The Secret Pine Cone Picker Upper

I went to say goodbye to a friend today.

A real goodbye. We're leaving for a week of vacation and I suspect that she won't be here when we return. By then, the cancer that's spreading within her will have won ...

... and the world will have lost this beautiful, kind, smiling woman.

It's a strange thing ... saying goodbye for the last time. Jim and I were nervous as we drove to the tidy, little house where my friend lives with her darling husband, next door to our first house. We knew she was sick and that things weren't going well, but neither one of us had any idea what we were going to say when we walked through her door.

"We're going to be cheerful and not cry," I said, when Jim asked what we were supposed to do once we got there, his bewilderment matching my own. It was the only reasonable way I could think to approach it.

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We'd gotten a call early this morning from the gentleman who bought our first house. He said that our friends had come home early from their annual California trip and that there had been a lot of activity since they returned.

We knew what that meant.

So Jim called that tidy little house. I was upstairs and he was down in his office, but I could hear him on the phone. While I couldn't make out the words, I could tell the conversation didn't take very long. Then I heard Jim climbing the steps.

I knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. His tears had already started and mine quickly followed.

"He said we should come see her today or tomorrow," Jim said.

I'm pretty sure there was a string of expletives. And more tears. We both stood there and hugged and cried. I wanted to throw things and hit things and kick things. But I did none of that. I just sobbed.
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I was expecting her to be in bed. I was happily surprised when I heard her call out as we walked in the back door.

We had a quick exchange with her husband as we kicked off our shoes and could tell what the situation was, though no words were said. Cheerful and no crying. Cheerful and no crying. Cheerful and no crying. I just kept repeating it in my head as I rounded the corner.

There she was, fully made up, sitting in her cheerful, sunny front room, on the new furniture I'd only seen once before. She had her feet up on the ottoman, a pretty light blue fleece hoodie on and a cozy blanket tossed over her legs and feet.

All of the nervousness quickly dissipated. We sat down, like we had a hundred times before, and had us a visit. A good, old fashioned chat.

They told us about their trip to California to see their son. They updated us on their grandson's progress as a professional umpire. She quickly filled us in on their rather hurried departure from the San Diego area as soon as they knew that things had taken a turn and of her short stay at the hospital here.

We told her a few funny stories. I showed off some pictures of Bella's new hair and Jim talked about Kati's new puppy.

She said hospice was now coming to the house. She didn't have to say that the hospital sent her home because there was nothing more they could do.

But we all understood that loud and clear.

I could see her getting tired, so it was time to go. I gave her a hug and told her I loved her. She said it back. Jim did the same.

We gave her husband another squeeze at the back door, We said all the things you're supposed to say ... "if you need anything, let us know ... "don't be afraid to call" ... "love you" ...

And we left.

A goodbye without a goodbye uttered.

Cheerful and no crying has left the building. My heart is heavy, and the tears are still flowing.

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THE STORY OF THE SECRET PINE CONE PICKER UPPER
There once was a young woman who bought her first house in a cute, well-kept neighborhood on the west side of town. She didn't know much about running a household of her own, but managed to get the lawn mowed every week and the dishes done on a relatively regular basis.

One day, she came home from work and noticed that the front hedges had been trimmed. Other strange things also happened. Sometimes the leaves seemed to rake themselves. Occasionally, the sidewalks would be miraculously clear after a daytime snowfall.

The young woman began to suspect the retired man who lived next door was secretly taking care of her house. And she began to thank him profusely. She brought him gifts. She made sure he knew how much she appreciated him.

In the front yard of this house was a very, very tall pine tree. To be honest, it was a bit out of proportion for the small yard and tiny little ranch house. Its lower branches easily created a 20' diameter canopy. When the young woman would mow her lawn, she was able to stand up under the pine tree's bottom branches ... because the kindly neighbor man would keep them trimmed.

Again, she made sure he knew how much she appreciated his help.

But there was something very strange about this pine tree.

Never did it drop a pine cone. Not one. Was it some sort of mutant hybrid pine tree, the young woman wondered? It dropped a zillion brown pine needles, to be sure, but never a pine cone.

Little did she know, the kindly retired neighbor man had a secret accomplice.

