"Jillian Michaels wouldn't eat prime rib."

So says my coworker to me as I scarf the meal a manager bought me for helping the restaurant nearly sell out of the delicious carnivorous concoction (making it so our kitchen manager would not pitch a fit the next morning for having too much left over).

I thought, why wouldn't she eat prime rib?

I mean, that girl has got to burn the calories to justify it. Lord knows I do, between doing her workouts, running, spinning, and whatever other activity sparks my interest from one week to the next. Oh yeah, and serving, which is estimated at 400kcal/hour, or something like that. The trick is not to stop and eat the fries every time you pass by the expo.

My coworker's comment has me thinking, though, about practicing what I preach and being what I eat. I certainly don't want to LOOK like a regular to the meat n' potatoes counter at the buffet. And I CAN truthfully say that a basket of strawberries, a bunch of bananas, and whatever other fruits we have on hand barely last 3 days between the daughter and me. I love me some roasted asparagus, I can cook fish well enough to include that on the menu at home, and I tend to avoid buying crap (no Oreos, potato chips, or frozen chicken tenders here).

As I move forward with my training in the field of health and fitness, I do realize, however, that I have to be more mindful of these things. I certainly can't tell clients or students to do as I say and not as I do. Because the truth of the matter is, I AM human, I DO eat fries. So I'm a big fan of the 90/10 rule: Eat as well as you can, 90% of the time. Or, of the 10 or so times you eat over the course of two days - counting each meal and two snacks per day - one of those can be whatever you want so long as the rest are balanced.

And just so you know, I did order asparagus with my prime rib!

Burgers, boogers and bikes.

Burgers

Where I work is kinda pricy. It's downtown Atlanta and - big shocker - we make our food in house. Said priciness is noted on a menu posted outside our front door. So when people come in and are all confused by the tiny numbers next to each menu *item, I can tell that things are off to a **fantastic start.

*If I were as obnoxious and blunt as some of the people I have the pleasure of waiting on can be, the conversation would go something like this:

"What are all these numbers? Why do some things have 2 different numbers??"

"Those are our prices. Some items have a different price for the beef and the bison."

"Oh. I thought they were something else."

"Like what? What else could a number next to a menu item mean?" 

"Well, that means this burger is FIFTEEN dollars???"

"Dorothy, you're not in McDonald's anymore."

**Sarcasm. By "fantastic start," I mean, "guaranteed 5% tip."

Boogers

Colds suck. Especially seeing your little all gooped up and not able to breathe. Kids are resilient, though, and somehow bounce back a million times faster than their sissy parents. Case in point: Me. She's having me chase her down at Trader Joe's to keep her from knocking over cases of wine with her mini shopping cart, and I'm sore from head to toe because this cold has caused my workouts to take a greater toll on me. Not the best week to try to increase the frequency of my resistance and core workouts. It still hurts to laugh or cough. She's still singing along to Curious George, and I'm slouching on the sofa because it feels like I've been punched in the face.

Bikes (and feet, and cardio studios)

I powered through the cold because I still felt OK enough to get in some decent workouts. I'm really working on stepping up my game to increase strength and speed, but I need to get back to taking other instructors' classes as much as I'm in the gym teaching my own. This was a point the person instructing a seminar I attended made; something I'd forgotten about since jumping up to the front of the room to become the leader. I think back to Lisl and Nicole, two powerfully inspirational and influential women at the gym I belonged to in South Carolina, and how much I looked to them to find my own drive to dig deeper and push harder. I also thought about how exciting it was when they'd tag-team-teach, or show up to take each other's classes. While I'm looking for ways to keep people coming to my class, I need to go to the other classes they may be attending and work out with them, too. Also, I forgot how nice it is to not have to think about anything and to let someone ELSE do all the talking!

Things I've been doing while not blogging...

*Making 5-minute attempts to catch up on everyone else's blogs, especially this amazing woman's. You should give it a read. I suggest starting HERE and reading the next few posts that follow. In a funk? Not sure you want to work out? Let this blog cure you of your don't-wanna-go's.

*Making feeble attempts to keep up with my own running between work, spin classes, and playing house. I've got this 10K on July 4th to focus on/worry about. I can run 6 miles in my sleep, but I want - or wanted - to work on my speed and, well, I just don't know if that 45-minute mark is so feasible. Of course, there's the whole crowd thing, too. I've NEVER run around this many people before. Over 50,000 last year. Multiple, multiple start waves. Maybe I can consider it preparation for if I ever want to run Chicago or Boston.

