Boot to the Head Camp

I know I haven’t written all week. It’s already Thursday. I can’t believe this week is almost over! To be honest, I have been in a writing slump this week. There was a killer workout day on Monday, and then- I hit a writing wall. I didn’t feel like anything I had to say would be worth hearing. Plus my arms were extremely sore and I just wasn’t up to weaving ya’ll a good story.  I appreciate your understand.

But all has been going decent, diet wise, around here. Although I have learned that chili and diets don’t mix for oh so many reasons, and have experienced a slight increase in weight with the chili calories and the fact I have been increasing my exercise substantially. And that’s what you are going to hear about today. So, without further adieu, let’s move into our story…

My buddy Alyson triple dog dared me to come.

Boot Camp. The class at the YMCA with this description: Boot Camp is the ultimate circuit workout combining intervals of cardio and muscle conditioning drills.

I should have known then…

But, having been triple dog dared, I was powerless to resist the class.

So at 8:45am my rear was happily waiting for the class to begin. Not realizing what treasures of fitness awaited me. I had on my new medium sized capris, perfect for working out, and 2 tanks- one to hold the girls up, and one to hide the fat rolls the other tank caused while holding the girls up. And of course, my wonderful Asics shoes with the skull laces. Cause I’m rock and roll at heart. Oh, and after yesterday at the trail, I remembered to wear a pad for working out. This will not be a Charlie is peeing her pants story.

The instructor, Abby, explained quickly that we were going to do 3 circuits. I had no idea what a “circuit” really was. I only know what Jillian Michaels considers a circuit on the 30 day shred DVD. Apparently they are one in the same.

 Abby led right into circuit number 1. At first I was doing really well! I was jogging and jumping and keeping up with the class. The class, I might add, of tall skinny girls who looked like they run marathons. Fit and fabulous in every way. Seeing as I was the biggest girl in the class, I felt was my duty to represent. In all honesty, that desire was probably what got me through to the end of the class. Which was probably going to be pretty soon.

But when I looked at the clock only 10 minutes had passed.

CRAP.

Circuit 1 turned into circuit 2 and 3 and 4 and 5- to be honest, I lost track. After we got to 4, I stopped caring. All I did was pray to my sweet baby Jesus that this class would end soon. Or we would do ab workouts on the floor. You know it’s bad when I’m praying for sit-ups.

But there were so many new (fresh levels of hell) experiences for me to enjoy in this class. And all of it while maintaining a “this fatty isn’t going to let people see her struggling” look of determination on my face. Which happened to be beet red and dripping with sweat. The circuits consisted of a grouping of 8 semi-impossible exercises, rinse and repeat. The whole goal is to hit the cardio really hard, and keep it up there.

We got to the section of jumping jacks. I did the first round full on kicking. Which made me realize that I am not a jumping jack kind of girl. I am dealing with the triple B factor- boobs, belly and bladder. All 3 Bs, in tandem, work against me. My boobs throw off my center of gravity and make me smack myself in the face. My belly is extremely not tone, therefore it acts much like Santa’s bowl full of jelly belly. It goes up and down and pushes against the bladder. So when we repeated the jacks, I had to do lazy jacks. Keeping one foot on the ground at all times with no hopping.

Also in the circuits, there were sections of jogging- high knee jogging, double time jogging, if there was a way to manipulate a jog, Abby found it. Which is good for the rest of the class. For me? Notsomuch. Think of me like a basset hound trying to keep up with a group of bounding Jack Russell terriers- they were all bouncy and having fun. I was thinking “when will I ever run with high knees?” I had these same feelings in my high school trigonometry class. I will never use this skill set again.

By the time we got to burpees, I was a lost cause. If you don’t know what a burpee is, let me enlighten you.

THOSE. THINGS. ARE. EVIL.

I don’t know if I can express to you what my burpees looked like. Probably like a frog with no legs. Their instinct is to do the big jump at the end, but there isn’t any true possibility or likelyhood of ever making that leap a reality.

Meanwhile, Angie, who goes to my church, was front and center, getting incredible hang time on her leaps. Every time she left the floor, she had a vertical distance of at least 3 feet. It was putting me to shame. So I kept trying. I wasn’t going to give fat girls a bad name. But I’m pretty sure I did anyway. I could only get 2 inches off the floor at any given time.

Plus about that time, my Carnation Instant breakfast starting making a second appearance. I could feel it rising to the top of my esophagus, itching to visit the gym floor. The last thing I wanted to do was Ralph in front of all the skinnies. Wouldn’t that have been a sight? So I started taking it easy. Deep slow breaths, no major up and down motions. Lots of prayer to keep my breakfast down. In my whole life, I have never worked out so hard I almost puked. So if that is any indication of how hard this class is… well, I hope you feel my pain.

Eventually, I made it through to the floor exercises- abs, leg lifts, planks, and fun stuff like that. I was so thankful to be down on the ground! I started smiling like crazy. Stockholm syndrome, I think… but I sailed through all the yoga-ish moves with no problems. Score one for the fat girl in the back!

As I left the gym that day, I thought “You made it!” and felt a great sense of accomplishment. I had overcome the evil Boot Camp and didn’t vomit. Or cramp up. Or make too much of a fool of myself.

Nope, that was going to come later in the night.

Because Monday nights I walk at the YMCA with Tricky Nikki. She’s stuck there with lessons, and we walk on the above track. Remember that? I took pictures this time.

So I decided at the last minute I would take Matt’s car. I have no idea why. Just a whim. And when I got to the Y, I do what I always do. Take my van key off the key ring and shove it in my bra.

Did you catch that?

I didn’t, until I realized that I had left my Y card in the car. So I fished the VAN key back out of my bra, and tried to stick the VAN KEY in the CAR LOCK.

Needless to say, I was locked out.

I walk into the Y, figuring that I would figure out something. But being locked out was no reason to miss a workout. So Tricky Nikki was standing at the counter, and I walked up casually to her.

“Hey, do you have a quarter on you?”

“I have one in my purse in the locker room, why?”

“Cause my purse and my keys are locked in the car, and I only have a dollar in my pocket. I need a drink.”

For those of you who haven’t met me in real life, I am notorious for locking myself out.

So we laughed together, and went on with our night.

We walked for an hour on the above track…

 …which is exactly as scary as I said it was.

Then we hit the fitness center with the machines. I had to check in with McMuscles. His real name is Don, but he’s got to be at least 6’5” with about 400 pounds of nothing but muscles. Probably not that much, but big doesn’t begin to describe McMuscles. He’s the 8^th wonder of the modern world. I’ll get a picture of him soon.

So McMuscles is my new fitness “partner.” He’s not too keen on the term trainer, but prefers partner. He’s big enough I won’t argue. And I had to explain to him that I had slept in on Saturday instead of meeting him and his group to workout. And we chit chatted for a while until Tricky Nikki and I had to get back to the business of getting skinny.

