Tomorrow is a prescribed day of rest and I can't wait! This week was supposedly a "light week" in terms of workouts -- relative to what next week will be. I had guests in town and could not participate in the 56-mile bike ride on Sunday, and I chose to do a 40-mile bike ride on Monday instead of the grueling swim workout that was on the schedule. Other than that, I did as well as or more than what was planned: Tuesday morning yoga + 5.5 mile track workout (in the pouring rain) that was H.A.R.D. Wednesday swim workout that was a welcome change because it didn't require my body hold its own weight. I was sooooo sore from Tuesday I could hardly get out of bed, get onto or off of the toilet, into or out of my car, etc... It felt good to be semi-weightless in the water! I was proud of myself for completing the 1400-yard workout (and actually enjoying it). The "lunch ride" on Thursday was, for me, a 21-mile interval ride with lots of short, steep hills and little recovery. Today, a 3.5 mile run, my strength routine (Tracy Anderson), and a much-needed 90-minute massage. Ahhhhh...
Tomorrow is a day of rest. But I have seen what is on the calendar for the following 7 days and I am officially Scared. It is a week that is largely focusing on swimming, and that is clearly my weak link. I am nowhere near where I need to be to get through the drills and main sets of swimming in terms of my basic form. There are lots and lots of bricks -- swim + run, swim + bike, swim + strength., swim, swim, don't drown, swim. EEK! I'm scared that I won't be able to do the swim workouts well, and that mental defeat will play into my other sports. I'm scared that it will rain all week and I won't be able to get out on my bike or otherwise have to compromise myself. I'm scared I'll look for excuses to compromise myself because it's too hard.
So, I ran my measley 3.5 miles today and enjoyed my massage (probably a little too much). I am considering a yoga workout tomorrow, if we don't go skiing in Tahoe... but will otherwise relish the day off. That's a first for me, and a big win mentally as I enter a week that is sure to be full of a lot of mental failures.
Here's to progress!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
F is for _ _ _ _
I don't know what to write about. I feel like every post should all be Profound, and that paralyzes me. So I don't write at all. I wonder, "Will they think I'm funny?" "Will they care at all?" "Will my punctuation be correct in this situation?"
And then I think, "Fuck them (whoever "they" are). This is my blog."
I won't let fear keep me from doing this. Because the reality is this: which is worse -- doing it and sucking, or not doing it at all?
So I'll just write and maybe there's a theme. Maybe there's a common thread. Maybe not.
I'll just write.
And then I think, "Fuck them (whoever "they" are). This is my blog."
I won't let fear keep me from doing this. Because the reality is this: which is worse -- doing it and sucking, or not doing it at all?
So I'll just write and maybe there's a theme. Maybe there's a common thread. Maybe not.
I'll just write.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Day of Rest
A prescribed day of rest. This must be the day that most people look forward to. I've known since Wednesday that this would be a "day off," and yet it has plagued me since then (including today). In fact, for two days, I have planned to do my Tracy Anderson video AND go to the sauna as "active recovery." And yet, it's 10 PM and I have done none of these things. At this point, all I can do is say, "Oh well!"
Admittedly, I have not been feeling 100% lately: sore and achy in general, my right knee is bothering me, and I'm generally tired. So while I had planned to "over-achieve" today and do my toning workout and/or go to the sauna, it just didn't happen. In some secret society that my alter-ego is having, I'm rejoicing for the break. But for the rest of me, I'm trying not to stress about it (as I eat a piece of chocolate cake that pairs so well with my red wine).
A friend came over earlier this evening for a chat and I spoke of my "day off dilemma." Her first question was, "What are you afraid of?"
Don't get me started.
Admittedly, I have not been feeling 100% lately: sore and achy in general, my right knee is bothering me, and I'm generally tired. So while I had planned to "over-achieve" today and do my toning workout and/or go to the sauna, it just didn't happen. In some secret society that my alter-ego is having, I'm rejoicing for the break. But for the rest of me, I'm trying not to stress about it (as I eat a piece of chocolate cake that pairs so well with my red wine).
