{by Deb at Missives From Suburbia}

“Have a good day,” the guy says, as he pushes the button and closes the hatch, securing my groceries, my husband’s SCUBA gear, and a cacophony of motherhood-related paraphernalia that whispers to me about who I’ve become.

That guy — the one manning the drive-through grocery pick-up — doesn’t know what or who I once was, and it doesn’t matter. But the summer breeze carries the memories he doesn’t, and today it chides me. “I matter,” it says.

Even as I forget to take the long way home and avoid the lake traffic (such a simple thing to remember!), the vaguest details of my prior life waft through the open car windows and dance with a flurry of dog hair that springs from my dashboard. They badger me to go. Go again. Go now. Go fast. Just go.

My carriage, so natural then, still comes easily, but it’s a more practiced, more mindful pursuit, not quite forced. The cadence of my breath is an outpouring, no longer a meditation. Creaks and cricks pulse where none existed before. All as it should be; after all, I have run only once in the past four years.

I never liked the heat and how it smothered me, coaxing me to quit, snaking its way around my chest and daring me to take another breath. Today is not hot. Today is, in fact, perfect, and my shoes call to me.

I have cheated time. Yes, that’s a confession. A toe-touch away from 40 and a newly-minted mother to two late in life, I still have a runner’s build. The muscles return with little effort; they are not as twitchy as they once were, and they lie hidden under a layer of loosening skin and last night’s pasta, but they are still there and still formidable when pushed. Absolute truth be told and modesty aside, I’m not built much differently than I was in my late-20s, even if my body doesn’t fully remember those days and its accomplishments. But the trials of birth and mothering have armed me with a deliberate strength I never had before, a resolve that bridges the gap between what was and what is.

There are few photos of my previous life’s hobbies. I showed up on race day, sleep still in my eyes, did what had to be done, then puttered home to resume my normal life, with my hamstrings a little tighter and my mind a little freer. I went alone, because crossing the finish line is a solitary pursuit, and I have never had much interest in sharing my wins and losses. All but the most prized t-shirts have been discarded, along with a different marriage, a long career, and vast time to spare.

It will surprise some people to learn that I’ve run marathons. It seems laughable that I can’t remember how many, when they once represented so much to me. In that gap of memory, it seems that I’ve forgotten who I once was and what I did, no more knowledgeable about myself than the guy at the grocery store. But the breeze off Lake Calhoun reminded me today, and when this cough disappears (yet another affront to my youth), my body will remember, too. Even if I have to make it.

{Originally posted on Fitness For Mommies}

A silly post for all the things I’d like to see invented for the active, athletic mom that I am.

1. I am an avid exerciser and need to wear my heart rate monitor when I run. HOWEVER, I always get nasty welts/blisters/chaff burns from the combination of the strap and the jog bra. The bra must be moisture-wicking, BOMB proof, and does not chaff my arm holes either. As yet, my best bra (CW-X extra Firm hold) does not solve the HR monitor strap problem.

2. A cup holder for my Mountain Bike. We do a lot of riding around town on the weekends and I’d surely would appreciate a way to cruise home with my speciality drink held securely on my bike. No spillage allowed.

3. Flash cards. I need flash cards that are laminated, BOMB proof (nobody can destroy them) for weight training. I have the equipment, I can carve out the time, but, I need routines written down and illustrated for me. Something I could grab and go do! Preferably the cards would come with multiple routines with various levels from beginner to advanced.

4. A DateBook. I need a datebook that has a calender, blank pages to write down all the food I put in my mouth, tracking of my workouts, as well as space for grocery lists, to do lists, etc.. It needs to be stylish looking on the outside- but very functional on the inside.

5. Stylish clothing for bike commuting that are also incredibly functional. My Lole top worked great today because I realized it had a pocket in the back for my cell phone. However, my really cute skort shorts were too short underneath- which lead to my inner legs to rub on the saddle- ouch!

Originally published on Three Bright Stars.

I go to the gym at least twice, and usually three times a week now. It’s enough of a habit that I feel okay telling you about it. I’m not about to quit any time soon, even though some of my gym co-members are odd and frightening. I have to tell you about one in particular.

To the casual eye, she is young, thin and blond. She has an unmatched dedication to the gym, and is always there when you arrive, and still there when you peel yourself out of the leg press and crawl off to the showers. She hangs on to the machines with cruel strength, works them in strange positions, and glistens from head to foot. Her concentration is magnificent. She must be, you expect, a specimen of physical perfection.

