This sure has been one whirlwind of a week! I have so much to say so I am just going to unload it all in a series of posts in no particular order. I think what I would like to address first is my recent news which many of you already know via my various social media outlets.

Finally after years of seeing doctor after doctor and specialist after specialist I was recently diagnosed with PCOS, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. The road to finally get here has been filled with lots of tears of frustration—lots and lots of tears of frustration. With my recent diagnosis there is a sort of vindication as these last two years many doctors treated me like I was crazy. I mean, my blood work wasn’t just normal; it was stellar, reflective of someone who was very fit and committed to eating healthy. One doctor even beamed, “Your blood work reads like a pediatric patient—it’s even better than my kids!” So if the blood coursing through my body tells a story of health then why did my period mysteriously disappear 2.5 years ago to only come back months later but only intermittently?

How is it possible to gain 30 pounds despite committing to programs and lifestyles like Isagenix, vegetarianism, veganism, going gluten free, and [recently] the Paleo lifestyle paired with an intense fitness regimen?

How is it possible that right around my 30^th birthday my reproductive system completely shut down and I was no longer ovulating?

No one it seemed could provide me with any answers so I continued to cry, workout harder, restrict more calories, and cry some more.

Finally one day my gynecologist looked me in the face and flatly said, “Arielle, we have no explanation why you’re infertile when you are so healthy. It seems as if your brain isn’t signaling to your ovaries to release the egg…” [Note: I was not trying to get pregnant] Naturally, not having the answer she decided to give me some hormones to induce menstruation which never did happen. But you know what did? All the wonderful side effects of hormone treatment: extreme mood swings and depression. Deep, deep, deep depression. There were times it was so dark in my mind I actually could see myself ending my life. I know it’s hard to imagine someone ‘like me’, a lover of all things in my life filled with such darkness but when the people we trust to take care of us do not understand what we are suffering from, they toss anything and everything at the problem and hope to find a solution. I felt so alone and angry that my body could just turn on me. I had no control over my cycle, my weight, and now my very own thoughts were being robbed and captained by a beast I could not tame. Thankfully, this extreme darkness only represents a brief period of my life during which I called my mother crying:

“I know I always said I didn’t want children…but now that the universe has stripped me of that gift without asking me and I didn’t even get a say in the matter.”

Eventually, I did start to menstruate albeit irregularly but apparently so long as one gets at least 4 periods a year it’s considered safe. Who knew that? Girls! You can be healthy and only menstruate 4x a year! Stop taking your placebo pills now! Whatever. I still don’t buy this bologna. But when you’re in a crowded room screaming and no one turns around, after a while you stop screaming and walk out.

Fast forward two years later and I am teaching fitness in LA. I have done some unimaginably awesome things like shoot a yoga reel, an indoor cycling fitness video, become a brand ambassador for a fitness clothing line, had a 4^th knee surgery, and so much more all while I worked out more and harder and only got fatter. My clothes have stopped fitting. The only things I can really wear and experience some sort of comfort in are ironically workout clothes. I suppose the yoga instructor in me should embrace the fact that regardless of my expanding waistline [and knee injury] I was killing Crossfit workouts, running serious distance, and a cycling machine so I should be happy, right?

There is nothing worse than looking at yourself in the mirror, pinching the oozing sides of your stomach, then poking it in an effort to will it back into place. What’s more, there is nothing worse than facing the people of your classes wondering if they’re staring at you wondering how a fat ass like you landed this gig in the first place.

The cycle of self-hatred is vicious and to top it all off, when a doctor tells you that you’re gaining weight because ‘you eat too much’ it really doesn’t help the cause.

I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t just fade away into the masses and leave this thing alone, whatever this “thing” was with my body. All I kept telling myself and imploring doctors:

“I’m a yoga instructor damn it, I know the body. I understand the body. I know my body and I am telling you something just isn’t right.”

