I Was Going to Play in the World Cup (and why being unrealistic pays off)

When I was nine years old, I knew I was going to play in the World Cup. 

I had the right Nike socks, had ordered a replica US Women’s Soccer Team jersey, and had perfected my signature for the fans that would call my name.  I knew the statistics of my future teammates, was confident I’d get along well with my coach, and was simply just waiting until I got my braces off and could drive a car before I joined the team.

I didn't put down the dreams of anyone else, for all I knew or cared, 95 people could be on the team.

I was just going to be one of them.

I had a plan.  I was going to play on my state team until I was about 16 before being recruited out of high school for the University of North Carolina.  I looked good in that light blue color so the uniform would work well. 

From there I’d split my time between the National team and my college squad.  There were a couple players that also did this so they could help me with traveling and scheduling details- JetBlue or SouthWest? Yup, definitely arranging a quick meeting with them.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to be sponsored by Adidas or Nike- my favorite player was sponsored by Adidas but that swoosh was just really classy.  Maybe I could sign with both?

Powerade or Gatorade endorsement? These choices were tough but I knew my agent could help me with them.

I was, of course, realistic about my role on the team- I wasn't going to be the leading goal scorer; I was going to be admired for my endurance, consistency, and comic relief on the bench and in the locker room.  I practiced some jokes I’d tell Mia Hamm and was confident I'd break her out of the shy shell she was known for.

I believed I was going to be on the World Cup team as much as I believed I was Courtney Cronin.

________________________________

I smile, writing this as a 26 year old and think fondly of the confidence I rocked as an adolescent. 

Somewhere down the line I became a bit more realistic. 

I acknowledged that life unfolds in ways that are not always in my hands and that my path may have twists and turns unplanned.  I found that the everyday details of life are actually a bit difficult to accomplish- dishes need to be done, bills need to be paid, college courses need attending, cars need gas, health insurance doesn't just come with adulthood, and groceries are bought by the person that wants to eat them.  And there was, of course, the fact that I wasn't that good at soccer.

If I had told the nine year old Courtney this, she would've rolled her glitter covered eyes and said, “Yaaa..So?”

As we grow older we’re told in many different ways to be realistic.  There are things that need to be done in life and HERE IS HOW YOU DO THEM.  That way won’t work, do it this way.  You could try that but, no. 

Realistic plans are admirable and we congratulate those who accomplish them.  To be successful is to have an achievable goal and a plan to get there.

I agree with many aspects of this notion.  A fuzzy dream is just a vision, a fantasy to entertain.  One has to have clear steps to success and the means to get there.

But where is the fun in these adult dreams if we don’t have that childlike confidence?  Far too often we limit ourselves because of the reality we’re trained to acknowledge.  Why dream when life is busy enough?

I think the combination of these two perspectives- clear plans with childlike expectations, can create a life of wonder, joy, creativity, and success.  I encourage us all to be a little unrealistic, to trust we can.  A simple, definitive belief known so well in childhood and often forgotten as adults.  Dreams may change but the approach we have towards them should not.

I think I may slap on some sneaks today and run around a field like a child.  I’ll smile and laugh, I’ll plan and wonder.  I’ll believe and trust.  I’ll be a little less adult and a lot more Courtney. 

Here’s to big dreams, big faith, and a big life.

<3

So you want to compete?- An unconventional view.

Recently, I've seen quite a few articles and posts about this.  As spring shows approach, winter bodies are unveiled, and the benefits of weightlifting are becoming increasingly popular, this question is being asked by average Joes and Jills around the world.

The articles are usually extremely informative, accurate, and detailed.  Physique and fitness experts educating the masses on the rigorous preparation, the time consuming training, and the emotional and financial dedication required for competition.

Proper coaching, healthy dieting, and well formulated, organized planning. 
That's some darn good advice.  Advice I offer when asked.  

Advice I'm glad I didn't know when I first embarked on this stage strutting adventure.  
Huh?

I giggle when I think about my first competition.  
I had never heard of the term, "prep."  I had never been to a show.  I had heard about bodybuilding competitions from a family friend and since I went to Planet Fitness, thought it might be a cool thing to do.

