As I look at the beautiful new flier that one of the PR people put together for me*, I am haunted by my own words, which are highlighted by being set apart from the rest of the description that I wrote for the purposes of marketing to members who speak the language of the fitness industry.

“JourneyDance is more than a workout.”

This is language that I thought would make sense to the audience at the community center/gym where I teach. The idea of a workout, the goals of a workout are what resonate with people who join gyms, health clubs, fitness centers, and fitness programs. In fact, where I teach is one of the most welcoming and inclusive spaces to find opportunities to “work out.” Even so, it is still a space that many people are afraid to venture into, especially alone. Gyms and fitness studios are not just the great unknown; they are hostile territory. For some, this kind of vibe—the culture of working out—is a major turn off.

To even refer to JourneyDance as a workout is doing a disservice to what it is all about, and this is not the first time that I have wondered if a group fitness/gym space is the best place to offer this new healing modality that I have fallen in love with.

JourneyDance is not a workout at all. Will participants burn calories? Yes. Will their heartrates increase? Yes. Will they sweat, burn fat, tone their bodies, and get a cardiovascular workout? Yes, most likely. Will they grow stronger and more flexible? Yes. All of these are hallmarks of a “workout.” But I don’t see these as the goals of a JourneyDance class and it is not at all how I would describe the class. JourneyDance is not “dance fitness.” It is, but it isn’t. The hallmarks of the classic workout are more like the side effects of JourneyDance.

Cardiovascular endurance, increased strength, weight loss and maintenance, and other such physical fitness measures are the goals of traditional workouts and group fitness classes. I can’t count the number of times I have been asked how many calories someone can expect to burn in a class I am teaching. The side effects that often come with a good work out—stress relief, better proprioception, a sense of well-being, enhanced mood, emotional balance, and improved mental health—are not the benefits that we typically use to sell fitness programs.

In fact, such things are rarely discussed in fitness spaces. We attract people to fitness programs and classes with promises of weight loss and sometimes with promises of improved health. And less often with promises of health and well-being. These are mainstream motivational tools—promises that cannot be kept by programs or classes alone. There is a reason why we call working out work. Physical fitness, health, and well-being take commitment and consistency and there is no easy formula or magic pill, despite what the diet and fitness industry want to sell us.

JourneyDance is not a workout. It might be more accurate to call JourneyDance a work in. But it is more of a both/and. We work our bodies, but the work of our bodies is not the goal. We work in the inner realm of our minds, emotions, and spirit.  What is the goal? Does there even have to be a goal? Set, measurable goals are what the fitness industry exploits. The goals of weight, size, strength, health are elusive. They are straw men—distorted versions of the reality of living, being, ageing, and existing in this world. When we don’t reach the goals we have bought into, we blame ourselves and the vicious cycle continues. JourneyDance interrupts that vicious cycle and creates new possibilities for living, being, ageing, and existing in this world.

If there is a goal in JourneyDance, it is a goal that grows with us day by day, dance by dance. One day the goal might be to sweat and de-stress. The next day it might be to let go of the mental garbage we accumulate. The next day it might be to connect with other people in a safe/brave/sacred container. We might aim to tap into the inner wisdom of our bodies, our own innate ability to heal. We might not know what the goal is until it has been accomplished. We might never pin it down. It doesn’t matter. The old adage applies: it’s not the destination; it’s the journey!

In JourneyDance, we are moved by music. Dance is only movement and moving our bodies—moving our bodies joyously, purposefully, and ecstatically to music—is medicine. For years I sought to encapsulate the work that I do in the world of fitness—the closest I could get was the tagline: Move and Be Moved. When I discovered JourneyDance, I found the form of movement that I had been working toward all along. When we let go enough to just move, we will be moved in all kinds of ways.

As I stated earlier, JourneyDance is not “dance fitness”—it is so much more. JourneyDance is a healing modality. It is a form of conscious dance. It is a transformative experience of mind/body/spirit. It is different every time we do it; it meets us where we are and it gives us what we need. This is not the description that will resonate with people who are looking to work out. Some of us would rather buy into the partial truths of the fitness industry because these narratives feel safe—they are promises that sometimes yield desirable results. There is nothing wrong with working out. To each their own.

But I have chosen to offer JourneyDance in a gym/community center setting because I have always pushed at the boundaries of the boxes that the fitness industry constructs. I hope to give members an opportunity to try something different, to add an outside-the-box dimension to their routine, to go deeper and discover new mind/body connections and possibilities. And I hope to attract new members who might reap the many benefits that this non-profit community center/gym offers. We are complex beings and what we do with our bodies should be as multidimensional as we are.

