Mama Needs a New Pair of Shoes ... My Mom, That Is

My mom is a walker.

She walks around her neighborhood block, a mile loop, twice a day when the weather cooperates. She feels better when she gets out there and it's an important part of her daily routine.

She walks pretty fast, too. It's not a leisurely jaunt. In my heavier days, I remember worrying about keeping up, trying to keep my huffing and puffing in check.

My mom is also, ummm, how shall I say it ... thrifty. As in, economically careful. Cost conscious.

You know ... cheap.

(In an adorable way, of course. She washes and reuses Ziploc bags. She drives all over town to save a penny on gas, thus negating the savings, but nevermind. She has the first set of West Bend kettles bought before she married ... circa 1960 ... and recently managed to get a handle replaced on one because they have a lifetime warranty. She has a collection of gift bows that I know dates back to the mid-80s. And while she completely denies it, she used to save and reuse the aluminum foil used for baking potatoes. I vividly remember the spot in the kitchen drawer where she kept the wrinkly pile.)

And because she is so ... cheap ... she buys her walking shoes at Shopko, only on sale.

When they don't last, or her feet hurt, she can't quite figure out why.

So I've been on her to get a "good" pair of shoes. She decided yesterday was the day and we hit Fleet Feet Sports in Madison. Matt R. met us at the door and could not have been a more perfect fit for my mom.

First, he stuck out his hand, introduced himself, asked her for her name and it just took off from there. He gathered the information he needed. He asked her to take off her socks and shoes and walk for him. Then he brought out six boxes of shoes from the back and patiently explained what she should be looking for/feeling.

When she got derailed by the crazy colors, he got her back to center and gently convinced her that the color didn't matter. Her feet feeling good was the most important thing.

"I don't know what they should feel like!" she said.

"Whichever pair you FEEL the least is probably the right one," he explained.

"That one is a little tight in the heel," she commented. "But it will stretch out a little after I wear it, right?"

"If it bugs you a little now, it's going to bug you a lot later," he rebutted. "It won't get better. But it could get worse."

After he explained all there was to explain, he told her that he wanted her to wear the shoes for about a month. And if she had any problems at all, to bring them right back ... at any point. They'd find another pair that worked better.

"A month?" she asked, not quite believing it. "You'll take them back after a month?"

And with that, Matt found the key to her thrifty heart.

Yes, she was going to lay out more than $100 on a pair of shoes. But if she didn't like them, she could bring them back and start over.

She ended up with a pair of Brooks Adrenalines. Her foot, like mine, is wide and I wear Brooks, too ... though I rock the Ghost model. The difference is that my foot lands more evenly/flat on the pavement, while she pronates a bit more.

I hope she loves them.

I already know she loves Matt just a little.

These are her new kicks. I'm not crazy about the color either,
but don't tell her I said so. Let's just pretend they're gorgeous!

You Look Exhausted

I swear to all that is holy, I'm going to come unglued the next time it happens.

I'm just going to lose it. 

And the poor unsuspecting person on the other end of my tirade is going to wonder what the hell happened. 

I don't think it's intended to be rude. Or unkind. Or insulting. And yet it IS. 

"Boy, you look exhausted!" 

Thud. 

The sentiment that punches me square in the gut. 

Sometimes it's delivered with empathy and gentleness in the voice, "You look so tired ..." Sometimes it comes with a little surprise, "Wow! You look tired!"

But it ALWAYS hits me the wrong way. 

How do you not understand that you're saying, "Boy, you look like shit."

So then I have to try and decipher what you're really saying. The options aren't great. You think I look old? Old = tired. You think I have big, black circles under my eyes? Yes, yes I do. Always have. Always will. They match the set my dad had and there's just not much I can do about that little blessing of genetics. You think my eyelids look heavy? Maybe they are. But again, it's just DNA ... what'cha gonna do?) 

I have honestly had people ask me if I'm awake as I plug away at my computer.

The truth of the matter is that nine times out of 10, I'm not tired. I generally get enough sleep and I usually feel pretty good. I eat pretty well. I exercise a fair amount. My outlook on life is decent ... I don't frown all of the time. 

