Since beginning my Journey to Strong last November, I’ve had so many women tell me that I’m an “inspiration.” I have certainly appreciated the support, but I’ve found it difficult to fully embrace the idea that I’ve inspired others to become fitter or stronger.
But, my friend Kristin’s daughter, Julia, gave me an amazing gift that I will forever treasure. She tapped me on the shoulder, halfway through dinner last night, and whispered in my ear.
“I saw you lifting weights on Instagram. I’m strong, too!”
I was filled with emotion. Sometimes it takes a child to remind us that:
we don’t need to be anything more than who we are to inspire others
it’s important to share the small and large victories present in everyday life
social media can be a force for good
AND, our daughters are watching!
Dear readers, venture out and do what you do best…and then share it!
You may have heard or read in the New York Times that:
“The chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, under mounting pressure from senators of his own party, will call President Trump’s Supreme Court nominee, Judge Brett M. Kavanaugh, and the woman who has accused him of sexual assault before the committee on Monday for extraordinary public hearings only weeks before the midterm elections.
The hearing with Judge Kavanaugh and Christine Blasey Ford, a research psychologist in Northern California, sets up a potentially explosive public showdown that carries unmistakable echoes of the 1991 testimony of Anita Hill, who accused the future Justice Clarence Thomas of sexual harassment in an episode that riveted the nation and ushered a slew of women into public office.”
I was 31 years old when Anita Hill was persecuted for telling her truth. I was riveted by her testimony and repulsed by the Congressional response. I’d liken the feelings I experienced then to the feelings I experienced when our current POTUS was elected. I can only hope that we’ve really progressed to a point that character matters and the definition of “character” encompasses how men treat women.
But, I’m dubious. I hear lots of comments like this one culled from the Wall Street Journal : “Well, if he did this, he was so young. We all did stupid stuff in high school. Why does it matter?”
Let me just ask then: Would it matter if Kavenaugh held up a liquor store in high school? Would it matter if he held a bank teller at gunpoint and requested she hand over the cash? Would we care if he stole a car or lit the neighbor’s house on fire? I wonder???
It seems to me that crimes against women are simply not important to this nation. We don’t take women’s accusations seriously. Let’s see, goes the thinking, he tried to rape a 15-year-old girl when he was 17- years- old? Hmmmm….well, that was a long time ago.
Um, let me just say: I did stupid stuff in high school. Nothing I did was violent. I don’t think anything I did would preclude me from serving on the highest court in the land. How about you? Attempt to rape anyone in high school? Attempt to rape anyone after graduation? Ever attempt to rape anyone? Does it matter? I really hope so.
We need a hearing. We need to acknowledge that crimes against women are FIRST AND FOREMOST….CRIMES! If the accusation is credible and believable, this man does not deserve a place on the highest court in our land.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I took a call from my husband as I was driving to my weekly counseling appointment.
“Something horrible has happened,” he said with uncharacteristic alarm.
You mean another horrible thing…I thought. It had been six weeks since my well-loved 36-year-old brother had died and only two weeks since we’d buried him. I was heartbroken; life was off-kilter, out of focus. Every time the phone rang, I anticipated more horrible news. I was living with the burden of a heightened sense of vulnerability.
That day the collective sorrow of the nation merged with my personal grief. I pondered what we term “senseless death” as I did when Matt passed. People taken too early, before hopes and dreams can be realized. Families left wondering why. Faith and equilibrium threatened.
The lives lost on 9/11 became part of our country’s history. Matt’s life was part of my history. The parallel drew me closer to all those who suffered that day. Loss and sadness are part of what it means to be human. It is there for all of us to experience together, but ultimately to resolve on our own.
Today, I remember my brother, Matt, who was taken too soon. I miss spending time with him; it was so easy. I remember the nearly 3,000 people who lost their lives on that awful day when as a nation we felt our collective vulnerability. I remember, most of all, that loss is part of life, and as such, kindness should be our imperative.
With heartfelt condolences to all who have loved and lost,
You’ve read his name and seen a few stills of Jonathan on my site, but I thought you’d like to see him in action. Isn’t he amazing?! Yes! The answer is yes!
Let me take this opportunity to tell you a little about my trainer. As you can see, he has aced his own journey to strong. He’s been a trainer for nearly thirty years and I could dazzle you with his resume. But, to those of you who are lucky enough to live on the Monterey Peninsula, you know I wholeheartedly recommend him. Just do it…join the waiting list at Zone Fitness and be forever grateful that you did.
I could rant and rave, but to put it quite simply: Jonathan has changed my life! At 58 years old, I know that there won’t be many people who I can say that about when the end rolls round.
I’ve approached my fitness journey as I approach everything in life: as a scholar. So, I’ve read a lot and brought a ridiculous number of questions with me to my sessions. Jonathan has taken the time to educate me and this has made it possible for me to fully embrace the process.
I am leaner and stronger as a result of my sessions with him. I recently ran into an old friend that I hadn’t seen for nearly a year. She took a step away from me after giving me a hug and just looked at me. What came out of her mouth next was quite direct …and really fun!
“What happened? I mean, it’s good…but, really,” she asked.
I know that my appearance has changed and that’s nice, but it’s truly so much more than looking a bit better. I’ve gained a new level of confidence that transcends what I do in the gym to encompass every area of my life. And, I truly understand the concept of a mind/body connection. My body now asks me to move and I hear it. I respond to its need for motion, and, as a result, I feel better.
So, I just told my curious friend that “Jonathan happened!” That explains it all.
