About ten years ago I quit my job at Hollywood Video in preparation for my move from California to Germany.  I was joining my new husband, who had enlisted in the army the previous May and was being stationed in a tiny Bavarian town.  I had worked pretty consistently since about 16 years old, starting at a small discount grocery store; moving up the the quintessential teen job in the fast food business; a brief, but traumatic experience as an operator for a telephone exchange; and finally ending up once again in customer service at the largest video store in town.  It was a great job.  I worked with friends, I knew all the patrons on a first name basis, and I got to rent all the movies for free. I didn't make a ton of money, but I enjoyed working and it didn't really occur to me to NOT work, even though my husband's salary was more than enough.

When I got to Germany I quickly learned that jobs for Americans were hard to come by.  There were only so many available and you really had to know someone to have an "in." Regardless, within three months of arriving in country I was pregnant with our first child.  Between the morning sickness and general elephant-like feeling that pregnancy can leave you with, I was glad I hadn't found a job.  I spent all day cleaning our tiny apartment and hanging out with friends.  Life was good.

When we moved back to the US a couple years later, I was pregnant with our second child and the thought to get a job now that we were back never even crossed my mind.  My daughter wasn't even two years old, I was as big as a house, and I LIKED being a stay-at-home mom.

Years passed, another baby was born, the older kids started elementary school and my littlest started preschool and suddenly I had all this free time again. I started to think about going back to school, finishing the degree I had been working on when I had moved to Europe, or volunteering with the local historical society, or even- *GASP*- getting a job.

In the end, thanks to gymnastics and swimming lessons, the astronomical cost of preschool, and insurmountable amount of jeans that need to be purchased for three active kids, I decided that going back to work would be the best solution.

So.  Here I sit, thirty years old, absolutely no skills, no degree, three kids, a husband who is gone more often than he's home, and I'm feeling lost.  Very lost.  I applied for several jobs.  I got two call backs.  One offer that I unfortunately couldn't take.  And now I'm back at the drawing board because no one seems to want aaaaaaall that shit I have to offer.  Meanwhile, I accepted a full-time spot for my youngest at a great preschool that we can't afford in a weird, middle-class Catch-22.  We can't afford the spot unless I have a job, but I can't get a job without childcare and the spot is available NOW- not whenever I'm offered a job.  So now I'm not only lost, but borderline panicky, too.  Let this be over soon.

Personal Training

In my last post I said I would tell you why I decided to continue with my personal trainer, Steven.  So here it is.

When I signed up for my gym membership I got two PT sessions included.  I had planned on using my Fitball trainer, Jenni (who is pretty much awesome), but they paired me up with Steven. At first I was like, "uuugghhh... a DUDE?" but it really wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be.  His PT specialty, if you will, is performance enhancement.  If you're a weight lifter he works with you on how to lift more weight more efficiently.  If you play sports he works with you on how to train your muscles to more effectively throw the basketball or kick the soccer ball.  And if you're a runner like me, he works on strengthening the muscles used while running. 

When my two free sessions were up I found myself disappointed.  I had really liked my quick 30 minute workouts!  So instead of being cheap like I usually am and telling myself I wasn't worth it, I signed up for 6 more sessions.  Twice a week for the past three weeks I've met with Steven and I'm already seeing results.  Last week I tried on jeans that haven't fit in months and not only did they FIT, they weren't even TIGHT!  They looked great!  I had only planned on doing the 6 sessions and then taking a break (in the "dishing out money" sense, not the actual "work" sense), but part of me really wants to continue.  I'm not sure which will win out- my sense of frugality or my sense of getting my ass into shape.

In case anyone was wondering, my typical workout schedule:

M- 45 minute Fitball class (mostly calisthenics-type workouts)
      walk/run at least 20 minutes
T- 1 hour cardio
     30 mins of PT (different every day, a lot of weight training)
W- at least 1 hour of cardio (walking very fast or running)
Th- 1 hour cardio
      30 mins of PT
F- at least 1 hour of cardio

Weekends I take off, although I HATE it.  I just really don't like the gym on weekends and it's hard to get childcare for 3 kids.  Once it warms up I see many walks and bike rides in our future.

