I never did like Socrates.

I’m sitting in my office staring across the desk at a portrait of Hal Higdon.

Because I’m dreaming, and because I don’t really know what Hal Higdon looks like, the person in the picture looks just like Dumbledore looked in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. But it’s not Dumbledore. It’s definitely Hal Higdon.

I’m quite angry with Hal. In fact, I’m shouting at the painting. “But I’ve been so good. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. Why isn’t your stupid program working?”

Hal’s portrait remains calm. “What do you mean? It is working. Your fitness is improving.”

“It IS NOT working. I haven’t lost a SINGLE POUND!” I yell. “I’ve been spending all this time with Running, and I haven’t lost ONE SINGLE POUND!”

Suddenly Hal’s gone. The portrait has vanished. I look around. Apparently, either I’ve died and gone to hell or my dream has morphed and dragged me back to law school. My classmates stare at me. From behind the podium my Evidence professor, a man named Dripps, squints his evil eyes and fires up a Socratic jackhammer.

“Do you have an answer Ms. L?” Dripps is talking to me.

“Umm, What was the question?”

“Why do you think you aren’t losing any weight?” he repeats impatiently.

“I don’t know. I’ve been keeping up pretty well with the running.”

“Hmm. Ms. L’s been running. Is exercise the only thing you must do in order to lose weight? Or is there more? What else might one need to do to get healthy?”

I stare blankly and start sweating.

“Can anyone help Ms. L out?” Dripps surveys the classroom over his glasses. A skinny blonde thing shoots her hand up. “You really can’t maintain a healthy weight without changing your diet, too, in addition to exercise,” she offers.

“Ahh, Diet. Interesting. What do you think about that Ms. L? How’s your diet?”

I swallow hard and keep staring blankly.

“What did you have for breakfast yesterday, Ms. L?”

“A Krispy Kreme”

“And for dinner the day before that?”

“I missed dinner, so I just grabbed a Snickers bar out of the vending machine at work.” I admit. “But they’re packed with peanuts. They really satisfy.”

“Last weekend, though,” Dripps continues, “you must have eaten better last weekend, right?”

“Well, last weekend I was in Chicago. There’s this pizza place by my sister’s house called ‘Piece’. Plus, Chicago has the best breakfast food. I had these awesome banana pancakes at Feast. And, well, obviously we couldn’t walk right by Margie’s Candies without getting ice cream. I had my oldest son with me. He really wanted ice cream.”

Dripps opens his mouth to reply, but before he can say anything – it’s over. I’ve grabbed a life line and returned to my bed. I’m awake now. Awake and weighing in at my starting weight from six weeks ago.

No clue why.

Posted in Ten Mile Madness | |

Yes, I do put a sticker on ‘rest’.

If you’ve been reading this blog for the last month or so then you know I’ve been diligently at work on two projects… this one and this one.

One of these things is going a bit better than the other, unfortunately.

Project One -

Project Two:

Posted in Ten Mile Madness | |

Beware of Entrance to a Quarrel.

Lr- Lawrencium, K- Potassium, Ag- Silver, Na- Sodium I- I, I, I HATE Running.  This sucks.  NO! Again: Au– Gold, As- Arsenic or Ass, as in Running kicks my ass.                  

  ***

Lawyers are always doing things we advise our clients not to do.  “Read documents thoroughly,” I caution my clients.  “Review everything,” I tell them. “Little words can pack big punch.”  In my personal life, though, like every harried mother, I often sign documents hastily.  If only I had taken a bit more time when I originally signed up for The Race.  Then, perhaps, the little words may not have snuck up and pummeled me in the gut.   As it turns out, the fine print on the registration form is, well, not exactly fine.

Apparently, The Race prohibits iPods.   

Excuse me? What?!  I repeated it again in disbelief, reading it out loud to exactly no one.  “The Race PROHIBITS iPods.”

No music?  No motivational musings from Eminem or Journey or Beyonce to help spur me along my ten mile path?  Just Me? Alone? With Running?

Isn’t that just like you Running? I accused, in disgust, as the ramifications of the newly discovered rule began to sink in, to take away my only hope of distraction.  

