If my husband and I were on "The Newlywed Game," and Bob Eubanks asked him to name my favorite snack, he wouldn't skip a beat, "Ice cream," he'd say. And he'd be right.
If something happened to me someday, or if someday someone tells me that for whatever reason I have to give up ice cream, I'm seriously not sure if I could last. I'd truly be lost in a world without ice cream. I love it that much. Ice cream of all kinds, from the plain to the ridiculous, I love it all. It's true. I run for ice cream.
There's a Lululemon ad in this month's "Runner's World" that simply has a pink-clad arm raised high, clutching a large cone of shiny, drippy, mint chocolate chip ice cream (one of my favorites, to be sure). At the bottom of the page, in very small type it says, "I run for ice cream. There, I said it." I had to look twice to make sure they didn't surreptitiously take a picture of me, because, yes. I do. I run for ice cream. And maybe a few other things as well...
Sure, I run for basic health reasons. I run to reduce my stress. I run to give me energy, and I certainly run to help keep off all the weight I've lost. I run to keep it all in balance, and I run to be a better mom. I run to be a better wife. I run to be a better me. But, if I'm really honest with myself, I really run so I can have all these things and do all these things and still get to eat my ice cream. It's seriously that important to me. I have to have a little every day. So yeah, I run to feed my monkey and still fit into all the cute clothes that weight loss has "forced" me to buy.
Many folks run with a mantra. Mine is simply this: "No day is complete without a tasty frozen treat." Now, usually that's a Skinny Cow sandwich or maybe a small low-fat soft serve cone from Micky-D's. I'm not picky, but I am usually choosy, and I do try to make wise ones. But not always. Sometimes special effort deserves a special reward.
I will not lie and say that the Womens' Half Marathon was easy. In fact, I actually twisted my foot somehow somewhere on the course and had to lay off running pretty much until today. My thighs hurt so much I had difficulty walking down stairs for a good three days after the race, and my right knee (which bothers me off and on anyway) was particulary angry about the effort, and kind of still is.Yeah, it was hard, and I was tired, but I was so so glad I did it. I put it all out there. I ran that race the best I could. I hung in there as so many others started to walk and drop back. Having never done anything like this before, I finished 501st out of 3060 women. It was overwhelming. It was exhilarating. It was exhausting, and I can't wait to do it again.
I proved to myself that I can do anything I set my mind to. And if I can do it, anyone can. That sounds trite, of course, but it's really true. The human mind and the human body are infinitely powerful. If you want it bad enough, there's no end to what you can achieve.
And having a little incentive doesn't hurt, either.
When I finished the Womens' Half Marathon, I didn't really want any of the dozens of cookies they had piled high in their "cookie cafe." I scarfed down an apple (because I was starving), but I passed on the mountains of potato chips they had there for the taking. No, no. Forget that stuff, I had my sights on something better. Unbeknownst to my husband, as I crossed the finish line, I was already plotting our drive home, planning when and where to tell him to make a quick detour off I-40 through the Dairy Queen drive through in Brownsville. I figured he wouldn't mind.
I've stopped at this DQ too many times to count on my many road trips to Nashvegas, but none was more enjoyable than this. That Chocolate Covered Strawberry Waffle Bowl Sundae was the best treat I ever earned. I'm still not sure which was the best reward, the big honking medal or the big honking sundae. I guess I'll just have to run another 1/2 soon to help myself figure it out.
Until we read again, Friends...keep trying for what you're trying for!
TTYL,
Ali
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Tiptoe Through The Duck Poop
While training for my first half marathon (which was this past weekend but more on that later), I realized many things - but none more profound than this: Life is full of duck poop. If you don't stop and look around sometimes, you could step in it.
I'm blessed to have the choice of two peaceful parks within walking/running distance from my home. Each has its own unique features, but both have large ponds with surrounding trails. I get a little boost of energy when I descend into the parks and see the little bubbling fountains and hear the running water, so I try to route each of my runs through one of them - and occasionally both - each day. I love running in the parks. It's great. It's safe. It's peaceful. It makes me feel "active."
But peace comes at a price, and these ponds are deceiving. While they may look like little oases of calm in the midst of the only slightly less calm but totally not chaotic suburban haven that is Germantown, Tennessee, they are home to some evil critters. Each is guarded by its own gaggle of aggressive, people-hating ducks. Jog far enough along either track and you will come face to face (or knee to beak) with either park's fearsome security force, and both the Shady Creek Quacks and the Cameron Brown Honkers are really just gangs in disguise.
No, no. It's not just their loud annoying squawks that rob innocent joggers of their morning zen. Even their stalwart refusal to simply get out the way when you pass isn't enough to brand them as evil. No, no. These guys pack heat. It's their concealed weapons that you need to be wary of, and poop is their ammo of choice.
These ducks poop A LOT, so cautious runners must be hyper-vigilant and think on their toes (literally) to make a quick mental map of the connect-the-dot-like mine field that is the leftovers of these ducks' lunch. And it's green - I mean SWAMP THING GREEN - to boot. I do not want this stuff getting anywhere near my awesome hot pink Nike Free Run +2's! So I have to be careful where I step if I want to finish my run and make it back home with clean shoes.
The challenge here is that (unlike my highly plagiarised and butchered quote at the beginning says) I refuse to stop. My husband blames it on my maniacal German genes. If I think something should be done a certain way, that just-a the way it's-a gonna be (oh wait, that's Italian...I'm not Italian, anyway...). And usually, that way is the most complicated way. It's just how I'm wired. If I go out running, I intend to run. I don't intend to walk, and I don't intend to stop, not for water, not for cramps and certainly not for duck poop. I refuse to yield to these ducks and their droppings. So, when I encounter the puzzle of poop, I don't slow down, I run on tiptoes. I do my little Fred Astaire to keep my forward momentum. I map out the path as I'm dancing through it, and I've even turned it into its own kind of game. Duck Poop Hopscotch, you should try it sometime. Or not. Whatever.
But I realized one morning as I was playing it again, that to get wherever we're going in life we've all got to tiptoe through the duck poop. Duck poop is everywhere, and if you just let it slow you down, or God forbid stop you all together, you lose all your forward momentum and can end up back where you started - having gained nothing at all. That was the same morning I realized that doing the duck poop polka was actually kind of fun in its own gross, unusual sort of way. I think I'm going to try to apply this to the rest of my life and figure out a way to make some of the stickier things we all have to navigate into little games all on their own. I think it's called making lemons out of lemonade, right?
Well, so far it's working for me. I did finish that half marathon without stopping and without walking which was my only real goal. I even finished it so fast my husband wasn't at the finish line. He figured he still had plenty of time before I crossed to take a quick potty break. He was wrong.
Here I am. Alison Coons - 37 year-old mother of two, former couch potato and hater of the sun - now Half Marathon Runner at 2:03:51. Her secret training tricks? Duck poop dancing, GU Chomps and Blueberry Pomegranate G2 Gatorade...oh and hill training...I ran lots of hills.
We'll talk about the Women's Running Magazine Half Marathon itself next time. It was pretty overwhelming, and I'm still kind of processing the whole experience. I don't know if I'll have anything profound to say about it, but I'll try to think of something.
Until we read again, Friends....keep trying for what you're trying for!
TTYL,
Ali
I'm blessed to have the choice of two peaceful parks within walking/running distance from my home. Each has its own unique features, but both have large ponds with surrounding trails. I get a little boost of energy when I descend into the parks and see the little bubbling fountains and hear the running water, so I try to route each of my runs through one of them - and occasionally both - each day. I love running in the parks. It's great. It's safe. It's peaceful. It makes me feel "active."
But peace comes at a price, and these ponds are deceiving. While they may look like little oases of calm in the midst of the only slightly less calm but totally not chaotic suburban haven that is Germantown, Tennessee, they are home to some evil critters. Each is guarded by its own gaggle of aggressive, people-hating ducks. Jog far enough along either track and you will come face to face (or knee to beak) with either park's fearsome security force, and both the Shady Creek Quacks and the Cameron Brown Honkers are really just gangs in disguise.
No, no. It's not just their loud annoying squawks that rob innocent joggers of their morning zen. Even their stalwart refusal to simply get out the way when you pass isn't enough to brand them as evil. No, no. These guys pack heat. It's their concealed weapons that you need to be wary of, and poop is their ammo of choice.
These ducks poop A LOT, so cautious runners must be hyper-vigilant and think on their toes (literally) to make a quick mental map of the connect-the-dot-like mine field that is the leftovers of these ducks' lunch. And it's green - I mean SWAMP THING GREEN - to boot. I do not want this stuff getting anywhere near my awesome hot pink Nike Free Run +2's! So I have to be careful where I step if I want to finish my run and make it back home with clean shoes.
The challenge here is that (unlike my highly plagiarised and butchered quote at the beginning says) I refuse to stop. My husband blames it on my maniacal German genes. If I think something should be done a certain way, that just-a the way it's-a gonna be (oh wait, that's Italian...I'm not Italian, anyway...). And usually, that way is the most complicated way. It's just how I'm wired. If I go out running, I intend to run. I don't intend to walk, and I don't intend to stop, not for water, not for cramps and certainly not for duck poop. I refuse to yield to these ducks and their droppings. So, when I encounter the puzzle of poop, I don't slow down, I run on tiptoes. I do my little Fred Astaire to keep my forward momentum. I map out the path as I'm dancing through it, and I've even turned it into its own kind of game. Duck Poop Hopscotch, you should try it sometime. Or not. Whatever.
But I realized one morning as I was playing it again, that to get wherever we're going in life we've all got to tiptoe through the duck poop. Duck poop is everywhere, and if you just let it slow you down, or God forbid stop you all together, you lose all your forward momentum and can end up back where you started - having gained nothing at all. That was the same morning I realized that doing the duck poop polka was actually kind of fun in its own gross, unusual sort of way. I think I'm going to try to apply this to the rest of my life and figure out a way to make some of the stickier things we all have to navigate into little games all on their own. I think it's called making lemons out of lemonade, right?
Well, so far it's working for me. I did finish that half marathon without stopping and without walking which was my only real goal. I even finished it so fast my husband wasn't at the finish line. He figured he still had plenty of time before I crossed to take a quick potty break. He was wrong.
We'll talk about the Women's Running Magazine Half Marathon itself next time. It was pretty overwhelming, and I'm still kind of processing the whole experience. I don't know if I'll have anything profound to say about it, but I'll try to think of something.
Until we read again, Friends....keep trying for what you're trying for!
TTYL,
Ali
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Play That Funky Music, White Girl
Not-Fab Five Reasons why training for a 1/2 Marathon is a little harder than I thought:
1. I'm following an actual training schedule that has upped my weekly mileage SIGNIFICANTLY. My long runs have gone from the very occasional 6 miler to 8 milers and what was supposed to be a niner this morning (more about that one later).
2. Crazy me - former non-sweater and hater of the sun - decided to do this while it's still hot as hell, so I'm having to practice hydrating on-the-go. This is actually harder than it seems, so small wonder I spilled blue Gatorade all down my backside the other day and had to run those last two miles in leaky pants.
3. I bought new shoes - the "barefoot/minimalist" style that I needed - and yes, they're bright pink and totally awesome, but they are taking some getting used to (read: sore legs - all the time).
4. I got a killer side-stitch cramp that almost knocked me down at mile 6.5 (of 8) last week and another one again today. Those totally suck, by the way.
5. I've had a lot of moments facing what runners call "The Wall." I even went out and bought some of those GU energy shots that "Real Runners" use to help ward it off. They are thick and kind of gross, but judging from my performance this morning, they might actually work.