A friend came over earlier this evening for a chat and I spoke of my "day off dilemma." Her first question was, "What are you afraid of?"
Don't get me started.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The Same, Only Different
"Oh yeah, I'm sure you're so stressed," says Greg tonight as I lean into him for a back rub. This is the guy who is working 1.5 jobs in 10+ hour days, trying to train for his racing season, and be a loving husband and doggy dad.
Well, it's not so much that I'm stressed in the way that he is stressed or the way that I used to be stressed going to my job, but it's not like I'm living the life of The Real Housewives of San Mateo County. I even surprised myself by saying as much (rather than reverting to my alter-ego PAM -- Passive Aggressive Molly):
I realize that I'm not doing what you're doing, but here's my new reality:
I'm scared of being so far removed from Corporate America, where I was able to be a positive contributor, make friends, add value, make money, and LEARN. Maybe that's what I'm most scared of. I am afraid I'm getting dumber everyday that I spend more time with myself and not with smarter people. I learn by osmosis and my dog doesn't count. I'm scared no one will care what I'm saying and this idea will go nowhere.
There. I said it.
I'm scared. It makes my heart rate increase. It makes my breath shallow. It makes my muscles tense up. This is where body and mind meet. Psychosomatics. The body reacts to fear in a similar fashion as it does to physical work. The silver lining must be that we are burning calories when facing our fears! That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
As frightening as all this unknown business is, I'm still moving forward with my dream of getting away from a desk job I hate. I am scared and uncertain and grouchy, but it's better than the pit in my stomach that I got just thinking about going to work the next day. In fact, the best part of my day (especially Sunday) is knowing that I don't have to answer to anyone tomorrow.
I think I'll have another glass of wine. I've earned it!
Well, it's not so much that I'm stressed in the way that he is stressed or the way that I used to be stressed going to my job, but it's not like I'm living the life of The Real Housewives of San Mateo County. I even surprised myself by saying as much (rather than reverting to my alter-ego PAM -- Passive Aggressive Molly):
I realize that I'm not doing what you're doing, but here's my new reality:
- I gave up what was familiar, comfortable, and "normal" to me in terms of everyday life and livelihood.
- I don't earn any of my own money or have spending money like I used to.
- I don't have the same level of stability as I've always had and been able to provide myself.
- I am in uncharted territory.
I'm scared of being so far removed from Corporate America, where I was able to be a positive contributor, make friends, add value, make money, and LEARN. Maybe that's what I'm most scared of. I am afraid I'm getting dumber everyday that I spend more time with myself and not with smarter people. I learn by osmosis and my dog doesn't count. I'm scared no one will care what I'm saying and this idea will go nowhere.
There. I said it.
I'm scared. It makes my heart rate increase. It makes my breath shallow. It makes my muscles tense up. This is where body and mind meet. Psychosomatics. The body reacts to fear in a similar fashion as it does to physical work. The silver lining must be that we are burning calories when facing our fears! That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
As frightening as all this unknown business is, I'm still moving forward with my dream of getting away from a desk job I hate. I am scared and uncertain and grouchy, but it's better than the pit in my stomach that I got just thinking about going to work the next day. In fact, the best part of my day (especially Sunday) is knowing that I don't have to answer to anyone tomorrow.
I think I'll have another glass of wine. I've earned it!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Fair Weather Fitness
Super Bowl Sunday brought sunny skies to northern California, the first in a long time. After spending a cold and rainy Saturday in Folsom learning to swim more efficiently, Greg and I were anxious to take advantage of Sunday's sunshine. We headed out to Canada Road for a 30-mile bike ride. I have not seen Bicycle Sunday this busy in a LONG time. Ah, fair weather fitness.
Perhaps it wasn't just the sunny day. After all, there was a cold, strong wind that probably should have deterred many of these fair weather exercisers... Perhaps this was a pre-game calorie burn. Riding your bike for an hour at a reasonable pace will burn somewhere around 800 calories. According to the Calorie Control Council, the average armchair quarterback will consume 1200 calories and 50 grams of fat from snacking -- and that doesn’t even count any meals! Keep pedaling, guys!
