I’m sorry

I’m sorry

I started in the fitness industry the moment I graduated from high school.  I’m not sure if it was the Joanie Greggains records I did as a child or maybe my first step class set to the tune of Micheal Jackson’s Beat It, that hooked me, but I was hooked! (duly noted in the ridiculous halloween costume below)  While I did also dream of being a killer hoop star, I just didn’t have the chops or the height to pull it off.  I realized, pretty early on, the thing I was best at, on any team, was being the cheerleader.  I was often the team captain, but it wasn’t because of my skill.  I was passionate about encouraging my teammates to run faster, go further, and drive harder.  I didn’t realize, at the time, but it would eventually be how I made a living.

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Richard & Jane

From the athletes I worked with through college to the countless clients since then, I have found one thing in common.  These people were all brave enough to reach out for help.   I think somehow that decision was more accessible to them.  They felt capable of doing more.  Those tend to be the same people that join gyms and hire trainers.  They do, because they believe they can.  What about the rest of us?

Well, I think the fitness industry makes the idea of getting healthy daunting.  We post selfies of our fit bodies on FB and then shame people for not working out, i.e. “I have 2 babies, what’s your excuse”.  We advertise 6 pack abs and buns of steel – two things that are far away, if not impossible, to most.  While we really want to help, it seems our messaging tends to leave people feeling like “less than”.  Perhaps, occasionally, these same people work up the courage to join the gym, and when they do, they sign a one year agreement, and walk out the door never to return, defeated again.  We then collect those dues and have financial success while failing them, and ourselves.

I got into this business, like most fitness professionals, with passion to serve, help and support.  While we reach some, I think we can do better.  What I realize now more than ever, is success lies within an individual’s ability to believe in their own potential.

I kept thinking I had all the answers, but I don’t.  You know what’s best for you, what you can do, your budget, your experience, you understand your successes and failures, yet I write the programs, open the gyms and teach the classes.  I’m sorry that, in some cases, I’ve collected your dues while failing to help you reach your goals.

I’d like to change that.  I’d like to meet you where you’re at.  I will keep doing what I do for the crazy fitness addicts out there (I know who you are, I love you, I’m one of you), but I want to do something different too.  I would like you to take the wheel. For years I’ve pressed people to give up their morning cereal, workout four times a week and drink oodles of water.  While it is good advice, it wasn’t centered on what was best for the person, it was centered on what I thought was best.  Lectures, advice, and eye-brow raising judgment don’t work, at least it doesn’t long term.  Health is personal.  We know what to do, and the vast majority of us even know how to do it.  My good friend, Carol, has always said it best, “We are creative, resourceful, and whole.”

So, if we can do it, why aren’t we?  I think we all just need someone in our corner, someone who’s got our back.   Next time you have the courage to take back your health, please consider talking to us.  Not to tell you what to do, but to help you build self belief and set your potential free.  Because, what you are searching for is already in you.  Try trumi health coaching today.  One Week Free

 

Lump in my Throat

Lump in my Throat

“Vulnerability hangover.”

That’s what my husband said as he collapsed on the bed.  We had just spent the afternoon at a piano recital.  My girls and husband started piano lessons about a year ago and last weekend they had a recital.  Leading up to the recital we found ourselves in a handful of debacles.  The three of them do lessons before school starts.  While this is super convenient for us, it is a nightmare for keeping track of their piano music.  After lessons, they neatly and carefully place their folded piece of music into their bags for safe keeping.  Oh how I wish that were true.  Instead, they shove it into an overpacked and massively unorganized back pack.  Which, week by week changes shapes and forms, and more often then not, that music gets lost.  While that is a disaster in itself, it lends to less practice and more drama surrounding the piano experience.

So, leading up to this recital I could feel the tension rising.  Missing music and practicing just one page of a three page piece was certainly not ideal, and the day of the recital was a rough one.  Everyone was on edge, emotions were high, and mama was running out of patience.  I found my voice raising a bit adding to the already high tension levels.  In the final moments before leaving the house I was dealing with a handful of last minute items: the dress wasn’t right, the shoes didn’t fit, the sweater was too short!  Oh dear Lord help me…so many naughty words running through my head.

We get to the church.  About 70 people gathered to both perform and applaud these hard working students.  I had a pit in my stomach, sweaty hands, and armpits to match.  If this is how I felt on the side-lines how did my family feel?  First up, my oldest.  She walked boldly to the piano and assertively introduced herself and her piece, A Whole New World.  Gulp.  I held my breath.  She played the first page flawlessly, the grip on my pant leg let up a bit, I exhaled.  Then it happened.  She played one wrong note.  I could see it on her face.  Panic.  Silence.  I started praying like only a mama can.  Silence still.  I am sending her well wishes, love, kindness, warmth, I’m wishing I would have been more compassionate earlier at home, regret.  More silence.  I can see her eyes starting to well up, it has been at least 10 seconds of dead silence and you can cut the tension in the room with a knife.  I want to yell, “It’s ok, honey. Don’t worry”, I want to run and sweep her into my safe arms and save her from this toxic silence.  The lump in my throat grows with each passing second.  She is staring at her fingers…willing them to do something, anything.  More silence.  Eventually, she skips a slew of measures, and instead just plays the last note, the note that ends the song, but certainly not her agony.  I know she’s just a kid and this too will pass, but I am without words, and my lump is growing.

