It's All in My Head

Yogamum Has Forced Meme to Blog...

2007-05-22T13:17:00.000-07:00

...and I thank her for it. Sincerely.

And so follow eight random, moderately interesting and painfully truthful things about moi.

1. I like bad 80s club tunes. Lime, Company B, Debbie Deb. My iPod is 1-inch-by-1-inch gay club.

2. When I was a kid we used to go to a Folk Festival every year. We'd camp out, no running water, no showers, no flush toilets, just listen to music and *be*. We were allowed to roam about like we never could at home. In my very chaotic childhood, these are my happiest memories.

3. I'm terrible at math. Like, really, REALLY bad. Ask the IRS. We've exchanged correspondence on the subject.

4. I have only one sibling, and we don't speak. This breaks my heart every day.

5. If I could be anyone in the world, real or fictional, I'd be Carrie Bradshaw. I don't even want to know what that says about me.

6. I have been known to be reduced to uncontrolled panicked sobbing at the mere sight of any member of the cockroach family.

7. I went to an all-girls', Catholic, college preparatory high school, and actually had a pretty damn good time.

8. I am a recovering hypochondriac. And by recovering I mean that at this very moment I am not overcome by the certainty that I have a rare and incurable cancer that will slowly, painfully take my life and leave my children motherless. By the way, do you think this mole is shaped funny? The borders look a little asymetrical when I hold my arm like this and squint with my head tilted to the left...

My Humps

2007-04-17T13:49:00.000-07:00

Don't you just love Alanis' parody?

Anyway, I just got some shots from the Leprechaun from my sister-in-law and had to share something. A major brag, if you will. I *hated* the picture on top. I was actually surprised to come across it again, I thought I had deleted all vestiges of it.

First photo is my tush in September, 2005. The second is from last month, 18 months, 37 pounds and 5 pants sizes later. (BTW, MomToTheLeft, if you're still interested in Gaelic, my shirt says "Kiss My A**"...how's that for a starter phrase?)

Mama Got a New Pair of Shoes, When Will She Wear Them?

2007-04-15T15:46:00.000-07:00

Got my new running shoes (Vapor 7, can't link directly for some reason) yesterday. Recommended for my overpronation. Hopefully this means no more blisters along my right arch. Well-cushioned, too. Can't wait to wear them.

I'm getting antsy to get out and run a 10. I haven't done much more than 6 since the holidays, and I can't catch a break with the weather. I usually have about an hour and half on Mondays free but tomorrow we're looking at more wind, rain, temps in the low 40s and, heaven forbid, maybe even snow. Snow. Past the midway mark of April. Intolerable.

Twenty-one days til Broad Street, and even with Mother Nature's cooperation my schedule is unwieldy. I'm starting to get nervous. I tend to put too much pressure on myself and need to let up a bit. Focus on finishing, and give myself a nice a generous time in which to do it. At this point, that looks like about two hours.

Our last race, scheduled for St. Patrick's Day (Irish Memorial 5K) was cancelled due to snow (5 inches, on the verge of spring...preposterous!). I hope to post on the previous one, the Leprechaun, soon, after I scan some pictures.

There Is No Such Thing As Fourth Meal!

2007-02-27T13:06:00.000-08:00

I'm not referring to the oft-recommended 5-6 small daily meals recommended by nutritionists (emphasis on small). I'm talking about an actual ad campaign that wants to promote the idea that three super-sized, super-fatty, high-carb, low-protein, low-fiber, nutriontally-void fast food meals a day are just one shy of perfection.

In case you haven't seen the ads, this particular gem comes from Taco Bell. The good folks at TB (a division of Yum! Brands, the folks who also bring you the wholesome goodness of KFC, Pizza Hut and that mecca of Omega-3, Long John Silver's).

Out of curiosity, I did some exploration at at Taco Bells Nutrition Calculator. Their "fourth meal" is not quite as unreasonable as I assumed. A regular old taco would add only 170 calories and 10 grams of fat to your other three meals, and even a full gram of fiber, unless you add a small Coke (who adds a *small* Coke?) and bring the grand total up to 320.

So what kind of impact would this have on your diet? Let's consider that the average American woman is 5'4" and weighs 152 pounds. For the sake of argument, we'll make her 30 years old, and give her a generous rating of moderate activity (jogging on a daily basis). Her daily caloric needs would be around 2200 (calculations courtesy of 24HourFitness' calculators). To be fair, she could indulge in a little over six of these meals, a bit more than the recommended four, were she to choose to subsist exclusively on tacos and Coke..

But let's be honest. How many people are really jogging *every* day? How many people are only ordering one basic taco and a small Coke when they go to Taco Bell?

