#WhyIStayed

In the beginning.

Sassy. Firecracker. Funny. Engaging. Free Spirit. Smart.

Pick me up place me on his lap, hold my hand and guide me in his direction,
order for me at restaurants, remind me to take my coat," it's cold outside, do
you have a coat?" compliment my outfit "I love that dress on you."

And slowly but surely.

Bitch. Loudmouth. Nasty. Slut. Crazy Whore. Stupid.

Pick me up and throw me through a window, out the front door, across the room,
throw drinks at me, hold my throat in his hand and choke me over the counter, up
on the wall, in the car against the passenger side window, TELL me what to wear
"you NEED to put a coat on, and button up, "you look like a slut in that dress,
who are you trying to impress?"

I wanted to protect my mom. My family. My husband. My boyfriend.

Yesterday's video of a woman being knocked out cold by her fiancé did not
surprise me. My parents modeled that kind of behavior for me as a child.
Constantly. It did surprise me that she didn't suffer major brain damage or die.
After all, when I was 18 years old and looking forward to graduating and moving
on with my adult life, my brother was killed by a blow to the head similar to
the one Ms. Rice sustained. Except instead of it coming from an NFL running
back, it came at the hands of a townie at a bar in Corvalis Oregon. Ms Rice is
lucky to be alive. For now.

The swift and often repeated refrain from the pundits, armchair and
professional, after such an incident is exposed is ALWAYS the same. Why does she
stay???? I'm always baffled by this question. It makes me sad that people are so
naive with regard to complicated human relationships, and are so desperate not
to see themselves or their loved ones in such dangerous, sad, belittling, and
degrading situations. Of course there's always the requisite victim blaming, but
I digress. I can speak to my own pathology insofar as I even understand it.

It's actually pretty simple. I learned it. From my parents. Where exactly do we
learn how to be married, or have an intimate relationship? I learned from my mom
and dad. My dad was a military officer. He is a retired Colonel. He also coached
college basketball for a small college in my home town. My dad graduated from
University of Virginia. My mom was a teacher. She graduated from James Madison
University, and has no fewer that 5 masters. Music, English, philosophy,
history, administration,and has done most of her work to gain a phd. I point
this out because there is such a stigma attached to the "type" of person who
abuses and  the type of person who is abused. I think the image that most people
have is oh, let's see, maybe poor, uneducated, maybe you know, not
white......maybe if they are white they're like not white like you know like
nice middle class white. Maybe they live in a run down house or, gasp! A trailer
park! Well news flash, none of those things applied to my parents, or me. But.
And this is a big but. It happens in all of those demographics too. It happens
everywhere where there is a  unbalanced and unhealthy power dynamic.

I swore. Swore. That I would never let a man hit me, belittle me, shove me,
humiliate me, and degrade me. But I did. I simply just really didn't know any
other way to be. It felt normal. It felt like love. It felt.

Once that wheel starts turning and the plan is set in motion it's hard to
explain how difficult it is to leave. Once my self esteem was so damaged by
insults, broken ear drums, swollen arms, bruised neck, bruised back, and lies to
doctors and relatives, about how I got them, why I had to decline engagements at
the last minute, why I couldn't get back in my house to change a soaking wet
outfit, how the glass shower door got broken, and just too many whys, I didn't
see how I could exist without this person. When I did pick up the phone to call
911 it was met with tears and pleading, " I'll go to jail, I love you, I'm so
sorry, please don't send me to jail" when I left it was often met with threats "
I'll throw you in a river and they'll never fucking find you." And mind you, I
have no children. I wonder if I would still be there if I did.

When I was little my parents fought. Violently. A lot. Many nights I would jump
out of bed, in my night gown, run to the front door, throw on my dad's enormous
golf cleats and shuffle down to the neighbor(bless them) I would bang on their
door in the middle of the night and they would let me sleep on their couch. Can
you imagine? I still feel shameful and weak for doing that. Other times, my mom
would send someone to my grade school to pick me up and we would hide from my
dad at another teachers house or another friends. Then my dad would eventually
find us and we'd go back home. My mom wound up in the hospital a few times,
broken ear (she still has very limited hearing as do I from being smacked upside
the head) cracked ribs, fat lip. I remember a particularly dramatic evening when
my sister found her knocked out on my parents bedroom floor and my father
standing above her. Sound familiar? I always thought this was her story to tell.
But I realize, it's mine too.

