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Push It

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(All I need is a wall.)

There was a time in my life when I was in pretty good shape. I could run up several flights of stairs without getting out of breath, and I was a tiny-but-mighty powerhouse when a friend needed help moving.

This is not that time, but I’ll get to that in a minute.

The definition in my arms was a thing of beauty. This was due in part to my job at the time. I worked at a daycare and thus spent every afternoon, five days a week, lifting and playing with two-year-olds. That will give you a stress headache, an immune system of steel, and very nice arms.

It also didn’t hurt that I had a regular strength training routine. A trainer at the university gym told me that it was a good idea to alternate – upper body one day, lower body the next. I flat out ignored this advice and did all my strength training every other day (public service announcement – you need a day to rest in between when working a muscle group). I needed days in my life that did not include strength training, because I hated it. I hated it so hard. I did it, though, because it made everything else I did – running, dancing, swimming, lifting two-year-olds – so much easier.

This is one of the arm routines I abhorred the least, because I could do it in the privacy of my living room. I performed four sets of fifteen reps each. Some of the names are what the professionals actually call the exercises; some of them are just names I made up, because cute names make strength training less horrible. Think of it as a nice, kitschy om to go with your exhale. It will get you through it.

As with all strength training, make sure you engage your core (i.e., hold in your stomach, like a good Southern lady) while performing these exercises to improve alignment and help avoid injury. Also, remember to stretch before and after, because if you forget to be a stretcher, you might end up needing a stretcher (little nugget of wisdom from my junior high running coach).

1. Push it (complete with Salt and Pepa running through my head) – This is basically a standing push up. Stand facing a wall, and put your hands on the wall in front of your face, forming a triangle. Bending your elbows, lower your body to the wall and then push away, taking you back to your starting position.

2. Superwoman – Balancing on the right leg, extend the left leg behind you. At the same time, lift your arms in front of you, like you’re about to fly away. Lower arms and leg, then repeat with the left leg supporting and the right leg extended.

3. Ski lift – Okay, so you start out sitting in a chair, and that’s where the comparison to riding a ski lift ends. Placing your palms on the chair on each side of you, lift your butt off the edge of the chair, lower yourself toward the ground, and then push back up. Imagine yourself in a snowy wonderland.  Try to ignore the burning in your triceps.

4. Pointer – Get down on all fours.  Extend your right arm out in front of you and your left leg behind you. Point your fingers and your toes like you’re a dog on the hunt and you’ve just found a bush full of poor, unsuspecting quail. Lower your arm and leg into the original position, and repeat with your left arm and right leg.

5. Cobra  – Lie face down with your elbows bent and your palms on the floor beside your chest. Push up with your arms, lifting your head, shoulders, and upper body.  Allow your shoulders to drop as you move your shoulder blades toward one another (this is a really amazing exercise for those of us who carry our stress in our shoulders, by the way).  Hold for a few seconds, then lower down.

6. Come to the table – Sit on the floor at your coffee table with your legs straight underneath it. Gripping the underside of the table, lie back as far as your arm length will allow you to go.  Pull yourself back up to a sitting position. This also works at a kitchen table, seated on a stool or bench.

Like I mentioned before, my routine was four sets of fifteen reps apiece. That was my intention today. My reality today, however, ended up being two sets of ten reps apiece, and still my arms are so tired I have had to take breaks while writing this post, because I couldn’t hold them up anymore to type.

Well.  That’s humbling.

It’s also motivating. I’m going to get back up to those four sets. I’m going to have that strength again.

I’m committing to 31 Days of Movement – click to see the series so far!

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Taking the Stairs

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“American women have two modes — sitting or spinning. French women prefer gentler, more regular varieties of all-day movement. They see exertion as an integral part of the day.” Mireille Guiliano, French Women Don’t Get Fat

When I got to that line in the book, it hit me square in the face. That describes my typical activity level perfectly – sitting or spinning.  I am either completely still or I am in a frenzied state, sweaty and out of breath, trying to eke out some burned calories to counteract my slothdom.

Today, I didn’t cut corners.  I made a point to get up at least twice an hour and walk. Instead of IM-ing my boss when a student showed up for an appointment, I stood up and went around the corner to her office.

I took the stairs.

I have walked so many stairs today. This was a grand/terrible idea for the first day. I might actually be sore tomorrow.

I take the stairs every day…to my apartment.  But everywhere else?  The elevator is a friend of mine.

Not today, though. Today, I realized just how many times I go to multiple floors at work and just how many stairs that adds up to, and I’m tired but not exhausted like I thought I would be.  I’m the kind of tired belonging to someone who has had a normal, active day.

