an ode to the game

It’s been about 6 weeks since I played beach volleyball. My partner (beach volleyball partner, that is, but also life partner if you disregard the fact that she’s actually married) has been consistently out of town, leaving me to fend for myself. She’s lucky it’s been raining and freezing in LA (i.e., at or below 60 degrees) – otherwise, I might’ve traded her in for a new model.

Just kidding, she’s the best and I only have eyes for her!

I may be slightly biased because I grew up around the game and learned to bump a ball before learning to stand up on my own, but beach volleyball is something of an artform if you ask me. Let me set the scene for you:

It’s 9am and the sun is beginning to peak through the cloud coverage. I grab my beach chair, a towel, a water and my ball and hop on my bike (late again – games were supposed to start at 9). Sunglasses on, sweats over my bathing suit. Flip flops molded to my feet.

I pedal on down to the sand, ditch the bike and setup my chair courtside. My partner likely makes some comment about how I live the closest but am the last one to get there… *shrug*.

It’s starting to warm up as the clouds get fewer and further between. The strand is beginning to buzz with people walking their dogs, out for morning jogs, pushing strollers, biking or perhaps doing the walk of shame home courtesy of one too many Fanta shots the night before at Shellback (kidding, but it’s possible).

The sand is like a blank canvas, waiting for our feet to dig in and form little mountains and valleys all around the court.

There’s just enough wind to make the ball float just right, and fall just in.

We warmup our arms, pepper, serve and pass. Someone may have brought a speaker (fingers crossed for a good playlist) but if not, we’re listening to the best soundtrack to the game there is – the ocean.

We play 5 or 6 competitive games to 21. Switch sides on multiples of 7. We’re covered in sand like powdered sugar doughnuts.

This, my dear readers, is the good life.

When your dogs are barkin’ (as my dad would say) and your legs are shot. When your arm should be iced (mostly because you’re old but also because you just pounded volleyballs for 5 hours… well maybe not quite “pounded” but close…) and you can actually feel your abs. When you’re a little toasty from the sun and all you can think about is jumping in the ocean. YES, THIS. This is the good life.

It’s been about 6 weeks since I’ve played beach volleyball, but my partner and I are playing in a tournament this weekend. When she initially asked me if I wanted to play, I thought she was somewhat crazy since we haven’t played in so long. There’s a solid chance we’ll get our behinds handed to us. We’re both very competitive people and hate losing, so the prospect of getting beat by God knows who – could be 16-year-olds who play everyday, could be has-beens like us who at least play every weekend – is a little depressing.

But I said yes. I said yes because at the end of the day it truly doesn’t matter if we win or lose. I get to spend the whole day (well, maybe only half the day if we lose) with my best friend at my favorite place doing one of my favorite things. I get to bike down and be late even though I live a block away. I get to paint the sand like a canvas with my bare feet. I get to feel the wind and listen to the ocean. I get to compete. I get to use my legs and my arms and my abs. And I get to have fun.

I might even get a cold beer at the end of the day.

My point is – if there is something you want to do but you’re afraid you won’t be good at it or it’s been a long time since you’ve done it… you should go for it. What do we have to lose? Well, besides the glory of winning. But if we’re being honest, aren’t we already winning if we’re doing what we love? I think yes.

kind of a long story

The pharmacist at CVS told me the name brand version of the birth control I was on would be free under my insurance, as opposed to the $50 I was paying for the generic version.

“Do you think your doctor would be okay with that?”

Um, yeah I guess. It’s the same drug, just a different brand. Go for it.

Spoiler alert: I was wrong.

December 2016 I switched from Ocella (generic) to Yasmin (name brand). About 4 ½ months later I went to Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival for the first time in the desert where I unknowingly (amidst living my best life) aided Yasmin in bringing to fruition what the drug had most likely set into motion months before.   

Coachella was everything I imagined it to be and more – blue skies, palm trees lit up in the night sky, creativity and art surrounding you for a square mile or two, music coming from all angles. Thousands of people from all different backgrounds all wearing the same flower crowns and crop tops (just kidding, but really to see thousands and thousands of people all living life peacefully and with so much zeal was pretty awesome). But, as it turned out, 2 long car rides cramped into the backseat of a Civic plus 3 days of being in the heat, consuming mostly beer for hydration instead of water (I’m shaking my head at myself too, it’s fine) didn’t bode too well for me in the coming month.

