So I kind of signed up for a half marathon in, like, 3 and a half weeks.
Fortunately, I still accomplished my 9-mile run today despite a very fitful 3 hours of sleep thanks to whatever the hell is wrong with me.
Once every few months I get this unbearable, itchy, crawly sensation on every part of my body. It starts with an itchy toe, then my whole foot will itch, then up the leg, then my back and head... it makes me a little worried.
So I googled my symptoms - like any hysterically exhausted person would do at 4:00 AM - and came up with this: neurotic excoriation. Except, I don't really like that answer. For one, most cases of neurotic excoriation result in flesh wounds caused by obsessive scratching that won't ever heal because of obsessive picking. The other reason I don't like it is that it would lump me in with the rest of the dysfunctional Americans I already make fun of because they make me wonder how we've evolved as a species, what with all of our hoarding, addictions, and ADHD.
Unfortunately, there's no physical explanation for my itch-induced fits of insomnia. I had been prescribed Ambien for this a couple years ago, but I won't take that while home alone with a baby. I've never experienced any unusual side effects, but the last thing I need is to wind up sleep-driving while she cries in her crib because she can't find her paci.
This leaves me fretting about what to do about this race on April 24th. Sleep is so, so important to me, and I'd hate to think something as stupid as a little neurosis could keep from from sleeping or achieving my running goals. I'll run it no matter what, I guess. I mean, these 13.1 miles aren't going to wait for me to have a perfect night's rest, are they?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
16 miles and an unofficial shoe review
Yet another reason to frequent your local running store: they don't just clear their shelves for new models like chain stores do. In fact, if they know it's the shoe you want or need, they have no problem letting you walk away with last year's shoe instead of trying to convince you to shell out major dough for a sneaker with updates that you don't really need.
With that said, I would have bought anything with rubber and laces for $60 so long as I didn't have to run another step in my now tread-less Asics GT-2140's. Luckily, what I got for my money was last year's Brooks Adrenaline 9's.
The shoe: pretty good. I mean, I didn't expect to strap them on and start sprinting at a 6 min/mile pace. The thing is, it's kind of hard to gauge the quality of a shoe when you haven't broken in a pair of sneakers in well over a year. So all that "smooth ride" and "great transfer of motion" stuff that people write about kind of escapes me when my big toe (yay, more toe issues) feels like a knife is being driven into it because the top of the shoe has yet to be bent, twisted, and worn into submission. Also, my feet went numb on the first expedition forcing me to stop and re-lace my shoes to prevent any possible amputation situations.
On a more positive note, me and my new kicks logged 16 miles in 3 runs so far this week. So while I'm not making money doing real gear reviews (because I'm not spending the money on it, and that shit ain't free, unless someone wants to send me stuff, but I'm pretty sure I have to advertise or something on my blog...) I feel like I'm getting back to having a pretty solid base. Time to start looking at upcoming races in cities that I can easily drive to, since flying and hotels are kind of out of the question if I have to factor in the cost of entry. Which brings me to my next point...
Why is racing so friggin' expensive? I mean, the swag bag is cool and all, but if I kindly decline the t-shirt and free goo, can I please just pay for my bib and chip, which - let's me honest - can't cost more than a few bucks a piece. Yeah, I know there's the cost of hiring police to monitor the course and other venue expenses, but still, I can't justify flying and paying for lodging on top of a $100+ race. Which leaves me all depressed when I read race report after race report that I can't join in on the fun on my part-time server salary.
I worry that if I don't race I'm not a runner, despite the miles I may log. Why does it seem that you're not taken seriously in the running community if you don't cross at least a dozen finish lines a year?
With that said, I would have bought anything with rubber and laces for $60 so long as I didn't have to run another step in my now tread-less Asics GT-2140's. Luckily, what I got for my money was last year's Brooks Adrenaline 9's.
The shoe: pretty good. I mean, I didn't expect to strap them on and start sprinting at a 6 min/mile pace. The thing is, it's kind of hard to gauge the quality of a shoe when you haven't broken in a pair of sneakers in well over a year. So all that "smooth ride" and "great transfer of motion" stuff that people write about kind of escapes me when my big toe (yay, more toe issues) feels like a knife is being driven into it because the top of the shoe has yet to be bent, twisted, and worn into submission. Also, my feet went numb on the first expedition forcing me to stop and re-lace my shoes to prevent any possible amputation situations.
On a more positive note, me and my new kicks logged 16 miles in 3 runs so far this week. So while I'm not making money doing real gear reviews (because I'm not spending the money on it, and that shit ain't free, unless someone wants to send me stuff, but I'm pretty sure I have to advertise or something on my blog...) I feel like I'm getting back to having a pretty solid base. Time to start looking at upcoming races in cities that I can easily drive to, since flying and hotels are kind of out of the question if I have to factor in the cost of entry. Which brings me to my next point...
Why is racing so friggin' expensive? I mean, the swag bag is cool and all, but if I kindly decline the t-shirt and free goo, can I please just pay for my bib and chip, which - let's me honest - can't cost more than a few bucks a piece. Yeah, I know there's the cost of hiring police to monitor the course and other venue expenses, but still, I can't justify flying and paying for lodging on top of a $100+ race. Which leaves me all depressed when I read race report after race report that I can't join in on the fun on my part-time server salary.
I worry that if I don't race I'm not a runner, despite the miles I may log. Why does it seem that you're not taken seriously in the running community if you don't cross at least a dozen finish lines a year?
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Thank You. Not an Alanis Morissette song, I promise.
I'd like to take a moment to thank running for so many, many things.
Thank you for letting me play like a real runner and do things like bust out a 7.5 mile run in 60 minutes.
Thank you for always being there for me, even when I break up with you for silly things like nursing an injury (broken toe much?) or being with child.
Thank you for making me feel strong and capable, even when I have all these new floppy bits that show through my cool running shirts and I still need to wear two running bras.
Thank you for helping me take 52 minutes today to run like before I was pregnant and rock out like before I graduated high school.
Thank you for giving me something else other than motherhood to define myself by. I'm fine with being fully immersed in the world of kisses, giggles, gurgles, and love (also snot, spit-up, and poo), but it's nice to take a break from babycenter.com and go over to runnersworld.com instead (just as much trolling and flaming, but way less paranoia).
Thank you for allowing me to not have to strictly adhere to a diet of steel-cut oats and bean sprouts. You may not enjoy chik-fil-a before intervals, but you sure do love it afterwards.
Most importantly, thank you for helping me undo years of bad behavior that may have lead to a decade or more of damage had I not rediscovered you after I was through being a smoking, rock-climbing, wanna-be-rockstar pseudo-badass.
Thank you for letting me play like a real runner and do things like bust out a 7.5 mile run in 60 minutes.
Thank you for always being there for me, even when I break up with you for silly things like nursing an injury (broken toe much?) or being with child.
Thank you for making me feel strong and capable, even when I have all these new floppy bits that show through my cool running shirts and I still need to wear two running bras.
Thank you for helping me take 52 minutes today to run like before I was pregnant and rock out like before I graduated high school.
Thank you for giving me something else other than motherhood to define myself by. I'm fine with being fully immersed in the world of kisses, giggles, gurgles, and love (also snot, spit-up, and poo), but it's nice to take a break from babycenter.com and go over to runnersworld.com instead (just as much trolling and flaming, but way less paranoia).
Thank you for allowing me to not have to strictly adhere to a diet of steel-cut oats and bean sprouts. You may not enjoy chik-fil-a before intervals, but you sure do love it afterwards.
Most importantly, thank you for helping me undo years of bad behavior that may have lead to a decade or more of damage had I not rediscovered you after I was through being a smoking, rock-climbing, wanna-be-rockstar pseudo-badass.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
If Clumsiness were an Olympic sport...
That damn toe. The left pinkie. It now requires either reconstructive surgery or amputation. Can you run without a pinkie toe?
After it's last mishap - a well-time collision with an old floor vent on the day I was supposed to go for my first postpartum run - it twists inward at an awkward angle and no longer makes contact with the floor. It also doesn't curl when I flex my toes (as a point of reference, I checked to make sure my right pinkie toe does curl, just so I knew for sure that the left one was messed up).
Now that it sticks up ever so slightly, it finds things to continue to stub itself on. The fact that the baby crap in our house seems to multiply faster than the gremlins doesn't help. My husband swore up and down that our house wouldn't become that house. You know, the one with walker 2 feet from the entryway, the jumperoo in the middle of the living room, the swing in the corner, and the high chair taking up half the kitchen. But alas, we have that house.
Anyway, it wasn't actually a piece of baby-restraining or entertaining equipment that caught my toe this time, it was the dryer. I know- how does my toe just reach out and collide with the dryer like that? It's beyond me. But running hurts again and I'm not happy about it. Notice the use of bold font.
I managed 1.6 miles on the treadmill before the dull ache progressed to a quiet roar so I switched to the elliptical to finish my workout. And I wonder, will I ever break 7 miles again?
To say I'm frustrated is an understatement.
