Tinder probably needs some tenderizer.

Okay, so you have probably seen or heard of Tinder. It’s the online dating app… well, I am not sure if it should be called dating…

So, this thing called Tinder. It is pretty easy to set-up, it syncs with Facebook, so you should have photos handy. All you get is a pic, age, and how geographically close your match is to you. How do you get a match? Well, you have a stack of cards, and you see the main pic. You can tap it once and look for more photos, and see a short blurb that the person wrote.

Now, for the fun part. You swipe right if you think you like them. You swipe left if you don’t. Now, if you swipe right, and he swipes right then you are a match.

If you swipe left, you never see them again.

So, it all starts off more like a meat-market, and I am not really sure where it all leads after that.

I do have some observations though.

  • Some men do not know how to choose a photo.
  • Why on earth would you not have a photo?
  • Spelling and grammar are important.
  • I tend to swipe left if you have girls hanging all over you. (That is weird.)
  • How is that some people manage to look like DB? Do they not see it?
  • This really is pretty shallow.
  • Wait. If we matched… now what?
  • People are crazy.

I have seen a couple of people I know, and a couple of people I know are MARRIED! Come on guys, we live in a pretty small town. Does your wife know that you are on Tinder, and only looking for “Fun, nothing serious?” You are a jerk. Why is it that some men just do not seem to take marriage vows seriously?

Tinder is weird. You are probably not going to have an emotional connection and get all tender unless you spend a lot of time on there, however maybe it is just a numbers game. I can see why it was initially for hook- ups. Not sure what else it is good for.

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Don’t worry, there will be more matches later, I just finished swiping left a bunch of times.

So, what is proper Tinder etiquette? If you see a friend or work acquaintance, should you swipe right?  I mean, what if they swipe right on you, and you never match?

So far, I think I have always swiped left on people I know. I cannot figure out what the intention of Tinder is… are these supposed to be people who I would like to hang out with? Or people I want to HANG Out with? I am just not sure. I guess I will keep playing on here, seeing whether I meet interesting people. I will mostly swipe left.

Although, what would happen if I always swiped right? Would that mean that I am open-minded? I suppose that could be an interesting experiment. Let’s see what will happen if I only swipe right. Maybe I will learn something.

 

Worlds Collide

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Photo by Mark Larsen

Finding myself in desperate need of an attitude adjustment was a bit humbling. After all, I had just completed a Tough Mudder. I was a badass. (Okay, I had just walked a Tough Mudder, with a group of guys who had lifted me up to make all the walls totally doable.) I was still a badass.

I have a nasty habit of bad mouthing myself, most of it is internal, but it often the only words I hear. This is the worst thing in the world for trying to get healthy.

I have been making a lot of changes in my life lately. I am trying to be more active, trying to write, and trying to get out more socially. I am amazed at how much internal resistance to change I face.

I struggle with all the changes. Making good decisions about food, sleep, and exercise. Going to the doctor, and taking the advice of the doctor. It is hard. Take boxing for example. I get frustrated when I cannot figure out the combination, or when I run out of breath. I get frustrated when my right calf cramps up. I also get frustrated when we are doing burpees. Although, that could just be because burpees suck.

On a side note: As I sit here writing this, a Nike commercial about women just came on. It was several different women saying the things that run through their heads while they are working out. Despite the voices saying “I can’t do this,” they kept going until it changed to “I did it.” That is the coolest thing that happens for me. I am steady saying “I can’t,” and I keep going until I did. I wonder how one actually changes the inner dialogue to “This sucks ass, but check out what I am doing.”

I have this idea for a story that I am trying to write. I keep starting it, and then I convince myself that I cannot possibly do it justice and I put it away. It’s really too bad that I keep talking myself out of writing it, because I really want to know what happens.

Yes, that’s right. I want to see what happens. I want to see what I can come up with. That is the awesome part of writing, I get to experience the story as I am writing it. It is daydreaming times a million.

My story is about a woman, who has a lot in common with me, however there are quite a few differences too. For one thing, she is a successful writer. She found success. You want to hear a secret? It did not solve anything, which is the crux of the story. I love this character. It is almost as if she is my chance to do what I really want to do with my life.

Wait a second! Before you start getting any crazy ideas, I am not going to quit my job and start writing the great American novel. This is just an exercise and my first attempt at fiction.