*I have chosen not to picture this flier or to mention the name of the place where I teach because I am writing as a Professor and fitness/dance/yoga professional with more than 25 years of experience and my opinions are not meant to represent the place where I teach. This is a commentary on the fitness industry as a whole, not the specific place where I teach.

As I began to heal from my PCT-hike induced injuries, I began to get a little stir crazy. I began to crave group fitness classes, to need my dance aerobics fix. After a winter of being out of my regular fitness routine (of at least four cardio classes a week in addition to at least six yoga classes on top of my outdoor activities), my fitness level had declined more than I recognized. I needed a boost to get me back on track, back in my body and grounded. Jazzercise was there to save me—even better, with a free seven-day promotional pass.

My decreased level of fitness was one contributing factor to my hiking injuries. After being unable to walk for a week, I vowed to remember what I already know, what I have already learned time and time again—I have to work out every day and need at least four cardio classes a week. The signs were all there (and ignored)—weight gain, lack of energy, increased anxiety and depression, decreased self-confidence, physical pain in every joint and increased chronic pain. Instead of carrying only the 40 or so pounds on my back, I was also carrying an extra 20 on my body and my level of fitness was lacking overall.

If I had not been away from the YMCA classes that I have taught five or more classes a week for the last 8 plus years, the start of my PCT hike might have been a different story. And the biggest key that was missing was dance aerobics. Teaching the Group Groove MOSSA program (now Groove Together at the YMCA) and my own freestyle (old school) Cardio Pump (an interval step, dance, and strength/sculpting class) not only improves cardiovascular health, it also keeps me toned and strong and agile and has a number of mind/body benefits. It makes me happy.

Sharing my love of dance aerobics, and my talents of teaching and choreographing, is part of what I love about dance aerobics. Dancing in my living room, cueing myself in my head and sometimes out loud, is not the same. Finding El Cajon’s Jazzercise studio was exactly what I needed. And, actually, I didn’t really find Jazzercise, I knew it was there. I had driven by on previous visits, surprised to see Jazzercise still alive and, as I recently discovered, it is not alone alive; it is thriving.
*
My love of dance aerobics most certainly began by emulating my mother working out to her Jane Fonda Records. And taking Jazzercise classes as a teenager certainly cemented this love. After 20 years of teaching many versions of this classic aerobics format, I only knew that Jazzercise still existed because one of my regulars, Betty, took Jazzercise classes when she would escape the Maine winters in Arizona and because a new participant, Karen, remarked after one of my Cardio Pump classes: “You should teach Jazzercise!” At the time, I scoffed (to myself); I would never teach another program (like Group Groove) where I am handed choreography that I am expected to memorize.

After taking five Jazzercise classes in seven days from four different instructors, I know I already basically teach my own version of Jazzercise and more; but in a different version of my fitness life I might have become a fitness instructor through this program. (But not now; their process does not mesh with my experience.) I could easily see what Betty and Karen loved about Jazzercise.

For Betty, who preferred my Cardio Pump class to all others, Jazzercise was a full body workout, with tracks devoted to strength routines for the upper and lower body as well as an abs track. In one class I took, there was even a good old-fashioned side leg-lift track (an exercise Betty would always do as she waited for class to start). More so, the dance sequences are very reminiscent of classic dance aerobics and are rather simple and easy to follow, especially compared to the Y’s Groove program, which is a very intense cardio workout with many challenging movements and sequences and more complicated choreography. My Cardio Pump class has simpler choreography and weight intervals, which is why Karen made an immediate connection to Jazzercise. The Fusion class I took was a lot like my Cardio Pump class, just without the step.

I imagine the things Betty liked about Jazzercise are also some of the things Karen likes about Jazzercise, particularly the one-hour full-body cardio and strength workout all wrapped up in one class. (Compared to Groove, which is all dance with a stretch track at the end. However, Groove also delivers the strength elements without weights; people just don’t realize these benefits as readily.) I also enjoyed this element of Jazzercise; every time I felt like I had a full, well-rounded workout.

While the choreography was, perhaps, a bit lackluster in places—which may only be because I am used to more changes and nuances—the music was fun and the instructors were engaged with their participants. There was a good balance of moves and different styles of moves and music. For instance, there were some tracks with punches and kicks and some with Latin dance moves, all with the foundation of classic aerobics moves. The combos were simple and repetitive, but did not get boring. The repetition was most likely also responsible for the good form and technique I noticed in most of the participants.

