Sunday, 3 November 2013
I'm Batman......
So my husband's cousins M and L were at the lake this last August long weekend,and offered us their paddle boards to try.
Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with this item of sports equipment,its kind of like a surfboard,same shape and relatively same length.
( I wouldn't really know,as I have only seen a surfboard in a cartoon)
The idea is that you kneel, sit or stand on the board, and paddle yourself around for fun. It sounds really familiar, like I have heard stories of this before but can't remember where.....
Anyway, not necessarily MY idea of fun,
(perhaps if there were some oiled up beefcake with an ice cream sundae waiting to paddle me around, we'd be in business) but in keeping up with the idea of trying new things to stay fit and on track, I was game.
The other and more obvious reason to try it out, was that I wanted to beat Mike at it.
I am super competitive, and terribly stubborn.
I like to be the best.
Or at least very competent at it, and usually on the first try, or I give up.
Just ask my needlepoint, knitting and oil painting sitting neglected in my closet.
So armed with this giant slab of plastic, my oar, my husband and my determination to be amazing at this paddle boarding thing, we set out to the beach at Sylvan lake.
Being the cocky SOB I normally am, I tried to stand on the board as soon as it hit the water. Made it 2 inches before I fell off. But there was a big wave from a douche on a power boat,so not my fault.
Clearly I was sabotaged.
Once we were in deeper water, both Mike and I tried to mount the boards. There is a trick to this, being that the water has to be high enough to keep the board at waist level, any higher and your center of gravity is fucked and you cant get out of the water. Took me 3 attempts before I learnt this lesson.
The other thing I will mention before continuing is my swimsuit. I have had the bottoms since 2010, so the elastic is shot. That coupled with my weight loss made them a bit baggy. The top I had bought when I was still breastfeeding, and had quite a bit of baby weight still attached. So also, very baggy. This will be an important point later on in the story.
Getting on the board is kind of like getting out of a pool, if the pool deck was constantly moving and only 2 feet wide. I felt a bit like a walrus, flopping on an iceberg. Something about this also sounds familiar......
While I was getting bucked off the board like a drunk cowboy at a rodeo, Mike gets to the standing position. How did this happen?! I am immediately satisfied with the universe when he takes a huge header in to the lake.
(Don't get all bent outta shape, I made sure he was okay before I celebrated the fall.)
I manage to finally make it on to the board, only to slide off the other side.
I got back on it, only to capsize the whole thing.
Back on, d-bag comes back and wave knocks me over.
Back on, but my bare ass is hanging out, my husband kindly informs me.
(at least it was facing him, not the small crowd that has gathered on the beach to watch this fiasco)
Back on, top of swimsuit catches the grips on the board and my tits almost come tumbling out, facing the crowd this time.
Back on, face plant into the water as soon as I try to kneel.
Back on, made it to kneel!!
I took a small rest at this point, as pulling yourself out of the water a few times is enough to turn anyone's arms to pool noodles.
Mike has given up trying to stand, and instead sits and paddles himself around the buoys, his legs dangling over the sides of the board. What is it about that pose that is so familiar....
Got it.
Shark Week.
That's where I have seen these shark buffet boards before!
These boards are what almost every shark attack victim I have ever seen on shark week was riding at the time of attack!!
From below,with your legs dangling over the edge of the board, sharks think you are a seal, or a walrus.
Like me, flopping and thrashing in the water, trying to get back on the board.
I would have for sure looked like a distressed seal. And lunch.
Now I am sitting in the board, legs drawn up, wielding my oar like a light sabre against imaginary sharks in a freshwater lake in the middle of a landlocked province.
Mike, once I explained what the hell I was doing, and he stops laughing at his crazy wife, starts to hum the Jaws theme song. Asshole.
(For the record I know that there are no sharks in Sylvan Lake. I have just watched a shitload of Shark week and got a little paranoid for a minute.)
Now I am really determined to show the husband who is boss, so I try to pop up on the board, which according to the episode of My Pet Monster where they go to the surfing competition, is when you try to quickly stand on the board.
I get to a strange version of downward dog, with my ass up in the air, swim bottoms barely clinging to my flat ass, and my hands on the board in front of me.
I am stuck, and I think my left nipple may be hanging out. Fuck.
My cousin had told me that people get so good at paddle boarding that they even do yoga on them.
Minus the stuck part, I have the yoga part nailed.
I just knew I'd be great at this.
I manage to slide my hands up my legs, now it looks like I am just catching my breath on the board.
Just as I try to fully stand, back into the water I go.
The crowd on the sidewalk overlooking the lake is surely laughing at me, but they are so far away I cant hear them. I'll show them, I'll show EVERYONE!!.
Every time I fall off the board, I can hear Michael Caine from Batman Begins. "Why do we fall Master Wayne? So we can learn to pick ourselves up."
I will do this.
I will do this.
I AM BATMAN!!!
I have now been in and out of the water over 25 times, trying to stand on this board. I haven't even got to the paddling part yet.
Mike leaves me in the water, as hes tired and wants to go back to see our son.
I tell him I will be in as soon as I get this thing under my belt. He just nods and says "I know. Be careful."
Wouldn't you know it, as soon as he leaves the water, I stand up on the board.
I raise my arms like Rocky Balboa and the six random people on the shore start cheering and clapping, including my husband.
I get cocky again, by trying to get the paddle in the water, and the worlds biggest belly flop happens.
After an hour or so at this paddle boarding thing, I have it down. I even got the paddle in the water, while standing on the board, and forward motion was achieved.
And I did it before Mike.
Mission accomplished.
Tuesday, 1 October 2013
work it....work it...
So lets talk clothes.
I love clothes.
My husband loves clothes.
After cleaning my sons closet yesterday it's apparent he has inherited this love of fashion.
If you would have asked me before I started running what I thought "Athletic Fashion" was, I would have shown you my favourite episode of 'Malcolm in the Middle'.
In this episode, the dad (Bryan Cranston) takes up speed walking, and dons a leotard and colour coordinated aerodynamic helmet that kinda looks like a sperm.
Hilarious.
Another example I have are my cousin's.
They are very elite bike riders, and do a huge ride for charity every year.
They even have the shoes that lock into the pedals. Hardcore.
They ride hundreds of kilometres on these bikes, the ones with the itty bitty tires and the equally small, ass violating seats.
I had never seen them in their riding gear, but let me tell you....somethings you can't unsee....
M, is a medium build guy, mostly suit wearing.
Prior to this I had never seen him in anything more revealing than a t-shirt, and considering the fur body sweater he wears year round, there was not that much actual skin showing..
He sauntered out on to the deck in what was essentially a unitard of spandex, his wall to wall carpeting billowing in the wind like a field of hairy grass.
I tried very hard to maintain eye contact, but the prison guard training took over, and I ended up looking for contraband in the short shorts.
Don't mistake my intentions here folks, I love my husband very very much, but I am a trained observer.
I have just been trained to look for people concealing objects, and it looked like M was smuggling fruit across the border, and doing a terrible job at it.
(Hopefully this doesn't make it too awkward around the Thanksgiving Day table...)
L's outfit was better, probably because she doesn't impersonate a Grizzly bear when wearing shorts.
I really liked her shirt, it had these built in pockets on her back, very efficient.
The shorts were, however, very...athletically specific shall we say.
Long distance riding is very hard on your lady bits, she explained, and so ladies shorts have a padded gusset.
(Just so you know, I really hate the word 'gusset'. Its like nails on a chalkboard.)
It kinda looked like she had a small pillow sewn to her ass. Weird.
My point is that even though some of these clothes look ridiculous, and leave NOTHING to the imagination, they have a function to the athlete.
When I started running, my clothes were primarily used to hide my jiggling. The largest T-shirts, the biggest hoodies, and my pregnancy yoga pants.
I looked longingly at "learn to run Barbie", the tiny chick in my learn to run class who NEVER wore a sports bra, was always wrapped in low cut culty spandex from head to toe, and whose ass looked like it was carved out of granite.
It didn't even move when she ran. W...T...F...!!!!
(It is my personal opinion that in order to do one of these beginner classes, you should look like a beginner, be jiggly, and sweat profusely while wheezing curse words, not look like a Sports Illustrated model.)
Each week I would have to stare at Granite Ass while I jiggled and sweated out hundreds of terrible food choices from the past 15 months. It felt like I walked out of a sauna every time I went running. It wasn't pretty, and sure didn't smell so great either.
Turns out I was wearing all the wrong stuff. Wrong materials that is.
So I began my collection of new clothes for running. Oh darn, clothes shopping...say it ain't so. ;)
The great thing about running clothes is they are unabashedly crazy.
Like 1980's colour schemes on speed.
Reflective stripes, mesh details, fancy pockets.
And NOTHING left to the imagination.
Camel toe avoidance had never been on my mind more.
My first pair of running pants, or tights, were skin tight. Like you could feel the pattern on my granny panties tight. I felt naked. Nothing like feeling like you are running naked beside Granite ass. Every bulge, roll and orange peel looking inch of my ass and thunder thighs was squeezed into these suckers, and I was going to RUN in them?
Think running in a pair of panty hose. Crotch slipping to your knees, elephant ankles, and the dreaded butt crack hanging out. Lucky for me I was wearing a long shirt. I put serious thought into wearing Mike's suspenders to hold them up. I exchanged them instead. Turns out I was a size smaller. :)
The sheer amount of clothing you need to go running is bonkers.
I have a fuel belt, this water bottle, cell phone holder hot pink belt that sits under my boobs.
You need the high end technical fabric everything. Don't even think of wearing a cotton t-shirt.
You'll get laughed out of your running class, and you'll likely freeze to death in the winter.
This fabric wicks moisture, keeps your skin cool, keeps your ass from looking like a water bed and has vents to air out your junk. Some of them have wind proof seams and water resistance.
My pants have more jobs than most adults I know.
I now have a whole drawer of slippery skin tight fabric in eye piercing colours, and I am always on the lookout for more.
I really do love them.
I slide on my tights, my hot pink shirt and shoes and fuel belt, my neck warmer (or Buff, like from Survivor) and put on my running music.
Its taken me 10 weeks but I finally look and FEEL like someone who runs.
And it feels great.
I love clothes.
My husband loves clothes.
After cleaning my sons closet yesterday it's apparent he has inherited this love of fashion.
If you would have asked me before I started running what I thought "Athletic Fashion" was, I would have shown you my favourite episode of 'Malcolm in the Middle'.
In this episode, the dad (Bryan Cranston) takes up speed walking, and dons a leotard and colour coordinated aerodynamic helmet that kinda looks like a sperm.
Hilarious.
Another example I have are my cousin's.
They are very elite bike riders, and do a huge ride for charity every year.
They even have the shoes that lock into the pedals. Hardcore.
They ride hundreds of kilometres on these bikes, the ones with the itty bitty tires and the equally small, ass violating seats.
I had never seen them in their riding gear, but let me tell you....somethings you can't unsee....
M, is a medium build guy, mostly suit wearing.
Prior to this I had never seen him in anything more revealing than a t-shirt, and considering the fur body sweater he wears year round, there was not that much actual skin showing..
He sauntered out on to the deck in what was essentially a unitard of spandex, his wall to wall carpeting billowing in the wind like a field of hairy grass.
I tried very hard to maintain eye contact, but the prison guard training took over, and I ended up looking for contraband in the short shorts.
Don't mistake my intentions here folks, I love my husband very very much, but I am a trained observer.
I have just been trained to look for people concealing objects, and it looked like M was smuggling fruit across the border, and doing a terrible job at it.
(Hopefully this doesn't make it too awkward around the Thanksgiving Day table...)
