On the rebound...

So - just putting it out there because I know all of you will keep me honest.  Hitting the bricks tomorrow and heading to CrossFit for my first workout since last week...

Update with how that goes tomorrow!

Running on Empty

In my last post, I mentioned that I was going to focus on rest and recovery.  That was over a week ago and I really didn't think I'd be gone from blog-world quite that long.  But I have been
E-X-H-A-U-S-T-E-D.  To the point, where I did not feel I am the energy to do anything on the periphery.  Unfortunately, this blog fell into that very zone.

So.   The triathlon.  Survived the sharks.  With the help of my son's bad a#$ shirt and vicious snarl. He revealed the shirt just before I entered the water. And really - what shark would want to get near this?  They (because I was thinking of a big school of sharks) were probably thinking. "Whoa, already a  nasty great white patrolling this beach.  We're out."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....

The funny thing is, I did not know Luke had this shirt on until I was almost ready to get into the water for the swim.  Here's the proof...when we first arrived.  Luke looking p.o. 'ed because the Bruegger bagel life-size puppet scared him.  He WAS scary looking.

I don't want to see the bagel man...

 Swam my slowest time evah.  Quite a disappointment.  But with my lack of preparation, not surprising.  And contrary to what others had told me, my CrossFit workouts did NOT prepare me for the half-mile open water swim.  After I was done, I was beyond tired - but relieved.  It was over.

Note the look of relief on my face.  I think Luke was making sure the bagel did not get near us...he was snarky.

Onto the next challenge.  Samantha's 1st Birthday Party the following day.  Because in rating the weekend's chaos factor, it was pretty high.  At least I had the good sense to schedule the party later in the day.  In any case, the party was a hit.  Samantha had a super time...and I think her party guests did,too. 

But after that party was over and the next morning rolled around, I was literally tired to the core.  You know that feeling?  When you wake up feeling like you never slept...and there wasn't any alcohol to blame.  That's what I was feeling.  Totally spent.  But - my duties called.  Kids dressed and fed, trucked over to their grandmother's, me into work for a blessed Monday late-night schedule 'til 9pm.  Home, wind down, to bed at 11ish.

Next day, pretty much the same. No late night...thankfully that's a once weekly occurrence.  But - up to CrossFit for a class that night.  Gotta get back in the saddle. Go hard or go home as they say.   Left the class completely beat.  No surprise. 

Next morning.  Wake up. I feel as though I cannot even get out of bed.  And this is my day off from work. Something is wrong.  I am definitely not feeling well.  Almost a little flu-like.  But - I soldier on.  I gots kids to care for!

Next day.  I call the doctor.  Go in to my appointment with her.. Me: Dr. - I'm feeling these XYZ symptoms.  Yup, she says.  Sounds like ABC illness. You need antibiotics.  And take it easy.  Sounds like you need to slow down.  Sounds like you are running on empty.  Hmmm. I think she's right.  Of course.  She's a DOCTOR.

Ahhhh.  The almighty doctor's permission to slow it down.  But clearly. I could have given myself that permission...say...on Tuesday?  After the weekend swim adventure, birthday celebration for 30 guests and late - night at work.  Nope.  COULD NOT DO IT.

I grabbed myself a sweet tea from McD's on the way home from the doctor's office.  It's a vice that I am trying to steer clear since I am pretty sure it is just caramel colored water with some sugar heavily infused into it. Zero nutritional value. But so freakin' tasty. AND - they always put too much ice in there so you get through the whole 32 oz. in about eight good gulps of the straw.  Then I am left shaking the big Styrofoam container (another reason, I refrain.  Styrofoam...the anti-environmental container). 

Shaking the Styrofoam.  Hoping that some last little bit will trickle down to the bottom so I can suck up just one more little sip.  But it's empty.  But I keep shaking it. Sipping air through the straw. I have seen others do the same with their cups of soda.  Why?  Because we all rally against running on empty.  Because sometimes with the right shake of the cup...the right rattle of the ice in the container...we are rewarded with just a little bit of liquid goodness to make us believe there is more left...that we are not empty.

