Effing salad! Exercise and diet adventures on the road

Monday:
Up at 5am to run in the hotel gym. Today's revelation is that trying to read the news crawl on the bottom of the Fox News Channel screen (that's right, this chick is a CONSERVATIVE but I swear I'm not contagious) makes me motion sick. Finally had to turn off the way cool treadmill TV to finish my miles. A quick a.m. call to the hubs confirms that, without me there for motivation, he did not go to the gym. I try not to sound pious and fail miserably.

Breakfast - yogurt
Lunch - nonexistent; client is laying an egg over some meetings this afternoon so I leave early for some handholding
Dinner - at 7pm, announce I'm going to eat my own arm, so the boss takes me to dinner: mushroom and brie soup, but at least I didn't eat the bread. One glass of wine.

Tuesday:
Up at 5am, back in the hotel gym but remembered not to use the evil treadmill TV. Just like yesterday, have the gym all to myself. During planks, daydream that this is my personal gym. Then I think, but who's going to dust all this crap?

Breakfast - yogurt and toast
Lunch - took a client to some trendy cafe and am now in a panic that eating out every meal for FOUR FREAKING DAYS is going to move me right back into my fat pants: salad, no dressing
Dinner - client holiday dinner, so I splurged on mushroom-and-spinach ravioli but was soooo good for dessert: berries and cream

Wednesday:
Eff the hotel gym, I am tired.

Breakfast - yogurt
Lunch - took a client out again and had, you guessed it: salad
Dinner - the boss threw a wine pairings party, so I ate 2 shrimp, one prosciutto-wrapped asparagus spear, one disgusting hunk of chicken, and one quarter-sized hunk of dark chocolate; was tipsy by the third tasting but hid it well

Thursday:
Decide that loading my 100 pounds (no joke, I weighed it) of luggage into the car and then schlepping it around at the airport was enough workout for me. The DC area is expecting snow in two days -- TWO DAYS -- and people are Losing. Their. Minds.

Breakfast - yogurt, which I may never eat again as long as I live
Lunch - another client holiday affair, so of course I had: salad
Dinner - in the airport where no one knows me and I'm starving after four days of effing salad: Five Guys greasy burger and fries, come to momma!

Friday:
Home at last: The Christmas tree has no water and the dog has dried spaghettios all over the side of his giant head. It's good to be needed! Climbed onto the scale and ta-da! I lost three pounds! Which is very exciting until I realize the cold, hard fact: I'll have to eat salads four days a week for the rest of my life if I want a dress size that does not have a W after it.

This week's goal: no Christmas weight gain.

As if.

Rule breaker, that's me

Have you read Mark Remy's The Runner's Rule Book? I have only read a few of the rules, since I'm hoping Hubs will get the 50lb hints I've been dropping and get it for me for Christmas.

Anyway, from the online picture of the back cover, this was my favorite:

Rule 2.32 Do whatever it takes to finish in front of a costumed runner

Which brings me to last weekend's 5K. This was one of those holiday 5Ks that involved running in 18-degree weather alongside people dressed up like Santa, elves, reindeer, and yes, even a Christmas tree. This chick had a giant burka of green felt hanging off her head and down her body, with garland and ornament-type stuff glued on.

(I SWEAR I am taking my camera on the next "fun run" I do so you can see these people. I do not make this stuff up.)

So, back to me. I ran a much better race than in September, when the ankle was still screaming "what are you DOING?" every time I ran -- well, shuffled -- more than a step or two. No ankle pain this go-round; I even shaved a few minutes off of my time, and happily headed to the (thankfully) indoor area for munchies.

While I'm chowing down on gingerbread cookies and bananas (don't ask), the Xmas Burka goes by. My teenage daughter rolls her eyes and announces how glad she is that she finished ahead of the tree. Then she looks at me, looks quickly away and turns red in the face, which is all the hint I need.

