I was born without an OFF switch...

Or a STOP button....and I'm not even sure that I even have PAUSE.  

This is a bit of a problem when it comes to working, talking, fitness, eating, drinking, and well, pretty much everything.  

For example...when I'm at work, I blow through breaks and keep painting faces and helping people long after my shift has finished...I should really wear a watch, but I just get so stuck into what I do, I keep going.  Same goes for talking, I go on and on and absolutely revel in conversation - especially good chats with old friends or new friends that have strong opinions or just anyone who enjoys life and shooting the breeze - dinner parties fly by, as do 3 hour phone calls to Montréal.  As for fitness, well, I go all out on that to, when I have a day that I can dedicate to working out, it's not unusual for me to bike to my ninja training, workout with my ninja personal trainer, have a little break and a snack, do a MIJO bootcamp for an hour, then bike home...only to return to yet another gym later that evening to kick pads with a bunch of other taekwondo aficionados.  Obviously, eating and drinking are the same...when I'm hungry, I eat (sometimes the wrong things and too much) and when I'm thirsty I drink  (also sometimes the wrong things and too much), and I cook and experiment and bake and enjoy restaurants and bars.  I am not a half-asser, when I do something, I always use my full ass.
 
So, when I busted my ACL in taekwondo over a year ago and every doctor I spoke to said SURGERY...I may have freaked out, just a little bit.  Okay, no...there is no such thing as a little bit.  I fully freaked out (full-assed) - I cried, had a hissy fit, I went silent, I retreated into the dark recesses of my mind, and I panicked.  How could I take time off?  I have a schedule!  I have been working out up to 6 days a week most weeks and following an online eating plan that has me logging everything that goes in my mouth...even the junk...and since June, I've been struggling...bouncing up and down in the 140s and then settling back into the 150s.  Which isn't the end of the world, I may have actually even accepted the fact that my body is more comfortable a little heavier.  Shock!  Horror!  But, give up exercise?!  NO WAY!  How will I be able to de-stress if I can't hit the treadmill and rock out a run with my favourite workout mix blaring in my ears?  I can't just turn off, I can't hit stop...not even pause.  And then the date was set for surgery.  November 25th, 2014.

My injury occurred October 2013, initial diagnosis with sports medicine doctor was in November of 2013, and I finally saw the orthopaedic surgeon in February of 2014, so in June when I was informed surgery would be in November, it seemed so far off that I just put it out of my mind.  And like so many other things, November just crept up on me.  At 3 months until surgery, I vowed to make a concerted effort to get in the best shape of my life...I even searched online for a 90 day whiteboard calendar.  Then again at 2 months until my reconstruction I "recommitted" to getting into shape.  At 6 weeks out, I did the same, then 4 weeks, 3, 2, and 1...same deal.  Good intentions all of them, and I don't know whether it was fear of surgery that led me to eat the occasional bag of Doritos or hot dog, but for some reason, my eating was way off, though my gym time was not.  I still stress eat, even after all this time.  Like I said, I don't have an off switch...or a pause button...so I kept training like an athlete.  Faced with the impending hospital time, I tried to get rid of the negative and indulged in good exercise, splurged on nutritious food, and let go of the doubts in my mind.  What does my yoga teacher call it?!  Self-care.  I tried that out for a change.

Going into surgery I had a certain confidence about me.  After coming out of a very good week of clean eating, optimal exercise, and just enough rest to prepare my body and mind for a routine but fairly involved operation, I took a deep breath, pressed pause...and a little voice in my head told me, "Everything is going to be fine."

And it was.

Run for your life!

Generally, I hit the gym in the morning before my brain has time to figure out what I'm doing.  It's a good tactic, you should try it.  Also, when I start early, my workout burns fat rather than fuel.

Yesterday, 10 minutes after starting on the treadmill...I employed the same kind of strategy and broke into a run.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I started running...and nothing, absolutely nothing, was chasing me.  

There was a time when I could not run...and that was only about 10 months ago...so now, running feels like freedom and makes me feel really alive.  Wow, I never thought I'd say that.  Could it be that I actually like to run?  No, that can't be it.

