Nicole Polizzi - Strong Is the New Sexy: My Kickass Story on Getting My ?Formula for Fierce?

2015 by Nicole Polizzi

Front cover photo 2015 by Taylor Kim

Illustrations 2015 by Lizzy Thomas

Published by Running Press,

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2015945701

E-book ISBN 978-0-7624-5876-9

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Digit on the right indicates the number of this printing

Cover and Interior design by Sarah Pierson

Edited by Jennifer Kasius

Typography: Alana Pro, Chronicle Text, Reverie, and Trade Gothic

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Contents

W hen I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, Giovanna, my first thought was, Oh, shit! This girl is gonna kill me!

I hoped shed look like me because I was insanely cute as a baby. But my personality and manners? Not so adorable, especially as I got older. My parents still wake up in a cold, dank sweat, remembering certain moments from my teenage years. The idea of having a Mini-Me who would, as soon as she could talk, start telling me what to do and giving me shit, terrified me. After Lorenzo was born, I set out to get in shape to be strong enough to carry his stroller up and down a flight of stairs (essential, since I was living in Jionnis parents basement). In a year, I lost forty pounds of fat and gained a shit ton of muscles. So, yeah, mission accomplished. But I knew Id need a different kind of strengthalong with a fit bodyto keep my girl spawn in line.

Being pregnant with Giovanna raised my expectations about what a baller she was going to be. From the first quickening, she pummeled my uterus like a punching bag. I thought fetal Lorenzo might have a future as a professional kickboxer or extreme fighter. Giovanna was twenty times worse. She waged a full-scale attack on my ribs for months. I was worried shed punch right through my stomach, and Id see a tiny fist sticking out, giving me the finger, like, Fuck you, Mommy! Im sick of hanging around in here!

If I was cranky and moody while carrying Lorenzo (and I sure as hell was), with Giovanna, I was President Evil. Jionni would shake his head at me and say, Youre so nasty. Any cutting remark that popped into my head came straight out of my mouth. I often thought, My baby girl is turning me into a raving bitch. She gave me awful dreams about being abducted by aliens and ghostiesespecially terrifying because Im a total believer in paranormal phenomena. There were moments, private tortured moments, when I was convinced I was carrying a demon, like Rosemarys baby. As creepy as the nightmares were, I was also impressed. My girl put those images in my head? That must mean she had a big, weird, creepy imaginationand I liked it. Prenatal pride!

Then I gave birth and Giovanna and I met for the first time. From day one, shes been a beautiful angeland a demanding diva. Jionni and I had it easy with Lorenzo and we didnt even realize it. Giovannas attitude is already off the charts. As a newborn, she howled like a banshee. Now, at four months old, she insists on everything being exactly how she likes it. In about thirteen years, full-scale war will break out between us. Its inevitable. Im preparing mentally for it now. Shes going to challenge me, push my buttons, make me cry, and freak me the fuck out every single day. I just know it.

Isnt it awesome?

I want her to give me hell. If I could wish one thing for my new daughter, its that she be as tough as nails and strong as an ox. Being a woman in this world requires it.

Based on my own experience, Ive been weak and soft, and not so happy. Ive been strong and fit, and beyond happy. Ive been a fit mom for two plus years and Ive become a workout addict. Exercise is my fix. Being strong is my high. The gym is my shrinks office, my church, my retreat, the place where everything makes sense, and I always leave feeling awesome about myself. Its where I go to unload stress, gain energy, and blow off steam. Working out gives me a million benefits that help me in all areas of my life, and its the only thing I do just for myself. I love how it feels when my muscles burn and I pour sweat. When I sniff my armpits after a workout, it smells disgusting, yes, but I always think, Ahhh, the stink of accomplishment.

My physical strengthseriously, check out my guns on Instagramis the foundation of my emotional strength. My body gives me confidence, which enables me to try new things, reach for higher goals, and deal with haters on Twitter every day. It gives me energy to be a great mom and wife. It keeps me humble, too, and fills me with gratitude for being alive, being myself, and being a woman.

Strength, love, confidence, and gratitude are the fundamentals of joy. I can measure my joy right on the treadmill display screen. Five years ago, I could barely go a mile. Now I can run three miles in twenty-seven minutes. If I can do that, I can do anything. And if I can do anything, you definitely can.

Im not saying fitness is the antidote to every horrible thing that can happen. I do think of it as a kind of shield, though. Like, I got fired and my boyfriend dumped me, but I can still rock a bikini. Its the one variable you can control, so why not take it?

When Giovanna gets older, Im not going to give her my whole sermon on strength. Why? If shes anything like me, shes just going to do the opposite of whatever I say. Im going to have to use reverse psychology on her and trick her into being the superstrong teenager I hope and pray shell turn out be. Ive created a list of a lot of ways a woman can be a weak, pathetic losersee belowand Im going to preach each item to Giovanna so she does the opposite.

1. STARVE YOURSELF.

It breaks my heart when I see women starving themselves to be skinny. I did it once, when I had my high school anorexia episode. It only lasted a few months. I starved myself down to ninety pounds by eating just one cracker a day. The whole point of losing weight was to become a better cheerleader. Fail. I was so weak and exhausted that I could barely get through a practice. The school nurse told my parents that I was coming in to weigh myself every day, and that the number was getting dangerously low. Mom and Dad made me see a doctor. I talked to him about what I was doing, and opened up to my parents about it, too. Talking made me realize I was making less of myself, not more. I started eating again.

When high school ended and college began, I started drinking a lot and chowing down on junk food, and took on all the weight I lost, plus a lot more. Although I was consuming thousands of calories a day during the party years, I was actually starving myself of healthy food. The more crap I ate, the stupider I got, as seen on seasons one through five of