My Fitness Journey

As I stood there looking at myself, naked, in a full length mirror a few weeks after giving birth to my first child, I said, out loud, "Hell no.  I am too damn young for this".  I was 29 years old and my body was a wreck, a mess, fat, flabby cellulite and loose skin bulging and hanging everywhere.  I had managed to put an additional 65 or so lbs. onto my already overweight body during my 9 1/2 month pregnancy (I went 2 weeks past my due date).  I was in a state of pure joy over having my precious baby, but also miserable because I was fat, tired and overwhelmed.

Back then, in 1993, "low fat" was all the rage for weight loss.  I jumped right on that bandwagon and limited my fat grams to 20 per day.  It worked.  My diet was pretty much void of any nutritional value, but I did lose weight.  What I've come to learn since those days is that any diet that restricts any food group, whether fat or carbs, to an extreme low, will result in weight loss.  It's tough to get a lot of calories in your diet when you're only eating 20 grams of fat per day.  Pretty much everything has at least a little fat.  So, I lost all the weight I had put on with my pregnancy plus an extra 10 lbs. or so.  I did not exercise at all.  I was so determined not to exercise because it hurt and made me tired.  I did not understand all of the other benefits that go along with exercise, such as the anti-anxiety and anti-depression effects. For new moms I think this is especially important for fighting the baby blues.  Anyway, a few months after I had taken off the weight I got pregnant again.

Even though I didn't gain quite as much weight with my 2nd pregnancy as I did with my first, I still managed to get up to around 200 lbs.  I admit it.  I love to eat, and not necessarily always healthy.  I definitely used pregnancy as an excuse to eat whatever I wanted, despite my Dr.'s advice.  I knew I had taken the weight off the first time and I knew I could do it again.  And I did.  I once again did my low fat diet and lost all the weight plus some.  Fast forward a year, and, you guessed it, I'm pregnant again!

I was 33 years old when I had my 3rd child.  The low fat diet once again did the trick with taking the weight off, and of course, now I had 3 babies to care for so I hardly ate anyway.  It was different this time though.  I was feeling worn out, run down and, though thin, I looked flabby and out of shape.  Finally, one day I convinced my husband to go down to the basement and dust off the old stair climber that we had bought 5 years before and bring it upstairs for me to use.  I remember stepping on that thing and going for about 30 seconds and thinking I was going to die.  It hurt so bad!  But, dammit, I am one determined woman.  Once I make up my mind to do something there is no stopping me.  So, I just decided I would get on that thing every day and do it for as long as I possibly could.  Those first days and weeks, I could only last literally  2 to 5 minutes, but I kept at it.  Then I began to add an additional minute once a week until I built up to 30 minutes a day.  I got to where I actually looked forward to my work outs.  I was realizing the benefits.  My body was looking better,  my energy was higher and my attitude improved.

We moved to Wyoming where I joined the local recreation center and I started working out on an actual Stairmaster, which had different levels of difficulty.  I worked up to the highest level and would stay on it for 30 minutes straight.  My little at home stair climber was nothing compared to this thing.  People that I met when I moved to Wyoming thought of me as a "fitness person", a description no one who had known me before, would have given me.  I re-invented myself and I liked the new me.

In the year 2000 our recreation center purchased stationary bikes for a new indoor cycling class.  Spinning had just become "a thing" and no one in our town had any teaching experience.  I signed on to become an instructor, not knowing anything about it or what the hell I was getting myself into.  I just knew that it was time for me to step out of my comfort zone and take this fitness thing to a new level.  A group of us who had signed on to teach went to Park City to take a class to see what it was all about.  It was the hardest workout I had ever done and I really wondered if I had what it took to be an instructor.  I had many conversations with myself.  I had never been a really confident person, but I knew that physical exercise was the one thing that made me feel confident and strong.  I wanted to be able to do more with that.

The first time I taught the cycling class I was terrified, not only of having a room full of eager cyclists checking out this brand new class, but also fear that I wouldn't be able to get through the workout myself while talking and instructing.  We did a 20 minute class, which it turned out, was plenty for all of us.  I promised that in the coming weeks I would get a better feel for it and as we got in better shape we would make the class great. We didn't have iPods back then.  We didn't even have a CD player in the very beginning.  I made my own cassette tapes at home on my boom box.  Sometimes the music was good, sometimes not. Thinking back, it was so much more difficult back then in every way.  I also had to make notes and tape them to my bike, but the first time I did that I sweat all over the paper and it smudged so bad I couldn't read it.  I ended up using my son's Pokemon plastic card holders to hold my future notes.

