Birthday

Well, it is my last evening as a 27-year old, and I must say, I never thought I would be closing the book to a year quite like this one. Having just arrived home from a movie with my husband on the heels of an Easter lunch with girlfriends (and pup), the day after a second out-of-town show with our band, I find my heart feels pretty fulfilled.

Birthdays are a great source of fear for a lot of us, and for me it was always that I wasn't where I wanted to be by the time that number came up, or that the optimistic 17-year old me was let down. This year was so full of both beginnings and endings, that 17-year old Stephanie finally learned the lesson she had been neglecting all along. 

I used to live fearlessly for myself, getting high off my own adventures and random activities that never got me into trouble, but rather distanced me from those I kept close. I always wanted the craziest story to tell. To be the one on Monday with the biggest news and most exciting "only-in-the-movies-but-I-made-it-happen" moments. Then I would lie awake at night feeling empty and lost, wondering why everyone but me seemed so happy. This past year, and the years leading up to it, I learned the importance of truly reaching out and saying hello...the magic behind telling someone how awesome I think they are and that I want to be around them more.

I learned to live fearlessly for others in my life. To courageously look someone in the eye and tell them the truth. To say "I missed you," or "I'm sorry," or, "you look amazing today."

I learned that while I love having a partner in crime, I am a much better half when I can bring more of me to the table. 

I learned that others are just as afraid as I am of real moments. And that laughter can really get you through anything.

I learned that its okay to not know how to be a domestic goddess. I truly have no idea what it means to be a wife. All I know is I am a damn lucky woman to have the most optimistic and energetic man by my side every day.

I learned that not everyone wants advice. Sometimes they just want the same smile I give to the people in my classes every day.

I learned that sometimes, going to a mental place of euphoria in order to get through an hour or two is okay - and that some people might even be right there with you.

I learned that love is so much more than romance, and that its many forms may be hard to understand at first, but patience can guide to understanding some time down the road. I also learned it's okay to not know where that road leads.

I learned that this list might mean nothing next year, as I reflect on 28. That's okay, too.

And I learned that no day is guaranteed. I hate saying goodbye and often avoid it because it makes me feel sad. After losing my mother-in-law before she got to dance at our wedding, the realization that we NEVER know when we will hug someone for the last time hit hard.

So I tried to hit life back this year.

And if I had 28 ways to say thank you to the family and friends (new and old) that have all been a part of so much, I would send magical owls with letters to each and every one of you containing letters of endless love.

Now if only I could get my edge back...... ;)

http://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=kp&v=5RAQXg0IdfI

100 Miles In March

At the beginning of the month, I noticed a hashtag on Twitter supporting the idea to run 100 miles in March. Considering I was putting in around 20 recreational miles per week already, it seemed a good goal to start tracking.

Even though my job consists of helping others set and achieve goals, rarely to I set something for myself that can't be done in one day. Sure, I'll think to myself "Every morning, I will eat a balanced breakfast with egg and spinach," but I never chronicled anything. By me knowing that others set out on this goal, and that I had publicly announced my plan, I felt that much more compelled to stay on track and to squeeze in miles whenever possible.

The boundaries that I set were:

1.) None of my classes can count.

2.) None of my walks with Charlie count.

3.) Footsteps to and from the train do not count.

4.) All miles must be running or power walking at incline greater than 3.5%.

Not only did I surpass 100 miles before the 31st of the month, I kept going until I hit 115 today. Why? Because it didn't kill me. It felt fun. And I learned that next time, the bar can be set a little bit higher.

Something else I realized though, was I did much more than run this month. Looking back through my progress tweets, I noticed my happy disposition with all the challenges and adventures that took place this month.

We celebrated my nephew's birthday.

I choreographed 4 new songs to great reviews.

Charlie had to go to the vet for a bad ear infection.

We got to spend an afternoon with a friend visiting from afar.

Don't Speak added some new songs to our old set lists.

We played two very solid shows.

I made my first visit to Cleveland; happily it was with my band mates, and we got to play House of Blues.

I fell more in love with my husband, who makes me laugh.

We attended a beautiful soirée at the home of a friend, who reminded me how easy it is to just be a friend.

I was part of the opening team for CAC's newest location and rocked 6 new classes!

We attended the wedding of 2 very lovely people (I thought I would escape without crying, but then I started to say goodbye)!

The band put together even more new songs.

We got to be a big part of an all-day video shoot for Ryan Powers and the Secret Weapons.

https://vine.co/v/MezgBjJ7vel

The SUN came out!!