I'm not even commenting on the content of the meal. Cholesterol, saturated fat, transfats, growth hormone, antibiotics, and recently, E. coli and rat feces. I won't say that if you made your "fourth meal" an ounce of cashews and a banana you'd be getting complex carbohydrates, protein, unsaturated fats (the good kind!) and potassium, stay full longer, and still fall 60 calories shy of the Taco Bell meal. Okay, maybe I *will* say that, but that's not the object of this post. This post is merely a rant on the role marketing plays in the American obesity epidemic. I shall try to stay on topic. No promises.

The real bee in my bonnet lately is the McDonald's "snack time" campaign. You've seen them. Same guy appears in various contrived situations, wrap sandwich in hand, declaring any and all abnormal behavior he encounters to be the results of "missing snack time."

Low blood sugar can be a terrible thing. Shakes, headaches, muddled thinking. We've all been there. Fear not, Mickey D's to the rescue! You may think "snack time" means a couple graham crackers smeared with peanut butter, a granola bar, a piece of fruit, some popcorn or heck, even a few cookies, but thanks to the marketing genius of the McDonalds Corporation, we are now aware that an entire sandwich must be consumed to avoid embarassing behaviors like trying to dig your way out of your office through the drywall with a spoon or surprising your wife with three cheerleaders in her newly redecorated sports-themed living room.

So let's for a moment examine this "snack." The same people who brought you 500-calorie meals (with toy!) for toddlers now offer a line of chicken wraps that have 260-330 calories a piece, with up to 16 grams of fat. Again, add in that small Coke (do they even sell small anymore? I thought the sizes started with "bucket" and worked up to "50 gallon drum") for up to 480 calories. In what universe is this considered a "snack?" Consider that 4 ounces broiled chicken, a cup of long grain rice (a generous serving!) and a cup of cooked carrots with a glass of water and lemon comes to 458 calories with only 6 grams of fat. I've never heard that called a "snack." Most people call it "dinner."

Don't get me wrong. I love food, I love to eat, I have bad habits and I've made mistakes in the past and surely will in the future. What bothers me is the deliberate, reckless marketing of huge portions of unhealthy food to the public. To put it out there that it is completely acceptable, even necessary, to have a "fourth meal" of low-grade beef and cheese "product" or that a fatty sandwich packing upwards of 300 calories is a little between-meals-somethin'-somethin' is grossly irresponsible, bordering on immoral. When you consider the plentiful locations of these establishments in communities that cover the entire socio-economic spectrum, and the price/portion ratio, it's hardly a secret these entities prey on the poor.

I don't mean to ride Morgan Spurlock's coattails. In fact, I think he missed the mark a bit. He left people an out; they can always fall back on the fact that *of course* a person eating nothing but fast food for an entire month would gain weight, lose muscle mass, have cholesterol/triglyceride/liver enzyme/blood sugar issues, feel sluggish and become physiologically addicted to the product. A more realistic experiment may have been to visit McD's four or five times a week over the course of year so that people would get a better picture of what their true habits are doing to them. Of course, I don't blame Mr. Spurlock for one minute for wanting to get the experiment over and behind him within 30 days, and his points were not lost on me.

There's a lot of lip-service paid to the obesity problem in this country yet, as with everything, it is Corporate America who gets the final word. Next time you visit an impoverished neighborhood, if you ever do, count the supermarkets along your way. Consider the weight of the packages you load into your minivan or SUV each time you shop for your family. Now imagine that you have no car to transport those packages from the market, if you can find one, and your main objective is to fill bellies until pay day with whatever keeps the Mom-I'm-hungries to a minimum. Consider that low-grade ground beef costs $.99/pound, while grapes cost $2.39; that Kashi or Grape Nuts cost twice as much as the big Malt-o-Meal sugary-poofs; that soda is cheaper than milk. Pardon my cynicism, USDA, but your new-and-improved food pyramid is a load of crap. Start making fresh, chemically unaltered, nutritionally valid foods available to even the poorest Americans and we'll talk.

Quickie Post - Petition

2007-02-22T07:28:00.000-08:00

Only have a moment but wanted to pass this along. The site is owned by former Democratic presidential candidate General Wesley Clark. Please sign the petition!

Three Weeks, Three Miles

2007-02-18T10:48:00.000-08:00

Yes, I'm averaging a mile a week at this point.

It's not that I haven't been finding other satisfying, calorie-burning, muscle-building activities. I'm actually quite proud that now, in mid-February, I can claim that I have not once let bad weather deter me from my appointed rounds, be they at 5 am or after dinner. In fact, I seem to be building a reputation as a, shall we say, nutcase? at the gym. My instructor at my 6 am Body Pump on Thursday remarked that she was afraid she'd get up and no one would be in class, but then realized that at the very least, *I* would be there. She also added that she knew I was probably pulling my hair out the night before when the Y cancelled all classes, including my beloved Body Attack (she was right, even though I was and still am nursing a mild chest cold). Oh well. I could have worse obsessions.

