The diet is not going well.

If sugar is addictive, than I am living in a crack den:

Shocking, isn't it?

It's what lives in our cabinet, right above the coffee maker. This stash has slowly been growing over the last few months but officially went out of control after Valentine's Day. Chocolate does taste better on V-day, and the day after, and the day after that...

Not surprisingly, the number on the scale is not moving. Thankfully, it has not gone up. This is due in part to Boot Camp and my 5:30am runs. But it's not going down, either, and this giant treasure trove of deliciousness is to blame.

It's one thing to diet, but it's another thing completely to diet while Girl Scout cookies are starting you dead in the face. It's such an unconscious thing for me to just walk past the counter and reach for a Thin Mint. They are small and tasty and just so...available. But try not taking one despite their looming presence, and it's like, well, trying to diaper a cat. It's just plain ugly, any way you slice it.

This siren song of the Girl Scout cookie is so great that after reading of Republican Rep. Bob Morris' harsh and totally random comments about the Girl Scouts of America as a "radicalized organization that promotes homosexuality and abortions", my first thought was that maybe he was dieting and his wife bought a whole bunch of Girl Scout cookies and left them on the counter for him to try to resist. His words were simply a reflection of his inability and frustration to stay on his diet because of the delicious little calorie-bombs of awesomeness in each box.

Quite frankly, I'm cursing the Girl Scouts too.

But it's not about them; it's about me and not making any excuses.

And with that, it's time to make some serious changes.

On Tuesday, with a heavy heart and a sore bum from Boot Camp, I boxed up this fabulous concoction of yumminess and placed in a very difficult to reach area on top of the dryer. While I feel more in control of my eating situation, I also feel very, very cranky. Raw almonds taste nothing like Junior Mints and string cheese is a poor replacement for cinnamon bears. But, I'm working it. It's worth it. Right? Right?!

I'm back in the trenches and ready to see some real results. I'll let you know how it goes.

In the meantime, I'm going to do a lot of laundry. Oh! Just heard the dryer buzzer go off...

I feel like I should stand up and address the group.

me: Hello. My name is Kim and it's been five days since I last ran.

group: Hi Kim

::sigh::

Yes, I will admit it. I have not been running very much lately. Despite the fact the Summerlin half marathon is creeping up quickly, I've been totally slacking on the mileage front.

In an effort to ascertain what the problem is, I reviewed the calendar from the last few months. This is what I came up with:

Dec 4: Vegas 1/2 marathon

Dec 5-10: recover from 1/2 marathon. Get quoted by local media about race chaos. Inexplicably use the word "bowels" when talking with reporter.

Dec 10: the start of the Illness that Destroyed Multiple Christmas Parties (it's okay, Scotty...I forgive you. Kind of).

Dec 19 -25: Week before Christmas. No boot camp. Who wants to run when there are Christmas cookies to eat?? nom-nom-nom.

Dec 26 - Jan 2: Half-ass it at the gym. So bored by the lack of boot camp I half-heartedly climbed on a treadmill. For like, 20 minutes. Barely broke a sweat. Didn't pick up a weight.

Jan 2-6: Boot camp starts on the 7th! Gonna sleep in now to prepare for the those early mornings

Jan 7: Brian informs me he has court early every day except Wednesday the 11th. I am on Bear-duty in the morning. No boot camp for Kim.

Jan 11: BOOT CAMP!!

Jan 12: Wake up with The Sinus Infection That Won't Die.

Jan 22: Run for the first time in ten days. Three miles.

Jan 22: Brian informs me he has court every day except Monday and Tuesday (23rd & 24th)

Jan 23: BOOT CAMP!

Jan 24: BOOT CAMP! Hill DAY! Happy KIM!!!!!!!!!!!

Jan 25: Run 4 miles. We're on track, baby!

Jan 28: Run 3 miles. Feeling great!

Jan 29: Exhausted

Jan 29: Brian tells me he has court everyday except Monday and
Tuesday. Sweet. More Boot Camp. Will push through.