I am here to tell you...empty is empty. And that last little bit of stuff you can summon up from the bottom of the "empty" container.   It's the sign that you, too, are a believer that you can get more out of empty.  But I'm hear to tell you that sometimes it's okay just to admit that it's empty and take a break...

OR - Keep rattlin' the cup and keep believin'.  I get it.

For those of you waiting for some reference to Jackson Browne's song by the same name, sorry to disappoint.  But - I do clearly remember my sister bringing home the album, putting the record on the turntable and checking out the cover art.  For those of you to young to remember or know what I'm talking about...here it is.  When albums were art...good times.

Rest and Recovery

So there are three parts to this whole shape-up challenge.  Work out four times a week. Follow a basic, sensible eating plan.  Rest and recovery.

It is now time for the rest and recovery to take place.  But not really. I am going to take the next 48 hours to focus on getting my body not to ache so that I can swim a 1/2 mile in a relay triathlon on Saturday. You read that right...a half mile swim.  With the possibily of my sharky friends taking part (very remote chance, but still a chance). 

In order to understand why I need rest and recovery, I will paste the link for CrossFit.  I love it.  I really do.  But it beats me up. EVERY SINGLE TIME.  And I still love it. 

You will understand.  Watch the video. 

See you Saturday.  After I conquer my swim with the sharks!

Think me some small fish thoughts...

http://crossfitprovidence.com/start-here/watch-the-video/

The Couple That Plays Together Stays Together

I am not a fan of tired, trite sayings that could have been pulled from the cover of some insanely obvious guide to self-help. No sir.  "You Are What You Eat"..."Actions Speak Louder Than Words"..."The Couple That Plays Together Stays Together."

Quite frankly they lack creativity AND they are not true. Case in point to the above - I am not a creamy hunk of chevre,  actions cannot, by their very nature, speak and I know a lot of couples who played around plenty, but have since parted ways.

Or in reference to the last saying, and the title of this post, there are couples who don't really have time to play and DO stay together. 

Like my husband and I.  We met about eight years ago, married very soon after that and now have three children ages 6 1/2 years old, 3 years old and almost a year.  Throw in two jobs, two dogs, three cats and an aviary hobby into the mix and there isn't a whole lot of play time to be had. 

Sure.  When we first met we hiked mountains, birdwatched, traveled, went to the theatre, cooked together, browsed in quaint little shops and generally enjoyed our down time together. But judging by the simple math equation above, our courtship was rather, shall we say, abbreviated.  Cut short by the demands that come along with having parental responsibilities and...stuff.

But I started to think.  Play we have.  Just in different ways.  We now take our three kids hiking...to our public state parks, not techincal mountain trails.  We travel with our three kids...to Santa's Village theme park, not snorkeling in the Keys.  We go shopping together with our kids...to BJ's instead of those cute little stores.

And now this shape-up challenge.  We are doing it together. And it's different.  No kids.  Just us. OK.  I don't know if these body-breaking workouts can be considered play, but it is something that we are doing just for us.  Maybe even a little selfish.  But it feels good. 

Almost a little like play.

The Scales of Justice

One of my favorite images.  The Scales of Justice.  There are many renditions.  My favorite depiction is of a  blind-folded, Rubenesque woman laden in sensuous robes holding scales of justice out before her.  Lady Justice.  Iconic.

 It really is an image that speaks a thousand words. That the scales tip impartially, blind to any favor or prejudice.  Beautiful, isn't it?

Not so tonight, friends.  The Scales were downright cruel.  And I shouldn't place sweeping blame on all scales.  It was just the one up at CrossFit. 

Coach Mike: "Hey, Stephanie. Mind if I get your weight? For a whole, before and after thing."  Me: "Yeah, no problem. I already know what I weigh.  I weigh XXX."
Coach Mike: "Good. It'll be super quick."

  Here's the whole image playing out in my mind as I step on the scale.  The daydream goes something like this...As he fiddles with sliding the weights back and forth and settles on a final spot,Coach Mike proclaims,"Wow.  You must be mistaken because you are so much lighter than that according to this scale."  I coyly admit that I suspected it might have dropped. That I knew the hard work and commitment was going to show up on the scale.  Albeit much quicker than I expected.  He'd give me a pat on the back and tell me to keep on truckin'. 

