Here are some conversations that have taken place in my fucked up head lately:

Conversation # 1 with my Novel:

Me: Okay, you're done. Time to run along and make us some money or win us an award or something.

Novel: Stop being so fucking lazy. I am not done. Finish me. Make me better.

Me: Seriously, you are KILLING me! I'm breaking up with you.

Novel: Wtf? You said you loved me. You can't break up with me after 3 years! 

Me: Just did. It wasn't you, it was me.

Conversation # 2 with my Ass:

Me: This Crossfit cult is sadistic. It's for people who went off their meds against their doctor's advice or didn't get enough hugs as children. My left leg is tingling, I smell popcorn. I think I might be having a stroke.

Ass: Shut up and keep squatting. Get this fucking chocolate cake off of me.

Me: I can't squat 600 times. It hurts. And I have to pee.

Ass: Wah, wah, wah. Something to think about when you're standing in line at the Dairy Queen tonight.

Me: 450, 599, 600.

Ass: Are you cheating on your squats? That's so douchey. How do you live with yourself?

There are more of these conversations...but you get the idea; the demons are lurking.

And now the story about my daughter the inspired me to stop having these freaking conversations with my body parts and deal with the damn demons.

My daughter Isla (barely 4 years old) watched her Opa swim from a dock back to a campsite near Sleeping Giant in Ontario.

“I’m going to do that,” she says. Then off she jumps into the water.

Isla jumping off another dock into the ocean

It was a 200-300 meter swim (several pool lengths) in 6 feet of wavy lake water. Did I mention she's three feet tall.

Rob watches her swim for a bit and then says, “Okay, you can come back now.” She keeps swimming.

50 meters out.

“I’m swimming back to the campsite,” she calls over her shoulder. To put this in context, her last swimming class was learning how to put their faces into the water, blow a few bubbles without inhaling half the pool.

“Alright, really, come back now,” Rob calls out to her.

And farther and farther away from the dock the little shit swims.

Rob jumps in after her.

“Get away from me! Do NOT come near me!” she yells as she doubles back toward him to chase him away. And then she turns around and keeps swimming.

As Rob swims toward her she yells, “GET. AWAY. FROM. ME. LET ME DO THIS!”

Her longest swimming distance is 25 meters in a swimming pool with one of us right beside her.

100 meters out.

Rob finds a way to tread water in her blind spot, not far behind her, so that when she turns around to make sure he isn’t following her she doesn't see him.

Now, some people might ask why didn't you just haul her little ass out of that lake. Better a broken bone (or in this case a lung full of water) than a broken spirit, we say. (Or at least that's how we justify living in full fucking fear of our daughter. She's crazy.)

As Rob gets closer to her, he hears something. He listens carefully. It's her little voice, talking to herself.

I’m so tired. I’m so exhausted. But I’m going to finish.

More swimming.

I'm tired. I’m going to make it, though.

And then her head starts to dip under the water. Up she comes, keeps swimming, and then again she's going under the water.

Rob is near enough to swim up beside her.

“I’m just going to swim beside you. You can hold on and take a rest when you need to,” he tells her.

“Okay, but I’m swimming it by MYSELF.” I love that she's still lipping off in the middle of drowning.

She reluctantly, but regularly stops to rest, although Rob cheats and treads her forward on her breaks (because she’s tired and he’s tired and quite frankly, enough's enough), but for the most part she finishes and swims it herself.

I did it!!! She explodes with happiness.

I'm pretty sure Isla Blue won't be entertaining conversations about defeat with her Ass when she's older. Not only does she fight the demons, she doesn't even acknowledge that they exist. Pretty awesome trait – unless, of course, you're the dude who has to jump in the freezing lake to save her stubborn butt.

Obviously, after this, I got back together with my novel and I'm on good terms with my Crossfitty ass again.

Isla reminded me that no one fucks with our heads. I accept my lessons wherever they come from - even if it is from a 4 year old (who I'm pretty sure faked her drowning just to shame me into trying harder and doing better). It totally worked.

In case you too want torture your ass... in a good way: