Getting Back in the Run May 8, 2009

Last September, after training and racing through muscles spasms in my back and left hamstring, I finally gave in and went to the physical therapist. There was talk of a herniated disk.

I cried when she told me I couldn’t run. Cried.

So after a bit of wallowing, MRI (normal disks, yay!), PT, massage, and plenty of yoga, I am back to running again. In a few weeks I’ll run the Zooma 10k in Annapolis, and I’m still getting my distance base back up.

The thought of  running 6 miles on a treadmill makes me want to take a nap. Thankfully I’ve got some girlfriends who are willing to run with me while Dax is in school. Thursday we ran around the Bay Ridge community (see pic of the view we had most of the way), just over 5 miles. Though threatening to rain, the weather was really perfect — moderate temp, not too sunny, not too windy.

It’s funny how psychological running is. I was tempted to walk nearly the whole time, especially since my two friends (and all conversation) were well ahead of me. But I didn’t. I ran the whole way. And by the end what I really wanted was to do it again, but faster.

A Big Week August 28, 2008

In the past four days, I’ve run a triathlon, celebrated Dax’s 3rd birthday, and sent Madeleine to her first day of kindergarten. No wonder I was a gigantic stress ball last week.

Iron Girl was just as fantastic as everyone’s told me. The all-women event was truly motivational and inspirational. Professional athletes, cancer survivors, septogenarians, moms, daughters, big girls, skinny girls — all were there. Three of my favorite women there were the seventy-year-old with a Longaberger basket on her bike (is that the aerodynamic model?), the 200lb+ woman who gave me a run for the money on the bike leg, and the woman who sang and hooted and hollered the entire time (she was cheering for the volunteers who were cheering for us). My heart went out to the women who didn’t quite make it — one whose borrowed bike’s tires were shredded before the race even started, one who was throwing up on the side of the road (thankfully near some volunteers), and probably several others I’ll never know about.

How did I do? I had a great time. What was my time? I still don’t know. My timing chip band had hidden itself in the inside of my running cap, so I got a new chop right before the race, and apparently my name didn’t quite get attached to the chip. I think my time is listed on the results page with someone else’s name next to it. In a way I’m happy to not know my actual time. I know where and when I might have pushed myself more (and risked injuring my left hamstring further). Knowing my time won’t tell me that. But it would help me obsess over how fast I was compared to everyone else.

On Tuesday, Dax turned 3. He doesn’t seem to get the importance of a birthday. Which is just as well since we still have not had a party, cake, or gift for him. We did go to Chevy’s for dinner, and as you can see from the pictures on the right, he enjoyed the singing and the sombrero. Now to find a train table and bake a cake…

Yesterday, Madeleine went to her first day of kindergarten. I was glad I had my sunglasses on when I dropped her off so she didn’t see me tearing up. When I picked her up she was positively beaming and talked about what she did and who she played with the whole walk home.

It’s nice to have these big days behind me, and I’m feeling a little more relaxed. But wait, there’s more! Tonight I have my launch party for my new Arbonne business. More on that to come.

For now I’m off to the gym then back home to prepare for tonight.

Busy — it’s a good thing.

Last Visit to the Farm August 21, 2008

Tuesday was not the best farm day for us. I hadn’t talked to Sara before leaving, so I assumed I’d just be picking up the boxes and letting the kids hang out for a few minutes. When I got there I found out Sara had left with ALL the deliveries, and she wanted me to hang out while her boys and my kids played. This was not such a bad idea, but it kept me at the farm about an hour later than I’d planned. It was hot, the kids were hungry, and I had not dressed them or myself appropriately for an excursion on the banks of the Rhode River. Both of my kids cut their feet, and as a group the kids were just not getting along well. When Sara wasn’t back when she said she would be, I called her and told her I needed to leave, thereby foisting her kids onto an employee there.

Next week school starts, and with the extra work I’ve got over the next month or so, I really couldn’t work in farm trips. I’m bummed that our summer on the farm ended on a negative note. I wanted the kids to have these glowing Rockwell-esque memories of their time there. But if their memories include lessons based on fighting with friends and how to work through that and how to pick and choose your friends based on how they treat you, then maybe that’s even more valuable than pastoral landscapes and catching tadpoles.

In Praise of the Summer Veggie Plate August 13, 2008

I have refrained from slapping shoppers in supermarkets who are buying peaches and watermelons and eggplants from God-knows-where. All these items should be purchased from local farmers now, when local markets are bursting with beautiful produce. We’ve even picked up some early apples and pears over the last two Saturdays.

Summer is my favorite time of year for a flexatarian diet. It’s just too easy, and too yummy, to dive into all the wonderful sides and salads that can be made with gorgeous veggies. Of course, if you worry about protein like I do (gotta fuel those tri workouts!), the veggie plate may seem a bit dubious. But now that it’s the peak of summer, I can get my hands on crowder peas, and happily eat away.

Dinner veggie plate from last week:

crowder peas, mashed potatoes, tomato wedges with basil, corn on the cob (ALL LOCAL!)

