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

The Size of It

It was like one of those nightmares where you wake up naked in public, only worse.

Because it was real.

I was in a department store fitting room.

Trying on swimsuits.

The first thought that came to me was the same one I have every time I enter a fitting room. What the hell is up with the fluorescent lighting?  Don’t they realize women would buy far more if they weren’t looking at themselves in the least-flattering light possible?  Why has no one in marketing figured out that soft lighting - and heck, maybe a drink or two - would make sales of women’s clothing (especially swim suits) positively soar?

Sadly, it was in the absence of such a marketing epiphany or kindness to shoppers that I found myself trying on tiny swaths of Spandex in a brightly-lit cubicle.  There was something called a “Miracle Suit,” which I decided was because it’s a miracle if you can breathe while wearing it.  There was a sports suit that gave me an alarming case of monoboob.  There were a half-dozen tankinis, each of which fit on either the bottom or the top, but never all over.

As I agonized over the way the latest suit failed to conceal my squishy middle, I heard a voice from the other side of the door, a fellow shopper in distress at the communal 3-way mirrors.

"I can’t possibly go out in this!" she cried.  "I’m so fat.  Look at these rolls!”

I admit it.  I left the safety of my fitting room and ventured out, pretending to want a look in the 3-way mirrors.  What I really wanted was to commiserate with this other poor soul, to have a laugh or two about how swimsuits are just not kind to women’s bodies.

What I found at the mirrors stopped me in my tracks.  A pretty girl of about 15 or 16, slim by anyone’s definition, grabbing at her middle and scowling at her reflection.  I was afraid she was going to remove skin, pulling on herself that way.  The “rolls” she spoke of were nonexistent.

I wanted to go over and tell her she’s beautiful just as she is.  I wanted to lift my tankini top and show her what rolls really look like.  Luckily, my brain kicked in and I realized pushing my bare flesh and compliments at a minor in a dressing room would likely end in arrest.  I slunk back to my fitting room.

But the incident stayed with me.  We females are so damn critical of our bodies.  Sure, we’re taught to be that way.  There’s no escaping the messages in society that tell us thin is better, sexy trumps smart.  But the bottom line is that we have to start being better to ourselves.  We have to stop beating ourselves up.

I was bulimic in my late teens and early twenties.  I have too many friends and relatives who have suffered from eating disorders, body dysmorphic disorder, and other body issues.  A very dear young friend of mine nearly lost her battle with anorexia, but has worked tirelessly to get well.

Ladies, we can end this bullshit one thought and one word at a time.

As you may know from earlier posts, I love being outdoors and active.  I “tortoise along” in road races and sprint triathlons.  One thing I’ve noticed at every race I’ve ever participated in is the wide variety of female body types competing.  I’ve seen every shape, size and age imaginable cross the finish line.  And you know what?  You truly cannot judge these books by their covers.  I’ve been left in the dust by women twice my size.

Which got me thinking: what if we measured our bodies not by how they compare to some airbrushed ideal, but by how much they do for us?  What if we thanked our bodies for the children they’ve carried, the miles they’ve run, the work they’ve accomplished?

What if we also made it our mission as women to support each other, no matter what?  At times, I’ve been called, “Skinny Minnie,” told I had no right to complain about body issues.  The intention may have been good, but I still felt the sting of judgment.  And that’s the sting that leads to trouble, no matter what the size tag on your jeans may say.

What if we made sure our daughters and granddaughters never heard us judge ourselves or one another on the basis of something as foolish and variable as our physical body?

Yeah, I’ve got a squishy middle.  I could change that.  More salads, less chardonnay.  More planks and push-ups, less hours at the computer.  More long runs, less time with toes in the sand and a beer in hand.

Or I could just find a swimsuit that gives my squishy middle a little more breathing room.

Which I did.

Via online order.

It looks great in the gentle, natural light at home.

And when I’m at the beach or on my SUP board?

I’m having too much damn fun to care what I look like.

www.kcwilder50ways.com

Want to feel better about your body right now?  Check out the Love Your Body Now Project.

And for a fun little reminder about the most important things you can apply before leaving the house, watch this awesome video.

