I Did It

I did it.

I did the damn thing: got on a stage and competed as a bikini bodybuilder. To say this was no small feat is a monumental understatement, never mind the additional challenges presented in a global pandemic.

Those who know me are aware that I enjoy a good challenge, namely of the physical order. Athletics have always been a significant part of my life; being an athlete is single-handedly the reason I ended up in Pittsburgh. I was a gymnast, a swimmer for a brief stint, and a soccer player. I’ve run a marathon, been part of several marathon relay teams, run a half marathon, and completed a few sprint triathlons. There was a Tough Mudder a few years back that ended in a broken ankle, so technically I didn’t finish the full course, but I got through half before the horrific snap – but I digress. My point is, I’m always chasing something. Truth be told, I feel a little lost if I’m not preparing for some kind of a competition. It appears as though I’ve been hard-wired to be driven by physical goals. And because I’d run the gamut of all kinds of races by May of 2019, it came to no one’s surprise, least of all mine, that I’d go after the bodybuilding stage.  

Let me make a distinction here: my goal was always to step on stage to compete, but not necessarily as competitor. What I mean is, I’d never planned to make this my lifestyle – a highly unpopular reason to get on stage. My plan was to approach with a Rocky mindset: go the distance. Weight loss was not the goal, nor my greatest achievement – not even close. While I’m in awe of the physique I have built, the achievement I sought was the endurance. I didn’t need to beat Apollo, I just wanted to last until the final bell. There’s an entire sect of folks who say competing in a bodybuilding competition as a “bucket list” item is a horrible idea. They will cite the enormous leverage on the body required to reach this goal, and they’re not wrong – this is HARD AF. To get to, what is referred to as stage lean, requires significant sacrifice, not to mention potential severe tolls on the body – the physiological tax is considerable. At some point, you will be fighting against biological cues, as the body was not designed to function optimally below a certain body fat threshold. Towards the end, I felt hollowed out like a carved pumpkin for Halloween, and I was damn near tears on the daily. That being said, while it’s a gross generalization: there are risks to everything in life. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take on certain endeavors, I just see it as a need for proper education, guidance, and mitigation when possible. It is precisely why most hire coaches, and I was fortunate enough to have two on my road to the stage. And this is probably another faux pas, but honestly, IDGAF – both of my coaches were integral.

Summer of 2017

Let’s take it back to the summer of 2017. Lucy and I’d spent a lovely day with some friends doing the touristy Ducky Boat and ridden the Monongahela Incline. At the top of Mt. Washington, a photograph was taken of me and my girl. When I looked at that picture, I was taken aback by what I saw in myself: a woman who’d been consumed with Motherhood for four and a half years, and who’d allowed her own health to fall to the bottom of the priorities list. I was 39 and the heaviest I’d ever been. It was then and there that I decided I would become “Fit by 40,” and find my mojo again. I was a former Division I athlete, dammit. I could and would build back the body of a healthy and strong woman that I knew existed inside of me. So that’s exactly what I did. I began running with friends at work in the mornings before school. I did Weight Watchers. My combined efforts helped me drop about 20 lbs., but then I stalled. In October of 2018, as I was recovering from the broken ankle, I hired, on the suggestion of my dear friend J, Adam. Adam took me on as a lifestyle client and helped me drop another 20 lbs. Seven months later, I’d bitten the apple. In May of 2019, I went from a lifestyle client to a competition client. Adam helped me build for a few months, and then we began prep in August of 2019. I chugged and persisted until March of 2020, dropping another almost 25 lbs, when the rug got pulled out from under me and the world succumbed to a pandemic. I was roughly two weeks out from the stage. And it all just vanished. Initially, we decided to hold steady and watch to see what shows would go on, but the constant cancellations and moving target end-date proved to be too difficult, so I made the decision to begin reversing (slowly raising calories, and lowering cardio), and shelve the stage for a year.

Perhaps it was the isolation of the pandemic, maybe it was burn out – there were so many variables, but in May of 2020, I made the decision to end my coaching with Adam, and move on to Mark. There were no hard feelings; I was sensing a complacency in myself, and needed a more militant kick in the ass, and a change in protocol scenery. Mark provided what I needed at that point in my journey and the road to the stage continued with a nine and a half month building phase. In January of 2020, once again, I began to prep.

The current narrative lends itself well to the platitude: things happen for a reason. This prep was different in so many ways. I wasn’t a newbie and knew what to expect. My adherence was damn near perfect, and even though I could choose the foods that fulfilled the macros prescribed to me, unlike my last prep, I made nutrient dense selections. Fitting in that gourmet cookie, or the pint of Enlightened ice cream, never factored into my train of thought. And honestly, I felt better, even into the gritty final weeks when cardio was high and food was low. I do believe there’s truth to quality, and that not all calories are equal in terms of biological benefits. That’s not to say that folks who fit in the treats aren’t successful, because there are plenty who do, and are just fine. For me, anecdotally, the whole foods route worked really well, and I was less susceptible to cravings of those highly palatable treats.

In the end, Adam brought me to the dance, and Mark helped me cross the finish line. For that, each deserves due recognition.

For all my history as an athlete, even at the highest levels of pressure and competition, nothing – and I mean nothing, compared to the intensity of preparing for the stage. The sheer mental and physical endurance required was astronomical. This was a relentless daily choice and dedication that I’d never executed and went far beyond the simple “no thank you” to an offered cupcake. Motivation waxed and waned; it was through absolute discipline, grit, and ganas that I hit the target. Planning, prepping, weighing out every morsel that I consumed, blocking out time for lifting and cardio, making sure I got my steps in each day – it was all-consuming.