L's outfit was better, probably because she doesn't impersonate a Grizzly bear when wearing shorts.
I really liked her shirt, it had these built in pockets on her back, very efficient.
The shorts were, however, very...athletically specific shall we say.
Long distance riding is very hard on your lady bits, she explained, and so ladies shorts have a padded gusset.
(Just so you know, I really hate the word 'gusset'. Its like nails on a chalkboard.)
It kinda looked like she had a small pillow sewn to her ass. Weird.
My point is that even though some of these clothes look ridiculous, and leave NOTHING to the imagination, they have a function to the athlete.
When I started running, my clothes were primarily used to hide my jiggling. The largest T-shirts, the biggest hoodies, and my pregnancy yoga pants.
I looked longingly at "learn to run Barbie", the tiny chick in my learn to run class who NEVER wore a sports bra, was always wrapped in low cut culty spandex from head to toe, and whose ass looked like it was carved out of granite.
It didn't even move when she ran. W...T...F...!!!!
(It is my personal opinion that in order to do one of these beginner classes, you should look like a beginner, be jiggly, and sweat profusely while wheezing curse words, not look like a Sports Illustrated model.)
Each week I would have to stare at Granite Ass while I jiggled and sweated out hundreds of terrible food choices from the past 15 months. It felt like I walked out of a sauna every time I went running. It wasn't pretty, and sure didn't smell so great either.
Turns out I was wearing all the wrong stuff. Wrong materials that is.
So I began my collection of new clothes for running. Oh darn, clothes shopping...say it ain't so. ;)
The great thing about running clothes is they are unabashedly crazy.
Like 1980's colour schemes on speed.
Reflective stripes, mesh details, fancy pockets.
And NOTHING left to the imagination.
Camel toe avoidance had never been on my mind more.
My first pair of running pants, or tights, were skin tight. Like you could feel the pattern on my granny panties tight. I felt naked. Nothing like feeling like you are running naked beside Granite ass. Every bulge, roll and orange peel looking inch of my ass and thunder thighs was squeezed into these suckers, and I was going to RUN in them?
Think running in a pair of panty hose. Crotch slipping to your knees, elephant ankles, and the dreaded butt crack hanging out. Lucky for me I was wearing a long shirt. I put serious thought into wearing Mike's suspenders to hold them up. I exchanged them instead. Turns out I was a size smaller. :)
The sheer amount of clothing you need to go running is bonkers.
I have a fuel belt, this water bottle, cell phone holder hot pink belt that sits under my boobs.
You need the high end technical fabric everything. Don't even think of wearing a cotton t-shirt.
You'll get laughed out of your running class, and you'll likely freeze to death in the winter.
This fabric wicks moisture, keeps your skin cool, keeps your ass from looking like a water bed and has vents to air out your junk. Some of them have wind proof seams and water resistance.
My pants have more jobs than most adults I know.
I now have a whole drawer of slippery skin tight fabric in eye piercing colours, and I am always on the lookout for more.
I really do love them.
I slide on my tights, my hot pink shirt and shoes and fuel belt, my neck warmer (or Buff, like from Survivor) and put on my running music.
Its taken me 10 weeks but I finally look and FEEL like someone who runs.
And it feels great.
Sunday, 22 September 2013
The reason Part 2......
I have directly correlated my lack of blog posts to my Son mastering his walking.
He tears my whole house apart approximately 6 times throughout the course of the day, and after all that, I can barely shower, let alone be funny and articulate.
But anyways, sorry again, and thanks to all of you who kicked my ass back in front of the keyboard.
So we'll finish cataloguing 2012, starting in July.
Mike was having some abdominal pain, enough to double him over on occasion. He took himself into the hospital, where a battery of tests were performed. The doctors suspected an abscess on his colon, but due to a clerical issue, the file was never passed on to the medical data base thingy. So no one knew he had this thing when he started his incredibly aggressive chemotherapy.
August 2012....
Mike starts his super aggressive chemotherapy regimen. The rounds are three weeks long starting with an IV, followed by 2 weeks of pills. Certain health regions don't even cover this treatment it's so expensive. As a now 7 month pregnant woman, the oncologists recommended I stay very far away from Mike if he is sick, as the chemo was so toxic it could harm the baby. Imagine your newlywed husband, sick from chemo, heaving in the washroom, and you can't go near him or risk the health of your unborn son. It was pretty awful.
September 2012....
Mike continues his treatments, and is sick all the time. The mysterious pain attacks him, rendering him immobile for hours at a time. All he wants to do is sleep. I still can't go near him when he's sick, and I have to sit and hear him, unable to help. Lots of people talk about going through the stages of grief when you deal with something like this. I did the denial thing for about a week, hoping that this was all some sort of horrible mistake. My husband was 27! The average age for colon cancer is 65, so it must be a mistake!
I felt pretty isolated in September, trying to be brave for Mike, and trying to hide my excitement about the baby. I felt like me being pregnant, bringing our first child into the world and all the worries and joys that go along with it were me being selfish. How could I be happy at a time like this? I mean, people have babies all the time right? That's nothing out of the ordinary. I should be able to focus my energy and try to be there for my cancer patient husband. Forget that insecurity or pain from carrying our baby, the sleepless nights and the sheer stress of everything we were going through riding on my shoulders, I should be focused on Mike, because he has Cancer. Let me tell you, the guilt of those thoughts still ring through my brain to this day, and it almost killed me.
October 2012...
Mikes chemotherapy serendipitously lands right on my due date, so the nurses rush him through his treatment so he can come home and wait with me. After having a large McDonald's lunch (forget that Castor oil myth, try a big mac to induce labour!) I began having contractions around 11 pm. By 230 am I had gotten up and started timing them. In between contractions I packed Mike a lunch kit full of snacks, so he wouldn't forget to eat and get sick while I was in labour.
At 623 pm, October 11, 2012, we welcomed Jacob into the world. I was elated, and so happy that this Cancer bullshit could leave us alone for the birth of our son.
This is where I slipped into the anger stage of grieving.
Mike was so tired after his chemo the day before, he slept and slept and slept the first night in the hospital. I had to have a C-section, so was pretty immobile, and could have used his help. But his body was so drained I had to do the parenting by myself, essentially cut in half and with dangerously low blood pressure.
This continued for a few weeks afterward, I felt like he was shirking his daddy duties, and I had to pick up the slack. Breastfeeding was a disaster, as I needed his help to position the baby, but he was so sick and tired, plus the pain in his gut kept getting worse, so help was spotty at best.
I felt angry, abandoned, and seriously thought he was jealous of the baby.
November 2012...
My anger has turned into guilt fuelled resentment, layered with more guilt for feeling that way, and another layer of guilt for not being a better wife, person etc.
I mean, who gets mad at a guy with Cancer?
Terrible people like me I thought.
I ate alot in November, an epic amount to try and smother my pain and insecurities.
Mike goes in complaining of this terrible pain in his belly for 3 rounds of chemo, nine weeks, and they send him home with ex-lax and a pat on the head, as his blood work showed no issues. He finally spikes a fever, and they rush him to the hospital. He is diagnosed with an abscess (sound familiar?) and they try a few treatments.
Seeing my husband shivering in septic shock definitely makes my top ten crap moments of all time.
He would spend a month in the hospital, undergoing another major surgery to eliminate the abscess and fight the infection. I spent the whole of this season in the depressed stage of grief, crying every time I left my newborn with my Mother in Law to visit my husband in the Hospital. I cried in the shower, I cried while feeding my son, I cried while getting dressed. I'm sure I looked like hell the entire month.
December 2012...
5 days before Christmas, Mike is able to come home. I am now not only responsible for a newborn, but my husbands IV nutrition, and the dressing of his wound, which can take upwards of an hour to change. But he's home and we are back together again.
I know that this is a pretty heavy subject, and I'm sorry for having to write it, when I can brighten your day with a funny anecdote instead.
I promise the next post will be just that, but as I stated before, this is the whole reason I started this blog, this journey to run a race,which has become so much more for me.
I wouldn't wish what happened to my family on my worst enemy, and I certainly don't want my children to have to go through it.
I just needed to write this all down so I could go back and remind myself why I continue to put one foot in front of the other every time I lace up my running shoes.
I want to raise the money to stop this shit from happening to anyone else.
He tears my whole house apart approximately 6 times throughout the course of the day, and after all that, I can barely shower, let alone be funny and articulate.
But anyways, sorry again, and thanks to all of you who kicked my ass back in front of the keyboard.
So we'll finish cataloguing 2012, starting in July.
Mike was having some abdominal pain, enough to double him over on occasion. He took himself into the hospital, where a battery of tests were performed. The doctors suspected an abscess on his colon, but due to a clerical issue, the file was never passed on to the medical data base thingy. So no one knew he had this thing when he started his incredibly aggressive chemotherapy.
August 2012....
Mike starts his super aggressive chemotherapy regimen. The rounds are three weeks long starting with an IV, followed by 2 weeks of pills. Certain health regions don't even cover this treatment it's so expensive. As a now 7 month pregnant woman, the oncologists recommended I stay very far away from Mike if he is sick, as the chemo was so toxic it could harm the baby. Imagine your newlywed husband, sick from chemo, heaving in the washroom, and you can't go near him or risk the health of your unborn son. It was pretty awful.
September 2012....
Mike continues his treatments, and is sick all the time. The mysterious pain attacks him, rendering him immobile for hours at a time. All he wants to do is sleep. I still can't go near him when he's sick, and I have to sit and hear him, unable to help. Lots of people talk about going through the stages of grief when you deal with something like this. I did the denial thing for about a week, hoping that this was all some sort of horrible mistake. My husband was 27! The average age for colon cancer is 65, so it must be a mistake!
I felt pretty isolated in September, trying to be brave for Mike, and trying to hide my excitement about the baby. I felt like me being pregnant, bringing our first child into the world and all the worries and joys that go along with it were me being selfish. How could I be happy at a time like this? I mean, people have babies all the time right? That's nothing out of the ordinary. I should be able to focus my energy and try to be there for my cancer patient husband. Forget that insecurity or pain from carrying our baby, the sleepless nights and the sheer stress of everything we were going through riding on my shoulders, I should be focused on Mike, because he has Cancer. Let me tell you, the guilt of those thoughts still ring through my brain to this day, and it almost killed me.
October 2012...
Mikes chemotherapy serendipitously lands right on my due date, so the nurses rush him through his treatment so he can come home and wait with me. After having a large McDonald's lunch (forget that Castor oil myth, try a big mac to induce labour!) I began having contractions around 11 pm. By 230 am I had gotten up and started timing them. In between contractions I packed Mike a lunch kit full of snacks, so he wouldn't forget to eat and get sick while I was in labour.
At 623 pm, October 11, 2012, we welcomed Jacob into the world. I was elated, and so happy that this Cancer bullshit could leave us alone for the birth of our son.
This is where I slipped into the anger stage of grieving.
Mike was so tired after his chemo the day before, he slept and slept and slept the first night in the hospital. I had to have a C-section, so was pretty immobile, and could have used his help. But his body was so drained I had to do the parenting by myself, essentially cut in half and with dangerously low blood pressure.
This continued for a few weeks afterward, I felt like he was shirking his daddy duties, and I had to pick up the slack. Breastfeeding was a disaster, as I needed his help to position the baby, but he was so sick and tired, plus the pain in his gut kept getting worse, so help was spotty at best.
I felt angry, abandoned, and seriously thought he was jealous of the baby.
November 2012...
My anger has turned into guilt fuelled resentment, layered with more guilt for feeling that way, and another layer of guilt for not being a better wife, person etc.
I mean, who gets mad at a guy with Cancer?
Terrible people like me I thought.
