Yearn to Learn

I'm teacher AND student - so I get the apple.

I am always learning, and my favorite things to learn are things about - you guessed it - myself.  Here is what I'm learning this week:

1. Insanity has kicked my cardio capabilities into another hemisphere.  I began training for my half-marathon/5k/10k combo scheduled for October, and - miracle of miracles - I no longer need those pesky walking intervals.  I can just run.  Now, I may add in the the walks when I increase my time and mileage simply for fear of injury - but they'll be few and far between (and weeded out as soon as possible), but for right now, my sports bra is near bustin' with pride.  (It has very little else to bust with these days.)

2.  My heart rate may get all kinds o' jacked up while pushing through Insanity or a speedy run interval, but it drops right back down the way a healthy person's would.  I no longer need long cooldowns to return my heart rate to its resting rate; it gets there lickity split all on its own.  Stop yammering!  I still cool down and stretch because I like it and it's good for my pretty muscles.  I'm just sayin' that before, I would still be huffin' and puffin' like the Big Bad Wolf after some bacon.  Now, I'm just as serene as the brick-layin' pig.  (But much leaner.)

Mine is working just dandy, thanks.

3.  I can make my goals happen all on my own, even if they aren't fitness-related.  I wanted to be an author; yesterday I made it so.  Thank you to createspace.com and their helpful step-by-step into the world of self-publishing.  Now, you can take me to bed with you!  I will post links to buy the physical copy of SweatItOut: My Journey From CouchSpud to FitGal as soon as everything is a go.  For now, you can find me on Kindle by searching "SweatItOut." 

4.  My love of fitness is spreading, and it's spreading because of me.  The Werewolf is doing yoga all on his own and loving it.  He's namaste-in' with Rodney Yee two or three times a week and becoming more and more intent on maintaining his focus - so "please be QUIET, Mom and Sissy."  This makes me incredibly happy and even bustier with pride (well, maybe not bustier, but a gal can always dream).  This weekend we will be shopping for yoga supplies so he can try out some backbends.



The Werewolf's yoga partner

5.  Exercise is the key component to my productivity.  Days that I don't work out, I don't do much else either.  I allow myself to slump in front of the computer, the television, my iPhone.  My energy piques around 1:00 pm.  I begin getting cranky around 4:00.  Days that I do work out, my chores are done by noon, I'm chipper and ready to get outta the house by 1:00, and the kids typically follow by 2:00.  (I wait for them, of course....no matter how tempted I may be for a solo trip.)  Nutrition - the same!  When I take my supplements (added in a B-Complex to support my Iron) and eat well, my body thanks me with energy and good moods.  Why mess with it?  Sloth and gluttony just aren't my sins.

Those are all pretty kick ass new things about me.  But know what's better?  Next week, I'm gonna find out something else.  Fact is, I just get better on a daily basis.  So try to keep up, would ya?

Once A Runner...

Get ready, Readers.  Today marks the first day of Trifecta Training and as such, the first of many posts regarding my incredible gains as a runner.  If you're a runner, you're bound to find my itty bitty increment improvements interesting (notice the alliteration? I'm good.).  If you're not a runner...you should be.  It's awesome.  It's addicting.  And you have the added bonus of being able to race with me, because I am dying for some running buddies! 

What exactly am I training for, you ask?  The Runner's World Half Marathon and Festival in October, right in Bethlehem!  (I say "right in" because it takes me less than hour to get there, and when you live in a town without even a grocery store, that's "right in.")  They are offering not one, not two, but THREE RACES!  Now, of course you can sign up for just one or two...but that just seems like something I would not do...So I'm doing all three!  Saturday it's the 5k followed by the 10k and Sunday it's the half.  I am looking to bust my Rock N' Roll Half time (2:37) and really don't think I'll have a problem. 

I took an easy 20-minute treadmill run today, increasing incline to decrease boredom (I am more of an outside runner, but the treadmill is fab for days I can't get outside) and was impressed with myself.  I know, never happens, right?  Today it DID.  I didn't feel the need for a walk break at all.  This may sound like a small step to you, but it's a giant leap for me.  That Shaun T has turned this runner into a cardio MACHINE.  I had to repeatedly remind myself that today's schedule called for an easy run and it's perfectly okay to not want to keel over.  Add in that I'm technically in recovery week with Insanity and today felt pretty restful.  (Except that all of my challenge groups are participating in a low-to-high plank hourly challenge - 10 an hour - and I'm setting an example by doing it too...)

