Tomorrow I am cutting myself off. The eating must stop. At least the kind of eating I've been doing. The holidays have been killers this year. I feel like I have been perpetually too full since I came home from the hospital with my newborn son on November 23rd, just in time for Thanksgiving dinner. I did fairly well controlling my intake for about a week, and then the fatigue from being up around the clock to nurse Noah blurred my senses, and I started to eat for all kinds of reasons that felt vaguely familiar. I had a sensation of dajavu as I ate because I was bored, because the TV was on, because I'd eaten a meal so fast I forgot to taste, because I was lonely, because the food looked good, because the food was there, and because no one was looking. Surely if no one was looking, it didn't count. Those are the kinds of mindsets that had me at 210 pounds in 2009, and desperate to lose weight. I've heard it said that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, so here I am to learn!
Currently, I have no concrete plan, other than to get back on the weight watchers program that I came to know so well in 2010. That I have no plan yet is significant, since I am the kind of person who has a list for everything. So what's the problem? Well, YOU try having a new born who eats every two to three hours, a busy five year old boy and three year old girl, home schooling, keeping house, doing laundry, and having a house on the market--all at once--and see how effectively you construct a list. Heck. If you can do all that and manage not to lose your list paper by ten in the morning, I want to know your secret!
Today, my only goal was to open up my old blog, and be reminded of how it all started. What I saw there, was that I really didn't have a well thought out plan back in 2009 either. The blog was a way to clarify--to start on a journey that didn't have concrete direction. So that's the plan. I'm going to start reading the old blogs, make one change at a time, and slowly return to the lifestyle habits that transformed me from a 210 pound-sedentary-size 20, into a 146 pound-active-and-athletic size 8/10.
So what's change #1? I'm going on a goody-fast. Although I do also plan to get back on the scale and back on Weight Watchers tomorrow, I don't expect perfection out of myself this week. My schedule with a hungry newborn is very challenging, but I know that cutting all the sweets, cookies, and desserts out of my life for the next month will likely accomplish two things. 1) It will automatically diminish the amount of points I'm taking in and leave me more points for good filling foods. 2) I know for a fact I've developed some sugar addiction issues that are only going to go away if the sweets do, so
Adios chocolate, stocking stuffers, cookies, left over Halloween candy, stollen, pumpkin pie, coffee cake, ice cream, baklava, pecan pie, whipped cream, ginger snaps, brownies, syrup, cheesecake, doughnuts, danishes, fritters, hot cocoa, fudge . . .
You get the idea. Until I regain some self control, yep, I am cutting myself off.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
From Becky to Reba
Well, I'm very behind on introductions, but there's someone I would really like all you readers to meet. She's a friend and reader of mine, who back in January, decided to start a journey of her own. Everybody, meet Becky!
Now, Becky is my 2011 hero, because she has set out to do something that I know isn't easy—she's out to find her skinny jeans. I know she's going to be successful; in fact, I am saving my very own collection of descending jeans (size 20 to current) to pass on to her. I'm excited to go back, share some of her story, give you a link to her blog, and get you to cheer her on, just like you've done for me!
A couple weeks into January, I got a message from Becky. She'd been reading about my crazy life for a year, and somehow I hadn't scared her away. She was done letting the scale's needle of doom write her story for her. She was ready to be healthy and in control. Yes, deep down, she was ready. However, Becky and I are kindred brains. Just as my brain had required a few weeks to warm up to the idea of a lifestyle change, Becky's brain also needed some coaxing.
Consequently, we had our first meeting in the Valley of the Shadow of Caffeine and Sugar. Starbucks was a nice neutral locations, with no commitments necessary, outside of a frappacino. We talked and LAUGHED for a long-time, more and more convinced that our stomachs might have been separated at birth. I recognized the fear in Becky's eyes, the ice-cold gripping fear of FAILURE. Well, ok, maybe the “ice-cold” part is an over-dramatization of the frappacino, but I did remember all too well, the cynicism that had gripped me as I'd begun my endeavors the year before.
When we left the Starbucks, Becky's only two assignment for the next 10 days were 1) to think about all the positive changes that weight-loss would bring into her life and 2) not to go into oh-my-goodness-I'm-starting-a-diet-in-10-days-!- mode and eat like her life was coming to an end. This mandate perhaps gave way to our best laugh of the day, because she looked at me wide-eyed, and said, “YOU! Get OUT of my head!”
And I knew that was what she was thinking, because that is exactly what I would have been thinking. Ten days later, she arrived at my house to do our first Wii Weight-in. She had already cut way back on sodas and dropped three pounds. In the eight weeks since, she has started a blog, burned up a whole bunch of calories at twice weekly Zumba class, learned a bunch, and lost 22 pounds! Before I know it, she's gonna be ready for my jeans!
