Ok, so I lied about not having a new post tonight.
As some of you know, I have two dogs. A 9 year old male Lab, Bogey, and a 4 year old (I think) female Beagle, Candy (she was a stripper in her past life. Or an Interventionist. I’m not quite sure, but I didn’t have the heart to rename her Bridget, as I had originally intended). I love them both, and they couldn’t be more different.
Obedience
My lab, while in many ways is the canine Beth (i.e. the consummate people pleaser), in one way he is a stubborn mother. He doesn’t come when called unless there is some other enticement. When I put him outside, I have to hawk him. On more than one occasion, he has taken off for greener pastures (literally, my next door neighbor doesn’t have a dog, so his lawn is oh so green, unlike mine with yellow pee patches dotted throughout). When I call him, bellowing “BOGEY!” he typically doesn’t respond, or looks around like “Bogey? Who?” Not until I make it clear that some food product is in my hand does he even begin to act like he knows who I am.
That said, inside, it’s another story. My beagle won’t give me the time of day. Seriously, I’ve asked. She can’t tell time. The only person she will come to when called is my father, and that’s usually because he has Cheetos. When I do call her, Mr. Hearing Impaired Bogey himself comes trotting over. I think it’s because he gets sick of hearing me say “Candy…come here girl. Candy. Candy!” over and over again.
Food
Oh they both love their kibble (grain free Sweet Potato and Fish. What kind of fish? Damned if I know). Bogey had a slightly more discerning nose, despite the fact that I have seen him lick his feet, then where his balls used to be, then his feet again then try to give me a kiss. Candy literally will eat cat poo (sorry!).
I thought this was a sensory thing until one night last week when I spilled a container of brown rice. Bogey was in the room and saw it, went over and licked up a bit of it, then turned away, clearly disinterested. Candy on the other hand lapped every last kernel up, like fat girl on a diet only allowed 1 ounce (wait, that would be me). Bogey looked from Candy to me as if to say “What? She was a stray. What’s your excuse for eating that crap?”
Tonight while preparing my lunch they both sat in front of me, breathless with anticipation. I tossed a few pieces of Romaine lettuce to them. Bogey ate part of a leaf, again turning away. Candy ate every morsel on the floor. Then I tossed a piece of broccoli on the floor. Candy snatched the lone piece, ran under the dining room table and trotted back moments later with a floret on her nose. Bogey gave me the same disgusted look I never thought possible from a lab. I can’t say I wasn’t warned when it came to beagles.
Walking
Bogey loves to walk. He pulls me along as if there was a pot of gold at the end of our path, only pausing to pee every few minutes. For example, I took him on a short walk last week to see my dad at the office, less than a half a mile away from the house. By the time we got there my arm hurt from pulling him back, and I counted no less than four pauses to pee. Can dogs have an enlarged prostate?
As for Candy, she’s not so big on the walking, kind of like me when I’m not feeling the exercise thing. I’ll put the leash on her and oh yeah, she’ll go outside, but unless she sees a big juicy steak, she will plant herself in one spot and look at me with distain.
Night Time
I’ll admit, my motivation for getting another, smaller, dog was for nighttime. No, nothing strange, but while fostering my friend’s dog, a dachshund, I got used to the furry little foot warmer. Bogey will happily share my bed…well, sharing isn’t really the word. He takes up ¾ of my queen sized mattress, so he more like let’s me cling to the edge of it, so he has been relegated to the floor. Candy took quite a bit of coaxing to even sleep in my bedroom, forget sleeping in the bed. When I pick her up and put her next to me, she does what I call the “1950’s Housewife” routine. She will lay, stock still, paws in the air, looking at me as if to say “are we done cuddling now?”. As soon as I turn away she hops off of the bed and into her doggie bed on the floor.
I could go on, as any dog owner could, but I think I’ve demonstrated my two very different pups. And you know what? I wouldn’t trade either one of them in, with all of their personality tics, for the world.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Feeling Conflicted
Michael Vick, scumbag of the universe, cancelled on Oprah this week.
Supposedly, he cancelled because owners of the dogs he tortured (abused isn’t a strong enough word for what he did) wanted equal time. His reps said it was due to personal reasons.
Whatever.
Frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I feel icky about this POS getting time on a show like Oprah. I honestly thought she was classier than that. After all, this is a woman who changed the tenor of her show after skinheads had a brawl on her show. These skinheads, whose opinions are abhorrent to me, never caused the death of living, breathing beings to my knowledge. Perhaps they wished harm on those they hated, but, again and this is only to my knowledge, never electrocuted, drowned or forced defenseless beings to fight to the death. To think that she would give this POS air time, and for him would believe it would be a love fest, is shocking to me.
Yes, I did say that I thought it was refreshing when he admitted a few months ago that he wouldn’t have given up his dog fighting ring if he hadn’t been caught. I got some abuse for this, and perhaps now is the time for me to clarify. I don’t admire him (I really don’t want to type his name again). I was merely commenting on the fact that he didn’t trot out some B.S. line about always feeling conflicted, or blame another person, or the people around him for what he did. I was merely commenting on the fact that he admitted that what he did was wrong, and it took an intervention to get him to stop. Perhaps this is the line of a good P.R. person, but I stand by my original opinion.