But it was worth it, and I kept my head (mostly) along the way. There’s a dark side to this sport, one that comes with side effects not limited to, but including disordered eating and body dismorphia. Dieting down can also really mess up your relationship with food. Because I came to this sport a little later in life, I believe I was granted the advantage of having had many years to figure out who I was and recognize the depth of my personal capital. Here I was, willingly working towards getting on a stage in an itty-bitty, albeit beautifully bedazzled, bikini, and asking to be judged on my body. I knew before the show that no matter what happened, my worth did not rest in the critique of those subjective judges. Whether I placed or not, I firmly believed (cause believing is the important part), that I was a woman intact, whole and beautiful, strong and successful. The outcome of the show would not determine my mark on the world; I already had a life and existence that far-outweighed whatever medal or trophy (or apparantly swords, because as it turns out, I won 3 swords) with which I could ever walk away. The external validation, while nice (not going to say it isn’t), wasn’t necessary, because I’d already validated myself. There’s a shit-ton of self-work and self-love in those previous few sentences, a place to which I did not arrive easily. It took me years to get here, but I had help along the way, and one of my very first mentors was Laura Moses.

In high school, I played club soccer, and Laura was my coach. She was uncompromising in every sense, and she worked us doggedly. We had two-a-day practices in the summer under the hot sun, we ran miles upon miles on the strand at the beach, did sprints in the sand – and you know what? We were fit. We were a good little team, but even when our skills didn’t match up against another powerhouse club, we’d win simply because we could outrun them for the entire ninety minutes. I was always at the back of the pack when it came to fitness, the last one to cross the line, the goalkeeper bringing up the rear on miles long runs. I specifically remember one afternoon run at the beach. I was determined to keep up with the pack at any cost. I wanted so desperately to win some kind of accolade from Laura. So I did it. I kept up. And puked in the sand at the end of the run because I’d taxed my system so greatly. After discharging my lunch, I went up to Laura as the others were getting sips of water and asked her if she’d noticed that I’d kept up. She said, I did. Then turned away from me to call everyone into the sand for sprints. That gutted me – not even a simple “at a girl.” And it was then and there that I realized I could not rely on others to validate or praise my efforts. Laura helped me realized, I would have to do it myself.

Working towards a goal like this can be intensely isolating as the sport, by nature, is solitary. There  were definitely days when I felt the loneliness, but mostly I felt support by an entire squadron of friends and family. I cannot say enough about my friends, especially the ones I work with. I have raved about my colleagues, ad nauseum, and I will continue to do so. They buoyed me, daily. Checked in with me, asked thoughtful questions, responded to my posts with infinite encouragement, left flowers on my desk with thoughtful notes – honestly, I could go on and on. Friends outside of work sent texts and applause, regularly. J, my back-pocket-therapist talked me down off of several ledges, listened to my fears and frustrations, and always set me straight with just the right amount of care and tough love. J opened this door for me two years ago, helped me see what was possible, and for that I’m ever grateful. My parents were cheering me on from the get-go, and really, since Day 1. For anything I’ve ever attempted, even if they secretly harbored concern, they have always been ferociously supportive.

 

And then there’s Jesse and Lucy. My ride or die crew. The ones who endured along with me, who never complained when I was too exhausted to figure out dinner beyond “briner” or a frozen pizza or takeout. Who never made me feel bad when it got to the point that I was eating my extra lean ground turkey and 
they were enjoying heaping servings of spaghetti, or giant bowls of ice cream. My husband who understood I needed to retire to bed between 8 and 8:30 in order to be up at “four ass early.” My daughter who had to go for walks with me more times than I can count because I couldn’t leave her home alone, and I needed to hit my 10k steps. While I was doing the work in isolation at the gym, they were absolutely affected by the time I spent away from them – and they were just as much a part of this whole endeavor. I know my daughter watched it all, took it all in. I can only hope she saw a mama determined, and a woman who prioritized her own goals, not allowing the responsibilities and obligations of life to overrule her ambitions.

So what’s next?

Truth is, I'm not sure. Initially I had intended to do one more show at the end of July, but in the last couple of days, it has become clear to me that I got what I needed. I met my goal, I feel incredibly satisfied, and there is zero compulsion driving any need to do this all over again. And the best part? I am completely at peace with this decision. Zero regrets. For the immediate future, my focus will be lifestyle related: I’d like to figure out a balance of being physically active, but without an extreme carrot. Maybe hike more. Throw the bikes on the hitch and rack, and ride more. I want to sleep in and sip coffee on Saturday and Sunday mornings. I do have a photo shoot scheduled for later this month, as I'd like to immortalize this physique I worked so hard to build, but other than that I’m going to take my time to properly reverse, bringing my body back to a healthy and sustainable weight, and enjoy an indefinite respite from the all-encompassing mind absorption that is prep.

I have learned so much through this process, but the two biggest takeaways are that I am stronger than I thought, both mentally and physically. This was supposed to have been accomplished a year ago, but because of the pandemic, it stretched another year. There were so many days I just did not want to do it - but I refused to throw in the towel. I couldn't have come all this way to not see it through. Two years I labored at this, and for two years I proved to no one but myself that I could do really hard shit. The second takeaway, and probably the most profound, is that I am loved. The outpouring of support, the gifts, the recognition and acknowledgement from family and friends has been beyond anything I ever expected. That will stay with me long after the lines of my physique have faded.

Not too bad for this almost 43 year-old, if I do say so myself.

 

She's Five

Pamela Salai Photography

Dear Lucy,

Today you are five years old. Half a decade. A whole hand. If you look up numerology, five is described as being the most dynamic and energetic of the single digit numbers. 

My gal, you are just that.

This past year you have grown in ample strides. Intellectually, your need to understand the world around you is insatiable, your ability to hear, remember, and put into use new vocabulary, is remarkable, and your independence has touched every part of our lives. You are growing up right before my eyes.

Like a rolling stone, milestones this year evolved at an alarming pace as your neared your birthday:

·         You can now draw stick figures that actually resemble people, and have created several family portraits of our trio.

·         You conquered your fear of being submerged in water, and now freely jump into pools, and swim below the surface.

·         You can take care of your basic hygienic needs, including successfully showering yourself.

·         You read your very first words: “hero” and “jumbo.”

·         You can get your own snacks and glass of water.

·         You know how to work the TV and access your favorite shows on Netflix.

What is most memorable for me was the summer – you and me. It was, by far, the most enjoyable summer as your Mama. In the past, I often struggled to come up with activities that we could both enjoy, that you would be able in which to participate, and that were appropriate for your age. This summer blew the lid off of all those previous parameters. You are old enough now that the activities we can do together are fun for the both of us, and the places we can go are with minimal preparation, and your willingness to experience new adventures is awesome.

