Stair Climb, and Thoughts on Procrastination

Many years ago, my parents, knowing I was making an effort to get in shape, offered to pay for me to do the 801 Grand Challenge for the American Lung Association. I declined, but the idea of climbing all those stairs stuck with me. Every spring, in one way or another, I would be reminded of the climb. The fall before last, a student, with asthma and also a fireman, challenged himself to train for the climb during my class. Last year, one of our Juice competitors challenged the Juice Fitness Crew to do the climb. Again, I declined.

This year, though, well this was my year. Remember back in January when I was making goals and taking names? I was so gung-ho that I even asked my sister to join me in various fitness related events. That was either the best idea I've ever had, or the worst.

















[Emily, sick, but still ingenious, fast, and bossy]

Those of you that read this blog, or have heard my complaining in person know that during the month of February I suffered from a bout of fitness ennui. (Let's blame it on the fact that my original fitness buddy was out of the country!). I was stressed with a new job and having a hard time sticking to my plans and goals.

When the Red Flannel Run came around, I hadn't trained enough, but "sympathy" for my wounded-knee sister kept me from having to prove it. The same wasn't the case the with Fight for Air Climb.

Emily jumped on that event like a monkey on the back of a Border Collie at a rodeo and she never let go. I hate to use the work "hijacked," but that's what she did, and to my benefit. She organized a climb team at her office (The Energy Group: whoo-hoo Kelley!) and hounded all of her teammates until we signed up, raised our $100, and climbed some stairs.












[Just a guest on "The Emily Show"]

Again, I didn't train as much as I would have liked to, but had Emily not been biting at my heels like a rabid Chihuahua, I might have slinked out of my climbing commitment all together.

See, here's the thing. Every time one of my events is nigh, I have two thoughts: 1. "Why did I sign up for this in the first place?" and 2. "Can I break my leg between now and then so I can get out of it?" Both answers are trickier than I would like.

I think, though, it has something to do with procrastination, with I think, in turn, has something to do with self-esteem. I am reminded of a passionate, thoughtful, and hilarious speech Steven gave back in high school. I am paraphrasing here, but I think the speech went something like this: procrastinators are often perfectionists, or at least want to do well, but they are not sure they can. So, if they procrastinate. Then, they have to rush to do everything at the last minute. If the project isn't perfect, then the procrastinator can blame it on the fact that they "didn't have anytime," rather than their own lack of abilities.

(Steven needs a shout out here. All four years at the University of Iowa have been blacked out of my memory, as has the date of the fall of Rome, but I remember that speech for more than 12 years! Also, she tasted her own lactation. The woman is a freakin' machine).

Why do I dread the stair climbs, and 5ks, and RAGBRAIs? I'm not sure that I can do them, let alone do them well. What if I can't do it? What if it's horrible?

To my credit, I do go ahead and do the runs and rides and climbs anyway. And, they go fine. They don't go as well as they could have gone, but I do just fine.

So, what's the problem? Why am I not giving myself the permission to actually try? Why don't I allow myself to be awesome, rather than just serviceable? All of this gets into some really heavy stuff (pun!). And, I don't know the answers.

I want to believe in myself. Part of me does believe in myself. My friends and family sure do believe in me, and yet, something is holding me back. I do feel like I am circling closer and closer to the root cause of my weight problems, but I am not there yet.

It might be time to seek some additional help. I needed help with training: I got Gwyn. I needed help with motivation: that's where my amazing fan club comes it. It might be time to admit I need help, not just with the biscuit but also the noggin.

It's hard to admit, for sure. But so was publishing my weight in the newspaper. So was doing H.E.A.T. for the first time, but being open and honest about my inabilities at every turn in this journey truly has helped.

So far, this blog has been therapy enough, but perhaps I need more.

You, gentle reader, probably need less, though, of all that mental chow-chow, so without further adieu, here's the climb report.

The Fight for Air Climb went great! I was worried because on Tuesday, Emily and I snick into 801 Grand and climbed from floor 4 to 43 (there's a sneaky extra floor 18) and it was hard, but the actual climb was just fine. I raised nearly $200 (thanks to all of my friends and family). My teammates from the Energy Group were fabulous too.

















