In Mourning

Last week, I said goodbye to a longtime companion. 

I had no idea how hard this would hit me.  I had actually gotten to the point where I was excited to get rid of it.  It's big.  It takes up a lot of space.  And my garage is plenty full with the bikes, scooters, helmets, skates, pads, and various toys of three children.  When pool season finally ended, I was anxious to clean out the space, and getting rid of the stroller that I hadn't used in probably a year seemed like an important first step.

I listed in on local Buy/Sell/Trade Facebook groups for what I thought was a steal and waited for a taker.  It took a couple of weeks, which surprised me, since this stroller is THE BEST, and I knew there had to be plenty of moms out there that dreamed of owning one without having to endure the $400+ price tag.  But I finally found a buyer- a new mom who wanted to get into running after having a baby four months ago.  Perfection.

We arranged a time for her to come and pick it up, and I happily showed her how to use it and wished her well as she loaded it up in her car and drove away

...and then I went back into the house and completely lost it.  I'm talking the ugly cry.  Loud sobs, tears pouring, breathless, splotchy face, swollen eyes kind of crying.  And for some reason, I never saw that coming.

This was our last stroller.  The last remnant of the baby years.  Having it folded up in the garage collecting cobwebs allowed me to hold onto the idea that yes, my children are growing, but Charlotte is still my baby.  Two of my kids may be big, but one is still little, right?  But the reality is she hadn't ridden in that stroller for many months, and she'd rather be running free with the other big kids.  She's no longer a baby.

Letting go of this stroller was also letting go of a time when I had the ability to run with it.  My knee has not been able to withstand the extra weight of pushing the stroller while I ran in quite some time.  Saying goodbye to the stroller was saying goodbye to a time when I could run double digit miles on a Saturday morning, when I could train for races, when I was gaining both speed and endurance instead of barely making it through a flat 3-miles, when I had the ability to run a 100 mile month.

Charlotte used to love riding in the stroller, carrying her little sippy cup and snack, covered with her blanket on cooler days, meeting up with our running friends.  She loved to feel the wind in her hair when we went fast.  I guess I should have expected this reaction.  Babies and running were the two biggest things in my life for quite awhile.  The stroller was the marriage of my two favorite things, so seeing it drive away in someone else's car wasn't easy.

A week later, and I still feel a little sadness about it, but the ugly cries have stopped.  As silly as it sounds, I think I legitimately needed to mourn this loss.  I will always have the fondest memories of that stroller, and the times that I spent running free with my tiniest running companion strapped snugly inside it.

    

I Didn't Die

Now that I've had some time to process, I wanted to fill you all in on my fun-filled weekend of Les Mills RPM Instructor Training.

I feel like the title is appropriate.

Guys, this was one intense weekend.

I showed up bright and early on Saturday morning, not knowing what to expect.  I found the cycling room and people started filing in.  I was so incredibly nervous!  I was worried that I would look like I had no idea what I was doing, or that I'd have the wrong body type, or that I wouldn't know how to set up a bike that's different from mine.  I was worried that I wouldn't be Les Mills material.

Men don't do this shit to themselves, do they?

As if I wasn't already feeling insecure, I quickly realized that many of the participants already knew one another.  We were a small group- 7 women and 2 men- and I think only three of us walked in knowing no one.  And to top it all off, I was the only one with no group fitness instructing experience.  Everyone else had years of experience teaching a ton of different types of classes, many of them Les Mills.

Oy.

The first item on the agenda for the day was a Master Class, taught by our instructor for the weekend.  We all hopped on our bikes and got ready to work.

I mean this in the nicest way possible, but thank God I had received a video of the class two weeks prior, and had spent hours learning the music and choreography...because the English language was not our instructor's strong point.

I wish I could tell you how to even pronounce his name.  He described it as similar to Genghis Khan, only with a 'J' sound at the beginning?  Maybe?  All of us struggled so much to understand him, which was a very frustrating issue to have when we all really wanted to learn the material.

In any case, we were all familiar with the workout, so we worked hard and got it done.

That was hour 1 of about a million on the bike that weekend.

After our first workout, we moved onto the education portion of the morning.  We got out our notebooks and prepared to learn, waiting for some guidance as to where that would take place.

Cop a squat, pals, because the dirty floor of the cycling studio was the provided seating.

The teacher in me just cringes thinking that somebody really thought these were optimal learning conditions.  The oldster in me cringes remembering just how badly my lower back hurt after two days of sitting hunched over on a filthy floor.

And so the day went.  On the bike, on the floor, on the bike, on the floor.  We went through the workout together several times, taking turns presenting our pre-assigned tracks.  I was thoroughly exhausted by the end of day 1, especially considering the fact that I was so nervous that I hadn't really slept the night before.  Sleep came much easier that night.