I'm reading all my other mommy-friends' posts about exhilarating runs of 9, 10, and 16 miles and wonder when will it be my turn again? Do I have to wait until my daughter is in half-day preschool or boarding the big yellow bus? Is finally moving to Georgia the answer so that I have the husband there to assist in baby-care, or will my phalanges find a way to sabotage my efforts once more?
Ok, I know "Waaaah!" I'll shut up now.
Right now, my strength-maintenance plan consists of running when my toe is comfortable, and going at it on the elliptical or spin bike like a madwoman when it's not. I also decided I need to get back to doing yoga. Every day. My shoulders and hamstrings aren't sure they agree but I know they'll come around. And my hill running will thank me in the end. So will my baby, when my arms are able to accommodate her every growth spurt.
After it's last mishap - a well-time collision with an old floor vent on the day I was supposed to go for my first postpartum run - it twists inward at an awkward angle and no longer makes contact with the floor. It also doesn't curl when I flex my toes (as a point of reference, I checked to make sure my right pinkie toe does curl, just so I knew for sure that the left one was messed up).
Now that it sticks up ever so slightly, it finds things to continue to stub itself on. The fact that the baby crap in our house seems to multiply faster than the gremlins doesn't help. My husband swore up and down that our house wouldn't become that house. You know, the one with walker 2 feet from the entryway, the jumperoo in the middle of the living room, the swing in the corner, and the high chair taking up half the kitchen. But alas, we have that house.
Anyway, it wasn't actually a piece of baby-restraining or entertaining equipment that caught my toe this time, it was the dryer. I know- how does my toe just reach out and collide with the dryer like that? It's beyond me. But running hurts again and I'm not happy about it. Notice the use of bold font.
I managed 1.6 miles on the treadmill before the dull ache progressed to a quiet roar so I switched to the elliptical to finish my workout. And I wonder, will I ever break 7 miles again?
To say I'm frustrated is an understatement.
I'm reading all my other mommy-friends' posts about exhilarating runs of 9, 10, and 16 miles and wonder when will it be my turn again? Do I have to wait until my daughter is in half-day preschool or boarding the big yellow bus? Is finally moving to Georgia the answer so that I have the husband there to assist in baby-care, or will my phalanges find a way to sabotage my efforts once more?
Ok, I know "Waaaah!" I'll shut up now.
Right now, my strength-maintenance plan consists of running when my toe is comfortable, and going at it on the elliptical or spin bike like a madwoman when it's not. I also decided I need to get back to doing yoga. Every day. My shoulders and hamstrings aren't sure they agree but I know they'll come around. And my hill running will thank me in the end. So will my baby, when my arms are able to accommodate her every growth spurt.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Rules of the Road.
In order to not sound like a completely misanthropic bitch, I wish to preface the following blog by giving a kudos to you average Joe's and Jane's who choose outdoor activity over sitting inside playing video games or watching "Jersey Shore". Even more kudos to you if you have children and you drag them out with you.
With that said...
I can't stand how the first really nice day of the year draws out all the people who have been in hibernation since the first time the mercury dipped below 59 degrees. They don't know how to share the trails and bike paths, they don't call out to their hyperactive 4-year-olds to keep them from darting in front of runners and bikers, and they still dress like a winter storm is on the horizon (quilted down coats and Ugg boots on a 65-degree day? Really?).
Can we all just agree to follow a few basic rules so that us all-weather, all-terrain badasses can peacefully coexist with you fair-weather pseudo-recreationists? Because the only thing I love more than composing lists is to be able to run without having to dart into oncoming traffic because you don't know how to share the sidwalk.
1. Trail traffic should mimic road traffic. Keep right, pass left. If you are moving slowly, you should keep to the far right edge of the trail. Please do not wander in a drunken zig-zag pattern all over the path as you hollar into your blue-tooth because EVERYONE IN THE PARK NEEDS TO KNOW YOU'RE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE PHONE CALLS EVEN WHILE WALKING.
2. I know I've mentioned this in a previous blog somewhere, but please, please keep your children and elders within arms' reach. Your children are little, don't look before running across the path, and are very easy to trip over. Your elderly are hard of hearing and startle easily when someone tries to pass on the left, often stopping short as they spin around in bewilderment, unsure which way to go and in the process blocking the path entirely.
3. If you are traveling in a group, it is not only helpful but extremely courteous to walk in pairs on the right-hand side of the sidewalk or trail, not 6 abreast. It is also nice if you're not all tapping away at your Iphones and Crackberries, updating your Facebook statuses. I mean, learn how to fucking converse, people.
4. Glen Beck is a jerk with a bad case of verbal diarrhea. This has nothing to do with parks or recreation but when I told my husband I was blogging he insisted I include something that shares our distaste for him.
5. Don't try to hand out religious pamphlets to a runner. It just doesn't work (or they're already saved or what have you). Yes, this has happened to me - not in our local park but on a run just the same.
6. Please provide enough room for the lady with the jogger or stroller as you pass each other on the path or sidewalk. I mean really, a quick glance up is all it takes to realize Oh, she's gonna have to go off the curb with her baby if I don't move over a little. Besides which, next person whose lazy ass doesn't move over is gonna get clipped in the achilles by a Babytrend tire.
7. Dogs. Leash training. Learn it. But, if you just carry your dog around anyway, please stay home. You're really annoying to look at.
That's all I have for now. If you have any more peeves to share, please do. Don't leave me hanging - I know I can't be the only person who has these thoughts... although, perhaps the jerkiest.
With that said...
I can't stand how the first really nice day of the year draws out all the people who have been in hibernation since the first time the mercury dipped below 59 degrees. They don't know how to share the trails and bike paths, they don't call out to their hyperactive 4-year-olds to keep them from darting in front of runners and bikers, and they still dress like a winter storm is on the horizon (quilted down coats and Ugg boots on a 65-degree day? Really?).
Can we all just agree to follow a few basic rules so that us all-weather, all-terrain badasses can peacefully coexist with you fair-weather pseudo-recreationists? Because the only thing I love more than composing lists is to be able to run without having to dart into oncoming traffic because you don't know how to share the sidwalk.
1. Trail traffic should mimic road traffic. Keep right, pass left. If you are moving slowly, you should keep to the far right edge of the trail. Please do not wander in a drunken zig-zag pattern all over the path as you hollar into your blue-tooth because EVERYONE IN THE PARK NEEDS TO KNOW YOU'RE SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE PHONE CALLS EVEN WHILE WALKING.
2. I know I've mentioned this in a previous blog somewhere, but please, please keep your children and elders within arms' reach. Your children are little, don't look before running across the path, and are very easy to trip over. Your elderly are hard of hearing and startle easily when someone tries to pass on the left, often stopping short as they spin around in bewilderment, unsure which way to go and in the process blocking the path entirely.
3. If you are traveling in a group, it is not only helpful but extremely courteous to walk in pairs on the right-hand side of the sidewalk or trail, not 6 abreast. It is also nice if you're not all tapping away at your Iphones and Crackberries, updating your Facebook statuses. I mean, learn how to fucking converse, people.
4. Glen Beck is a jerk with a bad case of verbal diarrhea. This has nothing to do with parks or recreation but when I told my husband I was blogging he insisted I include something that shares our distaste for him.
5. Don't try to hand out religious pamphlets to a runner. It just doesn't work (or they're already saved or what have you). Yes, this has happened to me - not in our local park but on a run just the same.
6. Please provide enough room for the lady with the jogger or stroller as you pass each other on the path or sidewalk. I mean really, a quick glance up is all it takes to realize Oh, she's gonna have to go off the curb with her baby if I don't move over a little. Besides which, next person whose lazy ass doesn't move over is gonna get clipped in the achilles by a Babytrend tire.
7. Dogs. Leash training. Learn it. But, if you just carry your dog around anyway, please stay home. You're really annoying to look at.
That's all I have for now. If you have any more peeves to share, please do. Don't leave me hanging - I know I can't be the only person who has these thoughts... although, perhaps the jerkiest.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Maintenance mode. It's a good, but very boring place to be, running wise. With no long races to train for, let alone much time to accomplish long runs while the baby is in my care, I've fallen into the running zone that is more than just working out but not quite like being in training. Like, if I had to push out a 7-minute mile right now I could. But... I just don't wanna.
And I started the pill this month. Sorry mom, but there will be no grandbaby #2 any time soon. I'm not sure if it's causing me to feel this ickiness that I've felt or if I just have it in my head that the pill is the culprit because I wasn't so fun to be around when I was on it 10 years ago (stop doing the math - I know, I was young. But at least I can say my First was also my Last). Regardless, I've just been tired, and kinda nauseous, and really not a fan of going out of my house. It's been so much easier, and nicer, to curl up in bed with the baby, playing and giggling and napping. This is how I felt (minus the wanting to lay in bed with a baby part) the first few days of every pill pack last time I was on it, so I figured this laziness can be attributed to that, but I worry that my lack of any kind of training routine can also be to blame.
