life according to me

Tag: Exercise

My Particular Brand of Menopause.
I’m a bit under the weather today with what seems to be a fairly nasty head cold compounded by a lack of sleep caused by the cold. It’s a two-fold cold: that of being sick, and that which is caused by our window which has to be open lest one of us sweat to death in the night. Being under said weather puts me in a less than joyful mood and left to consider all the more pleasant aspects of my life — like menopause.

Just seeing the word on the page can cause a number of reactions depending on one’s particular set of circumstances:
1. You’re female and under 30 so menopause can’t possibly have anything to do with you. In fact, the concept of one grey hair or chin whisker may have recently sent you to near hysteria;
2. You’re male, and anything having to do with the female body that isn’t about cleavage, thighs, or hot sex may as well be written in a language unknown to man. That would be a male, and not mankind in general;
3. You’re a menopausal woman and because you’re on a first name basis with menopause, reading about it most likely isn’t the first item of the day with your usual Venti Soy Decaf Latte, thank you very much; or
4. You’re married to a menopausal woman and unlike awaiting the bouncing bundle of joy which is the result of a healthy pregnancy, you suspect absolutely nothing that cute could possibly come of this.
From time to time, I Google menopause just to see what comes up and it’s dismal. I suppose this behavior makes me Glutton for Punishment’s poster child, but it seems to be part of my two-year and counting adjustment to aging. Most of the initial hits are for sites selling or promoting HRT drugs. The others are large medical sites like the Mayo Clinic and WebMD and although basic information can be found on all of these sites, they essentially say the same thing: hot flashes are normal; we’re at greater risk for joint pain and osteoporosis; our skin will become more dry and less elastic; our midsections will increase in size; our muscles begin to disappear, our hair will thin in some places and grow in others less desirable; we will have difficulty with our teeth and gums; and most importantly — we will be at far greater risk for heart disease.

The good news is that regular exercise, improved diet, and reduced stress can lessen the effects of all of the above. By all means, let the happy dancing begin.

(more…)
March 5, 2009
Alive, Exercising, and So Not on Main Street

Well, hello. Remember me? I’m the one who used to write here quite regularly. I’m never quite sure how it gets to be Tuesday after it seems that Thursday was just yesterday, but that’s how it goes.

I think I’ve figured out that if I had a way to hang on to my thoughts while I was out walking, or putzing around during the day, I’d have no problem sitting here and downloading them. But the time passes, and then whatever I thought was so pithy has evaporated. You know, kind of like that bailout the House was trying to get passed?

I could spend all kinds of time writing about that, but everyone else seems to be handling that quite well. I’m sure my opinions aren’t needed.

I did notice on my walk this morning, that everyone seems to be sharing theirs, however. No matter whom I passed, I heard comments regarding “credit,” or “Wall St.” and the beyond annoying “Main St.” reference that is supposed to be us, I guess. You know. Average Joes? This isn’t Kansas, and I don’t live on Main Street. In fact, does anyone any longer? I just want to yell, “Snapoutofit!” to all the talking heads. Ugh.

What a train wreck.

Instead of getting up at the crack of dawn to walk this week, I’ve been trying to think about wondering if I might possibly consider attempting to somewhat establish a new routine. The old routine, walking with my VBF, has been an excellent one that has lasted fairly well for more than two years now. But she’s quite the busy person, and her appointments have been getting earlier and earlier. How sad is that?

Although neither one of us is too thrilled with the idea of getting up to exercise that early, it gets it over with and I know I feel good about that. Plus, I can have bed head hair and clothes that I wouldn’t be caught dead in at any other time of day, unless you count that I leave them on the rest of the day. Let’s call it conserving water, shall we?

So today, after I dropped my carpool charges off at school, I continued down the street to park and try my routine near the beach. Sounds motivational, doesn’t it? The goal here would be to do this twice a week so I wouldn’t have to think about it. I’m in the car already, so why not?

It goes something like this:

I park at the beginning of my route, walk about 20 minutes in one direction, then turn around and go back. Allowing for issues such as feet that ache, a shin that stings, and a butt muscle that is mysteriously aching, the entire effort takes 40 minutes — about the time it takes my friend and I to complete our route.

I can’t figure out what the aches were all about today, because I haven’t had those problems for quite some time. Walking by myself has never been a thrill a minute, so who knows. Maybe I wasn’t walking as fast as my friend and I walk. Her dog usually drags her on the leash, and that keeps us hopping. But, we do have some hills that have me gasping for breath and I didn’t have to deal with anything like that today. Maybe I just feel like complaining. Wonder of all wonders.

