Healing begins with laughter. I 100% believe that. The minute you can start to laugh about something, just the slightest chuckle, your mind and soul begin to mend. Little stitches come together and start to join over a wound you once thought impassable. That’s true for some really, really dark things that happen in life—lost love, lost lives, lost opportunities—as well as the lighter, but still stressful, hurtful ones—a fight with your boss or spouse, a disappointing parent fail, a lapsed bill. The reason Rachel and I launched this platform to stretch our spandex mantra across the world was to help more people overcome the big and the small with outdoor air and some pretty darn funny therapy.
Case in point: This is one of my favorite spandex stories. As a sailor, kitesurfer, paddleboarder, and all-around salty gal (I tend to stay wet), my spandex typically consists of two little pieces I string around my body so I can easily move, play, swim, and sweat. I look hot when I sweat. However, one of my favorite spandex moments occurred in another form of spandex I wear almost as often as a bikini: leggings and a halter top. Outside of yoga pants and PJs, those outfits literally constitute 95.2% of my entire wardrobe. I’m not kidding.
And, on this particular day, a year or so back when I was trudging through some way-too-serious life shit, I had decided to join my boyfriend on a jog to try and shake it all off. Not to get into too much detail—because we all have our own equally compelling, tragic, hilarious stories—but I had a family member who had fallen prey to a very dangerous addiction and I felt I couldn’t do anything to help. I was dark and agitated, scared and worried, with no solution in sight. So, I put on some spandex and went for a jog. And, while running, I thought (brilliant me) I could lightly pat my boyfriend’s ass and say something sexy to him while jogging (yes, I hope you did notice the blonde … it is real) because all of sudden I felt a *WHACK* as I slammed the pavement.
My dumb self had tripped-while-patting and ripped two mighty chunks out of both knees. I didn’t even feel it at the moment as I was more worried about my phone that had cracked the pavement too. Not my lifeline, I thought. The place where I stay connected and get all my news: good and bad. That was my sole concern after a fall. But, later, as I saw my bloody knees and realized how callously I had brushed them off and kept jogging, that it was my body, it was me, I should worry about, too. With all of that dark family stuff swirling around in my head while I was running (on a beautiful, fill-your-lungs Pensacola day, I might add), I now see the Spandex Gods had shaken their heads and said,“Girl please!” as they whacked me to the ground to knock some sense into me. (I hope you’re laughing, as I did when I had this revelation and still do now do when I remember this moment). I see a big hand coming out of the sky and literally whapping me down, as I look up stunned and stupid. “Only worry about what you can control,” they told me, “which is one foot in front of the other.”
That lesson still resonates with me. Probably because I still have dark things that happen in my life as well as two dark brown circles under each knee on my (I will just go ahead and admit it, pretty darn sexy) legs, but I like those scars. They remind me no matter what happens, you have to have that *WHACK* moment where you see some humor in it. You have to be able to laugh about it, share it as a funny story, and move the heck on. One foot in front of the other.