Tag Archives: JB

Better Than the Alternative Tuesdays: Weight

19 February 2013

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Guys, I’m in midterm week month, so blogs may be shorter or non-existent until things settle down over here in Crazy Town. But it’s Tuesday so let’s not forget why it’s good to be here instead of the alternative.

Weight.

It’s become a nasty word in the world these days, wouldn’t you say?

Gaining weight. Weight of the world. Light-weight.

It’s not too long ago that the word weight carried a negative connotation to me as well. Yet recently, I’ve begun to embrace it.

What is weight to you? (Image courtesy of shutterstock.com)

What is weight to you?

There is nothing more comforting or calming to me than to feel the weight of my husband against me.

A hug, a hand, or when he is recruited to be my blanket because I just can’t get warm enough in the winter. I breathe easier, my heart rate slows down, and I almost always fall asleep.

Something about the weight of my hand in his.

Something about the weight of my hand in his.

When I was recovering from surgery, it was all about the weight. Was I eating? Was it leaving me properly in my new device? Too fast? Too slow? Was I gaining weight?

Despite one person’s comment that my 20 pound weight loss was (after a 5-day hospital stay and one organ removed) “looking good” on me, gaining weight was a top priority post-op. Both times post-op, actually.

GI surgery means things get scary in that world and weight gain = success!!! Normally a dirty phrase in my world, I was thrilled to see the scale headed back toward my normal.

I was healthy again. Weight was a good thing.

Feels good to be healthy again.

Feels good to be healthy again.

And there is nothing in the world that feels better than having the weight of a baby on your shoulder as you rock her to sleep.

My little angel niece.

My little angel niece.

My sister-in-law was always asking if it was too much for me to have her lying on me or if she was heavy in my arms. Heavy? Psh. Weight is no matter when my little Peanut needs to be rocked to sleep. I shooed her away and held Peanut as long as I possibly could.

Like Obi-wan says, there is no house so peaceful as the house of a newborn baby.

I don’t mind feeling the weight anymore. It reminds me to be calm, to be grateful, to be present. And that’s certainly Better Than the Alternative.

Now go out and run.

Better Than the Alternative Tuesdays: Sunrise

12 February 2013

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Happy Better Than the Alternative Tuesday, friends! I barely make it through Mondays this semester. 10+ hours of sitting in class feels like a death march. My brain hurts, my body hurts, and by the the end of the day, I don’t even want dinner.

I know. Shocking. I don’t want food? Something is deeply, deeply wrong with Mondays.

Pizza lasts exactly one day in my apartment.

Pizza lasts exactly one day in my apartment.

Not even pizza sounds good, just sleep.

And then I woke up this morning and went for a run. It wasn’t a good run, I felt like crap. I was hungry (duh), tired, and even though I was trucking along at 8:15s most of the 7 miles, I felt like I was running through mud.

But I saw this on my run. This Sunrise over The Lake and Bow Bridge.

Good morning, my beautiful Park.

Good morning, my beautiful Park.

It didn’t change my pace or give me the energy to run faster, but just seeing this beautiful Sunrise was reward enough for getting up early.

When I was chained to the bed recovering in the hospital, I was on the 14th floor overlooking the East River. When the sun rose the day after surgery, I couldn’t help but to breath deep (as deep as my stitches would allow) and appreciate seeing that Sunrise.

It wasn't a sunny morning and the view wasn't even that great, but it was a sunrise I worried I wouldn't see.

It wasn’t a sunny morning and the view wasn’t even that great, but it was a sunrise I worried I wouldn’t see. And there was pudding.

Anyone who goes into surgery and tells you they aren’t scared is…not me. I was scared both times. Terrified, actually.

That Sunrise meant I made it through the operation. That Sunrise meant I got through a horrific night of pain. That Sunrise meant that Mrs. Obi-wan and JB would soon be by my side, keeping me from freaking out.

It wasn’t pretty, it didn’t have to be, it was just a new day and a new life starting.

My 2nd surgery sunrise was far more spectacular. Same floor, same hospital, same staff (oy), different facing bed. Different perspective.

My 2nd surgery Sunrise was far more spectacular. Same floor, same hospital, same staff (oy), different facing bed. Different perspective.

That’s what I like about running at Sunrise. It’s the ultimate symbol of a new day starting.

Just because today’s run was crap doesn’t mean tomorrow’s will be. Just because I’m dragging ass this morning doesn’t mean I will tomorrow. Just because my J-pouch hated me yesterday doesn’t mean it won’t love on me today.

Sunrise is my favorite symbol of starting over and the opportunity to do something different. I know it’s obvious and trite and cheesy, but it’s true.

Sunrise on the Brooklyn Bridge. (Image courtesy of MK Photography)

Sunrise on the Brooklyn Bridge. (Image courtesy of MK Photography)

 

When I woke up from surgery, I was a new me and it was a new day. Those Sunrises were a new start to me. And they certainly made it better to be here, to wake up, to keep going, than not to. And I love that about those Sunrises and every Sunrise I get to see.

Happy BTAT, guys. What does Sunrise mean to you? Does it get you going or is it something you rarely see? Are you more of a sunset kind of person? Tell me all about it!

Now go out and run!

(I mean, it’s 40 degrees out there, NYers! Heat wave!)

 

Better Than the Alternative Tuesdays: Naysayers

15 January 2013

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Better Than the Alternative Tuesdays: A day when we share why it’s better to be here, not matter what kinda crap we got going on, than to not be here. A day to reflect on the fact that life is awesome and I, for one, am glad to to be here.