The nice part about this route is the beauty. The sun still hadn’t made it over Mt. Soledad, so the beach was cast in shadows. Here and there, as the sun rose, the light shot through the side streets, coloring the water as it pushed up onto the sand. Very nice. It looked like there would be blue skies forever today — so different from yesterday’s unusual thunder and pathetic sprinkle of rain.

A thrill a minute, everyone.

Totally.

Now, I only have about five more days of the week to fill with exercise. I can’t tell you how unexcited I am by this prospect.

It challenges watching dirt cover the ground.

September 30, 2008
Gullibility and a Strong Core

In case you were wondering, I’m alive. I did go out on a couple of early morning walks this week, smartly attired in my plaid flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. By the time Thursday rolled around, though, I was on auto pilot and made a nose dive back into bed. Rude.

But today is Friday, and you know how I feel about that under normal circumstances, but today? It is my very first non-working, permanently retired if I feel like it Friday. Okay, so retired from working for others work. Payroll work. Having to get dressed and go to work work. So how did I celebrate?
I broke in my new ball. I sat on it all day and tried valiantly to do something about the organization of this pathetic looking blog of mine. Nothing has improved on the blog, but at least I’ve rolled and swirled and bounced myself toward a firmer core. Yes, you, too can burn calories while you blog! Of course we may not be able to get out of bed tomorrow, but still.

What else is new?

Not much, but yesterday when I was coming out of the grocery store with one of my green bags I finally remembered to remove from the trunk, a young man with a nice smile and a multitude of those disks inserted in his ears and a few other places I can’t remember right now, looked in my direction. He had a clipboard and a purpose.

“You want money, right?” I began since I’m not very good at beating around the bush when I talk. His eyes even smiled.

“Do you know about Greenpeace?” he began.

“Of course I know about Greenpeace,” I told him, flashing on images of news footage years ago of ships with nuclear reactors being prevented from entering a port in Australia or something like that. “But do you have any idea how many requests we get each week for contributions? It’s out of control. Even NPR hasn’t been able to peel my money out of my fist yet.” Who do you give money to when everybody wants it? His smile never left his eyes as he let me blather on until I asked if I could make a donation on line. And when he began to respond, I interrupted him realizing that he wouldn’t get credit for the donation.

“I need to be able to show something for my effort her today,” he told me.

“So fine, can I give $15?”

“No, we’re only set up to take monthly contributions,” he told me, explaining that it helped the organization have a more steady stream of cash instead of having to wait until the end of the year for a lump sum.

“Okay. Okay. Okay. Where do I sign? Can I do $10 a month?”

“No, I’m sorry, the minimum is $15. That’s only $5 more,” he added as I looked away from the form I was already filling out, and making it easier for those leaving the store to escape my fate.

“I can add. The math’s not that challenging,” I mouthed off, and he laughed good-naturedly, most likely thinking I was nuts.

“Do you want a sticker?” he continued as used the side of a brown crayon to rub an impression from my credit card on the form.

“Sure. I need something to show for my money, right? And if someone steals my credit card number, Greenpeace will be paying the bills. Make sure you tell them that, okay?” I called over my shoulder after picking up my green bag to walk away. “I’ll blog about you…”

“Thanks!” he said, still grinning. Talk about job satisfaction. Jeez. But I always wonder when I send off a contribution to any organization, just how much of it is eaten in administrative costs.

So when the MoH got home, I asked what he knew about Greenpeace since I joined.

“Great. They float around on a boat and cause a lot of problems,” he mumbled, partly in jest.

I’ll have to work on him a bit more. He’s no where near to being green.

April 25, 2008
Walking, talking, and thinking about good things.

It’s still dark in the morning when the alarm goes off at 5:10 and I rarely hesitate before throwing back the covers to step over the doggo and find my way to the closet. If I’m lucky, I’ll avoid the Yack Star, who will want to eat, and actually make it downstairs with two shoes that go together. Navigating the stairs in the dark is scary enough to have to feel my way along the wall, making sure I land solidly on each step.

Still not quite sure I’m awake, I glance at the clock and notice that only a few minutes have passed, so I pause long enough to grab a glass of water. My heart is pounding as I reach for my car key and wallet, hit the garage door button and fall into the driver’s seat. I cautiously back out, and head to my friend’s house, sometimes not quite realizing that I’m not still under the covers, snug and sleeping soundly.

