Got my red belt in karate this weekend. My first coloured belt; I’m no longer the lowest on the totem pole! My gi has pizzazz now: and I’m proud fit to burst. So often, in the dojo and out in the world, I see people brushing off their achievements.
“Yeah, I just ran a 10k, but it’s not like it’s a marathon or anything.”
“I did just work for 5 years to lose that weight, but it’s no big deal; I really shouldn’t have been fat in the first place.”
“I got my red belt, but it’s just red – I have a long way to go before my black belt.”
Seriously. Can we cut out the false modesty? Achieving things makes me happy and fulfilled. As it should. I work deliberately to get things done. I’m not the kind of person to whom things come naturally. My fitness level? Worked my ass off (literally) to get here. I still work extremely hard; if I didn’t, I would be much weaker and flabbier. My pear-shaped body likes to be softer; I was never the skinny kid, and I never will be able to just eat whatever and not gain weight. So I take pride in completed workouts in which I did my best. My business? I went through a lot of change and learning to open it. Then a lot more to transition it to so
I’m on a mission to “create space” in my head. That was part of my homework when I had my nutritional consult with Karen, and I’ve been searching for it ever since. Meditation is the obvious choice for opening the mind, but meditation, it should be said, is like stabbing myself in the eye with a fork is not really my thing. I can’t picture myself sitting cross-legged doing nothing but contemplating for any length of time. Actually, thinking about it now makes me laugh – my three year-old, Molly, would be like, “Cool! Mum’s a jungle gym!” in about five seconds. Plus my mind wanders incessantly, and my inner monologue would no doubt have a field day: Why are you doing this? This is boring. This is stupid. You have an itchy leg. What’s that noise outside? I wonder if that laundry’s done. What is Molly up to? Is she colouring on the wall again… and so on. So no meditation. But space is still the objective. Running helps, but I need something more. A few weeks ago, our family joined a local dojo. Husband Jamie has studied martial arts since
I’m standing naked in front of my full-length mirror. This is my exercise in exiting my comfort zone today, and boy, is it ever working. Having grown up in a rather liberated household, I’ve always been comfortable disrobing in front of others in a change-room, or around family. Disrobing in front of myself for the purpose of affirmation, however, seems terrifying by comparison. During yoga training this weekend, we spoke a lot about our comfort zone, our ego, and the things we tell ourselves. Here’s the gist: If I go about looking at my body from a place of hate, disgust, or shame, I propel those feelings into the future and am guaranteed to live them. I know this. We all know this. But it’s easier said than done to love yourself all the time and look at your body from a place of love, acceptance, and pride. I wrote a blog recently about how everyone’s body is perfect, and I really meant it. I meant it about myself, too. But living that “perfect imperfection” daily is about meaning it when I’d actually rather cut myself down. Hence the nakedness in front of the mirror. I deserve to be happy in my own skin, though, so I try and ch
I’m staring at my feet. I’ve been staring at my feet for the last two minutes, trying not to distract myself. My feet are planted into my vibrant purple yoga mat. My knees are bent just a little, and my upper body is flopped over, my arms hanging down by my feet. Context starts to creep in: wow, I really need a pedicure. How long have I been in this pose? Sounds like that baby outside is pretty unhappy… No. I give my head a teeny shake to empty my mind of chatter. I focus on the exquisite sensation in the back of my legs. Breathe in: focus on tension. Breathe out: let tension go. I repeat this breathing pattern until I feel the rigidity in my hamstrings start to slacken. Ahhh. But I still need a pedicure. Becoming a yoga instructor was not something I thought would ever happen, but here I am, three days into Yin training, learning the (y)ins and outs of poses such as Rag Doll, Hero, and Smiling Cow Face (yes, seriously). Why am I here? The first time I tried Yin yoga was during my first foray into running, and my hips were tighter than the lid of a pickle jar. I sought relief from the discomfort in my body. Now, almost ten years later, I seek relief from the discomfort in my mind. Like many people I know, I’ve gotten used to being distracted by the context – while driving to work I seek distraction from the radio. While waiti
I’m healing this week, from a bit of a wounded pride. I have tried and failed to do at least 4 fitness shows. I did succeeded once, but in hindsight, I feel like I might have only succeeded at the hands of Trainer Jamie, who basically pulled me along and made decisions for me. This time, with only me at the helm, I failed. Or did I? At the beginning of this fitness journey, I told the world my plans to keep me accountable and on an even keel. And it worked, to some extent: It helped to know there were people cheering me on. But in the end, my decision to stop all of this made me feel both empowered and lost. Was it the right thing to do? Right or wrong, this humble-pie eating experience has taught me a few things: Failing is really, really, normal. Thomas Edison said, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10, 000 ways that won’t work.” My track record is one win for five “losses”, so I suppose I’m doing alright. The wins in life are remarkable; failure is easy to come by. If we just press on knowing that failure is inevitable, I feel like success might come faster.
