Bitches.

Friends, I've had a crap week.

I'm not going to go into details, because I want to keep this blog positive, but suffice it to say that it was just an all-around lousy week.  The crappiness was largely of my own doing, but with significant contribution from misplaced trust in some shady individuals.  Perhaps it was just bad timing, but I found out this week that multiple people, from various aspects of my life, have had some less than flattering things to say about me lately.  After last week's epic life milestone, I should have expected them, but they still caught me off guard: shit-talkers.  En mass.  Usually this wouldn't bother me... but some of these folks are people I considered to be good friends, and it was kind of a kick in the ass to find out that people who I thought had my back were actually sticking a knife in it.

I've been so focused on CrossFit, and so immersed in life at the box surrounded by amazingly positive and supportive people, that I somehow lost track of one of the fundamental truths of life outside the box:

Women are bitches.

Obviously, there are exceptions.  But in general, the female race is predisposed to be judgemental, critical, petty, catty, and downright mean.  I've met some truly incredible women this year who have inspired me to be a more positive and less bitchy person... but for every one of those amazing women, I know several less awesome ones who will be your best friend one minute and say horrible things about you the next.  I'd like to think that these evil estrogen-driven tendencies fade with age, but despite being in my 30's, I still sometimes feel like I'm back in high school, surrounded by ridiculous drama and people who would be far better served by minding their own damn business.

This week has been a somewhat depressing reminder of how bitchy women can really be.  Perhaps I was being naive in assuming that all of the people I consider friends would be supportive of my recent life changes.  Perhaps there is some jealousy, or some resentment at my changing priorities, or some negative reactions to all of the positive attention I've been receiving.  Perhaps my passion for my new lifestyle is off-putting to people who don't understand it.  Or perhaps I really have changed so much over the past year that I've somehow become less likable to some people.  Maybe it's easier for women to like insecure people who make them feel better about their own insecurities, and maybe my new-found confidence has rubbed people the wrong way.  I don't know.  But whatever the case, there have been some pretty malicious things said about me recently that I simply didn't see coming.  And it kinda sucks.

So in the midst of a week overrun by bitchiness, it was only fitting that Thursday would bring a run-in with the biggest bitch of all:  FRAN.

For those of you who are not CrossFitters, there are a number of benchmark WODs known as "the girls".  They are named after women, and each one features different skills and strengths.  Some are long and painful, some are quick and brutal.  But they have one thing in common: they are all EVIL.  Angie, Barbara, Cindy, Karen, Nancy... I've had miserable run-ins with all of these bitches over the past 6 months.  But none of those skanks have anything on Fran.

Fran is 21-15-9 reps of thrusters and pull ups, with a prescribed weight of 95 pounds for men/65 pounds for women.  Doesn't sound so bad, you say?  Try it, and and then let's talk.  Fran was one of the first workouts I ever attempted back at the beginning of my CrossFit adventures, and it was an unmitigated disaster.  I was using a whopping 35lbs for my thrusters, had a whole rainbow of bands on my pull up bar, and was absolutely terrified before the timer even started.  As it turned out, I had good reason to be scared.  Fran beat the shit out of me.  My thrusters were embarrassingly ugly, there weren't enough bands in the world to get me through that first round of pull ups, and the crowning moment of mortification came when I exhibited a spectacular wipe-out off of the pull up bar.  I was still finishing my 21-round while Matt was putting his bar away, which made the whole thing even more horrifying.  I'm pretty sure my 15-round was closer to a 10-round because I lost count while focusing on not bursting into tears like a frustrated child, and that last round of 9 was just plain ugly.  14-plus minutes later, I was lying on the ground, gasping for air, arms burning, and bruises already popping up from where I'd impaled my spine and left buttcheek on a wooden box when I wiped out.  And as I deliriously stumbled through the next workout (because Hell will freeze over before TPA athletes get to call it a day after one 10-minute WOD, even if that WOD is a life-sucking bitch), the only good thing I could say about Fran was that I wouldn't have to see her for awhile.  I hated Fran.  Hated her.  I.  Effing.  HATED.  FRAN.  Good riddance, whorebag.

But in the following months, as I worked to improve my form and strength on thrusters and fought through my never-ending (and eternally losing) battle with my nemesis the pull up, that heinous wench was always in the back of my mind, laughing at my struggles and menacingly reminding me that she would someday be back to make my life hell.

So when I walked into the box on Thursday morning, physically and mentally exhausted from three horrendously stressful consecutive night shifts and emotionally drained from all of the nonsense the week had heaped on me, this was not the greeting I'd hoped for:

There she was... the evil whore of my nightmares, wreathed in ironic hearts and mocking my weary soul.  I literally almost cried.  I assessed the situation to see if I could sneak out unnoticed, but Tammy had already spotted me at that point.  Too slow.  I then briefly considered inventing an injury on the spot, but since I am a terrible liar, I knew that would fail epically.  In a moment of desperation, I considered running out to 528 and hurling myself into traffic to sustain a legit injury, but even in my fragile emotional state, that seemed a bit drastic.  There was no way out... I had no choice but to go through with the WOD.  It was time to face Fran: Round 2.

It was a small group that morning: just me, Amy, and Jen.  As I made my way through the warm-up with a steadily increasing sense of foreboding, I thought about Fran, and about why she scared me so much.  Was it the pull ups, and my frustration at not mastering them yet?  Doubtful.  There are pull ups in most of our WODs and it normally doesn't bother me.  Could it be the fear of humiliating myself?  Also doubtful... Amy and Jen are two of my all-time favorite TPA-ers and I know they would never laugh at me (out loud, at least); and besides, nothing could possibly be more mortifying than Fran: Round 1.  Maybe because it's a benchmark WOD and I will forever be comparing my dismal Fran time with every other CrossFitter on the planet?  Maybe, but I pretty much suck at all of the benchmark WODs, and none of them get to me the way Fran does.

Then it hit me... Fran is the ultimate bitch.  She's the mean girl who made your life miserable in high school.  On the surface, she's welcoming and harmless.  21-15-9?  10 minutes or less?  Awesome.  I can totally handle that.  Then, once she's lured you in with her inviting exterior, she goes for the kill.  She targets your deepest, darkest insecurities (in my case, speed and upper body strength... I don't have them), puts them on display for the world to see, and kicks up her feet with a tall glass of Haterade to watch you suffer.  Fran just can't wait to tell you that you're not strong enough, fast enough, or good enough.  Fran's sole joy in life is watching you fail.  Fran wants you, and the rest of the world, to know just how badly you suck.  Fran, my friends, is a BITCH.

A bitch I was about to face head-on, whether I liked it or not.

(Just to clarify... NOT.)

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized... sometimes in life, you're going to have to deal with bitches.  They're always going to be around, waiting in the wings to smirk at your weaknesses and kick you while you're down.  The sad truth is, for every person in the world who is cheering for you to succeed, there's probably another person out there just dying to see you fail.  It's not a happy thought, but it's life.  People can be nasty.  Not everyone is going to be on your team.  You can try to hide from life's uglier side, but let's face it... it's not always going to be rainbows and unicorns.  Maybe sometimes you just have to man up, square your shoulders, and face the ugliness.  Maybe sometimes you have to stand up for yourself and refuse to back down.  Maybe sometimes, the only way to win against a bitch is to refuse to quit, no matter what they throw at you or how shitty they make you feel.

Maybe the only way to deal with someone who wants to see you fail, is to refuse to give them the satisfaction.  Refuse to fail.  Succeed.

