Stress, Zen Laundry and Core Conditioning

OK, I don't know who invented the front-load washer, but can I tell you how much I sort of hate it?

But before I do, let me explain my love-hate relationship with laundry.

I didn't know how to do laundry until I moved to college. My mom never asked us to do it as teenagers (I know! What was she thinking?), so my first encounter with it was in the basement of Towers Hall at UW-Eau Claire. I don't remember it being a big deal. I eventually moved to a house in Whitewater as I finished up school and just took my laundry home on weekends to do myself. By the time I moved to my first "official grown up apartment" in Janesville, it was the purchase of my first washer and dryer that made me feel like an adult.

In that upstairs apartment, the laundry room was located in a little area between the kitchen and the back stairway/second egress. Because it was a room that wasn't intended to be a real room ... it was really just a build-out of a back porch ... the foundation wasn't exactly rock solid. So every single time I ran it, on every single spin cycle, the floor would start to rock and that would throw the drum out of balance and the washing machine would walk across the floor toward the back door, stretching the water hose dangerously close to disconnecting territory. So I'd have to literally stand out there and hold the machine in place during the spin cycle. It was hilarious.

When I bought a little ranch house, I was actually thrilled that the laundry hook-ups were in the basement. Concrete floor = no more traveling washing machine!

By the time we built this house, I thought it was time to upgrade. So, front-load we went.

I can't tell you how many times I wish I'd made another decision.

And I need you to tell me if it's just me or if you have the same problem.

Every time I move clothes from the washer to the dryer ... and I mean EVERY SINGLE TIME ... at least one article falls on the floor. It's usually far more than one item. In fact, I'd say my "average" is about 5 items per load.

Oftentimes its socks. But pants and workout tights and leggings also present a serious problem as the legs get all corkscrewed around each other, making it all but impossible to pull something out of the hole cleanly. So you end up dragging crap along with them and those hangers-on end up on the laundry room floor.

Clean laundry on the floor is not my idea of smurfy.

And every time ... EVERY SINGLE TIME ... I get pissed off. Frequently, I curse at the wet clothes. I yell at them out loud, "Why, WHY can't you just come out of the machine without landing on the #*&)))@  floor?"

It frustrates me,  raising my stress level for no good reason.

So, I've decided to take another tactic. I just don't need more stress than I already have. Breathe in. Breathe out. Ooooohhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm.

From here on out, I'm choosing to view the clean laundry on the floor as a welcomed opportunity for a little extra workout.

I'm going to do squats or lunges to pick up said articles of clothing, holding my core tight, squeezing my hamstrings, glutes and quads on the way down and the way back up. I'm going to be grateful that I have the opportunity to sneak a few reps in.

And when someone asks how I got such a cute, high, tight butt, I'll tell them, "I have a front-load washer."

The Perfect Diet

If left to my own devices, this is what I would eat. Every day. 

Potato chips. 

Muenster cheese.

Sweet/sour apples like Sweet Tango or Jazz or Pinata. 

Popcorn ... the popped on the stovetop kind with butter and salt. 

Pretzels. 

Chocolate covered caramel with sea salt. 

Cheeseburgers. 

Cherry Coke Zero, of course!

Thanksgiving dinner (turkey, mashed potatoes, my mom's stuffing and cranberry sauce). 

Caramel Chex Mix

Dove Dark.

Think I can make this work? What are your favorites? (And NO ONE is allowed to reply with "Carrots." 

Good vs. Evil

What time is it, I wonder. It's perfectly dark outside, not a whisper in the house. I usually try to guess what the clock will say before I look. A very quick check of the color of the sky, the absence/presence of furnace noise and the sound of the wind gets made before I roll over and look for the digital numbers.

In my sleepy haze, I'm awake enough to hope it's about an hour before the 5:23 a.m. alarm time. That gives me enough time to take care of this full bladder and then crawl back into my warm bed for a little nap before officially getting up.

I love that little extra nap. Feels so decadent. Like I'm outsmarting the alarm.

The worst possible scenario? I'm only 10 minutes in front of the annoying ring that emits from my cell phone. When I only have 10 minutes, I pee for two and then actually fall back asleep for eight. Hard. Waking up after that short, hard sleep is just painful.

