Pam Moore's Blog, page 11

Prairie Dog 10k Race Report

When I found out I was pregnant with Sweet Pea in June 2011, my first thought was “Yay!” My second thought was, “Shit, this is not going to be the summer I break 47 minutes in the 10k.” I was right. I spent that summer being bloated and nauseated as a little human began to grow inside me. I didn’t know then that I would eventually break 47 minutes, five and a half years later. It turns out, that’s not as long of a time as it sounds like. How is my baby starting kindergarten in the fall??? (A blog post for another time).

I did the Prairie Dog 10k this morning. I wasn’t sure what to expect, considering I’ve been injured (or maybe injured-ish is the right word?) for a while now, and not running as consistently as I’d like to be. Based on a few recent 5k’s I assumed I was fit enough to run between a 7:30 and 7:40 pace, but by the same token, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve run more than 5 miles at once over the past eight weeks. So I didn’t know if I could maintain a good pace for an entire 6.2 miles. And even though my physical therapist gave me the green light to race, I knew that if a friend or a client were in my shoes, I’d have advised against racing at this point.

But I love racing, I’d already convinced three friends to do the race and I was excited about it (not compelling reasons to race if your body can’t handle it), so I went for it.

I wake up and immediately do my 12 minute Foundation exercise program (I’ve skipped one day since Jan 2 and I’m a big fan, so far) and my ten minute meditation, which I back down to eight minutes in the interest in getting out the door on time. Normally, my meditation consists of sitting with my eyes closed and focusing on my breath but today I think about how I’m going to feel while I’m running. I visualize myself feeling horrible, my legs begging me to stop but continuing anyway, not backing off one single bit, knowing that a minute or ten minutes or even 47ish minutes is not a long time to suffer. Breakfast is the same as always before a race, a glass of water, instant oatmeal and instant coffee (don’t judge). It’s freezing, and not in a Colorado, dry, amazing way, but in the moist New England way that chills your bones. The sky is gray and thick with moisture and I kind of love it. I wear only a thin tank top under a medium weight top with capris and I know I’m underdressed but I also know I’ll be happy about my outfit a mile into the race, and it turns out, I’m right.

My friends turn down my invitation to warm up before the gun goes off (actually they laugh at me) and of course I want to keep chatting with them, so my warm-up is closer to 1.5 miles than two miles that’s ok because I haven’t run more than eight miles, period, in months. (Like, many, many months.) I jump into the start area with about a minute to go and line up toward the very front. The gun goes off and my breathing is controlled but I am asking myself Can I sustain this for six miles? Maybe. Probably not. Better slow down. No, hold it here. No slow down a hair. It’s a downhill, not holding back here. Ok catch your breath. Regroup. Seriously, is this pace do-able for six point two miles?

I futz with my watch, peeking at the pace, scrolling to check on my heart rate, although I haven’t trained with a heart rate monitor in so long, I’m not sure whether to be alarmed or encouraged by the numbers. I see a cluster of women ahead and I feel like I’m eventually going to catch them but I need to focus. I set my watch to display the time elapsed and resolve to stop messing with it. I don’t need distractions. I need to focus on my breathing, my form, the ground under my feet. I get into a rhythm and the chatter in my head gets softer and softer until I can barely hear it.

I am disappointed when I see the women I thought I was going to catch pass me in the other direction. It turns out they are doing the 5k. Just ahead I see a guy in a baggy sweatshirt and I pass him easily. Now there is no one I can see. I wonder if I can keep pushing the pace despite the lack of competition. All I see is a dirt/gravel path ahead. I’m thankful the course is extremely well marked. I get to the second mile mark and my watch reads 14:33. I do some math in my head and decide this race could turn out alright but I remind myself not to get ahead of myself and also not to waste energy on math. I can’t help it though.

The third mile comes at 22:00 and I do some quick calculations and I wonder if I could actually do this thing in under 47 minutes. Finally I see runners coming at me after the turn-around. They’re men. They’re flying. They’re smiling and saying “good job” and I wonder how they can even talk. I realize after I turn around myself, that it’s downhill at this point. I smile and wave or give a thumbs up to the runners coming the other direction. I wish there was another woman, another person anywhere near me but there’s not so I look on the bright side; I’m running my own race. I’m following my own plan: Miles 0-2 should feel hard, 2-4 should be extremely hard, and 4-6.2 should feel like death and destruction. I forgot how much I love this distance. It’s been a while since I did a 10k.

I get to the fourth mile and my watch reads 30ish minutes and I wish I had been doing the kind of workouts I have been longing to do.. 3 by two mile repeats with 2 minutes recovery, 4 mile repeats with one minute recovery, 60 minute runs with 20 minutes at tempo, 8 x 800 on the track. Then I would feel like I could run two miles hard in my sleep, like it’s nothing. But I haven’t been doing those workouts. I’ve only done what I can do so I let my mind drift to other things I’ve done; like grinding up to Ward under the blazing summer sun on my bike. Every painful thing is a deposit in my bank but the beauty, as I’ve discovered over all my years of endurance sports, is that you can make a withdrawal whenever you want, but the balance never decreases. You can always remember what it felt like to suffer without using up the memory or the knowledge that yes, you’ve done it before and you can do this again.

