5: The Angry Meltdown

Technically, it was my second meltdown two Fridays in a row.

I say I have brain damage from my closed head injury in December.  The King of Athletics of the Central Highlands (aka hot husband Tom) says I'm insane.

He'll also tell you that in the past 17 years, he's only seen anger from me like the past two Friday's maybe a dozen times.  So two in a week's time - I must be certifiably nuts.

I'm nuts?  Who is doing nutty things with 125lb dumbbells?

Or brain damaged.

I do notice a difference in the way I process things, and that somethings still don't function as they used to.  I say I have a "Soundtrack Mind" - there are always several different tracks playing at any given time, plus what is going on around me.  Lately, I can't seem to block out the surface noise around me like I used to - and a conversation in a crowded room has become difficult.  I have always felt closest to God while experiencing nature - so perhaps that is why hikes have appealed to me so; I am hoping for a healing neurologically, and perhaps spiritually as well.  My breakdown on Friday certainly revealed more than I bargained for.

While I didn't go to boot camp until 8am, I was still tired from an exhausting week.  Even though I had only hiked 11 miles and had 4 hours of boot camp under my belt, I was feeling it in little ways neurologically - and that surprised me.  My response time was off, I was switching up words.  I even found Vikings Thursday night to be uninspiring, except for King Ecbert speaking Old English.

Because Old English is freakin' hot.

"Ic willa neom beon forlor."

That, and I want to dress like Lagertha.  Since I'm 1/4 Danish, it must come righteously, eh?

I admit it; I'm obsessed with these earrings.

So Friday morning, my head is full of the fact that I need pictures for my column, as I have been remiss in taking them earlier in the week.  Everyone is open to the idea, and I get a few general shots.

I made sure everyone looked good in this one.

Today is circuit training, and it's all about the Crazy 8's.  I immediately perk up at the mention of my favorite number.  Having been born on August 8th, and then having your baby sister born 8 years, 8 days, 8 hours and 48 minutes later is pretty wicked, and 8 thus becomes your most favorite number for life.  I'm not quite convinced that my late husband wasn't somehow cursed because we failed to marry on a day with an 8 in it (5/15/93 had the 5's, but it wasn't an 8.  I wonder if we had married a week earlier on May 8th if we couldn't have avoided his death.  I married the King of Athletics on 4/18/98, thus assuring his survival.)

Unfortunately, despite my husband's recent assertions that I was crazy, and the prominence of the number 8, Crazy 8's was circuit training with 8 reps per set. I enjoyed a few of the stations, revealing in my stronger muscles, and hated others as they exposed how very weak I was.  On my fourth circuit I struggled to hold a plank position on two medicine balls for more than 10 seconds, in my mind I tried to will myself beyond what my body said it was capable of.  Inside, I could hear my mind getting forceful - telling myself that I could do this - when the little voice that is truly me said - "I hate this.  I hate pushing through.  I hate not having what I want when I want it.  I hate going without, and I hate the pain of trying."  I crumpled to my knees, in tears.

At least I still had all my limbs.

My friend Kristen, seeing my distress, came rushing over.  Sgt. Steve made sure I wasn't hurt physically, and tactfully let my friend handle my mini meltdown.  Fitness is the state of being healthy - both physically and mentally.  It seems some of the physical had brought out an emotional area of distress.  Kristen and I walked a lap, and I talked out what I knew was truly bothering me.

My hatred of exercise was a symptom of more than just my lifelong breathlessness - it was tied into the fact that I gave up when I said I no longer wanted to do something.  It was tied to regrets of letting go too soon, and not pushing through ideas and projects to the end, often in the face of opposition.  Sgt. Steve came over, and I briefed him lightly on my tears.  He assured me I should just walk laps (we were 4 minutes from finishing!  I had almost made it!) and that I had made incredible strides through the week.  Kristen promised me a slap whenever I needed one, and I headed out the door for the last time, and on to another hike.

This, my friends, is a Lockheed Constellation aircraft.

Kinda ugly for a big bird, isn't she?

This is my favorite airplane of all time:

The Flying Fortress.

I mention this because being a plane nut is a nuttiness I'll gladly ascribe to.  So imagine when I discover that the Constellation trail is named after a plane that crashed there 56 years ago!!!!  I was so geeked I had to go seek it out immediately, and Friday's hike was to that very spot.

For the first time, Becky & Dotty both joined me.

Dotty, in the classic "we live here!" photo.

Becky showing off the rocks.

I found myself trailing behind my friends, unable to keep up but happy to meander a bit behind.  My thoughts were on nobility, sacrifice and ultimately, making money.