And we hit the elliptical (also known in my house as the eviliptical) for 10 minutes. I’m going to tackle that beast one day. Then Nik had to get her gaggle of kids and hit the road. I did the machines I know I have to do (triceps, bicepts, and shoulders) and knocked myself out on them. I was officially at utter and dismal muscle failure. At last!

So I texted our daughter Amy and asked her to tell Daddy I had locked myself out of the car. She texted back that they were on their way, so I ran out of the YMCA without telling McMuscles goodbye. (It’s ok. I’m going to work out with him tonight. I’ll fill you in on the gory details later.)

So the tally for the day?

Boot Camp- 1 hour 15 minutes of torture.

Walking- 1 hour of conversation with a sister/BFF.

Eviliptical- 10 minutes and 70 calories burned.

Machines- who the heck knows.

Locked out- got back in.

Charlie- walking like an 80 year old woman for 2 days.

Priceless.

Charlie VS The Woods (Take 2)

You all remember what happened the last time I took a trail. If you don't- check it out here. It's a long read, but a good one.

Needless to say, I'm a bit jumpy at the thought of ever entering the woods again. So when my big brother called and said he couldn't run tonight, but we could go run a trail right then, I mentally balked at the idea. Matt wasn't home this afternoon, so I had kids with me. Todd suggested my nephews could keep the kids busy while we ran.

He's always thinking about what is best for me (hoping to get a good story out of it) and convinced me that running a trail was a great idea. So I caved. And he picked up me and the kids.

We met my nephews at the state park, where they promised to go on a trail the boys had taken many many times. I stopped at the bathroom, realizing that I had forgotten to wear protection. (aka- an Always Infinity pad) So went ghetto and got a hunk of toilet paper, tucking it safely in my undies. Todd and I drove over to the trail and began our ascent up, walking at first. We always warm up first.

Pretty soon, we were past the mega hill, and ready to start running. Now, last week, I managed to eek out a mile in 11:21, but it was TOUGH. So we decided that we would take this nice and easy.

Unfortunately, nice and easy was far from the plan the trail had for us. It was rough. The terrain kept changing: up, down, up, rooty, up, flat, up, grassy, up, covered in piles of leaves... I was struggling to keep up. Worst part was that neither Todd nor I was familiar with the trail, so we had no clue how much longer it really was. Brought back lots of memories of the last time I was in the woods.

I'll be honest, I had to stop and walk several times. I have gotten better at knowing the usual route we run. I know where to slow the jog pace, where to speed it up. It's amazing how quickly the body adapts to something painful like running. But there in the woods, beautiful with the changing leaves and promise of beautiful fall weather, I was thinking one thing.

WHY DID I FORGET A PAD FOR MY INCONTINENCE???

I know, this is probably silly. It wasn't like I was walking at the mall and peeing. I was working hard. Working new muscles from all the uphill distances. My arms and shoulders were beet red, a common occurrence when I run. So my bladder was the last thing on my mind. Until I realized the cheap state provided toilet paper was finished doing it's job. Had I had half a presence of mind, I would have looked behind me and observed a trail of toilet paper pieces, much like Hansel and Gretel left with bread crumbs. Worst of all, we were still jogging, with another mile to go.

With no barrier, I was forced to ignore the fact my pants were getting wetter with every running step. I had to figure out what to do. Keep running with a wad of soaked toilet paper in my drawers, or find a way to get rid of it?

I determined the best thing would be to lose as much of the soggy wad I could. I let Todd run around the next curve ahead of me, so I had privacy. Then I stopped, reached up my shorts, and tried to shake the toilet paper out doggie style (with one leg pumping). That didn't work, because the soaked TP was firmly stuck to my underwear. I finally reached into my pants, and pulled it out.

THAT WAS A MISTAKE.

It turned into wet confetti in my hand. So there I was, in the woods, shaking off wet TP pieces off my hand like an idiot. Trying to hurry, because in order to catch up to my long legged brother, I was going to have to hustle. When the impromptu party in my pants was resolved as much as it could be, and the majority of the confetti was removed, I ran to catch up with Todd, which caused me to finish getting rid of what was left in my bladder into nothing but my shorts.

I felt like I was 5 years old all over again.

Sitting in my brother's van on the drive home I sat on one side of my hip, trying to keep the bulk of my wet shorts from touching his seat. I think next time I go to the woods, besides bringing emergency supplies, I ought to highly consider bringing a towel....

When it was all said and done, we ran at least a mile, walked another one, and also got to do step aerobics. Laundry is a great calorie burner.

By the Light of the Silvery (greyish) Moon

It started off as a normal Tuesday. My NEW normal is making Tuesday the night I wreck myself with ridiculous workouts. I have no idea why, it just feels like a good night to knock myself out into oblivion. And I did myself proud tonight. 8 miles, 2 pound weights in hand, and a “go get’em” attitude to beat the band with.

Walking has become my obsession. I love it. The first mile always hurts, because my legs are sore and tight. Mile 2, I start hitting the sweet spot- when I feel like I could walk all night. I start walking faster, more thoughtfully. Standing tall and proud. Mile 3 is when I start questioning if I will make it home unless I turn around soon, a notion I am learning to ignore. It also happens to be a little place I like to call “French Fry Alley.” All the fast food joints are on this mile. It pleases me to no end to smell all those places and know that I am finally stronger than that.

Mile 4 is when I ask the critical question:

Do I have to pee, and if yes, where is the closest bathroom?

Last night, the answer was yes, so I stopped at my church to pee. (I knew there were classes going on and people were there.) I knocked on the window of my minister’s office and shouted through the glass “can I come in to pee?” Poor guy. He shook his head laughing and let me in the building. Normally, I would have stopped to talk for a minute. But tonight, dripping with sweat and working off of old deodorant, I decided it was best for me to move along. I quickly peed and hit the road again.

The church having been my halfway point, I turned around and headed back home. My MP3 player blaring, I walked and wiggled and walked some more until I got back into French Fry Alley. My willpower starting to wane because of hunger, I decided this was a good place for me to jog. So I ran for an extended block, holding my 2 pound weights in each hand, pushing me forward. Because of traffic, I had to stop. And while I stopped I made another decision.

My hands hurt, and my arms needed a break. So I placed my hand weights in my fanny pack and kept moving. I keep my not-so-fashionable fanny pack rather loose so I can move it around as I need to. For fresh sticks of gum, repeating a song on the MP3 (something I am very prone to do) or to get a tissue so I can blow my nose if it’s chilly. But it was empty enough to put my weights in. Problem solved. And my arms were extremely grateful for some rest.

Until I encountered a new problem. I have to say I think my saving grace was it was dark last night. Because as my walk was going toward home, and I was lost in American musical theatre land, my weighted down fanny pack was slipping downward and hitting me in the goody patch.

