Add Bikram to the bucket list

After a week of Thanksgiving festivities and several skipped workouts, it was time to shake things up!

On Sunday, I ran four miles and then took my dog for a one-mile cool down walk. My own personal turkey trot on Thanksgiving morning had been a bust--everything was hurting!--so I'd only set out to run three miles on Sunday. But it felt so good to feel good that I tacked on that extra mile, plus the walk. Love when that happens.

Then for the really good stuff--three of my yoga students and I participated in a Bikram Yoga class on Monday and sweat out buckets of holiday toxins and impurities. If you've never practiced Bikram, you must add it to your bucket list--it's a completely unique experience. Imagine stepping into a room heated to 105 degrees and 40 percent humidity, and filled with 20 or more other people dressed in teeny, tiny shorts and tops. Just being in the room is a challenge--all that is asked of beginners is to simply remain in the room for the duration of the 90 minute class. It is not unusual to feel dizzy or nauseous during your first class and proper hydration is imperative. The overabundance of humanity is quite another element of the experience.

Before you even unroll your yoga mat, sweat is dripping off your body and your heart rate rapidly increases as your body works to cool itself.

An instructor verbally guides you through a series of 26 postures designed to stretch your muscles, ligaments and tendons. The super-heated room allows your muscles to soften so you can reach deeper into your postures.

I emerged from the Bikram studio drenched in sweat but completely cleansed, despite the headache that nagged at me the rest of the day (maybe not enough water, or perhaps the lingering cold I am fighting?)

Tuesday, it was back to the pool for a vigorous swim workout and today was yoga day--where no core was spared.

So, I think I have made up for my transgressions of the past week.

Now to repent for all the cookies I ate today . . .

Giving thanks

I am thankful every day, not just on Thanksgiving, for my many blessings. I appreciate all that I have and I try not to "want" for things.

A yoga instructor I once practiced with led a discussion on wants and needs:

Instead of thinking in terms of "Want" = Don't Have, which creates "Lack" = stress, chaos, turmoil, try thinking: "I've had everything I've ever needed." = abundance, comfort, peace and protection.

I am a firm believer in this positive line of thinking. But this is what has been happening to me lately: I want to blog, and I currently don't have enough time in my day, and therefore I lack enough time with my family, which is creating stress.

Because my days are overscheduled, I've been waiting until night time to blog, which has been pushing my night-owl tendencies to the extreme. At this rate, I will soon just be settling down to sleep when my family is rising to start their day! The current schedule is not creating harmony, comfort or peace so it's time for me to reprioritize and make some changes.

That said, I'd like to take a moment to say "thanks" to anyone who has been reading this blog regularly. It's hard for me to determine who you are and how many of you are out there, because you don't have to follow to read. But, whoever you are, thank you so much for your support and interest in Triathlon Mom.

I will continue to write when time allows during the day, and my goal is to post at least 2-3 updates each week. So, if you have enjoyed reading, I hope you will plan to check in with Triathlon Mom at least once each week to read the latest entries on fitness and nutrition and how it all coincides with everyday family life as I continue on my journey to the Iron Man. Maybe Triathlon Mom can become part of your Monday morning ritual over a cuppa! :)

Thanks again for reading (and I would love to read any comments you have when you do read!)

Namaste.

Master plan

I am a competitive person--competitive with myself and competitive with others. When I'm out running or on my bike and I see another runner or cyclist up ahead, I shift into predator mode. My main objective is to overtake my prey. I stalk, strategize, and then strike!

But there are plenty of times when I am the prey, the one being conquered. As an endurance athlete, speed is not my strength. So, on the rare occasions when I am leading the pack, I cling to the feeling and milk it for all it's worth because it rarely lasts.