Running Sick

Last weekend, exactly one week before my first ever 10k, I woke up in the wee hours of the morning with a stomach bug.  By midmorning I was achy, weak, shaking with the chills, and unable to eat anything.  I took it easy, drank water and Gatorade, and nibbled as much of a granola bar as I dared.  And I slept.  And rested.  And slept some more.  Oh- and I was SO THANKFUL that I have such amazing kids.  After lunch my daughter (who's 6) said, "Mommy, are we going to take naps now?  I want to take a nap."  I eyed her warily and said, "you WANT to take a nap??"  "Yes," she replied. "I know YOU want to take a nap and you'll need it very quiet, so I want to take a nap so you can sleep."  Um, WHAT?!  How awesome is she?!  So nap we did.  By the next day I was feeling okay, no symptoms but I was still very weak and a little nauseous.  Monday morning I went back to the gym.

I kept it easy, skipping my fitball class and doing a quick 3 mile walk.  It was pretty dang boring.  Even though I was tired and weak, going that slow was a mental challenge after running for so long.

Knowing I only had a few days until my big race, Tuesday I ran 4.75 miles.  And I.  Dragged.  Ass.  It was so exhausting and boring and all I wanted to do was give up.  But I just couldn't!!  I was so excited to run this race, so proud of myself for signing up by myself, and frankly I had paid $25 and I wasn't going to throw that money away.

Wednesday I met with my personal trainer, who I've decided to keep seeing for the time being (I'll get to that some other time).  We did a kettlebell workout out and then I got back on the treadmill and did a tortuous 2 miles.  Still weak.  Still exhausted.  Soooo nervous.

Thursday my gym buddy's husband joined us at the gym and had us do some Crossfit-type stuff.  It was a really nice break from the usual, but I still had to get on that freaking treadmill and get some miles in and by this point, knowing I was going to take Friday off to give my legs a rest, I was feeling a little scared.

And then came Friday.  I woke up that morning with a headache, runny nose and sore throat.  I was torn between "whatamigoingtodoomgthiscan'tbehappeningwhywhywhywhywhy?!?!" and a bleak feeling of knowing I should just give up.  Part of me wanted to slap myself and say "suck it up!" and the other part of me was planning on drowning my sorrows in a pint of Ben and Jerry's.  Friday sucked.

But then Saturday morning I woke up and I felt okay!  I mean, I still had a runny nose and my throat was a little raspy, but I absolutely could NOT justify not running.  I could do this.  I got dressed and filled my fuel belts (yes, BELTS.  Two.  I like to be prepared.  One had 4 water bottles, one had my cell phone, hair ties and gels.  I felt like an idiot, but I tend to get REALLY thirsty on runs and better safe than sorry!).  Before I knew it I was standing in a crowd of people, all by myself, scared and freezing cold and nervous but still really, really excited.  The gun went off and we all... walked about a block before there was enough room to run.  Okay, no problem. 

I quickly realized that breathing was going to be a major issue.  I could barely breathe anyway since my airways were already swollen, but the cold air seemed to make it downright painful.  I walked a few times that first mile, just trying to calm my heart and catch my breath and I still managed an 11 minute mile (which for me is pretty good).  While I was faster than those around me, I had to take more breaks to breath and I quickly fell behind.  I knew I wouldn't be first, I knew I would be near the end, but I was really starting to get scared about coming in DEAD LAST!  Around mile 3 I noticed that I kept passing and being passed by this same girl, so I nodded to her and said "I'm just going to stick with you!" She smiled and said "we can hold hands across the finish line!"  We would run, walk, run together for the rest of the race and just having her there, this complete stranger, made so much of a difference.  I no longer felt like I wasn't good enough to be doing this race (as I was near the back of the pack).  We encouraged each other along the way, groaned at the hills, waved at the traffic cops and suddenly the race was fun again.  Finally we made it to the finish line and crossed together- NOT last, by the way (okay, it was pretty close, but WE FINISHED!).

