Adina’s Cute & Perky Blog!

Jonah and I were on our way to the gym yesterday when I turned to ask him, “So, doodlebug. How was your day?”He grimaced a little so I had to ask, “Did you have a bad day? Why the frowny face?”

“No. I just don’t ever know how I’m supposed to answer that. I mean. It sounds so stupid to just say ‘good’”.

“Jonah, it’s simple. All you have to do is tell me what I want to hear.”

“I don’t get it. What do you want to hear?”

“I want to hear how your day was. I wasn’t there with you, so I want to know what you did. Did you take a test? Tell me. Did you get in trouble? Tell me. Did you pass Ms. Roberson and tell her ‘hello’? Tell me.”

“You want to hear THAT kind of stuff?”

“Yes, son. I do. I want to hear about the little things that make up your day.”

And I swear, y’all, it was like lighting a firecracker tied to the tail of a coon dog.

The child started talking and did not shut-up for the next twenty minutes!

I was marveling as I zoned in and out of the conversation (well!!!) that I was the recipient of this spewing fountain of information because I asked for specifics. And I mean I got specifics. I can even tell you when the child went to the rest room and why going at this time is better than going at that time!!!

And wouldn’t my diet have gone easier if I had learned to be specific along the way?

In the beginning I waited for people to just slowly figure out I was eating healthy now. “Uhm, no thanks. I really shouldn’t. But since you brought it…”

I evolved into suggesting, “I really think you should give that to someone else.”

Which led to, “I hate to waste it, but I will have to throw it away to keep from eating it. And I’m not going to eat it.”

Then came the violent Adina phase, “Leave that here and you will draw back a nub.” Followed by a smacking of my hand on my desk.

But it was once I learned to be direct with what I wanted that it all fell into place. “I would not care for any. Thank you.”

You just have to say what your need.

That’s all it takes.

I still slap the desk sometime though. Just because I want to. Slapping burns calories, and I’m dramatic like that!

Even though I was overweight in school the whole way through, I can honestly say I was not treated with malice or unkindly.

But there was this one.

Her name was Maggie.

And as a young girl, I was afraid of her.

She was mean. Not just to me, but to everyone.

She was the bully.

She was one of the few who would sting me with her comments. Some still linger to this day. I hold one she said to me in sixth grade.

But last May marked twenty years since I graduated, and the same since I have seen her.
She did not come to our reunions.

I didn’t give it much thought other than wonder had she just outgrown us, moving on to bigger and better things?

She seemed destined for the good life. I had no doubt she was somewhere far away, thin, and fabulous.

And I always imagined what it would be like to be able to put her in her place.

I hadn’t thought about her in years until Saturday when I walked into the gym and a sad, overweight woman caught my eye. For an instant I thought it was her.

It was leg day, so I paid little attention and went to work. I had a grueling workout in mind.

But I could not help but notice the mystery woman struggling on every single machine. She was obviously new to this.

I do offer help at the gym, but only when I am asked. I have learned through the years that you can do more harm than good by approaching the wrong person at the wrong time.

But she was struggling so.

And the machine wasn’t set to her small height.

And, OK, she was on it backwards and looking like she would cry at any minute.

So I approached her with a smile and said, “Can I show you how this works?”

And my breath caught as she gave an embarrassed nod.

This WAS my classmate.

I tried to keep my head turned as I adjusted the machine so she would not get a good view of my face. I am not the same person I once was, so I am not easily recognized. And there was no need to confront her.

But when I smiled and said, “It’s OK, hun. You’ll get there.” I saw the spark of recognition ignite the flame of embarrassment.

I feigned unrecognition and went back to my workout.

She wanted to cry. I could see it.

As she got ready to leave the gym, I remembered wanting to put her in her place so many years ago, and I said, “Hun. It gets easier every time. Don’t give up on it, and it won’t give up on you.”

A tear slid down her cheek as the door closed, and as soon as she was out of sight I shed one too.

Who knew that one day the place I would put her in was right next to me? There is room for everyone at the gym. Even people from your past.

Besides, getting fit out the outside would mean nothing if I let it rot away the inside.

I was asked yesterday if I ever had fear of going to the gym.

You know what?

I did. I absolutely, unequivocally, hands-down did have fear of going, joining, or even setting foot in a gym.

