Exit the Warrior, Today's Tom Sawyer

It's been almost 10 months since I taught my last group fitness class.  My last class was my Wednesday night spin class - my one true fitness love.  I didn't have a bike that night because class was full (with decorated bikes and balloons no less) but I got just as much out of spending time with the people in my class that night as I would have had I worked out, except I didn't even have to wear a sports bra.

Thinking about my regulars, a couple in particular, helped me "get back on the horse", so to speak, this week.  8 weeks without getting on a spin bike.  I think that's the longest I've gone in 5 years.  I've missed that bike more than I realized and I'm glad I'm getting back to it. However, my crotch is not happy about the reunion.  'Taint happy at all. 

I remember my first spin class like it was yesterday.  I had been working my way up to surviving 45-50 minutes on a bike after being humbled by my personal trainer.  He had put me on a spin bike, cranked the resistance and proceeded to kick my ass.  I wanted to die about 2 minutes in.  I was so mad - I thought after losing 70 lbs on my own I should be able to handle getting on a bike.  I took that anger and did 10 minutes the next day.  Then 15.  Then 20 and so on.  I finally got the balls to show up to class which was completely out of my comfort zone.  Working out with a group?  Talking to people?  Being the only fat girl in a group fitness studio?  Sweating AND being social?  What? (Ok, so anyone who has seen me dancing knows that I'm no stranger to that one.)

I showed up for class and didn't really speak to anyone at first.  The instructor at the time was one of those crazy ladies that remembers half way through class that, oh, there are other people in the room with her and they, in fact, do not have the same death wish that she has.  Super fit, make up on, zero body fat - uber intimidating for someone only half-way through her journey.

I parked my bike next to a very friendly guy named Mike.  It was obvious that he and his wife, Kim, had been attending class for awhile.  They knew what they were doing and were comfortable enough to give the instructor shit - a true mark of feeling at home at the gym.  Mike was very friendly to me without seeming obnoxiously experienced - in fact he was much nicer and more welcoming than the instructor.  I don't know that I would have gone back to class if it wasn't for Mike, let alone became an instructor. 

In the coming months we started a major battle of WWIII proportions.  The fan.  You see, I'm a sweaty bastard.  No way around it.  I was embarrassed by just how sweaty I really was.  I asked my trainer once if I was his sweatiest client.  He smiled and started to give me what I thought was going to be a charming and polite answer to make me feel better.  Instead he said, "No, you're my 2nd sweatiest client.  See Big John over there?  He's the sweatiest."  The only way to combat sweaty-ness of Big John proportions was to slide my bike under one of the only two fans in the whole studio, the one that actually worked well.  Turns out, Mike liked a good fan as well.  It was a race to see who could get under it first.  Sometimes we'd pull into the parking lot at the same time and eye each other from a few stalls away and I could swear I heard the theme song from Clint Eastwood's "Man with No Name" trilogy.  Game on, Mike.  Game on.

Mike did little odd jobs around the gym all the time.  Hung stuff. Fixed bikes. Drilled things.  Too my knowledge he was never compensated.  This is just who he was.  He and Kim were why small gyms are successful.  It's about family and friends and community and the people that care about that small business.

Almost a year to the date from the first time I got on a spin bike I was certified to teach.  On the other side of the room facing the members.  Where there was no fan.  You win, Mike.

I was not the best group fitness instructor there ever was.  Not by half.  I didn't look like an instructor (which I was reminded of by a few disbelieving new members when they showed up to my class for the first time and took a gander at me).  And if you ask me to keep any 4, 8 or 16 count you are out of luck.  Just ask my kickboxing regulars about my warm-ups.  My method when I taught and when I trained was to make sure everyone was having fun.  Because it's not so bad to get your ass kicked if you're having fun, in my opinion.  I did this by making inappropriate jokes, by telling stories about my boys and by getting to know my class regulars really well.  Sometimes too well.  Professional boundaries are not my strong suit and your group fitness instructor should probably not be meeting you for happy hour or ladies nights or dinner out.  She should probably also not host a Pure Romance party and invite all gym members while she is a manager. But I did. Because these were my extended family.  My naughty, dirty extended family. 