We hosted a dinner night of our own, and were reminded yet again of the beautiful people we have grown fortunate enough to count as friends over the past two years.

While smashing a goal has made me feel that much more excited to set and achieve a new one, I realized something I did not expect this month. There is so much more to the journey than the mile markers themselves; there are the people and the moments that take every step with you.

Editor's note: This post written from treadmill between classes ;)

Painting a Black Canvas (or read at your own discretion)

I am a child of cancer.

I am an angry child of cancer.

You could say I am a survivor of one of the disease's victims, but that is not true.

I might not be sick, but I am not a survivor because I have not let go of all of the anger and rage I carry every day.

Every day I wonder why we didn't get a second opinion.

Every day I think she might call.

Every day, I hear her cough and feel my heart break with each breath.

Every day, I push people further away for fear they might find out just how mad I am.

I am mad.

I am jealous. Jealous of everyone who gets to talk to their mom on the phone, or take shopping trips over the weekend. I'm jealous about every milestone everyone else gets to experience with their mothers by their side and I do not.

I am afraid. Afraid that if I don't write this, I may never write again. Afraid that people will look at me and think, "that's the girl without a mom. That's the girl who lost her mom to lung cancer." 

I'm afraid that I am next.

I'm afraid that if I don't laugh enough today or fill every moment with people around me, that tomorrow could be too lonely.

I'm afraid to leave. 

Afraid to care.

I am afraid my own voice cold be my undoing.

Cancer makes me feel alone. Cancer is like a black canvas that will not accept any color.

Cancer is why I run; although I don't know if I'm running to or from something. 

Cancer has consumed my mind and made me sad. 

It has left a husband without his wife.

It has left two daughters without their mother. 

A dog without his rescuer.

A mother without her child.

A sister and brother without their eldest sibling.

It gave a father the courage to let go.

Yet I still have not come to accept the fact that she is not going to show up at my door some day. Or greet me after a show with tears in her eyes. She thought I never noticed but I always did. 

Maybe that's why I cry now, because I have no one left to cry for me.

Here's to you, Mommy, for always encouraging me to use my voice and to never stop reading and writing. 

And here is to me moving on after writing this. Because honestly, any other time I sat down to write, I had to wear a mask. 

Let's Sweat Together, Yeah Yeah, Yeah

Running has been and remains my way of connecting to myself through a challenge. When 5 miles became easier, I ran 6. When 6 miles got easier, I tried to run faster. Sometimes I'd run 8. Sometimes, I would split up my miles, and run 3.5 then quickly go do 3 sets of burpees with a superset of curls/shoulder presses before finishing another 3.5 miles as fast as I could. Then there would be days I'd get on the treadmill and hate it. So I'd jump off and do intervals on the stairs. Sometimes, I hated the treadmill for weeks. 

The past month has felt great in my running shoes. So great that I feel more like myself and ready to take charge of the day once those 6 miles have been absorbed in my blood. So much so, that this doesn't feel like a workout anymore, but rather what I do. 

Does running make me Me?

Have I become a slave to the weekly mileage log?

I don't think so. Because as soon as I recognized that running was my way of having fun with my free time, I looked for a new challenge that would keep my body changing and progressing. 

Enter Bikram Yoga.

I walked out of Bikram NYC nine years ago and never went back. The balancing frustrated me. The postures that I had to conform to always won the battle and made me feel like a loser. A fat loser. My roommate at the time, of course, loved it so much that she went on to continue her training and become certified to teach. Nine years later, she's still at it. 

Enter my husband. A strong man with an even stronger mind. Someone who loves challenges as much as me - but probably doesn't need to run more than 2 miles at a time. We like to be active together, but since both of our jobs consist of running around the city sweating, we usually end up as blobs in the bed, barely able to say goodnight through our exhaustion.

So I signed us up for an amazingly priced deal at 105F studios. As many classes as one can take in one month for one price. If you take 3 classes, the fee is worth it. So I committed myself to 20 classes this month. No matter what, I WILL go 20 times. I will conquer my old mindset, hold accept the postures that were once the bain of my existence, and DO this.

A few evenings ago, we went to our first class. We were welcomed warmly as soon as we entered, and all nervousness over yoga snobs and being in a new environment subsided. At first the hot room felt great. My husband, being outside for most of his days in Chicago's recent subzero temperatures, greatly appreciated this retreat. It was nice to watch him smile and see a lot of tension melt away.

The balancing postures that I once loathed actually weren't that difficult to hold. I didn't feel fat anymore. I didn't feel like a loser.

I felt beautiful. 

Amidst my sweat (and tears), I felt beautiful.