[Stew, a veteran climber, gave me some much needed tips]

My pal Stew and a few other folks were telling us to pace ourselves. Emily mentioned that her goal was to keep moving, so I made that my goal too. Instead of running, I walked. I walked up 1,100-some stairs. Emily's boss, Les, passed me right away, but I passed him back and then just trudged, alone, to my heart's pounding content.


















[Yet, it felt like it took forever.]

The EMC Building was hard, Hub Tower was okay. When I got to the skywalk between Hub and the Marriott, the security guard looked at me and said, "Marriott climbers to the left, everyone else to the right. No judgment." I just marched over to the Marriott and tried not to take it the wrong way. The Marriott was blessedly cool with long easy landings; though it was the highest building it was the easiest to climb. The whole thing took like 15 minutes. I didn't even burn enough calories to counter act the "carbo loading" Emily and I did the night before. Overall, I didn't kill it, but I did it.












[Summit picture]

After the climb I got a medal, like an Olympian, and then a handsome young thing from DMU gave me a little adjustment. I'd never been adjusted before! It was great! He confirmed that my hip is gimpy, but he helped me fix it. I wasn't even sore. I took a nap. Fabulous.

I am not ready to check the ass-o-meter. Last weekend was intense. For the White Tiger's birthday, I indulged in taco truck, fancy keg beer, and Sweet Binney's black forest cake and traded my cardio for house keeping. Saturday I was "tapering" for the climb and eating carbs.













[Image for next Ass-o-Meter]

Now? I don't know. Climbing to the top of all of those buildings was great. I got closer to the sky and maybe, perhaps, a little closer to knowing myself.

Cross-Check: My Current Ass-Venture

Caution: this blog contains a naked rear end (good Lord, no not mine!) and several references to a buttocks that is also a synonym for a donkey. Readers with good taste should read elsewhere.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned, vaguely, some sort of scheme in which I would "earn" a new bike if I met one of my weight loss goals. I am now prepared to unveil that scheme in all of its complicated glory.

As you may know, I want a new bike (actually, I want about three new bikes). I very nearly caught Bike World Sale Fever and bought myself a bargain-ish Trek Madone 5.2. I took it for a test ride and it was oh-so-vertically-stiff-and-laterally-compliant. But, who am I kidding? A bike like that is made for muscle-bound super-cyclists who are also vertically-stiff-and-laterally-compliant.

(Oh, Mario...)

Nothing about me is stiff or compliant. (I was reminded of this fact whilst attempting to perform "star jumps" in Gwyn's cardio conditioning class. I go one way, my gut goes the other.) Furthermore, the parts for these bikes are not really built for the kind of heavy-duty gravity that I inflict. To put it simply, I need to fix the motor, and by motor, I mean rear end.

It's been a long time since the first digit in my weight has been a 1. In fact, I don't even remember. Like many overweight people, I spent a long, long time in denial of my fat-reality and a long time in avoidance of the scale.

I put that practice to an end when I published my weight in the newspaper last year for Juice. My Juice winning weight was 217, and the lowest I got post-challenge was 214: that was about a year ago. Since then, the weight has crept back. I started 2010 at 228.

So, I will buy myself a new bike if and when I can get my weight to less than 200 pounds.

What bike do I have my eye on? For now, I am putting aside the dream of carbon fiber, and I am thinking about steel. The crabon fibre will have to wait for ultimate weight-loss success, when my butt looks like Mario's. Instead, I am thinking of steel.



The Surly Cross Check--look at that gorgeous hunk of metal. This little darling is going to be my "banging around town" bike. Imagine it with hammered metal fenders, lots of lights, a bike rack for groceries, and a cup holder for coffee. Coming in hot!

The Cross Check is going to set me back some clams, so for each pound of weight I lose, I am going to set aside $40.

But, there's a catch! If I gain the weight back, I have to donate that cash to Newt Gingrich.



(I don't care what your political affiliation is, Newt is slimy.) I am going to give myself a two-pound lee-way on the Newt-penalty. I am also looking for a volunteer who would be willing to hold on to the bike-cash and actually send it to Newt should I not meet my own standards.

To help track this new ass-venture, I am proud to introduce the "Ass-O-Meter."



