Eat Drink Run Woman

Musings from a Seattle personal chef with a fitness problem

Archive for the ‘Fitness Musings’


Published April 1st, 2008

The reflection in the mirror

Well folks, this is gonna be a tough post to write. But I can’t continue living a lie. While I may come across as some badass runner chick, deep inside I know I’m a fraud. Run Boston? Me? Puh-leeze. Who the heck am I kidding?

This has been building up for some time, and with my recent injury, it all came boiling over. Fact is, I’ve become SOOO obsessed with running, I’ve let everything else go to hell. Housework? Couldn’t be bothered. I neglect my “in-the-flesh” friends for my online blogging buddies. I waste an inordinate amount of time reading running blogs, listening to running podcasts and commenting on running forums. I can’t remember the last time I read a book or magazine that DIDN’T deal with running.

Here I am a chef, yet now almost half the calories I consume are from ClifShots, ShotBlocks and chocolate recovery shakes. My food blog is woefully ignored, and I hardly ever participate in the personal chef forum any more. I need to heed Jodie’s advice and rediscover balance in my life.

So what does that mean? For starters, Eat Drink Run Woman will cease to exist. It’s had a good run — a full year — but I now must focus on other things. Who knows, perhaps I’ll rebrand it as “Eat Drink Lounge Woman.” After all, who looks happier, this woman:
Goofy finish

 

…or this one?

Betsy on deck

 

I’m still not sure what to do about the North Olympic Discovery Marathon; perhaps I’ll see if I can switch my registration to the half marathon. However, I’m not even sure I’ll be up for that. I’m just looking forward to relaxing and taking up something that doesn’t cause me pain every day (I’ve always wanted to learn how to knit).

I’ll miss you all, but will be cheering for you from the sidelines.

All the best,
Betsy

Published March 30th, 2008

Helping out my peeps

Gabriella's 7

 

Last Tuesday I ran seven miles for someone I don’t really know.

A fellow personal chef posted on our national message board her goal to lose 60 pounds; knowing support of friends, family and colleagues will be key to her success, she asked if any of us would be willing to “sponsor” a pound. Once she lost the designated pound, we’d have to do whatever we committed to — shaving our head, eliminating our favorite junk food for a month, volunteering at a local soup kitchen, etc.

I wanted to pick something I’d actually look forward to doing (shaving my head was NOT it!), so I told her I’d run the number of miles for pounds lost. Perhaps not the most creative, but given my weight loss (40 pounds) came as a result of running, I figured it’d be apropos. But I did give myself a challenge, sponsoring three goal pounds: 7, 15 and 22. On March 24 — three weeks after starting the challenge — Gabriella posted to say she had hit the first mark.

I had a 6-mile speed work session scheduled, but decided to add a mile in her honor. As I stood in my client’s kitchen that day looking out at the pouring rain, I contemplated postponing the run until the next day, my day off. But knowing I had made a promise — not only to Gabriella, but to myself (I wouldn’t let a little rain keep me from working toward my Boston goal) — I was determined to lace up.

While I got home at a reasonable hour, as usual I dawdled for well over an hour. I finally headed out at 5:30 p.m. Fortunately the rain had stopped, but mid-way through the run it started up again. RASSENFRASSEN! But again, I remembered my promise and was determined to finish the 7 miles. A little over an hour later I was back home, cold, wet, but elated I had reached my goal.

So Gabriella, I look forward to the day I get to write the reports for the 15- and 22-mile runs!

Published March 20th, 2008

Talkin’ ’bout my community

People try to put us d-down (talkin’ ’bout my community)
Just because we run around (talkin’ ’bout my community)
In the winter we get c-c-cold (talkin’ ’bout my community)
But we ain’t gonna die before we get old (talkin’ ’bout my community)

This is my community
This is my community, baby

Why don’t you all f-fade away (Talkin’ ’bout my community)
And don’t try to dig what we all s-s-say (Talkin’ ’bout my community)
I’m not askin’ for increased i-i-immunity (Talkin’ ’bout my community)
I’m just talkin’ ’bout my c-c-community (Talkin’ ’bout my community)

This is my community
This is my community, baby

While I would never say this during a job interview, I’m not much of a team player. I was never into sports when I was younger, and the few times I took up team sports as an adult (softball, soccer, volleyball) it was a bit of a disaster. Not because I thought I was so much better than everyone else; quite the contrary. I had absolutely no confidence in my skills and I thought I was dragging everyone down.