I had to say goodbye to my favorite neighbors last month and, in between the tears, I got to thinking about what it means to be a good neighbor today vs. when I was growing up.
In 1970 I was an energetic ten-year old who loved roaming the street with my siblings and friends. The doors to nearly every home on my block were always open. Mothers worked in those homes and they (mostly) enjoyed the interruption that a pack of kids provided. I loved particularly the woman who baked cinnamon rolls as heavy as bricks and the one who loved to sew but immediately left her machine to chat with us upon our arrival as if we were her contemporaries.
The neighborhood of my youth is a rare thing nowadays. (Hey, I’m pushing 60 years old and I think I’ve earned the right to use the word nowadays!) Seems to me the definition of a good neighbor today goes something like this: a good neighbor is one who doesn’t bother you, respects boundaries and keeps quiet. Of course, this is dependent upon where you live. I think you’re more likely to find satisfying relationships if you have young children and can bond over play-dates and carpools. But, those days are over for me and my husband and I never expected to have the good luck of becoming attached to someone on our block when we moved to Carmel.
Marietta and Frank’s former home is perched on a hill across the street from our home and it boasts expansive windows at the front. So, they could look down on us and see the daily comings and goings. It was quite easy for them to monitor things when we were on vacation. They saw the mail being delivered and they’d know if someone broke in and tried to take off with our t.v.
Our friendship began immediately with the kindness they offered before even knowing us. We moved into our house slowly and I took several loads of things in my car before the big moving trucks arrived. I made the trips solo as Tom was still employed and Natalie was in school and the drive was an easy hour and one half.
It never failed that shortly after I’d unloaded all of the boxes into my garage, I’d get a call from across the street.
“You are working so hard; don’t work so hard!” Marietta would advise in her rich Chilean accent. “Come eat a sandwich with us!”
I’d frequently receive invitations to take short vino or coffee breaks or to dine on superbly home cooked meals. It was like having a more perfect version of my mom living across the street and it was divine.
For five years, we celebrated birthdays and everyday occurrences like the sighting of a family of quail marching across the driveway or the first blooms of azaleas in both of our gardens. And a couple of days after the election of POTUS, we dined together to bond in our shared horror and grief about the state of our country.
Most recently, Marietta saw me regularly racing to my car decked out in my spandex on my way to Zone Fitness. She never missed the opportunity to provide praise and encouragement. One day I’d see her waving from her window, another day we’d meet in the middle of the street before getting into our cars to head our separate ways. She’d often say the same thing about my fitness goals that she said when I began my blog: Do whatever makes you happy!
I’ve been missing the chance meetings at the mailbox and the shouts out of car windows as we come and go. And, though, it’s not even fall yet, I’m already missing the annual delivery of freshly baked holiday fruit cake. Really, I’m missing the rare, warm and comforting feeling of knowing that there’s someone living so close by who cares so much.
Last week I learned to do a back squat. This was a new move for me and on the first try I lost my balance in the set-up and nearly knocked over my trainer! But three sets in, I had it down perfectly. I was impressed. Ninety-five pounds up….ninety five pounds down…I’m looking good in that mirror.
Did I say I was impressed with myself?! Nine months in and I’m amazed at what a 58-year-old woman can do when she sets her mind to it.
I’ve always considered myself to be an emotionally strong woman; now I’m physically strong, too. Let me just say that’s an amazing combination.
Let me introduce you to Amy. She’s wearing her Aunt Bessie’s tablecloth, and she’s so happy that I noticed just how magnificent it is!
I had an amazing sandwich at a tiny little neighborhood restaurant in Sacramento last week. Despite how very hungry I was when I walked through the door, the first thing I noticed was that dress and the woman who wore it so joyfully.
I never hesitate to compliment people…why should I…that’s my thinking. I see it…I like it…I say it! And, sometimes I am rewarded with a great story, as I was on this day.
“Excuse me,” I said as she hurriedly passed me. “But, I must tell you that I adore your dress.”
“Oh, it was once my aunt’s Christmas tablecloth and I inherited it!”
Well, that’s not something you hear everyday, I thought. But it helped explain the great happiness that I felt emanating from this woman. Her aunt saved the bright red, hand-embroidered cloth for just a single day each year. Her niece remembers it fondly.
“I wasn’t sure what to do with it,” she continued. “Then one day my friend offered to turn it into a dress so that I could enjoy it all year long.”
So, I flunked swimming lessons. That was over fifty years ago before the evolution of the positive parenting style. I couldn’t imagine that happening today….oh, I hope not. It probably would have been best if my mom had re-enrolled me after my initial failure. But, she never did and so I really can not say that I know how to swim.
But, nowadays I’m game for just about any activity my daughter suggests that will help us meet our fitness goals. And, so it was that I came to find myself enrolled in a water aerobics class taught by Mike, a twenty-something personal trainer, at the Cal Poly University campus swimming pool.
It really isn’t necessary to know how to swim to get a good work-out in the water. We used kick-boards and aquatic dumbbells and the wonderful resistance provided by the water. It was a tough work-out, but different from my regular cardio in one interesting way. I was often out of breath; I’m quite familiar with that sensation nowadays. But, I wasn’t hot and I wasn’t dripping sweat as I usually am. It felt as though my mind kept checking in with my body to try to figure out what was going on. Seems I’ve gotten used to sweating!
Today was so much fun, though, that I just might find the courage to re-enroll in swimming lessons. I didn’t know that I could enjoy a pool without a cabana boy and fruity cocktails as much as I did!