When I got back from Coachella I noticed an unusual pain in my left leg behind my knee. This is where (if you haven’t already…) you start shouting at me like this is a movie and the main character is doing something that makes you want to jump through the screen and slap him or her upside the head. But the character can’t hear you. And you can’t jump through the screen. And unfortunately, this isn’t a movie and I couldn’t hear my future self, or you dear reader, shouting at me to GO TO THE DOCTOR.

In my defense…

I’m an athlete. If you’ve read my blog before, you know this. I played division 1 volleyball with shoulders that would come out of their sockets frequently (loose ligaments – thanks, genes!). I played my senior year with tendonitis in my knees (which previously I definitely underestimated the severity of… Tendonitis? Yeah, okay… come talk to me when your shoulders come out of their sockets. I was wrong. Tendonitis sucks). I had a round, bloody wound on my knee for what seemed like all 5 years of my college career that was dubbed the ‘bullet hole’ because that’s what it looked like – it was from the hardwood floors (and faulty kneepads… and probably faulty diving technique on my part). I played with bruises all over my knees, hips and elbows – we all had them. It looked like we’d been in a weird fight or fallen down some stairs, but it was just our dedication to defense (defense wins games). All this to say – I’m a typical athlete. Typical athlete who thinks she’s invincible. I also was embarrassed because I thought the pain in my leg was from walking 12 miles a day on average at Coachella.

Anyways, a few weeks later the pain went away over-night. Score! Told you guys it was nothing!

JK.

It was a blood clot that caused a DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) that shattered and was traveling through my body, wreaking havoc.

Turns out, Ocella and Yasmin have differing levels of hormones in them.

Studies have reported that women who take Yasmin face up to 3 times the risk of developing blood clots as women who take other oral contraceptives. In July 2012, Bloomberg News reported that Bayer (the parent company) had settled more than 1800 lawsuits alleging serious blood clot-related injuries for approximately $400 million.

Good to know, right? Probably better to know BEFORE it happens to you. And it can. You never think it will, but I’m here to tell you that it can.

Anyways, I didn’t know it was a DVT at the time. I just thought the pain in my leg had gone away, as all soreness eventually does.

About a week later I started to notice it was hard to take a deep breath. You know, those good, deep fill-up-your-whole-lungs type breaths. Then I started feeling extremely winded after very brief bouts of walking – like the 3-minute walk between buildings at work. I literally looked, sounded and felt like I just ran a 4-minute mile. It was freaky, and I FINALLY convinced myself that I needed to go to the doctor. I thought maybe I had a virus or something. A lot of people at work had been getting sick around that time. I made absolutely no connection between the prior leg situation and this (stop yelling at me, this isn’t a movie!).

About a week after that, on May 16th, I woke up and noticed a dull pain in my side every time I took a breath. I went to work and resolved to go to the Urgent Care the next day because May 16th is my mom’s birthday and we had family dinner plans that night. What’s a little life-threatening condition when you’ve got margherita pizza and a side of meatballs on the mind?

My body had other plans.

At around 6pm it alerted me with the utmost urgency that something was very, very wrong. The dull pain had become a paralyzing pain so intense that I was having a seriously hard time breathing and was beginning to panic. Everyone had already gone home for the night. I walked slowly to my car – the slightest movements would cause this horrific pain like someone was stabbing me with a knife in my side. I thought maybe this is what it felt like to have a kidney stone? My dad and brother both had one before, so it was plausible. Again, no connection to the previous leg pain that miraculously went away.

I forwent the margherita pizza and meatballs and drove myself to the ER that’s around the corner from my office in Culver City. First smart move I’d made in a while, I know. I definitely couldn’t make it all the way home to the South Bay – things were very rapidly going downhill for me, to put it lightly.

After the most painful and long diagnosis process imaginable (x-rays, ultra sounds, CT scans, the works) they told me I had what’s called a bilateral pulmonary embolism, or essentially, blood clots in my lungs. As well as clots still left in my leg (this is when the light bulb finally went off about the leg pain). The doctor told me I was very lucky and that I came to the ER in the nick of time.

Thank God for that.

SERIOUSLY, thank God for that.

My mom joined me at the ER and didn’t leave my side (on her birthday!). She slept in a chair, she ate hospital food, she drank hospital coffee. The woman is a saint. And I couldn’t have gotten through the next week (and honestly, every day since) without her.

I was admitted to the ICU, given some narcotic pain medication (finally) and was put on oxygen since I was having a hard time breathing.