That was the daydream.  The reality is that I only dropped a measly half pound!  After working my tail off for the last two weeks, four times a week.  Ok...Ok. Healthy weight loss does occur slowly.  I still have faith in The Scales. 

Until. . .

My dad's turn to weigh in.  Remember he's doing this challenge with me along with my husband, Ray. He gets up there..."Gosh.  I really need to lose some weight. I'm up to XXX." Mike fiddles with the sliding thingies.  Coach: "Wow, Mike. You've actually dropped six pounds. Keep up the good work!"  Pat,pat on the shoulder.

Wait.  WAIT! That was my moment!  That was my atta-boy...my pat on the back.  Son of a . . .

The scales are cruel, I muttered to myself.  And for a moment I was deeply disappointed...until I realized how proud I was of my dad.  And that completely overshadowed my fleeting personal disappointment.  How great it is that his hard work is paying off in spades. 

It's not a number on the scale.  I know that.  But we all become fixated on that all important magic number.  I vow not to get that way.  I vow not to curse Lady Justice again.

As long as she takes off that silly blindfold to make sure she knows to tip her fancy scales my way.
 Next time.


And this just in - Ray apparently lost weight, too.  Good for you, honey.  Good for you. I will not get fixated, I will not get fixated...

Sensing my irritation (and hearing a few whispered choice nuggets) Drum roll...his save attempt ensues (guys, you appreciate this one.  you fellas try.  you really do): "Well, I wish I weighed heavier like you."   Me: "What???!".  Him: "So I would have more lost at the end."  Nice play, as Nick would say.  Nice play.

FRONT PAGE NEWS: Good weird

Today was the much anticipated day that the Thrive section of the Projo ran the story on the Reunion Shape-Up...
It was not THE front page.  But it was the front page of the Thrive section.  http://www.projo.com/news/content/thrive_reunion_shapeup_08-09-10_KLJC1HP_v38.fc68af.html

I think I am one of a small group of people that still gets the paper delivered to my house every day. Me and the handful of senior citizens on my street.   Why is that?  I mean, you can read the news online.  But there is nothing like picking up the paper and actually  unfolding the sections, turning the pages and hearing the rustling of the newsprint while sipping a cup (or three) of coffee.  I do it every morning.  Even if only for a few minutes.  I'm old school.

In any event, I go out to the back step (because that's where I ask our paper girl to throw it in case I cannot venture any further due to screaming children holding me hostage in my own home), pick up the paper, unwrapping it as I go in. I go directly to the Thrive section.  My first thought, "Oh MY."

It was "crazy pose".  The one pose I did after all the rest.

Crazy pose disclaimer:  I did not think the photo shoot would be full body length.  Or else the wardrobe selection would have been different.  That pose was my rendition of doing something "fun".  Why I thought opening my mouth and lifting up one leg was fun?  No answer.  The photographer asked for fun and that's what I came up with. What are you gonna do?  I know I could have given him something better had there been wine and some funky, get-me-started-and-in-the-mood music.  But that would be a different photo shoot. One that  would  never  be published in the Projo.  Or anywhere for that matter. 

I showed my son Luke the paper. His first words: "Mom, you look weird. You're wearing high-heel sandals with shorts. I just don't think it goes very well.  And your mouth is wide open."  Yes, Son, Yes.  He is obviously genetically predisposed to his father's honesty disease.  Clearly.  But - hearing my deep sigh, he adds quickly, "But it looks good. Good weird."   Is there such a thing?!

Yes.  I think so.  I think it is good to be a little weird sometimes. To go just a wee bit past the point where you feel comfortable, to where you feel a bit weird.  What a great example for my kids.  To show them it's okay to be a little nutty, a little outside the box. 

Good weird.  I like it.

Great White Shark attacks Triathlete Swimmer in Narragansett Bay

Ok...Ok.  That claim is completely false.  But it has been on my mind for the last week or so since there was a great white shark sighted off the coast of Westport, MA.  Just a short swim from Narrangansett Bay where I will be swimming next week.  I mean those things can swim pretty fast.  Who's to say it's not going to pop in for a little visit?