I never know if she’ll be awake when I arrive and so use the sloping curb of her driveway to stretch my stiff calves while I wait. Once in a while, the elderly man who lives across the street comes out, wanting to know who I am. He’s just being a good neighbor. But since my friend and I have gotten back into the swing of things, she’s been up and ready to go. I’ve not had time to even consider whether I’ll be brave enough to tap on the glass next to her front door, hoping she’ll hear me, and causing her dogs to bark.

$Juicy, isn\'t it?$

We start out with her loping yellow Lab each morning, barely awake, and it seems the first point of discussion is food. Often it’s more of a confessional, with comments like, “I wasn’t very good yesterday,” or “My husband looked at me and said, ‘Wine?’” Other times our talk is about which recipes we’ve tried. Somehow it makes getting up and over those hills much more easy.

There’s something soothing walking that early in the day. The annoyance of cars leaving for work or taking kids to school comes much later, and except for the occasional ghostly shadow of someone who has ventured out to retrieve their morning paper, we see no one. Hear almost nothing beyond the rustle of some small animal in the ivy, or the soft hooting of an owl somewhere high up in the eucalyptus trees.

We’ve improved our route time by about six minutes even though we haven’t worked to do that. And only one incline continues to kick our butts, even though we’ve figured out that if we’re absorbed in a conversation, our minds don’t linger on the agony of lungs stinging for air or bodies gravity insists upon keeping close to the asphalt.

As we approach the end of our route and the last rise, I feel the air change. It’s warm, and hints of the weather we’re to have this weekend — sunny and near 80 on the coast. For a moment, I think of summer and all that comes with it.

By the time we return to the starting point, the sky is much lighter, and I drive home knowing that I’ve done something good for myself. We’ve walked about 16 miles since Sunday and I smile, acknowledging that it’s not bad for two well-seasoned chicks. I make plans for my day — not strict plans, though, because it’s Friday and I don’t have to do anything if I don’t feel like it.

But I do feel like it. I feel like continuing to think carefully about what I eat. I feel like finding a place for my mom to live when she returns to Paradise from her non adventure on the Wrong Coast. I feel like cleaning my house, and planting some flowers, and lining up what I’ll be cooking this weekend.

And I feel like spending time with the MoH who has been putting in 15-hour days. With any luck at all, I’ll actually get to see him. It puts a dent in my style when he’s not around.

Maybe I’ll bake something with dark chocolate.

It’s loaded with antioxidants, you know.

Happy weekend.

April 11, 2008
Dear Desiree…

Tally-Ho NaBloMoPo on Day 14. So move it. Can you do it? Make it burn…on three…ready? Let’s go. Whatever. But this one will be short, because I have to do a post on my food blog today, too. I was nearly done with a post two days ago, was loading the last photo, and then…Yes. That silly message that says something about being reset so the connection was lost came up after I realized things were getting a bit slow and I suspected the inevitable was about to happen. When’s the last time you actually saw mad? You know. Like, really mad.

November 14, 2007

Dear Ms. Bartlett:

I just thought I’d take a moment today to let you know you kicked my butt the other day. Seriously. I should have known better, and that’s what I get for not taking the time to do a bit of research; i.e., look before you leap. I should have channel-surfed a bit. But you looked so harmless. So sweet. It was that smile.

I’m sure you’re far too busy for someone like me, but I’ve been trying to find ways to make sure I get regular exercise. I don’t always look forward to it, but do a fairly good job of getting in some exercise at least four days a week. But I’ve been struggling with the time change since I have a tendency to go out late in the afternoon or early evening to walk — hopefully right before the MoH gets home. One day it was completely dark by the time I’d finished, and although I sort of enjoy that, occasionally, the brush by the side of the road engages my overactive imagination and my constructive pessimistic proclivities begin to map out my defense on the chance the boogey man is hiding in the bushes and is getting ready to jump out to get me. Little does he know that I’m ready to grab the sides of his face in my palms and dig my thumbs into his eyeball sockets, knee him in the nards, and if necessary, ram his nose up into his sinus cavity with the base of my palm. Of course, a lifetime of repressed rage would most likely also be unleashed and there wouldn’t be much left of him.

Yes. Well, um, so I had waited too long to walk and it was already dark, so I decided to take a look at the free On Demand channels on cable. I thought I’d seen something about Exercise on Demand and thought I’d give it a shot. Mind you, it was some time ago (like years) that I’d see this feature of our monthly service to Time Warner, but that’s beside the point.

You would have been proud. I had appropriate exercise clothes on, and my tennies. Hell, even my weights were close by. I have to be honest though — I was a bit worried about my left arm since it’s been so screwed up with tendonitis. But I wasn’t going to use that as an excuse. I was going to suck it up.

