Heavyweight

My  husband bought a scale. I am mortified.

I'm not one of those people who are 'anti-scale.' I do step on them, dreading where the numbers will stop. If it were more like Wheel of Fortune, at least we'd get 'Lose a Turn' and just be disappointed we didn't get to play the game. But with scales you have to watch as the little black line wavers back and forth until it decides that you played far too hard in the preceding hours and now you'll have to pay with a huge tab: your undesirable triple-digit score. Or, if you have a digital display scale (which is what Doug brought home), you can watch the numbers climb up and up as the lines go from '4'...no, no, wait...'7,' no...oh, '9.' Ugh.

Like most modern-day women, I'm not 100 percent satisfied with my body. I don't usually get caught up in the numbers game, but I would like to weigh less than my husband. I would like to have more firm parts than jiggly parts. We eat well, stay fairly active and don't smoke. We aren't in a health risk range. But a scale? I'm just not sure I want to be tempted to step on it and feel crappy about the numbers. Is this the test? Is this where I'm supposed to say, "This is an opportunity! You can step on the scale and choose to feel great about how much you weigh!"

Well, I'm not buying it. I've already stepped on it twice and I've taken the opportunity to scrunch up my face and hiss at it.

Sore sport

I'm sore today.

The "I-must-be-getting-old-and-I-am-out-of-shape" kind of sore.

And I didn't even run.

Sunday morning I got up and at 'em, out the door before 7 a.m. I am not a morning person, nor do I enjoy getting out of bed for any reason before 9 a.m. But knowing that this was my only opportunity for a run/walk before Tuesday, I had to grab the chance while I could. So, in an effort to prepare for my upcoming 8K, I decided to walk it.

I'm having some trouble wrapping my brain around the time necessary to run this race. Based on my 11+ minute-miles, I figure it will take me about an hour and-a-half to complete it. To knock down some mental barriers (and because I don't think I could run it), I decided to walk twice around Green Lake.

I've walked around twice before, but always during gab-fests with girlfriends where the time and distance melted away with our chatting. This time I had Regina Spektor.

It was great. It was the day after the Rock 'n Roll Marathon, so I'm guessing lots of folks ordinarily running Green Lake on a weekend morning were rightfully asleep. The weather was cool, with the sun peeking out. I was invigorated for the rest of our Sunday, which consisted of our weekly visit to the Ballard Farmers' Market, the library, yard work with the girls outside. I felt good. Until I didn't.

My neck started its old flare around 10 p.m. Ibuprofen and ice helped until I fell asleep around 11 p.m. When my two-year-old climbed into bed with us at 2 a.m., I was so twisted and turned that I couldn't handle lying down anymore. I went downstairs to the La-Z-Boy.

Despite watching, "Behind the Music: Courtney Love," most of "Apollo 13," "Far and Away" and every horrible informercial you can imagine, I still couldn't sleep. By the time "Flight of the Conchords" came on at 6:30 a.m., I drifted off just in time to be awakened by Doug, who was getting ready for work despite not getting any sleep, either.

Today was rocky. I felt better after more ibuprofen and lots of water. Stress, coupled with not replenishing fluids hit me hard. If I'm going to continue training, I'm going to need to fuel my body with stuff it can actually use. I thought a 2-year-old's 2 a.m. wake-up call was rude, but our own bodies can be very convincing.

Bankin' On It

There's a food bank in my neighborhood. It's on one of the main streets leading from our house to our neighborhood's downtown area. Passing it upsets and confuses me. Not because it's an eyesore or that I don't agree with having a food bank in a residential neighborhood, but because there are people waiting outside.

The food bank is open three days a week, from 11 a.m. to 3 p.m. When I drop my girls off at school before 9 a.m., oftentimes a line has already formed. Rain or shine, clients wait with their books and their boxes for the food bank to open. Some have children with them. Most look like anybody else you'd see on the street, in the grocery store, at the movies. A couple of older Chinese ladies, their dark hair curled in place, their clothes tidy and fitted, smiled at me, nodding, "Ni hao, ni hao."

I'm conflicted about the food bank because it saddens me to think there are so many people without enough to eat. Yet I'm relieved that the food bank is there. I hate that it's necessary. I love that there are volunteers donning plastic gloves sorting through my donated clothing, glad to know their clients will have more choices for job interviews.

I wait in line for tickets to a show, to buy an electronic device, to get on a treadmill at the gym. These people are waiting in line to eat. I'm not sure what to do with that. Of course, there's guilt, especially since I was raised by a single parent who didn't let me leave the table until I'd eaten everything on my plate (a habit I have to force myself not to do with my own children). But there's something more, a challenge perhaps, to myself and my family. Are we biting off more than we can chew? Can we examine how we buy and consume food so that we're happy with 'enough'?

I snack a lot during the day. I'm home, I'm chasing my girls, the only meal I usually sit down for is dinner. I watch my daughters eat until they're full and when they say, "I'm done," they're done. They take their plates into the kitchen and go on with their days. I finish the food on my plate without paying much attention to it. I usually finish what's left on theirs by the time the dishes have to be washed. For whatever psychological reason, I'm hungry "for somethin'" an hour later. It's an odd cycle.

Seeing people line up at the food bank challenges me to rethink how I think about food. Right now there's a huge food movement happening - slow food, organic food, all natural food, locally grown food - "Foodie" has entered our lexicon. People are concerned about where their food comes from, what's in it, who makes it. It's all a heavy, distended stomach weighing us down.

My challenge to myself is to lose some of that weight. To ask, "Why do we have so much food?" "Why are we compelled to fill our pantries and refrigerators?" To just enjoy the sensation of satiation.