Another point, and my father and I have had some words over this, POS has lamented the fact that the terms of his parole prevent him from owning another dog, and his daughter desperately wants one. My father feels that POS should be allowed the privilege (and as the owner of two dogs, trust me, it is a privilege despite the occasional trials and tribulations) of having a dog, as that pet would be the most looked after and pampered of canines.
I think his daughter should take this as a sign that she should petition for emancipation, no matter what her age is, if she wants a dog that badly.
Getting back to my original point, being conflicted about POS cancelling on Oprah, there is a part of me that is disappointed about him cancelling. I’d like to see him come face to face with at least one of his victims. It goes unsaid that I’d like to see said victim gnaw off his hand, but also for that victim’s person tell POS how his actions have affected them. I’d like for him to be confronted with the reality, the reality that he victimized a creature that didn’t have a voice, one that needed and will continue to need constant care and attention. One that may never fully heal from the torture endured.
For many fans of the Philadelphia Eagles, the ultimate redemption story would be for POS to bring home the Lombardi trophy, and Philly does love a good redemption story. I’d just like to see POS traded for someone who deserves to wear the jersey, and deserves to be the person of a loving dog, who will always feel safe, and will never have to experience what the victims of Bad Newz Kennels went through in their last days and hours. For that person, I’d ditch work for the parade down Broad Street.
And bring my rescue dogs without fear or need to explain.
Supposedly, he cancelled because owners of the dogs he tortured (abused isn’t a strong enough word for what he did) wanted equal time. His reps said it was due to personal reasons.
Whatever.
Frankly, I’m not sure how I feel about it. On one hand, I feel icky about this POS getting time on a show like Oprah. I honestly thought she was classier than that. After all, this is a woman who changed the tenor of her show after skinheads had a brawl on her show. These skinheads, whose opinions are abhorrent to me, never caused the death of living, breathing beings to my knowledge. Perhaps they wished harm on those they hated, but, again and this is only to my knowledge, never electrocuted, drowned or forced defenseless beings to fight to the death. To think that she would give this POS air time, and for him would believe it would be a love fest, is shocking to me.
Yes, I did say that I thought it was refreshing when he admitted a few months ago that he wouldn’t have given up his dog fighting ring if he hadn’t been caught. I got some abuse for this, and perhaps now is the time for me to clarify. I don’t admire him (I really don’t want to type his name again). I was merely commenting on the fact that he didn’t trot out some B.S. line about always feeling conflicted, or blame another person, or the people around him for what he did. I was merely commenting on the fact that he admitted that what he did was wrong, and it took an intervention to get him to stop. Perhaps this is the line of a good P.R. person, but I stand by my original opinion.
Another point, and my father and I have had some words over this, POS has lamented the fact that the terms of his parole prevent him from owning another dog, and his daughter desperately wants one. My father feels that POS should be allowed the privilege (and as the owner of two dogs, trust me, it is a privilege despite the occasional trials and tribulations) of having a dog, as that pet would be the most looked after and pampered of canines.
I think his daughter should take this as a sign that she should petition for emancipation, no matter what her age is, if she wants a dog that badly.
Getting back to my original point, being conflicted about POS cancelling on Oprah, there is a part of me that is disappointed about him cancelling. I’d like to see him come face to face with at least one of his victims. It goes unsaid that I’d like to see said victim gnaw off his hand, but also for that victim’s person tell POS how his actions have affected them. I’d like for him to be confronted with the reality, the reality that he victimized a creature that didn’t have a voice, one that needed and will continue to need constant care and attention. One that may never fully heal from the torture endured.
For many fans of the Philadelphia Eagles, the ultimate redemption story would be for POS to bring home the Lombardi trophy, and Philly does love a good redemption story. I’d just like to see POS traded for someone who deserves to wear the jersey, and deserves to be the person of a loving dog, who will always feel safe, and will never have to experience what the victims of Bad Newz Kennels went through in their last days and hours. For that person, I’d ditch work for the parade down Broad Street.
And bring my rescue dogs without fear or need to explain.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
General Musings
I don't have a specific topic I want to ramble about...haven't had a specific one (at least one that has come to me when I have my computer in front of me and it's not 2:00 am) for a while, so hence the lack of an update.
So, I'm going to go with it, and provide a general update in the life of moi. I'm actually going to treat this like a meeting minutes, so please forgive the "official" type headings. At least I'm not breaking out the bullet points.
Weight Loss
Still going strong on this point, and trying to avoid being my own worst enemy. To wit: have had a blockbuster past few weeks at WW, so much so that I'm not sure what the deal is. That said, last night my trainer sprung measurements on me. Side note here: my trainer is somewhere around 70 and has a crappy memory. I have to regularly remind him that I'm on WW, I run and that I'm training for a half marathon. Each time I tell him this, he reacts like it's news. Now I know that I'm not his only client, but he works part time, and the last time he measured me, he told me that was a record for him, so I'd like to think that something I say would stick with him. But I digress...
