tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54310524686089844302024-03-05T21:39:22.437-07:00Tortoise RunningThese are the tales of a runner who began a slow and steady course back in 2008 and never stopped.Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-65315070674625282812012-01-17T12:26:00.002-07:002012-01-17T12:34:36.123-07:00Life Is Good: A Snowy Colorado Run<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today is one of those postcard Colorado days. A skiff of snow last night was just enough to dust all of the bare trees with a sparkle and cap the nearby peaks with stunning white. These sights, along with the typical Colorado sunshine drew me from my snug, warm couch and steaming cup of coffee into the 9 degrees that awaited me outdoors. Yeah, you read that right. Nine degrees. Not twenty-nine, not nineteen... Nine degrees. <br />
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Let me tell you, I am a big baby when it comes to cold. Don't believe me, ask my husband, to whom I said "Eff it, lets go home" on Sunday when I awoke and our vacation cottage was 61 degrees. "Seriously?" he said. This was an adult-only getaway I'd been planning for months. Yeah, I'm a big baby. With the right gear, though, running outdoors in the winter is far superior to the alternative: the dreaded treadmill. (More info on how I gear up for winter running in the next post.) <br />
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I'm always amazed how many sights I see on my runs that I totally missed out on in my pre-running days when nine degree weather meant hibernating indoors. Here are some of the things I would have missed out on this morning, had I stayed home:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKrlpaGYSskCu4-w4GKx9nAQL_wAXhNzTCsZ2aTugdX-cZPVG27BzI35Gz_mgNKzQD5koTpBWDmdipZl8GP5xweBtMBmj3ODuwH0FlRksGpoIro1Mc8uAXMK3slxWcHboPemK1pnoyObA/s1600/birds1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKrlpaGYSskCu4-w4GKx9nAQL_wAXhNzTCsZ2aTugdX-cZPVG27BzI35Gz_mgNKzQD5koTpBWDmdipZl8GP5xweBtMBmj3ODuwH0FlRksGpoIro1Mc8uAXMK3slxWcHboPemK1pnoyObA/s400/birds1.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A few birds that chose not to fly South for the winter. Not sure what kind... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ya know, with all this running I do, I really should become a better birdwatcher.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWv82w-PqaxWC5co4DMMZ6-v-DAZOMNpTIikBIuLnnK-YlnL8tIAOn0S9FI9PYEZsnFIsneqmhLgXcc94z_z7av6KwoNIlhd9MS1ed5G4OBkFjRaMAKH9XIJWRr0SL_43KrJGRCDwdzQ/s1600/bunny+tracks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKWv82w-PqaxWC5co4DMMZ6-v-DAZOMNpTIikBIuLnnK-YlnL8tIAOn0S9FI9PYEZsnFIsneqmhLgXcc94z_z7av6KwoNIlhd9MS1ed5G4OBkFjRaMAKH9XIJWRr0SL_43KrJGRCDwdzQ/s400/bunny+tracks.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Bunny tracks!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsVeLOAov5QQ3_dLJj3B5uVX2I107n6FoKJ1UbyDpMFSE-59PsTB-y-2PPDjctcoGqy-k9wGaGAyf-h_wtGWngCBB95CtWVG_ommY9WpMb_syhiMt4QpmFd_TON0YVhARBeWCKD1kh_w/s1600/longspeak3_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsVeLOAov5QQ3_dLJj3B5uVX2I107n6FoKJ1UbyDpMFSE-59PsTB-y-2PPDjctcoGqy-k9wGaGAyf-h_wtGWngCBB95CtWVG_ommY9WpMb_syhiMt4QpmFd_TON0YVhARBeWCKD1kh_w/s400/longspeak3_cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Longs Peak</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Sg7umdggw27HxCrQixy_oz-cKQ4jY9KoXqiDEk7-NYF3RbMfDu_ll44Zd6HzyTGeijnWY_VAD2B1lIcgSRDhzFEYuxqlJog4nJJn8xUbffaW6c5yurVe_wCk9FiIL0N7Nm3zT_nu_Pk/s1600/longspeak2_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Sg7umdggw27HxCrQixy_oz-cKQ4jY9KoXqiDEk7-NYF3RbMfDu_ll44Zd6HzyTGeijnWY_VAD2B1lIcgSRDhzFEYuxqlJog4nJJn8xUbffaW6c5yurVe_wCk9FiIL0N7Nm3zT_nu_Pk/s400/longspeak2_cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Another shot of Longs Peak with Boedecker Lake in the foreground.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSao_LIY4Vy3fsPsAdAsd2zluGBW30_lcy7GDlnlkmcGWTNDOkfZe2Msexstb5wLqHZulG0mfaNMF9mTpk5rzgOH-xsISxuOaFfdbqscXQJ6R6BeAKBTxLM51oBq62PxI5apjbkW-seeo/s1600/boedecker1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSao_LIY4Vy3fsPsAdAsd2zluGBW30_lcy7GDlnlkmcGWTNDOkfZe2Msexstb5wLqHZulG0mfaNMF9mTpk5rzgOH-xsISxuOaFfdbqscXQJ6R6BeAKBTxLM51oBq62PxI5apjbkW-seeo/s400/boedecker1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Boedecker Lake</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIWwMT2mKrfV2cTV6m_XhLsh4AqzZjXWp5DE8t4MWv72R0CIYsZnhQ3dkabPGngTWtwoIR09he-3YjUQKXYcWwb3tes-MAmYfQq77cjogdVQNAOKXKFVR05A76NnSQyeBid520Mj5d_HY/s1600/devilsbackbone2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIWwMT2mKrfV2cTV6m_XhLsh4AqzZjXWp5DE8t4MWv72R0CIYsZnhQ3dkabPGngTWtwoIR09he-3YjUQKXYcWwb3tes-MAmYfQq77cjogdVQNAOKXKFVR05A76NnSQyeBid520Mj5d_HY/s400/devilsbackbone2.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Country road up toward a stunning rock formation we locals call The Devil's Backbone.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I don't nornally run up this road, but it looked so pretty this morning, I couldn't resist.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyzCY_-xdLPrliDXm5t8A1Z30FaMPhIozaPJXYTdpn_M9c1r7nsD6hGw-4JQh2Hb1g2G0hP5v9FxeGvBkJAWlp4YY-LIl6oqCm8BWfWAG9dMTVuekcr8a8XZd6FRcWTEftQwsW-N5jMs/s1600/devilsbackbone_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMyzCY_-xdLPrliDXm5t8A1Z30FaMPhIozaPJXYTdpn_M9c1r7nsD6hGw-4JQh2Hb1g2G0hP5v9FxeGvBkJAWlp4YY-LIl6oqCm8BWfWAG9dMTVuekcr8a8XZd6FRcWTEftQwsW-N5jMs/s400/devilsbackbone_cropped.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Devil's Backbone</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, life is good. </span></td></tr>
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</div>Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-63573133752015280122012-01-12T15:09:00.001-07:002012-01-13T09:49:09.122-07:00Celebrate 2011!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I think it's time we took a moment to celebrate 2011. Let's revel in what we accomplished and the ways in which 2011 was the best year ever! What, 2011 sucked, you say? Oh, and it's over, anyway, you say? Everyone else has already made and broken their New Year's resolutions? Ok, fine, I admit, I thought about posting this a week or two ago, and never got around to writing up the post. :p (raspberries). And, yeah, it wasn't absolute tops, as years go, but in looking back, it really had its moments. <br />
For me, it all started when my beloved employer of the last 6 years decided to can my department and outsource the function to a consulting firm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlnKgb2sGyXP-ncD694dgCcRjC1h4SWcdvCtvauYLnLKEP8gP08XleqDX-XcUg7xFxewtBGqWIj4QZULMJXZa-LF1kPO5CUr2IMP9g82iRTEeENb8LrW9-ODNaKrFyN5s7o28ihErEgg/s1600/lost+job.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="301" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwlnKgb2sGyXP-ncD694dgCcRjC1h4SWcdvCtvauYLnLKEP8gP08XleqDX-XcUg7xFxewtBGqWIj4QZULMJXZa-LF1kPO5CUr2IMP9g82iRTEeENb8LrW9-ODNaKrFyN5s7o28ihErEgg/s320/lost+job.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You mean they don't simply adore me and everything I do????</td></tr>
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Yeah, you could say I freaked out. Up to that point, I considered myself to be pretty much in control of my life. I was slightly shaken to discover that my fate was actually in the hands of others all along. But, fear not. In the end, I found a new job and revelled in saying "Adios" to the new consulting group. Yay, me!<br />
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All jobs are not made equal, however. I had a hard time adjusting to the new workload. It was not quite what I was accustomed to.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAaLEsqLfpqrmBxmaWG8Url6L7DJzcLfbPDDaDMK3JjNB5ZJUgnZIywCu2i37d_vP5z7yKwjs77U8DPiBuzCkEHsAlbdMkEkOVQ3DcePO0xZmujmT7rwz1kXxUh2Sgx8GCzc_lr1p65c/s1600/boring+job.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaAaLEsqLfpqrmBxmaWG8Url6L7DJzcLfbPDDaDMK3JjNB5ZJUgnZIywCu2i37d_vP5z7yKwjs77U8DPiBuzCkEHsAlbdMkEkOVQ3DcePO0xZmujmT7rwz1kXxUh2Sgx8GCzc_lr1p65c/s320/boring+job.jpg" width="309" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love a challenge.</td></tr>
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In the end, I decided to use my new-found free time to try some new things. Crazy Ass and I had often talked about how life-changing running had been for us, and how we should write a book or blog about our experiences on the trail. Tortoise Running was born.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYSNNcSq1bzcm-BfGL2E2X_hnlyuIIuSfUmJNg9nJQ0cmUd1th_RDiJNd67EsnZyGvUWzAff2mDOXtyPVNeh9XnD5jLJznWbCbY7WMzC71G74dZH-0fZUtPs9bILTsDrI5evkfmTdqBk/s1600/blogginga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbYSNNcSq1bzcm-BfGL2E2X_hnlyuIIuSfUmJNg9nJQ0cmUd1th_RDiJNd67EsnZyGvUWzAff2mDOXtyPVNeh9XnD5jLJznWbCbY7WMzC71G74dZH-0fZUtPs9bILTsDrI5evkfmTdqBk/s320/blogginga.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing my transformation from couch potato to runner.</td></tr>
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This blog has been a great way for me to share my love of running. It's also helped hold me accountable, since I'd kinda feel like a jackass writing about running if I wasn't actually doing it! So, yay, me! I started a blog!<br />
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A normal person would probably consider starting a new job and a new blog all in one year quite an achievement. Enough new, right? WRONG. My new co-workers were quite an inspiration to me. They helped me try many a new thing in 2011.<br />
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Swimming...<br />
Every single person on my new team was a swimmer. Most of them enjoyed going for a swim during lunch at the local pool. I remembered the days when I thought I could swim. I proudly passed "Advanced Beginner" swim level as a kid. I was so proud, I joined the swim team, only to be told by the coach to "Go practice in the baby pool until you get this swimming thing figured out." Oh. I guess I can't swim. This painful memory did not stop me from enjoying a lunchtime swim with my co-workers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VSOI7vbJesI9WiICVS50Bfpe4o6Nm3k4CwnKKdAhG39GZkVbbU-FT-Q9EhwNJ0zzrAybYuxLReiTZiQBSZYvqcNYfxPFyItEYSMx65VOK9qIQTBEC2EEVTqRtOn3P98gDti7prJaTPk/s1600/swimming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VSOI7vbJesI9WiICVS50Bfpe4o6Nm3k4CwnKKdAhG39GZkVbbU-FT-Q9EhwNJ0zzrAybYuxLReiTZiQBSZYvqcNYfxPFyItEYSMx65VOK9qIQTBEC2EEVTqRtOn3P98gDti7prJaTPk/s320/swimming.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My fears of swimming were two-fold:<br />
1. That I would drown. <br />
2. That people were seeing me in a swimsuit.</td></tr>
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My goal in swimming was simply to get enjoyment from the activity. I have to say, there were at least two times when I said to myself as I moved my arms in rhythm through the pool: "<strike>I'm not going to die.</strike> This is kind of fun!" Yay me!<br />
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Ok, so new job, new blog and swimming. That's enough new for one year, right? WRONG. Boredom can inspire all kinds of new adventures.<br />
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NIA<br />
Neuromuscular Integrative Action. Huh? Yeah, I actually like to call it hippie dancing. They offer it at the local rec center. A co-worker and I decided to try it one day when it was too cold to run and the Master's swimmers had taken over the swim lanes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnl7wf1ug5IlwAjDyi_DYM4OLXmm5mjIEeLR3AhyVTwL5iGuTagMorZDULMjrDAsV9gSkmFyz0_7GgJ1qbd_SVmSFiiw79EXTrXhdV4xULstHnuYImigKNB8bBaoxLpFM-PGgUMOUhjfQ/s1600/NIA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnl7wf1ug5IlwAjDyi_DYM4OLXmm5mjIEeLR3AhyVTwL5iGuTagMorZDULMjrDAsV9gSkmFyz0_7GgJ1qbd_SVmSFiiw79EXTrXhdV4xULstHnuYImigKNB8bBaoxLpFM-PGgUMOUhjfQ/s320/NIA.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, this isn't me. It's actually the hippie-chic NIA instructor.</td></tr>