Something very odd has happened to me in the last few years.  I have actually become...I even hate to say the word...afraid.  Afraid of open - water swimming.  There.  I said it.

The fear of open - water swimming is pretty common.  And by open - water, I mean out in the ocean.  Not the bay or a lake or pond.  To a body of water connected directly to the Atlantic or some other ocean. 

The thing is, I used to love getting out there. I love the sea and everything that goes along with it.  I lifeguarded at the ocean as a teenager and would swim a good quarter mile out just for fun, splash around and swim back in.  I grew up spending summers  at my grandmother's house on the beach in Westport, MA (yes...the very place of the recent sightings) paddling about without a care in the world.  I would even sometimes swim for distance way out, goggles on, parallel to the shore and see the fish darting about along the ocean floor and sometimes feel them nibble at my toes (I think it was the silver toe ring - all the rage back then). I felt like I was one with the ocean.  Peaceful. Nothing but my own breath through the water and the sounds of my own limbs stroking through the peaceful silence.

Then I got a little older.  And I noticed something.  Now when I saw the fish swim around below me, I started to think..."Hmmm.  I wonder if there is a bigger fish chasing that little fish that I should be worried about."  Then a little while later, I watched an episode featured on Shark Week. Big mistake.  Now instead of worrying about big fish chasing little fish, I am now worried about big sharks chasing little fish...or people. 

Fast forward to the present. Here I am getting nervous about the open-water swim that I am doing as part of a relay team with my husband and his brother next Saturday.  I do the half-mile swim, my husband does the 12 mile bike and his brother does the 3 mile run.

Nervous because I don't think I've done a swim workout since the last triathlon we did two years ago (last year I just had a baby - like I need to justify). But mainly nervous because of this whole shark sighting thing this week...and ironically, it's Shark Week on Discovery Channel. You catch my drift. 

So I say to my husband, Ray, this morning, "I am a little worried about the open water swim with the shark sighting and everything."  Ray, "No worries.  With all that commotion, there won't be any sharks." Me, "Or, with all that commotion, the shark will think it's a feeding frenzy." Ray, *Chuckle* "I guess you have a point."  WAAAANNNH. WRONG ANSWER!!! But you have to know my husband.  He is honest.  To a fault.  Obviously. 

 I let it go.  But my fear of a great white shark lurking in the Narragansett Bay is completely unfounded.  Right?  Turns out it is actually quite possible. Ah. We live in the digital age.  Of course, I've done a little research.  Turns out there was a 14 footer in a salt pond, yes - a salt pond, in Cape Cod in 2004.  Narrangansett Bay is way more hospitable for a shark than a salt pond.  More room to roam.  More fish. More tasty humans. 

I also know, based on a little research, that most shark attacks do occur when people are riding boogie boards, surf boards or are wearing wet suits.  None of those factors apply to me.  I won't be using a boogie board (but I surely might need one).  I don't mind the water this time of year. It's actually quite warm.  So - no wet suit.  I'm golden.

It's a mental thing.  I have actually discovered that most challenging situations in life do require mental strength.  This shape-up challenge requires my mental strength in knowing that I will get better every day and achieve better personal results.  This open swim requires me just to do what I need to do and swim. 

Mental toughness. Commitment.  Humility.  Personal Goals.  Get them all together and you pretty much guarantee success on some level.  It's something that I see in action when I go to CrossFit to do my workouts.It's actually a perfect fit with what I have going on. So I know I can do this open water swim.

And I will stay away from the swimmers in wet suits.  Just in case.

Lessons in Humility at CrossFit Providence

Lessons in Humility.  I have a lot of lessons in humility in my daily living.  And I mean lessons in humility in a good way.

Some folks hear the word, "humility" and immediately think of the feeling they had when someone opened up the door to the restroom they were using. The whole..."Sorry, one minute. I'm almost finished" situation. That feeling would be embarrassment.  I obsessively check all bathroom locks, by the way.

