She Was Phenomenal. And You Are, Too.

The world lost a beautiful voice today. I am grateful that her words, however, will live on forever.

Phenomenal Woman ~Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's the reach of my arms, The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
I walk into a room I'm a woman Now you understand Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them, They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.

Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing, It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, The palm of my hand, The need for my care. 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.

Views from My Walk

After my bike ride and RIPPED class on Saturday, I was a hurting unit on Sunday. As in, hobbling around the house sore. We did some butt work and it, well, worked. So instead of a nice long run, I took a nice long walk.

Walking gives me time to look at things. I thought you might like to see what I saw.

Lilacs. My favorites, along with peonies. I like to call them old

lady flowers. I love it when the scent hangs so heavy in the air

that you smell them before you see them. 

 This next group of photos are of weeds. Well, I think they're weed. Weeds or wildflowers. I'm not sure what the difference is, really. If they're pretty, I guess I don't care.

This brave little guy was all by himself in the 

grass. I admire his determination and spunk.

Yes, I KNOW these are weeds. But in the spotty sunlight, 

they seem lacy and angelic. 

These guys are out in force right now. Some a darker purple,

some lighter and some almost white. 

This is the almost white variety. 

And this is a pretty mixture of the two. With 

an unplowed field in the background. 

And then there's mailbox art. My boring Menard's special mailbox, with its chipped door and black magic marker fire number written on the front pales in comparison.  (And, I'd like to publicly say "thank you" to Mr./Ms. Letter Carrier for taking it upon yourself to write on MY mailbox ... even though the post has 2"H numbers on it and the township sign is clearly visible. Pretty sure that's vandalism, but whatever.)  

 
 

Mailbox art. I have walked, ran, biked past this

mailbox 100 times and never noticed this pretty

gal before. I think we should name her, don't you?

This is the name of the road I live on. This mailbox originally  

belonged to a member of the familiy for whom the road is named.

Sometimes it's good to slow down and take a look around.

Cobweb Caravan

The first bike ride of the season is in the books!

And it felt really good. I was a bit rusty, and a little cold, but it was still good.

I decided last night to ride my bike to a 6:30 a.m. RIPPED class, knowing it should take me about 45 minutes and that it was light enough by 5:45 a.m. to be safe on the road.

Cobwebs? Yup. On my bike, between the handlebars after a long winter in the garage. In my head, as I had to remember how to shift and pace. On the trail, strung side to side and sticking to my face as I broke through them, first one on the trail for today.

A short 8.3 miles later, I was there.

The ride home was even better. Warmer, sunnier and the cobwebs, for the most part, were gone.

Spring is officially here.

Guest Post:The 17-Mile Syttende Mai Walk

(I can't even tell you how much I love this post! I met the writer when I worked with her husband and her journey is so inspirational. I'm so grateful she agreed to tell us all what it's like to just, you know, decide one day that you're going to walk 17 miles! Whatevs ... If you like it, let her know in the comments here on on Facebook, OK? Thanks!) 

I’m not an athlete. I've never participated in any team sport (unless forced to, and basically the “being forced to” went away after mandatory gym class ended over 30 years ago). I've never participated in any significant athletic endeavor. But last Saturday, I took a 17-mile walk.

What’s it like to walk 17 miles? Well, it’s a really long way--the distance from the south side of Madison to Stoughton, my hometown. I walked it in 4½ hours last Saturday as part of Stoughton’s annual Syttende Mai celebration, the city’s celebration of Norwegian independence.

I’ve lived in Stoughton for almost 17 years and I’ve never felt the need before to participate in this annual insanity. But that was before I lost 110 lbs. on Weight Watchers at Work in 2012. I kept my weight stable through most of 2013 but then started having some struggles controlling my eating in late 2013. I was committed to retaining my Lifetime membership status with WW. So I added more time to my exercise routine.

