Fat girl stuck in a thin girl's body

 Looking back, I think one of those pinnacle rock bottom moments (usually we have a few) was when I figured out how to open up the drain in the dorm shower so that I could purge the little food I had eaten while under the guise to my roommates that I was just taking a long shower. It still haunts me over 25 years later as I was so ashamed for being so desperate. I didn't want to live this way but I didn't know how to live without tormenting my body through starvation, binging and purging, and over exercising. 

We are all capable of such obsessive compulsive behaviors and addiction. Some of us more than others. There are so many different vices but ultimately the desire for control and the lack there of control is a daily battle. For me between 19-22 years old, it was restricting food, starving, purging and exercising all the time (despite being a college athlete who already spent many hours in the gym).

To say it was my sport that caused it is the farthest thing from the truth. For me, it was a myriad of things that ended up snowballing. Yes, I definitely had a distorted body image. It did not help that at the time, there were not a lot of images for young female athletes to look up to. I worshipped Gabrielle Reece but even she was not someone I could identify with as she was 6'2 and quite thin herself.  I also was in a relationship with an alcoholic so needless to say two sick people make for a disaster and further propelled me into my quest to find control. Throw in a cancer diagnosis of my mom, and you basically have the perfect recipe for illness. 

My quest for control came in the form of creating what I felt was the perfect body. I remember thinking if I was just a little bit thinner with my muscles a little more defined, I would be fine with it. The problem was what I saw in the mirror and reality were worlds apart. I would never be able to see the truth and would always be chasing this image I created. The quest for "perfection" would never end causing an endless cycle putting my health in risk and tormenting me emotionally. 

Fast forward to that pinnacle moment we usually have when we look around and finally feel like we had made it. For me, it was when I was pregnant with my first child, and I actually became more comfortable with myself than I probably had been in my entire life. For the first time, I actually felt beautiful, strong, and with a purpose that was worthy. I vowed to myself that I would be the example of strength and health so that none of my future children would ever go through the pain of what I went through. 

Not your average dreamer.....

 You may call me a dreamer...but I am not the only one...

Difference is I don't rely on anyone but my own hard work, dedication, sweat, tears & blood...I am not waiting to be saved. I have and will always continue to save myself through my hard work, not giving up when others do, and going harder when it seems like all is lost. Sometimes I lose my way...but I never lose my vision or who I am....

I took some time off from my contract as a "Cure" writer because frankly, I am kind of done writing about Cancer...for now & maybe forever...it was a great paying gig let's face it but where I am today....I am looking far past the miles I was in....I am looking for the next marathon and the one after that...and I will stay stuck if I keep rehashing that "one bad race." I want to write about the next race, the next success...the next learning experience...the next whatever as long as it has nothing to do with the C word. 

Lately though, I've had a lot of painfully passionate projects & ideas ringing through my head...ringing so hard I needed to run many, many miles until I could just put them to rest...because right now, we are living in a world where we cannot voice ALL our truths without being vilified or called names for not going with the majority or the flow of the people we live amongst.  I've also been told maybe I shouldn't tell some of my stories...and maybe I shouldn't...and maybe I should play nice and maybe I should also go along with what the cool kids in my town do or say...but one thing I know...girls who play nice usually lose and people who just go along with the crowd because they are too scared to have their own opinions...well, they end up losers too. 

So in my usual routine on a snowy early morning when everyone is avoiding the roads, I took to them. It was a slippery run because it had snowed finally, and I had left my grippers up North but I ran anyway because that was everything that I needed in that moment. 

My beautiful picturesque town who has been showing many shades of ugly in the Winter because of all we are going through right now with Covid 19, kids being out of school since March 13th....and the rest of all the ugly you can easily find on any social media group platform....

I ran through our town this morning seeing newly Patriotic flags...not all hung correctly...but hey it's a start...and even if we don't agree with all things, I will never vilify you or demean you for having a difference of opinion.....or not hanging it correctly (stars first on the left, stripes to the right if you don't hang it from a pole)....