For heaven's sake, I have even tried the "magic-cream-that-costs-$50-for-a-1/2 oz. tube." AND, I moisturize morning and night. 

It could just be the price of getting old. Or of not wearing make up. (But this happens even when I DO muster the energy for a little foundation.)

At this point, I'm thinking of taking up cigarette smoking so my skin can look really awful for a while, and then quit ... so I look refreshed in comparison. 

What is the point of getting my act together to be healthier when this is how the world perceives me? 

Looking for a magic bullet, CCland. Got any suggestions? 

My New Favorite Position

I'm loving my new workspace. And it's not because I have a full wall of widows. It's not because of the cheerful orange wall. It's not even the snazzy, ergonomically fantastic neon green chair.

It's the adjustable desk.

And by adjustable, I mean I can sit and work like a normal person ... or I can stand. It's essentially a tabletop with an "up" button and a "down" button that raises and lowers my monitors and keyboard to the exact right height for me.

I love to stand! It's my new favorite working position!

I don't stand all the time, but I bet I am upright nearly 75% of the time. I feel like I get more done because it's just a more active, less passive position. I feel like my butt isn't spreading out in my jeans as I fill the seat of the snazzy green chair. And I feel less tired, less like a slug who sat on my tush for 8+ hours, when the day is done.

It does present a different problem, though. I can't wear cute, high heeled shoes and expect to stand all day. And, for that very reason, I keep a pair of my old running shoes at my desk, to slip on when I plan on standing for a longer stretch.

To make things even better, when I get tired of standing, I even have an option beyond the snazzy green chair. I have one of these:

Mine is purple! The bottom of the stool is rounded, so you wobble on it. Sitting requires a little core work by default ... and good posture.

Both of these are examples of "accidental" exercise. I'm not sure either is enough to offset the enormous quantity of Rolos and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups I'm eating from the ever-full candy bowl on the front desk or the Tootsie Roll Midgies found in the kitchen.

But at least it's something.

Dream a Little Knee for Me

OK, does this ever happen to you?

You have a dream about something horrible. Nothing is going right, the mailman (excuse me, letter carrier) kicks your dog. The neighbor breaks in and eats all your cookies. Whatever. And you wake up with all that negative energy pulsing through you.

The whole day is ruined before it begins because you can't quite shake that bad mojo.

Or, you're dream that you have to pee. You're stuck in a car on the freeway and there's no exit in site.

Then you wake up and, sho'nuf, you have a very full bladder and need to hit the bathroom.

I've been having a decidedly undelightful combination of these two dream scenarios lately.

First, I dream Jim and I are walking in a mall somewhere ... on vacation. Jim spots a famous person and gets all excited. He wants to chase the famous person down to get an autograph. But I can't run with him because my knees hurt. Jim gets mad because we miss the opportunity because I can't keep up and now he wants to leave the mall. But I can't walk. I have to take a few steps and rest because my damn knees hurt so much.

Then I wake up. My knees really are killing me, and I'm in a really bad mood ... because my knees are killing me. So I toss and turn for what's left of the wee hours before the alarm, making my husband super happy and starting my day off in the most wonderful way.

The ironic thing is they don't hurt when I'm actually running.

I'll take it.

Who is Your Workout Partner?

I'm trying, not so successfully, to make my husband my workout partner.

I would love for us to share this "thing." I think it would be fun to work toward something together. I'd like to have someone to talk to on long runs and there's just no one I'd rather talk to than him.

But, he's not into it.

Not yet, anyway. I'm still working on him.

Do you prefer to work out alone or with someone? What does your workout partner or group give you that working out alone does not? Who is your favorite workout buddy and why?

Happy is Healthier

Today is National Happy Day, or more specifically, the International Day of Happiness. I didn't know there was such a thing, nor do I really understand what it means.

But it did prompt an article on CNN that essentially says that there's a happy-healthy connection. Studies, as in real, live, scientific ones, suggest that the two work hand-in-hand.

People who feel good (happy), do good (eat right, exercise, carry a "normal" amount of weight). And, people who do good (eat right, exercise, carry a "normal" amount of weight), feel good (happy). In other words, one good thing leads to another and another and another.

