So this happened today

While lifting tonight at the rec center I couldn't help but notice the woman behind me in the free weights area going through what had to be her first or second weights session with her trainer. The guy was calm, encouraging and offered correction as needed for form, but she was clearly struggling with the workout. Not physically, she had plenty more to give there, but mentally she was stuck. I smiled and nodded encouragement between sets a few times. When she made a comment about this, I smiled and said, "I always love to see another woman learning to love weight lifting." The trainer, Christopher, out of politeness asked me, "Why is that?" ...

Little did he know just what an opening he offered me. I stopped moving around the cage to change weights and took a minute to really LOOK at the two people that were about to be my unwitting audience for a moment. Chris is young, tall, fit and confident. Rhonda (I later found out) was middle-aged, heavy, in ill fitted clothing, and very much unsure of her choice to try this new thing. " I used to be nearly  300lbs and had a number of health issues."

A quick round of "Really??"s went around.

"Then I found strength sports, or rather, they found me. First throwing the Scottish Games, then gradually lifting. It has changed my life, for the better. It is hard, and brutal on the body some days, but I always feel better for having done it. It has lead me to a better community to share my improved life with. And, it will for you too. Struggle on with it, you will improve." Handshakes and introductions all around and back to our workouts.

Chris approached me later to ask some additional questions and to offer me another very sincere handshake of thanks.

Some days it is good to look back and remember how hard it was to start - keeps me from quitting.

The Long Road to "Only Six"

“Only six women in this February’s Kick Off Games, huh?” This phrase or something very like it was said in all innocence to me recently. After my surprise passed it occurred to me that it was a good thing that one of our new throwers saw that as a smaller women’s class. The assumption of “Only Six” is a clear indicator that Texas games have a healthy number of women throwers these days.

The key to that last sentence is contained in the final pair of words “these days”, this was not always the case. Let us use the WABAC machine and go back to 2008. This was the year I began traveling to more games, mostly within Texas. To my surprise I discovered a distinct dearth of female throwers, and several contests that simply didn't have a women's class at all. *blink blink* Checking my calendar for a year stamp I was simply astonished to find that no, I hadn't fallen through a time slip and wound up back in the 50s, these guys really didn't think women wanted to play.  Frustrated to find festivals within driving distance that did not allow me the chance to compete I researched alternative locations that threw on the same weekend to attend the next season. Stubborn can be a virtue where I come from. 

It get's better, y'all.

A little birdie informed me that women's classes had been referred to as "Bad Product" and unreliable. Something along the lines of we would show up once or twice and then just disappear. Meaning the ADs would have a class of 4-5 one year and none the next, so they couldn't plan or budget accordingly. Fair enough, I can see the business side of that. With the idea of proving I was serious in mind I took my show on the road - Texas, Oklahoma, Indiana, and Louisiana in 2009. Took all my own gear, came early, stayed late, judged, shagged weights, pulled tape, shook hands, talked up the crowd, threw as the only woman on the field and kept improving my game. The next year was more of the same 14 games and 5 states, including the Big Show at Pleasanton. No one could say I wasn't serious about my game, and the folks that called me bad product before started asking me for help on recruiting more women. 

For the last two years I have maintained 13-14 games a season, with at least one new state a year. Lots of thank you letters have been written. Numerous training trips to folks that know better than me how to get this done. Continuous outreach to the female strength community locally and on line via blogs, NASGA, Facebook and direct email has yielded numerous new throwers . Taking time to explore other strength sports, venues and festivals to find new converts and new avenues to display our sport has been rewarding as well. One on one coaching with the folks that express even an inkling of interest in the games has also buffed up our ranks. The unending support of my local crew with North Texas Heavies and TCAA has helped tremendously. (also have to make a nod to Mike Baab here)

The road from "bad product" to "only six" has been an uphill rough climb. It was worth every blow to the ego, busted callus and torn kilt, because no other woman is going to run into that same barrier in my home state. 

Making a meal full of memories

Thursday nights are my evenings with my godson. This usually involves homework, reading fun books, silly cartoons and my cooking dinner. It may be the only day in a given week that this particular chore falls to me, rather than Glenn.