My husband asked me yesterday, why Ms Rice stayed. I'm trying to piece it
together. This is part of my answer. But only part.

Because

 

Because........

I've been thinking lately about relationships. Casual, intimate, friendships,
siblings, parents, pets, acquaintances, the cashier at the QFC, students,
clients, all the different relationships I have in my life. They are all part of
my experience on this planet, the connections and the moments together. The past
year has brought many changes for me. The loss of my job was a blow. However, it
was the loss of relationships that I had fostered and cultivated in those years
that stung the most.
The thing is, it's easy to focus on the the injustices one has withstood, real
or perceived. I could go on about backstabbing, and lies, and betrayal, and
maybe someday I will. For fun. But right now, I'm trying to look at the beauty
of the connections around me. No easy feat to be sure, but inevitably more
rewarding and less frustrating.

I keep thinking of the scene in the movie American Beauty where the kid talks
about the bag blowing around in the wind with the leaves, and the beauty of this
world and how hard it is to take some times. And it is. It really is. It's
beautiful, and scary, and here. I think for me, and a lot of folks that it's
easier to be angry than hurt, tough than vulnerable, push away rather than pull
toward. It may be momentarily easier, but I would argue after much practice
myself, that though easier, it is not satisfying, authentic, or healthy. I know
it sounds trite, and I'm not telling you anything new, I'm asking you to think
about the amount of energy you spend trying to get "there." Your kids to the
best school, with the best grades, on the best team, your spouse working,
working, working, for the nicest kitchen in all the land, with marble
countertops or whatever the Hell is the deal now, and making sure that your
workout is the best, THE BEST every time! Every Single Time! And no lines around
the eyes, and no saggy triceps, and gotta have that Audi, and the club, The
country club! I mean I get it, I do. I'm just saying, it's the relationships,
literally the time you spend with your family, your dog, cat, barista, bank
teller. The kindness you show people outside of your immediate network. The
connections, the sameness, the listening. The listening. I remember one time
years ago I heard Pat Buchanan talk about his cat and how much he loved her, and
I thought, wow, I actually have something in common with Pat Buchanan. I'm
telling you, this whole situation, the whole deal, if we can just have a little
empathy, and again, not just for us and ours, but for the guy who drives the
garbage truck, the woman who cleans your home, or the student aid who works at
your kids school, and hear each other and pull towards a little, rather than push away , I think it's a
better way to be. 

I'm going to a memorial on Thu for a student, and friend. She fought a valiant
battle with ovarian cancer. She wanted to be here, she wanted to stay. For the
sky, and the connections, and the grass, and the animals, and the kids. Not the
countertops......

Pussy. Riot.

I've never been a joiner. I got kicked out of the Bluebirds when I was in grade school, I got kicked out of Jr. High for having a picture of David Bowie Diamond Dogs on my locker door and then mouthing off to the vice principal about it, and I hated making posters for the football team when I was a cheerleader in high school ( I specifically only wanted to dance and cheer.) Even as an adult in my capacity as a fitness professional I've been asked to participate in something called vision boarding. Um. No.

Side note: How many male professionals do you think sit around and cut crap out of magazines, glue it on a piece of poster board and wish upon it real hard so that one day their dreams may come true?
I've never understood why It falls upon the woman in a straight relationship to be the one to send thank you notes, or Holiday cards. I am always acutely aware that when my in laws or husbands friends stop over, that I will be the one who is judged if the house isn't clean, and there aren't appetizers and drinks on hand. I grew up in the 60's and 70's in a housing development that rivaled Mad Men. The ladies stayed home, smoked cigarettes, drank a little, and gossiped about each other. My mom worked full time. Actually more than full time. Maybe that is why she never had time to teach me the rules of the herd. She certainly excels at the lady games when she wants to. She's from the south, and was in a sorority. I'll just leave it at that.
I think, however that my general adverse reaction to joining in, and towing the line comes from a.) A deep seeded sensitivity to fairness ( I'm the youngest of 6 kids, connect the dots) and b.) a nearly pathological need to question everything. Like EVERYTHING.
Although this has served me well at many times in my life; my 20's come to mind, it has not always served me positively.  Specifically with my peers professionally.
Group fitness is an industry driven by and for women for the most part. As much as we would like to have men join our classes, the truth is that it is wildly skewed toward the ladies. The work is physically taxing many times, and after paying for gas, music, continuing education, time taken to create programming, and buying gear, many group fitness instructors barely break even. It is often times an ego driven operation, gauged by class size, and compensated not by way of monetary wages, but by way of acceptance and popularity. It is also an arena generally adverse to oppositional viewpoints and dependent on assimilation from all.

