Heading Back to Tahoe

This blog was started 9 months ago when I was headed to my first retreat in Lake Tahoe with my Life coach Brooke Castillo.

Just 9 months later I have lost a total of 60 lbs. and gained more physical and emotional strength than I could quantify. I head back to Lake Tahoe in a few days and I'm looking forward to the emotional deluge of spending time with Brooke and the other women to peel back the layers of my onion.

I'll be blogging my experiences all back here so stay tuned for some intense "Retreat" posts. I'm really looking forward to this year's adventure and I'm glad to have you along for the ride!

I am a....Dragon Slayer

In an earlier session, Brooke asked us to complete the sentence, I am a.... I said Powerful Woman. But I did one better today. I am definitely a Dragon Slayer. I've done some slaying this week and there is more to come. In today's session we broke into small groups, made promises to ourselves, and a plan to work with the group to keep us accountable. Here's mine:

Starting today I promise myself that by the end of the year, I'll be exercising - as a gift to myself - on a regular basis. I defined regular basis as 4 times a week for 60 minutes or 6 times a week for 30 minutes. I asked the group to hold me accountable by receiving emails about my exercise for the week which will include my thoughts (and associated turn arounds) about exercising. I've asked the girls in my group: M*, T*, K*, and L* to point out when they think I am acting like a taker and not giving myself the gift of exercise.

Now here is the kicker.... we did an "or else". So, if I don't meet this goal, if I don't CHOOSE to give myself the gift of regular exercise by 8/8/08, I have made a promise to make a $1,000 contribution to an ANTI-CHOICE organization and present the receipt from the donation to the entire group from this week's retreat. Awful, huh? You better believe I will be getting my ass to the gym!

Some of the other consequences from women in my group were: writing a 10 page, footnoted research paper on emotional eating; copying, by hand, 50 pages of Brooke's book selected by the women in our group, having Brooke post a picture of the woman in a bikini one size too small on Brooke's website, and doing a 10-page scrapbook with pictures and stickers galore on how the woman is a caring person. Each consequence was especially hard for the woman assigned to it. For instance, there is no way I could have gotten away with writing a 10 page research paper, you all know I would love that too much.

The name of my small group by the way? The Dragon Slayers.

I'm a Taker. Who knew?!

Last night Lisa (a.k.a. "Skinny Bitch") came over for a glass of wine. We talked about my feelings about exercise and what I said to her was that as per Brooke's advice, I gave up exercising to lose weight. I went into exercise looking to feel good. But when I exercised, I didn't feel good. I felt bad. The thought was: Exercise is punishment. And my feelings were feeling physically bad or in pain. And so therefore, why exercise, right? So when I can't the thought to Exercise should make me feel good. My feeling was disappointment because I DIDN'T feel good. Exercise was letting me down.

What do you notice about this?? I've invested exercise with the power to let me down! Of course exercise can't let me down. No more than a scale or a mirror can be mean. I can't personify exercise and expect anything but a set up for failure.

Lisa picked this up right away. "So you're a taker with exercise. Have you read Brooke's book?"

See, I KNEW she was a bitch. Quickly I moved into searching for evidence mode. Yes I read Brooke's book. I wasn't a "taker." TAKERS are people who exercise and expect to lose weight. I just wanted to feel good.

I went back to the book.... will it surprise you to learn that Lisa, BRILLIANTLY, figured me out. I am a taker about exercise. I read Brooke's chapter all wrong. Here's what she says:

"...I suggest that you don't use [exercise] as a tool to lose weight or see immediate results. (Ed: Like feeling good instantly. Oops, missed that.) I am asking you to make a huge shift from a taker to a giver. ... Many people "take" from exercise what they can get and this usually leads to not liking it and doing activities that are not enjoyable. I want you to use exercise as a way to give to yourself. The distinction is crucial, and it's not merely semantics. ... You will start giving yourself exercise (Ed: here's the part I missed the first time) without expecting anything in return."

