Sometimes it just feels good to breathe. And sometimes I need a reminder to do that!
It’s funny how we seem to need to be reminded to slow down, not speed up. You’d think that it would be the opposite. But at least in my world, if one is good ten is better. With all of the striving and dreams and goals and desires I find that when left to my own devices I’m more inclined to move faster and pile on the activity than to slow down and rest.
Lately I’ve felt myself enter that uncomfortable in-between. Change is on the horizon; not a big change, but enough to shake some stuff up. But it’s not here yet. And I hate that. As soon as I’m ready for change, I want it NOW. I want to know exactly what’s going to happen and have everything all planned out. I have no patience, no chill, and I hate feeling underprepared. When I’m stuck in this “just wait” mode I find myself getting restless, edgy, and bratty. And there’s nothing I can do about it. The more I spin and try to predict the future, the more I miss the present. And the present is pretty damn good and would be a shame to miss.
The only action in this space is just to breathe. Just breathe and allow it to be. It’s kind of the worst. But in those little slices of moments where I find myself being present and forgetting about all of my stress and unknowing, it’s a pretty peaceful place.
So here is your daily reminder to breathe, let life do its thing, and find peace in the in-between.
It’s already Day 2 and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.
I finally decided that I’m too richly scheduled and I need to start saying “no” to things. Also, I’m in a skit this weekend. At my church. I don’t know why I said yes. Wait, yes I do. Fame. Ego. The Glory of the Spotlight. I’m going to be church famous. #churchfamous.
Yesterday’s Breakfast: Forgot. Had an emergency Epic bar, apple, and packet of almond butter in my desk at work.
Today’s Breakfast: 2 ½ scrambled eggs (shoulda been 3 eggs but the preschooler can be an eating powerhouse at times and likes to eat from my plate) and broccoli. Tea with nutpods.
Since I have like three days to memorize my lines and like, no time in the day to do so, I’ve been rehearsing on BART and while I’m walking to and fro in San Francisco. I’ve enjoyed the strange side-eyes I’ve received, and from now on when I’m around someone mumbling to themself in public I’m just going to assume they’ve got a big role. “Break a leg, pants-less gentleman! I like your method acting.”
Yesterday’s Lunch: My homemade meal-prepped meal of chicken, potatoes w/ ghee, broccoli, seasoned with Primal Palate’s Breakfast Blend seasoning blend.
Today’s Lunch: Another homemade meal-prepped meal of chicken, potatoes w/ ghee, green beans, seasoned with Primal Palate’s Meat and Potatoes seasoning blend. Snacked on an Epic bar in the afternoon
Because I don’t have enough to think about/care for in life, over the weekend I bought a rainforest of plants. So many plants. Outside plants, inside plants. Plants that produce veggies, look nice, smell pretty. I think I spent almost $100 on dirt. Good thing I had a Home Depot gift card handy! And now I’m a panicky plant mom just waiting for one of my plant babies to die, because let’s be real, I don’t even have time to shower at regular intervals, let alone remember that plants need water and light and stuff. Pray for my plants.
Yesterday’s Dinner: homemade chicken soup with broccoli and carrots
Today’s Dinner: the last of my chicken-potato w/ ghee-green bean meals. Mourned a bit that the easy part is over.
I finally made it back to CrossFit yesterday after like a month out due to sickness and really liking my sleep back. But I drug my tired behind in for the 6am class and was rewarded with so. Many. overhead. Squats. I can’t properly stand up after sitting for any length of time without hobbling like a gremlin. Good thing I have my kids this weekend so I can give my legs a couple of days to get over the shock of what I just made them do, as my kids are always my go-to excuse for not going to the gym. I’ll see you on Tuesday, CrossFit. Bring it.
