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.

Scoot down a little..........

I had my annual a couple weeks ago. Not to harp on the crazy ass situation I just peeled myself away from, but it's weird how I had 2 annual reviews within days of eachother. One was a job review and one was a quick check under the hood, if you know what I mean. So, I have probably the coolest, most qualified, most patient definitely most stylish Gynocologist EVER. Seriously people, she really is simply the best. AND! She does not deliver babies! Which means she has time to dedicate solely to my Va Jay Jay, and my neurosis. It really is a match made in the deep recesses of my mind.
However. Because she is the Nancy Wilson, the Hillary Clinton, and yes, the  Margaret Atwood of Gynecology, she is really quite busy. I had to settle for this other doctor. I had never heard of her. I was super stressed because parking sucked, I was late, I had just given my notice at my job, and before my appointment, the nurse made me stand on a scale with ALL my clothes on. I thought my head was going to explode. Honestly, at the end of the day, the table, the stirrups, the weirdo robe, the speculum "hi this might be a little cold." These things do not bug me. As chatty as I am , I prefer not to talk under these circumstances. Seriously, me no likey talky. Maybe if there was like some ambient lighting and a wine list. However, I just don't feel like chatting about stuff while bathed in bad lighting and wearing nothing but PUMA socks and dangling my pasty legs over a stainless steel table.  Like nothing. Okay, maybe, and I mean MAYBE I could chat about  The Patriots, but you know what? Probably not. That's right probably not. Not even my Tommy. No not even TB 12. I just want to get in and out. Wait, that didn't sound right..........
So, this new doctor, who I did not know, and who did not know my vagina. She starts asking all these invasive questions. Like "oh how are you" "periods normal?" " taking any vitamins?" " do you think Michelle Bachman really has the goods to become president?" That last one I made up. But the other ones were totally true. As I pointed out earlier, I was pretty stressed out (refer to aforementioned post) and I was in no mood for the third degree. But this lady doctor, she would not let up. Now she's talking about hormones, and freaking some sort of random something that gets secreted during elderly periods. Whatever. But then, get this. She starts talking about decades. Like your 20's are the time when you make some mistakes. Apparently, for some people it's a time when they might dance on bars, and date undesirables (who does this?)Your 30's are the time when you hopefully take some responsibility for who you are and come to some sort of detente with regard to things for which you blame your family. Your 40's are a time when you really dial down on the circle of authentic and sincere meaningful relationships with which you choose to surround yourself. Totally! Yes! This is true! Well for me it is anyway.
SO. As luck would have it, the very next week, my very good friend Kristy, facebooked (yup it's a word, I said so) me and requested my presence at lunch. I have not seen Kristy for quite a little while, and never a more authentic person has graced the earth. Kismet, you say? I say yes!!!!! We had lunch today and talked our heads off for almost 3 hours. Holy crap, seriously, I told her my story of a bunch of stuff, and she regaled me with tales of jury duty(as it turns out, The Hurricane on 6th Ave. right down the street from Lil Darlins is host to some rather unseemly characters.) We ate great food, talked without taking a breath, and reconnected. And I couldn't help think about what Dr. Nosey had said. Different decades have different lessons. Just be quiet for a minute, concentrate, breathe, and see if you can hear what your life and experience have to say. From what I found, it can be really scary. It can also be pretty liberating. In any case, it is what it is..........Wherever you go there you are.

When I was 19 I went to Bumbershoot with a girlfriend. We wandered the Seattle Center grounds searching  for something worthy of our sophisticated sensibilities. Considering that I was fresh off of a bender of Journey, and Billy Squire, I was in no mood to suffer mediocre art. We scoured the program for the least offensive show we could find, and ended up settling for George Thorogood, of the Bad To The Bone Thorogoods..............Anyhoo, as it turned out, there was a blues band playing before him that we were loathe to tap our feet to. As I was feigning interest, and smoothing out my turquoise stirrup pants, a rather attractive gentleman asked me for the time..................I married him 5 years later. Let's just get that out there. But here's the deal. The minute he walked up to me, and sized me up like a junk bond(it was 1982 remember) I knew something wasn't right. You know when so many things are going through your head, and nothing really seems to register? It was like that. I was 19, he was 27,he looked like a surfer, and had big teeth,  he didn't have a job that I could decipher, there was a blues band sleeping on the floor of his house, he drove a Porche..................So you see, so much to be wary of, Oh! Oh! there was the raging drug problem. And I mean PROBLEM. Like A&E Intervention problem. The point is, I just kept going along with the relationship even though it was clearly riddled with issues. It wasn't until I landed at Pro Robics, (the studio where I have been teaching for the past 24 years,) and surrounded myself with folks who lifted me up and allowed me to flourish as a person, did I find the self esteem to leave him, and file for divorce.
This self esteem thing, as it turns out is a continual work in progress. I left, well, we'll call him "Chip." I left Chip in 1989, my divorce was final in 1990. My divorce was final, yes, but I'm a work in progress as we all are. I've been teaching and training at Pro Robics since 1987, and although there have been ups and downs, I've always felt a sense of family there. I've never had that crappy feeling in the pit of my stomach that made me nervous about those for whom I work, or where I work. Let me say this; sometimes you don't know that something is not good or right for you until you extricate yourself from it.  Too often we push those nagging thoughts of discomfort to the back of our mind, because the money is(hmmmm,or was) good, we want to keep the peace, it's a hassle to change, or we're just lazy and it's "not that bad."
I recently left a job where I have been walking on pins and needles for 3 years. It's curious how over the course of time my foot got callused and those pins and needles didn't hurt quite as bad. Sure once and a while one would really stick me, but for the most part I toughened up. I learned to wear thicker soles, and steel myself for impact. They say that when one's anxiety is heightened, the body does an amazing job to self protect. And many times, it's not until one is out of the battle that one realizes how stressful it was. The anxiety is still there but the threat no longer exists.
If you feel a little pit, a little voice, a tiny prick on the foot, maybe it's time to step away. Give it a minute, if the anxiety and stress melts away in a matter of days, maybe it's best to call it quits.
I know it was for me...............
Peace.

Change

Is good.