We did so much!! Most notably, we took our first “girl’s trip,” where we drove down to Pigeon Forge, TN, to meet up with my long-time friend and her daughter. It was a lengthy drive down, but you managed like a seasoned pro, exceeding all my expectations. My girl, you were in fact, good company. We listened to stories on a CD and discussed what happened. We laughed a whole lot. Our visit to Tennessee was incredibly fun, and you made fast-friends with R, who is several years your senior. From Tennessee, we headed to Asheville, NC, for a couple days and you continued to enjoy the adventure just as much as I did. When all was said and done and we were home, we both decided that an annual girl’s trip was going to have to become our tradition.

At five years old, your love of music continues, and you thoroughly enjoy artists such as Imagine Dragons, Lady Gaga, Camila Cabello, and Taylor Swift. I see a concert in your near future, darlin’. With music comes dancing, and you are often twirling and creating routines. Crafting is your go-to pastime, and the table you occupy in the living room is often happily covered in markers and remnants of whatever picture you created or construction paper you’ve cut and glued. A slight obsession with makeup has developed, and this one has been a challenge for me. It’s not that I believe makeup is bad; I have grown to love it as I’ve gotten older. I just don’t want you to ever feel the need to wear it, to hold yourself to some unrealistic and unhealthy standard. For now, we allow you to play with some makeup, but when you exit the house, for the most part, we don’t allow any. For special occasions, a select almost translucent eye-shadow, with some sparkle, is allowed, and perhaps a touch of lip gloss. I won’t pretend to know that I know the best way to approach makeup in terms of developmental appropriateness; I’m trying very hard to tread the line with what I think is acceptable, and not squelch the fun you have with it. When asked the other day what you wanted to be when you grow up, you said, “A hair and makeup lady.” Frankly, I think that’s fabulous, and I will champion this path should you someday actually walk it.

You tried out soccer for the very first time, and decided it wasn’t for you. Totally fine. I’m not seeking a legacy in you, nor do I care if you ever love soccer. My girl, I just want you to find something to love, to be passionate about - something to make your own. Gymnastics continues to reign as the desired activity. We took a break for several months, partly because I did not want you to be over-scheduled, but mostly because I wanted to give you an opportunity to try a new sport (soccer), and I wanted to be sure that your participation in gymnastics was because you wanted to be there, and not just because Mama had enrolled you. It’s clear you enjoy bouncing and flipping around. Our living room has become your personal gymnasium, and I chuckle when I see you flip onto the couch, almost knocking the picture frames off the wall. Lucy – it’s as if I’m looking at my past self – I did the very same thing. You have learned how to do a cartwheel, and are working towards a solid handstand.

Pamela Salai Photography

You are so well-immersed in your current pre-school setting; you’re top dog - but the concept of kindergarten has found its way into our world. It’s right around the corner.

This is your final year as a pre-schooler, and while I know you’ll be more than ready to enter the halls of traditional schooling, I understand it’s a little terrifying. You have asked on more than one occasion, “What if I don’t know what to do in Kindergarten?” I try my best to explain that a teacher will be there to help, and that you are a wise girl, and will figure things out as they come, but also that asking for help is all part of the journey.  Next fall will bring big changes, and I will ride them out with you as much as I can, but for the most part, it will be on you, big girl. You will have to navigate new spaces, new friends, and new rules. It won’t all be easy, and some of it may be quite trying. My Mama heart aches knowing this fear floats around inside of you, and I wish with everything to absolve you of this pressure, but I also know it is necessary, and will be good for you. My sweet girl, we only grow when we are pushed outside of our comfort zones.

A month ago I broke my ankle participating in the Tough Mudder. You asked why I had to, “do the race.” My answer was that I do these races because I enjoy challenging myself – this to which you replied, “But you don’t need to challenge your body anymore, because you get boo-boos.” It was sweet and I understand it’s uncomfortable for you to see me hurt, but I needed you to know that this is a fundamental part of who I am. I explained this to you, explained that the fear of getting hurt should never stop you, as it has never stopped me. If I stopped “races” then a part of who I am would cease to exist. I know in your young mind this doesn’t make total sense, but at the very least, I hope you see a Mama who put herself out there, fell hard, and came back to be even stronger. It’s not the fall, Lucy, that defines who we are, but rather the way in which we rise afterwards. We are strong women, cut from the same cloth. We are here to blaze through this world, both warrior and woman.

In June, just a few weeks before I turned forty, we did a photo shoot together. We had such a blast, and I’m so grateful to Pamela Salai Photography for creating and capturing such stunning images. I hope in these you see how good this life really is, how fierce and exquisite you are, and just how much your Mama loves you.

Pamela Salai Photography

You’ve recently taken to falling upon me, hugging and kissing me, and saying, “I just love you so much, and I never want to let you go.” As if my heart could not swell any bigger, I find it doing just that. Growing exponentially, five years and counting. 

There is an image that Pam captured which perfectly encapsulates parenthood. You, twirling in all your tulle and moto jacket glory, and me, your Mama, just slightly behind, looking on in admiration at the remarkable girl you have become.

Someday you will let go, and move on to your own life, but I will always be there. Giving you space to create your world, but always within reach, championing your radiant spirit, always ready for hugs and kisses. And baby, I will always believe you. Always.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Lucille - love, Mama

Forty.

Today I am forty years old.

Forty.

One of my favorite authors, Joan Didion, explained her personal purpose for penning words: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”

Most of my friends know me as a gregarious, bawdy, ridiculously unfiltered figure. Rules, in my world, exist on a sliding scale. I prefer to ask for forgiveness.  I am the thrill-seeker, the comedian, the one who says all the things. Recently a colleague joked that no one would ever be able to “one up Marshall” because I don’t subscribe to a definable line in the sand. I own, entirely, my enjoyment of pushing boundaries and buttons, walking the tight-rope between what is acceptable and what is inappropriate. For better or worse, I’m that friend and colleague and I’d like to think everyone needs someone like this in their lives, if not for simply to add some color – but that may just be me rationalizing my, sometimes, less-than choice antics.