I had scheduled measurements (which BTW, I have to pay for, don't get me started) for 2/21, a day I have scheduled to take off from work. My plan was to go to the gym from a doctor's appointment I have scheduled that morning and face my date with the tape measure. Last night, after doing a 20 minute warm up on the stair master, I went over to the trainer's desk. He told me his 6:00 had cancelled, and he wanted to do measurements then and there. I sputtered.
My natural tendency is to dehydrate before I get on any type of scale, and I certainly wouldn't have done the StairMaster since I can practically feel my thighs plumping up from the exertion. He insisted. My results, while good probably by anybody else's standards, left me feeling deflated. For one thing, the scale at the gym had me weighing 3 lbs above my WW weight the week before, and somehow, despite losing everywhere else, my neck (huh?) grew by 1/4 inch. I wound up losing 17.5 inches and 21 lbs since November, and that includes Thanksgiving and the Christmas/New Years holidays, but I was disappointed. Crazy, right? Clearly I still have a long way to go with body acceptance and realistic expectations.
Food
I still look to food as my comfort. I'd like to say that when I'm upset my first instinct is to go for a run, or beat up a punching bag, but no, I want food. Last Saturday was a pretty upsetting day for me, for reasons I won't go into here. I spent the better part of the day crying if I'm honest. By the time I went to bed, I looked like I had collagen injected all over and a bad case of pink eye. My main instinct, after bursting into tears, was to eat. I took myself to lunch, ate a slice of pizza and at least half of a large order of fries (I'm being generous). I went to D&D and got a breakfast sandwich as the second part of my coping mechanism. It was low fat, supposedly low cal (I guess compared to my beloved bacon, egg & cheese) and tasted like crap. I actually tossed it after two bites. Fortunately, I caught myself and stopped. I cried some more, made some tea, and went to bed. I still wanted to stuff the feelings away, but I went with them, despite how miserable I felt.
Running
Still going strong here. I'm resolved to get up early in the morning, when I can, and get my daily runs over with before the day starts. This is good for me on two parts...one, I'm done for the day, and can do what I need to do after work rather than on the weekend, and two, I can wear my three to four inch high heels without worrying about my feet or calves aching while I'm trying to exercise. Ahh...vanity.
I'm making progress on the distance. I managed 5 miles last Friday and this past Sunday, and am hoping to do 5.5 tomorrow and/or this weekend. It sucks while I'm doing it, and I'm thankful for my DVR, but I feel a real sense of accomplishment once I'm done. I'm optimistic that I can get to 9 miles by the spring and do a 10k (roughly 6 miles) as a training exercise.
My New Body
My brain is still catching up to my body. A few weeks ago, I was at the supermarket, and being the good eavesdropper that I am overheard two people in line mention the gym I go to as a "meat/meet market". I chimed in that I go there, and one of the women said "you don't need to worry about the gym, you're skinny". I turned around to see if there was somebody standing behind me. I looked her dead in the eye I told her "Ma'am, this time last year, I weighed 230 lbs". She and the cashier, who went to my high school, both went slack jawed. The cashier went over to tell her colleague who came over to say she hadn't recognized me (she had waited on me many times before and was a customer of mine when I worked retail). My head was spinning.
The next day, at the request of some friends, I posted a few current pictures. I hadn't even combed my hair, had no makeup on, and was wearing my "booty shorts" (tight running shorts) and a throw away t-shirt that I wear when I run at home. The response was overwhelming. One person messaged me for tips. A few people told me I inspire them to exercise. It's a little much if I'm honest. I feel like Charles Barkley when I say this, but I'm no role model. Of course I'm flattered, but I don't feel like I'm doing anything exceptional. But hey, if somebody wants to start exercising or eating healthy because of me, who am I to discourage them and not cheer them along?
Life
Things in general are good here. As I alluded to, I experienced a bit of a loss recently, which I'm not ready to delve into, but I'm coping with it and moving on. Thankfully, I still have a job, and my family is healthy. Finances could better, but who can't say that?
So, that's it...the last two weeks in nutshell. Hopefully something more profound will come to me, and not just when I'm trying to go back to sleep after my pup has woken me up in the middle of the night! Until then...
So, I'm going to go with it, and provide a general update in the life of moi. I'm actually going to treat this like a meeting minutes, so please forgive the "official" type headings. At least I'm not breaking out the bullet points.
Weight Loss
Still going strong on this point, and trying to avoid being my own worst enemy. To wit: have had a blockbuster past few weeks at WW, so much so that I'm not sure what the deal is. That said, last night my trainer sprung measurements on me. Side note here: my trainer is somewhere around 70 and has a crappy memory. I have to regularly remind him that I'm on WW, I run and that I'm training for a half marathon. Each time I tell him this, he reacts like it's news. Now I know that I'm not his only client, but he works part time, and the last time he measured me, he told me that was a record for him, so I'd like to think that something I say would stick with him. But I digress...
