If you were ever to ask me, what part of your body would you want to change, I would, without hesitation, say my legs. My legs are short and I have strong calves and chunky thighs. I'm kind of used to them, it started happening around 5th grade as I hit puberty. I always envy those people with sculpted legs;when they put their legs together, there are three perfect triangles between their ankles and calves, calves and knees, and thighs. That's not and is never going to be me. But today, I'm feeling very thankful for the strength of my legs. So thank you legs, for not letting me down.
Sunday morning, we took our friends' dogs for a walk and snapped a beautiful photo of the clouds in the mountains. Thanks, legs, for being strong.
Then we rode our bike 12 miles to a market and had coffee and pastries with our friends Sue and Steve. Again, my legs came through, pedaling hard, even when we had to go up a steep bit to check on another friends' house.
Saturday, I ran 7 miles! It wasn't fast but I didn't stop to walk, just kept moving, my legs churning and churning, out 3.5 miles and back 3.5 miles. (That's 11.2 kilometers total). It's probably been over a year since I've had a string of good runs, so I have been determined to get back on track, following a training schedule. I can't tell you the last time I ran 7 miles, but I owe it all to those sturdy legs (well, the lungs and heart helped too).
Legs still climbing
Just a few weeks ago we climbed Mount Bugarach, again I owe a huge thanks to my legs, partially my arms too on those very rocky parts.
The next time you think to complain about how a body part looks or how you wish it looked a different way, just think about what an amazing job it does.
This morning, as I rounded the top of a path and stood on the Col du Portel, a winding road that leads through a mountain pass, a rush of wind swept down tugging my hat brim so that the hat leapt backward, hanging on by my ponytail, and the rain began to fall in earnest. And I may have risen my arms in the air, twisting my hands like an Indian God or Goddess in praise and celebration of the power I felt standing there on top of a mountain along the road.
Sheep, including a caramel-colored lamp hiding on the other side of its mother
It's been months since I've had successful runs. I fell at the end of July, and although I worked back to walking and hiking, my knee continued to hurt when I attempted runs. Then another injury in November set me back, and I determined to have an MRI to see if I'd done real damage to my knee.
Meanwhile, though I was left to take walks and to endure lockdown, longing for the day that I could finish my exercise in 45 minutes, eating up the road with my quick stride. Sure, I may not be a fast runner, but running is always faster than walking.
After an MRI and an appointment with a knee specialist, he assured me that I could run again after physical therapy to "retrain" my muscles. I registered with the local physical therapist, who is apparently so booked up that I remain on his waiting list.
If the doctor says I just need some muscle retraining, that assured me that I wasn't going to injure anything further if I started running.
It's been slow though. Running and walking. Watching out for the pain in my knee. Noticing that my knee is better but my lungs are a long way from running again.
Saturday, I managed a 3.5 mile run without walking or gasping for air.
These look like tiny wild roses in bloom, but, if my detective work is correct, may be flowering quince
I wanted to go for a walk or run this morning, but the weather forecast was foreboding -- high winds, rain. It wasn't raining a bit before 8 and I asked Earl where I could go that I wouldn't be in danger of flying tree limbs.
He recommended the road to Ginoles, not too many trees along that road. True, but it was uphill the whole way.
I decided to give it a try. I started running outside my house and was able to continue running until about 1.2 miles, or two kilometers. Considering that it was all uphill, I felt quite proud. I walked on the steep parts and then ran in between. I took a straight path, leaving the road behind to have a chance to run before I walked, out of breath, up the steep path to Ginoles.
An almond tree in bloom and an unsettled sky
As I continued up past Ginoles, I saw a car snake around the "Col" the mountain pass above. Why not? I set out toward the ridge looming above me. Again, there were a few running parts, but more sharp uphill parts.
Olive trees
I continued on, listening to music and singing along at the top of my voice, as much as my labored breathing would allow before I reached the winding road.
The view of faraway Quillan
The only option was to go downhill, sticking close to the side of the road facing traffic and the few cars that passed.
I saw one car that revved its engine and wanted to pass the car in front of it, trying to twist around the curves like a commercial, and I let out a laugh. "Your car might go fast, but you aren't out conquering it by foot!" I thought.
So I wound back into town and kept running past our house until my app indicated that I'd passed five miles.
The feeling of accomplishment and power has lasted all day, feeling the ferocity of the rain and wind and lifting my arms in victory over them -- this time.
While Earl was away hiking in Spain a few weeks ago,
Cows and rolling hills in the lush Spanish countryside
I decided to do a juice cleanse -- only fruits and vegetables in juice form. Our social life revolves so strongly around food that it's hard to do most of the time in France.
A few days in, I started to notice a dizzy, swooping feeling when I lay down in bed or when I sat up in the morning. I would pause for a few moments, get my balance, and continue on with my day.
But when the juice cleanse ended and Earl returned home, that feeling -- like I had gone airborne over a hill on a narrow road-- continued whenever I would lie down or sit up. I had a check up with the doctor planned and asked her about. As long as she could rule out brain tumor, I could live with it.
She confirmed that it was an inner-ear thing, that the fluid sometimes gets out of whack. It would go away eventually, but she printed out some exercises I could do to help it along. I took the paper and didn't examine them until the next morning when I began to do them.
I'm good at exercises, it's kind of my thing,
New running shoes regularly
but I read through the paper in disbelief. I should do these exercises 3 times a day with 5 repetitions each time. And, I should continue for two weeks.
How long does this usually last? Wouldn't I be over it naturally in two weeks?
