Ice Queen

Rarin' to go!

Boo and YAH.  I.  Did.  IT.  And not just the planned twenty either.  I sprung for 21.14 miles, a little more than five shy of what I need to do in three weeks.  Go ahead, ask me how I feel.

PHENOMENAL.

All year long I have been settin' up goals and knockin' the suckers down, one by one.  And another one just bit the dust.  My confidence level for the race skyrocketed.  Not only do I know I could have pulled out that extra 5.1 miles this weekend, I know I can do it faster come race weekend.  All those hills I've been training on?  Ain't gonna be there.  In their place will be smaller, more gradual inclines and then a steady decline to finish out.  Add in that race day adrenaline, and I think I'm looking pretty good for my goal of five hours.  (Listen, I'm perfectly fine admitting that I am less than speedy.  For me, five hours is golden.)  But I bet you want to know more details other than "I'm awesome...again."  Read on, friends.

My plan of leaving the house at 6 am was shot down by the babe and general morning grogginess.  I managed a 6:30 leave time and Mother Nature was kind enough to give me plenty of sunshine without the slightest bit of warmth.  (Here is where I praise Hubby for his genius idea of lopping the feet off my knee high socks so I could wear them with my more padded ankle socks, thus leaving just my thighs exposed to the chill.)  I left with a full fuel belt and a bottle of E&E Formula already coursing through my muscles.

And guess what?  It was great.  I ran my Big Loop - the one that takes me past the church, the lake, and through the national park - stopping every 45 minutes to Gu up and stretch.  The cool air became a blessing (to every body part other than my exposed thighs, but they became incredibly numb and thus forgotten).  Even though I was in the mood for a little fartlek action, I forced myself to maintain my prescribed 3:1 intervals and it paid off.  At fifteen miles, I was on my front porch for all of two seconds before Hubs came busting out the door to refill my water, stock me up on more Gu, and reward me with Gatorade.  The monkeys helped out by bringing the needed supplies, and I was off again to finish up.  (Note: Crazy Train came on just as I hustled back onto the road.  Perfection in timing.)

21.14 miles ain't nothin'.

Around mile 17, I felt a slight tuckering out.  Apparently, this was sensed by the enormous turkey vulture that crossed my path at that exact moment.  I decided to take that as a sign to move my booty into gear (which was again aided by a feathered creature - I accidentally ran into the path of a mama goose and her goslings.  She also "encouraged" me to run faster).  I boosted my intervals to 4:1's and felt my energy surge back.  And I finished, feeling just as I feel after nearly every run - a tad tired and incredibly exhilirated.  (Hubby says I'm chatty when I get back from runs.  I think this is his loving way of telling me I am annoyingly close to excited Werewolf levels.)

I followed all the steps recommended to me: I continued walking about the front yard and inside the house for another fifteen to twenty minutes, stretched my fabulous legs, drank Gatorade, and ate my Clif bar, extolling my ever-so-interesting interval times and thoughts on pace.  And then...it was time...

...the ice bath.

I knew it was coming.  I knew it must be done.  I did not know it would HURT.  I ran 21.14 miles.  I have given birth three times.  I didn't cry then.  I wanted to cry the moment my ever-so-hesitant big toe grazed that icy water.

I swear, the stopper is colored by bathtime crayons...

So I whimpered and tried to justify myself to Hubby.  I probably didn't actually need to do an ice bath.  Probably I could just ice my knees and quads with frozen peas.  Probably I could just stretch a bit more.  Probably I could do anything else but this.  Because this, suddenly, seemed incredibly idiotic.

Being the wonderfully supportive Hubby that he is, he said no.  I pouted.  I fussed some more.  I even whined.  He reminded me that I was supposedly tougher than a bath tub of cold water.  Plus, I could not say I had done it if I didn't actually do it.  So, fine.  Whatever.  I did it.

It sucked balls.

(It does get slightly better after the first five minutes, but at no point does it actually feel good.  What does feel good are your muscles and your joints for the rest of the day and all of the subsequent days.  Seriously - minimal soreness.  I will be torturing myself again after the Big Race, as I feel ten minutes of extreme suckiness beats days of shuffling and whimpering as I descend the stairs.)

And now, I have all this calm and confidence regarding Race Day.  I am pumped for the exhibition the day before, where I can claim all sorts of swag and perhaps purchase more running gear.  I am even more pumped for that starting line.  I can really do this.  How f!#$kin' INCREDIBLE is that?!?  I ran 21.14 miles, and it didn't feel huge.  It felt like a run.  Which is always great, but just something I do. 

So bring it, 26.2.  I ain't skerred...

I got this.

The Big 2-0

The Gear

So today was an actual scheduled rest day.  Lettin' those leg muscles relax and repair for tomorrow's big 20-miler.  I spent the morning hunting and gathering supplies (a girl must have her Gu and recovery drinks) and even snuck a new running shirt into the purchases (feeling pretty makes me faster).  I spent the afternoon calmly cleaning, folding laundry, snuggling with a sleepy babe, and helping the older monkeys primp and dress for their Grandparents Dance this evening.  The route is mapped; the fueling is planned and procured; the proper steps have been taken.  And, after all, it's just a training run.

But...twenty miles.  TWENTY.  MILES.  That's kind of a lot.  Since I started running longer distances, one of my new OCD quirks is to reset the trip odometer and find pride in knowing I've run longer distances than I typically drive.  I know the back roads around here now, because I have run them over and over again, slowly learning their intersections and loops.  I have run past the kids' old daycare, past our church, past the lake I long to fish in, up the mountain and back down, across the Delaware River and back...but TWENTY MILES suddenly seems a ginormous number. 