Day 2 was much more of the same, only in addition to presenting our material several more times, we also had a fun "challenge" midday.  They like to call it the "RPM Ride of Truth."  What they should really call it is the "We'll Consider Letting You Instruct If You Can Survive These 30 Minutes" ride.  It was fun, guys.  I can't tell you how much I love pushing my body to the point of exhaustion, and then just for funsies, enduring a half hour of fitness torture.  But refer to my post title- I didn't die.

In the end, I passed.  And by the second day, I felt totally comfortable with my classmates, who were all wonderfully supportive of one another, and me in particular.  They called me Newbie (in the kindest way) and all cheered for me when the instructor announced that I'd passed.  We'd all bonded over extreme workouts, lack of appropriate seating, and straining to understand the spoken word.

Although the more seasoned instructors were highly disappointed in this training (for the obvious reasons), I left feeling pretty good.  Do I wish some of these issues weren't present?  Absolutely.  But as frustrating as they were, I left feeling encouraged and uplifted, and like this was something I could actually do, and maybe even be good at.  I credit my classmates for this.  I left itching to get into my gym and onto the instructor's bike.

Since then I've had the opportunity to co-teach with a wonderful instructor, and it was awesome.  I felt energized by the riders in front of me, and since we had drilled the routine a million and one times during training, I actually felt like I knew what I was doing.

I'm official now- as of press time, I'm teaching six classes in March.  Squee!  And for any of my local readers- should you decide to join me sometime, I promise you won't die, either.

        

The Times, They Are A'Changin'

I can remember a time, not so long ago, that I looked for any excuse not to exercise.  It was hard.  I didn't like it.  I was mostly just lazy and didn't wanna.  So I didn't.  And I was tired all the time, overweight, and generally unhappy with myself as a result.  One day I got sick of feeling that way and decided to make some changes. 

 I don't post these pictures to brag or to seek compliments.  I post them so I don't forget, don't get complacent, and remember that all of the hard work was worth it.  And maybe to motivate myself to lose those last few holiday pounds.  Seriously, have you guys tried Puppy Chow (the chocolate, peanut butter and powdered sugar coated Chex kind)?  It's my December weakness.  Also Christmas cookies and celebratory alcoholic beverages.   

Anywho...

I know you've heard the story before, so I won't rehash the whole thing.  But yesterday I stopped to think about how crazy different my life is now than it used to be.

Meet my new friend.

First I had to be patient and wait until the first of the year to order (thanks, Microsoft, for your yearly contribution towards our health!).  Then I had to wait weeks for it to arrive.  Then I had to wait for J to get home and put it together- some assembly required for sure.  Then I was finally able to take it for a test ride and I am in love.

I already knew I'd love it.  This is a newer version of the same bike I ride at the gym.  Since being forced to cut back on running, I had to find an alternative, and I've really grown to love cycling.  Spin class is a crazy good workout, and is no doubt easier on my old lady knees.  I've spent quite a bit of time in the cycling studio, and now I'll be able to enjoy this type of workout at home, too.
  
All of this contributes to my big news.  I'm going back to teaching, just in a different sort of classroom.  In a couple of weeks I will spend the weekend on a similar bike, getting certified to instruct indoor cycling classes at my gym.  Yesterday my training materials arrived, and I was positively giddy.  (Today is supposed to be a rest day for me, but I know I won't be able to resist getting on the bike to try out my assigned tracks.)

I've already spent time on the bike designing workouts.  I bought a notebook to keep my ideas organized.  I've created playlists.  I've thought about themes.  Guys, I'm kind of geeking out about becoming a spin instructor!

The Betsey of a few years ago would look at the Betsey of today and ask "Who IS this person??"  But you know what?  I kinda like her.  

Back to the Gym!

Y'all.

Today I made it back to the gym for the first time in eight weeks!  And let me tell you, it was some kinda special.

I have been DYING to get back into the gym.  I NEED some calorie burn in my life, since I've filled it with nothing but food and beer for many weeks now.  But there really isn't much I can do in the way of cardio.  Before now, I've only gotten the ok for a few seated upper body exercises, and although I did this some, it hardly felt worth the effort.

But I was finally given a new option: water aerobics.

I know what you're thinking.  That is a class meant for oldsters.  And you know what?  YOU ARE TOTALLY RIGHT.

I was actually nervous to show up this morning.  It's a new gym, new class, new people.  I didn't know the protocol.  I left the house extra early to make sure I had plenty of time to get Charlotte settled in the childcare center, plenty of time to find a locker, plenty of time to meet the instructor and get the scoop on what to expect.

Side note- as I was getting ready to head out, I told Charlotte to get in the car.  Since my surgery, she has become accustomed to not leaving the house in the mornings.  When I told her to get in the car, she yelled "WE GOING TO THE GYM??"  She was seriously so excited.  She has missed it, too.  Adorbs.

