Suggested Visualizations for Those Averse to Exercise

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There are some things you'll never hear me say when it's time to do what I've put off doing until I can't put it off anymore (besides dishes, laundry, beds, cleaning, emails, cooking...) 

When I wait up until almost midnight, and the day is almost gone and I keep hoping I'll just do it already and then comes the hour in which it can no longer remain not done.

The minutes go by and I sigh and reach for the running shoes and change into the non binding clothes, that wouldn't be so binding if I would just do it.

It's time to exercise.

I don't like to exercise. My children take sympathy and lend me their playlists, they keep me company, walk with me, tell me jokes while I'm on the dreadmill, face their dogs downward alongside me, but I don't like it. It's not fun, I have no energy, it takes up a HUGE chunk of time -- something I'm already way too short of.


But, but but but, if I don't do it, I don't like the way my thighs start to sound like butter being whipped in a bowl, I don't like how I can feel my stomach jiggle when I drive over potholes, I don't like how I can see my batwings in the periphery when I wave good-bye to my children when they leave in the morning.

There's also that small thing about staying alive to see my grandchildren.

And so, armed (ha!) with all these reasons, I drag my floppiness off the couch and go exercise.

It's not easy to motivate me and one tactic that has always worked as a fire under my butt, ever since I was a little girl, is fear. Scare tactics. Frighten me out of my skull, that's my love language.

I'm sharing with those of you today, anyone out there like me, who would rather scrape paint off the outside of a house while on a 9-foot ladder under a 95 degree noon day sun with only warm berry-flavored Gatorade to sip, my list of Powerful Imitation Tony Robbins-Like Fear Factor Visualizations to get that adipose on the active track.

This is what I think of when I don't want to just do it! **Print it out, put it up, carry it with you, commit it to memory:

• 1.  I imagine what my body looks like if I were to see myself bare naked, running, in slow motion. Right? This'll have you moving in no time.

• 2.  See yourself naked again, but this time standing on your head. Boom. You've just upped the dreadmill to 4mph.

• 3.  Imagine what innocent bystanders would be subjected to if a sudden gust of summer wind blew your sweet new flirty skirt up while at the Friday morning farmer's market. You love people too much for this to assault their eyes, don't you? Now adding a 1.5 incline to dreadmill.

• 4.  I don't want to see me miss a summer day not at the pool with my kids. It doesn't take much, and I don't ask for much. Just a few more planks in the morning, alternate sides, three minutes each. That's all we need.

• 5.  See myself being okay wearing the tank tops of summer. I'm not seeing an image here with arms that look like rubber bands, just a little hoisting of the lunch lady flaps, and I'm good.

• 6.  I want to keep seeing myself clutching my chest in front of my kids because I'm around to hear the sweet things they say to me, not because I need the new defibrillators our auxiliary fire department just purchased.

• 7.  While I'm on my fifty minute of exercise with ten more to go, I see my heart beating and growing strong and suddenly, I know just what The Grinch felt when his heart grew three sizes that day.

• 8.  I see my legs getting strong enough to still outlast my husband and the kids on our bike rides and this one is super important to me because I never want them to have to stop mid-trail and turn around and to shout "ya comin', mom?"

• 9.  I like to see the BIG FIVE benefits of exercise flash before my eyes, lined up in bold black old-school capital letters. Look them up on google... they're tremendous.

• 10. You won't look them up, will you. That's why I did it for you:

     1.) The force of blood pumping through your arteries and veins cleans out and dislodges fat. Picture it.
     2.) Heart pumping makes your heart, which is a muscle, get good and strong. See it flexing.
     3.) Exercise creates endorphins! Feel good hormones! Better than getting your Prozac doubled.
     4.) Physical activity uses up stress hormones, like cortisol and adrenaline, and now they have      somewhere to go instead of running around your body shouting "where do we go? where do we go?" Believe me, you feel them when they're trapped inside.
     5.)  Burning an extra 100 calories a day loses 10 pounds of weight a year. Burning 200 calories a day is 20 pounds a year! 300 calories a day is 30 pounds a year! I like to play this game and go through the possibilities in my head up to 10,000 calories a day.

One visualization I battled over sharing or not and finally decided what the heck, we're all family here.

