It’s not you. It’s me.

Dear Reebok,

I hate to do this to you. Really. I swear it hurts me more than it hurts you and I’m doing this for your own good. But we have to break up.

I want you to know that I worked really hard at this relationship. I did. But things just aren’t working out. I was dedicated to you. I was all, “oh, I LOVE reebok! They’re the official apparel for CrossFit!” so I made literally every effort to support you.

But you don’t support ME, Reebok! And I can’t take it anymore.
Let me explain. 

It started at last year’s regionals. I bought your black, skinny strapped sports bra. You know the one with the little CrossFit triangle on the back and the “Reebok CrossFit” written in the neckline. So cute. I took out those weird little soft mold cups (wtf are those, anyway?) and I wore it really proudly to the 5 am workout and everything was good.

Until it wasn’t.

Our workout consisted of something involving box jumps and toes to bar. There could have been other movements, but honestly, I don’t remember what they were and I don’t care. What I do remember? Those eeny-meeny straps letting my boobs MANHANDLE that bra until the damn thing was at  my waist. Have you ever tried to do box jumps with your sports bra hanging out like a belt?! 
I was having to stop every 3 seconds to pull it up. I seriously considered chucking the damn thing and just winging (jiggling?) it.

I decided it was time for a break in our relationship. I was so mad at you.
So I took my nice, new, $60 bra and let it sit at the bottom of my sports bra drawer (Ace, you have a sports bra drawer? Yeah, I do).
For the rest of the year. 

This is the bra I’m talking about. Y U NO STAY ON ME, BRA?!

Fast forward to this year’s regionals.
I worked the event again so Reebok was really generous and gave us discounted apparel. And I was like, “AW REEBOK! YOU DO LOVE ME!” so I decided to welcome you back into my loving arms. I bought a cute regionals tank and some cute shorts…and then I saw them. NEW BRA DESIGNS. 

Gone were the days of skinny strapped bras! These new sports bras had thick straps. Some had double straps. I rejoiced! But not one to get beside myself, I approached with caution. I tried one on and, at the suggestion of my friend Kat, I came out of the dressing room and did a burpee. AND IT STAYED PUT. 

Had my double D prayers been answered? It appeared so, Reebok.

LOOK AT THOSE STRAPS, Y’ALL


I wore my bras all through regionals. I was jogging up stairs, running around like a chicken with my head cut off on the floor, doing all the things! And I was impressed with the bras.

But we both know this was a temporary fix to a much larger problem in our relationship (see what I did there?)
I got home and wore my brand new purchases to the box. 6:30 class. And sure enough. There I was adjusting. Pulling and pushing. Desperately trying to keep my dang boobs in my bra. And then there was the running–the SPRINTING. I almost flashed approximately 4 people and a dog on a 400m. run. 

It just wasn’t working out. And I knew that this was going to be another purchase that sits at the bottom of my sports bra drawer. 

I can’t do this anymore. The frustration. The power struggle. Who will win today? Will it be you or my bust line? Who even knows anymore? We can’t keep score like this! 

I’m exhausted, Reebok. I can’t support you and me by myself. It’s time I moved on and found something with a more restricting lycra blend. 
I hope you understand. 

And if, one day, you ever develop a more mature fabric that knows what it’s goals are and meets them. Give me a call.

Until then, this is not a farewell, just a “see you later”.

