Author: bifocalsandbarbells

“We’re going to go see Booksmart,” I say to Dan and Chase.

“We were thinking of seeing that too. That or John Wick 3,” he replies.

I take in a big amount of air in preparation for my review.

“Oh that’s right. Crystal didn’t like it,” he tells Chase.

I’m taking a nano second to prepare my defense. “I’ve got high standards for movies.” “Crystal’s really critical of movies,” overlaps my words.

“The first time I learned what the middle finger meant was when she got pissed off at how Pirates of the Caribbean ended. We lived in the Red Bluff house. She got up and flipped off the TV.” I hoped I could come up with some alternate explanation for what he thought he saw, but backed down. It sounds like something I would’ve done.

I’m not sure why I like movies as much as I do. I think it has to do with appreciating that someone’s brain can come up with things that my brain likes. Movies are a universal language for me. It’s not that I can’t trust you if you aren’t a movie buff. I understand that not everyone’s brain works like mine; you know, I can’t remember where I left my keys but I remember almost the entirety of Monty Python’s Holy Grail verbatim. But, I will certainly feel more quickly connected to you if I randomly blurt “Negative Ghost Rider” and you retort with “The pattern is full.”

But about how John Wick 3 sucked,…If you’re thinking maybe I’m not the intended audience, I would disagree. I fiercely enjoy violence in film. For instance, I liked Pulp Fiction so much that as soon as it wrapped up in my living room, I popped the VHS copy of it out and drove directly to my parents’ home and watched it again with them.

I took a creative writing class while at Shasta College (inaudible number) of years ago. One of the most important take-aways  for me is that there really isn’t “good” and “bad” when it comes to creative expression. There’s just stuff that speaks to you and stuff that doesn’t. John Wick 3 did not speak to me.  There was too much patronizing for my taste. Too many comments made with what seemed like the intention that it would become a catchphrase. And don’t even get me started on the whole Halle Berry making it like a buddy movie. I don’t want to watch John Wick and Co. I want the enchantment that was the original John Wick.

The upside was, I was there with my brother Josh who also has expectations and standards for movies. I really wanted the movie to be good. It wasn’t.

Wasn’t almost weirder though is that no one is complaining about it. Why?

Several days later,  I get a phone call. Josh doesn’t call. Crap. This can’t be good. I answer with an alarmed, “What’s up?”

        “Why is nobody talking about how bad that movie was?”

        My heart restarts, “Yea. I don’t fucking know.”

He tells me a parallel that rivals an SAT question; John Wick 3 was to John Wick as Boondock Saints 2 was to Boondock Saints. I completely get it. They should’ve quite while they were ahead. They tired too much of a good thing.

I rest easy in knowledge that there’s other people who get it. And now,….I’ll have to ask him for what his thoughts were on the Pirates of the Caribbean ending (bwah ha!) he b�LJ`+

You know that feeling? That one that you get when you’ve made a poor driving decision and find yourself needing to, say, turn left from West Street on to Placer? Your timing has to be precise or it’ll end in disaster.

That’s a lot what it’s like to try to parent Dirty.

Young Derek is about as strong willed and opinionated as they come. I doubt that there’s any thoughts he keeps to himself. Being responsible for growing humans, you kind of want them to reflect some of the values you hold true. While I’m incredibly proud of how both my humans have turned out, young Derek gives me ample opportunity to consider practicing some behavior modification tactics.

Any given conversation has a number of chances where I can hop in. Maybe add a corrective “we don’t say that” or “I’m sure you don’t mean….” But if I tried to jump on every one, I’m fully aware that my voice would start to sound exactly like an indiscriminate and annoying buzzing that won’t go away. So I have to choose wisely and make sure it’s worth it.

This isn’t a new constant internal conversation for me. The boy was maybe 7 when he decided that he’s principally opposed to Walmart store brands. He’d independently determined that if Great Value cereal looked just like cheerios that the cheerio people were suffering. 7. We have no idea where this came from. It’s not like we’re a family sustained by the lucrative cheerio dynasty or anything.

The deep voice, that is intermittently enunciated, starts. “Crystal. I had to get de-zel. I only had cash so I had to go to Sunshine. I knew what the crowd was going be like at 10 o’clock on a school night…”

I feel like I’m back in car. My seat belt is on. My eyes dart left and right. I worry about making a scene in front of the other cars that are waiting behind me. Why is he out at 10 on a school night? What’s he going to say about the gas station?

“Then some guy…” The story continues. I let some questionable things go. It looks like in this one, I just decided to turn right on Placer and find another route.

The great news is, it’s Dirty. I KNOW I’ll get another chance to work on it.