Before

So let's break it down.  Anything less than ten miles feels silly anymore.  So the first half of this run is a warm up, right?  Right.  I ran my Rock N Roll Half Marathon last year in 2:37.  Now I am typically at 14.5 miles in that time, still feeling quite strong and closing in on home.  At that point tomorrow, I will be on the verge of a fuel break, replenishing my water supply and eating an energy bar left on the front porch by Cheerleader Hubby.  Once the fuel belts have been swapped out, I am off for one last loop around the daycare and back - what I have come to view as a quick and easy run that averages anywhere from 1:15 to 1:30.  Assuming I keep my past pace, I ought to be done in just over four hours, with my usual pauses for stretching and Gu-ing.  Four hours, though a freakish time to some, doesn't sound bad at all.  I can do four hours.

During

Now that we have made everything sound so reasonable, let us not speak of that other number.  At least, not until it is under my belt and I am once again Fully Awesome and Ready To Brag.  If I set off at 6:00 am as planned, I ought to be Bragging by 10:30.  Log on, little Readers, and I will regale you with each step, song, stretch, and moment of doubt (to always be quickly followed by Moments of Greatness, naturally).  I know you'll be thinking of me tomorrow as I chug through the Water Gap, and perhaps you will be motivated to lace up your own running shoes.  Which would be FABULOUS, because then we can start signing up for races together.  I need more running partners.  Currently, I have only myself and my Ego (and that chick just keeps getting bigger all the time).

After

Claiming Space

I used to exercise as a means of disappearing. That is, I wanted to shrink my body and by proxy, the space I took up in the world. Looking back, I believe it was more than living up to those gorgeous glossy photos in magazines or the slick images on television and in the movies. It was less about being noticed and more about folding into myself. I am not the only female to be cut by comments tossed my way as if the edges weren't sharp. It begins in elementary school when suddenly simply being a girl becomes a detriment both on playing fields and in social circles. In high school I was told that my cheerleading uniform made my thighs look too thick. In college I was informed that I was almost pretty enough to model...but not quite. A significant other felt I cut my long hair out of spite and stated that pregnant women should never dance, successfully halting my second trimester groove along with ABBA. It was not until I became the mother of a daughter that I started seeing these comments for what they truly were: panicked attempts to regain control. I was simply starting to shine a little too brightly and those small men were frightened by a strong woman. I wasn't looking for their approval and thus earned their disapproval. What do I want for my daughter? Certainly not for her confident stride to falter beneath such pitiful assaults. And as the mother of sons, I strive to make certain they will never use launguage so callous and lastingly hurtful. Because though the years distance me from it and perspective has altered my view, I still feel that initial sting. I yearn to transport myself back to those moments, with my thirty six years of experience and strength, and reply that actually, my thighs are muscular and strong so I can support my teammates; I am beautiful no matter my hair length, color, or style; and there is no better time in a woman's life to dance than when she is dancing with her unborn child. So now, I exercise as a means of expanding myself and my life. I take part in events and races, charity walks and classes. My presence grows every day. I look nothing like the magazine covers. I look like a busy mom of four who is often unable to find the time or inclination to apply makeup but always manages to carve out at least thirty minutes to exercise. My hair is short again, with a dash of pink. Sometimes I 'hawk it out and feel a little like a Warrior Queen with my newly ripped bi's and tri's. And the man beside me reminds me everyday that I am amazing and that as I age, I am only becoming more beautiful to him. So, ladies...train like girls. Sweat. Pant. Grunt when those last three reps or that last mile are pushing you towards (good) failure. Be proud of how far you have come. If your goal is to lean out, do it. But never ever disappear. I've been saving space for you right here.

The Photographic Evidence

It's a quick one tonight, folks.  I had a day full of fevers, vomit, and gymnastics (although the last one was blissful, as I finally got to sit and watch my Bear flip and tumble whilst perusing the latest from Runner's World) and it is off to Skinny Girl Margarita-ville I go.

Anyway - I pledged to at the very least share my meals/snacks/etc from here on out, and so I felt obligated to stop by and do just that.  I have already been a sometimes faithful user of myfitnesspal (and I highly recommend it to anyone trying to lose or gain weight - it's free and it works.  What more can you ask for?).  This week, I was particularly faithful and have eased myself back into a normal eating plan vs. the good-all-day-gorge-at-night plan I had been following in recent weeks.  I alternated that with the it's-a-special-occasion-because-it's-Bear's-birthday/we're-out-to-eat/I-just-freakin'-feel-like-it-OK?!? diet...but that one, believe it or not, did not get me the results I was after either.  So it's back to basics, as it should always be, and I have given myself the added accountability of taking photos of each morsel consumed (pre-consumption, of course) and sharing the resulting photographs with all of you.  On the edge of your seat yet? Drumming fingers anxiously on your computer desk?  Well, stop it.  That's annoying.  (I won't care in a few moments, as I mentioned previously that my good girl liquor awaits).



Is it everything you dreamed it would be?

So there it is.  Ta-DAAA!  That's my daily breakfast, although the yogurt is typically substituted with a form of fruit.  I am weaning myself off of Nutella, but that shit is made out of crack.  The peanut butter crackers - from a vending machine after gymnastics.  I was starving and about to be Sponge Mom Angry Pants if I didn't get something in my belly.  Hubby outdid himself once again, mixing leftovers with cupboard leavin's (you know those packages of stuff that you never recall buying and never seem to get used?), so we had pasta with chicken and sauce for dinner.  Perfect on a chilly and rainy day.  Lunch - I did that myself!  I used fridge leavin's (leftovers and previously cut veggies and/or fruits so I only have to put forth minimal effort) and concocted a pretty bangin' salad for myself.  And...at long last...thank you, Bethenny Frankel, for the gift of Skinny Girl.  Tastey and low-cal enough that I feel no guilt over two servings (certainly not after two servings, as I have become a total lightweight in this arena). 

There you have it.  Not every day will be this detailed (I will be back to my random rants/ravings/blatherings as of tomorrow), but if you're truly curious about what I'm ingesting, friend me on myfitnesspal.  My username is Miller343 and my diary is public.  And hey, I can use all the eyeballin' I can get to keep me on track and eating like the athlete I picture myself to be.

Let's Call It Re-Decision

So, yeah.  I've started a few workout programs in the past and not finished them.  And perhaps (in the past) this was due to laziness or boredom.  Maybe.  Now, however, I find I must change up because the program is not meeting my expectations.  As in, the sucka's too damn easy.

I figured P90X Doubles would work fabulously for me, as it is currently the only program I own that Hubby agrees to do with me (and we all want him to work out, right?).  Turns out, Cardio X ain't got nothin' on my girl Chalene and TurboFire.  So, I am creating my very own little hybrid of P90X Doubles and TurboFire and marathon training, tweaking the schedules from day to day to fit my needs.  At first, I felt like I was quitting, yet again.  But I caught myself.  I can't help that I have become this awesome and need more of achallenge than Tony offers with Cardio X.  Nor is it Mr. Horton's fault that I am such an insatiable cardio machine.  We can all get along, as I am not abandoning P90X completely - keeping the lifting sessions, Plyo, and (every now and again) Kenpo X.  But on those days when I'm not running and the schedule calls for some cardio - I am turning to Chalene and her booty-shakin' bad assedness.  (It's a word because I said so.)

I love returning to TF after time away.  Fire 55 EZ is my benchmark workout, allowing me to truly recognize how far I have come since I first started my Beachbody journey a little over a year ago.  The first time I attempted this particular workout, I thought I might die.  I struggled through, modifying any step I could modify and thanking the gods of modification for their offerings.  Now...ha.  Now, I wear weighted gloves (which are so worn out that the velcro keeps coming undone) and am contemplating moving up from 1 lb to 2 lbs.  Because now, those extra pounds don't feel so extra.  Yes, readers...I have guns.  And they are begging for more ammunition.  I don't modify anymore.  Instead, I impress myself and my children with my amazing tuck jumps, frog jumps, and air jacks.  I look forward to the one-minute fire drills, the incredibly fast-paced and lung crunching sections of each TF video.  I am also anticipating the delivery of my brand spankin' new TF workouts later this week on the Keep On Burnin' DVD.  More Chalene? More punches/kicks/shakes/squats/speedbags?  YES, PLEASE! 

And the marathon training continues as well, with early morning runs beginning this week as the sunrise is finally on my side.  This Saturday calls for twenty miles and lots o' planning for water and fuel and route changes.  I have never run quite so far, but I find I am not nervous.  I'm freakin' EXCITED.  Seeing how far I've progressed just pumps up my confidence and inflates my ego (if you can believe there was any more room for inflation). 

My next big challenge in my training?  Backing away from the cheesecake/chocolate/nutella/crescent rolls and immersing myself in Shakeology/veggies/fruits/proteins.  I need to start fueling my body for the more intense training.  Blah blah blah.  It's the hardest part of Fit Living for this food lovin' gal, but I know in my stomach of stomachs it must be done.  To hold myself accountable, be prepared for photos and menus on a daily basis.  I am vowing to share this journey as well, whether you find it interesting or not.  (For the record, if you don't care, keep your ennui to yourself.  I prefer to pretend everyone is watching.)

So - to recap - it's not indecision, it's re-dicision.  And I will be touting the blessings of Beachbody as I start new TF workouts and increase my shake consumption.  And I don't care if you don't care.  Happy Monday!

No, seriously - happy Monday!  I just kicked 55 minutes of TF ass and will be lifting with Tony and Hubby tonight (back and biceps and ab ripper X).  That's a pretty freakin' good day, endorphin-wise.  I double dog dare you to tell me otherwise.

What Runners Don't Tell You...

It's funny because it's true.  Although I must admit, I don't have a black toenail yet.  I do, however, sport two blood blisters and multiple callouses.  Pretty feet are simply not part of being a runner.  I mourned the loss of several hard-earned callouses two weeks ago when I went for what I thought was an innocent pedicure.  No one had warned me otherwise; I felt I deserved a treat for all the hard work I've been putting in.  It was dumb.  When I returned from my 16+ mile run the following day, I had enormous and incredibly painful blood blisters that frightened my children and sent them backing out of the room, away from me and my hideous feet, looks of disgust on their precious little faces.  Lesson #1: love your nasty feet.  Do not attempt to beautify them.  Focus instead on your lovely legs.  Lesson #1.5: invest in good socks.  $12.99 may seem pricey at first, but it becomes a hell of a lot cheaper when you're trying to wedge your sore feet into any shoes other than slippers.

Good socks and better bandaids.  And they always look good in running shoes.

Lesson #2:  If you run any serious distances, you're gonna have the urge do make a number two.  It is not a pleasant topic nor one to brag about.  ("You won't believe the BM I had when I finished my run! Incredible!")  I suppose this is why nobody warned me...but I discovered it on my own last summer while training for my half.  And discovered it again while running the half and being forced into portapotties after other runners experiencing the same awful smelling issues.  My suggestion?  No fruits or veggies before a long run, and try to "drop the kids at school" before you leave the house.  That may get you down to just gas.  (Further advice: always try to be first.  Not just to win, but because it places you out of the cropdusting danger zone.)  I sometimes imagine being propelled forward by these "power bursts" and often forget that though I cannot hear them due to my headphones, anyone I happen to pass will jerk their head in my direction.  So now I wait for the lonely backroads before I set myself free.

Lesson #3:  Gu, while effective, tastes like crap and feels like insect guts inching down your throat.  Think back to your first shots, chugging 'em back as quickly as possible and trying desperately not to puke in your mouth.  This is similar.  I gag every time, but I know I need easy fuel on those long runs.  So I stock up on what I deem the most unoffensive flavors and choke it back every 30 to 45 minutes.  My body thanks me nearly instantly upon finishing its initial revolt.