*Work. I mentioned work, right? Still 5 shifts most weeks, which is great and all (especially in "today's economy"... aren't you sick of people saying that?), except for those pesky double shifts that occupy an entire Saturday yet for some reason, are so slow I'm barely waiting on one table an hour. And because it's so hot out, no one really wants to eat anyway, so they're all splitting salads and sharing lemonades. Ugh. The best part is before noon, when I see people running and cycling by before downtown traffic gets heavy. It's like they're going by on purpose, just to rub it in that they're out there, feeling the breeze (even if it IS an 85-degree breeze) and breaking a sweat, whereas my perspiration only comes from having a white oxford shirt buttoned up to my neck.

*Spinning. Each week is different, but I think I'm getting some regulars. Still working on getting people to respond to my attempts to light a fire under their asses to push a little harder and sweat a little more, but a few of those wheels start spinning a little faster when I get loud. I'm just trying to find that line between motivation and annoyance and make sure I don't cross it while also making sure that people are really getting a workout. I'm not gonna lie, it's a little disheartening when I look up and see people pushing at the same cadence for 50 minutes, without so much as a flicker of determination in their faces. I'll be attending an indoor cycling training seminar this months, which I hope will provide me with some new motivation tactics in addition to new exercises and training tools.

*Watching the toddler grow. 2 months until 2. TWO. Running, climbing, jumping in the pool with floaties on, starting to play pretend, obsessed with Curious George and Little Einsteins, highly opinionated; all things that I find absolutely adorable and awe-inspiring, as I watch this little person blossom before my eyes, yet all things that remind me all too clearly just how fast those baby days go by.

*Bargaining with the Hubs about a #2. Not now, not a year from now. Maybe 2 years from now, when big sister is off to preschool and hardly in need of all the attention and affections I'm still itching to bestow upon her. I'm just waiting for her dad to be on the same page. He's convinced we don't need another, and even more certain he doesn't want one more. I'm just gonna sit tight and wait for him to change his mind. I have a feeling it will be the first time he tries to move in for a hug, and she squirms away, rolling her eyes, saying, "Puhleeze, Dad. I'm pah-laying. Go. Away." Maybe then.

For now, I'm sure he doesn't need to worry about me springing another one on him. If I can't even find the time to chronicle my semi-interesting thoughts on a regular basis, I know I'm not ready to juggle multiple children on top of everything else.

oh crap

I'm way behind on this thing. Something interesting to come soon, I'm sure.

spring cleaning, cont'd

This week, I've got this to focus on. Project #1 from last week was a bit of a hassle, but I got it done... sort of. I think the writer wanted readers to start with a clean wardrobe. That didn't happen because I can never seem to get out of the laundry gutter, as I like to call it, where I always have like 3 loads of laundry to do at any given time. Readers were also instructed to take "before" and "after" pictures of our closets, but that was just asking too much from this slacker. Besides which, all you'd see in my pictures would be my complete lack of a respectable closet.

But still, I cleaned out the crap, found a ton of clothes to donate, and got my closet to the point where I can find what I'm looking for and hang things back up with ease. Yay!

So, compared to the closet, tackling paper clutter isn't that big of a deal. I actually try not to let junk mail and old bills pile up from month to month.

Fortunately, I'm kind of wiped out with a nasty cold this week, so my working out is at a minimum and I can do things like *trying* to create a neat, organized, clutter-free home. I can't imagine I'd be very good at this cleaning thing if I was out running every day. My goal is to get this house in good working order so that in a couple weeks, I can head out every day and not worry that I'm leaving a mountain of chores behind to have to deal with at the end of the day.

I don't know about anyone else, but I have a hard time even enjoying my runs when I know the Stinky Clothes Monster (or, my husband's hamper) is waiting for me when I get back. And I have yet to know what it feels like to have a day where I don't see anything that needs to be done. It's actually kind of annoying.

My husband couldn't care less. When I work on the weekends, the house all but explodes and he's just watching Speed TV after the daughter goes to bed without a care in the world. How do men do that- just turn off their peripheral vision and ignore the messes surrounding them?

Well, since I can't do that, I've got blogs instructing me on all things house-wifey.

Cleaning up my act.

I've never been an orgainized person and I've always been a procrastinator. While I always manage to get the big shit taken care of, like final reports or putting cribs together in time, it's the day-to-day I struggle with.

Keeping my kitchen and its one square foot of counterspace workably clear.

Starting laundry and actually getting clothes folded and back in my dresser or closet in the same day.

Finding a sensible location for our keys, sunglasses, wallets and various bags that we'll actually return those items to upon arriving home (so that it doesn't take half an hour to find everything the next time we go out).

Mail. Like, bothering to open it, let alone sort it and eventually, throw away the junk we don't need. If it weren't for online bill pay options, we'd be in serious trouble because seriously, who even deals with mail anymore?

Miraculously, I actually keep things clean. I dust, vacuum, wash dishes and disinfect the counters (when clear). I clean up after myself when my meal explodes in the microwave and I scrub toilets. These are NOT habits I took from my home growing up, but because I grew up in a messy house, I knew I didn't want bad habits to spill over (literally, and figuratively) into my adult years. Organizing, however, is a completely different game. It involves not throwing things on the first convenient shelf or stuffing crap into drawers, which, right now, pretty much constitutes "cleaning up" for me.

