A Look at the Power of Words

"If you have don't something nice to say, don't say anything at all."

It's the something we've all heard, whether it's from a grandma, parent and teacher. Understandably so, as it's sage advice. However, I've been wondering whether we need to say something at all – even if it is nice.

As a pregnant woman, it seems someone always has a comment. "You look so small!" "How many weeks do you have left? Oh. Really?" "You look like you are carrying a boy."

Each is said with a look toward my belly. Each is said as a reference toward my appearance.

The more I've taken in the statements and the more I've sought grace in doing so, I've noticed that the things we say – the good things – are in reference to how we look.

"I love how you did your hair today."

"Your outfit is really cute."

"Did you wear makeup today? It looks nice."

"Are those new boots?"

I will often say things like this to a co-worker or friend, even a passer-by on the street, because I think it's important to acknowledge people. I don't know if they are having a good day or a bad day or whether anyone has said something nice to them. I remember days at this time last year when I was struggling with depression and having a tough time that a single compliment would be enough to get me through the day.

But even with the best intentions, it's all superficial. We're not bolstering someone as a person or supporting her spirit. We are, in a way, giving the message that we so often try not to: it matters how you look. To me. It does.

I've considered how to change this, in my own approach to saying nice things. I could tell someone that she has a nice smile or a gentleman that he had a great laugh. But, coming from a stranger, it honestly sounds creepy – at best.

When I talk to Miles, I try not to tell him how cute he looks, a difficult task because I'm so in love with him. I try to share with him that I am appreciative of the little person he is. I emphasize the things that make my heart happy, whether it's him saying that when his baby brother is born that he'll "try to hold his hand" or sharing a book with friends.

Yet, the interesting thing is that when he says something nice, to me, it's not about who I am or the things I do. It's the lesson I'm trying to avoid.

"Mommy, you look beautiful today."

Tell me: Am I thinking too much about this? How do you share something nice with others?

When things don't go your way

My plan said run today.

But my plan didn't say it was going to be in the 30s, windy and rainy.

And the plan didn't say that my husband would call dibs on the treadmill.

So I made a new plan.

I decided to try a DVD I had borrowed from the library - Pure Barre.

 At 5:15 a.m.

My body was not pleased with this new plan.

I was sluggish, and I had to stop for the bathroom.

The DVD was nonplussed with it as well.

It paused. Skipped. Went back to the main menu.

As if my real life were actually the movie, Miles woke up just as I put in a new DVD.

So I tried to make do.

After Miles was changed fed, we visited the basement.

He chased balls; I jumped rope.

I threw balls; he ran.

He cried; I stopped.

We went upstairs.

He watched "Thomas;" I did hammer curls.

I did push-ups; he laughed.

He cried when Denali took his ball; I did overhead presses.

He cried harder; I picked him up.

Gave up.

Called it a day.

After 20 weeks of doing everything possible to squeeze in a training session, it was difficult to call this one a draw. It almost felt like quitting, and my attempts to momentarily spike my heart rate seemed vain. I (read: soul) really needed a good sweat session, and I am antsy to see some good numbers on the scale.

However, I will say that it was nice that my Type A self didn't have to have a panic session that a workout didn't happen. A Zumba class tomorrow night or Piloxing on Friday morning, and I'm good for the week.

Actually, I'm good no matter what.

Going full throttle

Dear motorist,

I want to thank you. From the bottom of my heart and the depths of my soul, I would like to express my gratitude. I'm sure you were not thinking of others when you loudly revved your engine 20 feet from my bedroom window at what many would call the ungodly hour of 3:44 a.m. Nor do I think it was your intention to do more than excite yourself as you sped down my quiet residential street. I want you to know that the minute amount of joy your antics may have brought you that you brought me more.

You woke up an already restless toddler and brought him to a full scream that only a mother's touch and a 2-ounce bottle of milk could quiet.

You left me agitated and worked up, preventing me from going back to sleep. I watched the minutes creep by slowly, counting down to when my alarm was supposed to go off.

You twisted my arm and made me turn off the alarm, set for 4:55 a.m. so that I could get in my tempo run before Miles woke up.

