When you're a creative type (read: actor, musician, dancer, writer, artist) trying to "make it", you probably live in either New York or Los Angeles, leaving your family and hometown to pursue your dreams. When faced with the reality of paying rent and bills, you realize that if you don't turn your dreams into goals, they'll stay dreams. That's not why you sacrificed being close to your loved ones, to waste your time. So you take a job as a bartender, server, hostess, receptionist, assistant, promo model, brand ambassador, or salesman, something with a bit of financial security. It's a tough career choice you've made, being thousands of miles away from your loved ones, and you look forward to those special times of year when you can see them again; holidays!
Except you forgot that working in the service industry often means working on holidays while other people have their Thanksgiving dinners, or only getting the actual holiday off of work, and one day is not enough to fly home, enjoy quality family time, and fly back. So you sacrifice further, and you plan on working through the holidays. Besides, maybe people will feel generous and tip you more when their bellies are full of turkey and their heads are full of wine. That will make it all worthwhile.
I've been through this scenario many times in the ten years since I left Michigan, and this was my plan for this year. Luckily, my college friend, Dom, and his lovely wife, Zuzana, invited my boyfriend and I to their home for Thanksgiving dinner. I made corn muffins for the first time (quite successfully, I might add) and my boyfriend made his delicious sweet potato casserole, with mini marshmallows on top. It was a fun gathering, complete with Wii tournaments and arm wrestling. I wasn't with my family, but I was among good company and good food. I was comfortable even though I wasn't home, so I ate like I was home; turkey, stuffing, sweet potato, corn muffins (plural), yogurt-dipped pretzels, an entire 2 liter of diet soda, a glass of wine, potato au gratin, cheese and crackers, more cheese, then later, at my own house, hot apple cider rum and pumpkin pie. I really went for it.
I slept like a spoiled baby that night, due to a sugar and fat fueled food coma. The next day, I had what I can only describe as a hangover. I hadn't had much to drink the night before but I sure didn't want to get out of bed. The only thing that woke me up was remembering it was my birthday, good old number 31, and I was not going to waste the day. I let myself sleep in a bit and then immediately began celebrating! I love Mexican food so I went to Chevy's. I wasn't planning on drinking but I do love margaritas. Why not? It's my birthday! I deserve more sugar and alcohol, don't I? Cut to an hour later, a full belly, and a slight headache.
When dinner time arrived, my boyfriend offered to cook a steak dinner, complete with a bottle of wine and one of my favorites, red velvet cake. It was a perfect ending to a wonderful day. Once again, I fell fast asleep, with the help of my birthday food coma. Though my vacation time was officially over, I woke up the next morning dreading getting out of bed. I wasn't ready to go to my normal routine. With leftovers in the fridge, I didn't have to! I told myself I shouldn't keep indulging. On the other hand, my boyfriend worked so hard peeling all those sweet potatoes, it seemed such a waste not to eat just a bit more of that mouth-watering casserole. At 11:30 at night. Before bedtime.
Although I work all weekend nowadays, Sundays are still my "bad days" when it comes to diet. I allow myself the chance to eat the salty and sweet I usually deny myself throughout the week. Usually. But this week had been Thanksgiving and my birthday, I hadn't really denied myself anything. Maybe I'll just get donuts and coffee for the morning. I mean, it's become a tradition. Then, I didn't really have time before work to cook so I told myself it was okay to just have pizza, one bad meal is fine. After work I wasn't hungry right away and I had a conference call scheduled anyway so I could just wait to have dinner. But by the time the call ended, I was starving so fuck it, I thought, I'll just drive-thru and get fast food. I'll be good starting tomorrow. Mondays are good days for that, right?
I should have listened to my own advice, the idea I had when I started this blog; Every day is a good day to begin. I strayed from my path. Not only did I overindulge, I stopped working out. I derailed. I'm only sharing all of this to be honest. I'm not beating up on myself. I enjoyed myself! I let the kid in me live it up for the holiday weekend. And now it's time to get to work. I've lost a bit of the progress I gained during Round 1 of P90X, but it's never too late to pick up and get to work. That's what I'm going to do. Riiiiiiiiiight now.
I know that title sounds pessimistic but I'm just trying to be realistic. I'm sitting in the front car of an emotional roller coaster; either my hands are in the air or I'm just holding on for dear life. There is rarely a day in between. When those middle of the road days do come, I get bored. So I nitpick, looking for a reason to be happy or sink into a depression. Maybe it's genetic but as long as I'm aware of it I'm going to learn to control it myself, sans drugs (self-medicated or doctor-prescribed), booze, food, or anything other quick fix. My problem is that every time I have a setback, I feel like I'm starting over. How do I teach myself to think of these moments as speedbumps rather than failures?
