I was really board and unimpressed with Montana. It was miles and miles of golden fields. And while beautiful, they got old after 30 miles. While driving north, I even sent a group text to my friends on day two of my visit saying I would not be coming back to visit Montana. Dixie Chicks’ “Wide Open Spaces” kept playing over and over in my head. This is where they were talking about. I was so bored! Montana was just a colder, bigger Kansas (not happenin).
I’d traveled through all timezones in the past two days and the jet lag caught up with me. I was exhausted before the sun came down. After my experience sleeping in my car at Antelope Canyon and Bryce National Park, I thought nothing about climbing into the back seat of my truck at Glacier National Park for the night.
Golden fields on both sides of a gravel highway for miles on end!
The next morning I journeyed from West glacier to east Glacier. However, the park was on fire in many places and the smoke destroyed the visibility. I’m sure here were mountains behind the think white fog but I couldn’t see much anything.
Make sure to bring your passport. For no particular reason, you might want to cross the boarder into Canada. Might as well, you’re already there if you’re at Glacier national park. I didn’t bring mine and those Canadians didn’t just let me waltz into their country. Boo. They did allow me to take this selfie and import the Mt Dew I bought at the little shop across the border.
Also, make sure to bring fall layers. Even in August, it’s colder than the heart of an assclown who breakups with a girl by changing the name in his facebook relationship status.
I drove from glacier hitting up all the major towns on the way. Did you know there are only three Best Buys in the entire state gigantic of Montana? I needed one for my camera battery charger. Had to go all the way to Billings to get it. Anyway, along the way I kept being delayed by free grazing live stock. First thing I thought was to ind the farmers and alert them that their cows were out like I’d do back home. But then, there were no houses in sight. That’s just how they do in Montana. Cows have freedom to roam. Make sure you are driving the speed limit. These cows come out of nowhere.
Finally getting to see the American Buffalo!
After a day of driving then stopping in Big Timber for then night (really friendly sweet folks at River City End), I made it to the ranch in Absarokee. Then the boredom just vanished. When you are on a ranch, you never have a shortage of things to do.
Not a Dude Ranch Agro-Tourism is being coming the newest trend in travel. I explained the concept to a friend who said he already knew all about it from an episode of, The Office. It’s basically activity-based tourism to experience agricultural life first hand. As some of the locals explained, I basically came on vacation to do the type of chores that they grew up dreading. I guess it did kind of have the Tom Sawyer feel to it… just like paying to white-wash a fence.
Now, when I made booked the trip with Montana Bunkhouses, Karen, the organizer, wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting into. She organizes hands-on ranching, experience vacations for a community of twenty Montana cattle ranching families. Karen basically served as my Montana travel agency telling me how much time to spend in the different national parks and which ranch will serve my goals.
She emphasized this wasn’t a Dude Ranch. Dude Ranches, as she explained, was the Disney land version of ranching. Although it is a great experience, it is all entertainment focused. A working ranch is authentic to real life on a ranch without the fanfare, glitz, and Hollywood, romanticized glamour of a Dude Ranch. On a working ranch, you are going to get dirty. After explaining some of the experiences I could expect, I had to assured her that I was a southern country girl and totally fine getting dirty. Besides, I wanted to see the difference between Montana ranches and Kentucky farms.
I’ll be honest. I was a bit in shell shock when I first arrived on the ranch. The folks were already in the mists of worming sheep. Let me tell you a thing or two about worming sheep. First you have to catch them. Which takes team work and athleticism. You may think you caught one, then it keeps running off with you on his back. I don’t think there’s much of a special technique to do it. Just grab one by the wool. If you have cowboy skills, you may be able to rope one. While forcing medicine in his mouth, it is also a good time to trim the poop off his bottom. You see, balls of poop collect in their wool which will eventually attract maggots to their tails. So two must wrangle and hold while the third brave soul clips the poop balls off. That way, you can tell who has been medicated by who has a clean bottom. Doing this for 300 sheep takes the better part of a day. There is no way to do this without getting dirty. Sheep sh!t is also a challenge to get out of jeans. Don’t wear your best.
If you have ever seen the cute film “Babe” from back in the day, I now can attest that sheep are definitely stupid, just as they said in the movie. They just run about in packs tripping over stuff making a bunch of noise, getting their heads stuck in fences. I’m not all that impressed with them. They are kinda boring creatures.
The chores on the ranch change by the season. In the spring, the calves and lambs are born. They need help during delivery, vaccines, and weening. In the summer it’s important to maintain the health of the animals. Bringing the cattle home is a highlight of the fall happens globally except in Montana, it’s without all the fests as in the Alps. Then there’s fence fixing and overall maintenance and management. Of course, daily the all the animals on the farm need to be fed.first thing in the morning and then as the sun goes down. Chickens, horses, cows, sheep, and goats can be quite the undertaking. My favorite chore was feeding the adorable orphaned calves. Then there was a this attention hog of a goat. He couldn’t stand for the calves to have more attention than him and he forced my hand to rub on him. He was such a sweetie, I obliged. He reminded me of my dog back home.
Now country girls and cow girls are not synonymous, however, with a little work a country girl can make a graceful transition into a cowgirl. Scarlett O’Hara was a country girl. Annie Oakley is a cowgirl. Being a cowgirl is a workout in itself.
Should’ve Been A Cowboy
On one occasion, we rode up into the mountains to look for lost cows. The cows had come down from the pastures in the mountains but not all of them came home. That’s when I realized I have never ridden a horse with a purpose before. Any other time it was purely entertainment…like on a boring trail or in an arena. Here, I was doing some real cowboy stuff. There is more to cowboying than the 1791 Supply Co. swagger. It’s a lot of physical, time consuming work. We had to ride because there was no other way to get up into the altitude. You couldn’t four-wheel it, couldn’t drive it, and definitely couldn’t walk it. We drove bout an hour to the trail head of a national forest. Tiny, the man of the ranch who wasn’t at all tiny, gave me a quick safety briefing. “If Lorena sees a bear, just turn her around real quick away from the bear.” Record scratch…and pause…ummm…a bear!? What is happening? What have I gotten myself into! I had not even considered there were bears in the region. Apparently, a horse has the tendency to panic, buck the rider off, and keep going at the sight of a bear. We took a small band of real cowboys, and aggro-tourists up into the mountains then separated into two smaller groups in different directions off the trails looking for the lost cows. At this point, the lyrics to Toby Keith’s “Should’ve Been a Cowboy” play over and over in my mind. My horse was awesome. She responded well to commands. My partner’s horse, on the other hand, had some anxiety attacks attacks going on. While it was a good horse for working with cows, it wasn’t the best for riding also steep rugged terrain. Well, the temperature dropped in the mountains and the rain began and honestly…cowboying stopped being fun. Rain or shine, the work of a cowboy must get done.
Ranch vs. Farms
Just as there are different jobs in the medical community, or in the defense community, there are different jobs in the agriculture community and the differences between ranchers and farmers end to get muddled. I arrived on the ranch thinking perhaps it was just a regional vocabulary difference, but no, the functions are entirely different. Ranchers raise cattle or sheep. Just two animals. Ranches tend to be out west where the soil is unsuitable for crop-growing. Farms have a variety of fruit and vegetable crops and pigs, poultry, dairy cattle. As a child, I climbed and used my imagination on farm machinery. Noticeably missing from the ranch was all the machines. There were no harvesters, balers, tractors tucked away in farm storage buildings. Ranchers use horses to do a lot of their work, or pack mules to carry loads into the mountains, or 4-wheelers. On a ranch you may have several Ranchers’ livestock may free-grazing with other ranchers’ which is why branding your livestock is more prevalent than on farms. Farms use tagging (and perhaps also branding). Farmers divide their operation up by fields or paddocks, ranchers by pastures. Fields tend to be smaller than pastures and geographically closer together. Like when we on the search for cattle that never came home, we were an hour away from the house. Ranchers wear cowboy hats while they work. Farmers wear baseball caps while working and may whip out a cowboy hat when they go dancing. So, when you’re at the dinner table blessing the hands that made your family’s meal possible, you are blessing the hands of a farmer for your grains, dairy, fruits and veggies, and a rancher for your lamb and beef!
This ranch is pretty dynamic in a business aspect. In addition to raising and selling livestock, providing ranch vacations, the farm also offers trail rides and fishing trips under the business name, Paintbrush Adventures. Of course, this is just part of a day’s work. Even getting dozens of horses settled and ready for rides is a bit of work but it’s always fun when work disguises it’s self as play.
The Montana Bunkhouse website states that visitors come as guests but leave as friends and that is certainly true. Even just for I week, The leaders said I was a part of their lives and I agree, I was treated like family. I made friends that I know I’ll always have a connection.
Using BuzzFeed’s 29 Surreal Places in America You Need to Visit Before You Die as my American travel bucket list, I started researching the spectacular sights in my area. One of the features, Zion National Park, was a short day trip drive away from my home.
So, with a weekend as my timeline, I packed up me and my roommate, Memphis, and headed up the road toward Utah. For those who have never met Memphis, he adores me. He’s kinda like a clingy boyfriend who wants to be loved on non-stop, all the time. ALL THE TIME. NON-STOP. I reserved a room at the pet-friendly La Qinta Inn Resort about three miles from the park entrance. After the long drive, I just wanted to sit in bed and watch TV until I knocked out from exhaustion. He wanted his belly rubbed all night! Then he got all this energy and decided to jump from bed to bed like a little kid in a hotel. After some compromising on both our parts, sleep found us. The next morning, in little kid fashion, I woke up to Memphis walking in my back ready to go before 7 am on a Saturday. After convincing him to hit the snooze button, I headed out of the lodge for the complimentary breakfast provided by the hotel, and had my breath taken away as soon as I stepped outside my door.
First thing I saw when I stepped outside my hotel room.
In my travel journal, I wrote:
You know when you leave your concrete jungle and drive all night in the dark, just you and the GPSs, and you can’t really see all that’s changed right in front of you….that same experience after driving in southern Germany in pitch blackness all night and go straight to bed once you get to your hotel….then you wake up, go outside in the sunrise and you find yourself surrounded by the astounding beauty of the Alps for the first time…I just got that feeling again this morning.
I just couldn’t believe how beautiful this place in America was. I couldn’t believe it’s been here all along and I was just now discovering it for myself. In the dark, I missed how the landscape changed around me. This was literary the same breathtaking beauty I’d experienced while road tripping with my mom and niece along the German-Swiss boarder in pitch darkness unaware of all the beauty that surrounded me until morning.
