Confessions of a Chocolate Hoarder
I’m off chocolate. Again. Soon, at least. Probably Sunday.
I have this scary addictive kind of relationship with chocolate. Once I get started, I have a hard time stopping.
It’s not the sugar in it that gets me. It’s the chocolate. I can do without all other kinds of sugary things.
Soda? Never.
Juice? I don’t get it. Why drink a fruit when you can eat it instead?
Cakes, pies, donuts, hard candies, Skittles, licorice, you name it. If it doesn’t contain chocolate, I don’t want it. It’s an easy pass.
Once I’m off chocolate, it’s gone, out of my life. That is, the idea of chocolate—its shadow or form, if you will—may exist in my mind (thanks a lot, Plato), but chocolate disappears from my home and from my physiological desire. I don’t need it anymore.
While I’m on it, however, it changes me. I am not the generous, sure-go-ahead-and-borrow-my-car-for-a-week kind of gal I usually like to be. Not if it involves chocolate.
No, you can’t have a bite of my death by chocolate cake. Slice your own piece.
What do you mean you want one of my Reese’s peanut butter cups? There are only 2. I have none to spare.
Selfish. A chocolate hoarder. That’s what I become. And, yes, please take my car for a week. That leaves me so much more time to sit home with my boxes of Girl Scout cookies and count them into nice, neat stacks. One for me. One for me. Two for me. Two for me. Now that’s my idea of fun.
It’s the getting off chocolate that’s not much fun. It only takes a few days, but during those dog days (even if it’s March), I even dream in chocolate.
So if it does all that, you might ask, why did I get back on?
It’s complicated.
See, there’s Easter, which weasels in to the local stores sooner with every year, and with Easter comes the dread Cadbury Egg. And, of course, it’s Girl Scout cookie season, which may or may not have similarities to deer season. And in between, I have a birthday. What is a birthday if not a day to eat chocolate cake?
But, of course, there is more. I met my running goal. My white-slate refrigerator side is once again empty, and I have no new goal visibly posted. There are goals in my head to get me through November, but until they are written, broken down into their daily tasks, organized into a training calendar, and pinned up in my kitchen, chocolate gets free reign.
So Sunday is the day. The day that daylight savings time begins. The day after my birthday. The day I will do laundry, so that the jeans that have been worn into looseness will tighten back up and cling in ways they were not intended to. I will create my training plans and post them.
Once again, it will be death to chocolate rather than death by chocolate.
Wish me luck.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 4 so far )Who Gave You Permission to Rest?
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I’ve had what my brain considers to be some very lazy days. The taskmaster part of my brain, that is. The part that creates my schedule, absolutely loves to-do lists, demands focus, and keeps me on-task, in work, sleep, fitness, and even fun.
I hate that part of my brain.
Particularly when my body and the rest of my brain are clamoring for free time. Enough already, they scream, so loudly sometimes they keep me awake at night.
Why can’t I be like normal people and take it easy from time to time? Assuming, of course, that’s what normal people do.
Since I completed a half marathon nearly 2 weeks ago, I have not gone out for a run or in to the gym for strength training. Instead of waking up before the crack of dawn, I have let my body dictate when it wants to rise. I still wake up (briefly) at 5 am, then roll over and promptly go back to sleep. When I do get up, dawn has cracked.
I know that it’s good for me to take a break from routine of any kind. It helps me to come back fresh, strong, whether I’m training for an event or tackling a work project head-on. Mental and physical breaks are a necessity, at least for me.
Plus, it’s not like I’ve done nothing. I’ve gone to a few Pilates classes, done some Yoga. I’ve focused on stretching and have resumed the daily core work my body needs. I’ve started a new work project and tied up some loose ends. I’ve even set a date to begin whatever it is I’m supposed to begin: March 1. A nice, round number.
So why does the OCD part of my brain keep picking on me?
Wednesday morning I caught myself staring uncomfortably at my refrigerator. No, I was not trying to invoke any x-ray vision gifts I might have miraculously been given by trying to see the stacks of Girl Scout cookies in my freezer. I already broke into those. Rather, I was noticing what was posted on the side. My half marathon training schedule, all penciled in. My race bib and finisher’s medal. A race bib and 2nd place medal from a mid-training race.
