Bliss

A few weeks ago, I posted about how I’d been working at making friends with Winter this year.  It’s been going well overall, I think.  I’ve spent a fair amount of time outdoors every day, whatever the weather, and I’ve cultivated some winter-appreciation activities indoors and out.

I just have to say it now, though: I’m done.

Really.  Stick a fork in me.

Winter, I am so over you.  And you know what?

It’s not me.  It’s you.  You’re one cold, relentless bastard.  L.L. Bean recently notified me that the snowshoes I have on backorder are expected to ship for delivery in June, and here’s the thing: I actually believe it may still be snowing then.  You see what you’ve done to my hope, Winter, you heartless S.O.B.?

We can’t go on like this.  I need a little “me” time.  A little space and distance.  A little goddamned Vitamin D.

Here’s the deal: I’ve booked a flight to Miami and am looking forward to some sun and fun with a girlfriend.  In the meantime, I am shamelessly dreaming of Summer.  That’s right.  Summer’s my favorite, and there’s no sense denying it any more.

Hell, there are pictures that absolutely make me drool.  My god, the memories…

First, there’s the way summer days evolve into summer nights:

There are the modes of transportation:

There’s the food and drink:

There’s Fourth of July:

There are lush gardens and flowers for clipping:

Even the storms are pretty:

So, though there is more snow falling outside right now, I will not grumble.  I will simply snuggle in to dream of Summer days.  You can’t steal my bliss, Winter.  You’ll run out of bluster soon, you cold, hard meanie, and in time I will once again feel like this:

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Manic

I can type way faster than John Ford.

This makes sense, because he can lift, press, row, bike and Burpee circles around me.

In other words, we both love what we do for work - and therefore we do it well.

As those who follow me on social media know, I’ve been spending three mornings a week getting my butt kicked in an effort to be stronger.  (And, yes, to look better naked.)  I’ve been learning more new exercises than my brain seems able to hang onto.  I’ve been trying like heck to overcome fears inspired by my general clumsiness and lack of balance.  I’ve celebrated small victories - like jumping and landing both feet on a box simultaneously.  (It’s tougher than it sounds, yet there are folks braving boxes three times the height of the one to which I’ve barely graduated.)  And don’t get me started on “Bunnies” - pure evil right there, giving an exercise requiring so much strength, coordination and memory a cute, fluffy name.

Welcome to the world of Manic Training.

John Ford graduated from URI with a degree in physical fitness and wellness, but as so often happens in life, the career opportunities that came his way were not in his field.  He worked in the restaurant business and various sales jobs, then - as so often also happens - the stars aligned and things fell into place.  John earned his personal training certification around the same time Dave Barnes was working to open the first Rhode Island Manic Training location in Wakefield.  After taking his first class at Manic, John knew this was “it” for him.  He taught for free for months, waiting tables to help support his family, and ultimately he bought the Wakefield franchise.

As his wife Nicole says, “I have never seen John happier - this is truly a matter of someone finding the career that is a perfect fit.”

I’d have to agree.

I’d also have to admit I was slow to give Manic a try.  I mean, I’m a self-employed single mother.  “Manic” is a word that could be used to describe my daily routine.  If anything, I was looking for something entitled, “Chill” or “Zen.”  So while friends joined Manic, loved it, and urged me to give it a whirl, I went about my usual routine: running, swimming, biking, SUP boarding and taking yoga.  I mean, how was I supposed to find time for one more thing anyway, right?

Then one of my good friends was battling cancer and fighting to keep her local business going.  John Ford donated two 6-month Manic Training memberships to the auction held to help defray her medical bills.

“We’ve been saying we should try this,” another friend and partner-in-crime (a/k/a The P.I.C.) said at the auction.  “This is a win-win.  We try Manic, and the money goes to a good cause.”

The P.I.C. and I were the winning bidders.

Barely six weeks ago, we went to our first Manic class.

And now we’re hooked.

It’s not just the fun, supportive atmosphere John fosters for people of all ages and abilities.  The variety and complexity of the workouts makes it the fastest, most challenging hour imaginable.

And then there’s the results.

Here’s what’s happened to me since starting Manic Training that short time ago:

• I’ve lost four or five pounds, depending on which scale you believe.  And I think we all know which scale I will choose to believe.

• When I wave, I no longer have granny-arms waving back.  As my massage therapist and fellow Manic devotee Stephanie will attest, should I need to cock a pump-action shotgun with one arm Terminator 2-style, I could totally do it.

• My butt, which I’d previously accepted as a typical flat WASP-girl rear end beyond aesthetic help, seems to be gaining definition.  It won’t break the Internet any time soon, but I’m OK with that.  Because there are only so many occasions where a girl needs to balance a champagne glass - or Kanye West’s hand - on her ass.

• I’m faster when running.  And by ‘faster,’ I mean tortoises and old folks are no longer leaving me in the dust.  Still: improvement of nearly a minute per mile?  In the space of little more than a month?  Hell, yeah.  This is me now:

Best of all?

Manic Training really is all about community.  It’s a family endeavor for John and Nicole, and they envision it continuing to grow in a positive, healthy way, as it supports more and more people on their road to fitness.  They are in the process of implementing a program for youth, so it can really be fitness for the whole family, and Nicole - a nutritionist, yoga instructor, and avid athlete in her own right - is using her skills to help round out Manic’s offerings.  

So stick with me, and I’ll keep you updated as I try to work past my two left feet and that ironic nickname, Grace.  Just don’t expect me to be able to do a perfect Bunny any time soon.

Interested in Manic?  Check out their web site here.  Black Friday deals are coming - keep your shopping local and healthy!

www.kcwilder50ways.com

Waking the Merrow

Remember the over-the-top-crazed-fan-girl enthusiasm I oozed in 2013 when I finished reading Anthony Paull’s Desperation Lingers?

Mere weeks from the end of 2014, I’ve found this year’s equivalent.

Heather Rigney’s debut novel, Waking the Merrow - adapted from her short story “Mermaids Are Not Nice” - impressed the hell out of me from the very first sentence to the last.

Evie McFagan is just the kind of heroine I love.  She’s a pudgy, unattractive and friendless funeral director steeped in alcohol and the lies she tells her acquaintances at the local bar.  Utterly unreliable, she has trouble finding allies who’ll believe that her daughter has been kidnapped…by an evil, man-eating mermaid.

From there, Rigney weaves a tale - or tail, if you will (sorry - couldn’t resist) - through the waters of Narragansett Bay.  She earns major props from this child of Hog Island summers when she touches briefly, poetically, and violently on the nearby islands of Prudence, Hope and Despair.  Werewolf and vampire battles have nothing on Ms. Rigney’s imaginings.  Trust me.  The combination of warring merpeople and artful writing makes this a page-turner.

Then there’s Rigney’s sense of humor:

“Naked, tattooed men meandered around, lit torches, congregated in groups, spoke in hushed voices.  It was like pictures I had seen on the internet of ComicCon, except no one was wearing a cape.  And there were no females.  So, yes, it was just like ComicCon.”

Yeah.  I know you just LOL’ed.

Last but not least, there’s, well, the end.  Which I can’t discuss because I don’t do spoilers.  Suffice it to say I am waiting for the sequel.  (You hear that, Heather?  Hurry up!)

In the meantime, my only gripe with Heather Rigney is that I’ve now got one more creature to worry about when I swim in Narragansett Bay.

For more about Heather Rigney and her work, visit her web site.  Or click here to buy Waking the Merrow.

www.kcwilder50ways.com