It's a RECORD!!

There is scary stuff chasing you.

It IS a record: I've run 3 days in a row!!

I did REAL running-not just from a spider, because hitherto, that was my main motivation for running.  It was also my motivation for practicing my "straight-up-and-sideways-about-10-feet" magic jumping skills. The other time I ran was out of my mom's basement. When I was little, I was convinced that demons lived in the crawlspace beneath the stairs, as well as in the closet in the sewing room that was down there. (No doubt this information came from an older sibling-just like my rampant arachnophobia. Older siblings are such fun.) Later, I saw the biggest spiders of my life in that basement. Therefore, when I grew older and more rational, I did not change my behavior one iota. I still sprint the hell up out of there no matter what. Something is always right behind me-I firmly believe that. Mom is considering remodeling the house into a one-story, and I fully approve. For now though, we can just be comfortable in the knowledge that at any given time, my best running speeds could be clocked coming up the stairs out of the clutches of Satan's Lair at my mom's house. 

Here is where I am so far in this formal running thing...

15 minute mile-I'll take it!!

DAY 1  

Ran for the first time on purpose in a long time.

Ran in the dark to save the masses from seeing all this fantasticness

flopping around and gasping mightily for pure, sweet air.

-Did my best imitation of "Pete Rose meets Concrete" when I 

tripped over a downed tree-branch. (Was thankful for the cover of darkness. Hard to even swear when you can't breathe anyway).

-Was so freaking proud of myself that I made it a whole mile without dying that I started singing "Eye of the Tiger", and my neighbor tested my "straight-up-and-sideways-10ft-magic jumping skills when he clapped. (Must remember the cover of darkness hides scary shit, too).

Shaving time off!

DAY 2

Wonder of wonders, ran on purpose two days in a row. Normally I tell myself I need a day of rest in between runs, and then like a year and a half later I go on my second run. MAJOR triumph here.

-Got assaulted and chased by a cat. I was running past some black-berry brambles and this enormous black and white spawn of the devil jumped out from the tangle and attacked me!  Little bastard, I could get THAT treatment at home. It chased me about 20 yards and gave up. 

-I shaved almost a minute off my time!!  Whoo hooo!!  I blame the sprint away from the evil cat...

I might get better at this...

DAY 3

Everyone remain calm!!!  I ran THREE days in a row-and no one was chasing me. There wasn't a ball involved, I wasn't having zombie delusions, and I wasn't sleep-running (although that will become a concern down the road if this running thing becomes a habit. But I'll save my sleep-walking stories for another post).

-I TOTALLY ran faster and longer, and didn't have to walk as much to keep my heart from exploding. 

-There were no notable run-ins with either branches or felines, although I may have stepped in something suspicious-really hoping it was leaves.

I'm feeling good, I'm burning calories-and my mood is improving quite a bit. Plus, I have this sense of accomplishment I haven't had in a long time. Last night I even went to the gym AFTER my run to do more stuff. I'm not ready to admit running could be a good thing-my knees are still telling me I'm a fat jackass, and I have a stubborn streak a mile wide...but I'm willing to continue to see where this running thing leads. Thank you to everyone who has been encouraging and supportive. 70lbs from now I'll even let you say "I told you so."

And for those of you keeping score from the Bandanna-wagon, here they are! (Remember, it's one bandanna a workout, and then I'll start over again when I hit 50-who is joining me on this go-round?)

The Struggle with Running

A Possible New Cure for a Bad Day?

This has been a fairly awful week. Several large things have laid me low, but the icing on the cake has been the little things that can really just pee on a person's parade. Stuff like, stepping in dog poop and not noticing until it was tracked all over the carpet, or cornering poorly in the dark and mangling a shoulder, can just tip me over the edge. I already fight daily against the depression that is a side-effect of the post-concussive disorder that came from contact sport injuries and the occasional klutzy moment. Regular exercise can combat this depression, but sometimes I forget that fact. Occasionally, I'm wallowing around in my dark cloud of doom, feeling lower-than-a-snake's-belly, with a super crummy attitude about the state of the world. This is not rational, and days like this kick my ass. I spend them just feeling bad. 

100 miles by March!!  141 by June!