Seriously, though, despite all the pain (and running three miles with a killer right side side stich IS painful, no doubt about it) - so far, I've managed to power through, stick to the schedule, finish every run and still manage a smile. I say "I've powered through," but really, it's my music that's kept me moving. It moved me 10.14 this morning (again, I was only scheduled to run 9), and it will move me 13.1 come September 24th. Music is magic stuff.
I know many people run with friends and have packs of folks that they hoof it with on a regular basis - ununh - not me. I have never been able to do any kind of exercise without having a beat blaring in my ears. More than anything else, music moves me. My runs (or walks or time on the elliptical or whatever) are all about me, and they're fueled by good tunes, Belgian waffles and maybe a little ice cream.
Without the music, I know for sure I'd never have made it two miles, let alone ten. I think lots of folks feel this way. I asked around to find out what kind of music moves my friends, and here are some of their favorites. Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." The Who's "Who Are You." ACDC's "Back In Black." Definitely.
Personally, I'm partial to '70s & '80s pop and rock (of both the metal and hair band varieties) - and country. Yes, I am a country fan - I'm from Tennessee, what of it? Brad Paisley is one of the best pickers ever, and his quick fingers and plucky pace get me going like nothing else. Don't believe me? Listen to "Mr. Policeman," and see if you can sit still. If Van Halen (or Van Hagar, either one - take your pick) pops up on the shuffle, I'm sure to speed it up. Tom Petty, Duran Duran, Guns & Roses, Queen - even Toby Keith. They all make it into my mix, and they all rock my run.
Then there are the songs that come on, and I pick up the pace a little (or a lot - which I sure pay for later) - because they bring out the badass* in me. ACDC's "Thunderstruck." Stevie Nicks' "Stand Back." Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me." They're little bursts of lightning that charge me up and wipe out whatever negative voices are running through my brain. They're electrifying. They change my brain - instantly. Instead of thinking, "Dear God, how much farther!?" I start thinking, "SHAZAM!! Heck yeah! Do it, Girl!" Instead of seeing myself all haggard and sweaty and stopping to walk, I see myself bursting though a door, dressed to kill, wind in my hair, light shining all around me - all Kelly LeBrock "Weird Science" style, or like every chick in every '80s hair band video. I'm out here running, out here gettin' it done!! Yeah, I'm "One Hot Mama" (another such song, this time a country one - Trace Adkins, check it out). I'm a badass for sure.
At least for the duration of that song. In the silent interim, I'm at the mercy of the iPod.
If I'm real lucky, something else good pops on. I got lucky this morning.
Like I said, I was "only" supposed to do a nine mile long run this morning. That would still have been my longest long run to date, and that was all I had planned on running, but I had prepared to go the distance. I planned a route that took me back past my house halfway through so I could grab the nasty GU I'd stashed on my porch (in hopes that it would carry me through the next half). I did, and as I made the block again, I downed it with the blue Gatorade, already spilling all over me. I was determined to make the nine, so I powered through the next three miles with a killer cramp. Once I'd managed that - I'd gotten that far - I decided I was going to go the distance and do the double digit for the first time ever.
At the beginning of the 10th mile - knowing I'd already met the day's goal of nine - I kind of started to bonk. My mind said I could stop now. My legs were sure wanting to, but my heart wanted to keep going. It was two against one, and then the music stepped in to save me. By some miracle, a breeze started blowing and my very favorite running tune started flowing through the phones. I literally said - out loud (to no one) - "Really? Okay then. Well, I've got to do it now." Seriously, whenever I hear this song, I am unstoppable. It says, "If you want it, come and get it," and I wanted it bad. It might not speak to you, but it screams to me. Sugarland, you saved me...again. Dear Readers, I give you Sugarland's "Take Me As I Am."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fw-8WmLUZoQ
I don't clean toilets in a grungy motel, and no, my name's not Maggie, but Maggie sounds like the kind of take no prisoners, take it or leave it, no nonsense - yes - badass chick I'd like to be. So yeah, that's my kind of tune.
Spurred by my favorite song, I made it home and made it to 10 miles (actually 10.14, but who's counting, right?) - no stops, no walks. I'm kind of still in shock.
I want it. I want to be the best me I can be. I want it bad, and I'm coming to get it. My music is helping me get there. I get a little closer every day.
Hmm...this reminds me. I need to add that "Stacy's Mom" song to my playlist. Granted, I'm Emma's mom, and Charlie's mom, and that song's neither badass nor hair band, but it's about a mom who's "got it goin' on." Yeah, I'd run to that.
So what are the tunes that move you? Feel free to share, and we'll create the perfect playlist together. Until then, keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
Until we read again...TTYL -
Ali
*No. I normally do not condone swearing in my blog. I'm usually super-square like that, and I have a kid who's savvy enough to pull it up and read it whenever she wants. But seriously, even the English major/future teacher/mommy in me cannot think of a better word for that feeling than badass, because that's just exactly what it is. And it's awesome.
1. I'm following an actual training schedule that has upped my weekly mileage SIGNIFICANTLY. My long runs have gone from the very occasional 6 miler to 8 milers and what was supposed to be a niner this morning (more about that one later).
2. Crazy me - former non-sweater and hater of the sun - decided to do this while it's still hot as hell, so I'm having to practice hydrating on-the-go. This is actually harder than it seems, so small wonder I spilled blue Gatorade all down my backside the other day and had to run those last two miles in leaky pants.
3. I bought new shoes - the "barefoot/minimalist" style that I needed - and yes, they're bright pink and totally awesome, but they are taking some getting used to (read: sore legs - all the time).
4. I got a killer side-stitch cramp that almost knocked me down at mile 6.5 (of 8) last week and another one again today. Those totally suck, by the way.
5. I've had a lot of moments facing what runners call "The Wall." I even went out and bought some of those GU energy shots that "Real Runners" use to help ward it off. They are thick and kind of gross, but judging from my performance this morning, they might actually work.
Seriously, though, despite all the pain (and running three miles with a killer right side side stich IS painful, no doubt about it) - so far, I've managed to power through, stick to the schedule, finish every run and still manage a smile. I say "I've powered through," but really, it's my music that's kept me moving. It moved me 10.14 this morning (again, I was only scheduled to run 9), and it will move me 13.1 come September 24th. Music is magic stuff.
I know many people run with friends and have packs of folks that they hoof it with on a regular basis - ununh - not me. I have never been able to do any kind of exercise without having a beat blaring in my ears. More than anything else, music moves me. My runs (or walks or time on the elliptical or whatever) are all about me, and they're fueled by good tunes, Belgian waffles and maybe a little ice cream.
Without the music, I know for sure I'd never have made it two miles, let alone ten. I think lots of folks feel this way. I asked around to find out what kind of music moves my friends, and here are some of their favorites. Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." The Who's "Who Are You." ACDC's "Back In Black." Definitely.
Personally, I'm partial to '70s & '80s pop and rock (of both the metal and hair band varieties) - and country. Yes, I am a country fan - I'm from Tennessee, what of it? Brad Paisley is one of the best pickers ever, and his quick fingers and plucky pace get me going like nothing else. Don't believe me? Listen to "Mr. Policeman," and see if you can sit still. If Van Halen (or Van Hagar, either one - take your pick) pops up on the shuffle, I'm sure to speed it up. Tom Petty, Duran Duran, Guns & Roses, Queen - even Toby Keith. They all make it into my mix, and they all rock my run.
Then there are the songs that come on, and I pick up the pace a little (or a lot - which I sure pay for later) - because they bring out the badass* in me. ACDC's "Thunderstruck." Stevie Nicks' "Stand Back." Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me." They're little bursts of lightning that charge me up and wipe out whatever negative voices are running through my brain. They're electrifying. They change my brain - instantly. Instead of thinking, "Dear God, how much farther!?" I start thinking, "SHAZAM!! Heck yeah! Do it, Girl!" Instead of seeing myself all haggard and sweaty and stopping to walk, I see myself bursting though a door, dressed to kill, wind in my hair, light shining all around me - all Kelly LeBrock "Weird Science" style, or like every chick in every '80s hair band video. I'm out here running, out here gettin' it done!! Yeah, I'm "One Hot Mama" (another such song, this time a country one - Trace Adkins, check it out). I'm a badass for sure.
At least for the duration of that song. In the silent interim, I'm at the mercy of the iPod.
If I'm real lucky, something else good pops on. I got lucky this morning.
Like I said, I was "only" supposed to do a nine mile long run this morning. That would still have been my longest long run to date, and that was all I had planned on running, but I had prepared to go the distance. I planned a route that took me back past my house halfway through so I could grab the nasty GU I'd stashed on my porch (in hopes that it would carry me through the next half). I did, and as I made the block again, I downed it with the blue Gatorade, already spilling all over me. I was determined to make the nine, so I powered through the next three miles with a killer cramp. Once I'd managed that - I'd gotten that far - I decided I was going to go the distance and do the double digit for the first time ever.
At the beginning of the 10th mile - knowing I'd already met the day's goal of nine - I kind of started to bonk. My mind said I could stop now. My legs were sure wanting to, but my heart wanted to keep going. It was two against one, and then the music stepped in to save me. By some miracle, a breeze started blowing and my very favorite running tune started flowing through the phones. I literally said - out loud (to no one) - "Really? Okay then. Well, I've got to do it now." Seriously, whenever I hear this song, I am unstoppable. It says, "If you want it, come and get it," and I wanted it bad. It might not speak to you, but it screams to me. Sugarland, you saved me...again. Dear Readers, I give you Sugarland's "Take Me As I Am."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fw-8WmLUZoQ
I don't clean toilets in a grungy motel, and no, my name's not Maggie, but Maggie sounds like the kind of take no prisoners, take it or leave it, no nonsense - yes - badass chick I'd like to be. So yeah, that's my kind of tune.
Spurred by my favorite song, I made it home and made it to 10 miles (actually 10.14, but who's counting, right?) - no stops, no walks. I'm kind of still in shock.
I want it. I want to be the best me I can be. I want it bad, and I'm coming to get it. My music is helping me get there. I get a little closer every day.
Hmm...this reminds me. I need to add that "Stacy's Mom" song to my playlist. Granted, I'm Emma's mom, and Charlie's mom, and that song's neither badass nor hair band, but it's about a mom who's "got it goin' on." Yeah, I'd run to that.
So what are the tunes that move you? Feel free to share, and we'll create the perfect playlist together. Until then, keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
Until we read again...TTYL -
Ali
*No. I normally do not condone swearing in my blog. I'm usually super-square like that, and I have a kid who's savvy enough to pull it up and read it whenever she wants. But seriously, even the English major/future teacher/mommy in me cannot think of a better word for that feeling than badass, because that's just exactly what it is. And it's awesome.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The Challenge of Change VS The Slippers of Same
It seems they have a pill for everything these days - everything except motivation. It's totally necessary for setting and achieving any kind of goal, so you think they'd have invented that by now. I mean, yeah, they've got pills for certain specific KINDS of motivation (the myriad commercials for which are so fun to explain to inquisitive children), but that's not what I mean.
I mean the kind of motivation that puts voices in your head that tell you you've just GOT to make a change, for real and for good this time (ahem..."Lose some weight!"). Or maybe they tell you that you CAN do that crazy thing you said you'd never do (ahem..."Run a marathon!"). I mean that kind of motivation that pulls you up out of your nest in the corner of the couch and makes you want to lace up those shoes, get out there and GO! Heck, maybe somebody has invented it and it's illegal so I don't know about it; that's entirely possible. But, alas, legal or not, even if it did exist, I probably still wouldn't take it. Motivation comes from within, right. Eh, well...sometimes.
