Do Your Time for Fitness, Health and Humor

Carrying My Poop

2011-12-02T23:19:00.011-07:00

As we all know, I am prone to moments of genius.

Those moments, however, are counter balanced by times of questionable intelligence and a level of comedic idiocy that are unparalleled by most womankind. Recently I had such a moment.

In an effort to continue a healthy-eating lifestyle, which I recently reinstated after setting a land speed record for weight gain while taking a few weeks “off” (read eating everything in sight) at the end of triathlon racing season, I had incorporated plain baked sweet potatoes (yams) into my diet. These gems are a "super-food" really. High in fiber and vitamins and low in calories, they dominate the root vegetable category in these criteria. I am so proud of my efforts to learn to like this wonderful form of nutrition.

For ease of lunch preparation and consumption, my usual procedure is to bake the yams whole, then skin them and place one whole yam in a translucent Glad container. I place several Glad containers in the refrigerator where they can be easily accessed for speedy lunch preparation.

Today was just such a day where my preparation paid off. I grabbed a sweet potato out of the refrigerator, popped it my insulated lunch sack and off to work I went.

When I was ready for my lunch break, I grabbed my sweet potato out of my insulated bag at my desk and headed to the 2nd floor kitchen to heat it up, add some salt, come back to my desk and enjoy. Being the multi-tasking sort it dawned on me that I should make a quick pit-stop en route to the 2nd floor kitchen to take care of bathroom business.

Out of my office, down the hall I dashed into the empty bathroom facility and into a stall. I set my oh-so-nutritious lunch on the back of the toilet tank. While doing my business, the bathroom becomes a beehive of activity as the other four previously unoccupied stalls become inhabited. And of course, for the first time in my history of working for this company we suddenly have a bathroom "rush". Additional women have come in to the bathroom, only to find no stall available, and a line is now forming in the small room.

I finish up, stand to leave my stall, reach around and grab my lunch container only to stop in mid swivel as I realize what I'm about to do. I am about to emerge from a bathroom stall in front of all these women carrying a see-through plastic container holding a long cylindrical-shaped brown/orange object. .......... Now what?

If I stay in the stall and wait for the bathroom to empty I've now become the "gray-slacked black-booted (with the distinctive buckle) woman with a constipation problem." If I leave the stall I cannot rush past everyone like a wide receiver covering my quarry and rushing past the defensive line. Then I'm the "lady that doesn't wash her hands after she uses the toilet." A third choice is to leave the stall, proceed to the counter, where I will have to set my transparent container ON THE COUNTER while I wash and dry my hands and catch the horrified reflections of the other bathroom goers when they spy my parcel. I then become the “woman who”, for whatever stool-sample reason, “carries her poop.” Like that's not bad enough. What happens when one of them sees me proceed to the kitchen and pop it in the microwave?

It was time to get strategic. I waited long enough for the line to disappear. With the other stalls full, I rushed out of my stall, did a 4 second hand wash and grabbed a paper towel on the way out. As I come out of the bathroom door, thinking my break was clean I am faced with 3 people headed straight at me. Panicked I tuck my container under my arm, turn the other way and lunge at a garbage can by the elevator hurtling the container as fast as possible out of sight.

To hell with it. I'll go get a burger.

I TRI

2010-09-11T21:30:00.013-06:00

Every race offers unique experiences and my first triathlon was no exception.

To start, I participated in this event with my youngest son, Sean. A pretty big deal since it was our first triathlon AND this is the same child who ran my very first 5K race with me almost 3 years to the day earlier. This triathlon marks my continuing evolution as an everyday athlete and his discovering that there is competition after football.

I have to comment on my son's attitude about this race. He had trained for it, but had always been luke warm about the whole thing. He was especially not a fan of the road biking, but put in the training time because, well, while it didn't seem like a he-man sport worthy of his efforts, at his core, he's a competitor and wasn't showing up on race day unprepared. Little did he know.

This was a sprint distance triathlon that involved a 3.35 mile run, an 11.3 mile bike course, and a 350 yard swim. In that order. Which is the exact opposite of the traditional swim, bike, run. Frankly I loved the reverse order because you weren't trying to tug on socks and shoes while dripping wet in all your sopping cellulite and spandex glory. With this race you could cross the finish line and go don a t-shirt, baseball cap and flip-flops so you could languish in the sun and dry while you waited for final race results.

This race offered a pronounced dynamic I've never before witnessed in any race. Full age disclosure. In big black numbers down your left calf. While the age issue has always played a part in my motivation during a race to pass someone or the sense of satisfaction in doing so, I've always had to rely on outward appearance.

But this was different. We had race numbers written on our right arm and right calf. Numbers that are ignored by all with the exception of race officials. But now? Every participant suddenly had an all consuming obsession with the left calf of everyone in their vicinity. We couldn't help it. We just had to assess each and every participant by those two revealing numbers. And the race hadn't even started.

"Hmmm. 26? Really? That kid doesn't look 26. .......54? No way. She cannot be 54. She has no body fat and I can't even see a wrinkle. Plus all the musculature of her face seems to work so there's not even any botox in play here. So not fair." And your silent commentary goes on as you scan the crowd, ready your transition space, and make last minute checks on your gear.

As we gather at the start line, I'm having insight on how sharks that have just caught a whiff of fresh blood in the water must feel. Instead of calmly going inside our own pre-race mental space, cranking up our Ipods and focusing on our strategy, as is typical minutes before a race, we are like twitching wild horses, the whites of our eyes rolling into view as we are scanning the left calf of everyone in front of us.

By the time the gun went off, I don't think one person hadn't already spotted someone older ahead of them and made them a target of annihilation. All outward appearances were indicative of a friendly competition but the electric charge of a more base predatory instinct was unmistakable. We were all looking for the next prey to cut from the herd and leave in our dust. And all because of two numbers.

We were to soon learn that knowing the age of our competitors was both a blessing and a curse. While it was fabulous to pass the 36-year-old guy on my bike who had passed me earlier in the run, it was tough to never quite be able to catch that 58-year-old calf that was always looming ahead of me. Had I not been privy to the actual age of the guy I couldn't catch it wouldn't have had quite the impact to my ego. My race memories are made up of shoe and sock colors and the number written just above them.

Okay, enough about the age thing, but I just had to set the stage here.

The race was amazing. The run was a little tough because it was hotter than I prefer, but getting on that bike for only my second bike race ever was so thrilling. I still couldn't believe I was really doing a triathlon. Me. Who had only owned this bike for 5 months and couldn't swim across a pool 8 months ago.

But I have to say that running from the transition area after the bike drop off and into the pool with the roar of spectators watching the finish was surreal. As I dived into the water, (which felt incredible after the run and bike) I quickly realized that a) I was feeling strong and I in fact, was swimming in front of all these people and b) chances were good that I was not going to drown as they watched.

While I wasn't thrilled about coming out of that pool and running across the finish line in my present wet, chubby, goggled state, the fact remained that I had just finished a triathlon. And with a better finish time than I had hoped for. It was my typical mid-pack performace and I could not have been happier. (Although due to the participation of only 5 other women in my 45-49 age group I did manage to snag a 3rd place award.....and I accept swag any way I can get it.)

But nothing beats being greeted back in the transition area by Sean, my naysayer son, smirking as he admits "Okay"...."that was WAYYYYYY more fun than I though it was going to be."

Well, duh! Did I mention that Sean is not slight of build? To be clear, he has legs like tree trunks. Legs that allow him to run at a pretty good pace and maintain speeds on a bike that would make Lance Armstrong proud. (Which, by the way, got him 5th in his age group. A much tougher category than mine.) We both headed home that day grateful for a good race and someone we loved to share it with.

So if you happen to be following me in traffic one day, you'll see my new Bountiful Triathlon sticker in my back window proudly proclaiming "I TRI". It looks great above the skull of the Bairgutsman sticker.

Hey, grandmas need hobbies too.

Take care. And maybe it's your time to TRI?

Childbirth

2010-08-08T10:07:00.007-06:00

Crazy Bob's Bairgutsman. Those words have taunted my fitness fantasies since I heard about this race 3 years ago. 11.5 miles. 6 up the narrow trails of Baer Canyon's 4,900 vertical feet and over Francis Peak. Then 5.5 down dirt road into Farmington Canyon. Carry your own water, energy supplements and first aid kit because race support consists of a standby search and rescue crew and a truck at the top of the mountain's dirt road with water and Swedish Fish. Oh, and you'd better be finished in five hours or you may not get a race shirt. That's right. You have to earn this shirt. They don't give you one until you cross the finish line.

In the world of tough trail races, it's low on the scale when you start comparing it to some of the ultra distance trail events out there. But for those of us who live in the world of half marathons, and marathons over paved roads with aid stations every 3 miles, it's a pretty big deal.

Frances Peak is just a few miles east of my home. The round, white radar towers built on it a fixture of my morning run and an icon for a competitive level I would always admire but never expected to be part of.

But after three years of running, my attitude had transitioned slowly from "Impossible" to "Maybe" and finally to "Let's do this". Lucky for me my friend Angie, who provided the inspiration that started me running, said yes when I posed the idea. "Okay", she erupted quickly over the phone, "but sign us up now before I have a chance to change my mind."

"Done", I announced as I started filling out the online registration. And the challenge began.

We headed out to meet the mountain for the first time on June 20 and our relationship with it ended on Saturday, August 7 when we crossed the finish line. But it's impossible to spend time on this unforgiving terrain and not come away with lessons learned.

Be Prepared Yes, I was a Girl Scout in my youth and pride myself on always being the one who has all the right equipment, everything I need, with enough extra of everything to assist those who forgot to bring the right stuff. So imagine my shock when I felt my backside getting wet near the apex of our first training climb 4 miles up the mountain.

Pack inspection revealed that my superior Girl Scout self had neglected to securely attach the drinking hose to my Camelbak water bladder and now had no water left because it was sloshing in the bottom of my pack or had run down my shorts. Luckily we were headed down the mountain and Angie still had enough water for both of us. Extremely humbling.

Our last training run slapped us with another realization; lack of physical preparation can get you in trouble in a hurry. Especially at 9,000 feet.

We found ourselves mired in the ugly mix of high temperatures, high humidity, not enough sleep, and inadequate pre-run nutrition. And of course the worst didn't hit us until we were four miles up with another mile to the top over the steepest terrain of the route.

