More than 11 MInute Mile Pokey People

Wow! I had no idea what head games I would have to deal with in a simple 5K run. It was my first, and being a virgin, I was truly naive. I thought we would all line up in our proper places and pleasantly run at the pace we had accustomed ourselves to, enjoying the scenery and urging each other along.

What I was not prepared for was the onslaught of verbal abuse that would plague me the entire race from begining to end. There was name calling, bereting language, and put downs. Any support and urging given was all from a negative point of view (ie: Is that the best you can do?) I was truly not aware of what to expect. And the most surprising part of it all was that it all came from within.

The whistle blew, gun shot, or someone yelled. I still am not sure how we knew to start, I just moved with the crowd. Two minutes into it, I was out of breath. I was unintentionally running with a 10 minute miler friend. I did not mean too, but I was standing beside her chatting when everyone surged forward. And when that happens you move together like cattle on a stampede. That is when I understood the purpose of the 11 mile sign lady standing on the side of the road. I thought she was just standing there to watch the show, and would later drive over to mark the eleventh mile. But what the sign really meant was that the people standing in that area can all run a mile in under 11 minutes. Hence, the gun goes off, they move together -- no problem. Except, I was right in the middle of the pack. And that is exactly when the yelling began: What in the world were you thinking? You are a 16 minute miler. Slow down you idiot, or you will not make it to the first mile. 11 Mile Marker, huh? THIS IS A 5K AND 10K RACE! THERE ARE ONLY 6 MILES IN IT!

I had to slow up, but how to do it was another issue. There were people shoulder to shoulder, and to do so would have tripped someone else up. (Or maybe me, again.--see last blog.) Soon, the pack began to thin out after we reached the open road, and I was able to slow down to my normal pace... just in time before  passing out from over-exertion.

After I caught my breath and found my pace, I could finally relax and enjoy the scenery. And what did I see?Dog walker/runners passing me. People with strollers passing me. Little children passing me. My old students passing me. Why, even slightly obese people were passing me. Wow! I thought I was prepared. Well, obviously not, the little voice snipped.

But I kept chugging along.

Watching a dog runner/walker made me feel guilty.  I was thinking I should have brought my own Daisy, except I knew she would have pooped at least three times; that is exactly when their dog stopped to poop. Hah! I made the right choice I thought as I ran pass them. I guess the joke was on me though, because each time their dog stopped... and they stopped, they still caught up and passed me, eventually disappearing up ahead.

I was watching yet another stroller person bombard and run through us "slower than 11 mile a minute pokey people" like we were an obstacle course.  I soon realized that I should not have been upset with the stroller runner people for passing me because most of them were young stay-at-home moms who have nothing better to do than run every morning to bring back their youthful figures (that were not gone away to begin with.) They were forced by the rules to start in the back of the pack, but must of them (and some were men) belonged up with the sprinting "less than 10 mile a minute" runners.

Up ahead, my old favorite student who had sprinted passed me ealier had slowed to a walk. Yeah! I thought, I can run to catch up and say hello. Wrong! I was able to catch up just before she took off again, but was too tired to do more than squeak out a breathy, "Good..gasp gasp... to see...gasp... you. I... gasp...would hug you,... gasp, gasp... but it would... take...gasp... too... much...gasp... energy." I then mustered enough energy to run on a bit, so I could hide in a small pack to catch my breath out of her sight.

Are you crazy? Please don't do that again! You know that you cannot run and talk at the same time! And you had the nerve to run ahead like Flo-Jo to save face? Puh-leeze!

It was about that time that I had passed the first mile marker and was feeling pretty good about myself -- until I looked over my shoulder and became painfully aware of how many... or should I say few, people were behind me. The name calling began again. Is this the best you can do? You have old people passing you. I looked back again and saw about thirty  stragglers. I looked ahead and saw small children. I was in the back of the pack. Eighty percent of the runners were ahead. What was I doing wrong?

That is when I began to notice the helpers in their bright orange vests would always call out to me to "hang in there." You must look like the walking dead for every one of them to single you out for support, she said. Leave me alone, I screamed back -- in my head. But was this truly the best I could do? I had been practicing for a couple of weeks. Surely my pace was not this slow. I then remembered something my track coach used to yell thirty-something years ago (when I last ran for a real meet). "Open your legs!" Yes, I know that is normally not what you want to yell to a lady, but keeping them closed was exactly my problem. My 5'7" frame had the stride of a 4 year old. My husband would be proud to hear the women inside my head screaming, Open your legs! Quit being such a stingy strider! Wider,wider!  So I did.