Woke up regretting everything and nothing. Last night I unintentionally drank a bottle of wine (it was so tasty and my glass kept refilling itself wth was that all about??) while watching Queer Eye and intentionally sobbing because everybody on this show is just so beautiful omg I love you so hard. My stomach was all hating me and stuff so I decided to forego eating breakfast. And drinking wine for the time being.
Breakfast: 2 cups of tea with generous splashes of oat milk
Can I just say what a gorgeous day it is? Finally getting a hint of spring in San Francisco! At work I decided to take my lunch on the patio and sit and wonder upon all of this natural light that I can’t seem to get enough of.
Lunch: Burger with sautéed mushrooms, cheese, some sort of crunchy things, I think onion strings? Side salad.
I think my shoes are dying. The back outside of the heels have worn away, so when I stand my ankles fall to the outside. This can’t be good long-term.
Also, I got another unicorn coffee mug over the weekend. I forgot to take a picture. But it’s majestic as all unicorn coffee mugs are. I’ll share it later when I remember.
Mid afternoon pick-me-up of a grande latte with whole milk and generous sprinkling of cinnamon
Since I didn’t get to it over the weekend, I ended up meal prepping after dinner. Shout out to my InstaPot, which basically did all my meal prep for me. While I made dinner it made chicken and baked potatoes for the week.
Also, I cut beets while wearing my white shirt last night and there were no casualties. Tell my mother.
Dinner: mixed greens salad with beets, goat cheese, almonds, and chicken
I don’t know what the deal is, if it’s all the wood stuff in the skies or what, but lately I don’t like a lot of noise. Not even music or the TV. And my brain just feels full lately so I haven’t been reading as much. But last night I journaled. I have been journaling my pens out of ink as of late. I have like 3 rotating notebooks that I grab one depending on my mood and let it all out. It was great to put it all out there before bed, and when I fell asleep my brain felt so calm and spent. Or maybe it was the wine. I lied about not drinking wine. Or at least until the bottle I still have open is done for.
Bedtime: glass of cab, a few chocolate coins from the kids’ St Patrick’s Day stash because I am a good and responsible meal prepper
What is going on, friends? I totally went MIA yesterday, which is bound to happen from time to time. normally I get out of bed an hour early to blog.
But yesterday I got out of bed, on Day 17 of the Last 90 Days, and … oh, this is embarrassing … I was over it. Not over blogging, but I felt tired and bored and not willing to get out of bed and start my day like I had intended last night. So I laid in bed and mindlessly read emails and scrolled social media and all of the sudden I had to get ready for work. So no post, no reading, no me-time. And it’s driving me nuts.
What happened? What’s missing? What was different about Day 1 that makes Day 17 so different? It’s the same day, same routine. Same “5 to Thrive” objectives. How did I bounce out of bed Day 3, tie on the shoes for a run, fill up the water bottle with pep, and today I just want to lay around and scroll Instagram?
So I did some pondering, and I started my homework for “Workshop Wednesday,” and I thought about all the times I started something and gave up on it – work project ideas, exercise programs, All the Whole30’s (oh, so many dropped Whole30’s!), home projects and crafts – and then I found the theme: I quit when I don’t realize progress, and lose my emotional attachment to my “Why.”
Progress is encouraging, but like a lot of things worth doing in life, like encouraging your body to get stronger and healthier, saving for a home, working toward a promotion, they all take a long time with no noticeable results until that one day when you PR a lift or receive recognition from a VP that noticed that great presentation. That’s when you have that “wow, it’s working!” celebratory moment.
However, what fuels your fire during those long stretches that it seems like the goal is so far away (or worse, not even close)? How do you keep turning down your favorite food because you KNOW it messes you up (looking at you, candy!) so you can realize your health goals? How do you put in that extra hour at work when you’re starting to feel that tug of guilt that you should be at home taking care of the things you’re putting off there so you can kill it on this assignment? How do you lace up for a run when race day is ages away, and you really don’t want to put your body through that right now?