Down is not an option. In steep terrain it's just as exhausting as going up. But 'up' meant another mile before we got to the road and neither of us had much left to give to get there. Slow going and abandoned goal times were the worst of our consequences. Under the circumstances, it was a lucky day and one we were fortunate to experience before race day instead of on race day.

Races Make Runners Stupid There is something about race day that transforms normally intelligent, sensible people into mob-mentality idiots. Like Rednecks to a bass boat, we are drawn to the shiny finish line banner and the highly-coveted Bairgutsman t-shirt with no concern for life nor limb.

Which is exactly why we were all at the start line on race day, ready to go at 6:00 am, while we watched dark clouds boiling overhead and lightening stabbing at the very mountain we are headed towards. A mountain who's top 1.5 miles is across an open, barren landscape that makes YOU the highest point at any given moment. Yes, we were eagerly running towards the chance to be a lightening rod.

But God looks out for children and fools, and allowed us our day. As we ran toward the mountain, the storm moved on and we were spared the humiliation of being killed while people joked about weeding out the gene pool.

Races are like Childbirth On race day, when you pound up this mountain, quads screaming and lungs searing, you are propelled by one goal and one mantra. "Get to the finish and NEVER do this again." It IS what keeps you going. Well, that, and the fact that you don't want to get stuck with the bill from search and rescue when they have to helicopter you out.

So here I am, digging in my toes as I climb up endless switchbacks, bargaining, always bargaining with myself, that it's going to be okay because I will NEVER do this again. I repeat this to myself over and over again as my legs twitch with exhaustion. NEVER. Never again.

And when I finally head down the canyon, pushing just to maintain a slow jog and fighting those twitching muscles that threaten to seize at any moment, it's those words; NEVER. Never again; that bring me comfort.

And during what I hope is the last mile, I strain to see around every curve, praying for a finish line while my legs weaken with every stride. NEVER. Never again.

At last, a turn reveals a crowd directly below me and I sob in relief at the site of the word FINISH. I am almost done. And then NEVER. Never again.

Clapping my hands then raising my arms I run across the line, so thrilled with the accomplishment and so relieved to be done. I've given birth to a new version of myself and I am elated. But NEVER. Never again.

It is Tuesday night. 3 days after the race. My quads are still rock hard and sore and I hobble around my kitchen making dinner, smiling to myself. Smiling because Angie just sent me a text. "I think I'm losing my mind. Just drove past the towers and started thinking...maybe next year....." Smiling, because I drove past those same towers just two hours ago thinking, "Maybe...maybe next year."

The 'Before' Picture

2010-07-15T22:14:00.018-06:00

Wow. I can't believe I'm doing this. But sometimes, in order to appreciate how far I've come, I have to look back at where (or more accurately - what) I've been. And that would be chubby...to put it kindly. Heck, I'm still chubby. But there's a serious difference between "5'3" size 20" chubby and "I could stand to lose another 15 pounds but I can run a half marathon tomorrow and in a semi-decent time" chubby.

So here I am back in March of 2005. I haven't looked at this picture since it was taken and I'm clearly remembering why. I wasn't even sure that I could locate any 'before' pictures because I had always avoided having pictures taken. Like somehow, by not capturing my girth in full-color digital format, it wasn't real.

So why post embarrassing memories at all? You are probably thinking, "You've lost weight. Good for you. So shut up about it already." But the point is....I don't want it to be about me. I want it to be about you. It's your heart and soul, not fitness that makes you a better person. But taking care of yourself greatly improves your chances of meeting your great-grandchildren. And I really want to meet mine.

It was a picture, of my good friend Angie participating in her first half marathon, emailed to me one day by chance, that flipped on the 'exercise switch' and changed everything. I'm not prattling on, month after month about me and my workouts so that you can be informed about 'me and my workouts.' My goal is to 'flip a switch' for you. Help you get started. Or help you continue the exercise or training you are already doing. And maybe this picture will help you see that everyday people really can become everyday athletes.

Now pick your jaw up off the floor (yes, I know, I was REALLY chubby) and go run or something. :)

Egos and Old Age

2010-07-03T22:04:00.006-06:00

I am, on a regular basis, knocked down a peg or two by the Self Esteem Gods. Just when I get a little too sure of myself, WHAM...the blow is swift and mighty.

Like the time, as a young mother, I delighted in the second looks I was getting while driving to work one day. "Damn." I thought smugly. "Must be lookin' good today!" Only to discover in the office parking lot that my children had attached every brightly colored magnetic letter and number, formerly on our fridge, to the passenger side of my car. I was driving the freaking Sesame Street Mobile.

So it was a familiar wrath that greeted me the other morning, after a lightening fast bike ride that could have resulted in a speeding ticket in my neighborhood (yeah...I was flyin'). Feeling good...grandma's got game...bring on the triathlon...I practically swagger into the house (except that I can't swagger and would look like I was in serious need of Preparation H.)

Out of the shower, grab a magnifying mirror, tweezers, reach to pluck a rogue hair from my eyebrow and WHAM. There it is. Dangling. Draping around my chin. It's a neck waddle!

OMG! When did this happen? How long have I had this? I check my reflection at least once a day. My profile appears firm. My neck and chin look perfectly normal when I am in an upright position. I snap to attention and look at my face in the large wall mirror. Perfectly fine. (Well, you know...for being almost 48.)

Then I slowly lean toward the mirror and tilt my chin down, down, until there!...gravity takes over and skin that used to be firmly attached to underlying connective tissue falls forward creating this disgusting sack of loose flesh. Yep. It's a neck waddle all right.

Okay. I am here to tell you that old age does not creep up on you. That is a big, fat lie. It does not creep. It explodes. One day you are fine and the next, WHAM - can't read the directions to put together your granddaughters doll stroller. WHAM - your laundry doubles because of night sweats. WHAM - sneezing with a full bladder had better happen while you are seated...on the toilet. And the grenades just keep coming.

I keep thinking that running faster and biking farther will stop all this nonsense. But it doesn't. It doesn't even seem to be slowing things down! I thought working out was like "extra credit". It would keep my body performing and looking "A" level. And here I am at a B-!

But fear not fellow everyday athletes. I will not give up. I will pursue my wellness with enthusiasm, neck waddle and all. I'll be easy to spot. I'll be the lady running down the road, neck flapping in the breeze; 1/2 dressed because I'm so blasted hot I could die; wearing reading glasses and Depends. Ego Gods and Old Age be damned!

The Secret to Training Success.....

2010-05-31T20:00:00.003-06:00

I love to read articles on event training. Running, cycling, swimming...experts have all kinds of tips and tricks to help us "be all that we can be". But I want to propose a new level of achievement for everyday athletes that you won't find in any magazine and I myself have just recently come to fully understand and embrace. It is both effective and liberating.

Suck less.

That's right. Sometimes I feel like I could do back flips to celebrate after a workout just knowing that I suck a little less at the sport than I did the week before. My swim training is the perfect example. It is mirroring my "OMG I am so bad at this" running attempt that started 3 years ago.

I am still so slow at swimming laps that any 8-year-old can kick my butt with ease. (I know because I have witnessed an 8-year-old swim competition where they were 5 minutes faster than me in a 500 meter race.) However, the key here is that a) I did the workout, instead of heading to the Wendy's drive thru for my pre-dinner snack of a large order of fries for the drive home after work as I would have a few years ago and b) my 500 meter time is now 2 minutes faster than it was last month. 4 months ago I couldn't swim across the pool.

Yes, I still suck at swimming. But I suck less than I used to and I couldn't be happier. It really is that simple. Everyday athletes do not typically win events. We show up. We participate. We struggle to stay mid-pack in a race but we win at life. We enjoy better health, a better attitude and we are experts at laughing at ourselves. We do not squander abilities and blessings that many others will never enjoy.

It was best said when my sister Renee asked her 14-year-old daughter Michaela what she appreciated most about her own swimming ability after coaching the Special Olympics swim team this year. Renee expected her to say something like, "How fast I can swim." But instead Michaela looked at her and said, "That I can get into the pool by myself."

It is not about winning. It is not about focusing on what we can't do. It is about showing up on race day, and competing with other everyday athletes, not against them. We do what we can, and go home being better for it.

And at our next workout, we will, with grateful hearts, push harder, and we will suck less.

The "Du"el

2010-04-21T11:01:00.008-06:00

Yes....my first duathlon. And as usual, I found myself laughing out loud during competition as I thought about sharing this with you. (Don't worry....no one was within earshot so I didn't appear deranged nor did I piss off a fellow participant...always a plus in any competitive event.)

This run/bike/run event consisted of a 2 mi run/20 mi bike ride/2 mi run. Make no mistake, I loved it and will continue to do multi-sport events, if for no other reason than the plethora of subject matter when it comes to sports and fitness.

Pre-race Psych Multi-sport events use a transition area. It's where you rack your bike, stake out your 15-inch wide territory (I swear I expected a few guys to lift their legs and mark it) and set up your gear that you will need for each event. You hang out here before the race and come back to this spot between events to change gear and race on.

This was a small non-sanctioned event, meaning it was geared more for the everyday athlete, which is why I chose it. But no matter how many times you use "fun" in the title of a race you still get "Lance" who shows up with his $5,000 bike ready to annihilate the rest of us. You know Lance not only by his gear but by the constant good natured shouts of acknowledgement and supplication from other 'almost Lances' who know this guy from previous races.

So here I am, setting up my space, so glad that I attended the race orientation the previous evening for "newbie" multi-sport folks. Had I not, I would have been staring, baffled at this 10 ft long/4 ft high single horizontal bar trying to figure out how in the heck I was supposed to tether my bike to this thing. I would have expected to roll my front tire into a bike rack resembling the one I passed every morning while attending grade school. And then I'm sure I would have been trying to tie my bike to this thing like it was horse instead of simply lifting it and hanging it from the bar by its seat while the front tire rests on the ground. Humiliation avoided: bonus.

By far the coolest part of the pre-race preparations is the body marking. This is where a volunteer uses a black marker to write your race number down your arm and on your calf. While being marked, images from Life magazine's coverage of the Hawaii Ironman flash through your mind. And you secretly hope that they are using permanent ink so you can enjoy the implication of the marking far after the race is over.