I used to just run when I felt bad. Way, way back before there had to be a ball involved, before I fell into years of soccer, then rugby, then football, and then too many dozen donuts-yes, I used to run.  My teacher in third grade was this super-dynamic guy named Mr. Milliman. He taught us all about the solar system, how to write in cuneiform, challenged our parents to race us in multiplication table tests, and encouraged us to run. He set up a program where we could choose to run at recess and he would keep track and record how far we ran. Everybody ran in the beginning of the year-when it was sunny and warm-then slowly dropped off as they realized running could be hard work-and that it rains a lot here.  A handful of us ran every recess-

1982-tiny kid

rain or shine. For me, it was an escape-an escape from being awkward and shy, and from the early realizations that I was "different". Yes, I did already know I was different when I was 8 years old-and I ran away from it. Even a third-grader knows you can't have crushes on other girls. I felt free when I was running around the perimeter of the school grounds. I felt proud that I was often the only girl out there running. In March, I reached 100 miles during recesses. When we left school in June I had run a total of 141 miles during recess.  Only Travis C. ran more.  He ran 142 miles...bastard. I had been ill one day. Needless to say, I was fit, athletic, and a scrawny little booger after all that running. 

I continued to run when I felt bad, but not in as structured a way as I did in third grade. I participated in track in junior high as an 800m runner-which is essentially a race created by Satan to punish the short-legged people of the world. It's a two-lap scramble around the track. All of us built-near-the-ground, low-riders who weren't long-limbed enough to run the 400m, or fast enough to be in the 100m or 200m races were relegated to the 800m. It was social, and relatively fun in it's own tortuous way.  Then, I hit a bodacious growth spurt that brought the searing lightning bolts of sheer fire to me in the form of shin splints. I entered the 7th grade at 4'9".  I left the 8th grade at 5'3". I was having none of the shin splints bullshit, so that brought an abrupt end to my competitive (and by default) recreational need to run.

Fast forward through all the years of sports that required chasing a ball, to my current state of "blobosity." I'm out of shape. I'm in poor health. I am down and depressed. I need to get moving...now! Also, it has often occurred to me that if the zombie apocalypse, Armageddon, or other disruption of current society occurred, I would be unable to outrun the hordes and would have to cut down the people around me in order to survive.  This doesn't seem very fair since it's my fault I became a regular at McDonalds.

So, today I ran for the first time.  Like for real.  Like faster than a walk. And no one was chasing me. Now, I did wait until it was dark to go out running to avoid scaring small children. (I must remember to double-bag my bodacious boobages next time. They are not helpful to my running form. It was rather like fighting the incoming and outgoing tide with every step... I didn't have them when I was a young runner, and they've been strapped down under my football pads for the last 10 years, so I'm still adjusting.) I ran further than I thought I could. Granted, I only made it about 20 squares of sidewalk before I thought I was going to die, but I RAN.  My biggest problem (other than the saddlebag twins) was keeping myself from running too fast. My body wanted to revert to 800m form. My knees said "OH, HELL NO!!"   Also, there are very few street lights on my block. Last night there was a wind storm and many a branch had blown down. I don't THINK anyone saw me lay down my best four-point landing-complete with audible OOMPH and required expletive-after I tripped on the first branch, but I got pretty light-footed and careful after that. Tomorrow I won't be able to get out of bed, but I RAN.

It takes me 18:00 minutes to walk the mile around my block (don't judge-I only have a 27" inch inseam and these little legs have to flash like the Road Runner's to to hit that 18:00 minutes). I made it around the block in 15:00 minutes. YES!  I felt like a freaking HERO!! I started singing Eye of the Tiger on the last few yards.  My super-nice neighbor startled the shit out of me when he clapped-so much for running in the dark to avoid attention-but the appreciation from the crowd was lovely. 

The best part of it all-I felt better.  I felt great. Other than the mountainous, over-the-shoulder-boulder twins, I felt free again. I felt like I could come inside and write a new blog post like I promised.  So I did. Here is the bandanna for today's run. And now I shall go find the Icy Hot and the ibuprofen. Tomorrow I will try to run again.  I'm not sure I'll ever become a "runner" per se, but as I did not die, and it is the cheapest and most available form of exercise, I think I will be doing more of it.

"Either move or be moved." -Colin Powell 

The Year of Finishing Dangerously

Back in the Saddle Again

Writing is hard sometimes. Life sneaks up on you and before you know it, it's been days, then weeks, then months since you last used your skills to soothe your soul while making others laugh.  And sometimes you're just lazy as hell and don't really give a shit. Life and the occasional lazy streak have combined to make quite the gap in this fabulous blog.  I apologize and now move on...

For those of you who read this blog for the weight loss stories, I have a great one for you!!  Since starting the 50 Bandanas to Fit weight loss wonderment, I have lost 25 lbs.  And have kept it off.  That means I still have some excess baggage to drop. However, this fits perfectly in with the theme of my blog today...