I ate alot in November, an epic amount to try and smother my pain and insecurities.
Mike goes in complaining of this terrible pain in his belly for 3 rounds of chemo, nine weeks, and they send him home with ex-lax and a pat on the head, as his blood work showed no issues. He finally spikes a fever, and they rush him to the hospital. He is diagnosed with an abscess (sound familiar?) and they try a few treatments.
Seeing my husband shivering in septic shock definitely makes my top ten crap moments of all time.
He would spend a month in the hospital, undergoing another major surgery to eliminate the abscess and fight the infection. I spent the whole of this season in the depressed stage of grief, crying every time I left my newborn with my Mother in Law to visit my husband in the Hospital. I cried in the shower, I cried while feeding my son, I cried while getting dressed. I'm sure I looked like hell the entire month.
December 2012...
5 days before Christmas, Mike is able to come home. I am now not only responsible for a newborn, but my husbands IV nutrition, and the dressing of his wound, which can take upwards of an hour to change. But he's home and we are back together again.
I know that this is a pretty heavy subject, and I'm sorry for having to write it, when I can brighten your day with a funny anecdote instead.
I promise the next post will be just that, but as I stated before, this is the whole reason I started this blog, this journey to run a race,which has become so much more for me.
I wouldn't wish what happened to my family on my worst enemy, and I certainly don't want my children to have to go through it.
I just needed to write this all down so I could go back and remind myself why I continue to put one foot in front of the other every time I lace up my running shoes.
I want to raise the money to stop this shit from happening to anyone else.
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
The Reason....
I'm so sorry I haven't written in a while, the whole month of August has seemed to slip through my fingers.
I've started about 3 different posts, and I can't seem to finish them.
I think it has to do with me going back to work in a month.
Its made me reflect on the past year and a half,and all the craziness its brought.
Ultimately this is the reason I'm even writing this, and why I started running in the first place.
We'll start in May of 2011...
Mikes dad Bob, had just passed away. It rocked my husband, my Mother in Law, and our whole family. It was very sudden, and left us with a big whole in our hearts.
We were just a few months into our engagement, and the wedding was in September. We both considered calling the whole thing off and going to a Justice of the Peace, but instead we soldiered on, and honoured Dad in our wedding. This is when Mikes symptoms began.
He would be in considerable pain going to the washroom, certain foods really did a number on him, and he would occasionally bleed. Having a family history of intestinal issues, Mike knew it was important to figure out what this was, so he could manage it.
We found a new family doctor in November, and he ran a gamut of tests, but always told Mike he thought it would just turn out to be irritable bowel syndrome. Mike pushed and pushed, insisting it was more than that. Finally, just to shut him up ( I assume) the doctor sent him for another test. This one came back positive for blood, and Mike was referred to a surgeon for more tests.
January 2012...
I hadn't been feeling very well, and I suspected I was pregnant. When a few drugstore tests came back with strong positives, I bought a tiny little tshirt, and presented it to Mike at work. We were going to have a baby! His belly issues were forgotten, and we celebrated the beginning of our new family.
I was super sick the whole first trimester, and when the Surgeon called and made an appointment to see Mike and do more tests, I wasn't well enough to go. The Surgeon also didn't think it was anything too serious, but scheduled a colonoscopy to be sure. Mike had his colonoscopy on April 25th, while I went to tell my grandma about her great grand child. The Surgeon said he had found some strange tissue, but would probably turn out to be something routine, he wasn't worried at all.
May 2012....
We got a call on a Friday morning from the surgeons office, asking us to come in ASAP, instead of on Monday. We asked if everything was okay, and the receptionist told us that the Surgeon's wife was in labour. Assuming that was the reason for the urgency, we told them we'd be in on Monday, and not to worry about it. I cant even remember what we did that weekend, the last blissfully ignorant weekend of our lives, but knowing us, we went to Walmart. lol
Monday came, and armed with our iced caps and the belief that all the Doctors were probably right, and it was just some silly little thing, we went to see the Surgeon. We were immediately whisked past the waiting room, and the Surgeon came in right away.
I used to smoke, so after seeing the cigarette packages for years, indicating that they cause cancer, I knew exactly what was involved when the Surgeon said the word 'Carcinoma', while talking about Mikes test results. My husband didn't say too much, but being hormonal and 5 months pregnant, my world had just crashed around my feet, and I wept.
I wept for my husband, having this terrible ugly thing invade his 27 year old body. I wept for my unborn son, and hoped that this cancer wouldn't deprive him of a father before he took his first breath. I wept for myself, because I had just rediscovered the love of my life, we had started this beautiful family, and I didn't want to have to do it alone. I wept for my mother in law, who just lost her husband, and was faced with the possibility of losing her only son to a disease that she herself had been fighting for years.
June 2012...
Mike was fast tracked into surgery a month after his diagnosis, and it was a full, scary month. Everyone always says they'll do a will just in case,but to sit in the room and make plans for a future with out your husband, with the real possibility of it looming over you, is entirely different.
The morning Mike went in, I told him he had promised me 61 years together in his Valentines card, and I wasn't accepting excuses today, so he'd better wake up in 3 hours. Then I made some jokes about his sexy circulation stockings, and he was wheeled into surgery. I haven't been that scared in my whole life. They told me to expect about 3 hours in surgery, and after the third hour, he still wasn't out yet. I was tired, hungry and completely on edge, thinking the very worst. I looked outside and saw about 15 butterflies, right up against the window, and thought about what a beautiful day it was,and how unfair it was that Mike had to do this. After 5 gruelling hours,the Surgeon finally came out, and let us know that Mike was OK. They had discovered the tumour was much bigger than they had seen on the scans, and they had to get it all. Mike had made it out, and he was going to his room.
I spent as much time as I could at the hospital with him, until my own doctor told me to get some rest, or it would hurt the baby. I took all my vacation to be with him, and took him to all his appointments when he got out of the hospital. I just wanted to be with him all the time, making sure I spent every possible minute with my husband and best friend.
This is only the first half of our story.
I've started about 3 different posts, and I can't seem to finish them.
I think it has to do with me going back to work in a month.
Its made me reflect on the past year and a half,and all the craziness its brought.
Ultimately this is the reason I'm even writing this, and why I started running in the first place.
We'll start in May of 2011...
Mikes dad Bob, had just passed away. It rocked my husband, my Mother in Law, and our whole family. It was very sudden, and left us with a big whole in our hearts.
We were just a few months into our engagement, and the wedding was in September. We both considered calling the whole thing off and going to a Justice of the Peace, but instead we soldiered on, and honoured Dad in our wedding. This is when Mikes symptoms began.
He would be in considerable pain going to the washroom, certain foods really did a number on him, and he would occasionally bleed. Having a family history of intestinal issues, Mike knew it was important to figure out what this was, so he could manage it.
We found a new family doctor in November, and he ran a gamut of tests, but always told Mike he thought it would just turn out to be irritable bowel syndrome. Mike pushed and pushed, insisting it was more than that. Finally, just to shut him up ( I assume) the doctor sent him for another test. This one came back positive for blood, and Mike was referred to a surgeon for more tests.
January 2012...
I hadn't been feeling very well, and I suspected I was pregnant. When a few drugstore tests came back with strong positives, I bought a tiny little tshirt, and presented it to Mike at work. We were going to have a baby! His belly issues were forgotten, and we celebrated the beginning of our new family.
I was super sick the whole first trimester, and when the Surgeon called and made an appointment to see Mike and do more tests, I wasn't well enough to go. The Surgeon also didn't think it was anything too serious, but scheduled a colonoscopy to be sure. Mike had his colonoscopy on April 25th, while I went to tell my grandma about her great grand child. The Surgeon said he had found some strange tissue, but would probably turn out to be something routine, he wasn't worried at all.
May 2012....
We got a call on a Friday morning from the surgeons office, asking us to come in ASAP, instead of on Monday. We asked if everything was okay, and the receptionist told us that the Surgeon's wife was in labour. Assuming that was the reason for the urgency, we told them we'd be in on Monday, and not to worry about it. I cant even remember what we did that weekend, the last blissfully ignorant weekend of our lives, but knowing us, we went to Walmart. lol
Monday came, and armed with our iced caps and the belief that all the Doctors were probably right, and it was just some silly little thing, we went to see the Surgeon. We were immediately whisked past the waiting room, and the Surgeon came in right away.
I used to smoke, so after seeing the cigarette packages for years, indicating that they cause cancer, I knew exactly what was involved when the Surgeon said the word 'Carcinoma', while talking about Mikes test results. My husband didn't say too much, but being hormonal and 5 months pregnant, my world had just crashed around my feet, and I wept.
I wept for my husband, having this terrible ugly thing invade his 27 year old body. I wept for my unborn son, and hoped that this cancer wouldn't deprive him of a father before he took his first breath. I wept for myself, because I had just rediscovered the love of my life, we had started this beautiful family, and I didn't want to have to do it alone. I wept for my mother in law, who just lost her husband, and was faced with the possibility of losing her only son to a disease that she herself had been fighting for years.
June 2012...
Mike was fast tracked into surgery a month after his diagnosis, and it was a full, scary month. Everyone always says they'll do a will just in case,but to sit in the room and make plans for a future with out your husband, with the real possibility of it looming over you, is entirely different.
The morning Mike went in, I told him he had promised me 61 years together in his Valentines card, and I wasn't accepting excuses today, so he'd better wake up in 3 hours. Then I made some jokes about his sexy circulation stockings, and he was wheeled into surgery. I haven't been that scared in my whole life. They told me to expect about 3 hours in surgery, and after the third hour, he still wasn't out yet. I was tired, hungry and completely on edge, thinking the very worst. I looked outside and saw about 15 butterflies, right up against the window, and thought about what a beautiful day it was,and how unfair it was that Mike had to do this. After 5 gruelling hours,the Surgeon finally came out, and let us know that Mike was OK. They had discovered the tumour was much bigger than they had seen on the scans, and they had to get it all. Mike had made it out, and he was going to his room.
I spent as much time as I could at the hospital with him, until my own doctor told me to get some rest, or it would hurt the baby. I took all my vacation to be with him, and took him to all his appointments when he got out of the hospital. I just wanted to be with him all the time, making sure I spent every possible minute with my husband and best friend.
This is only the first half of our story.
Wednesday, 31 July 2013
There wasn't even an ice cream truck around!
DISCLAIMER- If you haven't figured it out by now, I have a salty dialogue. I am too risque to even make any money from ads on this blog. So if anything offends you, STOP READING!!
I want you to read, obviously, but I don't want to hear how my language gets your panties on a wad.
Thanks, sorry I even had to post that.
So as I mentioned last week, I began my run clinic at The Running Room this Monday.
Just a quick bump. The staff at the Nameo store were very nice to me, even though it is painfully obvious I have NO IDEA how to run or be a runner.
I walked in with my baby, who was actively trying to destroy the store, and somehow was able to sign the start up paperwork.
The manager even held the paper down so I could sign it and wrestle the baby to the counter.
So all day Monday I was doing the nervous dance. I felt like I had restless leg syndrome, or I was possessed by a polka dancer. Like my legs KNEW what was coming, and were trying to get away before I subjected them to such torture.
Who could blame them really? After a year and a half of doing nothing more strenuous then walking to the fridge and back to the couch, I was freaking out as well.
While the baby was napping, I started to get dressed. (only 5 hours ahead of time)
It felt like a first date.
I wanted to impress these running strangers.
I think I changed my shirt about 5 times, trying to get the proper blend of hidden but not tent like.
First impressions last a lifetime, and I didn't want to experience the hot yoga class wardrobe fail again.