Conversely, the personal training industry is very male dominated. From presenters, to coaches, to bloggers, to random health club PTs men are, for the most part the dominant voice in personal training. The work is for the most part not physically demanding, and in keeping with the free market structure, trainers base much of their  personal value on what they charge. If they produce, they charge for it. It is also an arena where oppositional opinions are meted out via science, and not met with scorn or banishment. Alas, most trainers I know thrive on varying viewpoints, and  on comparing and contrasting protocols. Of course it too can be ego driven(what's not?) But it's also monetarily driven.

Is it a coincidence that the group fitness profession is populated  with women, driven by popularity, and adverse to non conformity,  while personal training, mainly populated with men is driven primarily by science, money, and opposing views?
Don't get me wrong, I love group fitness. I have just been wondering if the stereotypes that I have bucked for so long are alive and well in an industry in which I have spent 26 years of my life...........

I Know You Are But What Am I?

I used to want to be an actress. Wait, that may not be true. My mother directed 
a couple of community theaters in the town where I grew up and it was easier to 
cast me in the shows she directed or was starring in, than to find someone to 
watch me. I remember my first role was in South Pacific. Obviously because of my 
hair color and dark skin, and brown eyes, I was a natural to play one of  Emile 
Debecque's south islander children. I had to wear a long dark fall and so much 
grease paint that my own father didn't recognize me. Which frankly isn't a huge 
surprise, but that's another post. 
The point is, the plot line - that I would go into theater -was developed before 
I had a chance to think about other alternatives. I did enjoy it for many years, 
but lets be honest, Seattle in the 80's was not a hotbed of Musical Theater 
action. However, even though I paid my bills by waiting tables, my identity was 
wrapped up in the grind of scouting for shows, auditioning, rehearsing, and 
performing. That's who I was. I was an actress. Often when one finds, or is 
handed their passion in their youth the age of burn out hits early. Which is 
where I found myself at about the age of 24. It was about then that I stumbled 
into my first aerobics class. Maybe it was the endorphins, maybe it was all the 
cool kids at Pro Robics circa 1987, but I liked it. I remember starting with the 
lowest level classes and moving up the ranks to be able to take Kari and Kathy's 
classes. Back then the classes were leveled A (hardest) B ( intermediate) and C 
( beginner.) I started with C thinking I would rather move towards the A than 
have to go from A to C. Anyhoo, after a few months, Kari tapped me to be an 
instructor at Pro Robics and I was thrilled. I had a new passion, and theater 
was solidly in my rear view mirror. That was 26 years ago. Almost to the day. I 
started teaching in October of 1987, and have been teaching in the same 
community since. 
The last couple of  years have been very challenging both personally and 
professionally. I've had a lot of loss and a lot of change. 
I quit Pro Robics to take a job at another club in the area in October of 2011. 
I had been anchored at Pro Robics for 24 years, but could see that my growth 
potential was stagnating there. And although I was happy at Pro Robics I was 
simultaneously being dazzled by the fast talking, relentless, haranguing from 
the club down the street. So with promises of security, money, and paid 
vacation(!) I gave my notice to Pro Robics and took the plunge ( job) down the street. 

