I remember walking along the beach in Cancun, the sun beating down on my bare shoulders, my freckles darkening by the minute. The sand gleamed against the edges of the blue waters, and white bubbles rushed up and threatened to overtake passing ankles and toes. Every step I took left neat, crisp footprints in the sand�a two curved soles, ten little toes. And then, they were washed away, like a blackboard erased with one great big swipe. The next ten minutes were spent with me planting a foot firmly into the soft sand, lifting up, planting the other foot firmly, and lifting up before quickly spinning around to capture the embedded sand and hold the footprint with a click of my trusty disposable camera. It took several tries, for the waters gobbled up my artwork every time.

I still have that photo. It's as though I left my mark on that Mexican beach. Isn't that what we do in life? Leave our mark and step away, allowing others to follow along and create new paths and new prints?

It's been a long time since I wrote an update for the public section. But I've been making footprints during this past year, and I finally feel like capturing them in print.

After placing fifth at Figure Nationals in New York last August, I walked off the stage in a daze. I had spent the hour before the show munching on a homemade oatmeal raisin cookie and a box batter brownie that tasted as yummy as the ones my mother often makes during the winter holiday season. I had no confidence that I would make it into the finals. Two second call outs rarely render a top-five placing, and yet, somehow I managed to squeak by the other competitors and earn my first national trophy. I was elated.

Months later, I hit an incredible low. Depression, something of which I suffer from on a regular basis, had reared its ugly head, and I soon realized that all the trophies in the world, all the titles, all the applause boiled down to simple memories. I still had to live with me, to return to the real world, to walk in something other than glass slippers. My off season was spent with much reflection. I compete in a division that exudes more subjectivity, more confusion, more controversy than any other in the fitness and bodybuilding industry, and I wasn't sure that I wanted to conform to other people's ideals.

I had to realize that it wasn't conformation if it was something I truly wanted to achieve, and I had to spend several weeks determining what I really wanted. Until I made that decision, I still stuck to my guns, did my workouts, piled in the food, and made the necessary plans to step on stage. But was my heart really in it? January 1st, the deadline for beginning my in season diet, would reveal whether it was.

Obviously, I made it through. I'm about to step on stage at the 2004 Junior USA's, held in New Haven, Connecticut. And I'm ready. Bigger shoulders, thicker and wider back, tighter waist and abs, better quad sweep, smaller tear drops, better conditioning. And a different feeling that runs through my veins this time. I remember last year I had a horrible case of nerves. Butterflies swarmed about inside of me and refused to leave. Tears flooded my eyes constantly in the weeks before each show. My body shook with anxiety, worse than leaves on rose bushes in a storm. I had the physique to move up the amateur ranks, but I did not have the confidence to leave the amateur ranks and join the pros.

A fellow competitor stated on one of the boards that she has pictures of me posted in her kitchen. I can't describe the feelings that I had when I read that, but I suddenly realized that I have what it takes to reach the top. I just have to act like it when I step on stage. And there's a fine line between confidence and arrogance. I'm not perfect. I complain, gripe, whine about my diet, about doing sprints, about having to run for 40 or 50 minutes without a break. I toss and turn in my bed on the mornings that I have to do cardio. I look longingly at other people's plates and have devious thoughts of snatching a bite of some scrumptious morsel. But I never deviate from the plan. I'm a stubborn little thing. I want to succeed too badly, and in my mind, success is being better than I was the last time I competed. I can honestly say I'm achieving that. In a sense, I've already won, and I haven't even stepped on stage yet this year.

What I have built in the contours of my body is much like the sands on that Cancun beach I strolled upon years ago. One wave, one slight breeze, one collision with another person, and it can all be erased. A six pack will come and go. Eat a plate of nachos and a piece of flourless chocolate cake (my favorite) after a show, and you'll see what I mean. It is much easier to wipe away the prints I've etched out on my body than it is to build them. But what will never disappear is the work ethic, the dedication, the focus, the drive, the determination that I've utilized while I've walked this path.

I'll be clicking the camera a whole bunch this year. I'll be putting many words to paper as well. I have a lot of memories to create. I want the pictures of my life to outlast me. I want my words to resonate in other people's ears, to burn in their souls. I want my life to be more than just a washed up footprint on a sandy beach.

Thank you for all of your support, your e-mails, your decisions to become members of my site. Most of all, thank you for thinking of me. I am very grateful to all of you.

--Jodi Leigh Miller, April 2004