Memphis and I loaded up the car and drove three miles to sit in the longest line outside the gate. At 0900, I was already behind the early bird curve to get into the park. I flashed my park pass (which is a free annual pass if you are a Federal Government worker) and got informed by the gate staff that there is only one trail in the whole 229 square mile park that Memphis was allowed to travel. I was initially disgruntled that my only option with my companion was the Pa’rus Trail. Turns out, that was one heck of a trail. It’s about two miles in length following the river, and gorgeous views at every turn. I was surrounded by beauty all around. Again, I was overwhelmed with disbelief that this wonderland is still part of my country. I had a hard time grasping that this place, so drastically different from where I grew up is still part of the same nation.
Beautiful Trail for dogs
While on the trail, I met an upper middle-aged couple taking pictures with their big fancy cameras. Turns out they were from Connecticut.
“We’re not tourists,” the husband said. “We’ve lived here for seven years and we still come on weekends to take a picture. There’s just so much to see at different times of day and year,” he said. And I believed it. The walk out on the trail was vastly different from the walk back. I couldn’t stop taking pictures!
This weekend I realized this was the most amount of time I’ve ever spent, non-stop with my roommate. I got Memphis from the side of the road when he was a tiny two month old (the Vet’s estimation). He was abandoned with ribs showing. Then I went off to some summer training. My parents took care of him while I finished out college then for my first job out of college. Then When I went overseas. So I finally got him full-time when I moved to SoCal…seven years later. I got to see all his weird habits. Smell every smell he produced (never knew I had a gassy dog). I learned he is incredibly protective. He wasn’t really cool with men approaching me but would run up to women just sitting on park benches minding their own business and sit in their laps like he belonged there (they welcomed him). I learned he is just as adventurous and athletic as me. If I said, let’s go climb that mountain, he be down. If and when I said, let’s swim this river. He was game. Miles and miles we explored and was always ready to follow me down the rabbit hole. I told my mom, who kept Memphis for me for years as I traveled, that her baby got to be a dog this weekend. No lounging in the house being a pampered pouch, this little Kentucky dog was out exploring America.
I got a little saddle time in too. On the other side of the park (opposite the Springdale Gate) I discovered a charming ranch and had to stop to check it out. At Zion Mountain Ranch, three girls with my name (rarity) went horseback riding. While saddled up we talked about the things that tend to bring strangers together: travel, food, adventures, and guys. One girl was from the same SoCal area I live in now. She visited Zion a year ago, fell in love with the area, and moved there. She grew up on horses and got a job at the ranch, went to college nearby, and found a Utah cowboy to love. I asked her take on Utah men vice California ones, because for a southern girl, California guys were like nothing I’d come across before. Fellas who cut their own grass, and maintain their own cars, and do handy work around the house seemed to be rare in SoCal according to the native and me, the newbie. Traditional courtship is harder to find in SoCal than Utah apparently. This region of Utah is considered the high desert and snows mercilessly in the winter. As a Cali girl, her first winter was unbarable. So she, being of similar spirit as me, planned to spend next winter in Thailand with her beau. I love that idea…avoid the winter!
The ranch had a spring of new arrivals. Three mares came up mysteriously pregnant. One mare just dropped a foal without showing any signs of pregnancy. In fact, she’d been ridden pretty long earlier that day and no one was none the wiser until a baby just fell out of her like no big deal. Well eventually, the stealthy stallion was caught in the act. He got castrated. But he sired four new foals before being caught. Watching the new-borns keeping up with their mamas as they sprinted across the ranch was a sight to see.
It was on this ranch that I finally got to see Buffalo! I was disappointed I never saw them while driving across the plains on my Cross-Country Road trip. Zion Mountain Ranch is a buffalo preserve and hundreds of buffalo roam freely here. Kinda like big cows. Not as exciting as I’d hoped. But one of the girls got to have a cowboy-esqu adventure when buffalo left the preserve and it took three folks on horses to corral them back into their safe zone. Apparently, a sole rider on a horse can scare an adolescent buffalo back to the preserve. And older, adult male is not phased by a horse and might actually try to take one on. With the quaint cabins at the ranch, coupled by the beauty of the park and outdoor adventure opportunity, I couldn’t help but the think how absolutely romantic this area had the potential to be (Honeymoon spot!).
So many diverse people from all over the world come to visit the ranch mostly wanting the ultimate cowboy experience. I was regaled with funny, heart warming, amusing tales of some of the visitors to the park the guide had encountered.
If you get a chance, try this beer. FYI: In Utah, you are not allowed to have alcohol without food to go with it.
While the three of us rode our horses we discussed the Utah stereotypes. The first thing a lot of Americans think of when they consider Utah is Mormonism and possibly polygamy. On this trip I learned polygamy is not accepted by Latter Day Saints. Polygamist may call themselves Mormon, but Mormons don’t accept them as Mormon, Kinda like Baptists don’t claim Westboro Baptists. You can usually tell the polygamist by their uniform of formless pastel-colored dresses reaching down to the ground and Rapunzel-like tresses. They tend to live in more remote areas and not common all over Utah. A walk around the local Wal-Mart will be the most likely place for this cultural tourism (in fact, Wal-Mart seems to be the place for sub-culture tourism wherever you are).
Me at Bryce Canyon
Some 70 percent or so of Utah is preserved as a public state or national park. In addition to Zion, there’s Arches National Park, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, Canyonlands, Moab, Red Fleet, Monument Valley and more. Each park vastly different from the other. I don’t get a lot of that back home in the south. A state park in Kentucky is almost indistinguishable from a state park in Alabama (with the exception of Mammoth Cave National Park). It’s a shame that the narrative of this state is centered around this counter-culture when the glory of Utah is its geo-diversity should be highlighted. Sure, the prevalence of Later Day Saint churches does stand out more than other states, but Utah is a big, beautiful, diverse state. Utah has so much more to offer than that one minute, unique aspect. And I guess that’s the same for people. A person can be as amazing as Utah but have one negative aspect or make one mistake and that’s the part people will emphasize the most.
This trip was mesmerizing. I got to share it with my favorite roommate and made new friends. This region instantly captured my heart and now is my American favorite. I cannot wait to visit Southern Utah again.
How could I see the Eiffel Tower, Great Wall of China, the bell tower of Big Ben, the Berlin Wall, Neuschwanstein Castle, hiked the Himalayas, skied the Alps, visit the Grand Mosque before I ever saw the Golden Gate Bridge, Chrysler Building, Apollo Theater, and Grand Canyon in my own country?! I talked to a German colleague who listed all the great sights of America he’d seen and I hadn’t seen a single one. Likewise, although he’d seen the wonders of the United States, he hadn’t seen wonders of his own homeland.So, in my quest to see all 50 states,I’m headed off to Wyoming and Montana! Yellowstone is just one of those places I’ve always wanted to go since childhood. And, because my most adventurous friends are either starting their school years, deploying, or otherwise, pre-obligated, I’m traveling the Great North West alone. Which is what prompted this post.
If something should happen to me as a result of Traveling While Black, please know…
That I am well aware that there is no guilt or shame in this world that God’s grace won’t cover. Christ was already crucified for anything I could have possibly done, so there’s no need to crucify myself. Plus, I have plenty of awesome friends and family that will talk me off a ledge and help me regain perspective. Know, that I am not part of that 1% or so of black women who would ever commit suicide.
I have too much to accomplish and only a few years of this life to do it in. There’s that Pulitzer Prize winning novel I’ve yet to pen. There’s a story waiting to be written that will capture the experiences of those who are often overlooked in literature that will be a NY Times best seller, just waiting for me to write. I have Caldecott Medals, Newberry Awards, and Coretta Scott King Awards to achieve.
I have too many travel adventures on the books that I’m looking forward to. I have nine more states to visit before I can blog about my favorite places in America! I’m knocking out two on this trip, and plan to see the rest before schools in California start at the end of September. I’m looking forward to my rendezvous with my fellow freedom-defending cousins in Spain for New Year’s to see that Monkey Jesus painting that one of my friends described as “a finger painted self-portrait of Curious George!”
This is hilarious!
I’m finally spring-breaking in Peru with my favorite travel pals! Then there’s Puerto Rico next summer. This is my super Spanish year! I am going to buckle down and finally read the Spanish version of Don Quixote that’s been sitting on my shelf next to my Spanish text book from college (darn UK Spanish department decided to change books and I couldn’t sell it back to the book store!). Plus there’s way too much of this world I haven’t seen and experienced. I need to see Taylor Swift in Singapore or South Africa. I need to honeymoon in the Maldives and spend bachelorette vacation in the Seychelles. My niece and I need to take pictures with the giant tortoises in the Galapagos Islands. I haven’t held a Koala in Australia yet. I need a Parisian address at some point. My great-grandma live to be 94. Her daughter is currently 90 so I do not think it’s too much of a stretch to think I should make it to 97. Even so, I’ve only got a limited time to be super active and hit up all seven continents. I’m not going to take myself out of the game before reaching my goal.
I look forward to all the amazing things I can do this school year. One year down as a professor and, after spending the summer with other professors at other universities I have new ideas on how to accomplish bigger goals. But first, I’m going to have to toughen up. I can’t lower standards so folks can reach it. I can’t feel sorry for students as much (i.e. aw, you slept through my final…I’ll give up my break so you can take it). I’m nixing the mass amounts of extra-credit I give. Last year, I made it rain EC points. Like 40 points worth and kiddos still didn’t get As! The students that already had the 117% in the class were the ones who took on the optional essay while the 79.5% students did nothing to reach the next letter grade. Students who don’t show up to my mid-term and final will get no sympathy from me anymore. I am not grading essays over my spring break because college students turn their work in late. I have to watch these scholars blossom and be there at their graduation…fighting back tears of pride.
I have a lot of personal, professional, and educational goals and prospects. I need to get published…scholarly work and fiction. I need to get more proficient at some languages. Maybe I need to get published in one of those languages! I need to be able to clear a 4 foot jump on a thoroughbred. I want to play T. Swift’s “Our song” on banjo. I’m still waiting to hear back from my dream university. I want to design, build and live in a mini mansion. I still have til October to get myself in bikini competition champion condition (probably shouldn’t have had that Oreo frappe this morning)!