Me in last year's swim suit -- if they made the skirt any longer on that thing it'd be a berka.
   

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BlogHer and Wishing You Weren't Too Terrified To Attend

There is this big, big social media conference coming up the end of July, in Chicago. It will more than likely have over 5,000 attendees. It's known as the world's largest social media conference for women.

Huge stuff. Big deal. Thrilling chance of a lifetime to meet most of your favorite reads and readers, face to face. It's called BlogHer.

You really want to go to this conference and see everyone, you do -- but you don't even entertain the thought because people terrify you. Or, you've bought your ticket because you really want to go, but now you're dreading the fact that you did.

What to do. You don't want to miss this but you don't want to be there among the unknown, either. Because your personality type is the kind that gets overwhelmed and panicky at the thought of a small city of people and the swimming sea of faces that await you. In a concentrated space. I mean, you really don't actually ::know:: anyone.

But, still, again, YOU REALLY WANT TO GO. You're tired of missing out on things just because you feel you don't know if you'll do the right thing around all those people. Where others see the chance to squee (it's a thing that happens a lot when bloggers meet) and hugging and high pitched excited talking one over the other because of the thrill of being together with your people, y'all...

My first BlogHer, San Diego, and never was I happier to see someone than when I saw Polly.

... for you, something else happens -- fight or flight kicks in. And you don't want to pay all that money and make all those plans for child care for five days away, just to end up hiding in your hotel room, berating yourself with the "I knew I shouldn't have come!" self talk while you dial home, crying, promising yourself you'll never come to one of these again.

I'm with you. I hear you. And I feel just this way, but still, I really want to go.

So, I'm going. I have my ticket, and I'm taking the train to Chicago, and I'll be at BlogHer '13.

Because it will be four nights and four days of getting the rare chance to say thank you in person to all the writers that make me smile and feel less alone in my world. I'll be with my people. And I won't have to pretend to be normal for FOUR DAYS.

ohmygosh poor Ree, could I be any more obnoxious. I love her.

It's work for me to bring myself out of my shell, but I do it. It doesn't feel any more natural now than it did when I first went to BlogHer two years ago, but I'm there, because missing out on things from fear or panic is not something I want. And I'm not saying it's easy to do, to just buck up and do it. No, I'm not saying that at all.

I'm saying that the risk, the perceived threat to our being, the fear that makes us want to lock the hotel door behind us while we dive under the covers, is not going to win.

I've examined what brings out the adrenaline in me that tells me to run and stay in my hotel room, and I'm going to press over-ride on these emotions and do my possible best.

Years ago, but years ago, this wonderful therapist *again on this site with the fabulous therapist, I know* I had told me that the best defense we have against any attack is knowledge. Information; finding out what causes what brings out what and therein you can start to re-work the puzzle to create a different picture.

What you find on introspection is uniquely your story. For me, my answers come from the fear of past mistakes, past done-to-mes, past pain.

It's the wanting to avoid the above said pain that'll send you flying to the nearest bank of elevators,  pressing and lighting up aaaaaall the buttons thinking that will get you a ride back to your room sooner. Hide, hide, you just want to be safe and hidden.

I know what's behind my fear; it's the what-if of saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, not being friendly enough, being dog wagging tail too friendly, being boring, not being witty, having nothing to say, all this and a bag of peanuts too while I worry about my flabby arms in my sleeveless tops knocking someone out while I run to hug them. In other words, pick a card, any card.

I fear these things because they've all happened to me before, every one. And I wince at the memory. I have said the wrong thing and called a blogger the wrong name in front of her tens and tens of friends, I have hugged someone who was very very hands off, I have appeared unfriendly when I was actually just overwhelmed at meeting so many people at once (so interesting how overwhelmed more often than not gets translated as unapproachable), I have met someone I really liked and just about jumped in their lap -- when the feelings were not equally returned. I have been quiet, not saying anything, while surrounded by so many faces at once. I have not always been able to think of something clever to say. I have thought of something funny to say, but then it was only laugh out loud funny to me. And I do have slap-happy flabby arms in tank tops.

I've pulled each of those cards out of the deck.

