Mid-Life Niche

I have really been struggling to find my new niche lately.  I'm closing in on 40 and I'm trying really hard to figure out where I'm supposed to go next.  Such an odd place I'm in!  There is no mid-life crisis or anything crazy going on.  In fact, I'm in a better place in my life right now than I can recall in at least the last ten years.  I have an amazing son, the best husband and family anyone could ask for, and a greater will to live according to God's plan than I've had since high school.  No, probably ever.  I'm simply struggling with what to "do" now.  My world today reminds me of something I heard recently about a jelly jar experiment: the more choices consumers were provided with on a jelly jar display, the less likely they were to make a purchase.

Prior to my son's entrance into the world I was always a dog trainer.  That is what I "did" and I couldn't imagine even the remote possibility of doing anything else.  I think I was pretty good at it, too.  Once my son Parker was born I put his needs first and dog training became something I did a day or two a week to get out of the house and maintain my sanity.  I still had a passion for working with the dogs, but I found that working with the owners too much made an already tired mommy an exhausted and frustrated mommy.

When we moved to North Carolina from Georgia for my husband's job I thought at first that I would take my time starting a new dog training business, working my way close to full time once my son entered kindergarten, just as supplemental income.  Within six months of our move I had found a wonderful preschool for Parker--and a renewed love for running.  After all, Parker was only in school for three hours three days a week to start. Enough time for a good run and shower, but not enough time for a dog training appointment.  That's what I told myself, anyway.  About this time I started enjoying some moderate starving artist level success selling prints of my dog portraits.  I began to think that if I could do THAT it would be awesome.  I could work when Parker was asleep at night, still be involved in the dog world, still keep the house, and have some semblance of an outside identity that would earn us a little extra cash.  Maybe I could continue to train dogs every now and then, too.

Fast-forward 2 1/2 years to the beginning of 2013.  (Yes, 2 1/2 years.  Let's just say I fell into a good mommy groove.)  My husband decided to open a CrossFit box with his then coaches and now business partners.  Wanting to support my husband in his decision and enable him to do what he loves and keep his job that pays our bills, I became "Queen Gopher" (self-appointed) and subsequently addicted to CrossFit.  I love our box, our members, and the fact that I have visible trapezius muscles and can do pull-ups for the first time in my fairly athletic life.

For the past few months I've been trying to part with dead weight so that I can be the best mother, wife, and person I can be.  I've been working hard at deciphering the messages God is sending me.  Right about now I'm wishing someone would send me a Rosetta stone.  I've been commissioned for six portraits and had four dog training inquiries (with ZERO advertising) in the past two months.  To top it off, today one of my coaches told me she thought *I* would make a good coach.  I think I would enjoy coaching, although *I'm* not sure I would be particularly good at it.  I used to enjoy training people to train their dogs.  Coaching CrossFit would be sort of like training people to train themselves.  You can't give someone the desire to be more physically fit.  Maybe some people can INSPIRE others, but while I know I'm not that person, a good coach can give someone that has the desire and inspiration the tools to realize their goals.

Parker starts kindergarten in a little more than a month.  I guess it's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up...

How do I find my mid-life niche?!

Mid Atlantic CrossFit Regional Experience 2013

The Regional experience really starts months before the event.  Athletes have to enter the Open and be one of the top 48 in their region in order to be invited.  Teams must be constructed and athletes must prepare for the mental and physical challenges that await them in the Regional competition.  Workouts are announced and then the athletes must strategize and must work to improve their weaknesses.  I'm not one of those athletes, though.  I was just along for the ride.  My husband's business partner and our box's Head Coach Nathan Keil is the only reason I was able to go.  So if you're looking for in-depth accounts of the athletes' thought processes and training insights and horn tooting, you won't find it here.  Read on for an ordinary CrossFitter's take on an extraordinary experience.

Thursday, June 6th

The "Size Up"

"CrossFitters don't seem to talk a lot of smack, but they sure do size each other up!"  That is what I said to my husband once we got back in the car after stopping for lunch somewhere in Virginia.  We were traveling with our business partners Nathan and Kelsey from North Carolina to Maryland where Nathan would compete in the 2013 Mid Atlantic Region CrossFit Games.  Last stop before the big show in California for three of forty-eight athletes; the end of the national competition's annual road for the other forty-five.

