When ever my mom is sore from a work out, she calls the pain her souvenir. So when I mention that my legs hurt, or my calves are tight, she always says, you have lots of souvenirs. Today's souvenirs are blisters on both thumbs from planting a memorial perennial garden over my cat's grave. Yesterday's souvenir was a sore butt from from riding the bike course for the tri I'm doing in three weeks. On Mother's Day I had more souvenirs than I could count from the boot camp class I did. The reason she refers to them as souvenirs is because they are reminders of your work out. Some of my souvenirs that I am most proud of how I earned them, yet also most embarrassed by are the ones that remind me of 18 of the best months of my life. They are the silvery lines that cover my stomach and sides. The stretch marks I earned by growing my both of my boys inside of me. Because of these souvenirs I never wear anything that allows my abdomen to show...
My journey, trying to be an Ironman, while dealing with anxiety, depression, body dysmorphia, self doubt, and life as a single mom with two grown sons, a crazy ass dog, and a handful of cats.