Rock N Roll

Anyway - I kept a 5.0 mph pace for my easy run.  Not Speedy Gonzales, but not Me From Last Summer either.  Not even Me From This Past Winter.  That used to be my top speed, not my easy peasy lemon squeezy pace.  I just busted through ANOTHER wall.  Thank you for your applause, but really - the roses aren't necessary.  (I prefer crowns and tiaras.)

The best part of today, though - feeling like ME.  The iron levels seem to be evening out - or maybe it's just the return to running.  I love it.  It totally gets me high on endorphins.  I can't wait for my outdoor early morning run tomorrow.  And I promise - I will remember every detail of every step my little Ghosts take (although they will soon be traded in and take their place on the closet floor next to my Frees, as their tread is all gone)...because I know you'll be waiting and anticipating, wondering and worrying.  Fear not, dear Readers!  We, friends, are BACK ON TRACK. 

And you're running with me, right?  Oh YAY!

I Feel Like I'm Taking Crazy Pills!

I believe we've covered this already, but I suppose it bears repeating.

STOP WITH THE CRAZY PILLS.

And stop with anything that says, "You don't even have to exercise! Eat anything you desire!"  I am only telling you this because I care about you.  True story.

You don't have to buy any of my outstanding Beachbody products to get in shape (although they sure do make it clear cut and simple).  You don't have to visit a nutritionist or a trainer.  The information is all out there, in magazines, on the web, in books.  Eat right.  Exercise.  That's it.  The information doesn't change - no matter how badly you may want it to.  Fit takes effort.  Healthy takes commitment.  You're either willing...or you're not.

I do try to be understanding about these things.  I was once in your shoes.  Desperate for a change and demanding it be quick.  I also used to dream of having my very own unicorn and marrying Jordan Knight.  We have fantasy and we have reality.  A lot of the time, they don't mesh.  You can choose to cry into your triple-thick shake or salt your fries with your tears...or you can buck the hell up and actually DO something about your situation.  Something long-term with lasting results.

You know why I signed on as a Beachbody coach in the first place?  Get ready, because it's all shmaltz.  The programs I used CHANGED MY LIFE.  There was no pandering, no "girly" workout toned down to make it more marketable.  Its marketability was the toughness.  And for the first time in my love/hate relationship with fitness, I was truly challenged and I LOVED it.  So I became a coach, because I believe that strongly in the programs and the products.  And I wanted to help others reach the level of fitness I am still striving for. 

You won't ever find me wandering the "diet aids" aisle in the pharmacy again.  You won't see SlimFast in my refrigerator.  If you want to locate me, look in my living room, where I'm currently training harder than I ever have.  Look on the backroads near my home, where I run faster than I ever have.  Look in the organic and produce aisles, where I shop smarter than I ever have.  Or look for me next to my kids on the playground, at the pool, on the hiking trails...instead of sitting off to the side, puffing away on a smoke.  If this overweight, chainsmoking, fast-food grubbing gal can turn herself into a lean, mean, vegetable-eating machine...EVERYONE CAN. 

You think you have an excuse?  I'd love to hear it.  Message me via my fan page on Facebook (also SweatItOut - link to your right).  Let's chat.  I can't promise I'll respond the way you want me to, but I can promise I'll respond the way you need me to.

National Day of Running??? WHAT?!?

Today is National Running Day! I only became aware of this outstanding celebration yesterday, but darn tootin' I'm taking part.  Partly because I have a run scheduled for today anyway, but also because I love the idea of celebrating running!  You know why I adore running? Just in case you don't, I'm gonna tell you.

I love the freedom of it.  As in, it's cheap.  Equipment is minimal - you get yourself a good solid pair of running shoes, and you're set.  The rest - the iPod, the watch, the fuel belts - are add-ons.  You don't have to have them. 

Setting out for an early morning run

I love the solitary aspect.  Yes, I'm a people person most of the time.  That's how come I crave alone time.  For the majority of the day, I am busy cramming my thoughts into other people's heads and trying to process the myriad little voices that are fighting to enter my own head.  (Although, to be fair, those little voices share a basic unifying thought: "MOM!" Apparently, just saying that one. singular. word. over and over is entertainment enough.) 