Now, that doesn't mean happy people walk around smiling all day and haven't a care in the world. It just means they seem to better manage the peaks and valleys. They regulate the drama and the emotional swings. They don't sweat the small stuff.

I believe in this concept.

It's a great way to approach a problem like losing weight. Just do one small thing better, consistently, and soon you'll feel better and want to add another. It's how we change habits. It's how we stick to things long-term. It's how we feel better. By doing better. And vice versa.

So to perhaps help you end today on a good note, and to give you a jump start on tomorrow, I present this:

It's a choir from Detroit ... a mom's cell phone video of a rehearsal. Former Madison 

Channel 3 reporter/anchor Andy Choi did a story about the video and the News 3 

morning team shared it today. Made my whole day. 

Vanity, Thy Name is ... Grace?

I can wear jeans and sweatshirts to work if I want. And I do. But every once in a while you just run out of casual wear and have to pick something else.

Today I picked leggings.

And then I unpicked them, because the shirt I put on seemed a bit too short to wear with leggings. My middle-aged middle was covered up, but my butt and thighs were a bit more exposed than I was totally comfortable with. (Old fears die hard.)

So I added a long scarf and a pair of high-heeled boot shoes, stuck out my chin and headed to work.

And I spent much of the first part of the morning self-consciously tugging down my shirt.

By the time lunch rolled around, I was starting to get comfortable.

Lentil soup. Microwave. A trip back to the sink to grab some paper towel.

And WHOOOOOOOPPPPSSSSS!

I landed on my heel cockeyed, my leg shot out from under me, and I ass-planted on the shiny, new, super smooth wood floor.

Internal dialogue: "Oh F#%&! Knee. Knee. Knee. Knee! Is everything good? Evaluate! Is everything OK? I think so. Uh, hello, you just wiped out in front of everyone and you might want to think about how that looks."

Ta da?

The good thing about leggings is they're easy to climb around it. Helpful when you have to hoist yourself back to standing.

So much for not drawing attention to yourself when you're not sure if you've over-reaching your fashion capabilities.

This was the obvious choice for this post's photo. 

But it really looked more like this to most of  my young
whippersnapper coworkers ... leggings and all. 

Never Underestimate the Power of You

You are strong. Stronger than you think. And tougher than you know.

You are capable. Your goal is locked in your brain and your feet will find it.

You are smart. Smart enough to know where to go and what to do, listening to your body along the way.

You are patient. You know that nothing worthwhile happens overnight and you are ready to take one step at a time.

You are deserving of good things. For yourself. From yourself. Be good to you. Because when you are, healthy is a byproduct.

It's Hip To Be ... Sore?

Spring is in the air. (Along with a few snow flurries! But that's what March in Wisconsin is.) That means it's time to get outside, up the distance a little, break out the road bike.

But wait.

Make sure you're ready for the increase in output BEFORE you hit it too hard.

New Runner checked in last week with frustrating news. She's battling a hip flexor issue and is in physical therapy. Also had to cut back on her total weekly mileage until they get it worked out.

The good news is that her attitude is right on. She knows it's a little setback, but that she'll work through it and keep moving forward.

Her update served as a good reminder for me, too. I'd been a bit lax on my own hip exercises over the winter, and now that I am starting to increase my miles, I was feeling some soreness that I chose to ignore.

Ignore no more. Hello clamshells and leg lifts! I was completely shocked at just how weak those muscles were. I was plenty sore the first few sessions, but am now almost able to get through the normal set without stopping.

Remember ... the best way to treat an injury is to PREVENT an injury.

Here are some suggested hip strengthening exercises:
http://www.active.com/running/articles/runners-and-weak-hips-5-hip-strengthening-exercises?page=2
http://www.runnersworld.com/injury-treatment/all-hips
http://runnersconnect.net/running-injury-prevention/the-top-5-hip-strengthening-exercises-for-runners-to-prevent-injury-and-improve-hip-drive/

Tomorrow is Moving Day

Tomorrow we move into our new offices!

Eight miles from my house. Bike-able. So totally bike-able. And just down the way from Cross Fit. And in the heart of downtown Beloit with cool shops and restaurants within walking distance. With a sparkly, brand new shower.

I'm kind of excited.

