I have to admit it. I have a love/hate relationship with my scale. It's not good. If I get on it and she rewards me with evidence of a loss, I'm HAPPY. I'f I get on it and she curses me with a gain, I'm GROUCHY. I knew this and I know this about myself. Yesterday I was feeling pretty positive. Blogging and thinking. I was actually thinking about throwing her in the trash. Complete with a funeral. Flowers, maybe lilies. Music, like amazing grace on the organ. A choir perhaps. I'd wear a black dress and a veil and then as soon as she hit the bottom of the can I'd cue up the Solid Gold Dancers. Or cheerleaders. Or step team. Maybe those tall flag girls from the high school football games. One of those. This idea arose primarily out of the notion that maybe, just maybe, I was putting just a teeny tiny little bit too much emphasis on the number on the scale. Just a teensy weensy bit. It was actually the Dep's idea but that is probably primarily because he is sick and tired of hearing me obsess about my "weight", that is to say, the actual number. I mean it's irrelevant anyway right? Hm.

But here's what happened. I've weighed 146 ish for a couple of weeks. It seems like I can get to 143 and then I have a long run or work out hard and whammo! 146. So maybe I ought to just quit paying attention to the number entirely? Right? I mean Ashley Tisdale doesn't even own a scale right? I know this cause she said so. She said it in Shape magazine, where she also referred to herself as "curvy". So you know she never lies. Cause she is SO "curvy". You know, in places where "curvy" is defined by weighing more than 110 pounds. Places like Hollywood. I was there last week at a concert. It was a fun time with my sister and we glammed up a little bit for the show. Or at least I was feeling pretty glam until I saw the other "glam" gals and suddenly felt not just 34 but about 74 with every wrinkle magnified to the same power it takes to see an atom. Anyway Ashley likes her body how it is and she doesn't even own a scale. And since I like to model my life after people who start in musicals about high school. Viola. There you go. I'm going to like mine too?

But then the unthinkable happened. I got on the scale yesterday and... dun dun dun. I weighed 143 again. Well sheesh. How can I hate her when she is being so kind to me. Forget that I'm dealing with fluctuation from bloat and ignore the fact that I had a little more than a little gin the night before (and you know alcohol dehydrates you, handy if you're trying to lose lose PMS pounds). So I love her again. She's my BFF and we're going out to lunch. But I mean were only going to have like three pieces of lettuce and some carrots. Then we're going shopping for skinny jeans. Really skinny ones. I agree to let her stay. PLUS I paid like some astronomical amount of money for that scale (even though it still says my body fat is like 45%) and I'm not one to literally throw cash in the trash so again. There you go.

Then today... I did my usual routine of the morning. Stretch Pee. Weigh. 147? What? Oops I forgot I was wearing my nightgown. Strip down. Weigh. 147!!! WHAT? I hate you scale. Maybe I didn't finish peeing. Nope I'm pretty sure I did. You evil evil liar. I'm not even going to throw you away I hate you so much. First I'm going to beat you with a hammer (and not a little one either). Then I'm going to douse you in bleach (cause it's the most harmful chemical I have in the house). Then I'm going to let the dog pee on you. She's always looking for a place to pee anyway so there! Now she has you. Then when that's all done. I'm going to pretend to throw you away, just so you'll think the torture is over but NO. I'm going to pull you out of the trash and weigh myself 17 times and every time I see the number I'm going to call you a nasty name. Like jerk. Or butthead. Or accurate.

Sigh.... the fact is it's the number. It shouldn't be but today proves that it is. Yesterday at 143 I was feeling encouraged and happy. Today... I'm the same person. My ultra low rise pants still fit (yeah I bought those by accident, people who have had three kids I don't think are necessarily meant for ultra low rise). The scale says 147. Maybe I weigh 147 or 143 or 145. But the fact is that the number is just that. A number. So for today I'll let her stay. But if she thinks we're going out to lunch she can just forget about it. I'm taking the kids for Mexican food and I'm going to eat a burrito cause I ran like 100 miles this week and I can calorically afford a stinkin burrito. So there you go.

do chickens have feelings?

