Health Class

Our guest columnist Molly has completed a 4-week buffet of get fit classes, and is ready to undo all her hard work over Christmas. Happy Holidays!

It’s over already?! People ask me how boot camp is going, and to say it’s now done feels crazy! After four weeks of what I thought would be hell, I hate to say goodbye to the classes I’ve done and the inspiring and fit people I’ve met at Get Spun. It no longer feels like a boot camp as much as a great routine that I could keep up - if I wanted to be sore all the time.

Other than feeling sore, I feel great! I don’t think I’ll have lost a lot of weight, or even that many inches per se, likely due to the amount of resistance training and muscle work I’ve added to my normal workout routine. But I feel firmer, more energized, stronger, and fitter all around. My clothes fit better, and I’m ready to embrace the holiday season of sweets, cocktails and huge holiday meals without guilt!

Spending four days a week at Get Spun was great - like finding your neighborhood pub where the bartender remembers your name (except here we’re sweating not slurring.) Located on Spadina at Richmond, committing to a gym close to where I live and work has made my goals achievable. And with a new LCBO just down the street (finally), I can reward myself conveniently!

If you have questions or are interested in creating your own boot camp or inquiring about other services, write to the owner: Christie@getspun.ca.

Monday: SPIN
I think attitude is everything. Knowing this is my last week, I practically skipped to my bike and whistled through class. It was a tough class thanks to super fit instructor Patrice, and I spun my way through 45 minutes of cardio hell with a smile on my face (for part of it at least).

Tuesday: FIGHTING FIT
Woah. I’ve been excited to try this class since I started; it’s the talk of the town at Get Spun. Every Tuesday night the class is full, with a waiting list, so I think I always want what I can’t have. The name is perfect, Fighting Fit is a class where you rarely stop moving, have an epic boxing fight with the air, and end up with very sore muscles the next day. At times it’s so hard I definitely felt I was fighting AGAINST fitness. This was probably my favourite after-work class for letting off some steam and getting a serious sweat on. No wonder it’s always full!

Wednesday: Day off.
I’m feeling the fight class: the middle of my back and shoulders do feel like they were in a fight, and I love it. I can hardly stretch I’m so sore, but it’s a happy sore.

Thursday: SPORTS CONDITIONING
I am very sore from Fighting Fit, but this class is amazing. Lunch time, me and four fit guys. I find that I focus better while thinking about how horribly uncoordinated I am next to these athletic types. Running drills, skipping, sprinting, circuit drills…. PAIN. But, I’ll repeat, this class feels like it’s about 20 minutes long, which is great.

Friday: Gravity upper body and core
My last blast! I was totally motivated to make my last class count, and I did. I upped my resistance level for the exercises I felt confident on, and worked up a sweat working my upper body. I have a feeling I won’t be back at the gym for a few days after this week!

Our guest columnist Molly is doing a 4-week buffet of get fit classes, check back every Friday for updates.

I’m half way done!! I don’t want to undervalue the challenge of this whole month long fitness frenzy, but I have to admit it no longer feels like a boot camp as much as it does a normal routine. Yes, I live in a constant state of soreness, but that means I’m doing something great for myself, and I’m--gasp--loving it.

I’ve been getting asked what this whole thing is costing me, and if it’s worth it compared to “normal” boot camps. Well, first off, it’s worth it! I think compared to “normal” boot camps that you see advertised, this is far more suited to an average lifestyle. I’m not getting up at 6am and meeting in some random park with 30 strangers.

The boot camps at Get Spun are really more like packaged deals where you choose how many days a week you’d like to commit to, and they change every month. And yes, it’s a pricey commitment, depending on what you’re used to. The package I’m working through now is 4 weeks, 4 classes per week and costs about $340 (including tax). Seems like a lot, but it’s the equivalent of semi-private training and you get all the one-on-one time you need to maximize your results.

Monday: EFT – Extreme Functional Training
This is my second crack at EFT, and I’m excited. Last week it was hard, but for my second time around I’m optimistic that I can kick this class’s ass the way it kicked mine on my first attempt! So, blame it on being a Monday, but half of the class failed to show up (maybe they were as sore as I was last week?) so there were two of us. A smaller class got the instructor, Chris, amped about being able to do more, so I swear he upped the difficulty by 200%.