Friendships are very important to me; I rely on them heavily. For those whom I count as the inner circle, I am ferociously loyal and protective. If ever a moment has occurred where I feel I’ve made a misstep, I am wrecked. Not just sad or apologetic but riddled with anxiety until the air has been cleared of any transgressions. Beyond this, the friendships that I hold close are immensely fundamental to my life. I just got back from having spent three nights in New York with my local tribe and it was nothing short of fabulous. These women and their friendships are infinitely validating and what sustain me. They are the constant when other parts of my life have gone, or go, haywire. 

At my core, I am hard-wired to be an athlete. Over the years, athletics have manifest in various iterations. At six, I began gymnastics. I was certain I was going to be the very next Mary Lou Retton, and cartwheels I turned, relentlessly on our front lawn. There was a brief stint on a swim team – breast stroke and freestyle were my jam. At thirteen I donned my first pair of soccer cleats, and I was hooked, riding the sport all the way into college on a partial scholarship to a Division I team.

I started on the field as a defender, made my way up to an offensive half-back, and just as my skills were becoming laser sharp, I tore my ACL. After recovering from surgery, I was put into the goal as a way to preserve my knee and as it turned out, the position came naturally to me. The acrobatic skills I’d acquired as a gymnast, served me well. And I was a bit of a kamikaze.

My senior year of high school, I blew out my knee, again, busted my ass to come back from that, and then months before graduating, I tore my shoulder on a dive. Because of the shoulder injury that required surgical intervention, I had to red-shirt my freshman year of college. By the time I made it back onto the field, my sophomore year, I was running on steam. In one of the hardest decisions of my life, at the end of my sophomore year of college, I chose to relinquish the scholarship, and turned in my jersey.

Never have I ever won an MVP award. Never. But – I’ve won, more times than I can count, “Most Inspirational.” In high school I became comfortable in my role as the underdog, always climbing my way back from some injury, some surgery – in fact, I got really good at it. No bigger was there a challenge than rehabbing reconstructed knees and shoulders. I love physical challenges, and it’s precisely why in the years that followed soccer retirement that I ran a marathon and competed in sprint triathlons. It’s why, today, I’m running consistently again, and lifting weights. I completed a half marathon in May, with, as it turned out, undiagnosed pneumonia. I thought I had a bad cold. My bad. It’s tempting to do another half, but I haven’t committed to it just yet; to keep things interesting, in September, I will be participating in a Tough Mudder. You know – for fun.

It is clear to me now, more than ever, that I have enjoyed the struggle – the climb. Making progress, and showing measurable advancements is incredibly motivating. I’ve never been a first-place finisher, and frankly, I’m not interested in winning races, but instead completion and working towards personal bests. I have nothing to prove to anyone but myself. If a mile takes me twelve minutes one day, and nine the next, so be it. At this point in my life, sustainability is the brass ring. Setting an example for my daughter as a woman who takes care of her body, who runs and lifts because it makes her feel good – that’s where I win.

When I began college, I thought I wanted to be a pediatrician. Several bombed math and science classes later, I realized that while I loved the idea of working with kids, I did not love the science behind medicine. There was a brief period where I reasoned that teaching elementary school would fit me best. Laughable, I know. Late in my sophomore year, I heard author John Edgar Wideman, speak. During the Q&A at the end, he said something that would change my life forever – he said, “If you want to do something easy, eat bananas. If you want to be a hero, teach high school.” Done. I declared myself a writing major with the intent to teach high school English. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past fourteen years. Beyond teaching English though, I do plenty of the less academic: I’m in charge of our social committee, so when babies are born, vows are made, or someone must bury a loved one, it’s me who makes sure that gets recognized. I’m also in charge of putting on prom. It’s not a role for which I win Staff Member of the Month, but every single year, I put together a beautiful party for my seniors and juniors. It’s a gorgeous evening, and it happens because of me. But the best and most rewarding facet to my career is getting to know my students – their lives, and who they are beyond the essays they write for me. There’s payoff in these efforts, because long after they’ve graduated, a handful stay in touch. Some have even thanked me. I keep those letters they’ve written close at hand; they are treasures.

Motherhood: I have waxed poetic, pondered, scrutinized, and emoted all over the page with regards to being Lucy’s mama. As she grows, I grow too. It has become clear there is no finish line, and the ravines are oftentimes steep and dark. The mama I aim to be to this stardust little girl, is a mama who recognizes her missteps, can reflect on them, and do better next time. I want to be the mama to give her space to climb the tallest trees and allow her to fall – to not catch her (even when my hands compulsively want to reach out), so that she learns the value in overcoming the break. But make no mistake, I want to arm her. My history is inscribed with #metoo. The stories, yes plural— I don’t tell often, not out of shame, but more so because they don’t arise in typical pedestrian conversation. The gritty details are unnecessary, but these experiences most certainly inform how I parent my daughter and the conversations we have about consent. Much as I want to shield her from the ugliness lurking beyond the walls of our home, I know I cannot. What I can do is make sure she knows that no one, man or woman, will trespass the geography of her body without her explicit consent. She will also know what it means to be groomed, and when she’s more emotionally capably of understanding, I will tell her of the red flags I missed, and I will watch for those with her, always an ally. The horrifying reality is even in doing so, I know I still won’t be able to stop all the monsters. I can only hope that if the ugliness should reveal itself to her, she has the wherewithal to recognize the situation and save herself. It’s a lot to ask, I know.

She has been the mirror into which I see myself, every flaw and virtue. The brilliant in her, is a piece of the best in me. The dark in her, are the shadows in me. Love is too precise a word when it comes to my daughter. We are messy, a calamity, unbridled laughter and tears. We are both I’m sorry and I’m scared. We are try harder and I love you most. Together we are Wonder Women. I repeat to myself, constantly, that she does not belong to me. She belongs only to herself. She will have her own ideas, opinions and desires. I cannot get in her way. What I wish to foster within her, for as long as I have any kind of influence, is a stockpile of grit, empathy, and confidence. The rest is up to her. And if she talks about smashing the patriarchy in first grade, well then, we’ve added a cherry on top – nolite te bastardes carborundorum, my darling.