I had scheduled measurements (which BTW, I have to pay for, don't get me started) for 2/21, a day I have scheduled to take off from work. My plan was to go to the gym from a doctor's appointment I have scheduled that morning and face my date with the tape measure. Last night, after doing a 20 minute warm up on the stair master, I went over to the trainer's desk. He told me his 6:00 had cancelled, and he wanted to do measurements then and there. I sputtered.
My natural tendency is to dehydrate before I get on any type of scale, and I certainly wouldn't have done the StairMaster since I can practically feel my thighs plumping up from the exertion. He insisted. My results, while good probably by anybody else's standards, left me feeling deflated. For one thing, the scale at the gym had me weighing 3 lbs above my WW weight the week before, and somehow, despite losing everywhere else, my neck (huh?) grew by 1/4 inch. I wound up losing 17.5 inches and 21 lbs since November, and that includes Thanksgiving and the Christmas/New Years holidays, but I was disappointed. Crazy, right? Clearly I still have a long way to go with body acceptance and realistic expectations.
Food
I still look to food as my comfort. I'd like to say that when I'm upset my first instinct is to go for a run, or beat up a punching bag, but no, I want food. Last Saturday was a pretty upsetting day for me, for reasons I won't go into here. I spent the better part of the day crying if I'm honest. By the time I went to bed, I looked like I had collagen injected all over and a bad case of pink eye. My main instinct, after bursting into tears, was to eat. I took myself to lunch, ate a slice of pizza and at least half of a large order of fries (I'm being generous). I went to D&D and got a breakfast sandwich as the second part of my coping mechanism. It was low fat, supposedly low cal (I guess compared to my beloved bacon, egg & cheese) and tasted like crap. I actually tossed it after two bites. Fortunately, I caught myself and stopped. I cried some more, made some tea, and went to bed. I still wanted to stuff the feelings away, but I went with them, despite how miserable I felt.
Running
Still going strong here. I'm resolved to get up early in the morning, when I can, and get my daily runs over with before the day starts. This is good for me on two parts...one, I'm done for the day, and can do what I need to do after work rather than on the weekend, and two, I can wear my three to four inch high heels without worrying about my feet or calves aching while I'm trying to exercise. Ahh...vanity.
I'm making progress on the distance. I managed 5 miles last Friday and this past Sunday, and am hoping to do 5.5 tomorrow and/or this weekend. It sucks while I'm doing it, and I'm thankful for my DVR, but I feel a real sense of accomplishment once I'm done. I'm optimistic that I can get to 9 miles by the spring and do a 10k (roughly 6 miles) as a training exercise.
My New Body
My brain is still catching up to my body. A few weeks ago, I was at the supermarket, and being the good eavesdropper that I am overheard two people in line mention the gym I go to as a "meat/meet market". I chimed in that I go there, and one of the women said "you don't need to worry about the gym, you're skinny". I turned around to see if there was somebody standing behind me. I looked her dead in the eye I told her "Ma'am, this time last year, I weighed 230 lbs". She and the cashier, who went to my high school, both went slack jawed. The cashier went over to tell her colleague who came over to say she hadn't recognized me (she had waited on me many times before and was a customer of mine when I worked retail). My head was spinning.
The next day, at the request of some friends, I posted a few current pictures. I hadn't even combed my hair, had no makeup on, and was wearing my "booty shorts" (tight running shorts) and a throw away t-shirt that I wear when I run at home. The response was overwhelming. One person messaged me for tips. A few people told me I inspire them to exercise. It's a little much if I'm honest. I feel like Charles Barkley when I say this, but I'm no role model. Of course I'm flattered, but I don't feel like I'm doing anything exceptional. But hey, if somebody wants to start exercising or eating healthy because of me, who am I to discourage them and not cheer them along?
Life
Things in general are good here. As I alluded to, I experienced a bit of a loss recently, which I'm not ready to delve into, but I'm coping with it and moving on. Thankfully, I still have a job, and my family is healthy. Finances could better, but who can't say that?
So, that's it...the last two weeks in nutshell. Hopefully something more profound will come to me, and not just when I'm trying to go back to sleep after my pup has woken me up in the middle of the night! Until then...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Almost There!
I'm almost there! Almost six months and 65+ pounds (and God knows how much blood, sweat and tears), as of last Friday I was 20.8 pounds away from my WW goal weight.
That's not to say the work is done, not by a long shot. In a literal sense, my Weight Watchers goal weight is slightly higher than I'd like, but seeing as I can allocate the $10 a week I'm currently paying them to other avenues, I'm taking the highest goal weight I can at this point. Realistically, at 5' 3" (ok, 5' 2 1/2") 141 is a tad heavy, but I have a good feeling that it's sustainable (more on that later). For a sense of record setting-ness, I'd like to get down to just under 129 so I can say I've lost 100 pounds.
