I pray not for a lighter load, but for a stronger back.

This is me. Doing a back squat. I back squatted 195 lbs that day.

Here's a quick story of what's going on my gym world. I'm an avid crossfitter meaning I'm one of the obsessed, hyper facebook posting, over sharing and breathless enthusiasts. Have been for 3 years. It has literally changed my life. Without hoisting heavy weights and killing WODs, I can't function as a foster mom.

My gym changed ownership. The change in ownership revealed some ugly. Ugly with the past ownership and inner workings of where I call sanctuary.  Independently owned gyms are places of love and community. You go to people's weddings, hold their new babies and go out for ladies night. This is not something found at planet fitness.

Basically, we were betrayed. Some worse, some less so. I remain unscathed with no loss of money. Keep records  people. Every payment you make anywhere. KEEP RECORDS. It's a community of love but business is business.

Some are out of luck. Some have significant loss of money. It's more than that though. It's the fact we are a community.  Brothers and sisters don't do this to each other.

So, we commiserate. Some get super angry and swear. Some aren't aware of all the damage. I get messages daily as we begin to wrap our heads around what happened. It's a hurting place at times.

So, when I'm asked, I tell them I'm Christian so my job is to go forward with forgiveness and mercy. I already have. I prayed and forgave. And I've decided to keep chugging alone with hard work and getting after it. This will heal us and make us stronger.

I pray not for a lighter load, but for a stronger back.

Making the call

That is a snatch lift. I do that often. That's not me. But I did do that cross fit competition. So, close enough.

SO.

This is what I said when I called the social worker.

Me: "Hi, this is Mrs. Hall and I wanted to let xxxx social worker know we are ready to take on more foster kids but it seems xxxx social worker is not in."

A Social worker but not xxxx social worker: "OH YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. WILL CALL YOU WHEN WE HAVE A RIGHT MATCH."

Then 10 more min of sort of weird, awkward small talk and her being super friendly and complements and support.  It went well.

I was going to send an email. I even had it written up.  

Hi xxxx social worker:

Thanks for meeting up with me yesterday.* I did want to update you on our discussions about helping more kids. Right now, Michael and I are discussing what we want to do. As I said yesterday, my heart is for adoption from the foster care system. Michael has been open to this idea but with the caveat of wanting not to 'just adopt' but adopting the right child for our family. And be the right family for that child!  

We've been processing a lot of things that have happened in the last two years, especially with H.

We loved H, however, as we think about things we are pretty sure she had Reactive Attachment Disorder. She was never formally evaluated or diagnosed, but she had a lot of the classic symptoms of not being able to attach. She had a lot of behaviors that were high maintenance. I don't want to seem like we are complaining at all, but it really took a lot out of us and we are trying to heal/process  and be mindful of this as we go forward.

Even though I wanted to adopt her, Michael was right that she wasn't the right child for our family. It wasn't up to us anyway though. I'm very sure she was placed in the right place, with family that loved her. I think I just want to adopt so bad I was sort of blinded to the truth. Luckily, I have a stabilizing husband who can help see all the sides and I trust him when he tells me to simmer down!

We also think about J and our experience with him. He was very challenging at first. His behaviors were also hard but he did attach to us and in about a year he melted right in. In fact, he was our least labor intensive child! J has family but he is a kid that would be a right fit for us and us for him!

So I'm not sure where that leaves us. We still want to be a foster family. Our kids are on board again. I asked my daughter how she felt about having another foster kid again and in typical teen fashion she said, "It'd be cool."

But like I said. I called instead.

:)

*I met with her to drop off over 100 sz six diapers because our toddler son potty trained in 2 weeks flat. PRAISE JESUS!! but, we order diapers in bulk so we had a bunch of sz 6 diapers. Most toddlers run about size 4. You can't donate sz 6 diapers to goodwill. So, off to the county they went.