Big Red. I don’t speak of him often in this space because he largely likes to remain anonymous, and while our story together belongs to me, so too does it belong to him. What I can say about the past eighteen years with this man is that it’s been about learning, evolving, and adventure. Like every other couple on the face of the planet, we experience a range in delights and misfortunes. He pisses me off. I piss him off. He rolls his eyes at my political statement t-shirts in which I express my love and support for those on the fringes and he braces himself when I propose crazy ideas. He thinks I’m bananas for waking up at “four ass early” to go running and can’t for the life of him understand why I’d lay down $100 to run a muddy obstacle course with my friends. He doesn’t stop me from talking to our daughter of the importance of busting through the glass ceiling or ranting about the social constructs of bras. It’s cool. We’re two wildly different people. Listen, he may not bring me random gifts, or may falter with words of affirmation (my love language), but for eighteen years, even in our darkest hours, he’s never gotten in the way of me being me. He’s never once tried to change who I am. Never. He loves me in his own way, no flash, no pretense - and that’s not for nothing.

I have never jumped out of an airplane.

I have four tattoos (and an upcoming appointment for another, maybe two).

I have never been asked out on a date. Yes, really.

I love photography.

I want to be loved.

I want to be wanted.

I have a terrible temper, but a long fuse.

I have been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

I love sushi and ice cream. Not together.

I do not embarrass easily.

My emotional side overrules my logical side, often.

I have no regrets, just lessons learned.

That has to be enough.

I am enough.

I am a walking dichotomy, more resolved than ever to be a strong and confident woman, feminist, mother, partner, and friend.  Forty years has amounted to a series of moments that, collectively, create my wondrous life. Magic, really. I don’t know what it all means, so I’m just going to keep on, keep’n on. One foot in front of the other, face to the sun, learning, and living my best life.

I listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.

Girlfriends

Last weekend, I spent four glorious days with some of my closest girlfriends from college, and it was nothing short of fantastic. Three of us flew down to meet the fourth in Miami, and then we drove west to Marco Island where we checked into a modest little condo that sat a block back from the beach.

When I returned to work on Tuesday, several colleagues mentioned I had a “glow” and they wanted to know about the trip. My response was sincere and void of any hyperbole when I offered that the trip was soul-rejuvenating.

We met our freshman year in college; the fall of 1996. I knew not a single human when I stepped off the plane in Pittsburgh, having flown across the country to attend the University of Pittsburgh. These were the girls who had dorms on my hall, and somehow, we naturally just gravitated towards each other. Our collective friendship has run the gauntlet after two decades, experiencing lots of highs but as well, bouts of silence and distance. But – as I wrote in a post on social media: I met these girls 21 years ago; we were babies, unsure of the women we would become. We have grown up together, sometimes separated by distance, some spans of silence, but always tied together by those formative early years. These are the women who know my story, and who champion the person I have become. These past few days were belly laughs, and tears, and filling in the blanks of the past two decades. I love them dearly, and hope my daughter one day finds a tribe as special as this one.

And that’s just it – the idea of a tribe. The people upon whom you rely, whether it be in big ways or small, but the ones who know all chapters of your life, the women who have read your story, and continue to stand by you. Those are the ones you hold onto. The language of a female friendship is unlike any other. In fact, sometimes there is no language in the literal sense. So many times last weekend, not a single word was uttered before we all fell into a pile of tear-induced, side-aching laughter. That deep kind of belly laugh that washes over you. There were stories of marriage and divorce, miscarriage and children, despair, and success. At one point we all disclosed how much we earned in our respective careers, and you know what was beautiful about that conversation? When my pals, who all make more than me, said their numbers aloud, I was genuinely proud of them. Here were these women with whom I shared dorm rooms with, women I remember studying their asses off, and dammit – they deserve these amazing careers! The crawl in my mind was not one of jealousy but one of total happiness. I mean lets be real, my friends are total badasses.

As someone who wears many hats, it was lovely that no one was requesting anything of me – no papers needed to be graded, no lunch needed to be packed, no appointments needed to be made, no bills needed to be paid, no photos needed to be edited. I was unfettered for a weekend, and it was, in fact, soul-rejuvenating. It came as no surprise that we all emphatically agreed to not let another two decades go by before hanging out again, and there may or may not be an impromptu meet up this fall, and perhaps another bigger trip in the works for 2020.

Finally, I realize that I am quite lucky to have been able to take a vacation, to spend the time and money on myself in this manner, and it has not gone unnoticed. Yes, I am owning my privileged. The time spent with these amazing, brilliant, and wildly successful women, while the kick off to my self-proclaimed Year of 40, was, in retrospect, sorely needed. I came back rested, happy, resolute in my belief of the importance of friendships, and ready to make the most of 2018. These women, this friendship, is necessary to my ability to live my very best life.

Sara, Pam, Erin (and Jenny): here’s to another two decades.

Lucky.

A new year. And of course the inevitable reflection of life and my existence within it. I said back in September that I was going to consider dismantling this blog. As of right now, I've decided against it. There is still a strong sense in keeping some of my life off the screen, but there is also a want and desire to write about it. The author in me, perhaps seeks to share, or at the very least engage in the act of writing. And "publishing" on this blog holds my writing accountable to me. For now, that's good enough to remove this blog from the chopping board.

Every new year's eve, I find myself saying, "this year will be better, I can feel it." I felt that on December 31, 2011, and I felt it again last night. 2012 held both sunshine and rain. Big Red took a giant courageous leap and made a career change and also got a brand spanking new car! I got healthy, lost a bunch of weight, and then began fostering a romantic vision of starting down the road to a family. It happened quickly for us, near the start of summer, and just as we were beginning to wrap our heads around the idea - after 11 weeks, it was gone. Just like that.

And then school started; my "kids" were now seniors, this would be our fourth year together! I had incredibly high hopes for the first semester. Alas, it fell hard, and has fallen quite flat. The class I was/am teaching has missed the mark. I know it and that has been rough. As for forging on towards a family when we were cleared for take-off once again, the family train became a mission. Too much of a mission. My personal life and professional life, both for which I had grand visions, became blurred and disappointing. I was trolling through a fog and it sucked.