Numbers aside, I know that the real work is really just beginning.
I'm good at losing weight, REALLY good at gaining weight, but crap at maintaining it.
The last time I got down to "skinny for me", I freaked out. I couldn't shake the mentality of constantly losing, and I certainly couldn't get my head around maintaining, occasionally splurging, and gaining a rogue pound or two.
I make no secret of the fact that I abused my body. I ran 3.2 miles a day, and Curves 3 times a week, rain or shine, sick or healthy. I had surgery to repair a hernia and stubbornly stuck to Plan and three days post surgery humped a very heavy recumbent bike into the exercise area of the house so I could knock a few miles out.
When the doctor cleared me to run again, I did so immediately. I made excuses to avoid social situations, ran daily, and when I did splurge, I panicked. Let me clarify, my definition of a splurge then was an extra 100 calorie pack, or some extra fat free chips.
I treated it like a full-blown binge. I rammed my fingers down my throat, took some laxatives. Those mini-binges grew into bull blown binges. They included whatever I could find in the freezer - pizza rolls, ice cream, casserole. One shameful night, went from store to store looking for syrup of ipecac because I couldn't make myself barf, and I was terrified of seeing a gain on the scale. I realized I was out of control when I was "caught". I had gone out around 10:00 pm searching for the substance and in that time, my mother came downstairs for one reason or another. I wasn't in bed, wasn't in the kitchen and my car was gone. I came home and found mom sitting in the kitchen asking me where I was. I came up with some excuse, but I knew I was on borrowed time.
It went on for a few more days when I finally cracked. I called my sister...sitting on the floor of the kitchen after another binge, sobbing. I went to the doctor the next day who scolded me like the child I was acting like, and told me that if I didn't tell my family she would. My sister actually did the deed. I went into therapy where I remained for two years.
I've never actually talked about it with my parents, and it hasn't come up with my sister since, except in vague terms. Now that my goal weight in pending, I'm concerned.
I've made some progress. I have had days, hell, weeks, off program and I've trained myself not to get on the scale. I know it will go up, and I know how I will react. But soon I'll need to learn how to not be on lose mode. I'll need to accept that some days the scale will be up, others it will be down. I'll need to develop a healthy relationship with the treadmill.
How do you do it? Maintain a healthy weight, work out in moderation and stay sane? That's where the hard work begins for me. Screw losing. Maintaining is the real (and boring work). Give me the Biggest Maintainer NBC. There's your next big hit.
That is when I'll really need your support.
That's not to say the work is done, not by a long shot. In a literal sense, my Weight Watchers goal weight is slightly higher than I'd like, but seeing as I can allocate the $10 a week I'm currently paying them to other avenues, I'm taking the highest goal weight I can at this point. Realistically, at 5' 3" (ok, 5' 2 1/2") 141 is a tad heavy, but I have a good feeling that it's sustainable (more on that later). For a sense of record setting-ness, I'd like to get down to just under 129 so I can say I've lost 100 pounds.
Numbers aside, I know that the real work is really just beginning.
I'm good at losing weight, REALLY good at gaining weight, but crap at maintaining it.
The last time I got down to "skinny for me", I freaked out. I couldn't shake the mentality of constantly losing, and I certainly couldn't get my head around maintaining, occasionally splurging, and gaining a rogue pound or two.
I make no secret of the fact that I abused my body. I ran 3.2 miles a day, and Curves 3 times a week, rain or shine, sick or healthy. I had surgery to repair a hernia and stubbornly stuck to Plan and three days post surgery humped a very heavy recumbent bike into the exercise area of the house so I could knock a few miles out.
When the doctor cleared me to run again, I did so immediately. I made excuses to avoid social situations, ran daily, and when I did splurge, I panicked. Let me clarify, my definition of a splurge then was an extra 100 calorie pack, or some extra fat free chips.
I treated it like a full-blown binge. I rammed my fingers down my throat, took some laxatives. Those mini-binges grew into bull blown binges. They included whatever I could find in the freezer - pizza rolls, ice cream, casserole. One shameful night, went from store to store looking for syrup of ipecac because I couldn't make myself barf, and I was terrified of seeing a gain on the scale. I realized I was out of control when I was "caught". I had gone out around 10:00 pm searching for the substance and in that time, my mother came downstairs for one reason or another. I wasn't in bed, wasn't in the kitchen and my car was gone. I came home and found mom sitting in the kitchen asking me where I was. I came up with some excuse, but I knew I was on borrowed time.
It went on for a few more days when I finally cracked. I called my sister...sitting on the floor of the kitchen after another binge, sobbing. I went to the doctor the next day who scolded me like the child I was acting like, and told me that if I didn't tell my family she would. My sister actually did the deed. I went into therapy where I remained for two years.
I've never actually talked about it with my parents, and it hasn't come up with my sister since, except in vague terms. Now that my goal weight in pending, I'm concerned.