 It should have been obvious that it was sketchy from the beginning, 
considering I had no job title, no desk, no contract, no direction, no training, 
and a constant barrage of manic, scattered, ranting, meetings which lasted 
sometimes for hours on end. After being verbally assaulted in the Alaska 
terminal on the way to a conference in Los Angeles, by my manager, and left 
sobbing in front of about 200 people,( several of whom thought it unwise of me 
to travel with this man) and berated again in the L.A. convention center, I 
decided when I got home to quit my management position(or whatever it was.) 
My passion after all is teaching, and I could still perform that job. And after 
all, I had recruited so many  members to the club, and had built a fantastic 
clientele  of incredible, smart, lovely, and loyal people, it felt right.  
Eventually that ended as well when I was fired last month. 
So here I am. Of course I still teach and train where and when I can. I actually 
teach at 3 great clubs. But I have to tell you, this is the first time in my 
life that I kind of have to sit with myself. Who am I if  I'm not an actress, or 
a teacher, or a trainer? 
I am starting to understand my clients who send that last kid to college, and 
wonder "now what?" I have come to realize how dangerous it is to place my 
identity so solidly in one place, and in such a precarious way. Much like an 
actress, a trainer or instructor needs that human connection, not an audience, 
but a participant. I suppose I could stop the joggers who pass by my house and 
gently suggest some gluteal work, or knock on my neighbors door and recommend a 
plank, but its not the same as having a home base. I miss my ritual of setting 
up my stereo, shooting the shit with the folks at the front desk, talking 
football with Eugene, and seeing the kiddos come in with their random outfits, 
ll never forget a certain kid who came in last summer with her one piece bathing 
suit on backwards and her shoes on the wrong feet. That was my all time 
favorite. It sucks having your livelyhood stripped and so much of your community along with 
it.

However, although I am not anchored to a physical location as I had been, I have been literally 

blessed with the best friends, cheerleaders, happy hour pals, and fellow fitness junkies 

that have ever graced a Seattle City park on a cold rainy morning, and I am full on GRATEFUL

for every soggy, BBQ, pole, tube attaching, plastic plate mountain climbing, monkey bar pull up one of you. 

I have had this song in my head all day, with a slight alteration:

" You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off the old lone ranger, 

and you don't mess around with Coach Kitty." 

Cause as my friend Alicia said to me the other day:

"You'll be fine, cats always land on their feet."

Love, K......... 

The Policy Of Truth

I grew up in Olympia Washington. I went to grade school, middle school,and high 
school there (Go Bears!) to be honest, there were some good times, but by the 
time I was 13 I was plotting my escape. Not only small and stifling was my 
hometown, there just wasn't enough going on. For all of its natural beauty, you 
can't get a cab to save your life, and lets be honest, even if you could, where 
would you go? The Reef? Which by the way is the reason they should really have 
cab service. But I digress. As soon as I graduated from high school I moved to 
Seattle, and then what do you know I got a little bored there too. So I moved to 
L.A. Actually I spent about 5 years going back and forth from L.A. to Seattle. 
When I finally moved back to Seattle for good (to be with a total toolbag 
boyfriend who would later become my starter husband) I used to tell people that 
I was from L.A. because it it sounded cooler and gave me more street cred. 
It was sort of true. I mean I did come directly FROM L.A. but I knew I was 
padding the truth. It was pretty harmless, but it was a front. See, sometimes 
the little lies we tell are harmless "resume pads" while others, in my opinion 
are dangerous, and show a titanic lack of character.
I recently took an exam to renew a certification that I had let lapse. It was 
expensive, time consuming, and stressful. I'm happy I got it done, and I'm 
studying for another very soon, which I will be taking this Fall. I learned a 
great deal from the exam I just took, and granted, I've learned far more in my 
quest for continuing education. However, a certification in my chosen career 
assures the public that I have a modicum of knowledge in my field, and that I 
have demonstrated the ability to prove that to a certifying body. There are a few 
things that are crucial for trainers and instructors to understand. I believe 
that  a few of the most important are the ability to understand and apply modifications, 
progressions, and stages of learning. Not to mention applying adherence strategies, 

and the ability to stratify risk. Most certifications require a minimum amount of 
continuing education hours in order to renew them, which assures the public that 
the trainer or instructor is up to date on the most recent science. And, while practical 
application is the true test of ability, the general public is, more often than 
not, unaware of the appropriateness of the exercise program that has been 
prescribed for them. In a nutshell, it is important that consumers of health and 
fitness understand what a certification is and why it is important for your 
fitness professional to hold one and for it to be easily verified. Below I have 
listed a few acronyms that I think you should understand. 

