Hope you had a happy 4th of July weekend.  I have some fun news!  Our short film played in a local festival here in town.  Here is the trailer.

We shot this about 3 years ago (before I lost over 20 pounds and with sort hair) in my hometown in Indiana and finally finished the final edit about 8 months ago.  What can I say, I take my time.

Everyone once in a while I like to watch it again even though I’ve seen it at least 30 times (not counting the hours spent editing).  I watch it over and over not because I think it’s some great work of art.  It’s far from that.  I watch it to remind myself of something that I so often forget.  Sunny Life reminds me I can follow through.  That I can commit to something.  That I can persevere.  That I can choose to manage my time well.  We all CAN. Writing and shooting a film, even a short film, is a big job.  Any creative endeavor is a BIG job.  It’s sort of like getting fit.  You have a goal, a vision in your head, and every day you are faced with decisions to make choices that lead up to that goal.  You can write or paint or sew or _____ even when you don’t “feel” like it or you can put it off for tomorrow and stay right where you are.  You can workout today and nourish your body today or you can put it off for tomorrow.  Or the next day.  Or the next.

In general, don’t consider myself a very disciplined person.  Seeing our little film this weekend reminded that I can be if I want to be.  I also remind myself that for over two years, I’ve been consistent, not perfect, with my health and fitness goals.  Now it’s time to channel some of that discipline I’ve learned into other areas of my life. I think my soul needs it.

I’m want to know about you.  What creative outlets do you have?  (I STRONGLY believe EVERYONE is creative whether they believe it or not.) Any good time management tips you could share?  Do you believe in consistency over perfection? How do you feel about “discipline”?  Does it energize or exasperate you?

Hugs and High Fives,
Jenn

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Went to the cupboard.
Despite being close to the show.
When she got there
The cupboard should have been bare
Since she has trouble with “NO”.

Here’s a recap of the competition from yesterday.

The competition was an hour away from my house (w/o traffic) in Hollywood so I had decided I’d drive down in the morning which meant I got a good nights sleep in my own bed.  I got up at 6 am put on another coat of tan because I looked more like child who had been playing in the mud under a sprinkler than a “glamourous” figure competitor. After the tan I put on my face and Brent took a few pictures before I headed out to pick up my friend Martha.

Slowly growing some lats.

Only shot where you can see The Abbeys.

We get to to the high school where the show was being held and walk into the “athlete’s meeting”.  Which I  get a kick out of because I’ve never considered myself an “athelete”.  I’m just a girl who is obsessed with nutrition and likes to workout hard.   Right away, I notice that it was a much younger crowd than my last competition.  It’s not that I’m old but 31 and two kids definitely feels different than 20 and no kids when I am about to go onstage in a bikini.

After the meeting, I go backstage to find a space in the dressing room.  Good thing this is a small show because the dressing room is the size of a closet.  I start wishing I had a brown paper bag in case I hyperventilate.  The men check in first and then the women move out to the lobby to check in.  I notice this one beautiful girl who is walking around with her shirt held up with a hair clip to show her GODDESS abs.  Seriously.  I have NEVER seen abs like that on a woman. Miss Abs was also naturally tan, tall, with long exotic dark hair.  I’m sitting there feeling like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’s sister and praying that she isn’t in my class.  The check-in lady calls for the novice figure women and Miss Abs stands up.  I mutter something like “Oh %$#&” and immediately start wishing I had stayed out of the peanut butter jar and did a little more cardio.  The peanut butter just didn’t’ seem worth it standing next to Miss Abs.   As she is paying I look down and notice her fancy iphone has picture of herself as the screensaver.  Normally, I’d roll my eyes at such sillyness but in the moment  I’m thinking I’d do the same thing if my tummy looked that good.  In fact, I’d probably put a billboard of myself in my front yard if I had abs like hers.  Damn peanut butter.

So I go back to finish getting ready because of the heat my face looks like my 6 year old did my make up while I was sleeping. Let’s just say I’m a little white (or fair as I call it) and getting to my face to match my body and then stay that way is like trying to freeze a chocolate bar in a hot car.