No, it's not lack of exercise. I'm maintaining stamina and lung capacity through cardio classes like RPM, Body Attack and step interval. But I need to run. I need to train. I need to run fast and maintain enough wind to talk trash when I'm done.

In 20 days we run a five-miler benefitting Special Olympics with J's family. We're coming together as a family to do something fun and healthy and to benefit a good cause (chosen for our nephew who has Trisomy 21).

Sounds sweet, doesn't it? You'd be surprised. Since this was planned in November, it's been a no-holds-barred, balls-to-the-wall, smack-talking, cut-throat competition. About half of us participating train regularly, and I will *NOT* be beaten by anyone who doesn't. J's brothers torture me every chance they get, and this training period has been no exception. In fact, I think the bar has been raised considerably. But this time, this time I'm going to show them, even if I have to cough up a lung in the process.

So today it got up to 30 degrees and I ran three miles. Doesn't sound like much, but I cannot overemphasize my disdain for cold weather. I felt good. My breathing was under control, my bad knee was tired but not painful. I'm not sure what my time was, and it wouldn't be accurate if I'd timed because of certain conditions, which leads me to my next point.

If you live in Southeastern Pennsylvania, it's going to snow. Maybe sooner, maybe later, but it will happen. Just like last year and the year before that and the year before that. Buy a freakin' shovel!

Ahem. Okay. So three miles today, my first time out since the end of January, when I put in five. Eight miles a month, woo! I am *unstoppable*! Beijing, here I come!

I see we're going to break freezing this week so things are looking up. Possibility of hitting 60 next Sunday, and, with apologies to Al Gore, I hope it stays that way.

We're Here to Pump You Up!

2007-02-13T08:54:00.000-08:00

Can you believe it's been 20 years since Hans and Franz made the scene? Holy guacamole I'm getting old.

I'm finally getting around to posting another Les Mills review, this one on Body Pump. Please, hold your applause til the end.

I've weight-trained before, both independently and with the help of my former-fitness-instructor husband (that is, he's no longer a fitness instructor, he's still my husband). I am a firm believer in its benefits. Cardio is great, and necessary, and as a runner I can't think of any better way to burn calories and shed weight, but there is more than a word's difference between "fit and trim" and "fit and flabby," and I'm not in this to achieve the latter.

I signed up for BP on a whim, just curious as to what it was all about, when I joined a new gym. They were promoting it pretty heavily as "the fastest way in the universe to get in shape", and it was only a small fee, so I climbed onboard. I had my first class in early November, and I was in love. A sick, self-punishing, sado-masochistic version of love, but love nontheless.

I suppose by now I should define "it" more clearly. A quick overview: Body Pump is a one-hour high-rep strength-training class. We use dumbbells, barbells and our own body weight as resistance. The routine consists of 10 choreographed tracks, each lasting 4.5-5.5 minutes. Each track works a specific muscle group: warmup, legs, chest, back and hamstrings, triceps, biceps, glutes, shoulders, abs, and a cool down. Bar weight is individualized. Every 8-10 weeks a new release is launched and a new muscle group is focused upon, or, as I like to phrase it, most severely punished.

Simple enough. It's easy to learn the choreography (everything based on 4 beats), and while form takes a little more work, it's not overly difficult and the instructors are knowledgable and helpful.

It hurts. It hurts a lot. And the more it hurts, the better it is (yes, we're still talking about exercise, Gutterbrains!). It also burns 600-700 calories an hour, increases bone density, and builds strength and flexibility. I'm doing it three times a week (the max recommended) including two pre-dawn classes, and when I can't get there because, let's say, oh, I don't know, someone doesn't get home from work in time to watch the kids, it gets ugly. Real ugly. I'm hooked. I've got a fever and the only prescription is more barbell, baby (okay, okay, no more SNL references, I promise).

As for the claims to being the fastest way in to get in shape, I can't say. I haven't tried them all. But I will say this: I started BP in early November and by Christmas I had dropped a full dress size. No weight loss, no dieting, no increase in cardio training, just tearing down and building up muscle two hours a week. This is why. I can't recommend BP highly enough. It promises to change the shape of your body, and if you put the effort out, it makes good on that promise.

The Day After

2007-01-28T14:35:00.000-08:00

It's on the SciFi channel right now. Funny to think it's been nearly 25 years since I first, and last, saw it. I was struck by the cast that includes the likes of Jason Robards, John Cullum, Stephen Furst, John Lithgow, JoBeth Williams, Amy Madigan, Steve Guttenberg...I didn't remember noticing any of them at the time, and though some of their stars (Guttenberg's for instance) have faded since the early 80s, they were biggish names in those days.

I remember it being a huge event when it came out. VCRs were still new technology, and it was in that barely-recallable time when you watched a film, commercials and everything, when it aired, or you didn't watch it at all. I was a freshman in high school, and it was required viewing; most of my friends say it was so for them as well.