Happy Mother’s Day!

(This blog entry is brought to you by caffeine and cookies)

I think everyone should have a challenge. Ways to push themselves to grow. The whole “blah blah if it doesn’t challenge you it won’t change you” mantra makes total sense to me.

Soooo,…I looked for a challenge, and boy did I find it in trying to see if I could be a competition body builder.

Over the last 12 weeks I’ve worked my a** off both literally and figuratively. I lost 17 pounds. My body fat changed from 20.72% to 11.2%. I learned how to walk in 6 inch stilettos. I got my first spray tan. I set new PRs on my back squats. I hip thrusted 275 pounds! I ate no less than 84 boiled eggs, and completed no less than 126 workouts. I practiced my poses, a lot. I measured every meal, and even packed food when traveling or being gone from my house for more than a couple hours.

There were days when I felt absolutely ready. Days when I see myself in that sparkly micrometer of fabric and think “Damn! Who IS that?!” Days where I couldn’t wait to get out there and metaphorically say “look what we made!”

There were also days when I would see some of the other women as they are working just as hard and nearly started to panic. I don’t look like them. Am I going to embarrass myself? Is it going to be one of those awkward situations where my friends and family have to try to build me back up with comments about “you’re good at charts” or “think how good your credit score is”?

It all made me think a lot about body image stuff. Between lifting and posing practice, I bet I’ve seen myself in a mirror even more than even young Dirty sees himself. (Seriously, any reflective surface and he’s flexing in it). It’s been incredible to watch parts change. I had no idea there were so many veins  in a stomach. But I also started to hyper focus. Are there too many veins in my stomach? I want just a little more blah here, just a little less blah here. It made me a little sad. I didn’t enter this to feel anything but good about myself. It made me worry that I was veering off course.

I had sooooo much support. Family (*), friends, coworkers, new bikini friends. *The boys were kind of supportive. They tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, which I get. Who wants to think of their 47 year old mom in a rhinestone thong? But they also didn’t get in the way of it. Once, Dirty poked my tricep. That’s teen boy for “I’ve noticed you’re making gains here. Great job!”

I would have loved to win for my biggest supporters. Bring home some epic piece of weaponry hardware. That’s not how it happened. Mad props to the winners. They earned it. I was second in a division of three, and didn’t place in a division of five. And for the briefest of moments I was feeling bad about myself. Now I was REALLY off course. If I wasn’t me but saw me feeling bad for me, I’d want to throat punch me. I built a body I wanted, and still thought it wasn’t enough. It doesn’t get much more unhealthy than that.

So what to do with that negative energy? Duh! Go work out. It helped me remember that the journey was the purpose all along. I entered this to give me a target, some very specific focus to my workouts and diet. I wondered if I could, and then I did. I’ve got no shame in that game. Also, have you seen my abs!? (bwah ha!)

I learned a lot during this. I learned how food and stupid cardio can change your world. I was reminded of the value of leaning on experts. I learned new lifts to attain very specific results. (I very highly recommend the folks that worked with. Tell them your health goal, they will get you there.) I was coached to being the most lean with the most amount of muscle I’ve ever attained. I learned that even though I possess the discipline to prep for this, I could also still succumb to harmful self comparisons. But; in the end, I took my dangerous, outsider self out there and showed my work. (Just like in algebra tests in high school, but in rhinestones).

So, I did a body building competition. Am I a competition body builder, meh? Even though I veered off course a little, was it worth it? Absolutely! This is up there with some of the other amazing experiences in my life where I’ve walked away with “no ragrats.” Not even one letter.

They have the same genetic material. They were raised together and as “the same” as two brothers can be. Despite this, they are two vastly different people. Sure, they have some similarities. Both have a strong work ethic. Both are smart AF.

Annnndddd,…that’s about it.

Today was prom. While Dirty’s prep was nothing like a young lady’s, he was still intentional/stressed out. Hair had to be on point, muscles needed to be pumped, mirror needed to be looked in (A LOT!), calls were made to dad to check his status because Dirty wanted to leave early. He’d spent the past week calculating the costs and crunching numbers. He’d planned his tux weeks in advance.

Both boys were expected to roll out about the same time. Dirty had to have his brakes pumped. ‘Don’t leave early. Your brother is almost here.” His jaw flexes as he looks about to burst. He’s that “Being on time is being late” type of guy.

