to me than a crowded bar full of loud, angry drunks yelling at a mass of television sets. As a singer in a band, this was fairly easy. I spent most of my time on the Lower East Side, either playing gigs or watching bands, and musicians aren't usually very sporty. But when you're a woman who dates men, you're eventually going to end up dating a sports fan. After my "groupie phase" passed, that's exactly what happened to me. I met someone who was a nice, healthy balance of creativity and physicality; an aspiring actor and writer who was also a high school jock and an avid football fan. Someone who made me want to explore something other than my dark side.

Opposites often famously attract, and that describes our meeting in a nutshell. At first, we didn't seem to have anything in common except that we graduated high school in the same year. I listen to Radiohead, he listens to Dave Matthews. He's a Tampa Bay Buccaneers fan who plays Fantasy Football, I thought football was boring and pointless to anyone who isn't a caveman. I preferred pot and nicotine, he despised smoking of any kind. But I discovered he had a sharp wit, his sense of humor was even more irreverent than mine, and we shared a similar goal; to live a responsible, healthy life. And somehow, by the end of the night, we ended up kissing despite our differences and my ashtray-mouth.

Attraction is easy, but being a relationship with someone so different meant facing some harsh realities. Being comfortable in the short term, avoiding any type of pain, was actually more important to me than quitting smoking, eating healthy, and being physically fit. To be a successful actress, I had to do more than make fun of Britney Spears from the safety of my living room. To be a successful writer, I had to turn off the music, stop scribbling, and focus on being honest on the page. If I wanted to grow into a person I could be proud of, I would have to do more than just talk. It was time to start making the changes I knew I wanted to make. For the first time in a long time, I had someone who cared enough about me to tell me the truth without sugar-coating it. Someone who made me accountable for my actions. Someone who helped me see that the dark side can't exist without the brighter side of life.

This morning, with the first week of P90X Classic behind me, I rolled out of bed, slowly stood up, and let out a loud "oooooooouuuuuuuch." My butt, my thighs, my calves, my everything was sore for the first time in months. I had to skip two out of six workouts because I was so sore. It felt like Round 1 (P90X Lean) had never even happened, and I think that's the point. That's why you take your workout to the next level. You stumble, you burn, you tense up, but then you breathe, you get through it, and you become stronger, more flexible, and have a new, different perspective. I could've given up yesterday but I didn't. I challenged myself to see what I was made of and it felt good. I even went for a walk later in the afternoon with a friend instead of just sitting on a park bench talking.

I remember what it was like spending all my time and energy avoiding things I now look forward to and I'm so glad I made the change. It turns out I was only resisting myself, giving in to my fears, and I'm proud of myself for every day I fight instead of giving up. I'd also like to thank all those who gave it to me straight, told me the truth, showed me a new way, reminded me of my original way, wouldn't let me give up, and still believed in me when I took a step backwards. I have a feeling this second week is going to be even harder and I'm ready. My goal is to complete every workout, no matter what. That means you, Plyometrics. I'm gonna kick your squatting, lunging, jumping ass, even if it shreds my ass! Hey...it's better than sitting on my ass.

Slow and Steady

Today I proved to myself once and for all that attitude really is everything. Well, not literally everything. I mean, I did use my muscles to lift those weights, but I had a great workout because I was prepared mentally. Despite everything, I got up out of bed and got to it! I had to in order to defeat the unnecessary physical challenge I setup for myself; starting a new round of exercise with a more difficult version of P90X, on a workday morning, after a week long break from exercising, and a weekend full of beer, wine, pizza, cookies, chips, and my old friend, M&M's. Not so smart.

To begin with, getting out of bed is always a struggle for me. There's no magic word, pill, or cure that puts me into a "sunshine day" kind of mood first thing in the morning, which is why I'm now addicted to caffeine. Since I'm still stuck working one day a week at my daytime job (because my bosses took longer than I expected picking my replacement), I had no choice but to wake up early enough to workout before going into the office. I knew that the longer I waited throughout the day, the harder it would be to workout. Very smart.

I also chose this same week to try to kick my caffeine habit. Yikes. Sure, I've already quit my day job but that doesn't mean I have the right to act like an asshole. Even to a self-righteous, over-the-hill, fake, phony, bitchy, old queen working the last job he'll ever have. Oops, it's happening already. Not so smart.

