Resolutions, Schmesolutions

Bah, it's that time of year again.

You know what I'm talking about. It's that time of year when everyone picks out a part of their life they'd like to see improved, and vow to "get fit/lose weight/stop drinking/stop smoking/change jobs/work harder/work smarter/work less/yadda, yadda yadda." This comes in the form of a resolution. As in "resolved: I will do this thing that has eluded me lo these many years and FINALLY get my arms around this problematic part of my life."

Look, I'm all for improving one's life. But I'm not in favor of "resolutions." Because "resolutions" are recipes for failure. Have you ever, EVER seen someone hold to a New Year's Resolution? Me neither. That's because they're externally driven by society or by someone else's idea of what people should be doing with themselves. They're also driven only by the calendar. This is why people have a huge blow-out party on New Year's Eve; those with "resolutions" to keep know it's the last hurrah for a while.

Until, of course, the novelty of having a "resolution" to keep wears off and people revert to their old ways of being and doing.

Resolutions also get a big fail because they are too general. "I resolve to lose weight" can be accomplished by a steady, sensible eating plan and exercise over time, and it can also be accomplished by cutting off a limb (or doing a liquid diet, or having bariatric surgery, or some other equally radical quick fix). But one way is emotionally and physically healthy, and the other way lies madness. And after the madness, the weight comes back on. Yes, even for bariatric surgery patients. Because they have not dealt with the reason they are overweight in the first place.

Look, the bottom line is this: people get to the place where they intend to make lasting change happen in their own way and in their own time. And not a moment sooner. And it applies to all those places where it's dark, scary, and just plain hard. Weight loss. Fitness. Work. Relationship. Smoking. Drinking. Drug use. Mental health. Nonspecific, all-purpose brokenness. And also, forgiveness. Acceptance. And love.

So don't come talking to me about resolutions this week. I don't want to hear it. But I'll happily listen in mid-April. Or July. Or even October 21, at 2:33 P.M.

Whenever you're ready. And not a moment before.

Three Things Thursday: Christmas Eve edition

(1) Have I told you I'm training for a marathon? I haven't yet, have I. I will be running the St. Jude Marathon in Memphis, Tennessee in December 2011 to raise money for St. Jude Hospital. I have a connection to Memphis, and to St. Jude, and this marathon, besides being my first, will be a homecoming of sorts. As things get closer, I will explain in more detail. For now let's just say that I have mixed feelings about the whole thing, and not just because I'll be on my feet for 6 hours.

(2) Because the St. Jude is my "A" race this year, I have solidified my race schedule for early spring of 2011. It will include the Steve Cullen 8k run in February, the Luck of the Irish 10k in March, and the Wisconsin half-marathon in May.

(3) My first 5k is next Friday. At noon. Sweetness is pacing me, even though, in real life, he's much, MUCH faster than I am. But he loves me, and I think he likes that I'm doing all this stuff with him. So I'm psyched.

Happy holidays!

Hardcore, Part One

So. I'm registered to run my first 5k.

On December 31st. In Wisconsin.

Yeah.

So. Sunday afternoon, my husband (who will hereinafter be referred to as Sweetness) says "it's time to run outdoors, dear, and test your gear."

Of course he's right. Of COURSE he's right.

But do I want to run in sub-freezing temperatures? No. I don't.

So I suit up. I wear the following: brooks running tights, polypro base layer, eddie bauer windproof jacket, c9 wind pants, head gloves, and injinji socks with fivefinger bikilas. Also borrowed Sweetness's windproof North Face hat. I thought for sure I'd freeze.

Turns out, running outside in the cold makes me faster. I did 4 miles quicker than I ever have (though I am still painfully slow) and peeled off the hat and jacket within five minutes of my warm up walk. Only need a fleece ear wrap, I think, and may not need the wind pants if there's no serious wind.

It didn't hurt that I knew there was coffee at the end. Heh.

Minneapolis Duathlon, Part 3: Denouement, or How I Finished Last but Not Last

The first run leg, a distance of 1.5 miles, was a loop crossing the Mississippi River over two bridges: the Third Avenue Bridge going out, a little hop and skip through a park, and the Stone Arch Bridge back in to transition one. I started with every intention of doing the run/walk I had trained for. Run a little, walk a little. Rinse. Repeat. And I had read in many, many, MANY articles on how to complete your first endurance event to pace yourself and stick to your plan.



This is really difficult to do in real life. First, you are surrounded by tens to hundreds of other people who are running, some much, much faster than you do in real life, and the energy encourages you to start faster than your normal starting pace. Second, and maybe this is just particular to me, I got halfway across the Third Avenue Bridge, my alarm went off, I slowed down to walk, and some (well-intentioned but highly intrusive) guy put his hand on my back, boot camp PT style, and panted "come on! you can do it!" Had I been an observer it would have struck me as a kind and encouraging thing to do; as the target, it just made me want to pimp-slap him. After a while, he decided I wasn't going any faster than my mulish, 15 minute mile pace, and left me to my own devices midway through the park.



Coming up the walkway to the Stone Arch Bridge, my Vibrams got their first shout-out -- "FiveFingers Rock!" -- by a guy in Nike Frees. I wasn't feeling the love, as I was running over cobblestones and muttering "owowowow" at the time. (Note to self -- do better recon of the run conditions). But in all, I finished the first run a little early and transitioned on to the bike.