You gave me an excuse to not feel guilty for turning off the alarm even though I had just promised myself that I would work in the harder runs early in the week thus keeping them from hanging over my head on Friday.

You not only woke up my husband, my toddler and me but you awakened a drive to prove people wrong. I decided that you might have screeched to a halt but I didn't have to. So, despite getting interrupted sleep ... despite having to take the stroller for a tempo effort ... despite having to set a personal distance record with the stroller ... I was going to get in my workout.

By revving your engine, dear driver, you revved mine. I logged four miles at tempo pace and while my goal was to get each under 9 minutes, I eked out an 8:43, 8:28, 8:28 and 8:24. Not only did I log a stroller PDR, I'm pretty sure I set a mile PR with the stroller, as well.

So thank you. Thank you, driver, for being a completely irresponsible ass and ruining my planned tempo run. You made me angry enough to log an even better outing.

All the best,
Kimberly

P.S. If you try to pull that shit tonight, I will use my new found speed to run you down and hit you with sticks.

The "C" Factor

It's not cute when you claim that your exercise routine consists of walking from the couch to the refrigerator.

It's not cute when you state that the only time you will run is if you are being chased.

It's not cute when you joke that your idea of portion control is eating one doughnut instead of the entire dozen.

It's not cute when you laugh about ordering a Diet Coke with your super-sized value meal.

It's not cute to take a glib attitude toward your health. In fact, it can be deadly.

::stepping off soapbox::

I guess you could say people have been making ne a bit cranky, with their snide remarks about pieces I have written for the newspaper and the way I choose to live my life. I never want to come off as being better than someone because I've managed to break through to the other side. However, I don't want people to seemingly judge what I do out of a place that I can only assume comes from jealousy. It is frustrating and totally not fair.

And so I decided that what I needed on a dreary, dreary, frustrating Monday was to sparkle.

I discovered that it is cute to take a break in the day to try on your co-worker's dress from her high school show choir days. It's even cuter when it actually zips. Cuter still, when you add jazz hands. Add in a hat, and it's done.

Sometimes, you just need a mental break. You need it more than the Peanut M&Ms in the vending machine calling your name. (Incidentally, the vending machine would not let me have them. Ninety cents gone forever.)
 

Stepping up to the podium

It's hard to hate on the Olympics.

The Games showcase amazing athletes, who put in the time and hard work to show us just what the human body is capable of. They provide hours upon hours of entertainment in the summer drought of network television. Our Redbox expenditures have dropped significantly, and Mark has stopped putting on headphones to watch "The Wire" on his laptop.

For all its good, though, I've found myself spouting obscenities on a regular basis as I watch the night-time network coverage. Maybe I'm a bitter old hag, jealous that I can't run a 50-second 400 but I'd like to think I have good reason to rant.

Source

Ohmygod, the butt slapping. I do not get it. At all. It's one thing to give your partner a congratulatory high-five after winning a set but to slap her bum after every point is a bit excessive. And, in my world, you slap the butt then score - not the other way around.

 Source

Just jump. Swimming and diving are great, and as I see athletes take graceful, strong strokes, my body fills with envy. But - and this is a big but (and they do not lie) - I'm sick of the pool. I've seen so much swimming and diving that my hands are like raisins and my feet are shriveled. The only thing that made the coverage this week even remotely bearable was when a Chinese diver practically belly-flopped. I don't care who you are - that's funny.

Source

Just say nay. I under stand there's some sport to horse jumping but I don't get the athleticism. Even more confusing is why I've been able to catch this on TV and not the women's triathlon. (Note: This comment also goes to shooting, archery and table tennis.)

Source

The flip side. I love me some track and field. And I like swimming, diving, gymnastics and the other popular sports but it would be nice to see some prime-time coverage devoted to, let's say, weight lifting. And don't say it's because there's no drama - a German weightlifter dropped a 432-pound bar on his head. Sort of makes my 12 kilo bar at BODYPUMP look pathetic.