I mean, if I had a run scheduled, I'd do it. No matter what. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't cause some issues in my marriage, because of course it would lead to those fun conversations: "You're too tired for me but not tired enough to run?"(him) and "You say you want to run a race with me but you never want to run when I do."(me). And now that I have the jogger, a weather shield and bunting so I can't be accused of child abuse for taking my child out on chilly days, I really should have no excuses. I mean, I have a friend that's been doing her long runs as scheduled all throughout the winter. In Omaha. What's my excuse?
I guess it's this pseudo-single motherhood thing. Being on my own most of the week makes it more difficult to get out there, and I hate calling on the grandparents to babysit when I want to run more than 7 miles, without the jogger.
Well the husband has officially signed with the company he's been working for as an independant contractor and located some decent apartment complexes with discounted rates for employees of that company. If all works out in the next few weeks, I won't be going it alone as much anymore, and maybe then I'll finally get myself out of maintenance mode and be able to start some real training.
And I started the pill this month. Sorry mom, but there will be no grandbaby #2 any time soon. I'm not sure if it's causing me to feel this ickiness that I've felt or if I just have it in my head that the pill is the culprit because I wasn't so fun to be around when I was on it 10 years ago (stop doing the math - I know, I was young. But at least I can say my First was also my Last). Regardless, I've just been tired, and kinda nauseous, and really not a fan of going out of my house. It's been so much easier, and nicer, to curl up in bed with the baby, playing and giggling and napping. This is how I felt (minus the wanting to lay in bed with a baby part) the first few days of every pill pack last time I was on it, so I figured this laziness can be attributed to that, but I worry that my lack of any kind of training routine can also be to blame.
I mean, if I had a run scheduled, I'd do it. No matter what. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't cause some issues in my marriage, because of course it would lead to those fun conversations: "You're too tired for me but not tired enough to run?"(him) and "You say you want to run a race with me but you never want to run when I do."(me). And now that I have the jogger, a weather shield and bunting so I can't be accused of child abuse for taking my child out on chilly days, I really should have no excuses. I mean, I have a friend that's been doing her long runs as scheduled all throughout the winter. In Omaha. What's my excuse?
I guess it's this pseudo-single motherhood thing. Being on my own most of the week makes it more difficult to get out there, and I hate calling on the grandparents to babysit when I want to run more than 7 miles, without the jogger.
Well the husband has officially signed with the company he's been working for as an independant contractor and located some decent apartment complexes with discounted rates for employees of that company. If all works out in the next few weeks, I won't be going it alone as much anymore, and maybe then I'll finally get myself out of maintenance mode and be able to start some real training.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Happy Birthday To Meeeee
In past years I've been stuck at work, pregnant and unable to drink, or both on my birthday, so this year I have absolutely no qualms with actually making my birthday known and celebrating it.
So, happy friggin' birthday to me.
I'm 27, which means I've graduated from being in my 20's to being in my late 20's.
I survived a year of being pregnant, keeping fit, continuing my education, and the constant uncertainty of my husband's ever-changing job situation (We're moving. We're not moving. We're moving. We're not moving... you get the idea).
At 23 - 6 months after quitting smoking and starting a workout regimine - I said I felt the healthiest I'd ever been in my entire life. I've been able to say the same thing every year since, including this one.
I am really glad I didn't wait until I was 30 to start having kids.
I love that getting older makes it okay (dare I say it- cool, even) to get caught up in "old-school" shit like watching Fresh Prince and Saved By The Bell.
Over a decade ago, when I was actually on the cross country and track team, I couldn't imagine actually craving to go on a run, let alone an "easy" 5, 6, or 7 miles.
While I often overhear younger coworkers' weekend plans with a twinge of envy, I wouldn't give up this homebody kind of life for anything. I'll take snuggling with my daughter, doggies, and husband over any downtown scene any day. Whereas before, one might be considered a loser for her lack of a social life, at my age it is totally acceptable to schedule a night in. Who cares if it's like, every night?
When you're anywhere between the ages of 19 and 26, being cynical usually just means you're jaded. When you're 27, being cynical means you're wise enough to accept the fact that nobody is above douchebaggery. Not even yourself.
There's so much more about this upcoming year and the age I will so proudly exclaim whenever carded for a glass of wine or martini (Shush. It still happens.) that I could go on about, but I'll sum it all up with saying that I am extremely grateful to be where I am. I really don't feel like I'm getting older, just... growing.
And it doesn't scare me that I'm fastly approaching 30, either. 30 is like the new 15 anyway, right?
So, happy friggin' birthday to me.
I'm 27, which means I've graduated from being in my 20's to being in my late 20's.
I survived a year of being pregnant, keeping fit, continuing my education, and the constant uncertainty of my husband's ever-changing job situation (We're moving. We're not moving. We're moving. We're not moving... you get the idea).
At 23 - 6 months after quitting smoking and starting a workout regimine - I said I felt the healthiest I'd ever been in my entire life. I've been able to say the same thing every year since, including this one.
I am really glad I didn't wait until I was 30 to start having kids.
I love that getting older makes it okay (dare I say it- cool, even) to get caught up in "old-school" shit like watching Fresh Prince and Saved By The Bell.
Over a decade ago, when I was actually on the cross country and track team, I couldn't imagine actually craving to go on a run, let alone an "easy" 5, 6, or 7 miles.
While I often overhear younger coworkers' weekend plans with a twinge of envy, I wouldn't give up this homebody kind of life for anything. I'll take snuggling with my daughter, doggies, and husband over any downtown scene any day. Whereas before, one might be considered a loser for her lack of a social life, at my age it is totally acceptable to schedule a night in. Who cares if it's like, every night?
When you're anywhere between the ages of 19 and 26, being cynical usually just means you're jaded. When you're 27, being cynical means you're wise enough to accept the fact that nobody is above douchebaggery. Not even yourself.
There's so much more about this upcoming year and the age I will so proudly exclaim whenever carded for a glass of wine or martini (Shush. It still happens.) that I could go on about, but I'll sum it all up with saying that I am extremely grateful to be where I am. I really don't feel like I'm getting older, just... growing.
And it doesn't scare me that I'm fastly approaching 30, either. 30 is like the new 15 anyway, right?
Sunday, January 24, 2010
something to think about before you tip your server 7.5%
I have a beer and a martini in me, work last night was hell, and I'm ready to blog.
I ran my first race since before I got pregnant yesterday. I kept myself from racing my entire pregnancy because I didn't want to be tempted to push too hard, and I didn't want to pay for races if I wasn't really going to race. So going into this race, I had no way of gauging how I'd do.
The race is one our local paper sponsors every January, so it was just a downtown loop on roads I was mostly familiar with. I finished in 22:58 - nearly throwing up along the way - which I can honestly say I'm pretty happy with considering that I have not done any kind of structured speed work and have only been able to make it out for about 3 runs a week. Now I have a clear starting point, from which I can determine how I need to pace myself when training for the next race.
One thing I have not missed about racing or race training, however, would be having to work on the same day as a race or hard workout. The reality of being a mom in my late 20's hits me hard enough when I'm waiting on people still pouring Cosmos down the hatch at 11:00PM. Add a race to the mix and I'm just a mess. Put me in charge of a 15-top that does not grasp the fact that I can't telepathically order their food and beverage while simultaneously answering questions (and that no one will have anything in front of them so long as they hold me up at the table), and I'm ready to kill someone.
One of my coworkers told me I had the craziest "crazy eyes" they'd ever seen that night, as I exclaimed, "I'm fine! I swear!" after seeing that one of the couples at the table left me $5 on a $66 bill. They must have been disappointed that I - heaven forbid - had other tables to wait on and could not commit to being their personal servant for the evening.
So this is why I need to get faster - so I can race professionally. Sounds like a good plan, right? Although, I don't think beers or martinis play very well into that plan.
I ran my first race since before I got pregnant yesterday. I kept myself from racing my entire pregnancy because I didn't want to be tempted to push too hard, and I didn't want to pay for races if I wasn't really going to race. So going into this race, I had no way of gauging how I'd do.
The race is one our local paper sponsors every January, so it was just a downtown loop on roads I was mostly familiar with. I finished in 22:58 - nearly throwing up along the way - which I can honestly say I'm pretty happy with considering that I have not done any kind of structured speed work and have only been able to make it out for about 3 runs a week. Now I have a clear starting point, from which I can determine how I need to pace myself when training for the next race.
One thing I have not missed about racing or race training, however, would be having to work on the same day as a race or hard workout. The reality of being a mom in my late 20's hits me hard enough when I'm waiting on people still pouring Cosmos down the hatch at 11:00PM. Add a race to the mix and I'm just a mess. Put me in charge of a 15-top that does not grasp the fact that I can't telepathically order their food and beverage while simultaneously answering questions (and that no one will have anything in front of them so long as they hold me up at the table), and I'm ready to kill someone.
One of my coworkers told me I had the craziest "crazy eyes" they'd ever seen that night, as I exclaimed, "I'm fine! I swear!" after seeing that one of the couples at the table left me $5 on a $66 bill. They must have been disappointed that I - heaven forbid - had other tables to wait on and could not commit to being their personal servant for the evening.