Sadistic. That's the word that comes to mind. Not that we weren't used to it. We all went to Catholic school, so we were no strangers to punishment, deserved or not, physical and otherwise. We were used to being controlled with threats and fear. Still, 25 years later, I'm puzzled as to the logic behind this particular "assignment."

It's hard to recall the real level of uncertainty, the constant undercurrent of fear that coursed through daily life during the Cold War. It almost seems pointless to have produced such a film 40 years into it. Who in this world was ignorant of the possibilities? Who didn't have at least the occasional sleepless night, imagining the nightmare scenarios, the horror that would engulf us, particularly those unlucky enough to survive? I vividly remember the consensus among my peers being that living in a big east coast city was a good thing. We had no delusions about "the day after." We had designs on ground zero, always hoping to be just close enough for a flash...and then nothing.

I suppose I wasn't scarred. I watched, I survived, I had nightmares, I moved on. Sitting here now, though, watching the final scene that has always stuck with me, when Jason Robards returns to his home in Kansas City, when the words scroll across the screen stating that the events portrayed in this film are likely far less severe than what would actually occur, I wonder what in the name of all that's supposedly holy was going through the minds of our teachers.

This was not an after school special on teen pregnancy or the dangers of drinking and driving. This was not a cautionary tale, or an attempt to enlighten the public about an issue of which they were fundamentally ignorant. It was not even an instructional film on how to survive, unlike the frightening but useless air-raid drills of the 50s and 60s.

We were teenagers. Cocky, insolent, moody, erratic, secretive and of course, POWERLESS. We could do nothing to change the dangers present in our world; we could not even vote for someone who might find a way. We were, like the rest of the world, captives of circumstance.

So why present this horror? Why show us what our world, at least to our minds at that point in history, was bound to become?

Two decades later the threats are different. Climate change, terrorism, pandemic flu. The proverbial "big one" could hit at any time. And yet I feel no complusion to, in the name of education, sit a child down in front of a screen and force them to watch a ruined world die in agony. And I wonder, all these years later, what drove those "educators" to steal our hope.

The Other Man in My Life

2007-01-27T07:46:00.000-08:00

is Les Mills.

My gym currently offers five of his classes: RPM, Body Pump, Body Attack, Body Vive, and Body Flow, with Body Combat and Body Jam on the menu for spring. I'm a patron of only the first three. The other two are a little too slow for me. Body Flow is a combination of yoga, Tai Chi and Pilates. Fantastic for strength and flexibility but bores me out of my gourd (though my mom, who is 63, takes it and enjoys it). Body Vive is specifically desinged for 50+. I look forward to trying Body Combat when our Y hosts Les Mills master trainers next month, and hope it will be a good fit and spice up my routine when it's added later this year.

Over the next couple days I'd like to review the classes I currently take. I'll start with RPM, which is the latest addition to my repertoire and probably will get the most mixed review, which in truth is less a reflection on the Mills group and more a personal preference.

RPM is essentially spinning. Spinning has long seemed like something I *should* try, but always avoided. High-ish calorie burn (by my calculations about 500 for 50 minutes, fewer than my other classes, but not bad for less than an hour's work). Good lower body work out. However, hearing it called "spinning" presented a mental block; the name itself almost implies an exercise in frustration. The biggest drawback for me, though, was my complete and utter disdain for bicycle seats. I don't mind achy muscles. A day with no aches is a day where nothing has been acheived. A bruised tush that leaves me walking like a cowboy for three days is a different story entirely. We ride trails as a family for leisure in warmer weather, but I have outfitted my mountain bike with an enormous gel seat because I'm a class-A wuss when it comes to the derriere.

So up until two weeks ago we enjoyed the spoils of climate change, which will surely be the end of us all but who cares when you're out in shorts and tee shirts in January. Priorities.

Anyway, the unfolding cataclysmic global catastrophe afforded me, Mrs. Heat Miser, Mrs. 101, the opportunity to continue outdoor training well past the norm, but alas, winter is upon us once again, and with highs not acheiving 20 degrees now, running is a no-go. (I'm a bigger wuss about cold weather than I am about my tuchus. And that's saying something.)

So I surveyed my options, and found that if I gave up my day off, I could get in a fairly decent cardio workout on Friday mornings before work. I took my first class Friday a week ago, and it was actually okay. The program keeps things moving, changing up, each track provides a different approach to the ride...climbs, racing, mixed intervals, you're up, you're down, high resistance, low resistence, etc. The time goes quickly, and the crowd is friendly (there is a subset of pre-dawn regulars at the Y, I have several classes in common with many of them, so that makes it more fun). The music is probably my favorite of all three classes, with a little more emphasis on rock than techno. My heart rate does get up there (probably not to the degree it would running or with Body Attack, but I definitely get a burn). My legs are like rocks while I'm on the bike, so I know those muscles are engaged and are burning calories. My hiney is not 100% in love with the situation, but all things considered, it's not as bad as I anticipated and the discomfort ends with class, so I'm not left John-Wayne-ing it all weekend (though my inner wimp is trying to convince me to go out and get some padded bike shorts, and I have to admit, she presents a good case).

