Saturday, March 3, 2012

I'm just not that trendy


I’m eating beignets today. Or at least I hope to be. Maybe some gumbo, too. And pralines. Definitely pralines.

I will not be spending my vacation in one of the most infamous culinary cities searching for a smoothie in a bowl.

 Or steel cut oats topped with crazy nut butter and a bran muffin for good measure.

I just can’t get behind those trends. Even if they are supposed to be healthy.

 And those aren’t the only things.


You will not find me drinking a green smoothie. I'm sorry but they creep me out. I’d rather saute some spinach and add it to an egg white omelet with fruit on the side.

 You will not find me using protein powder. If I want protein, I will eat an egg … or a cow.

Flourless cookies? No thanks. I like gluten (and have no need to eliminate it from my diet).


 Chia seeds – I just don’t get them. I know they are super food but with having little taste, they just seem like a waste of calories. And, yes, I’ve read “Born to Run” … well, listened to the audiobook.

 Kombucha. Again, with the calories. If I’m going to drink them, it better be a latte.

I'm sure this list might make me unpopular. Then again, I don't think I was ever popular to start with. Hmph.

What trends do you rebel against?

Friday, March 2, 2012

An ode to my BFF

It's been too long.

Two long actually.

Two years since I've seen my friend in person.

She's the one who's success with Weight Watchers inspired my own journey.

We have seen each other graduate from college, experience (and live through) first jobs, make big moves, find love.

We have seen each other get married. (And yes, I accidentally "borrowed" her wedding colors.)

She stood by me and held my hand when I said goodbye to my mom.

We've been with each other through pregnancies and motherhood.

Through it all, though, we've never lived in the same city (except for our senior year of college). Yet, I could not be closer to this amazing woman. A woman who never fails to inspire me, never fails to be there for me. I am blessed to call her my friend.

Today, I get to see her, her skinny self. And she will see me in my skinny splendor. Two longtime friends who will, in a way, be meeting each other for the first time. Sort of amazing, right?!

To say I'm excited would be an understatement. Not just because I will get to hug her and sleep with her (yes, it's one bed for us though not by choice). I am excited to celebrate who we are and who we've become and all because of each other.

I cannot wait to toe the starting line of Rock 'n' Roll New Orleans and run 7.5 miles for her ... and because of her.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Kick it up ... or how I almost punched my friend

I learned something last night. Well, more like reaffirmed something I've known for a really long time.

I have no rhythm. None. Zilch. Nada. Just ask my college roommate. She has stories but none that anyone really needs to hear.

Anyway. My lack of rhythm usually only plagues me during Zumba, when I just jump around and shake my butt, but last night I got to experience it in a whole new way.

Since I'll be missing Body Pump, Zumba and L on Saturday, I asked my friend to meet me for a boot camp-esque class and Turbo Kick. She is far too kind and obliged me - even though she took Body Pump and two Zumba classes the day before.

Katie (in the middle) taught our boot camp session in December, and it was so nice to have her kick my butt again. Instead of the normal circuits, we did cardio and strength intervals, which used only our own body weight for resistance. The cardio intervals consisted of squats, lunges and jumping jacks. For strength, we hit the mat for push ups, tricep push ups, bridges and planks.

I must be getting stronger (finally) because when Katie announced that the 45-minute class was over, I said, "Are you serious?"

And she was.

L and I had a half-hour between boot camp and TurboKick - a bit too long if you ask me. Sure, I had time to go to the bathroom, chat with my friend and get some water but I was antsy by 7:15. So I did what any sane person would do.

I hopped on the spin bike and pedaled with mock ferocity while I chatted with L. I figured if I didn't feel challenged enough in boot camp that I should make the best use of the down time. And somebody else was doing it, and how dare someone show me up?!

A quick ride later, and it was time for Turbo Kick.

Turbo Kick is "a combination of intense kickboxing moves, as well as, dance moves all perfectly choreographed to high energy and motivating music."

And this is where my rhythm problem came in, only exacerbated by my unfamiliarity with the workout. People punched right, I punched left. We were supposed to take 3 steps, I took 5. I was supposed to punch to the wall and I almost punched L. It was a mess. A hot mess. Unlike Zumba, I couldn't just jump around and shake my ass. I found myself just jumping and punching ... and praying that I didn't hit anyone. Which I didn't. I don't think.

Although, I think I could have totally punched the instructor in the gut and she wouldn't have felt it. How is it fair to have abs like that? I look pregnant and she's got an eight-pack.

Oh well. It was a good workout and it's always good to venture outside your comfort zone. Oh, and it was a good affirmation of my chosen workout love: running. Very little rhythm required.

