Overstepping

This is the best news I've had in weeks.  Months, maybe.  It appears that I've been overwalking.

This morning I got impatient with myself and my guesstimatations.  After I walked Banks the usual short route, I got in the car, set the odometer and retraced the route -- 1.7 miles, a little longer than I thought.  Unfortunately, I hadn't thought to check the clock before I left, so I don't know how long it took me to walk it.

After that, I re-set the odometer and traced a route that I hoped would be 3.3.  Doing three hills at Stacy Park, just once each, was 3.7 miles.  I'll cut .4 off of Banks' relatively flat walk.

I could hardly wait to get home and do the route, now that I had an exact measurement. I left at 7:42 and got back at exactly 8:43.  OMG.  That's about an hour to do just short of 4 miles.  It is waayy to stressful for me to figure this out to the nth degree -- I'll find someone smart at work to do that for me tomorrow -- but a gross simplicfication is that I've shaved quite a few minutes off my daily trip.  I was figuring 18 minutes per mile, which is what it was when I started this thing, so I figure I'm now down to about 16 minutes per mile.  That brings me to 1 hour and 20 minutes, rather than an hour and a half.

But I think I'll have to wait til Thursday to get the definitive answer. I'm having breakfast with Sam tomorrow and have an early meeting, so won't have time to walk before work.  Then I'm seeing David for a cut and color, and I'm way overdue, and if I go walking after that, I'll sweat and ruin all his work, and I'd like to look good for 24 hours at least.  So Wednesday will be my day off this week.  Broke the Monday curse for two weeks in a row.

Disconnect

Last night, as I opened up my laptop to blog about my Saturday and Sunday walks, I realized that something was different about my blog page – all of the headers which give me options such as “new post” or “edit” or “publish” or basically anything, had disappeared, and all there was left was a lonely picture of Banks and me.  Believe me, it’s not like anything exciting happened this weekend that I absolutely had to tell you about, but still!  It was disconcerting to be disconnected from the blog, so I brought my laptop into work, and even as I type this (from my work computer), I have Aimee troubleshooting for me.

Saturday morning seems so long ago.  Banks is now to the point where 20 minutes is about his limit.  I miss my lionhearted dog, and more than anything else, that’s why I am longing for the fall weather.  But after his return home, I went back to the hills, which is now my default setting.  As much as I love the trail, which it seems I haven’t been to in ages, it’s flat, and I don’t get the same kind of workout. 

Last night was the exact same thing, a short one with Banks and then the hills.  I especially love Leland, Terrace and Mary.  I had a ridiculously cheesy piece of pizza at lunchtime, and kept thinking about heartburn and clogged arteries, so wanted to blast it out of my system.  I took those three hills, twice each.  Normally I return home and am disheartened to see that I still have 10 minutes to go, but yesterday I’d overdone it by about 14.

My knees, which gave me so much trouble at the beginning of all this, are almost never an issue anymore.  But invariably, whenever my gait is off, or I am extra diligent about hitting those hills, payback settles into my left hip.  I wonder if it’s arthritis?  I know that when I stretch away from the left hip, and twist and lean to the right, I can really feel a good stretch.

My boss, who is in probably the best shape of anyone I know (he runs and does spin classes), just told me that he recorded his resting heart rate at 38.  I just did mine, and no, I’m not a superhero like him, but mine was – 58!  That’s the lowest I’ve ever seen it.  I remember several years ago, I went to donate blood, and they had to keep taking my pulse over and over again, because it wouldn’t go below 100.

Progress.

The French Paradox

We all know what that is, right?  The idea that the French eat rich four-course meals, complete with wine and heavy sauces, and somehow avoid getting fat.  I shouldn’t say “somehow.”  Apparently they maintain their trim figures by taking the stairs instead of the elevator, and doing their own gardening.

There was an article in the New York Times a few days ago, about how even French women are starting to pack on the pounds, and are turning to, of all things, Jenny Craig.  Although the meals are much more sophisticated than their American counterpart – how could they not be, they’re French – the whole idea of eating pre-packaged, individual meals is anathema to the culture at large.

Oh, how I want to eat like the French.  It makes so freaking much sense to me.  Let me just give you some of the highlights of their philosophy on food.  One woman interviewed was aghast at the American idea of lining up at a buffet, piling up on what you like, and avoiding what you don’t like. (The author looked at her blankly -- she may as well have been bemoaning the invention of the photocopier). People should be seated together at a table, and the SAME FOODS SERVED AT THE SAME TIME!  That’s eating communally – everyone takes a portion, but is careful not to take too much.  And, they all eat a little of everything, instead of bogarting their favorites.  Someone else talked about the American obsession with calories and low-fat foods, and said something like, if they would just stop worrying so much about what’s on the table and simply eat moderately and enjoy the company and what’s in front of them, their weight would take care of itself.

