Cowboys Like Fat Calves

Remember that treasure chest of "Jim-isms" I mentioned a few days ago? This is one of them. And I think he honestly means it as a compliment. As in, no one likes a skinny girl ... they're better with a bit of meat on 'em.

("Friday night girls" and "Skinny girls hate themselves" are two more sayings along this line that I can explain to you in person someday.)

But back to the subject at hand. Or leg, as it were.

I needed boots this weekend. Fashionable ones. With heels. I need them because I don't know how to hem pants and I just bought a black pair and a brown pair that were a smidge too long. Hence the need for two pair of boots ... a black and a brown.

I tried on several pair, looking for just one that would actually zip over my calves. Holy Toledo. My legs are not stick skinny. Never have been, never will be. But boy ... I didn't expect to battle four out of five styles of boots to get them closed. The two I bought are not exactly comfy, but with a little effort and elbow grease, they'll work.

What would I have done two years ago?

Ankle boots, I guess.

Zero to 13.2 in 6.0

If you're having trouble motivating yourself or think you just can't do "it" (whatever it is) because you are too sore/tired/out of shape, etc. ... listen to this little story:

My 45-year-old cousin, who hadn't run since he was a sprinter on his high school track team, decided to run a half marathon with his son. He had six weeks to train. (A quick Google search will give you 12-week plans, nine-week plans ... even an eight-week plan. I didn't find one for a total beginner with just six weeks.) He's a dad with a full-time job. He didn't have a lot of time to train. But he worked it in because it was important.

Before race day, his longest run was eight miles.

And, not only did he finish, but he finished 16th out of 72 in his age division.

Your body can do amazing things. If your mind will get the hell out of the way.

(And if anyone wants to do a half with me, and my cousin, in the LaCrosse area this spring, let me know. It's on like Donkey Kong!)

I (Heart) Gary Fisher!

I love my bike! I love my bike! I love my bike!

What I'm trying to say is, I love my bike!

Hopped on the treadmill this morning and ended up in tears. While my knee (after a week of continual ibuprofen) doesn't hurt too much to move, it's still "wrong." It feels like there's too much stuff inside the casing. And it feels like it could just collapse at any moment.

So I walked at a measly 3.0 mph for a mile just for spite and cried most of the way, cursing myself for being so stupid last Saturday. Part of me was hoping the damn thing would just explode so I could get it fixed once and for all.

(Dear God, I'm bitching because I'm frustrated. Please don't take me seriously ... I don't really want my knee to explode. Others have had injuries worse than mine and had to deal with them much longer. We both know I'm kind of a wuss. Thank you. Amen.)

This afternoon, I noticed that my knee wasn't throbbing. I was aware of it's "fullness," but there was no sharp, shooting pain.

This has to be a good sign, right? Maybe I just needed to get on it?

So, this afternoon, I broke out the bike and did 15 miles. I just couldn't sit still any longer. And, the bike is easier on knees, right?

Wearing some killer heels this evening, too. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Cross your fingers.

Better Spaghetter

Jim loves spaghetti. Bottled spaghetti sauces are cheap, but full of sugar and salt. So I make my own. It probably turns out different each time because I just toss in whatever I have on-hand. So I think this really isn't a recipe, so much as a suggestion. And an invitation to experiment.

This makes enough sauce for a 1.25-lb,  package of ground turkey for a mock bolognese

Better Spaghetter
1 small onion diced
1-2 tsp diced garlic
A turn or two around the pan of olive oil
1 big can diced tomatoes (find the ones with the least sodium)
1 small can diced fire roasted tomatoes
1 small can tomato paste
1 cup water
1-2 T oregano
1-2 T basil
To taste: garlic salt, garlic powder, red pepper flakes, salt, pepper

In a big stock pot, sautee onion in olive oil until it starts to soften up. Add diced garlic. Let it get all yummy and smelly. Add tomato products, some water, and green spices. You have to have it "loose" enough that it can bubble away on the stove for a while and not get too thick. Add other stuff to your own taste. Let it simmer away for as long as you have. Add cooked ground turkey and ladle over whole wheat noodles or spaghetti squash.

Or keep the ground turkey out and use it over a chicken breast with some parmesean or mozerella for chicken parm.

Without Exercise ...

