Category: Fitness

I did it!

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I got up early on Sunday and ran (and walked) my first 5K. Joanna had invited me to join her and we’d run together (and walked together) before. I believe I’ve mentioned that I love working out with friends. Such a great, cheap way to be together, to talk, and to encourage one another.

We were a part of the http://www.rogosin.org/westbankrun/info.php (You can still sponsor me. I had to raise $100.)

The run benefited Rogosin, this kidney disease foundation. My friend Lois at work has been hospitalized with serious kidney problems after a world church meeting in Scotland. So I ran for Lois.

But honestly, it’s like the moral of last week’s episode of Glee. You say you’re helping someone, but you’re really helping yourself. The something in it for me was brunch at the end of the run. I love the West Bank Cafe, the run’s sponsor, on 42nd Street. After signing up, I realized I wouldn’t be able to stay for brunch. I’d have to book up to Charlotte’s soccer game in Central Park upon finishing.

It was a beautiful, clear day and the run was lovely, easy. (I will admit that we were slow). But I just liked getting out there, running along the West Side highway and the Hudson River. There were probably 50 of us.

My goal was simply to finish in less than one hour. I did it! I ran 5K in 41 minutes. That’s 3.1 miles, giving me a 13:17 pace. Next time, I can strive to beat it. I was thinking of Lois when I ran.

I have worked with Lois for a long time, since the early 90s. I think it’s fair to say both she and I can get impassioned, and therefore, occasionally, a little difficult. Yet I have always had a huge and deep-seated respect for Lois. Her intelligence, her wit, her kindness!

She has always fought the good fight and stood up for people who are marginalized — mainly, women and children. And maybe not just stood up for them, but run with them. Walked with them. Befriended them. Because they are us. And there’s something in it for us.

I really should sign up for another 5K, before I lose my mojo. And my goal is sometime, to run the whole way.

Running Update

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This morning on Twitter, I posted, “Just ran 1.5 miles in 19 mins. Beat that. 😉 #mamavation I am in the#slowlane” And I received several re-tweets and “That’s great!” and “I’m slow too!” comments.

So there! When you admit you’re slow, you’re suddenly popular. Ha! And you always thought the fast girls were the beloved ones!

I haven’t been running much since a few weeks ago I developed some kind of heel spur or heel plantar fasiitis problem. (I’d like to go on and on about it right now, but I know that griping about minor injuries is really annoying so just suffice it to say, I’ve become lazy or  I’m babying myself.)

I have been going to Pilates/Yoga at lunchtime at work and playing an occasional tennis game.

Haven’t been riding my bike to work lately either. I did write in here about how the pedal fell off, didn’t I? See, my bike fell in love with this other bike in the basement (the Gary Fisher bizatch). And she didn’t love him back and somehow my bike just doesn’t feel like going out for a ride any more. He’s buried behind a bunch of other more popular bikes in the bike room collecting dust. I guess my bike has to just go slow, admit it on Twitter, and then he’ll become popular again.

This morning, I felt great after running (except for my heel!). I didn’t run far or fast, but I definitely got to the endorphin-kicking-in phase. I think the endorphins release at exactly the same moment the back of my neck gets sweaty. That is when I tell myself, “Okay, you’ve gone far enough. You can stop now.”

My advice? Go only so far as to break a sweat and then stop at Europan cafe. Carry the spoils home from the battle — the bacon/egg/cheese sandwiches and bagels for the kids. Add your coffee. Sunday morning. Life is good.

What we talk about

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I walked with the girls to the actors’ housing today (because our beloved Sarah Hankins had just moved in). We walked through our beloved neighbor’s property to get there.

The girls and I chatted, held hands, talked about them getting braces and going into Middle School. I love running with my son and my girlfriends, it’s true. And I love walking with my daughters too.

I love the ease of conversation when you run or walk. It’s very high quality sharing time with kids.