In yet another attempt to get some answers, recently I made a second appointment with my new gynecologist to get some answers. And though I am not sure I am any closer to understanding my body and why it hates me, I did finally get a diagnosis and have started medication.

But the real reason why I am sharing my story is to empower other women. Each day is a struggle to love my physical-self as I can be terribly rigid when it comes to self-acceptance. I genuinely want to take the steps to understand and control my PCOS while learning how to love myself. Since I subscribe to the notion that community can help elevate us all I have started a secret Facebook group for women with endocrine disorders, autoimmune diseases, eating disorders, body dysmorphia, cancer, or depression. Really I wanted to create a place for women looking to understand their inner-selves a little more is welcome. I wanted a sacred space where we share, we heal, and we work towards understanding ourselves just a little better. I wanted a place for women to share their stories without feeling judged and to feel heard. I wanted a place for someone like me to feel less alone and cultivate the tools to learn how to build myself up instead of berating myself for my self-imposed inadequacies.

I created this space for woman to stop surviving and to learn how to thrive.

I have never been one to sit and wallow in self-pity for an extended period of time. Notice how I carefully used the words extended period of time. But with my recent diagnosis I hit the interwebs and have started collecting a group of strong, beautiful, passionate women who are looking to connect. Perhaps it’s our pain that brings us together, but it’s our love and compassion that unites us. After all, my entire life has been about servitude—English teacher, yoga instructor, cycling instructor. I do not know how to do anything else. But what life has taught me is that I can be a victim of circumstance or I can take an active role in all of this and be a victor. I am choosing to stop allowing my exterior to determine my self-worth and how I feel about myself. Though I recognize what an uphill battle that this will be, with the community of women in my new support group I know we can do this together.

This past weekend, I ran my 3^rd Ragnar race in less than a year. Let me preface this by saying: I hate running. Yup, I do. As a matter of fact, I do not even remotely like it. So, I can imagine you’re wondering that if I do not like it, than why do I do it. The answer my friends is simple: Because I can.

It doesn’t matter what I run, how fast I run, or how far I run. I run because I can. Despite 3 major knee surgeries and a 4^th looming in the very near future, I run because I can. Even carrying a few extra pounds, I run because I can. I run because my body resides within a beautiful vessel of power that allows me to feel the wind in my face, the dirt beneath my feet, and the heavens above. I run because I can. Most of all, I run because until I physically cannot there is something primal within my soul that that just says “GO”.

For me, running is a way of telling the universe and my body “Thank you for the gift of movement.” I see running as a way to pay homage to all those beautiful souls who cannot run. I run because I can.

However, for all the love I have for each and every Ragnar race, the one thing that really hurts my heart is this concept of glorifying the “kills”, also known as the people you pass on the road or trail. In the Ragnar Relay road race the team vans will boast their kill counts on the outside like a badge of honor while others at trail have posters noting runners they pass on the trail. Well, let me tell you a little about me—a person you killed on the trail this weekend:

My name is Arielle Miller and I am a teacher, daughter, sister, friend, and fiancé to an incredible man. I was a college athlete with a bad attitude who found yoga and it saved my life. I love trying new things and pushing myself and that means running even though I don’t really like it [or one may argue that I actually do and I cannot seem to accept it, who knows?].

Running is really hard for me. Aside from the obvious fact that running is difficult period, I also have a knee injury. As a matter of fact, even walking is very painful and I am constantly in a great deal of pain. As a result of my knee injury, over the last year, I have had to take a break from the things I love like Olympic lifting while at Crossfit and running Spartan Races.

Every step I take while running is a carefully calculated movement to preserve my body and keep it safe. But in addition to having to step back from high impact types of exercise, over the course of this year, my personal yoga practice has suffered due to the lack of stability and mobility in the joint. There is nothing worse than being a fitness instructor and losing the ability to use my body in the ways I love to express myself. I have had to fight my frustration and anger and channel my energies differently. For me, I made a choice to be a victor and reclaim my body, rather than wallow in self-pity. I decided that no matter what I have going on physically, emotionally, or mentally that I am going to show up to these races with an open heart. What’s more, not only will I show up, but I will celebrate this body that I have for all of its glory and I am going to run. And I am going to run no matter how hard it is, how painful it is, and how long it may take me. I am going to run because I can.