Her name was Margaret and she collected pine cones from that big pine tree daily. Just to be nice.

She never mentioned it. She never did it when the young woman was home to see it. She let the young woman think her husband did all the work.

That's how she is.

And so is this:
She makes sun tea in a big jug on her patio table by the back door. She also likes to have a happy hour cocktail out there when the weather is nice. She walks miles and miles around the neighborhood, enjoys lemon desserts and prefers the color blue. She adores her grandson Sean and always refers to her kids as "My Jean" and "My Jim." Her Christmas Village graces her bay window in her front room every year, complete with angel hair snow. She nursed her husband Dick back to strength after a few heart-related scares and she loves to tell their love story. (It is one for the ages!)

I wish you could know her.

Olympic Coaches ... and Me

So, I did it. I mustered up the courage to walk into a room full of runners and take a coaching class.

My assumption was that the room would be full of marathoners. And I was right. I'm pretty sure I was the only one who had not completed one.

I also assumed I would have the least amount of actual running experience. I wasn't entirely right here. There was a guy who had only been running for about a year.

However, he ran the Boston Marathon two weeks ago.

(You have to qualify for Boston, which I knew, meaning he had run at least one other marathon ... an official Boston qualifier ... before that. What I didn't know was that hitting the official qualifying time of 3 hours and 30 minutes isn't enough to guarantee you a spot anymore. You really have to do BETTER than that to earn a place. I can't even ...)

What I didn't expect was that I'd be the only person in the room to have never stepped foot on a track and who had no idea what tempo runs, repeats, ladders, 4x1600s, goal pace, marathon pace, cadence, and all those other track words meant.

I also didn't know how technical running was. I thought you strapped on a pair of tennies and hit the road, going a little farther each time. I'm such a simple creature.

I REALLY didn't know that there were people so serious about running. You know, about getting better times. People that treat a marathon like a RACE where you're trying to beat someone, not just finish. Maybe that sounds stupid. Of course I knew people train so they can improve their prior time. I just didn't fully grasp how serious some people are about it. Like they hire a coach. They make multi-year plans. They measure their heart rates every morning on the toilet. They can calculate their rate of glycogen depletion on the fly. I'm not sure why they do this, entirely, because I'm not wired that way. But I find it fascinating.

And, last but not least, I didn't expect to be in the same room as people who coach Olympic athletes. And collegiate athletes. And athletes from Spain and Tokyo and anywhere in between. Seriously, one guy came from Singapore for the class. Singapore!

So, when I say I was a bit out of my league, I'm not being self-depreciating.

I'm being honest.

With that in mind, however, I learned a LOT.

I came home with knowledge I can apply to my own running. And maybe a little I can pass on to people like me.

However, if an Olympic athlete calls, looking for a little help, I probably won't offer much advice.

Other than to pass on the names of the really smart people I met.

New Year, New Start

It's time for me to come clean.

I haven't been here in a while because I'm a bit embarrassed.

I have put pounds back on and I haven't had the courage to tell you about it. I haven't wanted to admit it to myself, number one. I haven't wanted you to silently feel sorry for me. I also haven't wanted you to cheer me on/up/forward with a "You got this, girl!"

(And I know you mean well with that last one. But truly, it makes me feel like the most lame-o, narcissistic, pathetic being. As if I'm intentionally feeling sorry for myself out loud, hoping you'll chime in and pat me on the back. I'm sure that a therapist would have a wonderful time with that.)

Here are the facts:
Most of my clothes don't fit. Those that do are tight and unflattering ... and I'm uncomfortable in them. I only have two bras that sort of fit and even my underwear is too small.

My hair and my skin look tired. My eyes are puffy. I ache and I no longer feel strong.

I am tired, moody, emotional and sort of difficult to live with. I am mad at myself. Disappointed, really. And I'm letting it get to me.

I am still running. About 16-20 miles per week. But it's getting harder and harder as I get heavier and as I let the negative talk take over my brain. I was lifting a couple of times a week, but a shoulder injury has put the kibosh on that for now. And I have not been to RIPPED in ages ... my schedule has just not lined up with available class times.

I am eating with abandon. Essentially nothing is off limits and my ratio of healthy vs. non-healthy choices is waaaaaaay off.

