I Know How to Vote, Brother.

This isn't a rabble-rousing blog post, so look ANYWHERE else today, if you need that. Rather, I am here in a non-partisan sort of way to declare that I am so happy that, in addition to people actually taking an interest in politics,(Aghem, where were you all last year? Whatever.) the littering of my front door, porch and lawn will stop.

As four surprised Barrett enthusiasts learned over the weekend, placing a door hanger and various other bits and pieces of voting paraphernalia under, on and around my door will encourage me to only chase you down the street (even barefoot, I got ya) and make you walk your a$$es right back up my driveway to collect your litter. You are lucky burpees weren't involved. Dammit. Why weren't burpees involved? One of you interrupted my very important Saturday afternoon nap. I'm just saying.

I know how to vote. I know how I want to vote. I even know where to go to find additional information to help the process along. And guess what...none of that comes from some freaks wondering into my yard and hanging  s^&$ on my house that is nothing but stupid, slanderous (and one misspelled...really?) phrases.  I'm talking about you Brewers hat guy and babbling about your kids' cognitive functions ladies (I can only imagine what your kids say about you.)

Besides, I've got this bad B in my family tree (It's Elizabeth Cady Stanton...do you need a flyer about her on your porch?).

Sicko

Sick Sucks
I have missed work. I have missed teaching classes. I have watched way too much television (I estimate 700 episodes of Disappeared to which I have discovered that should I go missing, I hope (and you should as well) to never do so in East Texas.) I have learned that coconut m&m's will not help you recover and will, in fact, hurt your stomach when digested in great quantities. I am missing the kick-off of my new Punk Rope class. It all makes me want to scream -  unfortunately, I have no voice, so screaming isn't even an option.  I have also grown very sick of the "Jess without a voice" jokes. Ha ha. Ha ha. The urgent care doctor even laughed at me.

The one good thing that has come from this week of bed rest and on-again-off-again feverish delusions is that I have been reminded of my own goals. It is very easy to blame the lack of personal fitness goals on the fact that my focus is very much on the fitness goals of others. When I say that out loud, I roll my eyes at myself. True, long hours and lots of teaching inhibits my ability to train, however I know that I have been nudging my personal goals towards the edge of a cliff.

My own limitations, post 4 rounds of surgery, took away more than chunks of my legs. The thing that upsets me is that instead of being grateful that I can still run, I am more often pissed that I run slowly or that I cannot pile on the hours of training. When I can't race (as in, go fast), I don't even want to play. When I can't go far, I don't want to go at all. So, I lodge myself into the goals of others. I feel true happiness to see them accomplish their goals. I'm not entirely sure why I can't do that for myself anymore. That's not entirely true. I sort of know why.


Being Broken
From ages 15-26, I spent my days surrounded by really good athletes. I was a pretty good athlete.  We ate, slept, worked and dreamed of racing and training. I was very fit, very tan, looked very good in very little. However, I was also sick a lot - frequent headaches, bloody noses - and often nursing an injury of some sort - stress fractures, tendonitis, chronic this-and-that. When I went in for my first surgery, I almost felt relief. I could sit my a$$ on the couch and eat.

Then, injuries kept getting worse - my life was now broken up into the seasons of "recovery" and "injury." There was no more training - be it for physical or mental reasons.  When I was out of the game, I felt so far away from the fit person I once was that I just never went back there.

I used to blame this disease of obsessive training on the culture of triathlon. When I was attempting to get fit again, I even adopted a mantra of "I'm not one of them, I'm not one of them." I can, with absolute confidence, now declare myself divorced from the cult of tri. I'm really not one of them. Like, not at all. But I can't blame them (I can still stay away from them, however).

My Affinity for Movement
I think I'm okay today. My fitness pursuits are too diverse to obsess like before, but my passion for fitness is probably greater. With the flexibility to go from bike to board, from foot to playground, I am going to reignite my training. At 32, I can, in all honesty, say that I have not "trained" in 6 years. Rather, I have been exercising consistently and that sounds very boring to me today.

So, I have some great goals - some events are purely social, some are meant for a$$-kicking, some are to help others, some are for personal satisfaction, some are just for the hell of it. HOLY SH!T - a well-rounded training plan. I am very excited.