Moving day is symbolic for what I hope is an entire summer of moving. Lots and lots of moving.

The thing I am MOST looking forward to, however, is the day I run those 8 miles to work and then run back home again in the afternoon.

I've never run 16 miles in one day. And I've never run in a split shift like that before.

But it's going to happen.

I. Cannot. Wait!

Paleo by Accident?

I'm on a mission.

We're eating out of the freezer until we run out of things to eat.

It might be the early onset of spring cleaning setting in or something. I can no longer stand the jam-packed appliance.

When we moved into this house, we opted for a side-by-side fridge/freezer combo because I thought it would provide me with better, more usable space than any other kind. I believed that more compartments, many shelves vs. one big drawer, would allow me to organize myself. Veggies in that spot, poultry in that one, ice cream there.

However, real life didn't work out that way. I'm a total pack rat and I've got Ziploc bags with leftover chicken in every orifice in that baby.

And taco ground turkey. Chipotles in adobo. Homemade spaghetti sauce. Bits of ham and turkey lunch meat that comes from the end of the package ... if we don't finish it all before it's going to expire, I cut it up and keep adding it to one bag to use on salads. A random package of veggie burgers. And edamame. Lots of edamame for some strange reason.

I've got quite a bit of frozen fish, too. Some wild turkey (not the alcohol kind). More protein than anything else.

Mealtimes are going to get interesting.

Salmon with a side of bacon. Pork tenderloin with dried out Thanksgiving turkey. Tuna steaks with Italian beef.

Hello, Paleo?

Man, I Love Eggs

We had eggs for dinner tonight. Again. We have them a lot, actually. 

I love them. I really love them. 

And I'm so glad that they're no longer demonized as the Crown Prince of Cholesterol Evil. A quick web search says eggs can cure headaches, help your concentration and improve your mood. It also says they can cause cancer and send you to an early grave. I'm not sure I believe any of it. 

What I know is that they are a low-calorie, good source of protein. One whole egg has 70-75 calories, 7 grams of high-quality protein, 5 grams of fat and 1.6 grams of saturated fat. One egg white has only 16 calories an 3.6 grams of protein. 

I am not one of those people who only eat egg whites, but the truth is I like the white part better than the yolk. So if I'm looking for a bunch of lunch or a big breakfast after a long workout, I tend toput one or maybe two whole eggs in the pan with another 2 or 3 egg whites. Much more food for very little calorie count. 

My favorite way to eat eggs is just fried, sunny side up. But I like 'em scrambled with stuff added and without, in chilaquiles or migas. I hard boil them and take them to work as lunch or snack. 

Tonight's dinner celebrated "The Leftover" and it was delicious. We had salad last night and I had chopped up too many onions and red peppers, so in the skillet they went. Then I found some turkey sausage in the freezer. Bam. Added the eggs, five for the two of us. In a separate grill pan, we sprayed some asparagus with olive oil, and sprinkled with salt and pepper. Popped the bagel thins in the toaster and we had a meal in less than 30 minutes. 

What's your favorite way to eat eggs? Share the recipe in the comments, please!

For more egg info, check here: http://www.webmd.com/diet/features/good-eggs-for-nutrition-theyre-hard-to-beat

Did Everything Used to be Smaller?

Have you had the opportunity to go back to your elementary school and walk the halls? If you have, you know that feeling that creeps over you ... "I remember this place being sooooooo much bigger! It's so tiny. What happened?"

You feel like a giantess as you walk through those classrooms. The bubblers look itsy-bitsy. The big, open spaces seem tight and cramped. The lunchroom and gym are so little you can't image how they actually held the throngs of kids you remember them holding.

I get this same feeling about "fat" people while watching vintage TV.

The people I thought were so big back in the day really don't look that big to me now. And it makes me think.

Remember Rerun from What's Happening? Or Archie Bunker himself? Or Mrs. Jefferson? I could go on. Al or Mr. Cunningham from Happy Days, Mr Edwards from Little House, Uncle Jesse or Boss Hogg on Dukes of Hazzard, Roy Clark on Hee Haw ... or even some versions of Rosanne?

I thought those people were HUGE.

And when I look at them now, they just don't seem that big.