On the other hand, my goals include total independence. That means throwing away my last adult security blanket, or at least putting it away until I can learn to enjoy the occasional mint mocha instead of handing my paycheck over to the nearest Starbucks. Since I've already discovered that quitting cold turkey, in my case, only leads to cheating then guilt then splurging, I've developed a different plan. I've decided to stop drinking coffee drinks, drink as much water as I can throughout the day, and see how I feel. If I'm chugging along, high on life, great! If not, I'll grab a diet soda, until the day when I don't need any caffeine. Pretty smart, eh?

We shall see. Today I lasted until 1:30 p.m. when I walked to the 7/11 to buy a Diet Dr. Pepper...and a bag of Cheddar Cheese Combos...cause I didn't eat a real breakfast after my workout...and I had chips and salsa with my very late lunch...and though I killed the Chest & Back workout (my first workout of Round 2), I skipped the Ab workout cause I didn't have enough time before work...cause I woke up too late...cause I didn't get enough sleep the night before...cause I was watching TV shows.

So I'm not 100% when it comes to self-discipline...yet. But with the right attitude, I've found that I can push myself much harder than I can when I let my dark side take over. Not every day is perfect, but I did kick serious ass doing push-ups today. And pull-ups. In fact, I busted my ass today! And from now on, when I slip up, I'm going to recognize it, admit it, and move on instead of beating myself up over it like I used to. Because it's not a sprint, it's a marathon. And I'm confident that when I get to the finish line, not only will I go the extra mile, I'll go the extra mile every day in every aspect of my life; in my career, in my art, and with my friends and family.

Target Market

A couple of weeks ago, I was itching to go see a movie. It seems I've inherited my father's love of movie watching. Except he sees every movie, in the theater, the week it comes out. Yeah. He LOVES movies. As do I. Sundays are a great day to go because I usually don't have to work. Except football season is now upon us. But I'm from Detroit so...that means I cheer on my boyfriend's team, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. After the game, with my whole day ahead of me and my boyfriend up to his eyeballs in Fantasy Football, he suggested I go to the movies without him.


Wait. By myself? Alone? Of course! Then I can pick whatever movie I want. That's genius! When I was younger, I used to hate going anywhere alone for fear of looking like a loser; out to lunch, to a bar, even to the movies. I used to look down on the poor, lonely saps I saw sitting all by themselves with a book, or their phone, or their walkman (that's the prehistoric version of the iPod, for you kids). I didn't realize the power, the absolute power, involved in going alone. So I put off seeing Inglorious Basterds for another week and went to see Julie & Julia instead. I definitely made the right choice.


Meryl Streep was such a joy to watch as the towering Julia Child. I had no idea she was an American housewife in Paris, searching for "something to do." And she ended up changing American households forever! All the reviews I read called Julia's half "the better half," and from a film standpoint they were right. Amy Adams' Julie was a bit whiny, a bit annoying, a bit of a pill, but I completely identified with her. Trust me, I'm aware of how that makes me sound and that's because it's true. There's no denying it. And that's exactly what makes Julie's half of the movie worth seeing.


Julia Child has become a myth, a legend. We can't talk to her now. We only have her recipes, her broadcasts, and her book to form an idea of her. But when Julie Powell wrote her blog and subsequent books, she pulled no punches. She allowed herself to be seen the way she truly is, tantrums and all. And that's what true storytelling is about. We want to see her transformation for what it is; flawed and imperfect. And when there is a happy ending, it gives us greater hope for our own happy ending, whether or not we cuss out our boyfriend even though he's just trying to be supportive. (tee hee)


How come the reviewers at Entertainment Weekly didn't feel the same way? Maybe because they weren't part of Julie & Julia's target market. Julie's character is turning 30 years old, like I did last year. Julie was a writer working a stressful, dead-end job, like me. She was feeling lost and behind the curve and found inspiration in the fictionalized version of a real-life woman...just like I did. Julie & Julia reminded me not to be afraid of my own voice, no matter how whiny it sounds. And who knows, maybe someone will find inspiration through my writing.