(Almost) my sole exercise activity? Walking. Mostly on my treadmill in the evening but also outside on my morning and afternoon breaks at work. There were several days this past winter where I walked morning and afternoon when it was 2 degrees outside. Yep, I’m that dedicated. And to be honest, I do a little time on my recumbent bike in addition to walking. But it’s mostly walking—about 50 miles per week. I work, eat dinner, spend some time with my kids and husband, and then get on my treadmill. I read on my Kindle while walking to make it more palatable.

So I started thinking—if I was going to spend almost three hours on my treadmill on Saturday, May 17 anyway, why not do the Syttende Mai walk. And $45 later, I was committed. Yep, I waited until the last minute to be sure it wasn’t going to rain and then paid the registration fee. I was pumped! I read lots of advice online about doing long walks and I debated what my pace goal should be.

Finally the day came.

My oh-so-patient husband dropped me off at the finish line to catch a bus to the start. I’ll be honest here—he volunteered to walk with the route with me. But he’s not a dedicated walker and I felt committed to walking at the same pace or better that I maintain on the treadmill. And I know from experience that that’s a fast pace unless you walk all the time.

After some delay, the group of us walkers proceeded to the rolling start. I was a bit frustrated when we neared the registration area to see that some people were already walking. I had wanted to start at 6 a.m. too but it was 6:20 when I began. The walk was not timed and not competitive, though there are also 20-mile and 10-mile competitive races on the same course that you could choose to do. I quickly got my bib, used the port-a-potty, and started out.

Immediately, a woman and man who had been on the bus with me joined me and asked if they could pace with me for a bit. Michelle and Mark said they’d done the walk twice before and because it felt so good to be moving, we started out pretty fast. I normally walk on my treadmill at 3.2 MPH with a 6% incline and I walk at about 3.8 MPH outside. I found out later we were going at about 4.0 MPH. We quickly passed the 3 mile point and they decided they wanted to jog for a bit. I’m not a runner so I wished them well and off they went.

Once I was alone, I kept up the same pace and I was passing people left and right, especially on hills. By 7:50, 90 minutes in, I had reached the 6 mile point. I felt great—no pain anywhere though I was definitely sweating. And the temperature was only 41 degrees at the start, so even at the finish, I don’t think the temperature was more than 50.

At 7 miles, I stopped to use a port-a-potty and caught a glimpse of my face in the little mirror on the door. Despite light sweating, I looked great and I grinned at myself. Back when I weighed 256, my face got red and unhealthily sweaty anytime I exerted myself. Now, I was beginning to feel like a competitor.

At 9 miles, there was an amazing sight on the side of the road. A group of vehicles playing loud rowdy music, men wearing elaborate red dresses with big puffy skirts, and a keg of beer. I’m not a big drinker but how could I pass this up? I later realized it wasn’t even 9 a.m. yet but oh, well.

At about 10½ miles, runners started passing me. They’d left from the Capitol Square in Madison at 7:30 a.m. Now those people are athletes!

By 9:20, I sent a text to my husband to tell him I had 5 miles to go. I was still passing walkers and there started to be spectators on the side of the road waiting for family and encouraging everyone. That was fun. At about 4 miles to go, there was an amazing private stand on the side of the road. These people had goldfish crackers and other snacks, water, and once again, beer—this time in big cups! It was so appreciated.

At about the 14 mile mark (3 miles to go), my husband and oldest daughter met me to take my outer coat, which I’d had tied around my waist since mile 5. Such a relief! Now I was wearing yoga pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a track jacket. I kept trekking.

When you get into the city of Stoughton, the walking route takes you way to the south before it comes back to Main Street. Those were the toughest miles, when I had 3 and then 2 miles to go and there weren’t many spectators. Several people had homemade support stands in their driveways though, which was wonderful.

