Wizards First Rule

Every Runday my alarm goes off before the city is awake. I always lay in bed for about a minute and wonder if I should just sleep in. I can run later. I don't need to go get my ass kicked on a level 10 hill. I don't need to train this hard. I'm not really training for anything. Sleep is an important element of training.

And most Rundays, I tell the inner voice of sense and reason to STFU. I roll out of bed and go. I have run in sleet, rain, and bitterly cold conditions; I ran up hills that made me want to cry. 

But I ran.

On Rundays I run because I want to, no one is making me, except me.

I have nothing to prove, I'm not training for anything. I do this for fun, and because, even though they don't know me, I like running with Those People I Don't Know. 

Except there was a moment this week when I didn't like Those People. Recently, for the first time since joining Those People I Don't Know at Rogue, I had someone try to belittle my efforts.

Silly boy. Don't you know who I am? 
I'm charming...

The man in question reminded me of Draco Malfoy.  Essentially he represented everything that Harry Potter and Q and Coach Black are not. 

He was an arrogant snob. He acted though the fact I have not qualified for Boston made me less of a runner than him. Gosh, what would he have said if I'd admitted my marathon PR is a 4:09? He. might. have. died.

This attractive man sat beside me at a table with his back to me, talking pointedly to everyone except me. The deep frown etched into his face was only lifted when it was replaced by an unnatural smile for a camera. When he could not avoid speaking directly to me, he coated every word with disdain and thinly veiled sarcasm. At some point I realized he was judging me.  

Shortly after that I thought, "and he clearly thinks I'm not bright". How fascinating.

Additionally, he made it clear that as one of the "Dead Ass Last" crew, I was unworthy of his time and attention.

I confess:  There was a nanosecond where his low opinion of me hurt my feelings. I thought, If I was only (better, a BQ, skinnier, taller, nicer, prettier, more charming...) then he would (like me, respect me, acknowledge me, at least be civil to me).

And then I looked into his unhappy dead eyes and thought, I'm enough. His bad behavior shows far more about him and his lack of (grace, manners, happiness) than it does about me and my lack of (nothing). 

Isn't the first rule we teach our children in life is to treat others with respect? How did he miss that one growing up?

Because let's get real, if I was any smarter, better, nicer, or more charming, the world would not be able to handle it. As it is, I am intimidating as all hell.

Draco Malfoy may be an exceptionally gifted wizard who runs a blistering fast marathon and all that rot, but he's an unhappy small man who is missing out on the things life has to offer. My innate happiness must irritate the piss out of him. 

I laugh when I get high, and I get high when I run. I smile freely, and I am gracious to those in the Back to Last crew who come back for me when I am Dead Ass Last. I work hard to be better for my own personal satisfaction. I couldn't care less about Draco Malfoy's opinion of me.

I am enough.

~ Respect ~

Intolerable Rudeness

I recently read a blog post about how people will tolerate bad behavior in the person they love because they love them, and that a true test of a healthy relationship is to say, "would I tolerate this language from my friend?"  I'm very fortunate to be in a loving relationship with a person who treats me with respect, and I never have to ask this question, however, I caught myself listening to a voice in my life the other day and wondering why I tolerate that negative language.

I ran a Half Marathon in just a sports bra and skirt last week.  It was 96% humidity and 88 degrees.  Needless to say, I wasn't the only person out on the course who was only half dressed, and I figured it was OK.  As I crossed the finish line, however, there were photographers snapping photos as we were draped in our medals, and I laughed and said, "Oh Lord, I won't be buying THAT photo.  That is a lot of squish for a finishers pic!"

Of course, I was laughing.  I actually think I look Ok.

But later I thought back and wondered why it was OK for me to be so rude to myself.  If someone - a friend - had said that to me, I would have been very sad.  When I realized that, it made me want to buy the picture and save it, knowing that there may be a time in my life when I will look back and think, "Hey, when I was 38, I was very fit."

So women, and men, reading this - please be kind to yourselves.  Appreciate that life is a process, and that just because we are so often always striving toward a bigger goal, it doesn't mean we should dismiss our current greatness.

I know I'm going to try harder to celebrate my current self.

Also, next to me happens to be one of
my favorite Nursing School professors.
We didn't run together, but she caught
me in the last mile.  Great job Prof W.

A gift: To Live a Life Without Fear

At any given time there are probably 63,291 posts on the Internet about Second Chances.

I'm sure a lot of them are focused on not giving them to Liars.  I suspect many are in favor of giving them to Children.  To Addicts.  To Runners.  To Dreams.  To Bad A** Mother Runners.