This being quite uncomfortable, I turned it around so the big fanny pack part was resting on top of my fanny. And I kept hustling for a few more blocks. I thought it was odd that the fanny pack kept slipping down further and further. Apparently, my hips have shrunk quite a bit since the last time I adjusted the waist band. And pretty soon the fanny pack had slipped down to almost the bottom of my bottom.

Little did I realize what had also happened: it had taken my shorts down with it.

Yep, I was losing my drawers as I walked along the main drag in Danville. My booty hanging out for all to see the answer to a pressing question.

 Boxers or Briefs?

 (please, like I could stand boxers. I was wearing white boy cut shorties. Saying they were white is a stretch, though. More like grey- with a faint recollection of ever being white. I’m happily married and trying to lose weight. Underwear is not a priority. As long as they are clean and stay up. I’ll invest in my skivvy collection when I’m at goal.)

So there I am, bopping down a busy street, with my black workout shorts hanging down off my butt crack. Pretty soon, I stopped at the water fountain outside of Custard Cup to get my normal drink, and as I bent over the fountain, I realized I could feel a wonderful breeze. Unfortunately that breeze was not in a place I wanted to feel it and I realized my under-covered rear was on display. I grabbed the saggy fanny pack and tried to pull it back up. Which made me give myself an atomic wedgie because everything was falling down.

Standing next to the Custard Cup (which is now closed for the season), I began pulling. I pulled the weights back out of the fanny pack. Pulled up the shorts. Pulled out the wedgie. Pulled the last bit of pride from the ground. I was practically stripping on the main drag of my hometown. I’m not proud, but it happened.

You may think that the moral of the story is to not put your weights inside your fanny pack. Perhaps it is.

But most importantly, I learned that I have lots of gravitational pull on this earth.

Heck, I created a full moon!

Personal Ad

Looking for a TRAINER: Must have endless courage to deal with a whiney dieter who's tired of being stuck. Must be willing to work with flabby bat wings on arms that have extra skin from previous weight loss. Must be able to flatten stomach, while ignoring outcries of discouragement by said stomach's owner, who will tell you it's from having 3 kids. You must accept this, which she sees as truth, is a lie. Also, please be willing to be extra tough during workouts while dieter is fighting tooth and nail because she's afraid of pain. You must resist the urge to give in to her, despite her convincing desperate ramblings. If she cries, know this is a defense mechanism. Crocodile tears, nothing more. You must be willing to deal with 5 feet 4 inches of fury from time to time, especially 3 days a month. And finally, you have to be willing to call whiney dieter out on her crap. If interested, please contact me, Whiney Dieter. 

  

Last night, while at the YMCA with Tricky Nikki, we discovered this clever little kiosk sitting in the corner of the wellness center. And Nik and I, being total suckers for gadgets (Nik owned the shock belt for your abs and I own 3000 exercise DVDs and have more “bands” than I know what to do with) gleefully signed up. It’s a program through the YMCA called Mobile Fit. And we are now proud members.

What shocked me was the number of questions they asked on the little automated screen. Health questions, likes and dislikes, weight and ability, etc.. But there was one question that really tripped my trigger.

“Have you ever started a diet/exercise program and then quit?”

That question took me off guard. I wasn’t expecting it. And while my pride took a look around the room to see if the moral police was watching me so I could say NO, I realized that anyone with half a brain could read 3 posts of mine here on the Al Gore invented internet, and know I was lying my fat butt off.

Because for just a moment, let’s look at all the things I have started and stopped over the life span of this blog.

Weight Watchers

Yoga

Fat Girl Yoga (which I still do, actually- win one for Charlie)

Broccoli for dinner (a gassy mistake, to be sure)

Colon Cleansing (with a special appearance from Frank the hemorrhoid)

Wake Up with Fitness (the 6am class Tricky Nikki and I hit for a month)

Couch to 5k

Pink Hair

LOTTE BERK METHOD (My legs still tremble at the thought of her)

Swimming a mile

The Turkey Tutorial (which we may be doing again this year. Now that I have a better camera!)

Jillian’s 30 day dread. I mean shred. Either way…

The introduction of Domino’s bread bowl pastas

And folks, that is just 2009.

I am the queen of stop it and quit it. (Ironically those are the names I have given the girls. Thanks to high school boys with grabby hands, that’s all I ever said about them for 4 years. “Stop it. Quit it.”) I start things, but never seem to finish them. I can’t do something consistently for 30 days. I can’t keep up things for a long period of time. That’s just not who I am.

But who I am is changing. Who I am is no longer Charlie who hopes for the best. It’s now Charlie who is WORKING for the best. Eating better. Working out more consistently. Fighting to be the person she has never been before.

So what was my answer for that nosey little kiosk? I said “Yes, I have started and stopped programs.” Because I can’t lie about that.

But I can change it.

Tonight is the night that I walk. I’m planning to get 7 miles in. But something has to give. I have to break my own will and spirit to become the girl who knows that anything is possible. Even losing 100 pounds. And I’m well on my way. Sure, I’ve been sidetracked for a while, but that’s all part of my process. The process to wean the old me out of the new me.

And now I have help. Turns out you are given a “wellness coach” to help you along the way. And I still need to check with the fellow I have been given- to see if he’s prepared for full disclosure on the blog. (Some people are funny about that) But if he’s willing to go through this part publicly with me, then we are all in for a real treat. He’s got a body builder no-nonsense attitude. In fact, the reason I picked him was because I had a list of names on the screen and he was at the wellness center desk.

I asked him “Who will train me really hard, and not listen to any of my excuses or take crap from me?”

He kinda grinned and said, “There are 3, and I’m one of them.”

Plus, he asked what my goals are, and LISTENED to me. That is worth spades in my book and on my blog.  I think a body building trainer might be exactly what this whiney- diet- cheating- flabby- girl needs in her workout life right now. If he says yes to full disclosure, we will have to think up a good nickname for him.

The idea of having a trainer is something I have toyed with for a long long time. And now, it looks like it's just what I need to push me over the edge of my comfort zone and into something tone and fit, and maybe even a size 6. I really like that.

So tonight, if you see a girl bebopping down the main drag of Danville with blonde pigtails and sweating like a pig, you should honk and holler cat calls out the window. I’ll know it’s you.

(And to the gal who I saw last night at the YMCA who reads my blog??? I can’t thank you enough for reading! I’m sorry that I don’t remember your name (I’m bad with real names) but I really appreciate you saying something. It made my night! I worked twice as hard because you were there!!! My arms hurt like mad, but my heart is light! I can’t wait to have a real conversation with you sometime!)

Let’s go out there today, kicking fat butt and taking names. It is ON!!!!!!!!!!!

Have any of you invested in a personal trainer before? If so, how were your experiences?

The Sky is Falling!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m not exactly sure what has gotten into me lately.

I seem to be fighting against something I can’t see. Something so deep inside of me I never realized it was there. I am fighting to get back something I had lost a long time ago as a child and have never seemed to find until now.

I’m fighting for self control.