So this is why I need to get faster - so I can race professionally. Sounds like a good plan, right? Although, I don't think beers or martinis play very well into that plan.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
I can see clearly now...
I'm going to make a confession now that will probably catch me some major flack amongst the general female population: I've always thought the majority of moms who claim they don't have enough time to work out / eat healthy were just lazy.
Now hear me out.
I'm not talking about being a mom and running 50 miles a week. I'm also not talking about being a mom and making it to the gym 5 days a week. I'm just talking about getting out there, doing what you can, and making smarter-than-average choices when it comes to the food you put on your plate. After all, I know I am hardly the picture of fitness - let along running -perfection, as I accomplished a whopping 3 runs totalling 14 miles last week.
But amidst the chaos that I've come to accept as my life as of late, I am beginning to understand where the downward slide might begin. And it all starts with that one delayed workout.
It's gorgeous out - 62 degrees in January - I'm pretty well rested and I know that all it would take to bust out a few quick miles would be to change out of my frumpy nursing bra (which, by the way, is a piss-poor excuse for a bra) and into my beautiful new Fiona (an excellent sports bra, if you're on the hunt for one). But alas, reality is at the door, and she doesn't ring the doorbell. She knocks. First politely. Then, obnoxiously. Incessantly. Until finally, I am forced to cave and say, "OK, Life. FINE. I'll do whatever you need so that you will eventually leave me the fuck alone."
Except life leaves me alone at 11:22 PM. Not really the best time to run. It is, however, a fantastic time to catch up on the episodes of The Office I DVR'd on the TBS Tuesday-night marathon and sip on an oversized Bombay Sapphire martini until I feel fuzzy in the face.
So I think, "Well, tomorrow will be a good day to run. I've dealt with Life as much as I am capable of and it can't possibly expect more from me at this point." But sure enough, tomorrow comes, and Life springs a new one on me. The husband schedules the floors to be refinished, so we are kicked out of our home for a week. But then the husband comes home from work on Friday sick. Then I find out my mother mother - who the baby and I were staying with for 5 days - is also ill. Then the baby gets sick. Then the mother-in-law.
I have remained completely healthy through all this, but definitely a little worse for the wear. Which is why, instead of having ran today, I indulged in pizza, chocolate, and Bombay.
So to all of you moms out there who've had to put everyone and everything before yourselves - I offer you my empathy. It's hard to squelch that voice that screams at you to do what you want to do when everyone else yanks you in the opposite direction. It takes a lot to run. It takes a lot more not to.
Now hear me out.
I'm not talking about being a mom and running 50 miles a week. I'm also not talking about being a mom and making it to the gym 5 days a week. I'm just talking about getting out there, doing what you can, and making smarter-than-average choices when it comes to the food you put on your plate. After all, I know I am hardly the picture of fitness - let along running -perfection, as I accomplished a whopping 3 runs totalling 14 miles last week.
But amidst the chaos that I've come to accept as my life as of late, I am beginning to understand where the downward slide might begin. And it all starts with that one delayed workout.
It's gorgeous out - 62 degrees in January - I'm pretty well rested and I know that all it would take to bust out a few quick miles would be to change out of my frumpy nursing bra (which, by the way, is a piss-poor excuse for a bra) and into my beautiful new Fiona (an excellent sports bra, if you're on the hunt for one). But alas, reality is at the door, and she doesn't ring the doorbell. She knocks. First politely. Then, obnoxiously. Incessantly. Until finally, I am forced to cave and say, "OK, Life. FINE. I'll do whatever you need so that you will eventually leave me the fuck alone."
Except life leaves me alone at 11:22 PM. Not really the best time to run. It is, however, a fantastic time to catch up on the episodes of The Office I DVR'd on the TBS Tuesday-night marathon and sip on an oversized Bombay Sapphire martini until I feel fuzzy in the face.
So I think, "Well, tomorrow will be a good day to run. I've dealt with Life as much as I am capable of and it can't possibly expect more from me at this point." But sure enough, tomorrow comes, and Life springs a new one on me. The husband schedules the floors to be refinished, so we are kicked out of our home for a week. But then the husband comes home from work on Friday sick. Then I find out my mother mother - who the baby and I were staying with for 5 days - is also ill. Then the baby gets sick. Then the mother-in-law.
I have remained completely healthy through all this, but definitely a little worse for the wear. Which is why, instead of having ran today, I indulged in pizza, chocolate, and Bombay.
So to all of you moms out there who've had to put everyone and everything before yourselves - I offer you my empathy. It's hard to squelch that voice that screams at you to do what you want to do when everyone else yanks you in the opposite direction. It takes a lot to run. It takes a lot more not to.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
22:30 is the new 21:00
I just signed up for my first race in 15 months - since the marathon I ran a couple weeks before I got pregnant.
As I look forward to this race - now 11 days away - I feel like I'm ready to get back into running. Not like these past few months of me playing pretend a few days a week on the treadmills and ellipticals at the gym. I want to plan and train for races. I want to get excited about new gear and have a reason to use it. I want to be able to justify dropping a Saturday night's worth of tips on a new pair of sneakers.
I even re-subscribed to Runners World. I can't have that magazine showing up at my doorstep if I don't look the part, right? Besides which, I can only take so much of the parenting magazines that magically started showing up the day after I arrived home with Alexis. Of course I skip right to the "school age" portion of the magazine, because I enjoy hyperventillating about the day Alexis comes off the bus in tears because the other kids are just so mean and I wasn't there to kick their asses. I digress.
My goal is 22:30. That's a 7:30 min/mile pace (I'm sure you could do the math, but if not, don't feel bad because I sat here counting it out on my fingers). I know that in the past I've been capable of faster, but I'm not sure how much my body will tolerate this time around. My legs could take it, I'm sure, but I have new aches to pay attention to, such as the site of my incision. I've been warned that it could feel uncomfortable months, even years after a cesarean, but I have yet to
If anyone out there knows, please enlighten me!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
My New Year
As we usher out the old year (or flee from it) and welcome the new, it seems many people are in the mood to reminisce. You, undoubtedly, have already been tagged by 27 friends on Facebook to complete some sort of 2009 survey or 'top 10 moments' list. I have too but the trouble is, I haven't been in a reminiscing kind of mood.
With the birth of my child, I'd like to say I've become a little bit more of a live-in-the-moment kind of gal, but that isn't exactly true, either. I still fret about the future, both far and near, and get caught up in meaningless details like a never-ending pile of dirty laundry or crumbs on the kitchen counter. One thing I don't do so much anymore, however, is get caught up in the past. At least not when it comes to anything that happened before Alexis came into our lives.
I'd heard women say before that their lives seemed to be missing something before having children. But as you don't know how good your life can be with something if you've never had it before, they didn't realize how much more complete they'd feel with a child. I personally despise trite phrases as a means of summing up my emotions about a life-altering event, but there's no other way to put it than to say that I, too, felt a new sense of completion as I first held Alexis in my arms.
Which is why I can't reminisce that much about last year. Everything up until the day I went into labor was, well, life as usual. Work, school, erands, even the ups and downs of pregnancy, were all experienced with a dulled sense of awareness compared to how much more real life became with a baby. My baby.
My new year started on August 5th, 2009. The first day of Alexis Rose's life also became the first day of mine.
With the birth of my child, I'd like to say I've become a little bit more of a live-in-the-moment kind of gal, but that isn't exactly true, either. I still fret about the future, both far and near, and get caught up in meaningless details like a never-ending pile of dirty laundry or crumbs on the kitchen counter. One thing I don't do so much anymore, however, is get caught up in the past. At least not when it comes to anything that happened before Alexis came into our lives.
I'd heard women say before that their lives seemed to be missing something before having children. But as you don't know how good your life can be with something if you've never had it before, they didn't realize how much more complete they'd feel with a child. I personally despise trite phrases as a means of summing up my emotions about a life-altering event, but there's no other way to put it than to say that I, too, felt a new sense of completion as I first held Alexis in my arms.
Which is why I can't reminisce that much about last year. Everything up until the day I went into labor was, well, life as usual. Work, school, erands, even the ups and downs of pregnancy, were all experienced with a dulled sense of awareness compared to how much more real life became with a baby. My baby.
My new year started on August 5th, 2009. The first day of Alexis Rose's life also became the first day of mine.
Monday, December 28, 2009
12 days of Christmas? I'm ok with 3, thanks.
I love my family, really do, so all I'll say regarding the topics "Family" and "Holidays" is thank God I got out for a couple of runs last week.
My running is still in maintenance mode but I'll take whatever I can get just to get out the door. What was great this past month is that I was able to resume my pseudo-annual tradition* of getting out for a jaunt on Thanksgiving and Christmas. The traffic's lighter, the air is crisp and cool, and it seems there is a heightened sense of camaraderie with the other runners out on the sidewalks and trails. Each time you pass a fellow runner, there's an exchange of knowing nods, as if to say, "we could be stuffing our faces with gravy-slathered proteins and multiple varieties of pies right now, but we are running instead (or so that we can commence with the face-stuffing later.)"
