Weekly Training Update: 12/16-12/22

I discovered a few things this week.

Swimming is hard. Like, really, really, really hard.

I will definitely need lessons before tackling any triathlon in 2014, and the YMCA indoor event on Jan. 4 is no longer being entertained.

Running with others is always preferable to running alone. I joined a friend for part of her long run on Sunday as she trains for the Dopey Challenge, and I was shocked to see that time was up. It helped, I'm sure, that it was too dark to see the Garmin and I was running someone new but it was fun.

I am seriously in love with riding on the trainer ... while watching "Sister Wives" on Netflix. Cycling, the way I do it, is relaxing and the trainer is so quiet. I can ride and ride while Miles sleeps without waking him, unlike the treadmill.

There is running shape and burpee shape. And I am not in burpee shape. I downloaded the Nike Training Club app for some fun workouts, and the two I did this week kicked my rear. I like having a plan made by someone else to keep me accountable but not the price of some other programs, such as P90X3 and T25 that are so tempting to buy.

The week, in training:

Monday: Nike Training Club workout, 30 minutes
Tuesday: 900 yards swimming + 3.18-mile run
Wednesday: 43 minutes on trainer + Bodypump
Thursday: 4-mile run + Nike Training Club workout, 20 minutes
Friday: Rest
Saturday: Bodypump + 2.1-mile run
Sunday: 10.5-mile run

Stripped down

My most recent excursion to Old Navy didn't just net some free workout wear. Inside the white plastic bag, along with the capris and tank, was something I've been wanting to buy my entire life. Something I've stared at longingly, hoping that one day I would earn the privilege of owning. Something, I am nearly ashamed to admit, that I consider a status of beauty and fitness.

A bikini. A green and white polka dot bandeau bikini.

When I declared 2013 the year to Make Shit Happen, I had told myself - and Mark - that I wanted to get over myself, get over my insecurities, and buy the bikini I had long considered a hard-earned reward for losing weight and then losing the baby weight and then keeping it off. The one I thought I should be able to wear because the scale reads 12X.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do it. I would try on the two-piece swimsuits and get disgusted. The bottoms would be too small and the extra skin of my lower abdomen would flop over ... or under ... or both. Boy suit bottoms would come down right where my saddlebags begin, further accentuating the bulges that can't be calorie counted and exercised away. High-waisted suits came to the upper belly fold, marking the spot of a pocket of excess skin and fat around my belly button.

One day, at Kohl's, I thought I had finally won. The pinky-coral suit was cut better than any I had ever tried. The low-rise bottoms covered every thing I needed without coming up to the bulge. The top was padded, a must for my barely-there A cups. I exited the dressing room to show Mark the best-case scenario but rather than strutting out, I slunk. Even showing my husband, the guy who has seen me naked and cut open, I was embarrassed. All I could see in the suit was a bony upper torso, a belly roll and heavy thighs - not the healthy, fit woman I was hoping to find. I shook my head and quickly made my way to change. Tears welled in my eyes as I hung it up, struggling to accept that I just don't have the bikini body.

We talked about skin removal on the way home, a conversation that has persisted over the years as I live with the effects of significant weight loss. He ... I ... we've almost come to accept it as an inevitable way to close the door on who I used to be. Mark is supportive, saying we would find a way to pay for it, but I struggle on undergoing an expensive, extensive procedure for the sake of vanity. It's not guaranteed to make me happy, it will take me off the trails for at least six weeks and it will inhibit my ability to parent.

That day, I gave up on the idea of 2013 being the year I put on a bikini. Maybe, if I did get the cajones to have the surgery (next year at the earliest), I would try again. I even looked at before-and-after photos of tummy tucks and lower-body lifts to give myself some hope.

But last Tuesday, as C tried on Old Navy activewear capris, I found myself perusing the swimwear rack, attracted to a "sale" sign like a moth to a flame. The polka dots were so cute. Green is one of my favorite colors. Bandeau tops are my favorite. A glutton for punishment, I opted to try it on. "It couldn't hurt," I thought.

The bottoms slid on and stopped two inches below my belly pouch. In a size medium, the sides didn't dig in and create any overhang. The strapless top showed off hard-earned deltoids and shoulders, and a bit of padding helped the girls out. Like the suit at Kohl's, it was as good as it was going to get on me. Still I waffled.

