September Challenge ... 100 Push Ups

I'm issuing a challenge. And I hope you join.

Push ups. It's all about push ups. I hate them. I suck at them. And therefore, I'm determined to conquer them. (The only way to get better at something is to do it again and again and again. That is the big, boring secret becoming successful at anything life, BTW.)

So I am going to do 100 a day. Every day. For all of September. My goal by the end of the month is to be able to do more "real" push ups consecutively than I can right now.

Join me! Declare your goal on the Facebook page or in the comments below.

Here's where I'm starting from:

Right now, I can do about 15 "real" push ups and another 20 or so on my knees before I am all in. After a little break, I can repeat that set one more time. That leaves me at about 70. Then I need a little longer break and I can do 10 full, with 20 knee versions to complete the set.

Keep in mind that I've been doing push ups in RIPPED for a LONG time and this is the best I can do.

Also, let me be clear ... my "real" push ups will not impress a single drill sergeant. They are NOT a full chest-to-the-floor kind of deal at all. In fact, I probably barely dip. It feels like I'm dipping, but I am guessing that it doesn't look like much from where you sit.

And before you start with the excuses ...

"Can't you pick something less repulsive than push ups?" I could. But I'm not going to. Why am I picking push ups? There is no single exercise that better works every part of your body. Think it's just chest and arm strength? Wrong! It's core, baby. You're going to feel this in your abdomen, in your triceps, in your back and in your shoulders. You need absolutely no equipment. You can do it anywhere. And if you spend 30 minutes a week on this total, I'll be shocked.

"I haven't done a push up since grade school!" So what? This isn't rocket science and you CAN do it. Be smart. Use good form. Hands under your shoulders. Butt flat or inline with your head and ankles. (Don't bend at your waist.) Keep your nose pointed straight down at the floor. Lock in your glutes, abs and chest. Dip as low as you can in a controlled, purposeful way.

"I really can't do a single one! I'm not crawling around on the floor." Yes, you can! There is a push up that will work for every level of fitness. Adapt. Can't do it on your toes? No big deal! Do them on your knees. Can't do them on your knees? No big deal! Do them on a bench or chair or the arm of the couch. Can't do them there either? No big deal! Do them on the wall. Yes, on the wall. See how to do it here.

"100? Really? 100?" I picked 100 because it's a number my brain accepts as a challenge. It fits me. But if you want a different number, pick one that's right for you. 75? 50? If you want to do a progressive sort of build, that's OK, too. Find a sample on this page.  I don't care. This is YOUR challenge. You aren't competing against me. You're competing against you. But have a goal. The idea is to make it seem hard so that when you do accomplish it, you feel great.

And you will accomplish it. You are able to accomplish it.

Dive Bomb Diva

Holy grasshoppers, Daniel-san!

After a 5:45 a.m. lifting session and a 6:30 a.m. hour of RIPPED, I came home with the intent of riding my bike for an hour or so. 

You see, this crazy week of rain has kept me indoors for tooooooooo loooooong and I'm going a bit stir crazy. 

Of course, the TV weather personalities who told me that it wouldn't rain in the a.m. were wrong. Again. So I hunkered down to wait for clear skies. Long about 1 p.m., it seemed safe. So I hit the road. 

And the road and skies both fired back. With bugs. Lots and lots and lots of bugs. 

Grasshoppers pelting me from the ground, nailing my shins, knees and feet? Check. 

Giant flying shelled things (it's too late for June bugs, right?) bombarding me from the air? Check. 

I had bugs pinging off my helmet, my face, my arms, my legs. I took more than one right straight in the gut and three, YES THREE, got trapped between the tongue of my shoe and the top of my foot. 

I have been stung by a bee like this once before while riding my bike, so the instant my brain registers that there's a bug trapped there, my foot flies out of my pedal, I begin rapidly and violently shaking my leg to dislodge it and my bike starts to wobble like crazy because this has all happened instinctively before I've actually thought about how dangerous it is to throw myself off balance like that at 20 mph downhill on a piece of cracked and bumpy pavement. 

But I'm sure it looks hilarious to oncoming traffic. 