Everyone who knows me knows I’m not about to tap out of this life without the opportunity to wear a legendary, alencon lace-trimmed, three-quarter length sleeve, scalloped, boat neck gown. I’ll stand in the same little Baptist church in Kentucky where my grandma, mom, and I all were baptized and where both my dad and granddad received God’s favor in finding my mom and grandma. I’m like little Amy in Little Women when she says, “I don’t want to die. I’ve never even been kissed. I’ve waited my whole to be kissed, and what if I miss it?” Well, I’ve waited my whole life to be the “good thing” that someone finds and I wouldn’t end my life and miss it.
While I’m still on the fence on if I’m going to just spoil everyone else’s kids around me or make the life-long commitment to being underappreciated and sleep deprived, I still have the vision of standing up on a packed alter with generations of family and friends passing an infant down the line of supporters to his daddy who’ll lift the baby to the Lord while the pastor dedicates the child. It’ll be just as Hannah did for Sam and the congregation’s hands will lifted all promising to help raise him up. If not for my own, then surely I’ll have the opportunity to play a part in this important role for a friend’s child.
And if I do decided to become a mama (‘cus as a woman in an industrialized, modern, kinda democratic country, I get to choose motherhood…and yes…getting laid and becoming a mother are two separate decisions…and yes, I went political there) I’m not half doing it. I’m going to attempt to field the starting lineup of the UK basketball team. I mean really, lots of women are mothers but a select few get courtside seats in Rupp. Even if I fall shy of that goal, if I can get my whole family together in church come Sunday morning I’d call it a win. I’m going to filling up a whole pew with mini gentlemen looking way too cute with fresh haircuts and dressed in little suspenders, vests, argyle, corduroy, and saddle shoes. When the pastor says “turn in your Bibles…” they’ll flip through the Baptist Hymnal and point to the words, pretending to read along because they are too little to know the difference. And they’ll sit between me, who’s got baby girl #1 in my lap, and their daddy whose got baby girl # 2 in one hand and my heart in the other (yep, extra cheesy, you’ll live). Both baby girls dressed in too much lace and too many ribbons and ruffles and with adorable white patent leather shoes. And I’ll wear a big ol’ church hat that blocks the view of everyone behind me (they too, will live).
The stuff I dream up tends to happen. I envisioned living in a flat in Europe and traveling every weekend and that vision was accomplished. I envisioned being a leader and that was accomplished. Like Elle in Legally Blond when she impulsively decides to go to Harvard law…stuff somehow has a way of happening when I commit to a decision.
I wouldn’t commit suicide and I’m not disrespectful.
I want to make it apparently obvious that I am not suicidal. Even so, there’s a trend of blaming the deceased for their murder. Don’t even consider that something I did lead to my demise. There’s a quote that’s gone viral that states, “telling black people to be respectful so they don’t get killed is like telling women what to wear so they don’t get raped.” It shouldn’t matter regardless, but please know, I am respectful anyway. I grew up with old school, southern, military, non nonsense parents. I got this general respect and respect for authority thing on lock. I’ve slipped up and called my fitness trainer “sir” once when he told me go lift something, it’s just what you do. I’m a responsible drinker and since I’m traveling alone, there will be no drinks on this trip). No drugs have ever entered this body. I don’t smoke. I don’t curse. My BFF, Megan, was once interviewed as a reference for me, and let me know she thought it was important to note that as a grown woman I still used words like, “hind-end, behind, and bottom” in place of using the word “butt” because I think it’s a bit too crass. Last school year, I accidentally deleted and entire document and my expletive of choice was a “Dog gone it!” through grit teeth. My boss, who is awesome but has been known to drop an f-bombs or two teased, “I heard you almost cuss in there.” I might roll and eye which is my body’s natural reflex to BS. It would take a lot of focus to control it and sometimes the eye roll slips. But if I’m cursing, I am under extreme duress.
I’m more cautious than usual while alone. I don’t go out on the town alone. I am planning to hit up a rodeo. Hopefully that will be a safe environment for solo women of color. Hopefully I won’t get called names or have stuff thrown on me. I’m not confrontational, my impulse would be to flee a dangerous situation rather than confront it. Grabbing an officer’s gun wouldn’t be my go-to move when in distress although I’d like to imagine myself doing a Charlie’s Angel/Kill Bill-style round house kick if one was pointed in my face but realistically that’s unlikely. If anything I’d probably in shock I’m not being treated like a lady. I follow reasonable instructions of officers but getting out of a vehicle for no reason is going to put me in serious distress because I’d fear getting raped.
If I end up in jail over some nonsense like Sandra Bland, I won’t fret paying bail. I can’t imagine I wouldn’t be able to handle it by a credit card swipe or a phone call to mom & pops. Even so, I’d go Friendship 9 with it and let tax payers of the nation keep on paying my salary while I’m hanging out in jail saving money by having the tax payers of the town cover my meals and lodging. Racism and pride are expensive, but I shouldn’t be the one footing the bill for someone else’s issues.
I think that should cover the usual gamete of ways murder victims of color are usually blamed for their death. Unless I get surprised with a new, creative murder justification.
Oh, the self-defense clause? I’m the same size I’ve been since I was 12 years old. I am the size of a 12-year-old girl. When Target has cute or cheaper stuff in the little girl’s section, I’m on it. Girls size 12/14. I’m 5 foot 4.25 inches tall 120 pounds (prob closer to 125 but those extra pounds don’t matter). I’m known to smile way too much…even in formations. If someone is threatened or intimidated by me something is wrong with them. I’m not coordinated enough to dribble and run at the same time, I’m probably not coordinated enough to cause you much harm. No one at airports, parking lots, restaurants, sidewalks, malls, etc seem intimidated because they always seem to find me and have weird, awkward, or inappropriate convos with me and to tell me too much about their personal life. And “thug music”? No. The only music I’m taking with me is all 5 Deluxe editions of T.Swizzle (on CDs). I might sing to her a little loudly but If asked politely, I’m likely to accommodate requests to turn her down. Then again she did make that song, “Thug Story” so she might count as thug music. I can’t stop watching Luke Bryan sing with Jason Durelo. I wear that video out! Too cute! But Jason is a man of color so listening to his music might fall under listening to thug music and be used to justify my death. Other than that, I’ll be listening to whatever comes on Montana radio which I’ll guess isn’t too diverse. Hope they play Drake, who is the half white, Canadian boy version of Taylor (Running through the six with my woes is the equivalent of a Twentytwo, that “you suck right now” song is a “We are never ever ever getting back together.” I’ll talk about that later…provided I survive).
Use these pics as evidence. This is not a girl you needed self-defense from? A friend recently described me as a “sexy goof.” Not threatening.
If I do die before my parents, I want an epic homecoming. Make it southern, make it military, and make is quintessentially OUR FAMILY. Dave, I appoint you to ensure my mama does not give me a tacky funeral. Just because I’m dead, doesn’t mean I’m classless.
No tacky traditional funeral flowers. Think pink peonies. Two big arrangements of them flanking a white casket (or you can turn my body into a diamond…that’s a thing nowadays). For the love of Jesus, proof read the heck out of the program. If my mom is too distraught to utilize that English degree of give it to my boss, nothing gets past him.
Have a cappella Gospel Choir feeling the spirit with a lively “I’ll Fly Away” and “Soon and Very Soon.”
Sing, “His Eye is on the Sparrow” in the style of Mahalia. Have my sister sing, “Going up Yonder” and know I’ll be in Heaven shouting hallelujah just a little bit too loudly.
It would be awesome to have all three leaders: Reverend Bishop from First Baptist Elizabethtown, Reverend Aiken from First Baptist Bracktown, and Pastor Huntley from True Divine Baptist in Montgomery (he’ll be entertaining). Yes, open up the doors for salvation and if the spirit dictates, allow the opportunity for baptism, right there at a funeral. You never know when the next time someone will enter the church or if they’ll make it to next Sunday. Yes, this will be a long church session.
And yes, I want my non-Christian friends to be right there on the pews too. And I want them to feel welcome and at home. No awkward, hateful, mean, rude condemnation in the preaching. I do not approve. But if they still don’t feel comfortable even being there, be sure they know where to meet for the after party. Make it like a tailgate, barbeque style. With amazing food. Dad will handle the brisket, Karla will take care of the Mac and Cheese (this is a joke…have a backup ready). Shawn will handle the beans. Maybe a fish fry too. And let there be bourbon (and responsibility). Use my wedding fund to make sure I have a fantastic funeral (I was going to use the word “killer” in place of good here…but…probably not the best choice).
I want to be wearing that black & white A-symmetrical dress that I wore to Cathy’s wedding at my wake. But do not bury that dress, it’s much too pretty for it. Instead, give it to my baby sister cus she’ll probably be just as cute in it as me. Probably just give her all my clothes since she’s forever wanting to wear them anyway.
All the Single Ladies! Pair this dress with yellow wedges and purse. All three are in my closet.
Bury me in my cadet blues uniform (Not my good Captain one). It’s still in the back of my closet. Give my good uniform to my grandma to keep with the uniforms of all the other military members of my family. She could have a museum with all the different uniforms. If a wardrobe change is too much trouble just put me in whatever Kentucky Blue sundress no one wants. Lord knows I have way too many anyway. Or buy this one specifically for my funeral. Dad always said don’t go out and buy another suit for him if he dies, just use one that he already has…I don’t have that rule. Everyone should dress like they are going to a UK football game. Forget depressing black (unless you have a smokin’ LBD you want to get some use out of…but you’ll be in church and probably shouldn’t). Wear sundresses or seersucker and sports coats. Dress like you’re going to Derby. Don’t mourn. Celebrate my spiritual ascent.
Lastly, the only way I’d want to be buried in my hometown is if I got to stay in the veterans section of the cemetery with my mom and dad having reserved spots nearby. If not, send me to E-town, next to my great-grandma. Or just turn me into a diamond. Fire the volleys and carry on. I think that should cover it.
Last bits of odds and ins
Such a sweetie! Love my roomie
Someone will need to get my dog, Memphis, back to Kentucky. There’s money in the bank to pay for that. Use the rest of the cash in the bank to send some high school students from Daviess County, Hardin County and Montgomery off to Paris and/or Stuttgart for the summer. Mom, hand select ones that remind you of me. Make ’em write an essay, profess their love of history, culture, and travel; let them be in band, run, dance, take part in theater and prove their countless hours of community service. Pay for their study abroad tuition. I vote out of state HBCU (or of course, Kentucky) for Baby Belle and Baby Beau to go to school. Dan, sanitize my electronics for parent consumption before handing them over to my mom. Dad, I have an unused United Ticket. It’s yours, you’ll have to call. If media is involved, make sure they use the profile pic of me in my UK tee —That’s a crowd favorite. Or the pic of me, my mom, and Elizabeth in our uniforms at Liz’s Academy Commissioning. Or of my mama crying at my promotion. Don’t use my official AF photo. It’s out of date and my hair was curled too tight that day.