Finally I turned onto Main Street and there were spectators everywhere. God bless the route officials and police because they stopped traffic for the runners and walkers so we could keep moving. I told one that I didn’t think I’d keep going if I had to stop. I still felt pretty good—my feet didn’t hurt at all but I was just physically tired. I crossed the finish line at 10:50, 4:30 after I started. I was very happy with that pace.

When I could finally stop, it felt amazing. I felt a little, well, creaky. Like every one of my 48 years. We went home, we ate lunch, and I took an hour nap and a Motrin. Later that night, I felt pretty good! The next morning, I was a little stiff, especially if I tried to extend my legs and walk faster, but I went to the last day of the festival downtown with my kids and walked around a bunch. By Tuesday, I felt completely back to normal.

On Tuesday afternoon, I started researching online for half marathons that are walk-friendly. I think I might be hooked. 

Me, becoming an athlete.

None of these people is our Guest Blogger. I'm guessing her smile was WAAAAAY bigger than any of these. But
this is a shot of the walk between Madison and Stoughton.  Thank you for sharing your experience with us! 

3-for-3

Today marked the last of my three Synvisc knee injections.

And it hurt like a mofo. I don't remember any of them hurting in the first round a year ago.

Of course the pain was short-lived. But right now I can see why they give them in a once-a-week series of three instead of all at once.

My PA was trying so hard to get me through it, too. I'll set the scene for you:

Go to exam room. Get blood pressure taken by nurse. Put goofy blue Tyvek shorts on because I'm not smart enough to wear something I can hike up over my knee.

PA enters the room with boxed "kit" in hand. Kit contains loaded syringe. She cleans the area, then sprays on a topical anesthetic.

Then she sticks the needle in. And it takes a while to get all the stuff in there. The more she pushes, the more it hurts.

She's very good at starting a conversation/topic before the needle goes in ... because she knows she's going to need something to discuss while she's pumping in the good stuff. Today's conversation was about my upcoming vacation. She was trying so hard to keep my mind off the actual event.

To give you an idea of how long it takes, say this out loud, "I really appreciate you trying your best to distract me while this is going on, but it's not completely working!"

That was me, of course.

I had time for that sentiment, and a few seconds of chit and chat on both sides of it before the injection was complete. And some heavy breathing. And maybe a small yelp.

Then it was over. I limped out. By the time I got to the parking garage, it was already better.

Glad I'm done. I'm supposed to not do anything too jarring for a couple of days.

Bike riding for the rest of the week!

The Ultimate Diet Meal

Today was Monday. Which meant I took in a giant Ziploc bag of jicama in to work, to munch on all week long.

At lunchtime, I wandered out into the kitchen, grabbed it from the fridge, along with some leftover deli roasted chicken and another bag with raw carrots and cucumbers, then sat down to nosh.

I joined a table with three of my compadres. Two of them had delicious-looking Jimmy Johns and the other had family man leftovers.

"What is that?" one of them asked.

I launched into my jicama explanation and invited them all to try some.

"It tastes like a, umm, potato? Or an apple? Or a big water chestnut?" they responded, as expected. It's a hard thing to describe. The flavor is sort of non-existent and the texture is a cross between an apple, potato, water chestnut and something slightly more fibrous.

"Why do you eat it?" they asked.

Because it gives me something to chew, I explained. It makes me feel like I'm eating something. It fills me up without many calories. They nodded as I tried to make it seem rational.

"So it's white. And really without flavor," one said. "Boy, you add that to tofu and you've really got a meal!"

"And a big glass of water!" said another. "Room temperature water!"

Now they're laughing.

"And a RICE CAKE!" said the third. And now they're rolling on the floor, flat out making fun of me.

Me and my white, tasteless, calorie-free food.

"I don't eat rice cakes," I mumble.

"And I don't really like water. Or Wonder Bread ... I'll beat you to it."

I didn't tell them my other favorite is cauliflower.

The More You Do It, The Easier It Gets

Life is full of universal truths.