So that's why I'm going to jump on this bandwagon.

There's an element of accountability with before and after pictures, managable deadlines, plus, I work better when I actually have an assignment. I run with a goal race in mind, I plan my day around the places I need to be and when I need to be there, but when it comes to orgainzing my home... well, "eventually" just never comes. Knowing I need to get something done by Friday, though. Well that I think I can do.

What a Saturday should feel like

Don't forget to give yourself a day. This is what I learned from today, a relatively easy Saturday, for once.

Last Saturday I attended an 8:00 AM restaurant meeting, followed by a double shift with no break because, ya know, people needed to eat. No problem- I figure 14 hours on my feet counts as something toward training or fitness maintenance. But it doesn't make me miss taking advantage of my weekends for getting outdoors any less. And that kind of positive thinking about my job can only carry me so far when I work weekend after weekend after weekend of double shifts, such as what happened in the month of January and some of February, too.

So I decided, with this new gig as an indoor cycling instructor, I'd whittle down my availability at work to exclude Sundays. Money's good, but sanity is better.

Today, I got to work (just lunch), work out (just me and a bike, no class), shower (not in a rush to get clean before the gym daycare closes), AND go OUT for dinner (not scramble to put together some sort of piecemeal, random-ass meal).

And I get to sleep in tomorrow?! What??

Seriously, folks. If you don't have the time to give yourself, make it. You'll thank yourself later. Your health, happiness, and well-being are worth SO much more than any day's to-do list.

born freeeeeeeeeeeee

I took a little vay-cay from the jogger for the past couple months because I was just tired of pushing the damn thing. Also, my increasingly outspoken child went through a fun little phase where I couldn't pass anything that resembled a playground or swing set without screaming at me to stop, thus adding half an hour to an hour to our route during an already crunched time slot. Plus, gym daycare = interaction with other kiddies = sleepy toddler.

Well, spring starts in February in Georgia (gotta love that) and Atlanta was MADE for running. Sure, it's hilly, but there are so many parks, and sidewalks everywhere, and it's so beautiful and full of trees (there are laws to keep it that way, another cool thing about this city). I had to dust off the jogger after a short winter in the garage and make my child sit still for a little while so mommy could run, with the reward being - of course - the Mecca of toddler playgrounds.

There is just nothing better than setting out, leaving the watch and GPS at home, and enjoying an unusually warm and sunny day with my Mini-Me.

Sorry. And... I'm sorry. But there's just one thing I gotta say...

You know that girl who, just a few blog entries ago, was all "open your mind," and "see the silver lining" and "you have it so much better than the homeless lady?" Yeah, she's not here right now.

I have to apologize in advance because last night, something inside me snapped, and the first words out of my mouth when I arrived home were, "I'm tired of waiting on assholes."

If you're in a hurry or want to take your time, I've got you covered. I'll rush your well-done steak or I'll put a nice long hold on your 2-minute meatloaf. If you need a vegetarian-friendly version of our "Uebermeatydeluxbaconburger" I will consult with the kitchen and put something together for you. You ask me questions about flour and cornstarch, I know to ask if you  might have a gluten allergy. You tell me you're Jewish, I know to remind you the day's soup has sausage in it before letting you order it. I'm not some dumb blonde who screwed up in some part of her life and that's why I'm waiting tables instead of walking around with a briefcase and my thumb up my ass.

To summarize, I'm tired of being a good, kind, attentive, server who will accomodate your every request, and still getting treated/tipped like shit.

So here are a few guidelines from people OTHER than me (to prove I'm not just being selfish), just in case you're out to eat and you have any doubts as to what you're actually paying for:

From essortment.com: Server at a full-service restaurant – 15% to 20% of your total bill. If you’ve used a discount or received any free items, you should tip on the amount that your bill would have come to if you’d paid full price. If your party is large or placing many special requests, you should increase your tip appropriately.

From wikihow.com (in an article titled, wait for it, "How to Tip Your Sever"!): Tipping is obligatory in North America, because the waitstaff are often paid fairly low wages.

And: The general guideline is 20% for excellent service, 15% for solid service, and 10% for bad service. On average, people tip 18%. (I wish to note, "excellent" service should not mean I'm leaning forward with a shirt unbuttoned or giving you my number. It's not bad service just because you're 65, reek of alcohol, and I am not humoring your attempts at flirtation).

From tipping.org: Waiter or Waitress -- 15% to 20% of bill. If you receive excellent service or if it is a 4 star + restaurant or large parties, a 20% or greater tip is recommended.

