Hammock Swing: Take 2

Remember the entry from January "Everyone should own a hammock swing," and the more recent, "Snapped out of it?" Well this is hopefully the finale--an end of a great trilogy of backs and forth's. I grabbed a little bit of money and bought myself a new swing. I had a horrible gaping hole in my chest from the last "Fall out." It is the kind of ache that can only be patched by feeling once again the thrill of being "Weightless as a mouse fart." Well, I know now that this cannot be, at least not entirely. One must remember Newton's laws before attempting weightlessness. So, for round two, I changed a few things. First, I bought a hammock that was made out of nylon, not cotton--more sturdy for Ms. Purdy. Second, I found one that had a weight limit 100 pounds above the last. Third, I let it hang only two inches above the ground so the next fall (knock knock on wood) wouldn't break my butt. And finally, I decided to follow the warnings, "Do not spin or swing on this chair!" Isn't she a beauty?--looks much more expensive than reality, but that is all I am going to say about the price. I don't want to talk down to her and jeopardize her confidence in holding me for many weeks to come. What has become of me? I have only had the thing two days and I am already personifying it like a creepy mechanic who tunes up a 56' Chevy, pets it daily with a greasy rag and calls it "Veronica." My dear husband saw it, quipped about how we shouldn't buy such things, plopped in, and the hammock cradled his doubts slowly to sleep, HA! Anyway, the second time around I must eat my words--I am not weightless as a mouse fart. Instead I will say I am weightless as a large bowling ball dangling in a in a very secure harness from a branch of a tree. "Why would anyone hang a bowling ball in a harness from a tree?" I don't know, but then, why would big girl like me sit in another hammock after splitting on the pavement? I get it bowling ball, I get it. Just let the breeze take you away, and I will do the same.

Speed-Walker Prozac

Above is an orange blossom that I did FREE-hand on Paint. They are all abloom in town and it makes my walks absolutely delicious, and I snip a few here and there to bring home to my daughter. Although it's not silly or witty, I am most proud of this one because it actually looks like it could be a real piece of art--ok that's going too far, at least a tole-painting centerpiece, ok fine, it looks like a craft that you might think twice about throwing away, see the shading?? Anyway, for those of you wondering, I have been steadily walking every morning this week--a 5K every day. And I have begun to ignore the image of myself in my head--those swinging hips, and athletic top riding up, with a fresh loaf of flab bouncing about. I don't care anymore. I could look like a three-headed elephant and it wouldn't stop me at this point. I want this too bad to care about what the skinny runners think anymore. The knee thing really threw me for a loop though. I couldn't believe it but I actually MISSED running, I MISSED the horrible feeling of wanting to die, or was it that I missed the feeling of doing something that I never imagined I could do? Either way, I was in a slump for a good week and a half. I realized first hand that exercise can be a natural anti-depressant. And here is how I came to this realization: It was a Saturday night, about 5 days after I quit my regular 5K running, and I was sitting on the couch watching curling, yes, curling--the Olympic sport where they throw a rock down the ice, then sweep like a housekeeper on crack. I still don't know how the sport works, or why it is a sport for that matter, but there I was watching Canada a single rock-slide away from beating Norway (I think it was Norway) for the Gold. And all of a sudden the red-sprinkled arena broke into unison song--the Canadian national anthem. It was a spontaneous wave of support and praise for their ice-rock throwing heroes. Because I grew up just 30 minutes from the Canadian border, they taught us the US anthem AND the Canadian anthem. I knew the words and joined in with the crowd singing "Oh Canada," and then, alone on my couch, I started to cry. Maybe I was on the wrong end of a bad cycle, or maybe I just FELT for those guys and how hard they had worked sweeping that ice and skidding like Elvis Presley with a granite bowling ball. Whatever it was, I knew I had reached a new pathetic, but very funny low. It was time to kick my butt into shape again. I am happy to say that the regular speed walking has fixed my brain chemistry to where I feel completely on-track and motivated. So next time you find yourself tearing up over balding men on a slab of ice, know that it is time to rev-up your exercise routine.

