Since the 60-day Fitness Challenge has ended, I’ve decided that I need a new goal. Sure, I have a 5K coming up, but that’s not until September. According to my trainer, I should be able to run a 10K by then. Though, this is the same guy who thinks it’s perfectly normal for people to be in pain so severe they can’t straighten their arms.

We know I can do the vegan thing. It’s been over a year that I removed animal products from my diet in order to lower my cholesterol without meds.

I’ve been told the next step in my journey to good health (and pretty much the sole reason why I haven’t lost much weight) is giving up wheat. This won’t be easy for me. And, to be clear, removing beer from my diet is not on the table. I’m talking about cereal, bread, tortillas, but not beer. M’kay?

In addition, I’m bored with what I’ve been able to do with fruits and vegetables. It’s time to mix things up, so to speak.

Some people are going to think I’m crazy, and by “some people” I am specifically referring to my husband. But, this juice machine is going to be my new best friend.

If my friends and family think I’m a pain in the butt because I’m a vegan, just wait until I tell them that I’m drinking nothing but juice for the next 10 days! Oh, and water. And, coffee. And, beer. But, other than that…just juice! *cue jazz hands*

The idea behind this challenge is to make sure I’m getting the nutrients I need by infusing my dietary intake with new flavors and combinations and do it at the same time that I’m trying to give up wheat. Maybe I won’t miss it as much that way.

After 10 days, I will continue to drink juice and slowly add in beans, rice, nuts, and oats.

This morning’s breakfast was delicious! Red pepper, carrots, lemon, and grapefruit. Those gritty things at the top of the glass are chia seeds which I added for protein. Sprouted green hair coming out of my head will just be a bonus.

So, wish me luck! I’m going to need it once my husband finds out that I bought a juicer!

Follow

Email

Way back when, at the beginning of January, my husband had a bright idea for us to complete a 60-day fitness challenge. I drank some of his homemade wine and then agreed.

For 60-days straight, we would work-out every. Single. Day. Then go down to 5 days a week for a while, then 4 days a week for the rest of our lives. Oh, sorry. The. Rest. Of. Our. Lives.

It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve done it. Well, he’s done it and I’ve mostly done it. I missed 2 out of the 4 days when I was in Houston and then I missed another day after I weighed myself, punched the wall and screamed, “What’s the point?”

There have been a couple of times when my work-out consisted of a few sets of lunges and some push-ups and a couple of times when I battled the 14 year old in Just Dance in order to break a sweat, but for the most part…at least 50 of the last 60 days, have been intense; with a lot of strength-training, rowing, boxing, running, swimming, ellipticizing, biking, stepping, and generally wanting to punch my trainer in the face.

Oh, and a boatload of laundry. It’s all “Sweatin’ Because We’re Oldies” up in here.

Have I lost weight? Not much. I try not to weigh myself, because it just makes me angry. I see minor changes, though and I KNOW I’m doing the right thing. And since exercise is a whole lot mental, knowing is at least half the battle.

And, speaking of the correlation between mind and body, I have almost completely weaned myself off my Zoloft during this challenge. That’s a big deal. I’m figuring out how to reduce my anxiety without meds and have only thought I was going to die once. Just once!

I have learned that an easy work-out is not enough to keep the anxiety-demons at bay, it has to be a work-out so hard that I feel like I can’t get through it. It has to be intense and painful for my body in order for my mind to be eased. So, I have that going for me. It’s like I’m Atlas and I have the weight of the world on me and then I do some squats and just toss it; much in the same way that I toss around metaphors.

I can run farther (without stopping!) than I have in about 9 years and when I used to run past the fire station I thought that, for sure, I would see a paramedic come running after me with a defibrillator, but now I just cruise right past and the fire fighters stand outside and cheer for me. That last part may have been a dream, but I’m not sure.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the last 2 months. I now know that it’s possible to live in a perpetual state of pain, that I should never go to the gym without my inhaler, and that I’m pretty damn driven when I actually put my mind to something.

Mostly, I’ve learned that drinking my husband’s homemade wine might cause me to make ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decisions that actually end up benefiting me.  So bottoms up, people. Bottoms up.

Follow

Email

Last month my husband and I started an intense fitness regimen with a personal trainer that includes strength training, interval cardio training, and one heck of lot of lunges. I’ve lost five whole pounds.

But, weight schmeight, what matters most is that I’M DOING IT and I feel good doing it. My pants are looser, my energy levels are higher, and for the first time in my life I can do a push-up. One. Push-up. Progress, people.

I’m no dummy, though. I know that if progress is slow I might get discouraged so I decided that I needed a goal to push me forward and, as always, I like my goals to be something fun. Really, I like everything to be fun. What? There will be lots of laughs? What time should I be there? I’ll bring the beer.

That’s why my next fitness goal involves laughs, beer, and a lot of mud.

I’m joining Team Pretty Muddy, a women’s-only, obstacle-course mud run, that will be stirring up a big mess in Columbus on September 14th!

With architectural obstacles, lots of mud and, what they describe as, an “Epic Finish Line Party” (Entertainment, music, drinks & celebration galore), this is just the way I’d like to show how fit I’ve become. Plus, I still have six months to work on my upper-arm strength. I’ll bet I can do seven push-ups by then!

Won’t you join me? Let’s get dirty! Register now to get $10 off!

Follow

Email

I sat down to write last night and thought, Now what was I going to write about? Hmmm…oh, yeah. I was going to write about being forgetful. (I wish I were saying this for the benefit of this post. It really happened.)

I have been so forgetful lately that I actually told my cousin I was afraid I was getting early-onset Alzheimer’s. She replied, “Oh my goodness! I JUST went to the doctor for that!” It seems I’m not alone. Or, it runs in the family.

My sister has also been concerned about her memory lately and last week, she forgot my daughter’s name. I thought it somewhat odd that she couldn’t remember her niece. Until yesterday.

Yesterday, I went to the gym, put my coat in a locker and shut the door. I took my little lock – the one with the same three-digit combination that I’ve used for almost two decades – and as I went to place it on the locker, I couldn’t remember the combination.

If my brain could’ve made a screeching sound at that moment, it would have. Everything came to a halt. Well, everything except my fingers which were desperately twirling the dials into every conceivable sequence and pulling on the tiny lock. How do you use the same three numbers for 18 years and suddenly not remember them?

There I stood – a frantic fool in yoga pants, briefly looking up to see if any of the other women noticed. Because forgetting your lock numbers is far more embarrassing than standing half-naked in the presence of strangers, at least to me. I was working up a sweat before I even started exercising.

I eventually remembered my combination, but not before sitting on a bench with my head in my hands wondering how much time I had before I’d forget my own name. As much as I’ve been told this is normal and as many times as I’ve read memory lapses are common at my age, it’s still freaky to feel like your mind is betraying you.

The good news, though? My sister has been forgiven.

Follow

Email