Adversity

What Really Matters

What Really Matters

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I have been working on this piece for a while, initially crafted on March 23rd, it was really hard for me to write. Also, as life would have it, the events in the piece to follow seemed to parallel some trying times in my personal life; ultimately delaying the timeliness of getting this completed. Despite the delay in publication, I still wanted to share it because I felt it was and still is an important story to tell.

I need to start this off with an apology to my readers. I am sorry for the things I have written about myself and my life where I allow myself to feel bad for myself or even allude to anything other than the reality that is my life.

My life is effing fantastic. No matter how I think I want to see things, or when things don’t go my way, or whatever challenge physically, emotionally, and professionally I think I am enduring—it is NOTHING compared to the reality of people with real obstacles and problems.

I am not only sorry for my lack of clarity, but I am also incredibly ashamed of myself. As of late, I have been carrying around this overwhelming sense of shame and it is truly heavy in my heart and soul. How dare I?!

Recently, my world has been seriously rocked. And while my heart is swollen with pain and sorrow; these events and people in my life have taught me invaluable lessons in what I am going to call perspective.

A dear friend of mine gave birth to beautiful baby boy in late February. Upon his arrival he struggled to breath on his own and suffered from seizures. A full term baby and deemed healthy prior to his birth, doctors couldn’t quite figure out what afflicted the child. It was agonizing to watch this horror unfold on social media as we learned that the fate of the child was grim. A GoFundMe was set up to help pay for medical expenses as this innocent child spent the entire duration of his life hooked up to machinery. Daily I not only wept, but sobbed uncontrollably while asking God to take from me and my life and give to my friend. I was angry that it appeared God didn’t hear my cries. Yet, despite the baby’s worsening condition, my friends, community, and myself kept hope alive. We had to believe the baby would survive and miracles do happen—why couldn’t we be fortunate enough to witness one?

Sadly, the baby did not make it. After 3 weeks of a short but very loved life, he passed. While I am not a mother, the hole in my heart for a child I never knew is bottomless.

The death of my friend’s child has taught me more about myself than his teeny soul could ever fathom.

What is truly important? What matters?

Love. Family. Time with the people I care about. That’s it.

In the same time that my friend’s baby was born, my college best friend and former housemate was diagnosed with a rare neurological autoimmune disease. I have watched the unfolding and unraveling of her health via Facebook for years, but never comprehended to the extent her health has degraded. Once a talented and star athlete, this woman who was our leading scorer in college, now cannot walk without assistance. As her body deteriorates at the young age of 35, she will be wheelchair bound in the very near future. What’s more is she has 2 young children and they have to move since she needs a handicapped accessible home.

In spite of her prognosis, my friend seems to be in such good spirits. Her positivity and strength are refreshing, but a stark reminder that whatever I think I am fighting, whatever I think I am grappling, whatever shit I think life is hurling at me—truly, it ain’t that bad.

Now, to be clear, I am not downplaying the things in my life, I don’t think that’s necessarily a healthy outlook either. And in due time I will unveil some other layers, but really, my life’s problems are small in comparison.

I mean, my biggest issue in my life is that I think I’m fat?!

Are you kidding me?

I’ve spent this time in reflection. Honestly searching within myself to make sense of this loss of life, but also how could I memorialize my friend’s baby? How can I keep his spirit alive? How could I be present everyday for myself physically, emotionally, and grateful? And the answer almost seemed easy. It was apparent to me that by loving myself wholly and fully, that was the first step to taking the teachings of this lesson in perspective and showing my learning.

I’ve stopped the nonsense.

I have showered myself with love. I have hugged my husband every chance I get. I call my mom everyday despite the fact she always has to jet to yoga or water aerobics and can’t talk to me (I still love ya mom, and I AM SO HAPPY that you have found bliss in your retirement!). I have stepped back to look at my life and realize that I am bountiful in more ways than can be measured. And by more ways than you can imagine, I am talking about the new-found gratitude for my physical capabilities.

Everyday now when I walk through the doors of the gym, I look around in utter amazement that this is the life I am privileged to live. I get to sweat in one of the world’s most beautiful facilities and above all—I can move my body any which way I darn please. THAT is a gift. These recent weeks have shed a light on my life that only go to show you that through darkness there really is light. And maybe you can say that this light is my friends baby, and maybe you can say it’s my friend’s undying spirit and zest for life, and maybe you can say it’s just me.