I'm really glad I did the race.  I wish it had been under different circumstances, but honestly I'm just really proud.  I finished at 1h17, which is only 2 minutes slower than my usual 10k time on the treadmill and my goal time.  Pretty good for being sick!  I will say, I have done a few 5Ks and never even come close to being last- and that was walking a good portion, pushing a stroller and carrying a baby!  But apparently 10Ks are a tad more competitive.  Now I know.  Plus, I have a really easy PR to beat for NEXT TIME! 

So Remember When I Said "Push It!"....?

I should clarify.  As much as I'm all about pushing yourself, sometimes you need to take a step back, assess how you're doing and maybe back off.  This is almost always the case when you get sick.

It seems like I've been sick a lot this season, and every time I feel so GUILTY for taking a day (or two or FOUR!) off.  I started getting a runny nose Sunday and woke up with a sore throat Monday, but I decided to go ahead and go to the gym anyway for two reasons.  One, I didn't really feel THAT bad and two, if I started feeling worse, that meant even more time I'd have to take off.  Once I got up and started moving around I felt a little better and by the time I got to the gym I felt 98%.  Okay, maybe 95%.  But I'm really glad I went.  The class was a challenge (think 8 billion lunges with no breaks, me near tears, and my instructor laughing maniacally) and like they say, if it doesn't challenge you, it doesn't change you.

So today I woke up feeling pretty gross, but I was unusually NOT exhausted.  You know in movies when people wake up and they're like "hooray, a new day!"  No?  Me either.  But today wasn't that bad.  I mean, I didn't jump up and start skipping around my room helping the birds and squirrels make my bed, but I managed to get up and dressed without cursing the day.  I stopped, thought about how sick I was REALLY feeling (and not just that "yup, I'm sick enough, no gym!" gut reaction) and realized that while I should probably take it easy, I really wasn't that sick. 

So I went to the gym.  I worked out my upper body (since my lower body got beat to hell yesterday), then decided to do a medium walk on the treadmill with an incline.  So every 5 minutes I'd add .5 to the incline, finally reaching 4, and then brought it back down.  It was tough, but I wasn't gasping for breath and pouring sweat like I usually am.  Plus, when I got off my butt HUUUUURT!  Wow!  But in a good way!  I made sure to spray down everything I used so I wouldn't spread my grossness, so don't yell at me.  I burned 525 calories with an hour of walking, so I took it easy but still got a good workout in.

All in all, here are the points I'm trying to make:

If you're feeling sick or sore or injured, take a step back and ask yourself if it's a GENUINE reason not to work out, or just an excuse.

If you're not feeling 100% but you aren't bedridden, it's okay to work out.  Take it slow, reduce the weights, listen to your body.

If you are really sick or injured or even just exhausted, IT'S OKAY TO TAKE A BREAK!  REALLY!  One day or even a couple days will not send you back to the starting line.  It may take a couple of days (or longer, depending on how sick or injured you are) to get back to where you were, but the more you stick with it, the faster your recovery will be.  Pushing yourself when your body is telling you NO will only make things worse.

A Week for Awesome

I've been having kind of a rough week.  My middle kid is having problems at school and it's really affecting me.  "Asperger's" and "sensory disorder" have been thrown around quite a bit.  And I admit it, a not-so-small part of me just wants to put my fingers in my ears and say "NANANANANA!" as loud as I can to drown out any bad stuff.  But you can't do that when you're a mom, so onward!  Sometimes when things get rough you need to say "screw this!  Let's get awesome!"