The course winds around a pond, under an underpass, then up from the crushed gravel trail onto the road, and now we are back to the point where the 5k runners turned around, what felt like a lifetime ago. I see a lady plodding in front of me, and I wonder where she has been this whole time, did she start out way too fast and then die? I pass her easily, giving her a thumbs up as I do. I’m in a neighborhood and I’m on pavement and I love it and I’m not supposed to love pavement, living as close as I do to the Rocky Mountains, but you run faster on pavement with less effort, so I am thankful for this gift. I’m charging up a hill, that same hill I didn’t think too much about on the way down, past a bunch of generic looking new golf course houses, and I have no idea what my pace is but I know I can’t go any harder than this. My breathing is doing that embarrassing thing where I’m making this kind of “huh” noise when I exhale but there’s no one around to hear me anyway, except the volunteers. I give a wave and grunt “thanks” as I pass.

As I turn the final corner, I see the sweet finish and I have less than 800  yards to go. It’s a straight shot to the chute and I stay focused, running as hard as I can until I cross the timing mat. I look at my watch. 47:00 flat. I’m exhausted. I’m happy.

Turns out, my official time was 46:55, a 7:33/mi pace, I won first female overall and fifth person (it was a very small race). Of course I was thrilled to win a race (a first for me) but more than that, I was thrilled to race well, particularly with no one in my line of sight, and on low mileage. I was really proud that I stayed focused throughout. I have zero doubt that I gave it everything I had, which is huge. For the past eight weeks, I ran about 20-25 miles per week (plus cross training, including the spin class I teach every Monday, and the occasional swim or elliptical session), with some weeks far less mileage, due to injury stuff. Meanwhile, I had been strength training consistently (one to two times a week, which is not something I normally do) and I think that helped a lot. Meanwhile, my ever growing bank of experience had to have counted for something. There is a lot to be said for just getting used to a certain distance, and getting comfortable with discomfort. My time was not only an altitude PR but a PR, period, by 25 seconds! Also, the aches and pains that have been annoying me kept quiet throughout the race.

Stats for my fellow running geeks.

 

 

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Name Your Demons

In The Gifts of Imperfection, Brene Brown suggests silencing the voices in your head—the ones trying squelch your greatness—by naming them. I went a step further.

 *         *         *

I’m old Aggie. You know how in a dream, someone’s someone but they look just like someone else’s cousin or whatever? Well, my name is old Aggie and I look just like Nancy Kleinfeld*. that horrible lady your parents left you with for a week in the fifth grade. Honestly, I don’t know why they did that either. I never liked kids. And you and your brother and sister, well you were no exception. Don’t take it personally. I don’t really like people, period.

I carry a battle ax. I’m getting old and I’m not super sharp anymore but hell you don’t have to be all that sharp to damage something that’s weak in the first place. I sit around watching The Food Network and smoking Marlboros most of the time but don’t let that fool ya. I’m always listening with half an ear for you, Pam. I can hear everything in your mind. Most of that shit, I don’t care about. (Really? The perfect legging? The best way to make salmon? SNOOZER!) but when you sit down to write, that’s when I put old Emeril on mute. Then I listen up good.

When you’re trying to be funny, that’s when I like to remind you, you can’t force humor. That you’re no Tina Fey.

When you’re trying to come up with new ideas of what to write about, I’m fond of reminding you there’s nothing new, and if there is, you’re not gonna be the one to come up with it.

When you’re in that moment of trying to get into that piece that was so brilliant and fresh in your mind, I’m proud to say I’m the reason it looks like doo-doo once you start typing.

See, you don’t know it’s me but I’m whispering, real subliminal-like, You’re a hack. Real writers write every single day. You’re a wannabe.

I like whacking my axe against your writing because, well it’s just so easy to do. And like I said, I don’t like people. And I like to give the cooking shows a rest once in a while.

     *         *         *

I’m Julia. I’m perfect. My skin is constantly dewy, my hair is beach wave perfect from the moment I wake up and I don’t have to consult Pinterest to figure out how to cuff my skinny jeans with booties. I could wear pants as a scrunchie and I would still be hot. I hang out around mirrors with a dagger. I’ll never actually puncture your skin with the dagger, you know that. I do that thing your brother used to do to you, where he’d poke his finger within an inch of your body repeatedly, while saying “I’m not touching you,” which technically was true, over and over.

When you come near mirrors I put down my nonfat grande sugar-free vanilla latte and poke at you with my little dagger and whisper stuff like, “I need to eat less,” “Have I always looked like this,” “Why do I look so tired?” “My stomach is gross,” and “Everyone in this town looks like a fitness model I should just move to Tulsa so I could maybe be happier.” It’s so fun because you think you’re saying these things to yourself. I mean it used to be more fun. I don’t know what happened lately, though. I haven’t seen you as much. I’m getting bored. It might be time to pack up and hang out with someone else.