I don’t really care how you choose to see it or look at it. We ultimately see what we choose to see anyway. But what I do ask you to do is take a hard look at yourself and life today. Look through photos, strip down to your underwear and gaze upon your body in the mirror. Admire your strength, your power, and who you are in this very moment. Lovingly look at those in your life who bring you joy and seek them out. Make a plan, [one you will keep, you LA flakes] and get coffee, hit a workout, or just sit in a park on a bench and talk sans posting it on your Snap or InstaStory.

See? I bet you didn’t realize how damn blessed you are. Don’t wait for life to slap you in the face hard and sting before you wake up. Live life now.

Hug now.

Kiss now.

Run now.

Jump now.

Fix now.

Repair now.

Dance now.

Wander now.

GO NOW.

BE NOW.

DO NOW.

On This Day

On This Day

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Facebook reminded me where I was one year ago today. No surprise I was in the gym but this was before, well before I dreamed of body building or power lifting. As a matter of fact, I was completely unfocused in my personal fitness journey at the point I posted this photo and looking at it now makes me both sad, yet also incredibly proud.

Part of the caption reads:

Recently, I’ve found myself gravitating back towards weight lifting. Man, there is NOTHING like the pump you get from lifting. No amount of cardio or cycling can duplicate the feeling one gets when pushing, pulling, and pressing weights. I’m eager to redefine my love with lifting heavy things. Who knows? Maybe in the New Year I’ll find myself back at #Crossfit?

one year ago today 2015

One year ago today 2015

Almost prophetic, it was like I was laying the ground work for the coming months when I would indeed fully gravitate back to weight lifting taking me down the path of body building, competing (September 5, 2016), then power lifting, and soon my first meet (January 22, 2017). Looking at this photo I see hints of the woman I’d later grow into but unbeknownst to me; it’d take almost 3-4 months after I posted this photo to fully commit to myself and my own unfiltered excellence.

At the point this photo was taken I was exactly 1-year post-op from my 4th knee surgery. In so many respects I allowed myself to be defined by what I thought I could and couldn’t do. I’m not quite sure how and why that happened really. I guess at the point when this photo was taken, I can attribute my lack of success fitness-wise to making excuses for myself. I hid behind the fact that I was a school teacher, serving children all day; then teaching fitness in the evenings—after serving others, motivating, and empowering others, I couldn’t possibly have anything left in me to then pump myself up to lift in the gym.

That’s where the sadness comes from—that’s where I look at this photo and see a woman who could be so great, if only she saw herself the same way others saw her. It breaks my heart to know it took years to arrive at the point in which I am today.

It would be nearly a year where I’d make new friends and reside in a completely new community that I would find the self-confidence to revel in my power and strength. Weight lifting allowed me to restore myself confidence, even when I failed, was tired, or didn’t feel like lifting. Weight lifting has given me purpose and a true sense of self-worth. And honestly, I hate to say this [especially as a yogi and yoga instructor] but yoga never ever made me feel this way. As a matter of fact, the yoga community is the exact opposite of the weight lifting world. Ironically, the yoga world is consumed by ego, aesthetics, and contortionism. Most times, it’s even exclusive and the warm and welcoming community it presents or shall I say, sells to the world, is just that—a sales pitch. And not to knock it, since I too live in, teach, and practice in the yoga world; the weight lifting community is one of authentic friends who could care less about what you’re wearing, what you can do with your body, and what your body looks like. It’s damn refreshing to hang out with women who walk up to you, ask your name, then hug you, smile, and help you lift. Better yet, it’s friggen awesome to go out with a group of girls who don’t talk about how fat they are, what they should and shouldn’t eat, and genuinely like their bodies. Hell, these women LOVE their bodies—HALLELUJAH!

So I look at this woman one year ago and I while I feel a tinge of sadness for her, I also smile knowing that the year she had ahead was one of the best years of her life. The hours spent in the gym with my husband coaching me, meeting new people, building myself up, and sculpting my body, have been some of the best experiences in my life. I am so proud of the work that girl put in and the me of today has committed to putting in massive work as 2017 rounds the corner. The journey will only get harder as my power lifting meet looms on the horizon; and now with the help of a new body building coach, the work I am about to take on will be grueling. But I am ready now, so so so ready.