If you read my blog, you know that on Tuesday I ran EIGHT FREAKIN' MILES and set a new personal record.  Well friends, I did it again.  Today I not only ran 7 mph on the treadmill (a few weeks ago I literally could not get my legs to move that fast), but ran 7.3 mph... and then 7.5 mph!  It was only for a minute at a time since I was doing sprints, but I was really excited!  And the cool thing about running super fast is that your normal speed feels too slow when you go back to it, which means you WANT to run faster.  This meant that I beat my best 5k time by 27 seconds.  I actually ran 3.2 miles, so I know I did quite a bit better than that, but math and I aren't the best of friends and I'm way to lazy to figure out what my time was minus a tenth of a mile.  But I'll be happy with my 27 second improvement. 

I have to say, it felt really good to go in there, kick some butt and feel good about something.  You always hear stuff like "exercise makes you happy and gives you energy!" and you're sitting there thinking "really?  It just makes me sweaty, irritable and exhausted!"  But after a few months of working out... I have changed my views.  Well, sort of- I'm still sweaty and exhausted, but I feel great and the exhaustion is often followed by bursts of energy throughout the day every time I think about how awesome I did at the gym that day.  But I will admit that at the beginning, it was hard.  I was tired all the time.  I took naps.  Like a baby.  Or an old person.  But it gets better, I promise!  You just have to stick it out and remember that you're tired from all the AWESOME you were throwing out today.  So go.  Throw out some awesome.

Ah, Push It!

After my 8 mile run yesterday, I was pretty exhausted.  I woke up this morning still pretty tired and wondering what the heck I was going to do at the gym today when I really just wanted to curl back up in bed.  I got up and got dressed in my workout clothes and then went to wake the kids up and start getting them ready for school.  My husband is working nights this week, so he told me he would get our oldest on the bus if I could take the middle one to school (I take the youngest with me to the gym).  He went out to warm up the car for me and then came in to tell me that everything was covered in a sheet of ice.  I went out to load the kids up and yup, sure enough, the driveway was an ice skating rink.  At one point my husband slid down the drive from top to bottom, then proceeded to run back up... only he was slipping down the whole time.  I started to freak.  A little ice, I can deal with.  I actually rather enjoy drifting through slippery corners.  But a sheet of ice everywhere?  I trust my own driving, I don't trust anyone else's- at all.  It briefly went through my mind that this was a pretty good excuse for not going to the gym.  But my husband went out and checked the street for me and it was, in fact, clear of ice.  So off I went.

The husband was right, the roads were all de-iced.  I made it to the gym in one piece.  Still didn't want to work out, but I was there so SOMETHING was going to happen.  When my friend Patti showed up, I asker her what she wanted to do today.  I figured I would do whatever she wanted since if I did whatever I wanted I'd still be at home sleeping.  She said she wanted to do legs.  LEEEEEGS!  I ran 8 miles yesterday, woman!  I can't do legs!  But in all honesty, my legs were feeling pretty good and this was my reason for joining the gym in the first place- I can run at home, but I don't have many options for weight lifting.  So I agreed and we got started.  The first squat machine felt almost too easy when I did my trial lift, so I bravely went and found two 25 lb weights to add.  Patti put two 10 lb weights on hers (a different type of squat machine) and we would do a set, switch, do a set, switch, do a set, switch.  By the end of the first set I was thinking my extra 50 lbs might not have been such a good idea.  By the second set, I knew it.  By the third, my legs were jelly.  But instead of complaining I said "hey, wanna do arms today too??"  So after legs we did some arms!  We didn't do our normal routine, but tried free weights instead, so that was fun.  There was only one set of 5 lb weights and one set of 7.5 lb weights and I was stuck with the 7.5 lb ones for most of the workout because we kept forgetting to switch until we were already halfway through a set.  But I just kept thinking "quit complaining!  No pain, no gain!  If it doesn't challenge you, it doesn't change you!"  And I did it.  Now my arms AND legs were jelly.  I'm thinking tomorrow should be core/chest/back and I can just kill my entire body all at once.