Lesson #4:  Slather yourself in BodyGlide.  I used to think myself quite special because I didn't chafe.  Turns out I just need to run farther.  Now I'm a chafin' fool.  So I got my first stick of Body Glide and have become a faithful user, applying wherever my skin touches clothing or other skin or armbands for my ipod.  I estimate I'll need another stick by the end of next week.  Chafe me once, shame on...my lack of chafing before.  Chafe me twice...Well, it's not gonna happen twice.  So there.

Lesson #5:  Always have frozen peas on hand.  They are excellent for icing sore knees upon finishing a distance run.  And it's economical and nutritious, too.  I bet you can't say that about any other ice packs.

Lesson #6:  Stretch mid-run.  I like to pause each hour and do a quick stretch while gagging on my Gu.  My legs thank me and I feel entirely refreshed when I start back up.  Stretch again for a longer time when you get home.  It's good for you and it feels delicious, too.  I call it my "poor girl's massage."  Plus, it gives me at least an extra ten minutes to excuse myself from tattling children and battles of who can do more and better math problems (no, seriously.  This happens.).

Lesson #7:  Rest before and after extra long runs.  I typically give myself one to two days beforehand and have watched my performance vastly improve.  The day after is also a rest day, but one involving as much non-workout movement as I can fit in.  Catch with the monkeys, a slow stroll, maybe another stretching session.  Just so the knees and muscles and hips and mind don't get all "We don't need no stinkin' workout" on me.  Sometimes you gotta remind those little whiners who's boss and that one day of hard work does not necessitate any lazing about.

Lesson #8:  If you're training for a half or a full marathon, you're gonna have to start blocking out some serious time.  Schedule in advance and be prepared to run in weather that doesn't involve sunlight or warmth.  Relish in being that batshit crazy person running in snow and rain or chugging along just as the sun wakes up.  Accept that sometimes life will get in the way and shorten your training sessions whether you pitch a fit about it or not (apparently, the universe does not care when I pout and make sarcastic comments).  The best way I've found to ensure I get my time in?  Schedule it the way I do anything else.  I will be busy at this time and Hubby must be present at home to prevent bloody battle wounds or playing with matches/running with scissors/etc.  Sometimes that requires asscrack of dawn pockets of time.  Deal with it.  If it's important, you'll find a way.  If it's not, you'll find an excuse.

It's Half Full, Damn It.

I so lucked out today.  Hubby decided to work from home.  God decided to make the day gorgeous.  The babe decided to willingly nap.  Three good guys working together so brilliantly made my own decision incredibly easy.  I decided to take a quick jaunt around The Loop (our little 3-4 miler) and follow that up with an hour of gettin' bendy with Tony Horton (X Stretch day).  To add to my fitness glee, I donned my brand new running skirt to start breaking it in for next month's race.  No blister pain, very little joint/shin pain, and I managed to keep a 10 min/mile pace.  Hello, Today!  I <3 you!

Now, I sit and contemplate a salad with all the fresh and fabulous produce I grabbed at Wegmans last night and find myself (FINALLY!) craving a fully healthy meal.  Feta, tuna, cherry tomatoes, organic spinach, sweet onions...mmmm!  I've already downed my Shakeology for breakfast (today's recipe was Coconut Dream, and yes, that name is totally accurate).  Thinking about tossing together some Southern Unfried Chicken ala Runner's World (an instant family classic I discovered a few months back) for dinner with some fresh green beans on the side.

 It's just one of those days.  Where everything is falling into place and doing it so easily.  And when I am so high on my Fit Life that I feel positive every day will be like this from now on.  ...right...?

Yeah.  I know.  It could be like yesterday, when I found myself in jammies and dreaming of Reese's all day until I caved and ransacked the freezer for the hidden Easter stash.  Followed by that Snickers egg.  Oh, and two glasses of Skinny Girl Cosmos (but it was White Cranberry, so that counts as a fruit, right?).  I eeked out my Kenpo X and even managed to contain my shopping while at Wegmans (i.e. no crap found its way into my cart, despite the Werewolf's many attempts to put it there).  But I just wasn't feeling it.  Still, today freakin' ROCKS.  So let's focus on that, shall we?

I see tomorrow as a bright shiny plaything, filled with Core Synergistics and a smattering of TurboFire.  Heapings of fresh fruit.  Leftovers of tonight's amazing dinner.  I choose to believe the babe will once again be joyful and desirous of naps and whatever food I offer him on his little tray will be just what his little belly was craving.  The dogs will defecate in the yard, not in the house, and the cats will not try to trip me as I come down the stairs.  When the Bear and the Werewolf arrive home from school, they will ask what they can do to help out and they shall play peacefully together, because they treasure sibling time.  All will be light and all will be balanced.

And as the pigs fly overhead, I will rejoice in the fact that Gertrude Hawk caramel bars provide me with six pack abs.

Perhaps...perhaps I ought to just savor the moment, eh?  Bask in RIGHT NOW and get crackin' on that salad while my favorite playlist churns out great songs in the background...That, readers, sounds like a plan.  Let's get on that, shall we?

Project "Run" Way

In another life, long long ago, I followed in the high-heeled steps of Carrie Bradshaw, not only ooh-ing and aah-ing over colorful stilettos, but prancing about town in them on a daily basis, with everything from minis to jeans and t-shirts.  I longingly perused the pages of Vogue and tried in vain to recreate the gorgeousness by shopping at Target and the Salvation Army.  Fashion was a passion.  Then came baby #3 and days at home in pajamas (not from laziness - usually - but from days so busy I have no time to change).  Without a showcase, my flamboyant footwear slowly made its way to the attic for storage.  My feet would go weeks without seeing polish or a pumice stone, encased as they were in slippers and Uggs.  My minis were banished lest they remind me of toner thighs.  I reached a point when stretchy jeans became my "polished" look.  And when I began exercising once more, my workout wardrobe reflected my mentality.  Old baggy tshirts and oversize black yoga pants hid my baby fat from myself.  Hello, rut.