I don't know if it was the time of day, since I'm not normally biking in the middle of the afternoon? Or perhaps the swarm was out in force because of the morning's rain? Maybe it was just the not-so-traveled roads I chose? 

Seriously, you guys, it was like a horror movie. 

I'll be counting the bruises later. 

Head down. Mouth shut. Wipers, anyone? 

Watermelon Makes You Horny ...

Good news! Apparently watermelon is good for your sex life!

The following photo, from what I assume is a magazine, was passed on to CC from dedicated reader HR Girl via text:

The text read: Now all the watermelon eating you and Jim have been doing is making sense. 

I shared the good news with Jim on our way to town for errands today. We giggled and then I promptly forgot about it. 

On the way home, I asked if he wanted to stop at a farm stand for sweet corn for dinner. 

He added, with a grin, "And a watermelon?" 

So, yes, we got a watermelon. Now, I cannot and will not attest to watermelon's Viagra-like affect. The only thing I can think of is that with all the peeing you do after eating it, you're just awake more at night ... which could lead, I suppose, to an increase in your amorous activity. 

I'll let you buy your own watermelon and conduct your own research. 

Tips for Buying a Great Watermelon: 

1. Take Jim along. I always buy crappy ones and he always buys good ones. 

2. He flicks it with his fingers and listens to it. Sometimes he smells the stem. I think it's all BS and for show. I've also heard that you want a yellow spot on the outside rind.

3. My Boscobel grandma always said to buy a cut watermelon and find one with a big crack in it. If there was a crack, it would be firm and sweet. That advice has never been wrong. 

This is what I found when I cut into Jim's farm stand pick today: 

Perfect. With or without extra lovin'. 

Squish-Squish-Squish ... Eeeeeeeewwww!

Friday's goal was a long run on my treadmill.

It's too dang hot and humid to get it done outside. And my treadmill and I are in a good place right now. We're happily dating, as it were.

So I walked four miles. Then I ran four. Then walked two, ran one, walked one, ran a half, walked a half, ran another half and walked another half.

(That's a total of 14 if you're keeping score. In other words, it was one DVR'd episode of Real Housewives of New Jersey and two of Who Do You Think You Are ... Brooke Shields and Valerie Bertinelli.)

I drank a lot. About 20 oz. of my beloved Advocare Spark and another 30 or so of good old ice water. I needed it. Know why?

Because I sweat like a farmhand.

And it was gross.

You know how, when you're really working, you start to feel the sweat rolling down your legs? Long about mile 11, I started to notice my feet were feeling wet.

At mile 12, I had to stop and take the inserts out of my shoes because they were sliding around.

At mile 13, there was audible squishing.

That's right. Squishing.

It takes a lot of sweat rolling down your legs to make your feet squish.

Remember this post where we discussed the difference between sweating and glowing? Sweat or Glow?  I told you then that I was not a ladylike "glower" and more like a farmhand sweat-er.

Proved it again today. Jim actually helped me out and recorded a video on his phone of me walking around squishing. But we're having technical difficulties getting it from his phone to here. I'm still working on it.

In any case, sweating so much that you create your own squish is so very charming, right?

d.

It felt like this, though I suspect it didn't look exactly
the same. I actually had to pull the insides of my
shoes out so they could dry. I was afraid of mold. 

Foot Fire!

Back in the day, I played basketball.

I know, I know. Stop laughing. It's hard to imagine a short, slow girl doing such a thing, but it happened.

I was never great. I'm not sure I was even ever good. Perhaps adequate in my elementary school and junior high days ... mostly because I understood the game and worked fairly hard. I wasn't a great outside shooter and by the time I got to varsity, I had lost any advantage I had ... along with my starting position.

I would, however, get called in when we needed a defensive push. I always loved defense best.

To be good at defense, you had to learn to read your opponents intentions before they committed to them. You had to remember the way they came down the floor the previous time and weigh the likelihood of what they'd do this time. Then you had to move your feet to stay one step ahead of them.