Conclusion: I'm not super-enthusiastic, and for me, its easy fit into my schedule is the biggest draw. However, once a week, it's something different, which jogs the metabolism as well as keeps up the mental energy. I am setting my sights on completing a small tri by year's end, and it's more cycling training than I get regularly by a long shot (swimming is a horse of a different color, that's going to take a boatload of discipline, no pun intended). All in all, a decent workout that goes by quickly and delivers what it promises. Two cheeks up!

"Madam Speaker"

2007-01-23T18:49:00.000-08:00

Beautiful words! Rock on, Nancy.

Too bad it all went into the shitter after that.

You did not vote them into law. I did not sign them into law. Yet they are treated as if they have the force of law. The time has come to end this practice.

Yay! No more signing statements! Oh, wait, he's talking about earmarks.

The No Child Left Behind Act has worked for America's children -- and I ask Congress to reauthorize this good law.

What exactly is he sipping out of that glass anyway?

For all other Americans, private health insurance is the best way to meet their needs. But many Americans cannot afford a health insurance policy.

The Boy Wonder has a layover in reality...

For Americans who now purchase health insurance on their own, my proposal would mean a substantial tax savings -- $4,500 for a family of four making $60,000 a year. And for the millions of other Americans who have no health insurance at all, this deduction would help put a basic private health insurance plan within their reach.

And he's gone again....

Achieving these ambitious goals will dramatically reduce our dependence on foreign oil, but will not eliminate it. So as we continue to diversify our fuel supply, we must also step up domestic oil production in environmentally sensitive ways. And to further protect America against severe disruptions to our oil supply, I ask Congress to double the current capacity of the Strategic Petroleum Reserve.

Brilliant! Someone remind me, what business is the Bush family in again?

And we have a shared obligation to ensure that the Federal courts have enough judges to hear those cases and deliver timely rulings. As President, I have a duty to nominate qualified men and women to vacancies on the Federal bench.

Just sayin'. I get to pick 'em and stuff. Uncle Dick said so. He he.

life since 9/11 has never been the same.

There's the money shot! Hot damn, that *never* gets old!

Our enemies are quite explicit about their intentions. They want to overthrow moderate governments and establish safe havens from which to plan and carry out new attacks on our country. By killing and terrorizing Americans, they want to force our country to retreat from the world and abandon the cause of liberty. They would then be free to impose their will and spread their totalitarian ideology.

But enough about Sam Brownback...

My fellow citizens, our military commanders and I have carefully weighed the options.

Military commanders? But you're the *Decider*.

If American forces step back before Baghdad is secure, the Iraqi government would be overrun by extremists on all sides. We could expect an epic battle between Shia extremists backed byIran, and Sunni extremists aided by al Qaeda and supporters of the old regime. A contagion of violence could spill out across the country -- and in time the entire region could be drawn into the conflict. For America, this is a nightmare scenario. For the enemy, this is the objective. Chaos is their greatest ally in this struggle. And out of chaos in Iraq would emerge an emboldened enemy with new safe havens ... new recruits ... new resources ... and an even greater determination to harm America.

If? Would? Could? Are you freaking kidding me?

and continue to awaken the conscience of the world to save the people of Darfur.

This is just f&*$ing insulting. To Darfur, to the world's apparently ignorant collective conscience, and to those of us who can actually identify Africa on a map.

And speaking of maps, does this buffoon even realize that a major American city still lies in ruins, that thousands are still displaced from their homes? Not one word about the Gulf Coast. Disgraceful.

Bottoms Up!

2007-01-23T16:10:00.000-08:00

A little late in the game, but thought I'd throw a little a State-of-the-Union party right here in blogland. God knows you can't watch this crap sober...

Every time our fearless leader says:

freedom: drink 1
liberty: drink 1
nuk-u-lar: drink 1
Saddam Hussein: drink 2
terror: drink 1
war: drink 1
war on terror: drink 2

Every time Chuckles:

shuffles his feet: drink 2
snickers: drink 1
says something he thinks is witty or insightful and grins smugly: drink 2
every time it's not: drink 1
smirks: drink 1
metions God: drink 1
butchers Nancy Pelosi's name and/or title, deliberately or otherwise: drink 2
mispronounces Mahmoud Ahmadinejad: drink 1
stutters: drink 1
uses a nonword: drink 2
resigns: chug your beer, strip down naked and run through the streets shouting in jubilation

Add your own to the list.....