I am terribly happy to announce that those days are gone.  The heels remain in their attic home, but I have a new obsession: RUNNING SHOES! CROSSTRAINERS! HIKING BOOTS!  I salivate over the newest Newtons (I WILL own a pair!), lose my breath over the stark whiteness of new Asics, have heart palpitations over each and every pair of "barefoot" running shoes.  My only sadness arises from the fact that our budget cannot currently contain my lust for athletic footwear.  I am (for the time being) in monogamous relationships with my Brooks Ghosts (for running) and my Asics Gels (for TurboFire and P90X).  Someday, though...someday I will have sneakers to match every outfit for every workout...

And speaking of outfits!!!!  Have you seen lululemon???  Be still my fashionista heart!  These are clothes that look adorable enough to wear around town.  Nay - they demand to be taken outside of the gym or the living room.  Sexy little skirts for running and slouchy, skinbaring yoga tops in gorgeous palettes are up for grabs alongside trendy headbands and flatteringly fitted jackets.  I bemoan the fact that the closest retail store is 1.5 hours from me, but Hubby rejoices.  I don't think I could restrain myself if these clothes were right in front of me.  As it is, I can spend hours online lusting after the marathon skirt (7 pockets and still lovely). 

Lululemon may be the cream of the crop (in my very biased opinion), but it's not the only site out there.  Runningskirts.com offers fantastic prints, varying lengths, and matching accessories.  It was their cover on Runners magazine that opened my eyes to the possibilities of my workout wardrobe.  The flashy knee socks were right up my alley and I wanted to feast my eyes on the rest of the collection.  Chalene Johnson's site, powderblueproductions.com, offers bright neons for high octane turbo sessions and fabulous accessories like the "Do More" trucker hat.  Even Zumba has a clothing line with light cargo pants and off-the-shoulder tops.  The options are endless and incredibly enticing.

Who says you can't sweat and be gorgeously turned out at the same time?  Like a good hair day, a good fashion day can make all the difference in your mood, regardless of what you're out to accomplish.  I don't know about you, but I'm working pretty freakin' hard for these abs and that rear, and I want to show them off in the best possible gear.  No ball gown or trendy mini is going to showcase my higher tush better than fitted yoga pants or running shorts.  And these amazing shoulders look their best in slouchy tops that just refuse to sit straight but would rather slide enticingly down one arm (and often dip low enough to give a teasing glance at my inredible biceps).  So my advice today, Readers, is to do your part for the economy and SHOP AWAY!  It's your duty to your country and your reflection.

Any Publicity Is Good Publicity

Maybe you set fitness goals for yourself on New Year's Eve.  Maybe you set them when the bikinis appeared on the racks at Target, taunting you as you strolled past in your fanny-covering sweater, venti caramel macchiato in hand.  The important thing is that you promised yourself fitness would be a part of your life from that moment on (and I know you made that promise because I have declared it so).  The thing is, if you only whisper that intent to yourself and if you only tell yourself when you're feeling not-so-confident, the likelihood of you actually attaining those goals is not-so-high.  I bet now you're wondering, "What should I do?"  Well, sit down and listen, little Readers.  I'm about to blow your mind...

Tell everyone. 

Shocking!  Sharing personal information?  With everyone?  Who would do that...?  I know what you're thinking, but I am not the only one.  We all do it.  Every day.  Some of us, every other minute.  Facebook, Twitter, Instagram...Words are no longer enough, now we must post pictures regularly.  (Which is also a FABULOUS IDEA.  Nothing is quite so motivating as sharing your before photos with people you haven't talked to since you were sixteen.) 

If you're reading this, chances are you've seen my Facebook/Twitter/Instagram posts on a pretty regular basis.  Now, I am perfectly aware that the multitudes I imagine following my every workout move are, in reality, more equivalent to a handful.  However...I know that the handful is watchful and this keeps me pressin' on.  I can't just back out now; I made a PUBLIC STATEMENT.  Actually, I've made a lot of public statements.  Marathon, Spartan Race, P90X Doubles...these are just a few that come to mind.  So now I'm training for that marathon, that Spartan, and every day, I'm doing P90X and contemplating my next round of goals. 

I don't care if everyone is tired of seeing my workout-related status updates.  I don't care if you don't want to see sweaty photos of my smiling face.  I will continue to post my goals and my progress.  (If you think I'm overdoing it with my training updates, just wait until I actually COMPLETE my goals...)  And I urge you to do the same.  Let everyone in your universe know what you're doing.  Not just online.  Talk about it the same way you talk about your kids/pets/jobs.  Just this week, I blabbed about my marathon training to my eye doctor.  I just felt he would want to know.  Same as the other parents in my and Jack's You&Me class Tuesday nights.  Or the cashier at Wegmans.  I announce it more frequently than I say my own name. 

Chances are, if you put it out there, not only will you feel more accountable, people will give you real encouragement.  I love my inbox messages and getting approached when I'm out and about by those who have read about my progress online.  And guess what?  My eye doctor really was interested and suggested supplements to help my joints.  This public declaration stuff really works.

I may even get a tshirt made up just in case I forget to tell the kids' bus driver or the waitress at the diner down the street.  I wouldn't want anyone to feel left out...

Quit Is A Four Letter Word

Motivation has been discussed many times over, but it bears another once over.  Because, boy, did I fight to find it today.  Pink eye didn't help matters.  Not so much because of the irritation/puss/inflamation, but because I just don't feel quite so badass in my glasses.  Plus, I was tired.  I was sore from yesterday's double session.  I missed my morning run and my shower.  (Don't stand too close...)  Whine whine whine, moan moan moan.  (I would add "blah blah blah," but for various reasons, it has been deemed a curse word here at the M&M Estate, so I'd better not say it.)