*when not experiencing first-trimester funsies like gagging at everything or needing to sleep 14 hours a day.
This year, getting out for my Christmas run was especially appreciated. It was a chance to step away from the awkwardness of my blunt, inappropriate family conversing with my husband's reserved, overly-polite family. The baby - the universal buffer for uncomfortable family situations - was sleeping, and I was in no mood to deal with the carnage of wrapping paper and ribbon barfed up all over my living room floor. The men would watch their Celtics game, the women would discuss safe topics such as cooking or after-Christmas sales, and I would get my run. Even if it was only 5 miles, run a bit too hard for the hills and the fact that my feet hadn't seen actual pavement for several days, it was a much-needed reprieve.
Of course, my mother thinks I'm nuts and that I'm addicted to exercise. But I think, by nature, she has to be worried about someone. That, or she just enjoyed me more when I was large and raiding her cabinet for cookies.
Well for the holidays, I did eat those cookies, but I ran them off, too. With the calories, I burned stress, anxiety, frustration, and every other negative emotion that manifests from too much vomit-enducing tinsel and Barry Manilow.
Happy Holidays, everyone. Hope you enjoyed it and got some good runs in, too.
My running is still in maintenance mode but I'll take whatever I can get just to get out the door. What was great this past month is that I was able to resume my pseudo-annual tradition* of getting out for a jaunt on Thanksgiving and Christmas. The traffic's lighter, the air is crisp and cool, and it seems there is a heightened sense of camaraderie with the other runners out on the sidewalks and trails. Each time you pass a fellow runner, there's an exchange of knowing nods, as if to say, "we could be stuffing our faces with gravy-slathered proteins and multiple varieties of pies right now, but we are running instead (or so that we can commence with the face-stuffing later.)"
*when not experiencing first-trimester funsies like gagging at everything or needing to sleep 14 hours a day.
This year, getting out for my Christmas run was especially appreciated. It was a chance to step away from the awkwardness of my blunt, inappropriate family conversing with my husband's reserved, overly-polite family. The baby - the universal buffer for uncomfortable family situations - was sleeping, and I was in no mood to deal with the carnage of wrapping paper and ribbon barfed up all over my living room floor. The men would watch their Celtics game, the women would discuss safe topics such as cooking or after-Christmas sales, and I would get my run. Even if it was only 5 miles, run a bit too hard for the hills and the fact that my feet hadn't seen actual pavement for several days, it was a much-needed reprieve.
Of course, my mother thinks I'm nuts and that I'm addicted to exercise. But I think, by nature, she has to be worried about someone. That, or she just enjoyed me more when I was large and raiding her cabinet for cookies.
Well for the holidays, I did eat those cookies, but I ran them off, too. With the calories, I burned stress, anxiety, frustration, and every other negative emotion that manifests from too much vomit-enducing tinsel and Barry Manilow.
Happy Holidays, everyone. Hope you enjoyed it and got some good runs in, too.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
if there were a REAL "Real Housewives" show and I were on it, my self-naration would sound much like this:
Husband dearest works out of town 3-5 days a week so that we can have lovely things like a house, heat, cars, internet, cell phones, and cable. I work 2-3 shifts a week so we can have extras, like the occassional shopping trip at Whole Foods instead of the "regular" super market, nice bottles of Ripasso or Bordeaux, and meals not horribly botched by me trying to play "Top Chef" on my electric range.
I am eternally grateful for these amenities and know how incredibly lucky we are - especially this time of year - to have what much of young America, I'm sure, takes for granted. Our generations' hardships may only include having to watch Sesame Street on a dinky little 10" black and white TV and being forced to wear clothes from Caldor when the family budget was tight, but that's still a far cry from the things kids today wouldn't know how to live without: Hulu, PS2's, and 3G networks. God, I even find myself bitching when a certain channel doesn't come in in HD, because it's all blurry on our giant TV. So I'm really not much better than those spoiled brats, am I?
So considering the things we're now accustomed to having as part of our daily lives, it's no wonder that when my laptop is busted, the cable goes out during a storm and the baby's asleep, I'm so painfully bored I start picking away at still relatively in-tact nailpolish just to have an excuse to paint my nails again. Or I start scribbling what I think are witty thoughts and observations on one of the million of cards you mail in for a subscription that fall out of the magazine you've already subscribed to -- but I'm using this scrap of paper as a bookmark in a crappy book that I'm forcing myself to finish because I borrowed it from the library and damn it I'm going to become more literate and intellectual if it kills me, but once I'm done with the book I forget about the ramblings I've written down and throw the card away. Or I start watching so many recorded episodes of "The Office" I start dreaming about being in a screaming match with Dwight and Michael.
This is where someone interjects, saying, "Yes, but, if you're bored, then you're boring." Well, that's okay, because I actually feel pretty damn boring.
I mean, all I have to talk about is being a mom, running, and... uh, that's about it. There's only so much to discuss (or write) about the variety of poo consistencies and colors, how many planned runs you didn't do and why you couldn't do them, how thick to make your rice cereal and what to mix it with, and the ungodly amount of calories you're consuming while breastfeeding and - again - how many times you've failed to get out to burn them off...
... Hm? Sorry. I just put myself to sleep.
I just hope, as I go on and on and on about how sorry I am for myself (someone please play me out on the violin) someone is out there reading this thinking, "Thank God, I'm not alone!"
I am eternally grateful for these amenities and know how incredibly lucky we are - especially this time of year - to have what much of young America, I'm sure, takes for granted. Our generations' hardships may only include having to watch Sesame Street on a dinky little 10" black and white TV and being forced to wear clothes from Caldor when the family budget was tight, but that's still a far cry from the things kids today wouldn't know how to live without: Hulu, PS2's, and 3G networks. God, I even find myself bitching when a certain channel doesn't come in in HD, because it's all blurry on our giant TV. So I'm really not much better than those spoiled brats, am I?
So considering the things we're now accustomed to having as part of our daily lives, it's no wonder that when my laptop is busted, the cable goes out during a storm and the baby's asleep, I'm so painfully bored I start picking away at still relatively in-tact nailpolish just to have an excuse to paint my nails again. Or I start scribbling what I think are witty thoughts and observations on one of the million of cards you mail in for a subscription that fall out of the magazine you've already subscribed to -- but I'm using this scrap of paper as a bookmark in a crappy book that I'm forcing myself to finish because I borrowed it from the library and damn it I'm going to become more literate and intellectual if it kills me, but once I'm done with the book I forget about the ramblings I've written down and throw the card away. Or I start watching so many recorded episodes of "The Office" I start dreaming about being in a screaming match with Dwight and Michael.
This is where someone interjects, saying, "Yes, but, if you're bored, then you're boring." Well, that's okay, because I actually feel pretty damn boring.
I mean, all I have to talk about is being a mom, running, and... uh, that's about it. There's only so much to discuss (or write) about the variety of poo consistencies and colors, how many planned runs you didn't do and why you couldn't do them, how thick to make your rice cereal and what to mix it with, and the ungodly amount of calories you're consuming while breastfeeding and - again - how many times you've failed to get out to burn them off...
... Hm? Sorry. I just put myself to sleep.
I just hope, as I go on and on and on about how sorry I am for myself (someone please play me out on the violin) someone is out there reading this thinking, "Thank God, I'm not alone!"
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
This one is (almost) in real-time, I swear.
Okay, it's 2:02 PM, the child is napping peacefully, and I am inspired to finally update this thing and try to keep it going. I figured of all the places I post my run-on ramblings, this is probably the one I should maintain should I get ambitious again and decide to actually save all of these entries to a thumbdrive and not Google's / Blogger's database.
Speaking of Google, has anyone tried Wave? I got an invite, took one look at it, and said, "Uh, no." The truth of the matter is: I'm unpopular. And I don't mean that in a "Guess I'll go eat worms..." kind of way, it's just that, I'm a stay-at-home mom (on the baby boards, we call ourselves SAHM's, because we're so busy between feedings, changings, and burpings, that we have created an accronym for everything.) for part of the week, and I work part-time for the rest. My friends are my coworkers, and besides our shifts together we don't see much of each other because they, too, have pressing obligations outside of work. Maybe I'll give Google Wave a little more time though before deciding whether it's worthwhile. Although I have a feeling it will have the same fate as my Twitter account: Floating off somewhere in cyberspace, user name and password long-forgotten.
Now that I've openned with that light-hearted but boring detail about my life, on to more depressing issues.
We lost another kitty this week.
We knew he was sick from the beginning, infected probably at birth with the feline leukemia virus. For the most part, these kittens, when found by or brought in to a shelter, are put down. We kept this kitten, and immunized the other two. He started showing signs of being ill not long after our Mia (who passed away early October) came down with pancreatitis. At first we were told it was allergies, and given an antihistamine that rendered him a useless lump of a cat. So we took him off of it and brought him back to the vet because his symptoms - coughing and wheezing - didn't subside. "Might be asthma," said the more optomistic of the two Dr's at the clinic. So we put him on a mild steroid and witnessed noticable improvement. But then he took a sudden downturn, losing weight, becoming listless once again, and developing an abscess on his rear. It turns out he had a blood parasite which, due to the virus, he couldn't fight off. We were going to take him this past Monday morning to be euthanized but he didn't even make it to crate.
