You Made My Friday ...

Remember the post about the three-legged stool?

Never Underestimate Sleep

A wonderfully kind, thoughtful, sweet woman (with whom I am also lucky enough to share a line on Ancestry.com and a lifetime of happy memories) sent me this:

It's a darling silver charm of a three-legged stool that I promptly took to Krueger Jewelers and asked them to attach to this silver bracelet. I've been wearing it since.

Best of all, she got one for herself, too. So now we BOTH can remember how to keep eating right, moving more and believing we can do it while we also keep sleep in balance.

Thank you, KH, for this very special reminder of you!

Right On, Herr Moore

My 11th grade composition teacher was Mr. Moore. Since he was also the German teacher, he was referred to as Herr Moore.

Herr Moore looked like a caricature of a 1920's Wall Street fat cat played by John Lovitz ... before the crash. Bow tie. Cummerbund. Sweat pouring off his head. He was bulbous nosed, portly, with big, black circles under his eyes and a chin that melted onto his shoulders, disguising the place where his neck should have been.  

(I'm getting to my point, hang on.)

Herr Moore passed on a few words of wisdom that I thought about today on my run. Words I think about more often than he could have imagined, actually.

When someone in comp would complain about not knowing what to write about, preventing them from putting pen to paper, Herr Moore said,

"Just start."

Then he explained, "The best way to start your story is to just start. You can always move stuff around or change it later. Just get something down on the paper and keep going. And pretty soon, you've got a good chunk of it done. Looking at a blank piece of paper is the hardest part. It gets easier once you have something there. The ONLY way to start is to just start."

(OK, that's not an exact quote. My memory isn't that good ... I mean, it's been 27 years. But that's the meaning of his advice as I remember it.)

This one piece of advice got me through a journalism degree. And a reporter job. It's also helped me in my career more than I care to admit. Not sure what to do? Just start and you'll figure it out. Don't know where to start? Pick a spot, dig in, and soon the right path will reveal itself.

I was thinking about it again today as I set out on one of my old, favorite running routes.

How do you get stronger? You stop making excuses and start working a little harder and a little longer.

How do you eat better? You stop eating badly and you start making healthier choices.

You just start.

You don't have to sweat for 2 hours or have an elaborate workout planned. You don't have to switch to only celery or have every meal planned out from now until next month.

You just start. You make up your mind and start.

You can develop a workout schedule as you figure out what you like and feel what works best for you. You can pass on the co-worker's cupcake birthday treat today and decide to not eat after 7 p.m. this week.

You just start.

Right (write?) on, Herr Moore. Thank you.

Absolutely Apples!

I love fall. The temps get cooler. The colors get brighter.

And the apples roll in!

My perennial favorite? Gala. Sweet and crisp. Of course you also have to give a nod to the very popular Honeycrisp.

However, my new favorites are Pink Lady, Jazz (a cross between Gala and Braeburn) and Pinata. All crunchy, crisp, sweet and a little tart. Sometimes the Pink Lady has a tropical vibe ... occasionally vaguely banana.

I hate bananas. But I still love the apple.

I like dipping them in reduced fat peanut butter or Nutella. I like them as simple snacks. I like packing them when I have to travel because they can survive a plane ride.

I like the fact that they take a while to eat ... so the 90-140 calories I'm ingesting takes a while to consume and my teeth/jaw get a lot of chewing in. It's a good eating value if that makes sense.

Of course, I love them dipped in caramel and rolled in nuts, too, but I try to avoid that if possible.

(Werther's makes sugar-free hard candies that satisfy that craving if I simply have to have it.)

Two Vacations, 20 Pounds

The two big vacations are booked. (Thanks to Quigley! I heart you!) One this fall, one this winter.

You know what that means ...

Swimming suits.

And to make matters worse, my husband seems to be really trying to get to fighting weight. (I like it better when he slacks a little ... makes me feel superior. How lame is that?)

Tonight is a vegetarian night in honor of the big event. A four-mile run at a 10-minute mile pace preceded the meal.

Back on the horse.

Giddy up.

Self Sabotage

The big jar of Nutella had a $1 off coupon attached to it.

But even with the big savings, I'm pretty sure buying it was a bad idea.

Icky Vicky

A few years back, I stopped at Victoria's Secret in an attempt to make myself feel better. No matter how big I was, there was something about pretty underthings that made me feel a little bit sexier. A little bit girly-er. A little bit prettier.

I had trouble finding a bra that fit properly and thought that getting "professionally" fitted would be just the ticket.