I took them down and put them away, leaving an empty white space in their stead. My OCD-brain breathed a sigh of relief. Order restored. A clean, white slate waiting to be filled. The fist between my shoulder blades unclenched.
There is promise ahead. But first, at last, there is rest.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )Making History at the Livestrong Austin Half Marathon
I made history on Sunday, February 17, 2013.
Well, maybe not earth-shattering, life-altering, textbook-worthy history, but my history. I PRed at the Livestrong Austin Half Marathon.
My goal: Under 2 hours. My official chip time: 1:56:21.
It was an awesome race, but a much harder course than I remember. Who put all those hills in the last 3 miles? Can we fire them?
I was–and remain–ecstatic, mentally if not physically. For 2+ days my body felt like it had been beaten with a stick. My legs hurt, from the bruised tip of my left middle toe all the way up to my lower back. I don’t recall ever feeling like this after a race.
Regardless, I wouldn’t trade Sunday for anything, not even a barrel of Cadbury eggs. Which I LOVE, and which my boyfriend gave me as a post-race gift. (Not a barrel full. Just one. Perfect.)
Every race is a learning experience. Here is what I learned from the Austin half:
1. I need more hill training.
2. A perfectly normal toe going into a half can look like a Concord grape coming out.
3. Running buddies save the world (or at least your run).
I will write more about running buddies in a future post, but let me just say here that Katie from Houston was a God-send. We ran the first half together to keep each other on pace. We didn’t talk much after mile 3, and we lost each other somewhere around mile 6, but sharing the beginning of a race with someone else makes or breaks it, in attitude and time.
4. Gatorade is not my friend.
I never drink Gatorade and stopped drinking any sports drink a few years ago. I prefer water, plain and simple. Most sports drinks contain too much sugar for me, particularly Gatorade, which has always made me nauseous.
Additionally, I learned recently that BVO, a synthetic chemical originally manufactured as a flame retardant, has been an ingredient in many sports drinks and sodas, including Gatorade, for years. All the more reason for me to avoid it.
However, somewhere around mile 5 I cruise into a water stop, grab what I think is a full cup of water, and down it. To my dismay, it’s Gatorade. Almost instantly, I am nauseous. And, since the BVO news broke, I am more than just a little upset.
For the next 8 miles I am having two simultaneous conversations with myself. One is a rational discussion laying out all the reasons why I cannot take the time to stop and vomit until after I cross the finish line. My stomach churns for the remainder of the race as small streams of lemon-lime shoot up the back of my throat.
I never do vomit, even though my stomach will not feel normal until sometime in the late afternoon.
The second conversation has to do with BVO. Last week I mentioned the importance of mental distractions in seeing me through long runs. Usually, the distraction is music–not a real iPod, but the iPod on continuous loop in my head. On a particularly good long run recently, Sugar Ray’s “I Just Want to Fly” helped me to. On a particularly hard long run, Train’s “Calling All Angels” got stuck in the loop.
Sometimes movie scenes replay in my head, a little bit reworked. Like during my 11 mile This Is Spinal Tap long run. I envisioned my interview with Rob Reiner, who ran along beside me as we discussed the fact that every other runner might stop at 10, but not me.
ROB: Why don’t you just make ten faster and make ten be the top number and make that a little faster?
ME: [pausing and looking down at my legs] These go to 11.
The BVO distraction, unfortunately, was not as fun. At least, I kept telling myself, if another meteor hits Earth and Austin explodes into a fireball, I’ll be safe. Me and half the runners. Austin may burn, but we’re flame retardant.
At least I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.
And I got my PR.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 9 so far )The End in Sight
In a little more than 48 hours I will have PRed the Austin Half Marathon.
It will be cold Sunday morning, somewhere in the mid to upper 30s. When my alarm goes off I will already be awake, half dreading getting out from under the warm covers so blasted early.
