My Vegetarian Experiment, Week Two

Hi Guys!

(I forgot to blog on Sunday like I said I would).

So...I only ate meat twice in the past 12 days. Once was by accident (I forgot that Prosciutto was a meat somehow...true story) and once because my husband and I met some out of town friends at Stihl Whiskey and they have the BEST Bourbon Steak Fingers and some sort of magical Pork on Waffles. Go big or go home, right?

Aside from those little slips, I experimented with tofu and tempeh and realized that soy products just aren't my thing. Neither are a ton of beans and legumes, so I've been getting protein from eggs, cheese, nuts, fish, and quinoa, plus whatever might be found in leafy greens like Kale and Spinach, and other vegetables. I guess that technically makes me a Lacto-Ovo Pescatarian. We'll just call it a Plant Based Diet

So far, I'm enjoying being "plant based" and can say I'm finally eating like my food hero, Michael Pollan has always suggested: "Eat food, not too much, mostly plants". Oh, and I've lost two pounds which is pretty good since I'm not "dieting". I am a little bit "carb-freaked out" since I am naturally eating more carbs than typical. But they all come from plants, nuts and seeds (quinoa is a seed), and the occasional corn tortilla or rice pasta (I'm still off wheat),so I'm trying to get over it.

How does it feel going from an almost pure meat based diet to a plant based one? It was confusing the first few days and I had to track my nutrients (macro and micro) to make sure I was getting the right stuff. It has definitely gotten easier and I feel healthier. I always enjoy new recipes and challenges so that part is no problem. I'm hoping that maybe this will help me shed the 20 pounds I've gained and lower my blood pressure a bit!

Here's a round up of some of our favorite recipes:

This is THE best Broccoli, Cheddar and Quinoa Casserole. It's actually called "Better Broccoli Casserole", but trust me, it's the best, and here is the recipe: https://cookieandkate.com/2016/better-broccoli-casserole-recipe/

 

 

 

 

I have a pretty nasty head cold, so I made this Vegetable and Fish Stew last night and it was delish. Saute a few garlic cloves in olive oil, then add one can of Fire Roasted Diced Tomatoes, one cup of White Wine, some Safron and Fennel seeds, salt and pepper, add whatever vegetables you want, plus two nice size white fish fillets. Simmer until vegetables are tender and fish flakes. There you go!

 

 

Leftover Quinoa makes a great addition to salads and you can get really creative - make it a roasted vegetable kind of salad with parmesan, or a fruity tropical one with goat cheese! I boil my quinoa in vegetable broth and add a Tbl of coconut oil and the juice of one lime, plus salt and pepper, to make it taste....."OK".

 

 

 

Soyrizo and Egg scramble with goat cheese, onion, cilantro and salsa has always been one of our standard meals. It fits in better than ever now.

 

 

 

 

Now THIS....THIS...was mouth watering good. Sweet potato and kale with some Tempeh (the one and only time I enjoyed Tempeh) all fried up with a drizzle of maple syrup and a sprinkle of chipotle pepper seasoning, fry an egg on top (put a bird on it!).

 

 

 

Veracruz style Red Snapper with sprouted blue corn tortillas. So good! Rob wants me to make this every week.  I used this recipe:

http://allrecipes.com/recipe/228046/veracruz-style-red-snapper/

 

 

 

 

Ok, here is where I went a little off track. Am I sorry about it? No. Will I make it again? Yes. Pear and Prosciutto Pizza with shredded mozzeralla and arugula. Use the ready made cauliflower pizza crust from Trader Joes! So good. Just prepare crust per package, add shredded cheese, sliced pears, prosciutto, more cheese, bake until melty, add arugula and enjoy!

 

 

See you next week!

 

 

I'm Back...Again...For Reals This Time!

Hola!

It's been so long that I couldn't even Google my own blog! Apparently, in the years I've been away, there have been all sorts of Fit-Something blogs created. Well, I'm happy to say that I'm the "Original" Fitwife and I'm back! Although, truth be told, I thought a name change might be in order. Perhaps "Fluffywife"? Or Midlifewifelife"? I'll have to think on that.