Good news. The clock reads 4:11 a.m. Which is really about 3:55 a.m or so, since Jim has this clock set ahead ... but I'm never sure by exactly how much. Perfect for peeing and napping.

(This is a quirk in our house. The clock on the stove and microwave are approximately real time. Jim's bedroom clock, the one I am discussing above, is set fast. The one in the master bath is also set a bit ahead, but not as much as the one in the bedroom. Why? My brain is too tired to do math most of the time and the "not knowing" what time it really is gets me up and out of bed faster. I know. I know. It's stupid. But it gets better. I have a handful of alarm times set on my phone ... so I have to just pick one depending on the day and what's going on. None of them are set for "normal" times like 6:15 or 5:30 or 7 a.m. They are all set for odd numbers, preferably prime. Like 6:19 a.m. vs. 6:15. Or 5:23 a.m. vs. 5:30. It's bad luck to set them on the "round" numbers. Don't ask.)

Off to sleep.

Awake again to the still-dark and still-quiet house. My one-eyed clock check lets me know that the alarm will likely ring in a few minutes.

That's when the debate in my head begins.

"Mondays should be rest days," Evil declares. "You ran long yesterday and your knees need a recuperation day."

"You ate like a horse yesterday," Good reminds all three of us. "You could take a rest day in good conscience if you'd just learn to eat right."

"Maybe just a quick bike ride and Day 3 strength workout," Good suggests. "A little cardio would be a good way to start a Monday."

Evil holds his own. "You have to be in Rockton at 8 a.m. for a meeting. You can't be late. It's 5:30 a.m. now and bike and strength take at least an hour. You need an hour to shower and get ready ... 6:30 to 7:30 a.m. ... and still make it, but it's snowing and the roads might be bad. So that might be pushing it. You might not have time to get that all in."

"Maybe you should just bike. Or just do strength. There isn't time for BOTH." Evil's left eyebrow goes up on with this last word, like the Grinch. He's almost daring Good and I to argue. He knows that the snuggly warm sheets and heavy eyelids are working in his favor.

"There you go again," Good exasperates. "There is time. There was time. But you're lying here not getting up and time is ticking. Get your fat ass out of bed (even Good has a mouth) and get started already. Honestly! Do we have to do this every morning? It's such a waste of time."

Evil won't be bullied. "I am tired. I am hungry. Today is going to be a long day. Thirty more minutes of sleep will be more valuable than any workout," he says.

"Really?" Good asks. "Reeeeallllyy. You know what the right thing to do is. And if you don't get up out of this bed and hit the stairs, you'll feel like a loser all day. You'll feel puffy and lethargic and you'll kick yourself ... all damn day. The workout IS the reward. Remember all of those mornings for all of those months when you didn't give this a second thought? When you rolled out of bed to run your four miles because that's just what you did every morning?"

"You are that person. You can do this. You want to do this. So just do this already or you really will be out of time."

"Don't think, just get up," says Good. She's not yelling. She's not demanding. She's not whispering. Her voice in my head is just forceful enough. Steady. Controlled. Purposeful.

And my legs engage, swinging over the side of the bed before my brain can fully register the action.

The voices go away then. It's like they can only talk when my head is horizontal. I picture it a bit like a bubble in a level. Once the bubble moves to where it's supposed to be, the noise just stops.

I throw in a load of laundry and throw on some workout clothes. I hit the stairs, still unsure of what workout I'm going to do.

All I know with certainty is that I am up and I won. I beat Evil this morning. That one small victory sets me up for the next one, because I am well aware that though I have won the battle at hand, the war continues.

And I will fight it one challenge, one choice, at a time.

Up, Up and Awaaaaaaaaayyyyy

Doesn't that song just make you feel light and airy? Don't you see feathered hair and bell bottoms in low, warm, afternoon sunlight?

Me, too. It's how my workout this morning made me feel.

I'm almost afraid to tell you about it. But you know me, I can't keep a secret.

I ran 6 miles. I haven't done that since late fall. Why? Because it's hard for me to run more than about 5 miles on the treadmill without going bonkers and you already know what this winter has been like. And because my knees were simply not cooperating.