A few weeks after I started teaching I was able to get rid of my notes and I got better at making the tapes.  I was nervous before every class still but I just faked it and got through it.  I believe I can fairly say that I became known as one of the toughest indoor cycling instructors around.  I continued teaching in Evanston for the next 13 years, even teaching until the 9th month of another pregnancy in 2003.  In 2004 I ran the first Salt Lake City Marathon.  The last few years in Evanston I even branched out and taught a sort of  Tae Bo/Turbo Jam combo class, based on at home workouts I had done.

That 3rd child is 18 years old today and I have kept my commitment to exercise and health. My challenge now is to get out of my comfort zone and try new things.  I know from experience that, although tough, it's really good to break out of that zone.  I started running again when I got my dog, Geno, and I started weight training, after years of denying that I needed it.  I can be oh, so stubborn, but that little voice inside my head always eventually prevails and I end up doing what I know will be best for me.

Now I'm in my 50's.  I can honestly say that I am in the best physical shape of my life.  I don't plan to slow down any time soon either.  I believe totally in the mind, body, spirit connection.  I think all three need to be equally healthy to live an optimal life.  I hope to continue to learn and grow in all these areas.  It's not about being perfect, but about living your best life.  Although I see nothing wrong with healthy competition, that's not what drives me anymore.  The only person I want to be better than is the me of yesterday.

Self Awareness

Here I am at 51 years old, looking for what will make me happy, whole, worthy.  I spend way too much time on Facebook because I crave the social interaction and I need constant reassurance  that I am intelligent enough, that  I look good enough, that I'm fit enough, that I'm just good enough in general.  At this age I really should be over it.  Recently I took a step back and looked at my social media self objectively.  I didn't like what I saw.  Judging by my Facebook page, I look like the most self absorbed, narcissistic person on the planet, but the truth is I am completely unsure of myself in all of those areas.  I post too many pictures of myself and talk too much about myself, looking for approval.  I share opinions that I definitely believe, but maybe not in the best, most constructive way.  Sure, I suppose the point of Facebook is to express oneself and share moments and photos and jokes and what have you, but I do it to excess.  I'm not showing people who I really am.  I'm showing them a collage of "happy" photo moments that may or may not be real or I'm sharing an opinion in an abrasive way.

What did I do before Facebook?  Was I better in real life situations?  Has social media stilted me and made me someone I wouldn't otherwise be?  Is it holding me back from living an authentic life?

I appreciate living in this age of advanced technology and social media.  I love being able to communicate with family and old friends.  I have really enjoyed getting to know people who I would have never met in real life.  Some of these people have become true forever friends. It's gratifying to find other people who share my opinions, as well as those who vehemently disagree but can have a civil debate without us ripping each other apart.  I enjoy seeing new babies and growing children and life challenges being met and exceeded by my friends.  I like being able to share in the joys of each others' lives and I like being able to offer support to those who are going through tough times.

Social media is not all good and it's not all bad.  The challenge is to find that balance of sharing, while not oversharing, of being able to distinguish between what I would say in real life to an actual person in front of me and what I'll say behind the computer screen.

I'm sure these issues are not unique to me, but I don't want to be the person I sometimes come across as on Facebook.  I want to be the real me, a decent, caring, generous, sometimes very insecure person.  That's not to say I won't still have strong opinions and voice them.  If we believe in something we should speak out about it.  I would get bored just reading and posting about rainbows and unicorns all day long.  Controversy is good and it makes us think.  Sometimes a good Facebook debate among intelligent people gives me different perspectives on issues that I wouldn't otherwise have.  Again, it's balance.

For now, though, I'm going to delete a bunch of photos (except the really good ones, haha :) ) and take a couple of days off.

Comfortably Uncomfortable

Last night I tuned in to a reality television show called Breaking The Faith.  It is about young people who are trying to escape the FLDS community in southern Utah, led by the now jailed “Prophet”, Warren Jeffs, and their lives once they’re out.

Initially, I was struck by the overwhelming mind control these people are trapped in.  How can so many people blindly follow, what, to the outside world, is obviously crazy?

Once I got past the antiquated hairstyles and dresses they are forced to wear, I was able to listen to these girls and the beliefs they still cling to, despite having left.  They still believe that Warren Jeffs is the true prophet and he was wrongfully imprisoned.  Even when confronted with the truth about his marriages to underage girls, they defended him saying that he was only following God’s orders.  The girls were also uncomfortable in the safe house, which they deemed “strange” and most of the food in the kitchen, they disposed of, saying that those foods were forbidden by the prophet.  Within the community the members are not allowed to consume milk, chocolate, pasta, bacon or various other seemingly non-offensive foods.