Part of the fun of trying a new fitness program is trying to figure out how the program itself works. (Yes, I am a fitness nerd!) I made my observations and then asked a few pointed questions. Instructors have a lot of freedom in compiling their routines from the music and choreography provided to them five times a year. It was clear that instructors were putting together the songs and routines that were their favorites, which (I think) always makes for a better class. All of the instructors I had were friendly and solid though the experience of two instructors—Susan and Christy—definitely shined through the layers of instruction embedded in the cues for the choreography.

At one point in class, Susan asked us how many of us believe in self-care. After a few whoops in the crowd, she reminded us that we were practicing self-care by being in class that day. She reminded me that while I think about my fitness teaching as a responsibility and as a necessary workout, it is also a part of my self-care routine. I preach self-care, but I failed to recognize that this aspect of my daily life (until my sabbatical!) is also a part of my self-care. Group fitness is so much more than just a workout.

*
In addition to the Jazzercise program itself, what I loved about Jazzercise in El Cajon was the studio atmosphere and the instructors. I took my first Jazzercise class in El Cajon more than 20 years ago. Classes were always packed and there was always a friendly atmosphere. That hasn’t changed.  Almost every instructor, including those teaching before or after the class I was there to take, noticed me as a new face and introduced themselves, asked my name, welcomed me, and asked if I had any questions. This is impressive. This is why Jazzercise still exists in El Cajon. This is why their classes are packed.

From the welcoming instructors, to the conversations I overheard all around me, it is clear that Jazzercise is not just a program or a class or a studio. In El Cajon, and other places I suspect, Jazzercise is a community. I am honored to have been a part of that community (and hope I might be again in the future), and taking these classes not only helped me to get back into my body after my injuries and reminded me of my passion for dance aerobics. It also reminded me of the importance of self-care in all its incarnations.

For many years, Betty attended almost all of my cardio fitness classes at the Bangor YMCA. When I met her, she was in her early 70s and she would hold her own with the younger women in the room. She would wear her uniform: old-school leotard and tights in a variety of bright colors, often with a sparkly belt or headband or a ring with a flashing light. She liked to dress up.

The YMCA was Betty’s social time and she had many friends in class. We often told Betty how inspirational she was to us. We would sing for her birthdays, and class was never really the same without Betty there. And Betty made her presence known—through her loud voice as well as her generosity. If Betty didn’t like something, she told you. But, if Betty liked something, she would also tell you.

And Betty liked—loved—sweets. After (almost) every class, Betty would have a piece of chocolate for me and for the other instructors and some of the participants, depending upon how much chocolate she came with. Most often she gave us the Dove chocolates with inspirational sayings. Sometimes the treat was mini-sized candy bars like Baby Ruth or Snickers. Sometimes she had caramel and chocolate. Sometimes she would bring an orange or a pear or a piece of homemade banana bread. She would apologize if she came to class empty-handed, a very rare occurrence.

For years, Betty would tell me that she was not feeling well and that she was going to try to make it through class. But, if she left early, she didn’t want me to worry. Until recently, Betty never left class early. She stuck it out for the entire class and often did some extra planks. When she left class, she would tell me that she hoped to see me next time. Most often, she did.

If Betty didn’t like something, she would not do it. And she would be sure to tell you that she didn’t like it. For instance, Betty liked the dance classes best. She hated kickboxing. Sometimes I would throw in some punches during my mixed-cardio classes. She would do the punches and then tell me how much she hated that part of class. If she was really unhappy, she would let me know by not giving me a piece of chocolate after class.

In fact, Betty complained about a lot of things. Almost every day she would have a new complaint to share with me. Often it was complaints about her chronic illness; for decades she battled COPD and also suffered from vertigo and heart problems as well as the occasional ankle injury (which rarely kept her away for long). But she would also complain about the YMCA policies, like being required to have her debit card on file for the automatic payment plan. Regardless of the complaint, I would listen and nod my head until she was finished. Sometimes (rarely) I could help resolve the issue. When she complained that she ate too much ice cream or cake in the middle of the night, I would praise her for such actions and encourage her to eat whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

She also liked to complain about the other fitness instructors. She told me on many occasions that the other instructors are great girls, but that she and I were just on the same rhythm. The way I taught seemed to work for her. Even when I was delivering the same choreography, Betty liked the way I delivered it. But, I also catered to Betty’s requests. For instance, the rope lights bothered her and she preferred the room bright. We compromised and I would turn off the rope lights, but I would not turn on all the overhead lights. When I would have to miss a class, I would be sure to let Betty know, if only to spare the sub from her wrath.

