The decision to change the course of your life is not easy.  Facing your fears, challenging your own beliefs, overcoming destructive habits and replacing them with healthier ones can seem overwhelming and sometimes all but impossible.  The road is long and it's hard.  But for those that accept the challenge the journey itself is a wonderful process of enlightenment and well worth taking; even with all of its inevitable ups, downs, twists and turns.

Kim LaCrosse is someone who wanted to change.  With her health seriously compromised and the quality of her life hampered by years of unhealthy living she needed to make drastically different choices for herself and for the well being of her children.  There was no other way around it.  Thus began her journey . . .

Despite a very busy life and daunting circumstances, Kim made time for the gym and hit the weights hard. There was no more time to waste.  During this process she struggled, she fought, she got frustrated and she was pushed to her absolute breaking point.  But most importantly, she never once quit.  She made every single appointment, she listened intently and she learned a better way to live.

On day number one, Kim needed medication to control her cholesterol and keep the blood clot she had in her leg in check.  Today, she needs none of it.  On day number one, Kim could not perform three minutes of cardio.  Today, she performs intense intervals for at least forty-five minutes.  If she's not doing that, then she is probably on the bike pedaling for about thirteen miles.  Why?  Because that's how long she will have to bike in the triathlon that she signed up to participate in this summer along with her teenage daughter. 

Eight months into the process Kim is 70 pounds lighter, 33 inches smaller and just about as tough as they come!  She trains hard and is still pushing herself to be even better.  She's turned the corner.  From here on out her life and her choices will be very different because she is very different.

Congratulations Kim on having the courage to begin your journey, the fortitude to find your own way and the strength to keep on pushing past your plateaus.  You are a true inspiration.

A couple of months ago, I went to visit a friend of mine in Naples, Florida.  A much welcome invitation to escape the cold, dark Michigan winter even for just a little while.  Since I'd never before ventured to this part of Florida I was eager to see what the hype was all about.  What an experience.

The weather was simply lovely; warm and sunny.  Even in January!  Everywhere you looked, people were done up in shorts, tank tops, flip-flops, sunglasses, sundresses and other like garments all to accommodate the beautiful weather. (Before it crosses anyone's mind, at NO time did I wear a sundress or anything remotely similar.)  The sky was bright blue, the palm trees a lush green and the landscape fantastically manicured.  It was indeed picture-perfect. 

Liz and I spent our days toggling between the beach and the pool.  Peaceful?  For the most part.  While Liz relaxed in her lounge chair, read her books and freely basked in the sun, I read for a little bit and then spent an astonishing amount of time applying the most potent sunblock known to humankind, bobbing up and down to adjust the massive umbrellas and doing anything else necessary to hide from the tropical sun so that it didn't fry me into a charcoal briquette.  It worked.  I am still scary white.

True, we did a lot of reposing but quite aside from this, Liz and I went to the gym and trained every day.  It was a quaint little gym stocked with all of the essentials to get in a good workout and we took full advantage of it.  We trained hard.  Just like home. 

During one of our workouts, a woman approached us and inquired whether I was "natural."  Huh?  When pressed further, she refined her query and with a deliberate glance around the room to make sure that no one else was listening in asked, in a hoarse whisper, if I did . . . steroids.  Suddenly, I had an inexplicable yet overpowering fondness, perhaps even love, for this woman.  Immensely pleased with her error, I advised that I'd never taken drugs of any kind.  I explained that my physical development was the result of nothing more than many years of training, a lot of trial and error and vigilant attention to nutrition.

Relieved, she quickly explained that her business was in "woman's natural health." Ah-ha.  I've never really heard of such a thing.  And without an inkling of encouragement verbal or otherwise, she plowed onward exhorting the virtues of living naturally, taking natural supplements and exercising regularly as a means for "aging women" to stay vital, active and youthful.  I couldn't believe my ears.  It was hypocrisy at it's most exquisite.  

As this woman continued her dissertation, I slowly glanced downward and immediately fixated on her enormous fake boobs.  When, precisely, did silicone become "natural?"  Her workout top was, generously estimating, at least one size too small.  Any sudden movement on her part and it was over; they would break completely free of all confinement and be just . . . well . . . everywhere.  Totally absorbed in the great irony of the moment, I wasn't all together certain how long I had been looking gawking.  Since I didn't want to get caught surveying her monstrous boobs for what certainly could be construed as a socially inappropriate length of time, I quite consciously wrested my stare from her bosom and desperately tried to appear wholeheartedly interested in what she was saying. 