When I first started swimming on a master's team more than a decade ago, I was easily one of the slowest swimmers in the pool. I was regularly lapped by just about everyone, including the grandpas and the senior ladies from aqua aerobics. I'd arrive at the wall, gasping for breath, hoping for a short break, but all of the swimmers in my lane would have already headed out for the next set. So, it was push off and try to catch up or be lapped once more. It was demoralizing.

But I didn't give up and after a year on the team I'd actually moved up to a speedier lane--which was a good thing, except I had to start all over at the bottom of the food chain again, becoming prey once more--the little fish swimming with a new group of sharks.

Flash forward to the present and, while I'm not setting any speed records, I've become a decent swimmer; no longer a fish out of water gasping for breath at the wall. I do not practice with a masters team but I regularly participate in a swim fit class at my local YMCA, which is run very much like a master's team and is led by the Y's swim team coach.

To my surprise and delight, I am one of the faster swimmers in the pool and it feels so good and is such an ego boost. And if the instructor says to do ten laps, I can usually do 14. If she says we can use fins, I leave mine on the deck and can still keep up with the interval.

Today my ego was knocked down a few pegs. This has happened on several other occasions when a far more accomplished swimmer has shown up for class. It's a good reminder of how small I really am in the great big sea. But today, it wasn't another swimmer who left me in their wake; today I was eating my own bubbles.

We were given a backstroke drill using the pull buoy. The instructor warned us to take it easy because the buoy would force our shoulders to work harder than usual, that we might feel a "pulling" sensation as a result and should consider doing only one lap on our backs instead of all six.

Pshaw. One lap in and a I was feeling great, so I did another and another, until I'd done the whole set on my back. I was the only one who did and I was the first one back to the wall. By the time I'd gotten to the showers, I realized I was the only fool in the pool.

My shoulder was sore and tight. For most of the day, it hurt to lift it beyond ninety degrees. And something became abundantly clear to me as never before--I may not be swimming on a master's team, but I am within months of officially becoming a masters athlete so maybe I'd better start behaving like one!

In triathlon, a masters athlete is anyone age 40 or older. At some point, I've got to realize that pushing my body the way I did in my 20s may now result in injury instead of a bump up to the speedier lane. There were no awards today for who could swim the fastest or the longest, so the only person I was competing with was myself. I'd become my own prey.

As I move toward my masters years, maybe it is okay to not always be the predator. Maybe slow and steady is what it will take to win the race.

A time to rest?

I was feeling guilty for skipping a few workouts this week when my husband said, "It's okay. This is when you're supposed to recover and rest."

Rest? Really?? As if that were an option.

Because if I did take a sabbatical from working out, then I'd also have to take a sabbatical from the many foods I love and embark on a major diet! (And, D-i-e-t, four-letter word that it is, is something I've never done.)

Sometimes I eat so I can workout, properly fueling my body for the task at hand.

But most of the time, I workout because of what I ate. Take today, for instance, when there was no doubt that I'd have a serving of cardio on my plate after I scarfed Thai food last night and pancakes this morning. I enjoyed envisioning those would-be pounds melting away as I pushed the pedals of my bike over 25 miles of rolling terrain.

I'd think my husband would understand where I'm coming from on this because, while his metabolism certainly zips along at a much faster clip than mine, it is not cranking away at such a speed that he can eat several sleeves of Oreos each night and not think twice about it. (One of the many ways in which we are well-matched.)

Then again, society, for some unknown reason, is much more forgiving to men when it comes to gray hair, wrinkles and those ten extra pounds. Which may explain why he was looking at me like I was a little crazy when I balked at the notion of "rest."

If my husband puts ten pounds on his 6'2" frame, he may look a little stockier or stronger. But me? Those pounds would immediately set up residence on my thighs making me, not the bird, looked like the stuffed turkey at the table. I swear, I just breathe fattening food and wake up with it on my hips the next day.

There was a commercial on TV that I just loved--a fit woman in a cute little skirt walks up to a street vendor, buys a pastry and starts eating it. When she walks away her backside morphs into two cinnamon rolls. It's a cautionary tale. "That's me!" I thought when I saw that ad. Someone out there knew exactly where I was coming from and I felt vindicated!