I Googled:  
Hmm, so it looked like I'd need a new bathing suit.  It appeared as though I would need some high heels and maybe a pair of earrings.  The ladies looked like they had some muscle so I increased my strength training by doing BOTH wide and close grip pull downs and began performing cardio on an incline.  They were tan...so I went tanning.

I picked an organization and then a show by scrolling through a list and landing on one that didn't look like it would require too much gas money.  I heard oatmeal and sweet potatoes were good so I picked those up and downed Diet Coke and Crystal Lite like a mad woman because it had zero cals...so like, it was good for me of course.

About 3 weeks before the show I ordered a bikini from Victoria's Secret new spring line.  It was bright blue, had a padded top, and made my butt look like a pancake.  I loved it.

I bought the gaudiest looking bracelet for $5.99 at Charlotte Russe and earrings at Claires.  

I searched, "stage heels" and found a pair from a very questionable website for $20 that pinched my toes and made me feel like a teetering rockstar.

I bought some self tanner because I wasn't sure if my tanning bed commitment had truly sealed the deal. 

The day before the show I woke up early to bleach my hair and asked my mom to paint me orange. 
I then realized, about an hour before departure, I would probably have to walk on the stage at some point so again, Google time: "bikini walks." I did a few rounds across my kitchen floor and then popped in the car for a trip to Massachusetts for a bikini show. 

I arrived at the show 10 minutes before I was to go onstage.
I had no idea what the hell I was doing.
And it was the best day of my life.

I LOVED the beaming competitors, the huge lunchboxes, the brown bods, the sticky smell and THEN...the stage.
The music, the nervous ladies backstage, and the lights- I freaking frolicked my heart out.
I could not.stop.smiling.

I knew I found something.  A strange mix of health, commitment, fitness, dedication, and fun.  Something I knew I wanted to do again and even possibly, do it well.

The thing is, the relentless preparation, the dedication, the planning- it's for a day.
One day that is an exciting culmination of a rigorous lifestyle.
You better make sure you like that day.

You can still be a devoted fitness enthusiast and strive to attain a 6-pack with striated glutes without that day.  It's called a hobby and an impressive one at that.  There are coaches for that, there are plans and preps for that.  The difference between a dedicated hobby and competing is (in my humble opinion) love for those 24 hours. 

If you're thinking about competing, do yourself a favor...and do it.  You may place dead last.  You may get embarrassed.  You may end up wobbling around in a wedgie filled bathing suit with orange streaks up your arms and legs.  You may do all of those things and still have the best day of your life.

Before accepting the common mindset of backbreaking allegiance and diving into the mental, emotional, and financial costs that often come with advanced competition, see if you like the darn sport.  

I sure did.  
And since I did, I decided to learn more about it.  I hired a coach.  I ordered a real bikini (sorry Angels).  I embraced the necessity of a flawless tan.  I walked around in my heels a bit.  I had a more structured prep which at times, tested my dedication.  Throughout those testing times I remember with a smile: why?

Not because I saw someone's photos on Facebook and wanted some of my own.  Not because someone tells me to.  Not because I have a love for healthy living and all things fitness.  
I compete because I love competing in the sport of bodybuilding. 
And I didn't know it...until I did.

Spritzers and Simplicity

I asked my large human of a boyfriend what I should write about next.
"banana hammock.

No but really Nate, what do you think?
"boner jams."

A huff and a giggle, a simple sip of my wine.
"Spritzers."

He had something here.

A little over a year ago, I wouldn't have dreamed of having a glass of wine on a delightful snowy evening. Four years ago, I wouldn't have dreamed of only have one. 

We love extremes, we love severity, we love obsession. Whether it's the BIGGEST Loser or Little People, we live in a world of excess highs and lows.  Shows on addiction, crazy brides, and teens poppin' out twins, our society lives for it all...anything besides simplicity.  A complete disregard to moderation. 

This naturally carries over to beliefs, thoughts, and practices with diet, food, and exercise. In my experience, there are two common points of view: food as reward and food as punishment.  
Whether it was in a college basement bar or among bodybuilders at a competition, many of these individuals hold the same frame of mind.  One or the other. A or B. Yay or Nay.

After seriously plunging into both (hello Franzia and Ellio's pizza....hola deprivation and denial), I have found the most meaningful, the most satisfying, and ultimately, the most MANAGEABLE outlook comes from a completely different philosophy-

Food as nourishment. 