The first shavasana (dead man's) pose brought tears to my eyes. 9 years later, I had finally done it. My body was healthy. My mind was focused. My stomach was no longer in the way. 

And my husband was next to me. Suffering through this hot, HOT room because he knew how much it meant to me. 

The remainder of class consisted of postures on the floor, which I remembered liking a bit more. It is amazing how much the body can store and recall. The heart rate intervals through bow pose and camel almost felt good - because of my fitness knowledge on the benefit of interval training. There in those moments, I was taking care of ME for the first time in quite awhile. Nothing else mattered. The rest of the world had melted away. I was connected to my mind and body again without being afraid of the outcome. I was safe.

So I went again the next day. This time solo. I wanted my body to know that the night before had not been an accident, and that we were really in this new challenge. I had the same feeling of accomplishment at the end - albeit different moments throughout the class where I felt like quitting or taking a break. 

In the end, it is only a hour and a half of the day. What you do with that hour and a half can possibly make the remaining 22.5 hours even more fulfilling.

Day 3 of my self-imposed challenge is scheduled for tonight at 8.

How do you stay challenged? Is there something you are afraid to try?


Also, here is the song that inspired the title to this post : http://youtu.be/1sWi4_0jycA

One Step at a Time

I am not a domestic goddess. 

I am not a regular goddess.

I am not vegan.

I am addicted to sugar.

M&Ms, cookies, banana smoothies, Cadbury, etc. You name it, and I'll gladly run 6 or more miles to justify giving in to the craving.

The problem is, no matter how many miles I run, nothing can undo what sugar does to my blood and hormones. I have been noticing this difference over the past year as I am not a 22 year-old with a metabolism of gold anymore. My body has pretty well adapted to running, cross training, cardio dance, BOSU craziness, et al, because of my job. I could spend 5 hours in the gym or 2 hours in the gym and would never see a difference beyond dehydration. A respected co-instructor said, "Why not revisit your nutritional intake instead of burning out your body and obtaining overuse injuries?"

Thank you, Laura, for telling me what deep down I already knew. 

The past few days were dedicated to eating only smoothies so I could refocus my mind and energy. A trip to Mariano's and a visit to the recipe section of navitasnaturals.com followed, because I realized I simply cannot continue on smoothies alone. I chose this site, because Kelly Olexa of fitfluential instagramed a smoothie with this Chia Powder, and raved about the thick texture it achieves and the nutrients it packs. Naturally, I bought that and a few other odd items I'd never heard of, and researched ways to incorporate them into my new low-glycemic mindset in the kitchen.

Who knew you could bake cookies without flour, sugar, eggs, or chocolate chips??

 They didn't turn out perfectly, but they did turn out yummiliscious. Plus, the richness lent itself to a moderate serving of just two.

Do you incorporate coconut oil? Maca root? Cacao powder? What are some of your favorite ways to use them?

A Romantic's Take on the Anti-Valentine

I have never been a huge fan of Valentine's Day.

Sure, I have memories of Valentine's Days past, when my dad gave me jewelry or when my mom taught me how to make lobster tails.

But I never have been a fan of the whole world telling me when to make a huge deal out of telling someone how much I love him. Or transversely, laying the pressure on that special someone so they go overboard making plans to impress me. I don't want just a day. I want a whole lifetime of love. 

Enter my husband. The sweetest, most lovey-dovey guy I have ever met. I love the way his face lights up when he comes home from his early morning gig and sees a yummy plate of French toast. I love the way he waits to pick me up from later classes so that I don't have to go home alone in the dark. Or the times we randomly decide to go out to a fancy dinner, dressed up so much that people ask what the special occasion might be. And the simple Sunday afternoons when we take the dog on a long stroll, and he lets me loop my arm through his. The whispered phrase "I love you" makes me feel more special than any Cupid-driven display in my past life.

One day is simply not enough to show that a relationship is special or worthwhile. Especially the day everyone else is doing the same darn thing. Save the roses and candlelight, this year we're grabbing our friends and sharing the love on another adventure.

"You have to take a look backwards in order to go forward!" --Betsey JohnsonXox

I am the least fashionable person I know, so titling this post with a quote from Betsey Johnson may seem odd; but her persona and energy are electric, and her business savvy is inspiration no matter the field. Plus, it's true (and this dress is super cute). We must learn from our past to better our future. So I took a look back at a post I wrote 5 years ago that commemorated my 6th Mensiversary as a Chicago resident.


As of yesterday, I have lived in Chicago for 6 months. Though I feel a little disappointed in myself, and I'm more broke than I have ever been, I am taking a good friend's advice and counting my accomplishments thus far.