I don’t think I’m going to have any trouble getting to sleep tonight. I also drank twice as much water as I usually drink, because more activity makes me thirsty.

I love it when simple things that don’t require any additional scheduling make a difference. I think I’ll take the stairs every day.

This is Day One of 31 Days of Movement.

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31 Days of Movement

31 Days Blog 2014

Every October, the Nester hosts a link-up for 31 Days of ____.

I am participating in October Unprocessed this month (starting….now…because I totally just had goodbye-Debbie-we’ll-miss-you donuts this morning), and I was going to write about that for 31 days. But while there are many awesome things about being almost 40, one thing that is less awesome is that a healthy diet alone is no longer enough to keep extra weight from creeping up on me.  And as you can see in the (*cough*adorable*cough*) picture above, I have never been big-boned.  My hand is not much bigger now than it was then. Extra weight is not a friend to my skeletal system.

So I’m going to write the 31 days that I should have written ten years ago. I can’t go back in time, but I can start incorporating more movement into my everyday life, and it begins today.

My behavioral cycle is to get excited, dive in head first, experience failure, get discouraged, quit, and drown my sorrows in another donut. I recognize that. So I am not going to do 31 days of training for that half-marathon that I really want to run in New Orleans in January, because I’m not really sure I could run one mile right now. And I’m not going to sign up for a gym membership, pledging to go for an hour every day at 6:00 a.m. before work, because I think we all know that’s not going to happen.

I am going to set a couple of ground rules:

  1. I’m going to choose daily movement that is practical. It has to work with my current schedule. I am willing to give up an hour of Internet/TV in the afternoon to make time for exercise. I am not willing to get up an hour earlier every morning, particularly on mornings when I didn’t even get home until 10:00 or 11:00 the night before.  Most days, 6:45 is already pushing it. And on the days that I do wake up earlier, I would be better off having a good breakfast and getting in some greet-the-day yoga than trying to get to the gym and back before getting to work.
  2. I am going to keep my expectations reasonable. Like I said, there will be no sudden intense training. I’m not even going to put a minimum time on it. I might take an hour-long walk one day and fifteen minutes of weight training the next. Both count equally toward my goal, which is simply to add something active to each day.
  3. Bonus points if I try something new. A lot of my fitness goals fail because I find one thing to do, and I get bored with it. Exercise is so, so dull to me. I know I like to dance, so Fridays are going to be dance party days (you know you’re excited), but even dance every day will eventually lead me to thoughts like, “This again? Wouldn’t you rather watch Psych reruns, self?  I think so. Compromise – we can dance to the theme song.” And thus the unraveling begins. So I am open to suggestions, but if your suggestion is something like rock climbing, I reserve the right to give you the side eye.

You can watch it all unfold here. Wish me luck!

Day 1 – Taking the Stairs

Day 2 – Push It

Day 3 – Dance Party – Club Songs

Day 4 –  Clean Up

Day 5 – Stretch!

Day 6 – The Butt Book

Day 7 – Pilates

Day 8 – On Not Moving

Day 9 – Serious Arms

Day 10 – Dance Party – Club Trad

Day 11 – Not-Racing

Day 12 – Chasing the Dogs

Day 13 – Boot Legs

Day 14 – Zumba

Day 15 – Tuesday’s Child

Days 16-20 – A Tale of Two Cities

Day 21 – The Wrong Milk

Day 22 – Goodnight, Yoga

Day 23 – Supermarket Shuffle

Day 24 – Dance Party – Girl Child of the 80s

Day 25 – Just a Little Walk in Hell

Day 26 – Bookworm

Day 27 – Why Girls Are Fierce

Day 28 – Ten-Minute Ballet

Days 29-31 – Last Dance

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Beauty is Hard

I find it easy to see beauty in the natural world.  For example, the weather today, while not beautiful by some people’s standards, is gorgeous to me. It’s overcast, a little rainy, and best of all – the predicted high is 70 degrees. HAPPY.

I find it easy to see beauty in others. We had a division-wide breakfast this morning, and as is my custom, I enjoyed people-watching. In the sea of green (Friday is pride day!), I noticed the special touches people added to make themselves stand out from the crowd.

Crowds, however, are not my friend when it comes to feeling beautiful myself. Being in a crowd makes me feel awkward and unattractive. It’s not so much a comparison thing as it is a matter of logistics.

