Ghosts of Fitness Past

I'll admit, I'm a sucker for advertising.  I really ought to set parental controls for infomercials and start wearing those horse blinders through department stores.  Of course, I am forever grateful to the late-night ordering that led me to Beachbody, but there were many pitfalls and stops along the way.  Not all of them were unworthy, but none kept my interest piqued for quite so long.  Let's take a gander at my ghosts of fitness past, shall we?

My earliest workout memory involves shiny spandex and high ponytails and muscles of steel.  Before I stood before my mirror to tease my bangs, scrunch my permed hair, or tuck-and-roll my stonewashed jeans, I crunched and squeezed with Tamilee Webb.  I longed to have her flat little tummy and tight little tush.  Alas, our mornings together, though beginning with much gusto, became infrequent and eventually nonexistent.  We never had an official breakup; there was simply a time when I no longer loaded that VHS tape nor packed it for my move to college.

The same was true for my thighmaster (yes, I had one).  I saw that commercial and thought, "How easy! I can watch TV and let my eyes glaze over while I create the perfect thighs!"  Damn you, Chrissy Snow, for creating such high hopes.  I cannot imagine how many squeezes one must do each day to attain those slender thighs, but I do know it was far more than I ever did.  Another advertising dream dashed, I stuffed the thighmaster under my daybed with my cassette tapes, never to be used again.

Things improved slightly in college.  I gained a fitness buddy and we developed a slight obsession with Kathy Ireland and everything she hawked in KMart.  (Did I mention that said university was located in rural PA and KMart was the closest approximation to a mall in our vicinity?)  We hopped through grapevines, pulsed through leg raises, and reached through stretches.  Kathy travelled with me to my first post-college home, but when I discovered gym life and a DVD player, she no longer made the cut.  Although, now that she is selling furniture, I find myself wanting once again to buy from her.  I suppose those fond memories of awkward toe taps and low-budget filming will always leave me with a soft spot for her.

Around this time I also developed a keen interest in tae bo and Billy Blanks.  This is where I began to actually work out - that is, when I stopped doing low-key and every-now-and-then workouts and started putting in actual effort and regularity.  And, coincidentally, began seeing actual results from my dedication.  I barely made it through my first tae bo session; within months, I was teaching classes at my local gym and pushing people to work harder.  So, thank you, Mr. Blanks.  To this day, I still enjoy the occasional sweat with you.

More recently, I (along with the rest of America) became aware of Jillian Michaels.  I found her so compelling that I purchased her DVD's, her book, and a treadmill with her voice.  Through following the regimen in Making The Cut, both Hubby and I found relatively quick results.  Alas, the time spent on food prep and travelling to the gym cut too severely into our time with the kids and each other.  We looked fabulous.  But we were ex-haust-ed. 

So what to do?  P90X!  And then Chalene!  And then Shaun T!  Bliss!  Sweet, sweet torture.  We are home; we can get results with an hour or less a day; we can do it whenever suits us.  No class schedule or childcare required.  No sharing space, no other people's sweat, no waiting for class to start.  We press play and we're on our way.  This...this is my key to working out.  Yes, it's popular.  Yes, I found it through an infomercial.  However...this is no fad.  These are actual exercises that work.  Plus, they're FUN.  We are happy campers here at the M&M Estate.

So, once again, I advise you to figure out YOUR soulmate workout.  Do classes motivate you?  Do you like the face time with a live instructor?  Do you need to squeeze your workouts into an already crazy schedule?  Do you wanna dance/lift/kick/punch/stretch?  Ask yourself - what is the most fun I've ever had doing a physical activity (hey! perverts!)?  THAT is your soulmate workout.  Still unsure?  Contact me.  I'll tell you what to do.  Because I enjoy being bossy like that.

queenie3431@hotmail.com
https://www.facebook.com/#!/queensweat

Summa Time

First Daily Challenge: Push ups to failure

Let's talk about what excites me THIS week.  And what will be my fitness focus for the next 30 days.  I am heading up my first ever KickOffSummer Challenge, where not only am I overzealous and nagging, but everyone loves me for it!  That's my kinda group.