Jan 30: Alarm doesn't go off; I sleep through Boot Camp

Jan 31: I just completely, intentionally, and willfully did not go to Hill Day. Stayed up too late watching "The Bachelor." Exhausted from all other parts of life. Tired. Grumpy.

Feb 1: Run 4 miles. Almost die. Catch Scotty's cold and am out for another four days.

There you have it, folks. The last two months of my life. I am shocked that it is already February. I am also shocked and scared at my complete and total lack of motivation. When I look back at September and October, I think to myself, "How the hell was I logging 8-12 mile runs? Where was that energy coming from?" Now, just a mere three miles is enough for me to break out into a cold, uncomfortable sweat. Not to mention, no one in our house can manage to stay healthy for more than a 10-day period of time. I should start dispensing antibiotics with the daily vitamin.

My diet has been horrible. As described last week, my go-to coping skill when stressed is to bake. I don't know why, perhaps it just part of my Midwestern genetics. But if there is a tray of brownies in the oven or cupcakes cooling on the counter, for whatever reason, life feels a bit more manageable. The problem is I'm not giving the sweets away as fast as I should; a Rice Krispie treat here, a brownie (or 12) there...and it's all adding up.

I'm up six pounds. This is on top of the post-Christmas five pound weight gain, putting me squarely a full 11 (gulp) pounds up from early December.

All I can think is, "Really? Really? Is the slope that slippery?"

The answer is yes.

I remember reading somewhere that in order to gain weight for the movie "Monster," Charlize Theron ate cheeseburgers, brownies, drank red wine and stopped exercising. She was like, "Yeah, the weight totally piled on." The only difference between Ms. Theron and myself is that I eat that diet with the expectation of losing weight.

Time to get a grip, Kim.

I spent a good portion of the weekend really, really mad. Mad at the Universe. Mad that I gain weight quickly. Mad that I don't have a lightening fast metabolism and mad that exercising is always a chore. Always. Mad that I have to fight for the chance to exercise. Mad that when the rubber hits the road, Brian's job wins over Boot Camp. (I never said I was being rational). Mad that I can't seem to find a good middle ground between my weight and my diet. And mad that I have to run freakin' 13.1 miles in less than three months, when my motivation is zero and I can't seem to shake this head cold.

I got myself so worked up about this unexplained weight gain I did what every thirty-something married woman does when she puts on more than five pounds: I decided I must be pregnant.

Three minutes and one little test later (and a lot of horrified looks from Brian), it was confirmed. I was, in fact, not with child.

I told Brian, "I guess I'm just fat with a head cold."

The look of fear in his eyes kept him from opening his mouth. He simply handed me a tissue and patted my leg sympathetically.

Wise man.

By last night, I pulled myself together. I laid out my workout clothes and promised myself I was going to get up at 5:30 to run. Brian has to be in early every morning this week except Thursday and Friday. Despite his schedule, I still can exercise; I just need to be done and out of the shower by 6:30am. If I was really motivated, I could do it.

And when the alarm went off this morning, the day still dark and everyone in our household silent, I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.

And then I started swearing. Like, loudly.

I swore all the way to the closet. I swore with each piece of clothing I angrily shoved on my body: pants, tall socks, shirt, warmer shirt, both gloves, ear muffs. Shoes had a whole bunch of expletives attached to them as I tied my laces. Don't even get me started about what I said when I brushed my teeth and popped in the contacts. I swore all the way down the stairs, kicking, muttering, pouting.

I swore through the first two miles. And the last two miles.

But by the time I climbed back up the stairs, untied my shoes, and started the shower (as my darling husband snoozed on, blissfully warm in bed), I stopped cursing. Finally. And I accepted the fact that as long as I don't want to weigh 200 pounds, I have to - have to, have to, have to- do what I don't want to do. I have to put the Chardonnay and Cinnamon Bears down. I need to pick up the shoes.

I need to fight for this.

And with that, I'm restarting my re-start. I'm trying again. This morning's run proved that I can do it. Getting out of bed is 50% of the battle. Even if I can't get to boot camp, I still can do something for myself. I just need to go to bed really, really early the night before.