Crowded rooms are not a friend to the hot-natured. I live in the wrong state. I have never in my life walked anywhere without sweating at least a little, no matter how cold it is outside, but as long as the weather hovers near 65 and isn’t too humid, I can usually still arrive at my destination generally presentable (i.e., not completely soaked through). Unfortunately, the temperature doesn’t dip that low in Texas for the majority of the year. I dress in layers, not because less clothing actually does anything to make me more comfortable and less sweaty, but because that way, I can add a sweater or a dark jacket once I get to my location to camouflage the fact that underneath it all, I just look like I’ve run a marathon. Of course, the sweater or jacket then makes me sweat more for the few minutes that I spend acclimating to the cooler climate of the building, making my face red and the people around me nervous that they’re about to have a medical situation on their hands. I haven’t figured out how to make the transition in a less awkward way, because there usually isn’t time (or a place) to spend ten minutes cooling off. I’m just herded into the crowd (some of which I noticed were experiencing the same problems, so it’s not just me. I feel your pain, friends!).

Also, crowded rooms are not staged for the rotund. I seriously contemplated not going back for a second cup of coffee this morning in order to avoid weaving through the tight spaces between the tables. In the end, of course, I went back (because please – what in the world is EVER going to keep me from more coffee?), but the thought of navigating the room layout gave me pause. And my hesitation was not without merit.  I did indeed bump some elbows and have to squish a little too close to people WHOM I DO NOT KNOW (*deep breaths*) in order to simply make it across the room. And I can’t help but remember that I never gave this any thought when I sported a healthier weight. I mean, I’m sure I worried about other beauty-adjacent topics, but the immense amount of space I require just to get through the room was not one of them.

Sometimes, beauty is hard.

I’m going to continue my 31 Days of Personal Beauty, but it’s going to be more of a cumulative endeavor than a consecutive one. Apparently.

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Badass Boots

My style ebbs and flows. I go through phases where everything is loose and flowing (usually a winter phase). I go through phases where I want to dress like Cam on Bones (in fact, I found a fantastic dress a couple of weeks ago, so I feel that phase coming on again soon). Once, a friend said to me, “You dress like a cartoon character,” so apparently, there’s that phase, too.

But the one constant in my closet – the item that goes with every phase – black knee-high boots.

Boots Crossed

I am fond of the knee-high boot. I have had white ones (these will probably be the shoes I wear in my wedding), red ones, brown ones, and even green vinyl ones (I needed them for a Poison Ivy costume.  NEEDED.). But for the last twenty years, I have always had at least one pair of black boots.

Boots and Lace

They are practical. They go with everything. They give an edge to lace and velvet. They dress up a casual outfit while still providing some arch support. They make a dressy ensemble a little funkier.

And let’s just say it – these boots make me look like a badass.

I didn’t fully understand the power of the boot until I was old enough to go clubbing. I tried at first to go the sexy, strappy sandal route.  They looked great….at the beginning of the night. By the end of the night, my feet were angry. Now, I love me a strappy sandal, but unless they are specifically built for dancing (e.g., tango shoes, which is another post altogether), they are best suited for sitting still and looking pretty. As I’ve never had much interest in being an ornament, I needed a new footwear choice.

Enter the knee-high boot.

It is difficult to be a wallflower when you’re standing in fourteen inches of leather. It kinda makes me stand out. And I like it.

These boots are empowering.  Unlike the majority of shoes made for women, they’re functional.  I can dance in them easily without my feet getting tired. If necessary, I could run in them. And they’re sturdy enough that they could do some damage if I were in a situation where I needed to take out the knee of an attacker. I hope I never have to do so, but if such a situation presents itself, my boots and I are ready.

Boot Reflected

I’m writing 31 Days of Personal Beauty, even if it takes me until October to finish it.

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At The Club

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On Sunday night, the club I used to frequent had its 20th anniversary party.

I missed going because my car decided to quit and I had to bring my mother’s car back with me, and Mama’s car doesn’t go to the club. 

But car issues can’t stop my nostalgia. 

Margat and I used to be regulars at the Lizard Lounge’s goth night.  It’s called The Church.  When we first started going, I experienced Good Baptist Girl Guilt from attending a place that clearly was subverting the term “church” in less-than-holy ways. But that didn’t stop me.  

Also, I got over that guilt pretty quickly because:

  1. Um…they kind of have a point. And I appreciate that they’re upfront about it.
  2. Good bartenders.  Goooood bartenders.  
  3. The Church creates an atmosphere that recognizes and respects beauty.

I feel beautiful there.

