Brooklyn Lazy

I'm in New York, sitting in Karen and Woody's Brooklyn apartment. It has been days since I last ran. It has been days since I last did any form of exercise, though Karen and I have been making daily walking trips to the neighborhood Trader Joe's.

The last time I traveled, I packed my running shoes and was proud that I actually ran on most days. For this trip, however, I was afraid of the cold and possible snow. And, because I was running tight on luggage space, I didn't bring my running shoes with me. It was a stupid move, and I feel my muscles deteriorating and my body getting fat.

Not only has it not been snowing nor raining in New York for the past week, the weather, for the most part, has been pleasant. On Monday, it was 64 degrees and sunny; warmer and brighter than in San Francisco. Today, on our daily walk to TJ, I saw two men running along the Brooklyn streets. They could have been me. I could have been running, looking like a non-hipster runner in Brooklyn.

Susie was even disappointed when I told her that I didn't pack my running gear with me. She hoped we could run together when I go to visit her in Boston in a few days.

I have been dreaming about running and jogging along my usual route around the Panhandle. That's going to be the first thing I do when I return--drop my stuff off at home, put on my running shoes, and head out the door. Most likely, though, it'll be painful.

Fit Is the New Fat

This will be my new motto. I like it. I wish I would have thought of it when I first started this blog.

Stretching

Apparently, all that stuff we learned about the importance of stretching in PE class was wrong:

Stretching: The Truth

Days Off

I haven't been running for the past few days. Tuesday, an early morning at work prevented me. Wednesday, I was too exhausted (I fell asleep on the floor with the TV and the lights on Tuesday night). Today, my ankle hurt. My ankle actually started hurting earlier in the week. I think it might have been because of my sprinting on Monday. I'm not sure though, but have nothing else to blame it on.

If that's not bad enough, tomorrow and Saturday, it's supposed to rain. I feel like I've been obsessing about running and feeling guilty if I don't run or spend too many days away from running. I think my body will quickly revert to its pre-running stages, when I struggled to run across the street without getting winded, and that I'll have to spend more time and effort trying to get better.

What I need to do is to figure out how to work out and do cardio work indoors. Or, I need to brave the rain and run wet.

Sprinting

On today's run, I was too tired to run a full third lap but had enough time to do a little more running. So, I spent the last few minutes sprinting. I sprinted for two blocks, then walked about a quarter of a block, and sprinted for another two blocks.

These last bursts of sprinting were easier to get through than the sluggish jogging. I was energized. I kicked my legs up high and stomped the ground hard. I felt like I was one of those other runners who I enviously see whizzing past me and hoped that the people in their cars would be impressed with my speed and form and all together awesomeness.

I think these sprints weren't as exhausting because I was using different muscles than when I jog. With the sprints, I use more of my upper legs than the lower part. Now, I kinda understand what people mean when they talk about intervals and how it's a good way to get better and faster and run for longer. I'm planning on ending each morning run now with a little bit of speed.

Sweating to the Music

Scott has been gone all week. He's in New Orleans to be the Best Man in his friend's wedding. Not only does this mean that I can shower with the bathroom door open and walk around in my underwear, but I can also turn up the music when I'm working out in the morning.

As sweat is running down my face because of my repitition of arm curls, crunches, squats, lunges, and push-ups against the wall in my living room, I'm listening to Bryce's Birthday Mix Volume III (Friday), Santogold (Saturday), The National (Sunday), and Radiohead (Monday).

6 Miles

For the last three days, I ran/walked/jogged six miles on my morning routine. I go from my house up to the Panhandle, do three loops around the Panhandle, and then head back home. Granted, I probably only run for four of those six miles, but I'm impressed with myself.

I can run about three-quarters of a mile to a little over a mile without walking or stopping, which is an improvement from half a block. My breathing is steady and not strained, as it was when I first started my running routine. But, my legs get tired. My feet feel like cement blocks weighing me down and my legs can feel wobbly let wet noodles.

But, as I've heard more and more often recently, it's mind over matter. If I think it, I can run it. I've been trying to push myself more and more. No stopping until the red light. No stopping until that tree. No stopping until making it across the crosswalk.

It takes me a little over an hour to complete my route, which works out to be 12 minutes per mile. Runners of San Francisco's half marathon must run at pace of at least 13 minutes a mile, which I had been nervous about. But, seeing that now I can run at about 12 minutes a mile and will only get better, I'm much more relieved.

Morning Pains

I went running this morning after a four-day hiatus because of my cold. I started off better than I thought, jogging steadily but slowly and easily managing up the slight slope of Grove Street and past the woman walking. It was cold out and I could feel the air sting my lungs. My breathing felt off. My inhalations and exhalations weren't in rhythm with the sound of my feet against the cement. I tried to remind myself to breathe through my nose and out from my mouth, and to take deeper breaths. But, it hurt.

Then, I felt a cramp in my left side. I have no idea how I could get a cramp. I didn't eat anything and only had water before I left the house. This was my first morning run cramp and it hurt too. But, I powered on. I made my way up Geary, jogging up almost the entirety of the incline. I told myself to jog through the pain because I might have to endure this when I actually run my marathon. When my legs needed a break and I turned my jog into a walk, I felt like vomiting. My lungs felt heavy. I wanted to turn back, return home, and pass out on the floor. But, I kept going, though only walking. I walked most of my second lap.

And, when I felt good enough to jog again, I was able to take just a few strides before my cramp returned, this time on my right side. Tomorrow will be better.

Marathon, Here We Come!

I have never been excited to run, but, today, I am excited to run!

Winnie told me that Tree also wants to run the marathon with us. So, that makes four: me, Winnie, Tree, and Billy. At first, I thought they were all just trying to humor me and had no real intentions of training and running too, but the more we talk, the more I realize that they are committed too. I've totally got a running crew!

Winnie and I were on the San Francisco Marathon's website, reading up about the training program and how we can run and train for free if we raise money for a charity. We also read about how we can start a team if we can recruit at least one more member. So, it clicked: What if we start a work team and raise money for our youth educational programs? We could even run in matching outfits!

Winnie also reminded me that we need to get together a training schedule if we're really going to go all out. I'm going to look into that. In the meantime, she and I both put the SF Marathon training program's information night on our calendar. We're gearing up; we're getting ready to go.

Sick

This morning, I woke up sick. I had a rough night of sleep too. I woke up constantly, feeling thirsty and too warm. I had a hunch this was going to happen. I had been sneezing and blowing my nose the last few days. And, finally, I felt the slight pangs of a sore throat coming on.