Source

The editing. I'm an editor so I get it - you have to tell a story. It makes people feel warm and fuzzy. But let's cut to the chase - we all know that these events (for the most part) are not airing live. I don't need to see Gabby Douglas jumping in nervous anticipation; I want to see her jumping on the balance beam. Furthermore, these scenes, so to speak, only serve to let people who like to hear themselves talk, well, talk. If they knew any better, they'd get a blog.

 Source

Pageantry. I refrained from commenting on the Opening Ceremonies, mostly because my comments would not be family friendly. Even when talking about the random arrival of Lord Voldemort. Don't get me wrong - I like a good show - but the Olympics are about the athletes and it wouldn't hurt the IOC and planning committee to celebrate them a little bit. Preferably in a way where people shut the fig up.

Now excuse me, I have to step off the podium and practice my 400 meter hurdles.

Wild time

I'm not sure where I got the idea that doing things with my child would be fun. My grandma would say that it's because I watched too many soap operas as a teenager. I would like to argue that I'm a hopeless optimist ... even though I know that's a crack of bull.

Last night, Mark and Miles picked me up from work so that we could head to the Fort Wayne Children’s Zoo’s annual Zooau. The postcard advertised picnic fare, games, free rides and family fun.

Read: It advertised a meal that I did not have to cook and entertainment for my child that did not involve Elmo and his goldfish and his crayon.

The picnic fare turned out to be hot dogs and chips, which is great for families with children older than 2 but how the heck am I supposed to give Miles a bag of chips. Seriously.

My child did manage to take down the hot dog and part of his bun. He might have been holding out. Seeing as he is the brightest child this side of the Mississippi, he was able to read that we had frozen treat tickets.

Push-Ups are delicious. Because I said so.

After destroying Miles’ faith in humanity by taking away said deliciousness, we tried to navigate our way through the zoo to the log ride. Mark has been wanting to take our child on this ride since we got the membership and it was free. Free trumps rational thought when taking a tired, more than likely hungry baby on a ride that requires him to sit still.

The picture says it all. I’m tired, he’s irritated and we’re both wondering when the damn thing will end.

I praised grilled cheesus when it was over only to be frustrated by the throngs of folks wandering around like zombies in search of the nearest relief. Determined-to-leave moms be damned! We want misters!

As we walked to the car, I lamented to Mark that the Zooau was supposed to be this great thing we did as a family. It was supposed to be fun. We were supposed to be making memories. Instead, I was daring my husband to run over misguided youths with the stroller and kick people who stepped in our way. I wanted to toss the child in the trunk and see whether my Mazda lived up to the Zoom-Zoom hype.

I, of course, would never do the latter. Safety all the way. It is possible that I might “accidentally” clip a 10-year-old with a stroller if he was walking unaware around the zoo as he played with a PSP.

Notes for next year:

Only go to the Zooau if it is not 900 degrees.

Go at a weird time when there will be less people.

Bring actual sustenance, such as carrot sticks, fruit and Diet Coke.

Ride the ride first before anyone gets cranky.

Do not let apprehensive child touch blow-up hockey mascot as it will result in uncontrollable screaming.

Give the tickets (and the child) to the grandparents and meet girlfriends for margaritas.

Editor’s note: I guess it didn’t help my attitude toward people that I was suffering from painful bloat, which I’m attributing to an overpriced nutrition bar I purchased at the coffee shop in the morning. Shakelee’s Cinch, my stomach does not like you.

Things I have decided (+giveaway winner)

*You can only run as far as your mind will allow you. I had 8 miles on the schedule - just 8 nice miles on a cut back week ahead of Saturday's 20K - and I could have done no more. How I ran 11 miles last week is beyond me.

*I would run with a MOTOACTV - even if I didn't get one for free. Reason No. 153: I forgot to turn it off after yesterday's failed second run and I was still able to use it this morning. For all 8 miles. And still had battery to spare. Anyone who has set off only to learn that the Garmin is dead knows just how awesome that is.

*I don't care what the calendar says - it's summer. Or at least spring. If you care to know my reasoning, it's not just the seriously above normal temperatures. It's more that I accidentally ate a bug on my run this morning.

*I am (finally) becoming a better runner because Mark accompanies me on part of my long runs. The little bugger makes me run faster than I should.