But within moments, my attention wandered yet again.  And as I regarded her face, I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't one crease or wrinkle anywhere to be found.  And I really looked . . . HARD.  In fact, her face was utterly flawless.  Completely expressionless.  Not one hint of emotion.  Not one tiny indication that she ever really lived. Put it this way, if you were a mere bystander and could not hear the conversation monologue you could safely conclude any number of things.  She could be expounding upon the finer points of her golf game just as easily as she could be commenting on the weather, telling a dirty joke or announcing that Moby Dick ate her husband.  It didn't matter.  Her expression remained unaffected.

After a few moments I just had to do it.  No matter how hard I fought the urge I simply couldn't help myself.  Abandoning all social appropriateness otherwise mandated by these unbelievable circumstances, I had to see if Liz was catching this awesome irony. So as not to appear too terribly disinterested, (which I was) I chanced a quick look at Liz out of the corner of my eye whom, ever gracious, met my gaze just long enough to shoot me a look that my mother often employed when I was a kid and I knew it intimately.  A visual kick in the shins.  An extraordinarily serious warning to remain absolutely silent under penalty of serious disfigurement, disembowelment or death.  Within a millisecond of delivering her message loud and abundantly clear, Liz returned her attention, undivided, to the blathering barbie doll. No question left in my mind. Liz was indeed a pro at controlling a social heathen.

All of this wisdom, all of this unsolicited advice about what it means to "live naturally," and "age gracefully" from the silicone-enhanced lips of a woman who didn't own one square centimeter of "natural." SERIOUSLY?  

When she was done lecturing and Liz and I were summarily dismissed like adolescent schoolgirls, we walked from the gym without a single word between us.  There was nothing to add.  It was all just way too perfect. 

Like I said people, only in real life . . . only in real life.

My little sister, on the other hand, is a professional to-do lister; a virtual Olympian at to-do list creating and executing.  She loves them.  In fact, her to-do lists have to-do lists.  I've seen these meticulous little lists lying about the desk in her office.  They are explicit.  They are detailed.  They are lengthy and they would take me an entire lifetime to complete.

Her to-do lists are first-rate.  She not only takes the time to type them out but she also places three-dimensional computerized boxes next to each item awaiting completion.  And when all items are appropriately checked, she reviews each in turn and then files the list away all the while feeling extraordinary pleased at her unparalleled productiveness. 

 
First, my list wasn't typed which already makes it sub-par and second, it was worn and tattered about the edges which, according to my little sister, would render it criminal.  Beyond aesthetics, the other notable difference would be the tiny red check marks on her's indicating those tasks successfully completed.  Mine didn't have any check marks . . . at all.

In fact, the to-do list that I unearthed was from the fall of 2005!  I looked it over, and not a SINGLE item have I completed in the last FIVE years!  This is good news actually; it saves me from having to create a new one.  Now, there is really a very good reason why all of these tasks remain uncompleted . . . . really. 

I do recall making this particular to-do list and at the time had every honorable intention of ticking off the things that I thought most important to accomplish on my one day off.  I got up on Sunday morning all ready to be super-duper productive.  I ate my first meal and poured a second cup of coffee.  With a renewed sense of resolve, I plopped down at my desk and regarded my list.  The first task was "clean off desk."  Huh.  From there, I looked down the list and not a single item seemed like any fun.  With my list firmly in my grip, I thought "fuck that" and off I went to read a book!

But being an open-minded person, I decided to give to-do lists another try.  Here goes:

CHRISTINE' S NEW AND IMPROVED TO-DO LIST

1.  Never, ever, EVER, create a to-do list.

CHECK!

Winter in Madison, Wisconsin wasn't for sissies.  It was out and out frigid and getting through it every year was something of a small miracle.  With such an unforgiving winter season, preventing things like frost bite was a preoccupation among parents of school age children and my mother was no different.  She was ever vigilant in protecting me and my little sister from the brutally cold weather as we made our way to and from school every day.  If we actually arrived at school without any of our extremities freezing off, my mother figured that she did her job and that's pretty much where her concern ended.

What my mother didn't quite understand is that when the merciless winter fell heavy upon Madison my sister and I walked amid a virtual sea of green and yellow.  Everyone (except for my mother) knew that this was Packers territory and practically everyone in the school proudly wore their Green Bay Packers jacket to hammer home this very point. 

