I was talking to a friend on the phone the other day and the subject of goodbyes came up: How our goodbye was gut wrenchingly hard and whether it was easier to leave or be left.  I believe it is easier to be the one leaving than the one being left. I’ve experienced (as most of us have) both sides of the coin.  When my best friend moved away from San Diego with her fiancé, I felt this huge hole in my heart and lump in my throat. Who would invite me over for Sunday dinner as their third wheel? Who would take me on their group friend trips and insist I come even if that means sleeping on the floor in their rented room? Who would I walk over to with wine and a stories about the guys I was dating? Who would be my sanity but never judge me for being crazy when I started most conversations with, tell me if I’m being crazy but this is what I just did… Who would answer me with, “First off, you ARE being CRAZY, but we can figure this out together…”? It was her time to enter the next chapter in her life. I was so happy she was happy… and yet so sad I was losing my rock. Of course we’d be friends forever but our San Diego chapter had come to a close and it was really difficult to handle.

When she left, I went through a friendpression. I had other friends but no one like her who was in a loving relationship but also completely independent. I never had to worry about her putting me on hold to ask her fiancé if she could hang out with me. It took me a while, but I did recover from the loss and I did go on to make one or two more very dear friends who I hold in as high esteem. In that respect, I got really lucky. I felt left behind a lot in San Diego as friends moved away. I wanted so badly for things to stay the same always, and yet they were always changing because friends were always moving on. San Diego can be a transient town and so a lot of friends moved back to their families to start families of their own. At the time, I never thought I’d meet anyone worth settling down with in San Diego, therefore, I’d always live in San Diego. Just like 1+1=2…or so I thought.

Three years later, it was my turn to leave. The best case scenario had happened, I’d fallen in love and HE was the best reason to leave. I knew I’d be a fool not to, however, whenever I leave anything good a part of me always wonders if anything else will ever be as good? Like, how can it be? I also try lean on the positive thought of starting anew, and the possibilities that lie ahead in the next adventure. As a Navy brat, this was instilled in me growing up: You greet transition with positivity even if you’re dying on the inside. Growing up, we moved.  We left dear friends, we started new schools, we got into the mode of adapting and starting over. So from experience I knew I wouldn’t die from heartbreak. I knew the wounds I felt would eventually heal and I’d be okay. Given enough time, I’d even feel great again.

So why is it harder to be left than to leave? When you’re left, the setting stays the same. The same beaches, ice cream shops, bars, and parks you used to have friend dates at are still there. You feel this weird resentment that life goes on even though your best friend is no longer there. You pass by her old apartment and are filled with memories of some of the most life altering conversations you’ve ever had. Like, should I or should I not fly to Colorado for a 3rd date with someone I really know nothing about? He could be a serial killer and I could be the next Dateline special! She told me to go, and it was the best decision, as the serial killer in question is now my husband and much the opposite of a serial killer in general.  After I left, San Diego I needed some time to pass before going back to visit. If the wound was too open, too fresh, I worried I may freak out and stay there upon re-entry.  I’d end my new marriage out of fear of personal growth. Instead, I work to embrace everything good about where I am and lead with an openness to connecting with new people. Will I ever be graceful with transition? Probably not. I cry, I’m emotional, I second guess my decision to leave, and I wonder how I will ever build a life so rich in relationships again. Did I mention I’m dramatic? But then I moved, and the really great friendships I left grew stronger and the new ones I’m forming (slowly but surely) seem destined.

Next month, it’ll be one year since I left San Diego to start married life. Moving, even if for a positive reason is a major stressor. It means establishing a new home, a new community, and a new routine. I attempted to keep training powerlifting solo with remote coaching when I first arrived in Chicago last July and attending USAPL Nationals for the second time. I distinctly remember loading up my squat bar in the corner of Brick Chicago and feeling like I didn’t have the fire in me. I just didn’t care if I squatted the bar down and back up again. It’s a feeling I have felt before, when I’ve tried to continue a relationship with an ex boyfriend when the chapter had come to a close. Nothing in me felt like pushing so hard anymore… at least not in that direction. I felt like I was letting my coach down and that was difficult, but I needed to create space to grow into this next chapter of my life and powerlifting in the corner without a community felt like I was trying to re-live the past. It was time to let it go. I broke up with powerlifting.