A year ago I tried to avoid committing to myself because I was scared and filled with self-doubt. Today, I bound into the gym rain or shine, on holidays, sometimes twice a day, and when it calls for it—7 days a week. There truly isn’t anything that I cannot do, and same applies to you too.

one year ago today 2016

Same outfit, different hair, new attitude. The me of 2016.

A lot can and will change in a year if you allow yourself the space to grow. Give yourself permission to thrive and dare to make impactful changes in your life because you are so worth it. I know looking back has allowed me to look ahead to the future with hope—even more hope than I could ever imagine because I know my potential is boundless.

Ain’t no ‘Do Nothin’ B**ch’

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A few days ago, I received a text from a friend. Her boyfriend sent her a video of Ronda Rousey talking about how she isn’t some “Do Nothing Bitch” and that the video reminded him of me. I watched the video in awe and insanely flattered. Rousey hit the nail on the head—she certainly ain’t no Do Nothing Bitch, but neither am I.

Watch the video Ronda Rousey Do Nothing Bitch video, or click below.

Right now, there seems to be something amazing happening in the mainstream media world. Women like Ronda Rousey and Coach Jen Welter (Cardinals assistant coach) are paving the way for physically and emotionally strong women to be celebrated for their efforts and athletic pursuits. Now, while women are still a long way from being treated like our male counterparts in the professional arena, we are making progress and that is better than stagnating.

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Jen Welter, Cardinals Asst. Coach

For me, seeing a powerhouse like Rousey openly discuss what people think of her ‘manly’ physique and not give two shits is exactly what I am talking about. Now, on a personal level I do not watch nor really condone the sport of Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) aka kick the shit out of someone and beat them to a bloody pulp—but that is just me and I can still see and respect the athleticism of it all. Rousey embodies the strength and determination I love to see in a person, especially in a woman.

As a woman, we are so often put down or held back merely as a result of our gender and that is just bogus in 2015. People are still astounded when woman achieve greatness in the workplace, on the field, or in the gym. You guys, women are doctors, lawyers, teachers, and SO MUCH MORE; it’s terribly archaic to assume because I have breasts that I am less than a man. Frankly, I think it’s all a load of bullshit and I work tirelessly everyday to change this out-dated stereotype by proving I can be just like the boys in and out of the gym.

Growing up I was a thick kid. I have mentioned before that my mother had to take me shopping in the ‘Husky’ section or even the Ladies section because I was overweight. I could sugar coat this and be kinder in discussing my thick thighs and glutes but there is no sense in that, I was a fat kid, period. As if shopping in the fat-kid and old lady sections weren’t demeaning enough, I was into sports and in the 80’s and early 90’s. At this time, girls weren’t playing with the boys and I was ridiculed mercilessly. There were no girls on football teams and equity in school athletics for girls was just emerging—ugh, can you believe that?!

I was taunted for playing with the boys.

I was brutally tormented by the kids on the bus, in the yard at lunch, or while at summer camp because not only did I play with the boys—but I was better than the boys too. I always felt like because I was a girl, I had something to prove. The kids called me horrible names like Lesbo, Dyke, and Tomboy. And while I really didn’t even know or understand why liking to play sports meant I was a lesbian, I just didn’t understand the insult [and still don’t]. How was being athletic something bad? Thankfully, my father was way ahead of the game. He modeled and raised me to truly own my awesome and be my own person because while I am deeply sensitive, I possess a thick skin for haters. I mean let’s be real here:

If you’re hated, you are doing something right, right?

As powerful and athletic women like the US Soccer Team, Rousey, and Welter pave the way for girls to not just play with the boys but to be respected like the boys, I can’t help but wonder could I be like them? Could I be that person for a little girl who looks to me for inspiration, the courage to look the haters in the face and say, “Like it, love it, or leave because I’m not going anywhere”. I guess on a level I try to be that person through my high school teaching and work as a yoga instructor. My goal is to always deliver a face-meltingly hard workout while empowering others to build themselves up and find their place in fitness.

So girls, this one is for you. Do not ever let someone hold you back from something you love. Never listen to the naysayers, because I can’t and I won’t have no place in your vocabulary. Embrace your ferocity and own it for there is only one version of you and it’s beautiful.

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