ANYWAY - I just didn't feel it tonight.  Actually, I didn't feel it at any point today.  Nor could I rely on my E&E to get me goin' as it was so close to bedtime (and I'm pretty sure they have somehow put Tony Horton's energy into powder form with that stuff).  But, I am also fully aware that I cannot tout the benefits of commitment if I myself am not committed (to a program, people.  The institution can wait another couple of years).  I will not gain the biceps, abs, or buns of steel if I don't put the time in.  So, I finally sent the kiddos to bed halfway through American Idol with the promise of putting in their votes and finishing up tomorrow, changed into my workout gear, and pressed play.  I made it all the way through P90X Shoulders & Arms and most of the way through Ab Ripper X (my legs stopped me, weary from that Plyo workout yesterday).  I sweated.  I guzzled my water.  I sweated some more.  (Hubby may insist that I also make up for that missed shower.)  So, how do I feel now?

Still tired.  Still unmotivated.  But a hell of lot less guilty.  I know that when my head hits the pillow, the only thing on my mind will be Stephen Colbert for the five minutes I manage to watch before I zonk out.  I will not be rethinking the rest of the week's workout schedule to make up what I've missed or searching for justifications as to why I missed it when I know I was perfectly capable of just doing it.  It wasn't my most enjoyable workout moment, but I did it.  My arms are drooping far below the keyboard as I type this and I barely remember my point...but I do remember that I accomplished the goal set for today and that brings me closer to the goal I have set for next month and this summer. 

So...my point...My point is this: If your only excuse is you're tired, that's not an excuse.  That's a cop out.  If your only excuse is you're not motivated, that's not an excuse either.  Motivated doesn't mean following through only when you're so pumped to work out that you can't stand still.  Motivated is pushing play, going to class, heading out for that run even when you don't want to do it.  The only person that can talk you out of your goal is YOU.

Hoppin' Down the Candy Trail

It happens every holiday, be they big or small.  Sacks, baskets, buckets o' sugar are heaped upon the children (and by proxy me, whose willpower shrinks in fear in the face of anything chocolate covered or filled) to "celebrate."  No sooner has the Halloween candy disappeared (some into the overjoyed bellies and more into the trash) than we have candy canes and Christmas cookies filling our countertops.  There are the itty bitty candied hearts on Valentine's day (along with the larger chocolates...*sigh* and *cringe*) and gold foil-covered chocolate coins on St. Patrick's Day.  And then Easter.  Baskets overflowing with Reese's, Skittles, and those frighteningly neon Peeps.  A basket at home from the Bunny himself.  And baskets at each house visited, plus candy in the pretty plastic eggs planted in bushes and drainpipes.  My stomach heaves a little just looking at the mountains of peanut butter-filled, chocolate-covered, candy-coated poison.  Of course, that doesn't prohibit my greedy little hands from reaching out to sneak my fair share.

And it's not just the candy.  Nor is the candy the worst of it.  At least for me, those holiday meals suck me in worse than any sweet nosh.  The juicy ham, lumpy mashed potatoes, and homemade gravy.  The buttered corn and buttered biscuits and buttered anything-else-my-butter-knife-can-find.  The pies, cakes, and desserts of the no-bake variety with whipped cream and pudding-like substances!  I cannot stop myself.  It is as though my body moves of its own accord, racing away from all that hard work and discipline to shovel in mounds of starches, salts, and bad fats.  I suppose it is like any addiction...You can kick the habit, but one slip up and you're barrelling down the mountain at full speed.  Luckily, I am better at putting on the brakes and getting back on track than I used to be.  It just tends to happen one to two days later, after the initial food hangover has left and the second one has been worked through.  That old saying about "the hair of the dog?"  That, my friends, is CRAP. 

Who wants to roll around in bed all day, clutching aching bellies and moaning when you could be jumping, moving, and enjoying the just-as-tasty and so-much-better-for-you fruits and veggies?  We tell ourselves that the candy/ham/potatoes are a reward and that we deserve them.  I don't know about you, but feeling nauseous and exhausted doesn't seem so rewarding to me.  And I firmly believe that I (and my body that has been treating me so well) deserve much better.  Of course, this realization hit me after I ate my weight in biscuits and cracker candy, only to follow it up the next day with peanut butter cups and Twizzlers.  Turns out, healthy living has ruined binge eating for me.  I may as well have willfully given myself the flu.  I felt that awful.

Then I thought, I'm giving this stuff to my kids.  Awful, awful Mommy!  I wouldn't hand my kids cartons of cigarettes or cases of beer.  So why do I load baskets full of other toxins as a celebratory gift?  Well, I won't be anymore.  I laid down the law and told Hubby that from here on out, that Bunny brings gifts, not candy.  And we bring healthy fruit and veggie trays to graze on when we go elsewhere for dinners.  No more binging.  No more days of recovery for falling off the wagon. 

...I just hope I retain this feeling of superiority over Hershey and Mars when I next stare down their progeny during a moment of craving...

Get Into The Groove

I finally got my sixteen miles in this weekend.  To be more precise, 16.48.  I ran a new route through the National Park portion of the Delaware Water Gap and fell in love while listening to Sheryl Crow sing "Run, Baby, Run."  It was the moment of my run.  Every run or workout has the moment that keeps me coming back.  Some even have a series of them, and this run was one of those.  But this moment was the moment of the moments for this one.  I even did a little Leo and Kate on Titanic moment to soak it in.  My joints felt great, my muscles felt strong, my lungs felt full.  It was a good day to be alive and running.  And the song just made it more.