I mean remember when LuLu on Hee Haw was obviously, ummm, copiously different than the norm? Now Honey Boo Boo and Mike & Molly and some other versions of Rosanne don't seem that much different.

So I wonder if it's because, as a whole, society has just gotten bigger and in comparison to what we see every day, these vintage characters just don't seem as large. Or does TV just now show a more accurate representation of the real world?

What do you think?

Diet or Exercise ... You Decide

I am a firm believer that I can't out-exercise bad eating. I wish I could, because truth be told, I'd rather exercise more than eat better. 

Looks like someone else thinks so, too. 

Diet or Exercise: What's the Best Way to Lose Weight

I know the world is full of people who insist they only eat 600 calories a day (all vegetables) and simply can't lose a pound. While I am sure that those thyroid-challenged folks exist, I'm not sure there are as many as there are claims to be. 

It's a math problem. If you burn more than you put in, you lose weight. If you screw up your metabolism by not eating and then over eating and then not eating, you're not doing yourself any favors, but in the end, it's net in, net out. 

Do the right things often enough and good things happen. Period. 

Cross Fit?

Pretty sure I mentioned that my new job is moving to new office space, right? The new space is about 8 miles from my house and will allow me to bike, and perhaps even run, to work ... which makes me happy. 

But there's another interesting feature at the new location. 

(And no, HR Girl, it's not the slide. Though there will be a slide, people, from the second floor to the first floor. Why? No clue. I think it's so we can tell people there's a slide and everyone goes, "Whaaaaaat?" But I digress.)

The other interesting feature is that there's a CrossFit gym a few doors down. 

And one of my co-workers is a CrossFit Fanatic. 

I've been doing some research. 

This is what CrossFit says about CrossFit: 

CrossFit is the principal strength and conditioning program for many police academies and tactical operations teams, military special operations units, champion martial artists, and hundreds of other elite and professional athletes worldwide.

Our program delivers a fitness that is, by design, broad, general, and inclusive. Our specialty is not specializing. Combat, survival, many sports, and life reward this kind of fitness and, on average, punish the specialist.

The CrossFit program is designed for universal scalability making it the perfect application for any committed individual regardless of experience. We’ve used our same routines for elderly individuals with heart disease and cage fighters one month out from televised bouts. We scale load and intensity; we don’t change programs.

The needs of Olympic athletes and our grandparents differ by degree not kind. Our terrorist hunters, skiers, mountain bike riders and housewives have found their best fitness from the same regimen.

Thousands of athletes worldwide have followed our workouts and distinguished themselves in combat, the streets, the ring, stadiums, gyms and homes.

It's sort of pricey ... $120/month for unlimited classes. That's after the free evaluation and $100 fee for six mandatory technique classes. And because I'm not sure I can actually do everything required with my stupid knees, I worry about wasting the dough. 

But the environment sounds inclusive and supportive. It doesn't appear to be about matching your scrunchies to your iridescent leggings, which I like. There is something called the WOD or workout of the day which changes all the time and has an element of competition with CrossFitters from your gym and perhaps others, which appeals to me, too. But it also seems a bit cult-ish. 

Have you ever done it? Known anyone who has? Tell me what you think. I'd love to know. 

CrossFit Beloit

Fat Tuesday 2014

Fat Tuesday is tomorrow. One last day of debauchery before Lent. 

I was off by a couple of days. 

I had a Fat Weekend after being relatively well-behaved this past week in Las Vegas. (I paid for it last night and today with a stomach that was rebelling against the crap I stuffed into it. Ugh. Made for a long treadmill run this morning.) 

I have decided what my Lent promise is to myself, however. I like Lent. I like the self-mandated boundaries for a greater good. 

This year, I'm giving up ... 

Excuses. 

I'm going to do my best to not lie to myself about why I eat less than healthy or why I skip a workout. I'm going to hold myself accountable and cut the bullshit I've been feeding my internal dialogue. 

You know, put my big girl panties on and just be honest. 

I actually think it's going to be harder than giving up chocolate or Cherry Coke Zero.

Do you have any Lent plans? 

Getting Old(er)

There has been a shift of sort of epic proportion in my life.

It's become abundantly clear to me that I'm old.

