You are why I am here.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to USC campus for a meeting with the Norman Topping Student Aid Fund of which I am a Governing Board Member.  To avoid evening traffic, I arrived on campus a bit early for my meeting.  My daughter, Patience, was involved in activities so I settled into a chair in the library to read away my time.  I found out, however, that Patience did have time to see me for a few minutes so I set out to walk across campus to meet her. 

While walking and texting in this unseasonably warm twilight, I encountered a girl who exuded this tremendous energy.  She approached me, "Did you go to school here?  Were you here in the last year or two?  Did you cut your hair?"  She had the warmest smile on her face and the most sparkling glimmer in her eyes.  I was a little taken back but quickly reminded of the many times this has happened to me while I walked across this campus.  I scanned her being and her beautiful face while searching the files in my memory for a match.  There are many people that I spent plenty of time with but still more who's life intersected with mine for but a moment, a minute, an hour.  And, it was clear to me now, that she was one of these remarkable beings. 

Here, she had on an 'SC sweatshirt and she was on her bike and we were gravitating toward Tommy Trojan.  I confirmed her suspicions as a smile swept up inside me.  Her energy grew stronger and her smile grew wider as she informed me, "Girl!  I need to give you hug.  I know you don't know who I am.  But I told myself I would find you one day.  If it took me ten years, I would find you and I would thank you for what you did for me."

These exacts moments are what its all about for me.  Its that moment when I realize that something I've said to someone -- it could be something very very small -- something I've relayed about my own educational experience has connected with someone enough to give them what they need to pursue their own educational dream.  Whether it is just letting them know that it is possible, that they have it within themselves, that despite all the roadblocks and walls they have encountered, or demons within themselves, that they can achieve their degree. 

She said, "You are why I am here." 

"You are why I am here."  I don't know if people understand what a statement like this does to your...your sense of worth.  It is such a powerful statement and could be taken so many ways.  But I feel compelled to share this moment, compelled to share how these statements affect me. 

She reminded me of something that I told her that set her on her path when she was unsure that a place like USC would ever take her.  I offered her strategic advice, something simple, to read the school's (whichever school you are applying to) Mission Statement.  I told her to see what it is that they were saying about themselves, then to find the parallels between their intentions for their student body and her intentions in being a part of that student body.  I told her to spell it out to them that choosing her for their institution would not only be good for her but would also be good for USC.  And this is what she did.  But, beyond the tools and strategy, what I did was to share my personal story.  And not in the "Oh, its all about me" way, but in the "I thought I wasn't worth it and I thought I couldn't do it until someone believed in me" way and "I'm here to tell you I believe in you and so should you.  You should believe in you."

I know it sounds all sticky sweet and over the top.  And, I don't apologize for that because where I am coming from is sincere.  Where I am coming from is a place of experience where I heard "You never really wanted to go to college, did ya?" from the very person who should have demanded that I did so.  I come from a place where I dabbled with college three times before someone recognized my ability and encouraged me to move forward.  He encouraged me by blazing the path for himself and along the way just giving me little nudges, little suggestions, like tools.  He handed me the tools to blaze my own path.  And I find it almost impossible not to share the same with most anyone I encounter who has not yet been able to pursue their educational dreams.  Education, for me, has been just that liberating.  I am compelled to share the liberation.

And, its not me holding anybody's hand.  I can tell you a million times how worthy and capable you are, and I can hand you a trillion tools, but if you don't believe it for yourself, its not going to happen for you.  This is for anything in life.  But there are some people out there who have been wandering around with the desire for education who simply need to hear it from one little person that they are capable of taking this on themselves.  Here, here is one little tool.  Now take what you know and rock it!  And this girl did!  She explained to me her process and her doubts and fears, and she showed me the fruits of her endeavor by standing there with her smiling gleeming self all clad in USC gear in the heart of campus.

What was interesting is that (aside from the fact that it had been two years since I had seen her, and that I almost didn't make that walk to see my daughter) I was on campus for the meeting with the Governing Board of the Norman Topping Student Aid Fund because we are amidst our annual Freshman selection process for the scholarship.  So, I was already gearing up for that very state of mind wherein opportunity lurks for more inspiration and more tools to be handed out to those who are capable and those who are worthy and those who have it already within themselves to embark on such a scary yet fulfilling path toward their educational dreams.  I was here to pick-up my portion of the applications to evaluate for consideration.  And she was reminding me why I signed-up for such an important position.