Since I started the program with my virtual trainer, Hal Higdon, I haven’t had to be alone with Running.  The last time I tried this type of exercise, of course, was The Mile, in high school gym class.  Back then, running while listening to a specially designed motivational music playlist, while probably technically feasible, would have been cumbersome and unusual.  

This time around, my delight in music has helped facilitate my healthy new relationship with Running.  I turn the music up, and then we can ignore each other.  Listening distracts me from the burning sensation in my lungs and the pain in my legs, and singing along in my head stops me from starting the I-Hate-Running-This-Sure-Sucks mantra.

After I made the realization, the fear set in quickly.  I don’t know if I can do this without music.  I will not Own the Moment.  I will Stop Believin’. I am not a Survivor; I am gon’ give up.  

Nevertheless, in a sincere desire not to quit, in an effort to fulfill my commitment to finishing The Race, I decided to ease into the idea of training, at least some, in quiet solitude, without my music.  I vowed to complete one of my training runs per week sans iPod. 

This week, I made my first attempt.  I took my run off the treadmill, and I hit the road (I’m up to two miles on the treadmill pretty consistently, but I have yet to really tackle either outdoor running, or speed.)  Per The Race, I left the iPod at home. 

At about mile marker .2, when the pain and burning started, I regressed.  “I hate running,” I chanted inwardly to the rhythm of my pounding feet, “this sucks.”  Resolved, though, I forced myself to stop the mantra.  I took a breath, and I started brainstorming what I might do to distract myself:

How? How? How? I know! I should dig deeply into my mental files and think about all the things I have ever memorized.  Great idea. 

So I began. I took out a mental file marked “random memorization” and sifted through the contents.

I still remember every word of my wedding vows.  How about those? We had assembled a verse I loved, still love, pieced together from different standard options.  We memorized it, preferring recited vows over repeated vows.  In an effort to guarantee our accuracy, however, we’d kept it brief.  I replayed the vows in my head, but I still hadn’t made it to mile marker .3.  

What else? I had long ago tried to purge any memory of my Bar Exam Review class, but I found a few mnemonic devices from Barbri still stuck in there:  Open-Continuous-Exclusive-Actual-Notorious – the elements of adverse possession. Ick. There must be something more fun than that in here.   

My high school English teacher required memorization of a lot of Shakespeare.  I paged in and found the advice Polonius imparts on Laertes.  Unfortunately, “those friends thou hast and their adoption tried …” just made me think about how Running is not my friend, because I Hate It.  Accordingly, I should most definitely not grapple it to my soul with a hoop made of steel, or any other metal for that matter.

Ooh – What’s this?  Aah. Funny.  Back in ‘93 I’d known most of the words to the essential songwriting of non-committal musician boyfriend, but now the lyrics had faded, whittled down to a single tortured line.  You don’t believe the words I say, he’d bellowed accusatorily – to me, or, perhaps, his several other disbelieving girlfriends, even when I say the words anyway.  Smiling fondly in a mature appreciation of my long lost tortured years, I tossed that recollection to the side and moved on.

I blew the dust off the Gettysburg Address, originally memorized for a play in 7^th grade, and I started a mental recitation of that. Unfortunately, thanks to Running’s interference, I kept accidentally merging it with the Lord’s Prayer.  Four score and seven years ago our father-  who art in heave… D’oh. Frustrated, I kept looking. 

Finally, I found it.  The Periodic Table of Elements.  The beautiful, wonderful Periodic Table of Elements.  I always loved the Periodic Table. 

I loved the Periodic Table because it was science, only not.  My talents in school, unsurprisingly, tended toward the verbal.  I struggled with math and, even more, with science, but memorizing the elements and abbreviations of the periodic table put the work of science into letters and memory games.  I was good at letters and memory games.  These were things I could grasp.  Learning the periodic table distracted me from the fact that I was in science class, learning science. 

Indeed, it seems the Periodic Table of Elements did for science class what my iPod has done for Running. It turned something I didn’t like, with which I struggled, into something achievable and, momentarily, enjoyable.  Eventually, memorizing the elements and their abbreviations wasn’t enough, and I had to learn and apply actual scientific principles.  Still, after my science classes advanced beyond my comfort zone, I rarely achieved A’s, but I never failed either. 