However, the additional Omega 3/fish oil supplement has been keeping me lubed up and feeling good ... so for the past few weeks, I've been slowly upping my weekly mileage. Today I managed 6 in a row, after a fast-paced 4 on Friday, a sprint/interval 2 on Thursday, and a normal 4 on Tuesday.

It all feels so good.

So very good, in fact, that I downloaded a marathon training plan today. I was all cocky, thinking that at 6 miles I was "halfway" there ...

Umm, yeah. The training plans I found START with a long run of 6 miles on Week 1. So I'm officially at Week 1 of a 16 or 18 week plan.

But that's OK.

I want to do just one marathon. Just one. I want it on so many levels. Probably most because I think I can't do it. And because my docs have told me I can't. (Don't you hate it when someone says you can't? Pisses me right off.)

I want it because I need a big goal ... something to chase. Something to conquer.

I want it because I know I might only get one chance to do it and this feels like the right time.

I want it because I'm tired of wanting it.I'm tired of sitting and spinning and chewing on this particular cud. Having it behind me would free up some of my time to worry and fetter about something else.

I want it because I don't think I'll be "done" with the original (though undefined and un-understood) goal I set at the beginning of this journey until I finish it.

Oh, and I'm not getting any younger.

We'll see where this goes. If you've got 16 weeks and want to come along for the ride, let me know.

I Want to Be an Olympic Speed Skater

Here are my reasons:

1. To me, it seems like running. I like running. I want to do longer distances, not the short track stuff.
2. Training conditions are consistent. No rain or snow or humidity to worry about ... or to use as an excuse to NOT train.
3. I like the bodystocking. Really. I do. Nothing to rub or chafe or flap in the breeze. It always fits, no matter if you've gained a pound or two. There's a hood ... so you don't have to do your hair.
4. Unlike running long distances outside, there's always a bathroom close-by. Or at least I would think there is. No peeing on the side of the track.
5. You burn an assload of calories!

And, perhaps most importantly ...
Big thighs are coveted. Desired. Necessary. And encouraged! 

Remember Wisconsin's Eric Heiden?

Of Young Men and Old Ladies

Temptation, thy name is "New Job."

So, here's what you'd see if you walked in the front door of my new office:

• Full body mount of a brown-colored bear (Grizzly or regular bear? I have no idea. But it's kinda big.)
• Pool table, Nerf basketball hoops and old school Donkey Kong game.
• Free-standing heavy bag with a T-shirt and gorilla mask on it, so that it looks like a person. And it scares me every time I turn the corner because I think someone is standing there. 

And ...

• A stocked candy bowl at the reception desk.
• A giant table that looks like the Sam's Club snack aisle. From Gardetto's and Pringles to granola bars to candy, stuffed to overflowing. "Want something that's not there?" my tour guide asks. "Just let us know. We'll get it." 
• A stocked beverage cooler/fridge thing like you'd find in a gas station. Sodas, lemonade, tea, water. And beer ... for Fridays.

As if that wasn't enough, I've been in training for the past two days. On my table? One bowl of hard candies and one bowl with mini chocolate bars. I've eaten from both.

Urgh. 

This is a tech company. Filled with bravado and young men. And young men with fast metabolisms can handle the constant intake. For heaven's sake ... they even go out for lunch on top of it! 

Old ladies like me are going to have to watch it.

Or ask my boss for one of those treadmill desks ...

  

On Second Thought ...

I am starting to rethink my initial evaluation of my cleanse/reset experience.

If you remember, when the 24 days were over, I thought the whole process was a good one. I felt as if I'd righted the ship, so to speak, and that I was back on track.

And then the wheels fell off.

I didn't just have one Cherry Coke Zero, I had three 2L bottles. I didn't just sneak a Dove Dark, I bought a bag of dark chocolate/orange truffles and ate 10 over the course of a few days. I didn't just sample desserts at the potluck, I had two full slices of delicious carrot cake.

And the pretzels. Don't get me started on the pretzels. (I missed crunch soooooo much.)