*Please consider the state of our union when I feel more compelled to write funeral arrangement plans before I go to Montana and Wyoming than I did before deploying.
If anyone wants to express outrage, for the love of God, do not ask, “What would Martin Luther King do?” MLK, Jr. is dead because he tried to be a Switzerland in America and that does not work. Instead, ask what great American Warriors, General William T. Sherman, General James Mattis, and the honorable Malcolm X do. Kumbaya is not the American way. It’s not even English and ‘Muricans hate it when folks don’t speak English. I’m one of the many Americans get all hoo-rah’ed up over Toby Keith’s analysis of the American way. Putting some boots in some arses gets stuff done.
Some think I’m over reacting. I sure hope so. But Tamir Rice’s life was taken in 2 seconds for being a child. Taylor Swift pens songs about being in love at 15, but fifteen-year-old Andre Green was killed last weekend along with 12 others…just in one weekend. I recall, Matthew Shepard was killed in Wyoming because of the hate in someone’s heart. I identified so much with Sandy Bland, when I read about her I though, dang, she sounds like me. Then my sister texted saying the same woman reminded her of me. And maybe that’s what it will take, is for the majority of America to see themselves in the victims. I mean, I get how it’s hard for most Americans to see themselves in a black, teen from the hood of some town no one has ever heard of. I get it. That teen is in the “out group.” He’s an “other” for many. But for me, in him I see my future son, my future husband, my dad, my friends, and my family members. When the media kept emphasizing a black teen’s 6’4″ height (and omitted that the police who killed him was just as tall) I couldn’t help but to think of my dad who is also 6’4″. I thought of my curly-haired dimple toddler nephew whose daddy and granddaddy are both 6’4″ and he probably will be as well. And simply because of his height and skin color, someone will forget that he was once our family’s pre-mature baby boy and be afraid of him.Hopefully, with as vivid a life as I’ve lived, if something should happen to me, there will be something about me that others can identify with and think, dang, that sounds like me and we ought to put a stop to shoot now, ask questions later of Americans. There is an art and strategy to protest. But the best protest would be one that would impact enough centers of gravity that would incapacitate the will and capability to take a life. Some have suggested that if I fear attack, just don’t go. But if I don’t go a get to experience the beauty of my own country, the hateful people of the world win by keeping me from experiencing all that life has to offer.
*typed on an iPhone don’t be too critical of editing.
**Since identifying oneself anyway you see fit is the thing to do now, I self-identify as the fiancé of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. If something should happen to me, please refer to me as such.
Oh Dwayne, What’s that you say? You want to smell my cooking, first thing in the morning, for the rest of your life? Not a problem.
I got a taste of the southern Utah and had to go back! With This BuzzFeed article as my inspiration, I decided to get active for my Memorial Day. I plotted my course to see it all in 4 days:
Grand Canyon National park Antelope Canyon Horseshoe Bend Bryce Canyon National Park Zion National park
I spent Friday night after work in Vegas where my co-worker was having an epic co-ed bachelor/bachelorette party in Vegas. I learned that I am much to old to be trying to keep up with recent college grads. It was a Friday night, I’d put in a full week’s worth of work and just drove three hours. I was ready to chill. they were ready to wild out. Standing in long lines while my stilettos pained my feet was not of interest to me tonight. I was also training for a fitness competition and couldn’t consume alcohol or carbs. So I kept it low-key, and turned in relatively early for a night in Las Vegas. I started my day as everyone else was going to bed and continued my journey. I had national parks to see!
The same co-worker, a recent college grad, once spoke enthusiastically about wanting to have Spring Break party trips to Lake Havasu. I’d never heard of the place. Being a southern girl my initial thoughts were why would you go to a lake in the middle of the desert to spring break on a lake when there’s Panama City Beach, Destin, Myrtle Beach, or Hilton Head? But apparently for West Coast Kids, Lake Havasu is the place to spend a week-long break from school. Well, I passed the lake on my way to the grand Canyon. I was traveling solo and this wasn’t on the itinerary but after watching groups of friends zip around on jet skis I could certainly envision spring break memories here. Why on Earth was I just now being introduced to this desert paradise?
Grand Canyon. About six hours later I finally made it to the Canyon of Canyons! Have you ever been to a place that reminds you of a song? Well, The whole time John Michael Montgomery’s “Ain’t Got Nuthin on Us” played in my mind as the sound track of this adventure.
Yes, the Grand Canyon was a sight to see. But I’d already seen Zion Canyon and quite frankly, although smaller, I found it more beautiful. That could also be partly to the low visibility and drizzly conditions I found the Grand Canyon. It was chilly and wet and smelled like donkey doo the whole walk.
Going all the way down to the bottom of the Canyon is a 20-mile, round trip and requires overnight camping, training, and planning. I did an 8 hour round-trip walk down the canyon using the Angel Trail. Clearly, this is an all day adventure. I think anyone with a strategy can handle the trip but it is strenuous even for the physically fit. You need to be well-researched and prepared. On this hike you are battling altitude, the elements, hunger (no vending machines on the trail) dehydration, and boredom! So hike smart. The trip down is faster than the trip up (of course) but be sure if you are planning an 8 hour trip you account for breaks and the harder journey back up. This is not a four hours down four hours back up kind of trip. It’s more like three hours down, five hours up.
The views were awe inspiring. I was just surrounded by greatness.
The views were captivating
And very serene and peaceful
After this eventful, physically straining, long day, I hoped in my car and continued the ride toward Horseshoe bend. It was pretty late once I made it to Page, AZ. Prior to leaving a did a google search for hotels here and not a darn one showed vacancies. Not being one to let a little detail like lodging derail my adventure I came anyway to try my luck at cancellations. I did some calling around (thank goodness for a smart phone) to no avail. I asked the lady at the gas station for names of near-by cities with hotels. she said, this was it. There was nothing between flag staff and Zion but Page, AZ. But she directed me to with Wal-Mart parking lot. She said everyone keep coming in and asking for advice on lodging options but the town is small and there just aren’t hotels. But they were building more to accommodate the tourist flow. But the Wal-Mart just across the street seemed ot be the overflow favorite. Sure enough, midnight in Wal-Mart was poppin’ with everyone there buying pillows, blankets, and all that other good stuff. So, I did the same. The back parking lot was a makeshift camp ground. Actual RV camping vehicles were interspersed with cars and trucks lodging tourists like me. Being 4 foot, 4 1/4 inches tall does have its benefits. I found the backseat of my sedan comfortable and it wasn’t long before I was knocked out. It rained that night.
I woke up like this! In the back seat of my Japanese car.
I woke up to a nearly empty parking lot at dawn’s first light. Droves of Wal-Mart campers were making the trek across the parking lot, toiletry bag in hand, inside the super store to use the restroom. It was quite the sight to see. Everyone brushing their teeth and straightening up in the public bathroom.
Horseshoe Bend
I made it to Horseshoe bend down the street from the Wal-mart before 6 am and before all the crowds. Entrance to this natural wonder is free. It’s a walk up a steep hill plus a bout 3/4 of a mile walk to the bend.It’s quiet and peaceful on the Colorado River in the morning. Plenty of time and space to take pictures. It also has the potential to be very dangerous as there are no natural fall prevention features so if you’re with children, stay vigilant.
Antelope Canyon
Now the cool part of Antelope Canyon is Navajo Nation Park. Not a U.S. National park. So your annual park pass will not get you access. You’ll have to pay separately and plan ahead (four months) and get a reservation to see the cool sights like the wave. With your National Park pass you still get to see the gorgeous northern Arizona/Southern Utah views.
This is the cool part. You can learn more at discoverAmerica.com and more info at http://utah.com/the-wave
Other gorgeous views of The Utah-Arizona boarder!
I took a boat ride through the Northern part of Antelope Canyon. The boat tours offered an introduction to all the Navajo history you never learned in school. The Navajos here had a successful resistance against the U.S. Army who was sent on a mission to round up all the American in the area. The Navajos had to be invisible. That meant, no noise, no fires, no cooking. Many of them camped out right at the top of ridges like the ones in the pictures while the army cruised the Colorado River by boat.
Now, I will admit, I am not a Native American History guru by any means. All I ever learned in school was there was this Indian removal act of 1830 then The Trail of Tears. Then Indians went practically extinct, the end. It was really sad but a necessary evil for Manifest Destiny. Cus “Murica! That was high school. Even as a history major in undergrad, I was able to graduate without the acknowledgment of American Indians. In my graduate work, one of my cross-cultural professors was a blue-eyed, pale-skin Indian. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian was part of our reading list.
Although the views were beautiful on their own, photo editing works wonders.
There is an amazing stories of resilience and warrior spirit that is at the very heart of all that it means to be American in Native American history, and I find it a shame that it isn’t taught more in our schools. Even with the resistance a majority of Navajos still were captured and had to endure 13 miles a day at gunpoint during the event termed as “The Long Walk.” It’s a collective, historical trauma that unites Navajos with a common history as well as connect the Navajo’s Long walk with the Trail of Tears of the Cherokee, Seminole, Chickasaw, Choctaw and Muskogee.
The whole region is just a collection of interesting, natural beauty to see. I took the opportunity for an improve photoshoot in sandstone. I had visions of a high fashion photo shoot of models voguing on the sandstone in stilettos with wind blowing their impractical flowy gowns with striking, peacockesque make-up. But, since I don’t have the skill or resources, I got me, barefoot in a tee shirt and Capri pants.
Since I got up at the crack of dawn, I packed a lot in. I’d been on a boat cruise, seen the hanging garden (a little bit of a letdown…it’s just leaves growing on a rock wall), went on walks, splashed by the river. By noon, I’d seen and done all the highlights of the area. I took some time to rest and relax. do a little reflection, writing, reading, and picnicking.
After lunch, I revisited horseshoe bend under different lighting (and a higher tourist population). I started wrapping up to get on the road and travel onward before I got too tired and the roads got dark. The weather changed quickly. In fact, in the span of the day, it went from cold enough to sear long sleeves and a vest to sweating in short sleeves, then it poured down rain out of nowhere, to cold again.
After the rain on the way out of Arizona and into Utah.
I think I look a bit off here, but hey, I camped in the backseat of m y car.
Bryce Canyon
I continued the journey north, skipping Zion Canyon and heading straight to Bryce Canyon. I saved money on lodging in favor of camping out in my car again int he national park. That way, I’d skip the line and be able to start my day in the park.
