Hater Help: Getting Up Glory

I went back-country skiing again!!! I hiked up a big mountain, Glory Bowl, for those in the know, and it was awesome. The hike up took me forever. Everyone passed me. I almost threw up and there was a point where I could only take 10 steps without a pause. What is important though, is that I made it. Taking a chance, pushing my own limits, I decided to try this whole back-country skiing thing again. It didn't hurt at all, besides the challenge of the hike. The skiing was smooth and easy.

After seriously contemplating not going because it could be unsafe, I couldn't resist. The #1 reason I was driven to go was a conversation I had with a hard-core skier after my previous back-country flop. I told him of the perils, the falls, the temptation to just sit and cry. His response was something to the tune of, "That's ok. You're just not a back-country skier. You're a lift skier. That's who you are. You are someone who skis the lifts." He didn't intend it in a mean spirited way, but in my head the hater warning flashed. This guy echoed my fears back to me and as he shrugged off my attempt, I knew that wasn't the end of my back-country exploration. Nobody puts baby on a chair lift and tells her that's all she can do. At this point, I would like to say thank you to all the haters out there.

My first winter in Jackson, I was definitely a fish out of water. I was a girl who had stopped working with vintage clothing, who had never skied before, who had never really been around snow before, who was active but not athletic. A lot of that first winter was spent learning how to walk and drive on snow. But after I mastered that, I even got a little skiing in. At the end of winter, my lovely friend Anna said to a boy, "Aren't you proud of what a snow bunny Jessica has become?" His answer, "She learned how to look like a snow bunny but she isn't actually a snow bunny." True, I came to this town with more knowledge on shifting appearances than hitting the slopes. He wasn't wrong, but he also wasn't right. He couldn't see the snow bunny badass blooming inside. His words prickled me. Thanks to his underestimating me, I fully realized what I wanted to be capable of, which is the first step towards success. So, thanks haters. Without you, my own desires wouldn't flare up inside of me so brightly.

No one knows where you are coming from and only you know what you are capable of accomplishing. Actually, what's even better is you probably only realize about 1/100th of your own possibility. Let the haters light the fire under your butt and use the flame to rocket up the mountain. The climb is the hardest part. You are gonna need all the inspiration you can get.

Momentum

I thought I knew how to ride a bike. There hasn't been much biking in my adult life, but hey, it's like riding a bike. Right? My discovery is that phrase only applies to quick jaunts around town or one of those care-free beach rental rides. If you wanna ride a bike up a really steep butte, there is stuff you need how to know. Learning about shifting gears, different ways to engage your muscles, how to change a flat tire is important. Most crucial, however, on bikes or on whatever mode of transportation you have picked for this great road called Life, is how to keep your momentum up. And what's even more important is keeping your momentum up while flailing wildly, almost falling, and, let's hope, learning something. The butte I went up the other day was such a challenge I almost puked. I could feel the corners of my lungs. A new muscle has popped up on my forearm. That was some fricken doing. And after it was done I felt really great about myself. It would be nice to be in such great shape that I didn't dry heave. I guess that will come in time. Probably come when I'm better at keeping my momentum up.

What you all just missed in the writing process of this very line, was several failed attempts at getting personal with you. Words strung together to try and tie in the anxiety I feel living in a ski town and working as a waitress. I keep deleting and looking for a way to continue in metaphor. There are all sorts of things my fingers tap out that are then deemed either not worthy of the public or too private for the public. Here is what I don't want to tell you: how I wonder sometimes if I'm being sucked into a life that while being quite easy and in many ways fun, will never amount to a career, a family, or financial stability. What if I never fulfill my potential and i miss out on some of life's greatest joys? I would like to delete that last sentence. Pretend it never existed. Say I'm having enough fun to not care. In many ways, I don't. I don't need much money, I don't mind my work, and who knows if I even want a family. Children are scary and seem very time consuming. There. I said it and I'm not deleting it.

