The struggle continues. I am still not weighing, but I am still clearly gaining - clothes and the mirror confirm that much.
I am cautiously hopeful that I might be nearing the end of my inability to walk. My daughter sent me an essential oil called "Pan Away" that I rub on the bottoms of my feet in the mornings after my shower; it does seem like the pain in my feet is reducing in the two days I've tried it thus far. A friend also recommended "GoWalk" shoes and I've got a pair coming in the mail tomorrow. She assures me they are beyond wonderful, and I'm willing to believe that they might help.
Meanwhile, I continue to take my supplements and eat gluten-free to the fullest possible extent, hoping that some of that will help. They don't seem to help. While I don't mind continuing to take the supplements (which may be helping with other things, after all), I won't last much longer on the gluten-free plan. I need RESULTS to motivate me for the inconvenience of dodging gluten.
I have to admit, I have not tried every solution. After my last blog, several of you recommended low-impact kinds of exercise like water exercise and yoga. Both of those would require a financial commitment from me, and my bikes are sitting in my garage, available to be used for free and always a source of joy - yet, I must note that I haven't made getting them out and using them a priority!
On a final note, I am finally ready to at least start looking for a family doctor, in case the latest solutions don't pan out. I just can't keep on gaining wait. I just can't keep on not being able to exercise. I hate being out of breath when I exert myself. I detest feeling so awkward and unlovely and self-conscious. And a lot of the pain issues I deal with are at least exacerbated, if not partially caused, by obesity. My arthritis in my feet probably wouldn't be as bad, if so many pounds weren't pressing down on them. Obesity definitely contributes to carpal tunnel syndrome. The fatigue I feel more often than not these days is surely related to my weight and lack of exercise (I'm taking iron and 20,000 units/day of vitamin D3, so I doubt it's a nutritional deficiency.)
I have put the plea out on Facebook, and I'll put it out here as well, to any of you who are from the Quad City area: do you know a family doctor with a holistic approach, who doesn't just write prescriptions? We are definitely shopping for one.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
notes from the field of defeat, which is not the final destination
It never fails to amaze me, how very derailed I am able to get from something I know, something I think I have completely internalized and woven in as part of my life. Thus is my condition on the journey of letting God teach me to love my body.
These days I find myself longingly remembering the confidence with which I strutted around a year and a half ago, feeling great about my body despite its plus-size condition. I remember the runner's high, the triumph of finishing 50-mile bike rides, even if the last dozen or so miles practically destroyed me every time. I remember the satisfaction of putting on an item of clothing and thinking that it was verging on too big and would soon need to be put away, then given away. I remember being so tuned in to the practice of truly *loving* my body by my actions that choosing well was more or less my default position.
I am so far from that right now. It started with getting too busy moving from my apartment to my friends' home as well as planning a wedding for as much bike riding. In 2012, I killed it on the bike - more than 1,000 miles. In 2013, it was far fewer miles. I don't think I've yet ridden 100 miles in 2014, and here we are halfway through the year.
It continued with the adjustment to being married. There was G's awful work schedule with his former employer, and the 8 PM bedtime that was forced on us by that schedule. It was a lot more of a struggle, but I was battling through, changing my times for running and continually reminding myself about the things I've learned about food, even as more and more often I went into automatic mode and just ate whatever I felt like eating. Not AS MUCH as I'd have eaten in the old days...but still, the wrong stuff, and too much of it.
The major blow was 4 or so months ago, when my arthritis cranked into overdrive. In the past, I would have a flare-up from time to time, and it might last a day or maybe up to a couple of weeks. No big deal. I'd take some time to rest, and then start up again as soon as possible with the running. This flare is not like this. This flare goes on and on, relentless. I have tried to go out and at least WALK in the mornings with G; most often, I am fighting tears from the pain in my feet by the time we get home. So I haven't tried it MUCH. This is not because I'm afraid of the pain - DUDE - I can push through pain - but because the podiatrist was very clear, back when she diagnosed my arthritis, that I was to listen to that pain and respond with rest, ice, and ibuprofen. She spoke of the possible need for surgery in the future, and heaven knows I am not excited about surgical solutions for arthritis. It seems to me that would be like surgical solutions for carpal tunnel - a temporary fix, sure to be undone by returning to the original activity that caused it in the first place. So I've tried to take her advice seriously.
The not running is a major deal. The being too tied up with moving and the gardens and the everyday business of life to get back to a lot of bike riding is also a major deal. Both are sabotaging me. I suppose it sounds like I am making excuses, and maybe I am - except for this: I REALLY, REALLY WANT to get back to running and riding. I miss both. I am homesick for how good both make me feel. And I am tired of how I feel in this State of Very Little Exercise.
I've been trying to remedy the arthritis via supplements of every sort, all of which come with strong recommendations from folks whom I either know well, or whose reputation I trust - people who say things like, "When I use this, I have no pain." I am using almost all of them. None are taking away my pain. I take tart cherry juice tablets with breakfast every morning, along with glucosamine. I stir diatomaceous earth into my half-cup of juice every morning and drink it down. I am taking a substantial daily dose of Vitamin D, and also a tablet that is calcium, magnesium, and zinc. The pain is constant enough these days that I now automatically add a couple of Ibuprofen tablets to the pile of supplements in the morning, and take a couple at bedtime, and sometimes I take a couple more at midday. Some days that helps a bit. Some days it doesn't touch the pain. Another friend recently recommended spirulina, and I'll be picking that up next paycheck to see if it helps. It gets hard to hope, though.
Awhile back at a family get-together, an aunt was talking a lot about eating gluten free. I was kind of saying, "blah, blah, blah" inside of my head, trying to block it, because I truly did not want to try eating gluten free, and to my knowledge, I do not suffer from Celiac Disease. The little "mini tests" one can take online to see if they might be celiac all say that I am not. And I didn't want to try it as a weight-loss strategy, simply because I do know how to eat in a way that lets me lose weight - I just have lost my grip on doing so for quite some time. So I was really doing my best not to tune into the idea of gluten-free. But then my aunt said something that caught my attention: though she is not celiac, when she goes gluten-free, her inflammation stops. Inflammation? She clarified: arthritis.
Well. I must say, I was not thrilled to hear this - but it definitely held my attention. If someone related to me by blood has a dietary solution that actually helps her, mightn't that mean that it could work for me? Still, I hate, hate, hate the notion of figuring out the whole gluten-free thing. So I spent a whole lot of time just considering it before I began to try to act on it.
I have been attempting gluten-free for maybe a couple of weeks now, but it has been a very haphazard attempt. First, we lacked the right groceries around the house, so I kept getting derailed by that. Then, I went to help put on a kids' camp, and there was all this amazing food with gluten there, and I didn't even try to fight my way through and live on salad all week. Since I got home last Friday, I bought better groceries and have been cooking better - but outside of home, lots of things continue to happen that make it difficult. And frequently I fail, when it is difficult.
My body image has taken a beating as I've put on weight. I was already really struggling with that for months, before I lived through the great Poison Oak or Ivy Hell. Having Prednisone swell me up like a balloon didn't help. The way the Prednisone sent me into eating overdrive didn't help. I put on a lot of weight in those 3 weeks that I was on that drug. In that time, I had dreams of being in social situations where it wasn't appropriate to keep eating...and I was eating, ashamed, eating, embarrassed, eating, eating, eating all manner of wonderful choices like donuts. So basically my body and my mind were both working against me, and I had lost my grip on all the cool tools I learned in the last 3 years of this journey.
When I went back to work while trying to recover from that rash, I was still swollen, plus the extra weight, and the rash had me choosing clothes only for comfort and not for appearance - so I looked even fatter in them. I was trying to not fall into a pit about that. One day I stepped into the hall in front of a couple of ladies who made a very disgusted noise as I stepped in front of them. As I walked along, they followed me, talking at what they surely imagined was a level I couldn't hear. Only I could hear. They talked about how awfully fat I was, and how fat others at work were, and how all of us fat folk need to figure out how calories work. They talked in modulated, knowing, quiet tones, and I wished that it was true that I couldn't hear them. That was a hard hit, and to be honest, I still don't know quite how to recover from it. I still hear it a lot in my head, especially when I'm at work, where I no longer have any desire to spend time in any hall, basically ever. I am back to feeling the way I did before this whole journey of letting God teach me to love my body - back to feeling like I owe the world an apology for subjecting them to looking at me - where I really wish people just wouldn't look at me at all. I hate this place. And I'm not good at eating well in this place - I'm way too handy at seeking the comfort of food numbness. Gross.
So I've been seeking the Lord about it, and He's been talking to me, and I think I'm probably only open enough to fully receive a tiny fraction of what He's saying. I'm hearing enough that I'm starting to seriously choose better, food wise. That is step one of loving my body.
Of course there are no instant solutions. It will take a long, long time of doing what I ought to do before I'll be back anywhere even close to the nice fitness level I was at. I'm not sure what to do about the exercise part - my feet still hurt, of course. There must be time somewhere in my life that I can pick up with riding the bike more again...I just have to find it. I'm not yet sure how to find it.