I've realized something about myself through this whole process - I have to have goals. I have to write them down, and I have to tell other people about them, even if they're not all that interested. I've talked about goals before - mini-goals, major goals, gotta have a goal! Goals motivate me, but I'm not always motivated to do what it takes to achieve the goal. I'm quite sure you've been in my shoes. Maybe you're still there. It's ok, I find myself in those shoes pretty often. They're very comfortable shoes. Let's call them the Slippers of Same. No, not "shame." SAME. There's no shame in same.
To state the obvious: most of the time, it's easier to just have things stay the same, even if you aren't really happy with the way things are. And if you are happy with the way things are, that's great, but it can be hard to get motivated to take your goals to the next level. No matter where you are in life, or what you're all about, there's always a "next level." Are you happy in your Slippers of Same, or are you ready for the Challenge of Change?
I'm done with the weight loss part. If the number never changes again (assuming it doesn't start going UP), I'm determined to be ok with that. That part of my Challenge of Change is over. I am and will continue to be happy in that pair of slippers.
So what is my challenge now? What is the goal? What happens NOW?
I had been comfortably stuck in the Running Slippers of Same ever since I completed the 10K race back in June. I had not run more than five consecutive miles since that race (and then only maybe like twice); I certainly hadn't braved six again, and I just didn't seem to want to. That's not to say I wasn't running. Lord no, I was running, almost every day, just not super far. And that's ok! I'm not saying that's not ok here. It was totally ok. I was maintaining, which is challenging enough, really, and things were staying the same. And "the same" is good, but Sameness is NOT my goal. I've changed myself a LOT, both physically and mentally over the past year and a half or so. I'm not ready to quit. I want to keep savoring the Challenge of Change.
I realized last week that I had gotten too comfortable in those slippers, and I thought about what I needed to do. What's next? I've met my weight goal and am successfully maintaining that. Yay. I've kept on running. Yay. I'm still working on the masters and have an interview soon. Yay. What's next? Realistically. A marathon is NOT next, but a half is. That's IT!! THAT is the next level, for me. Run faster. Run farther. Challenge my notion of who I am; become a REAL runner. Sure. Alright then. I'm down with that. Bring it on.
And I AM going to do it. I've paid my fee. We've booked a hotel. I've started a REAL training program. I am actually going to RUN this race. I have kicked off the Slippers of Same and am embracing this new Challenge of Change. This is a tangible goal, and one I'm determined to reach. It doesn't hurt that the race is just for girls and the medal is super cute, either. When I cross the finish line in September, I'll post a pic wearing it. I may never take it off.
Until we read again, Friends...keep trying for what you're trying for!
TTYL,
Ali
...this is the race I'm going to run...in case anyone wants to join me...
http://www.womenshalfmarathon.com/
I mean the kind of motivation that puts voices in your head that tell you you've just GOT to make a change, for real and for good this time (ahem..."Lose some weight!"). Or maybe they tell you that you CAN do that crazy thing you said you'd never do (ahem..."Run a marathon!"). I mean that kind of motivation that pulls you up out of your nest in the corner of the couch and makes you want to lace up those shoes, get out there and GO! Heck, maybe somebody has invented it and it's illegal so I don't know about it; that's entirely possible. But, alas, legal or not, even if it did exist, I probably still wouldn't take it. Motivation comes from within, right. Eh, well...sometimes.
I've realized something about myself through this whole process - I have to have goals. I have to write them down, and I have to tell other people about them, even if they're not all that interested. I've talked about goals before - mini-goals, major goals, gotta have a goal! Goals motivate me, but I'm not always motivated to do what it takes to achieve the goal. I'm quite sure you've been in my shoes. Maybe you're still there. It's ok, I find myself in those shoes pretty often. They're very comfortable shoes. Let's call them the Slippers of Same. No, not "shame." SAME. There's no shame in same.
To state the obvious: most of the time, it's easier to just have things stay the same, even if you aren't really happy with the way things are. And if you are happy with the way things are, that's great, but it can be hard to get motivated to take your goals to the next level. No matter where you are in life, or what you're all about, there's always a "next level." Are you happy in your Slippers of Same, or are you ready for the Challenge of Change?
I'm done with the weight loss part. If the number never changes again (assuming it doesn't start going UP), I'm determined to be ok with that. That part of my Challenge of Change is over. I am and will continue to be happy in that pair of slippers.
So what is my challenge now? What is the goal? What happens NOW?
I had been comfortably stuck in the Running Slippers of Same ever since I completed the 10K race back in June. I had not run more than five consecutive miles since that race (and then only maybe like twice); I certainly hadn't braved six again, and I just didn't seem to want to. That's not to say I wasn't running. Lord no, I was running, almost every day, just not super far. And that's ok! I'm not saying that's not ok here. It was totally ok. I was maintaining, which is challenging enough, really, and things were staying the same. And "the same" is good, but Sameness is NOT my goal. I've changed myself a LOT, both physically and mentally over the past year and a half or so. I'm not ready to quit. I want to keep savoring the Challenge of Change.
I realized last week that I had gotten too comfortable in those slippers, and I thought about what I needed to do. What's next? I've met my weight goal and am successfully maintaining that. Yay. I've kept on running. Yay. I'm still working on the masters and have an interview soon. Yay. What's next? Realistically. A marathon is NOT next, but a half is. That's IT!! THAT is the next level, for me. Run faster. Run farther. Challenge my notion of who I am; become a REAL runner. Sure. Alright then. I'm down with that. Bring it on.
And I AM going to do it. I've paid my fee. We've booked a hotel. I've started a REAL training program. I am actually going to RUN this race. I have kicked off the Slippers of Same and am embracing this new Challenge of Change. This is a tangible goal, and one I'm determined to reach. It doesn't hurt that the race is just for girls and the medal is super cute, either. When I cross the finish line in September, I'll post a pic wearing it. I may never take it off.
Until we read again, Friends...keep trying for what you're trying for!
TTYL,
Ali
...this is the race I'm going to run...in case anyone wants to join me...
http://www.womenshalfmarathon.com/
Monday, July 11, 2011
(Unreasonably) Great Expectations
There are days when it's just rough being a woman.
This is another long one, Friends, but let me preface this by saying that my purpose here is not to vent, so don't think I'm going to go on some, "Oh woe is me!" rant here. That is not and never will be my style. There is little "woe" in my life, and what little there is I will keep to myself. No, today's post is all about the stuff ALL us sisters just have to suffer as we travel down our respective paths of life. So, if you are a guy reading this blog - and I've been told there are a few of you - you may or may not want to continue perusing this post today...it's up to you...all I can say is, Fellas, you have been warned.
Then again, maybe you SHOULD read on.
Take what you learn, Boys, and treat your poor aging wife right!
Our minds just don't work the way you think they should.
You men have it so good. We all know quite a few fellas (my handsome husband included) who've gotten seriously better looking with age. Gray temples and a few well-placed, craggy laugh lines are just downright sexy - on a man. Men age gracefully. Women fight it all the way. It's not just that we WANT to stop the hands of time, it's like we feel there's something WRONG with us if we can't. And it would be one thing if all we had to worry about was what was going on on the outside (which is surely enough), but unfortunately, Girls, this is not the case, and I am living proof of this devil's curse right now.
At this moment in time, I am 49 days shy of my 37th birthday. I like to think that because I have spent most of those years in great fear of the sun I have thus far escaped some of the outward signs that would belie my actual age. So far, unlike those sexy men, I have very few wrinkles and no gray hairs. (You will know when they begin to appear because my once chestnut mane will miraculously turn red overnight - finally matching all the freckles and pale skin God saw fit to bless me with. Go ahead, picture it...Alison as a redhead. It WILL happen, someday.) So to most innocent bystanders - my husband included - the package Alison is wrapped in seems to be weathering time and the elements pretty well. It has even shrunk quite a bit and seems a bit livelier most of the time, and for this I am ever grateful.
But watch out! Appearances can be deceiving.
Time waits for no one, and while I'm currently winning the war on the outside, my insides are fighting a long but surely losing battle. I am 49 days shy of my 37th birthday, and apparently I'm already experiencing perimenopause. Oh, joy! Ladies, are you feeling the pain (or shall I say, the heat) with me, or am I just entering this dark night alone? I'm too young for this crap. Seriously, I didn't even know how to SPELL menopause. I had to look it up.
After finishing my previous post about perspiration, it occurred to me that this wasn't a freak phenomenon I was experiencing only while running. For months now, I've been going to bed freezing and waking up in the middle of the night, burning up, drenched in sweat. I have been sitting across from my family in nice, well-air conditioned restaurants and suddenly begun to feel like my entire body is on fire from within. Fanning myself, I start wondering, "Is anybody else HOT in here?" And if I'm not blazing hot, I'm icy cold - a comfortable in-between is rare.
I also have taken to taking two Pamprin or Motrin most mornings (until I ran out) in a desperate effort to ward off what seems to be constant PMS. What once was pretty predictable has become utterly unreliable and can really ruin my day if I'm not careful. My body is trying to tell me something, and I'm plugging my ears and singing, "Mary had a little lamb..." just trying not to hear.
It's trying to tell me that I'm getting older. It's trying to tell me that wacky hormones and weight loss just don't mix. I'm trying to tell it to just shut up. Shut up and deal, you crazy bod you. I'm winning this war whether you like it or not!
But I may need to redefine what it means to "win." I think I need to accept and celebrate the fact that I've already won. Maybe now I just need to fight to maintain.
This whole thing came to a head Fourth of July weekend after a series of seemingly unrelated events made it abundantly clear to me that:
A: My body has been fighting me literally every step of the way
as I journey to the new and improved me
AND
B: My husband has been blissfully unaware of any of it.
That's both good and bad.
If you read my last post, you may have noticed that I just kind of glossed over the fact that I did finally make my weight loss goal - the "ultimate" number I had in my mind that I thought I would never see. Well yes, I got there, and just as I suspected, yay, I was happy, but it really was pretty anticlimactic. Sure, the number was there on the scale, but seeing it didn't make the rest of the rolls go away or make my jiggly two-baby belly magically flatten or disappear, and it certainly didn't plump and perk up what have seriously sagged and deflated as a result of this whole thing. Oh, the sadness...
I'd met the number, but had I really met the goal? Did seeing the number mean I'd won the war? To the rest of the world - yeah, probably so. In the privacy of my own bathroom, under harsh lights, in front of a rather unflattering mirror...hell no!! The battle must rage on!! Good enough was not good enough. Ounce by ounce and inch by inch I WOULD achieve MORE!! I lowered my Points. I lowered my calories. I upped my running mileage. I ran the 10K. I signed up for more races. Go, Ali! Go!! Forget the hot flashes. Forget the freezing spells. Forget everything else. Move it! Move it! The number still matters, Girl! Go! Go! Go!
And then things got a little weird.
After spending two hours in the ER Saturday night thanks to having my right hand in the wrong place at the wrong time (wrapped around the driver's side door jamb of my mini-van right when my husband decided to rather forcefully close the sucker up), I needed a bit of comfort food. I figured I'd earned it, so yeah, that Back Yard Burger hamburger, huge order of sweet potato fries and Reese's PB Cup Blast from Sonic tasted AMAZING!! No biggie, I enjoyed it (and given the circumstances, I'd enjoy it again in a heartbeat!).
The next day I got up and despite a little stiffness (ok, a lot of stiffness) and major swelling in my right hand, I worked out on the elliptical and went and picked up the race packet for the 5K I'd signed up for that night. I rested up most of the day and showed up ready to run that evening around 6 PM. Thunderstorms and 100 degree heat right before a race = SAUNA!! That race was downright miserable. But I finished it, and then felt totally horrible and had trouble even driving home.
