Out with the old...

Friends, yesterday I had a truly, amazingly, ridiculously awesome experience.  It was a little bit life changing and I can't believe it took me 31 years and 24 days to take the plunge.

I had my first professional massage.

Oooooohmygod. 

I've been more sore than usual this week, probably a combo of lifting increasingly more weight in my WODs and irritating my back a little bit with max dead lifts on Wednesday.  After yesterday morning's burpee-fest at the box (who the hell invented the inverted burpee and what in the name of God were they thinking?!  And Korri, I love you... but I did NOT love your birthday burpees!), I was seriously struggling.  My whole back felt tight, my quads were aching, and my whole upper body was sore from 3-rep max push presses this morning (another PR for me... BOOM!)... I was hurtin', to say the least.  Normally I love this pain, as I mentioned in my last post.  But yesterday's soreness was beyond the norm, and I knew if I didn't get my muscles to stop hating me, there was no way I'd be able to WOD this morning.  And nothing makes me crankier than missing a Friday WOD.

I've been thinking of getting a massage for a month or so now, but hadn't found the time or inclination to actually go through with it.  Yesterday, in the middle of 4 glorious days off from work, I had the time.  And more than enough inclination.  So I called Osiris Wellness and Day Spa in Evans City.  This place came highly recommended by several friends, and while I knew it would be cheaper to go to one of the chain massage joints in Cranberry, I figured I might as well go all out and fully embrace the foreign world known as "the spa experience."  So on a whim, I called to make an appointment, and they had an opening for that very afternoon.  Score!

The two hours I spent at Osiris so far exceeded my expectations that they almost had to drag me out the door.  First, I was given a super fluffy robe and a tour of the facility (which, PS, is beautiful)... then I was escorted the the Amenities Room, where I was greeted by the cold day trifecta of a sauna, steam room, and hot tub.  I spent a solid 40 minutes rotating between the three until I was pretty sure my flesh was on the verge of melting off, at which time I was offered a snack and a beverage and sent to the Meditation Room.  There, I lounged around in the world's comfiest chaise-chair-thingy, listening to soothing music and embracing a few rare moments of nothingness in my usually hectic existence.  By the end of the first hour, I already felt less sore, and more relaxed than I've felt in months.

Then came the main event.  For one glorious hour, I experienced my first ever deep tissue Swedish massage.  And it... was... GLORIOUS.  I can't even describe it.  Those of you who have had massages will understand, and those who haven't need to go get one RIGHT NOW, because it is pretty much like Christmas, my birthday, and Halloween all rolled into one.  By the end of the hour, I had been reduced to a puddle of tingly gratitude.  My muscles literally felt like liquid.  Those post-WOD aches and pains?  GONE.  Vanished into thin air at the skilled hands of my massage therapist/new favorite person ever.  She was able to find all of my most painful spots without any direction and worked her magic until they felt good as new again.  By the time she was done, I wanted to hug her.  But I figured she would probably be more appreciative if I demonstrated my gratitude in monetary form.  So instead of an awkward stranger-hug, I gave her a big fat tip, paid for my massage (which was surprisingly reasonable, considering how freaking MAGICAL it was), and reluctantly returned my fluffy robe before practically skipping to my car, feeling like a whole new person.  I felt amazing, pain-free, rejuvenated, and ready to kick some ass at the box the next day.

Why am I rambling about a Swedish massage on my fitness/weight loss blog, you ask?  Because this wasn't just a massage, my friends... it was a huge step towards shedding the "fat girl" image I've been struggling with since my weight loss.  For the first 30 years of my life, I refused to even entertain the idea of getting a professional massage for one simple reason: I was too self-conscious about my body.  The idea of gettin' nekid in front of a complete stranger, even while draped, was pretty much the most horrifying prospect on the planet.  As much as I wished I could enjoy the spa days that my friends used to plan, it just wasn't an option for me.  I'd filed the idea under "Stuff I'm Too Fat To Do", and jammed the folder into the back of my mental file cabinet to be forgotten.

I really never realized how much that folder was overflowing until I finally started pulling things out of it and moving them one by one to the "Stuff I Can FINALLY Do" file.  There were so many simple every day things that I couldn't or wouldn't do... things that people who have never been overweight take for granted, but that always made me feel like I was missing out on life somehow.  Sometimes little things, when made unattainable, become big things. 