So, hop on over to ebonywolf21.blogspot.com, and watch Becky melt into Reba. This time next year, the twin brains, and their tamed twin stomachs, are gonna rock twin skinny jeans!
Now, Becky is my 2011 hero, because she has set out to do something that I know isn't easy—she's out to find her skinny jeans. I know she's going to be successful; in fact, I am saving my very own collection of descending jeans (size 20 to current) to pass on to her. I'm excited to go back, share some of her story, give you a link to her blog, and get you to cheer her on, just like you've done for me!
A couple weeks into January, I got a message from Becky. She'd been reading about my crazy life for a year, and somehow I hadn't scared her away. She was done letting the scale's needle of doom write her story for her. She was ready to be healthy and in control. Yes, deep down, she was ready. However, Becky and I are kindred brains. Just as my brain had required a few weeks to warm up to the idea of a lifestyle change, Becky's brain also needed some coaxing.
Consequently, we had our first meeting in the Valley of the Shadow of Caffeine and Sugar. Starbucks was a nice neutral locations, with no commitments necessary, outside of a frappacino. We talked and LAUGHED for a long-time, more and more convinced that our stomachs might have been separated at birth. I recognized the fear in Becky's eyes, the ice-cold gripping fear of FAILURE. Well, ok, maybe the “ice-cold” part is an over-dramatization of the frappacino, but I did remember all too well, the cynicism that had gripped me as I'd begun my endeavors the year before.
When we left the Starbucks, Becky's only two assignment for the next 10 days were 1) to think about all the positive changes that weight-loss would bring into her life and 2) not to go into oh-my-goodness-I'm-starting-a-diet-in-10-days-!- mode and eat like her life was coming to an end. This mandate perhaps gave way to our best laugh of the day, because she looked at me wide-eyed, and said, “YOU! Get OUT of my head!”
And I knew that was what she was thinking, because that is exactly what I would have been thinking. Ten days later, she arrived at my house to do our first Wii Weight-in. She had already cut way back on sodas and dropped three pounds. In the eight weeks since, she has started a blog, burned up a whole bunch of calories at twice weekly Zumba class, learned a bunch, and lost 22 pounds! Before I know it, she's gonna be ready for my jeans!
So, hop on over to ebonywolf21.blogspot.com, and watch Becky melt into Reba. This time next year, the twin brains, and their tamed twin stomachs, are gonna rock twin skinny jeans!
So What Now?
You're going to think I'm crazy, but if you've been reading my blog for any period of time, and it has taken you this long to come to that conclusion, you're a little slow anyway. Why will you think I'm crazy? Because after the day of the big race, and after I had schlepped (o.k., so it was a fast schlep), and after I had hung out in the hot sun waiting for all my buddies to finish their events . . . I was still up at 5:30 am the next morning; because I just HAD to see the sun come up over Myrtle Beach one time before I went home.
Indeed, after my race, I had found myself stumbling toward the TNT tent in somewhat less than a straight line. I was a bit dehydrated, and in all honesty, it took me about an hour to drink, eat, and rest enough to start feeling excited about what I had accomplished. I started making phone calls and texts, and just enjoying the activity going on around me. For more than an hour, I sat on the barrier near the finish line—observing others as they finished, and waiting for Cathy and Easterlan to finish walking 26.2 miles.
The next morning, as I watched the sky blush with the approach of the sun, I started to consider what would be next for me. This year I've lost more weight than I ever thought possible, I've become more healthy and active than I ever dreamed, and though I've faced some emotional and psychological issues along the way, I'm emerging a stronger person. What is it I want to do next? How do I make it all stick?
Now, I don't know how many of you ever looked at your high school grammar teacher and said, “When am I ever going to use this in real life anyway?” Well, that moment is about to come, if you consider the subject from the teacher's point of view. The first year I taught grammar, I had a cracker-jack 7th grade. They were all SO smart. I knew from day one, if I didn't stay on top of my game, they were all going to make fools of me. The thing that surprised me, was that as I TAUGHT the grammar, I LEARNED the grammar on a more dimensional level.
Oddly enough, I think that's my answer here too. I've lost the weight. I've run the race. I'm learning to live with the occasional panic attack. Now, I want to take what I've learned and help as many people as I can, to accomplish the same goals in their lives. I know what it is to transform on the outside, but I also know that the transformation starts on the inside. I want to be a friend and a mentor, to people who will in turn succeed, and to become friends and mentors themselves.
The sun rose that morning, weightless, into a clear blue sky. I left the beach enlightened, and with a renewed sense of clarity. In my bag, I had seashells for my children. This is my 100th post. In my bag, I have seashells for my children.