My Goals

• To hit each start line with a healthy body and head
• To train with purpose, but also have fun
• To take great photos with everybody who races with and supports me
• To continue helping others achieve their goals 

I'm hoping this will lead to fewer injuries (at least of the chronic kind - I'm totally willing to break another bone to do something gnarly), just enough buddies to understand the difference between a wheel and a tire, a race face that has a smile on it, purpose in my workouts, a little (a lot is okay) excitement, more fun and a sh!t ton of fitness.

Obviously, this includes a lot of the same stuff that I've been doing forever - running, cycling, strength training, but it is all framed differently. I have 89% bought into my idea- I still know that 10 min miles don't pull the same results as a 7:30, but WTF...I don't feel like puking when I run a 10 minute mile either.

So, Goal Numero Uno - The Color Run in Racine, WI (May 19th)
You get blasted with paint, so this isn't exactly a PR event for me. This one is all about...well, it is all about getting blasted with paint. This is a For the Hell of It race with good odds of becoming a Social Race. (For those who like the Friel "Training Bible" or CTS approach, this would be like a Priority Z race...you guys got those?)
There will be a lot more to come.

First, I will continue to rid my body of this virus with the aid of Dayquil, tomato soup, my comfy bed, and some more tv (very open to suggestions at this point).

PS - I wonder if pretzel m&m's are any better for recovery?

The Dead End

Have You Learned Your Lesson?
One moment that sticks in my mind is climbing a tree at my grandparents. It was the tree over the "alligator pit," which is deserving of its own story. I tried it "without equipment" and only got up to the first major branch. After seeing images of a rock climber, who looked like he had a bunch of jump ropes hanging from his belt, I jimmied a climbing rig out of my hot pink rope. I got higher up into the tree. A lot higher. I actually got stuck in the tree - about 10 feet off the ground.

I sat it out until help arrived...with a ladder. "Have you learned your lesson?" I heard from my mother that night. I knew "the lesson" I was supposed to learn was that I shouldn't climb trees. I nodded yes, knowing that what I had really learned was that I must figure out how to climb trees better. 

If Given the Opportunity, Will You or Won't You? 
To me, this whole "have you learned your lesson" bit really comes down to, if given the opportunity, will you or won't you. More than likely, I will - but I won't do it again the same way. I learn from mistakes and failure doesn't scare me because the pleasure of success is so rewarding - even if success is measured branch by branch. Sport and life is about missteps. Scrapes, bruises and broken bones (or the workspace equivalent) may be an unfortunate part of the journey, however, you'll never any regrets if you give it everything you've got.

What If There Is Really Something Awesome Down That Road?
By the end of that summer, me and my trusty jump rope had figured out tree climbing - up and down. I had climbed so high in that tree that I could actually see the cul-du-sac from a different view.  I also (mostly) safely made it right back down on my own. Why that was important to me? I don't know. Maybe just to say been there, done that. Maybe because I was learning that hard work and taking chances makes me really happy.

Point being, if you let something as simple as a Dead End sign make you stop and turn your car around, you might be missing something amazing. Then again, you might not. More importantly, unless you give it a shot, you will never know.

The Angry Run

We all have bad days. Those sh*! days where, if you were a cartoon character, you would turn evil shades of red and purple then sputter and spew steam from your orifices. You know what I'm talking about.

Some take it out on their loved ones, some take it out on pedestrians, and some on Facebook (p.s stop that immediately. I cringe in embarrassment for you). Then, there are some who W-O-R-K it out.

I am advocating for the latter. The Angry Run is not a workout that I write into anyone's training plan. It is reserved as a WMD. Not that kind - this sh%# is for real. A WMD, in my arsenal, is a Workout of Minor Destruction - because your bitchy mood shouldn't ruin anyone else's day (or life).