And GO JIM WEBB!

Okay, But WHY?

2007-01-22T19:05:00.000-08:00

Or more to the point, why not? Why not Hillary?

I've heard it all from "she's divisive" (who isn't in this political climate?) to her war support (which was not an aberration at the time) to "she let Bill get away with that" (I'm sorry, wasn't the bogus impeachment enough? did you want the leader of the free world dealing with a divorce too? oh, and by the way, how is it any of your business?).

I just don't get it. I actually had someone tell me he'd vote for any Dem but Hillary. When I asked why, he didn't want to get into it. It was like listening to the teacher on Charlie Brown. Whole lotta nothing. You say you don't want to get into it, I hear "I don't have a reason, I'm just repeating what I read on Huffpo" at best. At worst, I hear "I'm a raging misogynist with mommy issues and a tiny penis."

I have a problem with Hillary. I am gravely concerned about her electability. We cant' afford to blow this one. As a patron of the leftwing blogosphere, perhaps I am out of touch with the general public. I hope that's the case.

That aside (ideally if she wins the nomination, Dems will step up and support her, even if only as the lesser of two evils), I think she'd make a kick-ass president. I'm an avowed pinko commie liberal, but let's face it, most of this country is not, and those centrist positions of hers that piss off the left so thoroughly are the only realistic approach to a workable government. Plus, she's a pretty smucking fart lady. It'd sure be nice to have a triple digit IQ in the White House again.

So...what's the deal? If you're a Hill-hater, why? If she wins the Democratic nomination, are you on board, even begrudgingly? Who do you want to see on the ticket?

Only Three Months

2007-01-22T08:46:00.001-08:00

since I lost posted. Belated holiday wishes!

January already. We've had little winter, but now it's cold. Too cold. Too cold for running (and hey, what else matters?). I'm bummed. A couple weeks ago I had the Broad Street in the bag (it's a 10 miler in May). With four months to go I was pounding out 9 miles in 90 minutes in the 'hood, which is considerably more challenging than flying straight down Broad Street on an almost imperceptible decline. Now I burn calories worrying that I'm going to lose my edge, and there wasn't much of one to start!

So now I'm stuck in the gym. Classes five days a week, with Saturday and Sunday on my own, occasionally including a good 7-8 miler weekly if the gods cooperate. Or if I stop being a wuss. The latter is by far more unlikely.

I took my first step class today. Well, first in about 15 years. Felt like a jerk. Thankfully there was also one other new person, and she was considerably less coordinated than me. Not to rejoice in another's shortcomings, but hey, better her than me. Good class though, with my favorite instructor, an impossibly tiny, uncommonly energetic woman triathlete 8 months along with her third child. Talk about motivation. When you can't keep up with the pregnant chick, you're in a bad way.

So as I kind of see this blog morphing into a fitness journal, running log, dietary diary (occasional political rants notwithstanding), a short history of the journey so far, and a weak attempt at justifying my escalating addiction to exercise (see DSM-IV, "Obsessive Compulsive Disorder").

I've always been an on-again-off-again exerciser. At times I've really enjoyed belonging to a gym, but then I stopped pushing a bar and started pushing out kids. In September 2005 we joined a Y, figuring that the discounts for the programs the kids were using would about pay for it, and hey, we might work out too.

Somehow we found ourselves in the .06% of people who think that and then actually do. No one was more surprised than me and my chins.

It was slow going. Some time on the treadmill walking, some machines. Learned not to fall off the elliptical, and still recall the days when I struggled through a 10-minute-stint. I lost 5 pounds in 3 months (had decided not to adjust my diet til after the holidays). On a good day I could add a 5-minute jog to my treadmill routine. I was there 3 days/week, unless, you know, it was cold or raining or I got a better offer.

After the first of the year I started Weight Watchers. I'm really good at starting WW. I start it all the time. I stuck with it for a couple months, dropping 10 pounds. For years I'd considered vegetarianism, and it suddenly occurred to me that there was no good reason in the world not to do it (all the good reasons to do it will likely appear in another entry/rant). So I did. Cold, um, turkey. I had intended to do it more slowly but didn't see the point. I had intended to eat fish occasionally, but again, why? So now I'm 100% ovo-lacto, and consume no flesh products. Gotta draw the line somewhere. Good thing I never liked Jello.

Anyway, new vegetarianism and WW didn't mix for me. I had to concentrate on nutrients, not points. I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that they didn't need to mix. By listening to my body, feeding it when it was hungry, and doing a quick mental risk/benefit analysis of everything I ate, I made the right choices...without scales, or sliderules, or journals. Party-time, excellent.

