422 Days Later

It's been a while since I've checked in here. 422 days to be exact. And it's safe to say that a lot has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same. I'm stilling trying to find 'my place' in the Twin Cities and, more importantly, my people. I still haven't found my dream job. I still miss Wisconsin. I still love potatoes and chocolate and tacos, but probably not all at one time.

But it hasn't all been bad.

I had been working for a pretty cool women's yoga & athletic clothes company. What's not to love about going to work in your fav workout clothes, passing the time by talking crossfit and yoga and running with cool people, and always having a workout buddy to keep you motivated? Despite all of the awesome that was that job, something was missing for me. I stayed because it was good. 
Good, not great.

I wanted great. I needed great. So in late May I walked away from my moisture wicking, 4-way stretch, security blanket and lept into the uncertain. The biggest thing missing for me in my good job was travel and events. Coming from a marketing and events background, events are where I thrive. Send me to a city I've (probably) never been to and tell me to make it happen. And I do, loving every minute of it along the way. So when a dear friend of my reached out to say she was looking for a System Manager for her summer event series, I had to do it.

And so began my career as a professional Slip'n Slider. Yes, you read that correctly. I am spending my summer setting up 1000' slip'n slides in cities all across the midwest. The hours are ridiculously long, and the work pretty backbreaking, but I love every second of it.

The downside to this gig is that at the end of the summer, we pack up the slides, and my contract is over until next June. I'm not going to lie. That's stressful. But rather than focus on the scary unknown, I've committed to spending the summer being present and chasing dreams. I'm riding my bike more, walking the dogs, and reading. I'm trail running and crossfitting and going to the beach. I'm having beers with friends, eating delicious food, and spending time outside. 

I'm not worried about turning into a pumpkin on September 1st. In fact, through the amazing people I've met racing and working events, I've actually lined up a pretty awesome fall. What I'll be doing for September deserves a post all it's own, but let me tell you, it's going to be awesome. I have a few races that I will work in October, and hopefully a trip to visit my BFF in NYC. Early November will take my to Texas to work one last event, and then I'll wrap up my 2015 travels by hopefully celebrating W's 40th birthday...somewhere.

After that, who knows. I'm trying to put my trust in the universe and know that it will all work out. That when I least expect it, something amazing will happen. 

Where I've been, and where I'm headed, in 2015.

My irrational fear of sculpt. Visited.

So tonight, after work, I was finally peer pressured into facing my irrational fear of sculpt head-on. I know what you're thinking. What is so scary about sculpt? And to be honest, I'm not entirely sure. What I do know is that I have heard so many horror stories, and while I am an active person, I am so very afraid of living one of those horror stories firsthand.

Sure, I run and crossfit on a regular basis. I dabble in yoga and barre. But sculpt, the masochistic combination of flow and weights and cardio and dance all jam-packed into one sixty-minute class, makes me stomach churn.

But as I will try (almost) anything once, I committed to go. I tried to back out. I packed three outfits. I nervously peed ever ten minutes. I had sweaty armpits. I felt barfy. But I went.

before

The studio was like 900 degrees. And crowded. And I was surrounded by my coworkers, all who sculpt on the regular. I was terrified. 

the 5lb weights were merely for show

Jessie, who I can only describe as a masochistic, dancing machine, super hottie, took us through 60 of the brutal-est yoga-esque minutes in my life. Fast feet. High knees. KICK KICK KICK. Crescent...deeper, deeper, deeper....HOLD. Chatarunga. Repeat. Push up. Plank. Mountain Climbers. FASTER. Slower. Hold. FML.  My muscles cried, my coordination was tested, I desperately tried to breathe and keep up. It was like a cracked out dance party with weights. And somehow, she made it look good. Real good.

#hotmess

The thing of it is, I feel like I am dying during these types of classes. My breathe is short, my shoulders hurt, my quads quiver, and I generally feel miserable. But somehow, the day after, I'm never sore (at least not from barre). In the moment, I cannot push through. I cannot seem to hold things quite deep enough for quite long enough, and I bail on the weights from time to time. I know...get comfortable with being uncomfortable. I get it, but cannot seem to do it.

#thesweatlife

Did I barf? Nope. Would I go back? Maybe. Will this be my sweat of choice? No.