     *         *         *

Hey remember me? Jenny Fuckface,** your lacrosse coach from high school. I married a hedge fund manager whom I loathe.*** I also hate my kids and my life. And I’m still bulimic. Oh did you not know I was bulimic back then? Yep, I was. Still am. My life is a pile of shit. My hobbies are Percoset, shopping binges, and torturing you. I carry a big hedge clipper in my purse and I get it out whenever you think about being a run coach. I like to just trim back all those ideas about you helping people, about you having any special knowledge or expertise. I like to keep all those visions tiny, tiny, tiny, trimmed back to just a sliver, if that. My clippers could use some sharpening or maybe I should cut back on the pills because I’m not as powerful as I used to be.

     *         *         *

We all have mean voices in our heads, trying to keep us small. This is part of why Impostor Syndrome is so tricky. (You knew this was going to be about Impostor Syndrome this whole time, didn’t you?) You hear these voices over and over and over again, and after a while, it’s hard to tell the difference between them and the truth (e.g. you are great, you might as well try, the worst thing that could possibly happen if you fail probably isn’t even that bad). Even the greatest people in the world deal with Impostor Syndrome. Did you know John Steinbeck wrote in his journal, “I’m not a writer. I’ve been fooling myself and other people.”? JOHN. STEINBECK.

I’m giving a talk on Impostor Syndrome at Flatirons Running this Wednesday 1/18 at 7pm, right after the 6pm fun run. I’m going to explain what Impostor Syndrome is, how to determine if you have it, and offer strategies so you can move through it reach your goals—in sport and in life—right now. It’s free, it will be fun, and you don’t have to show up for the run. They are going to raffle off some prizes, including a copy of my book. I hope to see you there!

*name changed to protect the meanest nanny in Pawtucket, Rhode Island ca. 1990

**name changed to protect the most vapid, self-absorbed high school coach I’d like to punch in the face.

***I actually have no idea who she actually married or what happened to her.

**** She seemed unhappy and maybe this was because she was hungry/had heartburn but I’m just surmising.

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Coffee Date January 2017

Can we do coffee again? (I don’t know about you but I had a lot of fun last time).

Are you on Instagram? I’m on Instagram. We should follow each other if we’re not already following each other. Or we shouldn’t… depends if you want to see all my fitness posts… My plan is for my posts to be 80-90% fitness-related and the other 10-20% for randomness. Let’s face it, randomness probably means the hilarity and craziness of having kids. Also, I’m going to try really hard not to let it become an obsession.

I have poor boundaries when it comes to most social media, which is why I don’t have the Facebook app on my phone anymore. I also don’t allow my phone to come into my bedroom. It always charges in the kitchen. Otherwise I can’t control myself and I’m up waaaay too late scrolling through ways to make sure your husband is happy, saving crafts I will never make, and pinning pies I will never bake. For some reason, Pinterest calls to me after about 9pm if my phone is in arm’s reach. Do you have strategies that keep you from falling too deep down the rabbit hole? What are they? Seriously. I need to know.

Speaking of social media, you might have noticed I announced on Facebook that I’m available as a personal running coach. I love running. I’ve been doing it for my entire adult life. I’ve run six marathons, I’ve done two Ironman triathlons, I have been teaching spin class for over 15 years, and I could talk about running and fitness for hours. I had a night alone in my house last night, and since I could do whatever I wanted… I got cozy with a webinar on half marathon training.  Yahoo! For all the details on how I can help you reach your running goals (whether you live near or far) click here.

And I got an actual gig as a run coach! Rev Running brought me on board as a coach for their beginner program. I’m going to coach newbie runners from 0 to 5k over nine weeks and I’m pumped for that. There were so many questions I didn’t even know I should have been asking as a beginning runner. Hopefully I can help some folks. If nothing else, it’s a chance to meet great people. And no, my expectations are not inflated. Runners are great people.

Did you know one of my best friends is someone I met in a parking lot after a run? We were running with totally separate groups but somehow caught wind of the fact that we both needed to get in another four miles. We ran together that day and we’ve probably logged four hundred miles together since then. Speaking of, there was another friend I used to run with back when I lived in Rhode Island. That was over ten years ago. We haven’t talked in years and last week she called me like no time had passed and we plowed through some baby sleep issues. Which is ironic because my 2.5 year old still doesn’t sleep the whole night through every night. And extra ironic because my advice seems to be working for my friend (fingers crossed). I’m hard core into cry it out style sleep training. Don’t ask me for baby sleep advice if you  think that turns babies into sociopaths.

But back to running, I continue to have little niggling injuries that have kept me from running as consistently as I’d like to, but a few people I’ve run into lately swear by these Foundation Exercises developed by Dr. Eric Goodman. I’ve been doing them every morning and/or before I run. Today was my seventh consecutive day. Between the exercises and a PT session, I ran 4 pain free miles yesterday and 6 pain-free miles today, which I’m thrilled about. I am hopeful I can stay healthy enough to do a half marathon this spring. Since I’ve been running less, I’ve been lifting more; partly because it’s something I can do that doesn’t hurt, partly because I know I need to do it, and partly because it’s really fun and gets me sweaty. I’m surprised by how much I enjoy strength training.