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NIA was a blast. Creative movement, set to a rockin' Seal soundtrack. Hells, yeah, I rocked it out. I totally would have gone back, except I felt a little picked on by the instructor. I'm sure I'm being overly sensitive, but she said things like: (as I freely swung my hips from side to side) "Do not swing your hips. This isn't Zumba." and "If you're new, you should find a spot in the back. It can be really disruptive to others if you don't know what you're doing" (looks at me.) and "You need to put that water bottle away" (stare-down.) For the record, I do not approve of creative types who put limits and rules on the creativity of others. Ahem. Also, it's a barefoot class and my co-worker couldn't walk for a week because of the bruising she suffered on the bottoms of her feet. Anyway, lousy instructor and that foot bruising thing not-withstanding, NIA can be a really fun way to exercise. If I had a class near my house, I would use it to improve my non-existent dance skills, because it is super easy and fun. Check out this video for an example of what NIA <em>should</em> be: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgfiwVaqNSs">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LgfiwVaqNSs</a>. Doesn't that just look like a blast? Oh, and did you notice all the hip swinging? I did.<br />
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So that's it, right? That concludes the new stuff I tried this year, right? You know that's not it. I have to include P90X, yoga and kayaking in the list of my attempts to stave off boredom in 2011. And last but not least...<br />
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Painting<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipfn9OdZ5iHcLUZsJgLhyqp0jmQ_42A1pUimnfI_hQwOFK-PqHFQEq_mVKjPoU7ZkMDJBXdQjevfp7ZS4yVBVoS6yAPHMPulpQJi7FgPr1sOvgx3OkQED_52GLVHSnA0zKq7q7LsW-kM/s1600/painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="310" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipfn9OdZ5iHcLUZsJgLhyqp0jmQ_42A1pUimnfI_hQwOFK-PqHFQEq_mVKjPoU7ZkMDJBXdQjevfp7ZS4yVBVoS6yAPHMPulpQJi7FgPr1sOvgx3OkQED_52GLVHSnA0zKq7q7LsW-kM/s320/painting.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think it goes without saying how well this went</td></tr>
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A local social artworking establishment inspired a rash of paintings in my household. Yes, I decided everyone on my Christmas list must get a homemade gift from moi. I think the artwork included in this post has made it obvious the pure talent I posess when it comes to art. I just know everyone loved the heartfelt gifts I gave them. I can hear it now: "Thank you so much for the painting of a horse's butt. I found the perfect spot for it. You know that space in the cabinet under the sink, right behind the garbage can? I never noticed how much it needed a piece of artwork!" It's funny how, at 38 years old, I still want to hold up my latest work to my mom and say "Look what I did, Mommy!" and hear "Oh, it's beautiful, honey. I love it!" There is a little five year old in all of us. But only adults can paint AND drink wine at the same time. Yay, me!<br />
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As I look to the year ahead, I hope to hold on to some of the adventures that began in 2011. I plan to keep on blogging, kayaking and painting. Even though I am moving on to a new job, I plan to hold tight to the new friendships I built this year, and look forward to many more. Oh, yeah, and I hope to do a lot more of this:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQF17g2azMkpyz95UpZVqqT1XHcO6IY03f1B2Zh409oY6zMSBI3caqyMMAKPjQg66epWUlFBIG_jafGTgg3miAwiryICo8CoKajFEa49O_y5qjt_i5_InYS272R4lIMqqgV4t3w7RJoaE/s1600/running2012a.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQF17g2azMkpyz95UpZVqqT1XHcO6IY03f1B2Zh409oY6zMSBI3caqyMMAKPjQg66epWUlFBIG_jafGTgg3miAwiryICo8CoKajFEa49O_y5qjt_i5_InYS272R4lIMqqgV4t3w7RJoaE/s320/running2012a.png" width="137" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not painted by me. I did it with that artistic effects thingie in Word. Cool though, huh?</td></tr>
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Happy 2012! Make it a good one!</div>Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-3996873047596192642011-12-29T10:23:00.000-07:002011-12-29T11:29:45.592-07:00"In Training": Canyonlands Half Marathon in Moab<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've got the shirt on... I must be in training, right? When the motivation fairy delivered my beautiful green training shirt the other day, I was so excited. This was just the kick in the butt I needed! Unfortunately, my rather large ass requires a little larger kick than that, because I have yet to get out for a run. I know better than this. I've been here before: the blissful food, family, and alcohol-induced hibernation state that accompanies the holidays. I do so enjoy it... until it's over. My first post-holiday run will be a painful affair, followed by promises to myself that I will NEVER take a break from running over the holidays AGAIN. Oh, the self-delusion...<br />
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December in review:<br />
Dec 4 - 3 mi run<br />
Dec 7 - 3 mi run<br />
Dec 8 - 3 mi run<br />
Dec 9 - 2 mi run<br />
Dec 13 - 60 min on elliptical<br />
Dec 17 - day of skiing<br />
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And I almost forgot! I just checked my calendar and I actually did yoga on Dec 5 & 12.<br />
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The End.<br />
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Wait, does cleaning count? I have done a little of that.<br />
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How about cooking? Wait, most of that cooking was of food I would be ashamed of: cheesy scalloped potatoes, green bean casserole, sugar cookies. Nevermind.<br />
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Does painting count? Yes, I think painting must be some sort of arm exercise. My biceps most definitely have benefited from moving a brush around a canvas. Well, at least my right one. Yes, that's it. Painting counts!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigYZNIjlxMb98ewYUn6JOiL395abQ9CObZO_hGNo_sapUy3ZMivSDK7Qw9uM9gS24zGlpEkwk95p096c6ElaenqB5YR6VuZJrygBGdfEqay-dOLeCwRrkm-CrSG5KR5e6rPtNOvHrpxY/s1600/bar+magenta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgigYZNIjlxMb98ewYUn6JOiL395abQ9CObZO_hGNo_sapUy3ZMivSDK7Qw9uM9gS24zGlpEkwk95p096c6ElaenqB5YR6VuZJrygBGdfEqay-dOLeCwRrkm-CrSG5KR5e6rPtNOvHrpxY/s320/bar+magenta.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bar Magenta, Milan</td></tr>
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Dec 1 - painted "Enchanted Forest"<br />
Dec 2 - painted "Moosicguy"<br />
Dec 7 - painted "Enchanted Forest II"<br />
Dec 12 - painted "Bar Magenta, Milan"<br />
Dec 19 - painted "Tebow"<br />
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Hmmm... Interesting. Even <em>counting</em> painting, my life has been pretty bereft of physical activity since Dec 19. Ok. We'll just label the last 10 days "rest and recovery". Merry Christmas to me :)!<br />
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And in closing, a big happy new year to all of you! May your first exercise of 2012 be joyous, inspiring and free of pain!</div>Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-59949190874538492702011-10-21T15:26:00.002-06:002011-11-18T09:39:39.199-07:00My Race Sucked - The Rock n Roll Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My. Race. Sucked. There's no denying it. It was down-right bad. I can reason it out and make excuses, but the bottom-line is: the race beat me. I "quit" about half-way through. Even though I ultimately crossed the finish line, it was after quite a few "poor me" walk breaks and self-acknowledgement that I would not be giving the remainder of the race "my all".<br />
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The day before race-day , the whole family came to Denver with me to get checked into our hotel and pick up my packet at the Colorado Convention Center. I was so excited to stay at the Sheraton, about a quarter mile from the start/finish. I vowed to get a full night's sleep and casually walk over a few minutes before the race so as to avoid the cold/anxiety - shivers. Ha-ha-ha-ha!!! Nice idea, but absolutely no reflection of the reality that was about to reveal itself.<br />
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We arrived at the Sheraton parking garage, greeted by a sign that read "Daily Rate: $8. Hotel Guests: $24." Excuse me??? I stayed at the hotel for the privilege of paying MORE for parking??? <br />
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Once we were checked in, I was lucky enough to make it to packet pick-up 15 minutes before closing time. Gee, I guess if I had read my final instructions, I would have seen the place was going to close at 5pm. I was so relieved to actually get a packet, while displeased that they had run out of not just Smalls, but Medium race shirts as well. Grrr... You gave MY race shirt to someone else? Hmph!<br />
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Packet pickup was followed by a not-so carb-loadey dinner at Bubba Gumps. We broke from tradition, since Magianno's (the most amazingly-yummy Italian place in the word) was booked. Tortlette 3 had her heart set on the "Bucket of Trash", so she and I shared a pile of fried seafood. To my surprise, the child was starving and ate almost the whole thing. I was left to console myself with a Yetti beer, the most heavenly, thick, sweet stout I have ever tasted. I could have had a few of those, but alas, I had a race the next day.<br />
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I was in bed by 9:30 that night. Only I didn't sleep. There was absolutely no logical reason for it, but I tossed and turned all night long. I looked at the clock at least every hour, wondering if I would EVER get to sleep. The answer was a resounding "NO!" Looking back now, it's obvious I was hungry - beer and a couple fried clams for dinner - not the best fuel! But, nerves got the best of me and I just wasn't thinking straight.<br />
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By the time I got to the starting line, I had some serious acid stomach. For some reason I did not give in to the temptation to throw up in the hotel bathroom. Flash walked me over to my corral and took my shell from me before I squeezed in. It was actually the first fall or spring race I've done when I haven't frozen my buns off at the starting line, thanks to Flash. I never did find that 2:10 pace group I signed up for. We were cooped up like chickens and there was no moving forward or backward until the race started. Oh, well, the corral was supposed to be for 2:10-2:20 finishers, so I figured it was no biggie.<br />
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When my corral took off, we were going at a surprisingly slow 10:30 to 11 minute pace. I had actually planned to warm up during the first mile, so I stayed with the group, planning to speed up later. The views throughout the race are absolutley stunning. You descend into Lodo and have a view of the snow-capped Rockies. Then you climb up toward the city center and then through several city parks. <br />
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The first several miles of the race actually felt fantastic despite the lack of sleep. The temperatures were perfect, and the sun was shining. I had it in my head there would be Gu about mile 6, though. When that didn't appear, I started to get concerned. A few empty Gu packets I saw on the ground made me wish I had brought something along myself. <br />
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Sometime during mile 6, it hit - some angry beast began clawing and gnashing at my lower abdomen. Oh, no. Bubba Gump's revenge. I actually stood in line for a porta-potty at mile 7 - something I NEVER do. Unfortunately, the stop provided no reprieve from my pain. I pushed through for the next couple of miles, but the pain continued. My calves started to turn to lead. Still no Gu in sight. I knew by mile 8 this wasn't going to be the PR I had trained for. I gave up.<br />
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The second half of the race consisted of as much walking as running. The Gu finally made an appearance at mile 10 - Why didn't I read that race map more closely? But hey, the best part of the Denver Rock n Roll is that the last couple of miles are down-hill. My saving grace!<br />
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As I approached the finish line, Flash snapped my picture:<br />
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Hey, look, my first cute race pic! Ok, maybe this race was great after all. I will not be sharing my time... <br />