Any workout can be a better workout with the right playlist.  I favor anthemic feminist songs (and I'm not ashamed to include Fighter by Christina and  Stronger by Britney in that mix), but just about anything can get my heart pumping the way I need it to.  My only prerequisite for adding a tune to my list is that when I hear it, I immediately want to sing and sing LOUDLY.  I have everything from Neil Diamond to Indigo Girls to NWA blasting in my ears when I run.  Although I am always scouting new additions, these are a few of my all-time favorites to make my little feet move faster and farther.

Eminem, Lose Yourself.  Great beat.  Fantastic lyrics.  In-your-mother-f&#*in'-face attitude.  YES, please and THANK YOU.  No matter how beat I may feel before this comes on, I am always at the top of my game during and for miles after I hear "You only get one shot..."  And I swear, my ipod saves this for that exact moment I start to fade or pause to think about throwing in the towel, because every single run, this song gets me back on track. 

Ozzy, Crazy Train.  Love the song, sure.  But I love what it brings to mind even more.  My little werewolf listened to this song to get pumped up for his wrestling matches, and there were so many moments he could have given up (and gotten lots of non-embarasssing hugs and kisses from his mommy) but didn't.  I just picture him and that scary look of determination and know that I simply cannot fail.  Even if he is at home waiting with lots of completely wanted hugs and kisses for his mommy.

Zac Brown Band, Toes.  Simply because it takes me away from burning lungs and the twinges in my knees and/or shins and plants my tired fanny right where I want it, in warm sand under a blue and sunny sky (and preferably next to a very tan cabana boy holding a Skinny Girl margarita).  This song takes me out of my current location to a much more desirable one, if only for a few minutes and is closely followed by Where The Boat Leaves From on my favorites list.

Anything by the Beastie Boys.  Do I really need to expand on this?  Or can we all just agree that the three boys from Brooklyn, quite simply, rock?  (Strangely, I have the same to say about Prince and No Doubt.  It's just good music, people.)

Bruce Springsteen, Born To Run.  It's a tad obvious, but it works.  The raw emotion, the sweeping chorus.  Plus, I am running so close to New Jersey that I feel obligated to throw in some of the Boss and a smattering (or a hefty helping) of Bon Jovi. 

Joan Jett, Bad Reputation.  Because really, I don't give a damn about my bad reputation.  I've got more important things to worry about than others' fascination with my life (though, of course, it is completely understandable, seeing as how I'm AWESOME).  I'm runnin' over here, people!  I don't give a damn about anything other than my breathing and my pace.

These are just a few.  Name another great tune and I'm likely to say emphatically, "I LOVE that one! That's my favorite!"  In this way, I am much like the young werewolf, as his favorite song is whichever great song happens to be playing at the moment.  This month, most often, that is Eastbound and Down by Jerry Reed (and yes, I just confirmed with him that I had the correct artist name).  And guess what?  That's a pretty good running song for me, too.  I've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there...I'm gonna do what they said can't be done...

Maybe I ought to get a bandit mask to wear with my tiara...

Rah!Rah!Sis-Boom-Bah!

My biggest supporter...

So yesterday, I had to vent.  Get some stuff off my extra-strong chest.  I grumbled and made use of a small amount of sarcasm.  Today I'd like to balance that out.  You know, just like I do both weight training and cardio (and stretching...I'm getting better at adding in the stretching now, but that's an entirely other blog entry...hinthint...)

I have committed to training so much that I often feel I just ought to be committed.  Most days are two-a-days, with each session ranging anywhere from thirty minutes to over an hour.  That's a pretty big chunk of time with four monkeys, two dogs, two cats, and one engineer needing my everpresent guidance and ordering-around.  Yes, there's naptimes, school times, work times in which to wedge my sweaty alone times, but often enough, I have to create that space when all these creatures are actually home.  Which means I must depend on them to allow me to utilize that time.  Hubby must tend to monkey spats and tattles, doggy doody (hehe), and any random need the smaller creatures may find they have while I smile, wave, and run away.  Without Hubby, my long runs would be nonexistent.  And there would be no foot rubs while I describe them in great detail to what I am sure is his sincere interest.  (I'm sure his thoughts are more along the lines of "mmmm...beer" but I still like to pretend he's enthralled with my breathing ease at mile nine.)

Running away is the best.  I get to be all alone, no distractions.  Their little legs are just too short to catch up with me.  But (sigh) sometimes it is not to be...Sometimes, I must work out in the living room while the house is full up with others, just waiting for that moment when my breathing gets heavy...so they can ask me why the sky is blue, if I've seen the new commercial for that plastic toy that will break instantly upon being touched, or (my personal favorite) - "Hey, Mom...guess what?"  It can totally suck to exercise at home...but it can also be the most rewarding work out of my week.  It's not every day that people are amazed at what I lift or how high I jump.  Chalene Johnson does not peek out from the television screen to admire my pumps.  My favorite, though, is when they enter the room in sweats and sneakers, wristbands and tank tops, and ask if they can join in.  They tend to fade out when the steps get too fast, but they slide into a nearby chair and chat to me, compliment me, and encourage me in my sweaty endeavors. 

I'm aware that the naysayers I wrote about yesterday exist in greater numbers, but their power is minimal when compared to my own personal cheerleading squad.  And it extends beyond the M&M Estate.  When I ran my ten miles last month in my hometown, my finish line included sisters, children, nieces, parents...even my parents' neighbors.  At least three times a week, I find personal messages on Facebook or hotmail, thanking me for inspiration and offering congrats on just my training.  I haven't even finished my race yet, and the cheers are pouring in.  I wish I could get you all gold-plated megaphones or dollar-bill pompoms...but that will have to wait until my Beachbody business takes off just a tad bit more...All the same, I thank you from the bottom of my ever-fitter heart, because without you, I couldn't keep on keepin' on the way I do. 

*MWAH*

Listen, all y'all...