On another topic… Ugh so many topics, so little time! We’re going to have to schedule another coffee date or maybe a glass of wine before we leave. Speaking of, I gave up alcohol for January. Between my birthday, Dan’s birthday, and all the holidays, November and December were hard on my liver. More accurately, the beverages I chose to drink were hard on my liver. Also, I make bad decisions about food (specifically desserts or anything in the pantry) when I’ve had a few drinks. I’ve been to a few social gatherings since the dawn of 2017 and said no thanks to alcohol, which,  a) was not nearly as hard as I’d imagined it would be and b) did not interfere with the fun factor whatsoever.

I’m speaking at the DU Women’s Conference again this year! It’s Friday Feb 10th on the University of Denver campus and it’s free and open to the public (woot!) and I get to talk about Impostor Syndrome again. I put so much time and effort into that presentation last year, (like, so, so, so much) and I am happy to use the material again.

And I don’t know why I waited till now to tell you but I finally got what I’ve been wanting for over a year now— a regular writing gig(!!!!). I get to write a weekly post for Parent.co, a website I find verrrry sticky. (The latest piece I wrote for them, on waiting to live with Dan until right before we got married is here).  I don’t know if “sticky” is a word everyone uses… I found it in one of those “How to Make Your Blog Amazing in Three Easy Steps!” articles that pops up in my Pinterest feed but in case you didn’t know, it means once you’re there, you feel compelled to keep clicking and reading more articles. So don’t say I didn’t warn you. I warned you. But it’s quality writing, and I’m thrilled to be part of it. And obv. to get paid. I have struggled a lot with being primarily a SAHM and not contributing financially to our household and I don’t want to care about money but the truth is, I do. Do you? That’s a conversation for that glass of wine. Or a long run.

Gah, one last thing before we both have to go. I know, there’s never enough time… For my birthday gift, I spent this weekend at a two day writing retreat this weekend and it was mind-blowing. The teacher called it an excavation, and that was exactly what it was. There were things I wrote that I didn’t even know I felt or thought. There were tears, there were tissues. There were coffee, chocolate (bacon chocolate!), mixed nuts, herbal tea, gorgeous Flatiron views and visits from a family of deer and an owl. Oh yeah, and words. Pages and pages of words. And truth. And truthiness (because, we determined, truth is overrated, especially when it comes to processing your own experiences through writing). I can’t recommend the teacher (Lisa Jones) highly enough. This is not a sponsored post!

Ok girl, I know you’e busy. Till next time. Also, I know I’m going to text you some crucial thing I forgot to mention about 20 minutes from now.

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Workout Wednesday | Diastasis Recti: What is it? (Part 1)

*disclaimer: I’m not a physician or a medical professional with specific training in pelvic floor and women’s health. Do not begin a postpartum exercise program before consulting with a physical or occupational therapist with advanced skills in pelvic floor therapy and women’s health.

“That’s not really a thing. It sounds like maybe it’s just, like, a Boulder thing.”

That’s what my sister said when I told her about my diastasis recti, right after my second child was born. But it really is a thing that many women deal with after a pregnancy and if you just had a baby and you have it, I’m here to answer some questions that you may not have even known you should be asking. Oh and the baby who caused my abdomen to split? She’s now two and-a-half and I am just getting around to editing and publishing this post. I’m not sure if that means I’m a slacker or I’m tenacious. In the spirit of kindness, I’ll go with the latter.

What is a Diastasis Recti and How Does it Happen?

The front-facing part of the abdominal wall includes the rectus abdominus muscle, which has a thin separation running down the middle of the right and left sides. Normally, the distance between the two sides of the rectus muscle is tiny, and a connective sheath of tissue holds the muscle together effectively.

But… when you’re pregnant, your uterus shoves other organs and tissues out of the way to make room for the baby. Yes it’s kind of rude, although in all fairness, the survival of our species depends on the take-charge nature of the uterus.

Sometimes, the uterus gets out of control with the pushing and shoving, with no regard for what organs and tissues were there first, and this is how you end up with a diastasis recti, which is a significant separation of the rectus abdominus muscle.

Risk factors include:

-a larger baby

-multiples

-previous pregnancy (or pregnancies)

How do you know if you have diastasis recti?

It’s actually pretty simple:

1) Lie on your back

2) Bend your knees

3) Do a partial crunch, just so that your shoulder blades are off the ground.

4) Press your fingers into your stomach directly above your belly button.

If it feels tight, you’re fine. If you feel a gap, or a valley there, and it feels like maybe you could lose a finger in there, or as a woman I recently met said, “you could tickle my liver” —you probably have a diastasis. A gap of about 1 to 1 and a half finger-widths is considered normal. Two finger-widths or more is considered a diastasis recti. If you have one, you will probably notice that no matter how many crunches or planks you do, your abs do not get tighter. Actually, until you close up the gap, these types of exercises will do more harm than good.

