Gravity

Someone pinned this the other day, and I love it.

And today, I kinda need that reminder. I'm having a bit of a war with my scale these days.

I am committed to weighing in every Monday. I used to weigh on the scale at Schaumburg LTF, but now that I've been going to Bloomingdale on Mondays, I'm using theirs. Back in the beginning of Monday weigh-in, I used the home unit, but then I thought maybe it was malfunctioning, which is why I relied on the one at the gym. But now and then, just to get an idea of where I'm at, I'll step on the one at home.

So let's look at recent history.

Last Monday, the home unit weighed me in at 212. The Bloomindale scale read 213.2. Mind you, I weigh at home in the morning, and at the gym at night, so it's somewhat logical that I would be a bit heavier at night. So I logged the 213.2 as the weight of record.

Yesterday, the home unit weighed me at 210.8. I accepted this as an awesome victory, and expected a similar - within a pound or so - result from the gym scale. Instead, I was greeted with ...

213.8.

Really? Fuck you.

I didn't freak out (much). Because here's the thing: I feel 211. I trust 211. So this morning I hopped on the home unit (again. Shut up.) and it said 211.8. I am taking that as the number of record. That might mean that next Monday blows beyond belief, but that's the number this week.

I think I'm going to buy a new scale - one that doesn't suck - and just start relying on that. There's too much possibility for fluctuation among my other choices, and I just really don't want to freak out. But for the time being, I'm just going to remember that picture up there. My weight is just a number, explaining how I fit in amongst gravitational pull. The work, and the dedication to my health, can't be measured by anything except how I feel.

And I'm feeling pretty awesome.

A friendly stampede

Last year, I spent 4th of July weekend in Lake Geneva, so I missed what was purported to be a great race - the Frontier Days Stampede Run, right in my town. So I vowed that this year, I would not miss it. And I didn't; I ran the 5K yesterday morning.

Although race day dawned sunny and warm, the 81 degrees at the start was a far cry from the previous day's 111, so it actually felt like a weird cold snap. Kristen, Linda and I walked the mile from my place to the race site, and I had a twinge of melancholy. This was my last race here as an Arlington Heights resident, and I wasn't expecting it to hit me. My town really knows how to support and celebrate its runners; it's made me proud to be a runner here. I can't wait to come back and be part of it, either as a runner or a resident, or both.

The run itself was great. I finished in 41:30, at a pace of 13:22 per mile; pretty slow, but pretty good for this girl. I'm still hungering to break the 40-minute mark, but I know one day I'll get there.

At about the halfway point, my left Achilles started to hurt. (It still hurts, which pisses me off, but I'm trying not to panic.) Liberal walk breaks became necessary, and I was starting to really feel the heat. (And seriously, people, when it's 80 degrees, a water station at Mile 2 is not sufficient.) The finish line included great food (Watermelon! Clif bars! Bananas! Bagels! Coconut water!) but no coffee, so we only stuck around long enough to objectify a fireman and scarf down a snack; then, it was off to breakfast (bacado omelet from Egg Harbor, thank you very much).

And as race morning drew to a close, I settled in to enjoy my Sunday. A few chores, a little puttering, and a nap ... ahhh, that's the ticket! I limped around a lot, and I'm gonna have to pay pretty close attention to the Achilles to make sure I haven't done anything more than strain it. Today it hurts a little, but I'm wearing heels, so stretching it out in athletic shoes will tell the true tale ... as will getting on the scale tonight after spin class. As of this morning, I had lost again this week, but that's not on the "official" scale, and you know how I feel about that. So, until tomorrow's update, I'll leave you with this photo from yesterday's race:

Me, in pink (as usual) and ready to run!

Weighing in and stuff

Got on the scale last night - the official weigh-in scale in the locker room at Bloomingdale LTF - and I lost some. Not a lot. Not as much as my home scale said. But I'm down a little more than a pound. As of last night, I'm weighing in at ...

213.2.

Yes, I know. I've been a lot less than that. I think last November I was 206 or something. The week after the half marathon, I hit 204. But that was then; this is now. I know what the horse looks like, and I'm getting back on it.

So, yeah, I'll admit to being a little upset about the uptick in the number over the past few months. But it is what it is. Now it's time to minimize the damage and get on with life.

And I'm still feelin' relatively good. I had a great workout last night - an hour of spin, and about 25 minutes in the outdoor lap pool, which was heavenly. I suppose the best part of all that is that I enjoy it so much. Who would've seen that coming a few years back, huh?

Scratch that; the best part is being able to spend time with incredible people who have encouraged me along on this journey. On my way into the gym, I ran into Donna, who was leaving after her first day as the group fitness department head at the Bloomingdale branch. It was wonderful to see her, even just for a quick conversation. And Pam, who teaches spin, is an incredible instructor and an even better friend. She knows when to push, and I always feel accomplished after I've completed (survived?) one of her classes. Plus, she joined me in the pool, so it was basically Spin & Swim night with Pam. The perfect evening workout!