So, what's changed since my last sad sack blog post in 2014? Shortly after that, we made a life altering decision to move to Bend, Or! Apparently 2014 really was a life-defining year full of soul searching, reliving old wounds and then...running away from them. Ha! I continued to struggle a bit after the move, of course. It was a HUGE change and disruption to our lives. My heart broke leaving my son behind and the friends and the life we knew and loved, but it was time. The doctor told me last November when I sat in her exam room, crying for an hour and dumping all of my life's woes on her (and it was just a basic well check up), to give it two years, AT LEAST, before I could expect to feel normal again...like I'm actually home. She was right. It's been just over two years (and 20 pounds, yikes!) but I'm settled. I'm happy. I have amazing friends. I can drive in snow. Rob, Maddie, Raider and I all love the Bend Life! I'm ready to get healthy again and blog obnoxiously about it! Yay!

Sooooo....I'm a vegetarian now. Why? Well...mostly for health reasons. Remember that well check visit I mentioned above? Despite leaving a quarter of my weight in tears on the exam table, it was still too high, and so was my blood pressure. I barely escaped 'the pharmaceuticals'. I told her I'd take care of it. I have a family history of heart disease and obesity on my dad's side. I'm almost 50 and just don't want to go out like that. I also need a new WOE (I learned this means "Way of Eating" after being perplexed, thinking there was a new diet I hadn't tried) in order to kick start my new, healthy lifestyle. So, I binge watched a ton of documentaries to get me psyched. I thought about going full Vegan, but after blowing a paycheck on everything "fake dairy", I failed after just one morning of "better half" creamer in my coffee. It's not better. At all. So eggs and dairy are back on until further notice. Oh...and also...wild game. I have too many friends who hunt and fish (and share their delicious bounty at dinner parties, ranch gatherings, etc!) and I have zero problems with killing your own food, I just don't know how. An elk will feed an entire family for a year, is a much cleaner/leaner meat, had a good life and a quick death at the hands of someone who is a lot closer to, and more respectful of the animal than most people shopping for meat in grocery stores (I shake my head at people who hate hunting but eat grocery store meat, I just don't get it).

I also joined a secret sisterhood of a few like minded women. We will be holding each other accountable, tracking our progress together, encouraging each other and sweating together!

I'll blog once per week about it. You're welcome!

My Train, My Wreck.

 

2014 was such an amazing and strange year. It started out not so great. I struggled with some on-going, low-level depression, which a lot of us do, I'm sure. Some job related stress. Again, very typical. But really, the most disturbing thing I experienced was this vague, overall feeling that things were just not right, and they weren't going to get right either. It was subtle but urgent at the same time. I was so blessed to have the opportunity and emotional support and trust of my husband to take a 5 month sabbatical from work, from life in general, really. I knew better things were on the horizon. I couldn't explain how I knew, or what they were, but I just knew that after an extended vacation, things would work out.

 

Here is where this post takes a slightly unexpected turn....

What I believe, and you are free to disagree, is that the rails of the tracks that we will travel upon for the rest of our lives are laid down in our childhood. You can live a charmed, blessed life, like the one I feel I'm living now, but you can't jump those tracks. Not ever. You will be reminded throughout your entire life of those limitations by the way you see the world, interact, develop and behave in inter-personal relationships (including the most important one - the one you have with yourself), react,  feel, retreat, heal, explore, etc. You can choose to make your journey whatever it is you want and need it to be, have no fear of that, as long as you work within the framework of the tracks that were laid.

 

I am happy by nature, I try to be anyway. Sometimes…maybe…I try too desperately to be happy, which is a dead give-away if you ask me, that things have not always been sunshine and ponies.

 

I'm always surprised when the past rears its ugly head and I'm reminded of the tracks that were laid for me. I get sad. I get angry. I feel guilty. I want off. It's exhausting to feel like I have NO right to be sad, to be angry, to be regretful. I mean, take a look around the world. Comparatively speaking, I…live…a….charmed…happy….life.

 

I know a lot of you had alcoholic parents, it seems to have been, and remains an epidemic, so let me start by saying that this blog post isn't about comparing my childhood to yours, it's not about "how bad I had it". It's not a pissing contest. I know people have had it WAY worse than I could ever imagine. And one of the worst things you could do is say you're sorry or express pity, because that makes you and I different and I learned to hate that kind of pity growing up. I also don't want to be too disparaging against my father. I think he had the capacity to be a great man. This is simply my experience that I choose to share because it's cathartic, it's sort of what I do.