</div>Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-5322405786381971122011-09-27T11:35:00.002-06:002011-10-18T10:51:29.780-06:00Half Marathon Training Plan for the Not-So-Detail-Oriented<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I FINALLY have a race coming up. Been kind of a slacker this year... This spring, my only race was a 10k, the Bolder Boulder. I didn't realize how much a spring half marathon jump starts the whole year for me. Late this summer, I started going through withdrawals. Crazy Ass was injured and so was Flash. In order to keep motivated, I took the plunge and signed up for the Denver Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon. Of course, you can't do a half marathon without a training plan; so, off I went to find the latest Runner's World and see if there was a good plan inside.<br />
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If you have ever looked at one of these magazine training plans and had your eyes glaze over, then you totally get me. LSD, Tempo, Speedwork, HMP, cross-train what?!??!! Let me take a moment to decrypt some of this for you.<br />
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There are three basic running workouts you need to try to get in each week if you want to perform well in a half marathon. These workouts don't have to be on the same days each week, but I find that there are certain days that typically work out better than others. I try to be flexible, though. I have three kids... I never know, from week to week, what craziness might come up.<br />
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<strong>LSD</strong> - Long Slow Distance run. This is the cornerstone of half marathon training. If you do nothing else in your training, be committed to your weekly LSD. I usually do this on Sunday morning. I set aside an hour or two to go out on a run that will eventually be twice as long as a run I might do during the week. I start out by adding a mile to my typical weekday run. Each week, I add a mile more. After 10-12 weeks, I have the endurance for a half marathon, allowing for a slacker week or two. <br />
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One mistake I sometimes make on my long run is going too fast. It is SO important to go nice and slow. There is absolutely no point in torturing myself for two hours every week; so, I try to focus on slowing down and enjoying the moment. A few weeks ago, I went out too fast, and by the second half of my run, I started feeling overwhelmed by how much distance I still had to cover. At that point, all I could do was keep running - one mile at a time. At mile 7, I told myself, "Just keep running until you get to mile 8." After a walk break at mile 8, "Just keep running until you get to mile 9." By the way, I am totally ok with walk breaks, too. I try to limit them to one minute every mile or two when starting out, and spread them farther apart as my training progresses.<br />
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<strong>Speedwork</strong> - There are a lot of ways to do speedwork. It's essentially any workout you do with the specific goal of increasing your speed. It can be a tempo run, interval training, hills, mile repeats, you get the idea. <br />
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A tempo run is one in which, after a warm-up, you run at a consistent pace for 20 minutes, about 30 seconds slower than your 5K pace. If you run a 5K in 30 minutes, then your tempo pace will be a 10:30 mile. The important thing is to keep the pace consistent. Then be sure to allow yourself a cool down after the 20 minutes.<br />
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Interval training allows you to run at a faster pace for a short period of time. You might try going a minute faster than your 5K pace for two minutes and then walking or jogging for 2 minutes and repeating for 20-30 minutes. Fartlek - yeah, I said "FART-lek" - is a kind of interval that has no prescribed pace, but instead you play around with different paces throughout your run. Crazy Ass got me hooked on fartleks on the treadmill last year. Our treadmill workout went like this:<br />
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Warm up - Set at a 4 for 5 minutes (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to a 6 for two minutes (10 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a minute (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to 6.5 for two minutes (9:30 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a minute (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to a 7 for two minutes (8:45 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a minute (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to 7.5 for two minutes (8:00 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a minute (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to 7 for two minutes (8:45 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a minute (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to a 6.5 for two minutes (9:30 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a minute (15 minute pace)<br />
Increase to 6 for two minutes (10 minute pace)<br />
Back down to 4 for a 5 minute Cool down (15 minute pace)<br />
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This workout lasts around 30 minutes, and it is SO exhilarating and really helps improve speed. Adjust to fit your pace.<br />
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Another great way to improve speed is to do hill repeats. Running hills works the hamstrings much like faster paces do, plus it helps teach your body how to deal with higher exertion-levels.<br />
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<strong>Regular Run</strong> - The third piece to half marathon training is just getting out doing regular runs of say 4-6 miles. I try to fit at least one run in per week, in addition to the LSD and speedwork. I'm sure a lot of people run more than three times per week, but as a running mom, three works great for me. I don't worry too much about my pace on this run, but it's usually not quite as relaxed a pace as my LSD. Where an LSD might by 11 minutes miles (remember I'm a tortoise!), my regular run is between a 10 and 10.5 minute pace.<br />
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<strong>Cross Training</strong> - My cross training consists of a little strength training each day. I focus on core strength exercises, including plank, side plank, back bridge, chair raises. I do calf raises, squats and lunges as low impact leg strength work. As I have time, I throw in some swimming and yoga.<br />
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This is half marathon training for the not-so-detail-oriented. Be as consistent as possible, while allowing for slip-ups too. You can train in as little as 10 weeks, but for the best experience, try to allow 16 weeks, in case there are weekends you just can't get your long run in. So many factors can get in the way - weather, birthdays, travel - I've found allowing myself to skip a long run gives me the opportunity to enjoy my life, too!<br />
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I'd love to hear about your race training. Give me some tips... My race is in two weeks, so I still have a little time to fit in some new ideas!</div>Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-24844740722697725692011-09-21T12:12:00.000-06:002011-09-29T07:58:58.215-06:00The Great Weight Loss Challenge: Finale!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You may recall a certain challenge from Crazy Ass to lose 20 pounds before Valentine's Day, 2010... In my mind, a ridiculous challenge turned call to action. The result: for six weeks, in early 2010, I put myself at the top of my priority list. Thanks to a ton of support from my family, I was able to spend two hours at the gym several times per week. I kept the fridge stocked with healthy food. I paid a fitness trainer to kick my butt... something I never imagined myself doing. In the end, YES, I lost the 20 pounds! Did the calendar say exactly February 14 on the day the scale made my day? Maybe not. It might have been March 1. It may have been March 20. What I do know is that I had to throw out a wardrobe of size 10 clothes and replace it with size 6s. My old bras didn't stay put - and let's face it, there was nothing left to hold up anyway! My 14 year old squeezed my triceps and said "It doesn't feel like pudding anymore." And I felt great. Life was good.<br />
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So how did Crazy Ass and Little Sis do? They each lost in the neighborhood of 10 pounds... Also a stunning achievement. We spent quality time together like never before. And I heard way more than I ever wanted to about how many points are in a double-fiber english muffin.<br />
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And of course, I learned a little something from all this. Anything is achievable with the right amount of dedication and time. If you want something, you can have it. Just set the goal and make a plan. Along the way, adjust your expectations to the amount of work that is reasonable to put in. Be good to yourself with rewards for sticking with it. And, most importantly, we all need a Crazy Ass in our lives. If you don't have one, get one. You're missing out.<br />
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It wouldn't be a weight loss story without an embarassing before and an amazing after pic. So here ya go:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJsrIKsWTFzIFA9zTbIbN67HjF9lyOlY4j4LBRw3DN7QPz87y6jpweiM2v4H4jV6EbKziizp83ghXkP7hVIlkLYOFC15YaGgZ1cbUO4JjMgPoyfyCTDPmPAHu2uOyRjuaf2Fi_e__knc/s1600/before2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIJsrIKsWTFzIFA9zTbIbN67HjF9lyOlY4j4LBRw3DN7QPz87y6jpweiM2v4H4jV6EbKziizp83ghXkP7hVIlkLYOFC15YaGgZ1cbUO4JjMgPoyfyCTDPmPAHu2uOyRjuaf2Fi_e__knc/s320/before2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before: I think this pic does a great job showing the pudding arms!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgMK0ok9o12Ut00zjZqawMBslL96sXmF1uGtU-0suH7g_rU61_vlPwRryE1UXGfF2UUhEz07I0qvjBPYIbFKVwyqPuIVllxt5X622J51NOIWEWHZLlJWiBFw3K-A2ECRW26-UeLrrvtg/s1600/after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNgMK0ok9o12Ut00zjZqawMBslL96sXmF1uGtU-0suH7g_rU61_vlPwRryE1UXGfF2UUhEz07I0qvjBPYIbFKVwyqPuIVllxt5X622J51NOIWEWHZLlJWiBFw3K-A2ECRW26-UeLrrvtg/s320/after.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After: That's me, on the left, without pudding arms. I'm pictured here with Crazy Ass, right, and Tortlette 3. We are getting ready to carb load for the 2010 Rock N Roll Denver!</td></tr>
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Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-63627691540491628302011-08-09T17:20:00.014-06:002011-09-29T08:00:04.254-06:00The Great Weight Loss Challenge Part Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black;">I'm about to say a bad word. Shield your eyes if you, too, hate depriving yourself. But you and I both know it would not be a weight loss story without talk about DIET. Yes, the Great Weight Loss Challenege began without mention of that dreaded word. The way I see it, as a working mom of three kids, I frickin' deserve those French Fries. Deprive me of my sesame seed bagel, and you have messed with the wrong woman. And counting calories - or points for that matter - is about as appealing as cataloging the blades of grass in my front yard.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">My first step in finding a diet strategy was to trick myself into thinking healthy food was actually indulgent. I had to find something I could talk myself into savoring like a decadent dessert. Bring on the Key Lime Pie yogurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really should have taken out stock in Yoplait, because it was not unusual for me to eat between 4 and 6 of these a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had yogurt for breakfast, yogurt for lunch, yogurt for dessert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yogurt for morning and afternoon snack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yogurt for “I need something sweet right now!” time. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You get the idea. </span><br />