When you sign up for a clinic, you get this spiffy shirt, with the Running Room logo right across the love jugs. Talk about prime advertising space. I wonder how much Coca Cola would pay for that.....
Anyways, while I have proudly worn the shirt around the house, walking around the lake,to Walmart, and while on the elliptical, I was scared to go to my clinic with it on.
Why? Well unlike when I do the head nod to the people running around the lake,
(as if to say, "Hey, I'm a runner too, just look at my boobs. I just have to go slow because of the baby.")
The people at the Running Room are real runners.
They will see me jiggling down the lane, huffing and heaving my life away.
*Side note- My kid loves it when I run with him. He often screams at me when we slow down. He also enjoys base jumping off the stairs and having all the windows in the car rolled down so the wind can whip his hair around.*
The other reason I chose to wear an old t shirt was the material. The nifty shirt from the Running Room is that super slinky sweat wicking stuff, and you can see EVERYTHING. Every roll, every bulge, and all the side boob spillage you can ever imagine.
Did I mention the two bras I chose to don?
After having my left boob almost pop right out of the single bra during one of my own runs last week, drastic measures had to be taken to ensure no further nip slips happened.
I gave very serious thought to duct tape.
So I get to the clinic, and I quickly look around. Hoping to not be the chubby girl. I can handle the funny one, or even the quiet one (even though its a stretch) but I hate being the chubby girl in class.
We have some old, some young, some skinny and a few of us who know our way around a cheese ball. Whew, definitely not to be singled out, this is good.
The clinic begins with a talk about nutrition. I feel have been doing very well here, I even order salad when I go to the Golden arches now. Yay me.
(Although to be fair I would seriously harm someone who got in the way of me and a Quarter Pounder.)
I find out quickly I am eating too much, not the right stuff, and at all the wrong times. (Not that she was pointing and scolding me, but in my head I was kicking my own ass.) I sat in the second row, with the nasty feeling in the pit of my gut, like I was being called to the principals office. With the nausea rolling around from being a terrible eater and the nerves of embarrassing myself while running, I was a wreck.
We start out on our run, and I feel like I'm going to puke. I could just get back in my car and have a cheeseburger and the world would be a happy place once again. No one would have to know, I could fake a phone call or something and be out quick. Then the instructor, who looks like a kindergarten teacher, all smiles and kind words, yells "RUN" and I get caught up in the pack.
Don't pee your pants Liz. Don't puke. Don't pass out. Don't have an asthma attack.
This is my inner chant as I find my pace. When you run, the instructor tells us, you should be able to have a conversation comfortably, or your pace is too fast.
A most of my conversations with strangers are uncomfortable anyways, so I try to strike up a few.
It goes as expected, they think I'm funny for a nanosecond, then I offend them in some way.
Story of my life.
Before you know it, we are turning around to head back to the store. Surely this can't be it? Seven measly minutes of running? I say as much to the assistant instructor, who assures me this is how you build endurance.
"Only practice this 3 times a week. The biggest mistake people make when they start is over doing it."
You don't say? That's never happened to me before.
I spent the next day and a half wondering if that was some sort of joke they play on new runners, just to make us feel good about ourselves for not keeling over, only to have the next class be a marathon.
But it was just the same. In fact, easier. I was hardly puffing, I had a conversation with someone who appreciates the word fuck as much as I do, and I could have ran back to the store instead of walking.
Now here's the test. I'm away for the next week. The new run rhythm is run for a minute, walk for a minute, repeat ten times. Only ten times!
I am very optimistic about all this tonight.
Thanks for reading, it keeps me going to know that someone cares how this is progressing for me.
I want you to read, obviously, but I don't want to hear how my language gets your panties on a wad.
Thanks, sorry I even had to post that.
So as I mentioned last week, I began my run clinic at The Running Room this Monday.
Just a quick bump. The staff at the Nameo store were very nice to me, even though it is painfully obvious I have NO IDEA how to run or be a runner.
I walked in with my baby, who was actively trying to destroy the store, and somehow was able to sign the start up paperwork.
The manager even held the paper down so I could sign it and wrestle the baby to the counter.
So all day Monday I was doing the nervous dance. I felt like I had restless leg syndrome, or I was possessed by a polka dancer. Like my legs KNEW what was coming, and were trying to get away before I subjected them to such torture.
Who could blame them really? After a year and a half of doing nothing more strenuous then walking to the fridge and back to the couch, I was freaking out as well.
While the baby was napping, I started to get dressed. (only 5 hours ahead of time)
It felt like a first date.
I wanted to impress these running strangers.
I think I changed my shirt about 5 times, trying to get the proper blend of hidden but not tent like.
First impressions last a lifetime, and I didn't want to experience the hot yoga class wardrobe fail again.
When you sign up for a clinic, you get this spiffy shirt, with the Running Room logo right across the love jugs. Talk about prime advertising space. I wonder how much Coca Cola would pay for that.....
Anyways, while I have proudly worn the shirt around the house, walking around the lake,to Walmart, and while on the elliptical, I was scared to go to my clinic with it on.
Why? Well unlike when I do the head nod to the people running around the lake,
(as if to say, "Hey, I'm a runner too, just look at my boobs. I just have to go slow because of the baby.")
The people at the Running Room are real runners.
They will see me jiggling down the lane, huffing and heaving my life away.
*Side note- My kid loves it when I run with him. He often screams at me when we slow down. He also enjoys base jumping off the stairs and having all the windows in the car rolled down so the wind can whip his hair around.*
The other reason I chose to wear an old t shirt was the material. The nifty shirt from the Running Room is that super slinky sweat wicking stuff, and you can see EVERYTHING. Every roll, every bulge, and all the side boob spillage you can ever imagine.
Did I mention the two bras I chose to don?
After having my left boob almost pop right out of the single bra during one of my own runs last week, drastic measures had to be taken to ensure no further nip slips happened.
I gave very serious thought to duct tape.
So I get to the clinic, and I quickly look around. Hoping to not be the chubby girl. I can handle the funny one, or even the quiet one (even though its a stretch) but I hate being the chubby girl in class.
We have some old, some young, some skinny and a few of us who know our way around a cheese ball. Whew, definitely not to be singled out, this is good.
The clinic begins with a talk about nutrition. I feel have been doing very well here, I even order salad when I go to the Golden arches now. Yay me.
(Although to be fair I would seriously harm someone who got in the way of me and a Quarter Pounder.)
I find out quickly I am eating too much, not the right stuff, and at all the wrong times. (Not that she was pointing and scolding me, but in my head I was kicking my own ass.) I sat in the second row, with the nasty feeling in the pit of my gut, like I was being called to the principals office. With the nausea rolling around from being a terrible eater and the nerves of embarrassing myself while running, I was a wreck.
We start out on our run, and I feel like I'm going to puke. I could just get back in my car and have a cheeseburger and the world would be a happy place once again. No one would have to know, I could fake a phone call or something and be out quick. Then the instructor, who looks like a kindergarten teacher, all smiles and kind words, yells "RUN" and I get caught up in the pack.
Don't pee your pants Liz. Don't puke. Don't pass out. Don't have an asthma attack.
This is my inner chant as I find my pace. When you run, the instructor tells us, you should be able to have a conversation comfortably, or your pace is too fast.
A most of my conversations with strangers are uncomfortable anyways, so I try to strike up a few.
It goes as expected, they think I'm funny for a nanosecond, then I offend them in some way.
Story of my life.
Before you know it, we are turning around to head back to the store. Surely this can't be it? Seven measly minutes of running? I say as much to the assistant instructor, who assures me this is how you build endurance.
"Only practice this 3 times a week. The biggest mistake people make when they start is over doing it."
You don't say? That's never happened to me before.
I spent the next day and a half wondering if that was some sort of joke they play on new runners, just to make us feel good about ourselves for not keeling over, only to have the next class be a marathon.
But it was just the same. In fact, easier. I was hardly puffing, I had a conversation with someone who appreciates the word fuck as much as I do, and I could have ran back to the store instead of walking.
Now here's the test. I'm away for the next week. The new run rhythm is run for a minute, walk for a minute, repeat ten times. Only ten times!
I am very optimistic about all this tonight.
Thanks for reading, it keeps me going to know that someone cares how this is progressing for me.
Saturday, 27 July 2013
Asses Asses Everywhere.....
So before I begin with the Hot yoga post, I just want to say a few things.
Last night I got into a discussion with some other people regarding an issue I'm extremely passionate about.
I did not agree with what they said, so I expressed my own opinion.
I grant you, my opinion was dripping in sarcasm, and I may have used the words "tree hugging", but not vulgar by any stretch of the imagination.
I am a great believer in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. I think that hundreds and hundreds of men and women have died so that you and I can express ourselves freely.
I was shocked and furious when I was censored by the site administrator for being offensive. She didn't just censor me, but everyone who had anything to say about the issue. A total power move.
Anyway, I have given this too much of my time and attention. If this wine guzzling, fake tan,Barbie doll Stepford,plastic,bored shithead wants to have her own little circle jerk, go nuts. I have my own, and we don't infringe on your rights and freedoms here. :)
Now back to uncensored awesomeness.....
I have been trying to drop a few pounds before my running class starts on Monday,so I don't have to wear my Spanx to jog, and I had heard all about how amazing hot yoga is for weight loss.
Seemed like my kinda deal, sit in a nice warm room, sweat a little, stretch and listen to soft music.
The studio was so serene, and had free tea, fruit and mats.
Sounded like a vacation.
When I got to the studio, the first thing I noticed was my clothes.
I was dressed like a bum.
(or an exhausted mom, its pretty much the same thing some days)
My faded pair of Walmart yoga Capri's, and an ancient Old Navy tank top. I was immediately surrounded by a sea of Lycra, in eye piercingly loud colors,all sporting that goofy symbol that reminds me that the company that makes those clothes meets the criteria for cult status.
(I'm serious. Go do some reading. It'll make you think twice before you shell out 120 bucks to wear sweatpants.)
Also I was the only person with a plastic disposable water bottle, which made most of the girls look at me like I was toting around a dead puppy. FML
I rolled out my mat,in the very back of the class, and took a few mins to enjoy the warmth, the low lighting and the soothing Asian music. Just give me a glass of wine and I'd be set.
Besides,when you live with a 9 month old who can scoot around like greased lighting, any quiet,still moment is like winning the lottery.
The instructor comes into the room, and is also cloaked in Culty Spandex. Microscopic scraps of Culty Spandex that probably cost more than my car payment. I immediately dislike her.
So its not too warm in the room, just nice. The poses are okay, hard but not too bad.
I go down in my plank pose, then up to cobra and BAM!
The handle bars ALL came out. Rows and rows of sweaty asses, sucked into Culty Lycra, with thongs riding so high I was shocked they weren't slicing the girls in half.
The girls and I have talked about thongs and full backs under leggings, but this was crazy.
I am almost positive the instructor was mud-flapping it (no underwear) as her shorts could have doubled as dental floss.
So up and down I went, sun salutation,downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Sun salutation, downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Who wears a lilac lace thong to hot yoga? Unbelievable.
There is no wicking capability there...like none.
About halfway through the class, someone opened the door to Hell and things got crazy.
I was sweating EVERYWHERE, and thought I was going to pass right out.
Nice first yoga class, pass out in a hot,sweaty mess while the cult bunnies are just glistening like perfect thong wearing, Lycra wrapped rotisserie chickens.
Knowing my luck I would have let out the giant fart I was holding in the whole class just to really solidify my dead puppy carrying, sweaty homeless woman ensemble I was inadvertently going for.
I can barely hold up my downward dog, my feet are soaked and wrinkly.
I did a move backwards, as my cognition was slipping away, and the chick besides me smartly tells me "You're doing it wrong".