This diet thing isn’t working. It’s making me miserable, in fact. Not in the overt, I’m-so-hungry-shoot-me-now way that it did last time. This time it’s a slow and subtle road to miserable. I’m munchy, not hungry, all the time. I don’t feel like my body is crazily burning fuel like before. It sucks. In some ways I have more discipline than last time: when there are sweets and treats around, I seldom want any and can avoid them without having Trainer Jamie talk me off the ledge. In others, I feel like I have so much less: breakfasting with the kids when there are pancakes or sausages or even fruit salad on the table makes me feel achy and empty that I can’t partake. Part of me processes this information and thinks, Get a grip. You can still hang out with the kids without eating sausages. But the other part of me wonders, Well what are you doing this for, anyway? And that part of me, the questioning side, got my attention this weekend. What am I doing this show for? I don’t know. It started out as a way to push us all forward. Ana needed a driving force. Bailey wanted a new journey. I needed to focus and train hard. But we are doing all of that. And I realize that the only part of this I’m dreading is the initial goal I set for myself of getting on stage. Weird how that happens… Getting on stage and doing a fitness show mean
Thai Massage is an ancient modality used by Buddhists to stay healthy during their travels. They believed that through the combination of Yoga and Massage, one could heal from almost anything. It is done in a relaxed setting, on the floor (with mats) and fully clothed. Each treatment is tailored to your needs, putting you through a variety of stretches combined with massage techniques. The foundation of Thai Massage is that the whole body needs to be treated in order to aid in the healing process. Therefore, each treatment will not only focus on problem areas, the whole body will be addressed. Thai Massage is designed help with mobility, flexibility, stress reduction, boosting your immune system, and helping to align the body’s energy through direct work on the Sen (the energy lines of the body). Although treatments can be done in 60 minutes, I highly recommend a 90 minute treatment for the full benefit of this style of therapy. The extra 30 minutes means a smoother and less rushed pace leading to increased relaxation. If you get cold easily, I recommend long loose pants (sweats or yoga pants) and a long sleeve t-shirt. Or if you tend to be warm, shorts and a tee, or a combination of either. Remember I am moving you through the poses and you are expending no energy to keep yourself warm. If you have any questions about Thai Massage, please feel free to contact me at th
“I hate my jeans.” Ever said that? I have big legs. Always have. “Solid”, or “strong” if you’re trying to be tactful, but big nonetheless. Stocky is how I have always been built – I can see my chubby little legs powering me around in pictures of my childhood. I stopped growing at 5’0”, around the time I turned 12. My legs have never been long, graceful, or slim. As such, buying jeans and pants has always been an ordeal; one that I came to resent. Over time I slowly amassed a collection that fit kinda-sorta-ok-but-not-perfect, and throughout my twenties I was able to get by without buying too many more. And then I had a baby, and my whole body changed. Ugh. After I lost the baby weight (an ordeal unto itself, believe me), I was looking forward to being “me” again and wearing the clothes that I had packed away for a year. I pulled on my favourite pair of jeans, ones that I had worn in to fit semi-roomily around my thighs and butt, and… they didn’t fit. Wait, what? Panic, momentarily: I thought I was back to normal. Are these the right jeans? Yes, they have that small rip near the right heel… these are the ones! But they’re not fitting! Did I throw them in the dryer by mistake? Holy crap, what’s going on? I tried another pair: tight in the thighs, tighter than usual. And another: loose around the middle, tight in the bum. Another: overall jus
Jen I’m not a fan of relaxation massage. I know, as a massage therapist myself, I should be open to all types of therapy, but in my own personal experience, getting a “relaxation” massage is akin to an eighth of a back scratch, or a bowl of a low-calorie ice cream: unsatisfying, incomplete. To me, a massage is relaxing when it relieves you of your problems. Tight shoulders? Check. Trigger points giving you a headache? Check. Sticky fascia around the hips? Check. Get my kinks out and I’m a happy girl. Melissa knows of my proclivity for the therapeutic, but she needed people to practice her Thai skills on. And lo and behold, we both ended up with a free hour at the same time this week. “Trust me,” she said, “this is not your typical relaxation massage.” She was so, so right. I got my comfy yoga clothes on and lay on a spongy, sheet-covered mat on the floor. Not what I was expecting, but nice. The room was dimly lit as always, and the normal zen music played in the background. I was in familiar territory. So far so good. Melissa began at my feet and worked upward, rocking me, kneading my muscles, stretching and moving me gently but deliberately. Some movements, like the hip-focused stretches, were intense and required me to concentrate, breathe (are my hamstrings really this tight?). Others, like the rhythmic single-shoulder rolls where she
The blog Indelicate Flower: A collaborative blog between three fitness gals originally had it’s home here. It is a blog about fitness and health, and three womens’ journey to the competition stage. We decided to make IF’s new home here on the Whole Therapy site, where it would reach even more people. We hope you like it! ~Jen I just had the most satisfying meal of my life. I’m aboard the Carnival cruise ship Ecstasy, and it’s not the quality of the food that made the meal amazing, nor was it the service, although both of those surpassed my expectations. No, it was the simplest thing that led me to be so gratified. You’re going to laugh: I chewed my food. Here’s how this started: The other day, at home, after the little one was asleep, I made my usual egg and mushroom scramble with salsa, and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. Husband Jamie joined me, and watched with an astonished look on his face as I began to eat. What? I was a little annoyed. Did I have food on my shirt or something? Do you realize what you’re doing?