But it's worth it. Really.

The Summerlin Half-Marathon is 68 days away and I am desperately working on my bad attitude.

This morning, I had my fitness assessment for boot camp. Despite the fact I'm running a fever and have a wicked sore throat, I still went. I figured if I really sucked at everything, I would just have that much more room for improvement the next time I'm tested.

Scotty was with me, of course, and we went a little early to play at the playground nearby. Another little girl joined us and she was sweet as could be. She and Scotty had a good time playing with his cars, and they were giggling and laughing together. She was a little younger, probably about 18 months, and very cute.

At one point, her aunt (we had been chatting so I knew everyone's relations) put her on one of those rock-back-and-forth things. This one happened to be shaped like a little horse, and after a few rocks, the little girl got too close to the front of the equipment. She banged her tiny little head into the horse's mane and her lip started gushing blood. She began to wail.

Scotty fell silent during this and watched her with big, concerned eyes. I've been joking that he's going to grow up to be a medic or firefighter or doctor (pleasepleaseplease), mainly because he has such a serious, thoughtful demeanor. He loves his little doctor's kit at home, we administer shots to his stuffed animals every day, and he's very concerned about his mother's well-being ("Momb, sit down. Take your vitamins. Here, vitamin. Open mouth. [Vitamin inserted into my mouth] There, there. Very good [gentle pat on knee]."

So as the little girl cried and the aunt hugged her (and tried to control the bleeding), I knelt down to Scotty's level and asked him, "What do we say when someone is crying?" We had been practicing all week, usually with Brian fake-crying on the couch, and Scotty would come over and offer an empathetic pat on the arm and say, "There, there. You're okay."

I watched Scotty think for a second, and then he moved towards the girl. He briefly scooped up some sand, held it out to her and said,

"Here. Rub some dirt on it."

Which is exactly what Brian tells Scott whenever he falls down.

Total. Parental. Mortification.

Looks like I'll be the one teaching the child about appropriate empathetic responses going forward.

(we all laughed, but I could not believe Scotty said that to her. He said it sweetly, I'll give him that, but oh. my. god. Children. No...husbands! Darn husbands!)

                                    ****************************

Totally as an aside, check out this photo of Scotty during my assessment. He loved Boot Camp, and he loved Kerry, the trainer. While we did our 1/2 mile run, they stood by a tree and studied the ants together.

Looks like a future Boot Camper.

Okay, as promised, here are some tips for beginning runners. Again, I want to clarify that I am not an expert, doctor, trainer, nutritionist, or even a good runner. I am just someone who started running on January 1 and completed a half-marathon in December. My point? If I can do it, you can do it. It just takes a little bit of courage and a whole lot of will power.

And a couple of packets of Gu. More on that later.

Two minutes on, one minute off

I started running on the treadmill for two reasons: 1.) I wanted to know my speed and 2.) I needed to see a clock. The clock-thing was more mental (i.e. "It feels like I've been running for 45 minutes and it's only been 6 minutes??") but ended up being very helpful. I realized that running a full mile was too much for me, so I broke it down: two minutes running, one minute walking. I did this for ten minutes. The first time doing it, I was so winded I could barely catch my breath. (in my defense, I was also recovering from abdominal surgery six weeks earlier. Or maybe I was just a big marshmallow. The jury is still out.)

Either way, I needed to take it slow.

And as I continued, my two-minutes-on-one-minute-off slowly lengthened. Instead of ten minutes, I stayed on the treadmill (at a comfortable pace, which at that time was about 5.3-5.5 mph) for twenty minutes. Thirty minutes. Once I did it for an hour, and that's when I realized I didn't need the one minute recovery anymore. So I started running five full minutes at a time, then ten, and without thinking, by February I was easily clocking 20 minutes of solid running (5.5-5.8mph). It took about eight weeks to really get a good three miles in there, but again, I wasn't running for distance, just time. And that helped.