I wear the lipstick that I like, which is darker than beauty professionals have decreed that I *should* wear. I wear black eyeliner, even though I have been told that I really *should* wear brown. I wear dresses that are more sheer than they *should* be, as well as skirts and corsets that are more revealing than they *should* be. I often wear things that don’t compliment (read: cover up…because as it turns out, they compliment it just fine) my body type. Sometimes I wear bright colors; most of the time I go in all black, even though I’ve been told my skin is too pale to wear all black. When I go to the club, I actually dress the way I feel most beautiful, not the way I’ve been informed that beauty is supposed to look. And unlike every other place in my life, The Church recognizes it and celebrates it as beauty, too.

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At The Church, I dance.  I love to dance. I love the way my body moves. And it doesn’t really matter how you dance there.  You can dance gothic. You can swing dance to Concrete Blonde with your roommate. You can tango. You can simply bounce in time to the music (or not…whatever). All (well, most…see below) expression is welcome.

My club experience outside The Church has not been a positive one. I can’t think of a single such outing that did not involve someone coming up to me on the dance floor and grinding on me without my permission, or groping me while we’re waiting at the bar (also without my permission), or if he did bother to ask my permission, yelling at me or belittling me when I had the audacity to say no. As if a total stranger has any business being up in my business. As if I owed them something just by daring to exist within their field of vision.

The unspoken rule at most clubs is that you have to make a choice – be seen or be safe.

That doesn’t fly at The Church. 

The sign by the front door says, “Enter without prejudice,” and they mean it. I’ve seen bouncers escort people out because they were being disrespectful of someone’s apparel or lifestyle. I’ve had a bouncer hover near me when a guy wasn’t hearing the no as quickly as he could have, just in case I needed him to intervene.  That same bouncer asked me after the guy finally did go away if everything was okay, making sure I still felt safe being there. As a result, there is an atmosphere of acceptance and comfort there that I just don’t get other places. When respect is the expectation of an establishment, it is often the outcome.

And it’s beautiful.

I’m woefully behind on writing about personal beauty for 31 Days.

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Drink the Wild Air

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” – Emerson

I am playing catch-up with my 31 Days of Beauty posts.  Sunday was supposed to be Day Three and the third installment of my Emerson inspiration.  Then my car decided to freak out and stop working on my drive back to Denton.

I don’t even have a picture.

I suppose it would have been very easy to grab a selfie in the wind (because West Texas…and trucks speeding by at 75 miles an hour WITHOUT GETTING IN THE OPPOSITE LANE) while I was waiting on Dad to come rescue me. But I was not feeling beautiful.  I was feeling annoyed and stranded. Also, after the car completely shut down, the air conditioner didn’t work so well, so I ventured into the grass on the side of the road, and most of my attention was focused on looking our for rattlesnakes (because West Texas.  The struggle is real.).

Suffice it to say that I did not get a picture in time for this post.

I am actually pretty surprised that I don’t have a picture of me with my hair all wild and swarmy around my head in the wind.  I love that. My love of strong breezes comes from growing up on the farm, where the land is so flat you can actually see the sides of the roads meet at the horizon in the distance. Mesquite trees (bushes – let’s be real) are no match for that wind. There’s nothing to stand in its way. Think Chicago – only not knife-like and stabby in its frozenness. Imagine warm gusts whipping around your body, throwing hair, clothes – basically anything not pasted down (and even some things that were) – into a frenzy.

And yet you stand. Embracing the wind but withstanding it as well. Strong.  Grounded.

Beautiful.

Drink it in. Drink the wild air.

I’m writing about personal beauty for 31 Days.

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Swim the Sea

“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.” – Emerson

When I was a child, my mother insisted that we learn to swim.  It was mostly for safety – one of those “on account-a you never know” things. But I really took to it.  We didn’t live anywhere near the ocean, and lakes were for fishing, but I spent a large percentage of the summer in the swimming pool.

I love the water. In the water, I feel graceful.  In fact, the water is the only place I feel graceful. Once I’m in the water, I feel beautiful.

It’s the whole getting-to-the-water thing that isn’t my favorite. Being that exposed in public is not something that I enjoy.

I am sure it has a little to do with my weight.  When I was swimming (and dancing…and running…), I was smaller, and it was easy to find a swimsuit that didn’t look terrible on me. But even then, I would dash to the side of the pool, still in my t-shirt or with my towel wrapped around me, and then shed it seconds before I dove in.

I was just in a hurry to get to the place where I felt pretty, and I didn’t want any unnecessary, preliminary attention to mar the experience.

The water was freedom.