The critical piece of information I missed was the word ANYTHING. I thought as long as I wasn't expecting weight loss I was fine. No such luck! I missed the turn around and just shifted from TAKING weight loss to TAKING feeling good. Neither works.

I've shifted from being a taker to a giver and a GIVER is someone who gives the gift of movement, health, strength, and time to themselves. A giver is someone who makes a statement that they are willing to care without regard to what they will get out of it in terms of losing weight or feeling good. I can give my body emotional and physical strength, I can empower myself by overcoming excuses, and I can show my body I know that it is worth my time and energy. Of course it is! Anything less would be selfish.

So goodbye taker and hello giver. After all, I was only robbing myself.

Just Say No to Story Fondling

I'm tired tonight. The walk today just kicked my ass and the thing that makes me feel crappy is that I am not basking in the glow of having worked out hard. I just feel like shit. I can barely remember the afternoon session but that could be because I was distracted. I was thinking about this miracle I performed once where I turned this nasty, horrible co-worker into a love machine just by changing my own thoughts. After the hike it occurred to me that I needed to perform the same miracle on myself in transforming my own self-love situation. I was excited about the fact that I know how to do transformation and confident I could do it.

But in true Brooke style the moment was not to be celebrated for too long. Because tonight we drilled one level down, to love of our spouse. Mercifully, I was not the test case for this evening's exercise. Instead it was this amazing woman M* who has two little girls (3, and 7) and a couch potato husband who is not good company and does not prioritize their family at all. I am sure he is a total loser and a jerk. This, however, was irrelevant to our Brooke.

M*'s question was: "Did I make a mistake marrying my husband?"

Oh girl, there were many of us asking the same question. And Brooke's answer is clear. No you didn't. And you know how we know? BECAUSE YOU MARRIED HIM. Ladies I'm here to tell you, stop arguing with your past and you solve a host of problems. So yes, M* did the right thing in marrying her DH (darling husband). But what now? Should she stay?

Brooke's answer: Don't leave him until you love him.

Confusing? Well here's how the logic goes. You don't love someone for them. It's not a favor. You love someone for you. Love is a generator. If they love you back it's just the gravy - that's not WHY you do it. And, Love is a verb. It's an action you take. A decision you make. You decide to love someone and then you do it. FOR YOURSELF. FULL STOP.

Trying to love someone for his sake is just story fondling. You miss the facts because you get so tied up in the story. So Brooke makes it simple. "Would you RATHER love him or not love him?"

All things being equal - would it feel better to love your husband? So many women in the class were quick to answer. I'd rather not love him and love someone else. Oh yeah? Who? These are YOUR issues he is bring up. Your opportunity to learn these lessons and stay or leave and learn the same lessons with someone else. The goal, says Brooke, is to love your husband and not have him change one thing.

Now, to be clear this doesn't mean you stay. It just means you love him - for YOU. And then, from that place, of total love and total compassion, you make the decision about whether to stay or go.

To help us get there, she's asked us to write a love letter to our husband. One rule, no story fondling. Here's mine.

Dear R*,

When we first met you were a breath of fresh air. And I mean that not in the cliche way, but truly everything about you was fresh, clean, untouched. I loved your innocence, your openness, and your curiosity. Mostly I loved and admired your wild sense of adventure and your passion to create adventure in your own life. And, to be honest, I loved that you brought that in my own life.

I appreciate this about you to this day, even when I try to control those things about you. You are a child of the wind. You go where the spirit blows you, and DAMN it blows you on some crazy journeys. I love how you dive into new subjects you care about and make them your own. I love your passion for new technology and your commitment to shaping a career for yourself that you are wildly in love with.

I'm sorry, that on a day-to-day basis I find it hard to appreciate all the wonderful things about you. I'm sorry, that in the midst of my story fondling I can't celebrate your carefree spirit easily and that I worry about money or other logistics.

You are my best friend. You know me better than anyone. And even though we drive each other crazy, I think we have so much to learn from each other in this unpredictable journey called life. I want us to be back on the road together. To share our adventure story, like Ram and Sita. I want to come out of the forest together both stronger, wiser, and more committed to a miraculous shared truth.

