May31

Magic of Gadgets

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TomTom

Ever since my Garmin died at marathon #2, I have been GPS-less.

So, for my 40th birthday, my husband got me the Nike +Sportwatch GPS. I was sold on it because #1 it doesn’t look like a laptop strapped to your wrist and #2 it is powered by TomTom, which seems to be accurate even in the technological black hole of Franconia.

I’ve been playing around with the watch, and while I wish it had automatic scrolling (like my old, dead Garmin), it does seem to track me eerily well through the farm fields.

The watch has been extremely helpful in figuring out just what exactly I’m doing out there for hours, other than deer watching and gummy bear eating.

The results:

My average pace has increased (most likely due to Crossfit training) by 30-45 seconds per mile, which means I will either PR at my next marathon, or I’ll have more time to stop and eat gummy bears and drink cola at the water stations.

I go faster when I run uphill. Weird, but true.

I go slower downhill. Also weird, but equally true.

My heart rate stays in the 150s for my entire run–hills and all.

With four weeks until my next marathon, I have a little time to play around with training.

I need to learn to keep my pace (and my balance) while going downhill, and I can ease off a bit uphill. I can also try moving a little faster during portions of my run, since my heart has promised not to explode.

I am constantly worried about going out too fast, which is my natural tendency. But with the watch, I can accurately monitor myself, until I can ‘feel’ it without the gadget, which is still preferable to me.

When you run through a lovely green countryside, you should actually see more than the back of your wrist. With a GPS watch, you can get obsessed with numbers, and unless you’re a professional, what difference does it really make?

I’m in this for the long haul, and that means as I grow stronger (with crossfit) my running will improve. As I age, the real payoff will be in the health benefits, not the numbers.

While I am always wanting to challenge myself and improve, my life is not made or broken by three-tenths of a second. So even though I am now numbered among the gadget-people, I also want to keep the joy of running alive.

Because it’s the joy that makes the race worth running.

May23

T2B: None of Us are Pretty in CrossFit

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Runner's Feet

Last Friday, our coach Sibylle tried to kill us with the workout of the day.

Maybe that’s a little harsh, but the WOD left nearly everyone on the ground in a puddle of his or her own sweat. And after the WOD, we had the WOD 2 in the form of 30 toe to bars, which by that point, was a cruel joke.

Toes to bar: you grab the pull-up bar, bend yourself in half 
and touch your feet to the bar overhead; or for beginners, 
you hang there quivering and think: "This was so simple when I was 9!"

The first night I stepped foot in the box, we were supposed to do toes to bar. Naturally, having spaghetti arms and a core comprised mostly of ice cream and gummy bears, all I could do was raise my knees an inch in the general direction of my chest while the coach talked about ‘torque,’ whatever that meant.

I remember thinking I would never be able to do this. It was simply something I’d never envisioned, like real pull-ups (which I STILL can’t do).

Imagine my surprise when after our grueling workout on Friday, I hung from the bar and swung both my feet overhead.

I was shocked.

And like a toddler who just realized she could sling oatmeal at the wall, I did it again.

I ended up touching my toes to the bar 8 times well and 3 more times not-so-well-but-it-still-counted-to-me. I turned giddily to William and asked, “How long do we have to do this?” thinking we were probably nearing the end of our time limit, and I would have a count that wouldn’t make me hang my head in shame, to which he replied, “We’re supposed to do 30.”

Ugh.

That meant I had to work.

Thus, my T2B’s decreased in quality as the reps increased.

By the end I could barely move my knees upward, and I really wanted to complain about the callous that had torn off my hand.

After class, I showed Sibylle the flap of skin hanging from my hand, and in her classic, German, Crossfitter style, she left me with a quote I’ll use for the rest of my life: “We, none of us, are pretty.”

How true.

My hands (like my long-distance runner feet with 3-inch calluses) couldn’t even win Miss Congeniality in a pretty contest, but they are getting stronger.

Being strong can be a beautiful thing. But strength isn’t something that you can simply put on like a new pair of shoes. Real strength, like real beauty, comes from God, and it is demonstrated by the quality of a person’s character.

How we react to challenges shows what we’re really made of, regardless of how long it takes you to do 30 T2B’s. You can never become stronger if you’ve already forfeited the race in your mind.

The important thing is to do your best and not give up, even when you feel weak–and that IS something truly beautiful.