As I finished my warm-up and began setting up for the face-off, I promised myself that today would be the day that I stopped being afraid of Fran.  Today, I would refuse to fail.  I may not succeed, by most standards, but I was not going to give up.  I was not going to let myself be bullied by a snarky bitch with a stupid name.  Not today.

This is the part of the blog post where I'd really like to tell you that I destroyed Fran in epic fashion, magically got my pull ups band-free, clocked a time that would have impressed even the bitchiest of bitches, and received a standing ovation from a crowd of astonished onlookers.  But since this is my life and not a John Hughes movie, that totally didn't happen.  I still needed a green band, my pull ups were still dismal, it still took me more than 10 minutes, and I still came dangerously close to dying afterwards.  But I finished.  I did all 45 thrusters and 45 pull ups... maybe not well, but I did them.  I used the prescribed 65 pounds, and for the most part I think I maintained decent form for my thrusters.  I didn't fall off the pull up bar.  And I didn't quit.  It wasn't good, by any stretch of the imagination.  But it was better.  And in some small way, that was a rather Molly Ringwald-esque victory in and of itself.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't an earth-shattering win worthy of cinematic glory, but I like to think that Fran and I came to a sort of understanding that day.  She still thinks I'm weak and slow, and I still think she's a raging bitch.  But I gained a grudging respect for her despite all of her evil.  And I think I showed her that, while I might not be strong enough or fast enough or good enough yet, I will be, someday.  And I'm not going to stop until I get there.

Despite what most would consider a sub par performance, I left the box on Thursday feeling good about life for the first time all week.  I was finally able to let the hurt and anger from the recent nastiness roll off my back with all of my Fran-induced sweat, and left it on the mats.  There will always be bitter, insecure people out there trying to drag other people down... but it's my choice whether or not I let them.  I can't control how other people treat me, but I can control my reaction to them.  I can surround myself with positive people who understand and support my goals.  When faced with negative energy, I can use it as fuel and motivation.  I can refuse to fail.  And if I can face Fran, the world's most vicious bitch, and come out alive, you better believe that I can handle all of the bitchy Fran wannabes in my life.

With all of the negativity aside, a lot of good things happened this week.  Last Saturday, I ran my first 10K, and was quite happy with a finish time of 1:00:47.  I know it isn't exactly blazing, but it was significantly faster than my average race pace, I had a negative split, and the distance didn't feel as difficult as I thought it would.  Overall, I was quite pleased.  On Monday, I added 20 pounds to my front squat max for a new PR of 185.  Yesterday, I made progress on my push jerks and Rx'ed a killer WOD.  And today, I thoroughly enjoyed a gloriously brutal morning at Primal Mayhem with a badass partner and the most awesome group of people a girl could ever ask for.  I absolutely love Saturday mornings at the box, because I get to work out with all of the people I don't get to see during the week.  It is literally impossible to be in a bad mood when you are surrounded by these folks:

Greatest people on the planet. :-)

Lots of good things (and a few scary ones) are coming up in Emily Land.  Tomorrow, Salt has invited TPA and a few other local boxes to meet at the studio for a hot yoga session.  I'm looking forward to sweating it out in a totally different atmosphere with some of my favorite people.  (Although I imagine Tammy is going to need a day off from me pretty soon... tomorrow, I will have officially seen her more days this week than I saw my husband.)  Next Saturday is the Spring Thaw 10-miler at North Park, which is my official Scared Shitless activity for the month of February.  I have never run 10 miles before, and I'm not entirely sure how that's going to go.  But you never know until you try, right?  I'll keep you all posted.

Until next time... keep it positive, be good to each other, and don't let the bitches bring you down. :-)

Happy (Re)birthday to Me!

Today is February 8th.

It was exactly one year ago today that I cleared out my pantry, had an earth-shattering date with a scale, bought a pair of running shoes, and took off on the craziest, most challenging, most rewarding journey of my life.

365 days ago, I weighed 279 pounds and wore a size 26 pants/2XL shirts.  My diet consisted of the four major food groups: cheese, sugar, vodka, and Sheetz MTO.  My idea of exercise was taking the dogs for a walk, and I avoided even that as often as possible.  The only lifting I'd ever done involved wine glasses... I had the lift-lower-repeat motion down to an art.  Running?  Not unless someone was chasing me with a chainsaw.  My BMI and cholesterol were through the roof, but my self-esteem was beyond low.  My life had essentially stalled out on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere... I was stagnant, with no direction and no ambition, stuck between a past I couldn't get back and a future that terrified the crap out of me.  No matter how hard I tried to tell myself that I was content with mediocrity, I couldn't ignore the cold hard truth: I was unhealthy, unhappy, scared, and completely lost.

Me at my heaviest, January 2012

Fast forward to today.  I weigh 160 pounds and wear size 8 pants/medium shirts.  I obsessively follow a clean, borderline-Paleo diet.  I exercise pretty much every day, sometimes two or three times a day.  I have a 250lb dead lift and a 205lb back squat.  I'm training for a half marathon and a Tough Mudder.  I feel the best I've ever felt, both mentally and physically.  I'm happy, healthy, and I know who I am now.  And I'm not so scared anymore.  In fact, I feel like I could take on the world right now and come out on top.

Down 80lbs, September 2012

Down 100lbs, December 2012

And today.  February 8th, 2013.  Down 119 and counting.

It's amazing what a year can do.

This has been an incredibly emotional day for me, as I think back on the past year.  I think the magnitude of everything that's happened this year is finally really sinking in, and I wish there were words for how I'm feeling right now, because it's pretty freaking incredible.

I did it.  I set out to lose weight, get healthy, and change my life.  I did all of those things, and so, so much more.  I DID IT.  Holy crap.

But you know what?  I sure as hell didn't do it alone.

As I type this, overwhelmed by so many emotions, the one that stands out the most is gratitude.  So many people have walked, run, and burpeed alongside me throughout this journey, carrying me when I was too tired or discouraged to carry myself, cheering me on when I needed a boost, and just plain being there so I never felt like I was going it alone.  So many of you have changed my life for the better in so many countless ways, and I don't know that I've ever really thanked you for it.  So that is the primary purpose of this post: to say thank you.  Sorry, this is a long and cheesy one, and many will probably find it boring.  But it needs to be said.



For starters, I want to thank my husband, Jim: the kindest, most genuine, most unwaveringly supportive man I've ever met.  When people ask Jim how he feels about my new body, he smiles and tells them, "I've always thought she was beautiful."  Coming from anyone else, it sounds like a cheesy line... but if you know Jim, you know he actually means it.  He loved me at my very worst, and has been by my side through every step of this journey towards becoming my best.  He has been so incredible over the past year: abandoning his love of all things pasta to cook Paleo meals, never complaining when I neglect him to spend time exercising, and not once batting an eye at the time and money I've put into this new lifestyle.  He tolerates my constant stream of CrossFit-related babble, even though he usually has no idea what I'm talking about, and has even learned to tell exactly where to place my post-WOD ice packs based on which lift or movement I'm bitching about that day.  He washes my stinky gym clothes when I'm too exhausted to peel myself off of the couch to do my own laundry.  He never holds it against me when I'm a cranky bitch after a lousy WOD puts me in a funk.  For Christmas, he went all out and bought me a basement full of fitness equipment, the Reebok Nanos I'd had my eye on, and a ton of new workout clothes.  He'll work a 14-hour day, come home to an empty house or an exhausted passed-out wife, sleep for a few hours, and still set his alarm early enough to make me my pre-WOD protein shake on his morning off.  He tells me every day how proud he is of me, and how glad he is that I'm happy.  And the truth is, that's all he's ever wanted for me, even when I didn't care enough to want it for myself.  Jimmy, I don't even know how to begin to thank you.  Without your unconditional love and support, none of this would have been possible.  Thank you for sticking by the person I used to be, for loving the person I am, and for believing in the person I'm trying to be.  Thank you for being the one constant in a year of whirlwind change.  Thank you for everything you've sacrificed to allow me to chase my dreams, and for always believing in my ability to make those dreams come true, even when I didn't quite believe it myself.  I don't know what I did to deserve you... but I promise to spend the rest of our lives trying to make it up to you.  I love you, and I'm so ridiculously lucky to have you as my other half.