Just an hour north
Bryce Canyon distinguishes itself from the others with it’s natural amphitheaters and hoodoos which I never learned about during geography class. I mean, I remember mesas, plateaus, mountains, and what not but hoodoo was a new one for me. But they are quite interesting to see. The temperature was significantly cooler as I hiked in higher altitudes.
I love Bryce Canyon because it is so distinctively different from the other four nearby canyons nearby and yet equal in beauty and charm. That’s similar to the discovery I made while living in Germany. In Germany, perfect blue skies are hard to come by. You learn to embrace the grey skies just as the blue and realize that beautiful days come during the rain, fog, and snow as well. Just like people. It seems like with the relatively new, American body positivity movement that America has had the epiphany that beauty can exist in different, even contrasting forms. You can have a group of women with different skin colors, hair lengths and textures, body shapes and sizes and all of them still be beautiful just like land forms. We are surrounded by beauty regardless if we are in canyons or suburbia or the big city whether or not we chose to see the beauty is up to us as individuals. It doesn’t have to be a competition. It’s okay to love all the canyons equally for different reasons. The Grand Canyon is humbling with it’s massive size and reminds me of that there are forces greater than one’s self out there. The same force that carved the canyon also designed the wonder of horseshoe bend. The history of Antelope Canyons is a reminder of strength and resilience.
I topped off my canyoneering weekend with a trip to Zion. Since I’d already spent some time here, I could relax more than explore. I took the opportunity to stretch out my muscles after sleeping in my car and taking on some hard hikes, I really needed a massage but stretch helped too.
It was an exhausting, physically challenging long weekend. I got comfortable sleeping without fancy accommodations, learned to appreciate and recognize beauty in differences more, had my breath taken away by the Grand Canyon, and did some killer hiking, climbing and overall canyoneering.
It happened to be just a little over 30 days since I turned 30 and I needed another vacation to celebrate my 30th year of life. Lauren’s passport was getting dusty. I had been planning on Peru, but Lauren couldn’t do Peru during my inflexible travel window. And since I’d rather travel with friends than alone, we tossed out some ideas and based on cost and travel times. Lauren, the ultimate friend connector, scouted another mutual friend, BeBe to come along. After two weeks of group texts, e-mails, and Facebook chats decided on Panama and an AirBnB apartment on the beach. Bags were packed and we were set to rally in Panama for my first Spring Break as a college professor.
First Night in Central America
It was surreal to meet with Bebe and Lauren again. The girls flew in from Louisiana and I came from SoCal. It had been since my cross-country road trip last August that I’d seen them in person but with social media, it hardly seemed that long. I arrived five hours after the girls and an instant party in the kitchen ensued. Bebe free-styled her travel themed version of “At The Same Damn Time” while I danced to her beat. Mind you, I was still working on a Texas Margarita from the Houston Airport.
We took our party to the resort and explored the amenities until we found a Karaoke Bar! The bar was full of multicultural tourist from all over the world. Noticeable among the groups was a small contingent of cute American military men there prepping for the arrival of our nation’s president. Note to all, President Obama’s entourage is groupie-worthy. Anyway, songs in all languages were being played. Lotsa Taylor Swift was sung in all sorts of different accents. The playlist was devoid of Beyoncé and Britney which are traditional Karaoke songs. So we made do with what we had.
“Don’t Stop Believin” this was Karaoke Night take II
It was a “Total Eclipse of the Heart” moment when Lauren took the mic while Bebe and I twirled and leaped about the space as interpretive background dancers. Pretty much brought the house down and caught the eye of a cute, and all-around fabulous American woman who came up and introduced herself. Three girls having a blast and building memories with each other, who wouldn’t want to join the fun? She was there on a surprise vacation she planned for her mom. I dedicated the next song, a Back Street Boy’s classic, to “Danielle’s Mom.” After that, Danielle and her mom were integrated into our group. Now I must say, it’s not every night out that I go to bars and pick up hot chicks, but there’s a first for everything. We just clicked. It was like Danielle was a long, lost soul sister that we’d all known for forever. I loved how each of the four of us were different but complimentary enough that we just effortlessly fell into place together. We shut the bar down but linked back up the following days to share our day adventures.
The Week that Followed
Meals were the best here. Not just because dinning is my favorite way of experiencing local culture, but because of the amazing, refreshing conversations we had. We dished over stories of travel and adventure. We discussed our international guy experiences. Did Europe have a safer racial climate than America or did we benefit from our American privilege. We discussed how passports were more than just a passport, but rather a visual display of values and understanding of the world. We discussed turning 30 and gave some insight to what Lauren, the youngest of us, had to expect. It was just thrilling to find a fellow adventurer and young professional.
Lunch at the Fish Market outside of Casco Viejo.
During one particular meal-time conversation our similarities became more apparent. Everyone at the table was a young, female professional. Bosses, no less. Although in very different career fields, we experienced the same challenges.
“What was it that they called me…,” I sorted around my mind for the right word, used to describe me in during a peer feedbac half a year earlier.
I remembered how it felt to be called that. I’ve NEVER been called abrasive my whole life! I was always an acquiescent doormat! Moreover, any of my friends and acquaintances would describe me as more of a grace-granting, kumbayah-type. It was like the new word for Bitch and Bossy. Once words get called out for their double standard connotations, they got replaced with new words. I remembered the instance that I felt brought on that label. I got interrupted during group discussions so much that I decided to make a game out of it and tally up the number of times I was interrupted while speaking. Eighteen times before lunch was the highest mark. I had plenty of valuable experience to share but I was talked over. With my southern background, I had too much respect to talk when other people are talking, so I acquiesced until one occasion when I had the floor and was in the middle of an explanation when someone jumped in with a whole different conversation starter as if he was deaf to my voice. Calmly, I stated “I’m sorry, I wasn’t finished speaking yet.” The room gasped in horror. Later the backlash, ‘OMG, you told him off!” I was socially accosted for expecting a little respect.
Then, I grappled with how I should take the feedback. I should change and alter myself to fit the expectations of the group. And how was I to do that. Be silent. Again. Because my views, experiences, and opinions are less valid than everyone else’s? I didn’t do anything differently than the men I worked with. I asserted my opinion as well. But my view differed from the male majority. There is a double standard. Men aren’t told to watch or modify their tone. The difference in perception is sexist and discriminatory. We know there’s this phenomenon men seem to be blind to, but what do we do about it?
All of us had multiple similar stories. Danielle, being the boss that she is, made a decision but her decision wasn’t respected. She was accused of being emotional and unprofessional. She checked her accuser.
“No, you are being unprofessional right now, because if I were a man you’d be praising me for being passionate,” she reminded him. Gave him a little bit of something to think about.
And so that’s how you deal with it. You throw it back. You don’t accept and internalize the label but instead, offer another label, sexist, as a more likely probability. Power and fearlessness culminated in a little 5 foot 2 package. It was an empowering and rare conversation to hear how other career women responded with universal circumstances.
Diner Convos and the Future
Two years ago, Lauren, Angie and I went on a Mediterranean cruise where we vowed to go somewhere fantastic every year together. We sat down at a dinner with our South African dinner mates and drafted out our plans. Well, twelve months after that pact was made, Angie had met the love of her life, got married, and had a baby. I was being held in a Middle Eastern country as a black-listed, illegal immigrant. Lauren was on her own for her South East Asian tour. Just a testament to how fast life and plans can change. Even knowing this immutable fact of life, at a dinning table in panama, the four of us, with mom listening in, started planning which part of the world we wanted to take on next, together. Cambodia, Viet Nam, Peru, Galapagos Island, Australia the list was all over and would take years to accomplish. Then we started planning which vacations we’d take together as a couples. “I want to do this even when we get married,” Lauren said.
Looking like long-time friends, met two nights ago.
And her desire was unanimous among all of us. An unmarried 30-year-old Southern Belle is a bit of a unicorn — a cultural fact I’m often reminded of by southerners. But on this trip, I was relieved I that I was free of any life long-commitment. The vibe would have been totally different otherwise. This was the life that somehow got carved out for me and I was thankful for it. As Danielle described it, “To be around successful people as driven as myself at our age is rare. I think at our age you look for people who share your values and compliment you and your life. You guys do that for me.”In addition to having the expectation that our life-mate would be our life-long travel partner, we also wanted to continue experiencing our own girl friends adventures, sans the significant men in our lives. We want to travel with just the girls and send our guys on trips with his boys (so long as it’s somewhere where we’re not too interested in visiting with him). We want to go on romantic trips with just our beau and then trips that combine our beau with our besties and our beaux. We recognized that for us, that would require selecting secure men who could be trusted not to go on a drama-filled, jealous rage if we didn’t What’sApp them fast enough throughout the day. It would require that our guys were just as adventurous as our friends. We dreamed of possibilities and I was excited and hopeful for the future but most of all, amazingly content with the present. That’s what happened in Panama.
That time we fit seven people in a taxi.
Tram ride through the jungle
Danielle, Lauren, Bebe, Me, Danielle’s mom, & the Taxi driver’s adorable son that we adopted for the week.
Two weeks later I met up with Danielle on a Wednesday night to meet her and her girl friends in Newport Beach, California and the four of us continue to have epic group message convos daily.
I knew I wanted to go to Hawaii but didn’t know where to start. Or how to pick. So I started with some on-line research. Of course, Lonely Planet is your one stop travel shop. It’s Hawaiian page broke down what type of experience you can expect to have on each island. I looked through pages on Pintrest for inspiration then I leaned on friends. I sent pics to one friend who attended university there and still lived in Hawaii. “I want to see this lushness” I told her. She assured me I could see the lushness on any island and basically gave me the same rundown that Lonely Planet did. I reached out to a friend who recently moved from my dreamland of Stuttgart to yet another paradise, Stuttgart. And then to a few friends who lived in Hawaii for years. I got the same response from them all, no matter the island, I was sure to enjoy.
I chose Molokai for a few reasons: (1) All the hotels on Maui were booked and I few other options. (2) I read that Molokai was the most Hawaiian of All beaches. It’s Hawaii’s least populated Island and largely untouched by tourism. Seriously, the hotels a minimal and you almost have to have a host. Everyone on the island knows each other. Donald, my taxi driver, asked who’s home I was staying. I gave a first name. He gave me his phone to dial the number and her name popped up, already saved in his phone. When I talked about my travels to Maui natives, just a 30 minute propeller plane ride away, “I’ve never been to Molokai,” was the common reaction. Even my friends who grew up in Hawaii asked, “Why Molokai, no one ever goes there.” That was both the question and the answer to my selection of this small island.