Sorry about the booty shot, Becks.

40 paces behind was my standard for the week.

We started to talk about offering tours among the rocks, and starting a business this summer.  It made sense that in sharing something we loved, we could naturally charge others to go with us.  I expanded the idea further, thinking of the Prescott eNews, why not take politicians on hikes?  In my experience, people talked a lot about themselves, and shared more freely on the trail.  Trail interviews could be highly informative, and entertaining to boot.

Why yes, that is an Extreme Flagstaff black t-shirt I am wearing.

The hike was over too soon, and we promised to hike together the following Thursday.  Having hiking partners has made all the difference in my Fitness Quest, and wouldn't be possible without them.

I got home early, and enjoyed yet another shower of bliss.  Sitting down to write; I reflected on the past two and a half weeks.  The Fitness Quest was more than I bargained for, but the possibilities were endless.  I still wasn't engaged, but I knew that it could be a real game changer, in more ways than one.  Join me on my journey to fitness - to be healthy both physically and emotionally.  I guarantee it will be one fantastic ride.

4: The Day I Discover Heaven

My final 5:30am class, and I'm awake once again before 4am.  One would think an injuried body would take the additional thirty minutes alotted to sleep, but no.  Awake I am, and up I must get.

Immediately, there is the problem of what to wear.  My only pair of black sweatpants I wore Monday.  Tuesday I wore grey capri's, yesterday black.  I know I have a stash of hiking capri's, but they don't seem appropriate for yoga.  Digging through my closet, I stumble on black yoga pants!  I hesitate before trying them on - and they fit!  This is truly the week of wonders.

I've never tried yoga; I was brought up conservative pentecostal and am still leery of anything involving "ooommms."  I knew today was sport yoga (i.e. yoga without the ooommms) and I had a feeling I would love it.  While I still don't claim to have engaged myself in exercise, I was definitely excited to try something new.  Kinda like Taylor Swift, trying on a new boyfriend.

When I arrived, the gym lights were off.  A tad creepy at 5:30am, but at least I knew these people now.  It was nice being greeted warmly when I arrived, and it was pleasant to sit and chat for a few minutes with these new found friends.  Sgt. Steve started our session, and immediately I was hooked.

I freaking LOVE yoga.

I love the stretches, pushing me a little bit further.  I love the poses - so effortless for some but so ridiculous for me to attempt - I had visions of being able to strike a pose.  The calm, the dimness, the rhythmic movements were like a dream.  It wasn't 5:30am, I was simply still asleep.

My rude awakening happened after a set with my head down.  I cam up too quickly, and nausea overtook me for the second day in a row.  I hadn't had breakfast, but I did have a Starbucks coffee on my way in.  This sealed the deal for me - no food before early morning exercise henceforth.

When I left the building, the sun was up and this view amazed me:

Granite Mtn. blanketed in clouds.

From the gym I ran over to BNI, Business Networking International.  I'm a little networking princess, and I was joining the Thursday Morning Money Makers.  Bryce, my former BNI cohort, will tell you I'm all about getting a black tag, and adore connecting friends with money.  Bryce is a artist who specializes in photography, and together we trashed my dress in an aircraft fuselage, which was tremendous fun.

We must make more money!!  Ivan Misner has commanded it!

BTW, I still fit in both of my wedding dresses.  My size 4 waist has stayed the same.  Big skirts are so forgiving.  Have I mentioned I'm a princess?  I have a gorgeous selection of tiara's.

Really.

A princess who was swept off her feet by a big bad former cop :)

Princesses should not have to exercise.  Networking, sure.  Exercise, no.

From BNI (where I met my daughter's boyfriend's dad by pure coincidence) I ran to meet my editor, and then left for another sales call.  By noon I was bushed, and ready for a nap.  Never before in my life have I felt such fatigued, and I called Becky to beg off.

She wouldn't let me.

"Take a power nap at the trailhead while you wait for me," she commanded, so I figured I had no way out.  I pulled into the Williamson Valley trailhead, a mere 6 miles from my so soft bed, and waited for her with my eyes closed.  I had just drifted off when she arrived, her beloved dog Diesel by her side.  After Tuesday's conversation, the first thing we did was guarantee we were both carrying.  My holster had not arrived, and in yoga pants I was left with few choices.  Appendix carry with no breakaway holster, or putting my gun in my backpack.  We debated the merits and decided Becky with her 9mm could cover me while I drew, should the need arise.

Never, ever, Google "girlfriend with a gun."  Just no.

Becky & Diesel.  Yes, she is carrying.

