Run Like A Mother#%^$@!

I used to be apprehensive about the softness of motherhood. Not just the fleshy jiggle that comes with sacrificing your workouts and your hard earned miniskirt to birth a human but also the loft that begins to define your social life and the unabashed need to be emotionally available when raising a child. In fact, I thought I would hate myself for the compromise (that and the elastic waistbands) I associated with the gig because I feared it would make me loose my edge. In truth, I was happy to part ways with some of the edge, and some of it is slowly coming back or getting reinvented from a new perspective. I'm finding there are still nights to be had though the outings are fewer and farther apart. Sometimes we trade nights so we each get an escape and sometimes our beer money goes to the babysitter. 

Now as I try to work back into a body I fondly miss, I find the challenge more mental than it ever was before. A good friend told me she realized the other day that she felt she was working out like a mother rather than working out like an athlete (I imagined some 80’s hair-banded woman in a leotard lightly sweating to an aerobics video and cooling herself off with a white towel and some iced tea. P.S. My friend is not that woman. She is an ass kicker. She slings her two bitties on both hips and gracefully takes them on outings all while looking pretty slamming in a cute pair of skinny jeans). In any case, it got me to thinking about the excuses I've been using. Not that it’s all about loosing weight but rather it’s all about owning where you are at. I know these months at home with M are beautiful but they are also challenging as I search for work and get reacquainted with with the clothes I packed away nine months ago. It's definitely a work in progress and I'm committed to getting back on track with my goals. 

I finally went on my long run today. It had something to do with parallel events that happened yesterday: getting the Cuban from Masterpiece Deli and packing my maternity jeans away. It felt good: the sandy and the tight cinch of a button on a pair of jeans I used to wear in a previous life. Both experiences inspired me to push for the long run against the blatantly obvious lack of time this morning, my hubby's conflicting schedule, and my aching body. Once I got going, it felt like home: the weather was an old friend back from snowbirding in Arizona; the songs on my "Run Your Arse Off" playlist, silent for 8 months, were there when I needed the beat; and even the sick, sadistic backache (that almost stopped me in the third mile) assured me I was doing something right. I finally felt like I was completing a real run and I was physically on board with the mental commitment to loose the baby weight. Those endorphins kicked in and it got me to thinking about running like a mother: one bad ass mother that only has one hour of free time to escape her home, her family, and get it done; a woman that doesn’t have time to give in to the desire to rest because there's way too much to do and if it’s not a good run now, who knows when it will be a good run again. I am that mother and this is my new edge.

I embrace the softness that came along with my daughter. She has helped me rediscover happiness and inspiration and made me feel more alive emotionally. I too am inspired to get back in shape to serve as a good role model for her because working out helps me feel balanced and more confident. I will get back to 7-mile hikes and a black and white mini that was short lived but oh so good. It is the woman I want to be for myself, my husband, and my daughter. That woman is strong and confident and sexy. Whatever that means for each and every mom out there, I hope you find an hour to push yourself towards yourself as often as you can.

Even God is Gluten Free

Did I mention I spent a week touring the gluten-free world? A lot of people are vacationing/moving there these days; it's a hot spot. It was a nice visit but honestly I don't think I'll move there. I do not have celiac disease and I did not do it to loose weight. A friend (who does have celiac disease) recommended I try not eating any gluten for a week and then rage for a day to see how or if it affected my system, specifically my allergies. Her theory was that I would surely feel a difference if I had a reaction to gluten after a week of not eating it. I was intrigued.

I figured what's a week worth in trade for some schnoz reprieve. I started that day, I hadn't had any gluten yet and it just seemed natural to flow in to it. A wonderful side effect came when I realized I was so nervous to eat anything, for fear of hidden gluten, that I just ate fruit, veggies, and quinoa. I quickly shed two pounds (ah the secret pleasure to gluten-free eating). An eater at heart, I quickly got over the hump and sank in to partaking in more rounded meals and doing more research.

I began my gluten-free week feeling alienated from not only food but also friends who prepared food that I then wasn't eating. Slowly though, I discovered others who were trying to be gluten-free as well. I found restaurants and food products that cater to that crowd. I also found friends supporting the endeavor by suggesting I try this or that. I hit road blocks in the form of shuffling around the yummy pasta in the soup G prepared for art night. It just felt rude to not eat the meal in it's entirety. At the end of the week, sushi finally did me in. I knew that there was gluten in soy sauce and requested the gluten-free choice, but halfway through the meal D and I did a taste test and found it was shit. It was then that I gravitated into the rolls dolloped in proper soy. The next day I felt hungover though I barely had anything to drink.