You cannot take your car on the ferry. I asked and got told with disgust I cant take my car on the ferry. How dare I not know this? Well you can take your car on the Dauphin Island Ferry. It would make sense for folks who commute from Maui to Molokai to be able to do the same. But no. You can’t. So I had to leave my rental on Maui. Molokai was 100% booked out of rentals for two months. No worries. The locals give rides. And that’s how I got around. Hitch hiking. Fo Free!
Hitch-hiking is the way to get around on the island. Just start walking on the road, people pull over and offer you a lift…well, at least the locals do. You can always tell who is local and who is a tourist by how they drive. The tourists drive like they’re on the Autobahn and don’t stop and pick up walkers!
Then of course, there’s always taxis. But from the dock to my beach house and then from the beach house to the air port I lost $60 each trip. But I got plenty of perspective and history. I love talking to taxi drivers. They always seem to have tales and they know the island and the people. There’s also a white Equal Opportunity van that comes along here and there to move people along for free as well. It’s the only public transformation on the island and not dependable if you have somewhere you need to be.
A bit of Molokai History
A young priest named Father Damien traveled to the island’s remote Kalaupapa Peninsula in 1873 to care for leprosy patients. After 16 years of caring for the quarantined people, he contracted the disease and died. He is America’s first saint. Today the spectacular peninsula is a national park and a visit is one of Hawaii’s top adventures. He has two churches. I saw the smaller one (above). The Medical field is what draws young professionals to the island. It has a small hospital with about 15 beds or so. When I told folks on Maui I was living on Molokai, they automatically assumed I was a nurse.
I fell in love with my beach house the moment I arrived. My home was perfect, charming, and quaint. It could easily sleep eight people in beds. It’s the perfect spot for a family vacation. The back yard is huge! I will be bringing family and friends back to this spot. Unlike the beaches of Cancun, all the beaches of Hawaii belong to the people, thus all beaches are free and open for all to use. A walk along the shore of my back yard at sunset was one of my favorite walks.
Molokai reminds me of a tropical version of the small country town where I grew up in Kentucky. It’s rural. It features one long stretch of slow, curvy, two-lane road. Drivers have to watch out for deer in the road. Everyone knows everyone. There’s even a sandy beach on the river in my hometown. This seemed like the kind of place that would make a young teen restless and count down the days to leave, only to realize later that home is heaven and come back to stay.
The one store between my beach house for the week and the harbor reminded me of the Doodlebugs, the convenient store in the woods near my home back in Kentucky. If you didn’t stock up ahead of time, you have to go there and pay high prices for basics. It’s a local hang-out and has a take-away window. So I bought some over-priced bottles of water, beer-garita, soda and snacks for one person to the tune of $50.
Back on Maui, the beaches were packed with paddle boarders, kite surfers, snorkelers, families and picnickers. The desolate beaches on Hawaii’s least populated island was perfect for private photo shoots without random tourists photobombing! I wish I was more talented with a camera because there was so much beauty surrounding me to try to capture.
Photos: (1) Rocky cliffs that line the country road. (2) My back yard at sunset (3) See the white mass in the middle of the blue sea? It’s a whale!
Getting to Molokai from Maui, I suggest you take the ferry one way and a flight the other. Both are totally different experiences. Winter is whale spotting season in Hawaii. So the ferry ride over in the morning allowed us to see whales at eye-level in addition to the coast lines of Maui and Lanai waking up for the morning. The flight back to Maui allowed these fantastic views.
One this island, there are no restaurant chains. No big resorts. Not a lot of action. No cell service in most parts. It’s just a quiet, peaceful place to play in Hawaii. Just relax and let Molokai guide you.
It’s My birthday! This is it, the big 3-0! Saturn has made a full rotation around the sun. I’ve lived in four different decades (but only completely through two).
What does turning 30 Mean? I suppose thirty should magically transform me into an accomplished, sophisticated, worldly woman. Something is supposed to happen when a woman turns thirty but I’m just not sure what. According to pop culture, thirty is something to fear or avoid. I should continue to pretend to be eternally 28. If you stagnate at 29 then everyone knows you are really delaying thirty but 28 is still young enough to be lovable, fun, and flirty.According to popular culture, thirty is a doomsday that should be met with sorrow, tears, and an existential crisis. I’m supposed to have a psychological breakdown questioning “what I am doing with my life?” or dire predictions that I’ll die old and alone (and with cats that will eat me when I die and no one notices). Thirty is when you magically become old, boring, and busted. Thirty is for people born in the 70s…or at least it used to be…like half a decade ago! How did I get here so quickly?In search of some sort of philosophical approach to the ripe age of thirty, I turned to the trusty ol’ internet . When you Google “turning 30” the articles that appear are mostly women freaking out over this age in particular. Actually, if you Google sites about turning any age, you’ll get plenty of articles but once you hit 27, the articles seem more of an Armageddon about the pending age 30 in the not so distant future. Then, once you turn thirty you get the “oh so much older and wiser” articles like “Thirty Lessons Learned” or “Thirty Things You Should do Before Thirty.” Clearly, something is supposed to happen when you turn 30. Something big.
My beach house for a week in Molokai, Hawaii
I decided to spend my final days of my 20s in the American paradise that is Hawaii. A milestone this major should be I will meet this big something in a major way. It was after my tropical vacation that I defined thirty for myself.
I never wanted to leave this place.
I spent my 30th birthday doing exactly what I wanted as opposed to what other people thought I ought to do. There was no compromising or considering what others wanted. There wasn’t doing something I didn’t want to do just to be agreeable. I’m thinking my family has finally got the hint that I’m pretty much going to do whatever I want and scare tactics have little effect on my travel plans. Unlike my in younger 20s, time or money didn’t limit my celebration plans. I no longer have the schedule, hassle and pressures of school. I have a job that I enjoy, pays the bills, and also allows for a little fun. I have great co-workers, and live in place where it doesn’t snow! My job doesn’t define me. It’s a cool, interesting part of me, but not who I am. All the dreams and plans I made 20 years ago and thought would take a lifetime to accomplish, I’ve done…except for running a marathon in Antarctica….I haven’t done that yet. I have all I need and I’m confident the few things I want but don’t have I’ll get within the next decade. And really, I just wanted to chill, relax, and reflect.
In my twenties I looked into the future with worry. Fear motivated many of my actions. What if I can’t afford college motivated me to go with the college that offered the most scholarship money, rather than the best fit. Fear of losing my scholarship motivated academic concentration changes, what if I can’t find a way to get paid post-graduation lead to career decisions. Fear of failure, of destitution, fear of being alone only leads to settling and destroy the current moment. At 30, I’ve made the conscious decision to make the best of the present moment and remove myself from moments that drain my soul.
In my 20s I’ve seen a lot of ugly, mean, and horrible. And now I can better appreciate and recognize the wonderful when I get to experience it. And I am so grateful for the wonderful now. In the past year I have come to appreciate my peaceful, exciting life just as it is and want for nothing more. Not because I’m throwing in the towel and giving up, but because I realize all I have and all I’ve done and I am impressed with my blessings. I’m liberated from people, thoughts, and habits that have imprisoned me and have more motivation to guard and protect myself against outside forces that attempt to steal my peace. I’m over living my life to other conflicting, confining rules that you can never win without breaking another.
I’m fulfilled with now. I am at peace. Now is better than I imagined for myself 10 years ago. Different, but better. I am in Paradise. In life. Right now. That’s what my 30 means.
Each New Year I try to come up with a theme for the year. In the past I’ve used ideas like “resolve”, “eliminate”, and “pony up” to help guide my decisions. This past January, I never really came up with a word or theme. After spending a week in the tropic sun, I decided “Live in Paradise” would be my theme for the year. Make an intentional effort to guard and protect my personal paradise. I have so much to be thankful for and it has taken thirty years for me to focus on all I have more than all I don’t have. And maybe I should have gained this perspective sooner, but I certainly feel more liberated by having it now.
Looks like a postcard, but really my sunset view!
I asked friends who had already reached this milestone or quickly approaching it what thirty meant to them. Some are expecting babies this year. Some were new mommies. Some were planning weddings others, like me where planning their next trip. Everyone seemed to enjoy where they were in life. No nervous breakdowns. No worry, fears, or regrets. They were just thirty. No more. No less. And that is paradise.
View from the house I’d love to own in Molokai
Molokai by six passenger plane
I can’t get over how beautiful my country is and I’m grateful that I get to see it.
In January, I tossed around some travel ideas in my mind of how I should spend an extended President’s Day weekend. Where should I go? More San Francisco? Mount Zion National Park? Grand Canyon? San Diego? Mexico? What should I do? Half of the country was under snow and ice, which limited my travel options.
After throwing some ideas out to my young, energetic colleague, he nominated Hawaii as a consideration. “Yea! You could totally do Hawaii in a long weekend!” he said. So with his input and two weeks until President’s Day, I made the decision to just go. I bought my plane ticket ($407 from LAX). Now, I was committed.
Only thing, was after buying a plane ticket I learned that dang near every hotel on Maui was booked. Seriously, there were only three open hotels on Maui and the cheapest advertised for $500+ a day.
OK, time for Plan B. Vacation Rentals! With my luck, most vacation rentals on three websites were completely booked too. What the heck! Then I realized…it was also Valentine’s Day and Maui is the romantic honeymoon island. I’d already bought a ticket, darn it, I’m going! I might have to take my own tent, but I was going. I even saw a listing for a $400 a night teepee on the beach. With each “sold out” response to my vacation rental inquiry, I started thinking this might be my most viable option.
I got desperate lucky and scored a three bedroom beach house in Molokai. Although it was much larger than what I needed and pricier than what I intended, it put me in business. I had travel to and accommodations. I was good to go…for the most part Molokai only has Alamo rental cars and surprise, surprise (in my Gomer Pyle voice), it was sold out, along with the other local rental car companies. Taxis it will be. Sure, with earlier planning, I could have gone for cheaper. Oh well. I was going.
What a beautiful Valentine’s Day gift to myself. What a great way to avoid all photos of flowers and dinners and “We’re engaged!” announcements on Facebook. This was a trip to satisfy my goal of visiting all 50 states. It would be a beautiful way to spend a long weekend. It would be the most romantic Valentine’s Day…the one spent in paradise with myself. Realizing this made me start to question why I hadn’t taken myself on romantic get-a-ways before. Why don’t I treat myself the way I’d love to be treated by a sweetheart one day? My goodness, I’ll be setting the bar pretty high.