We stopped for lunch at some random Chipotle in Virginia.  As the four of us sat eating our lunch outside, I watched a group of four park their car and walk inside.  I immediately knew they were CrossFitters and likely headed to the same destination we were.  Although I've only been CrossFitting for a short period of time, I've come to realize that there are certain things all CrossFitters have in common:  we walk a little taller and with a little more confidence than a lot of people, birds of our feather definitely flock together, and when we flock to eat--it's usually to Chipotle or someplace similar.

When the four of us went inside to dispose of our trash and visit the facilities one last time, that's when I realized that the other group had obviously come to the same realization about us that I had about them, and they were sizing us up.  I was very amused because they were checking us ALL out, and only in a competitive way.  My husband and I both come from running backgrounds, and we both have more arm and shoulder muscles now than we've ever had in our lives.  That still isn't saying much at all in my case.  It was honestly flattering. 

Sure enough, when we arrived at the facility later Thursday afternoon to get Nathan checked in, they were among the first people we recognized!  The "size up" continued as athletes milled around trying to work out some early nerves and gauge their competition.  We saw a few other athletes with recognizable names, got a quick feel for our home away from home for the weekend, and left to get some grub and get settled into the hotel before our very early wake-up call Friday morning.

Friday, June 7th

Grace Under Fire

CrossFitters are known for their community.  Friday gave me ample opportunity to see that community in action and to see one of the sport's athletes exhibit extreme grace under the pressure of what could have been a very icky predicament.  The very first thing that struck me was the huge variety of people there.  Every "look" imaginable was present, every age group, and every fitness level.  I must say, though, that I don't think I've ever seen more spandex being worn in one location EVER.  I was waiting for the "Flash WOD" to strike at any moment!  Whatever keeps you comfortable, I guess.  The bleachers certainly didn't keep you comfortable.

One of the most awesome things I saw was the man wearing a metal prosthetic leg taking so much time with a little boy not much younger than my own son.  I suppose the little boy was about 3-4 years old and I guess he appeared intrigued by the metal thing extruding from one hemline of the man's shorts.  The man got down on the boy's level, explained what the prosthetic was, what it did for him, and even let the little boy touch it and stare at it for as long as he wanted to.  The little boy's mother was obviously grateful for the experience.  CrossFit teaches us that there is an athlete in all of us, and just because you scale a workout doesn't mean you don't work hard.  If you do what you are capable of doing and work to make the you that you are right now stronger and faster, you are a worthy member of our community.

Another thing that caught my attention was the female judge with the bald head.  I don't know if she was undergoing chemotherapy, supporting someone else that was, or just rocking a look that she loved.  The point is it didn't matter.  No one accused her of not being able to do her job.  No one pointed and stared and made a big stink of it.  She didn't either.  She simply did her job.  We are a community that supports our members.

The biggest example of community and grace under fire that I witnessed was in regards to an incident surrounding one of our very own, Nathan.  The first workout was "Jackie", a 1,000m row followed by 50 thrusters and 30 pull-ups.  He did the workout in the fourth heat, and was the third in his heat to finish.  We had him touching the finishing pad at 5:22.  The judge said he didn't touch with both feet, so by the time he turned back around and definitively did that, some of us guessed it cost him around four seconds.  Nathan signed his form and went back to the Athlete Village to cool down.  Charles, Kelsey, and I went into the stands to wait for him and check the Leaderboard standings to see where Nathan's performance would rank him.  1ST?!?!?  We all saw that Nathan wasn't the first to finish in his heat, but congratulatory messages started coming in through Twitter and Facebook from box members and friends that were checking the CrossFit main site.  Kelsey had to inform everyone via the same channels that a mistake had been made and to please be patient.  Nathan went and talked to the Head Judge to try to get the error rectified.  He went HIMSELF.  The Head Judge told Nathan they would update the Leaderboard within an hour or so.  Nathan had to go talk to the judge AGAIN two hours later to prevent being seated incorrectly for the next event.  They eventually got everything worked out.  Although it was stressful for Nathan (and for us), he acted with integrity and honesty.  As far as I know, nobody else said a word to Nathan about it.  There were no cries of foul by other athletes, no media shi*t storm, there weren't even any public apologies made.  Someone made a mistake.  Someone fixed the mistake.  End of story.  Communities take care of their own, all the way around.