As I set up I take stock of my competition. Now I know that spandex is a part of most sports, but cycling takes the cake. While skin tight spandex is not a bad thing on some people, and I recognize that no one wants to be wearing a sail going 20 miles an hour on a bike, some of us should probably have limits placed on its use. FYI: Competition cycling attire typically has a long front zipper that is important for body temperature control, and will play a role in later observations.

Take "the gut". He becomes the letter "P" when he stands sideways. Enough said. I am endeared to him immediately. Now picture a tall, lean-framed woman, sporting a brightly logo'd skin tight shorts and shirt, looking like she stepped off the front of Triathlete magazine. Not only is this not me, picture the exact opposite. But this guy, he makes me feel better about my currently bisected thighs. Head on, my legs are shaped like 8s from my cycling shorts. But I know, even though we may not look like it, we will do just fine.

Of course, there are those magazine cover look-alikes. Past running competitions have taught me that you either respect their training discipline or covet their metabolism, whichever got them looking that way. But looking like a winner doesn't make you one. What's important is that we all showed up today....and we will try.

It's my non-threatening appearance, I'm sure, that has attracted two new rack mates, Jeanette and Bonnie. They are multi-sport newbies too, much younger than I, but I'm sure drawn to my 'prepared grandmother' vibe I give off by my organized space. As I suspected, they are fun, and deeply appreciative of my well stocked backpack containing all the things they forgot and now need to borrow. I also serve as cameraman.

And we're off In hindsight, the difference between the beginning of this race and end is like night and day. In the beginning, our competitive instincts are primary. We jockey for position as we run these first two miles. Eyes narrowed, it's all about time as we check our pace and wonder if we look like we pooped our pants as we run along in our padded cycling shorts.

The bike race Finishing the run I charge into the transition area in a blind panic trying to find my bike. Note to self: next time mentally map the transition area before you start the race. I locate my bike, shaking slightly while I try to remove my baseball cap, remove my sunglasses, don my helmet, buckle my helmet, put on my sunglasses, put on my cycling gloves, lift my bike off the rack and run with it to the mount line.

Many cyclists are also changing into their special clip-on cycling shoes. For obvious reasons, I do not choose to employ this particular cycling accessory. When I considered it, I could vividly feel the horror as I came to the end of a course, officials yelling at me to dismount, my legs jerking violently trying to get my shoes to release out of the pedals while I fall helplessly over, hands still gripping the handlebars. My alternative vision has me on a training ride, falling over at a traffic light and being run over by an SUV piloted by a texting teenager and the bystanders unable to render aid because they are laughing so hard. Riding in running shoes seems to be the better option.

Woo hoo! I'm doing it! I'm in a cycling race. I've only owned my bike for 6 weeks and I have wholly embraced the "ignorance is bliss" approach to my competitive endeavors. This is apparent by my pre-race epiphany where, in the transition area while spinning my rear tire, I realized that the irritating sound I'd been hearing for the last 4 weeks was one pad of my rear brake resting on my tire rim. I plucked the handy-dandy never-previously-used tool kit out of my grandma-ready backpack, figured out which connection to tighten on my rear brake, and viola, no more brake drag. (It was here where Jeanette and Bonnie had entered the picture, obviously mislead by the appearance of competency.) Note to self: In the future, if you hear a weird noise while biking, assume something is wrong and check it out.

Here I am. Whizzing along! What an idiot! Do you know how much easier it is to pedal when your brake isn't engaged? I even pass a few people. Wow, this is great.

Now time for another multi-sport lesson. Two men pass and move to the right ahead of me. I'm pedaling along in beginner bliss still marveling at my new found speed when I see the rider ahead of me turn his head to the right, place a finger along side of his nose and blow. OMG! Windborn phlegm is now hurtling at me. I swear if it hits me I will gag and quit right here. Snot rockets are a part of the running world. But when this form of nasal passage clearance procedure is utilized on a bike, it becomes a flying bio hazard capable of taking down the fiercest competitor by its sheer grossness. I manage to avoid the flying phlegm and race on.

This course is an out and back route on a paved path, one that I had ridden before. On the return segment the riders are separated by great distances and it's on one of these isolated miles that I encounter the confidence shaking split in the trail. What? Where is the directional sign? Where is the orange cone? Where is the volunteer pointing the way. There are none. And I have no one to follow. I make my choice to stay right at the last second and pedal furiously to try to catch a competitor. When I finally round a curve and see a rider ahead of me, instead of being flooded with relief I immediately move into new levels of worry that she, too, has made a mistake and we are both now headed the wrong way. Note to self: In future races, pay attention to the course instead of just blindly following.

Finally I spot more riders ahead and my concern gives way to determination as I push for the finish line. Dismount - and proceed to attempt a run with my bike back to the transition area. Run? Is that what I'm doing? I look down at my moving feet, that I currently can't feel. Whoa! Who disconnected my legs from my torso? This is crazy. I enter the transition area, lift my bike, and perform the previous transition ritual in reverse.

Last leg of the race! Here I go! Gone is the steely-cold competitive attitude. We are tired. We are sweaty. And we are two miles away from the finish. As I enter the out and back 2 mile pathway, I am suddenly confused by my transport to something that looks like a Gay Pride parade. The men running toward me who are headed to the finish line are sporting deep V's of exposed chest, some carpeted with hair, as they've lowered the zipper of their short-sleeved cycling jerseys to their abdomen in a temperature control maneuver that coupled with the skimpy shorts, has me transfixed and confused. Then I spot my "P" man. Right behind the leaders, barreling along with them to the finish line. He lights my way.

On I go. Looking down to make sure my feet are still moving. We all shout encouragement to our fellow racers. All united by the common goal, chest hair or not. It's about finishing. It's about ALL of us finishing. I spot Jeanette and Bonnie headed out on the run as I am coming back, almost to the finish line. I can read the delighted surprise on their faces. Grandma's got game.

Crossing a finish line is always a mix of relief, joy, and sorrow. Relief that you are done. Sorrow that the experience is over. And joy that you actually pulled it off.

As I wander back to my vehicle, tired and content I think back to my first finish line. It was my driveway. And I crossed it 3 years ago after shuffling my then 202 lb frame over 2 miles. It took me 35 minutes. But me and "P" man. We just keep tryin'.

Cool Defined

2010-04-08T21:50:00.000-06:00

As some of you may remember, I'm branching out from my running endeavors to include some road cycling and swimming with the goal being a triathlon somewhere in my future. I've also added yoga because of its tremendous benefits and ability to be a lifelong activity. Since I'm broadening my fitness horizons I thought the blog should reflect that, so I've dropped the 'Real Woman Runner' portion of the title. Basically, I want to talk to everybody who wants to listen.

Venturing into new athletic territory has made me more aware of the surge in the sheer numbers of everyday athletes like me and seriously redefines some viewpoints. Specifically, what, on a personal level impresses me.

While I admire and enjoy watching professional athletes, it's the people around me that give me the most to write about. Especially the ones who don't care what I think ~ they tend to earn my respect the fastest. So at this stage of my life, here are some things I think are 'cool':

Cool is when your 14-year-old niece, a competitive swimmer, volunteers to coach the Special Olympics this year.

Cool is the mom whose two toddlers, their faces turned up to the sun, delight in their cornsilk halos while she rockets them through the morning air in a jogging stroller.

Cool is admiring the trim yellow and black spandex-clad cycling couple as they dismount in front of the bike store and realizing, as they pass by, that they cannot be a day under 70.

Cool is when your newly fitness-committed husband buys a road bike, agrees to a cycling vacation in the next 45 days, and donning a large brown fleece coat over his cycling attire heads off for his afternoon training ride looking like 'Fozzy Bear Goes To Town'. (Which brings me to my next definition...)

Cool is planning a vaction you have to train for.

Cool is realizing that during a 20 mile bike ride you have just seen more fellow riders over 40 than under.

Cool is feeling slightly bad-ass when the guy on the yoga mat next to you explains how much yoga has helped with his job - as an Army Special Forces Paratrooper. Yeah, now it's you and 'Army Special Forces Guy' attending this class.

Cool is waving to the same woman for three years, who's name you don't know, but adore anyway because she cheerily waves back and she's been out here running too.....for three years.

Cool is being a beginner - at anything - at any age.

Have a great weekend and let me know how you define cool! Click on 'Comments' below.

The Plan

2010-02-28T20:33:00.008-07:00

Last year, my now 23-yr-old daughter Megan wanted to participate in a 5k race scheduled for March. It was a St. Patrick's day themed fun run. Unfortunately, she was ill right before the race and it didn't happen. She surprised me the other day with the announcement that she wants to try to make that race this year and we should do it together. She's been working out and while she hasn't been doing much running, even with the short notice it's worth a shot. (Remember, it's always about the T-shirt.)

Today, in the middle of my morning run, she text me her 10 step plan for success. Reading through "The Plan" I giggled, not only at the "The Plan" but at the memory it stirred of our first, and only winter morning run over a year ago.

It was late January and while she preferred running indoors on a treadmill or evening runs, I talked her into going out with me the next morning. Lately, because of nightly cloud cover, even at 6:30 am it had been a relatively decent 30 degrees. My alarm goes off at 6:00 the next morning and I go roust Megan, who reluctantly gets up and starts to dress.

I go check the thermometer on the back patio. Clear sky. Lots of twinkling stars. 19 degrees. Not what I had hoped for to help recruit her to the morning run ritual. Now I'm a little panicked. I can't just come out and tell her. So I think 'comfort'. If she's comfortable, it won't matter. So I dash back to my bedroom, grab a black fleece pullover and head to her room. I knock, open the door and non-chalantly offer her the extra garment. "Here, you'll probably want this extra layer, " I say as I toss her the shirt.

"Why?" she asked, a little suspiciously.

"Oh, its just a little bit colder than yesterday," I say as casually as possible. "I just want you to be warm." And then I notice her attire. She already has twice as many clothes on as I do and frankly looks a little "bundled". Okay...she's bordering on comical, but whatever. She is not a cold weather gal and I'm lucky she's agreed to come at all. She pulls her stocking cap down over her ponytail looking like a 10 year old headed out for sledding and we are out the front door.

I was hopeful, for about the first 50 yards. We started off at a slow jog down the middle of the street. Then suddenly, I knew it was too good to be true. Her morning mental haze lifts and the reality of the frigid, pitch black morning hit her. "Mom!" she screeches in wide-eyed shock. "It's freeeeezing out here." I nervously look around as I try to determine a) if any of the neighbors can hear and b) how long it will take them to call 911.