Suck dough balls was more like it.

Sheeeeee-it. You smiled the entire time you were kicking my butt. In fact you kept telling me to smile and each time you did, I wasn’t. What’s up with the whole smiling while your tongue’s flapping around your chin? Have you ever tried to do that? But since I’m a team player, I tried, and I did learn that if I smile with my teeth, at least I can get air into my oxygen deprived lungs.

And I did appreciate that you kept telling me that I could take a break any time I wanted. I did notice that you smiled when you said this, like it was some kind of a dare. I’ve got you all figured out, marching in place there and not losing count while you’re smiling and telling me to take it easy. And not sweating. Not a single shiny place on your body.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to hang on to a weight when sweat’s dripping down your arms? Huh? And your your spine? Well, suffice it to say it was a veritable river headed down to my drawers. At least the RT didn’t make any comments when he walked by wondering about this latest project his mother had gotten involved in. And he didn’t laugh when I grunted, either, and I was listening.

I know you know that I knew I’d be doomed after the warm up and before the weights because I was already toast. That you knew that I’d know those repetitions would make my muscles feel like they’d been flopped into a frying pan set on sizzle. You totally knew. And you smiled the entire time. But you also knew I’d feel like *thank gawd I’m done* successful and proud after you ran me through the wringer the routine. I know you’d know that I knew I’d know you knew. Yanno?

So all in all, the beginner’s (ohmygawdwhatmustheregularworkoutbelike?) workout was a freakin’ killer great and because it was an interminable, exhausting only 30 minutes, I switched to a cardio salsa dancing workout that finished the job you started immediately afterward. I’ll have to thank her another time since I couldn’t see the writing on the screen with my face on the floor didn’t catch her name.

But hey! It was so incredibly tortuous and I was so sore the next day fun, that I was thoroughly encouraged to go on my walk again, making sure I got it in before the sun went down — in the drizzling rain.

So thanks, Desiree! The next time I need my butt royally kicked an amazing workout, I know how far and fast to run in the opposite direction you da man.

Devotedly,

Me

p.s. Might you be related to Rachael Ray? Just asking. It must be the smile.

Actually, the workout was excellent, and I was surprised that I felt as if I’d gotten more done than twice the time on a vigorous walk. I enjoy getting outside, keeping an eye on my odd neighbors in Paradise breathing, and watching the sunset, but this is something I need to do a couple of times a week. The on demand channels are an included service, and I can exercise whenever I want, which is, well, not a whole lot different that most everything else I do. So…okay. Whatever.

November 14, 2007
Not so Scarlett nitty gritty

I guess October 8th is as good a day as any to decree that I’m back in the getting healthy and looking great saddle I fell off of after summer ended. Without a lot of fanfare, I’ve created another page up at the top called Daily Nitty Gritty so I can hold my Rubenesque self accountable for how much I eat, drink, and exercise. For some reason I’m simple-minded enough to comply with the rule that if I eat it or drink it, I write it down. I guess I must believe that I’m my own worst enemy, or that my conscience is anyway.

The way this simple tactic works is that I will avoid doing anything that I’m not ready to fess up about. No, I’m never compelled to cheat. And I’m not messing with goals that are related to pounds lost, either, because the frame of mind I’m in, I’d prefer to consider that I’m working on eating more vegetables, less meat and saturated fat, more fish, more whole grains, drink less wine, drink more water, and combine cardio with weights. Sound reasonable?

I’ve gotten on that damn scale just to note where I’ve begun (yes, back to square one). And I will get on it to track the pounds I do lose once every week on Tuesday like I was before. There has to be some reason to look forward to Tuesday since it’s the sorriest day on the calendar to me and always has been.

So no more procrastination. Just call me Scarlett. Well, maybe not… okay.Â Beulah.*Dang, girl. Them are some eyebrows…*

Okay, so my face doesn’t look quite right on Scarlett’s body since I had to cut off my cheeks and darken the brows, but I sure as hell know a lot more about the Photoshop CS3 present my niece gave me than I did when I started. And Jen at Absolutely Bananas who seems to be able to do the Photoshop cut and paste thing in her sleep gave far better directions than my Photoshop book. Thanks!

So, how’d I do, teach? Well, outside of my face being fatter than Vivien Leigh’s, the photos not quite being the same size (I did try…), and not taking a new photo to cut and paste because I’m butt ugly today on a bad hair day scale of 1-10 with mine being a -3.5.

Let’s see. Does that quite cover all the excuses?

October 9, 2007
Just call me Ansel.