If she was 10 years younger, I would have flicked my sweaty hand across her face, but in my messy state, I wasn't sure I could have kicked her greased up old ass. No one wants to get beat up by a grandma in 300 dollar active wear.
Finally Mud Flap Yogi calls it a day.
An hour has elapsed, and I almost passed out 3 times.
I sit in my child's pose, noisily dripping sweat on my mat like a leaky faucet.
My clothes are soaked, and I'm panting like a dog. I managed to do most of the poses, and only laughed at the instructor once when she tried to get me to do this super crazy move where I was only balancing on the ball of one foot. Yeah, I'll get right on that.
I did feel pretty good afterward, but I get the same feeling after sitting in the sauna for a half hour. And there are no soggy thongs staring me in the face there.
Clear winner in my opinion.
I will take the creepy leering old men in the Sauna anyday.
Not too many thongs in there thank goodness.
Last night I got into a discussion with some other people regarding an issue I'm extremely passionate about.
I did not agree with what they said, so I expressed my own opinion.
I grant you, my opinion was dripping in sarcasm, and I may have used the words "tree hugging", but not vulgar by any stretch of the imagination.
I am a great believer in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. I think that hundreds and hundreds of men and women have died so that you and I can express ourselves freely.
I was shocked and furious when I was censored by the site administrator for being offensive. She didn't just censor me, but everyone who had anything to say about the issue. A total power move.
Anyway, I have given this too much of my time and attention. If this wine guzzling, fake tan,Barbie doll Stepford,plastic,bored shithead wants to have her own little circle jerk, go nuts. I have my own, and we don't infringe on your rights and freedoms here. :)
Now back to uncensored awesomeness.....
I have been trying to drop a few pounds before my running class starts on Monday,so I don't have to wear my Spanx to jog, and I had heard all about how amazing hot yoga is for weight loss.
Seemed like my kinda deal, sit in a nice warm room, sweat a little, stretch and listen to soft music.
The studio was so serene, and had free tea, fruit and mats.
Sounded like a vacation.
When I got to the studio, the first thing I noticed was my clothes.
I was dressed like a bum.
(or an exhausted mom, its pretty much the same thing some days)
My faded pair of Walmart yoga Capri's, and an ancient Old Navy tank top. I was immediately surrounded by a sea of Lycra, in eye piercingly loud colors,all sporting that goofy symbol that reminds me that the company that makes those clothes meets the criteria for cult status.
(I'm serious. Go do some reading. It'll make you think twice before you shell out 120 bucks to wear sweatpants.)
Also I was the only person with a plastic disposable water bottle, which made most of the girls look at me like I was toting around a dead puppy. FML
I rolled out my mat,in the very back of the class, and took a few mins to enjoy the warmth, the low lighting and the soothing Asian music. Just give me a glass of wine and I'd be set.
Besides,when you live with a 9 month old who can scoot around like greased lighting, any quiet,still moment is like winning the lottery.
The instructor comes into the room, and is also cloaked in Culty Spandex. Microscopic scraps of Culty Spandex that probably cost more than my car payment. I immediately dislike her.
So its not too warm in the room, just nice. The poses are okay, hard but not too bad.
I go down in my plank pose, then up to cobra and BAM!
The handle bars ALL came out. Rows and rows of sweaty asses, sucked into Culty Lycra, with thongs riding so high I was shocked they weren't slicing the girls in half.
The girls and I have talked about thongs and full backs under leggings, but this was crazy.
I am almost positive the instructor was mud-flapping it (no underwear) as her shorts could have doubled as dental floss.
So up and down I went, sun salutation,downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Sun salutation, downward dog, runner, plank, cobra, THONGS.
Who wears a lilac lace thong to hot yoga? Unbelievable.
There is no wicking capability there...like none.
About halfway through the class, someone opened the door to Hell and things got crazy.
I was sweating EVERYWHERE, and thought I was going to pass right out.
Nice first yoga class, pass out in a hot,sweaty mess while the cult bunnies are just glistening like perfect thong wearing, Lycra wrapped rotisserie chickens.
Knowing my luck I would have let out the giant fart I was holding in the whole class just to really solidify my dead puppy carrying, sweaty homeless woman ensemble I was inadvertently going for.
I can barely hold up my downward dog, my feet are soaked and wrinkly.
I did a move backwards, as my cognition was slipping away, and the chick besides me smartly tells me "You're doing it wrong".
If she was 10 years younger, I would have flicked my sweaty hand across her face, but in my messy state, I wasn't sure I could have kicked her greased up old ass. No one wants to get beat up by a grandma in 300 dollar active wear.
Finally Mud Flap Yogi calls it a day.
An hour has elapsed, and I almost passed out 3 times.
I sit in my child's pose, noisily dripping sweat on my mat like a leaky faucet.
My clothes are soaked, and I'm panting like a dog. I managed to do most of the poses, and only laughed at the instructor once when she tried to get me to do this super crazy move where I was only balancing on the ball of one foot. Yeah, I'll get right on that.
I did feel pretty good afterward, but I get the same feeling after sitting in the sauna for a half hour. And there are no soggy thongs staring me in the face there.
Clear winner in my opinion.
I will take the creepy leering old men in the Sauna anyday.
Not too many thongs in there thank goodness.
Friday, 19 July 2013
Music is my religion.- Jimi Hendrix
Anyone who has known me for more than a few days knows a few key things about me and my life.
1) Don't talk to me about religion. I have held my views for a very long time, did all my research and everyone ends up not liking what I have to say.
2) Food and drink and the comfort and ritual of them make me happy. I didn't bake 30 cupcakes and decorate them to make you feel uncomfortable or like less of a person, but to make you feel welcome and special in my home. Deal with it.
3) I love music. Mostly any kind. If I had no TV and only a radio (which has happened a few times in my past) I would be totally fine.
Besides books, music is my greatest pleasure. Just look at my credit card statement at any given time and that's what you will see, Kobo and Itunes charges.
I listen to spa music,nature instrumentals,symphony recordings, ambient music,classic rock, death metal,angry chick rock, soul,jazz,r&b,dance,dubstep,electronica,Latin music, Thai rock, country,folk, top 40 pop,rap,Elvis and everything else in between.
My Itunes is chock full of all sorts crazy music, and I love it.
This eclectic music obsession comes directly from my Family. I was exposed to so much when I was a kid. My mom had cassettes of every imaginable musical genre, and always had the radio on in the car or at home.
My grandma liked country music, and when you only had 3 TV stations, 4 if the weather was good and you adjusted the bunny ears, music saved your sanity.
The other great thing about this musical buffet was my innate ability to remember lyrics. Its my Rain man thing. Once I hear a song about twice, I can recall all the lyrics once the song begins to play.
My mom used to brag to her friends that her 6 year old could sing "Mustafa" (from Queen's Jazz Album) which is sung in English, Arabic and Parsi. Still can BTW.
So when I thought about music in respect to running, I had alot to choose from.
Sports teams and players all have a "pump up" song.
Some use their national anthem, others popular songs.
My best friend in high school had an older brother who played hockey.
Him and his best friend used to listen to "Lighting Crashes" by Live and Tom Petty's "Free Falling" before a game.
For those who have never heard these songs, go Google it.
I still laugh just thinking about these two tough guys, heading to a violent sport, singing their hearts out to what I consider the least energising songs.
But it worked for them,which is all that matters.
So I asked you my dear readers, what do you listen to to get you pumped up?
I was hoping to use some of the suggestions on my own playlist.
While Miley Cyrus' "We can't stop" was mentioned, I'm afraid my KISS army card would be immediately revoked if I downloaded it. Gene Simmons would know......
Same with Justin Bieber. When I hear the words "As long as you love me", all I see is the Backstreet Boys. And I am in a good place with that.
"Sail" by Awolnation is a great song, but for running purposes, get a remix, with a faster beat. Totally added to my Ipod.
"State of Massachusetts" by the Drop Kick Murphy's also made my cut, as I have been a fan of theirs since "Kiss me I'm Shitfaced" was first sung on St. Patty's day.
I also did some trolling of my own, and found that if you type in Workout music in the Istore, alot of music comes up.
Beware of the remakes. Some are decent, and you really cant make out that its not the original artist, and some sound like bad karaoke.There is this track of "Sexy and I know it" that sounds like William Shatner sang it in a Spanish accent.
Too funny.
My "get my ass" in gear song is "Move ya body" by Nina Sky. I also enjoy "Stronger" by Kanye West (Even though I think he's a dick)
I always start my workout with "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke feat. T.I and Pharrell.
Will I Am is always a good pump up listen, even with the Beib's in "Power" and Brittney Spears in "Scream and Shout".
Music drives me, and its been working, as I have increased my total run time to 17 Min's. Not bad for someone who used to be winded climbing the stairs to my bedroom.
Next week-Hot yoga.
1) Don't talk to me about religion. I have held my views for a very long time, did all my research and everyone ends up not liking what I have to say.
2) Food and drink and the comfort and ritual of them make me happy. I didn't bake 30 cupcakes and decorate them to make you feel uncomfortable or like less of a person, but to make you feel welcome and special in my home. Deal with it.
3) I love music. Mostly any kind. If I had no TV and only a radio (which has happened a few times in my past) I would be totally fine.
Besides books, music is my greatest pleasure. Just look at my credit card statement at any given time and that's what you will see, Kobo and Itunes charges.
I listen to spa music,nature instrumentals,symphony recordings, ambient music,classic rock, death metal,angry chick rock, soul,jazz,r&b,dance,dubstep,electronica,Latin music, Thai rock, country,folk, top 40 pop,rap,Elvis and everything else in between.
My Itunes is chock full of all sorts crazy music, and I love it.
This eclectic music obsession comes directly from my Family. I was exposed to so much when I was a kid. My mom had cassettes of every imaginable musical genre, and always had the radio on in the car or at home.
My grandma liked country music, and when you only had 3 TV stations, 4 if the weather was good and you adjusted the bunny ears, music saved your sanity.
The other great thing about this musical buffet was my innate ability to remember lyrics. Its my Rain man thing. Once I hear a song about twice, I can recall all the lyrics once the song begins to play.
My mom used to brag to her friends that her 6 year old could sing "Mustafa" (from Queen's Jazz Album) which is sung in English, Arabic and Parsi. Still can BTW.
So when I thought about music in respect to running, I had alot to choose from.
Sports teams and players all have a "pump up" song.
Some use their national anthem, others popular songs.
My best friend in high school had an older brother who played hockey.
Him and his best friend used to listen to "Lighting Crashes" by Live and Tom Petty's "Free Falling" before a game.
For those who have never heard these songs, go Google it.
I still laugh just thinking about these two tough guys, heading to a violent sport, singing their hearts out to what I consider the least energising songs.
But it worked for them,which is all that matters.
So I asked you my dear readers, what do you listen to to get you pumped up?
I was hoping to use some of the suggestions on my own playlist.
While Miley Cyrus' "We can't stop" was mentioned, I'm afraid my KISS army card would be immediately revoked if I downloaded it. Gene Simmons would know......
Same with Justin Bieber. When I hear the words "As long as you love me", all I see is the Backstreet Boys. And I am in a good place with that.
"Sail" by Awolnation is a great song, but for running purposes, get a remix, with a faster beat. Totally added to my Ipod.
"State of Massachusetts" by the Drop Kick Murphy's also made my cut, as I have been a fan of theirs since "Kiss me I'm Shitfaced" was first sung on St. Patty's day.
I also did some trolling of my own, and found that if you type in Workout music in the Istore, alot of music comes up.