Anywho, I got there with plenty of time and headed to the pool.

There was a literal sea of old ladies, with a few old men sprinkled in here and there.  The pool was packed.  There were at least sixty geezers bobbing up and down, waiting for class to start.

The instructor saw me hobble in, leaning on my cane, and immediately came over to chat with me about modifications and fill me in on what to expect.  She then helped me into the pool and lined my cane up with about 20 others against the walls.

She lined my cane up with the others.  How is this my life right now?!?

The people watching was amazing.  Half of the ladies are there for the exercise, but the other half are clearly there for social hour.  They waded from one end of the pool to the other, greeting each other, kissing cheeks, and catching up on oldster life.  Several of the ladies introduced themselves to me, as I obviously stuck out like a sore thumb and everyone knew I was a newbie.  I heard about Pat's knee replacement, Jeannie's husband's hip replacement, and how loud the music was today (it was all Beatles tunes, pumped up with some aerobics beat).  One lady mentioned that I must feel like I was in my mother's class.  I didn't have the heart to say what I was really thinking- "More like my grandmother's!"- so I just smiled and agreed.

The workout was ok- not as pain free as I was hoping, and definitely not as intense as I'd like.  But at the end of the day, I GOT A WORKOUT.

Also, I think I have a gaggle of new old lady friends.  They can't wait to see me back on Wednesday.

Just imagine me plopped right in the middle of these grandmas, trying desperately to fit in.

All the Feels

Thanks to a friend's request, I'm getting my shit together and sitting down at the computer.

Quite honestly, I have no decent excuse for not writing sooner (unless "avoiding your feelings" is a decent excuse?).  After all, I've been doing a whole lotta sitting for the past five weeks...

Let me back it up a minute.  On November 29th, knee surgery happened.  Arthritis has been bothering me for years.  I was a young 29 years old the first time I saw a doctor for knee pain, and x-rays showed osteoarthritis then.  My mom's joints have also suffered for years, so it's definitely in the genes.   

At the time of the initial diagnosis, I used knee pain as an excuse to pretty much sit on my ass and do nothing (and we all know how that worked out).  Even though I added a bunch more weight to my already heavy body, hey, at least my knees didn't hurt!  We also all know that one day I got fed up with the way I looked, and worked really hard to get into shape.  That meant a lot of crazy workouts, and eventually a lot of running.  And then a lot of knee pain.

SO...after an amazing finish at my second half marathon this year, I headed into surgery the following week.  The doctor expected to be able to just clean up some damaged cartilage and send me walking on my way, but unfortunately, the damage was worse than expected, resulting in a microfracture procedure.  This means that I am now five weeks into six weeks of post-op crutches while my knee heals...and about a month into the 6-9 months before I'll be allowed to run again.

So now you're caught up.        

I've been working through a whole lot of emotions since the procedure.  I knew there was a slight chance that the surgery could go down this way.  (I remember coming out of anesthesia and immediately mumbling "microfracture?," and then bawling when they told me yes.)  However, the doctor made it seem like a pretty remote chance.  And I knew that running would be a far way off if the microfracture were required, but I had no idea that I wouldn't be able to walk without crutches for six weeks post-op.  So yes, I've shed more than I few tears lately.

I cried first of all for running.  Running has most definitely become more than just a form of exercise that lets me eat dessert and drink beer and still maintain my weight loss.  Running has become a passion, a part of my life, a part of who I am.  It took months of regular running and even finishing a half marathon before I could refer to myself as a runner, but I got there.  I earned it.  And I loved it.  I improved so much over the past year.  I got stronger and faster.  And I loved it.  So to have that taken away for such a long time, when I was expecting to only be sidelined for 4-6 weeks, was very hard.

But I'm working through that.  I am learning to look to the long-term.  You know, the whole "short term loss, long term gain" state of mind.  I want to run for years and years.  And in order to ensure that can happen, this surgery was necessary.  It will also be necessary for me to back my mileage way down, which means this past half marathon was quite likely my last.  That fact required a mourning of its own, but I'd rather be able to run a few miles at a time than none at all.

After I cried many tears for running, I started to cry tears of helplessness.  I am a mom of young children.  I am the keeper of our household.  I am the one who handles things when things need handled.  Crutches pretty much brought that to a screeching halt.

I can use neither my feet, nor my hands.  I can hobble from one place to another, but I cannot carry anything other than my crutches.  I can shift laundry from the washer to the dryer, but I can't get it to the laundry room when it needs to be washed or to the kids' bedrooms after it's been dried and folded.  I can probably put something into the microwave, but I can't stand on my feet long enough to bake all of the Christmas cookies that Margot and I usually bake together at Christmastime.  I can give hugs, but I can't pick Charlotte up.

