You'll Only Care Whether or Not You Tried.

Oh. Okay. Another week gone?

I’m. Well. I’m baffled at the speed with which August is fuh-lying.

I’m also exhausted and have had a headache on and off for three days.

Anybody else?

(Love when I can blame a planet over an allergy for any seasonal or stress-related symptom, so chime in if you’re feeling it too and I can nod and say, “Oh, it’s the eclipse.”)

I saw my bicep when I reached for my deodorant this morning and I think that finally, nearly SIX MONTHS into my very dedicated gym routine, I am starting to see some results.

After I threw out my back standing up and then tweaked my neck showing off at Pilates, I decided to start over completely and pretend like I’d never worked out a day in my life.

Since my 42-year-old body is barely held together anymore, my joints feel like Legos, popping apart at the slightest weird angle, heeding ANY sharp yelps from them when lifting has become necessary. I’ve lowered my weights and my pace and believe it or not, I’ve felt more sore (in a good way) and strong than I have since I started this whole shebang back in March.

Even though I feel like a loser back squatting an empty barbell, it’s forced me to confront my middle school insecurities and realize that ultimately no one who matters is judging me for not being “good enough.”

Same with my jogging journey. Our 5K in June brought me face to face with the shin splints I’d been running through for months. When even walking became painful, I took the entire month off. In July I started back with a very slow walk-run routine that has me back to running 2-3 miles pain-free. Turns out the tortoise really does win the race.

In a moment of exceptional clarity, having made it to the back and butt drying portion of my post-shower towel routine a few days ago, I caught my gaze in the mirror and had a lighting realization: you will die one day and all you will care about is whether or not you tried.

Not how long it took and not how many mistakes you made. Not if, in six months of working out, you still have only lost FOUR pounds. You will care only if you continued forward. You will only care if you tried.

My practice this week has been doing the thing the moment I realize I want or “need” to do it.

The dishes, I’ll often wait until the very end of my day to clean the kitchen. Though I always get to it eventually, the nagging task will loop in my brain until it’s done. It swirls around with my other To Do’s competing in a way that often leaves me watching YouTube in order to avoid deciding ‘what to do first.’

That’s an hour down the drain.

Instead, I’ve just done it. The second I think of it. Like when my mom would tell me to hang up my coat instead of throwing it on the ground, you’re gonna have to do it anyway, why not now?

Why not now?

In my May podcast, I discussed how the discipline I’ve gained through my jogging journey has spread into every area of my life.

Any chance I can find to “force” myself to do things that seem hard has become a conscious experience of growth. Like lifting a weight slowly, requiring my mind to feel my muscle the entire time, like slurping up every last sip of a smoothie, wringing out every drop. The forcing, the trying, it’s resulted in strength, mental and physical.

But with a climb up the mountain also comes some slippery steps. I’ve pouted heavily about not losing as many pounds as I think I should. Stared at my older lady skin, the permanent wrinkles that adorn my neck like a choker, the cellulite on my arms. I’ve wondered with despair if we will ever have a house with a washing machine and dryer.

In my dream a few nights back, a very solid, very intimidating girl with long dirty hair was pounding on my door. When I cracked it open to see what she wanted she attempted to push her way in, staring blankly but deeply into my eyes, I pushed back, “No. You have to stay outside.”

It was a confronting feeling just overwhelming enough for my brain to wake me up and in my hazy in-between I realized, oh, that’s the little girl who lives in the basement of my mind. The one who always protests change, who bangs the door down, tries her hardest to pull me back into the depths, reminds me of everything there is to be afraid of and how much easier it would be to just stay where I am, safe and comfortable, scrolling my favorite YouTubers, ignoring the insatiable urge to try something new.

But she’s no longer the muscle around here and I’ve gotten to know the grown-up who exists within me too well. I suspect she’s the one dropping truth bombs while I dry my body after a shower.

I’ve told the scared, dirty mountain-girl version of me that everything is gonna be okay. She can come in if she’s ready to take a nap and wake up brave. We’re not gonna get to 112 years old and on our deathbed regret anything, especially something as simple as just trying.

Fall is around the corner and change is in the air. I know you can feel it too, it IS eclipse season after all.

May we all have the discipline to clear some space and the courage to fill it with something new.

Cheers!

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I don't just sit around taking pictures of myself!!!

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Aug 3

Before I start this ramble, a moment must be taken to brag about my mother because CAN YOU EVEN BELIEVE HER LATEST PAINTING??? I’m obsessed with it. Me, Francesca and Pilar, three of the five self-proclaimed Marvettes, the gals who ran Marvin, the coolest bistro in Los Angeles from 2015ish-2020ish. I mean it’s still cool, we’re just not there anymore…