This girl revealed to me that, although she looks like a girl, she is a woman just a few years my younger.  She is married with children of her own.  And, the way I see it, between she and I stands only one thing - that degree.  She wants to know what it is like on the other side.  I told her it is wonderful here.  She is clearly on her path to get here but, in my mind, she has already arrived.

Thank you, Debbie, for reminding me that I am worthy and capable.  I see it in you.  And you, Miss Debbie, are why I am here.

Whose mom are you?

For the first time since the age of two, I have short hair.  I got this haircut in July while we were in Germany.  At the same time, I got my hair lifted.  A lot.  Its took a great amount of time to get used to the idea of cutting my hair that short.  Then, it took a great deal of time to get used to the idea of lifting my hair white.  I little bit of bravery on my part.  But, I fell in love with the cut and the color instantly. 

I've been a slave to the color bottle since I was fourteen.  My natural hair color includes a majority of blonde and a little bit of red.  So, in high school, I embraced the blonde side just as all of my girlfriends were doing too.  At age nineteen, I decided to shake things up and embrace the red side.  I sported practically every possible shade of red over the next fifteen years.  A factor in this dye addiction can be attributed to early grey hairs.  My mother talks about not being able to determine what my infant hair color was going to be because my tufts were filled with every possible strand variety, including grey.  And, at age nineteen, the grey factor increased.  At age twenty-two, a new (single) mom, my grey hairs increased dramtically.  At age twenty-seven, having had a violent near-death incident, my grey hairs suddenly turned into patches. 

I have tried multiple attempts at going natural only to have boyfriends react with quivering lip, "Yeah baby, that looks nice."  Or, my stylists would tell me that I really should consider color.  By age thirty-five, the grey was so dominate that my usual red dye no longer looked appealing so much as clown-like.  I went back to embracing my blonde side because when the color grew out the line was not as harsh as it was on grown-out red hair.  I have been a cheap bleach box blonde for the past six years until the lift in Germany. 

Since Germany, the lift has slowly grown out.  Multiple cuts later and no more color, there is only about 1/8th inch left of some blonde on my longer layers that will most certainly no longer be there after my next cut in the next couple of weeks.  What is there is good old fashioned blah dishwater dirty blonde sprinkled with white greys throughout with large white patches at my temples framing my face.  It is so soft that I can't seem to keep my own hands out of it.  Other people touch it and rub it.  Its kinda cool (smirk). 

But lets talk a little more about that bravery thing.  A number of months before my German haircut, a girlfriend of mine took a clippers to her sexy long mousy brown hair.  I saw this as inspiration and it got me to thinking.  I viewed her as very brave.  I still do.  So many women don't have even the slightest balls to do such a thing and never will that her act of bravery is to be commended, in my view.  I recalled one of the very first issues of Jane that featured an expose by one of its feature editors that detailed that very act of deciding to shave her head, shaving her head and the social reaction to it - what it did to her mental processes and how it crept into her self esteem no matter how convicted she felt about the entire ordeal.  My friend is still rocking her short cut.  And now I am too.

All this bravery and boldness.  I'd been feeling real good about my cut and was marveling at the daily changes in color when strange things started to happen.  Although my friends were telling me that the cut had me looking ten years younger, other public reactions were happening to fuck with my pride.  When we are working out consistently, my husband works out in evenings and I work out in mornings, both at the same box.  One evening, while Garrett was finishing a workout, I was hanging out waiting for him while leaning against one of the GHD machines.  There was also a couple working out.  I saw this couple a few times before but had never had the opportunity to properly introduce myself.  To me, the man appeared to be my same age...40ish.  He was average height (like me), carrying too much weight (like me) and had short dishwater blonde hair with patches and sparkles of grey hair (like me).  His wife looked younger and more fit (like my husband).  This day, Garrett was working out with the man, his wife and maybe one other person.  They were finishing up the work-out when the man approached the grouping of GHD machines and, as he was mounting one, smiled at me while asking "So, whose Mom are you?"

pause

deep breath

Is he talking to me?

"Whose Mom am I?"
"Yeah, whose Mom are you?"
Nervous laugh, "I'm his."  I reply as I point to husband.
"Oh, ok."
"He's my husband."
"Really?  Oh, ok."

I realize he wasn't playing with me.  He was dead serious.  I left him to define his ass via GHD so I could go sit on the stairs and process while Garrett finished up.  The fourth wheel in the workout was long gone by now and after this guy finished up his ass workout he walked over to his wife.  Shortly after he walked directly to me extending his hand for a shake.  He shook my hand while expressing that he did not have his glasses on and that he sees now that he was clearly wrong for thinking that I was my husbands Mom.  He apologized.  I accepted.