Daniel arrives. As chill as a person can be. Stops brielfy for a couple pictures. Then quietly goes off to his room and grabs a tux. “Dude! You rented a tux?!” We had no idea. Daniel just does stuff. He doesn’t need other people to know or attention about it. He refused to wear the tie. “They gave me a clip on tie. What? Do they think that a 20 yr old doesn’t know how to tie a double Windsor know?” Yea Danny. I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what they think. “I don’t know what to do with my hair.” “Well, want me to put it in a half pony for you?” He did. I think. He’s so easy going, it’s hard to tell what he wants. But when it’s one of the things he’s passionate about, there’s no barrier for him whatsoever. Dude wanted to move to Stockton and go to school just a few weeks after high school. So much could’ve got in the way. But, it’s Daniel. And he wanted it. So without any surprise and very little support, he’s just a few weeks away from an AA degree. Completed with the same look of ease he’s always go. His entire fancy date prep took less time than Dirty took to do his hair.

After the prom exodus, Brian and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. How? How are they so different?

I love how different they are. They are both amazing young men who have their own unique way of being and doing. They are both out having what I can only hope are memorable and very safe nights. They are an example of how there’s ore than one way to reach a goal.

Now, lets see if they can both reach the goal of cleaning those gawd awful rooms of theirs.

My eyes pop open. My brain lights up. Thinking about a million things. As the designated person who sleeps on the passenger side of the bed in my marriage, I can’t reach the phone or watch to see the time. I make the choice to be “that guy” I wait for the slightest rustle from Brian before quietly, but not so quietly asking “what time is it?” He laughs, “It’s CrossFit time.”

That’s right. Not a chance of a workout in sight, but still my subconscious self was like “Get up. Time to go to the gym. Or the other gym. Or the other other gym.”

Unstructured time is my enemy. I wish it weren’t so. I’m hopeful that at some point I’ll be able to chill with effectiveness. I imagine my enemy like a fierce looming monster who politely says “No worries, I’ll come back another time” as soon as I use my special powers in defense. I food prep for the day, my nemesis cowers. I do the laundry, he runs in fear. “Take that!” I proverbially declare as I go to the post office and get the bills which I pay and then input my chart.

So many times the only differences between a characteristic that’s a strength or one that’s a weakness is the degree to which, or the situations in which we use them. Having unstructured time as an enemy is the thing that makes it so I can cram so much in to my days. But,…it’s also a thing that makes me a challenge to live with. 

For instance, a low quiet voice just came from the dark in the hotel room, “Crystal. Do you really have to type so much right now?” I’ll stop. Dirty has a busy couple days ahead. A full day of orientation, then dropping off in Fresno so he can compete in an FFA contest, then drive back to town and rest up so he can take care of his steer and get in a couple workouts. He’s just like his father. (Bwah ha!}

I love to be challenged. LOVE it! I was on the hunt for a new challenge recently, and landed on what’s far and away the farthest thing ever from my comfort zone.

Last year there were posters up at my side gym about the NorCal Fitness Classic. It looked interesting, but last year already had a challenge booked.

The signs showed up again this year. A text to my brother led to an IM to the show, led to talking to a trainer and nutrition guy, let to me checking to see if my patient husband was up for my latest shenanigans, then…boom. Next thing I know, I’ve jumped all the way into a body building competition. Me! What the….?

This has been an incredible learning experience. I had no idea how much I didn’t know about all this.

People in the know as this thing started:”You plan on entering bikini or figure?”

Me: *stares and says nothing whilst crickets are heard in the distance

Bikini is my division. I’m pretty sure this isn’t an endorsed way to describe it, but it’s like entry level muscle. “But Crystal, does that mean it’s easy?”

No. No it’s not easy. It’s been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I’ve been training hard and eating harder for over three months now. Everyday I’ve packed for work in a fashion that looks as thought I am running away from home.

It’s helped remind me of the value of experts. Training guy (Justin Eacret) has shown me a different way to work out “We’re here to make your muscles bleed.” Nutrition guy (Lawrence Senical) tells me what to eat, and is able to predict exactly how my body will be responding to the changes in food. In six weeks time I lost 6 percent body fat. Bikini Lady (Shauna) has been pivotal in me sustaining the work. She’s very kind about answering all the questions I have like “Is it normal to want to assault someone if they’ve eaten my blueberries?” Working with her on posing has been something akin to charm school. Turning me into something ladylike? Goes without saying she’s got her work cut our for her.

These guys know their stuff, and while I’m absolutely anxious about how it will all turn out, I’m confident that I’ve been coached to the degree that I’ll be walking on to the stage with the best effort I can make.

