Big Boobs, Athletics, My Pseudo-Heart Attack and Mom

Tonight I've been previewing some new-to-me Cathe videos I got in a trade. The titles? From The Terminator series, The Gauntlet, The Vipor and Imax Xtreme. These are tough, tough, tough circuit workouts.

Watching these brings to mind two words: I WANT.

Damn, I want this. I crave it--I want to be physically fit! I want to do this tough stuff. To me, its' fun--it lights a fire in me that I haven't had in years.

When I was younger, I was always very athletic. In grade school I received the Presidential Fitness Award three years in a row--and set school records. I could run, I could push myself and I lived for it. When I got into junior high, I still had that desire in me but my mom thought otherwise.

I really wanted to start a running program. I wanted to be on the track team. I just wanted to go, push myself. I wanted to do sports: basketball, volleyball, etc., in high school. Mom thought otherwise.

Why did mom think otherwise? Because I had big boobs and I would bounce.

When I was in the ninth grade, mom had a heart attack. She was my age. I tried to help her with her fitness after the heart attack. She was supposed to walk every day, she was supposed to be active. We did Jane Fonda together for awhile until it was just me doing Jane Fonda. We did Richard Simmons when he was on TV and after awhile it was just me doing Richard Simmons. I used to take a lot of aerobics classes, mom never did.

In the summers, though, we would walk. We'd go to a school and walk the track. She hated it. I loved it. She "let" me run. I would run the track, and after a lap I'd walk with her a bit, then I'd run it again. I think she allowed this because she would have never gone alone but I was by her side, bouncing boobs and all.

For awhile we walked a bike path at a lake. I had my first lesbian experience there. lol A gal approached me, was chatting in a friendly way, then said, "I'm gay." I took that as, "I'm Gay." We ran together for awhile, caught up with mom and I introduced her as Gay. Mom set me straight when we got in the car. lol Mom was right about that. (BTW, the gal was very gracious.)

Mom gave up exercising. She didn't get back to it until she had another cardiac episode a few years later and was put into a rehab program. Mom died at the age of 59 a few weeks after a bypass surgery.

I always assumed that because we were so alike in so many ways that I would have health problems. Always. So two years ago this month, right after my son and I witnessed Dad's heart attack, doing CPR on him, and all the trauma involved with that, I had an episode. Mine was a few days after his heart attack. My son and I were at McDonald's drive through getting breakfast on our way to go to the hospital. Then it happened. I developed tunnel vision. I couldn't breathe. My chest was tight. I was panicked. I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

I was about three blocks from home. I had pulled over and parked, trying to catch my breath, scared out of my mind. I decided since I was so close, I'd drive back to his house. I made it fine, but the chest pain, the tunnel vision, the feeling like I would pass out--it got worse.

A sibling took me to a walk-in clinic. I couldn't walk in, they wheeled me in a wheelchair. It was really bad. They hooked me up to an EKG machine and within two minutes they informed me that they had called 911, an ambulance was on its way to take me to the hospital.

Holy fuck. Sorry. I try not to swear much, but no other words will suffice. There was my precious son, who had just witnessed his grandfather have a heart attack a few days earlier, with eyes as wide as saucers. The firemen arrived and I was more worried about him than me. Apparently I was having weird things (don't remember the term) on the EKG. So off I went.
I kept praying, "God, please don't leave my child motherless. He's not raised yet.)

As I was wheeled outside, I will never forget staring up at the beautiful Colorado sky. I was crying. I was thinking of my mom. I was scared I would die. I was scared I was 42 years old and having a heart attack: Just like mom.

In the ambulance, I was given a boat load of baby aspirin. My mouth was bone dry and it was awful trying to chew up and swallow them. I was hooked up to their EKG. Funny, my EKG was completely normal in the ambulance.

Well, I had every test under the sun. I was admitted overnight and had a treadmill test the next day and the test where they inject the radioactive dye. I was FINE. I did not have heart disease. I was not having a heart attack, it was a massive panic attack.

That treadmill test was very informative to me. I couldn't do the whole 5 minutes...I was winded terribly and tired. Go figure, at that weight and under the stress I had been under. However, my heart handled it fine. The tech told me that was a good rate at which to exercise. I remember thinking at the time: Kill myself rate???

From this point forward until about November of 2008, I was in a fog. Dad had passed away, we had cleaned his house, and I had suffered through drama and trauma. My son was diagnosed with epilepsy, my husband had a medical emergency, my dog died--I could write a book about the black cloud that hung over me and my family that year. It was the worst time period of my life.

Around Christmas I started waking up out of the painful fog. For Christmas, my husband took a week off and we cleaned out this house. We cleared clutter. We filled a dumpster--twice! We took van loads of books to the library. We took van loads of donations to Salvation Army and the local animal shelter. We had a clearing--physical and spiritual. It set the tone for what was ahead.

That January, after already obtaining two border collie puppies, I decided we all needed one. Our breeder had a few left overs from a litter that had the same mother as one of our pups and the same father as the other pup. It was meant to be. I bought my dog with my inheritance.

Pip arrived at an airport two hours from us on February 8. The photos I shared recently, specifically the one with the little puppy, was taken that day. My mind was waking up from all that trauma and there I was on a very happy day with a new addition to our family and I was slapped in the face with that photo of that bloated, miserable woman whom I didn't even recognize.

Worse, I felt a bad as I looked. Thus my journey began.

I think back often to that ambulance ride, and all the events that transpired in 2008. As difficult and sorrowful as it all was, it did make me stronger. It also got me in touch with ME.

When I was a kid I was athletic. When I was a teenager I was athletic. When I moved away from Mom, I was athletic -- for awhile. I miss it. It's who I am--it's who I was. I can be very competitive, mostly with myself. I want it. It does not matter that I have big boobs and bounce. Shoot, I'm now fitting in a real sports bra! Although it gives me a uni-boob appearance, I don't bounce much. And frankly, I don't care. I don't think I've ever wanted anything so much in my life--except for my son's health and happiness. That overrides anything I want.

I want to push the envelope. I do not have to accept my mother's heart disease as my own. I've got my fight on.

We discover a lot of things in our weight-loss journeys. I've been peeling those fat layers away and my body and mind is remembering how much I enjoy being physical--how I crave it. It is who I am.

Hubby asked me today why I bought P90X. My competitive spirit answered. I told him it was because he mentioned it in passing, and I wanted to prove to him and myself that I could do it.

Game on. Jo is finding herself again. Jo is throwing out what she doesn't need, and devouring what she wants and loves.

I am Jo. I am athletic. I love it. Watch me grow stronger and stronger.

Bring it.