Clearly, he didn't mean anything by it.  But what messed with me most was that he absolutely thought that I was that much older than my husband.  Now, the fact that my hair was almost totally naturally grey combined with his perception messed with my ego and sat with me for many days.  The next week, I told my stylist because I thought maybe I should lift my hair again.  Surprisingly, she told me not to.  She assured me the natural color was gorgeous. 

So then my mind reverted to body image.  I know that my husband loves me as I am.  I was a much more robust weight than I currently am when he proposed to me.  We have been married one and half years.  In that time, I have spent a great deal of attention to dropping pounds and regaining my feminine figure.  While still large, I often times forget how far I've come - like four pants sizes in that year and a half.  Garrett continues to be encouraging and loving. 

I have had my ups and downs this year in regard to motivation and commitment to my fitness needs.  I consistency has definite spikes and valleys.  Yet the desire is always there.  Twice I got sick and took longer than I should have getting back to it.  This includes right now.

At a recent social event, a woman older than me was beyond surprised to learn that my both my daughter and my husband weren't my children.  Of course my college-age daughter was my kid but my husband was my kid too, right?  She continued on about wanting a younger lover for herself and then stopped and looked me dead in the eyes and said "For real?  He's your husband?  Well, good for you!"  After repeating over and over how fortunate I was to have such a husband, she explicated further about how good it is for 50-year-old women to have younger men. 

Ugh.

What saved me (aside from my pleasant disposition in situations such as these) was my girlfriend (who witnessed the entire fiasco and who even attempted to sway the focus of conversation off of me) confiding in me that she just doesn't see it.  I love her for this move.  I love her for a lot of things but this sure did help. 

Last week, I went to view a new CrossFit box that is opening.  During introductions, my friend told the owners (all four of them) that "We all are from Paradiso CrossFit."  The guy standing closest to me shook his head in agreeance, then his face washed in realization when he turned to me and muttered, "You too?  Really?"  I felt both humiliated and inspired.  Humiliated that it seemed as though he assumed that just because I am a big girl that I haven't come along way.  Inspired to get more fully immersed in fitness.  Worried that I am a poor representation for my box.

Again, I believe this happened completely innocently.  But, my effing ego took note.

My ego has been getting the ol' one-two punch and I haven't done well to defend it.

I've been cranky lately. 

I would say I am depressed. 

However, I am not giving up.  I know myself well enough that I will make it through this.  I have made it through a whole hell of a lot in my life and I refuse to let body image be the jackhole that takes me under.  I suspect that many people at my box and in my life struggle with the drive toward their goals because we get run down.  And, if you are like me in that you are not a life long athlete, the struggle can be even more challenging.  You feel ashamed.  This leads to hopelessness.  This leads to a lot of other internal demons.  And that is why I am sharing my story - in hopes that someone else will find inspiration in it. 

As much as I shamefully hang my head in the presence of the trainers from my box, the truth is that they aren't judging me to the degree that my mind makes it up.  I know that they see the struggle and they always welcome me back.  Once there, I receive a great deal of encouragment from them.  And this helps me not to quit this life long battle.

I'm still going strong in my own little ways.  I hope you will too.  If you've paused your regime just get back on.  They will only be happy to see you in whatever environment you workout in.  It happens to the best of athletes so it definitely happens to us.  Don't go around thinking its just you.  Its us.  Lets do this!

Disbursing Thunderclouds in My Ego

Today I got back into the box and made a renewed commitment.  Lets see how this rolls.

This time we were there during open gym so, after a wonderful walk n' talk with Mr. Paradiso to set a smart plan for my fitness goals, I DROM'd then rowed a set of four 500m sprints with three minute breaks in between, without inhaler.  My time improved each row with stressed gasping toward the end of the second row.  I broke a sexy little sweat as the thunder clouds in my ego disbursed.  Aside from the disappointment felt when I noticed the black shoe strap marks from the rower on my brand new bright white New Balance trainers (a nice accent to the taco grease from Saturdays tailgate), I experienced a good feeling accompanied by low-oxygen headache and sore rib cage muscles (my rib bones connected to my backbone...you know the tune).  But, most notable was the happiness that enveloped me.  

I've been battling some major demons throughout August and September and am glad to be back.  I've been so out of it that I am on-ramping again.  This, finally, is ok with me.  Four hours ago it wasn't ok.  Now it is.  

Alrighty then.  See you at the box.