Here's the deal: I love WHEAT FLOUR. Not exorbitant amounts of it, not the flavor per se but rather the nice doughy feel. I'm a texture girl and gluten-free living has a certain grainy texture to it. While there's a piece of me that likes that, I also like the smooth round curve of fluffy fresh bread. I could get used to life without it but I don't want to. I'd rather cut down half and treat myself otherwise. Isn't that what allergies are all about: system overload? Am I fouling myself to think I can go halfsies on this gluten-free living. As anything else with my diet philosophy, it's all about moderation.

More than that, I've been open to the conversation about nutrition with friends and family. I've been exposed to other dietary endeavours I might need to explore or considerations people mull in their mouths about their diets. It's a tweaking process of sorts.

My mom and I met for dinner a few weeks ago and she brought me the All Souls newsletter to tell me about the school's 50 year celebration. Facebook already beat her to the punch but as I perused the liturgical publication, I saw a short piece in the question corner regarding gluten intolerance. Apparently there's a low-gluten host option for Communion; parishioners can request it before mass. I guess even God is on-board with this...

The Chain

Part of my new year's resolution is to continue a commitment to nutrition, namely some good old-fashioned food chain values. You know what I mean: eating more fruits and veggies; less vodka - yes, MUCH less vodka; purchasing products with less than 5 ingredients on the package; buying produce from local sellers that have a solid connection to the "the chain" rather than the bottom line of some corporation; and eating at restaurants with a slant towards sustainability.

Food, Inc. had something to do with me taking it to the next level. If you haven't watched it, netflix it my friend! But for me it's really more than just a quest for organic, sustainable eating; it's about treating my body like a system and wanting to put the most optimum things in it. It's about making the food I eat a priority rather than an afterthought. It comes in the form of reserving books at the library like Nourishing Traditions and Sugar Blues. I forget how scientific it all can be, which for me can be alienating. Not that I have bad eating habits, I just don't really think about how food affects my body. Last year when I was trying to loose weight, I naturally gravitated to cleaning up my diet and being conscious of how much went in my body. This year, I am more curious about what happens once it goes down the hatch. I wonder about things like: why eating bread makes me more bloated or just how serious are the physiological effects of sugar on my system. For example, I never really considered how sugar turns into alchohol in the stomach. It's interesting to think about since I'm someone who LOVES sugar and LOVES alcohol. They both garner the same mind-numbing, auto-pilot response from me. Coincidence? I think not.

I spend a lot more time at the grocery store reading labels. I've been breaking up with some of my favorite foods. I've been looking at where items are being shipped from and making it a priority to purchase less packaged goods. D is supportive with these types of "Mailornish Has A Plan" things. When I make grand sweeping discoveries, he relies on his culinary background to help me unravel the facts. He has been preparing more meals and we have been talking about different dinners options to get us out of the food rut. He also helps me find things to do with the unfamiliar red chard I purchased at the store because it was so colorful or takes the kale and combines it with chicken into some fantastic soup.

It's been a good adventure thus far. At times it has been humbling and a bit disgusting (i.e. leafy greens are hard on the system). There are setbacks and imperfections: I discovered a never-ending supply of hot tamales at work that sings to me like a sweet, sweet, sugar-urchin. As I wrestle with the day to day food choices, I relish in the fact that there will still be homemade mac-and-cheese and dessert in my future, and lovely new meals I don't even know about (Chateaubriand).

(P.S. I had to show you this uber-large meatball D created last night. I wish I could put smells online because this thing was tantalizing to the schnoze. Thankfully he broke it down into smaller bits.)

Face to Face

It's been a goal of mine to whittle down my "jiggly bits" (as Bridget Jones would say) and I'm proud to report I've lost over 10 pounds now. I have a few more pounds to go before I can set my sights on skinny jeans, cute tops and holding on to a number I haven't seen in years.