I FINISHED AFTER A FREAKING TREE COSTUME.

Sorry, Mark. I'll try harder next year.

Me and My Big Mouth

The hubs has been having back trouble lately. Very painful back trouble. A lot of it is courtesy of the military, but his post-military physique isn't helping. He has a grand civilian job -- where he has learned, among other things, that you cannot talk to people in the real world the way you would talk to your military underlings -- that keeps him pretty sedentary.

Doc tells him to lose weight. Wife gently suggests a little exercise. Nothing changes.

Then, he goes to a chiropractor last week and comes home with, "WOW! This guy says I should eat right and get some exercise!" Like it's news.

Here's where my big mouth comes in...

I'm ramping up my running again and need to lose some pounds before my next half marathon. Knowing that hubs leaves VERY EARLY for work every day, I actually suggest getting up at FOUR FREAKING THIRTY in the FREAKING MORNING to go to the gym so we can work out before he heads to the office.

And he said yes.

So, here we are on day 2 of Pre-Dawn Gym Time. The good news: we have our pick of cardio equipment. The bad news: by 9:30pm, I can barely keep my eyes open.

I should lose weight just on brownie points for getting up so early and helping someone else get to the gym. I weighed in on Monday -- no change, merci beaucoup -- and will do so again on Friday. I expect some progress, people!

Yawn.

UPDATE: Day 4, and he has lost almost 10 pounds. Moi? Nope, not a single pound lost. Sigh.

Big Gals Unite

One pound lost last week. One lousy pound! But I'm hitting the weights again and kick-starting cardio (sort of, between insane work trips and family descending on my house like a plague of locusts). This was one really BIG pound, because I swear my jeans fit better. My trainer -- yes, big gals have trainers, too -- says to go by inches instead of the scale but no way am I letting UberfitMan near me with those freaking calipers and measuring tape. I could totally kick his teeth in, have I mentioned I'm a brown belt and won a sparring tournament? Fat girl has some MOVES, so step away from the measuring tape, pal.

Speaking of big gals, I'm surfing the internet looking for runs in my state. The idea here, thanks to my pal C., is to run a race (5Ks and more) every month so we stay motivated for the half marathon in May. In my Internet travels I found this:

Bop to the Top

The Bop To The Top is run-walk-crawl up the 36 floor OneAmerican Tower. The race will be strictly
on the staircase. Each participant will start separately on a 20 to 30 second stagger. Participants
will race against the clock and be given a separate finish time. Faster competitors will be
seeded earlier in the day to help alleviate passing on the staircase. Please indicate on the
entry form if you would like to be seeded. Non-seeded participants will be grouped together
between 11:00 am through 1:00 pm.
NOTE - This year's event will finish on the 36th floor due to construction equipment on the 37th floor.

The event is for everyone, young and old, big or small!

The "big or small" part caught my attention, so I investigated further. Turns out there is a Big Guy, Big Big Guy, and Big Gal category for participants. I know I shouldn't have checked, but I did... And I qualify for the Big Gal category. By 15 pounds, thank you very much. And that's only if I'm naked, just woke up, and haven't had anything to eat or drink yet.

So I suppose I can redefine my weight loss goal to:

To not qualify as a Big Gal in the Bop to the Top.

The half marathon report: chub rub reigns supreme

First of all, to answer the burning question from the last post: The standard SPIbelt will hold three tampons and a Blackberry quite nicely. I drove to the race by myself, and got off to a great start by finding a parking spot with no trouble at all. The weather was ideal - a cool start but sunny and warming, with a breeze. Here's a blow-by-blow:

Mile 1: hanging with the 12-min mile pace group, mostly because the leader with the green hair was easy to spot in the crowd of 7000 marathoners and half marathoners. Feeling fantastic and no ankle pain at all.

Mile 2: who needs a pace group? I feel great.

Mile 3: first pit stop and a quick thank-you to the makers of SPIbelts and portajohns. Back with Green Hair again - apparently I wasn't THAT far ahead of him.