It is not surprising that my main character is a lot like me. People write what they know. I suppose you could also write to learn or explore. This one is just my first try. I hope that I am able to grow and get better as I continue this foray into fiction. I have to give myself the chance though.

Change is hard. Growth hurts. Wandering into the unknown takes a certain amount of courage. For a person who wants to avoid uncertainty, it takes an insane amount of bravery and willingness. I never claimed to be adventurous. The problem is that I want to go on adventures.

I want to live a full life. I want to explore all the possibilities. All I have to do is give myself the chance. I think there must be a middle ground where the worlds between fear and self-loathing and courage and adventure collide. I imagine that battle would be epic. This is where I should be. I can’t run away from the challenge, I have to face it head on.

This is where I will find peace. I have to keep walking through the fear until I get through the “I can’t do it,” to the “Look at what I did!” It’s going to be great. Once I get through some of the growing pains.

 

Pugnaciously and Pertinaciously Yours

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Words. I love words.

I love how using the proper word enables me to clarify my meaning when I am trying to explain something to someone.

The problem lies in my inability to find the right word at times.

For example, how do I describe myself?

  • quirky
  • eccentric
  • pugnacious
  • pertinacious
  • idiosyncratic
  • capricious
  • obstinate
  • resolute
  • open-minded (that one may be wishful thinking on my part)
  • intransigent
  • compassionate
  • curious

All of these words will work to describe me. Some of them are pretty similar, while others directly contradict the notion of the previous. If pertinacity and capriciousness both fit my personality, how can I be either? (By the way, if you don’t know any of these words- I recommend you download a dictionary app, or google them. I found a very interesting article about pugnacity and pacifism when I googled it earlier.)

So, here is the point. I am on a journey. (psst- we all are- that is what life is.) I have been told the whole song and dance about how you have to love yourself. Embrace who you are, appreciate you for you. It goes on and on. Be nice to yourself. LOVE YOURSELF. Sometimes, I am able to do that.

Other times, not as much.

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Who am I to be mean to that sweet boy’s mother?

People tell you to ignore the negative self-talk. The negativity that runs through your head. The worst part is, the negative stuff is just easier to believe. They tell you to look in the mirror and tell yourself “I love you.” Ugh. Don’t even get me started. Those are just words. I was raised to be strong and independent. I was told often that I was beautiful, and that I was loved.

I really have no excuse for the way that I talk to myself. I cannot explain why I judge myself so harshly.

I have a real conundrum when I look at the pictures of me working out or at the Tough Mudder. On one hand, I love that I have photographic evidence of it. On the other, I see a million flaws. I would never say the things I think about myself to another person, so why do I say them to me? I feel so strong and awesome after I workout. So, why does it fill me with so much dread?

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Why would this girl not be good enough to go to the gym? She loves it! Why can’t she go?

Because I am not there yet. I told myself for years that I would workout when I was thinner. I needed to lose weight before I could go to the gym. I am not sure how I expected this miraculous weight loss to happen, I just knew that I was not worthy of the gym until it happened. hmm. This line of thought makes a lot of sense right?

It’s the whole dress thing all over again. One of my goals was to lose enough weight to wear a dress. I know, dumb. Guess how I fixed the problem. That’s right! I went out and bought a dress. I wore the dress. Even now, I feel pretty fantastic in these dresses. I still have the negative thoughts every time I look at them in the closet, telling me I am not ready to wear the dress. I am not good enough. It is a constant battle. I get a negative thought, and I either give in to it, or I ignore it and go about my merry way. IMG_6182

Oh, and the negativity does not stop at the physical aspects of my personhood. I constantly tell my intelligent, somewhat articulate self that I am stupid, or uninteresting. Why? Why on earth would I tell myself that? I convince myself that no one cares what I have to say. (Despite repeated assurances to the contrary.)

So, if I know that the things I tell myself are not true, and if lots of other people whose opinions I respect contradict these lies, then why are these poisonous thoughts on a constant loop in my mind? When do they stop for good?

Now, don’t get all worried about me, I have plenty of tools to combat this problem. I have ways of dealing with myself that leave me pretty much okay most of the time. I am just perplexed at the pervasive nature of the thoughts. It’s like they are professional confidence killers for hire. Who hired them?

Oh, that’s right. I did! I am the one responsible. It is irritating. One more thing I can blame myself for. Do you see the inane nature of this? It is a perpetual cycle.

So, what is the answer?