Indeed, after my race, I had found myself stumbling toward the TNT tent in somewhat less than a straight line. I was a bit dehydrated, and in all honesty, it took me about an hour to drink, eat, and rest enough to start feeling excited about what I had accomplished. I started making phone calls and texts, and just enjoying the activity going on around me. For more than an hour, I sat on the barrier near the finish line—observing others as they finished, and waiting for Cathy and Easterlan to finish walking 26.2 miles.
The next morning, as I watched the sky blush with the approach of the sun, I started to consider what would be next for me. This year I've lost more weight than I ever thought possible, I've become more healthy and active than I ever dreamed, and though I've faced some emotional and psychological issues along the way, I'm emerging a stronger person. What is it I want to do next? How do I make it all stick?
Now, I don't know how many of you ever looked at your high school grammar teacher and said, “When am I ever going to use this in real life anyway?” Well, that moment is about to come, if you consider the subject from the teacher's point of view. The first year I taught grammar, I had a cracker-jack 7th grade. They were all SO smart. I knew from day one, if I didn't stay on top of my game, they were all going to make fools of me. The thing that surprised me, was that as I TAUGHT the grammar, I LEARNED the grammar on a more dimensional level.
Oddly enough, I think that's my answer here too. I've lost the weight. I've run the race. I'm learning to live with the occasional panic attack. Now, I want to take what I've learned and help as many people as I can, to accomplish the same goals in their lives. I know what it is to transform on the outside, but I also know that the transformation starts on the inside. I want to be a friend and a mentor, to people who will in turn succeed, and to become friends and mentors themselves.
The sun rose that morning, weightless, into a clear blue sky. I left the beach enlightened, and with a renewed sense of clarity. In my bag, I had seashells for my children. This is my 100th post. In my bag, I have seashells for my children.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Mile by Mile: the Half-Marathon
Mile One—And the runner's are off! As I past over the starting line, my MP3 player was streaming “We are the poets/we are the dreamers/we are the soldiers,we are the screamers; we want the fallen to rise again . . .” The song choice was random, just the next thing in the playlist, but so appropriate. Surrounding me were people of all walks of life, ages, and sizes—an ocean of differences and likenesses, cresting the same challenge. The first mile was all emotion and awe of the race. My heart rate climbed, first from excitement and then from exertion.
Mile Two—So much to see! The pack thinned just slightly, and I struggled through the first twinge of hard work that comes at the beginning of a long run. The twinge was more mental than physical, because I knew I still had so far to go. Part way through this mile, we rounded our first ninety degree curve to head east toward the long stretch of Highway 17. The sight was inspirational—a rainbow of runners stretched out into the distance as far as I could see.
Mile Three—Water station! Every two miles of the race, volunteers line the side of the road and filled tables full of cups with water and Power-Ade. Then, as the river of runner's swept by, the volunteers held cups out to our sweaty hands. We took what they gave us greedily, chugged it down, and tossed the cups aside. The first water stop was just one of many mile markers during the race, and at that point I began to pace myself according to water stops—two miles running, and two miles of intervals.
Mile Four—Don't eat the power gel! Around the beginning of mile four, I started to feel hungry, so I pulled out my Espresso Flavored Power Gel. Uuuuuuh. First mistake (and learning experience) of the day. I hadn't trained with power gel, and apparently you're not supposed to try anything new on race day, so I should have stuck with fiber one bars. My insides rebelled for the rest of the race, but they didn't stop me from keeping on, keeping on. The race was about endurance, and gastric pain was now just part of the enduring.
Mile Five—Starting into mile five, I had good news from the time clock. Having done so much training at the track, it was really hard for me to gauge how I was doing pace-wise. As I approached the end of my fourth mile, I saw a time clock on the side of the road that read 37 minutes and a few seconds. I knew then that I was keeping a good pace—a normal pace for me. My mind set at ease, I settled in and really enjoyed the fifth mile. For a while I kept pace with 70 year old Aldrick Smith who had been running marathon events for many years. We exchanged encouraging words and after a while, went our separate ways.
Mile Six—Three minutes waiting for Jon. Arg. At the five mile station, I just had to stop and use the Port-a-Jon. My time was still less than 10 minutes per mile, so it broke my heart, but my body was making it clear that it was not running another step without a potty stop. Of course, I had to wait my turn, so by the time I rejoined the race, the clock was at nearly 52 minutes. I increased my pace, hoping to make up some of the lost time.
Mile Seven—Up and back. As we approached the end of the Highway 17 stretch, I pictured the race map in my mind, and I knew we would turn temporarily west and double-back east again, until we got to Ocean Boulevard. The neat part about this portion of the race is that as you ran west you could see all the runners on the other side of the grassy median heading east. At one point, I was touched to see a husband and wife who looked to be in their late 60's, meet in the median, kiss, and check on one another's progress. They spoke briefly, then she continued east and he continued west. They were together in purpose, even if they weren't at the same point of the race. I think there's a deeper lesson in that somewhere.