It's a total cliche but I found solace in a movie, in a Nora Ephron chick-flick no less. This is my confession; Julie & Julia inspired me to start my own blog. I'm not after a book deal like Julie Powell, and I certainly don't expect to change the world like Julia Child. But if I can inspire one person to feel the way I felt when I left the movie theater that Sunday afternoon, then sharing myself and my words is totally worth it. And maybe I shouldn't judge others so harshly when they get all wrapped up in shows like American Idol, Survivor, or The Biggest Loser. I'm not exactly a fan of Reality Television, but if these shows also inspire people to follow their dreams, try new things, and push the limits of what they do in their everyday lives, I guess they can't be all bad. Besides, I'm probably not their target market.

Contagious Positivity

After reading my very first entry, my brillant friend, Christopher Haskell Jones* had this to say (and I quote); "Positivity, intent, and focus are contagious. Keep coughing on everyone you see." Thank you, Chris, for your accidental wisdom. I can't stress enough how true that statement is and it's actually one of the reasons I started this blog.


As you may know, I spend most of my evenings as a bar wench in the Valley to pay the rent. During my sixth week of Round 1 of P90X, my hard work started to show. And I wasn't the first, second, or even third person to notice. Patrons at the restaurant, regulars and newcomers alike, started asking me how I managed to stay in shape. My co-workers who knew I was doing P90X were just straight up announcing my progress in the middle of dinner service. I was ecstatic! I felt a bit like the Emperor wearing a brand new invisible outfit, but hey, if others could see my progress, maybe the program was actually starting to work.


I've never been a particularly shy person so I didn't keep my plans a secret. When people asked, I would look them in the eyes and tell them the truth; I want to become the best me I can be. This was no small task. Remember, I was talking about exercise and healthy habits to people who were eating wings, fries, and pasta and drinking beers two at a time at four o'clock in the afternoon during our Happy hour. I expected to be laughed at (and I was a few times) but an unexpected number of people were actually interested so I began sharing my story. The next thing I knew, I was spreading the word about P90X and my goal to become the best me I can be.


A week later, I went home to Detroit to visit my family. I didn't want to take time off from work in this uneasy economy of ours, but my mom insisted and offered to fly me home. My youngest sibling, Jonah, had just turned 13 years old and was fast becoming a teenager. My mom reminded me this might be my last chance before he's too cool to hang out with his much older sister. She also reminded me that I hadn't been home during summer vacation in almost eight years. So, home I went, for an actual vacation with my family.


I have to admit, I was a bit nervous to go home during my first time actually following through with an exercise program. I love my family but I didn't remember them as having the best eating habits in the world or any exercise habits at all, for that matter. And most of them struggle with their weight. The first thing I did to plan for my trip was call my sister. We were very close growing up and we've maintained a strong friendship as adults. Since last year, she had lost about 50 lbs. by drastically changing her diet and I was so proud of her. Then, she hit a plateau and I knew she was going to have to work harder to reach her goals. She said she'd been exercising but I was skeptical. I told her I wanted her to try P90X with me while I was home.


To my surprise, she said yes! She had already been planning to give it a try and was even more excited than I was! That meant it was time to call Mom and let her know I'd be taking over her living room every morning to workout. Her response; "Sure. I just rearranged the house and there's plenty of room for you and your sister to workout. Jonah and I have no problems when we workout." Wait, my family works out now? I couldn't believe it. It turns out my stepdad, John has been teaching Jonah boxing moves and making him run on the treadmill every day. My mom has a Ballet Barre workout that's easy on her injured knees. My Dad has been riding his exercise bike at home this whole year. My sister did P90X with me every morning while I was home. Here I was thinking I'd be fighting a losing battle and my whole family had caught the exercise bug. Now I was impressed!


A few weeks later, while I was on the phone with my Dad, he told me how proud he was of me and motivated by me. He figured that if someone with his DNA could do it, then maybe he could, too. And that just motivated me to want to workout even more! It really is true that positivity is contagious. Though I've found it can work the same way with negativity, if you let it.