Saturday, June 8th

The Nitty Gritty

Have you ever worked out so hard for so long that by the time you cooled down you had a crusty, gritty layer of white salt left on your skin?  Emotionally, that was what Saturday was like.  There were alot more spectators on the scene on Saturday, and the air was thick with human electricity.  Nathan's family came up on Satuday to watch the grueling workouts.  I recall Nathan's little sister remarking about the number of babies in attendance.  Without pause, I said, "Think about it!  There is so much testosterone floating around in here...fertile women are just attracted to CrossFit men!"  We all had a chuckle about that, but I'm betting if someone did some research on it, my statement could be the beginnings of a thesis.  It's also an additional testament to the community and family atmosphere of CrossFit.  True fitness is a way of life, and it only makes sense that fit people include their entire families.  Everyone there was willing to embrace even the sometimes crying babies of their extended CrossFit family.  I'm a mom.  I would not be nearly as willing to take a youngster to an NFL game where they were likely to have beer spilled on them and hear language that surpasses the "profanity" label.  Now I know there was some colorful language being thrown about, but for the most part I would choose the CrossFit fans over the NFL fans any day of the week.

I have never done the 100's workout.  All I can really say about what I saw during that workout is that some dreams were dashed, and there were some athletes that, for good or bad, surprised even themselves.  For those athletes that are willing to take a step back and honestly evaluate their performances, the 100's workout exposed weaknesses without mercy.  Among the exposed weaknesses was mental fortitude.  Many athletes didn't finish that workout, and some athletes didn't have the mental fortitude to put that aside and finish the day strong in the last workout.  They were temporarily broken.  Obviously Coach Glassman believes that one's mental fitness is just as important as one's physical aptitude.  I, for one, like that.

The last workout of the day was a 21-15-9 rep scheme of deadlifts and box jumps.  Over the weekend I saw a T-shirt from a box that said something like: "We will bring out the competitor in you or expose the quitter in you."  I apologize if I should be quoting a specific individual here.  That sounds like something Coach Glassman would say.  Coach Glassman did say "Hiding from your weaknesses is a recipe for incapacity and error."  I would venture a guess that most of the individuals that made it to the Regional weekend were comfortable doing both deadlifts and box jumps.  Comfortable doing them within six hours of completing (or attempting to complete) the 100's workout?  That was obviously another matter altogether.  I found myself rooting for every athlete that took the mats.  Athletes were stumbling on their box jumps all over the place.  The deadlift weight shouldn't have been EASY for anyone, but the effects of between 50-100 dumbell snatches at heavy weight was written on the faces and performances of many of the athletes by Saturday evening.  By the time Nathan was done on Saturday, so was I.  I was emotionally spent and physically tired, and I hadn't lifted a single weight!

Sunday, June 9th

Keep Calm and CrossFit On

The venue seemed awfully dark and comparatively quiet when we arrived on Sunday morning.   The power was out!  The women were down on the floor doing double-unders and handstand push-ups to nothing but the dull roar of a slowly swelling crowd.  No DJ, no announcer, just their own grunts and groans, the voices of their judges, and the sounds of the group that had gathered to support them.  I guess this is where the "constantly varied" part of CrossFit plays into real life.  You never know what life is going to throw at you, so you should be prepared to Keep Calm and CrossFit On.  The power flickered on and off a few more times before the womens' heats had finished.  It was honestly amazing to watch an announcer with no audible voice guide a crowd in cheering on the athletes.  All it took was a few pointing gestures and some flapping of her arms for the crowd to begin screaming.  Those that weren't paying attention started to when the people next to them began bellowing for their favorites to move from handstand push-ups to shoulder-to-overhead to walking lunges to step onto their finishing pads.  

By the time the men took the floor the problem was fixed.  The crowd was large and the men needed all the cheering they could get.  Sunday afternoon saw a few men pulling away from the pack, with Ben Smith putting on an untouchable show.  The Games veteran had a little brother, Alec, that was also competing in his first Regional event.  Alec looked so very young compared to the other athletes; and at 20 years old his 25th place finish in his first Regional event (like Nathan's 20th place finish at his 1st Regional event--he's 24) is a testament to the future of the sport.  Nate Schrader, the 6th place finisher in our region, also had a brother--one year older--Jesse, who finished 36th in the Region.  Genetics simply can't be discounted.  Anyway...