So, what did I do today to try and counter all of that?

I registered for a weekend class in Lake Zurich IL in April where I will become a certified running coach.

Seems obvious, right? My whole process is a shambles, so I think sitting in a room full of "real" runners and perhaps fitness professionals seems like a great idea! I can't keep my own shit in order, but I'll go find out how to tell other people how to organize theirs.

My single goal is to LEARN ... and if I'm the only one who ever uses the information, so be it. Of course, it will also give me some incentive to get back on track between now and then. That's an extra bonus.

Perhaps the best thing, though is that the mere thought of it scares me to death. I'm guessing I will likely be the most inexperienced person in the room. Or the heaviest. Or the one with the least self-confidence about being there.

I firmly believe doing something scary is a good way to get over a hump ... to shake the cobwebs out of your head and force yourself into a better place. The challenge, and the completion of it, turns up the volume on your "I can do it" meter.

The saga continues.

Forward

Hey. 

I hope you didn't forget about me. 

I didn't forget about you ... I've just been a little sideways. 

I was out for a 6-miler on Sunday, on a road I've traipsed a zillion times, lost in my head, making things far more complicated than I needed to, as usual. I was doubting my ability to finish my intended route. I was beating myself up about my failures over the past few months. Then I saw this: 

A simple blob of tar or road patch or blacktop on the pavement. Pointing forward. 

Letting me know that "forward" was where I needed to go. 

So I went. 

And I'm still going. 

I hope you are, too. 

Gears, Pedals and Seats, Oh My!

Welcome back to Part 2 of "Bikes for Beginners." Or "The Completely Non-Mechanical, Non-Scientific and Non-Expert Description of Road Bikes and Mountain Bikes." (Catchy title, right?)

Today, we'll talk about some personal preference items ... gears, pedals and seats.

GEARS: Gears mess me up.

Not because I don't know how to make them work but because I'm not great at knowing when the right time to shift is. Also, I have this caveman spot in my brain that says I should pedal for as long as possible in the hardest gear I can stand, because then I'm getting a good workout. Sweat = good. Of course that's not true. But my skull is also thick ... you know, like a caveman.

I think bikes just come with the number of gears they come with. (You're riveted by this expert commentary, aren't you?) I suppose you can modify them to be something different, but why? That being said, there is a difference between our two bikes.

The sole purpose of gears in the first place is that they allow you to keep a steady pedaling pace as you move up hills, down hills, all around town. A steady cadence helps you go farther with less effort. If you're a good shifter, you gear though inclines with ease.

I have a potential for 16 gear combinations ... my chain can move between two sprockets on the front and eight on the back. Jim has 21 total gear combinations ... three sprockets on the front and seven on the rear. In my opinion, neither one is better or worse. I'm guessing the more varied the terrain, the more gear combinations you may want to keep that effortless, steady pace going.

All I know is that I need the easy gears to get me up steep, long hills. And I'll find them wherever they are. Advice from my expert brother-in-law? Shift before you think you need to and never under strain.

When you change gears, your left hand directs the chain where to sit
on the sprockets by the pedals. I have two rings there, and Jim has
three. Your right hand moves the chain between a set of rings (sprockets)
on the rear. I have eight stacked up there and Jim has seven. 

PEDALS
This is a basic pedal, much like the one on Jim's bike and just like the one you remember on your banana-seat one speed from 1973. It's functional. It works. You already understand it.You push it down, the bike moves forward. Period.

This is a pedal with a "cage" on it It's what I have on my bike:

It's a bit smaller than the first pedal and the toe of your shoe slides into the basket-like part. What this allows is you to use some "pull" in addition to "push" when you pedal, thereby giving you a bit more umph. (That's the technical term.) On the normal pedal above, one leg is always relaxing and one is working. With the cage, both legs can be working to move you down the road.

Then there's this contraption:



They're known as "clips" because your specially-purchased-and-sort-of-expensive bike shoe literally clips ON to the pedal. Yes, your feet are attached to the bike.

They strike fear in me. I am too scared to try them. I picture myself approaching a stop sign and suddenly unable to unhook my feet from the pedals, ass over applecart as the bike falls over with me on it. I also find the noise the shoe makes when you walk into a gas station to use the bathroom a little silly. Think tap shoes.