I love the sense of accomplishment I get from a long run.  I enjoy my TurboFire, my P90X, my HipHop Abs, and my QiDANCE...but the feeling after a long run is just...separate. Because just last year, right around this time, I could barely eke out 20 minutes.  Running is a measurable accomplishment, a way for me to say, again, that my body is capable of amazing things.

My first race medal

I love running for the sense of peace I receive during a long run.  And by long run, I mean longer than an hour and preferably longer than two. It takes me that first hour to find my place, my zen, my stride.  After that, the freedom and the solidarity combine and my world takes on a rosier hue.  Cars may pass; their sounds are muted.  The sun can shine; the rain can fall; the wind can blow...everything just adds to the moment.  For me, running is the only workout I have found that offers this sense of quiet, this sense of relaxation during maximum effort.  I think more clearly; problems that plague me before my feet hit the asphalt suddenly sort themselves out and seem small. 



Finishing my first marathon

I love the sense of community among runners.  Experienced runners are consistently enthusiastic about helping beginners; elite runners rejoice in the amateur runners' race times.  Picture a dog finding another dog.  For them, that moment is ALWAYS AMAZING.  In their world of humans, they have discovered another canine at last.  Runners are the same way.  Don't believe me? Attend any race, walk into any runner's store, and find someone who's been running for years.  Tell them you're new to the game and ask advice...and be prepared to chat for a good length of time. 

I love that I can share it with my kids.  Sure, the runs will be shorter and slower.  But someday, I imagine that we will be completing 5k's, 10k's, half marathons, and full marathons together.  My daughter especially has a natural runner's gait and a wonderful speed.  I am already envious of her potential as a runner, as I am of the slow-and-steady variety. 

Take this National Day of Running as a sign, a hint, a reason...and lace up! Step out! Go RUNNING!  Clear your head; find your zen; feel that pride.  All you've gotta do is put on your shoes and GO.

The Big Piece of the Pie

Two of the four in one big ass sammich

I like food.  I like food ALOT.  I have never been a girl to say, "Oh, I forgot to eat" or "I just didn't have time to eat today."  Because in my world, that cannot happen.  Hubby and the monkeys will attest to the fact that Hungry Mommy is the siamese twin of Cranky Mommy (aka SpongeMom Angrypants).  And not so long ago, I ate what I craved.  And what I craved typically involved the four food groups: bacon, peanut butter, chocolate, and/or cheese.  My best meals combined these four pillars of nutrition in myriad ways, one of the all-time favorites being PB&B sandwiches (peanut butter & bacon, of course).  So why, then, was I so totally mystified that working out was not giving me all the muscle definition I so desired?  I was one of THEM.  One of those who wants so badly for something to be true that I simply decide it is true and continue about my business. 

What changed?  I can't pinpoint the exact WHY or WHEN of the changing, but recently (within the past few months) something just clicked.  Like the Gods of Nutrition flipped the switch in my brain from "Junkie" to "Health Nut."  Suddenly, eating properly and fueling my body instead of gorging and putting my body to sleep seemed, well...easy.  Or at least, relatively so.

Fish with Flava - ala Shaun T

Because I do nosh from time to time.  I slip.  I chow.  I nibble at the cheese plate.  But this is what I find: even when I fall off the wagon, I don't fall far.  That nibble sates me and I'm back to clean eating.  Or what I prefer to call (mostly) clean eating.  Because I am, in fact, human.  I sometimes enjoy a splurge in the calories...It's just that it is no longer a daily occurrence.  The results I want, the body I want...It isn't going to just arrive in the mail with my next Beachbody purchase.  I have to work just as hard at fueling it as I do training it.

And that's the other motivator - the training.  All that time and effort I'm expending is pretty precious to me.  Why trash it all with a poor fueling system?  Because that's really what food is for - fueling our bodies.  It's enjoyable fuel, but fuel nonetheless.  Nutella is not going to power my marathon training (yep, I'm scheduling the next already).  Taco pizza will not give me that extra edge to push through my Spartan Race.  I choose instead a diet of Shakeology, fresh veggies and fruits, and lean meats.  I drink water like it's...well, water.  I am eliminating soda and refined sugars.  I am gradually going organic and gluten free.  When I shop, I shop the perimeters of the grocery store because that's where they keep the good stuff. 