Yada yada yada, I continued to lose weight, started running, started really liking the way I looked, and felt, started wanting more and more, changed Ys, added great classes, learned my way around the weight room, and today I am 35 pounds lighter, 5 sizes smaller, and in better shape than I've ever been (that's so cliche but it's true. Honest Injun.). My goals this year include 2 half-marathons. I never thought I was that person. I still can't believe I am that person, and go to bed every night afraid that my resolve to eat properly will gone in the morning; my drive to set goals and achieve and set higher goals will have evaporated overnight.

So yeah, I'm obssessive. I get a serious case of ant-in-the-pants when I miss a workout. I get angry with myself when I have a bad day. But, damn, it feels goooooooood.

As I say in every post, I want to write more. Watch this space for reviews on some classes I've taken, race stats and photos, and monthly tirades on Why Perimenopause Sucks Donkey D*&%. And of course, as the hats fly into the ring, as the escalation comes to fruition, as the impeachment hearings begin (a girl can dream, right?), I might have a word or two to spare in that arena as well.

All's Well That Ends Well

2006-10-26T13:44:00.000-07:00

I don't have a tumor.

At least, that's what my MRI said. The headaches have not returned. I am still supposed to see a neurologist, but making no excuses, I really don't want to. Doesn't sound like a fun way to spend an afternoon. And I'm not sure *why* I 'm supposed to see a neurologist. Because of a funky ER CT scan? Or the headaches? I know I *should.* I just *haven't.*

So life goes on and you think now everything will be different. Now I'll appreciate life and nature and everyone around me and you do, for a week, and then reality sets in and you're right back where you were.

I won't say things haven't changed. My marriage has improved tremendously. I have a little more patience with the kids. I try to remember how I felt those days when I didn't know what might be growing inside my head, and remind myself that it could happen again, at any moment, only for realsies. Crappy diem and all that.

So even while my cynicism has been only mildly diminished by the experience, some good comes of everything, and I learned some things about the people who make up my world. They love me. A lot. Despite differences, despite relationships not quite being what they once were, I am loved. And I am grateful.

On the downside, a note to the one person out there who should have cared but didn't (and he knows who he is, though he'll likely never see this)...just another nail in the coffin, I suppose, but *I* love *you*. Always will. You're always welcome back in my life.

So that's that. I have found I enjoy blogging. I don't share it with many people, apart from those wonderful ladies who have invaded my inbox for these past 11+ years, but nonetheless, I plan to continue. Who can resist a forum where you just get to blather on about yourself? Luckily "It's All In My Head" lends itself readily to my myriad neuroses, so while this may veer off in many directions, the title shall remain apropos.

I've Had Better Weekends

2006-08-06T09:26:00.000-07:00

The headaches are becoming unmanagable. I can't tell if they're anxiety, or if they are related to the tumor. I'm sneaking off to bed more and more, sleepy all the time, in pain most of it. I manage one workout, and give sex another go round, with the same painful, disappointing results. I find myself afraid to do normal things, like run, or bend over, or stand up quickly, less because of how it will affect me physically than because of what it will do to my state of mind should I experience pain. I am existing in limbo, unable to focus on any future event, to make any decisions, until I "know."

Today is not a good day.

I Get to Wear a Head Cage

2006-08-06T09:21:00.001-07:00

The MRI wasn't bad. Given the proliferation of "open MRI" centers and the fact that the ER recommended I take valium before I have one, I was not looking forward to the experience, especially as I am given to claustrophobia. In fact, it was almost anti-climactic. I was bored through most of it, save those moments when the implications of having a brain scan to confirm a tumor came crashing down on me.

It's Friday, August 4. I'm one week from my 36th birthday. Jack and I go out to dinner, and stop for drinks at a local bar on the way home. The headaches return, and we've not finished one beer before we have to leave. I'm in bed by 8:30.

I Embark on a Frustrating Journey

2006-08-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

I don't know where to start, so I start at the top. I want a neurologist, a good one, at a reputable instution, and I'm lucky enough to work for a top university. I apply online for an appointment, and leave a message with my primary physician telling him I need an MRI to assess a meningioma. For two days, I get no response from either.

Plan B. Phone calls. I am successful in securing a referral for an MRI, but only if I come in for an "evaluation" with my family doctor. Everyone wants a piece of the action, I guess. I speak to a referral nurse at the aforementioned university medical center, and am told I should skip the neurologist and go right to a neurosurgeon. I try not to let this scare the bejesus out of me.

The neurosurgeon's office won't make an appointment until I've had an MRI. and the radiology department is too busy to answer the phone. My primary doctor recalls reading my CT scan, doesn't recall the details (he thinks I have a 2cm hematoma) and doesn't have the scan report in my chart. He offers me some reassurance that if I have to have a brain tumor, this is the one to have, which makes me want to strangle him with his stethoscope. He does manage to get me a referral very quickly for my MRI, for which I have miraculously secured an appointment at the ungodly hour of 7 am the next morning.

