The Velveteen Rabbit
Originally published on 7-11-13
Yesterday afternoon I walked up to the register at work and there she was in all her glory and there I was in all my plainness. She and I had once been friends but eventually the friendship strained and like often happens, life took us in different directions. There was no wall to cower behind and no rock to hide under.
There I stood, all 63 inches of me. I was dressed in rolled up boyfriend jeans, borrowed summer flats, a tattered Old Navy tank top, my hair lazily pulled into a pony tail, my boobs were hanging a little lower to the ground because I was wearing a strapless bra a few sizes too big (let’s face it, after running a marathon, they just never came back), I had not a lick of make up on and not even the dullest sparkle. I was as raw as I could be.
She was adorned with expensive shiny jewelry, stood what seemed a foot taller than me, she had her make up perfectly applied and her hair perfectly coiffed and she looked as beautiful as ever. I felt like we were in the boxing ring. She was packing a mean punch and I was out of my league.
My heart started to race and my ego started to squirm, it was so uncomfortable. All I could think was, “She’s so tall and beautiful, and I’m so short and inferior.” I was intimidated by her appearance. We stood there making small talk; all the while I was analyzing her accessories and comparing them to the lack of mine.
My thoughts were shallow in the worst way, I know. I felt like a frumpy commoner standing in the shadow of this glamazon.
Who knows what she was thinking? Maybe she was thinking, “Woah, Catia really stopped caring about her appearance,” or maybe she thought, “Casual Wednesday!” Or maybe she had the audacity to think about her own life, “I’ve got to make sure to pick up bread before I pick up the kids from day care.”
As she drove off in her cool car (my dream car), I pushed the emergency button.
My first move was to call my Sis who turns out couldn’t give me much solace as she was at work, I was pouty but I understood. Then I dialed my cousin to confess my moment of total intimidation. Then I called my boyfriend. No one answered. Rats!
I resolved I’d have to push through it myself, and I called on the following notion:
If you are walking in God’s purpose you should not be intimidated by anything or anyone else. Way easier said than done.
So I had a chat with myself.
Am I walking in God’s purpose? Yes. I am good to people, I love and nurture those around me, I offer kindness and love at the same rate that Dancing With The Stars offers golden spray tans. I am loved and I love deeply in return. I offer more good to the world than bad. I am pleased with the person I am.
For a solid fifteen minutes I sat with the awkward feelings, then went about my business at work and about an hour later, I had talked myself through the embarrassment. And then, it was over and I had a good laugh.
The Band-Aid solution would be to constantly be Stepford ready, but it would be a superficial fix and would not address my insecurities and self-esteem.
Every day, I stand in front of a mirror my eyes wander to the parts of my body that need the most help. I’m 5’3 and have always yearned to be taller, fat collects in my belly, I have cellulite, and my nose seems to be more pronounced than ever, I have pockets of fat on my inner thighs that have proven to be more indestructible than Kryptonite and …. -- as soon as I get on roll like that I try catch mind and I begin to be kind and gentle on myself and be grateful for all my blessings.
I stand back and say, I am thankful for having two arms to bear hug my friends with and two healthy legs to run marathons with and teeth to eat vanilla birthday cake with and a heart that has the capacity to love something in just about everyone and that my heart has the capacity to feel love.
Quite often my boyfriend tells me he fell in love with me because I am kind and thoughtful. After the 789th time it finally sank in and I relief washed over me! I don’t have to be Real Housewives of Beverly Hills dressed to be loved, I can just be me, and I can be real.
As happens, time will take its toll and our faces will change our skin will soften and our toes will curl. Our body will change; fashions and trends will fade away and so will suit we wear. As our outside fades our intentions, hearts and goodness will remain real.
“Real isn't how you are made. It’s a thing that happens to you. It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” - Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit
If we can wrap our minds around the notion that what is real and significant is the way we treat people and the way we love, then I think we’d all breathe a little easier and our egos wouldn’t be so easily threatened.
Razzle dazzle is all well and good; in fact, I am a big proponent of it! I love nothing more than gold bangles and a cute summer dress and really high heels. I think we should all be comfortable being ourselves no matter where we fall on the glitz and glamour spectrum. We should be proud of who we are on casual Wednesdays and be proud of who we are on date night Fridays. I believe in a safe space for all of us, where we can all be our authentic selves with confidence and pride and be real.