I try not to be that downer who only looks at the negative events in her life, not only further depressing herself but everyone around her, but I'm not going to lie, it's tough. Having a child certainly helps me focus on the positive, but my heart aches for my kitties. Lord knows what a mess I'll be when my dogs reach that age. Ugh, see, that's what I mean. I hate when I start thinking like that.
Well the holidays are soon upon us and it will be time to take stock in the many blessings we still have. Holy crap, that sounded cheesier than a Hallmark card. Apologies.
But seriously, I'm determined to have a good Christmas. For starters, having this be my first Christmas with a kid is pretty exciting. I've never been one to ooh and aah over cute kiddy outfits but it's different if it's your own cute kid that you're outfitting. Second, having a child imediately absolves me of any cooking or hosting responsibilities, in my mind. I may string some lights and throw some Pillsbury biscuits in the oven. No one should count on me for much more than that. Third, my husband and I are actually in a position to hook our closest family and friends up with decent gifts this year. It will feel really good to give back, especially considering all the help we've received rennovating our home and babysitting our child.
So long as no more animals die and no one decides to tell me I need to make the Christmas ham, we'll be all good here.
Speaking of Google, has anyone tried Wave? I got an invite, took one look at it, and said, "Uh, no." The truth of the matter is: I'm unpopular. And I don't mean that in a "Guess I'll go eat worms..." kind of way, it's just that, I'm a stay-at-home mom (on the baby boards, we call ourselves SAHM's, because we're so busy between feedings, changings, and burpings, that we have created an accronym for everything.) for part of the week, and I work part-time for the rest. My friends are my coworkers, and besides our shifts together we don't see much of each other because they, too, have pressing obligations outside of work. Maybe I'll give Google Wave a little more time though before deciding whether it's worthwhile. Although I have a feeling it will have the same fate as my Twitter account: Floating off somewhere in cyberspace, user name and password long-forgotten.
Now that I've openned with that light-hearted but boring detail about my life, on to more depressing issues.
We lost another kitty this week.
We knew he was sick from the beginning, infected probably at birth with the feline leukemia virus. For the most part, these kittens, when found by or brought in to a shelter, are put down. We kept this kitten, and immunized the other two. He started showing signs of being ill not long after our Mia (who passed away early October) came down with pancreatitis. At first we were told it was allergies, and given an antihistamine that rendered him a useless lump of a cat. So we took him off of it and brought him back to the vet because his symptoms - coughing and wheezing - didn't subside. "Might be asthma," said the more optomistic of the two Dr's at the clinic. So we put him on a mild steroid and witnessed noticable improvement. But then he took a sudden downturn, losing weight, becoming listless once again, and developing an abscess on his rear. It turns out he had a blood parasite which, due to the virus, he couldn't fight off. We were going to take him this past Monday morning to be euthanized but he didn't even make it to crate.
I try not to be that downer who only looks at the negative events in her life, not only further depressing herself but everyone around her, but I'm not going to lie, it's tough. Having a child certainly helps me focus on the positive, but my heart aches for my kitties. Lord knows what a mess I'll be when my dogs reach that age. Ugh, see, that's what I mean. I hate when I start thinking like that.
Well the holidays are soon upon us and it will be time to take stock in the many blessings we still have. Holy crap, that sounded cheesier than a Hallmark card. Apologies.
But seriously, I'm determined to have a good Christmas. For starters, having this be my first Christmas with a kid is pretty exciting. I've never been one to ooh and aah over cute kiddy outfits but it's different if it's your own cute kid that you're outfitting. Second, having a child imediately absolves me of any cooking or hosting responsibilities, in my mind. I may string some lights and throw some Pillsbury biscuits in the oven. No one should count on me for much more than that. Third, my husband and I are actually in a position to hook our closest family and friends up with decent gifts this year. It will feel really good to give back, especially considering all the help we've received rennovating our home and babysitting our child.
So long as no more animals die and no one decides to tell me I need to make the Christmas ham, we'll be all good here.
the last of the missing blogs
11/11/2009
I had this big plan to get started on a big, ambitious, training plan that would have me shattering my PR's in no time...
... it's so not happenin'.
Now that's not to say I haven't been running or working out semi-regularly. I have. I'm running, going to spin classes that whoop my butt, and doing intense cardiovascular efforts on the elliptical. I can whip out a 7-minute mile if I have to, although probably only one. But I'm sure I'm not the only first-time mom to discover that getting on a training schedule and actually finding time to stick to it are two completely different games.
Ah.. parenthood.
So I'm implementing a new plan. A very non-planish plan. It involves running whenever I can, breaking out the Baby Trend Expedition jogger that I found for a steal on Craigslist (Yesssss), and making the most of every effort, every time. My easy miles will surely be the ones with the child in tow. I'll do fartleks on the treadmill when crappy weather forces me indoors. And if the gym's nursery is closed AND there's a monsoon outside, I'll go old-school with some Burpees in my living room (after burping my daughter, so that she can sit in the swing and watch mommy get her Jane Fonda on).
Something about this new free-style approach to running appeals to me. I no longer feel any sense of anxiety when I head out the door without my ipod or my watch. I'm content to just run and I don't need a second hand or 90's alternative to distract me from the task at hand. I love my child and nothing in this world can replace the heady, blissful feeling of being a mom, but, I could sometimes do without the constant schlepping of diaper bags and cumbersome strollers. Running is my chance to do that.
So no more logging miles for me. Each day I run (when I can), I'll just try to do a little more than the time before. That's goal enough for me.
I had this big plan to get started on a big, ambitious, training plan that would have me shattering my PR's in no time...
... it's so not happenin'.
Now that's not to say I haven't been running or working out semi-regularly. I have. I'm running, going to spin classes that whoop my butt, and doing intense cardiovascular efforts on the elliptical. I can whip out a 7-minute mile if I have to, although probably only one. But I'm sure I'm not the only first-time mom to discover that getting on a training schedule and actually finding time to stick to it are two completely different games.
Ah.. parenthood.
So I'm implementing a new plan. A very non-planish plan. It involves running whenever I can, breaking out the Baby Trend Expedition jogger that I found for a steal on Craigslist (Yesssss), and making the most of every effort, every time. My easy miles will surely be the ones with the child in tow. I'll do fartleks on the treadmill when crappy weather forces me indoors. And if the gym's nursery is closed AND there's a monsoon outside, I'll go old-school with some Burpees in my living room (after burping my daughter, so that she can sit in the swing and watch mommy get her Jane Fonda on).
Something about this new free-style approach to running appeals to me. I no longer feel any sense of anxiety when I head out the door without my ipod or my watch. I'm content to just run and I don't need a second hand or 90's alternative to distract me from the task at hand. I love my child and nothing in this world can replace the heady, blissful feeling of being a mom, but, I could sometimes do without the constant schlepping of diaper bags and cumbersome strollers. Running is my chance to do that.
So no more logging miles for me. Each day I run (when I can), I'll just try to do a little more than the time before. That's goal enough for me.
another lost entry
10/6/2009
I had meant to write a couple weeks ago about my first run postpartum - an overly ambitious but exhilarating 4-miler that I felt for the next 3 days - but then life happened. Yet another lesson of motherhood.
First, after a glance at a checking account balance with a big fat negative sign in front of it, I headed back to work. Nothing like serving to use up the rest of the energy you don't having after taking care of a newborn and trying to squeeze in a few workouts a week. It's not all bad, however. The time outside of the house interacting with other adults is somewhat refreshing. It reminds me that I'm more than my daughter's milkmaid.
Next, came a surprise visit from friends. They had driven 14 hours to see me, when I had thought they wouldn't be able to visit until the spring. I certainly enjoyed the company, and they did their best to lend a hand with meals and watching my daughter so I could put my feet up (or down, as it were, for the occasional walk or jog). But when you're running off to your bedroom every 2 hours to feed an always-hungry child, the novelty of having company can wear out real quick! My friends stayed for just the right amount of time - 3 1/2 days - after which I was not only grateful to return to work after caring for an overstimulated baby, but happy just to have the house to myself (I enjoy peeing without worrying if the bathroom door is latched).
The most recent interruption to my blogging and running efforts was the saddest; the passing of one of our beloved furry family members, a cat named Mia. She was our "Sweet Kitty" (the other two are Dominc aka "Fatass" and Nico aka "A--hole"). She had struggled with what we thought was pancreatitis, only to suffer a sudden decline in health despite giving her antibiotics and changing her diet. It turns out she may have actually had pancreatic cancer. Not being able to afford kitty-chemo (and not having an guarantee that it would have helped), we sadly said goodbye to her yesterday.