I think they might. Today I drove past a truck full of hens, en route to certain death I've no doubt, and they were staring at me. I mean into the depth of my soul staring. I think one of them telepathically told me to rescue her. I wanted to scream from the window of my *as big as a 747* SUV... "LET HER OUT", but that would have looked kind of hypocritical. The environmentalist animal lover... driving the biggest car known to mankind. OK not the biggest, but still you could fit a whole other car inside my car, so big enough to look gluttonous. Anyway, I've toyed with the idea of being a vegetarian before, both for conscience and health, but when it comes down to it, if I'm not staring the chicken in the eye, she tastes pretty good. When I don't have to look at the cow standing in a pile of her own manure, she tastes al-dang-right. So that is kind of that, so to speak. But today, I swear for about 1 hour and a half I was totally committed to never placing about piece of chicken or beef in my mouth. Totally. For an hour and a half. Then I went to Panera and had a turkey bacon bravo sandwich. But I felt bad eating it. Really bad. I mean it was delicious. But I still felt bad for those chickens. I didn't have a chicken salad sandwich though so that counts for something right? Nah probably not.  

In an attempt to cure my guilt though I'm going to plant 2 trees. One for the chicken and one to offset the carbon footprint left by my giant SUV driving 40 miles to Trader Joe's to buy organic food. Huh? Did that makes sense? I don't think that makes sense. Drive to buy organic? Spend more money and harm the environment to eat more healthy. Something is wrong with this picture... Well it so happens Victoria's Secret is having a semi-annual sale so at least the trip was multi-purpose. If I keep running I'll just ramp up my mileage until I can run the 40 miles. Well anyway. 

So I woke up today and could hardly get my wedding ring off. It's been falling off for months, apparently my fingers had fat in them too. I mean I was considering tying it to myself to keep from dropping it in the sink and now it won't come OFF? Well I didn't do bad with water yesterday but I didn't do great either and I knew it was water weight. So much so that I actually just decided that I would skip weighing this morning because I knew I'd be up and I knew it would be a scale lie. But then, coincidentally enough about an hour and a half later, I weighed myself anyway. Hm. It seems like an hour and a half is my willpower maximum today. But I weighed myself then got mad at the scale and said to it "you're a liar". It's not lying probably it doesn't know how to lie but it's not humanly possible to gain 3 pounds in one day. It's just not. So I'm just going to pretend I didn't see that number and I'm going to drink 2 gallons of water and a cup of the worlds tastiest diuretic, coffee  

I went to the gym, operating at about 60% of capacity I think. I ran on the treadmill. Yay cause that's my FAV! (not) My left heel hurt. My right knee hurt. My head hurt from thinking about my right knee and my left heel. The good news is that the broken leg doesn't hurt, I mean not where it was broken. Everywhere else, but not on the break. Hey I'll take what I can get. So I ran. That hurt. So I walked. That didn't hurt but that also doesn't burn calories like running. That would like comparing an oreo cookie to a piece of Cheesecake Factory cheesecake. So I upped the incline to 10. That hurt again. SO back down to .5 and back to running. That hurt. Back to walking. That didn't hurt. Back to running. And so on and so on. Until 35 minutes had passed and I was frustrated enough that I just stopped. Uh oh it appears that in some circumstances my willpower threshold isn't even an hour and a half. Now I just feel crappy. I've said before, with enthusiasm I might add, that there is nothing that running won't at least improve if not solve. Guess what running does not improve? Feeling like crap. Well technically it improves feeling crappy temporarily. Like an hour and a half. But then endorphins, auf wiedersehen, and welcome back to the pre-run misery with the new added bonus of muscle soreness. I hate to admit it but I might need a break. I might have finally reached the point where my body is saying "hey stooopid why don't you take a rest for pities sake?" OK. OK. Alright already. I'll rest. Sheesh.  

But just an hour and a half.

yeah yeah (Read: Why I wasn't worth it?)