The class was a circuit of basically three different classes in one: Some Gravity (incline resistance training), some Bosu balance exercises (SO mortifying for me cause my balance BLOWS), and some TRX moves (I finally get to do a FULL TRX class this week!). While the focus is definitely not all out cardio, I feel like I’m out of a comedy movie like the fat kid in gym class, just DRIPPING sweat while everyone else seems to glisten….but hey, sweating has to be good for you right? That’s what I tell myself.

Tuesday: Spin
I kind of miss spinning! My regular workout routine was basically all spin, and a lot less resistance/weight training – so now that I’m in week 3, I do actually notice a slight difference in how easy spinning is. While I feel like I could spin my way up a mountain thanks to my power-house legs (102980984 squats later….) - it’s like I left my lungs at base camp, cause I’m huffing and puffing my way through the 45 minute class, dying slightly, but loving the release it gives my permanently sore legs.

Wednesday: DAY OFF.
Good thing, cause I can’t get out of bed. No joke. I wonder if not being able to move is a good excuse for calling in sick. I blame Monday’s private EFT class and that damn rubber band. If only I could move, cause I’d march over to Get Spun and punch Chris.

Thursday: Spin & TRX
Woah. The Navy Seals use this system, and now I know why. TRX is Total Body Resistance Exercise. The apparatus is suspended from the ceiling with nylon straps with handles (see picture), so it uses your own body weight against gravity to increase strength, stability and endurance. This workout is only half an hour, and a great muscle blast after a spin class when you’re all warmed up. At first I wondered what a half hour class would do for me, but now I know – there’s no way I could have lasted a minute longer! Feels a bit awkward at first, but I can tell it’s working!

Friday: Gravity
I’ve been able to do one Gravity class a week so far, and I love it. I feel familiar with all the moves, and by the end of an hour feel like it will be an effort to lift my cocktail later that I’ve earned all week. Only mildly sore from TRX, a full hour of tough resistance training on an incline indicates it’s going to be a slow-moving weekend! Only one more week - I can’t believe it!

Our guest columnist Molly is doing a 4-week buffet of get fit classes, check back every Tuesday for updates.

I’m feeling guilty after a weekend of serious eating. It’s like I felt so damn good on Friday that I had to undo it all on my weekend off! Family was in town, so feasts were our entertainment. That being said, I’m ready for Week 2 to kick my butt, and the extra padding elsewhere.

Monday: Extreme Functional Training
My first class of EFT (Extreme Functional Training) , and it’s definitely extreme – extremely tough! You can’t find a class like this at any other gym, so I’m actually quite excited to see what this is all about. The instructor, Chris, has developed this as a challenging combo of three types of training: bosu ball, gravity and TRX – all pitting your body weight against you for an intense workout.

But I’m learning things about myself as well as learning new moves. With all these new classes that I spend all day dreading, I'm mentally preparing myself for the unknown. But after every scary new class I try, I find myself admitting to friends how amazing it was, and how great I feel.

So, EFT is awesome. The hour-long workout is varied in intensity and difficulty, so the diversity helps distract me from the pain. We rotate from squats and lunges on the bosu, to some upper body weight work on the Gravity machine, then some dynamic curls, chest work, and core exercises on the TRX – needless to say by the end I was spent, sweaty, and swearing.

Tuesday: Day off.
I have to say, all this boot camp stuff has worked some magic on my sleep patterns. I wake up less often, and wake up feeling actually rested. My buns and biceps are the most sore. Little parts of me are sore that I didn’t know existed. But pain is progress, baby, and I’m embracing it.

Wednesday: Pilates.
Have I mentioned that I’m sore? My body tricked me on my day off, gave me the false impression that I had miraculously recovered from EFT on Monday: wrong. So wrong. I actually even warned today’s instructor about my pain, and she promises I’ll feel better tomorrow.

So the schedule says Pilates, but our lean and exotic instructor introduces herself and says this is “Milates” rather than Pilates. Instructor Milica has more than 15 years experience in the fitness industry, and openly admits her workout is NOT strict Pilates as per my previous experience with Stott Pilates.

The class still has the strong focus on core and balance, but through less conventional moves. While the workout was hard enough to send my muscles into shake-mode while trying to hold positions and planks, it still felt relaxing and a mild relief from the hard core balance and muscle workouts I’ve done so far.