To my best friend since 6th grade, Ericka... I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have survived the past two decades or so without you.  You have truly been the most amazing friend a girl could ask for.  In a harsh, critical world, you are one of the few people who never judged me, and who stuck by my side no matter how stupid I acted or how many terrible decisions I made.  (Big P?  Anyone?)  You have been there through thick and thin (literally) for longer than pretty much anyone else in my life, and I know that you'll always be there, whether I ever get a pull up or not.  I miss you every day, but with each big accomplishment or small victory I achieve, I always think of you, and of how far we've come from our days of skipping class to go to West End and bringing premixed cocktails to our Friday afternoon classes in 20oz Coke bottles.  (We were so clever...)  Thanks for being my BFF through all of the changes.  This world is unpredictable, but there is one thing of which I am absolutely certain: if and when I ever allow myself to eat pizza again, it will be from Anthony's, and I will be eating it with you. And if there just so happens to be a Dawson's Creek Marathon occurring while we eat said pizza, then that would be okay too.

To my dear friend Alexis Layne... thank you for being the kind of friend who never cared that I was fat, or crazy, or had a tendency to drink way too much and behave badly.  The last 5 years have been a roller coaster ride for me, and I think it might have derailed entirely without you around to keep me on track.  Thank you for wine therapy, for your brutal honesty, for essentially planning my wedding for me, and, above all, for dragging me kicking and screaming into the crazy world of CrossFit.  I owe so much of this transformation to CrossFit, and I owe my love of CrossFit to you.  Thank you for being excited about my PRs despite the fact that your numbers make my numbers look downright pathetic.  Thank you for helping me with my lifts when I was scared shitless before my first big girl WOD.  Thank you for always looking out for me, and for your endless crusade to teach me the difference between ambition and recklessness.  (I know it seems like a lost cause, but I swear I'll figure it out eventually!)  When I look back on where we were five years ago, it seems amazing that we both made it to this point with lives (and livers) intact... I'm so proud of the changes we've made, the lives we've built, and the challenges we've overcome.  I can't wait to see what the world has in store for us next.  And I absolutely insist that, on your wedding day, we get at least one professional picture of you, me, Laura, and Natalie flexing our CrossFit guns. :-)

To the lovely Lynn Hootman... I'm fairly convinced that we are sisters separated at birth.  Our stories have so many parallels, and I'm so glad our paths finally crossed at the Walnut Grove all those years ago.  Thank you for being a constant source of support and positivity throughout this journey.  Thanks for helping me come up with the Twelve Months of Scared Shitless concept, and for being game for all of the craziness we have planned for the upcoming months.  Thanks for being insane enough to jump into a partially frozen creek with me on New Year's Day.  Thanks for dragging me along to hot yoga (who would have thought that I'd like it so much?), and for letting me drag you along to CrossFit (don't worry, the box will still be there when your work schedule calms down).  Thanks for never failing to make me smile, no matter how foul a mood I'm in.  Sometimes I think back to our, ahem, rowdier days, and I'm amazed by how much we have grown and changed.  I'm lucky to have had you by my side through all of it.  We have so many exciting adventures coming up, and I couldn't ask for a better friend to have along for the ride.  I look forward to being scared shitless with you for many months to come!

To my original running buddies, Jess, Mary, and Alanna: thank you for inspiring me to hit the pavement, which really was my first step in this journey.  Thanks for all of the advice and encouragement you gave me when I was starting out, for running 5Ks with me and not minding that I was obnoxiously slow, for being the fellow founding members of the original Team Badass, and for inspiring me with your ambitious goals.  Watching Jess train for her half marathon and listening to Alanna speak so enthusiastically about her long, scary trail races pushed me to set bigger goals for myself.  And while I will probably be cursing you both come May 5th, I know that I will thank you for it someday.  The first steps in any journey are always the hardest... thank you, girls, for taking those steps with me.  I say we reunite for the Shamrock Shuffle and celebrate the one-year anniversary of my first ever race... I promise it won't take me so long this time around. ;-)

To my badass coworkers: thanks for being so awesome.  Thanks for all of the times you've come in early, stayed late, or switched shifts with me so that I could make it to my various workouts on time.  Thanks for always pointing out when my scrub size crossed the line from a little baggy to just plain ridiculous.  Thanks for making an effort to bring in healthy snacks every now and then, and for refraining from eating pizza too close to me at the beginning when I was suffering withdrawal symptoms.  Thanks for putting up with me being a walking zombie some nights when I've done too much WODing and not enough sleeping to the point where my brain can barely function.  Working 12-hour night shifts is not particularly conducive to starting or maintaining a fitness journey, but you all helped to make it possible.  Your understanding and support have been priceless, and have not gone unnoticed or unappreciated.  I don't say it enough, so I'm saying it now... thanks.  For all of it.

To my VT Equestrians: Britters, Blair, Mara, Alicia, Duda, Katie, Michelle, and Dory... thank you for being my family through four years of college, and for continuing to be an irreplaceable part of my life, no matter how long we go without seeing eachother.  You ladies gave me my first taste of what it felt like to be part of a team, and I've missed that feeling so much since graduation.  I think it was that void in my life that made CrossFit so appealing, and any time we're doing a team WOD, I always think of my DTAs and what an awesome team we made.  Now that we're spread out all over the country, I don't get to see you or speak to you all as much as I'd like.  But every encouraging text, email, and Facebook comment you've sent me over the past year has put the biggest smile on my face and motivated me to work even harder.  Thank you for cheering me on from afar.  And please know that, regardless of time and distance, you will always be family to me.

To Ariel Lotz, an old friend and riding instructor who I haven't seen in at least a decade, but who has adopted the role of long-distance cheerleader and general advice-giver since I began my quest for badassness.  From sponsoring our team for the Oyster Race (twice!), to your seemingly endless (and MUCHLY appreciated) knowledge of all things athletic, to your often humorous but always helpful comments on my blog posts, I can always count on you to be the first to offer a word of advice or encouragement when I need it.  Thanks for being on Team Emily.  Next up: I need to come visit so you can teach me how to swim. :-)

To Katie Boyer, for taking such AMAZING care of my horse for me through this whirlwind year of too-much-to-do-and-not-enough-hours-in-a-day insanity.  Knowing that my beloved Paintylou is in such capable hands has been a huge contributor in allowing me the time and peace of mind to pursue my dreams this year.  I wouldn't trust him with anyone else in the world, and he and I are both lucky to have you in our lives.

To Shelly Orsini, who has amazed me by taking on her own CrossFit journey while juggling single motherhood and nursing school hell... thank you for reminding me that, no matter what life throws at us, we can always find a way to rise above and fight for what we want.  I've been so inspired by your efforts, and I hope you will continue to share your journey with me as you become Pittsburgh's newest CrossFitting badass.