I began. Sit on the bed, turn my head to the right, tilt over onto my left side and lay on that side for 30 seconds. Sit up, turn my head to the left, tilt over onto my right side and lay on that side for 30 seconds. Each time as I lay down or sat up, that swoopy feeling swamped my brain until the world righted itself.
I managed to do it morning and evening on the first day, forgetting in the middle of the day. Then yesterday, I didn't even think about it until I lay down in bed at night and the earth took a spin around my head.
When I sat up this morning, I thought about turning my head and tilting 30 times a day for the next two weeks. I did some feeble math in my head and got the number 420. 420 times I would turn and tilt as the fluid in my ear reset. Wasn't this exacerbating the problem if I only normally faced it twice a day -- when I get up and when I go to sleep at night. That's 210 days to cure itself.
Cheers after belly dancing
Oh, well, I'll probably follow the doctor's orders. I just need some kind of phone reminder to get me into the groove. And probably should cut down on social outings so I have time for all those exerciseexps.
Hope everything is upright in your head as we continue to go through the roller coaster that is 2020.
This morning, I sat on a mat in my neighbors' front garden. The sun tried to pierce through a leafy green tree and a slight breeze blew to cool us as Stella led me in meditation and yoga.
A view from my run
It might not be for everyone, but the morning had been pretty perfect. It started with a 4-mile run, then a shower before I joined Stella for yoga. She lives in Copenhagen and I have only met her twice when she travels to France to the house next door to us.
The Aude (L'Aude) is a lovely setting for running and meditating.
Stella might think she is an unassuming, polite Danish person, but she is a force to be reckoned with. As soon as we met, she told me I needed to do yoga with her. I have dabbled in yoga, but it has never been my thing. I love running. I grudgingly carved out some time to do yoga with her in July but it became a habit that I enjoyed, but only when Stella is in town.
Stella reminds me a bit of Phoebe from Friends. She lives life with gusto. During the 14th of July celebration downtown, Grace and I were dancing to the band and we had just wondered where Stella was when she "slid" into the crowd and joined us. Her dancing was exuberant and with abandon, like Phoebe's running.
Stella is in it for the joy.
I've learned a lot from her.
I do feel my own kind of joy when I'm running (not like Phoebe!). But I've learned to find the peace in sitting on a yoga mat and feeling the breath move through my body. I'm not anxious about the time any more, and I know that is a luxury because my schedule is flexible (unlike my body when I'm doing yoga).
So many times, when Stella isn't around though, I ask myself, "What would Stella do?" and my first answer is "Eat some cheese," but the second answer is "Take the time to be curious and to embrace life." So more and more, that's what I'm doing.
Thursday morning started so well. The sun is rising a little later, so I can get out while there is still color in the sky.
I'd had a good 4-mile run the day before, so I thought I'd warm up with a run on the road before trying a trail run in the direction of Ginoles.
Lovely view from up on the trail
All was going well until the tip of my foot caught a rock, and I was down on the ground before I could blink, feeling my knee, my elbow, my hands and then my head bounce on the dirt and rock trail.
I lay there for a minute stunned by the turn of events. Then, it was time to take stock.
As I sat up, I considered crying. I'm not a cry-er. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have cried since my sister died when I was 14. I have nothing against crying; I just never seem to.
A tissue had fallen from my running belt. Its pristine whiteness clashed with the dirt on the trail. I picked it up and unfolded it, placing the clean side against my head. It came away red. Great. My head was bleeding. Next, I patted at my elbow where a deeper gash dripped.
I looked at my knee, an interchange of cuts, a secret tic tac toe game. I didn't touch it. No blood was running yet.
I picked at a few rocks on my palms.
Nothing to do but walk home, I decided.
But first, to take a selfie to share with my running friends. I know, it's a weird thing to do. I didn't even realize I had knocked off my hat.
In this picture, with my face caked with dirt, my nose definitely looks crooked. But I remember thinking as I hit the ground, thank goodness I didn't hit my nose. I've broken my nose on a running fall before. See my post here.
Post-fall
I walked home, down the trail and along the road. I passed 4 or 5 people who all said "Bonjour" and gave me curious looks. I didn't realize how bad I looked at the time -- my white sleeveless shirt was covered in dirt and mud. The waterbottles I carry must have squirted out when I fell, adhering the dirt to my shirt. Earl has washed it in the machine and by hand trying to get it clean.
The knee that I hadn't touched had started to drip blood down my shin, and dirt still caked my face.
When I returned home, I went straight to the shower, hoping to remove the smalls pebbles embedded in my palms, erasing the dirt from my head and nose, and gasping in surprise at the feel of the water on the cuts.
Earl doctored my open wounds with some antibiotic cream. He prodded at gray spots on my palms that could be rocks, and he gave me two ice packs, one for my knee and one for my eye.
Some nice purple eye shadow
Some people may wonder why I document my falls. Shouldn't I try to cover them up? But I do enjoy keeping track of all the pitfalls of running -- at least for me. Blogging is a good way to remember. And when I searched for the post on my broken nose, it helped me remember another fall last year --we were in Massachusetts for the summer and I bruised my ribs on a fall. It keeps me honest.
I'm not really a runner; I'm a plodder or I wouldn't keep tripping.
I'm planning a hike with a friend in the coming week, and she gave me a stern lecture about taking care of myself before our trip.
Friday, I forced myself to rest. No walking; no running; no keeping track of my steps.
Instead, I kept ice on my knee and kept it elevated. My body felt like I'd been in a car accident. Stiff neck, sore ribs, back pain. I went to a friend's house and floated in the water, hoping it would realign me.