This beautiful Seacoast town this morning, finally covered in some snow....disguising all it's bruises and imperfections....hard to see all the "Closed for Hibernation" or "For Lease" when you are blanketed in a fresh coat of snow....like a beautiful girl who thinks she's ugly and needs to cover her blemishes with makeup & falsies....

I will keep dreaming....but my dreams come with action....girls like me don't wait for white horses and a prince to save her...we jump on and start riding the damn horse ourselves even if we don't know what we are doing, where we are going, or for that matter how we may get there....

Dreamers are not always poetic nor are they always politically correct. Dreamers lace that shit up and just start running and maybe while they are out there they will figure out where they are going and how far they are going to take it. 

Cheers to all the dreamers not afraid to speak up, go against the mold, and to double down when the shit gets tough. 

Why I don't Sleep Continued: 1st night away at camp

The rain pitter patters as I wait for the text alert to come through. Finally, someone responds and the nurse will go in to check on my girl because wifi up there "is spotty."  We rely so heavily on technology. It helps us be proactive and keep her alive in the middle of the night when the shit hits the fan.

Right now, I am unable to receive any alarms or data that follows her so I am completely at will and trust to complete strangers who care for her up at camp. I hold my phone like a ticking time bomb tonight. Normally, it is my relief because I can quickly glance at a number and see a trend. It is my lifeline to keeping her alive and well. Not tonight for the past hour and a half. So I wait until the next scheduled check at 3am and pray that God will keep her at safe numbers. I know I won't be sleeping tonight. and as much as I deserve a fucking break, I know I won't get it. She deserves to be at camp with the rest of her class. Three whole nights away....

What people don't understand is that the human body is truly a miraculous thing. They don't understand this until they find they are with a disease or illness that will never go away. My daughter's pancreas decided to bite the dust because of some unlucky cards dealt. And because she is dependent on synthetic insulin to be injected into her body to keep her alive...well, the body becomes not so miraculous with an imposter. It becomes out of synch, no longer the fine tuned machine functioning on it's own.

Night times with this disease are the worst. Sometimes her body reacts to the insulin perfectly and everything is in check and she sleeps through the night. Most times lately, alarms are going off in the middle of the night because maybe her own growth hormones are interfering and she is going dangerously high. The slow death...the kind of numbers that can cause retinopathy, neuropathy, and a slew of other deadly complications later in life that I cannot even say out loud. These are the things I think of when those numbers go too high.

Some nights, the insulin dose is too much, or her body is churning full speed ahead and she comes tumbling down....down, down....reminding us how fragile life is and how important it is to hear those alarms and react. Dead in bed...it's a thing....so help me God, I will not let this happen to my girl.

And so I sit here in the dark downstairs mindlessly typing on this laptop knowing tonight will be another notch in my sleepless nights....all because of shitty wifi at a camp.

She has never even been to a sleepover (not that I am a fan for regular mom reasons) but literally...what parent would volunteer to be her pancreas for the night? She rarely even has an overnight with family. It is not for the faint at heart. You have to be on your game, ready to respond even if it's multiple times during the night. I wouldn't volunteer if it wasn't my kid. 

But she deserves to have what other kids have, some normalcy: three nights away at camp with her class. And I will sit here until that 3am check comes through, and after, maybe I'll get a few hours of sleep before I am texting everyone up there on going through the technological roll call & getting things back online.

I miss my sleep, and I don't know if I will ever get it back....at least until they find a cure. I know it's out there, and at these hours in particular when I don't sleep, I wish all the people in the world would want a cure for this disease as badly as I do. She deserves to be at camp, and I deserve to sleep. 

Youth Sports: why we as parents should be cut from the team

There is a phenomenon going on with youth sports that just completely blows my mind. We as parents have all gone bat shit crazy and are to blame for this demented culture of what it means to play a youth sport. Our fixation on competitive youth sports has transcended to a whole new level of obsession, and our children are the ones who are going to lose. 

As parents we share Olympic dreams with our little ski racer who wants to be the next Mikaela. I mean she does podium often even if she is only 10, and even though we are in the middle of nowhere New Hampshire, it could happen. While we are at it, our son is likely to be the next Messi. He is only 11, but his skills and passion for the sport are beyond his age so he must be the next it, after all, he did make that development team and is "playing up."