To Jenn Wohlgamuth, my footwear fairy godmother and a constant source of inspiration for me... thank you for everything you've taught me, both about running and about life.  Thank you for that first pair of Brooks, and for every pair of shoes in between; they have carried me places I never knew I could go.  Thank you for creating such an amazing community at Mojo, where crazy runners can be surrounded by other crazy runners and not feel so crazy.  Thanks for sharing your story with me, and for becoming such an important part of my own story.  Your strength, wisdom, and determination to succeed make you an incredible role model, and the things you do for our community are just fantastic.  Thanks for being an all-around badass.  And above all, thanks for reminding me to make lemonade... or, at the very least, a stiff lemondrop martini.

To the athletes at CrossFit TPA... honestly, there aren't even words.  Thank you, all of you, for taking me under your collective wing, for welcoming me into your family, and for inspiring me in so many countless ways over the past six months.  Thank you for taking a terrifying experience and turning it into the thing I love most.  Thank you for making me laugh, for cheering me on, and for pushing me to be my best. 

To my 8:30 crew: you people are amazing.  You took on the chubby new girl and welcomed her warmly and without judgement.  You have driven, encouraged, and inspired me in far too many ways to list, but I'm going to give it a try anyways.

Toni and Amy, thank you for your endless enthusiasm, your constant encouragement, and for cheering me through a million tough WODs since day one.  You two, especially, made me feel comfortable and at home at the box from the very beginning, and I can't thank you enough for all the ways you've helped me along the way.  You are both strong, beautiful badasses, and it is an honor to work out with you.  Watching you give every WOD everything you've got has pushed me to work harder every day.

Matt, thanks for all the times you've talked me through the end of a horrible WOD that I didn't think I'd be able to finish... we miss you at 8:30!  Still doesn't quite feel like a WOD without a high-five from Matt at the end.

Filippo, thanks for giving me someone to bitch with, and for always making me laugh... watching you improve and get stronger since you joined the box has been so cool, and drives me to work harder myself.  I hope you kick ass at RAW tonight!!!

Maureen, thanks for the constant comic relief... I can't even be mad about burpees when you're around because I'm too busy laughing my ass off.  And your meaty calf boot tutorial was totally life-changing.  Patent that shit.

Thank you Gabe for always having good advice, and Korri for always having a positive attitude and a word of encouragement... you are both so much fun to work out with, and your kids are lucky to have such awesome parents. 

Thank you Laura, Pam, and Kris, for all of your kindness, and for inspiring me to keep running even when I'd rather be at the box... your amazing accomplishments make me want to set loftier goals for myself, and you've inspired me to put Ragnar among those goals, so thanks for that. 

Thank you Jen Fessler for being the most outrageously encouraging person ever.  You've talked me through so many of my biggest PRs and given me so much incredible advice.  Your strength makes you badass, but your strength of character is even more impressive. 

Thanks to Heidi Keefer for being so awesome... I don't know if I've ever told you this, but watching you fight through that second WOD at Fall Brawl was what pushed me to dive in head-first at the box, and I'm eternally thankful for that push. 

Thank you Julie Forde, for becoming my favorite Mayhem partner and for sharing your story with me.  I never in a million years would have guessed that your journey was so similar to my own, and seeing you kicking ass at the box gives me hope and motivation. 

To the badasses in the 5:30 crew, especially Jeannie, Tiffany, Jess, Kate, Pam, Dorsi, Megan, Chris, and Kurt... you all intimidated the shit out of me when I started at the box.  I kept thinking, who are these people with insane numbers on the PR board and beast mode pictures all over the TPA Facebook page?  But as I've had the opportunity to get to know you all, I feel ridiculous for being intimidated, because you guys are some of the kindest, funniest, most encouraging people I've ever met, and I find myself looking forward to Saturday morning Mayhem so that I get a chance to work out with you.  From pull up tips to half marathon training advice, you've all gone out of your way to be kind to me and help me out, despite barely knowing me at the beginning.  That has meant the world to me, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.  And Jeannie, your all-around badassness is an inspiration to women everywhere... thanks for proving that strong is the new skinny and BEAST MODE is not just for dudes.  Just be careful who you talk to about videotaping your snatch, because not everyone is as open-minded about such matters as I am.

Thank you Rebecca and Tom Peters for being a constant source of entertainment, both in and out of the box.  It's good to know that if I ever get the urge to enjoy a Firehouse Red, discuss the finer points of quality cinema, and play a lengthy game of "Wouldn't It Be Funny If", I always know exactly who to call.

Thank you to the Shaffers, for often being the first people I see when I walk into the box in the morning.  I can always tell how miserable the WOD is on any given day by taking one look at Matt.  I find it so impressive that, with two young kids, a new house, and everything else you have going on, you still come to the box and kick ass every week.  You are both inspirational!

To anyone I didn't mention... thank you.  All of you.  Every single person I've met at the box has been so kind, welcoming, and supportive, and it really has made all the difference for me.

Tricia and Julie, you two are absolutely amazing athletes, and even better coaches.  Your enthusiasm and obvious love for what you do is contagious, and although working out with you reminds me just how slow and weak I really am, it also drives me to want to be faster and stronger.  Never in my life have I met anyone who absolutely radiates positivity the way you ladies do, and I couldn't possibly be more grateful for all of your teaching, advice, and encouragement.

Tammy. Oh, Tammy.  Walking into your box, I imagine I was any coach's worst nightmare: zero strength, zero skills, and zero self-confidence.  Even now, I am still laughably uncoordinated, I complain way too much about burpees, I have a penchant for falling off of things, and my learning curve tends to be on the slow-to-non-existent side.  Not exactly the dream client.  But there you've been, with your endless supply of patience, optimism, encouragement, and motivation, refraining from laughing at me and pushing me to do things I never knew I was capable of doing.  You have this incredible ability to say exactly what I need to hear at any given moment, whether it's consolation, affirmation, or a swift kick in the ass when I'm not pushing hard enough.  You make even the smallest accomplishments seem like great victories, and you put my failures in perspective, encouraging me to turn them into goals and opportunities for learning.  The teaching you do doesn't stop at lifts and technique; I've learned so much from you, from nutrition, to the value of rest days, to the very large mental aspect of being an athlete.  You've encouraged me to set crazy goals, and you've helped me see them through.  You've been there for every PR, every struggle, every victory and every defeat, and through it all, you've been a steadying source of unwavering support.  And, most importantly, you believe in me when I have trouble believing in myself.  You can't even imagine the difference that has made.  Thank you.  Thank you for teaching me, pushing me, encouraging me, and making me stronger in every possible way.  Thank you for challenging me, and for expecting me to challenge myself.  Thank you for helping me to become the person I've always wanted to be but never thought I could.  Thank you for making the impossible seem possible.  And I think I speak for everyone at TPA when I say... thank you for the box.  Thank you for giving us all a place to call home, a group to call family, and a sport to fall in love with.  At TPA, I know that I can lay it all out there, give my absolute all for one hour a day, and not be judged if my all doesn't measure up to everyone else's.  It's a place where I can be surrounded by some of my favorite people, do my favorite thing, and improve myself and my life a little bit each and every day.  It's a place where ordinary people can do extraordinary things, and honestly, what more could anyone ask for?  You give so much of yourself to us, and it really doesn't seem like there is an adequate way to thank you for all that you do.  But please know that you have single-handedly changed my life for the absolute better more than any one person I've ever met.  Thank you.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  The best decision I ever made was the decision to walk into your box.  I never realized how lost I was until I found myself inside that garage door.