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<span closure_uid_wvhba2="199"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="213"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="261" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Why Yogurt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chose yogurt as my go-to food, because it tastes delicious, aids digestion, is an excellent source of calcium and protein, and it is low in calories.<span closure_uid_wvhba2="200" style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read once that people who eat tons of yogurt lose weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to put that theory to the test.</span></span></span></div>
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<span closure_uid_wvhba2="144" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Next, I added veggies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ridiculous amounts of veggies.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RFX9SpQPjqLwilv3C_NE5EvPXZplUmMDfRjZdlXV7o2aBSoo-i-nbLSqMgnS3Ig8Per5oxEMsAL5PAosQYK32Fg06YEBWbIOqbGo0co4mPWT8CKBRsFr-KAD914pG6pFfCufG5DIcj8/s1600/old+plate.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="317" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7RFX9SpQPjqLwilv3C_NE5EvPXZplUmMDfRjZdlXV7o2aBSoo-i-nbLSqMgnS3Ig8Per5oxEMsAL5PAosQYK32Fg06YEBWbIOqbGo0co4mPWT8CKBRsFr-KAD914pG6pFfCufG5DIcj8/s320/old+plate.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" closure_uid_wvhba2="174" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Old Plate</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3V4EBQN_XTll94ZrL9oRufnucKiqvA6zFRRq8Ivh9ZJZL2SkH_ZEduiu3-IwtvpGunqeS3mR6Qn2EnpD1ixIdKEMyRBct_0lneRopYkB7RC9qsUB8JMUeNuucTNOPV6n_AtxOm-R_Eew/s1600/new+plate2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="294" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3V4EBQN_XTll94ZrL9oRufnucKiqvA6zFRRq8Ivh9ZJZL2SkH_ZEduiu3-IwtvpGunqeS3mR6Qn2EnpD1ixIdKEMyRBct_0lneRopYkB7RC9qsUB8JMUeNuucTNOPV6n_AtxOm-R_Eew/s320/new+plate2.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" closure_uid_wvhba2="201" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">New Veggie-filled Plate</span></td></tr>
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<span closure_uid_wvhba2="236"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="262" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">(Aren't I a fabulous artist?)</span></span></div>
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<span closure_uid_wvhba2="236"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="262" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">You might have noticed that the old plate really doesn’t look that bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most people would consider a dinner like that to be entirely normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You probably drew similar pictures in grade school when you were taught about the USDA standards for good nutrition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a reason there’s an obesity problem in America!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out we actually don’t know a thing about good nutrition!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dinners like that had resulted in a twenty pound weight problem for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two years in a row, I wanted to poke the eyeballs out of our biometric screening administrator when she told me I was overweight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You can’t tell me I’m overweight!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who are you with your silly BMI standards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I EAT HEALTHY!”</span></span></div>
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<span closure_uid_wvhba2="237"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="254"><span closure_uid_e125a2="105" closure_uid_wvhba2="283" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Lucky for me, at the outset of the Great Weight Loss Challenge, I ran into a family member who is also a personal trainer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She passed on a bit of diet wisdom that for me reduced hours of idiotic calorie counting to a simple concept: Divide your plate in half.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fill half the plate with vegetables and the other half with meat and grains. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The result is what most people would consider to be ridiculous amounts of veggies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Try going to a buffet line or pot luck and load up half your plate with veggies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will get some strange looks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will feel like a “pig” taking half the salad you brought to the potluck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you’ll realize no one else planned to eat any of it anyway.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="280"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="287" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">For a lot of people, filling half their plate with veggies is like a death sentence. (Spinach and broccoli and kale - oh my!) I won't pretend that I was a veggie-hater before all this. I actually enjoyed vegetables, the problem is I am a food lover, and there just aren’t too many examples of inspired veggie dishes in the typical American diet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you go to a restaurant, most of them have some token salads on their menus, made with wilted iceberg lettuce and topped with a few shreds of dried carrots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not my idea of good food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to start figuring to how to love vegetables.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To that end, I started spending some quality time in the produce department. I tried to look for beauty in plump red tomatoes, shiny purple cabbage and brilliant green asparagus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept my kitchen stocked with fresh ingredients from the produce department and discovered sautéed summer squash with garlic, steamed fresh broccoli and green beans prepared with sesame oil and almonds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t long before I actually craved vegetables, preferring them to the bland, often fried food I ate before.</span></span></span></div>
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<span closure_uid_e125a2="106" closure_uid_wvhba2="296" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I will reluctantly devote a paragraph to foods I avoided during the Great Weight Loss Challenge. I hate to focus on deprivation, but unfortunately, there are such things as bad foods. The first is sugar. I tried to avoid added sugar by staying away from sweets and selecting a sugar-free alternative whenever possible. The other foods I avoided included white breads, corn chips and potatoes. These were unnecessary carbs that I knew would derail my weight loss efforts. </span></div>
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<span closure_uid_dsedmo="116" closure_uid_wvhba2="296" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I never felt deprived on this diet. The introduction of delicious vegetables more than made up for the absence of bad carbs I cut out. I spent the six weeks during the challenge feeling like a brand-new, vibrant, energetic person.</span></div>
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<span closure_uid_dsedmo="117" closure_uid_wvhba2="296" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><strong><u>Sample Daily Diet</u></strong></span></div>
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<span closure_uid_dsedmo="151" closure_uid_wvhba2="298" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><strong>Breakfast:</strong></span></div>
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<span closure_uid_dsedmo="151" closure_uid_wvhba2="298" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6 am - Two egg omelette with cheese, coffee with sugar-free creamer</span></div>
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<br />
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<strong><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Morning Snack:</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">9am - Yogurt</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Lunch:</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Noon - Large salad with fresh romaine lettuce, olives, feta cheese, vinaigrette. Small serving of chicken.</span></div>
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<br />
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<strong><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Afternoon Snack:</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">2:30 - A handful of nuts and celery or carrots</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Dinner:</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">6pm - Spaghetti with steamed broccoli instead of half the noodles, using Barrilla Plus Noodles.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Dessert:</span></strong></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">8pm - Yogurt</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
<div closure_uid_dsedmo="118">
<span closure_uid_dsedmo="146" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">For more information on healthy eating, read up on the South Beach Diet and the following recent article from the New York Times:</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="280"><span closure_uid_dsedmo="147" closure_uid_wvhba2="287"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><strong>Still Counting Calories? Your Weight-Loss Plan May Be Outdated</strong> - </span></span></span></span></span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/19/health/19brody.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&em&exprod=myyahoo"><span closure_uid_wvhba2="288" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/19/health/19brody.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&em&exprod=myyahoo</span></a></div>
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Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-35907485743828230202011-08-02T15:21:00.005-06:002011-09-29T07:59:46.233-06:00The Great Weight Loss Challenge Part One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
6 weeks. 20 Pounds. Can it be done? Read on to find out if this unlikely feat can actually be achieved. <br />
<br />
It all started at 24 Hour Fitness just before the New Year, 2010. Crazy Ass had encouraged me to sign up for a week-long trial membership.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a rare occasion when Little Sis joined us, and we were on the treadmills enjoying the Biggest Loser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of the blue, Crazy Ass came up with one of her bright ideas… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey, you know what? We should all try to lose 20 pounds by Valentine’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bet we can do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If these guys on the Biggest Loser can do it, I bet we can, too.”<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_cqbh7y="97">
Voice inside head: There is absolutely no way I'm going to lose 20 pounds by Valentine’s Day – BUT if I lose even 10 pounds, that’d be cool.</div>
Voice outside head: “Sure, I’m game.”<br />
Little Sis: "If you keep going to Weight Watchers with me, I think I could do that. Let's go for it."<br />
<br />
And so, the pact was made. Then and there, we all agreed to lose 20 pounds by Valentine's Day (Sorry, Crazy Ass, I may have crossed my fingers behind my back.)<br />
<br />
Like a lot of people, I never had to work at keeping weight off in my 20’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point I worked out for 15 minutes on the elliptical 3 times a week and ended up a size 2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That put an end to working out in my 20’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I’m 5’6”…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A size 2 just ain’t right.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly, in my 30’s, the pounds started piling on. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought running would solve my problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a pound had been shed since I had started running 18 months prior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before that, I tried to walk my butt off and that hadn’t worked either. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A trip to the doctor - in the hopes of a hypothyroid diagnosis - was un-successful as well.<br />