The bike leg was advertised as "fast and flat." But in the last 48 hours before the race, they re-routed the bike leg. Basically, the 12 miles went down, down, down, down. And downhill some more, leaving one to think that the second half would be nothing but up. In a 25 mph headwind. Which meant I was going downhill, but was unable to pick up any type of speed because of it.

This is where I started to hear the negative self-talk, which not coincidentally occurred right about the time that my blood sugar plummeted. The Voice said "you'll never make it. this headwind sucks, and you'll have 6 miles of uphill on the way back. you can quit now. just quit now." I stopped at mile 4, dug around in my pocket for my three Clif Margarita Shot Bloks and drank some water. Almost immediately, I felt better and hopped back on the bike, but still heard a lot of internal noise. "Who cares if you don't finish? Lots of people DNF. It'll be less humiliating than being last. Just pull over."

And then a very quiet, but firm Voice spoke. "This IS your personal best. You did that when you started back on the run leg. You do 12 mile bike rides all the time. This is just a bike ride. Keep riding."

So I did. I also distracted myself by counting how many people I saw throwing up (two), how many bike bottles I saw on the ground along the course (eleven), and swearing about the number of water stops along the bike course (zero. the only complaint I have about the race organization). The routing took me on a slight uphill, then flat course. I chicked a guy on a mountain bike. (He would later pass me on the second run leg, but oh well). Before I knew it, I was at T2.

And back over that #*^&% bridge again. By this time, it was clear that I was at the back of the back of the pack. But I wasn't really ready to see the sweep car behind me halfway through the park. I thought "dammit, I cannot possibly be last, I know there are people who transitioned behind me." The sweeps guy was really nice, and I teased him about having an entourage and feeling like a rock star. That said, it's a good thing that I have self-esteem, because the Stone Arch Bridge is a popular place to be on a late Sunday morning, and well, one big girl in a lime green singlet with a cop car following her is a bit of an attention getter. On the other hand, by this time I knew I'd finish, and it really didn't matter that I was last; I'd have met my goal.

One thing to get accustomed to as a back of the packer is how solitary it can be. This is most evident at the finish. Usually, by the time you get there as a BOPer, the bands are gone, all the good food has been eaten, and everyone's gone home but the race organizer peeps. So, finishing is bittersweet. You do all this work, and get all sweaty, and the party's moved elsewhere. If you are lucky (as I am) you have your wonderful husband waiting at the end for you with chocolate milk. So the race organizers gave me my medal, I got my banana, and sank onto the retaining wall.

And then. And then. The announcer said "it looks like we have a few more people finishing." Oh my God. Really?

It was true. I wasn't last. Fourteen people finished behind me.

And my husband and I stood at the finish and clapped and cheered for them all.

And really, out of all my personal bests that day, I think I'm proudest of that most of all.

3.76 miles

Very, very slowly. Ran some, walked a lot more.

The pulled pork sandwich and mac and cheese I had at my birthday dinner didn't help. Dangit.

The bad news is, I didn't lose any weight last week. The good news is, I didn't gain any, either.

Onward!

Why?

Because I don't want cardiopulmonary disease.

Because I don't want to take statin drugs.

Because I don't want diabetes.

Because I want to be able to chase my children (and grandchildren) around the park.

Because I want to run up and down gorgeous mountain ranges with my sweet, cute, hot husband.

Because I love feeling the wind against my face, and in my hair, when I'm running, or on the back of the tandem.

Because I want to live, not just exist.

And if it takes funny shoes and spandex and my wiggly parts wiggling even more than usual,

I'll do it.

Minneapolis Duathlon Fun Course: Part 2

It was a glorious day for a run and bike ride in Minneapolis.

As a complete aside, though I live in a midwestern city, I am not a midwesterner and I never will be. I was born and raised in the South, and I simply cannot understand midwestern stoicism. Nor do I tolerate midwestern winters well. But I do find Minneapolis a charming city. It's very bike and pedestrian friendly, and the downtown area has two bridges crossing the Mississippi River.

The run course was described in the race lit as a loop going out across one of those bridges and back across the other, and the bike course was a flat and fast out and back along the river as well. I anticipated pretty things to look at along the way.

My race support (also known as my sweet, cute, and loving husband) woke me up and brought me coffee and bagel thins, while I dithered and put on my gear.

A side note about gear. If you have any intention of doing any sort of physical activity, for the love of God PLEASE go and get yourself some good athletic gear. Don't limp along using old cotton t shirts and shoes off the rack from The Wal-Marts. I will talk more later about what, exactly, to buy, but suffice it to say that your experience will be far more comfortable in technical fabrics.

As I dithered, I began to get nervous, and started to hear a bunch of negative self-chatter. You know the kind. As it turns out, this is just your brain trying to protect your body from strenuous exercise. It's a protective mechanism, and one that we as humans have developed over time. I'll talk more about that later too. For now, all you need to know is this: tell it to shut. up.

Which is what I did. And so I went downstairs from the FAAAbulous hotel we stayed in -- The Depot -- and across the street to the starting line.

I shouldn't say starting line, because they were sending people off in waves every 10 minutes. As luck would have it, I was in the second to last wave. Which of course meant that there were very few people who would get to pass me before I would be dead freaking last. Oh joy.

The atmosphere was convivial. If you've never done an athletic event before, you should know that for the most part, the people who participate and run them are extra super positive, nice, and accepting. Also, you should know that these people come in all shapes and sizes. They are not all muscle heads with 9 percent body fat (though there are those). For the most part, they look, and are, normal.

Physically, I was as ready as I could be. Mentally, too. And then the airhorn sounded, and I was off.