To all of my friends, family, and complete strangers who have shown me kindness, encouragement, support, and enthusiasm over the past year... thank you.  To everyone who has read this blog and shared in my journey... thank you.  To everyone who has doubted me... thank you, too, because it just motivates me to work harder.  All of you, each and every one of you, have played some part in the crazy story that has been the last 365 days of my life, and I can't thank you enough.  They say no man is an army, and I think that is especially true for anyone trying to make drastic changes in their lives.  I might have been the one logging the miles, doing the burpees, and forgoing the pizza... but you all made this possible.  You gave me strength, motivated me to keep going, and made me feel like I was never alone on this path.  I feel so incredibly blessed to have you all in my life.  From the bottom of my heart, thank you.  Just... thank you.

1 year.  365 days.  119 pound.  9 jeans sizes.  0 slices of pizza. 3,457,097,193 burpees.  (Give or take a few.)

But it's so much more than numbers.  It's the confidence I feel when I look in the mirror.  It's the sense of empowerment I get from a big lift.  It's the way I feel at the box every morning, and how that feeling stays with me throughout the day.  It's realizing that, for the first time, I like who I am, and I love who I am becoming.  It's being happy.  Really, truly, thoroughly happy, for the first time in my life.

1 year.  365 days.  1 new me.

Friends, I think it's time for me to throw out the fat pants.  Or donate them to Good Will.  Or put them in a time capsule.  Or waterproof them and fashion them into a four-man tent.  I used to pull out those fat pants every time I got discouraged or felt like a failure, to remind myself how far I'd come.  But I think it's time to let all of that go.  It's time to stop thinking of myself in terms of where I came from, and start focusing on where I'm going.  Time to stop comparing myself to "the old me" and start comparing myself to the person I want to be.  Because I like to think that, whatever I've accomplished to this point, the things I'm capable of accomplishing next are so much more exciting.

For 30 years, I was Emily Gold: the fat girl.  For the past year, I've been Emily Gold: the girl trying to be less fat.  Now, I'm Emily Gold: the girl who used to be fat.  I think I'm ready for some new labels without the word "fat" in them.  Because I'm so much more than a pant size or a number on the scale, and I realize that now.  For the first time in a long time, I know what I want and who I want to be.  I want to be Emily Gold: CrossFitter.  Runner.  Competitor.  Athlete.  Badass.  And maybe I'll come up with some new ones as I go along.  (Emily Gold: NINJA... it has a nice ring to it, no?)  I want to be strong, in every sense of the word.  I'm not there yet, but I'm working on it.  I want to be courageous, and to be the kind of person who inspires other people the way so many of you have inspired me.  I'm not there yet, either.  But I like to think I'm on my way.  In fact, I like to think I'm on my way to a lot of places.  Anywhere I want to go, really.  That's the amazing thing about this past year... it taught me that I really can do anything, as long as I'm willing to give it everything.

Today starts a brand new year.  What will it hold for me?  Not a clue.  But that's the best part.  The sky's the limit, my friends, and I'm ready to take flight.

3... 2... 1...

...GO!!!!!!!

Random Acts of AWESOME

I had a pretty cool experience last week that I wanted to share with you all.

After the ten-day "cleanse" phase of my 24-day Paleo Challenge (more on this to come), I found myself once again walking around in saggy-ass pants and punching extra holes in my belts.  I decided to reward myself with some decent articles of clothing... I've been going through sizes so rapidly that I was hesitant to invest in nice things until now, and have primarily been clothed in a wardrobe of Target clearance items and other people's rejects and fat pants.  (Big thanks to Pam and Brit for getting svelte and donating all of your size medium castaways to me!)  But I'm getting closer to my goal weight/size, so I decided to take the plunge and buy a few nice pieces.

So on my day off last week, I took a rare pilgrimage to one of my least favorite places: the dreaded Ross Park Mall.  I don't know if it's my general antisocialism, an overall dislike of shopping, or residual fat kid hard feelings, but whatever the reason, malls have always had a very negative connotation for me.  But I was determined to have a few nice things for the first time in my life (because, let's face it... good designers don't generally cater to the plus size crowd), so I sucked it up and made the trip.

Unfortunately, I have two major issues with shopping: I have no idea what size I am now, and I have absolutely zero fashion sense.  As I wandered around Nordstrom like a lost puppy, I was approached by a kind-looking middle aged employee named Carol who clearly sensed my complete inability to dress myself and offered her assistance.  I gratefully accepted her help, and explained briefly that I'd recently undergone some body changes and now had no idea how to select clothing.

This, of course, led to many questions.  Before I knew it, I was telling this complete stranger the story of my weight loss journey.  I don't normally discuss my former fatness with random passersby (I save that for the blog), but Carol was so interested and had so many questions that I found myself spilling my guts to her.  Her response to my story was so enthusiastic that I couldn't help but like her immediately, and I ended up spending a lot of time talking to her as she pulled items for me to try on.  As it turned out, Carol is an avid runner who has competed in several marathons and loves running the way that I love CrossFit, so we had a lot to talk about.  She had a ton of great advice to give me... not just on jean sizes and designers, but also advice about training for my half, new places to run, and her favorite brands of workout gear.  She even gave me her contact information and an open invite to run with her weekend run group any time I want company.  She also was very curious about CrossFit, which is a topic I never get tired of discussing, so I told her all about TPA and the amazing ways it has changed me.  Carol was completely fascinated with my story, and offered so many kind words of encouragement... it was incredibly sweet of her to take so much interest and give me so much of her time.  An hour and a half later, I was paying for my new jeans (size 8... BOOM!) when Carol said something to me that really stuck with me.  She handed me back my credit card, smiled, shook her head and said, "I really can't believe it.  Looking at you, I would have guessed that you've always been an athlete."

Now, for those of you who have always been in good shape, that comment might not seem like much.  But for someone who, a year ago, was pushing 300 pounds and got winded walking to the mailbox, it's pretty much the greatest compliment anyone could ever give me.  I never, ever would have thought that anyone would mistake me for an athlete.  "Athlete" was somewhere near "Victoria's Secret Model" on the list of things I would never be able to put on my resume.  Even now, I have a hard time thinking of myself as an athlete.  Jeannie is an athlete.  The coaches at TPA are athletes.  Olympians are athletes.  I'm still just a former fatty trying unsuccessfully to pull my ass up on a pull-up bar.  So to have anyone, much less a complete stranger, refer to me as an "athlete" is pretty mind-blowing.  It put a smile on my face for the rest of the day.

I left the mall with my new jeans and way too many dollars' worth of Lululemon gear (because someone gave me their outgrown Lulu shorts and now I can never go back to cheap workout gear again... you've ruined me!) and went about my day.

Fast forward a week.  Yesterday morning, I came home from a horrendous night at work and a WOD that was less than stellar (F-U, HSPU) wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep until Thursday for a fresh start.  But when I grabbed the mail on my way in the door, there was an envelope from Nordstrom amongst the usual depressing pile of bills.  Curious, I opened it immediately to find this:

I was blown away by the fact that this woman, who I'd only just met, had taken the time out of her day to send me a card, especially such a kind and encouraging one.  It was such a nice surprise after a less than awesome morning, and evoked more emotion than I ever imagined a simple piece of white cardstock could.  I felt surprised that she even remembered me, and flattered to have clearly made an impression on this woman.  I felt encouraged by her kindness.  I felt motivated by her words.  I felt appreciative of the selflessness and thoughtfulness of this small but moving gesture.  But above all, I felt inspired.