I had plans of waking up at 5:30 this morning and going for a quick run before I had to leave for work at 7:15. But, last night, after giving it some more thought, I realized how ridiculous my plan was. And, I'm glad I didn't get up to run. I don't know if I would have made it.

I'm feeling tired and have gotten progressively worse throughout the day. After two good days of running, I'm afraid of what will happen if I take a running break to try to get better. I'm reminded of when I first started up running again in January, when, after just a few days of running, I got sick. Then, after getting better, I got sick again not too long after. I wondered if my body was against exercising and if getting sick was its way to tell me that running is poison to my body.

Now, I can barely stay awake and my whole body is tired. There's no way I'm running tomorrow, and I'm disappointed.

Closet Cleaning

I cleaned out my dresser tonight. Well, I didn't really clean it out, but I re-organized it and went through to find what clothes I could donate to Goodwill. I already have three large bags of clothes I had been meaning to give away in one of my closets but never got around to it, all due to laziness on my part. Most of the clothes in those bags were too tight for me--pants whose zipper I couldn't zip, pants whose waist line could only creep as high as my mid-thigh, shirts whose button I couldn't’t button, shirts that exposed my protruding belly. But, two weeks ago, I tried on some of those clothes again and I could fit in to some of them again and was almost there with others.

As I went through the drawers, throwing my pants and sweaters onto my bed, I tried them on. I couldn't remember when I wore some of these clothes last and couldn't remember why I even spent money on some of them. I squeezed into some of my jeans I wore in college. Some fit, although so snuggly my underwear line could be seen through the fabric. Others fit my hips and thighs, but I couldn't button them.

As I tried on these jeans that I wore years ago, I realized how small I was then. I'm not fat; I know that. Sure, I think I have a few pounds I could lose, but in all respects I'm a healthy weight for my height. But, I always thought I was fat. In college, I thought I was huge. I hated shopping for clothes because pants wouldn't fit and the cute tops were too tight on my body. I could only see my wall of thighs. I thought I would crush my ultra-fit and super-svelte then-boyfriend when I lied on top of him. I couldn't understand why someone who was such an athlete like him would want to be with someone pudgy like me.

Now, as I tried on those jeans that I wore regularly several years ago (well, actually more like 7 years ago) it finally dawned on me how thin I must have been then. I must have been at least ten pounds, but probably closer to 15 pounds, lighter than I am now, which would have put me at 145 pounds for my 5'11" frame. Not fat at all. No where near it. But, I thought I was. Deep down, I still think I am. And, it's painful to realize how deep those scars of being a chubby kid and being told to constantly diet by my mom really run.

There are many reason why I started my More Fit, Less Fat plan and why I started writing this blog about it. But, I think one of the main reasons is that I want to re-claim my self-image and make it my own, to say that I have absolute control over my body and how I view it. And, I'm seeing the changes in my body, my attitude, and my confidence, and I'm proud of the progress.

Not only did I clear out some of my clothes and put them in a bag labelled "Too Big, Give Away" and brought some of the clothes that I thought were too small back in to my wardrobe, but I also re-organized my dresser so that I have one drawer specifically for my exercise clothes--sports bras, shorts, running pants, long-sleeved and short-sleeved t-shirts all nicely folded next to each other. I'm taking charge, and clearing the closet way.

Three Laps

Fridays, I don't have to be at work until 9am and only have to travel to Japantown, which means I have a little more time to exercise in the mornings. Usually, I do two laps from my house to Japantown and back. But, today, because I had extra time and because I feel like I haven't been improving, I told myself I would make three laps.

I still can't run a mile without stopping. I still can barely go any real distance without feeling like my legs are exhausted and about to collapse underneath me. So, this mornings run was to extend my total distance travelled, rather than increasing the amount of time I can run without stopping since I haven't been able to see much improvement in the latter.

As I finished my second loop, I felt good. I was even able to jog up much of the gradual uphill of Grove St. But, then my legs started to feel like bricks. They were heavy and my feet were sluggish. It was tough just getting them off the sidewalk. If I couldn't run or jog the final lap, I would at least walk briskly up to Geary and back to my house. And, I did. The sweat that had soaked my shirt started to cool my body back down. And, my fingers began to get cold again.

I made my way back up the little hill to my house. And, I wasn't exhausted. I could still keep walking. I wish I just do it while running.

Quiet Morning

This morning’s run was more quiet and still than usual. As I made my way slowly up Grove, I could hear the leaves rustling overhead and airplanes flying above and nothing else. There wasn’t a car nor a person on the streets.

It also smelled like fall. The air was chilly, crisp, and clear the way the first days of fall are. For the first time in months, the cold air hurt my lungs with every breath I took, and I was struggling to keep my legs moving, one ahead of the other.

I made my way up the slope of Geary though and rounded the corner to Laguna. The old lady who walks her dog in the early morning was there with her dog, as usual. We’ve seen each other before. But, this time, she said good morning to me and I was able to get those words out of my mouth too. She was the first person I’ve talked to all morning. I think she was also the first person who has ever greeted me as I slowly jogged along.

Foggy Jogging

When I stepped out the door this morning, it was foggy and dark. Even at 6:45am, an hour later than when I usually leave the house, it was incredibly dark and I was a little nervous to leave the house. I actually turned back in to put on another layer since I was only wearing a t-shirt.

I headed up toward the Panhandle. The headlights of the cars flying down Oak St. were trying to cut their way through the moisture in the air. When I reached the park, the street lamps were still on. The orange globe of lights were shrouded in fog. It reminded me of being in London years ago, and walking through the streets at night. But, I wasn't walking through London. I was jogging through a park in San Francisco.

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Several months ago, I read a piece in The New Yorker by Haruki Murakami, one of my favorite writers. It was about running, specifically, him as a runner. I was surprised to learn that he was not only a runner, but someone who has been running for decades now and has competed in one marathon a year since he started running about 20 years ago.

This weekend, Justin presented me with What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, the book from which that piece was excerpted, for my birthday. It was such a thoughtful gift.

I've been reading this memoir of sorts of Murakami's on the bus. Though the prose isn't what I would hope for from someone whose writing I've admired and enjoyed, it's captivating enough (and easy enough to plow through the pages) that I've almost missed my stop once.

Murakami makes several points about running and why it suits him, which, are some of the reasons why running is growing on me (I wish I was a better runner so that my body wouldn't struggle so much though). It's easy to do; you just put on your shoes, step out the door, and start running. You can do it almost anywhere. And, a point he makes several times, is that you can run alone. You don't need a team or a partner. It's just you and the road. He likes that, and so do I.

I run in the mornings when it's still dark and very quiet, almost eerily so. I wake up at 5:37am and am out the door a little after 6am. There's almost no one out, except for a few people waiting for the bus. It's just me, jogging slowly along the neighborhood, quietly motivating myself to keep going until the next light, the next stop sign, the next lamp post. It's just me and the thoughts circling in my head and the music that I sing to myself. For those forty minutes that I'm jogging, it's just me.

Sweat

I hate being sweaty. It makes me feel gross to have wet arm pits and damp clothes clinging to my body. But, I sweat. I sweat easily. On my walk to work, I sweat; so much so and so regularly, that the first thing I do at the office is pat my face with a cool cloth, take off as many layers as to still be decent, and stand in front of the fan.

But never had I sweated as much as I did today during my workout. After my run, where I already developed a good sweat, I did my usual set of exercises: squats, lunges, and free weights. Not only did I have sweat running down my face and dripping off onto my shirt and the floor, but I also had sweat running my leg. It was so weird. I felt a drop of water at the back of my knee. I didn't know my knee sweated. I realized that the sweat was coming from my lower back and upper thighs and being forced by gravity down my leg to my knee. This was a first. This was yucky.

But, if a good sweat is a sign of a good workout, this one was the bee's knees.

Sluggish

I had a terrible night of sleep last night. I couldn't stay asleep: I had to go to the bathroom; my legs were too warm; my legs were too cold; my ears were itchy. I don't know what was going on. So, when my alarm rang at 5:37am, ten minutes earlier than what I usually set it for (I'm trying to get up earlier so that I have more time to run and exercise before work), it wasn't painful--I was already almost awake.

I popped in my contacts, changed out of my pajamas and into my exercise clothes, put on my shoes, stretched, and headed out the door for my morning run. I start almost impossibly slowly, just barely jogging faster than a walk. I think of it as a warm-up. But, I never really get much faster.

I timed myself this morning, tracking how long I ran at a time and the total amount of time I was jogging/walking. My first spurt of running lasted for four minutes and 40 seconds, an improvement from when I first started but a far cry from being able to run for three hours straight. And, from there, the amount of running time progressively decreased.

My legs started feeling exhausted. I could barely lift them. Even my arms became tired. My swing was so lazy, and for a few strides my arms just hung at my sides. I was getting tired and sloppy. My muscles aren't strong enough and I need to figure out how to build them up. But, for about two blocks of flat sidewalk towards the end of my outing, I ran quickly with my heels kicking up towards my butt and my arm swinging like a pro. And, it felt good, better than the slow jog. If only I could keep it up. But, I'm going to progress into it. The speed variation is apparently supposed to be good for me because it works out different muscle groups.

I got back to my house and tried to do my usual after-jog routine of free weights, squats, lunges, and ab work. I could barely do any of them. My body was just tired. I was tired. I quit after a few squats and bicep curls.

I weighed myself too. I've gained two pounds from my lightest weigh-in just last week. It was disappointing but I know I've been eating more junk over the last several days and that I haven't been running as often over the last two or three weeks. Jo tried to reassure me that I was just building muscle.

Sound of Music

I don't wear headphones when I run. I don't even have an iPod. Because I run just as the sun is getting out (and, now that fall is here, before the sun is even peaking over the horizon), I like to make sure that all my faculties are available so that I don't get hit by a car (especially those super-quiet Priuses). I also don't want to get mugged (though I highly doubt muggers are up and lurking about at 6am).

This means that the music that accompanies those strides of mine is whatever goes through my head. Lately, I've been singing The Rentals' "Friend of P" and Nick Cave and the Bad Seed's "Dig, Lazarus, Dig." I haven't heard that Rentals song in ages and I don't know how it got stuck in my head. Because I only know the chorus, those few lines repeat non-stop only to be interrupted by Nick Cave. I'm not a fan of Nick Cave, have none of his music, and can't even say what songs are Nick Cave's, other than "Dig, Lazarus, Dig." But, I heard the song on the radio the other day. Because the chorus is so catchy, I can't stop singing it.

As my feet pound the cement, the words of these two songs pound the inside of my head. And, it gets tiring and obnoxious, especially that Nick Cave one. I try to think of other catchy songs to sing over these two, but nothing sticks. Nick Cave and The Rentals always win.

But, today, I was singing Stevie Wonder's "Part-Time Lover."

Signs

After being worried about my half-marathon goal yesterday and feeling like I'm setting myself up for failure trying to attempt something so difficult, I got two random signs urging me on.

The first was the Competitor magazine I found on my table at the Rubio's at Serramonte Mall. I was having a late lunch after a work conference and sat at a table with this magazine on it. I had no idea what Competitor magazine was, but it had a picture of a woman running on the cover and it was their special marathon edition. While munching on fish tacos, I read about a man running his first marathon in San Francisco.

The second came when I was getting out of my car. As I was grabbing my copy of the Guardian, a postcard fell out. One side was black and white picture of a woman doing a push-up in front of the Conservatory of Flowers. The other side had information about Boot Camp San Francisco.

I'm not superstitious, but it is at least a coincidence that these things just came my way the moment I started doubting my fitness plans. In a nod to The Secret, I have displayed the postcard on my bookshelf, where I see it every time I reach for my keys.

Resistance

I bought a resistance cord several weeks ago and it has just been sitting in its package, unopened, on my desk until last night. I thought it would help me build and tone my muscles, and that it would be a very practical way to get a workout while I'm ever away (it's ridiculously light and takes up almost no space at all, compared to my free weights).

Last night, after a day at work and a walk home from work, I decided to tear into the plastic and see what this cord was all about. I changed into my exercise clothes and running shoes, even though I would just be standing on the rug in my living room, and turned on the workout DVD that came with the cord.

It looked scary. This bald man with bulging muscles the size of my head was doing squats and crunches, all while looking very serious and intimidating. This was not what I imagined when I bought that purple cord from REI. I hit play and it turned out that his muscle man, Charles Shand, had a pleasant, soothing voice and was telling me about how great it was that I was taking care of my body and how, if I was just beginning, I should start slowly and at my own pace. Okay, not so scary after all.

And, as a beginner with the lightest resistance band, I would follow Jim, a gray-haired, pot-bellied man, in the video, rather the the body-builder Charles or the incredibly fit woman using the medium resistance band. I could easily follow along with Jim--I have no pot-belly, I'm young, and I've been exercising regularly for the last several months. No sweat.