As a concerned and semi-involved parent, my mother should have had, at the very least, a cursory understanding of the traits that define the average Green Bay Packers fan.  The steadfast loyalty, the resolute dedication, the deep rooted, almost obsessive love that these people hold for their team. And perhaps more importantly, from my viewpoint, the equally obsessive hatred that these folks harbor for their arch rival and division competitor; the Minnesota Vikings.  

Indeed, this profound animosity is, in large part, the glue that binds these people one to the other and defines their very existence.  It's what drives them to sit in a wide open stadium in the bitter cold and proudly wear yellowish-orange, triangular shaped hats on their otherwise bare heads that resemble great big slices of cheddar cheese. This alone should tell you that these folks aren't quite right.  Evidently, this escaped my mother. 

Drugs.  It had to be.  Looking back, the only thing that I can come up with is that my mother must have been taking some serious mind-altering drugs. Drugs that profoundly interfered with her perception, skewed her sense of reality, and caused her to make absolutely scary parenting decisions.  It's really the only explanation that I have for why an otherwise rational woman would send her two unsuspecting children out into what is clearly Green Bay territory in bright purple and yellow jackets with the word "VIKINGS" prominently plastered across the back. 

And if that wasn't enough, we also had equally subtle purple and yellow hats with "VIKINGS" screaming across our foreheads.  If she really, really  didn't like us, it would have been far less painful for her to take us to the edge of the street and shove us directly into the path of an oncoming bus and gotten it over with quickly.  But instead, my mother opted to take the slow and excessively painful route.  She would have done just as well had she painted big red bulls-eyes on our backs and handed us two little signs that read, "We are your enemy.  Please pelt us every single day with as many snowballs as you possibly can before we reach the safety of our school!"

The venomous fervor with which these kids assaulted us on a daily basis was totally mind boggling.  To this day, I don't have any idea how they managed to stockpile and unload so many snowballs upon every last inch of our person before we reached our school.  What's worse is that these kids rarely, if ever, missed.  The walk home wasn't any better and complaining to our mother actually did less than nothing.  

Never mind that I would have rather removed every stitch of clothing and walked naked to school in the blistering cold, my mother wouldn't hear any negative commentary about the purple jackets.  My mother proudly informed me, in no uncertain terms mind you, that these wonderful coats were on sale, that they kept us warm on our journey to and from school and that they were so durable that she couldn't see having to buy us another winter coat for a very, very, v-e-r-y long time and that it was not only a tremendously shrewd investment on her part but also a gift straight from God and didn't we know that there were freezing children somewhere in the world that would be eternally grateful to have these warm jackets that we so selfishly took for granted thankyouverymuch.   

Before I could ask for a freezing child's address, my mother went on and with a stern wag of her finger only inches from my nose advised that I should ignore anyone who made fun of my brilliant purple coat because they were probably just jealous anyway.  No, no.  Today, I can say with absolute confidence and one hundred percent certainty that they were not.  The collective sentiment hovered somewhere between mildly pissed and downright homicidal.

Thirty years later it's crystal clear to me why these particular coats were on sale. Anyone with even a passing understanding of football would very quickly realize that the rivalry between the Green Bay Packers and the Minnesota Vikings runs long and deep.  And it seems to me that if you live in one of these states (for 9 years) you ought to be aware of these significant matters because as I see it now, the only way that a parent would send a kid out into the searing cold wearing a Minnesota Vikings jacket with a matching Minnesota Vikings hat deep in Green Bay territory is if that particular parent harbored a secret and abiding death wish for that kid. 

Thanks a bunch mom . . .

For those of you who think that I fell off the face of the planet once again, be advised; you aren't that fortunate.  I still loom larger than ever and I don't see that changing in this lifetime.

To bring everyone up to speed, I've had a wonderfully busy summer training my fantastic clients, training myself, teaching, learning, pushing and growing.  This summer I got to attend the Senior Olympics and watch one of my clients snatch the gold medal in Archery and then turn right around and watch two others push themselves in triathlon. WOW!  What a fantastic time! 

Now, as summer fades into fall, it's time to reflect, take stock and make some decisions on where I want to go and what I want to accomplish moving forward for myself and for those that are interested in joining me.  On that point, I currently have approximately seven awesome women getting themselves mentally and physically prepared to compete in triathlons, duathlons, and dri-tris next summer.  Success is indeed contagious; amazing what people can inspire just by deciding to be something more.  Rebecca and Liz . . . you two really started something here!

What about me?  I've got something planned for next year too.  It's time for me to go to that next level; the process already started.  It begins in the mind and everything else naturally aligns itself toward the goal . . . I'll be sure to keep everyone as up to date as possible.