May8

40

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Birthday Banner

I’ve run 4 marathons, but I’ve never run a 10k–until Sunday. The weather was sunny enough to make you happy, cool enough to keep you from wilting.

I’ve been worried that I haven’t been running enough miles, but the 10k gave me more confidence. I was actually passing people UNDER the age of 80 during the race and finished with a smile (and in 56 minutes).

It was a great way to begin my birthday week.

My Crossfit coach gave me a birthday present in the form of 50 burpees, 100 pushups and 150 walking lunges interspersed between sprints of varying lengths.

The good news is that now at age 40, I am healthier than I’ve ever been. And that is exactly how I wanted to begin this next phase of life.

But life is still life. My week has been filled with (mostly) a good kind of chaos, but chaos nonetheless. My actual birthday morning began by scrubbing the dog’s behind at 6:00 am. Then I spent half the morning finding his special food, which he wouldn’t eat anyway. Now we have an emergency vet appointment to find out why he’s not eating or drinking. Poor little thing.

But being at an emergency vet appointment isn’t how I envisioned spending my 40th birthday. Obviously, I love my fluffy little dog, and who cares about a birthday when he is miserable? It’s just not what I ‘planned.’

I’ve had to do all kinds of uncomfortable things this week–specifically, making several appointments in German, which is nearly as taxing to me mentally as burpees are physically.

All I want to do is stay home one day this week, but it doesn’t look like that will happen until Saturday, and even then I’ll have to leave for a few hours for my long run.  I look back on my ‘sick day’ last week with a warped kind of fondness because I got to lay on the couch and eat jello.

As a wife & mom & servant of God, I don’t write my own schedule. I have to interact with other human beings and figure out how I can best help them. I have to talk to God and actually obey Him when He tells me what path to take–and usually, that path isn’t the easy one.

So while my milestone birthday did not include a luxury vacation, it did include a date with my husband; a card from Libby that was so incredibly sweet it made me cry (and scared her a little); gorgeous earrings in my favorite color, and a ‘Mom’ necklace, bought with hard earned teenage money; lots of hugs & an old hat of mine (which I had loaned out); and a custom-made comic strip, with humor that always makes me laugh.

Libby's card made me cry!

Libby’s card made me cry!

Katie went over the top with my beautiful, elegant cake, and all the kids helped decorate to make my birthday morning (once I was done scrubbing the dog) special.

As much as I dreamed of escaping to a beach somewhere, this birthday has been the best one ever because of the pure and simple love that pours out from my family, even though I don’t deserve it.

40 birthdays behind me.

I look forward to 80 more.

May1

No Worries

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footprints

No Worries

When I go to CrossFit, I have no worries for an entire hour.

The only knots in my stomach are from doing a lot of sit-ups in a little amount of time. The only weight on my shoulders is attached to a 20 kg bar. The only thing I have to remember is what rep I’m on.

There are no meetings, no appointments, no long commutes–I am purely living in the moment, and I often feel guilty about it.

I don’t think I’m trying to completely escape my problems, but it IS nice to ‘get away’ for a little while. If I lived closer to the box, I would go five days a week or more. It is THAT refreshing to me. Some people listen to music, or play it; some people watch TV or eat or play video games; they walk the beach or take cruises; but for me, stress-relief is packaged in a CrossFit box.

I walk away from a workout feeling completely relaxed, refocused and re-energized, and I think ultimately, it enables me to deal with stress.

When we were in London, I saw two women at Harrod’s, draped from head to toe in black, with only their eyes and some flashy rings on their hands showing. They were at the jewelry counter. Read that again: the JEWELRY counter.

If you’ve ever been to Harrod’s, and you’re just an average person like me, then you know how thrilling yet painful it is to buy a single truffle from the food counter in the basement. This is a store where a pair of socks costs more than my wedding dress. They probably charge money just to glance at the jewelry counter. I’m sure no matter how rich or poor you are, women everywhere have to deal with stress, and I wondered if shopping was the outlet of choice for these women.

Then my thoughts go back to the woman at the top of the mountain at Petra, Jordan. One of her many sons probably brought jugs of water up the mountain on donkey. She looked as if she had enough to eat. She was just alongside the path, selling her wares in one of the most scenic locations on earth. I don’t think that her life is stress-free, but she probably deals with it differently than I (a spoiled Westerner) would.

I can go to CrossFit, but what does she do? Maybe she daydreams or makes jewelry for tourists. I’m not sure.