We get started on the 3 mile hike, one of my most familiar as we live so close.  This one I know by heart, and at the 1.3 mile marker to turn onto #347, Becky was bushed.  We both had a good chuckle, since I was the one not wanting to come, and now she was the one questioning heading back.  I assured here we were nearly half way, and the best was yet to be.  Onward to the Mint Creek trail we went.

Really, I do live on the top of the mountains in the center of the heart.  I can see Russia from my house.

Friends don't let friends ditch a hike.

We completed the hike in about an hour, both glad we hadn't let the other one quit.  We talked more about doing a rim to rim in the fall, and promised to see each other for another hike in the morning.  I left for home, rundown and a sweaty mess.  Imagine my delight in finding Heaven on Earth:  my Shower.

Never, in the history of showers, has one felt so good.  Every muscle had ached before climbing in.  My skin drank in the moisture, and the heat soothed away the hurts.  I began to understand for the first time why the King of Athletics of the Central Highlands took three showers a day (I know - a little OCD but I love him).  The rewards heaped upon me in that one shower made all the exercise of the prior four days worth it - I have never, in my entire life, felt so good.  After cleaning up, and re-bandaging my wound, I snuggled between the sheets and took a nap.  The rewards outweighed the pain for the very first time.

3: The Bloody Injury

Warning:  Graphic, bloody photos to follow.  If you don't like blood, don't read this post.

Let me rephrase that.

If you don't like REAL blood pouring out of a REAL wound, don't read it.  If you like to watch The Walking Dead, but cannot handle a bloody knee, you shouldn't continue.

:)

Wednesday was a 5:30am wake up call; once again, I woke up at 3:48am.  This was after falling into bed around 9pm, but according to Facebook, my last post was at 10:43pm.

I seemed to be wanting carbs at 10:43pm

That looks really good, doesn't it?  If you haven't as of yet discovered Culver's ButterBurgers, you are sadly missing out, my friend.

Excuse me, for a moment.

Chipotle Hummus on a burger:  Genius.

Alright, I feel better now.

Wednesday - 3:48am...and I figure I've got a long day ahead of me.  Make the very controversial decision to eat breakfast.

I hate breakfast.

Almost as much as exercise.

In fact, the few times I eat breakfast, it's only to be polite (although my choice of runny eggs is anything but.)  I rarely if ever eat breakfast at home, and we certainly didn't have anything at home (Paleo man frowns on snacks) so I did something rather forbidden in the fitness world.  I went here:

I'm lovin' it.

I got a coffee and a Bacon, Egg & Cheese Biscuit.  Mrs. Paleo took over and I threw out the biscuit and ate just the cheese, egg and bacon.  Perfect little bite of protein, right?  Sooooo wrong.  I my effort to "be healthy" I only made myself nauseated.

Day three of boot camp was known as "core-nado" - basically sets of core strengthening exercises.  By the time we were 3/4's through, I was sick to my stomach.  I knew it was my breakfast, and I don't care what anyone says - a piece of bacon, a piece of cheese and a folded over egg from McDonald's is as freaking Adkins as you can get.  Protein, protein, protein.  It was the act of eating breakfast itself that had made me sick.

It always has.

I started refusing breakfast in 6th grade, when I got up for school by myself and my mother still slept.  She tried everything to get me to eat breakfast - Carnation Instant Breakfasts (OH MY WORD - THIS IS WHY I HATE SHAKES!!!  AARON HAIRSTON, TAKE NOTE!!) which I would choke down, Chicken Little sandwiches from KFC, breakfast bars (Aaron - see a pattern?) you name it, she tried it.  I always felt sick after I ate - nothing could stay in my stomach and stay settled.  In time she gave up, and I restricted my breakfasts to restaurants and rare days when I woke up craving pancakes with peaches (it does happen.)  If I did choke down a breakfast, I found I was hungry at 11am - which was equally ridiculous, as normally I wasn't hungry until 1pm.  Although every fitness article in the world tells you breakfast is good, I did my own research (remember I'm a trained historian.  We LOVE to research.)  I found this out:

1)  Breakfast is an invention of the rich.  Until the mid 1800's and the habits of the upper class extending to the lower classes, only two meals a day were served since millenia:  a midday meal and dinner.  That's it.  Most people couldn't afford to eat three times a day.

2)  Breakfast is perpetuated on the masses by cereal companies, diet companies and fitness companies wanting to make money on the masses.  It' a freaking conspiracy, man.

I don't always eat breakfast, but when I do, it's usually with Ian.

So I get sick, don't puke, and drink more water.  I talk to Sgt. Steve about it, who confirms breakfast is a conspiracy theory.  (Just kidding.  He told me to listen to my body.  I was refreshed by his outlook, to be honest.)  Class is over, and a stupid aura migraine starts.  They look like this:

Why driving is impossible with an aura migraine.

