If you are anything like me, gentle reader, you have great hopes and ambitions when it comes to working out while on vacation.
I measure my workout-on-vacation ambition by the number and style of shoes I bring.
-light hikers: maybe I will workout or maybe I just want to be comfortable walking around.
-"running" shoes: there's a gym in the area or at the hotel; I could hit the elliptical or go for a jog.
-cycling shoes: means I am bringing the bike, which means major commitment.
-hiking boots: means business; the hiking boots done come on a trip unless there is going to be hiking.
I measure my success in vacation workouts by the number of times I removed those shoes from my luggage, not necessarily worn.
2+: highly successful, though rare.
1+: virtual miracle of ambition.
0-1: pretty good.
0: the norm.
Vacation is a multi-pack of the standard excuses for not working out all wrapped into one big recycled-air fueled package.
-I am too busy!
-I feel awkward working out!
-I am tired and/or too full!
-Well, I did a lot of walking!
-I deserve a break!/I am on vacation!
Here at the Tiger Den, November is a virtual sh!t storm of nuptial action: we have three weddings in one month. The first is in Las Vegas (Tiger cousin), the second is in Chicago (my cousin), the third is in Des Moines (friends).
If I am going to stay on track for the Mayoral Race, I need to keep the fitness happening despite the travel and cake-eating commitments (okay, because of the travel and cake-eating commitments).
So, I give you...
The Week 5 Mayoral Debate Topic: Hitting The Cam-PAIN Trail
Challenge Option 1: Complete one workout some where you have never been before.
For example: I've never been to the fitness facility (Cabla-Goo-Bla) at the Excalibur Resort and Casino.*
Challenge Option 2: Do a workout that you have never done before.
For example: I've never been rock climbing, or to a water Zumba class, or done nordic walking.
Debate Smack-Down Option: Combine Options 1 and 2.
Simple as that. Choose a novel place and/or workout to do this week. Success is awarded based on novelty of location and/or workout, and, of course, style. Creative exploration is encouraged.
*Full-disclosure: we will be staying at the Excalibur Resort and Casino from Thursday evening until Monday morning. This challenge was clearly designed with that trip in mind, though, in all fairness, if you have ever been to a Las Vegas hotel, you are more likely to end up splashing around in the lobby fountain than finding the fitness facility.
And, with a full schedule of wedding, Tiger-family, Rangers, and the Tournament of Kings (yes, we are going!), along with free cocktails if you sit at the nickel slots, I am about as likely to workout as I am to bring home a jackpot.
And, finally, considering that the Mayor hates challenges, I would be willing to let him tag Steven in on this one if needed.
Boo-bam.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Week 4 Mayoral Debate Results!
"You might remember this song from a little rock-u-mentary called "Give Me Shelter" about the Rolling Stones and their nightmare at Altamont. That night, the Oakland chapter of the Hell's Angels had their way. Tonight, it's my turn."
And, it was my turn. Except, instead of the Rolling Stones, it was me. And instead of Altamont, it was my office/cycling studio. Instead of the Oakland chapter of the Hell's Angels, it was Coors Light. What follows is a recap of my Mayoral Debate.
(The challenge was to do a drinking game modified for bicycling while watching The Cable Guy, which is the RAGBRAI of movies: it is brilliant, hilarious, and it just gets better every time. Miles, beers, and style all important factors).
Figuring out a time to do one's weekly Mayoral Debate is a bit of a challenge. You know there is going to be exercise so you need to be somewhat rested. There's also going to be obscene quantities of Coors Light, so you need to not need to function afterwards. My sweet spot turned out to be Friday night.
I'd come home from work, had a beer, played with the puppy, then went to a special yoga class for the cure. After yoga there was special for-the-cure cake and for-the-cure wine and for-the-cure mixes of dry roasted peanuts and candy corn. I was a hot, sugar addled mess afterwards. So, I figured, I should ride my bike.
I convinced the The White Tiger to buy my supplies, and I set up the trainer. My only road block was The Cable Guy was no longer watch instantly on Netflix. In a panic, I downloaded it from Amazon, which means, it is on my computer forever. Hurray!
The Tiger very sweetly asked if it would be okay if he didn't watch me ride the trainer while watching The Cable Guy. I can't imagine why someone would not want to spend their Friday evening in a small room, with a movie blaring, while a chubby girl sweats metabolized Coors Light all over the place, but different strokes right?
Holiday came into visit me. She was very confused both by what I was doing and by the volume of the flick. Eventually, she tried to sniff at the pedals and I nicked her in the head. She let out a little yelp. I didn't see her after that.
The ride was going great, expect, I had a hard time with some of the drinking game elements. It was hard to figure out how long "drink 5" and "drink 30" were while pedaling. It got harder as the night went on.
At some point, I looked at my computer and realized I was only at about 13 miles. Unacceptable. I decided I need to pick up the pace. I was aiming for the 25 mile mark. I think all the Silverchair on the sound track really helped.
As the climax of the movie approached, I went for a ride on the information super highway.
Finally, the credits rolled.
I totally spent.
Holiday refused to come into the room, even though the Tiger tried to lure her with treats.
9 beers (how many points is that?)
27.56 miles. (points?)
But, because I was drunk, I decided I hadn't made any significant achievements in the style-category.
So, the White Tiger lent me his flight suit and tool belt.
And, I tried to do my best Cabl-a-impression.
Then, because we didn't have any scramby eggs, I ate a bunch of leftover Thai food. Then, I passed out. Then, Steven called. I am not sure what we talked about. That's when I hit rock bottom.
So, here's my theory: exercise is like Red Bull. It makes you feel like you can drink a lot more than you can. I forgive myself, but I am not sure my neurologist will agree.
And, it turns out, it can be fun to ride the trainer, if you do it "Mayoral Style."
Boo-Bam.
And, it was my turn. Except, instead of the Rolling Stones, it was me. And instead of Altamont, it was my office/cycling studio. Instead of the Oakland chapter of the Hell's Angels, it was Coors Light. What follows is a recap of my Mayoral Debate.
(The challenge was to do a drinking game modified for bicycling while watching The Cable Guy, which is the RAGBRAI of movies: it is brilliant, hilarious, and it just gets better every time. Miles, beers, and style all important factors).
Figuring out a time to do one's weekly Mayoral Debate is a bit of a challenge. You know there is going to be exercise so you need to be somewhat rested. There's also going to be obscene quantities of Coors Light, so you need to not need to function afterwards. My sweet spot turned out to be Friday night.
 |
| Tell me where you like it! |
I'd come home from work, had a beer, played with the puppy, then went to a special yoga class for the cure. After yoga there was special for-the-cure cake and for-the-cure wine and for-the-cure mixes of dry roasted peanuts and candy corn. I was a hot, sugar addled mess afterwards. So, I figured, I should ride my bike.
 |
| Artfully overexposed "before" image of me on the trainer. |
The Tiger very sweetly asked if it would be okay if he didn't watch me ride the trainer while watching The Cable Guy. I can't imagine why someone would not want to spend their Friday evening in a small room, with a movie blaring, while a chubby girl sweats metabolized Coors Light all over the place, but different strokes right?
 |
| Coozie inspired by Chip's mustache in the unprovoked bathroom beating of Owen Wilson. |
 |
| Salt peanuts! |
 | ||||
| Chip this isn't funny! |
 |
| They say "Steven" a lot in this movie. |
 |
| I was ready to rock. |
At some point, I looked at my computer and realized I was only at about 13 miles. Unacceptable. I decided I need to pick up the pace. I was aiming for the 25 mile mark. I think all the Silverchair on the sound track really helped.
 |
| You can do your shopping from home, or play Mortal Kombat with a friend in Vietnam. |
As the climax of the movie approached, I went for a ride on the information super highway.
 |
| This concludes our broadcast day: click. |
Finally, the credits rolled.
 |
| Wake up little Snoozie, smell the smelling salts. |
I totally spent.
 |
| Bike = scary. |
Holiday refused to come into the room, even though the Tiger tried to lure her with treats.
 |
| That is a lot of Rocky Mountain water. |
9 beers (how many points is that?)
 |
| 27.56 |
27.56 miles. (points?)
But, because I was drunk, I decided I hadn't made any significant achievements in the style-category.
 |
| "You might want to buckle up; I've had a couple of drinks." |
So, the White Tiger lent me his flight suit and tool belt.
 |
| I'll juice you up. |
And, I tried to do my best Cabl-a-impression.