I love running. It's true. I haven't replaced my food addiction (or food love I guess I could term it) with running but pretty dern close. I'm just gonna tell you why. Even though you didn't ask. Here's what's great about running (in no particular order):

1. Endorphins

2. physical fitness

3. endorphins

4. time with yourself (those long runs can be pretty long) to think and ponder whatever needs to be thought about or pondered

5. endorphins

6. cardiovascular health

7. endorphins

8. lowered blood pressure (not a problem for me but why not head it off at the pass)

9. endorphins

10. increased insulin resistance (and thus lowered risk of diabetes)

11. endorphins

12. appetite suppressant (what? exercise AND reduced hunger? I might add that this is only temporary. I'm downright RAVENOUS about an hour after a long run)

13. endorphins

14. better sleep and more energy when you're awake.. all thanks to, you got it, #15

15. ENDORPHINS :)

This is by no means a comprehensive list I might add. But here's what I know about running (and a lot of other cardiovascular exercise as well, but running is my choice), the list above is by no means the end of the benefits of running, but it's a decent start.

Now you may be skeptical like I was. I mean sheesh I was already only sleeping 4 hours a days as it was, good grief, WHERE am I going to fit an hour of exercise of any kind, other then lifting my hand to my mouth or standing in the shower? I know, right? Now, you are actually telling me that I should sleep LESS than that in order to run? No thank you mister. I'll take a pass. Well blah blah blah. Excuses excuses excuses. Oh I'm so good at those. I can excuse myself right into a slab of cheesecake. But one day I realized that those excuses really wouldn't hold water anymore. In order to continue to say I was too busy, too tired, too __________ (insert excuse here) I was going to have to just get off my hiney and give it a go. SO that's what I did.

I may add I don't generally lack motivation. I graduated Valedictorian from nursing school. I don't lack motivation. Last semester I took 15 units on TOP of being a wife and mother (though I'll admit not the best one in either department probably), working full time and training for a marathon. I raised my younger sister and a good portion of my life I raised my mother as well. Seriously, I don't lack motivation. I don't tell you this to toot my own horn (though it certainly looks that way and I apologize). But truly, I say this for one reason only, and that is because I know there are many of you who do the same exact thing. I ALWAYS made time for the things I "had" to do (and you know what those are for you all ladies and gentlemen) but when it came to things that were all mine, the things that focused on my health and fitness, I just conveniently moved them to the back burner, saying "next week", "next month", etc. etc. I have to do this. I have to do that. I have to put another hat. (I made that rhyme just for the heck of it) How is it that in the face of straight A's and a spotless house, healthy kids and a sister at a University, scooping my mother up over and over and supporting my husband in an exceedingly stressful career, I could decide that my health had no worth? How could I stay up all night to write a paper or sew a quilt, or make a halloween costume or bake 6 dozen cookies, but I couldn't take 60 minutes to work up a sweat? How is it that I could devote hours to buying and preparing healthy food for my kids but yet I could justify eating all night to keep myself up at work? I guess the short answer is that somewhere along the way, for reasons better discussed in another blog, I decided that I wasn't worth it. Plus I generally didn't like sweat so that was another convenient excuse.

But one day I decided I was in fact worth it, and here's where it gets real honest. Really honest. That kind of honest that you don't always just want anyone to know. So... put in on the internet right? Anyway, the fact is, I threw away the antidepressants that my Physician (who also takes care of my bipolar mother) told me I should accept that I'd be on for the rest of my life. I flushed the ambien that I had come to rely on for sleep. And thus I decided not to medicate myself through my life. (and disclaimer: I also might add that medication has a great place when used appropriately. I certainly do not condone flushing your medication, but I am a nurse and sometimes nurses think we are doctors and can make those kind of bold, albeit occasionally foolish, medical decisions). Anyway, disclaimer aside, I was tired of feeling like I needed a pill just to survive my life. I'm embarrassed to admit it but I had to come to rely on these little round pieces of magic just to get through the day (and or night), when the problem wasn't that I needed to medicate away what was wrong, the problem was I needed to face what was wrong head on and attack it. I had become complacent in every area that focused on me. Which is so remarkably UNLIKE the person I am. The people who know me would never use the word complacent or lazy to describe me. Ever. But there I was. Just plugging along in life while it passed me by. All grins and energy on the exterior. All misery and self loathing on the interior. And dare I say it.. running played an enormous part in changing that. So there you have it.

