If you just read the title, Congratulations! You have now entered my so called life. What happens next in that bar, I will leave to your imagination. Since the early days I can fondly recall my love for comedy blossoming as rapidly as my love for potty training. A most necessary release from the mundane, which allows one peace and solice in daily life. Unlike most millenials, Robin Williams, the entire case of Saturday Night Live from 1975-1995, Lily Tomlin and others were the heroes of this Brooklyn girl’s childhood. Though many would watch such comedy specials for entertainment, I often found myself dissecting the art of humor with a fine tooth comb and re-enacting these acts on my grandfather’s stoop, which for all intents and purposes might as well as been the Rainbow room in Manhattan. Fast forward to adulthood and the scheckels I managed to scrounge up and BOOM comedy classes began.

At the time I began to “formally” study comedy, I had already started this crazy hellbound train ride as a therapist. Long hours, clinical language, and alot of coffee. I found myself in horrible shape and later began using comedy to express myself so as to combat the feelings of disillusionment one often experiences in “coming of age.” In athe mele, what was learned, whether you are going into room with a paranoid schizophrenic who has taken meds since Bush was in the White House or warming up at a hole- in -the- wall -theater about to try to be “funny” and not “funny looking,” an ounce of courage goes a long way. If we hold on just a little longer, courage will give us a one way ticket to freedom.

Now where the hell does the triathlete fall in this poor excuse of barroom humor? Whelp I did that too! I am now a person who wakes up at an ungodly hour to make fat cry and sweat. The triathelete part of Flo is still new territory. I struggle all the time with thoughts of “what the hell am I doing here?,” “why is everything in spandex?” “Why am I running in the dark?” The answer to all of it is simple: freedom.

Freedom is one of those tricky words with numerous meanings based on your country of origin or even your religion growing up. The no holds barred shrink answer: freedom is being unapologetically yourself. Like many of the self help gurus say “standing in your truth.” The catch? You gotta get out there and put yourself in an environment that begs the knee jerk thought of “what the hell am I doing?”

On this glorious overcast Tuesday, the philosophy tidbit of the day is commit to a “what the hell?” activity. Take that clown class, ask that person out (um if you are single that is….no War of Roses on my watch, capeesh?), wander on your way home for work. Instead of saying, “no way” add a little “what to hell?” to your day. Good, bad or ugly the outcome the reward is priceless and imminent. You find you…..

Disclaimer: Having a “what the hell?” moment does not mean robbing a bank, breaking a law, fleeing to a nonextradition foreign country or filing for divorce.

Happy sweats and giggles to all!