Or, so I thought. I started doing the exercises, following Jim's movements as best I could. I felt awkward trying to do the exercises but I figured it was my first time and I just needed to get used to it. I pulled the cord across my chest as I did squats. I pulled the cord across my chest again as I stepped to the side. I stepped on the cord with both feet and did bicep curls but could barely get my arm to bend all the way to my body. I started to sweat. Jim did another arm stretch with the band, where his arms reached the top of his head. I could barely get my arms and the band up past my hips. My arms were getting tired too. This was not as easy as I thought. I was being defeated by a pudgy, schlumpy, old man on a DVD.

I half-heartedly finished the routine. Was all those months of exercise and free weights doing nothing to build muscle strength in me? Am I doing something wrong with the cord? I had no clue. I changed out of my exercise clothes and ate dinner.

The Long Run

I've told so many people that I'm planning on running San Francisco's half marathon next year that I can't back out of it. Sure, I have almost a year to prepare, but I'm wondering if I'm in over my head. 13 miles is a long way to run. How am I, someone who has never been a runner before and who gets winded running across the street, going to keep my feet moving one in front of the other for 13 miles.

I started getting a little scared yesterday when I was on the San Francisco Marathon website. I was reading about the course (which actually seems really awesome to run across the Golden Gate Bridge and through Golden Gate Park), how many first-time marathoners there are, and how last year about 17,000 people ran the race.

The part that got me nervous was the time limit. If I run the first half of the marathon, I need to be able to finish in three hours; if I run the second, three and a half hours. I didn't even think about a time limit and what would happen if I couldn't finish in the time allotted. I just thought I would run until I finished. But, with a three hour limit, I need to run each mile in about 13 minutes. Yes, it's not impossible and many people can do it, I just question if I'm one of those people.

New Orleans Nervousness

I'm going to New Orleans for several days in November to visit Sara. I'm excited. I've never been before and hear it's amazing. But, I'm also nervous. As I was chatting with Scott (who will be going to New Orleans for a Halloween wedding) last night, I realized that I might be overcome by the urge to eat and drink everything in sight and just have several days of decadence--stuffing my face with po' boys, beignets, jambalaya, gumbo, fried oysters! I'm salivating already.

There's no way I'm going to New Orleans and not going to have a good time, and eating and drinking is just part of the fun. What it means though is that I need to work out extra hard from now until then.

Hike

Kristin is an avid hiker and she has invited me to join her on numerous occassions. But, for whatever reason, I'm never available when she wants to go. So, this time, I asked her to join me on a hike, even though she chose our location and drove us there.

I've gone hiking before plenty of times but want to do it more often. Not only is it a good way to get in some exercise but it's also nice to be outdoors and appreciate all the nature-y goodness the Bay Area has to offer. Plus, I can do it with other people and not be embarassed, as I am when I run.

Packing my lunch (peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat bread, carrot sticks, an apple, and two Larabars) and water was easy. Getting dressed was more difficult. What would be appropriate for a hike? Kristin advised that I should dress in layers. I could do that. I pulled out some t-shirts, some long-sleeved shirts, and a hoodie. I tried on multiple shirts before I found the right combination of short-sleeved and long-sleeved ones that would look okay with my hoodies, jeans, and gleaming white running shoes (the only pair of athletic footwear that I have).

Kristin was very patient and understanding when we decided on where we would go. How long did I want to hike for? Did I want something easy or hard? She didn't want to wear my out and scare me on our fist hike together. We decided we would go to Mt. Tamalpais and do a two to three hour loop. Off we went.

We got to Mt. Tam, parked the car, and started in to the park. It was foggy--at some points we couldn't see what was ahead of us--but nice. The greens of the trees and bushes were vibrant. And, even after a little bit of rain the night before, the trails weren't muddy. Kristin, once again, said that we could take a different route if we wanted; meaning if I got tired and wanted something easier we could do that. It was great to have someone looking out for me. But, I wanted to keep going. I wanted the longer route. I told her I didn't want the mountain to defeat me and was looking for something challenging enough to be fun but that wouldn't kill me. So, we kept going.

We took a wrong turn at one point and had to back track. I had to cross a precarious looking ledge and Kristin was patient with my unease. Some parts were so long and steep that I had to take a break in between. I could hear my breath growing more and more labored and could feel the sweat dripping down my face and pooling up under my arms, on my back, and in between my breasts (I should have worn my sports bra). But, with a little rest and some water, I was ready to go again.

We kept going and going, and finally we were reaching the end--only 1.2 miles left to the parking lot. The final stretch of the hike was all slightly downhill, which was nice. After climbing up for so long and my thighs starting to ache, an easy downhill walk felt so good. My legs were happy. With the parking lot in clear view, I felt accomplished and satisfied and tired, but in a good way. I don't know how far we hiked but we were walking for about four hours at a fairly fast pace. I asked Kristin how this hike compared to the ones she usually goes on, and she said that it was on the more difficult side and that she wouldn't take novices on it. Yes! I am becoming a hiker too!

Morning Routine

I've been running along the same route at about the same time several days a week for the past few weeks. Today, I realized how I am not the only person in my neighborhood who does the same thing at the same time over and over again early in the morning.

As I ran along my neighborhood, I saw the Asian man and his teen aged son waiting on the street in front of the housing complex again. I don't know who or what they're waiting for or how long they wait. Today, though, was different. It looked like the man and his son were talking to each other on their cellphones. They were standing about ten feet apart from each other, both with their cellphones to their ears, and both smiling and chatting. They weren't speaking in English but some Asian language I didn't know. Maybe they weren't speaking to each other. But, I couldn't figure out who else would they speaking to at 6:20 in the morning.

As I jogged a little further, I caught up with the woman who wears way too much perfume. I catch up with her at the same street corner each time. She's probably on her way to work. When I approach, I can smell her. She smells like those lotions you buy at the Bath and Body Works at the mall--the ones that smell like country apple or peach or who knows what. It, and she, smells too sickly sweet, and it makes me want to vomit. I don't vomit though. Instead, I jog by a little more quickly.

My favorite part of my morning jog though is when I'm on my way back home and walk past the assisted living center for seniors. The lobby is always well lit and there's always activity. Through the windows, I can see the television turned on to the morning news. And, in front of the television are some of the residents, sitting in the wheelchairs, nodding off.

Training Tips

As a college counselor, I talk to countless high school students. Mostly, we chat about their educational goals, where they would like to go to school, and what they have to do to get there. Sometimes, we veer off topic. We'll chat about movies, music, books, Barack Obama, burritos.