So, again, I know I'm being a total hypocrite today, as I think back to what I posted a couple weeks ago, but after 2 weeks of barely being able to cover the cost of my babysitter with what I've earned, I've had about enough.

If you're traveling, you owe it to the people who wait on you to consider the TOTAL cost of going out to eat. None of this sticker-shock bullshit where you stiff the people taking care of you because you spent more than you intended.

Keep in mind, we (servers) often split a portion of our tips with the bartenders and foodrunners. When you tip me $2.50 on $75.56 (yes, I'm in a petty enough mood to remember the exact total of the bill), I have to tip out %1 of the total of each check to the food runner ($.76) and %2 to the bar ($1.52). Which means, I've made a whopping TWENTY-THREE CENTS for the hour you occupied my table.

And I mean, really? $2.50? Even if the entire tip was mine to keep, that's not even acceptable by Waffle-House standards.

Here's an idea. If you don't know how to tip, DON'T GO OUT TO EAT. You and your loose change aren't helping any of us pay our bills.

Again, sorry. Really had to get that off my chest. Hopefully this will be the last time I'll gripe and groan about my line of work. It is the life I chose, after all...

(But please share away. Share a link on the FB, or just keep me in mind when you're out to eat with your grouchy uncle who still tips like it's 1954.)

let's take a ride to the Motivation Station

Indoor cycling and group aerobics, from the instructor's standpoint, is kind of a mix between personal training and coaching. You've gotta know what you're doing to help clients achieve their fitness goals but in the larger group setting, you have to keep everyone going. It's never easy when you're leading a class and they start dropping like flies.

This didn't exactly happen to me, but going into this Tuesday evening class I can't help but feel I've got a little bit of an uphill battle ahead of me. The time slot I'm filling has gone without a regular teacher for months, I'm told, so attendance is already kind of low. So when a few people leave before class is over, I feel like I'm already doing something wrong. Add to that the fact that I'm new and things are, well... awkward.

I'm goofy. I like to hoot and holler. I like to push and grunt (dirty, I know). I've been to loud, crazy spin classes where the instructor yells, "GO!" and everyone jumps out of the saddle to get on a standing run and cheers! The classes I've taught so far have been reserved to the point that one would think we'd just arrived from a funeral.

Also, it's a Tuesday night. Not even half-way through the week. People generally don't enjoy Tuesdays.

So I need a little help.

What tools do you use to motivate others?

What have others said/done to really help push you?

Any cheesy song suggestions to get my class to crack a few smiles?

Perspective

This past weekend I waited on a group of six men from Holland who were in town for a farming convention. They had absolutely NO clue about the gratuity system in the United States (as in, the company pays my taxes, about $2.20/hour) and everything else I earn comes from tips and tips alone. And they really weren't just playing dumb. Like, they barely spoke English, but we all knew enough German (a bit different from Dutch) to make it work. But still, I didn't want to offend anyone by throwing out the old, "Hey, just so ya know... you gotta tip me..." because I HAVE run into a similar situation and the people I was waiting on then just gave me that Duh kind of look and said, "Ja, Vee know."

Anyway, these gentlemen, left me nothing. Not a blank receipt, not even the change to round up to the next whole dollar. Nothing but a blank book.

Their tab was $235.00. I was a little upset.

Meanwhile, at the front of the restaurant, an old homeless woman huddled in the corner, hiding behind a sign hoping that we wouldn't kick her out into the cold (it was in the 20's that night -- yes, in Atlanta). She didn't have a bunch of crap with her and didn't bother anyway, so the staff toward the front of the restaurant just let her be. But as the hours passed and she just stood there, they decided to invite her to sit and gave her a bowl of chili.

She stayed until we had to lock the doors and company policy required that only staff be allowed in the building. Before we had to gently ask her to leave, she quietly wandered toward the back of the store, found a broom, and proceeded to sweep. She wanted to do something in return for the chili.

Unfortunately, at this point, we really needed her to leave so all we could do was thank her and hope that she wouldn't freeze that night. That maybe, she had enough wits about her to try to get somewhere warm. We weren't sure that she did.

When I learned of all this, the lost tip seemed insignificant. I cut my losses and handed her some cash as I left and pleaded, "Please try to get somewhere warm tonight!" She seemed confused by this request, and muttered something in her crackly old voice that I couldn't understand. I don't know if she ever did get on a bus or train and make it to a shelter or anything, but I can only hope she did.

The realist in me knows that I can't be responsible for everyone out there who doesn't have a job or a roof over his or her head. But I have to remember that even when we have to budget and keep track of our expenses, we at least have something to budget with. I'm not going to start giving away my earnings to every less fortunate person I see, I can't pretend to be that generous. But next time the numbers come up short when I'm cashing out at the end of the night because of an ignorant table or two, I'm going to work really hard at being less concerned.