For me, I need what I call a “Why”. I need an emotional reason to hang on to when things get annoying or hard. And when I started pondering my Last 90 Days progress, I found that my “Why” was a wishy-washy “oh, I like challenges! This might be fun to do.” I have no end game, no expectations. So it makes it really easy to brush off if I’m not feeling it, because it’s entirely based on a “I feel like doing this” emotion rather than something solid that doesn’t change based on my mood.
Also, I really have no end goal in mind for this challenge, other than “let’s see what changes.” I don’t know how my life is going to change for the better by drinking water and gratitude journaling. Maybe it won’t. And if I make my motivation based on results I see, I may be disappointed in the end.
So I have to cement in a stronger “Why,” one that is not dependent on outcome. That I trust the process and don’t pass judgment on things I may not understand. That I’m doing it purely because I like to do hard things and I want to be the kind of person that finishes what I start. My “Why”is because “I finish things and I finish strong.”
I had an absolute meltdown the other morning. A wonderful meltdown, because it led me to a wonderful revelation. For quite a few weeks now I’ve been trying to get back into a regular exercise routine. For me, the strategy is to incorporate it into a routine part of my day so that it becomes habit for me, a no-brainer that I don’t need to think about. And the most logical place for me is to plug it into my morning, first thing. I get up, brush my teeth, drink some water, then hit the gym or run. And it’s been a great way to start my day.
However, there is one little thing that keeps derailing my “exercise every day” goal. And that little thing is my little daughter. On the days I have my kids, my 3-year-old usually wakes up sometime in the middle of the night and makes her way to my bed. If I’m not in bed with her when she wakes up, she hunts me down and cries and fusses and generally starts the day off with a meltdown.
Now ideally – and this is what so many other parents are able to successfully do – I try to get up way before my kids wake up so I can get a home workout in before the house starts stirring and demanding attention. This should be easy. However, every time I gently roll out of bed and tip-toe downstairs to sneak outside to the cold, dusty patio, I’ll just be loading weights on my bar when a frantic, sobbing 3-year-old in Paw Patrol jammies launches herself at me accusing, “I didn’t know where you were! You were gone! I was so scared!”
I mean, how do you even respond to that?
And so I hold her and I console her, and usually I take her back to bed with me, because it is still ridiculously early for her. I coax her back to sleep for an hour or so while I just lay there next to her, wide awake and in my gym gear, my feelings ping-ponging between the love and comfort of snuggling my little one to bed, and seething in resentment that can’t I just have this one time to myself to get my stuff done? I mean, she owns me all throughout the day, is it too much to ask if I have from 9pm until 6am to myself??
And so here I was, laying in bed next to my tiny daughter, and it suddenly occurred to me that she’s almost 4 years old. And her brother is almost 7. And she’ll grow out of this eventually, this crawl-in-mommy’s-bed-every-night habit. And I know I’m going to miss it so hard.
In another year or so she’ll be fine and won’t be climbing into my bed every night. And then I get sad that she won’t always be this small, dependent, and cuddly. Do I really want to give up these quiet mornings of snuggles and closeness for exercise? Am I prepared to start paying the cost of having my kids need me less?
I don’t know if I’m really ready for that yet, because I know it’ll come sooner than I’m prepared for. Soon they’ll be requesting slumber parties with their friends, asking me to drop them off at school around their corner so their friends won’t see me. They’ll stop giving me hugs and kisses and start hiding behind closed doors and giving me one-word “grunt” answers to “how’s your day been?” They’ll be dating. Breaking curfew. Planning for college. Then one day moving out and holy crap I’ll be an empty-nester and then I’ll totally have all the time in the world to exercise anytime for as long as I want!