*now watch us get a size 6 diapered toddler and I retrieve those 100 sz 6 diapers.


yep. mmhhhmmm



Plan for the upcoming year... my 40th





Right now, on Netflix, there is a wonderful documentary on Iris Apfel. She is phenomenal. Wholly dedicated to the aesthetics of life. She also has a good handle on what makes a woman worth the time as beauty fades because she never had physical beauty in the first place. She's 90 and becoming quite the inspiration for me.


Having lost 60 lbs and developed a keen sense of my own strength, I am becoming quite beautiful on the outside. However, I am to be forty in less than a month. What I have will not last and requires a buttress. I get my roots done on the reg and will until I haven't any hair left. After that, I'll just buy a wig.

My life, so far, has been devoted to the service of others. I'm very fortunate to be a wife, mom, foster mom and nurse. It's a good use of my energies. I've also become kindly and less temperamental as of late. I'm becoming a better wife and mom every day. I've ask God to search my heart and He's done quite a lot of healing. Having a dog helps crazy amounts too.

So here's the plan.




I'm handing this year over to GOD. He has great plans for me and our Tribe Called Hall. I'm very sure it'll be tough and super crazy. But I trust Him above all things.


OK 40.


BRING IT!!

Goruck light and other things I did done

Things I planned to do once the foster kids transitioned back to family and was down to just 3 bio kids and weren't ready for more foster kids: 

1. http://www.goruck.com/

Go Ruck light actually 

2. Crossfit

2. big back tattoo

3. crossfit competition

4. cleaning out and organizing main rooms

5. Potty train my 3 year old

6. create a habit of massaging my husband

7. do the 'cook once a week and eat for a month' type meal plan

Done. And done. 

NOW WHAT? 

900 push ups and other Bro moments

Ya'll have no idea how awesome these moments were.


AT MY CROSSFIT GYM


in the last 6 months


THESE MOMENTS HAVE HAPPENED


ALL DIFFERENT BROS. ALL TOUGH AS F*CK.


1. At my gym, the monthly challenge was 30 push ups a day x 30 days. When I started crossfit two years ago, I could barely do push ups against a wall. I did all 900 chest to floor. No knees. Bro was all like, "GREAT WORK STEPH".


BOOM SHAKA LAKA!


2. Saturday classes are divided into two hours. First hour is open gym, meaning you can show up and work on what ever is needed. Then, the second hour is a team work out.  Meaning we form teams to tackle a HUGE work out. Something like:


row 1000 meters
100 push ups
100 sit ups
100 box jumps
100 kettle bell swings
row 1000 meters


It takes a team as these work outs cannot be done alone, nor should they be. One Sat I was doing open gym before I had to leave for work. The bros were talking smack about what team was going to dominate that day. They started to pick team members. Someone said "WE GET STEPH"  and I blushed and said, "I have to go to work." And a PARTICULARLY YOUNG AND TOUGH bro was all "COME ON!  YOU WERE GONNA BE ON OUR TEAM!" He was all disappointed and sad.


dang right he was!


BECAUSE BOOM SHAKA LAKA!


2. I was deadlifting something like 225 and being used as the demonstrator for the class on how to properly deadlift. A BRO standing next to me said, "Respect" and did that guy nod thing, the slight upward tilt of the chin in a quick reverse nod moment.


BOOM SHAKA LAKA!


3. We have outside adventures, my gymmates and I. One is a hike that will last 6 hours with weighted backpacks while performing other assorted push ups and jumping jacks. Not everyone is doing it. I am though. And the coach was trying to recruit people. Saying, "Steph is signed up". And Bro is all like, "Yeah, but Steph's a badass."


BOOM ASHAKA SHAKA LAKA!!


I don't respond to these bro moments but to smile and quickly look down. They don't need to know how so very awesome it is to be a bro!


BOOM!!

Motivation, Anger management, Crossfit Open and foster care

I don't have much to say but I want to write something. So here goes.

1. Motivation

It is said no one operates without an agenda. This is unbelievably true and not an indictment on anyone's character. My motivation, for most things, stems from a deep inner restlessness and obsessive nature.