But here’s the one that really resonates with me:  for the most part the French still adhere to the rather quaint notion of eating three meals a day, with no snacking. The prevailing wisdom over here is, six small meals a day, keep those blood sugars level, watch that metabolism, and God forbid you should ever, ever feel a hunger pang.  Someone in that article made the point that snacking is for children; their small stomachs can’t hold that much, so of course they need an after-school snack and maybe a little something at bedtime.  But if an adult eats properly at mealtimes, starting with something light like a salad, then a small piece of meat with a vegetable, followed by cheese and a piece of fruit for dessert – you shouldn’t be hungry between meals!  Someone else mentioned that their bodies are so much more “regulated” than someone who grazes all day long.

And I agree with that.  Trends come and go, and it seems to me that when Americans were advised to eat three squares a day, there were a lot less fat people. Maybe we’re overcomplicating this thing.  I’ve done the mid-morning and the mid-afternoon snack, and it just makes me feel undisciplined.  Childish, like I’m coddling myself.

Just as I got a lot of good ideas from the “Madame Chic” book about the French lifestyle, I’m renewing my determination to follow the French in their eating patterns.  I went out and bought myself some really good, dessert-quality yogurts and French cheeses.  I’m a horrible cook, but I’m going to up the quality of my take-out.  I just googled Le Madeleine, and some of that stuff looks delicious.  And filling.

I resisted the temptation to put off the walk until the sun went down, and went right at 5:00, which I should really be congratulated on, because I’ve lost my sunglasses.  There are just days when, in a weird kind of way, I want to punish myself, and make it as hard, or at least as uncomfortable, as I can make it.  It worked.  I think it’s only in the low 90s, but it is so dang humid….Banks was happy to be relieved after just a half hour, and I continued on to the hills.  Maybe that’s why I like the punishing walks – it feels so amazingly good to have a hot shower, air conditioning and a cold glass of water when it’s all over.

I mean it, I’m starting it tomorrow in earnest.  The French thing.

In Memory

This morning’s walk was a lot like yesterday’s.  I got up early with Banks, and we started our walk around 5:30.  I was optimistic as soon as I stepped into the cool and breezy air.  But we walked all of one block, and the breeze stopped, and hot and muggy reigned, even at that hour.  We only completed 50 minutes because I needed to get ready for work and get in early.  I had a funeral to attend today at 1:00.

Those of you in Austin have probably read about Mark Gobble, who was struck by a hit-and-run driver Sunday morning while out jogging.  I met Mark and his beautiful, vivacious wife Leslie back in 2006.  What an amazing guy.  Deaf from birth, he had an insatiable desire to achieve.  When I first met him, he was Principal of the deaf school, where Leslie taught.  A couple of years later, he was working on his PhD in Business at UT.  I had lost track of him over the last year or so, and did not know about the successful skateboarding business he had started, or the fact that he and Leslie were about to load up the kids and head off to Boston University, where he’d been hired as an Associate Professor.  I didn’t even know he’d been on an Everest expedition 10 or so years ago!  A documentary was made of him and several others with different handicaps on that journey, but I didn’t learn about that until I read his obituary. Let me say it again….the guy was AMAZING.  If you didn’t gather that from his achievements, all you had to do was converse with him.  His wit was lightning-quick, and what I remember most about our conversations was both of us laughing, a lot.  He was a devoted husband and incredible father to his two children. In every aspect, he was just a cut above the rest of us.

His memorial was a fitting tribute – lots of people with lots of wonderful memories, in a funky little old-fashioned, once-upon-a-time church (Mercury Hall). It was comforting to see Leslie surrounded by so much love and support, and to know that she and the kids will, eventually, be okay.

When I walk my remaining 40 minutes tonight, I’ll do it while remembering Mark, and how much he achieved, and how much he loved life, all the while overcoming a “disability” that he never for one minute considered as such.

blaaaaggghhhh.....

OMG.  If I hadn't broken the Monday curse (see last post) two days ago, the streak might very well have ended yesterday, because there is no way I could have walked five.