Last Day
Originally published on 6-26-13
About 5 years ago I was living in McAllen and would visit Austin my home away from home and mosey downtown, particularly 2nd street and look at all the twinkly lights and busy eateries and wine bars and think, “Someday, I’m going to walk here, live here, be here, I’m not sure when or how, but I will.”
Then one day in early 2011, I got a phone call and on one end of the phone I heard, “You ready to move back?” I replied, “I’m in.” Tom my great friend and past and future boss man replied, “I can’t promise you anything, I’m not even sure I need a manager.” “I’ll make it work,” I said. “We’ll make it work,” he said, and we did.
By the first week of June 2011 I had an ACL Live all access badge, a parking pass and a spot on my favorite street in Austin. And as luck would have it, the twinkly lights were still up.
After two glorious years, June 16th was my last day at ACL Live.
For 2 years I have worked 2 full time jobs. I have been in overdrive and I have loved it. I worked as a General Manager of Bar Operations at ACL Live, fulfilled the Business Development role at Holiday Wine and Liquor, ran a marathon, did 2 Tough Mudders, jumped out of a plane, rappelled down a 32 story building, found a church home, fell in love, remembered to brush my teeth twice a day (ok, maybe not every day) and I tried my best to keep the laundry done and folded. Can I get a high five? Before you give me that high five, I can never promise anything is ironed; can I still get a high five?
I wanted to see just how much I could fit on my personal plate and the answer was, a lot. One day my friend and co-worker turned to me and said, “You’re intense.” I thought, “What, me?” I had never thought of it in that way, I always thought about it in terms of, why not?
My life was movin’ and groovin’ and then this rhyme started to creep into my head, First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Catia with a baby carriage, and I had to stop and reassess. Creating the best environment I could for my relationship and future family became my top priority and something had to give. Knowing it was the right thing for me, for our relationship and for the dream of writing Anna and reaching more people; I put in my notice at ACL Live.
During May and June I hugged the staff more, promised to keep in touch and made sure each team member knew how instrumental they had been in my life, and on my last I cried like a line cook cutting onions. To say that that last two years of my life have been the greatest life has offered me would not be an overstatement.
While eating a Schlotzky’s sandwich, drinking a cold diet coke and laughing so hard I snorted with friends I got to watch Louis CK perform 4 comedy shows standing 10 yards away, AND I got paid for it. I heard Miranda Lambert sing the song, the house that built me. I got to watch Diana Ross strut across stage and have her huge hair follow. I got to hear the Dixie Chicks belt out Wide Open Spaces while I sat on riser steps and cried my little eyes out because I thought they MUST have written that song about me. I got to hear Randy Travis sing Forever and Ever Amen while my boyfriend wrapped his arms around me. I was able to host my parents in a fancy suite when Chris Isaak was in town. Wicked games! Backstage, I spoke with Gary Clark Jr. and expressed to he and his parents that they should be proud they raised such a genuine and humble soul. And, I was blessed to work with my brother David and the experience was marvelous for reasons told and untold. Two full years at ACL Live were a gift from the universe and from the pied piper, Tom Farace.
Well Sunday the 16th was unforgettable. There were sweet gifts and hugs and well wishes and a going away bash that included cold champagne, grainy Polaroid’s now mounted on my refrigerator and safe cab rides home.
The concerts were cool, but the good stuff, the good stuff you can’t buy. For me, the magic is in bartending team I worked with. The value is in the tens of thousands of high fives exchanged, all the goofy dancing we did together, learning about each other, and all the laughter and joy exchanged (even when the jokes were so gross I’d go into convulsions). Here’s to all of my favorites there at 310 Willie Nelson Blvd. I will miss hugging you, giving you high fives, telling dirty jokes with you and asking you if you have any candy.
Folks, the universe will give you what you need when you need it; you just have to ask for it.
26.2
Originally published on 6-2-13
Late February my brother, Carlos, and I were at my Sis’ birthday party and he said, “Hey I’m running a marathon in May,” and after having a few vodka martinis I said, “I will too!”