Mile Eight—Celebrity runner! The sun was up now—warm and golden—but a flamboyant sea breeze kept us cool. I zipped my runner's vest to keep it from catching the wind and resisting my forward motion. The last thing I need was a “sail” pushing me in the wrong direction. To the contrary, when I reached the water stop, I was feeling the need for some wind in my sails. So. God bless the person who handed me my Power-Ade as I stepped into mile nine and said, “Go Liz Taylor! You can do it!” Let me tell you, that did it for me. If I could run eight miles, sweat like a pig, be red in the face, and still have someone think I looked like young Liz in my running gear and sunglasses; by golly, I could finish this thing!
Mile Nine—All about finishing now! We had made the big turn north onto Ocean Blvd, and between the buildings and businesses, we caught glimpses of the ocean. We were now running parallel to the beach, and it was hard not to think how easy it would be to detour into the sand and sunshine. The road was lined with spectators and well-wishers, and at one point, I had someone hand me a business coupon attached to a string of red Mardi-Gras beads. I knew I'd be taking that home to Maggie!
Mile Ten—Getting close! I knew that mile nine and ten would be my last two mile stretch of solid running, and believe me, I was starting to count MP3 player songs on my fingers. I knew that at my pace, approximately three songs would play per mile. I had to focus on the music, to keep my mind off the muscle pain that was beginning to break my concentration.
Mile Eleven—Gluttimous Panimous, Calfimous Strainimous! It is very fair to say that my backside has never hurt so much in my entire life—and that includes the season of life that involved the board of education on the seat of learning. My legs were lead; my calves were rocks. My belly was reliving the gel. My thoughts were becoming disconnected, but I saw the left turn sign for the half-marathoners, and my mind acknowledged the home stretch.
Mile Twelve—A painful blur. I turned every small corner, willing the department of transportation signs to be the red flag announcing mile 13. And then there was pain. Yep, pain. Not much else to report.
Mile Thirteen—As I approached that longed for red flag at mile thirteen, I had begun to tell myself that I could just ease off for the finale, but then I saw the time clock. It read 2:04:04. And I knew that I could finish this race in 2:15. I had to try. So I started to push. My legs refused to register a faster pace than the music, so I started to “chase the rabbit.” I would pick a runner 10 feet in front of me and push hard to catch up, and then I did it again and again. I wasn't even seeing people anymore. I knew that because one of my “rabbits” was Aldrick Smith from Mile 5, and I wouldn't have even realized I passed him, if he hadn't cheered me on.
IN THE SHOOT! Suddenly metal barriers thinned the run-way from the size of the whole road, to a black carpet pointing the way to the finish line. Vaguely, I saw the people lining either side, cheering us on! I felt like the shoot went on forever, but finally I saw the finish, and I willed my legs to keep chugging forward. Somehow my arms shot into the air as I passed over the line. Through a fog of exhaustion and finality, I looked down a saw the finisher's metal dangling from my neck—sparkling in the sunshine. I had run a good race. I had finished the course. Now where was the water table?!
Mile Two—So much to see! The pack thinned just slightly, and I struggled through the first twinge of hard work that comes at the beginning of a long run. The twinge was more mental than physical, because I knew I still had so far to go. Part way through this mile, we rounded our first ninety degree curve to head east toward the long stretch of Highway 17. The sight was inspirational—a rainbow of runners stretched out into the distance as far as I could see.
Mile Three—Water station! Every two miles of the race, volunteers line the side of the road and filled tables full of cups with water and Power-Ade. Then, as the river of runner's swept by, the volunteers held cups out to our sweaty hands. We took what they gave us greedily, chugged it down, and tossed the cups aside. The first water stop was just one of many mile markers during the race, and at that point I began to pace myself according to water stops—two miles running, and two miles of intervals.
Mile Four—Don't eat the power gel! Around the beginning of mile four, I started to feel hungry, so I pulled out my Espresso Flavored Power Gel. Uuuuuuh. First mistake (and learning experience) of the day. I hadn't trained with power gel, and apparently you're not supposed to try anything new on race day, so I should have stuck with fiber one bars. My insides rebelled for the rest of the race, but they didn't stop me from keeping on, keeping on. The race was about endurance, and gastric pain was now just part of the enduring.
Mile Five—Starting into mile five, I had good news from the time clock. Having done so much training at the track, it was really hard for me to gauge how I was doing pace-wise. As I approached the end of my fourth mile, I saw a time clock on the side of the road that read 37 minutes and a few seconds. I knew then that I was keeping a good pace—a normal pace for me. My mind set at ease, I settled in and really enjoyed the fifth mile. For a while I kept pace with 70 year old Aldrick Smith who had been running marathon events for many years. We exchanged encouraging words and after a while, went our separate ways.