Beware of the remakes. Some are decent, and you really cant make out that its not the original artist, and some sound like bad karaoke.There is this track of "Sexy and I know it" that sounds like William Shatner sang it in a Spanish accent.
Too funny.
My "get my ass" in gear song is "Move ya body" by Nina Sky. I also enjoy "Stronger" by Kanye West (Even though I think he's a dick)
I always start my workout with "Blurred Lines" by Robin Thicke feat. T.I and Pharrell.
Will I Am is always a good pump up listen, even with the Beib's in "Power" and Brittney Spears in "Scream and Shout".
Music drives me, and its been working, as I have increased my total run time to 17 Min's. Not bad for someone who used to be winded climbing the stairs to my bedroom.
Next week-Hot yoga.
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Beating the Sweater Meat, THE SEQUEL-Two Against One.....
So I was going to write about music this week, but the fascination with the bozongas has forced to me have a second part to the story.
I realise, as I always do AFTER I post something, that I kinda cut the shopping trip part short in order to not sound rambly.
While I like Grampa Simpson, I'd rather not sound like him. Although a mid-blog nap does sound really good right now.......
Anyways, the sports bra I ended up taking home is working fine. If you don't mind the side boob.
And the muffin top titties. Oh and don't forget the back fat....never forget about the back fat.
You see when I picked this torture device off the rack, I only looked at the band width, which is 42. I am a 40-42.
So I thought this would be an easy fit.
But I was wrong. So very wrong.
While it did pass the drunk girl bouncy test in the dressing room, what I didn't tell you is I had to get into it one hooter at a time.
Let me walk you through how that worked.
For those of you with kids, you know how this first step looks.
Put the bra over my head and squeeze the bingo wings through the minuscule arm holes.
Its okay if it looks like Play-Doh coming out of the press, that's what its supposed to look like
Next I stand there looking like I am Houdini in the straight jacket, arms still partially up, and pray I can get this bitch off later without cutting it.
With my tits still hanging down to my belly button, naturally.
Somehow I managed some leverage, enough to reach thru the top of the bra, pulling whatever I could grab through the vacuum packing, getting one fun bag half into the bra. Now I have one full boob hanging out of the bra, and the other is almost all in, except my nipple, with is still due south, but partially covered.
At least at this point I could lower my arms. Yay me.
With one tater tot in, I stuffed the other one up into the sausage casing, happy to no longer look like a sideshow attraction.
I really did look like someone had tied a rope around a tube of biscuit dough. There were parts of me hanging and bulging out everywhere.
Thelma and Louise were not happy about the forcible confinement, and were trying to make a break for it from multiple angles.
Now to the arrangement. I felt like I was working on a Bonsai tree, I did so many tweaks on the Dairy Bombs.
No,to the left, now the right, too much side boob, top spillage....push`em back down.
Too much under boob!! Wait wait, now there are four!! How are there four??
Lets worry about the front, the back can wait a minute.
Nipples! They should be pointing ahead, not east west and south. Ahead, not hiding under the armpits!!
This sports bra, which was obviously meant for a smaller cup sized 42, actually did fit, it just took me 10 mins to squeeze into.
Passed the jiggle test, once adjusted, and kept the Girls flat as pancakes.
Which was the whole point.
I could care less how it looks, as long as I don't get knocked out while running.
I haven`t been knocked out while running (yet) BTW.
So now you know the lengths in which I went to subdue my milk cannons.
I`ll let you know how Hot Yoga went, and the Music topic you all were expecting tonight.
:)
I realise, as I always do AFTER I post something, that I kinda cut the shopping trip part short in order to not sound rambly.
While I like Grampa Simpson, I'd rather not sound like him. Although a mid-blog nap does sound really good right now.......
Anyways, the sports bra I ended up taking home is working fine. If you don't mind the side boob.
And the muffin top titties. Oh and don't forget the back fat....never forget about the back fat.
You see when I picked this torture device off the rack, I only looked at the band width, which is 42. I am a 40-42.
So I thought this would be an easy fit.
But I was wrong. So very wrong.
While it did pass the drunk girl bouncy test in the dressing room, what I didn't tell you is I had to get into it one hooter at a time.
Let me walk you through how that worked.
For those of you with kids, you know how this first step looks.
Put the bra over my head and squeeze the bingo wings through the minuscule arm holes.
Its okay if it looks like Play-Doh coming out of the press, that's what its supposed to look like
Next I stand there looking like I am Houdini in the straight jacket, arms still partially up, and pray I can get this bitch off later without cutting it.
With my tits still hanging down to my belly button, naturally.
Somehow I managed some leverage, enough to reach thru the top of the bra, pulling whatever I could grab through the vacuum packing, getting one fun bag half into the bra. Now I have one full boob hanging out of the bra, and the other is almost all in, except my nipple, with is still due south, but partially covered.
At least at this point I could lower my arms. Yay me.
With one tater tot in, I stuffed the other one up into the sausage casing, happy to no longer look like a sideshow attraction.
I really did look like someone had tied a rope around a tube of biscuit dough. There were parts of me hanging and bulging out everywhere.
Thelma and Louise were not happy about the forcible confinement, and were trying to make a break for it from multiple angles.
Now to the arrangement. I felt like I was working on a Bonsai tree, I did so many tweaks on the Dairy Bombs.
No,to the left, now the right, too much side boob, top spillage....push`em back down.
Too much under boob!! Wait wait, now there are four!! How are there four??
Lets worry about the front, the back can wait a minute.
Nipples! They should be pointing ahead, not east west and south. Ahead, not hiding under the armpits!!
This sports bra, which was obviously meant for a smaller cup sized 42, actually did fit, it just took me 10 mins to squeeze into.
Passed the jiggle test, once adjusted, and kept the Girls flat as pancakes.
Which was the whole point.
I could care less how it looks, as long as I don't get knocked out while running.
I haven`t been knocked out while running (yet) BTW.
So now you know the lengths in which I went to subdue my milk cannons.
I`ll let you know how Hot Yoga went, and the Music topic you all were expecting tonight.
:)
Thursday, 4 July 2013
Trying to beat my sweater meat......
Wow, thank you for all the great euphemisms for boobies, I will try my best to use as many as I possibly can. :)
So for those of you who haven't met me in person, I am...well I am not hurting in the ta-ta department.
A little history on my knockers...
I was, as I have said, not chubby in high school.
I had great little blouse bunnies, solid C cup, and while they were big on my frame, it was absolutely possible to walk into a La Senza and buy off the rack.
My high school BF, who is now the Hubbs, thought they were great. (Sorry Mother in Law....)
I had the best rack of all my friends.
I sort wish i would have taken more picture to preserve the memory of how awesome they looked, but now that I write that it just seems a bit weird.
Then I had my love affair with Butter, a threesome with Ben and Jerry, and the twins grew and grew...much like my ass.
And my gut.
And my bingo wings.
I used to have to wear a bullet proof vest at one of my jobs, and after a whole summer molded to my baps, my boss told me they wouldn't be able to reuse the Kevlar, as it was permanently titty-fied.
(My words, He just said he didn't think anyone would "fit" into my vest lol)
The coup de grace, a baby.
Babies fuck up your body.
I love my baby, he is the light of my life, but he left stuff in one hell of a mess.
My once perfect C cups, already destroyed by chicken wings and beer,are now J cups.
J, as in "Holy shit your Jugs are J-normous"
After breastfeeding,rapid weight gain/loss and that douche bag Gravity, my love pillows look like something out of a Salvador Dali painting, all deflated and downward facing.
Why have I talked about my puppies in a running blog?
Because today I had to buy a new running bra.
My current bra is okay,Hubbs says it makes me look like I have a uniboob, but it works alright.
But if I'm going to be moving faster than a brisk walk, I need support.
Picture me standing in the aisle of Walmart, trying on a sports bra over my shirt, to make sure the band was the right size. Classy.
Right band, but bangers looked too National Geographic-y stuffed in to it.
Then a cute pink number.
I was really concerned I was going to have to walk out of the dressing room with my right coconut hanging out, as I got stuck in the bra.
Not my finest moment.
After a few attempts in the actual dressing room, bouncing up and down like a drunk girl on spring break, I found a decent candidate.
Kept the melons reasonably tame in the dressing room, but we'll see how it works in the field.
Will keep you posted...
So for those of you who haven't met me in person, I am...well I am not hurting in the ta-ta department.
A little history on my knockers...
I was, as I have said, not chubby in high school.
I had great little blouse bunnies, solid C cup, and while they were big on my frame, it was absolutely possible to walk into a La Senza and buy off the rack.
My high school BF, who is now the Hubbs, thought they were great. (Sorry Mother in Law....)
I had the best rack of all my friends.
I sort wish i would have taken more picture to preserve the memory of how awesome they looked, but now that I write that it just seems a bit weird.
Then I had my love affair with Butter, a threesome with Ben and Jerry, and the twins grew and grew...much like my ass.
And my gut.
And my bingo wings.
I used to have to wear a bullet proof vest at one of my jobs, and after a whole summer molded to my baps, my boss told me they wouldn't be able to reuse the Kevlar, as it was permanently titty-fied.
(My words, He just said he didn't think anyone would "fit" into my vest lol)
The coup de grace, a baby.
Babies fuck up your body.
I love my baby, he is the light of my life, but he left stuff in one hell of a mess.
My once perfect C cups, already destroyed by chicken wings and beer,are now J cups.
J, as in "Holy shit your Jugs are J-normous"
After breastfeeding,rapid weight gain/loss and that douche bag Gravity, my love pillows look like something out of a Salvador Dali painting, all deflated and downward facing.
Why have I talked about my puppies in a running blog?
Because today I had to buy a new running bra.
My current bra is okay,Hubbs says it makes me look like I have a uniboob, but it works alright.
But if I'm going to be moving faster than a brisk walk, I need support.
Picture me standing in the aisle of Walmart, trying on a sports bra over my shirt, to make sure the band was the right size. Classy.
Right band, but bangers looked too National Geographic-y stuffed in to it.
Then a cute pink number.
I was really concerned I was going to have to walk out of the dressing room with my right coconut hanging out, as I got stuck in the bra.
Not my finest moment.
After a few attempts in the actual dressing room, bouncing up and down like a drunk girl on spring break, I found a decent candidate.
Kept the melons reasonably tame in the dressing room, but we'll see how it works in the field.
Will keep you posted...
Saturday, 29 June 2013
Silly Rabbit.....
Committed a few running/walking sins today...
1) Ate right before walking.
Slept with the little man during am nap,didn't have breakfast. Quickly ate a piece of peanut butter toast before bolting out the door.
Result- By the time I got back,felt like I was going to vomit,with a side of stomach cramps in case I ever felt like eating again.
2) Did not wear a hat.
It was approximately 22 degrees Celsius at 10 am,with no clouds in sight. I have hair like an Alpaca, thick and warm. Great for the winter,not for the summer.
Result- Super dizzy,and I think I may have nuked a brain cell or two.
3) Did not bring a water bottle.
Chubby girl,pushing 20 lb baby in a stroller, no hat,22 degrees out with no water to drink or dump on furnace head. I blame this on number four....
Result-dehydrated, overheated mess upon arrival. I'm very pale (like I make Edward Cullen look Mexican) so my face was beet red,and continues to be pink as I write this.
4) Had Beer.
Not this morning,although there have been times recently where drinking nonstop seems like the solution. We are on vacation, and had a fire last night. Many marshmellows and a few beers were consumed. This apparently made my feet feel like lead,and I almost stopped for a nap on a grassy knoll a block away from being done. May have to give this up for a while,but will test the theory again before I do anything too drastic.
Result- felt like hot ass,with shoes that weighted a million pounds,trudging down the boardwalk.
