i run because i eat

Last winter, between bites of cheeseburgers or hot dogs or donuts, my friend Lindsay and I were talking about working out, and she informed me that she signed up to run in a race.  She invited me to join her and I took her up on the offer because really, how bad could 5 kilometres be to someone who has never run before, and then she said she's actually running 10 kilometres.

Ten.

Kilometres. 

Unfortunately, I usually can't resist a challenge, so, with sweaty, trembling cheeseburger hands, I registered too.  As I entered my information, I briefly thought back on the one time I decided to go running, ran for 3 minutes straight on the treadmill, and called it a day because it was the worst pain I had ever been in. Having let that memory materialize, I accepted the fact that training for a 10K run would be a challenge.

I started outside, first pushing myself for those familiar three minutes, then later pushing for five minutes, then eventually ten, thirty...and finally sixty minutes of running with breaks in between.  I made running playlists and made sure to always have my headphones in so as to never have to hear my feet hitting the pavement or even my breathing, because truthfully, I still don't know how I do it.  My body must sound like a steampunk furnace, heaving and gasping and raging as I pound out kilometre after kilometre.  I ran nearly every day for weeks, my endurance fueled by my fear of finishing last. I had nightmares of being carried to the finish line on a stretcher, or finishing four hours after everyone else, covered in my own...well it could be anything at that point. I ran further and further every day until one day someone told me I had been running nearly 9 kilometres without realizing it.  Back then I didn't have any running tools and measured my progress by how far I could go before I got exhausted.  Training for the race was a huge challenge, but in the process, I learned a lot about my body which was much cooler than any Degrassi special I've seen.  As it turns out, my legs become strong really, really quickly and I gain resilience to running basically on a daily basis. That is, I can run longer and longer distances with every run.  It's also pretty awesome how far my body can go before I get sick or something stupid like that. Kinda makes you feel like a team (take that, dodgeball jerks)
where you feel like your body wants to see you succeed and wants to help you any way it can. So cute.

Race Day was spectacular. There were more people than I thought inhabitated Ottawa, and there was a buzzing sort of energy amidst the runners- maybe nerves, or just the thrill of the crowds...a bit like boxing day, but less scary.  As we started running, I realized we were all being cheered on by the people on the sidelines.  I thought they were only cheering for their families, but then someone high fived me. And then someone else. And then someone gave me a thumbs up. And another person waved a poster at me that seemed to assume that "[I] can do it!". And then I saw about a thousand smiles. And then applause. I couldn't believe that all these people had sacrificed their time to make people like me feel special, to encourage us, to just be there to give us the strength to keep going. And then I felt tears forming in my eyes, and I fell in love with everyone, and just kept running, running, running. I finished the race in 0:58:23 and realized that then and there, I was addicted to running. 

A week later, I signed up for another race: the half-marathon.  I felt ready to try something bigger. I had three months to train for it, which was great. I ran in the rain, before sunrise, at sunset, in the heat, hungover, sick, you name it. The half-marathon was an even more terrifying endeavour, for obvious reasons involving oh I don't know TWENTY ONE KILOMETRES MAYBE.  So I took that pretty seriously, and the training beat the crap out of me, but I loved every minute of it.  I love the sight of the path behind me when I'm running, I love passing the morning trees, I love watching the sunrise as I take a walking break, I love that all the things I spend all day freaking out and stressing about are literally shaken out of my skull with every step.  I love running alone, and I love running with friends (Anais is an amazing runner!!).  The only thing I won't do is run without music. Eww.

So anyway, with a fantastic running plan, a ridiculous amount of drive (again, fueled by fear so I can't act all hardcore about that...I'm just very afraid of finishing last), and a few knee injuries in the process (you just can't train hard without hurting your knee, it seems), I.....*drumroll please*  *I said drumroll*  *okay do we not have a drumset here?* *Manny, you're on drums* *Manny* *Manny, drumroll* *Anyone got a couple of plates or something?* *Alright here we go...Manny you're fired..* *drumroll* 

I ran the half-marathon in 1:54:44!!! (!!!) 

And you know what, I hate to brag, but that's a damn good time.  The run was extremely long, despite my previous runs leading up to it being manageable, and I look really scary in my finish line pictures, but I did it!  As I was finishing that last kilometre (which I think was actually 15 kilometres bundled together) I told myself I would never run again, but I've already signed up for the next 10k coming up this May, and the half-marathon coming up at the end of September.  Kway kway.



The runners at the finish line. Someone yelled: "Do you guys realize we just ran the half marathon?!!" and everyone laughed and cheered.