But, and this is the thing, every single time I've taken a chance and gone to this mini world within a hotel... it's been good. Really good. I come home after being hugged back as hard I hugged, someone I didn't think would know me, did; I had one on one time with the special people who inspire me in my daily life, I could feel that people liked being with me, I was with others who were just as overtaken by emotion at being with PEOPLE who blogged for pete's sake, and that got what we all do online. Where is this in real life, right? There were scheduled programs, panels, sessions, workshops, talks; in rooms, hotel bars, hallway floors, about to captcha or not to captcha.

I was with bloggers.

I thought of funny things to say and made people funnier than I am, laugh. That's what I remind myself of... Remember the last time you did this, you were so glad you did. So do it again. 

My eternal BlogHer roommates, third year in a row. Dusty and Varda.

And so I do. And it's not easy, but I do.

We may not like the work, but oh how we love the fruit.

If you're one of the ones like me, whose first reaction to BlogHer is "I don't know how to do a big conference," please think twice. Go. If you do, look for me-- I'll be easy to spot, so say hello. I'll be the one with the deer frozen in the headlights look-- but if you get a little closer, you'll see that I'm having the time of my life. I'm smiling, I just have one of those faces.
 

I've got my ticket for BlogHer, not even flabby armpits could stop me.

xo

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Catching Up, and The Winner of the Summer Reading Basket!

Summer is here in Wisconsin, and that means that all of us in the mitten-shaped state lose our minds and pack every minute with ACTIVITIES! because SUMMER! We all know Wisconsin is shaped like a mitten to try and keep us warm. Our winters are legendary, below zero temps and wind chill factors that make you cry. When summer hits, we know we only have six weeks to be outside and get our yearly quota of mosquito bites and vitamin D.

And seriously, it's been a humid start to the summer thus far. I'm going through a gallon of cream rinse a day trying to keep this puffball on top of my head patted down. Living in the suburbs, there's nary a tube of what I could so easily find when I lived in the city -- the one thing that worked its magic on ethnic hair. VO-5.

I've taken to sleeping with a plaid hunter's cap strapped to my skull in hopes of somehow flattening the wild sage that's sprouting from my scalp follicles.

Russian sage is beautiful, yes -- but unfortunately, the same don't-hold-me-back look doesn't translate when it's on my head.

Summer is finally GD here, y'all, and despite the hair conditions of Guam, we're loving it. Our days are free, but business goes on.

Here's a quick recap of the week:

--I've been on LoopLetters (my new favorite thing) this week as part of a writers' series on summer injuries, click over to enjoy these stories Fibula Knee Groin Finger Face!  Kick The Can: A War Story by Ben Van Iten, This Didn’t Really Happen. This Is Fiction. Don’t Sue Me For Defamation. by Whitney Collins, Happy Fourth Of July In A Red, White, And Blue Fingertip by Alexandra Rosas, and I’m More Of An Autumn by Ken Martin.

--My second favorite thing has become the new site Purple Clover. I am thrilled to be writing for them, and I have been introduced to some great story tellers there. Purple Clover is going to be a community where the search for life lessons learned told in a humble, soul bearing way, will be found. I really hope you check them out. I write there this week of the Not-so-fine-art of letting go, and what it feels like when your first born practice child, turns 18.

--And we have big news! Through random.org the winner of the summer reading basket giveaway offered by five fabulous authors is Kathy Radigan of My Dishwasher's Possessed. Kathy, please email me your address so that I can forward the information to the authors, they will be sending you your books directly! SO excited for you, and what a prize!

Here's to sun screen slathered days, Deep Woods Off layered nights, and the surprise of a tube of VO-5 on a store shelf someday.

Love,

Your Wisconsin Russian Sage-Head

So pretty sprouting wild and free out of the ground, but not my head

photo credit: mmwm via photopin cc

Apple... Tree

Many of you know from my updates on facebook and twitter, that my days/weeks are spent in care and visits to my ailing mother. (story here)

Her life has been one far beyond anything I could ever hope to cover here, and she has remained a woman that to this day, is intriguing and unpredictable.

One constant, however, and all six of her children would agree, is the very first image we see in our minds when we think of her.

Fashion hound.

In a lace-up number on the far right.

 Fashion queen.

 

The one looking straight at the camera.

Fashion slave?