I’ll sit on the living room floor like I always do, cup (or 2) of coffee in hand, and stretch, not necessarily because I need to stretch promptly upon awakening, but because it’s a nice excuse to sprawl out on the floor and half-doze instead of crawling back into bed.
My dogs will look outside at the still dark sky, and then at me like I am crazy, burrow into a cozy nest in the throw on the couch, and go back to sleep. Like they always do.
But this Sunday won’t be like any other running day. No stalling on this cold morning with endless coffee or straightening up. This day is going to rock.
I have visualized race morning for weeks–waking up and getting ready for the race, driving to Austin, walking to the start line, warming up. I know what I will eat and when, what my clothing options are for any kind of weather (this is Texas, after all–the thermometer can fluctuate 40+ degrees within hours). I have reminded myself to press my Garmin’s ON button as soon as I cross the Start line.
I have visualized what my negative split will feel like, particularly the second half, fast and hard to the Finish line.
Most important, I have repeated in my mind’s eye crossing that line. Finishing strong. My best run ever.
Strangely, perhaps, visualization comes so easily for me that it often resembles daydreaming. Especially on long runs. Maybe my mind needs a distraction in order to let my body alone to do what it will. Or maybe I am simply determined to get the result I want. Regardless, I have seen the end of this race, over and again, and I know it won’t be good. It will be fabulous.
I can’t wait.
Come to think of it, I haven’t. I’ve seen it.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )The Blank Page
The page is almost full. Next Sunday–in 9 days–I will be in Austin well before the sun comes up, running a half marathon, the first I have been able to run since February 2010. At the end of the day, my last box will be checked.
When I posted my training plan on the side of my refrigerator just before Thanksgiving, the whiteness of the blank boxes and the progression of long-run miles daunted me. For a couple of weeks, I doubted I could actually do it. Run a half marathon, geez. What was I thinking? I hadn’t run that far in so long I found it hard to have faith in my ability to do it again.
Not only was the page too white, but there were lots of things that might get in the way of fulfilling my plan. Christmas, New Years, vacation, business trip, work. I had to remind myself that the holidays in particular were why I chose to run this particular half marathon at this particular time, why I chose to start training the week after Thanksgiving. I chose.
I knew from past experience how closely aligned race training is with project planning. Life planning. You set a goal and a date, break it down into its parts, plant the tasks on a calendar, and check off each task as it’s complete, recording your rate of success. Focusing on the small chunks, one week at a time at most, one day at a time for certain, is what determines success. We only live one day at a time. It’s our responsibility to focus on the moment, perform to the best of our ability, because the moment is all we are guaranteed.
But for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been looking at my plan with a different eye. When I glance at it from across the kitchen, I no longer see an intimidating white page. My plan has almost reached fruition. The boxes contain times and distances where I followed the plan, or diagonal lines where I didn’t. I am no longer afraid of this page. Rather, I am proud. I have come so far, and there is visual proof to remind me.
When I look at my plan, penciled, erased, circled, used, I get excited. Not only am I so close to reaching my goal, which is thrilling in itself, but I have had the joy (and pain) of reaching a goal every day. I see the results on paper, certainly, but also in the mirror. I am not the same person who started this plan on November 26. And I will be a different person again when I cross that finish line on February 17.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 3 so far )Two Weeks to PR
I did it. I finished my 10 mile run last Sunday 4:30 faster than my 10 mile run the week before. Not only am I completely thrilled with the fact that I beat myself, but I am now confident that I will PR at the Austin half in two weeks.
The last time I ran the Austin half, in 2010, I PRed. My goal was to finish in under 2 hours. I finished in 2:01:50-something. I know. I’ve been trying to block out the disappointment ever since. At least I’ve succeeded in kind of forgetting the tenth of a second part.
This time, I’m sure I can do it. Running has never felt so good, and I’ve never trained better. This time, there are two major differences.
My attitude.
I didn’t take up running until my early 30s, and it has probably saved my life on more than one occasion. Training for a race–having a goal, a plan, a block of time every day to disappear into and call my own–has sustained me through marital problems and divorce, death, illness, and countless lows that in a previous life would probably have resulted in self-destructive activities.