Lr- Lawrencium, K- Potassium, Ag- Silver, Na- Sodium I- I, I, I HATE Running.  This sucks.  NO! Again: Au– Gold, As- Arsenic or Ass, as in Running kicks my ass.  Wait – where am I? Is that 2 miles? 

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for this thing yet.

Posted in Ten Mile Madness | |

The Sober Truth

A couple days after I committed to actually running ten miles, it started sinking in that I had some serious work to do.  Being both a first born child and a Virgo, I’m nothing if not an efficient and enthusiastic planner.  So, naturally, I did what anyone preparing for a difficult physical challenge would do.   I put on my sweat pants, and I sat down at my computer with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and a Coke.  I began mapping out the variables, assessing my options, considering what to do and plotting the logistics.

First, I knew I would need a training plan. It’s been close to ten years since I was involved in any kind of regular exercise regimen, and I wasn’t sure where to begin.  I conducted some in depth research into the appropriate training for a ten mile run.  (In other words, I typed  “training programs for a ten mile run” into Google, and I clicked “search.”)  I don’t know Hal Higdon, but I thought his plan for the novice runner seemed to fit the bill.  After all, if I can call myself any kind of runner, it’s definitely a novice one. I printed out the chart and stuck it on my refrigerator.   

Next, in order to really motivate myself, I created a Countdown calendar for my Google homepage to show me just how little time I have left until the big race.  (Incidentally, it’s ticking away as I type this with just over three months remaining.)  Then I spent about an hour fiddling around trying to see if I could get the countdown to appear here on this blog. (The results of that hour should be obvious.)

With the motivational tools completed and the Doritos empty, it was time to really get down to business.  I headed to Target.  Because I definitely could not start running until I had some fancy stickers to mark my progress on the refrigerator chart.  When I started looking around the Big Red Store I found a number of other must-haves.  The hot pink “runner’s belt” with room for a cell phone was clearly a necessity for any running mother.   I tend to be a slow shopper, but unfortunately, once I’ve placed one item in the big red cart, well, related pieces usually start flying off the shelves.  I tallied up another $50 on “running” shorts and a “running” shirt. 

Once the training plan was clearly designed and in place and the gear was purchased, the next step, of course, was to get started reorganizing my house.  A person really can’t improve her physical well-being, I reasoned, with her feng shui all askew.  I replaced a closet door or two and sorted the kids’ craft supplies.  I was just about to start cleaning out the refrigerator when something amazing happened.

I saw it there.  The reward chart.  Sad, empty, stickerless.  And, finally, reluctantly, I went to the gym.

Posted in Ten Mile Madness | |

We’re still not friends.

In case you’ve been wondering, running still hates me.  But we’ve started working on it. 

Posted in Ten Mile Madness | |

If I lose the devil gets my soul.

I’m solidly in my thirties.  By the time a person reaches her thirties she really should have a pretty good understanding of the effects of alcohol on one’s reasoning skills and decision-making abilities.  At this advanced age, I should know better than to make any important choices after three gin and tonics, two glasses of wine, and a delicious, indulgent piece of dreamy lemon-filled cake.  After all, isn’t this a lesson (or at least a version of a lesson) that I learned in my twenties after surviving the poor choices made on the heels of two bottles of Strawberry Boone’s Farm and several cups of keg beer? 

Saturday night we sent the kids to their grandparents’ house so that we could attend a friend’s wedding.  I threw on my newly purchased, but not-quite-as-little-as-I’d-hoped, black dress and off we went, giddy and excited about our date.  The wedding and reception were truly lovely, combining all the elements that make these things a success – happy couple, surrounded by supportive friends, gorgeous flowers, good music, beautiful weather.  Open Bar.    

I woke up on Sunday, head pounding slightly.  I groaned, rolled over and fumbled for my glasses.  I sat up and sucked down half of the bottle of warm water left on my nightstand from the night before.  I should get up and take an Advil.  I thought.  Ugh.  Later.   I flopped back down and pulled the covers up to my chin.  I closed my eyes as visions of the night before took turns creeping into my morning after consciousness.   I flipped through and reviewed the mental images.   There were plenty of deep conversations along the we-should-get-together-more-often-I-just-love-you line.  My mental slideshow paused on a rather unsettling visual of myself playing the air fiddle on The Devil Went Down to Georgia.  But, I was just about to tally up the embarrassment points, swallow my pride with my Advil and surrender any remorse when the recollection set in that made my gut wrench.