And here I am, ready for another day of tracking my food and working it off, hoping to continue the (slow) downward trend of the number. I would love to see one-hundred-something by the end of summer. It's been a long time comin'. Not sure what happens when I get close, but when it's within my grasp, I seem to let go.

Not this time.

The switch

You know how it is when you first start a new diet/exercise regimen? Everything is new, and you're raring to go, and it's like someone flipped a switch inside of you that made it possible for you to follow the program to the letter.

Over time, though, you weaken. Real life intervenes and you stray from the path. It happens; we've all been there.

This time, though ... pretty much since I started this blog ... it's been different. I've been bolstered by my faith that even though I may not always be perfect ... even though I stray (sometimes for weeks on end) I know, eventually, I will flip the switch again.

This was a switch-flippin' weekend. Yes, there was good food (ribs, corn, brats, cupcakes). Yes, there were adult beverage. Yes, there were late nights. But there was also balance - balance caused by my own insistance not to obsess, but to allow my best self to run the show. So Thursday night I drove to Wisconsin. First thing Friday morning, I went for a run. I meant to go two miles, but it was so pretty (and damn those hills!)

The people of Wisco refer to us Illinoisians as "flatlanders" ... and this is why. So I found myself out running in this beautiful countryside, and my one mile out/one mile back quick run turned into two out/two back, all of which (I swear) were uphill. Both ways. I thought I was going to die. But it was worth it!

While I was up North of the border, my friends Amber and Jeremiah took the opportunity to visit Northwind Perennial Farm. This place is gorgeous ... and it offered another opportunity to take a little walk.

 Jeremiah and Amber, enjoying the surroundings.

 Goats!

Just one of the many paths we followed through the Farm.

It's such a beautiful place, with litle nooks and crannies (and donkeys and geese) just waiting for you to discover. So pretty!

All too soon my time in Wisconsin was coming to an end. But that didn't mean the workouts ended! On Saturday morning, I attempted to do "the 500". Attempted is the key word here, because it was pretty impossible, but one day I will get there! The 500, as described to me by my friend Ryan, is a pretty simple workout: 100 push-ups, 100 pull-ups (or whatever upper-body move you're capable of), 100 crunches, 100 squats and 100 burpees. I ended up doing the 300, or 60 each of those moves (with bicep curls, shoulder presses and lateral raises instead of pull-ups, because I didn't want to die). By the time I was done, my quads already hurt (dude, it's been years since I've done one burpee, let alone 60) and I knew Sunday wasn't gonna be pretty. But that's okay.

Sunday, I woke up at home, in my own bed, with a full day stretching out before me. Could easily have been a lazy day, but not for this girl. Nope, I chose instead to head out for a bike ride with Kristen through Busse Woods. It was a great day for a ride - 90 degrees and sunny, not a day for running but on the bike, you create your own breeze! Felt good to know that on a three-day weekend, I did not take a single day "off" of working out.

So I feel like the switch remains in the "on" position. If my preliminary weigh-in this morning is any indication, I've taken off a few pounds. We'll weigh in for realzies on the scale at the gym tonight. Full report tomorrow! Until then, remember to move!

Weighty matters

I weighed in this week. Came in about a pound lower than last, but I was on a scale in a different gym, so I'm not gonna own that one. Sorry; you're gonna have to wait until Tuesday so I can weigh at the proper gym Monday night for the straight poop.

Which might actually suck, because I am headed back to Lake Geneva this weekend. But I'm trying not to worry. I can make good food choices, and be sure I'm active. I'm thinking a nice swim, and a bike ride? Might be just the ticket.

So anyway, I will watch what I eat, and get some activity in, and all should be well. But here's what I have to say: I AM SERIOUSLY HUNGRY. All the time. Still.

Sigh. Please send your best wishes for my ability to be satisfied with normal amounts of food.

The heat, the butt, and a willingness to get real

I went for a run last night.

To most folks, that probably doesn't sound like an incredible feat. After all, I run somewhat regularly. (I used to run really regularly, and am determined to get back into the habit.) So what's the big deal about running last night?

Well, it's been hotter than blue blazes in Chicago over the last few weeks. Like, damn-near-100 degrees hot, and humid to boot. So, I suited up (in shorts, no less), grabbed a water bottle and headed out. Just a couple miles, but two is so much more than none.

I wasn't miserable. Well, I wasn't miserable the entire time. In fact, there were moments that felt pretty good. But still, it was a tough 30 minutes. (Okay, 27:32 ... I round up.) My legs felt heavy. My brain felt heavy. My whole damn self felt heavy, and sweaty, and hot, and cranky, and if it hadn't been for John Cougar Mellencamp singing in my ear,  may not have made it. But I did, and in the end it felt good.