When you have immediate gratification for your hard work with a paycheck every week or cash in your pocket at the end of each shift, it's hard to put yourself into the shoes of someone who doesn't have that, either because they have to do a shit job for shit pay, or no one will give them the chance to work to begin with. Every dollar you earn is a dollar you didn't have before. Every kind gesture you can show others is a highlight to their day that they may have otherwise gone without.

The Obligatory Christmas Post

Then...

My fat, happy lump of a baby, posing for Christmas (or, just laying there because she can't escape).

She spent more time in arms and on laps than anything else, and passed out on my shoulder that evening before I could get her to her crib.

Now...

My fat, happy, hyperactive toddler needs a good deal of coaxing and distraction to get her into any pose. She no longer falls asleep on my shoulder or lap, and I'm sure she'll stay up as late as we'll let her this year.

About 10 seconds before screaming to let me allow her to run around the tree...



My hubby is pretty ambivalent about the season but I think having a toddler who reacts to the sights and sounds of the holiday makes it so much more special than it's been any other year. Sure, I got emo/sentimental about her first Christmas but it's this year that seems even more significant.

Now, we didn't do the Santa thing (she's already met one dude with an outa-control beard and I'm pretty certain she wouldn't sit on his lap). Call me selfish, but I just didn't want to deal with the screaming, germy, kids-cracked-out-on-sugar and moms-cracked-out-on-Starbucks insanity that is the scene at most American malls this time of year.

But we have had our share of walks to check out the neighbors' decorations, she's dismanteled helped with the tree a great deal, and as much as I pretend to bemoan the request every time she makes it, I love how she'll go, "Monkey? Monkey? Monkey. Monkey. MONKEY!" until I finally cave in and sing "The Christmas Monkey Song."

I just did a search for a video with no luck. All I can tell you is it took me 5 viewings to learn it and now I have to sing it until my voice caves. It's like 3 verses and 3 choruses and she knows how long the song should be so if I cut it short because we're in public, she calls me out. I'll spare your ears and not post a video of me singing it.

But I'm sure it'll be on repeat on Christmas Day.

What's your favorite Christmas song? Someone told me something yesterday about there being one about a rhinoceros. Let the You Tubing commence...

Happy Holidays!

Me vs. Christmas

Same battles, different year.
I say, "I'm gonna send cards!" Doesn't happen.
A year later, I say, "Now that I have a cute baby, I'm DEFINITELY going to send cards!" Doesn't happen.
This year, I say, "I'm going to FINALLY, REALLY send cards so people know I and my child do exist and are, in fact, still members of the family." Nope.

I say, "I'm going to plan and budget and get everyone a nice gift." I don't plan, don't budget, and people try to act happy about their cookies and socks.
A year later, immediate family agrees, "No one will buy anything over $40 for anyone else." Then, I get so much crap I'm in a funk of guilt and shame until June.
This year, we vow to only bestow unto others functional, thoughtful gifts, so I'll make and freeze my best meat sauce for relatives and they will, in turn, spend way too much money on me again and I'll be forced to feel like I'm living on hand-outs.

Why do the holidays do this to us? Year after year, we get up our hopes and expectations for the "ideal" Christmas to come to pass and every year, it doesn't! I'm not one for getting all worked up about the holidays but one, just one year I'd like to feel like a real Mom/Wifey/Benevolent Neighbor & Relative and get shit baked, wrapped, and in the mail on time.

Not this year, I guess. I think I'll just get a bunch of oven-ready heure d'oeuvres from Trader Joe's, give people specialty bars of chocolate in make-shift gift baskets, then duck out for a run during nap & the 18th run of "A Christmas Story," and call it a day. As far as cards go.. hopefully the family I'm "friends" with on Facebook will pass the word that we are well and wish all of our other blood relatives a wondrous holiday.

Christmas, I am no match for you and all of your... Christmasyness.

peace, love, Final Fantasy and old vine zin

This post is inspired in part by the holiday - Thanksgiving - and an article I read in Runner's World several months ago. I don't remember the title or the author, but the gist of it was about changing the language of our own thought processes to have a more positive lookout on the tasks that lay before us. But not in a lame, reciting affirmations in front of the mirror, kind of way. It's just making one simple change to our internal dialogue: every time you think "I have to...", think, "I get to."

In the context of running, making this change certainly makes it easier to make it out the door. I get to wake up. I get to put on my sneakers. I get to go run. This tends to automatically make me think of the people who don't have the same opportunity I do to hit the pavement, and I naturally start to appreciate the run that much more.

But if I take it a step further and apply this thinking to other aspects of my life, well, things look pretty damn good.