WebMD Ruins My Evening

2006-08-06T08:52:00.001-07:00

That voice, that little worrying whore who has stolen so much of my precious time over the years, won't shut the f*&% up.

I have been known to spend hours on line, diagnosing myself with everything from leukemia (didn't I bleed an awful lot after I cut myself shaving last night?) and lymphomas to multiple sclerosiss, and, of course, brain tumors. Sometimes the voice just whispered, making sure I was constantly aware that it could come at any time, that diagnosis that changes everything, that widows my husband and leaves my children motherless. Other times it screamed, enveloping me, rendering everything else irrelevant, consuming me completely. Over that 10-minute drive home from the ER, the whisper was building steadily, and I indulged in a habit I'd broken years earlier...WebMD.

Meningioma. I spelled it wrong initially. How could I have something I couldn't even spell? Little did I know within days I'd be an expert on the topic.

Meningioma. It actually didn't sound that menacing, despite the dread -oma suffix. Maybe it was some sort of cyst, scar tissue, a pimple on my ass for all I knew. It couldn't be anything terrible. I mean, it couldn't be a brain tumor. No doctor would tell you you had a brain tumor, no matter how small or benign, and send you on your way with a "have a good evening" in the same breath.

Brain tumor. I'd dedicated my adult life to worrying about just such an event, and in the moment that those two words appeared on the screen, I realized something...I had never actually thought it would happen. Somehow I had believed that all the anxiety, all the sleepless nights, all the moments I sacrificed joy to worry, would pay my dues, and it would never come to pass.

But there it was. Brain tumor. It existed in the lining of my brain. It exists in the lining of my brain. It's almost certainly benign, and though with only one CT scan I'd heard conflicting reports on size, it was small. But it's a brain tumor. Two words. Ten letters. My life changes.

The Beginning

2006-08-06T08:24:00.000-07:00

We've been married 11 years. We've been together since we were 19 and 20, 16 years in total. That's a long time. While it brings security and familiarity, it also brings security and familiarity. Things were not going well. I was bitter and acting out, Jack was oblivious and in denial. I squandered most of a once-in-lifetime vacation to Ireland on resentment, but in the end, we had a breakthrough, and things were moving ahead. We were suddenly connected, adventurous. I was attracted to him in a way I hadn't been in years, and we were bonding again, emotionally, physically, finding ways to enjoy each other beyond the mechanics of being two working parents with active children just trying to get through the day.

But fate's a bitch. One Friday evening I experienced a mild headache after sex. Nothing notable. My head hung off the edge of the bed a bit, and I assumed blood rushed to it. The two beers I'd had with dinner probably didn't help. The next morning I hit the gym, ran 40 minutes on the treadmill, part of my daily routine. Later, during my weight circuit, the headache returned. It was annoying, but not debilitating. I was able to finish my workout, and was looking forward to a date with my husband that evening, looking forward to it more than I had in years.

We had a lovely evening, and the next day I awoke feeling better about us than I had in recent memory. We were renewed, alive, in love again. We approached sex with a refreshed vigor, and the results, as it turns out, may be disastrous.

That Sunday, as I reached climax, I was gripped by the "thunderclap," a term I'd read over and over again as I became addicted to internet searches on the topic. It was a pain I'd never experienced before, sudden, intense, immobilizing...in that moment of pain-induced delerium, I could see Joe Pesci in that scene from Casino, crushing a man's head in a vise, and my only thought was "this is how that must feel."

I collapsed onto the bed holding my head, unable to move or to answer the simple questions my panicked husband was throwing at me. It was blesssedly short-lived, and though I experienced a dull throbbing the rest of the day, that level of intensity passed within the half hour. It nagged at me the rest of the day. The hypochondriac I'd always been, her voice long silenced by a vegetarian diet, strict exercise regimen and yes, a little better-living-through-chemistry, was once again whispering in my ear.

Monday felt normal, and I decided I would quell the unease by getting back on the horse, so to speak. Alas, it was not to be. Once again, with orgasm came the pain, and concern gave way to distress. Jack, normally the optimistic voice of reason, compounded my panic with his own, grabbing the laptop and quickly searching for my symptoms. While coital cephalgia is almost always benign, it can indicate a brain bleed, especially when they are a new occurrence.

A trip to the ER, a CT scan and spinal tap later, I was assured I was not suffering impending death from a ruptured aneurism. My scan was, in fact, "mostly" normal. Upon discharge, I was informed that I had a 3 mm meningioma, and I should get an MRI. Despite my dedication to the hypochondriac lifestyle, it was a term of which I was ignorant. I left the hospital feeling reassured, trying to figure out when I might get around to an MRI, deciding it was best to wait until after my tummy-tuck surgery, schedule for two weeks later. After all, the ER doc wasn't terribly concerned, how bad could it be?