The last workout of the weekend was a tough one, even by Froning standards.  Rope climbs, sprints, and squat cleans.  Way to save the "best" for last!  The only thing I will say about this is the disappointment I felt when I realized how FEW of the teams that were competing stuck around to see the final heats for the women and men.  Even though the top two men and women had very nearly been decided, the races were pretty close for the final athletes in both divisions that would make it to the Games.  I was personally shocked at how much the crowd in the bleachers thinned after the final heat of teams finished the last workout.  Teams are exciting, yes.  People have long drives home, yes.  Team competitors aren't half as likely to have sponsorships and do CrossFit for a living.  I get that.  But there were boxes that had both teams and individual competitors representing them during Regional weekend.  Some of the individual competitors were missing their team cheerleaders by the final heat workout on Sunday.  I would have been upset had that been me.  Then again, maybe that is where CrossFit prepares you for all the junk life throws at you.  Keep Calm and CrossFit On.

The drive from Maryland to North Carolina was neither somber nor gay.  It was definitely somewhere between.  The three of us that hadn't competed all weekend were so proud of the one that had, and yet we shared his exhaustion and sobriety while peering down the road to 2014's Open.  There is much work to be done.

In Conclusion

Here are some of the things I've taken away from my Regional experience:

1)  It isn't the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.

2)  Honesty is indeed the best policy.

3)  We all want something.  An individual's ability to define the want and to map the course to achieving the want are more important than the desire itself.

4)  There is something to be said for believing in yourself.  There cannot be enough said about believing in something other than yourself.  1 Timothy 1:12

5)  Individuals, Teams, Boxes--it shouldn't really matter.  It's all OUR community.

6)  There are sports...then there is CrossFit.

Thinking inside the box.

Something very interesting happened to me today.  I realized that I am becoming a CrossFitter.  Now, most of my friends know that my husband and I co-own a CrossFit gym (also known as a "box") with another couple.  I'm the only one out of the four of us that doesn't have a coach's certificate.  I was the last one of the four of us to drink the Cool-Aid--misspelling intentional.  Members at our gym don't even know what to call me.  I've started calling myself Queen Gopher because that's the best description that I can think of.  I do a little of this and a little of that, going for this and going for that, popping my head up here and there to keep the place running smoothly and allow the coaches the freedom to do their jobs.  And we have, in my opinion, the best coaches around.  Today I was kinda proof of that, and although it was a delayed reaction, it really made me feel great.

Most of my friends also know that I am a runner.  I really don't even call myself that very often, even though running has been a major part of my life for, well, most of my life, but really the last three years.  So I must admit I got a little excited when a collegiate Track and Field and newbie Cross Country runner contacted me yesterday about doing some CrossFit while she's home for the summer.  She signed up for her first class this morning.  I was really looking forward to getting schooled (no pun intended) by a woman nearly 20 years my junior.

There were in fact two new women in class this morning: one my age, and the college athlete.  Because we have amazing coaches, the two new kids were broken in gently, given half the workout that the "veterans" were given.  In true CrossFit fashion, those of us doing the full workout flopped down flat on our backs when we were done.  I didn't feel too much like being particularly social, so I left the congenialities to the coaches, who weren't sweating bullets and heaving like a crank caller.  The co-ed signed up on the spot.  Within a few minutes after the end of the workout, everyone was gone.  I was alone, left to do my extra work and my thinking inside the box.

May 14th is typically a day I do a lot of thinking every year.  My mother was born on May 14th and she died in 1997.  I still miss her immensely.  I thought about her a lot today as I did my extra work at the box.  I did an EMOM set of bench presses.  I did my strict pull-ups.  I did my toes to ring sets.  Then I went on a cleaning rampage.  Those ergometers just looked filthy for some reason.  So did the wall balls.  After all those things were clean there wasn't a whole lot of time left to go home and shower  before I would have had to turn around and head to my son's preschool to pick him and my friend's daughter up.  Double under practice just seemed like the right thing to do.

Before I knew it the lunchtime crew started rolling in, so why not hang out and see them get started on the WOD?  The box was just where I wanted to be this morning.  I wanted to be with the people that I consider my CrossFit family when I couldn't be with my own family.  I was talking with Kelsey, our other female owner, and she was telling me that the two new women this morning were jaws agape watching me finish the WOD after Kelsey told them I'd only been CrossFitting for a few months.  My immediate reaction was to think "No way...they were not!".  I probably rolled my eyes at Kelsey.  But you know what?  That's EXACTLY how I look at Kelsey.  It's amazing to watch this beautiful little woman throw weight around and out run and out jump a lot of the men.  I admire her.  I admire all our coaches, for different reasons.  They all embody different strengths both in their individual physical prowess and their coaching styles.  They are a wonderful group of people.