Saturday morning, I knew I couldn't have another day of inactivity. But I wouldn't push myself too much. Instead, Earl and I went on a bike ride. Not a long one. We stopped and had coffee before riding back home
Earl ahead of me on the small road
A selfie when we returned. Me -- always looking in the wrong place for a selfie.
Happy New Year!
This working life in the States is taking its toll on me, so I was in bed before midnight last night, but not until after a lovely dinner with some friends.
Even though I had taken the day off teaching, I woke up very early.
But I lay in bed leisurely scrolling through news stories and Facebook on my phone.
My friend Pam has a theory, a superstition, that whatever you're doing on the first day of the year, you'll continue to do throughout the year.
So, I took a nice 4-mile run in the 32-degree weather, through the streets where we used to live in Grandview Heights. It was definitely warmer than yesterday when a biting wind drove Sheila and me into a coffee shop where we could sit and chat.
But not today. I had to make my New Year's run.
While perusing Facebook earlier in the day, I'd see my friend Sally who works at the YMCA had invited everyone to a water fitness class on New Year's Day.
In for a penny, I figured I might as well go to water fitness class too. Sally said she was afraid only two people would show up, but I was not alone in wanting to start my day off with fitness.
There were 24 of us who showed up for the New Year's Day class.
I'm in the front center with a blue noodle.
I hadn't taken a water fitness class for years and thought it wouldn't be challenging, but it was fun and I know my muscles will feel it tomorrow, especially the arm work lifting buoyant weights -- actually fighting to keep them underwater. The water in the Y's pool is always a lovely warm temperature and I loved being in the water again.
Fresh from an hour-long workout.
Like Elizabeth Warren on the campaign stump, Sally took a selfie with each of us.
We move on from another housesit today. We've been challenged by the rambunctious puppy Molly, a sheepadoodle who galumphs throughout the house and doesn't know how her body moves yet.
Molly -- queen of the couch
We're going to stay with our friends through Grace's wedding.
Hope you all have begun the New Year in a way that brings you joy.
Joy at Joy's Book Blog has built up a community of people who love to read and work out.
This week she's blogging about goals.
I'm not great about setting goals for the new year. I have decided I'd like to easily be able to run 10 miles on the weekend, like I used to with my friends. But I haven't actually done anything to make that happen.
This morning I ran four miles in the rain with the temperature around 50 degrees. Warmer than it should be for January. This pic is from another winter run in the rain.
I've had some long runs in the new year, including a 7-mile run last week, but my body is still adjusting to a new way of eating.
I haven't eaten meat since Christmas Eve. I didn't give it up for any noble cause, only because I felt so sick for days after.
It started a few weeks before Christmas. I did a 6-day juice cleanse, drinking only fruit and vegetable juice. Then when I started eating again, I noticed that meat upset my stomach. I tried to avoid meat, but as I visited family or went out, it seemed like meat was always served. On Christmas Eve, I made mozzarella-stuffed meatballs. I only ate one, but my intestines felt swollen and inflamed. So I haven't eaten any meat since. Even the smell of it cooking can make me feel sick.
I never would have predicted I could give up meat. I have loved it forever -- a nice juicy cheeseburger, marinated chicken on the grill, pulled pork sandwiches. But the memory of how sick I felt for several days prevents me from being tempted.
I've eaten some fish, but notice that I feel very full after that too, so I'm sticking with mostly fruits and vegetables. Still, I find myself eating too much bread so that I'll feel full.
Anyway, as I'm figuring out how to eat without feeling sick, there are some days when I have walked rather than run, and I just need to be satisfied with that.
On the positive side, I have successfully reached my step goal on my Fitbit every day this year, even with some days of bad weather.
I wonder if I can reach 10,000 steps every day of the year. That might be a good goal.
Hope everyone else is enjoying an active January.
Joy at Joy's Book Blog has built up a community of people who love to read and work out. You know that I enjoy both of those things, so I'm joining in.
Anyone who visits my blog regularly knows that I'm all about exercising. According to my Fitbit weekly report, I walked 102,000 steps last week, more than 44 miles. But if I'm not careful, I can get too obsessed about exercising, which these days consists of running, walking and lifting weights at the gym three days a week.
So to prevent myself from going overboard, I take some time to pamper myself. That's all about wellness too, right?
So today, after a walk with my friend Sheila, and after I reached my 10,000 steps about 10 a.m., I went to a new salon for a facial and a pedicure.
Yes, it can get pricey, but luckily, I had collected enough Pure Privilege points with my Aveda products, so I had a $75 coupon that paid for the facial.
Some people talk about facials being painful. That has never been the focus at Aveda. It's all about the relaxation, the massage and the glorious scents of the Aveda products.
So I put on a wrap that covers my breasts down to mid-thigh and climb onto a massage bed. I told the guy doing the facial that I was congested, so he included a lot of blue mint oil for me to inhale. The entire hour that I received my facial, I had no congestion at all. As I lay there while he rubbed various oils and cream on my skin, massaged my arms and hands, wrapped hot towels on my face, I found too often that I focused on hoping this wasn't the end.
Isn't that hilarious? I was so worried that the facial would end so I didn't relax and enjoy it as much as I should have.
Don't get me wrong, I definitely enjoyed it, lying for an hour in a darkened room having someone slather my skin with creams. My favorite part is when he used a thick brush, like a small paintbrush, to paint a masque on my skin. That is such a lovely feeling.
All too soon, the lovely facial ended and I walked blinking out of the dark room.