Running became such an integral part of my identity that for a long time I approached it with a certain rigidity. If I had a plan I’d follow it, come hell or high water. But in the past couple of years, I have learned to let go of the plan. This time around, my plan is tacked on my refrigerator, just as with any past race, but rather than stress about sticking exactly to it, I do what I can when I can. Give it my best, and leave the rest up to God. I’m finding that in running, just like in life, I get a much better outcome when I let go.
My strength.
It’s not that strength training never appealed to me, it’s that it never occurred to me. I was like most women I see at the gym even now: My idea of a workout was strictly cardio. Thanks to my sister, I have developed a love of strength training along with the understanding that if I want to run long and hard and fast, I need the musculature to support me. A strong core holds the body upright and prevents hip, back, and knee injuries. A strong upper body decreases tension on the spine when I’m slogging my shoulders and head along on those long runs. And strong legs? A no-brainer. I want quads that look like braided bread not because I find them sexy, but because I need to make it up some pretty steep hills. The stronger I get, the faster I get, and the more I enjoy running.
I’m not worried that I’ve jinxed myself by stating publicly that I believe I will PR in Austin. Even if I don’t (but I will), I know I will be proud of my run and the fact that I’m there, giving it the best I’ve got. Isn’t that what life’s all about?
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 2 so far )The New Normal
Last Sunday I ran ten miles. Ten. Miles.
To some of my friends ten miles is like a walk to the mailbox. To others it might as well be an ultramarathon. To me it’s incredible.
When I started training for a half marathon eight weeks ago my long run was five miles. Frankly, I was terrified. My friend offered to do my first long run with me, bless her heart, as long as–in her words–it was under fifteen miles. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or vomit. The thought of five was scary enough. Anything approaching double digits seemed impossible.
Now, I run five miles in the middle of the week. And it’s almost like a walk to the mailbox.
This Sunday I get to run ten miles. Again. Ten. Miles.
I’m sure I can beat last Sunday’s time because I plan to eat better this Saturday than I did last. My mother always told me that Cheetos are not a dinner food. I’m not sure she actually qualified it with “dinner,” come to think of it. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s right. Cheetos don’t seem to sustain endurance or supply energy, even if they do stain your fingers a fine shade of day-glow orange that might actually help make runners more visible to cars. Nevertheless, Cheetos won’t be on my menu this weekend.
One of the beautiful things about running: I’m my own biggest competitor. I just want to do better than I did the week before so that what’s normal is always new.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 11 so far )Half Way to Austin
I’m over the hump. This is week 7 of the 12 week training plan I’m following to get to the Austin Half Marathon on February 17.
Training for a half marathon was not one of my 2012 goals. It hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’ve completed 9 half marathons, but an injury in 2010 sidelined me, and until this past summer I hadn’t run farther than 6 miles. And I’d only done that once.
In September, I realized it was time. What was the deciding factor? There were a few. Competing in a 5-miler next to a friend reminded me of the fun, social side of running. Winter was approaching. I’m convinced that I have bear blood in me. Once the thermometer dips below, say, 40, all I want to do is curl up in a ball under a pile of blankets with a bag of Julio’s and a plate of cookies. Now that’s hibernation. And the holidays make it worse. Maybe I’m part slug, part bear. I didn’t want a repeat of last year’s near-comatose holiday season.
But the overwhelming reason was simple. I was tired of being afraid. Of injury. Of failing. Of facing the possibility that I could no longer run distance. I finally realized that if I didn’t try, I had already failed, and I would never run farther than 6 miles, period.
And here I am, ending week 7. It hasn’t been easy to stick to the plan. I was on vacation week 2, ending the Girls on the Run season week 3. It was Christmas week 5 and New Year’s week 6. I’m on my way to a conference during week 8. There’s always something. But such is life. There always will be.
Knowing I would miss training days here and there each week, I did, however, commit to not missing particular runs: intermediate and long runs, and speed work. It’s paying off. Here are some highlights of my training so far:
- I ran 7 miles.