So what we're doing is this: getting fit.  Simple, right? Everyone can get fit. (Don't offer me any excuses.  I believe we've already covered just how I feel about excuses.) It is simple.  They decided. They've committed.  And now they're going to succeed. 

Every day, I am offering up strength moves, stretches, fit tips, mini challenges, snack suggestions, recipes...It's like a fitness smorgasboard with me as master chef.  HEAVEN.  If they complete the challenges, make the recipes, eat the snacks...they get points!  Gold stars, even!  (Well, it's all virtual, but I can say, "Hey! Great job! You get a gold star!" and they can get all happy and offer CHF's - Cyber High Fives - to the rest of the group.  Very motivating.)  And if they don't...well...I may have to get all drill sergeant-y on their asses.  Because my group is NOT for quitters.  (You're all listening, right?)

And already - SUCCESS!  We have total workout virgins all the way to workout...veterans...Anyway...we have all levels!  So there's lots of trading of ideas and advice and "this really worked for me."  Plus, those that recently started their ChaLEAN Extreme and P90X programs are already showing incredible progress.  Their pants are falling off, their arms are sore.  Stuff of beauty!  This is the sort of news that really gets my blood pumping these days.  And gets ME offa my bum and pressin' play.  I have heard it said that when a student surpasses the teacher, that is the teacher's greatest accomplishment.  Well, maybe when I'm 60 and I'm coaching a 20-year-old.  For now, I wanna be the alpha exerciser.  So I'm back to my routine FULL FORCE and joining in on all the mini challenges.  I may have to start charging for the gun show I got goin' on...

PLUS - I am that much MORE EXCITED about my NEXT challenge group beginning in July!  I'm lookin' to get insane in the membrane and crack that whip even harder.  Soooo...who's up for a CHALLENGE????  The weak need not apply...

MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

Girl Crush

Today was the first day in a looooong ass time that I worked out without the marathon looming over me.  I trained simply to train; sweat just to sweat; killed it because I still kick ass.  I blasted through Fire 30 and Burn Circuit 1 and have plans to run through some QiDANCE practice before the ever-energetic babe wakes from his nap.  I am officially declaring this week Workout Because I Love It Week.  Not very catchy, but deal with it. 

Post TurboFire...actual sweat, actual abs.

I was so focused on the race that I think I lost a teeny bit of my bounce.  Now, I lovelovelove running and I lovelovelove having a day that's all about being proud of me.  But I also harbor some deep feelings for Chalene and the way she makes me sweat.  Maybe Throwback Week would be better.  Because every time I press play for TurboFire, I can't help but be reminded of that long ago first workout when I thought I just might die before I finished (and upon finishing, when I realized I couldn't wait to do it again).  THIS is the program that made me fall in love with training again.  THIS is the program I gush about, and have gushed about even before I became a Beachbody Coach.  Because THIS is the program that stole my baby weight and readied me for my first half marathon (even before I was challenged to run it).  THIS is the program that restored my confidence in my body and took it to higher levels of fitness than any I'd reached before.  THIS is the program that made me believe I could tackle any class, any event, any challenge.  THIS is the program that helped me reclaim me.

See, there's this strange thing that happens postpartum.  Your focus shifts, as it ought, to the precious and beautiful babe who needs all things from you.  It's an overwhelming force, this whole Mom thing, and one that can swallow you whole if you allow it.  I had reached that point - that constantly tired, constantly distracted, constantly waiting for my cue - that I had reached twice before with my older lovelies.  I avoided spending too much time in front of the mirror (which should have aroused my concern for myself much sooner) and favored stretch pants and long sweatshirts over skinny jeans and fitted tops.  Luckily, there came that bright shining moment when I was just done with it.  I could continue to be a whining mass of blob-ness, complaining about my shape and exhaustion, depressed over choosing clothes every day...or I could change.  Change sounded much more fun.