My husband and I went for a long hike yesterday. In high weekend gear, as usual, he stated that he wanted to go because I had been with a couple of friends the week before, and he thought it sounded fun. So, in the brilliant late afternoon sun, that’s just what we did.

It felt good to get out and move around, enjoy the fresh air and be less than pleasantly reminded that I am horrible when it comes to hiking—that is, hiking when hills are involved. Yes, I know that hiking isn’t really hiking unless one has donned large boots with thick treaded soles to trudge up and down hills, climb rocks, and perhaps swing from trees.

You’d think I’d been a smoker all my life for all the gasping I did. My husband barely worked up a sweat the entire time. How is that even possible? The guy is a desk jockey who doesn’t exercise—unless I count the times he jumps off the couch and rushes the television when he thinks there’s been a bad call made against a player who’s on his Fantasy Football Team. Pushing the buttons on the remote absolutely does not count.

It’s not fair with all the walking and swimming and stretching and complaining (jaw exercise…?) I do. One would think that I’d be the athlete in the house.

The determination behind this particular hike is that once you’ve dragged yourself up the enormous hill, wandered off the main road and down through the winding paths, then schlepped back up the crude steps built into the hillside, you get to trek down, down, down to the ocean. At least someone figured out that there should be some redemption for people who think looking at indigenous scrub on eroding bluffs after months with no rain is not beautiful. “Oh, look honey…A black sage. I wonder if its twigs ever have leaves on them?” Or aren’t too thrilled by the concept of waiting for a rattler to spring out and chomp on your ankle for interrupting his afternoon nap.

Sarcasm aside, I do think the landscape is quite interesting in all its unique beauty, but it definitely falls into the acquired taste category—at least at this time of year. Now, I would be interested in coming again when it rains. If it rains. I could also be convinced to think differently about returning if I didn’t have to concentrate on how to keep air in my lungs. It sort of takes the fun out of trying to remember all the botanical names.

Yes, thankfully, there’s an ocean at the end of it all. You get to rip off your shoes, peel off your sweaty socks, and walk through the refreshingly clear surf. Very nice, and more than motivating.

It’s such a stark looking reserve at this time of year; most of the native plants look quite dead. The occasional pine’s long needles add a bit of green to the scenery, and termites busy digesting fallen trees uncover rich shades of gold within the trunk. But dust covers everything, and I can’t help but wonder how anyone would have wanted to settle here like they did hundreds of years ago. You know. The people who anchored their sailing vessels off the coast and decided to call this home. Not a palm tree in sight. Just the torrey pines, wild sumac and other plants that magically eke out an existence in the arid environment that is Torrey Pines State Reserve.

I did seize the opportunity to look a bit through Ansel Adams’ eyes and examine the contrasts of light and dark created by the sun. I know little about photography, so can’t tell if any of my photos “work,” but it was a pleasant change of pace and I do like a few of them.

As we approached the shore, the saltiness of the air refreshed our dusty nostrils, and my attention was directed to the interesting striations of color in the bluffs. As much as erosion is rarely a good thing, the effects of it can certainly be beautiful.

The tide was nearly at its lowest by the time we ventured down the stairs, so we knew we could hike back to our car from the beach. Good thing or my husband would have had to call for an air lift. I was exhausted.

The beach is firm and flat, and the waves push gently toward the shore, so it’s easy to walk in the water and cool down. Smooth rocks and shells lie here and there. Birds with long beaks search for a briny morsel to eat.

A man and a woman walked toward us in their bathing suits, eyes averted as they passed, no doubt wondering about the layer of dirt on my upper lip stuck to my sweat. Or maybe it was that I’d thrown myself belly first into the water, kissing the sand much like Kevin Costner did as Robin Hood after setting foot in England once again.

It must have been the dirt mustache.

No matter. At least I got my exercise in for the day, and I’m thankful for my husband who is ever so tolerant in more ways than I can count.

And this is what it looks like in color. How could I change it to black and white, Ansel? Tell me what you would have done.

September 17, 2007
Achy Breaky Creaky Self

I’m alive and well after making much ado over my stint at the keyboard yesterday. But barely. I can honestly say that if I had been writing fiction, then I may have ended the day on a higher note, without the headache and stiff neck. Without barely being able to straighten myself and walk into the next room. I could have been writing a piece of fiction oozing with superfluous adjectives that make one wince in much the same way an extremely sweet piece of candy does. With a feisty character whose name is Alexandra or Fiona. Yes, perhaps something on the steamy side conjuring images of gazelle like bodies cavorting through the surf on a tropical island after an intense session of exertion — you know, at a spa. Uh, you weren’t thinking what I think you were thinking. Were you? Shame.