"Shhhh!" I say, but it's too late.

"How cold IS it?" she yells. But at least we are still moving. Jogging down that street getting further and further from the house. My focus centered on keeping her from turning and bolting back to bed.

"19 degrees." I say quietly. And brace myself for the diatribe I know is about to come

"19 degrees!!!" she exclaims. "19 degrees!!! Are you kidding me! This is crazy!" We keep jogging. "I'm serious Mom," she's still yelling. "Oh my hell, it is freeeezing! What are we doing? This is insane! Mom, seriously, I can't do this. I can't feel my nose! No, I really can't feel my nose." She reaches up with gloved fingers like she's checking to see that it's still there.

Our strides echo off the neighbor's front doors as we continue down the street. "MOM!" The decible level is unchanged. "The corners of my eyes are starting to freeze! No really Mom. I've got ICE forming at the corners of my eyes! Wait, are you breathing through your nose or your mouth? Should I be breathing through my nose...doesn't that warm the air or something? Can't I like damage my lungs if I breath through my mouth? How far do we have to go? MOTHERRR!" But at least we are still moving away from the house.

At this point I bust out laughing, tell her to keep moving , she'll warm up in a minute and no, she won't damage her lungs. "This is Utah, not the Arctic. You'll be fine." I'm happy to say that after waking all the neighbors, she finally settled down and we completed a timely 2 miles.

So. "The Plan". Getting ready for that first race. I read her text:

Step 1: Calculate worse case time scenario by walking 3.1 miles.

Step2: Try to run at least half of the 3.1 miles.

Step 3: Repeat step 2 until achieved. (This may take awhile.)

Step 4: Now try to run the other half of the 3.1 miles. (This may take even longer.)

Step 5: Adopt a better attitude about Step 4.

Step 6: Buy coordinating cute green athletic attire for 'big day'. (Will also help to achieve Step 5.)

Step 7: Complete race and take pics in my cute green attire and "I survived a 5k" t-shirt while proudly showing off my 46th out of 47th place ribbon.

Step 8: Chocolate cream pie.

The apple didn't fall far.......

Running Down Memory Lane

2010-02-21T20:05:00.004-07:00

Music has the ability to transport us back in time with such instantaneous force it's like emotional whiplash. I'm surprised iTunes hasn't put up a warning label on its website. Mark my words, it will happen someday. All it's gonna take is some 40 something male runner suddenly busting an air guitar move at the start of Dire Strait's Money for Nothing (Click on the link to remember....) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2CfvVUE22E) just when he reaches a patch of ice, and bam! Instant lawsuit. It's hot coffee at McDonald's all over again.

So the other day, I rearrange my playlist quickly and set out on a run. I have songs on my iPod I downloaded almost 3 years ago so I've kind of forgotten about a lot of them. So at mile 2, when the opening bars of 38 Special's Hold on Loosely begin, a spontaneous ear splitting grin hits my face as I'm chuckling to myself and trying to fight the urge to stop and just remember for a minute.

I was 19 years old, it was 1981, and I was driving my new 1978 Trans Am from Illinois to Wyoming. My 17 year old sister, Renee, was in the car with me. We lived in Wyoming and had driven with our mom and dad back to Illinois to visit relatives. Prior to this trip I had sold my car and had expressed my desire to my dad to own the car of my dreams. If there was one thing my dad did "get" about growing up, it was the need for the perfect car. While in Illinois he helped me find one to buy.

It was so cool! Dark metallic blue with a gold eagle on the hood. No car purchase before or since has ever been so exciting. I could not believe it! I was the luckiest girl on the planet. Now my sister and I could travel in my new Trans Am all the way back to Wyoming. No parents in the car. In charge of our own music. Heaven!

Let me set the scene. For starters, I had not anticipated the need for road trip music and had therefore not brought a single cassette. I had $15 and one tape choice available, so I had to make it a good one. 38 Special was the winner. Yes I could have stretched my dollars and gone for the $2.99 bargain tapes but Charlie Pride's greatest hits was not going to cut it in my new car.

Have I yet mentioned my father's travel strategy? Well, on the way back to Illinois from Wyoming he and I had traded off and driven straight through. It's a 25 hour trip. I was 19 years old. He thought it was a great idea to attempt a repeat for the return trip home except now we had two cars and two drivers. "We'll see how you do and stop if you really have to."

Yes, I was raised in the era of parents smoking in the car with the windows rolled up, wood burning kits and chemistry sets. My dad CUT the seat belts out of cars because they got in the way. Why wouldn't it be a great idea to put your two teenage children in a sports car and tell your 19 year old to "go as long as you can and we'll stop if we have to." (Did I mention it was winter?)

Flash forward to hour 13 of this journey. It is night. It is sleeting hard and I'm squinting trying to make out the tail lights of my parents car ahead of us on the interstate. 38 Special has to be ejected periodically because the tape gets hot and starts dragging. I don't want to give in and tell my dad I'm exhausted.

My sister has a much more realistic view of our peril and has developed her own strategy to keep me from piling us into the back of a semi. As I lean over the steering wheel,repeatedly blinking to bring the wavy red glow of tail lights into focus she is force feeding me Twinkies and Pepsi. Her rapid, panicked chatter occasionally gets drowned out by the roar of wind and rain blowing in on us when she intermittently uses the power window button in the center console to douse me with cold air and scream "Wake up! Wake up!" She was sure we were going to die.

Hour 14 I finally give in and tell Dad I need some rest. I was so relieved when he said we'd stop at a hotel. I didn't even undress when we got in the room. I just crawled on the bed and lay there. Listening. So happy to get some rest. Listening. To everyone else's breathing go even. Listening. To my rapid heart beat that won't slow down. Listening. As "So hold on loosely, and don't let go-o," loops in my head for hours....and hours. Twinkies and Pepsi should have warning labels of their own.

So I grinned, and I ran and I sang along thinking about that gold eagle on the hood. (Click on the link for a listen) (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBdE52k4jY0)

The Real Payoff

2010-02-15T19:17:00.009-07:00

While I respect and admire the life-long disciplined athletes out there, and highly recommend following their lead, I believe it's us former fatties who truly appreciate fitness, whatever our level may be.

Would my life have been healthier if I hadn't spent most of it on the bench watching others on the 'wellness wagon' zoom by? Absolutely. What kind of idiot has to go through losing 60 pounds twice (because she gained it all back the first time)before she truly grasps the concept of accountability for her own health at 44?

The same kind of idiot who can now at 47 sit on a living room floor for two solid hours while assembling toddler beds for her grandchildren's room, AND get up from the floor under her own power and walk comfortably immediately after. No small accomplishment when a few years ago the endeavor would have required either an elevated work space or a crane to get my butt up from the floor after two hours. Not to mention the sore muscles and limping gait I would have acquired for the next 3 days. You see....now I "get" this, and my day was a little happier because of it.

And you thought fitness was all about lowering cholesterol and blood pressure. Oh no fitness folks. There is another whole side of your life that I'm gonna talk about today. It's what's going on in the other 23 hours of your day when you aren't exercising that is the true profit from your investment. Think about that for a minute. For 'giving up' one hour a day to exercise you 'get back' 23 completely upgraded hours. Even your sleep is positively effected through exercise.

Look at it this way fellow former fatties. Before exercise your life was like that 10 x 10 interior cabin on the cruise ship. Adequate but very limiting. No view. Smells a little funny. But still gets you through the waters of life and from port to port along with everybody else. But let's face it. You're not as comfortable, happy or enjoying the ride as much as the passengers in the upper-deck balcony suites with big windows, extra bathrooms, and all that closet space. We decide how we want to travel.

Back to my toddler bed feat..... Although I actually credit my new-found love of yoga as much as my running for a lot of my floor activity stamina, this was a very cool benefit for a grandma hell bent on getting those beds put together.

Then just a few weeks later, my granddaughter surprises me with her ability to propel her 5 year-old self along on her bike, training wheels on fire, as we head down the sidewalk. She's going so fast we immediately start planning for a run/bike outing next week where she will accompany Grandma on a little run. You should have seen her face! She knows Grandma's run are a) a big deal b) a very grown-up thing and c) the chance to ride on the strictly forbidden street. We are both looking forward to it.

How can I not marvel at this? I no longer just dream of watching grandchildren at play, I run by their side and laugh as we race.

The upgrade is worth it.

Nice Shirt

2010-01-10T19:16:00.007-07:00

I was reminded today, while driving home from the grocery store (yes, shopping for the week, just like my last blog advised) of the powerful and immediate bond a race shirt can create between complete strangers.

Driving along, I see a runner wayyyy down the street on the right. She is a blurred face black-clad figure save two bright-pink arms pumping at her side. To the majority, she is nobody in a black vest and running tights. In a split second, she is to me, a person worthy of immediate road-side assistance, my favorite smoothie recipe, and a house sitting recommendation.

I know those pink arms, or rather the shade of pink that covers them. It's from a shirt that says "2008 Moab Canyonlands Half-Marathon," and it's sister is folded in my drawer at home. It takes control to pass her without acknowledging this connection. A little honk. A wave. Something. I restrain myself from a gesture that would just confuse her. She has no idea we are both sitting at the cool kid's table.

To my daughter's non-runner embarrassment, she discovered this social anomaly for herself, after borrowing a shirt of mine and wearing it to the gym. Puffing along on the elliptical she was fielding comments of "Good job!" and "Good for you!" as people looked or even pointed at the shirt.

Not wanting to be a "poser" she would hurriedly explain "Oh, this is my mom's shirt," which erased their admiring expression as they quickly moved on.

A young women's gushed, "Oh. I loved that race!" was the final straw that cut her workout short.

I'd tried to tell her.

Last fall I was running a trail and met two men running the other way. Both wore non-descript solid color shirts. I had on a vest zipped to the neck over a 2009 Ogden Marathon shirt. Only the white sleeves with the tell-tale light blue stripe down their length were visible. As we passed, never slowing, one smiled slightly and commented, "Nice shirt."

In another setting, dressed in street clothes these words could have been leering, sexist, aggressive, or belittling. Even if they were uttered in this same level, respectful tone, the male who spoke them would have been suspect.

