True Friends

I was 35 before I realized what it was like to know people who don't judge or tell you that the things you like are stupid or that the choices you make aren't great.


I mean real friends do tell you your ideas are insane but they tell you that because they love you and want you to be safe and not get hurt. They tell you your ideas are crazy but that you are awesome for being crazy.

This isn't to bash any of the friends I made before 35. Some of them were and are still awesome people but I was never comfortable enough to be 100% me.

I worried that if I showed them the full level of crazy they would cringe and run away. I realize now they wouldn't have but I worried a lot about it then. I worried about a lot of things.

I wasted a lot of time on what others would think or say or know about me.

Foolish.

A thing I sincerely hope I am able to teach my kids a lot sooner than I figured it out.

None of this self-reflection is the point of this blog though.

It's a thank you to one of the few people who saw the full level of my crazy and said "let's be sisters."

Obviously, she is crazy too.

That goes without saying.

There are so many things about my ridiculous life right now that are directly thanks to her.

I don't mean little things. I mean BIG things. Most are thanks to her pushing and prodding.

We are not little talks people. I don't call to tell her about my new favorite coffee shop or some cute new shoes I got. We are BIG talks. Life changing talks and emergency calls in the middle of the night.

We are women of action. Not words.

So in an effort to change that and make sure she knows how awesome I know she is I am going to scream it into the internet void.

Thank you for everything.


If you were able to eavesdrop on just 10% of the shit I tell people about you your ego would no longer be able to fit in a normal sized elevator.

100 AGAIN

Today's workout was another 100 rep challenge.

You remember I got stupid last time and ended up pushing myself.

Not a bad thing. Seriously. You SHOULD FOR SURE PUSH YOURSELF to find your limit.

But this isn't some motivational speech bullshirt.

I don't have time for that, not to mention motivation is crap.

PS I totally have time to go into that but I'm still not going to.


So back to the workout today:

100 bench presses at 50% of your 1 rep max.

Now I haven't pushed my bench in a bit because I got jacked up. I haven't talked about this on here but I messed up my shoulder at the Ranger Up Grappling Classic in November.

By messed up I mean I partially tore my rotator cuff and tore my labrum. So like real real messed up but not enough to require surgery! Yeah. So since November it has been gentle lifting, no hard rolling and lots of complaining.

Finally though it is starting to feel better. FINALLY!!

So 63 pounds go on the bar and the bar gets pushed up 100 times.

I did a better job of estimating this time because I sure as hell wasn't going to do another 100.

It's funny. It seems like such a big number but when you chip away at it you're suddenly done and 100 doesn't seem like much at all.

Just 4 x 25
or 5 x 20
or 10 x 10

I mean there are so many variations and you don't even need to make the groupings the same number. You can switch it up however you want. Seriously you are the boss.

So basically I made another 100 rep challenge my bish!

On the Path to becoming a Sheepdog

One of the greatest things people say to me is that they are safe when they are with me.


SAFE.


In a world where scary things happen to good people, they feel safe with me.

That is a compliment I don't take lightly.


So what does a married mother of two kids do to earn that?

I'm not special forces. I wasn't a SEAL. I didn't take ninja training at age 4. I was just a regular person doing regular things until a few years ago.

It started with a thought.

My kids trusted me to keep them safe when they were little. Most kids do. They call you when they wake up from a nightmare. They ask you to check the closet before bed. They hold your hand when they are unsure.

You are their hero. 

Their protector. Larger than life and invincible.

I wondered how long would that last? How long until they realized I was just a regular mom?

How long before they realized my yelling wasn't going to stop the very real dangers of the world?

There were really only two options. 

1. Wait for that inevitable day with trepidation and fear.

2. Make sure that day never comes.

When you see it laid out like that it isn't hard to go with choice 2.

This mama bear was going to have more than mean looks to offer should anyone try and hurt my people.

So cool. The decision is made. Get some claws and teeth.  (Metaphorically of course.)

SHIT.  Where does one even start to do that? How do I become the person that keeps others safe? If you're young enough there are some very obvious choices. Military, Police, Fire.

Although even if you are young that is more a general thing. Keeping everyone safe. Maybe you don't hear that call to be a protector of the masses. Maybe, like me, it was just those little ones that lived in the same house as you that you wanted to protect.