When people ask me why I want to run a marathon I usually say "because I can", but the real answer is because I never thought I could.

feelings

You know feelings.. like pain. Pain is the feeling I have at present. Pain in my leg and periodically a pain in my ass, but the latter can't really be blamed on my running. I had a re x-ray of the broken leg that is no longer broken. Yay for small victories. Bones do heal. Even mine. So the doc sent me for the x-ray . I might add that the dep was the driving force behind the x-ray in the first place.  Anyway doc sent me for the repeat of the repeat of the repeat xray to see what there was to see inside my flesh. I hope that radiation doesn't harm your bones or cause some morphing at the cellular level because I might be becoming the Hulk or something. Hey wait.. that might improve my running. Hm.

 Well the result of the x-ray was a waste of two hours that I could have been running but never the less, good to have the knowledge I guess that my leg is healed and looks fine despite continued pain. I'm asking myself now... why am I worried about this little pain when I ran for three weeks on  a broken fibula? t=The simple answer is, well... simple. I ran for three weeks on a broken fibula. I don't want to re-break my leg. I ran for three weeks in complete denial and ended up with something a lot worse than just a little stress fracture. So lesson learned is.. denial is not a river in Egypt. It IS rather, a place where I like to frequent, especially as it pertains to my running. So I did the only sensible thing. I read my own x-ray, cause I'm moonlighting as a radiologist,  and then came home and ran an easy four miles.

My run today was sluggish. I don't know if this is because I'm feeling the five pounds that I need to lose (or maybe 10) or if my legs are just tired from not running for a few days. I'm feeling generally tight in my hips and calves and kind of irritable about not being able to just hit the ground running so to speak.  It could just as easily be attributed to my morale issues as I am becoming increasing frustrated with the Nike + whose accuracy I doubt. Oh it would be easy enough to just run to my 70% RPE )rate of perceived exertion) but then how would I know my pace for training and ultimately improving time. I mean my first order of business for the SF marathon is to cross the finish line alive, after that it would be to do it in some time frame that is at least predictable. Now I  might predict that it's going to take me 7 hours but at least I can know if I'm on target to finish in the predicted 7 hours. In any case, it's more of a case of me just being generally irritable that something isn't working like it should. I tried to calibrate to thing again at 400 meters and it told me that the distance I ran didn't match 400 meters. The only explanation I have for that is 1. I'm just so fast it thinks I'm flying or 2. (the more likely scenario) I'm so slow it thinks I'm crawling. Insulting. I mean is a 10 minute mile THAT slow? OK it is. I know but I'm trying to teach the thing to recognize MY marathon pace not my sisters sprinter pace. Ugh. Technology. Blessing and frustration. This would be one of those times I'd call on the software engineers I know and say, fix it. Please.

The good news is that I'll be buying myself a Garmin before you know it. I'm going to lose 10 pounds. Just cause I want to see what happens. Maybe my stomach will magically melt away in ten more pounds. Probably not but I think I'd better lose it just to be sure. And my 'trainer' who might also be known as my husband has devised a little reward program. For everyday on track with my weight loss and training routine, in to the jar goes $5. At some point soon I'll be implementing the Garmin and then we'll know just what the Nike+ is made of.

LSD

No, not the hallucinogen. The run. THE run. The long slow distance run. In running jargon this is the run that is done at what is known as a "conversational pace", which very simply means you should be able to have a conversation while running. Not a dissertation or a debate, just a conversation. This is a hard concept for new runners to wrap their mind around. In fact it's probably a hard concept for anyone to wrap their minds around. The idea is that you have to be deliberate in your running. There is no "as fast as you can" no push beyond the limit of your fastest. This is not how the LSD works. Instead the LSD should be a pace that you could sustain for, oh, about 26.2 miles or so. Maybe 26.2 miles sounds like a distance that might as well read: to the moon and back. Maybe, if you're an ultramarathoner, 26.2 miles might as well read: stroll in the park. For me, it's the former. So, the problem that presents itself is this, if you've never run a marathon, how do you know what pace to run at? Well you could operate at 60-70% of you MHR if you know what your MHR is, if you even know WHAT a MHR is. Or you could i-rate your exertion scale and run at a 6-7 on a scale of 1-10. Or you could just run with someone else and have a conversation. 