Thursday: Spin class.
While my calves are feeling the burn more than I’m used to in a spin class, I have to say I feel stronger overall. Past experiences with spinning have always been a love-hate relationship as I pant and sweat my way through 45 minutes. But this time, even though it’s been more than a week since my last spin, it feels easier! I feel stronger. I’m kicking the hill’s ass instead of the hill kicking mine. Thanks to some great music and a super motivating instructor I’m feeling abnormally positive: it’s almost Friday and I’m feeling good.

Friday: Gravity
I love Gravity! I feel the pain, but I also feel the gain of muscle strength and toning. This class always feels like I’ve made a significant difference in an hour. It produces the most pain the next day in terms of muscle soreness, and right after class, you literally feel pumped up thanks to the blood flow to your muscles. Great way to end the week, but I’m definitely looking forward to two days of no boot camp!

Our guest columnist Molly is doing a 4-week get buff boot camp, check back every Tuesday for updates.

Let me clarify: I’m doing a boot camp, but it’s a different breed than ones you may have signed up for last spring, or have seen advertised on telephone poles. Instead, this is a cornucopia of different specialized fitness classes, organized with a maximum class size of 4 people – intimidating? Yes. But worth it? YES!

I’m trying to be realistic here, so the plan is four days a week, four different workouts. While Get Spun obviously sounds like (and is) a spin cycling studio, they offer so much more - and that’s what I’ve signed up for. As a "boutique gym," Get Spun is small, so are the classes, and the size and comfort here is what sets it apart from larger chain gyms.

First thing's first: Measuring success
A mandatory reality check is in order I suppose, if my body and mind are to be like the Radiohead lyrics: “Fitter, happier, more productive…” So I weighed in and had my measurements taken. Biceps, thighs, hips, waist, chest, bust. Call it vain, or call it paranoid, but while Christie (talk about motivation, you should see HER measurements…) took my stats, I didn’t even look, and told her not to tell me. We’ve agreed to check in half way through my journey and at the end.

Monday: Spin class
Good way to start my journey, because I DO spin regularly, so I can’t be afraid. If you owe your heart a favour – try a spin class. The first few minutes were like a shock to my polluted system, but the 45-minute heart-pumping workout helped take my mind out of the office. The downside? Such a hard workout reminded me of the indulgent weekend of eating and drinking I had indulged in before my month of boot camp.

Tuesday: Gravity
I think of it as a Pilates reformer with a twist. Officially, it’s Gravity Incline Resistance Training. The workout is basically using your own body weight as resistance against the pull of gravity, on a single unit. I’m thinking great, no cardio, a lot of sitting down… how hard can this be? HARD, and boy did I sweat. It’s probably sweat from fear, because after each set of exercises, I don’t know what’s coming next, but I know it’s gonna hurt. Christie leads the class explaining every exercise clearly, and I find myself asking extra questions just to buy myself time between sets. The sliding Gravity machine can be scary looking, but no matter your experience with weight training, this class is awesome once you get the hang of it, as it targets major muscle groups as well as all the teeny tiny little muscles I apparently forgot existed.

I have tomorrow off; I have a feeling I'm going to be sore...

Wednesday: Day Off
Thank. God. 'Cause the simple movement from standing to sitting is almost impossible. My bad attitude screams, "This is only week one!" Positive attitude screams, "No pain no gain, slacker! Suck it up!" Everything hurts where it joins - that’s the only way I can explain. Where shoulders join my arms: sore. Where my legs join my body: sore. Where my calves meet my thighs: sore. Especially where my forearms and biceps join. Ouch…..

Thursday: Sports Conditioning Class.
I went to sleep fearing I’d be quitting boot camp after only 2 classes, but I woke up shockingly limber (or at least mobile). Not gonna lie, I’m still in pain, but it feels like progress.

This class sounds scary: balance training, anaerobic conditioning, pylometrics, and speed and agility drills with a ladder-like rope and cones, medicine balls and Bosu balance trainers. The reality? The fastest 45 minutes of my life!! I think this is the first fitness class in my life where it ended and I actually said “really? That’s it? It’s over?”

I was by far the sweatiest participant (again, only four of us, 3 of whom were athletic toned boys who could kick my ass in any race), but the diversity of exercises – skipping, jumping, lunging – was fun! And, I felt like a million and a half bucks when it was over.