*Pushing Miles in the BOB sans car seat adapter is a much more manageable task.

*No matter how comfortable I find Nike Tempo shorts to be, I still think they make me look like I'm wearing a diaper. How do I know this? Well, I like to stare at my reflection in store windows as I pass. And I've seen Miles' butt in a diaper.

*Gu Roctane is not for me. I've tried several flavors, and I don't care for any of them.

*Pancakes, even if they are 7-grain, are the perfect recovery food.

*Making enough pancakes so that you can freeze them for later is much better in theory than practice.

*Biscoff spread is like crack.

And speaking of Biscoff, our winner is ...

Congratulations, Jan! Email (hlthystrides at gmail dot com) your mailing info and I'll have that sent out to you ASAP.

What have you decided lately?

Saturday snapshots

 Off for run No. 1. Don’t mind the crazy hair.

Getting ready for a second go …

Deciding that the swings are way more fun after a half-mile. Any guesses who made that decision?

Enjoying some Irish fare post-park: Lamb and Barley stew in a Guinness Bread Bowl and a Rueben 

Fueled and ready to do some shopping at Sam’s Club. Laughing Cow Garlic & Herb wedges in bulk? Yes. Please!

Sam’s Club steal: 16 ounces of vanilla extract for less than $7. I see some baking in my future.

Denali, unenthused with it all – even the diapers I got at Sam’s Club.

What does your weekend snapshot look like?

Bottom's up

Sometimes you just need a beer.

Served in a glass from your first 5K ... of course.

Sometimes a baby cries for his mom from the moment he gets up till the moment he goes to bed - even if said mom needs to brush teeth and make dinner.

Sometimes a toilet leaks ... and gets your running shoes wet.

Sometimes the weather is absolutely beautiful ... on your rest day.

Sometimes there's rain and snow forecast for your run day.

Sometimes the kitchen faucet doesn't work and when you buy a replacement it doesn't fit.

Sometimes, after a second trip to Menards, a far pricier model and three hours of paid labor later, you have drinking water that doesn't come out of a sprayer.

Sometimes you forget to buy chicken for your chicken lasagna rollups. 

Sometimes you get the dang "Laugh and Learn Puppy" song stuck in your head ... for the entire day, leaving you singing "I love you/I love you/Morning, noon and night."

Sometimes your co-workers don't appreciate karaoke hour sponsored by Fisher Price.

Sometimes a hungry bug bites you.

Sometimes you feel like a chunk even though your pants size indicates otherwise.

Sometimes you run out of calories for the day and don't give a flying fig leaf.

Yeah. Sometimes you just need a beer.

These are my confessions

I buy trigger foods - like Honey Bunches of Oats - because they are on sale and have a coupon. And then I proceed to eat two giant bowls because I want to and not because I'm hungry.

I find it hard to say no to co-workers when they wave coconut puffs of heaven in my face and taunt me with facts like, "They don't even have 70 calories."

I have a bite (or three) of Mark's ice cream each night, even if I just had my own portioned treat (read: Skinny Cow bar).

I bribe myself to drink water ... with Diet Coke.

I occasionally eat overly processed pre-packaged meals because they are convenient.

I sometimes make a 6-cup pot of coffee just for myself.

I reheat yesterday's coffee if I managed to stop myself at cup No. 4.

Sometimes that reheated coffee is the only thing that gets me out to run. That, and the hope that a run will put Miles to sleep.

I miss running 6-7 miles before work and sometimes wonder what I would do with myself if I didn't have a baby.

I get down on myself for not being able to run as fast as I used to. 

I walk around the house post-run in tights and a sports bra ... and I don't care that we have no curtains in the kitchen and my neighbors can see in.

I dream of having plastic surgery to remove the extra skin so I could care even less about my neighbors seeing my bare belly.

Unfortunately, more bare belly means more places off which Denali can lick sweat. I've given up stopping him.

I flip off the dog when he wakes up Miles.

I also flip off the dog when he steals my Weight Watchers Chocolate-Raspberry Ice Cream Bar while I'm trying to give Miles a bottle and feed myself.