That’s why I’ve taken to running — I can go it alone and not be responsible for anyone else. Mind you, I’m sure if I found a fun running group I’d have a blast — I do enjoy the camaraderie of other runners — but even then I’d be concerned I was dragging the group down if I was having a bad day (or I’d get frustrated if I felt I could go faster than what the group was doing). But just as Coffee Betsy states in her post, I LOVE getting together with other runners after the run is done. I think that’s what I enjoyed most about the Goofy Challenge; I was truly in my element as I walked hobbled around Magic Kingdom the day after, proudly sporting my Goofy medal and congratulating all the other crazy souls.

However, even though I enjoy my solo runs (or runs with just my darling and me), that doesn’t mean I don’t long for — or seek — a community of like-minded obsessive fools. In fact, if it weren’t for the virtual community I’ve developed over the past year, it’s doubtful I’d be on my quest to qualify for Boston. I get energized and motivated by all the blogs I read and podcasts I listen to, and I believe they’ve helped push me to be my very best.

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Published March 7th, 2008

Duvet Day

A friend of mine used to work for a public relations firm that gave its employees a couple of “duvet days” per year.  Those were the days where you woke up and decided you just wanted to stay in bed all day with the duvet over your head.  They weren’t sick days, more like “mental health” days.  Well, today was my version of a “duvet day.”

Since I’m self-employed I don’t get the luxury of paid days off, so I couldn’t ditch my client.  But fortunately my cook day was a speedy one.  And I actually was able to drag my butt out of bed for my morning arm weight routine, but it was a half-hearted effort.  Normally I put in at least an hour to an hour and a half; today I called it quits after 45 minutes.

My workday was done by 1:30 p.m., and after taking my darling to lunch I plopped myself on the couch with a bowl of truffle popcorn.  I haven’t moved for the past four hours.

Why such slothfulness?  I’ve been anxious about this weekend’s half marathon since it will be the first time I’m truly racing.  Sure, I try to run my best at every race, but it’s not a priority.  With this race, I not only hope to PR (and ideally break the 2-hour mark), I’m also using it as a gauge for my marathon training.  Based on my finish time I will readjust my training paces accordingly.

Mercer Island is known for its hills; while there aren’t any steep grades (other than one small downhill), the race comprises rolling hills throughout.  This year’s course has been changed to include two particularly long, albeit gradual, hills within the last 2-3 miles.  Therefore, I’ve been incorporating several hills into my workouts.  Thing is, given how I feel, I’m wondering if I’ve done TOO much.  (Hence the duvet day).

I must remind myself that my training is for the marathon in June; not Sunday’s race.  If I were just training for that, I would have tapered longer and eased up on this week’s runs.  I did bag on a 5-miler this week, but my taper is only a couple of days long.  However, it’s sorely (pun intended) needed!  If I’m up for it, I may hit the pool tomorrow morning before heading to the expo.  But if my body begs me for another day of rest, so be it!

Stay tuned for the race report.

Published February 12th, 2008

A conversation with my 16-year-old self

Me @ 16

 

Hey there! How’s it going? You’re looking mighty stylish. Getting ready to go out with friends? What’s that? Oh, I see; you’re just goofin’ around, rummaging through the costume trunk. I forgot how much we enjoyed doing that.

Who am I? Well, this may be tough to fathom, but I’m you 28 years from now. Scary, huh? I’m almost as old as mom is in your world!

What the hell do I want? Boy, that’s no way to talk to your elders now, is it? Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady.

Anyhoo, I wanted to talk to you about something, but I also thought you’d be interested in how you turned out. I know you’re still at that awkward stage — all gangly, with braces, no boyfriend. But believe me, it gets better! Your braces will come off before your high school yearbook picture, and there are boys in your future. Some will be nice, others will be total jerks, but it all works out as you’ll eventually be married to the sweetest, most wonderful man. He’s so cute and darling! And SEXY! I wish you could see him. (Actually I take that back. He’s a lot younger — he’s only nine in your world — so that would be pretty creepy).

As for the gangliness, well, obviously you’ll always be tall. But you’ll soon realize it’s an asset; I promise! Sure, you’ll always have trouble finding a pair of jeans that fit well, but you’ll really grow to appreciate those long, lean legs. They’ll take you places you never dreamed. (No — I don’t mean it THAT way).

In fact, you’ll end up doing a lot of things you never thought you would. You know how you’re embarrassed to dance? Well, in another year you’ll be cutting up the rug. Sure, you’ll need a couple of drinks in you before you do it, but eventually you’ll love it so much you’ll be the first one out on the dance floor. And you know how you’ve been too scared to try a full-on dive? You’ll finally work up the courage in your early 20s (and yes, you’ll once again need a couple of drinks).