Lunch veggie plate from Monday:

crowder peas, beet and orange salad with goat cheese, salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, and carrots

Count Down to Iron Girl! August 8, 2008

Iron Girl Columbia is just over two weeks away and I am pumped. Last Friday was the dress rehearsal, and approximately 600 awesome women gathered at Centennial Park to swim in the lake-grass infested waters of Centennial Lake, and run around the park’s shady but hilly trails.

I was not as well prepared as I probably should have been for such an event, in that I hadn’t been hydrating enough over the previous days, and my prerace dinner consisted of turkey chili dogs and chips. I also slept poorly, probably out of fear that I wouldn’t wake up when my alarm clock went off at 4:30am. Yes. 4:30am. I shudder just to read that.

Anyway, after getting Lost In Columbia  twice (cue industrial echo to mimic Lost In Space theme — Columbia is a planned community, as in, they planned for you to never know where the hell you are), we found the park entrance and waited in a very long line to get to parking. The line frightens me a bit as to what race day will look like.

There was still a lot of blah-blah-blahing by race officials as we set up our own little transition area, but by about 6:40am, the first group took to the water. Let me just applaud right now for Auntie Margie, the 70-year-young woman who has been running triathlons since she was 50. You go Margie. I want to be you when I grow up.

I was a little nauseated getting into the water, not surprising giving prerace jitters, and lack of sleep, and nasty fructose/caffeine goo thing I swallowed just beforehand, and the rather green tasting water I was getting into. The swim was crazy. It’s just disorienting to get into water your’e not accustomed to, can’t see through, and have thirty other people swimming in the same three square feet as you. About 300 yards into the 800 yard swim leg, I caught my rhythm, and things went smoothly unless I needed to pass someone.

The run started out alright, but I quickly was exhausted. And, frankly, quite frustrated that I was having so much trouble with a stupid little 5k. Yes, it was hot and humid, but come on, 800 yards of swimming and 3 miles of running is like an everyday work out for me. I not only walked, I walked a lot. I was embarassed and feeling lame that I couldn’t run the whole thing.

We got back in the car to come home, and that nausea I felt before the race was still there. Hmm. That’s not prerace jitters. Apparently I’d been on the verge of a GI bug, and the dress rehearsal just pushed me over the edge. I spent most of Friday and Saturday in bed.

That all seems to be overwith, but Monday I got on the treamill after a spin class and my hamstring started to spasm. Ugh. I have been training for this race all year! Must not let stupid illness and injury get me now!

I’m trying to balance my bricks and practice triathlons with taking care of myself. I’d like to finish Iron Girl somewhere around 2h 15min, but if I have to walk the damn thing I will. I want to finish dammit!

Ivy Brand Potluck July 23, 2008

Why aren’t performance fabrics and Gatorade marketed to farmers? This was the question I was asking myself while laying down straw between planting rows at Ivy Brand yesterday. It was 91 degrees and those straw bales — 200 this time! — were not moving themselves. Earlier in the day I thought I’d be hanging out with the kids while Sara ran deliveries or got ready for the potluck that night. Ha!

Ha!

Yet again, my appreciation for the work that goes into farming is deepened. Yet again, my triathlete-self is humbled by the exertion required to be a producer. Yet again, I’m sweating and hot and tired as much or more as I am in a workout.

But by the time the sun was nearing the treeline, the temperature came down a bit and a breeze floated in from the South River. Friends and members of the farm started showing up along with lots of beautiful side dishes and some biodynamic meats. Music from the Seznec Brothers up near the firepit — jamming a mix of just about everything folksy and fun. 

The food was perhaps the best I’ve had at a potluck. (Likely because it was all prepared (or bought) by people who care enough about food to be choosy about where it comes from.) I’d brought a simple coleslaw with a vinegar-based dressing. My favorite dish of the night was a quinoa salad with grapes, cashews, and celery. Amazingly enough there was only one dessert, a peach and blueberry crumble. Why is it that most potlucks I go to are half desserts?

Madeleine and Dax had a great time with Sara’s boys and the other kids that showed up. Even Richard enjoyed himself once he realized he wasn’t going to have to schlep around the fields and could man the grill instead.

We came home filthy and ready for a well-deserved sleep.

Book Club and Blueberry Soup July 22, 2008

Saturday night I met with my book club at my friend Bethany’s house. The way our club runs, we meet every 6-7 weeks, and whoever is the host chooses the book to be discussed and prepares a meal. Saturday was also Bethany’s book club, and her husband Jeff treated Bethany (and us!) to a catered dinner which included a fabulous chilled blueberry soup (see recipe below as promised!).

But besides the great meal, my favorite part of the evening was meeting Bethany’s aunt Carole. Carole is a vivacious woman who has frequently travelled and studied abroad (sometimes in a wheelchair), taken yearly vacations alone except for a shopping bag full of books, taught high schoolers and watched some of them grow into poets and some of them felled by disease, and fished at any and all possible opportunity. Carole has frequently influenced Bethany’s reading selections. She had told Bethany about As It Is In Heaven by Niall Williams, as she’s a big fan — she even participated in a workshop with Williams at his home in Ireland earlier this year.