On the upside I have lost 3 pounds( pre-beer weight) and walked 3.57kms today.
A couple more days until we go home,then hot yoga here I come!
1) Ate right before walking.
Slept with the little man during am nap,didn't have breakfast. Quickly ate a piece of peanut butter toast before bolting out the door.
Result- By the time I got back,felt like I was going to vomit,with a side of stomach cramps in case I ever felt like eating again.
2) Did not wear a hat.
It was approximately 22 degrees Celsius at 10 am,with no clouds in sight. I have hair like an Alpaca, thick and warm. Great for the winter,not for the summer.
Result- Super dizzy,and I think I may have nuked a brain cell or two.
3) Did not bring a water bottle.
Chubby girl,pushing 20 lb baby in a stroller, no hat,22 degrees out with no water to drink or dump on furnace head. I blame this on number four....
Result-dehydrated, overheated mess upon arrival. I'm very pale (like I make Edward Cullen look Mexican) so my face was beet red,and continues to be pink as I write this.
4) Had Beer.
Not this morning,although there have been times recently where drinking nonstop seems like the solution. We are on vacation, and had a fire last night. Many marshmellows and a few beers were consumed. This apparently made my feet feel like lead,and I almost stopped for a nap on a grassy knoll a block away from being done. May have to give this up for a while,but will test the theory again before I do anything too drastic.
Result- felt like hot ass,with shoes that weighted a million pounds,trudging down the boardwalk.
On the upside I have lost 3 pounds( pre-beer weight) and walked 3.57kms today.
A couple more days until we go home,then hot yoga here I come!
Wednesday, 26 June 2013
My dogs are barking....
The good news
I walked 3.5kms the other day, I even jogged for a couple of minutes.
The bad news
My walking route was chosen using a landmark here in Sylvan...The Big Moo. Which is an ice cream shop.
Yeah, I know.
I didn't succumb the first time,but the second walk was capped off with a scoop of 'birthday cake' flavored awesomeness.
I am weak.
I'd like to tell you my little guy looked up at me and begged for a taste before going home,but alas,I cannot.
Seems he loves blueberries (all fruit really)and they don't even have to be encased in ice cream.
But back to the walking part.
I've been breaking in my new running shoes,and let me tell you, I hate breaking in shoes.
Even pretty shoes.
We did over 5 kms today,and by the time we got back to the house, I felt like one of those poor Asian women who had their feet bound.
On the plus side,no blisters yet.
Moisture wicking socks,where have you been all my life?! Oh yeah, with the other 14 dollar a pair socks I'd feel bad using to wipe spilled coffee off my floor with.
Also,running,even lightly,while not wearing a jogging bra is not recommended.
The joke about giving yourself a black eye is a real thing.
I walked 3.5kms the other day, I even jogged for a couple of minutes.
The bad news
My walking route was chosen using a landmark here in Sylvan...The Big Moo. Which is an ice cream shop.
Yeah, I know.
I didn't succumb the first time,but the second walk was capped off with a scoop of 'birthday cake' flavored awesomeness.
I am weak.
I'd like to tell you my little guy looked up at me and begged for a taste before going home,but alas,I cannot.
Seems he loves blueberries (all fruit really)and they don't even have to be encased in ice cream.
But back to the walking part.
I've been breaking in my new running shoes,and let me tell you, I hate breaking in shoes.
Even pretty shoes.
We did over 5 kms today,and by the time we got back to the house, I felt like one of those poor Asian women who had their feet bound.
On the plus side,no blisters yet.
Moisture wicking socks,where have you been all my life?! Oh yeah, with the other 14 dollar a pair socks I'd feel bad using to wipe spilled coffee off my floor with.
Also,running,even lightly,while not wearing a jogging bra is not recommended.
The joke about giving yourself a black eye is a real thing.
Monday, 24 June 2013
Cinderella, Cinderella.....
Well vacation or no vacation, this show has to get on the road sometime.
So today, we went shoe shopping.
Normally this would make me excited beyond words.
I like shoes. A lot.
I have over 20 pairs,and while that does seem low for some of my friends, keep in mind I had to purge my closet after I had the baby.
Did you know your feet grew when you have kids?
Me neither.
I have been researching what kinds of shoes to buy for over a week,learning everything from toe box width,uppers,heel cushioning,over and under pronation and heel toe strikes.
I also found out that running shoe companies use the word 'beefy' to describe us heavy runners.
Nice right?
Gotta say that's a new one.
Anyway, I dragged my husband and my 8 month old around Red Deer,trying to find my perfect shoe.
It was almost as bad as clothes shopping.
These ones are too tight,too wide, too narrow, too loose,too ugly.
These ones pinch,slide,rub,cram my toes and are ugly.
(Just because they have to be functional,doesn't mean they need to make me look like the Hobbit.)
I finally broke down and went to the Running Room,thinking they may have the inside track on what I may need. Crazy theory, I know.
Even with the 15 pound,16 year old trainee helping me ( she looked at me like I had two heads when I said I was training for a 10 k run) I managed to find a great pair of functional,yet pretty shoes.
(Which I will try to post a pic of as soon as I figure out why it won't let me.....grumble grumble grumble.)
They are hot pink, so if you see a chubby chick sweating,wheezing and cussing on the side of the road,say hi!
I will let you know how it goes tomorrow.
Also practiced some deep breathing today, while I jumped off the boat into the icy lake.
Contrary to popular belief,fat is NOT insulating.
So today, we went shoe shopping.
Normally this would make me excited beyond words.
I like shoes. A lot.
I have over 20 pairs,and while that does seem low for some of my friends, keep in mind I had to purge my closet after I had the baby.
Did you know your feet grew when you have kids?
Me neither.
I have been researching what kinds of shoes to buy for over a week,learning everything from toe box width,uppers,heel cushioning,over and under pronation and heel toe strikes.
I also found out that running shoe companies use the word 'beefy' to describe us heavy runners.
Nice right?
Gotta say that's a new one.
Anyway, I dragged my husband and my 8 month old around Red Deer,trying to find my perfect shoe.
It was almost as bad as clothes shopping.
These ones are too tight,too wide, too narrow, too loose,too ugly.
These ones pinch,slide,rub,cram my toes and are ugly.
(Just because they have to be functional,doesn't mean they need to make me look like the Hobbit.)
I finally broke down and went to the Running Room,thinking they may have the inside track on what I may need. Crazy theory, I know.
Even with the 15 pound,16 year old trainee helping me ( she looked at me like I had two heads when I said I was training for a 10 k run) I managed to find a great pair of functional,yet pretty shoes.
(Which I will try to post a pic of as soon as I figure out why it won't let me.....grumble grumble grumble.)
They are hot pink, so if you see a chubby chick sweating,wheezing and cussing on the side of the road,say hi!
I will let you know how it goes tomorrow.
Also practiced some deep breathing today, while I jumped off the boat into the icy lake.
Contrary to popular belief,fat is NOT insulating.
Wednesday, 19 June 2013
My Wii is a dick, and so is the BMI
So here in Edmonton it was a rainy crappy kind of day.
Cold,windy and pissing like an old man.
Needless to say I did not walk around the lake. Not for my sake, but the baby's.
Mom of the year over here...holler....
Instead I decided that I would do some yoga,maybe play some Wii fit.
For those of you that have never played, it can be very fun,and quite challenging. I highly recommend it.
Basically the system creates a profile of you,using a little cartoon,or avatar for those who demand the proper vernacular.
You play all sorts of games to help with balance, strength and such, its super fun.
It tracks your activity,weight,calories burned and calculates your BMI.
(Which we will come back to later, as I have a shit ton to say about that little calculation tool)
Now,when the Wii weighs you,the program pulls its first dick move.
The little cartoon avatar goes from stick figure (looks good) to balloon animal,like someone is inflating them from behind.
Now my Wii me ( or Mii for the sticklers) really looks like me,fat ass,double chins and all. The only thing missing was the fricking ice cream sandwich I was really jonesing for.
And then the program chimes in and announces....'OBESE'!
A chart appears and my BMI is so far off it it looks like one of those bell ringer games at the fair.
DING DING DING!!!
WE HAVE A WHOPPER!!!!
Damn it.
Bad enough the Wii fit board actually sighs when I step on it.
( At least it doesn't scream "GET OFF ME YOU LAND BEAST!!")
Can I just say ( rhetorical question as its my blog) that I REALLY hate the BMI scale?!
Whoever came up with this little equation should be strapped to the floor of a Walmart in Texas on Black Friday.
There are a million different body types out there, and no one is going to fit the Barbie/GI Joe mold perfectly.
I know lots of people who are thin and ridiculously unhealthy, and lots who are heavier and are strong, able bodied people with low cholesterol and crazy good blood pressure.
I have a baby belly, a chubby ass and bingo wings that make me look like Batman in the right light but you know what?
My cholesterol and blood pressure beats Mikes almost every time, and I eat way more crap than he does.
I hate this tool more now than I ever did before, and he is the story behind it.
When I was 8 months pregnant, pushing 260ish, my husband and I bought life insurance.
Cause we are responsible and grown uppy like that.
I had never had any sort of insurance before, (because I am invincible),so they needed a physical.
No worries, I said, its painfully obvious I have another human on board, surely I would get like a 50 lb gimme on whatever I actually came to on the scale right?
The nurse measured me AROUND my stomach,Where Jacob was happily kicking the shit out of my organs,took my weight,and left.
The week after, I get a call from the slick insurance man saying I'm 'morbidly obese' and my insurance rate would go up...alot.
Of course I asked if they realized that it was a human in my belly,not a blue plate special,to which they replied,"the BMI scale we use doesn't factor that in".
W.......T....actual.........F.....???
I have since looked this up on alot of Google searches and I ended up calling the senior manager guy for the insurance agency and stuff, and tore them apart.
BMI is not supposed to be an indicator of healthy weight for pregnant women. Period. End of story.
BECAUSE WE HAVE A HUMAN IN OUR BELLY!!!
My husband rightly lost his shit after getting the whole story out of me in between my sobbing and stuffing cheese in my mouth and went what we like to call "Telus Store"* all over the company.
Threatening all manner of legal action as well as public exposure to what was essentially bullying a pregnant lady and her cancer riddled husband.
*Have you ever been inside a Telus Store? My husband morphs from a generally nice man to a raging Hulk in about 3.8 seconds of stepping into one. Nothing against those who work there, he just gets instantly stabby. Its kinda fun to watch, like seeing a fire and wanting to get marshmellows and chocolate to make smores instead of calling the fire department to put it out. Beautiful in the intensity of the burn.*
True story.
Eventually I was placed on a "Special plan" for people with "medical concerns" and they would reevaluate my "condition" in a years time and then potentially drop my rates.
Yes, I am 100% using the quotation marks in a sarcastic fashion.
*Update-I lost an amazing 25-30 lbs when they came back for my assessment a year later, likely because I had expelled the HUMAN BEING that was freeloading inside me, and they dropped my rates. But not before Telus Store demanded that the insurance guy be fired off our portfolio and I receive a full apology. Because who really makes a pregnant lady cry about her weight? Total dick move*
Moral of the story is that the BMI is an antiquated nasty tool that makes people feel terrible about themselves even though they may be perfectly healthy, and I have not played my Wii fit since.
(Except for the ABBA dance game my mum got me, because I love ABBA and dancing.)
Cold,windy and pissing like an old man.
Needless to say I did not walk around the lake. Not for my sake, but the baby's.
Mom of the year over here...holler....
Instead I decided that I would do some yoga,maybe play some Wii fit.
For those of you that have never played, it can be very fun,and quite challenging. I highly recommend it.
Basically the system creates a profile of you,using a little cartoon,or avatar for those who demand the proper vernacular.