All the while, in between giant insulated cups of aspartame and handfuls of white flour and salt, I'm trying to figure out why I'm sabotaging the effort I put into the three-plus weeks prior.

Did three weeks of "denial" lead to wanton overindulgence or am I just making excuses for bad behavior?

The truth is I'm not sure it matters. It's all a damn head game. What matters is that I know what I'm supposed to do and I'm not doing it. I raised my hand to my mouth and shoved it all in.

So I'm trying to think about it all differently.

Did my knees feel better with less dairy and wheat intake? Yes, they did. But dairy-free every day is not for me. I like cheese. And I need the crunch of a completely useless pretzel every now and again.

Did I sleep better when my caffeine and alcohol intake was small or non-existent? Yes, I did. But sometimes nothing quenches my thirst like a chemical-tasting, battery-acid-like Diet Coke. And I like to have a drink socially when I'm out with friends.

Am I going to die or gain 100 pounds overnight if I have a couple of days of extra chocolate? No. Do I need to run 5 miles a day to keep weight off? No.

This head game, this feeling of out of control, too, shall pass.

I did better today. Being at work (my first day of the new job) helps. There's a schedule, some structure. No pretzels.*

There are times that I get mad that this battle will never be "over." It pisses me off that I will have to fight with myself every day of every week of every year for the rest of my life to find the right balance of food intake and exercise output.

But then I remember how lucky I am to be battling it from THIS side of the coin.


*My new workplace comes with a help-yourself drink fridge (with BEER!) and enormous snack table, loaded with every sort of goodie imaginable. Just when you think it's safe to go back in the water ... More on that later. 

Chili Changeup

I come from hardy stock.

Farmers. Truck drivers. People who work hard, get dirty ... and eat meat and potatoes.

On my grandmas' tables, you'll find roast beast, ring bologna and the best fried chicken in the world. (Which was always made especially for me on nearly every trip to Boscobel.) Pots of boiled potatoes. Or fried. Or mashed. Every meal included homemade bread with butter and honey.

Vegetarian was a word never uttered. Foreign language, if you will.

So what did I take to a family gathering for my aunt's 80th birthday party last week?

Meatless chili, of course. And, they never knew what hit 'em.

I probably made it a bit too spicy for the crowd ... they noticed that part. But they didn't notice the lack of beef.

This isn't really a recipe since, per usual, I didn't actually measure anything. But it gives you a method and you can adjust to suit your or your family's tastes. It's better the second day, too.

Vegetarian Chili
Diced onion
Diced fresh mushrooms
Diced red/yellow peppers
Minced garlic
Can(s) crushed tomatoes
Can(s) black beans, rinsed
2 or 3 fake burgers (Brands in freezer case include Boca, Morningstar Farms. I used chipotle-flavored version from Sam's Club), nuked and crumbled
Chili spices ... cumin, chili powder, red pepper flakes, salt, pepper, etc.

In a big stock pot, with a little olive oil, saute onion, mushroom, peppers until soft. Add garlic. Mix in tomatoes, beans and COOKED crumbled burgers. Add spices. Let bubble for a while. If it gets too thick, add some water. Adjust seasoning to taste.

Serve like chili. Options: low-fat pepperjack cheese, low-fat sour cream, baked chips, sliced green onions, jalapeno rings.

(And, just for fun, watch this video of the RHCP at the Super Bowl. I am guessing Anthony Kiedis' knees feel a lot like mine. FF to the 8:20 mark and watch for him to "jump" off the stage in a way only a 40-year-old person can do. You can literally SEE the thought cross his mind. "This is going to hurt." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g4MofWt19dQ   It cracks me up.)

New Priorities

Yesterday I told you I'd let you know one of the most important reasons I had for switching jobs.

But first I have to tell you about one of the things I didn't like about my old new job.

One of the things I didn't like about my old new job was that it took me about 35 minutes to drive there. One day, I made it in 30. Most days were closer to 40. The route was easy enough ... no major traffic, mostly open highway. But there were a few stoplights and it was just farther than I was used to.

That meant that I would be spending more time in the car. Which meant getting up earlier to get a workout in. Which eventually leads to skipping a workout because you're too tired.