Then, because we didn't have any scramby eggs, I ate a bunch of leftover Thai food. Then, I passed out. Then, Steven called. I am not sure what we talked about. That's when I hit rock bottom.
So, here's my theory: exercise is like Red Bull. It makes you feel like you can drink a lot more than you can. I forgive myself, but I am not sure my neurologist will agree.
And, it turns out, it can be fun to ride the trainer, if you do it "Mayoral Style."
Boo-Bam.
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Totally 3rd Grade Thing I am Doing to Stay Motivated + Haters + Know-It-Alls
 |
| Gold Stars! |
THIRD GRADE STYLE MOTIVATION
A long time ago, I decided I wanted to do a star-chart for my fitness endeavors. I wanted to see how all those work-outs stack up over time. My calorie counter on the phone didn't work, even this blog didn't work. I needed gold stars and a recycled DMACC pet calendar.
Originally, I thought I would do multi-color stars and code the star-colors for different workouts: gold for cycling, green for weight lifting, red for cardio, blue for swimming, you know...but Walgreens didn't have multi-color stars, so gold it is.
I guessed, correctly, that this star chart would be motivating. I was right. I love giving and receiving gold stars. Double boom.
Last week, during the SRE, there are more gaps than usual, and those were motivating too. I am bizarrely, weirdly, totally third-gradely motivated to fill those gaps. If it works for 3rd graders, it works for me. I suggest you try it. It doesn't have to be for working out. Give yourself a gold star for every day that you don't hit a squirrel with your car or cleaning the bathroom or voting. Trust me, it works!
HATERS
Gold stars are only part 1 of this blog. Part two is a big ole pot of thinking stew that's been simmering for a while. Recently, it boiled over and covered the stove-top of my brain with a thick, gooey mess, much like this metaphor is doing.
I was at a party on Saturday night. Various Bruces (Bruce = Australians) and Bruce-want-a-bes were talking about a Bruce that wasn't there. The absent Bruce is kind of a nut-job. He bought the cheapest mountain bike he could find and rode it 16,000 miles across the country. He lived down by the Des Moines river eating catfish all summer, and he gets "pissed" (that's how the Bruces say it) like a champion.
The Bruces at the party were talking about the time the absent-crazy-Bruce got his jaw wired shut. The Bruces were speculating about how he broke his jaw. Then, one of the Bruce-want-to-bes, says, "yeah, he probably f*cked the wrong fat chick."
(Full disclosure: I have met the absent-crazy-Bruce, and he was "pissed." [On Fosters!] He actually hit on this fat chick, though I turned out the be another wrong fat chick. Hence my interest in this Bruce-tale.)
Why people (and not just Bruces) got to hate on the fat chicks? Geez. We got it hard enough being fat chicks.
I have a friend, a very smart, well-educated, worldly friend. He has been my friend for a long time. He is also not exactly known for his sensitivity, despite his great intelligence.
On several occasions, he has said something along the lines of, "oh, the fat guy?" Or "is she fat?" in a very mean-spirited way. I am often surprised by the number of derogatory comments about fat and fatness made by this friend, especially in the presence of me, a genuine fat person.
If one were to guess from these comments it feels as if this person really has a problem with fat people. Hates fat people, even.
Surprised, because I know that he knows that fat people are just like regular people but with a more cushion for the pushin'. Sure, maybe fatness bespeaks some sort of weakness in self-control, but that isn't any reason to be drinkin' the hater-ade.
Surprised even more because I never know how to take these fat-comments. Am I supposed to be getting a hint, that even though my friend loves me, he doesn't love my fatness and I need to lock it up? Or, am I exempt from these feelings? Do I get a special fat-hate exemption because we are pals?
I can't think of another physical characteristic that people in general seem so eager and open to discussing, in mixed company, with such disgust. Can you imagine saying, "oh, that guy has gotten so bald," or "yeah, he must have f*cked the wrong ginger girl." The vitriol is just not there.
Where did all this hate come from?
I am not in the business of making proclamations about cultural phenomenon, but I will say this, it never hurts to err on the side of niceness. And, if you are feeling me today, dear readers, be nice to fat person in your life today. They've got a lot on their shoulders (and butts, and thighs, [I just couldn't resist, but it's okay, look at that before picture!]).
KNOW-IT-ALLS
One of the best parts of being open about my weight loss ambitions is that I can get a lot of help from my super-smart friends, colleagues, the inter-web, doctors, trainers, fellow-bloggers, family, etc. Whenever I cast a question out into the void, I get something in return.
For example, when I visited my doctor, I explained how confused I was about how many calories I needed to be eating, versus how much I needed to exercise, etc. I'd gotten a lot of conflicting advice. My doctor said this.
"Oh, you are a college teacher, well that's probably a pretty sedentary job. You should aim to exercise an hour a day, seven days a week."
As for eating, he said that we eat too many sugars and starches. He recommended eating a lot of vegetables, lean protein, and ditching the desserts and corn/potato stuff so common in the midwest.
I love it! I don't always follow it, but I love it. It's so simple, so clear.
I have, of course, gotten some pretty crazy advice too. For example, I was out with some of my underclassmen friends. I don't know how we got into this conversation, but one of my friends say, "people just need to realize, if you want to stay in shape, all you have to do is walk a mile every day, that's it."
Of course, this profound advice was coming from a slender man who drinks, smokes, and once played soccer. He's got the metabolism of a young man in his 20s because he is a young man in his 20s.
I walk about 3 miles every single week day with little Miss Holiday. Clearly, this advice isn't right, or, at least, it is not right for me.
Another time, I was talking to a friend. I had mentioned how much I had enjoyed spinning classes. His response was, "all of these exercise programs are just so ridiculous. The only thing that matters is portion control."
Again, super-skinny friend telling me this. Naturally skinny. If I had to guess, I would say this person has never had to worry about putting on weight in his life. When has he ever had to think about portion control?
Maybe he does, I don't know, but I doubt it. I doubt very highly.
Last night, I mentioned something about Beav-X-90, and the Tiger launched into yet another one of his tirades against Beav-X-90. "It's a bad work out. All you do is lift weights. You are just going to be putting on muscle underneath the fat."
Now, the Tiger did about two weeks of Beav-X-90. Then he dropped out. I have asked the Tiger to stop ranting against an activity that I am sacrificing so much time, money, and sleep to do every day for 90 days. If he doesn't want to do it, that's fine, but I am finding value in it, so please stop bad-mouthing it. I have also suggested, not so sweetly, that coming from someone who never exercises, his advice falls pretty flat. I have also suggested that he shut the hell up, which I did last night.
What I am trying to do is not create a catalog of the injustices and un-fair-ities that people have perpetrated against me (though, thank goodness for the internet that I have a platform). My point is to reiterate something Gwyn said to me a long time ago and something I was working on believing with my last blog post.
When you are trying, with limited success to lose weight, it seems like you are always searching for the "magic bullet," that one perfect trick that will turn the nob and dump the weight once and for all. Maybe it is our quick fix (especially with weight loss) culture. Things aren't working, so I am desperately seeking advice. It's easy to hear that advice and then immediately internalize, "oh, that's why I am not successful."
I am certainly not suggesting that I don't want the input of my super smart friends. I will continue to seek it. I just need to not internalize everything.
You got to take what motivates you and work with it. If it doesn't motivate you, if it doesn't apply to you, if the person saying it doesn't know what the hell he is talking about, or if it hurts, then just ignore it.
And, those are my thoughts for my 90th (!) blog. Boom.
A long time ago, I decided I wanted to do a star-chart for my fitness endeavors. I wanted to see how all those work-outs stack up over time. My calorie counter on the phone didn't work, even this blog didn't work. I needed gold stars and a recycled DMACC pet calendar.
Originally, I thought I would do multi-color stars and code the star-colors for different workouts: gold for cycling, green for weight lifting, red for cardio, blue for swimming, you know...but Walgreens didn't have multi-color stars, so gold it is.
I guessed, correctly, that this star chart would be motivating. I was right. I love giving and receiving gold stars. Double boom.