Well, older, I guess. And it was never more apparent than this week for some reason.

(If you already knew I was old and/or could care less, this would be a good time to stop reading.)

I worked my first show for my new job, which meant I was meeting a bunch of new people, both co-workers from my company who live elsewhere and business partners/sale reps, for the very first time. You know how those things go ... you assess them, they assess you. Your assessment antennae are up.

As I've already mentioned, in this group, I'm on the older side. I met some folks who are as old as me, I think. Which was good, a relief really. But as I looked around the show floor, it was obvious that my ingenue days were over.

In our booth? Three massage "girls" ... their self-appointed title, not mine. One was a mom, but with the attitude and composition of someone much younger. One was 23. One was somewhere in between, wearing a pair of size XS capri workout tights. There's no "competing" with that.

Walking the show floor? Lots of young women, professional and booth babe variety. And all of a sudden you notice that the people younger than you outnumber the people older than you. These women are eager and persistent and working so hard.

Out on the town? It was Vegas, so you see all kinds. But in a land where there are thousands of 20-something women on the prowl, dressed with hemlines up to here and necklines down to there ... all with 7" rhinestone heels ... it's impossible to not notice the women who THINK they can still pull off their daughters' clothes. You can almost smell the hope and uneasiness, desperation and denial.

But when do I notice it most? When I look in the mirror in the very early morning, with the help of that gawd-awful light from the bathroom fluorescents. Dark circles under the eyes. Deeply etched "parenthesis marks" on each side of my mouth. Stacked and staggered expression lines on my forehead. My face and neck have ample loose skin. In the old days, those lines were a bit more filled out, but there's no hiding them now.

I also notice it when the late group dinner is over and the "Where are we going now ... what does everyone feel like doing?" questions start. My immediate thought it, "Holy crap. It must be 10 p.m.! I'm heading to bed." The thought of being out until midnight or later, getting a fitful night of it's-never-quiet-in-a-Vegas-hotel-hallway sleep, then getting up before 5 a.m. to get a workout in is simply not an option.

I'll admit that it's not easy to look in the mirror and know, with no uncertainty, that you are no longer on the climbing side of that hill. It's tough to understand--and accept--that there are some things a woman "of your age" should not wear, do, be.

(And it's not because you can't, BTW. It's knowing the difference between the "too much" of a micro mini and the "nailed it" short skirt. The difference between sexy and slutty. Confidence and crass. Effortless versus uneasiness.)

It's vanity. Pure and simple.

But there's a good side to it all, too.

I no longer have to worry about trying to be someone I'm not. Nor do I have to wonder if what I am is good enough.

Because I know who I am and I know that I am.

Guess what? I don't have the perkiest boobs or the cutest nose or the hardest body. But that's OK. Because I know my white button-down fit perfectly, highlighting my assets and hiding my faults. The bling jeans and cowboy boots were not the most fashion-forward things in the exhibit hall, but they fit me just right and told my story without needing any help from glitter, perfume or smoky eyeshadow.

I know in my bones who I am, what I believe, what I value, how I measure success and why I think what I think. Let the young men stand in line for an hour, waiting for a massage, drooling over beautiful girls that won't give them the time of day because they are acting like raunchy little boys, thinking no one notices when they ogle high and low.

I'll spend my time, and my charm, on the lovely silver-haired man who wants to sit for a few minutes to rest his feet. I learn his company is the oldest in Detroit and how his grandfather started it. He tells me, with pride, about the process of turning it over to his three children and what a joy it is to "work" with his family ... because it's not work. It's hanging out with the people you love most. When he stops by later, I meet his friend, a former Canadian Football League star. Their stories are wonderful. Their friendship is long-lived. Their laughter is contagious.

To him, I am young. And he flirts in the wonderful way only a dashing older man can. Harmlessly, elegantly, charismatic-ly. There is something perfectly wonderful about being appreciated by one who has seen a lifetime of interesting women.

And from him I learn that getting older is the reward. It's not to be feared or hated or fought. It's a time to celebrate the wisdom you've acquired and to appreciate the road that brought you this far.

So, yeah. I've got wrinkles. I'm old(er).

And I know this me more than I've known any other. The wrinkles seem like a fair price for that.