I was getting ready for my swim today and the thought that barreled through my head was how tremendously lucky I am, and that I'm so thankful I got a second chance at life.  

Two years ago I gave myself a chance to live a life without fear.  It was my gift to me; my second chance.  I decided that no one should live every day in fear of tomorrow.  All I had to do was have the courage to leap and hope that the fall into the abyss wasn't going to destroy me.

And I leapt 

and I fell

and I wasn't destroyed.  

I was reborn, for lack of a better way to put it.  I came back tougher, but softer at the same time, able to look at life without fear.  I arrived whole and able to love.  

It is such a relief to live a life that is, for the most part, free of fear.  That weight is gone, safely tucked two years in my past where it can no longer hurt me.  

I realized this week, that no matter what obstacles keep getting tossed in my face or at my feet, I have nothing to fear from that ugly past.  Everything will work out the way it's supposed to, and history has proven time and time again, that it will be so much better than I imagine.

~savor the run~

Life at 100

I read somewhere once that cyclists take sadistic pride in the agony of riding.

After this week's workout, I am going to go a step further.

Cycling is one of the most painfully miserable things I have ever done... and I've birthed 3 children, run 4 marathons, completed a Half Ironman Distance Triathlon in 90+ degree heat, and run the SF Half Marathon, which is a bit hilly.

I know my own pain experience is pretty diverse, and yet, cycling is fixed firmly in the top of that list.

That's partly because I have found a new form of torture. 30 second intervals. Holy Misery, they were awful. Thankfully I had a companion.

He's significantly faster than I am.

We warmed up together, chit-chatting. I tried not to get intimidated. I knew that once our intervals started we wouldn't be cycling together any more because this guy is probably the fastest guy I know on two wheels, and I am a mom of 3 kids who's run a few marathons, half iron, yada yada and oh by the way I do have a bike.

We did work out a system to ride together, uh, sort of... but if we're looking for an analogy of what the acceleration was like...

It was like chasing a Nascar (Car) on a Pinto (pony)...

Nothing in my memory is as painful as those 30 second sprint intervals in full sun chasing a Galacticly Bada** Egyptian Gentleman. 

And here's the catch that our ride really drove home. He was an amazing cyclist. And he was suffering and spent by the end of the ride.... 

Intervals are always going to be painful. No matter how many years I ride, no matter who I ride with on any given Tuesday... riding at 100% is always going to be hard.

It doesn't get easier - you just get faster.

Bet that applies to running...

In fact, I could apply that theory to life... parenting, nursing school, and relationships. They don't get easier. If you are working at 100% effort, it's going to hurt.

Of course, you can only maintain that level of intensity for 30 seconds. It's an excruciatingly painful but minuscule percentage of time in your workout. 

So the next time you consider giving 100% to your life, just remember, it's going to hurt... and that you can't maintain that hurt for more than a few minutes. It takes a team to get 100% out of life. The theory of pace-line is that you work 20% less when you have a cyclist in front of you blocking the wind/cutting a 'hole' in the air for you to draft in... I call it riding in the pocket, though I'm not sure that's technical.

Basically, even if you are a world champion, you can't expect to do it all on your own.

rephrase - 

I can't expect to do it all on my own.

My plan these days is to get my kids to pitch in 10% each, I'll push myself and put out a solid 60%, Desi (our #bestdogever) will put in her standard 2%, and the rest comes from the love and support of the people in my life who give me the help I need to pull it together, both on the bike and off.

Together my team is tip-top, riding at 100%.

An Open Letter to 22 Year Old Girls Everywhere

Dear 22 year old Girls,

Don’t try so hard.

You are beautiful no matter what you are wearing. You are 22. By definition, 22 year olds are beautiful to pretty much everyone.

And before you get on your, “she’s just jealous because I’m young” box, you can #STFU. 

I’m still young enough. I still get asked out by men almost every day. Seriously. And despite that “ask out” statistic, it may surprise you to learn that I never go out in public wearing only a sports bra and shorts unless I am going to log 6 or more miles and it’s 80 degrees with high humidity.

I was at a theme park this weekend, and a concert a few weeks ago, and at those two venues I saw many beautiful women in their late teens and early twenties dressed like back-up dancers in a music video for an up and coming artist.

I suppose there are times when that attire is appropriate.

For example, it's ok to wear this when you are actually working as a back-up dancer in a music video for an up and coming artist. Otherwise, that outfit isn’t going to fly as socially appropriate for 364 days of the year.