Last week, during the SRE, there are more gaps than usual, and those were motivating too. I am bizarrely, weirdly, totally third-gradely motivated to fill those gaps. If it works for 3rd graders, it works for me. I suggest you try it. It doesn't have to be for working out. Give yourself a gold star for every day that you don't hit a squirrel with your car or cleaning the bathroom or voting. Trust me, it works!
HATERS
Gold stars are only part 1 of this blog. Part two is a big ole pot of thinking stew that's been simmering for a while. Recently, it boiled over and covered the stove-top of my brain with a thick, gooey mess, much like this metaphor is doing.
I was at a party on Saturday night. Various Bruces (Bruce = Australians) and Bruce-want-a-bes were talking about a Bruce that wasn't there. The absent Bruce is kind of a nut-job. He bought the cheapest mountain bike he could find and rode it 16,000 miles across the country. He lived down by the Des Moines river eating catfish all summer, and he gets "pissed" (that's how the Bruces say it) like a champion.
The Bruces at the party were talking about the time the absent-crazy-Bruce got his jaw wired shut. The Bruces were speculating about how he broke his jaw. Then, one of the Bruce-want-to-bes, says, "yeah, he probably f*cked the wrong fat chick."
(Full disclosure: I have met the absent-crazy-Bruce, and he was "pissed." [On Fosters!] He actually hit on this fat chick, though I turned out the be another wrong fat chick. Hence my interest in this Bruce-tale.)
Why people (and not just Bruces) got to hate on the fat chicks? Geez. We got it hard enough being fat chicks.
I have a friend, a very smart, well-educated, worldly friend. He has been my friend for a long time. He is also not exactly known for his sensitivity, despite his great intelligence.
On several occasions, he has said something along the lines of, "oh, the fat guy?" Or "is she fat?" in a very mean-spirited way. I am often surprised by the number of derogatory comments about fat and fatness made by this friend, especially in the presence of me, a genuine fat person.
If one were to guess from these comments it feels as if this person really has a problem with fat people. Hates fat people, even.
Surprised, because I know that he knows that fat people are just like regular people but with a more cushion for the pushin'. Sure, maybe fatness bespeaks some sort of weakness in self-control, but that isn't any reason to be drinkin' the hater-ade.
Surprised even more because I never know how to take these fat-comments. Am I supposed to be getting a hint, that even though my friend loves me, he doesn't love my fatness and I need to lock it up? Or, am I exempt from these feelings? Do I get a special fat-hate exemption because we are pals?
I can't think of another physical characteristic that people in general seem so eager and open to discussing, in mixed company, with such disgust. Can you imagine saying, "oh, that guy has gotten so bald," or "yeah, he must have f*cked the wrong ginger girl." The vitriol is just not there.
Where did all this hate come from?
I am not in the business of making proclamations about cultural phenomenon, but I will say this, it never hurts to err on the side of niceness. And, if you are feeling me today, dear readers, be nice to fat person in your life today. They've got a lot on their shoulders (and butts, and thighs, [I just couldn't resist, but it's okay, look at that before picture!]).
KNOW-IT-ALLS
One of the best parts of being open about my weight loss ambitions is that I can get a lot of help from my super-smart friends, colleagues, the inter-web, doctors, trainers, fellow-bloggers, family, etc. Whenever I cast a question out into the void, I get something in return.
For example, when I visited my doctor, I explained how confused I was about how many calories I needed to be eating, versus how much I needed to exercise, etc. I'd gotten a lot of conflicting advice. My doctor said this.
"Oh, you are a college teacher, well that's probably a pretty sedentary job. You should aim to exercise an hour a day, seven days a week."
As for eating, he said that we eat too many sugars and starches. He recommended eating a lot of vegetables, lean protein, and ditching the desserts and corn/potato stuff so common in the midwest.
I love it! I don't always follow it, but I love it. It's so simple, so clear.
I have, of course, gotten some pretty crazy advice too. For example, I was out with some of my underclassmen friends. I don't know how we got into this conversation, but one of my friends say, "people just need to realize, if you want to stay in shape, all you have to do is walk a mile every day, that's it."
Of course, this profound advice was coming from a slender man who drinks, smokes, and once played soccer. He's got the metabolism of a young man in his 20s because he is a young man in his 20s.
I walk about 3 miles every single week day with little Miss Holiday. Clearly, this advice isn't right, or, at least, it is not right for me.
Another time, I was talking to a friend. I had mentioned how much I had enjoyed spinning classes. His response was, "all of these exercise programs are just so ridiculous. The only thing that matters is portion control."
Again, super-skinny friend telling me this. Naturally skinny. If I had to guess, I would say this person has never had to worry about putting on weight in his life. When has he ever had to think about portion control?
Maybe he does, I don't know, but I doubt it. I doubt very highly.
Last night, I mentioned something about Beav-X-90, and the Tiger launched into yet another one of his tirades against Beav-X-90. "It's a bad work out. All you do is lift weights. You are just going to be putting on muscle underneath the fat."
Now, the Tiger did about two weeks of Beav-X-90. Then he dropped out. I have asked the Tiger to stop ranting against an activity that I am sacrificing so much time, money, and sleep to do every day for 90 days. If he doesn't want to do it, that's fine, but I am finding value in it, so please stop bad-mouthing it. I have also suggested, not so sweetly, that coming from someone who never exercises, his advice falls pretty flat. I have also suggested that he shut the hell up, which I did last night.
What I am trying to do is not create a catalog of the injustices and un-fair-ities that people have perpetrated against me (though, thank goodness for the internet that I have a platform). My point is to reiterate something Gwyn said to me a long time ago and something I was working on believing with my last blog post.
When you are trying, with limited success to lose weight, it seems like you are always searching for the "magic bullet," that one perfect trick that will turn the nob and dump the weight once and for all. Maybe it is our quick fix (especially with weight loss) culture. Things aren't working, so I am desperately seeking advice. It's easy to hear that advice and then immediately internalize, "oh, that's why I am not successful."
I am certainly not suggesting that I don't want the input of my super smart friends. I will continue to seek it. I just need to not internalize everything.
You got to take what motivates you and work with it. If it doesn't motivate you, if it doesn't apply to you, if the person saying it doesn't know what the hell he is talking about, or if it hurts, then just ignore it.
And, those are my thoughts for my 90th (!) blog. Boom.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Week 3 Mayor Debate Results and Smugness Reconsidered
In this week's Mayor Challenge I challenged the Mayor to buy new cycling shoes.
I am proud to say that he will soon be the owner of:
and he might even not send them back!
I am the proud owner of a heart rate monitor.
One of the fun activities I did with Gwyn this summer was to measure my lactic threshold. Apparently, at 165-ish, I am the most efficient at fat-burning and I should be aiming to work out there for about 45 minutes a day. Now, instead of perceived exertion, I can measure actual exertion.
In other news, I had been planning on writing a very smug blog post about my "strategic reduction in effort" (SRE) this week.
As only my most dedicated of readers will already know, many of the challenges I have taken on with my fellow bloggers get dashed by the "week-threes," a phenomenon in which my motivation falls flat at week 3.
True to form, week 3 got off to a rocky start. I was tired, grumpy, my knee hurt, and I didn't have any groceries to make healthy lunches. Instead of letting all of this knock me completely off the wagon, I decided to do a "strategic reduction in effort." It would be a controlled fall off the wagon.
Here's how the SRE looks:
Boy, was I feeling smug about this SRE. I would beat those "week-three" blues. I found the key to a successful challenge and perhaps to making sustainable changes in my life. Look at me! I am so smart! S.M.R.T.
And, I felt smug up until the moment when, last night, the Tiger and I were walking home from the bar-wake. A college student drove by and yelled something indecipherable out the window. I didn't get the full sentiment, but the message was clear: "fat."
Maybe it was because I was wearing a puffy down coat?
It doesn't matter how much money you make, how successful you are at work, how much your friends and family adore you, when you are an object of public mockery your self-esteem goes down the toilet.
I am fat. Oh, the shame.
And, I am not the only one grappling with the fact that it is not longer socially acceptable, or at least socially ignorable, to be fat.
Take Chris Christie, once-possible-candidate-for-the-GOP-nomination and governor of New Jersey. He was the target of jokes from late night comedians. Not only that, pundits speculated whether he could be successful as a candidate because of his weight. Despite the fact that two-thirds of Americans are overweight or obese, we don't want a fat president. William Taft would be rolling in his grave!