Tonight's meal was full of random memories of loved ones. I decided to grill up some lean beef burgers  and used some Bourbon Pepper Spice - a gift from Amy (who will forever be MyRollerDerbyAmy in my head) for a past Yuletide. My mind wander through a myriad of events and shades of orange (our signature shared color) as I mixed the spices together and shaped the burgers.

The kid knows that veggies are a must in my house, and today he picked lima beans. Yes, he picked lima beans out of a half dozen choices, this is how I know I have had some influence on the kid. For those that have eaten any holiday meal with me in the past 10 years, this should spark the memory of my polarizing dish of 3-bean-casserole. It is a love it or hate it item, but gets requested every year. I can clearly recall the first panicked phone call to my mother on "how do I make this?" at 3pm one Thanksgiving day. The first time Linnea gushed praise that it was her new favorite dish is a fond memory. Quickly countered by the quirky relocation that my younger brother still can't stand this dish due to his strange aversion to cheese and the year I disowned him for announcing he liked neither cheese nor pie.

Looking through the fridge I discovered a pair of lonesome abandoned yellow squash, and decided they should be a part of today's thrown together hash. How to prep them? Well, I am a limited cook, as I mentioned, and I know only one way to cook them up. Pan seared with a touch of oil and a dash of salt. This method was learned sitting on the edge of a formica counter top peering over the shoulder of one of my oldest friends, Tommy, while he scolded me for not knowing how to cook up "country style veggies".  Now I know both his beautiful daughters, we are pen pals.

A meal full of memories, shared with a boy who is quickly becoming a young man that I hope to make tons of memories and meals with!

Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady

Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart

Well, dear readers, it appears that I am having a bit of the nutty of late (hold all sarcastic remarks if ya know what is good for ya). Lack of focus and full of doubts. When in doubt, go right back to your roots. Means lots of cooking and listening to country music to find my center.

Turns out, what makes me happy is getting things done. Better still when there is a physical result of the work to witness after the fact, a clean house, cookies on the counter,  or a real sense of organization.

Yesterday's debate was rail against the wind, or just plow on as an example of how I think it should be done. As it happens the end result is to trudge ever onward with what I believe to be a worthy thing. That means pulling up my big girl panties and doing what needs to be done without complaint.

Leave it to another loud-mouthed short-stack Texas girl to blare a message that resonates the heart of what I needed to hear. Yea, the song is about a break-up, but the idea of pulling yourself together no matter what has put you off your game and act with intergity holds true.


Powder your nose, paint your toes
Line your lips and keep 'em closed
Cross your legs, dot your I’s
And never let 'em see you cry

Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
'Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart

~ Miranda Lambert

*PS. Maybe it has something to do with the name, but Mirandas always seem to speak the truths I need to hear in a voice I can hear.

Thief of my joy!

I was asked to write a quickie blurb for a composite article over on Strong and Far about how to overcome a common pitfal to success as an athlete. I feel like this applies to so much of my life that I should post it over here as well.

 

Comparison is the thief of joy, and my cardinal sin as an athlete (and a woman). For years my internal monologue was a series of unflattering contrasts between myself and others on the field. Being so chock full of “advantages” for a thrower – short, heavy, older and untrained – it was a long list! Until, one day a blunt and well-meaning pixie laid it all out for me in the midst of an invitational game (yea, you heard that right, I was at an invite only show and still certain I didn’t have the chops). She pointed at every woman on the field and listed their pedigree of colleges, awards, All-Americans and a couple of Olympic hopefuls like herself and said, “And here you are.”

Talk about a gut check. Just breaking it down to brass tacks for me to get on over my little feels and get back to the business of throwing things. Since then the goal has been to not compare to others, just against myself. Last meets numbers, last year’s bests, personal bests – in the gym, on the track and on the field. Me vs. Me and My Demons.

To that end, I have become a numbers junky. An ever expanding spreadsheet holds the data for every game day throw I have taken since I got into the sport. I keep a running tab on my averages and bests. This is posted on my gym wall, my office wall and in my throws bag. This prevents me from looking across the field at my competitor/companions and playing the “What If” and “If Only” head games, and draws me back to improving the only thing I have control over – me.

 

 

 

No more schools, no more books...