For me, it's "I got to work today." On a day when people were lined up outside of soup kitchens because they're unemployed and can't afford a turkey dinner for their families, homeless, or both, I got the opportunity to pick up a busy shift. Now, I won't lie and say that by hour 6 of the non-stop Turkey frenzy, I wasn't hoping that people would eventually tire of entering the front door, but I won't soon worry about if I'll be able to afford groceries next week, or when I'll have my next hot meal. The people I took care of today took care of me, and for that, I'm extremely grateful.
And now, I get to clack away on my laptop like I've come to some sort of world-altering realization, I get to enjoy a glass (or 2) of wine, I get to watch my husband play his video game, and in the morning, I get to be the first person my daughter smiles at when I open her door. Life is good. (Hey, that's a nice little slogan. No wonder that T-shirt company makes a fortune.)

Instruction Manual: How to Master Moving Twice in Six Months, Mother's Addition

Newbie Mistake: Trying to go about all other aspects of your day-to-day as normal.

Seasoned Pro: Forget it.

Everything will take twice as long. Twice as long to get dressed because you don't know if you packed that shirt or if it's in the laundry, twice as long to prepare a meal as you deliberate questionable concoctions of random pantry items so you don't have to throw them away, and twice as long to go anywhere because every trip involves loading the car full of trash to take out or crap to donate to Good Will. (Editor's Note: My sincere apologies to Good Will for all the crap we're giving you. It's good crap, we promise.)

Newbie Mistake: Holding onto items because you're *pretty sure* you'll wear them again.

Seasoned Pro: No. No you won't.

For starters, let me clear up a few things: You're NOT going to take the time to go get those pants hemmed, you're NOT going to make it to Hobby Lobby to find the ONE button that matches the rest on that blouse, and now that you know what it feels like to have a baby where your lungs should be, you're NEVER going to wear that sexy corset top ever again. Trust me, go ahead and lighten your load and you'll be much happier when you discover your new place doesn't have as much closet space, after all.

Newbie Mistake: "Really, my kid's great. I can pack and move and take care of her at the same time, no problem.

Seasoned Pro: No. No you can't.

You might be Super Mom and you might have a Wonder Baby who'll peacefully flip through board books for hours, but as soon as the boxes come out, the desk drawers are being emptied and the newspaper is flying everywhere, she will get into E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Even the most careful parent will find herself chasing after a toddler gleefully running around with AAA batteries clutched in a death-grip or lunging after that child about to perform a base-jump off a box. Now is not the time for parental pride. Ask for help, lots of it.

Newbie Mistake: Worrying about not running/working out for a week.

Seasoned Pro: Save yourself from your exercise OCD, or your back will make you pay.

That's pretty self-explanatory.

Newbie Mistake: Going for hours on end, staying up late to "just get it done" and basically burning the candle at both ends.

Seasoned Pro: No matter what you do, this whole moving thing will occupy your life, period.

No use in trying to rush, multitask, or work efficiently. Life will be crazy for a couple weeks but sure enough, you'll get back to normal, I promise. Hence my blogging while my daughter naps instead of rummaging through toiletries under the bathroom sink. I'll get it done one way or another, and if I don't, well, there's always later. When it comes down to crunch time we'll get shit knocked out and be on our way. Don't spend every waking minute fussing over details. If you don't sit down and take a break, you'll go nuts, and then when you do finally ask for help no one will want to because you'll be a nerve-wracked, sleep-deprived beyotch. No one wants to help a beyotch.

*~The End~*



'da marathon

All in all, it was a pretty uneventful race, but I somehow found a way to fill a page with inconsequential details and, of course, a little TMI. Enjoy :)

The Start:

Chilly, 46 degrees, crisp and clear. I was able to warm up enough jogging and jumping around to start in shorts, a long-sleeved shirt over my T-shirt, gloves and my running cap. There was the usual bottleneck at the start but things opened up within the first few miles. I had to be careful to go out too quickly because of the cool air and the downhill start but my first 4 miles were still at an 8:00/mi. pace. Whoops.


The Single Digits / 1st Third:

Things were great through mile 8. I kept the ipod off to keep myself from getting pumped by a poorly-timed Green Day song and running too quickly. My mantra through the first third was "easy peasy." I thought about how much nicer the weather was than what I've been training in all summer. I thought about what I'd order at my old restaurant when we went out to eat later (side note: Papas Bravas, Spanish-style home fries, if you will, are FANTASTIC after a marathon). I thought a little about my race strategy and settled on deciding that whether it was fast or slow, I just wanted to be albe to keep running, so that's what I did.


The Double Digits / 2nd Third:

After mile 8 began the start of a 10-mile uphill battle. I didn't realize this until about 10 miles later; a fact I would have known if I'd simply looked at the elevation chart. Whoops. I knew about miles 8-12. I was familiar with those roads and had run them often in years past. Beyond that I figured we'd hit rolling hills, not mile after mile on non-stop, low-grade incline that would slowly eat away at my calf muscles. My pace suffered a bit too, as I struggled to maintain 9:00/mi splits through this portion of the race. The good news is, I kept running. No major GI issues and no major pains, even though the run itself was becomming a pain in the butt.