As for the people who still live in the compound, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do they stay there?  Why don’t they get out?”  The answer became clear as I watched last night.  It’s truly a wonder that anyone ever escapes at all, with the brainwashing and threats these people face every day from the day they are born.  There has to be something within a person, a sense so strong, that tells them that what they’re subjected to is wrong.  It has to be a sense so powerful that they are willing to risk everything they have always known, to get out of it and go into a completely unknown, strange world.

I came away from the show wondering, if I had been born and raised in the same circumstances, would I have been one of the few to escape?  I certainly hope so, but the truth is, I’m not so sure.  I was able to find my way out of religion, thankfully, but not for lack of years of church attendance and living in the Bible belt.  But, as an American, in a free society, I was able to read as much as I wanted and listen to all views and opinions and was able to come to my own conclusions based on what I learned.  These FLDS members do not have that luxury.

 How many of us allow ourselves to be trapped in situations because it’s what we know and what we’ve always been told is right and we fear the unknown?  Whether it’s a bad marriage, a job in which we are miserable, an overweight body, a religion that is lording over us and making us feel guilt for being human, a political party that tells us that to be a part of it we must agree with everything it does and defend it at all costs, there are countless situations that can hold us back and keep us from seeking the truth.  Oddly enough, many of us find some level of comfort within these negative circumstances.  We look at the FLDS polygamist cult and think, “How weird.  I could never be that way.”  But, in reality, many of us are more like them than we think, although we’re not physically isolated from the outside world.   I am impressed by these young men and women who escape the cult.  They are far braver than many of us would ever be.

I look forward to next week’s episode as they venture out into the real world. My hope for them is they find a welcoming society and they’re able to eventually find their truth.  As for the rest of us… well, I hope for the same thing.

DOOMSDAY

As I was jogging along Bear River Trail this morning, I let my mind wander and go to a place where I’ve never let it go before.  I let myself wonder what it would be like to wake up Nov. 7, and Mitt Romney has been elected President of the United States.  Now, those of you who know me know that I am a liberal Democrat and an ardent supporter of President Obama.  I very much hope and believe that he will be re-elected.  But, after a poor debate performance last week by the President and a strong performance by Mitt Romney, I couldn’t help but become a little nervous, to say the least, so I decided to plan how I will react  if that happens.

First, I will probably bury myself under blankets and sob for a couple of days.  I should be allowed as much, I think.  But, then I will have to snap out of it and move on.  Right now, since Mitt Romney is the leader of nothing, and has not earned my respect, I plan to continue to express my negative opinion of him and call him out on his lies and flip flops all the way up until election day.  You will be able to find many arguments  about why I believe what I do on Facebook.  But, (and remember I don’t believe this will happen) if he becomes president, I will really, really try to accept it and wish him well.  There’s little doubt I will disagree with many of his policies because, after all, I’m a Democrat, but I will not act as if the world has come to an end and the country is doomed, like my conservative friends did when President Obama was elected.  I remember so well, the night of the election in 2008, conservatives predicting the end of the world because President Obama had won.  This blatant hatred has continued throughout his presidency.  They have refused to give him an ounce of credit,  while blaming him for everything, including the weather, and questioning every part of his life from his religion to his citizenship to his love of and allegiance to the country.  I will not do that to Mr. Romney.  I will give him a chance and give him credit for things he does well.  I also will not teach my children to hate him.  If he should become president, I will tell them to always refer to him as President Romney (oh, that’s difficult to even type). One of the most striking things, to me, about the last 4 years, has been the hate spewed by my children’s classmates, about the President, attitudes most likely expressed at home by adults who should know better.  It’s time for citizens of the United States to stop disrespecting the office of the Presidency.  America is better than that.

The scenario of a Romney win frightens me, but realistically I know my life is not likely to change very much.  I honestly believe President Obama is the better choice for the country.  But, if it doesn’t go that way, I’m going to accept it.  I hope my conservative friends will do the same when (okay, if) President Obama is re-elected.

We are all Americans and no matter which party has the White House, we’re fortunate to live in this country and if we forget that, we really are doomed.

The Chan Clan Sisters

Having reconnected with some dear friends from my childhood on Facebook, my mind is flooded with memories of my growing up in the small town of Goodman, Mississippi. I don't know if Goodman was unique as far as small towns in the south go, but with absolutely nothing to do, we were never bored.