So to the moms of small children out there who struggle to find time to take care of yourselves and feel guilty about it: if you can’t find the time to consistently exercise and it is stressing you out, that is totally and completely okay to just not work out. You are not indifferent to your health, lazy, or uncommitted. And if you can’t give yourself permission to not feel guilty about not having “structure” or “a routine”, then let me give it to you. You have the permission to drop the idea that you need to work out every day if trying to fit it into a day that already starts too early, ends too late, and has approximately zero amount of self-care time built in is causing you stress and shame. Because this is just a phase of life and This Too Shall Pass. Soon you will sleep through the night again, have time in the evening to cook a real meal and even maybe sit down to a TV show uninterrupted or be able to go to the bathroom alone. I know, right?? Such dreams. But it’ll happen someday.
Now, I’m not saying never work out. When you have the opportunity, seize it! Had the baby off to the other parent, and jet off to the gym. Use a lunch break to squeeze in a run. And when you can get it done, relish it and feel good that your doing something good for yourself. But don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not doing enough, that you need to “get with the program” or “get back on the wagon,” because I’ll tell you a secret …
There is no wagon.
So just do what you can, let go of what you can’t, and just live your life. Because if you can find the happy and joy, you get to model how to be happy and joyous to your impressionable little ones who are always watching, and isn’t that what parenting is really all about?
Just for Today, I will try to live through this day only, and not tackle my whole life-problem at once. I can do some things for twelve hours that would appall me if I felt I had to keep them up for a lifetime.
– Frank Crane
Last week, I recognized that I had slowly sank into a depressive state. It was nothing scary, dramatic, or cause for alarm. I was simply noticing that every morning it was increasingly harder to get out of bed, every day it was tougher to focus at work and to stay on task, and I found myself avoiding texts and calls and flaking on events, preferring to sit alone in silence. As much as I love my alone-time, I could tell that this particular alone-time wasn’t restorative. If you were to talk to me during this time, you would probably have no idea. I’m able to be exuberant and engaging in front of people, then close the door and allow everything to shut down.
It took me a while to recognize this as depression. It feels so different than what I had experienced in the past. Instead of the dark cloud of hopelessness that told me to just give up, this is sort of a blanket of fatigue and fuzziness. It’s warm and comforting but at the same time wholly unnatural. I should want to do things I enjoy doing. I should want to get up and enjoy my peaceful mornings during these long summer days. I should want to call and meet up with my friends. But I simply kept saying “no” to myself. That I was too tired. That it wasn’t the right time. That what I need is to be alone right now. When in all actuality, being alone is the absolute worst thing for depression.
The hardest thing in the world to do when you’re in a depressed state is to reach out. The phone weighs a million pounds, and coffee with a friend is far too daunting of an operation to try and coordinate. You battle the demons that tell you that you’re really okay, and you don’t want to burden anyone else with your troubles, and all your friends are super busy and you’d had to interrupt them. But I know if it were me that my friend is calling and telling me they’re having a rough time, I will drop everything to be there. I know now how important it is. So I made the call, my friend and I had a gorgeous hike as we talked stuff out, and my load feels so much lighter now. I was able to clear some of the space to “do the next right thing,” as Glennon Doyle says.
I still have work to do. We always will. And sometimes just picking up the phone and taking that first step to say, “this is really hard right now” is the hardest.
If you suffer from depression, or even from something and you don’t even know (or want to know) what to call it, you’re not alone. It’s a frustrating, deceptive disease that I will probably spend the rest of my life trying to get on top of. I gladly accept this challenge, because I know I am a worthy opponent.
Go make it a great day, kids!
If you are struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, do not hesitate to call 911 or the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255.
Hello and happy Wednesday! I’m still recovering from jet lag over here. I just returned from my surprise work trip to Sydney, Australia on Sunday, and though it’s 5:15am here on the U.S. West Coast, my brain and body want me to believe it’s actually 10pm. I am quickly running out of coffee. Send provisions.
But my trip was AMAZING. Most of it was work, but I stayed an extra day so I could do some touristy things. I would have felt shattered if I didn’t travel to the other side of the planet and not see at least ONE koala.