I love you - just the way you are,
Angela

I DO NOT WEAR SIZE 8 1/2 SNEAKERS!

And when is this fact important? When your weight loss coach takes you on a 3 hour hike in the sierra mountains. Monica Risam and I once marched from BUDA to PEST (yes they are two cities!) on our Great, Post-college Eastern European tour. Her (now annoying) childhood boyfriend took us on the most painful tour on the planet which, to this day, we call out Nazi Death Hike through Budapest. It was NOT fun. Much like today. I'd describe the hike but I can't stand to think about it. I am covered in dust and sweat, my hands are still swollen as I type, there is a cramp in my side, my ass hurts, my hips are killing me, my knees are throbbing, and best of all, my GODDAMN shoes were too small so my feet are killing me.

After the death march ...er.. um... hike, I went directly to the golf shop and said, "Pardon me. Do you have any size 9 sneakers? I would like to purchase a pair." And so it came to be that today, for the first time in my life, I charged a pair of sneakers to my hotel room. Check out the image, they are pretty nice!

I'm going in the pool now. And not for exercise.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

I wanted to push myself on this trip. Wanted to go deeper than ever. Find something about myself I couldn't have believe was there. And tonight, I found it. More than once. I don't even know where the strength came from to do what I did tonight but here's the story.

Brooke has hired a coach to work under her. Her name is Lisa and she showed up at the conference today. Here's a picture of Lisa. Notice anything about her? I did. This bitch is SKINNY! And not in the I lost 100 pounds kind of way - in the I have skinny GENES kind of way. In the I'll always be skinny and I'll never have to worry about it kind of way. In the I'm lucky and you aren't kind of way. OH OH OH did she bring up my stuff. And here is the thing about Lisa. She's nice on top of it. Bitch.

I didn't hate her a little. I hated her a lot. So, I talked to her and had a great chat, and promised myself I wouldn't hate her on the grounds she was (is) a skinny bitch. But it grated on me, I have to admit. Especially since she was so "nice." I promised myself, except the thing is, it KEPT coming up. It was like someone showed up to the Annual Green Party Convention with a Fucking Bush Cheney T-shirt on. Was she trying to rub it in? Was this part of Brooke's plan?

I went to dinner and miracle of miracles, skinny bitch (and her tofu salad, I'm sure) were WAY at the other end of a long table. My overstuffed thighs did not need to graze her stick legs at our meal. I could eat, in peace, without HER ruining it for me. Or is it... my thoughts about her that might have ruined things. But more about this later.

Now, if you haven't always been fat like me this might not totally resonate, but I could not concentrate with this thin woman in the room. I briefly considered going home, calling in sick, staying in my room and working, or just taking a long drive around the Lake for a couple days. Instead, I went into tonight's coaching session and responded to Brooke's question:

"Did anything come up for anyone today that they want to talk about?"

I raised my hand.

"This is hard," I say.

"Go ahead," said Brooke.

"No, REALLLLY hard," I say.

"GIRL. BRING IT ON."

"I have a problem with Lisa being here. I don't think it's right for someone so skinny to be among us."

"This is great!" says Brooke, rubbing her hands together jumping up and down with excitement. "Say more. Why not? You don't think she can help you because she is skinny."

"No, that's not it, I just hate her. I hate all skinny people."

Oh man did the walls come down. The temperature in that room went up by oh, 100 degrees, sweat pooled around me in the chair, like a mote. But I stuck through it. We questioned so many of my illogical beliefs about thin people and, of course, about myself, if I were to be thin. The belief we settled on was:

She has never had to deal with being fat and I have and it's not fair. Now if you remember the rules you'll see the turn around that I need to get to is:
She has never had to deal with being fat and I have and it is fair. OH MAN was that a journey of a 1000 steps. But we got there.

How does that thought (that it's not fair for me) make me act? LIKE A BITCH! Rude. Irritated. Anxious. NOT GOOD!