The first thing the nurse in the ICU said to me was, “you know Serena Williams had a pulmonary embolism too” and it kind of went over my head because I wasn’t in the mood to chat about pop culture at the moment, what with the inability to breath and all. However, what she said stuck with me and later came to be something that I relied on for strength – Serena Williams is a badass, strong, powerful athlete. And we went through the same thing at the same age. It gave me hope, and someone to look up to in a way that I never had before.

The next week would be filled with fear, pain and frustration. More than I knew what to do with. But it would also be filled with prayer, strength and progress. It would be filled with phone calls and texts, flowers and cards and visits. It would be filled with amazing doctors and nurses, the most supportive bosses imaginable at work, and most of all – friends and family. Also, a lot of jello. And my personal hospital favorite – cranberry juice with crushed ice.

It hurt to lay flat or on my side. It hurt to move. It hurt to do anything that caused my torso to contract at all – hurt to laugh and hurt to cry. I couldn’t get out of bed. Could just barely lift my body up enough for a bedpan to slide under me so I could go to the bathroom (TMI?). It was difficult to eat – my mom fed me tiny bites extremely slowly, and it was difficult to talk much (because of the lack of breath).

I was so fearful of the clots going to my brain and causing a stroke or to my heart and causing a heart attack, that the first few nights in the ICU I was sure that if I fell asleep I would not wake up.

Some background -- I’m one of those people who still watches Greys Anatomy. So naturally I was ready for the worst to happen.

But my vitals stayed strong. My body was doing what it was supposed to do. The doctors told me it was likely thanks to my young age (I was still in my twenties then ☹) and my general good health and background as an athlete that my body was able to stay so strong throughout so much internal trauma.

I was put on blood thinners and over the course of the next week I made ample progress. Eventually I no longer needed the oxygen, I was able to get up to use the bathroom, and soon enough I was taking laps around the PCU (Progressive Care Unit, which is a step down from ICU) slowly but surely. The blood thinners thin out your blood so that your body can break down the clots like it’s supposed to. When you’re on blood thinners, you can bruise and bleed internally and externally very easily so it’s important to be careful (skydiving was definitely out).  

I went home after 7 days and lived at my parents’ house for about a month as I needed lots of help and more so, lots of love and reassurance.

A week after being discharged, I was sitting on the couch at my parents’ house watching TV and felt a sharp pain in my left butt cheek. Fear flooded my insides, making my whole body warm and my heart sink down into my stomach. I imagined the blood clot in my leg traveling up, passing through my butt on its way to my heart. My heart started beating inexplicably fast and I felt like I might pass out. My body was tingly. I thought I was having a heart attack. My mom called 911 and an ambulance came to get me. Back to the hospital I went.

More ultrasounds and CT scans and echocardiograms and blood tests. More waiting.

The ER doctor told me that my chest CT was clear – the clots in my lungs had dissolved. The clots in my leg were still there, which was to be expected because extremities take a lot longer to heal. He told me he could not find anything medically wrong with me. Then he asked, in his best therapist voice, “Is there anything that may be causing you stress or anxiety?”

UM, YOU MEAN BESIDES THE WHOLE PULMONARY EMBOLISM SITUATION? Besides the fact that when you Google ‘pulmonary embolism,’ it has ‘Is it painful to die of a pulmonary embolism?’ as one of the questions ‘people also ask’? Besides the fact that people kept telling me how lucky I was? Besides the fact that I felt like it was going to happen again at any given moment and this time I wouldn’t be so lucky? BESIDES ALL OF THIS, DOCTOR?

I didn’t actually say it that aggressively, but come on doc.

“Yes, maybe there is something at home or at work that is causing you stress?” he asked.

I was discharged and went home in the wee hours of the morning. I was too afraid to sleep. I made my mom sleep next to me. I prayed and I prayed. I told myself over and over again, “You’re oooooookay. You’re oooooookay.”

There was no official diagnosis, but everyone seemed to think it was a panic attack. Made no sense to me at the time but makes total sense now.

I went in to see my pulmonologist and I went to see a cardiologist. Just to make sure. They helped debunk a lot of the fears that I had floating around in my brain and assured me that I was safe – the blood clots in my leg were not going anywhere now that I was on the blood thinners.

And eventually I found the silver lining.

Had I not gone to the ER that night, I would not have known that the clots in my lungs were already dissolved and gone.