This is a humbling place. I greatly prefer coming to the naked blog to tell you how awesome it feels to love my body well. I don't love my body well right now. I don't love my body at all right now.
But maybe I'm finally ready to get up and start fighting once again.
These days I find myself longingly remembering the confidence with which I strutted around a year and a half ago, feeling great about my body despite its plus-size condition. I remember the runner's high, the triumph of finishing 50-mile bike rides, even if the last dozen or so miles practically destroyed me every time. I remember the satisfaction of putting on an item of clothing and thinking that it was verging on too big and would soon need to be put away, then given away. I remember being so tuned in to the practice of truly *loving* my body by my actions that choosing well was more or less my default position.
I am so far from that right now. It started with getting too busy moving from my apartment to my friends' home as well as planning a wedding for as much bike riding. In 2012, I killed it on the bike - more than 1,000 miles. In 2013, it was far fewer miles. I don't think I've yet ridden 100 miles in 2014, and here we are halfway through the year.
It continued with the adjustment to being married. There was G's awful work schedule with his former employer, and the 8 PM bedtime that was forced on us by that schedule. It was a lot more of a struggle, but I was battling through, changing my times for running and continually reminding myself about the things I've learned about food, even as more and more often I went into automatic mode and just ate whatever I felt like eating. Not AS MUCH as I'd have eaten in the old days...but still, the wrong stuff, and too much of it.
The major blow was 4 or so months ago, when my arthritis cranked into overdrive. In the past, I would have a flare-up from time to time, and it might last a day or maybe up to a couple of weeks. No big deal. I'd take some time to rest, and then start up again as soon as possible with the running. This flare is not like this. This flare goes on and on, relentless. I have tried to go out and at least WALK in the mornings with G; most often, I am fighting tears from the pain in my feet by the time we get home. So I haven't tried it MUCH. This is not because I'm afraid of the pain - DUDE - I can push through pain - but because the podiatrist was very clear, back when she diagnosed my arthritis, that I was to listen to that pain and respond with rest, ice, and ibuprofen. She spoke of the possible need for surgery in the future, and heaven knows I am not excited about surgical solutions for arthritis. It seems to me that would be like surgical solutions for carpal tunnel - a temporary fix, sure to be undone by returning to the original activity that caused it in the first place. So I've tried to take her advice seriously.
The not running is a major deal. The being too tied up with moving and the gardens and the everyday business of life to get back to a lot of bike riding is also a major deal. Both are sabotaging me. I suppose it sounds like I am making excuses, and maybe I am - except for this: I REALLY, REALLY WANT to get back to running and riding. I miss both. I am homesick for how good both make me feel. And I am tired of how I feel in this State of Very Little Exercise.
I've been trying to remedy the arthritis via supplements of every sort, all of which come with strong recommendations from folks whom I either know well, or whose reputation I trust - people who say things like, "When I use this, I have no pain." I am using almost all of them. None are taking away my pain. I take tart cherry juice tablets with breakfast every morning, along with glucosamine. I stir diatomaceous earth into my half-cup of juice every morning and drink it down. I am taking a substantial daily dose of Vitamin D, and also a tablet that is calcium, magnesium, and zinc. The pain is constant enough these days that I now automatically add a couple of Ibuprofen tablets to the pile of supplements in the morning, and take a couple at bedtime, and sometimes I take a couple more at midday. Some days that helps a bit. Some days it doesn't touch the pain. Another friend recently recommended spirulina, and I'll be picking that up next paycheck to see if it helps. It gets hard to hope, though.
Awhile back at a family get-together, an aunt was talking a lot about eating gluten free. I was kind of saying, "blah, blah, blah" inside of my head, trying to block it, because I truly did not want to try eating gluten free, and to my knowledge, I do not suffer from Celiac Disease. The little "mini tests" one can take online to see if they might be celiac all say that I am not. And I didn't want to try it as a weight-loss strategy, simply because I do know how to eat in a way that lets me lose weight - I just have lost my grip on doing so for quite some time. So I was really doing my best not to tune into the idea of gluten-free. But then my aunt said something that caught my attention: though she is not celiac, when she goes gluten-free, her inflammation stops. Inflammation? She clarified: arthritis.
Well. I must say, I was not thrilled to hear this - but it definitely held my attention. If someone related to me by blood has a dietary solution that actually helps her, mightn't that mean that it could work for me? Still, I hate, hate, hate the notion of figuring out the whole gluten-free thing. So I spent a whole lot of time just considering it before I began to try to act on it.
I have been attempting gluten-free for maybe a couple of weeks now, but it has been a very haphazard attempt. First, we lacked the right groceries around the house, so I kept getting derailed by that. Then, I went to help put on a kids' camp, and there was all this amazing food with gluten there, and I didn't even try to fight my way through and live on salad all week. Since I got home last Friday, I bought better groceries and have been cooking better - but outside of home, lots of things continue to happen that make it difficult. And frequently I fail, when it is difficult.
My body image has taken a beating as I've put on weight. I was already really struggling with that for months, before I lived through the great Poison Oak or Ivy Hell. Having Prednisone swell me up like a balloon didn't help. The way the Prednisone sent me into eating overdrive didn't help. I put on a lot of weight in those 3 weeks that I was on that drug. In that time, I had dreams of being in social situations where it wasn't appropriate to keep eating...and I was eating, ashamed, eating, embarrassed, eating, eating, eating all manner of wonderful choices like donuts. So basically my body and my mind were both working against me, and I had lost my grip on all the cool tools I learned in the last 3 years of this journey.
When I went back to work while trying to recover from that rash, I was still swollen, plus the extra weight, and the rash had me choosing clothes only for comfort and not for appearance - so I looked even fatter in them. I was trying to not fall into a pit about that. One day I stepped into the hall in front of a couple of ladies who made a very disgusted noise as I stepped in front of them. As I walked along, they followed me, talking at what they surely imagined was a level I couldn't hear. Only I could hear. They talked about how awfully fat I was, and how fat others at work were, and how all of us fat folk need to figure out how calories work. They talked in modulated, knowing, quiet tones, and I wished that it was true that I couldn't hear them. That was a hard hit, and to be honest, I still don't know quite how to recover from it. I still hear it a lot in my head, especially when I'm at work, where I no longer have any desire to spend time in any hall, basically ever. I am back to feeling the way I did before this whole journey of letting God teach me to love my body - back to feeling like I owe the world an apology for subjecting them to looking at me - where I really wish people just wouldn't look at me at all. I hate this place. And I'm not good at eating well in this place - I'm way too handy at seeking the comfort of food numbness. Gross.
So I've been seeking the Lord about it, and He's been talking to me, and I think I'm probably only open enough to fully receive a tiny fraction of what He's saying. I'm hearing enough that I'm starting to seriously choose better, food wise. That is step one of loving my body.
Of course there are no instant solutions. It will take a long, long time of doing what I ought to do before I'll be back anywhere even close to the nice fitness level I was at. I'm not sure what to do about the exercise part - my feet still hurt, of course. There must be time somewhere in my life that I can pick up with riding the bike more again...I just have to find it. I'm not yet sure how to find it.
This is a humbling place. I greatly prefer coming to the naked blog to tell you how awesome it feels to love my body well. I don't love my body well right now. I don't love my body at all right now.
But maybe I'm finally ready to get up and start fighting once again.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
fell down. standing back up.
Wow. THREE MONTHS since I posted here. THREE MONTHS!
If you were going to guess how I'm doing on my quest to love my body while neglecting the naked blog for three months, what would you guess?
If you said something like probably not good news - BINGO. When last I posted (in NOVEMBER), my husband and I were dealing with his brutal work schedule, which required us to get up at 2:15 AM many mornings in order to get him to work. It was not a body-friendly schedule. Not a sleep-friendly schedule. Not a workout-friendly schedule. It was sucking away his life and it wasn't much fun for me either. Among the casualties of that battle was my focus on loving my body. It just kind of went out the window.
So. I am back. Three months later, and I don't wanna know how many pounds heavier. The pants I am wearing are so tight I almost can't wear them - and they are the ones that sat in the "give to goodwill because they're embarrassingly freakin' huge" basket for months. That's a bummer.
I'm not weathering it well. I'm eating terribly and my poor husband is dealing with my daily angst about the shape I am in.
But this is not a bad news blog! HERE'S THE GOOD NEWS: I gave up the fight to stay outside (that just wasn't working in 50 below zero temps and icy streets) and we joined a gym. This morning was our first time as members. We have access to it 24/7, which should work just FINE with our schedule, no matter what our schedule does, eh? There are enough machines that we shouldn't have to wait. And it has tons of weights, which is very appealing to my husband (and perhaps my sucky attitude about weights will change as I lose some pounds and I'll try 'em too.)
Starting over can be discouraging, since results come so slowly. But I am leaning in to remember all that I have been through in the past 2 or 3 years. I know more. I haven't lost everything I've learned and all my growth and change during this dip - I've just lost touch with it. I'm moving in the right direction to reconnect with it now. And I have the love and support and good humor and constant companionship of a man who never does even one thing to make me feel bad about the current condition of my body.