Honestly, walking in a place like that terrified me. It made me uncomfortable because I worried that those skinny teenage mall girls working in the store would take one look at me and laugh. "Why does SHE need cute underwear?" one would ask the other. "Yeah, it's not like someone is dying to see THAT nearly naked," the other would respond. And then there would be mean-girl giggles all around.

Deep breath, courage and chin up, walk in.

"I'd like to get fitted for a bra," I say, smiling for all I'm worth, trying very hard to look confident.

"Sure!" the perky sales associate says.

I forget what the tape measure said now, but it was more than 36 or 38. Quite a bit more.

And no one told me that the Victoria's Secret store doesn't inventory anything larger than that.

The girl that did my fitting tried to be diplomatic. She even brought me a few bras to "try," knowing full well that they wouldn't come close to fitting and recommended I look online where more sizes and styles were available. She didn't smirk. She didn't roll her eyes.  She didn't act as if I'd wasted her time.

But I remember looking at myself in that fitting room mirror. Or rather, trying NOT to look at myself in that fitting room mirror.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

I forced my chin back up, smiled and said "thank you" on the way out in a deliberate-and-fake cheerful voice.

I haven't been back since. And I have no plans to return.

Sometimes the external evidence of the wound heals. But the scar tissue underneath the surface doesn't go away.

Walking to Dinner

There's something nice about being stranded in an unfamiliar place with no rental car and no readily available cabs.

You have to walk everywhere.

I spent the last few days at a Holiday Inn near a small convention center in an out-of-the-way suburb of Atlanta. As in, a $96 cab ride from the airport. I debated getting a rental car, but decided against it for purely financial reasons. And now I'm glad I did.

No car meant we walked to work every morning, somewhere between a quarter mile and third of a mile, if I had to guess. With a steep hill. Two of the four days, I made an extra trip back to the hotel during a break in the exhibit hall hours so I could hit the treadmill. Bingo! Bonus mile in without really trying!

That also means we had to walk to dinner every night. Again, the closest restaurant was another quarter-mile away. Bingo! Bonus half-mile!

Somehow, ordering -- and eating -- a dessert doesn't feel so indulgent when you know you have to hoof it back to the hotel.

Afternoon Delight

It's dark these days before 6 a.m. Really dark. So dark, in fact, that I can't really get my walk or run in because I'm afraid cars won't see me and that mountain lions will.

(I'm convinced there are mountain lions lying in wait in my neighborhood. I know that's ridiculous, of course. But that doesn't mean I still don't fear them. I hear them behind me every once in a while. I know they watch me. And remember, I don't laugh at  your beliefs.)

So I'm doing a bit of a swap. My outdoor workouts are now taking place in the afternoon, after work. The sun is still out. It's still warm enough.

And it keeps me out of the fridge for 40 minutes or so after work.

Running in the Mirror

I'm on the road again. And that means another hotel fitness room.

In this case, it's a Holiday Inn outside of Atlanta with a 12' x 12' room that contains two filthy treadmills, one bike and one elliptical, plus a set of hand weights.

The best part of the whole room is the wall of mirrors. The treadmills face them and I was a little self-conscious when I first stepped on and fired up the belt.

But guess what? I loved it. And I hope that doesn't sound narcissistic. Let me explain.

Running outside is great. I like the changing scenery. I like how quickly the time seems to pass. I like the fresh air freedom it brings. The thinking I can get done is wonderful.

But the only thing I can see is my feet and the upcoming hill. I can't tell if my form is good. And while I know how my breathing feels, I can't really tell how it looks. Of course I always think I'm breathing harder and working harder than I really am.

With these enormous mirrors, I can SEE me. I can see the sweat begin to surface. I can see my stride and how I hold my shoulders, which reminds me to stand up taller.

And I can see how strong I look. That my breathing isn't nearly as labored as it might seem in my head. And that encourages me to keep going ... just a little farther.

Benefit of Being Thinner #33

When at a hors d'ouevres cocktail hour or potluck event, I no longer have to "wait" to eat.

Why did I feel that way before? Because in my head I thought everyone was silently thinking, "Back off the buffet, Missy. You really could afford to skip a meal." Or, "Big surprise! Look who is first in line for the food!"

The new, thinner me can step right up and be first in line!

Blowing Up

Three days, no workout makes Miss Daisy a VERY grumpy girl.

I've been tired and busy and haven't worked out since Sunday morning when I took a brief walk on the beach, before boarding a plane to come home.

And I have been owly and out of sorts. Quick to anger. Quick to cry. Quick to get overwhelmed.

So I couldn't wait to get home tonight to hit the road.

But holy, schmoly ... the wind, she blew!