I have this pattern and it goes a little something like this; I come up with a grand idea, a life-changing, mood-altering, genius plan. I then spend way too much time plotting and scheming to ensure ultimate success. By the time I actually begin to follow through, I'm already losing steam. Then, it fizzles out, a beautiful, glowing shell of what could have been. I do not want to end up a beautiful, glowing shell of the person I didn't become. But I've become more afraid of the little every day failures then of the big picture failure. I say I don't want to end up a never-was, then find myself distracted by other people's lives and art instead of creating my own.
Example; this blog. I thought my blog was going to be super motivational but it's turned into a substitute for therapy. At the very least, I'm writing something. That has to be a good thing. But where's the discipline. Must I wait for inspiration? Then nothing gets done. I need to learn how to forge ahead on days where I think nothing is good enough. Can it be that simple? Is the very least just about showing up and getting it done? Then there are these other ideas that I should be writing. I made a list. It's a very good list. All good ideas. When will they get done? What will it take for me to buckle down and write while working two jobs, sticking to my exercise program, and keeping my life together?
I'm wondering how do I live my life while planning for a life I might never have? Am I feeling this pressure because another birthday is passing me by, or do I always feel like this but never say it out loud?
It's been too long since I shared myself on this here blog so I'm writing, mental block or not. The truth is I haven't had anything inspirational to say. My path to fitness has taken a few twists I didn't anticipate. To begin with, my diet hasn't been horrible, but it hasn't been great either. One of the biggest problems with working in a restaurant is NOT eating the delicious, yet not-exactly-healthy menu items, like Eggplant Parmigiana. Yum. Or thin crust pizza, which I end up eating on Sunday afternoons for my "bad meal" anyway. I have not yet mastered the daily habit of moderation and it's effecting my progress. I sure love cheese!
Halloween came and went. When it arrived, I was thrilled but it ended up a big pain in my neck, literally. My friends invited me to Universal Studios' Halloween Horror Nights, including 12 haunted attractions (I was scared by Norman Bates, Michael Meyers, and those Joker henchman, and posed with Shaun of the Dead, my hero!). I had such a good time but I wasn't thinking about how tense my muscles would be all night long; getting scared over and over, standing in long lines out in the cold, and not drinking ANY water. In addition, I was up super late and didn't sleep very well. I may or may not have had nightmares involving captors with pig faces.
The next night was Halloween and I had to work. My weekend of not taking care of myself continued with working a closing shift until 2am, in platform boots, and again, drinking soda instead of water. I finished the night with a beer, the last thing I needed. By Sunday, I was wrecked. My voice was hoarse and I was tired. Did I replenish my throat and body with water? Nope. I opted for caffeine; coffee then soda. I then had donuts, ice cream, and fast food, with no thought to what I was doing to my body. It was Sunday and that's the day I get to eat what I want.
Monday morning I woke up and I could barely move my head in any direction without sharp pain. What had triggered this pain? Did I sleep funky? Was I not properly positioned on my Tempur Pedic pillow? We weren't THAT busy at work on Halloween so I don't remember bumping into anything. I do have an old neck injury but it wouldn't just mysteriously act up like arthritis. I simply couldn't figure out the cause of this sudden, debilitating pain, and I didn't until I saw a massage therapist. By asking me simple questions, he made me aware of my own self-sabotage. Questions such as "Have you been staying hydrated?" and "Are you getting enough sleep?" made me realize how my little choices had snowballed into me simply not taking care of myself. I told my therapist about my scare-filled weekend and he pinpointed my problem; Halloween.
While watching the latest horror flick may be fun, it turns out getting scared is actually bad for you. When we get scared, our body goes into "fight or flight" mode. Even when we know it's just a movie, our brain tells our body we're in danger. Our blood pressure and heart rate go up, muscle tension increases, and our body has all this built-up stress with no release. If only I'd known this before I went through 5 haunted attractions in one night, I could've spent the morning after relieving that stress, through physical activity or any number of relaxation techniques. Instead, I tried to get more sleep, skipped Yoga, and drank caffeine.
I guess I'm not as self-aware as I thought. Mind, body, and spirit are truly connected. The choices we make can have effects we didn't even imagine. And the next time I plan on scaring myself silly, I better plan on hitting the gym next day, too! Or some other form of stress relief...
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.
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.
Born and raised in Detroit, MI, Briana began writing at an early age. She studied Creative Writing and Journalism throughout grammar school, writing an advice column and serving as a Copy Editor for her school newspaper. Briana attended Western Michigan University's Musical Theatre Performance program before heading to New York City to pursue a career in theatre and music. Writing music with the Chad Parson Band inspired her to focus her energy on other forms of writing she had left behind; poetry, short stories, and eventually short film. She was privileged to study Poetry Writing with poet and novelist Laurie Wagner Buyer and was honored to receive an internship with E. Jean Carroll, the longtime advice columnist for Elle Magazine. In 2006, Briana co-founded Bigger Baby Productions, a small internet-based company focused mainly on short comedic film. On January 1st of 2008, she made the cross-country move from NYC to LA to pursue a career in film and television. Briana currently resides in Santa Monica with her dog, Howie, and recently finished her first marathon!