This person that you killed this weekend…Her name was Arielle and she had a story.

Each and every runner we encounter in our travels has a story to share with the world. If gloating about your kills is your way of writing your tale, than so be it. But ladies and gentleman, in the story I am writing it is not only the greatest athletic comeback in history, but it is one of compassion.

It is my hope that as an athletic community we can continue to elevate and inspire one another to dare to be great through positively means. As Ragnar races and the amateur racing circuit continues to evolve, remember that like you, each and every person there showed up for the same reasons you did: To have fun, grow, and run. Let’s continue to build people up instead of tearing them down for the simple fact that you’re faster than someone. I mean, let’s be real about this—just because you’re faster than someone doesn’t make you better than them in any capacity.

I run.

You run.

And the way I see it, together WE run.

After the response I received on Facebook with respects to a status about returning to the classroom to teach for my 10th year [wow when did I get old?!], I decided to elaborate upon it here on my blog.

Two years ago, I walked away from teaching. My fitness career was taking off. I was being offered more classes than I could keep up with and I was just DONE with education.

I was over it all. Over waking up early, grading papers, the self-righteous, the hypocrites, parental atrocities, LAUSD, unrelenting, unfair, and unrealistic legislation, and finally, the disenfranchised youth.  When I left the classroom, I couldn’t get out fast enough. I was checked out. I was burned out, beaten down, and I felt as if I had nothing more to give.

I spent my summer post education hustling to line up as many jobs, classes, and opportunities as possible. Finally, in what seemed like the break of a lifetime, I was approached and hired as the Lead Instructor and General Manager of a brand new cycling studio by a young woman who read my [old] blog. I thought to myself I hit the big time with this gig: salary, eventually paid vacation and sick time and indoor cycling all day, everyday.

I was elated that I was now going to have more autonomy over my life and schedule. I could finally teach classes during the day, sleep later, train all day, stay up later, and really live fitness.

As summer ended and the new school year rolled around, I read my friends posts about their first days. An overwhelming sense of “HAHAHA SUCKEERRSSSSS” came over me. I refused to ‘like’ their statuses because now I was no longer a teacher: I got out. I took a stand. I stuck it to those kids, the school, and the district.

Ugh. Sometimes I am angry at myself for the things I think. Really, what about a little grace and humility?

It didn’t take long for me to dislike working at the cycling studio. Everything about it just wasn’t me. Sure, I have the capacity to manage but is it really me? I was ALWAYS on call: morning, noon, and night. If my boss called, I answered. If she emailed, I replied. I was working tirelessly to build someone else’s business with my unique and innovative ideas while laboring over manuals, scheduling, learning new computer programs, and hiring instructors. I spent my days in stretchy pants as yet another faceless LA cliché writing on a laptop in a Starbucks.

Eventually, as the opening of the cycling studio neared I had to sub out more and more yoga classes. Finally, I was asked to give up my classes at One Down Dog so that I could be more available for the cycling studio. Well, if you know anything about me, you know that One Down Dog is not just some place where I teach yoga. As one of the original instructors who helped open the place, it is my home. One Down Dog is a sanctuary, my family, and happy place. As time unfolded, it seemed that what I wanted this job to be and what it ended up becoming were grossly misaligned to my needs, desires, and heart’s passions. Yet, in the midst of this all, I repeatedly told myself that this is the work I wanted to do, in the industry I wanted to work in, so I kept at it.

I was miserable but I refused to admit that to myself because in my eyes, accepting that I wasn’t happy meant that I had failed at something I had set out to do.