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My eldest and the sweater that was too short.

The other two follow suit.  Each making mistakes and stumbling through their pieces.  My husband struggled too, but not because of lack of practice, just the pressure of performing as an adult among a trove of young kids.

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My youngest and the alternate pair of shoes.

We all head home, heads hung low. It’s as if we’d just witnessed a tragedy.  When we get home, everyone retreats to a quiet place.  I am still feeling the pain of that moment, but there is something else I feel that I can’t describe.  It’s warm and authentic and deep…I feel proud.  How in the world could I be feeling pride, when as a family, we performed the worst (and I’m not just saying that).  I  took a moment to just sit and think, and when I did, the lump spilled over.  I was so deep down proud of my family.  Through my tears I realized how hard it was to put themselves out there.  How hard it is especially knowing you won’t be the best.  How hard it is, to even try,when success is so far away on the horizon.  So, there I sat on the bed, rubbing my husband’s back, as he dealt with his vulnerability hangover ,and I sorted through my unexpected feeling of pride.  Being vulnerable is hard.  It’s embarrassing.  It’s humiliating at times, but, boy, is it inspiring.

Sure, the girls learned valuable lessons about being prepared, but I hope that’s not all they learned. I hope they watched their dad carefully, and felt the same pride I did.   He was showing them, in the best way possible, how to be vulnerable.  He used no words, made no mention of life lessons, he just did, and, so did they.   So, next recital, you might see me standing on my chair yelling a big whoop whoop no matter the outcome, because once you understand, and appreciate the magnitude of being vulnerable, it deserves a standing ovation.

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My husband. Be still my heart.
My Stupid Bloody Lip

My Stupid Bloody Lip

 
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Chair lift selfie – I would not advise this.

My spirits were high.  On Friday we had our first official day on the slopes (about time right?).  We had carefully picked up new skis and boots for both our little girls and were heading to the chalet early to get their bindings adjusted – it was going to be a great day.  

As we drove, I could feel the heat rising…not sure why all of us chose to put on 20 layers of gear before we actually got outside, but at the time, it seemed like a good idea.  I can feel a tinge of angst from the heat, but try to ignore that and keep my spirits up.  When we arrive, all goes well, we schlep 7 bags (yes 7) and the skis & poles into the chalet and get in line for adjusting.  The heat seems to be creeping ever higher, but I breathe and think of my powerful meditative ways to trigger my inner zen.  It’s our turn to get the skis adjusted (finally), and then we get a little lecture that they don’t usually do the adjustments so quickly (I grit my teeth a little…I had called ahead to be sure it would be ok).  Another deep breath, heat rising…

So we move into a different sitting area to wait.  We have a snack (a healthy snack – patting myself on the back), we all chat and wait…one hour.  Meanwhile my girls decide the helmets they decorated last year with duct tape are no longer quite right and they want it all removed.  So we start ripping and tearing the tape off.  It’s a little stubborn and the heat is really rising now.  I am pulling, grunting, and scratching at the damn tape and then boom, it happened.  I wrenched at a piece of tape and it let loose and so did the helmet – BOOM, right into my face.  My lip to be exact.  It stings.  I’m now sweaty hot with a bloody fat lip – and still an hour out from hitting the slopes.  Dear God help me!  Breathe, just breathe.

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The moment we hit the slopes. Epic lip battle wound covered well by grown up pose.

Layers of tape…

We all have layers of tape – sometimes we put them on to feel better or look better.  They aren’t necessary, and often bog us down.  Some layers have been on for years and years, making them especially difficult to consider pealing off.  Then, there’s that moment where we decide we don’t need them anymore and we want the original.  As we strip away the layers, residue is left behind and maybe even some scratches and dings, and damn the process can really hurt.  BUT the original…it’s so original.  It’s 100% the true us – with all the bumps, scratches, and bruises…if you take it all in, it’s breathtaking.  We don’t necessarily see the original reflection of beauty, somehow it’s better now, with more depth, more meaning, more experience.

Do you have tape wrapped around you?  Is it really helping?  Is it something superficial that once removed would reveal something, perhaps not as shiny, but more authentic?  I challenge you to pull it off – get the fat lip, embrace the residue and feel ever more yourself.  Need some help with the process?  We’d like to volunteer. The trumi health coaching program is well equipped to give you the tools you need and support you want to take those layers off and find your true self.

In honor of my skiing adventure, and my interesting “meal” while skiing – I give you a healthy snack idea: peanut butter balls – pack them up for your next Après time:

BP balls

CHOCOLATE PEANUT BUTTER PROTEIN BALLS (what’s not to love about chocolate and peanut butter?)

2 cups crunchy peanut butter
2 scoops chocolate whey protein (I love warrior whey)
2 ripe bananas mashed
2 T flaxseeds (ground of roasted depending on your texture preference)

Mix together, form into small teaspoon sized balls, freeze on parchment paper for 2 hrs! Voila, a yummy snack ready when you are!