Feeling helpless has been extremely difficult.  But I know this is temporary, and I have gotten to see how amazing my husband is on a whole new level.  He has stepped up and taken care of EV-ER-Y-THING.  He puts the kids to bed every night so I don't always have to navigate the stairs.  He picks up the house after they get to sleep so that the mess won't make me crazy (or trip me while I'm trying to crutch around).  He cooks meals (with direction).  He drops Margot off at preschool on his way into the office and runs my errands on his way home.  He pushes me around Target in a wheelchair when I need a minute to get out of the house.  I didn't know it was possible to love him more than I already did, but I sure do now. 

I have also cried tears of anxiety.  Anxiety over what is happening to my weight while I'm doing all of this sitting.  And while I know it's not healthy, I eat my feelings.  I'm feeling sad and sorry for myself, so I eat something crappy.  And then I'm sad because I ate something crappy and can't run it off.  And then I'm sad that I can't run, so I eat something crappy.  See where I'm going here?  It's a downward spiral.

But I've lost weight before, and I'll lose it again.  I am DYING to get into the gym.  Thankfully, although I won't be allowed to run for several months, I will be able to bike and swim ahead of that.  I bought a new swimsuit and some goggles, and I'm excited to make swimming a part of my workout routine that is easy on my joints.

So there you have it.  The whole sea of emotions that I've been wallowing in over here.  Thank God that Christmas was thrown in as the ultimate, weeks-long distraction, otherwise I'd be drowning by now!

Now count it down with me...SEVEN more days until I can toss these crutches outta my life and try to regain a little bit of the normalcy that I've lost!  Until then, there will probably be some more crying over here.

The Most Vulnerable Post Ever

Post-weight loss plastic surgery.  I had it.  I wrote about it here and here, and a bunch of other times.  And today you get to hear about it one more time.

Today I had my 3/5 month follow-up visit with the surgeon (we combined follow-ups so that I didn't have to live at the office).  This is the visit where they took the 'after' photos to accompany the 'before' shots that were taken at my pre-op visits.  These are always a good time- I get to wear tiny disposable thong underwear and stand in awkward positions while a nurse takes my picture.

These pictures, guys.  They threw me for a loop.

Recovery from these operations was hard.  Some days, really really hard.  There were days when I wondered if I'd done the right thing.  I hated the forced laying around, I felt depressed because of all of the pain every minute of every day for weeks on end, I missed picking up my babies, I wanted to get up and run but couldn't.  These were some rough days.  

Now that I've made it to the other side, I have worries of a different kind.  I worry about gaining the weight back.  I get concerned about eating too much or not working out enough.  And because I am a woman, I still sit in judgement of my body every day. 

Sometimes, if I let myself, I can get caught up in all of that.

Today, these photos brought me back to reality.

Reality is that my body is amazing.  It is strong.  It is healthy.  And I put a helluva lot of work into getting it to that point.  The reason I had these surgeries in the fist place is because it sucked to work so hard to lose so much weight, and still hate the way I looked in the mirror.  My body was strong and healthy then, too, you just couldn't see it beneath the extra skin and loose fat deposits that no amount of exercise would get rid of.

You can see it now.

When the doctor showed me these photos in his office today, I broke down and cried.  I can't even put my finger on why.  Pride for accomplishing a goal, relief that this chapter of my life is behind me, joy that my outward appearance finally matches my inner strength.  The photos put things into perspective somehow, and I'm an emotional hot mess over here.

I can't believe I'm putting this out there for the world to see, but here you have it- my 'before' and 'after.'  I think J probably put it best when he said "worth every penny."  If you need me, I'll just be here staring at these pictures and crying all day.

    

I'm Not Dead

I promise, I didn't bring the blog back just to disappear for another three years!

Surgery, part deux, happened, and well...my legs have looked better.

Bruising and swelling and oozing, oh my!  I will spare you the gory details, but the short version is this: the extra elephanty skin that was hanging around my thighs is outta here.  Yes, this summer I will resemble Frankenstein, but this monster will be running in shorts!

I will fill you in on a few things I've learned this go 'round:

1. When given the opportunity to trash my healthy eating habits, I will take it and run.  (Haha...run!)  My brain has pretty much shut down the corner that puts thought into the food going into my mouth.  Dessert after every meal?  Yes, please!  And before you say that there's no such thing as breakfast dessert, a good friend once taught me that ordering a chocolate chip pancake after you've finished your omelet is the perfect way to accomplish breakfast dessert.  I'm blaming the pain for my lack of self-control.  Which brings me to my next point-

2. Grilled cheese and crinkle cut fries are my ultimate comfort food.  Two surgeries in two months, and both times, when I've finally come out of the post-surgical stupor enough to want sustenance, grilled cheese and crinkle fries have been my meal request.  My poor, sweet husband has gone on the hunt twice now.  He's narrowed down the best sandwich, the best fries, and these may or may not be located at the same restaurant.  He's even learned to keep the takeout container open during the car ride home, lest the extra-crispy fries get soggy.  Which brings me to the NEXT point-

3. My husband is the best husband.  He bankrolls my procedures and then takes care of my unreasonable specific requests afterward.  I love him so.