The other way I tried to make class fun was by putting a lot of time and energy into my music.  If I was known for anything as an instructor it was probably my music.  I had themes.  I had remixes.  I had genres.  And, by God, I had 8 1/2 minutes of Beyonce - their favorite.  Every song was carefully chosen and choreographed to what I had planned.  You may even say I was anal retentive about it.  I won't argue with you.

If you'd been attending my class long enough you may even have earned a special song by request.  I played a Justin Bieber song once for Tracy that left me watching the studio door, terrified someone in the main gym could hear it.  Christ, I think I even played the Electric Slide for Tracy once as a warm-up.  And let's not forget the time I tried to use Bon Iver in class for Karen.  Talk about a challenge.  Guess what we stretched to?

Mike heckled my music all the time.  I teased him about secretly loving Beyonce and Rihanna and said I would gladly burn him some cds but he was a classic rock guy through and through.  His favorite was Rush.  I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to use Tom Sawyer in class for him but when all else fails in spin class, what do you do?  Seated climb.  He probably didn't realize it but I actually have 4 or 5 spin playlists created with him in mind.  He was always there, every Monday, and he deserved to get a break from girly pop music once in awhile.

When I taught spin class I would always remind people that this was their class and they had choices to accommodate their needs or fitness levels.  I reminded them of their options repeatedly and every time I said the word "options" I got a huge "Whooo-hooo!" from Mike, to whom I promptly told the options didn't apply.   Every single time, without fail.  I don't think he missed it one time.

A year ago Mike was diagnosed with cancer.  Way, way too young for that shit.  They began aggressively treating his cancer and because of that he took a leave of absence from the gym.  Every time I said the word "options" Kim was right there to take up the slack.  "Whooo-hooo!"  It made me smile every time.

I had the pleasure of having Mike come back to take a few more classes when he was feeling good enough before I quit the gym.  Mike wasn't there often after being diagnosed but when he was there it was because he wanted to get back to his routine.  He certainly wasn't trying to lose weight.  He was there because that was what you did on Monday at 4:30pm.  He did it because it was good for him.  He did it for the love of it. (Ok, so maybe I exaggerate his love for my classes but something brought him back.)  Coming back to spin class while undergoing treatment for a very aggressive kind of cancer?  That's badass.  And if he held back I couldn't tell.  Mike was a warrior.

I've spent a lot of the last 10 months recovering emotionally from my resignation at the gym.  I've been hurt and angry.  I felt used and unappreciated.  I felt unrewarded by management for all the hard work, heart and soul that I put in there and I've ultimately felt forgotten by those who said they would always be there for me even though we no longer worked together.  Sometimes I have felt that I wasted 4 years of my life and my energy to have it wind up so thankless.  What I have forgotten is that I was already rewarded ten-fold for the work I did there and the relationships I built.  It was not appreciation from management that was my compensation.  I was rewarded each and every time a member decided to spend an hour of their time with me.  You know they had options (whoo-hoo!) and they still showed up for my class.  They appreciated what I gave to them and they had no idea that what they were giving to me was of much greater importance that the sweaty butt crack I gave them.

I am privileged to have known each and every person who attended one of my classes and blessed me with their time.  I want to make sure they know how much it meant to me to see their faces every week, knowing that even when I didn't feel like going to work I would be so glad I was there by the time class ended.  I want to say thank you for what they gave to me before I don't have a chance to say it again.  Thank you.

Mike passed away today in his home surrounded by his family.  This world has lost one of the nicest men I have ever met in my life and the only consolation that I can see is that he's left behind two young men who are sure to follow in his footsteps of kindness.  Please save any condolences you may have for me and instead send out as much love and peace to Mike's wife, Kim, and their two sons, Josh and Tyler.  Their loss is great.

This song is for you, Mike.  The fan is yours.  Fly By Night, my friend.