I also listened to a story on the radio about a woman who has long struggled with her weight. It's not just the pressure to lose weight, it's the shame.
I am proud to say that he will soon be the owner of:
|
Shimano SH-R190 Road Cycling Shoes (For Men and Women) color: white size: 40 Save 52% $239.99 #4194T-01-40 |
and he might even not send them back!
I am the proud owner of a heart rate monitor.
 |
| Heart rate monitor and stage one of the construction of my "spin station." |
In other news, I had been planning on writing a very smug blog post about my "strategic reduction in effort" (SRE) this week.
As only my most dedicated of readers will already know, many of the challenges I have taken on with my fellow bloggers get dashed by the "week-threes," a phenomenon in which my motivation falls flat at week 3.
True to form, week 3 got off to a rocky start. I was tired, grumpy, my knee hurt, and I didn't have any groceries to make healthy lunches. Instead of letting all of this knock me completely off the wagon, I decided to do a "strategic reduction in effort." It would be a controlled fall off the wagon.
Here's how the SRE looks:
- On a normal week, I would hit Beav-X-90 5 times and yoga once, along with some cycling. SRE week, I skipped Beav-X-90 Monday and Thursday.
- On a normal week, I would try to eat "like a champ" Monday through Friday, then give myself a little break on the weekends. SRE week I am not counting calories, eating perfectly, or feeling guilty.
- On a normal week, I would try to refraign from drinking during the week days. SRE week, I went out for drinks with friends last night at a bar-wake (yet another classic neighborhood bar is closing, sad moment).
- I had one mini-cupcake yesterday. Not zero. Not three.
Boy, was I feeling smug about this SRE. I would beat those "week-three" blues. I found the key to a successful challenge and perhaps to making sustainable changes in my life. Look at me! I am so smart! S.M.R.T.
And, I felt smug up until the moment when, last night, the Tiger and I were walking home from the bar-wake. A college student drove by and yelled something indecipherable out the window. I didn't get the full sentiment, but the message was clear: "fat."
Maybe it was because I was wearing a puffy down coat?
It doesn't matter how much money you make, how successful you are at work, how much your friends and family adore you, when you are an object of public mockery your self-esteem goes down the toilet.
I am fat. Oh, the shame.
And, I am not the only one grappling with the fact that it is not longer socially acceptable, or at least socially ignorable, to be fat.
Take Chris Christie, once-possible-candidate-for-the-GOP-nomination and governor of New Jersey. He was the target of jokes from late night comedians. Not only that, pundits speculated whether he could be successful as a candidate because of his weight. Despite the fact that two-thirds of Americans are overweight or obese, we don't want a fat president. William Taft would be rolling in his grave!
Don't get me wrong. I am not looking for sympathy. I got myself into this situation, and I acknowledge that my being overweight is an undue burden on myself, on my country, and on the planet. I get it.
That kid reminded me of a poem by Sylvia Plath we are reading for one of my classes today (Frank, don't say anything!):
That college kid was my mirror, unmisted by love or dislike, not cruel but truthful.
And, at best, the public scorn does empower my better angels. I am an object of public mockery! I need to get my biscuit into the gym! F*ck a SRE, I need to get back to work.
At worst, though, hearing those words spoken out loud also fuels my deepest self-loathing.
And it's self-loathing, or at least self-neglect, that got me into this position. I didn't take care of myself because I didn't care enough about myself. But, it's hard to feel deserving of care, when you are an object of school boy's taunts, like the bearded lady at the circus. Then, someone offers you a cupcake! Sneaky hate spiral.
Yet, despite all the mean things I can think about myself, I do still believe that I deserve to be happy. Beav-X-90 makes me happy, and measuring my heart-rate makes me happy. So does riding my bike. Eating really delicious, nutritious, local food makes me happy, and so does sharing some beers and nachos with good friends, every once in a while. And, I figure, if I keep pointing myself in the direction towards greater happiness, then I can't be too far off track.
Happiness is better than smugness any day.
That kid reminded me of a poem by Sylvia Plath we are reading for one of my classes today (Frank, don't say anything!):
Mirror
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful--
The eye of a little god, four cornered.
That college kid was my mirror, unmisted by love or dislike, not cruel but truthful.
And, at best, the public scorn does empower my better angels. I am an object of public mockery! I need to get my biscuit into the gym! F*ck a SRE, I need to get back to work.
At worst, though, hearing those words spoken out loud also fuels my deepest self-loathing.
- Instead of being proud that I can now lift my feet a teeny-tiny bit in the "crow" position, I obsess about smothering myself with my own boobs during the "plow" position.
- Despite my proclaimed "beastness," the only beast I think of myself as is one of those rubber chickens, with the super fat thighs.
- Losing weight is so hard, I whine. It's easy for everyone else. All they have to do is ditch the fast food and the pop and go for a walk, and bam! 20 pounds melt away. For me, every calorie is a Sisyphean effort.
- Instead of seeing my SRE as strategic effort at long term achievement, I see it as a failure of self-discipline, or worse, totally irrelevant. The number on the scale isn't going to move in the negative direction no matter what I do.
And it's self-loathing, or at least self-neglect, that got me into this position. I didn't take care of myself because I didn't care enough about myself. But, it's hard to feel deserving of care, when you are an object of school boy's taunts, like the bearded lady at the circus. Then, someone offers you a cupcake! Sneaky hate spiral.
Yet, despite all the mean things I can think about myself, I do still believe that I deserve to be happy. Beav-X-90 makes me happy, and measuring my heart-rate makes me happy. So does riding my bike. Eating really delicious, nutritious, local food makes me happy, and so does sharing some beers and nachos with good friends, every once in a while. And, I figure, if I keep pointing myself in the direction towards greater happiness, then I can't be too far off track.
Happiness is better than smugness any day.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Going Getting Better than Not Going
With Beav-X-90, I've set the low expectation that I wouldn't be attending on Tuesdays. I teach in Newton, Iowa until 9pm on Mondays. Getting home and getting wound down after a long class makes for too little sleep before my 4:30am alarm.
Then, Tuesdays became Mondays. I skipped last Monday after a Sunday spent doing my sister's Ingersoll "Wine Crawl." I missed my Sunday-reset. Sundays are the days when I hang around the house, get caught up on work and chores, relax, and take things down a notch. When I spend my Sundays actually doing something that involves putting on "going into public clothes," I just felt gross and tired and overwhelmed.
This Monday I skipped because I felt gross and tired and overwhelmed after missing my Sunday-reset; (as you know, the Tiger and I had only just returned from our weekend of romance in Dubuque).
I thought about going. I had gotten plenty of sleep. But, then, my knee hurt, and I was tired, and my back hurt, and it is "bear season," and it was cold, excuses, excuses, excuses.
When I woke up at 6:30, I wasn't glad I had skipped; not at all. I wished I had gone.
Today, though, I was super excited for Beav-X-90. Finally, finally(!), we got to do some punching. Ed cooked up an awesome workout of running and push-ups and kickboxing.
One of our warm-up activities involves "suicides" to the poles in the gym. But, the gym is not that big, and the first pole is like four feet from the starting position. When I do my suicides, I can't help but think of Chip Douglas.*
I always wish Steven were with me to appreciate the reference.
So, I never thought that this would happen, but going to Beav-X-90 is now better than sleeping through it. And, though, 4:30am is still ruining my social life, getting up in the morning is getting easier. I never thought that would happen.
In her blog today, Steven wrote about feeling good after a weekend that blended productivity, fitness, and fun. The benefits were immediately apparent with better sleep for the Small One and feeling rested before returning to the grind of work. I am feeling some some of those immediate benefits myself. That's the feeling that sustains a lifestyle of fitness, rather than flash in the pan.
*Another, completely unrelated, Cable Guy-as-Life moment is coming up in November. The Tiger and I are going to a wedding in Las Vegas. The wedding is at the Excalibur Casino and Resort. The main entertainment at Excalibur is a little thing called "The Tournament of Kings." Yatzee!
Then, Tuesdays became Mondays. I skipped last Monday after a Sunday spent doing my sister's Ingersoll "Wine Crawl." I missed my Sunday-reset. Sundays are the days when I hang around the house, get caught up on work and chores, relax, and take things down a notch. When I spend my Sundays actually doing something that involves putting on "going into public clothes," I just felt gross and tired and overwhelmed.