All my love,
Aislinn

Whining and Bellyaching

“I don’t have time.”
“This is too hard.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m too weak.”
“I’m not in good enough shape yet.”
“It’s too time consuming.”
“I’m not on your level yet.”
“I want to lose weight, but it’s so difficult.”
“I love carbs too much.”
Blah. Blah. Blah.
This all comes down to wants and needs.
Simple economics.
Can you give up the things that you want for the things that you need?
I want to eat cheese enchiladas for every meal everyday and not get fat.
I want to lay in bed for my whole life and still be able to run miles and beat myself.
But I can’t.
It’s not what I need.
Can you not watch Real Housewives for an hour to use that hour at the gym?
Can you substitute spaghetti squash for pasta?
Can you give up the easy for the more difficult?
Can you get your ass off the comfortable couch and start finding the pavement more comfortable?
You can do all that shit. But will you?
What are you willing to give up to be more healthy?
Or are you good with just whining and bellyaching?
It’s time to stop “trying.”
Stop trying to run. Trying to start crossfit. Trying to eat clean.
Start running.
Start crossfitting.
Start eating clean.
Start focusing on health.
Start doing.


You are not ready for CrossFit…

…and you will never be ready for CrossFit.


So you should absolutely start today. Right now. Right this second. 

Photo by Christopher Nolan-www.metconphotos.com

I am never prepared when I walk into the box. 
Whether I know or I don’t know what’s on the whiteboard for today.
There is always a feeling in the pit of my stomach that reminds me that I am decidedly unprepared for whatever I’m about to do.

Kind of like when you’re about to take the test of your whole life and you know you should have studied harder or memorized more.
Except this is not that kind of test. 

This test is going to ask more of you.
Demand more of you.
It’s not about your body. Your body can handle it.
This one is about your mind.
Can your mind push through the suck?
Can you convince yourself to give those last 5 reps?

I can.
You can.

This is not easy.
This is not leg lifts in leg warmers on your living room floor watching tv.

This is sweaty.
This is difficult.
This will be painful.
This will get done.

Whether it takes 5 minutes or 35 minutes.
You’ll do it.

And you’ll be back tomorrow and the next day and do it all over again.

That’s when something awesome happens. One day, you’ll walk into the box and you’ll do the work out and it will seem…easy. That’s you, getting better.
So you’ll do the unthinkable.
You’ll do something that you never thought you’d do when you first entered the box.
You’ll make it harder. On purpose.
You’ll add more weight.
You’ll move faster to make it more difficult.
You’ll get even better.
You will purposely make sure that you aren’t ready.

Because your success–your goals–are beyond comfortable. 
You have to be uncomfortable to see how far you can really go.
To find your best self.
So you’re not going to be ready.
But you can start out toward your dreams.

Today.
Right now.
Right this second.

3…2…1…GO. 



‘Cause we could all be better people

I’m taking a cue from my friend Lauren over at Breaking the Mold today and making some goals for this year. Not too many, not too few, just enough. 

20 in ’14.

I’m not much for resolutions, but I always seem to find areas in my life that I can improve upon. Because we can all be better people, right?!

So here it goes:

Blog:
1. Increase readership through use of social media (I’m stuck using my personal twitter when I should be using my Eat.Pray.WOD twitter!) If you wanna follow me on Eat.Pray.WOD twitter you can do that HERE. If you want to follow me on my personal twitter, you can do that HERE.
2. Post more often. I was kinda slacking in the last half of 2013.
3. Bring back some fan favorite features…like Athlete Profiles!
4. Promote my Facebook Page more.
5. Gain more/Maintain awesome relationships with sponsors and fellow bloggers. Hi friends!

Family:
6. Write my daddy a letter every week
7. Call my mama everyday.
8. Visit home once a month
9. Spend a major holiday with my sister and brother
10. Visit Hebbronville home at least once this year

Fitness:
11. Continue running 3-5 times/week
12. Continue crossfitting 4-6 times/week
13. 18% body fat! Say whaaaaat? I don’t even know if this is really possible.
14. Mother effin’ muscle ups.
15. 8 minute mile.

Personal:
16. Buy myself a new piece of work clothing twice a month.
17. WEAR JEWELRY! 
18. Actually do my laundry all the way. Wash, dry, fold, put away–at the same damn time!
19. Run Komen Race for the Cure in memory of my girl, Randa
20. Volunteer at the VA clinic on a regular basis. 