But still. Entertaining.

And after two very early mornings of strenuous walking — well, for me it’s strenuous — I could barely move after sitting here as long as I did. Tell me. Why is it that I can sit here and do what I want to do, and am not stiff and sore at all? Hmmmm…? Mind over matter, I’m sure. How pathetic. But I’m also exaggerating.

So today, I’m not going to sit here any longer than necessary. I’ll actually get in my car for a reason other than to carpool kids to school. I’m going to Target — the land of uber cool advertising and chic but cheap stuff to purchase that I don’t really need. I wander up and down the aisles with absolutely no purpose on earth other than to look at countless items I won’t buy. Sure, I have a list of the usual “have tos” to purchase, but I wait until the end to pick up those items. After I’ve perused the book section longingly. After I’ve cruised through the plants. After I’ve looked at the cookware, the gadgets, and the stationery. The towels. Candles. Sportswear.

I do need some sports wear. You know, for sports. Okay, so not sports. But exercise.

Yes, I still exercise, but you should see what I exercise in. To convince you, I’d offer to let you smell it, since I wear it more than once a week, but I’m sure you’d politely decline. I need to get back into some kind of a routine. The ocean water was less than lovely when I last swam because of waves, low temperatures, tons of seaweed and tourists who just stand in the water. They do. Plus, we had begun to ramp up the intensity of our swim, so I’d end up with my tongue hanging down to my knees after I got home, already dreading the next time we’d go. Then, the humid weather seriously kicked my butt (I would so not be able to live on the Right Coast or in the South, weakling that I am…) and I’ve had some issues with my joints — especially my wrists. And no, it isn’t because I’m typing. One hurts more than the other, and the last time I checked, my right hand wasn’t hitting more keys than the other. Yes, the keyboard is level with my wrists. Yes, yes, yes. To be honest, the soreness is probably yet another change related to hormones. Do you know how annoying it is to have to say that? I hate saying it. It’s like calling “uncle” or whatever that is when someone has you pinned. I give up, okay? Except I can’t.

I’ve been a bit resistant to finding out exactly why my body is feeling the way it does from one time to the next. I’ve never been one to dwell on aches and pains I may have except in the paragraph above… A headache rarely moves me to take an aspirin. I just grin and bear it, and always have. But I’ve also never had body parts removed, and it gives me the creeps to think about it — still. I’d rather ignore what I notice instead of acknowledging that concern hovers around in my mind with every change I notice. I’d rather not be reminded about how much in my body has been affected by the removal of those organs.

I used to understand when I was exhausted after a long and busy day at work. Even then, I’d deal with it understanding that I could get in bed earlier, or pay attention to my diet, make sure I was exercising, or quit my job! But this is different. I’m exhausted today and I have no reason to explain it. Yes, I got up at 6:30. And I spent some time outside trimming bushes grown over during the summer. But that shouldn’t make me tired. I could take a nap right now, and I’ve never, ever been one who naps. Remember napping in Kindergarten? Sheesh. I could never go to sleep like the other kids. I’d lay there on my towel from home staring at the ceiling tiles and watching the kid next to me drool and twitch until the teacher told me to go to sleep. And then I’d shut my eyes and pretend.

My knees feel better today than they did yesterday– but that’s because we didn’t do “intervals” during our walk yesterday morning, or the walking lunges that I know I will pay dearly for when I do them.Â Ten of them.

My VBF is just stronger than I am. Plain and simple. She does it all and just keeps on ticking. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m whining when I say that I’m sore, or that my arm is throbbing as I walk, forcing me to raise it over my head to relieve the pressure. But yesterday was the straw. I vaguely remember my doctor saying something about glucosamine…so I finally decided to see what I could find about why I’m feeling this way, and what I can do about it.

It’s pretty depressing to read:

“You may feel listless, depressed, isolated, indifferent, unenergetic, weak, unable to sleep, or anxious. You may lose emotional stability and contentment, becoming moody, hair-triggered, prone to fits of tears for little obvious reason, irrational, impatient, lacking any self-esteem. You may have trouble breathing, experience irregular heartbeats, or experience anxiety attacks.”

Oh, and here’s a good one with respect to the effect of low estrogen on memory:

” You may know what you want to say, but the specific word just isn’t in your brain even though you know it’s one you know very well. You may forget or lose things, or you may get lost yourself, unable to remember how to travel a route with which you are familiar.”