They only last about thirty minutes,  so I wait it out at the gym.  I post it on Facebook, because if one keeps busy during an aura migraine, a headache after is less likely.  I figure once it clears, I'll just head out to Thumb Butte and work on this blog before my hike with Ian.  Right?

I power up my hotspot, and start formatting the blog; picking out the template and all that good stuff.  I start writing (finally, this had been weighing on my mind as I knew I should have started some time ago) and the car begins to get cold.  I check the outside temperature - it's 29 degrees.  I check the time - it's 8:30am.  Hmm.  I last saw Ian yesterday...did we talk about hiking today (no.)  Did we talk about it Monday after we cancelled due to rain (yes.  It was the last thing we talked about after art.)  In the meantime, a group of 20+ senior citizens are preparing to take the hike up the butte.  They are adorned in full-on hiking gear, as if they'd be gone awhile.  I text Ian.

"Are we hiking today?"

The response:  "I saw you had a migraine on Facebook and assumed you'd want to cancel."

Oh, really.  You assumed.

I'm still nauseated, and flipping freezing in my car.  I need a hike to warm up and rid my stomach of this vicious feeling, and you assumed???

After a few back and forths, he finally arrived at the Butte.  While admitting he was glad I had dragged him out there, he insisted we hurry as he had "so much to do."

Like I didn't.

The hike, at first, seemed good.  It was up my beloved "easy side," and I actually managed to hold up my end of the conversation for a time.  Then the dreaded air gasping started.  It was my first true attack with the air monster, who would not let me draw a breath.  I literally stopped five times, trying to catch my breath to no avail.  Not that it was worrisome, it wasn't.  It was just miserable, and my hiking partner was always at least 40 paces ahead of me.  Unable to keep up, I simply stopped.  I had been pushing it to do the class back to back with a hike, and the lack of sleep was catching up.  I tried to think of a day when this would no longer be the case, when I could do this without being winded.  Approaching the top, I saw Ian off to the side, being passed by that group of twenty senior citizens who had just successfully negotiated the steep side.  I was utterly dismayed to see women twice my age had successfully completed what I knew was an impossibility for me without breathlessness.  One of the old guys started teasing Ian about coming up "the easy way."  He motioned back to me.  "It's her fault - she can't keep up."

While admittedly true, I was appalled that he'd throw me under the bus without hesitation.  He just laughed, and assured me that he loved throwing me under the bus when I deserved it.  I reminded him that I knew how to write.

The rest of our hike was easy - down the steep side, which he admitted killed his legs.  It was still pretty cold, in the mid-thirties, and the trail was wet from the rains the day before.  Just before the parking lot, I stepped on a patch of black ice (thinking it was just water - this Michigan native totally had a brain fart.)  My right foot shot forward as I went down, and I felt my body do the most amazing thing.  Instead of just falling, I caught myself by holding a forward lunge - only my left knee hit the pavement with force.  My left hand went down for balance, but my strong right thigh held me up.  Thinking back, I can imagine the mess I would have been in days past in a similar situation - a bruised thigh, twisted hips, scraped up hands - it should have been brutal.  Ian was of course immediately concerned, apologizing for not warning me about the ice.  (I thought this interesting.  I'm married to a former cop, and he apologizes for nothing.  Ian, on the other hand, apologizes like a normal personal would.  I am so not used to it.)  I hopped right up, assuring him I was fine.  My hand was unscathed, and although my knee had took a pounding, I assumed the capri's I was wearing had protected the skin when I went down.  I was so sure, I didn't even look at it.

So we get to the parking lot, and Ian pops open his tailgate to change out of his boots.  We are chatting when I feel something strange on my leg.  Like something is creeping down it.  I am surprised to see that much blood.

I start laughing, looking for something to mop it up with.  Swinging off my pack, I grab my sweatshirt and slide it up my shin while balancing my leg on the tailgate.  I tie it around my leg, so that I can get out my first aid kit.  The cold air had numbed my knee, rendering me clueless to the extent of my injury five minutes prior.

You should have seen it before I mopped it with my sweatshirt.

The pebble is visible in this one.

 In all fairness, I knew Ian was in a hurry.  He had mentioned that several times earlier in the day.  The speed in which he packed up, and said good-bye, however, led me to believe that he was fairly uncomfortable with the site of so much blood (and there was a lot.  It kinda looked like I'd been shot.)  I hobbled over to my car, and began the process of cleaning it.  First with cool water, then with antiseptic.  I took the pictures and sent them to my husband, the King of Athletics of the Central Highlands.  Imagine my surprise to get concern in  response:

Knock me over with a feather; he seems genuinely concerned.