When I think of humility, I think of my overall realization that I have huge room for improvement. Recently, I stood at the top of my stairs, monitoring two screaming sons "resting" in their rooms, feeling like I was spiraling into Dante's Inferno, I felt humility.  (Did it really all escalate over a ruined paper airplane?).  I could definitely be a better parent.

I never really felt humility during a workout.  Frustration? Yes.  Exhaustion? Absolutely. Embarrassment? Yup

That all changed this past week.  This week was my first "real" week of workouts at CrossFit Providence. I really didn't know what to expect.  I mean, I knew it would be intense. The introductory classes were challenging the week before (remember the whole nausea thing?). 

So.  After my first class with Coach G. guiding me through a grueling workout of Burpee Clean and Jerks, box jumps and chest - to - bar pull-ups I was completely spent.  I leaned over to stretch and he asked me, "How do you feel?" And I immediately replied breathlessly, "humiliated".  I did.  I feel like I have so much to learn about technique and just about figuring out what the workout words mean.  A Burpee Clean and Jerk has not been part of my vocabulary in the last 38 years. 

And let me tell you...I went to Coach G.'s class two more times this week.  This guy is so positive, motivating and PATIENT.  He must have put me into the rubber bands at the pull-up bars a dozen times and never rolled his eyes or made me feel like a pain in the a**.  (Basically, I need to be in large rubber bands around my feet to even get me up to the bar at this point). I watched as everyone moved through the movements, seemingly knowing what they were doing.

But I feel bad.  Because I really think that Coach G thinks that I meant that I was embarrassed. But I wasn't embarrassed.  I should have said "humbled".  It is humbling to realize that I have some lofty goals ahead of me. Humbling to know that I am the beginner.  It motivates me.

My son used to have a snack or a juice bag that had clever little quotes on them.  I have been thinking of this one quote all week, but have not been able to find where exactly I've seen it. Please let me know if you find it.

It was something like this though...

"Even the mighty oak was once just an acorn."

A nut just like me...

The opposite of "shape-up"...

So the last couple of days, I have been trying to think of a reason why this blog, my personal fitness journey, is of any significant consequence to anyone but myself.  Because if it really doesn't benefit anyone but me, I could very easily just keep a running journal of my ramblings.

I tried to think about what got me here.  Why did I suddenly feel the need to "shape-up"?  Well.  I am the opposite of shaped-up. But what is that exactly?  The opposite of UP is DOWN.  That's not it. (Although gravity has not been kind in some regards, but I think that's another post on my feelings on cosmetic surgery). I think I have shaped OUT.  Way out.  Three times exactly. 

I know that I mentioned in passing that I have three children.  They're all under the age of six.  It's not like I'm wearing it like a badge of honor.  Lots of people have three children of very young ages.  My particular claim to fame is that I gained over 50 pounds with each pregnancy.  I am not a small woman - I go just over 5'8" - so fifty pounds is a lot of weight but not completely unmanageable.  Amazingly, I managed to lose most of the weight each time.  Unfortunately, after the third time, the remaining weight that hung around each time racked up to be over 20 pounds.  And now I'm getting to the shaped out part...my body just looks different.

My stomach is soft and a tad bit protruding in the center.  My thighs curve out, and then in and then out again.  I am pretty sure there is one more curve than necessary there.  My arms can lift two small children at a moment's notice and carry them quite a distance.  But there again, my upper arms are padded in matronly goodness. 

I cannot say that I am fat.  I am overweight.  Shaped-out.  And quite the opposite of this challenge, whose goal is to be  shaped - up.

Circling back.  Why does this matter to anyone but me?  Because I really think hearing about my struggle to get back in shape may inspire someone to do the same.  Not some moment from the movie, "Rocky", where masses of citizens run up the steps of the State House.  I mean, just a small personal change for better physical and mental wellness.

Food for thought . . .

A DEFINITION FROM FREEDICTIONARY.COM 
Phrasal Verb:



shape up


1. Informal To turn out; develop.


2. To improve so as to meet a standard: Either shape up or ship out.



I am choosing my standard.  I want to feel better about myself...just be healthier. 

Shape up or Ship out?

I am not getting on any ship.

"You will look like Jillian, only taller..."