I assure you, it is not looking in the mirror and murmuring sweet nothings to myself. (If you ever catch me doing that, I probably need either food or a drink because I will have lost whatever is left of myself to this insane cycle, and it could be a symptom of hypoglycemia or something.) I seem to be doing fairly well, with constant conscientious opposition to the negativity. As long as I remain vigilant, I suppose that I just might have a chance to convince myself to shut the hell up and get on with it already.

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The look on my face is hysterical. I need to find something to wear this dress to… Hey! I know! Sergio- wanna ask me out? I can wear this dress!
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Or, I may just wear a quirky hat. Or, maybe a tiara. I am still trying to figure out how to pull it off for every day wear.

So, I promise to ignore the little voice in my head (the one that screams louder than the rational one,) and to keep trekking along on this adventure. I am doing two more Tough Mudders. I am going back to boxing. I am going to eat well and right. I am even going to wear dresses that probably show a little too much cleavage, and wear a little too much eye makeup.

I am not going to stop having crushes on totally unobtainable men (Sergio Garcia- that one is for you.) I am going to go out-of-town to see a friend. I am going to seek to improve. I am going to work on my story (I still can’t call it a novel, but I really hope that is what it turns into.)

Despite the negativity, I am going to keep going. I know I am not the only one who struggles with this. Maybe that is the point. We all have problems. It’s a shame that mine just happens to be me.

 

*This whole post started with me trying to find the right word to describe myself- which led to a google search- which led to an article explaining why pugnacity was not always the best trait- which led to self-doubt- which birthed this diatribe of honesty. Sorry, I am not sorry.

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Beautiful

Yesterday, I saw the latest Dove campaign that is promoting body positivity. There were two doors, one marked beautiful, and the other was marked average. The women who walked through the beautiful door had a big smile on their face. The women who walked through the average door had a look of resignation.

The part that made me cry was all the women who said that if they had the chance to do it over, would choose the beautiful door next time. Is it a crime to feel good about yourself?

Why are we so hard on ourselves?

Girls are taught that self-confidence is attractive, and they are also taught that airbrushed supermodels are the ideal we should strive for. We are taught that we should want to lose 10 pounds (or more!), finding a man is paramount for happiness, and that this lipstick will make us look more desirable. Don’t even get me started on the sex tips that so-called women’s magazines tout as helpful life tools.

We are bombarded with images that are not real all day long every day. Wear this magic bra, and Prince Charming will come knocking on your door… I’m sorry, but, what??? Some guy is going to fall in love with me because my breasts look amazing? This makes no sense at all to me. Wear this skin smoothing foundation, and you will look years younger. This will get him to notice me! 

Who on earth is this elusive life partner that is combing the world looking for a girl exactly like me? I mean, who on earth would think that I have something to offer? I am loud, awkward, and a little difficult. I like to say I am strong willed. Where do you meet a man when your favorite activity is going to the movie alone? Or worse, curled up on the couch with a good book?

Even Cinderella required a magic fairy godmother to make her catch the eye of her prince. I don’t have a fairy godmother. I am not interested in internet dating, and I am not an easy girl to fix up. Oh, I had an odd encounter on twitter, where a dude wanted to suck my toes… (that was so uncomfortable.)

Seriously, I like to think that I am interesting, smart, and yes- I think I am a cute girl. I need to lose weight, but that is something I am working on. Does admitting that I would like to find a man make me desperate? The constant editorial running through my head confirms the desperation.

We are told that the fat girl is the sidekick. It is okay to be smart or funny. Don’t kid yourself though, the leading man is never looking for you. He is looking for someone with the whole package. Not the girl who failed to take care of herself. So, are you supposed to wait until you manage to figure out how to wrangle your body into perfection?

Which brings me to another issue.

My body is never going to be perfect. (Turns out that no one has the perfect body, there is always something that they want to change.) My goals have changed from wanting to look a certain way, to wanting to be able to accomplish certain things. This has been the healthiest switch in attitude for me. When I see “AMAZING WEIGHT LOSS TRANSFORMATIONS” I am a little sad. Why do we pretend as a society that life automatically gets wonderful if we lose weight?

I like to believe that I have already started the transformation, and that it is not wise for me to wait until I am “done” to feel confident. Seems to be a mindset thing.

So, here is the point. I am not certain what makes a person beautiful. I know that I am going to treat myself like I am. I am choosing that door.

 

Mirror, Mirror

Who decides what is attractive? Who decides what is pretty?