Crown Royal?

I headed from Thumb Butte to my appointment (that had been delayed due to Ian, but hey, no big deal, right?  Not like I had things to do) where trainer Ginger of Fit2Zen was quite concerned for my leg.  (Apparently my knowledge of an embedded pebble worried people.)  From there I went to Tec Rehab to meet Micah, who happened to have called when I left Thumb Butte.  He assured me my hiking gear and bloody knee only added to my charm, and we sat down just as this happened:

aka The Zombie Apocalypse

A cable was cut just north of Phoenix, and all of Arizona lost cell and internet.  Unless you had worthless Verizon, which I did.  That was providential, because a few minutes later, this arrives:

Stay strong?  I skinned my knee, not broke my leg.

An unsolicited text at 1:08pm?  From my husband?  Will wonders never cease?

I headed home, and took a hot shower, taking time to pick the pebble out of my knee.  I only found one big band-aid, but it was enough.  After cleaning, it didn't look so bad.

Now if only it didn't flipping sting so much.

The rest of the evening was a blur - it was a "little date" with my 6'2" son to attend an aviation history lecture at Embry Riddle, but it was proceeded by dinner at Taj Mahal.

Lamb Boti Masala has NEVER tasted so good.

Sleep finally came early for once, and I was over the hump for the first week of my Fitness Quest.

2: My Secret Crush Revealed

The events of Monday morning were still prominent in my mind as I headed into boot camp at 8am the next day.  Surprisingly, I was only mildly sore for being so out of shape; my hiking the weeks prior must have had some impact.  Not that I was engaged; while I enjoyed the camp, I was far from sold that exercise needed to be a part of my daily lifestyle.  Trudging into the gym, imagine my immediate delight to see my friend Kristen, ready to start the camp.

Kristen helpfully posing for me.

Having a friend to greet me was an unexpected bonus.  I immediately noted how much easier the day's activities seemed with her by my side; after all, I am used to hiking with a partner.  This was the dreaded cardio day, which I had already decided would likely kill me.

It didn't.

I have to admit to surprise - I could breathe the entire time.  Yes, it was hard.  Yes, it took me to places my muscles had never been.  But every time I thought I would need a drink due to my throat closing, Sgt. Steve would stop the set. 

I probably shouldn't start sentences with But.

Mrs. Bohs is probably rolling in her grave.

If she is dead.   I couldn't find her obituary.  So, Blair Bohs, if you are still alive out there, I apologize for starting a sentence with But.  I can see your red ink line prominently struck through it, really I can.  I can also remember sitting right behind Tony McCarthy, who wrote the most ghoulish things and was my antagonist until I developed a raging crush on him.  Not that I should mention that, right?  It was 29 years ago....(OH MY WORD WE ARE OLD, PEOPLE!!!)

This is our sophomore yearbook.  Can you find me?

This was during my "Alien Bond" phase of life.  I was determined to write a Star Trek novel.  Rarely was I seen without a pen in hand; rarely has there been such a struggle to write dialogue.  Now I know you just write and keep on writing; back then I just gave up.  I no longer wanted to write (even though I did.  This will make more sense after you read Friday's blog.  Really.)  Right, fitness.  Fitness Quest.  Not, "oh, look at how funny we all looked in high school" quest.

I'm off track because I really don't want to put up the next two pictures.  It was decided after class that I needed "before pictures" for my fitness quest (thank GOD Almighty Himself none existed of me in the skirt that started this all.  Horrifying.)

Yes, I see my left hip is higher than my right.

Yep.

What really sucks about these pictures is I'm trying to stand up straight and watch my posture.  As you can see, my husband has just reason to hate my thighs (but if there was a third picture featuring my backside, you'd see why he doesn't complain too much, and why I was voted "best butt" at my last job.  Seriously.  Precisely the reason I don't go to Company Christmas Parties is to avoid comments like that.)

After class, I headed to Starbucks to do the "working" part of my job as a media specialist.  I was pleased with my progress after a lackluster first week, and was excited to share my results with Becky, my hiking partner for the day.

Becks & I at the start of our hike.

We chose to hike in the Willow Lake Dells; a fantastic area in Prescott filled with "massive boulders of ancient rock have weathered into delicately balanced forms and fanciful shapes."  It cost $2 to park, so we ditched Becky's car at the grocery store across the street, because, let's be real, two dollars is two dollars.