But what will come as a total shock is you’ll become somewhat of a fitness junkie. You’ll first dabble with running and mountain biking in your late 20s/early 30s, but the real spurt comes in your 40s. What’s that? You’re surprised about the running? Oh honey, you don’t know the half of it! You’re gonna become a marathoner! You don’t know what that means, do you? Well, it means you’ll run 26.2 miles. Serious! And not just once, either. You’ll become so addicted you’ll want to run several a year. Pretty freakin’ crazy, huh? You’ll have to check out our blog to read about all of our adventures! (Oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t know what a blog is ‘cuz the Internet doesn’t exist in your world).

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Published January 10th, 2008

M-I-C, K-E-Y

Well, it’s almost show time!  In a little over five hours my darling and I will board a redeye to Orlando for the Goofy Challenge on Saturday.  Although my training didn’t quite go as I’d like (having been sidelined with illness and injury on a couple of occasions), I do feel ready for the race.

While my ultimate goal is just to finish injury-free, of course I also have a couple of time goals in mind.  For the half, I actually hope to PW (personal worst!) in order to keep my legs fresh for the full.  So my goal is to keep it over 2 hours, 15 minutes.  For the full, I’m hoping to beat my Medoc time of 5 hours, 11 minutes, and ideally I’ll finish between 4:25-4:40.  It looks like we may get some rain, but that’s fine with me (warm Florida rain beats the cold, dreary drizzle Seattle gets this time of year).

Of course, not knowing what the weather will do makes packing a bit of a challenge.  I’ll be wearing running skirts both days, but have packed long and short-sleeved technical shirts depending on how hot it is.  I actually bought a cute new running skirt for the trip, but since there was no way I could try it out beforehand (BRRR!), I’m going to rely on my tried-n-true zebra-print skort for the full (I am, however, taking a chance for the half by wearing my new black skort — from the same manufacturer as the zebra-print one — for the half).

In case anyone is interested, you will be able to track me during each race by clicking here for the half and here for the full (you’ll be asked for your email address).  I’ll be running under my “real” name, Elizabeth Rogers (hubby is Matt Hagen).  We’re not bringing a computer with us, but rest assured you’ll get race reports as soon as possible (with pictures, natch).

Wish us luck!

Published January 5th, 2008

And on the fifth day she ran

Boy, some gung-ho runner I am. Here I am crowing about running 150 miles in December, only to bring in the New Year with a whimper.

Since I had to work on New Year’s Day our New Year’s Eve celebration was low-key. We noshed on raw oysters and sipped champagne while watching movies. By 10:30 we were ready for bed; when we heard firecrackers go off in the neighborhood signaling midnight we rolled over, kissed, wished each other happy new year and then promptly fell back to sleep. What an old married couple we are!

My cookday on the 1st went quick, but rather than go for a run upon returning home I decided what would be of greater benefit would be to catch up on more than two months of bookkeeping. (I am in taper mode, after all). I fully intended to go for a run after my cookday on Wednesday, but as I headed back over the bridge toward home I saw dark storm clouds forming. By the time I arrived home it was a downpour, so I was easily convinced to join my darling and his friend for a beer at the pub (so much for not drinking until Saturday after the half marathon).

I had a pint and a schooner of beer, plus I shared a mediterranean appetizer plate with my darling. By the time I got home I started feeling bloaty and just a bit off. The feeling got worse after our dinner — an Asian chicken salad with a spicy sesame dressing. I was heavy-handed with the chile oil, so I thought that was what was making my stomach upset. I then kept smelling the sesame oil and my queasiness intensified. I tried chewing a few Altoids (normally they’re a great way to tame an upset stomach), but to no avail. Within the hour I knew I was dealing with a bug (I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say I was thankful for the Pepto Bismol and Imodium A-D in the medicine cabinet).

Fortunately I already had Thursday off; while I had hoped to get even more caught up with various office duties, here’s how I ended up spending it:
Betsy in bed

 

(And in case I haven’t said this before, I have the absolute BEST husband. Not only did he make me chicken noodle soup, he also got me some mango popsicles).

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Published November 25th, 2007

I run, therefore I do not ski

Considering I’ve always lived in northern climes (17 years in New England, 4 years in Alaska, 23 years in the Pacific Northwest), you would think I’d be an avid skier. WRONG! In fact, it took me 28 years before I even dared strap on a pair of skis.

My first attempt was an utter disaster. A group of us headed over to White Pass, which is in central Washington. We got a late start, so by the time we were winding along Highway 12 to our cabin, it was well after midnight. I fell asleep in the back seat, but was jolted awake by the gasps from the front — our friends traveling in the car ahead ran into a herd of elk running across the road. They had hit one and went flying off the road, landing top down in a ditch alongside the road. Fortunately no one in the car was hurt, but the sheriff had to come out to shoot an elk with a broken leg.