Today was my first LSD since my break. Well it was technically my first LSD at all considering that to this point, every long run I did was at a pace where I felt like I would essentially die at any minute. Who wants to feel like they are going to die for 26.2 miles? Not me. So I should run my LSD at my "marathon"pace, which based on some formulas should be like 12-13 minutes a mile. But I don't know my marathon pace so I just took the dep with me and talked with him. It translated into a 11:12 average pace (Or so says the nike+ but I don't know if that can be relied upon for 100% accuracy). It's hard to run with the dep for a couple of reasons. 1. He runs 3 miles. I mean that is his run. His running focus is ALWAYS qualifying in his mile and a half PT test. He doesn't run 5 miles and he doesn't think in terms of longevity. It's balls to the wall so to speak, and that is how he operates. That's funny because he is not a "balls to the wall" type of guy. Not in the slightest. The #2 reason he's hard to run with is that he is 6ish feet tall. This means that his legs are basically the same length os my entire body. His one step = my four. (ok not four but at least two). SO this causes frustration for me. I'm a self admitted easily frustrated person. I've never participated in team sports so my concept of coaching is "just do it".  In fact, my concept of most things in life is "just do it". It works in some circumstances, some not so much. The last time we ran together I was so frustrated with his "coaching" that I told his to just be quiet. I appreciate that he is trying to motivate and he could make me run faster but then he doesn't really get the concept that I'm not trying to be faster.

So.. that brings me to the point of this post. The LSD. Today was my LSD run. 5.44 miles. 1:01. Average pace 11:12/mile. And? Pain. No. Breathlessness. No. Exhaustion. No. Success. Yes. 

i've been thinking...

and I've been afraid to say it outloud. I was looking at my Nike+ run history and it's undeniable... my longest run was the day I broke my leg. Oh, I imagine that the leg was probably on the verge of breaking for a month before I actually broke it but the day I broke 4 miles was the day the it, in fact, broke. So that was many moons ago. Well not that many really, only like 3 but still, not yesterday. On November 19th I hit the road again. I had tried to run and failed. I tried a couple of times to run from the car to the front door of the gym or from the store to the car, to no avail. But that day, that blessed day, November 19th, I ran 3.59 miles at a 10:56 average pace (hovering really around the 10 ish mark if you deduct warm up and cool down pace). Now it's do or die. Shit or get off the proverbial pot time.

 Big Sur is coming soon. OK not that soon, like 18 weeks, but still. I have to make the decision if I'm going to run the 10.6 or shoot the moon and try the full. I'm leaning toward the 10.6 mostly because I don't want my first marathon to be a disaster and I think trying to train for a marathon on a mostly still not completely healed leg (how's that for vague) is not the best idea. So the 10.6 it will probably be and San Fran will be my marathon debut. This is a big decision in a runners life. If you're considering being a marathoner, you probably want your first marathon to be memorable and mostly finishable. I think SF might fit the bill. It's far enough away that I'll have a good solid year of real running under my belt and still close enough to look forward to. Plus it's San Francisco so how can you really go wrong with that. Now for the choice of training.

I have John Bingham's book Marathoning for Mortals  and I like it. Mostly because it's written for people like me, real people, who don't worry about VO2 and all that jazz but also because he's got programs for half and fulls with every level from walk the whole thing to run the whole thing. Now I'd never set out to WALK a marathon. Good God people who wants to walk 26.2 miles? Ick. But I like that he's realistic and that he recognizes that people come to running with all different fitness levels from "I can run to the end of my driveway" to "How much do you run? I run 50 miles a week." (50 miles a week is a lot). John's programs are time realistic as well. 14 weeks for the 1/2 and 18 for the full. My only real issue is that the half schedule calls for far less running then I'm already doing. The first week has runs of 2 and 3 miles and the  long  run in only 3. Not a crisis I guess but either way. Maybe what I should do is the marathon training but then only run the 10.6'er. A couple of the miles on that course are just straight uphill. Ouch. The marathon training might be a better prep anyway.  