But Betty also showed me her appreciation outside of my fitness classes. For years she would send me cards for St. Patrick’s Day and Halloween. When the holiday fell during her time in Arizona for part of the winter, she would often write me long notes about her Jazzercize classes and the dry weather. At Halloween time she would often send me a card and a couple of crisp dollar bills so that I could get myself a treat. She always remembered my birthday and once she even brought me one of her favorite frozen cakes—a coconut cake that was so delicious that I ate almost the entire thing and had to throw the rest in the trash to stop myself (which was only marginally helpful).
*
This year, Betty passed away on my birthday, January 27. I was expecting the bad news. When I left town in December, I had not seen her at class for the last couple of months. This was not too unusual; despite her regular attendance, she would often miss a stretch of time for health or travel reasons. But, this absence felt different. For the last year or so, I had seen her health deteriorate. She lost weight (which she did not need to do). She had trouble making it through a whole class and would actually leave early more often than not. I got in touch with her husband to check up on her and the situation did not sound hopeful.

For years she told us that coming to classes was what was keeping her alive. And it was true. It was not only the physical exercise that helped her clear her lungs, it was also the community. When Betty wasn’t there, we missed her.

And so, even though I am away from home and I haven’t taught a cardio class in more than 40 days, I will miss Betty. I will remind myself of her spirit and her love of sweets. I will eat all the cake and ice cream I want. I will speak my mind and I will try to remember to be kind and grateful. I will remember how important it is to keep going, to push through the limitations that our bodies set. I will remember how important it is to tell people what we appreciate about them. I will keep on dancing, for myself as well as Betty.

I have tried many names and many incarnations of my particular "brand" of fitness dance: Pleasure, Power, and Movement; Feminist Fitness; Just Dance; Organic Dance (the biggest failure); and, most recently, Mind/Body Fitness Dance.

During the fall semester I previewed Mind/Body Fitness Dance at UMA-Bangor. I had positive feedback to this fitness class, and I decided to offer it this spring as a two-part series. While I have struggled to keep consistent attendance at this kind of fitness/dance class at the YMCA, I think that teaching this class on campus allows me to more fully share all of the nuanced aspects of this fitness form.

Starting this Thursday I will be offering Mind/Body Fitness dance on campus, Thursdays from 5:15 to 6:15. I have created a pamphlet that explains a little more about this form of fitness and dance, but it is really something that has to be experienced and embodied.

People are often afraid to dance, afraid to move outside of culture’s strictly draw boundaries of body and space. This is especially true of women and girls. We are taught to take up as little space as possible and we fear judgment and doing things wrong. I know this because I used to feel this way too.

I found confidence in fitness classes that allowed me to follow directions--and to give those directions when I became an instructor. In both cases, movements were rigid, linear, contained. In group exercise classes we generally know what to expect and the rise of manufactured fitness classes (like Zumba, Les Mills, and MOSSA) make for consistent, predictable workouts. While not everyone enjoys classes, many find safety in proscribed movements.

Invitations to try Mind/Body Fitness Dance are met with: I can’t dance. I only dance when no one’s home. I have no rhythm. I can’t follow directions. I need to be told what to do. I am so out of shape. These are excuses I hear often.

I also hear the unspoken reasons. I am insecure about my body (too fat, too thin, too something wrong). I am uncomfortable trying new things. I’m scared. I have anxiety. (I have made all these excuses too.) But all of these discomforts are exactly what Mind/Body Fitness Dances offers to alleviate.

Movement helps us let go. Music gives us a landscape. Structure and freedom help us feel safe while we also have literal and figurative space to explore.

Mind/Body Fitness Dance has changed my approach to fitness and has helped me to find more confidence, wellness, balance, and joy in my life. Sharing this movement--my art--with those who are brave enough to try something different is scary and rewarding. I share Mind/Body Fitness Dance as a tool of self-care; it is my gift to my community.

Eastport 124, on a Thursday afternoon, is private and the environment is conducive to freedom of movement. Music fills, but does not overwhelm the space and the play of light and dark enhance the dance fitness experience.

I want to invite students, faculty, staff, and community members to try this form of mind/body fitness dance. When we step into the dance, we leave these roles and become movement. Lose yourself. Find Yourself. Move and Be Moved.

Usually a snow day means that I don't have to leave the house. When the snow piles up outside, I can catch up on work... or ignore work and read in bed all day. Since the YMCA never closes and rarely cancels class, I still have to shovel snow and find my few die hards for yoga or cardio mix or Group Groove. And then I can go home and enjoy a nap or some frozebee (frisbee but frozen) with my snow-loving dog.