This winter break was exactly what I needed, and somehow I've convinced myself to pull my ass out of the muck at work, just enough to get through the remainder of the semester, making the best of what pieces of the course I can salvage. I'm determined to end the semester on a positive note.

As for the personal, I am giving myself permission to step off the train and attempt to relax a bit. I don't want to hear, "just don't think about it," because that's virtually unattainable. In fact, it IS impossible. Trust me, I'll be thinking about it all plenty, but I'm working hard not to allow this vignette in my life to become all-consuming. I don't want to hear questions about how is it going. That's incredibly infuriating, regardless of the source: friend or family. I'm inquisitive myself, and love to know about the lives of others - I understand that. This journey in life is incredibly personal - more so than any other. I know people care, and I know they want to know - but tough titties. If I've got news I want to share, trust me, I'll share it. Moving on.

My eyes are not averted, just refocused on the other just as important pieces of my life: my husband, my Olive, my family, my friends, my health, my creativity, and my peace.

On the advice and encouragement of a friend, I'm going to my very first acupuncture appointment next weekend. Totally excited! Even Big Red was intrigued (I think I may have even detected a hint of some interest from him...). It's a new year and I can't think of a more appropriate time to have my chi or "life energy" realigned and balanced. I'm completely open to it.

My resolution intentions for 2013 are to remember (thanks Mia) that this is just how it is right now, live in the present without projecting, seek to find balance, and to enjoy.

This year will be better, I can feel it.

Validation.

Teaching high school students is largely and thankless job. Teenagers aren't exactly known for being appreciative. In fact they are quite self-centered; they are the axis of their universe. The gifts and thank yous that teachers get in elementary school or even in middle school are few and far between in high school. I remember leaving with a trunk full of gifts when I left my teaching stint at a middle school. It was amazing and a little shocking. That has never happened again.

Most of, if not all, my efforts throughout the school year go unnoticed by my students. Generally, some time around Teacher Appreciation week, one, maybe two students, will say thanks. I may get a gift. This year I got one gift card to Starbucks. While the gift card was nice, what I enjoyed more was the card that came with it and what the student wrote. I think you'll find, if you survey teachers, what resonates long after gift cards, baked goods, and crappy crafts, are notes and letters of thanks. I've saved every single letter, email, card, note - you name it - in a binder. I dubbed the binder "Validation." I have a Vol. I and now a Vol. II. It's what I pull out of my cabinet when I'm feeling down and need a little pick-me-up.

This year, year #8 of teaching, has been outstanding. It was the school year where I got to teach two classes of my own design. Post-Secondary Prep I, now my most favorite class to teach, was UHMAZING. It is, without a doubt, what I was meant to teach. I've written about it before (here and here), singing its praises. It's a class that helps fill in the blanks for students in terms of getting them ready for life after high school. Students are done with school on Wednesday (can I get a YAAAAAAAAAAHOOOOOOO!), and before they left for the summer I both surveyed them and had them reflect on the class.

If I get no other thanks as this school year closes, I won't miss it. What the students said and wrote was thanks enough. They have corroborated every effort I made for them this year. I don't think I've ever taught a class that has left a bigger impression or helped students as much as this one. Here's a bit of what they said/wrote:

• I’ve learned a lot from my caterpillar, Mrs. Marshall. While she doesn’t smoke a hookah, she is full of wise words. Through Post-Secondary Prep she has been able to place me under her mushroom and helped me to grow much more than I have ever thought I could.
• Mrs. Marshall has really taught me a lot in this class. My bond with Mrs. Marshall is closer because she knows that I like this class and I finally showed my true colors...
• I don’t know if it is you as a teacher being a person that we could easily talk to but also being a fierce figure that could strike fear in our hearts at any given second. I don’t think I’ll ever find another teacher and friend like you were to me. Above all you have taught me never to quit dreaming or chasing to a bigger goal in life.
• This class gave me the tools to decide where I want to go and who I want to become.  However, it also taught me that I cannot be anyone but me, no matter how hard I try to be someone or something else.  I cannot please everyone, but I can please myself.  I can make a difference, and I can be in control of what my future entails. 
• After all, just how often is it that you can have intelligent debates with amazing classmates about tear-jerking documentaries all under the tutelage of a truly awesome teacher? Apparently all the time in Post-Secondary Prep 1, right here in room 227.
• As a student in this class I have learned so much and gained a ton of information. From the beginning of this class to the end, I believe in myself more than I ever did before.
• I finally had someone who was supporting me, helping me figure out how to get to my goal and finally on how it was my life and I could do what I wanted even if my parents choose not to respect that. 
• Without this class and her teachings, I probably would have been bankrupt.
• By trusting us to talk about more controversial topics, you made me feel as though I could ask any question without being judged.

2011-12 school year - it's a wrap.

Spring Break 2012

Awesome.

That's what spring break 2012 has been for this gal.

First things first: a word on friendship. A little over a year ago I wrote about the friendships in my life. Specifically one that had fallen by the wayside, one that I'd all but given up on. It was hurtful, but I didn't know any other way to make it better, so I did my best to move on from the loss - and a loss it was. This was a friend who held an incredibly important history in my life, and her absence was deeply felt. I'm happy to say that through a series of emails, we have slowly begun to reconnect. I wanted to do something for her son who turns four years old tomorrow so I put together a little slideshow of pictures of him over the past few years. I burned the slideshow and put it in the mail. This is what I found inside my inbox this morning:

What absolute and utter delight! That little face, those silly and kind words. It made my week. I responded to my friend letting her know how glad I was that he enjoyed the video, but more so that she enjoyed it as well. While it was a gift for her son, this was also another hand extended, another small brick put back into the foundation of our friendship. I couldn't be happier.

The next best part of my week was photographing newborn, Jack Michael. At just 8 days old this fine young man slept through the entire session allowing us to pose and repose him. My friend Z was on hand, as this was her new nephew, and I was able to snap a few that included her. Jack could not have been a better baby and it was a perfect session. The images I was able to capture were fantastic and in my opinion, my very best work to date.