Greg and I chose to run errands during the start of the game, avoiding traffic and crowds. One of these errands was stopping by the Gap to exchange a pair of pants for Greg. In looking through the stacks of pants, we could not find Greg's size -- 34x36, but I did come across several pair in size 44x32. Can you imagine a 44-inch waist and 32-inch inseam?! Now THAT is terrifying, and I'm pretty sure the guy wearing those pants enjoyed his fair share of chips, Velveeta, and little smokies during the game (and likely his share of indigestion later).
Back at home, we settled into the bean bag to watch the game on our DVR, and dined on jerk-spiced grilled shrimp with tropical salsa salad. Score one for eating healthy!
Perhaps it wasn't just the sunny day. After all, there was a cold, strong wind that probably should have deterred many of these fair weather exercisers... Perhaps this was a pre-game calorie burn. Riding your bike for an hour at a reasonable pace will burn somewhere around 800 calories. According to the Calorie Control Council, the average armchair quarterback will consume 1200 calories and 50 grams of fat from snacking -- and that doesn’t even count any meals! Keep pedaling, guys!
Greg and I chose to run errands during the start of the game, avoiding traffic and crowds. One of these errands was stopping by the Gap to exchange a pair of pants for Greg. In looking through the stacks of pants, we could not find Greg's size -- 34x36, but I did come across several pair in size 44x32. Can you imagine a 44-inch waist and 32-inch inseam?! Now THAT is terrifying, and I'm pretty sure the guy wearing those pants enjoyed his fair share of chips, Velveeta, and little smokies during the game (and likely his share of indigestion later).
Back at home, we settled into the bean bag to watch the game on our DVR, and dined on jerk-spiced grilled shrimp with tropical salsa salad. Score one for eating healthy!
Friday, February 5, 2010
An Impostor's Question
Are you more afraid of...
Looking like a fool while swimming?
OR
Looking bad in a swimming suit?
This is what plagues me on this rainy Friday evening. I signed up for a swim clinic to improve my weakest triathlon link. I've known about this clinic for a few weeks now and have not been excited about it from the beginning. Sure, I know it's the right thing to do. I know I need it. I know that everyone else who has signed up is likely in the same boat, or one that at least looks similar. Hell, my husband signed up and "he's good at everything."
But then the reality happens. It's a 2-hour drive. It's an outdoor pool. It's going to be raining. I will be videotaped.
There are people out there who are TRUE triathletes. Not just people who complete a designated swim/bike/run to check it off the bucket list. These people live triathlons -- their workouts, their diets, their lifestyle. I am not one of these people. So maybe I've got a bit of the Impostor Syndrome going on here. I like to do triathlons for fun, for camaraderie with friends, a common thread with my husband, as motivation for my workouts (note: this motivation mainly lies in being able to eat and drink what I want -- and to look reasonable in a swimming suit). I'm competitive by nature, so I do them to compete with myself and get better each time, but I'm no die-hard. That's what I'm getting at.
So, as I continue my week-long commitment to no-carbs-except-red-wine diet on this Friday evening, I contemplate the fear that is before me. I am confident I won't be the worst swimmer, nor will I look the worst in my swimming suit. Even if I am, I have committed and I will finish the clinic and my training will benefit from it. That's what I keep telling myself.
Which do you fear more?
Looking like a fool while swimming?
OR
Looking bad in a swimming suit?
This is what plagues me on this rainy Friday evening. I signed up for a swim clinic to improve my weakest triathlon link. I've known about this clinic for a few weeks now and have not been excited about it from the beginning. Sure, I know it's the right thing to do. I know I need it. I know that everyone else who has signed up is likely in the same boat, or one that at least looks similar. Hell, my husband signed up and "he's good at everything."
But then the reality happens. It's a 2-hour drive. It's an outdoor pool. It's going to be raining. I will be videotaped.
