I Got To Keep On Movin'

Okay.  Run for the Red is ten days away.  I am still injury free, despite my cats' attempts to do me in via a stairway fall and the babe's fascination with rolling Matchbox cars my way during TurboFire.  But then, two days ago, my iPhone fell in the toilet.  (Clean bowl, thank the heavens.)  All was good - except the volume.  No sound.  A minor wrinkle, to be sure, but enough of a wrinkle to start those sneakered butterflies running laps around my belly.  For no volume = no music for 26.2 miles.  No volume = no voice reminders for my intervals.  (Hey, we're all spoiled by technology, and the lady who gently reminds me of my time has become a close friend of mine.)  A wrinkle to be sure, but I could iron this one out (and iron it far better than any shirt unlucky enough to meet my ironing board).  As of today, I am the proud and excited owner of the iPhone 4s and I have a new lady in my life.  So, see?  Crisis averted.

Oh, but wait!  Those ten miles I was scheduled to run this afternoon?  The ones Hubby and I planned our schedules around to be sure they weren't missed?  They're gonna be missed.  Apparently the engineers in Jersey did not get my training memo and Hubby has received extra work at the office.  Seriously?  Don't these people know my race is but ten days away?  I briefly toyed with the idea of pawning the older children off via playdates at someone else's home, but that still leaves me with a teething babe.  It is doubtful he (or I) would make it through ten miles with a jogging stroller.  And Mother Nature is just rubbing salt in my wounds.  The first gorgeous day in a week and my running feet are trapped in crosstrainers.

That's right.  I laced up the Asics and popped in a DVD.  I may not be assured of the time I need to meet my planned mileage, but that doesn't mean I'm sprawled out in bed trying to figure out why every female my age or older is raving about Fifty Shades of Grey (I tried, ladies...but melodramatic softcore porn will never beat out Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter).  No.  I just finished forty-five minutes of Zumba (all that listening to QiDANCE lately had me in the mood to dance) and if need be, I'll log some extra TurboFire time today.  I'm still dreaming of a quick run, but Chalene always has my back if I can't get there. 

My point is this: Murphy's Law is real.  It does exist.  Life exists.  Every day problems creep out and worm their way into your plans.  This is the point when many say they don't have the time to work out.  Well, I haven't been training for six freakin' months to let life get in the way of my goals.  I can't run?  So what?  I can still train and get my heart racin' for the two hours I planned on those ten miles taking me.  Screw you, Murphy.  I got bigger fish to fry. 

I have been called stubborn, bullheaded, and other descriptive words I choose not to share.  I'll take that.  If I wasn't, I wouldn't be meeting goals left, right, and straight on.  I'd still be in the same old rut, dreaming of being fit and wishing I had race medals hanging on my walls.  I wouldn't be sharing my love of fitness with everyone I meet (and some I haven't) or helping others get started meeting their own goals.  So, yes...I am stubborn.  I refuse to let life's annoyances interfere with my to-do list.  It's like the Bear Hunt song my kids used to sing in preschool...Can't go over it, can't go under it...You gotta go through it.  It's really the only way (plus, it's the most fun way too).

(And PS...it's this bitch got it done for six months...and now this bitch has that leopard bikini...:)  BOO. YAH.)



Will Over Reason

I go through insomniac phases.  Often I can blame this on the myriad small humans waking me during the night with various complaints of darkness, fear, thirst, or needs to vomit.  As of late, it has been the fault of the youngest and his molars.  The thing is, once he is again calm and settled, snug and warm and sleeping...Mama is wide awake with Brooks-wearing butterflies running about her tummy.

ELEVEN DAYS.  That, dear Readers, is less than two weeks.  Just in case you couldn't do that math.  Speaking of math, let's talk numbers, shall we?  Eleven days.  Five to six more runs.  One Komen 5k (still time to donate!).  26.2 miles.  One thousand or more of the aforementioned butterflies.

The good news is I am only nervous when the moon's out.  My confidence rises with the sun every day and my Ego resumes its normal magnificent size.  In the light of day, I am all "pshaw" and "it ain't gonna be NOTHIN.'"  But wake me mid-slumber and I can lie awake for hours mentally dissecting each twinge of the knee, crack of the hip, or slight cramp of the calf.  It is not so much that I'm worried about my ability to finish; I am worried about my inability to make it to the starting line injury free.  I have never been what one would call graceful. 