Mile Six—Three minutes waiting for Jon. Arg. At the five mile station, I just had to stop and use the Port-a-Jon. My time was still less than 10 minutes per mile, so it broke my heart, but my body was making it clear that it was not running another step without a potty stop. Of course, I had to wait my turn, so by the time I rejoined the race, the clock was at nearly 52 minutes. I increased my pace, hoping to make up some of the lost time.
Mile Seven—Up and back. As we approached the end of the Highway 17 stretch, I pictured the race map in my mind, and I knew we would turn temporarily west and double-back east again, until we got to Ocean Boulevard. The neat part about this portion of the race is that as you ran west you could see all the runners on the other side of the grassy median heading east. At one point, I was touched to see a husband and wife who looked to be in their late 60's, meet in the median, kiss, and check on one another's progress. They spoke briefly, then she continued east and he continued west. They were together in purpose, even if they weren't at the same point of the race. I think there's a deeper lesson in that somewhere.
Mile Eight—Celebrity runner! The sun was up now—warm and golden—but a flamboyant sea breeze kept us cool. I zipped my runner's vest to keep it from catching the wind and resisting my forward motion. The last thing I need was a “sail” pushing me in the wrong direction. To the contrary, when I reached the water stop, I was feeling the need for some wind in my sails. So. God bless the person who handed me my Power-Ade as I stepped into mile nine and said, “Go Liz Taylor! You can do it!” Let me tell you, that did it for me. If I could run eight miles, sweat like a pig, be red in the face, and still have someone think I looked like young Liz in my running gear and sunglasses; by golly, I could finish this thing!
Mile Nine—All about finishing now! We had made the big turn north onto Ocean Blvd, and between the buildings and businesses, we caught glimpses of the ocean. We were now running parallel to the beach, and it was hard not to think how easy it would be to detour into the sand and sunshine. The road was lined with spectators and well-wishers, and at one point, I had someone hand me a business coupon attached to a string of red Mardi-Gras beads. I knew I'd be taking that home to Maggie!
Mile Ten—Getting close! I knew that mile nine and ten would be my last two mile stretch of solid running, and believe me, I was starting to count MP3 player songs on my fingers. I knew that at my pace, approximately three songs would play per mile. I had to focus on the music, to keep my mind off the muscle pain that was beginning to break my concentration.
Mile Eleven—Gluttimous Panimous, Calfimous Strainimous! It is very fair to say that my backside has never hurt so much in my entire life—and that includes the season of life that involved the board of education on the seat of learning. My legs were lead; my calves were rocks. My belly was reliving the gel. My thoughts were becoming disconnected, but I saw the left turn sign for the half-marathoners, and my mind acknowledged the home stretch.
Mile Twelve—A painful blur. I turned every small corner, willing the department of transportation signs to be the red flag announcing mile 13. And then there was pain. Yep, pain. Not much else to report.
Mile Thirteen—As I approached that longed for red flag at mile thirteen, I had begun to tell myself that I could just ease off for the finale, but then I saw the time clock. It read 2:04:04. And I knew that I could finish this race in 2:15. I had to try. So I started to push. My legs refused to register a faster pace than the music, so I started to “chase the rabbit.” I would pick a runner 10 feet in front of me and push hard to catch up, and then I did it again and again. I wasn't even seeing people anymore. I knew that because one of my “rabbits” was Aldrick Smith from Mile 5, and I wouldn't have even realized I passed him, if he hadn't cheered me on.
IN THE SHOOT! Suddenly metal barriers thinned the run-way from the size of the whole road, to a black carpet pointing the way to the finish line. Vaguely, I saw the people lining either side, cheering us on! I felt like the shoot went on forever, but finally I saw the finish, and I willed my legs to keep chugging forward. Somehow my arms shot into the air as I passed over the line. Through a fog of exhaustion and finality, I looked down a saw the finisher's metal dangling from my neck—sparkling in the sunshine. I had run a good race. I had finished the course. Now where was the water table?!
Off to the Races!
O.k. So we fell asleep to pixie-dust dreams, but both Larissa and I slept like it was the night before the big test. The alarm went off at 4:15, and though I'd set an alarm for a five minute snooze, there wasn't going to be any snoozing this morning. I dragged off the covers and made a b-line for the coffee pot. My brain was in high-gear, but my body wasn't moving fast. I hoped that would change before the race gun popped at 6:30.
At 5:00, we met the Team-in-Training Group in the Lobby, enjoyed a light breakfast, and took lots of pictures. I got my first stretch in, because I was really worried that I would FORGET to stretch in all the excitement. Around 5:30, we all boarded a shuttle that took us to the starting line.