4. And finally, the most important lesson I've learned.  DO NOT, under any circumstances, shop online while under the effects of anesthesia.  Anesthesia amnesia is a real thing, and I know because I experienced it just two short months ago.  I remember very little from either surgery day.  I do remember that it occured to me once I got home last week that my fancy compression garment, which I am forced to wear for every day for the next six weeks, covers about 80% of the skin on my body.  What is a girl to wear over such a garment?  Especially when summer is coming, and it ain't getting any cooler outside!  I thought maybe I should order a few things, so that I could safely leave the house.

And order I did.

I keep getting notification after notification about items that have shipped from here, there, and everywhere.  UPS started delivering today.  It's like Christmas!  I don't remember what I ordered or from where.  Who knows how long the deliveries will continue?  I'll live it up until I have to start returning.

          

Let's Get Real

I've been thinking a lot about this lately, and I've decided that I'm coming out.

Here goes...

I had plastic surgery.

Whew.  I said it.  (And I'm a little terrified that it's out there now.)

I haven't been very open about this decision.  As a matter of fact, when I decided over a year ago that this was something I was going to do, I was scared to tell anyone.

I was scared to tell my mom and my sister, I was scared to tell my closest friends, I was even scared to talk to J about it at first.  These are people who have always loved and supported me, yet I was hesitant to tell them that I wanted to do this.  I was scared for two reasons:

1. I was afraid people would think I am vain.
2. I was afraid people would judge me for spending such a large amount of money on my appearance.

Like it or not, there is a major stigma attached to cosmetic surgery, and I'm sure these are the two reasons why.

Let's talk vanity.  By definition, being vain is being excessively concerned with one's appearance.  That is exactly how I would qualify my feelings.  I worked so, SO hard to lose as much weight as I did, and the fact of the matter was, I still didn't like what I saw in the mirror.  And that feeling sucked.

There was loose skin, excess fat, and just a lot of "extra" literally hanging around my abdomen.  There is no amount of exercise that could fix that.  You can't put your body through excessive weight loss all in the midst of three pregnancies and expect your skin to bounce back.  At least not when you're thirty-something.  It just ain't gonna happen.  Surgery was my only option.

So I guess that makes me vain.  But I've had a lifetime of low self-esteem tied to body issues, and dammit, I want to wear a bikini (FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE!).  And I want to like how I look in it.  I guess I am excessively concerned with the appearance of my body.  Yep.

Let's talk money.  My chosen career was teaching.  Teaching.  You don't get into teaching for the big paychecks.  And now I don't even work!  There's some guilt involved when I think about the chunk of household income that just went into feeding my so-called vanity. 

But as scared as I was to broach this subject, in reality, when I finally did get brave enough to tell those few people, they were nothing but supportive.  They've seen me work hard to get to this point, and they want me to feel good about myself, because I've earned that.

And that's just it, folks.  I've earned it.  Me.  This isn't about anyone else.  Who do I have to impress??  My husband?  He thought I was beautiful on our wedding day, when I weighed almost 230 pounds.  My friends?  Please.  They've always loved me, regardless of my shape or size.  I don't care how anyone else views my body.  I care about how I view my body.  So I did this for myself.

I may have needed a little surgical help, but for the first time ever in my life, I am learning to love the body I'm in.  And that makes it all worth it.

This is definitely not me.

  

On Running

For many years, I've wanted to be a runner.  I've just always loved the idea of it.  Lacing up a pair of shoes and heading out the door has always held some allure to me.  Maybe it was the prospect of the time by myself, just me and the wind at my back, reflecting on all that is important in life.  Maybe it was the glory of racing, crossing a finish line, receiving a medal, and knowing that I would have really accomplished something.  Maybe it was just the strength and grit and endurance and determination that it would take to keep running once I'd started, even though my lungs would be breathing fire and my legs would feel like they were made of lead.

Many years ago, I tried to run.  I entered a few 5ks, received a few t-shirts for my efforts, and in the end, I didn't stick with it.  It was hard.  The fire-breathing, leg-dragging WORK that was involved ultimately turned me off.

I wasn't ready.

Close to a year ago, I was coming to the end of my "diet."  Not a diet at all, really, but a true lifestyle change.  (Yes, I know that sounds ridiculously corny, but it's the truth.)  I had reached my goal weight and was ready to maintain it.  And our annual beach vacation was looming.