I was sheepish about the fact that I had read so little of the book. Luckily, no one gets huffy about people not finishing the book in this group. And I have several times finished a book after our scheduled meeting. The fact that Carole was absolutely gushing about her experience in Ireland and how fascinating it was to work with Williams and compare the man to his characters really made me feel a little guilty, though. But Carole was completely gracious about our different reactions to (or lack of reading) the book. Her experience teaching high school English has thickened her skin, no doubt.

Her enthusiasm not only encouraged me to finish the book, but also to get back to writing fiction. I’ve been out of touch with literature for too long, having succumbed to the notion that the only writing worth my time was that for which I could project a paycheck in the next few months.

It’s scary — that fiction thing — just like anything else worth doing, I suppose. But I’m feeling more confident about it than I have in the past. So maybe instead of the J-O-B, what I need to do is get myself in front of a blank page to fill it with the stories I really want to write.

 

Whitney’s Magical Blueberry Soup Recipe

Authors note: Wear something blue or purple because it will get on your clothes and under no circumstances should you use a blender.

 

Take 4 cups of blueberries- usually the larger container at the store

1 cup of orange juice

1/2 cup of sugar

1/2 tsp of cinnamon or a stick

(substitute with nutmeg)

 

Bring this to a boil and then let it simmer for about 3 min.

Blend this all together with either a mixer on a low setting or a blender stick

Authors Note: The Whitney prefers the blender stick.

Squeeze 1 tablespoon of real lemon juice

 

Let this stock cool completely overnight.

 

Before serving the soup, add 2 cups of 1/2 &1/2 or heavy whipping cream.

Add 1-2 Cups of plain yogurt to taste.

Authors Note: You can also use skim milk or milk if you prefer and non-fat yogurt to make it healthier.

 

Serve in glasses or a bowl.

 

Enjoy!

Running Against that Little Voice in My Head July 18, 2008

I just finished reading this great book, The Courage to Start: A Guide to Running for Your Life by John Bingham. The author writes a column for Runner’s World magazine that’s geared toward beginner or slower runners. The book is about why to run rather than how to run. I bought it before we went to Nags Head because I was feeling demotivated about my triathlon training, specifically about running, and wanted some inspiration — a literary kick in the butt.

There’s value in the book for anyone who runs (or is thinking about running), but there were certain parts that really spoke to me. The section “The Faces of Failure” really hit home for me. Despite the fact that my body is naturally inclined toward athleticism, I have only recently come to see myself as an athlete. Insecurity from school days lingers in my psyche and occasionally rears its ugly head, telling me that I’ll always be slow and awkward.

I see now that these insecurities hold me back. Running past the faces of failure, those voices from the past that tell me I’m not good enough or fast enough, is as much of a challenge as running through my lungs screaming for air as I sprint toward the top of the hill. They are even louder than the voice that tells me I’m bored or tired. My goal now is to cultivate the motivational voice, the one that reminds me that I’m having fun, that my body is capable of grace and speed and agility, that I can run right past the faces of failure straight through to the finish line.

A journey of a thousand miles… July 13, 2008

My friend Earl is in trouble. He’s overweight and underfit, his blood pressure is misbehaving and his doctor is not happy at all. Richard and I have been encouraging him to join us in our boot-camp style workouts, knowing that the former college football-player in Earl would enjoy the commaraderie and mental challenges.

So at 7am on Saturday, Earl dutifully showed up in front of the gym. I had stressed to him multiple times that there were plenty of people who walked in the group, that he didn’t have to try to keep up with the marathon runners. Testosterone kicked in at least once and he reportedly ran a few times as our group moved through the trails near the gym.

B wanted to know if I’d taken out a life insurance policy on Earl. He was pale and sweating profusely and had inexplicably left his water bottle in his car.

I’m not at all convinced that Earl will join our group of crazy fitness nuts. I’m not even convinced that he’s really motivated to make the changes necessary to transform himself to a healthier and (I presume) happier Earl. But in that proverbial journey of a thousand miles, he’s taken that first step, tentative though it may be. I’m proud of you, Earl. And when you’re ready to finish that journey, I’ll be by your side the whole way.

99 Bales of Straw on the Wall July 9, 2008

99 bales of straw! Take one down, pass it around, 98 bales of straw on the wall!

Yes, it was another day on the farm yesterday. And since I helped stack 99 bales of straw, Sara says I am officially a farm girl. Aw, shucks…

The kids and I were at the farm for a good 5 hours. Mostly I watched my kids and Sara’s while she ran CSA deliveries, then we had dinner. Loads of fresh veggies from the farm, burgers from her parents’ cattle operation, and chicken leg quarters from Polyface. And when I say fresh veggies, I mean minutes from vine to table. Can perfection be grilled zucchini?

It was the kind of day I hope my kids will look back on fondly — catching tadpoles in the ponds next to the greenhouses, feeding a bottle to a calf, gathering eggs, petting chickens, climbing on a stack of straw bales and proclaiming it a pirate ship.

By the time we got home, they were exhausted, and so was I. We were hot and sweaty (and probably smelled) and I at least was on sensory overload. Or maybe it was just the shock I got from the chicken fence.