Week 3: The Week I Conquered All

Yeah, so week three of my resolution. To avoid the torture of suspense, I DID in fact get in all my workouts. That being said, I almost cracked.  This week it felt like every challenge and pitfall that normally hits me came all at once.

Pitfall 1: Overzeal. Sometimes I get caught up in the fabulous feeling of being fit. And after one day of working out, I think, "Who needs a rest day? Let's work out again! Let's work out harder! Let's work out Four or even FIVE times! I love working out!" I had these thoughts after my 1st workout this week. And then I reminded myself that when I overdo it, I regret it. So, despite feeling this way, I did not go overboard. And thus, my overzealous self did not stop me.

Pitfall 2: I don't know who said that working out makes you lose weight. This is not always true. If that WERE always true, sumo wrestlers would be much smaller. I often gain pounds when I get more fit.  Of course, weight is not the only reason to seek after fitness. But when I see the scale creeping up (which I did this week) it's a little hard to remember that. But I did not let it stop me.

Pitfall 3: Impulsive eating. Sometimes I get really snacky. Is it related to hormones? I don't know. But I suspect it is. And on days when I have eaten more than I should (specifically, Wednesday and Thursday of this past week), I do not like to work out. Mostly because I'm still digesting. And I feel a little failure-ish, which sadly makes me want to just fail at everything. I also did not let this stop me.

Pitfall 4: Soreness. I would appreciate if all muscles in my body would commit to being sore for only ONE day after working out.  My muscles do not always agree with this, as they did not this week. And I WAS tired of feeling it. I did not let this stop me.

Pitfall 5: Sometimes work and meetings get crazy, causing some days to be virtualy impossible for working out. This happened. That's another reason I only shoot for 3 days. I did not let it stop me.

Pitfall 6: I have a really hard time sticking to a routine. Like ANY routine. I did not let this stop me.

So, here I sit, Tuesday after the week I conquered all, very satisfied with myself. I'm not at my slimmest. I did not behave perfectly with my eating habits. I am not being magically transformed into Gisele Bundchen. But I am satisfied with myself.  I have no issues of conscience, telling me I should be working harder. And I believe, despite the downers, that my physique and health is better for the wear and tear.

As much as I did get it done, it wasn't without periods of, ahem, extreme disability (to reference my graphic for this post). Ben tried to give me comfort when I was complaining about it by saying that I can pick a new resolution next month. I'm almost done. And it's true. I can. Only one more week and I will have achieved my goal. But I don't know if I'll be ready to give this one up in February. It feels so good! (right now, at least) Yeah for New Month Resolutions!

Working Out: Three is The Perfect Number

So, it's the end of the 2nd week of January. I'm done with week 2 of my resolution to work out 3x/wk. So far so good! I know so many people would be thinking, "Three times? That's not even worth making a resolution for. Wimpy." Perhaps that's true. But it doesn't change the fact that I haven't accomplished three workouts in a week with any resemblance of regularity in my recent past. And I don't really aspire to do more. For me, I just LOVE the three-times routine. Not two. Not four. Not five. DEFINITELY not six. Three. Here's why:

1. I find that if I only work out twice, while still good, I don't necessarily feel like I'm maintaining or improving on my fitness goals. So less than three doesn't seem to be enough to keep that nagging thought of "you're letting yourself go" out of my head.This being the case, it also follows that one is no good -- I feel like I'm on the border of falling off the wagon. And zero, well, I can literally feel myself becoming mush when I do that with regularity.

2. When I consistently work out 4 or more times per week, I become very susceptible to injury. Since I work out to be healthy, this seems counterproductive. And I am sore more than I like to be, as I don't have a rest day somewhere in there for that sensation to fully wear off -- which makes me eat too much food, as it's a means of numbing my soreness, and my hunger pangs kind of go bonkers -- also counterproductive. Maybe I could mitigate these effects by incorporating lighter workouts into my routine. Or maybe I just need to work up to more workouts more gradually than I have in the past. Regardless, my experience so far with 4+ workouts has been no bueno for sustainability.