Our bedtime routine, the one that's so important for babies, involves a bottle and "Wheel of Fortune." For everyone involved.

I am pretty sure Miles will flip off his kindergarten teacher and tell her to "leave it" and "no face" because that's what is said most often at our house.


I could never be a stay-at-home. I like eating my lunch with two hands too much. Even if said lunch is a pre-packaged Smart Ones.

What are your confessions?

Things

1. I have my first race of the year Saturday - the Fanny Freezer 5K. After unseasonably warm temperatures, Mother Nature has decided to allow the race to live up to its name.

 

See there - the temperature dips just in time for Saturday. I don't care all that much except that it might alter my outfit selection. You see, I bought my first matchy-matchy outfit from Nike, and it features a pair of plum capris. Capris + 22 degrees  = No good.

2. I would like to say that I have no particular goals for this race as I haven't done a 5K in a year and a half but that would be a lie. And, according to my grandma, lying is bad.

I know I can do it: Sub-30
I might be able to do it: Sub-28
Wouldn't it be nice if the stars aligned: Sub-27

3. Of course, it doesn't really matter how I do. It's more about having a baseline to use for my speedwork and tempo runs as I look ahead to the Martian half-marathon.

4. Oh, and the fact that I'm doing the race with a ton of awesome girls and having lunch with them after the fact. We're going to Chili's, which is not known for being healthy (the Quesadilla Explosion Salad has 1,300 calories) but I have a coupon and I'm a sucker for a coupon.

5. Coupons, and my love of them, are the reason I picked up some Balance bars at Kroger this weekend. They were on sale for 99 cents but them if you bought 10 participating items, the price got knocked down to 49 cents. Pair that with a $1 off coupon when buying three, and I couldn't resist.

6. I had one for breakfast this morning - mocha chip, I think. It tasted OK, and it was easy to grab and slam while I was feeding Miles this morning. What I hate about those bars and any bar like it is that they fail to hold me for very long. It's 8:30, and I have already had my second breakfast.

7. I was able to make breakfast because I actually got Miles to take a nap without going for run (I'll be doing that tonight). It might not seem like such a big deal but I find it nearly impossible to get him to sleep during the day without having him in the car seat/out and about. I hate to say it but I'm actually getting the hang of this mom thing.

8. I really wanted to use this unexpected time to do my hair but I can't find my hair straightener. I have a feeling that Mark put it away because I left it in the living room (where I sometimes do my hair so I can keep Miles company while he plays in the bouncer). So it's my fault ... sort of. It is Mark's fault, though, for not putting it anywhere that makes sense. I have checked every drawer and cabinet in both bathrooms, the laundry baskets and the dishwasher. Nothing.

9. Since I'm bound to look like a hot mess with unkempt hair and perpetual undereye circles, I decided to throw on some makeup and a pair of earrings. I'm sure most people do these sorts of things every day for work but I don't. I could pretend that I'm just so beautiful that I don't need it but it's really that I just don't get around to it/need an upgrade (read: need to spend $$$) in all things beauty related.

10. Or, I could say it's just no use trying to compete for cuteness around here.

Miles is always going to win.

We went shopping this weekend and as we were perusing Penney's, a woman from the portrait studio asked if she could take photos of Miles. The studio had gotten a new prop for taking babies' photos and she wanted to try it out since there were no appointments. In exchange for our time, we'd get a free 10 by 13.

I'm sure you can guess what I said.

I don't think you can have enough photos of a baby. Even if some of them look, well, a little ...

Well, I just don't think there are words. But look how good he's sitting up! And the little man, who is now 7 months old, is on his knees, rocking around. We'll be moving and shaking soon, I'm sure!

Friday musings

Terrible. Just terrible. That was basically the forecast for this winter and yet, on Dec. 30, it was 37 degrees when I headed out for a 4-mile run this morning. It was glorious. The weather, that is. The run ... not so much. Two middle of the night feedings and a 4:45 a.m. wake-up call will do that to a girl.

By the way, if the late start to the terrible weather means that it is going to be cold for my April birthday, I may have to kill someone.