The 20's / "The 2nd Half":

We've all read about and/or experienced mile 20, the wall, and that the 6.2 miles following it are longer and harder than everything before it. What was great about yesterday is that this wasn't the case for me. By mile 19 we were back on Swamp Rabbit Trail - part of a rails-to-trails path - and heading downhill at a nice .5-1% grade. I was able to bring my pace back down a little but did struggle with the fact that my legs were starting to want to lock up and my low back was killing me. I pushed on though and started up the ipod to rock through the last portion of the race.


Mile 23:

Just as I started wondering if I might be getting close to a wall, things started feeling funny "down there" (did I mention I was surfing the crimson tide?) and I had to STOP and clench my cheeks together to keep things from, uhm, moving. I worried the immodium I took beforehand was going to completely fail me so I had to walk for half a minute until the sense of urgency went away. The combo of cramps plus running had made things suddenly rather uncomfortable. But I slowly got back into a jog and then a run just as I came up to my husband and mother a couple miles from the finish. I didn't really say anything to them, just took a swig of water from the bottle Zac handed me, and muttered, "gotta keep moving," and ran off. Later, Zac told me I had a real funny look about me but when I told him what was going on, he went, "Ahhaaaa..."


The Finish:

By mile 24 I was back at my old clip but realized the long uphill had slowed me down too much to qualify for Boston and just totally did not care. And I loved that I did not care. After all, there's always the spring. I knew I'd be proud of my time so I plodded on and conserved a little energy for a strong-looking finish, complete with devil horns and sticking out my tongue to the camera guy. (pictures later, if I can steal them from the website).


The Day After:

I'm walking like I'm 86 and my calves woke me up a few times last night, but other than that I feel good, I feel accomplished, and I'm looking forward to another couple days of lounging and pigging out before driving back to Georgia.

reluctantly crouched at the starting line

I've been giving a small bit of thought lately to what I'm running for this Saturday, and all the usual answers just aren't appeasing my self inquiry.

To prove to myself that I can do it.
Well, already have, twice.

To prove to myself that I can do it after birthing a child.
Meh, not really an issue. If I can run around a restaurant for 14 hours, I can run 4 (hopefully less, which brings me to the next possible answer...)

To prove to myself that I can run it in 3:40 or faster after birthing a child.
I'm not sure just how much that whole childbirth thing plays into Saturday's race, considering she's now 15 months old and everything's been healed up for quite some time. I'm pretty far beyond the point where I can boast about my running abilities "just" after having a baby. Three hours and forty minutes (the cut-off for my age group for the Boston Marathon) is more about training and stamina. I think I have the stamina, even if I haven't trained as intensly as in the past.

So I know I can run it, and I think I can run it well. What is it then that drives me to do another? I mean, I don't exactly like running 26.2 miles. The fun disappears somewhere between mile 13 and mile 20, and the last 6.2, well... we all know how awesome THAT is.

My best guess is that I want to enjoy the entire thing. I want to feel like the distance and effort come naturally, and that maybe, some day, I might be able to do something even more crazy, like an Ironman, or even a 50-miler. Because as fantastic an achievement as running a marathon may be, let's face it: Oprah's not signing up for any ultras, so that level of BAMF-ness can remain firmly intact.

In the end, I don't think I'll know the answer to why I needed to run another marathon until I cross the finish line. Because then I'll be able to pinpoint the exact thing that pushed me through the race and made me keep going, and use that as my strength and focus as I move forward to see where else this crazy running thing might take me.

Two-Oh

My 20-miler wasn't the glorious laugh-in-the-marathon's-face experience I had with the 18, but it was... nice.

"Nice" is not a word most people would use to describe having to run 20 miles, but that's about the only word I can think of to sum it up. It wasn't spectacular - no land speed records this time - but the weather was absolutely gorgeous, I didn't have to guzzle water like I've had to all summer, and having a Garmin to run with allowed me to make a few wrong turns and not freak out because hey, it was all going toward the same mileage anyway.

But my run did bring me to another question: why do some people run so much when preparing for a marathon. Besides my weekly long runs (with cut-back weeks / aka weeks of working too much to attempt anything more than 6 miles at a time) I haven't been doing much of anything, yet I know I'm pretty much on track for the BQ. How is this possible with 20-30 mpw?

And what if... what if I could run more? I'm almost scared to think what some *real* training might do.

Well, I'll have most of the rest of Autumn and the beginning of Winter to decide where my running takes me. I figure after I run on the 30th (25 day! Eek!) and qualify for Boston (while we're being cocky, here), I'll take some time to x-train and focus on some shorter races before deciding if I'll actually run Boston, and how hard I'll train for it or if I'll just sit back and enjoy the race on cruise control.