And if you think this is one of those posts where I’m going to whine and cry about how I blew it over the weekend, you are going to be disappointed, because it isn’t like that. I am fighting for self control by actually having it- a novel concept in my world- and getting rid of my Chicken Little attitude. And it’s a great feeling!This weekend, I walked, I ate well, I walked some more.

And then I ran. A whole mile without even stopping to power walk. I even surprised my big brother, I think.

But I wanted to do it. Sure it hurt like h-e-double-hockey-sticks, yet I kept wanting to go just one more block. Just keep jogging to see what would happen if I did. To see what was on the other side of that elusive rainbow of fitness I keep looking for but never seem to find…

So when it started to burn, and my legs were clomping forward in utter agony, I just reminded myself “I can do anything for 12 minutes” and kept going. I knew as long as I didn’t stop we would make it by 12 minutes.  And we did. Right now I’m not too worried about speed. I’m worried about giving up. Cause that’s what I always seem to do when the going gets painful.

Yet last night, running in the warm Indian summer evening air, the last thing I wanted to do was give up!!! And that is the first time in a long while I have felt like that. There’s an internal fire burning that wasn’t there before. It’s not about running either. It’s about being in control of my physical destiny. Taking charge of my own abilities instead of listening to my mind saying “STOP! Don’t go here! It’s painful and scary!” That voice no longer holds the megaphone in my head.

So I may be a disgruntled runner- a frustrated dieter- a person who has never swam these frightening waters before. But my goal is to get to the land of 160’s before Thanksgiving. As of this morning, I am 7 pounds away from that goal. Much better than my 180s from last week. 177 looks and feels good, especially knowing how I got it.

And here’s how I got it:

I am no longer eating like I am on a “diet,” but am eating like I intend to live for the rest of my life. Portion control. Stopping when I am full. Not counting carbs or calories. Just learning how to skip out of the clean plate club and say ENOUGH.

Walking as often and as much as I can. Last week I got 25.5 miles in. with 2.5 miles of that being attempts to jog. One full mile of running. (GRIN)

By asking God to retake control over my diet life. Not everyone has to take this step, but for me it’s important. In fact, it’s more important than eating right and exercising. When He is in control of me, amazing things happen.

And finally, by learning that pain is NOT the enemy. In fact, it just might be my friend. We have all heard it said that when your muscles want to give up, that’s when real change happens. I think there might be something to this after all, and it may not be the hogwash I once thought it was!

So what should you do? Stop being afraid of the unknown. Oh sure, your heart is going to pound outside your chest with fear, and you will second guess yourself constantly. But take a lesson from this Chicken Little. Do it, and you will figure out it isn’t the sky that is falling.

But the scale will!!! And before you know it, you are one step closer to being a Foxy Loxy!

(Quick update- I just took my measurements for the first time in 2 months. I have lost an overall 9 INCHES!!!! (2.25 on my hips and 1.75 on my waist! LOVE THAT FEELING!!!!)

A Mad Walkin' Fool

So I have to tell you guys, not much is breaking on the weight loss front. I'm hanging on to my 179 (at least I still was this morning) and I'm doing my best to eat moderately. That's all I can do. I'm sick of thinking about dieting, so I'm no longer eating like I'm "on a diet." I'm eating until I'm satisfied, and stopping when I've had enough. Plus Mother Nature is pummeling me this weekend, so I couldn't give 2 hoots about being a success. I just want to get through the weekend without bouncing up too much.

However, I have been walking frequently, every night or every other night. And I have been hitting 6 and 7 miles consistently. Plus Todd and I are going to continue our 1 mile jog on Sunday and Wednesday nights. At the moment, while the kids are still on fall break, I have to do my walking when Matt comes home in the evenings. But once the kids go back on the 18th, I will be back in full force, going for workout overload.

Tonight, I am giving thanks for my oversized bottle of advil and my coke zero that's waiting for me in the fridge. Because tonight, after dinner, I went for a walk and it was rough. I could only eek out 5 miles tonight, but I carried my handweights for the first time in a long while. The 3 pounders. My arms feel like they are going to fall off. So I figured I better write this post before they do! It was a hard walk, but I did my best to keep my steps consistent with my music. I was also thankful for the slow songs... VERY THANKFUL! I'm sure I looked ridiculous mouthing the words to every song along Danville's busiest street on a Saturday night like a nerd, sweating my butt off. But I didn't care. I was working on me. People can laugh if they want. But if I keep doing this, they won't be laughing much longer!

I hope everyone is having and inspiring weekend, and working hard to achieve their dreams. Tell me, what are you doing this weekend to ???

The Running of the Bull

So last night, I gave my first attempt at running. Jogging.

My big brother, Todd (proprietor of Fine Music and Hot Sauce) , has been a pseudo runner for quite some time now. For the past 2 years, he has been trying to get me to take a night jog with him. And until last night, I always declined. But something deep within my dieter self snapped, and I realized that I wanted to run. I wanted to hurt, to push, to give birth to a new way of life.

So I causally mentioned I was going to go for a jog/walk last night while listening to his latest track of the song “Some Other Year” from his band, FP.

And I saw that light in his eyes that I have seen so many times in my 33 years of life.

It was the light of “friendly competition.”

When Todd and Jason and I were growing up, we were usually cooking up some form of chaos. My mother once got a phone call saying “Do you know where your children are?” to which Margaret the Saint replied “They are upstairs.” To which the friendly neighbor replied “Yes, up on your roof.”

We went through babysitters like they were toilet paper. After 1 night of watching the Reynolds Rascals, one babysitter left us high and dry and chaperone free. Looking back, I can’t blame her. As she was tucking me into bed, like a good babysitter should, my brothers popped out of the attic doors in my room, wearing Halloween masks shouting they were going to steal the babysitter’s soul. The babysitter ran out of my room and right out our front door. We never saw her again. We perfected our swearing techniques, practicing all the foul words we had ever learned on cable, while we had rubber band gun fights in the living room while Margaret the Saint went to the store. We had sockball fights late in the night, which were not limited to wet-then frozen- sockballs. Many spankings and groundings occurred while I was growing up along side my brothers.

Now that we are older, our shenanigans are much more mature and well planned. We went on a family trip to Lake Shelbyville, and all the boys were sleeping in a tent right outside our cabin. About midnight, with the blessing of my dear Gma Bush (who had planted the idea in my head, mind you), I snuck outside and stood next to their tent with a large piece of aluminum foil. I shook the foil and started screaming. The “men” including my brother, my husband and my nephews, started screaming like little girls and jumping out of the tent. I couldn’t do a thing except stand outside in the crisp cool night next to the tent- peeing right there on the ground full force because I was laughing so hard.

So when the light of “friendly competition” began blazing anew, who was I to turn it down?

You all know that I jogged a little bit on Monday night with Tricky Nikki. And while it was a little more spread out, I did OK. But when Todd asked how far I thought I could go, I had no idea what to say. And finding me speechless is a miracle in itself. So Todd had me exactly where he wanted me.