Wait ... what's that? "My legs felt heavy"? Oh, yeah? Well, cookie, maybe that's because you have gained seven pounds. Seven; 7; siete; seven pounds of butter. So, yeah, you're gonna feel that.

And here I am, admitting it to the world. Since my best run so far (by "best" I mean my favorite) - the Hot Chocolate last November - I have packed on seven big ones; on Monday night I weighed in at a whopping 214.

So yeah, that shit sucks.

The trouble is, I literally feel hungry all the time. My hormones are out of whack and I just cannot convince myself that I don't need food. I don't eat first thing in the morning, because a) morning comes really early for me; b) once I start eating I can't stop; and c) I swear to sweet Jesus, I will eat three full breakfasts if I start as soon as I wake up. So let's take yesterday as an example: For any rational person, a banana and a breakfast bar, spaced out throughout the morning, should be enough to sustain for the day. So at 9:00, I ate a banana. At 10, I ate a breakfast bar. at 11, in a meeting, I started feeling shaky - like, low blood sugar shaky. NOT cool. So back at my desk, I ate a 100 calorie pack of cheez-its. I honestly felt like I needed food.

Then at noon I ate a sandwich. And more cheez-its. And two Fudge Stripe cookies. And I finished of a co-workers nachos. HOLY FUCK, I ate nachos. I am not a person who eats nachos - at least not the kind that come with 100% plastic cheese - but fo sho, I ate these. (And they were delicious.) So I spent the afternoon beating myself up.

I know, I know, knock it off. I know better. I really do understand that the negative self-talk is destructive, so you can take the lecture elsewhere. The point is, I used it for good (sort of). When I got home, I made myself go for a run.

When I came in, I ate two ears of sweet corn (with olive oil mayo and chili powder) and a turkey sandwich. Dessert was a Drumstick (which was delicious. Shut up.) Sure, there are a few better choices I could have made throughout the day, but what I'm trying to be clear about is I am constantly hungry. So this is going to be a challenge.

I talked to Tucson Mike last night, and he informed me that by sometime in October, he intends to be back in his college jeans. Okay, I thought; I should be able to do that. I want to be able to do that. It's gonna take hard work. It's gonna take making my schedule fit with the workouts (which is admittedly hard these days, but not impossible.) And it's gonna take being hungry. But if I don't get real, I'm going to be stuck. And stuck is just not where I wanna be.

Shootin' at the walls of heartache

There's something really cool about starting an annual tradition. The races that happen every year are certainly no exception, and Warrior Dash is one of my favorites. When else do you get the opportunity to run, jump, climb, slash, leap and crawl, all in the name of a good time?

That's what I thought.

On Father's Day, it was back to the battleground. Linda and I joined up with work friend Mike (whom I no longer work with, but who cares?) to take on 13 obstacles (can I remember all of them?) over three miles. It. Was. Awesome.

In my gut, I want to say that I don't know why this year was so awesome. I want to say that I can't explain why the experience this year was so much better than last. But I'd be lying, and it's my blog, dammit, so if I can't be truthful here, where can I? So ... here goes.

Some of the credit goes to the race organizers. In anticipation of some pretty insanely hot temperatures, they added water stations along the course. They also added water obstacles - wading through a poll and then climbing a wall while "rain" fell on you. It was easier to stay refreshed this year.

Some of the credit goes to precipitation, or lack thereof. The relative dry state of the ground meant that last years' treacherous terrain was simply not that bad. (Also, going off the trail to get up the particularly steep hill was definitely the right choice!)

But most of the credit, I have to admit, goes to me. I did the work that made this year's Dash so much more fun! I think the most vivid memory of last year was how much I hurt at the end. Granted, I was nursing the Achilles injury and battling massive knots in my calves. But after the race, it hurt to walk; my dogs barked with every step. Every muscle in my body cried for relief, and although I had fun, I was so glad it was over.

This year? I would have done it all again if I'd had the time. It was a fucking blast. I tried every obstacle (last year I bypassed a few) and only gave up on one. Most of them were a lot of fun! I just threw myself into the whole experience and had a fantastic time. (The corn and turkey leg afterward were just part of my motivation.)

A lot of progress in just one year. We ran a lot more of it than we did last year, and if we hadn't had to wait in line (occasionally long, slow lines) for several obstacles, we would have made great time. As it was, we shaved four minutes off last year's time, coming in at 1:16:32. I was 529 out of 582 in my age group (40-49) and 8,496 out of 8,797 overall. That's respectable, in my opinion!

After the race, we visited a little bit with Mike, Emily and their son Jax, and settled in for our turkey leg and corn. When it was all over, we were already making plans for next year.

You in?

 Our shoes and socks, a complete mess post-Dash.

  Mike and me, all smiles after finishing the race.

 Will Dash for food.

 Me, proud and satisfied. Shiny medals and bragging rights!