<br />
I was at the point where I needed some kind of jump start. I had nothing to lose from going crazy extreme.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My usual, laid-back approach was not working, so why not try something different? And so it began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>6 WEEKS OF INSTANITY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two-hour sessions at the gym.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time with a personal trainer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fitness classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was determined to drop some pounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
It just so happened that after Christmas was about the only time I could do extreme anything – aside from parenting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With no after school activities to monopolize my time, I could fit in a fair number of two-hour workouts each week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>24 Hour fitness allows month-to month gym memberships, which works out perfectly for a runner like me, who primarily works out outdoors, Spring through Fall.<br />
<br />
Insane Workout Regimen:<br />
Monday: <br />
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Morning run – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
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Lunch walk with a co-worker – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
Tuesday: <br />
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Lunch walk with a co-worker – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
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1 hour fitness class – 45+ minutes of cardio</div>
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*I love the WillPower and Grace class offered at our 24 Hour Fitness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s some yoga and some cardio; so, great strength training and calorie burn.</div>
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1 hour of walking on the treadmill – 60 minutes of cardio </div>
Wednesday: <br />
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Morning run – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
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Lunch walk with a co-worker – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
<br />
Thursday: <br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
Lunch walk with a co-worker – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
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1 hour personal trainer– 45+ minutes of cardio</div>
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1 hour of walking/running on the treadmill – 60 minutes of cardio </div>
Friday:<br />
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Lunch walk with a co-worker – 30+ minutes of cardio</div>
Saturday:<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2 hours of cardio at 24 Hour fitness, either in a Boot Camp class<br />
or on the treadmill<br />
Sunday:<br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Long Run – 60+ minutes of cardio<br />
<br />
Crazy enough for ya?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok, I admit, this was by no means strict do-or-die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I needed to work through lunch due to a deadline, I skipped my walk, but this gives you an idea just how much physical activity I thought I could cram into a week.<br />
<br />
The night Crazy Ass laid down the gauntlet, I went home and told my family about the challenge and how I planned to spend the next couple months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all smiled knowing <strike>mom was up to one of her crazy schemes again</strike> not to doubt when mom set her mind to something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life was about to change around here.</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-17051182676895178122011-07-27T12:10:00.004-06:002011-09-29T08:05:10.413-06:00Why Run?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Despite a less-than-stellar first half marathon attempt, Crazy Ass and I kept on running. With the each change of season, I added a few new pieces of running gear to my collection, as the race shirts piled up.<br />
<br />
Tortlette 1: "Mom, why do you run, anyway? You aren't exactly...uh..."<br />
<br />
Me: "Good at it? Fast?"<br />
<br />
Tortlette 1: "Ahem. Yeah. I mean, why do it if you aren't going to be like super-fast or anything?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Because I enjoy it."<br />
<br />
I finished the Other Half Marathon in 2:45 - 18 minutes faster than Canyonlands. Two more tortlettes and hubby, Flash, came to cheer me on...<br />
<br />
Flash: "I don't think I could do this. I would get so frustrated with not being the fastest one out there."<br />
<br />
Me: "Yeah, I've had to get over any pre-conceived notions about where I rank against other runners, that's for sure."<br />
<br />
So why run? What's in it for me? It definitely did not feed my competitive spirit. It nearly killed me to see people who did not fit my idea of the athletic mold finishing ahead of me. So why?<br />
<br />
At first I wasn't sure. Over time, I've come up with some thoughts...<br />
<br />
1. I was bored. With myself. Discovering an athletic me that was separate from wife, mommy and professional was something I really needed.<br />
<br />
2. Me, me, me! Running is something I do for me. During a time in my life where everyone looks to me for something, I need to do something for myself. Running is this great escape from work, kids, cleaning.... The hour I spend running is MY TIME.<br />
<br />
3. Everything is better when I am running. I am smarter, funnier, happier, healthier, skinnier, prettier (if only in my mind...)<br />
<br />
4. I. am. a. control freak. So what does this have to do with running? Here's the deal... Once you have kids, your will is suddenly subjected to that of a tiny, little, <strike>wailing</strike> adorable being. You are no longer in control. If you happen to have a job like mine in which your success is very much intertwined with the ability and and willingness of others to do <em>their</em> jobs, let's just say a control freak like me craves something, <em>anything</em>, that is entirely within her control. Running is that for me. It is one thing in my life in which my success is soley based upon <em>my</em> ability and work ethic.<br />
<br />
And so I run. A year after that first Canyonlands Half, I finished the same course in 2:32 and then the Denver Rock 'n' Roll in 2:22. Each race time is a function of the quality of training put in. That being the case, my times may not continue improving, but if there is a race coming up - <em>count me in</em>!</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-56495804505923698312011-07-22T10:46:00.001-06:002011-09-29T08:01:38.233-06:00You're Goin' Down, Purple Bra - The Half Marathon Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Holy. Crap. 13 miles is a long way. Crazy Ass, Tortlette 1 and I rode up a winding road in the Colorado River canyon. The odometer on the car read 11 miles and already it felt like we had been driving and driving and driving some more. <br />
<br />
"Um... so, we're going to run this tomorrow, huh?" Tortlette 1 asked. We were all silent. I ignored the giant pit in my stomach and smiled "Isn't this canyon gorgeous?" I made mental notes each time we went downhill, knowing that as we ran down this canyon in the morning, these would be uphill for us. <br />
<br />
We finally arrived at what we assumed would be the starting line the next day, as the odometer read 13.1. Porta potties lined the road, the only sign of what was to take place here the next day. I tried to imagine the place packed with runners, warming up at the starting line. My imagination failed me. I truly could not fathom what I was in for the next day.<br />
<br />
Later that evening, after checking my alarm clock for the 12th time, I forced my eyes shut. I had laid out all my clothes for the next day, planned out a bagel breakfast and put the chip onto my shoe. Two hours later, I opened an eye to peak at the clock. Midnight. Ugh, why can't I just sleep? I awoke again at 2am. And 3:30. Finally, the alarm went off at 5am...<br />
<br />
By the time we reached the starting line, we had half frozen our buns off at the shuttle pickup, and we proceeded to freeze off the other half as we stretched with the 10-minute runners. Somehow Crazy Ass saw no issue with us joining the 10 minute pace group, although our fastest pace yet was around 12 minutes. Tortlette 1, being the manly-man that he is, had already shed his jacket, while Crazy Ass and I jumped up and down to keep warm. I had a fleece jacket on over my running shirt, which I was not about to give up. Moab in March is the Jeckyl and Hyde of weather, with frigid temperatures at night and early morning, followed by scorching sun by mid-day.<br />
<br />
"I'm still not feeling so well," Tortlette 1 informed us. He had woken up with a stomach ache. I was hoping it was just nerves, but since he brought it up again, I was pretty sure this was something more serious. <br />
<br />
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, I think so," he replied.<br />
<br />
"Ok, there is supposed to be a sag wagon coming through. They should be picking up people who need help. If it gets bad, I guess you can just hop on that, ok?" I replied. I trusted that race coordinators would never let a kid struggle. I looked around at some of the aging runners who were around us. Surely, other people might need a bail out along the way, right? This is something they must plan for when they a race like this.<br />
<br />
The race finally began. We ran right along-side the 10 minute pacers. Adrenaline took over as we trotted down a long hill at the beginning of the course. As the course flattened out, I started to worry we couldn't keep up the pace and I slowed us down.<br />
<br />
Tortlette 1: "Are we really going to run this slow?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Yeah. We want to be able to finish the race right?"<br />
<br />
Tortlette 1: (rolls eyes) "Uh, ok."<br />
<br />
About two miles in, we lost Tortlette 1. "I can't run any more. You guys go ahead."<br />
<br />
Crazy Ass and I carried on. By this point, we had solidified our back of the pack status, but we were still running. I was filled with guilt as we left my baby behind.<br />
<br />
"He'll be ok, right?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Look, we can still see him," Crazy Ass said, looking behind us. "I have my cell phone so we can keep in touch with him and make sure he's alright."<br />
<br />
We kept running. I was determined to to keep up with an adorable 65 year old in a purple sports bra. We eventually passed her, and I thought, "Wow, she is amazing. I can only dream of being that fit at her age." We played leap frog with her and an overweight guy wearing a camelbak over the next several miles. After the third or fourth time we passed Chubby, I waved to him and smiled, "How's it going?"<br />
<br />
"Wow, I thought I'd at least be able to keep up with you guys," he replied.<br />
<br />
Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Crazy Ass, "Do we really look that bad? This guy's disappointed he can't keep up with us?" I thought of the woman in the purple bra and my assumption that we'd finish the race before her and realized Chubby felt the same way about us. <br />
<br />
Running is a humbling experience.<br />
<br />
By mile seven, we'd had two porta potty stops and made several attempts to reach Tortlette 1 by cell phone. We hadn't seen him since Mile 4. I was really starting to worry, as I had yet to see a "sag wagon" and we were definitely far enough back amongst the runners where they might think we were candidates for one. But we continued to run. We had passed Purple Bra several miles back. I had no idea where Chubby was. I think we passed him, too.<br />
<br />