And for once, my unwavering belief in all things infomercial worked in my favor.  I am not (totally) ashamed to admit that I am a sucker for advertising, especially when put forth in such a "newsy" and "factual" manner.  And TurboFire appealed to everything I'm a sucker for: lose weight fast, look pretty, and as an end result, be kind of bad ass.  I HAD TO HAVE IT.

And thus began my love affair with Chalene.  I dropped ten pounds and two sizes in my first round of TurboFire.  I remember my once-fitted yoga pants sliding off mid-tuck jump.  I nearly cried that day, I was so freakin' proud of myself.  The funny part was, my goals had already changed.  I had signed up for that half marathon and was already contemplating mud races.  I wanted muscles.  I wanted to do pushups on my toes.  I had to order ChaLEAN Extreme. 

And that worked too.  I found biceps, triceps, and an actual ass.  Turned out I was stronger than I ever believed possible.  I became even more kickass.  So I bought Push, Chalene's NY Times bestselling life coaching book.  I learned not only how to set goals, I learned exactly how to attain them.  My three main goals for this year are already done; it's only MAY.  So I have to pick new ones.

There's always a catalyst, an inspiration any time you change your life.  I can honestly say that an infomercial was my catalyst, and a woman I have never met was (and continues to be) my inspiration.  The thing I find happening more often, though, is this: I am my own catalyst and my own inspiration.  When I wake up every day, I am the one pulling on my sneakers and shrugging into sportsbras.  I am the one scheduling sweat time into my day.  I press play and I throw myself into every workout. 

So, if I can do it...it kind of makes you think, doesn't it...?

I Ran for the Red

Hey, did you know I've been training for a marathon? I know I haven't talked about it much, but I've done some training here and there over the past few months...

Yay!

So, Saturday was the much anticipated expo and packet pickup day.  After browsing the expos at the Rock N Roll Half and VIA, I was all set to stock up on Gu and possibly a new headband or tshirt with a catchy slogan (previous purchases include "will run for margaritas" and "will run for beer." I have a theme.).  Alas, twas not to be.  Apparently, Run for the Red is but a teeny blip on the expo radar and not a drop of Gu could be found.  I did leave, however, with a brand spanking new tech shirt (free) and a bag full of tourism brochures for Stroudsburg.  Oh - and two (count 'em!) notepads from the state representative.  On to my runner's haven, Aardvark!

Aardvark Sports Shop is my absolute fave place to shop for running gear.  Runners work there and actually know what they're talking about as they fit you for shoes and answer your questions.  (Unlike walking into Lady Foot Locker and explaining I was in need of new running shoes, whereupon I was led to the "prettiest pair.")  I grabbed my Gu, some Chomps, and chatted with the cashier who had already run Run for the Red and was running it again the next day.  She warned me not to go all out in the beginning on the downhill because there'd be plenty of uphill at the end.  I soaked it all in (and promptly forgot it once the race started, but we'll get to that in a bit), grabbed my stash, and headed home to ready the house for the post-race celebration.

Race day! It was actually race day!  Up at 5 am (actually before, because I was excited/nervous/in need of bladder emptying) to get myself and the M&M Clan out the door by 6:30 am.  Being the organized gal that I am, everything had been laid out the night before, so we nearly got out the door on time.  (I never fully expect us to leave when we plan to; this is why we usually give ourselves a 30-minute "oh my God we have four kids" window.)  I forced down some oatmeal and green tea and packed a cooler of snacks for the rest of the Clan and a bag of gear for myself.  Off we went, some of us jittery and others sleepy.

Our course of action was a drop off and immediate departure for the fam, with nary a monkey foot leaving the van.  I geared up, posed for pictures, stole last-minute hugs and kisses and waved good-bye as they chugged on to the first spectator spot.  Suddenly, I was alone with 30 minutes to spare...I had to pee.

Luckily, the crowd at the starting line was minimal.  This was not the chaos I was used to from previous races, but that suited me just fine.  I was able to use the portapotties TWICE before I meandered over to the starting line just behind the 4:40 pace group.  I was feeling spry and thought I would at least start out with a faster group.  To help me chillax, I listened to the Fab Four until start time and marvelled at the wide range of runners.