So I "chillaxed" the next day, the Fourth of July, indulging in the fruits of holiday food. I didn't have to bake any of it thanks to my grandmother who provided loads of luscious chocolate brownies and my generous and kind mother-in-law who brought a lovely strawberry cake, just for me, knowing it was my favorite! I yummed it all down - within reason, but still, yeah, Points and calories be damned. I've worked hard enough...I should be able to enjoy a few treats now and then, right? And seriously, my hand still hurt!
I should've expected what happened next. My ever-present once-monthly visitor seemed to have made an evil pact with the post-accident holiday food devil and together, they presented me with the lovely gift of an overnight five pound weight gain. Five freakin' pounds. FIVE FREAKIN' POUNDS!! WHAT!!
Now, logically I KNEW that this "weight gain" was not permanent and that no, I had not eaten enough in three days to actually GAIN five real pounds. It was water weight and digestive "issues" and swelling from the accident and even some from overexertion, surely, right? Whatever I told myself (most of which was actually true), it could not stop the flood of hormonally charged emotion that made me want to literally take a hammer and bust up that stupid scale once and for all. I told my husband about it. He said he "understood;" he'd gained three.
The next day he made the mistake of telling me his world was back in whack, and that he was back to only a half pound up. Boys...I know I lost you already, but this is where you should start paying attention again...
That was not the right thing to say to me at that particular moment in time, and I told him so in no uncertain terms. Then he decided to try to lecture me on how I shouldn't be so obsessed with the scale. True, but then again...
I'd just had to step on the scale for my Weight Watchers Online weekly weigh in, and no, while I was no longer five pounds up, I was still up four, and back over my magic number which I'd been fighting so hard to stay under. Cue the perimenopausal totally irrational but utterly uncontrollable meltdown. So much so that later that day, my dear husband got the following email:
"When stuff happens like what went on this weekend, and I have one holiday where I just feel like it should be ok to kind of let up and relax for a couple of days like some normal person would - even when I go to the extreme of doing all the exercise I did and running in that race - and all overnight I'm faced with numbers I haven't seen in like 3 months - for lack of a more refined sentiments - THAT FREAKING SUCKS!!! It's like I just want to scream, "WTH! That is SOOOO not fair!"
And it's not. And it makes me crazy with anger at myself, at the scale and probably at everything else around me because one of the reasons that this is happening and I'm seeing crazy numbers is because my hormones are wreaking havoc on my waistline and my mind. We haven't really talked about this, but my girlie-system has been out of whack for quite sometime now. I think I get through it, and it comes roaring back, and then I think I'm through it and it shows up again two weeks later. I don't just sweat when I run, I go to bed freezing and wake up drenched in the middle of the night. Living inside this bod is just a barrel of fun these days!!
This is generally the time in life when most women who haven't had weight problems start to get them simply because Mother Nature is out to get us all. So, I'm fighting a seriously uphill battle, and for the most part, I've been winning it, but when I get smacked down LITERALLY overnight - yeah, that's upsetting. And when you come along and tell me everything's good with you and then I try to tell you that maybe that's not the best thing to talk to me about right now and somehow that ends up in a ridiculous argument where I'm left feeling like A: I didn't come to you with this. I didn't start this conversation, so why am I being lectured to? and B: Wow! Must be nice being a man 'cause you guys don't have to deal with any of this crap. Guys can just sneeze and lose 10 lbs it seems! and then there's C: I know this isn't logical, but God, you don't have to make me feel worse for feeling bad about it. Or D: Holy Crap! He's ARGUING with me about this? I'm not on trial here. I know you're a lawyer, but don't pull that mess on me in my own bathroom! or especially E: Are you SERIOUS!?! You're going to argue with me about how meaningless these numbers are after you almost broke my friggin' hand and all I wanted was some darn comfort food and some cake on the 4th of July!! You didn't get hurt and then still run a race and then get faced with a sudden crazy weight gain that isn't coming off. Talk to the bruised but not broken HAND!!"
And it's not. And it makes me crazy with anger at myself, at the scale and probably at everything else around me because one of the reasons that this is happening and I'm seeing crazy numbers is because my hormones are wreaking havoc on my waistline and my mind. We haven't really talked about this, but my girlie-system has been out of whack for quite sometime now. I think I get through it, and it comes roaring back, and then I think I'm through it and it shows up again two weeks later. I don't just sweat when I run, I go to bed freezing and wake up drenched in the middle of the night. Living inside this bod is just a barrel of fun these days!!
This is generally the time in life when most women who haven't had weight problems start to get them simply because Mother Nature is out to get us all. So, I'm fighting a seriously uphill battle, and for the most part, I've been winning it, but when I get smacked down LITERALLY overnight - yeah, that's upsetting. And when you come along and tell me everything's good with you and then I try to tell you that maybe that's not the best thing to talk to me about right now and somehow that ends up in a ridiculous argument where I'm left feeling like A: I didn't come to you with this. I didn't start this conversation, so why am I being lectured to? and B: Wow! Must be nice being a man 'cause you guys don't have to deal with any of this crap. Guys can just sneeze and lose 10 lbs it seems! and then there's C: I know this isn't logical, but God, you don't have to make me feel worse for feeling bad about it. Or D: Holy Crap! He's ARGUING with me about this? I'm not on trial here. I know you're a lawyer, but don't pull that mess on me in my own bathroom! or especially E: Are you SERIOUS!?! You're going to argue with me about how meaningless these numbers are after you almost broke my friggin' hand and all I wanted was some darn comfort food and some cake on the 4th of July!! You didn't get hurt and then still run a race and then get faced with a sudden crazy weight gain that isn't coming off. Talk to the bruised but not broken HAND!!"
He seemed truly enlightened by this drivel, and frankly, so was I. Men want to "fix" things; us women, we just "feel" things. You can't fix something that's not broken. I'm not broken; I don't need fixing. I need to take my own advice and feel satisfied and happy with me - just the way I am.
This "battle" is not worth fighting anymore. I have indeed truly won. I AM happy. I am healthy. I enjoy my life so much more than I did. I am maintaining a healthy - and not unreasonably low - weight and have truly adopted a better lifestyle, one that still allows me my treats but keeps me on track. Enough IS enough. My husband is right. I need to just stop and savor the battle as won. Mother Nature will continue her war from within. I can only fight her so hard. And to what extent I can, I will, but I will not torture myself - or others - in the quest to reduce the pooch. I think I've said it before, that's why God (or Sara Blakely) invented Spanx.
So until we read again...Keep on trying for what you're trying for, Friends. I'll keep trying to, too.
TTYL...
Ali
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Years of Pent-Up Sweat
I realize it's been awhile since last we met, but first things first: I have to admit it, I sweat like a pig.
When I come in from a run, seriously, I could've been out in a thunderstorm - you couldn't tell the difference. And it doesn't stop when I stop. Oh no! Unless I hop in the shower straight away, I'll be drippity-dripping from my hair, down my nose and into my oatmeal if I'm not careful. It's the grossest thing ever, and I'm still not used to it.
Sweat. Perspiration. Or, my personal favorite, "glistening" (a sweet little ladylike term that wholly does not apply to what my bod does when I run)...whatever you want to call it, it's a totally new experience for me.
I think my body is purging years of pent-up sweat. Now that I have succeeded in meeting the magic number (yes...yes...applause...applause) and purging most of the pulcritude, perspiration seems next on the list. I know that sounds insane. Ok, that is insane, and of course I'm totally kidding, but as someone who has spent the majority of her life avoiding exercise - and the sun - yeah, this is a new one on me. It's like I've found my inner medicine man, and he's gone into overdrive - chanting and bringing on the rain after a 36 year drought.
And I say, "Bring it on."
Although it does kind of gross me out (I am at heart a very girly girl, after all), it's true that "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."* And nothing makes me feel stronger or more alive than being out there, just me and my tunes, pushing myself through the next mile, feeling the sun on my shoulders and the breeze against my skin. The rain I create is proof that I have done something marvelous for myself that day. It's a tangible sign that I'm more than alive - I'm thriving! And this is why I run and why I hope I can inspire some of you to get out there and find what makes you feel alive. Whatever it is, be it running or walking or biking or hiking or playing touch football with your kids, for goodness sake! Get out there and sweat! It's gross, but yeah, it's great.
I do seem to do more laundry than I used to, though. I guess I just need to buy more gear!
And my husband has taken to calling me "Sweaty Betty," but I think he could come up with a more clever name, at least one that had SOMETHING to do with "Alison." He's a pretty creative guy, so we'll have to see about that.
Lastly, sorry for the month long delay. We all ended up getting "sidelined" by the Great Plague of 2011 and then immediately went on vacation. We've been back two weeks, and I think we're still recovering. When you go on trips with kids...forget relaxation, Friends...you're just a roadie. And I came back to immediately start a month with TWO summer classes plus work plus kids plus applying for jobs, so I need all the energy those runs can give me. But tonight, I'm plum worn out.
I'm headed off to find some real relaxation in "my spot" on the couch, in my pj's, under a blanket, watching stuff on the DVR and sipping at least one gin & tonic. And then sleep...good sleep...then I'll get up and be Sweaty Betty again.
Until we read again, keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
TTYL - Ali
*There will be many more quotes from "Steel Magnolias." This will probably be the only time I actually cite it.
When I come in from a run, seriously, I could've been out in a thunderstorm - you couldn't tell the difference. And it doesn't stop when I stop. Oh no! Unless I hop in the shower straight away, I'll be drippity-dripping from my hair, down my nose and into my oatmeal if I'm not careful. It's the grossest thing ever, and I'm still not used to it.
Sweat. Perspiration. Or, my personal favorite, "glistening" (a sweet little ladylike term that wholly does not apply to what my bod does when I run)...whatever you want to call it, it's a totally new experience for me.
I think my body is purging years of pent-up sweat. Now that I have succeeded in meeting the magic number (yes...yes...applause...applause) and purging most of the pulcritude, perspiration seems next on the list. I know that sounds insane. Ok, that is insane, and of course I'm totally kidding, but as someone who has spent the majority of her life avoiding exercise - and the sun - yeah, this is a new one on me. It's like I've found my inner medicine man, and he's gone into overdrive - chanting and bringing on the rain after a 36 year drought.
And I say, "Bring it on."
Although it does kind of gross me out (I am at heart a very girly girl, after all), it's true that "That which does not kill us makes us stronger."* And nothing makes me feel stronger or more alive than being out there, just me and my tunes, pushing myself through the next mile, feeling the sun on my shoulders and the breeze against my skin. The rain I create is proof that I have done something marvelous for myself that day. It's a tangible sign that I'm more than alive - I'm thriving! And this is why I run and why I hope I can inspire some of you to get out there and find what makes you feel alive. Whatever it is, be it running or walking or biking or hiking or playing touch football with your kids, for goodness sake! Get out there and sweat! It's gross, but yeah, it's great.
I do seem to do more laundry than I used to, though. I guess I just need to buy more gear!
And my husband has taken to calling me "Sweaty Betty," but I think he could come up with a more clever name, at least one that had SOMETHING to do with "Alison." He's a pretty creative guy, so we'll have to see about that.
Lastly, sorry for the month long delay. We all ended up getting "sidelined" by the Great Plague of 2011 and then immediately went on vacation. We've been back two weeks, and I think we're still recovering. When you go on trips with kids...forget relaxation, Friends...you're just a roadie. And I came back to immediately start a month with TWO summer classes plus work plus kids plus applying for jobs, so I need all the energy those runs can give me. But tonight, I'm plum worn out.
I'm headed off to find some real relaxation in "my spot" on the couch, in my pj's, under a blanket, watching stuff on the DVR and sipping at least one gin & tonic. And then sleep...good sleep...then I'll get up and be Sweaty Betty again.