Also, the hotel I stayed at had hands-down the most awesome hotel gym ever. It was actually a REAL gym/health club that hotel guests could use for free. I forgot how nice it was to have a gym in the same building!
Okay, time for some real talk, y’all. The past few years have been tough. I started this blog seven (!!) years ago with the intention of defining myself as a “fitness” person. I thought that if I blogged about my workouts and diet I would magically become all fit and healthy and find a voice and tribe and be a prominent leader in the blogosphere. I absolutely love and enjoy reading blogs, and writing for my own is super fun for me. But I get hung up on the wrong things. I constantly get swept up in the comparison trap, trying to mimic the bloggers I admire when I’ve never been one to fit in any sort of mold. I immediately jump to “oh, I should monetize my blog and try to make money, or it’s not worth my time,” instead of enjoying the process as a hobby for what it is. And worst of all, I get stuck in Impostor Syndrome, feeling that I have nothing of value to share, and “what do I think I know” and “who do I think I am” and all the other crazy negative self talk that comes with trying to lay the guard down and put yourself out there.
The truth is, I think about blogging every. single. day. In my head, I narrate events in my life for a future post. But that post is rarely written. And often, I half-write a draft and it just sits there until it’s no longer relevant and I end up deleting it. I just don’t make the time. And quite honestly, I’m scared to, as well. I’m scared to be real about my struggles and faults and Real Life stuff. Because I don’t like only showing the glossy good days and upsides; it’s not real, and you deserve real. You deserve to read something relatable and authentic, because there’s enough of the “everything is amazing and look how awesome I am” content out there. And the biggest of all, I’m tired of hiding parts of myself. I’m tired of separating and isolating the “personal me” with the “public me” with the “professional me”. While there is a line between what’s personal and what’s intimate, and there is a time and a place for disclosure and sharing, I am tired of being so cautious about how I present myself here, in my own freakin’ space on the internet that I pay for. I shouldn’t be afraid to be honest with who I am and what I’m up to. I’m tired of playing small.
I want to blog more. Whether I actually get down to making the time for it or not is yet to be witnessed. But I wanted to throw it out there, see what the Universe has in mind for this little corner of the internets. Odds are pretty good that I’ll keep writing half-draft posts every month or so that never see the light of day. Or maybe my blog will take a new direction, with whatever inspiration comes my way. Whatever the case, if you made it reading down this far, thank you for hanging in there with me while I sorted out my thoughts.
That was a lot. Here, I will share an amusing meme with you that I had posted to Instagram last week:
Breaking my Social Media Break for a “life events” update. Don’t worry, it’s good news!
Back in early January, my company was acquired and I was laid off as part of the merger. You know, because of course. Thanks, Universe.
But as my dear friend Brittany said, the Universe wanted me to have a clean slate. And apparently I work better with eviction notices anyway! I chose to not stress too much, and to just see where this journey takes me.
I made sure to view this time as an opportunity to hang with my kids more, discover a new yoga practice, plan more lunch dates and hikes around the lake with friends, and do some of the stuff I couldn’t do before while working the 9-5. Like napping. Omg, #bringingnapback
And I hit the job search hard. I had many wonderful friends offer contacts and leads, and I just had fun with looking back at all the things I loved about my career so far, all the fun stuff I got to do and the cool people I had the pleasure to work with, and just enjoyed the process for what it was: a chance for me to unabashedly brag about myself!
The fruits of my unemployed labor were soon rewarded when I received not one, but TWO incredible offers. Really great opportunities that I knew I would totally enjoy being a part of. It was a very difficult decision to make (I may have cried a bit), but after completing my first day in my new role, I feel like I made a great choice, and I can’t wait to dig in deeper with what they have in store for me.