And with that small inspiring phrase from a good friend, I see the light at the end of the tunnel...I can and will do this Projo Shape-Up challenge.

It started with a short reply to a request in the Projo looking for volunteers wanting to "shape up" for their reunion.  Well, I wasn't exactly looking to get in shape for my reunion. Well...let me correct myself.  I am not overly concerned about getting in shape just  for the sake of my high school reunion.   I graduated from an all - girl  high school and I am not looking to show any ex-boyfriend how well I've fared after three kids (but I have heard co-ed reunions do entail a little of that pressure).  But of course - who doesn't want to look good when connecting with folks they haven't seen in twenty years?  Kind of like running into someone you haven't seen in ages at the market when you stop in to pick up one item...after digging in your garden for hours in the blazing sun.  Not pretty.  And yes, that has happened to me.  Many times.  This reunion challenge provides me with the reason.


In any event, I sent my reply thinking that my note would be one of dozens looking to get on board with the whole reunion challenge.  Mine would never even get picked.  But - even if I wasn't picked I had a new goal date...yes.  My reunion.  I would become physically fit by that date.  It was decided. 

I would rise at the day's first light to walk...no run...around the loop in my neighborhood.  I would refrain from all cheese and wine.  I would break up with my bad food habits! Not that I eat BAD food...it's just that I eat waaaaaaaay too much good food.  Smoked salmon on little crostini with cream cheese and capers is a tasty snack once a day.  Not the three times a day that the salty little treats find their way into my mouth. 

However, it was only decided for about 72 hours.  I walked one evening with my friend around the loop.  I even refrained from my small glass of wine that I like to enjoy after the kids are in bed. Then - back to the old habits.  Rats!

"You've been invited to join the challenge..." The email appeared in my inbox.  GREAT!! Oh yes.  This is just what I need.  Yes, I reply. Of course I will join in the challenge.

Fast forward...take my photo at the Providence Journal downtown.  Check.

Show up for three foundations classes at CrossFit in Providence on three separate evenings. NO problem.

Might as well get started...the First Class of three.  Whew.

The first foundations class left me wondering...How??! HOW did I let myself get so terribly out of shape?  As I struggled to get through the weighted bar squats, wall-balls, and pull-ups, I kept telling myself...I CAN do this.  And I did.  I am no quitter.  At least not in the middle of the workout. 

I made it...I made it through the class.  I make it to my car.  Sitting there in the parking lot, I called my husband. I tell him, "I think I may throw up."  His reply: "It has to get better. Just come home".  Hmm. Not what I'm looking for. I call my dad.  "Dad, I think I may throw up.  And THIS is only the very first class."  His reply: "Ooh. That sounds pretty bad.  But you can do it." Fine.  I call my good friend D.   Me:  "I feel like I want to DIE." Him: "Well, I certainly couldn't do that routine. You couldn't pay me to endure that type of torture. But you birthed three kids, for g*d's sake. And besides, you're tough.  If anyone can get through it, YOU can."  Great, just great.  Put the key in the igntion.  Roll down the windows to keep the nausea at bay.  Drive home. 

I was begging for someone to tell me I was crazy.  Just throw in the towel. Not happening tonight.

Next day, I call my girlfriend early the next morning.  The one I committed to walking at the crack of dawn.  Yeah.  She's already awake and probably already walked the loop and painted half her house by now.  All before I've had my second cup of coffee.   Obviously, she's not someone who  shies away from hard work.  But, I do see her as a reasonable person.  Someone whose good judgement will steer me away from this workout insanity.

Me:  "J. You won't BE - lieve the routine I did last night."  I go through every movement in painstaking detail. I compare the whole night to an episode of the show, Biggest Loser. The pain, the agony, my inability to sit down without excruciating difficulty.  J. replies with some slight sympathy but also words of encouragement.

 But the one thing I remember are the few final words J. uttered that morning which were something like this, "But just think at the end of all this, you will look just like Jillian, only taller."  I laughed.  She laughed.  We both laughed. I DON'T remotely resemble Jillian Michaels.  But there you have it...

No great accomplishment happens without effort.  It's the effort that makes the success so sweet.  I can do it. 

I will look like Jillian - only taller.