I swam all through high school.  If my school had had a swim team, I would have wanted to be on it and might have been interested in something athletic beyond junior high track. I trained to be lifeguard but never passed the timed test.  I probably could have passed it once they took the timed test out of it, but if I were drowning, I’d want to know that the person charged with rescuing me could get their ass there in a hurry, so I declined the offer to retake it.

I haven’t been in a pool in a few years.  I’m not even sure that my swimsuit fits now.

It might be time to remedy that.

I’m writing about personal beauty for 31 days.

 

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31 Days of Beauty

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“Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air.”  – Ralph Waldo Emerson

This weekend, I am hanging out on my parents’ farm.  The first thing I did after petting all the animals was check out the garden. If the picture above looks a little fuzzy, it’s because it was taken mid-duck as I was trying to avoid the dive bomb by some sort of flying insect.

I have a love-hate relationship with sunshine. I am fair-skinned, so my skin is pretty sensitive to the sun’s unforgiving rays. A day spent outside means bathing in a vat of high SPF sunscreen, as well as multiple reapplications throughout the day.  My shoulders are freckled from the day nineteen Mays ago when I spent the day at a Duran Duran/Deep Blue Something concert to raise money for the families of the victims of the Oklahoma City bombing. I didn’t reapply the sunscreen, and I walked away with water blisters.

Not pretty.

But if I take the necessary precautions, the sun is my friend. I love the feel of it on my arms and face when I’m driving or out for a walk. I love watching the sun rise (well, at least when it’s not coming through my office window, stabbing me in the eye). It means a new day.

This month, I’m writing 31 Days of Beauty. Every day, I will discuss a different aspect of personal beauty.

Day One – Live in the sunshine.

Day Two – Swim the sea

Day Three – Drink the wild air.

Day Four – At the club

Day Five – Badass boots

Day Six – Beauty is hard

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I’m always wary of people who tell me they have a favorite number.  I give them the side-eye and demand that they explain themselves.  That very few of them can actually do so only reinforces my wariness. When someone asks what my favorite number is, I never know what to say.  Because…favorite number of what?

Favorite number of cups of coffee in the morning? Two.  One for practical, waking-up reasons, and one for the bliss.

Favorite number of place settings?  Twelve. Because my ideal dining room table seats ten, and twelve gives me some leeway for things to break (inevitable) without busting up the set.

Favorite number of pairs of shoes?  Based on my current closet space – about ten.  Based on my fantasy closet space…I don’t think they make a number that big.

If pressed to choose, I usually answer with a random number in the 4,000s, because I feel bad for the 4,000s.  Everyone always wants tiny, single-digit numbers.  Big numbers need love, too, y’all.

If I had to pick my favorite number of days, though, it would be 31. My favorite months are 31 days long.  I mean, that includes my birth month and Christmas and October, so I admit there’s an unfair advantage there. And despite the fabled 21-day habit formation period, I know that many people have found that it takes a lot longer than 21…or 31…days to make a real change. And whatever the norm for habit change actually is, the time it takes for me to make a lasting change is probably longer.  I would guess that I take up to a year, which is why I love New Years Resolutions so much. I’m a slow adapter. 

But I also know that, since my commitment to 31 days of no fast food last October, I have spent less money on fast food in the last 7.5 months than I spent in just three months last summer.  So positive change, while not complete (because I love me some Whataburger onion rings), was definitely set in motion by the 31-day commitment.

And I think that’s what my beauty challenge needs.  A dose of good ol’ number 31.

I look over my pictures in my phone of things – mostly in nature (-ish) – that have caught my eye. For example:

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(Rainy day tree)

And I look at the things on my beauty board, and I see a lot of beautiful things that other people have said or done:

And these are great stories and great words. But my focus on what beauty means to and for other people has allowed me to detach from my own experience of beauty.

Well, no more.

If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that beauty is personal, and it demands to be embodied. For women especially, beauty (and whether or not we think we “have it”) seems to control a substantial part of our personal identity.  Many of us focus on inner beauty, not only because it’s important but also a little because we are afraid that when we look in the mirror, we don’t see any outer beauty.  But it’s there. Even beauty of spirit will manifest in a tangible way. It might be as simple as the way people carry themselves.  It might be in the way someone speaks. It might be in the way someone dresses. But however it decides to show up, it does indeed show up. It doesn’t stay in our heads or in our souls.  

Beauty gets physical.

So next month, so am I. August will be 31 days of personal beauty. I am going to talk about myself – what makes me feel beautiful and what keeps me from feeling beautiful. I’ve spent enough time on the sidelines.  It’s time to play.

My OneWord365 is beauty, and I’m linking up with Amy Young’s Trusting Tuesdays.  Join us to discuss how your year is going.

 

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