Today, a student came in to my office, sat in the chair for students at the edge of my desk, and just started chatting with me. I helped him sign up for his SAT just a few days ago, and I thought he wanted to ask me more questions about the test, but he didn't. Instead, we talked about track. He saw the pennant of Fresno State University pinned to my office wall and said that's where he wants to go because they have a great track team. In 2012, he wants to be in London, competing in the Olympics.

After chatting about Usain Bolt, his mom being a track star in the Philippines, and how he's one of the fastest sprinters at school, he asked me what I did, as in what I do to workout. This was the first time anyone asked me what I do to workout, and I was a little surprised. "I run," I said. And, when I said it, it felt good and true. I do run. I am a runner.

I told him that I'm not a sprinter though, and that I want to run the half marathon next August. He looked at me as if I was crazy. He said he could never run that far, and that his body was built to be fast. Since I had him, someone with Olympic aspirations and the possible skill to get there, in my office, I asked him about his training routine and how I could build stronger leg muscles, hoping that I could incorporate some of his exercises into my workout routine.

Soon, he was standing up in the middle of my office demonstrating lunges, kicks, squats, and proper arm swing. He derided all the people who believe that running is a sport just for your legs and stressed the importance of a strong core and arm muscles (I agreed with him and tried showing off my knowledge by saying how I've started doing yoga and do free weights). He also told me that I should eat bananas because of their potassium and that I should drink plenty of water (he started to sound like my mom).

Weighing In

I bought a bathroom scale a few months ago. I used to hate being weighed. As a chubby adolescent, I was forced to step on my family's bathroom scale in our living room with all my family watching how far the scale tipped. My mom would be surprised that a twelve year old weighed that much (apparently, the fact that I was just a touch shy of six feet tall didn't matter) and would tell me that I needed to diet.

Now, having grown out of the pained adolescent stage, I am no longer on the verge of tears when I step on my bathroom scale. I bought it to see how more fit and less fat I was becoming. I had an idea of what I weighed and where I wanted to be in terms of pounds, but didn't have any real way of measuring it. At first, I was nervous that weighing myself would feel like punishment, that I would feel guilty and embarassed at how much I weighed. But as I've seen improvements, stepping on that scale motivates me and makes me feel accountable to something, even if it is an inch-think square of metal with a digital display.

I've gotten into the habit of weighing myself almost every day and always right after I shower and dry my hair in the mornings (I think wet hair will throw off the reading). I don't think I'm obsessing about my weight, rather, that I want to make sure I'm sticking to my goals and need a way to measure that objectively. Sure, I can see that my pants are hanging a little lower and that I'm starting to notice a tiny bicep form, but that scale gives me a number, something that I can log and remember and compare. And, I understand that even though that number may change from one day to the next, it's not necessarily because I've gotten fatter by three pounds over the course of one day but that weight fluctuates from hour to hour, based on how much I've eaten, when I ate, how much water I've drank, and number of other factors.

This morning when I got on that scale, it read 163.8, the lowest it's been since I started weighing myself. I'm getting closer to reaching my Body Mass Index goal of 21 (for someone my height of 5'11" the matching weight is 150 pounds). But, I'm still a long way away from my half-marathon goal. I'm getting there though, slowly but surely.

Up and Running, Again

After three weeks of not running, I started up again last week and it felt good. Sure, I still can't run half a mile without needing a break (I have a long, long way to go before I reach half-marathon potential) but I'm seeing improvements.

This morning, I took a different running route. For the last several months, I've been running up to and around the Panhandle. But, as the sun is rising later and later, it's been getting darker and darker when I wake up a little before 6am to go exercise. This morning, rather than run around the poorly lit and wet Panhandle, I headed north toward Japantown, along the route I took when I first started running in January (I wasn't so good at sticking to my new year's resolution then but am much more motivated about it now).

I remember being able only to run a block and a half before getting winded and feeling like throwing up. Now, I can easily run that block and half, and went on passed it. And, the only reason why I felt like retching this morning was at the stench of rotten garbage. I did my old loop once and went around to do another half loop. As I walked up the little hill back to my house, I decided that, as fall approaches, I'll give up my Panhandle run for this Japantown one and that I must remember to write my name and contact info in my shoes, in case something happens to me as I run in the dark mornings through Western Addition.

Chinatown Ping Pong

After months and months of saying that we would go, Colin and I finally made our way over to Oakland's Chinatown for Ping Pong Thursday at the neighborhood rec center. I was a little nervous. I thought I would be the laughing stock of the rec center, that all the old Chinese men would want to disown me as one of their own race for not being able to swat that little ball like a badass.

When we got there, the place smelled of pizza. There were eight tables set up and six were taken by older people, mostly men and mostly Asian. There was one other woman, a Cantonese-speaking lady the age of my mom, there. Colin and I chose the table closest to the wall and the most out of view of all the other players. I pulled out my paddles from my bag and a little orange ball (five out of the six other tables of players were also playing with orange balls).

We started to play. Leisurely at first, chit-chatting along the way. I started to sweat and could feel my glasses slipping down my nose. Colin was making me run from one edge of the table to the other, as he was swatting the ball to opposite corners. I lunged and stretched to reach them. He also was hitting low and hard, so that I was at least three feet away from the edge of the table trying to return his hits. I felt like I was starting to look like the other players there and a little like Forrest Gump but not nearly as good a player.

We were getting better and taking more risks. Then, we started to get sloppy. My legs were getting tired. My armpits were sweaty. My balls kept missing the table and would bounce toward the little barriers set up to prevent renegade balls from travelling too far. I couldn't return his serves. We had been playing for an hour and a half and we were getting tired. It was time to call it quits.

I never guessed that ping pong could be so exhausting. But, looking at the other sets of players on that gym floor and all the sweat that soaked their shirts, they certainly knew how much of a workout it could be.

As Colin and I walked out of the rec center on our way to dinner (of burgers and beer), Colin saw a sign: in honor of the Olympics, ping pong would be held on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays nights (rather than just Thursdays) and free for the entire month of September. We would be back for three nights next week.

Home

I went home to Los Angeles over Labor Day weekend. It was an extended trip, Thursday to Monday, and Karen and Woody flew in from New York. It was Woody's first time meeting our family, and he arranged a ping pong tournament (complete with tee-shirts and a trophy) at our parents' house for the occassion.

I knew that going home might bust my more fit, less fat plan. There's something about LA that sucks the energy out of me. Maybe it's the heat or the fact that my parents have taken to pampering us now that we no longer live in their house, and all I want to do when I'm home in LA is sleep and eat--a bad combination for trying to get more healthy. And, there's always food at my parents' house. Tons of it and my mom makes sure that we eat it.