Two things that continuously amaze me are the diversity and the community of runners.  You may picture marathon runners as incredibly sinewy and lean, and some of them are.  But they (WE!) are a much more diverse group than most would imagine.  There was not a "type" anywhere yesterday...Cultures, races, shapes, sizes, levels of fitness - everyone was represented.  And everyone was accepted with enthusiasm.  Runners are one of the most welcoming and enthusiastic groups I have ever seen.  When we find each other, we are like dogs spotting other dogs.  I swear, I may have even waggled my rear at times.  Because no one other than a fellow runner will truly understand what it means and why we're NOT crazy to do what we do.  Also, we want to convert everyone we meet.  If we could only pause long enough in our weekend runs to knock on a few doors, we'd be eerily similar to certain religious sects.

So it was a good feeling there at the starting line.  There is always the jumbled mess at the beginning when everyone is fresh, but by mile two we began to separate.  I kept in pace with the 4:40 crowd and began taking my intervals somewhere between miles 2 and 3.  The first hour went by as it always does, in a haze of settling in to my stride and my breathing and gaining control of my thoughts (today they went something along the lines of "Holy FUCK! What did I sign up for?!?).  I always find my strength and my zen around the second hour and this day was no different.  I turned up my volume (one luxury of racing: you don't have to listen for vehicles) and zoned out, forgetting the other runners and focusing instead on me. 

That's a lie.  I didn't eliminate them from my thoughts.  That 4:40 pace sign was taunting me endlessly, bobbing up and down in its irritating, singsongy way.  I pushed harder.  I totally forgot the advice of Wise Aardvark Lady and took full advantage of the downhill and the shade and the slight coolness of the morning.  That's a partial lie, too.  I didn't forget; I ignored.  This led to a sweaty stripping down while I made use of PortaPotty stop 2.  Which in turn led to me falling far behind the pace group and pushing even harder to catch up and PASS them.  I felt fantastic.

By the time I saw the Clan at the first spectator spot, right around mile 9, I was fully in my stride.  I untied my excess clothing from my fuel belt and threw it at them as they cheered me on.  I was on pace to not only make my goal of five hours, but to come in significantly sooner.  I had no time to stop (though I did end up pausing for a kiss).  Once again, I fell into zen mode, rousing out every 30 to 45 minutes to fuel up with Gu and water.  I passed the halfway point fourteen minutes under my previous half marathon time and ran faster.  Another reunion with fam at mile 16 perked me up again...and then came the heat.

Runners began dropping like flies.  People I hadn't seen since the starting line were suddenly on the side of the road clutching bellies, removing shoes, and opting for the ambulance ride.  I saw runners falling and admitting defeat at every mile.  This was not something I had expected.  And it made the mental portion of the race that much more difficult.  Because when everyone around you is quitting, it makes quitting seem like an okay thing to do.  Even if your body is willing to keep going. 

My legs felt strong.  My cardio was on target.  But that heat...that heat.  I had not trained in heat.  I trained all winter long in layers, and in the spring when the mornings stayed cool.  Technically, it's still spring.  But yesterday felt like the dog days of summer, especially with 18 miles logged.  At points I felt viciously jealous of those caving to the sun and the road; they were done.  I was barely trudging along, focusing entirely on my "one more minute" strategy to get me through each interval.  I shifted from counting singular miles to grouping them by fives, when I knew they would be posting on Facebook for all to see.  People would know if I stopped; people would know if I failed.  I would know.  My new mantras included "failure is NOT an option" and "failure is not in my vocabulary."  Not original or thought provoking, but they worked.  I plugged on, letting my arms drop.

But that HEAT.  It was unbearable.  I pictured blue waters, cool swimming pools, even my ice bath.  I longed for my ice bath.  I grew irritable that the water stations had no cold offerings.  I didn't want  warm Gatorade!  I wanted ICE COLD WATER.  It was my only clear thought.  And then...