It being the digital age everyone's first step is the internet. Maybe you can ask Alexa?  I can only imagine that the results are more information than one person can sort through. So let's not talk about generalities. Let's talk specifics. Let's use me as a case study.

Step one.
I was not in good shape by any definition. I had spent the last ten years sitting at a desk making excuses about my "big bones" and other bullshit. I doubted I could run away from danger nevermind do anything to stop it.

So I joined a gym. It sucked. I could barely stand 20 minutes on the treadmill. I would leave a sweaty discouraged mess but I reminded myself that it didn't take 10 minutes to gain the weight and it wasn't going to take 10 minutes to lose it. Slowly, and while I was just continuing to go, changes happened.
I started taking classes and then I found weights.

Side note. I DEADLIFTED 308 POUNDS the other day. I don't say this to brag. I'm pretty sure the first time I tried deadlifting anything I was happy to break 100 pounds. Just like everything else it takes time. BUT also HELL YES!!!  #308

Step two.
I found an awesome martial arts program based on self-defense. No fancy spin kicks. Those are for stunts and the Olympics.  I wanted efficiency not flashy.

We started training in real-world scenarios right away. Things that were likely to affect my life. I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF THE HARD WORK. I loved the training partners that left me bruised and tired, the confidence I felt when we left at the end of the night.

Step three.
Get a concealed carry permit. One class wasn't enough though. Were you a good driver after drivers ed? HELL NO. You had a basic understanding. It took years to feel comfortable. I got my ass to the range. I took classes. I PRACTICED.

As time passed I started to feel like that dreaded day when the world would make my kids feel unsafe with me might not come but I wanted more.  I wanted to be sure I was doing everything I could to be hard to kill.

It's not like I was really worried about anything happening.

We live in a safe place. We lead a regular life. We don't take unnecessary risks.

Sadly though that doesn't keep you safe. The world is changing. Or maybe it's always been this way and we are just now paying attention enough to notice? That's a debate for people a lot smarter than me.

I wasn't preparing for the inevitable I was preparing for something I hoped would never come. That's a hard concept to grasp. Why put so much effort into a thing that is probably not going to happen anyway?

Because if it does I'm going to make sure my people are protected. So if you feel safe with me it's because you ARE.

I seek out and try anything and everything I think will give me an advantage.  I am part of a growing group of people that want to protect. That want to feel safe.

SHEEPDOGS.

Maybe you've heard the adage before.





Doesn't matter what you call it.



In a few weeks, I will go to Texas to train with some like-minded people. I will make sure that I am learning everything I can from the most qualified people to make sure you always feel safe with me.




If you read this and your first thought was you want to join me then I'm going to save you the internet searches and missteps that lead to bad youtube videos.

JOIN ME


I'm serious! Sheepdog response is the best first step you can take.





So full disclosure. These amazing people have chosen to let me help them in their mission. I get to sing their praises and tell you all the reasons you should take a class. I know. That seems insane to me too but until they come to their senses I'm going to see how much good I can do.




Questions? Seriously ask me anything and I will do my best to send you in the right direction. 

100 is a big NUMBER.

You guys know I work out right? I mean I post about it non stop. Sweaty pictures. Weight totals. Calluses. All the stuff that helps you to get better, faster, stronger.

That's how it works. At least the internet would like you to beleive that.

What an awesome world it would be if that were true.

Sadly the only thing that makes you get better at anything is HARD WORK. And not just on the days when you feel like it but on the days when you're tired and really just want to hang out on the couch with your super fluffy dog.

Today's workout was 100 rep challenge. It was supposed to be 100 back squats @ 50% of your 1 RM.

I immediately thought "no thanks". Obviously, I was already there though so that wasn't really an option. I really didn't want to do it.

100 is SO MANY.

Still not an option though and since squats are the only thing I haven't been scaling thanks to the shoulder (partially torn rotator cuff, a story for another day) I really had no excuse.

So I check my notes on my phone to see what my current max is.

I guess I haven't worked up to a max in a bit because my last 1RM is my current 3RM. Based on the super high number though I wasn't really motivated to estimate any higher than necessary.

83 pounds. That is what I settled on and it seemed like a solid choice.