I don’t really know why. It’s not that what we share is so deep. I think it has something to do with not being interrupted by phone calls or responsibilities. When we talk at home, there’s always dinner to cook, homework to do, cleaning to be done.

The tasks when you are in your home are sisyphean. (I love using that word!) But the talking on a walk meanders.

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An Homage to Breastfeeding

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Let’s say you’re like me – someone who looks for joy.

I cannot let August slip away without mentioning the joy I felt breastfeeding. This is National Breastfeeding Month, as I am occasionally reminded by some mother I follow on Twitter.

Breastfeeding not only feels awesomely good for the mother, because you’re so close to such a warm, loving body, but the bliss on the baby’s face – that Milk Dud look – means that the little one is enjoying the bonding too. Physically we are just wired to love the feeling.

I am not a fanatic. I nursed my boy for seven month and my twin girls for a year. (We were moving a lot that year, from NYC to the Adirondacks to San Francisco back to NYC and I wanted to give the girls something they could count on – a warm breast! Plus, it was much easier to pack my boobs than a bunch of bottles!)

I encourage every pregnant woman who is considering breastfeeding to please, please, please, do it. You won’t regret it.

Yes, it might be hard at first for a newborn to figure out the latching on reflex.

So, I relied on professionals to validate me. When I had just given birth and was still at the hospital those first couple of days, every time a nurse walked by, I would call out, “Hey, am I doing this right?” I would nod at the little guy at my breast.

“Yes,” she’d usually say. But if she said, “No, it looks like he’s fallen asleep,” then I’d learn how to break the hold and latch him on again. Having another woman affirm my ability made me feel confident.

I also want to say that I think the whole nipple confusion worry is overblown. Every day I nursed the girls and not only did they get mother’s milk, but they also got at least one bottle of formula. They never refused nipple or bottle. They were just happy to be fed.

I hated pumping. I felt very, very embarrassed from the first time I ever tried it and never got the hang of it. I did not want anyone to see me doing it. (Although I could care less if anyone saw me breastfeeding.) I  felt like a cow hooked up to an automatic milking device. I wanted my little warm calf snuggled up to me, not a plastic funnel sucking up to me.

Breastfeeding so rocks. It is so good. It is so nice. I loved it. And I miss it. At the time and now ten years later, I’m so glad I did it.

Yes, this blog is about usually about fitness and running, but it’s also about health. By running, I am searching for a natural high. In breastfeeding, I found it. (Oxytocin is the feel-good hormone of breastfeeding.)

Last week I walked

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When I was with all my siblings and their families for our family week in the Adirondacks, I walked miles every morning with my sister in laws, Heidi and Nicole.  Walking is better than running because you can really talk.

We talked about the contagion theory of exercise. I loved this article from the New York Times magazine a year ago…

Good behaviors — like quitting smoking or staying slender or being happy — pass from friend to friend almost as if they were contagious viruses. The Framingham participants, the data suggested, influenced one another’s health just by socializing. And the same was true of bad behaviors — clusters of friends appeared to “infect” each other with obesity, unhappiness and smoking. Staying healthy isn’t just a matter of your genes and your diet, it seems. Good health is also a product, in part, of your sheer proximity to other healthy people.

So, because I am altruistic (and not at all vain. No, not me), I am walking, running, swimming, doing Yoga and Pilates, for my friends, family, my wider circle. I am not working out for myself. I am doing it for all of you.

Okay, I feel good when I work out too. I’ll admit it — I do it for my own sanity. Last night for some reason, I was in a bit of a funk. I was missing my kids. I wanted to be where they were, but the city is a drag for kids in the summer. After work, I went to the JCC to swim. I told myself, You only have to do eight laps. I have no idea why I always tell myself,  Do eight laps. In any size pool, that’s my goal — eight. It’s manageable. But I did much more than eight. I walked in the pool too, punching the water in front of me, like a crazy aqua aerobics lady. I did 20 sit ups on the side of the pool.

I felt much better.