A song I sang as I walked across the stage to crazy yells from my friends and family in August of 2001, under the assumption I would never return to formal education again. More the fool I for thinking so!

After a dozen years off I have thrown myself back in the educational pool! My thought was that an online course would be a nice reintroduction into the student lifestyle. No set times, no travel, no social distractions, easy right? BAH! This "little certification" class is no joke, and I will be hitting the books something fierce to get it done by the 6 month deadline. There will be a flurry of flash cards, a covey of charts and a veritable herd of notes. Four pages of notes in a 20 min lecture. Time for me to relearn how to study and nail down my time management skills.

"Have I bitten off more than I can chew?" When this little gem rolls through my mind I just recall that the only way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time. It may not be pretty, or quick, but it will get done.

I drank the Kool-Aid

 
To say that I am hesitant to write about my latest “gym” experience on this particular site is a wild understatement, but it happened, so here it is. As part of my holiday gifts and festivities I ended up with a short term membership to a local CrossFit. Being an open minded kid, I thought, it can’t be as bad as the press it gets from the strength community, so I will give it a shot.

After a few classes I can say I get the appeal to the masses. The attitude is one of acceptance, and as positive as a muppet covered in rainbows. The class times work with my schedule most days. The format is simple enough to follow, and instructors/trainers are thick on the ground to help with any questions. This particular location offers oly lifting twice a week, and the instructor has some cred. (Caleb Ward) One of the other trainers has done voice work as both Batman and Superman, lemme say that can be a bit of a laugh during workouts. The folks that attend are friendly, welcoming and helpful, for the majority. We all know every gym has a fair share of jerks, but they are the exception not the rule.

Like all workouts, you get out of it what you put into it. Trust me when I say, I get a sweat going and am fully winded by the end of the sessions. The drawback to that is simply that the sessions are too short for me to feel like I have done a full workout.

With all that in mind, why won’t I be sticking around for all the kipping and WODs I can stand? The limitations of the facility and the workouts. I need more lifting time in a week than they offer to make my goals this season. Not to mention the cost, 250 a month at this box, and that is without one-on-one training or the oly classes. It is Resolutionist Season, and they place is packed, so learning names and faces is tough on the staff, I get it. However, after a few weeks I am DONE explaining to these folks that “No, as a matter of fact, that isn’t too heavy for me to start with.” There isn’t a slam ball in the facility that is too heavy for me to get through the whole WOD, so hush darling, mama is working here.

Would I do it again? You bet, it was fun! I always left with a smile on my face.

Would I let it be the only method I used to get to my particular goals? Not a chance.

Will I steal whole-sale some of the WODs and use them as warm-ups or replacement cardio? Regularly.

Would I recommend it to others? Depends on their end goals.

Post Holiday Ramp Up

The holidays with all the travel, and maddness are past! This year's festive season was a roller coaster that saw this section of Clan Boswell very unable to find our holiday mood. We were brushed by a sudden death, and a seemingly unending stream of family events. With all the highs and lows past, it is time to move forward.

That means tucking away all the bright baubles and shiney lights, and getting the nest in order, so that feathers long ruffled can be smoothed. Souther Girl Rule #1 - don't brave the world before you put on your face, and arm yourself with your best pearls.  Time to do just that!

The dawn of the new year sees me attending "school" again. A test run with on line education to see if  I can handle being a student again after a baker's dozen worth of years away from it. The plan is to get this first course complete by May, so that I can try to bring it bear over the summer months.  Hooray!

As ever, I am back on track with gym work and food. It is a never ending battle, but this year I intend to find the end of this war with my weight come Hell, highwater or hair-lipping the Pope. Now, if that comes in the form of finally getting to a reasonable weight, or turning this giggle into rock, I don't care, but change is coming. The fight isn't in the gym, it is in the kitchen. War will be waged on poor planning and easy choices.

So, that's whats new in the land of B. More to come...

Humble pie... tasty

Humble pie, two servings, one fork, please! While the deload was full of lessons, it seems my education has just begun. Thank goodness for patient coaches and loud music.