Working out was absolutely a vital part of my day.  We have an elliptical machine at home that I used every day.  I have a large set of weights that I rely on.  I was going to be a week without my teeny-tiny home gym, and I needed to find an easy way to be active while we were traveling.  ESPECIALLY since I planned on indulging in lots of good food and beer throughout the week.  After all, it's vacation, no?

So every morning I laced up my shoes.  And I ran.

It was harder than I ever imagined it would be.  I had been working out, HARD, almost every single day for over 18 months.  But that was in my air conditioned home, in a routine that my body was used to.  Running was something new and different, something that my body was definitely not accustomed to.  The sweltering heat and suffocating humidity certainly did not help the situation.

But still I laced up my shoes.  And I ran.

After vacation ended and I had the option to return to my teeny-tiny air conditioned home gym, I took it.  But once a week or so, I chose to skip the elliptical and run with a local run club in the evening instead.  The group was warm and welcoming, fun, and inspiring.  Runners of all shapes, sizes, and paces gathering to run together and enjoy a beer together at the finish.  (I'm not gonna lie, the beer was a big attraction for me.)

Eventually, once a week turned into twice, turned into three times.  I didn't have to stop to walk so often.  My distances increased.  My pace decreased.  I signed up for a couple of 5ks.  I CRUSHED my 5k record from years ago.  I signed up for a half-marathon.  I battled through an injury and finished just under my goal time.  I started dreaming about running as I slept.  I got a weird, happy, excited, nowIhavetopee feeling every time I got ready to head out the door.  I bought a jogging stroller so I could run with Charlotte.  I became a bona fide, card-carrying member of the run club.

I became a runner.

It's still hard work, no doubt.  But it's the kind of satisfying hard work that I love.  I love the time to reflect, with the wind at my back.  I love the glory of crossing a finish line and receiving a medal signifying my accomplishment.  I love the strength and grit and endurance and dedication that I am modeling for my children.  And I love the runner that I have become.

An ugly cry as I crossed the finish line of the Holly Springs Half-Marathon in disbelief. 

I'm BAA-ACK!

So, it's been awhile.  Over three years, as a matter of fact.  Looks like the last post I wrote was a happy FIRST birthday to my firecracker Margot.  Hmm...things have changed around here.

I'm not sure what happened to my poor blog.  Life happened, I guess.  Two little ones keeping me on my toes, didn't have the time to devote, blah blah blah.  But the truth is, I liked writing here.  It gave me a little bit of a creative outlet, and something to exercise my brain.  It gave me something to look at other than Facebook.  (I think I have an addiction, but that's for another post.)  It made me part of a little blogging community.  It was fun to read other blogs, and know that other people out there were reading mine.

Sorry I forsook you, blogosphere. 

In any case, I've decided to make an effort to revive the ole' blog.  I certainly can't promise daily postings (life is still busy), but I can promise to not wait three years in between posts.  And in case I have even one follower out there who has been waiting for an updated post on their reading list- this one is for you.

Let me start with the big updates:

1. The house.  Remember back here when I was talking about selling our house and building a dreamy new one?  Well, it happened.  Just not on the timeline we expected.  The sale of the house went through just like we wanted, and American Homes 4 Rent DID lease back to us for another six months...and then for another year after that.  We thought we'd be breaking ground in November or December of 2013.  That ended up happening in July 2014.  And then delay after delay after hold-up after longer building schedule than we were originally told...

We finally closed on our new home in December 2014.

BUT, even though it took longer than we expected (guys, I mean SO MUCH LONGER than we expected!), the wait was worth it in the end.  I love our new(ish) home.  We have so much more space than the old place, an AMAZING backyard for the kids to play in, and a sense of community here that definitely was not present in our old 'hood.  I am now in the (continuous) midst of painting/decorating/organizing/perfecting the space, and desperately trying not to drive my sweet husband crazy in the process.

2. The job.  I am still at home with the wee ones.  Some days I sit back and realize how lucky I am to be able to spend these days with my littles.  Other days I am watching my phone like a hawk, waiting for the text from J that he is on his way home so that I can pass some parental duties off to him.  Some days I look at my kids and get emotional thinking about how much I love them and how fast it's all happening.  Some days, I want to day drink.  But that's the life of a stay at home mom!  And truthfully, I wouldn't have it any other way.

3. The kids.  They haven't stopped growing and changing and becoming these little people, right before my eyes.  Gabe (who is still my tiny nugget) is in KINDERGARTEN now, and totally rocking it.  Margot is still the fiercest little lady this side of the Mason-Dixon.  She loves preschool and dance class.  They are both completely wonderful in their own unique ways.  And, oh yeah...meet Charlotte.