I began to think about all of the generous altruism that has been shown to me by complete strangers over the past year, and of how much these selfless gestures have impacted my life.  My thoughts turned to the time a random woman in a grocery store complimented my "killer legs"... the first time anyone had ever complimented any part of me besides my sense of humor.  I remembered how excited I was, and how that moment was a huge turning point for me: it was the moment when I finally stopped seeing myself as a fat girl and was able to see the changes in my body that everyone else had been seeing for months. 

I thought of my first "big girl" WOD, when Toni ran out to meet me for my last 400m run so that I wouldn't have to finish alone.  When everyone cheered and high-fived me when I finished, and how good that felt.  How Tammy had totally pretended not to be surprised when I showed up in the first place.  These people didn't know me from Adam, but they went out of their way to be kind, supportive, and welcoming when I needed it most.

I thought about all of the people who opened up and shared their stories with me after I wrote my first blog post.  Even though I barely knew these people, they put themselves out there and told me about their amazing journeys and details of their pasts.  These people shared parts of themselves with me to let me know that I wasn't alone, and that they could relate to everything I was feeling and experiencing.  I thought about how moving it was to feel that instant closeness with near-strangers; to know that someone understands and appreciates what I've been going through.

I have been the recipient of so many random acts of kindness this year that I can't even begin to list them all.  Strangers cheering for me as I finished my first painfully slow 5K.  People introducing themselves to me and telling me how inspired they are by my blog.  My coworkers nominating me for the UPMC MyHealth Role Model Award.  The kid who works at my local gas station and asks me every time I see him if I "did any awesome shit at the gym today."  Everyone who has gone out of their way to cheer me on, acknowledge my progress, and encourage me to push on, no matter how bumpy the road gets.

It is truly amazing how a kind word, a helping hand, or just a well-timed smile from a total stranger can impact a moment, a day, or even a life.  There really aren't words for how overwhelmed I've been by the selfless support I've received from so many, and I genuinely believe that my journey might have stalled out long ago without that support.  And with all of the kindness the world has shown to me, it occurred to me that I could be showing a lot more kindness to the world.

There have been so many times when, while out for a run, I've seen some random stranger tearing up the trail and wanted to tell them how badass I think they are, but refrain for fear of coming across as creepy and stalkerish.  So often, I watch my friends at the box absolutely kill a brutal WOD and am so incredibly impressed, but I'm usually too busy gasping for air/trying not to die to tell them how awesome they are.  I rarely get to cheer anyone through the end of their workout, because I'm always the last one done.  I know so many people who impress me in so many ways every day... friends and acquaintances who have overcome so many obstacles and remain so positive in the face of adversity.  But I never tell them how proud I am of them or how inspiring I think they are, because I don't like to reveal the fact that my bitter, sarcastic, foul-mouthed exterior is actually thinly veiling a pathetically sappy and overly-emotional trainwreck who wept like a disgruntled infant through the vast majority of Toy Story 3.  For someone who can put down a million words on paper (or in a blog) about pretty much anything, I kind of suck at expressing myself in person.  I'm not always very good at verbalizing how I feel, and a lot of what I'm thinking goes unspoken most of the time.  Usually, that's a good thing... especially when dealing with stupid people or during a WOD that contains a lot of burpees.  But sometimes, I regret the things I don't say a lot more than the ones I do.

The more I find my life being impacted by the selfless good will of others, the more I understand the value of a kind word or compliment.  That's why I've added a new goal to my lengthy list for 2013:  pay it forward.  It's time I started repaying all of the generosity and altruism that has been shown to me.  I'm going to start out by trying to incorporate a random act of kindness, no matter how small, into every day.  It may be something as little as actually verbalizing the compliments in my head, or as simple as trying to be a little less judgemental of people who show up in the ER at 3am for completely asinine reasons.  I want to get better about telling people when I think they are awesome, whether it's a friend or a total stranger.  The worst that can happen is that I get dirty looks from people who think I'm a stalker.  But I know firsthand the power of a kind word, and if I get a few stop-talking-to-me-creeper glares, it will be worth it to know that someday, someone's life could change for the better because I took two seconds out of my day to encourage or compliment them.  So, if I tell you in the upcoming weeks that I think you're a total badass, I've probably thought it all along.  Sometimes it just takes a little push to say what's on your mind.  Thanks, Carol, for giving me that push. :-)

That little card also inspired me in another way.  For the past few weeks, I've been in a running rut.  I've been struggling in my distance runs, failing to get my pace where I want it, and just generally becoming discouraged with the whole thing.  I was starting to seriously rethink my decision to sign up for the half marathon and Tough Mudder... what had I been thinking?  I'm failing at 6 miles but somehow I'm supposed to run more than TWICE that far in a few months?  Not gonna happen.  I wasn't enjoying my runs, and was so tempted to give up on the whole ordeal and just focus on CrossFit.  Why waste time and energy on something I don't like when I could be putting that time and energy into something I love?

But reading Carol's card made me think back to this time last year, when I was taking my first tentative steps towards a healthier lifestyle.  Running had seemed so hard and horrible at the beginning.  I legitimately hated it.  But somewhere along the line, I started to find my stride, and running became more of a release than a chore.  It was the first time I'd ever actually enjoyed exercise.  Before I fell in love with CrossFit, running really was my first love.  Maybe I just needed to get back to that.

So I put the card on the refrigerator, laced up my trail running shoes, gathered up the dogs, and went to the Zelienople Community Park.  There's a trail head behind the tennis courts that I'd discovered accidentally in the spring, and I'd been wanting to try it out.  I left my iPod and my GPS watch at home, and set out in search of my old love of running.

The trails were snowy and practically untouched.  The sun was shining through the treetops, and the snow muffled all sounds so that only the soft ripple of the creek broke the silence.  It was absolutely beautiful.  The dogs were overjoyed to have a new trail to blaze, and as we set off across the rolling hills, I was able to clear everything from my mind and focus solely on my peaceful surroundings, my beloved running partners side by side in front of me, and the terrain beneath my feet.  I let all thoughts of my pace, my form, how far I'd gone, or how far I had left to go float out of my mind, and as I allowed myself to get lost in the rhythm and let my body go on auto-pilot, a feeling of absolute peace and contentment washed over me.  The rest of the world just melted away, and there was only me, my dogs, and the trail.  At that moment, nothing else mattered.

Lost love: FOUND.

We ran for well over an hour.  I don't know how far we went, and I'm sure my pace was dreadfully slow.  But I ran.  And it didn't feel like a chore.  For the first time in weeks, I'd gone for a run and enjoyed it.  I came home soaked, freezing, and a little sore from all of the hill work, but feeling a tremendous sense of accomplishment and a renewed determination.  I'd found my stride again.  Instead of dreading my next run day, I actually found myself looking forward to it.  Suddenly, I felt ready to rededicate myself to training for the upcoming race season... all because a stranger reminded me what got me "hooked" on running in the first place.

Pretty cool, no?  Just a little reminder (for all of us) of how easily a tiny gesture can have a vast impact.

My happy place. :-)

In other news, it's been a pretty epic week at the box thus far.  I got two HUGE PRs: dead lift on Tuesday, and back squat this morning.  The dead lift PR of 250 pounds was only 5lbs up from my previous PR, but was a big one for me because of an old grudge: it was 250lb that broke me on my last effort, and I've been dead set on conquering that weight ever since.  I was so mad to have let my form slip, to have hurt myself, and to not be able to hit that goal last time around.  I was completely and totally stuck on 245, both mentally and physically.  All I could think about as I added weight to the bar was how miserably painful it was when I effed up my back last time, and that definitely made me timid.  But Tammy was incredibly patient, talked me through several failed attempts, and helped me with my form until I finally nailed it and got my PR.  It felt so good to break through that mental and physical barrier.