So.  The outcome of the worry is this: no more plyo.  Modified TurboFire (I restrain myself from out and out jumps for fear of bad landings).  Lots more stretching.  Absolutely NO high heels (not that living in our section of the sticks calls for heels very often, but just in case...that's the rule for the next eleven days). 

And if I need motivation?  Well, I always have you, right?  But just in case you choose not to cheer me on (I will assume the only reason will be that fireants have gnawed off your fingertips leaving you unable to type), I have stories of previous marathoners facing much greater odds than "but it's my first one."

Take Pheidippides.  He was the first marathon runner ever.  Not only did this guy fight in the Battle of Marathon, he ran 26.2 miles without stopping to declare the victory and then dropped dead.  Now that's some grit right there.  Of course, I am hoping for far different results after my 26.2.  But I've got walking breaks, Gu, and people handing me water.  Plus, PortaPotties.  Things have changed since 490 BC.  I bet the poor guy never even read a single issue of Runner's World.

I also rather enjoy the story of Kathrine Switzer, the first woman to wear a bib number in the Boston Marathon.  Registered as "K.V. Switzer," she was chased down by a male race official upon his discovery that she was, indeed, female.  He attempted to eject her from the race but was stopped by a protective wall of fellow racers.  She finished and went on to run 35 marathons. 

Suddenly, my little old Run for the Red seems teeny in comparison.  So teeny that I know I can squash it like a bug.  Still, though...feel free to praise me.  Or buy me a tiara or a crown so everyone can see I am a Running Queen.  I won't deprive you of those things.  Because, well...that's just the sort of thoughtful girl I am.

Now...if I could just get this kid to sleep...

Filling My Plate

Hey, how ya been? What's new? How's the family?  It's been too long! 

So, you may have noticed (or you may not have, but let's pretend you've been biting your nails with worry) that I haven't been posting for a few days.  The reasons are GOOD.  This fitness-lovin' gal has been busier than the proverbial bee.  I woke up to seven emails this morning, each one related to fitness and my Push goals for this year.  Now THAT is what I am talkin' ABOUT.

(Now, if you haven't been reading my posts or you've forgotten past entries, Push is a faboo book by Chalene Johnson.  If you are at a loss or wandering about in circles, this book is for you.  It's a map to squeezing the juice out of every. single. day.  Buy it.  Read it.  DO IT.) 

Anyway - my Push goals for the year included running marathons (the first is 12 days away!), contributing financially to my family (Beachbody coach), getting back into fitness as either a trainer or an instructor (I'll get to that in a moment!), and taking a vacation with Hubby sans kids (no true vacation planned yet, but we do have a full four days to ourselves at the end of this month).  It's all about the reverse engineering and planning out the daily steps to get the end result.  You're aware of my daily training, my weekly lengthy runs, my love of Beachbody.  And I'm about to make you aware of my need to teach.

In the years BC (Before Children), I was both a step aerobics instructor and a personal trainer.  I seriously loved my job.  I was paid to work out and share my love of fitness with others while they paid lots of attention to me.  Plus, there are mirrors literally EVERYWHERE in any gym, so I could pay lots of attention to me.  Everyone benefited.  I was an excellent and passionate trainer and instructor.  Clients were sad to see me go, but alas, I was moving back to my hometown and soon started baby production.  I didn't leave fitness behind, but I did turn my back on being the face of it for anyone aside from myself. 

Lucky you! Those days have passed!  Not only can you read my blog, follow me on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram - now I am available as a Trained QiDANCE Instructor!  I have my Foundation course under my belt and a meeting with a local aerboics studio on Friday to discuss gettin' this booty back to the front of the class.  ANOTHER GOAL is about to be knocked on its ass.  My awesomeness is beginning to amaze even me. 

Now you're likely excited and can't wait to sign up and work out with me, but I bet you're also thinking, "What the hell is QiDANCE?"  Um...it's awesome, too.  Think sexy dances, incredible music, and (as of Sunday) me as an instructor.  I love it for the same reasons I love TurboFire: it's a program that can be modified to the level of the participant, it's got serious booty movin' music, and it's incredibly FUN.  During the master class (about 1 hour long), I actually had such a kickass time that I was in shock when the end came.  No way that was an hour!  And now I have somewhere to put my enthusiasm!  I can physically interact with people!  WOOT!