2. Anger management

I've recently learned how to call up anger, channel it through my muscles and lift some very heavy weights. This is so very useful.

3.

The Crossfit games in an annual competition that has three parts. The first is the Crossfit Open. This means everyone who does any sort of crossfit can do 5 workouts and compare themselves to the rest of the world doing the same work out. I did an intermural open last year where we formed teams at our gym and competed against each other. It was amazing! It begins in a month!

I look back on my workout journal and see how far I've come from last year. I lift 3 times the weight I use to. This is especially true with thrusters. I use to do them at 15 lbs. Which is the 'girl bar' without any weights. TODAY. NOW. I do them at 65 lbs. BOOM!

                                                          Behold! The thruster!

My weakness is box jumps. This is me conquering the 20 in box. It's a giant effin leap. It's more mental than anything. Working on them though. BTW. Both feet should be hitting the box at the same time and I should be more upright. Again, this is my weakness and I'm working on it.

Last year I jumped on a 10 inch platform. So improvement is noted.

4. And lastly, foster care

Things are humming along with the two bonus kids of ours. It's been three years now. The bio moms are out of the running for reunification. Family will take in one, family will hopefully take in another. If not, they've identified adoptive resources a.k.a. foster families that can adopt. We've chosen not to adopt. It has been a long road but my guilt about this has all but dissolved.

I think about the kids' stories. How it doesn't go smoothly. They don't say, "My mommy and daddy fell in love, got married and had us." They say, "When I was four I went to live at my grandma's and my mom went to jail. I live at the Halls some times."  Or, they say, "When I was four my mom went to the hospital and I went to live with the Halls." Then they both say, "My mom didn't get better and now I'm living with my other grandma/auntie. They're adopting me and now I'm staying there forever."

This transition from our care to others is the next step. I'm not sure how it's going to go but it's a step wise transition. First hour long visits, then overnights. Then week long stays. Then permanent.

I wonder if memories of us will fade like all memories do for kids. I wonder if our bonus kids will remember anything of our years together. Or will they just ask, "Didn't I stay with a family that had a pool once?" ...."What was that about?"

:)

I'm one Tough Mudder!

I heard about tough mudder years ago. At the time, I wasn't sure the people who did tough mudder and I were the same species. But I started to dream. I started to want.



 

I would run into folks who had done this and I would ask them millions of questions about it. I can't remember any of them saying, "you should do this." When people ask me questions I don't encourage them. Maybe I should.

 

But after the want--- years passed on. My want never passed.

 

Then I had my last baby making me a mother of five (three our own, two foster kids). A month post birth, while I was still nursing, I joined weight watchers. I was determined to get healthy once and forever.  

 And I stumbled onto crossfit and said out loud, "I'm going to do the tough mudder". It was a bold but quiet peep of a statement. It caught in my throat and startled me. I was determined though.

 

ABSOFRICKINLUTELY determined.

So, let's begin shall we?

I don't believe there is a way to train for the tough mudder. You need to be ready though. Be strong, be fit, be badass and work hard. That's what I did for a year prior. There was a lot of crossfit involved.

The event itself is 12 mud laced miles of running, climbing, bashing, running, hills, reaching, swimming, climbing, MORE EFFING RUNNING, hills, berlin walls and running. Go ahead and google the photos. They're pretty accurate.

 Mud.

These yellow things have electricity in them.

 

Grabbing stangers in places you normally just grab your husband.

WOOPS!! SORRY DUDE!!

These monkey bars are fun. I got on one ring and promptly feel into the water.

 

IT WAS AN AMAZING DAY WITH MY HUSBAND AND I COULDN'T WALK FOR THREE DAYS AFTERWARD.

 

but wow. look at this.

 

When they handed me the orange head band.

I started hysterically crying.

Happy holy mother of God tears.

Hypeventillating tears.

People were asking if was ok.

It was out of my control-

 this

crying.

CRYING FOR HAPPY!!

 I did it. and I'm so proud of me.