 

Sometimes, I believe my own lies and a period of self-doubt followed. Who am I if I’m not powerlifting anymore? Who am I if I’m not coaching anymore? A year later, I can confidently say, I’m who I’ve always been. I’m a wiser, savvier, fitness enthusiast who continues to learn, grow, and become more in tune with my physical and mental needs.

 

I started swimming again and integrating into the general fitness classes at Brick. I could pick up and put down an impressive amount of weight in the WODs but my body felt cumbersome and downright clunky in motion. My favorite class offering at Brick Chicago was a high intensity stations class called B/X. It used different time domains and different amounts of rest and we would rotate between dumbbell or kettle bell, body weight movements, rowing, running on the true form runners and biking on the nicest air dynes I’d ever seen. At first I felt like, puking, every time I went did B/X. But as the weeks went by of consistently attending B/X 2-3 times per week sprinkling in general CrossFit classes 2-3 times per week I started to feel a lot more balanced. As my burpee endurance grew so did my willingness to let some of the strength go. I still kept a good strength baseline but the high intensity sweat and the fast twitch movements like bench hops gave me a great dopamine rush through the winter months. I’d drag my body wrapped in a sleeping bag through the 10 minute walk in the freezing air and I’d go with the intention to sweat. I didn’t hold myself to number and took a break from tracking any sort of training plan. What started with just wanting to sweat helped me get back in touch with the joy of movement and play. That’s what made me fall in love with CrossFit in the first place. I never wanted to take any of it so seriously. It’s my extracurricular after work. Its my ME time.

 

With the pressure off, I believe my goofiness came back and I started to make friends with a few awesome women. I looked forward to seeing them in class in the evenings and we collectively got excited about doing the open together this year. Two weeks into this year’s CrossFit Open I got sidelined from high intensity exercise for health reasons. This was mentally tough for me because I had adapt to an unexpected 2 1/2 month time out. I made a diligent effort to eat really well and indulge in less junk because I couldn’t just go and sweat it out as easily as before. I got myself a pull buoy and kick board and started swimming 3 times per week. In between I attended yoga classes and generally felt down about myself. I didn’t get the same endorphin high without the high intensity sweat, and truth be told, I felt lost without it. Enter depressive writer phase. I tried to find other releases. I wrote some really dark stuff and that nasty little devil known as self doubt weaseled it’s way back into my psyche making me think, do I even know how to lift? Could I even pick up a barbell?

 

When I got cleared to start running and CrossFitting again at the end of April I would’ve thought I’d be charging out of the gates hard and fast. The opposite was true, I didn’t know if I wanted any of it any more. It seemed overwhelming to enter any CrossFit gym and go through the rebuilding process, let alone a brand new gym because we were moving again. I was seeking something more healing and feeling stuck in a rut of what was familiar. I started reading yoga studio reviews all over town and I decided on a 90 minute hot yoga class. I went hoping it would speak to my soul and it did. I loved the instructor, the intentions he set before the start of class, and the women and men around me who were strong, disciplined and all kinds of bendy. Dipping my toe into something new and inspiring set the wheels of motivation back in motion and I found CrossFit Federal Hill.

 

Since then, I’ve found a nice balance of hot yoga, CrossFit and running. Running came up unexpectedly as I started joining Larry for his longer weekend runs as he trains for his first marathon. Last week I hopped in on an 8 miler fully expecting to turn back at 4 miles and surprising myself I survived 8. It also brought back an incredibly nostalgia for my own running days.

 

This past year has taught me that through life’s stressors fitness will look different. Sometimes your body calls for total rest and it’s okay to take the time your body needs with an open heart, free from fear and self-doubt. I’ve also learned that motivation can be found in unexpected places (yoga has never inspired me in the past but I feel like it’s my time) and just because a chapter on one sport closes doesn’t mean that door is shut forever. Maybe I will return to competitive powerlifitng in the masters division years from now. My biggest goal is to be fit over the course of my lifetime. I have to remind myself that means I won’t always be the strongest, fastest, or most flexible.  That I don’t need to hold myself to high standards all of the time. My energy levels won’t always be high and I may need to take time off to heal. I always want fitness to feel fun. I want to look forward to my workouts and I want to feel good in motion without pain from repetitive injury or major muscular imbalances. Moving twice in the past 9 months has pushed me to adapt and seek out what my body, mind and spirit all need. If you’re in a lull, mix it up, try something new. If you’re in a groove, ride the wave of motivation into areas of your life outside the gym. Remember, that you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Move to feel good and be the best version of yourself, and remember to always find the joy in staying fit.