Don't feel too bad for me though, I only moved to soak my feet in a hot tub while a woman scrubbed some of the calluses off my feet. My doctor told me in the past that I needed regular pedicures to keep my feet healthy since I run. So I was only following doctor's orders.
Now my toes are a lovely steely blue-gray and the skin on my face feels soft and young.
Joy at Joy's Book Blog has built up a community of people who love to read and work out.
When I visited Joy's blog, I learned that she sets a monthly workout goal. I had never thought of doing that. I usually take it day by day, and most days, I expect to exercise.
I feel incredible guilty if I don't start my day with a run, or at the very least, a walk with my friend Sheila.
One day this week, I reached my 10,000 step goal before 7 a.m.
I also have been exercising with my daughter for her Beach Body workout, which really made me feel muscles I didn't realize I had. I'm taking a break from Beach Body this week, but will probably start again next week.
Trying to judge how much I exercise per month, I turned to my Fitbit record. According to the dashboard, I've walked 225.38 miles since June 27, so in the past month.
No wonder my sandals are worn out. Of course, when I run, I don't wear my sandals.
I'm not sure if that number is a lot or not. I guess I'll have to compare it to the upcoming months.
Thanks for the reminder, Joy, to check in with you and other bloggers on exercising.
I'll have to admit that I have felt a little proud of the fact that menopause has not turned me into a monster.
Yes, I gained weight, but over the past few months I've managed to lose 15 pounds so feel fairly healthy.
I have a hot flash every time I drink wine, so I rarely drink any more.
One bullet I thought I had dodged were the mood swings. Since I run four days a week, lift weights three days a week and walk with friends on other days, I credited exercise with helping me avoid screeching at my family and friends.
Yesterday, I ran five miles. Then I walked five miles with my friend Sheila. Then I walked two more miles with my husband as we went to vote and then get coffee. By 11 a.m., I'd gone 12 miles.
In spite of all the exercise, in the past few days though, my moods have taken a turn.
I chewed out a class on Monday when students were looking at their phones rather than listening to my lecture. I warned the next class ahead of time that pulling out their phones would result in ejection from class. They looked at me with fear!
Yesterday, a friend texted to remind me that another friend had a birthday. I felt irritated. I complained to Grace that the friend who texted me has a girl crush on our birthday friend. She follows her outside when she smokes. She switches tables to sit with her.
Was I jealous? Grace asked. Feeling left out?
I don't want that attention myself, but the keenness she lavishes bugs me. I think I'd rather avoid both of them. I might not go to the coffee house for writing group today so I can skip the celebration.
With all of these annoyances building up, you'd think I would have recognized the moodiness, but I still remained blissfully unaware, until a recent email.
Earlier this semester, a student sent a complaint about me. The lead teacher forwarded the email and I responded. The student had come into class late so I didn't let him take the quiz. He became angry and left the room, hitting his backpack against the wall. He said it wasn't anger, but an accident. This student complained about my "caustic rules" and the fact that I didn't let him take the quiz.
After explaining the situation to the lead teacher, I didn't hear back from her for a few weeks. Yesterday, she said the student just "wanted to be heard."
I should have left it at that, but I responded. I said that the English department had always had my back with rules about not accepting late work and I wanted to know what she had said to the student. She replied again that she just listened to the student.
Immediately, I wanted to protest. Did she commiserate with the student about mean old teachers and their stupid rules? She must have said something.
I considered responding. Talking to the chair of the department.
That's when I realized that moodiness had overtaken me.
I'd been juicing today, which meant no coffee, but lemon and ginger water for breakfast. Then I made a beet, sweet potato, apple and grape juice that I drank during my morning classes. By 10 a.m., I knew that I would need to get some coffee.
I stopped by the book store between classes and ordered a white mocha -- with caffeine. I've been un-addicted to caffeine for years now, since I had surgery on my broken nose.
But caffeine might be a necessary step to avoid snapping at people.
And I might see my weight creep back up as I try to stay calm.
Any advice? Is caffeine and sugar my only hope?
This past weekend, Grace and I drove to North Carolina and spent three nights in a hotel along the beach.
Grace is starting a new job this week and I had an extra day added to the three-day Labor Day weekend.
My goal was to try paddle boarding, and I did.
I made reservations for 9 a.m. Sunday. The paddle boarding was at a nearby state park on Cape Fear River rather than on the Atlantic Ocean. Judging from the waves on the ocean, that was a good thing.
I didn't ask, but I assumed the lesson was about an hour.
Throughout the night, lightning flashed outside our window and thunder rumbled. The weather app on my phone predicted thunderstorms throughout the day. I feared my paddle boarding lesson would be canceled.
Since Grace was awake, I asked her to come with me. She could take some pictures from the shore.
Three of us showed up for the lessons -- me and a couple from South Carolina who had tried paddle boarding before on a quarry.
We put on life jackets and attached the board to our ankles with a leash.
We started out kneeling on the boards as we pushed off from the shore. I had a wide yellow board with some black rubber padding in the center where I would stand.
I wobbled a bit on the board as everyone moved into the river. We waited until we were all together to try standing up.
I feared I wouldn't be able to stand up, but I followed instructions, laying my paddle perpendicular to the board, putting up one foot then the other and moving to stand from a crouching position. "And remember to look straight ahead, not down," the instructor said.
And it worked. I was standing and paddling, although unsteady. Plus I had a shoe problem.
We needed to wear shoes because the bottom of the river from where we set off had sharp oyster shells. I wore a pair of maryjane crocs, and when I brought my feet forward, they kind of slipped part way off my feet, so some of my toes were in the shoe and some were sticking out. It was quite uncomfortable.