This Monday I skipped because I felt gross and tired and overwhelmed after missing my Sunday-reset; (as you know, the Tiger and I had only just returned from our weekend of romance in Dubuque).
I thought about going. I had gotten plenty of sleep. But, then, my knee hurt, and I was tired, and my back hurt, and it is "bear season," and it was cold, excuses, excuses, excuses.
When I woke up at 6:30, I wasn't glad I had skipped; not at all. I wished I had gone.
Today, though, I was super excited for Beav-X-90. Finally, finally(!), we got to do some punching. Ed cooked up an awesome workout of running and push-ups and kickboxing.
One of our warm-up activities involves "suicides" to the poles in the gym. But, the gym is not that big, and the first pole is like four feet from the starting position. When I do my suicides, I can't help but think of Chip Douglas.*
I always wish Steven were with me to appreciate the reference.
So, I never thought that this would happen, but going to Beav-X-90 is now better than sleeping through it. And, though, 4:30am is still ruining my social life, getting up in the morning is getting easier. I never thought that would happen.
In her blog today, Steven wrote about feeling good after a weekend that blended productivity, fitness, and fun. The benefits were immediately apparent with better sleep for the Small One and feeling rested before returning to the grind of work. I am feeling some some of those immediate benefits myself. That's the feeling that sustains a lifestyle of fitness, rather than flash in the pan.
*Another, completely unrelated, Cable Guy-as-Life moment is coming up in November. The Tiger and I are going to a wedding in Las Vegas. The wedding is at the Excalibur Casino and Resort. The main entertainment at Excalibur is a little thing called "The Tournament of Kings." Yatzee!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Mayor Debate: Week 2 ReBUTTal (Big Ones!)
Do you want to know how to scare an English teacher? Open a math book.
This week's Mayoral Challenge involves something that terrifies me, and it's not hills. Or, Iron-Bob Sandquist, (may he rest in peace).
No, what scares me is math. Somehow, through the use of magic, I am supposed to calculate something called "vertical gain" and then "divide" that number by some other significant number and then the result is something or other.
I didn't sign up for a nerd challenge! But apparently, the math and science wizards over at the House of Smith were dying to do some bean countin'.
First things first, let's talk about Potter's Hill.
The "big hill" on RAGBRAI 2010 was called "Potter's Hill." It loomed over the entire week like a black cloud. Right outside of Graf, Iowa, on the last day, most of RAGBRAI met its doom. The hill decimated RAGBRAI. Old men who hadn't walked a hill in 30 years of RAGBRAI were walking. People were giving up even before the hill started. It looked like one of those scenes of refugees evacuating Paris before the Nazis entered the city, only instead of carts of treasured possessions, these folks had bikes.
I was one of the number who was struck down by Potter's Hill. I followed all of the advice. I'd read the training blog. I put it in my "granny gear." I attempted to "spin it out" but at some point, I just couldn't go any farther. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that so many people around me were falling apart. If they couldn't do it, well, then neither could I. Of course, those people were also stopping right in front of me while I made my last gasps.
So, I walked. And let me tell you, walking wasn't any easier. That hill is steep. With just a bit of hill left, I remounted and chugged up the rest of the hill in shame. At the top, I Steven and the Mayor were waiting for me. They had made it, of course. Steven took one look at my face and said, "I don't even care. You are awesome." Or something like that, which was very supportive. But, I was crushed and ashamed.
The thing you need to know about Steven and the Mayor is that they cannot stand anyone to be in a bad mood. And they are the relentless cheerleading pitbulls. They won't stop until there's a smile on your face. Well, Steven rode with me, trying to cheer me up. Then, to make matters even worse, I got cranky. Then, we had a mini-fight and rode separately. I just had to "bike it out, bitch." Thankfully, we kissed and made up before our final triumphant ride into Dubuque and took an amazing picture at the dip site.
Yet, my shame at not making it up the hill stuck with me.
So, when the Mayor proposed 4-hours of No Power the week the Tiger and I were going to Dubuque for a "romantic" weekend, I knew what I had to do. (We had decided to attempt the hill again, even before the challenge).
Before I reveal my results, though, I would like to make a few things clear.
Contention I: I do not "power" up hills. There was a time when I would "power" up hills. That was a RAGBRAI long, long ago in 2010. This year, 2011, was very hilly, at least to a Polk County gal. And, I can guarantee, there was no racing up any hills. There were hills I climbed slowly and hills I climbed not so slowly. I climbed them all.
Sub-Point A:
I contend that the mayor has not been campaigning for me to stop "powering" up hills, which I do not do. If the Mayor campaigns for me to do anything it is to get me to stop braking on the downhills (see contention III). In fact, the only time I remember hearing the Mayor mention my climbing is to complain that when we are climbing hills we get separated and are no longer able to ride together, but I can verify that more than half the time he is beating me up a hill.
Contention II: I am not the one "out of the saddle." In fact, I would argue, that the Mayor is "out of the saddle." That guy spends more time "out of the saddle" than a paraplegic bull rider at the K-Y Rodeo.
Sub-point A: In fact, when we climbed "the big hill" this year on RAGBRAI, "Twister Hill" outside of Pilot Mound, I spend the entire climb in the saddle. My butt was so glued to that saddle I needed a spatula and industrial-grade lubrication to pry my butt out of the saddle when we arrived at the Giggling Goat. That being said, I would like to point out, that I was the first to the top.
Contention III: Climbing is not my weakness. Descending is my weakness. I hate descending. I get scared. I brake. People, mostly the Mayor, mock me. I am not going to lie. I walked down a stretch of Potter's Hill.
Sub-Point A: In my defense, most of the jokers on RAGBRAI enjoy whizzing by me at the top of a downhill and then careening right into my path. Little do they know, I outweigh most of RAGBRAI. I build up speed like a cannon ball rolling down a cliff, but because some joker has decided not to "hold her line," I am forced to slow down, rather than careen myself into some else's path.
Contention IV: Trek Alpha Aluminum 22 pounds versus the Madone 5.5 16 pounds, plus my additional 25 pounds of weight: 31 extra pounds, more so with Steven and "skinny" Mayor. The gravitational pull on that extra 47 pounds requires an additional amount of power to counter act the effects of gravity.
Contention V: I don't even understand the math we are doing.
Contention VI: There are no hills worthy of climbing four hours in a row in Polk County.
Contention VII: What are you talking about "getting in the way of my success?" I won RAGBRAI mother-f*cka, two years in a row.
Now, the results of my Week 2 Debate: Four Hours of No Power
1. I made it up Potter's Hill!
2. I lost the Four Hours of No Power Challenge.
I made it up Potter's Hill. It was tough, but I did it.
We decided to start at the trail head in Durango, Iowa. And, I glad we did. The road from the Black Horse Inn to Durango was steep, crappy, and narrow.
I mistakenly believed that the train we were taking to Graf, called "Heritage Trail" was paved. Not so much. It was a fine gravel. To make it even more fun, Dubuque had received 15 inches of rain in July in one night. The trail was a bit of a mess. We were on our road bikes. I felt bad for the Tiger because he brought his pretty bike.
The trail was gorgeous and just messy enough to make it a bit of a challenge. We had about an 7 mile ride out to Graf, Iowa. I was so nervous I couldn't finish my breakfast and I was shaking as I put on my bike clothes. The Tiger's response to my nerves was to simply say, "don't be nervous." As we rode, the Tiger "pulled away" and I got slower and slower the closer we got to the hill.
To cheer myself I sang, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," which is what the Mayor sang to me and Emily throughout RAGBRAI 2011. It helped.
Then, we came out of the woods at "Potter's Hill Road."
As I was remounting, a guy on a triathalon bike was rolling down the hill. "Is everything alright?" he asked. I couldn't tell him the truth, that I was seriously considering turning around and going back to the comfort of the Black Horse Inn.
I said I was fine and started towards the bridge. As he rode past me, he said, "just keep the cadence real quick." Thanks, sir.
So, I started chugging. I put that old bike in the bottom gear and pedaled. On Twister Hill I kept looking for the top, which was dumb, so I tried to force myself to just look 10 feet in front of me. And, I climbed.
As I got to one of the steepest spots, the Tiger rolled down and yelled "you got it!"