{And PLEASE - if you are suffering from an eating disorder or body issues that are greatly affecting your life, seek professional help.  It works.  Your happiness is worth it!}

The Harder You Work

Amy Rice can do anything.

She’s a triathlete who’s won two world championships at the Olympic distance and achieved 4th Overall Master in the 2007 Hawaiian Ironman - you know, in addition to placing in an impressive number of the 300+ triathlons she’s completed and having been ranked 1st by the United States Triathlon Federation - so I think that’s a reasonable statement.

But damn, she’s got her work cut out for her with me.

As my lovely regular readers know, I’m on a mission to get my shit together this year.  You know - in response to my shit having fallen splendidly apart in seemingly all areas of my life simultaneously.  I want this to be an opportunity.  I want to become the best person I can be in all respects, and (to borrow tackily from Oprah) live my best life.  Amy Rice is part of what I think of with quiet egotism as Team Karen, the widely-varied group of professionals currently helping me make the most of my remaining time here on this planet.

So it was that I arrived at the Studio at NBX early one recent Friday morning for an arms and abs session with Amy.

Having had three hours’ sleep and quite possibly still slightly drunk from the night prior.

"I hope it was fun," Amy said, appraising my condition.

I shook my head.  It had not been fun at all.  The night before, I’d learned that finalizing my divorce might not be the amicable matter I’d hoped.  So I’d done the responsible thing and consumed massive quantities of chardonnay, cried until my eyes looked roughly like those of a Muppet, and sang along with Linda Ronstadt until both the cat and the dog pointedly shunned me.

But here’s the thing: Amy understood.  She showed me no mercy, mind you, but she understood.  She’s a divorced single mother.  She’s been through the wringer a time or two (or ten).  She helped me sweat through a whole lot of heartache.  And for about 90 minutes, I forgot all my troubles.  (Well, the ones that didn’t involve my abs, anyway.)  I laughed with and learned from Amy, savoring the work of getting stronger.

Amy knows all about that work.  She knows that very little in life comes from luck.  “The harder you work, the luckier you get,” she says.

Amen.

A Montessori teacher by trade, it makes sense that Amy is a natural at teaching fitness.  When working with preschoolers, “If it takes them twenty minutes to get their coat on, you let it take twenty minutes,” she explains.  “How else will they learn?”

That ability to assess people and work with them at their own pace translates well into the personal training business.  I first approached Amy with the disclaimer, “I am not going to be your star pupil.  I’m clumsy and I’m thrilled if I run a 9:30 mile.  Also, I’m terrified of being clipped into my bike.”

She laughed, shrugged, said, “Okay,” and we went from there.

Pretty quickly, I learned that Amy feels blessed to be doing work she loves, to be able to take her own athletic successes and life-affirming experiences and pay it forward.  She juggled work and parenting a small child while maintaining the grueling routine of a world-class triathlete.  She loves spreading the word about how personal goals and parenthood really can mesh.

Want to see Amy’s soft side?  Ask her about seeing her daughter, Kirstyn, cheering her on at her races.  There’s pure joy in her voice when she describes hearing Kirstyn cry, “Go, Momma!  Momma’s a champion!”  And I can’t help but think: what an absolutely awesome way to model for her daughter how to be a healthy, happy, strong woman in this world.  What Amy does for herself, she does for her daughter as well.

So sure, if you try to weasel out of a thirty-second plank at the twenty-seven-second mark, Amy will call you out on it.  But who doesn’t need that push now and then?  I sure do.

Just as I need the truths Amy affirms for all her clients - the very same things she’s always told Kirstyn:

You can be anything you want to be.

You can do anything you want to do.

You just need to decide on it.

Work your tail off.

And never, ever, EVER give up.

Amy Rice can do anything.

So can you and I.

{FYI, RI peeps: Amy works with everyone from folks looking to get off the couch to world-class athletes seeking to improve their performance.  She is helping me get super-fit, and her training programs are very affordable - a must because my income lately is leaner than I’d like my middle to be.  Check her out and find your strength!}

www.kcwilder50ways.com