There are people out there who are TRUE triathletes. Not just people who complete a designated swim/bike/run to check it off the bucket list. These people live triathlons -- their workouts, their diets, their lifestyle. I am not one of these people. So maybe I've got a bit of the Impostor Syndrome going on here. I like to do triathlons for fun, for camaraderie with friends, a common thread with my husband, as motivation for my workouts (note: this motivation mainly lies in being able to eat and drink what I want -- and to look reasonable in a swimming suit). I'm competitive by nature, so I do them to compete with myself and get better each time, but I'm no die-hard. That's what I'm getting at.
So, as I continue my week-long commitment to no-carbs-except-red-wine diet on this Friday evening, I contemplate the fear that is before me. I am confident I won't be the worst swimmer, nor will I look the worst in my swimming suit. Even if I am, I have committed and I will finish the clinic and my training will benefit from it. That's what I keep telling myself.
Which do you fear more?
Monday, February 1, 2010
DogGONE Scared
February 2009. I was out to dinner in Palo Alto with my friend Gordon Wells. When we get together, he and I sit there for many hours and talk about everything and nothing over several bottles of wine. I wasn't paying attention to the many text messages that I was receiving from my husband while we were chatting. Now, if you know Greg, you know he isn't the type to incessantly text me -- especially when he knows I'm out with Gordon. Usually the only messages I get from him are, "Did you feed the dog?" Well, not this time. It had to do with the dog, but not whether he had been fed.
Greg was inquiring if I had Argus with me, if I had dropped him off at a friend's, and if I otherwise knew of his whereabouts. I calmly replied "no" to all of these questions and made no rush to end my dinner with Gordon. The truth of the matter is that Argus gets out of the gate somewhat often. He goes down to the creek or mills around our little cul de sac and comes home. I figured this is what had happened. Unfortunately, Argus didn't have his collar on that would let people know he belonged to us. Oh no.
It wasn't until Greg called me, frantically searching for him with no luck, that I abruptly bid Gordon farewell and started to think about the reality of Argus being gone. Of course, Greg had searched all of the usual haunts and had talked to all of the neighbors -- no one had seen him. He was GONE. While I drove toward San Mateo, I called friends and they started looking for Argus as well. Before going home, I stopped at each of our two dog parks, calling his name and running around trying to find him. I was now starting to panic. I went home and lost it when I saw Greg. He was distraught as well. We continued looking for a couple of hours and resigned ourselves to go to bed and start anew in the morning. It was raining, but we left the back of Greg's Element open and a bowl of food there. We've never known our Argus to turn down a meal... It was a restless night for both of us and we woke early to get a jump on the search efforts.
The following morning, we both called in to work and spent the morning looking for Argus. I quickly made up a flyer with a picture representative of Argus' distinctive face and size. The SPCA opened at 11 AM, so we canvassed the neighborhood to pass the time. A few people thought they had seen him, but the leads went nowhere. We were so exhausted by this time we didn't know what to do, other than hope beyond hope that someone had found him and turned him into the pound. We had really started to come to terms with the fact that he might never come back. That someone had taken him in and that we'd lost him forever. It really felt quite desperate.
Finally, the SPCA opened and we were one of the first ones there. We had to fill out a form with his physical characteristics and the nature of what had happened. The lady took us back to where they keep all the strays. It was a T-intersection down a hallway, where we first turned left and walked a long hallway of "jail cells" where barking dogs were pleading for us to choose them. Argus wasn't there. The pit in my stomach was worsening, reality setting in. We headed down the right side of the "T" and got to the last cell. Argus was there! I could not imagine the amount of relief that I felt when we saw him! We knew it was him -- true to Argus' form, he snapped at his cellmate once he saw us, like the jerk he can be. Greg was in tears the moment he saw him. I was in shock, I think. I had cried my tears and started to go through the grieving process of having lost him. I give Greg all the credit for keeping hope alive.