Who would I be without that thought? More focused on what I really want in my life! SOOOOO much happier. Not distracted at meal times! And probably a hell of a lot thinner.

This thought - and the feelings caused by it, and the actions I take to deal with those feelings have been holding me back for YEARS.

But as if that revelation weren't enough, (and believe me, in my book it was), Brooke asked what else came up. And I had to talk about what it was like to look at myself exercising in the mirror today during our training session. When I told her the mirror was mean, here's what she asked me to do...

"Pretend Teresa is blind and you want her to draw you. Describe yourself factually from head to toe - every lump, bump and curve, from your top to your toes. GO."

Can you even begin to contemplate how hard that was? I started, logically, with the period zit which has erupted in the lower left corner of my chin. Others, for some inexplicable reason, thought this was an on place to start. I described what was wrong with my nose, my skin, my hair, my eyes and my eyebrows before Brooke stopped me.

"Kill the story. We don't want your bullshit. Just the facts."

I started again. Stringy, messy brown hair. A round face. Small brown eyes. And then my body. Triangle shape. No discernible waist. Fat thighs. It was horrible. I cried through most of the description.

"Great. Now do it again, with compassion."

I broke down. NOTHING was in my head. I couldn't find a way to describe a toe nail to this group of 18 women (one of them skinny) with a shred of self-compassion. My mind was blank. And yes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I was.... speechless.

Except... for the sound of my sobs. The tears flowed and between them I would beg, "I can't do it. PLEASE move on. I can't. I can't. I can't. I don't know."

K*, this amazingly zingy woman was sitting next to me and gave me the most earnest look I've ever seen. Full of love and compassion and wisdom and she just said to me, "It will be so much easier if you get it over with. I know. I've been there."

Brooke is normally relentless, backed off a bit and turned to this STUNNINGLY beautiful woman in our class (who this morning informed us all she did not think she was smart enough to be a real estate agent and provided the following as evidence -- a) I am not good at my times tables; b) I am not a good speller; c) I'm not good at grammar -- when I tell you this woman would be a fabulous agent... oh but that's another story!). "J*, can you do it? Can you describe yourself physically with compassion?"

"I can," said J* confidently. "I couldn't have a few months ago. But I can now."

"Great, then do it"

And so she did. She revealed herself to us. She knew her thick dark hair took our breath away. She knew her hazel eyes sparkled and danced. She knew that the curves of her hips had a sexiness to them that none of us would deny. And in that moment, she owned all of it. She described herself, like I might, here in this anonymous blog.... as the beautiful woman she is.

I sat, shocked. THIS is what Brooke meant by describe yourself with compassion???? When I tell you the words she was saying to me sounded like Ancient Hebrew. I could not follow what she was asking me for. But here was this butterfly in my midst, teaching me how to fly by simply flying herself. It was a song that J* sung to me and on listening, my heart just opened.

When she finished, Brooke turned to me. "You're up..."

And so I started:

"I have pretty, soft wavy brown hair that bounces when I have it down in a way that looks like I am in a shampoo commercial. And when I have it up, you can see the sweetest little widow's peak on my hair line. I have a soft face, smooth skin, and THE most adorable dimple on my chin. Round eyes that sparkle, a warm smile, and straight teeth. I have rounded shoulders, soft arms, large round breasts, a Rubanesque belly, curvy hips, sexy legs and absolutely adorable, well manicured toes."

The girls applauded, and in that moment I saw the compassion that I could have for myself all the time. I saw all the compassion I have in the world for everyone else and how little I have left for myself. But tonight I claimed it and I felt, for I think the first time in my life. Self love.

Whoa.

And then everyone came back to my suite and we drank copious amounts of wine.

Oh and the skinny bitch, she came too. Turns out my thoughts didn't kill her. And my feelings didn't kill me.