One of the curious side effects of living a Fit Life is the negativity from those not partaking in it.  I am very public with my love of fitness and my desire to share this lifestyle - and this has been deemed offensive by some who choose not to do so.  There are those who wish to sabotage progress, undermine confidence, and question intent.  To those naysayers, I simply say, "Pffft."

I mean, come on.  Why does my workout/healthy eating/event training offend you?  And if you find it so repulsive, why do you follow me?  I mean, other than the fact that I'm witty, gorgeous, and incredibly intelligent? 

I have been told that I am overtraining and am unaware of the correct training methods.  Uh huh.  Fortunately, I know better.  I am lucky to retain the knowledge I gleaned during my years as a CERTIFIED personal trainer and aerobics instructor.  I may not be an expert, but I have a very good grasp of appropriate training levels, and what I am unsure of, I research.  What I most enjoy is that these statements are often issued by people who have little or no knowledge themselves (nor do they have a desire to learn).  They seem to be of the opinion that if they want a statement to be true, it simply is.  Poor, poor other-people-who-know-little. 

Another popular method of undermining confidence of strong women?  The "you'll bulk up and look like a man" approach.  Of course (slapping my forehead and rolling my eyes)!  If you train rigorously and enthusastically, you will no longer be feminine!  You'd better back off...before whatever Napolean making this statement starts to feel threatened by his own lack of physical strength...Seriously.  As women, we DO NOT bulk up.  We lean out.  Please, strength train.  Do more push ups than that guy next to you.  If you're lucky like me, that guy will high five you for progress and compliment your newly ripped arms.  Because that's what real men do. 

I find myself amused as well by the "it's just a phase" routine.  Because, I'm guessing, we women don't have the stick-to-it-iveness to, well, stick with it.  Must be one hell of a phase.  Just as long as your know-everything-about-everything-without-really-knowing-anything phase?  Because I have a feeling that's not really a phase, either...Fitness has been a part of my life since my teen years.  It became a serious focus again over the past year as I decided to return to my prior career.  This "phase" is leading me back to college, a new business, and recertification.  (psst...I think your phase is leading you to social awkwardness and lonliness...)

And, no, I do not work out and eat "rabbit food" simply to fit into a certain size.  Looking fabulous is a very pleasant bonus, but not a reason.  I exercise for strength, health, and to train for specific events.  No, I am not running too far.  Those distances are building towards a marathon and are part of a plan designed by perhaps the most well known running guru ever (Jeff Galloway).  The cross training is not overly intense.  It will be the reason I can scale walls, crawl through mud, and leap obstacles during my Spartan Race.  The best reason of all?  I am a role model.  Four little pairs of eyes are watching how I live my life.  I prefer to not watch life from the sidelines.

So much negativity can be daunting if you allow it.  Lucky for me, I know better than to believe it.  Plus, I am blessed to have a bevy of cheerleaders rooting for me.  I love the surprise messages in my inbox telling me I have inspired someone else to get moving and do something healthful.  It spurs me on with a smile on my sweaty face.  Although, I must admit, those bashers can certainly push me through a workout, too.  Nothing adds to a good TurboFire punch or kick like imagining the face of someone who has told me I can't do it. 

"So, so, so, so listen up 'cause you can't say nothin'
You'll shut me down with a push of your button?
But you, I'm out and I'm gone
I'll tell you now, I keep it on and on"

Whiny Little Son of a Shin

It rained Saturday.  I had big plans - 16 miles.  And I don't mind a little cooling rain while I run.  So I waited until things faded to a light drizzle and started piling on my gear while Hubby mixed my E&E Formula and filled my water bottles.  I was genuinely excited to tackle my longest run to date, as that would provide me with my biggest bragging rights to date.  Plus, that marathon is getting closer and I still have little itty bitty nagging worries buzzing in the darker corners of my otherwise enthusiastic brain.  So, sixteen miles.  Or eight.  Eight's good, right?  Because that's what I eked out before I had to call in backup.

Maybe it was the cold.  Maybe it was the rain.  Maybe it was the two together.  Whatever the (f&*#ing) reason, my right shin was not in the mood for a good long run.  Apparently, it would rather have been home soaking in a warm bath and reading Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter.  I tuned it out much the same way I tune out the incessant whining of children when we are trapped in the house for hours at a time in such weather.  (I mean, really, how many times must I pretend to care that she gave a mean look or he refuses to stop speaking like Yoda?)  My cardio was fabulous; my knees were showing solid improvement and no need to even take a break.  I had my intervals up to 4:1 and I really didn't feel like I even needed the 1 (but I was being responsible and knew I needed to keep it if I wanted to finish my sixteen).  So what if my shin was whining about my foot hitting the road?  It needed to buck up, buttercup!  I only have so much time available for this sort of training.

But my shin seems to be as bullheaded as my daughter.  When it was unable to garner enough attention through tiny tweaks and pulls, it gave an all-out shriek a try.  Guess what?  That worked.  I stopped.  I walked.  I did (or tried to do) shin taps to work it out.  And I eavesdropped on the debate between my Ego and my Sensibility.  Ego was all for working through it (no pain, no gain!), but Sensibility felt we should all stop acting like crazy women on the side of the road, muttering and walking in circles, and just call Hubby for a ride home.  I weighed the bragging rights of one training session vs. actually being able to finish training and actually running my race, and I decided one day was not nearly the equivalent of the whole shabang.  Hubby was phoned and arrived like a knight in shining minivan, replete with little people to do my bidding. 

So, my shin is fine.  I have rested for two days now and am ready to get back in the game.  Tomorrow, we have Plyometrics on the schedule and I will not be outdone by the one-legged man.  And this weekend, I will once again attempt my longest run ever.  If you'd rather not hear me go on and on about myself and how far I can go, might I suggest doing a little rain dance?