Tag Archives: training

A New Month; A New Stupid Idea

(This is unrelated to this post but due to the constant barking when I write, I’ve got to express my utter hatred of my neighbor’s dog. We can now continue.)

I was going to write an April Fool’s joke that I was pregnant, but I figured that would be tempting fate and I really don’t want to do that. I need fate on my side. At least until I’m 50.

It’s a new month so, obviously, I’m starting a new eating program. I’ve thought a lot about this and I realize I need to use my strengths. Of course, when it comes to eating, I have no strength. I stress eat and I have a lot of stress. So I eat a lot. Which would be great if I ate a lot of lettuce. But when you’re stressed, does lettuce really do it for you? If you’re being honest?

So I’ve decided to use the innate belief we are better than the next person. I think we all believe this deep down. For some of us, it’s deep, deep, deep down. For others, it’s under the top layer of skin. Mine fluctuates depending on the situation. Just recently I’ve decided I have better taste in house color than some people. (Mustard yellow can work, but is often an unfortunate choice. Even if you use two shades.)

You may be asking yourself: How is this going to help me stick to healthier eating? If I channel any superior feelings I may have about, say, house colors into superior feelings about eating choices, then perhaps I won’t eat as much cake because I’m better than people who eat less cake.

Crap. Writing this out makes it sound incredibly stupid. But I’m still going to try and work with it. Because it’s a new month. And I need a new eating program. And I’m running out of ideas.

I wonder if a piece of cake will help me think better.

I've even meal planned for the whole entire week.  Seriously, where are the gold stars?

I’ve even meal planned for the whole entire week. Seriously, where are the gold stars?


I recently read that I’m supposed to write with passion but I think I’m too tired.  I’m unsure I’m passionate about anything right now.  I’m too busy making sure my kids reach their accelerated reader goal and memorize their times tables and eat their vegetables.

I’m really bad at that last one.

I’m editing and writing and triathlon training starts in two weeks.  I’m unsure I feel passionate about any of those things.

I’ve been falling asleep to the original Melrose Place recently.  They seem to have a lot of passion.  I’ve noticed they move their heads a lot when they kiss.  I think this is supposed to represent passion.  I think it looks painful.  I think at some point I’d yell, “Can you just keep still for one minute?  Because if you can’t, this relationship is over.  I don’t care that you slept with my mother, two sisters and a cousin.  The relationship is over because you move your head way too much when you kiss me.”

I’ve also noticed that a lot of people who were on daytime soaps were on Melrose Place.  I watched soaps in jr. high and high school.  People on soaps had passion.  But then people stopped watching soaps and now soaps are almost all gone.  People now watch talk shows.

Talk show hosts seem to have passion.  But they have passion about EVERYTHING.  It tires me out.  How can you be passionate about EVERY topic out there?  There are some I just don’t care about.  Like the truth behind the Shamrock Shake.

Social media also makes me feel like I have to have passion about everything.  There are opinions out there about anything.  I don’t think I have that many opinions but sometimes I think I should.  I could develop passion about my lack of passion.

That sentence makes me tired.

I’ve decided I’m going to look at not feeling tons of passion about random things as a good thing.  I’ve decided it shows that I’m accepting.  A friend recently told me that I’m “curious enough to love people regardless of who they were.”

It was really kind of her to say that. I don’t know if it’s always true.

I do know it’s how I feel about the Shamrock Shake, though.

I guess I am passionate about fashion.

I guess I am passionate about fashion.

Reward and Punishment

So I’m back to trying to eat healthier. I hate the fact that when I eat too much sugar and carbs, I’m tired. I find this completely unfair. Birthday cake should be exempt from all natural laws.

But I had 3 birthday cakes. There was no moderation.

I don’t have very good willpower (which I believe I’ve proven numerous times here) so my friend and I have created a punishment for whoever cheats the most.

On March 20th (unless something comes up) we are going to go to the movie Divergent.Whoever cheats has to wear a shirt that says: “I Love Tobias”. That person also has to stand up midway into the film and declare her love for Tobias.

(For those of you who don’t know, Tobias is the name of the lead male in the film. I figure many of you deduced this but if you didn’t, I didn’t want you to think we just picked a random name out of a hat. Because that would be weird.)