Train for something

Once I started logging three miles here, two miles there, my confidence soared. I felt like a serious bad-ass on the treadmill. My legs started to thin out and I carried my shoulders a little bit straighter. By July, it occurred to me that all of my treadmill running should be put to good use and I should do something adventurous. So I signed up for the half-marathon. Obviously, as previously stated, I signed up for the race for bigger reasons (i.e. my dad), but knowing that I had to run 13.1 miles in just under 5 months certainly made me motivated to keep running. December 4th loomed over me like a bad cloud, but I was committed; my $140 was not going to go to waste.

Find Support

This is where good coaches come in. I ran July and August by myself, and realized that I was totally in over my head. I still had not yet conceded that running is a team sport (or how a coach would be helpful), but feeling the pain in my knees and the fear of 13.1 miles looming in front of me convinced me to call up the boot camp instructors and register for their running team.

And in that, I found a whole new community. We received weekly emails that detailed everything from what to eat, how many miles to run per day, and even how to psychologically talk to yourself as the long (and longer) runs started. There is no way I would have ever challenged myself to run 7 miles alone; but when it was on the schedule, I showed up like a dutiful solider. And you know what? I finished first that day. (my friend Andrea, the fastest runner on the team, wasn't there. But I'm not going to focus on that detail). Not only did I finish, but coming in first did wonders for my running confidence. And then as we were leaving, a woman commented to me, "You are just a natural. You have the longest, most graceful stride."

I about fell over. I laughed and told her that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. Ever. In my whole life.

We both laughed, but it made me feel like a rock star. And certainly kept me going.

Good Gear is Key

Through the running team, on the first day, I found out my shoes were wrong, my socks were wrong, and even the way I tie my shoelaces were wrong. At the time, I was pretty defensive. Looking back, I realize they were right. And I was wrong. ::sigh::

So I bought new sneaks at a legit running store. I purchased non-cotton socks. I watched carefully as the coach tied my shoes, feeling as helpless as Scotty during the process. And after my initial feelings of uselessness wore off, I found myself going back to buy Gu, running pants (that I like to call my "go-fast pants"), and even a running stick (to roll out sore muscles). The point here? Good gear makes the process a lot more enjoyable. And fashionable, too.

Cross-train

This is where boot camp was key. Hill Day was critical to conditioning, and all of the ab work helped to tighten my core. It didn't usually come into play until after mile 3, but that's when I felt different parts of my body working in different ways. My mid-section literally felt as though there was a corset cinched around it. My breathing evened out and it was no longer one giant exercise in exhaustion. I wouldn't call running easy, but it certainly got easier. And cross-training really helped.

Accept the fact you will have bad days

I had a terrible run in early October. It was awful - I had gone with the group (it was one of those 4:45am runs) and the guy in front set the pace - this crazy 9-minute mile that went on for what seemed like hours. It was still really dark out, so I kept up with the group more out of fear of being mugged in the dark streets of Summerlin than out of the desire to run fast. And when we finished, I was destroyed. It was a horrible experience. My legs hurt, my head hurt, and I was wiped out mentally.

I didn't run for three days after that. And when I finally got the courage to don the non-cotton socks again, I was away for the weekend for a Junior League Conference. Courtney and I dragged ourselves out of the hotel for an early morning run, and I begged her to go slowly. She did, and we ended up doing 3.5 miles. That was all I had in me. I was still too afraid that I was going to feel awful or weak or puke or something. (ironic, considering how the actual marathon went...) But the run went fine and a tiny shred of my confidence was restored.

A couple more runs later proved that yes, I could still do this. A bad run doesn't mean I should quit the sport or give up or that I'm a failure - it was just a bad run. And better runs are right around the corner.

The first mile is the hardest

I love it when people say things like, "I don't even think I could run a mile." I want to say, "Yes, you can - the first mile is the worst!" To me, the first three miles are the worst. You're still working out the kinks and getting stretched out - your shoe doesn't feel right, that lace is bugging you, and why does your knee feel funny? I try to tell myself that the first three miles are basic diagnostic testing - what corrections should I make now in order to avoid injury longer into the run?

