The Day My Emotions Ran Wild

I’ve never been shy to admit that I’m a fairly emotional person. I have learnt, s..l..o..w..l..y.., not to let emotions be the decider in my physical actions (as this can lead to disaster!), but I've also learnt to let the feelings happen. Strong as they may be. Anyhow, a good cry generally feels great!! And here's one of those roller-coaster moments in my life. These times often hit when I'm training and yesterday was no exception. 

Yesterday morning I set off on my morning run. I don’t do them very often at present and I wasn’t looking forward to it right from the outset. The only thing that gave me a little excitement was the fact that I had downloaded 101 Aussie Hits on my ipod and those that know me know that I ALWAYS listen to music when running. I get quite excited about new tunes to get into during my hour of pain, so I put the album on shuffle and set off on my merry little way.

It was hot, really hot (well over 30deg at 7.30am!!), and the sweat was running within a minute or so. By the time I got to the Research Centre, there was a steady sweat drizzle from my face downward. I was starting to ignore the music and listen to my own breathing..not good!...and I had a long way to go. Worst of all, I had to hit a turning point and run back. My least favourite way to run! I felt a bit pissed off at the whole situation and self-sympathy kicked in. And then something happened. A new song came on and in the first few beats I had an emotional kick right to the guts. The tears came, and the next few kms slid by in the midst of memories and emotions. So I’d like to share my very personal story. 

I’m extremely sensitive to the fact that certain people may, one day, read this blog and I want you to know it is written with the utmost love and respect for all involved. And the hope that someone may take the message.

Sometime in the late 2000’s, while working as a cop in the South East, I heard some devastating news. A colleague of mine’s grandson had drowned in their swimming pool. The little guy was about three or four years old. My understanding was that he, and a little mate from down the road, had found some furniture and dragged it over to the pool gate. They made some sort of tower and climbed it before opening the gate and entering the pool area. While one little fella made his way into the pool, the other ran home and, probably knowing they were going to be in trouble, he didn’t alert anyone of what they had done. Time passed and a family member later found the little one in the pool. Not a chance.

I felt great empathy and a sense of grief for the family. It made me think of my own children, and our pool. A quick mental ‘tick’ of the box that we had the safety measures in place, and life went on..for a few hours. I then  got a call to the boss’ office. He asked if I’d mind picking up one of the Commissioner’s personal cars and spending the day driving my colleague’s family to and from the funeral. Of course I jumped at the opportunity to help them. Little did I know that I was walking into one of the most, if not  the most, profoundly sad day of my police career. I might add that I have worked in Emergency Response, Child Abuse and Law Enforcement Teams in the highest crime areas of New Zealand, as well as the Logan area of Qld. Yet this day will burn in my memory for as long as I live as the hardest job I’ve ever done. My connection to yesterday’s run will eventually come. Hang in there!

So that morning I drove into HQ and picked up the car. I then made my way to my colleague’s house and picked him up, along with some other family members. We had a little drive in front of us to the funeral parlour…..what should I say? I can’t talk about work. I can’t chit chat about the weather. I certainly can’t ask how they are feeling. I’m a talker – what do I say???? So this one time I decided to just shut up. I decided that I wouldn’t fill in the awkward silences. How could I? And it happened naturally. They started talking about him. They told me about his favourite footy team, and what he liked to do, and the funny/naughty things he would say. I listened intently. I laughed, I wanted to cry. I felt a growing connection to these people. It felt surreal to be driving them to their precious child’s funeral.

When we arrived, there were people everywhere. Family, friends, and of course, a large Police contingent. I slipped back into the shadows to just get through the event. I felt heavy hearted, on the verge of tears, and full of grief and guilt as a mother of two, very alive, young children. The service started and I hovered outside. I believe there was a power-point (or some such) display of the little guy. I couldn’t do it. I’m ashamed to say that I couldn’t face the pictures. I was concerned for myself that the cute little face would burn in my head and heart forever. I’m a very visual person. I take sights and store them somewhere deep inside where I tap into them from time to time. Sometime for good use, sometime for bad. I didn’t want this to happen today so I stayed away.  I also struggled with the thought that I didn’t belong. I was an intruder . Didn’t know this family well enough to share in such a personal event.

And then we got the word. All police to line the driveway for some sort of a guard of honour. My gut started clenching! I instantly got the sweats! I honestly and genuinely didn’t know if I could cope.  I'm not an emtoinally weak person though. I spent a few years as a child abuse forensic interviewer – day in, day out, hearing the sickest and cruellest stories of abuse on children you would ever hear. I managed them. I couldn’t manage this! I could hear my own heart in my ears and my hands were slimy with sweat. I had a connection to this grief – I didn’t know this colleague well, only well enough to chit chat around work tables. But that was enough to make me feel that little connection. I panicked for a moment and then pulled myself together and took a place in the line, and took up my stance at Attention.