#1 - Equinox Group Fitness Instructor (step aerobics, Evolution, cardio junkie/cardio blitz). Still not teaching enough permanent classes to receive health insurance, but covering for enough instructors to have the members requesting my name on their schedules more often.

#2 - Wicked audition

#3 - Jersey Boys singers call followed by the next day dance call.

#4 - Performing at Double Door

#5 - Getting into the Midnight Shows and lining up gigs

#6 - I don't know. I can't think of a #6. Possibly the fact that I'm still alive? I didn't move away to New York when things got hard? I'm almost done combing through my musical for the last time?


Six Things I want to have accomplished:

#1 - Have lined up a theatre company or space in which to produce Something New: A Musical Dramedy

#2 - Play gigs more than once every other month.

#3 - Pay off my credit card

#4 - Get cast in a show (I will not refer to myself as The Callback Girl ANYMORE)

#5 - Finish recording an EP with Adam

#6 - Get cast in another show



**
**
**

Flash forward to today, where I now have been a Chicago resident for 5 years and 6 months.

I've lived in 6 apartments.

That credit card is paid off. 

I have played many more than 1 show every other month (Feb 2012 we hit 5 times).

Currently developing new music and exploring a new sound outside of our covers. 

The Midnight Shows doesn't exist anymore, but the creator of that group has moved on to bigger and better things, and it has been enjoyable to watch The Dead On achieve great momentum.

I work enough to not have to worry about money, and believe I have the best job in the world for me. 

I don't really worry about being cast in shows, because I feel as though I have a performance every day. What drew me to performing in the first place was the fact that a group of people could all transcend along the same energy to another mental space and time where nothing else mattered. This is what I have the pleasure of doing multiple times every day, and see that it really helps people.

I also don't worry about auditions anymore, because of the creation of a project where we get to call the shots. Thanks to the guys who allow me to make music with them every day, I feel fulfilled.



Another thing I did notice about that old list was that it was full of loneliness and want. I've learned so much more about the human condition in the past 5 years, and part of that is the acceptance that we will always feel lonely. It is more about strengthening and adding depth to the bonds around us so that in moments of loneliness, we do not feel absolutely destitute. That list was devoid of all aspects that make life accomplishments more enjoyable, and if anything has changed about me in the past 5 years, it is that I'm not afraid to make known how much I love having someone in my life. I have not been afraid to express how much I appreciate the presence and hard work of friends who have stuck by, or the new ones who were brave enough not to hit the ground running when I may have hugged to tight.

Taking a look back to read that last paragraph, I fear it makes me appear needy and it almost got deleted. But alas, those are only words, after all. And as my tattoo states, we must be "louder than words."

Fun In Unsuspecting Places

Only when all expectations are dropped and judgements set aside can we truly open up and let the laughter flow.

Too often, we are consumed by setting plans that have to be a certain way, or setting a bar too high that the struggle seems never ending. It isn't until I drop all preconceived notions and self-ridicule that I find myself finally amidst the laughter instead of surrounded by it.

A (non)Valiant Return

At long last, this little girl has returned to write another day.

What took so long, I ask myself?

Fear.
I silenced myself for fear of the honesty that would leak from my veins onto the interwebs, and in turn, let the very people who "don't know me" actually know me.
Fear of not being funny enough and therefore boring anyone who stumbled upon my musings.
Fear of not taking or finding the right photos to accompany my words.
Fear that my anger would spill out.
Fear of how my love would be perceived.
Fear of getting fat.

Procrastination.
I have read countless "Top 20 Reasons You're A _____ Girl" lists and countless fitness articles and blogs. The ideas I had on all of them could have been shared, sure....but then again my fear of vulnerability was at stake. And if I wrote, I might miss the latest episode of Revenge or Chicago Fire . Did Charlie need a walk? Was the workout plan for next Tuesday completed? Did we have the seating chart for the wedding complete?

Simply put - I willingly let my own life get in the way.

I'm smiling now, because it is not a bad life to allow to get in one's way. The man who showed me the real Chicago is now my husband, and as I shared above, we have the cutest Shar Pei. I am still singing, thanks to Don't Speak: A No Doubt Tribute. And finally, I believe I have made the friends I was searching for all along. Still, I spend countless hours wondering what the hell I'm doing and where the hell I'm going and if I'm even still going anywhere.

Perhaps the theme of this blog has changed, but after perusing some of my old posts and getting nostalgically entertained, I've elected to keep it.

It is bleak (read: cold as f*ck) after all.