***

I got a Kindle Fire for Christmas, and I'm currently reading "Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover If Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer." It's a weight loss memoir of sorts by one of my favorite authors, Jen Lancaster. I'm about 49 percent in (thanks, Kindle) and I'm loving it. It's snarky and relate-able all at the same time.

 "But ever since I made the decision to drop a few pounds-way less easy than it sounds, by the way-I've become obsessed with my size and in so doing I've inadvertently allowed my inner critic to have a voice. And you know what? She's a bitch. Like now when I see my underpants in the laundry, I no longer think Soft! Cotton! Sensible! Instead I hear her say, 'Damn, girl, these panties be huge.'”

Of course, it's not all laughs. There are some inspiring moments in there, too.

“As I paddle along, I slowly become aware that it's been fear keeping me out of this pool for so many years. I never came here before because I was afraid I'd make a fool of myself by not having the endurance to complete a lap. The swimming wasn't what scared me; failure was. My fear locked me in a state of arrested development for so many years. Fear kept me from tackling my weight, which I understand has simply been symptomatic of my greater fear, growing up. I glide down the lane on my back and reflect on how good I feel right now. It's not because I've lost more than thirty pounds. I feel incredible because I've stopped being afraid.”

***

Salt and vinegar almonds are delicious. As is popcorn, grapes and my Unstuffed Green Pepper Soup. All of which I've nibbled on in the past hour. If I didn't know any better, I would think I was pregnant again.

***

Last night, I did week one of Jillian Michaels' "Ripped in 30" in my my sweet new workout space. Sure, it's in the basement, which happens to be unfinished, and it smelled vaguely of dog urine because Denali thinks it's his new toilet. Oh, and the concrete is a bit tough on the feet but it beats doing butt kicks in front of Mark as he plays Angry Birds on his iPad.

***

It's my Monday morning ritual: After I've finished nursing Miles, I plod upstairs to the bathroom and weigh myself. It's been a relatively pleasant experience since I've quit Weight Watchers but I was a bit nervous this week. You know, having eaten a pound of cheese and four 10 million Triscuits on Christmas. I was so nervous that it took me five days to finally step on the scale.

You know what? I lost a half-pound! Huzzah! I guess it goes to show that staying active is key to avoiding holiday bloat.

Now to just get through this weekend ...

Who has exciting plans to share with me? Really. Share. I beg you because this girl is certain to be in bed when the ball drops unless Miles decides it's time for a snack.

Sunday ramblings

Pre-workout snack: Slice of multigrain bread with peanut butter and raspberry jam
Workout: Ran 5.51 miles; average pace, 9:07.

I ran this morning. By myself. Well, sort of. Denali ran with me but Mark did not. He proclaimed that he doesn't like to run in the cold. The air, it burns his lungs. I think he is a weenie.

The run, cold air, wasn't so bad. I was slow but who cares about that. Except for Denali. He nearly pulled me down a wood bridge covered in snow that connects the greenway. I was none too pleased.

I got my revenge, though. I made sure he didn't see the recently dead squirrel on the side of the road where we were running. Denali likes to put dead squirrels in his mouth. Don't ask.

I came home, took a lukewarm bath (thanks, Mark) and ate some off-tasting banana-walnut pancakes. I listened to the dog upstairs bark and bark and bark. It's a Rhodesian Ridgeback, and its bark is FIERCE.

I tried to distract myself by watching HGTV. I have a new found love for Bryan Baeumler, the tell-it-like-it-is host of "Disaster DIY" and "House of Bryan." I wish he would come to my apartment and fix the door and window that my landlord seems reluctant to remedy. After all, she says, it's an old house.

An old house in which you can hear everything. Like that big dog running across the floor because it's being chased by children. I turned up "Waitress" on the Blu-Ray player to try to drown out the noise. I can only do that because Mark is out Christmas shopping with his mom. He tries to be considerate but if no one else is considerate, I don't see the purpose in doing so.

And would it really hurt the kids to hear some good dialogue?

"Hiya there, Earl! We all just agreed that your hair is super attractive! Hooray for you!"

Yeah, hooray for you Earl. Now bring some peace, quiet and a slice of pie.