It makes me wonder if stress is a luxury? I do think it’s easier to focus on the things that really matter when you don’t have a bunch of junk clogging up your home.

As for us, we’d like to downsize–get a smaller house and live more simply. Think about it: if I have fewer clothes, it’s less laundry. And besides, a family of 6 does NOT need 5 bathrooms!

But what happens next? Move to a developing nation? Learn to be happy with the clothes on my back. I could still do push-ups and squats and lift heavy things (like orphans, ideally). The pressures would be different: like cooking for the family without a supermarket nearby and finding clean water. Internet? That WOULD be a luxury, I’m sure.

For the moment, here I am: an American woman in rural Germany, speeding down the autobahn in my leather-seated van, worrying if the baustelle will make me late for the next appointment. And you will find me at CrossFit, putting down the worries and picking up weights, as often as possible.

Apr24

Low Mileage

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bumper car

I have been using the same marathon training plan I pulled out of a book 3 years ago. I know that’s not the best way to go about marathon training; but the book was a good one, and frankly, it’s worked the past 4 marathons. I’m scared to deviate from it because it’s all I’ve ever known.

I’m not a superstitious person, but I do know that as a runner, I can be a little odd.

I didn’t like the race number they gave me for my upcoming marathon, so I had them delete me and ADD me back into their system to get a ‘better’ number–all in German (which I am loathe to use because my German sounds like I pulled IT out of a college textbook a decade ago, which, in fact, I did.)

I wonder if all runners are quirky? or if it’s just me? Are there certain shoes or socks you HAVE to wear? A particular water bottle? A special ‘last meal’ before a race? I’m not quite as picky as I used to be, but still, there are these little traditions I cling to.

When my CrossFit coach said I didn’t have to run quite as many miles for my marathon training (since I’m also doing Crossfit) I was skeptical.

When my coach also said he was going to “Change things up,” I was scared.

So not only do I have to let go of my magic feather of a training plan, I have to learn an entirely new act. 

But Crossfit is producing results. I can now do pushups from my knees, and it will be no time before I’m doing them ‘for real.’ It wasn’t THAT long ago when I was crashing to the floor in a trembling heap because I couldn’t lift myself an inch.

I actually have muscles now, and I really, really like it. Sort of in a freakish way, like when you have a mole shaped like Mickey-Mouse that you want people to see. I keep walking around the house in a tank top and showing my husband my shoulders.

“See!” I say, flexing, “There are MUSCLES there!”

He usually responds with his sweet, “Yes dear,” look and pats me on the back, which I also flex because I have muscles there now too.

One of the coaches said he didn’t recognize me while I was doing pull-ups because of my newfound muscle tone. Okay, I wasn’t actually doing pull-ups. I was really dangling from a giant rubber band connected to a bar. But I was bouncing up and down sufficiently to count them.

Even though intellectually I know I am more muscular now, I step on the scale and suck my breath between my teeth. Muscle weighs more than fat, and how am I going to run a FASTER marathon if I keep ‘gaining’ weight?

These things are a mystery to me. But I do know that I ran my fastest 6-miler ever–clocking in at just over 54 minutes, which is pretty great for me.

I won’t lie–it wasn’t an ‘easy’ run (is there such a thing?) but it DID flow. I had on my barefoot shoes and my arms and legs and core all worked together to keep me moving along.

I am nervous about my next marathon. I don’t want to get worked up about numbers, because really, this is not one for a PR. I want to run a mountain marathon and finish it well.

I think CrossFit is already helping!

Apr17

Absolutes

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Sun rays

I do believe in evil, and evil showed itself at this year’s Boston marathon. I know that in our current age, each viewpoint is supposed to be equally valid. But that is nonsense in light of events such as this. I know no sane person who can say that killing or maiming others is simply an alternate expression of one’s self.

Rubbish.

There are no fuzzy corners on evil: it is a sharp as a sword and would cut the good things to pieces given the chance.

Don’t tell me (in irony) there are no absolutes, because evil is one of them.

However, however, however, however…

…there IS Good.

And Good is also absolute.

We cannot recognize the face of evil unless we have already seen good.

Good is programmed into the human conscience, provided we have honest enough eyes to see it and courage enough to act upon it.

Envy, malice, murder, strife: the list of evil things could go on for pages.

Love, joy, self-sacrifice, peace: these things are good, and they are from God.