The back squat today was equally epic.  My previous max was 180lb, and I barely made that happen last time.  Today, I decided to try something new and not count how much weight was on my bar until after I was maxed out.  You see, I've found that, when going for a PR, I start to psych myself out the closer I get to my previous max (i.e. minor panic attack on Tuesday for the 245 and 250-lb dead lift reps), and it really throws me off my game.  So today, I just kept adding weight to the bar and made a conscious effort NOT to do the math in my head.  (I also yelled at anyone who tried to do the math for me... sorry, guys.)  I honestly had no concept of how much weight I was lifting at the end.  After I got in one rep of what I knew was my absolute max weight, I let my boxmates total up the plates at last...

...205 pounds!!!!

I couldn't believe it.  In fact, I didn't believe it... I demanded a recount and made Tammy add it up on her calculator.  And it was indeed 205.  I was absolutely ecstatic.  Just 10 minutes before, I had been talking to one of my boxmates, Jen, about the incredible numbers that she puts up (she and Jeannie are pretty much my lifting heroes), and she mentioned that she'd been stuck on 205lbs for her back squat PR for quite some time.  I stared at her for a second, and then said, "Holy shit.  There's no way I'll ever break 200 pounds on a back squat."

And then I did.  As Tammy would say... "POW.  Just like that!"

Max lift days might be my very favorite part of CrossFit, especially back squats.  In the five or so seconds it takes to do a good back squat, you go through such an insane range of emotions.  It starts the second you position yourself and lift the bar off the rack with a mixture of trepidation and adrenaline... can I do this?  Then there's the second where you get to the bottom of your squat, get low, and have a sweet-baby-Jesus-there's-no-way-I'm-getting-this-bar-back-up freak out.  Then, if you're on, there's the second when you start to come back up, give that initial push with your legs, and suddenly just know that you're capable of finishing this lift.  It's the "I got this" moment, and it might be my favorite part of the lift.  Although I must say, nothing makes me feel more like a goddamn rockstar than the second when I make it to standing position, complete the lift, and rack my bar with my boxmates cheering me on like I've just saved the planet from certain armageddon, Bruce Willis-style.  Holy crazy rush!  I can't remember the last time I smiled as big as I did this morning after that lift.

Of course, that smile was wiped away pretty quickly once I started chipping away at this little gem of a WOD:

Thanks, Tammy.  Thanks a lot.

But even 105 reps each of my two all-time LEAST favorite CrossFit movements couldn't keep the perma-smile off of my face for long, because I've been walking around all day grinning like a complete idiot.  A great morning at the box can do that to a girl.

I think it was a pretty good week so far for everyone at the box, because there were a ton of PRs being celebrated amongst the burpee-induced grumbles today.  Pretty cool stuff.  Up next: another (hopefully good) WOD tomorrow, work tomorrow night, my first 10K on Saturday morning, and then spending the next few weeks WODing, working, and training for my incredibly daunting but hopefully doable 10-mile race at North Park on 2/23.  February is shaping up to be a pretty badass month, folks.  Lots of fears faced and conquered already.

And it feels so... damn... GOOD.

Give it a try.  You'll thank me later. ;-)

Open for Business

This may come as a surprise to people who don't know me well... but I am really competitive.

Like, really competitive.

I love to win.  I hate to lose.  When I was horseback riding competitively, I used to actually make myself sick before important horse shows because I wanted to win so badly that I wouldn't sleep for days.  The first time I qualified for the Washington International, I could barely eat for the week leading up to my class.  I think it was a brutal combination of performance anxiety and just plain wanting it too badly.  Fortunately for me, my horse War Paint was (and is) absolutely amazing.  He was like my second half; the more nervous I was, the more steady he became.  He allowed my anxiety and adrenaline to help boost me to new levels of performance.  We were an awesome team, and I have a closet full of trophies and blue ribbons to show for it.  For awhile there, I got pretty used to winning.  And nothing made me happier.  Some of my favorite memories are leading victory gallops with an enormous smile on my face, feeling completely unstoppable and on top of the world.  There was nothing I loved more than being the best.

Unfortunately, my competitive nature has also worked against me in a lot of ways.  I tend to not try new things if I don't think I will be successful.  I've spent a lot of time in the mindset that, if you can't be the best at something, there's no point in doing it at all.  I think that's why it took me so long to come around to trying CrossFit... I knew I wouldn't be great at it, or probably even remotely good at it.  And at the box, there would be no partner to lean on... it would be just me in there.  Scary.  I was concerned that, if I jumped into this new world, I would find myself in constant competition with people who were stronger, faster, and just plain better than me... and few things in the world discouraged me more than being the worst at something.  I was afraid that, if I couldn't hold my own, I would let my competitive nature get the best of me and give up.

Then I started to learn what CrossFit was really about, and it changed everything for me.  At the beginning, I was constantly discouraged:  I always finished last, used the least weight, squeezed in the fewest reps.  Everyone was better than I was.  But the more time I spent at the box, the more I realized: it's not about being the fastest or the strongest.  It's about pushing yourself to new limits, accomplishing things you never thought you were capable of, and discovering the inner strength you never knew you had.  At the box, there are no winners or losers.  Everyone has strengths and weaknesses, good days and bad days.  And while we all feed off of each other's energy and push each other to work harder, there is no competition.  The only person I'm trying to beat once that timer starts, is the person I was the day before.  It's not about being better than everyone else.  It's about being better than I was yesterday.

That realization has been life-changing for me.  I'm learning that winning isn't nearly as important as improving, and that not all victories can be measured in trophies or prize money.  Every tough WOD I finish, every new skill I learn, and every PR I reach, no matter how small, is a victory in it's own right.  And I learned that, without the pressure to be the best, I'm able to be my best. 

With horseback riding, I was constantly training for something: a big horse show, moving up a division, preparing a new mount for competition.  There was always a concrete goal in sight: qualify for year end finals.  Earn circuit championship in Ocala.  Win the classic.  I loved the structure of setting a goal, working towards it, and accomplishing it.  But lately, I'm learning that sometimes, when you focus too much on the destination, you lose sight of the journey.  (Cliche, but true.)  CrossFit is so very different.  Yes, I have goals: learn cleans.  Figure out double unders.  250lb dead lift.  Get my damn pull ups.  But there isn't a time cap or an expiration date on these goals, and they certainly aren't my only focus.  In general, at the box, I'm not training for something... I'm training to be something.  Or, rather, someone.  I'm training to be the person I've always wanted to be but never thought I could.  I'm training to be a strong, confident, happy woman.  And somehow, these days, that seems like more than enough.

Almost six months into my CrossFitting journey, I'm so much closer to being that person than I ever thought possible.  I've made so much progress towards letting go of my need to be the best... because, let's face it, I'll never be the best CrossFitter.  Hell, I'll probably never even be a good CrossFitter.  But I'm getting better every day, and in letting go of some of that competitive drive, I find myself more driven than ever to succeed.  And, more importantly, I've found that "winning" and "success" aren't always the same thing.  I've succeeded in so many ways this year, and I don't need blue ribbons or trophies to know that.

