I'm A Mutant

I’d like to lead you through a dramatic chain of events.

It all started back in March 2013.

I went to my primary care doctor for an annual check-up and came out with a million (ok, three) instructions. First, get an EKG. Check. Next, get an echo-cardiogram. Check. Lastly, get some routine blood work.

Now, of these three, which do you think would be most likely to be problematic?

Well guess what? The two (scary) heart tests came back normative. My blood work, however, indicated that I was low in folic acid and vitamin B-12.

“No big deal,” my doctor said. “We’ll put you on supplements to boost your numbers and retest you in a few months.”

So I’m thinking, cool, cool. NBD.  I filled my folate script, picked out a nice sublingual B-12, dusted off my multivitamins, and got myself a pill organizer for the 400% increase in pills for which I was now responsible. Side note: getting older sucks. I mean, a pill organizer?

As it does, life moved forward, I thought little of my vitamins, and largely forgot to take them.

Flash forward to the summer of 2013.

One of my co-workers (our program’s nurse) catches me responding to my 1pm alarm on my phone—which pipes up every day to remind me to take the vitamins about which I otherwise forget. Side note again: I’ve come to find that getting older is about delegating your responsibilities…largely to inanimate objects.

So said co-worker, who happens to be a midwife and naturopathic doctor, asks, “What are you taking?” And like a proud mama, I pull out my pill organizer (guhhh, age), and introduce her to each supplement and my reasons for being on them. The next part went something like this:

HER:

Oh, you are on folate and B-12 because you were low in your blood tests?

ME:

(all excited from introducing my new vita-friends)

Yup. My doctor wants me to boost my numbers and retest soon to see if I am back in the normal range.

HER:

Okay. But I think you should also ask to get tested for the MTHFR gene.

(I would like to note here that this gene abbreviation looks a LOT like an abbreviation for “mother f***er. I don’t think that’s sheer coincidence.)

ME:

What is that?

HER:

It’s a gene that produces the MTHFR enzyme. The enzyme’s job is to convert B vitamins into their activated forms. Sometimes the gene undergoes a mutation in some people, so they can’t catalyze the vitamins.

ME:

(way less excited now)

Oh, so…if I have it, is that bad?.....Am I going to die?

HER:

(I’m not making this up)

Just Google it.

ME:

(in my head)

Holy f-ing shit. I’m dying.

So, because I am totally devoted to my health and well-being, I do what ANY invested person would do. I DON’T GOOGLE IT. Why the heck would I willingly want to research why I am dying??? No, thank you. I’ll stand behind my beloved leader—DENIAL.

Now flash forward to two weeks ago.

I switched OB-GYNs (special shout out to all my gentlemen reading!!! ) because my old one sucked—case and point, one time, she only did a breast exam on ONE boob (hey again to the fellas!!!). What a hack job! So anyway, I was in the market for a new lady doctor, and found myself a local midwife with tons of background in holistic medicine, nutrition, and…yeah…lady bits. All things that are perfectly aligned with my own personal philosophy on wellness.

So I made an appointment, and went in for my initial exam. Because my doc believes in a integrative approach to medical treatment, she asked me to bring along all lab results, previous medical records, and all medications/vitamins/supplements I was taking so she could formulate a complete picture of how messed up I am my medical history. Sweet!!! Another chance to introduce my pill organizer to an unsuspecting victim!

Low and behold, once she meets my blood work results and my folic acid/B-12 pills, she recommends I get tested for the MTHFR gene mutation. Along with a follow up check of my thyroid, all B-vitamins, and vitamin D.

Can’t dodge fate, I guess.  

So I finally yield. I take my paperwork to the lab and resolve myself to stare death in the face (Spoiler Alert—this is an extreme overreaction). The MTHFR test is actually incredibly simple, and is accomplished through a blood test which is then analyzed for a mutation.  After the SEVEN vials they drew for the other orders, I walked out of there—what seemed like—a pint of blood lighter.  

Flash forward to present day.

Well, actually, Wednesday.