I have never seen anything like what I saw when I got off that bus. There were people everywhere, and the air was laced with excitement. I walked over to the bag check with another runner named Lucy. She was with TNT, and she was also doing her first half marathon just like me. After bag check, Cathy, Easterlan, and I exchanged good luck wishes and headed to our separate starting lines.
The next fifteen minutes were super-charged. People were prancing in the chill air, getting in last minutes stretches, glancing at their watches. Finally, the countdown to the starting cannon came. In a moment, thousands of sneakers launched forward, finally released to do what they had come to do.
At 5:00, we met the Team-in-Training Group in the Lobby, enjoyed a light breakfast, and took lots of pictures. I got my first stretch in, because I was really worried that I would FORGET to stretch in all the excitement. Around 5:30, we all boarded a shuttle that took us to the starting line.
I have never seen anything like what I saw when I got off that bus. There were people everywhere, and the air was laced with excitement. I walked over to the bag check with another runner named Lucy. She was with TNT, and she was also doing her first half marathon just like me. After bag check, Cathy, Easterlan, and I exchanged good luck wishes and headed to our separate starting lines.
The next fifteen minutes were super-charged. People were prancing in the chill air, getting in last minutes stretches, glancing at their watches. Finally, the countdown to the starting cannon came. In a moment, thousands of sneakers launched forward, finally released to do what they had come to do.
The Show's on the Road
Friday morning, February 18th, found me restless and out of bed 7:15. For the past three nights I'd dreamed crazy anticipatory dreams, all tinged with doom. I dreamed I'd lost earrings. I dreamed we got to the race and couldn't find a place to park no matter how long we looked. Yes, it was time to do this thing. My suitcase was packed, and I was ready to get going. I had done all I could to prepare, and I was ready to find out what I was made of.
By ten o'clock, I was leaded up on thick coffee. The dishes were done, we'd taken a family walk, and my bags were out on the porch. Around 10:20, a gray Prius pulled into the drive, and I got to meet walking Coach Cathy for the first time. We'd been e-mailing a bit, and I already had the idea that she had a great sense of humor. She'd warned me that she drove slowly; I'd written back that as long as I didn't have to feed her goldfish crackers and wipe apple juice off her chin, she could drive as slow as she wanted to. A few minutes before her arrival, she texted me not to forget the goldfish and apple juice. Yes, we were going to get along fine.
Also riding along with us was another new friend to me, Easterlan Rumer. Myrtle Beach was going to be a “first” for both of us—only she was walking the full-marathon. And I, I was secretly hoping to come away from this race a runner. After nearly six weeks of power-walking and resting my knee, I had started to feel stronger again. I'd gradually worked back to running by alternating power-walking with running in intervals, and in the final week of training, I was running strong three and four miles at a time. I was going to try to run.
Soon, the bags were loaded. I had kissed Wade and my little people. Now came the adventure. In the hours that followed, Cathy, Easterlan, and I visited, laughed, and talked about the race. The weather was beautiful, and unlike last year's MB marathon that was canceled due to snow, we were supposed to have a gorgeous day in which to sweat! By the time we drove over the city limits, I was extremely excited about everything to come. Enthusiasm replaced all the anxiousness that I had felt over the past weeks.
When we arrived, it should be noted that no nightmare was allowed to creep into our adventure. We promptly found parking. I had left all my earrings at home, so that I could not lose one. Our first destination was the runner's convention, and I was about to get an education. I learned about sweat-wicking clothing and headbands; I learned about enery drinks, gels, and chews; I learned about cast away hand warmers; I learned about runner's socks and body glide. I learned that I was runner 4775.
We left the convention officially registered for the next day's event. We had our race bibs, our timing chips, our shirts, and our free Myrtle Beach towels. With our luggage now increased, we checked into the Sheraton and found our rooms. Cathy and Easterlan were on the 8th floor, and I was on the 9th. Off to meet my roommate, Larissa!
I was the first one to arrive in the room, but Larissa was only about five minutes behind me. She was a very pleasant person, about my age, and also running the half-marathon for the first time. She was in Myrtle Beach with family, but wanted to stay with the group in the hotel. We both had just enough time to get settled, before heading off to the Team-in-Training Pasta Party!
What a racket greeted us! All the mentors and coaches were standing in the doorway of the Ballroom blowing whistles and clanging cowbells. They were already cheering us on! The room was dim-lit and comfortable, and we were seated at round tables that made getting to know folks easy. We got to sit with the Landreth family, and I enjoyed getting to see Caden again. Her father was running his first marathon the next day, and he was also the inspirational speaker.
Back at the room, my belly was full (maybe a little TOO full), and I started to lay out my clothes for the next day. We would have to be up EARLY, so I didn't want to have to think too hard about what needed to be done before I headed to the lobby to meet the group. I tried on my new socks and pants, and I experimented with different layers of clothing. I hooked my race bib and my MP3 player to my light-weight belt. I laid out my gloves, my headband, and my sunglasses. I read a few chapters of the Psalms and thanked God for bringing me to this point.