This week the strength training begins in earnest. In an effort to get it kicked off right, I took the opportunity to indulge my curiosity about the power factor. For the few folks that don't know what this little gizmo is, it is a tool to measure the speed at which you move the implement. The trick is to move it at a meter per second. This may not sound particularly fast, until you try it. Gave this a go on pulls and pushes and discovered numerous flaws, both with my perceptions and my lifting form. Getting those corrected was serving one of humble pie. Thanks Duncan! Not sure if it was generosity or his sadistic side that prompted Duncs to loan me this toy until I get the feel of proper speed, but it is set up in the garage awaiting tonight's lifts. Weee!

The whip cream on that particular serving of humble pie: attempting to learn to do pull-ups. Having never done a single dead-hang pull-up in my life, this was more than a touch hilarious. (yet another exercise that is not aided by my laughing at my failures) Still haven't managed it, hooray for being bottom heavy, but now have the tools I need to get there. Bonus: lots of my pulling has been done with my back of late, and it shows.

Second serving of tasty humility came last night when the Doctore prescribed some large sets to max for squats. To say this is below expectations would be a WILD (like lions on the savannah, wild) understatement. I am ganna call this fuel for the fire and just get down to it from here on out. The amount of clanging, banging and swearing did prompt a minor rearrangement of gear in the gym, so future sessions should be a bit more down to business and less tripping over my own feet. Time to meet the coach's goals and mine.

The carmel drizzle on this piece of mortification munchies: an hour of barre work and partner stretching at the dance studio, followed by thirty minutes of floor work (leaps, jumps, turns, spins, tucks ...) Evil dance instructor remains the Queen of all things Surprisingly and Subtly Painful. Today I am singing her praises, as I am not presently a single block of ache.

Much to be done before next season.

Learning from gorillas...

With all the kindness of a typical 400lb gorilla, several of my training partners informed me that I needed a break. It may have been implied that if I didn't take one they might just have to give me one, though the choice was mine on which arm. Thus, there was a deload. That particular word remains something of a mystery to me, since it seems to imply something different to everyone. My take? A pause in all training for a brief period.

Day to day I changed my mind on how I felt about it. Started my "Deload" on Saturday the 17th. It was odd trying to find out what to do with all my time, until my body decided for me. Sleep was the answer, lots of sleep and right now, if you please. Falling asleep at the merest mention of a soft surface was a new experience that lasted for the first 3-4 days. Between sleep and naps (one particularly memorable unplanned nap in the tub) I was clocking about 10-11 hours of sleep a day.  Clearly the gorillas had been right, and I needed some rest.

What else was I to do with all this spare time once the narcolepsy passed? Oh, let's see if I still like trashy food. Pizza? Nope. Enchiladas? Nope. Queso? Nope. Frou-frou coffee? Nope. Found myself longing for salad and fish, perhaps a grapefruit. Huh, odd, you mean to say that my brain has been lying to me all this time telling me how much I miss this trashy stuff, but now it tastes awful, or worse bland?  Sheesh, the gorillas were right again!

Follow that up with a Thanksgiving full of family, friends, feasting and folderol.  By the weekend I was chomping at the bit for something to do, so decided to try a few lifts with some of the kids from Full Throttle who were prepping for a strong man. Having not gone heavy in the gym since the summer off season, I was sure this would be more of a laughable hang out session than a true work session.  A sudden onset of giggles while under the yoke was the only laughable situation all day. As it turns out that I matched my PRs in a few lifts for reps, and still rode my bike home. You guessed it, gorillas 3, short-stack 0.

Lesson learned! No chest thumping necessary, my gorillas, deloads will become a regular part of the program. It seems that all-go-no-quit made for a very cranky and mostly useless me. This break offered me the clarity and rest to reset some goals and expectations, and start afresh. Now, to go get my calluses back!

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

 

This decorating diva demands!

This decorating diva demands more decore for Thanksgiving.

As one of the MAJOR holidays of the year I feel we skimp on jazzing it up for this special day. Certainly a great deal of fall stuff can ride out the season from September 1st through November 30th. Pumpkins, fall garlands, acorns, squirrels, and the like can grace my mantels, shelves and counters for the entire season. This lends the entire season a beautiful orange and brown palette to

We all know that Halloween gets a lot of love from the craft stores, as it should with all the gory glory it has to offer. As much as anyone else I enjoy my jack-o-lanterns, witches, skulls (some of the sugar variety), ghosts, goblins and ghouls, and do deck out every flat surface just shy of the stove top. However, the day after Halloween all those grisly goodies get tucked away in their bubble wrap and color themed tubs.