I am in the process of growing out my hair. Let’s be honest, most of the time it ends up in a ponytail, except for those days that I feel like making an effort. Some people make an effort to please others, I am not one of those people. I make an effort for me.

There is so much pressure to impress the rest of the world, and really that seems to be an act of futility. It is difficult enough to just make myself happy. Eyeliner, mascara, and that sparkly stuff that you smear on your face. Are we trying to hide, or accentuate our features? Don’t even get me started on hair color, manicures, and Spanx. High heels, skinny jeans, and plunging necklines.

Do all the accessories and paint make us pretty?

Probably not.

For me, the mascara and eyeliner give me a sense of confidence. I do not know why. This is the first time I have ever really thought about it. But, I have heard that confidence is sexy on a woman. So, bring on the eyeliner.

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No makeup, dirty, sweaty, gross. I think I look great! Nose wrinkle and all.

It’s funny, my most recent FB profile pictures have been me, without makeup. Pictures taken after I have been working out. (Or doing a TM- which left me looking pitiful, but I felt accomplished.)

So, is it personality that makes people attractive? Should we just try to let our personality shine through?

Maybe it is confidence. Or happiness.

I really do not think it is external stuff at all. Maybe it is just liking who we are and then other people like it too. The power of suggestion is strong.

But, let’s be serious. The magnifying mirror is not our friend. Examining our flaws, and looking for imperfections is not the way to feel pretty.

So, I ask again… who decides what is pretty?

Maybe it is up to me. Maybe I have to like what I am doing, and then I will like the results. I have been fighting a terrible cough, which is finally getting better, so I need to get back to the gym. I felt prettiest then. I felt strong and capable.

The gym is another thing that I do not do for other people. No one cares if I work out. I am the only person that benefits. I am ready. I am ready to embrace strong and healthy.

Good Riddance.

Ok, thanks for that Buzzfeed. You gave me yet another totally inappropriate idea for a blog post. (Mom, you probably will not like this one.) But, I have some plans for my funeral. No, I do not anticipate it is going to happen anytime soon; but, one can never be too prepared. Not that it really matters: I am not even going to actually be there. I want my friends and family to have a good time though.

Okay, let’s get the messy stuff out of the way first. Do not bury me. Seems like a waste of space. I would like to be cremated. AFTER you donate anything at all usable to whatever tissue, eye, or organ bank wants me. This is important to me. Organ donation is not always possible for everyone who dies… but, in the situations where it is- I feel it is the only way to go. If I am not a viable candidate that is okay.

Oh, wait. I forgot- this is supposed to be funny. Let’s skip anymore organ talk. Just know I am a registered donor. Now, what to do with my ashes? You can scatter a few of them here and there. Maybe save a small box of them to throw into the air at birthday parties or something? (Is that weird? I want to still BE there!) But, I really want to be turned into something. Maybe a diamond. Can they make them pink? Let me go look. Be right back.

Skip ahead about 6 weeks. I got distracted while I was researching the whole diamond thing. Turns out they are blue. It has to do with Carbon or something.

Okay, now for the fun part. It’s really a shame I am not going to be there. I am imagining a huge party full of my friends and family (hoping they are all ancient because we lived so long.)

Hey. You know what? Planning my funeral does not sound as interesting as I thought it was six weeks ago. (Who does that?) Apparently, I do.

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Stock photo of stars. http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/194/5/b/stars_stock_by_euderion-d572x76.jpg

Seriously though, I work in a hard profession. We see a lot of death. This may be part of my preoccupation with it. It’s kinda funny, I have scrapbook upstairs in my office from when I was a kid. There is an unusual number of death notices and obituaries in it. So, maybe I have always been preoccupied with death.

One of my biggest concerns is that something will happen to me, and I will have left something important unsaid. I do not want anyone to wonder how much I loved them, or what an impact they had on my life.

I don’t believe in an afterlife. So, that means that I have to make every day count. I do not want to be filled with regret in my life moments of life. I want to know that I lived.

There is a part of me that wants to know that I made a meaningful difference on the world while I was here. I know, that sounds rather self-important. I do not mean for it to. I just want to help people. It is not fame or money that I seek… (although- some money would be nice.) I just want to look back on my life and to know that I did the best I could with what I had, and that I used my particular skills and gifts for good. So, maybe I want to be a superhero. I wonder what my superpower would be.