There’s always a silver lining. Somewhere. Somewhere in the midst of all the fear and darkness, there is some small amount of goodness to be found. Some truth to be found. And sometimes it makes all the difference to find it.   

Anxiety is something that may be with me for the rest of my life to some degree – or at least for a while. I’ll probably always lean on the side of paranoia when it comes to my body, having ignored so many warning signs at the beginning of this ordeal and suffered the consequences. Anxiety disorders are the most common and pervasive mental disorders in the United States and I have a lot of respect for people who suffer from one. If I learned anything from my bout of anxiety, it was that nothing gets better if you keep all your fears trapped inside of you. If you let them out, and let people in, you can breathe easier.

A few weeks later I was ready to go back to work. I was on the blood thinners for 6 months total. 10 days shy of 10 months after that night I drove myself to the ER on my mom’s birthday, I was officially cleared and set free by my doctor. When he looked at me and said “Well, I think we’re done” my heart sank and I felt the tears welling up. I smiled from ear to ear and asked him if he was sure (haha, doctors love it when patients ask if they’re sure). The answer was yes. No clotting disorders, no remaining clots in my leg.

I left the doctor’s office and felt like I could finally truly exhale. I went to see my mom, told her the news, gave her a big hug and had a complete meltdown. All of the emotion that I’d bottled up for so long (first to avoid the actual physical pain that came with crying, and later to avoid another panic attack) came pouring out.

The doctor told me that as long as I’m not on birth control and don’t smoke, I’m at no greater risk for a blood clot than anyone else.

THANK GOD.

Seriously, I thank God for that every day.

I could write a book on all of the lessons that I learned the past 10 months. In the interest of time, here are my top 10 in no particular order.

1. Drink water.

2. Don’t sit for longer than 1-2 hours with your legs cramped. Stand up, move around.

3. Treat your body with the respect it deserves and also LISTEN to your body.

4. Always be mindful of what you’re putting into your body. If it’s a drug, make sure you know the side effects. Do your research.

5. Pray.

6. You are never alone.

7. You are not invincible, but you are also stronger than you think.

8. It will get better.

9. Everything happens for a reason.

10. The mind is very powerful. Feed it positive thoughts.

I read a book a few months into my recovery which was written by my boss and my friend, Lauren Miller. It’s called All Things New and it’s one of those books that for whatever reason, mine being what I had just gone through, you feel inexplicably connected to the story and basically just cry the whole way through (this isn't the first or last time I'll talk about this book on the blog). I truly believe that in some master plan, I was meant to read this book at this exact point in my life. And if I hadn’t been working for Lauren at the time, who knows if I would’ve ever found it. God, or the universe, or whatever you believe in – works in mysterious ways.

Basically, all this to say (in Lauren's words):

“That’s exactly what there is. Hope. […] When we’re trudging through the middle place, in the tunnel between already and not yet. Where the light is visible but we’re still in the dark, and the best we can do is believe that eventually we’ll get there, someday, and hold each other’s hands until we do. There may not be calm or certainty or confidence, but there is hope. That the tears aren’t forever. That one day all things will be new.”

And with that, this:

“I catch sight of my reflection in the window beside the front door. Seeing myself there, here, scarred and still a little damaged but okay, I’m swept up in a sense of gratitude for the accident. Not just that I survived it, but that I went through it at all. […] Yes, it was awful and hard, and I wouldn’t wish something like that on anyone ever, but standing on the other side of it, I also wouldn’t go back. The view is so much better from here."

right now

“…and if I asked you to name all the things that you love, how long would it take for you to name yourself?”

I saw this on Pinterest the other day and it’s been on my mind a lot lately – it being Valentine’s Day last week and it just being pertinent in light of what I’m trying to accomplish here within this blog.

About 9 months ago I had a health-scare that landed me in the hospital for a week (much more on that fun time later). Prior to that, I was working on losing some weight. At that time, I was standing on the scale every week and looking in the mirror at myself thinking, “sheesh,” and listing the things I hated (the usual suspects): stomach isn’t flat, abs aren’t too visible, waist isn’t snatched, arms aren’t toned, OMG look at my double chin etc. etc. In the midst of this I managed to lose 10 pounds. I was well on my way to losing the 30 pounds I wanted to lose before turning 30 in November, but I can’t say I was particularly enjoying the journey. Sure, I was encouraged when I saw the number on the scale plummeting and began seeing the results of all my hard work. That’s a given. But if you asked me to name all the things that I love, my body would’ve surely been left off the list.