Exercise is better than anti-depressants. But it takes longer and you have to change clothes when you do it.

Crying at the Sky

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I was in yoga on Saturday morning. Because it was Heritage Day, we could not meet at the Heritage House. So we met on the band shell of Ballard Park. It was a little like being on stage. Well, it was like that because we were on stage.

Almost everything that Michael, the teacher, says during class is brilliant. He said that in a new translation of the Upanishads, published in 2008, a line was written, “Hope is never false.” And he was making a political statement. 2008 was about hope. Hope is never false.

Wow. His July theme for the yoga classes was independence. Because Independence Day can be celebrated for days beyond the 4th of July. It can be any day. It can be every day.

I looked up at the sky from the band shell. I think I was in warrior pose. The white clouds were striated. The blue sky was almost too blue. I started to cry. I have no idea why. The beauty of the sky does that to me sometimes. I cry during church when the choir sings too. I don’t know why. I am an intellectual. There are times when yoga, a cloud or music sneaks past my intellect and makes a direct hit for my heart. Or maybe it’s my soul.

Zennis

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Dan doesn’t get mad if he misses a shot or double-faults. With the same mess-up, Hayden has thrown his racket and cursed himself. I fall somewhere in between. I like to blurt out, “Bastard,” in a quiet, English accent when I miss a shot. I did note when playing last night that my blurting out, “Bastard!” is ironic, given that I am playing against my own son.

Still, “Bastard!” Hayden really does have a nice little drop shot that he inherited from his dad. And what do I have? I have tenacity. The more I play, the better I get. Dan is really good overall. I think he’s taking a class in Zen Tennis. He has the mind game and the real game down. He’s unflappable, consistent.

There is something totally satisfying about the Thwack of hitting a ball. Something very healing about whacking at a ball flying through space. The sound, the feel, the shudder. I am not great at golf or softball, other thwacking-type sports. I just like being outdoors. And as I’ve mentioned on this blog, I love the bonding of playing sports, doing yoga, or running with friends. Only the camaraderie of Happy Hour comes close.

A few of my work friends and I occasionally find a cheap place for Happy Hour beers on payday. I like that part of work — the socializing part after work. (Okay, I also like the socializing part AT work.) But working out with friends is really, really fun.

You learn a lot about people playing against (or with) them in sports. The biggest surprise? How good the IT people are at tennis — Fred and Cynthia, for example — are really athletic. And you don’t always equate computer nerd with jock.

Becoming a grown-up teaches you that people are not simply the high school labels we might impose upon them. People are complex. It shows through in their game.

Damn You, Gary Fisher!

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My Ross is jealous of the teal fleece-basketed hottie in the basement. In its day, my bike was boss. A 10-speed from like 30 years ago, it still goes far and fast. Ann Craig gave me the bike like 15 years ago; she’d bought it for five dollars at a yard sale in the country.

About 10 years ago, a bike shop (the one on Columbus and 81st — do NOT go there) refused to replace an inner tube on my Ross because they deemed it “unsafe.” That hurt my Ross’s feelings. Sure, only five of the 10 speeds work and sure, there’s a huge rust spot on the frame, which makes me think that one day, before my time, it was hit by a car.

But it’s not unsafe; please don’t say that. My Ross is sensitive. And so am I. The two of us never fell so in love with another bike as when we pulled into the basement last week and there was that teal Gary Fisher, standing in a beam of light. We heard a chorus of angels sing; she stood proud like a mannequin. It’s true, I fell for her too. She appears to be partnered with a red boy’s bike, also gleaming, shining, new, unridden. That cute couple, they have it all, holding court in the bike storage area of my basement.

I think the only time I ever got a new bike was when I saved up my babysitting money and got myself a dark blue Schwinn. I was 13. All of my NYC bikes, and I’ve had four or five, have been used. I used to buy them at Union Square. The last one was a Schwinn. It was stolen right outside of Marble Collegiate Church, one summer night when I was at a women’s spirituality group. Getting a bike stolen can bum your spiritual high. But my Ross has never been stolen.