With that said, I first want to say that this is one of the biggest, life changing, relief-offering epiphanies I had in 2014: No matter how much bull shit you go through, and how much subsequent work you do to move beyond it, no matter how blessed and charmed your life appears to be, even through your own eyes, the rails of the tracks you will travel your entire life upon were laid in your childhood and it's OK to travel them. Did you hear me? It's O.K.….you can make do with what you have and where you're going and what you've been dealt.

 

My dad left us when I was 10. Not of his own accord. He was an alcoholic and struggled with some mental illness issues as well. He was still around sometimes, but it wasn't pleasant, at least not for me, certainly not my mom. After too many embarassing episodes, I had to ask him to stop coming around. He wasn't allowed at the stables -  he once brought two shifty looking drunk derelicts out to "meet me and my pony" who sent shivers down my spine (they later beat him, hog tied him, robbed him of his meager belongings and left him to die in his apartment). He wasn't allowed at my birthday parties. Horse shows were completely off limits, unless he promised not to tell anyone he was my dad. He would say inappropriate and random things to people. They would come up to me and say "Uh...Eline? Is that your dad? Is he ok?" (that pity I grew to absolutely loathe all over their stupid faces)  "No. That's not my dad." He was not OK. I eventually refused to drive anywhere with him because he always threatened to run people over while chuckling maniacally and it scared me. He talked about death a lot too - mostly his own. He told me I'd be beautiful if I plucked my eyebrows, always such weird, random things. It was uncomfortable and scary to a child of 10 or 12 and I was happy when he moved out of state. Of course I felt a terrible guilt after he died a few years later, until I realized one day, in my 20's, that I was a child. He should have been better for his child. His ONE responsibility in the world should have been his children. And we couldn't be, because he was sick. I know he loved me and my siblings very, very much, and it was all about the disease. But when you are a child, you are not able to understand that those actions, that life, the shortcomings, the human flaws and failings that your parent might have should not, in any away, affect your own feelings of worth, value, being loved and cared for, supported by a parent. But they do. Sadly, children are ill equipped to make sense of these things and will usually, if given the opportunity, and if they are lucky enough, retreat into their own world and the resilience and self preservation of youth will get them through to adulthood with minimal scaring or hand me down diseases of their own.

 

My oldest sister died shortly after my dad moved out of state, and that was another sad blow to an already crippled family. Erica had brain cancer and was just 18 when she passed away. My mom did her absolute best and I can't even imagine what her life was like…she was a little younger than the age I am now when she was dealing with all of this.  When my dad died a few years after that, I was 15, and I hate to admit it but it was more of a relief than anything. I didn't miss him then and I haven't missed him to this day. Sometimes I miss "A dad". A different one though. One who never materialized. I wish I had fond memories. I wish he was a healthier father figure. But I don't, and he wasn't. Although I've never missed him, I've often looked for him and his approval in others. I married a man similar to him, with issues, and divorced him just as my mom had divorced my dad. Trying to relive and fix what could never be fixed. Very typical.

 

When I became an adult, my mom would sometimes fret and tell me that she always worried about what my childhood was like, that it was sad, how it affected us all, that it wasn't what she hoped it would be for me. Was I all right? I always reassured her that there were plenty of happy times. That it was…good. Shoot, I could hardly even remember any sad stuff! How in the world could I tell her otherwise? How could I even dwell on that when what she wanted, what we all needed, was to just try and remember the good parts? And there were good times, there were happy times, I'm sure. It's just that those 5 or so years really did a number on us all and have had lasting consequences. 

 

I think the reason this is all coming up now is because I just never felt like I was allowed to feel anything about it. The past was the past. I've always been strangely and intensely annoyed by people who stay stuck in their past, place blame for their lives on their childhood. Oh god, get over it already! But sometimes we are most annoyed by the things in others that we, ourselves, possess. But ghosts don't stay buried, the past catches up, and every other cliché ever spoken is true. Dwelling on or feeling sad, or remembering would put me into a panic. I could feel a lump in my throat and a pit in my stomach and I would just think of something else. But I think that all of that repression was the cause of my "slightly off" 2014. It just caught up to me. It manifested itself in a longer lingering sense of deep general sadness. Then I would get angry because I thought I had already done all this work. I've already "healed", I've already "forgiven". I did my time. I've grown up. I've become happy. I stopped being afraid of dying, (which is a strange benchmark, I know, but it's how I know I am living my life the right way). I'm super balanced. I DO YOGA! Why NOW?