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. My femur stabbed into my pelvis with each step I took. By Mile 12, I could run at most a quarter mile and then I had to stop and walk. We still hadn't gotten in touch with Tortlette 1 and I was desperate to know what was going on. A porta potty greeted us as the start of Mile 13, and I decided to use it as one final attempt to allow Tortlette 1 to catch up with us. An exasperated Crazy Ass said, "I'm going to keep running, ok? I'll see you at the finish."<br />
<br />
"Ok," I said. "Good luck!"<br />
<br />
Still unable to see Tortlette 1, I ran as much of Mile 13 as I could, stopping periodically and then jogging once again. My camelback was nearly empty and the fleece jacket hung around my waste, two unnecessary burdens that at this point were only making me sweat even more under the hot Moab sun. I passed a house with a sprinkler going, like this was some typical spring day. And then I saw her. Just up ahead was Purple Bra. "You again," I thought. "You're going down."<br />
<br />
I increased my pace enough to begin closing the distance between us. Ever so slowly, the color purple grew closer and closer. As we turned a corner and the finish line was in sight, Purple Bra fell behind. Her adorable Grandma face was just a blur, but the finish banner was a clear as day, though 200 yards down the road. I kept running, knowing I couldn't stop now. Not with Purple Bra right behind me. Step after painful step, I ran until I passed the finish timer: 3:02.<br />
<br />
Three minutes later, Tortlette 1 crossed the finish line. He was running. "Wow, he was right there all along," I thought to myself. <br />
<br />
"Great job!" I yelled. "Are you ok? I was so worried."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. I pretty much walked the whole thing."<br />
<br />
He walked the whole thing. And finished right behind us. Running is a humbling experience.<br />
<br />
On the way out of town, Crazy Ass and I stopped at the main office of our hotel and booked a stay the next Fall for the Other Half Marathon, 2009. Humbling as it was, we were hooked.</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-27588918342230690842011-07-15T14:26:00.000-06:002011-09-29T08:02:09.154-06:00Feel the Burn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Wow, that skirt is SO cute! I'm jealous," Crazy Ass said as we started our final training run before the Canyonlands Half Marathon, 2009. We set out to run 12 miles in preparation for the 13.1 we'd be required to run on race day. The skirt was the result of an impulse buy at Target the weekend prior. I just had to have the perfect running chick outfit for the race and this was a great time to test it out. I paired it with a coral tank and white Under Armor hat. Feeling like a Runner's World cover model, I set out, with Crazy Ass by my side.<br />
<br />
"I can't believe we're finally running 12!" I exclaimed as we started down the bike path. The weather couldn't have been any more beautiful, and both of us were in perfect form for a great run. I find when running with a partner, performance often boils down to the lowest common denominator. If one of us is not feeling it on a particular day, it brings down the run for both of us. This time, we were both in top form. We were a force to be reckoned with.<br />
<br />
The burn started around mile 4. When I say burn, I don't mean the good kind that happens when you push yourself hard and your muscles really start feeling it. No, I mean the kind of burn that occurs when a boy scout rubs two sticks together - only it was between my thighs. This was some serious chafing caused by a little extra that didn't factor into my choice to wear a skirt that day. Clearly, deoderant between the legs strategy was not enough this time. (Remember Paulie Bleeker, in Juno, wearing his running shorts and tube socks rubbing on deoderant to prevent chafing between the legs? I've been doing that since middle school!)<br />
<br />
By mile 6, I was apologizing to Crazy Ass, "I'm sorry. I just don't think I can go much further." Crazy Ass suggested I call Flash and ask him bring a change of clothes. As a result of that phone call, I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies to the following people:<br />
<br />
To the residents of the homes north of First Street between Taft and Wilson in Loveland: I sincerely apologize if I woke you with my yelps of pain each time my chubby thighs rubbed together.<br />
<br />
To Flash: for waking you at some God-awful hour and asking you to rifle through my clothes in search of a pair of running capris and bring them to me across town. It really was a running emergency!<br />
<br />
To any passersby on First Street who may have witnessed my "Quick Change" in the front seat of Flash's Red Ford Explorer (and I call <em>him</em> Flash?). I am terribly sorry if the sight offended you.<br />
<br />
To Crazy Ass for the horrendous underwear I was wearing that day (they wick away moisture!). I hope the vision of them hasn't haunted you to this day.<br />
<br />
To Runner's World: I'm afraid my cover girl days are yet to come.<br />
<br />
Thank God I had the sense to conduct this little fashion experiment on a training run rather than waiting until race day. A wardrobe malfunction could have prevented me from finishing a race I had prepaired for months to run. Lesson learned: Cute only goes so far (6 miles to be exact.)</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-7066099946236355272011-06-30T10:49:00.000-06:002011-09-29T08:02:35.158-06:00My Superpower<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have not forgotten dear Crazy Ass and our training for the half marathon. The memories are near and dear to my heart: runs at the sculpture park, Camelbaks, and jelly beans. <br />
<br />
We met regularly at a sculpture park with a 1.5 mile running loop (or walking path - for those who used the park for its actual purpose - to look at the sculptures.) We placed our water bottles on one of the benches, and took a sip every time we ran past. As we graduated past the need for a 1.5 mile loop, we started using the bike trail in town and needed a reliable hydration system. Thus, the Camelbaks. Sure, they accentuated our already-sloping shoulders, but we were thirsty! And we needed a place to store the jelly beans. Jelly beans. The bribery tactic of beginner runners... "If I get half way through my run, I deserve a few jelly beans. Preferably Starburst or Jolly Rancher brand."<br />
<br />
What impacted me the most during our early days training together, was not the jelly beans or the sculptures, but the conversations me and Crazy Ass shared and how close we grew as friends. We solved the worlds problems - or at least our own - as we went on longer and longer runs together. Each of us with marital problems, kid problems, work problems... We looked forward to our running therapy. We had issues that once seemed insurmountable, but something happened out on the trail. We came to the realization that if we could run 13.1 miles or even 5 miles, <em><strong>we could do anything</strong></em>.<br />
<br />
And so, we became superwomen. If something at work bothered me, I thought "So what? I'm going to run 5 miles today." If I got disgusted by a sink full of dishes, I put on my superwoman cape and flew out the door for a run. The pile of dishes seemed so much smaller when I got back. Crazy Ass found her way out of a destructive marriage, and I gained a little perpective on mine. Running became my superpower. No, I didn't save anyone from a burning building, but I think I may have saved myself. </div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-41494299386555674422011-06-22T19:32:00.008-06:002011-07-17T08:55:16.962-06:00Frolicking on the ButteAn artist painted a little bit of heaven for me to run in this morning. You're surprised? I have my own commandments now, you know ;). Brilliant cerulean bathed the sky. Sunlight appeared to dance with the dew on the grass, and a mama bird glanced at me from her nest. Every rose bush sagged under the burden of abundant blooms. This little bit of heaven was my sleepy neighborhood this morning. And to think I had to talk myself into getting out there and enjoying it.<br />
<br />
6am this morning...<br />
<br />
<strong>Domestic Goddess Self:</strong> You really need to load the dishwasher. Those are last night's dishes. You should be ashamed!<br />
<br />
<strong>Dedicated Employee Self:</strong> That project is not going to get done on its own. You should log in and get some work done from home before the kids get up.<br />
<br />
<strong>Couch Potato Self:</strong> This episode of the Voice you DVR'd is really good. Can't we just lay here in bed? You did stay up past 9 last night... Please???<br />
<br />
<strong>Tulip Frolicking Self:</strong> The weather could not get any better than this. Let's run!<br />
<br />
Lucky me... Some tulips got frolicked. It was a short run today. It turns out I am quite co-dependant. Flash over-extended his knee, and I am out a running partner for the next week. Somehow, the sense of obligation is lacking when there's no one to hold me accountable for running. Everyday demands end up taking priority. Yet when I do get out for my run, I am always so glad that I did.<br />
<br />
I live on a butte; so, the neighborhood has some topography. I haven't run it in awhile, seeking some flatter courses to work on adding mileage. The Butte includes a gruelling hill up Promontory Street. Promontory was not kind to me today. It is a steady incline as you approach the hill; so, I was already a little winded by the time I got to it. It stood, menacing as I turned the corner and got a good look at it. Normally I take it head-on thinking "It takes me two minutes, tops, to get to the top of this hill. I can do anything for two minutes." Today, I didn't have the same, spirited approach. <br />
<br />
<strong>Couch Potato Self:</strong> See, I told you we should have finished watching The Voice.<br />
<br />
<strong>Tulip Frolicking Self:</strong> You have a point, but I paused it before Adam Levine and his team performed their ensemble number. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to our show. (Adam Levine: lead singer, Maroon 5. See previous Heavy Breathing post, and you will think this is an obsession.)<br />
<br />
And so, driven by a love for Adam Levine, I continued my way up Promontory Hill. Getting to the top, I remembered two beautiful things about hills: 1. They end! 2. You get to run down the other side! I gleefully finished the downhill stretch of my run and coasted into my driveway. I resisted picking a tulip on the way. (I admit they aren't in season. Picking an Iris just isn't the same, though.)<br />
<br />
Hill Repeats: you will have to wait for another day. I can't keep Adam waiting.Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-91588146040565899962011-06-20T17:25:00.001-06:002011-09-29T08:03:54.615-06:00Tortoise Commandments a.k.a. How to Take Risks without Looking Stupid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Words of wisdom from Garfield: It's amazing what one can accomplish when one doesn't know what one can't do. This caption can be found on a poster of Odie, with his tongue-wagging smile, perched on a tree branch. <br />
<br />
I think of Odie whenever I try anything new. The fact is, I'll try anything once. I figure if I suck, I can always say - hey, I'm new! The real pressure actually comes later, after I've been doing something for awhile. While the tortoise in me is content to do something familiar and comfortable, even a tortoise wants to improve.<br />
<br />
So, I'm going to get bossy here for a minute. I'm the oldest of five children - I'm entitled. I unveil for you the Tortoise Commandments... a few things that have helped me to take risks, without getting hurt or looking (too much) like an idiot.<br />
<br />
Commandment 1: Set a Goal<br />
Let's face it, most of us will hardly take a jog around the block without a specific goal to shoot for. Having a specific goal keeps us motivated to get out of bed on those mornings when we just want to hit the snooze and catch a few more Z's. It's important not to just say, "I want to start running more." You have to scare the bajeebers out of yourself by signing up for a race. Then you'll push yourself. Probably out of the fear of looking stupid. 'Cause no one wants to do the walk of shame after giving up on a race or wait for the sag wagon to come along and pick them up.<br />
<br />
Commandment 2: Have a Plan<br />
Ok, it's true, I'm a planner. Maybe it's the teacher in me, but you need a roadmap to get where you're going - a calendar with the days marked with the type of run you're doing that day and for how many miles. Looking over your plan will help boost your confidence... you'll think "See, I can actually do this!" <br />