So there you go. 
20 in ’14. 
Here’s hoping I can keep it together and accomplish this stuff and hoping my girl Lauren will keep me accountable!

Do y’all have any big goals for 2014?

Here we go, 2014. Me and you.


How badly do you want it?

“First they’ll ask you, ‘why?’, then they’ll ask ‘how?'”
That was one of the first quotes I read when I decided to not be fat anymore. It’s still one of the truest things I’ve ever read.

When I started committing to being more healthy, people asked–and still ask–why?
Why order meat and veggies when you could order fried chicken?
Why spend an hour or two in the gym on Friday night when you’re missing out on free drinks at Fred’s?
Why?
Why?
Why?

When I really committed and I started seeing results, they started asking, “how?”
How did you lose the weight?
How do I lose weight, too?
How do I lift more?
How do I get a butt?
How do I lose belly fat?
How?
How?
How?

To be honest, I just did. I improve on things everyday. Most days it sucks, but it’s always worth it. I get tired. My bed is just as comfortable as yours is. I don’t want to get out of it in the morning and run, but I do. Some days, I want to just go home after work, but I don’t. I go to the gym.

A lot of days, I want to eat all the cakes. But I eat carrots instead.
Everyday I want to drink all the diet cokes. But I drink water instead.

How did I do it? I just weighed my options.
Do I want to be sick or do I want to be healthy?
How badly do I want to be healthy?
Is being healthy worth giving up the things that are making me sick?

Answer:
I want to be healthy.
I want to be healthy really badly.
Being healthy is worth giving up the things I want for the the things I need.

Everyday is progress.
I’m not perfect. Sometimes I eat the damn cake and I drink the damn diet coke.
But everyday I get a little better.

And that’s good enough for me.

So if you’re like me and you’re wondering how, ask yourself:
“how badly do I want it?”

And then go get it.

You, too, can be a supermodel…in 37 seconds

Somewhere, right this very second, a little girl is wishing that she was a model. Back in 1997, that little girl was probably me. I just knew that I would grow up to be Kate Moss. I KNEW IT.

I would be 5’10”
I’d weigh about 107 pounds (112 if I was bloated)
Wear a AAA cup bra
My hips would be a perfect 29″
I’d be the perfect sample size 0

Never mind that genetics were against me. I was going to be Kate Moss, dammit. She was perfect.

Genetics was NOT dealing with me and my model dream.

Literally the next year (fifth grade!!!), I hit 5’0” and stopped growing. I got boobs that year, too. I walked across the elementary school graduation stage in a Playtex Just-my-size almost B cup bra (come on, ladies, you know what I’m talkin’ about). 

I’m pretty sure that’s when the self talk started. I was not pretty because I was not a model and I wasn’t going to be a model. 
Mama Nancy told me I was pretty all the time. She always said that I was beautiful. 
Know how I responded?
“You’re required to say that, you’re my mama.”

As I got older (and started crushing on boys), my list of idols grew. 
And grew. 
And grew.
And grew.

I spent a lot of time in high school saying things like, “I wish I looked like ____(insert celebrity name here)___” and “why can’t I just have her ____(insert perfect attribute here)___?”

2010. Pretty far from the “sample size 0″. And I’m also fairly sure my hips were around 45”.

Now that I’m a grown up and I’ve entered into this fitness thing, I realize that I spend a lot of time discounting my own hardwork. 
“My butt’s looking nice…but it’s not like Jennifer Lopez’s”
“My waist is thinning out…but it’s not as slim as Eva Longoria’s.”
“I wish my face would slim down to look like Beyonce’s.”
“Why can’t I be married to Ryan Reynolds?!” (okay, this is not at all related to body image, it’s just a question that needs to be answered)

Thanks to the miracle that is the interwebz, this video was posted today:

The first thing I thought? 
“well, shit. With PhotoShop, I can be a model now, too!”

The second thing?
“what if little girls really think people look like this?”