The drill we used to train for that was called foot fire. It meant squatting down, and rapidly moving your feet up and down. Then shuffling forward and back, left and right, diagonal in ever direction. Over and over again. The faster you moved your feet, the more kudos you got.

When you do it right, it kills your quads and your hamstrings.

One of the new sections of RIPPED has us doing a left-right shuffle just like those drills. And I have to be honest, the impact sort of kills my knees.

So please don't tell my PT Al that I just can't help myself. I'm all in.

When I hear the squeak of my shoes on the wood floor, I'm transported back to the gym of my youth and I feel 15 again. My muscles remember the motion and I can't help but assume a full defensive position ... ass down, weight on my toes and hands out,  ready to slap that ball away.

And then I smile. In that moment, 15 years old doesn't seem so long ago.

That's me in the middle of the back row.
Along with some other familiar faces if
you're from Fort. Sixth grade. Go Purdy
Panthers! (I couldn't find the high school
 photo, so this one will just have to do.) 

I Flunked My First Peloton

Remember those couple of summers, a few years back, when Lance Armstrong was a still a superhero and we all watched the Tour de France on TV tape delay because we weren't yet internet-savvy enough to watch it online in real-time?

We all learned a little cycling lingo. Words like time trials, yellow jersey, Alpe d'Huez, peloton, blood doping and Hincape became part of our vernacular.

If you remember, a peloton is a large group of riders who ride together as one unit to allow the whole group to go faster while using less overall energy/total effort.

This is how it works:

The riders up front bear the brunt of the wind and work hard to create a slipstream for those that come behind them. The riders behind the front line benefit from the lack of drag, allowing them to conserve energy AND move faster than they can on their own. Think "drafting" in NASCAR terms. The riders take turns at the front of the pack, keeping it all fair, in spite of the fact that they're technically competing against each other.

It looks like this:

I was exposed to my first peloton today in the Tour de Fort ride in Fort Atkinson and failed miserably.

My brother-in-law and I rode the metric century course ... about 62 miles. The course changed from last year and it was fantastic. We started out in Fort, rode to Jefferson, through Aztalan, Milford, then around Rock Lake in Lake Mills. From there we went toward Cambridge and around part of Lake Ripley and wound back to Fort via Rockdale and Oakland.

Somewhere in the 45-50 mile mark, a group of riders swooped up behind us and started to pass. I knew what Juan Carlos was thinking before he looked at me and gave me a "come on, come on, let's fall in behind them" wave.

So I started pedaling for all I was worth. It was apparent that this group of riders had ridden together before, as evidenced by their uber professional gear, fancy bikes, remarkably steady pace and ballet-like movements.

And I caught up. I could almost literally feel the group force suck me in. For a blissful two minutes, or thereabouts, I was enjoying the benefit of those working so hard ahead of me.

Then we hit a hill.

I didn't gear properly (I almost never do, BTW) and I fell off the pace just a little. That little, however, was enough to slingshot me back away from the group. I panicked, made a second run, and pedaled like hell again to try and get back.

Of course, the group had the momentum and I just couldn't keep up.

"Go with them," I gasped toward JC. "I can't keep up. I'll meet you at the end."

And because he's kind and generous, he backed off to ride with me.

The lesson? We can go farther and faster when we work together. It's real. And maybe it's why we're all here in CCland together. To share and encourage and assist.

To learn from each other.

Thank you for being here for the ride.

P.S. The rest of the story? That group finished far ahead of us and had all but finished their complementary Lions Club Chicken and Corn Roast meal by the time we pulled into Jones Park. Lucky bastards got to the good stuff first. But the good news was that there was plenty left for us.

Rerouting

Conversation via text:

Kid: Where do you want to meet for lunch tomorrow?

Me: I'm going to be riding my bike, so I would prefer somewhere NOT on Milton Ave.. It's too hard and too dangerous to ride on it/around it/to it. So here are your options: Quaker Steak, Skip's, Cozumel or Luke's.

Kid: Skip's. What time?

(Editor's Note: Skip's is just under 2.5 miles from my front door.)

Me: 12:30 p.m. Give me 10 or 15 minutes since I'm riding to Milton first and it's hard to judge time sometimes. I'll have my phone and will keep you posted.