I was as ready as I was ever going to be, so I crawled into bed and fluffed the pillow. About that time, Cathy sent me a “Goodnight John Boy” text, so I knew they were headed to bed as well. It was 9:30. As I drifted to sleep, I felt like I was a part of something really good, with a lot of good people, for a really good reason. Now that's the way to drift off on the night before the big race.
By ten o'clock, I was leaded up on thick coffee. The dishes were done, we'd taken a family walk, and my bags were out on the porch. Around 10:20, a gray Prius pulled into the drive, and I got to meet walking Coach Cathy for the first time. We'd been e-mailing a bit, and I already had the idea that she had a great sense of humor. She'd warned me that she drove slowly; I'd written back that as long as I didn't have to feed her goldfish crackers and wipe apple juice off her chin, she could drive as slow as she wanted to. A few minutes before her arrival, she texted me not to forget the goldfish and apple juice. Yes, we were going to get along fine.
Also riding along with us was another new friend to me, Easterlan Rumer. Myrtle Beach was going to be a “first” for both of us—only she was walking the full-marathon. And I, I was secretly hoping to come away from this race a runner. After nearly six weeks of power-walking and resting my knee, I had started to feel stronger again. I'd gradually worked back to running by alternating power-walking with running in intervals, and in the final week of training, I was running strong three and four miles at a time. I was going to try to run.
Soon, the bags were loaded. I had kissed Wade and my little people. Now came the adventure. In the hours that followed, Cathy, Easterlan, and I visited, laughed, and talked about the race. The weather was beautiful, and unlike last year's MB marathon that was canceled due to snow, we were supposed to have a gorgeous day in which to sweat! By the time we drove over the city limits, I was extremely excited about everything to come. Enthusiasm replaced all the anxiousness that I had felt over the past weeks.
When we arrived, it should be noted that no nightmare was allowed to creep into our adventure. We promptly found parking. I had left all my earrings at home, so that I could not lose one. Our first destination was the runner's convention, and I was about to get an education. I learned about sweat-wicking clothing and headbands; I learned about enery drinks, gels, and chews; I learned about cast away hand warmers; I learned about runner's socks and body glide. I learned that I was runner 4775.
We left the convention officially registered for the next day's event. We had our race bibs, our timing chips, our shirts, and our free Myrtle Beach towels. With our luggage now increased, we checked into the Sheraton and found our rooms. Cathy and Easterlan were on the 8th floor, and I was on the 9th. Off to meet my roommate, Larissa!
I was the first one to arrive in the room, but Larissa was only about five minutes behind me. She was a very pleasant person, about my age, and also running the half-marathon for the first time. She was in Myrtle Beach with family, but wanted to stay with the group in the hotel. We both had just enough time to get settled, before heading off to the Team-in-Training Pasta Party!
What a racket greeted us! All the mentors and coaches were standing in the doorway of the Ballroom blowing whistles and clanging cowbells. They were already cheering us on! The room was dim-lit and comfortable, and we were seated at round tables that made getting to know folks easy. We got to sit with the Landreth family, and I enjoyed getting to see Caden again. Her father was running his first marathon the next day, and he was also the inspirational speaker.
Back at the room, my belly was full (maybe a little TOO full), and I started to lay out my clothes for the next day. We would have to be up EARLY, so I didn't want to have to think too hard about what needed to be done before I headed to the lobby to meet the group. I tried on my new socks and pants, and I experimented with different layers of clothing. I hooked my race bib and my MP3 player to my light-weight belt. I laid out my gloves, my headband, and my sunglasses. I read a few chapters of the Psalms and thanked God for bringing me to this point.
I was as ready as I was ever going to be, so I crawled into bed and fluffed the pillow. About that time, Cathy sent me a “Goodnight John Boy” text, so I knew they were headed to bed as well. It was 9:30. As I drifted to sleep, I felt like I was a part of something really good, with a lot of good people, for a really good reason. Now that's the way to drift off on the night before the big race.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Locked in with Leslie
Alternate title: Snowed in with my refrigerator. Seriously, enough with the wintery weather already! On December 23rd, the family piled into our aging van and headed to Virginia for the Christmas holiday. We'd been anticipating the trip for some time, and since Wade and I spent the whole week prior to departure nursing sick children, we both just felt thankful to be leaving according to schedule.
While I was looking forward to getting out of town and enjoying a change of pace, I had a plan in place to ensure that my training would stay on track. True to those plans, I dutifully set out on the afternoon of the 24th and walked 5.5 miles. It was COLD, but not to cold for Nordic-track woman. My pace kept me toasty, and I had great optimism that I could get a vacation in, and my mileage too. Enter blizzard.