That's a blessing, for sure.
If you were going to guess how I'm doing on my quest to love my body while neglecting the naked blog for three months, what would you guess?
If you said something like probably not good news - BINGO. When last I posted (in NOVEMBER), my husband and I were dealing with his brutal work schedule, which required us to get up at 2:15 AM many mornings in order to get him to work. It was not a body-friendly schedule. Not a sleep-friendly schedule. Not a workout-friendly schedule. It was sucking away his life and it wasn't much fun for me either. Among the casualties of that battle was my focus on loving my body. It just kind of went out the window.
So. I am back. Three months later, and I don't wanna know how many pounds heavier. The pants I am wearing are so tight I almost can't wear them - and they are the ones that sat in the "give to goodwill because they're embarrassingly freakin' huge" basket for months. That's a bummer.
I'm not weathering it well. I'm eating terribly and my poor husband is dealing with my daily angst about the shape I am in.
But this is not a bad news blog! HERE'S THE GOOD NEWS: I gave up the fight to stay outside (that just wasn't working in 50 below zero temps and icy streets) and we joined a gym. This morning was our first time as members. We have access to it 24/7, which should work just FINE with our schedule, no matter what our schedule does, eh? There are enough machines that we shouldn't have to wait. And it has tons of weights, which is very appealing to my husband (and perhaps my sucky attitude about weights will change as I lose some pounds and I'll try 'em too.)
Starting over can be discouraging, since results come so slowly. But I am leaning in to remember all that I have been through in the past 2 or 3 years. I know more. I haven't lost everything I've learned and all my growth and change during this dip - I've just lost touch with it. I'm moving in the right direction to reconnect with it now. And I have the love and support and good humor and constant companionship of a man who never does even one thing to make me feel bad about the current condition of my body.
That's a blessing, for sure.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
prioritizing isn't always a simple thing
Wow. I haven't been here since September 27. That's just about 2 months!! Where did the time go? Hopefully you've found me over at the other blog, where I'm more consistent about writing!
Last time I was here, I was still really struggling to adjust to changes in the schedule. My husband Gary's job starts either at 4 AM or 6 AM, depending on overtime, which means we need to be in bed and well on our way to sleep, not just chillin, come 8 PM on weeknights. This meant shifting from running in the mornings to running after work. I hated it for a long, long time. But I kept showing up and kept asking God to change my attitude. HE DID! I'm actually enjoying running after work three days a week now.
We've been working our way through the C25K (couch to 5K) program all this time, since that's a nicer, much less painful way to get Gary up to running 30 continuous minutes than just plunging into it. With life cancelling some runs for other events, and my arthritic feet cancelling other runs, it's been a long, slow process, working our way through it. We just finally advanced last night to this rotation:
Along the way, I have been noticing myself getting fatter and fatter. SOME of that has been a food thing - it's harder to be a veggie-consuming machine when our communal-type living arrangement means my meals consist of:
So SOME part of why I'm getting fatter is I can't be the veggie maniac I was in my very own apartment. But MOSTLY why I'm getting fatter, I think, has been the reduced exercise. C25K is great for getting someone up to running. But I used to run about 50 minutes at a time, on my 3 run days per week, and then I'd bike maybe 50 miles most weekends. The routines of married life have knocked out most of the biking miles. And until yesterday, the C25K added up to about 15 minutes of running, with about 15 minutes of walking interspersed throughout it.
Along the way, I was moaning to Gary about my body falling out of condition. He swears it's not true, but I'm the one who buttons my jeans. I'm intimately aware, even despite my refusal to step on a scale, when I am getting LESS fit. In his well-intentioned efforts to give me a pep talk about this, he said things that my mind heard differently than his mouth meant to say, and HOO BOY did I get ticked off. I sat quietly on the irritation, refusing to respond to it, knowing my husband is kind and doesn't set out to offend me. After a couple of days, I got the truth out of what was said, which was: I need to do what it takes, to help my body. It's really that simple.
So for the last week what I've been doing is running the C25K part with Gary and then leaving him at home while I go out and run 20ish more minutes uninterrupted. It gets me closer the the workout my body had become accustomed to doing daily. It makes me late for supper and it takes 20 minutes of our very-little-time-together away, but I've returned to the place of being willing to do what it takes to love my body well, even when it costs such prices that I wish I didn't have to pay.
It feels good to be back to running more. My body is celebrating already. I think it will help me with motivation to return to improving my food intake, even within the limitations of the lifestyle we have chosen for this portion of the journey.
Last time I was here, I was still really struggling to adjust to changes in the schedule. My husband Gary's job starts either at 4 AM or 6 AM, depending on overtime, which means we need to be in bed and well on our way to sleep, not just chillin, come 8 PM on weeknights. This meant shifting from running in the mornings to running after work. I hated it for a long, long time. But I kept showing up and kept asking God to change my attitude. HE DID! I'm actually enjoying running after work three days a week now.
We've been working our way through the C25K (couch to 5K) program all this time, since that's a nicer, much less painful way to get Gary up to running 30 continuous minutes than just plunging into it. With life cancelling some runs for other events, and my arthritic feet cancelling other runs, it's been a long, slow process, working our way through it. We just finally advanced last night to this rotation:
- 5 minutes of warmup walk
- 20 minutes of run
- 5 minutes of cooldown walk
Along the way, I have been noticing myself getting fatter and fatter. SOME of that has been a food thing - it's harder to be a veggie-consuming machine when our communal-type living arrangement means my meals consist of:
- meals out
- meals cooked by our friends with whom we live
- meals in our room
So SOME part of why I'm getting fatter is I can't be the veggie maniac I was in my very own apartment. But MOSTLY why I'm getting fatter, I think, has been the reduced exercise. C25K is great for getting someone up to running. But I used to run about 50 minutes at a time, on my 3 run days per week, and then I'd bike maybe 50 miles most weekends. The routines of married life have knocked out most of the biking miles. And until yesterday, the C25K added up to about 15 minutes of running, with about 15 minutes of walking interspersed throughout it.
Along the way, I was moaning to Gary about my body falling out of condition. He swears it's not true, but I'm the one who buttons my jeans. I'm intimately aware, even despite my refusal to step on a scale, when I am getting LESS fit. In his well-intentioned efforts to give me a pep talk about this, he said things that my mind heard differently than his mouth meant to say, and HOO BOY did I get ticked off. I sat quietly on the irritation, refusing to respond to it, knowing my husband is kind and doesn't set out to offend me. After a couple of days, I got the truth out of what was said, which was: I need to do what it takes, to help my body. It's really that simple.
So for the last week what I've been doing is running the C25K part with Gary and then leaving him at home while I go out and run 20ish more minutes uninterrupted. It gets me closer the the workout my body had become accustomed to doing daily. It makes me late for supper and it takes 20 minutes of our very-little-time-together away, but I've returned to the place of being willing to do what it takes to love my body well, even when it costs such prices that I wish I didn't have to pay.
It feels good to be back to running more. My body is celebrating already. I think it will help me with motivation to return to improving my food intake, even within the limitations of the lifestyle we have chosen for this portion of the journey.
Friday, September 27, 2013
getting back on track after a derailment
It has been a week of noticing my weakness.
Noticing my extreme reluctance and general bad attitude about changing our run time from pre-dawn to post-work. Noticing my body not adapting quickly to the change.
Noticing how slow I am in adapting to a new sleep schedule.
Noticing how hard I have to fight to eat in ways that will work with the new run schedule and the new sleep schedule.
And then today I was just WEAK and GREEDY all day long. A coworker brought donuts. Know how many I ate? THREE. Two in the morning, one in the afternoon. THREE. FREAKING. DONUTS. Cuz once I had had one, then I NEEDED more - such is the nature of the sugar junkie, and I know this, and I know the only way around it is not to start down that road. But start I did, and oh BOY did I run hard down it.
Furthermore, I was in a lunch meeting where we were served A LOT more food than I needed. Early in the meal, I reminded myself that I COULD just eat a small amount and let the rest of it go.
But that's not what I did. I ate it up. All the spinach salad. All the big bowl of pasta with breaded chicken and marinara sauce. All the buttery garlic bread. All the pineapple upside down cake. All, all, all.
I finally did better at supper, managing to eat in a way that shouldn't derail early sleep (I'm already 20 minutes past our bedtime, but hey, it will STILL be early when we get the lights turned out.) And hallelujah, thank you JESUS for my friend who made such a body-loving supper. A nice end to the day!
So. Tonight and tomorrow and all the days going forward, I can focus on the many failures of this week in my behavior, attitude, choices, etc.
OR.
I can say that I have a fresh start right this minute. I can refuse to speak condemning words to myself. I can go as gently with me as I would with you. I can do better NOW (which is the only thing I have the power to change - can't change the past or even the future - yet - but I CAN change NOW.)
So that's what I'll do. So long, suckish choices. Sorry we hung out so long. Hope I don't see you again soon.