The anxiety is pinned to specifics, but really, I'm scared of losing momentum. Some people can relax, live in the moment, find every second's beauty, just enjoy. I'm not one of those lucky people. I need a goal to keep my eyes open and fixated on going forward, otherwise I just sit on the couch and think about the chances of actually dying of boredom and how ashamed I'll be to have died in such a whiney, losery way. The biggest shame in having these feelings is that the emotions are born from and suckle on the situation. Sitting on the couch makes me have the thoughts and the only reason that the thoughts are legitimized is because I'm there sitting on the couch. This is called a vicious cycle and it's what I am doomed for if I don't keep up momentum and push forward. If I'm not accomplishing, the feeling comes. There is no avoiding it, so, please, don't just tell me to relax.

I've accepted the feeling. That doesn't mean I've found a solution. I do know some handy tricks for keeping momentum up while going up a really steep butte on a bike, though.

1) Slow down.
2) Get into a lower gear.
3) Circle in one spot if you have to until you can push forward.
4) Vary the muscles you are depending on for strength.
5) Practice, train, build muscle and it will get easier.
6) If you absolutely have to stop, stop. Rest, get back on, and head down the hill for a few seconds to get some
momentum and then head back up the hill.
7) Visualize how hot your body is going to be if you keep it up.
8) Imagine all those assholes who have ever tried to make you feel fat, like you couldn't, or like you weren't good
enough to even try something. Now imagine you crushing them with every pump of the pedal. You can even puke
there heads if it comes to that.
9) Look around and be thankful for the beauty around you.

I don't know if these tips can help in every situation in life. If only everything had the automatic gratification that biking possesses. Then again, it is nice that most situations don't make me dry heave. Pros and cons on that one. These tips got my doubtful butt to the top of a butte. I don't know what to do with my time not on a bike, but maybe it's time to slow down, get in a lower gear, vomit on the heads of my doubters, and push forward.

Honeymoon in Waning

To Eddie, I said, "Some people after we graduated seemed to lose their minds. Have these people lost all perspective?"

"Yeah, and that one crazy girl lost her mind and moved to Wyoming. Three years later she is still there. What the fuck is she doing?"

Ok, Eddie. I hear you loud and clear. It's hard to miss anything my friends from college say since we all went to school for theater and are trained in not only vocal projection and enunciation, but in being as specific as possible with expression, using words, facial expressions, and our bodies. Even over a cell phone, Eddie can pin me down with his words. Really, three years later, what the fuck am I still doing in Wyoming?

I moved to Jackson Hole, Wyoming on accident. This happens to a lot of people, only most of the people come out here because they love to ski or hike and then find that they never want to leave. I came out here, not knowing how to ski, having hiked in the past but had traded in my hiking boots for some retro inspired peep-toe sandals years ago. A juice fast and a little meditation were the only things on my agenda when I came out here spur of the moment for what I thought would be a two to three week trip. My parents split their time between Jackson and Illinois, so there was a empty house just waiting to host my mental clarity retreat. The fast lasted two and a half days, was broken by a beer at a bar, where I was asked out on a date by the bartender and the rest is history.

Actually, it isn't that simple. If I had fallen in love with the bartender, he had ended up being a millionaire who just enjoys bartending, but his real passion was financially supporting me and taking me around the world, the rest would be a clear cut history. I guess the rest is the beginning of the adventure. The rest involves me talking to people about their lives out here and learning about travel, outdoor adventure, and living a life that isn't based around a career goal. The rest is meeting people who intrigue me and were open to sharing their passion for skiing, hiking, travel, and heavy drinking with me. This is the beginning of a story about finding love. Not the love of a bartender, but a greater love of life and the me who is living this life.

Three years later though, the honeymoon is over. I'm still in love with my life, but things need a little kindling to keep the fire burning. I'm not learning how to ski, I'm a skier. Sure, I've got a lot to learn, but now it's about the nitty-gritty. About devotion. It's not just amazing that I'm skiing now. Now, I have to get good at it, and that's always been the point in my life when I falter. Trying new things is a specific skill that takes courage and a willingness to fail and be humiliated. That I have. Getting good at something means sticking with things even after your limitations have been fully realized, but still trying and accepting that you are not a natural and you're not going to end up in the Olympics, but you can get good, if you just stick with it. I think. Don't really know, cause I normally don't stick with something long enough to find out. The initial rush of a new challenge is too enticing usually.

The older I get, the more I wonder though, is there a deeper fulfillment that I'm missing by always ditching out when things get tricky and moving on to a new challenge?

