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Archive for June, 2011

Ahhhh… Catching up with friends is fun, and so entertaining with my grandson, Gavin, along. We started out by walking along the Monon Trail (a walking, running, biking, etc. path). My friend, Cathy, and I walked and talked, but spent a lot of time watching Gavin observe the dogs and birds and wave to everyone we passed. He talked a lot, too, but I am not sure whom is conversation was with, or what was being said, but he was quite animated.

After the walk, we stopped at a local coffee shop. There was a man working at his computer and conducting business on his cell. Gavin waved enthusiastically, and the man smiled and waved back as he talked on the phone; you just cannot deny that sweet face. We got some treats and sat on couches facing each other, meanwhile Gavin climbed onto the table in-between. It was about 18 inches tall, perfect Gavin height. We got him off of the table and distracted with some grapes. I had a light green iced cake ball, about the size of a fruit ball. I took a bite and held it out for Gavin to try while listening to Cathy. I looked down, and there was no cake in my hand. I asked Cathy if he she had seen him put the entire piece in his mouth; she had not noticed. We looked at Gavin, who just looked at us like, “What’s up?” There was no noticeably large bite bulge, so we searched the floor under the couches and table, no cake ball. Cathy said not to worry about it, that the cake and icing would just melt. Well, I had no idea how correct she would be. A few minutes later, Gavin gave us a big grin, except instead of teeth, he showed us a big wad of cake. We giggled, and I watched to make sure he was managing the chewing process without difficulty. He seemed to be handling it just fine. Then, Gavin headed for the hallway. We called him back; he stopped, turned, and giggled, letting out a light green eruption of foam and drool. We laughed so hard tears came to our eyes. That made him laugh and erupt even more green, lava-like foam. He looked like a science fair exhibit! Cathy laughingly asked if I liked ‘see’ food; I doubled over with laughter. I wiped his mouth, and he finally consumed the last of the cake ball.

We headed outside to go our separate ways, but Gavin found the bare, back patio a fun place to run freely. Also, there were ROCKS lining the side of the building as part of the landscaping; his favorite outdoor toy. So, he threw rocks out, and I put them back. It was lots of fun, for Gavin, but finally we needed to leave. Getting into the car seat signaled the end of our play date. Gavin did not like having his fun time interrupted, but he did not protest long. He probably figured it could be worse, at least he wasn’t being put down for a nap!

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 After the huge disappointment of hurting my foot last week, I am slowly recovering. Baby steps are definitely not just for babies; healing is quite an exercise in patience! It also requires some creativity.

Last week I limped around and did as much as I could around the house, taking a lot of breaks to elevate my foot. Since I am also rehabilitating my shoulder, swimming for exercise was not a choice. Every night I iced my foot, which felt really good, actually. I pretended I was at the spa getting pampered; it was more fun than thinking about my hurt foot. 

As my last post stated, I was not able to run in our church’s 5K on Saturday morning. Sunday morning my foot was still sending out shock waves if I bent it too far. Sunday afternoon we celebrated Father’s Day at my mom and dad’s. Half of the group got into the pool and were having a wonderful time. I couldn’t stand it; I had to get into the water. I used a side stoke move with my arms and right away felt pain in my shoulder. I then tried dog paddling, which worked. Talk about being humbled, reduced from swimming 1200 yards free-style to dog paddling. Sheesh. We started playing water dodgeball; I felt a twinge in my shoulder again as I wrestled my husband in the water for the ball. I figured I had better back off before I really tweaked something. Then, a miracle! I dried off and got dressed. I was walking around and realized: I am walking normally and my foot doesn’t hurt! I guess the water therapy worked. I didn’t go out and run a few miles, but I held out hope that things might be getting better.

Today, a week after my injury, I ran/walked a half mile (one-tenth run, one-tenth walk). I could feel a little burning, but nothing extreme. Then, I went swimming for 15 minutes. I proudly swam with my kickboard, knowing that things are getting better.

I still have a lot of baby steps to go, but today I felt like a toddler. Hopefully, I will soon feel like a teenager (minus the acne and mood swings).

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Our church ran their third annual 5K today, about 25 people participated on this damp morning. I had to sit out due to my injured foot; it was so hard to just watch others do what I love. The real kicker? I could have won the female division at my 5K pace, by about 90 seconds (a lot of time in the arena of racing). I know deep down that I run for reasons other than a prize, and the race was really small, but just once it would have been nice to come in first.  No matter, I just want to heal so that I can hit the ground running once again. Lungs full. Heart pounding. Pores sweating. Ahhhh…there’s nothin’ like it!

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What? No Running?!