Now, it wasn’t all puppies and rainbows and freshly baked bread. There was more than one moment that I wondered how I would pay rent next month, and let’s just say I’m a leeeetle bit in credit card debt right now. But I kept faith that things would work out, that just enough money would be there when I needed it, and I just needed to trust in the process and know that it’s being taken care of as long as right now I do the next right thing. Because if I chose to stress and freak out, it wouldn’t change the amount in my bank account, or help me ace that interview. My situation was going to remain my situation whether I laughed or cried. And I do love a good laugh.
If the past year has taught me anything, it’s that life happens for a reason. Sometimes drama happens and it’s hard and it sucks and it’s not what we want, but it gets us to where we’re supposed to be going, as opposed to where we think we should be. And the more we fight the process and the circumstance, the more we miss the simple joys and the lessons it has the potential to give us. There is purpose to the pain.
Trust the process. Trust the pitfalls. Trust that the crap going on in your life right now is there for a reason, even if the reason is to remind you how much you hate crap. Maybe if that’s your context, it’s time for a change?
For some reason, I’ve been fearful of writing lately. After some refection, I think I understand why. The fear comes from perfectionism. Not that I’ll fail, but that I won’t be perfect. Exceptional. That I’ll end up in the dreaded average. Who wants to be average? I either want to be amazingly inspiring, or so horrendously ill equipped that my cautionary story of How I Attempted Exceptional and Failed Spectacularly is a source of future amusement. Does it really need to be one or the other? I used to say, “epic good, or epic fail!” in jest, but now it’s become more of a life motto than an amusing meme. What is up with my avoidance of Average? So far all it’s doing is preventing me from living life and doing what I enjoy.
There’s nothing wrong with average. It’s comfortably in the middle. It’s unassuming. It’s where the power can lie in wait, recharging for the next surge. Average gets stuff done. It’s still progress. Average sets the standard. As David Letterman said, C’s still get degrees.
Our culture wants to reward the overachievers, the “greatests,” because they’re an inspiring story. And it’s super fun to be the winner on top of their game. Everybody loves a winner, and the prizes are fabled to be great, even if the prize is “Congratulations! More work!” But the average is also rewarded – with lack of resistance. You just move forward to the next step. If I’m an average parent, my kids still grow up right. If I’m an average employee, I am likely to keep my job. If I’m an average powerlifter, I can still move and lift heavy-ish things. Average can still keep me moving forward without all of the effort and stress Exceptional requires.
Of course I don’t want to get stuck in a rut. But average isn’t a rut if it’s just a place I’m hanging out in for a while as I catch my breath and my bearings. Nor is it complacent; eventually I’ll get bored of Average and want a challenge. And then Exceptional will take the stage, and we do the dance again.
Average. Moving things progressively forward since the first caveman looked at his cave painting and said, “Meh, good enough.”
I’ve always carried more weight on my frame than the BMI calculations for my height would recommend. The only time in my life I was in the “green zone” on the BMI calculation was when I was in college, racing bicycles competitively and barely got down to 128 lbs from riding 20-25 hours a week and restricting calories. Oh, and I was bulimic. And severely depressed. But obviously I was healthy, because I was fitting into size 6 jeans for the first time in my life, right?
Today, I am the heaviest I’ve been, aside from my pregnancies. And I couldn’t be happier about my body. Because now it’s not about what I look like; it’s what I can do with what I got that I find fulfilling and puts me in awe on the regular. It’s taken decades of hating myself because I didn’t look like what others told me I should look like. It’s taken months of self-care, soul searching, and paying attention to myself. It’s taken getting my depression under control and accepting that I am a good and worthy person who deserves health and is healthy. It’s taken owning my choices, and making those choices based on what I believe to be good for me and what I want, and not what others or the media tells me what I should be doing. I’m rocking my own road and living my own life, just like what my blog byline says. I am not perfect, but I make progress, and I am happy to do so.
My only wish is that others can be happy and comfortable with their bodies, doing what they love and loving what they do.