Until we read again, keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
TTYL - Ali
*There will be many more quotes from "Steel Magnolias." This will probably be the only time I actually cite it.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Sidelined
There are many reasons to fret about being sick, but I never figured “not getting to run” would be one of them – maybe for crazy folks it might be, but certainly not for me. That’s where I am tonight though, laid up with a particularly nasty late-spring cold wondering if it would just be totally insane for me to go out running tomorrow morning anyway, even though my throat feels like it’s being gripped by a Velociraptor.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and Sam Neil will have come and whisked the Raptor back to Jurassic Park by morning, but at this moment, I’m feeling a little more like Newman right before he missed his ferry.
I’m hoping for the best though, because, believe it or not, I really like to run. In fact, I more than like it. I love it. I get a real thrill out of pushing myself. I’m disappointed in myself when I fail to reach a daily goal, but the joy I feel when I succeed is indescribable. At this very moment, I’m getting kind of anxious at the prospect of not getting my miles in this week. I haven’t run since Sunday morning, and it’s even making me kind of mad. So yeah, it’s official. I’ve gone a little nuts, but I don’t care. I GET it now.
It is truly possible to enjoy exercise, even if it brings a little pain. The sense of accomplishment you feel after completing some sort of physical challenge is one of the few legal highs in life. For me, now I get that from running. I push myself to run longer and longer distances, little bit by little bit. The exercise now has little to do with weight loss, it's all about the joy of the sport itself, but I found the joy in exercise way before I found my place out on the road. I am not athletic or gifted in any way, so I feel blessed to have recognized that this joy is open to all of us – even us SuperSpazzes.
The key is to start small, and have a goal.
In order to accomplish anything, you have to set goals for yourself, big and small. If you reward yourself as you meet the small goals (there's no better excuse to splurge on a new handbag, pair of shoes or new clothes) you'll be more motivated to reach the next one and the next one and then the next one. You'll also be less likely to give in and give up when you get "sidelined" by illness or plateaus or set backs or days when you make poorer choices (I've had a few of those myself, lately).
During my weight loss journey, I set a series of 5 and 10 pound mini-goals all with the end goal of that elusive magic number - the one I'm still chasing. I've had the pleasure of changing the magic number a few times as well - moving it down and down again as I met goals and wanted to go further. It's been over a year now, and the magic number's the last one to go. Honestly, I've seen it (the current and probably final one) a few times...just not on my weigh-in day! But that just inspires me to try that much harder.
Exercise goals are no different. I did not start out saying, "I'm going to run a half-marathon" or even "I'm going to start running." Running wasn't even on my radar. I have great respect for all of you Couch to 5K (C25K) folks out there because I had no intentions of running. I got winded just running to the bathroom, so I just figured I'd walk. It would be good for me and good for the dog.
My first exercise goals all centered around simple quick walking. I'd walk anywhere from 1.5 to 3.5 miles (depending upon how much time I had and what the weather was doing) 3-4 times a week. My goal was to get at least 1/2 hour of walking in 4 times a week. Any more than that was just gravy. And that's all I did for a couple of months.
But walking, like running, is kind of weather-dependent. Whereas now, if it's raining, I head inside and hoof it on the "dreadmill" or the elliptical machine, when I couldn't get outside to walk I relied on my old friend, Leslie Sansone. If you have not heard of Leslie Sansone and her "Walk At Home" program, consider this your lucky day. I am an absolute fan of Leslie. I would love to meet her someday, but I'm sure I'd make an absolute fool of myself. The woman's truly changed my life. I'd probably say something ridiculous and start blubbering and be too embarassed to let my husband take my picture with her (or maybe I'm describing my first encounter with Chris Isaak...). Anyway...
I started using her DVDs back in 2003 during my first big weight loss endeavor. I had hit a huge plateau, and when I started using these DVDs, the scale started moving in the right direction again, so I was immediately hooked. I don't even remember how I got turned on to her. It seriously may have been an infomercial, I'm not sure. I know I didn't order any of her products off an infomercial or QVC; you can just as easily find them at Target, WalMart, Best Buy or anywhere else they sell fitness DVDs. She's everywhere - and with good reason.
The Walk At Home DVDs are appropriate for folks at ALL fitness levels. Leslie Sansone is extremely positive, upbeat and totally non-threatening. She's kind of the Anti-Jillian. There are even a few Christian-inspired DVDs that use gospel music. I totally love this program and use it in addition to my running still today. The woman does NOT pay me to say any of this (let's see, free endorsements for Spanx AND Walk At Home...somebody owes me a kickback!); like I said, I'd freak if I ever even met her, but if you are interested in seeing what I'm talking about, check out http://www.walkathome.com/.
But after a couple of months of what I called "cardio-walking," I began to think I wasn't working hard enough. I had more energy, and I needed to use it - I also needed to bust a plateau. So, I convinced my husband to let us join a gym. We had enjoyed our old gym, and this new one was HUGE and had great facilities for kids. It would be wonderful! I could take the kids after school. We could get in some exercise as a family. We could eat together in the fancy healthy cafe. Emma could enjoy the rock wall. I could use the cardio machines and maybe even take a few classes. Jeff could use the lap pool. Oh, the hot tub was just amazing! And it was all very fun and exciting and family-friendly until...
When next we read again - potty training and kid-care at the gym...a good mix? Discuss...
Keep on trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
TTYL - Ali
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
I Can Because SHE Can
This weekend I had a moment of clarity. I realized I’ve learned more from my ten year-old daughter than she may ever learn from me. I know I had originally planned to discuss easing into exercise in this post, but thanks to my sparkling little girl, I have something more inspiring to share.
My daughter is everything I was not as a child. She is adventurous. She is fearless, and she is extremely self-confident. Emma does things without hesitation - now, at ten - that I am only beginning to find the courage to try. I am grateful to her for the example she’s set for me, and I am proud to be her mom. Because she is part of ME, I know that somewhere inside me lies a really spirited, confident girl. All I have to do is let go of my fear, and let her out. Emma’s boundless energy was the inspiration for my first large weight loss in 2003, now her enthusiasm and encouragement are pushing me to finish what I’ve started and finally find the me I want to be.
Many of my friends know that Emma and I are blessed to be part of a very active Girl Scout troop. Dogwood Service Unit Troop 10365 has been together since the girls were in kindergarten. Now that they are in fourth grade, we’ve had five years of fun with these ladies. We’ve watched them grow and change and have tried our hardest to give them exciting opportunities both to learn and to just have fun, and for the past four years, along with other field trips and outings, like good Girl Scouts, we’ve taken them “camping.”
***“Camping” – as defined by Girl Scout Troop 10365 (and me) ***
"Camping" is traveling to a place where most activities are performed in The Great Outdoors. Sleeping bags are required but will be placed atop a mattress (of some sort) on a bunk in some kind of cabin or lodge, preferably air-conditioned, but not necessarily. EXCELLENT“camping” experiences require that staff members (not Girl Scout Leaders or other mothers) be on hand to prepare (and clean up) any and all meals and build the fire required for the nightly bonfire and oh-so-necessary s’mores consumption. If staff members are on hand to plan and lead activities – all the better.
So yeah, sleeping in tents on the solid ground and pottying behind a tree is not our idea of a good time, but you can still commune with Mother Nature and get your Outdoor Adventure Girl on while enjoying a few of the comforts of home. The first year we went "camping," all the leaders (myself included) got a raging case of poison ivy from crawling under a tree that had fallen in the woods. Yeah, that was awesome. Outdoor adventure at its finest.
This past weekend’s “camping” experience, however, was more than awesome. It was inspiring – at least to me (and hopefully to a few of our girls). I do have to preface this by saying that we took the girls to what has to be the NICEST “camp” I have ever visited, and I’ve been to a few. Victory Ranch not only provides summer camp experiences for children but also plays host to various corporate retreats and group events such as ours. One does not “rough it” at Victory Ranch, but one has one heck of a good time!
There’s a waterslide and a “blob” and other fun activities down by the lake. They have a pool and horses and a number of ropes courses and countless other amenities stretching over their beautiful 500 acre property. It is a place to visit if you enjoy outdoor fun, or if you have an adventurous side – which I do not, but my daughter does. This place is right up her alley. The camp motto is “Krateo” meaning: “Hold On!” There’s a reason for that.
I'm usually not keen on the "camping" experiences. It's just never been my thing, but this year was different. This year, I went to “camp” with a lot of confidence. I felt a lot better about myself and my abilities than I ever have in the past. I was ready to jump in there, to participate and be an encouraging example to the girls. I even brought my bathing suit! I was the only mom to don one and jump in the lake with the kids (at 9:30 AM in the 50 degree, overcast, windy weather – the water was warmer than the air)! Granted, I got a massive case of the teeth-chattering chills, but despite that, I even zoomed down the waterslide.
That's not me. That's Emma. She'd been the first one in line. She made it look fun, so why shouldn’t I give it a try? It was fun! In fact, it was downright exhilarating! Although it may seem second nature to many, just this water-front activity is more than I would’ve dared do a year ago. I didn’t do it as a kid, so doing it all as an adult is foreign territory.
But that same kid who made the waterslide look fun also made the Zip-N-Dip look cool, too. That’s the zip line that starts about 10-15 feet above the waterslide and sends riders out across the lake, finishing in the water in front of the man-made beach. I’ve never ridden a zip line before, but I figured the harness could hold me now. I wouldn’t look like a TOTAL idiot. If the kid can do it, I can, right? It didn’t look that high – from the ground.
Oh, did I mention that I am terrified of heights? No? Yes. I am, and I do not use the word “terror” lightly. There is “fear,” and there is “terror.” They are NOT the same thing. I have been in situations before where my TERROR of heights has rendered me truly motionless. Granted, that happened when I was a teenager, but I have simply avoided such situations since then. I do not ride roller coasters that send you straight up, straight down or upside down. I abhor the sensation of falling, even a little. I mean, I’m not a total dud -I love anything that spins or goes really fast (or spins really fast – I LOVE THAT!). But I do NOT “do” heights or drops. Just thinking about it’s making me queasy even now.
So suddenly, I found myself in a harness, carrying a huge pulley on a rope up and up and up and up and up and up this rickety, swaying flight of wooden stairs. I was already shivering from the cold, so I figured no one noticed just how nervous I truly was as I stepped out onto the platform. Then this cute young guy named Frank hooked me up to the line, told me to sit down into the harness, counted backwards from three, opened a little door and said, “OK, pick your feet up and off you GO!” My feet went nowhere.
Motionless, I stared out over the water at the other moms over on the beach. I tried not to look down. I asked myself what my problem was. The kids are doing it! Girl, you can run six miles in an hour now…what’s the big deal with this? Feet still weren’t moving. Frank said, “You’ve already done the hardest part just sitting down. This happens all the time, but I promise, it’s gonna be ok. Just pick your feet up and off you'll go.” My mind knew he was right, but the bod, she still wasn’t moving.
Then I hear Emma behind me. She’d come back up for her third turn. I hear her excited voice that sounds a lot like mine saying, “Mom. Mom, are you OK? Mom? It’s OK. It’s great. There’s no drop, I promise! It’s AWESOME! It’s fun! Just let go, you’ll love it!! You can do it, Mom! I know you can.” Then I remembered what I’d told myself back down on the ground, “Your kid can do it. You can do it.” I looked over at Emma and said, “You know what, Baby Girl? You’re right.” The feet lifted, and off I went.
If it wasn’t for the prospect of getting wet and then starting the whole shivering thing all over again, I would’ve done that zip line again and again and again. She was right. It WAS awesome!
The next one? Eh, not so much.
By that afternoon, I figured I had this adventure thing licked. I was ready to tackle whatever Victory Ranch had to throw at me (provided there were no free-falls). I was telling my other mom friends how great the zip line was and how they should do it. I was trying to encourage some of the more timid girls (younger versions of me) to build their confidence by trying something new. “If I can do it, you can do it! I totally understand. I’m terrified of this stuff!!”