But this winter something odd happened, something I never thought would happen--I became a snowboarder.

I don't mean that I have gone snowboarding this winter. I did that a few times when I was in my early to mid-twenties. After a night of too much drinking and not enough sleeping, my friends would drag me to the mountain and then ditch me or wait impatiently while I tried to get my act together. I never really developed the skills, even when I stopped constantly falling, and I can't really remember enjoying the activity. Not really. It was especially gruesome when "fresh powder" was the prize and the day began before the sunrise.

But now I am a snowboarder, and I too crave fresh powder. I finally understand the appeal, the need to get first tracks. I actually look forward to boarding, and I have found myself boarding in conditions I never thought I would venture out in: below freezing temperatures, winds of 20 to 30 miles per hours, falling snow, even rain. I no longer panic at the thought of exiting the chair lift (though I still fall sometimes), and I find myself smiling at the simple thought of boarding down the mountain. Sometimes I don't even want to take a break!

It helps that I have been re-learning on a small mountain. The mountains of Maine can hardly be called mountains compared to out West. But, Hermon Mountain is a small, local mountain. It has one chairlift and the same faces, obscured by goggles and wind-burn, appear again and again. It has night skiing, which I have come to love far more than day skiing. Again, to my surprise. Since my husband is volunteer ski patrol, my season pass means I can board whenever I want. And since I don't have to pay, I don't have to worry about getting the most for my money (which was always added pressure).

When I took up snowboarding this season I couldn't remember how long it had been since I had been on a snowboard--twelve to fifteen years! There was still a learning curve, though not the same painful curve of the first time learning how to balance, stand up, fall down, crash, get up, keep the heel edge, risk a toe turn, fall down, get up, and finally point the board down the hill. After many falls, after over-thinking, after icy conditions, the first snow day and real powder of the season gave me the confidence I needed.

But it also gave me more than just confidence. I finally understood the allure of the sport. I did not control my board; it simply took me down the mountain and I swear there were moments when I must have been flying. It sounds cliché, but it is true. Boarding in fresh powder is beyond any other experience and it cannot be explained, only lived. I finally pointed down the hill and went faster than I ever thought I would want to go. And it keeps getting better.

I even ventured off of my small local mountain, visiting Big Rock in Mars Hill and actually feeling the burn of sustained boarding down a run that takes longer than a minute to get back to the chair lift. As the pictures here attest, I somehow also agreed to snowshoe up Big Squaw mountain and snowboard down it. Fun in retrospect, this day (and others since) reminded me that confidence can be broken and must be relearned. It also taught me that my adorable fun dog is really, really annoying once the snowboards are strapped on and we are trying to get down the mountain. (That's another story there.)

Now, I look forward to snow days (and lament the end of snow days as the weather gets "nice"), which has also helped me to remember the importance of self-care. Those papers will still be there to be graded. My inbox will continue to fill. But this winter I have learned a new skill and found a new love. I have found a lost part of myself, and I have rekindled a love that is as permanent, challenging, and ever-changing as a mountain.

In this blog I want to highlight the work of two important figures in the feminist fitness movement (some pun intended). As my title reveals, the common theme is the concept/lens of decolonization.

Among critical, interdisciplinary, feminist theories, decolonization is a complicated, variegated field of inquiry that overlaps with the theories and methods that form the basis of my inquiries in Women and Fitness in American Culture. For instance, the relationship between the oppressor and the oppressed--the colonial power and the colonized--is one of dominance and subordination. But there is also room to maneuver here--those who have been colonized must be decolonized.

"Decolonizing Yoga" is the title of Be Scofield's website and "Decolonizing Fitness" it the title of Mercado-López's forthcoming anthology. I first became acquainted with Decolonizing Yoga via Tiffany Kell's post--"Practicing Yoga While Fat"--and through Be Scofield's chapter in 21st Century Yoga--both of which I cite and discuss in Women and Fitness in American Culture. Decolonizing Yoga brings a much-needed perspective to the world of yoga, one that interrupts and challenges the feel-good liberalism and humanism that is often found in yoga spaces, and one that challenges what yoga means on and off the mat. In the "about" section: "After the [2013] Yoga Journal Conference the Decolonizing Yoga Facebook Page has highlighted the voices of queer people, people of color, disability activists and more in relationship to yoga and countering oppression in general."