What's funny is by mile 5, I just would zone out. Miles 6-9 were consistently my favorite, and that's when I'd get the most work done: what Junior League stuff do I need to think about? What house stuff should I be focused on? What blog ideas can I come up with? What color two-piece bathing suit am I going to rock this summer, once this weight is off and I'm ready to go poolside again? 

By the end of October, I looked forward to my long runs since it felt like one long business meeting in my head. I think I was actually more organized running than not running, simply because I had two hours to myself every week. It was heaven.

                                          *********************

With that said, I hope these tips were helpful. If you have a tip you'd like to share, let me know and I'd love to include it. Or, if you felt some of my tips were wrong/inaccurate, let me know how I could correct them.

I'm excited for the new year ahead...and figuring our which race(s) to sign up for. Just this morning, Courtney pulled me aside at our park date and asked about possible 10Ks and half-marathons. Looks like the fiasco that was the Rock 'n' Roll marathon is fading quickly...and we're ready for Round 2. Weeeeee! Let's lace up the sneaks and get this party started!

Guess what?

I lost 17 pounds this year.

I know, I know...in a year. That equates to approximately 1.7 pounds per month. Agonizingly slow, especially when I was eager to see results. But after a full twelve months, I'm really excited because 17 pounds is significant. It's not twenty, but it's better than fifteen.

I went from this:

to this:

I'm not quite sure why I'm making such a silly pose, but yes Quintin, I look like an X-men.

I'm not to where I want to be yet, though I am thankful to finally be on the right path. I'd like to lose another 10% of my body weight before we ring in 2013 and maybe complete my first full marathon. (maybe...)

My BMI is a healthy 24.2. I can run a nine-minute mile. All of my clothing is fitting much, much better and I've even dropped a size in pants. But most importantly, I feel good. I feel happy, not stressed, and not laser-focused on dieting/food/working out.  I didn't use pills, protein shakes, or meal replacement bars - just good ole portion control, better food choices, and exercise. There were no programs, websites or apps - just me, my sneakers and a whole lot of apples (my new favorite food).

So if you are like millions of Americans, getting ready to make some healthier resolutions for the new year, let me share with you what worked for me. Maybe this will be helpful, maybe not, but I'm excited to share my progress.

It's 80% food, 20% exercise

This was startling to me. If you are not going to change your diet, you will not lose weight. Or at least, it will be very, very difficult to do so. This occurred to me in October, when I realized I was working out practically every day (as evidenced by our giant piles of laundry) and the fact I was waking up at 4:45am to get my miles in - and then heading to boot camp at 6am. I didn't lose one stinkin' pound that month. I don't believe the "my body was storing fat" theory - no, it wasn't overexercising, it was the massive portions of Kit-Kat bars and Almond Joys I was shoveling in my mouth on a daily basis. (Mmm, Halloween candy.) It dawned on me I was eating an extra 2,000 calories a day in mindless mini-bars, negating any level of fitness I had done earlier. Subsequently, the scale stayed the same. I omitted the Halloween candy and boom - five pounds gone. Instantly.

Eat for performance, not weight loss

This was a tough thing for me to learn, too. If you told me I couldn't eat potato chips so I would lose weigh, I would fight you all day and night to get those chips back. And then probably eat them when you weren't looking and then feel badly about it.

But if you said I had to run say, 10 miles, in the morning, guess what? Those chips sound downright awful. The salt, the bloating, the greasiness of it - yuck. I would much prefer to eat light - and healthy - because of the run. It's kind of weird mind trick to play on yourself, but it worked for me. And it made choosing better foods that much easier.

Food is mood

Going along the previous idea, I realized there is a big difference between eating what I think is good versus eating what is good for me. Yes, the cupcake is delicious - for about 3 seconds - and then I'm left with a minor tummy ache, a sugar high (and subsequent crash), and the guilty feeling of eating crappy food. It takes an enormous amount of maturity (at least, for me) to recognize that this food (say, almonds) both tastes good AND is good for me. And then to have the strength to pick the almonds over the cupcakes while telling myself, "I want to be in a good mood, not a bad one." It's hard in the short-term, wonderful in the long-term.