So when we got suited up for the three-faced rock wall and looked up at the hydraulic zip line, 50 feet in the air, I had no fear. I was excited. Emma and I were on an adventure together, and we were going to kick butt!!
SHE kicked butt. SHE was fantastic! She climbed that wall like a pint-sized Peter Parker. This was the thing she'd been waiting for. The girl loves rock walls, and here was a 45-footer with her name on it. She's always liked these things, but I've never seen the appeal. They looked hard to me, and like a whole lotta no-fun with heights involved. But Saturday, I was ready. I saw how much fun the girls were having, and I was gonna do it. I was harnessing the new me. LIterally.
I got over halfway up the wall before I realized what I'd done. Then I looked up at the top. And then I looked down at the ground, and again, I couldn't move. I didn't want to go any higher, but I didn't want to let go and let the harness bring me down. Who just up and lets go of a wall they're gripping 'till their knuckles bleed three stories in the air? I mean, seriously, who DOES that? My kid does that, but she wasn't behind me telling me what to do. She was over standing in line for her second turn on the zip line, so I slowly scaled back DOWN the wall lest I succumb to a very slow, 25-foot, hydraulically-assisted "fall."
She had held a place in the front of the zip line line for me. Me, her new-born Adventure Mom! She'd even been holding a pulley for me, which is admirable since they weigh about 10 pounds. She hadn't seen me freeze on the wall, and it wasn't until that moment that I noticed the kids zipping above me. They seemed to be dropping a bit as they exited the platform. Wait, how much did they drop...no time to look...up you go, Mom!
Fresh from the wall and wondering how this particular zip line worked - exactly - I found myself again trudging up a huge flight of stairs (this one a narrow, winding metal one, wet and slick from the rain that had just come through) only to emerge 50 feet in the air, wondering how far I was about to fall. I got hooked up again, was told to sit down (imagine sitting on a small platform at the top of a telephone pole hooked up to the phone wire which would carry you over to another telephone pole and down to the ground - somehow) AND PUSH OFF.
Excuse me? Wait. Where did my hands go? Should I hold on to this rope attached to my waist or am I supposed to push off with my hands. What? Kick off with my feet? Wait, what? Some of the kids were dropping. I don't like free-falls. How much of a drop - not much of a drop - what does that mean exactly? There was no pushing off with hands, feet or any other part of my body. I completely froze, again.
This time even hearing Emma behind me was not quite enough. After five minutes of sitting there (and five minutes is a LONG time to sit on an open platform with at least 17 pairs of eyes trained on you) I could not do it. I had to have the guy unhook me from the line. I let Emma and another girl go in front of me. I waited there as two more scouts came and went, and wait, well, they weren't falling THAT much. They kept their hands on the rope. They pushed off with their feet. EVERY OTHER MOM HAD DONE THIS ZIP LINE. Why the heck couldn't I? Then I realized I had a choice to make. Go back down the slick stairwell with a 10 pound pulley in my hands, or zip down like a big girl.
I had him hook me back up. I heard Emma from the ground. "MOM!! It's OK MOM! You can DO it, MOM!!" I heard EVERYONE on the ground cheering me on. I think I may have told them to shut up, I'm not sure. I looked at the guy and literally said, "I can run six miles, why can't I do this?" He said I could do this. Just do it like a Band-Aid. Count down quick, and push off. After a bit more ado, but luckily no tears, I did it. I just did it. I ripped myself off the platform. It didn't drop that much, but I just wanted to get down. I faced my fear. I did what I had to do. I may not have enjoyed it, but I did DO it. SHE can do it, so I can.
No. I did not enjoy that one. It forced me to basically willfully fall off a platform 50 feet in the air. The other one just relied on gravity - no falling or jumping necessary. But, I did it. Emma might enjoy doing it, I don't, and probably won't. But at least I know that I CAN do it. I'm surprising myself - and her - each day by all the new things I find I can do.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Patience, Grasshopper...
I am writing this one as much for me as for anyone else out there...I need a little motivation to stay the course myself this week. Even after a year on this path, I still have days where it's hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel or find satisfaction in the goals I've already achieved.
Or, could it be that the Easter Bunny - who looks a lot like me, incidentally, and was very hungry and starved of treats when she went shopping at WalMart - brought entirely too much of my favorite candy into our house, and it's sitting there in the pantry, tempting me each day? Seems it was actually easier to have to say, "Nah, I can't have that. I gave it up for Lent," and walk away. Stupid Bunny. Lent's over, and there the candy sits...waiting.
"Good things come to those who wait," right? There is wisdom in that old saying. Weight loss and change DO take time - a lot of time, but "to wait" is a passive activity. There's nothing passive about weight loss. It takes ACTION both physical and mental. So STEP ONE: DECIDE TO ACT.
I promised that in this post I would begin to chronicle how I took action and began this year of change. I am hoping that I've gone about it the right way, and that because it has taken so much time to see and feel success that I will have long lasting results. But even now - after over a year of hard work and lifestyle change - I'm still not seeing that magic number I'd like to see (I'm close, but gosh, I wonder if I'll really be satisfied when I do). I have faith that eventually I will; I just have to be patient, keep active, and stay the course.
So what did I do? Okay, the first thing I did after Easter last year was to decide that nine pounds was not as much weight as I wanted to lose, but it was enough to motivate me to lose more. Again, I decided to ACT. I decided to commit to - something, but what?
I know myself pretty well, and I knew I would never be successful with anything that forced me to totally give up the things I love (that's how I end up with a pantry full of Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs the week after Easter). But seriously, where's the fun in that? I have a passion for baking and a love of sweets, and as a family we eat a heck of a lot of pizza. These are things I either couldn't change or didn't have any desire to (and I still don't). I wanted to do something that would teach me to "budget" and live within my means, dietarily speaking. I'd tried a number of diets in the past, and frankly I'd had a lot of success with Weight Watchers Online in 2003, but I didn't want to go that route. I wasn't into counting points (at that time), but I knew I needed some kind of program and some sort of accountability.
See, I've been down this road before. What that little bio blub over to the right does not tell you is that three or four months after the birth of my daughter in 2000, I weighed in at 208 pounds. At the end of 2002 I was back around 190, but for obvious reasons I wasn't happy with that, so my New Year's resolution for 2003 was to "lose weight." I had no specific goal in mind, but I was motivated. I had a small child and an active life, and I needed energy to keep up with them. I worked long hours and didn't have time for any kind of meetings, and I didn't want to eat any crazy, expensive, packaged foods, so I joined Weight Watchers Online and instantly loved it. It "clicked for me" just like the slogan says. I also started exercising at home in the mornings; then my husband and I joined a local gym. I would get up very early in the morning, head over there, work out and be back before he and my daughter were even awake. I was a little obsessed, but I got pretty fit. By May of '03, I was down to 150 and had never felt better in my life. But because I'd gotten out of the exercise habit and then had another baby, here I was - basically back at square one.
I didn't want to start out doing Weight Watchers again, though. In the interim, I'd rejoined again a couple of times, and WW is one of those things where you're either really into it, or you're just not. If you're really into it and can commit to counting points and tracking - you WILL succeed. No doubt about it. I rejoined again after this past Christmas (more about that in later posts), and am totally "all-in," but that was after months of success on "my" plan. I guess I hadn't been motivated enough any of those other times because I just couldn't commit. After Easter last year, I didn't want to start somewhere with the potential to fail, so I designed a program of my own.
I did learn a few things from my previous success that carried forward though:
A: Weight loss is all about calories in versus calories out. You've got to take in fewer calories than you burn. At the heart of it, it's that simple.
B. To burn calories, you have to put down the Dibs, get off the sofa, and exercise. Again, it's that simple.
C. Low and slow is the way to go. Slow and steady wins the race. Good things come to those who wait. Patience, Grasshopper... In other words, to do it right, it's going to to take some time - a lot of time. Accept that now, and you're ahead of the game.
But how you go about that is up to you. I did a little internet research and found this site: http://www.fitwatch.com/ They have a wealth of information including a very useful calorie deficit calculator.
To begin with, I took what I learned from this site and channelled my inner-nerd. I knew from my previous WW experience that food-journaling was key to my weight-loss success. I had also determined (from my visits to Fitwatch and other similar sites) what kind of calorie-deficit I would need to create in order to start really losing weight without starving myself or totally giving up my treats. I sat down at my kitchen counter and created an Excel spreadsheet that served for the next few months as my journal and as my weekly calorie-counting calculator.
At first, that was all I worried about - calories in versus calories out, and I journaled each and every thing I put in my mouth and each and every minute I spent exercising each and every day (except when we went on vacation - again, discussions for later posts). I still do this. I can't imagine NOT doing this. EVER. When I don't do it, the only person I'm cheating is me, so why the heck would I not do this? It's the only thing that keeps me on track and within my dietary "budget," and now, a year later - it's just a force of habit. Only now I do it on my iPhone.
If you are fortunate enough to have an iPhone (and maybe it's available for some of the other smartphones, too) there's a FREE app called "LoseIt" which does everything my homemade spreadsheet did and is very convenient. You can find the calorie count of nearly every food out there, especially at major restaurant chains, and many of them are even pre-programmed into this app. Same thing with exercise (negative calories, YAY!!). If you can get the app - get it. Use it. It can change your life. However, if you can't get the app, feel free to email me. I created a generic version of my Excel spreadsheet that I'd love to share with anyone who's interested. Again, you can find the calorie count of just about every food or exercise on the planet here on the worldwide web, so if you're motivated to get going, there are plenty of resources out there to help you get started.
Creating and faithfully using the spreadsheet (or the app) was the first thing I did, but it wasn't the only thing. It seems each week I tweaked my plan and added something new. Next time, we'll discuss the dreaded "E" word. Yes, you have to exercise. No, it does not have to suck.
Or, could it be that the Easter Bunny - who looks a lot like me, incidentally, and was very hungry and starved of treats when she went shopping at WalMart - brought entirely too much of my favorite candy into our house, and it's sitting there in the pantry, tempting me each day? Seems it was actually easier to have to say, "Nah, I can't have that. I gave it up for Lent," and walk away. Stupid Bunny. Lent's over, and there the candy sits...waiting.
"Good things come to those who wait," right? There is wisdom in that old saying. Weight loss and change DO take time - a lot of time, but "to wait" is a passive activity. There's nothing passive about weight loss. It takes ACTION both physical and mental. So STEP ONE: DECIDE TO ACT.
I promised that in this post I would begin to chronicle how I took action and began this year of change. I am hoping that I've gone about it the right way, and that because it has taken so much time to see and feel success that I will have long lasting results. But even now - after over a year of hard work and lifestyle change - I'm still not seeing that magic number I'd like to see (I'm close, but gosh, I wonder if I'll really be satisfied when I do). I have faith that eventually I will; I just have to be patient, keep active, and stay the course.
So what did I do? Okay, the first thing I did after Easter last year was to decide that nine pounds was not as much weight as I wanted to lose, but it was enough to motivate me to lose more. Again, I decided to ACT. I decided to commit to - something, but what?
I know myself pretty well, and I knew I would never be successful with anything that forced me to totally give up the things I love (that's how I end up with a pantry full of Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs the week after Easter). But seriously, where's the fun in that? I have a passion for baking and a love of sweets, and as a family we eat a heck of a lot of pizza. These are things I either couldn't change or didn't have any desire to (and I still don't). I wanted to do something that would teach me to "budget" and live within my means, dietarily speaking. I'd tried a number of diets in the past, and frankly I'd had a lot of success with Weight Watchers Online in 2003, but I didn't want to go that route. I wasn't into counting points (at that time), but I knew I needed some kind of program and some sort of accountability.