In this setting, in our shared moment I knew exactly what he meant. "I was there too that day. Congratulations to both of us."

Pick a race. Do your time. We'll save you a spot at the table.

To leave a comment click on the word "Comments" below or email me at traceyrumsey@gmail.com.

Find Your Focus

2010-01-03T14:33:00.003-07:00

Maybe I should call it "change your focus" because let me tell you, the past two weeks, I've been focused. But massive food consumption is not an appropriate focal point when you just signed up for a May half-marathon AND you are determined to achieve a new PR (Personal Record).

I am happy to report that despite the inner fat lady's desperate attempts to deter me, I managed to run and swim during the food fest. While it doesn't undo all the damage, it certainly made it a little easier to shove the fat lady back into the closet (man what a whiner) and hoist myself back up on the wellness wagon today.

One of my turning points happened last night and it prompted me to share some ideas to help you find your fitness focus this year.

1. Watch the movie "Spirit of the Marathon". This is what I did last night because I was delighted to find, while searching for the DVD to purchase, that I could watch it for free on Hulu.com. Don't get the wrong idea here. Just because you aren't a marathoner doesn't mean you won't find this wonderful story of 6 runners preparing for the Chicago Marathon inspiring. I watched this for the first time 4 months before I ran my first half-marathon. It was so fun to watch ordinary people and elite athletes alike train for this event.

2. Sign up for a race. Start researching to find a spring race/fun run/walk that you could sign up for. Better yet, poll friends and family members to see if you could make it a group event. I ran my first 5K with my then 19-year-old son and have had my friend Angie at my side for every half-marathon since then. My 14-yr-old niece Michaela, a swimmer, decided to start running almost two years ago. She lives 400 miles away but we've managed to race together once and are planning to do a triathlon together this summer.

3. Buy new shoes. Nothing does more for the attitude than new, comfortable shoes. What was true when you were a kid is still true now. You feel like you can run faster and farther, but proper running shoes help you do it injury free. If you don't know what brand/model works best for you be sure to go to a running store and get help choosing the right one. It's crucial to your running happiness.

4. Download some new music or audio books. Freshening up the playlist or organizing new playlists on your iPod can really help put some spring in your step. If you want to try audio books I have a few suggestions:

The Quickie by James Patterson
Lady Killer by Lisa Scottoline (unabridged version-the narrator is amazing)
The Help by Kathryn Stockett

5. Grocery shop. Specifically on Saturday or Sunday to start the week off right. Research some new healthy recipes. Make a meal plan for the week. Make healthy lunches the night before to grab on your way out the door in the morning. Stock up on string cheese, fruit, salad ingredients, lean meats, etc and if possible, keep a healthy "stash" at your office to avoid fast food. Extra Lean Cuisines kept at my office have saved the day many times. My favorite trick is to put healthy dinner leftovers in plastic containers that are ready to go for lunch the next day.

6. Write out your workout plan. Getting things down on paper can help. Better yet, if you are an electronic calendar gal, put your workouts on your calendar to make them just another appointment in your day....not something optional. Look at your schedule and really create something reasonable. If you are an evening workout person but know that Friday nights are a mental meltdown, schedule that as a rest day. If you are a beginner, you may want to commit to 3 days a week as opposed to pushing for 5 days right off the bat.

Have a great week! We are all working towards a healthy 2010 together.

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I have led the choir.....

2009-12-16T18:37:00.003-07:00

I have led the choir, robes flowing, voices raised in Christmas glory, down the streets of my neighborhood, and I was fabulous. Too bad no one else could hear it.

First of all, as a general rule, I do not like Christmas music. Oh, I'm not a complete Scrooge. I enjoy a few yuletide tunes here and there, and right AT Christmas, just not 35 straight days of fa-la-la from Thanksgiving to New Years like some people. And don't even think about busting out anything by Neil Diamond...I'd rather jab a pencil into my eye.

I prefer the sounds of gospel. So the other morning I cranked up Whitney Houston's version of 'Joy to the World' accompanied by the Georgia Mass Choir on my iPod for my morning run. (I'm talking pre-crackpipe Whitney here...God bless that misguided women.)

I defy you to go out on your morning walk/run with this joyous sound in your ears and NOT feel compelled to move faster, quicker and conduct the choir while you do it. I couldn't stand it. I had to give in. I was Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act (except I was a white woman with no glasses or habit). But whatever....I was one happy runner with more Christmas spirit than I knew what to do with.

I didn't break out the big moves until I was inside my garage. I had my head bobbing, arms waving and as I did my big spin for the finish with my arms outstretched to the heavens for the final "JOY TO THE WORLD!" my neighbor drives by just in time to catch my finale. I was too happy to be humiliated. I just smiled and waved and bounded up the stairs into the house humming......'let heaven and nature sing...'

Merry Christmas!

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The Fiction Diet

2009-12-06T19:28:00.003-07:00

I am a fiction junkie. Paperback, hard cover, books on CD, iPod downloads - I do it all. My sole purpose is entertainment. If I am educated or enlighted, it's by accident. There is no depth of purpose to my selected reading and I am content in my shallowness.

As I've told you, listening to books when I run has helped me to cover hundreds and hundreds of miles. Sometimes the desire to find out 'what happens next' is the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning. I happily take my motivation in whatever form it presents itself.

But I think, while wandering through all of this brain-candy drama, I've hit upon the secret to how some women stay so thin with absolutely no effort. I'm calling it the fiction diet.

It has to do with having your life in complete turmoil at all times and never eating. Okay, maybe NEVER is too strong of a term. The key difference is taking those few bites each day that prevent you from a stay at "Club Anorexia". Yessssss....that's it. That's clearly what I'm doing wrong.

You know what I mean. The heroine attorney who's passionately defending her 'wrongfully' accused best friend of murder, only to find out that her best friend actually committed the crime assisted by the attorney's husband who the best friend also happened to be sleeping with at the time. Oh yeah; and toward the end the attorney discovers that the best friend is also pregnant by said husband who is now going to prison as well, and they beg the heroine to raise their love child.

During the entire book our heroine is either drinking coffee, herbal tea or Diet Coke but never, ever actually consumes an entire meal. She's always described as "toying" with her food. Or "trying to remember the last time she ate as she's rubbing her eyes and feeling a migraine coming on." And just when you think, "Finally!", because she's just sat down to a burger and fries at a local diner and talks about being 'famished', she takes one delicious bite and then completely looses her appetite when her dining companion let's it slip about seeing the husband and the best friend in a hotel lobby a few months back.

Seriously people. Where have these authors witnessed this behavior so commonly that I'm seeing this same pattern over and over again? I'm reading along and doing a mental tally that over one week the main character has consumed about 800 calories and that's only if she put some sugar in that coffee. Who lives like this? And more importantly why can't I unload the inner fat lady so I could join the ranks of the super thin, albeit slightly miserable?

You and I both know that in the real world, most of us live with the inner fat lady, and the only way to calm her down is via saturated fat. Drama in our lives has us finishing that burger and fries only to swing by the DQ drive thru for the super-soothing Peanut Buster Parfait that we need to properly wallow in our misery.

So there you have it. The fiction diet could set us free from all of this exercise madness if we could just find that mental switch that needs flipped. Think of all the extra time we'd have if we weren't out pounding the pavement and/or eating? Although from what I can tell, the successful fiction dieter would always be working at their highly stressful job or thinking about the highly stressful job. It helps to keep the turmoil coming. Can't scoot those salad greens around the plate effectively without some solid tragedy behind the motion.

Hey...all those books...all those miles....I gotta think about something.

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The Holiday Plan

2009-11-29T18:53:00.004-07:00

Anytime is a great time to start walking/running, so PLEASE, PLEASE don't think that the holidays aren't a great time as well. Do not do the "New Year's Resolution" thing. Why wait?! Starting now could mean at least coming out the other side of Christmas the same size you went in. Bonus!

If you are already a fellow runner, understand that sticking with what you are doing is key. Maybe you are eating the wrong things, but burning them off before they get a chance to adhere to your thighs beats the heck out trying to remove the damage later.

Case in point: The day after Thanksgiving I headed out for an 8 miler. I'm going to give you a little tip here: two large helpings of mashed potatoes and gravy feel like cement buckets that you get to pull behind you during your run. Turkey and rolls tend to wrap themselves around your mid-section and the pie with whipped creme feels like it's dangling from each tricep. Mile 1 and I'm not feeling very svelte or sporty slogging down the street, meal in tow. However by mile 7 I was feeling a lot lighter and sooooo glad that I wasn't still lying in bed plotting the attack on the remaining leftovers.

Some of the best advice I've used comes straight out of Runner's World magazine. It's about making the most of the time you have. While I try to run 5 days a week, lets say I only have 3 days to work with. Instead of just "doing my miles" each day I have a "theme" for each day. One day is "Speed". One day is "Hills". One day is "Distance".

Speed I like to do interval running. This means that I run for about 4 minutes at a slower/recovery pace and then 4 minutes at a much faster tempo. The easiest way I found to do this was to create a playlist of alternating songs: one slow; then one fast. It's not perfect as far as exact 4 minute intervals, but I found it's effective to get me moving and kick up the pace. Nike makes special "training" mixes that you can purchase and download as well for your iPod, but I prefer my own music.

Hills Talk about making the most of your time. Climb some hills instead of running the flats. The alternating uphill work with the downhill recovery makes for a great workout and helps insure your butt will remain the same size after all the pumpkin pie.

Distance This is the fat-burner special. Obviously it will be your longest run of the week and you want to focus on making it as long as possible. The cool thing is that the speed and hill work contribute to your ability to go "long".

Each of these workouts should be followed with stretching and some good "core" exercises. Crunches, leg-lifts, etc.

If you can pull this off between now and New Years you will be that much farther ahead on your goals, not to mention that the mental health benefits may help keep you from doing bodily harm to various family members during the joyous season.

Hang in there and keep moving!

Click on the word "Comment" below to send me a message or click on the envelope to forward this blog to a friend. You can always email me at tracey@traceyrumsey.com.

The Health Has-Been

2009-11-22T19:01:00.007-07:00

I do not want to be a health has-been.

I know this because I've been one, and it sucked.

I would work my little tail off (okay, mine was big) for about 2 months or 6 months or whatever....actually once I did it for almost 2 years....and then something in my life changes, and the wheels come off my wellness wagon. My routine falls apart and the inner fat lady squeals with happiness as we go arm-in-arm towards the Krispy Kremes.