Tuesday morning was glorious! In fact, this has been the best week for running by far, perfect temperatures and no humidity. Unfortunately, I cannot run. As I ran Tuesday morning, enjoying the beautiful weather, my foot suddenly felt like it had exploded at 2.25 miles. No warning. No twinge. I couldn’t run another step. All winter neither snow nor ice could keep me from running. Now, on a beautiful morning, I could not run. Ironic…I hate irony. I laboriously limped the 1.5 miles home. I felt frustrated, angry. My dreamy running day had turned into an injury nightmare.

When my husband called, I told him I possibly had broken my foot. My voice cracked as I uttered, “I might not be able to run the rest of the summer.” Saying it out loud made it seem too real. I almost cried, but I stopped myself; crying won’t fix my foot. So, I hobbled to the orthopedic immediate care and got it x-rayed. They didn’t think there were any fractures. They advised taking a 10 pound boot and calling them in two weeks. I made it out the door wearing the boot and promptly took it off as I waited for my husband to bring the truck around. My husband had that ‘oh brother’ look on his face, that ‘we just spent how much for that stupid boot you are not going to wear’ look. Hopefully I invested in a boot I will never need, kind of like buying car insurance. This is irony in my favor.  

After icing the heck out of it and taking ibuprofen, each day there is a little improvement. I don’t know when I will run again, but I pray it isn’t too long. Running is a part of my soul. It cleanses my lungs, clears my brain, and lifts my spirits. Funny, I could never understand the attraction running held for others until I started running, now I look forward to it and even crave it.

But, I refuse to let my injury dampen my spirits. Others have come back from injury, and I will, too. I will focus on something else as I heal, like enjoying the nuances of this beautiful weather. I can still let feel the breeze on my face, inhale the freshness, and let the sun warm my skin; I will just have to do it at a much slower pace, at least for a while.

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Double Trouble

Despite my determined spirit, I was not able to haul the big rig to the campsite. I had my shoulder injected with cortisone on Wednesday, and I still only had one good arm by Friday. Since I want to get this issue healed up as quickly as possible, I decided it would be wiser to follow the advice of my doctor and make my maiden voyage hauling the camper to the campground on another trip. How did I get my shoulder messed up in the first place? I believe it happened last winter, when I was determined to clear our driveway of ice and snow, and I tweaked it throwing the heavy shovelfuls of the white stuff.

I can see the same determined spirit in my 16-month-old grandson. The other night at dinner we played peek-a-boo. I covered my eyes, he pulled my hands away, and I said, “Boo!” He giggled down to his toes each time. I started holding my hands with some resistance, so that he would have to work at opening them. The more I resisted, the harder he would pull; he pulled so hard that he clenched his jaw, and his whole little body shook. With each release and ,”Boo!” he giggled. It didn’t matter that I was bigger and stronger; he kept trying with all his might and would not give up until I stopped resisting. He will go far in life with that determination. I just hope his family has good insurance!

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I LOVE Protein!

I love protein! And unlike broccoli, onions, etc., it loves me back. Okay, with the exception of beans and peanuts, which are good sources protein; they do not love me back. My family doesn’t appreciate that they do not love me, either. 

I love many forms of protein: Greek yogurt, cheese, milk, almonds, browned hamburger with cottage cheese, fish, chicken (white meat), pork (the other white meat), Kashi’s Go Lean Crunch in my Greek yogurt, etc. Did you know chocolate milk is recommended as a recovery drink after a hard workout? It has a good balance of carbs and protein. Awesome, right?!

So, while carbohydrates get a lot press, and are important in a balanced diet, I just have to give protein the spotlight. It does a body good!

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Vanity Sizing…Ugh

Have you heard about vanity sizing? It is when manufacturers put smaller sizes on clothing to make consumers feel better about themselves. My first experience with this was while watching The Biggest Loser. A contestant that weighed almost 10 pounds more than I do put on a pair of pants a size smaller than I wear. I thought, “How can this be?” Then, a few months later, I saw a report on t.v. about vanity sizing. They had different clothing brands and showed how a size 10 from one brand fit the same as a size 8 (or even 6!) in other brands. This doesn’t make me feel better about myself; it makes me feel confused. It also makes me have to try on clothing, instead of just picking up my size and heading to the checkout (not that every style fits my body type, but I had a much better shot at a good fit). Now I understand my dismay trying on jeans when I thought I was in a size 8 and I fit in a true size 10. Had I gained weight? Was I getting weird middle age bulges? To be honest, I don’t care what the size says, I just want to wear a consistent size.

Exercise and diet are about health. You can change the number on a tag, but that will not change how you feel physically, the number on the scale, or change your actual shape. I mean, my husband is not going to look at me one day and say, “Hey, weren’t you a size 6 earlier this week?”

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