I’ll pick back up with a post on what you can do about it (and what I’ve done about mine) in a subsequent post.

For now, it bears mentioning, that lady I mentioned who said you could tickle her liver… She’s my idol. We randomly met at the gym and when I found out she’s an ultramarathoner, I had to know how she’s handled the injuries I assumed a distance runner would sustain. She told me stupidly ran a 50k ten weeks after the birth of her first child, which exacerbated her diastasis recti to the point where it will not close, even partially. She said she could not run even a few steps between the birth of her first and second child, due to glute pain, about three years later. She’s back to running ultras at the age of 44, despite her lack of an intact core. My diastasis is nowhere near as severe as hers, but I do think it’s part of what has kept me injured on and off since Lady Bug’s birth. This woman’s story was so inspiring to me.

 

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Best Books I Read in 2016

I read 49 books this year. You can see them all on my Goodreads Profile if you like. I’m pretty sure you can find me on Goodreads (which I am obsessed with) though my email address—pam.sinel(at)gmail.com. Here are my ten favorites in no particular order.

Sweetbitter by Stephanie Danler

I loved Danler’s voice. The way she describes mundane moments, including details about the quality of the light, or the smell in the air, is almost poetic, and does an incredible job of putting the reader right in the scene. Though I’ve never been in the restaurant industry, I have been 22 year old woman trying to figure out what life and sex and love were about and in that way I totally identified with Tess and found myself rooting for her… How can you not?

I know Danler has another book contract and though she says the next novel will be nothing like Sweetbitter, I am dying to know more about Tess’s past (and where she goes in the future) and I hope that will be revealed at some point. In an interview (I think in Vanity Fair?) Danler says she and Tess are different in very important ways. That said, I found her Vogue essay on her own relationship with her dad filled in some of the holes, at least as far as Danler’s experience and what might have led her to create a dynamic like the one between Jake and Tess.

I don’t always internet stalk the authors of the books I read, but I was so intrigued by Danler, That this is her debut novel, and she’s a relatively young woman, make her stand apart from most of the authors I read. I’m sure that was part of my fascination with her as a person.

I would have given this novel five stars, but I found myself skimming through the dialogue occasionally, especially when she would talk to Ariel. Her character and the friendship (if you’d call it that) between her and Tess annoyed me. That said, I stayed up waaay past my bedtime to read “just one more chapter” of this book.

13 Ways of Looking at a Fat Girl by Mona Awad 

One of the best books I’ve read this year and maybe ever. Awad is unfailingly sharp in her ability to capture the details that put you right in every scene. This book is as hilarious as it is heartbreaking. The author’s style reminds me of Elizabeth crane and Lorrie Moore. I talked a bit more extensively about my deep love for this book a little more here. 

Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld

Loved, loved, loved this modern retelling of Pride and Prejudice. It was a delightful, compelling, hilarious read, from start to finish. The dialogue rang true, and I couldn’t help but fall in love with Liz. I really hope this book becomes a movie.

Three Martini Lunch by Suzanne Rindell

A coming of age story told from three different perspectives, about three different characters and how their lives intersect as they explore what it means to live an honest life in Greenwich Village in the 1960’s. Themes of feminism, sexual identity, race, and class seep into the compelling narrative.

Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy

Is it ok to count this as one of the best books I’ve read this year, when I actually read it for the first time 15 years prior? My list. My rules. It’s totally ok. I rarely read books twice (so many books, so little time!), but this one more than warranted a second reading. I loved it the first time and I loved it the second time. Both times, I loved Grealy’s voice and her ability to tell her story in a genuine, unfussy way. It would have been really easy to paint herself as the sad, long-suffering victim of a vicious childhood cancer that left her with a significant facial deformity. But Grealy didn’t do that. She just told her story. She told us what she remembered of her ordeal,  how she felt about it, how she made meaning of it. I was struck by the details that stood out in my mind the first time I read it, versus the way I read those same details, this time around, with nearly half a lifetime’s worth of experiences under my belt, including, not insignificantly, the experience of being a mother.

Mystic River by Dennis Lehane

It’s dark. It’s creepy. (e.g. my kind of book).  The plot twists and turns so hard (think: 5-point harness). LOVED. The plot, the writing, the poetry in nearly every sentence, the way Lehane sets the scene, the way he puts you right in the neighborhood, the dialogue, he got EVERYTHING right. This may be one of the best novels I’ve ever read. I can’t wait to read more by him.

It’s Ok to Laugh by Nora McInerny Purmort

This might be one of the best memoirs I’ve ever read. Can I relate to my husband and my father dying at the same time I’m having a miscarriage? No. None of that has ever happened to me. Yet, somehow I totally relate to the author to the point where I want to be her best friend and I’m pissed I don’t live in the Minneapolis area so I can stalk her Twitter feed and “run into her” so we can eventually become besties and someday laugh about how I planned the whole thing. She is funny and self-deprecating and so honest, I don’t know how you could not tear through this book.