While I’m not the most coordinated or graceful person in the land of aerobics, the instructor (more on him later) was patient and encouraging as I grumbled through some fancy footwork. Actually, I had truly expected a bit of a militant drill sergeant for this class, but Chris Cecile was patient with my grumbling, and so nice! And if you want motivation? Just look at him. I think his body fat must be less than 0%. Clearly he practices what he preaches.

Friday: Gravity Upper Body and Core
All I can think as enter the class is I’m lucky no legs are involved in this workout, because the lower half of me feels like I’m 100 years old and in slow motion.

This is an upper body version of the gravity incline workout. The instructor, fit and funny Sarah Phelps seems to know I’m in pain and laughs lightly (wickedly) at my warnings that I can’t move below the waist, so please don’t make me. I’m at the gym at lunchtime with three others who look like they do this all the time, so I’m motivated and terrified all in one. A whole hour of upper body is intense, but every exercise feels like it’s doing a makeover on my muscles and I daydream of strapless dresses and toned shoulders.

TGIF - I’m embracing the weekend feeling firmer and actually a lot more energized, but admittedly 100% pumped for two days of rest!

by Molly Duignan

Can you believe storefronts are already celebrating Christmas? I can’t. Because it means I’m way behind on my pre-New-Year’s-resolution resolution.

It happens to every girl at some point, and it’s happening to me now: my favourite winter jeans and holiday dresses don’t fit. There’s a possibility a beach holiday is in my near-Christmas future. This is terrifying to me for a plethora of reasons and I need to get a grip. And, I’m going to do it before Christmas gluttony takes over. I’m putting my fate in the hands of a four-week boot camp with the trained professionals at Get Spun, a boutique gym downtown on Spadina.

My relationship with summer was an affair to remember, but now it’s over. Countless days spent drinking on patios and indulging in a bottomless buffet of craft services (I was working on a TV set) and eight wedding weekends of indulgence. But summer abandoned me for fall, and left me with nothing but 12 pounds of guilty memories and a too-tight wardrobe. So I’m committing to four weeks of hell to get over it.

I do work out. I try to watch what I eat. But there’s always room to improve, and that’s what I’m realistically aiming for. I work and live downtown, and have found an amazing gym that takes the fear and loathing out of going to the gym.

I don’t doubt it will be painful. Get Spun offers unique classes that you can’t find at the likes of big chain gyms, and I’ll try them all by doing four sessions a week, for four weeks.

So check back, and read all about my process of pain – for gain. Can I fight the flab and feel fit? Will I ever wear those jeans without massive muffin top again? Can it happen in time for holiday parties and a potential beach getaway where I’d (GASP!) be forced to wear a bathing suit? Let’s find out…

Check back every Friday to find out how Molly’s challenge is going – and if she can make it out of boot camp alive!

by Karen Cleveland

The Boobyball is a true party. It gives Toronto a shot of life when it needs it most, as the weather cools and the reality sets in that summer (and patio season) are finally over. The event delivers on its objective of raising awareness of breast cancer in a fun way, as opposed to how the cause is typically approached: clinical messages, often couched in fear.

In addition to raising awareness, the Boobyball also raises money (and an awful lot of it, too) for Rethink Breast Cancer.

Before the doors opened to the nearly 1,000 guests on Friday night (fully kitted out in campy or glammed up nautical attire, per the cruise-theme), there was a smaller, intimate reception where media and sponsors were invited to hear some powerful words from the team that started this event and continue to champion it eight years later.

I actually started my career with Rethink Breast Cancer and sat on the Boobyball committee in 2008, so it was a bit of a homecoming for me. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and a caustic sense of pride, simply marvelling at what my friends had done with this idea. It was announced in this reception that a portion of the funds raised that night were earmarked for a new program that Rethink was undertaking – a support system to connect women facing breast cancer with women that had beat it.

Despite the convivial, celebratory spirit in the room and the steady flow of champagne, I asked myself: if I had cancer, would I be lucky to have women like this hold me up?

Last spring, life was moving incredibly fast but wonderfully for me. I took a risk (and a leap of faith) and accepted a new job that I was so excited for, and was beginning in a few short weeks. I had just returned from Mexico for some much needed downtime before facing the new position and tackling some daunting home renovations.

In the excitement of securing this new job, resigning the old one and planning for a vacation, I put off some long overdue appointments. But realizing that I’d be without medical coverage for some time, I hastily booked time with my physiotherapist, dentist and my g.p. for my annual physical.