To sum it up. When I die, please do not do all that embarrassing funeral stuff. Go to a bar- ask for a whiskey on ice. Top shelf- not that cheap crap. Listen to Green Day’s Good Riddance- and sing along with all your heart, because I promise you- when I was with you, I had the time of my life. Take care of my family and friends. Please, please, please- make inappropriate jokes and make everyone laugh uncomfortably.

I promise, I will do everything I can to live a long and productive life. I will live without regret. I will seek adventure every day. I will love with all my heart.

*** now, for those of you who think this is all macabre and sick- understand- I believe people only fear death because they have not fully lived. I intend to live life fully.

The Marvelously Mundane

I have a pretty fantastic life. I live in a country where I can say and do whatever I want. (Obviously, within reason, and I still have to remember that there are consequences for everything.)

I have done some pretty outrageous things. I sat on Gary Allen’s tour bus when I was 16. I took a forbidden road trip at the age of 17. I had a baby at 18. I graduated from college at 27. I conquered NYC at 31 (okay, maybe conquered is a strong word. I went on vacation to NYC.) Grad school and my dream job came at 32. I completed a Tough Mudder as an old lady of 34.

Last night, I was I complaining to my mother about The Blogger’s choice of picture when he chose my blog to be his guest post. He chose one where I had my nose wrinkled up. IMG_8212

I typically reserve that expression for people in my family. I think I look ridiculous when I make that face, and I try to avoid it when possible. Except for with my son. I love it when he makes that face, and when he was a baby somehow we got this picture. bran pics for gradbook0110

This is one of my favorite pictures in the world. I love that we were making the same face. That’s my boy. There is no denying that he is my child. But, that is so not the point. What was I talking about? Oh, yeah. I was complaining to my mom about the wrinkly nose picture. You see, that is a picture you only get if I am not concerned with how I look in the shot. To get this picture, I have to be completely in the moment. This is me- totally open and just being myself.

Of course, my mother likes the wrinkly nose picture and she used this as an opportunity to bring up one of the stories my family keeps in their back pocket for maximum embarrassment effects. Let me just say, the story involves a 3 year old me, face paint, a cat costume, and my intrigue regarding the rationale of painting my boogers.

Now, there are only a few people in the world who know that story. It happened over 30 years ago. I do not actually recall the event, it was just another day for me. My family remembers, and they apparently love random opportunities to reenact the conversation.

I know. I know. Who cares? What is your point?

Our lives are a series of ordinary days with a few extraordinary days sprinkled in. The best stories, the ones that only a few know about are the best part. The regular old days that did not necessarily involve anything all that exciting. The Marvelously Mundane. The tales of family lore. All it takes is one sentence and the entire family has a private laugh, a joke that outsiders just do not get.

If I were at work and asked someone why they were painting my boogers- I would be greeted with stares and awkward silence. Attempts to explain the significance would fall flat. No one would get it. For one thing, they totally missed my cat ears and tail. Without the costume, it is hard to imagine. They would probably be imagining their 34 year old nurse practitioner asking such a ridiculous question. They would have a little less confidence in my professional prowess. (note to self- one should probably not discuss boogers and face paint at work.) *additional note to self- one should probably not refer to oneself as one. It sounds ridiculous.

So, where was I? Is there a point? Oh. yeah.

It is easy to try to define your life by the big events. This is a mistake that I make far too often.

How do you go about living a life worth living if you do not achieve greatness? (What is greatness? What would I have to do to be actually great? Fantastic? WONDERFUL?) For most of life, I have been waiting to arrive. While I am not entirely certain of the destination, I was waiting. It is almost like percolating coffee. I wanted to be full-bodied and robust. (Wait. That sounds weird. I am full-bodied. Quite robust. hmmm. Okay- just know, I did not mean physically. Unless you mean strong. Why would you mean anything? I am the one that said it. Nevermind.)

Did you know that 10 people in Australia have read my blog today? 3 people in Germany. Am I the only person who finds that incredible? Do you think they liked it? Will they read it again?

I am one of those people who possess no artistic talents. I cannot draw, paint, sculpt, sing, dance, or even act. I desperately wanted to do all of those things. I wanted to have an interesting way to express myself. I completely underestimated my capabilities. I was so busy tallying up the talents I did not possess that I totally forgot to give myself credit for the ones I have. I would never dream of judging another person as harshly as I judge myself.