A few years ago, I was living in the Washington Heights neighborhood in NYC. I was dating someone who I enjoyed spending time with but he was very critical and judgmental. I realized that whenever I was with him, I also became more judgmental. Being with him made it okay for me to feel superior and look down on people. I know we all do this in the privacy of our own homes from time to time, but I began to notice a pattern. I always left our dates feeling negative for no reason. I was wrestling with breaking it off because I felt oddly powerful when we were together but empty on the train ride home.


One night, while venting this problem to my roommate, Faith, she gave me a piece of advice that as stuck with me all these years. It's important to surround yourself with people who give back the same energy you give to them. If you waste your time with people who only take from you, you won't have any energy left for yourself. Needless to say, I told this young man I was seeing that we should see other people. Thinking back on my interactions with friends, lovers, even guests at my restaurant, I realize now that I'm equally affected by positive and negative energy. I wish I wasn't. I wish I had a thicker skin and the negative stuff would bounce off of me like I was rubber instead of glue. I'm working on it.


On the other hand, I am learning, quite successfully, to use the positive stuff like rocket fuel to blast me further and farther than I originally planned! Every time a patron congratulates me on working towards my goal, or a co-worker notices my progress, or a family member or friend tells me they want to try P90X for themselves, I get a boost. If my friend, Mr. Jones is right, and I believe he is, than I am sick to my stomach with positivity and I'm gonna keep coughing on everyone I meet until they catch the bug, too!


*Using three names is no longer reserved for assassins.

Anxious Calves

I never thought I'd say this but I miss working out. Don't get me wrong, I like the time off. I've used that free time to reorganize the apartment and start writing again. I've been very productive but I've lost physical progress and I don't like it. I can see it and I can feel it. Yesterday, I woke up feeling anxious in my calves. My calves wanted to workout. Wierd? Yes, but a good wierd, a great wierd! I don't remember feeling that since I was a dancer. A good sign, indeed.

I now know that my body is always changing, just like the earth, just like we all are, constantly evolving. There are only two directions for change, backwards and forwards, and for the first time in my life, I want to forge ahead. I hate having to take a break. I know it's good for me but it's frustrating. I've come so far but I know just how far I still have to go and I'm only really halfway to reaching my initial weight goal.

When I finished the P90X Lean program (or what I call Round 1), I weighed 130 lbs. and I finally reached the weight I have on my resume! ;) I had successfully lost 8 lbs. in 13 weeks, and I lost an inch off of my bust, waist, and hip measurements. One inch gone from everywhere! That may not seem like much, it didn't to me at first, but then I saw my Before & After pictures. Trust me when I say it is truly amazing how the human body works. (Also, remind me to take pictures in something other than my underwear for Round 2 so I can show you all my progress). In the last few weeks of Round 1, I started to develop the female-coveted "gap between the thighs" and now, that gap is closing. To multiply my frustration, my boyfriend stepped on the scale this morning and is at his lowest weight yet. Damn you, genetics!

Just as I'm feeling like a race car in the red, my boyfriend decides to take a look at the P90X chart to see what the schedule is like for the Classic program. During Round 1, we chose to start with the Lean program, which meant less weight lifting and more cardio. That was when we were starting from scratch and completely out of shape. Wow, was that first workout a rough one. For Round 2, we're moving up to the Classic program and after looking at it again, I'm sort of glad we took a week off in between programs.

The Classic consists of three weight lifting days per week (instead of two days in the Lean program), including two Back workouts and a workout called Plyometrics. From what I've seen, Plyometrics is a kind of combination of Core and Cardio and friends of mine have warned me it will kick my ass. Oh yeah? Well, I'm gonna kick Plyo's ass, big time. I'm gonna take it down, down to Chinatown...I may or may not need to work on my trash talking skills before next Tuesday's showdown.

In the meantime, I am ready. I'm ready to see just how far my body can go. I'm ready to see just how fit I can get. I'm gonna take these next few days to drink lots of water, get as much rest as possible, do some stretching, and try to get outdoors for some tennis or a long hike with the dogs. Who knows...maybe one day this blog will include pictures of me hiking at Joshua Tree, of my first kayaking trip, or even my first mountain climb! No matter how much progress I lose in my week off, I need to remember that it's just one week of my life, and I'm still excited about taking P90X to the next level. As Tony Horton would say, here's to good old fashioned DNA removal!!!