In the spirit of moving through the battery of appointments as quickly as possible, I booked off an entire afternoon and got a full once-over in one fell swoop. I raced from one appointment to the other, not expecting anything more than the usual discomfort and inconvenience that comes with check ups.

My last appointment of the day was for my annual physical with my g.p. While she checked my blood pressure, my thoughts drifted – I’m so fortunate my previous employers support this career move. Wow, I’m lucky. I’m nervous but excited about working contract, something I haven’t done since I started my career out of university. I already miss that Mexican sun on my skin. I wonder who is making dinner tonight? My thoughts continued to linger as my doctor examined my breasts. Then, I was interrupted and brought back down to earth when she kept returning to one particular spot on my right breast. “Karen,” she deadpanned, “how long has this lump been here?”

My first reaction wasn`t fear or panic -- I was embarrassed. I sheepishly admitted that I couldn’t remember the last time I checked my breasts, an omission made all the more ominous by a family history of breast cancer. She guided my hand to the spot she had gently manipulated and it was unmistakeable. How had I possibly missed this dense, hard, pebble-like lump, the size of a dime?

As the examination continued, I ran the numbers in my head: statistics I knew well from my days at Rethink. Breast cancer is extremely rare in women in my age range. But I also remember literature explaining that in the rare cases of women diagnosed in their 20’s and 30’s, their cancers were often aggressive.

After I was dressed, my doctor returned to the room and told me what the next steps were: a mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy. In a few days.

The small seed of anxiety growing in my stomach grew and stretched into my throat. I couldn’t swallow. I didn’t want to start to cry. I knew anecdotally that waiting times for mammograms and ultrasounds were weeks or months at best.
What did she know that she insisted these tests take place in a matter of days?

The appointment was two days away. One more sleep. I’d check the lump obsessively. Every time I changed, or used the bathroom, or showered, I`d feel it and a sense of dread would wash over me. Had it changed shape? Was it harder? Had it moved?

The next day and a half was a blur. I closed the door to my office and thankfully, could hide behind the guise of leaving my job for why I wasn’t acting like myself. My colleagues immediately noticed a change in my behaviour. I wasn't social. I worked with my head down, door shut.

The day of my follow-up appointment, I felt pretty good until the receptionist called my name and waved me to follow her to the room to meet the surgeon who would be performing my tests.

The surgeon, with crazy hair and big carton eyes, introduced himself and instantly put me at ease. I hopped up on the table with the attitude of “let’s just get this over with”. The doctor felt around for all of one second before his fingers landed on the spot. I expected him to shrug, tell me it was nothing. I waited for it. Instead he frowned and went “hmm”. The tightness rose in my throat again.

“Karen, we’re not going to do a mammogram or ultrasound”, he said. “Yes!” I thought, “thank goodness!"

“We’re going to take some samples, that means we’re going to do a biopsy, right now”.

I asked could he freeze it [no], would it hurt [it will feel like a pinch], is it ok if I look away [yes] and could he please ask me questions to distract me [yes].

I turned my head, my left cheek pressed flat against the paper on the examining table. I felt the cool of the alcohol swab and a few tears sneaking out, trickling down my face. I was happy I was facing away from him. I was embarrassed that I was crying – and namely, over what. I was crying because it was a bit painful but mostly because the situation completely blindsided me: I felt totally out of control. I was scared. Two days before that, I was celebrating the good news of a new job and in a state of post-vacation bliss, revelling in how healthy I felt after some time in the sun and ocean. This was not in my plans. I couldn`t pump myself up for this. I didn`t have time to prepare myself for this – whatever this is.

When I had the go ahead to sit up and get dressed, I awkwardly tried to clean up my face and put my bra and top back on. The surgeon`s office was one door over from the examining room.

In an effort to break the tension, I breezed in to his office, flashed him a million dollar smile and said “well, good thing I took that like a champ!” He mustered a grin (one look at my red eyes and mascara-streaked cheeks, and it was very clear that I took it like a wimp) and gestured for me to sit. He talked me through that this might be nothing, but it may be something. A biopsy is the most comprehensive test so that’s why he opted out of the other two tests and cut right to the chase. He asked about my lifestyle (non smoker, regular exerciser, occasional drinker) and my family history (breast cancer on both maternal and paternal sides, no one in first generation lineage, touch wood).