So, it's either me with a new bike (and smaller ass) or Newt for President. There is really only one option. But, as you can see, I am already well on my way to Surly Cross Checkification. Stay tuned for Ass-o-Meter updates.

Bummer Life: Little Bast@rds

I was so excited to get the my bike outside for the first time in 2011. It is 60 degree and I had a meeting at Urban campus, so close to home. After a long day of micro-teaching demos, I needed some adult refreshment. As I rode down town to meet Frank at Fong's, I passed a couple pre-teen boys. I don't know exactly what they said but the word "thighs" along with some stink eye occurred. Now they could have been commenting on the power and majesty of my legs, but I doubt it. Why do people got to hate?

I recognize my legs are far from ideal, but does that mean I need to be banished to my basement? I mean, losing weight and getting healthy takes a lot of self esteem. You have to believe in your awesomeness in order to want to be better, but when someone, even a punk kid says something to break that tentative self esteem bubble, well that doesn't make me just feel bad. It makes me feel discouraged. And the time it takes to build up that tentative self esteem is totally disproportional to the amount of time it takes to shatter it. Bummer.

Next time you are having a snarky thought, dear reader, remember this: hating leads to the bummer life. Don't bummer someone's sunny-bike-ride Friday.

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Accounts and Accountability

This morning, after breakfast, I get out my phone and enter my meal into my Calorie Counter . When I log into my computer this morning, I will visit the Live Healthy Iowa website and ActivTrax to enter yesterday's workout with Gwyn to my exercise logs. Then, I'll print out my next weight lifting workout just in case I make to the gym tonight.

I need to run some stairs, but the Calorie Counter on my phone doesn't offer a stair climbing option in the exercise journal, so I will visit Calories Count--they've got a good exercise to calorie burn calculator and the website also helps me calculate how many calories I should be eating if I want to maintain or lose weight, depending, of course, on how much I weigh.



If I decided to ride my bike instead of going to the gym tonight, I have my Cat Eye computer to calculate distance, cadence, and time of the ride. And, if I need an additional boost of inspiration, well, I just look at this image of my butt from last year's Urban Assault Ride. It's like it's own continent back there, a proto-Australia read to split off from the Pangaea of my thighs.



My fitness and weight loss goals are all about accounts and accountability. For the most part, all these numbers and accounts keep me honest, inspire me, and get me moving. But, sometimes, it can feel like a little much.

Take ActivTrax: it's the new software being used at the Walnut Creek and other fancy YMCAs around the metro. In order to participate, you meet with a trainer to get your initial test results. Then, you set some weight lifting goals. Mine are tone and weight loss, though I would have liked the other goals too (muscle endurance, muscle building, etc.). When I am ready for a workout, I log into ActivTrax, print my pending workout and take it to the Y. I follow along with the program designed for me and when I am done, I hop back on the computer to log in my efforts. If I log in 250 workouts, cardio included, over the course of the year, I am eligible to win a t-shirt from the Walnut Creek YMCA.


[ActivTrax even gives you videos that demonstrate the various moves.]

ActivTrax is pretty cool. Every workout is different, so I don't get bored. The website "trax" my progress and gives me feedback on my work. It also offers me the option of a calorie and nutrition tracker which lets me know if I am on the road to weight loss or weight gain. But, counting calories is time consuming enough, so I don't take advantage of this program. I like the flexibility of my phone.

Then, there's Live Healthy Iowa, one of the many fitness challenges I've accepted. Live Healthy Iowa is a 100 day challenge for work places to encourage people to get more active and lose weight. All you have to do is log your exercise and weight loss every Friday and teams are eligible for drawings and prizes. Some teams take it really seriously and lose a lot of weight. Our teams are not as ferocious, but we do meet each week for a casual "lunch and learn" program.



All these programs, plus this blog, make my weight loss journey one of the most recorded, traxed, and calculated journeys this world has ever seen since the space shuttle. Is it helping? It's hard to say. There's little doubt that keeping a food journal is a good idea. It makes it just a bit harder to eat a cupcake when you have to enter, "cupcake." And, I actually do get motivated to try and beat last week's exercise-time totals with Live Healthy Iowa, and secretly, I love YMCA t-shirts that I "earned."