"Oh, that's cute!" C said, spying the suit over my arm as she exited the fitting room. "Are you going to get it?"

I wasn't sure, I told her. I wasn't sure I could pull it off. She assured me that I could - I was young. Young, yes. Flat abs, no. "Who cares?" she said, urging me to purchase it.

And who does care? Besides me. Probably no one. Or not one of the people who will be around to see it. As a family friend recently told me, everyone is too wrapped in their own insecurities to care about yours. So, I bought it.

I took it home and left it in the bag, not even telling Mark that I had picked it up. I didn't want him to know as part of me wasn't committed, wondering whether I should take it back. The other part? Well, she thought I should keep it and wear it. Proudly. Because every stretch mark, every centimeter of excess skin - they are like battle scars. Battle scars from crusades I won and from a war I sill continue to fight.

Four days, though. It was four days before I mustered up the courage to put it back on and model it for Mark, who, to my surprise,  he was incredibly positive. He said he liked the pattern and the fit was better than the coral number at Kohl's. Sure, the belly was there but there's nothing I could do about that.

So I kept it. Sort of. Old Navy had a special Memorial Day sale on its suits - even better than the day I bought it - prompting me to return/swap/exchange it for a new combo. I might not be the best bikini body at the pool this summer but I'll be damned if I'm not one of the strongest.

And, of that, I will be proud.

A splishin' and a splashin

Today was going to be a rest day but somehow I ended up at the pool.
 

Wearing a swimsuit.

If any of you are from readers from my early blog days, you might remember some feeble, ill-fated attempts at swimming laps. I didn't know proper swim technique and lacked the motivation to put in the effort required to better myself. The cross-training activity was quickly replaced with strength training DVDs and yoga, and I haven't been back since.

Until today.

Before you get excited about the prospect of a triathlon and all the training updates that would go with it, I am no way ready for a three-event race. I am barely getting through each week of marathon training without adding the stress of a new sport. Today's visit to the pool and my lovely outfit came by request of someone very special.

Miles!

For the past six weeks, Mark and Miles have been attending "Mommy & Me" swim sessions at the nearby high school natatorium. I have been anxious to go, and I was able to go into work early today so that I could join them for the 11 a.m. class.

It was my intention to sit on the bench and take pictures but Mark encouraged me to be the Mommy and hop in the water. At first, I thought he was being nice but by the end of the 45 minutes, I had different feelings on the subject.

The instructor prepped me for the class I entered the water, warning me that the class was more of a workout for the "Mommy" than it was the baby.

Yeah. She was right.

We started by jogging circles in the shallow end, all the while holding our children or kids we picked up off the street. We alternated which shoulder/hip that we had the baby on as we turned corners and were encouraged to bring up our knees as high as possible.

"Break the water, ladies," the instructor encouraged.

Mmm, hmm. Easy for you to say, lady, when you are holding a dummy baby that weighs a couple pounds on the edge of the pool. You are asking me to lift my 22-pound 1-year-old over my head as I do jumping jacks, skiers and lunges. To give me a break, I am supposed to push him and his soaking wet diaper in and out. The paddling with a baby, one who can't control legs on command, is a cinch, too.

I can't fault the instructor, though. She warned me: This was a workout for the parent. I'm just not sure how many parents did BODYPUMP last night.

Thankfully, the class went by relatively quickly and Miles seems to be amused, albeit mildly, by his time in the water. I think he enjoyed seeing what other people were doing and holding a rubber turtle while I worked. It's important for him to have fun with the water and have a positive association with swimming, in my opinion, so no matter how much I struggle taping tomorrow, it will be worth it.

Underneath it all

Question of the day:

Upon discovering that I had forgotten an essential item - my underpants - in my bag to go from pool to work, did I:

a) Go to my in-law's house a short drive from the pool and steal a pair from Mama T.
b) Drive the 15 minutes north, back to the house, for a pair and drive south again to go to work.
c) Go commando.
d) Stop at Walgreen's and buy a 3-pack of Hanes.

If you guessed "A," you're nasty. Same goes for "C." I'm too lazy for the correct answer to be "B." So, I guess that means I stopped at Walgreen's and paid $5 for a 3-pack of Hanes and put on a pair when I stopped for coffee.