Skiing is just an example and not the main focus of this question. What about love relationships? What about work? What about my devotion to eating well and not just meal substituting margaritas and pizza for a full day of nutrition? These questions have to be asked now because something terrible is happening. I'm getting bored. As a person prone to boredom easily, I know the symptoms. Feelings of hopelessness, the desire for cigarettes, extreme quietness, watching hours of Sex and the City on DVD, and just mentally looking for trouble and a good fight. This is not good. This is no way to live!

So, how can I fan my own flame? What changes need to be made to keep myself passionate about life and my love for it? I've got some ideas: finding more fulfilling work, and being open to the possibility that more schooling may be in the future, a nice new dress and some lip gloss, creating some concrete fitness challenges, and trying something new socially like a dance class.

What I really want to know is, what are you people doing out there to keep yourselves motivated, happy, and fulfilled? I'm not about stealing.

Snot Knock

This winter has knocked the snot out of me. Literally. I was skiing one day, which is a pretty snot filled experience at all times. Skiers have no problem wiping their drippy noses on anything available. These people are so comfortable with the fact that their noses will be eschewing liquids all day long, that the gloves produced for the sport actually have areas that are made for wiping snot on. The product info that comes with purchase says something like "snot strip" or "nose wipe". What I'm telling you is, the gloves say, "It's ok. Put your boogers on this clothing and then wave them around at people. You're skiing. This is acceptable." I'll wipe on gloves, and I like to carry a dainty travel tissue thing with me, but I'm still quietly horrified by the ever popular snot rocket. This is where you use the force of your nose breath to propel the mucus from your body. No hands or material required. I get that it is practical. I get that we are in nature and societal rules just don't apply, but my inner city girl, who still fantasizes about cashmere cardigans won't let me snot rocket. I'm sorry. I just can't.

Like most of the things I thought I would never do, for example spending days without make-up and really ugly practical shoes, this damn nature has some how tricked me into doing. The other day, I was feeling badass, going fast, knees bent, soaking up the bumps, till one got me, and I hit a bump that sent my knees into my chest, literally, knocking the snot out of me. All I can really say is, I was delighted. I finally understood a literary term I've been using since childhood and obviously, I'm on the road to full out badass. I felt like a kid in the movie Stand by Me or like Huck Finn. I felt sparky and adventurous. My mind may not agree with snot rocketing, but my actions just can't be stopped. I'm just too naturally sparky and adventurous. Yes, I was very impressed with myself, ok? Goes to show, you never really know what's gonna get the excitement flowing. Life hold may surprises.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still not going to snot rocket on purpose. I need to hold onto some individualism and the prayer that I can still blend in a city, but it's nice to know I snot rocket if I have too.

Hot Older Women

As a 15-year-old, I remember being hesitant to wear eyeliner because I heard it would give me more wrinkles in my thirties. I still have trouble using heat styling tools on my hair because of the damage I fear they will do long term. Essentially, I'm willing to sacrifice quite a bit of looking good and hip now, in the hopes that I'll be a hot older woman, and here is why: I'm slightly obsessed with being a cougar. Always have been, always will be. When I hear people say phrases like, I'm in better shape at 40 than I was at 20, I get a little buzz of excitement. I think, hell ya, my future. My mind is taken over by visions of my all organic kitchen, green tea addiction, and the six pack I got from trying to keep up with my kids, just like Sarah Jessica Parker. Hey, you can't choose your fantasies. This is mine. All I can do is enjoy it.

I was blessed with a cougar filled day out on the slopes, that started with four moms on the shuttle from the parking lot talking alternately about their kids classes and the runs they were going to do that day. These woman were classic moms, except for one thing. They spend their weekends down-hill skiing at one of the most challenging mountains possible. Well, that, and for post pregnancy bodies, they were all bodacious. To say how bodacious, I must say that they looked bodacious in ski attire, which means they are not only cute, but can find ski pants that accentuates their butts. These are hot woman in ever sense. Not, Los Angeles, I will do anything to look like I am 20 hot, but like, I'm still super active, loving life, and an expert shopper hot. These woman spurred me to pay more attention through out the day to all the woman 40 plus on the slopes. It seemed everywhere I looked some silver fox was swishing around me, and I was happy to have it happen. If you're in your sixties and wanna fly past me, spraying me in the face with your snow, I ain't gonna hate. Celebrate! The death of aging like a wimp. I want to age like these badass'. In honor, at the end of the day, when my badass boyfriend led me over to the half pipe I gave it a go. Not, because I wasn't freaked out, but because there was a woman ahead of me encouraging her six-year-old son to try it. Not just try it, but to "see how big you can go." He did. She was laughing, saying, "God, I hope this doesn't make me a bad mother."