All my accounts give me some numerical accountability, just as the blogosphere and my friends give me social accountability. Whether all of this accountability will make the big number on the scale move, remains to be seen.

This Week, Things Got Ill

I am blogging this blog from that fantastic hazy post bike ride mental place. How is that possible, you might ask? It's just too chilly to ride outside. No one has built her a personal indoor cycling park. Perhaps Rice has been hitting the tiger blood?

No tiger blood, let me assure you.

This morning was the Riverfront YMCA Cycle-a-Thon. Cycle-a-thons have been going around the metro YMCAs like a bad case of giardia. Most are fundraisers, but not Riverfront. Their cycle-a-thon was a "fun raiser." And it was.

Tomoko, super spin instructor, brought fruit and quiche and bottled water and played waitress to all the intrepid cyclists who started spinning their wheels at 8am and didn't stop until 11am. She handed out fresh towels while 5, count e'm, 5 instructors including "Dina the Destroyer" handed out @sses.

Cycle-a-thon was just what the doctor ordered.

Yesterday, I met Gwyn at Riverfront for a workout. She was there training the trainers (that's how bad ass she is). She put me through the usual paces, but Friday's workout was the first time in a long time that a Gwyn workout felt not just hard, but nearly impossible. Worse, we did some stretching and crunching in the "hall o' mirrors"--a tiny room off the Post-Soviet weight room.

Gwyn was trying to teach me some "body awareness." There some sort of thoracic muscle thing that runs along the pelvic. All that muscle does is help you breath, but it also needs to be worked out when working on abdominal. Pushing abs out, rather than down, says Gwyn, is the key to a strong core.

I was struggling. I was having a really hard time finding this little guy and keeping it taut. Gwyn was patient but firm as she made me do this weird little pelvic thrusts without using my legs. I just kept doing it wrong.

Meanwhile, this 20-something fella with a six pack who's shirt kept flying off was working out next to us. When I looked around, all I saw were hundreds of reflections of my gut. I am not going to lie, I was near tears. Tears of frustration and disappointment. Tears of letting myself get so far off track. Gut and pelvic and thoracic tears.

I didn't cry, but I did get homework.

3*45 minutes of cardio
continue my Activ-trax
10min/day Body Awareness: 5 min crunch and 5 min reverse crunch
write it down--record

Last year at this time, I would have been ashamed to have only completed 3*45 minutes of cardio in a week. Then I saw the poster for the Cycle-a-thon. Last year, at this time, I only did 2-hours of the cycle-a-thon, so there.

My goals for last week were not achieved. My vitamin-nausea lead to actual nausea. I think I contracted some sort of flu-thing. Apparently my flushness was not my lack of fitness but some sort of 48 hour bug. Take that old lady! I got horizontal as much as possible Monday and Tuesday and recovered, but I didn't get as far on my goals as I would have liked.

Drink a gallon of water--5 days--my best was 3/4 of a gallon 3 days a week.
5 "real workouts"--I got three.
5 "extreme dog walks"--neither extreme nor 5, but we went out three times so far.
5 days of calorie tracking--nope.
5 blogs--as you see.

What are goals if not for breaking? All of this is about being healthy, but also having a healthier lifestyle. In keeping with the life and the style, maybe I need to just have more fun, follow my bliss, as the new-agers say. Maybe I need to ride my bike if that makes me happy.

So, I am working on a super-secret-just-an-idea goal.

So, I want a new bike. I want a new bike so bad that I almost got carried away with Bike World sale fever and bought a Trek Madone 5.2 that I can't really afford. But, I called in the advice of the Bike Committee and they talked me out of it.

It wouldn't have been right to buy that bike. For one, I need to work on the motor. For two, I want the buying of a new bike to be special, a reward for a job well done. Here's what I am thinking. I've been wanting a one at the beginning of my weight for a long time. I've gotten close, but no cigar. Here's my deal to myself. When I get a one as the first digit of my weight, I get a new bike.

I've got my eye not on a super-fancy road bike, but another little treasure. If I wait and work, well then it will be special and I can keep it in my pants, fiscally speaking.

The more I think about this plan, the more I like it. I don't want to jinx it, but that foggy post-bike ride bliss feels a little bit like the end of my fitness ennui. We'll see.