In time, you become accustomed to her presence. She only takes the elliptical machine marked “C.” She is always there, reliable. You call her Elliptical-C. You immerse yourself in your own workout, switch your iPod from Joss Whedon’s latest musical hit to Black Sabbath’s Sabotage, feel a surge of energy, and move past the 20 minute mark on your own elliptical machine.

Only when you achieve a certain level of physical exertion and mental focus do you begin to glimpse the truth of Elliptical-C. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice an anomaly. There is a strange convergence of details in your mind. They form up gently, but clearly, in your focused mental state.

Elliptical-C is not human. She is the Elliptical-C creature. She uses the elliptical C machine to send communications to her fellow creatures, who are trans-dimensional space creatures of immense age, intelligence, power, and malevolence.

Originally Published on Dutch Blitz

I was a “big girl” growing up.

I was not comfortable in this body of mine. Yes, it was my body, but I felt as though it did not belong to me. I struggled with the fact that friends of mine could eat McDonald’s, and candy, and wear skinny acid-washed jeans. I would hang with them and curse my chubby thighs and flabby arms. I would shake my fist and silently scream, “It’s not FAIR!”

I resigned myself to the fact that I was destined to be BIG. My friends had flat stomachs and no inner thigh to speak of and it was so foreign to me. My thighs rubbed together as I walked and would get red from the friction.

There were a couple of stints where I got skinny. Because I did not eat. I remember when I was in grade eleven, I ran into an old friend from out of town. She praised me with those words I longed to hear. “You are so SKINNY!” And I told her (innocently) that I had not eaten in forty-eight hours.

That would be TWO DAYS.

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Originally posted at Morning Cup of Joe.

Sure, it’s tough
to commit to regular exercise. There are just so many other things that
require our undivided attention. Or maybe it’s just easier to feel
sorry for ourselves and find something better to do.

“I don’t have time”

“My elbow/knee/back hurts”

“It’s just too hard”

“I didn’t sleep well”

“(enter your favorite exer-scuse here)”

I admit, there are days that I consider skipping my workout. But I
have a li’l trick for getting past the “poor, busy me” syndrome – I
think about some of the people I met who had every possible reason to forget about training, yet they soldiered on…

– One guy was in a wheelchair, his shriveled legs resembled
overcooked linguine. Since squatting and running were out of the
picture, he competed in bench press contests (quite successfully, I
should add). He’d train just as hard as any able-bodied person would -
probably even harder. I remember watching him with awe as he did rep
after rep of pull ups with his wheelchair strapped to him.

Did he have a valid excuse to not exercise?

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Originally posted on Former Fat Guy Blog.

Today’s weight loss tips are about exercise and how
to best use your time in the gym to get more work done, stimulate more
muscle and burn more fat. They say that building muscle while burning
fat can’t be done, and that you should focus on one or the other, never
both. That said, what if you just wanted to burn fat as efficiently as
possible, end workout boredom make your time in the gym as quick as
possible. These three weight loss tips are the very thing to take you
in that direction.

Weight Loss Tips

1 Focus your training on the largest muscle groups:
The largest muscle groups of the body are the legs, back and chest. By
working the largest muscle groups, primarily, you end up putting a
larger demand on your body for energy and nutrition. Then a larger
demand on your body for repair of that muscle tissue. You burn fat
twice, first when you’re actually training and secondly when your body
is busy rebuilding the muscles.

Arms (tricep and bicep) are smaller muscles, and where training
certainly makes them look good and allows you to work harder on pushing
and pulling movements, they don’t burn as much fat as the larger
muscles.

As my trainer says, even if you don’t specifically train arms, they
still get worked when you’re doing chest and back movements.

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Originally published on Cranky Fitness

Since this is Cranky Fitness, what are the chances you’re going to be reading some incredible new weight loss method guaranteeing permanent results?

Yep, you guessed it: pretty much zero! However, it’s time again for Crabby to climb up on her soap box again and offer…

Advice about Self Improvement that You Already Know.

Today’s question: What’s the Secret to maintaining weight loss (or any other self-improvement achievement) for the long haul?

The answer: Accountability.

Yawn. There’s nothing sexy about Accountability.

Making a commitment to Accountability is sort of like getting married to Mr. Rogers, or Eleanor Roosevelt, or Walter Cronkite. Accountability is not Hot and Hip and Hilarious. You’re not going to have the rollicking good times you’d have going out to party with Blissful Ignorance, I’ll Start Tomorrow, Hell–Why Not, or “LA-La-La I Can’t Hear You.” But you’re also not going to wake up in some scuzzy stranger’s seedy apartment with your underwear on your head, reeking of White Russians and Kentucky Fried Chicken Nuggets and hating yourself. Accountability will cut you off and call you a cab before you self-destruct entirely.

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