The clip set-up gives you even MORE pull than the cage, which is why people like it. It makes you faster and gives you more bang for your pedaling buck.

Full disclosure: If you ever sign up for a bike riding event, all the cool kids will have bike shoes and clips. Some may even look at you and your pedal cages or naked pedals with little smirks. Let it roll right off of you. The amount of benefit you get from either is absolutely negligible to the average Sunday driver. If you plan on long routes, and want to work on decreasing your time, look into them. If you want to enjoy 7 or 8 miles on the bike trail, don't worry.

SEATS: And now perhaps the most important thing ... the seat. Officially it's called a saddle, so consider yourself forewarned should you get into a conversation with a purist.

My seat is on the left, Jim's on the right. Mine has essentially no padding and is flatter, narrower and overall smaller.

Prior to this week, I would have told you that all seats are so similar, it would be hard to tell the difference ... and as long as you have good padding in your shorts, it just doesn't matter that much. That's truly what I thought, in all my worldly expertise.

I stand corrected.

And I'm standing because my mommy parts still hurt from riding Jim's bike for one ass-numbing day.

So here's what I know about seats:

1. They're adjustable three ways on a good bike. Up and down (height) is the obvious way. They also adjust forward and back (front tire to rear tire) and angle (nose to heel).

2. More padding isn't better. I liken it to a pillow top mattress, which I hate. The padding can get worn from the way your but fits the seat, causing weird pockets of pouf. What seems like a little thing  at the beginning of a ride is a very big thing after an hour.

3. It's completely personal. Your butt is shaped different than mine. Our sit bones are in different places. We weigh different amounts. Our height is different. Our rides are different. And what's comfortable to you may not feel good to me.

4. The goal is to sit light, not heavy. When you get tired or when you're not in biking shape, you tend to sit heavy in the seat. You hunker down and push your pedals. The heavier you sit, the more your butt hurts. Riding light, if that makes sense, is just easier on your butt. Put your weight in your feet. Stand up and stretch every now and then. Gear properly so you're not forced to push so hard. The seat isn't there to "ride on." It's there to support you.

5. Seats have different scoop outs, contours, some even have holes in the middle and are marketed as more comfortable for men. As you can imagine, daddy parts don't logically line up with the whole bike seat concept. Since I don't have daddy parts, I can't speak to the benefit of any of these. But I can say, with complete certainty, that Jim's seat is a torture device for mommy parts, so I can only imagine what it does to him. We're shopping for a new one this week.

Tomorrow we finish with gear. (And don't lie. You secretly laugh when you see someone on the bike trail all duded up like Lance Freaking Armstrong when you know he's only going 4 miles. It's OK. You can laugh. But I'm still going to dress that way and I'll tell you why.)

The Difference Between a Road Bike and a Mountain Bike

I am not a bike expert. As with most things mechanical, I could honestly care less about the gears and sprockets and spokes and carbon fiber this and derailleur that.

I could not tell you a single thing about the latest Trek models or why Bike A is better than Bike B. I also don't believe that someone who rides like I do really notices much of a difference between a bike that weighs 2 lbs. 2 oz. and one that weighs 2 lbs. 6 oz. ... or whatever. Can elite athletes tell when their performance is aided by a smoother gear shift or carbon fiber? Yes, probably. But I'm not that athlete.

I am a bike rider, thought, so by default I have a bit of working knowledge. And, I also have access to two bikes (three, really, but one never leaves my basement) and there are distinct differences that I thought you might be interested in ... should you be shopping for a basic bike.

I'm going to show you my road bike, a Trek Lexa S, and Jim's sport mountain bike, a Trek 3 Series 3500 ... that's been modified a little from factory stock to make it a bit more road-friendly.
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TIRES: First, notice the difference in tires:



A road bike has skinny tires, inflated to 100-120 psi. They're smooth (no nubby stuff) and they ride "hard" ... not a lot of give when you're rolling over uneven surfaces. My driveway is long, hilly and gravel. I always feel sorry for my tires on it, because they just don't handle it well. They almost skid across the loose rocks and ping a few out sideways every once in a while. They're made for pavement. Period.