I have three children who all play three sports (at least they still do thus far) so I have sat on many a bleachers, fields, turfs and stood at finishes. I am beginning to think we as parents have completely lost our sense of reality. I find myself more and more, standing alone because I cannot take the conversations and comments I hear from parents, and many are coming from some great parents.

What is scary is the statistics are out there for all to read, google or ask Alexa. About 7% of high school athletes will play a varsity sport in college and less than 2% will play at a NCAA Division 1 school. I am no mathematician but those percentages are pretty crystal clear. Either that, or we all have phenoms paving their way to a college scholarship...

Part of the problem is the shift in what it takes to play your sport in high school. The business models our coaches have created to make money (good for them, I am all for capitalism) funneling in our young athletes to every skills camp, development team and club team. I know in my town, if you want to play a particular sport (I won't name here) for the high school, you best be playing for that club team year round that oh by the way, the coach runs. There is always an exception of a good player who does not play the sport year round, but for the most part, the numbers are there. You start in the feeder system as a youth, and before you know it, you are playing year round, period or you don't play by the time you get to high school.  

Another shift is the model of the three sport athlete. They are an anomaly. If by chance your child still plays three sports, be prepared not only for the overlap but the pressure from the coaches on your child to fully commit if he/she wants to play for them or be stuck on the B team. I have fought this hard and for now, my girls have made out okay. They play soccer in the fall, ski race in the winter, and yes...when spring starts (& ski racing ends), they play Lacrosse. For me, this keeps them busy and active. For them, they love all three of their sports & being well rounded athletes, their preferred sport is usually the one they are in season for until it changes to the next. I actually think this is healthy but many people would disagree. 

What is most puzzling is that with all our resources and education, we seem to know less and less. On any given day on social media, a new article or blog is shared discussing youth sports and the downside of what is happening with our society. Yet we still have this culture of parents who fixate on sport and recreation at all costs.  I see many articles coming from different sources discussing in great depth how our young athletes are getting hurt with overuse injuries from playing one sport year round. I have also seen first hand kids who are getting emotionally burnt out by the time they enter high school and want nothing to do with the sport. There are also the parents putting all their pennies into their child's one focused sport, the whole pay anything at all costs to try to get their child ahead of the game. I just don't get it. 

Where are we going with this if we are not prepping our kids to play beyond high school? My answer to that is simple. We are keeping our kids busy and active so when they are teens, they are on their devices a little less, and we actually know that they aren't somewhere vaping, doing drugs and having sex because they are at practice or at a tournament or competition. Some of these kids may move on to play their sport in high school, but that is not a given either. 

Don't get me wrong, I love sports. I was a part of that small percentage who played in college. I wouldn't trade that for the world. But I know what I really love is watching my children be happy. If playing soccer, adds to their happiness, then, I want them playing. If ski racing is their love, and they still want to do it despite knowing they are not going to be the next Lindsay, then, that is cool too. 

There are so many life lessons that participating in a sports teach. It, however, appears that the parents are the ones who need a reminder of those important life lessons.

Maybe I am okay with participation trophies after all...because the whole point is to play because it is fun. 

Unbecoming

What you don't know about me is that I am not as strong as I seem.  I am not a warrior who can handle anything. I am not the toughest person you know.  I have no choice. I can either choose to live my life as gracefully as possible (some days are much better than others), or I can cave in to that person who lives deep down in me, that dark place filled with insecurity, fear and helplessness. Some days it takes everything in me to not go there. 

What you don't know about me like many other cancer fighters and survivors, I live in mild to moderate physical pain every day. I don't know if it will ever go away, but I have to believe that if I keep up the lifestyle that I love as a runner and fitness/health enthusiast, it will eventually be much less. The physical challenges are a piece of cake compared to the mental ones.  The emotional scars could make some people not want to leave the house let alone get out of bed. But, that is not me either.