Noticing my extreme reluctance and general bad attitude about changing our run time from pre-dawn to post-work. Noticing my body not adapting quickly to the change.
Noticing how slow I am in adapting to a new sleep schedule.
Noticing how hard I have to fight to eat in ways that will work with the new run schedule and the new sleep schedule.
And then today I was just WEAK and GREEDY all day long. A coworker brought donuts. Know how many I ate? THREE. Two in the morning, one in the afternoon. THREE. FREAKING. DONUTS. Cuz once I had had one, then I NEEDED more - such is the nature of the sugar junkie, and I know this, and I know the only way around it is not to start down that road. But start I did, and oh BOY did I run hard down it.
Furthermore, I was in a lunch meeting where we were served A LOT more food than I needed. Early in the meal, I reminded myself that I COULD just eat a small amount and let the rest of it go.
But that's not what I did. I ate it up. All the spinach salad. All the big bowl of pasta with breaded chicken and marinara sauce. All the buttery garlic bread. All the pineapple upside down cake. All, all, all.
I finally did better at supper, managing to eat in a way that shouldn't derail early sleep (I'm already 20 minutes past our bedtime, but hey, it will STILL be early when we get the lights turned out.) And hallelujah, thank you JESUS for my friend who made such a body-loving supper. A nice end to the day!
So. Tonight and tomorrow and all the days going forward, I can focus on the many failures of this week in my behavior, attitude, choices, etc.
OR.
I can say that I have a fresh start right this minute. I can refuse to speak condemning words to myself. I can go as gently with me as I would with you. I can do better NOW (which is the only thing I have the power to change - can't change the past or even the future - yet - but I CAN change NOW.)
So that's what I'll do. So long, suckish choices. Sorry we hung out so long. Hope I don't see you again soon.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
outriding fear
I used to be
a lot more fearful than I am today. I
had a chance to reflect on that over the weekend as I rode my bike with G.
First, we
came to Credit Island, which was the first place that I gathered my courage to
ride with traffic here in the Quad Cities.
Riding the Critical Mass in Chicago with hundreds of other riders had
emboldened me enough to think I might one day manage to ride on the streets
without the wall of bicycles on all sides of me. So when I got back to Rock Island, I would
put my bike on the rack on my car and take it to a park in Davenport. From there, I could ride directly on the bike
path to Credit Island. It is a quiet
road, but still I was terrified when cars and trucks would pass me. I had to ride it a lot of times before I
could consider riding other, busier roads.
We crossed
the main Arsenal bridge, and I remembered my first time to cross – how I stood
trembling, barely able to make myself get on and pedal, so sure I was that I
would somehow slip and slide and fall over sideways, getting a head injury on
the metal edges that are everywhere on all sides.
We crossed
the other, smaller bridge for the Arsenal, and I remembered countless rides
across with terror of heights clambering inside my head and twisting my belly
in knots.
We did a
little sharp u-turn to exit from that bridge to head north-bound on the bike
path, and I recalled how I used to have to stop and get off to make that turn,
so sure I was that I would fall over otherwise.
We crossed
stoplights, and as I properly took the lane for maximum safety, I felt calm
certainty inside, rather than the fearful notion I used to have that some
driver was probably going to mow me down in a fit of road rage.
I stood on
the pedals as we rolled down a big hill, and I remembered the days when I
couldn’t even summon the courage to stand on them while riding on flat ground.
The
thousands of miles I have ridden my bike since April 2010, when I first
purchased Lulu, have been among the most empowering, liberating forces in my
life. I would never have gathered up
what it took to start running, had I not started with biking. My confidence and competence in all modes of
travel – even driving – have been boosted immeasurably by my bike time. My comfort level with my body has vastly
improved – I am more graceful, more sure, and that has chip, chip, chipped away
at my self-loathing over the years.
It makes me
wonder – what physical challenges will the Lord throw at me in the coming year
(because YES I believe the bike was a God idea) to continue to stretch and grow
me?
May I meet
it with gladness and courage, even if only just barely.
Monday, September 23, 2013
switchup
G and I changed our plans to run at 3 AM. Upon further review, we have decided it is worth attempting to run after work, despite my many and strong objections to running at that time of the day and in daylight. My objections are not as strong as my aversion to rising at 3 AM. So we're giving it a go.
Today was our first after-work run. Like all runs (for me) after being off running for a week or more, it was miserable. I lose so much momentum when I don't run. And then there were all the things I hate about running at not-before-sunrise: sunshine, warmth, traffic, lots of other pedestrians/runners. On top of that was that my tummy isn't nicely empty like it is first thing in the morning. So my belly felt HUGE and HEAVY and HORRIBLE and it slowed me down. I will need to adapt my lunch, I think, to something smaller to accommodate this new run schedule.
I can do that. And I trust I will have a better attitude after a week, when I've regained some momentum. Meantime, I will run and piss and moan and you can feel free to smack me when you see me for my bad attitude. If you see us out on the street, my husband will be the one smiling and easily outrunning me. :-)
Today was our first after-work run. Like all runs (for me) after being off running for a week or more, it was miserable. I lose so much momentum when I don't run. And then there were all the things I hate about running at not-before-sunrise: sunshine, warmth, traffic, lots of other pedestrians/runners. On top of that was that my tummy isn't nicely empty like it is first thing in the morning. So my belly felt HUGE and HEAVY and HORRIBLE and it slowed me down. I will need to adapt my lunch, I think, to something smaller to accommodate this new run schedule.
I can do that. And I trust I will have a better attitude after a week, when I've regained some momentum. Meantime, I will run and piss and moan and you can feel free to smack me when you see me for my bad attitude. If you see us out on the street, my husband will be the one smiling and easily outrunning me. :-)
Saturday, September 21, 2013
gotta recalibrate
We got a nice bike ride in today. It was a beautiful day and I was tickled to be out in it.
We are still in the process of adjusting to my husband Gary's schedule at his new job. Since I have to drive him at 5:30, we can't get up to run at 5. We have taken a couple of weeks to adjust our schedule, getting up around 4 so we can do breakfast and devotionals and prayer before it's time for him to go. I think we're pretty well adjusted to that.
Now this week, we'll need to push it back to earlier. Not running is really not an option for me. I can feel the difference in my body when I don't run, and I don't like it. It looks like we'll be getting up around 3 in order to accommodate a run 3 mornings a week. I don't see another way, since I just don't realistically see myself running at the end of a work day.
I realized last night while pondering all of this that I need to make another adjustment as well. We go to bed at 8, to make the early mornings work out. Eating supper after work means there is very little time between supper and sleep. I've been eating too much, I realized, for that close to bedtime. I need to cut my intake down by probably three quarters, or this belly is just going to keep growing. It has definitely been growing steadily with all the reduction in exercise, combined with all that eating like I'm on some kind of holiday, and that is not going well with me.
So! Here's to taking responsibility and making necessary changes.
We are still in the process of adjusting to my husband Gary's schedule at his new job. Since I have to drive him at 5:30, we can't get up to run at 5. We have taken a couple of weeks to adjust our schedule, getting up around 4 so we can do breakfast and devotionals and prayer before it's time for him to go. I think we're pretty well adjusted to that.
Now this week, we'll need to push it back to earlier. Not running is really not an option for me. I can feel the difference in my body when I don't run, and I don't like it. It looks like we'll be getting up around 3 in order to accommodate a run 3 mornings a week. I don't see another way, since I just don't realistically see myself running at the end of a work day.
I realized last night while pondering all of this that I need to make another adjustment as well. We go to bed at 8, to make the early mornings work out. Eating supper after work means there is very little time between supper and sleep. I've been eating too much, I realized, for that close to bedtime. I need to cut my intake down by probably three quarters, or this belly is just going to keep growing. It has definitely been growing steadily with all the reduction in exercise, combined with all that eating like I'm on some kind of holiday, and that is not going well with me.
So! Here's to taking responsibility and making necessary changes.
Monday, September 9, 2013
back to more movement
I am back to regular running, for about the last week, after being more or less "off" since the Bix (with a few exceptions). My husband Gary wants to run with me, so this was the perfect time for me to help him get in the swing. I downloaded a C25K app to my Iphone - C25K stands for "couch to 5K" and is a program by which one can move to running 30 continuous minutes within something like 9 weeks. In theory, that 30 minutes is a 5K. That has NEVER been true for me - I am such a slow runner - but still, it's a great help for learning how to run without stopping.
Gary is a faster runner than me. I can run for 2 hours without stopping, but it's all at a speed that isn't really different from walking. Right now, the C25K app has us do 5 minutes of walking warmup, then 20 minutes of 1 minute running, 1 minute walking, then 5 minutes of walking cool down. We walk together. Then when the voice tells us to run, he shoots off ahead of me (though he keeps trying to slow down to stay back with me, which is noble of him but usually doesn't sit well with Grumpy Morning Karen - I tell him he doesn't need to do that in my friendliest possible voice, and then he does it anyway. LOL)
Last week, I didn't even try to catch up with him on the run parts. I'd just regain the ground during walking and that was fine. But it occurred to me that once we get to running 30 continuous minutes, we will not be running together AT ALL. And I need to pick up speed, so that next year's Bix won't be another experience in the frustration of walkers sauntering by me, discussing their favorite pinterest recipes, while I die a thousand deaths inside.