Jim's tires are much wider. The original tires on his bike were very nubby. Nubby is good for mountain biking. There's give and grip for uneven terrain. But nubby is not as good for road/bike trail riding. So we've traded for smooth-and-wide tires, which require inflation of 40-80 psi.

Jim's bike will handle an off-road trail and the pavement ... well enough for me to get back and forth to work or for a 20-30 mile ride comfortably. To the contrary, my bike would SUCK on an off-road trail.

If the two bikes started at the top of the same hill together, with a rider of equal weight and proportion, my bike would go down the hill faster. How do I know? I've been the rider on the slower bike. In my unscientific brain, it's because the wider tires mean more contact with the road. More contact with the road equals more "drag" ... and if I'm wrong, don't tell Mr. Raasoch. He'd be as unimpressed with my grasp of high school physics now as he was then.

HANDLEBARS: The second most obvious difference between the two bikes is the handlebars.

Mine: Curled down, like the 10-speed of your youth. They sit lower, forcing your hands a bit more forward and lower. You have the option of holding onto the curly part, too, causing a tighter tuck. You must hold them on the curly part to brake. Your brakes are on the front, meaning your hands are palms-in when you brake. Since road riding doesn't generally require a lot of braking, sharp turns or precision control, this position is OK ... it allows you to stay in that tuck.

 

Jim's: Straight out, hands a bit further apart.They are also a bit higher, allowing your body to sit more upright. Because your hands are wider and your brakes are on the ends, you brake palms down, with downward pressure on the front fork. That means more control and power when you twist and turn on an off-road trail. Your more upright body position can also mean a more comfortable ride.



Now, I'm sure that there is some aerodynamic benefit to the tuck vs. non-tuck position. A wind tunnel would certainly prove that. However, the way I ride, this measurement is completely pointless. If I'm a twentieth or a tenth of a mile per hour slower because I'm riding more upright, who the hell would notice and, more importantly, who the hell would care?

FRONT FORKS: Next up, the front fork.

Mine is rigid, skinny, flat, and not all that exciting to look at. There's no give. Remember when I said my tires rode "hard?" So does the fork.

Jim's has suspension ... like a shock in your car. It's two beefy cylinders, one inside the other, to absorb bumps a bit when you go over them. When you combine this "give" with the wider, lower psi tires, you get a smoother ride on that pesky gravel in my driveway. And over the railroad tracks. Or bridges made out of old railroad ties. However, it also makes the bike heavier.

BRAKES: The other main difference between our bikes is the brakes themselves.

I have rim brakes.

Rim brakes work by simply applying pressure to the rim of the tire. The harder I squeeze my hand, the more brake I get ... it's not terribly complicated. The pads come down and apply pressure to the rim, and, voila! ... slower rotation.

Jim has a disc brake on the front.

A disc brake uses hydraulic assist to apply pressure to the rotar ... the little silver ring in the center of the tire. The benefits of a disc brake are these:

1. In wet conditions, the holes in that ring "dry" the surface out as it's turning, allowing the pressure to work faster/better. Compare that to the squeezing of the rim on my bike ... if the rim is wet, the pads just don't work as well. Or at all.

2. The hydraulic assist allows for a smoother, more controlled/constant pressure ... not dependent on how hard I am squeezing. More controlled/constant/smoother equals faster stopping.

3. In muddy conditions, like an off-road trail, that little silver ring with holes in it is farther away from the gunk on the ground and less likely to get mucked up ... allowing better, more reliable braking. If the rim on my road bike gets muddy, the brake just can't work as well because the pads can't get to the rim, perhaps.

4. A rim brake CAN cause wear on the actual rim, which can affect tires.

So if disc brakes are so awesome, why does my fancier road bike not have them? It doesn't need them. Road bikes don't ride in mud. Road bikes don't need to brake that much ... their job is to go fast in a straight line, not twist and turn through fancy obstacles.

(Kind of the way a good Thoroughbred race horse is different from a reliable, sure-footed trail horse. One is built to go forward fast and has very little skill in anything else, no fancy footwork, no back-up or sideways walking. The other will never win a race, but will take you over streams and rocks and up and down mountains safely.)