The heavens parted.  A choir of angels began to sing.  And if I'd had a tear to shed, I would have cried.  I saw the most beautiful handwritten sign on the side of a cooler I had ever seen: "ICE."  I dove in with two hands, splashing one clump into an outstretched cup of water and sending the rest into the front of my sports bra.  Relief.  From that point on, we were strictly in residential areas and apparently, the most wonderful people on the face of the planet live right on the Run for the Red route.  They sprayed us down with icy garden hoses, offered us plastic cups full of ice and cool water, all the while cheering us on.  I opened my arms wide and blessed their dear, sweet little souls.  Children squirted us with water guns and supersoakers - all of it FREEZING.  Bliss.  Pure bliss.  I gathered my remaining energy and realized I was in the home stretch now - only three more miles to go.

The closer I got to the finish line, the more finishers I saw walking back to their cars and to restaurants along Main Street.  Once again, I was jealous: not only were they done, they were done faster.  I pushed harder.  Upon entering the school grounds, I heard my big sister yelling "Go, BEAR!"  I looked up to see her and my daughter waving from the top of the bleachers.  I could not walk now...I had to finish running.  No more intervals.

I hit the track and knew it was less than a full lap.  I have never wanted to stop moving so badly in my life.  I desperately needed to walk, to just stand still...and then Crazy Train started playing.  It was my son's theme song all wrestling season, and I was reminded of his tenacity even when we all knew he wanted to give up.  I was reminded of our many talks about following through to reach goals, about not giving in or giving up...and all the moments I watched his jaw set and his eyes narrow...and I started sprinting for the finish line.  I knew I was already over five hours, but not by much.  I could still make this a goal reached.

I crossed the finish line at 5:02:44.  (Upon checking my results, my official chip time was 5:01:04.  I'll take it.)  I grabbed up my precious medal and stumbled into the open arms of Hubby, who literally swept me off my feet in the best hug EVER. 

I did it.  "Decide.  Commit.  Succeed."  That is the Beachbody slogan I see at the end of every TurboFire, ChaLEAN Extreme, and P90X workout I have ever done.  And though a simple formula, it works.  I am proof.  And now I have a marathon PR...which I will beat in the VIA this September.  I just need to start training.

Entering the Asylum

If you've read my previous posts, you are aware that I am a bit of a Beachbody fanatic.  I shook my booty through 90 days of TurboFire and followed that up with a round of ChaLEAN Extreme. Now I'm gritting my teeth through P90X and groovin' to HipHop Abs.  But tonight I got a little insane with Shaun T live and in person, so I'm headed towards the Asylum very soon...

I must admit, I was feelin' a little cocky when I walked into the packed room at a local VFW, ready to sweat and flex my newfound muscles.  After all, I've been doing two-a-days for a little over a month and I'm training for a FREAKING MARATHON.  I am fitter than I have ever been.  How difficult could one hour be?  Ummm...pretty damn difficult.

I ripped off my shirt during the warm up.  Baby belly be damned, because I could not tolerate having that extra layer on.  Nor could I tolerate taking it easy and going at the class half-assed.  (For those of you who don't know me, I prefer the whole ass approach.)  My legs were sca-reeeeem-ing in the first ten minutes.  My arms started shaking at fifteen.  I can't even tell you what my abs were up to at the half-hour mark, because I had moved beyond pain to sheer determination. 

Baby belly be damned!

That was the hardest, sweatiest, most exhilirating hour of extreme fitness I've experienced in quite a while.  So...now I know what my next Beachbody shipment is going to be.  My arms were still in spasm state and my head was still floating in workout la-la land while I got an autograph for Bubba and a photo for me.  All I could concentrate on was when I could start Insanity at home.  Which means, hubby will be entering the Asylum with me, whether he wants to or not...muahahahahaha.  So please, pardon the upcoming overzealous posts once I start, because these endorphins tend to spin outta control...

Bubba with his autograph

Too ramped up to pose pretty