Finishing What I Started

I was sitting in my office chair, looking out the window and pondering the meaning of the universe (not really, I was watching the geese fly over and wondering how their honkers don't seem to ever run out of honks) when it occurred to me to look around my office/studio space. Scattered across my desk, the work table, and my drafting table were the skeletons of several 1/2 finished masterpieces. Wondrous creations that I worked on like I was hell-bent for Sunday, but I stopped short on Saturday when something sparkly or shiny or a squirrel happened by.  Such is life with ADHD.  

However, it really pissed me off.  Why can't I finish stuff? I started off with a full head of steam in the weight loss department, then I fell off the face of the earth. This blog was started with the best of intentions, but I disappeared. What good is it to have a brain full of ideas if I don't finish them?

Thus, I am beginning The Year of Finishing Dangerously. Why "dangerously" you might ask?  Because just imagine what a force I will be to reckon with if start finishing the shit I started.  I could be dangerous!!  I could be a freaking master mind!!  Yeah!! Yeah!! I could wear a cape and have a super-hero name...oops. Sorry about that.  Just a little ADHD sidetrack sample for you. 

Seriously though, my goal is to finish one project each week, and everything I start this year while working toward my weight loss and fitness goals. It is a lofty ambition. If I can do it, I'm going to feel like the freaking QUEEN OF THE WORLD. AND DAMNIT, I WILL DESERVE A CAPE AT THAT POINT.  And and invisible plane-because that's just cool.  :)

The other part of my goal is to make sure this blog stays alive, and well and keeps you all laughing. Because no matter what my goals and dreams may be, or how they may shift over time, one thing has always remained true in my life.  Weird and funny shit happens to me.  All of you may as well benefit from the healthy laughter-even if it's at my expense.  I'll be laughing too.  

An Open Letter to All the Politicians in America

An Open Letter to All the Politicians in America

Dear Politicians,

The people that you truly answer to

would like to know if you care

 about more 

than you, yourself, and more of you.

Turn off the noise.

Turn off the drumbeat.

Turn off the press.

Turn off the sound.

It's time to earn our respect,

so open up your ears and

sit your asses down.

Hang up your party hat,

kick the lobbyists out the door,

put your wallet back in your pocket-empty-

just like all the people you're supposed to be

fighting for.

Close your eyes on your prejudice learned,

open your arms to citizenship earned,

walk away from the needy hypocrites

who are drowning you in their Party Politics.

STOP funding the lazy

START properly funding the brave

Invest in the future

and quit being a bitchy

partisan slave

Quit qualifying your quantifications

and check your ever-growing paychecks at the door.

Turn off the symphony of speculation

Sit down together at the table

And use COMMON SENSE 

to save this broken nation!!

Sincerely,

Tracy Sand

A Patriot

The Mean Girl

My Inner Voice is an Abusive Bitch

She is mean, volatile and cruel. She works me over in ways the" Mean Girls" could only dream of.  Every time I look in the mirror she mercilessly tells me how ugly, fat, and worthless I am. If I were to draw  what she looks like, she would be different from every angle. Each angle would reveal that she resembles some one from my past that told me I'm ugly, fat or worthless. She seems to have no soul.  She criticizes me constantly. She whispers, she laughs at me, she screams. 

And I listen to her.

It feels almost impossible to tune her out. She is unpredictable. When I get all fired up and determined to change, she is my best friend, but if I slip just a little bit, even for a second, she becomes my worst enemy. She just doesn't know how to be supportive or kind to me. This puzzles me because I work so hard to be supportive and kind to everyone around me, yet I can't seem to be kind to myself. When the voice really gets going, I feel like an unlovable loser. Recently, I've felt like that all the time. And when I feel like that, food is often my comfort. 

Two weeks ago I was riding my bike, walking, eating right, and feeling good. My weight was starting to drop, my clothes were starting to loosen, and I was four bandannas away from my first 50 bandanna goal. Somehow this taste of success must've threatened the hell out of my inner voice, because she kicked her nasty criticism into high gear and sent me sailing off track. I lost my appetite, and then when I did eat, I only ate garbage. That abusive, ever-present voice was a constant stream of "I told you so" and "I knew you couldn't do it."  I sank lower. 

You know, I have never tolerated and will never tolerate anyone abusing anyone else-physically, emotionally, or verbally.  Why do I allow my inner voice to do it to me? My illustrious, super-smart counselor and I were talking this week about this and she asked me to consider what it would be like if my inner voice actually liked me. Sadly, I couldn't even guess at what it might be like. My inner voice has been this way for as long as I can remember-brutal, unforgiving, and always demanding perfection. However, they say that the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over expecting a different result. Crazy is not the title I want, so it's obviously time to try something different. 