This is how it goes:

1. Stop F-ing Around: Chose a route that is free of traffic, pedestrians, small children, animals, hobos, sorority girls or anybody else that could potentially f!@# with you and your run. I prefer a trail because it offers my senses a bit of a redirect. The height of trees makes my problems feel small, the smell of earth is calming, the potential to wreck on a root is stimulating and sh%# like that.
2. Shut Up. Just Shut Up:  A bad day is no excuse for poor safety practices. Text or Google chat someone to let them know where you are going and an approximate time you will return. That is all you should tell them. Do not call your loved one or strain your precious vocal cords in any way. Part of this workout involves not talking to anyone but your own brain. You two clearly have some sh^% to figure out. 
3. Rock Out with Your...Ipod On:  People, do not go there with me. If you listen to the radio while you drive your car, you have no business telling me that I can't listen to music when I run. Make sure you have something bad-a$$ to listen to. Listen to it loud. This stage replaces "comfort food." Do not pollute your sh*^ day with sh*^ food. Put on comfort music. I prefer the likes of Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. Bones rattled/lungs breathless. 
4. Move Your A$$: Now, go run as f!@#$ing hard as you can. Stop, walk and do it all over again. You have to run hard. Like pukey-lactic-acidy-red-faced-and-exhausted hard. Repeat over and over again until you are a) tired b) calm or c) lost
5. Stay Away From The Computer: You should not download this run. You should not record this run in your training journal. It's like it never f-ing happened.

Warning: This workout is not effective if you walk on a treadmill or air-quote running (aghem, JK). This workout should not get wet or be fed after midnight. This workout should not be repeated daily. If you feel as though you are angry enough to do this daily, you should speak with your doctor immediately. You should not perform this workout without doctor consultation. Listening to music over 85 decibals may negatively impact your hearing. You should not perform this workout if you have any underlying health conditions. If you fall down a lot, you should take your cell phone with you as a precaution. This workout may induce feelings heart failure, diarrhea, burning eyes, a mucus-covered face and other unreported conditions. Death may occur. If you experience any of these, you should consult your doctor immediately. Especially death. That is definitely not the goal of this workout. You should be aware that this is written in total f-ing sarcasm and what works for me may not work for you. 

I Did Sleep On It

    Western Australia has seen an increase in shark attacks this year. The recent death of a diver has of off Vasse has now put the number of shark-related deaths in the area into "unprecedented" territory.

You can hear more about it in this irresponsible snippet from weather.com.  The conclusion was to either allow humans to be consumed by sharks or hunt sharks to death. That is a quote.

Death is sad. Absolutely. To me though, this fellow's death would have been equally as sad had he died in a car accident or from cancer. Dead is dead. It doesn't matter how, really.

But it does. Now there is a call for a shark cull by the tourism industry. 

The f-ed up-ness of this situation kept me up all night.

Ironically, this website shows the man recently killed by a shark holding a fish that he just killed.  Maybe it is neither here nor there. Maybe it is an image of the circle of life.

If you put yourself into a dangerous situation, unwanted results may occur. I don't get what is so tough to understand about this. If I am snorkeling and get eaten or injured by a shark...well, f*&^. I was in the ocean and sharks live in the ocean. In particular, if I was in a part of the ocean where large, hungry sharks are known to hang out. Double f*&^. One for being dumb and another for being dead.

Sharks are supposed to eat. Maybe if we didn't fish the shit out of their food they wouldn't come into our swimming areas to eat our kids and dogs.

My first experience with sharks was Jaws. I did get that it was a horror movie of sorts, but my fascination with sea life grew from that movie. The fact that creatures so powerful and threatening and beautiful existed was exciting to me as a child. The movie didn't scare me...the merry band of shark hunters did.

The pic above was taken from a fish market in Ecuador where I lived for a few months. These hammerheads, barely 3 feet in length, are babes. Peace Corps and other do-gooder types frequented the fishing village and were attempting to educate the locals on the benefits of adopting more ecologically sound fishing practices (the P Corps girl was literally packing her bags to bail out of job and country when I arrived). What I learned my favorite Spanish teacher/cafe manager/chef/movie theater ticket taker/person with the best beach house in the world, was that the large sharks have been fished out of the waters and this is what remains. Ecologically f-ed up. I can see why the Peace Corps chick peaced out, man.

This experience (which I had to walk through every other day) - made me sad and kinda sick. (*I heart Ecuador is big ways and my experience was not purely negative as this blog reads. I will post a more positive story in the future*). I was a little bothered because of the dead shark babies and a little more because many of the men in this town fish because they have nothing else to do (besides impregnate 14 year-old girls and ruin their chances for an education). It was definitely upsetting because they also brought in bycatch dolphins and turtles and other "whoopsies."

The worst part was that these beautiful fish were there, in f-ing buckets, rotting in the sun.  What a waste of resources, energy, and more importantly - what a waste of life.

