Legend...Hold the Dairy...

I talk a LOT about the exercise side of fitness.  It's my love, my passion, my addiction.  And yes, it gets me results.  It makes me stronger, faster, leaner...more irresistible.  Plus, it's fun.  I get to kick, punch, run, dance...and I typically only have to do so for one to two hours a day.  Which, I feel, is pretty easy.  The nutrition side of fitness...that side which glowers upon regular chocolate cake consumption and does not condone a daily intake of Funyuns...that is not so fun.  And, until recently, it was not even remotely easy for me.  Good thing I like challenges and being told it can't be done.

I was never what anyone would label "a healthy eater."  I was more likely to fall under the category of "eternal grazer" or "garbage disposal."  I ate massive amounts of food in single sittings with constant snacking energizing me between meals.  And I ate things like Weis dessert bowls (frequently enough that my coworkers began calling them "Jen Bowls"); king size Snickers bars; 20-piece McNuggets with three different sauces so my delicate pallette would not get bored.  We frequented the diner down the street so often that we had our own booth and the waitresses knew our "usuals." 

Then I started TurboFire and started dropping pounds and inches.  I was, to put it mildly, quite pleased.  I continued to drop when I picked up running, and I started gaining muscle when I began using ChaLEAN Extreme.  But that mid-section still looked suspiciously poochy, as though it might be carrying something.  And it was.  It was carrying Big Macs, taco pizza, everything fries, and too many desserts to name (but all containing chocolate).  I took a moment to be frustrated, to feel depressed, to pout and whine and stomp my feet regarding the unfairness of it all.  Then I turned to my favorite place for change: Beachbody. 

I wanted more results and I wanted them faster.  I ordered HipHop Abs, E&E Formula, and my first round of Shakeology.  I signed up for my personalized meal plan and started using myfitnesspal again.  I returned to Body Confidence by Mark McDonald. Things began happening. 

First, I fell in lust with Shaun T and in love with E&E.  Then I made a lifelong commitment to Shakeology, which led to a lifelong commitment to (mostly) clean eating.  Because here's the thing: I have that shake in the morning, and I find it ridiculously easy to maintain healthy eating for the remainder of the day.  My body gets what it needs, so minimal (if any) cravings follow.  For a girl that used to hide candy bars in the freezer so my kids wouldn't get them, who used to stock an entire file drawer at my desk with snacks ranging from funsize chocolate bars to entire boxes of cereal...that's kind of a big deal. 

Now here came the most kickass part of all the kickass-edness (yes, it's a word!): I had ab muscles under that pooch! And a waistline!  For the first time since junior high, I saw flat abs in my future.  I don't even have to flex.  They just pop out.  It's like every day, I'm more awesome.  It's hard to believe, right?  How does one so awesome continually find more room for awesome?  Barney Stinson ain't got nothin' on this girl.  Legend...

Speaking of dairy...Yeah.  I don't do that anymore, either.  At least, the occasions are few and far between.  I originally cut it out as part of the Body Confidence jump start plan, but found that not only did I not miss it, I felt better overall.  And after being dairy free for a few weeks, when I had a small glass of milk...Let's just say, things weren't the same between me and the white stuff anymore.  Which just makes decisions that much easier still.  Again with the awesome.

And again, my point behind all this rambling is THIS: if I, the bacon-loving, chocolate-cake-shoveling, fried-cheese-inhaling garbage disposal and former champion of all encased meats, can not only change my diet and garner control over my eating but am actually SATISFIED with my current intake...then so can you.  I don't wanna hear crap about healthy foods being too expensive.  I don't wanna hear "but my kids won't eat that."  I especially don't wanna hear "but that's too difficult."  I will slap that french fry right outta your mouth. 

Fact: eating right will extend your life.  It will extend your children's lives.  Less sickness equals less prescriptions and less trips to the doctor.  Fact: your kids will eat what you provide.  You're the parent and you make the rules.  When my children complain, I make them this deal: get a job, do the shopping, prepare the meals.  Then we can have cheeseburgers and potato chips every night.  Guess what?  We're still eating organic veggies and grilled fish or chicken.  Fact: the more you do it, the easier it gets.  The only difficult part is the first two or three weeks.  Once those devil toxins are cast from your body, you will crave things like cantaloupe and mixed greens and water.  And then I won't have to keep slapping you.  Which is nice for both of us.