There is no other suitable explanation.

My prayers are with the Boston marathon victims and the families–that they will once again experience good, even when faced with evil.

Apr10

Marathon Season

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Pitztal Tirol

When the snow melts and the smell of damp earth is in the air; when the manure trucks flock back to their annual nesting grounds, and your lavender candle, no matter how Yankee it claims to be, no longer masks the scent of the frische Landluft, you know spring has arrived in Germany.

And springtime, as everyone knows, means marathon shopping.

If you trained for a marathon during this dark frozen season, you have my respect. While I did some running this winter, I mostly complained about the weather on my blog. I just grew tired of my skin being cold–and I think that’s natural. People were meant to wear fig leaves and flip-flops, not to be wrapped up head-to-toe in Gore-tex.

But now, though it’s only 43 degrees and the wind is blowing the rain sideways, it feels more springlike somehow, and my thoughts turn to marathon season.

One of my long-term goals is to run a mountain marathon. I don’t live near any mountains, but I won’t let a little thing like elevation stop me.

I did some online shopping and found a marathon in Tirol, which is one of my favorite places on earth. And as if that isn’t incentive enough, it is mostly downhill.

It makes me a little nervous since all of the people on the website look like Olympians, but I looked at the stats from previous races, and if I train really hard, I might be able to keep up with the 70 year-old finishers.

A girl has to have dreams.

I have twelve weeks to prepare, so naturally I began by slamming my right knee into a counter at a restaurant after eating curly fries (yes, curly fries have invaded Germany). My knee is thus a little achy from the blunt trauma.

In sympathy, my left knee began to make a popping sound. It doesn’t hurt and only pops when I keep it straight and lean forward. Fortunately my leg is rarely straight when I run, so I had no difficulty with my nine-miler Monday.

I am thinking that I need to go back on the Eat to Live plan for a while. Before I found Amy’s Organic gluten-free mac & cheese my knee problems had completely vanished. So with a marathon in sight and a 40th birthday rapidly approaching, it is probably a good time to start eating healthier. 

More baby spinach.

Fewer curly fries with mayo.

Yes, training begins now.

After this bowl of sugar popcorn.

Apr3

Crossfit and Long-Distance Running: A Comparison

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WOD Charlie

I know I’m not supposed to run long distances before Crossfit, but I can’t help it.

On Monday, the sun came out, and even though it was cold enough to freeze my extremities, I quickly geared up and headed outside. I ran six miles, and in the afternoon, I went to Crossfit.

I promised myself a day off on Tuesday, but as we were eating breakfast, the clouds cleared, leaving our village in a beautiful splotch of sunlight. Without giving it much thought, I pulled on the first running clothes I could find (I admit…they were in a pile on my floor from the day before), and I hit the road. I didn’t mean to run another six miles, but I had to avoid manure trucks, and thus altered my anticipated 4-mile route.

When I went to Crossfit on Monday, my abs were still sore from Saturday, and when I went on Wednesday, my shoulders were still feeling Monday.

But it is the kind of sore that says, “Hello, you have actual muscles here,” and not the kind that has you limping to the health clinic.

I love running, and I love Crossfit, but there are differences.

In running you are (usually) solo.

In Crossfit, you have a whole group of people welcoming you as if you’re a long-lost cousin.

If you fail on a run, nobody has to know about it.

You never fail in Crossfit (even if you’re struggling under a barbell, somebody is there to tell you to stand up and start over).

If you run, you stop going for pedicures because your feet are hopeless.

If you Crossfit train, you stop going for manicures because really–who cares about your hands?

While running you can let your mind wander.

During Crossfit all you do is focus (so you don’t do needless reps).

Running requires putting one foot in front of the other.

Crossfit requires using muscles you didn’t know existed.

You can take the dog running with you.

You can take the dog to Crossfit, but he can only observe.

When you run, you pray that God gives you strength to endure life.

When you do Crossfit, you pray that God gives you strength to endure the next rep.

Crossfit and long-distance running are like children: they might be similar, but they are wonderfully, uniquely, surprisingly different.

I love each of them.

Mar28

Stopping for Directions

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Charlie 13 weeks ruler

“I think you got the pick of the litter,” the veterinary technician told me (for the second time).

“Thanks,” I said, shoving my fingers in Charlie’s mouth to remove a wad of extraneous cat fur he had found in the corner.

“His energy really suits your family.”