3. I don't feel like going to the gym is the center of my life when I only work out 3 times. And while some people may like it as the center of their life, I do not. Some people may not mind the never-ending cycle of going to the gym, changing, working out, showering, changing again, reapplying makeup, getting back to real life, and washing ALL those stinky gym clothes -- I get overwhelmed by it when I do it too often. And in the words of someone with sass, "Ain't nobody got time for that".

I could have more reasons. But it seems only fitting to end on three. I just like that number.

New Month Resolutions: What, What?

                                  

I decided this year that rather than making New YEAR resolutions, I'd like to make New MONTH resolutions. I got the idea from a book called The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin (recommended, in case that's not obvious). It's not really what she did in the book. More like an adaptation of what she did.

My resolution idea started with thinking of things I want to NOT do or do LESS of. And then I thought, well, it's not good to try NOT to do something unless you try to replace the thing you shouldn't do with something you SHOULD. So, I made a list of all the things I want to do LESS of. And I started pairing those with a list of things I want to do MORE of. 

I like do LESS rather than NOT do. For me, the things I'm working on aren't necessarily things I want to completely not do. At this point, I'm not sure I'm capable of not doing them, or that I even desire to completely not do them. And why set myself up for failure or for a nonworthy task? And why deal in absolutes if I don't have to?

So what made it on my DO LESS an DO MORE lists?

Examples of DO LESS

don't read the news so much

don't waste time of Facebook

don't pick at your poor lips so much

don't eat so many sweets

etc, etc.

Examples of DO MORE

Blog More

Work out regularly

Draw more

Work more on fixing up the house

etc., etc.

Well, I haven't yet decided which of my LESS things to focus on, so I think I'm going to save that for February. I know, I know. Such a cop out. But they're harder. I think starting out my 1st month with a gimme task that is very doable is a good idea. So for January, my do MORE is to work out 3 times per week, every week. Typical? Yes. But I'm amazingly reenergized by the idea that I only have to manage this for one month in order to be successful.

One week of the new year has passed. How did I do?

I worked out on Monday, and then again on Thursday at the gym at work. I woke up today (Saturday) and felt determined to get in my necessary third, but didn't feel like I had much giddy-up. In fact, I had no giddy-up. I usually very much like working out and have energy for it. But that may be the reason I don't do it regularly -- becaus I prefer to only work out when I feel like it. Still, saturdays are usually one of my favorite days for a boogy-down session. But I really wasn't feelin' it. So, I indulged in a lazy, read things on line and plan nothing kind of Saturday morning. At last I said enough is enough, and went downstairs to work out. I put my jammin' music on and tried to get into it. After a warmup song I was feeling just as rusty as if I had just rolled out of my bed. New plan: I would go with a more deliberate work out. I didn't specify how long these workoutts had to be. They only have to have happened. So, I went about the business of my pseudo-crossfit routine that I made up a few months ago:

15 squat jumps

25 crouching leg lifts on each side

30 crunches

12 girl push ups

Repeat 3 times. 

I did this. Then I felt done. Then I felt worse than done. Then I felt dizzy. Then I felt like I was cramping. Then I felt like I should go to the toilet. Then I went to said toilet. Then I puked. Then I felt a little better.

Do I believe throwing up is a good idea? No. Am I still glad I got through my 3rd workout for the week? Yes. Might I now agree with my dear niece who told me this workout made her nauseous when I got her to do it with me during Thanksgiving Break? Yes. Might I rethink the composition of said routine? Jury is out, but it's possible. The truth is, I managed said workout at least 8 or so previous times without the above reaction. And, to its credit, it makes me sore and I always feel like I kicked my butt afterwards. And after all, isn't that why I'm working out?

My workout may need tweaking, but I think I'm liking the new resolutions model so far. 

