Gurus and Groups

One of the studies I cited in my master's research found this: even people who predicted they'd lose more weight with individual counseling were more successful at shedding pounds when they were assigned to group counseling. I don't remember exactly how the scientists explained this (and I'm too lazy to look it up) but it totally makes sense. And, for me, a major theme of 2014 has been that a good group, and a great guru, helps you get better. Some examples:

The five little guys below are spending part of their Sunday mornings Swimming with Annie. Annie (the guru) speaks to them like the small people that they are—tiny little men with hopes and fears and lots of energy. It's obvious she knows what she's doing. They're responding. In just two sessions, every single one of these boys has made marked progress. The one who was more comfortable sticking by the steps on Day One was paddling through the pool and jumping off the side on Day Two. Another who'd resisted getting his hair wet in the first class was repeating dunking himself in the second. A third suddenly started kicking and scooping under the water, unassisted, this past Sunday while his dad shouted, 

"He's swimming! He's swimming!"  in disbelief.

Much of this forward movement has to do with Annie knowing her shit. But some of it, I'd say, has to do with the fact that these small dudes are a solidly supportive crew. They're clapping and shouting encouragement for each other—and they're also fostering a healthy sense of competition.

Same thing happened during our Saturdays Smuggs: no doubt, the "Team Eagle" Mini Mites Snowboarders pushed each other... to the point that all of the littler shedders were on the lift and riding an actual green run by the end of the 8-week session.

And I've also been benefitting from accountability and social support that comes with a crew:

At the mountain, I hit the jackpot with Gaby, my guru. In 8 weeks, she patiently talked me down (and listened to my verbal diarrhea often focused on fear) Sir Henry, and then a bunch of green runs and, finally, Snowsnake, a blue. But pairing up with Laurie definitely made me a braver, better rider. When she jumped at the chance to take the next step—hop on the bigger lift, pick up the pace—I didn't want to be left behind. Or hold her back. I'd take a few deep breaths and go.

For the last couple of months, I've been working on writing—things beyond this blog and content on weight management and diabetes. It's because, every Monday, I sit around a table with a group of intelligent and insightful new (and old) friends who offer me deadlines and smart suggestions for refining first drafts. Plus, their  writing—all so good—inspires me.

Back in January, I recruited a bunch of friends who could rally each other to run. I promised Kate I'd do the VCM 2-person relay in May and knew I'd need a posse to push myself through the half-marathon training. I'm only up to 5 miles but, so far, it's working. And it's fun. Friends make you better. This—at least for me—I know is true.

A Many-Milestone Day on the Mountain

It was a little slick, a little snowy, a little scary and a lot of awesome. It was our 7th snowboarding lesson, and Laurie* and I ticked off some semi-major milestones on our learn-to-ride list:

1. We did a bunch of new-to-us green runs.

2. We made our way down a slightly more difficult green/blue run. 

3. We rode with no hands (holding on to the bottom of our jackets) and did some fancy arm signals to work on our form. And, yes, we looked like tools. Which was fun. Silly offsets scary.

4.

 We hit a box. (Go ahead and giggle. I'm ahead of you.) Also, a more accurate account of this milestone goes like this: Gaby lifted us up off of the box and held our hands while we dropped off and glided into a heel-side stop.

5. We fell hard - really hard. We did not cry. We got up again. And kept riding.

*So grateful to have such an awesome partner (and a kick-ass teacher) on this 8-week ride. 

Snowboarding: Insights From a Scaredy Cat

This week's riding lesson rocked. I went in anxious - it was icy - but there were no tears, just some unnecessary verbal diarrhea about how scared I was. (Thank you, L and G, for indulging that process. I'm gonna try to keep it silent next week.) And then I felt fine.

This being the 5th class, I am more than halfway done, and though I probably would have said something different at 9:45 am this morning, I'm pretty bummed my Saturday days at Smuggs this season are numbered. Also, being on the "back 4" of this 8 week session, I feel now is a good time to capture some of the things I've learned thus far:

1. Third run's a charm. Run #1, I'm remembering which edge is my toe side (kidding, but only slightly) and stressing that I won't be able to stop. Run #2, I'm worrying that the people around me won't be able to stop and will crash into me. Run #3, things are clicking, my turns are connecting smoothly (mostly) and I'm actually enjoying myself.

2. You can, and should, breathe while riding. I just learned this today. Game changer.

3. Every pair of Burton gloves has a soft spot that superbly absorbs snot. Game saver.

Pretty sure I'm going to make a midweek night ride happen this week. Yeah!

I Am Not The Most Relaxed [Anything]

"I'm not going to cry today, Mama," Kai told me matter-of-factly en route to the mountain. "I'm just going to give you a GREAT. BIG. HUG."

Context: Last week, Kai cried—sobbed—when we dropped him off at his snowboarding lessons. And then he was fine. 

Keeping his word, Kai did not cry. He hugged, great-big-style, just like he promised. And, then, from what I hear, Kai, age 3, proceeded to "kill it" on the hill. He rode down Sir Henry all by himself. With the five-year-olds. Julian, age 5, did not cry either. He gave me a hug and stoically waved me away. And then went on to connect S turns. First time. Fab day.

Tonight, gold-medal-guy Sage was called the "most relaxed competitor" in the Slopestyle. Today, I earned the title of "most high-strung rider" at Smugg's. #superlatives

Today, I cried - after dropping myself off at my snowboarding lesson.

Last week had gone fairly well but I'd caught some edges and bruised my tailbone. All week, anytime I moved the wrong way, tailbone tenderness reminded me of my hard falls—and the UVM student who fatally crashed skiing at a different mountain on the same day. I worked myself up, big time. Adding to this was the fact Jon was staying in town to guest-lecture in a friend's class, so the responsibility of driving the boys to the mountain was all mine. Which also made me anxious. I convinced myself I didn't know how to get there (!!!) and actually GPS-ed the route (which seems completely ridiculous as I write it now).

Again, the boys' drop-off was entirely uneventful. Regardless, my anxiety continued to rise. To the point at which, after I left the little guys, I shut myself in my minivan and blasted songs like A-Punk and Oxford Comma in an attempt to calm the fuck down. It worked a little. It was time to go to my lesson. So I went. And then my instructor announced that since we'd been "rockstars" last week, we were heading straight to the lift and she was going to "push us." I protested. Weakly. She reiterated that we were ready to be pushed.

And that's when I started shedding tears and listing all the reasons I was scared shitless to "shred" on this day. I don't remember exactly what she said but it turned out to be the right stuff. My riding partner helped me rally. My tantrum meltdown was done. I was ready. Ready enough.

So we headed straight to the lift. My first few turns were tentative. My legs were super shaky (fear-adrenaline shaky, not tired-muscle trembly) at the end of the first run. But by the end of the day, I was snaking down the mountain and connecting tighter turns. I learned how to hold an edge to steer out of the way of speedy skiiers and a certain burgundy-clad beginner who always seemed to be riding wrecklessly out of control.  I even kept my balance and bantered back when Ben and Brian shouted to me from the lift. Basically, I kept up with my kids today. Physically if not emotionally.

It was a good day. A hard-won good day.

Next week: No tears. Just hugs.