The bottom line is that we diverted disaster and it was a terrible fear that had set into both of us. Wait -- all three of us. Argus wound up at the SPCA because he had either wandered four blocks up to the fire station or someone had found him and turned him in there. The kind firemen deposited him at the SPCA's collection center around 11 PM that night. He spent a long, cold, lonely night by himself in a pen and I'm sure that it wasn't pleasant. He had to have been terrified that we wouldn't come for him.
Greg and I discussed how he could have possibly gotten out of the gate, what would have made him run and not come back, every possible scenario. We assumed the wind must have opened the gate enough for him to wedge his way out. Or perhaps someone had opened the gate enough for him to get out. What came up later -- very much as an after-thought -- was that Greg mentioned that when he got home, the smoke alarm was beeping that its battery was low.
Fast forward one year.
Stay with me here. I realize this is a long story made even longer...
We were in Tahoe this past weekend, and I'd taken Argus on a strenuous 6-mile hike involving a lot of elevation gain as well as him "post-holing" where his paws sink into very steep snow and he's working hard with every step. That dog slept for a couple of hours while we grabbed beers and slept the entire drive home. He was dog-tired! We were shocked when he was itching to get out of the house this morning around 5 AM. Greg let him out and he instantly went for the gate, pawed it open, and started to make a run for it. This NEVER happens, especially not at 5 AM. Greg corralled him and brought him into the bed with us, telling me what had happened. Argus was between us, panting like he was under a lot of stress. His stomach started making funny noises, so I thought I'd let him out and watch him.
He did the same thing -- bee-line for the gate and started to let himself out. I told him to wait (which he obediently did, amazingly), I donned my robe and slippers, and grabbed a leash. This dog took off like a bullet! I let him get around the block and realized he just wanted to sniff at and pee on the same things as always -- he just wanted out of the house! I made him come back home. He was very hesitant to come in the house. As I was waiting at the door for him --
Beep!
A-ha! I waited under the smoke alarm in the kitchen. Nothing. I waited in the guest room. Nothing. I went to the basement and found that its battery was almost dead and the alarm was beeping every 30 seconds or so. THIS is what had driven our dog to run both times. I took the battery out and invited Argus back to bed with us, proud of my sleuthing skills!
It's a vicious cycle to think of how frightened Argus was of the beeping -- enough to make him run -- then to think of how scared we were of losing him. Even with him just panting and obviously in stress so early this morning, I wanted to help him and fix whatever it was. I am thankful to know what causes this kind of stress in him, that the gate needs to be locked every night, and that I burned off the calories from that last beer from all the worry (not to mention if anyone had seen me running in my bathrobe and slippers!).
My new technique to get my lazy dog to run with me is to make the smoke alarm beep right before it's time to go for a run. Let's see how many calories we can both burn the old fashioned way!
Greg was inquiring if I had Argus with me, if I had dropped him off at a friend's, and if I otherwise knew of his whereabouts. I calmly replied "no" to all of these questions and made no rush to end my dinner with Gordon. The truth of the matter is that Argus gets out of the gate somewhat often. He goes down to the creek or mills around our little cul de sac and comes home. I figured this is what had happened. Unfortunately, Argus didn't have his collar on that would let people know he belonged to us. Oh no.
It wasn't until Greg called me, frantically searching for him with no luck, that I abruptly bid Gordon farewell and started to think about the reality of Argus being gone. Of course, Greg had searched all of the usual haunts and had talked to all of the neighbors -- no one had seen him. He was GONE. While I drove toward San Mateo, I called friends and they started looking for Argus as well. Before going home, I stopped at each of our two dog parks, calling his name and running around trying to find him. I was now starting to panic. I went home and lost it when I saw Greg. He was distraught as well. We continued looking for a couple of hours and resigned ourselves to go to bed and start anew in the morning. It was raining, but we left the back of Greg's Element open and a bowl of food there. We've never known our Argus to turn down a meal... It was a restless night for both of us and we woke early to get a jump on the search efforts.