My reply: "No way. This makes you a badass mother. At least, he isn't going to live life filled with fear." With that, the woman said, "Yeah!" Turned to her husband with a huge grin and said, "Hope I'm not to old to try this!" She took off down the half-pipe, shrieking with delight. I followed. No big air was had, but I did laugh like a three-year-old who was just thrown into a foam pit at Chuck-E-Cheese for the first time. That type of joy is elusive and can only be found by trying new things, something that is harder to do as you get older and are doing fewer things for the first time. The harder it is to accomplish, the more badass it is though. I've known that since birth. So, at 15, I could have been a little sexier with eye liner and flat-ironed hair, but I'm saving that sexiness for later. When it will be really impressive. A weekend that could have been devoted to botox will now be devoted to skiing. Maybe I'm alone in my thinking, but to me, that's hot.



warning: skiing is very damaging to the skin and sunscreen must be applied. do not get all crazy "I don't care how I look." you will have missed the point entirely.

Before We Go Any Further

I must mention a story I heard at my recent job orientation. Working for an ski resort that has a reputation for extreme terrain, I should expect to be asked, "Would you please share your most adventurous experience with the group?" Didn't. Flabbergasted that I am now such an adventurous person that people would ask me to share adventure stories as part of my job, I started to search my mind.

Oh, yes! The story about taking a 4 person plane packed with 5 people off the island in Honduras. That could be good. Jumping off the 40 foot waterfall? Could work. Yeah. Maybe. Not that great. Poking the lava with a stick. I could touch on the bus ride over the mountain pass with the open door. Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhh...

"Ok, Todd. How bout if you start?"

"Sure. Uhhh, well? I guess it would be about 5 years ago. I was mountain biking with a couple of my friends and of course I was way ahead of the two of them, and, I was attacked by a grizzly bear."

The group waits. Eyes begin tentatively shifting ever so slightly. The search for confirmation of that being the entirety of the story is discreetly underway. Todd looks to his right and tries to pass the torch. The cardigan wearing snow bunny to his right is horrified. Luckily, this time, that snow bunny wasn't me. I would have tried to follow this story. The actual snow bunny knew better. She just stared at Todd, until, some dude asked, "What? Dude? Where? How?" Simple questions, but apparently the right ones.

It should be said, Todd is older. A ski patroller of middle age. No visible scarring on the face.

"Yeah, so I was headed up (name of trail omitted cause I forgot) and I was pretty far ahead of my two buddies. This griz comes at me from the side. All I heard was gnarly thumping, something I don't usually hear. So, I see the bear and it's already charging me. Man, it got me really good."

"Dude, how'd you get it off you?"

"My friends finally caught up and unloaded two cans of bear spray."

There is more to the story, but I'm already doing Todd an injustice with the shotty telling, so I'll let the gist of it speak for itself. The real gem of the story, though, came later when we were discussing the merits of helmets while skiing. Todd, piped up, "I'm sure psyched that I wear a helmet when I mountain bike. That bear busted one gnawing on my head."

I told the story of poking lava with a stick. Becoming a badass is a constant education in humility.

Porcelain Princess

My cousin just described me in her own blog as someone going from "porcelain princess to a complete badass."  I'm so proud.  So excited.  So want to write that book.  Thanks Jennifer! 

Blood, Guts, and a Nice Scarf

A few days ago, Jackson had the first snow fall of the season.  Since I'm a southern girl at heart, when I see snow I automatically think, "Snow Day!"  All impulses turn to the couch and stillness.  The day was spent reading magazines, lolling about, and pouting that I no longer have anywhere to wear adorable heels, skirt, blazer combos.  Ohhh, new plum nail polish for fall!  Wait, that will just be chipped off in my mittens as I claw the damn ice off my windshield.  I was really getting on a roll, considering moving to a place where pedicures are considered a requirement, not frivolity, when I received a call.  