All of this leaves me wishing I had spent more time cherishing the days I could just step out the door and go run. I'm perfectly fine with running taking a back seat until my child is in preschool, but I still wish I had enjoyed it more when I didn't have to think twice about hitting the pavement for a 7-miler. But now there are so many things to think about; is my daughter well-fed? Do I have enough milk thawed for the sitter? Have I given all the animals their meds (Mia was not our only health-challenged animal)? Should I put my daughter in a clean outfit? Is there enough clean laundry - somewhere - if she needs to be changed again?
I have to cherish the simple moments as they come now, and not let them slip by in my impatience to get out for a run. I just keep hoping that one or two jaunts a week will be enough for my legs to remember what to do when I am ready to go out a little bit more, a little bit faster, and with fewer worries on my mind.
I had meant to write a couple weeks ago about my first run postpartum - an overly ambitious but exhilarating 4-miler that I felt for the next 3 days - but then life happened. Yet another lesson of motherhood.
First, after a glance at a checking account balance with a big fat negative sign in front of it, I headed back to work. Nothing like serving to use up the rest of the energy you don't having after taking care of a newborn and trying to squeeze in a few workouts a week. It's not all bad, however. The time outside of the house interacting with other adults is somewhat refreshing. It reminds me that I'm more than my daughter's milkmaid.
Next, came a surprise visit from friends. They had driven 14 hours to see me, when I had thought they wouldn't be able to visit until the spring. I certainly enjoyed the company, and they did their best to lend a hand with meals and watching my daughter so I could put my feet up (or down, as it were, for the occasional walk or jog). But when you're running off to your bedroom every 2 hours to feed an always-hungry child, the novelty of having company can wear out real quick! My friends stayed for just the right amount of time - 3 1/2 days - after which I was not only grateful to return to work after caring for an overstimulated baby, but happy just to have the house to myself (I enjoy peeing without worrying if the bathroom door is latched).
The most recent interruption to my blogging and running efforts was the saddest; the passing of one of our beloved furry family members, a cat named Mia. She was our "Sweet Kitty" (the other two are Dominc aka "Fatass" and Nico aka "A--hole"). She had struggled with what we thought was pancreatitis, only to suffer a sudden decline in health despite giving her antibiotics and changing her diet. It turns out she may have actually had pancreatic cancer. Not being able to afford kitty-chemo (and not having an guarantee that it would have helped), we sadly said goodbye to her yesterday.
All of this leaves me wishing I had spent more time cherishing the days I could just step out the door and go run. I'm perfectly fine with running taking a back seat until my child is in preschool, but I still wish I had enjoyed it more when I didn't have to think twice about hitting the pavement for a 7-miler. But now there are so many things to think about; is my daughter well-fed? Do I have enough milk thawed for the sitter? Have I given all the animals their meds (Mia was not our only health-challenged animal)? Should I put my daughter in a clean outfit? Is there enough clean laundry - somewhere - if she needs to be changed again?
I have to cherish the simple moments as they come now, and not let them slip by in my impatience to get out for a run. I just keep hoping that one or two jaunts a week will be enough for my legs to remember what to do when I am ready to go out a little bit more, a little bit faster, and with fewer worries on my mind.
too lazy to back-date my entries
9/6/2009
While running is still out of the question this soon after my cesarean, I decided that once I hit the one-month mark I would have to go to the gym. For my body. For my sanity. So what do I do the morning of my much-anticipated return to regular workouts? Jam my pinky toe, causing it to do a split in a direction that toes just don't bend.
This, I considered, might be lesson #48 in learning to cope with the unexpected. You can keep yourself as fit and healthy as possible, but it won't guarantee an easy labor. You can psyche yourself up for your first hard workout in months, but get sidelined on your way there. You just have to deal with the hand you're dealt, no matter how frustrated you feel.
I couldn't do the workout I'd planned for the elliptical so I got on a spin bike instead. I couldn't so much as walk my dogs without causing my poor lil' toe more pain so I supplemented with squats and deadlifts. And as far as running is concerned- it's still possible for me at some point in the future, but exactly when is still uncertain. I'm not really okay with that, but I have to be.
While I'm waiting to transform my body back to it's pre-pregnancy level of fitness, I am undergoing a transition of another kind. This time last year, I was closing in on the final weeks before my second marathon. My goal was to run 8-minute splits for most of the race, and training to do so was the only thing that was important to me. If my running schedule got messed up due to work or family commitments, I'd go nuts. That doesn't - and can't - happen anymore. I will definitely run more marathons, but I'll have to be more flexible with my scheduling. It will be a balancing act; one that will require as much training as the race itself. All of my lofty running ambitions will be set aside as I attempt to reach just one goal: to be runner and a mom.
Scratch that, to be a mom and a runner.
While running is still out of the question this soon after my cesarean, I decided that once I hit the one-month mark I would have to go to the gym. For my body. For my sanity. So what do I do the morning of my much-anticipated return to regular workouts? Jam my pinky toe, causing it to do a split in a direction that toes just don't bend.
This, I considered, might be lesson #48 in learning to cope with the unexpected. You can keep yourself as fit and healthy as possible, but it won't guarantee an easy labor. You can psyche yourself up for your first hard workout in months, but get sidelined on your way there. You just have to deal with the hand you're dealt, no matter how frustrated you feel.
I couldn't do the workout I'd planned for the elliptical so I got on a spin bike instead. I couldn't so much as walk my dogs without causing my poor lil' toe more pain so I supplemented with squats and deadlifts. And as far as running is concerned- it's still possible for me at some point in the future, but exactly when is still uncertain. I'm not really okay with that, but I have to be.
While I'm waiting to transform my body back to it's pre-pregnancy level of fitness, I am undergoing a transition of another kind. This time last year, I was closing in on the final weeks before my second marathon. My goal was to run 8-minute splits for most of the race, and training to do so was the only thing that was important to me. If my running schedule got messed up due to work or family commitments, I'd go nuts. That doesn't - and can't - happen anymore. I will definitely run more marathons, but I'll have to be more flexible with my scheduling. It will be a balancing act; one that will require as much training as the race itself. All of my lofty running ambitions will be set aside as I attempt to reach just one goal: to be runner and a mom.
Scratch that, to be a mom and a runner.
3 months of missing blogs
Holy crap this thing is still here. Whoops. Here are some missing blogs (from my Loop blog on runnersworld.com)
8/27/2009
Running and I used to have quite a thing for each other. More than a fling, but not quite a marriage, it was a reliable if not always consistent relationship. At times it developed into a full-blown infatuation; I allowed running to completely dictate my every move. Other times it was nothing more than a fleeting thought, on the back burner of someone else's stove.
This is one of those other times.
The rhythmic sound of perfectly worn soles on concrete sidewalks is replaced by the "click, swoosh," of a baby swing. The pace that could stir up a breeze on the most humid of days has slowed to an overly cautious stroll. Training guides and inspirational running novels collect dust on the bookshelf while breastfeeding manuals and "Parents" magazines pile up all over our living room. I knew this is how my priorities would shift during my pregnancy and recently, the arrival of our daughter, but I didn't not expect to feel this sense of hopelessness toward running. It feels as though we've broken up.
I had a relatively easy pregnancy so I was able to run through about 6 months or so, after which the way I was carrying made running unbearably uncomfortable. I maintained my fitness with the elliptical and spinning until the end of my 7th month, after which my job as a server provided me with more than enough physical activity. I went on long, hilly walks and hikes the days I didn't work to maintain some strength in my legs and to prevent those dreaded "cankles." Somewhere in my naive mind, I suspected it would only be a matter of a few weeks after giving birth that I'd not only be running again, but I'd almost certainly be doing a tempo run or speedwork. What did I get for all of that optimism? A Cesarean delivery that, 3 weeks later, leaves me aching if I so much as get up wrong, let alone attempt to move faster than 2.5 miles per hour.
So where does this leave me and running? I haven't the slightest idea. Asking other women in online forums when they resumed their workout routines after a c-section hasn't been helpful, because there's always at least 4 or 5 women who chime in about their gruesome mishaps. "I sneezed when I was 15 days postpartum and ripped myself apart!!! Don't do ANYTHING!!!" Any other advice sounds like a broken record; "Take it easy... listen to your body... you're a mom so running isn't important..." I don't even know why I bothered asking other women when really, I just want to fast-forward a few months and get a glimpse of my future self. Will I be sane? Will I be fit? Will running and I have found our way back together?
Right now, I know it's just not going to happen. Nothing would be worse than to be too hasty returning to any type of training and as a result, injuring myself beyond repair. If I want running to be something more than a memory, I have to spend a little more time accepting that it's only a memory for now. Perhaps this isn't a breakup, but only a break. No need to burn photographs or pawn any jewelry yet.
8/27/2009
Running and I used to have quite a thing for each other. More than a fling, but not quite a marriage, it was a reliable if not always consistent relationship. At times it developed into a full-blown infatuation; I allowed running to completely dictate my every move. Other times it was nothing more than a fleeting thought, on the back burner of someone else's stove.
This is one of those other times.