I went back to my lady doctor to bite the bullet. Good news!!! Your pap smear is normal! Bad news!!! You have two copies of the MTHFR mutation!

Well done, doc. I see what you did there.

So yep, it’s true. I’m a mutant. An MTHFR homozygous C677T mutant, to be exact.

Now let’s get into the nitty-gritty details. Needless to say, I have been doing a lot of research about MTHFR over the past few days, and I’m still coming to understand what the gene and enzyme do, as well as the effects these mutations can have on the body and the individual. Unfortunately, this mutation is a recent discovery in the medical field, so it is hard to come up with a conclusive list of symptoms I might have (unknowingly) experienced or a list of definitive risks associated with my particular brand of crazy. But here’s what I have come to know.

How did I get it?

I’d like to give mad props to my parents. Only 1.5-15% of the population has my type of mutation, and in order to have it, an individual must get a copy of the mutated gene from each parent. This means that despite the fact that no less than 75% of the population has healthy MTHFR genes, my parents managed to find a like-mutated partner out of an incredibly large pool of healthy people. You guys are genetic rebels. Rock on.

What are the effects of the mutation?

This mutation is not life-threatening by any means. But I do have trouble converting the B-vitamins in food and supplements into the activated forms needed by the body. Left untreated, this puts me at a higher risk for cardiovascular issues—like coronary artery disease—since it’s the job of B-vitamins to protect you from that sort of stuff in the first place. Additionally, B-vitamins play a huge role in the healthy conception and development of ‘ze behbehs. So if I ever decide to bless the world with my spawn, I’ll need to make sure my b-levels are super healthy to avoid miscarriages and to safeguard my kiddos against spina bifida or other neural tube defects. Unfortunately, it’s basically guaranteed that I will pass this mutation down to them, since I have more than enough copies to go around.

What’s the treatment?

Well, instead of taking run of the mill vitamins—which you can purchase basically anywhere—I’ll have to do something insane. Read the labels. I need to make sure that any B-vitamins in my supplements are in their activated form—or in fancy speak—are methylated. This has proven a bit tricky in both regular grocery and health food stores over the past two days. So instead, I’ve decided to order off of the internet from a company suggested by my doctor. They should arrive in the next four days, and I’m curious to see how I feel once I start taking them. Maybe I won’t notice any difference. Maybe I have been experiencing symptoms from this mutation all along, but just didn’t realize it until I took the right supplement. Maybe I’ll feel worse. Any way you slice it, only time and swallowing pills will tell.

In the coming weeks, months, and years, my research will continue on MTHFR. In the end, I’m just glad I know about it and was encouraged to get the test despite my “better” judgment. Thankfully, I’ve learned about it now, while I’m still young (in age, not at heart) and prior to wanting to start a family. I’m also glad to be the guinea pig for my family, so I can inform them of my situation and encourage them to get tested as well. So watch out, world. We mutants are taking over this MTHFR.

See what I did there?

 

Happy Holidays, Everyone!!! 

Me and Grumpy Cat. Both have grumps. Both have mutated genes. Soulmates Forever.

hiBEARnation

Most people know when the holidays are coming because they look at a calendar. I know the holidays are coming because my half-bear genes kick in and I begin to fight the annual battle of avoiding the slip into near-hibernation.

I think there is something to be said for humans’ often suppressed internal clocks. We do a great job of pretending to be flexible and adaptable, but geez, all of this New England winter darkness is really doing a number on me.  Ever since we turned the clocks back a few weeks ago, I’ve noticed a definite decline in my energy level. My only real desire for any physical activity is the “workout” I get from lifting cookies to my mouth (biceps), chewing said cookies (masseters & buccinators), and climbing upstairs to either use the bathroom or sleep (legs and glutes). Oh, also, raising my arm to point the remote at the TV (triceps?).

Point is, I’ve really fallen off the wagon hard recently in terms of my workouts and my nutrition. I’m lucky if I make it to the gym four times per week lately. When I do make it there, I’ve basically given up my running card/cardio in general in favor of strength workouts, and I’ve noticed a very real decline in my recovery rate and endurance as a result.