Half of me wanted to tackle a challenge, something way beyond my reach, something that I knew would take a good chunk of commitment, and the other half of me wanted to support him (at this point Carlos had lost 100 pounds and had been challenging himself physically and mentally in different ways), a little solidarity if you will.
I was not in real shape; I was what I call ‘gym fit.’ My clothes fit and I felt good about the way I looked but I had zero endurance.
So I decided to get with it and of course, started by buying new clothes and supplies!
The running coach fitting me for sneakers asked, “How many miles can you run now without stopping?” “8 miles,” I quickly replied. 8 miles was a total and complete lie, I hadn’t run 8 miles since 2011! Now scared I asked, “Do you think I can do this?” He answered seriously, “Absolutely, but you can’t skip a day of training. Most people train over 6 months.” I only had 9 weeks. Uh oh.
I Googled, sought advice from the fittest people I knew, bought cool running gear, downloaded songs, but there was no magic formula, no magic pill. No one offered the number to their blood doping connection. I was out of luck. I’d have to go it alone. I decided to forge ahead and I started to chip away at it.
My first long run was 8 miles and every Saturday after that I upped the mileage by 2. I ran 8, 10, 12, 14, 16 and 18! At 18 I thought, “Woah.” As I ran up the driveway after mile 18 I thought, “Ok. Now this is a lot.” I gingerly lied on the floor and got lost in the wooden beam above until I could move again.
One week later I ran the big kahuna, 20. 20 was my best run. I left the house on my own, knowing there would be no jam bands or spectators along the way, knowing there would be no aid or water stations, no one handing me half bananas to keep me going. It was only my carefully chosen shoes, my favorite Pandora rap station, my Gatorade and my inner voice. You see, I have the same chatter box that you have. The chatter box that tells you whether you can or you can’t. While I did experience things happening on the exterior: corner store activity, blessing the homeless man I ran by, running through plumes of cigarette smoke, watching the city busses stop and go and stop and go, I did not allow myself to sink into my negative chatter box. If I had, I would have never laced up my shoes in the first place. Who runs 20 miles on there on a volunteer basis? As negative thoughts would float in my head I would coach myself through by saying, “Nope, not now, negative chatter box, you can try to come back later.” All of a sudden the negative rhetoric was gone and in the moment I knew I could do it, because I already was. I was already at mile 16, what was another 4 miles?
Soon we were 2 weeks out I came down with a virus and my Dr. said, “Hey I know how hard you’ve trained but I can’t guarantee you‘ll be able to run.” With some certain attitude I replied, “Give me the meds, not running is not an option.” I had worked out 5 days a week, rain or shine, sick or tired. Nothing got in the way. I ate the right foods, drank the right fluids, passed up a tasty alcoholic beverage on many occasion because I knew my body couldn’t withstand it. Some head cold was not going to stop me.
She ended up seeing me again a few days after the marathon because I had a little GI tract bleeding from running- whoops.
For 9 weeks Carlos and I trained separately but cheered each other on in our own way, watched each other’s progress. Finally, race day was upon us. We woke up even before the roosters crowed, threw on our best battle gear and headed for the starting line. When we stepped out of our toasty warm car and into the race zone, it was 46 degrees. Icy.
The marathon we signed up for was the definition of low key. I’m not sure the casual Saturday morning trail runners even knew there were races being run. Folks were running 10ks, half marathons, full marathons and 50ks. Carlos and I ran with no promise of glittered good luck signs, fanfare or fancy refueling stations. The statement, we ran the most boring marathon possible, is not far off.
I was packed down with energy chews, electrolytes; a water bottle, my iphone and my ipod shuffle just in case my phone decided it didn’t have enough juice to go the distance with me.
Throughout the run I observed nature, thought about a new hair style, thought about cool posts for Facebook once I had finished, but then like a Mom is proud of her child, I started feeling proud of myself, so I got teary eyed and had to stop thinking about Facebook posts. Onward. I sang along with Jay Z, Ja Rule, J Lo and 50 Cent. I’m clearly stuck in 2001. I thought about how crazy the people who put on the marathon were. Instead of offering us Gatorade and orange slices, they offered us Rootbeer and Oreos. With each lap the sun came out more and with each lap I peeled off layers of clothing. In the middle of the third lap I felt my face flush and my head heat up and I thought, “What’s going on here? Oh, I’m overheating. Whoopsie daises, better not let that happen.”
