becoming a tennis player, part 1

It all started when a neighbor relayed that she was signing her son up for tennis lessons with the county at a nearby park. It was four, one-hour Saturdays with a group of kids in his age group for the crazy low price of just $36 american dollars! We were sold — our oldest was signed up by the end of the week and I set out to figure out what kind of racquet and ball to get her.

• NOTE: There are different racquet sizes and ball pressures for different ages! My daughter is 4, so we got her the Head Speed 21” Junior Racquet and the RED Franklin Sports tennis balls.

A couple of weeks into watching the organized chaos of her lessons, I learned there was adult beginner lessons available at the same location — 8 weeks for $72! I was in — signed up online and set out to figure out what kind of racquet I would need.

• NOTE: So far, I’ve learned there are different size heads and grips for adult racquets. I went to the local Play It Again Sports and found a used Babolat Pure Drive with a 4.5” grip (apparently, I have a giant hand for a woman) for about $45.

I had to miss the first week because of parenting duties, but showed up for the second week, wearing my complete lack of experience on my proverbial sleeve. I learned where the baseline and service line are. I learned the very basics of grips — Continental, forehand, and backhand. My second lesson was more of the same, but we added volleys and played a quick game of King of the Court. My third lesson, we did all the aforementioned, but added ball tosses and overhand serving. Holy cow, talk about HARD (and hard on my lack of shoulder muscles)!

I am NOT GOOD at this sport, yet. But, I do kind of love it. It’s so much fun. And, letting myself suck at something and still enjoy the being part of it and learning? It’s a new and, dare I say, enjoyable experience. I am not too old to be a beginner. Neither are YOU.

on feelings

Weird emotional experiences this morning. I know I was already primed, because I’d had some anxiety showing up in my body throughout the day yesterday (pre family photo shoot ... which, my anxiety and angst around is worth a future post, fyi). But, this morning, I had a major high and a major low. 

The high: I was singing Amber her namesake song - “Amber” by 311. It’s breezy and makes us think of our Caribbean vacations. When I went to sip my coffee, it was instant sensory memory - tasted of the best coffee I’ve had ... Jamaican and Costa Rican. So good.

The low: I’d just put Amber down for her morning nap. The Mr. is still sleeping (don’t get me started on that one ... 😡) and I’m alone, sitting down to pump and finish my re-heated coffee, when I feel slightly ill and then feel tears well up. I can’t even place what I was thinking about ... other than wanting to establish some healthy practices (yoga, running, etc.). Maybe that feels impossible and overwhelming right now, I don’t know. But, I’m still feeling on the edge. Still teary-eyed.

And I’m just typing about it out loud because I can. And it helps. 

LOVE. 

37 weeks

Well, nothing about this is enjoyable.  

I feel disgusting. My thighs are - not kidding - double their normal size. I’ve got a double chin developing. I’ve gained 50 pounds. 5-0. These boobs I paid for? No longer sexy. My ankles and feet and hands are swollen. The extra weight has turned into plantar fasciitis pain in BOTH feet. The belly (and she who dwells/moves within) has turned into very regular and painfully acute back pain - especially while sitting or laying down. The influx of hormones equates to sweat-soaked tossing and turning throughout the night, EVERY night. There’s the bruised ribs, from her stretching ... and the pain in my pelvic area EVERY time I stand up. And the itchy, stretching skin? Yea, that just started. And sometimes when I walk? Feels like I just tore my hip out of joint. 

I can’t paint my toenails. Or bend down. Or help do ANYTHING. 

In my discomfort, I’m grouchy and on edge. I legitimately have a new-found compassion and understanding for chronic pain patients. I will never judge your opioid addiction or grouchiness again. Not being able to be and or do what is desired, when it’s desired and how it’s desired is its own kind of hell.

Hell. 

Now, I know I’m supposed to preface or back-end this complaint with commentary on how it will all be worth it - that the temporary struggle pales in comparison to the joy having a child will bring - but I don’t do platitudes. I also don’t speak from inexperience.

So, all I can say is that I hope I like her. I truly hope I have some astonishing measure of magical connection/attachment to this being I helped create. Right now, I’m just marveling (with slight disgust and an ounce of disdain) at my audacity in thinking I had any right or wisdom enough to embark on plotting for parenthood. Foolish human.

I hope she comes soon. I hope she doesn’t. I’m scared of when she does. I’m eager to find out how it plays out. I want a known in all this unknown. I don’t want things to change. I don’t want to be pregnant anymore. I’m worried about what life looks like when we’re permanently three instead of two. I’m a bigger dichotomy then I’ve ever been and it’s driving me a little bit crazy. The hormones are not helping. 

Relaxin sucks. Ironically. 

And that’s all I’ve got for this Mother’s Day morning. Thanks for letting me be real. 

