Renewing the routine

Tonight I had several post-work, post-physical therapy options: Join a friend who was in the mood to celebrate at a bar, go to a potluck dinner out of town and catch up with friends I haven't seen in awhile, go home and catch up on sleep, or go to the gym for a jog/walk.

Not too surprisingly, I chose the gym, where the red track and I are becoming fast friends despite my initial lack of excitement about it. At 9.1 laps to the mile, the soft, rubbery surface is kind to my knees, as long as I am kind to them and don't attempt any pace faster than 12 minutes per mile.

Once I get warmed up, it requires serious effort to hold back on the straight-aways, where the supportive surface makes it too easy to fly around, and before you know it, you're sprinting near top speed, in a race with yourself with no finish line.

There are all kinds of people on the track, from walkers to 6-minute-miler military types to tiny skipping children. That's one thing I love about running -- it's all inclusive. It's one of the simplest movements the human body is capable of -- it doesn't require any special equipment or clothing -- and yet it can be one of the most difficult activities of all.

That's what I was thinking as I paced around the red rubbery loop tonight. Thinking, I couldn't even walk without pain six weeks ago. Now I am jogging causally around, breathing easy and dreaming of spring and a warm, sunny run down the Avenue of the Pines.

Now I am walking up and down stairs with ease, driving my car without a struggle. But I do it all with a new gratefulness, with the knowledge that it could be taken away in a flash should I sway from routine, or push my muscles too hard, and toward injury again.

And although the track is slightly underwhelming with its pervasive rubber smell, the cool wind tunnel effect created when multiple people are using it, the lack of scenery and the *ahem* people who stroll two or three-abreast in the running lanes, it is the place that, after my winter work day is done, I'd much rather go to than anywhere else.

While going out to socialize was tempting, it was that kind of night where I craved the familiarity of my carefully formed solo routine, and knew I would reap the benefits that were sure to follow: physical health and a peaceful mind.

My mellow mood was only bolstered by a quick dip in the whirl pool, and then I returned home to have the house all to myself. I set out to cook dinner and call up three friends with whom I shared good news -- the combined effect of all this was feeling complete satisfaction with my decisions, and so much hope for future similar evenings to come.

New image

You might notice that the image above these posts -- or rather, the words on the image -- have changed.

After a long and careful search for identity (a lot of which happened on the elliptical machine this winter -- that repetitive motion is good for more than just cardio!) I decided the description of the blog had to more accurately reflect who I am.

And while all of the former descriptions -- journalist by day, pizza delivery girl by night, former military wife -- still define me, at least for the moment, they present a somewhat limited view of yours truly. So, I'm shakin' them off to the sidelines.

Descriptions of more breadth include daughter, sister, friend, lover, learner. That should be obvious.

In an effort to simplify and to create some karmic space, I hereby change the wording to include only those definitions of self that are most important, in relation to this blog.

Thanks for keepin' reading. 

Nice girls finish first

I clocked two miles jogging and walking at the YMCA indoor track the other day, "running" for the first time in two months. It was some seriously slow running, but it was exhilarating, and it was largely pain-free.

The doc has cleared me for a jog/walk program to do about three times a week, in addition to all the silly-looking exercises I continue to perform with bands, balls, bikes and balance boards in order to strengthen my little muscles. 

Other than that 20 minutes of tentatively experienced bliss at the Y, this week could easily be described as one long, cold piece of stinking, over-caffeinated crap. Pardon my French, but I'm tired of being nice and polite. The rest of my waking hours not at physical therapy or the gym were spent moving wearily from home to car to work and back, and at every turn I encountered insensitivity in others, or just plain arrogance.

Note to self: Time to stop wasting energy on relationships that are devoid of equality and respect. The asshole magnet that has heretofore been sticking to my forehead like a neon sign has officially been ripped off and thrown in the trash. And it landed right on top of that old, smelly toothbrush.

So tonight I went and got a manicure and my nails were painted bright red. My manicurist mentioned there was a holiday coming up on Monday, but for a moment I couldn't recall which one she was talking about.

Then I went to the grocery store and saw a guy wheeling a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of carnations around, looking like he was embarrassed to be found complicit in this ridiculous display of sentiment, yet bound by custom. I went to the mall and browsed pink lingerie hanging on racks. I passed couples holding hands. I come home and hear my roommate and her boyfriend through the wall. I turn my music up and smile.