• It's always darkest before the dawn. 
• Pretty is as pretty does. 
• Houseguests -- like fish -- start to smell after three days.
• If He brings you to it, He will get you through it. 
• Clowns are scary. (OK, I made this one up. But you agree, right?)

Here's another one: The more you do it, the easier it gets.

Eating right? Yup, it applies. Sleeping enough? Sure, that works, too. Lifting weights? Walking for 20 minutes a day? Doing push-ups?

Yes. Yes. And yes.

I may have mentioned my aversion to push-ups before. I may also have mentioned that I've switched up my early morning bike/trainer ride by increasing the number of fast pedaling intervals and adding push-up intervals. On average, I'd say I get 5 or 6 push-up sets in a normal 45-minute ride.

The goal at the beginning was to do 15 push-ups each time. The goal, at the beginning, was tough. It was not easy for me to do 15 in a row, that many times in a row.

Today, I did sets of 20, without a lot of trouble. That's 100-120 push-ups a couple of times a week. (They're still girl push-ups ... don't get too excited.)

The point is that it gets easier because you get stronger.

Walking fast for 20 minutes makes you sweat and is uncomfortable? Fine. It will be better next week. Keep going.

Those 15-lb. weights too freaking heavy for much more than a set of 12 reps? Great. You'll be looking for the 20-lb. set in a just a little while. Tough it out.

Finding it hard to push out 15 crunches? Big deal. Do 15 a day for a week and I promise you that in 14 days, you will be able to do 30 at a time. Just don't quit.

Don't let "hard" stop you. Let "hard" inspire you to kick it in the teeth.

Because you can.

Food Adventure

It's well established that I like to eat.

A lot.

I also get bored. A lot. And I hate eating the same things over and over. This extended-winter-will-it-ever-be-spring season has me in a food rut. It's not warm enough to move into light, crisp summer food, but it's not cold enough to continue eating all that heavy, hot winter stuff either.

So, in order to shake things up a bit, I like to take a trip through the produce and ethnic food departments and see what I can find that's new and unusual.

A couple of weeks ago, I brought home a fennel bulb. I'd heard that raw fennel was a palette cleanser between courses. After stumping the Pick N Save cashier (which I secretly love to do as a former grocery store checker who had to memorize all of the produce codes in the days before bar scanners and a sticker on everything), I took it home and sliced it up.


This week, my cart held jicama, rice noodles and dried persimmons.




The jicama is not really new--we eat it a lot. I took it to work today and discovered that not everyone was familiar.

I like to peel it, slice it into french fry shapes, let it sit in lime juice and sprinkle it with salt and/or some kind of red pepper spice ... like Tajin, cayenne, Mrs. Dash Southwest or even normal taco seasoning.


The rice noodles aren't that exotic, either. I'd just never used them before. Tonight I stir fried some leftover raw veg, soaked the noodles in hot water for 10 minutes, made a quick soy/fish sauce/chicken stock/sugar "gravy" and tossed it all together with some leftover pork loin. It was freaking awesome.




Persimmons? What the heck is a persimmon. Apparently it's a fruit that looks kind of like what would happen if an orange and a tomato had a baby. Five big dried slices contain 100 calories and they made a really good snack today.

What's your latest Food Adventure?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Women Run Pewaukee ...

Training is important. It's discipline. It's rigor. It's planning.

You understand why I'm not always very good at it, right? 

So it may come as no surprise to you that:

a) I don't follow a tried-and-true half marathon plan. I just wing it. 

b) I don't sign up for races too far in advance just in case the weather is crappy or I blow out a knee.

c) I frequently have to adjust plans because when you have no actual plan, everything's an adjustment. 

(Right now my friend HR Girl is either confused as hell because she can't comprehend living life in this way, convulsing in horror that anyone would live life this way, or simply rolling her eyes to the back of her head.)

As such, it may also come to no surprise to you that:

When I arrived in Pewaukee on Friday night to on-site register for Saturday's half marathon, I learned that there WAS NO ON-SITE REGISTRATION BECAUSE THE RACE WAS FULL. 