I've made some progress. I have had days, hell, weeks, off program and I've trained myself not to get on the scale. I know it will go up, and I know how I will react. But soon I'll need to learn how to not be on lose mode. I'll need to accept that some days the scale will be up, others it will be down. I'll need to develop a healthy relationship with the treadmill.
How do you do it? Maintain a healthy weight, work out in moderation and stay sane? That's where the hard work begins for me. Screw losing. Maintaining is the real (and boring work). Give me the Biggest Maintainer NBC. There's your next big hit.
That is when I'll really need your support.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Before Deadline, Under Budget
I broke the 4 mile barrier today. Yes, it was on a treadmill, and the incline was set to zero, but I'm going to take it.
I said in a prior blog my goal was to get to four miles by February. This week I really tried to work on it despite a cold. Yesterday I was able to do 3.85 (pre breakfast) and today I ran 4.05 miles. What I'm even happier about was I didn't plan to run today.
I went to a dinner party last night where I blew my Points allowance for the day away (lasagna, bread, brie, and wine, glorious wine). I had planned for it, working out just under two hours on Friday, and running for 40 minutes earlier in the day. Mentally, I had planned a gentler workout, walking (on the treadmill...it's 32 degrees here in PA - outdoors is not an option for this asthmatic wuss). I put a DVR'd episode of Desperate Housewives on, and decided to run for 15 minutes to kick start my workout.
After I got to 15 minutes, I decided to go for 5 more, then another 5 and so on. The show was almost over, and I was at the same distance as yesterday, 3.84. What the hell, I thought, let's go for 4, then I ran until the full minute had passed.
When I was done I had run for 42 minutes and had clocked a little over 4 miles. A half marathon, which I plan to run in November, is 13.1, so I obviously have a ways to go, and I need to translate that into self propelled (i.e. outdoor) running, but all of that said, I wasn't able to go further than a little over 3 miles and for longer than 35 minutes over 3 years ago, weighing 30 pounds less. So all in all, I'm pretty happy with today. Now I need to keep increasing, both the length and duration of my runs, and add in some inclines.
I'm not there yet, but I'm on my way.
I said in a prior blog my goal was to get to four miles by February. This week I really tried to work on it despite a cold. Yesterday I was able to do 3.85 (pre breakfast) and today I ran 4.05 miles. What I'm even happier about was I didn't plan to run today.
I went to a dinner party last night where I blew my Points allowance for the day away (lasagna, bread, brie, and wine, glorious wine). I had planned for it, working out just under two hours on Friday, and running for 40 minutes earlier in the day. Mentally, I had planned a gentler workout, walking (on the treadmill...it's 32 degrees here in PA - outdoors is not an option for this asthmatic wuss). I put a DVR'd episode of Desperate Housewives on, and decided to run for 15 minutes to kick start my workout.
After I got to 15 minutes, I decided to go for 5 more, then another 5 and so on. The show was almost over, and I was at the same distance as yesterday, 3.84. What the hell, I thought, let's go for 4, then I ran until the full minute had passed.
When I was done I had run for 42 minutes and had clocked a little over 4 miles. A half marathon, which I plan to run in November, is 13.1, so I obviously have a ways to go, and I need to translate that into self propelled (i.e. outdoor) running, but all of that said, I wasn't able to go further than a little over 3 miles and for longer than 35 minutes over 3 years ago, weighing 30 pounds less. So all in all, I'm pretty happy with today. Now I need to keep increasing, both the length and duration of my runs, and add in some inclines.
I'm not there yet, but I'm on my way.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Faith
I don’t talk about religion much, at all actually. Some of that has to do with my education (K though 12 at a Catholic school). We had religion/theology daily, so what was there to talk about? There is also the matter of “turn about is fair play” in my mind. If I talk to you about my faith, than you have a fair shot to talk to me about yours. There is too much of a chance of evangelization, which frankly makes me uncomfortable. Also, believe it or not, there are some things that I feel are private. Religion is one (sex is the other, in case you’re wondering).
That said, I was re-reading my “100 Things About Me” post (http://bethina74.blogspot.com/p/moi.html), and noticed a few things that need updating, not that I’ve actually updated them, but at least I’ve noticed it. One of those things was number 18 - I try to pray every night even though I don’t consider myself to be especially religious. That has changed since I originally wrote it. Somewhere along the line, I stopped praying. Life seemed to be sucking, despite how much I prayed for it not to. I asked God nightly to give me strength to change – my weight, my life, my personal finances, even my love life. I also asked God to keep my family healthy and safe.
Then I got rejected by someone (He Who Shall Not Be Named, formerly known as BATS) who I thought liked me.
My finances got worse, not better.
My grandmother got Alzheimer’s, and it didn’t get better, in fact, it seemed to get worse.
My grandfather died.
Somewhere along the line, I began to believe that God stopped listening, so I stopped talking to him.
I’m beginning to question this line of thinking now.
I’m not ready to go into the details (and full and fair disclosure, not sure if I ever, in this forum, ever will), but last Friday/Saturday I think I hit rock bottom, for me. For the first time in a long time, I prayed last Saturday night. Things didn’t change, but when I woke up on Sunday, life seemed a bit better.