Strangely, I think part of it is the horse. As a kid, my horse was my salvation, my savior, my therapy. Horses have a way of sucking the sadness right out of a person like venom from a snake bite. Even if you don't want it to happen. Over the past year or two, I often found myself stroking Maddie's neck contentedly, then suddenly tears would come from nowhere. You just can't be around them without being forced to feel things - both pleasant and unpleasant. At least I can't. Maybe it's an old habit.

 

The big take away here, the BIG, BIG picture, is that 2014 was a banner year for me. It all led up to this New Year's Eve. Things will never be exactly the same. Things will be better. Sometimes things will be worse. I know now that the tracks I travel are the same ones that were laid for me as a child but I'm ok with it. I'm who I am, good and bad, strong and weak, happy and sad, alive and well. I've allowed myself to experience these things again, out loud, because it's what I do, it's cathartic. I've let go of some things and look forward to letting go of a lot more. A LOT more. I'm not going to feel guilty for having some lingering repercussions from a shitty, painful part of my childhood. If I want to be sad once in a while, I will be. Who cares? I'm not going to let my few low moments give me panic attacks.

SO without further ado…..my resolutions for 2015!

 

1. Continue being intuitive because it is amazing, the amount of things you can accomplish for yourself in all areas of your life if you would just stay the hell out of your own way!
2. I think I should start dressing like an 80's female rock star more often because I'm really feeling that sort of pioneering, devil-may-care, bad ass-ness that they emulated and it really works with my hair cut anyway.
3. This goes along with #2, but I think I'm going to allow my freak flag to fly a little higher. In the words of...somebody on Facebook....I'm all out of fucks to give.
4. I am going to continue loving and accepting myself the way I am, because I can now. And I happen to be a 165 pound Jungle Cat, so if you know what's good for you, you should probably humor the kitty and allow me my moments of self-adoration and selfie taking. Fuck you, I deserve it.
5. I'm going to continue to be awesome and work at being awesomer.
6. I'm going to continue do the things that make me shine, that light the fire, and anyone who tries to put that out will be dead to me. Life is too short.
7. I'm going to try to say (and mean) only nice things to and about people. I want to be like my Grandmother.

 

I'm Too What?

 

 

I found an interesting website that shows pictures of various people who are all the same size. You plug in a few figures - I plugged in 5'8" and 160 pounds (my current height and weight) and it brings up photos of people who decided to participate in this website creator's vision, which is to illustrate that BMI charts have it all wrong. No two women looked alike at that height and weight, and of course they all looked good to me.

 

I've had this blog for over 4 years and have spent an incredible amount of time and energy lamenting my size, documenting the journey to make myself smaller, healthier, happier, contented, at ease with my body, etc. Sometimes I was, sometimes I wasn't, (lather, rinse, repeat), and I recently realized that I have arrived. It's not how I pictured it would look in my mind. It's not quite that awesome. I'm about 12 pounds above my self-inflicted "goal weight" (yes, that's supposed to sound like some sort of torture...goal weight. The term should be abolished!) and never quite made it into my skinny jeans. I did, however, make it into my 'skinny-enough" jeans. For a 46 year old woman, mother, wife, I'm good with it. I know...kind of underwhelming. Kind of anticlimactic. But it is what it is.

 

There are the obvious (and they do have merit) phrases that I tried to live by, such as: "Love yourself for who you are.", "Accept yourself as you are.", "Don't focus on the number on the scale....focus on how you feel." etc. And while those are all good, positive gems to live by, they never really provided the impetus I required for improving my health and well being, or my appearance. I didn't want to do any of those things. I didn't want to just be satisfied with the status quo because I believed in myself. I believed that I had it in me to improve. I wanted to keep trying, because that's what I do.

 

As annoying as it may have been to some people, I offer no apologies. None. This was my journey, I chose to share it because that's what I do.