So there you have it. I like to run. I never thought I'd get into it but somehow I can't stop. It might be just sheer luck, or maybe it's the fun Nikes I get to buy at every milestone, or maybe I just love it because that means I can eat all the cheeseburgers/hot dogs/donuts I want.  Whatever it is, I hope it never ends.

just doing it: a synopsis

A few years ago, I decided to try 'fitness'.  I wasn't really sure what being fit meant or how much or what you had to do to be considered fit, and I hadn't really engaged in any physical activity since the elementary days of dodge-ball ("I guess our team will take uhh....uhh.....can we take the tree? No? Then fine, we'll take...Alisa. You're sure the tree can't play?") so I had no idea where to begin.  And since I had no idea what to do, I did almost everything.  It has been three years since I started, and throughout my journey I have amassed a wealth of knowledge that I can now generously impart on anyone who may be looking to start a fitness journey of their own.  Below, a synopsis of what you can expect of some of the most common fitness options in the world of people who Just Do It.  Or whatever. 

BOSU Ball: Bosu stands for BOth Sides Up, which describes the half-sphere tool you use to balance on while doing strength training exercises.  It'll tone you up a little if you're really committed and don't wuss out on the plank/ab exercises, but if you're the type to give yourself a break a lot, skip it as the results take a while to materialize.

Pole Fitness: I'm not even kidding - I was a pole dancer.  The beginner course emphasized basic pole dancing moves commonly observed at strip clubs (the cherry, the fire pole, the peter pan...) with a focus on working your upper body as you use it to balance, to pull your weight, and to (attempt to) look graceful.  I won't lie: it took me a really, really long time (two courses, actually) to finally be able to spin with grace, and before that, I looked like a soggy pair of long johns flailing from a clothesline on a moderately windy day.  Eventually I left the program, mainly because I felt it wasn't enough of a workout for the rest of my body.

Zumba: Do you want to dance comfortably? Are you afraid of sudden movements? If you've answered yes to both questions, Zumba (a Salsa-dancing inspired fitness 'craze' which I really hesitate to call 'craze' on account of the zzz factor of the repetitive and un-challenging movements) is for you. Seriously, lots of people love Zumba, but umm what is the opposite of breaking a sweat? That is what I experienced during each of the eight classes I signed up for.

Core Intervals: This involves a series of strength training exercises sometimes including weights or steppers. While I love overcoming fitness challenges, for some reason I always feel angry during these classes. There are some things I just don't like doing in large amounts, like tricep dips and bicycle workouts, for example.  But mostly, what I don't like about this type of workout is that it feels like all I'm doing is tearing my body up.  There's not enough cardio and not enough time to give your body a break between all the twisting and mangling. Sad face.

Boot Camp: You know those I <3 NY t-shirts? If I could get one for bootcamp, I would.  The format of the class varies depending on what gym you go to, but at my gym, they split us into groups of 3 or 4 and we go through a circuit of stations at which we perform a certain activity for a minute.  Every minute we're doing something different, and the exercises are a combination of cardio and strength training, so you're always either coaxing your body into that extra push-up or boosting your heart rate with sprints.  It's also a perfect combination of positive encouragement from the trainer and shame-induced drive (when you see an elderly person zipping through the push-ups, you pick it up a notch, 'na mean?) and just last week, in a fit of tested endurance and pain-fueled adrenaline, someone yelled out: "I have issues!"...what more could you want?

Belly Dancing:  Admittedly, I only took 4 classes, so maybe there's some explosion of fun and energy I missed out on, but once again, I didn't feel very physically challenged by the class. The instructor tied a coin-embroidered skirt around my waist and promised me visible abs by the time I was done the course, but the exercises (slow stomach rolls and hip shimmies) left a lot to be desired in the toning realm, so I hung up my skirt and called it quits.

Hooping: This class uses a weighted (optional) hoop and supposedly works your hips and waist as you stand there and...hoop. They teach you to weave the hoop from one arm to another, to keep the hoop moving on your legs, and even how to shimmy it up when it starts falling, which instantly makes you a bad-ass at family picnics. I left the first class eager and with a burning mid-section which, I discovered, turned into a bruise akin to an abstract painting with every shade of purple splattered on by canon of hatred.  Summer was just around the corner and I didn't feel like having to regularly assuage the concerns of family members and social workers alike, so I canceled the rest of my classes and that was that. 

Aerobics:  It takes way too long to memorize the patterns which they change every 82 seconds anyway so forget it.