I’ll be the first to admit, many of the women sporting the “leopard print sports bra, denim shorts and high-top sneakers” look had rocking figures. They pulled off the look with toned bodies you could bounce a quarter off of, and yes, the men noticed too.

Men from every age group were staring at the beautiful exposed skin of these girls.

But all I kept thinking when I saw them was this: Girls, if you want to attract a man with whom you will share a meaningful and emotionally fulfilling relationship, maybe don’t start by dressing like a hooker.

Also, if your shorts are so short that the "crease" of your cheek isn't covered, your shorts are too short to wear out of the bedroom. Fo' Shizzle. Unless you're a prostitute, and you need to make rent. In that case, probably they're Ok.

While on the topic, don’t look around and think the girls who are dressed like hookers are getting boyfriends you would want. They might have boys who linger in their presence for a blink of time, but they are just boys.

Yes, I am saying it flat out: The men women attract while dressed-up as prostitutes are not quality men.

A woman who understands “understated sexy” attire for 364 days of the year is far sexier than the one who’s always dressing like it’s Halloween. On Halloween it’s socially acceptable to pull out the leopard print and feel free to dress like a back up dancer in a music video.

The other days of the year, I suggest that clothing should be treated like gift-wrap. The gift inside is a mystery, and it is worth waiting till Christmas to untie the bow.

Most men will even tell you, the anticipation of unwrapping this particular “present” is is almost as fun as any “gift” it contains.

Of course, the men who are picking up the girls wearing skimpy socially inappropriate clothing are just looking for something quick and easy. They like to celebrate Christmas Year Round. They’re the ones who tore through the wrapping paper in a frenzy as kids.

You know what else they were?

They were the ones who finished opening the gift, saw what it was, and set it aside to tear into the next gift without appreciating what they’d received.

Forget a Thank You note, they had no idea who had given them what.

I’m not saying to save yourself for Mr Right. I’m not preaching Abstinence. I’m preaching Self Respect.

There are a whole crew of blogs out there screaming the whole “Why buy the Cow when you can get the Milk free” theory... Cow? Free..? No, I never liked that analogy.

We aren’t cows. This isn’t milk. We are women, and these are our bodies.  And they’re worth a hell of a lot more than $3.80 a gallon.

Regards,

A Mom who’s Not Really a Prude, Just Concerned

An Open Letter of Apology

Dear Galactically Bada** Body,

I owe you an apology. In a big way.

I’m sorry for all the time I spent cussing you for not being what I wanted. I apologize for verbally abusing you. You never deserved it.

I apologize for not wearing sunscreen as a teenager.

And for not wearing sunscreen last week....

For Failure to Rescue

For Failure to Hydrate.

For Failure to properly Fuel.

I am really wicked sorry about my habit of “ignoring symptoms”. It’s unfair to you and I appreciate that if I listened when you whispered, I wouldn’t have to cover my ears when you shout.

I am sorry for all the times I didn’t see you for the beautiful thing that you are.

For setting you aside to do something else.

For “tomorrow I’ll....” and the tomorrows that never came.

Most of all, I am sorry for accusing you of failing me, when I am the one who has failed you. You are my responsibility, my companion, and my vessel.

Now that I better understand that, I will strive to be a good steward of the wealth of gifts that you have bestowed upon me.

Regards,

GBA GF

Food Diary of the Mostly Dead

When the weird virus that got me this spring was trying to off me, what I ate was done with very little thought. I was on a HORRIBLE antibiotic that, while it cheerfully saved my life, altered the way things tasted to me. My daily eating process went like this:

some of the watermelon was
poached off this plate by a
6 yr old klingon.

“Does it taste good?”

“Yes.”

“Ok. I will eat”

Or

“Does it taste good?”

“No... then I don’t need to eat today”

Good thing that came of this: Splenda now tastes like acid to me. I have a giant pack of packets going un-used, if you live near by, holler. You’re welcome to them... Also, I now like my coffee black. Weird. I mean, I can drink it with creamer, but I can also enjoy it black.

Bad thing: I stopped eating my typical "healthy" diet with a salad a day, and didn't even realize it.

So NOW:  what am I eating? What am I avoiding?

If it comes in a package, I’m probably not eating it.

If it can spoil in 3-4 days, I’m probably eating it.

Here’s my food log for a typical day. I didn’t give up lentils... but I had to return to meat. I have completely given up milk, cheese, yogurt (~sniff~) , ice cream, etc. My dietician says this is a temporary solution, we will be tailoring the protein needs to my body.