Oh...and the best part is when your 20, 40 or 60 pounds finds you again. (Mine have a homing device implanted by the fat lady. She loves it when her babies come back.) I love "the look" I'd get when I'd run into people in the grocery store who hadn't seen me since the wellness wagon pile-up. They are trying to carry on a conversation with me while searching for their cell phone that you know they will speed dial the second your back is turned. "Have you seen Tracey lately? Wow...I hardly recognized her...too bad...she was looking so good..."

Shoot me now.

I am a creature of habit, as most of us are. Creating healthy habits is good. Creating a routine is good. But it's mastering the mental road map of change that is the real challenge.

You want to stay on the wellness wagon? Well here's the secret. IT HAS A STEERING WHEEL. USE IT. Just because the road turned doesn't mean you have to go flying off it. DO NOT give up because your 5-day a week routine got cut down to three. Just make the most of the three days you can get out there and do something. Get back to your regular schedule when you can.

Sometimes change isn't a road hazard. To stay motivated, you may need a few curves to squeal the tires around. After 2 1/2 year of running, that's where I'm at. So what did I do? I decided to try yoga and swimming. Yoga is a blog of it's own. I want to tell you about the swimming today.

I signed up for beginner adult swim lessons, and to my delight, am not the only student. I was so sure that I was going to be the only pathetic soul presenting myself to some 18-year-old Speedo- clad kid with a clip board, I almost bailed. This belief just intensified the trauma of having to purchase a swimsuit. Nothing like facing a full length mirror with bulges no amount of Lycra can contain. At one point, I considered a full-body wet suit and a snorkel mask but thought the cellulite would probably go over better.

In fact, I discovered, there are lots of pathetic souls like me. (And our instructor is a nice young woman.) My class has men and women ranging in age from 28-60. It's awesome. I have found fellow flounderers. We all sputter. We all flail. But at least we can laugh together while we do it.

So my dream of swimming laps a few days a week is just a flip turn away, but I'll get there. It's keeping me on track and with the holidays here, I need all the help I can get.

Do what you can, when you can, but do your time. It's a gift that we can.

Happy Thanksgiving!

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Jolly Jogging

2009-11-14T20:08:00.007-07:00

"Over the river, and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go....!" Thanksgiving is almost here.

Yeah...things have changed a little. Don't show up in the sleigh too early because this grandma is out doing a quick 5k at the local Thanksgiving Day Fun Run before she cooks the turkey, peels the potatoes, and puts the pies in the oven. Then she needs to do a blog post, answer some emails, and dig out the Christmas decorations. On second thought, bring your own damn turkey.

Seriously, winter is a great time to run outdoors.

"What?!" you say. "But it's cold out there!"

Exactly. And that's my point. For me, it is so much easier to work hard and run hard when it's cold. (Okay, below 8 degrees gets a little extreme, but 30 degrees beats 80 any day.) When I get overheated, game over.

So this morning, running in 36 damp degrees after our first snowfall of the season, I realized we haven't talked about cold weather. How to dress. How to keep yourself safe.

This time of year, some of you will just head indoors and camp on the treadmill until March or April, and that works fine. Continuing your running/walking should ALWAYS be the focus. My inner fat lady gets really assertive around Halloween and we square off every day right through Easter. (Holiday food.....like blood to a vampire.) But I HATE treadmills, so I had to figure out a way to keep moving, but do it outdoors.

Winter poses a lot of challenges besides what to wear. You've also got to consider:

Less daylight time to run.
Risk of fall due to ice and snow.
Effects of cold air on skin.
Effects of cold air on throat and lungs.
Icy Ipods

Clothing first.

Dress in layers.
Keep cotton away from your skin.
Don't overdress.

If you look like Ralphie's little brother Randy on "A Christmas Story" and run the risk of being stranded if you fall down, you are overdressed. The best investment I've ever made was a pair of $99 CWX Insulator Stabilizing tights. They wick moisture away from your skin and are thicker than a regular running tight. Because of their unique stabilizing design and stitching they also make you look like spider-woman running down the street (which beats the heck out of my Gentle Ben days).

They also make a perfect base layer for skiing and snowmobiling. But when I run, the tights alone are enough. Tights also eliminate the risk of any kind of chafing or rub you might get with a "pant" of some kind.

On top I wear a long sleeve polyester shirt with a large fleece vest. If it's really cold I wear an Under Armor turtle neck as a base layer. I always start out with gloves, but they usually have to come off after the first mile or two. (Kinda like putting one foot on top of the covers .) It's my version of temperature regulation. Hats are great, but an ear band works best for me.

I hate wind and blowing snow, but it's pretty cool to be running during a light snow that is coming straight down. For that, a baseball cap works best. :)

Visibility Running stores sell lots of stuff for safety. Blinking beacons, reflective vests, headlamps, etc. Just always remember to run AGAINST traffic and never assume that you've been seen.

Conversely, if you do get to run during the day, protect your eyes from sun/snow glare with some good sunglasses. (These can also help complete the spider-woman look.)

Traction There are these things call Yaktrax. ($18) They are like tire chains for your running shoes. While I wouldn't want to do 10 miles in them, they can offer a safer run if snow and ice are issues.

Chap Challenge Moisture for your face and Chapstick for your lips before you go is a MUST.

Breath Easy If breathing in cold air leaves you with an irritated throat or a cough from lung irritation try breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to warm the air. Also, breathing through a scarf or neck gator can really help.

Ipods Electronics aren't cold weather fans and the Ipod is no exception. If you wear it on your arm like many people, it may stop working once it gets too cold. I stopped using an armband many months ago for reasons not temperature related. Instead I place the Ipod inside a heavy cuff of a cotton sock I cut off. I just tuck the cuff with the Ipod right into the top left side of my sports bra. The cotton cuff absorbs sweat and Ipod stays put.

During the winter, the Ipod will stay warm as well (at least this is my theory....I'll let you know.) Obviously, I don't mess with my Ipod after I start running. I don't touch it again until I've finished my workout, so this solution worked for me. If you are constantly changing your music you'll have to put the Ipod somewhere you can reach it more easily, or get better at creating your playlists so you don't have to fiddle with anything.

If you are new to winter running, give it a try. It may take awhile to figure out what works best, but it sure makes fighting the inner fat lady easier. When I hit the winter road, she sulks in the closet and dreams about mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, and that's where I prefer she stay. She doesn't like the cold either.

Click on 'Comment' below to leave me a message or on the envelope picture to forward this post to a friend. You can email me at tracey@traceyrumsey.com.

Roll with the Punches

2009-11-06T21:03:00.011-07:00

Wherever you are, I hope your fall has been as amazing as mine. This was my first season of trail running, and what an experience! The mountains pull at me, draped in the nubby, russet texture of fall. I have run, mouth gaping, looking up canyons that double their beauty every weekend. And I am thrilled at the euphoria I feel when I finish each outing.

So imagine the loud, resounding thud emitted as my ego hit the floor, kamikaze style, in my doctor's office last week. "You have high blood pressure and you need to go on medication immediately," she said, matter-of-fact. No warm up. No sugar coating. No nothing.

I stare at her as a buzzing sound fills my ears and sweat starts to trickle down my gowned torso. "Okay", I respond. Trying to stay calm as the buzzing sound gets louder. "How is this possible? I frantically wonder. "I'm doing (almost) everything right. I am not one of those fat, angry women I write about. I changed my life 2 1/2 years ago to avoid this very thing. Control. I have got to regain control. Think, Tracey, think.

I ask out loud, "So what can I do. I really hate the idea of medication, so what can I do?" I'm trying not to whine. "Can I just wait, and see if I can get it back down by myself? I can lose more weight...I've still got weight to lose. Won't that make a difference?"

"Well yes," she patiently responds, "you definitely could lose more weight...." Whoa, whoa, whoa ! Definitely? You didn't have to come out and say it like that. I'm a runner for God's sake. Where's my pep talk about how great I've done so far. Where's my pat on the back for shrinking my size 18/20 butt down to an 8 via the 1900 mile route. I come here for an annual physical - my progress report on my new active lifestyle and you are telling me I've failed because I'm not a size 4? What kind of a health care provider are you anyway?

I try to regain focus as she's explaining that high blood pressure is an "age" thing and this is very typical for women as they approach 50. I want to scream back at her "But I'm not a typical women. I'm the one who got off the couch and shuffled myself the equivalent of LA to Dallas over the last 30 months while everybody else was still in bed. I should be immune. I've earned it. "

I'm convinced I can do this. I can do this without her stupid medication. I square my shoulders and look her in the eye, "So what if I decide to NOT take the medication and just really work at losing this weight?" I've said it. This is my choice. And she can't make me take a pill.

She doesn't miss a beat as she says, "Well, with these numbers I'd have to recommend that you stop running. With these numbers, you are doing more damage than good when you run."

"Oh", is all that quietly pops out of my mouth. I can hear what's left of my ego balloon, erratically performing it's death flight, drop to the floor with it's last flatulent breath.

Then, at last, she throws me a bone. "Start the medication. Buy a blood pressure cuff. $35 at Walmart for an automatic one. And if you can get your blood pressure down you can go to 1/2 a pill. Further down and you can stop taking it all together."

It's as good as I can hope for at this point.

She leaves. I get dressed and walk down to the lab for the blood draw that is part of this super fun day. After that, the pharmacy. Hopefully they'll think the prescription is for my husband.

Then it dawns on me. What if my lab results say my cholesterol is out of whack? That would really be the icing on the cake. Two pills a day! UGHH.

Of course, I eventually surface from my wallowing to look around and recognize my situation for what it is - Not That Bad. How many women would trade me places? My ailment has a simple $5 a month fix. There are so many who aren't so lucky.

Now I sleep in a room that has the slight aire of mortality mingling with the eucalyptus and spearmint linen spray. The source, a small blood pressure machine on my side table. The sight of it seems medicinal and ugly and I resign myself to the fact that it is probably a permanent part of life now. Some day, we might even be friends, if it tells me what I want to hear.

So I've worked hard this last week, the time change helping me out of bed each morning. I love finishing a run just as the sun rises and I'm already seeing some "number" improvements.

Yesterday, I got my blood test results. All good! Great cholesterol levels! Yessss!