I got flowers from Mr. Hall and everything. 



Hands up

This is me in all my badassery. I love this photo for the following reasons:

1. I look super badass.
2. I am photo'd at a 3/4 angle. DUDES--never photograph a woman from the side, always 3/4!!
3. The dude behind me is at least 6'4". I am a foot smaller. I like the dude behind me. He's a swell guy. Super nice.
4. The exposed particle board shows how unfancy crossfit is.
5. I supered the color so my tank top pops.
6. This was during a partner workout and Mr. Hall was struggling. So I took over for him doing my part and his. Love being strong enough to help him.
7. Feel kind of proud I was tougher than him that day. That doesn't ever happen and while it's petty, I'm proud.
8. This is a praise position. Like at church, when people raise their hands up in praise. Only my hands are holding 55lbs. SUPER PRAISE!!

1 Timothy 2:8  New International Version (NIV)
⁸ Therefore I want the men everywhere to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or disputing.

Mr. Hall and I have had many tearful conversations about our foster daughter. Tears on my part and his. At the end of many prayerful nights we have decided not to adopt her. Our intention is to love on her and then transition her to an adoptive family when the time comes.

Psychology of the run

My head is absolutely swimming. There's not much to say so I'll talk that photo up there. That's me. Running. Running during a recent crossfit workout. Before crossfit, I never ran at all.

The work out was run 800 m, do a bunch of weights and push ups, run 800 mg, do a bunch of SERIOUSLY? more weights and push ups, and then run 800 m. This is the last 800 m. I was soaked through. The tank top came off for the first time ever.

This photo was the last 800 m. I didn't want Mr. Hall to run beside me. I didn't want his constant stream of encouragement. I didn't want this photo taken.

I'm glad Mr. Hall didn't listen. That photo is BADASS!

Running is hard. It's long and plodding. There's nothing you can do but plow through it, one step after another. Burning lungs and all.

We got an email about our foster daughter. They'll be terminating the birth mother's rights and they want to meet with us to talk about 'adoption'. And now I'm losing my mind.

It's not a big surprise, this development. The birth mother has had a lot of time to get it together and she hasn't. The foster daughter needs permanence. I want to be her permanent. Mr. Hall is not so sure. It's killing me all of this.

Mr. Hall doesn't want to stop being foster parents. He wants to take kids in, work on their issues and send them back to their mom. He has energy for these kids that we don't even know yet. If we adopt this shuts things down. The other option is helping her transfer to another adoptive family.

I want to be honest and look through my last few years. I had two miscarriages. This plays a role here, I know it does. My healing has moved forward in leaps and bounds but it'll never be fully healed. Not until I'm in heaven with John and Chloe in my arms.

But oh my God this girl we call foster daughter. I can't even breathe if we're offered the chance to be her real mommy and daddy. 

So now, I pray, on the knees and pray.....no matter what happens this race is a long one....with Mr. Hall beside me... taking pictures of my badassery.......

The psychology of the clean and jerk

The clean and jerk

As a foster mom there is a lot of waiting, phone calls and endless nothing. I want to obsess. I want to reread the social worker's email and search for clues about things. I want to quiz my husband about every conversation he has with the guardian ad litem. I want to know what is going on besides nothing. Nothing but waiting and nothing decided and it's been over a year and it's going to be longer. Unless it isn't.

Obsessing over nothing is a large waste of my precious energy. And makes me neglect Mr. Hall.

So, this is what I'll do instead:

1. focus on calming the hell down. Breathing. Accepting. Moving on. Be still and know that I am.

2. Fill my obsessive needs with what I have going on right now. Right here. This includes the many kids I have and their various needs.

3. Play more youtube videos and dance all crazy like with the kids.

4. Focus on my crossfit training and marvel and my excellent clean and jerk skills. Every time I go to crossfit my heart explodes with awesome uplifting awesomeness. It helps me channel my crazy in ways I never knew possible.

5. Focus on competition training because holy crap! I'm going to be competing! I hope to add something to my team. I'm working extra hard to be an asset!!