This is a drug tested competition which means I have to pay $60 to pee in  cup.  The girl gives me the cup and looks at me as if I’m supposed to squat right there in the middle of the dressing room.  Motioning to the one room bathroom I ask, “Can I go in there?”.

“Sure but I have to watch?”, she replies.

What???   She has to watch.  Give me a break.   I don’t even go to the bathroom in front on my husband and I’ve had very little water the past 12 hours.  I sit there and try act like this is no big deal by making stupid jokes.  After 5 or 6 minutes I’m running out small talk and realize God is not going to answer my prayer the way I want.  I let her know I just can’t.  ”We’ll get it later,” she says.  Yipppeeee can’t wait.

As I said this is a small show so it’s moving really fast and before I know it I’m waiting in the wings of the stage to go on.  I’m doing my best to remind myself that I did this to LOSE but seeing the young tight girl next to me is making me feel like Old Mother Hubbard who went to the cupboard too many times.  But the cupboard wasn’t bare.  In fact, the cupboard had Costco size jars of peanut butter.  They call my number and for a minute I think maybe I really am an “athlete” as I imagine sprinting through the auditorium in 5 inch heels.  I survive going onstage although I’m smiling at the judges as if they are holding loaded guns instead of score cards.  Now we have a 3 hour break until the night show.

The really nice thing about this show is the location. Not only is it relatively close to my house but it’s on the corner of Melrose and Fairfax which means Urban Outfitters (Yes I’m 31 and still shop at UO) and a bunch of other fun little stores are within walking distance.  And since it’s Hollywood I don’t feel like freak with my orange runny “tan”, in fact, I feel like I fit in even more.  Martha and I go to Crossroads Trading Company.  It’s a buy-and-sell-used-clothing store and every time I go I find something cute and cheap.   This time it was a pair of Joe’s Jeans in a size 26 (no stretch mind you) for $30.  They were a tight 26  but after walking on the stage next to “I’m 20 with the prefect body” they were just what I needed to give the ego a lift.

After some shopping and pizza we walked back to the high school for the evening show where they hand out the awards.  I’ve drank big glass of green tea so I manage to serve up the urine sample with a side sarcasm.  I seriously considered leaving but decided against mainly because I’ve spent much of my life starting things and not following through.  It’s a pattern I’ve been working really hard to break so I go back to feel like Old Mother Hubbard one more time.

Right before I walk on stage it occurs to me that this is so not me.  I love to dress up just as much as any girl.  I love to feel beautiful just as much as any girl.  But figure competitions are just not my idea of beauty and glamour.  Not that they aren’t glamourous and beautiful in their own right but unlike a lot of girls nothing about the look but the muscle appeals to me.  I have always loved old school retro glamour.  Fair skin, red lips, elegant dresses, and classic hair. That’s the style I’ve always  gravitated towards (aside from my one year as a cheerleader in high school) when I want to feel beautiful. In that brief moment, I don’t think I have ever felt more like I was somebody else in my fake tan, tiny bikini, stripper heels, and over the top make-up.  It was surreal and I started to ask myself some questions but before I could get into my deep nonsense about why I was doing this they called my number.  While I was onstage I suddenly felt a strong sense of peace and okay with who I was despite having logs instead of legs.  I looked for my friend so I could give her a smile and I smiled a real smile at the judges.  They lined us up and started to give hand out placings.  I was fully expecting to hear my number first which means I would have received 4th or last place.  When they called Miss Ab’s (The pictures do NOT do her justice.) number I was really shocked.  Then they called my number for 3rd.  The girl in the green was 2nd.  The girl in the pink was first.  (She was totally adorable btw and very much deserved 1st.)

My friend and I decided we would leave early so I rush backstage eager to put on my new jeans.  I hike them up over my thighs and button them pleased as pie to be wearing a size smaller than before.  Then I squat down to pick something up off the floor and RIIIIIIIP.  No joke.  My new ego inflating jeans just deflated my ego like someone letting go of an unknotted balloon filled with air.  I don’t know wether to laugh or cry.  I decide to choose laughter because there is SO MUCH more to life than the size of the my jeans.  Besides who needs those stupid old Joe’s Jeans when I have The Braxtons.