Kid: OK. See you then.

Palpable beat, beat, beat ...

Kid: You don't have to go to Milton to get to Skip's.

She's funny, right?

I Prefer To Be Topless

There's a benefit to being an empty nester.

KIDDING! I'm totally NOT writing about walking around my house, frying bacon, or lifting weights naked. Eeeeeewwwww! Who does that? (And if you do, don't tell me about it, K?)

I'm talking about BUNS. Hamburger buns.

We had turkey burgers on the grill tonight. Our bun of choice is a Whole Wheat Sandwich Thin, to the tune of about 100 calories.

I've started to skip the top. It's a small calorie cut, but they all add up, right? In other words, I'm topless.

I put my burger on the bottom bun and use leaf or iceberg lettuce as the top bun. You can still hold the dang thing together and I have found that I really don't miss the extra piece of bread.

In fact, I also make my BLTs this way now. Bottom slice of toast, light smear of olive oil mayo, thin slice of tomato, bacon and then a literal 1/2 inch or so of iceberg leaves. Yum!

(For the record/in full disclosure, we skip the Sandwich Thins for BLTs and I buy that junk "whole wheat white" bread. I just can't have a BLT without something that reminds me of gooey Wonder-like bread. And I also use real bacon. I used to use turkey bacon and have decided, after little much hearsay research that real bacon, in moderation, is an OK choice. Real food is better than manufactured and chemicaled food. And, I nuke it in the micro, so again ... no frying in the nude.)

This is where I try to have a charming quote or silly photo to pull this whole post together. I search something like "Topless Burger" and hit "images" and see what happens.

Well, the what happens in that particular search didn't turn up much PG-13 content. (Try it!) So I tried "Shirtless Man Eating Hamburger." That search gave me many unattractive things that would not promote eating burgers. And a few disgusting still frames from the infamous David-Hasselhoff-in-a-drunken-stupor-eating-a-burger video. I often wonder what the CIA thinks when they look at my web history.

Anywhooooo ... then I found this. Not sure who he is, but he might be famous in the UK. And he's totally eating a burger. You're welcome, ladies.

New Breakfast Favorite

Call me Johnny Come Lately ...

Overnight Oats has been a "thing" for a while. What's that? It's when you soak oatmeal in yogurt and a little milk in the fridge overnight and eat it cold/room temp instead of cooking the oats with water or milk on the stove.

You get protein and a whole grain. The dry oats absorb the liquid while you sleep and you wake up to a fast, relatively healthy breakfast.

I tried it a few times a year or so ago and just didn't get it. Normal hot oatmeal is really not my favorite thing either. I can eat it, and do occasionally because I know it's good for me. But let's face it ... by the time I get done adding the craisins, walnuts, granola and brown sugar I prefer to make it taste good, it's not that healthy.

I have, however, warmed up to the cold version. I think what I like most is that I feel like I'm eating something substantial and it fills me up. Here's my favorite version:

Overnight Oats a la Miss Daisy
A handful of oats (you can use quick cooking or regular)
A container of yogurt (my current favorites are Roundy's brand Greek 100 Peach or Yoplait Greek 100 Apple Pie)
A healthy splash of skim milk ... make it slightly more soupy than you think looks right
A shot of vanilla
A big shake of cinnamon
A teaspoon or so of chia seeds

Mix it all up, cover it, and stick it in the fridge. I've heard some people stick it in the microwave for a few seconds or let it sit on the counter to take the chill off. The granola doesn't get all mushy as it does when you cook it; rather it stays a little firm.

He's Down 13 Since Alaska

My husband has lost 13 pounds since we returned from vacation at the beginning of July.

I have not.

My husband just ate ice cream with caramel sauce for his after dinner snack.

I had red grapes.

My husband goes on one bike ride a week, pedaling for 6-8 miles.

I am not going to rehash my workout schedule, but suffice it to say it's a bit more than 6-8 miles per week.

Nice to be a man, isn't it?

PR or Bad Idea?

I know I'm doing this all wrong.