I left the box to pick the kids up from preschool and I thought about what my coach said.  Instead of rolling my eyes I began to smile.  Granted, the two new women haven't seen Kelsey work yet, but it is certainly a testament to the work of Nathan, Kelsey, my husband, and our other two coaches Thomas and Jon that anyone would be impressed with what *I* can do.  It is also a testament to the very bedrock of CrossFit that I would want to spend today of all days thinking inside the box.  People from all walks of life, philosophies, and athletic statures have suddenly made their way into my life through CrossFit, and I am certainly the better person for it.  I hope I continue to have many years of thinking inside the box.

Stuck in the middle with you...

"It's a middle-of-the-road defect with a middle-of-the-road presentation." Those are the exact words our son's cardiologist used to describe his congenital heart defect before he was born. He hit the nail on the head with that one, for sure. Everything related to Parker's Tetralogy of Fallot has been smack dab in the middle of the CHD spectrum, and smack dab in the middle of the ToF spectrum. I've talked a lot about how I handled the diagnosis, how the surgery went and how Parker's recovery was. I haven't talked too much about how life with him is NOW. February 7-14th each year is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week, so I suppose now is as good a time as any to talk about being stuck in the middle.

I am grateful every single day that my son is as healthy as he is. He's intelligent, active, tractable (at least for his teachers at preschool), and has a great sense of humor. Sometimes I think to myself: "They told me CHD kids were tired all the time...what's up with THIS?". Yet, there are days when I can't help but wonder if he wouldn't be so tired if he had a pulmonary valve. There are days that I can't help but imagine how much more quickly he would recover from the common cold if his blood was fully oxygenated. There are so many children with CHDs that can't do half what Parker does everyday. There are just as many who do more.

Parker had his first open heart surgery when he was five months old. OHS at five MONTHS! That's crazy for anyone not familiar with the reality of heart defects. However, there are infants out there who have their first open heart surgery when they are five HOURS old. Some children born with heart defects never have to have surgery. Recovery for Parker after surgery had one major setback (chylothorax--common after OHS, took six weeks to recover from that, but he was able to recover at home after his initial ten days in the hospital). Recovery for other children after OHS requires things like ECMO and defibrillators. Recovery for some means home from the hospital after three days.

One down, one to go. That's how I look at Parker's heart surgery "schedule". God willing, he will have to have only one more surgery. God willing, the medical technology will be such by the time Parker needs a pulmonary valve and ventricular wall resection that they can do it through a catheter and no additional OHS will be required. It could be that he needs to have a valve put in next year, in which case it will be OHS, and it could be that he makes it until he's 12 (who knows at that time), and it could be that he doesn't need anything until he's 18 and I imagine by then they'll have the catheter procedure all worked out. Some babies have had four open heart surgeries by the time they're Parker's age. Some babies have one and they're done.

Even activity restriction for Parker is middle-of-the-road. Currently all his activity is self-limited. This means that as long as we let him rest when he gets tired, he can do anything he wants to do. We were told when I was pregnant "He'll never play professional sports...well, maybe baseball or golf.". I have already resigned myself to not allowing him to play soccer or football because I don't want him to fall in love with a sport he can't play later on. Yet, selfishly I have let him participate in a fun run with his daddy (cardiologist approved) and now he's taking karate, which he LOVES. I know he will be able to continue karate if he chooses to, just not with any competitive sparring or with a sensei that is too rigid.

Our son doesn't look sick (unless he IS sick, then he looks really sick) but he has a pretty big scar for such a little dude. Until recently this never posed a problem. Once, last summer, I took Parker to a  local water park with some friends. There were two older boys with our group. One of the boys, pointing to Parker's chest, asked Parker how he got his scar. Parker didn't know how to answer him. The older boy asked again, more slowly and louder, as if comprehending or hearing the words were the reason Parker was speechless. I thought my son might burst into tears at any moment. Eventually the boy gave up. We began coaching Parker that very day on how to answer what will likely become a lifelong barrage of questions from his peers. Another time last year my husband was left holding the bag. My husband and my son were waiting on me to get my hair cut and they were goofing around a bit in the lobby area. I guess my son's shirt was somehow forced high enough that another man seated near them saw my son's scar. The other man casually said, "That's a pretty big scar for such a little boy.". I understand that people are curious, but how much do you really divulge to a complete stranger that you will likely never encounter again? At the same time, I understand that some parents of children with CHDs that are Parker's age have to constantly answer questions such as: "Goodness, did s/he have grape juice with breakfast?" because their child's lips are blue from lack of blood oxygenation. Lots of parents never have to worry about either.