What are you up to in the spirit of the New Year? 

Frustration with dreaming

So I don't write often, and I don't promise to write more often, but running my own law firm takes time....and dedication, and a whole host of other things that I care not to elaborate on. Anyways, for the several weeks I have been in deep thought (mind you, my depth doesn't get much deeper than the bottom of a jar of Maille, but that is another story.)

I assume everyone that knows me, knows my well complained about issues with sleep, lack of it, and lack of its consistency. Along with that comes my lack of dreaming, but usually I don't complain about that, I just think that it is odd....but alas that is not what has bothered me today despite their importance and potential relation to the current topic of demise.

For the last several weeks/months, I have been a little annoyed with myself in the way things are going. I had these little goals in my head of how things would go, where they would be, and what I would be required to do to take it there. A lot of those goals were professional, and some were personal. Surprisingly, a lot of those goals have been attained or are in the process of being attained, and yet I was frustrated. Every day I was waking up and attaining goals, and making things that I had set as goals when I was 5 a reality, yet I wanted more, or at least I wasn't happy with where I was at. One would think that if their "dreams" were being fulfilled that one would be happy. But that is the topic of the post...."DREAMS".

I began to internalize as to whether it was that my goals were not fulfilling. I feel like they are fulfilling, and as an everyday life, I actually enjoy them quite a bit. I think the world would look at them as respectable and admirable goals, and I don't think I am entirely a self-centered individual, although I won't claim that I am not selfish.

Well, if my goals were fulfilling, aren't my goals my dreams? OR are goals and dreams different? Are dreams that intangible thing which we lust after and goals the pragmatic steps that we take to get there?

What is a dream? Very tough to call. I have found myself feeling uninspired and a bit, hmmm.... shall we say calculated and pragmatic. I longed for the days when I would stare out the window and fantasize about being superman, or batman....and reflect back on how happy those day dreams made me feel, despite the fact that I knew they would never come into existence.

I know those around me would say that I am always dreaming of these wild and crazy endeavors that I get involved with, yet I never seem to feel like they are dreams. They seem like pragmatic, practical plans in an attempt to achieve very tangible and realistic goals (what is realistic to one may not be realistic to another.) Yet, I continue to wake up every day and wonder what it is in the world I am doing with myself. And then it hit me.

Have I failed to dream? What do I mean by that? I mean that I have failed to remove myself from the tangible every day practical part of life and think about the "if's" and the "what if's". The unattainable has become attainable, and therefore, my dreams have died...fortunately not because of depression or failure, but because of relative success (I am no millionaire). Odd to say that success has frustrated me, but it has. There is still challenge and things to work for, but they are attainable, or at least I feel like they are attainable.

It is that failure to keep the dream alive, to keep dreaming that has lead to the frustration. I have wondered over the last while what it was with me, and I wonder if that is the answer. That if failing to come up with new dreams, new ideas, new challenges and aspirations, that the old dreams which one has attained or failed, whichever is ones reality, the dreaming has been supplanted by the every day, the parts of life that keep us alive and make us human. The parts of life that sustain us in a temporal sense, but they do not keep our spirits alive, at least not my spirit alive.

I need to dream. I need to dream of that next mountain that needs to be climbed, or that little bit of dirt that I could cultivate an ant farm in. Whatever it is, I believe it is the continuous process of dreaming that keeps my spirit alive.

So alas, if you have felt similarly, or ideas in what it is you dream about and work for...chime in. Let me hear your thoughts...and maybe, just maybe I'll dream of writing a response! ;)

Where Greatness Comes From

Some people seem destined for greatness. I am currently reading, or perhaps rereading, I know Why the Caged Bird Sings, by Maya Angelou. I say perhaps because there have been a couple sections of the book that seem very familiar to me, but the rest of the book seems completely new. Thus, I would say I'm more just reading it rather than rereading because it clearly didn't sink in the first time I went through the book.. or 1/2 the book. What I did before was more akin to my eyes grazing across the words with no absorption. Anyhow, this book is a classic and I am thoroughly enjoying it this time around. I took a minute to read Maya Angelou's biography in the back. She's amazing IF you didn't know. This woman has achieved greatness. She has come up through very difficult circumstances, she has an amazing story, a worthy cause, a keen intellect and she can make music with words. In fact, she has been doing just that for quite some time.