My photography website is now completely functional and I have my own domain! I also created a Facebook page on the encouragement of Jack's proud mom. Slowly I'm growing my gig and it's tons of fun.

On the Big Red front: he started his new job, and guess what? It's going so well! We're both relieved and excited for the many opportunities that will be coming his way. Although this new job will include travelling which will take him from me and Olive every now and again, I am completely and fully supportive of this endeavor. He more than deserves his chance to shine and dammit, I believe he'll finally have his moment.

Lastly, and I can't believe I'm listing this last because it's certainly not LEAST - I'm just 0.4 lbs. shy of hitting another weight loss milestone: 25 lbs. I'm pretty sure it's in the bag and hopefully this weekend or early next week, I'll cross that threshold. I feel fabulous, astoundingly phenomenal. My clothes are hanging off me, and I'm able to pull out pieces that had long since been buried at the back of my closet. I'm not quite slinking into the jeans I wore for my bachelorette party, but no doubt, I'll get there.

The life that Big Red and I have created is really coming into its own. We are both collectively and individually hitting our strides; I have great hope that more goodness is just on the horizon.

Cheers.

bringing healthy to students

Do you have any idea how much crap teenagers eat on a daily basis? It's revolting. But it's probably not that big of a surprise since we were all their age at one point. I distinctly remember purchasing, on a daily basis, a Hershey's Cookies 'n Cream chocolate bar. Yes, every day for snack I'd delight in this sugary treat. It never really occurred to me how bad this was - I wasn't thinking in those terms, and neither are my students, at least not until Mark showed up.

For the past two days my students were part of a seminar put on by one Mr. Mark from our local Whole Foods Market. This is what he does. He educates those willing to listen on the benefits of a plant-based, whole foods diet. And not whole foods like the name of the store, but rather food in its original state.

Mark showed up Thursday armed with a wonderful five minute presentation of an eleven year-old discussing why we should all consider paying the farmer and not the hospital. He had handouts on the myths of dairy, the real cost of healthy eating and a startling fun little fact sheet detailing the horrors of soda, or rather, pop as it's known on this side of the country. The kids were engaged, they asked questions - good questions, and listened to what Mark had to say. You could see their over-caffeinated minds start to work and think about what they'd been putting into their mouths. When reality started to settle in, some began to complain about the lack of nutrition and quality of school lunches - and they're right. What's served in the cafeteria on a daily basis is deplorable. Fresh? I don't think so. Processed? Yup. Tons of crap for a really cheap price.

Some students began to pull out their carbonated sugary drinks and read the labels. We all had a few good laughs when those reading got to ingredients they couldn't even pronounce. At that point it was clearly obvious that Mark's point about moving towards natural foods rather than artificial foods was sinking in.

On Friday, Mark once again came prepared to wow the kids, this time with a food show and some good eats. He showed up with his portable single burner, a couple of pans and some very fresh ingredients. He had 'em hooked. They watched intently as he put together what I'm calling the "Dorm Recipe." Prior to Mark showing up I'd asked him to put something together that would be tasty, quick and above all easy to make. He did not disappoint. Into the hot pan went diced red potatoes, red onion, red, yellow and green bell peppers, broccoli, mushrooms, quinoa, garlic, kale, marjoram, oregano, thyme, and a dash of salt and pepper. In ten minutes we whipped up a delicious breakfast option. The kids lined up with their bowls and forks, threw on some hot sauce and got down to tasting.

A few were skeptical, some were willing, most enjoyed it. What resonated most with me were the comments coming from students - the same chuggers of Mountain Dew were saying things like wow, I didn't know eating healthy could taste this good or this isn't so bad or what was the recipe again? I'd like to write it down and try it on my own. Many students left the two-day seminar thinking hard about their health and the food they were eating, and several were committed to eating better. I did speak with one young man who was particularly excited about this revamped way of eating, but at the same time frustrated because of his home environment. When I asked him what his family typically ate, he cited fried rich greasy foods. I asked him about the sides served with meals, suggesting that he serve himself more the sides and he reported that whatever it was, was typically cooked with a heavy dose of cheese or butter. He said he'd not eaten meat in several days (we previously watched the documentary Forks Over Knives) and has tried to make himself a salad with every meal to compensate for what's being served. Several students reported attempting to talk to their parents but quickly got shut down, and that was very sad to hear.

In a thank you email to Mark this morning, I wrote the following:

                         While they may not be able to buy their own food at the moment, I'm certain
                         you've planted a seed that will influence their choices when they gain some
                         independence in a couple of years.

This class is turning out to be more enjoyable than I could have ever imagined. I love that not only do I get to help students prepare for possible training and career paths, getting them to understand that money isn't everything and that doing what you love is worth more in the long run, but I also have the opportunity to help them become more well-rounded individuals. Through the viewing of documentaries, amazing group discussions, and with activities like Mark's seminar, I have no doubt that their sometimes narrow-minded views and one-track minds are now opening to infinite possibilities.

And that, dear readers, is what this job is all about.

Getting Over Stuff

Joan Didion, an author of whom the likes I immensely idolize and can only DREAM of coming close to in terms of writing ability and accomplishment, in her essay, On Morality, writes:

                        Because when we start deceiving ourselves into thinking not that we want

something or need something, not that it is a pragmatic necessity for us to

have it, but that it is a moral imperative that we have it, then is when we join

the fashionable madmen, and then is when the thin whine of hysteria is heard

in the land, and then is when we are in bad trouble.

Reading over Didion’s words begs the question of us all: What do we really absolutely need? I have written about my wants and desires before, here and here. It isn't a rarity that I find myself daydreaming about a dream house. As of lately, my latest obsession is with having a new car. The good old Passat has begun to show its almost thirteen years of wear. Currently, to exit the car, I have to roll down the window (while the car is still on because everything is push-button powered), open the door using the external handle, roll up the window, and then turn off the car. There are 135,000 on it, is absorbs oil on par with a ShamWow!, and some belt has begun to squeak. All that having been said, it’s a virtual Monet. From afar, the car looks fabulous. Really, it does. It’s only when you begin to inspect things up close that you might notice the wrinkles. I want a new car. I go to work every day, I pay my bills on time, I file my taxes, and for God’s sake I’m a teacher! I’m shaping the lives of future contributing American citizens! I deserve to have a nice car.