This past Saturday, I ran for 20 minutes in a row, and so of course yesterday I had to go faster and further.  I cranked the speed to 10 KM / hour and I gave 'er for 30 minutes.  I ran 5K!  I ran 5K...for reals.  Did I mention that I ran 5 whole kilometres in half an hour?  Well, I did.  And, it felt great!  Until the ninja appeared from out of nowhere, surprised me, and I dropped my MP3 player on the moving tread which then shot it off the end and landed it at his feet.  I nearly did the same, until I grabbed a handrail and steadied myself.  Woops.  Classic Suzie.

Run 5K = Winning.

Drop iPod, make fool of self = Par for the course.

And yes, I do believe I like running.  But, don't tell anyone. 

The 12 Trials of Suzie Spitfyre

January 22nd, 2013, Crystal Pool & Fitness Centre, my very first training session with the ninja.  Morning cardio:  20 minutes of stationary bike, 20 minutes of treadmill, and a further 20 minutes on the elliptical = Sweaty mess (Read about my 1st ninja workout here!)  Afternoon training:  1 hour of fitness testing - wall sit, sit and reach, push ups, planking, etc. = I think I'm gonna die.  Weight: 287 pounds...ish.

July 12th, 2013, Crystal Pool & Fitness Centre, was a brand spankin' new completely mental training session with the ninja.  Just when I think I'm getting good at this working out thing, he switches it up, and it's all Greek to me...again!  Morning cardio:  30 minute walk to the gym, 30 minutes of my running programme (walk 2, jog 2, run 1) on the treadmill followed by an attempted spin on the bike, until I admitted to being tired (and also a sweaty mess as always) and Jonathan told me to rest up and eat something...and now I know why.  Weight: 200 pounds..ish.

I have been told that the easier you sweat the better shape you are in, so I must be in REALLY good shape now.  I sweat a lot.  There is always an extra set of clothing (or two) in my rucksack, because the sweaty "V"s down the front of my t-shirts pictured in Sweat T-shirt Contest have snowballed into fully drenched articles of clothing...I'm talking shirts AND pants.  Seriously, you haven't survived a Suzie workout unless your pants are dripping into your shoes.  Ewwww...and awesome, at the same time.  If only I were wearing a chiton, then my elegant wet drapery would be fit for the pediment, metopes, or frieze of the Parthenon.  Alas, I am not adorned in Greek costume complete with diadem though sometimes my curls mat up in a rather Medusa-like way.     

When the ninja, or perhaps I should I call him the επιστάτης δούλων ("slave driver" in Greek), asked me what I had in my backpack that fateful Friday, I simply replied, "Clothes...and food...and boxing gloves (hey, you never know)...and wraps...and my biking shoes, and resealable plastic bags for wet clothes, obviously."  He promptly took me into the office (don't worry, I wasn't in trouble...at the moment), and began to dump my bag on the desk until he realised it wasn't his bag and then he gave it back to me.  So, I dumped it out and then we headed to the weight room.

In the weight room, he found two discs that equated 18 kilograms and promptly put them in my bag - who am I?  Herakles?  No.  We downsized slightly, I think to 30 or 25 pounds, and I put my bag on my back, adjusted the straps and started working out.  Yes, I ran stairs with approximately 32 percent of the weight that I have lost in said bag.  I ran stairs and alternated with burpees...and no, I'm not suing him because in the process I got smacked in the head by my backpack...which by the way is waaaaaay too big and though the straps tighten, and the belt works, the little clip that fastens around my chest that should secure the pack even further does NOT even function because of two very obvious reasons.  

After stairs and burpees x 5, many other strength and cardio exercises ensued.  Wearing my bag on the eliptical proved interesting, as did carrying an aditional 50 pounds of dumbells back and forth umpteen times.  Needless to say, I stayed true to tradition and sweated my arse off.  If only!  But, I'm getting there.  I did buy my first pair of size 14 jeans shortly after this hour long 12-trials-of-Heraklesesque workout.  Though, I did it because I knew it was good for me, and not because I had to atone for killing my sons because I was driven mad by my father's wife, Hera - look it up, Greek heroes aren't as heroic or squeaky clean as Disney portrays them.  And after this workout, neither was I!