Wah wah wah. 

Hmmm.

Plan B? 

Go home, sleep in my own bed, and run 13.1 in my own neighborhood. 

That means no medal. No swag bag. No water stations every mile. 

Did I mention no medal? 

It's times like these that I appreciate my husband. He didn't bat an eyeball. No "You gotta be kidding me! We drove all the way over here and you can't run? Didn't you check the website?" from him. Instead, he said, "Well, I guess we saved $200 between the room and the race. Let's get some dinner." 

(And then he even patiently joined me for a "poor me" stop at Marshall's on the way home.)

I was determined to not let a little scheduling problem get in the way of my run, however. So I woke up, got ready and headed out for 13.1 miles. 

I ground it out. I ran the first 7 miles. I alternated running/walking for the 6 after that. Well, 6.3, actually ... without a fancy running watch, I had to wing the distance a little, too.  

It was warmer than I planned on. My injection site throbbed intermittently from Mile 5 forward. I had to stop to use the Skip's Friendly Village bathroom at Mile 5.5. I stopped to fill my water bottle at a neighbor's outdoor spigot at Mile 11. 

Somewhere around Mile 8, I pretty much decided that a full marathon just isn't in the cards for me. Not because I can't ... but because I don't think I want to. 

Then I managed to kick in a fast last quarter mile, crossing the imaginary finish line at the end of my driveway.

And it was done. My Unofficial Half Marathon. 

No cheering crowd. No man in a tux handing me a medal, a glass of champagne and chocolate as was supposed to happen at the official race. 

(My husband was on the lawn tractor spraying dandelions and I got nary a wave.)

I still got the first layer of my running gear tan. I still got stiff and sore quads. So, I think 13.1 is 13.1, regardless of location and window dressing. 

Right? Just between you and me, I'm not so sure.

Maybe we'll turn this into an annual event. I'll map out 5K, 10K and half routes. Next year, you can all join me ... 

... and I'll have Jim rig up a start/finish line. Beers, on me, when you cross it. 

I'd still really like a medal, though. 

Mind Over Matter

Well, T minus 36 hours and I'm going to give this half marathon thing a whirl. Again.

I'm 14 pounds heavier than when I ran my first half in 2012 and I have not trained as I did for that. My goal then was to do 11-minute miles and finish without walking. I actually ran sub-10 minute miles and finished in 2:08. When it was all over, I was on top of the world and so very proud of myself.

I'm probably 10 pounds heavier than I was last year, too, when I was coming off an injury and planned to alternate walking and running every mile. I actually ran a little more than that, but not much, and finished in 2:33 or something close. At the end, I was glad to have finished, given the circumstances, but felt a little unsatisfied. In my mind, I thought anyone could walk 13 miles and I should have done more to get ready.

Not sure right now how Saturday is going to turn out.

I know I haven't trained properly to run the whole thing. But I also know I ran 10 miles three weeks ago without any real trouble. I'm pissed at myself for not taking the training very seriously and for not just getting it done. I feel jiggly and loose.

I also know that I can't let my head get in the way. That my body is capable of a lot more than I think. That if I just put one foot in front of the other and keep moving forward, I can get it done. There's a lot to be said for the environment of race day. The adrenaline that comes with it propels you forward.

The first time I was so scared that others would know I didn't belong there. I didn't want anyone to think I couldn't do it.

Now I know that I'm not racing the other people. I'm only competing with me. My fear this time is that I have already given myself  the permission to "fail" by not running the whole thing.

If you think running is about physical exercise, you're wrong. It's about convincing yourself you can do it. Whether it's one mile or 100.

Mind over matter and it can get done. I promise you it can.

I'm going to spend the next 36 hours convincing myself of that fact.

She Laughed at Me

I like my PA. Her name is Melissa Jennerjohn and she laughed at me today.