Disc brakes also add some weight, though, again, for the kind of riding I do, that doesn't really matter.

Tomorrow, gears, pedals and seats!

Just One Stinking Tank Top

I ran this morning. A quick 4 miles in the basement, because I'm convinced that if I run outside I will get attacked by the neighborhood cougar. 

(And I don't mean Courtney Cox, HRGirl.)

When I was done, I came upstairs and headed to my bathroom for a shower. And I caught a whiff of myself. 

O.M.G. 

Rank doesn't begin to describe it. 

I smelled like a locker room full of teenage boys after a night of hard boiled eggs and beer. With Limburger cologne. 

As I peeled off my running top, I knew what the problem was. 

It wasn't me, so much as it was the 2 years worth of me that has accumulated in this particular running top. 

Peeeeeeeeeeee-yeeeeewwwwwwwww! 

Now, just in case you're thinking, "Doesn't she WASH her workout gear?" Yes, of course I do. I generally hang it to dry before I shower and wash it at night when I get home. But my two favorites are more that two years old and they've been worn and sweated in a LOT. 

They are Energy Zone brand from Shopko. Tanks with built-in shelf bras. And I love them with all my heart. I bought them at half price or about $14.99 ... not because I remember, but because I only buy them at half price. Shopko seems to have a sale every month or so. I used to have a whole rainbow of colors. But over the years, I've had to toss them out, one at a time, as they got stinky. I'm down to my last three (my two favorites and one other one). 

So obviously, your next question is, "Why have you been wearing the same, stinky shirts for two years?"

I've been wearing the same, stinky ones for two years because apparently, they don't make tank tops with built-in shelf bras anymore. Well, at least the folks at Shopko's Energy Zone brand do not. 

I look. I look every time I go there. I even make special trips to look on occasion. I have bought the separate jogging bra and loose-fit tank and I just don't like running in that. I don't want to put two things on, take two things off and wash two things when ONE will do. I like the tight fit of the bra-included tank. So sue me. 

So tonight I took to the web to find something similar. How hard can it be? 

Apparently, It's almost flippin' impossible. 

A search for Energy Zone confirmed they no longer make my favorite kind of shirts. Next step, searches on self-bra tank, sHelf-bra tanks, running tanks with bra, running singlet. All return a few things from Sierra Trading post for brands that I've never heard of, items not in my size or brands built for yoga (read: not enough support for running), things with bad reviews or this: 

This is a cute tank, in my size, with a bra, for $84.99. Yes, I said $84.99!
It had better run FOR me for $100 after shipping! See for yourself here.

Yes, I have checked Athleta and Reebok and Brooks. (Ordered two pair of shoes there, but no tops.) Yes, I have looked at Kohl's ... I own a couple of the FILA brand they carry and don't like them. The seams under the arms are killer chafers. And they're $30+. 

Guess more than one thing about this whole scenario stinks. 

Ominous Beginnings

This was the view on my bike ride into work this morning. There was a bit of a damp chill in the air and misty evidence on my bare legs and shoulders of the dark clouds that were headed east.

It made for a nice start to the day, though.

And I like the metaphor. I chased the dark clouds away and dragged in the sun.

Grocery Day Prep

Let me start by saying,

I HATE GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE.

Especially on a weekend. Especially on a weekend at Woodman's. But go, I must, at least once a week. (For the record, I barely survived today's trip ... between the construction and the approximately 873 other people in the store, I made it out just before I flipped my lid.)

But then I got home and was happy to put all of this together:

• Carrots peeled and cut. 
• Red peppers, deseeded and sliced.
• Seedless cucumbers, one sliced for snacking and one currently in the process of becoming 24-hour refrigerator pickles. 
• Jicama, peeled and matchsticked.
• Corn on the cob, shucked for dinner this evening.
• Iceburg, washed and chillin' for BLTs Monday night.
• Green grapes, rinsed and ready. 
• Bowl full o'cherries, duds removed.
• Seedless watermelon, cut up and getting cold for tonight's snack. 

After yesterday's German Fest fun, it's back to good stuff for the week. And now that it's all ready for me, there are no excuses for not eating well.