The week after Valentine’s Day/President’s Day is also the week before my birthday, and this birthday would be a major milestone. This trip would be an early and epic birthday gift to myself.
Being pelted by tropic rain
The remoteness of Molokai is what makes it both an ideal paradise and a headache. When I touched down at noon, I had six hours to play on Maui before my ferry departed from Maui and went to Molokai. So I rented a car for an absurd price (most compact rental cars anywhere else on Earth go for $30 a day. Mine went for $400…more expensive than the E-Klasse Benz I cruised around the streets of Germany). I explored the island. Then it poured down rain. Not a Montgomery Thunderstorm-type rain but a nice healthy down pour that would allow crops to grow. Well, this little rain destroyed my plans! The Ferry was cancelled understandable because the seas and some boat-tossing, scary looking waves. But then, the small propeller planes over to Molokai also got cancelled! Access to this island is contingent on weather!
I am stranded on Maui!
But I guess there could be worse places.
Well I guess there could be worse places to be stranded. On Facebook I posted my fun pics of me having a good time. Meanwhile I was spending a lot of energy testing my ingenuity trying to adapt to this change of plans.
A tour guide calls out to me trying to sell me excursion packages. I explain I’m not interested in tours, I need a hotel! Lisa, the guide, asks, “Do you believe in God?” I tell her I do. So she says “Well Ok. It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry. You need to get some aloha Spirit and have faith everything will work out.”
Of course, as a tour guide, she has hookups on hotels. Calls are made by the tour guide. Meanwhile, an old buddy of mine who recently moved away from Hawaii commented on my pics saying if I needed anything…well, as a matter of fact I do. Only thing is, all his buddies were away for the weekend. All the hotels that the tour guide had connections with were…surprise surprise booked! One hotel even made a reservation for me but when I got there, said it was full. LTW, the sweet tour guide at Kampali Beach Club, took pity on me and offered the sofa of her home. She had a full house with a husband and two little ones (who were fast asleep by the time we arrived) and still offered me a place. I could stretch out, use in-door plumbing, it was out of the rain and just perfect.
Morning after the storm
The next morning I woke up before daylight and got a little stir crazy. I thanked my hosts on my cute travel stationery, as any Southern belle would, and left a box of Krispy Kreams. I attributed my luck to finding a place to stay to be traveling solo. Had I been in a group or even with another may not have been offered a place to sleep just because it is harder to hosts bigger groups. Perhaps if I had a buddy or romantic partner there with me, sleeping in a jeep on a Hawaiian coast could have been wildly romantic or at least an epically funny story. But my stranded alone story had a happy ending and I made a new friend. I decided since I was already in Maui, and the next ferry didn’t leave out until that evening, I might as well travel the renowned Road to Hana.
On the backside of the island
Maui was different after the rain. Yesterday’s cloudy skies concealed the mountains. The curvy road was a photographer’s dream. So much beauty surrounded me from every angle that I just didn’t have the skills to capture it all. By 10 am I was running out of battery on all my devices!
As the roads twist and turned the land scape changed. I was just overwhelmed with the gorgeous, lush vegetation.
I couldn’t help but to wonder what was God thinking when She created both Hawaii and Qatar. And which one was created first? How vastly different these lands were and beautiful in different ways but made by the same creator. Watching the sun rise as I traveled along the cliffs of winding mountains of the tropical coast I knew my stranded situation had to be divinely orchestrated. My plan was to miss this adventure and hang out solely on Molokai. Had my plan worked out, I would have missed the glory of Maui. Maui wasn’t finished with me yet. It wanted a chance to win my heart as well. This was just another example of how God’s plan is better than my own, a lesson I’ve been learning for the past year. This event was just another reminder not to freak out. Chill. Everything will work itself out, usually better than expected. Just because things don’t go as you plan doesn’t make the whole plan bad. Catch that Aloha Spirit, you are in paradise!
Six hours later I was back in Lanai where I started. The way people talked about the Road to Hana, I thought it would be treacherous. “I survived the Road to Hana” signs lined the walls of all the tourist shops. It was nothing more than a scenic, curvy, back road like the one I grew up on. However, the travelers had terrible driving etiquette. Time after time I had head on, face to face stand offs with cars. Ummm… hello, you just passed a spot you could pull over on; the next spot I can pull over is half a mile behind me. Your move.
Yes, this place is real!
If you’re taking the Road to Hana you’ll need plenty of batteries and car chargers for your cameras and phones, a full take of gas, and a spare tire just in case. If you’re really adventurous, try biking the curvy hills…actually you should probably be a professional biker. If I were to come back to Maui with a partner I might actually plan for a night on the beach in the back of a jeep. I’d have someone else drive the Road to Hana so I could write about everything I saw and thought.
In all my years of living in the country, I’ve never seen a rooster in a tree
I told the shuttle driver about my journey around the island. “Wow, that’s brave,” he said. “I don’t; even do that and I’m from here.” Had I gotten a flat tire or in a wreck in the back parts of Maui, I would have been out of luck and on my own. Apparently, where the gravel starts is where your rental car contract is voided and you they are supposed to tell you at checkout. They didn’t.
My Maui adventure, as unexpected as it was, turned out to be beautiful and amazing and peaceful. I’m glad my plans fell through which opened doors to new opportunities! I guess that goes the same for life!
Training for a figure competition had its challenges and stressful moments for sure. But, overall, the process was rewarding and fun. That’s why I made it my goal to compete again. This time, because I’m naturally a smaller framed person, I decided on a bikini body building competition.
But this fitness journey was different. So, as soon as I found a home in California, I found a gym that specialized in personal training and bikini competition training. Seriously, at my gym looks like a gorgeous fitness model. When I started having to travel 30 minutes to the gym for a 30 minute workout then back again, I started thinking maybe priority one when relocating should be find a gym I liked, then find a house near it. I started my ritual: up at 0430, booty in the car by 5am, at the gym by 5:30. Home, shower, eat and to work all by 7:30. I’d end my day just in time to meal prep, or do one activity in order to be in bed no later than 8pm or else I’d struggle to wake up the next day.
One of my coaches spraying PAM on my rear. December 2014
The goals and priorities of a bikini competitor differ from a figure competitor. Instead of focusing on getting stronger, the focus was on sculpting my body to look a certain way. The goal for bikini is to look lean, not too strong. So big biceps are not ideal. Working the bis and tris were not a priority. Instead my focus was on getting rid of my excess fat on my belly, thighs, and booty. I didn’t do squats. My leg day never crippled me for three days like they did during figure competitions. I did leg presses…but not too much in order to avoid quad striations. Instead, I focused on the Elite Fitness Gym trademark workout — Donkey Kicks and Monkey Lunges, to isolate my gluts without adding bulk to my legs. And man did they work. I saw booty results quickly and so did everyone else. But I couldn’t do as much physically. I was unable to perform pull-ups or run like I used to. I felt like something was off.
At my figure competition. May 2013
In contrast, was at my peak of fitness as a figure competitor. I could do eight perfectly executed pull-ups without any problem. I could run a sub-seven minute mile. Each week I exploded past my personal records and impressed myself by being able to lift more and more. As a bikini competitor, I was just thin with a gravity defying rear end. I didn’t feel fit or in shape.
That’s when I realized I defined fitness for myself as what my body is able to do rather than how it looks. My fit body can run a mini-marathon without training. It can run a mile, relatively fast, without being winded. It can lift things, push heavy items out of the way, sprint itself out of danger if needed. Being able to do deliver these tasks does not necessarily mean my body is going to show cuts and muscle definition.
I recently started questioning if fitness competitions are worth it. Through some introspection, I got my answer, Yes. And here’s why:
1.It’s worth it because it inspires others. That alone makes it worth it. Lauren, one of my fit and fabulous friends, said I was her role model. Now, I know I look to others to inspire me but I have never considered that I was inspiring others. People get motivated by seeing someone they identify with and relate to do something they always wanted to do. I always thought a marathon was out of my league until I saw my cousin complete the Marine Corps marathon. She became my inspiration. I always thought being a fitness competitor took some out of this world ability until I saw my friends Lea, Terri, and Suzanne, who are all just regular girls like me, make a decision to commit. If I can be a link in a motivation chain that motivates another who will inevitably motivate others to make healthy changes in their life then I’m proud to continue.
2. You learn your own body. Fitness isn’t a one size fits all equation. Just like everyone’s skin reacts differently to the sun, or to shellfish, peanuts, glutton, or medicines, everyone’s body reacts differently to different stimuli. Some people put on muscle by picking up a backpack. Others can lose fat just by changing their soda to water. Carbs affect bodies in different ways. When you are clean eating and on a regimented eating, workout, and sleeping schedule, you can identify the cause in a change in your body a lot more accurately than when the stimuli of your sleeping, eating, and workouts are sporadic. You learn what works for you and what doesn’t.
3. Starts each workout with the end in mind. Training to compete gives you a time frame to work within and a goal to work up to. Without, I’d just stagnant and become complacent. I’d settle for good enough or fit enough. I’d maintain the standard. I’d become complacent with a light jog a few times a week. some jumping jacks, dance around my room to a Taylor Swift song and call it a workout. With a fitness competition as a goal, I have an end point in mind. But when I have an end in mind, I stay focused. I start setting mile stones to get from point A to point B. The competition is really just a display and culmination of a lifestyle. It isn’t the focus, but a showcase of my focus.
4.It breaks through perceived limitations. Fitness competitions is what turned this uncoordinated girl with a general rule of “no contact sports” into an athlete (of sorts). And even though I still maintain my no contact sports rule, I shattered a physical barrier I thought I had. Fitness competitions took my fitness to the next level. No more accepting good enough when I know I can be better. I learned that I have amazing will power when I tucked away Girl Scout Cookies for four months until after my show! I learned I can make a commitment to healthy eating and regularly scheduled workouts. I learned what you are capable of from the planning to the execution.
5. You reap the benefits of an active lifestyle. The physical and mental benefits of a regular fitness regiment are numerous. Your physical capabilities expand. Your mind maintains a positive, happy outlook. You find balance. And this gem:
6. Your abs become your resume. It’s your credentials and fitness credibility. You might not have your physical trainer certification yet, but you know a thing or two about how to transform bodies and perhaps people will feel comfortable coming to you for non-professional guidance and help. It also keeps those pesky gym pick-up artist at bay or at least challenges them to come up with some more creative pick up tactics…like, “Don’t try to hit on me with your unsolicited workout advice, look at my abs and bis, clearly I know what I’m doing.”