So this morning, I was determined to keep up with him. I need to get faster. This is my chance! And I should get a better workout, going faster. The problem was: it was a very muggy 72 degrees out at 4:30 this morning. Perhaps you've been around long enough to know how badly I handle that much heat for a run. I need it to be 52, not 72. I LOVE 32. 72 is torture. So for the first half of our running, I sort of kind of almost kept up with G, though I was sweating like a madwoman and blowing hard. The second half....fuggedaboutit! My butt and legs weighed 20 million pounds, and no amount of the mental push could make the body move a bit faster. So he was back to slowing down to wait for me and I was back to trying not to glare at him or hold it against him that he's so much nicer a guy than I deserve! :-)
I'm going to keep trying. Maybe Wednesday will bring us a cooler morning.
I also hadn't ridden much for the last 5 weeks or so - something like 2 bike rides total, one of them being the little 1 mile ride to work. I have had a case of the crankies about that which kind of ebbed and flowed and yesterday BABY IT WAS FLOWING. I was one grumpola after church, when I figured out that we might not have time for a ride. Thankfully, we worked that out - we rode to and from the evening church service. It's only 3 miles from here, and sometimes I wouldn't count that as a "real" bike ride, but when you've done NUTHIN' for so long, 6 miles of road time is a sweet, delicious treat. I am so grateful that I have a husband who likes to ride!
So hopefully we are getting back into a swing of more exercise. This body needs it badly.
Gary is a faster runner than me. I can run for 2 hours without stopping, but it's all at a speed that isn't really different from walking. Right now, the C25K app has us do 5 minutes of walking warmup, then 20 minutes of 1 minute running, 1 minute walking, then 5 minutes of walking cool down. We walk together. Then when the voice tells us to run, he shoots off ahead of me (though he keeps trying to slow down to stay back with me, which is noble of him but usually doesn't sit well with Grumpy Morning Karen - I tell him he doesn't need to do that in my friendliest possible voice, and then he does it anyway. LOL)
Last week, I didn't even try to catch up with him on the run parts. I'd just regain the ground during walking and that was fine. But it occurred to me that once we get to running 30 continuous minutes, we will not be running together AT ALL. And I need to pick up speed, so that next year's Bix won't be another experience in the frustration of walkers sauntering by me, discussing their favorite pinterest recipes, while I die a thousand deaths inside.
So this morning, I was determined to keep up with him. I need to get faster. This is my chance! And I should get a better workout, going faster. The problem was: it was a very muggy 72 degrees out at 4:30 this morning. Perhaps you've been around long enough to know how badly I handle that much heat for a run. I need it to be 52, not 72. I LOVE 32. 72 is torture. So for the first half of our running, I sort of kind of almost kept up with G, though I was sweating like a madwoman and blowing hard. The second half....fuggedaboutit! My butt and legs weighed 20 million pounds, and no amount of the mental push could make the body move a bit faster. So he was back to slowing down to wait for me and I was back to trying not to glare at him or hold it against him that he's so much nicer a guy than I deserve! :-)
I'm going to keep trying. Maybe Wednesday will bring us a cooler morning.
I also hadn't ridden much for the last 5 weeks or so - something like 2 bike rides total, one of them being the little 1 mile ride to work. I have had a case of the crankies about that which kind of ebbed and flowed and yesterday BABY IT WAS FLOWING. I was one grumpola after church, when I figured out that we might not have time for a ride. Thankfully, we worked that out - we rode to and from the evening church service. It's only 3 miles from here, and sometimes I wouldn't count that as a "real" bike ride, but when you've done NUTHIN' for so long, 6 miles of road time is a sweet, delicious treat. I am so grateful that I have a husband who likes to ride!
So hopefully we are getting back into a swing of more exercise. This body needs it badly.
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
un-discipline brings its own consequences, thank God
Sometimes it is really hard to get oneself to exercise more, to eat less, to eat better. Sometimes, though, a motivation is provided.
Since the wedding, I have been in "honeymoon mode," which has meant all manner of GOOD things, but has also meant I have more or less given myself permission to just wildly eat anything and everything and entirely too much of it, as well.
All of that accumulated last night when I WAY, WAY overindulged at a cookout. The food was delicious, the company was great, and I just ate, ate, ate, and ate some more. I didn't just eat stuff that loves my body, though there was an abundance of that available. I also stuffed my face with stuff that I KNOW will not go well with me.
So I went to bed last night physically miserable, and I stayed that way all through the night, and this morning I've been rubbing my belly and drinking hot water and desperately hoping the worst of it will pass soon.
All of which will make it not hard at all to get back to running (which I've only done a little bit of, since the wedding) and back to body-loving food intake. I AM READY. My poor big round miserable belly is begging me to get back to better treatment.
Back we go.
Since the wedding, I have been in "honeymoon mode," which has meant all manner of GOOD things, but has also meant I have more or less given myself permission to just wildly eat anything and everything and entirely too much of it, as well.
All of that accumulated last night when I WAY, WAY overindulged at a cookout. The food was delicious, the company was great, and I just ate, ate, ate, and ate some more. I didn't just eat stuff that loves my body, though there was an abundance of that available. I also stuffed my face with stuff that I KNOW will not go well with me.
So I went to bed last night physically miserable, and I stayed that way all through the night, and this morning I've been rubbing my belly and drinking hot water and desperately hoping the worst of it will pass soon.
All of which will make it not hard at all to get back to running (which I've only done a little bit of, since the wedding) and back to body-loving food intake. I AM READY. My poor big round miserable belly is begging me to get back to better treatment.
Back we go.
Monday, July 29, 2013
back to it, feeling challenged
For this morning's run, I started working on my speed. I told my run app that I wanted to do 15 minute miles. I've done only a few of those, ever. I had no expectation of actually achieving it this morning. But you gotta start somewhere, right?
It was not a fun run. My right ankle bothered me enough for the first mile that I kept considering turning around to go back home (but then it got better). My butt muscles were very sore all the way through. Somewhere late in the second mile and early in the third mile, my lower back was throbbing. For the whole run, my body felt like it weighed 9,000 pounds - I kept expecting it to lighten up as I loosened up, but it never did. I was more out of breath than usual.
All of this surprised me. After all,I rested yesterday. It was a beautiful, stunningly perfect 50 degrees with low humidity out there. And I only ran for a little under an hour. This should be fairly easy!
Of course I have only theories about why it would be so. Here is the best I can come up with:
I think, before I decide to be discouraged by this, that I will wait and see how I'm doing by Friday. Maybe I will regain momentum and things will be looking up.
Pressing on...
It was not a fun run. My right ankle bothered me enough for the first mile that I kept considering turning around to go back home (but then it got better). My butt muscles were very sore all the way through. Somewhere late in the second mile and early in the third mile, my lower back was throbbing. For the whole run, my body felt like it weighed 9,000 pounds - I kept expecting it to lighten up as I loosened up, but it never did. I was more out of breath than usual.
All of this surprised me. After all,I rested yesterday. It was a beautiful, stunningly perfect 50 degrees with low humidity out there. And I only ran for a little under an hour. This should be fairly easy!
Of course I have only theories about why it would be so. Here is the best I can come up with:
- I did just run the longest run of my life on Saturday. And the pain from it was enough that Aleve wouldn't touch it until sometime yesterday. And I was still sore at bedtime last night. So maybe it was just still fatigue from the race. Maybe I should have taken another day off.
- My compression pants were still on the drying rack, still damp from the laundry. So I just ran in regular running pants. I think my compression pants help my back with the work of carrying this gut that I need to lose. That's probably what the back pain was about. It was kind of a jiggle fest out there.
- Mondays are just always hard. My body likes routine A LOT and I always go off routine on the weekend. And I always pay on Monday. So maybe it was just a Monday thing.
I think, before I decide to be discouraged by this, that I will wait and see how I'm doing by Friday. Maybe I will regain momentum and things will be looking up.
Pressing on...
Sunday, July 28, 2013
saltine challenge!
Okay technically today's blog is not about loving your body at all. Today is just pure unadulterated silliness. If you have no tolerance for silliness, do yourself a favor and navigate AWAY from this page immediately!
After church this morning, a deeply spiritual member of our worship team was sharing about "the saltine challenge" and I happened to overhear, stick my nose in where it didn't belong, and jump all over the challenge.
Here's the challenge: 6 saltine crackers. 60 seconds. Nothing to drink.
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Sounds easy, right? Several of us were just laughing. He insisted it's an impossible challenge.
That sounded ridiculous to me. How hard could it be to eat 6 crackers in 60 seconds? Come on! And I wasn't alone - the sound guy predicted he could do it in 23 seconds. As you can see, we are excessively serious and somber after church.
By the time I left, a number of people had been drawn into the challenge, saying we would try it and report our results. I was challenged to put mine on the blog. (So, Joe, here it is!)