“I’ll go with you. I’ll go slow, cause I haven’t run for about 3 weeks.”

“Sure, why not!” I replied. If I had turned him down, he would have called me a chicken.

Leaving their house to go change my clothes and mentally prepare for running, I told Julia (Todd’s wife and my BFF) what the plan was. And she got HER look. The look I have seen several times in our 20 year friendship. The look of “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, but for the sake of humor I’m gonna let this thing play out.” She gives me that look long and often.

Then I went home and told Matt what the plan was. “I’m going to go run a mile with my brother.”

Matt kept watching the TV and just snickered.

Exactly ½ hour later, I was standing back at my brother’s door, praying for every ounce of grace and mercy sweet baby Jesus could spare. My bladder was empty, my mind was overly optimistic, and I was ready to run.

Now, my brother is a little over 6 feet tall. He has more legs than a bucket of chicken. I am a mere 5’4” while wearing shoes. I am short armed, short legged, and big boobed. Nature was on his side, not mine. But we chit chatted as we walked 4 blocks to warm up. Then we came to the Woodlawn Hill. The hill we lived on as kids growing up. The hill that I hated going up on my bike as a pudgy child.

“You ready? Once we get to the top of the hill, it gets easier.”

G  U  L  P

“I’m ready.”

And my big brother, who I was sure was going to laugh at me while running, did something wonderful. He turned into the caring big brother who had my back.

“You can do this. Let’s go.”

And we jogged up that hill. We jogged and jogged and just about the time we hit the crest of Woodlawn Hill, I switched to a power walk. I had no choice. But my brother didn’t laugh.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, just need to catch my breath.” But I didn’t stop moving.

And pretty soon, I figured I better start jogging again. Todd was trying to help me learn to control my breathing, but at that moment I was unable to control anything. It HURT. But I kept going, because I wasn’t alone.

Everytime I thought we were going to finally head back towards the house, Todd kept turning. In the wrong direction. Of course, it was exactly where he wanted to go, as he has a 1 mile running course set, but as my side was searing in pain, I ignored my homeward bound bearings and followed the big guy. He would not have a reason to make fun of me that night.

Every few minutes, I had to power-walk to keep from collapsing, but other than that, I pushed myself. I pushed and pushed. And pretty soon, Todd asked “Do you want to know where the mile ends?”

“Nope, I just want to get there.”

And as it turned out, we were 3 blocks away from the stop sign that ended our jog. And about ½ block away from it, I had to finish the mile in a swift walk. But ultimately, we did a 12 minute mile.

Todd is used to his little pain in the rumpus sister playing the victim card and giving up when things are hard. It’s what I usually do. I fill the air with excuses and bullcrap that makes me feel better about quitting.

But last night, I didn’t. I kept thinking about all those people on the biggest loser that weigh a lot more than I do and learn to run. I thought about my friend Shannon, who perseveres through hard times by running until she can’t feel her legs anymore. And I wanted to be like them. I wanted to know that I achieved something I thought I could never do. RUN away, but end up at the finish line where you belong.

And as we walked (I was limping) back home, with a hot poker stabbing me in the side and legs asking “WTFreak just happened?” I felt pretty good. Eventually the muscles screaming in revolt stopped, and I was able to enjoy the fact that I had run a 12 minute mile with my big brother by my side.

And even better was knowing the fact that I had just earned some SERIOUS bragging rights.

I ran a 12 minute mile. And that's no bull.

Charlie and the Track ABOVE

Tricky Nikki has a way of getting me to do things. I have no idea how she does it, I only know that she is my greatest catalyst when it comes to dieting.

So last night, she and I met at the YMCA while her kids were at their assorted lessons. And it was our intention to walk our hearts out.

Now, the YMCA has a track that is above the gymnasium where they hold lessons for gymnastics. It’s a about 2 stories up in the air, where you can look down at the children, who are jumping and vaulting and parallel baring below us. My niece was one of those children.

Meanwhile, at the ABOVE, there is a small track where 28 laps equals a mile. So it’s tiny. But that isn’t the issue I had with the above track. The above track has netting to keep you from falling over the railing onto the sweet little gymnasts below. You are surrounded by netting, except for a foot at the bottom, where it is still open. And if you walk closest to the open foot part, there is nothing but your good balance and common sense keeping your foot from falling through the gaping hole.

At first, the hole didn’t bother me so much. Perhaps it’s because the tiny metal staircase was holding my attention. The tiny metal staircase that looks like this…

…except without the frilly style railing and quaint background. It’s not nearly that pretty. Just functional. And it’s kinda creepy to climb up it. Which got my heart racing to begin with, and that is the goal of exercise. I was thinking how odd it was that the YMCA, so clean and bright had an Addams Family staircase in such a modern facility. And that’s when we started walking. So I wasn’t thinking about the big hole my foot could potentially fall through.

In fact, what I was really thinking about is knuckle-headed me signed up for a running 5K at the FitBloggin’ 11 conference that I am speaking at. I have 7 months to learn how to run 3 miles without lungs collapsing or my calves spontaneously combusting. (I have nightmares of those exact scenarios, trust me.) And Tricky Nikki has been talking about the fact that she has been jogging on the above track for about a month. (I think she was really frustrated after we tried to jog at the Shamrock Run this past St. Patricks Day… with disaster not far behind.)

So Nik is determined that WE WILL RUN. And I know who I’m dealing with on this. I’m sure she has a 7 month plan lined out on her huge calendar with steps to get my fat butt running. That girl can do anything she sets her mind too.

We started walking round and round the tiny above track, looking down on my sweet niece perfecting her back handspring. We got through the first mile with no problem. And that was when I asked the innocent question.

“So you usually jog up here?” said Charlie.

“Yeah, I have normally run 11 laps by now.” And the look of the triple dog dare was dancing in Tricky Nikki’s eyes.

“I think I could jog a little.”

“OK, we will start when we pass the clock.”

And we did. We jogged and jogged and jogged. 7 laps in total. (Which for me is a miracle.) But the benefit of running with Nik is that neither of us wants to be the first to admit defeat. So we push each other further than we would normally go. It’s a phenomenon we discovered down in the workout room last year.

Once we finished those laps, I realized that I was unprepared to be a runner that night. I had neglected to put on any sort of bladder protection- AKA a poise pad. And my sweat pants were going to become wet pants if I didn’t hurry down the Addams Family staircase and run to the bathroom.

When I returned, there was Nik, jogging her little heart out. And she said “I’m going to go pee now. I ran 5 laps while you were gone.” (Obviously, a veiled triple dog dare…)

Not to be outdone by my skinny counterpart, I decided I was going to jog as much as I could while she was heading to the can. And jog I did. I jogged and felt the fires of lack of oxygen burning my lungs and calves.

