Here’s what I could tell you; that my job entails the reading of hundreds of blog posts and articles online every day, and all day Monday I read about the Steubenville rape case. All day. By Monday night I felt like my brain weighed a million pounds and I considered never going online again. Then I remembered that this story would have never been told if it weren’t for a blogger who fell into the roll of investigative journalist. Bloggers rule. I think I’ll stick around.

I could tell you that we spent hours worrying about our nephew yesterday when we found out his Marine unit was involved in a deadly accident in Nevada. We were not one of the families devastated by news that their Marine was killed. Ours is alive, but he will have to deal with the pain of losing his good friends.

Shamelessly stolen from his Facebook photos. I don’t care. I only care that he is alive.

Of course, if I told you about all of that, I’d have to mention that the torture of not knowing whether he was okay took me back to August, 2005 when we waited for word on another nephew who was stationed in Iraq. He, too, is still alive, but he lost even more friends.

I could tell you how I feel guilty for not being a better aunt to them. I should have sent letters and care packages, and I should tell them that we pray for them every day, that we love them, and that I understand what has happened to them means they will never be the same again. Ever. It makes my heart hurt.

I might say that I’ve been worried about my cancer-surviving sister doing well as she reenters the workforce, that I have no idea how we’re going to pay for private school tuition, and that I fell HARD off the juice-fast wagon. I blame the leprechaun.

I could mention that the first day of spring is really just another day of winter, that my husband has lost his ever-loving mind because he’s considering the purchase of a puppy, and that I don’t want to live in my house right now because it’s such a mess.

Or, I could just show you this magazine insert that my son was using as a bookmark until he told me it was “distracting” him.

Clearly, he still like arms.

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I got another call from the principal. I think she has me on speed dial.

Yesterday was all-school Reconciliation day at my kids’ Catholic school. That means every Catholic student goes to confession. It also means that my son had the opportunity to repent. My son. The child who once thought the Pope was really tall because I called him our highest priest.

If you don’t know about the sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation, the Catechism of the Catholic Church states, “Sin is before all else an offense against God, a rupture of communion with him. At the same time it damages communion with the Church. For this reason conversion entails both God’s forgiveness and reconciliation with the Church…”

That means you have to get your mind right with both entities. Though some will argue that God and the Church are one entity, that is a discussion for another blog post on someone else’s site where people like to argue.

A lot of people think confession is an archaic tradition, but I find it really therapeutic. It’s a time for a lot of self-reflection and re-centering, though I can’t say that my 10 year old son sees it through my, more mature, eyes.

Most kids (and some adults) hate going to Reconciliation. It’s embarrassing and humbling, and a lot of children don’t know how to handle those feelings. Apparently, though, not my kid. According to the principal, he went to two confessions, with two different priests, and was on his way into see a third one when he was “caught.”

He says it was because he couldn’t decide who to talk to, but I think he was either trying to get extra forgiveness or split up his sins so he didn’t look as bad.

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Since the 60-day Fitness Challenge has ended, I’ve decided that I need a new goal. Sure, I have a 5K coming up, but that’s not until September. According to my trainer, I should be able to run a 10K by then. Though, this is the same guy who thinks it’s perfectly normal for people to be in pain so severe they can’t straighten their arms.

We know I can do the vegan thing. It’s been over a year that I removed animal products from my diet in order to lower my cholesterol without meds.

I’ve been told the next step in my journey to good health (and pretty much the sole reason why I haven’t lost much weight) is giving up wheat. This won’t be easy for me. And, to be clear, removing beer from my diet is not on the table. I’m talking about cereal, bread, tortillas, but not beer. M’kay?

In addition, I’m bored with what I’ve been able to do with fruits and vegetables. It’s time to mix things up, so to speak.

Some people are going to think I’m crazy, and by “some people” I am specifically referring to my husband. But, this juice machine is going to be my new best friend.

If my friends and family think I’m a pain in the butt because I’m a vegan, just wait until I tell them that I’m drinking nothing but juice for the next 10 days! Oh, and water. And, coffee. And, beer. But, other than that…just juice! *cue jazz hands*

The idea behind this challenge is to make sure I’m getting the nutrients I need by infusing my dietary intake with new flavors and combinations and do it at the same time that I’m trying to give up wheat. Maybe I won’t miss it as much that way.

After 10 days, I will continue to drink juice and slowly add in beans, rice, nuts, and oats.

This morning’s breakfast was delicious! Red pepper, carrots, lemon, and grapefruit. Those gritty things at the top of the glass are chia seeds which I added for protein. Sprouted green hair coming out of my head will just be a bonus.

So, wish me luck! I’m going to need it once my husband finds out that I bought a juicer!

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Way back when, at the beginning of January, my husband had a bright idea for us to complete a 60-day fitness challenge. I drank some of his homemade wine and then agreed.

For 60-days straight, we would work-out every. Single. Day. Then go down to 5 days a week for a while, then 4 days a week for the rest of our lives. Oh, sorry. The. Rest. Of. Our. Lives.

It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve done it. Well, he’s done it and I’ve mostly done it. I missed 2 out of the 4 days when I was in Houston and then I missed another day after I weighed myself, punched the wall and screamed, “What’s the point?”

There have been a couple of times when my work-out consisted of a few sets of lunges and some push-ups and a couple of times when I battled the 14 year old in Just Dance in order to break a sweat, but for the most part…at least 50 of the last 60 days, have been intense; with a lot of strength-training, rowing, boxing, running, swimming, ellipticizing, biking, stepping, and generally wanting to punch my trainer in the face.

Oh, and a boatload of laundry. It’s all “Sweatin’ Because We’re Oldies” up in here.

Have I lost weight? Not much. I try not to weigh myself, because it just makes me angry. I see minor changes, though and I KNOW I’m doing the right thing. And since exercise is a whole lot mental, knowing is at least half the battle.

And, speaking of the correlation between mind and body, I have almost completely weaned myself off my Zoloft during this challenge. That’s a big deal. I’m figuring out how to reduce my anxiety without meds and have only thought I was going to die once. Just once!

I have learned that an easy work-out is not enough to keep the anxiety-demons at bay, it has to be a work-out so hard that I feel like I can’t get through it. It has to be intense and painful for my body in order for my mind to be eased. So, I have that going for me. It’s like I’m Atlas and I have the weight of the world on me and then I do some squats and just toss it; much in the same way that I toss around metaphors.

I can run farther (without stopping!) than I have in about 9 years and when I used to run past the fire station I thought that, for sure, I would see a paramedic come running after me with a defibrillator, but now I just cruise right past and the fire fighters stand outside and cheer for me. That last part may have been a dream, but I’m not sure.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the last 2 months. I now know that it’s possible to live in a perpetual state of pain, that I should never go to the gym without my inhaler, and that I’m pretty damn driven when I actually put my mind to something.

Mostly, I’ve learned that drinking my husband’s homemade wine might cause me to make ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decisions that actually end up benefiting me.  So bottoms up, people. Bottoms up.

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