"Damn," I thought, "the Tiger did it. Now I have to do it." So I kept pedaling. I was huffing and puffing. I tried to remember how slow you can go before you fall over. I veered dangerously close to a pile of leaves. I passed the spot where I had quit in 2010. I huffed. I looked at my computer. .6 miles! Damn it.
Then, the tri-guy rolled down the hill, "you got it!" Sigh.
Then, I did have it. I turned the corner, saw the top, and kept pedaling for it. I passed the spot where I remounted in 2010. I kept pedaling. Finally, the horizon appeared again. Thank goodness. I decided to pedal to the spot where I had met Steven and the Mayor in 2010. Then, I rolled over a rock and felt it just a bit too much. Then another. Then another.
I had a flat! Not a super flat, but the tube was low. I tried to pump it up, just to make it down the hill, but anyone who knows me knows I am terrified of going down hill. A semi-flat tire seemed like a terrible obstacle.
I stopped. Bummer. The Tiger, who hadn't waited for me to take a victory photo, jerk!, was all the way at the bottom. True to form, though he owns a cell phone, he didn't have it on him. He would either have to climb back to the top, or wait for me at the bottom. It takes me a long time to change a tire.
I flagged down a lady who was headed down hill. I asked her to tell then guy in the brown coat on the blue bike with the mustache that I had a flat and I would be down in a bit.
Then, I changed my tire.
Then I wrestled with the tire, trying to get it back on the wheel. As I was pumping with my silly little hand pump, I saw the Tiger crest the horizon. He had ridden back up the hill! What a champion.
I filled him in. He sat patiently as I pumped. Finally, I handed over the wheel. He finished pumping for me.
"I wish you would use your cell phone," I told him. "You wouldn't have had to ride up twice."
"Oh, I didn't make it," he said. What??? He had stopped at the drive way for a little break on both ventures up the hill. Thank goodness I didn't know that when I was on the way up.
Then, we rode back down the hill. Me squealing in terror like a little girl. The Tiger dropping like it's hot.
And, we rode back down the trail. I decided I really do need to get my cyclocross career off the ground.
Then, we stopped at the Handle Bar for a post-ride beer or two. Turns out, there's no Coors in Dubuque, only Busch Light. The Tiger said he wants to come back next summer and give Potter's Hill another try. We'll have to bootleg in our own Coors, Smokey and the Bandit style.
So, I lost the debate. My day of climbing was only 538 feet, which divided by 391 is 1.3759 or something like that.
Had we been in Des Moines, I could have ridden more vertical feet, but because of time constraints and have a "romantic weekend" get-away, I could only justify the one ride. But, I am proud of getting my biscuit up that hill.
Masking the bitter taste of defeat is the sweet taste of redemption!
This week's Mayoral Challenge involves something that terrifies me, and it's not hills. Or, Iron-Bob Sandquist, (may he rest in peace).
I didn't sign up for a nerd challenge! But apparently, the math and science wizards over at the House of Smith were dying to do some bean countin'.
First things first, let's talk about Potter's Hill.
The "big hill" on RAGBRAI 2010 was called "Potter's Hill." It loomed over the entire week like a black cloud. Right outside of Graf, Iowa, on the last day, most of RAGBRAI met its doom. The hill decimated RAGBRAI. Old men who hadn't walked a hill in 30 years of RAGBRAI were walking. People were giving up even before the hill started. It looked like one of those scenes of refugees evacuating Paris before the Nazis entered the city, only instead of carts of treasured possessions, these folks had bikes.
I was one of the number who was struck down by Potter's Hill. I followed all of the advice. I'd read the training blog. I put it in my "granny gear." I attempted to "spin it out" but at some point, I just couldn't go any farther. I think a lot of it had to do with the fact that so many people around me were falling apart. If they couldn't do it, well, then neither could I. Of course, those people were also stopping right in front of me while I made my last gasps.
So, I walked. And let me tell you, walking wasn't any easier. That hill is steep. With just a bit of hill left, I remounted and chugged up the rest of the hill in shame. At the top, I Steven and the Mayor were waiting for me. They had made it, of course. Steven took one look at my face and said, "I don't even care. You are awesome." Or something like that, which was very supportive. But, I was crushed and ashamed.
The thing you need to know about Steven and the Mayor is that they cannot stand anyone to be in a bad mood. And they are the relentless cheerleading pitbulls. They won't stop until there's a smile on your face. Well, Steven rode with me, trying to cheer me up. Then, to make matters even worse, I got cranky. Then, we had a mini-fight and rode separately. I just had to "bike it out, bitch." Thankfully, we kissed and made up before our final triumphant ride into Dubuque and took an amazing picture at the dip site.
 |
| This is how you stand when you wear a 3/4 zip jersey. |
Yet, my shame at not making it up the hill stuck with me.
So, when the Mayor proposed 4-hours of No Power the week the Tiger and I were going to Dubuque for a "romantic" weekend, I knew what I had to do. (We had decided to attempt the hill again, even before the challenge).
Before I reveal my results, though, I would like to make a few things clear.
Contention I: I do not "power" up hills. There was a time when I would "power" up hills. That was a RAGBRAI long, long ago in 2010. This year, 2011, was very hilly, at least to a Polk County gal. And, I can guarantee, there was no racing up any hills. There were hills I climbed slowly and hills I climbed not so slowly. I climbed them all.
Sub-Point A:
"The Mayor has been campaigning for her to stop for a while now, since its not the best way to try to do long rides with lots of hill. And, because he is the mayor and he campaigns for lots of things."
I contend that the mayor has not been campaigning for me to stop "powering" up hills, which I do not do. If the Mayor campaigns for me to do anything it is to get me to stop braking on the downhills (see contention III). In fact, the only time I remember hearing the Mayor mention my climbing is to complain that when we are climbing hills we get separated and are no longer able to ride together, but I can verify that more than half the time he is beating me up a hill.
Contention II: I am not the one "out of the saddle." In fact, I would argue, that the Mayor is "out of the saddle." That guy spends more time "out of the saddle" than a paraplegic bull rider at the K-Y Rodeo.
Sub-point A: In fact, when we climbed "the big hill" this year on RAGBRAI, "Twister Hill" outside of Pilot Mound, I spend the entire climb in the saddle. My butt was so glued to that saddle I needed a spatula and industrial-grade lubrication to pry my butt out of the saddle when we arrived at the Giggling Goat. That being said, I would like to point out, that I was the first to the top.
Contention III: Climbing is not my weakness. Descending is my weakness. I hate descending. I get scared. I brake. People, mostly the Mayor, mock me. I am not going to lie. I walked down a stretch of Potter's Hill.
Sub-Point A: In my defense, most of the jokers on RAGBRAI enjoy whizzing by me at the top of a downhill and then careening right into my path. Little do they know, I outweigh most of RAGBRAI. I build up speed like a cannon ball rolling down a cliff, but because some joker has decided not to "hold her line," I am forced to slow down, rather than careen myself into some else's path.
Contention IV: Trek Alpha Aluminum 22 pounds versus the Madone 5.5 16 pounds, plus my additional 25 pounds of weight: 31 extra pounds, more so with Steven and "skinny" Mayor. The gravitational pull on that extra 47 pounds requires an additional amount of power to counter act the effects of gravity.
Contention V: I don't even understand the math we are doing.
Contention VI: There are no hills worthy of climbing four hours in a row in Polk County.
Contention VII: What are you talking about "getting in the way of my success?" I won RAGBRAI mother-f*cka, two years in a row.
Now, the results of my Week 2 Debate: Four Hours of No Power
1. I made it up Potter's Hill!
2. I lost the Four Hours of No Power Challenge.
I made it up Potter's Hill. It was tough, but I did it.
We decided to start at the trail head in Durango, Iowa. And, I glad we did. The road from the Black Horse Inn to Durango was steep, crappy, and narrow.
I mistakenly believed that the train we were taking to Graf, called "Heritage Trail" was paved. Not so much. It was a fine gravel. To make it even more fun, Dubuque had received 15 inches of rain in July in one night. The trail was a bit of a mess. We were on our road bikes. I felt bad for the Tiger because he brought his pretty bike.
The trail was gorgeous and just messy enough to make it a bit of a challenge. We had about an 7 mile ride out to Graf, Iowa. I was so nervous I couldn't finish my breakfast and I was shaking as I put on my bike clothes. The Tiger's response to my nerves was to simply say, "don't be nervous." As we rode, the Tiger "pulled away" and I got slower and slower the closer we got to the hill.