Healthy cranberry scones

And that word I just used..."diet."  I typically dislike that word.  I do not approve of the connotations that it carries, the ideas of restriction and temporariness.  Because eating correctly is not about restriction and it should never be temporary.  This is a lifestyle - and a rewarding one at that.  I feel better, I look better...In fact, I look better now than I did in my teens and 20's (I just have more laugh lines, but laughter suits me).  I am fitter than I have ever been and I just keep getting better.  My awesomeness levels are higher every day...I simply cannot help myself.  Which means, you know...you can do the same thing.  You can actually DO IT instead of just TALKING ABOUT DOING IT. 

As a parent, I feel it's my job to show by example.  Unfortunately, they've had seven or so years of bacon lust as an example, so we're learning together.  They are surprisingly receptive to fresh fruit, learning to accept the vegetables, and thoroughly enjoying the lean meats.  Treats are treats and they are not every day.  We don't keep soda or sugar drinks in our house and even school snacks have gone organic (we made the switch from Oreos to Newman-Oh's and Goldfish to Cheddar Bunnies without a single complaint).  So again, it's doable.  There's no excuse of "my kids just won't eat that."  When ours do whine about yet another healthy dinner (and it happens because they're KIDS), I allow that they can choose dinner entrees, too...when they get a job, do the shopping, and learn to cook.  Until then, we eat what I cook (or, to be honest, what Hubby cooks.  And he cooks what I plan and buy). 

My daily breakfast

My whole point today is this: if I can put down the Thin Mints, the Diet Cokes, and the Funyuns...anyone can.  It's less about willpower and more about a singular decision: do you want to continue wishing for health and fitness, or do you actually want to have it? 

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.

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

Rah!Rah!Sis-Boom-Bah!

My biggest supporter...

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

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

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

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

*MWAH*

Listen, all y'all...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Garage Of My Dreams

Ideally, my favorite place to sweatitout is outdoors, just me and my Ghosts and my iPod.  Hours melt away and my head gets clear and I see a glimmer of just how far I've come in my training.  But what about those days I can't, for various reasons (children, weather, children, time, children), get out of the house?  Sadly, for now I am stuck in my living room, alongside a defunct treadmill (which I must remember to call about), a dilapidated card table serving as my computer desk, a pack-n-play filled with toddler distractions, and a recliner (the last remnant of our actual living room furniture).  It is, to put it mildly, not the most motivational area in which to work out.  I do have a mirror in which I can watch the upper 1/4 of myself complete exercises, and my determined stare is difficult to resist.  But still, I dream of a day when I (meaning: Hubby) turns our stuffed-to-the-gills-with-crap garage into a wide open space of workout mats, weight sets, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors to reflect my perfect form (hey, I have to assume it's perfect on the bottom 3/4 as well).

I can lose lots of workout minutes browsing Pinterest for home gym ideas.  I love the idea of old lockers for storage and wire baskets for pristine white towels with which to mop my sweat.  I envision a brand new set of Selecttech weights (replacing the mismatched sets purchased piecemeal from WalMart and Target over the years) anticipating my gloved hands.  They rest next to my working treadmill, complete with iFit and Jillian's voice telling me to "Step it up!"  Of course, I will have motivational posters plastered over every non-mirrored inch of wall space to remind me of what I'm working toward, those well-muscled, glistening bodies of fit persons flexed next to all-caps phrases refuting any and all excuses.  Out my window, I'll see my Olympic sized swimming pool and running track...Okay, I may have to give those up for a plastic wading pool and the street, but the rest is completely doable! 

Not only would I finally have access to SPACE allowing me to go all out all the time, I would have access to SPACE AWAY FROM THE CHILDREN.  I love them, I really really do...but they have this habit of not needing me until they catch me in the middle of a TurboFire Fire Drill or mid-crunchy Frog during Ab Ripper X.  The rule of "Don't ask Mommy questions while Mommy is working out unless they relate to your blood flow" never seems to quite sink into their adorable little heads.  They deem Dad unfit for settling fights over who must bathe first (it really doesn't matter which it is; they always want the opposite) or what the reading assignment is for bedtime (although it never changes).  Nor can Dad tell them where exactly to find their suddenly much desired Silly Putty, charm bracelet, or 3D glasses.  Only Mom can answer these riddles, and apparently, only in the midst of intense exercise.  Moments before I press play, I can say their names 100 times or tell them to complete their chores and receive no answer.  The moment I finish my cool down, they have no use for me.  It seems I am just as appealing to them as I am to myself during those sweaty breathless moments of P90X.  I suppose I can't really blame them, but still...I yearn for my own private garage-gym, paces away from the chaos of the mini M&M's.