I started thinking about this last night, when I ordered a t-shirt with the following slogan: Love Jesus? Hate Bigotry?, thinking it was (a) pretty awesome and (b) a nice advertisement for a blog that I think has a great message. After I hit the “Buy Now” button, I got to thinking, this shirt could initiate some conversations at the gym (where I intend to wear it), which I’m not sure I’m 100% comfortable with. But I still want to wear the shirt. I do love Jesus (I don’t think I have ever expressed that since, like, 2nd grade), but I’m not ready to discuss Jesus. Because that means you get to talk to me (and therefore evangelize) about your religion. I’m not an advertisement for Catholicism, my particular “flavor” of Christianity. I have a number of problems with the practices and politics of the Catholic Church, which I won’t go into here. I’ve explored other denominations, but Catholicism feels comfortable to me, like my favorite sweat pants (which I want to be buried in, FYI).
So where is this going? Nowhere particularly meaningful most likely for those of you who have read the past 500+ words. It’s just something I needed to “put pen to paper to”.
Do I pray nightly now? No. Do I think God listens? Perhaps. I’m still trying to keep the faith. It’s a process.
FYI, if you are intrigued by the shirt I mentioned, the blog it’s connected to is here: http://johnshore.com
That said, I was re-reading my “100 Things About Me” post (http://bethina74.blogspot.com/p/moi.html), and noticed a few things that need updating, not that I’ve actually updated them, but at least I’ve noticed it. One of those things was number 18 - I try to pray every night even though I don’t consider myself to be especially religious. That has changed since I originally wrote it. Somewhere along the line, I stopped praying. Life seemed to be sucking, despite how much I prayed for it not to. I asked God nightly to give me strength to change – my weight, my life, my personal finances, even my love life. I also asked God to keep my family healthy and safe.
Then I got rejected by someone (He Who Shall Not Be Named, formerly known as BATS) who I thought liked me.
My finances got worse, not better.
My grandmother got Alzheimer’s, and it didn’t get better, in fact, it seemed to get worse.
My grandfather died.
Somewhere along the line, I began to believe that God stopped listening, so I stopped talking to him.
I’m beginning to question this line of thinking now.
I’m not ready to go into the details (and full and fair disclosure, not sure if I ever, in this forum, ever will), but last Friday/Saturday I think I hit rock bottom, for me. For the first time in a long time, I prayed last Saturday night. Things didn’t change, but when I woke up on Sunday, life seemed a bit better.
I started thinking about this last night, when I ordered a t-shirt with the following slogan: Love Jesus? Hate Bigotry?, thinking it was (a) pretty awesome and (b) a nice advertisement for a blog that I think has a great message. After I hit the “Buy Now” button, I got to thinking, this shirt could initiate some conversations at the gym (where I intend to wear it), which I’m not sure I’m 100% comfortable with. But I still want to wear the shirt. I do love Jesus (I don’t think I have ever expressed that since, like, 2nd grade), but I’m not ready to discuss Jesus. Because that means you get to talk to me (and therefore evangelize) about your religion. I’m not an advertisement for Catholicism, my particular “flavor” of Christianity. I have a number of problems with the practices and politics of the Catholic Church, which I won’t go into here. I’ve explored other denominations, but Catholicism feels comfortable to me, like my favorite sweat pants (which I want to be buried in, FYI).
So where is this going? Nowhere particularly meaningful most likely for those of you who have read the past 500+ words. It’s just something I needed to “put pen to paper to”.
Do I pray nightly now? No. Do I think God listens? Perhaps. I’m still trying to keep the faith. It’s a process.
FYI, if you are intrigued by the shirt I mentioned, the blog it’s connected to is here: http://johnshore.com
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
What Have I Just Done?
Back in the dark ages when I was in grammar school, we had PE (or "Gym" as it we called it them) somewhere around once a week. I seem to recall it going in fits and starts, and we had a rotating cast of teachers, much like the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. No single teacher seemed to last more than a year, or at least that's how I remember it.
We had one instructor who had each grade perform a choreographed routine in front of the whole school. Another who had us play basketball during our appointed time, and yet another who had us do some stupid chicken dance like routine set to a song called "Chicken Fat" (which has forever been imprinted on my brain, and the reason why I only buy skinless chicken).
I, like many, despised Gym, coming up with excuses that would make Tommy Flanagan (SNL) proud. I'd "forget" my gym clothes, have my period (once I was of age of course, and fortunately they never cottoned on to the fact that I either had the world's longest menstrual period, or got it every 7 days), schedule an orthodontist appointment (parental cooperation was needed), be called for Jury Duty, get caught in a natural disaster. You get the point.
One task that I specifically recall was the 12 minute mile (bear with me, it may have been 10, but for some reason 12 is the number sticking with me). I hated this one. On the one hand, we had to run, unsupervised, around the block that our school/church was situated on (ahhh, the 80s) and as long as you took off at a fairly decent trot in front of the Gym teacher, you could slack off and practically crawl the rest of the way. However, at some point down the line, a stop watch came into play. It was decreed that all of us had to be able to run a mile in the determined time, 12 minutes.