Yep, since my last post, the family was completed with our third wee one.  She turned two last month.  She appears to have every ounce of sass that her sister has, but she also has a sweet and cuddly side like her brother.  She is just the icing on the amazing cake that is my little family.

This is seriously the best picture I have of my three little minions.  Getting a picture of all three at once is like herding cats.

4. The ME.  I wrote several times over the years about trying to live a healthier life and lose some weight in the process (Here, here, here, and here...what can I say, I've been a work in progress for a long time.)  I had a few promising starts here and there, but always in between pregnancies.  I hung onto the excuse that I was just going to have another baby, so I didn't want to put in the hard work when I was just going to get big and fat again, growing another baby.  But after the birth of my sweet Charlotte (and I was officially cut off from having anymore babies), I got serious.  I mean REALLY serious.  And I did it.  I look back at pictures of myself at the time of my last blog post, and I barely recognize that person.  I started paying attention to every bite of food that I put into my mouth.  I became a runner, and raced my first half-marathon last year.  And I lost somewhere in the neighborhood of 85 pounds.  I did it!   

So there's the long and short of it.  I really have missed this little spot over the past three years.  (Cringing and embarrassed over here.)  Really hoping to not let you down, long lost readers! 

Back in the Saddle

J and I have recently dusted off the elliptical and started exercising again.  (And just so you know, this happened in December, before the new year, so it is not the result of a New Year's resolution.  I'm not doing that this year, remember?)

We are both slightly competitive people.  (Okay, if I'm being honest, I am very competitive.  I want to be right all. of. the. time. and be the best at everything.)  When it comes to exercising, this trait really works to our advantage.  We want to outdo each other.

So recently, as we've both been complaining about how our pants fit (even though I completely blame pregnancy and childbirth for my current issues), we knew what we had to do.  And we knew that it would only take one of us to make the first move. 

J got up early one day and logged 20 minutes before work.  I knew that I had to do the same later that afternoon to stay in the game.  And so I did.  The next day, we both did it again, only I upped my time to 22 minutes.  The next morning, J did the same.  And so it begins.  I think we're both up to 25 minutes, and working at a faster pace than we started with.

As I've been ellipticalling away, I have noticed that my "Workout" playlist is a little crusty, moldy, OLD.  I am in need of some new inspiration.  The music is absolutely what keeps me going during a workout, and I need to refine my list.

Suggestions, anyone?

Fiber

Yep, I needs it.

Since having a baby, things just don't work the same as they did before.  My insides got all scrunched up, and then unscrunched themselves in such a way that more fiber is now required in order for them to work.

Such is life.

I've written about the Benefiber in my morning coffee.  Good stuff.

But the other day I discovered these:

Let me just say, the commercials do not lie.  Cardboard?  No.  Delicious?  Yes.  I mean, really, really good stuff.

So for my other oldster friends who are in need of a little more fiber in your diets?  Go out and buy these immediately.  You won't regret it.

Would you?

According to a new poll published in this article, half of women would give up sex for the entire summer rather than gain 10 pounds.

Although this may or may not be surprising to you, I have to imagine that this one will come as a shocker: a quarter of men said the same thing!  This was a much higher percentage than I would have guessed!

Consider this, dear readers.  What would you give up this summer rather than gain a little weight?  The television?  Your iPhone? (Which apparently leads to having more sexual partners than ownership of other smart phones, but that's another story.)  Shopping?  Showering?  (I realize that this last one is weird, but 6% of those polled said they would do just that.)

I realize that I am not a good candidate to answer this question this particular summer.  One does not get pregnant in the hopes of keeping off the pounds.  But how about you?  What would you give up?

In my opinion, if you really want to avoid gaining those ten pounds...giving up cookies for the summer might be a good place to start.

Feel Good Friday- Yogarific!

This week, yoga literally makes me feel good!  And don't you think yogarific is a great word to describe that??

As you all know, I've been making an effort to get into better shape (dieting, exercise, blah, blah, blah...).  Well this week, I decided to incorporate yoga into my routine.

I love how relaxing it is at the time, and how the day after you do it, every muscle in your body is sore and you have no idea how it happened.

I love how it forces you to do a little meditation (as hokey as that may sound to many of you!).

And I love how it's just good for you, all around!

I've also been having lots of fun trying out different yoga videos.  I have yet to find one that I really enjoy, so if any of you have recommendations, PLEASE.  Help a sista out.

I've learned some new techniques that I have never seen in any of my yoga classes at the gym, such as "Breath of Fire."  Sounds like a circus act, no?  In actuality, it's a bit more like a panting dog.  I can't really do it without laughing (and attracting unwanted attention from my puppies), so I had to nix that video.

Today's video ended with the words "Celebrate!  Be great!" scrolling across the screen.  Well, the sheer ridiculousness of that also made me laugh.  Plus, I thought the yogi chick was slightly annoying.  Her pigtails (yes, pigtails) were uneven.  And her nipples were constantly at attention.