So it happened that this evening when I ran upstairs to wash a few dishes, I saw crackers out (my friend Erik, whose house this is, is in on the challenge - I assume he made his first run at it today.) So! I took the challenge. Easy peasy, Eh?
And the results are....
*drumroll*
Holy smokes. The guy who challenged us has done it in as fast as 1:12. I don't suppose I'll ever get that down! LOL
It's more fun to lose this race than it is to run behind those who saunter. LOL
And now, you may resume your day. Sorry...you can't get that 5 minutes of your life back!
After church this morning, a deeply spiritual member of our worship team was sharing about "the saltine challenge" and I happened to overhear, stick my nose in where it didn't belong, and jump all over the challenge.
Here's the challenge: 6 saltine crackers. 60 seconds. Nothing to drink.
.JPG)
Sounds easy, right? Several of us were just laughing. He insisted it's an impossible challenge.
That sounded ridiculous to me. How hard could it be to eat 6 crackers in 60 seconds? Come on! And I wasn't alone - the sound guy predicted he could do it in 23 seconds. As you can see, we are excessively serious and somber after church.
By the time I left, a number of people had been drawn into the challenge, saying we would try it and report our results. I was challenged to put mine on the blog. (So, Joe, here it is!)
So it happened that this evening when I ran upstairs to wash a few dishes, I saw crackers out (my friend Erik, whose house this is, is in on the challenge - I assume he made his first run at it today.) So! I took the challenge. Easy peasy, Eh?
And the results are....
*drumroll*
Holy smokes. The guy who challenged us has done it in as fast as 1:12. I don't suppose I'll ever get that down! LOL
It's more fun to lose this race than it is to run behind those who saunter. LOL
And now, you may resume your day. Sorry...you can't get that 5 minutes of your life back!
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Bix - goal met, a bit of disappointment, and a next goal
Ahhh. It is behind me. I made my goal of running every step of the Bix! Hallelujah. We were blessed with an unseasonably cool day - really nice change from last year's run.
Oddly enough, my pleasure at having reached the goal is mixed with a bit of disappointment, too. That surprises me. You might recall that I ran last year's race in 1:56:29. That was running part of it, and walking not quite half of it.
This year, I ran every step. This year's race time: 1:58:47. It's still under 2 hours, which was last year's goal. And on its own, the time probably couldn't touch me enough to provoke disappointment. But it is not on its own.
The thing is, I run back near (and almost instantly AMONG) the walkers. And hey - big respect to power walkers - they rock. But it is ALWAYS humbling to be running along, giving it my best shot, and have someone walk by. Today was worse than that, though...some of the walkers weren't exactly POWER walking. For over a mile of the second half of the race, I was running behind a couple of women who, I tell you, WERE NOT IN A HURRY. They were walking along, not winded at all. How do I know they weren't winded? They were talking animatedly, non-stop. Pinterest recipes and such. Sauntering along. Like an easy Saturday morning walk. No hurry.
And I was BEHIND THEM. And for OVER A MILE, I couldn't catch up with them, much less pass them. That breeds disappointment - at least in me!
It's not enough to wreck the race experience for me. I am still very glad that I managed to run every step, even if my running is slower than other people's easy sauntering. I'm still pleased to have made a goal and followed through. I am also pleased that I noted as I crossed the finish line: I could probably run 10 miles. I probably had 3 more miles left in me. Not EASY miles and I'd have been a pile of jelly afterward, but I could have done it. (And no, there is no 10 mile race in my plans at this point.)
I guess knowing I had 3 miles left in me means I didn't give the Bix everything I had. I guess? Apparently I did not push myself as hard as I could have. I definitely never want to run it alone again. It is easy for me to see that I run faster with a friend than without, and I certainly wouldn't have been so honed in on noticing the sauntering ladies, if I had been running with a friend.
I've been wondering what I will do for my morning runs after the Bix. For months, I've been training on 5+ miles per morning, 3 mornings per week. It has been consistently making me late for work and crowding my schedule up too much, since it takes me a bit over an hour and a half to run that far. I've been thinking I'll want to shorten the distance, post-race. With today's results, I think I WILL shorten the run...and then use my "coaching" on my Map My Run app to train for running FASTER. I raced today at my usual pace of between 16.5 and 17 minutes per mile. Maybe I can get that time whittled down, over a year. For sure, I would like to be able to pass sauntering ladies, next time around.
Yeah, there's almost definitely a next time around. Not disappointed enough to quit.
My placing for this race fell at:
10,308 out of 10,672 runners
5,017 out of 5,271 females
413 out of 438 females ages 45-49
Oddly enough, my pleasure at having reached the goal is mixed with a bit of disappointment, too. That surprises me. You might recall that I ran last year's race in 1:56:29. That was running part of it, and walking not quite half of it.
This year, I ran every step. This year's race time: 1:58:47. It's still under 2 hours, which was last year's goal. And on its own, the time probably couldn't touch me enough to provoke disappointment. But it is not on its own.
The thing is, I run back near (and almost instantly AMONG) the walkers. And hey - big respect to power walkers - they rock. But it is ALWAYS humbling to be running along, giving it my best shot, and have someone walk by. Today was worse than that, though...some of the walkers weren't exactly POWER walking. For over a mile of the second half of the race, I was running behind a couple of women who, I tell you, WERE NOT IN A HURRY. They were walking along, not winded at all. How do I know they weren't winded? They were talking animatedly, non-stop. Pinterest recipes and such. Sauntering along. Like an easy Saturday morning walk. No hurry.
And I was BEHIND THEM. And for OVER A MILE, I couldn't catch up with them, much less pass them. That breeds disappointment - at least in me!
It's not enough to wreck the race experience for me. I am still very glad that I managed to run every step, even if my running is slower than other people's easy sauntering. I'm still pleased to have made a goal and followed through. I am also pleased that I noted as I crossed the finish line: I could probably run 10 miles. I probably had 3 more miles left in me. Not EASY miles and I'd have been a pile of jelly afterward, but I could have done it. (And no, there is no 10 mile race in my plans at this point.)
I guess knowing I had 3 miles left in me means I didn't give the Bix everything I had. I guess? Apparently I did not push myself as hard as I could have. I definitely never want to run it alone again. It is easy for me to see that I run faster with a friend than without, and I certainly wouldn't have been so honed in on noticing the sauntering ladies, if I had been running with a friend.
I've been wondering what I will do for my morning runs after the Bix. For months, I've been training on 5+ miles per morning, 3 mornings per week. It has been consistently making me late for work and crowding my schedule up too much, since it takes me a bit over an hour and a half to run that far. I've been thinking I'll want to shorten the distance, post-race. With today's results, I think I WILL shorten the run...and then use my "coaching" on my Map My Run app to train for running FASTER. I raced today at my usual pace of between 16.5 and 17 minutes per mile. Maybe I can get that time whittled down, over a year. For sure, I would like to be able to pass sauntering ladies, next time around.
Yeah, there's almost definitely a next time around. Not disappointed enough to quit.
My placing for this race fell at:
10,308 out of 10,672 runners
5,017 out of 5,271 females
413 out of 438 females ages 45-49
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
three letter battle
I am sitting on my bed in my bathrobe, intently reading a text on my phone after my morning shower when I realize: that little piece of wet hair is curving over, poking me in the face, and it might as well be a jagged blade or something. The irritation is a low buzz in the background of my morning and I've been blocking it, but suddenly I am acutely aware: my hair is touching my face it it is making me want to punch something.
Oh man.
Then I register more, awaking my mind to pay attention to my body. A dull, heavy headache. The insides of my ears slightly sore, as if I had been to a too-loud concert yesterday, or maybe spent the day in a swimming pool. My neck aches a bit. I can feel the seams in my robe and they too feel jagged, invasive, offensive - don't touch me! My belly is heavy with a nasty concoction of cramps and just a touch of nausea. The muscles in my legs are sore. The dry skin on my feet and ankles is making an ever-louder clamor for attention - I am practically twitching with the need for lotion.
But the worst of it is that little wet section of my bangs. It keeps touching - poking, bothering my face. I push it back and it flops back down and pokes again. Push, flop, poke. Push, flop, poke. I shake my head in frustration and another bit of stray hair, already dry and light, swings forward from the other side, sticking itself to my slightly damp cheek. I almost let a growl of irritation escape my throat, even as I realize how off-the-charts my sensory overload is, how unreasonable my unexpressed response to it all.
That's when I know: it's time for those dreaded 3 letters once again: PMS. Gah.
The good news is that these days I know how to respond (or, largely, NOT respond) to it - how to choke off its attempt to wreck my mood, and accordingly my day. Carefully I dry my ears and flatten that pesky piece of hair down (a much better tactic than pushing it back). I find the lotion for my feet. I rub my tummy (what a surprise it was, learning how much that helps!) I bend and stretch and most of all focus on peace. Be still. Remain calm. Don't rail against it or try to insist that I shouldn't have to feel this way. Study the sunshine. Write grats. Take Aleve. Drink hot water. Above all else, DO NOT cooperate with any voice of body loathing, self-hatred, resentment, etc. Don't listen to it, don't repeat its claims - not even silently in my head. Don't fall into the pity pot. Trust God.