A Little Girl with a Little Curl

This morning we did something a bit different. Brooke asked us all some questions and gave us no time to think of the answers... you just had to write what popped into your head. Try it yourself! It's interesting.... Here are the questions:

• What Fairy Tale do you most identify with?
• What cartoon character is most like you?
• What movie best represents your life?
• If you were writing an autobiography, what would you call it?
• Whom -from history or currently alive - would be most like to be like if you could be like anyone?
• In your life story are you: a rescuer, a persecutor, or a victim?
• Finish this sentence with a max of 2 words: I am a _________________.

Now, don't cheat. Answer for yourself before you move on. To make it easier, I'm saving my answers for the end of this post. But after we answered those questions Brooke asked us to write a bedtime story that starts... There once was a little girl.

Here's mine:


There once was a little girl who had a little girl right in the middle of her forehead, and when she was good she was very, very good, and when she was bad, she was horrid.

When she was bad she said mean things to people she loved in order to make them feel as yucky as she did inside. She had a sharp tongue and would use it to cut people down in their tracks.

But when she was good - which was most of the time - she would bring baskets of sunshine and daisies to everyone in the village and sing them songs that made the people so happy they would smile all day.

One day, the little girl decided to bring a basket to her "bad girl self" and the sunshine and daisies and the song made the bad little girl so happy she smiled and smiled until all the bad feeling melted away.

Then the good little girl and the bad little girl hugged and walked off into the sunset together when they lived happily ever after.

The End.


Upon hearing my story, Brooke asked about the bad little girl and why she wanted to be bad. I told her how the bad little girl was easily frustrated by annoying, moronic, and stupid people. Always unsympathetic, Brooke wanted to know how I was annoying, moronic and stupid. What was troublesome to the bad little girl must - by definition - be something in me. So she asked me to write a story about a moronic and retarded little girl. Here's what I came up with:



There once was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was dumb, she was very, very dumb, and when she was a moron, she was horrid!


When she was dumb she would make inexplicable mistakes and blunders around adults and children alike. She'd give away secrets and make people who trusted her very disappointed.


When she was a moron, things got even worse! She would insult the very people in control of her success in life. She wouldn't listen to people who wanted what's best for her because she didn't trust them to know.


One day the dumb little girl called a meeting with the moronic little girl:


"We both act like retards because we don't value the opinions of just about anyone else," said the dumb little girl.


"But come on," said the moron, "their opinions aren't valuable."


Then the dumb girl and the moron pulled out their Blackberries and scheduled a meeting with some of their other friends. Smart, Joy, Connection, Shame, Persistence, Harmony, and the twice, Ice cream and Sunshine to discuss the situation further. And with that, Dumb and Moron kicked a can down the street on their way to the horizon line.


The End.


******************

Those were my stories. And here are the answers to the questions above... Don't read them if you haven't answered yourself!!!

1. Jack & Jill
2. Nemo's Dad Meets Pochohantas
3. The Dead Poet's Society
4. Live Deep: The True Store of a Woman who Sucked the Marrow Out of Life
5. George Washington
6. Rescuer
7. Powerful Woman.

Meeting Brooke in 20 minutes for a personal training session in the gym and then for some laps in the pool. After that we've got a dinner break, another coaching session, and a party in my big room!

Be The Butterfly

Brooke - as one might expect - is amazing. Her energy is contagious and her ability to go right to the heart of the matter is breathtaking. She gets it. She just GETS it. I met her at noon, after a splendid morning that included coffee and a breakfast sandwich at Lake Tahoe (gorgeous) and a fairly silent but none-the-less delightful manicure and pedicure at the Spa.

I was nervous to meet everyone. I thought Brooke might have an annoying voice in person, but not at all. She's great. Beautiful and sparkling. So warm. So smart. The group is great too. Most of the women are from California it seems and many have met before. One is from Howard County MD. She flew out of BWI a couple hours before me yesterday. Too funny. Her name is H*. Stay at home mom of 3. Super smart and frankly - like many of the women here - pretty friggin thin! So many of the women are thin and beautiful IMHO that I wonder what the hell they are doing here. Definitely all very smart, engaged, and dealing with serious stuff. I'm sure I'll be annoyed at some of the eventually but for now they are great.

