I know, I know

I have lots of 'splaining to do because I haven't reported on the PanAms. Things have been kind of busy, and I am lazy. I will definitely post more. For now, suffice it to say that it was the best PanAms I have ever experienced--and I lost my only match. I got out of the PanAms what I was supposed to: the opportunity to see great friends and great grappling, and the opportunity to get over myself and REALLY, once and for all, put competing in perspective and actually have fun doing it.

Yay for the PanAms! And yay for me!

Watch this space for more details.

PanAmania: More details

As I mentioned, the PanAms are this weekend, at CSU Dominguez Hills. For those of you who don't know, the PanAms is one of the biggest Brazilian jiu jitsu tournaments in the world. Hundreds of people come to compete, from white to black belt, and it's a veritable who's who of the grappling scene for the celebrity stalkers among us. Check here for more details: http://www.ibjjf.org/pan2009registration.htm. But if you look at my division, don't tell me who I'm fighting! I don't want to know.

There are numerous divisions for people to compete in, categorized by belt rank, and then subcategorized by weight. And for the men, further subcategorized by age; 30 years old and older fights masters division, and then there are senior 1, 2, and 3. The women do not have old fart divisions, which means I sometimes have to compete against teenagers. Lucky me.

So since there are weight divisions, one of the main characteristics of pre-PanAms week is the collective lamentations of people trying to lose poundage by avoiding eating and drinking, stepping up the cardio, using those weight-loss suits that make you look like a baked potato wrapped in foil, sauna- and steam rooming. If you ever saw Vision Quest, the 80s movie starring Matthew Modine as a wrestler trying to cut weight to qualify for a ridiculously low weight class, you know what a drag it must be to try to make weight.

And the weigh-in situation is different now. It used to be that you'd weigh in the day before, which means that if you cut 10-15lbs, like some crazy people do, you could put at least a little bit of it back on before you fought. But nowadays, you step on the scale, make weight, and then step on the mat. Theoretically, this discourages people from cutting that much weight. Theoretically.

Note how I say what a drag "it must be." This is because, as some of you know, I don't cut. I have chronic fork-in-mouth disease. I was actually walking a couple pounds lighter than I normally do, so I was going to compete in the 152 and under division. I was walking at about 147, and since one of my gis weighs about 4 lbs, that would have put me right at 151. But nobody else signed up for that bracket besides me, so I've been bumped up to 163 and under. This means I get to eat whatever the hell I want, unlike most of the people around the academy. They are looking drawn and pale and cranky, and they are stepping on the scale a LOT. And my weight is back to its normal ~149/150, so I would have been cutting it close/screwed anyway.

Another characteristic of the grappling community in SoCal (and probably elsewhere) when we are getting ready for a tournament is that people step up the training. I have been doing two-a-days for the past couple weeks, and I am covered in bruises, ache like an impacted molar, and feel really freaking weary. I trained for a couple hours this morning, and although I taught the beginner class tonight, I didn't train then; I am done until I compete on Sunday. My body and my brain need a rest. This is the hardest part, in my opinion. You want to keep training because you're worried you'll forget everything you think you know, and/or that your conditioning will go out the window. But I won't, and it won't, and like I said, I need the rest. (I'm saying this so that eventually I will believe it.)

The stress is almost palpable, and now with everyone on Facebook and Twitter, you can read people's status updates about how much they weigh, when they leave for the airport (if they are coming in from out of town), and how excited they are. I'm intending to feel excited, as opposed to nervous. I heard that the physiological characteristics of excitement and anxiety are exactly the same; it's just the meaning we assign to those characteristics that causes them to register in our minds as the one or the other. So it's just as easy to opt for excitement as it is to opt for nerves! And it seems to be working somewhat. My resolve will be tested, though, because I have basically three full days of tournament to get through before I compete; the event starts on Friday morning with white belts and then progresses through Saturday and Sunday with higher belts. The women's brown/black divisions starts at 5pm on Sunday.

That's me. Women's brown/black. It's my first time competing in this division, and it is going to be surreal. Not only am I likely to be in the same pool as world class chick grapplers, but it will also be the first time I'll compete in prime time, with the aforementioned female champions, but also with the male champions. It's like that bit on Sesame Street where the TV screen is split into 4 and there are like 3 puppies and one kitten, and they sing the song about how one of these things is not like the others. On Sunday afternoon there will be a bunch of world champions--and me. I'm sure you get now why I'm a bit addled. But in an excited way!

