March 3 - Key

September 23 - Before bedtime (2)

I watch very little television, but weekend evenings are made for football,
er, watching my President on 60 Minutes. Can't wait for the debates. 

Friday Quote Day

Focusing your life solely on making a buck
shows a certain poverty of ambition.
It asks too little of yourself.
Because it’s only when you hitch your wagon
to something larger than yourself
that you realize your true potential.
~ Barack Obama

Okay, right off the bat you’re wondering what in the heck this quote has to do with weight loss, running, health, fitness or even knitting. Aren’t you?

I thought so.

Well, the answer is ‘nothing at all.’ But it has everything to do with this:


I was a tiny cog in the great wheel of Democrats who worked hard to elect Presdient Obama last fall. I spent many hours at campaign headquarters and many more at home creating and producing posters, signs, stickers and campaign buttons, among other volunteer activities.

During an event at headquarters, a woman introduced herself to me and said she had an idea for a book, but needed help putting it together. She wondered if I’d like to lend my graphic design skills to her project. The result is Birds Nearby, which was delivered this week.

It’s a lovely book describing 36 common birds in the Eastern United States. Each bird gets four pages: two with simple clues describing the bird, then a photo page and then a coloring page. It’s suitable for elementary-age school children.

But each of my grandchildren – from 11 months to 12 years – is getting one for Easter.

If I had more time I would try to tie Obama’s quote to health and fitness, because I can see how it could be done, especially if I cut everything but the last sentence. But what I love about the quote, and how it relates to my experience, is that I really wasn’t trying to make a buck.

I was electing a President.

If you’d like a copy of the book, please let me know. Betsy’s website isn’t quite ready for orders yet, but I can put you in touch with her.

Friday Quote Day

We become
what we think about
all day long.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

This may be my theme song this year; thinking good thoughts does not come naturally for me. That’s one of the reasons my photo blog is subtitled “Good Stuff.” The photos aren’t especially good, but I’m trying to find something good to remember – and think about – every day.

Thoughts about one’s surroundings, environment, 401K, family, body – oh, yes, we all think about our bodies – can take different turns, depending on circumstances. Our moods are sunnier when the sun shines; it’s difficult to imagine a lush garden out where that patch of mud is when the sky is grey and rain is falling.

I’ve been conditioned this past year to feel good about the future when the stock market is up, and depressed when it’s down. You can guess how moody my life has been, can’t you? I know I’m not the only one, but I live an isolated life, and spend lots of time thinking about me-me-me. My contact with the outside world is minimal, and filtered by talking heads most of the time. (Except Tuesday night, when I meet with 100 or so inmates, whose lack of contact with the outside world always, always provides me with an opportunity to be grateful.)

And then there is that whole body image. When I think of myself as big and clumsy and taking up too much space, I spiral downward in every area of my life. When I wake up feeling light and clean (as I have done this past week), time flies, missions get accomplished and life feels bright again.

In spite of the rain.

It has become abundantly clear to me that refined sugar and flour are POISON! You may indulge, if you like, but if I want to think good things all day long, I can’t inject myself with substances that are druglike in their effect on my mind and body. This has been a long, hard lesson. I so wanted to be normal about food. I’m simply not. Eating reasonable portions of healthful food is easy if I don’t set myself up to fail. One mini Milky Way is enough to sabotage myself.

Because one’s too many, and an eight-pack is never enough.

P.S. If you didn’t hear President Obama’s speech at the Lincoln Dinner in Springfield, IL, last night, click here. He was inspiring, there’s no other word for the man.

One day and a wake-up

At the prison where I volunteer (and probably at all prisons), the inmates describe their remaining days of incarceration thusly: “I’ve got three weeks and a wake-up,” or “Six days and a wake-up.”

Well, folks, we’re down to one day and a wake-up.

My husband and I toyed with the idea of going to Washington for Obama’s inauguration, but in the end decided to enjoy the festivities from the comfort of our family room. I have to admit to wishing I’d been there for yesterday’s We Are One concert, though.

We thoroughly enjoyed it, especially Garth Brooks’ medley of American Pie, Shout and We Shall Be Free. (Catch it here on YouTube.) I’m a folk/rock/Dylan fan, and my husband loves classical music, especially Baroque, so for us to highlight country star Brooks is astonishing.

In the end, we thought it fitting that we have yet another party for the swearing-in ceremony – a luncheon for old farts, if you will, who probably won’t be awake for coverage of even the first fancy inaugural ball. Retirement has its advantages – you don’t have to schedule a day off work to watch history being made.

Overshadowing all this excitement is the fact that my dad is back in CCU. His doctors will be discussing implanting a pacemaker this morning. He has repeatedly assured me that he’s doing fine, is being well cared for and doesn’t need me to be there. I do, however, feel very torn – glad to be home to share the inauguration with my husband and our friends, but wishing I could be in Florida, to speak with Dad’s caregivers face-to-face and find out exactly what’s going on. Neither my dad nor his wife ask enough questions when the doctors breeze in and out of his room.

Today’s the day: VOTE!

Democracy is …

the conviction that there are
extraordinary possibilities
in ordinary people.
~ Harry Emerson Fosdick

My daughter is worried about me. Today being election day here in the U.S., she’s wondering what I’m going to do with myself tomorrow. And for the rest of my life.

I’ve been busy since the most recent blog break began: busy with family illnesses (my dad is being released from the hospital again today, my mother-in-law continues to improve), with family fun (spent Halloween with my youngest granddaughter) and with many new friends working hard to elect a President.