See, I've been down this road before. What that little bio blub over to the right does not tell you is that three or four months after the birth of my daughter in 2000, I weighed in at 208 pounds. At the end of 2002 I was back around 190, but for obvious reasons I wasn't happy with that, so my New Year's resolution for 2003 was to "lose weight." I had no specific goal in mind, but I was motivated. I had a small child and an active life, and I needed energy to keep up with them. I worked long hours and didn't have time for any kind of meetings, and I didn't want to eat any crazy, expensive, packaged foods, so I joined Weight Watchers Online and instantly loved it. It "clicked for me" just like the slogan says. I also started exercising at home in the mornings; then my husband and I joined a local gym. I would get up very early in the morning, head over there, work out and be back before he and my daughter were even awake. I was a little obsessed, but I got pretty fit. By May of '03, I was down to 150 and had never felt better in my life. But because I'd gotten out of the exercise habit and then had another baby, here I was - basically back at square one.
I didn't want to start out doing Weight Watchers again, though. In the interim, I'd rejoined again a couple of times, and WW is one of those things where you're either really into it, or you're just not. If you're really into it and can commit to counting points and tracking - you WILL succeed. No doubt about it. I rejoined again after this past Christmas (more about that in later posts), and am totally "all-in," but that was after months of success on "my" plan. I guess I hadn't been motivated enough any of those other times because I just couldn't commit. After Easter last year, I didn't want to start somewhere with the potential to fail, so I designed a program of my own.
I did learn a few things from my previous success that carried forward though:
A: Weight loss is all about calories in versus calories out. You've got to take in fewer calories than you burn. At the heart of it, it's that simple.
B. To burn calories, you have to put down the Dibs, get off the sofa, and exercise. Again, it's that simple.
C. Low and slow is the way to go. Slow and steady wins the race. Good things come to those who wait. Patience, Grasshopper... In other words, to do it right, it's going to to take some time - a lot of time. Accept that now, and you're ahead of the game.
But how you go about that is up to you. I did a little internet research and found this site: http://www.fitwatch.com/ They have a wealth of information including a very useful calorie deficit calculator.
To begin with, I took what I learned from this site and channelled my inner-nerd. I knew from my previous WW experience that food-journaling was key to my weight-loss success. I had also determined (from my visits to Fitwatch and other similar sites) what kind of calorie-deficit I would need to create in order to start really losing weight without starving myself or totally giving up my treats. I sat down at my kitchen counter and created an Excel spreadsheet that served for the next few months as my journal and as my weekly calorie-counting calculator.
At first, that was all I worried about - calories in versus calories out, and I journaled each and every thing I put in my mouth and each and every minute I spent exercising each and every day (except when we went on vacation - again, discussions for later posts). I still do this. I can't imagine NOT doing this. EVER. When I don't do it, the only person I'm cheating is me, so why the heck would I not do this? It's the only thing that keeps me on track and within my dietary "budget," and now, a year later - it's just a force of habit. Only now I do it on my iPhone.
If you are fortunate enough to have an iPhone (and maybe it's available for some of the other smartphones, too) there's a FREE app called "LoseIt" which does everything my homemade spreadsheet did and is very convenient. You can find the calorie count of nearly every food out there, especially at major restaurant chains, and many of them are even pre-programmed into this app. Same thing with exercise (negative calories, YAY!!). If you can get the app - get it. Use it. It can change your life. However, if you can't get the app, feel free to email me. I created a generic version of my Excel spreadsheet that I'd love to share with anyone who's interested. Again, you can find the calorie count of just about every food or exercise on the planet here on the worldwide web, so if you're motivated to get going, there are plenty of resources out there to help you get started.
Creating and faithfully using the spreadsheet (or the app) was the first thing I did, but it wasn't the only thing. It seems each week I tweaked my plan and added something new. Next time, we'll discuss the dreaded "E" word. Yes, you have to exercise. No, it does not have to suck.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I Was Going To Title This Post…
To Spanx Or Not To Spanx, That Is The Question…
And the answer? Yes. Always, well, maybe not while you’re sleeping…But that's not really what today's post is about, at least not entirely.
First off, I know I said I'd post on Sunday, but that proved impossible. Something had to give this weekend, and it was the blog. Along with all of the regular Easter stuff (more about this below), I had to procure and provide snacks for my Sunday School class, and I also had a presentation due in my masters' class last night (did I mention I'm pursuing a Masters in Education? Oh yes, add that to my pile of Supermom stuff I have going on...), so my self-imposed blog deadline just had to fly out the window. There will be no more of those. I'll try for two entries a week, but I won't say when they're coming ever EVER again.
Today's post is really all about is the "Supermom Complex" - which I admit I am fully vested in. I never really looked at it that way, but yeah, I guess that's what it is. My whole life, I've tried to do EVERYTHING and do it all PERFECTLY. Written down in plain English that looks insane. It IS insane, and really just kind of dumb, but I will probably not stop because it seems to be in my DNA. I'm German, and I'm a Virgo. People like me like to master things and have trouble settling for anything less than perfection. And - unwittingly - we make a lot of people hate us in the process. Even members of our own immediate families.
I'm a lot better about this than I used to be, though. I realized I was stressing everyone (especially my husband and daughter) out with my own self-inflicted stress, and although I thought I was working to create a happier environment for everyone, I was just making us all miserable. I've worked to curb this compulsive side of me, and I have reigned her in to some degree, but part of her will never leave...and she comes out at full force on holidays. I truly love holidays and all the traditions and trappings that go along with them. I am a "More is More" kind of girl when it comes to holidays, so - judge me if you will (but we talked about that in the first post) - at least I'm honest about it.
First off, I know I said I'd post on Sunday, but that proved impossible. Something had to give this weekend, and it was the blog. Along with all of the regular Easter stuff (more about this below), I had to procure and provide snacks for my Sunday School class, and I also had a presentation due in my masters' class last night (did I mention I'm pursuing a Masters in Education? Oh yes, add that to my pile of Supermom stuff I have going on...), so my self-imposed blog deadline just had to fly out the window. There will be no more of those. I'll try for two entries a week, but I won't say when they're coming ever EVER again.
Today's post is really all about is the "Supermom Complex" - which I admit I am fully vested in. I never really looked at it that way, but yeah, I guess that's what it is. My whole life, I've tried to do EVERYTHING and do it all PERFECTLY. Written down in plain English that looks insane. It IS insane, and really just kind of dumb, but I will probably not stop because it seems to be in my DNA. I'm German, and I'm a Virgo. People like me like to master things and have trouble settling for anything less than perfection. And - unwittingly - we make a lot of people hate us in the process. Even members of our own immediate families.
I'm a lot better about this than I used to be, though. I realized I was stressing everyone (especially my husband and daughter) out with my own self-inflicted stress, and although I thought I was working to create a happier environment for everyone, I was just making us all miserable. I've worked to curb this compulsive side of me, and I have reigned her in to some degree, but part of her will never leave...and she comes out at full force on holidays. I truly love holidays and all the traditions and trappings that go along with them. I am a "More is More" kind of girl when it comes to holidays, so - judge me if you will (but we talked about that in the first post) - at least I'm honest about it.
So, Easter..holidays...Supermoms...Spanx...what gives, right? Obviously this is not going to be a post dwelling on the spiritual nature of Easter. I feel kind of guilty about that, so I'll be sure to post something spiritually uplifting at a later date.
Easter is a kind of "smoke and mirrors" holiday - the ultimate Supermom test. We bring out our best selves at Easter. Yes, it is the celebration of the resurrection of Christ, but somehow we’ve devolved it into a celebration of all things shiny, bright and new. I’m not going to get into the right or wrong of that thinking right now. It is what it is, and I get that. We get new dresses and suits. We make sure our children are all decked out in their best new spring finery, and after the presentation of candy-laden baskets full of chocolate and toys we scramble to pull it all together, we take a bunch of pictures and head out to church hoping that none of that chocolate made it onto the kids’ new clothes. Many of us have to manage this organizational, good-looking nightmare AND get a holiday worthy meal ready and waiting for the family after church.
Supermoms – we've got to do it all, don’t we? Or at least we think we’re expected to for some reason. But, here's the deal - it's ALL smoke and mirrors, everyday. Entire industries are dedicated to feeding our smoke and mirror jones. Like I said, I’m not debating the right or wrong or the who-what-when-where or why of this; it is what it is. (So why not take a little help when we can get it now and then, right? Hooray for Spanx! The Modern Supermama’s best friend. Even after a 50+ pound weight loss, I probably love them now more than ever.)
Fifty-plus pounds…yeah, that's a lot, at least it is to me. My husband says I should show what that looks like, so here’s me at Easter last year (minus the nine pounds lost to lack of sweets AND yes, rockin' the Spanx)…
Nine pounds down, but still...hmm...something was obviously wrong. I guess, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Easter Supermom Chaos at its finest...I guess Emma thought it was funny, though.
And here we are at Easter this year...definitely smaller, certainly happier, and yes, still proudly rockin' the Spanx!...
Being the holiday happy girl that I am, Easter is a major event. This year was no different, in fact, I think I had put more on my plate than usual, but see how happy we all are!! Haha! Actually, all kidding aside...yes. It was a good day, and we were all very happy and relatively stress-free even with how much we (I) had going on.
To tell the truth, we're a pretty happy family most of the time these days, and - not to toot my own horn, here - but I do think my change of self and change in attitude HAS had quite a bit to do with that. Not just for me, but for all of us. So the fact that I am genuinely smiling in this picture and my kids are not screaming is a testament to this. I had a tremendous amount going on this past weekend, even things that tested my Lenten resolve. My previous self would have been spitting fire and burst into flames because not only did I have to prep and tackle the normal Easter stuff (new clothes, kids scrubbed & tubbed, Easter baskets for two - oh, and the Sunday School snacks...oh, and school...all that jazz...), but I also had to BAKE.
I've told you about my love of baked goods and my penchant for creating them. At Holiday-time, I am called upon to go into production mode, and this Easter - despite my swearing off of sweets for Lent - was no different. Aside from the necessary few tasting licks (you cannot make food for others without tasting as you go - if I hadn't, that lemon cake would have ended up sugarless...seriously...), I did not partake of any of these delights until Easter Sunday (mint brownies go great with gin & tonic at 12:03 in the morning...I'm just saying, 40 days is a long time...don't judge, Friends, don't judge...).
So maybe it was the Easter Sweet Smorgasboard here that helped put the smile on my face. I'm not denying it. I had fun making this stuff and even more fun eating it after 40 days of denial. Those mint brownies were killer (thank you, Paula Deen), and I'm having to hold myself back from snarfing another one down right now.
But I won't. Easter's over. I let myself enjoy the day with abandon, and I feel no guilt whatsover, but now life returns to normal, and that's a good thing. Although I was not rewarded with some huge nine pound weight loss this year, I was rewarded with a feeling of accomplishment and pride, and that's what makes me feel good these days. I don't want to ever lose that feeling. The not-so-supermom I WAS was stressed out and unhappy; I'm content with the somewhat super-Mom I've become. Whether I've finished a nice long run or if I've honored a committment, that good feeling on the inside will show on the outside, and you don't need Spanx for that.
It's not about the size of the dress anymore - which DOES always look better with the Spanx - and no, they don't pay me to say that (but if they want to they can give me a call). It's not about how spiffy my kids look - although I do feel compelled to point out that my wonderful mother knitted that sweet shawl my daughter, Emma, has on. It's about confidence - the confidence I find from honoring a committment or creating something beautiful (like Emma's shawl) or taking charge of yourself, your life and your own happiness.
