“Oh, you’re almost there. No big deal.” Yes, I thought. No. Big. Deal.
Three weeks from my second bikini competition, I am struggling to continue the intense training, posing and a strict diet for ANOTHER three weeks while at a near panic state. Am I ready to step on stage? I keep thinking to myself, “I need more time!” But I also need rest. And pizza!
I am forever thankful for “Magical Thursdays,” the whimsical, I-cant-make-this-up window when my body miraculously–if not suddenly–reveals its progress. I will be changing for bed when a passing image in the mirror unexpectedtly draws me back and leaves me contorting my body in odd positions and my fingertips excitedly pinching various areas of my skin assessing for fat loss. “When did this happen?” I think.
It’s easy to lose sight of progress. My alarm clock begins the day’s relentless assault at 2:28am. Yes, 2:28. I set multiple alarms because I have a terrible habit of loving to rest under a bunny-soft blanket with the fan blowing in the dark. It’s a glorious, anachronistic place where I’m allowed to simply stop. But this is show prep season, and there’s little time for that. I take a deep breath, move the covers apologetically away, and begin my ultra-organized day.
Whats the plan? A hard hitting cardio session, a shower, and off to work for my 6am start time as a cardiac surgery Registered Nurse First Assistant. It’s another full day of a mentally and physically taxing love affair with life and death. I get home just to–you got it–go to the gym! I have lifting and more cardio to do.
What keeps this schedule possible? All my food is cooked or prepped days in advance. Everything is measured, weighed and wrapped. Today my food diary in MyFitnessPal hit a 500 day streak, and I’m not sure if that makes me a nerd or totally awesome.
My macros have to stay on point . I carry my Isolator Fitness food bag everywhere. I even have a small version that can carry one full meal. I don’t even leave my house to get gas in my car without food and water with me. My success is all planned.
I admit, I smell the french fries, the donuts, the pizza. I’m human. But I’m a human on a mission, and I have a hot date in April with a sparkly green bikini and a killer pair of heels. If success is what we all dream of, the victory exists only when we stop listening to the excuses and fears in our minds, and start making plans.
Plan to be your best. Plan to win. (By: Erin Merritt)