6. Give Mr. Hall extra wifey love because he is worn down.

7. Go to church and try not to cry and cry anyway because I'm so overwhelmed with love.

8. Deeply and madly enjoy each dress I wear. I have so many dresses for summer!

9. Chase my toddler around.

10. Make a lot of food with shrimp.  And that tasty pink sauce that is on the sushi. That's good stuff, what is that anyway?

So yeah, that's what I'll do instead!

Psychology of the Snatch

This is Camille Leblanc-Bazinet showing us how it's done

The snatch is a weightlifting movement wherein the snatcher grabs a weight from the floor and hoists it overhead whilst squatting. Once everything is locked, as seen above, the snatcher stands the hell up.

Google for more detail if you want.

This week, my crossfit practice has been heart breaking. My head screams for me to sleep in before I leave for the gym. It's unrelenting these days, starting a good 12 hours before I go. SHUT UP BRAIN! IT'S NOT HAPPENING! WE'RE GOING! GET OVER IT!

Also of note, this month we're deep in the thick of pull up progressions. My goal is to improve my pull up capacity-which is zero. I'm not getting very far. pfft.

On Wednesday, we did death by thrusters. 'Death by' means  you have one minute to do one lift--like the thruster.

Thrust                                                ers

Then, the next minute you need to do two. Each minute means you do one more than the previous minute. Until you can't surpass the previous number. I was the first one out. BOOH :(

Sometimes I really REALLY suck at crossfit. I fell twice this morning doing my snatches. Butt to the dang floor! Sometimes it's all I can do not to fricking cry. And I can't cry because then I'd be the girl who cries. So I don't. There's no crying in crossfit!! I save that for the ride home. :)

The problem is, I'm starting to care about crossfit. This isn't someplace I go to put my earbuds in, hop on the ellipse and blank out. There is no TV to stare at. Its us, the mats, the bars and humble pie.

Right now I'm laying the foundation. Learning how to squat down and stand up. Learning how to fall and to fly. The weight will come. The pull ups will come. It's a process.

But, I need to remember, my badassery is already here.
                            

                                        Mrs. Hall, in the pony tail, showing us how it's done

Happy in the dressing room

I had a moment in the dressing room last week. At my house, there is no full length mirror so it's quite a shock seeing myself in technicolor. The evidence of three, hard fought pregnancies is undeniable. Yet, I was quite pleased with myself. In fact, I was happy.

Imagine that. Happy in a dressing room.

I don't have a flat, concave belly. I don't have chisled anything. Yet, I'm pleased as punch. I never expected this. My goal was not to be the fat mom. That was my first and only goal.

I can't express the relief I have, not being the fat mom. At the park I'm wearing skinny jeans and crawling in the tubes with the kids. I'm trying to do pull ups on the monkey bars. I'm laughing and chasing my tiny kids. Pretending I'm a hungry monster trying to eat their toes. They squeal with wide eyed happiness. I don't feel exhausted or dehydrated. I feel strong and pretty. Mr. Hall gives me hugs and pats me on the tush. It's all very exciting.

Let me tell you about the dresses.

Downtown, there is a consignment store I've been eyeing for years. All manner of dresses and cool vintage wear. I've been coveting. Deeply, privately and with hope. Last week I was there and wow. I am a fox when dressed properly.

There was one dress I loved the most. It was from banana republic. Retro inspired, black and white pattern. There was a red dress so beautiful, it made me blush. The owner gave a frowny face. She loved those dresses too. "But I'm too big for them". But  I'm not. To the victor go the spoils.

This is my real life. I'm capable of lifting heavy things, hopping on boxes and jump rope a mile a minute. Nothing seems impossible now. I feel smoother and taller. And it's not going to stop.

How men talk to each other (in the gym) + crossfit games

Was in the gym and ear witnessed the following.

One guy was on the floor--foam rollering the kinks out. Another guy walks buy and says, "Dude! you're getting a gut--you need to work on that." And foam roller guy nods, agreeing and smiling a bit.