On this visit, I also knew not to pack my running shoes. When I went back for July 4th, I had optimistically lugged my shoes with me, hoping that I would be able to work in my workout routine during my stay. But, of course, I didn't. So, rather than pack shoes knowing that I wouldn't use them, I decided to leave the shoes in San Francisco. I wouldn't run. I wouldn't exercise. I would let myself eat and sleep and enjoy a little rest.

All You Can Eat Meat

Going to a meat buffet is not a good way to get more fit and less fat. But, I went to Little Sheep Hot Pot in San Mateo and stuffed my face anyhow. Last night was Little Sheep's final Tuesday for its all-you-can-eat special in honor of the Olympics, and Jo made reservations for ten of us at 9pm, the only time we could be accommodated.

I was nervous. After months of having dinner at 6pm and eating brown rice with vegetables and lean protein regularly, I didn't know how I would feel after eating as much meat as I could handle so late at night. After several days of being excited for the meat bonanza, I started to feel a little queasy at the mere thought of beef, lamb, and pork squishing around in my stomach only minutes before I would lie down for bed. Would I undo all the good that I've done in one night of a meat splurge?

But, when I got there and saw the bounty that would be put in front of us, my nerves eased and I was excited again. I was fired up and ready to go, and knew that it was a smart move when I put on my big pants earlier that night. And, there were vegetables with all that meat. Napa cabbage, bok choy, pea shoots. Plus, three types of mushrooms, two types of tofu, mussels, shrimp, and noodles. I felt less gross knowing that there were vegetables. So, I ate, ate some more, sweated a little, sighed, took a break, just to eat more. There was no moderation. Then, I was done.

I didn't leave feeling too disgusted with myself. I didn't feel too heavy with food. I didn't feel like throwing up. But, as I was walking back to my car, I felt pain gripping the side of my belly.

Pigmentation

The music teacher stopped by my office yesterday to ask if I really did walk by him as he was playing jazz with his band at the Fillmore farmers' market several weeks ago. I said, yes, that was probably me but I wasn't sure it was him so I didn't say hi. He looked offended in a mocking way, and I promised to stop and listen the next time he was out there.

As he was leaving, he also told me I looked different.

-I got new glasses, I said.
-Nope, not that, he said.
-New hair cut?
-Nah. It's your pigmentation. I want to know what you did over the summer.
-Hm...nothing really.

Did he mean I looked more tan? I had a healthy glow about me? Pigmentation?

Injured

I had been feeling really good about my fitness plan, had been sticking with it for weeks, and had been seeing improvement in my ability to run (I had been able to run for longer and longer distances, and hadn't felt like throwing up or wheezing). And, of course, it was too good to last.

I injured myself about two weeks ago at my friend Erin's wedding. There was a step that I didn't see, so I fell and hurt my ankle, though I didn't notice it until the next day when I couldn't move my ankle and my legs were covered with dark bruises. I took a day off work because it hurt too much to walk and was wobbly for days.

Last week, I tried to go jogging again for the first time since I fell. The first day was okay, though I felt a little wheezy. The second and third days hurt. After about a block of running, I started to feel pain in my left ankle. I had to stop running and walked the rest of my 4-mile route both days. I felt like such a wimp but knew that putting more strain on my ankle wouldn't help.

My ankle isn't looking all that swollen or bruised any more, but it does hurt when I press on it. I just want to get up and running again, as with every day that passes without me going for my morning routine the more difficult it will be for me to get back in to the routine. But, tomorrow is a new day and I'll set the alarm to wake up early to go workout, even if that means walking, rather than running, four miles.

Changes

Even though I haven't been noticing a difference in my bodily fitness, others have. I returned to the school last week to set up my office. One of the first things one of the other counselors told me was that I looked fit (and I hadn't even told her about my More Fit, Less Fat plan). She said that my face looked more chiseled, my neck looked extra long, and I my arms looked more toned. She wondered if it was the clothes I was wearing, but I was just wearing a t-shirt and cropped pants (clothes she has seen me in before and nothing that would hide bulging body parts). A little later, the ROTC coach wondered what happened to me and if I had been slimming down.

I hadn't been noticing much of a difference. I still can't fit into my skinny jeans. I still can grab all the lower belly jiggly-ness. I still see a wall of thigh. But, apparently, others are noticing something happen.

Or, perhaps they've forgotten what I look like after three months of summer vacation.

Marathon Buddies

I don't know how it happened, but I was able to convince Winnie and Billy that they wanted to run San Francisco's Half Marathon with me next August! As much as I am excited to have running buddies and new encouragement to work toward my fitness goals, I'm nervous that I won't be able to keep up with them. For all the time that I've known her, Winnie has gone to the gym regularly. And, Billy ran Bay to Breakers not too long ago. The only time I've stepped into a gym was to pick up a form and I can barely run three blocks.

Good Week and New Goals

I had a good week of being more fit this week. And I am so proud of myself! For once, I didn’t feel guilty about this more fit, less fat plan, and how I am not sticking to it as I feel like I should. After a hiatus to go to Lake Tahoe and LA, I returned to San Francisco this week with renewed vigor.

Tuesday through Friday, I woke up at 6am, went for a jog/walk for 30 minutes, and spent about another 30 stretching and doing strength building work in the living room. Since it’s Tour de France season, I’ve been doing my living room exercises with the television on to the Versus network with the volume turned down so that Scott doesn’t hear and watch the cyclists wind their way down French roads. I have also been sweating more than I can remember ever having sweated before. My shirt at my armpits is soaked and sweat has been literally dripping from my face (I’ve been pulling my shirt up from the bottom and using the sleeves to wipe the sweat off my face). It’s more than a little gross but I’m taking the actual sweating to be a good sign.

Saturday was a real accomplishment. I don’t exercise on weekends, thinking that it’s the weekend and, therefore, my time to relax and sleep in. But, this Saturday, I woke up at 6:30am (the extra thirty minutes were my weekend treat to myself) and took a different jogging route. I’ve been going from my house to Japantown and back, which is mostly flat and about a three mile loop. And, since I walk most of morning routing, I wanted to lengthen my outing and make it a little more challenging. So, Saturday, I tested out a new route: from my house, along the Panhandle, to the edge of Golden Gate Park, and back. It’s a little longer, at about four miles, and there are two sets of steep hills, one at the beginning and another at the end.