It warmed up to 65 degrees by the time we were on mile 24, when Carlos and I met up on the trail. We changed our individuals running paces and joined up, and decided to run the last few miles together. No winner, no loser, but together. Here we were, months and weeks and hours and hours of training later, together. Knowing there would be a camera we gave our best Hernandez smile and sprinted across, we probably looked a little more energetic than we actually were. We may have even had a little juice left for crossing the finish line at mile 26.2. We crossed, high fived, looked around for some fanfare, but there was none to be had, so we took a moment for ourselves, packed up and went home.
Carlos finished because he told himself he could. I finished because I told myself I could. There was no magic pill for either of us, no super-secret way to get through it, no back door way to get a marathon medal. All it took was a little courage.
Never underestimate the power of courage. It takes courage to set a goal and grind away at it.
You are capable of so much more than you give yourself allowance for. Don’t be afraid to reach just beyond your grasp. I believe in you.
Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable
Originally published on 2-21-13
A few weeks ago I joined a new fancy gym and thought there was no question I’d be in the top 10% of the fitness level. I mean, I practice yoga, I‘ve run races, cycled in races, run 10ks in my sleep, I’m a Tough Mudder for crying out loud! I got this! No problem!
So I looked over the class schedule and decided the first class I would take was Total Conditioning. I showed up to class, assessed the room and the people in the room and assumed my space in the front row.
It’s probably not a surprise that I spend most of my life in both the literal and hypothetical front row. I’ve always wanted to learn and inch forward and improve, even in something as trivial as gym class.
It was a noon class and I looked around at thought, “don’t these people work?” Then I thought, “alright Instructor Jodi, let’s see what you’ve got.” Kayne was blaring in the background and we were movin’ and grovin’. Side steps, pump those arms, add a hop, and keep it moving! 300 seconds into the warm up, I thought, “Oh shit, Jodi’s going to whoop me!” My heart rate was at 165 and my max is 195. Then after 10 minutes, the Jodi asked, “Are we ready to get started?” I thought, “Crap lady, if we haven’t started yet, I may collapse by the end of the class!” From what I could tell I was the least in shape of anyone in the room. It was nuts!
I was struggling, breathing deeply, face red as a beet, getting dizzy, seeing grey and maybe black. I looked like a buffoon, but I kept going. My arms and legs were flailing around, at one point I lost all control of the motion of my legs on each karate kick, I was just throwing my legs in the air willy-nilly. I walked out 60 minutes later a hot mess. It was the longest 60 minute gym class ever.
So a few days later, I went again, and posted up in the front row. My sheer determination to be better said “Do not wuss out, you’d better stay in the front row. Moving to the middle or back would be conceding defeat!” So again, I endured 60 minutes of heart pumping workout. It was murder, and I was real glad no one in the class knew me by name.
But something happened in this class, in the middle of lunges with weights on our shoulders, just when I thought my butt muscles were going to spontaneously combust because they burned so bad, the instructor yelled out, “GET COMFORTABLE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE, THAT’S WHERE THE CHANGE HAPPENS! WHEN YOU WALK OUT OF HERE WILL YOU BE ABLE TO TELL YOURSELF THAT WAS THE BEST YOU COULD DO?” And a light went off in my head and I thought, “No I won’t, I know I have about 15% more to give.” Jodi continued yelling over Beyoncé lyrics, “You’re already here, you’re here for 60 minutes, and you may as well get the most out of it!” If I could have OOH-RAHed in the moment, I would have.
Over the next few days I couldn’t stop thinking, get comfortable being uncomfortable. I can do that. After all, any time something magical has happened it’s been in moments that are outside of my comfort zone. For me, life changing break throughs have been when I’ve summed up courage and guts and moxie and energy to say screw it….let’s do this.
Don’t be afraid of that. It won’t feel good every second of the way, but who cares, there’s always an end to the icky feeling and at the end of the icky feeling is pure “aaaahhhhh.”