I never went shopping for clothes with my friends, because I was too embarrassed to drag their skinny asses into the plus size department to help me pick out my fat girl clothes.  I desperately wanted to bring my bridesmaids along with me to try on wedding dresses, because I wanted it to be a fun and special day with my closest friends; instead, I went wedding dress shopping with my mother, because I didn't want my friends to see how difficult it might be to find sample dresses that I could fit into.  I ended up trying on exactly two dresses, and buying the first one that fit because I didn't want to spend any more time in front of the mirror.  Fat girls don't always get to find the dream dress... sometimes, they get whatever fits.

Two years ago, I bought a house with an in ground swimming pool, because I had visions of epic pool parties and lazy days spent with friends drinking mojitos and soaking up sunshine.  One problem: I wouldn't be caught dead in front of most of my friends in swimwear.  So far, I've pretty much only enjoyed my swimming pool alone or with my husband, and only when the neighbors aren't outside to see.  Even in my own back yard, I used to let my self-consciousness govern my life.

Beach vacations?  No tan for me.  I was constantly covering up my unflattering one-piece with sweat pants and a t-shirt.

For the last ten years, the only shorts I owned were the ones I slept in.  I wore jeans year round, because I hated my chubby, stubby legs.

When I went to playgrounds with my friends' kids, I was always scared to get on the swings because I was worried that they wouldn't hold my weight.  Same deal with hammocks, porch swings, and folding chairs.  If it didn't look sturdy, I wasn't sitting on it.

You know how, when you're getting on a plane/train/bus, you take a moment to pray to the travel gods that you aren't stuck next to a fat person who is going to squish you against the window?  Okay.  Now, imagine being that fat person, and knowing that it doesn't matter who's sitting next to you, because you're going to be smashed into your too-small seat like an overstuffed sausage no matter what.  Travel was downright miserable for me.

Same goes for sporting events.  I would spend endless time (and money) in a search for aisle seats at Heinz Field and Lane Stadium, because I felt so bad about my friends having to deal with me infringing on their Terrible Towel-waving/Hokie Pokey-ing space.

I never thought I would be able to sky dive, or play on a zip line, or shadow a flight nurse on the chopper, because all of those things have weight limits.  I never thought I'd feel comfortable enough in my body to wear cute sundresses, pull off all the fun trends my friends were wearing, or go to try on clothes in front of anyone but my husband.  I never thought I'd be confident enough in my physical abilities to join in on the annual softball game at the ER summer picnic, join my friends on skiing or hiking trips, or run in a group where other people could see how slow and out of shape I was.

So many nevers.

Fast forward to today.  I'm not scared of airplane seats or swing sets anymore.  I'd rather be on the 50 yard line than in an aisle seat.  I'm counting the days until summer so I can finally throw that epic pool party at my house and soak up as much sun as possible, neighbors be damned.  I wear shorts as often as I can because I am in love with my legs... in fact, they are currently my favorite body part.  I can shop anywhere I want (or I could, if I hadn't adopted the habit of blowing all of my expendable income on workout clothes and running shoes), and although I still loathe the mall, shopping is way less miserable with friends.  Skydiving and ziplining are both on my 2013 bucket list.  And yesterday, I got ass naked in front of a complete stranger and enjoyed my first ever deep tissue Swedish massage.

Every time I turn a "never" into a "now", I take one step closer to shedding my fat girl self-image and fully embracing the new me.  Of course, there are still things I don't feel comfortable doing; I'm not confident enough to rock a bikini or work out in the cute little booty shorts that some of my skinnier boxmates wear.  But I've come a long way.  And most of the items left in my "never" file are slowly filtering into the "maybe someday" file.

Lately, I've been seeing commercials for some weight loss program where a skinny person is having a conversation with his/her formerly fat self.  Despite how ridiculous and creepy these ads are, they got me to thinking today... if I could go back in time five years and talk to my former fat self, what would I tell her?  Would I tell her to not be so afraid?  Would I tell her to never say never; that she's capable of so much more than she can possibly imagine?  Or would I tell her to lay off the pizza and cookies and eat some damn vegetables, so that she might never have gotten so fat in the first place?