And getting home later meant there was less time available for strength sessions at night.

You get the idea.

So my new new job is closer to my house. Much closer. Like 12-minutes-away closer.

More time for sleeping AND working out.

And what sealed the deal?

I can ride my bike there in the summer. It's close enough ... and there's a shower!

(Seriously, can you imagine your parents asking a prospective employer if there's a shower on site? Or a bike rack?)

So, yes, part of the reason I chose this job was because it SUPPORTED my new lifestyle.

It helps me live the life I want to live.

Because that's what is important to me now.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Jump

I'm unemployed again.

I resigned from my new job yesterday.

Yup. After 13 whole days in a new office, I handed a letter to my boss and turned in my keys.

Seriously, who does that? It was a good job. A really good job. I was given the authority, responsibility and support to essentially start a business from scratch for a stable, solid company that was willing to commit to the resources it took to get it up and running.

And although I wasn't sure at first of my ability to do it, I am now sure I could have been successful.

So I left?

Yes, because I got another offer. For a job I wanted more.

And here's the truth. The new job comes with a bit more risk ... young company poised to grow, but not yet firing on all cylinders. A little less up front with the possibility for a bit more down the road.

But it also comes with a devotion to work-life balance. A conscious effort to build an exciting and fulfilling culture. The promise of hard work ... and fun.

Or it could crash and burn.

It was a difficult decision, but I realized something important along the way.

Sometimes, you just gotta jump.

You can't always see or know what's going to happen on the other side. You can't predict the future.

You know there will be good things. And you can bet there will be bad things.

But you'll handle them ... or celebrate them ... as they come. Because that's what you do.

And, what's the real risk? If it doesn't work, you aren't any worse off than you are now. You'll adjust your course and keep going.

Sounds like a good way to approach your health and wellness, too, to me.

You have no idea what it's going to "be" like to change the way you eat or to exercise a bit more. You can't really see the other side from where you are.

But sometimes, you just gotta jump.

Start. The best way to start is to just start. Do one thing. Do something different. And decide you're going to do it today. And tomorrow.

Then do it.

Don't worry about the day after that or the week after that. Jump in and take the rest of it one step at a time.

Is there risk? Sure. Out of your comfort zone will always feel uncomfortable. Is it going to be hard? Probably. If it was easy, you'd already be done.

Is there reward?

Yes. There's reward.

Cute clothes. Compliments. Endorphins. Extra years. Self esteem and satisfaction.

Did I mention cute clothes? (Smile! That's not shallow. It's fun.)

If you're thinking about jumping, there's no better time than right now.

And tune in tomorrow to find out one of the oddest, yet most important, reasons I chose this job.

Paying Attention

If you know me, you know this:

Detail is NOT my thing.

I'm a broad-brush type. Big picture. As such, I'm not always very observant. To the unfamiliar, it may seem that I'm scatterbrained as hell. (And there is some truth to that!)

This weekend, however, I'm trying very hard to go against my nature for a really good reason.

For the past 24 days, I ate right and exercised properly. I cut out the fake sugar in diet soda. My sugar intake was waaaaaaay down and my dairy intake all but non-existent. I eliminated a lot of salt and processed foods. I had very little white flour. Instead, I was eating a lot of whole foods, heavy on protein and veg.

And I felt good. I had energy. My joints didn't hurt as much.

Yes, I was taking more/different supplements and vitamins than usual. But I was, at the core, just really eating clean.

So this weekend I'm doing a little experiment.

I'm eating. Pretty much whatever I want. And I'm not really working out.

And I'm paying attention to how I FEEL.

Yesterday, I grazed all day. I had two Cherry Coke Zeros. And two pieces of carrot cake. Chips. Pretzels. (Another family party. Damn the tradition of potluck and snacking!) Once I started in on the crunchy food, I couldn't stop.

When I went to bed, I was tired. To the bone. And I felt bloated.

Today, it's a little more of the same. My knees hurt. My wedding ring is tight. I'm tired. (We went bed shopping today and I kid you not ... I could have fallen asleep in the store.)

Tomorrow I'm going back to two days of "clean" eating and we'll see what happens.