What's harder for me right now is what cancer has exposed. Some days, I want to be anonymous, the girl that just blends in. But, now I can't because I have my own story to tell.  So when you tell me about the woman who just passed away from Melanoma and battled hard for 7 years, this doesn't inspire me to be stronger, this reminds me of who I really am.  I am just a girl living and recovering from a Stage 3 diagnosis.  This really messes with my story, the story I've created.

When you told me, a cancer fighter, a very sad story like that, you abruptly pulled my head out of the sand, where I've been living in between each set of scans, blood work and so on. You reminded me that this sh** is real, and this could be me. You bring me back to that place where I play the numbers game.  "Okay, if I can at least get to the 5 year survivor mark, the girls will be 12, 15  & 16. Crap, that's a terrible time to die, it would be so much better if I can make it until they are in their 20's, when they need me a little less." Imagine that? You can see why I survive much better with my head somewhat stuck in the sand..

I have force-fed myself these past 9 months, holding my breath the entire time.  I am finally coming up for air. Not because I am stronger...not because I am more secure...maybe because I am finally unbecoming all the things I have built myself up to be and am becoming who I really was all along. That is about the only good that came out of sharing that story with me about a girl, just like me, fighting Melanoma.

I openly admit I am not as strong as I seem. I appear stone-cold stoic, broad shoulders, strong thighs and all...thanks perhaps to German heritage and a lifetime of athletics, but I am not as I appear. I stand tall at 5'10 but many days thanks to this disease I feel almost invisible. It is a lonely journey as most people don't understand unless they too have been stripped, yanked butt-naked out of the sand.

What I have realized after having my world shake with one story about a girl like me who lost her life to Melanoma...weak or strong...tired or motivated...I am a competitor to the end.  As I strip myself of all the bull**** and fluffy nonsense we somehow get tagged with at some point in our life, I un-become to perhaps become who I always was in the beginning. So tell me again about this horrible this disease I face each day with no cure. In my unbecoming way, I will grit my teeth and tell you, "Game on."

The start and how I picked myself up to continue the run....

Four years ago, I decided I was going to run my very 1st marathon so that I could qualify for the Boston Marathon and finally check that off my bucket list. I wanted to document my journey as a runner as I evolved from a runner who had never ran more than 14 miles at a time to someone who would attempt the impossible: BQ at my 1st attempt.  

That is how this blog was started. 

I wanted to document this journey of training and turning myself into "a real runner." I was so naive and brazen and ballsy. Looking back, I cannot believe that I had the audacity to set out and try to do something that is very difficult for seasoned distance runners, let alone a washed up volleyball player posing as a distance runner.

I also reinvented myself back into a writer along the way. At one point in my life, I had wanted to be a journalist. I don't know specifically where all the nos came from that prompted me to quit that way back when, but once I started writing again...some 20 years later, it was like I never stopped, My skill was rusty, but my passion was lit again almost immediately.

This was a big period of time when I felt like the girl I was meant to be all along. That girl was fearless and truly did not care what anyone thought of her. She most certainly did not shy away from a few well placed "fucks" in her blogs or in her day to day conversations with people either. That girl would never back down from a challenge, and she would not let assholes push her around or treat her like a door mat. She went big every single time...and only after going big did she go home.

I miss that girl.

Somewhere along the way this past year or maybe two or three...I have lost my way.

Maybe it was that 55% survival rate...(I like that it is a more full cup than empty, but let's face it, I am a perfectionist, 100% would have been so much better)

Or even worse, when the universe fucked with one of my babies....

Maybe we can only handle so much until we break...

Maybe some of us run until we can no longer run anymore....

Maybe some of us drink until we cannot drink anymore....

Maybe we eat until we are so stuffed we are empty...

Maybe some of us create the picture perfect Pinterest version of how we think we are suppose to be, look, act...like a fucking Hallmark card....

Or maybe we write until we get through all those layers....tripping, stumbling and swearing our newly found Irish faces off (amazing the things you can find out in a modern DNA spit test)....

I don't think I am the only out there going through their own growing pains as they roll through the punches and take their victory laps.