It was during this moment that I stepped one step too close to the gaping hole that goes straight down to children flipping and twirling below and my foot narrowly missed the hole. By mere centimeters. For some reason however, my mind didn’t see things happening that way. My mind went ahead and played out the entire event of what would have happened if I had fallen, not accounting for my size 14 hips being too wide to fall through the opening. No, my brain processed my entire body falling through a hole no bigger than a shoe box, and landing on the balance beam below, and terrifying little gymnasts below from ever being properly balanced again.

The realization of how close my right foot came to falling did WONDERS for my aching body, as the endorphins kicked in and I was given a second wind. Which I used to run a total of 5 laps on the most middle portion of the track, away from treacherous holes, and then swiftly walked another 3 before Tricky Nikki returned.  

By the time I left, we had cranked out 4 miles, having proudly jogged a total of ½ mile, and I left Nik upstairs to continue running (and potentially falling) without me.

It’s no wonder all night I dreamt about falling…

How to be DONE?

Yeah, I probably should have been blogging more this weekend.

Unfortunately, I had some bad news come my way about a dear friend. I mentally collapsed for 3 days about it. And during those 3 days, my throat got spotty (strep- I get it often) and was confined to my house for the same 3 days, where I caught up on my Netflix viewing because I didn’t dare get anyone else sick until my antibiotics kicked in.

Oh, I also went a little overboard on the eating, being in an emotionally wrecked state. So I would up weighing 181 this morning after getting back down to 179 last week. It could have been way worse. But the fates of dieting had pity on my metabolism and tossed me a break.

Some days the only thing that can soothe a girl is chocolate. And pizza.

I am forever struggling with the thought that “I want to be done with this.” Meaning the diet. I want to wake up one morning, hop on the scale, see 135, and go about my day carefree and perky-like. But I am beginning to understand that “being done” is a fantasy, like fried chicken that has no calories, or a diet donut that doesn’t taste like crap.

There is NO SUCH THING as being DONE. It can be better, it can be at goal, but it will never be done. And I am slowly coming to grips with that fact. This is not just a diet that I can switch on and off. It’s a lifestyle that is going to test and frustrate me until I die or stop caring about it.

I know this is a short post, but the fact is I DO STILL CARE. So I am running off to meet Tricky Nikki at the YMCA and walk my little heart out for an hour and a half. I’ll catch you on the flipside tomorrow, folks. Keep caring, and make the differences you can today.

Behind the scenes of the FILA commercial

So, today I found out I didn't win the grand prize for the Crystal Light Pure Fitness commercial. I would be bummed, but I'm used to dissapointment. I have been dieting for 2 years, you know. (FYI- walked 6 miles last night. Yay for me. Lost 6 ounces. Again with the dissapointment... sigh)

 

The best thing I can do is move onto the next project, which happens to be the FILA Body Toning System, a product I love more than any other I have tried in the last year.

 

This past weekend, while filming my footage for the commercial, I hung a black sheet in the bathroom, set up my camera, and went to work.

 

Sometimes, the best moments of a commercial have nothing to do with the commercial at all. It's the stuff you can't use. Of course, I can use it here- for your amusement. And I love doing "Behind the Scenes" movies, because I'm the girl who always looks for the blooper/gag reel on my DVDs. They remind me I'm not the only one who messes up from time to time. But this one is ALL MATT.

 

Turn up the sound, folks. You don't want to miss what's going on in the background...

 

Until tomorrow-

Charlie

 

Ancient Chinese Secret


There isn’t much of a secret here. Last night I ate Chinese food, and as my body always does, I gained 4 pounds magically overnight. I knew it was going to happen, so the joy of this post is that I mentally prepared for a major setback. However, if I keep my nose clean between now and Friday, those 4 pounds will disappear, just as magically as they showed up.
When it comes to Chinese food, it’s all about the sodium. Which with my current condition (that would be PMS preparation mode- I’ll eat anything in sight until tomorrow) means mega water retention. Yippee skippy.
So I thought that in the spirit of all things diet, I would share some tips on decreasing water retention in your own body to get you through the times of bloatation.
1. Hysterectomy- if you are ready- but this is pretty radical.
2. Replace all water in recipes with extra version Olive Oil. Your Crystal Light will taste funny, but you won’t hold the water in your tummy. This especially works well if you are taking Alli.
3. Make it your goal to only eat out during this time of the month. The key is to make sure all the restaurants you choose are at least 10 miles from your house. Walking there for each meal will keep you from retaining water. If you are following the Dave Ramsey financial Peace University, meals out can also be replaced with brown bag lunches precariously placed around your town.
4. Borrow 5 toddlers from your gal pals for a week and chase them around your house. (This is a “toddler mom approved” plan. They will finally shave their legs without an audience.)
5. Fast for a week to pray for your diet.
6. Offer to let your kids taste your food before you eat it. This works especially well if your kids have 4 legs and fur. Or 2 legs with really big mouths.
7. Attempt to write a blog while your kids are on a break from school for 3 weeks. Your trips back and forth from your computer to the scene of various child infracted crime scenes will be a great boon to your diet. Make sure you wear a pedometer to document progress. I am currently at 7000 steps and only 392 words. That equals out to roughly 18 steps per word you type. I should have tried this YEARS AGO!!!
8. And finally, keep bottles of midol and benadryl handy, to hand out to whomever is around. There is no shame in slipping your bickering children a midol and taking a nap yourself….

Butt Kissing and Advertising...

OH.

 MY.

WORD.

THESE.

PANTS….

Last Thursday, I took a big long walk (6.2 Miles) wearing the pants from the new FILA Body Toning System. These pants were amazing.

I got them because I agreed to do a commercial for FILA through the same company I did the Crystal Light commercial from, Poptent. The pants aren’t going to be released until October, but I got a free pair. Granted, they were a small, and I am not (especially my belly- NOT SMALL AT ALL) but these pants had the intestinal fortitude of a corset. While still being comfortable!

The interesting part about these pants is the places they are reinforced. Around the thighs, tummy, and booty. Seriously, girls. I am not one for flashy workout clothes. But the FILA Body Toning pants are so much more than workout pants. You can wear them anywhere.

Today I’m swamped, and I have 2 more commercials to film and edit this week. So I’m not sure how often I’ll be blogging this week.

But I wanted to show you the commercial I wound up making for FILA. Because I’m proud of it. I’m not a model, I’m a work in progress. And I wanted to show that. But I wish I could have made the commercial after using these pants during my workouts for a month. I can’t imagine what a change I could see after a month.

So here’s my latest commercial, gang! Hope you enjoy!  

A Song Born From Frustration

The OFF Day

I have very little control over lots of things in my house. In my life, too.

I can't control when my body is going to mercilessly crave random junk food.

I can't control that I pee when I sneeze. EVERY time.

I can't control when I sleep, raging artistic insomniac that I am.

I can't control when the government decides to send Matt out on a road trip to escort sensitive materials, which requires him to leave at 3 in the morning.

So many things that are out of my hands lately.

But I do have one wonderful sanctity of peace in my life.