Love. 

i'm an addict

No, seriously. Sugar is my drug of choice. I'm a snob with my vice — I tend toward the chocolate, baked goods, and bready carb iterations that feature quality ingredients (none of the corn syrup nonsense) — but it's a vice, nonetheless. And like any addiction would, it's got a powerful hold on me. I'm a willing slave.

But things have to change. My thighs have moved into unacceptable spaces with unacceptable textures. I'm officially disgusted with myself. I dread the idea of getting into any one of the twenty-plus bathing suits I own and adore. And, as a result, I've started to hyperfocus on the cause of my distress. Unfortunately, I can't do much about the need to exercise right now — a recent heel injury has me laid up for the time being, but I CAN do something about the food ... and, more purposefully, my relationship with food.

I've known for sometime now that I grew up associating food with celebration, reward and freedom (instead of fuel, nutrition and function). More recently, however, I've noticed a tie to boredom. It's hard to admit, but sometimes I'm pretty sure I'm eating just to feel alive and satisfied and excited. It's like a high. And, while it makes all the chemical and psychological sense in the world, I hate admitting that I'm just another unhealthy 30-something American, using food to numb, escape and soothe.

It's astonishing, because this is a dramatic pendulum swing away from the perfectionistic, overtrained, marathon runner I used to be. Maybe you have to land at the other extreme to do the work of finding balance. If so, I'm there. Pregnant, "crippled," and totally there. Not able to ignore it anymore. 

So, I emailed a dietician today. I'm seeing my therapist on Thursday to start talking about the gaps I'm trying to fill with food. So, toward balance I head ... one carrot stick at a time. 

8.30.16//

8.30.16// Today, before the coffee, before the teeth brushing and dog feeding, I put my running shoes on. I do this on the days I'd rather stay in bed. Because if I don't, I'll stay in bed, at least figuratively - letting life happen to me, barely participating and certainly not engaging. And it never fails - if I'm dressed to run, then I'll run, and once I'm done running, I feel capable/productive/alive ... and, well, who wants to stay in bed when there's a life to be lived, you know?

what my water bottle says about me

For years and years, I have tried and tried and tried to drink more water. For the sake of my skin, muscles, digestion … by glory, I have tried. And failed. Over and over and over again. And it’s not even like I don’t like water. I actually like it. Purified, tap, sparkling or spring — I’ll take it. I just suck at remembering to drink it.

I often tell my clients to eliminate obstacles and incorporate helps when working to achieve goals. If they want to work out in the midst of a necessarily busy schedule, join a gym they pass on their commute. If they want to quit smoking, first toss the carton and get a box of patches or buy a vape. So, when I wanted to start drinking more water, I knew having water with me at all times would be essential to success … so, a hunt for the perfect portable water bottle began.

“Portable = Light. Small. Refillable. Comfortable and easy to drink from on the go. Indestructible.”

And, ridiculous or not, my hunt has continued for years. Many a BPA-free plastic bottle has graced my kitchen counter and eventually made its way into a cabinet coffin. My goal of hydration had all but fallen to the wayside when I stumbled upon FRED in the aisle of my local Fresh Market. 

Yup, it’s shaped like a flask. Yup, it looks like a small vodka bottle ... but it comes filled with water and is refilled with water several times a day … by ME (Miss Couldn't Ever Remember to Drink Water). Yes, I'm drinking water these days like it's going out of style. Granted, my recent increase in water intake also coincides with the recent acquisition of our first refrigerator with an in-door filtered water dispenser, BUT I’ve also never been happier with a water bottle than I am with this FRED flask (learn about the product and company here). 

But, WOW, THE LOOKS I GET when I take a swig out of that thing.

Seriously, I meet judgement on a daily basis. Even people that know me (clients, co-workers, friends and family) have done double-takes. And all of this condemnation tossed my way (unwarranted) has gotten me to thinking ...

... About how often I have judged people without knowing the details of THEIR story

… About how often I have condemned another based on assumption and an unwittingly ignorant, self-biased perception. 

... About how little compassion I offer to those who appear different from me.

See, it looks like I’m throwing back whisky, but it's actually my attempt at getting what I need — life-giving H2O. I've chosen to drink water out of a flask because that works best for me as a I pursue healthy and whole. I am okay with how that's not always known and/or perceived as okay by others.

Every sideways glance of recent has been a reminder not only to continue working on self-compassion and self-acceptance, but to also cut others a break and refrain from judgement.

Unless given the privilege to hear and enter into another’s story, I cannot know why they are who they are and what they’re actually doing. My profession teaches me that in glimpses on the regular, but sometimes, when it’s personally impactful, I finally apply the lesson I’ve been learning ....

So, I’m grateful for FRED … for making it easier to reach my goals … that of healthy hydration AND that of growing in Christ-like compassion.

Join me?