I poked at my husband.  “Are you awake?” 
“Am now,” he groaned.
“Hey, last night, I didn’t really say I’d ….” 
“Yes,” he said. “You really did.”
“Why didn’t you stop me?”  I begged furiously. “How could you let me commit to something like this?” 
“I tried, but there was no reasoning with you,”  he replied.   

My friend D, only a few weeks post-partum on child number two, had turned up for the wedding looking as cute as could be in a strappy sundress.  “What’s your secret?” I’d asked jealously as I fiddled with the straw on my third or tenth mixed drink and shoveled in a bite of someone else’s lonely, unfinished piece of lemon wedding cake.  “How are you getting back in shape so quickly?”

It was a legitimate question.   It’s been two years since my last kid was born, and I’m still several pounds up and awkwardly fending off embarrassed well-wishers who have innocently inquired about my due date.  She’s barely checked out of the hospital, and she looks like she walked off the pages of the latest Ann Taylor catalog.

“I decided to run a ten mile race this fall,” she said excitedly, “and I have been running to get in shape for it.”

“What a great idea, good for you.” I exclaimed, chewing, drinking and nodding in emphatic girl-power support.

And then … The gauntlet.  The challenge.  The goal.

“You know what!”  D blurted enthusiastically, “you should totally run it with me!  That would so much fun.”   

In case you were hoping for something far more risqué than tales of running, and in case you are now asking yourself what the big deal is and where this is going, let me interject and explain.  I hate to run.  I hate it.  I hate running with the same kind of fervent passion that some people reserve for hating Republicans or dentists or bill collectors. Some people say they find running to be a good opportunity to think, but when I run I play the same exact thought over and over on the repeat function of my mind.  RUNNING SURE SUCKS.  I HATE TO RUN.  RUNNING SURE SUCKS.  I HATE TO RUN.  

In fact, running and I have a long history of mutual hatred.  In junior high and high school, when we had to run THE MILE for the Presidential Fitness portion of gym class, I always came in fourth to last.  Behind me were the two goth girls who covered themselves in black and walked slowly around the track in protest of the man and his stupid gym class, and the skinny kid from cross country who was behind me because he’d lapped me in his second mile that he was tacking on just for fun.  The worst part is that I was actually trying, and yet I was still lucky if I finished THE MILE in less than 12 minutes. 

“Oh, really?  I don’t know,”  I said to D, intrigued and excited in my deluded drunken happiness, but still non-committal.   At some point, my husband raised an eyebrow at me. “That would be awesome if you did it, but ten miles is kind of far,” he cautioned. “You hate to run.”

“NO! It’ll be great!” encouraged D, partially convincing herself, I think. “We can do this.”

“Well,” I said, gaining excitement, “I do sometimes do better when I have a specific goal.”

“Oh, Totally! You should do it,” D repeated. “It’ll be great!”   

It will, I thought.  It will be great.  Everything is great.  Life is wonderful, and I am going to do this.  I confirmed my promise to participate, and I believe we may have celebrated with a drink and some cake and a lengthy discussion about how we should hang out more often because we totally love each other.

Ok, so I exaggerate a bit, and I probably could have backed out on Sunday morning with few, if any, ramifications.  But, as much as I hate to run, I do love a goal.  I do love the idea of achieving something healthy in this, my tenth year of marriage and my thirty-somethingth year of life, a year in which I lost my grandmother to a life of complications with Type II diabetes, a common family issue.  I love the idea of achieving a shared purpose with a good friend.  And, of course, I love the irony that it may turn out one of the healthiest choices I’ve ever made was liquor-induced – a sure sign that I’m getting old.  I love all of that, but, unfortunately, I do not love to run, so this could be interesting.

I’ll keep you informed.   In the meantime, please – to the comments with encouragement or discouragement or training ideas or, if you’re so inclined, your own stories about hazy drunken choices.  I am guessing you all probably have something more exciting to share.

Posted in Ten Mile Madness | |