I can't remember who said it, but I remember reading that eating a giant meal is anything but transcendental. It's fun while it lasts, but then you are left feeling stuffed, gassy, bloated and uncomfortable. When you think of it that way, it really takes the fun out of it. So why do it? A fancy dinner out every few months is one thing, but every week? You are just left with all of the above symptoms...and a growing tummy.

So what is transcendental then? For me, the best feelings I've had have been finishing Hill Day or running 12 miles without stopping. Now that is euphoric. In a lot of ways, you are choosing how you want to feel by picking one behavior over another. Want to feel good? Go run three miles. Want to beat yourself up for the rest of the day and feel gross? Eat the cupcake.

Take it one day at a time

I have to repeat this to myself a lot. Today is the only day that counts. I'm not going to stress about Saturday night or what I'm going to order at the movies (popcorn? Diet soda? Splurge or no splurge?). I just need to worry about today - lunch, dinner, what have you - and make the best decisions in the moment. That's it.

And no one meal is going to make you fat. It's a whole bunch of bad choices combined together that causes a person to put on ten (or more) pounds. You won't take the weight off with one meal; you won't put the weight on with one meal. It's a pattern and a history that gives you results. Make today count.

Find something you really like to do

Who knew six months ago I would really dig running hills with a bunch of strangers before the sun had even risen? Or rolling around in bird poop on a basketball court, doing the millionth "burpee" or Harley hold of the morning. (don't ask). But I do. I LOVE it. I love boot camp. It's challenging, it's a phenomenal workout, and everyday is different. I love, love, love it. And right now, I miss it.

Since boot camp has been on break, I've been bored to tears at the gym. I hate feeling cluttered down with stuff - my towel, magazine, water bottle, iPod that I schlep over to the cardio area. And wearing cotton socks again is not that exciting. I'm looking forward to the days where we are running the Super Loop again after completing a circuit of death carts. See? Fun.

But as my friend Sandy said, as I attempted to hard-sell her on joining boot camp, "Kim, I think you and I work out very differently." She's more of a "camp out on the elliptical with a good TV show on" kind-of gal. And that's cool. My friend Tara is the same way - but she loves to get lost in a good book. The fact is, whatever causes you to break a sweat - death carts, Hill Day, or books on the treadmill - do what you like. And do it a lot. :-)

I hope this was helpful to some of you. I'm going to post my (very, very) beginner tips on running tomorrow. It's never too late to get started!

Disclaimer: I am not, nor do I pretend to be, a physician, nutritionist, dietician, trainer, or even vaguely athletic. Therefore, my advice should be taken with a grain of salt and is provided mainly for entertainment purposes. If it does help you, that's wonderful. If it doesn't, this disclaimer prevents you from taking legal action against me. Thank you.

The race is in five days.

I alternate between feelings of excitement, terror, extreme anticipation -- and the occasional need to vomit.

I've never really trained for anything like this before. Aside from the wedding and Scotty's birth, I don't think I've been this anxious for an event to get under way.

Since August, I've been diligently logging my miles. And through the patient instruction of our coaches, I've learned how to tie my shoes the right way, wear the right clothing, run more than three miles at a time, and hydrate, eat, and Gu appropriately. For a sport that appears to require nothing more than a pair of legs, running is far more complicated that I expected. 

So far, the longest I've run is 12 miles. I did that at night in just over two hours -- a totally different feat than running in the morning, let me emphasize. Back in October and early November, I was logging up to 29 miles a week. I conquered the hills at Red Rock twice. I did a few 4:45am runs with friends, and the followed it up with a 60 minute boot camp session. Considering the last three months, my three mile run this morning was a breeze. I chatted with a friend through the whole thing and we did it in just over 33 minutes.

I literally cannot believe the changes in my body in just three short months. I feel strong. I feel capable. I feel good.

And right now, I am excited. I am nervous.

And I am ready.

Bring it.