Here's the difference between the me that exercises and the me that doesn't:

• Without exercise, I have a hard time concentrating during the day.
• Without exercise, I wake up tired and stay tired during the day. I'm assuming I'm getting more restless sleep, as the circles under my eyes will attest.
• Without exercise, I have to be so much more careful about how I eat. The "relaxed" habits I've acquired don't work now that I'm not burning those extra calories.
• Without exercise, I'm freaking ornery. I'm mad that I'm off my pace to add miles and will have to start over. I'm scared that I'll gain 95 pounds back in a week or so. I'm worried that I'll start to like this not exercising thing and fall off the wagon all together.

So, I went back to basics today. I stopped at the grocery store and loaded up on the right stuff. I made a pot of spaghetti sauce tonight and planned my meals out for the upcoming week. Kale, edamame, spaghetti squash, zucchini ... it's all back in rotation.

And while the run of pizza, Mexican, ice cream and sugar cookies ... all in one week ... was fun, it had to end!

Now I have the confidence to know that I can do this. I have done it before. I will be OK.

Bummed

I'm not going to be running on Saturday. At least I don't think I will be. And I'm so disappointed. I really wanted to go 10 miles, before it gets too cold and while I was on this roll. I knew I had the wind for it ... and I was hoping for the leg.

It's still so strange to me to get my head around the fact that I'm disappointed I can't work out. That I WANT to run and am so genuinely upset that I can't right now.

Trying to be careful and patient so that if this is just an "overdid it" situation, it can heal and I can get back to work as quickly as possible. Scared to death that I screwed something up in a big way.

Either way, my Saturday this week isn't going to nearly as much fun as I had planned.

The 10% Rule

When I acquired a husband, I acquired his treasure chest of charming, should-be-copyrighted turns of phrase. Some of them aren't fit for public consumption. But some of them are downright prophetic.

One of them is "The 10% Rule."

He throws it out whenever I am having trouble doing something simple or ordinary. Like when I'm struggling to get the cover back on the battery compartment of the TV remote. Or when I'm packing and repacking my computer bag, trying to get 10 pounds of crap in a five pound space. Or when I'm reading assembly instructions for installing software. You get the drift.

As little beads of sweat break out on my hairline, I hear, "The 10% Rule, Lisa."

The definition/tagline of The 10% Rule is as follows: "You must be 10% smarter than whatever you're playing with."

There's another 10% rule commanded by runners and trainers everywhere. I've heard it from my sports med doc and my running friends.

It goes like this: "When trying to add miles, only add 10% more per week."

I broke both of these 10% rules this past weekend. And I'm paying for it.

Not only did I 1) add nearly 20% more miles last Saturday, but then, like someone who apparently is smarter than the sports med doc who told me not to run at all, I pushed it a bit more and 2) walked for 3 miles the following day.

My bad knee is killing me. By the end of the workday, it's throbbing and I can't bend it properly to walk down the steps. I haven't been able to work out in three days. And it's not getting better, it's feeling worse.

Tonight I'm loading up on ibuprofen and icing it.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

My Point?

I rambled a little yesterday. I was leading up to this:

You can do anything for a little while.

You don't have to give up all pizza forever and spend two hours exercising every day for the rest of your life. You don't have to eat rabbit food and be hungry all the time and wake up a 4 a.m. to get a walk in every morning from now until you're old and gray.

You do have to commit to changing the pattern that's not working for you now ... for a while. Until you get where you really want to be.

Then you can eat pizza again. Once in a while. You can skip a day of exercise. Once in a while.

And you'll feel better. Every day.

You can do it.

How Hard is It?

A little while ago, a friend declared sort of publicly that she was making a change. Getting healthier. I let her know I was in support and wished her the best.

I also told her that it wouldn't be as hard as she thought.

I've been thinking about that this past couple of weeks. Why would I say that? Losing weight is hard, right?

Well, yes. It's hard. But now that I can look back on it, after 18 months, it really doesn't seem like it was that hard. And it was certainly not as hard as I thought it would be all those years I was too afraid or too stubborn to try. And it was most definitely not as hard as carrying around those pounds and all the baggage that comes with them.

It took me six months to lose 70 pounds. And another 12 months to lose 25 more. That's more than 500 days of waking up and deciding to do the right things. Eat better. Exercise. Believe I could do it.

Compared to the 25 years I felt like crap about the way I looked and the way I felt, 500 days doesn't seem like such a long time.

And you've heard me say it before, the biggest regret I have about the whole thing is that I didn't start earlier. That I couldn't figure it out, that I couldn't trust myself to try.