I was told that in five days, I was to call the receptionist. If the findings were troubling, he would ask me to come in person to discuss. If they were not, the receptionist would tell me as much over the phone. In the car, I turned my phone back on and glanced at the calendar. Fancy that, five days from now is the day I start my new job.

Before going to work, I touched up my makeup and conceded that for the next few days, I had to keep busy or I'd go crazy playing the "what if" game. Back at work, door shut again, I called my mom. Her furtive mom-radar would pick this up in no time, so I might as well be straight with her. Her response was encouraging: over the years she too has had some lumps and bumps, several biopsies and even one lump removed. All were of no cause for concern. I took solace in that and resolved that for the next five days, I needed to focus on making a smooth transition between jobs and keeping this as neat as possible. The fewer people I told meant the fewer people I’d have to share the results with, whatever the results were.

Over the next few days, I did what I`m best at, and that is burying myself in a task. I snapped into project management mode and focused on what I needed to do to wrap my current job and start my new one. I wrote letters to my current clients and gussied up my portfolio. I obsessively cleaned my closet, mended clothes, affixed renegade buttons and polished shoes.

My colleagues gave me a lovely send off and essentially shut down the office for the last few hours of the day and gathered everyone for a drink. People said really nice things about working with me. They gave me a poster that was a blow up photo of me, and everyone signed it (like a yearbook, but better). I couldn`t tell which were tears of gratitude or fear.

On the day before I started my new job (test result day, I could call in at 11am), it was a miserable, rainy Sunday. I had absolutely nothing to do: I had done and redone everything around my house twice over. I read every magazine and newspaper cover to cover. I called everyone I wanted to chat with. The moment that I had nothing to distract me, I had a total meltdown on my kitchen floor. What if I need cancer drugs and now I’ve lost my benefits? What if they just flat out fire me – they have nothing vested in me. What if this is the beginning and tomorrow will always be the day that everything started?

My morning at my new gig was great. At 10:58am I found a private area to make the call from. The results were great. Best news I could ever ask to hear. To be short about it, the lump was a fibroid adenoma – not cancerous – and there was actually a smaller one on my other breast as well, but deeper so it was very tough to feel. To err on the side of caution, my surgeon set out a year`s worth of mammograms and ultrasounds. Time well spent, as far as I was concerned.

Each appointment, after I'd pop my stuff in the locker and sit in the waiting room wearing a paper gown, I`d look around the room at women my mom's age, and we've give each other a smile or slight nod – some sort of gesture or acknowledgement of solidarity, something to say "I hope your tests go well". From the series of mammograms and ultrasounds, so many people saw my breasts last year, it was ridiculous.

My body and I have a new relationship now. I am committed to being kind to it. I try to accept it. It works. It`s healthy. It`s certainly not perfect, but it is the only one I'll ever have. I am conscious now of the inner dialogue that I used to have. I work hard to stop that voice that was forever critiquing my body (and let`s be honest, whatever state our bodies are in now, we'll be looking back at photos when we`re 70 and know that these were the glory days). I shut off that narrative of picking myself apart in the mirror, or trash talking myself when trying on clothes. I`ve always been quite comfortable in my skin, but I`ve also always been hard on myself.

This was a nice surprise to discover. What an unexpected derivative from this stress.

So when I poured myself into a body-conscious dress for the Boobyball and it was a little snug around my hips (seriously, I swear it didn't fit like that before!), I fought the hard-wired instinct to curse myself for missing a few runs this week. I grabbed my heels (and a sailor hat) and a glass of champagne. I was celebrating more than raising funds tonight.

When it comes to working out, do you have trouble kicking it into high gear? Are you one of those people who can find a million pressing things they just have to do before they make it to the gym and oh wait-it's closed. Too bad, you'll go tomorrow. Except it's raining, and the day after that you've got a work thing, and then you're going out Friday and who wants to get all sweaty beforehand? You'll have to do your hair twice. I mean, really, you'd go if you could , but there's just no time!

FITMiss has heard it all before. And they want to help you stop making excuses once and for all. According to their experts, working with a personal trainer yields results up to 80% faster than going it alone. When it comes to fitness, I vote we take the same approach we take to hair care: trust the experts.