So far it’s been an amazing motivator. I really don’t want to do that amid all of the preteens that will be in the theater. One of them may yell: “Solidarity, Sister!” And no one wants that.

And we plan on eating cupcakes during the movie. Probably 14 each. To make up for all of the sugar we haven’t been eating.

My New Diet Plan

Here is the update to my no sugar, no flour diet.

It ended.

I did incredibly well for 21 days.  Then I didn’t.

Eating is the weirdest thing.  I ate better and pretty much felt better.  I had some stomachaches but I figured that was due to the fact that I was eating better and my body didn’t understand.  I didn’t want to go to bed at 7pm and I had more energy.

But I missed foods.

I missed the high I get with chocolate and I missed being able to reward myself with food or eat away a bad day.

My stomach was flatter and I looked much better in a swimming suit but I guess that isn’t enough for me to stay away from bad food.

I’m trying to find a middle ground and I’m failing miserably.  I don’t seem to have any self control and it is driving me insane.

I go from being proud of my body because of everything it’s done and everything it can do to thinking this is a cop-out and an excuse to eat a Snickers.

Then I can’t decide how good I truly want to look in a bathing suit and who am I trying to look good for?  Me?  I’d prefer to be reading in sweats in bed.  (Oh, and ANOTHER update: we don’t have a fireplace yet.  Fireplace stores should have different hours.)

But when I’m in a bathing suit, I honestly do want to not embarrass myself.  I’m just not in a bathing suit that often.

Maybe that should be my next diet plan:

I have to wear a bathing suit around the house.

I bet I snack less.

I also bet I answer the door less.

But only at the beginning.  I have a feeling after a few incidences, people will stop coming around.

This is me and my daughter in bathing suits.  I think we look hot.

This is me and my daughter in bathing suits. I think we look hot.

I was Working (out) Part Time in a Five-and-Dime

For the last two years, my local YMCA has had a month-long indoor Ironman competition.  You have a month to do an Ironman, but the faster you finish, the better the prize you can choose.

Last year, I did it in 8 days.  I got a purple fleece that says YMCA on it.

My goal this year was to finish it in the second week again and get a green track jacket or fleece.  I wanted to see how many coats I could have that say YMCA on them.  (I actually have one fleece and two shirts from them.  By 2015 I should be have a full week’s worth.)

I road 112 miles in 3 days.  I swam 2 miles in 2 days.  And then I got sick.  And as I was walking 2 miles while blowing my nose and coughing, I realized I didn’t really need another fleece and that what I really needed was to lie down and take a nap.  So I did.  And the second week passed by along with my choice of an incredibly fashionable YMCA fleece.

I finished in three weeks so now I’ll just end up with a hoodie that says YMCA.  I’m unsure if I’ll wear that hoodie with pride or if I’ll be bitter when I look at it and think, “If only I’d gotten the flu shot.”  Hard to tell.

I think, instead, I’m going to turn it into a different goal.  I’m gonna see how much purple YMCA clothing I can collect and whenever I wear it, I’m gonna dedicate my workout to Prince.

I'm taking Rasberry Beret Donations

I’m taking Rasberry Beret Donations

Vegas Part 2

So besides jogging slowly, I spent my time in Vegas learning how to gamble.

I’ve never really gambled in my life.  Fifteen years ago I put a quarter in a slot machine and I got it back out.  I felt good about breaking even.  Now the slot machines don’t accept quarters.  They accept dollars and cards.  I decided I’d allow myself to blow $20.  I thought it’d last longer than 7 minutes and 14 seconds.

I was with my friend Jen (who I knew in college and was the ONLY person willing to do the half marathon with me.  Shocking.) and Cody who Jen knew and lives in Vegas now and must always live there so whenever I go there I have someone to hang out with.  But he also needs to learn to gamble better.

We found a penny slot and I thought I’d put a dollar in and play 100 times.  But I only played twice and I was down to 10 cents.  You can play more than one line at a time and I picked 6 lines.  (I have no idea what any of this means.  2 buttons were lit up and I hit one.)  And then I hit another button that was lit up.  And then I lost.  So I took my 10 cent print out and put it in another machine and lost 9 cents.  I kept the paper.  I figure it’s worth more than it’s worth.