The police piper made his slow walk down the driveway  with an eerie, lone song. If my memory serves me right, it was Amazing Grace. I can’t be sure. The pounding in my ears was too loud. It was like I was on full body stress overload. Gut wrenching. Eyes burning. Nose running.

 

Then came the car. I didn't want to look but somehow I couldn't help it. A very white, short rectangular shape in the back. Sesame street cuddly toys smiling out from the windows. Beautiful bright flowers. All too much. I back my body into the garden a bit and try very hard to hold on to my emotions. I’m winning. Just. I’m still standing at attention, trying to maintain my stance in order to show my respect for the situation. Deep, deep breaths. I take a moment, break my spot in the line, catch my breath and back in line. Looking down to the asphalt. We are all in silence and the white doves are let go. Then balloons. One for each month of his little life. Way, way too few balloons. So bloody unfair. Still standing. Still streaming. I want to lie down and cry but I can’t. Instead I’m still in this line, being propped up by the caring glances of my colleagues. Feeling a little angry at myself for drawing attention – this isn’t my day – it has nothing to do with me and I can see people are feeling sorry for me. I use every bit of strength I have left and maintain my position, hold the tears and get through.

And then the song. It's piped outside while we are all still standing in deathly silence.

Well there's a little boy waiting at the counter of a corner shop
He's been waiting down there, waiting half the day
They never ever see him from the top
He gets pushed around, knocked to the ground
He gets to his feet and he says

What about me, it isn't fair
I've had enough now i want my share
Can't you see i wanna live
But you just take more than you give

Somehow I made it through that song. Somehow.  But the words are NEVER forgotten. Neither the tune. Nor the circumstances.

Shortly after, I drove my colleague and his family home. Then, like a zombie I drove the Commissioner’s car back to HQ and headed home. I sobbed. All the way home I cried with raw tears that wouldn’t stop. I stopped somewhere and called Rob. He could hear what was going on and, as I turned into our driveway at about 8pm that night, my darling husband had both of our children out the door and down the path to meet me. I almost didn’t put the handbrake on before I jumped out of that car and ran to my children. I hugged them harder than they’ve ever been hugged and I smothered them in kisses, promising to never take them for granted again in my entire natural life!!! I then tucked them back into bed and spent a while just sitting and watching their little angel cheeks. Making sure they were breathing. Living. And finally sank into Rob’s arms and cried myself to sleep.

I have never forgotten that day and I never will. It took me a while to get over it. But I don’t regret my involvement. In fact I’m still honoured to have been part of that day. It taught me more than anyone would have realised, and I take these lessons with me throughout my life. So, thank you to that family for allowing me in. My thoughts wander to you often and I wish and pray that life is providing you with some new happiness and plenty of precious memories.

So yesterday I’m running down the bike path. I’m doing it hard and feeling sorry for myself. And then That Song comes on. Even the first few bars of That Song start my tummy off. Maybe it was the heat and the exertion, but I got a strong reaction and the tears started streaming. The whole days’ events came flooding back and I made it to the weigh bridge and back feeling grief, precious memories and a renewed vow to never take my kids for granted. And be water-wise.  

And it never does me harm to remember what life itsall about, and just to keep things in good perspective.

It might be intense, but that’s just me.

Let’s Talk Consistency…And The Relationship With Results

If you asked me to lift weights, and change it up regularly, keep correct form and ensure that all sets are ‘working sets’ (that is sets that are truly challenging and hard yakka!!), along with eating clean, unprocessed foods at regular intervals during the day, including saying “No” to some of the luxuries that everyone else seems to be indulging in, and now and again (oh horror or all horrors!!), feeling a tad hungry while avoiding indulgence in everyone’s favourite meal – The Afternoon Sugar Hit – well, I’d do it. But why?

 

For results. The End. Thanks for reading.

Alternatively, if you told me to do all of that…and there was little to no change, I’d tell you to jam the whole idea somewhere that even the Katherine sun wouldn’t find it. What would be the point if I wasn’t experiencing good health, healthy weight range, strength, toned muscles and an enthusiasm for life that excites me most days.

Yet, I hear from people consistently that do exactly that. Embark on a full-on exercise program coupled with a gruelling daily diet that would make body builders cry. With no result. Zilch. Nothing to show for it. And worse still, they sometimes pay huge amounts of money for it.

How come there are no results? Well here’s my theory.

Consistency. Lack of it.

Excuses. Too many of them.