The Las Vegas Rock 'n' Roll Half-marathon kicks off on Sunday, December 4th at 5:30pm. I'm happy to report that with five days left, I've lost zero toenails, have not pooped outside, and have not pooped in my pants. Based on those three points alone, I'm declaring this race an early success

Editor's Note: I'm here! I'm really here! I've taken a (much-needed) week off from blogging, but I am here and ready to go again.

I have about a million things to discuss, including the Indiana trip, the Bear as a future world-traveler (the kid travels better than I do...this is both encouraging and incredibly shaming), and what NOT to do in Junior League (read: practically everything I've done this week, which prompted a friend to call me "The Bridget Jones of Junior League." Thank you, thank you), but after my Facebook post yesterday about Hill Day, I thought that might be my first topic.

I wrote on my wall yesterday, "I love Hill Day. Even in the rain and the dark, I love Hill Day."

Hill Day. What is it? And why does Kim love it so much?

Several people thought I might be sarcastic, which is usually true about 90% of the time, but this time, I'm not. I really, really, really love running up hills at 6am in the morning. In the rain. And the dark. In fact, the darker, the better.

First, let me explain it. There's a group of about 30 (crazy) people that meet at this park in the morning. 6am to be exact. We pay to do this (I feel like this could be filed under "Crazy Sh*t Summerlin Folks Do") through a Boot Camp program. Each week day is different than the last, but on Tuesdays, everyone knows it's Hill Day. And because Vegas is strangely shaped, this park is no different. It's kind of like a giant basin with grass on the sides and some baseball diamonds on the inside.

So during Hill Day, we meet at the bottom of the basin by the baseball field, stand in a long line on the sidewalk, and run up and down the side of the basin as the coaches yell at us. We sprint up the hill, we run backwards, we high-knee up the hill...essentially every way you can think about running up a hill, we do it. There is something called "the superman," that involves putting your palms on the ground as far out in front of you that you can, and then jumping your feet towards your hands. Sometimes we superman up the hill. (I like to call this "the panda bear," since that is what I believe I resemble when I do this. The trainer once accused me of looking for bamboo, and he wasn't too far off base.)  My favorite is when everyone is lined up at the bottom, and the trainer makes us sprint one at a time up the hill. By the time the last person goes, the first person should already be back in place and ready to go again.

See what I mean? Fun.

And this Tuesday, Hill Day took on a new meaning. I almost missed Hill Day, having told Brian to set the alarm for 5:45am. (I should have been out the door by 5:45am). But I scurried down the stairs to take my place in line, in the dark, clutching my giant Costco water bottle (Mmm, Smart Water) and realized I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.  It was dark - like, black-of-night-dark, since the sun is rising later and later.  This was coupled with light drizzle that was falling, and after the first few sprints up the hill, I discovered we had tree branch roots to avoid as well. This had all the makings of a disaster.

But it wasn't, and it didn't. People were a little more careful due to the conditions, but there is something so...primal about running around before the sun rises. We were in the mud, the rain, and the dark. I could barely catch my breath and sweat poured down my forehead (and forehead wrinkle, likely deepening it). We eventually broke up into small groups to run sprints and laps, but man, it's kind of cool to have dirt stuck on your hands and mud smeared on your forehead before most the neighborhood has even woken up.

So that's why I love Hill Day. It's a crazy-hard work-out, it's dirty and messy, but it's a type of fun that most adults don't get to experience. We're all so prim and...clean most of the time. I really do look forward to Tuesday morning, despite my weekly anxiety on Monday nights ("What if I fall?" I lament to Brian. "I could break my ankle and then how would I take care of the Bear?" He usually just shakes his head and says something like, "...and we are PAYING for you to do this?") See? He doesn't get it. But I do.

And so do the rest of the those crazy Hill-Day-ers.

I'm off to pick the grass out of my shoes. 'Til next Tuesday!