If anyone wants to go to Vegas, I can show you how to do this

If anyone wants to go to Vegas, I can show you how to do this

We noticed a man in a motorized chair who was on oxygen and smoking playing the slots across from us.  So not only were we gambling my money away, we could’ve blown up at any moment.  It was truly exciting.

Then we tried to find a $5 black jack table.  But I guess they don’t have $5 black jack tables on Saturday nights.  (AND if you ask, people look at you funny.)  So instead we found an empty $10 table and asked Phil the dealer to teach us how to play Black Jack. Phil is from Florida and actually conducts music but the job fell through in Vegas so he went to dealer school.  We found out that casinos take in about $25 million a week.  But that just doesn’t seem right.

I think Phil felt bad we lost.  He got black jack both hands we played.

Then we left and went to Cody’s boyfriend Andrew’s show: Divas!  I can’t explain how fun that show is.  You just have to experience it.

Vegas was the perfect trip.  We partied hard on Saturday and then died slowly on Sunday.

And true to most Vegas’ stories, I gambled more than I’d promised myself.  I gave myself a $20 limit and I lost $20.99.  It’s like I lied to myself.  So I bought myself new shoes so I’d feel better.  And I did.

For some reason, when packing for Vegas, I went for middle class, stay at home mom look.  NO ONE ELSE THERE DID.

For some reason, when packing for Vegas, I went for middle class, stay at home mom look. NO ONE ELSE THERE DID. So I feel good about my choice.



I have to put Vegas into 2 parts.  Part 2 will be the fun part of Vegas.

Part 1 is the run.

I went to Vegas to run the Rock and Roll Half Marathon.  Last week I posted how scared I was because 4 weeks ago, I’d twisted my ankle; last week I pinched a nerve; and the day before I left, my lower back was killing me.  I was not happy that I’d spent 2 months training and I might have to walk the whole thing.

Luckily, my back and ankle felt great Sunday.  My friend Jen joined me and we headed to the start.

My running buddies.  I know all their names.

My running buddies. I know all their names.

There were 37,000 participants.  You were supposed to line up with your carrel which is based on your estimated running time.  Each group left every 2 minutes.  For Jen and me to get to the right place, we would’ve had to walk half a mile and then we it would be more than a half marathon.  We didn’t want to walk more than 13.1 miles.  So we stayed where we were and decided we’d wait for our group to come to us.  But then this nice woman from Chicago told us to just join her in group 16 because no one really cared, so we did.

I knew if I stopped to take a photo, I was done.

I knew if I stopped to take a photo, I was done.

We ran at night.  You run down the Strip, into a really dark neighborhood (on one street a small bus was just idling which not only created exhaust you had to run through, but also created uneasiness; and on another street I ran through cigar smoke.  I didn’t like this little neighborhood.) and then back down the Strip to end at the Mirage.

The farthest I’d run without walking was 6 miles.  The farthest I’d trained walking and running was 10 miles.  I decided to just see what would happen.  The first 10.5 miles weren’t that bad.  I really felt ok and I kept my pace the whole time.  At mile 11 I wanted to die, but I’d made it back to the strip and I told myself just to make it to the Stratosphere.  Then I made it to Circus Circus.  Then I made it to Treasure Island.  Then I made it to the second stoplight.  Then I made it to the finish line.  I couldn’t believe it!  I’d run the whole thing.

I’d booked a room at the Mirage because it said it was the finish line but it really wasn’t.  Because after you cross the line, you pick up your medal.  Then you walk through a water station.  Then they give you a metallic blanket because there was a chill and you’re dripping sweat.  Then you walk past the Gatorade.  Then the finisher pictures. Then the chocolate milk.  Then the power bars.  Then the bagels.  Then apples.  Then pretzels.  Then the beer.  Then you had to wait for the light.  Then I had to double back and pass all of this again outside the barricades to get to my hotel.  A lot of people went out later that night.  Jen and I went to bed.

We’d both just done something we never thought we’d do in our lives and really don’t completely understand why we decided to do it in the first place.  But I’ve got to say it was the best way to do a half marathon.  I needed the 37,000 people because someone was always running and someone was always walking so you felt pushed but faster than someone.  There were bands and music every mile and there were tons of water stations.  And there were the lights of the Strip.  It was a great night.