So how do I really feel about my placing?  You know of course I would have enjoyed winning. Who doesn’t?  I was also a little relieved not be be last but I also sort of feel like I should have been.  I thought Miss Abs looked really great and could tell she had worked hard.  Had I been a judge I think I would have placed me last.  The thing is, it really doesn’t matter all that much to me.  It never has been about winning for me.  When I say I enjoy the preparation more than the show I mean it.  When I say do this to lose I mean it.  I didn’t reach 115 but 119 feels so much better than 126 to me.  I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again I grow and learn from the preparation.   I didn’t give this contest preparation a 100% and that’s not good.  Not because of how I placed but because I ultimately believe in good work ethic, following through 100%, and doing what you say you will do.  Had I won it would have re-enforced my half-azz tendencies.  I’m going to hang my third place plaque in my garage right under my first place plaque NOT to remind me that 100% effort will get you a first but that a 100% effort is so much more satisfying than 90% regardless of the outcome.

So what’s next?  Well I was delighted to step on the scale this morning and see 119 so I should probably work on getting over the scale.  But I digress and I still want to reach my goal of 115.  Honestly, I’m not sure why.  It’s just the number I’ve had in my head as my “perfect” weight which is total crap because perfect is relative and happiness is certainly not found in the bathroom on my scale.   Regardless, I want to follow through and reach my goal even if it didn’t happen on my competition day.  My birthday is 2 months way so that gives me 8 full weeks to lose 4 pounds and buy a pair of  size 26 jeans for my present!!!  Totally doable and healthy.   Although I’m tempted, I’m not going to do any more shows for a while because I think I should practice managing my food and exercise better for my family, myself, and for God.  I want to face some of my struggles with food (binging) head on for no other reason than it’s the healthy thing to do.   I’ve been wanting to learn how to use kettlebells so I’m going to start incorporating those as well.  I’m going to finally buckle down and get my personal training certification instead of talking about it.  I’m going to focus more effort on my taekwondo because at my  last testing I got some good feedback from my instructor and one of the guest judges.  I think it might be more in line with my natural strengths (flexibility and speed) not to mention I’m more comfortable in my uniform than a bikini!

Last but not least, I’ve been working on some changes for this site.  I’m SO EXCITED and I hope that these new changes will encourage and inspire more women to “change the world by choosing health”.  (Yes, I dream big!)  So stayed tuned to be a part of the mission!!

Once again THANK YOU so much for the support (and making it to the end of this long post). I’m grateful for your readership and want you to know how much YOU inspire me.

XOXO
jenn

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I’m really not a pack rat even though I’ve been hanging on to one particular pair of jeans for about 15 years.  The Braxtons.

I bought The Braxtons at a thrift store when I was a teenager because I thought they were cool. They have TRIPLE gold stitching going down the legs and around the back yoke.  Cool designs on the pockets which I’m sure inspired the 7 Jeans designers.   A red little tag with a lion on it peeking out on the hip seam.  Best of all they have this unique little beauty mark on the butt where someone dropped a drop of bleach.

Back in those days I wasn’t brave enough to wear a long skirt to try on pants underneath while hiding behind the racks of musty clothes in thrift shops. These days I have no shame. Or class. So I bought The Braxtons sure they would fit. That wasn’t the case. “I will fit into these someday,” I thought and put them away. Over the next few years I would periodically try them on. No luck. I even took The Braxtons with me to sunny California when I moved for college but still no luck. In fact, over the ensuing years they got smaller and smaller.

Last year I pulled out all my old pants and discovered that just because  the shoe fits doesn’t  necessarily mean you should wear it.   However, The Braxtons were one pair that still didn’t fit.  So while I gave away all my other “keepers” I tenderly folded up The Braxtons and hid them in the back of my closet with hope.  But this morning in a moment of confidence I pulled them out and was overcome with a mix of loving familiarity, hope, triumph, and disgust.  The Braxtons fit!!!   But they looked ridiculous.  Beyond ridiculous actually.