(And since I'm writing about Decolonizing Yoga, I can't help but share this piece about two of my loves: yoga and Hip Hop: "From Gandhi to Kendrick Lamar: On the Cultural Defense of Yoga and Hip Hop.")

The story of how I became acquainted with Mercado-López and her work is filled with fated and seemingly coincidental connections. I was so excited to hear about her work, including: a presentation at NWSA (which I missed, but mentioned in my blog post on the subject of fitness at the NWSA); her related blog posts (which I wish I would have found before my book went to press), the most widely circulated being "Not Just Another Fitness Blog"; and her edited collection, whose CFP for "Decolonizing Fitness: Women of Color, Feminism, and the Politics of 'Fit' Bodies" is currently circulating and (I hope) gaining momentum. According to the CFP, "This anthology welcomes submissions that discuss the use of social technologies to expand definitions of fitness, dispel myths about health and exercise, and build supportive communities around the social and material realities of women of color."

Beyond my personal interest and passion, Scofield's and Mercado-López's work is important to the work of critical, transformative, feminist fitness in a variety of ways. Because my work in Women and Fitness in American Culture is limited by my own scope of experience, and because I meant it as a conversation-starter, the voices, perspectives, and subjects that "Decolonizing Fitness" promises will do much to move fitness out of the realm of thin, white bodies and standardized, whitewashed fitness spaces.

These two spaces for decolonization of fitness spaces and ideas are just a beginning--an exciting, inspiring, and enlightening beginning.

Just when I thought that fitness was not on the American Studies Association annual conference program (see Yoga for a Cause), I attended the ASA Women's Committee session Saturday afternoon, "Critical Conjunctures of Debt: Women of Color,  Healthcare Disparities, and Advocacy." I was a little bit late. After two moving presentations by the other panel members, Shirley Tang and Jacki Rand, Koritha Mitchell gave the presentation I had come for: "Pay Yourself First and Pay It Forward: The Black Girls RUN! Project."

In Women and Fitness in American Culture I highlight the problematic aspects of the national healthcare agenda and the conversation around American fitness that we see in popular culture. I also highlight the ways in which fitness can help us work toward transforming these conversations and policies. Koritha Mitchell's presentation complements my work in important ways as her arguments about the bigger picture of American fitness mesh with mine, and she extends the conversation to speak specifically to black women's experiences, in all their diversity. At the end of the panel, chair and commentator, Alondra Nelson, remarked that it's about time that we consider health research in the Arts and Sciences. I couldn't agree more, and I hope that my work provides a jumping off point for many conversations, like those begun at ASA by professors Mitchell and Nelson.

Professor Mitchell framed her discussion of Black Girls Run! through a larger picture of American culture and politics, particularly the racism of "know-your-place aggression" seen in its most extremes in the recent Trayvon Martin and Renisha McBride cases. These cases are nothing new, and they are not rare. In this climate, Mitchell argues, "exercise has become invaluable"; it is a way to avoid despair and to prioritize self-care while equipping others to do the same. This is particularly important for black women and other women of color who are devalued--body and mind--by American culture and whose lives are often wholly devoted to the service of others. As Mitchell argues, "energy is our most precious resource" and black women deserve to put themselves first. Preserving such energy is the only way to continue to give that energy to our families, our communities, our work, and to social justice.

She also frames her discussion in terms of the national debate about health care and the emphasis in American culture on health and fitness as weight loss. Mitchell's presentation was not the only one at ASA to make a connection between the government initiatives of "My Plate" and "Let's Move" and the limited and limiting representations of "health" and "fitness" that target African American women. (Karisa Butler-Wall presented her paper, "Risky Business: Race, Citizenship, and the Biopolitics of Debt in the 'Obesity Crisis.'") But the problems that plague black women's health are not individual problems; they are structural problems. As Mitchell argues, Americans are sedentary. Americans eat too much salt and sugar. Americans eat too much fast food.

After framing the climate and arguing the importance of self-care, Dr. Mitchell discussed the ways in which The Black Girls Run! chapter that she organized in Columbus, OH, in April of 2011, helps to mitigate these circumstances and transform the experiences of black women individually and in community. The story she tells is one that echoes and extends the stories I tell in Women and Fitness in American Culture. While I weave other voices and stories into my own, I also make it clear that my experience in fitness is limited by my geographical locations, my whiteness, my middle-class status, and other factors that shape women's individual and collective fitness experiences. We need more stories.