There are some people who appear to be truly destined for great things. They are delivered this package of great potential and a perfect mix for going on to do something amazing with it. I watched soccer last night with Male and his brother. Argentina and Brazil were playing, their two rival teams. There was a player on the Argentina team who had amazing talent. He was probably all of 18 yrs old. He's already one of the best players in the world and making millions. I'd say he got a good mix for greatness.

And then I think of me. I keep doing things in life hoping that some day I might stumble across something I really want to do. In the meantime, I make do with what I find I have some kind of aptitude for, hoping to make as good of use of myself as possible while I figure things out. This does not seem to me to be a good recipe for achieving greatness, for the most part. I could be wrong. But it just doesn't seem like it.

Don't get me wrong. I don't feel sorry for me. I am lucky to have been blessed with many talents. I can draw pretty well. I sing well. I can write some fun songs on the guitar. I'm a good speaker...blah, blah, blah. However, none of these things are things I do amazingly. I'm average. Maybe slightly above average in a few things. But not great. I have yet to find the Greatness that Nelson Mandela was talking about being hidden within each of us that we're afraid of. I wish I could have a long talk with him about that quote of his. I've been looking everywhere for mine.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm letting it pass me by. I wonder what great cause I was given to champion that I am neglecting. What fabulous enterpreneurial endeavor am I failing to envision? Under what rock is my passion for "whatever-it-is" hiding that I have yet to unturn?

We may all not be destined for greatness. At least not the newspaper article, emmy awards, million-dollar income, or mass-hunger solving variety. Sometimes your not the man who will walk on the moon, or the next female real estate mogul. It reminds me of a poem that said something about, if you'r de tail don't ye try to wag de dog. Be who you are. Don't be what you ain't. So, what if you're a daisy? Your job is to recognize that and proceed to bloom like crazy. That poem made so much sense to me when I read it years ago. Just be who you are. Duh. Right.

There's only one trick. How do you know if your a tail or a daisy? I know it may take all the fun out of self-discovery and finding out, but I wish I had been given an outline for exactly what I was. I'm fine with being a daffodil if I'm a daffodil. But I'm not sure if I'm a daffodil trying to be a tree, or an artist trying to be an athlete or a whatever else one could be while not knowing and trying to be something else. I was giving so many average talents and more interests than I know what to do with that I'm not sure what to focus on. So it makes it a lot harder to just "get to it." Ya know?

As you can see, I find my life job description to be slightly less clear-cut than the poem might lead you to think it is. I have thus concluded it's a deceptive poem. I didn't know that years ago when I read it. Figuring out what you are is an adventure. A LONG adventure in my case. Someday I may achieve some kind of greatness. But imagine it will not be of the Maya Angelou, Louie Armstrong, Bill Gates, Oprah Winfrey variety. It will be...... something. I hope. How's that for definitive?

I think my job for the moment, while I try to figure out my job, is just to keep doing what comes across my path that seems worth doing. Someday Iwill know if I'm a daisy or a tail or a tree or whatever I'm supposed to be. And I can wonder and hope that between me and my great work, eventually one of us will find the other. In the meantime, the music of life continues. And to that I say, "Play on, friends. Play on."