"Jes, I think I have a plan that might really excite you.  Really get you going on becoming a badass."

Interest peaked.  If I can't be well accessorized, I would like to be a badass.

"Chase just killed an elk and we can hike into the woods and help him pack it out."

"I'm in."

"Ok, just wear warm clothing that you can get bloody."

"Um, ok.  Yeah.  Sure." 

One minute, I'm wishing for new over the knee boots.  The next minute, I'm wondering why I don't have more warm clothing I can get bloody.  I wore all black, but it turns out, you're supposed to wear orange so that you don't get shot by another hunter.  I looked like a bear.   Definitely need to get in on the hot neon trend happening right now.  If anyone has access to an H&M, please send a nice neon scarf.  Orange would be nice, but pink will do.  Thanks.  I'm saving for a rifle or I would buy my own scarf.

Proof that I went:

Elks stomachs are large enough to fit a small female adult in the fetal position.

The meat is hauled out, but the intestines are left in the woods for coyotes or something to eat. 

Steam rises out of the animals insides as the cold air meets the warm body.

You don't want to shoot the spine because there is a lot of good meat in that area.

 

bloody mary from scratch

I've just made a bloody mary from scratch and am once again cleaning.  The badassness about this is 1)bloody mary made from scratch/memory.  (way obvi badass) 2)  I have to clean because of a wild pillow fight incident 3) I'm just stalling for time because I haven't been able to blog due to an overwhelming amount of badassness.

Please, stay tuned for enthralling tales on pillow fights, cliff jumping, old men hiking, trail running clubs, badass cubs in training and more.  Much more if you don't hear from me till I get back from Vegas ;)

Everyday Badassing

Lately, I've been a little distraught about not having enough time to push forward in my physical quests to become a badass.  Sure, I've been climbing mountains, driving boats, having run-ins with bears and throwing incredible dinner parties, but I haven't been pushing my limits.  I haven't been mountain biking, rock climbing, paragliding.  Hell, I haven't even been keeping my bathroom clean.  Most of the time I've just been working.  While it is badass to make the moneys and take care of yourself, the simple act is not going to keep the fire fueled in my soul.  I crave adventure.  

But, I also crave a bathroom clean enough to not catch the swine flu from and a room I can walk through with out having to tango through piles of clothing.  I don't mind the tango during the day, but at night it's damn near impossible and I've nearly given myself a concussion.  A very not badass way to go out.  So, I've created a compromise with myself and am taking this day to do some everyday badassing.  I'm going to clean.  

Not badass?  I'm going to clean in my cutest heels and most fetching knickers.  I've heard stories about hikers carrying huge packs for miles and miles, days and days.  When their load seems to be too much for them to carry and they feel like they can't go on, they add a twenty pound rock to their pack and haul it for a few miles.  By the time they unload the rock, their pack seems light.  As an homage to these wild adventures, I'm going to clean in heels because sometimes you have to make something harder to make it easier.  By the time I take the heels off, my calves will be aching but my space will be clean.  It won't be easy but it will be a hell of a lot more fun.  If being able to have fun while doing something you don't want to do and seems initially painful isn't badass then I don't know why God gave us the after workout/extremeness adrenaline rush.   

definition

Who's a badass?  

Someone who tries it.

Someone who goes further than they thought they were comfortable with.

Lot's of people in Jackson want to act like being in being the ultimate (skier, climber, etc) is what makes someone a badass, and that competing for that title is the only way to achieve badassness.  I've talked about my first attempt mountain biking and been scoffed at.  Incredible hair, driving stick shift, and making an incredible sandwich have all be seen as givens, not accomplishments.  Let's take a moment to remember, if you can do it and others can't then you will look like a badass.  

This adventure is about physical challenges, extreme sports, and manning off against nature but it's also about hair that gets free drinks, being able to drive a strangers porche, and sandwiches good enough to create a life long love.  

In conclusion, to all the haters, I would like to say:  Sorry for partying.  And partying in more ways than you even knew were possible.       