(To be perfectly honest, that sounds like something that would typically receive a head nod, eye roll, and brush-off from me.  The title of an article in Yogi's Health I would bypass.  The topic of a seminar in India.  But I'll break it down in a way I learned to appreciate).

When you look up "Nourishment" in the thesaurus you find words like encouragement, ammunition, propellant, advantage, kindness, and support.  
Food as nourishment can mean a LOT of things.
Food as fuel.
Food as fun.
Food as a necessity.
Food as a delight.
Food as a requirement.
Food as energy.
Food as experience.

None of these words or thoughts view food as a prize or food as discipline.

Nourishment can mean a glass of wine.  It can mean a bowl of rice.  It can mean a walk on the beach on a warm summer night.  It can mean a twist of lemon in a glistening glass.  It can mean an apple, pear, or banana.  It can mean a toast of champagne. It can mean anything that fuels your body or fuels your soul.

Many things about extremity feel good.  A gallon of ice cream feels good at the time but can give a doozy of a bellyache.  A strict, clean diet of broccoli and chicken feels disciplined and quite badass but can give troubles in consistency and sustainability.  

The balance of basic GOODNESS for the body and mind is how I've been able to appreciate this quaint term and this simple perspective.  Goodness isn't reckless nights at a bar because it tolls on the body in more ways than a headache the next day.  Goodness isn't ice cream, pizza, and candy everyday because that typically leads to factors that influence self-esteem.  Goodness isn't zero carb meals for days on end.  

Nourishment, goodness, and admiration for the body and mind is a simple lifestyle rid of extremes. 
It's hard to attain but even harder to lose.
It's gratitude and delight.
It's movement and mobility.

It can be a snowy, cozy evening in the winter.  It can be a glass of wine, a silly boyfriend, a soft candle burning, and thoughts, prose, and passion desired to be shared.

Peanut Butter Praises.

It has come to my attention that my love of peanut butter is pretty well known.

Like some may post pictures, quotes and stories about sports, love and politics, I happen to enjoy showcasing my passion for peanuts.

(...and almond butter, peanut butter's dapper cousin).

I don't think this affection is unwarranted.  What other food do all normal, wonderful human beings enjoy so consistently across the masses?  Pizza? Nay. Nachos? Oi. Popcorn? I could eat 5 bags.

It's a deserving spread, one that is nutrient dense and dependable.  One that doesn't falter with time nor surprise you with displeasure.  It's nature's nut pulverized into a magical concoction that all palates praise. George Washington Carver, the inventor of the beautiful butter, is a hero to many, to mouths worldwide.  I picture angels flying softly around his head as he churned that bad boy into bliss.

Thank you good Sir.

In all seriousness, I think it's a delightful dish for a number of reasons, divine intervention aside.

It's packed with fiber. It's satiating. It's versatile. It gets along well with others. It's a source of potassium, protein and healthy fat. You can have it in the morning, at lunch, at night and in the refrigerator door.  It can travel.  It's got magnesium and Vitamin E. It fits easily on a knife, spoon, fork or finger.  It doesn't ask for much and it gives a whole lot back.

I could go on but I think we arrived at the obvious destination a while ago.

I like peanut butter for the same reasons I like life
Sometimes it's smooth
Sometimes it's chunky and raw

At the end of the day, it's all good.

Weight What?

About a month ago I was cleaning the bathroom and noticed a solid build up of dust on our scale.  I treated the silver metal menace with the care of 2 Clorox wipes and promptly shoved it back in the corner where it belonged.

This 12x15in square has been both a friend and foe to me for years.  Days have been MADE and hours of frustration have been lost over this little electronic gremlin.  During my younger years (we're talkin' early 20s) (oh JEEZ I now have the opportunity to talk about different parts of my 20s...) I would let this number actually configure my day.  Lower number? Good Lord, it was skips and celebration.  Higher number? Off to the gym for 8 miles on the treadmill with saltines to follow.

My activities were literally altered by what appeared on this meager little screen.  Digits of delight or despair.  Symbols of surprise or sorrow.
As I became more knowledgeable on fitness, health, and wellness, I realized my viewpoint was skewed.  See now I wouldn't let my eating habits or exercise regimen change based on a number...no, no I was HEALTHY and strong.  
So, like the healthy weight lifting gal I was, just let my self-esteem, emotions and morale be affected.