Michelle Lewin…My girl crush. Love her abs!
7. Confidence. Whelp, there goes your shyness. Once you’ve gotten up on a stage and catwalk in a tiny bikini and clear plastic stilettos, there’s really nothing you can’t do. Once you shattered this fitness and confidence barrier, you’ll start to wonder, what other barriers can I shatter? Mental ones? Can I master a challenging topic?
8. Fun, Fit Friends.
The women you meet at fitness competitions tend to be amazing people. Not only do they motivate, inspire, and encourage others to greatness but they are motivated, inspired, and encouraged. They are about living their best life. These are confident, goal-oriented women who understand the difference praise and positive feedback makes. Being surrounded by that type of positive energy is just refreshing!
When you compete, you are competing with other women not againstthem. Your only competition is challenging yourself to be stronger than you were yesterday. Sometimes you just need a team of your own personal cheerleaders who understand what you are going through and value your story.
9. You learn the Art and Science of Wellness. So many fitness and health trends come and go. But having a basic knowledge about the relationship between diet and muscle functions to affect the metabolism will help you discern what is legit or not. I’ve learned massages aren’t just a luxury and needing mental health shouldn’t carry a stigma. I’ve learned different goals like getting leaner, growing muscles, gaining agility, getting faster, stronger, training for different sports will hall have different paths. These paths are often overlooked in magazines like Seventeen and Cosmo’s fitness sections. Getting the right trainer to explain the “whys” and “hows” of the body works makes your workouts more effective and efficient. You end up working exactly what you want to work out in minimal time. Having access to the experts in the field can equip you with the awareness to make healthy choices.
The gains are so much greater than just muscles and a great figure. I’m going to continue my fitness journey but do it more my way. I’ve followed two different styles of competition prep and I think it’s time to combine what I’ve learned for my own style according to my values. Looking fit without actually being able to do something with it is of no value to me. So I’ve committed. As I sit here, typing and eating my donut, I’ve made a Bikini Fitness body by Spring Break my goal. and I’m ready to sacrifice more than I ever have before to get the results I haven’t seen before! Kicking it up a notch in 2015.
This December I participated in my fist bikini fitness competition. This is not to be confused with the figure competition that I previously competed in while in Stuttgart. As common with most tests of determination, there were times throughout the course of prepping that I asked myself, is this all worth it or should I just walk away? Here I highlight the struggles I faced in hopes of encouraging those going through the same process to stick with it! It’s so worth it!
Turning Point One: Thanksgiving and Travel
Training for a fitness competition has its challenges and those challenges are only amplified during the holidays and complicated by travel. I’m not saying the availability of clean foods is a problem. It isn’t. You can eat clean just about anywhere. Even McDonald’s serves salad and grilled chicken. But for me, food is usually a focal point of my travels. One of my favorite ways to explore a new city is through its local cuisine. It took training for this competition for me to realize that eating, along with exploring, is easily one of my favorite pastimes.
So when I traveled to San Francisco, a city known for its haute gastronomy, for Thanksgiving, I knew I was in for a test of self-control. Who wants to go to San Francisco and be surrounded by world class cuisine and have to order a salad? Keeping in mind that I don’t like lettuce or raw greens anyway. I was looking for some grub at a Grab and Go refrigerator shelf at a Wal-greens in Fisherman’s Wharf. The Grab and Go hosted the typical selection of disposable plasticwear of salads, sandwiches, & pasta salads. But I viewed the selection as a container of carbs, container of fats, and container with a little proteins. I knew I hit a turning point in my dieting when I started seeing food by their make up of protein, carbs, and fats rather than the actual article of food. Fortunately, a belle can always count on coastal areas being fish friendly. The Bay area has so much fish diversity and eating healthy was a pleasure more than a struggle.
Turning Point Two: Unexpected Social Events
My Post-it note wedding invitation.
My co-worker comes into my office at 3pm on a Thursday talking about how he “cannot stand going another day without being married” to his all around Amazing girlfriend. Crazy romantic huh? He plans a whirlwind, spur-of-the-moment proposal and subsequent wedding in Vegas for the very next day. Of course I wanted to be there. But it destroyed my training! After waking for my 5 am workout, putting in a full days worth of work, then going to Las Vegs, I was awake for 23 hours. I ate at some iconic greasy spoon resturuant. Drank my fill. Didn’t workout a bit over the weekend. Monday morning guilt came when I stepped on the scale. Three pounds gained since Friday! Fortunately, at six weeks out, I considered myself far enough from stage time for a minor slip up…so I thought. The day before the competition, my work hosted a dinner party. Food was being passed around, toasts were made and I couldn’t even drink the water.
Me, the groom’s friend, the groom, the bride, and the bride’s friend.
Turning Point Three: The South
The weekend after thanksgiving I traveled back home to The South for a family event. Who wants to go home to The South and not eat the glorious deliciousness? All I could do was think about all the marvelous food that I couldn’t eat. I’m in my food element here. I can’t help but be enticed by all the familiar restaurants and menu items not available in Southern California. Cracker Barrel, O’Charley’s, Cheddars, Ritzies, Rally’s instead of Pollo locos and Del Tacos. It was really being back in my food element that I considered just throwing all my work away to enjoy eating!
On the plane, I found myself almost to the point of anger watching McDonald’s being passed around a family of passengers sitting around me. The kid sitting next to me licked his Dorito dusted fingers while he took a break from eating his delightfully smelling Panini. And there I was eating hard boiled eggs. I started to have a food panic on the plane. Panicked to the point of buying $7 mini bag of kettle cooked potato chips and putting mustard on them. I could literally feel the calories fill me up and bring me back to life just like you can visually witness flowers perk up after placing them in a vase of water. Yes. I broke down. I ate something I shouldn’t have. Not because I wanted to eat junk…Potato chips wouldn’t have been on my food of desire list. But maybe a lack of constraint due to being hungry and having few other options! Then I felt guilty and imagined the love handles growing in the spaces I’d worked off. After that, I decided to make a list of ll the foods I couldn’t wait to eat when training was all over.
Sweet potato waffles Sweet potato pie High quality $10 bacon cheeseburger Buttermilk biscuits Mint Chocolate chip Milkshakes Toaster Struddles (I’ve had three boxes in my freezer since before I decided to compete) Raspberry Ice cream drizzled with amaretto Vanilla ice cream with bourbon drizzled Lemon bars Margarita Lemon pound cake Pumpkin spiced bread Flaky French style croissants McD’s French fries Waffles with fruit, pecans, powdered sugar, vanilla sauce Sweet potato fries Frozen Italian lemonade Popeye’s chicken Mocha peppermint latte Sweet tea I want something, ANYTHING deep fried.
I’m Hungry! Seriously hungry!I literally wrote that all in my travel journal. I decided sleep was my best option to fast forward through all the food around me and on my mind. In sleep, I dreamed of a bakery that combined the best of both European and American pastries. Pound cakes, fruit tarts, banana nut bread, waffles, crepes.
By the end of my trip back home I was tired of eating halibut and asparagus! I wanted to eat for real! Self-induced, low starvation is emotional. My tolerance level for nonsense went low. My focus wasn’t on my work. Again, I ask myself, is it all worth it? Does the quality of my life increase in anyway by the increase of the quality of my abs?
Walking around the airport with a ziplock of hard boiled egg whites and $4 bottled water I wondered How much had this experience cost me? I calculated the costs when I got home.
What does it cost?
Final Week Meals
$32 for four pieces of frozen halibut (It’s the least fatty of fish with the most protein for your buck)
$3 dozen eggs (An extra dollar added for eggs in California)
$3 frozen asparagus
Meals, Gear, and Training
$600 a month for meals ($500 in groceries for one person! California living is expensive)
$435 Personal training (That’s $145 a month X three months X 30 min sessions X 3 times a week X group session shared with three other girls).
$100 registration the bikini show
$250 Waxing – two separate sessions. Apparently you have to go three times to get the cycle of hairs…pretty sure this was a marketing ploy to keep me coming back. Other girls just shaved. After my first competition I swore I’d never wax again but for whatever reason, I forgot that vow. I guess it’s something like hen women have terrible deliveries and swear never to have more babies but forget the excruciating pain and go through it five more times.
$100 Spray tan. Yes, black girls spray tan too. Black girls benefit from the cuts in their muscles being highlighted and their skin tone being all one smooth, even color just like everyone else.
$60 full set Mani –ped (Did this back home in Kentucky because it’s cheaper than Cali)
$250 Custom bedazzled bikini (one of my team mates bedazzled mine)
$50 Clear, 5-inch stripper heals (I already had my heals)
$30 Blinged out costume jewelry
$500 Hair. Lengthened and dyed.$35 Make Up
$2,448 total
Goodness! I’m sure I could have saved by shaving instead of waxing, finding a cheaper hair option and more frugal food options. For the next competition I’ll already have a bikini, heals, and jewelry. And that’s just the financial cost. Intagible costs also exist. Costs like the meal planning, and prepping required to never get caught without enough healthy food to eat like what happened to me on the plane. Or the mood shifts due to carb and water depletion. There’s having to go to bed at 8pm in order to get up at 4:30. It’s having to skip evenings out with friends because the the main focus of the night is drinking caloric drinks and eating poorly.
The cost of Getting Lean is the most inclusive article I’ve found that really details all the effort required to get the Michell Lewin body I covet. But as I sit and contemplate my 2015 goals, I wonder if I’m getting as much out of the training as I put in. Do I value the abs I’ll gain more than I value sampling amazing food? Do I prefer abs over milkshakes? Biceps or Waffles? Is there a way to have it all? Is the fit-looking body really worth the effort and sacrifice?
Below is where I’d like to be. Very Lean and strong. I should be able to lift things if needed or run quickly for long periods of time. It’s going to take actually weighing my food instead of guessing. Probably doing two-a-days a few times a week to get cardio in, and serious commitment to my diet.
Below is me during training. When I commit to a regimented healthy lifestyle of planned deliberate eating choices and consistent weight training with some slip ups here & there. I usually need a coach or friend to keep me focused and motivated.
Below is me normally. It’s a regular part of my moderately active lifestyle. It includes eating whatever I want but running or Zumba three times a week, walking the dog, taking the stairs, parking further away from the door, and doing some push ups and crunches here and there.
So is it worth it to be a fitness competitor? It all depends on my priorities and values this upcoming year. As for now, the jury is still out.