Shark Encounter: This sexy b^#$@ didn't bite...she had a freakin' baby in from of us! 

Bottom line - love sharks or at least respect life. They are apex predators. They maintain balance in our oceans. They do not reproduce like other animals - having maybe 1-4 pups a year with some species not even reaching sexual maturity until 15. When you kill them, that is it. They are just gone.

Sure, some sharks might eat people, but people f*&^ing destroy everything.

Hungry

I can't seem to find the joy in cooking. I do, however, find great joy in the work someone puts into my Thai iced tea and some peanut-saucy tofu at a cafe table. I love the experience of eating out...no mess, no dishes, no wasted time, maybe a patio and a beautiful view. However, my lack of interest in the kitchen is suddenly bothering me. So, this is my goal for the month. Cook something.

Like most people who want to be something that they aren't, I have a lot of books about cooking. I am a big fan of Tosca Reno's Eat-Clean Diet books. I don't think my skills are lacking...I can read (in two languages) and measure, so a lack of ability isn't the issue. When my significantly-more-involved-in-the-kitchen counterpart makes these meals, I love them and feel awesome. Why don't I do it for myself? Because peanut butter sandwiches are just so easy.

Why the change? Looking ahead at my schedule, I will have 2 nights each week in which I can be at home. 2 out of 7 doesn't bode well for having peaceful, at home dinners. This means, I need to have good food at work or end up having late night dates with Roman Candle and Silvermine. This shit, while it tastes awesome going in, makes me feel fat, icky and slow. I can't feel fat, icky and slow and teach/rock 6 + fitness classes each week.

So, here I go. 30 days. No kitchen laziness. 1 meal out per week. I'll be in touch with my progress.

The Truth About Yoga

Yoga is not my thing. Its a little too breathy, a little too quiet, and a little too much time to think about all the shit I should be doing instead. However, from a professional standpoint, appreciate, understand and enjoy the activity. 

There are many, many, many benefits to being bendy and zen, but skinny just may not be one of them. The old adage of "If its seems to good to be true, it probably is" is (today) my number one rule of thumb in fitness. If sitting, breathing and listening to whales sing seems like the easiest freaking way to exercise...that is because it is. E = R. Effort = Results. While poses may be challenging at times and you may have to chase your brain around in circles and force it to remain calm (is that just me?), a hatha-style yoga class (1 hour) burns less than 200 calories. Good for reducing stress? Yes. Better than sitting on the couch? Double Yes. Good for weight loss? Your time could and should be better spent.

Now that is not to say that all yoga is low on the calorie-burn. Vinyasa or Flow style yoga can kick your ass a bit - up to 600 cals per hour!

Check out this great little article from Fit Bottomed Girls for more on yoga and calorie expenditure!

I'm just going to go ahead and get all the yoga out of me right now.

Now, onto how irresponsible the yoga world can be. In January, the New York Times published an article warning readers of the danger of yoga. How Yoga Can Wreck Your Body includes images of oddball Broadway actors contorting themselves while the article tells the most obnoxious, worst-case scenarios of bizarre-o individuals doing really dumb shit and calling it yoga.  From the "pop pop pop of ribs giving way" to irresponsible statements like "the vast majority of people should give up yoga altogether. It’s simply too likely to cause harm. the vast majority should just give up yoga." If people are seriously this dumb, we have some problems. The article elicited little more than an eye roll from me...until I started to hear people's reactions.

"See, I told you exercise was bad!"
"And that is why I don't exercise!"

Are you f*&%ing kidding me?

I actually met with my tax man yesterday, an avid yoga practitioner, and he was like "that article scared me...until I read the article in the Wisconsin State Journal."

And back to my girl, Jeanne. She wrote a great article reviewing the book, The Science of Yoga by William J. Broad (and author of aforementioned NY Times article) and I was fortunate enough to get a few words in (by the way, I love to be interviewed). Jeanne, being a yoga instructor, certified group ex pro AND writer, wrapped all of her common sense up into a great piece.

It is all about common sense, people. But, just in case that common sense does not exist...as a professor once told me...Be a good consumer of anything - fitness, food, people. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. If it seams f-ing crazy, it definitely is. If it is a combination of both - why are you still thinking about it? Your body, your brain, your responsibility. If you believe everything you read, you've got problems (present reading material included).