I ran a little over a mile against the gusts. Every step was a fight. In my head, each one was a punch against all the things that pissed me off today. And yesterday. And the day before.

That also meant that the second half of my run was with the wind at my back. A firm, but gentle hand pushing the small of my back to keep going.

Reminding me that I could keep going.

And I did.

It never ceases to amaze me how much better a little energy expenditure makes me feel. It smooths off the rough edges. It gives my brain room to breathe. It centers me almost instantly.

You should try it.

Hip Check

Every morning as I'm blow drying my hair, I test my hip.

By test, I mean I stand with both feet square with my shoulders and I start rotating. And jutting. And stretching. I'm trying to find the spot or spots where it hurts the most.

This morning, I really had to look. I had to move and push more than usual to find the stiff and sore spots.

Hallelujah!

I'm not sure if it's the two days off I've had. Or the softer surface the beach provided last week. Or simply "time" finally elapsing.

Or maybe it's not real and the soreness will be back tomorrow.

But I'm counting it as a win for today and crossing my fingers for tomorrow.

Never Underestimate Sleep

If I view my health as a three-legged stool, the holy trinity holding me up contains:

• Eating right
• Exercising
• Thinking/believing/knowing I can 

After a sort of long week with some sort of screwed up hours, I have discovered the "seat" that holds those three legs together. 

It's sleep. 

If you're not sleeping well, or enough, the three legs don't connect and aren't much use. 

Sorry for the short post, but I have to go to bed. 

No More Limits #5

Hey You,

The girl with the cute Tshirt dress and espadrilles who grabbed a microphone in front of a room of 70 or so people last night and didn't think twice about it.

When did you get so comfortable in your skin? When did you learn to laugh and relax in a crowd? When did you learn to act silly and carry on just a little, flitting around the room ... making eye contact and sharing smiles?

What's clear to me is that the unsure, uncomfortable woman who used to worry endlessly that someone might notice all that was "wrong" with her is now out there in front, not minding a bit when a cute, old man notices what's "right" with her on the outside ... because she is confident in the work she has put in to make sure everything is "right" on the inside.

Go on wit' cher bad self, sistah.

Oh, and "Put your money up," right GAF?

Lunch Leftovers

Another box lunch. Sandwich, chips, brownie and apple.

This is what we didn't eat. The brownies clock in at more than 300 calories per. And I should have eaten the apple instead of the chips. But I had an apple for breakfast. This one might find a home in my carry-on for airport snacking, however.

Navigating "Vacation" Eating

OK, I'm not really on vacation. I'm working. But as luck would have it, this conference is at the beach. Navigating eating, when you don't control everything and are sort of captive of the situation, can be tricky.

Here's what I do:

Snacks in the airport, on the plane? They're hideously expensive and the options aren't so great. So I pack my own. This week's stash includes almonds, dark chocolate M&Ms, frosted mini wheats, Cherrios, gum and sugar-free hard candy.

The hotel we're staying at has free breakfast. I'm actually going to check it out tomorrow. But since I didn't know what it would be like, I set myself up just in case. I packed apples and 90-calorie Fiber One bars which works just fine.

The conference provides a box lunch. Today's version was turkey, cheese and lettuce on a croissant, bag of chips, apple, and pre-packaged brownie. I ate the sandwich with as little of the croissant as possible. And the chips and the apple.

I also snacked on some M&Ms.

Dinner is the highlight of the day. And today's pre-dinner mojito was spectacular. When in Rome, eat seafood, right? So that's what we did. The blackened grouper was delish. The homemade potato chips, coleslaw and hush puppies were pretty good, too. I didn't eat all of them, but it was certainly close enough. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the fried oyster appetizer, shared.

Read between the lines here ... my whole dinner was essentially fried.

But that's OK. I ran this morning. I'm going to run again tomorrow. I do it so I can eat a "local" dinner and not get too worried about it.

Objects in Mirror May Be Farther Than They Appear

I'm travelling for work again. Which means wonky eating, wonky sleeping and wonky exercise.

I took off this afternoon for a nice run on the beach and set a goal of a building along the coastline that seemed like a reasonable distance.

It was not.

It was very much like being a big city where you can see the skyscraper from where you are, and it seems nearby, until you start walking toward it. And then it gets farther and farther away.

Between the sun, the wind, the wonky eating and sleeping, what seemed like a perfectly doable run turned into a rather torturous one, with bursts of walking.

And sweating. Lots of sweating.

Sucka!