About that stage, and my comfort zone. It’s a bikini competition. I’ve had several talks with myself about what it means that I’m getting ready to show so much of me to the public. It’s made me want to take up quilting. You show off your hard work on a quilt, no one bats an eye. I don’t quilt. I work out (said like LMFAO). So, if I want to show my work, unfortunately, the hoody and lulus won’t cut it. Ugh. I wondered if my sparkly bikini and stilettos (that’s right…STILETTOS) means that I am putting the Show in Chauvinism (bwah ha). I’m very fortunate to have a balance of solid people in my life. Tara reminded me that a truly feminist principle is to be able to do what I want regardless of what I worry others may think of it. She’s right. I’ll be up there because I want to be. If it’s a bother to someone, that’s about them. Not me.

What is about me, is that this endeavor takes a lot of energy. Nutrition guy said that it’s one of the most selfish things a person can do. He didn’t mean that in a negative connotation. It takes work, and I can’t for second tell myself that the amount of time or effort I’m giving somehow helps my children or the greater good. I saw that someone posted about the transition that happens when your kids grow up. The title was something like “getting to know myself after the kids are gone.” I didn’t read the article. I’m sure I was late to something when I saw it. But I did notice that there were some sad face responses. I don’t think we should be sad about finding ourselves again. Raising kids is hard. Harder than bikini comp. But when I’m driving past the schools and seeing all the pick ups drop offs, or when I drive past the ball field, I am able to clearly recall all the work that went in to getting to this point. It helps give perspective about my selfish act. Like all parents when they hit this mark, I’ve earned the right to do stuff for me. It’s weird that we have to say that it’s okay to be nice to ourselves. I’d like to fix that for all of us with my proverbial magic wand.

Now that I’ve made peace with the why’s of doing this I’m able to focus on the other elements that are sooooo far out of my universe. Did I mention the stilettos? The theme for my personal development lately has been to improve my comfort with vulnerability. I’ll be on stage in front of friends, family (NOT the boys), and strangers. I’ll be wearing a suit that is not Victorian era swimwear and that will be glued to me. I’ll be spray tanned and glossy with full hair and make up. I’ll spend one minute showing my hard work via poses that are feminine AF. I’ll be standing next to beautiful women in the same situations who’ve also worked very hard to reach this goal. I will be judged. Every single aspect of this screams vulnerability to me. I’m not sure Berne Brown recommends bikini competition regularly, but it’ll be the thing that strikes me to the core of that degree of openness.

I’ve never seen a body building show. I maybe should’ve before, you know, entering one or whatever. But, I’m excited for how all this will come together. There has been so much professionalism and effort on the parts of so many. I believe that it’s going to be a great experience for athletes and spectators.

Come see the work. Or just come to see me all baby giraffe like walking in heels. If you’re going to be creeped out by bikini me, don’t let that stop you from coming. I’m the 45+ division. We go first. (In case we got to go home and take meds and hit the hay…bwah ha!) There will still be plenty of show to catch after our division. Also, don’t be creepy about me being in a bikini. It’s a swimsuit. Not a big deal. I’ll call you on any creepiness that comes my way. Tara will make sure I do. I am more than okay with folks recognizing the work. They’re muscles. My team and I built them for me to show off, but don’t make it weird. It’s a family show.

Remember 13 years ago? If not, maybe find another blog. This one may not be as relatable to you. (C’mon man. It’s got “bifocals” right in the title. Bifocals!)

13 years. It’s a long time. It’s also what ye ol’ internet says that the average person will spend at work in their lifetime. 13. Years.

Work is hard. Not so hard that it shouldn’t happen, but hard enough that someone has decided that we should be paid for whatever our work is.

So, with work being…uh…work, and it getting so much of our time, work needs to also be enjoyable.

There are a lot of ways to have so much of work time also be enjoyable. For example, choosing a career that matches your values and that you can do well. Purpose. It’s very gratifying. In general, social workers choose the field because of the outcomes, not the incomes (that’s right…still trying to make that phrase take off). But, social workers certainly aren’t the only ones who should work to maintain their work/fun balance.

There are endless amounts of ways to have a congenial day whilst still doing hard work. This one time, an idea was struck that maybe it would be funny to wear sweater vests at work in honor of Tim’s birthday. Tim championed the sweater vest and all that it stands for.

So we did. The first year, several of us wore the vest on 03/28. We didn’t tell Tim that this was a thing; and in the spirit of all great surprises, he hadn’t worn one that day. We sharked to and fro by his cubicle, wishing him a happy birthday. He wasn’t catching on, but was thankful for all the greetings. Hannah had to leave the office for a visit, and didn’t want to miss Tim figuring it out. So, we marched to his cubicle and just stood there. Staring at him. “Knowing” spread across his face, “Oh. I get it.” I think he was happy about it.

The next year there more vests. And even more in each year that followed. It’s a silly holiday, but it has induced smiles every year.