Bitch Flap

Tomorrow is my 6 week post-op mark.  Time to celebrate.  Time to move on and get back to a normal, restriction-free life.  Time to feel super sexy and wear itty-bitty drawers.

Yeah, not so much.  I've got so far to go it's not even funny.  I knew this was going to be a tough surgery to recover from and I was prepared for it.  Or so I thought.  I totally underestimated how much it would impact me physically and emotionally.

So here's a brief update.  I've been drain free for 3 weeks and aside from a brief trip to the ER to rule out a blood clot in my leg I have had no complications.  My incision is pretty much all sealed up aside from about an inch worth of scab (pretty amazing considering my incision is 28" long) and I am getting by with just occasional Tylenol.  I'm still fairly swollen, especially at the end of the day, and my belly button still looks like I have a small bald man trapped in my stomach but the change is already pretty dramatic.  I'm starting to wear real clothes again, work more, move more and get out of the house more.  All good things, right?

So why am I such a hot mess still?  I'm struggling to put it into words.  I tried to explain the problems I was having and the major body issues I was struggling with to a friend the other night and she didn't get it. "But your stomach is flat now.  What's the problem?" I've only told a few people how I've been feeling and most think I'm absolutely nuts.  I'm going to try and do my best to explain because I think it's relevant to everything I've been working on to date.  But if you, too, think I'm off my rocker you may want to keep that tidbit to yourself.  I'm full up on disapproval right now.

Let's start with my appearance.  I've literally spent almost all of the 6 weeks in huge sweat pants, oversize baggy shirts, no make-up, tweezer-free and frizzy, unkempt hair mode .  You know, the natural look.

I had to wear a binder 24/7 around my mid-section for the first 3 weeks and then I graduated to compression shapewear like Spanx.  My worst fashion nightmare was realized when I had to go into a dressing room and attempt to stuff myself into and then peel myself out of high waisted girdle after girdle trying to find something that didn't make me want to cry and wasn't going to suffocate me, knowing whatever I picked I would have to wear 24 hours a day.  I was sweating and in pain and exhausted and literally went home to lie down after.  In the car ride home I just shook my head and said, "And can you believe I used to be a group fitness instructor?"  Spanx totally counts as a workout, right?

I went from working out 5-6 days a week to sweating when trying on Spanx or napping after a shower?  The fatigue was something I really underestimated.  I'm still struggling with it but it's getting better.  The worst part of it, though, is not having the exercise I'm used to to keep my head straight.  I felt like I was getting somewhere with this body gratitude stuff.  Two steps forward, five steps back.

Here's a tiny glimpse in to the last 6 weeks (ask my husband):

"Oh my God.  She took away all my curves.  I'm not curvy anymore.  Do I still look like I have hips? I look like I should be in the Texas Chainsaw movie with this scar. My legs look huge now.  I look like a freak.  Everywhere I go people will know I have had surgery because my stomach is flat and my legs are a ginormous.  I don't even look normal in pants. They fit my thighs but now the crotch is empty.  I have saggy crotch.  No one likes saggy crotch.  I could fit a whole penis in there now.  Seriously - do I still look curvy?"

Side note - in the midst of all this crazy a friend of mine posted a picture on his Facebook page that I took exception to.  He thought it was hilarious.  I told him it was asshole-ish.  This is the picture, except it had the caption, "Wingman of the Year".

I considered ignoring it but I really do like the guy enough to not want him to look like an asshole because I don't think he is one.  When he asked what my problem was with it and I told him it was obvious it was just one big fat joke he promptly blocked me from seeing anything on his page but not before I saw him call me a bitch to someone else.

Could I have lost my sense of humor during all this recovery time?  Perhaps.  Might I be over-sensitive because of my current battle with body issues?  It's definitely a possibility.  But I'm also a straight shooter (and he knows this and has appreciated it in the past) who has spent decades battling weight and years working with people battling their own weight issues.  And let's not forget that very early in this blog I swore I would always call a person out on a fat joke. Humorless bitch?  I take great offense to the humorless part.