There is something special about the ordinary days. Driving in the car with your mom listening to Reba McEntire, singing along without fear of judgement, not caring how you sound. Going to see a bad movie with your son. Harry Potter marathons that you fall asleep during. Curling up with a good book.

We have far more regular days than remarkable ones. I think it is time to celebrate the normal stuff. The big, special days are great! Everyone should get to experience them. However, we miss so much when we are constantly waiting for the next great adventure.

I am planning to do 2 more Tough Mudders this year. In about 6 months. If I wait until then to find inspiration, I will have missed half a year. We don’t get that many days in our lives, and we should not waste them. Open your eyes, look around. Find the beauty in the ordinary. Act like a tourist in your town. See things from a new perspective. Write your story in your every day life. Fall in love with The Marvelously Mundane.

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Impressions and Assumptions: The Blogger and Captain America

I am a people watcher. There is a steady stream of observations constantly running through my head. Sometimes, it is exhausting to be constantly evaluating every thing that I see and hear.

(Yes, I know you were hoping this would not be about Tough Mudder. Too bad.) I just tricked you by not putting it in the title.

This is the story of how my mind was changed.

When I first stumbled upon The Blogger, I was struck by how he wrote these awesome pieces that seemed so unapologetically real and sincere. He was funny and relatable. As I read more, I realized he was just a normal guy who happened to have enough courage to just put it out there and see what happened. I decided I wanted to watch. I wanted to see how the story unfolded.

So, I joined an online health club he had started. It took me a while to figure out how it all worked, and eventually I joined a gym and started working out. I had something to talk about with these people. Over time, I go to know some of them. It was fun. It was a distraction. It was not REAL. It seemed to fit into my idea of heaven, keeping life compartmentalized and separate.

Then, I “met” Captain America. Here was a confident, insanely supportive man. He got on my nerves. I do not trust people who are that nice. They freak me out. Over time, we developed a playful push and shove. He encouraged my boxing, challenged me to do 100 burpees, and even staged a repeat ice water challenge. He wrote a post about me and how I inspired him. At first, I was embarrassed, and then, for some reason it worked for me. I was excited about getting healthy.

Now, fast forward. These two guys were part of a group of fitty fools who had done a Tough Mudder in Utah. All of these people suddenly became more real. I wanted to do one too. I wanted to do one with them.

I got my chance. There were going to be three “official” group Tough Mudders. I decided to do Mesa. I only had 6 months to prepare. The first three went well. Then, life hit me squarely in the chest, and knocked me so far off the wagon that I was not entirely certain there ever was a wagon. The group interactions were so excited and frantically supportive, and I became a skeptic. These people were weird. Why were they all so nice to each other? Why were we all so excited? What were we thinking?

I managed to convince myself that The Blogger was only doing this to advance his personal agenda. I assumed that is the only reason someone would do all of this. I doubted his sincerity every step of the way. Things felt contrived and staged. Nothing felt natural to me. My own insecurities were painting his actions in an unflattering light. I was afraid to be excited. I was sure this was all going to be some epic prank aimed at the people who were not physically prepared for a Tough Mudder. I had nightmares about the humiliation.

And then I was there. I was in a group of people who I only knew online. I was seeing them for the first time. I watched and judged. I maintained my attitude of indifference. I was afraid to have a good time, because it would be so disappointing when the experience failed to live up to my expectations.

Now, it is Friday morning. I am walking through the dining room at the hotel. I hear this voice say “And, there is Nyki.” I turn and there in real life is Captain America. He is wearing a shirt that I have seen so many pictures of him in. It is a little unreal. He is both exactly what I expected and nothing like I anticipated. He walked up to me, we had a brief hug, and I immediately reverted to the shy, uncomfortable girl who is meeting someone for the first time. Nevermind that he knows so much about me. It was like meeting a stranger you have known your entire life. Miss Snarky snuck into my head, and I immediately decided that the hug was out of obligation, and that he was not in fact glad to meet me.

(Not that he had done anything to give me that impression. I ASSUMED that was the case.) I always assume that is the case.

Dinner that night was interesting. Walking into a lion’s den of hungry people who think it is a good idea to burst into cheers when you walk through the door is startling. The Blogger took his role as a leader seriously, and he tried valiantly to draw us into a conversation where our fears could be alleviated by the group. I was unable to take it seriously. Remember, Miss Snarky has firmly embedded herself in my brain.

I made a joke, and tried to foil his attempts to draw me out. He called me on it. I resisted. He tried. I was annoyed.