Laundry.

Nothing makes me feel more like an emerging supermom than to have 3 complete uniforms for the children freshly laundered and laid out before 6am. Since Matt had to be up to leave early, I decided I would stay up all night (like I could help it anyway) and make sure he got out on the road on time. And since I had nothing better to do, I decided at 3am to make sure I had enough kid uniforms to go round for the rest of the week.

So I gathered up the uniform laundry, along with fresh towels and some socks and unders, and took them downstairs. I got down there and started the water, adding the clothes in, and realized my new container of laundry soap was upstairs.

I hustled back up, grabbed the new bottle of soap, then headed back down. I added the soap, then looked at the clothes I had added. I realized I had switched bags upstairs, so I was washing UN-uniforms. I ran back upstairs, got the correct bag (this is why you should never do laundry in the middle of the night when you are sleep deprived) and went back downstairs to add those clothes into the washer.

I laughed to myself, saying "at least I am getting a workout!"

I watched an episode of the Tudors on netflix, and then went back downstairs to switch the clothes to the dryer. It was 4am when I thudded down the steps. Puppy, being our "ever the pain in the rumpus" cat, decided to go downstairs with me. Only she decided to do so after I was halfway down the stairs. Consequently, she ran between my feet as I plodded down the steps, resulting in me stepping on her tail, her screeching like a Bayside tiger, and me tumbling down the last 3 steps.

When I sat up at the bottom of the scary basement steps, I realized that our sewer was starting to back up. I had narrowly missed falling into a pool of poo. It is not fitting to repeat what I was saying to myself at THIS point.

Determined that wonderful things happen to the girl that doth not protest, I stood up, hopped over the little poo pond, and switched the laundry to the dryer. I then headed back to our sewer drain, plunged it, and sucked up the poo with a shop vac. Good thing I was wearing my big girl panties with the control top. Otherwise I might have cried.

Finally finished with the fecal fiasco, I went back upstairs, detoxed and anti-germed Silkwood style, and sat down on my comfy couch with a coke zero, watching one more episode of the Tudors before the kids woke up. Then I realized I couldn't hear the dryer running. Sure, I'd closed the dryer door, but forgot to turn it ON. Running back downstairs, I flipped the dryer on high, went back upstairs and relaxed until time to wake the kids. I also took an advil or 4, as my butt had broken my previous "Puppy fall" on the steps.

At last, it was 6am. I got the kids up, made sure everyone was moving (because kids - and moms- in this house are prone to saying "I'm UP!" without moving anything but their mouths, and going back to sleep) and headed back downstairs to bring up the clean uniforms that I had worked so hard for.

And just as you might expect with one of my stories, getting the laundry back up went without a hitch. I started passing out socks and unders and white shirts, which had mysterious pink spots on them. Not too bad, until I got closer to the bottom of the laundry bag. That's when I found THIS...

Sure, not so bad on the outside, till I looked inside the shorts.

Yep, a pink crayon in the pocket. I should know by now that life is never as easy as it sounds. Especially after 8 bazillion trips up and down the steps in the middle of the night.

When will I learn??? That's not rhetorical, folks. I really need to know, so I can write it on my calendar and have the official "Charlie's gonna figure it out" countdown.

Needless to say, I don't dare weigh myself until tomorrow. I've had enough adventure for one morning. Check back tomorrow for an update on the weight.

But I can show you a silver lining to all this. I'm officially announced as a speaker at FitBloggin' 11!!! Take a look!!! (I even have a new button up at the top of the ol' bloggy! I'm so excited!)

Charlie's Adventures with Pete and Repeat

Pete and Repeat were hanging out on the scale this morning. Seeing as they are Charlie's big toes, they have first hand knowledge of her weight.

Pete exclaimed, “It’s a Monday, and you didn’t gain weight over the weekend! Congrats, Charlie- 177.4 looks great on you!”

“Aw, thanks, Pete!” said Charlie.

Repeat piped up, “I’m not sure about this. Seems like we have been right here lots of times before. It’s like Déjà vu.”

Pete cried out in defense, “C’mon, Repeat! She’s doing really good! Overcoming the weekend weight gain was a huge hurdle for her! Let’s stay positive.”

Charlie said quietly, “Repeat does have a point, Pete.”

Repeat exclaimed, “Even she can see it, Pete! We go back and forth, week after week. It’s always up and down and excuse after excuse. I know this is good, cause 177.4 is the lowest she’s been for a while, but I remember when we were a lot lower than that. I recall on day last year when she was 169!”

Charlie said “I should have taken a picture of that weight for Racy Tracy. Shoot.”

Pete began yelling up with passion in his big toey voice. “What does 169 matter? Ok, granted, it’s a pretty fun number, and I know Racy Tracy would have laughed at that. But let’s not focus on what we did before! Right now, it’s time to concentrate on what we are doing today! So we bounced back up this summer. SO WHAT??? Life happens, seasons change, and now you have to think about today. What are you doing today to make healthy choices, Charlie?”

“Well…” Charlie stammered nervously, “…I ordered pizza for the kids and didn’t eat a bite.”

“Good! What else?” asked Pete.

“I am really excited about meeting Jack Sh*t next May, because we are both speaking at FitBloggin’ 11, and Dietgirl is going to be there too, so I’m working really hard to get to my goal. I guess that pizza today doesn’t seem like a good cheat for me right now. I’m focusing on letting lots of small changes add up to a smaller me.”

(DID YOU ALL CATCH THAT? I’M SPEAKING AT FITBLOGGIN’!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Repeat, always one to voice his opinion (apparently I have male big toes. That would explain the hair…) started getting heated. “BUT we have been here before! How do you explain that? What makes you think this time is going to be any different?”

Pete said quietly, “Charlie, I will admit- you are pretty good at inspirational speeches. Why IS this time different?”

Charlie looked down at Pete and Repeat, with that number of 177.4 staring back up at her between her toes. She considered for a moment of all the reasons she had: for her health, for herself, for her looks, so the doctor would never again write OBESE on her medical chart. But none of those reasons seemed to matter at that moment.

“Guys, I don’t know what is different this time. I’m not even sure if it is different this time. What I do know is that if I set my mind to this, I can do it. I know I can, cause I’ve done it before. All I can do is keep trying. So maybe it won’t be different this time. Maybe I’ll fall flat on my face. But what I do know is that it won’ be for lack of trying.”

Pete and Repeat looked thoughtfully at one another.

“She has a point, Pete.”

“That she does, Repeat!”

“So what are we waiting for?” cried Repeat, suddenly excited at the future of doing nothing but trying.

“I’m waiting till I have to pee again,” said Charlie. “That just might get us to 176 today!”

Big Behind, Smaller Behind

THE STRIKE IS OVER!!! The kids went back to school today, I rested, and our wonderful teachers were back in front of their students. I am so proud of this community for sticking up for our teachers. What a fantastic community I belong to!