So, needless to say, the idea of taking a "rest" from exercising does not even cross my mind. Downscale the intensity of in-season training? Yes, definitely. But rest, for the next few months? (Or for the next week, even?) No way!

I am a firm believer in Newton's law that "objects in motion stay in motion, and objects at rest stay at rest." While I might savor a little rest here and there, I panic a bit at the thought of remaining that way and quickly get moving again.

Exercising is just part of who I am. With rare exception, I find ways to include it in my daily routine, always planning the night before what I will do for exercise the next day.

For instance, I already know I will swim tomorrow and on Wednesday I will run and lift. On Thursday, I may take a short morning run in preparation for the day's feast, and would be thrilled if there's an opportunity for a post-meal walk. If not, I'll enjoy the holiday and the temporary "rest" it brings, content in the knowledge that I will be back in motion by Friday.

No need for alarm

I am absolutely giddy when I get to turn off my alarm clock.

You see, I am not a morning girl. I do not rise and shine. And I am fiercely protective of my sleep. I need all the beauty rest I can get!

That said, I am a night owl. It is part of who I am. In the same way that I am 5'5'' tall and have blue eyes, my body's circadian rhythm just naturally swings toward the evening hours. At night I am more productive--more alert, more focused, more energetic.

Unfortunately, the night-owl lifestyle does not coincide neatly with family life. For the past nine years, I have been fighting against type and trying my best to be an early riser. But it just isn't my strong suit.

To make matters worse, I am at my best with nine hours of sleep. No matter what time I go to bed, my body naturally wakes after nine hours and I feel refreshed and ready to take on the day. However, with three young children and a jam-packed schedule, nine hours a night is a luxury not easily obtained and I usually end up logging only six or seven hours instead. By the end of the week, that puts me at roughly a 21-hour sleep deficit. I'd need an entire extra day to just sleep in order to catch up on all the z's I missed during the week.

On the rare occasion that our children come into our room at night or early in the morning, they know, intuitively, to go to daddy's side of the bed. My husband loves to say, "Some mornings I wake up grumpy; other days, I let her sleep."

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Well, I admit, it's a bit true. Unless it's been nine hours--otherwise, look out!

Which brings me back to my giddiness. There are few sounds more satisfying than the "click" my alarm clock makes when I switch it to the "off" mode. I snuggle into my bed, regardless of the time, and know (or at least hope) that I will be able to sleep until I wake up. On my own. When I am rested and ready. And what a difference it makes!

After being so exhausted the last two days and skipping my workouts in favor or some much-needed extra rest, I topped it off with a glorious sleep-in this morning and woke up feeling like Snow White--happy and smiling, with the sun shining and the birds chirping. My family probably didn't recognize me.

But it's just what my body needed. I felt like a new woman. A little breakfast and I was ready to go --no caffeine required. Thirty minutes in the gym, followed by a four-mile run and fifteen minutes of stretching.

After a good night's sleep and a satisfactory workout, not only did I feel well-rested today, but I also felt a lot less guilty about eating that yummy ice cream cone at South Mountain Creamery.

Now, if only I didn't have to set my alarm tomorrow . . .

Doing battle

It just wasn't happening for me on Friday.

Two hours of volunteering at the school turned into three hours--the third hour being the one in which I'd planned to run and lift. By the time I got home an hour late, I was starving and instead of changing into running clothes I scarfed a cup of tuna, a bowl of cashew-carrot-ginger soup and a small plate of chips-n-cheese. Eating trumped working out. And then food buzz set in. My arms and legs got so heavy I felt like I couldn't move. My eyelids began to droop. The couch was calling to me, and I answered.

"Just a quick 30-minute power nap," I thought, and I'd still have time to get my run in.