The hill at the beginning was a good warm-up as quickly walked it, and the one at the end was a test of my stamina (I had been nervous about this last set of steeper hills, wondering if I would catch a cab from the bottom of it back to my house if I was that exhausted that I couldn’t climb it). I noticed that it was windier and cooler heading west on this new route than when I headed north on my other Japantown route. But, it wasn’t the hills nor the wind that bothered me the most about this route; it was the other joggers.
When I started my jog there was hardly anyone in the park, which was nice. By a little after 7am though, tons of joggers were out and I grew to be embarrassed that I was walking as they were all whizzing by in their short shorts. I know I need to get over the self-consciousness but when I’m being lapped by someone three times my age, it’s a little embarrassing.

But, I am going to stick with it, even if it means that I’ll be jogging even earlier to avoid the hordes of the real runners because I have new running goals. I’m going to run Bay to Breakers (a 7-mile run from the San Francisco Bay to the Pacific Ocean) next May and, feeling ambitious, will run the San Francisco Half-Marathon next August. So, I have ten months to go from being able to run 0.25 miles to 7 miles. We’ll see what happens!

Fitness Color

Winnie sent me a link about my fitness color. I had no clue what fitness color meant. I felt like she was sending me one of those surveys at the back of Teen magazine to discover what color lip gloss suits you best. I took the quiz and I was a Green. Here's what it says about me:

Greens are highly attuned to and observant of the physical world around them. Their profound attention to detail and their outstanding orienting skills influence all aspects of what they do and when they do it. Minimalists at heart, their demeanor is understated, quiet, and unobtrusive. In groups, Greens tend toward the background, preferring others to take the lead in social interactions.

With their reserved demeanor, they are quiet observers of the physical world. Nature is their nature. Their natural physicality inclines Greens to maintain a baseline of fitness, which they prefer to do outdoors or through activities of daily living, such as yard maintenance, parking a mile from their office, or using the stairs instead of elevators.

Incorporating a regimented training program into their lives is unlikely to happen without a specific purpose—such as getting in shape to fully enjoy a favorite outdoor activity, or achieving a prized goal, like being part of a climbing or backpacking expedition. In these cases Greens will use gyms and equipment to increase their stamina for an outdoor challenge that is important to them.

When they are training for such a challenge, Greens have clear cut objectives. Many say that the preparation process—including assembling the gear, analyzing risks, or preparing for climatic changes—is interesting and exhilarating. A fitness center or trainer who could provide information relating to these training goals would add value.

I don't know how true all of that is, though some aspects hit the nail right on the head. Their description makes me seem like a tree-hugger, and I am not a tree-hugger.

You can take the quiz yourself here.

Excuses

It has been weeks since I last exercised. I bought my new shoes, wore them once for my morning exercise routine, and haven’t put them back on since. My excuse this time is that Scott and I have had several houseguests and that I don’t want to wake them in the morning. This past week it was Rob from Montreal and his friend David. Last week it was Matthew from New York.

The living room, where our guests stay, is separated from my room only by a pair of French doors that don’t provide much in terms of soundproofing. I don’t want our guests to hear my huffing and puffing, my stomping on our hardwood floors, and my coming in and out of the front door as I leave the house at 6am to jog around the neighborhood. I’m just that considerate.

But, it’s been throwing off my exercise routine and I am not getting more fit by being considerate, or coming up with excuses so that I can stay in my warm bed a little longer in the mornings. So, now that Rob and David are gone, I’ll be back on the more fit, less fat exercise bandwagon tomorrow morning. Sara, however, is flying in from New Orleans to visit this upcoming week. We’ll see if consideration wins over fitness when she arrives.

Splurge

I have been splurging. As much as I tell people and myself that I am not on a diet—I am on a more fit, less fat plan—I have been consciously making decisions about what to eat and what not to eat. For a few weeks, I was adamant about limiting myself to 1500 calories and counting those calories (yes, I know I said in my first post that I wouldn't be writing about counting calories but there's really no way around it). For breakfast I would have one slice of wheat toast (90 calories), one tablespoon of peanut butter (90 calories), one banana (60 calories); for lunch, a mixed green salad with one hard-boiled egg and dressing at (250 calories) and an apple (60 calories); for dinner, brown rice with chicken and broccoli (400 calories) and an orange (60 calories).

But, the last week or so has had several days that have not been good more fit, less fat eating days. Last Friday, I went out for happy hour with my coworkers where I had three slices of an appetizer-sized pizza, a margarita, two vodka sodas, and a shot of Frenet. On Monday I had dinner with Greg at Blue Plate, where we had a delicious meal of rabbit with a cream sauce, chicken with sausage and clams, tuna with fava beans, an arugula salad, and a bottle of red wine. We followed that with drinks at Doc’s Clock (three vodka sodas for me). This past Saturday in Sonoma with Scott, Rob, and David, I had three pork tacos, tortilla chips and guacamole, and a margarita for lunch, one third of a giant turkey shawerma for dinner, and two cups of a mysterious drink with beer, vodka, and lemonade concentrate and a Jell-O shot. And, on Sunday I had dinner with Bill at Little Star: three slices of their deep-dish pizza, a green salad, and a glass of their wheat beer. I don’t even know where to start counting all those calories.

Today, I’m back at my more fit, less fat eating plan: a cup of non-fat yogurt, a salad with egg, and wild rice with chicken and zucchini. I’ve got calories to watch and not consume.

Carnaval Bodies

For the third year in a row, Katherine invited me and other friends to her apartment to watch the Carnaval Parade from her fire escape. As we sipped mimosas and snacked on pork buns and grilled chicken and tortillas, the parade passed below us on 24th Street. We watched dancers in too skimpy outfits for the chilly morning shimmy and shake their way down the street. From our post up above, we could see the jiggle of the women’s breasts as they moved to the music. Bellies were exposed, butt cheeks peeped out from bikini bottoms, and thighs abounded.

Perched on the fire escape and watching the dancers below, I wasn’t so much mesmerized by the dancers’ ability to dance but by their lack of concern about their body shapes. Some women had beautiful bodies but a large number of them had bellies that jutted and jiggled and thighs that flapped (not to mention breasts that were about to jump out of their tiny tops). But the women with the less than perfect bodies were still out in their revealing outfits with it all hanging out and having a great time performing for the hundreds of people that lined the streets.

After the parade, we watched the performers on the stage set up on Harrison Street at 17th and once again, but from closer view, I was in awe of these women and their bodies. I didn’t see one with a flat stomach and ripped abs. I didn’t see women with size 2 waists. I didn’t see one that looked like Heidi Klum or Gisele Bundchen. Instead, I saw stomachs that shook as the rest of their bodies did to the music. I saw thighs wobble as the women did kicks. I saw women with bodies that looked like mine and like so many other people in the crowd of spectators. I saw women with amazing smiles happy to be performing.