I was putting too much pressure on myself. 30 pounds by 30 years old – I was on track, but all I could think about was how much further I had to go. Why was I being so hard on myself? I constantly felt like I was failing.

I read a book called ALL THINGS NEW a couple months after my hospitalization (don’t worry, definitely more on that another time but in all honesty just go buy the book now – it’s magnificently written by Lauren Miller). In it, Miller writes:

“It’s not uncommon for people who suffer trauma to experience what we call ‘post-traumatic growth.’ A radical, positive change in the wake of adversity. A paradigm shift. Instead of setting them back the trauma becomes a catalyst for growth.”

And that’s exactly what happened to me, in more ways than one.

I learned that my body is amazing. That it’s beautiful. That it’s strong. That it’s powerful beyond belief. I got out of the hospital and was so grateful to my body for fighting and for healing. I felt proud, and also sad. Sad my body had to go through all that it went through, but proud that it was capable of withstanding so much trauma. Proud that my vitals were always strong. Proud that my legs helped me get out of the bed and walk when the nurses thought I’d need a walker. Proud that my arms helped me push myself up when my torso was in too much pain to use.

Long story short, all we have is right now. While we’re endeavoring to eat healthier and workout consistently in order to look in the mirror and see what we want to see and feel what we want to feel, we can’t forget to appreciate ourselves, as we are, right now in this moment.

And right now in this moment is a pretty great time to be healthy & alive. So, I urge you to give yourself a break. Give yourself credit. Give yourself time. Give yourself attention. Give yourself love. Give yourself power. Give yourself you.

walk it

A great many lessons can be learned from Migos. Yes, the hip hop trio – Quavo, Offset and Takeoff. You know them, you probably love them (whether you admit it or not) and I’m willing to bet you’ve referred to yourself as “bad and boujee” at least once because of them.

But I’m not here to talk “Bad and Boujee” – not today at least.  

I’m here to talk about “Walk It Talk It” – the song that’s been on a loop in my mind all week.

Walk It Like I Talk It

Walk It Like I Talk It

That’s pretty much how the whole hook goes (repeated) with some “woo’s,” some “yeah’s” and some “ayy’s” spinkled in.

If I’ve lost you thus far – perhaps because hip hop isn’t your jam, or maybe you’re just behind the times and still strictly on “Bad and Boujee” as far as Migos goes – any one of the following phrases can be referred to in lieu of your figuring out who or what Migos is and what this “Walk It Talk It” song is about (I’m looking at you, Dad).

Actions speak louder than words.

Practice what you preach.

Talk is cheap.

Don’t just talk about it, be about it.

Don’t trust words, trust actions.

Don’t tell people your dreams, show them.

Actions prove who someone is, words just prove who they want to be.

People who don’t back up their words with actions are typically said to 'talk a good game' or my personal favorite (in the UK) to be 'all mouth and no trousers' – i.e., in my case, repeatedly saying I want to lose weight but not taking the necessary steps (literally!) in order to do so.

So many things in life are easier said than done – a cliché that is overused (sorry) and truly betrays a lack of original thought, but only because of it being so undeniably pervasive. The good news is life has a way of kicking us in the pants (or in our lack of trousers) with impeccable timing, helping us to, for lack of eloquence, shut up and get what it is we keep talking about done.  

The beginning of this week I talked a big game. It started with the alarm going off in the morning and me telling myself I’d do the workout that evening instead. Then not. Then telling myself I’d do it tomorrow. Then not. This happened 3 days in a row. Meanwhile, I had this constant annoying reminder to walk it like I talk it stuck in my head, thanks to that song by Migos (and thanks to life, I suppose).

I woke up today, hit play on “Walk It Talk It” and got it done. Partly because I wanted that song out of my head (don’t get me wrong, it’s staying on my workout playlist indefinitely) but mostly because I don’t want to be that person who just talks about it ever again. I’ve done that enough.

The truth is sometimes we fail. We’re only human (another worthy cliché). I think if we forgive ourselves, listen to life’s reminders and minimize the time between failing and standing back up again – we’re probably doing alright.

opt outside

At 7:14am on Saturday my upstairs neighbor began hammering something – seemingly into the ground (i.e., my ceiling). It was as if a dark cloud passed overhead and blocked the sun right out of my Saturday morning in all its glory. No plans, nowhere to be. All I wanted to do was bask in the light, doze in and out of sleep, maybe catch up on some shows. This is what dreams are made of.