 A 90-calorie brownie sounds good, right? Sounds like a pretty good way to knock out a chocolate craving. And when the box of Fiber One 90-calorie snacks are on sale 6 for $15 at the grocery store ... that's about $2.50 per box when normally they're $3.89 ...  it seems like a good deal, too.

The brownie box is bigger than the 90-calorie granola bar box. So I'm thinking the stuff inside will be bigger, correspondingly. It doesn't seem like an unreasonable thought.

Until I get them home and open said box. See for yourself. I'm disappointed.

The texture on the brownie isn't awful. I also tried the chocolate chip and it had that chemically enhanced "soft" texture which leaves you nothing to actually chew ... and you know it has a shelf life ranking up there with Twinkies. There's a bit of chemical flavor with both, too.

For my money, a real cookie, even if it clocks in at 150 calories or 200, would be much more satisfying. Two pieces of Dove dark chocolate for less than 100 calories is a way better deal all the way around.

Killer on the Loose

Yup. I think I have found the number one excuse for not running. I used it this morning.

There's a killer on the loose in my neck of the woods and I decided that was reason enough to not hit my rather secluded country road in the semi-darkness this morning.

I wish I was making this up.

This afternoon, law enforcement, acting on a tip, was searching a field in Rockford for the armed assailant.

But, a quick web search just now indicated that the search has been suspended ... which means they didn't find him.

Guess that means I'm not running tomorrow either.

I might be able to outrun him, but probably not his gun.

Stinky But Delicious Garlic Feta Dip

I was looking for an alternative to regular, old dill dip (which I make with light or non-fat sour cream and/or non-fat plain Greek yogurt and an envelope of Hidden Valley dry Dill Dip mix) and I remembered something from a party that I thought I could recreate.

Per usual, I didn't measure anything. So adjust this to your own tastes. Add a little and if it needs more, jack it up.

WARNING: This will keep the vampires away and, perhaps, your husband/wife, too. As Rachel Ray says, as long as you both eat it, it's all good.

Garlic Feta Dip
Equal parts fat-free Greek yogurt and fat-free sour cream (let's say ... 1/2 cup of each?)
Finely chopped garlic (1T? of the jar kind ... maybe two cloves)
1t-1T garlic salt (start small ... add more if you need it)
1t-2t dried oregano (fresh would be better ... could also be basil or you could eliminate this altogether)
Finely crumbled fat-free feta (1/2 cup?)
Lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste

Serve with whole wheat crackers, toasted baguette slices, pita chips, cucumbers, red peppers, cauliflower, broccoli, etc.

Two by Twenty

The hubs and I are starting a new journey tomorrow.

Both of us are attempting to drop 20 el-bees.

We've both fallen off the wagon a bit. As of this morning, I'm up 5 from my "new normal" ... which was 10 above where I wanted to be. He keeps his numbers a bit closer to the vest, but he's put a few back on, too. And with trade show/travel season, the holidays, and two beach vacations staring me in the face, it's time to buckle down.

It's funny. I found some old photos this morning and I came across one that showcased my sister and me on a trip to Mexico 15+ years or so ago. It was the only time in my adult life where I had successfully tried and lost some weight. I thought I was smokin' skinny as I slid into a size 12 dress that I wore exactly once.

Looking at the photos now I can see I wasn't a healthy thin. In fact, I wasn't thin at all. I just thought I was. And I felt "better" by comparison to what I was before the weight came off.

A year ago, I felt that way again. I felt healthy and thin. I liked sliding into my clothes. It was new and unfamiliar and so-so-so-so-so-so-so much "better" by comparison.

But I don't feel that way anymore.

I don't feel too big. Don't get me wrong. I know I'm healthier. I know I don't have a lot to lose.

But I do have some. I'm not as lean and as tight as I want to be. The extra that I'm carrying is noticeable to me now because I've settled in to this new size.

It needs to go. In a healthy, responsible, slow, careful way.

And Jim? He'll just wiggle his nose and eat an extra salad a week and beat me to the goal by two months.

Freaking men.

Hotties from the 90's in Acapulco! 

Scene of the Crime

For the first time since early June, I hit my old 4-mile route this morning with the intent of running the whole thing. I thought it would be a good barometer for my hip progress. I was determined to test my stamina and the cortisone.

Both failed.

I managed to run all but about .2-.3 miles combined, in two separate spots ... one a steep incline that just hurt too much. It was not a pretty, nor strong, showing.

Truthfully, everything just hurt too much. The cortisone has been a big disappointment. There is a small spot that feels better if when I poke directly on it. But everything around it hurts as much or more.

I know I should stop running again for a while.

I really don't want to.

I Caught My Mother Running!

Well, sort of.