We need to take up more space. The work of Black Girls Run! takes place in cyber spaces as well as in real life. Mitchell notes the supportive environment that Facebook offers through its daily activity and the ways in which this organization continues to resist the notion that losing weight is motivation for exercise. BGR! adopts the important ideas that exercise is beneficial no matter what size a woman is and that exercise is punishment if it is linked to weight loss. These are important messages in a culture that devalues "fat" while blaming the individual for structural problems.

Perhaps the most important philosophy expressed through Mitchell's chapter of BGR! is the idea: "I am grateful I can move, so I am moving." This is the basis for feminist and mind/body fitness that I discuss in Women and Fitness in American Culture. Likewise, BGR! is flexible, supports beginners, and operates with a "no woman left behind" philosophy. Everyone crosses the finish line and everyone does the level of activity they are able to do that day. Members support one another on the run and in life; they challenge each other to be their best. And yet, Mitchell argues, there is no flexibility with a culture of excuses. (And she provides fun motivational messages like those on her Pinterest page.) BGR! leaders must be reliable and on time, and must not let weather control their desire to run. Ultimately, building a community presence means being accountable to that community. Strong leaders like Koritha Mitchell, make a difference.

As I note of my own work in the sphere of fitness, Mitchell argues that the work she does with Black Girls Run! makes her work in academia possible. Running is crucial for Mitchell's intellectual self, just as my practice of yoga and cardio/dance are for me. For both of us, this fitness space allows us to interact with people outside of academia, to connect with our community in meaningful ways. For Mitchell, this is an important space of connection since the two activities that allow black women to interact (traditionally, and in Columbus specifically)--church and activities for children--are not spaces Mitchell is involved with. Further, she notes that this work has "really driven home for me just how diverse black women are. If we didn't have racism," she notes, then black women might not have much in common.

Diverse women come together in fitness spaces, and the benefits of fitness communities cannot be overlooked or underestimated. As Dr. Nelson pulled together the threads of the presentations on this panel, she included a slide show with quotes from the Black Panther Party and Audre Lorde. In both cases, the importance of self-care and health as an integral part of the "aspiration and practice" of "the liberation struggle" were highlighted. Her role call of women in academia lost too soon was a sobering reminder that the importance of self-care is both an individual and structural problem and priority, particularly for women of color whose bodies and minds are undervalued and exploited. Health and fitness are issues that cross categories and disciplines and deserve a more thorough look from the arts and sciences, and from interdisciplinary, feminist inquiry, as well as from American studies scholars.

When I arrived in Cincinnati, exhausted from the school year, let alone the travel, I had just enough time to go check in at the conference site and to pick up the fliers that my publisher said they'd have for my book. When I arrived at McFarland's display table, I was shocked to see my book--in the flesh! (Thanks, Layla!) What a treat to be able to see and touch my book. It looks so good! Perusing all the tables, there is nothing out there like Women and Fitness in American Culture. Now, how do I ensure it reaches the many diverse audiences who will be interested in my work?!

This year, and in 2010, I presented my fitness research-in-progress as a workshop, rather than reading a paper. (See my blog about Inspiration from NWSA.) I write about my 2010 workshop in Women and Fitness in American Culture, which helped inspire me to write the book. My presentation this year was "Organic Dance, Fitness, and Self-Care as a Practice for Effecting Change." I had about a dozen women who were brave enough to come dance with me at 9:25 in the morning. They were warm and encouraging and brought me much joy. I introduced some basic ideas, we danced, and we discussed. They had great questions that will help me to continue to develop my work.

But this year, there were more opportunities for fitness than I expected, and I could not make it to all of them. I missed a presentation: "Decolonizing Fitness: The Cultural Production of 'Fit' Latina Bodies." I'm hoping to connect with the author post-conference to hear more. I also missed a Roundtable: "Investigating Gender and Health from a Feminist Perspective Within a Women's Studies Department." Faculty members from the University of Michigan's Gender and Health minor talked about their curriculum and their students who proceed to "feminist-inflected careers." I'm bummed to have missed these two presentations; however, the reason I missed them was because of what I was able to attend.

The real highlight of this conference for me was the yoga class and workshop that took place on Saturday morning. At the Hilton hotel (the official hotel of the conference), Becky Thompson (of Simmons College) offered a yoga class "for everyone" at 7 a.m. I made sure my alarm was set! Three years ago I had encouraged NWSA to offer yoga and fitness classes on my conference evaluation form. I even offered to teach, but I never heard back and I haven't been able to attend the conference again until this year. With connections to NWSA leadership, Becky was more successful and, for the first time ever, yoga was a part of the NWSA program. I could not be more excited.