On a final note, in case any of you happen to be wondering . . . I AM indeed playing fantasy football again this year!  My mother and I had a magnificent time together following my team last season so every Sunday, root hard for Mama's Angels to WIN! 

So I purchased a new camera.  This is the very first picture that I snapped.  Remember little Molly?  Well, she's all grown up now . . .

I gotta say, I love the quality of the picture.  I did a lot of research before I settled on this camera and I am particularly proud of myself. I am excited about my brand new purchase.  What does this mean to all of you?  Not a single one of you is exempt . . .  SAY CHEESE!

P.S.  Watch out Lizzy . . . I am all over your next triathlon!

Last Sunday people gathered en masse in the quaint little town of Sylvania, Ohio to watch three hundred and ninety six women swim, bike and run.   And I was one of them.  Because among these three hundred and ninety six would-be triathletes was my client Liz and her daughter Fannie.

Out of my entire clientele, both past and present, I dare say that Liz was the very last person that I would expect to ever compete in a triathlon let alone actually enjoy it!  At the very beginning, to say that Liz wasn't thrilled with the whole concept of working out is a drastic understatement. 

She wasn't a big fan of pushing herself, she went to great lengths to avoid any sort of physical pain and she wasn't someone who necessarily enjoyed being uncomfortable.  For three solid years I chewed on this woman's ass to get her going and keep her going.  So, for her to voluntarily put herself way outside of her comfort zone and enter a triathlon, essentially a trifecta of misery, pain, and discomfort, of all things, was nothing short of jaw-dropping.  Stranger things have happened I suppose.  But not many.

Is Liz a natural athlete?  No.  Is she a swimmer?  Not even close.  Is she particularly adept at running? Not at all.  Can she bike?  Only if she really had to.  So right from the start, Liz could maybe pull off exactly one-third of a full-blown triathlon.  Did that stop her from entering?  NOPE! 

Armed with her own personal resolve and incredibly determined daughter, this proper, well-manicured champion of rest and relaxation jumped in stagnant lakes, biked until her rear end was numb and ran until her feet blistered.  If it rained, they trained.  If it was hot and humid, they trained.  If it was cold, they trained.  If it was windy, they trained.  Liz hit the gym with a renewed sense of determination and purpose; it was muscle and might that she sought and she aimed to get it this time.

After endless weeks of grueling training, the event was fast upon them.  These two awesome women swam 400 yards, biked 13 miles and then ran another 3 miles to the finish line. Exactly one hour and forty minutes after jumping into the water it was all over; they were officially triathletes.

I suppose that you never really know what you're truly made of until you give yourself the opportunity to find out.  I am glad that Liz and Fannie did. . . 

(Liz waving and riding the bike.  I love this picture.  Blow it up and take a look!)

Taken the moment they became bona fide triathletes.  Congratulations Liz and Fannie on a strong finish! 

Thank you both for the inspiration . . . .

For those of you who are concerned about my coffee consumption allow me to set the record straight right here and right now.  I admit that I have an undeniable love affair with this beverage and consume it around the clock all year round.  For me there is nothing better than hitting the gym floor in the morning, coffee in hand, for an intense, gut-busting training session.  Nothing in this world beats it.

And I must admit, many of my clients bring me coffee.  If I receive the offering after I've trained them, the coffee is a token of their genuine appreciation for an awesome workout.  And if said client brings me a coffee before we train, then it's outright ass-kissing.  I notice that I tend to get more pre-workout coffee on days that my clients train legs . . . go figure.  On these occasions, I smile politely in recognition of the kind gesture but two days hence these people cannot sit comfortably on the toity.  Sorry. ("Moderation?"  What's that?)

This evening I took a little test.  I discovered exactly how many cups of brewed coffee I would have to ingest before I keeled right over. 

The result:  95.25 cups of coffee in one sitting and I am history. 

The bottom line: Bringing me coffee will not kill me.  And as I slowly pull back those carbs . . . I'm gonna really need it so don't give it a second thought folks!

by it's cover so the old saying goes.  Yet so many of us do it and I am certainly no exception.  And if we really pay attention, the world is full of opportunities for us to continuously challenge ourselves and our perceptions. 

Perhaps many of you know Susan Boyle's story but for those of you that remain unaware, please take a few moments and watch the following video clip.  For me, it is not only moving and highly inspirational but moreover personifies the notion that every single one of us has something truly miraculous inside to share with the world and it's up to us to listen . . .    

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxPZh4AnWyk