Right now, I have forced the older boys into cleaning the aftermath of the hurricane that localized in their bedroom; my daughter lies in my bed with a cough and headache, quietly watching Sponge Bob; and the toddler is just about to go down for his own nap.  Whilst I have them all occupied, I plan to quietly slip into some spandex, mix up some E&E, and groove with Shaun T...until they catch me in my illicit activities...

I'm Not Tired!...*yawn*

I've got this workout thing down.  I have endurance, motivation, and a sincere love for all things endorphin-producing.  Alas, I am not as disciplined when it comes to the nutrition side of fitness.  And when I say "not as disciplined," I mean "not disciplined at all."  As in, both boxes of Samoas and both boxes of Thin Mints are G-O-N-E.  So is the Nutella.  And the leftover General Tso's (extra spicy!) with a side of pork fried rice.  Did I mention Hubby and I stopped at Hot Dog Johnny's yesterday?  Where I ate two Johnny Dogs and a bag of fries?  And proceeded to wonder why my body felt so incredibly awful.

Really, I was doing very well for a substantial amount of time.  I drink my Shakeology every morning and plan our meals and snacks very carefully.  Then came a stretch of days that had us away from home at mealtimes and so packed with errands and events that I had no time to hit up Wegmans.  And I relapsed into old ordering habits, each restaurant pulling me farther and farther down the slow and sluggish rabbit hole.  I started with Chic-Fil-A grilled chicken wraps and side salads (not so bad for a drive-thru order) and went all the way to bacon cheeseburgers (at our favorite diner) and the aforementioned General Tso's (from a not-worth-it takeout Chinese pit whose convenience is the only reason we use it).  I kept up with my two-a-days and long run schedule throughout this downward food spiral, so my calories were actually in check.  My nutrition, sadly, was not.

Two days ago, I found myself lacking in get-up-and-go.  I figured I'd take a rest day as I hadn't had a true "rest" in awhile.  Then yesterday, I continually ran into workout roadblocks: Hubby needed a ride to the eye doctor for a nasty case of pink eye; we had bank stops and office visits following the eye appointment; the babe required much tending to once we were home.  I was thinking ahead and planning an early bedtime for the kiddos so I could squeeze in my workouts before I hit the hay myself.  And then, THE WALL.  I hit it.  Hard. 

I told Hubby I wanted to lay down with the babe for a bit while he napped, figuring on a half hour rest.  I awoke two hours later, a sweaty, drooling mess with no more energy than I'd had before my sleep.  My limbs were leaden and my head heavy.  And I finally put all those puzzle pieces together: I needed my iron.

I have suffered from anemia since my teen years but can usually bypass iron supplements so long as I keep dark leafy greens and the occasional steak in my diet.  Not only had I let my nutrition slide, I was still exercising as though I hadn't.  Yes, calories were in check.  But my essential nutrients (and my iron) were not.  It finally clicked for me: if I want to train like an athlete and continue my workout schedule at the intensity I enjoy, I actually need to eat the way I train.  Brilliant!  Why hasn't anyone thought of this before?!? Oh, right...

It is so simple, and I have said it to others so many times.  I preach it to my children on a daily basis.  But I finally took a step back and figured I needed to apply it to myself.  Diet is not a four-letter word; it is a lifestyle.  It is something I need to follow if I expect my body to continue performing at the level I have become accustomed to.  So I'm back on the healthy food train, chugging right along.  My run today felt a little sluggish, but I got it done and recovered nicely and with enough energy to complete my Ab Sculpt and Kenpo X sessions I had scheduled for today.  And now, I am feeling a tad hungry (read: RAVENOUS) so I'm gonna head to my kitchen and pull out last night's leftovers (Beachbody's sweet pepper pork) and snack on some fresh strawberries and kiwi for dessert.  I swear I have learned my lesson this time! (Just please, don't put me anywhere near chocolate cake...)