Why I Don't Spend Money on Pedicures

The end to a training season has finally come. Saturday was my long-anticipated 1/2 marathon. This season had been riddled with little hang-ups for me. I am happy to report, despite the hangups and at the end of it all, it has been a strengthening, motivating, inspiring and overall very good experience. Yeah for accomplishing goals! Yeah for 1/2 marathons! My feet definitely got the short end of the stick this year. I don't think they're saying, "Yeah!" I think they're saying, "Did you have to do this to us right at the start of sandal season? I really liked having a full set of toenails. We're so embarassed to be seen." But that's the way it goes. They always fair poorly. They are forced to make a noble sacrifice for the greater good of the rest of me.

When not in training season, I still exercise. It has so many good effects. It's like a fountain of youth, health, energy and loads of other things. But this year, early on in my training, I realized that along with all of exercise's usual splendid benefits, my training was having additional side effects. In particular, It was causing me to gain weight.

GAIN?!?! What?!?! This is not an effect that I consider desirable. Admittedly, I am very anal about my weight and I watch my numbers like a hawk. I don't diet. Ever. But I do monitor.

I've heard that numbers don't matter. And while those words are perfectly audible and straightforward in definition, they really make no sense to me. No matter how low my numbers on the scale, I can't ever recall thinking they were too low. And no matter what numbers they have risen to, I can't ever recall feeling glad about it. And then my clothes were fitting tighter this season. Mmmm hmmm. Don't try to tell me I'm looking leaner. I am well aware muscle takes up room. Room I have not made accomodations for in my jeans. The sad truth is that I am a very typical, pathetic, superficial girl. I am small. And I like being small. And I do not desire that there should ever be MORE of me.

Training continued anyway. And I would look at the scale, week after week of training, and see that the numbers were consistently staying up. "No matter," I would tell myself. "It's muscle. At least most of it is. It is muscle, isn't it? How can I be sure? Does my waist look bigger to you?"

I didn't own a submerssive tank of water where I could dunk myself and accurately test the exact composition changes in my body each week. I hear they're expensive. I soothed myself, unable to test the actual changes in my body makeup, with the idea that it was only temporary and the glory and accomplishment of running the race would make it all worth it. Such a small sacrifice for the cause. I could be little again later. I'd be glad.

Then you add scheduling problems. I was working about 60 hrs/wk most weeks this training season. You add in making time for dates, commuting, and life as it comes, --- it does not make for an easy and consistent training schedule. I tried to schedule a couple sessions with a trainer. Ha! That was a laugh. I met with him once. And then, the next 7am appt. was thwarted by a change in work schedule, having to go to work early and off-site. It seemed to be a good indicator that I really just didn't have time for that. I got to the gym 3 x's/wk, on average. That was my goal.

But then there were a few weeks I missed my goal. And a few weeks when the long run I had planned just didn't fit in. Argggghh. Why does everyone marry in the spring? Don't people know there are races to train for? But it wasn't so bad. Since I had run 1/2 marathons before, I had the confidence and experience I needed in order to know what I could do. And I was able to train just enough to be able to do it.

And then there are all my injuries. I'm always injured. Call it Fibromyalgia. Call it a need for new shoes. Doesn't matter what you call it. It still hurts like hell. But after all that training, and ESPECIALLY after having already sacrificed my tight leash on the numbers of the scale, no ache or pain could keep me from my goal. I would run the race, I would finish, and I would finish respectably. I had an ankle ailment that was plagueing me for probably a good 1/2 of my training. But I was able to run on it anyway. After about 2 months and, coincidentally, about a week before the race, the ankle ailment moved and became a hip ailment. Gotta love Fibromyalgia. The hip ailment was a sharper pain, and seemed much more alarming and threatening to me. So, while I knew I was cardiovascularly ready and capable in strength, this new development caused me to worry thatI might be in for a disappointing finish.

The week before the race I did nothing. I was ready enough and there seemed no good reason to aggravate my ailments before race day. My weight had loomed up to it's highest during this week of inactivity. This is mostly because, in an effort to make sure I had enough energy, I made sure I ate more than enough all week long. Not completely logical, as I was just creating more of myself to cart around on the run. But from personal experience, I would say that it's the lesser of two evils. It really sucks to run a race when you're low on fuel. You feel weak, you don't perform well, and, basically, it completely destroys any training you've done. You might as well not train at all. So, despite myself, I ate. Lots. "It's all temporary," I kept telling myself.