Then, it was time for Tough Mudder. (Don’t worry, I am not going to give you a recap)

The first wall was paralyzing. The Blogger tried to be supportive and kind. That does not work for me. Captain America actually stepped in and saved the day. He challenged me. He was like SERIOUSLY??? This is going to be the thing that stops you? It worked. I watched him help his team through this adventure over and over again. He did not seem to be seeking approval. He was not doing it to be noticed. I would see his joy when someone overcame a fear. It was sincere. Captain America really wants to help people achieve their goals. It is genuine. Gee. What a jerk. (Kidding- I loved seeing that it was not a front.)

Now, The Blogger. It took me most of the day to come to a conclusion about him. I watched him struggle to lead this loud and diverse group. I saw him be recognized as a “famous” person. I teased him mercilessly about that. Remember, to me… he is just a blogger. I had no idea that he was famous. I did not get it.

Towards the end- we had about 3 miles left. I was hurting. I had blisters on my foot. My knee was swollen, I was looking for the exit. The Blogger walked up behind me, pulled a bottle of pedialyte out of his bag, and simply said “drink.” I told him I was done. I was tired. I no longer cared about Tough Mudder.

And, this poor guy. I know his first instinct was to try to inspire me, to give me a “you can do it” speech. Instead, he put his arm around my shoulders, let me lean on him, and walked. We had a nice talk. I do not remember most of it. There was no pressure to be having a good time. There was no expectation that I had to be enjoying walking on my tender foot. I was enough exactly where I was. This was the point that I realized that he had many of the same insecurities I did. The Blogger is not your usual natural-born leader. He is quiet and shy. He was carrying the weight of this group’s success on his shoulders. I think there was a part of him that was scared. If this went badly, it would not be a private failure. He had a lot riding on this.

We talked about me skipping some obstacles at the end. He reminded me of his TM in England, the one where he got sick. This was the make or break event. He was either good enough, or he wasn’t. I realized that this was a struggle for him too. I saw where the need to make this event special came from. I saw the desperation for this to work. He was not just looking for material to write about. He was trying to redeem himself. (Now, I am not certain if he said any of this. I honestly don’t remember anything about the conversation. This is the impression I was left with, and for me, that is so much more important.)

Now, fast forward to the drive home. After I have deposited my best friend at the airport in New Mexico. Quiet time. Reflection. This was when the whole experience hit me like a ton of bricks. I was wrong about The Blogger and Captain America. They really do just want to help other people achieve something great. I thought (errantly) that they were super confident that they had THE RIGHT STUFF to change the world. Nope, not even close. They are searching for it, just the same as everyone else. IMG_8074

The Tough Mudder was not the great thing. Not even a little.

The achievements that we all earned are so much more. We came together as a team. We faced our fears. We did the impossible.

We were forced out of our comfort zones, and we triumphed. The two weeks since the TM have been rough for most of us. We see life a little differently. We are trying to explain to people what made this so great. Words are not enough.

Inspiration comes in the strangest places. You cannot force it. All you can do is seek to live a good life, full of adventures and quests. If you are lucky- You will keep your eyes and heart open, and avoid making assumptions about how it is all going to turn out. Trust me, people will shock you. I think that we are all a lot less unique than we think we are. Let’s do the best we can with what we have. Remember, We Got This. 14660_10153505239449156_4602544733387127900_n

 

I know. You are tired of hearing about the Tough Mudder

I know, I know. Do you talk about anything else these days?

Yes.

I do.

I promise. I am just having so much fun going through pictures and planning my next adventure with my son and my new friends.

I had not actually planned on attempting many of the obstacles. I had not been working out, and I was woefully unprepared for the TM. I went anyway. I wanted to meet these people. I am so glad that I did.

Participating with this group of people was life-changing. I feel like I was probably the one in the worst shape, I feel like I was the biggest person out there. The old me would never in a million years wear compression pants and a form fitting shirt out in public like that. I would have felt out of place and like I did not belong.

I have worked hard to overcome the negative self-talk that permeates my life. It is not easy. I think this is one of the hardest parts about getting healthy. You have to feel like you are worth the effort. Tough Mudder is so much more than an obstacle course. It is a chance to overcome your fears. It is an opportunity to prove to yourself that you can do anything.

There are videos. There are videos of me on the ground in a mud pit.