Two videos down, one more still to try...

In any case, I did enjoy getting back into this practice that I so rudely abandoned a few years ago.  The long and short of it?  Yoga just makes me feel good!

**In case you are confused, the woman in the picture is not, in fact, me.  But after a few months of my mad yoga skills, you won't be able to tell us apart.

Happy Friday, everyone!

I've been a bad blogger...

So sorry about the lack of posts this week, dear readers!  I'll try to make up for it with one big, all-encompassing post.  Go ahead and get a snack...I'll wait.

Okay, Here's what I've been up to:

1. EOG's.

For those of you non North-Carolinians (or those of you who DO live here, but under a rock), these are the big, dreaded, standardized tests that come at the end of the school year (or End Of Grade).  Now these tests are only for students in grades 3-8.

"But I thought you taught students in grades K-1?" you might ask.  And you'd be correct.  But I have managed to be involved in the EOG mania nonetheless.

Firstly, my side job is tutor extraordinaire.  I work with three kids, grades 6, 8, and 9, on math.  I know, weird combo that I teach reading to the little ones during the morning and math to the older ones in the afternoons.  But it works for me!

Two of my kiddos are in the throes of EOG.  One took the test this past Wednesday and Thursday, the other takes his exam this upcoming Thursday.  I have been clocking A LOT of tutoring hours recently!  (It's okay, though.  Good for the ole' bank account!)

Aside from tutoring, I got to take part in EOG joy at my own school.  This week, students on tracks 1 and 2 took the big tests.  And because I'm so lucky (i.e. I'm a warm body and my classes are apparently expendable and easily canceled for the week) I got to be a proctor!

Let me tell you a little bit about proctoring the EOGs.  In a word- BORING.  Basically, I got to sit and stare at a classroom of fifth graders for hours at a time.  Every fifteen minutes or so, I would circulate around the room, looking over shoulders to make sure that the kids were bubbling in the same number on their answer sheet as the question they were on in the test booklet.  But come on...these kids are in fifth grade.  They've bubbled in test sheets a time or two before.

Once kids finished the tests, I had to make sure they were sitting silently.  Once or twice a kid sneaked a book out of their desk and tried to hide it, and I had to tell them to put the book away until the test session was over.  That was the peak of excitement of the whole experience.

OH, and I ALSO got to take parades of kids to the bathroom, and make sure they went in one at a time, and didn't talk about the test in any way.  That was also TONS of fun!

The experience was uber-miserable.  I found myself wishing that I was taking the test, because I thought it would be more fun.

I can't wait to do this again when the other half of the students in my school take the tests in two weeks.


2.  Entering the HGTV Green Home 2010 Giveaway on a daily basis.

I mean, how fabulous is this house?  (Of course, it doesn't really matter how fabulous the house is, because if I actually did win it, I'd sell it.  Because let's be real here...I am SO not moving back to the north.  I WOULD keep the SUV and the $100 grand, though.)

I'm almost tempted to leave this part of the post out, lest you start entering daily, too, and decrease my odds of winning.  But I like you.  So I guess I'll allow it.


3. Dieting and ellipticalling.  (Yes, I know that's not a word, but I like it...so there.)

My stomach has mostly gotten used to liquids for breakfast and lunch, and I'm not hungry and crabby at every moment.  Just some moments, like when J says he's hungry, and I explode a little, lashing out about the fact that he got to have food for breakfast and lunch.  But he's a trooper, and he forgives me.

I may be missing beer more than food, as I am depriving myself of it on the weeknights.  But even that is getting easier.

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to skip the elliptical, because I was feeling a little lazy.  Later in the day, I felt guilty for skipping out, so I ended up not only ellipticaling, but going a few minutes over my normal 30.

Now THAT'S progress, no?

AND, I've lost 6 pounds.  Yay me!


Also, (and you thought I'd forgotten!)...today is

And here's what makes me feel good this Friday (aside from the aforementioned 6 pounds).

The first bloom of the season on my magnolia tree.  After I moved south and saw these trees everywhere, I knew that someday, I MUST have one.  Thanks to the coolest mom on the block (mine), I have one.  She bought this for me on one of her visits, and I love, love, love looking out my kitchen window and seeing it blooming all spring and summer.


So that's all, folks!  Have an excellent weekend!

My new plan...

Look what J and I bought this weekend!

 So, I'm using it every day.  (Thank God for my good friend Justin Timberlake, who helps me through.)


I'm also having this for breakfast and lunch every day.  (A pink bendy straw makes it a little better somehow.)

And I'm making sure to drink at least 8 of these every day.  (I've never peed so much.)

Our beach vacation is less than two months away!  I figured I should get on this diet thing immediately.  Wish me luck!