 

I have settled into a lifestyle that suits me and makes me very happy. I adore cooking fabulous meals for myself and my husband (and even my son is becoming more open to them) that contain no grains, no legumes, no dairy, no added sugars, about 90% of the time. I do enjoy a good quality cheese now and then, I use heavy whipping cream in my coffee, I drink wine and whiskey, sometimes beer, and I eat rice or corn tortillas once or twice a month. I don't desire any of the foods that I'm not eating. I have no cravings for anything. I am pretty active. It makes me happy to run, walk, hike, horseback ride, do yoga, and now tennis. That's why I do it. It = Happiness.

 

I have arrived. And I realize that I don't actually need or want to be "thin" or "skinny". In fact, that is kind of a turn off for me (and I'm sure for my husband too). I love being a woman, looking like a woman, having a belly. I can wear a bikini now, why wait? Who cares.

 

I'm too awesome to care. A sexy belly is the new 6 pack.

 

Here I am, pretty much unable to breathe in this pose, but still...I bought the damn thing and I wear it with pride.

 

 



The Brown Cowboy Hat

When I was a kid, maybe around 11 or 12, my friends and I decided to start showing our horses in some local horse shows around town. We started working with our horses every day, week after week, month after month in preparation. We didn’t know exactly what we were doing, but we thought we had a pretty good idea. We didn’t have the kinds of families that could spring for a good horse trainer or riding lessons. To be honest, I don’t think I even realized that people did that! Nope, our poor horses had just us kids and our dreams of grandeur...and Western Horseman magazines. What else did we need?

We worked tirelessly with our horses; getting them to jog and lope nice and slow, as opposed to the racing around we usually did with them. We asked them to carry themselves a certain way using our amazing horsemanship skills, then pleading with them when that didn’t work, finally reverting to gadgets, tie downs and force. Maybe a stick now and then to help get them get in line (please don’t call PETA, I think the statute of limitations is up anyway). We practiced all of the maneuvers we thought the judges would want to see; stop, turn, back up, transitions, etc. We even perfected the gymnastic art of vaulting ourselves up on to their backs by running up behind them and launching ourselves over their rumps (we knew it probably wouldn’t be required, but we were kids and it broke up the monotony.) Our horses were saints!

We looked at pictures, read books like National Velvet and The Black Stallion, poured over Western Horseman magazines, and figured it all out. We were horse trainers!

Finally, the day of the big show arrived. My friends were boarding at another stable so the plan was to meet at the show barn, each of us riding over from our respective boarding facilities. I showed up at the stable the morning of the show to tack up and head out, but the tack room was locked and the gal who ran the place was nowhere to be seen (she was probably in bed, I may have failed to mention to her I would be coming at 6am). I knocked and knocked on the door of the house, but she wouldn’t wake up. In a panic, I ran to the stable next door (Fremont was full of boarding stables when I was a kid, believe it or not!) and the couple who owned it let me borrow some of their tack.

Off we trotted down the road! When our class was called, I entered the arena, heart pounding, hands shaking. It was do or die time! After a few times around the arena I heard my name called. Apparently, they had been calling for me to come to the center of the arena for several seconds, but I couldn’t hear over the pounding of my heart. One of my friends’ parents had to lean over the arena wall to whisper to me as I passed by. I went to the center of the arena to meet with the judge. With the over abundant confidence that only a child or an idiot would have, along with the intense pride in my horse, I thought maybe they were going to tell me that I was being advanced to the “Intermediate” class. Maybe my horse was actually “too good” for the beginner class!

Sadly, that was not the case. The judge informed me that I would have to be disqualified because I didn’t have a hat. Or a western shirt, or a bridle, or anything else I needed for that matter. I cringe in embarrassment just thinking about it. Yes, I was that kid. I thought I was ok. I was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a horse on it. I just had no idea. I was also riding in a hackamore (remember, I couldn’t get into the tack room so I just grabbed what the neighbor handed me). I hope I was at least wearing boots, but it’s sort of doubtful judging by all the pictures of me riding in tennis shoes or barefoot. I just didn’t know better.

Luckily, a friend's mother took charge (my friend was riding in the advanced classes later on). She ran over and made her daughter hand over her hat, shirt, and bridle (and maybe boots). I say “made” because my friend wasn’t thrilled about it. But her mom would have none of her sass and practically hissed “take them off now!”  We did a quick presto-chango and I was back in the arena. The judges held the class for me which, looking back, I think is so incredibly nice. I would have been crushed if I had missed it. We ended up with a few ribbons that day. I’m not sure if we won blue, but I remember we did pretty well, all things considered. I was proud of my horse, and luckily too young and excited about our ribbons to be overly mortified by my naivete. Yet, it was a very good lesson.