Oh good.

As I began my involvement in Bikini competitions, I let that silver gremlin take my hand once again.  For the most part, we went down a road that was pretty darn great.  Being in prep mode for almost a year with breaks of a few weeks for an "off season" enabled me to maintain a number I was pleased with.  When in prep, and that damn number was decreasing, I was psyched.

My last competition was in October 2012 and after the show, I made the decision to take a legitimate off season, one that would improve my life, my career, my health, and my longevity.  

As someone once told me, the important stuff.

I quickly realized the gremlin and I would have to part ways for a while.  Not that those silly digits were changing in drastic ways, but it was preventing me from the change in mentality my body and mind were so desperately craving.

In the corner he went and the dust ensued. What came out of the darkness however, was a new found appreciation for the elements of progress that actually...mark progress.

Energy. The curve of a deltoid. Shiny hair. A bangin' bottom. The sensation of a strong, toned body. Good cholesterol levels. Headaches decreasing. Interests blossoming to more than a perfect spray tan and acrylic nails. Craving vegetables. Clear skin. A promotion. Deeper squats. Tight waist. Good posture. 
I could go on, and on, and

These are small, sometimes silly, more so sincere, things that were on the back burner when I was focused on a statistic.

I'd like to bear in mind that tracking weight can be extremely motivating for those on a long journey.  It can be one instrumental marker in their quest for wellness.  I would never want to take away the significance of those who have lost "x" amount of weight because it usually means their well-being improved in the process as well. And kudos to that.  

What it may do for some healthy, fitness minded individuals however, is become a marker of false development and a deterrent for concrete improvement in overall wellness and  legitimate success.

It is a digit, followed by a digit...and if you're a typical human adult, another digit.
Three numbers. 

Three numbers that do not tell you who you are, your value, or how strong your mind, soul, and body really are.  The moment this marker of progress becomes a gremlin is the moment you owe it to yourself to place him in the corner. 
Take it out if and when you're ready, but always remember true progress is not measured by a numeric value, but by a life worth living...by passion, strength, laughter, and love.

Pursuit of Happiness? Finding Pleasure in the Paradox

I’m usually smiling.

I usually post comical, motivational and encouraging posts, photos, and stories.

I’m usually happy.

Except when I’m not.

Some moments I cry, some moments I cringe, and the worst are moments of indifference.  The moments when I just don’t care nor ponder the ‘whys’ of life that I love to entertain.  I used to be ashamed and slightly embarrassed to admit fatigue or discontent, believing happiness was my identity.  Instead of basking in a human emotion, I attempted to hold it down until it was suffocated, until the moment passed.

I think that this perception is pretty darn common and I’m not the only smile that feels the pressure to be happy.  

Especially lately, I've seen numerous articles on the topic-

“The Top 10 Practices of Happy People” 

“25 Things I Wish I had Known when I was 25” 

"The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People"

etc…etc..

At first I gobbled it up, “yes, YES, I get it! Thank you Buzzfeed, kudos Upworthy, I am grateful, I am happy, you’re right!”

:smile, sigh, keep browsing:

goodness gracious.

I would self-reflect: how is it possible that I would feel an ounce of dissatisfaction? I eat well, exercise, and am an intelligent individual with a bright future (knock on that mahogany).  During moments of ashamed unhappiness or days that lacked motivation I would feel pressure from myself, from other upbeat pony-tailed girls, and social media outlets that made being unhappy seem WRONG.

Until it dawned on me that these are feelings that can occur just as easily and frequently as joy, love, bliss, and sadness.  It’s as part of being a human as breathing, walking, and sleeping.  The pressure to ALWAYS BE HAPPY was in turn, making me miss out on a very real emotion and bringing me down even further in the process...of being down.

I know this isn't a novel concept but it may be a notion difficult to digest for the Nike wearing, broccoli eating, ecard posting gal.  In an era where happiness is not only a right but an expectation, the pressure can in fact, work against the goal. 

Bear in mind, I absolutely believe in the spirit of the mind and I AM usually quite chipper.  Yes of course good sleep, quality nutrients, water and solid relationships can all aid in this emotional endeavor.  

But what else helps?