Have you busted out of a rut lately? What's your favorite new-to-you workout?

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

WIAW: Happy baby

"Seven times?" Mark asked. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Mark. Seven times," I told him. "Eight if you count the middle of the night."

I was giving Mark a feeding schedule for Miles while I'm away. It's more of an ideal schedule than an actual one ... but that could be said for pretty much anything about babies.

Anyway, while I was getting Miles' food down, I thought it might be interesting to do What I Ate Wednesday ... Miles edition. 

6 a.m. Bottle, 4 ounces.

8 a.m. 3 tablespoons cereal with pureed fruit and 3-ounce bottle.

Right now, we have three boxes of baby cereal going on - oatmeal, brown rice and barley. It's a good thing they're flaky and weird because we all know I can chow on some cereal. Anyway, I just throw a tablespoon of each into the bowl, add a couple plops of fruit (if using Gerber) or 1 cube (if homemade). Today was Gerber, of the apple-prune variety. Mmm.

10:30 a.m. 4-ounce bottle, served in the tony lobby of our pediatrician's office/in the back of the car.

Yep, we were at the doctor again. Miles was still pulling at his ear, and I was worried that his ear infection was lingering. I wanted to make sure he was as close to 100 percent as I could before leaving for NOLA so I made an appointment.

And, as it turns out, I was right. I might be 98 percent clueless but I did get that one right. New antibiotic for Miles. Yay. So if he's fussy for Mark this weekend, it will be separation anxiety and/or general crankiness.

Noon. 3-ounce bottle and 4 tablespoons cereal ... with beets. Yes, beets. My son ate beets. My son, who refused solids for so long. I swear my daycare provider can get him to do just about anything - nap, eat foods, behave.

3 p.m. 3-ounce bottle

5 p.m. 3 tablespoons cereal with green beans - his favorite.

And, no, we don't use bibs.

6 p.m. Potato

OK, he really didn't eat it. More like chewed. I gave it to him (washed, of course) while I was prepping my dinner.

Open-faced Buffalo chicken sandwich with roasted potatoes and broccoli.

7 p.m. 6-ounce bottle

11 p.m. 4-ounce bottle

Sounds super interesting, right? I'm sure you've got something better. What are you eating today?

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Oh, the shame

I'm a street walker.

But before you get your minds in the gutter, I must also tell you something else.

 I'm also a street runner.

It's more about logistics than anything else. It's much easier to negotiate a stroller on a semi-smooth road than it is a sidewalk with its bumps and dips and tree limbs and sometimes parked cars. If it's a whole family run, we simply can't fit on the sidewalk. The BOB takes up a good 75 percent of available space and Denali would take the whole sidewalk to himself if he could.

Of course, when I run alone, I could opt for the sidewalk. And, sometimes, I do. However, weather (roads are more likely to be plowed and salted) and plain old habit keep me on the streets 70 percent of the time.

And that's where I found myself on Sunday during my long run. Before I tell you the story behind this post, I need to tell you a little bit about this run. I had 6 miles on tap as a pseudo taper ahead of this weekend's Rock 'n' Roll New Orleans half-marathon relay. During taper weeks, I always have this little devil saying that it would be totally OK to wuss out on the run and do just a few miles. Such was the case on Sunday. My legs were heavy and sore from Saturday's Body Pump class and I only had Mark with me for 3 miles.  Three miles as we set off just sounded better than six.

However, for all my mental weakness, I found myself really enjoying the run. By the time I dropped off my three boys and set out on my own, I felt amazing. It was one of those times that you wish running would be all the time but, in reality, you only experience 10 percent of the time. I felt strong. Fast, even. (Note: Feeling fast doesn't always equal running fast.) The sun was shining, making it easy to feel joyous for the ability and determination to run.

My state of euphoria, though, was burst just as I was about to enter the home stretch. I was standing - gasp - in the street, waiting to cross a semi-busy street into my neighborhood. I was waiting for a car to turn when an old lady turned onto the street where I was. As she passed, she waved her finger at me.

Maybe she was doing a little dance to some him jive music but I have a feeling she was shaming me. For standing in the street. If I didn't love my grandma so much or have a general fear of getting shot (you never know who is packing heat these days), I might have done something more than stand there in disbelief. I might have done more than spend the rest of my fabulous outing running with hate.

Don't get me wrong - I don't expect drivers to applaud as they pass me (though that would be nice) but I don't think they should be wagging their finger at me. After all, I'm braving the fake winter cold to do something good for myself and, in turn, good for my family. The shame should be on those who choose to look down and judge me for my decision.

But maybe that's just me. What are your thoughts?