So what was different about this time? I didn't think about 100 pounds. I thought about five. I didn't think about the 18 months it might take me. I thought about making good choices for one day. I didn't dwell about being hungry and wanting to eat. I thought instead about how nothing I could put in my mouth would make me feel better than being healthier.

Most of all I didn't think about the 25 years of failing or being disappointed. I thought about how much I mattered to me. I thought about how I only get one life, one body, and how I am in control of me.

And this time it worked.

No More Topless Sunbathing

They're cutting the corn in the field next to my house. That means the people that live on the road off to the side of my house can now see my deck again, after a long summer of lovely, green camoflage.

Guess that means any racy sun worshipping is officially over for the summer.

Not that I lay out there half naked.

Much.

New Schtuff

I have never understood my husband's fascination with Gander Mountain. I mean, how many different kinds of camo does one person need? Or fishing lures. Or bullets. Or things to attach to a bow. I mean, I think fish bite at things when they're hungry (after all, what else is there to do down there?) ... so I just don't get why they'd bite at the fluorescent yellow thingy more than the not-so-different fluorescent green thingy.

But I do know he enjoys having a whole treasure trove of "schtuff" to feed his addiction. When he needs a whatchamacallit, he heads to his stash and finds a whatchamacallit. It makes him happy.

This week I got a taste of the same thing. For myself. And my new HOBBY. (This word still makes me smile.)

I stopped at All Season Runner earlier in the week just to browse. I was thinking my new outdoor running program required some sort of revamp to the current water bottle situation. For the past three weeks, I've just been carrying a normal 16 oz. plastic bottle of water. But my hands aren't really big enough to carry it comfortably. So I'd drink half the water and collapse the bottle a little, making it smaller in diameter and easier to carry. But it still wasn't right.

At ASR, I found this adorable smaller bottle, curved to fit in my palm, with a strap that wraps around the back of my hand. For $15, it wasn't exactly a bargain, but it fit the bill. I also checked out reflective stuff for running when it's dark, pepper spray, compression shirts ... but I left with just the water bottle.

Today, while Jim was at Gander Mountain ... again ... I dashed over to TJMaxx to see if I could find some running tights and a long sleeve shirt that would work. I already have one of each, but thought I needed another set, should I want to run two days in a row without laundry in between. Sure enough, I found upgraded versions of what I have. An Avia pullover and a pair of Brooks running pants ... both with reflective stripes sewn right in and both with POCKETS for my cell phone!

And now I'm totally thinking I need to go back for the pepper spray. After the Zanesville OH wild-animals-on-the-loose thing and the cougar-on-the-trail-cam thing in northern WI, I had a burst of probably unfounded fear today long about mile 6.

Unexpected Downside of Being Thinner #14

Used to be that when I sat down at a restaurant, I had an instant place to tuck a napkin so that it wouldn't slide off my lap and onto the floor. My belly, or "chunk" as I preferred to call it, created a fold into which I could secure the napkin. If you can picture it, there was a crevice formed between my chunk and thighs.

There isn't one there anymore. So now my napkin falls to the floor more often.

Unexpected Benefit of Being Thinner #27

When Jim reaches an arm around my waist in bed, to pull me closer, spoon style, I don't instantly tense up and suck in my gut, hoping that he won't notice my "chunk."

There's no chunk. Squeeze away, sweetheart.

Unexpected Benefit of Being Thinner #26

When getting a pedicure during a season other than the dead of summer, I am able to "reverse fold" my blue jeans and pull them well up over my knees so they can get at my entire lower leg for the relaxing moisturizing calf rubdown.

In other words, the flare of my bootcut is bigger than my thigh.

What Makes You Happy?

Doing a lot of soul searching these days, trying to answer that question.

While every life has many reasons to fret, worry and fear, I am doing my best to accept those things I cannot change, as the saying goes, and put my time and energy into the activities and people that make me better.

The parts of my life I look forward to? The nights my family hangs out at my house, eating a little, drinking a little, talking a little, laughing a little. The afternoons when Jim comes home from hunting and pretends not to care when he sees that it's salad for supper.

And, these last three weeks, I look forward to my Saturday morning run more than just about anything.

Who would have ever imagined that?

I'm challenging myself. Seeing how far I can go. Last week I ran 7.25 miles and felt so amazing I can't find words to describe it. I can't wait to see if I can add a mile or maybe two this week. I'm obsessing about it and already anxious for the sun to come up on Saturday.

Makes me think I should find a way to focus more of my time and energy there. Find a job that feeds that part of my soul. Find a way to help others discover what I did inside myself.

I wonder what that might be?