The rhythmic sound of perfectly worn soles on concrete sidewalks is replaced by the "click, swoosh," of a baby swing. The pace that could stir up a breeze on the most humid of days has slowed to an overly cautious stroll. Training guides and inspirational running novels collect dust on the bookshelf while breastfeeding manuals and "Parents" magazines pile up all over our living room. I knew this is how my priorities would shift during my pregnancy and recently, the arrival of our daughter, but I didn't not expect to feel this sense of hopelessness toward running. It feels as though we've broken up.
I had a relatively easy pregnancy so I was able to run through about 6 months or so, after which the way I was carrying made running unbearably uncomfortable. I maintained my fitness with the elliptical and spinning until the end of my 7th month, after which my job as a server provided me with more than enough physical activity. I went on long, hilly walks and hikes the days I didn't work to maintain some strength in my legs and to prevent those dreaded "cankles." Somewhere in my naive mind, I suspected it would only be a matter of a few weeks after giving birth that I'd not only be running again, but I'd almost certainly be doing a tempo run or speedwork. What did I get for all of that optimism? A Cesarean delivery that, 3 weeks later, leaves me aching if I so much as get up wrong, let alone attempt to move faster than 2.5 miles per hour.
So where does this leave me and running? I haven't the slightest idea. Asking other women in online forums when they resumed their workout routines after a c-section hasn't been helpful, because there's always at least 4 or 5 women who chime in about their gruesome mishaps. "I sneezed when I was 15 days postpartum and ripped myself apart!!! Don't do ANYTHING!!!" Any other advice sounds like a broken record; "Take it easy... listen to your body... you're a mom so running isn't important..." I don't even know why I bothered asking other women when really, I just want to fast-forward a few months and get a glimpse of my future self. Will I be sane? Will I be fit? Will running and I have found our way back together?
Right now, I know it's just not going to happen. Nothing would be worse than to be too hasty returning to any type of training and as a result, injuring myself beyond repair. If I want running to be something more than a memory, I have to spend a little more time accepting that it's only a memory for now. Perhaps this isn't a breakup, but only a break. No need to burn photographs or pawn any jewelry yet.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
almost there and not quite
9 weeks.
For me, 9 weeks means 6, because after 6 weeks, I have to be ready for anything to happen at any moment.
Even if I go late, I know at this point that I can't be lulled into a false sense of security, like we often do with other projects and deadlines. Nine weeks feels like plenty of time, but this isn't like preparing for a paper that I can write in 24 hours, or cramming for a final exam. Every step I take towards preparing for Alexis' arrival reveals at least 3 more things that need to get done. This leads me to believe that no amount of work accomplished will actually help me feel like I've completed anything, because also unlike preparing for a project, everything we do is a means to a beginning, not an end.
And then there's the physical aspect of the whole thing. She's in there, right now, bouncing around on my bladder and kicking my ribs. From time to time she'll stretch, making my belly bulge and contort. Pretty soon, she'll be wiggling and kicking and stretching but she'll be in my arms, for me to see; a real human being. No longer tucked away as a passenger, she'll be vulnerable and exposed. We're going to be the only things between her and the rest of the world, responsible for introducing her to it, but protecting her from it at the same time.
I know we'll be ready. There isn't much choice in that matter anymore, is there? But I do still feel some conflicting emotions, mostly centered around the dichotomy between the rolls I've possessed and the roll I will soon fulfill. I know, in reality, that being a mom does not mean I will stop being anything else - especially not when it comes to my marriage or my running - but for a little while, at least, doing the best I can at this new roll will be my one and only focus. I don't exactly feel like a mom just yet, but I figure that will come soon enough....
For me, 9 weeks means 6, because after 6 weeks, I have to be ready for anything to happen at any moment.
Even if I go late, I know at this point that I can't be lulled into a false sense of security, like we often do with other projects and deadlines. Nine weeks feels like plenty of time, but this isn't like preparing for a paper that I can write in 24 hours, or cramming for a final exam. Every step I take towards preparing for Alexis' arrival reveals at least 3 more things that need to get done. This leads me to believe that no amount of work accomplished will actually help me feel like I've completed anything, because also unlike preparing for a project, everything we do is a means to a beginning, not an end.
And then there's the physical aspect of the whole thing. She's in there, right now, bouncing around on my bladder and kicking my ribs. From time to time she'll stretch, making my belly bulge and contort. Pretty soon, she'll be wiggling and kicking and stretching but she'll be in my arms, for me to see; a real human being. No longer tucked away as a passenger, she'll be vulnerable and exposed. We're going to be the only things between her and the rest of the world, responsible for introducing her to it, but protecting her from it at the same time.
I know we'll be ready. There isn't much choice in that matter anymore, is there? But I do still feel some conflicting emotions, mostly centered around the dichotomy between the rolls I've possessed and the roll I will soon fulfill. I know, in reality, that being a mom does not mean I will stop being anything else - especially not when it comes to my marriage or my running - but for a little while, at least, doing the best I can at this new roll will be my one and only focus. I don't exactly feel like a mom just yet, but I figure that will come soon enough....
Thursday, April 9, 2009
the time-honored art of pregnancy and paranoia
What did women do before we had doctors to scare us into doing nothing more than lay on the sofa, watching our bellies expand?
Now, granted, the infant survival rate has increased exponentially with the technological advances in the neonatal medical community, but some of the stuff doctors tell us to do (or, I should say not to do) during our 40-week gestation has me wondering how the human species even survived before some of these rules were in place.
About once a week, a woman shares her concerns on the women's forum at Runnersworld.com that she would not be able to work out - at all - during her pregnancy because she has a doctor who thinks no pregnant woman should run. Forget the fact that she's been running for 14 years. Forget the fact that she's had no pain, no spotting, or any other indication that something is "not right," and therefor shouldn't run. Forget the fact that in 2002, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology released new guidelines for exercise during pregnancy stating that all pregnant women, provided the absence of any complications, should accumulate 30 minutes of moderate exercise every day.
I mean, anyone who can type "g-o-o-g-l-e" can find a wealth of information that will tell her that exercise during pregnancy is not only safe, it's recommended. At my last appointment, I was instructed not to drink any coffee or our little girl would be moving around to much to be able to tell that she was, well, a girl. Without my morning buzz, my blood pressure was 90/60. Gestational diabetes and hypertension are still too common during pregnancy, especially with women who start out overweight to begin with. Why on earth would a doctor discourage any sort of activity? Maybe she shouldn't run if she's never run a step in her life, but those same doctors that think running is a no-no also think exceeding 140 beats per minute is also dangerous.
FYI, if you are already in decent shape, 140 bpm is a jog. It's a brisk walk up a very steep hill. You might break a sweat, but you're breathing just fine. And if you're in decent shape but pregnant, you experience spikes in heart rate that get you up to that 140 bpm much faster than normal, although the perceived effort is no more or less. It's just your heart working harder to deliver more blood to the creature in your uterus.
I know I've been on this soapbox before (possibly even in this blog but I'm pregnant, I forget things easily), but it just amazes me the lack of legitimate information some doctors continue to practice on. I understand not taking aspirin or sharing a beverage with my husband... but don't take my exercise away.
Now, granted, the infant survival rate has increased exponentially with the technological advances in the neonatal medical community, but some of the stuff doctors tell us to do (or, I should say not to do) during our 40-week gestation has me wondering how the human species even survived before some of these rules were in place.
About once a week, a woman shares her concerns on the women's forum at Runnersworld.com that she would not be able to work out - at all - during her pregnancy because she has a doctor who thinks no pregnant woman should run. Forget the fact that she's been running for 14 years. Forget the fact that she's had no pain, no spotting, or any other indication that something is "not right," and therefor shouldn't run. Forget the fact that in 2002, the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecology released new guidelines for exercise during pregnancy stating that all pregnant women, provided the absence of any complications, should accumulate 30 minutes of moderate exercise every day.
I mean, anyone who can type "g-o-o-g-l-e" can find a wealth of information that will tell her that exercise during pregnancy is not only safe, it's recommended. At my last appointment, I was instructed not to drink any coffee or our little girl would be moving around to much to be able to tell that she was, well, a girl. Without my morning buzz, my blood pressure was 90/60. Gestational diabetes and hypertension are still too common during pregnancy, especially with women who start out overweight to begin with. Why on earth would a doctor discourage any sort of activity? Maybe she shouldn't run if she's never run a step in her life, but those same doctors that think running is a no-no also think exceeding 140 beats per minute is also dangerous.
FYI, if you are already in decent shape, 140 bpm is a jog. It's a brisk walk up a very steep hill. You might break a sweat, but you're breathing just fine. And if you're in decent shape but pregnant, you experience spikes in heart rate that get you up to that 140 bpm much faster than normal, although the perceived effort is no more or less. It's just your heart working harder to deliver more blood to the creature in your uterus.
I know I've been on this soapbox before (possibly even in this blog but I'm pregnant, I forget things easily), but it just amazes me the lack of legitimate information some doctors continue to practice on. I understand not taking aspirin or sharing a beverage with my husband... but don't take my exercise away.
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