Train Like A Girl

How many times growing up did we chickadees hear such insults as "You throw/run/play like a girl"?  Boys still say it as though it is a detriment, but our daughters know better.  They have mamas with muscles and endurance, six packs and stamina.  Our girls are growing up with an awareness that training like a girl takes commitment and guts.  Dads better step up their game if they wanna compete...

There is a new breed of mama out there, lifting heavy and training hard.  We run marathons and compete in mud races. We teach fitness classes and coach team sports.  We do not diet to get skinny.  We eat healthfully to be fit.  Our exercises require weights, performance shoes, and sweat-wicking materials.  We cannot get by with little white Keds and sweatpants.  We do not leave classes or training sessions with beautiful hair and intact makeup.  One of my favorite get-me-goin' quotes comes from Chalene Johnson during TurboFire: "You might come into my class lookin' cute, but you better not leave lookin' cute!"  In my case, I don't smell cute either...

Of course, there is always opposition.  If I hear one more insult directed at Madonna's well-muscled arms, I am gonna flex my own guns and release some tension.  Seriously.  The woman is beyond FIT!  And we're gonna chastise her for her strength?  We watched the Superbowl halftime show as a family and I made sure our kids knew how incredible her body is.  I pointed at those biceps in admiration. Too many times we hear comments about a woman appearing too masculine because she has definition.  I work hard and I want to see results.  My bi's and tri's are increasingly a source of pride for me, and my abs are following suit.  I refuse to hide my progress for fear of looking "too strong."  Puh-LEASE.  Boys (and sadly, some ladies), you are just gonna have to deal with the fact that women today are coming in all shapes, forms, and levels of fitness.  We flex, we run, we jump, we lift just as well (if not better) than you do.  And we do it for OUR OWN benefit.  I admit, I started out with goals of fitting into pre-baby jeans and regaining my previous posterior.  But now - that's an aside.  I push through P90X with the full intention of getting strong enough to make it through the workouts with ZERO modifications.  I wanna be like Dreya.  I wanna be like Madonna.  I wanna be STRONG.

I consistently praise my daughter for her increased strength and her determined work ethic in gymnastics.  The girl's got her own little guns to flex and her legs have some serious 7-year-old power.  I want her to know that's something to be proud of, not something to hide from the world.  And she's not the only kid hearing "girl power" from her mama.  I show off my progress to our boys, too.  In fact, the middle male is perhaps my biggest cheerleader.  He is regularly impressed with my efforts and results, commenting on my "pumps" (arm muscles) and lengthening runs.  I'm not aiming for a "girls are better" mentality, but more of a "girls are equal" lifestyle.  Where our Sis will be confident in her body's abilities and appearance and her brothers will appreciate a girl's curves and her muscle definition.  Because, let's face it, both are beautiful.

So, girls, let's go for one more pushup, situp, pullup...one more mile, rep, jump...Let's flex our muscles and train like WOMEN.  Because we can.

Turning Mountains Into Molehills

Today's run was scheduled to be a short one - a mere eight miles at 3:1 intervals.  Perfect for a gorgeous nearly-spring day, as the local park is but nine miles away from our front door and I never mind tacking on a few extra steps.  So hubby mapped out a route along the back roads and we planned our rendevous.  He mentioned something about hills but I was still feeling cocky after my brush with Insanity last night.  Hills, shmills.  And then...I saw this...

I paused.  Long enough to swig my Energy&Endurance Formula, take this shot, and gather myself.  I set off on the downhill and averted my eyes from that intimidating uphill.  "You, my friend, are a Spartain-in-training! A P90X-er! This hill...really isn't that bad..."  I found I didn't need my own cheering to keep me going, because my previous training was handling that just fine and dandy, thank you.  And close up, that hill looked just like every other stretch of road I had ever run.  Funny how that works.

It wasn't the only hill I ran today.  But it was the biggest and scariest...before I started climbing it.  Like any fear, it got smaller and less fearsome the instant I tackled it.  So my short run was a hard run, but it turns out, I've got those covered backwards and forwards.  And I amazed myself yet again.

...and even had a little energy left to follow this guy around the park...

My little motivator :)

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