She is on the right, and her beautiful face here kills me.

  Never.

In soft grey with spring green underneath. Never would have thought of that.

She was always one dressed in what she found to be fashionable, and her taste? Seeing her from my child's eyes convinced me that you are born with style know how and if not, you can try to learn it, but it is an essence, a predisposition and a whimsical gift that you recognize instantly on someone as innate or *book-learned.*

The soft grey suit again, this time paired with a confident stare.

My mother was not *book-learned* with her sense of style. Had any of us ever had the chance to skip into her dreams at just the right timed moment, we'd find her floating in gowns and sheaths straight from the pages of Vogue magazine.

From a time when Red Revival, gold hoops, and two hair combs were all you needed.

19 years old in a classic plaid skirt and bored stance.

The brothers as handsome as their sister.

My mother is on the left in black and a strand of pearls, my father is crouched below. My aunt looks on.

My mother on the left, in three different plaid patterns, and yet... it works.

It is with this knowledge of my mother, armed with the technicolor memories of her platform sandals and silk neck scarves, that make me smile when I walk into her room where she is now, in an assisted living center, and she looks up to see me arriving in ankle cuffed jeans, a black T shirt, Converse tennis shoes, and her first words to me are "Your pants, they could be farmer's. And is that T shirt your husband's? Are you here without earrings and how pale you look with no lipstick."

I will miss this. 

And more than missing these words, I will miss the voice that reminds me of the stock I come from.

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Summer Reading Basket For You

My kids are home for summer vacation. You might as well know, I love it. I know, I know, there's lots I've read out there of how you can't be my friend if I like my kids home, but I do.

Anyway, on their last day of school, I pick them up with a van full of balloons. Then we go for french fries and soda, **fast food?? aaargh! unfriend!** The first morning that my children are mine home again, I let them sleep in, then they come downstairs to cinnamon rolls. We do it the same way every year.

Another thing they wake up to on their first day of vacation, is a large reading basket I've set out for them at the bottom of the stairs. They love it. It's filled with books, magazines, notebooks, sketchpads, markers, charcoal pencils, pastels, small travel games, and a few card games, too.

What I have for you today, courtesy of so very many wonderful, talented people I've met on the internet, is a summer reading basket for you.

Leave a comment below for a chance to win.

Up on deck for some very lucky winners, the following top of the line reads:

 
--Jill Smokler, Scary Mommy's, second book; Motherhood Comes Naturally, and other vicious lies. This book is right on. It's something I truly needed when I started this parenting gig 18 years ago. I thought I was supposed to hit the ground running. 18 summers later, and I'm still learning.  Written in Jill's reassuring style that tells us, we're all in this together. A winner.

--Tracy Beckerman's newest, Lost in Suburbia. I've met Tracy in real life, and her essays here are as close to having your BFF living right next door as you can get. No topic off limits for her, Tracy spills it on what the rest of us keep quiet. She takes the words right out of my mouth by asking, "What the heck happened here? And whose house am I in?"

--Lela Davidson's Who Peed On My Yoga Mat. Lela, an adorable pixie of a woman, is another one who reads my mind out loud. She is the best friend from college that you've been smart enough to hang onto. Her writing is irreverent, yet still deeply in love with mothering. This is a great book to carry around in your purse--easily pulled out for hidden giggles in between classes and at swim lesson pick up.

--Rita Arens, of Surrender, Dorothy, offers us a painfully beautiful glimpse of adolescent life during the stormy times of uncertainty and doubt. For those who love YA literature, as I do. Vulnerable, aching, and absolutely irresistible. A must read, The Obvious Game, by Rita Arens.

 
--I am proud to say, that the last book here up for this giveaway is authored by someone who was an editor for me. Una LaMarche. This woman with a keen eye for the subtleties that take writing from pretty good to knocking it out of the ballpark, has written Five Summers, a YA novel that had me hooked from the first page with sentences like "words flowed from her like the very next breaths she was taking."  It's the story of four friends and five summers they share together. Captivating.

These fabulous reads are yours if you win! Please leave a comment to win, and the authors will send out the books to you. All books are available through Amazon, if you can't wait to spend your summer nights falling asleep to some mighty fine writing, as I do. 

GOOD LUCK!

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