It’s like driving through downpour and then seeing a rainbow, it’s like giving birth and then getting to hold your baby, it’s like being scared being scared to ask for a raise, doing it anyways and succeeding, it’s like going on a first date with a man who doesn’t respond your regular shtick –being forced to be yourself—and then figuring out he’s the love of your life (yesterday morning we talked about new houses and babies). It’s like forcing yourself to get up off the couch after you get home from work put your bra back on and go out and make friends when you move to a new city, then finding your kindred spirit.
It always take a little courage and you already have all the courage you need, there’s a land of joy out there, waiting for you to enjoy it.
You’re already on this earth; you may as well make the most of it. Are you giving the best you have to offer? On your last day, will you be able to say, I gave it all I had? It matters not that you’re the best in class, all that matters is that you are getting all that you can and all that you want out of your 60 minutes.
Claim Yours
Originally published on 2-18-13
I have grown up in a family that even though we’re well intentioned we’re not always the healthiest. We like many others have fallen into a pattern of celebrating with food and drink and as a bonus since my folks own liquor stores; there’s been plenty of drinking. Each of us had our battles with weight and some of us have been more successful than others but this weekend we handed out our first ever “Most Improved Player” award.
My 25 year old brother Carlos has always been overweight, but since he’s been overweight since I can remember, from my perspective it never felt like such an overwhelming problem. I always thought he’s young; he’ll have time to fix himself up. During high school and parts of college Carlos was active but like most of America he let his health fall by the wayside.
Well about a year ago something clicked in his head and he started to drink less, eat right and workout. Slowly we all saw his transformation first it was -10 pounds, then -20 pounds, then -50 pounds and even -80 pounds.
Last fall when he had dropped 84 pounds he and I went skydiving as a celebration of life and accomplishment. It was truly exhilarating. As an added anxiety bonus, the weight maximum for someone Carlos’ height was 231 and when the sky diving attendance asked him to step on the scale to check his weight we both started at the digital numbers in anticipation and then then verdict was 228! We’re in. Tiger Woods arm pump! We both breathed a sigh of relief and suited up for the sky dive. Then we got nervous about the dive! We were so busy worrying about his weight we had forgotten to worry about dropping from 10,000 feet in the air!
A few weeks later at negative 90 pounds my brothers and our friend and I participated in a Tough Mudder race. It’s a 12 mile obstacle course with 25 military style like obstacles. We trekked through miles of mud, survived 3 electrocution obstacles (yes actual electrocution), scaled 20 foot walls, jumped in pools of water from 30 feet high and swam through ice cold 32 degree water, we felt exhilarated! It was nuts. But, Carlos’ being in shape was crucial to the team. Two people were Life Flighted from the race that day.
Then yesterday at -105 pounds he ran the Livestrong Austin running event and completed his first half marathon! He signed up of his own volition and trained old school with an ipod and some running shoes. Yesterday Carlos finished 13.1 miles in 2 hours and 7 minutes and solidified the age old adage; you can do anything you put your mind to.
What a privilege to see him grow and learn and discover a new found sense of pride and confidence.
To anyone who is out there reading this waiting to take the first step, don’t wait another second. Go reclaim your life. Take it.
Charles the Magic Cat
Originally published on 7-26-12
Monday morning I woke up heartbroken because Sunday afternoon I found Charles lying under a car and he had passed away from a snake bite. The left side of my face was buried in my pillow and I had been awake no more than two or three minutes before tears started rolling down my cheeks and soaking my pillow. I had gone to bed crying and woke up crying. It’s like my body said, “that’s enough for today, take these 6 hours of rest and use them wisely, and we’ll pick up where we left off in the morning.”
Charles was my 3 year old cat. I claimed him, but he was really everyone’s cat. If you were open to receiving love from a 10 pound rescue cat with a teeny nub for a tail, he’d pour it on.