She went to bat for me a few months ago when my insurance company decided they weren't going to pay for the last injections I had ... after I had gotten them. Said insurance company insisted that I should have had a series of other medicines that failed before I qualified for the Synvisc.

Melissa went to bat for me and told my insurance company that a) she had never used the medications they were requesting and therefore could not/would not use them and b) the Synvisc is what I needed, so why go through other medications to end up here ... wouldn't that cost more?

They told her, and me, to go pound sand.

So when I walked in today, first she apologized for not being able to win that round. I thanked her for trying.

And then she asked why I wanted the big shot vs. the three small ones. "Because if it's a matter of cost, it's the same either way," she said, knowing I was footing the bill for this one myself.

I laughed and said that it wasn't a matter of cost ... more a matter of convenience. I was trying to save two additional trips to Madison ... and ...

She said, "You have a race planned, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," I said.

"Like when? You're not going to tell me something crazy like a half marathon on Saturday, are you," she asked.

"Well, yeah," I said.

That's when she laughed at me. Shook her head, too.

She assured me that I did most certainly didn't want the big shot today if I planned on running 13.1 on Saturday. She also reminded me that running is probably not the best choice of exercise for me.

So I got the little one. And I have to go back two more times.

She doesn't know it, but she's now on YOUR team ... one more person who knows my plan and, because she does, will help me get through it.

This isn't my knee, (I had sexy blue Tyvek shorts on!), but this is
what it looks like. She did numb the outside first, which is nice. 

Shooting Up

Tomorrow is injection day!

I'm getting my second round of Synvisc tomorrow ... and if all goes well, I'm going to try and do a half marathon on Saturday. 

Instead of three small injections, one week apart, I've requested one big injection, so I don't have to drive back to Madison two more times. I'm hoping the larger amount of stuff doesn't make me too "full" and stiff. 

Well, if I'm being completely honest, I'm sort of hoping it does make me too stiff and full because then I have an excuse to not do the half. I did not do a long run this week and, if you remember, my last long "run" was a disaster. 

But now that I've said that out loud, you know I have no choice but to go do the stinkin' half, right?  And I'll finish even if I have to crawl. 

(You remember this blog is really about me keeping me honest, don't you? Thank you for being my steering committee, confessional priest, therapist, cheering squad and/or conscience. You have no idea how much I appreciate you.) 

Like a Fine Wine

Overheard in a certain office today ...

"I can't talk to you in your office," Sales Guy says to Cross Fit Guy. "Can't you hear that high-pitched squeal from the duct work? It drives me bananas when I'm in here."

Cross Fit Guy replies, "I don't hear it. Miss Daisy, do you hear it?"

Miss Daisy walks next door from her office, cocks her head to thrust an ear toward the ceiling and listens for a second.

"Wait!" Sales Guy interrupts, laughing. "Why am I asking the two people with the oldest ears in the building if they can hear something?"

"Really?" Miss Daisy interjects indignantly, laughing right back. "For your information, I CAN hear that. And these ears are not two of the four oldest in this building."

(Miss Daisy is, in fact, the third oldest person in the building, making her ears fifth and sixth oldest, respectively.)

Sales Guy, wanting to back down from the teasing about age, says "OK, so y'all old people can't hear very well. But let's be honest. If this was a fitness contest instead of a hearing contest, you'd be in good shape. Name the three most fit people in the office."

He continues, "Cross Fit Guy, you're clearly Number 1 and Miss Daisy might be Number 2. Good showing for the old people."

Now, Miss Daisy knows she's not Number 2. This is an office of young men, rugby players, hockey fanatics. She also knows all sales guys, like Sales Guy, are always "selling." He's blowing smoke up her skirt because he's a nice guy.

But Miss Daisy still smiles. There was a time when no one could have put her on such a list at all.

Maybe it's true that some things really do get better with age.

Cheers! (And remember, there are anti-oxidants in red!)