I haven't changed a thing about my eating habits. I'm consuming too many carbs, too many sweets and just plain, ol' eating too much.

My counter has been to exercise. After a night of bad snacking, I decided to go for broke yesterday and do another half marathon on my treadmill. I did one two weeks ago, running seven, walking six, if I remember right.

Early in the morning, I climbed on and tried to run. I couldn't get it going. So to "punish" myself, I made up my mind to do a total of 15 miles instead of 13.

The only way I could make it work was to do intervals. Half mile run, quarter mile walk. Three quarter mile run, half mile walk. One mile run, half mile walk. Two mile run, half mile walk ... and so on.

At mile 15, I decided I could do two more and would finish at 17.

I got through it. I think I ran about 9 altogether, but to be honest, I lost track somewhere in the middle. I should train properly to actually run the whole thing, but I'm not there yet.

The truth is while I'm a little proud to say this is the farthest I have ever gone under my own foot power, I am also mad at myself for doing everything wrong. 

I should be increasing mileage by 10% a week and 10% only. I should be exercising less and eating smarter. I should be treating my knees better. I know these things. I've told you these things. And yet, here I am. 

My current choices are working against me. My metabolism is all confused because I'm eating the wrong things at the wrong time and exercising in crazy patterns. I have created a mindset that says I need to exercise a whole bunch to offset the food and then I beat myself up for both the eating and not working out enough, creating an unhealthy mental spiral. And pushing like this will lead to injuries.

You'd have thought I had this figured out by now, wouldn't you? 

I guess we're all works in progress. All the time. If you've been in this struggle, you know that it never goes away. 

Do the right things, often enough, and the pounds will follow. It's not complicated or hard to understand. Make choices to be healthy, in mind and body. 

Just keep going. 

I Think I Went Too Far

Set a PR for distance today:

Um, yeah, the photo is blurry. I was a
little shaky at this point, to be honest.

On the Dreadmill, no less. I watched three Real Housewives episodes and one Who Do You Think You Are?, fast forwarding through most commercials and the parts I didn't like, plus taking a stretch break or five.

I'm paying for it right now. My knees are throbbing and I'm still a bit jittery.

This is not the right way to do this and I'll talk more about that tomorrow. All I know is I'm going to sleep well tonight.

And maybe eat ice cream.

For the Love of Fruit

I can't get enough fruit right now.

I am eating red grapes by the pound, literally a pound or so every 24 hours. I'm noshing on cherries all day long, spitting seeds like a county fair champ. I'm dreaming of happy, dancing watermelons and pineapples in a can-can line.

And the broccoli and cauliflower in my fridge is pissed off. They're tired of being unloved and ignored.

In fact, just to get even, they sprouted brown spots and developed an odor in protest.

So I threw them away with the naked sweet corn cobs from dinner tonight.

The carrots are still holding out, looking longingly at me from the back corner every time I open the door, trying to lay some massive guilt trip on me so I pay attention to them.

Wish them luck.

FUN FACT: Eating on the road doesn't have to be a nutritional
nightmare. I found fresh cherries at Kwik Trip during a recent
car trip where breakfast had to be on the fly. Spitting pits out
the window is completely optional, but fun on the interstate. 

Never Underestimate You

My bike rides give me lots of time to think. And just when I start to doubt myself, I get a reminder of how much is possible, even when it all seems impossible.

See that sunflower? She's growing on the road. Yeah. The road. She's at the edge of the blacktop, in the crease of the 2"H "curb" where a country road transitions from 55 mph to 25 mph and the road crew tried to make things appear more city-fied when the gravel shoulder disappeared.

She's found, or perhaps created, a place to grow, in a handful of run-off and junk dirt, because she's determined to bloom. She didn't get a fancy raised bed garden. She didn't get the loving weekly watering of a doting old woman in a big straw hat.

Let's face it. She probably came from a seed that was eaten and then pooped out of a run-of-the-mill barn swallow. Talk about humble beginnings.

But there she is. Standing tall. Shining bright. Determined to thrive in spite of the odds.

If she can, so can I. And so can you.