Playing dress up is second nature for this theatre kid, so why am I so very ready to tuck away the trimmings for this holiday? To answer that let us look at the way we celebrate these holidays. Halloween is a giddy free-for-all of quick sugary bites and glimpses of strangers in masks. Games played only in the dark, and full of anonymity. Glitz, glamor and gone in a flash, that is Halloween to me. I love this herald of the fall festivities and will never be too old for trick-or-treating.

Thanksgiving is full of rich warm scents and orange tinted memories of being only oven window tall. It is a day spent in my kitchen, draped in an apron, surrounded by my family and friends. Sharing foods we all enjoy, or in the case of my three-bean casserole that they endure so I can enjoy! Breakfast is always something sweet to get you moving, the coffee will be on all day long. Though we no longer do our turkey with a buttered towel cover that must be minded and moistened hourly, all praise to the oven bag, we do still spend hours rotating dishes in and out of the oven and stove top.

Dinner means pulling the tables together, even with the leaves in one table is never enough space, using patio furniture when the doorbell rings just one more time for late comers, a blessing said for another trip round the sun in good company, and the soft silence that descends when everyone's plates and hearts are full.

More than Halloween, more than Christmas, this humble holiday full of simple joys is my favorite of the season, for just that reason, it is humble. It is a time of sharing what you have with those you love in a place that is comfortable.

All I am asking for is a couple of cornicopias and some Thanksgiving themed table runners, I don't think I am shooting the moon here, dammit!!

On This St. Crispian's Day

 

 

Highland Games is a small community, international though it may be. Tight knit and foul mouthed, we share something that was best described by The Bard, and best preformed by Kenneth Branagh more than a score of years past as Henry V in his St. Cripsin's Day speech.

The entirety of the speech is littered with historical and battle field references, but it is the few below that speak most strongly of what I am attempting to define for the uninitiated.

"The fewer men, the greater share of honour."

Not everyone can we do what we do, and many hold themselves back for fear of failure, or worse still for fear of looking foolish. Donning a kilt to throw sticks and rocks will never carry a lot of glory to those that haven't done it, for those that have medaling at one of the Big Shows is an honour.


“He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.”

Should we ever get old and grey enough to throw no longer, some never do, we will have some stories to tell of the crazy goings on with the Iron Thistle, the stupid stone and that one time at Pleasanton. Names that will forever make you smile in fond memory when they fall off your tongue to tell some new kid about the occasion when...

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day.

Callused hands, iced backs, ART bills may fade, but the memory and limps remains. Experience will temper our humor, and allow us to smile when the “Next Big Deal” comes in full of swagger. Shared looks of understanding will pass round and slow grins of old age and treachery will abound.


We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,

Coming from a large family, and a small school, a sense of belonging is paramount to me. No community has been so warm and welcoming as the Gamers I have encountered. Distance and language have been no barrier, fellowship has been extended at every turn. Graciously accepting me as one of the family since day one, folks have opened their homes and ,most importantly, their vast wealth of information without reservation. Much talk has been had while much iron has been moved, and though we may not have solved all the world’s ills we built something. Hours on the field are never wasted, no matter how many blisters and calluses they bring. Clan has a whole new meaning for me these days.


This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Damn right.

Oh, look, a rabbit hole, wonder what's down there...

Alice chased her rabbit into a world full of confusing and confounding new experiences. Perhaps that is just what I am doing by agreeing to join the blogging community of StrongAndFar.com? Joining the realm of the strength athlete is a cross between WonderLand and NeverLand - places where I either don't know all the rules or no rules apply! Not to mention all the characters you will meet along the way.

Caterpillar: Who... are... you?
Alice: Why, I hardly know, sir. I've changed so much since this morning, you see...

Who am I? A mouthy short stack from Texas full of puns and obscure references with a strong desire to be more than I was the day before. Having come late to the athlete party by not showing up until my 30s, and only then as a seriously overweight noob, I am making up for lost time!  