Behind me, I heard a splash. The one man taking lessons fell in as he attempted to stand.
Throughout the lesson, he probably fell in half a dozen times.
As we paddled toward an alcove where the water and wind were calmer, the instructor, Bill, and I chatted. I told him I'd been afraid that I wouldn't be able to stand up.
"Was that your biggest fear?" he asked.
"No," I said. "I'm nervous about getting back on the board if I fall."
My son Spencer, who has an impressive set of muscles and upper-body strength, told me that it's hard to get back on the board. If he had a hard time, I'd be doomed.
Just as I voiced these fears, I wobbled and fell.
"Fall away from the board," Bill called as I slammed straight onto the board and then rolled off the side into the murky river.
"Just throw your body over the center of the board," Bill said. And I tried, but something kept me from moving farther.
The life jacket had a clip on it, like a clothespin, caught on the handle of the board. It took me a few maneuvers to get that free before I could pull myself onto the board, then pivot so I lay flat on the board. Next I moved to kneel on the board. I removed my shoes this time and pinned them under some bungee cords at the front of the board.
Finally, I stood again.
I had done it. I'd fallen in and been able to get back up.Proudly, I can tell you that is the only time I fell.
The lesson continued as Bill showed us how to do turns. we ended up paddling to a cove off the river where the water is about 45-feet deep because they dredge sand from there. We paddled into shore and took a break.
Might feet were tired from standing on them for 50 minutes straight without shifting. It felt good to walk around on the sand, to stand on my tiptoes, then my heels.
That's when Bill told me the lesson lasted two hours. I felt bad thinking of Grace back in the parking lot waiting for me. But she had a magazine and a book and a coffee, plus I couldn't do anything about it.
At 9:50 a.m., we began the trip back to the marina.
The trip down the river had been effortless. The river ran that direction and the wind was at our back. The return trip was brutal. The wind picked up and whistled sharply past my ears as I paddled endlessly for an hour and a half.
Everyone else seemed to be able to move much more quickly than I did. My board was different, so maybe I had the equivalent of a mountain bike while everyone else had road bikes. Or maybe my paddling was as efficient as everyone else's. I soon fell behind. Bill would hang back occasionally to wait for me.
I tried to watch the others and keep up stroke wise, but my paddling didn't move me forward as quickly. The other guy fell off his board a couple of times and got back on but I still didn't catch up with him.
Here's a video Grace took. At the end, you can tell as she pans over to the marina, that she didn't have high hopes I would get there either.
At 11:30, I finally reached land. My feet felt numb and my palms were bright red with blisters forming along my pointer finger and thumb where I'd paddled.
Somewhere, during that two and a half hour jaunt, I felt a familiar sensation of wanting to be finished. I recognized it from the long runs I'd done, or even the overzealous bike rides.
Hot, sweaty, ready to be finished.
To add to the misery, I'd been on a juice fast and had eaten no solid food for two weeks. My body had no reserves to pull from. I made sure to eat some protein that day, trying to stock up on what had been depleted in the two and half hour exercise.
I'll definitely try paddleboarding again.
I can see how it can be a beautiful, contemplative experience, especially if I was by myself and could determine how far I went and how long I paddled. Being with a group and feeling like I held the group back made the experience not as fun.
And the trip itself was too much for the first time.
Alone though, I might have more fully appreciated the elegant white egret stalking its prey in the shallow waters; the gray waters flowing below me; the occasional fisherman throwing out a net to pull in bait fish; and the search for frolicking gray/black fins of dolphins that venture up the river.
Where do you come down on the idea of exercising when you're sick?
If I feel myself coming down with something, I force myself to exercise, thinking that it will help fend it off.
Since I exercise most days, I hate to miss.
Monday night, I was so sick that exercise of any kind was not an option, but my fever broke around 4 a.m. and I felt so much better immediately.
So when my friend Sheila texted to ask if I wanted to go on a walk, I did. We walked about two and a half miles and we didn't go very fast. We stopped at Starbucks, and I had some peppermint added to my mocha to help clear out my sinuses.
We decided that walking, which gets the lymph system going, was a good idea while sick.
Last night, on my way home from teaching, I convinced my husband to meet me at a nearby bar for a hot toddy.
When I asked for it, the young bar tender looked at me blankly. "What's in it?" he asked.
I said, "brandy, honey, lemon."
He stopped me and said they didn't have brandy.
"I'll look it up," I told the bar tender. So I searched on my phone and came up with a recipe.
Whiskey, honey, lemon, ginger. "And can you make it hot?" I asked him. He seemed stumped again, but then said he would add some hot water to it to make it hot.
And, it did the job. Before I even had a sip, I breathed it in through my mouth and felt the whiskey and ginger making a difference.
My sinuses were clear all the way home, but unfortunately it didn't last.
So after another sleepless night of coughing and sneezing and sniffling, I waited until 6 a.m. to text Sheila. We walked more than three miles this morning, again at a slow pace and with coffee.
Luckily, I was able to find a sub for three of my classes so I can have a calm morning, but I still have to teach this afternoon and again this evening.
Warning, there may be TMI in this post; just a heads up.
I'm 51 years old, and this morning, I started my period, as I have every month since I was 10 years old, except for the times I was pregnant or nursing.
I realize that menopause must be coming my way, but I feel like I've been able to hold it off by exercising.
I trained to run a marathon at age 39 but couldn't run it because of a torn ACL. I trained and ran the marathon at age 40, and I've been running regularly ever since.