Lucky Lil' Shamrock Drops

I am quite aware that my blog and writing style are very different from others within my demographic: young stay-at-home moms. I am very impressed by the crafts, projects, and food sprinkled across the mommy blogosphere. So I thought just this once I would include a little kitchen tid-bit of my own to show off to the world. Aren't they beautiful? Don't they make you feel just a little less festive and capable? Isn't my craft better than your craft? Oh good, mission accomplished. In all seriousness, some blogs are just so stinking beautiful. The families and accomplishments are just about perfect enough to make me want to vomit--oh the insecurities of a blog-stalker. I made these little things this morning; it is a red velvet cake recipe, but I used green food-color. The mini cupcakes are perfect for Saint Patty's day--cream cheese frosting and sprinkles put the cherry on top. "Why would you make such a fatty treat when you are trying to lose weight?" Actually I have been making LOTS of treats lately. It is an interesting method to overcome sweet cravings, but works really well for me. You see, when I am immersed in the baking process, I am inundated by aromas and textures: butter, cocoa, cream, chocolate, sugar, eggs, all of the naughty things that make up great treats. When the baked goods pop out of the oven, I already feel satiated. BUT, I must give them away quickly because if I let them hang around, I will forget all about the cooking process and stuff them down my throat. Also knowing that someone else will eat them is satisfying, and I say, "Eat an extra one for me." It is quite a good trick: fatten everyone around me so eventually I am the skinny one. Moouuhhaa huaa haaa haaa haaa.

A burning party and "Uplifting" news

I did it. I marched into the well manicured black, pink, and chrome etched store, plowed past the teeny tiny scandalous thongs and blurted to a clerk, "Where are your 40DD's?" She looked at me in disbelief, took a breath and said, "Um, ok, let's see here." One of those Victoria's Secret bras would be mine, and I was not going to leave until it was found. As she rummaged through drawers and drawers of undergarments, I imagined the poor bra with a big job ahead of it. I thought "It will be hard work to hold these monsters in, but you will have an owner and I will have the support I need to get my lady lumps moving north." Out of all the bras in that naughty place, they found me five styles, only FIVE bras that would fit my monstrosities. Stock up on your big-mama sizes ok!? So me and toddler rolled into the very back dressing room, I disrobed, took a deep breath, preparing myself mentally for the possibility that none of these holsters would fit (these things looked suitable as a double-hat for a gigantic two-headed monster). I snap, snap, snapped it on (yes, three clasps, halleluiah), put on my T-shirt and looked in the mirror. "Nice," I thought, then I bounced up and down, "Very nice!" I twirled around in a little victory dance and exclaimed, "Yayyyyy!" Ally said, "Mommy you are so beautiful!" And I felt beautiful. Whoever said that the right bra can make you look 10 pounds lighter was right, actually I think it was the bra lady on Oprah. I was comfortable and shapely, a grand improvement from the Wal-Mart thing that made me look like I had a tube balloon filled with fat wrapped around my front. So, I thought it might be fun to have a bra burning party, not in the 60's crazed feminist way, rather, in the I-am-sick-of-cheap-and-frumpy way. I feel uplifted quite literally. Oh and this morning I power walked a full 5K, it took me 45 minutes, pretty good for speed walking. And guess what haters and doubters, I am SORE ALL OVER from WALKING. Thanks again for your support, keep commenting, and next week I will update my stats. By the way, I strutted past the models spinning the bright pink bag around my finger, just to make sure they could see. HAH!

Pushing forward with power....walk

I'm really bummed because for some reason Google emailed me and said that I can no longer have ads on my blog--they said there was a violation of the click rules or something. Anyhow, I am going to continue with this blog despite that loss. But let's be serious it's not like I made huge bucks from the ads, it was just a little extra change that I could put toward rewarding myself. Many things have been testing my patience lately, but such is life: things happen. If I can pull through with all of the recent "downs," I will for sure make this healthy-living thing a life habit, Knee or no knee, running or no running, ads or no ads. The best reward from this blog is your feedback and no money could replace that, so I will not stop because I need you guys.

You may have been wondering what I am doing instead of running--remember in an earlier post when I was making fun of those speed-walkers in the 5K--well Karma decided that I needed to walk a few miles in their shoes---and I have. I am a power walker, although I do not know how to dislocate my hip so I can propel my legs forward. You need to look at a YouTube video to understand what I am talking about. Here it is, look at the girl at about 28 seconds

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efIy19eCAiM&feature=related

The benefits of walking include: no pressure on my joints, keeps a nice, low, but fat-burning heart rate, and I don't feel like I am going to die (this is my favorite benefit). But of course no form of exercise is perfect and here are the downsides: First, I have to focus. If any of you know me well, you know that focusing on ANYTHING is not my strong suit. I really have to think "Ok, walk, now, walk, walk, walk, don't slow down to look at that bird pooping on the red car, it is time to walk girl!" But you might say that the slower pace is a benefit because I can enjoy nature with a clearer mind, but for me, the pretty little birds and mother nature are both very distracting. Second, I have to listen to a very specific kind of music to keep my legs motivated. Sarah Brightman and Enya were fine when I was running, it was great to have anything distract me from the PAIN, but now the soft sounds make me want to dawdle in the street and stare in the distance awkwardly until some stranger walks by and thinks, "What is she doing, is she ok?" And lastly, I MUST wake up at 6:00 am in order to make the workout worthwhile. While running I could get away with 6:20 or even 6:30, but try WALKING a 5K in 30 minutes, not going to happen. Overall I am very excited, and I can't wait until I get that little hip-gyrate down-pat, then people will pass and say, "Wow that girl would be a great hula dancer." Isn't that what we all hope for when we exercise? 