Charles came to my brother Carlos and me a few years ago at our home on Maple Street. He nudged his way into our home and our hearts. The Hernandez clan was a rock solid dog family; no cat had ever been able to woo us into keeping it, but Charles worked his magic. He gradually progressed from eating whatever deli meat we left out to, getting all fixed up at the vet (on our first trip to the vet I walked him in on a leash, oopsie--I had only had a dog up until then!) to getting his own Christmas stocking, and the clincher was that when Beau and I moved from McAllen to Austin—Charles made the trip with us. We were a little family.
He was from McAllen but had a South Austin personality. Charles was relaxed, friendly and loving, but never lost his edge (one time he brought me a mangled rabbit and left it on my front door as a gift.) He made friends with everyone, including dogs and squirrels and the most cynical of cat critics. Sometimes he’d even join Beau and me at the dog park. And even sometimes, as my neighbor confessed, if Charles was in a particularly charming mood, he could convince you that his diet lacked fried fish sticks. Slick.
Like a lot of our pets that come from loving homes, he lived the best of lives; some may even say he lived the perfect life. He was taken care of in every way and was also allowed all the freedom that he desired. Isn’t that a nice sentiment, to be loved how you need and to be allowed the freedom to stretch your wings? Sounds like my dream situation. Charles’ routine was to greet me when I got home, eat dinner, shuffle out the front door, explore his little area of the world, come home in time for breakfast, get a good 10 hours of sleep in his bed and start fresh.
Charles is gone now, but each time I see reminders of him, I smile and thank the universe that it loaned me Charles and his spirit for a time, however short. As an ode to my last entry, it takes time, but the joy does supersede the hurt.
My little Charles was golden. Let’s take a page from Charles and: learn to make friends wherever we go, live exactly the way we want, and never lose our edge.
Greater Mt. Zion
Originally published 7-15-12
So here’s the thing, I’ve never been a church going person, but have always been a praying person.
I’ve always hesitated to use God in everyday language in public but never hesitated to talk about God privately.
I don’t have an all-encompassing belief system, even though I was raised Catholic and can wear a rosary like nobody’s business, I won’t declare to you that I am a certain religion and embarrassingly I recently learned the difference between the old and the new testament, but I will declare that I believe in a higher power that both love and guides deliberately.
It has taken me 29 years to really seek out a church and faithful community, a community that I can lean on from each Sunday afternoon to the next.
A few months ago, as I was contemplating my love life – the only issue I allow to keep nagging at me, the other day I bought cocktail napkins that say, “My life is perfect I’m looking for a problem to drink about.” - I just felt like I didn’t have any more answers. There were no more people I could ask for advice; I had become a frequent flyer in the self-help section of Barnes and Noble and Oprah was just not coming through like she used to. I had exhausted my life lines. Then life surprised me as it does from time to time and my girlfriend casually mentioned she had found this great Baptist church on the East side of Austin and she described it as different and exhilarating and chock full of good music. I agreed to go more as a cultural experience or Sunday activity; little did I know how much of an impact it would have on me.
The next Sunday, I woke up and put on my Sunday best, a dress my mother and grandmothers would approve of, and I headed to church.
As I walked into the Greater Mt. Zion Baptist Church in East Austin, I looked around and realized, there were no: crosses, no altar, no place to kneel, no hymnals in the pews, no white people. Huh? No white people? Correct. It’s a Baptist church in east Austin and it’s glorious. Ladies wore adorned hats, there was choir that was joyful, there were dance performances, there was a band, a preacher, and more hugs than anyone could ever need.
The service was uplifting and energizing. We sang, clapped, danced and hallelujah-ed our way through a two hour service. (All this was foreign to me as Catholic’s rock it out in 45 or less and the most movement during mass is when you turn to your neighbors to shake their hands and wish them peace.) It was lovely and fun and beyond fulfilling. I cried and laughed and held hands with strangers. At times during the service I marveled in the universe’s timing. I knew I was thirsty for something more, but I didn’t know just how thirsty and I certainly didn’t know for what. When I walked out of church I felt like I had been showered in “feel good.” I felt like my life’s direction was a little clearer.
I realize this introduction to religion seems fine and dandy and I don’t know if I’ll ever be religious per se, but I think if people can gather to pray for a better world and better lives and they can lift each other up in the process, then that’s a beautiful thing.