 

Then they were done.  

 

My jaw hit the floor as I heard this. SERIOUSLY??!! IS THIS HOW GUYS TALK TO EACH OTHER?? This would never EVER happen between women. EVER. I almost did a spit take!!!

 



 

Moving on.

 

The Crossfit games are going right now. Which means all the crossfit gyms do the same workout on weekends. We all compare our scores.  There are super athletes who rack up the numbers and there is me. I'm NOT last but more middle of the pack. Mid to lower give or take.

 

 

The problem is, the work outs are secret until Thursdays. Which goes against everything I am. Which is a type a planner obsesser type. Because seriously,

 





We're still kicking ass though. And I"m doing almost better than Mr. Hall. Which I celebrate by prancing around the house announcing he got beat by a girl.

Awesome stuff indeed!!

Waking the dead lift

Went out to lunch with friends the other day. I couldn't stop talking about crossfit or the crossfit games currently going on. Then I realized I COULDN'T STOP TALKING ABOUT CROSSFIT AND THE GAMES. I had to forcibly shut myself up because seriously. I am a learned, cultured woman. Sure, my brain doesn't work what with the five kids. And I'm running out of walking dead material, but still. I should have more to talk about.

Then I apologized.

And my new mommie friend said, "At least you HAVE something to talk about!"

So, ya'll can expect a bunch of crossfit related posts. Enjoy!

Tonight, at crossfit, we did an AMRAP or As many rounds as possible in X amount of time. Rounds of what you say? Rounds of hard, grunty work. Like 11 pull ups, 2 dead lifts and 10 push ups. Then repeat these things until 10 minutes is up.

I was slow tonight. Well, not slow, but intentional. I took my time. I felt no need to chase the highest score. And, the dead lifts are no effing joke. That stuff can hurt you if you don't focus on form. It looks easy but nope....

Also, the pull ups . . . dear LORD. There just comes a point where I can't get more out of me. There's a point in the work out when I'm done. But I look at the clock and it says YOU STILL HAVE 3 MINUTES LEFT and YOU CAN'T JUST SIT THERE.

In end, after a grunty 10 minutes, I did 55 pull ups, 10 dead lifts and 47 push ups. To be clear, it was 55 pull ups with a band, 10 dead lifts and 47 push ups on the knees.

I'm not a total badass yet.

But I'm getting there.

Four seeds and counting

I look back and see the seeds of revolution.

Some 14 years ago, I was looking through my parents' wedding photos. The photo above is not them, but, close enough. All decked out in 1950's wear. My dad with a 28 inch waist and my barbie doll mom.  She had a Jackie O pill box hat.

I remarked to my friend Sarah, "Hmm... I guess when you get older you just get big." I said this because my mom and dad, 30 years later, are big. Like 300 lbs big.  

"It WON'T happen to me!", she declared. Her confidence befuddled me. Sarah is a marathon runner and I was not like her.  Not yet.

It was the first time I questioned the inevitability of getting fat. Was there another choice? Did I have a choice about this? I didn't know yet.

 

But, the first seed was planted.

 

Enter the ultramarathon man

8 years ago, I read that book up there.  It was fascinating and fun stuff. Surprisingly, Dean Karnazes is just a man. Who runs. A lot.  Running isn't that hard he explains, it's the mental battle.

The idea of a  'the mental game' was new to me.  Could I  push past comfort and survive? I didn't know.

I still read this book every so often. It is my all time favorite memoir. And I've read thousands.

Working the mental game.

Two seeds now.

Enter bikram yoga 

Around the same 8 years ago, I sought  professional help. There were demons in need of mining. The counselor put me on a program of weight watchers and yoga. For the next nine months, demons flew out at a furious pace. The wind nearly knocked me over.

Once I stopped waging war with my body, I needed to deal with things like a grown up. It was so tough.

