Jump Shout Boogie

My very first ever race/mile run was at last year's Grand Blue Mile.  It's an awesome local event meant to help average people think about health & wellness through a simple one mile run/walk.  When I started running last March, I never dreamed that it would be something I would still be doing (more on the ridiculous way I roped myself into running here), but I can honestly say that I ALMOST enjoy it now.

As Grand Blue Mile is just around the corner (April 24th for you locals...come on...you know you want to), I've found myself setting a totally new kind of goal for myself.  I have run exactly four races & each time, my goal was to finish come hell or high water (both of which DID come at Living History Farms).  This year, I want to run that one single mile for a specific time.  Last year, for my very first mile I ever ran straight (I trained with Couch to 5K that uses intervals) I finished with a time just under 11 minutes.  There is no way I'll ever be more proud of a finish than that.  That being said, this year I'm gunning for a 9 minute mile, & here's my secret weapon (skip to 7:19 for my secret weapon or give into all of the Manilow-y fun for a bouncing good pick-me-up to your Friday slump):

Me + Jump Shout Boogie = perfect 9 minute mile pace for my stride.  As a former marching band geek, my feet practically go on autopilot when they find a driving beat & this just makes me move.  Plus, it puts a smile on my face EVERY time...but I'm not sure if that's because of the peppy song or the image of Barry's flowing locks.  Good times.

My First Feat of Strength

Lately I've found myself doing a lot of reflection on my journey & today I was thinking about one of the unsung factors in my success.  This is your fair warning: I'm about to talk about childbirth which may either a) gross you out or b) offend you.  Every word hereafter is meant merely as a reflection on my own experiences & in no way is intended to impart judgement on anyone else's experience.  After all, anyone who has read anything about pregnancy & child birth can tell you: "every pregnancy is different."  So, with that little proviso out of the way...

Linkavitch Chimovsky

It's no secret, I've got some hippie tendencies.  When I was pregnant with my son (5 years ago) I went into the delivery room all dewy eyed & expectant of an un-medicated, uncomplicated, peaceful birth.  Lincoln had other plans.  One induction, 15 hours of Pitocin-ful epidural-less labor, one prolapsed cord & one very emergency C-section later, I was a mom.  No matter how many times Dave chanted "Healthy baby, healthy mom...that's all that matters," I still felt like a failure.  I wanted so badly to experience a natural birth & even though there was absolutely nothing I could (or would) do to change it, I chalked it up as just one more thing my body couldn't do.

I literally started talking VBAC with my OB the very next day.  It became an obsession.  When our local hospital stopped allowing them, I vowed I would drive an hour to a provider that would (thankfully we moved before it was an issue).  I made my plans for a VBAC known at my very first prenatal visit for my second pregnancy (three years ago).  At each visit, the doctor reminded me of the risks & each time I said I understood the risks & wanted the opportunity to try to deliver naturally.  I was a dog that wouldn't let go of a bone, tenacious & resolute.

Sweet Coraline

Another induction, more Pitocin, no epidural.  My labor started stalling at 5 cm dilated.  I was in a panic.  This was the same point that I had my C-section with my son.  What if my body couldn't go any farther?  What if it was a waste to keep trying?  Through my cursing & moaning, I had to make a choice.  I could compromise some of my expectations for the sake of an end goal or grit through & hope for the best.  I chose to compromise & get an epidural with the hope that I could relax & let my body do its thang.  I had my baby girl 45 minutes later. 

What does this have to do with making a change in my life?  I was never an athlete.  Aside from dance lessons as a child, I wasn't in a single physical activity or sport.  I had never asked my body to do a anything beyond the daily activities of life.  Labor & child birth are tough & I made it through; past the fear, past the self doubt, past the pain (with the help of an anesthesiologist on a white horse).  On the other side I found a daughter (who has motivated me in ways that I will never be able to fully express--more on that here) but I also found something far simpler: I found physical accomplishment.

Intellectually I know that the manner in which I brought my babies into the world has NO bearing on me as a person, woman, or mother, but being able to set my mind to completing a physical task was something entirely new to me & it changed me.  It could have been bench pressing a heavy weight or running a long distance, but for me it was having a baby the same way skillions of women have babies every day.  I pushed my body in a way I didn't think I could & I came out on the other side stronger.  That taste of physical accomplishment was the first of many I've experienced along this journey & I'm so thankful to have had it. 

While laboring, I remember having a distinct mental image of a father & his pre-school age daughter walking down the hall in the maternity ward to visit her new baby brother for the first time.  She was skipping happily with an "It's a Boy!" balloon in her tiny hand.  It was a beautiful moment in my mind that was surely ruined when she skipped past my door & heard what could only be described as a sailor woman being disemboweled "Braveheart"-style.   I felt guilty for ruining their (imaginary) moment, just as I feel guilty I have likely ruined your lovely Tuesday afternoon with talk of VBACs & dilation.  This is why I'll encourage my daughter to take up soccer...so a discussion of her first feat of strength needn't come at the expense of someone's appetite.

Last Week on "A Weight-y Life"

I was all fired up.  I was excited to blend some of the great habits I have learned in my 2+ years of shedding pounds with the new passion for whole foods.  And then it happened...illness.
When your job is stay at home parent, the sick policy is really lousy.  It goes something like this: "You have a 103 degree temperature & you're seeing purple oompa-loompas doing a may pole dance on the bed post?  Tough.  Go make breakfast."  That was me last week.  A fever that high does some crazy stuff to your brain & once you're better, you're still a little addled & ridiculously tired in the days that follow.  "Lucky" for me Lincoln was sick at the exact same time.  We laid motionless in my bed & watched "a furious amount of TV"--as Lincoln put it--& prayed that Coraline stayed alive.  At some point she found a pen & explored the possibility of becoming a tattoo artist.  I had no idea until Dave asked me about it the next day.

All of this is to say that I was excited & on track, I had strung together a couple of good weeks of loss, I was running again & then...I didn't let it derail me!  This is a victory of major mental proportions.  So often I have a good stretch going & then life does what life does & I let it get to me.  This week I took charge & reminded myself that I am the only one that makes my choices.  I let it inspire me to look up a new Zumba class that works perfectly with our schedule & budget.  I let it push me to get back out & run during some (more) of our ridiculously great weather.  I let it fuel me to try to make good food choices because my body needed nutrients to recuperate from fever damage. 

Some genuine observations from the clouded haze of my fever addled brain:

1. I'm the only one that makes choices for me.
2. I am not an observer in my own life, I am the play maker.
3. I am DONE letting fear make a choice for me--inaction is the same thing as a negative action.
4. I am dealing with my food demons because of how they affect my life, not just my pants' size.

And one not so genuine observation:

1. When any one member of a family is sick, the house erupts in an explosion of filth rivaling an episode of "Hoarders."  When two members are sick, it's time to 'doze it & start over.