As many of you will agree, in most cases, the grass really isn’t greener. It’s a funny thing how we want what we want, even if we don’t know what it is what we want [that’s a mouth full, read it again slowly and think about it]. Everything I thought I once wanted, when I finally got it still seemed as if something was missing. And for one thing, I sure as hell wasn’t any happier than when I was in the classroom.

I learned so much about myself while I was away from the classroom. First, I learned I missed the structure of the day and school year. Yea, that structure I so desperately tried to rebel against? Yup. Turns out I need it and I like it. I missed seeing my students smile when I came to support them at sporting events, musical performances, or took an interest in their personal lives. And to be completely honest, I missed the certainty of my paycheck.

With all these things swirling around in my mind and life in February while out to dinner, Greg suggested I look into teaching again because ‘it’s my life’s work’. I threw a fit, stormed out of the restaurant before our food even arrived and I tried to break up with him. I know, immature. But what you need to understand is I was so paralyzed by my denial and inability to accept that I may have made the wrong choice that I lacked clarity. Besides, I gloated and boastfully poked fun at my friends still teaching about parent conferences, back to school nights, and LAUSD drama. How could I go back to the classroom and not look like a failure?

And then, I just did it. I went out, looked for a job and got one. I mean who am I living this life for anyway? I needed to just get back out there, do me, and not worry or care what the world would think of me going back to the classroom. As fate would have it, I applied to Helen Bernstein High School on a Wednesday afternoon, interviewed Thursday morning and was hired on the spot. I started work the following Monday.

And just like that, I was thrown back into teaching. Head first, I jumped into high school and soaked up the material, the kids, and the culture. From the instant I walked onto campus I felt like I belonged. There is a very real and palpable energy in a school that doesn’t exist anywhere else on the planet. I cannot even put my finger on what it is, but there is something magical about a school campus and in a classroom. Maybe it’s all that possibility of what’s ahead. But those walls, those halls, and those buildings speak to me like nothing I have experienced in my life. I kid you not, when I talk about how I feel about my work and my students, many times I tear up from the emotions surging through my body.

With great risk comes great return.

I firmly believe you MUST take a chance on yourself and life when it calls to you. I do not regret leaving the classroom for a second. Taking time off allowed me to find a renewed sense of passion and faith in the process and my work. And what’s more, leaving the classroom allowed me to get a little closer to myself. I stopped running, hiding, and denying who I really am. After one of my cycling classes, a friend of mine who is a respected yoga instructor said to me:

“In class, you always tell us to stop running from ourselves and to be courageous in confronting our most essential self. So, why are you so afraid? Why are you running away from teaching? Why are you refusing to be your most essential self?”

Needless to say, that conversation took place after my last class at the cycling studio. It was all I needed to give me the confidence to head back with zero doubts. With the support of friends, family, and a loving man by my side I started a teaching assignment in late February 2014. And if you ask me, aside from saying YES to marry Greg, it was one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life.

I have found myself again.

I have found a home at Helen Bernstein High School.

And I couldn’t be happier.

Oh, if you’re wondering what I think of myself: Do I think I failed in the fitness industry? Do I feel like I couldn’t hack it? Pffffffff, heeelllllllllll no. I went back to the classroom because I wanted to leave a legacy behind in this world. I wanted to leave this planet a better place than when I came into this world. I wanted to dare myself everyday to leave an indelible mark on this Earth. And I do. I do it all. I teach kids. I teach adults. I make playlists and I grade papers. I still wear stretchy pants to work though I think my principal would prefer I don’t. Whether in fitness or in my classroom, we cry, we laugh, we smile, but above all–we connect.