Truth and Beauty by Ann Patchett

It’s a memoir of a friendship between two writers, one of whom is the late Lucy Grealy (author of Autobiography of a Face). Or perhaps more accurately, it’s part Patchett’s memoir and part tribute to her best friend. Whatever it is, I couldn’t stop reading it. It’s beautiful and life-affirming.

Tell Me Three Things by Julie Buxbaum

I fell in love with the protagonist, a teenage girl whose dad moves her out of the only home she’s known in Chicago: into his new  wife’s home home in California, less than a year after her mom’s death. On top of navigating the social dynamics of her new school, adjusting to her new stepmom and step brother, and trying to process her grief, she has a suitor. Kind of. She thinks. The problem is, she doesn’t know his name. Or if he’s even real. Or even a he. He created an anonymous email account through which to communicate with her. Its a sweet story of family, Identity, overcoming adversity, friendship, and growing up. If you liked Kissing in America (which I mentioned in my best books of 2015 post),  you will love this.

You by Caroline Kepnes

Utterly compelling to the last page. I devoured it in three days. Reminds me of Gillian Flynn. What was interesting was that I didn’t fall in love with any of the characters… Wasn’t even sure if I liked any of them, yet I HAD to know what would happen to them. Normally if I don’t care about the characters I can’t get into the plot. Kepnes is a mastermind.

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There is Such Thing as a Dumb Question

They say there are no dumb questions. They are wrong. (Side note: Who are they??) There are, in fact, many dumb questions. I know because I ask them more often than Kim Kardashian posts a selfie. In the spirit of conscious parenting and minimizing the urge to stab myself with a Lego, I’ve composed a list of dumb questions to stop asking my kids.

1) Are you ready to go?

Before asking this question, assess the situation. Are the child’s shoes on? Has the child gone to the bathroom? (Alternatively: Is her diaper smuggling a wrecking ball?) Is the child already holding whatever toy, doll, or tchotchke she needs to bring? If not, save your breath and some aggravation. The child is not ready to go.

2) Can you wait a minute?

If you say this to someone who has no idea how long a minute is, prepare for the aftermath: A small voice will ask, “Has it been a minute?” approximately every 15 seconds until you lose your mind. Multiply the number of uninterrupted minutes required to complete whatever you were doing by 7832. Plan to finish sometime next year. Next time, try saying, “Not right now” and then placing either the child or yourself in a locked, soundproof chamber where you or they will remain until your task is complete.

Click here to read all 8 dumb questions parents are prone to asking their kids on Parent.co

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#WorkoutWednesday: 30 Minute Strength Workout

Ever since Lady Bug was born (she’s now two-and-a-half), my running has been two steps forward, one step back, eg) frustrating to the max. As soon as I get in a good groove, I start increasing mileage, throwing in a workout here and there, jumping into a 5k, and then bam, something throws me off. It’s been beyond frustrating. Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting a different result, right? Which is why I’ve tried all kinds of things.

A non-exhaustive list of things I’ve tried over the past couple of years includes: physical therapy, chiropractic, massage, more physical therapy, barre classes, cross-training, single leg squats, more single leg squats, donkey kicks, sooo many donkey kicks, clamshells, more clamshells, so many clamshells my butt was on fire, planks, side planks, plank challenges, self-massage, foam rolling, ice, heat, and stretching. My latest issue is an ache in the arch of my foot. It doesn’t exactly hurt but been annoying me when I run for about three weeks, which makes me think it’s not nothing. And as a wise friend pointed out to me, the definition of not nothing is something. And I really don’t want this to be something. I want to ignore this and run anyway. Though I have a talent for being dumb and stubborn, I recognize that that the smart thing to do is the opposite of what I want to do.

So… It’s time to try something different (eg not be insane). I’m going to incorporate strength training into my routine at least twice a week. I’ve been pretty good about doing my planks and pushups most days, but I usually do the other stuff (lunges, squats, deadlifts, etc) sporadically, at best. There is no excuse for this. I belong to a gym that has childcare, and my basement is home to a TRX, a bunch of dumbbells, two physio balls (one normal one and one Pam-sized one), a medicine ball, multiple resistance bands, and soon (eg hopefully the first night of Hannukah), a kettlebell.

On Saturday, after about 20 minutes on the spinning bike at the gym, I did this workout. I went through this routine three times, which took just under 30 minutes.

(10-12 reps each exercise)

Kettlebell swings (1st one with 12 kg, 2nd one with 8 kg, 3rd one with 12kg. I felt like Goldilocks, searching for the perfect weight, which I suspect would have been 10 kg, but I couldn’t find it. Also note, I did not make the whooshing noises like the guy in the video).

Pushups

Side step with resistance band (if you do this right, you’ll feel it in your glute med, big time). 