Learning to Ride a Bike: This Time For Realsy

I know how to ride a bike.   Or so I thought.  Turns out, I only kinda knew.  If you can balance and pedal, you can ride a bike, scoot about town and maybe even teach a child how to some day.  But if you're really gonna bike, on trails or paths for long distances here's some crap to know:

1)  Gears are your new best friend.

      a) the low numbers are for uphill, high numbers for downhill, and middle for flat.

      b)  save yourself some ickyness and try to change gears at a point where you are pushing the peddles and moving yourself forward.  AKA:  Only make changes while fully engaged.  May apply to other life actions.

      c) the chain loops around the spiky.  If things go all shades of horrible and the chain falls off the round spiky (possibly due to ignoring advice b), put the gears in 1st and put the chain around the littlest round spiky.  Actually, not that hard but you will get dirty.

      BONUS TIP:  Don't wear white.  Biking is surprisingly messy.

2)  Wear sunglasses*

*to be expounded on in inspirational story

That's actually pretty much it for biking.  And now for an INSPIRATIONAL STORY...

To further along my Becoming of a Badass, I've taken up biking, as in, gone on two bike rides.  This has immediate benefits because I haven't biked in the pas, so I'm adding a whole new activity to my roster, automatically giving me huge badass points.  More auto points are gained from the maneuvering of the bike out of a tiny storage space and scraping up my legs, which sucks, but does make it look like I'm into mountain biking.  I get on the bike (this is day two of biking), slouch over the handle bars, a tip from my friends who said my good posture was making me look like a wimpy cruiser.  I'm coasting down big hills, not breaking cause I ain't afraid of speed.  I'm arm signaling my turns cause I love sharing the road.  A not:  One armed biking takes some skill.  Shake off that lapse in balances, slouch over handle bars, and keep on going.  

I've gone about 1/4 a mile when I notice my chain is making bad, clinking, dragging sounds.  I pull over, only catching my toe momentarily as I dismount, and start solving problems.  Hmmm.  Chain.  Rubbing against metal.  Flashback to my youth... Wasn't the chain always around the round poky thing?  Yes!  I put it on the poky thing.  Which is easy!  Swift remount with extra toe lift and I'm off.

Cruising over an unpaved road (elk refugee in Jackson), blow past a man walking his dog and can fully appreciate the speed a bike supplies.  Shifting gears up and down hills, I'm getting cocky and having a great time.  I experiment with weaving around tiny pot holes and even imitated the nine year old I saw yesterday jerking his handle bars up to hop a curb.  Sure, I'm only jumping dents in the read but it's fun.  I'm feeling the flush of enthusiasm that's so present in youth and so much harder to find as we age.

Around mile five, she appears.  Her tiny body is all sinewy muscle and spandex.  Her gait is steady, sure, and well, really f-ing fast.  How can she be running this fast five miles in?  Surely, she came from one of the turn offs.  This has to be her three mile sprint pace over a rushed lunch break.  Maybe her child is in need of medicine at home and her car is broken.  She is headed toward the hospital.  Only those desperate mother endorphins could explain her speed.  I nearly fall off my bike as I search for her behind me, looking to see if she turns off.  She must have cause I can't spot her, and then, suddenly, I see her neon pink body streaking down the road.  She's already so far away I can barely see her.  

I turn around, having come to the end of the path and, now, fear is in my heart.  She's out of eye sight.  Does this mean... Is she running faster then I'm biking?  That seems physically impossible, but I've been out skied by three year olds on leashes and don't doubt anything.  

I'm pumping my hear out for two miles before I catch up to this woman.  I fly past her, not out of a sense of pride, but because I can't stand her getting a good look at how obviously overheated and sweaty I am.  Just as my confidence is about to plummet to the pathetic depths of self pity, and while my mind is repeating, How slow of a biker do you have to be to almost be out run?  Just then, God sends a mercenary angel.  Or a kamikaze angel rather in the body of a big juicy bug, that hits my forehead and splatters.  

Now, I don't know the exact mathematic equation, although I imagine it's something like:  (biker's speed) times (bug's speed) divided by (juiciness of bug), that equates to smashing a bug on your face, but gosh darn it, it's never happened to me jogging.  I must have been going pretty fast.  If I hadn't been wearing sunglasses and the thing hit my eye, I definitely would have required medical assistance.  Just one of the risks us badasses have to take.  I wiped the goo off my forehead and smugly pedaled back home.  I love being extreme.  The risk is always worth the story.  