This was torture on so many levels.
First of all, I hated running. I'm still not entirely fond of it, but I do it fairly regularly now and voluntarily run specific distances (more on that later). But then? Ugh. Admittedly, I have asthma which was undiagnosed at this point. Plus, until I was 17, I was fairly well developed, and didn't discover sports bras until I was in my teens. I also was a sprinter. I'd take off and run hell bent for leather until I either puked or got a stitch in my side.
I know there were kids in my class that were more out of shape than I was, and I was barely able to make it in the perscribed time. I'm not sure what the penalty was if you couldn't finish the mile under the time limit. To my knowledge, nobody dropped dead, so they lucked out there.
What's my point in this? The point is that I've just committed to my friends, Weight Watchers and Facebook that I, Beth Adams, am going to run a Half Marathon in November. Of this year.
Stop laughing.
I've been running off at the mouth (pardon the pun) for about two months about wanting to do a half. I'm not sure why I have this fixated in my head. As you may recall, one of my New Years Resolutions was to run a longer race than my normal 5k. A 10k would make more sense. But no, idiot girl goes ahead and says I'm going to run 13.1 miles in roughly 11 months. I'm not all that fond of driving 13 consecutive miles, so I'm pretty sure running it is going to be an effort.
On one hand, I have 11 months to train. On the other, I have 11 months to procrastinate. I'm fairly certain I'm going to wake up on one cold, fall morning and realize that the race is weeks, if not days, away.
So, I need a plan and since I rarely actually do something unless I've put it on paper or out in cyberspace, I'm sharing it with you.
My goal is to increase the distance I run, which I try to do 3 times a week (or more). I'm currently clocking 3 and change (small change), so my goal is to increase that to 4 by February. Then there are training plans I can follow once I get my distance up.
Stay tuned (and seriously, stop laughing).
We had one instructor who had each grade perform a choreographed routine in front of the whole school. Another who had us play basketball during our appointed time, and yet another who had us do some stupid chicken dance like routine set to a song called "Chicken Fat" (which has forever been imprinted on my brain, and the reason why I only buy skinless chicken).
I, like many, despised Gym, coming up with excuses that would make Tommy Flanagan (SNL) proud. I'd "forget" my gym clothes, have my period (once I was of age of course, and fortunately they never cottoned on to the fact that I either had the world's longest menstrual period, or got it every 7 days), schedule an orthodontist appointment (parental cooperation was needed), be called for Jury Duty, get caught in a natural disaster. You get the point.
One task that I specifically recall was the 12 minute mile (bear with me, it may have been 10, but for some reason 12 is the number sticking with me). I hated this one. On the one hand, we had to run, unsupervised, around the block that our school/church was situated on (ahhh, the 80s) and as long as you took off at a fairly decent trot in front of the Gym teacher, you could slack off and practically crawl the rest of the way. However, at some point down the line, a stop watch came into play. It was decreed that all of us had to be able to run a mile in the determined time, 12 minutes.
This was torture on so many levels.
First of all, I hated running. I'm still not entirely fond of it, but I do it fairly regularly now and voluntarily run specific distances (more on that later). But then? Ugh. Admittedly, I have asthma which was undiagnosed at this point. Plus, until I was 17, I was fairly well developed, and didn't discover sports bras until I was in my teens. I also was a sprinter. I'd take off and run hell bent for leather until I either puked or got a stitch in my side.
I know there were kids in my class that were more out of shape than I was, and I was barely able to make it in the perscribed time. I'm not sure what the penalty was if you couldn't finish the mile under the time limit. To my knowledge, nobody dropped dead, so they lucked out there.
What's my point in this? The point is that I've just committed to my friends, Weight Watchers and Facebook that I, Beth Adams, am going to run a Half Marathon in November. Of this year.
Stop laughing.
I've been running off at the mouth (pardon the pun) for about two months about wanting to do a half. I'm not sure why I have this fixated in my head. As you may recall, one of my New Years Resolutions was to run a longer race than my normal 5k. A 10k would make more sense. But no, idiot girl goes ahead and says I'm going to run 13.1 miles in roughly 11 months. I'm not all that fond of driving 13 consecutive miles, so I'm pretty sure running it is going to be an effort.
On one hand, I have 11 months to train. On the other, I have 11 months to procrastinate. I'm fairly certain I'm going to wake up on one cold, fall morning and realize that the race is weeks, if not days, away.
So, I need a plan and since I rarely actually do something unless I've put it on paper or out in cyberspace, I'm sharing it with you.
My goal is to increase the distance I run, which I try to do 3 times a week (or more). I'm currently clocking 3 and change (small change), so my goal is to increase that to 4 by February. Then there are training plans I can follow once I get my distance up.
Stay tuned (and seriously, stop laughing).
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