In other news, happy belated birthday to my dad, who celebrated yesterday (Tuesday). I love you, Dad! And happy birthday tomorrow to Steve72 and another friend who shall remain nameless. Here's wishing you all lots of cake and very little sharing.

Marcel is going to be mad because I just mentioned Steve72 and I'm about to mention him again. I saw him at the Grapplers Quest in Del Mar this past Sunday; he was reffing and competing, and I drove down to say hello. It's always a pleasure to see him; he really is a great person. And I'm not just saying that because it will drive Marcel batshit crazy. That's only ONE reason.

While there, I also got to see the infamous Vogel brothers (well, they are infamous to me, hailing as they do from Philly) and even more surprising, Midget! Midget is apparently one of the GQ muckety-mucks, traveling around to help put on the events, in addition to all the other stuff she does at Gracie Tampa, which some of you may recall is where I like to go train when I'm visiting my parents in Florida. Rob Kahn, a Royce Gracie black belt, runs the place, and he is an awesome guy. He's from New York, so the first time I met him, I felt like I had known him all my life. Midget has also been busy being good at grappling, because Royce awarded her her brown belt last night!! Congratulations, Midgie!! You earned it!

Also, don't forget http://budobeachparty.com/!

Oh, and I talked to my agent yesterday; I had submitted the first full draft of the narrative summary of my proposal, and he liked it! It needs work, and I need to be less snarky and let the humor happen naturally, but I'm on the right track. He's going to give me line by line feedback next week, which I will be able to focus on once I'm done competing.

In the meantime, I'm just glad I don't have to cut weight, though I have to be careful not to chunk up since I'm not working out for the next 3 days. Tomorrow Mikebyrd, Klint, Andrew, Burdo, and Trey arrive from Richmond, VA. I'm picking some of them up at the airport in the evening and having dinner with the rest of them beforehand. New Breed is going to be packed as of tomorrow, when people start to come in from all parts of the country. It's definitely going to be sensory overload this weekend! I'm very excited! (NOT nervous!)

Maybe I'll go to the movies tomorrow to get my mind off things. We shall see.

PanAmania

It's the week before the Pan American Championships of Jiu Jitsu, to be held right here in SoCal this Fri-Sun, so tensions are running high at grappling academies all around the Southland. I will report more today and tomorrow; I am competing and have one last push of training/preparation before I take a couple days completely off to rest. More soon, both about the PanAms and about last weekend, where I saw Steve72, Midget, the Vogels, and other luminaries at the Grapplers Quest in Del Mar, CA. For now, I'm off to prevent Cristian and others from passing my guard. Repeatedly.

Afterturds

I've been remiss in my turd-stirring. Steve72 and Letmbleed have been at each other's throats because of the whole mention in my blog thing. It's like academia really: the emotions run so high because the stakes are so low. But I'm glad they took time out of their (obviously un)busy schedules to give a crap about who gets mentioned when and where.

I like this stream of consciousness stuff and was trying to think about how else I could ruffle their feathers, but of course I'm drawing a blank. Blankety blank. Let's see. I could talk about how terrific *I* am, but that would make those two band together against me.

Hmmm.

Okay, obviously my first loyalty is to the funny, even if I end up being ganged up on, so let's see if we can get something going, stream-of-consciousness style, to make Steve72 and Letmbleed take pot shots. Here are a few reasons I am great:

First, I went to elementary school with Lyle and Erik Menendez. Lyle had a crush on my sister, and Erik was in my math class. He seemed to be physically incapable of shutting up. Our teacher, Mrs. McDonald, always had him seated at a table in the corner of the room as punishment for his incessant nattering, from which he would shout out comments that rarely had to do with geometry. That was the same class in which I used to get the hiccups every day, for a solid month. Seriously. It made my stomach hurt. And Mrs. McDonald thought I was faking. After the murders, Lyle and Erik returned from southern California to New Jersey, where I had known them, and bought Chuck's Spring Street Cafe in Princeton, among other things, with the money their parents left them. Chuck's was known for its buffalo wings, and they changed the name to Mr. Buffalo. I think it might have been changed back to Chuck's, but I can't remember.