I’m also lucky if I can get through a day NOT stuffing my face with cookies, chips, and my recent odd obsession, salami sandwiches (right?!). My diet is all over the place. Where I usually crave protein and greens, I can’t kick this recent pull toward any and all things white and starchy. You should have seen the number I pulled on a pizza last week. It must have been traumatic to watch.

Whether a result of my nutrition or not, I am also tired almost all of the time recently. Even though I’ve been logging 7-8 hours of sleep per night, it’s been almost impossible for me to wake up in the morning My grogginess paired with Sleepy Karl’s persuasiveness is a winning combo that often results in me resetting my alarm and completely blowing off any morning plans I have—like the gym…or showering...

So I’m just all kinds of out of whack. And it’s clearly a vicious cycle. Bad diet? Bad sleep. Bad sleep? Bad workout. Bad workout? Eat a cookie (clearly an appropriate solution). And around we go.

Now, while we all love to play the blame game (and damnit, I’m pointing my finger at Old Man Winter), the fact of the matter is that I need to readjust and keep my head above water as best I can. While I believe in listening to one’s body, sometimes I think that my body is just a persuasive, lazy ass who likes to complain come the wintertime. And with the holidays right around the corner—Thanksgiving is next week, what?!?!—it’s all the more important that I own the coming weeks and push myself out of this rut. While I’d love for chewing and walking from dinner table to couch to be considered a workout, I know I’ll feel better if I can fight back against the winter blues and reestablish a routine.

So this week, the name of the game is preparedness. I’ve got grocery shopping done and Paleo meals prepared—including Paleo cookies, because let’s be honest, who doesn’t love a good cookie? I’ve got backup enlisted to help get Sleepy Karl out of my head on gym mornings. I’ve got the will to beast mode through this week. And if all else fails, I’ve also got some super cute artillery to chase me out of the house.

Hatch and her newly constructed tanker.

New Frontiers

You know that saying, “When one door closes, another door opens?” Well, have I got a story for you about just that.

At the end of the summer, my trainer informed me that he would be leaving my gym to make a cross-country move—but that it wouldn’t happen until sometime around winter. Despite my excitement for him, thoughts of a total body apocalypto death scene started playing in my head.

The thought of my fitness crutch partner in crime leaving is kind of terrifying. I have been training with my him for over two years now. Through his guidance and education—counterbalanced with my…errr…
“comforting” diet—I’ve managed to move from soft to semi-soft.  I’ve learned a lot about muscle mechanics and combination movements to maximize workouts. I’ve learned about percent body fat and muscle mass composition. I’ve learned about body weight workouts and CrossFit. I’ve even learned to be incredibly effective at dodging monthly measurements!

With him gone, who will hold me accountable? Who will design new and fun workout cards for me each month? Who will physically wreck me in between cards to kick me off of plateaus? Will I slip into laziness? Will my body bloat out in protest? HOW WILL I POSSIBLY SURVIVE SLEEPING IN ON FRIDAY MORNINGS INSTEAD OF WAKING UP EARLY TO TRAIN?!?!

Well, guess what? I quote GoT here…Winter is coming. And it’s coming fast. My trainer is leaving the week after Thanksgiving.

You know what that means.

Doomsday approaches.

Naturally, there are other trainers at my gym. And most of them are damn good (I know this because of all the creepy people watching I do while working out. I’m like a secret shopper for trainers…). But after some long thought and debate, I’ve decided that I won’t be signing up to work with another coach once mine leaves in just a few short weeks. Instead, I’ve decided to cut out the middle man—and become a personal trainer myself.

…….CURVE BALL!!!

Surprised?

Me too.

Right around the time my trainer gave his original notice (eons ago), I stumbled upon an online offer for a discounted personal training certification program. I chewed on it for a little bit, wondering if it was worth the monetary and time investment, but I guess I waited too long. Before I could make up my mind, the offer had expired. I chalked it up to fate. Wasn’t the right move for me.