And now I can say I ran a half marathon.



My Half Marathon is Almost Here

Well, I’m leaving on a jet plane.  I’m unsure if I’ll come back again.

My half marathon is Sunday.  This week I’ve had a pinched nerve and my lower back hurt so bad my nickname became “Icy-Hot.”  (Icy- Hot patches are incredibly hard to put on your back by yourself while sitting in your car in front of CVS by the way.)  (But the CVS checker didn’t seem to be the type who’d do it for me.)

I have very simple goals in three different levels.

Level 1 = Do not get picked up by the sweeper van (this van picks up people going too slow to make the time cut off)

Level 2 = run 7 miles straight then walk and run until someone yells “You’ve crossed the finish line”

Level 3 = Win $1 million in quarters from a slot machine

I’m still thinking about the last one.  I only have a carry on and that cost me $30 with Allegiant Air.  I’m unsure I’ll be able to carry that many quarters home.  I may just buy a new pair of shoes instead.  It’s hard to know at this point.

I’m a little nervous, but I’m fairly confident I can achieve goals one and two.  My biggest problem with running is boredom.

I’m thinking of downloading a movie to my phone to listen to while I run.  Suggestions?

I Am Not Iron Man. (I know. I was surprised too.)

Last week I wrote how I went to the doctor.  I also had a health check for insurance.  I had two blood tests in one week.  It was an eventful week.

For a couple of years I’ve had issues with fatigue.  A couple times a month I’ll have days where I just don’t have any energy at all and the thought of moving a limb takes what little energy I do have so I never get to the actual moving of said limb.  I also have to sleep at least 6-8 hours or I don’t function well.  (Read that as ‘can get very, very cranky.’  Or mean.  I prefer cranky.)  To be honest, I really need 8 but rarely get that.  10 would be ok too.

It’s been very frustrating.  I see people who exercise and say how they’re energy level increases.  Or people who get up at 5am to run and I cannot understand how they do it.  I have also been known to give these people rather serious glares wishing I had that time suck machine the witch used in The Dark Crystal.

Then I got my blood test results back.  My doctor called me and told me that my iron levels “were of concern” and I needed to be on an iron supplement immediately.  The health check for insurance actually sent me my numbers.  Anything not in the “healthy zones” is printed in red.  (“This should not cause alarm, however.”)

Under Blood Count, I had 7 red numbers.    I guess blood should have 35-150 units of iron in it.  Mine came in at 17.

Which is lower than 35.

So now I have an answer for why I’ve hated all perky, energetic people for so long.  Taking iron hasn’t changed everything immediately, like I’d hoped.  I’m still tired, but not as much as often and I figure it’ll take longer than a week to get my number up.

But I no longer hate perky, energetic people.  I’m now merely annoyed.

TV Teaches All Essential Life Lessons

Here is the completely unnecessary background story:
So on Friday, my training was to run 7.1 miles.  I had the whole season of Rizzoli and Isles on DVR.  But I turned on my cable and it didn’t work.  I had to get a new cable box which meant a clean DVR.  So I decided to buy the season online, because I can think of few things worse than running 7.1 miles without destraction.  But then my Blue-ray didn’t work so I couldn’t watch it on my TV.  So I balanced my Ipad on the treadmill for 7.1 miles.  And I tried not to run too loudly.

Oh.  And background, background story: My husband thinks the microwave is broken but it works for me which makes me think it likes me more.
And before I went running I was on an ichat for 40 minutes to be told to plug my blue-ray into a different TV (which we don’t have.)  I was told this twice and then the helpful person ended the conversation.  And then I called and was told it was broken.  After 40 more minutes.  So I was in a bad mood.  And that was BEFORE I started running.

And then I watched Rizzoli and Isles and Rizzoli’s mom told her to think of 3 good things for every bad thing she thought.
And this is what I thought:

  1.  I don’t have to run 8 miles for one more week.
  2. I have chocolate in my freezer.
  3. TV shows solve most of life’s dilemmas in less than 45 minutes.

You should try this next time you have a bad thought.  It really works.  Until the microwave won’t pop a simple bag of popcorn.