How do I do this?  How do I change how my inner voice speaks to me?  How to I rehab her from Mean Girl to Sister Supportive? I want to do this, but I have no idea how. And the idea scares me to death because sadly enough, like a long-term victim of abuse, I am comfortable with the Mean Girl. She is least a known entity. The unknown of having a supportive inner voice for the first time scares the heck out of me. What is she even going to respond to?  Do I force the change?  Does it happen over night?  Seriously, how does this work?  I guess I will figure that out as I go.

In the meantime, I am going to resume the bandanna wars. The first 46 bandannas were certainly for learning. I'm starting over with a new 50, and those will be for growing.

Stay tuned....

Dance Fever

"Dance first, think later"

When I was working out with the most fantastic trainer in the world (the one that made me puke my first time out----love you, LaGunta) I refused to jump rope in front of the other people in the gym. It flooded my system with an anxiety wave that drowned my sense of humor and exposed my flaming, red angry.  Deep in my soul I knew that all those skinny little gazelles lined up on the treadmills with a full-view of my hippo-shaped, two-bras-for-safety's-sake-wearing, jump-roping-ass, would be secretly laughing at me. And we all know that when we are on the treadmill our eyes wander to anything that is moving-anything to distract us from the torture of walking on purpose. And currently, all of my parts move when I try to go all Rocky on the jump rope.

 

But if she had just asked me to dance instead...

Calories burned in 30 minutes!!

For some incomprehensible reason, I have no problems dancing wherever I am.  I don't care who's watching. This weekend I even learned how to shake and shimmy (thank you, Belinda).  I've been known to dance in the middle of the cul de sac at midnight by the light of the moon, get my groove on in the grocery store aisle, and even bust a move while baking. Therefore, dancing my ass off-and any other body parts-just makes sense. This morning I tried out the "Rockin' Body" series with Shaun T. Much fun!!  My office/art studio is now also my dance floor!

The right brain shows concussion indicators.

Yes, dancing burns a ton of calories, but there are other added benefits as well. It is not a secret that I may have taken one too many bumps in the head throughout my sports career. 30 years of soccer, 6 years of rugby and 10 years of football can be a bit tough on the noggin. So much information has come out recently about the long-term effects of concussions that it can be rather scary to consider what symptoms I face. So far, the manifestations have surfaced in the form of a slight stutter, difficulty finding the right word I want to say, short-term memory issues, and frequent headaches. However, there is very little research concerning how a female athlete's brain is affected-or if the effect is greater. My doctor is a former football player and is fairly fascinated with my case. He and I are searching for brain studies for me to join. In the meantime, he has directed me to do puzzles, challenging thinking games, and lots of exercise-including dancing.

You see, it seems that dancing and learning new dance patterns can have a crazy-awesome positive effect on the brain. I found an article by Richard Powers-dance guru- that sites a study in the New England Journal of Medicine about the effects of recreation activities on mental acuity in aging.  

"One of the surprises of the study was that almost none of the physical activities appeared to offer any protection against dementia. There can be cardiovascular benefits of course, but the focus of this study was the mind. there was one important exception: the only physical activity to offer protection against dementia was frequent dancing." -Richard Powers

That's right. Who knew that shaking my butt might save my brain?  You can see more of the article by Richard Powers here:

http://socialdance.stanford.edu/syllabi/smarter.htm   

Check out these findings from the study:

Reading-                   35% reduced risk of dementia

Bicycling-                   0%  reduced risk

Swimming-                 0%  reduced risk

Crossword puzzles    47% reduced risk (4 x per week)

                                                                      Playing golf                  0% reduced risk

                                                                      Dancing Frequently    76% reduced risk!!

This all totally makes sense to me. Learning new dances can be difficult. Getting your body to do what your brain is telling it can be like trying to settle a herd of kindergartners down for a nap while wearing a monster mask.  One part is sure to go off screaming in the wrong direction-and maybe all the parts.  Now set that chaos to music. If you're really on your game, set that chaos to music and try to choreograph it!

Happy Hoppers Square Dance Club

 In retrospect, I should probably thank my parents for my early appreciation of dance, as well as the mental acuity and coordination that came with it. My parents were from Montana, they joined a square dance club called the "Happy Hoppers." Inevitably, I got roped into taking Square Dance lessons. I will admit here that I LIKED the square dance lessons.  It was fun, rigorous exercise, and there were always new moves to learn that got increasingly more intricate. Okay, I HATED the fluffy dress and girly shoes I had to wear, and the fact that my partner was always Jeff- the caller's son.  Jeff and I were the same age, so we had to dance together all the time. We even had to do square dance exhibitions together. Since we were little 3rd graders, everyone thought we were sooooooo cute-but that is a whole other story. (Although I do find it amusing that we both turned out to be gay. Interesting.)  My point is that dancing in all forms really can be stimulating for the brain as well as the body. 