I’ve attended regularly in the past few months and I’ve realized I was hurting and that I’ve slowly been healing. My church is a hospital for hurting people.
I hope in whatever church or group you’re a part of that you both give and receive empathy, hope and love and purpose.
Sisses do Vegas
Sometime in December the Sisses and I…wait…have I explained the Sisses yet?
I may have skirted around who the Sisses are but they deserve a detailed explanation, so let’s take a detour.
The Sisses are a motley crew of 4, smart, funny and kind women trying to find their way, propping each other up and pushing each other along to something bigger, better and more fulfilling.
How the Sisses came to be: A few years ago Sis 1 (NP) met Sis 2 (Vanny). Sis 1 and Sis 2 started frequenting the same gym where they met Sis 3 (Poni). Shortly after, I strolled along into the same gym. I’m Sis 4. In my humble opinion, we were all at a time in our lives where we needed female friendship. We needed smart women to bounce things off of who had aspirations, who were fun and kind. In the last few years we have: gone through ups and downs, had t-shirts made, run races together, had countless activity days. We have also survived: relationships, moves, cat fights, tantrums, and being broke. I think we are the luckiest friends around. Hopefully each one of you reading this has the same bond with a few people in your world. We love each other (some days more than others) and we expect the best from each other. Sisses aren’t slackers.
Back on the ranch, last December we decided to go to Vegas for Sis 3’s birthday. Yay! Visions of: spas, decadent food, scantily clad folks walking on the strip, and champagne flowed through my head.
A few weeks before our big trip, Sis 1 called and said, “We’re all set girls! I booked us to go scrambling. Neil (our guide) will pick us up at 8:30am on Sunday.” Huh? 8:30 on a Sunday? Shouldn’t we be going to sleep at 8:30am? And by scrambling do you mean Neil will be scrambling us up some delicious eggs? Negative ghostrider. Sis 1 informed us that scrambling is a method of climbing up rocky faces and ridges without ropes. The bottom line is if one stumbles their face could permanently be plastered all over some rock in Nevada, where eventually a hawk would eat the remnants.
After processing this for about 30 seconds, I said, “great!” I was pumped.
8:30am on Sunday rolled around, which was no problem, because like the awesome women we are, we were in bed, faces washed and teeth brushed by 12:30am the night before. Winners.
Neil picked us up from the hotel and drove us 30 minutes out from the Vegas strip – as we were riding in the car I thought, “either we’re climbing that mountain just up ahead or we’re about to be murdered.” Maybe Neil had watched Pesci in Goodfellas the night before, you never know.
We arrived at our destination, strapped on our backpacks and off we went.
First we were walking over gravel, then over rocks, then we were forced to look down and watch where we were stepping because the rocks became the size of watermelons, then…wait…photo opp!
Then we were really in business. Neil was coaching along, “Use one leg to step up, put your weight on your right hand, now shift all your weight to your left foot, now jump!” Or, “See that shelf (a small rock jutting out no bigger than a small plantain) that is where you are going to put your foot and see that hold (an opening in the rock so small a hamster would take issue living in it) that is where you’re going to put your hand to hold on and get yourself over the rock.” I thought, “WHAT? Am I on candid camera?” So there the four of us went, rock by rock, turn by turn, obstacle by obstacle. We climbed up, we climbed down, and we even opted for the more difficult route (competitive? Maybe.) We climbed an 850ft mountain named Red Cap without ropes or tools, just Neil’s coaching and each other’s encouragement. When we got to the top of Red Cap we signed our name on a small worn tablet with a golf pencil and made our way down, ducking and weaving and squeezing our way through impossible looking holes. See below.
During our descent I said, “I feel incredible, this is so amazing, I am a mountain woman!” Then Sis 2 turned to me and said, “That’s why we’re single…because we keep doing things like this! We realize we don’t need anyone and can keep pushing ourselves!” I thought her statement was brilliant…but that’s for another blog.
From time to time get out of your comfort zone, take a dance class, go to a party alone, climb a mountain or jump out of a plane! You deserve to shake it up a little and feel excitement and growth.
That surge of happiness and empowerment will remind you that you can handle day to day challenges and opportunities with strength and grace.
You are more than capable. I know it.