After lifting we hit the treadmills and I decided to just walk my miles today.  I kept it brisk (any faster and I would've had to jog), and Patti did run/walk intervals.  She gave me some crap about not walking at an incline, so I set it at 1%.  After all, my quads were already jelly and I'd like to be able to walk tomorrow.  I put in 2.5 miles, keeping my heart rate in the fat burning zone almost the entire time. 

All in all, it was a good workout.  And it could've been NO workout and probably would've been 6 months ago.  I am trying so hard to not only NOT QUIT, but to PUSH IT.  Push my limits.  Push what I think I can do.  Push those cupcakes away.  Mmmm, cupcakes.  But really, they say the definition of insane is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  I've been doing the same thing for 5 months now and I keep expecting things to happen- my weight to go down, my body to change- and it's not happening.  I need to step it up, push myself harder than I did the day before.  I WANT to feel tired but accomplished.  I WANT to feel achy muscles and know that tomorrow I'll be stronger for it.  I WANT to know, when I'm lean and fit and strong, that I did that.  Just me.  I made me awesome.  I can't wait.

A New Personal Record!

Last night I was going over the numbers and I realized I was already 4 miles behind on my running.  You see, I have a goal to run 1000 miles this year, and in order to do that I've chosen to run 3 miles a day.  This gives me a little wiggle room (3 miles x 365 days in the year is 1095) but I don't like getting behind.  It makes me feel like giving up, and that is not an option!  I was well ahead at the end of January with about 100 miles under my belt, but February has just sucked in mileage.  So anyway, I'm doing the math and I turn to my husband and say "I'm four miles behind!  That means I'll need to do seven miles tomorrow; three for the day and four to catch up!"  He laughed.  LAUGHED!  As if I couldn't run 7 miles.  Granted, I never have before, but I did do 6.65 last week and that's pretty close.

With my husband's mocking laugh rattling around in my brain, I headed to the gym with a mission- not only was I going to get caught up, I was going to get AHEAD again! Eight freakin' miles, baby.  I had two hours, the limit on childcare, but I figured I do 6.2 in 1h20, I could bust out another 2 miles in 40 minutes. 

So I start running.  At mile 4 I get a text message from my husband that just says "HI" and I look up and he's sitting at the table in the gym entryway, watching me.  I wave him over and he asks how I'm doing, gives me some encouragement, fills up my water bottle, goes and visits our son in the child care room and then leaves.  It was a nice break, but talking with him has left me out of breath and thrown off my groove.  I'm starting to debate just doing a 10K (6.2) and calling it good.

At 5.38 miles my treadmill decides I've been on long enough (a 60 minute workout and 5 minute "cool down" where I didn't cool down) and shuts down.  I contemplate quitting, but start it back up again.  I realize I only have 2.62 miles until I reach 8 miles.  That is SO doable! 

I hit my 10K at 1h15 minutes exactly, my goal for myself to finish the St. Patty's Day race this year.  YAY! I'm so excited that I once again contemplate quitting as celebration.  NO!  NO!  Bad Cass!  Keep going!

I am pretty tired and starting to get hungry.  I had a 90 calorie granola bar before starting and I'm thinking that wasn't enough.  I tell myself that if I feel really bad, I can still stop at 7 miles and be caught up.  But that 7 miles comes and I just HAVE to finish it out strong.  I once again consider just stopping at 7.5 miles because... well, I'm freaking bored and I have to go get my son out of childcare soon.  But I stuck with it.  I decide to walk the last half mile as my cool down, but at a brisk pace.  Eight miles done.  I did it.  I know in the grand scheme of running, 8 miles isn't much.  There are people out there running that daily, doing marathons and ultramarathons, but they all started somewhere and I bet they all felt pretty damn good the first time they ran eight miles.

*For the record, my husband is actually really supportive.  I think his mocking laugh was really only in my head.  Whatever it takes, right??