If It Feels Good, Do It

The concept is incredibly simple. Easy, almost.

Do what makes you feel good.

The hard part is knowing what feels good. And identifying what feels bad.

I read this the other day and it has stuck in my cranium:

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/07/20/rethinking-exercise-as-a-source-of-immediate-rewards/?smid=tw-share&_r=0

What is says, in a nutshell, is that perhaps it's wise to think of exercise /eating better in a new way. Perhaps we should ot think of it as means to an end ... like weight loss. But as a way to feel good. Really good. Down deep inside good. For a long time.

Or at least that's how I interpreted it.

So I started thinking about what makes me feel good. Really good.

I attack the day better, think clearer, handle stress better when I work out in the morning.

I worry and kick myself less when I eat right.

Do I like sleeping in? Yes. Do I like cake? Yes. Yes, I do. But both of those things really end up making me feel worse, not better. It's just not always the easiest thing to remember when my eyelids are heavy and there's frosting just a few feet from me in the breakroom.

When I stop and think, really think, the choice isn't as hard as it seems.

(This is Day 3 of relatively clean eating for me. The first 3-day streak in a long time.)

Efficiency

I'm still riding my bike to work a couple of times a week.

There is still no hot water.

This is how you take an ice cold shower:

1. Get washcloth, soap, shampoo and conditioner in the ready position.

2. Turn water on about half-speed and immediately jump under it, washcloth in hand. Your goal here is to get your body as wet as possible, as quickly as possible, with the water that's "in the pipes" and therefore NOT ice cold. Ignore your head at this point Your hair isn't the most important thing yet. Making sure you get the sweat and stink off is the key outcome of this step.

3. As soon as you are wet, turn water OFF. Use washcloth to scrub away. As soon as you are soapy ...

4. Turn water back on ... again at half speed. (You don't want to use that "in the pipes" water too fast.) Rinse as you spin quickly under the trickle. Get hair as wet as you can. Keep that washcloth under the water as much as possible.

5. Turn water off. Shampoo.

6. Turn water on to rinse hair ... but bend forward to do so, so that your butt/body is out of the water and only your head is in. The water is getting colder now.

7. Turn water off for lather #2. And curse the amount of "product" you have in your hair that requires two shampoos to get it all out.

8. Turn water back on for final rinse, again head first. Water is really cold now.

9. Turn water off and apply conditioner, the smallest amount you can. The less you use, the less you have to rinse out.

10. Rinse conditioner from hair. By now, the water is FREEZING and it hurts the back of your head as it hits.

11. Turn water off. Use washcloth to get the last bits of soap off.

12. If you need to make one more swipe of the important parts (my grandma called them the 3 Ps), use the wet washcloth you've been holding on to.

13. Done! And there is no steam to mess up the mirror or wreck your hair. If I had to guess, the water ran for less than 3 minutes.

The good news is that my boss has searched out parts to fix the innards of the faucet on Amazon. He says that I will eventually get warm water. And I'm not going to lie.

I can't wait.

I Am Strong

Today, I am loving my body.

I've been pretty down on it lately. It's too big. I'm carrying too much weight. There's too much squish and my clothes are not fitting properly. 

I'm really not fond of the muffing top that appears with my jeans. 

But you know what? 

I still love my body. 

I ran Saturday morning. Lately, every mile has been a real challenge. I've been feeling big and lethargic and heavy. 

Saturday morning I felt at home. The best way I can describe it is comfortable in my own skin. My feet hit the pavement methodically, one in front of the other. My breathing was even and steady. And I covered 5 miles after a 1-hour RIPPED workout with relative ease. 

It made me feel like a million bucks.

This body has been bigger. This body has been smaller. When it was bigger, I didn't trust it. I didn't trust that I was good enough or strong enough.

Today, I know I am good enough. I am strong enough. My body will take me where I want to go, when I want to go there. Through this whole process, and it is an ongoing process, I have learned to trust me.

It hasn't come easy. It's taken practice to believe that I can do "it" ... whatever it is.

But today, at almost 48 years old, I know I can.

I love that.