Here I am after I fell rollerblading this summer. Not hurt, just lucky not to have hit my head. Not all exercise is a success, but I keep trying.
So what evidence do I have that exercising is keeping me young? Only anecdotal.
This summer, I had a heel injury. First I cut back on running, then the doctor told me to "shut it down" and not to exercise at all. We didn't have a gym membership at the time, so I sat on my couch for a couple of months. During that time, I stopped having periods. In August when I started running again, I had two periods, as if to catch up with my sedentary months.
Running makes me feel better. I run 4 to 5 days per week, going 4 to 6 miles each time. Two other days a week, I meet my friend Pam at the YMCA where we lift weights and bicycle or swim. She has shared her wisdom with me that, "If you aren't in the gym during your 50s, you're going to hate your 60s."
I don't want to find out. I plan to keep exercising.
In addition to keeping me young, I think running keeps me healthy. I go out in some pretty cold weather. On Saturday, the temperature was 19 degrees when I headed out. I held my phone in my hand and at 4.8 miles, my phone died. I thought the cold might have gotten to it since it was fully charged when I left.
This morning, with the temperature at a balmier 23 degrees, I tucked the phone into my water belt so that it stayed close to my body and whatever body heat I might be emanating. It lasted the full five miles today.
Runs allow me to see beautiful sunrises, like this one in Florida when I visited my parents.
So exercising is keeping me young, it's keeping me healthy, and it's keeping me sane. Whatever problems I may have, and with three young adult children, the problems do seem to pile up, but they are not as bad after I've gone for a long run. The run gives me time to mull over possibilities, and it delivers some lovely endorphins to assuage my worries.
And one more benefit to my morning exercise is that I get to commune with nature. That sounds hokey, doesn't it? But when I'm out on the streets in the dark and I look into the sky to see the twinkling stars or a cheshire grin of the moon, I can't help but smile. I often say out loud, "Oh, there you are!" to the moon when I glimpse it.
So, no matter what you choose to do, I urge you to get out there and start moving. Walking, biking, gardening, exercise classes, a gym membership, anything that gets your heart rate up and increases your aerobic activity, can be a benefit and help you stay young too.
So what do you think? TMI? Well, too bad, because pretty soon, I'm going to be writing again about the benefits of not wearing a bra. Stay tuned!
Well, let's face it, my life will never be normal again the way that it was now that all three of my children have gone away to school, but it will be a new normal.
And one of those things that has been a staple in my life for years has been missing this summer. That thing is running.
Since Easter, I have been struggling with an injury. I tried walking and bicycling to give my foot a break. Then finally went to the doctor and he told me to "shut it down" for at least three weeks. So for three weeks during July, I sat on the couch.
Yes, try to imagine how grumpy I was with all three kids home for the summer, teenagers in and out of the house at all hours of the day, dishes and towels piling up, and me not able to run to get my endorphins. Plus, I think not running sped up the encroachment of menopause. It was a perfect storm of sorts.
We're lucky we all made it out alive.
Finally, a few weeks ago, I began interval training. I would walk for three minutes then run for a minute. I kept that up because it didn't hurt my foot and because I heard a story on NPR about the benefits of interval training with blood sugar and blood pressure.
This morning, I expanded my run. I ran for a mile then walked three minutes, then ran until the second mile and walked three minutes. I did that for four miles and ended up with about an 11-minute mile overall. Four miles in 44 minutes.
So that feels back to normal.
However, I did have a creepy incident this morning.
Now, the community where I live is very safe. I'm not alone out there even at 5:30 in the morning. I generally pass a police car about three times per mile, along with other walkers, runners and bicyclists.
But this morning, as I turned a corner, a car was sitting at a light. It stayed there even after the light had changed. I was running away from the car so didn't pay much attention.
The car eventually passed me.
As I turned onto the main road I run on, the car passed me going the other direction. It slowed down beside me, but I didn't look at the driver, just kept going.
A few minutes later, the car pulled up beside me. I was on the opposite side of the road, but the car stopped and the man rolled down his window.
"Sorry to bother you," he called, "but is this the right way to the library?"
Now, it could be that this older man, in his 60s, with white hair and a nice sedan, maybe a Buick, was actually looking for the library at 5:30 in the morning. I'm not sure why he would be in our little community going to the library.
But I said yes. "It's down there on the right." I directed him.
After he drove off, I continued running and saw some acquaintances walking their dogs.
I ran up to them and walked with them for a while, figuring there was safety in numbers and dogs.
I made it home just fine, but it is a reminder to be aware of my circumstances, even in a safe little Burg like mine.
Next time, I think I would take a picture of his license plate with my phone and text it to my husband. That just seems like a safe precaution in case I hear about anything else happening early in the morning in my little town.
I'll be careful, but I'll keep on running.
Aaargh!
A month of not running culminate today in making me feel restless and unhappy.
I feel like I've overdosed on caffeine. Antsy. Unable to settle.
Everyone is making me irritated. I pace back and forth in the library parking lot talking on the phone to my best friend in faraway Michigan.
She listens to my litany of complaints. He did this... then he did that.
I know, deep down, that the problem is I haven't been able to run since Easter -- April 22.
I set my goal to run 40 days during Lent. And I did it. I ran over 100 miles in the first three weeks of April alone, ignoring the pain that started to build in my heel.
On Easter, I went for a short run. I decided to take a week off to let my foot heal.
The following Saturday, I ran five miles and felt fine, but the day after, the pain was worse than before.
I rested again, trying to run some mornings, but not making it farther than the corner before I turned around and limped home.