Second, when I was a freshman in high school, my family moved to Frankfurt, in what was then West Germany, for the year. My dad did a faculty exchange through the college he was professoring at in New Jersey. We did a ton of traveling. When we went to Egypt, the owner of a papyrus store followed me around and stared weirdly at me the entire time. At first I thought he was worried I was shoplifting, but it turns out he liked my then-blonde hair and offered my dad 500 camels for me. My dad, ever the smartass, tried to convince him to fork over some diamonds instead, and he said yes. I was freaked. My dad was amused. I made it out of there, no thanks to the pater familias.

My sister and I went to a German high school that year. My sister's English teacher told her class that their notebook for the class should have three departments (remember this was English as a second language, so English was the teacher's second language. But we liked our English classes, my sister and I, because they were the only classes conducted in English. We were good at English and not so good at German).

One day a couple of the girls in my class decided to hide in the wardrobe at the back of the room. (In Germany at the time, there weren't any closets. The kids put their coats and stuff in a big wardrobe.) They asked me if I wanted to hide in there too. We were going to hide during the history class, which was taught by a largish, well-meaning woman who stood too close and talked too loudly. Nobody liked her, despite the fact that, as I mentioned, she was well-meaning. I thought she was very kind, because I was this weird foreign exchange student who didn't speak very good German, and she was nice to me. I felt guilty hiding because she was nice, but I also wanted friends.

So three of us folded ourselves into the wardrobe. The rest of the class barely registered what we were doing; apparently the two girls who asked me to join them did stuff like that all the time. And yes, it turned out to be the stupidest thing imagineable. Not only did we have to sit through the lesson anyway, we had to sit completely still in uncomfortable positions, because if the teacher found out what we were doing, we'd get into trouble. So I heard the lesson, got a charley horse, and didn't get credit for attendance that day. That's what I get for wanting to belong.

Those are just a couple of reasons I am awesome. (This should be enough to get Letmbleed and Steve72 going, right?)

In other news, I owe an apology to Shawn Williams. I got interviewed for a youtube feature called Women's MMA Roundup (they are still editing it, but I will let you know when it airs), and when they asked me if there was anyone I wanted to thank, I thanked a lot of people but forgot to mention him, despite the fact that he has played a huge role in the development of my grappling. So, thank you Shawn! I'm sorry I neglected to mention you. Huge brain fart on my part.

Stream of consciousness is fun!

The Great Turd Storm of '09

Much to my chagrin (where "chagrin" = "utter amusement"), Steve72 and Letmbleed are sniping at each other because they want attention and column inches on my blog. I thought I had evened things out by extolling Steve's virtues after advertising how Letmbleed skillfully deconstructed my (pink) psyche, but they are grousing like two brothers. I suppose this makes me the mom. They are both sooooo grounded.

So now I guess I'm supposed to say nice things about Letmbleed, and I will do so, stream-of-consciousness style. But he's not off to a good start, and I'll tell you why. I have a busy day today, full of no-gi grappling; procrastinating on the writing of pages for my agent, a story for BJJ Legends about the women's grappling camp, and documentation for the Budo Beach Party;


BTW, DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE BUDO BEACH PARTY (http://budobeachparty.com)!!!


singing along at the top of my lungs to Pat Benatar (Fire & Ice), Jerry Jeff Walker (Up Against the Wall Redneck), and Liz Phair (Big Tall Man); and boiling my alopecia herbs. So having to stroke his ego just adds to a day that's already full.

But let's go with it. I have actually only met Letmbleed twice, though we have been friends for upwards of 6 years. He is outspoken, angry, and slanted (one of his legs is longer than the other), and when I met him the first time, he claimed to hate women like nobody's business. But then he insisted on holding doors for me, paying for our dinner, and walking on the street side of the sidewalk, just in case we were transported back to the Middle Ages and someone decided to throw their excrement into the street like they did back then; that way it would fall on him and not me. When I met him the second time, he had married his lovely wife Jenny, and they were in Virginia for a grappling tournament. He seemed just ridiculously gaga in love with Jenny, and you really can't blame him. (She is FAR better looking than he is.)