CPT = Certified Personal Trainer
This person has taken an exam and is required to fulfill continuing education 
credits in order to maintain certification.

LPT = Licensed Physical Therapist
This person had a graduate degree in this field. And is required BY THE STATE to 
maintain this license.

BS = Bachelor of Science. This person  usually has an undergrad in kinesiology, 
or physiology. While a degree is admirable, one is not required to do any 
continuing education to maintain it.

MS = Masters of Science. This person has gone beyond an undergraduate degree and 
has gotten a post graduate degree. Again, admirable , yet again no continuing 
education needed to maintain. And science is changing as we speak.

RD = Registered Dietician. This person has a degree in this field and has taken 
state boards, and must resister with the state and fulfill continuing education 
requirements in order to maintain what is tantamount  to a license.

Nutrition Specialist, HHC = This person has a certificate in the field of 
nutrition. This is not a license and is not to be confused with an RD.

CGFI = Certified Group Exercise Instructor. This person has taken an exam and is 
required to fulfill continuing education credits in order to maintain 
certification.


It is not out of the question that a trainer or instructor would be less than 
honest about their qualifications, and it is important that consumers of health 
and fitness are diligent about holding us to high standards. 
Check credentials, and if you don't know how, or don't understand what they 
mean, ask me. If I don't know, I'll find out for you. A lie about level of 
education in this field has the potential to result in injury,  and is an 
affront to those of us who take pride in our profession, and in educating 
ourselves. This is not to say that just because someone is certified, there 

is a guarantee of absolute safety and that there won't be an occasional mishap.

But why not stack the deck in your favor.   
 

SHAPE your own SELF esteem

I used to do these talks called "Fireside Chats" with young women. We would talk about self esteem, internal/external motivators, and cultural and peer pressures, among other things. One exercise that we would do would be to look through magazines, specifically ones that market themselves as health and fitness magazines such as Shape, and Self among others. I would have the girls pick photos of women they would like to physically emulate and we would discuss it. One thing we talked about was the prevalence of photo shopping. We all agreed that the images of women we were seeing in these magazines had been photo shopped, but it did not seem to have a bearing on the fact that the vast majority of these young women still wanted to look like these models. That led us to a discussion of intellectualizing versus emotionalizing. Intellectually, they knew it was impossible to look like something that literally was not real. ( Why not Wilma Flinstone? She had a tiny waist!) But emotionally they just couldn't get past the pressure they felt to look like that model. (Real or not.) Poor girls.
Sadly, although these were college coeds, and high school girls, this emotional/intellectual dichotomy exists for women of all ages in our culture. I have been a personal trainer and group fitness instructor for 24 years. October 2012 will mark my 25th year in this industry. I have always tried to encourage clients and students to work from the inside out. Striving for health, strength, and performance are positive motivators. Striving to look like a cartoon character, or prepubescent model who's had her waist shrunk, neck lengthened, acne removed, eyes lifted and jaw widened is a negative motivator. What I noticed early on in my career was that for clients who adhered to the former of the two motivators,  progress was swift, enduring, and fun. The latter by contrast, always frustrating, tear filled and fruitless. The same holds true today.
Instead of focusing on baby weight that hasn't come off as fast as the latest celebrity mom's, or getting frustrated because you can't get rid of the dimples in your thighs, or the little layer of skin that your bra squeezes under your arm pit, or whatever weird new physical sin that has been foisted upon you, try focusing on getting stronger, running a little longer or faster, learning a new movement pattern and perfecting it, trying a challenging new sport or exercise, or learning to breath, or touch your toes. The rest will come. AND better yet, even if it doesn't, you won't care because you'll feel accomplished, you'll have improved self esteem, and you'll be proud of yourself.

And one more thing. Stop Buying the damn magazines that make you feel bad about yourself in the first place. Now go on with your bad selves! Roar!

I'm Okay You're Okay..............Okay?