To cheer myself I sang, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," which is what the Mayor sang to me and Emily throughout RAGBRAI 2011. It helped.
Then, we came out of the woods at "Potter's Hill Road."
 | |
| I cropped this photo so you can't see my chubby thighs |
I wanted to take off my hat and jacket. It was a chilly morning, but I knew I wouldn't want them on the hill. I also wanted a minute to center myself. The Tiger didn't want to wait. So he rode off leaving me at the bottom.
 |
| The Tiger takes on Potter's Hill. |
 |
| This is me, trying to get my game face on, and a little disappointed the Tiger left me. |
I said I was fine and started towards the bridge. As he rode past me, he said, "just keep the cadence real quick." Thanks, sir.
So, I started chugging. I put that old bike in the bottom gear and pedaled. On Twister Hill I kept looking for the top, which was dumb, so I tried to force myself to just look 10 feet in front of me. And, I climbed.
As I got to one of the steepest spots, the Tiger rolled down and yelled "you got it!"
"Damn," I thought, "the Tiger did it. Now I have to do it." So I kept pedaling. I was huffing and puffing. I tried to remember how slow you can go before you fall over. I veered dangerously close to a pile of leaves. I passed the spot where I had quit in 2010. I huffed. I looked at my computer. .6 miles! Damn it.
Then, the tri-guy rolled down the hill, "you got it!" Sigh.
Then, I did have it. I turned the corner, saw the top, and kept pedaling for it. I passed the spot where I remounted in 2010. I kept pedaling. Finally, the horizon appeared again. Thank goodness. I decided to pedal to the spot where I had met Steven and the Mayor in 2010. Then, I rolled over a rock and felt it just a bit too much. Then another. Then another.
I had a flat! Not a super flat, but the tube was low. I tried to pump it up, just to make it down the hill, but anyone who knows me knows I am terrified of going down hill. A semi-flat tire seemed like a terrible obstacle.
I stopped. Bummer. The Tiger, who hadn't waited for me to take a victory photo, jerk!, was all the way at the bottom. True to form, though he owns a cell phone, he didn't have it on him. He would either have to climb back to the top, or wait for me at the bottom. It takes me a long time to change a tire.
I flagged down a lady who was headed down hill. I asked her to tell then guy in the brown coat on the blue bike with the mustache that I had a flat and I would be down in a bit.
Then, I changed my tire.
Then I wrestled with the tire, trying to get it back on the wheel. As I was pumping with my silly little hand pump, I saw the Tiger crest the horizon. He had ridden back up the hill! What a champion.
I filled him in. He sat patiently as I pumped. Finally, I handed over the wheel. He finished pumping for me.
 |
| Tiger takes charge. |
"I wish you would use your cell phone," I told him. "You wouldn't have had to ride up twice."
"Oh, I didn't make it," he said. What??? He had stopped at the drive way for a little break on both ventures up the hill. Thank goodness I didn't know that when I was on the way up.
 |
| Then, I got my victory photo. |
 |
| I made the Tiger take a victory photo too. Licking his lips like Thomas Voelker. |
Then, we rode back down the hill. Me squealing in terror like a little girl. The Tiger dropping like it's hot.
And, we rode back down the trail. I decided I really do need to get my cyclocross career off the ground.
 |
| Handle Bar! Nice. |
 |
| Bikers Welcome! |
Had we been in Des Moines, I could have ridden more vertical feet, but because of time constraints and have a "romantic weekend" get-away, I could only justify the one ride. But, I am proud of getting my biscuit up that hill.
Masking the bitter taste of defeat is the sweet taste of redemption!
Week 3: Mayoral Challenge Debate Topic
We are entering the third week of our Mayoral Challenge. Once again, I have the honor, of choosing the debate topic for our weekly challenge.
WEEK 3 Challenge
BUY NEW CYCLING SHOES!
Background
"What a strange challenge," you are thinking. "Both competitors have been riding their bikes. Why would they need cycling shoes?"
I don't actually need cycling shoes. I thought I needed cycling shoes, because my toes were getting pinched in the front, but in reality what I needed was to remove my Superfeet insoles from my cycling shoes. Once I took out that extra volume, my shoes are fine. Not perfect, but serviceable.
The Mayor, on the other foot, broke his shoes on RAGBRAI. "But that was 3 months ago," you are thinking.
No, dear reader, RAGBRAI 2010. That was 15 months ago.
One fine RAGBRAI afternoon, the Mayor let out a little yelp of surprise when he discovered that the sole of his shoe had snapped. Then, he proceeded to complain about how his feet hurt. Of course, we were sympathetic. While it is possible to buy cycling shoes on RAGBRAI, it is not ideal, and the Mayor's efforts to keep pedaling through the pain were admirable. That was then, this is now.
One would think that over the course of a the year that covers the long, depressing span from one RAGBRAI to the next RAGBRAI, a person is a sound financial state, who loves to ride bikes, and who lives in one of the most cyclist friendly metropolitan areas in the country would be able to buy a pair of cycling shoes that were not completely broken. Nope.
Instead, he rides his bike, gets off, then says, "damn, my feet hurt."
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| Look how sad the Mayor is. |
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| Look at these crazy old shoes! |
Then, he never gets those new shoes.
I get it. He got those shoes for a steal. It's a pain to buy new shoes. And, you never think about it until you are on the bike. But, for the cost of these shoes, the average annual cost is like -75 cents. Nike owes the Mayor for these shoes they are so old.
Here's the challenge for the Week 3 Mayoral Debate: Buy new cycling shoes, Mayor! They don't need to arrive, especially if they are ordered over the interweb, but they need to be purchased. Money needs to exchange hands for the debate to be valid.
As I am not in need of cycling shoes, I will buy a heart rate monitor instead.
Let the best shopper win.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Week 1 Super Squater Hour of Power Results
620 Squats.
430 Crunches.
229 Push-ups.
6 Coors Lights.
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| So full. |
Just your typical Friday night, hanging out with friends.
Friday night I took on the first debate of the Mayoral Race. How many squats, crunches, push-ups and beers can you take down in an hour?
Here's my official score sheet, courtesy of the math-magician that is the White Tiger.
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| The White Tiger's count sheet. |
I knew I was going to need some help, so I recruited a small crew.
The White Tiger was the bean-counter.
Easy-E, Emily Rice, was the puppy wrangler and encourager.
Ms. Paige Stewart was the resident beer fetcher.
Austin "Little Buddy" Bailey was the videographer.
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| Before: Me. |
Emily and Paige decided to take on their own challenge by drinking 1-quart cans of Miller High Life in an hour. Apparently, it was shorts and boots night. Neither lady succeeded in their challenge.
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| Before this they were riding Emily's motorcycle. After they were going to the Surf Shack. |
Austin "Little Buddy" Bailey came over too. He brought himself a 6-pack of Coors Light tall boys which he drank is support of my efforts.
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| Little Buddy. |
My strategy was to start with the hard stuff: push-ups. I would do as many push-ups as I could early on, tapering down to crunches and squats. For the first 40 minutes I would drink beer only when thirsty. As we hit the 2/3rds mark, I would quench my thirst more readily.
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| Push-Ups, yes, the girly kind. |
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| Goals I set for myself, lofty and reasonable |
I managed to beat my lofty goals, with the exception of the beer drinking. In hindsight I wonder if having those goals kept me from getting any further. I kept asking the Tiger where were my numbers, and he just kept referring back to the goals. Perhaps if I hadn't had a set of goals, I could have done more. I certainly wasn't physically exhausted at the end, though, I was tipsy.
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| Crunch down, not out, says Gwyn. |
Emily kept screaming at me that Brad had probably done 1,000 squats by down and he was wearing a beer helmet. She kept yelling at me to drink more. What she didn't realize is that doing crunches with a belly full of Coors is not a comfortable situation. There was an unlady-like amount of belching. I worked on getting at least one beer every 15 minutes.
The White Tiger also kept insisting that I take breaks. His schedule dictated that I take a 5 minute break every twenty minutes. I compromised with a 1-minute break.
(Of course, the White Tiger's other suggestion was that I just do ten of each exercise then drink a couple beers and call it good.)