So what I'm driving at here is that Letmbleed is full of sound and fury, signifying something quite different from what he's trying to get you to believe he is signifying. Don't get me wrong: if you say something he thinks is stupid, particularly on the NHBgear forum, he will excoriate you such that you will be left holding fistfuls of your entrails and blinking like a fish. But I like this, because as Mr. Garrison from South Park would say, "There aren't any stupid questions. Just stupid people." And I am rarely, if ever, the target of his invective.

It's true that I am a woman, something he has never quite forgiven me for, but maybe if I work toward healing with Steve on the whole Kinks/gas/self serve issue, then maybe, just maybe, Letmbleed and I can move toward some healing of our own.

Commence and persist order

I've been informed by my lawyer friend Steve72 that I am violating the terms of our contract. I didn't know he and I even had a contract, mostly because we don't. But it's so endearing when he plays Esquire for Hire on Fire that I'm going to play along. Plus, he's a black belt, so I basically have to humor him. (Please don't tell him I have said any of this.)

Read his comment on my previous post to see what I have done wrong: I have ignored him and venerated Letmbleed. I should have known this would not fly. So now I have to say wonderful things about Steve72 to even things out and repair the hole in the time-space continuum. Here is a purely stream-of-consciousness set of observations about the goodness that is Steve. For one thing, he and his wife now have enough sons to launch their own The Jonas Brothers. The youngest son is only a couple months old, so I'm thinking they should wait at least year or two before putting a tiara on him.

Oh wait, those are the beauty pageant parents. Well, he is a very nice looking kid. And that's another good thing about Steve: He really knows how to pick a wife. I haven't even met her yet, but she obviously has the patience of a saint, and judging from pictures I've seen of their aforementionedly comely kids compared to the in-person moobs I have seen on Steve, she's a looker.

Steve also works in a great city, known as Philadelphia. I grew up right outside of Philadelphia and went there numerous times in high school to see concerts at the Tower Theater and the Spectrum. One thing I DON'T like about Steve, though, is that Pennsylvania is a self-service gas station state. In New Jersey, where I grew up, you are not allowed to pump your own gas (union thing), so when my giggly friends and I went to see The Kinks one night and needed gas to get home, we waited for about 15 minutes at the pump before realizing it was self-serve. I never forgave Steve for that.

In addition to being a fellow grappler (a better one than me), Steve is also a fellow CrossFit aficionado. He has a garage gym where he puts himself through the Murph and the Helen, and he's so committed that he will use absolutely anything at his disposal to get his workout in. Even if "absolutely anything" = "numerous beers, a tree branch, and a nearby son" to get himself through the Fran. I know there is a youtube video of one time when he did just this, but I can't find it. Suffice it to say that Steve applied himself equally to the pullups, the thrusters, and the beers. It was probably the first time anyone ever had cause to say, "Hey, your thruster bar is wetting its pants."

As you can see, there are many things to love about Steve72. These are just a few that I literally pulled out of my ass because I don't want to be sued, not even in pretend. If I remember correctly, he will be in San Diego next weekend, which may mean that I'll have to see him and act like I really believe the things I just said. Well, I do believe that he has moobs. There is photographic evidence of that. For the other things I'll just have to rely on my acting ability. I wish I had some. (My singing sound really good in the shower--does that count?)

Herbs and barbs

After his fight, Vince looks like the Terminator. The evil one in Terminator 2, when the human skin comes off and you just see the red light in its face that looks all evil and skeletal (a couple of those kicks and punches burst some blood vessels in his right eye. Vince's. Not the evil Terminator's.). Oh, and the name of the circuit was Battle in the Ballroom. It was a good show--of course it's nice that my friend won, but things seemed organized, etc, which is always nice.

Yesterday I had an appointment with my friend Traver, who just recently became a certified acupuncturist. He said there are lots of good alternative treatments for alopecia, and after doing a thorough workup and some needle treatment, he gave me some good stuff that I'm about to describe now. Some of the treatments sound outside the norm. But that's why they are "alternative," I guess. And make no mistake: while they may sound wacky, and while I am not above highlighting their wackiness for my own "literary" purposes (read: to get a cheap laugh), I am worlds more comfortable and confident in this treatment and in Traver than I was in the topical steroid that I am still convinced is plotting to kill me while I sleep.

And Traver has a fantastic bedside manner and level of actually-gives-a-shit, not to mention impeccable credentials (and a soothing music selection for when you're just lying there with the needles embedded in your skin. Two thumbs up). As soon as he gives me the URL, I'm gonna post his website info here. I really believe in what he's doing, and I'm excited about the treatment.