And guess what?  When you reach one goal, you immediately feel not only capable but EXCITED to get to the next one.  Everything just starts falling into place.  Just this week, I have been contacted about Shakeology, TurboFire, ChaLEAN Extreme, and teaching classes.  I am still looking into that Exercise Science major.  And I'm researching various personal training certifications.  So I got that goin' for me.  Oh - and the bikini will be mine before the week is over.  That is some good stuff, right there.

What's on your plate this week?  Start a new program?  Eat more healthfully?  Read my blog and share it with your friends?  Tell me!  I wanna hear how fabulous you are, too!

Just Your Typical Prototype

There comes a point in every distance run when I get emotional.  (I know some are surprised by this, but yes...even I have actual emotions.)  I never know exactly when it's going to happen and most times, I forget it's going to until it does.  And there it is - that little lump in my throat, moisture in my eyes (it doesn't sting, so I know it's more than sweat), a tightness in my chest (that is not from shortness of breath - I am a freakin' cardio queen now).  Part of it is simply the release that running brings me, a clarity of mind and simple joy in BEING.  When I take a step back and think on it, I could probably pinpoint when it will happen.  Any time during my second hour.  At a point along my route when I am more surrounded by nature and less by traffic.  When a really great song opens up on my ipod.  It may happen at different points and on different routes, but the feeling is always the same.  It is not only a gut reaction to my surroundings or the physicality of the moment.  It is the same feeling I get when I watch my daughter execute a perfect bar routine; when my son runs the football; when the babe has a new word to use every day.  It's pride.  Just this time, it's in myself.

That's right.  Proud of ME.  A year ago, I had not yet decided to run that half marathon.  I was in the midst of my first round of TurboFire and eating at the diner down the street three to four times a week.  I did not view myself as an athlete and my only concern was working my way from a size 10 to a size 8 and shedding the remaining baby weight.  Seriously - LOOK AT ME NOW.  I have no doubts about running that full marathon in two weeks.  My legs are itchin' for it.  I run because I LOVE it.  I add weighted gloves to every TurboFire workout and I lift with P90X.  I worked out live with Shaun T.  I drink Shakeology every single day and am going organic.  When I eat at the diner, I order things broiled, fresh, and healthy.  It all came down to a single decision.  Did I want to enjoy my life or regret it?

I've been called obsessed, told it's just a phase, that I've lost too much weight.  People feel they have the right to judge my lifestyle, I suppose, because I am so public about it.  Guess what?  I'm open with my choices because I want everyone to share them.  I actually want others to experience the fabulousness I have found.  And there is NO REASON that can't happen.  I am the same as you.  There is nothing in me that you cannot find within yourself.

I will not judge you for your shape, your weight, your size, your ability.  I will judge you for your inactivity and your conscious decisions to live an unhealthy life. I will judge you for clinging to a lifestyle that will shorten your time with those you love. When you run out of breath walking up the stairs or playing with your children - it's time to change things.  Stop telling me to "eat a cheeseburger" or that "big is beautiful."  You can love yourself as you are - but you need to love yourself enough to change. 

Your first step is simply making a commitment.  Walk.  Stretch.  Drink more water.  You don't have to jump into the deep end of the pool.  Not everyone has to run marathons or participate in obstacle races.  But everyone does need to fuel their bodies and shake them out now and again.  This isn't a debate anymore.  It isn't about discrimination.  It's about HEALTH.  It's about YOUR LIFE.  Who wants to live it on the sidelines?  And how do you want your children to grow up?

Obesity is on the rise.  We all know it.  We all see it.  Some of us are doing something about it.  I don't only want to make myself fit.  I want my family to be fit.  I want my friends to be fit.  I want friends of friends to be fit.  I didn't sign on to be a Beachbody coach just to get discounts or just to make a profit.  I did it because these programs opened my eyes to a whole new world of possiblities and fitness levels I never imagined I could reach.  In less than a year, I became an athlete.  I no longer dabble in fitness; it is now what I do and who I am.  And it is my goal to make that happen for you, too.  If you're reading this now, you've thought about it.  Maybe you've already made that change.  Maybe now you're feeling defensive because I've called you out.  I don't care.  What I do care about is that you get off your ass and stop making excuses. 

