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. ;-)