What I like the most about alternative medicine is the focus on treating the person rather than merely fixing the condition. I'm pretty sure the alopecia is a sign that something's out of whack, and I want to remedy the out-of-whackness rather than just getting the hair to grow back. I apologized to my body for whatever I might have forced it to do that would result in this kind of stressful response, much like I did last year when I got so sick.

And I really only want to describe one of the treatments in a funny way: the herb mix that he gave me to boil into a tea. It looks like a combo of bouillon cubes, one mini corn cob, a couple pieces of shell pasta, and mulch. It smells like celery. Okay, that's not even that funny. Or even at all funny. So much buildup for so little payoff. I am embarrassed for all of us.

There are also some herbs to be taken topically (but I can probably taunt them to my heart's content unlike the steroid, which makes me not want to), and a little hammer/meat tenderizer-looking thing called a Seven-Star needle. I drink 3 cups of the tea a day for about a week, and then I switch to powdered herbs. I put the topical herbs on twice a day. And I smack the affected area with the Seven-Star twice a day for 15 min to stimulate blood flow.

I'll keep you posted.

In other news, we haven't heard from our old friend Letmbleed in a while. Letmbleed, who hates women but whose screen name is from a Tori Amos song. Letmbleed, who swore he'd never get married but is happily hitched to a fantastic chick. Letmbleed who thinks women shouldn't train BJJ but has described my grappling as "good" (it's documented somewhere). As some of you may know/remember, I know Letmbleed from the forum at http://www.nhbgear.com/forum.

Recently, Letmbleed started a thread "offering" to tell people what he really thinks of them. Since he hates most people, and since most people want to know anyway, the resulting exchange has been hilarious. I haven't been on the forum recently, but that thread was enough to make ME come out of hiding. Here's what he had to say about yours truly:

"You have a tendency to think too much. This tendency wouldn't be a problem if you were a man, but you're not. You see, men are naturally more intelligent than women (it says so in the Bible.) We were designed to think. Women, on the other hand, aren't equipped to use their brains (it says so in the Bible.) That's why they base their actions on emotions. EMOTIONS!

"And that's where the problems start. A normal woman would find out some good news, and react appropriately: 'Yay! I won the lottery! I'm going to go shopping for pink things!' You, on the other hand would start with your thinking: 'Yay! I won the lottery! I'm going to go shopping for pink things! Wait, what if they don't have pink things in my size? What if all the stores are out of pink things? OMG, I read yesterday that in a small village in China, three people have died from a disease that turned their skin pink before eating away at it. What if the color pink isn't really just a color? What if it isn't a symptom of a disease, but actually a disease in and of itself? What if every pink item I own is actually killing me? OMG, I'm dying! I'm dying, and I've never really been in love! I mean, I've been in love, but how do I know that it's been REAL love? Isn't REAL love forever? I've never felt a love that's lasted forever. I mean, I'm still in love with that one guy, but we're not married, and if it were true love, he'd feel it too, and we'd be married!. I'll never get married! I'll die alone of pink, and no one will care! I don't think I even like pink!!!!'

"Cue waterworks. You see, that's why you can never be happy and leave it at that. You start analyzing stuff until you find something that makes you cry. God made a mistake with you. He tried to give you a man's intelligence. Erroneous error, imho."

My response: "I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud."

This must be what it's like when doves cry. Except for the part about me still being in love with "that guy." I suspect that "that guy" = "Letmbleed." You see, back before he met his lovely wife, he tried to get me to agree to sleep with him. Fortunately, many miles, my own indifference, and his ultimate encounter with the woman who would agree to put up with him for the rest of his life intervened. And if that's the case, then "still in love" translates to "tolerates, but barely."

I got a text from him recently saying, "I keep going over my description of you and thinking about how brilliant it is."

I cried, like the chick I am. (Not really, but he'd be happy to think I did.)

Congrats to Vince!

My teammate, Vince Parra, won his MMA fight at the Irvine Marriott tonight! (Can't remember the name of the circuit.)