Mile 4: my time is actually faster than the four-miler race of two weeks ago. Little Voice in my head announces that this is NOT GOOD, maybe I should slow down. I invite LV to shut her piehole.

Mile 5: realize I forgot to apply Body Glide to my chub rub. Somewhere along the course is a guy wearing hula costume, complete with gigantic inflated boobs with teeny shells - I crack up.

Mile 6: euphoric - almost halfway. At this rate I will set a PR for this course and for all half marathons. I am Queen of the Universe!

Mile 7: LV had a point. I am running out of energy. Extreme chafing distracts me enough that I have no idea if my ankle hurts or not.

Miles 8-10: lots of walk breaks and extreme chafing. I knew babying the ankle had hit me pretty hard in the endurance department but this is starting to get depressing.

Mile 11-12: walking most of the time. Everyone is passing me. EVERYONE. I manage a few spurts of jogging just so a couple old enough to be my grandparents doesn't get ahead of me. I'm pretty sure my chub rub is bleeding.

Mile 13: demoralizing. I've heard about "the wall" and have now run smack into it. I'm not out of breath or anything, but just can't pick up my legs and run. But I am going to finish this race!

The Big Finish: Coming around the final turn, my husband jumps out of the crowd into the road. I am so surprised I stop. He yells, "What are you doing? Finish it strong! Pick up your feet and RUN!" That was music to my ears and I ran -- well, shuffled -- across the finish. He gave me a gigantic hug and made a huge deal about how well I did, even though it was clear that I crapped out at the end. Instantly, those torturous last miles don't seem so bad.

My finish time was a personal worst. Which sucks since for the first half of the race I was on target for a PR. But, in the end, I had zero ankle pain for 13.1 miles, so I know my rehab work for that ankle was on target. And I learned a lot:

1. Heed the Little Voice. Going out fast when I know -- I KNOW -- endurance is an issue is a big mistake.

2. Do not leave for a run without Body Glide. Ever.

3. Hubs always comes through, and knowing someone is cheering for you changes everything.

4. I have a lot of endurance work to do before May (my next half).

5. A guy in a hula outfit can cheer up just about anyone.

Surprisingly, soreness is almost a non-issue after this race. I was careful about recovery -- 15 mins walking, lots of water and gatorade - and this is the least pain I've had after a half. If I didn't have any chafing I think I would be pain-free. That's right, the chub rub was so bad that I now have SCABS on my inner thighs.

Sexy me!

How many tampons will fit in a SPIBelt?

I'm running -- well, "hobbling" might be a better word -- a half marathon on Saturday. Everyone I know, including the hubs, has told me I shouldn't. The primary problem is the ankle issue, but if I go slowly I have no pain, and of course I have that really sexy brace to wear.

So I lift the naughty finger to the world by running this half anyway. No one -- and I mean NO ONE -- is supporting this decision. I am not taking anyone with me, driving to Indy at dark-thirty by myself.

Not to be outdone, Mother Nature gave me the finger right back. That's right, I started. And this is no ladylike event, it is a monthly PROBLEM that usually involves lots of advil. I remain undaunted and, when I pack my race stuff tomorrow, I'll find out just how many tampons will fit in a SPIBelt.

Stay tuned to hear about my weekend adventures as I complete a half marathon with a torn ligament and cramps. Do I know how to have fun or what?

Running attire: skirting the issue

Call me an old-fashioned gal, but I absolutely LOVE getting my Runner's World magazine in the mail every month. If I'm cruising RW online, I'm careful not to read anything new by my favorite columnists -- like the Penguin; Waddle on! -- so that I can read it for the first time in my shiny new magazine.