It had been awhile since I had hiked the "Polka Dot Trail," so named as you are following white dots across the rocks, instead of a traditional path.  We quickly decided that a regular feature of our hikes had to be the "OH MY WORD WE LIVE HERE" picture - as we were so astounded by the beauty of the area.

Of course we have to be IN the picture to prove we were there.

We were about a half mile in the Dells when we came across a man in a trench coat with his dog.

I'm not kidding - a trench coat.

Becky, the proud Mama of four pooches, cooed at the sight of the pup.  The Trench Coat man kept his back to us.  We kept walking...at a much quicker pace than before.

"Are you carrying?" we almost asked the question to one another simultaneously.

This is my gun:

Just like James Bond.

No, I was not carrying it at the time, nor did Becky have her's on her.

Dang it.

We are so blessed to live in the United States, where we have the right to bear arms.  I know many women (and men) who say they never feel the need to protect themselves, and go hiking by themselves all the time.

Tell that to Cathy Sposito, who was killed while hiking Thumb Butte.  Other hikers heard her screaming, but could not get to her in time.  I'd like to think that I'm safe every time I hike, but that would be naive to do so.  Becky and I saw no one else during our hike, in a fairly remote area.  Being armed is just being smart; we vowed to carry our next time out.

Boulder Loving.  Hard to believe my before pictures were taken earlier in the day.

To say we loved our hike is an understatement; we made plans to hike again later in the week and to do a rim-to-rim in the Canyon in September.  Because we live in Arizona, and we can do that.

Plus we are going to make this our career!!I ended up doing two sales calls in my hiking clothes, but because this is Prescott, I actually made both sales.

I ran home and showered, made two sales calls while fairly exhausted and then I ate this:

Organic means no calories, right?

This is a Frau Buchler Nastee Dog.  Divine.

By the time I got home, the dogs had made a mess.  I started losing my battle to stay awake.

Oops!  Time to write.

Fitness Quest: Kickstart Boot Camp for Women

1: Kickstart Boot Camp for Women & My Kickstart

My word.  I have rarely been more nervous about doing something in my entire life.

Walking into a new place, starting a lifestyle change that I wasn't really engaged in...it was tough.  Almost as tough as it was for Maverick to engage in the battle after Goose died.  Really; I can totally relate.

In my prior career, I'd taken some pretty heavy fire.  Now here I was embarking on a new career, and a Fitness Quest to boot.  "It's not good.  It doesn't look good," were words never far from my thoughts.  Hiking was one thing - I've had a 28 year history of loving hiking in Arizona, despite only living here the past four.  Exercise, however?

I cannot stress enough how my dread of not being able to breathe has greatly effected my exercise efforts in the past.  Only a few times have I been able to push through it - only to loose that fitness due to one thing or another.  Once was in college - I ran sprints for the track team - but right after I had the breakthrough in being able to breath, shin splints shut that down.  More recently, in the fall of 2012 I was up to 15 mile hikes in a day; only to have that shut down when my hiking partner left me cold to pursue his own fitness quest.  My last foray into fitness was the spring of 2013, when I began mountain biking with my son.  That ended with a broken foot, by the time it was healed the monsoons had started and the trails were a mess.  This time, I'd committed to a year.

Maybe I needed to be committed instead.  It's freaking dark at 5:25am.

Sgt. Steve's car.  There is no escape.

I had my notebook with me as I walked in; I'm an old-timey reporter in that I like to write things down instead of using voice to text.  My memory is pretty good (I'm a trained historian), and I could tell you some pretty interesting tales...

So I walk in, I'm trying not to look nervous, and I'm looking around at the old Armory gym.  I've always held a fondness for old armory's, this one is no exception.  As my mind escapes the present with a jaunt to the past, I imagine the gatherings of yesteryear; the faded stenciling on the closed window casings sparking my imagination.  I wonder if there is a time portal here and I can escape this exercise? 

The Armory in Prescott, AZ.

Did I mention I love sci-fi?

Seriously, I think this is just the place for a secret bunker to survive a zombie apocalypse.

This is what it looks like inside:

Sgt. Steve is the only guy in the picture.

So when I walk in, no one is just standing around.  They are all power walking laps, which scares me as that means they are focused, fit individuals.  Sgt. Steve comes up to greet me, and is pretty great about putting my mind at ease.  We start with a warm up, just everyone standing in a circle and doing some easy stretching.

I wonder if stretching might have kept my back from tweaking last week?

Probably.

On to the main course:  it's raining this morning (a rare thing in Prescott) and Sgt. Steve announces we are making Alphabet Soup.  For a moment, I think we really are going to eat something.

It is my first day.

He holds up a bowl of individual letters, divides us into three groups and has us each take a turn running down to collect a letter.  When we had twenty letters in our group, we could stop.