But no.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG.

At 7:22am I got an email from my dad (texting isn’t his thing – more on that later). He was looking for my blog. Like you, dear reader, he wanted to check it out. I sent him the link and told him about my neighbors who were HAMMERING something very LOUDLY. I was about to lose it – I told him my Saturday zen was “like nowhere to be found. Very sad.”

My dad’s response (it’s too good to paraphrase):

“Your Saturday zen is telling you to get up, get outside & enjoy the beautiful, peaceful & quiet morning.”

And just like that, the light of the sun suddenly started shining from behind the cloud (of hammering) and the silver lining was coming into view.

I got up, put on some workout clothes, grabbed my beach chair, a towel, a water, my book, some sunnies, my wireless speaker, my phone, a jump rope, and a 20lb medicine ball. And to the beach I went (only slightly struggling carrying all of these things).

I did my workout at the beach (circuit training, full body) and afterword sat there and marveled at the beauty, the peace, and the quiet.

If it weren’t for my neighbors’ heinous Saturday morning home improvement endeavors, I probably wouldn’t have made it down to the beach for my workout. And if it weren’t for my dad’s perfectly timed email, I likely would’ve missed the silver lining altogether. 

Note to self: the silver lining is always there; sometimes it’s just harder to see (or hear, if there's copious amounts of hammering going on).

Also: if your workout can be done outside (particularly at the beach), always opt outside.

keep going

“Just going to have you step on the scale real quick…”

“Ok… should I take my shoes off?”

“If you want to!”

*no brainer*

I took my boots off, obviously. That’s extra weight that I certainly do not want to claim as my own at this crucial weight loss juncture!

Reluctantly, while trying to channel all the skinny vibes I could think of, I stepped on the scale at the doctor’s office last Tuesday morning. Drum roll please…

After a solid week of working out and eating healthy I was pretty confidant I’d be down 10lbs (or perhaps at least 1lb, come on!). I got nothin’. The same rude number I’d seen the last time I stepped on a scale mocked me and reminded me of the golden rule: it takes time.

And it does. It takes time to train your body and your mind; to develop a routine; and for that routine to become a lifestyle.

So, I put my head down and got to work the rest of the week.

Wednesday – Circuit training (legs & cardio)

Thursday – Circuit training (arms & abs)

Friday – Circuit training (full body)

Saturday – Strength class at Allegiate gym  

Sunday morning I played 6 games of volleyball (that’s 2 vs 2 beach volleyball, just to be clear – I’m not talkin’ jungle ball here). I would argue that beach volleyball is one of the best forms of exercise there is. Volleyball is a full body workout in and of itself. Then you add soft sand and you’ve got yourself some sore muscles that you didn’t even know you had to begin with. Some people (you know who you are) have a hard time merely walking in soft sand, let alone running and jumping in it.

Around game 4 is when I’d normally feel like tapping out. On Sunday I vividly remember the moment I realized that I was feeling differently than I normally do at that point. I was feeling stronger. My legs weren’t shot. I still had gas in the tank.

Over the last several years I’ve started and stopped many exercise routines. The pattern that I’ve noticed is this:

1. I want to lose weight.

2. I workout for a couple weeks but don’t see immediate results.

3. I’m frustrated with myself for letting myself get this out of shape in the first place.

4. I hate the feeling of struggling through a workout that shouldn’t be this difficult for me as an athlete.

5. I hate working out and give up.

Rinse & repeat.

On Sunday I broke through a barrier. The scale may not tell the story just yet, but I know what I felt. I think I was finally able to swap in a new step #5 –

Keep going.

Keep training your body and your mind; keep developing a routine; and eventually that routine will become a lifestyle. The results will come. 

don't think just do it

Monday – Circuit training (legs & cardio)

Tuesday – 45 min walk

Wednesday – Circuit training (arms & abs)

Thursday – Off

Friday – Circuit training (full body)

Saturday – Orange Theory Fitness class

Sunday – Beach volleyball

I took it one day at a time last week and ended up stringing together a pretty balanced week of physical activity, which is ultimately the goal. I learned, however, that this only works if you’re completely honest with yourself. If you choose to listen, your body is a pretty clear communicator.   