In subsequent posts I'll be writing about what I did to get from the chaotic not-so-supermom in the first picture to the super-happy mom in the second and everything in between. It's been quite a ride, and I don't expect to get off anytime soon. In the meantime...get those dang mint brownies out of here...my lord, those should be illegal!!
Until we read again...keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
TTYL - Ali
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Breakfast Clause
First off, let me clarify – I did not actually give up “sugar” for Lent. I gave up “sweets” – a malleable term, to be sure. You knew there had to be a crutch in there somewhere, didn’t you?
I truly think it would be impossible to totally give up sugar. It’s everywhere and in everything, well, almost. Seriously, I don’t think anyone can totally foreswear sugar ENTIRELY. How would that – happen – exactly? You would have to give up fruit and veggies and lots of good and healthy things, too. That could not happen in my world. Even with God’s help, I don’t think that would truly completely happen – and why would you want it to? So sure…there were some “exceptions.” Like I said, I gave up “sweets.”
A “sweet” – to me – was any kind of unnecessary, unhealthy, sugary TREAT (ice cream, cake, cookies, candy, popsicles, chocolate covered pretzels, pudding and the like). Said sugary treats could not be replaced by “diet” alternatives, either. All sweet treats – both real or artificial – were banned, with the exception of sugar-free French Vanilla coffee creamer or sugar-free vanilla coffee syrup; my day was not, is not, nor ever will be complete if not started with one of these items in my cuppa Joe.
So where did that leave breakfast?
Think about it. Did you have something sweet for breakfast today? What about cereal? What about muffins? What about pancakes and cinnamon rolls and jelly donuts? If you’re eating that stuff for breakfast – a main meal – does that make it a “treat?” Heck yeah, sure it does. It’s freakin’ donut – you could eat some fiber cereal and call it done. At least, that’s how I feel about it this year. (See, I’ve given up sweets for Lent again this year – along with alcohol, fried food, potato chips and Diet Coke – EASTER CANNOT COME FAST ENOUGH!!) But, hoping to succeed, I was a little more lax with myself last year, and yes, there was a “Breakfast Clause.” I think it’s the only thing that got me through those 40 days. If it was sugary, but it was breakfast, I allowed it.
FYI - My kind and generous husband has joined me in my Lenten ban on sweets and alcohol this year (not the other stuff) – but to help keep him on track, I have allowed HIM to take the Breakfast Clause (not me, just him). If he does it next year, there will be no saving donuts.
Besides the Breakfast Clause, I think I only slipped up once during all of Lent. Through lots of spontaneous prayer and taking it one day at I time I was even able to say “No, thank you,” when my mother-in-law presented me with a plate piled full of homemade, fudgy, chocolate cake AND Miss Muffin strawberry cake – my absolute favorite – at her father’s birthday party! That was hard as heck, but I was good. I explained my situation and politely declined – but not until I’d taken a good long whiff of the chocolaty strawberry goodness, though.
Like I said, I did slip up once. During this time, we took my daughter’s Girl Scout troop on an overnight mother-daughter campout. And no, there was no camping involved, only nice cabins with indoor plumbing and a staff on hand to cook our food – that’s the only kind of camping I “do” – but we did build a fire and make S’mores. I figured God wouldn’t mind if I shared a S’more with my kid and her Brownie troop. And, in hindsight, I guess He didn’t.
When Easter finally rolled around, and I’d finished eating half the chocolate in my son’s Easter basket, I was pleased to say that by doing nothing except giving up sweets – for forty days – I’d lost nine pounds. I didn’t know what to think of that except A: Thank you Jesus!! and B: I must eat a TON of crap!
But nine pounds was not enough. I’d started to feel a little peppier. I’d started to feel a little happier. I’d done something good for myself, and I’d started to feel a little more confident - but I still had a long way to go (still do, we all do - we are all Works In Progress). Even so, I couldn’t stop at nine pounds and go eat my fill of Reese’s again and gain it all back – which easily would’ve happened. I’d been given a gift - an inspirational, motivational gift - and I had to keep going. So I thought about it, and I did a little research, and I took the next steps forward.
Which you can find out about come this Sunday (Easter!! FINALLY!!) when next we read again.
Keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!
TTYL - Ali
Monday, April 18, 2011
I'm Southern, I'm Long Winded, And I've Got A Lot To Say, So...
These first few posts are probably going to be long ones. There's quite a bit of backstory here, and I realize I should have started this blog on February 17, 2010 – Ash Wednesday. But that would’ve taken more courage and foresight than I could ever muster, because, really, I never dreamed I’d ever get this far or have this kind of story to tell.
First off, no, I’m not Catholic; I’m a Methodist, and a pretty lax one at that (considering I’m sitting here writing this on Palm Sunday morning instead of getting ready for church). But, regardless of the packaging, I am a Christian woman. I try to do my best to get my little chicks to church and keep it all on the straight and narrow throughout the week. I’m a faithful wife to a good and faithful husband. We have been pretty happily married for close to 14 years now, and we have built a good life together based on sound moral principles and common good goals. We’re trying to raise good kids. It’s good to try to be “good” – right? Sure it is, so for years I’ve tried to do something “good” and give something up for Lent, because that’s what good Christians try to do. Key word here, Friends: TRY.
Every other year, I’d tried, and failed. If I slipped up on my “sacrifice,” I gave up and gave in. But last year, I wanted something more, and last year I succeeded. Believe me, Friends. God knows what He’s doing when he plants these little seeds of change...
And I needed a change. I was dog tired all the time. I woke up every morning with severe lower back pain (which I had hoped would subside when the hubs and I sprung for a Sleep Number bed, but it didn’t). I couldn’t keep up with my two-year old son (aka Baby Taz), and my nine year-old daughter was beginning to wonder if I was really seriously sick or something, because I just couldn’t (or wouldn’t) get off the sofa at night. She was worried, and I was just too tired to be bothered. I was cranky all the time, and I just wasn’t really all that happy.
I’d been happier and more energetic before I got pregnant with my son, Charlie. I was quite a bit lighter, but I wasn’t a stick or anything. I wasn't at my lowest weight, but I wasn't near my highest, either, and I sure felt a whole lot better, both physically and frankly, just better about myself in general. It didn't help that I'd gained quite a bit while pregnant with him and then was blessed to give birth to one of the world's biggest, strongest and most energetic little boys in this galaxy or beyond. I love the kid more than my life, but seriously, he is a force to be reckoned with to this day! Whatever energy I did have was gone by lunchtime.
Just to get back to the “pre-Charlie me” would’ve been a dream come true. I wanted that feeling back. I needed that energy back. I wanted it back really – really - bad. You’re not supposed to feel like this crummy at 35, right? I was still young, right? There was still time, right? I’d tried a number of times, and as they say, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” I’d been lacking the will, ‘cause there’s always a way. I realized I needed to call in Reinforcements.
So, on Ash Wednesday, 2010, I admitted that I had let myself climb back up to a bouncy 189 pounds (dress size: 16ish, pants size: 14ish on my 5’ 7” frame). And no, I didn’t find that out on Ash Wednesday, per se. I was well aware of it long before then. Frankly, I’ve been obsessed with the number on the scale most of my life. I’ve been “technically overweight” – to one degree or another - for probably 26 of the 36 ½ years I’ve been on this Earth. I actually stopped growing at age 12 (5' 7" & 12 years old = AWKWARD!), and have run the gamut since then from the mid 130s (nice at 36, not so nice at 12) to just under 210 (a few months after my daughter was born). But honestly, no one had really ever seemed to mind the fluffiness but me.
I don’t recall my parents ever consistently encouraging me to do anything about it or take any steps to prevent it. I lived (live) in a world of yummy Southern food and family and overindulgence – which was (is) the norm, and it was (is) GREAT!! Being more into choir and drama and creative writing and art and literally able to walk smack dab into any door jamb that happened to get in my way, I was convinced that there was nothing athletic about me at all, so seriously, what was I supposed to do? Sometimes mom would worry about my health and say, “Oh honey, I worry about you…,” but she’s never been super-thin or anything, and my dad (step dad, really...stories for other posts) has always been a big guy, and so’s my husband (no offense, Babe), so that’s just how my world WORKED. We weren’t the Clumps, but we weren’t going to win the World’s Fittest Family contest anytime soon.
And my husband, God bless him, he’s the best. We’ve been together since college, and he’s always loved me (maybe since we first met in high school, at a writing competition no less), no matter what size I’ve been. So my desire to be smaller, to be healthier, to feel GOOD was (and still is) not the result of others’ opinions or what the “media” was telling me I should be. It’s all been what I’ve wanted for me…well, maybe…
HERE I WILL DIGRESS FOR a moment to address the FACT that women are obsessed with their weight for many reasons - both internal and external - and that one woman’s “large” may be another woman’s “skinny." Women have granted great and mystical powers to the magic numbers they get stuck in their head and long to see between their feet down on the scale or on the back of their pants near their ever-too-ample rumps; numbers that may or may not be achievable or even really desirable for them, but we long for them anyway. And sometimes we get crazy jealous of someone who we think is what we'd like to be or has something we think we'd like to have or who was kind of like us at one time or maybe she was cute but bigger than us but then she lost some weight and, well, "Who does she think she is, anyway?" Who knows why, but we know we think it. We know we do it, and it’s not our place to wonder why or judge each other for it. But it stops on this blog right now.
There are some lucky ladies out there, however, who are perfectly happy at whatever size they find themselves. “Celebrate Your Curves!” they say, and I am ALL FOR THAT!!! Jillian Michaels and all her scary skinny friends can take their six pack abs and their bravado and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine; I am not – repeat NOT – trying to send out any kind of negative vibes to all my friends - and all you folks out there who aren’t now but hopefully may one day become my friends - who struggle with weight issues, whatever “size” you are (which is totally relative, by the way, because no two designers define “size” the same way, but that’s for another post…).
The point of this blog is to chronicle my own issues and my own struggle with this (which I realize may not seem like much of a struggle to some folks and may seem like a large struggle to others – it’s all about perception, People) and to discuss the choices that I have made – for ME. Good or bad, right or wrong, this is what I have done and the journey I have taken to change myself both inside and out. It’s not about losing weight. It’s about finding strength. We all need each other for that, so, “Hear me now and believe me later…”* this ain’t about calling anybody fat, and I’M sure as heck not judging anyone. The very fact that I feel compelled to spell that out plain and clear here in the first post on this blog just goes to show what a hot button issue this is for us, Girls. I know that. This little aside is GREEN for a reason. We’ve got to quit beating ourselves up and beating each other up about this. Let’s be a positive force in each other’s lives, provide encouragement and banish judgment from our hearts and lips. Let’s be the nurturing, comforting ladies we’d all like to be and not the catty, gossipy harpies we all can be, okay? Okay. Getting off the soap box now and back to my story…
So, here’s the deal. I decided to TRY again, and call on my Higher Power. I thought I knew my strengths (again, stories for other posts…), but I knew my weaknesses better, and there’s a reason I’m the family baker. I love sweets. Every tooth in my head is a sweet one. I can make magic with butter, sugar, flour and eggs, and if you throw some candy and ice cream in there, oh just thinking about it’s making my head spin in ecstasy. There was no Ambrosia in Ancient Greece, only Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and vanilla ice cream. Sugar, yes, she is my best frenemy.
So, in a last ditch effort to try to change, I turned my back on her, that Siren, Sugar – for 40 days. I said, “Lord, I’m going to TRY to give up sweets for Lent. Please help me, and please…help this ‘sacrifice’ HELP me.” And I did. And He did. And IT did.
And I’ll tell you more on Wednesday.
Until we read again…keep trying for whatever you’re trying for, Friends!
TTFN – Ali
*With special thanks to Hans & Franz. Man, I miss those guys.
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