Hmmm…yes, I’ve noticed this. In fact, it’s a bit scary when I’m driving somewhere and I have to think about where I’m going because I’ll just drive on auto pilot. Yes, I’ve done this before, and do remember doing it when I was in my late teens and early 20’s. But now? Feh. It happens all the time. No, I do not have ADD.

Ah-Ha! Look at this:

“Both physical energy and joint inflamation seem to be related to estrogen levels. When they dip, we may become physically fatigued beyond whatever sleep we’re losing to insomnia. We may also develop creaky, aching joints, stiffness after being still, and actual symptoms or exacerbation of osteoarthritis, especially in the knees.”

Ah, but validation is a double edged sword, isn’t it?

I am seriously going to Target. Either that or bawl my head off. I’m not one to feel sorry for myself — ever. But this is ridiculous. When I find some energy, I’ll figure it all out. In the mean time, I guess I’ll just keep looking for answers, keep exercising, and try to understand it all.

It’s not fair. I know. Life’s not fair. Hahahaha. Whatever.

September 14, 2007
I told you.

All of you faithful short hair scientists know that I’ve been making a weak assed attempt to lose some weight over the past few months. The real focus has been to eat and live in a more healthy way — not just lose weight. The noble thought would be that if I focused on being more healthy, then the pounds, or lubs — as I affectionately refer to them — would melt off over the course of about six months. Uh…nope. And I’m not going to point any fingers at anyone but myself for this pseudo attempt to gain back a body I haven’t seen in the mirror for about 15 years. Time flies when you’re stuffing your pie hole. Ahem…

But you also know that I have been exercising fairly diligently. Not as much as I could, mind you, because well, I dunno why. I sit in front of this thing all day talking to you? Because I have that food blog and I cook food that isn’t always conducive to anything but making sure our taste buds are extremely happy. That would mean our waistbands aren’t. Happy.

You would think I’d give myself a break. You know, like since I’m exercising, eat more intelligently. Sheesh. Not. I’ve decided I need some kind of an electronic device that is strapped to an appendage somewhere — you know, kind of like Lindsay Lohan’s anklet. My device would be a talking device. It would let me know — in a very perky voice (NOT Rachael Ray, well, okay, Rachael) — that as I burned calories, I had earned particular types of food I might woolf down enjoy later.

Okay, so imagine with me a sec:

I’m walking: Sweat, huff…..trudge, trudge, trudge…I wonder how far I’ve gone? Puff…huff. Ugh….I can’t stand this…oof…

Calorie monitoring device:

You have burned enough calories to earn one charbroiled Porterhouse smothered in carmelized onions and sauteed portobellos finished with a port wine reduction…

You have burned enough calories to earn a slice of a decadent boca negra served in a pool of raspberry coulis and topped with a mascarpone cream…

You only have to burn 12,000 more calories to make up for what you ate yesterday…

If you walk for the next two weeks straight, you’ll only put a dent in the calories you consumed eating that biscuit glace aux noisettes yesterday and the day before…

Okay, so maybe that isn’t such a great idea. But I have been exercising. You know I’ve been challenging myself and struggling a bit to overcome some internal squeamishness about swimming in the ocean. But I thought I’d show you the route we took this past Sunday, and the one we’ll be taking again tomorrow. Mind you, we’ve also been getting up at 5:30 to do pool laps for 30 minutes in between the ocean gigs.

It’s pretty far, isn’t it? When my friends said we’d be swimming to The Shores, I thought, Uh, I don’t think so. I figured I’d swim out part way with them, and then turn back by myself and wait. There was much discussion at dinner Saturday night about where cars would be parked, what time we’d arrive, who would pick up whom, and all kinds of other nonsense. The truly tough part is remembering the next day what we decided to do. Thank goodness the MoH is always tuned in and is able to steer me in the right direction. He sets the alarm, and he confirms what I vaguely remember about the previous night’s conversation. The MoH doesn’t drink wine like the rest of us.

So two of us finally pick up the third who has her car parked at The Shores. The three of us travel back to The Cove and make a big production about realizing that all we could take with us was our largesse and our fins. We even had to figure out where to hide the car key. No cell phones, no camera, no bathing suit cover up…..Ugh. That meant we had to walk by people sitting on patios of some very chic restaurants enjoying Sunday breakfast. Thank goodness it was still very early — 8:15 — and that my fins are quite large. I strategically held them so that they’d dangle in front of my upper thighs, and then averted my gaze away from the touristy on lookers. We walked quickly toward The Cove.

The water was a teeth jarring 66 degrees.