It was nine months of hot, sweaty bikram yoga. Buckets and buckets of pain being poured out. Tears came and I let them. Everything that had been done to my body, from age 13, was leaving. On that mat, in that still space, I pushed out mountains of pain. I told Mr. Hall all these horrible things I had never said out loud before. It was so hard.

Yet I wheeled, downward dogged and revolved triangle. I let it all come and let it all go. My body started to feel like home. 

More bikram, more sweaty, more tears and more counting. I bought smaller jeans and marveled at my figure. The pain was gone. I felt amazingly, truly beautiful. Mr. Hall came and partner posed along side me.

Tears and sweat are the healing waters.

Three seeds now.

The next seed begins a year and half ago. My third son was born, making me a mom of five. We have three of our own and two foster kids. My goal was NOT to be the fat mom. Every time I tell people about my family, I want them to see a healthy mom. Something to aspire to so they can be inspired to be like me. And then, more kids will be helped.

So--back to weight watchers I went. I lost 55 lbs and was very happy. Emotionally, it was so much easier. I was ready for the unsteady and now it's ok. I didn't need to see a counselor.

Around this time, a man name Josh walked in with crossfit. Hearing the call of something, I went for a look see. Now, I am smart woman, boardering on genius. (muwhaa haa haa) . This is part of my problem, being a mensa member.

The problem with smart people is the thinking. The living in the head. Like most bloggers, I have a rich interior life. How else would I be able to write these many paragraphs?

Too much living in the head makes the body grow still. Pockets of crazy develop. Left unemptied, they become hard and block the movement of crazy. Make no mistake, I am crazy.

Did I mention the part about my 5 kids? Or my job as a full time mental health nurse practitioner  where I tend to war veterans?  Did I mention that sometimes I feel so blessed I can't breathe? That I feel God's love so much it makes me mute?

 I need to be strong enough to withstand the blessings in my life.



Which brings me to this morning.  To the kettle bell swings that did me in. I started things with a lighter weight I could swing all day. But that's not going to make me stronger. I was given a heavier bell. A simple increase of four pounds winded me. Which is humbling. Huffing and puffing and not being a big shot is humbling. It pops the pockets of crazy like no other.

When it was done I just laid there. Letting the crazy burst and sink into the floor. Just like I use to do in bikram yoga. When I was done, Mr. Hall reached out his hand and helped me up.

It was a good morning indeed.

Here, let me help you

Two things:

1. crossfit tends to be a bit guy heavy. Being a girl does have it's advantages though. There is strength in the softness. Also, I'm a kung fu master of deflecting macho junk.

It seems guys have a thing about facial hair. Beards are important business. Manly business. Recently, one of the guys shaved off his manly beard and said something like, "All the chicks are after me now." This made me feel uncomfortable. Icky hung in the air. He realized he said something dumb, slighting inappropriate. So I said, "Everybody loves a baby face."

BURN!

Burn to turn it around yo!

2. Foster kids have many family members that come with them. Like birth mothers. Birth mothers who can't quite get the hang of fricking FOLLOWING THE REUNIFICATION PLAN so they can get their kids back. Part of me just wants to go and sit with them. Explain that it really isn't that hard to get your kid back. The reunification plan, designed by the county social worker, has very clear bullet points for them to follow.

It's not dumb that keeps them from following the plan. Oh no. They are smarter then I'll ever be. Masters at the game of getting what they want. Maybe it's the want of stuff that interrupts this process. They want everything, including the stuff that gets them jailed.

Sigh.

A few months ago i renewed my passport in a fit of optimism. COMPLETE BLIND OPTIMISM. I wanna go to niagra falls and have a vacation with the mister.

Guess it's going to have to wait. . . the foster kids will be with us for a while. :)

Happy New year everyone ....

Make it a goal to help someone next year :)

Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER

 

I got really irritated at yoga the other day. Irony, I know.

I get irritated at crossfit too.