It might take me the rest of my life to get through these layers that I have managed to build up these past couple of years. But I will get back to where I want to be and who I want to be...the whole me, not just the version you think you know. And frankly, if you don't like her, I might kindly give you the Irish goodbye and be on my way down this so called journey called life.

And that is how this blog continued to move on. Until next time....

Mean Girls: A trip down memory lane

 I have made several attempts over the past year to write about bullying and mean girls. Time and time again, I have decided to walk away from the computer....not ready to open those wounds. I sit here waiting for a phone call back from one of the principals at my daughter's school. I will leave it at that regarding any details because it is not my story to tell. And I won't get into the repulsive things that have occurred at our middle school to other students in the past year. That is their story to tell if they so choose.

But it does happen. In beautiful and wealthy seacoast towns where high school students drive BMW's and elementary school students have the latest Iphones. It also happens in little suburbs where nothing ever happens, and getting a McDonald's is a big deal....

Bullies do not discriminate, and students are bullied for various reasons. Make no mistake, not all kids who are bullied are shoved in a locker or threatened (well, actually sometimes they may threaten that they are going to kick your ass if you talk to their ex-boyfriend again), but all in all, it is often not always as some may imagine. Some girls who have been bullied are ironically sometimes on the inside of the "cool kids." They may be popular and have a ton of friends. They probably did decent in school, was a good athlete, and more times than not, are cute.

We had not coined the term mean girls back in the 90's...but yes, that's what they were. Some of the meanest people I have ever met in my lifetime....those upperclassman girls.

These were the type of girls that spread complete lies about you because they were still mad that you had dated one of their boys for like 3 weeks back in junior high. They couldn't stand you when you started dated a senior as a sophomore. Then, when "one of theirs" decided she was going to go after this particular boy, and he didn't dump you for the that girl, that fueled the fire.

And so that sophomore year, despite being somewhat stressful...was still fun because your boyfriend had friends who watched out for you. And when you decided to try out for a new sport, one of the captain's on the varsity team (one of his buddies) looked out for you, and kept those mean girls at bay. For the most part they began to leave you alone.

The sad thing is once a mean girl always a mean girl. And when you've crossed them, they don't let go. And school years end, and your senior allies graduate...

You start the year with a bang and end of making the varsity team. Even though some of these mean girls are your teammates, they hate you even more because you "start" and play more than "one of theirs."  Mean girls are territorial, and frankly, they make real shitty athletes because they cannot see past their own insecurities for the greater of the team. It's no wonder a team like that would barely have a 500 record.

What's ironic is sometimes, the biggest bully of all who never ceased to leave you alone, probably had the most in common with you...despite being cruel. Maybe this bully played the same sport as you, and maybe they had the same aspirations to be a journalist.....but you would never use your power as an editor to leave the last mark to hurt someone. But she would, and that's where all the differences come back into play. 

I seemingly forgot about my two years of being bullied once I was a senior. It felt like the world was my oyster. My team ended up runner up to the state title with the best record for that team in history. I finally earned that spot as an editor once I was a senior. It was an amazing year full of spirit queen crowns, athletic awards and for once, pretty decent grades. And to top it all off, I signed with a college team to play ball on scholarship. It was a whirlwind of a year, full of some of the best memories.

Once I left for college, I never looked back. Looking back on it now, I don't know why I just had the urge to dust myself off of that little suburb. I think now as I replay this all in my mind, perhaps my desire to start new was that I still had those wounds I had buried away.  Thinking of some of these girls now, I don't know what hurt me worse...how cruel they could be or that once my senior allies left, no one else was there to tell them to cut the shit....not my good friends, not my teammates....no teachers....people just either didn't notice or didn't want to get involved. Maybe that's why despite having an amazing senior year, I couldn't wait to shake myself off of that town....

My story is not unusual, and it's actually probably tame compared to the things that happen today with social media and all. But, it was not okay. And it is not okay today. 

I made myself a promise when I had my very first baby girl in my arms, I would bring her up to be kind enough to see the good in all and strong enough to stand up for those not as strong as her. I can only hope when she is not feeling as strong as we have raised her to be, she will have someone to be by her side as an ally.