Then there's US. The family unit. The crazy dynamic that is our lives. My husband is a scheduler, and I tend to go with the flow. My husband has strong opinions and sees everything in black and white. I'm more easily swayed with a convincing argument, existing in a constant state of flux while sporting my rose colored glasses. Poor Parker doesn't stand a chance. Yet again, he's stuck in the middle. There are times, as awful as it sounds, that I think I might prefer an extreme. With extremes can often come clarity. Black. White. In between the extremes there's only...gray. If you ask anyone to define "dreary" you'll likely hear the word "gray" somewhere in the mix. Don't get me wrong, my life is anything but dreary. My husband is my best friend. My son is nothing short of awesome. Sometimes, though, I feel as though I exist within the gray area. Is my son sick or healthy? Should I allow him to try that or shouldn't I? Should I tell his teachers and every single school official and person of authority and P.E. teacher and doctor and dentist and friends' parents about his heart or am I being over cautious? Did he catch a cold at preschool or is that cough indicative of congestive heart failure? Is he panting for dramatic effect after one lap around the yard or should I call the cardiologist? Too. Much. Gray.

I've been a part of a parent matching group via Mended Little Hearts lately. They send me the names and basic information of heart parents that are looking to reach out for support from others in similar situations. There is no requirement to respond to any of them, and not all the parents that I reach out to respond back to me. It's like the Match.com for parents of cardiac kids. I don't reply to every single match request. Sometimes I feel as though I have no way to relate to what some of these parents go through. I do, however, respond to each and every single Tetralogy of Fallot parent that comes across. I just have to check myself to keep from starting in on song lyrics.

Tryin' to make some sense of it all,
But I can see it makes no sense at all.
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor?
I don't think that I can take anymore.

Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right.
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.


--Steve Miller Band, Stuck in the Middle With You

In celebration of being a "heart mom", my husband bought me the necklace I'm wearing here from geauxsportsjewelry.com and while I don't wear it often, this week is definitely an exception...

Remember that you never know what someone else may be going through. The biggest scars are the ones you can't see, and sometimes people are stuck smack dab in the middle of something.

**Update 2/6/2017

Parker, aka "Captain Awesome" is still doing very well. He no longer takes karate and sports haven't really proven to be his thing. He does enjoy drumming and is becoming pretty skilled at it. He likes to ride his skateboard and bike when the weather is warm. He also dabbles in CrossFit from time-to-time when the mood strikes him; we honestly don't push him to do it much. He's in the third grade and has been a straight "A" student so far, even though he complains about school and doesn't want to go.

I feel like he will overcome whatever challenge life throws into the middle of his road. His small, imperfect heart has a very tight hold on the hearts of so many other people.

I am immeasurably grateful that he is our son and we get to be his parents.

These last few years I have debated with myself about posting CHD Awareness Week information on social media. We are, again, stuck in the middle as a family. We have been blessed with far more fantastic experiences than traumatic with our heart warrior. We are not yet staring down the barrel of the inevitable procedures in Parker's future. For now, we get to enjoy our wonderful life as a family. Ultimately that is precisely why I end up posting stuff. If I can provide even one other mother with some hope for a future that can be so uncertain, then telling our story has meaning. When you're stuck in the middle it can be hard to know which way to look, which way to move. Sometimes you have to learn to be comfortable in the gray, learning to breathe through the pressure coming from all sides. You won't always be stuck in the middle. When it is time to move, the answer to "Which way?" is simple: forward. Always forward.

**I** am an Alpha Dog.

Tonight I watched the series premier and second episode of National Geographic's "Alpha Dog". Before reading any further, be aware that this post is being written on the same day that I conducted my first Puppy Preschool class in MONTHS. I worked with a precious, doe-eyed Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that was the ripe old age of twelve weeks. I do love, and always have loved, working with puppies and their owners to ensure that the first home is the dog's home for life. But ultimately, in my mind, there is no training like K9 training. It is the gauntlet, the CrossFit, the Iron Man if you will, of dog training. The only other thing that comes close is Service Dog training, but the handlers of Service Dogs are way easier to work with than K9 handlers.