For years I’ve imagined one day being able to fit in The Braxtons.  I would wear them proudly strutting around in my flip flops.  I imagined people would ask me questions like, “Wear did you get those cool jeans??”. Or make statments like, “Those jeans are really flattering.”  This will NOT be the case.  High waisted jeans are not meant for short people with thicker thighs and full bums and 8 inch zippers should be illegal.

I’m trying to decided what to do with the Braxtons.

As you can tell I’m rather attached to these old jeans although I’ve worn them once for about 5 minutes.  Why?  The Braxtons symbolize hope to me.  I held onto to them out of belief one day I’d be able to fit into them.  The symbolize determination and perseverance.  It took me 15 years to be able to slide into them instead  nearly passing out from exhaustion trying to hoist them over my thighs.  I’m trying to decide what to do with The Braxtons.  Thinking about taking them to a tailor to see if they can lower the rise and shorten the zipper.  Or maybe I’ll just say screw it and wear them with pride.  In either case I’ve decided to document this day with some very chic Urban Outfitters/Anthropologie inspired photos.

The Braxtons: Moody and Complicated.

The Braxtons: Intense.

The Braxtons: The "cat's" meow.

The Braxtons: Confident and Cool.

xoxo
j

The other day I decided I wanted to run to my son’s school.  Okay…jog…but run just sounds so much more hardcore.  His school is only (to be exact) 3.4 miles away but it’s almost entirely a gradual uphill run.  For me, this was very difficult.  I set a goal to run it in 30 minutes or less.  I started off feeling fantastic and motivated.   The steepest hill is in the first half mile then it levels out for about the next mile.  No problem.  Then I hit the last 2 miles which is all uphill aside for very small stretch.  By this time I was getting tired, my legs were burning, and my motivation was waning but my pride was not.  You see my hubby was going to meet me at the school to bring us home and I didn’t want him to see me walking on the side of the road.  So for the next two miles I set small goals.  I will make it to that tree.  To that crack in the sidewalk. To that stoplight.  And so on.  When I looked up to the foothills where the schools is located I felt overwhelmed.  I’ll never make it up there.  But when I looked 50 feet ahead at the crumpled Big Gulp on the side of the road I felt like I could make it to the cup.  And I did.  Not in 30 minutes, it took me 40, but I made it all the way to his school without walking except for 30 seconds after a herculean sprint through a traffic light.  I don’t like to wait.  I know, 3.4 miles may not seem like a lot to you but it was for me and it felt really good.  Really good.

Losing weight and, well, life is similar. The big picture is often overwhelming, even discouraging.  How am I ever going to lose x amount of pounds?  Or pay down that credit card?  Or buy a house?  Or finish college?  You can.  If  you take it one pound at a time.  One payment a time.  One month at a time.  Once class at a time.  Heck, I often have to take life one second at a time or I’ll slip into that big black hole of depression.  We are capable of so much more than most of us will give ourselves credit for but I think anxiety over the big picture often cripples the best of intentions.  What in your life seems impossible right now?  What if you lower your gaze a bit and focus on the next step and then the next.  Before you know it you’ll find yourself at the foothills.  Then why not take a big breath and start up the foothills to the mountain top one step at a time.

Hugs & High Fives,
j

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Sprinting is good for you.  Or so I’ve read…