International Sweater Vest Day has become a thing. Sure, I felt more than horrible when I’d heard that Nancy Bolen (quite possibly the kindest person I know) thought that it was a real holiday and asked her son in law to announce it. On the flights he pilots. On a commercial airline. (Bwah!) But the movement has continued.

Last year, the farthest vesting was in Scotland. (Fun fact: I was trying to say this the other day and accidentally called “Scotland” “Stockton.” Geez, Adams!) There’s been multigenerational vestings, vests taken on vacations so participation doesn’t get skipped, and Matt Grigsby saying that he’s having trouble getting his International Sweater Vest Day cards out in time.

It’s been more than fun. Please don’t hesitate to join us. Goad your distant friends to join us to. Also, please find ways to make time with your work families it’s own kind of enjoyable. You’re getting 13 years with them, make sure there’s some fun in there.

I feel confident saying that I’m an oversharer. I come by it naturally. Look at my social media accounts if you need proof. I’ve posted about my groceries, my mason jar salads, my desserts (I’m hungry. Clearly)

So, why did I have to be told, then told again, to post about young Dirty’s huge news? I’m not sure if it’s me, or the changing face of how information is shared; but I really don’t know where the “too much information” line is.

I love to talk about the humans we made (it doesn’t feel right to call them kids anymore). I talk about them even more than I talk about CrossFit. I make it a mission of finding the most ridiculous segue to weave in a story about my boys. I’m pretty gifted at it. It’s a “subtle” strength.

Random person: “Some weather we’re having.”

Me: “This one time, there was weather, and my son he did the most amazing thing. Let me tell you and over detailed story about it“

This college thing is a really big deal. But it’s not really my deal. You know those parents to do a great job of tracking the kids assignments in high school? That wasn’t me. Somewhere along the way, the messaging that Dirty got from the influences in his life made him decide to do what he needed to do to reach his goal. Him.

He’s got big decisions ahead of them. I’ll do my best to offer what I know, but the reality is… Both of my kids have launched better than I did. They’re in waters I never charted.

Parenting is such a zone defense activity. These boys are awesome because of the community that raised them. So as an homage to everyone who’s been a part of their lifes; excellent work. They got the messages of how to be, how to work, and their importance in the bigger picture.

THANK YOU!

Did you know that I like to work out? I like to work out. I like to work out a lot. It makes me happy. Do NOT start a conversation with me about exercise unless you have a strong exit strategy and can tolerate the sight of my eyes getting all twinkly.

I’m trying a new project that really is worth sharing.

For the first time ever, I’m working with a personal trainer. Justin Eacret has been great. He’s very professional and knowledgeable. He understands that my Crossfit is extremely important to me, as is my side gym work (aka Lady Lifting). He has been very supportive of those endeavors.

Not gonna lie, I worried about working with a trainer. I’ve been getting what I think is great foundation from the programming that Kyle makes and the coaching that Jayme and Jen give. I was worried that a trainer would tell me why what I’m doing is wrong. That’s not at all how it’s been. He’s taken what I’ve done, and given direction based on my personal goals and abilities.

I do this thing when I wake up where I lay my 47 year old self still in bed and run diagnostics. Did I wake up? Check! Am I feeling okay? Check! (It’s just allergies! I swear!). Am I sore? Yea baby! I know that I don’t NEED to be sore to make progress. But I LIKE to be sore. It makes me feel like I did something. I especially like to be sore in the spots that I’m trying to change. Justin’s targeted workouts are doing that.

Even though I’ve been working out a while, this training has still given me those awesome experiences when you are introduced to a muscle you didn’t know you had or had never used in a specific way before. He’s been patient, yet pushy through such episodes as me being unable to stop laughing as I try a new kind of leg curl. Or him telling me to do the thing, me telling my body to do the thing, and then nothing happening.

Justin: “Okay, now just go ahead and lift your torso up.”

Me: “Okay.” *while focusing entire existence to get torso up

Also me: *not moving torso at all

It’s exciting to get some progress on that move. If you’re curious, I’ll show you my new trick. As long as there’s a GHD machine nearby. And, I didn’t have to worry at all that I’ve mastered it, because as soon as I figure out the thing, his “helpful” self makes the thing harder.

This has been a hard but very fun adventure. I really can’t wait to see how it turns out. There’s so much to talk about! (Here comes that twinkle in my eye…run!) But I’ll pace myself. Partly because that’s what I need to do, and partly because the nutrition guy (Lawrence Senical) is presently dead to me. (Really?! 45 min on the treadmill?! It’s killing me. The show on the TV today included a vet giving CPR to a chipmunk. A CHIPMUNK. Ugh!)