My running shoes are up on blocks now.
I go online to diagnose my injury. Could be my achilles tendon. I stretch in bed before getting up. I stretch against the wall. I stretch on the stairs. The pain does not improve. And it doesn't quite match the description of that first step in the morning being the most painful.
Sometimes I wake up at night with my foot in pain because I'm lying on that side and pushing against the side of my foot.
No, I haven't been to the doctor yet. I watch our medical spending account fly away for ridiculous costs that I hadn't expected, and I try not to spend any more on something that I feel sure will heal with just a little more rest.
I try new shoes.
I try old shoes.
I feel my body changing. When I rest my hands on my hips they feel loose and jiggly rather than tight muscle.
I hate it.
And now this, this nervous energy with no place to let it out.
I walk three miles this morning with my friend Sheila. That's the farthest I've walked in a while, but by mid-afternoon, my house full of adult children home for the summer, my husband home on vacation this week -- I feel an itching inside me that no fingernails could ever reach.
I have to run in the morning.
It doesn't matter how much my foot may hurt. That anxiety inside is worse.
We gave up our YMCA membership last spring to save about $65 per month. The Y is 10 minutes or so away by car and Earl was working evenings so he would be left home without a car while I worked and Tucker went to school. I wanted to find a gym that was close enough for him to walk to. Tucker also wanted to work out here in town (not that he would walk to it, being a self-respecting 17-year-old). So they both got memberships at a small gym that has 24-hour access. The cost is about the same as what we paid for our family membership at the Y, but I'm glad they are going regularly.
As for me, I decided I would just run and not join a gym. And that has worked well up until this week. As the temperatures dipped down below 0, I had to find an alternative way to run.
I signed up for a gym trial at the fancy LA Fitness gym about half a mile away. Still, the temperatures forced me to drive to the gym for my trial membership.
I ran on the treadmill both yesterday and today. Yesterday, without a television screen in front of the treadmill, today with a television screen. The channel wouldn't change so I was stuck with CNBC -- some business news program at 7 a.m.
Me and Najah running in the snow in December. We kept running outside as long as we could.
Some thing I forgot since last running on a treadmill. I sweat a lot when I run inside. Although the temperature beyond the glass might be -2, inside the sweat is soaking through my clothes and dripping down my face.
Some thing I forgot since visiting a big gym. The people who work out in big gyms look pretty even when they're working out.
I do not.
I can clean up okay. In clothes, with some make up and my hair straightened, I look attractive. But I don't want to worry about looking attractive while I run. My hair falls out of my ponytail and then gets plastered to my face from sweat; my face turns bright red; my thighs are definitely chubby but they can run several miles.
I run in the same clothes that I have had for 10 years. I don't see any point in upgrading when the clothes aren't worn out, and they still work just as well. That means I'm not too fashionable. Everyone else in the gym is fashionable, except a woman I saw in some sort of culottes and I figured that was a religious decision.
The first day, I didn't consider that I'd be running in shorts. I've been in running pants since November. And a few miles in, the skin on my thighs started to rub raw. Okay, that obviously means I just need to run more, not that I should stop!
So today, I put a pair of tight, Spandex-type shorts under my slick running shorts. The spandex shorts would keep my thighs from rubbing, but I didn't count on how the running shorts would look over them. I probably would have looked better just in the Spandex shorts as the other shorts rode up.
Maybe no one noticed, maybe I was the one judging myself, but I felt ugly. No one wants to go to the gym and feel ugly.
That probably means I need to find a different gym.
The gym has a lot of weight machines, but they seemed to be fairly occupied by guys with big muscles who carry around gallon jugs of water. Too intimidating.
Unfortunately, the forecast calls for more weather too cold for running outside. I'd better find some place to keep running until spring finally arrives.
Two things I'd like you all to remind me of next time I say that I'm going to quit running or take a break from running:
1. I always gain weight when I quit running
2. It takes forever to get back in running shape (able to breathe while covering miles)
This is not my screenshot.
It is fromhttp://www.therecapp.com/
For the past week or so, I've been running again. Well, walking and running. At first I started walking a block, running a block.
In Florida, along the beach, I didn't have that option, and then in my parents' neighborhood, the blocks might stretch for miles, so I decided to follow the App on my iPhone -- iMap My Run.
I would walk a tenth of a mile then run two tenths of a mile.
I thought I was getting better. This morning I even ran four tenths and half a mile before stopping to walk, but it was right around that time that my iPhone began showing the locations of bus stops.
Okay, I can take a hint that I'm moving a little slow for the iPhone.