Becoming a Badass: The Beginning

When starting something new the learning curve can pop up and boink you in the head.  The likelihood of this happening increases greatly if you give into temptation and use someone else’s learning curve.  Let’s say your gym buddy is a natural athlete, who has been competing in triathalons with her family since her daddy removed her training wheels.  This girl’s learning curve is going to batter you unrecognizable in spinning class.  You are you.  The bad news is you have to start with the knowledge, skill, and strength you have.  The incredible and invigorating news is that your potential is limitless. 

 

Lesson:  You’ve got your own learning curve.  Stand by it and be proud of your personal progress.

And now, it’s time for an Inspirational Story.

            I currently live in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the adopted homeland of extreme athletes.  Out here people don’t ask how your day was, they ask what you did today.  I’ve learned the hard way that the response, I watched three hours of Sex and the City on DVD and cleaned my bathroom is a super lame-o answer.  Being a loser will garner no friends and no party invites.  Sure, we all need chill days to ourselves but make them rare and say that your knee was acting up.  The response people are looking for, and the one that is actually way more fun to truthfully answer is something like, I biked 12 miles, grabbed some food and a beer with friends and then we all went camping.  The people I look up to say stuff like, I biked up the pass (big mountain), went for a jog through the trails up to see the wildflowers, and got back to my car just in time to grab a burrito and see if my kayak was done being repaired. 

            I moved here from LA, where I was active, as in morning jogs, occasional yoga, and vigorous barhopping.  When I got to Jackson, I learned that physically, I had a lot of catching up to do.  Luckily, that was only because there was a lot of fun I as missing out on. 

            Lots of people aren’t active because they don’t think they are coordinated or strong or flexible or in shape.  I spent years using a combination of all these excuses to avoid trying fun activities.  I’d dabble, but I would inevitably be the stupidest looking goof on the court/dance floor/field/etc.  The “I can’t because I’m not…” excuse became my mantra.  Well, me amigos, I’ve traversed the physical challenge mountain and am here to report back what I’ve learned.  You don’t need to be awesome or a natural to start learning!  You just have to keep trying and you become awesome at things!

            And with that we end the preaching.  I believe in leading by example.  So, here are some tales of one girl’s adventures as she…

Becomes a Badass

            My extremeness all started with hiking.  One summer between years at college, I was feeling particularly losery and fat.  Grumpily, sitting around my parent’s new home in Jackson, Wyoming, where I had zero friends, I was swiftly starting to have sub-zero will to live.  As another day of watching marathon America’s Next Top Model came to a close, I sighed, lolled my head back and said to myself, “what are my options?  I can either go for a walk or kill myself.”  A small spark of enthusiasm pushed me toward the walk and my inner cynical bitch agreed, figuring there would always be time after the walk to slit my wrists.  A little way into my walk, fresh oxygen fueling my thoughts, I started to get pissed.  I am not a loser.  I will not go out like this.  Especially in Wyoming!  I will persevere.  I will climb that fucking mountain!  In some towns, the mountain would be a metaphor for kicking butt and overcoming obstacles.  In Jackson, you don’t have to be that creative.  There are big mountains everywhere and paths for hiking up them.  One, in fact, is less than ½ mile from my home (Snowking for any locals) and I was conveniently staring at its grandeur. 

            The next morning, decked out in an ugly T-shirt, yoga pants, sweat bands, barely used hiking boots, and a full body layer of prayer, I headed up the mountain.  My outfit was stupid.  A 75-year-old man with a walking stick passed me.  Children passed me.  Tiny four-pound dogs that had to take 22 steps to equal one of mine passed me.  About halfway up, red faced, drenched in sweat, wheezing, I turned around.  The next day I tried it again.  I figured, hell, I’m in Wyoming.  Who cares what these people think about my salt dripping, seemingly asthmatic, chubby butt.  It might take some time, but I would climb the mountain.  And I did.  Still do.  Only now, I do it in tiny athletic shorts and a sports bra.  As I jog down, I say, “You’re almost there.  Hang in there!”  to the poor, sweaty saps who look close to flinging themselves off the side of the mountain. 

            Just remember, we all have to start at the bottom of the mountain, but we all have the potential to climb it.