I have an interesting nose. (I hate my nose.) It is turned up, a la a pig nose. Oh, and I have always been heavier than most of the people I know. I remember when I was a kid, and the mean kids called me Ms. Piggy. Now, Fast forward more than 20 years. I am still fat, and I still have a turned-up nose. I was actually essentially rolling around in a pit of mud. I assure you, no one called me a pig.

This sounds silly but, this is one of the best things that ever happened to me. I stopped letting the bullies and mean people dictate my life. I can be healthy and active. It’s okay that I am not in fantastic (or even acceptable) physical condition. I went out and worked hard. I played. I had fun. No one told me I did not belong with them.

It is time to stop letting the voices from our past prevent us from living up to our full potential. Yeah, there were mean kids and people who pointed out our flaws. Wanna hear a secret? My son has my nose. In fact, he looks pretty much like a male version of me. I think he is the most handsome person on the planet. I do not see those features as flaws on him.

I now understand why it hurt my family so much all those years I thought I was ugly. I get it. I understand why it hurt them to see me hurting myself. I was hurting the person they loved.

Today, I am still fat. I am still slow and out of shape. I can do a burpee. I can go and have fun in the mud with a group of fitty friends. I am not ugly. Turns out, I have a lot to offer. Who I am to stand in my way?

 

Mud, Sweat, and Boobs?: Tough Mudder- Mesa

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I froze at the top of every wall. Yep. Every single one. These awesome guys would support me, and make me feel safe enough to finally awkwardly roll myself over.

So, if you have been paying attention, you are getting the picture. Tough Mudder was tough. I was scared. I was scared I was too fat, too heavy, too clumsy, too weak, too much and too little all at the same time.

However, there were some parts that I felt pretty confident. Funky Monkey did not scare me, I have no doubt that I cannot cross monkey bars. I knew I would reach out and fall in the water. I did. Nothing bad happened.

Warrior Carry. I got to the starting line of the obstacle, and immediately started searching for Angela. There was no other person I wanted to carry. She has carried me plenty of times throughout the years. It was absolute greatness. You can tell by the picture. And, yes. Her hands are firmly grasping my breasts. It made me laugh. I am so glad there is a picture of this.

This was not hard for many reasons. One thing, I would never drop her. She would never let me fall. This was easy. It was a time that I felt like I was capable. I think that this challenge was good for me. I needed something that felt right. By this point, I was afraid that I needed to give up. This fun time gave me a boost to keep going for a while.

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Best pic ever! I was so comfortable. I was so happy to be with my best friend. There was no shame, fear, or self- doubt. I really do not think anyone else could have gotten away with using my breasts as handles.

So, trudge along to the very last obstacle. I have blisters on my heel. My left knee is swollen and stiff. I am hungry, tired, and cranky. All I want is for this to end. I skip three obstacles. Not because I am scared of them, but because I am tired and afraid that I will not be able to finish if I don’t.

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It was fun. It hurt. It kinda tickled. Until I fell.

The very last challenge is the electroshock challenge. Basically, you run through a giant mud pit under wires that give you a little jolt. Basically, a whole body TENS unit. I was planning to run through it holding hands and skipping with Rebecca. This was necessary. We did it.

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This is such an attractive picture. Here is the funny part. I was right under a “live” wire. It was shocking me over and over. I could not move. I just sat there, twitching repeatedly. It felt like an eternity. Finally, Lisa came in to get me. She got zapped in the face at that point. She is one of my heroes.

I love the fact that these pictures captured my smile. I was happy. It did not matter what I looked like. I had been supported whole-heartedly the entire day. I surprised myself and other people. No, I was not graceful.

When I was going over the Berlin Wall, Trevor (not my brother, but my new friend) was recording with his GoPro. He never dreamed I would do it. I was his “out.” Yeah, well with a little help from my friends, I sure did do it. So did he.

We have no excuse to back down from a challenge. If it is just fear that is threatening to stop us, we have an obligation to push through. Sometimes that requires help.

Now, there are still so many stories to tell. I am not going to discuss the finish line until after I tell those stories. They will have to wait though. I am not done processing this adventure. It was an emotional roller-coaster.

I know that I am failing to adequately explain what this experience was like for me. There are really no words to express what I was feeling. I do know that I repeatedly threatened to kill “whoever thought this was a good idea.” Funny, since I am planning on doing two more. I am going to train harder and try to be in better shape. I know what to expect now. I know I can do it.