Doing my dishes after breakfast, I drop a dish, and it breaks into many pieces in the sink. Unsteady hands and an unfocused mind are both regular hangers-on during the dreaded time of 3 letters. At many points of the journey, the broken glass would have been an occasion for tears, for an hour of inner complaint, for the derailing of a morning. This morning I am purposefully, willfully patient and unsurprised. I pick up the pieces of glass, slowly, carefully, knowing a hurry only results in cuts, which will only be another challenge to face. I get every piece and my hands are unbloodied in the end. When the dishes are done, I smile, on purpose. Gotta celebrate victories. It is so very much more important, at times like this morning, than it ever is on ordinary, easy, pain-free days. Celebration and smiles are tools of survival and healing, and if you don't know that yet, I beg you to begin considering and praying through the idea.
I'm awfully glad that PMS is only an occasional visitor at this point in my life. Sometimes it skips entire years between visits. Lately, it has come hanging around almost every month. In truth, I'd be thrilled it if would just go away and leave me alone.
But. His grace is sufficient for me. I discover this every time that I show up willing. PMS doesn't have to leave, in order for me to be at peace...full of joy, even.
Here's to learning that in ways that make a real difference on a workday morning.
Oh man.
Then I register more, awaking my mind to pay attention to my body. A dull, heavy headache. The insides of my ears slightly sore, as if I had been to a too-loud concert yesterday, or maybe spent the day in a swimming pool. My neck aches a bit. I can feel the seams in my robe and they too feel jagged, invasive, offensive - don't touch me! My belly is heavy with a nasty concoction of cramps and just a touch of nausea. The muscles in my legs are sore. The dry skin on my feet and ankles is making an ever-louder clamor for attention - I am practically twitching with the need for lotion.
But the worst of it is that little wet section of my bangs. It keeps touching - poking, bothering my face. I push it back and it flops back down and pokes again. Push, flop, poke. Push, flop, poke. I shake my head in frustration and another bit of stray hair, already dry and light, swings forward from the other side, sticking itself to my slightly damp cheek. I almost let a growl of irritation escape my throat, even as I realize how off-the-charts my sensory overload is, how unreasonable my unexpressed response to it all.
That's when I know: it's time for those dreaded 3 letters once again: PMS. Gah.
The good news is that these days I know how to respond (or, largely, NOT respond) to it - how to choke off its attempt to wreck my mood, and accordingly my day. Carefully I dry my ears and flatten that pesky piece of hair down (a much better tactic than pushing it back). I find the lotion for my feet. I rub my tummy (what a surprise it was, learning how much that helps!) I bend and stretch and most of all focus on peace. Be still. Remain calm. Don't rail against it or try to insist that I shouldn't have to feel this way. Study the sunshine. Write grats. Take Aleve. Drink hot water. Above all else, DO NOT cooperate with any voice of body loathing, self-hatred, resentment, etc. Don't listen to it, don't repeat its claims - not even silently in my head. Don't fall into the pity pot. Trust God.
Doing my dishes after breakfast, I drop a dish, and it breaks into many pieces in the sink. Unsteady hands and an unfocused mind are both regular hangers-on during the dreaded time of 3 letters. At many points of the journey, the broken glass would have been an occasion for tears, for an hour of inner complaint, for the derailing of a morning. This morning I am purposefully, willfully patient and unsurprised. I pick up the pieces of glass, slowly, carefully, knowing a hurry only results in cuts, which will only be another challenge to face. I get every piece and my hands are unbloodied in the end. When the dishes are done, I smile, on purpose. Gotta celebrate victories. It is so very much more important, at times like this morning, than it ever is on ordinary, easy, pain-free days. Celebration and smiles are tools of survival and healing, and if you don't know that yet, I beg you to begin considering and praying through the idea.
I'm awfully glad that PMS is only an occasional visitor at this point in my life. Sometimes it skips entire years between visits. Lately, it has come hanging around almost every month. In truth, I'd be thrilled it if would just go away and leave me alone.
But. His grace is sufficient for me. I discover this every time that I show up willing. PMS doesn't have to leave, in order for me to be at peace...full of joy, even.
Here's to learning that in ways that make a real difference on a workday morning.
Friday, July 19, 2013
ugly effing run
I was having trouble figuring out how I was going to WOW myself this morning, for my last run before the Bix. What could follow my 2 trips up Brady Street Hill and my 6 trips up Augustana Hill? I've been busy and tired and I just didn't think of anything. So I figured I would go for speed again this morning - see if I could run the fastest miles yet.
And then I stepped out of my icy cool air conditioned house and into...the swamp. The air was so muggy, so horrible. For sure it weighed a thousand pounds. The sun wasn't up yet and it was already 80 degrees. I was out of breath in the first block of running. THE FIRST BLOCK.
Nonetheless, I kept moving. And eventually I resolved that even FINISHING today was going to be a wow, what with the not being able to breathe, and the sweat gushing out of my pores.
Finish, I did. I didn't walk at all. So that's a win for the day, though it feels like crap.
I realized as I came down the street on that last block that had run me out of breath so fast when leaving home that for my entire run, I had been remembering old bad, painful, hurtful, discouraging, hard things from the many ways my marriage failed. That's been smacking me from out of nowhere somewhat regularly lately. I will be going along, happy as can be and then suddenly the memories will just start cascading and sucking me down. I assume it is the voice of the Liar, doing his level best to steal my hope about my upcoming marriage.
But I'm not that person I was back then. I wouldn't walk the same way through those trials. I would respond differently. I understand more about who I am and how God loves me. I am way more in tune with what is about me and what is for sure not about me at all. And furthermore, to say that my fiance is not my ex husband is stating it uhhh rather mildly. They couldn't be more different.
So. Something wants to steal my hope. And in the passages like that run full of awful memories, it's pretty damned discouraging.
BUT GOD.
And that is my final answer. BUT GOD.
And then I stepped out of my icy cool air conditioned house and into...the swamp. The air was so muggy, so horrible. For sure it weighed a thousand pounds. The sun wasn't up yet and it was already 80 degrees. I was out of breath in the first block of running. THE FIRST BLOCK.
Nonetheless, I kept moving. And eventually I resolved that even FINISHING today was going to be a wow, what with the not being able to breathe, and the sweat gushing out of my pores.
Finish, I did. I didn't walk at all. So that's a win for the day, though it feels like crap.
I realized as I came down the street on that last block that had run me out of breath so fast when leaving home that for my entire run, I had been remembering old bad, painful, hurtful, discouraging, hard things from the many ways my marriage failed. That's been smacking me from out of nowhere somewhat regularly lately. I will be going along, happy as can be and then suddenly the memories will just start cascading and sucking me down. I assume it is the voice of the Liar, doing his level best to steal my hope about my upcoming marriage.
But I'm not that person I was back then. I wouldn't walk the same way through those trials. I would respond differently. I understand more about who I am and how God loves me. I am way more in tune with what is about me and what is for sure not about me at all. And furthermore, to say that my fiance is not my ex husband is stating it uhhh rather mildly. They couldn't be more different.
So. Something wants to steal my hope. And in the passages like that run full of awful memories, it's pretty damned discouraging.
BUT GOD.
And that is my final answer. BUT GOD.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
powerful words
I remember riding in cars with friends who made mean remarks about the way a runner's shorts fit or the whiteness of their legs or the jiggle in their caboose.
I remember the endless number of mean words that women around me have used to describe themselves and others within my hearing.
I remember rude ways that celebrities get evaluated in popular magazines, no matter how thin and beautiful they seem to me.
I remember catcalls and dog barks from cars driving by me while I was out walking, minding my own business, twenty years ago.
I remember unkind words from the boy who made the most damage on my self-esteem, all before I turned 16.
And I assume that at least some of the drivers going by are doing just the same. Noticing the jiggle in my caboose and remarking. Noticing the inelegance of my stride, the whiteness of my legs, the way I'm not shaped like anyone on modeling pages, and saying or thinking mean things.
I mean, I don't obsess on it relentlessly. But it still does make its way across my brain at least once, on almost every run I ever make. I try to push it back. I tell it that people seeing me slogging my way up those huge hills maybe RESPECT the effort, even as they see the extra weight. I tell it that what others think of me is none of my business. I tell it that I'm letting God change the way I love my body.
And it lets go of me, generally. Doesn't have the power to continually torment me that it had for so many years. But...it does come back. Pretty much every single run.
I look forward to the day when I won't move through the world assuming that people are thinking or saying mean things about the shape of my body. That will signal a really LARGE healing in me...one that seems very far away at this point. I have a feeling that the change is another "inside job" - that it's not about, "I'll feel better when I get skinnier." I've seen too many skinny people feeling huge to buy that lie. It's about letting Him finish the work in me...and meanwhile, not helping those voices.