He finished his opponent with a 10-finger guillotine in the first round! I did a play-by-play for a friend who couldn't be there: here it is:

"The other guy threw a couple leg kicks, but then Vince shot for a double and got it. He had to fight off a guillotine attempt, but was in half guard and then got cross body, and was never in any real danger. So he passed, threw some really nasty, theatrical knees to the body, and then the guy turned into him and got to his feet. But Vince got behind him and took him down again to his knees. Then he got in front of him somehow and threw on the guillotine. We knew it was over then, even though it took a couple seconds for the guy to tap."

HOORAY FOR VINCE!!

Budo Beach Party!

http://budobeachparty.com/

!!!!!!!!!

My friend and teacher Becca had a great idea for a fundraiser designed to help introduce people to various martial arts and to support kids in being able to participate in them. I get to help her! Check out the website and:

a) Come to the event and recruit your martial arts-curious pals to come too

b) Buy a ticket for the sweeeeet raffle prizes

c) Forward your ideas for making the event as successful as it can be

d) All of the above


BUDO BEACH PARTY!!!

Happy birthday, Dr. Seuss!

Dr. Seuss is dead. He actually died when I was in college, and since he is one of the most famous and beloved alums from my college (Dartmouth), the campus went crazy sad and held a 24-hour vigil where people read his entire oeuvre. (I love that I can use the word "oeuvre" in reference to a body of work that includes "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.")

But it is his birthday today. If he were alive, he'd be wicked old, but the world would be a better place, because he was awesome, and his stories still are. So, happy birthday, Dr! Wherever you are, I hope the Sneetches are nice to each other, star-bellied or not, and that no one needs to speak for the trees. (Actually, when I was in college, there was a movement to change our mascot to the Lorax, in honor of the doctor. No such luck. We are still the Big Green.)

Okay, camp. Today Felicia, Alaina, Emily and I had a debrief meeting about the women's grappling camp. Suffice it to say for now that we are going to come back with a vengeance and we have lots of cool ideas for the future! This idea of Alaina's has really got legs, and we think we know how to use them. More to come.

And, me. Turns out my alopecia isn't thyroid- or hormone-related. It seems to be purely environmental. My parents, who are not medical doctors, have decided that I put myself under a lot of stress this past 4 years what with my complete transformation from white collar professional to achy mat rat, and that it's finally catching up to me. Not implausible; after I quit my job, the allergies I had had for years and years disappeared completely. So it's possible that stress has caused this, though there's no evidence. Doesn't really matter. I'm still bald on part of my head, regardless of why. I got some good news though: a friend of mine from CrossFit who just became a board certified acupuncturist told me there is a treatment for alopecia. So I'm going to meet with him later this week and see what's what. I'm incredibly relieved, because as I tried to convey before, I'm not a big fan of that steroid treatment. I'm cautiously optimistic!

I'm also wrecked. I'm stepping up the intensity of my training in preparation for the PanAms (which are at the end of March), and it's very tiring. It's a good tired, though. Isn't that the phrase? But the best part is that I think I finally have my head out of my ass where competing is concerned. Two things happened to facilitate this. First, some of it I worked through at the camp. We kept repeating "Leave your ego at the door. Leave your ego at the door," and it finally dawned on me that I can blah blah blah all I want to about my ambivalence regarding competing having to do with not wanting to tap into the aggressive part of me, etc, etc, but the fact of the matter is, at least part of my ambivalence is because I don't want to get clobbered in public. So much for leaving my ego at the door.

So that was a turning point that made me realize I was full of shit and had to knock it off, and that competing was the way to do that. And then a conversation I had with Cristian helped make it palatable. Lucas Leite, for those of you who don't know, is a world champion many times over. He comes to New Breed sometimes to train, and he is here now getting ready for the PanAms himself. "Leite" means "milk," and last Thurs when he was at the academy, he trained the entire time wih Rodrigo, his teammate who lives at New Breed. Cristian and I were joking that we needed to tell Rodrigo not to hog the milk next time. But Cristian did get to roll with him a little bit, and he just shook his head; Lucas is in another solar system from the rest of us. It's what Cristian said after getting worked by Lucas that really stuck with me. He said, "Dude, when I get dominated like that, it just motivates me to work harder, because I'm reminded of how good it is possible to be."

And just like that, I felt something shift. I will still be nervous to compete, but right now I'm feeling excitement rather than dread, because if I get clobbered, I'm finally in a place where I'll be able to get motivated to get better because of it.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I'll keep you posted.