In fact, that fear was so powerful that I would not go until I lost fifty pounds. I wasted a whole fifty pounds worth of gym-going, y’all. That’s bad!

I thought I wasn’t fit enough. Pretty enough. Good enough.

And I thought I had waited too long.

I thought that because I was already in my thirties, I would never be able to reach any acceptable level of fitness.

And I thought that all the beautiful people I saw walking in those gym doors would laugh at me.

But you know what?

Conquering a fear of flight means you can go to better places.

Conquering a fear of height means you get a better view.

And conquering a fear of the gym introduces you to a community of people who will spot you, support you, and defend you like you are their own.

Because you are. The moment you walk in those doors.

If you allow it, you become part of a community when you find the right gym.

My fears were soon conquered as I made new friends and met new people both near (and far on here!!).

I had one who trained me for free, and would even count my steps as I ran the hill outside his office.
One who yelled, “You go girl!” every single time I walked through those doors.
A network of people who cheered on every success and pulled me through every struggle.

One who made my diet, and one who let me ramble and ramble and ramble like the yappy dog that I am!

And one who sets me heart on fire!

And it would be at least a year after making goal before I would even think to remember that I had fear of regret at one time.

Because you know what?

It’s never too late to get fit. Where ever you are, it’s always a good time to be the best you can be.

So when I made it, there were no regrets.

How could I regret what brought so much to my life?

So yes, Cyndi. Fear is natural and expected…

But rising above that fear is defining, altering, and life changing.

Give it everything you have.

So I had a friend tell me yesterday that the heart doesn’t heal as quickly as other muscles.

I have been known to say that a broken heart bears a striking resemblance to those muscles we tear down at the gym. Yes, we tear them down, but the rebuilding of the process  makes them bigger, stronger, and better than they were before.

If we didn’t tear them down, we would be, well…average.

And it takes a good bit of tearing down and building up to move beyond average.

But what is a sign of a really good workout?

Good old DOMS.

Delayed pain.

ain that comes after your muscles realize what they did!

And doesn’t that delayed pain lead to the best growth, the best changes, and the biggest rewards?

Of course it does. We all know it does.

But I know what it is to have a broken heart too. I spent the majority of my life overweight because I chose to let my heart remain broken.

I thought that because my family didn’t love me, no one could.

And I let the pain simmer for years…and years…and years.

Until one day it hit me.

I am the only one who can heal my heart.  A little delayed pain is OK. Years and years of it is not.

So I had to find healing. Healing that didn’t include eating all the time, which is what I did.

And that healing has boundaries. There are specific ways that I deal with pain even now.

That healing can’t come from a bottle, a pill, or a drug. I can’t eat the pain away, nor can I sleep it away. But I can’t nothing it away either, y’all.

For years I did nothing, waiting for it to heal. That never, ever, never works. That changes you into a person unrecognizable, bitter from years of lonely waiting.

Someone else may have caused your pain, but don’t choose to continue it.

So what is the Adina method for healing a broken heart?

It’s simple for me.

I look at everything around me and count my blessings, and I know that every broken heart moment led me to right here, right now.

I think of my two best friends and a friend I love. I cannot imagine living a life without their friendship.
And when my heart was torn down, they became the little muscle fiber bridges that made my heart bigger, stronger, and better.

The way I see it, a broken heart is nothing but an opportunity to build something bigger, stronger, and better than you ever imagined.

All you have to do is uncover what builds your bridges.

And if you never went back to the gym  after the DOMS wore off.

Serendipity.

That’s what you call dropping your cell phone in the potty.

Well, that’s the Adina definition of it anyway!

You see, I didn’t plan to drop my phone in the potty. I promise, I didn’t!

But I was at the tanning salon last weekend when I ran to the rest room. I had it in my back pocket…
And…well…SPLASH!

It fell in the open position, and I keep a picture of my favorite muscular man on it. And there he was…staring at me through the water!

So then I got the giggles.

I just couldn’t help it.

When the dadgum wore off, it was just funny!

And so I’m in a public rest room, alone, hysterically laughing.

And trying to rectify the phone situation made me late to meet my friend. (By “rectify” I mean I fished it out and wrapped it in a paper towel!)

And when my friend asked why I didn’t return his text, I answer, “Because you can’t hear a phone ring submerged in water.”

And that it true.

So a few hours later when the phone has been properly sanitized and dried, I give it a whirl.