The December issue has all kinds of "best" stuff in it. Best race, best post-run snack, best shoes, best gear, ad nauseum. One of these items is the running skirt by Lululemon:



The nice little write-up mentions pleats in the back. Wha??? PLEATS? They've girlified the running skirt? I can't wait to check this out, and I know even before I go to their web site that I must have a Lululemon running skirt. I was not disappointed:



Dontcha love it?!? I whipped out the old credit card and prepared to buy this running skirt. But.. da da DUMMMM... It is sold out. Gray/peach, light gray/lavender, even the almost-ugly snorkel blue skirts are GONE. So you know what happens.

Now, I must have this skirt. It consumes me. Those kicky little pleats are the one thing in the world that could make my giant hind end look cute on a run.

And yes, kind reader, I did check to see if there is a brick-and-mortar Lululemon store around here. Nope. I'll keep running in my usual sexy gear:



Curse you, Runner's World and Lulu (who I hate already because you are probably a skinny chick who sometimes just forgets to eat, silly me!) for getting my hopes up!

Weigh Ins and Mondays

Broke down and hopped on the scale today. Well, "hopped" is the wrong word here. If I step gently onto the scale while leaning 20% of my weight on my hand on the bathroom counter, and then slooooowly remove my hand, the scale doesn't read as heavy. I like to think of it as the scale's way of saying, "Thank you for not slamming your heavy butt onto me all at once!"

Today's result:

November 2, 2009: 181 pounds



[GASP]

Three years ago, I weighed 150 and was quite happy at that weight. It meant a size 8/10, my smallest EVER! A couple of injuries - plantar fasciitis and the aforementioned broken toe - slowed me down and, apparently, dragged me against my will to every drive-thru in the midwest. And here I am, thirty pounds later.

Thirty pounds. 30 lbs!! I knew it but what a downer to see it. Add to the fun the fact that I tweaked my back yesterday lifting an 18-month-old (who didn't want to be lifted - how do they all learn that go-limp move?) while in my gorgeous new platforms. So no running for me today.

Countdown to half marathon: 5 days. I'll be lining up in the back as the token chub. This time around, I'm running just to finish since late summer/early fall have been one injury issue after another. Before this back tweak, I rolled my ankle at a local FUN RUN, for crying out loud, resulting in a grade 3 high ankle sprain. For those of you unfamiliar with this diagnosis, it means "SUCKS TO BE YOU" because you have at least partially torn a ligament.

Now I run with this:



...which just adds to my "what is she doing here with the real runners?" mystique.

Donuts: Why I Run

I think of myself as a runner. Which is a bunch of baloney if you were to look at me. I could stand to lose, oh, 30 pounds minimum. I do run -- slowly -- and enjoy it immensely. It's just that I looooove me some donuts. And bread. Oh, and don't get me started on potatoes. Never met a potato I didn't like.

So, I started walking for exercise, or to increase my daily donut allotment, which got boring so I ran a little and now I enter a few 5Ks every year. I've completed three half marathons in the last two years. For the uninitiated, that's 13.1 miles. In a row. My laughable times so far:

2008 Historic Half: 3:08 and change; I cried when it was over, either because I was so proud or because I was just so glad it was OVER. If you ever run this race, do NOT be fooled by the elevation map. Rolling hills throughout and MILES of uphill at the finish.

2008 Indianapolis Monumental: 3:08 and change again; about 30 secs faster than the last half, and this with a broken toe, courtesy of my friend deciding to spar in tae kwon do with her sneaks on, so when we accidentally kicked each other my pinkie toe snapped like a twig. This is a flat course, thank God.

2009 Indianapolis Mini Marathon: 2:57; thrilling to break the 3-hour mark. Did great until mile 8, and I'm pretty sure my kneecaps fell out somewhere around mile 10. They say 35,000 people ran. It took so long for my stall to hit the start line that the winner had finished by the time I reached mile 1.

Now, I'm kicking off some training to get myself (a) lighter and (b) better endurance for the next Indy Mini, in May 2010. After which I will, of course, celebrate with donuts.