The occasional cry, a sporadic lazy day, and even a “ughhhdflkj;dfg!!” that may erupt at 5am on a Monday morning.  It happens and THAT’S OKAY. 

Enjoy the laughter and appreciate the tears, it’s the culmination of these special actions that make being a human so damn extraordinary. 

In the midst of making sure we’re enjoying this nutty rollercoaster of life, we often miss the ride. Hop on and put those hands up...for us lucky ones, it aint over yet.

Life gives lemons- squeeze and drink that juice in stride.

This is a bit of a long one so grab the vino or sparkling water and pop a squat.  In the past few entries I've mentioned my experience of dealing with back pain and was without any kind of answer until very recently.  So, with words that are hopefully perceived as nothing but humble, I want to share some of the journey.

I took the photo below about a month ago and about 6 hours after I found out I had a chronic disease that can not be cured with latest science.  (That sounds incredibly dramatic but since I'm newly engrossed in the series, Homeland, I enjoy a climactic tone).

Allow me to explain:
Earlier that day I had spoken with my doctor who informed me that my blood work came back with some interesting results. Firstly, (she said energetically) my cholesterol levels were outstanding with a Total level at 141. Fabulous! 

Secondly (she said hesitantly) I tested positive for the most accurate (but not final) blood test for ankylosing spondylitis, an inflammatory disease that can cause some of the vertebrae in the spine to fuse together.  Delightful.

At my preliminary appointment she had ordered this test to "rule it out" and asked me if I had heard of it.  Why yes, I laughed and said I had on Jam'n 94.5.  The commercial, an awareness message of the disease and heard on numerous radio stations, features an unnecessary creepy male voice that should be on a preview for a horror movie. So yes, I had heard of it and was happy to cross it off the list of possible causes for my back pain.

Ohhh life, you funny broad...you got me.

As first my reaction was one of hyperventilating on the phone to my very level-headed boyfriend.  Then of course, SOBBING to my understanding mother.  Many tears and a blubbering, snoze-covered face later, I realized how blessed I was and the positivity has turned the pain over 10 fold.

A few things happen when you're told you're likely to have a condition that cannot be cured (from my, personal, very limited experience).
  
1. You deal with it.  Life goes on and work must be tended to.  Chicken must be cooked and bananas must be bought.  The man at the gas station has no idea you were just given information that shattered your somewhat premature mind.  You do your laundry because you can't go commando...again.  You roll with it because life doesn't allow you to do otherwise.

2. You discover relief.  The unknown is a relentless scare.  Not knowing what was causing this pain was, I think, half the discomfort.

3. You realize, how damn lucky you are.  So it's arthritis that I will have forever.  I am not dealing with the many diseases that plague and hinder the world.  I am not visiting a doctor in the fight for my life, I am visiting a doctor in the fight for my COMFORT...how lucky am I to live in a place where my genuine comfort is essential.

4. You discover the power of positive psychology and the undeniable mind body connection.  This power will amaze me for the rest of my life.  Once I met with my doctor and she informed me that not only is an active lifestyle of weight lifting and cardio-based movement okay, it's prescribed, it felt like my body had been given permission to feel better.  Once the mind is given information and the mentality changes with it, the body can adjust as well.  When I worked out and felt discomfort, it wasn't as painful knowing I couldn't further hinder my body.

The combination of these realizations have produced some incredible results I didn't think possible only weeks prior.  The choice to accept, to give gratitude and not spite, to physically move and not surrender, was not a hard one.  I am lucky enough to have an innately positive mind and this happened to be a test not only for my consciousness, but my physical body as well.  To my surprise and amazement, the two worked in a seamless unit like a freaking tandem bicycle.  The pain has been accepted and pushed and my body hasn't felt this healthy in 8 months.

The pain is certainly still present and in a way I hope it always is.  On good days when I'm able to workout I literally lift and GRIN from the genuine joy of movement.  The appreciation of action is not sincere until it's taken away.  On hard days when the pain is too strong, I revel in the other characteristics that make me, ME...not just counting on my disciplined workouts for proof of what I offer as a human being.  

The body will always amaze me and the mind always has.  To experience the power of the two working together in the way that I have is a lesson I thank my lucky stars for.  

After the tears were brushed off and the snoze-covered face cleaned, what was left was me.  An eager smile ready for the next step... and thankful for the ability to take it.