Both thoughts are true. Obviously, I too, can be a model through the power of photoshop and didn’t I think all those celebrities really looked like that when I was little? Weren’t those the images I was basing all my personal fitness success on?

It has to stop. 
Photoshop is not real life.

This is me.
I am not perfect. 
My beauty and my life have flaws.
I make mistakes.
I have cellulite.
I love to eat a lot of chocolate when Aunt Flo comes to visit.
I hate the way my back looks, but I love my shoulders. 
I have a freckle between my first two toes on my left foot.
I have a birthmark that even my Mama didn’t know existed until 2 years ago.
I sweat when I do…pretty much anything.
I can never put on eyeliner right.
My concealer (when I wear it) always creases beneath my eyes.
I have scars because I like to play rough.
I have tattoos. And they’re cool.
I have a belly somedays and other days I don’t. 
When I don’t feel good, I like my dog to take care of me.
I get lettuce stuck in my teeth all the time.
I get zits. And I WILL pop them.
I make a ton of mistakes and only hope (and pray!) that I can recover from them and learn the lesson.
I have boobs that photobomb every picture I take and make buying shirts really difficult. 
I have teeny feet. 
My hips are still 40″ around. 
But that’s who I am. 
Those things are why my mama thinks I’m pretty.

I am flawed but funny.
I like to laugh and have a good time.
I think it’s more important to live in the moment and eat the damn cupcake than skip the cupcake and miss the moment.
I am a hard worker because I want to set a good example.
I want to work hard now so that I can play hard later.
I like to do nice things for people because it’s a nice thing to do.
I am a good friend.
I am not photoshop.
I am not a model.
Or a celebrity.
But I am beautiful.

And so are you. 

Before I die I want to…

Not to be morbid on a Monday, but every moment you’re living…you’re dying. 
The face of the matter is that with every breath we take, we’re that much closer to the last breath we’ll take. 

Toward the end of last week, I was introduced to a social experiment led by Nicole Kenney where she asks people one simple question: “what do you want to do before you die?” and photo documents their answers.  

Y’all might remember the above picture from a few months back. In our neighborhood, just down from RSCF, this board went up and stayed up for a good 6 months. Someone came and washed it away every week and every week people came and listed what they wanted to do before they die. My friend Katie took this picture for me but I didn’t think too much about the board itself. 

I realized that a year ago, this list would have been really different, but through this crazy journey, I’ve found a lot of things that I want to do.

What do I want to do before I die?
I want to…
-Dance with my daddy at my wedding.
-Save a life.
-Inspire someone.
-Join a gardening club.
-Finish my daddy’s dream ranch house with a tin roof and a loft.
-Make tamales with my mama for Christmas.
-Take care of my niece and nephew for their college educations.
-Adopt a kiddo.
-Go to the very top of the Empire State Building.
-Own a house with a claw foot tub.
-Volunteer at an animal hospital.
-Take care of my parents.
-Throw a dinner party for my Uncle Sonny.
-Cook Thanksgiving dinner…while Mama Nancy watches football.
-Throw April and Whitney a housewarming party.
-Live with my sister for a year…so I can take care of the house and the kids and she and Keith can go do everything.
-Learn to play the guitar.
-Walk on the stage at the Grand Ole Opry.
-Buy (and learn to ride!) a moped.
-Make my mama and daddy proud.
-Live up to my Grandma Nancy’s legacy: alegre.
-Watch Kristie act on a national stage.
Cry at Anthony’s wedding. (9/14/2013)
-Cry at Brittany’s wedding.
-Marry a guy that I’m lucky to have and that I’m proud to have a son just like. 
-Teach my kids to work hard.
-Rescue and renovate an old house.
-Walk through the soles of a good pair of cowboy boots.
-Read every word in every book I can get my hands on. 

What do you want to do before you die? 
In case you haven’t yet, today’s the day to start living!