So this morning I celebrated the way we real women runners do ~ with a McDonald's Egg McMuffin on my way to work. The inner fat lady was so happy. So was I.

Please click on "Comments" below to leave your thoughts or helpful information for others. Click on the little envelope below to email this post to a friend.

Travel Tips: Part 3

2009-10-22T19:06:00.008-06:00

The last leg of my trip.

Headed to St. George, Utah to see "Footloose" at Tuacahn. What's Tuacahn? It's one of the two things you MUST do if you ever go to St. George:

Attend a play at Tuacahn AND

Run in Snow Canyon State Park

These two are right next to each other. Tuacahn is located at the mouth of Snow Canyon and is an outdoor theatre located in a breathtaking red rock setting. The facility itself is as lovely as its surroundings.

So, we attend the play, which was wonderful and the next morning I drive into Snow Canyon, park at one of many trail heads and take off. I am immediately surprised that the trail I'm on is paved. I knew that the blacktop trail that starts in the city and brings you out through Snow Canyon existed, I just didn't realize the whole thing was paved. I soon discover that there are also side trails that are not paved and they take you to the coolest places.

What a beautiful run! As I wind along the path, sharing 'good morning' greetings with other runners/hikers I feel overwhelmed with the beauty and the physical act of my body carrying me through this place. Mile after mile passes quickly because there's so much to see.

I reluctantly head back to the truck, but enjoy the view of the return trip just as much. All the time thinking, "Wow. I really did it." Over a 6 day period I managed to run 3 times, once in each destination. This was a first.

I'll admit I didn't eat right, and the inner fat lady was especially happy when a Snickers came her way, but I still did it. I packed my running shoes and I used them. And the new dimension running brought to my travel experience was incredible. Mentally, I was superwoman. Physically, I slept better and I didn't get that 'crappy travel food and slug' syndrome that leaves me exhausted and just wanting to get home. What a difference!

So that's my travel tip:

Pack your shoes.
Pack your running clothes.
Research special places to run or just head out the door and go - but GO.
Don't stress about distance or intensity - just GO.

You will feel better. You will look better and you will be more fun because you do.

As I drive out of Snow Canyon I pass a fellow athlete headed in for his workout. His muscled arms are shiny with sweat and he has that high-level competitive look. He is a joy to watch.

And it's then that the shame hits me in waves. The shame of all the sedentary years, the shame of not appreciating my body, the shame of all the excuses.

You see, this fellow athlete was poling his way into the park - in his wheelchair. Excuses weren't part of his life. Making the most of his abilities was his focus.

I decided to do the same.

Comment below or let me know how you are doing at tracey@traceyrumsey.com.

Travel Tips: Part 2

2009-10-18T15:09:00.010-06:00

And my trip continues on.

So I'm leaving Scottsdale and headed to Page, Arizona where I will meet up with my husband, his sister and her friends. I will be going from airport to marina on Lake Powell where we will get on a houseboat and head out on the lake.

For those of you who aren't familiar with Lake Powell, it is a scenic fantasy as you can see by the picture. What you can't tell by the picture is that there are beaches all along this huge lake where you can anchor the houseboat, play on the beach, and explore the country. But I get ahead of myself.....

While my focus when I talk to you is always about your health and not confusing health with dress size, I will never tell you that size doesn't matter. I'm afraid it does. And I was struck by that reality as I boarded the plane leaving Phoenix headed to Page.

There is only one airline that offers service to Page, and they fly one type of aircraft. A Beachcraft 1900, 19 passenger plane. Most of the seats on this plane are in a single row down the right and left sides of the aircraft with a "bench" of 3 seats in the rear.

I haven't flown in one of these aircraft for several years and had forgotten just how much size matters - as in the size of your butt. The seats in this plane were built for nothing wider than a size 16. As I walked down the aisle, vivid flashbacks of 60 pounds ago slapped me as I remembered wedging my size 18/20 rear into one of those seats.

In those days, wedging is the most appropriate description of how I angled one hip down, while lifting the other and simultaneously falling backward into the seat and crossing my legs. Then, oh my God, I had to figure out how to fully extend the seat belt, somehow shove the tab down between the side of the seat and my belly bulge, and slide the metal tab into the buckle. I was a sweating mess by the time I completed the process.

For the duration of the flight, all circulation would cease for the leg attached to the hip that held all my body weight. Deplaning meant untangling my legs, struggling to my feet, only to find one of them tingling and useless. It was hard to make a graceful exit from the plane when your foot keeps folding under and you're walking on your ankle bone.

If I had let myself get any bigger, my reality would have been to pay for two seats on the back "bench" of the plane and request a seat belt extension. Today, I am aghast at how close I came to turning the corner, and settling for that life.

Well, here I am, fitting comfortably in my little seat with no sweat rings forming under my arms and no sucking sounds from my gut sliding across the vinyl armrest. I love my life.

Plane lands. I deplane gracefully for a change and out on Lake Powell we go.

When we "beach" for the evening I see a beautiful high rock plateau behind us and decide to make that my running destination the next day.

The next morning I head out moving as fast as I can. My landscape alternates between smooth long waves of rock and sage dotted earth. As I move closer to my mammoth goal line the reality of what I'm doing makes me giddy. This is the part of running no one can fully convey to someone who's never been overweight. Who's never battled to regain control of their life. The joy in these moments is amazing.

Just then, in the complete silence I hear a sound I never knew existed. I have climbed so high that a hawk flying out towards the lake is below me, and I hear each long, slow beat of it's wings. The sound is so loud, and the quiet so deep, that each whoosh echos off the rock wall at my back. And I smile, as I wonder what words I will use to tell you about it.

Coming Soon - Travel Tips: Part 3

Please feel free to comment below or email me at tracey@traceyrumsey.com .

Travel Tips - Part 1

2009-10-08T20:37:00.010-06:00

I think I told you...I don't travel much. So I was delighted when I found myself faced with a 6 day trip. A business/pleasure mix that would start in Scottsdale, Arizona, move on to a houseboat in Lake Powell and end up in St. George, Utah.

This was my first major test as a runner. Why a test? Because 60 pounds ago, travel usually meant following my nose to the closest Cinn-a-bon in the airport. It meant that when I walked into my hotel room, I immediately started looking over the room service menu and located the "Restaurant" section of the 3-ring binder directory on the nightstand. It meant that all ice/vending locations would be plotted with GPS coordinates and rated in order of convenient proximity to my room and cuisine selection.

This time it was going to be different. I had packed running clothes, Ipod, etc and was going to experience each destination as a runner. While I have had one other experience with this concept, and it went well, this was my first "multi-destination" attempt. The inner fat lady was not happy.

Scottsdale was my first stop.

Morning 1: Up at 6:30 am to run. It takes me awhile to get ready but I've still got time for 3 miles, room service breakfast and a quick shower if I hurry. I'm a little disappointed because one of the advantages to running in new places is that it's much easier to do longer runs. You are so distracted by your new surroundings that miles just fly by. I vow to do better in the future.

To save precious time, I call and order room service to be delivered at 7:15 before I walk out the door at 6:40.

My hotel was located on a man-made lake with palm trees and graceful water fowl. I could run along only one side of the lake as the golf course on the other side wasn't 'general population' friendly. But still, it was going to be great!

I head out the front door and turn right down the street. Yes, I'm in the city, but the Camelback mountains still make for a nice view. My plan is to loop around to the clubhouse and then come back via the "allowed" side of the lake. It is a little warm, but a lovely morning.

I make my way to the clubhouse and then across the parking lot to pick my way down to the lake. The morning sun gives the birds a back-lit blackness. I watch the long graceful neck of a heron and the inky shapes of ducks gliding along the mirror surface as I jog along. I feel like someone in a fitness commercial. Goodbye Lane Bryant. Hello Nike. I rock.

As I pass the many buildings that border the lake, I don't notice anything that looks like my hotel. I go a little ways further and head towards a path that winds back up through to the street. Once I get to the street I turn left, to complete my loop.

I jog along, so self-satisfied and distracted, and vaguely watch for my hotel entrance. As I continue ,I start to notice signs and buildings that I've never seen before. That can't be right. I'm sure my hotel is along here. How did I miss it?

When I finally realize I must have gone too far, I start to panic. I'm behind schedule and this isn't helping! I turn around and head back the way I came. This time eagerly looking for that large sign that is not appearing. I speed up. Room service will be knocking soon. I have a meeting at 8:00. How did I let this happen?

I run for what seems like forever. Suddenly, I whimper with relief as I spot my hotel. I check the time. 7:12. My confidence is immediately restored as I run up the drive (of course at a little faster pace, in case anyone is looking) and bound into the lobby. Two desk clerks look up.

With my audience watching I go for the strong finish. What the heck? I am a hard-core athlete. I'm not seeing anyone else in this lobby who's just finished 3 1/2 miles by 7:15 am. I don't break stride (nor take off my sunglasses) as I rush past them and hit the open staircase, visible from the lobby, at full speed. Nike would be proud as I headed up the multiple turning flights to get to my third floor room.

It was the middle of the second floor when my sunglasses started fogging. As I reached to pull them off my face - you guessed it - BAM - I trip, arms flailing, grunting as my knees hit the stairs. The sound reverberates through the lobby like a gong. No mistaking that one. If the clerks are drinking anything right now, it is shooting out their nostrils as they watch me go down.

So. A few important travel tips here fellow runners:

Pay attention to landmarks.
WALK through the lobby.
Take off your sunglasses when you get INTO the lobby.
And finally, use the elevator to get back to your room.

Show-offs are prime targets for crappy karma and its blow is harsh and swift. My bleeding knees were proof positive.

I tried to avoid the front desk for the next two days and gritting my teeth, didn't limp once. I'm hoping they'll never know.

Soon to come.....Part 2.

Any embarrassing running moments to share? I'd love to hear about it!

Uphill. Both ways.

2009-09-13T09:20:00.011-06:00

I kid you not. I now know that this phenomenon is possible.

My first trail race. (Different from my previous races as they were all 'road' races on paved surfaces.) A 10K. 6.2 miles. A fairly easy distance, unless you are on the course from hell.

So I arrive Saturday morning knowing that this is a very new, very small community race. No big deal. 'Probably more fun because of it' I'm thinking. Little did I know........