After my ‘face the music’ epiphany on Tuesday (see previous post), I naturally had a resurgence of energy which lasted the whole of one lousy day. I vigorously completed my circuit training on Wednesday morning, but by Thursday I was ready for a break. And breaks are important. I probably didn’t need a break on Tuesday evening when I originally didn’t want to go on that walk; it was only Tuesday, after all. But by Thursday, I had 3 active days in the books and I just needed to relax. I made the commitment to myself to show up for circuit training Friday morning (and by show up I mean roll out of bed and do it in my apartment – whatever gets it done!). Thursday break; fire it back up Friday – seemed like a good plan, and it was! The tricky part came on Friday night when my sister-in-law asked me to go on a walk Saturday morning and I thought, “YES, that sounds way better than going to the 9am Orange Theory class I’m signed up for.”

It’s truly in the split-second decisions we make that the most crucial growth happens, I believe. I had plenty of time to cancel my 9am Orange Theory class and certainly wanted to (Orange Theory kicks my bum). I went back and forth in my head, trying to convince myself that I didn’t need to go to Orange Theory, I could just go on a walk. I’d already worked out hard 3 days that week plus I went on a walk, and I knew I was also playing volleyball on Sunday. It’s funny how intense the inner monologue is when you’re trying to convince yourself of something that you know you shouldn’t do.

In a split second, I decided that ultimately there would be times when I legitimately needed to cancel but this wasn’t one of them. So, I declined the offer to go on a walk and I somehow managed to show up at Orange Theory the next morning. I felt GREAT afterwards.

My dad has always said “don’t think just do it” when it comes to exercise (peculiar advice out of context) – he’s a man of routine and I admire him very much for his discipline. Perhaps instead of carrying on that inner monologue next time I want to bail on a workout I know I shouldn’t, I’ll just not think at all and JUST DO IT! I’m beginning to see what Nike saw in that slogan…

Sidenote, here’s what I love about Orange Theory, for those of you who haven’t tried it.

1. It pushes me outside of my comfort zone – via treadmills. I hate treadmills; never been an enthusiastic runner. Perhaps if we dove into my psyche we’d find that as an athlete, running was always associated with punishment (the dreaded statement, “Get on the line!”) and that’s where my aversion to running stems from. Regardless, Orange Theory provides the structure I need to allow my brain the comfort of knowing it will end and this isn’t forever (yes, running forever is what nightmares are made of). The coaches at Orange Theory lead you through very structured, timed intervals for which there is a guide plastered in front of you telling you at what speed and incline you should be at (base pace, push pace and all out pace). I wouldn’t say I look forward to this portion of the class, but treadmills and I are coming around in our relationship; I like the feeling of accomplishing something I wouldn’t normally attempt.

2. It has taught me a new skill – via the rower. At LMU the Volleyball team had 6am workouts. We’d feel sorry for ourselves until we showed up and saw the Rowing team already mid-workout on the rowers outside the weight room. I was always wowed by that, and now I’m wowed by the exercise they were doing. Rowing is no joke.

3. It incorporates exercises I’m familiar with and enjoy(ish) from my time as an athlete – via floor exercises/weights. It’s always nice, after having stepped outside your comfort zone on treadmill and suffered through rowing, to shine just a little bit when the coach sees your impeccable technique with weights. Thanks, LMU Strength and Conditioning!

All in all, the class is fast paced but you ultimately control your own level of intensity. You leave exhausted but energized. Not quite pumped about the next workout, but feeling accomplished and proud of yourself enough to get you there the next time. I think that’s a win, as far as I’m concerned.

Onward!

face the music

8pm, 55˚ F. Hermosa Beach, CA.

What am I wearing, you ask? What any Southern California native would wear for an evening walk in this type of severely inclement weather, of course --   

Red Nikes, long grey sweatpants, sports bra with a white crewneck sweatshirt that says in bold black letters: “FACE THE MUSIC,” black coat (you need the full visual for this one -- it's a Michael Kors rain coat that falls about mid-thigh... not sporty at all), black beanie.

I almost wore a shearling coat but then switched at the last minute, fearing I may have overdone it. I also considered mittens. God only knows what I would’ve done with ear muffs, had I had some at my disposal.

In my defense, I was walking on the strand and it was a bit windy – I think they call that wind chill?

As I got walking, I saw several other people out jogging – guys wearing shorts and light jackets – that sort of thing. I had to chuckle, take a deep, salty, breath of fresh air, look at the whitecaps of the ocean visible in the dark distance, and think to myself, “I’m so lucky to live here. I’m a ridiculous person and I’m so lucky.”