Tripped over highland games by way of the local renaissance faire, and decided it was the thing to do. Bit of training up by the “Old Man of the Mountain” here in Texas, Mark Cooper, and I tried out a few games. A local gamer, with a Cheshire Cat grin, advised me that should I “actually try” I might be “not awful” at highland games. That was my invitation to the Mad Hatter’s tea party that is this sport I love so dear. It was a lot of passed tea cups and move down a seat while the boys showed me the real deal on the games. Four years later, thousands of traveled miles and 80lbs lighter, you get the current incarnation of me. 

Mad Hatter: Why is a raven like a writing desk?
Alice: Riddles? Now let me see... why is a raven like a writing desk?

Riddles, indeed! As the off season for games kicks off it is time to retool the machine, and get things in proper working order for goal setting, both as an athlete and a member of the TCAA (Texas Celtic Athletic Association). This will be the place to see the progress I make aa  thrower, recruiter, coach and host for the highland games. Having earned my stripes with sweat and laughter, this promises to be an adventure through the looking glass. 

http://www.strongandfar.com/brittney-boswell.html

Choices...

Sadly, I am smart enough now to be aware just how much a mess my relationship with food is, and always has been.

At times it is like a separate personality, the foolish defiant teenage angst you should be done with by now, that piece of you that wants instant gratification. The rebellious slice that demands you throw societal convention into the wall and do what you damn well please, they can get bent; you don't need their approval anyway...right? That is the lie we tell while we binge on the foods we know are our personal undoing. Mine? Chips and dip. This little bit of kryptonite should never be allowed within the walls of my Fortress of Solitude.

Food never says no, or talks back, or ignores you, or judges you. This may well be why so many people in this country full of needy, self-indulgent, media addicted, non-communicators are obese and unhealthy. (says the girl blogging about her issues, first world problems, baby) Comfort food, the name says it all, we find our comforts from the familiar tastes that drive sense memory to the past and give us that scrap of nostalgic joy of something not quite remembered. We do this because it is simple, easy, attainable and in lieu of creating new memories full of happiness.

It is looking at what you are "supposed to be" and knowing that is never going to happen that drives so many cars for Big Macs. That defeated sense of why bother, where we forget that perfection differs person to person. Magazines and Hollywood don't hold the keys to good looks (most of the shows I watch are filmed in Montreal, thank you SyFy, but you get my point!) and certainly not to healthy attitudes. I suppose the trick must be finding a way to use an internal sense of self to establish your ideal you, rather than allowing the constant barrage of external sources for Health/Beauty/Value. Neat trick if you can manage it without rolling right back around to the Teenage-Angst-Beast previously discussed.

Realizing, repeatedly, that no amount of exterior help or support can make the choice for you. Knowing that even with all the right tools readily available, you can still opt out on yourself. The golden moments (plural, it will happen over and over) when you recognize your failures, values, strengths and pick your health over all the noise of the blaring world.

Willpower can't be bought or sold or found, only made.

Made through an unending series of choices.

Choose wisely.

Should You Ever Need Us...

The movie Labyrinth is a favorite of mine, full of silliness, muppets, Froud Fairies, fantasy fears and ,most importantly, friendships. Helping, guiding and letting each of the cast of characters grow into who they are meant to be, all in less than two hours! The children of the 80s and their parents can name them for you and quote the lines, or in my house - sing the songs and dance the dances. The one that always sticks with me is when Sarah leaves the Labyrinth with the truest friends she is likely to ever find in her fictional life, and they let her go with the phrase "Should you ever need us."

No matter how many shiney things you trade with Hoggle, that isn't why you are friends.




Friendships cannot be weighed or measured in things or stuff, but in moments and memories. So many of the cliches are true, the best of friends are those with whom you can fall into comfortable silences and pick up conversations as if no time had passed. Where you can simply be at peace, without a need to fill the silences and space. Folks that have held your hand, your hair and your heart at some point in your life, and are always welcome to the extra place at dinner.

There are times when a hug from your Ludo will set the whole world right again, and remind you that you are perfectly capable of dealing with whatever comes.