I tried to spell VEGAS.  I spelled VOGAS instead.

Once we collected the twenty letters, he handed us a recipe card (for disaster!!! LOL! - sorry, could not resist.)  Each letter represented a set of exercises to do (I about fell over laughing when he demonstrated the fire hydrant.  I was told "Happy Baby" the prior week was much worse.)  As a group of four, we began the sets, my new found friends happily demonstrating the proper form & technique at this early hour.  By the time it came for cool-down, I was glistening in sweat, but had not run out of breath.  My relief had to have been palatable, I was nothing but smiles as I realized I had made it through the first day without a collapse.

I took a few minutes to chat with some campers & Sgt. Steve, and upon discovering he had a 6:45am class, asked if I could stay and observe.  A more "dedicated" group of campers with advanced fitness needs, I found these women to be just as friendly as the group before (even if several of them did have on outfits that coordinated with their shoes.)

OK, never ever Google images for "athletic female" to find pictures of women in matching athletic gear. 

By the time the class had ended, I felt I had a pretty good idea of a day at Boot Camp, and tomorrow didn't seem as scary.  Time for a hike.

It was raining.

I would surely melt.

Cancelling a hike due to weather led to my downfall in November of 2012 - I wanted to hike in the snow, my hiking partner did not.  Although I was gung-ho and ready to go, he put it off to teach a colleague to shoot instead.

Outside.

In the snow.

I never hiked again after that, until Feb. 11, 2015.

This time, however, it was different!  It was raining and I had three more hikes lined up that week.  I would make it work.  Or would I?

Foundations

Let me reiterate, I should have started this blog the day I started hiking.  Yes, and I should have bought Microsoft stock when I was 12, too, but oh well.

Week two wasn't supposed to be hard.  Monday the 16th turned out to be President's Day and all the kids were home from school, so Ian and I canceled our Monday hike (which is funny, because we still haven't hiked on a Monday.)  With my children home, I asked my 6'2" son to be my hiking companion.  Since it was a "National Holiday" (and I use that term quite loosely), Thumb Butte parking was free (it's free every Wednesday, which is why you will always see it as my Wednesday hike.  Get this - they want $5 for you to park there.  Riiiiggght.)  Charlton is a fencer; very lean and at 14, he's capable of doing just about anything physically.  We get to the Butte and the damn argument begins:  which side do we go up.

Now Charlton tells me he cannot allow his mother to be a wimp, and I cave to my taller-than-me son. (Isn't it funny how our mother's heart melts when our now taller-than-you boy asks us to do something?)  Immediately, I regretted it; it sucked.

Literally.

I'm sucking air and I cannot get it to my lungs.  I stop for a drink, catch my breath, and struggle onward.  My son starts to tell me about World War II and fighter planes (at least I think he did, I have no memory of the conversation because I could. not. breathe.  That's what he typically talks about, so...)

My calves start to pinch, and I stop to stretch them.  At this point my son is long gone, and I have failed in my goals to teach him gentlemanly skills (like flipping wait when the woman you are with is struggling.)  I find him on the bench by the top.  After a long sit and catching my breath, we decide to make the entire East Coast of the United States jealous.  It's 64 degrees in beautiful Prescott, Arizona.  The rest of the nation looks like this:

My former home state.

This was the week of the Big Freeze.  And this is us:

Thumb Butte, myself & Charlton.

Because we are special.

This is the view from the "other side" of Thumb Butte:

Prescott in the distance.

Isn't he a handsome boy?

Of course, at this point I need to prove my theory that the "easy side" going down is really too easy.

So, to prove it to my son, I ran down Thumb Butte.

YES.  I RAN DOWN IT.  

I only stopped where there was loose stone - I'm not a fool and wanting to go splat on my backside.  I ran and skipped while singing down the side of the mountain (please note I do not do this with other hiking partners, only the ones I wish to embarrass and who cannot reject a further offer to hike.)

When we got to the bottom, I checked my phone.  I had uploaded those photos to my Facebook page, and wanted to see how jealous everyone was (because as my sister suspects, I am not humble.  Not in the least.)  Instead of comments about the weather, there is a fight between my husband's boss and my dear geology field partner from college.  About capitalism.

Men.

Hike complete, we head home.  I'm starting to feel really good - afterall, I just hiked the steep side of Thumb Butte, and Charlton didn't have to drag me (although I did suggest pushing.)  Surely Wednesday's hike would be fine, right??

Wrong.

Oh, so very wrong...