P.S. Here's one more thing I love. I got a message from our old friend New Runner today. This morning she logged a personal best distance of 6 miles!  That's SIX MILES ... that's the distance between Fort and Jefferson, y'all! What I love most about it is that I know she's feeling the same way about her body tonight. She's proud of what it can do.

Double Double

Saturday marked the second day of my week where I doubled up workouts.

If you recall, I ran and biked on Thursday. It felt pretty OK, so I thought I'd give it a whirl again to start the weekend off right.

I was up early, at RIPPED by 6:30 a.m (OK, 6:35 ... I missed the first half of the warm-up) and good and sweaty by the cool-down an hour later at 7:30. The sun was still hiding behind the clouds and the breeze was just perfect, so I grabbed my running water bottle, flipped my Map My Run app on and hit the streets of my old neighborhood.

It was fun to cruise over those once-familiar sidewalks. I always walked, even at my heaviest, and knew my old 2-mile route would serve me well. I wanted to do 4 miles, however, so I added a few blocks here and there in an attempt to avoid simply doing the loop twice.

Before I knew it, I was back at my car ... with 5.1 miles on my phone.

A nice surprise.

Best of all, it felt easy. My pace was "slow" for me ... 10:40 miles. But it was easy and it felt good. Really good. For the first time in a long time.

A change of scenery is good for everything, I guess.

Bugs, Breathing and Beads

I challenged myself Thursday.

First, I woke up before 5 a.m., ran four miles and then hopped on my bike to ride to work. 

Then, I put in a 10+ hour day.  

Then I got suited up for the ride home. I was actually looking forward to it because it's nice to have the decompression time. It's a good time to think and a good time to sort, prioritize and chill. 

But as soon as I hit the bike path, I knew I wasn't alone. 

They were there. 

Millions of them. 

Swarms of gnats. 

I took a mouthful before I knew it. They stick in the back of your throat in the most disgusting way. 

I got wise quickly ... in through the nose; out through the mouth. In through the nose; out through the mouth. In through the nose; out through the mouth. I kept repeating it over and over, in cadence with my pedaling, and tried to keep my nose/mouth pointed toward the ground to prevent an accidental bug cloud inhale . 

I didn't dare lick my lips for fear that I'd have a whole bunch of the little buggers stuck there by the time I got home. 

I could hear them pinging off my helmet and see them bouncing off my sunglasses. 

I was convinced I could even hear them as they hit the craters of my ears. Gross, right?

The good news is that the ride is only about 8 miles ... so I was home fairly quickly. I took off my helmet and gave myself a good shake to make sure there were no hangers-on. 

And that's when I noticed something that made me smile. 

You see, I had forgotten to take my earrings off when I changed from office wear into bike gear. What I thought was bugs crashing into my ears was actually some fake pearl beads clinking from my dangle earrings. 

It's a good look. Bike helmet and dangly pearl earrings, right?  

Better option than this ... 

I Keep Looking ...

I am looking for something.

I have not yet put my finger on it. Every time I think I have found it, when I swear I've found it, it turns out I haven't yet.

What am I looking for?

I'm looking for the one thing that's going to snap me back to reality.

So far, these are the things it has not been:

My smallest clothes not fitting.
My favorite clothes not fitting.
My biggest small clothes not fitting.
Walking around feeling like an uncomfortable sausage all day because my clothes don't fit.
The re-emergence of huge upper arms.
The rubbing together of the tops of my thighs.
The blob of skin that hangs over my too tight bra.
The re-appearance of a pooch in my mid-section.
The weakness of will that allows me to walk when I should be running or back off when I should be pushing.
The nearly constant bad internal conversation in my head.
The tired, defeated, hopeless feelings that creep in.

I have made myself lots of promises. I have vowed to get back on track a hundred or more times. And, as of yet, I have not actually done it. Which means I'm obviously lying to myself. I can't figure out why, either. 

But yesterday I tried on a pair of size 12 pants and stopped breathing for a minute when they fit. 

The truth is I'm working out pretty much like usual. But I'm essentially eating whatever I want. Proof that this whole deal is ALL. ABOUT. THE. EATING. 

For now, I'm going to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward. And maybe, just maybe, while I'm hunting for divine intervention or some equally illogical other thing, I'll do enough right to get to the place I want to be.