Suddenly, I began passing others. I kept my same slow pace and passed my student, again. I then passed the two cheerleader mean girls who I saw making fun of my favorite student behind her back (the teacher in me wanted to chastise them, but the jogger me did not have the strength to do it properly).

I passed a few of the elderly and overweight folk who had passed me earlier. They were all walking now. I had a childish urge to tease "Naa, naa, na-naa, naa!" but didn't. Instead, I had an epiphany, they did not have a pace, they ran fast short distances and then would stop and walk long ways. I was doing it the right way.

As I neared the end of the race, we came upon a huge hill. Well, more like a slight upward grade that you would not normally notice if walking, but one that would seem like Mount Everest at the end of a run. I saw people falling by the wayside as I ran passed them and started feeling real good about myself. Yes! All that running on a hill in my neighborhood was paying off. Oh, don't you get too cocky missy, she reared her ugly head again, if that were the case, you would not be breathing like someone having an asthma attack. 

She was right. By the time I got to the top, I was panting hard and the finish line seem to be moving backwards as I moved forward. The orange vest people were really pouring it on thick now. You must look like you are going to die. The balloons that framed the finish line beckoned and teased. A lady beside me kept saying come on Mom you can do it! You must look so tired and ragged that people are referring to you as an old mother dragging down the home stretch. Yeah, she was not talking to me. Her mother was literally right behind me. Up ahead, even at fifty yards away, I could spot my 6'4" husband above the crowd.

Yes, you are fiinihing but what a sight you are going to be crawling across that line. 

NO! I will not! I can do this and I will do it in style.

No, you can't!

YES I WILL!

I suddenly felt a strength from deep down inside rise up and take over. I felt my legs lift higher. My body went upright. My back straightened and my legs kept lifting higher and higher. I could not believe it. Even the voice inside my head quieted. I felt her attitude change.

I began to sprint! The voice inside began to cheer!

You can do it! Faster, faster!

I sprinted the last 40 yards to cross the finish line in front of my proud, beaming husband and son.

And my time? I came in at 36 minutes and 34 seconds. I was not a 16 minute a mile runner afterall. I was now a 12 minute a mile runner.

First Things First

It was a day of "firsts." I completed my first 45 minute run. As I rounded the bend I was especially happy to see my husband had come outside to watch me, and my son had run to the end of the driveway to join me on the last three minutes. He was so excited about running with me that he got too close, whereby I proceeded to trip myself up and had...my "first" fall. Embarrassed at my lack of coordination in front of my cheering audience, I did what any wannabe athelete would do, I jumped up and yelled, "I am okay!" And, just like the Olympians who continue on after a big spill when they know they have lost, I checked my timer to see how much time I had and continued on as if all was well -- while silently grimacing at my sore hip and scrapped palms, and simultaneously planning a long hot bubble bath, glass of wine, and Naproxen.

Caught in a Mousetrap

I once compared my weight loss to a rollercoaster ride, but I have decided that actually it does not resemble one, at least not in the traditional sense. You see, a rollercoaster goes waaayyy up,... and then waaayyyy down -- FAST. Well, I have yet to see the "wayyyy down."

So while I am truly on a ride, it is more akin to a Mousetrap. It goes up a little bit, dips and turns the corner, only to coast at the same level for a couple of weeks. Then, it dips again when you least expect it, but not for a long drop. Instead, just when you brace yourself for the exhilerating glide downhill, it stops after a few feet and jerks you back up so fast your head spins. 

You are left wondering if you enjoyed yourself or if you truly have whiplash from the all the jerky movements. Why can't this weight loss be more like the amusement park drop tower rides? You know, the ones that take you up high and drops you free-fall style never to go up again. 

The Gift

Though the following is a re-post from my Weight Watcher's blog, I felt it was words that anyone seeking to better their life by making smarter health conconscoius decision's could understand:

The Gift

I believe that the road to success in this journey goes beyond staying OP! It is about your attitude! Above or below your points is just a guideline, the journey is in self-worth and acceptance of each day as a unique gift. 