We sat down for an intro session. And Brooke didn't want to hear where we were from, or where we worked. She first wanted to know what we were excited about and then, what we were afraid of. I said I was excited to make some new friends and afraid of ...exercise. I've never been afraid of exercise because I have been willing to do it and hate it. But now, I want to embrace it and I guess I'm afraid I won't.

As we went around we started talking about the beliefs that lead to the thoughts that cause the feelings that we try to avoid by eating. There were a couple interesting beliefs of mine that were brought up in the group session. First she pinpointed me on my believe that "No one should feel pain." I was talking about how sad it made me that my mom was sad. She thought that was an unreasonable reason to be sad. Sounded good to me. I love my mom I don't want her to be sad. Not for my Brooke though, she wouldn't let it go. If you go around wanting no one to ever be in pain or thinking no one should ever be in pain you are setting yourself up to be in pain a lot of the time. UGH - there's a hard one to swallow.

The next challenge came when I explained my mom said she was lonely. I didn't want her to be lonely. And that's when the bomb shelled dropped. I don't think she should be lonely because I'm her daughter and therefore I should keep her company. Brooke said, "So mom's should never get lonely." And I said, "No, that's why you have kids." Oh did the crowd go while. Now there is a belief system that needs some challenging!

After that we went for a one hour hike (I think tomorrow's hike is 3 hours.) The hike was beautiful. It looks like Switzerland a bit here. Wasn't expecting that. I still hate hiking.

One other thing I wanted to mention. More than once Brooke has mentioned her weight - 150lbs, size 8 - and I have to comment on it. She is so think - I mean she looks super skinny to me. I can't believe that's what 150 lbs looks like. I am thinking of changing my goal to 180!

Oh and the title of this post, Be the Butterfly... that comes of Brooke's dramatic reading of Eric Carlise's The Hungry Caterpillar. Who, it turns out, is a caterpillar who starved himself, binged, ate healthy and then became a butterfly. Our weekend is about the metamorphosis stage in between being a caterpillar and a butterfly - the bug soup or the mire that we are in as we try to figure this out. Or as Brooke says, as we build the muscles needed to come out of our cocoon and fly!

You want blog...

Have laptop will travel and man have I traveled today. The flight to Vegas was a bit tedious with a stop in Indianapolis but no matter - the flights were on time and the seat-mates bearable. Getting to Reno proved trickier. First the door on our plane was broken so they were going to get us a new plane, then the new plane couldn't park at our gate because someone was having a heart attack on the old plane (the one with the broken door). So we had to move gates but there was already a mass of Southwest style people lined up for the Oklahoma flight that was supposed to leave from that gate so they all had to move and then. Eventually - after what seemed like a million delays - we got on the plane.... which was about 120 degrees. I kid you not. It was 108 in Vegas today and this plane had been baking in the sun. They couldn't cool it down. And they took so long trying that we missed our take off window so we had to wait an hour, in the hot plane, on the tarmac. Nice. Mostly I didn't mind because I had internet access and no where to be until 5:45 when I had a decadent 75 minute hot stone massage booked. The flight was supposed to get in at 1:05. How late could we be?

How late indeed! We pulled in close to 4. My shuttle from the hotel had come and gone and there were no available shuttles at such short notice. A cab, I soon learned, would cost $145.... EACH WAY. And that, my friends, is how I ended up at a resort, with a rental car. Oh you better believe I got here in time for my massage. And with a smile on to boot. I had booked a standard room but the girl at the front took one look at me and said "You look like a nice person. I am going to upgrade you." And here I find myself, typing this entry from the office of my 600 square foot suite (for those of you taking notes that's about the size of my apartment in Virginia). It's got a slate floor, a spa tub and standing shower, a nicely sized eat in kitchen, an office nook, bedroom with a king size bed, and a living room with a working fire place.

Here's a picture

I just got back from my delicious massage. And I'm off to find dinner. Looking forward to meeting Brooke tomorrow! I keep thinking I am going to see her, but this place is huge.