Flash forward to last week. My trainer tells me his final day at work is coming at the end of November. And the NEXT day, I get an email that the online offer is back again. So I’m thinking, “THIS IS FATE, BACK AGAIN! THE WORKOUT GODS HAVE ANSWERED MY QUERY!!! I AM SUPPOSED TO DO THIS.”

However, as the most risk-adverse human that ever walked the planet, rather than impulsively purchasing, I took it to my close friends and family—whom I like to call The Cabinet—to assess if this was a good idea or just a gym rat delusion.

Long story short, I got some good feedback and decided to go for it.

So now, I have a TON of PDF materials saved on my hard drive, six months to study, and one voucher to take the certification exam.  Better not blow it.

I decided to go ahead with this primarily for the educational capital. For the cost of three sessions with my trainer, I have access to material that I can carry with me indefinitely. Rather than relying on someone else to analyze my body, assess my performance, and design my workouts, I’ll be equipped with the knowledge to do so myself. Not to mention, I’ll never have separation anxiety with a trainer again. Good ol’ frugality and self-reliance at its finest.

So here I go—with no real intent in mind beyond educating myself and trying something new. But who knows, maybe this process will lead me to new frontiers of the personal and professional variety.

I guess we’ll have to wait and see—though I’m betting if I can survive the first month of studying without crying, throwing up, or throwing things, I’ll have a pretty good indication...

Happy Monday! Hope you all do something a little crazy yourselves today!

Check out my first client. So fly.

Crazy Cat Lady

Guys…The cat tumor is back.

Yup, that’s right. After months of joking around about it, we finally suited up and actually got a kitten. We also learned that this now makes us “pet parents,” as the term owner is apparently an antiquated faux-paw (HA!). 

Anyway, our kitten’s name is Hatch, and this is the story about how I fell in love.

I actually stumbled upon Hatch by accident. I was doing some research for one of the after-school groups I lead—as our students had been largely interested in working with animals. So, I scoured the net to find local shelters that might need some volunteers, and landed on a sort of matchmaking website for animals and their potential new human companions. I came across kitty dearest’s picture at that point, and noted how cute she was. But I carried forth, trying to keep myself zeroed in on the professional task at hand. It was difficult—like trying to resist mountains of cakes and pies in your periphery when you know you should focus on the plate of celery in front of your face. I mean, who can resist pages upon pages full of kittens?!?!

It wasn’t until I returned to the website for supplemental research a few weeks later that I came across this particular cat again. I couldn’t believe she was still available. I mean, don’t people have eyes?!?! She’s freaking adorable! I think it’s safe to say that my research quickly, though quietly, turned from professional to personal at that point. I know it sounds totally lame and too romantic for most, but I just knew in my gut that the cat on my screen was my cat. It’s weird to describe. I just knew it.

So I went home that night to show le boyfriend. In his defense—as I came home quite frequently pining for some animal—he didn’t take me too seriously at first. At least until two hours later, when I couldn’t stop talking about her or staring at her profile picture. Yes, she had a PROFILE on this website. So we agreed that the next day (Friday), I would contact the foster family to get more information.

Well, things move quickly when fate is at hand. By Saturday, le boyfriend and I were on our way to a local pet store to meet the kitty and see if our purrsonalities (HA!) worked well together. Within 5 minutes, we knew she was our girl. But that didn’t stop us from staying another hour to oogle over her and play around. In a heartbreaking twist of timing, we decided to not take Hatch that day—mainly because we would be gone the entire following weekend for our race and didn’t want to leave her alone so soon after bringing her home.

The race came and went—and was awesome—and the next day, we had a kitten staring up at us from our living room floor. Talk about a busy 24 hours! She’s been here for three weeks, now, and I think we are starting to get the hang of each other.