The water was much calmer than the last time we went out. Less sea grass. I don’t want to discuss the kelp. The way it crawls along your legs as you pass over it. I know. I said I wasn’t going to talk about it. I get used to the water temperature fairly quickly, so that isn’t horrible. What’s creepy about the whole thing is that you can’t see the bottom once you really get out there. And if you think about that submarine canyon beneath, the one that sends absolutely frigid upwellings you have to swim through, gasping in surprise…the one that’s about 40 feet deep near shore and reaches depths of more than 900 ft. about a mile off the beach. That one. Totally and completely creepy. When images of creatures from the deep and very large fish with sharp teeth arise, we don’t say anything about them aloud. We talk about “stuff” — anything to ease the nerves. And we paddle faster.About half way across, my friend whose car was parked at The Shores realized that she hadn’t brought the key.

So the rest of the swim was spent organizing for effort on how to get back to the car at The Cove.

Swim back? Uh….Nope.

Walk back? In our swim suits with all that traffic? People commenting about it not being whale-watching season. Uh-uh.

Okay, then. How about a couple of unanswered collect calls to the MoH from a pay phone. You gotta love Caller ID.

But finally, the Life Guard came to our rescue with a trusty cell. The huzbinks arrived not quite on a white charger (because we had caused a detour from their golf date–scuzethehellouttaus) and took us back to the car at The Cove. The swim had taken an hour. With wiggly legs and swaddled derriers in damp cover-ups, we walked to a coffee place and snarfed down three breakfast burritos and lattes.

I can’t figure out why in hell I even bothered to go to the salon last week. At this rate, I’ll be back to square one Hag-ette status in a couple of weeks.

But will I have a great tan? Hell no. The sun doesn’t shine at this time of the year in Paradise. Are you kidding? It’s all a big lie.

July 18, 2007
Getting Fit
The diet gods heard my roar yesterday. All of them. No, it isn’t miraculous — just simple logic. Stupid scale + stupid glasses (sensible food + 6 days of exercise) = respectable 3-4 lb. loss. I can live with that as long as that black skinny line on Thinner keeps nudging down the dial each Tuesday when I weigh in. Why Tuesday? Because I had to have a better attitude today than I did yesterday, or else. Now, I’ll settle in and look forward to two (count them carefully or you might miss them) TWO practical lbs. each week until June 1st which seems like it’s at the end of a very long yawn — mostly because of the wine deprivation. However, I still have endless horizons in the food department to keep me interested. Are you feeling sorry for the Master of the House (MOH) and RT? They’ll survive and eat well also. No shriveled up taste buds in this hacienda.
- In the godforsaken department of being perky about of this, here is my list of good things about my food plan:
- I will have fewer hot flashes at night (more exercise, no hardly any wine, reduced caffeine) and I’ll believe this when Hell freezes over.
- I will lose weight.
- I will no longer have a hitch in my giddy up when climbing my stairs.
- The MOH’s car won’t scrape on the speed bump near our community gate when RT and I are sitting on the same side of the car.
- I will be able to fit into last spring/summer clothes better than I did last spring/summer or the one before that, or…
- I will effectively deprive the neighbors of knowing and strike fear in their hearts, that I no longer have the recycler with the loudest clanking (two weeks of wine bottles) in the cul-de-sac as the recycling truck dumps it from a high altitude–or, from its mechanical arm, suspended above its large metallic bin.
- My body will be drunk on nutrients and slap happy on phytochemicals like beta-sitosterol and carotenoids or chlorogenic acid.
- My refrigerator’s veggie drawer will no longer have that science experiment gone awry look to it, lacking peppers growing fur, and cucumbers reduced to bottom sludge.
- I will look great.
Yesterday when the sun finally decided to come out and warm things up to a modest 66 degrees, I diligently went for my walk. Since I don’t have one of those pedometers, I took the time to get in my car after returning from my walk to measure the distance. Yes, gasoline is well over three dollars a gallon, but I was going to the store anyway, so that counts as multi-tasking. My walking route is 2.8 miles! Go figure. And I achieved my goal of spending 50 instead of 30 minutes walking. Unfortunately, I’m still having cramps in my lower legs and it is annoying. Is it my shoes? Am I walking too fast? Is it the inclines, my stride, all of the above?

I overcame this trauma by taking along my handy little camera, feigning ignorance when I noticed a few suburbanites who had paused while retrieving their trash cans wondering, “What is that thing in her hand? Why would she be taking pictures? Is there a law suit at hand? Who’s her attorney?” The camera was a pleasant diversion, so I’ll have to take it more often.
March 20, 2007