In that moment I was supremely grateful (and admittedly a little warm in my getup). Here we are in Los Angeles, *suffering through 55 degree weather while people on the east coast (and all over the world) are quite literally freezing (*we are so dramatic). If people across this country – across the world – can manage to be active during the winter, I definitely can do so here in Hermosa Beach (and you can too, wherever you are).

This was a tiny victory for me – getting out and walking on Tuesday night. I said I would do it and I (extremely reluctantly) did it. String together 7 of these small wins and you’ve got yourself a productive, active week in the books.

It’s funny how the universe sometimes (often, I find) gives you a little laugh in the middle of a circumstance that you're taking entirely too seriously. I was literally wearing a sweatshirt that said “FACE THE MUSIC” and that’s exactly the lesson I coincidentally learned that night. Sometimes you just have to face the music and get it done – the workout, the phone call, the dishes, whatever. And sometimes the answer you’re looking for is literally right in front of you – in my case, sprawled across my chest. 

new year same me

Monday, January 1st was when I was going to get it together. New year, new me. It’s now January 3rd and I haven’t gotten it all together just yet… turns out it’s more like new year, same me.

Same me. Let’s start at the beginning.

Ever since I hung up my jersey for the last time and didn’t have a mandatory workout to be at at 6am or any other ungodly hour, I’ve been admittedly less than committed to my exercise routine. And that’s putting it lightly. I currently weigh more than I'd like. And that's putting it lightly, again. But it’s not really about that – the ever elusive number I’d like to see on the scale isn’t really my concern when I take an honest look at myself in the mirror.

I was a student-athlete at Loyola Marymount University for 5 years (red-shirted my 2nd year due to shoulder surgery) competing at the highest level many athletes, including myself, manage to climb to -- NCAA Division 1 Volleyball.  

At the end of my Sophomore year, headed into Junior year of high school, I signed my National Letter of Intent to play at LMU. I graduated from high school a skinny, hopeful string bean and packed my bags for summer training with the LMU Strength and Conditioning coach.

Over the course of the next 5 years I had no choice but to transform into a MUCH physically & mentally stronger version of me. I remember going through 2-3 shirts per practice (had to change so the floor wouldn't get slippery from sweat); lifting heavier weights than some of the male athletes (volleyball players have strong legs y'all); and being forced to take ice baths before being allowed to leave the training room (because soreness is really real after 3+ hours of practice and an hour of strength & conditioning). If you would've told me then that I'd miss those things 7-8 years later, I would've laughed in your face (or slapped you upside the head).

But here I am. I may not miss those particular things, per se, but I miss the feeling -- the feeling of being so physically, mentally and emotionally challenged and drained at the end of the day and waking up and doing it again the next day because that's what we do. That's what athletes do. That's what teammates do. You don't let your team down; you have no choice.

I'm still an athlete at heart – you never lose that – but I no longer have a team pushing me and holding me accountable. No one will be directly affected by my choices. No one will know if I go through the motions at a workout, don't finish my reps or flat out don't show up to the gym. No one will make me run, or bench me or yell at me. No one will see me fail.

It's taken me a number of years to fully understand why that mentality is wrong. I have myself to push me and hold me accountable. I will be directly affected by my choices. I will know if I don't show up. I will see me fail.

And I matter.  My opinion of myself is the one that matters the most, come to find out (at thirty years old no less).

When I look at myself in the mirror I want to see an athlete. I want to see a reflection of how I feel on the inside – beautiful, strong, powerful. I want to make myself proud.

And above all, I want to be the healthiest version of me possible – mind, body & spirit.

So yes, this is a new year and I’m the same me. The same me who hits the snooze button at least 6 times, who doesn’t get super pumped about workouts or eating salads, who has been starting and stopping this post-glory days fitness journey for years.

But I’m also the same me who played D1 volleyball. The same me that is competitive and passionate about sport. The body can withstand almost anything; I proved that to be true for myself in college, and many people prove that to be true in extraordinary ways every single day. It's the mind that has to be convinced. I’ve come to understand that after you’ve done that, it’s all about finding your rhythm.

I flat out didn’t get it together on January 1st. I hit snooze for 2 hours on January 2nd and when I got home from work I turned on Netflix, unbothered.

I could go on about what I didn’t do. What I failed to do. But instead, I think this time around I’m going to find my rhythm by focusing on the tiny victories. Perhaps they'll all amount to something truly great in the end. 

This week's goal: blog up and running. So far, so good!