 

For those of you who missed it, below is the post from my Facebook on August 11, 2014 that inspired this blog entry:

It is the eve before my 10th first day of school as an educator. One year ago, I was not returning to the classroom as I pursued my passions in fitness in yoga and cycling.
As life would have it, at a little more than half way through last school year; I landed back in a classroom at a high school in Hollywood.
For years, I have grappled with being an educator. Despite awards, great successes, and my ability to inspire urban youth to achieve, I ran away from my essential self. Like a coward, I fled and cultivated other strengths and interests–anything to not be a teacher. I spent years ashamed of being an educator, hiding and running from who I really was at my core. When asked what I did for a living my response always was, “I am a fitness instructor.” However, that all changed when I landed at Helen Bernstein High School.
After 8 years in a middle school setting, I now know that I am a high school teacher.
I AM AN ENGLISH TEACHER.
I am an English teacher and I am damn proud of the work I do but most of all, I am honored to serve the most incredible youth in this city.
It took leaving education, a new principal taking a chance on this mysterious girl with purple hair who materialized mid-school year for me to find myself again.
I am an English teacher.

Yes, I love teaching fitness and that is a huge part of my life and who I am. But strip me down and my heart beats for those kids whose lives will be forever altered by being students in my class. There is nothing more valuable in this world than being THAT person to help a young person be the first individual in his/her family to graduate high school or go to college. For many of my students, my classroom is a haven for them to feel safe, nurtured, and pushed beyond what they ever imagined was possible. Together, my students and I are strong and together we can accomplish anything.

I am an English teacher.
I am an English teacher.
I am an English teacher and tomorrow is my first day of school and I can’t wait.

Day 7: Sunday, June 15, 2014

Breanne and I at One Down Dog after she took my two classes

I had the pleasure of spending my Sunday morning yoga-ing and then lounging in the sun with my dear friend Breanne who was in town for a quick visit from Austin, Texas.

Breanne and I met about 6 years ago while I was working at Virgil Middle School. She initially started at Virgil teaching Math then switched content areas to English. However, our real connection came through fitness and other sorts of silly shenanigans. Breanne played soccer with me on Epic Fury, my first soccer team in Los Angeles. We had a blast together. She was refreshing, hilarious, and quirky. Breanne didn’t and now even as an Assistant Principal, still doesn’t take life too seriously. She is a free spirit with a warm heart and joy about her that makes her irresistible. What’s more is I knew Breanne during my pre-yoga days when I was bitter, angry at the world, and to put it mildly, a sour person. Yet despite this, Breanne embraced me and was a friend to me. Breanne made me feel alive and not having seen her over the past 3+ years made today special. I was excited to hug my friend, hear about her life, work, engagement and giggle about nonsense. But what I really relished was showing Breanne my work as a yoga instructor and shedding some light on the growth I have had over the past few years since finding yoga.

2008 Epic Fury Soccer

Breanne is effervescent and wistful. She is just ‘so yoga’ and always was. The problem was that when she lived here though I loved her energy and was drawn to it, I was too polluted by my own anger to allow it in to thaw my heart. Yet, despite my negativity and terrible attitude about everything, Breanne never made me feel badly about the person I was. Breanne accepted me. She didn’t try to change me or tell me what ‘I needed’. She let me exist and be me.

At some point today, I remember looking at her and wondering if perhaps she saw the yoga and light inside me the entire time. Maybe Breanne like Stargirl, one of my favorite fictional characters from Jerry Spinelli’s Stargirl is tapped into something more simple and pure than the rest of us. Maybe some of us are just more accepting of what lies nestled deep within someone because I believe Breanne saw something special in me then and as we gabbed like school girls all day long, she still does.

It is amazing at how our lives seemed to simultaneously play out half-way across the country in such a parallel fashion from our fitness endeavors to veganism. I reveled in spending my time with someone whom could appreciate my growth because sometimes a little validation goes a long way. I was proud to display myself to Breanne exclaiming “Look! Look at me! I have grown!” But you know what? I wasn’t the only one who did the growing. Breanne owns a house with her fiancé. She runs a school, and is planning a wedding. I mean, we sat in my kitchen after laying in the sun at The Meadow in Silverlake noshing on fresh veggies and humus discussing weddings, venues, and dresses. WOW. Who are we? Weren’t we the girls dressed up to party and eating late-night burritos? No.

We are exactly who we are supposed to be: Here now.