Kickboxing:  Yes yes yes yes yes! If you have the right instructor- which I almost always do at my gym (the Y) -this is one awesome workout.  The instructor leads you through a merciless set of kicks, punches, on-the-spot running, jumping jacks, side jumps, and lunges (among billions of  sweat-beckoning drills) and you do it all. You do it all because you're not the wuss they said you were at dodge-ball. You do it all because afterwards you feel like Mike Tyson/Ali/Zeus (apparently my heroes..?). You do it all because you had a hamburger with a side of hamburger at lunch. Oh and just when you think you're done, they pull out the mats, and tell you to do planks and push-ups and bicycle twists. And you do it all, too. 

Hot Yoga: This one isn't my favorite, but I am well aware of its benefits.  It is what it is: it's yoga, in a hot room. You sweat a lot, you nearly faint, and afterwards your muscles are nicely stretched.  Highly recommended for runners.

Swimming:  Truthfully, if I had an appropriate bathing suit, I wouldn't mind swimming at all.  Currently, my options are a brown JLo-esque super low cut out Speedo, and any of my fruit-themed bikinis, all of which are super inappropriate for the kind of professional, serious swimming I see going on during Lane Swim.  My heart races as I complete lap after lap, not from the cardio but from the fear of being whistled at and removed from the water with a giant pool rake or whatever, forced to stand at the edge of the pool in my pineapple bikini while being scolded for being an aqua skank.  I swear I'm not an aqua skank, though, I just haven't found the right bathing suit, but I'm working on it!  That said, I think most people enjoy lane swimming, and so do I.  It's not stressful on your limbs (especially for people with foot problems) and you can sort of pretend you're on vacation when you're in the water.

So, there you go. Trying new fitness routines is a fun way to work off those burritos/chimichangas/taquitos (apparently my new favorite foods...?), but don't get stuck doing something that sucks.  Your time is way too precious to be flapping your arms slowly to the beat of La Isla Bonita, so don't you ever worry about quitting a class/activity that isn't fun.

In the coming months, I'm also challenging myself to try something I've always dreaded: cycling. Anais is an avid fan, so I'm really trusting her enthusiasm.  I'm also on a Dragonboat racing team, with only a few months of practice before us, as the Ottawa Dragonboat Festival is happening very soon. Lastly, I left out one exercise which I can't wait to write about in the next post. It has become very close to me over the past year and definitely deserves its own spot.

so hood

I normally don't color-adjust pictures but when I saw how these turned out, I felt the colors weren't really doing the surrealism of the overexposure justice.  And at first I hated that the white balance was completely off, but then I thought it was kind of funny what a literal translation this turned out to be: lost in the snow, almost dissolving into the wrath of our merciless winters.  Anyway, I thought the Sepia tone took the pictures from "this is what I'm wearing" to something unrealistic, almost as if someone had drawn a picture of me (or three). Spring is just around the corner, so I won't be wearing this coat very much longer.  Thanks for a great season.

 

impermanence pangs

A friend of mine came up with the term Impermanence Pangs to describe the uneasiness of being aware of something that you know won't last - a relationship, a great date with a person soon to leave town permanently, or a few moments with a cat that's about to be adopted.  While I think that accepting (and somehow finding happiness in) the general impermanence of life is one of the coolest ways to live however many years we have left, I can see where she's coming from.  I mean, I'm not anywhere near the whole "be happy with or without" idea, but I aim towards it every day.   Today, there's this blazer, for example.  I wore it to a show once and got a few compliments on it, which was nice, but then I hung it up and immediately forgot about it for two years.  Then I found it again, wore it again, and back in the closet it went. In other words, I don't care about it, one way or another. Impermanence Pangs hit me when I fear losing something irreplaceable, but ultimately, let's be real: every feeling is replaceable, every memory foreshadows an even greater one, and every day is a new way to find irrevocable elation.

crystal clear

I haven't thought about crystals since my Sailor Moon days.  Well actually there was also a brief stint with a girlfriend when we thought we could use white magic to bring our boyfriends back.  Days of reciting spells while tying ribbons around dollar-store candles and aligning aforementioned crystals into magic shapes and all that we got out of it was a pillow covered in wax and a room that smelled like a 70s porno.  Fast-forward twenty years (okay seven) and I'm found staring at a bag of white top-drilled quartz stones I ordered in bulk.  Since banning myself from shopping I've found ways to bypass the rule by making (almost) everything I've been tempted to buy, and so far...well, so good. If you're interested in making this necklace, make sure to thread it with a metal wire and use crimping beads to stop the threads at both ends.  Also, use a good quality chain because you don't want your crystals falling all over the place (misaligned) giving you twenty-eight years of bad luck. Don't say I didn't warn you.