We aren't so different, you and I.  I used to make excuses for the food I ate and how I spent my time.  And then one day, I just had enough.  I was done being weak.  I was done with losing my breath, watching my kids play instead of playing with them, telling my kids to do their best while I did nothing. 

When your day comes, and you're ready to make that step, be sure to let me know.  You've never had a bigger or more relentless cheerleader than this gal right here.  I will annoy the living piss out of you when you try to explain why you're backsliding.  I will get in your face and refuse to accept whatever lameass excuse you're offering. 

You can thank me a year from now.

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny...

...Old Navy leopard print bikini...Isn't that how the song goes?  It SHOULD.  At the behest of my dear darling daughter (who may have just entrenched herself as my Current Favorite Child), I tried on a bikini this evening whilst shopping for more workout gear.  She is a fairly avid fan of both animal prints and bikinis and was quite enthusiastic to dress me.  I, however, was more hesitant.  Sensing my reluctance, the CFC said to me, in the sweetest and most melodious voice to reach my ears, "You have to wear one this year, Mom.  You can now.  Because of all that exercising you do."  How could I refuse such a wonderful child?  Add in the fact that when I did my measurements this morning, my waist had gone in 1.5" and it was a no-brainer.

CFC was right.  I looked gooooood.  Six pack abs.  An actual waist.  I very much wanted to take this suit home with me.  Alas, due to "all that exercising" I do, I actually was in dire need of new (smaller) workout clothing and the budget does not allow for both necessary and frivolous on the same day.  I hated to return the bikini to its home, but I relished the knowledge that not only did it fit, it made me look AH-mazing. 

Yes, I exercise to be strong and fit.  I love the feeling I get when I'm sweating through TurboFire and ready to bust through the walls with my energy.  I am uberproud that I now do push ups on my toes and run insane amounts of miles every weekend.

But I gotta own up.  I rather enjoy the outer evidence of all the hard work I've been putting in.  I can't get away with running about town in a sports bra and compression shorts, no matter how much I sometimes wish I could.  When my new core catches my eye in the mirror, I can't ignore the chemistry.  I love my new self.  A lot.  So much so that every now and then I swear I hear the first few bars of "Stayin' Alive" when I walk through the living room.  My hips have an extra wiggle after a workout and I find myself lost in my biceps.  They say on average, we fall in love four times in our lives.  Well, I turned out to be one of those times for myself.  I am 99% sure Hubby is perfectly fine with that. 

After sizing myself up in that dressing room, it was incredibly easy to glide past the warm pretzel smell of Auntie Anne's.  I cared nothing for the caramel bars lurking in Gertrude Hawk or the myriad chips and crunchy snacks I enountered when we stopped for groceries.  The only thing going through my mind was how I'm going back to Old Navy in two weeks and buying that damn bathing suit.

Movers and Shakers

The rain.  The gray.  The chill.  It does not induce warm and fuzzy work out feelings in me.  It induces DVR, good book, and warm tea feelings.  What to do?  Race day is creeping closer and skipping scheduled training is not an option.  No matter how sweet and snuggly that napping babe in my bed looks to me. 

First step: mix up some E&E.  On my far-too-early-to-be-sane running mornings, when I can barely open my eyes, this is my go-to.  I sip as I watch the morning news and suddenly go from justifying why bed is better to MUSTRUNNOW.  And it works just as well on a rainy late morning, even if Bethenny Ever After is waiting on my queue.  I am sipping it now, and my fingers are racing to be done with the blog so I can get groovin' with Chalene and TurboFire. 

Second step: read my own freakin' blog.  It reminds me not only of why I am doing this, it makes me WANT to do this.  I seriously inspire myself.  Call it conceit if you want, but then I might call you jealous.  I think it's better when we all just choose to love me and sweat it out together. 

Third step:  PRESS PLAY.  Once I hear the Turbo music, my butt gets a mind of its own.  It starts shakin' and movin' to the beat, dragging my well-muscled arms along for the ride.  How did I live life before running and TurboFire???  I don't know how I went so long, but I know for sure I ain't goin' back!  Increased energy, drive, focus...It's all taking up residence on a permanent basis.  I bought TurboFire as a means to lose my baby weight.  Turns out it was a means to losing an unhealthy life and a catapault to an entirely new world.  I had no idea that THIS body could do THOSE moves and LOVE IT. 