Two times in three days up the steep side?  WHY did I get myself into this mess??  At least Ian was tolerant of my slow speed - I doubt he had any sort of work out at all I was such a snail.  All arguments aside, I do concede that its quite a workout for my lungs.  They didn't explode, and I was rather surprised.  I was so winded I didn't take a picture at the top.  Ian, however, had tons of time waiting for me - so here is his snap:

Ian and Thumb Butte.

After I caught my breath (you'll notice a reoccurring theme), we hiked over #314 and down #326, making it a much better hike/workout than the Monday experience.  What's cool about hiking with other people is that 1) they don't care you're out of shape and hike at their pace and 2) you learn cool things about them.  Ian was just finishing this painting, so I heard all about it.

Ian's Great Horned Owl

See?  Pretty cool stuff.

I am very jealous - I cannot create art.

But I can write.

:)

Anywise, we finished that hike in record time, and I went off to meet the man who would rock my fitness quest a week later:  Sgt. Steve.

Sgt. Steve Rosen of Kickstart Boot Camp for Women.

Sgt. Steve owns Kickstart Adventure Boot Camp for Women.  We'd met several times at Bridal Expos as vendors; I figured he was just the guy to go to start my fitness quest.  We had a great time chatting at Starbucks, and he made certain I knew about the 5:30am start time.  Several times.  What's funny is I was far more concerned with my ability to breath.  He assured me I'd be fine.

Maybe I should have had him call Charlton or Ian?

My third hike for the week was intended to be on Friday, but I woke up with a seriously hurting lower back.  I cannot recall the last time I had been in that much pain, and did not complain in the slightest when my hiking partner had to cancel due to a forgotten appointment.  What I did not suspect was the irritation that accompanied that cancellation.  I had hoped the hike would help ease the pain - and still being in pain I was a grumpy bear.  Thankfully, Sweet Jesus heard my prayer, and Andrew at Massage Envy had an opening at 10am.

Not Andrew.  I'll get his photo next Friday when I see him.

I was saved from a day of agony by the best massage therapist in town.  The best thing about Andrew?  He's a great listener, too.  We decided we should go hiking at some point, but that hasn't happened yet. 

By Saturday, I knew I needed to fit in my third hike.  My husband, Thomas, had pulled both of his hamstrings the prior Saturday, doing some type of crazed Spartan 300-style workout.  

Have we talked about Tom yet?

And his exercise routine???

Well, now.

Meet my hot, fitness-crazed husband:

Mr. Incredible, aka King of Athletics of the Central Highlands

Seriously, right?  I sleep with Thor with a shaved head.

He was just getting back into exercise (after I had told him I would not rub Icy Hot into his hamstrings unless he took a break) so he agreed to a hike from the Williamson Valley trailhead close to our home.  Initially we set off for the Janet Ruins, because in Arizona you can hike to easily assessable Indian ruins.  If you can find the trail spur that leads to them, which we could not.  

Instead, we hiked about 3 miles on #347, in some of the prettiest country Prescott has to offer.  I found this stone, which of course, looks like a heart:

It's a heart.

Tom said it looks like the Van Halen symbol.

Tom says it's Van Halen.

It was while hiking with Tom I shared with him the details of the Fitness Quest, of which the first column had been run that morning.  I was nervous, excited and a bit scared.  Tom, of course, did nothing to assuage that.  As the King of Athletics of the Central Highlands of Arizona, he could think of nothing that would be more satisfying than a year focused on physical fitness.  You see, he's been working out since he was 16, when the football team introduced him to something called "the weight room."  When we met, the thing that stands out to me about our first date was not just that he had a passion for history and sci fi like I did, but more so the fact that he HAD NO NECK.  Seriously.  Check out this stud:

Our engagement day.  195lb & 136lb.

I sincerely wish he'd grow out his hair.

Any wise, Thomas has always strength trained, even when my good cooking got him in to trouble.  At his heaviest, he weighed about 250lbs.

In Hawaii, Spring 2012

He was still incredibly strong, but knew his weight had to be dealt with.  So in early 2013, Mr. Incredible went all Paleo on me, and started working cardio as well as strength.  He dropped 40 lbs in the first two months, and has since chiseled himself down to our pre-wedding weight of 195lb.  He trains almost continuously, and is determined to stay fit regardless of the cost.

I worry about the cost.

Not money, but in time.  What good is a fit life, if you have no family time?  What good is a fit life if there is no balance to your meals, or a single potato to be found?  What good is a life centered on only on how one looks and feels, instead of the needs of those around you?  As you can see, my concerns fell on deaf ears, but it was good to be hiking with my original hiking partner.  I had gotten in my third hike, and the Fitness Quest was about to begin.