Race day came. I didn't sleep very well the night before. I was TOTALLY anxious. Who sleeps well the night before the race? The guy I met the morning of the race does, apparently. His name is Bilal. He flew in for the race from LA. As luck would have it, however, his good night's sleep was thwarted by a crying baby a few hotel rooms away. Tough break.

Bilal happened to be running the marathon, but both races started together. So he and I, since we had struck up a conversation, started running together. He happened to be my exact pace. That was great. We clipped along with great conversation. We discussed different races. We talked about college. We talked about positive energy. He said I had great positive energy. I think he was hitting on me. And as we continued to chat, I mused about how funny it would be if I ever ended up dating a Lebanese accountant from LA who I met at a marathon. We ran together for the first 4 miles until our race courses diverged. Then I was on my own.

My hip had started to notify me that it wasn't feeling the best at mile 3. At mile 4, it notified me a little more loudly. At mile 6.5, it had stopped notifying me. Instead, it started to boycott. I was struggling to keep a smooth stride. The pain in my hip began to make me flinch with the impact of each step on that leg. As I continued to disregard it, the sharp, shooting pains persisted and the flinching became worse. I assessed things in my head and realized I had about 1/2 the race to go. And with a flinching right side, the miles ahead suddenly stretched before me, covering an expanse that was very long, grueling and quite painful. Before, those miles had seemed challenging, fun and surpassable. The reality of my situation was sinking in.

I stopped running and I began to walk. I walked for about a quarter mile. And I thought. I wasn't quite sure what to do at that point. I could walk the 7 remaining miles. It's long. But I'd finish. Eventually.... Some time... In a few hours. I was so disappointed. All the glory and accomplishment I had hoped for seemed unattainable-- keeping my 9 min pace, finishing under 2 hrs, improving -- all I had trained for. And I know I already mentioned this, but I was so disappointed. I think Bilal would have been disappointed too, if he knew. All that work for this? A bum hip and a long walk. Most irksome of all, my muscles weren't even tired yet. It felt like I hadn't worked at all.

Finally, I thought, "Screw the hip. I'm running anyway." I AM aware this makes me sound like I'm as bright as a caveman and quite juvenile. I don't deny either completely. We all have our moments. But logically, the worst prospect was that maybe I wouldn't run for a while. Who cares? My race is today. Not tomorrow. So, I ran. I ran lower to the ground. I ran my toes into the front of my shoes. And I ran more slowly. But soon I ran more confidently. And with a very sharp learning curve, I figured out how to maneuver so that I would cause my hip as little pain as possible. And I ran for the rest of the race. I even was able to put up a bit of a sprint at the end! I ran till I wasn't sure what hurt more: my muscles, my hip or any number of other joints from my waist down. And I finished my race w/ 1:57:38, an 8:59 min mile pace. Booyah!

Two days after the race, I am delighted to report that I have VERY VERY VERY SORE muscles. And I think I avoided permanent damage (The beauty of Fibromyalgia is that, though you may FEEL very wholly and truly injured, you're really not. You just feel that way.). Most happily, I walk ever so gingerly. I proudly hobble down stairs. I joyously (and more ably than going down) ascend stares with a huge lack of grace. And I am quite sure I will lose 3 toenails. I wore sandals to church yesterday and I am wearing sandals to work today, which I never do. But I can't put anything else on my feet at the moment. And I don't care. And next year, I will try to knock my time down to be somewhere below 1:50. Maybe. I think that's doable. We'll see. That'd be sooo cool. Someday I may have feet that will stay nice enough to make a pedicure worthwhile. That day is not today. Can't say I'm too choked up about that.