Breakfast – 2 oz protein, 1 fruit, 1 starch

another favorite - white fish,
brown rice, greens tossed with
jalepeno infused cucumbers

2 poached eggs

½ cup cooked oatmeal (about ¾ of a serving)

½ banana

Snack – 2 oz protein, 1 fruit

2 oz Boars Head Roast Beef, or left over Chicken, etc.

1 c. watermelon

Lunch – 4 oz protein, 1 starch, 2 fats, unlimited vegs

Salad with 2 hard boiled eggs, 2 oz turkey, 1 Tbl dressing, 1/8 avocado, chopped red/green/yellow peppers, 4tbl Hummus

Snack - 2 oz protein, 1 fruit

Small Apple

1.5 Tbl Peanut Butter (*note, for many people pb is counted as a fat)

Dinner - 4 oz protein, 1 starch, 2 fats, unlimited vegs

4 oz Grilled Chicken breast*

½ c. Quinoa

Roasted summer squash mix (*olive oil used in cooking)

People are upset about the wrong things

In 2006 the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, Mike Jeffries, made some inflammatory statements about who should be wearing the "exclusive" clothes his company sells. I find this interesting in part because by "exclusive" he meant, "sold in every single mall around the globe".

For whatever reason, these statements have recently hit the news again.

People are upset about this.

Then, Business Insider reported that Abercrombie refuses to make large-sized clothing.

People are really upset about this.

My take on it is that it's Abercrombie's prerogative... If you design the clothes, market, label and sell the clothes, you get to pick the sizes. And, after all, as one blogger pointed out, "if Abercrombie chooses not to make large sizes, this means that 60% of Americans are excluded from shopping in their stores". Simple math:  Eventually they'll have to sell larger clothing or go out of business.

Upon reading that I thought, 60%? What? No way. That seems insane. A quick trip to the CDC website should clear this right up.

My stomach flipped as I read the stats. Sixty percent is just about right. 
That's when I realized:
People are upset about the wrong thing.

According to the CDC, more than one-third of U.S. adults are obese. The official 2010 number is 35.7%. This number encompasses "over the age of 20".

I can see how once an individual reaches adulthood obese, or reaches obesity by the numbers in adulthood that getting the weight off would be a real challenge. I mean, I couldn't shed the weight stuck to me, so I called in some big guns when I saw a Physician, an OB/GYN, and eventually a Dietitian, and I'm only trying to knock back a total of 14.7 pounds. It's 10% of my body weight though.

What would it be like to be trying to lose half my body weight? So I'll give some lee way on this whole statistic. Once obese, hard to repair.

But.

Obesity should be preventible. Right?

Well, in theory, it is.

The statistic that made my stomach clench and a wave of nausea roll over me was also found on the CDC site.  "The percentage of children aged 6–11 years in the United States who were obese increased from 7% in 1980 to nearly 18% in 2010. Similarly, the percentage of adolescents aged 12–19 years who were obese increased from 5% to 18% over the same period". CDC

6 year olds? Seriously? I have one of those.
11... I have one of those also.

And, wait, adolescents? Isn't that the Abercrombie market?

In 2003 data was collected on high school students obesity rates. The data is scattered, because they were targeting 'at risk' populations.

By 2011 the data is less scattered. I would guess this is because by now the "at risk" population has been expanded to include more schools.

So, after looking here at this very simplified data I have to wonder, why are people upset that Abercrombie & Fitch is going to go out of business? Why aren't we panicked about the fate of our children? Or our children's peers? It's mind numbing to me.

People are upset about the wrong thing. 

Now, that's not to say people aren't upset about the growing size of Americans. I see things about it all the time.

"The government should DO something!" people shout in outraged articles and blog posts that pepper the Internet.

No.
No people.
Sorry for sharing my opinion if it offends you, but NO!

It's NOT the government's responsibility. I would personally love if the government stepped out of food politics. ALL food politics. The government is already elbow deep in policy that is harmful to the American Food "system". And yes, I found something accessible to back that statement. (an article in a little known publication called The Wall Street Journal).

When people lay the responsibility at The Government's feet, they remove their own accountability. Furthermore, they lose their sense of empowerment to adopt lifestyle changes that will positively affect their health. They blame school lunches instead of their McLifestyle.

I know, I know.

Mind my own business. Raise my children. Feed them as I choose too. Hell, give them cake for breakfast, let them top their own salads. It's my choice. and let people be upset about Abercrombie's business forecast as much as they want. At this point, I think it's pretty obvious though...

People are upset about the wrong thing.