Slight Variation...

Today marks Day One of Serious Spartan Training (to be henceforth knows as SST).  Serious for me, at least.  I have yet to reach the level of Beast that I do so long to reach, but I'm climbing the steps to get there.  So what did I do today, you ask?  I am gonna tell you.

Today I ran my fastest Short Loop EVER.  (The Short Loop, if you recall, is what Hubby and I have named the 3.7 mile circuit near our house.)  I ran that sucker in 33:52 using 9:1 intervals.  And to be completely honest, my body didn't need those minute breaks.  My mind needed them just to keep things interesting and varied.  You see, that zen state where I forgo intervals just cannot be reached in a mere 33 minutes.  I need more than an hour, and today I did not have that kind of time.  (Or more importantly, that kind of water supply.  Once I was out there, I was very tempted to head out for the Medium Loop.  If I'd taken water, I wouldn't be back yet.)  So anyway - back to my point...what was it again?  Oh yes!  I'm speedy!  Well, I'm speedy for me.  I averaged a 9:07 minute mile, well under my typical 10:30.  So that's exciting.

I bet you're thinking I was done after that.  But you're wrong.  I ran right to the shade of our trees and did 50 static lunges on each leg.  Then I dropped and did 20 pushups.  Came inside, grabbed some water and a banana.  Did 12 burpees.  Now I'm done.  And I feel SPECTACULAR!  I love a new routine and I love kicking ass.  This totally works for me.  Which is really handy because I plan on doing some version of it three days a week until I start the Insanity Challenge.  (Speaking of which, I really need to come up with a cooler name for that.  Feel free to hit me with your ideas.)  I do believe I will require Hubby to hang that rope in the backyard so I can begin climbing practice after my runs.  Which means gloves to protect my dainty little paws...which means shopping...Oooh!  This IS a great day!

Less than a month to go until the Spartan.  Expect more posts like this one.  You know, extolling the awesomeness of me and my workouts.  I know, I know.  But it's a variation on the theme.  Now I'm not just running, see?  Variety.  It's the spice of a Fit Life.  Sprinkle some on your plate, why don't ya?

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...?

Easy Street

After my first QiDANCE master class

Rest week, shmest week.  My QiDANCE DVD came in the mail today and I had to get my groove on.  I just about have the first song down, hip swivels and all.  This is probably where not having a full length mirror comes in a little handy; I can imagine I look just as sexy as I feel.  And after more than a week of jammin' out to the CD, the moves are coming pretty naturally with the music.  I have about a month left before the first class and I plan on bein' readier than ready. 

Strolling

Hey there, sheep.

Aside from my new dancing obsession, I'm taking it slow and easy (aside from a Tabat Boot Camp class on Monday, but I kept it within range).  I actually took an entire day off yesterday, leaving me feeling at loose ends and as though I was forgetting something all day.  Today, the babe and I strolled leisurely along part of my regular running route, stopping for some photos and to say hello to the sheep.  And then, of course, my QiDANCE extravaganza. 

And all the while, several times a day and sometimes several times an hour, that marathon is racing around the back of my mind.  I have created and recreated a mental checklist for the day prior and the morning of.  Both involve the camera, of course.  And the afternoon after involves Skinny Girl cocktails (after I replenish a few calories) and friends and family to celebrate.  I keep contemplating a tiara but try to convince myself that my new medal will suffice.  What I haven't been concentrating on is the actual running of the race.

Along my route

I've been training for approximately seven months with this marathon in mind.  I don't skip training and I don't quit when I feel tired.  I eeked out some runs and blasted through others.  Most importantly, I have finished each and every one.  (Well, except for the one that was interrupted by some nasty shin pain...but I made that up the next week.)  I have put my time in.  This body is ready.  The race is not the hard part; the hard part is over.  I finished seven months of the hard part.  I know I can do five hours (or less!) of the easy part. 

A view on each run

A friend and fellow runner just reminded me that I will only get one first marathon, and I don't intend to waste it worrying.  I want to relish every moment (and I will relay many, so consider yourself warned) and keep the day as special as it ought to be.  This is just the public culmination of the days, weeks, and months I've spent preparing.  But, hey...we all know I love a good public spectacle involving myself.  And the fact that I get a medal at the end of it just makes it that much better.

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...

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.)

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.

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.

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"