Notable things about Hatch: she’s approximately 6 months old, she is a Manx (no tail), and she also hops like a bunny. Additionally, Hatch is a rescue kitty. She was born on an Amish farm in Kentucky, as they breed Manx cats due to their affinity for hunting barn critters. Her litter was born with a “defect” of sorts—the technical term, due to my debatably creepy internet sleuthing capabilities, is sacrococcygeal dysgensis. Basically, where “typical” cats have a space between their sacrum and tailbones, Hatch and her siblings do not. The result is a “hopping” effect, where both legs act in unison, rather than having individual range of motion. Alas, a batch of magical kitty bunnies!!!

Anyway, the Amish must not have found this ideal for resale to local farmers, so Hatch’s litter was turned over to a high-kill shelter in Kentucky. Thankfully, one of the numerous animal foster homes up here in CT rescued Hatch and her siblings from this shelter, and cared for them until their “forever homes” could be located. That’s our cue…

Another cool thing is that Hatch is learning how to fetch. Her favorite toy is now known as “Purple String,” and is actually a wedding favor from a friend’s nuptials. She loves to chase after it, catch it, and drag it back to a particular spot on the living room carpet. It’s pretty awesome. Now, we’re teaching her how to get Purple String out of boxes of various heights, enclosed spaces, and how to jump down with it from high places. She does so rather…um…uniquely. She doesn’t have great balance due to her legs, but she sure makes up for it in zeal. I would have put a video up of her sweet skills, but every time I got the camera out to record, she would just lie on the floor posing. Diva.

Anyway, I tell you all of this for two reasons:
1.            I have always been a crazy cat lady. Only now, I finally have the cat to legitimize it.

2.            It’s really shaking things up around here.

Life has been shifting in attempt of finding a new balance around these parts recently. Which means my typical “wake up, gym, rinse, work, sleep, repeat” routine is also in transition. While I love having Hatch here, and it feels like she’s been here the whole time, I’m finding it hard to find a “new normal.”  I didn’t realize how packed my days were with “selfish” stuff until she came around. The biggest shake up has been my gym schedule.

Getting the workouts in has been personally difficult. I feel guilty waking up and rushing out to the gym now, because I know that Hatch wants some love and some play time. Then, I feel bad going to the gym straight from work, because Hatch has been alone all day. Honestly, I don’t know how parents of humans do it, because I’ve found it difficult to leave her cute, smushy self for long during this adjustment period. And when I am gone, I wonder if it is for too long, if she is lonely, or if she has completely wrecked the house in protest. I don’t know, maybe these are hints that my deeply buried maternal instincts are actually alive and well…

It’s gotten slightly easier over the last week. Largely because I have come to my senses and realized that just as I am adjusting to Hatch’s schedule, she’s adjusting to mine. Also, no matter how much I personify the cat, I don’t think the extra hour I am gone for a gym trip is really eating her up inside. Hatch probably enjoys the extra nap time, relishing the quiet until her crazy ass human comes back wanting to cuddle and make up terribly constructed songs about her goings-on of the day. Poor creature—she must have done something horribly wrong in a previous life to be stuck with the likes of me.

Suffice it to say, things are changing over here. But it’s all good things. We still might be searching for our new normal, but there sure are some good views along the way…

Day Two: Hatch has yet to develop a healthy disdain of humans.

Day Twenty: Play dead and the humans will ignore you.

This is how Hatch lies down almost always. Wuddup, seal?

The day she learned there was a whole other world under the couches.

About to enjoy nap #3 of the day. It's only 1pm.

The Rugged Maniac Report

Well, it's come and gone just like that! My first running race over in a flash!

Three Sundays ago now, myself and four friends trekked to the middle of nowhere Massachusetts to try our hands in the Rugged Maniac. I can't believe it has taken me so long to write this up. Short version of the story: It. Was. Awesome!!!

The Rugged Maniac falls within in the "mud run" category. More specifically, it's a 5K on a motocross track, packed with 25 obstacles, lots of dirt and goo, and relentless hills to slow you down before you get your beer--we all know that's the main motivator here.