My best friend, Melissa Upchurch lived right next door to me. Her older sister, Sandra, was one of the popular girls who I wanted to be like and I felt honored when she hung out with us because she clearly had better things to do. Steve, the oldest Upchurch, was always making trouble and making fun of us. He had nicknames for all of us.  No one was spared.  Mine was 'Bushwoman' because of my tangled mass of kinky curly hair.   Melissa was 'Moose'.  Sandra was 'Gut'.  There was also John Lowe, ' The Natural', Hugh Shaw, 'Hugh Baby', Melody Young, 'Smelly Melly', and my sister, Paula, is 'Pooty' to this day; you get the picture.  Some of his names were flattering; others, like mine, not so much.

One summer, sometime in the mid 70s, Sandra, Melissa and I came up with the idea to create a singing and dancing group and put on shows for the neighborhood.  We needed cash to be able to purchase candy and soda from Cauthens', the convenience store down the road, the one my Daddy always sent me to to buy his Winstons.  (Yes, I was buying cigarettes at 10 years old.).  Anyway, we gathered in Sandra's room and went over different options for the name of the group.  We came up with The Chan Clan Sisters.  Catchy, huh?  Coming up with the name was the easy part though.  Now, we needed to write some songs, choreograph some dance moves and create our costumes.  Sandra and I had similar unruly hair and usually we would just drape a towel over our heads with headbands to hold them in place and pretend that was our hair. We were going for the 'Cher' look.  Somehow, though, Sandra had managed to get an actual long hair wig!  She looked beautiful, just like Marsha Brady.  I was stuck with the towel.  Melissa already had pretty long hair with just a few soft curls.

We worked for what seemed like weeks to perfect our act.  We had done a pretty good job and were about ready to set a date for the big show.  That's when Steve came to us with a proposal.  He would be our manager.  We were extremely skeptical given Steve's reputation for trickery.  Steve was always up to no good and we were sure his motives could not be in our best interests.  But, he was a smooth talker and convinced us that we needed a manager to handle ticket sales, crowd control, etc.  So, it was done.  Steve Upchurch was named manager of The Chan Clan Sisters.  Somehow, with that job came no actual work, just the title.  We would go to him with our ideas and he'd just say, "Sure, great..."  We decided the venue would be my driveway.  We set out lawn chairs and potted plants were strategically placed for extra flare.  We rehearsed our numbers day and night.  We walked the neighborhood selling our homemade show tickets for 50 cents each.  By the night of the show we were set.  Butterflies filled our stomachs as we did our last minute preparations.

The show was an absolute success! We got applause and a standing ovation. My towel stayed on my head, as did Sandra's wig. Sandra, Melissa and I were so caught up in the excitement of the moment, we didn't realize our money box had gone missing. We had collected at least 7 dollars, which was enough to keep us in cracker jacks and candy cigarettes for 3 or more days. Where had our money gone?

Steve had been lurking around all afternoon, before the show, not really helping, but we just assumed he was making sure we had everything under control, kind of a supervisory roll. After the show, he was nowhere to be found. Deduction:  the cigar box with the money was gone and Steve was gone....Steve took our money!

We split up and went out to find Steve. I was hoping I wouldn't find him first, because, quite frankly, I was afraid of him. Sandra and Melissa had fire in their eyes though.  So, off we went.  Sandra went toward the 'gulley', a drop off at the end of our street, where we would sometimes play army because you could pretend like you were in the trenches.  Melissa decided to look behind Smelly Melly's house.  There were some trees and overgrown brush back there.  I took off toward 'The Natural's house, which was the opposite direction of the the gully, kind of standing alone on a big hill on the way to Cauthens'. I took Pooty along for backup.  Of course, I had no idea what I was going to do if I did find Steve, but, nevertheless, off we went.

Now, keep in mind, Goodman is a really small town.  We were all within a half mile radius of each other, if not closer.  It was late afternoon and there were dark clouds gathering, most likely to produce a thunderstorm, as often was the case on summer evenings.  We stepped up the pace of our search so we could make it inside before the rain began.  Pooty was a really fast runner, even at the very young age of 5, so she ran ahead of me to look for any sign of Steve.  Unfortunately, (or fortunately, I was thinking), there was no sign of him anywhere.

Sandra, Melissa, Pooty and I returned to the scene of the crime to discuss our next move.  As we were chatting, we heard, off in the distance a loud, horrific scream or cry or something.  It came from up the hill, from the only direction we had not searched.  The sound got closer and closer until we saw a figure running toward us.  Steve?  Was that Steve?  As he approached us, we noticed that the area around his mouth and cheeks was all swollen and misshapen and red.  He was crying!  Yes, Steve Upchurch, town bully, was crying!  What in the world had he gotten into?