(I’m EXTREMELY fortunate for making the right decision. I originally was going to ride in that car, but when I found out there were no seat belts in the back seat, I wisely chose the second car. Seeing how the roof had totally caved in over the back seat, I can only imagine what would have happened to me).

Needless to say, everyone was pretty shaken up by the time we reached our cabin. I don’t think anyone got much sleep.

The driver of that car wasn’t much in the mood for skiing, so he offered to give me some “lessons.” I rode the chair up the bunny hill in my rented equipment, praying that I wouldn’t make too much of a fool of myself. Ah, the best laid plans! Of course I biffed immediately upon exiting the chair; the rest of the trip down the mountain was not much better. Although my “teacher” was quite patient, I just couldn’t get the hang of things. It must have taken me at least two hours to go down that hill.

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Published November 17th, 2007

I’ll never make it to Boston with this attitude

So I was THIS CLOSE to heading out for a 12-mile run today. My iPod was loaded, I had scraped the muck off my shoes from a previous run, two Clif Shots were in my pockets and my bag was packed with a change of clothes for our lunch. My darling’s big toe was bothering him, and when he put on his running shoes the pain worsened. He tried a quick jog up and down our street, but it was obvious he wouldn’t be able to make it one mile, let alone 12. Looked like I’d be doing a solo run.

While it had been drizzling for at least an hour, at that moment the torrential downpour began. So, not only would I be going at it alone, I’d be soaked to the bone in the end. NOT my idea of a good time.

I know if I’m to make it to Boston I can’t let circumstances like this keep me from running. But considering I also had to make a bunch of turkey to take up to Whistler for Thanksgiving, I figured I could put the run off until tomorrow (Wunderground predicts the weather will be better) and focus my attention on brining the turkey and making stock for the gravy. So, rather than post about a cold, wet and utterly sh!++y training run, I’m going to fulfill my obligation for being tagged by Warriorwoman.

The rules:

  • link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog
  • share 5 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird
  • tag 5 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs
  • let them know they are TAGGED by leaving a comment on their blog.

Now for some totally random things about me:

  1. In the 7th grade, my English teacher held a contest among six classes to see who could best sing all the prepositions to the tune of Jingle Bells. My homeroom won.
  2. The year was 1975. I can still sing it today.
  3. We used to have a pet alligator. It was found in one of the toilets at my dad’s school (he was the principal).
  4. I got caught skipping in 11th grade, but since the principal of my school knew my dad, he merely put his arm around me and admonished, “You’re one of my good ones. Don’t mess up.”
  5. I have one tattoo and five piercings.

Tag, you’re it:

Tall Girl Running
See Zanne Run (payback’s a bee-otch, ain’t it?)
Frayed Laces
Pieces of Me
Amy at Runner’s Lounge

(I don’t think any of you have been tagged with this, but if so, you can opt out. And I promise not to tag you again!)

Published October 25th, 2007

Three guesses, first two don’t count

Toilet

 

Guess where I ran to during my 15-minute running allotment today?

Although we live in a VERY desirable neighborhood, our house is OLD. (It’s so old, Willard Scott keeps calling to interview it). We hope to eventually tear it down and rebuild — given the cost of housing in Seattle, this would be the least expensive option — but for now we’re maintaining status quo. We’ve done some small remodeling projects — built a patio in back, painted and re-floored the kitchen — but we’d rather save our money for a major remodel/rebuild. However, we don’t always have a choice.

Earlier this year I was forced to buy a brand new oven when the one we received for free went tits up. I know what you’re thinking: “You’re a chef, Betsy. Why didn’t you ALREADY have a new oven?” Well, I don’t cook for my clients in my own home (the health department would not be amused), and again, we wanted to save money. But when our old oven would refuse to light (permeating the house with gas fumes), we knew it was time for me to get a big girl’s oven.

Lately our house has been showing its age more frequently. We’ve put up with wonky wiring for quite some time (whenever we run our dishwasher and toaster oven at the same time, it trips the circuit breaker), but when things started sparking we knew we could no longer avoid it. Risking life and limb through electrocution my darling switched out the breaker a couple of weeks ago.

He then noticed the toilet leak on Tuesday. Fortunately he had a light week in terms of photo assignments, so he spent the entire day fixing the problem. Knowing it wouldn’t be an easy task, he recommended I use my client’s facilities as much as possible. But being the good girl I am — I try to drink at least 8 glasses of water a day — by the time I got home I had to go potty. Fortunately there’s a public restroom at Greenlake, so that’s where I ran to.

(Shhhh… don’t tell my physical therapist: although I’m only to run 15 minutes — 1 min. walk/3 min. run — the potty break was a 25 minute round trip.)