- I ran 8 miles.
- I came in 2nd in my division in last week’s 10K.
- I’ve cut one minute off my mile.
Tomorrow I get to run 9 miles. I am both nervous and excited as I see the distance grow each weekend. But I am no longer afraid. Instead, I celebrate every moment.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( 4 so far )The Busk, or why I run before dawn
There are a dozen reasons to run before dawn. There’s no traffic. Car exhaust and other pollution haven’t elevated to choking level. Running sets your metabolism, you get the day’s run out of the way, it’s mental preparation for the day. These reasons all ring true for me, but there’s something more. With each sunrise I am reminded that every day is a busk.
In spring when the corn began to ripen, some American Indian tribes held a busk, a cleansing ceremony whose purpose was, in large part, renewal. Tribe members cleaned out their homes and threw all broken or unwanted items into a communal heap, which they burned. A new fire was kindled, and from it all the fires in town were kindled. During the ceremony, all offenses except murder were forgiven, and a new year began.
The Unity Church practices a ritual with a similar purpose: The Burning Bowl. In this New Year’s ceremony, individuals make two lists, one of the things they need to get rid of, and the other of their intentions for the year. The first list is burned; the second sealed, to be read later.
Both rituals serve the same purpose as New Year’s resolutions do for many of us. A new year promises a clean slate, the potential to do things right, set new goals. It’s a chance to start life anew. The opportunity to remake ourselves into something better, stronger. (Faster.)
Some seem to think that if they don’t set New Year’s resolutions, they’ve missed their chance for change. But we don’t have to wait for New Year’s Eve for that clean slate. We get a new beginning every day.
Each day that I get to run before dawn, I am reminded of this. A sunrise is like an opening hand, pink fingers flaming across the sky, releasing a new day. The most brilliant dawns remind me of a fire eating through the detritus of the previous day, cleansing it of the good and bad, clearing the way for new growth.
One reason running fills me with gratitude–I get to witness this. A new beginning, every day. Another chance to live right, do right. Another day I am blessed with.
Read Full Post | Make a Comment ( None so far )On the Cusp of the No Plan Plan
At this time last year, I had a plan. Not just any old plan, but a Master Plan. I wrote out my vision of where I wanted to be in a year and then laid out corresponding goals, each month for a quarter, then six months, a year. I posted both documents, Visions and Goals, on my bathroom mirror so I would be reminded daily of what I needed to do, where to go.
By April I found that I had met maybe 1/3 of my goals. My Master Plan wasn’t so masterful after all, it seemed. The documents came off the mirror as I thought of Woody Allen’s line, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” Nevertheless, my visions and goals were embedded in my brain.
Now, at the end of the year, I find that I have met many of these goals, even if I didn’t meet them in (my) time. The goals I missed have more to do with focus than desire. A fortune fished out of a cookie sometime this year waves from my fridge to remind me: The most powerful element in the world is a focused mind.
But it’s almost December 31 again and I have no Master Plan, no vision, no list of goals to post on my bathroom mirror.
This realization set in yesterday when for the first time in a month I stood completely alone in my house, in silence. Last December I had the luxury of time for reflection and planning. This December, by contrast, has been a whirlwind of incidents and events, from beach time and the joy of season’s end to family illness, unexpected home repairs, the stress of season’s end, and the preparation required to begin a new season.
Oh yeah, and then there was Christmas.
For some reason, I’m not so worried about not having a plan. December 31 isn’t the official Master Plan Deadline and, as far as I know, I won’t melt if midnight strikes and I’m on the No Plan Plan. There will be enough time.
Among the many lessons I learned this year, two apparently contradictory principles stand out:
- I seem to be happiest when I forget about myself.
- We receive in life what we think we deserve.
I’m not exactly sure how my Master Plan will take shape, but I know I need to begin here.
Fortunately, as I begin to think about 2013’s visions and goals, I am not completely planless. My training plan is still tacked up on my fridge, guiding me toward that half marathon in February.
At least there is this: I plan to run.
Have a blessed New Year.
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