I woke up Tuesday feeling as sick as I think I've ever felt.  Diarrhea.  Puking.  Insatiable need to go back to bed.  But I couldn't because I had a can't-miss meeting (client flying in from Dallas).  This is how bad it was -- I couldn't even think of making coffee, and believe me, I haven't missed my two mugs first thing in the morning in I don't know how long.  I had a cup of tea instead, and an almost-dry English muffin.  Went into the office, informed my boss I would be good for nothing beyond attending the meeting, and would go home immediately thereafter. 

Wonder what brought this on?  It was either food poisoning (I DID have Taco Bell the night before) or a vicous 24-hour virus.  And I do mean 24 hours, because I am miraculously better, exactly 24 hours later. 

My meeting was at 1:30; I came home immediately afterwards, and straight to bed.  Got up only a few times to go to the bathroom, but basically slept for 16 hours after that.  My face was burning up, but I resisted the impulse to take Tylenol, feeling that if there was some kind of infection there, I wanted my body to do its job and burn it off.  My hunger pangs were at war with my nausea; I had Jackson go out and buy me a banana, and that was all I could handle for dinner.

This morning?  I'm cured.  Well, almost.  I had told my boss yesterday I was going to stay home today, as I couldn't imagine bouncing back this quickly.  But I'm taking the day off anyway, just in case I'm hit with an urge for a three-hour nap, and because I almost never call in sick. 

I decided to do my walk in increments today. It is a beautifully cool and even breezy morning, overcast with no sun whatsoever.  But even walking at that temperature, at a subdued pace, on very flat and friendly grounds, I sweated as much as I do on my hard and sweltering walks, so I guess this thing is still kind of working its way through me.  Banks and I walked for an hour, and I'll do another half hour later in the evening.  And I will spend the rest of the day appreciating the health that I too often take for granted.

Crash

I finally, finally broke the Monday curse.  I hated having my day off be the first day of the week, but that's the pattern I got into, I'd say for the last eight weeks or so.  I am still on a roll.

Yesterday, when I shared my unbridled glee at the pace and degree of difficulty of my last three walks, I failed to take into consideration that there was a physical component to this thing, as well as the psychological.  I woke up this morning with a lot of stiffness in the knees, and had to do a lot of stretching to feel anywhere near normal. 

I started the walk at either 7:54 or 7:56 PM, with Banks in tow.  When he started petering out, and I dropped him off, I was almost exactly halfway done.  No showing off today -- I stuck to the flat roads around the neighborhood and throughout St. Ed's.

Unfortunately, breaking the Monday curse was not even close to the most important thing that happened to me today.  I got into a wreck.  Still can't believe it. I was approaching an intersection, and had this dawning realization that "They're not going to stop," followed closely by "I'm going to hit them," and concluding with "S--t, I actually hit them!"  It was totally my fault.  I was looking for an address, and went right through a red light.  Thank God -- THANK GOD -- no one got hurt.  And the two very young girls in the other car could not have been nicer.  I know you're not supposed to say "I'm sorry" when you're in an accident, but what else do you say when it's so clearly your fault?  My car definitely got the worst of it -- a fender is pretty caved in -- but it's driveable, while I try to figure out what I want to do.  (Spend $800 to get it fixed?  Get a new car?  Pawn this one off on Jackson?)  Not a great day, but could have been worse.  It could always be worse.

Golden

I never hold back from letting you know when I'm stressed, anxious, down or uninspired, so there's no reason not to be upfront about the other times.  Remember my Friday walk, which I thought was one of the best so far?  Saturday's was like that, and so was today's.  I'm in a zone.  I have to confess that I did not take Banks for either of them.  I wanted to be free and move fast.  Yesterday was cool and early in the morning; today's started at 5:22, and was blazingly hot and humid.  I didn't care.  Not once did I whine to myself about the lack of water.  I sought out the steepest hills and did them twice. 

I  haven't eaten much this weekend.  When I walked these last two days, I kept thinking about how strong my legs were getting, how my body was reshaping.  I want to ride this train as long as it's moving at this speed.

It's the normal ebb and flow of a project like this, I know.  It won't last much longer.  But for a fleeting moment, it's easy.  I feel golden.

Hey, I forgot to tell you something I learned on my winery tour.  Michelle, one-half of a couple on the tour with us, is a bona fide foodie, and she told Brian and me about a faddish but delicious trend.  You take a box of dry cake mix (she recommends dark chocolate), and blend it with a can of pumpkin -- not one of those huge cans you see at Thanksgiving, but just a regular 12 or 16-ouncer.  She said you'll feel like you should add water or oil because it's seems so stiff and dry, but just blend it the best you can, don't add any of the other ingredients the cake box lists, make it into a loaf or cupcakes and bake at the time and temperature the directions say.  She swears it's delicious.