Learning New Terms: "Butt Rock"

After as interesting a conversation as one can imagine between a boyfriend and girlfriend concerning music, the term "butt rock" arose. Boyfriend mentions it as casually as ever while describing a band Girlfriend has brought to attention. Girlfriend hears the term, almost dismisses it, and, between mounds of laughter, screams "BUTT ROCK??!!" Boyfriend is shocked that Girlfriend has not heard aforementioned term, and proceeds to find her a definition.
This is what he found on urbandictionary.com:A kind of music popular amoung tweens esp. in the midwest and is usualy found in the alternative rock section of a music store. Butt rock bands usualy have perdictable percusion break downs, simple bass lines, simple gutar riffs and overly emotional/ semi romantic lyrics. The trade mark of butt rock is the straind vocals that make the sinnger sound like he is constipated. This is where "butt" rock gets its name. Examples include: Hinder, Creed, Matchbox 20, three doors down, avenge seven fold, ect. Its is possable for a band to resemble butt rock but not actualy be butt rock. I.E. staind, coldplay, foo fighters.

Meanwhile, Girlfriend is still rolling on the floor laughing amidst the wonderment that, what if the people who like "butt rock" don't know the term because their affinity for it creates an ignorance and immunity against it? Boyfriend knew the term. Boyfriend has a great taste in music. Girlfriend did not know the term. Aside from academic music, Girlfriend knows nothing about rock definitions outside of Aerosmith's biography and a fondness for drums.
So a day later, Girlfriend went on a search to more properly define the term in hopes of defending a type of music. What she found was another similar case of an ignorant, butt-rock lover faced with a non-butt-rock-believer that used the term to slam the music.

The following are exerpts from his post that Girlfriend found to be believable, true, and not in any way insulting to a form of music that she finds most appropriate as the soundtrack to a fast ride down Lake Shore Drive with all windows down and sun roof open.

"I spent a little time trying to find a way to define Butt-Rock so that I could wield it as an insult without worrying (or perhaps knowing when to worry) about having it turned back on me. One caveat: this definition is based mostly on me scratching my head, not looking around at how the term is used. I'm sure that I'm not entirely off the mark, but I doubt everyone will buy into what I have to say.

• Condition 1: music must be testosterone-driven.
• Condition 2: music must be rockin'.
• Condition 3: music must take itself seriously (especially its own testosterone).

By way of clarification and defense, here are some examples of bands that I take to meet or not meet these conditions:

• Type O Negative. Conditions 1 and 2 are nicely fulfilled, but condition 3 is not. If the scope of the tongue-in-cheek-ness is equal to or greater than the scope of the testosterone, not Butt-Rock.
• Korn and that other 'nu' metal. Certainly condition 1 and condition 3 (though there are perhaps some condition 3 exceptions). Condition 2 is more variable. I'm generally no 'nu' metal fan, but I'd only call some of it Butt-Rock.
• Hair metal. Hole in one. I think that some people take Hair Metal and Butt-Rock to be the same thing, but I feel that Butt-Rock is a broader notion. For example, I don't think Pantera entirely left their Butt-Rockness behind from 'Cowboys' onward (something I say with much respect for an exceptional set of musicians - RIP Dimebag).
• Country-western. Especially truck-inspired. 1 and 3, but not 2. Much of this music reminds me of things like butts, but there is no Butt-Rock without the rock.

So is any of the music I like Butt-Rock, by these conditions? The songs about macho cars settle it. But then why do I still bristle at the thought of anyone calling Sepultura Butt-Rock? I think this is because with White Zombie, there is some awareness of the Butt-Rockin', but this awareness just moves them to rock that much harder (as they say).

"Music to sit around drinking cheap American beer and watching Nascar with...or putting your fist through a wall. So calling them Butt-Rock suggests that they've failed in trying to make a certain type of music."

Why is this music called 'Butt Rock'? The 'rock' comes from the definition, but what about the 'butt'? Well, in the 80's, the leaders of what I call Butt Rock wore outfits that, among another things, allowed one to know almost every contour of their butts. But but but, you say, not all instances of music that fit the above characterization are played by people with butt-pants. Some cases' get-ups even leave it up in the air whether or not the musicians have butts at all. Well, it looks like this is a matter of the 'butt' being part of a reference-fixing description that itself turned into something that works in a way similar to natural kind terms like 'quicksilver' (which isn't silver in the original sense). Or something like that."

Thank you to the author at http://homepages.nyu.edu/~crm281/butt.html for the outstanding post.

Now do me a favor and turn to the person next to you and say "Butt Rock" in a serious tone.

;-)