Shortly after the wrapping paper had settled on Christmas day, the flakes began to fall. All the next day, the snow fell with a fury. When we ventured out with the children to “play,” I couldn't see the end of the street 0.3 miles away. The next day, the sky was a clear, icy blue; but the sun couldn't beat off the freezing temperatures, and we were hemmed in by 13 inches of snow. We didn't leave the house for three days, and the roads still weren't great when we headed home on New Year's Day. That first walk was the only walk I got all week.
Upon returning to South Carolina, despite being unable to walk, I felt very refreshed and ready to get back on track. I walked four days that first week back and also did a day of cross-training. I planned to carry the New Year's good start into the next week. Monday brought eight more inches of snow and a week of impossible cold. Thursday, we finally saw Walmart. My sanity was slipping. I had done 17 miles of in-home walking with Leslie.
So do you know Leslie? I'm talking about Leslie Sansone—the brilliant creator of the in-home walking system. She is great . . . in measured doses. And then that laugh starts to get to you. And you start to imagine that her fellow walkers look annoyed at her comments. And you start to feel that her jokes should have been written out of the script. And you start to feel that LESLIE should have been written out of the script. And you start to imagine reaching into the TV screen with your bare hands and . . .
Well, you understand. I know you understand if you know Leslie. Then there's that other personality—the very charismatic personality with the swinging door and the inside light. The personality full of food that, if you just tossed it into the microwave and heated it, would perhaps make you feel less cold every time you looked out the window and saw all that blasted white stuff. I honestly don't know how people live up north without getting fat. I think I would eat all winter long, just to stay warm, like a bear getting ready to hibernate!
Fortuitously, the snow has melted and absolutely none is in the current 10 day forecast. I am hopeful that we are done seeing the white stuff fly, because I've only got four weeks left until my Myrtle Beach half, and I don't want another week of Leslie's walking asylum. I'm also in the throes of my final fund-raisers, so I really don't need life to be any more complicated than it absolutely has to be. REALLY, this whole marathon and raise-funds-for-a-good-cause-experience, has been positive overall; BUT, the next time I act interested in such an (ad)venture, would my friends kindly beat me up! Or at the very least, chain me to the television with Leslie until I come to my senses . . .
While I was looking forward to getting out of town and enjoying a change of pace, I had a plan in place to ensure that my training would stay on track. True to those plans, I dutifully set out on the afternoon of the 24th and walked 5.5 miles. It was COLD, but not to cold for Nordic-track woman. My pace kept me toasty, and I had great optimism that I could get a vacation in, and my mileage too. Enter blizzard.
Shortly after the wrapping paper had settled on Christmas day, the flakes began to fall. All the next day, the snow fell with a fury. When we ventured out with the children to “play,” I couldn't see the end of the street 0.3 miles away. The next day, the sky was a clear, icy blue; but the sun couldn't beat off the freezing temperatures, and we were hemmed in by 13 inches of snow. We didn't leave the house for three days, and the roads still weren't great when we headed home on New Year's Day. That first walk was the only walk I got all week.
Upon returning to South Carolina, despite being unable to walk, I felt very refreshed and ready to get back on track. I walked four days that first week back and also did a day of cross-training. I planned to carry the New Year's good start into the next week. Monday brought eight more inches of snow and a week of impossible cold. Thursday, we finally saw Walmart. My sanity was slipping. I had done 17 miles of in-home walking with Leslie.
So do you know Leslie? I'm talking about Leslie Sansone—the brilliant creator of the in-home walking system. She is great . . . in measured doses. And then that laugh starts to get to you. And you start to imagine that her fellow walkers look annoyed at her comments. And you start to feel that her jokes should have been written out of the script. And you start to feel that LESLIE should have been written out of the script. And you start to imagine reaching into the TV screen with your bare hands and . . .
Well, you understand. I know you understand if you know Leslie. Then there's that other personality—the very charismatic personality with the swinging door and the inside light. The personality full of food that, if you just tossed it into the microwave and heated it, would perhaps make you feel less cold every time you looked out the window and saw all that blasted white stuff. I honestly don't know how people live up north without getting fat. I think I would eat all winter long, just to stay warm, like a bear getting ready to hibernate!
Fortuitously, the snow has melted and absolutely none is in the current 10 day forecast. I am hopeful that we are done seeing the white stuff fly, because I've only got four weeks left until my Myrtle Beach half, and I don't want another week of Leslie's walking asylum. I'm also in the throes of my final fund-raisers, so I really don't need life to be any more complicated than it absolutely has to be. REALLY, this whole marathon and raise-funds-for-a-good-cause-experience, has been positive overall; BUT, the next time I act interested in such an (ad)venture, would my friends kindly beat me up! Or at the very least, chain me to the television with Leslie until I come to my senses . . .
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