<br />
Commandment 3: Be Flexible<br />
If the plan you set out just isn't happening for one reason or another - change it. So you missed your long run on Sunday, that's ok... switch it to Monday. If you have a few weeks go by that just don't add up to the mileage you need, adjust your training plan - and your expectations for race day. Race day is really only a reflection of the training time put in. Sometimes, the schedule simply doesn't allow for the best performance... So what? Are you going for an Olympic medal here?<br />
<br />
Commandment 4: Be Patient<br />
This is something you get so much better at as you get older. You know how when you were a kid, you wanted to be a superstar at everything right out of the gate? You had to do it right then before you got really old - like in your 30's? Well, guess what. You have your whole life ahead of you. There is PLENTY of time to become a marathon runner. Just ask the silver-haired lady in the purple sports bra who finished the Canyonlands Half Marathon a minute before I did... It does not have to happen over night. They say a good training plan adds mileage each week - by about 10%. This is key to injury prevention. I've seen beginners go out strong - running a 6 mile, then an 8 mile, then a 10 mile in just a couple weeks - only to end up with a stress fracture or other injury.<br />
<br />
Commandment 5: Have Fun<br />
This commandment supercedes all others... if you're not enjoying what you're doing, there is something wrong. Look for the joy in everything you do. Whether it's the scenery, the company, the music, or the energy you feel for the rest of the day after you've gotten a good run in, treasure it. Savor a moment away from your kids - or WITH your kids, if your lucky enough to have ones that will join you. Whatever it takes to make it fun, do it. I like to bribe myself with gummy bears half way through my long run. Not only are they totally yummy, they are extra fuel for the second half of the run.<br />
<br />
Ok, I'm off my soapbox. The tortoise is back in the shell. If you heed none of my advice, at least consider the gummy bears. I'm serious, they're really good.<br />
<br />
I would love to hear your ideas on taking risks. How do you try something new without looking stupid? Leave me some comments!</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-15982525904803462572011-06-17T15:46:00.010-06:002011-06-30T11:57:24.712-06:00Heavy Breathing and Other Intriguing SoundsThe only reason I would take up jogging is so that I could hear heavy breathing again. <br />
-Erma Bombeck<br />
<br />
Heavy breathing is exactly what you hear when I run. When I first got started, it was so bad, I had to crank up my ipod to avoid the sound of my own breathing. I can still zone out to some tunes with the best of them. Since every runner is always looking for something new to add to the playlist, I thought I'd share some of my running mantras. If you didn't already think I was a big nerd, you will for sure now. The common theme here is songs that make me smile and put an extra spring in my step:<br />
<br />
<strong>Livin' La Vida Loca</strong> - Ricky Martin... Because you know how I feel about runners... Yes, we are all Loca! <br />
<strong>Take it Off</strong> - Ke$ha<br />
<strong>Girlfriend </strong>- Avril Lavigne... This one is just the right beat to get me pumped up for a run<br />
<strong>Night Drive</strong> - All American Rejects<br />
<strong>Baby Got Back</strong> - Sir Mixalot... Any song that celebrates women's bodies just the way they are deserves some praise.<br />
<strong>Hey Ya</strong> - OutKast<br />
<strong>Makes Me Wonder</strong> - Maroon 5... Mostly because I love Maroon 5. Also because now that I've seen Adam Levine play his guitar on The Voice, hearing his voice makes me happy. Yes, happy is the word I'm looking for.<br />
<strong>Only the Good Die Young</strong> - Billy Joel<br />
<strong>The Fox</strong> - Nickel Creek... You can't help but run like a fox on a chilly night when you hear this one.<br />
<strong>Hey Soul Sister - </strong>Train<br />
<strong>Don't Stop Believing</strong> - Journey... For a little inspiration<br />
<strong>Hot and Cold</strong> - Katy Perry<br />
<br />
Get your run on this weekend! Happy Friday!<br />
<br />
ps - share your playlist with me. I am always looking for good songs to jam to!Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-4415109867156581752011-06-08T11:29:00.003-06:002011-09-29T08:04:33.022-06:00How to Run Faster<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So what is a new runner who has just completed her first 10K to do? Why, sign up for a half marathon, of course! Crazy Ass and I set our sites on the Canyonlands Half Marathon in Moab, Utah. Moab is home to Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. The race route descends the Colorado River Canyon where a brilliant blue sky serves as a back drop for rust-colored spires of rock.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moab</td></tr>
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With breathtaking scenery and a downhill course, the race is a first-timer's dream. Training to run 13.1 miles, not quite as dreamy. It amounts to putting on some miles. And then adding some more miles. Pretty soon, a five mile run is your "easy" day. Eventually, you know every quarter mile of the local trail like the back of your hand. And you get faster.<br />
<br />
One summer afternoon, Crazy Ass and I were completing a seven mile run on the local bike trail. We had decided to include some hill work; so, our route consisted of a part of the trail that sloped down next to a river. As we approached the river, we noticed what had to be a rabid dog barking fiercely in our direction. His owner was holding tight to his leash. Crazy Ass and I looked at eachother and moved away from the dog toward the other side of the trail. We intended to run in the grass to get as far away from that freaky dog as possible. As we got closer, the owner pointed across the trail and said "Look out. There's a snake." Expecting a garter snake to be slithering through the grass, we looked in the direction he pointed, a mere three feet away from us. What we saw was more than just a snake. Coiled there, ready to strike, was a diamond back rattlesnake. Did I say it was a mere three feet away? Without a word, Crazy Ass and I did an about face and began sprinting in the other direction. My heart was pounding. I don't think we had seen that kind of pace yet in our training. That lovely spot by the river became section of trail we would not be running again any time soon.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scary</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scarier</td></tr>
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On another occassion, Crazy Ass and I got up early to run on a long, flat section of the bike trail - in shall we say... not the nicest part of town. It was a little frosty; so, we were wearing snow hats and gloves. Out of the blue, Crazy Ass punched me in the gut. "Did you see that?" she asked. "What?" I asked her, not quite understanding what could be so important she had to assault me. "The homeless guy," she said under her breath. I glanced behind me. Sure enough, curled up in his sleeping bag, right next to the trail slept one bearded, grungy looking dude. Now some of you see this sort of thing every day, when you are surrounded by people who will hear your screams in a city of a million people or more. I, on the other hand, live in a town of 75 thousand where we house homeless families in local churches and feed them supper while our kids play monkey in the middle with their kids. Seeing a guy lying next to the bike trail is right on par with seeing the boogey man. My mind immediately went through the miles of trail we had already run... lined with trees that surely must have obscured similar boogey men. My step quickened to a sprint. Crazy Ass and I achieved yet another personal best pace for our training. During the weeks that followed, someone new accompanied Crazy Ass and I on our runs. Her cop boyfriend now rode behind us on his bike. Who knew we needed a body guard?</div>
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Some say they will only run if something is chasing them. Having increased my pace at the mere thought of someone chasing me, on at least two different occasions, I can see their point. Sure, it hadn't been the most conventional of training plans, but our fight or flight mechanisms had surely been put to the test. Oh yeah - FLIGHT definitely wins (but we have a pretty BA body guard if that doesn't work!).</div>
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Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-49657475032857669062011-06-03T10:59:00.000-06:002011-09-29T08:04:53.533-06:00Running is Like Pancakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It seems the need for frequent bathroom breaks while running is kind of a girl thing. My husband -we'll call him Flash (it was his nickname in college because he's so fast) says he's never experienced the urge while running. Yet, you talk to a woman about it, and it's - "Oh, yeah... that's just what happens to me!" Crazy Ass and I completely see eye to eye on this one. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that maybe it's a mommy thing. I have a theory that all of the muscles down there are thinking "Gee, the last time we worked this hard, we were pushing out a 7 and half pound hunk of human flesh... Hey guys, we're having a baby! Push! Push! Push!" <br />
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But this post is not about the urge. Actually, I want to talk about pancakes. (How's that for a segway?) I have decided that running is like pancakes. No, I'm serious. Hear me out. When I make a batch of pancakes, the first one is always screwed up. It generally turns into a gooey, deformed glob - more resembling a toddler's play dough creation than something you would want to ingest. I usually end up throwing it out. Strangest thing, though. The rest of the pancakes turn out to be things of beauty... perfectly golden brown and smooth. I gloat as I slide them onto my kids' plates, "Call me Aunt Jemima!" They could film a commercial as the kids ooze the syrup out onto my works of art.<br />
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I have to tell you, my first mile of running is a lot like my first pancake. I get out there and start turning over my legs, thinking, "Is this what running is supposed to feel like? Do I look like a dork, here? What are my arms supposed to do? Oh, this song is no good. Where is my water? Ugh, this shoe is too loose. This shoe is too tight. My knee hurts. Are we done yet?" You get the idea. It's amazing I ever got past the first mile, right? Here is a fact: the only reason I ever did is because of Crazy Ass. As I run that first mile, I think "No way am I gonna let Crazy Ass down! She really wants to do this! Look at her arms pumping next to me. Listen as her feet rhythmically hit the pavement. No, I have to keep my butt moving. I might actually look like a complete dork, but I have to keep running."<br />
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By mile two, an amazing thing has happened. My stride has evened out. My breathing is in perfect time with each footstep. I feel like I am gliding, like a gazelle in African savannah. The breeze tickles the hair on the back of my neck. I can hear Chariots of Fire playing inside my head. Ok, I'll say it: They could make a Nike commercial out of this. <br />
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Miles 2 through whatever are much like those smooth, golden pancakes that miraculously appear on my griddle after I've burnt my thumb, cursed the breakfast gods and tossed Pancake Number One into the trash. So you know what I say about Mile One? Throw it out. It doesn't count. Just get past it and enjoy the remaining glorious miles of your run. <br />
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Um, ok. So if my first mile doesn't count, does that mean I have to add a mile to my run? Well... Maybe. But the real point is - don't stop running just because your first mile sucks! Because the first mile... well, sometimes it sucks, and the rest of the time it's just not as good as the rest of them. <br />