Once I'm done, I may have more words of wisdom to offer you.  Or I may be too busy following TF up with a leg workout.  Probably the best thing for you to do is join me.  Grab some sweat bands. (Yes, I use them.  I don't care if I look like an 80's gym flashback.  This chick sweats like a pig.)  Grab some weighted gloves.  Grab two or three bottles of water (because I care about your hydration, and you should, too).  Meet me at the Beachbody gym and let's GET IT DONE.  (E&E makes me type in ALL CAPS too.)

You can be sore tomorrow, or you can be sorry tomorrow.  Every day, it's a choice.  You give me excuses, I stick my fingers in my ears and yell "BLAHBLAHBLAH."  I don't speak weenie.  I don't accept it from myself, and I know you're just as dedicated and strong as me. 

So drop and give me twenty.  (Or fifteen.  I can do fifteen pretty good ones.  Next week, we'll be up to twenty.)

Feel Your Boobies (Or Her Boobies)

We all love a good rack, don’t we?  Whether you’re the owner or the purveyor, the beauty of the breast is quite apparent.  We love the girls, the twins, the ta-tas, the melons.  That is why each year on Mother’s Day, as a family, we don our pink and move our feet to show our love for the breasts.  It has become a family tradition to pack our bags and head to Philadelphia for the Susan G. Komen Mother’s Day 5k and celebrate the beauty and the health of the boobies. 

It's all about the love!

So, yes.  I do love fitness for fitness' sake.  But I love incorporating it into family activities and teachable moments for the smaller folk in our Clan, too. Quite literally, from dawn till dusk, we are moving as a unit that day and even the boys sport some pink.  In the past, the littler legs have demanded a "walking race," but this year, they have stated it's time to run!  It warms their mama's fitness-lovin' heart to hear those sweet words, but my expectations for actual running time are realistic.  As in, I am sure there will be excitement for the first three minutes followed by many more minutes of walking and perhaps asking to be carried (and that's just Hubby).

Checking in

Hotel Pool Magic!

But still!  It's a truly great family time every year.  We head into Philly the night before the race to check in and wander about, have a relaxing dinner, and enjoy the hotel pool.  (Side note: always book a hotel with a pool.  It is the most fun we have everywhere we go, though the reason still eludes me.  And thank you to my big sister for making me aware of the magic of the hotel pool.)  Race day begins early, with much rubbing of the eyes and asking why it is still dark outside (the sun is lazy!).  But by the time we hit the streets with our bib numbers and our pink, it's all about the fun!

The Race for the Cure

Music, free (healthy!) food and water, chances to shop pre-race, balloons...It's a smorgasboard of activity and smiling faces.  The walk itself is a lesson in gratitude as survivors walk or run alongside us.  And the bonding for us as a family is tremendous.  We have our tradition, our commitment to a Fit Life, our belief in the cause.  It all works.  And the day is good.

Best way to spend Mom's Day

Fight Like A Girl!

We are Team M&M.  We will run.  We will walk.  We will laugh.  We will wear our pink proudly and with honor.  And you?  You can join us!  Sign up with our team and run or walk with our crazy family!  If you can't make the race, donate and make our fundraising a success!  I've written about the strength of women before; the women we're walking for are some of the strongest women in the world.  This disease does not discriminate; we could be walking for your mother, your sister, your wife...or you.  Every dollar makes a difference.  Which is why I am choosing to donate 10% of all Beachbody sales between now and Mother's Day to our team fundraiser.  You want to get fit (otherwise you wouldn't be reading).  Here's your chance to get off your keister and be a good Samaritan at the same time. 

Mother's Day 2011

Look to your right...See all those links over there?  They take you right to my site.  There's also a new link to our fundraising page.  If you've ever found inspiration here, if you've ever found motivation here...throw a couple bucks into the pot.  And then feel your boobies.  Or your wife's or girlfriend's boobies.  Or tell a lovely lady that you've just made a donation and ask if you can feel her boobies.  See?  Giving is a wonderful thing.  Give freely so you can feel freely.