And to catch you up, yes. Yes, I did go to the pool yesterday - even after I wrote that I decided to skip it. It was that dern guilt and the realization that if I moved really fast, I could still make it to the pool for the 9 a.m. open swim.

I did 500 yards in 20 minutes or so, taking a 20-breath rest between each length. I could have made it 600 yards but I figured that I could cut it short since I didn't plan to swim at all yesterday. And because I managed not to let the old guy lap me.

Though swimming still sucks for me, I noticed that I didn't have to clutch the wall for a moment mid-length nor did I panic when swimming in the deep end. I just moved along. And that, my friends, is a victory.

Sink or swim

"Why choose to fail when success is an option?" - Jillian Michaels

Workout: 30-Day Shred, 2.25-mile walk with dog and 600-yard swim

I love Jillian Michaels. Seriously, I do. Her workouts are tough in a way that many other workouts are not. She combines upper and lower body moves, as well as integrates cardio into the mix. And, my favorite part, she talks about how difficult the moves are and never does them herself. I wouldn't want to do a billion lunges and anterior raises. Oh, how they are the bane of my existence.

Others things I noticed about 30-Day Shred, part 1m this morning: Triceps were seemingly absent, jumping jacks are not a good exercise for apartment dwellers and I'm not coordinated enough to do bicycle crunches.

After I finished the OnDemand selection, I tried to find a cardio routine so I could avoid the pool. No such luck. So I ate breakfast, got the dog on a leash and set off.


The three of us (Mark came along) went on the normal loop of about 2.25 miles in some seriously muggy weather. Thank goodness I brought water. By the way, I always bring water on walks because it's a good chance to check off some of those eight glasses.

We went at a good clip (thanks, Denali), and I now had no excuses not to make it to the pool for the half-hour open swim. Nothing's changed in a week - I still suck at swimming. Although, I was joined by middle schoolers (not high schoolers) and an older gentleman who swam at the same pace as me.

I managed to crank out 600 yards in the time allotted. I even went a few lengths without desperately clinging to the side of the pool before braving the deep end. I know practice makes, umm, better but the first thing I need to do is relax in the pool ... and get lessons from one of those 12-year-old girls.

Off the deep end

Workout: 35-minute weight workout (20 minutes with Jillian on OnDemand)
Swam 500 yards in, umm, 20 minutes.
Workout fuel: 1 slice wheat bread with Peanut Butter & Co. chocolate peanut butter before weights, another slice with PB between weights and swim.

I love OnDemand. I love it about as much as I hate high school girls but we'll get to that in a bit.

I haven't had a good weight workout in over a week, and who better to get my butt back in gear than Jillian Michaels. I found an abbreviated "No More Trouble Zones" on Exercise TV and followed along as we did lunges, squats, lunges, sumo squats all the while doing lateral raises, bicep curls and tricep extensions.

Although none of it compared to the surrender:



Brutal? Maybe. Enough? No.

The actual workout (sans cool down) was 18 minutes, so I chose another OnDemand selection: Tank Top Arms.

With this lady:
I thought she was going to come out of the TV and beat me with her crazy ripped arms. Seriously, I saw veins. Twenty minutes of that, plus Jillian, and I was done.

Sort of. I still had plans to make my way back to the pool after a three-month hiatus. Needless to say I was a bit nervous. And it only got worse when I realized the pool was set up for a "long course" and I'd be swimming alongside the high school swim team.

Kim, I'd like you to meet high school girls. They think Washington, D.C., is in Washington state. They think it's funny when someone gets pulled over for going 23 mph over the speed limit. They complain that they can't breathe but somehow find the air to giggle incessantly as you try to get ready for work. They try to round up the team for prayer but somehow forget to stop the aforementioned giggling.

Fast, good swimmers, I'd like you to meet the slowest, least graceful swimmer on the planet. You will see me cling to the wall right before finishing the last few yards because swimming in the deep end scares me. You'll see me close my eyes so I don't realize how deep the water is. You'll see me gasp for air because I forget to breathe out when I put my face in the water.

I ended up doing 500 yards. I could have done more. I should have done more. Except I thought I had done 1,000 yards until the lifeguard schooled me. I have a few more (well, like 10) swims on my punch card so I will be heading back to the pool a few more times this summer. As much as I dislike, I know it makes me a better runner.

Do you do workouts that you don't like?