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Case in point: I ran my best 10K of my life last Fall at a local race. When I say best 10K, I mean like 2 minutes per mile faster than my best pace. How did I achieve this? Why, completely by accident, of course! My youngest daughter was running the one mile fun run, which took place <em>before</em> the 10K. Using a power that only an adorable six year old girl has, she got me to run the whole thing with her. We jogged some, we ran some, we walked some... All while I held her hand and bent down saying "You can do it!" As I was running to the finish of her fun run, a wall of people was suddenly coming toward me. Thanks to a warning from Flash, I realized they were my fellow 10K runners! My race was starting! I immediately turned around and joined the front of the pack. I was all warmed up, at the front of the pack, and I just kept on running. Like smooth, golden pancakes, the rest of my run was a thing of beauty. <br />
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I am convinced I couldn't have run that 10K nearly as well if I hadn't done the fun run. That fun run was my first pancake... The one I threw away to prepare for my batch of fast miles that were to follow. The best reward? The pancake breakfast that followed, served up hot by a local boy scout troop!<br />
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So don't worry too much about that first mile. Keep on running, my friends. Your pancakes await.</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-32878889134129418872011-05-31T15:25:00.000-06:002011-09-29T08:05:35.049-06:00Tortoise Race Debut<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm sure you are all on the edge of your seats wondering "Did she actually do it? Did she end up achieving her goal of becoming a whack-job runner?" The answer is, of course, yes. I am nothing if not goal-oriented. I would have hobbled the streets of Boulder with two broken feet just to accomplish the feat of running the Bolder Boulder, once I decided I was going to do it. <br />
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My race debut was not as glorious as some might imagine it. If you thought this was a story of a girl with a desk-job body magically transforming into an Olympic athlete, you thought wrong. Nope, I did not shed even 10 of my 30+ pounds of extra weight. This is no fairy tale. This is a real-life story involving a mere mortal who transformed her heart and mind to achieve something she otherwise did not think possible, and in the process, fell in love with running.<br />
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It was a drizzly Memorial Day morning in 2008. I had hardly slept that night, I was so nervous for the big day. 55,000 people ran the Bolder Boulder that day. My mind swirled at the thought of 55,000 people willing to run or walk 6 miles. The line for the porta potties rivaled the line for tickets to a Black Eyed Peas concert. There were grown women in tutus and grown men with spiked pink hair. The atmosphere was electric.<br />
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Our goal that day was simple: finish the race. Crazy Ass and I had run 5 miles on our last training run. This would be our first attempt at 6.2. Each week of training, we ran a little further than the last, taking walk breaks at each mile. We had discovered training routes with porta potties or bathrooms along the way - an important feature of a good trail for a new runner... Yeah, it's amazing how the body responds to stress. If you can figure out how to "just say no" to those bathroom breaks, you'll be able to run faster and farther. I learned to resist the urge, as well as the one to re-tie my shoe ten times to get it just right. Some other nuggets of wisdom from my early days:<br />
1. Buy some decent running shoes. You can get fitted at a specialty running store. This is not an extravagance... it will save you hundreds of dollars in chiropractor and doctor visits along the way. <br />
2. Find a long, flat running trail, <em>with bathrooms</em>.<br />
3. Get a pacing device if you can. This can be a simple as a watch and mapmyrun.com. I love my Nike Sportband. It will tell you exactly what your pace and distance are.<br />
4. Bring some water. The hotter the weather, the more you will need. It makes a huge difference in your performance.<br />
5. Find a training partner. I couldn't have done it without Crazy Ass to help celebrate (and curse) every additional mile we ran.<br />
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Our wave started with a bang. I was amazed at how fast everyone took off. I immediately ditched my water bottle so I could focus my attention on running. It was my fastest mile yet, at about a 10 minute pace. We took a scheduled walk break at the 1 mile marker, downing some water, and then took off again. The remaining miles were quite bit slower than the first... Mile three is gruelling, with it's hilly meandering through the Boulder neighborhoods. Our saving grace was the entertainment along the route. We saw belly dancers, frat boys handing out cups of beer, little kids shooting us with squirt guns. What a riot! As we descended into downtown during mile 5, the feeling of euphoria took over. We were almost finished! Then we turned the corner toward the stadium, Folsom Field, where the race ends. We were about a mile out and our feeling of euphoria came to an abrupt end. The course flattened out and then began a gradual incline to the stadium. "My legs are dead," I said to Crazy Ass, and we slowed to a walk. We tried to run as much of the last mile as we could, but our exhaustion had taken hold. An old guy slowly passed us on the right. I'm pretty sure I saw my neighbor's four year old zip up the hill on our left. <br />
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By the time we got the stadium, I was wiped out. I could hear the crowd as I turned the corner into the stadium, and then I got my first look... the entire stadium was packed with spectators. Families lined the field high-fiving runners as they passed. Kids held signs that said "see Mom run" and "Good Job, Mom!" I could hardly contain my emotion as each of their faces became those of my own children, in my mind. I was determined to cross the finish line running, though; so, I gulped down my tears and kept on going. <br />
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Crazy Ass and I crossed the finished line together, with a time of 1 hour 30 minutes. We looked at eachother with tears in our eyes. "We did it!" we said, in chorus, high-fiving as the race volunteers guided us through the finish gates to the post-race food and beer.<br />
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I have never been prouder of a race than I was on that day. If I didn't say it aloud, I will say it now: I love you, Crazy Ass! Thank you for giving me the gift of running. I couldn't have done it without you.</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5431052468608984430.post-38156703871696885432011-05-27T13:31:00.000-06:002011-09-29T08:06:03.621-06:00The Tortoise and the Hare<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Since I began running back in 2008, at the prompting of my crazy-ass sister, I've always thought of myself as the tortoise, the one who beat the hare in the fable "The Tortoise and the Hare". I called it "running" but let's face it, when my teenage son said "Mom, I could walk this fast", while plodding along-side me, he spoke the truth. I may be slow, but three years later, I'm still running. <br />
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It all started when Crazy-Ass suggested we do the Bolder Boulder. I laughed. Me, run? You're serious? She handed me a photo-copied page from Shape magazine, claiming a walk to run program could work for anyone. Thirty pounds overweight due to a new job, three kids and TONS of other excuses, I thought, "This butt hasn't gotten any smaller using my walk to fridge program, so why not?"<br />
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Crazy-Ass wasn't a big time runner. She had run a couple 5K's to impress a hot guy once. Essentially, we'd be doing this walk to run thing together. It was early in the season and Colorado is not known for its fine running weather in February; so, we figured we'd start out doing treadmill walk/runs at our own gyms and text eachother to keep motivated. The plan looked something like this:<br />
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Week 1 - Walk 4 minutes / Run 1 minute. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 2 - Walk 3 minutes / Run 1 minute. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 3 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 1 minute. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 4 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 2 minutes. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 5 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 3 minutes. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 6 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 4 minutes. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 7 - Walk 1 minutes / Run 5 minutes. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 8 - Walk 1 minutes / Run 7 minutes. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 9 - Walk 1 minutes / Run 9 minutes. Repeat for 30 minutes.<br />
Week 10 - run for 30 minutes<br />
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Keep in mind, the Bolder Boulder is a 10K; so, we would have to make up the rest as we went along.<br />
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So, I decided to give the treadmill at work a try, given the fact it was the only treadmill I had access to at the time. I found some athletic shoes I bought at a discount store, some old sweats and a t-shirt. It was what I had laying around, and I was hoping it would pass for running clothes. One day after work, I decided to swallow my pride and brave the workout room. I peaked in the door and found, to my GREAT relief, that no one was there. As I approached the treadmill, I thought of those cartoons I used to watch as a kid, in which a character would go flying off the back end of a treadmill that got going too fast. That would be me, I was sure of it, flailing into some unsuspecting weight machine. At least no one would be around to witness my demise. Sure, I might bust my head open, but bleeding to death was surely better than subjecting myself to the humiliation of someone seeing me "run" on a treadmill for the first time!<br />
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I stepped onto the machine, hesitating as I tried to figure out the buttons. "Manual" is always a good choice, I thought, so I pushed it. I figured out that if I pushed the up arrow to 3, I could keep up as the belt went round and round. I looked at the timer: 30 seconds in. By the time it was time to run, I was working up a little bit of a sweat and had pushed the arrow up to 3.5 - Woohoo! Now, what does it mean to run? Hmmm.... I pushed the up arrow some more until I saw the readout say 4.8. That feels pretty good. Wow, am I really running? Before I knew it, one minute was over and it was time to walk again. I was a little disappointed as I pushed the arrow down to a walking pace. That's it? That's all I have to do? Yes, even I can "run" for one friggin' minute, I thought. <br />
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For the next 25 minutes, I imagined myself as a runner. I visualized myself running outside on the street. I thought about the runners I had driven past and thought - that guy's nuts! I realized - that could be me! And I was thrilled about it. Truth be told, I was always envious of those loonies. I thought to myself, I'm actually going to be one of those whack jobs huffing and puffing along the road, while sane passersby observe from their air-conditioned vehicles. After years of hating running (I don't like all that jiggling!) I was finally doing it. Granted, one minute at a time, but isn't that how you have to start everything? One minute at a time? One step at a time? One word at a time? Isn't that how we all learned to talk, walk, read, or ride a bike? If only we had the patience with ourselves that we have with our children as we teach them these vital life skills. I decided then and there to be patient with myself. To be kind to myself. To bless myself with 30 minutes a day to walk and run. And a tortoise was born.</div>
Tortoisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13692924094379971337noreply@blogger.com0