My Grandpa Frank was one of my biggest fans and supporters when it came to my horse.  He called me “Tex” and let me read all of his Louis Lamoure books when I would visit them at the lake.  He was pretty certain that I would make a great cowboy girl one day. I remember the day that I received the news that Mandy, the horse of my dreams (and the horse from the story above), was being given to me. It was one of the best and worst days of my life. I was so excited! But it also meant that I would have to sell my first pony. I hung back in the stairwell crying that morning, unable to come down to the kitchen and face people, ashamed that I was being given such an amazing gift and feeling so heartbroken at the same time. Grandpa Frank called me in, sat me down and gave me the kindest talk an old man could ever give a heart-broken little girl. He was very understanding of my heartbreak. But he spoke to me "cowboy to cowboy"-  very seriously.  I remember feeling much better after our talk, though I don’t remember exactly what he said. It was my Grandpa Frank who gave me my very first cowboy hat the Christmas after the horse show debacle.  This is me, Christmas morning, trying on my very own, very real,  and very large cowboy hat!

 

A few years ago my mom asked me if I wanted to keep the hat or if she could get rid of it. Since I thought I had “hung up my spurs for good” after Mandy died at the ripe old age of 36, I told her to go ahead and sell it or give it away. In hindsight, I wish I had hung on to that hat. It might actually fit now!

Every time I put a cowboy hat on today, I still feel a little bit like that goofy kid who didn’t know anything but didn’t know any better. The kid who was so blinded by passion and pony-love, that her attire at a horse show was of no consequence, it was secondary to the excitement of the day and the performance of her horse. I’m just playing dress up now, wanting to ride my horse and do all the right things, but knowing now, that I really know nothing. The lesson in this is that it might be good to reconnect with some of the confidence I had as a kid, but tempered with the humility and common sense you grow into as an adult. I’m starting to feel a little more comfortable in the hat, and hoping the rest will come in time. But God forbid I ever have the confidence I had as a child! I think I’d rather not. And so does my horse, I'm sure.

 

 

 

How Do I Love Thee? I'll Have To Think About It.

At a recent get together with some of my girlfriends, the topic of running came up. A few of us are running, a few of us are not. One would think that the runners would be raving about the benefits of running, trying to convince the non-runners that it’s the best thing ever! But instead we both just sort of scratched our heads and commiserated about how hard it is. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stumble my way through some sort of coherent list of reasons why I keep doing the thing that causes me pain, frustration, constant challenges, is hard, is uncomfortable, is…is….everything unpleasant about “exercise”. I just couldn’t seem to make any sense of it, in 10 words or less. I read an article today that suggested we all (runners) write down our reasons for running. First, because there are as many reasons as there are runners. Second, because the reasons we discover may surprise us.

I have to admit, running has become quite a passion. It's something I've always wanted to do but didn't really think I was any good at it. I ran once in high school...in Keds. I got shin splints and vowed I would never do that again. Then in my 20's I started running again, down the same creek trail I run down today! But the smoking and partying sort of got in the way. I never made it much past a mile or two. And here I am again (I have been known to beat a dead horse). This time I'm trying harder to do it "right", whatever that means. I feel like I should honor this strange, seemingly doomed passion and at least try to sort out my thoughts on the subject; try to crystallize, for myself and anyone else who may be interested, “Why I Run”, and maybe encourage others to make their own list of “why” they do something…anything. It's a pretty thought provoking and enlightening exercise!

But where would I even start?

Then this morning, on my leisurely walk home from the coffee shop after my 3 mile run, I saw an old man walking a cat down the creek trail and I understood (more on this later).

Physically, I have what I consider to be “inadequate lung capacity” (thank you, years of smoking), skinny calves/weak shins (a curse of the "long of leg"?) which forced me to take about 3 months to build up to running my first mile. I’ve never been naturally athletic. At all. Psychologically, I’m not the most disciplined person. I’m a bit lazy, and not super motivated by much – more Type B than Type A.