Well either way, my point was to say, I'm ready. I'm ready to get back in the saddle. And p.s. I'm scared. I wouldn't freely admit that to anyone (so it's a good damn thing no on reads this blog) but I am. I am just absolutely TERRIFIED that I am going to break something or wound some other part of me. There is that little part of my brain that screams "SEE you were never meant to be an athlete, otherwise your stupid leg wouldn't have broken just from the act of running on pavement." And then there's that other part of my brain (I think it's a little bigger) that says "Listen here missy... you cannot let the years and years of being told you were smart and not athletic stop you from running a mother fricking 100 miles if you want to do it. You have a heart and lungs. You have feet and legs and aside from that, what more do you need? So shut up, put on your Sauchonys and go outside fool. Hit the road and run. Listen to your body, but run. Just run"

sleep is not....

to be underestimated. Truly. I was taking a long, hot soak tonight thinking about sleep. Mostly about how I don't get enough of it probably. It's pandemic I know. The average adult needs somewhere between 6-8 hours of sleep daily. Right? Why you ask? Here's why. It's not revolutionary. We don't need to beat a dead horse. But read this anyway. That shit will just depress the hell out of a night shift worker such as your truly. Me. Faithful and trusted Registered Nurse. 

Let me show you what Thanksgiving week looked like for me. I was scheduled to work Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Monday we were overstaffed so they called me off. I was grateful. I was tired and had homework to do. Tuesday I ran around like a chicken with my head forcibly removed all day. No nap. No rest. No feet up. Zero. Zip. Nada. At 1715 (or 5:15 pm) I went to work. We were busy. And by busy I mean busy. I think I took lunch at 0230. Maybe. My longest period of sitting was maybe 20 minutes. Home I came. Kids were at the in laws thankfully. The dep and I visited and I think ate breakfast. I went to bed at 0730. Tired. So tired. I opted out of a sleep aid (namely Ambien) and decided that since I had too much to do I would only sleep until my body woke up, whatever time that was and then get up to cook. Master plan: lay down in the afternoon before going back to work. 1000 and awake I am. 2.5 hours of sleep. I cooked all day and generally exhausted myself, never sitting. No time for nap and by 1600 I was dragging ass. Oh well, back to work. Wednesday night was a fun repeat of Tuesday and as an added bonus I had a benefit 5K to run at 0800 on Thursday. By 0700 Thanksgiving morn, my legs resembled some kind of shapeless, swollen blob. I ran and then came home and did the day. Aided mostly by champagne and white wine. By 0200 the NEXT morning I had had 2.5 hours of sleep in 68 hours and I had gained 3 pounds of water weight. At least.

Ok to be fair that's not a typical week. Typically I stay up all day my first day of work (like tomorrow). Maybe I'll sleep an hour or two in the afternoon if I can manage. The second day looks a lot like the first. I'll skip the gym usually, because I'm just too damn tired and swollen. I'll sleep part of that day. Maybe 3-4 hours or a very good day and then just lay around, too tired to do anything productive and not able to sleep, despite the aforementioned exhaustion. The third day looks remarkably like the second except I'll run or go tot he gym because I feel so incredibly shitty that I figure it can't get much worse. Maybe I'm SO tired I can sleep 4 hours. Maybe, but probably not. Work again that night and then come home the next morning, go to the gym and go through the day. Usually no sleep or a shortish nap of an hour or two because anything more than that and I feel guilty for sleeping the whole day away. Anyway on a typical week by the time my third day of work has elapsed  I have slept 6-8 hours in three days. Ew that even looks bad. 

People will say to me "how do you DO THAT?" The truth is this... I do not know. I just do not know. I feel like shit. That's fact. I look pretty bad. Also fact. My brain is certainly not 100%. Not a comforting fact. But I don't know. I know this though. Anyone who is sleeping on that kind of schedule can't be feeling too hot or healthy. Which brings me to my long awaited point. How can you expect to lose weight and be healthy when you consistently deprive yourself of the thing your body craves most, aside from water and food? The answer: You cannot. Diet on the night shift. Here and HA I might add. There is that eat to stay awake phenomenon. There's just no way to put in kindly. It stinks. It sucks. It sucks ass.

The dep says I should blog about sunflowers and happy thoughts. He doesn't have a blog. Clearly.