You know what is funny?  I'm having what I've decided to call "Phantom Flap" issues. (Prior to surgery my son asked me, "What are you having surgery for again?  Oh yeah, you're having your flap removed.")  If you have ever had much of a belly you know the horrific moment when you feel your underwear slip down underneath your "flap" and you realize you'll have to find a private moment to try and excavate them from their depths.  Assuming you can still find them.  So I tell my friend (the same one mentioned previously who thinks I'm nuts) that I keep thinking I feel my underwear slip down below my flap and then I realize I have no flap and she text me a couple days later saying, "I've pulled my drawers out from my under my flap at least 30 times today and I've thought of you each time and cursed your name".  I almost spit my coffee on my phone.  I adore my friends.  Except for the asshole-ish ones.

I'm not writing this blog to get you to feel bad for me.  I know I asked for this and I should have known what I was getting into.  I'm writing to once again remind you (and myself) that the answer to feeling good about yourself and finding self-worth is not external.  Sure, those things help but they don't fix you.  I wasn't looking for this surgery to fix my self-worth issues at all.  I'm smarter than that and having been through a large weight loss and a different post-operative recovery I already knew this was a fact.  I guess I just didn't expect it to make me feel worse than before.  I did not anticipate going backwards.

Another good friend sent me an article called "What Losing 180 Pounds Really Does to Your Body - & Your Mind" by Jen Larsen that resonated with her and it made so much sense to me as well.  I did not have weight loss surgery but I actually sympathize greatly with the topic. (So much so I already bought her book and started it.)  I get her loss of "sense of self" and "sense of proportion".  One quote that resonated with me was this: "I thought my body was wrong when I was obese; I thought my body was wrong when I was thin past the point of health."  Granted, I'm no where near thin but just as I battled obsessive self-scrutiny when I lost weight the first time, I find myself doing it again now that I once more have changed my body into something unrecognizable to me.  I'm out of my normal routine, still trying to find myself at home in my own body with all the physical changes, not able to combat stress with exercise and I can't remember the last time I felt pretty.  Interestingly enough, I wasn't even able to use food as self-medication either.  I'm not sure if it was the pain medication or the exhaustion or the compression-wear but I did not have a normal appetite for quite awhile.  Definitely a blessing that I wasn't over-eating for stress relief but I wasn't doing anything else for relief either.  I spent a lot of time alone in my room inside my head.  NOT a good place to be.  Or worse yet, standing in front of a mirror magnifying every flaw I have in order not to stare directly at that scabby place on my body where 9 lbs of my own flesh used to be.

I probably still haven't explained this right or I've come off sounding like a self-absorbed asshat.  All I know is that I've gone backwards.  I've been battling feelings of depression, anxiety, unworthiness and they are all related to me not recognizing myself anymore and not feeling anywhere close to pretty.  My surgeon said this would be a doozy of a surgery.  Doozy, indeed.

On the "pretty" note I ran across this video and it hit home with me.  I wouldn't exactly say that poetry slamming is my thing but this is powerful.  And no matter how many times I watch it the last 60 seconds or so get me every time. (Warming - there's an F-bomb dropped at the end so be careful at work.)

 I sincerely hope you aren't reading my blog because you think I have the answers.  Clearly I don't.  But I'm looking for progress constantly and I want to share my experiences along the way with as much honesty as possible.  And this is where I'm at right now.  Surgery or no surgery, I still have so much work to do if a period of 6 weeks is enough to knock my self-worth back to square one.

Jen Larsen said "don't love yourself even though you're not perfect - love yourself because you have a body and it's worth loving and it is perfect."  So back to the drawing board for me.  I need to start practicing body gratitude again so you may see that pop up on my Facebook page.  Today I am grateful for my body's amazing ability to heal after I've abused it so egregiously.  I need to start moving every day again and I need to write more often.  I've got to get back to the work of finding my own worth again.  6 weeks is enough of a hiatus.

And I'm going to be doing it all over again but this time in itty-bitty drawers.  I may be a hot mess but that part worked out just fine.