Standing dumbbell rows (with 15 lb dumb bells)

Goblet squats (with 8kg kettlebell. You could also do this with a medicine ball)

Back extensions on Swiss ball (I like to do these with my feet pressed up against a wall.)

Hamstring curls on Swiss ball

Reverse lunges with weight (8 kg kettle bell) 

Plank x 1:00

Curtsy lunges with weight (8 kg kettle bell) 

If you try this workout, feel free to improvise if you don’t have access to the same equipment I used.

 

 

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Why We Don’t Have a Christmas Tree

I am Jewish. My husband was raised Presbyterian, considers himself atheist, and until he met me, had never known a Jewish person. So it was with some trepidation and a few drinks that I told him if he was serious about me, he would have to let me raise our possible children Jewish. Never mind that I wasn’t positive I wanted kids and we’d known each other all of two weeks. I was sure of two things: Dan was awesome and I had no time to date a guy I’d never marry.

He asked me what having Jewish children would look like. I wasn’t sure. Seven years and two children later, I’m still winging it. But I had to answer the question, so I started with the one thing I was sure of.

We would not have a Christmas tree.

It’s hard for me to articulate what it means to be a Jew. It’s much easier to say what being a Jew is not. For me, being Jewish is not celebrating Christmas. As a kid, being Jewish at Christmas time meant feeling the pain of being different. Click here to read the rest on Parent.co.

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Race Report: Wobble Gobble 5k

The morning started like any other race morning, with two packets; a square packet of Quaker Instant Oatmeal and a rectangular, tube-like packet of Starbucks Via. Unlike a usual morning, I Instagrammed my breakfast. I spent a moment wondering if I was a loser or a cliche or both because really? Choosing a cool filter for a photo of prepackaged food? But I went ahead and did it anyway, wrote a caption, slapped on a few hashtags, and boom, there was my first ever Instagram post.

I got out the door, drove to the Y down the street from my sister’s house, in Attleboro, MA, the one I’ve been to several times, made a few u-turns in the very confusing office park where it’s located, then gave up and parked in some biotech company’s parking lot. I tried my best to follow the markings on the road to get to the race start but missed a crucial point, which sent me way out of my way… So I got my warm-up in. If you saw an idiot in a pink Lole hat (the kind with a little slit just for your ponytail) running around pretending to be doing a relaxed warm-up while her eyes were darting around, searching for any sign of the YMCA, that was me.

I got to the packet pick-up area, where I ran into one of the friends I planned to meet, about 30 minutes before the start. We warmed up together, then ran into our other friend right before the start. When the second friend and I spotted each other in a sea of people, we screamed like teenagers, which was fitting, considering we are high school friends.

The first friend and I decided to run together once we figured out that our PR’s were eerily similar. Within a minute, I was in front of her. I wished I’d had her next to me, but it just didn’t happen. Right away, I noticed a woman in an orange neon top and a long blonde ponytail. I made it my mission to keep her in my sights. The scenery was unimpressive, but I didn’t mind. I was staring at that bobbing, blonde ponytail, anyway.  The course was very flat, weaving through the empty streets of an office park, down wide, sidewalk-less, curving roads, past office buildings, and through deserted parking lots. Through the first mile, I kept asking myself “Is this the right pace?” It had been a while since I did a 5k. I realize, having done a bunch of Stroke and Strides this summer (a 750 meter swim, followed by a 5k run), there is a huge benefit of doing a 5k over and over and over; it’s not just that you gain fitness (although that is great). It’s that you hone your sense of what the distance feels like and how to gauge your effort. Three months since my last 5k, my gauge was a bit rusty.

I looked at my watch as we passed the first mile mark and saw 6 something and thought to myself, either I went out way too fast, I’m a fucking machine, or my watch is wrong. When we passed the second mile mark, I was having trouble focusing on the itty bitty numbers on my watch because, well, I had been running at 5k race pace for two miles. The watch is a hand-me-down from my mother in law, and I had used it maybe once before, so I was not used to it. My (not so) trusty Tom Tom has been malfunctioning, which is why I was relying on a watch with numbers so small I could barely understand them. To TomTom’s credit, my GPS watch is no longer under warranty, but they are in the process of issuing me a  new one. In retrospect, I wish I hadn’t worn a watch at all.

Just after the second mile mark, I began to feel like I was on the verge of puking. On one hand, I was thrilled because, regardless of my pace, this meant I was doing something right. On the other hand, I really didn’t want to puke, so I was doing my best to find the sweet spot of running as fast as I could while keeping my oatmeal down. I wanted to run faster than my body was letting me. I still had my eye on ponytail girl when I started passing people. First a high school boy with a wonky, out of control gait. He reminded me of a really tall five-year-old, all enthusiasm and flailing limbs. Then there was a dude I passed on a hill. A chick in a Rhode Runner shirt passed me, and though I had every intention of passing her back, I never did. As we approached the 3 mile mark, I looked at my watch, which read 20 minutes and some seconds, and I felt sure that if I could just keep moving forward, I’d run my goal time of 21: 45.