I actually have this CD.  Love it.

This week I will be doing more dancing and less worrying about the pounds and the inches. I assume they will come off on their own as I unleash the boogie fever to my disco beats, get my rump-shakin' Zumba on, Just Dance my way across the living room, and do my best go-go dancer shimmy while I'm working in the garden. Dance like no one is watching, my friends!

"Let us read, and let us dance; those two amusements will never do any harm to the world."

-Voltaire

The Endorphinator

I apologize for the extended hiatus.  I have returned....

During my time away, I was not idle, but it was not an easy time.  My previous post was all about stress.
Well, the stress increased exponentially and was no picnic, but I weathered it with this fantastic, magical wonderment known as the mighty ENDORPHIN!! Every time I figured out I was feeling a deepest shade of blue (indicated by being wrapped in a blanket watching my 17th consecutive episode of Star Trek Voyager on Netflix) I went for a walk. My added visits to the gym produced a cleaning frenzy whirlwind that resulted in a sparkly-clean and organized office/art studio (a previously unheard of anomaly), the deletion of two giant bags of clothes that don't fit, and a 1/4 totally weeded front yard.  Unfortunately, my back gave out before my endorphin wave did.  This all felt FANTASTIC.  I could conquer the world!!  I could start a business!!  I could....totally take a nose-dive.

That white, digital slice of imbalanced hell-the bathroom scale-got to me again. I have lost...NOTHING!!!  This was highly discouraging and sent me back to the couch for a day or two. There have been no inches lost either. Unacceptable. the natural progression was to demean myself, to open up my mind to all kinds of doubt in myself. My inner voice is a nasty little item that is abusive and mean-spirited. She has serious issues. I have named her after a similar someone in my past, but for the purposes of avoiding lawsuits, we shall call her..."Jane Ho."  Jane Ho went all whippy slap-slap on my psyche after I viewed that heartbreaking lack of change on the scale. She led me over to the mirror and compared me to a hippo, then changed her mind and told me I look more like a rhino with my big shnoz and jello-jiggler midsection. Jane Ho told me I would never see a difference and that I was just going to fail.  She even came close to convincing me that my blog is a stupid waste of time-no one is listening. She went too far with that one. I got mad.  "Listen here, Jane Ho, you can fuck right off!  I've been working hard!! And it doesn't matter if anyone is listening!! This is MY change!  FOR ME!!"  Then I jumped all up on the reasonable train and left Jane Ho behind to talk to herself and the spots on the wall. (And before you voice concern about my apparent schizophrenia-it's okay, Jane Ho moved out).

I HAVE been working hard. I may not be seeing a difference on the scale, or in inches yet, but there have
been so many other positive changes. My struggles with getting my diet on track continue to be the major factor between me losing inches and pounds vs. ideal shrinkage. I will continue to improve.  I'm sure of it. I just have to stay out of the grocery store and never drive past a fast food joint.  Just kidding.  I need a huge injection of will-power.  All suggestions on how to acquire this are welcome.  In the meantime, here is a list of the positive changes that I've experiences so far:

1. Energy: My energy levels are up. I'm getting stuff done like a soccer-mom on a 15-shot espresso high.
2. Mood: Laughter and humor are my baselines, but I actually caught myself whistling at 5:30 am yesterday!
3. Air: I don't have to gasp for breath after tying my shoes anymore, or climbing stairs, or using the remote.
4. Joints:  My knees used to call me unmentionable things-especially when it rained.  Not so much now!
5. Distance: Walking 5.0 miles is no big deal. I still want to die a bit on steep inclines, but I don't have to lie down and gasp like an untanked guppie anymore.  :)
6. Social: I've been re-connecting with old friends, making new friends, and generally getting out more.
7. Strength: I can open jars again.
8. Focus: Attention span is a crap-shoot when you have unmedicated ADHD.  I sat through a 3-hour presentation on the Holocaust the other day. Only started squirming with about 20 minutes left to go.

All these things have brought me back to my positive outlook as I continue to forge on.  I'm getting closer to the end of the first 50 Bandanas, but it has become clear that this first 50 has been all about learning and habit-forming, breaking horrible cycles and installing healthy ones. I'm totally looking forward to the changes the next 50 Bandanas will bring!!

As always, thank you to everyone who keeps me motivated.  You rock!!!  Here's a healthy little list of snacks that I'll be portioning out.  You should too!