Well, it turns out that Steve did not know that his hiding place of choice was also the spot where my Daddy, Chris Haley, had developed his latest hobby, raising bees.  Daddy had the full bee raiser's suit... mask, gloves, coveralls.  He would be completely covered at all times to prevent getting stung and he still got stung on occasion.  Unfortunately, Steve was not wearing anything but shorts and a t-shirt when he discovered the bees.  After he had spent our money, he had taken his bag of Cauthens' goodies up the hill to what he thought would be the ideal hideaway.  He opened up his bag of cotton candy and began stuffing his face.  As the cotton candy mixed with the Mississippi humidity and his sweat, it created a sticky sweet film around his mouth.  Well, you can guess what happened when the bees got a whiff of that!  Poor Steve.  The bees swarmed and attacked.  He was stunned, not knowing what was happening.  There is nothing scarier than a swollen, red faced, screaming Steve.

Well, suffice it to say, Steve learned his lesson.  Mr. Upchurch, aka Buddy, felt so bad for us girls that he paid us back the money Steve had stolen plus 3 extra dollars!  It had started to rain at this point so we decided that we'd make our trip to Cauthens' first thing the next morning.

The Chan Clan sisters went on to perform many more shows.  I eventually got my own long haired wig and we never hired another manager.

God?

I was raised in the Baptist Church, like most children in the south.  My mother saw that we attended Sunday School and the 2 services each week, one in the morning and one in the evening.  We also usually attended a Wednesday evening service, (just to keep us in check).  I never gave it much thought.  It was just the way it was, with everyone.  The few families who chose not to attend were looked down upon and sneered at, but we did "pray" for them that one day they would, like us, see the light.  There was a certain arrogance that went along with being one of the flock.  It was a very comfortable feeling.  We told ourselves that we were special, that God loved us more.

By contrast, many of us went to "private academies", which were basically schools established to keep us segragated from black people.  These schools taught love of God, love of country, and racism.  I went from first through twelfth grade, living in the blackest county in Mississippi, without ever attending school with a black person.  It didn't even seem odd to me.  I rememember wondering what was wrong with the white kids who attended public schools.

When we were children we followed what we were taught and didn't question much, at least I didn't.  We weren't bad people.  We just didn't know better.  We should know better now.

As an adult my views on the world have certainly solidified, like cement that had been mushy for the first half of my life and then seemed to come together and harden, and now are inpenetrable.  I don't believe in the church teachings of my youth and I don't take the Bible as the word of God.  I believe that human kind would be much better off if people were less concerned about the afterlife and more concerned about the here and now and the future on earth.  The "word" of God has led to warped beliefs and actions. Religion has corrupted more than it has saved.

I think about these things all the time, probably too much.  Like everyone else, I have no idea what the meaning of life is, but I know I am here to serve in some capacity, and not so that I'm assured eternal life.  To me that is an insincere quest.  It's very selfish.  Service is meant to be outside oneself, a purely selfless act, that should be done with or without believing one is scoring "brownie points" with the Almighty.

These are, of course, just my opinions.  I know a lot of very religious people who are truly wonderful and kind and do a lot of good.  But, that is who they are, with or without religion.  I also know atheists who possess the same qualities.  Whatever we believe, we should all leave a little bit of space in our minds to at least consider other possibilities, to crack the hardened cement, just a little.

As the New Year begins today, I'm at a point in my life when I'm questioning my purpose.  Sure, I've given birth to and am raising 4 children.  I guess you could say my main purpose has been to be a Mom, but as they become older and more independent, I feel the need to be more, do more with my life.  The age of 46 is a strange age.  I remember as a young adult feeling that the 40s seemed so far away and people in their 40s seemed "old".  Well, I don't feel old, at least on most days, but I can see the evidence of my age more and more when I look in the mirror.  I always told myself aging would not bother me, but vanity has made itself known to me, and I admit, I hate the look of my aging skin. What's worse, though, looking old or looking ridiculous trying to look young?  Youth and looks fade.

This year I am going to look for ways I can give back.  I need to tap into what talents I have, that have been repressed for so long, while I've been busy being a Mom.  Rediscovering what those talents are is going to be my greatest challenge.  I'm moderately intelligent, very impatient and a world class procrastinator.  Fortunately, I have lots of inspirational people in my life to learn from.

Christi Nowicki