Ninety minutes later I woke up, groggy and disoriented, and still tired. My body also ached from head to hips and this time, not as a result of burning muscles but rather, burning skin. Literally.

You see, for the past 20 years, I have been doing battle--fighting off psoriasis, an autoimmune disorder that affects my skin. In the beginning, the disease began a slow march--winning little victories here and there, claiming small territories of epidermal real estate. I began to fight back with topical potions and creams, creating a stalemate, if not a truce, between the battling armies. Then, in recent years, the enemy began to stage small, stealthy attacks that I hardly noticed--until one day I did notice and realized I was losing the war.

So, now, after several retreats and failed strategies, I am fighting back with a vengeance and I am now the one claiming victories, but it comes with a price.

You see, I am not generally a fan of western medicine (though I believe it does have it's place and has been know to perform miracles) favoring, instead, eastern/alternative/homeopathic remedies to treat what ails. I am against using a serious cancer drug, Embrel, to battle my enemy so, as an alternative, I have chosen phototherapy, a method of channeling "sunlight" (UVB rays) via laser, and aiming it directly at my foe (sparing the allied troops).

And I am thrilled to be seeing results so quickly. Now I am the one pushing the enemy back but, as I said, it is not without cost. There are many casualties along the way as my path to healing requires setting fire to the enemy troops on the battlefield.

In plain English, this means I am suffering burns over multiple parts of my body and anyone who has ever had a sunburn can relate to the feeling--the warm, burnt, swollen skin throbbing and blistering as it attempts to heal. Once it does heal, it leaves healthy, yet delicate new skin in it's wake.

It is now, when I'm in the burning/healing phase that I suffer. My skin is sore and tender to the touch and, as a dear friend of mine pointed out, this explains my exhaustion--as my immune system goes into overdrive to heal the battle wounds.

So I did not exercise yesterday--I planned to postpone until today. And now today is here and I am still exhausted and not feeling 100%, both because of my skin and otherwise. I am trying to sign a peace treaty with myself--giving myself permission to rest yet another day without guilt. I think I will compromise by taking my dog for a long, leisurely walk instead.

This way, my immune system can stay focused on fighting the enemy instead of fighting itself.

Hurt so good

Every muscle hurts today. I don't know if it's from my return to the pool on Tuesday or the intense cardiyoga yesterday, but as soon as I tried to move this morning my body lit up like a switchboard, a symphony of lights and sound.

But this hurt is the good kind of hurt; not the sick and achy kind, not the heavy and fatigued kind from lack of sleep, not even the I-had-too-much-too-drink kind that makes you feel like you've been hit by a truck, but the kind that makes you feel alive and aware of every muscle in your body, muscles you didn't even know you had!

It's also the kind of hurt that feels better once you start moving again--the muscles stretch out and warm up as the blood begins to flow, the stiffness ebbing away bit by bit.

Swimming was exactly what I needed today to really work out the kinks in a non-impact, weightless kind of way. Unlike Tuesday's speedy interval workout, today's focus was on endurance and kicking, thankfully giving my sore arms and shoulders a break. In the afternoon, I kept the blood flowing with a brisk one-mile walk.

The human body, amazing machine that it is, has the ability to adapt to new routines over a period of time, and fitness gains plateau. This is never more apparent than when you embark on a new athletic endeavor. Never mind that I've been practicing yoga regularly, running 15 miles a week and lifting weights every other day. All it took was one hour back in the pool to realize how many muscles I'd been neglecting with my regular routines. It reminded me how important and necessary it is to keep things fresh--to shock the body by shaking up the routines and adding new challenges.

As the day winds down and I have been still for longer periods of time, the tension is starting to creep back in, my muscles tightening as they repair and rebuild. But I welcome the feeling. It is a reward for my hard work, the results of my effort and a reminder not to become too complacent. Because fitness is never finished--it is a continuous work in progress.

And as the saying goes, if there's no pain, there's no gain.