If it hadn't been for this yoga class, I would not have seen the related workshop on the program. In fact, even after I knew about the workshop, I had trouble finding it in the program because of its title("It's in the Breath, This Strength") and location (bottom on one page, continuing on to another). But after a quick shower and a smoothie, I attended the 9:25 workshop where Michele Tracy Berger (University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill) and Diane Harriford (Vassar College) joined Becky to talk about their experience with yoga. It was so inspiring to hear about their work, but it was also encouraging to hear other women talk about the split they feel between academia and this other world of yoga/fitness.

Each of these women, and the participants in this workshop, shared some of the ways in which yoga is being used toward social justice, and how we might better use yoga toward these purposes. Until I attended this workshop (and read sites like Decolonizing Yoga and books like 21st-Century Yoga: Culture, Politics & Practice), I felt rather isolated in the work of promoting social justice through yoga. This is a topic I broach in Women and Fitness in American Culture. Yoga is often seen as--and practiced as--an individual fitness pursuit or an individual path toward spiritual enlightenment. For me, yoga has always been so much more. For many of my students, it is so much more.

Since this workshop had the support of NWSA's president, vice-president, and treasurer, I can only assume that yoga will continue to have a place at NWSA. And I can hope that my work might inspire them/us to open up our discussions of yoga and social justice/self-care to consider fitness more generally. This is, in fact, one of the agendas of Women and Fitness in American Culture. So, I'll keep doing the work(out), and look for opportunities to work in solidarity.

Fitness programs love t-shirts. Run a 5K, get a t-shirt. Lose the most weight, get a t-shirt. Part of a team, matching t-shirts. We don't even have to do anything physical--donate money, get a free t-shirt. Years ago, when I worked as a fitness instructor at the Student Recreation Center at Washington State University, this t-shirt announced a kind of motivational campaign that asked "what keeps you moving?"

Because I am a busy person, I am asked a version of this question quite often. Since I don't drink coffee and most people assume my energy must come from caffeine, usually my first answer is water. Some of it might come from my almost-daily Synergy kombucha tea. But, really, it is fitness that keeps me moving. The more I move, the more energy I have to keep moving.

I use the term "fitness" rather than "exercise" because fitness encompasses not only a range of activities, but a state of being and a mindset as well. Making a place for fitness in my life is more than just an exercise routine or a regimen--it is a recognition that strength, balance, flexibility, and endurance are building blocks not only for health and fitness but for life itself.

During the academic school year, I teach a fitness class (or two) 5 or 6 mornings a week. I don't teach the early morning (5:45 a.m.)classes, but 8:00 or 9:30 (or even 10:30 on Saturday) is early enough to still be "early" for me, a recovering night owl. Sometimes my 8:00 a.m. yoga class is really difficult to get out of bed for, especially when the dark Maine winter morning greets me and especially when I have been teaching or working late the evening before. But, I have to be there. People are depending on me.

This summer I decided to lighten my teaching load and gave up my Tuesday morning class, making Thursday morning my only "early" morning. My Tuesdays without yoga have generally been lazy and unproductive. I usually take a nap and sometimes I feel depressed for most of the day. I don't even start moving, so I can't keep moving. Thursdays are different. I'm done with class by 9:30 and I get an amazing amount of work done. It's a good reminder for me that I need to keep moving. Whenever I think about giving up one of my morning classes, I remember the way I feel after class. Perfect and amazing and ready to take on any challenge my day holds.

So, teaching keeps me moving. Yoga keeps me moving my body and my mind. Having a class of people waiting for me, keeps me moving. The transformation from cold, grouchy, tired, grumbly, angry to relaxed and energized--for me and my students--keeps us moving. And as transformative as yoga is, I get as much from my cardio classes. The types of movement may be different, but they are all part of a bigger fitness picture--a way of moving through life as much as through our bodies.

I am not a big fan of the t-shirt. I find them to be uncomfortable and unflattering. They choke me and they never fit right. They're hot and they restrict my movement. They are also a way of advertising a message on the outside of our bodies to anyone who is looking. They can be a way of branding ourselves, or communicating something that is important to us--clothing with a cause, a campaign, or an attitude. The t-shirt is practically disposable, moving from one trend to the next, even when the cause is a worthy one. And more than likely, someone's underpaid sweat--someone with no choice but to keep moving--made the t-shirt in the first place.

What keeps us moving is what we internalize; what keeps us moving is what we know that we need. We have to keep moving so that we can keep finding that feeling and so we can move ourselves as well as others. The t-shirt is one tool, but what's more important is what's underneath it.