That being said... the prospect of incorporating competition into CrossFit makes me nervous. I was so, so inspired when I went to watch some of my box mates compete at the Fall Brawl a few months ago; the camaraderie, drive, and courage I saw in those people was absolutely awe-inspiring, and a part of me desperately wants to experience that competitive rush again.  But another part of me fears that, by pitting myself against other athletes instead of just against myself, I will ruin everything that I love so much about this sport.  CrossFit makes me feel good about myself, regardless of how much weight I can overhead squat or how many burpees I can do in seven minutes.  If I start measuring myself against other people, will I change all of that?  Will I go back to being discouraged instead of inspired?

So when people at the box started talking about the CrossFit Open, I didn't give it much thought.

For those of you who don't know, the CrossFit Open is five rounds of WODs performed over five weeks by athletes all over the world, to be judged at a CrossFit affiliate or by video.  Each week, the WOD is posted online on Wednesday evening, and athletes have until Sunday to perform the WOD and submit their scores.  Scores are then posted online each week to allow competitors to see how they measure up to other athletes worldwide.  The athletes and teams from each region with the top combined scores in the Open qualify for Regionals.  The winners at Regionals go on to compete in the CrossFit Games, with a shot at earning the title of World's Fittest Man or Woman.  If you've never watched the Games on TV, I highly suggest that you do so.  The things those people do are absolutely, positively incredible, and it is awe-inspiring to watch them compete.

Needless to say, it's some pretty hardcore stuff.  So obviously, when people asked me if I would be entering the Open, I just laughed them off.  I don't have double unders, an unassisted pull up, or anything even slightly resembling a hand stand push up.  I probably wouldn't be able to make it through a single one of the Open WODs with any level of success.  And why bother to compete if I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there's no way I will come close to advancing to Regionals?  I might have the drive, but the strength and skill just aren't there.  Maybe someday they will be, but not right now.  I don't need to see my name at the bottom of the online standings to know that I'm slow and not very strong... I know that already, and confirming it would just bum me out.  Is it worth it to risk ruining everything I love about CrossFit when nothing positive could possibly come out of it?  Not so much.

As talk at the box turned to the Open and people started to register, several people asked me if I was planning to enter.  I told everyone the same thing: maybe next year, when I have a pull up/HSPU/double unders/whatever my reason was on that particular day at that particular moment.  I had so many reasons; there is a lengthy list of things that I just can't do.  The more people asked me, the more reasons I came up with as to why I shouldn't register for the Open.

And then it occurred to me: I might be the world's biggest hypocrite, because I wasn't coming up with reasons... I was coming up with excuses.

No, I don't have a pull up.  No, I can't string together double unders.  No, I can't keep up with the people at my box, much less with the best athletes from all over the world.  But when did I become the kind of person who lets her life be dictated by the things she can't do?  Wasn't the whole point of this journey to turn my "cant's" into "cans" and my dreams into plans?  Why should this be any different?

I could come up with all of the excuses in the world not to compete.  But when it comes down to it, there's really only one thing standing between me and the Open: my old friend fear.  I'm scared.  I'm scared that I won't be able to complete the WODs.  I'm scared of submitting my scores and being at the bottom of the standings.  I'm scared of the entire world having access to those standings and being able to see how I measure up.  I'm scared that I won't measure up.  I'm scared of what will happen when I stop comparing myself to who I used to be and start comparing myself to everyone else.

In short, I'm afraid to fail.

I've talked a big game on this blog about facing and overcoming my fears.  I've pretty successfully squared off against many of those fears: fear of distance running, fear of trying new things, fear of making a fool out of myself, fear of sucking at CrossFit, fear of CrossFit itself... I've done so many things that scared me over the past year.  But clearly, my fear of failure is still alive and well.  The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that just about all of my fears stem from the fact that I am desperately afraid to fail.  If I can't face that fear, what's the point of any of this?  I can lose all the weight in the world, jump out of as many airplanes as I want, and can write a million blog posts about conquering my fears.  But as long as I'm still letting the fear of failure dictate my life, I haven't really accomplished anything at all, have I?

The truth is, the idea of signing up for the Open scares the shit out of me... more than anything has scared me in a long time.  More than the half marathon, more than the Tough Mudder, and more than all of my other fears combined.  I don't know why it scares me so much... perhaps because the likelihood of failure is so high.  With most of the things I've taken on this year, I have gone in knowing that I am physically capable of finishing.  Even if I suck, even if I have to walk most of my half marathon, even if I can't keep up with my Tough Mudder team and end up crossing the finish line alone, I at least know that I will cross that finish line.  The Open is different.  There will definitely be things in those WODs at which I suck... that's a given.  But there might also be things that I simply can't do.  There is no scaling or modifying.  There are no pull up bands.  There is no letting form slip just to get through, because there will be a judge there to no-rep me if I do.  There is a good chance that I will, in fact, fail one of more of the WODs.  And when I do, my name will be there for all the world to see, at the bottom of the online leaderboard with a big fat "DNF" next to it.

So many things could go wrong.  I could confirm my suspicion that I am, in fact, the world's slowest CrossFitter.  I could be unable to handle the prescribed weight.  I could be massively overfaced and under prepared.  In short, I could fail.  In fact, I probably will fail.  And that scares me.

Which is exactly why I'm going to do it.

I'm going to do it.  At least, I'm going to give it my best shot.  I might suck.  I might not be able to handle it.  I might fail.  But how will I ever know if I don't try?

I've accomplished a lot in the last year.  But for the progress to continue, I need to make sure I don't become complacent.  I can't be content to just keep being better than I used to be... I want to be good.  I don't want to be stronger than I was when I was fat.  I want to be strong, period.  I don't want to be more athletic than I used to be; I want to be an athlete.  Because I'm not that fat, out-of-shape newbie anymore, and I need to stop thinking like one.  If I'm going to be an athlete, I need to know where I stand among other athletes.  Tammy put it best: you never know where you're going unless you know where you've been.  I think I need to know where I stand before I can truly know which way I need to go.

Maybe this is exactly what I need to push myself to the next level.  The Open starts in 30 days.  I have 30 days to work on all of the things I can't do.  Is it likely that I will be able to master my cleans, string together DU's, get a hand stand push up, and ditch the bands altogether for my pull ups, all in the next 30 days?  No.  I don't think that's a terribly realistic expectation.  But if I wait until I have all of those things, I could be waiting forever.  And I'm tired of waiting.  What my life needs is a little less waiting and a lot more DOING.

So, friends, that is how a former fatty without a pull up is entered to compete against the world's fittest men and women.  This has the potential to be an epic disaster.  Will I fail?  Quite possibly.  Will I embarrass myself?  Almost definitely.  Do I have a shot in hell of advancing to Regionals?  Of course not.  Am I going to let that stop me?

Not this time.

The worst that can happen is that I can't complete the WODs.  If that happens, at least I'll know what I need to work on for next year.  I have nothing to lose... but so, so much to gain.  Confidence.  Pride.  A sense of accomplishment.  Who knows?  Maybe I'll surprise myself and do well.  Or maybe I really am the world's slowest CrossFitter.  But I'll never know if I don't try.  Either way, it will be an honor to share this experience with the amazing people at CrossFit TPA, and I know they will be there to support me no matter what happens.

With that reassuring thought driving me forward, I'm embarking on this next leg of my journey with an open mind and a hopeful heart.  I'm still terrified.  But I'm also excited to see what this experience will hold for me.  It's time to get to work.  In 30 days, the first Open WOD will be posted.  30 days until I make my debut as a competitive CrossFitter.  30 days to get my pull up or die trying.  30 days left to be scared shitless.

3... 2... 1... GO!