You play all sorts of games to help with balance, strength and such, its super fun.
It tracks your activity,weight,calories burned and calculates your BMI.
(Which we will come back to later, as I have a shit ton to say about that little calculation tool)
Now,when the Wii weighs you,the program pulls its first dick move.
The little cartoon avatar goes from stick figure (looks good) to balloon animal,like someone is inflating them from behind.
Now my Wii me ( or Mii for the sticklers) really looks like me,fat ass,double chins and all. The only thing missing was the fricking ice cream sandwich I was really jonesing for.
And then the program chimes in and announces....'OBESE'!
A chart appears and my BMI is so far off it it looks like one of those bell ringer games at the fair.
DING DING DING!!!
WE HAVE A WHOPPER!!!!
Damn it.
Bad enough the Wii fit board actually sighs when I step on it.
( At least it doesn't scream "GET OFF ME YOU LAND BEAST!!")
Can I just say ( rhetorical question as its my blog) that I REALLY hate the BMI scale?!
Whoever came up with this little equation should be strapped to the floor of a Walmart in Texas on Black Friday.
There are a million different body types out there, and no one is going to fit the Barbie/GI Joe mold perfectly.
I know lots of people who are thin and ridiculously unhealthy, and lots who are heavier and are strong, able bodied people with low cholesterol and crazy good blood pressure.
I have a baby belly, a chubby ass and bingo wings that make me look like Batman in the right light but you know what?
My cholesterol and blood pressure beats Mikes almost every time, and I eat way more crap than he does.
I hate this tool more now than I ever did before, and he is the story behind it.
When I was 8 months pregnant, pushing 260ish, my husband and I bought life insurance.
Cause we are responsible and grown uppy like that.
I had never had any sort of insurance before, (because I am invincible),so they needed a physical.
No worries, I said, its painfully obvious I have another human on board, surely I would get like a 50 lb gimme on whatever I actually came to on the scale right?
The nurse measured me AROUND my stomach,Where Jacob was happily kicking the shit out of my organs,took my weight,and left.
The week after, I get a call from the slick insurance man saying I'm 'morbidly obese' and my insurance rate would go up...alot.
Of course I asked if they realized that it was a human in my belly,not a blue plate special,to which they replied,"the BMI scale we use doesn't factor that in".
W.......T....actual.........F.....???
I have since looked this up on alot of Google searches and I ended up calling the senior manager guy for the insurance agency and stuff, and tore them apart.
BMI is not supposed to be an indicator of healthy weight for pregnant women. Period. End of story.
BECAUSE WE HAVE A HUMAN IN OUR BELLY!!!
My husband rightly lost his shit after getting the whole story out of me in between my sobbing and stuffing cheese in my mouth and went what we like to call "Telus Store"* all over the company.
Threatening all manner of legal action as well as public exposure to what was essentially bullying a pregnant lady and her cancer riddled husband.
*Have you ever been inside a Telus Store? My husband morphs from a generally nice man to a raging Hulk in about 3.8 seconds of stepping into one. Nothing against those who work there, he just gets instantly stabby. Its kinda fun to watch, like seeing a fire and wanting to get marshmellows and chocolate to make smores instead of calling the fire department to put it out. Beautiful in the intensity of the burn.*
True story.
Eventually I was placed on a "Special plan" for people with "medical concerns" and they would reevaluate my "condition" in a years time and then potentially drop my rates.
Yes, I am 100% using the quotation marks in a sarcastic fashion.
*Update-I lost an amazing 25-30 lbs when they came back for my assessment a year later, likely because I had expelled the HUMAN BEING that was freeloading inside me, and they dropped my rates. But not before Telus Store demanded that the insurance guy be fired off our portfolio and I receive a full apology. Because who really makes a pregnant lady cry about her weight? Total dick move*
Moral of the story is that the BMI is an antiquated nasty tool that makes people feel terrible about themselves even though they may be perfectly healthy, and I have not played my Wii fit since.
(Except for the ABBA dance game my mum got me, because I love ABBA and dancing.)
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Slow and steady...
362 days to go.
My scale is playing with my fragile emotions today, I don't want to talk about it.
I was asked today if I had started running yet.
Um...no.
After trying all sorts of fitness programs in the past, I have realized a few things.
Always have a cheat day,or people get hurt.
( this rule is mainly for the diet portion of a fitness program, as all salad and no candy make Liz smash)
Warm up. Stretch.
There is nothing sexy about asking your husband to help you off the toilet because your thighs have seized up.
Don't worry about what you look like doing whatever you are doing.
I'm pretty sure my ass looked liked two raccoons cottage cheese wrestling in a sack today on my walk, but I couldnt care less.
And finally,slow and steady does win the race.
I can't tell you how many times I've jumped in to an exercise routine,only to push myself way too hard and get hurt.
Then I have to recover. Then Ben and Jerry show up and force their chunky monkey awesomeness down my throat and its all for nothing.
Not this time friends.
While the ice cream devils may still show up, and I may have to,ahem, subdue them, I will do this right.
I could have taken today off due to my feet, but instead I WII danced to ABBA for 30 mins,and shaved 5 mins off my time around the lake.
Btw, no one had to help this guy off the toilet today. :-)
My scale is playing with my fragile emotions today, I don't want to talk about it.
I was asked today if I had started running yet.
Um...no.
After trying all sorts of fitness programs in the past, I have realized a few things.
Always have a cheat day,or people get hurt.
( this rule is mainly for the diet portion of a fitness program, as all salad and no candy make Liz smash)
Warm up. Stretch.
There is nothing sexy about asking your husband to help you off the toilet because your thighs have seized up.
Don't worry about what you look like doing whatever you are doing.
I'm pretty sure my ass looked liked two raccoons cottage cheese wrestling in a sack today on my walk, but I couldnt care less.
And finally,slow and steady does win the race.
I can't tell you how many times I've jumped in to an exercise routine,only to push myself way too hard and get hurt.
Then I have to recover. Then Ben and Jerry show up and force their chunky monkey awesomeness down my throat and its all for nothing.
Not this time friends.
While the ice cream devils may still show up, and I may have to,ahem, subdue them, I will do this right.
I could have taken today off due to my feet, but instead I WII danced to ABBA for 30 mins,and shaved 5 mins off my time around the lake.
Btw, no one had to help this guy off the toilet today. :-)
Monday, 17 June 2013
These shoes are made for.....
363 days to go.....
235 lbs ish....still
Still riding high off of Saturday's walk.
Took the baby out for a walk around the lake behind the house this morning, with my fancy little running app, Runtastic.
I was feeling great,cruising along,trying not to get lapped by all the little old Chinese seniors, when BOOM. Giant blister on my left foot.
Lefty was already feeling a bit abused,as I am nursing another blister from Saturday's walk,so by the time I got home, I was using my stroller as a full on walker.
Now here's some history for you....
I have what I like to call 'hamburger feet'.
I got this handle from work,when I would wear heavy work boots and tromp around for kms a day in a live rail yard for 8 hours.
By the time I was done everyday, I had a new crop of blisters,usually on top of the old ones.
Didn't matter what I did, what kind of boots I wore, how I treated the blisters, still my feet looked like hamburger at the end of my shift.
However, put my feet in a ridiculously high pair of heels and ask me to go dancing, and look out. I will outlast anyone.
Weird right?
Anyhoo, now I have to invest some cash in serious running shoes so I don't mess up my feet.
Feck.
Also thinking I should probably drop some tonnage before I try to run, so I don't cause any seismic activity in my neighborhood.
Maybe some hot yoga would do the trick.....
Btw it only took me 30 mins to walk the 2.5kms around the lake. Yeah me!
235 lbs ish....still
Still riding high off of Saturday's walk.
Took the baby out for a walk around the lake behind the house this morning, with my fancy little running app, Runtastic.
I was feeling great,cruising along,trying not to get lapped by all the little old Chinese seniors, when BOOM. Giant blister on my left foot.
Lefty was already feeling a bit abused,as I am nursing another blister from Saturday's walk,so by the time I got home, I was using my stroller as a full on walker.
Now here's some history for you....
I have what I like to call 'hamburger feet'.
I got this handle from work,when I would wear heavy work boots and tromp around for kms a day in a live rail yard for 8 hours.
By the time I was done everyday, I had a new crop of blisters,usually on top of the old ones.
Didn't matter what I did, what kind of boots I wore, how I treated the blisters, still my feet looked like hamburger at the end of my shift.
However, put my feet in a ridiculously high pair of heels and ask me to go dancing, and look out. I will outlast anyone.
Weird right?
Anyhoo, now I have to invest some cash in serious running shoes so I don't mess up my feet.
Feck.
Also thinking I should probably drop some tonnage before I try to run, so I don't cause any seismic activity in my neighborhood.
Maybe some hot yoga would do the trick.....
Btw it only took me 30 mins to walk the 2.5kms around the lake. Yeah me!
Sunday, 16 June 2013
And so we begin.....
Thanks for joining me on my journey, I'm sure it will be interesting....
364 days to go....
Weight-235 ish
So for those who don't know, my name is Liz Rennie. I'm 29, married to Mike and just had Jacob a short eight months ago.
I am always the girl at the bar drinking beer,eating wings and sitting on my ass.
Don't get me wrong, I used to be very fit. In high school (yeah I know,everyone was fit in high school) I played rugby,curling and worked out every day.
Even in university, when I was working Security, I would work out almost everyday. (I'd have a smoke after I ran on the treadmill,but at least I ran....)
When I got married the first time,to 'He who shall not be named', I was introduced to butter.
I think I loved butter more than my first husband to be honest....
Anyway, I got fat. Not special report on Oprah or the news fat,but pleasantly plump.
I reached critical mass while pregnant with Jacob. Like 275 lbs.
Yes yes I realize I had a human on board,but still it wasn't great.
With Mike fighting colon cancer,and a new baby, getting fit was low on the old priority list.
Plus I LOVE to eat.
It makes me happy,less stressed and cures every other ailment you can possibly imagine.
So why now?
Well Mike,his mom and I did the Underwear Affair to raise money for Cancer research yesterday. On the 5 k walk, I blew past half the pack and felt great.
So I thought,why not do the run?
I'm only an asthmatic, overweight out of shape mommy, no big deal right?
10 k isn't too long right?
I'll start after I'm done my coffee......
364 days to go....
Weight-235 ish
So for those who don't know, my name is Liz Rennie. I'm 29, married to Mike and just had Jacob a short eight months ago.
I am always the girl at the bar drinking beer,eating wings and sitting on my ass.
Don't get me wrong, I used to be very fit. In high school (yeah I know,everyone was fit in high school) I played rugby,curling and worked out every day.
Even in university, when I was working Security, I would work out almost everyday. (I'd have a smoke after I ran on the treadmill,but at least I ran....)
When I got married the first time,to 'He who shall not be named', I was introduced to butter.
I think I loved butter more than my first husband to be honest....
Anyway, I got fat. Not special report on Oprah or the news fat,but pleasantly plump.
I reached critical mass while pregnant with Jacob. Like 275 lbs.
Yes yes I realize I had a human on board,but still it wasn't great.
With Mike fighting colon cancer,and a new baby, getting fit was low on the old priority list.
Plus I LOVE to eat.
It makes me happy,less stressed and cures every other ailment you can possibly imagine.
So why now?
Well Mike,his mom and I did the Underwear Affair to raise money for Cancer research yesterday. On the 5 k walk, I blew past half the pack and felt great.
So I thought,why not do the run?
I'm only an asthmatic, overweight out of shape mommy, no big deal right?
10 k isn't too long right?
I'll start after I'm done my coffee......
Will keep you posted....:-)
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