As it turned out, I wasn’t a fucking machine and I had not necessarily gone out too fast… My watch was messed up. I crossed the finish line, absent of a finish clock (??), and looked down at my watch, which read 20:35. I was incredulous.. for good reason. It wasn’t true. I found ponytail girl, who’d finished just ahead of me. After I thanked her for motivating me, I asked her what her time was. She said twenty one twenty something, so I knew my 20:35 was completely wrong. How you mess up pressing a start button on a digital watch, I do not know, but obviously it is possible, because I did it.

As it turned out, I did PR by one second, with a time of 21:58, which made me the fifth female and first in my age group. I was happy with that, but I had to wonder if I could have found another gear if the stupid watch hadn’t given me a false sense of speed. Live and learn, right?

The best part of the race was not my time or my place, but the fact that I got to catch up with my old friends. It turned out the friend I started with was right behind me the whole time. We enjoyed a nice cool-down jog together, and then met up with the third friend. I promised myself I would not spend more time on this race report than it took me to actually run it. My timer is counting down and I have 13 seconds left… Till next time:)

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38 Gratitudes

Today is my 38th birthday. I have so much to be grateful for, including but not limited to:

1. Our amazingly comfortable mattress

2. Books

3. Watching Sweet Pea curl up her bed, engrossed in a book when she doesn’t know I’m watching

4. The sound of the kids laughing

5. The infinite fort configurations our couch allows. When we were saving for that Crate and Barrel mid-century modern custom microfiber upholstered beauty, we never imagined it would become a fort. Or a baby crib, a dog kennel, a train, or a spaceship

6. Babysitters

7. Dairy-free, egg-free convenience foods.

8. All of the friends and family who check in with me about the menu and go over the ingredients before we come over

9. We’ve never had to use Lady Bug’s epi-pen.

10. Getting paid to do two things that I love: write and teach spin class.

11. Dan. Sometimes I wish I could tap 28 year old me on the shoulder and tell me to stop freaking out because I will meet someone who will do stuff like this, this, and obviously, this.

13. The lady who stopped to tell me thought I seemed like a great mom when Sweet Pea was melting down at Alfalfa’s last Thursday

14. The lady who stopped to tell me she’d been there a thousand times when Sweet Pea was melting down at Alfalfa’s last Thursday

15. The man who pushed my cart full of groceries out of Alfalfa’s while I held Lady Bug in one arm and dragged/led melting down Sweet Pea out of the store two Thursdays ago

16. My plan to never go to Alfalfa’s on a Thursday ever again

17. The job I decided not to take, for making me appreciate how good my life is already.

18. The local businesses that agreed to carry copies of my book. Thank you to the Mamahood, J Lounge, Full Cycle, Flatirons Running Inc., Bundle, and Jacque Michelle!!!

19. Karly at Voo Doo Hair Lounge for understanding my hair and cutting it to look like Christina’s in season four of Parenthood, just like I asked.

20. All the magical Sunday evenings we spent at the pool with the kids and a picnic dinner this summer

21. The fact that Sweet Pea likes to sometimes roll around Target in the bottom area of the cart, which means she can’t see any merchandise, which means she can’t beg me for any merchandise.

22. My amazing invention, “The list of things Sweet Pea wants.” It lives in my mind and sometimes on my phone and when Sweet Pea says she wants something, I assure her I am adding it to the “List of Things Sweet Pea wants” like it’s a mental Pinterest board. Then, she stops asking about it.

23. Netflix and my treadmill

24. My friend Ann, for inviting me to do stupid, fun, hard things on my bike, like riding up Sunshine Canyon and doing the Rapha  Women’s 100

25. The short, amazing months of getting to live a mile from my college roommate/bestie and all the sunrise trail runs we did this summer.

26. My physical therapist Heather for getting me back to running healthy and pain-free

27. My friend Jessica, for suggesting I submit a talk for the DU Women’s Conference

28. Everyone who attended my book reading at the Boulder Bookstore. It had the potential to be an utterly sad evening; me reading aloud to a crowd of people who currently or previously share my last name. Instead it was a lively, fun, packed event, and a memory that I will treasure forever.

29. Friday Night Lights for being the first show Dan and I enjoy binge-watching together since Breaking Bad.

30. Introducing Sweet Pea to the special joy of two females hunting for the right clothes. And the moment in the TJ Maxx dressing room when she asked me to write her a letter when I’m dying so she can read it when she misses me and I assured her she can always read my blog, my diaries, and all the other stuff I’ve ever written. But hopefully she will never see any of the drafts of the “in progresss” file on my desktop because that would just be embarrassing.

31. My friends and Dan, for critiquing a ridiculously long essay before I shut my eyes and submitted it to a contest.

33. New friends

34. Getting to see the Flatirons every single day.

35. Barista Blend Almond creamer. I like it better than half and half.

37. The chance to spend a night sans kids (TWICE) thanks to a fantastic babysitter and grandparents.

38. My friend who volunteered to babysit this morning so I could do two of my favorite things on my bday: swim and write at a coffee shop.

 

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