As someone who runs, I usually think that I am in fairly decent shape. At the beginning of December though, right around the time that I needed to figure out a way to get my daughter home from France, I started having lower back pain. Yes, it might have been stress. I couldn't easily pinpoint what was causing the back pain because it didn't bother me when I ran or when I did P90X, but the pain would wake me up in the early morning as I lay in bed unable to turn over. I ended up sometimes grasping the side of the mattress and hoisting myself over with my hands. I hated that. Then most mornings, my back would be so stiff I couldn't bend over to pick up my shoes or slide open a drawer to pull out clothes. I decided to cut back on my running to see if it made a difference. I tried lifting weights, not lifting weights. Running, not running. Walking. Changing shoes. Avoiding the couch in the evenings. The pain continued. Finally around the beginning of the year, I got serious about documenting the pain. I went to the Y and ran 3 miles on the treadmill and was surprised how quickly I'd gotten out of shape. I couldn't run 3 miles in a row. I'd run one mile then need to walk. I got into the habit of running at my regular speed then sprinting before walking some. I kept mixing it up, still disappointed at my lack of stamina. Then February loomed and I knew I needed to get serious about getting back in shape for two reasons other than the back pain. One reason is that my birthday arrives in February. My birthday is a time when I do a little self assessment. Being in shape is definitely a criteria I want to meet. The other reason is that senior night is coming up for the basketball players. My son Spencer is a senior, so my husband and I will accompany him across the gym. I know that if I'm in good shape, I'll walk with confidence rather than slumping across the gym a foot shorter than my husband and son. (Note to self, Wear Heels!) As my rambling runs on the treadmill continued, I was able to correlate a connection between the days that I ran and the next morning when Ihad no back pain. Eureka. So I needed to keep running. I figured five days a week should keep me out of pain. Then the nice weather arrived. I couldn't figure out why I should go run on a treadmill when the mornings were balmy in the 40s. So I started to run outside. I'll admit to some back pain the first morning that I ran four miles along the street. My mind raced. Was it the extra mile? Was it the asphalt? I decided to keep going to see what happened. And this morning, for the first time in nearly three months, I ran five miles from start to finish without stopping to walk in between. I officially declare myself back in shape, even though no one who looked at me might see much of a difference from two months ago, my lungs and my leg muscles know what I'm talking about.
The other day when I was kvetching to my friend Ruth about how tired I was, she said, "Isn't exercise supposed to give you energy?" That stopped me. If exercise gives me energy, then I should be a whirling dervish. Instead, I wake up tired, catch a 20-minute nap when the day allows and move like I share joints with the Tin Man on the Wizard of Oz. Most exercise gives people extra energy, it's true. But not my kind of exercise. This summer, I decided to follow the marathon training schedule. That means I ran 10 miles on Saturday. Creak, creak, creak -- those are my joints as I pull myself out of a chair. Now, let me be clear, as I have to everyone who asks, including the 20-year-old guy at the running shoe store and the young lady at Starbucks, I do not plan to run the marathon this fall. Running the marathon was the most miserable I have ever been. But, I decided I wanted to get in good shape this summer, and training for the marathon seemed like the way to do it. Maybe if I got up at 5:30 and ran 5 miles before going to work, like today, then I wouldn't be so exhausted. Twing, twang, that's the achilles tendon in my left foot when I hobble down the stairs. But after I ran, I did about a 45-minute core exercise from P90X. Grace and I have been doing this together all summer, but she wouldn't get out of bed this morning. Jab, jab. That's the shooting pain from shin splints shooting up the front of my legs. And somedays, when the heat index isn't 100, I might hop on my bike and ride the half hour to work in the morning and back again in the afternoon. My goal is to get in really good shape. I don't weigh myself and stress about numbers. I determine if I look good and if my clothes fit well. I'm pumped about the number of miles I can run without collapsing or begging my friends to walk. But maybe the exhaustion is not the fault of the exercising. Maybe I need to go to bed at 10 like I did during the school year. In bed at 10, up at 5:30 -- 7 and a half hours of sleep seems like a good amount. Instead, most nights, I drag myself to bed around 11 after Tucker gets home and then when Grace or Spencer gets home they come in to kiss me goodnight and tell me about their evenings. Then I may wake up when Earl gets home from work at 12 or 12:30 or 1 a.m. and again when he comes to bed at 2 or 3 a.m. Last night around 3:15, Spencer wandered into the bedroom and asked whether he could have a pillow because he fell asleep on the couch and didn't want to go to his bed. I woke up Earl and took his extra pillow. Then I felt guilty and got up to get Earl an extra pillow. At 5:30 the alarm went off and I started over again. So maybe, it's not exercise making me tired. Maybe it's lack of sleep. How about you? Does exercising give you energy?
This morning, when the alarm went off at 5:40, I did not want to run. As I got dressed, I did not want to run. As I lay on the living room floor stretching my back, I did not want to run. As I checked my mileage for the day on the computer and the Weather Bug chirped about a heat advisory, I did not want to run. And as I walked out the back door, latching my water bottle belt, I did not want to run. I moved slowly through the thick, humid air. The breaths did not seem to fill up my lungs. In grad school, I had a friend, who was probably depressed, but on some days she wouldn't get out of bed. She would say, "The gravity is simply too strong today." That's how I felt. Gravity encouraged me to lie down and rest rather than running or working. I walked to warm up and considered whether I could walk the entire route for today's schedule -- 4 miles. It would probably take me forever to walk 4 miles. I'd better run. So I did, but when the light changed and cars crossed at the half mile mark, I stood gratefully breathing. At the mile marker, I took another break and walked some. I ran most of the way interspersing some walks to catch my breath. My running friend Pam pointed out that I "get into" running in the spring. She notices these kinds of things and I'm oblivious to fluctuations and schedules. I should ask her when I usually lose my enthusiasm. I'm guessing about July 11th. My body does feel battered and bruised. Not just from the running and the new shoes that rubbed the wrong way. Grace and I started doing P90X again, so, on many days, I have two work outs. Last week, I rode my bike to work one day, and "laid it down" with me on it. It couldn't really count as a wreck because it was in slow motion. I forgot I had my foot clipped to one of the pedals and when an 18-wheeler turned right on red, I had to stop, not too quickly, but quickly enough to make me forget I couldn't put my left foot down. I ended up with some bruises and scrapes on my legs. Getting in shape requires taking the road through battered and bruised while avoiding the turn off to broken. So hopefully I'll keep running, and doing P90X, and occassionally, like today, riding my bike to work. I'll try not let gravity win today.
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