18 miles

Number of marathons: 2 going on 3

Number of 18-mile runs: 2, including the one I did yesterday.

Long story short, I didn't know crap about marathon training for my first marathon. I thought it was enough that I was working doubles at Olive Garden, racing around like a headless chicken trying to keep up with never-ending soup, salad and breadsticks. My longest run pre-marathon was 14 miles, about 3 weeks out. I finished the race in 3:59:59. I was actually doing pretty well up until mile 20, when everything completely fell apart, and my limbs about fell off. My body was rejecting all attempts to refuel or rehydrate with gut-wrenching cramps. My hips felt like they had become bolted in place and would no long swing. I got out lucky with my barely-sub-4.

The second marathon went better. I had successfully completed an 18-mile run, but bonked on the 20, only doing about 16. I did track workouts every week and hill repeats every other. I cross-trained to keep my IT bands in check. I went to yoga and spin every week, biked to work, and got a few deep-tissue massages. The result was a much better marathon, my only complaint being that I, once again, was experiencing major tummy issues. Gu's still hit my stomach lining like a bag of nails so I had to wog (walk/jog) a few miles until everything sorted itself out. I crossed the line in 3:39:00.

For marathon #3, I feel like I'm somewhere between the 1st and the 2nd when it comes to preparation. I'm doing the miles, but without a gym membership my only cross-training is yoga in the living room and serving. I did speed work for the first few weeks of a running regimen until I started working again and my only option to run was with the jogging stroller most days of the week. Yet somehow, I feel stronger than ever.

Maybe it was labor, or marching up and down hills every day, several times a day with a 25-lb baby on my back and a 60-lb dog leashed to each arm, or simply the fact that after a long day or a hard run I can't just collapse because I still have a child (and husband) to tend too, but somehow, I am stronger, and maybe faster, than before.

I ran 18 in 2:34 - about 13 on a treadmill during monsoon-like conditions, and the other 5 outside during a break in the deluge (once the Falcons/Saints game got to half-time, that is). I felt good. Like crazy good. When I got outside I was practically laughing out loud to myself that it was insane how good I felt, and that surely something was wrong with me. I only listened to my ipod (a bit of a crutch for longer runs) for the last 2 miles and finished fast.

I've heard from a lot of moms that they feel like they are better runners post-baby(ies) than before. I wonder what, exactly, causes this change. Is it because we're forced into a new roll in addition to all the others we play? Is it because our days off are still days on? Is it because labor and delivery elevates us to a whole new level of endurance and pain tolerance?

Who knows? All I do know, is that I'm doing 20 next week, and I am not going to bonk.

More conversations with myself.

Thank goodness for blogs, because if I was trying to keep any kind of record of my life in an actual diary (you know, the kind with paper, and binding?) it'd probably have an inch of dust on it.

Life's been interesting. Some ups and downs as of late, mostly my own, and mostly in my own head. I've been unimaginably frustrated with life in south-metro Atlanta (which is not Atlanta at all) and my husband bringing home stress from work hasn't helped. I'm still struggling with some homesickness, and sticking to any kind of training schedule has only been semi-successful at best.

I've been methodically checking off my long runs, at least. I'm due to run 18 Sunday. I have 36 days until the marathon. I ran a respectable 5K earlier this evening (not a PR, at 23:00, but not bad after running a couple miles beforehand and it being 87 degrees out). Like a trusted old friend, Running is there for me to interact with or just hang out quietly in the same room. Sometimes there's lots to share; those are the days I bust out 8 miles in an hour then go on to work a Saturday night shift at the restaurant. Sometimes, we only flirt with the idea of getting together; the Sundays when I'm just too beat from working doubles to even consider running double-digits, and I slog through 6 miserable miles instead.

I just hate when life takes away from my running. During my pathetic 6-miler (this was last Sunday, when I was first supposed to run 18, which I postponed for this weekend) I even considered NOT doing the marathon. The whirlwind of self-doubt started to build around me until my head was a cloud thick with despondence and insecurity. What business do I have trying to attempt a marathon. What does it even mean to me, anyway? What's the point?? The tears started to rise up from somewhere deep within me and nearly choked me out, making me stop in my tracks.

Stop. I said. This is ridiculous. You're talking about one - ONE - scratched run. One tired day. What the hell would you do with yourself if you didn't run? Could you really drive up there and not run the marathon? Retard.

And with that, I was back on track.

Life's still stressful, and so is running, sometimes. But more often than not, it's still been my reprieve. With highs barely cresting 80 in the near future (!!!!!!!!) the hope of effortless runs - easy runs that are actually easy, hard runs that don't render me useless for the rest of the day - fills me with a new sense of possibility.

Also, my husband just got a job. In Atlanta. The Real Atlanta. Where there are Cuban restaurants, independent businesses, sidewalks, parks, and the Beltline.

More happiness and optimism to come, I promise.