I bent down to grab Charlie, as he had darted under my chair, and was eagerly mining for treasure along the baseboards.

I didn’t know what to say.

The puppy is a typical puppy: hyper at times, hungry all the time, occasionally bitey, and he nearly chokes himself to death coming home from walks.

But still…I think she meant it as a compliment.

I uttered something about how we approached this puppy venture: we didn’t rush into anything; we found a good breeder; and made certain the pup’s temperament was suitable; but each of those things sounded hollow, so I found myself ending my rambling proclamation with the fuzzy phrase, “It was meant to be.”

She smiled and nodded her head, “Yes,” she agreed, “It was meant to be.”

What I didn’t describe was all the prayer that went into this. I mean, how exactly do you tell someone you bother God with requests for puppies? It just sounds weird. Isn’t God too important to worry about whether I find a docile dog?

But I did pray.

I prayed that if God wanted us to have a dog, He would illuminate our path and allow us to find a pup that would be a blessing to our family and also a joy to others.

I had very little to do with the entire process except follow the trail and eventually dish up a few euro.

There is no way I could have orchestrated all this:

  • The breeder was reputable and wasn’t too far away 
  • They currently had a litter of chocolate labs
  • They had a submissive (or “feminine”) boy
  • He would be ready to come home ON the very day of my wedding anniversary
  • His personality is perfect

This is not to say that if you pray for a Maserati or a mansion you’ll get one. God is not ebay.

But if you know God, and He knows you, then you can approach Him with any little thing in your life.

He’s not bothered by it, in fact, He welcomes it. I have a relationship with God, which means we chat. And when I need advice, I go to Him. And when I think a puppy is a good idea, I ask Him to show me if it is or not.

In this case, Charlie was meant to be part of this crazy journey of ours.

So the next time someone praises the puppy, I’m just going to tell them–it wasn’t about finding the right breeder or doing research or being selective (though those things are important)–it was about stopping to ask directions, and perhaps most importantly, following them.

Because God doesn’t merely plan the route, He created the map.

Mar21

Under the Rock Pile

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Today was stressful for no one particular reason. Rather, it was a lot of little things stacking up like bricks in a wall. The last ‘brick’ was more like a pebble, placed jovially atop the rapidly crumbling structure by one of my unfortunate children, and the whole thing collapsed.

Yes, I lost my cool.

It happens from time to time. I almost didn’t blog today because I was so out of sorts, but my daughter said that I should talk about my meltdown because, “It is such a rare occurrence.”

I’m glad it’s rare.

There was a time in my life when fits of anger would build inside me, and the only way to alleviate it was through yelling, since violence wasn’t my thing. It took many years to break the yelling habit. After all, many women I respected assured me that they, too, yelled at their kids. It was ‘normal.’ But something about that never sat right with me. I knew I wanted something different. I didn’t want to pass on the yelling gene to my own kids. Or heaven forbid, to watch my theoretical grandchildren become yellers.

This morning, I didn’t exactly yell–it was more of a verbal pounce, but in our sensitive house, it was the same as full-lunged bellowing. Afterwards I felt so badly, I went to my study to ‘be alone,’ which means praying and leaving a little puddle of tears on the floor.

Normally, I handle stress through running (which is also my time of prayer and contemplation) and proper nutrition. But lately I’ve been lacking both sunshine and sufficient exercise. And let’s face it–it’s hard, if not downright impossible to feel happy eating salad when it’s cold and dark outside! I’d rather cozy up with some gluten-free croissants drizzled with Nutella.

It is hard for me when there is no sunshine, and the puppy, cute as he is, pees on the brand-new rug after I’ve been outside with him for an hour.

I know there are worse things in life, and that the puppy IS a little glimpse of heaven; but even small doses of stress are toxic, and if you let stress build up, it can lead to a meltdown of nuclear proportions.

After “Mommy’s Time-Out” today, I emerged from my study to find a pink card on my pillow, a loving email from a concerned teen, and a pint of my favorite ice cream, wrapped up with a bow, sitting right outside my door. Sure, one of my kids was completely oblivious to the whole thing, but that’s okay too. My kids are so loving and so forgiving that I think they came through it unscathed.

In fact, it might be good for them to see me fail once in a while and for them to see me make amends when I’m wrong.

Sometimes we stumble.

The key is to get up and look ahead.

Because you can’t see clearly from under the rock pile.