Now obviously, when you're a part of the team, you need a really kick ass name for yourselves. You will in no way understand why (inside joke), but we decided to call ourselves CatCorps. It was equal parts hilarious and ferocious. Furthermore, each of us had a name and duty to serve for the team. We had Captain Meow Meow: motivation; Colonel Scratch & Sniff: reconnaissance; Sabertooth: lightning speed; Sergeant Liger: brute strength; and Feral Stray: amoral survivalist. Due to some severe underplanning, we did not have costumes/team uniforms (next time), but we DID have two main objectives:

1. We are here for the fun and the experience. That being said, our time does not matter, let's just not kill ourselves or each other along the way. 
2. Beat "DogCorps" (a fellow racing team with dogs on their shirts who had no idea we had targeted them as our natural foe). A little friendly competition is healthy, no?

CatCorps Pre-Race: The Claws Are Out

Due to our hungry appetites and subsequent pre-race fueling, we got to the course with barely enough time to make our heat--a 12:30pm start time. When I say barely, I mean, once we were registered and checked our bag, we had to hurdle over the "prep wall" obstacle into the gate. Our last team member jumped the wall just as the start gun went off.  Fortunately, this means there wasn't really enough time for me to psych myself out or worry too much about what was about to come. It was game time! We left the gate at the back of the pack, and slowly made our way to the middle of the racers by the first obstacle--a set of two 4.5 feet walls. Let the bruises begin!

Part One: CatCorps Climbs
The first half of the race consisted of dry climbing, jumping, and crawling elements. There were a TON of walls we had to climb--most were about least two stories high and straight verticals, and a few of them required a leg-up from your teammates. So, for over a mile, we were scaling makeshift walls and pyramids, crawling through black-out tunnels, leaping over series of trenches, and balancing up/down diagonal beams and logs. All while running up and down hills. Luckily, CatCorps paced itself nicely, so we still had lots of gas in the tank for...

Part Two: CatCorps Swims
By mid-way through the race, everything changed, and we found ourselves in almost consistent water/mud obstacles. Most of the elements in this section involved trudging and/or crawling. There was a pool at the bottom of a hill we got to launch ourselves into then slosh out of. There were steep drops into mud pits. There were barbed wires with nothing but mud and rocks underneath that we had to army crawl through. There were uphill tunnels coated in mud that you needed to pull yourself up with a rope. There was even a giant slide leading down into a pool of dirty, dirty water. And then you got to jump over fire! Talk about epic! This part of the course felt like my wheelhouse. I've always been one for getting my hands dirty, and after all, you come to a mud run to get really disgusting. I was right at home.

Cats love water.

Barbed Wire Incline Crawl

Part Three: CatCorps Rehydrates
When we hit the finish line, we immediately got our team photo taken and hit the beer tent--priorities, people. That said, we totally forgot to look at the race clock to catch our finish time.  Our best guess was that we came in just around the 65 minute mark, but we weren't wearing timing chips (not "competing," remember?) so we'll never know for sure. I kind of like it better that way--your first race should be about the experience, right? Plus, we met our two objectives. We didn't kill ourselves or each other, and we totally burned "DogCorps" after the first obstacle.

CatCorps Post-Race: The Claws Are Still Out

So here I am, having earned a sweet t-shirt, a whole lot of bruises, and a bunch of great memories. After a few days/weeks to think about it, here's how I've processed my first running race:

• Favorite obstacles: army craw under barbed wire; mud tubes. To get through these obstacles quickly, you literally had to use your whole body. After so much running, it felt great to incorporate my arms, back, and abs into the mix. Not to mention, I felt pretty bad ass racing through the mud with all hands on deck in terms of muscle demand. I imagine this feeling is akin to being a really dirty, newborn gazelle.
• Surprise struggle: ANY balance obstacle. These varietals totally kicked my butt psychologically. Namely the incline/decline logs and narrow beam over a water pit. I learned I have a totally irrational fear of falling into things. I don't mind at all falling onto the ground--especially from a standing height. I do THAT all the time. However, falling to a 6-foot deep trench or pool of dirty water where I can't see the bottom=anxiety attack and an uncompleted obstacle. Due to this game-day surprise realization, I had to outright skip one obstacle (beam over water), and tried, but did not complete two (trench jump, incline/decline logs). Major bummer town. I think with a little bosu ball/balance beam work for stability and focus, I'll be able to own these elements next time!!!
• Surprise strength: running endurance, strength preparedness. Believe it or not, I had TONS of gas left in the tank after we crossed the finish line--and I felt like I could successfully do the whole course over again. My muscles weren't fatigued, and I felt like I had barely run at all. Yay for running/strength training plans AND distractions--like mud slides and barbed wire.