You notice, I didn't provide any of the horrible words here. Didn't quote anyone. Didn't get specific. That was intentional. I'm DONE repeating those awful things aloud. Done breathing life into them by purposely dwelling on them. When they come, I will continue to shoot them down with all my might - and I will trust that one day, they won't be able to come near enough for me to hear anymore.
I believe it's possible. Some of you maybe never had that narrative in your head. Some of you have it so loud that you cannot possibly believe it could ever be silenced. I'm praying for you (and for me) today about this.
Meanwhile: all of this is evidence of the incredible power of words. PLEASE stop and think about what you are sowing into someone's life with your words. PLEASE help others to make kinder choices in what they speak...most especially into the ears of the very young.
After all...it might matter...for the rest of their time here on earth.
another hill challenge morning
In my continuing quest to WOW myself enough before the Bix to overcome the mental hurdles, this morning I took on Augustana hill. The challenge: how many times could I run up it in a single morning?
This morning's result: 6 TIMES! Let's just say I am CELEBRATING!!!
But also kicking myself. I considered going for 7 and then I was tired and it was getting late (yes, I will be late for work again today due to the run.) Monday's run of 3 laps up Brady Street Hill was a gain of 905 feet. Today's run of 6 laps up Augustana Hill was a gain of 892 feet. I COULD HAVE OUTDONE MYSELF. Darn it!
But still. Six is pretty dang good. Focusing there with intention.
This morning's result: 6 TIMES! Let's just say I am CELEBRATING!!!
But also kicking myself. I considered going for 7 and then I was tired and it was getting late (yes, I will be late for work again today due to the run.) Monday's run of 3 laps up Brady Street Hill was a gain of 905 feet. Today's run of 6 laps up Augustana Hill was a gain of 892 feet. I COULD HAVE OUTDONE MYSELF. Darn it!
But still. Six is pretty dang good. Focusing there with intention.
Monday, July 15, 2013
i am a ballerina princess runner
For last year's Bix, a friend and great encourager informed me that I needed new running clothes - that it is a TRADITION to have something new for race day. And then...she funded a new running outfit for me, which turned out to be MUCH NICER than the sweats I was planning to roll up at the knees.
That wonderful outfit is still in great condition and Karen Is Very Cheap. So! My plan for this year has been: a running skirt, which I can just wear OVER the outfit I have. Sarah, who ran the Bix with me last year, pointed out tulle running skirts to me and they immediately made me grin. So ridiculous. TULLE - the stuff of princesses and ballerinas - for running?!
But it's really perfect. Light as air. Cute and fanciful. The internet supplied me with a wonderful set of DIY instructions. Last Friday night after work, I spent $13 on tulle and a ribbon, and came home and made the darn thing all in one sitting. It is only cutting and tying. My carpal tunnel raged the next day from all the tying, but hey...IS THIS SKIRT FUN or what?! The colors are hard to see in the picture, but it is midnight blue (with SPARKLES!), neon green, and...bum bum BUM...TEAL! (You'd have to know how utterly I loathe teal and feel it should not exist as a color to appreciate the irony of teal in my skirt - but suffice it to say that lovely daughter Julia is keeled over with laughter about it.)
In truth, I feel like I look huge in it. I took pictures at 4:30 this morning as I was dressing for my run, and this side shot is the only one I am sharing. Sure, it's gonna make you notice I uhhh "got back"...but the shots from the front look SO WIDE.
I don't care. I'm wearing the skirt, and gonna run with a smile. After all, running every step of 7 miles on a hot July morning on giant hills...that's a feat WORTHY of 7.5 yards of tulle, eh?
Keep smiling!
But it's really perfect. Light as air. Cute and fanciful. The internet supplied me with a wonderful set of DIY instructions. Last Friday night after work, I spent $13 on tulle and a ribbon, and came home and made the darn thing all in one sitting. It is only cutting and tying. My carpal tunnel raged the next day from all the tying, but hey...IS THIS SKIRT FUN or what?! The colors are hard to see in the picture, but it is midnight blue (with SPARKLES!), neon green, and...bum bum BUM...TEAL! (You'd have to know how utterly I loathe teal and feel it should not exist as a color to appreciate the irony of teal in my skirt - but suffice it to say that lovely daughter Julia is keeled over with laughter about it.)
In truth, I feel like I look huge in it. I took pictures at 4:30 this morning as I was dressing for my run, and this side shot is the only one I am sharing. Sure, it's gonna make you notice I uhhh "got back"...but the shots from the front look SO WIDE.
I don't care. I'm wearing the skirt, and gonna run with a smile. After all, running every step of 7 miles on a hot July morning on giant hills...that's a feat WORTHY of 7.5 yards of tulle, eh?
Keep smiling!
just beating my chest and hollering a little here...
Ask me how many times I ran up Brady Street hill this morning.
Go ahead, ask me!
THREE TIMES, BABY!!!!
Go ahead, ask me!
THREE TIMES, BABY!!!!
Friday, July 12, 2013
a year's worth of fitness change
During last year’s Bix race, somewhere around mile four, my
calves felt as heavy and hard as stones.
Around mile six, my (awesome, specially fitted, expensive running) shoes
started to seriously hurt my feet. As I
crossed the finish line, I was struggling not to limp, and I wondered if I
would find blood in my socks when I took them off. All I wanted in life was 100 gallons of cool
water to drink, and the promise that I would never have to stand, much less
walk or run, ever again in life. Though
I had walked a little less than half of the distance, I had completed the
entire seven miles. Finishing was the
only firm goal, and finishing in less than two hours was a great hope. Both the goal and the hope were realized, as
I crossed the finish line with a time of 1:56:29 (no, I don’t have that time
memorized…I cheated and looked it up on the blog from that day!)
I limped home, showered, and drank like a camel stocking up
for a Sahara tour. I laid down on my
couch to rest a bit – and that’s when the exhaustion really hit me. I wasn’t maybe
I should take a nap tired. I was oh, sleep is overtaking me by force, and my
thousand-pound legs will never be lifted again tired. Throughout the sunny afternoon, I kept surfacing
into consciousness with a vague feeling that I should get up and do something. I would feel the awful ache – especially in
my legs, but really all through my body – and before I could process further or
attempt movement, I would tumble helplessly back into sleep, more or less
against my will. It was like I had been
drugged.
Late in the day, I woke up enough to drag myself ten steps
to the kitchen and eat, though my arms had now joined my legs in weighing 1000
pounds each. I thought I might
blog. Then, I realized that thinking was
too tall an order, and typing was out of the question, and sitting up straight
was an unreasonable demand, and I went to sleep again. Eventually, I did manage to write a bit,
between rounds of helplessly being imprisoned by sleep. But I didn’t “play” on the internet that
day. Didn’t even call up a movie on
Netflix to watch on my iPHone. Really,
all I could do was sleep.
I did manage church the next day, but that was all. That whole day too was a blur of pain and
naps. I had really given everything in
me, finishing that race. Neither my
pre-race training of running 2.7 miles three times a week for about a year nor
the hundreds of miles’ worth of nice long bike rides (30 to 50 miles each) that
I had regularly taken had not been enough to make me strong enough to do
anything more.
Fast forward almost a year.
I’m currently running roughly five and a half miles, three times a week. When I first bumped my distance up to five
miles, my body’s reaction was a similar yet lesser version of that race day
reaction. My feet hurt for the rest of
the day, all day long, clear up to bedtime on run days. Not that’s a little sore hurt. More like I
have to concentrate hard not to make feeble noises and pathetic faces with
every step hurt. Sore enough that I
iced my feet, elevated my feet, downed Aleve relentlessly, and avoided walking
if at all possible. Sore enough that at
work I took the elevator, even to go down just one flight of stairs, because
the thought of the impact of walking down steps made me want to cry. I felt exhausted all day, with everything in
me crying out for a nap, and I struggled occasionally with nodding off at my
desk momentarily in the midst of typing out minutes or taking notes or other
activities that are generally enough to keep my mind awake and alert. I would fall asleep at night with my feet
still throbbing from the morning’s run.
But that’s getting better!
First, the exhaustion stopped happening, but the pain held on. Then, the pain came down to
manageable-with-Aleve level. Then it
came down to sore, but no need for pain meds level. Today, after running 5.7 miles this morning…no
thought at all about Aleve. There’s a
little soreness, but it’s so little that I don’t notice it unless I stop to ask
myself while I am walking whether it hurts.
Scripture says our bodies are fearfully and wonderfully made, and I can
testify to that LOUDLY as I watch the way my body heals itself over and over,
no matter how I punish it. How it gets
stronger over time. How hills that used
to make me want to puke and/or die might still challenge me, but the challenge
isn’t enough for me to dwell on how bad it was afterward.
On race day this year, I can’t go into a coma
afterward. Instead, after the race (and obviously a shower) I will need to get in my car and drive 4 hours to
try on my wedding dress. Last year, this
would clearly not have been an option.
This year, I don’t think it’s even going to be a hardship. While
I am still basically the same SIZE I was this time last year, my
fitness level is a whole other world than it was then.
Makes me wonder what July 2014 will look like for me,
fitness-wise! Exciting days ahead!
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