The Gary Fisher looks like it’s never been any where. She looks like a bored housewife. I could take her places. But I have to take my Ross and head to work.

Damn you, you adorable bike! Why’d you have to be so cute and make me and my Ross feel so bad? You’re a girl bike and I ride a boy bike, so you can see, I am feeling a little curious by my new attraction. And so is my Ross. Honestly, I’ve always liked boy bikes. I still do. That Gary Fisher girl bike is just so sweet.

Yesterday, when I hopped on my Ross to head up Riverside, his pedal came off under my left foot. I pushed it back on, grease on my fingers. It was raining a little. My Ross has no fender. As I rode up to work, my bum got wet. Besides, I was wearing a floor length skirt that I had to knot up around my thigh. I’m either tying my long skirts up on that bike, or sliding my short skirts lower. I just felt miserable. A boy bike is not optimal when you wear a lot of skirts.

I think  the Gary Fisher has defeated my Ross. Why did she have to show up in the basement? So hot and so cool. Damn you, Gary Fisher! But look at her, isn’t she sweet? 

The Gang on the Path

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I ran in Albany. I was worried, not because of the heat, but because of the unpopulated nature of the Hudson River walk. A runner had recently been attacked along my route in Riverside Park. Yes, Albany is not New York City (in fact it’s probably more crime-ridden), but I did wonder if it was such a good idea to run alone.

But this walkway/runway is historic American-a. I loved running along the Mississippi River in St. Louis. And I wanted to run along the Hudson in Albany, right where the Erie Canal, that awesome American achievement, begins (or ends?).

I just love running beside a rivers that runs.

I was right to be afraid. Fifteen minutes into my run, there was a gang on the path. About eight of them. They were bored. They were mischievous. They seemed to be daring me to cross their little standing-around party. I hesitated. I took out one of my ear buds in case they started squawking. Or pecking. But they didn’t do a thing. I ran around the big one who stood in the middle, unwilling to move. I was so glad to pass them without an incident.

Those Canadian Geese can be very scary. I wanted to take a picture of the geese to post on this blog to show you just how scary this little gang was. But I’ll admit it, I just wanted to run away from them. You’ll have to take my word for it.

Country Road

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I always walked the same loop in the mornings from my husband’s Big House. It starts with an uphill dirt road, moves to the paved Dudley Road, past the 1812 School House (my graphics of my girls doing headstands is photographed there); down a dirt road, through the field at the Stable Inn, across some brush, along the unpaved Cold Spring Road, through a whisp of a path in an old Cedar woods, across the lawn, and back home. 

“I’m back!” huffing and puffing. Arrived at the Big House. No one missed me, no one knew I was gone.

The path is lovely, if not a bit treacherous. Lots of challenges – the cars on the paved road, the steep downhill to the field, the German Shepherd that barks in front of the seemingly abandoned Stable Inn cottage, the possibility of Poison Ivy in the brush. Not to mention the loose rocks on the uphill horsetrail, the creaking trees about to topple on me in the woods, the spongy wetness of the Big House lawn. 

So I figured this trail, which takes me about 30 minutes to walk, was about 3 miles or so. I don’t know why I thought that. But this weekend, I used the free app that I downloaded and love, Cardio Trainer, and discovered to my utter dismay, the loop is 1.8 miles and it took me (in my run 5 mins./walk 1 min. method) 25 minutes, which the app informed me was about a 14:04 mile pace.

Okay I did stop and chat with the neighbor, Fran, for, I don’t know, maybe two minutes.

It’s just so disappointing. All these years, I thought I was walking for miles only to discover, I’ve not gone as far as I’d thought. At least I’ve overcome all of the above-mentioned obstacles as I walk or run. And for sheer beauty, I don’t think you can beat it. There must be a lesson in this. Enjoy the beauty; pay no mind to your app. Keep running. Keep walking.