                

Big Red’s automotive skills will keep the Passat running long past when the average pedestrian would have signed her death certificate, and I’m certain we can get several more years out of the vehicle—but this past weekend I was in a three year-old state of mind, pitching a fit about how everything I want is too expensive.  Damn the prices of those German imports. I was feeling sorry for myself, how my life as a teacher married to a mechanic would never afford me that BMW 5 series, or a Volvo T6, or an Audi A6, or even a Range Rover. Oh, the atrocities of life!

                

You don’t even have to say it. I know. I was being totally ridiculous. I promise my size eights are now firmly planted back on the ground.

                

This afternoon I previewed the documentary, Which Way Home, one of many that I’m going to be showing as part of new class I’ll be teaching to juniors, beginning in February.  The film documents three children as they travel from various points in South America in an attempt to cross over into the United States. It is heart-wrenching and humbling. Most of the young boys site wanting better lives for themselves and finding jobs to send money back to their families. And here I am, sitting in my own house, with a job, and two functioning cars, and money with which to buy groceries—complaining that my perfectly good vehicle sucks. I fear I’m being pulled by the undertow of “[joining] the fashionable madmen…” Yeah. I know. Disgusting.

                

Here is what I wrestle with: How do we find contentment in what we already have? And then take that a step further: How do we find happiness outside of stuff. Cause frankly, happiness that isn’t tethered to stuff sure would be a hell of a lot more inexpensive than chasing after a luxury German car or a dream house. But on that same note, the stuff I already have makes me pretty happy. Take for example my camera. It wasn’t cheap; at least, it wasn’t cheap for me. But I LOVE that camera. It has brought me immense pleasure, and I use it constantly. I find fulfillment in taking pictures and in learning to become a better photographer. Is it okay to just not want big stuff like houses and cars? Maybe that’s where the journey begins. Scaling back on everything cold turkey might be too much of a shock to the system. Perhaps beginning with acceptance and being grateful that I’m married to a mechanic who can keep our cars going, is the first step. Making the lovely little sweet house we have, a home. Is it okay though, to want to remodel the horrifying 1963 pink-tiled bathroom? Please say yes. Please.

                

I realize there’s no absolute answer to any of this as it’s all quite nebulous. I’m not willing to cash out and live as a monk, but I find myself, more and more, grasping towards moving away from wanting so much. Honestly, if the universe wills it, and if I make it through all the budget cuts threatening our jobs, I stand to make a good living as a teacher. I really do. If Big Red and I stayed put in our charming (read: small) house, and if we had two kids (preferably of the same gender, cause I don’t know where we’d put the second one given that the office is about the size of a closet—dear universe, please send us two of the same gender, thanks), we would have more than enough money to create wonderful experiences for our family.  Is that a reasonable goal? I don’t know. Problem is I know damn well when I was a teenager all I hoped was under the tree were those awesome $60 overalls from The Gap. Am I dating myself? I would hope for my own children that it would be less about how many gifts are under the tree when Santa comes around, and more about the actual things we could do with our money. I want it to be less about the Gameboy and more about what they saw or did. Now I know I’m dating myself.

                

Lofty? Maybe. But it’s worth a shot, although I’m still keeping my camera. I mean, whose going to document all these memories? 

               

And p.s. - I still have the overalls.           

Thanks.

First and foremost, Happy Thanksgiving.

It's nearly 8 am, and I'm the only one up this early. Which is kind of ridiculous since I'm not even cooking anything today. There's a thick scarf of fog outside and the grass has been painted white with frost. When I let Olive outside this morning, I skipped the slippers, and my feet nearly burned from the chill of the concrete. Can you say, "winter?"

I haven't been around this blog lately, mostly because I haven't had much to write about. I guess that's a good thing in some respects. The biggest news as of lately is that I had an essay published on page 2 of the newspaper. It's the closest I've ever gotten to page 1. I received some lovely responses from readers, but the best response was a phone call from an 86 year-old man. He said he'd been the very first principal of one of the oldest high schools in our district. He told me he also took my same approach with students. He then said he was a little mad that he hadn't written the essay himself, as he saw it from his own voice. It was a tremendous compliment.

Big Red continues to slowly make progress on the bathroom downstairs. The walls have been insulated, the plumbing has been worked out. The next big step is to install the shower. We might even get to that today before heading over to his mom's house for dinner! He's also been making great progress on his personal happiness. I wrote about it some time ago, how he'd been struggling, and while I didn't outline all his daemons - those are his to share, I will say he has found himself in a much brighter space. There is a lightness about him that had been absent. His smile has returned and he's been able to tolerate work in a way that doesn't seem to drag him down.

As for me, a door may have opened for an opportunity to photograph a wedding - a small wedding. Just the groom and his fiance and whomever marries them. In all actuality, it would probably be more like an engagement session. While the simple utterance of the phrase photograph a wedding makes me want to turn and run, this scenario isn't the typical one. The couple may decide to go with someone else, and that's all well and good. I honestly don't know if I'd choose me either. In the email to the groom I basically laid out my current skills, my current equipment - one camera and one lens. Not so much to scare him off, but just to make sure all expectations are super-duper clear. But if they do choose me, I'll be grateful for the opportunity to continue working on my photography and for being the person who gets to document their special day. I'll let you know what happens.

I am grateful for a job in this very volatile economic climate, especially in my school district where a measure just passed to close several schools therefore cutting 400 jobs. Yes, 400 - and I still have my job. I am grateful for my students and their willingness to let me be me in the classroom.

As silly as it may sound I am grateful for having had the means to purchase my camera - a little piece of wondrous technology that allows me to have fun, express myself and record tiny slices of peoples' lives, as well as mine.

I am most grateful for modern medicine and its ability to bring smiles back on sad faces.

There is so much to be grateful for this morning, and every morning, really. To list them all would seem cliche.

Student taken photograph of me at my desk.

I love and I am loved. For this, I am most thankful.