Phew, I think. It's finally hit me. Relief. Relief to be free of such tediousness, of such worry and work and obligation to please the opposite sex, only to unwittingly offer up one's heart to the shredder. How much more satisfying it is to devote pleasure to oneself. 

Forget flowers and cute little cards scrawled with empty words, with apologies. This nice girl has got bigger and better races to run.

January: One month in numbers

New Year's resolutions made: 8

New Year's resolutions made and kept: ??

Injured knees: 2

Days since last real run: 65

Weeks in physical therapy: 4

Minutes spent on elliptical machine: 175 

Weight lost due to high stress level: 5 pounds

Increase in daily caffeine intake: 24 ounces

Height of snow piles in yard: 3.5 feet

Time spent at work per week: 60 hours

Miles clocked on second shift: Thousands

Nights spent at bars with coworkers: 4 ... or was that 5?

Average bedtime: 3 a.m.

Laughs shared with friends: Countless

Catching up: Sugar high

This post is from mid-December. Why am I posting it now, on Feb. 4? Because I'm easing myself back into blogging after life took a little roller coaster ride the last two months and writing for pleasure flew to the bottom of the priority list. With this post, loose ends are all tied up and we're on to the next (fully in the present) S.R.S. adventure!

There was once a time when, at the behest of my very health-conscious father, I did not consume sugary foods.

During lunch time in elementary school, I would peer down the long rows of cafeteria tables at my fellow fourth-graders as they consumed Capri Suns, fruit snacks, Doritos and Lunchables. I was too shy to try negotiating a trade, so I silently lusted over their treats, faking enthusiasm over the apple slices and carrot sticks in my brown paper bag.

Dad, I gratefully owe you my good health, my love for vegetables and oatmeal and my embarrassing lack of 80s and 90s pop culture knowledge purity of mind.

However, today, sugar and I have quite a different relationship. For one thing, there's all the coffee I drink. Black is bitter, so my morning wake-up call (and afternoon/evening deadline-crunch caffeine fix) usually includes a half-teaspoon of sugar and a nice helping of cream. Then there is the abundance of cookies and other sweets that magically appear throughout my office on any given day, 12 months out of the year. My coworkers love baking, and they are excellent at it, so why resist?
 
Yesterday, I took my love for sugar one step further and participated in my first-ever holiday cookie exchange. There are many reasons why this type of activity is foreign to me, sugar being the only familiar element. For example, in order to participate, I had to complete a seemingly endless list of tasks over a period of weeks (weeks!), like finding a recipe, shopping for ingredients, and emailing back and forth with the hostess about what I was going to bring for both the cookie exchange and the potluck dinner.

Once gingersnaps and a Greek pasta salad were confirmed, there was the baking and cooking itself. I spent three hours in an apron, in my kitchen, listening to Christmas music. Yield: six dozen cookies, a salad that could feed 20, a sweaty, flour-covered me and a sinkful of dirty dishes. Did I mention I was also required to print out 20 copies of my cookie recipe for distribution? Don't even get me started on how much time, effort and creativity went into those (other people's) little recipe card designs.  

Half of the delicious spread (and that's not even counting
the real food!) at the CDNY Eat Drink Blog party.

Phew. To top off this weekend of classic American holiday-prep merriment, I bought wrapping paper and gifts on Friday ... as in Friday, Dec. 17, a full week before Christmas. That may not sound earth-shattering, but if you know me, this awesome display of advance preparation might surprise you. Last year, I ripped the tags off my family's gifts as I ran down the stairs to where they were waiting for me by the tree on Christmas morning. Lame. 

(And, I wrote most of this post in December and I'm just now putting it on the blog.)

Anyway, the Capital District healthy living bloggers I met at the cookie exchange are a fun bunch of women, and I learned a lot about their community. A few brought their men -- non-bloggers who quickly sought refuge together in the kitchen when they realized they were outnumbered something like 5 to 1 in a room crowded with loud, laughing, opinionated women. I kind of felt sorry for them, hanging about, being chatted up by a quieter guest who wandered in from the main room seeking a refill and a break from so much (AH!) large-group interaction.

Wine and quiche and off-color jokes were had in major quantities. Many fabulous cookies were gobbled up. But the pre-party in my kitchen, singing and baking in solitude, was actually just as good.