Every race I've ever participated in has always had the full spectrum of participants, and lots of them. Every size and body shape imaginable. Fitness levels run the gamut.

There are the Kenyan wannabes in their barely-there shorts and tank tops alongside the fun-run walkers who've stashed cookies and candy bars in their fanny packs for the journey. (I especially love these folks! They insure that even my plodding pace will put me somewhere ahead of them in the final rankings. God bless them every one.)

As I'm pinning on my bib number, I watch my fellow runners wander in from the parking lot and head to the registration table. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30. I watch and the panic starts to flutter in my stomach.

This was not my usual crowd. This crowd was a) predominately male and b) lacking variation. These were all lean, bandanna-wearing vegans studying the course map as they programmed pace times into their $350 GPS wrist units. I, on the other hand, had come armed with my $30 Nike Sport Kit, an Ipod and Michael Jackson's greatest hits. I was in trouble.

Understand this. In any situation, survival instincts will kick in once we feel threatened. We can be lost in the Canadian back country or jockeying for position at Toys-R-Us on the morning after Thanksgiving at 5:00 am. We all have them and they will take over.

The adrenaline hit my brain and I scanned the crowd with the eyes of a predator. I was searching. Looking for the sick, the weak, and the smokers. The morbidly obese. The fanny pack wearers. An old guy with a walker. Somebody. Anybody, that could be cut from the herd and conquered. Anything to avoid last place, which at this moment, I appeared to have all wrapped up.

As we move to the start line, I'm frantically beating down the inner fat lady who's screaming, "No! No! Go back to the car. We could be within reach of a donut in 10 minutes. Save yourself the embarrassment!" But no. I stood my ground. I lined up next to the bad-ass brigade and swallowed hard. We're off, and, Oh my God, headed uphill.

Who starts a race uphill? What sadistic moron is making me pull a steep uphill grade in the first mile. This is supposed to be my warm up time. My breathing sounds like a freight train. I'm sure anyone within earshot is expecting me to drop of cardiac arrest within the next few hundred feet. It's got to get better.

It doesn't We continue to work our way up and around to the halfway point. There are a few spots where it levels out and I get to actually run for a hundred feet before I have to start climbing up another hill. I have two things pushing me on. 1)The belief that at the halfway point, we will, or course be headed down hill and 2) the sheer terror that I will be passed by everyone and finish so late that the race volunteers will be giving me dirty looks as they whisper into their cell phones to explain why they'll be late for the family barbecue.

Have I explained that this race is taking place on the side of a mountain? The park where the race starts is at the base of this mountain. We have labored our way up and over 3 miles of dirt/gravel/sand trails. Fairly wide up to this point. I gratefully reach out at the water station, grab the water offered, slug it down and mentally breath a sign of relief. Half way point. I made it! It's got to get better.

It doesn't. I am then pointed UP a narrow game trail barely fit for a mountain goat, where the last half of the race continues. Up? Are you kidding me?

My inner fat lady is now laying on the floor, chubby appendages flailing. "No more!" she wails. "Stooooop! I want to go home! I want my donut! You promised me a donut!" She's right. This is insane.

Then I catch a glimpse up the trail above me of ....I can't believe it....a man. This immediately bolsters my resolve. I'm not only still ahead of a few women I am within striking distance of a male runner. Call it stupid....I mean no disrespect to the girls in the race, but we exclusively make up the last of this pack. All the men looked pretty hard core at the starting line so, hey, maybe we weren't doing so bad after all.

I dig into the hills with all my might. Cresting each only to find another waiting. (I am so grateful at this moment for the hill training that I've done recently, although it hadn't prepared me for this Andes-type trek. Where was a Sherpa when you needed one?)

On the 3rd hill of the series as I start my ascent, I can see that this young lad (okay 26 or so?) is almost to the top of the hill. Great...at least I can still see him. He hasn't lost me yet. And then it happens. He reaches the top of the hill, turns, bends over and hurls. I can't help it. I practically whoop with delight. A puker! A new classification of potentially weaker species I hadn't considered before.

While the truth probably is that this kid wasn't even a runner, had stayed up the night before playing beer pong, and lost a bet that forced him to be here this morning, the fact still remains that he was puking and I, grandmother of 3, wasn't. To his credit, he was able to continue on by the time I got to the top of the hill. Points to the puker.

I continue on, in complete horror, as I discover that we are continuing back towards the park but ascending as we do so. Again, are you kidding me! We are still moving in an upward direction! How is this possible?

Because after you climb, and you climb, and you climb some more, with a few downhill reprieves in there, the park and the finish line come into sight. Directly below you. Way down below you.

The course then turns me sharply to the left and I am pounding down a steep set of switchbacks trying to make time without loosing control and ending up spread eagle in the middle of the trail. My quads ache, my knees threaten to blow apart at any minute and I just want to be done.

About this time the inner fat lady spots the car and comes alive. "Run! Run!" She's screeching as she jumps up and down, chins wobbling. She can practically taste the donut now.

We both feel like weeping as I cross the finish line. A little behind the puker but still ahead of several others. I stagger towards the pavilion searching for a bottle of water or better yet, an IV of Diet Pepsi.

An hour later, with a chocolate covered cinnamon roll in my hand, I chuckle as I think about telling you this story. And then it hits me. 3 years ago this story wasn't possible. 3 years ago I couldn't have made it up the first hill, let alone 6.2 miles of them. The extent of my blessings is staggering.

So do your time and count your blessings and never take the gift of health for granted. And soon, you'll be the one with new stories to tell.

What is a Nike Sport Kit and why do I need one?

2009-09-09T20:30:00.005-06:00

In my first post about getting started I mention a Nike Sport Kit. So here's some more detail on what it is and why you'd want one. (And please heed the Ipod warning at the end of the post to avoid ridicule and embarrassment.)

A Nike Sport Kit is the perfect answer for the newbie runner. It's inexpensive ($3o) but it is great for tracking your runs. You can get them at Target or at the Nike.com store online. The kit consists of a small white chip that plugs into the bottom of your Ipod Nano (Sport Kits only work with Nanos), and a small oval sensor that gets attached to your shoe one of several ways.

If you happen to wear the special Nike shoe that has hole built into it's sole for the sensor it will go there. Most of use other methods. You can buy armbands for your Ipod that come with a velcro pouch that hooks into your shoe laces or you can get a handy little device called a lacelid (http://www.lacelid.com/). It's a little oval piece of plastic that has holes that you run your shoe laces through to keep it in place across the top of your shoe. The sensor just snaps into it. It costs about $8.

So, you want to go on a 3 mile run. You can set your Ipod for 3 miles, start your workout and it will tell you as you complete each mile and when you've reached the halfway point. It will track your time, pace per mile and calories burned while you are enjoying your music or audio book.

Let's say you only have 30 minutes for your run. You also have the option of setting your workout for time. You dial in 30 minutes and it will tell you when you've completed each 5 minute increment. At 15 minutes you know it's time to turn around and head for home.

You will want to calibrate your Sport Kit when you get it. To do that, you will mark out a 1 mile distance or go to the local track. Set the Ipod on calibrate and run the mile. This allows the sensor to learn your gait. It basically is counting the number of footfalls during the distance to adjust to your stride length. While a Sport Kit isn't as accurate as fancy GPS/watch type systems, I have found it to be pretty darn close.

When you sync your Ipod on your computer, the workout data is downloaded to NikePlus.com. The first time you sync with the new Sport Kit you will create a NikePlus.com account. From then on, your data will be downloaded and saved and you can go in and look at your running history and stats. It's so fun to see yourself getting faster and going farther over time. The motivation is amazing when you have something tracking your progress.

Okay, now the warning. If you are new to the world of Ipod, you need to be aware of the potential impact this little square of electronics will have on you. As you are searching through Itunes looking for songs to download you will inevitably head down memory lane.

While I want you to enjoy memory lane, for your own safety and to avoid making a spectacle of yourself, do not run down it during your workouts! Your could be transported back to that disco floor right at the same moment you pass by your neighbors house (you know, the skinny cougar with the capped teeth who got the metabolism you should have had) and bust out a move right there! And trust me....after 30 years the move doesn't look as good minus the purple satin plus 50 pounds.

So please, use your Ipod responsibly and reserve move-busting to the privacy of your own home.

So let me know how you are doing - what you are doing! I'd love to hear from you.

Have a good run!

10/12/09 Forgive me for my lack of techno knowledge, but since I did this post I became aware that the Nike Sport Kit will work with the iPhone as well. Very nice for those of us who carry our cell phone for safety reasons. May be an iPhone user soon.

"I can't run. People will laugh at me....."

2009-09-03T22:27:00.007-06:00

You're right. There is somebody out there who will laugh at you. But since Lester only leaves the trailer occasionally to make a beer run, you shouldn't have to deal with it much.

Seriously, I was thinking about this last night as I drove home from work. As I neared my neighborhood I found myself following 3 guys on bicycles. Not one of them was under 280 lbs. The respect and admiration that welled up as I watched them was immediate. I wanted to roll down my window and yell "You go!!" as I drove by. But I thought they might consider it un-cool or worse, misunderstand and think I was yelling something derogatory, chase me down and kick the crap out of me, so I just drove around them trying to mentally telegraph my encouragement as I went by.

99.9% of the folks you will be sharing the road/trail/gym with will be supportive. Many will be envious as they drive by and wish they had the ambition to get out there like you. And a few will be inspired. NEVER underestimate your potential influence on others. I guarantee you my friend Angie never dreamed she'd be the catalyst for this crazy running grandma when she emailed me a race picture of herself 2 1/2 years ago.

You will be entering the world of personal health accountability. It's a great club and it's easy to join. It's a group many cannot, through no fault of their own, participate in, so those of us who can should appreciate the membership.

I recently had the jaw dropping experience of coming across a blog by a woman who was advocating "women of size". As I read, I realized this was not a "love yourself whatever your shape" type message. She was obviously a fat, angry woman who not only felt she had the right to drive through McDonald's 5 times a day, but wanted society to accommodate her and provide her with a health care system that would keep her heart from exploding while she did it. I don't like her. Nobody likes her. And just so you know, it's pretty much just her and Lester that you have to worry about. Does it seem worth it to care what they think?

So get out there! Whatever you look like! Lots of us have bat wings that wave at everybody while we are lifting that dumbbell over our head in weight class. At least we show up. At least we are trying. Come join us!