I had D take photos of me again this morning. About a year ago when I bought a new sports swimsuit (and planned to give Michael Phelps a run for his money via early morning workouts at the local rec center), I had D take the first round of photos that have come to be known as "The Bubba Fat Collection." This morning, I decided to go for another swim and had him take some shots again, for posterity. I'll spare you the Weight Watchers comparison photos, and to be honest, perhaps it was the angle but it wasn't as drastic as I hoped. Instead I filed it in my "compare" folder and looked back and forth at the two photos included below. Both taken after great haircuts, one in 2005 and one last month. You can see my hair color has lightened up (man I was digging that dark look for a while) and I have since traded pastey light base for shiney face. At the time of taking, I thought both were good shots of me. The comparison is crazy: weight and age and background texture. It shows the slow evolution from 20s to 30s. I won't even dignify the fact that I'm wearing my favorite overalls in the older one. There is so much five years can do to a person. I'd love to pretend I was never there, but I was. I think reminders like these are good to look at; it's good to gauge how much things change.

Oh Sweet Jesus!

Clearly there is something wrong here. My new obsession about writing a blog exploring my endeavors in to anorexia have been dashed via a detor to the Rheinlander Bakery in old town Arvada.

Who was I fooling? I can’t be anorexic. I am way to drawn to food; especially no-holds-barred, unabashedly good looking treats like authentic European baked goods displayed as layers of bright colors and drippy gooeyness. I fell for everything in sight: cakes, strudels, and pastries oh my! They even have sugar free and gluten free options to fool me into believing what I was doing was a good thing. Not a good thing like saving baby seals but more like taking a step towards world peace (albeit a small step, well more like a shuffle, perhaps a stammer...).

With D’s fine consulting work, we settled for one Dobash, one Bienenstich, and, just at checkout, we both caved to an almighty cherry turnover. Once at home, I had to take a closer look. The photos don't do it justice but I’ve recorded my research below to inform the public.*

* This information will not be found on iheartanorexia.com

I call this one "Cherry Turnover with Fruit Bowl".

One Skinny Cow Away...

I'm in a bit of a tizzy over the fact that if I want to loose 1 lb a week to get down to a remotely un-aboriginal size, I have to cut my daily caloric intake by 500 calories. WHO eats 1379 calories a day (and is this before or after working out)? I realized this yesterday and was pretty much in shock. You would have thought I was an anorexic martyr with the way I acted about the lack of food in my system. I noticed this upon closer review of My Calorie Counter. I spent about an hour adjusting measurements and figuring out intake, etc. I saw a nice little note that reminded: if you wanted to loose 1 pound per week, you MIGHT drop 500 calories from your diet (as one lb is equal to approx 3500 calories).*
* The American College of Sports Medicine recommends a minimum of 1200 calories per day for females and 1800 calories per day for males.

Seriously? Fuck that! Who eats 1200 calories a day or needs to be reminded that’s the LOWEST you should go! How DO these skinny Bs do it? I can barely make it by on the male anorexic measurement of 1800. I came in at a cool 1985 yesterday minus 443 calories for working out. That’s a grand total of 1542, which is not a lot of calories but still about a Skinny Cow more than my daily allotted intake.

What’s a girl to do? Stop eating?! It turns out all this time, the skinny B’s who said they weren’t eating or just looked like they weren’t eating really WEREN'T eating. I thought they were just pretending. Guess I was wrong. This pissed me off until a friend reminded me that it’s worse when a skinny B can eat anything she wants and still be a rail, which annoyed me more!

So hear I am: 33, unemployed, always a fat girl at heart, realizing if I want to look hot in jeans I have to put down the chicken leg and the yogurt and the 1% milk. My war is fought in numbers right now and every 10 count. A serving of 1% is 102 calories while a serving of Skim is 86. What a way to go: consuming water with milk flavor!

What’s worse is this was in my head all day. So when my hubby came home, this is what I had to talk to him about. It’s like reaching the anti-amy pinnacle: the housewifey stuck at home, running “mall” errands and counting calories. No Kidding: yesterday at one point I thought, “Oh! I’ll have a piece of gum” (as if that was a treat). How pathetic! Embarrassingly I did come to terms with the fact that my normal treats were B&J’s Cherry Garcia or a cookie from the grocery store, and really that was getting me nowhere.

So gum it is! Thank God for Orbitz these days with the aspartame ridden flavors like Fabulous Frutini and Bubble Mint. They make skinny fun, as chewing slowly kills me.