So I am really really REALLY behind on my blog reading. In fact, with all this crazy strike business going on, I have no idea where to begin! Can you do me a favor? On the comments, post the BEST of your blog posts this week with a link, and I will read it and comment on it. That way, I read the most important thing to you! That would make me feel better about being behind as I am. Seriously, I worry about things like that!

And speaking of behinds, I am soooooo excited to tell you that I am at 177!!!!!! Finally I have pushed through the plateau and am thrilled to be safely in the land of the 170's once again. Now, I can obsess and stress about getting to the land of 160s for the next month or so!!!

Teaching the Importance of a Strike

Today, I had the privilege and honor of walking along side my local teachers in support of our strike. The kids are currently out of school, due to the strike, and being an avid volunteer in their school, I felt it is necessary to show our support. So the kids and I marched. Teaching social activism is extremely important at their young age. You fight for what you believe in.

I made a sign for the event, and used my wit (the one my friend Shannon so dearly loves) to get the teachers laughing and show how much we love them. The sign???

Yep. I did it. And I am unashamed to show my pride. Teachers deserve better than what they are getting right now. And I have a voice, and use it loud and clear.

Something happened along the way of all this dieting business. (By the way, still sitting pretty at 180.2, just waiting to hit the land of 170s again...)

Maybe it was all the times I walked into a clothing store for "normal sized" girls and had the salesgirls give me looks, or suggest I shop at the plus sized store. Or maybe it was the times I learned to overcome my own desires and not cheat on the junk food.

Whenever it happened, I'm glad it did. I learned to speak up for the underdogs.

And teachers are the underdogs of our society. They spend all day in a classroom with kids who aren't taught respect or kindness at home. They come home, hearts wrought with frustration about how to help students that communities have already written off. They talk to kids who's parents are too busy to talk themselves. They give advice, they nurture and they care. Teachers are my kind of people.

I wrote an article and submitted it to the local paper. It has not been printed as of yet, but I feel the message itself needs to be printed. Luckily, I have a personal blog where I can voice my opinions freely. So I am sharing this article with you here.

I encourage you to support your children's teachers however you can. Give them stickers, bring them coffee mugs, heck- most teachers I know spend incredible amounts of money on pencils for their students. Bring them pencils and pens and loose leaf paper! Do whatever you can to make their day. They won't forget your generosity, I promise.

And now, I'm pleased to present to you:

Charlie's Take on the Strike

5th grade was a miserable year for me. I was one of those awkward kids- pudgy, nerdy and unable to keep my mouth from running at any given time. (Not so different from the awkward adult I currently am..) I was not good at math or science, so I never dreamed of being a doctor. I was too emotional to become a decent lawyer. I was looking for my niche in life in the halls of a school in Danville District 118.

I still remember when I found that niche, over 20 years ago. It was the day I read a creative writing assignment in front of my class, about the 10 things I would take with me if I became deserted on an island. I made the statement “I will bring Tums.”

Judy Rudnicke, the 3rd grade teacher who was running the creative writing program, looked at me with big twinkling eyes.

“Why would you take tums?”

“To keep the heartburn away. Because in my story I am 7 months pregnant with twins. I’m gonna give birth to them later in the story.”

“That’s quite a story, Charlyn.”

“Yes, it is. And it gets good.”

“I’ll bet it does.”

From that moment on, I knew I was meant to be a writer. So did Judy. She always encouraged me in the hallways, asking if I’d written any stories lately, and could she read them. As an awkward 5th grader in the throws of puberty, desperate to fit in- Judy gave me a place to call home- with a pencil, some paper, and a whole world of adventures at my disposal.

During my years at North Ridge, I experienced trauma and duress in grades 6-8, as many jr high kids do. There is something especially trying about that age. (If you are a parent who has survived a child going through that time, I tip my hat to you. I’m close with 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders in the house, and dreading the middle school experience.) The only constant through those years was being in Paula Hurst’s class.

I loved her class. She allowed us to encounter grammar and literature like no other teacher I have had, by bringing a passion to and for the written word. I remember the year she assigned reports about “The Pig Man” by Paul Zindel. For my project, I decided to paint a picture that incorporated the things in the book I most related too. And Paula loved it. It was in that classroom where I learned art carrying symbolism can be a powerful tool. It challenges both the artist and the spectator. A lesson I have brought with me into adult hood. Nothing is ever as it seems at first glance. Paula taught me the importance of looking deeper for the truth in books, wisdom, and life in general.

I could go on and on about how more teachers made me the person I am today- that when I win my first Tony award, it will be dedicated to Jan and Larry Voorhees. Or that I can argue in French with the best of them thanks to Miss Schofield. So many teachers have formed my life, one classroom, one assignment at a time. I owe a lot to my former teachers. Because as it turns out, they were right about me. I seem to have a knack for the arts. Writing, music, painting… but I never would have known that if I hadn’t sat at their desks and been molded by their passion for education.

I still keep in touch with the teachers that changed my life for the better. It wasn’t a classroom that was formed in the midst of my education, or a GPA, or a diploma on a wall.

What formed was a family I lean on to this day.

So often our teachers are the unsung heroes of this community. District 118 teachers have produced doctors, lawyers, TV producers, and humble writers like myself. They have produced managers and CEOs, business moguls and entrepreneurs. Computer programmers and scientists. Educators and principals and composers and musicians. (I know this for a fact because I am on Facebook avoiding laundry and keeping tabs on former school mates.)

Our city has turned out productive members of society by the thousands because of our teachers.

Right now, the same teachers who we owe our community to, are in a rough spot. Negotiating contracts. And it’s not going well.

In the spirit of fairness, I understand the District Administration is worried about the economy. I know they are worried that money is tight. It’s tight everywhere. We feel the sting as much in our home budgets as they do with the district budget. We feel it writing out checks for school lunch and buying shoes for feet that won’t stop growing. Buying backpacks and groceries. It is no different in our homes than it is in our schools. In that sense, I understand the position of the board.

However, our teachers are standing up for the little guys. And little gals. They are fighting to make sure that the children of our community get those “moments” of wonder just like their parents did. Working so education provides the chance to become something better and brighter for kids of all economic levels. Asking for smaller classroom sizes so teachers can encourage each child to be their best at whatever they love most. A worthy cause? Indeed. There is nothing more noble.

The teachers are not asking for much. Far less than what is fair. Unfortunately, what they are asking for is being denied, and we are now in the throws of a strike.

As a former student and current parent in and of District 118, I stand united with the teachers. I believe that their demands won’t break the bank, and they deserve what they are asking for. Because if we don’t invest in our future today, the future won’t be able to invest in our tomorrow.

I plead with the Board to think about the faces of our future. They are in our schools right now. Our children- our Timmys and Briannas and Sarahs and Jacobs- each face is ready to receive their future. They deserve to have the same opportunities we were given:

For our teachers to hand them a world where anything is possible.

Even being deserted on an island 7 months pregnant with twins…