And now that I have finished my Dwight Shrute-like diatribe, I'm going to go sip my green tea, read a little Mama Llama with the babe before he naps...and then I'm gonna rip into HIIT 15 and some ab work.  Because Shakeology gave me the energy to do so.

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.

It's The Climb

 This is where I am at the end of the first interval of 99% of my training runs.  Within five minutes, I am far enough away from the main road to not hear traffic and far enough into my session to begin realizing how blessed I am to live where I do.  We may not have Starbucks or malls and we may have to drive more than 20 minutes to get anywhere...but look what we do have.  It's not a fair trade; we certainly claimed the long end of the stick.  At this point, I am more likely to run past fishermen than cars and am more likely to be alone than in the presence of fishermen.  It's a quiet beginning to a quiet run, just the way I prefer it.  If anything is going to throw me off on Sunday, it will be the chaos that accompanies every starting line.  Because from here, I move on to this:

More tranquility, more beauty, and even less signs of progress.  My usual company here consists of geese (although, those geese aren't always tranquil...) and the occasional farmer on his tractor.  If the stream is high enough and rapid enough, I like to lower the volume on my iPod so I can listen to the water rush by.  By the time I get here...

I am already feeling the zen of sneakers hitting asphalt, the evenness of my breathing, the energy pushing my legs faster.  To the right is the lake, where I'm likely to see more fishing enthusiasts and runners like myself.  This is when the rest of my world begins to fall away, when I forget about the laundry, any temper tantrums or bills to pay, and my mind shifts instead to what lies ahead.  Because from here, it's only a few miles to get to my favorite spot...

This is my treat, one I only get when I do distance training.  It's about ten miles out and if I want to go through here, I have to plan on at least two to three hours of run time.  I've previously described the "veggie portion" of my runs.  This is my double chocolate fudge cake, fresh out of the oven.  It's worth busting through any tiredness that tries to creep in to hear the gravel crunch under my feet and know that I have a good two miles to be snug in this trail before I re-enter the real world of painted lines and fast cars.  I swear, the best songs always play here and I do some of my clearest thinking along this path.  Many a blog entry has been formulated between these trees and many a problem solved.  If my race has any spots like this, I'll be golden come Sunday.

No matter how far I run or which route I take, I always start and finish on the same road, with the same hill.  Setting out, the downhill is a great warm up and spur to get my feet movin'.  Coming home...it is the bane of my existence.  There was a time, seven or so months ago, that I was barely able to walk back up.  It required everything I had to breathlessly climb this hill.  Now...I run it.  Slowly.  Awkwardly.  But I'm running.  This hill may not be the steepest I've encountered during my months of training, but it is the most symbolic.  I can't get around it.  This is the way home and the last few minutes of my run.  I can either make it count or I can decide my run is over at the base.  I decided long ago to make it count.  So while this picture may not seem impressive or beautiful to you...to me, it is a turning point not only in my physical strength, but my mental determination as well.  If I can conquer this hill after a 21+ mile run, I can certainly finish that marathon. 



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.

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.)

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

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.

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...

Holy Shakeology, Batman!

Oh, the deliciousness! I honestly did not have high expectations for the taste of yet another protein drink mix...but it was like drinking cake batter! And beyond the taste - I have stayed full and craving-free for an entire day! How crazy is that? Me, Queen of Noshing! Needless to say, I am SO hooked on Shakeology now!
And the protein bars! Yum! I tried the chocolate fudge today and had to remind myself not to feel guilty.  It tastes like a candy bar.  No lie! Had I known it was this tastey, I would have started with these products when I first started using the fitness programs. 
AND - today was also my first day using the E&E Formula, with the same results! As a runner,  I often use Gu to rev my energy, but gag at the consistency.  E&E was tastey and easy to drink, and I felt increased energy all day long.  Not sure if it was E&E or Shakeology, but I believe I will keep using both. 
Now, to spread the word...
And figure out how NOT to sound like an infomercial...;p