Back in the Saddle

Hiatus is officially over. I am writing this in my computer nook with new, fixed internet. I don't know, it just didn't feel the same--writing posts on word, saving them, and posting them somewhere else. It's like doing target practice with rubber bullets or singing to a wall--it didn't have that same "LIVE" feeling. There is something thrilling about having the power to click and publish. The internet man was at our house for a good 3.5 hours yesterday, and every time he came back from a trip to the van my daughter would say, "Oh there's the man, Is he fixing your house for us?" So I am here to stay. Thanks for missing me some of you; that makes me feel loved. Also, I had to break up with my other boyfriend: his name is running. We weren't good for each other anymore--maybe when I am stronger and smaller we can patch things up and give it another shot, but right now I need to work on "Me." I love a good cliché break-up argument. But really, my knee was all torn up and it was time to move on. A special thanks to Cathy for sending me Jillian Michaels "30 day shred." It arrived in the mail yesterday and I popped it right in the DVD player--My girl thought it would be funny to ride me like a horsey when I attempted push-ups, sit ups, and any other ups that could include a squirrely toddler. It was HARD and I did not finish the whole tape, but there is something comforting about Jillian: she used to be fat, so I trust her and today I am sore, but the good kind of sore--the kind that says "My body is getting stronger." Isn't the picture great? I don't stage these shots, Ali is just super-duper hilarious. But hey, I know how she feels. Nothing mends a broken heart like a fresh loaf of bread.

Hiatus Rules for Fatty

My internet is broken and I am at the library.  I'd rather be at home in my computer nook, in my underwear.  You think I am being indecent?  You should see what the guy next to me is looking at.  Really people, it's the LIBRARY, have some common courtesy.  Anyway, back to subject-at-hand: being fat.  Last week I had my knee problems, and this week I have an infection. I have a urinary tract infection, there, nosey people.  But really, try running on THAT, ouch. I have been on hiatus from running for about 5 days total.  Not too bad, but during this time I have learned a few things about myself, and I came up with these rules for Hiatus.  I don't know what marathoners do when they are sick, probably still run, but I am not a marathoner, yet, so here are rules for ME. 

1.  Be nice to yourself

I have worked so hard on this goal of running EVERY DAY, so when I had to take a few days off, I really beat myself up over it.  Don't do it.  Humans get sick and need time to heal--it is just part of life.  The negative self-talk will cause you to second guess yourself and forget about the end goal in mind: healthy living.  If it means not looking in the mirror or weighing yourself during hiatus, then fine--anything to keep things positive.  (Don't treat yourself to a rickety hammock ride when you are feeling fat)

2.  Have a timeline

It was important that I tell myself how LONG this hiatus would be--otherwise a day would turn into two, and three, and three months later I would be crying over a pot of lard wondering where it all went wrong.  "Why would you be cooking lard?"  I don't know!  It just seemed like a funny image in my head.  While I was sulking at the doctor on Monday, I told myself, "You will run again on Wednesday, maybe not the whole way, but your butt will be out the door on Wednesday!"  I ran this morning, not very long, but I got my jelly shaking, ok?  

3. Keep your routine

This is definitely one that I need to work on for the future.  If I could do these days over, I would wake at 6:00 a.m. and shower, every day.  This one helps with rule number one.  Also, keeping this schedule makes it easier to hop back into running mode.  Really though, 6:00 for a shower and makeup, who do you think I am, a Stepford wife?   No ma'am!  But just for the sake of keeping things easy, I will keep my routine next time I have an inconvenient hiatus. 

So those are my rules for taking time off during a busy exercise schedule.  I would love your ideas too.  Oh guess what!?  The other day I noticed the fat roll that pops out from under my bra is shrinking!  Yay!  "Why don't you get fitted to find out your real bra size?"  Because I don't want to go to Victoria's Secret and find out I am a 97 Z, OK?  Plus, they don't make bras for anything over DD, I've looked.  There is no shame like walking out of Victoria's Secret empty handed because they don't make bras for Boobs YOUR size.  I cower past the scantily clad, STARVED, lacy, models and mannequins and can almost hear them laughing at me, all crazed from carbo-withdrawal.  However, my bust is shrinking, pretty soon I will fit nicely into something reasonable--maybe that will be the next reward from my Moo-Cow bank--walking past those little brats with a frilly bra of my own, one that fits a REAL woman.