The following morning, we both called in to work and spent the morning looking for Argus. I quickly made up a flyer with a picture representative of Argus' distinctive face and size. The SPCA opened at 11 AM, so we canvassed the neighborhood to pass the time. A few people thought they had seen him, but the leads went nowhere. We were so exhausted by this time we didn't know what to do, other than hope beyond hope that someone had found him and turned him into the pound. We had really started to come to terms with the fact that he might never come back. That someone had taken him in and that we'd lost him forever. It really felt quite desperate.
Finally, the SPCA opened and we were one of the first ones there. We had to fill out a form with his physical characteristics and the nature of what had happened. The lady took us back to where they keep all the strays. It was a T-intersection down a hallway, where we first turned left and walked a long hallway of "jail cells" where barking dogs were pleading for us to choose them. Argus wasn't there. The pit in my stomach was worsening, reality setting in. We headed down the right side of the "T" and got to the last cell. Argus was there! I could not imagine the amount of relief that I felt when we saw him! We knew it was him -- true to Argus' form, he snapped at his cellmate once he saw us, like the jerk he can be. Greg was in tears the moment he saw him. I was in shock, I think. I had cried my tears and started to go through the grieving process of having lost him. I give Greg all the credit for keeping hope alive.
The bottom line is that we diverted disaster and it was a terrible fear that had set into both of us. Wait -- all three of us. Argus wound up at the SPCA because he had either wandered four blocks up to the fire station or someone had found him and turned him in there. The kind firemen deposited him at the SPCA's collection center around 11 PM that night. He spent a long, cold, lonely night by himself in a pen and I'm sure that it wasn't pleasant. He had to have been terrified that we wouldn't come for him.
Greg and I discussed how he could have possibly gotten out of the gate, what would have made him run and not come back, every possible scenario. We assumed the wind must have opened the gate enough for him to wedge his way out. Or perhaps someone had opened the gate enough for him to get out. What came up later -- very much as an after-thought -- was that Greg mentioned that when he got home, the smoke alarm was beeping that its battery was low.
Fast forward one year.
Stay with me here. I realize this is a long story made even longer...
We were in Tahoe this past weekend, and I'd taken Argus on a strenuous 6-mile hike involving a lot of elevation gain as well as him "post-holing" where his paws sink into very steep snow and he's working hard with every step. That dog slept for a couple of hours while we grabbed beers and slept the entire drive home. He was dog-tired! We were shocked when he was itching to get out of the house this morning around 5 AM. Greg let him out and he instantly went for the gate, pawed it open, and started to make a run for it. This NEVER happens, especially not at 5 AM. Greg corralled him and brought him into the bed with us, telling me what had happened. Argus was between us, panting like he was under a lot of stress. His stomach started making funny noises, so I thought I'd let him out and watch him.
He did the same thing -- bee-line for the gate and started to let himself out. I told him to wait (which he obediently did, amazingly), I donned my robe and slippers, and grabbed a leash. This dog took off like a bullet! I let him get around the block and realized he just wanted to sniff at and pee on the same things as always -- he just wanted out of the house! I made him come back home. He was very hesitant to come in the house. As I was waiting at the door for him --
Beep!
A-ha! I waited under the smoke alarm in the kitchen. Nothing. I waited in the guest room. Nothing. I went to the basement and found that its battery was almost dead and the alarm was beeping every 30 seconds or so. THIS is what had driven our dog to run both times. I took the battery out and invited Argus back to bed with us, proud of my sleuthing skills!
It's a vicious cycle to think of how frightened Argus was of the beeping -- enough to make him run -- then to think of how scared we were of losing him. Even with him just panting and obviously in stress so early this morning, I wanted to help him and fix whatever it was. I am thankful to know what causes this kind of stress in him, that the gate needs to be locked every night, and that I burned off the calories from that last beer from all the worry (not to mention if anyone had seen me running in my bathrobe and slippers!).
My new technique to get my lazy dog to run with me is to make the smoke alarm beep right before it's time to go for a run. Let's see how many calories we can both burn the old fashioned way!
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