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| Breakie! |
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| Holiday wanted to demonstrate a work out move she calls extreme tail wagging. |
Apparently, Emily was too busy with her quart of High Life to focus on her puppy-wrangling duties.
When I had about 5-10 minutes left, I was sneaking in a few squats but I was primarily focused on the beer drinking. The White Tiger kept yelling, "do squats while you drink." Those last Coors Lights did not go down that easily. They were painful, and by the time the buzzer went off, I was hurting and swaying.
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| I think the crew enjoyed a free evening of entertainment. |
After the challenge, we celebrated with, of course, more beer. Then, Emily and Paige went to the Surf Shack, and Little Buddy went home to his lovely wife, and the Tiger and I retired.
In the end, I am not sure I met the high standards of the Mayor with this one. Six beers just doesn't seem like enough. More than that, I think I need to continue building on my mental toughness. I need to believe that I can do more than I think I can.
We did record video, but I couldn't get the files to upload from my phone. If the judges need to see this "evidence" I would be happy to submit it for their review.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Everyday Awesome: Successfully Avoided the Cup Cake Conspiracy
In my first installment of "everyday awesome," I would like to point out that I managed, at least today, to avoid the Cupcake Conspiracy that is afoot at Newton Campus.
Not only did my students do a process demonstration on how to make skull cupcakes (just in time for the season!), but the all-day meetings were supplied with pastries, something that looked like bread but was actually cake, and chocolate.
All of that, and I managed to get my book orders in and solve a minor scheduling crisis. Boom.
Now, let's see if we can convince the White Tiger that this is the bike ride we need to do tomorrow.
Not only did my students do a process demonstration on how to make skull cupcakes (just in time for the season!), but the all-day meetings were supplied with pastries, something that looked like bread but was actually cake, and chocolate.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Rocky Mountain High
There have been a lot of murmurs and mumbles about Iowa, as a state, working on it's health and physical well-being. Iowa is not categorized, yet, as one of the fattest states. We are next-to-fattest! Lately, I've been hearing about "Start Something Walks," "Wellmark Blue Cross Blue Shield Blue Zone Cities," and a state-wide effort to make Iowa the fittest state in in the nation.
Look out Colorado.
I know I wasn't the only candidate in the Mayoral Challenge to hear this article on "Morning Edition." Even Colorado, land of the Boulder fitsters, mountaineers, and those wack-jobs that do anything with Leadville in the title, is seeing more and more of its population plump up like a fat little marmot in a blackberry bramble.
This week I've been thinking about strategic advantages. The Mayor has the advantage of being a man, with a metabolism that is by nature, much swifter. Of course, I have the advantage of more heft, which burns more calories per workout.
(There are, of course, strategic disadvantages. The Mayor faces the temptation of all that delicious, high calorie beer. I face the challenge of the cupcake conspiracy in my office.)
Colorado seemed like a strategic advantage. The Mayor once described himself as "the slowest guy in Boulder County," which makes him faster than most cyclists by a long shot. Colorado, what with it's high altitude, that burns more calories, and it's culture of fitness makes it seem like an ideal place to lose weight and get fit. Of course, New Orleans is the perfect place to hear live music every night of the week, and, when I lived there, I rarely did that.
My point is not to gloat over Colorado's "bloat." My point is that I am heartened by Iowa's sincere attempts to reverse our obesity epidemic. As a state, as a community, we are taking steps off the path to heart attack lane and onto the path of carrots and exercise. I am not just working out for me. I am working out as part of my civic duty, to make the world a better place.
Lots of people, especially moms, tell me that they feel guilty exercising because they should be spending that time with their kids. I know my mom felt that way. Exercise has long been maligned as selfish and vain. But it's not, at least, it's not always.
We need to make ourselves as strong and happy as possible so that we have the power to turn our attention to the world around us, give our friends a hand-up, and makes our states even more awesome.
P.S. Of course, I also found this article this morning. Perhaps another strategic advantage for the Mayor? I know that Smitty is lean as a Texas hitchin' post.
Look out Colorado.
I know I wasn't the only candidate in the Mayoral Challenge to hear this article on "Morning Edition." Even Colorado, land of the Boulder fitsters, mountaineers, and those wack-jobs that do anything with Leadville in the title, is seeing more and more of its population plump up like a fat little marmot in a blackberry bramble.
This week I've been thinking about strategic advantages. The Mayor has the advantage of being a man, with a metabolism that is by nature, much swifter. Of course, I have the advantage of more heft, which burns more calories per workout.
(There are, of course, strategic disadvantages. The Mayor faces the temptation of all that delicious, high calorie beer. I face the challenge of the cupcake conspiracy in my office.)
Colorado seemed like a strategic advantage. The Mayor once described himself as "the slowest guy in Boulder County," which makes him faster than most cyclists by a long shot. Colorado, what with it's high altitude, that burns more calories, and it's culture of fitness makes it seem like an ideal place to lose weight and get fit. Of course, New Orleans is the perfect place to hear live music every night of the week, and, when I lived there, I rarely did that.
My point is not to gloat over Colorado's "bloat." My point is that I am heartened by Iowa's sincere attempts to reverse our obesity epidemic. As a state, as a community, we are taking steps off the path to heart attack lane and onto the path of carrots and exercise. I am not just working out for me. I am working out as part of my civic duty, to make the world a better place.
Lots of people, especially moms, tell me that they feel guilty exercising because they should be spending that time with their kids. I know my mom felt that way. Exercise has long been maligned as selfish and vain. But it's not, at least, it's not always.
Tracy, the heart and soul of Beav-X-90, wrote an email to the group yesterday that made me think. She writes: "What I meant to say was - I know we are all a
little crazy, the 4:30 am risers- but we do it because its the one time of the
day that is for us, about us, and it just feels good. I know an extra
hour of sleep might be nice too, but every morning, when my alarm goes
off, I think - just stick one foot out of the covers, and think how good
you are going to feel for the rest of the day. No matter what other crazy
stuff happens - or doesn't get done during the day, this one thing did get
done, and its a good thing for not only my body, but my soul.
Now....see you all in the morning."
We need to make ourselves as strong and happy as possible so that we have the power to turn our attention to the world around us, give our friends a hand-up, and makes our states even more awesome.
P.S. Of course, I also found this article this morning. Perhaps another strategic advantage for the Mayor? I know that Smitty is lean as a Texas hitchin' post.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
My Civic Duty: Week 1
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| Like the Statue of Liberty, I am heavy, but also, an important symbol of freedom and justice. |
The Mayor is an eager little beaver and suggested we start the challenge today, rather than on Monday, October 3rd. I hate Sunday to Saturday challenges. I like a nice Monday start, mostly, because I enjoy spending sunny Sunday afternoons in metro area parks drinking beer and watching hotties ride their bikes around in the grass. Monday is a much more civilized day to re-knew a week's worth of suffering.
So, I will be starting on Monday, mostly because today is the day I don't go to the gym, and that is where the scale lives. The Mayor, I concede, can start on Sunday if that what makes him super-smile.
The topic for the Mayor Debate this week falls into my hands and I've trying to decide on just the perfect topic to get this season off on the right start. I needed something classic, something grueling, something a little bit "mayor."
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| It just wouldn't feel right to hand up beers to foxes like my bike boyfriend, Austin Bailey, when I should be starting a new week's worth of challenges! |
The topic for the Mayor Debate this week falls into my hands and I've trying to decide on just the perfect topic to get this season off on the right start. I needed something classic, something grueling, something a little bit "mayor."
Mayor Debate #1: Super Squatter Hour of Power
This challenge was inspired by my old trainer, Hunky Drew, who once made us do 600 squats, 400 sit-ups, and 300 push-ups in an hour. Insane right? He told us that whatever we didn't finish we would have to add to our next workout. Well, he lied. We didn't get finished, but we did push ourselves for the whole hour, and we racked up a surprisingly high number. But, a Hunky Drew workout alone isn't enough to win a Mayor debate. Where's the mayoralness? That's where the beer comes in! Hour of power meets hour of power. May I suggest a light beer?
Time: 1 hour
Goal: do as many push-ups, sit-ups, and squats (body weight) as possible. Also, drink as many beers as possible.
Points Awarded: on both sheer quantity and style.
The challenge can be completed anytime between Sunday October 2 and Sunday October 9. Some portion of the challenge must be documented and posted in some form of digital media.
Boom.
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