Naysayer: nay·say·er (\ˈnā-ˌsā-ər, -ˌser\) one who denies, refuses, opposes, or is skeptical or cynical about something.

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Five or six years ago I was with extended family, sharing my new goal of going back to school to become a physical therapist. I had a long road ahead of me, pre-reqs and GREs and hoops to jump through and all, but I was excited to finally find what I wanted to be when I grow up!

And this one Naysayer just kept shooting me down.

“It’s a really competitive field.”

“Those classes are really hard to get through as an adult.”

“So-and-so didn’t get into this-other-medical-school, you probably won’t get into NYU.”

All from the same person. The same Naysayer. It got me so down about my choice. In fact, this was what I’d been telling myself for years. It’s too hard. You’re not smart enough. There’s no way they’d want you. Finally I’d got the guts to say it out loud and here was a Naysayer trying to put me down before I even go going.

photo-9JB, the Obi-wans, and my closest friends didn’t let me give up on my dream. And here I am. At NYU. Kicking butts. Taking names.

There was another Naysayer who (still) cannot believe I’m not working as a personal trainer for the money and, instead, putting money into my education. I can’t. I just CAN’T even begin to tell you how frustrating THAT conversation is for me.

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Naysayers can get you down. They get me down sometimes, too. But they can also be fuel for your Fire of Awesomeness. Naysayers are often people who are not living the life they want to live. (These Naysayers certainly weren’t/aren’t) and they just loooooove dragging others down to their unhappy level.

You know what, thank you, Naysayers. You have given me the opportunity (more than once!) to say, “TOLD YOU I COULD DO IT!!!”

If that’s not a reason it’s better to be here than not, I don’t know what is. Happy BTAT, friends. Haters gonna hate, you keep on rocking.

Now go out and run!

Marathon Widow/Widower

4 December 2012

4 Comments

It is no secret that marathon training takes A LOT of time.

Early morning runs, weekend long runs, nights at the gym, stretching at work. It’s just soooooo time consuming.

Very, very early marathon morning (MCM '05)

Oh yes. Get used to this hour of the morning

It’s tough to marathon train when JB isn’t also training. We hardly see each other during the week and I’m gone for hours and hours on Saturday and then sore for the rest of the weekend and all I want to do is sleep.

I’m super-fun during training.

Tons of fun.

Tons of fun.

It’s like he’s a Widower. Well, he’s sort of a perma-Widower for the next three years because of school, but that’s neither here nor there.

Point is, it’s lonely to be married to a marathon runner. And it’s absolutely fair to get a little annoyed at said marathoner.

There are things I do to make sure JB doesn’t feel completely annoyed with me for the three months I am running 40+ miles a week and spending my Saturday afternoons in ice baths instead of at brunch with him.

  1. Make sure he knows my schedule. Like, a weekly hard copy of my workouts schedule. If he knows what days I’m available, we avoid a lot of miscommunication.
  2. Schedule in down-time with him. He likes afternoon/evening quality time so I make sure to get my weekend workouts done in the morning.
  3. Make sure to do things he likes. I’m setting aside time for me to do things I like to do, so I make sure I’m planning things I know HE likes to do. Give-Take.
  4. Ask him to meet me at the end of my run. He likes to run with a buddy (me!) and at the end of my runs I’m fine with just shuffling along the river for the last few miles.
  5. At the end of the season, I make sure to thank him for his support and talk with him before I decide to start up another fun athletic event.

Communication = happy home.

And they lived happily ever after.

And they lived happily ever after.

Now go out and run!

Don’t Sweat It

13 November 2012

1 Comment

Stowe is pretty.

Oh, hey there, Mt. Mansfield. You’re big.

And the air is clean and the sky is blue and there are stars at night. It’s a nice place to visit, FYI my fellow New Yorkers.

But it is COLD.

Don’t let that 34 degrees fool you, it was at least 20!

Weddings ALWAYS throw off my eating, running, life plan, especially when I’m part of the hosting family. Which I have been for four weddings now. And counting…

It’s tough to stay on track when you’re out of town, let alone attending approximately three parties in three days. I am not the girl who freaks out about this. Call me crazy.

We hit up the gym when it was convenient and decided that between chasing our niece around, cleaning up around the house, dancing the night away, and walking in heels (me, not JB) for two days, exercise was had throughout the day.

Big day past the 5-mile mark in Vermont!

So, yeah. I worked out. I also ate my weight in brownies and meatballs. There are no calories in food when it’s on a wedding weekend, so I assume I lost weight on this trip, right?

Baby lifts & squats are hard work. Except when they’re with this little Peanut.

One weekend out of 52 in a year (or 40-something) is not going to make or break my training or my fitness. I don’t know why people go bananas about missing one workout or a two days to a family vacation. It happens.

I guess I’ve experienced being out a whole lot longer with some…other problems. Perspective.

Walking = victory.

So relax. Have fun. Don’t get crazy about that one run you missed so you could sleep in and be beautiful for the wedding. I mean, “it’s better to look good than to feel good” (famous Obi-wan quote). I see my family once a year, if that. Family > running.

And if running > family time then do it and don’t feel bad.

Make your choices and live with it. Don’t complain to everyone in the world that you can’t do EVERYTHING. I mean, you’re a grown-up. Be a grown-up.

I’m SO grown up.

Next time you have to choose, choose the one that’s most important TO YOU and then get over missing the other.

Now go out and run!