Several years ago, my sister and I took a drive to La Conner Wa. There is a Tulip festival up there every year, and we decided, on a whim to take a drive and check it out. I've always been a sucker for the clean lines, and vibrant colors of a Tulip, indeed they are my favorite flower (Dahias, calm down you're pretty too.) In classic Washington State style however, the weather was cold, the Tulips were late, and we ended up looking at fields of green stalks.......We are not a couple gals who turn tail and give up on an adventure, so we wandered into town, found the nicest little restaurant and bar, and sidled on up for lunch and a glass of wine. As we sat chatting we couldn't help but overhear a very tense, angry and volatile interaction at the tale next to us. It turned out that the gentleman at the table had ordered a burger that took too long to appear before him, and when it finally did, it was not up to his carnivorous standards. After the server apologized, comped everyone's meal at the table, prostrated herself for flogging, and promised to live a miserable, and tortured existence, to make up for her wayward, service transgression, the table seemed slightly less hysterical and they got up to leave. Around that same time, I got up to use the restroom, and overheard the disgruntled carnivore in the hallway discussing his recent burger trauma with his date. And he said, and I quote: "That was one of the worst experiences of my life." Yup. You heard it here, tardy, bad burger = worst experience EVER!
I recently returned from a trip to San Diego for the annual IDEA World Fitness Conference. It was fine. I could have done with a little less self promotion and gadgetry, but over all it wasn't the best ( that would be Vegas 2005 um, Forum shops...) it wasn't the worst( that would be Anaheim 2000 um, Anaheim) it just kind of.....was. San Diego is pretty, the weather was nice, and the hotel was a hotel. The EXPO was small, but the sales push was big, big, big, this year. Every workout was going to Clean your clock! Kick Your ass! Wipe the floor with you! Stand on your hands! On a BOSU! With your eyes closed! juggling with your feet! No your FOOT, just one juggling foot! While someone punches you in the face and sprays you with a garden hose! You'll be the best! BEST! The most ripped! Your skin will look like saran wrap covering sinew! Like raw fucking steak!  THE BEST! BEST!!!!!!! It's the most fun. FUN! And hard it's so fucking hard you might not even live to tell a soul how hard it was.  But what's that I hear? Namaste? Huh? Ommm? What? Peaceful, breathy, flowy, stretchy, soooooooo happy. The HAPPIEST! Buddah, tummy, kiss, kiss, love love, smoochipie. Ain'tnothingonnabreakamystride, did I say Namatste? Wrap my leg around my neck, and stand on one foot? Carve sanskrit into my stomach? Pull my foot up over my shoulder? Both feet? And walk on my hands? And chant? And breathe? And be happy? ALWAYS be happy. hug a lot too.

Here's the deal. If the burger dude was honest when he proclaimed that a cold, belated burger equated to one of the worst experiences of his life, he has lead a mighty charmed life. Where do I sign up?
Conversely, Not every workout, has to push one to the point of mental and physical breakdown. Alas, yoga will not pay your bills, or fix your marriage. It absolutely can help manage stress as can many other forms of physical exertion. Adrenaline, endorphins, dopamine, oxygen, can make us all feel better. But yoga in and of itself does not make one a good person, just as the ability to balance on a BOSU does not make one an Olympic gymnast, or an NFL running back. But isn't that okay? Isn't it okay just to be okay? Just to have a day.?Just a day. A plain old random day. And isn't it okay to be pissed off sometimes? And happy, more times hopefully? It's okay for your kid to go to a state school or even, wait for it Community College!!!!! Dun dun Duuuuuun! Or how about this, maybe no college. Maybe she'll write poetry, drive a lunch truck and live with her boyfriend and their cat. Enough with the pressure, already. I just feel so guilty these days if I don't wax hyperbolic about, well about just about everything. I feel bad if I'm not super happy happy HAPPY! And I feel bad if I'm not OUTRAGED! about some stupid shit some nutjob said on FOX. I feel awkward if I'm not shitting a 5 lane freeway over the cheese I just ate, the music I just heard, the workout I just created, or the convention I just attended. I love, and I mean this, I really love my students and clients. But some times, like this morning in Kinesis for instance, it was just good enough that they got there, moved their bodies and felt good about getting their day started. And that made me feel..............Good enough.