This weekend I decided to go to the local highschool track to get in a sprint workout in hopes of carving my log-like thighs into something more shapely like tubas.  I was disappointed to find the local track surrounded my 8 foot fences and locked.  So I drove to the local city college and found the same thing.  Luckily, I ran into one of the faculty and I asked what’s the deal with all the locks and fences.  She explained “vandals”.  Grrrrrrrrr.  I will refrain from ranting.  Anyway, more determined than ever to do my sprint workout I drove back to the highschool and drove along like MacGyver in my mini-van.  I came across a gate that I thought I could squeeze myself through.  I was right.  ”Ha ha!”, I grunted victoriously.  So I did my workout (see below), stretched, and exhausted I got up to leave.  I walked back to the gate where I had easily slipped through and look at the opening in the gate.  Hmmm…it looked smaller. I had fit through that?  I kneeled down and tried to squeeze through.  No luck.  Great.  I starting getting mad thinking someone tightened the chain while I was working out. Because it’s couldn’t have been my fault.  I quickly became sure someone was thinking “I’ll teach that lady a lesson not to use the track when it’s locked.”  Humph.  I think not.  I held my breath and got one leg, my hips, and chest through but my head started to get stuck.  My defiance quickly turned to “oh crap”.  I backed out again.  This was harder than pushing out a baby.  I thought about climbing the fence but my legs were so exhausted I didn’t think I’d make it.  So I decided one last time to try and squeeze myself through the gate.  I got down really low (near the ground) and tested squeezing my head through, praying to God it wouldn’t get stuck.  Sure enough if my head was two inches from the ground I could shimmy it through.  So I backed out and prepared for my escape.  Slowly, I squeezed one thigh through and then inhaled and shimmied my hips through.  My shoulders and other thigh followed.  Kneeling with my face practically scraping the ground I got my head through.  Then I looked back and  saw my cell phone was just out of arms reach on the other side of the fence.  Not really.  Ha!  But, lemme tell ya, that would have just been simply hysterical.  I stood up and looked around for someone hidden in the bushes laughing their fool head off at me.   For a moment, I even thought about twirling around with my middle fingers up in the air giving a general you-know just in case someone really did tighten the chain and was watching.  But then I decided that’s not the kind of person I want to be so I let my Houdini move speak for itself.  

Anyway here is the workout I did and it was awesome.  (Yes I still say “awesome”.)  My hamstrings are still sore.

Sprint Workout

1 lap (400 m) slow jog
4 laps sprinting the straight ways and walking the curves.  (In other words 100 m  sprint alternating with 100 m walks or thereabouts for a mile.)
1 lap (400 m) slow jog 

For fun I threw in 10 sets of bleachers.  

Stretch

If you don’t have access to a track just go to a park and estimate.  I think this is what I’ll do next time.

xoxo
j

The other day I walked to the grocery store and while searching for the spices through the mecca of transfats and sugar I ran into a huge chip display.  Seriously, I’m talking the Arc de Triumph of chips.  I stopped and stared for a moment at the 8th wonder of the modern world and then suddenly felt an inexplicable rage.  I squinted, inhaled, and  imagined sprinting full speed ahead ramming my cart thorough the blockade. Chips flying through the air like debris in an explosion.  The salt sprinkling down like snowflakes settling on the tiled floor.  Then I realized that after my moment of serving justice, I’d probably sit down and have a few bags of BBQ Lays  while I waited for the white jackets to come and haul me off to the looney bin.

And I thought I had worked through my anger issues…

Have a wonderful weekend.

Hugs and High Fives,
jenn

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Today I’m walking on a lonely road.  Or at least it feels that way.  I’ve not yet  learned how to catch and hold onto that elusive thing called motivation. Last week I had enough motivation  for an army.  Today I considered getting out of bed an accomplishment.  I blame it on Present Monster Syndrome (PMS). 

I’m not sure who I am today.  Last week, I was motivated, strong, determined, and positive.  This week, I’m on edge, grumpy, and feel like I could toss a truck in the Baskin Robbins window with all this unexplained rage.  Garbage Girl wants to play and I’m trying to keep cool.  But it’s hard when I feel like I’m a bottle of Coke whose been tossed in the dryer.  Not only that but I could drown myself (and anyone who crosses my path) in peanut butter.  I keep opening my pantry door and staring for MINUTES at a time at the jars of tomatoe sauce, artichokes, tuna, green chillies and hoping that a bag of Cheetos will magically appear.  I’ve never loved veggies but today I mock them.  Eat you Mr. Broccoli.  (Cackles wildly).  This morning, I ran into the grocery and walked out with a bag of dried fruit.  Halfway through the bag I realized what I was doing and dumped the rest out of the window.  This is for the birds.  Literally.  Triumphant?  It doesn’t feel that way. 