BTW:
While making a donation to the food bank today, I learned that they're moving to another location. It's not on my direct route, but it's still in the neighborhood. I think about the change that means for their patrons - and for me. 

Running Doesn't Really Suck

I ran four miles the other day. Ahhhhhh!

I have never envisioned myself as a runner. When it came time to complete the Presidential Physical Fitness testing in school, I was always at the end of the line during the 1-mile run. On the eve of the big run one year I actually ran around my house playing "Manic Monday" by The Bangles on a 45 record four times in a row. The song clocks in at about three minutes and I figured if I could jog for over 10 minutes, then I probably just ran a mile. (I still can't hear that song without picturing the hallway between my room and the living room, which acted as my track.)

Ever since we moved to Seattle 14 years ago, I've enjoyed walking around Green Lake. It's a little oasis nestled between State Highway 99 and Interstate 5. The paved trail around the lake is about 3 miles, there's a community center and pool, playground, and water enthusiasts can row, paddle, canoe and fish. It's also pretty flat. And did I mentioned paved?


For a non-runner like myself, this is the ideal place to walk - and I did - before kids for romantic strolls with my husband, with girlfriends to catch up on the latest gossip, and with kids (in carriers, strollers, on bikes with training wheels). While power walking one day, I just wondered what would happen if I jogged a little. Just picked up the pace a bit. It felt pretty good, so I kept going. I may have lasted about a quarter of a mile before I gave up, but the seed was planted that day: running doesn't really suck.

Over time I built up my running intervals so that a trip to Green Lake by myself usually means I'm going for a run. I still love to walk it when I'm with friends or the kids, but if I can sneak out of the house for some exercise on a clear day, I'm usually at Green Lake. And after the first quarter mile speed walk warm-up, I'm usually jogging.

Don't get excited, though. I'm not going to break any records. I don't mind being slow, but I do want to challenge myself. Which is why I signed up for the Seafair Torchlight 8K race at the end of July. I've never even run a 5K race, but since I already know I can do three miles fairly comfortably, I decided to push it a bit.

So on Tuesday when I explained to Doug that I needed to get out to run and he mentioned he needed to run an errand, our bargaining for who would manage the kids ended up motivating my training.
"Why don't you run down there and meet us? I'll take the girls in the car and we'll drive you home," Doug suggested.
"How far do you think it is?"
(Consults computer) "4.3 miles."
Oh.

I can't complain, since an early chunk of the route is downhill. I walked at points. I learned a lot about running on city streets versus on a pristine path near a lake. Car traffic aside, there's a lot of pollution you're breathing in. Much of my route curved through an industrial area with smoke, diesel fuel fumes and trucks kicking up dirt and gravel. But I made it. I finished the route-the longest route I can ever remember running in one go-and I was still standing at the end of it. The three most important people in my life met me there, holding a water bottle, giving me hugs and holding the fruits of Doug's errand: a huge bag of chocolate.

Socially Acceptable

My blog has been languishing lately, which doesn't really effect anyone in the world, not even me, since it just frees me up. But I feel guilty about not posting because an old friend of mine I've known since middle school (and haven't seen in over, ahem, 15 years) actually reads it! So, Chris, I'm back mostly because of you.

If you keep up with me in other online social arenas, you know that I do post to Facebook and twitter on a regular basis. I hit posterous for interesting photo ops on occasion and I try to keep up the print to pixel blog. And yes, I confess to a dorky pride in the badges I've earned on foursquare.  (One does see why even small companies are hiring social networkers to represent their brands online these days. Maintaining an online presence takes a lot of time.)

I don't usually hurt for things to talk about, just the time it takes to sit down and write about them. The beauty about FB and twitter is that they require fewer than 200 letters to get the gist of what's going on. I even logged into tumblr because I thought that format might be a good means of getting something out into the world while my toddler is napping.

Social networking is interesting on many levels, but fascinating to me in just how isolating it can feel. I opened my FB account in 2006 because I was back in college and I wanted to get a slice of what students were into. This was still when you needed a .edu e-mail account to access FB and the exclusivity of it appealed to me. As a 30-something back in college for a fellowship, it became a fascinating arena in which to observe college students.

Despite the ridicule I endured from the other fellows in our program (including my husband), I loved making connections with the students in my classes. Following them online made the gaps in age and experience between us narrow. But however many people "friended" or "followed" me, I still felt (and continue to feel) the screen between us. Naturally, there is a safety for all parties when there's a piece of hardware between them. I look at the sites I frequent as a means of making connections with people because I'm fairly isolated in my life as a stay-at-home-parent. It's a chance to not only chat with other parents near and far, but to breach other communities in which direct access might be difficult (my love of letterpress, typefaces, technology, writing, gardening, keeping chickens...). I love knowing what buzz is humming.

But that's really what it feels like: Buzz. A constant swirl of noise that distracts, perhaps detracts from direct experience. Don't misunderstand me--I love knowing what's "trending." I love getting instant updates about what people are eating for breakfast and what they thought of the 'Glee' finale. I love the illusion that by following Brooke Burke on Twitter I, too, might be able to have the career, the hot husband and the family all while maintaining double D's and size-4 jeans.

It just feels like integrating our avatars into our real lives is a delicate dance where I wonder, "Who am I actually dancing with?" and "Why am I doing it through a computer screen?"

I would love to eventually meet up with the people I meet through the internet, but I really love that most of the people I interact with are people I've met in person, but continue to bond with online. The goal is to stay connected, and that in itself feels good.