FITMiss offers personal training sessions that come to you-or, you can work out in their downtown space, located in a condo near the Rogers Centre. The idea is fast, motivated weight loss and training, so you see results quickly and stay committed. Instead of working out with an over-muscled gym rat who spends all day doing crunches doesn't understand the concept of 'limited time,' FITMiss is designed for career-oriented women who want to lead a healthy lifestyle, but need to make it work for them. FITMiss isn't just about personal training-it's about engaging in a community of women with similar goals, who are eager to motivate one another to succeed.

One of my favourite things about FITMiss is their commitment to the community-10% of proceeds from their programs are given back through various social initiatives. Check out more about their charity work, and the community, on their blog: http://fitmisscommunity.blogspot.com/

Well, I did it: thirty days of Pilates and almost a month free of smoking. I hate to sound like my old cynical self, but as with most things in life, the completion of my challenge was quite anti-climactic.

I had visions of coming down the stairs after my last class and walking into the entrance area at CORE, a roomful of tight bodied, yoga panted people clapping, whooping and cheering. They would all pat me on the back and tell me how amazing I am and then bottles of champagne would be popped and I would take a bow and make a speech. Instead, on the last day of my challenge, I was grumpy as all get out (gosh, I am sensing a theme here). So I slunk out of the studio without saying bye to, let alone thanking, any of the lovely and supportive instructors who have encouraged me through this challenge. I did manage a quick high five with Janet who had just completed her thirtieth class as well. Yeeee---aaaah Janet! Come to think of it, she is tight bodied and she was wearing Yoga pants, so I guess my fantasy came partly true.

I don’t feel this huge sense of renewal or that I had some sort of cathartic experience, but I am sleeping better, partying less, eating well and my skin is glowing (quitting smoking saves you a ton of money on skin care products). While I did not get a reception, the instructors at CORE have told me what an accomplishment they think I have achieved and made comments about how great I look. And you know what: I do. But most importantly I feel strong and capable. In the end the most rewarding part of this challenge is that I have completed it, not that I look hot.

Yeah, I know, I probably wouldn’t believe me either. So here it is: I may not be brick hard but it’s safe to say I am toned. I am going to change my physique description on Plenty of Fish (yes I just admitted to that) to athletic. I lost a quarter inch in my thighs, half inch in my waist, an inch in a half in my hips and an inch in my back- that or my boobs shrunk. I am going with a. In my first entry I promised before and after shots but I have decided against that (and you cannot tell me I don’t keep my promises cause I just quit smoking and did thirty days of Pilates like I said I would). Sure I would love to show off the new curves of my deltoids, or the flatness and definition of my belly, the round firmness of my behind, my improved posture, the bulge of my biceps, my slimmer hips or my defined calves or….okay, okay, I'm stopping. Somehow the photographic evidence doesn’t seem that relevant anymore because, I’ll say it again: the ultimate benefit of this whole challenge was setting a goal and sticking to it. I am about to commit the biggest faux pas of writing and utter the most schmaltzy cliché but “it’s what’s inside that counts.” And inside me is a tough lady who sticks to her guns. Watch out world.

by Keri O'Meara

Home stretch baby, home stretch. I cannot believe how fast this challenge has gone by. It feels like yesterday I was in my first Pilates class watching the clock that didn’t move, taunting me with whispers of “sucker, you have 29 days left, 29 days left, 29 days left.” Dare I say I almost feel sad that the challenge is coming to an end? I have a piece of advice to offer anyone who is listening (reading): if there is anything you are thinking of doing but feel like you can’t make the time commitment or it feels like it would be too long or hard etc…remember one thing: time flies and it takes you with it. As Nike so brilliantly trademarked the phrase: Just Do It (no one’s going literally sue me for saying that are they?)

Don’t let my self righteousness fool you. This past week was the hardest yet, it was-pardon my French- a fucking bitch to get through. A fucking bitch! Wow that’s even more fun to say than rib popper (which by the way I don’t do nearly as much as I did two weeks ago). If you were to peek into my bedroom window last week (pervert) than you would have seen a red faced girl, fists clenched, jumping up and down yelling “I DON’T WANT TO.” That’s no child; that was me doing my daily ritual before I sucked it up, checked out my new six pack, pulled on my Lulu-Lemons and went off to Pilates practice, again.

Around day 18, I started to get really sore. Taking stairs, riding my bike, walking, every movement felt like a struggle. As I lay in bed at night I could feel my muscles twitching as if they were trying to get my attention: “let us rest womaaan,” they were pleading. “We tye- aad, we c’yan go on like this any more.” In case you were wondering, yes: my muscles are Jamaican.