Why?  Why?  Why?  (Hits desk.) Why does this need to be so hard?  People loooove to say everything in moderation.  If not you’ll go crazy and eat everything in sight they say.  Whatever.  I could eat everything in moderation (which is relative anyway) and never have lost a pound and then Present Monster Syndrome would hit and I’d still eat everything in sight on top of all the junk I ate the previous 3 weeks in moderation.  Hooey.  That’s what I did for years.  This hormones.  And I’m not sure what to do about them.  I asked my husband if he would just lock me up in a cage and slip me bowls of clean food for a week.  I think we’d both be better off.   

Emotionally, some months are worse than others but one thing every month has in common is that I want to eat my body weight in junk food.  

So what do I do?  I keep exercising even though I don’t want to because it does help.  I keep doing my best to eat clean because I feel better.  I eat a lot of pickles and soy sauce instead of Doritos.  Five pounds of water weight is easier to lose than five pounds of Dorito weight.  I try to remember that I’ll feel better in a week.  I readjust my goals.  My goal this week is not to lose a pound but to stay the same.  So what if I’m two pounds heavier come competition day as long as I’ve lost I’ve still won.  Lastly, I seek or give forgiveness and pray that this monster will go back into the closest soon. Someday I’m going to find the key and lock that damn closet door for good.

xoxo
j

Each day we can look at our goals as a fresh sheet of paper. Everyday we each get so many hours to fill our blank sheet of a paper with drawings.  I must confess I struggle with getting started.  More often than I’d like to admit I doodle meaningless little squiggles along the edges just to file it away and start with fresh squiggly doodles the next morning. If I’m not aware this cycle will repeat itself so often that I’ll forget I’m capable of more than doodling.  

What do you want to draw?  Are you wanting an organized house?  Do you have your eye on a possible promotion at work?  A home project you want to complete?  A marathon you want to run?  Six pack abs?  Do you want to be able to see your toes again?   At some point we need to stop doodling and just start drawing. Pick up our pencils.  Who cares if you can only draw stick figures at first.   The more you draw the better you will get.   And stick figures are better than no figures.  We need to draw as vigorously as we can each day.  As some point we can look at those old drawings and marvel at how far we’ve come.  Unless we’ve just doodled in the corners for months or even years on end.

I know I’ve been complacent lately.  It’s March and the excitement of the new year has worn off.  The goals I set a few months ago are seeming a little fuzzy.  Time to refocus.  Time to pick up my pencil and get drawing.  Enough doodling our days away.  

xoxo
j

I feel like I’m wobbling on the edge of losing all self-control.  I’m not thinking about dying my hair blond and leaving my family in search of Elvis.  It’s food.  Once again I’m struggling to not be controlled by food.  Will this fight ever end?  Probably not. At least, as long as I live in a culture where people’s weight gain keeps up with our national debt.

I feel like I’m losing sight of my goals.  I’m forgetting to care for The Abbeys. I’m forgetting how depressing it is to not fit into my jeans.  I’m forgetting how GREAT it feels to have self-control.  It started off with too much peanut butter.  Then a trip to the mountains which is so easily turns into the “I’m on vacation. It’s only a few days.” mentality. And there are some personal things going on right now that are causing a great deal of stress and worry.  I can make excuses or make better choices. I am no longer the person who lets my emotions control what goes in my mouth.  At least I’m trying not to be. I’m going to be honest it’s not easy. This is a letter of forgiveness to myself.

Dear Me,

I forgive for your lack of self-control.  I forgive you for seeking comfort from food despite knowing the disappoint you will feel as soon as you swallow that last bite. I will forgive you for seeking instant gratification through a plate of nachos.  I forgive you for your short sightedness.  For failing to see the big picture and instead only seeking to fulfill your desires of the moment.  I will do my best to see you in light of your purpose and potential given to you by God and I will nourish you accordingly.  I will nourish you not because you want to stay in your “skinny” jeans (well maybe a little) but because I care about your mental and spiritual well being.

Your friend,
Me

Okay so that was a little wierd.  Well…I bet you’re a little weird too.  We all are and it’s cool…super cool. 

xoxo
j