So why is it that a bunch of overweight, out-of-shape, greasy dudes have their own television show and I do not? Maybe the same reason that a high-heeled boot, mini-skirt wearing "dog behaviorist" with an English accent made it in TV land. Puh-leez. I am well aware that I am not the only dog trainer that feels this way.

I have devoted the last five years of my life to my son. All-in, one hundred percent. I have done only a minimal amount of dog training in the last five years, certainly not any K9 training. The last K9 I trained was delivered to her handler when I was eight months pregnant. That was fun (and very off-balance). I have video... Am I proud of every K9 I have trained and put on the street? Unfortunately, no. But I do feel as though I provided a much better foundation for my handlers to work from than I saw in the television show I just watched.  I at least made sure the officers knew when to keep their hands off the dog!

These guys were training dogs to be special forces operatives and police K9 teams.  I have never trained a dog for the military, but it seems to me that the logical progression would be pet--sport dog--working dog--military dog--special forces dog.  Some of the dogs they were working with for the special forces team were "special" all right!  I get the need to have a dog with high drive, but seriously people, obedience is the foundation for everything.  Those dogs had NONE, and they were six and half weeks into their training program, about to graduate!  A dog that is noisy and bouncing around and focused on everything except the task at hand is an extreme liability in ANY working situation.  The trainers said they were worried about a particular team's performance and that they had some work to do.  "Some" was an understatement by my summation.  But hey, the helicopter was cool.  I wish I had a helicopter to train with.

Then there was the police K9 handler wannabe that got nailed by his dog.  Badly bitten.  Why?  The handler went to "pet" his dog, presumably to calm him down because he was so keyed up by the gunfire and activity going on around him.  One of the dog trainers that I admire most in this world, George Cockrell, puts it simply:  What you pet, you get.  You do not pet a dog that is displaying inappropriate behavior.  To do so is to positively reinforce that behavior in the dog's mind...or get yourself bitten.  The trainers ended up pairing the dog with an experienced K9 handler by the end of the show.  No acknowledgement was given--at least on camera--that there might have been something else going on.  Like a lack of handler instruction.  Or a lack of dog training.

One of the trainers commented that "these dogs come from Europe" when explaining the reasoning behind the decoys wearing head scarves in their training scenarios (which is one of the few things I saw that made perfect sense).  Indeed a lot of dogs are imported from Europe to enter into various forms of service here in the United States.  How do people blindly go along believing that these large overseas kennel operations send the cream of the crop over here?  That makes zero sense.  The best dogs from Europe stay in Europe until they are no longer of high value for whatever reason.  Those dogs are then sometimes purchased by Americans, but do you think dog training facilities that specialize in quick turnaround are the ones that choose to afford them?  That would be a negative.  Breeders, people.  Breeders are the ones who choose to afford those dogs because they will get their money back plus some.  Why not develop relationships with these American breeders and use dogs that are from the United States?  We used to do that.  I may not be overjoyed with every dog I trained for work, but the dogs I am most impressed with, and the K9s that have historically performed the best on the street, are the dogs that we chose and purchased from American breeders as puppies and raised and trained for the work, then trained the handlers to handle them on the street.  Oh, wait, I get it.  That would require actual TRAINING of the dog and the handler.

Some departments used to be amazed that our handler training program was two weeks long.  How did we accomplish this when everyone else required K9 handlers to be off the streets and away from their families and their homes for six weeks or more?  Simple.  The dog was already trained.  We didn't pick up a pack of dogs from the airport the week before a class was going to start and hope that they fit the bill.  We didn't keep our fingers crossed that the group of people we were going to be working with were natural dog trainers.  We had already been training the dog for months.  Sometimes this did not work out advantageously for us.  There were a few dogs that we invested a lot of time and money in that didn't perform as we had hoped and went on to live life as well behaved pets.  There were just as many dogs that were brought to us by law enforcement for training that disappointed us.  We often simply had to make it work to the best of our abilities with those dogs.  People want to help their local law enforcement and they "donate" dogs for K9 work.  Local law enforcement is appreciative and tries to make a go of it.  Sometimes it works, most of the time it isn't ideal.

Bottom line:  I am feeling a newly reignited spark in my chest.  My baby boy is growing up, he'll start kindergarten in the fall.  Other really cool changes are afoot here in High Point.  More on those later.  Maybe, just maybe, I can do some good doing something I love.  Anybody have a helicopter?