You know how, as you age, you start to catch yourself saying things, doing things that sound or remind you of your own parents? I'm of an age where I am coming across this more and more.

The wrinkles on my face look sort of familiar. My hands have crossed the line from "young girl" to old lady with knots starting to form on my joints.

Tuesday, as the sun started to climb past the horizon and I plodded down a quiet country road, I caught a glimpse of my early morning shadow.

And the person bouncing along the blacktop with me was ... my mom.

I gasped. Then I laughed out loud.

She moves pretty good for an old girl!

Looking For ...

OK, I'm considering yoga. I need to strengthen my core, get some good, formal stretching in and the mental peace can't hurt, right?

So I'm looking for a good yoga DVD. One that's not dorky. One aimed at runners, perhaps? One that's NOT the yoga on the Wii Fitness Board, which I hate.

I also hate weird music and all things patchouli/hemp/namaste flavored.

Got any recommendations?

Unexpected Downside of Being Thinner #16

Back fat. Or back skin.

And stomach skin. And don't even get me started on the cellulite under the saggy, wrinkly extra skin on my thighs.

I bought a new swimming suit this weekend. A "real" swimming suit. From the sports store. I first tried on the size I thought I was and found out ...

Umm, no. I'm have way more skin that a size 8. More than a 10, too. I have enough skin for a 12, apparently. If I'm being totally honest, the skin that bulges out around the fancy racer back straps would probably like a bigger size yet.

But I refuse to buy one.

Hey, Big Guy in Blue Tshirt on Hwy 26 in Watertown ... Saturday About 3 p.m.

Hey, Big Guy in Blue Tshirt on Hwy 26 in Watertown ... Saturday About 3 p.m.:

Yeah, you. You were running in front of the the old Kohl's grocery store, across the street from the old Ponderosa, heading north.

You weren't moving super fast. Let's face it. You're a pretty big dude. Moving fast is probably not the easiest thing in the world. And you were sweating. A lot.

But you were moving.

And you literally brought tears to my eyes.

I'm not sure if you heard me. But I screamed at you from my car. "You GO, dude!!! Way to rock it! Keep going!"

I think I startled the others in my vehicle. I continued yelling in their direction. "Do you know how hard it is to do what he's doing right now? Do you UNDERSTAND?"

"Look at him. He's got a heavy cotton shirt on; it's soaking wet. His calves are bigger than my thighs. He's running. He's RUNNING. On a highway, with all these cars whizzing by and half of them making fun of him."

"He knows there are a few pointing at him and laughing at the fat guy trying to run. But he's running!"

My rant charged on. "He's dragging at least 150 extra pounds around with him. That's a whole other person. Can you imagine trying to run with another human being strapped to your back? That's what he's doing right now. His heart and muscles and bones aren't a bit bigger than yours or mine. But I guarantee you that right now they're stronger than ours combined."

"No one understands how hard it is to do what he's doing. No one knows how brave it is to try."

I do, dude. I know how hard it is. And I think you're amazing. I'm also fairly confident you'll succeed. Know why? Because you chose to run on the freaking busiest street in town, for all to see. You didn't hide in your basement. You didn't putter around on a quiet side street. You put it all out there, giving those that doubt you or who rush to make judgements about you a big, figurative finger as you plodded by.

I wish I had circled back, jumped out of my car, and ran a block with you to tell you that I think you are truly remarkable.

But you don't need me to tell you that. I assume the little girl riding her pink bike behind you was your daughter. And I also assume you're doing what you're doing, in part, for her.

She thinks you're the coolest guy in the whole world, no matter what size you are. But what you're teaching her about courage and determination makes you her real-life rock star.

Run on, my friend.

P.S. To those who drove by and saw the same thing I did and smirked a little? I'm flipping you off right now with both barrels. In solidarity.

Not What the Doctor Ordered?

Thursday: Cortisone shot and orders to "lay low" for two or three days.

Friday: 1.3 - 1.4 mile swim ... exercise that's good for hips. Still quite sore with no noticeable difference as a result of the shot.

Saturday: 20-mile bike ride ... exercise that's good for hips. Dead on bursa feel better, but surrounding areas at top of hip still just as sore as before. And then I spent 4 hours tending bar at a family gathering in 3.5" espadrilles. Whoops.

Sunday: 3-hour horseback ride. Knees screaming by the end. Hips tight and sore.

Not sure if I'm following orders or not. I'd like to get a long, hard walk in tomorrow. Just feel like I need to stretch it all out. Maybe swim, too, depending on how the day goes. Then starting Tuesday, it's back to a normal a.m. routine if it kills me.