I'm not proud of my past... in fact, I'm downright embarrassed by parts of it.  But I don't regret any of it.  I am the happiest I've ever been in my life, and I'm so proud of all that I have accomplished.  But I wouldn't be who I am without the mistakes of my past, and I honestly don't think I would fully appreciate those accomplishments if I hadn't had to work so hard for them.  Does that make sense?  If I'd never been fat, I wouldn't be able to appreciate how awesome it feels to be healthy.  If I hadn't struggled with depression and low self-esteem for most of my life, it would be so easy to take for granted the happiness and confidence that I feel today.  If I hadn't been so scared for so long, I might never have known how life-changing and empowering it is to face those fears head on and beat them.  How could I ever truly, fully appreciate the good without first experiencing the bad?

So I think, if I could go back in time five years and talk with my former self, I would just smile and tell her to carry on.  I wouldn't tell her to change a thing.  Because every struggle, every mistake, every terrible decision I ever made or misstep I ever took, has led me to where I am right now.  And I'm telling you, it's a pretty badass place to be.  I wouldn't trade who I am or how I feel today for the world, and I wouldn't change one single step of the path I took to get here.  I have no regrets.

Well, maybe I kind of regret not getting a deep tissue Swedish massage a little earlier in life, because that shit is awesome.  But that's pretty much it.

In other news... it was another brutal Friday at the box.  The fine folks at CrossFit TPA decided that this lovely little workout would be a nice TGIF gift to us:

For those of you who are not CrossFitters, KBS = kettlebell swings (fairly self-explanatory), and SDHP = sumo dead lift high pull, which I can only really describe as a totally ridiculous-looking exercise in which you squat like a sumo wrestler, touch the kettlebell to the ground, and then pull it up in front of your face with an awkward high-elbow movement.  The prescribed weight for females was 35lb, and although I had very little confidence in my ability to swing the "big girl" KB that many times, I decided to give it a shot.  (And if any of you are thinking, "35 pounds?  That's nothing!"... I invite you to join me at the box and give this WOD a try.  35 pounds starts to feel really effing heavy after that first round of 80 swings.)  It took me forever, and as usual, I was the last person to finish.  But I stuck with my 35lb kettlebell for every last rep, no matter how badly I wanted my trusty old 26-pounder back, and I RX'ed this evil bitch of a WOD.  It was miserable and horrible and I hated/loved every second of it.  I even stayed afterwards to work on my pull ups, and made more progress using the green band.  It was a painful but awesome morning.

This morning's suffer-fest was a fitting wrap up to what ended up being a banner week at the box.  For the first time ever, I completed all five WODs this week with the prescribed weight.  (One day I even used more than the prescribed weight because I'm an idiot and didn't read the board properly... and then wondered why I was a hot strugglin' mess.  Oops.)  In addition to my first RXed weight week, I also hit new PRs on bench press, push press, and 3-rep max dead lifts.  Throw in a major and long-awaited breakthrough on pull ups, and you have a pretty respectable week with a relatively low suck factor.  Overall, I'm a pretty damn happy girl today.  Sadly, the awesome effects of yesterday's massage were essentially obliterated by this morning's brutality, and I think I'm close to getting smacked in the face by the Take A Damn Rest Day Wall again... but somehow, I've never felt better.  Bring on Primal Mayhem tomorrow!

I will close out this post with a little recruitment action.  A friend of mine brought THIS to my attention... the Ragnar Racing Series is hitting the trails!!!  While the Napa Valley Ragnar is still on my bucket list, I am WAY more excited about a trail relay!  Trail running is the only kind of running that I truly, legitimately enjoy.  Throw in camping, s'mores, and a weekend in the stunning mountains of Appalachia with seven friends... what could be better?  Since the Oyster Race is not coming back to Pittsburgh this year (which you will hear me cry about in a future post, because I am downright distraught about it), my June calendar was wide open for a Scared Shitless adventure.  Sooo... on June 7th and 8th, I will be in West Virginia, camping under the stars and covering 15 or so of 120 total miles of incredible trails as part of a team of 8.  And I couldn't possibly be more excited about it.

Only... I don't really have a team of 8 yet.  That's where you come in.

So far, I have two definites, two probables, and a handful of maybes.  I plan on registering a team over the next week or so, so check your calenders, check your inhibitions at the door, and join my Ragnar Trail Relay team!!!  (If we have enough interest, we could even split into a fast team and a slow team... but I'd be happy with eight.)  For more information, check out the website:

http://www.ragnartrail.com/

It's the Appalachian race in WV in June.  Get back to me ASAP so we can make this happen. :-D