Not everyone that rolls into your life will be such, we are lucky when we have a handful. Some newer folks in my world have questioned associations of long standing with quizzical faces. The answers are never what they expect, it isn't simple tolerance of quirks and poor habits. It isn't that I don't see them, or get annoyed by them, it is the embracing of those things making my friends who they have ever been. Those cherished folks that have seen me at my worst and still loved me best, who will get to live forever in the clear and get a pass for their foibles. That is what love is - knowing someone, all of them, and wanting them in your life just as they are all the time, because they know you and want you around too, just as you are.

Jareth swathed in tight pants, pretty promises and seeming magic can't hold a candle to the bumbling Sir Didymus on his trusty fluffy steed, Ambrosius.





There will be Labryinths, misleading door knockers,lonesome oubliettes, unhelpful hands, bogs of eternal stench, trixy firey goblins, junk ladies who try to pull you back to the past, and all manner of unmentionable hardship. All of which can be overcome, surmounted, or simply endured with the right friends should you ever need them.

 Just as Sarah said to her Hoggle "I don't know why, but every now and again in my life, for no reason at all, I need you. All of you."  All of you, and a bit of dance magic, dance.

You haven't lived until...

Living in Texas this phrase usually preempts some deeply silly stories, just this once I am ganna break the mold. You haven't lived until you have spent a day coaching the next generation that wants to explore something you are passionate about. Being neither a coach or teacher by trade or training, it is a rare privilege to be allowed the opportunity to be on the other side of this equation. For the second year in a row the Oklahoma Scottish Festival has allowed me to run the juniors division of highland games. This gives me a group of kids ages 7-14 that want to give the games a try, and in some cases they really do give it their all.

Joe giving the breamar stone his first attempt.

The enthusiasm of youth puts a whole new shine on an old routine. Watching up-tilted faces with an earnest desire to learn something they believe you have the keys to is both intimidating and inspiring. From those that are ever ready to do the next toss, to shrinking violets who tuck themselves behind their kilts with shy smiles, these kids will light up your day. Soon enough some of them will be chasing our field records and we will be forced to employ all the tricks we know to keep up. And that is as it should be!

Many thanks to Matt Thompson and all the parents for trusting me with the kids, helps me get my head on straight for the off season and reminds me why we do this.

Photo Credit: Larry Ventress - http://pioneerphotography.photoreflect.com/store/thumbpage.aspx?e=8680061

Want It More

Sorry for the extended radio silence, could give any number of excuses, but that is exactly what they would be.

Today's topic is never an easy one, and with any luck this will be the last time I have to address it from  this particular angle. Precisely how to find a way past the self sabotaging habits and back sliding comforts to be able to move on to the next progression.

Want It More is a phrase I picked up from my throws coach a while back, and now need to implement beyond the trig.

• To want my health more than I want trashy comforting quick fix foods
• To want my fitness more than my ass groove on the sofa
• To want a clean and calming environment more than my over lengthy lazy times
• To want better for myself, my family and my team rather than continuing with the same old routine

The trick to WIM, is finding the drive, the motivators to get from your currently level to the next. For me that means getting past the ideas of being a fat kid, a non-athlete, a not-a-home-maker, a not-a-cook and doing all those things for myself. All the tools are there, and I have the support I need to do all these things. There will be guidance, don't think I could shake my coaches with the help of the Witness Protection Program, but it is well past time for me to WIM. 

Here we go. 

That time of year...

The time has come, when the sweltering heat of summer gives way to the crisp mornings of fall. When the morning's dew on the grass lasts well past the rising of the sun. When the rich greens fade into warm browns, orange and red. 

Autumn is my season. Full of rich foods, warm spiced drinks, hearth smoke, sweaters, tall boots, Friday Night Lights and reasons to snuggle down beneath soft throw blankets and wear fuzzy socks, it draws me home. The first cold snap inevitably brings out all my deeply rooted Southern Girl traits, the desire to bake, write hand written letters and clean everything before decking it out in holiday finery. The entire season is about going below the surface and finding strength, shoring up weak spots and storing what is needed for a later date.

My home and office get decked out just as quick as I can get away with it by social standards. This means Fall decorations can go up in mid September, Halloween on Oct 1st, Thanksgiving on Nov 1st, and Christmas the day after Thanksgiving. Trust that my fingers are itching to toss garlands, floral arrangements, brick-a-brack and holiday trees across every available surface with a maniacal glee. 