Unfortunately, we live in a society that still struggles with the concept of “beauty at any size.” The “right,” socially-acceptable body structure is so closely tied with morality that we have a culture that supports, or at least turns a blind eye to, body-shaming. We look at people that are “too fat” or “too thin” (because that is totally an objective measurement, right?) and immediately judge them. It’s okay to leave a mean comment about what I think they look like. Clearly, they don’t realize how they’re being perceived. They must not care about themselves. How stupid/sick they must be, to not know what they need to do to look “normal”? Just put down the fork/eat a sandwich/stop lifting because you look too bulky. Because I am offended and concerned about how I perceive the way you look, and now I make it your problem.
I must confess, I am a former fat-shamer. I would see overweight people and think, “how could they not care about their health?” Because clearly that was the only logical conclusion. And of course, their health is totally my business (sarcasm level at an 11 right there). Never mind the decades of terrible diet advice the public has been fed. Or the fact I know nothing about this person or their life, how they might be working a full-time job and caring for an aging parent at home, or how a bad knee or lack of accessible physical activities that are varied and enjoyable might make fitness extremely difficult. What, you mean not everyone wants to slog it out on the elliptical 30 minutes a day, five days a week?!? Shoot me. (And if you love the elliptical, that is awesome and you keep doing you!)
And especially with females, body-shaming women just promotes the objectification of women. Because society dictates that as a woman, it’s my duty to look a certain way so I am attractive and pleasing to the eye. If I’m too fat, or too muscular, or too tall, or too thin, or not whatever is considered “right” to look today, it’s uncomfortable for others to look at me, and I’m not holding up my end of the bargain on being a woman. This type of thinking puts me in so much rage I’m just going to end this thought here with a big load of baloney. Because this is such baloney.
Finally, there’s the “health” argument. The argument that if you’re over- or underweight (especially overweight), then you are unhealthy, and that’s wrong because your lifestyle will cause others pain down the road as your body gives out and others have to take care of you, either financially or with caregiving. To which I have one comment:
MY HEALTH IS NONE OF YOUR G*DD*** BUSINESS. AND YOUR HEALTH IS NONE OF MY G*DD*** BUSINESS.
Bob Harper, most notably known from his work as a personal trainer on NBC’s The Biggest Loser, recently suffered a heart attack. He’s an extremely fit person, and he almost died from a heart attack that nobody, least of all him, saw coming. Meanwhile, a Dutch study came out that people that are considered “overweight” on the BMI scale actually live longer lives than “normal” weight people. I cannot possibly know a person’s health history from their pants size. Fit-looking people might have cancer, and overweight people could go on a 12-mile hike and hike circles around me. I don’t know, and what’s more, IT’S NONE OF MY G*DD*** BUSINESS ANYWAY. Neither is it yours.
A couple years ago, Noelle Tarr from Coconuts and Kettlebells wrote a post that broke the internet in the paleo/health-sphere when it was featured on the Whole9 blog, called “Why I Don’t Want Six-Pack Abs.” She received an alarming amount of criticism from this post, from people who argued that if you don’t have a six-pack, you must not be working hard enough, and if you don’t want to work hard for your physique then what are you doing? SMH. This just illustrates my point that our culture is way too looks-obsessed, totally ignoring the person underneath the abs. Obviously with the personal measurements I gave in my opening sentence, you can be assured that I do not have a six pack. I have no desire for the work it takes to get one. Because those are my priorities, and this is what makes me happy. If you prioritize the diet and training it takes for your abs and are happy with it, again, that’s awesome and you keep doing you! But it is so not me, and the work it would take would make me miserable. That doesn’t make me lazy or unworthy or weak. It makes me different. Which is totally okay.
We are all on our own journey. Sometimes that journey takes us to a health-focus, sometimes it doesn’t. That is no reason to shame or hate on others. You are not bad because you don’t do what I do or think how I think, and the same goes for me. Be kind to yourself. Then be kind to others. That is how the world is supposed to work, I think.