It's the music. Crossfit people like loud, angry, german RAMSTIEN type music. And heavy gansta rap. With n words. It's bothersome but not overly so. If I'm working hard enough, I can't hear anything expect DEAR GOD MAKE THE PAIN STOP . . WAIT . . I CAN DO THIS . . . I HAVE FIVE MORE ROUNDS OF BURPEES AND THEN I'M DONE!!!



But at yoga, this is suppose to be gentle. Maybe some soft Indian music. Maybe the 'soft alt' channel on pandora. Or the teacher's personal mix of "memories". But they need to be gentle songs, not songs that include the f word and sex talk.

GAH.

So I'm doing the downward dog. Enjoying life. Then music kicks up and the f bombs start and I start shaking my head. I'm a child of God and a full grown Christian woman. I put up with a lot in yoga class. I put up with their psuedo hippy dippy talk of chakras and hugs. I'll get over myself with their meaningless namaste chanting. I'll tolerate their eastern (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) "religion" (INSERT HUGE ASS AIR QUOTE) because it seems well meaning. I studied buddhism for years. It's a great philosphy and very kind in nature. It's still hippy crap though. Again,

 

And make no mistake, yoga will always ALWAYS BE PART OF MY LIFE.

But the f bombs bugged me. REALLY bothered me. And I like the teacher. So I didn't say anyhthing. She's a nurse practitioner just like me. I could totally be her friend.

But, the music. Offt. . . the class starts chattering about the f bombs and she explains, "I don't buy the censored version of songs because that's not how the artist intended the song to be heard."

THE FRICK! SERIOUSLY??!!! THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH?

Using the f bomb doesn't make you an artist, it makes you an idiot. OR A TODDLER.

Either way, I'm above all that. sometimes anyway.

Giving Thanks this Thanksgiving week

Thanksgiving is coming. I've much to be thankful for.

Does anyone read this blog anymore? I realize it's been a few months since I've posted. I realize blogger reader isn't there anymore. So if you are reading this-- raise your hand in the comments and say "here".

For those that are new, this blog is about me, Mrs. Hall. I am a lot of things but first, I am a child of God. I'm a wife, mother, foster mother, nurse and enjoying telling my stories. I hope to be uplifting and funny.

Here's a story that sums up what is going on as of late.

I've been doing a lot of cross fit lately. It's a new passion of mine. Go ahead and google crossfit and be flooded with all sorts of badassery images. I'm starting to look like them, in those photos.

Crossfit involves doing crazy workouts of the day or WODs. They look like this:
















Crossfit is changing my life. I didn't go looking for crossfit, it found me.

It started at my usual weight watchers meeting a few months ago. Some dude walked in and started talking about his crossfit gym. I wasn't entirely awake yet, but he said words like burpees, pull ups and box jumps. Words I had only read before and never heard outloud. I got his card and went.

I don't believe in random happenings. I believe in God's plan. I believe God nudged me towards this and placed dude at my weight watchers meeting.

My first work out (or WOD) went like this:  ten burpees, ten squats, then nine burpees/nine squats on down to one of each. I was feeling pretty spry and excited.

At the seven burpee/squat mark, I started to believe I would be dead soon. I had worked hard enough and I was done. So,  I looked at dude and said, "Can I stop at five?"

He said . . . . . "No."

It was at this point I knew I had to get through this and NOT CRY. I din't want to girl up about it. I needed to represent what I was at that point. Strong enough not to panic.

And I did it. I got all the way through.  I don't know how, but I did it.

But that workout was a few months ago.

Last week I did 12 burpees. I did them after 50 situps, 75 squats and 100 push ups. I would have done more but I only had ten minutes. It's amazing what this body can do. God has given more power than I can imagine!

I have visions people, VISIONS. I have visions of hiking with the kids and not being winded. I have visions of rollerblading, bike riding and running I have visions of tucking my shirt in, of wearing a belt. OF SKINNY JEANS.  I have visions of working out with my husband and letting him experience the awesomeness.

These visions have become my reality.

I feel like I've won the lottery.

And this, in nine months, is what I'll be spending my winnings on . .



Amen!