I was envious of how comfortable they appeared exposing what some people may consider their bodies’ flaws to everyone who was out at the Carnaval festivities. It didn’t matter to them that their bodies weren’t fashion magazine perfect, and I wanted to feel that way too.

Shoe Shopping

After reading both The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Running Injury-Free and Fitness for Dummies, I learned that the best way for me to not hurt myself while exercising would be to have the right pair of shoes. I knew of the importance of proper footwear already, but both books slammed it into my head. Wearing the wrong shoes or shoes that are too worn out can cause or exacerbate a host of problems, including hammer toe (caused by wearing shoes too small so that the toes smush into themselves, rendering them like little hammers), blisters, and black toenails.

I started running again in the New Balances I wore several years ago when I was running regularly. I knew that after a certain amount of miles shoes would get so worn that they would need to be replaced, but I doubted I got anywhere close to having run enough miles to have worn down those sneakers. But, putting them on again after years of non-use, I noticed that they were tighter. My toes felt like they were pushing up against the toe box. Is it possible for feet to continue growing? Did I put on so much weight that even my feet were getting fat? In any case, my shoes were too small and I needed new ones. I also thought of new shoes as a motivator: if I spent money on new running shoes, I should actually put them on and go running.

My books told me what to look out for when buying running shoes and suggested that I go to sports store that focused on running goods. I had no idea such places existed. The Idiot’s Guide also suggested that I make a map of my foot to see what sort of arches I have and bring my maps with me to the shoe store. So, I made my foot maps. I wet my foot in the bathtub and stepped on a piece of construction paper so that my wet foot made an imprint. I then switched feet and did the same to the other foot. According to the outlines I made, I have high arches. And, according to my Idiot’s Guide this means that I “tend to roll on the outside edge of [my] foot and push off with [my] little toe” and that my weight isn’t distributed evenly over my foot, which can cause serious injury.

Armed with my foot maps and some help from Yelp to find the best running shoe store in San Francisco, I made my way to Fleet Feet, located in the Marina district. I had to steel myself for my journey to the Marina, where I envisioned frat boys turned stock brokers and cheerleaders turned account executives to litter the streets with their obnoxiousness. But, I had a purpose: I would get my shoes and get out. I ended up walking from my house to Fleet Feet and after the 50-minute walk, my feet were a little puffy, the perfect time for shoe shopping.

When I stepped inside Fleet Feet, four pairs of eyes turned towards me. I was the only customer and all the sales people were eyeing me as I was wiping the sweat from my forehead. Did I need help? they asked. Yes, I was looking for a new pair of running shoes. The cuter of the sales guys said he could help me. I tried to not think about the sweat still beading on my forehead and how my pants were sticking to my thighs. I told him that it had been a few years since I last was running regularly, that I wanted to get back into it, and that I need some new shoes. He asked if I ever had my feet fitted before and I said no. He asked me to take off my shoes and socks and measured my feet without my weight on them and then with. He then asked me to walk up and down the store so that he could examine my walk (I tried not to be self-conscious). He then brought out a few pairs of shoes for me to try. He helped me put them on and tied them for me. He squeezed my feet. He then asked me to run in them for him. I looked at him. Excuse me? Just run, nice and slow, from here to the door and back. Huh? Everyone does it; it’s to see if the shoes are right. Hm…okay.

I ran for him. I tried to not think about how silly I felt, how my pants were still sticking to my thighs, how my form must be horrible, how my back looks fat, how I was still sweating. When I finished my short run he asked me how they felt. They felt okay but I didn’t know how they should feel. He mad me try on more shoes but didn’t make me run around. I walked around instead. I went through five pairs, concentrating on what made each shoe different, and which shoe felt the best. I tried each pair on several times, some times with one shoe on one foot and a different shoe on the other foot. During the shoe testing, the shoe guy and I chatted:

Shoe Guy: So, you’re trying to get back into running again?
Me: Yup. It’s been a little while but I want to start again.
SG: Where do you run?
Me: On the street, around the neighborhood.
SG: It’s more interesting than on a treadmill.
Me: Yeah, but the hills are a little tricky where I live.
SG: Do you plan on racing? (Apparently he had no idea who he was talking too.)
Me: Um…not any time soon. I want to start slow and work my way up there. Eventually, I’d like to. What do you do?
SG: I run 5Ks and marathons.
Me: Oh.

Yeah, it will be a while until I can run a marathon—it will be a while until I can run a mile—but it felt a little reassuring that he asked if I planned on racing, that it didn’t seem so far off as a goal, that he didn’t see me as a total out-of-shape heifer for whom running a race seemed completely unfathomable.

After going through all the shoes he pulled out for me, I chose a pair of Asics with just a little bit of extra support; they felt the best on my feet. I had no choice about the colors of the shoes (which were white with light blue and silver) but didn’t really care, even though the color and physical appearance of the shoe would have been the most important aspects to me in any other shoe-shopping case. I asked about the store’s return policy just in case after all that shoe-testing I decided I didn’t like them, and he told me that I could bring them back within 30 days, even if I got them dirty. How wonderful, I thought. He rung up my purchase and entered my name in their database so that the next time I came back, they could tell me what shoe I bought if I wanted the exact same one. I thought it was brilliant and that that was probably my best shoe-shopping experience.

The Beginning

I'm starting a new blog. Yes, I am aware that I have two others that I have ignored for months and even years, but I've fallen out of love with them and am moving on to something new. It's not them, it's me. Part of my problem with continuing with my Daily Eats blog as regularly as I once have is that I'm trying to be more conscious about my eating habits. In doing so, I've been eating out less, drinking less, and eating more salads and whole grains. I doubt that many people want to read about the arugula, quinoa, and whole wheat toast that I've been eating on a food blog. It's not culinarily exciting or all that enticing.

So, this is where this blog, More Fit, Less Fat, comes in. I'm trying to be more fit and less fat. But, this is not a diet blog. You will not see me count my calories. You will not hear me bemoan my fat thighs and jiggly belly. You will not get a minute-by-minute rundown of my workout routine and the ounces of sweat that I perspire. Nor, will you read about how much I can bench press.

I haven't quite figured out what this blog will be yet, but I'm sure it will include all my fumbling stories of trying to be more active, trying to be a runner, trying to balance my love for good food and drink and my need to eat more healthfully, and trying to figure it all out as I go along in my quest to be more fit and less fat.