I’ve helped make hundreds of campaign buttons, posters and signs; worked in our local Democratic headquarters; knocked on doors and made phone calls; put myself in situations that were uncomfortble because, for the first time in my life, it really matters to me who gets elected. And I believe my vote counts.

By uncomfortable, I mean I’ve been asking strangers if they’ve registered to vote. If they’re undecided, I ask what their issue is. I’ve done this in red-state West Virginia and in the toss-up states of Ohio, North Carolina and Florida. If they’ve already voted for Obama, I thank them.

If McCain got their vote, I still thank them. Because, while voting is important, it’s even more important to be civil and polite and respectful of individual rights and opinions.

(By the way, McCain may have his Joe the Plumber, but I have Tom the Exterminator. And Greg the UPS Driver.)

My husband and I are having a party tonight. We’re expecting a couple dozen people and a big celebration. We’ve made party favors (of course!), printed electoral maps, made tons o’ food and cued up the victory music.

Let’s hope we get to use it.

Everyone at the party gets a clipboard (with an Obama sticker), pink and blue highlighters (to fill in their electoral maps) and a bottle of M&Ms labeled thusly:

Speaking for myself, I can use a little medicine today.

Ruh Roh

I never was a Scooby Doo fan. I’m from the Bugs Bunny/Chip ’n’ Dale/Tweety Bird (“I think I saw a puddy tat”) generation. But when I experience an “uh-oh” moment, I immediately think – and sometimes say – it in my best Scooby Doo voice.

If you’d tagged along on my walk/run Tuesday morning, you would have heard me. I can’t remember the exact moment, but somewhere along the 7.25 mile-route, I twisted my left ankle. It’s still a little twingy – is that a word? – so I’m postponing today’s four-miler until tomorrow.

Thank goodness for easy weeks, eh?

I wrapped it in an Ace bandage and hobbled around yesterday doing what I normally do. RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) was called for, but Compression and about an hour of Elevation was the best I could do.

It’s definitely not a sprain, and is much better today. The swelling is gone, as is most of the pain. If I weren’t in training I’d probably test it. But I sure don’t want a major setback with just eight weeks until race day.

My South Beach experiment has blown up in my face. What? You didn’t hear the explosion? You missed the flames erupting from the blown-out windows? While I can lose weight and still train eating meat-and-salad, meat-and-salad, meat-and-salad, I can’t do anything else. And while I don’t have a fulltime job or children to look after, I do have a house that is, as my mother used to say, “ready to walk.” And a mother-in-law who is still in the hospital and a President to elect.

Heh.

Carbs = energy. Without carbs, I sleep nine, 10 or even more hours per night. I drag my ass through my day and sleep like I’ll never wake up. I’m tired when I rise in the morning, tired when I run, tired when I hit the sack at 8 p.m.

To celebrate leaving the Beach, I had a cup of Shredded Wheat with strawberries and milk for breakfast. (Carbs ≠ donuts, Belgian waffles or coffee cake. Does anyone eat coffee cake any more? My mother used to make the recipe on the back of the Bisquick box and invite the neighbors over for coffee and cake at least once a week.)

I guess my major weight-loss push has been pushed back to, um, the holiday season.

Oh, joy.

No. Really. I am still here.

It appears that when life gets stressful, I clam up. That’s probably a Good Thing, as I tend to be impulsive and might write something I wouldn’t want to take responsibility for at a later time. The better part of valor is discretion, a tenet it’s taken me many, many years to adopt.

First things first: Happy birthday to Wendy! I’ve been trusting her running advice (and more) for way more than a year now. Just because she’s flipped over into that “don’t trust anyone over mumble-mumble decade” doesn’t mean I’m going to stop now. Click over and give her your good wishes. I’ll wait.

So. It appears that, for me at least, the Penguin is right: It’s difficult to lose weight during race training. He doesn’t say it’s impossible, but he does point out that losing weight is one thing and race training is another. Different goals demand different strategies. I’ve found it verrrrry difficult to stick with a South Beach eating plan while following my training schedule. Doesn’t matter if it’s physical or mental – the fact is, I’m hungry more often and vegetables just don’t appeal. (I’m back up to 177, after the party and eating a lot of restaurant and hospital cafeteria meals last week.)

My mother-in-law has been transferred from the far-away, big-city hospital to what I like to call Tiny Hospital. It’s a 12-mile drive and she’s getting adequate care, but I’d like to see more emphasis on physical therapy and getting her up and out of bed than has happened so far. I’ll chalk it up to being transferred at the end of the week – small hospitals tend to clear all but the seriously ill out on weekends, and they – like most medical facilities these days – are short-staffed.

A little more housecleaning: The group photo I took at our Obama party did end up on the website. It's part of a slideshow and takes for-freaking-ever to download on dial-up, so I didn’t do it. But someone did for me, and says our photo is at the 4:13 mark. (I don’t know if the slideshow has been updated since the day I tried to view it.) You can see it here. Eventually.

The most popular item in the party goodie bags was the “Retired. Inspired.” bumper sticker. Hey, we’re old! What can I say? It hasn’t been too popular on CafePress, but then I’m not sure how to compete with the other 18 million Obama items for sale there.

I missed one run last week, and was two miles short of my weekly mileage goal, but felt good on the long run yesterday. My pace is supposed to be 12:39, but I’ve been shooting for 12-minute miles at this stage and I was darned close yesterday: 12:07 for more than six miles. I gave up when my husband drove by to see how I was doing and offered me a ride. The long run wasn’t quite as long as it was supposed to be, but my legs were toast and riding the last 1.7 was Just. Too. Tempting.