So from the most basic physical and psychological standpoint – running has helped me to overcome some physical shortcomings, improving both my cardiovascular and musculoskeletal systems. It is still hard. I still struggle a bit through tight shins at the beginning of every run and my lungs constantly remind me of my years of smoking, but both of these things have improved. These are probably just the tip of the iceberg as far as physical improvements to my health, but I'm no expert. There are also some improvements in the Psychological arena. I believe running has improved my discipline, thus improving my motivation, and my energy levels. So there’s that. But wait, there’s more!

Because of the challenges that running offers, there are also feelings of great accomplishment. I increase my distance and my speed, sometimes taking several steps backward and having to start over again (due to illness, injury, etc.). But I persevere because running has taught me that I can, and should, persevere. There are so many “you can’t”, “you’ll never”, “you won’t” in our lives. But running…This, I can. This, I am. This, I will.

The interesting thing about running accomplishments is that it doesn't matter the milestone. The feeling is the same.  After taking an inordinate amount of time to build up to running my first solid mile several years ago, I cried with pure joy. Right there on the sidewalk. For running one mile. I feel the same when I finish a 5K or a 10K or a Half Marathon. Each accomplishment stands on its own. How about that?

When we launch ourselves on a voyage of self-discovery and improvement, do we simply improve ourselves in the areas that are the easiest and will offer the least amount of difficulty and resistance? Or do we dig deep, find the things that are the most difficult and challenging, and start there? For me, I think the latter is true. Self-improvement should naturally be difficult, whether it’s spiritual, emotional or physical. It’s hard and that’s ok. Otherwise we would all be “improved” without having to do anything! Wouldn’t that be interesting?

Not everyone should run. But I think everyone could benefit from finding something that challenges them, and then do it, repeatedly. Especially, if it is something you will never master. Think about that for a second. I bet there is something you are already doing that falls into that category. Why do you do it?

There are also many, more obvious reasons why I run. I am health conscious. It’s a great way to get a work out in when you don’t have a ton of time. No special equipment needed. I love the outdoors! I love to eat. A lot. I love getting to know my neighborhood in this way. I love having my own coffee shop. I get to listen to music. Sometimes I start the run with the intention of thinking through some issue or another, but at the end of the run, I realize I forgot to think at all! Except to think of my breath. So I suppose it's a type of meditation. I get to see old men walking their cats down the creek trail as I enjoy my coffee and my endorphin rush on a crisp sunny morning. Or I get to see a flock of geese adopt an ambitious husband and wife duck couple into their flock. For whatever reason, the endorphins, the challenge, the health benefits, the joy of being outdoors,  the fresh air, whatever...I see things with greater joy and excitement. Even the mundane is spectacular. And I love to eat (did I say that already!?)

Gotta Run!

So much for blogging every week...

I had an entire blog post written and I lost it. I'm not holding out much hope for this one either, so I'll make it short.

November was really busy for us!

The Santa Barbara Half Marathon was November 9th. I had some IT Band issues around mile 9 and had to walk a few miles but managed to finish the last mile fairly strong. I really appreciate the people who come out to cheer as people race by them in varying degrees of pain and suffering!

Rob turned 50 this year! A few weeks ago we headed up to Chico for the weekend to celebrate with friends. It was the first time we each got to bring our own "horse"! Rob's friend has a bike, and his girlfriend has a horse. The rest....was just perfect! Two days of riding, spectacular November weather, and good friends!

Here is Rob and I & Ron and Julie, all on our respective horses!

I've decided that instead of waiting for January 1st, I'm going to just go ahead and get a jump on my New Year's Resolution a few holidays early! So far, I've managed to keep off the 12 or so pounds (depending on the day). Why sabotage myself through the rest of the holiday season? I'm going to start shaving off those last 10 pounds. The holidays can be stressful enough, I don't want to add the lethargy, guilt, and bloating that over-indulging inevitably brings. No...this is going to be the gift I give myself for Christmas...taking care of myself! I might as well...I have to train for the San Francisco Half Marathon in February. Rob has also (believe it or not) started a slow and exploratory foray into the world of running and is going out with me on weekends. We are planning to do a Trail Run 10K on New Years Day (although we haven't officially signed up yet!). We can run or hike it, whatever he wants to do. We are both getting older. Why wait 'til January to make a commitment and concerted effort to take care of the one and only body that we'll have for...how long? Who knows. But I want to enjoy it while I can! Time flies and life is short, waiting is silly. Do it now.