Tag Archives: Self Love

Rest, Recover, Reflect

Standing, unilateral, landline press with a two-inch, Olympic weight bar weighing about 44 pounds (20 kilos) 3 SETS EACH SIDE: 15 lb. plate added for 7 reps, 10 lb. plate added for 10 reps, no weight added (bar only) for 10 reps

One week ago today, was my first day back at the gym after a two week hiatus spent recovering from the flu and pneumonia.
Hit the weights hard, warmed up with a little HIIT cardio on the elliptical since my lungs weren’t at full capacity. Trained triceps and shoulders with a little bit of back. Played around with the weight doing these standing, unilateral land mine presses. By leg day on Saturday, I was riding the wave of endorphins flowing within my body – welcoming the soreness that followed from killin my quads, knowing I’d given my all.

It was longest length of time I’ve spent away from the gym since beginning to train nearly four years ago. Even during chemo, I’d only take a week off between treatments.

Feels extraordinary to have that piece of myself back in place.

But…will also say my body needed LOTS of rest with the way I’ve been running myself into the ground. Between goal smashing, being a present parent, maintaining our household, both kiddos getting sick back to back and training our new pup – I’d forgotten to be a “kindness warrior” to myself. Listening to stubborn self talk like, “Keep grinding, sleep later, write more, work harder,” led to me not only falling ill but also to the realization that I was forgetting to play and seek adventure in the everyday.

I was losing myself to my own hustle.

The level of exhaustion I experienced over the course of the last few weeks has been comparable to how chemo treatments left me feeling. It also reminded me that my tendency is “all or nothing” and how easy it is for me to burn my candle at both ends.

So I’m back to training again, but this time – mindfully – with more respect for my body than ever before. When she wants to rest, we’re gonna rest and when she’s too sore to train – I’m letting my body recuperate.

My fitness journey isn’t about a number on a scale or achieving a certain body type. It’s about loving the skin I’m in, conditioning my mind to be stronger, and pushing past my own limits…no one else’s. 

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Check Out My Port! (part 2)

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Between cooking Chicken Marsala (I’m just saying, it’s kind of a big deal. If I could marry my marsala, it would be on like Donkey Kong) and the weather becoming much warmer–I quickly changed into a tank top as the kitchen started heating up tonight. 

Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, seeing my bare shoulders in a tank top again, with that protruding triangular shaped mound just sitting there; really got me thinking. My surgeon has given the go ahead for port removal; it’s been in place for 15 months now. I’m already 7 months out from completing treatment…7 months!

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Change is the evolution of life right? But I’ve become attached to my port. It’s just as much a part of me as my hair or skin. What’s it going to feel like when I don’t have a port anymore?  What will it be like looking in the mirror to see a fading scar where an obvious prominence used to be? To not have to wear my seatbelt a different way for comfort? For my daughter to say “Mommy, where did your port go?” To not get stared at in public by total strangers who don’t always know what a port even is? To not see my oncology nurses every 6 to 8 weeks for a port flush? To go to the lab for routine blood draws, instead of to the nurses in the infusion suite?

Port removal is a major milestone as a cancer patient. When your oncologist and surgeon are in agreement that it’s time to take out the port, it’s this hopeful intention that you’re going to be healthy long term. It’s their way of saying a patient is in a good place of survivorship.

Having my port removed isn’t just letting go of what was, it’s moving forward into what will be. Living my best life, one day healthier and stronger at a time.

chemo-portCheck out my port! Pretty gross and extremely fascinating at the same time. Especially when you consider that it’s sitting under my skin at this very moment. Having a port is kind of like having a tattoo, you forget that it’s there. Except, unlike a tattoo, I get reminded each time I buckle my driver’s side seat belt, get dressed in front of a mirror or get hugged way too hard. The hugging doesn’t hurt, it just gives you this feeling of “Oh hey I remember that! The chemo thing my surgeon stuck in a blood vessel X amount of months ago.”