Also, my knee joints started to feel creaky, clicky and really sore. This is kind of scary for me because I have rheumatoid arthritis and those joints tend to suffer the most. I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to mention my disease because I hate giving voice to it and frankly I didn’t really think it would be an issue. But it feels relevant now. I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me, but during a class last week, as I did a hip roll I had to fight back tears, the pain in my knees was so intense. I had memories- ones I have tried very hard to repress- of my mother putting me to bed and strapping braces onto both my legs so my knees wouldn’t lock in my sleep. I saw a chubby, little blonde child sitting out of gym class watching all the other kids jump and frolic around happily. So I had a pep talk with my body. “Don’t you dare defeat me,” I said. “I am going to complete this challenge whether you co-operate or not and it would be a lot nicer if you did.”

It sounds hokey, but my knees listened. In turn, I modified certain exercises that put strain on them and I iced them a couple times a day. We are pals now, we worked together and everything is irie. Speaking of irie, my Jamaican muscles are no longer sore; they too pushed through and are strong and ready to take on week number four.

I started this challenge in the midst of a bit of an existential crisis. I was hoping 30 days of Pilates would provide me with guidance. The reality is, no light bulbs have gone off in my head but I figure if I can convince a disease, which I have lived with for 26 years, out of bothering me than there isn’t much I can’t do. I am Superwoman. Well, maybe not, but you should see my biceps, I could give that bitch a fair fight.

by Keri O'Meara
In my last entry I described my bitchy mood, this week I was hoping to discuss my poop.

Monica, the owner of CORE studio, told me I was likely to experience a mixed bag of emotions and so far, she has been right about that (unless I am just a crazy bitch). She said that another symptom of this type of challenge/detox is increased trips to the bathroom and a change in ones fecal texture.  Is it weird that this is one of the reasons I took this challenge on?  I even stocked up on magazines in the hopes of four BMs a day.  Sigh, no avail.  I am still just plain old once daily with ‘normal’ textured crap- whatever that means. I am peeing about seventeen times a day, though, so I guess I can be happy about that.

I am also sleeping really well and the nightmares have subsided. The problem with sleeping: I don’t want to stop.  It’s a struggle to wake up and I feel groggy for the better part of the day. A friend of mine who has stopped smoking four times -so it’s safe to say he is an expert- told me that when you quit your blood sugar drops. So maybe that’s why I am so tired. Yes, that’s right; I no longer partake in cigarettes. It has been seven whole hellish days. I now have a serious orange juice habit. This doesn’t seem to be raising my blood sugar or giving me more energy, but it is contributing to my seventeen daily pees.

Because I am so tired I am still feeling overwhelmingly frustrated and like nothing I do is good enough. The other day a good girlfriend of mine, visibly annoyed with my self loathing, said to me “Of course you are tired, you are working out everyday. You put so much pressure on yourself, give yourself some credit.”  

So SDTC readers, the positive attitude starts here. No matter that I have been bitchy, that I am tired, that I am not having really amazing craps, that I don’t feel special because half of Toronto seems to be doing this challenge as well (good for them) and that I am still feeling wayward, here is what I have accomplished.   

Seventeen straight days of Pilates.  Okay I lie; I missed the day after my birthday. I didn’t want to throw up all over the beautiful hardwood floors of CORE studio (red wine, Veuve Cliquot and Red Bull DO NOT MIX).  But the next day, a Sunday no less, I did two classes back to back.  I intend to practice for the next thirteen days despite the fact that my glute meads are so cramped I can hardly lift my legs anymore. I have gotten stronger, I am able to do moves now that I couldn’t two weeks ago and the instructors at CORE have made note of this, which feels great because those girls have x-ray vision when it comes to the way their students muscles move (actually, it’s quite freakish.)

I am running three times a week. I am eating fruits and vegetables-which I don't think I have done since my mom used to sneak in raspberries with my ice-cream which I  didn’t get until I ate my broccoli.  I still have a little round belly but you can see definition in my abs and I swear my ass has risen at least half an inch. And of course- I have to say it again- I quit smoking. Yeah me! 

Being that I used to be a chain smoking, wine pounding, grease guzzling cynic it feels a bit weird saying this, but you don’t know how good it feels to be healthy until you are.