That was of course until I did the first 25 reps unbroken. I started to think that I had underestimated myself. A thing I am prone to do on occasion. But I was only a quarter of the way through. There was still a good chance that as I got closer to the 100 I would be happy to be done.

96 97 98 99 100

As soon as I stood on the last rep I knew I should have gone heavier but it's not like I was going to start over. That's crazy talk.

Half joking coach says "Why not just go for 200?".

hahahahah

Such a funny guy.

Except then I picked up the bar and got back to work.

200 back squats at #83.

link to post about me doing back squats last week.

Questions I get asked.

So I live a weird life.

I do things that aren't considered "normal".

This makes odd questions commonplace for me. Some might say de rigueur. (I'd say that because I love fancy words.)


This weeks question are entertaining. So I figured I would share them with you.


Question one:

"Are you a nurse?"


This is really only an odd question because an ICU nurse asked me. Also, it isn't something I hear on a regular basis. There was this one time a cop asked me during a "routine traffic stop". Apparently, he was bored and upon seeing my USAA insurance card asked what branch of the service my husband was in. When I mentioned that it was my service that earned my right to use USAA he asked what branch.

Of course a logical question.
When I answered Navy his reply was "A nurse?"

But I digress.

This nice lady said she was curious because of the way I talked and handled myself. A compliment for sure.

Question 2:

Was prefaced with the always wonderful. "I don't want to offend you."

For normal people that is usually an indication that they are, in fact, about to get offended but I'm not normal. (see above.)

The question was "How do you talk to children?"

He was, of course, asking this because we had just finished a workout together and I pepper most of my conversations with curse words. Like ALL the time except when I am teaching preschool.

So his question was how did I manage not to say FUCK in front of small children? A valid question.

Truthfully I don't know. I do know I've not slipped up once in front of the little ones. Maybe because they are so little? Maybe because I do have a small window every day where I can control myself. Maybe it's because play-dough and glitter make me so zen I don't feel the need to curse.

That last one can't be right but it sounded good in my head.


So those are my two weird questions this week. Anyone else asked the most random things?

Hands

When I was younger there were a lot of things about myself I would have changed.

I could go on a rant for days about my arm hair or my knees or my large Italian nose.

But the top of that list was my hands.



They were large and what I considered fat. I saw a thousand flaws and was so envious of those people with "piano player" hands. With dainty fingers that rings looked lovely on; or even fit. I tried to keep my nails long and pretty. Anything to make them seem more "feminine".

Or, at least, what I thought feminine should be.

Body image is a HARD THING.

It's so much more than just a skinny vs fat issue.


Well time has passed. I'm a different person. I love my nose.

The arm hair thing? Mostly in my head.

My hands?

I'm not going to pick up the piano any time soon but they are strong. They do what I need them to do when I need them to do it. Weights and punching and a dozen other things I torture them with and they never complain. They don't fail me.

They are covered in scars and callouses and yesterday, they were literally bleeding.

What they didn't do though, was fail me.

So who cares that they aren't going to be used in a ring commercial anytime soon. Who cares that They occasionally get referred to as "Man Hands".

The measure but which I find them beautiful is not the same as it used to be and I LOVE THEM.

I might be dead.

How long would I be dead before someone noticed?

Late last night I heard one of my kids call "Mom!".

So I yelled back "What?"  and waited.

And waited. 

And waited.

When nothing else happened I got out of bed. 

OH WAIT.

Did I forget to mention I was all snuggled in my bed getting closer and closer to dreamland? Because that is where I was after I told my children of my intentions to enter dreamland. Not that they ever pay attention to me but I sometimes like to scream into the void just to hear the sound of my own voice. 

So out of bed I go. 

Up the stairs. 

Into the lair that belongs to my teenage child. 

The door is, of course, locked despite my requests to not do that. 

So I bang on the door and the teenage zombie leaves his game for a moment to answer it.

Son- "What?"

Me- "You called me."

Son- "Oh yeah I thought I heard a gunshot."

Me- "And you didn't think to check on me? Save your sister? Escape to safety? Am I currently bleeding out while some thief robs us?"

Son-"You answered me."

Oh, that's right. I said 'what'. All the confirmation my kid needed after hearing what he thought was a GUNSHOT.

I heard no such thing. Again I was trying to enter dreamland but still his response to my attempted murder is not very comforting. 

So the question is how long would I be dead before someone noticed?