I swear it gurgled.

Then it had a Cujo moment. Every button on my phone was randomly pressed. I sat it down and watched as it scrolled through every single feature on my phone as if I was pressing buttons in rapid-fire succession.

Kind of interesting, in a “man that sucks” kind of way.

And the next day I walk in to the Alltel store. A young man looks at me, ready to offer his memorized speech. I cut him off and say, “Listen. I dropped my phone in the commode. My contract is not up until October. I am not happy to be here, nor am I happy to be buying a phone. But I will be leaving with one today. Hit me with your best shot.”

After a brief moment of stunned silence he says, “OK. Let me see what we can do.”

I love how he took ownership of our problem. It’s as if he was the one who dropped it in the potty.
He tried to take the phone from me so he could see what I had. I pulled dramatically back. “Are you crazy? Did you not hear what I just said? Do you know where this thing has been? I know your mama taught you better than that! Now go wash your hands and come back and help me get a new phone.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And thirty minutes later, I emerge with a new phone.

And y’all. I love my new phone!! It makes me happy!

And I wouldn’t have my new phone if I hadn’t dropped the other in the potty.

You never know…today’s annoyances might not be so annoying after all. Maybe you just need to ride it out and see…

So the phone rang at work yesterday, and a name I did not know popped up on my Caller ID.

I just knew it wouldn’t be for me. However, a very professional, manly voice asked, “May I please speak to Adina?”

“This is she.”

“Adina?”

“Yes. This is she. May I help you, please?”

Hysterical laughter burst out at me from the other end of the line.

And a very non-professional, country voice said, “This is ALAN!”

Alan being my best friend!

And mind you, we do not have to say our names to the other when we call. We usually left off mid-sentence and jump right into the conversation from the previous time!

But we both had our work voices on yesterday.

And I almost spit my coffee out when in the midst of the laughter Alan says to me, “I almost didn’t recognize you; you sounded so nice!”

I couldn’t even deny it!

I DO speak to him in a different voice, but then he does that to me too!

The truth is, most of do have split personalities!

We are a mom here, and maybe a business man there.

Teacher here. Learner there.

Or as Alan would put it, I am nice here….not there!!

And always, the one is put aside for the other.

I don’t act with Alan the way I would at work, nor would he want me to. And I certainly don’t act at work the way I do with him. The constant outbursts of laughter would get me in trouble.

But yet we bring all these people to the gym with us every day.

Gym time is just as important as anything else we do, and to make the best of it, we need to leave all those other people behind.

How many times do you see someone working out in street clothes? They brought someone else to the gym with them.

What about the person tied to their cell phone? They brought someone else with them too.

Just as I put away nice, professional Adina to spend time with my best friend, I put everyone and everything away when I go to the gym.

I am not a worker, a learner, or even a friend. I am a gym rat for that time.

There really is no other way to do it.

And for the record…I have no intentions of being any nicer to my best friend! He will just have to like it or lump it! There is only one person I am nice to all the time, and he is not it!

I first met Jake when he was five years old.

I had gone with my best friend to visit his family. Jake was by the pool digging through a box of very creepy things. Fake eyeballs, baby monsters, plastic fingers, and a spider ring.

He took a liking to me right away. Within minutes, he took the spider ring from his collection and reached up to hand it to me.

I didn’t want to take it, because I didn’t want to take a toy from a child. But looking up at me with precious, wide eyes I knew that rejecting this gift would be a far greater wrong.

So I took the ring and placed it half-way down my pinky and said, “Thank you, Jake! Does this mean we’re engaged?!”

A shy little grin and nod told me we were!

And for the rest of the day, every time he looked my way I would wiggle my pinky at him and wink.

As I left, I kissed the top of his head whispered, “Thank you! I will keep this ring forever!”

And three years later that ring sits in my jewelry box. I see it when I open it up and think of little Jake with fondness. It stares at me every time I open that box!

I always imagined that one day I would tie it on the bow of his wedding gift.

So when I got the news Saturday night that little Jake was fighting for his life, I thought of that ring. I hoped and I prayed that I would still get to tie that little ring to his gift.

And thank goodness that little stinker dug from somewhere deep down and fought to survive.

He’ll still be in the hospital a few days, but he’s through the worst of it.