Willpower. No desire to engage it when it hurts.

Consistency

How long is long enough to see results? I can only go by what I experience for both myself and those that I train. But I would say 6 months. 6 full months to see a decent and ongoing weight loss, and some amount of muscular strength built. Any can do the quick loss over the first few weeks. Hardly any can last the distance. Why? Because the program that they choose to follow is crap. It’s absolute crap. It’s way too hard, or way too restrictive, or way too ….silly. If it wasn’t – you’d still be doing it 6 months later. So why do people do it? Why do they engage in these crap, restrictive and downright silly programs? Because they need to feed that desire to go from feeling out of control to feeling completely and utterly in control! That’s why they won’t even bat an eyelid at paying hundreds of dollars to a fad diet company who will tell them what to eat, when to eat it, and how to exercise. Do they work? Nah. Again, if it did, you would still be doing it 6 months later. The only ones that last the distance are those that are honest programs. And it doesn’t count if you’ve been brainwashed into something like Cohens and you lose a pile of weight, then slowly put it on again, and then dive back into the Cohens cult and lose it again, in some sort of terrible yo yo pattern. If you truly, truly believed the Cohens crap, you’d stick with it forever.

I am no angel, never tried to be a saint, and still find it hard to take when the word ‘inspirational’ is used in the same sentence as my name. I have too many faults to list and being opinionated is clearly one of them. But on the good side, I have consistency. I can and will last the distance and truly believe in the way I live in relation to exercise and food. It’s been one solid year since Sammy upended my diet and ordered me onto a serious healthy kick. And I haven’t looked back. Why? I haven’t had pimples, haven’t missed a day of work for illness, haven’t had any injuries that have stopped my progress, and I feel clean and strong and healthy. I believe in it with all of my heart and that’s why I can stick with it even when times are tough. Doesn’t mean I don’t eat special treats – they are all part of this package and should be encouraged. I certainly encourage them with my clients. But the majority of my days I fit in clean food and hard exercise and I get the results I want. You could too. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t get the results I was after. Simply wouldn’t do it.

Excuses

What can I say. You’ll find one if you need one. There are books to help if you need something original.

I will clarify something though. There are times in my life where I haven’t even attended a gym. I used to do a 5km loop run about three times a week and that’s it. I had too many other things going on and couldn’t find the energy, motivation or desire to do anymore. But I didn’t walk around saying, “I would go to the gym …but….the dog ate my gym bag”. What I’m trying to say is; if you don’t want to do something – don’t. But don’t pretend to yourself that there is another reason for it. Accept your own path and be happy with your decisions. You’ll be happier in life if you accept yourself as you are – and others will too.

 

When you go to make your next excuse, just don’t do it. Stay silent and accept that you don’t owe anyone an excuse for your actions except yourself.

Willpower

This one gets me a little prickly. See I believe we all have the same willpower. Just some of us choose not to engage it. And those that profess to not have willpower tend to sound like they need some sort of sympathy for their affliction. Conversations with them go something like this;

“I just wish I had your willpower!!! I simply have none!!”

“How come” I ask. “Where has it gone”

Nervous giggle…”I don’t know – I just don’t seem to ever be able to say “no” – you are so incredibly strong!”

“Why thank you. Yes I am. But I wasn’t as strong as I am now when I first started exercising the willpower muscle. I had to start somewhere and it got easier as I went along. Perhaps you ought to give it a go?”

 

“I’ll try….but I’m just not sure I can” continue with nervous giggling.

And I feel fairly certain that they won’t ‘give it a go’ at that specific point in time. But it’s a choice. Just like the excuses. Make your choice and be proud of it. If you choose to eat something that you truly know you shouldn’t, either eat it proudly and accept that fact. Or analyse it a bit further and imagine how you would be feeling if you had exercised your willpower muscle and said “No”.

The power to change is with you. But you need consistency, no excuses and some willpower to get going.

 

So back to my training – cos that’s what this blog is supposed to be mostly about. But I find my mind strays to these other matters and it’s therapeutic to write it down.

Training was really awful last week. Every set, every rep, every session was on struggle-street. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the time of year. Or maybe it was just this phase of my training. But it hurt and I wanted to have a sneaky little cry…maybe I did or maybe it was just the sweat droplets…can’t tell, they all hurt these days when they mix with moisturiser and sunscreen.

So to combat the training blues, I increased the reps, dropped the weight and made the muscles scream with lactic acid build up! I love that feeling!!! And so does my body because I have good muscle pain where it has been lacking a bit lately.

Speaking of results, here’s a pic of my back in January 2012, and now in January 2013. I can see some definite change and I’m really, really happy!