Recently, I have been getting down on myself just because I could not refuse that scoop of ice cream, or because I could have gone to bed instead of down to the kitchen. But just the other day as I looked disappointedly at my swollen, distended belly, and noted the extra 4lbs on the scale, it hit me like a ton of bricks. There are other things going on that are out of my control. First of all, I am human and I have wants, needs, cravings, and weaknesses -- and quite frankly, I am allowed because the last time I checked, I was not perfect in any sense of the word. But also, I cannot control everything. I am a female, and I had forgotten that by God's plan, I must ovulate, hence I will crave, I will cramp, and I will fill up with water like a child's balloon on a hot summer's day. And that is something I definitely cannot control. 

So, yes, I do have a goal, but the points are a guideline to adhere to help us understand portions and to help get to our goals. But they are not the measure of overall success. So while I had become a slave to them and was horribly upset if I had broken my "master's" rules, I should have been concentrating on controlling the call of the wild (or how much chocolate I ate) and not beating myself up as if it is the end of the world. Simply being here at WW to concentrate on my health is far more important than not meeting a goal or deadline. Yes, we are on a journey, but no road is flat, they are filled with hills and valleys. So sit back and enjoy the ride, each day is a gift -- Treasure yourself!

The Lone-Ly Ranger

A good mommy does not get upset when he announces at bedtime that he needs to be a cowboy tomorrow. She dutifully gets up extra early (4:30 a.m.) and digs out bandanas, irons a plaid shirt and jeans, rummages for a vest, an old toy horse on a stick, and stuffs socks in her own cowboy boots so they will stay on his feet. She places dad's too big hat on his head and she smiles as he smiles at his perfect costume. 

A good mommy does not get upset when she picks him up at 3:00 p.m. and is told by the teacher that he was one week too early.

If You Can't Beat'em...

I know they say you can't beat a dead horse, but I swear I am going to try! Can we talk about stinkbugs-- again? You see, since my fall tirade postings I have come to terms with their existence in my life. I no longer scream for my husband, though my heart does still skip a beat and I do a half a gasp everytime one is spotted IN MY HOUSE!!!!!

But, I have come to accept the fact that importing has given us the gift of a new, invincible, and predator-less insect to our ecology. I have finally come to grips with the fact that this BUG is virtually indestructable and will not only wreck havoc on our vegation, but will winter and nest in our homes.

So, instead of crying over things that I cannot control (short of moving to Iceland), I have put on my big girl panties and have decided to come up with some ingenious ways to deal with the situation. If you can't beat'em,... step on them, crush them, or kill them without paying the price, then use them.

Here are my top ten ways to take advantage of the situation:

10. Save their dying bodies and plant along your garden to deter rabbits. (Beware, their stinking bodies is a love call for more, and be aware that they probably already ate your garden).

9. Put a collection of dying carcasses on the bad neighbor's yard to attract them to his/her house.

8. Mail an envelop full to the B.O.S (School district Board of Supervisors) who keeps voting down your raise.

7. Mail them to anyone, for that matter, who has pissed you off.

6. Crush them up and use them as homemade pepper spray.

5. Use them as a gag gift by putting them in a sachet and sealing it with a bow!

4. Hide a bagfull in your exe's car.

3. Make and sell stinkbug paper weights.

2. Learn to like the flavor and make Mexican tacos. (Please note they use a differant supposedly cinniman tasting bug but of the same family.

1. Create Asian American Stinkilas. Made with an American tequila, instead of asking someone if he/she swallowed the worm, you ask the party reveler did he/she "Drink the Stink?"

Enjoy!

Not Just for Guacamole Anymore!

Who knew! Maybe you all did, but I can certaninly admit that I only just started buying fresh cilantro since Christmas when a friend shared her "to die for" guacamole recipe. And I did what any other person who normally cooks everything using boxes and instant add-one-ingredient foods, I used a little bit and threw out the rest. Afterall, what else could you do with it? I did not make anything else fresh except for collard greens at Christmas, so I did not need it in any other recipes. To the garbage with the cilantro, and the garlic for that matter.

However, just recently, I was watching a movie called Hungry for Change and discovered much to my surprise that it actually has a huge benefit to our health. It is not just for spicing up guacaumole, it is great for cleaning out the old system as a metal detox. Can anyone say "mercury," or am I the only one who likes tuna? They also mentioned mercury fillings in teeth. (Why people are still doing that, I do not know?) 

As for nutirents, it gives 45% of RDI vitamin C, 200+ of vitamin A, and 258% of vitamin K (based on websites such as http://www.nutrition-and-you.com/cilantro).

 Lastly, shockingly, to use it they simply added to the salad. I would not have to buy a new food processing gadget or learn a new recipe. It was simple. 

So my question to you is since tomorrow is the super bowl, are you making guacamole?