But that day he gave me the ring…

I remember him so earnestly looking at me as he handed it to me. I had no doubt he wanted me to have it.

Yet, I still had to accept it. I could have easily told him, “No. You keep it.”

That was and still is one of the biggest battles for me. It was especially hard as I was losing. There were people wanting to help me, but I had the hardest time accepting that fact.

But along the way I learned to recognize what is good and allow it into my life. And that has made all the difference in the world.

If someone wants to help you with your diet, let them.

If someone wants to show you how to lift, let them.

\If someone wants to listen to your troubles, let them.

In other words, hold out your pinky so the people who love you can slip a spider ring on it! I promise you, it will be the prettiest ring in your whole, entire box!

Hey guys….

I just got in from spending the day with my best friend.

His 8 year old nephew was playing at a friend’s house and fell through the attic door to the ground, hitting his head.

He got up and said he was fine.

A few hours later he complained of a headache then passed out.

He was life-flighted from one hospital in Dallas to a children’s hospital in Dallas.

He is unconscious, constantly monitored with a CT scan, and on a breathing tube in ICU.

The family has not and will not be allowed to see him until tomorrow at 10:00.

I may not be around for a bit, because I have to be by my friend’s side.

Keep little Jake in your thoughts and prayers.

Thanks and love.

Adina

So Spring Break is coming to a close for my kids.

Micah spent the week on a church trip and Jonah with his cousins.

I heard from Micah once at the beginning of the week when he texted me a picture of a snake he had just killed.

I didn’t really expect to hear from him at all other than when it was time to pick him up. He’s a teenager.
But my twelve year old…

He could have gone either way.

He’s right at that age where you think you need to call home every day, but you get there and have so much fun you forget.

ut as he left for his cousin’s house he said, “I’m going to call you today.”

“OK, Jonah.”

“And every day.”

“OK, Jonah.”

“And if I forget, you call me.”

And my phone has yet to ring.

So, I just had to do my motherly duty and give him a call last night.

A very distracted voice could be heard over a video game saying, “Oh. Hey, mom.”

“Doodle bug, are you having fun?”

“Huh? What?”

“Are you having fun?” “Yeah, but I’m kinda playing a game right now.”

“Well, do you want me to let you go?”

“Huh? What? Oh. Yes, Ma’am.”

And here’s where a mama’s gotta do what a mama’s gotta do!”

“Jonah?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You said you were going to call every day. It’s been almost a whole week, and you didn’t call even one time.”

“But…”

I could hear a crash in the background, followed by a game over noise. I knew I had messed up his game, and I left no shame in what I was about to do.

“Mom! I need to go!”

“Just one more thing, Jonah.”

“WHAT, MOM?”

“You’re going to feel guilty if I die and this is our last conversation.”

 “But, mom….”

I have truly mastered the skill of motherly guilt.

But don’t laugh.

Just get closer to the screen.

Closer.

Closer…

There…now listen.

You’re going to feel guilty if I die before you reach your full potential.

So, get after it!

I think it’s funny to see all the slack Michelle Obama is getting over wearing sleeveless dresses and shirts these days.

Funny because, to those of us who lift, she is a role model for buffness!

Those arms are toned.

Those arms are firm.

Any may I just say, those arms require no sleeves! Not even short ones.

And she wasn’t born with them looking like that. That came from working out.

At the first sign of my own visible muscle, people started telling me to stop.

“OK. That’s OK, but don’t take it any further.”
Or…
“You’ve exercised too far. Now your shoulders are too broad.”

Or my favorite…

“You’re not going to become one of those women who looks like a man are you?”

But lifting is often misunderstood.

How many times do I hear someone say, “I would lift, but I don’t want to look bulky are end up with too much muscle.”

And when I tell them, “You have to exercise with purpose, passion, and intensity just to get muscle that shows,” they just look at me like I’m crazy.

“Well. You just don’t understand how easily I build muscle.”

And as a general rule, it IS hard to look at them and understand it!

What we do is often referred to with words like “niche” and “cult” because it’s not practiced by the majority.

How many times have you had to defend your own muscles?

Someone told me just the other day they thought my arms we’re getting just a bit too muscular, so I responded with, “Yeah, me and the first lady both hear that a lot.”

It’s a little chilly outside today, but I’m wearing sleeveless in defense of my right to bare arms!
Guess that makes me the First Lady of Blogging.