This race was such a blast, and I'd totally recommend it--or any mud race--to anyone for a few reasons: First, it's always awesome to be a part of a team and a participant in the race community/culture. Second, I learned a lot about myself as an individual athlete (and person). Third, it gave me a chance to appreciate my training efforts and progress. And last, but most importantly, we all need more opportunities to just let loose, not take ourselves too seriously, and play.

Mud for the win!

My Sweet T-Shirt.

Before (ish) And After (ish)

Tomorrow, I leave for my race weekend. I think it’s fair to say that I’m nervous, especially as I’ve started having nightmares about it. The most entertaining of which being that I had to complete the race in a skull boat with a crew of six…and the whole course was staged in water. You had to race other boats in between obstacles, get out of the boat to complete the obstacle, then go swim your boat down (which drifted due to waves/tides) before heading to the next challenge. It was a wild, exhausting dream. I don’t even know if my crew completed our mission!

Anyway, aside from the crazy dreams, I’m finally coming down to the wire. It’s been over two months of training, and I think that merits some reflection about where I was at pre-training, and where I am now.

Two months ago:

·         Just starting my running card. Running two minutes on, walking two minutes off for a total of 30 minutes and just around 1.5 miles.

·         Runner’s knee up the wazoo!!!

·         Running on treadmill only

·         Could feel my body weight with every stride. Things were bouncing and jiggling and rubbing…I like to call these reverberations my running "aftershock." Like what happens after an earthquake. Fitting, no?

·         Overall negative relationship with running. Why run if you're not being chased/chasing something?

Now:

·         I’m able to run a consecutive mile, in no longer than 11 minutes. Fastest mile has been 9.38

·         If I push hard, can run/walk a 5k in under 34.30

·         Fully functioning knees while running. Praise the high heavens, I'm not arthritic afterall!

·         Have been fitted for running shoes. And they are totally fly. Absolutely worthwhile luxury.

·         Running only outdoors for the past few weeks. Man, what a difference. I barely sweat anymore, thanks to this Fall weather. And I get to scope real estate in my neighborhood!

·         My ownership of spandex pants has grown by 400%. Seriously. So has my collection of high-impact sports bras.

·         My body has gotten “tighter” and aftershocks are less (read: not as jiggly/bouncy/rubby) over the past few months—particularly in my abdominal areas. I’m liking the reduced reverberation, and I feel much  more in sync out on the road.

·         More positive relationship with my running self. If running had a survey, I’d give it 4.5 stars in terms of how I feel when doing it/overall satisfaction with it as a workout. See, if I can manage to do THIS, we can have world peace, people!

Growth Areas

·         I’m struggling to push my distance past 1 mile without needing a quick break. I hope that in a few months’ time, I’ll be able to run an entire 5k without stopping.

·         Side stitches. Got some good tips from friends about how to ward these off, and am practicing them on every run. Side stitches really slow down my ability to run longer distances, because they are pretty much paralyzing when they happen. It’s hard to run when you feel like a gremlin is exploding from your belly.

So, not bad for a few months of work. It’s been easy to lose sight of my progress while being in the daily grind of working out. But when I take the opportunity to pause and look back at how far I’ve come, I have to say that it’s nice to enjoy the view from here and also to respect my journey. That being said, I’ll always have room for growth and new horizons for which to aim. And you know I’m going to shoot for that—this type A+ explorer is always hungry for new frontiers!