The traditional meal of roasted tomato soup and crab meat fritters is shared with friends and family during the Texas State Fair in early October. A simple and deliciously hearty meal done time and again, just once a year and always a treat. 

Holiday cards are nearly always hand written, though there have been a few years when picture cards went out instead. There is something soothing to me about pen to paper, so much more personal than typewritten communication. The feel of good paper-stock and a well crafted pen are tactile pleasures. Knowing that just seeing the colorful envelope mixed in with daily junk-mail and bills will cause the recipient to smile before they even open the card inside makes me smile in turn. 

In the land of personal traditions there are the movies of each season, Harry Potter for October, West Wing in November and Lord of the Rings in December. Movies that have become the sound track of those holidays for me over the years, they play while I decorate and bake, background noise for meal preparations. The stories intertwined with our holiday tales.

Fall is my season, and I am glad it is finally here. 

It can't all be unicorns and rainbows...

This morning our story's hero discovered that some days are not all unicorns and rainbows. On this day she found it was full of trolls and dark forests. Surrounded by doubts in her abilities and fears of failure, the internal struggle for courage to do the right thing was fierce and bloody.

In other words, dear readers, I had a serious case of The Insecure Fat Kid. The phrases of childhood and images of magazines danced in my head, reminding me of all the things I will never be. It became a game of the Why Bothers vs. the Fuck That Noise. Despite all the hard work, the changes to life style, the clear improvements of health and fitness - some days I am still just a fighting to take the first step out the door. It never gets any easier to do these things for myself, there are simply days in which I don't allow myself to think about it before I begin. 

As I so often tell my Sweat Angels, getting your ass off the sofa is the victory, the rest is easy. Once out the door, be it on the road or the mats, that is mindless doing. The choice to begin is hardest. Sleep or workout, give in or get up. This went on for a solid fifteen minutes this morning nearly as long as my morning run route would take to accomplish, before I pulled on my big girl panties and my running shoes. Yep, you heard me, I hauled my cookies outta my comfy spot to do what I like least - run. Not as a punishment, but to remind myself that some day I won't be able to, so it would be foolish to squander the moments when I can. 

My run this morning rewarded me with starlit skies, howling coyotes and the ever elusive friendly neighbor (guy was out watering his lawn and turned his sprinklers off so I could run by without getting soaked or having to get off the sidewalk into the busy street). It was worth doing, it didn't cost me anything but a bit of time, and I will feel better all day for having done it. 

Defeating the Trolls to make a mad dash through the Dark Forest doesn't always yield heroic tales and winning the hand of the maiden fair, but it doesn't mean you shouldn't do it anyway. 

Tomorrow the fight continues. 

Hyacinth Hippo Does Water Ballet

Whilst doing my floundering impression of a half drowning purple clad hippo, in an oxygen deprived moment of clarity I realized, "Here is the one place where nothing else matters. Where the world falls away and all that I need to concern myself with is this moment, this action."

Only this moment...

A beautiful concept; to allow yourself to be fully contained within the single moment in which you currently reside. No desire to reach back or forward, but to simply enjoy the current. To unburden yourself of the pressures of the outside world, real or imagined. To release worry along with anticipation for yourself and those to whom you are irrevocably connected. Simply to do the thing you have committed to for the moment as fully as possible.

Perhaps this epiphany came due to a distinct lack of oxygen, or perhaps due to the sensory deprivation of floating weightless to only the sounds of my own labored breathing. Workout complete, I floated there staring up at the skylights I allowed my mind to wander back and try to remember if I had ever felt that lightness of purpose before. The fog of time seemed to part around other such occasions, both recent and distant, in which that clarity had been present. Each was tied directly to a task that ,at the time, seemed to require my full effort to complete, varied as the tasks were, they had that in common - applied effort and force of will.

In a world full of distractions, multi tasking and instant information, solitude seems to be something I do not allow myself enough of. Truly to focus on a single task without permitting myself to check just one more website, chore, or to reorganize my priorities once more to put that sense of peace off for another day. If I am able seek solitude and solidarity of purpose for those moments of lightness, I might just get lucky and trip over enlightenment.