# of miles in a half-marathon: 13.1

# of days until the Las Vegas Rock 'n' Roll 1/2 Marathon:  88

# of dollars it costs to run in the 1/2 Marathon: 140

# of miles I ran on Saturday: 4

# of minutes it took me to run 4 miles: 48:11

#, in degrees, of the average temperature in Vegas this time of year: 98

# of times I thought to myself, "Dear God, what have I signed myself up for?" in total panic: 27

# of years it's been since I bought new running shoes: 4

#, in minutes, the sales clerk at the shoe store spent telling me, in fairly graphic detail, about the dangers of ill-fitting running shoes and how runners are prone to lose toe nails due to this:  6

#, in seconds, it took me to decide to buy new shoes after hearing about toe-nail loss: 1.2

# of pairs of shoes I bought, in an effort to avoid losing my (still blue-painted) toe nails: 2

#, in minutes, I've spent thinking about toe-nail loss since Saturday: 45

# of people I knew running the 1/2 marathon 4 weeks ago: 0

# of people now I know running the 1/2: about 12

# of times I've asked Brian to run with me: 5

# of times he's emphatically said, "No, you are crazy, woman!": 5

# of miles I've run since Saturday: 10

# of times I've played Lady Gaga, J Lo, Ke$ha, or Britney on the iPod while chugging along: 3,000

# of "Hill Day" boot camp sessions I've attended in an effort to cross-train: 3

# of hills employed on Hill Day: 2 (aptly named, "the Big Hill" and "the Little Hill")

# of times we run up and down these stupid hills on Hill Day:  15,000*

# of times of times I think to myself, "I can't do this, I can't do this" while huffing and puffing and trying not to throw up last night's dinner: 15,000*

# of times I've failed to complete a run or finish Hill Day: 0

# of times I've finished a run or Hill Day and felt strong, powerful, and like I could take on the world?

Too many to count. :-)

Editor's note: With that said...

#, in terms of slices, of coconut cake I'm about to consume having successfully completed Hill Day this morning:

1.

Yum!

*approximately

3.5 pounds.

That's how much pumpkin bread I baked today.

(What? Did you really think I remembered to weigh myself after staying up waaaay too late watching election results, eating wasabi peas and drinking red wine? When your child is up at 6:01am, you barely remember who you are, let alone what you are supposed to do at that time of day.)

Seriously though, I think it's time for Weigh-In Wednesdays to be put on hold. And I'm counting on some major pounds coming off as a result of the surgery - not only do I have to fast for two days before, but I'm guessing the fibroid is a good 2 lbs. I mean, it has to be huge, right? And the doctor is removing it, so it's like instant weight loss. Excellent. And I'm guessing (hoping) some abdominal fat will break free during the operation and fall on the floor of the surgical room, giving me more instant weight loss. So once all of the fluids they pump me with ebb away, I've got my money on at least a solid five pound loss. Obviously, this will be countered by the fact that I am going to sit on my dead, lazy arse for the next several weeks, likely indulging in cookies and other delicious snacks, but just let me have my moment, okay?

Anyways...

We will resume Weigh-in Wednesdays probably around the first of the year. I see no point in starting 6 weeks after my surgery, since that puts us directly in the middle of the holiday season, and I don't really want to think about counting calories when surrounded by Christmas cookies, fancy cheeses, and turkey with all the trimmings. So I hate to be all cliched, but it will be a 'New Year' thing. Sorry. I'll probably burn calories just trying to battle my way on to the next available treadmill at the gym, the place is so bloody crowded that time of year. ::sigh::

Back to the pumpkin bread. It is amazing. Let me say that again: aMAZing. Totally delish. And I've baked a fair number of pumpkin breads in my life, and this one, by far, tops it. So without further adieu, here is the recipe, courtesy of allrecipes.com:

PUMPKIN SPICE BREAD

3 cups of sugar
1 cup of vegetable oil
4 eggs, lightly beaten
1 (16oz) can of solid pack pumpkin
3 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp ground cloves
1/2 tsp ground allspice
1/2 cup water

In a large bowl, combine sugar, oil, and eggs. Add pumpkin, mix well. In a separate bowl, combine the dry ingredients; add to the pumpkin mixture, alternating with water. Pour into 2 9x5x3 (or 3 8x3x3) greased pans and bake at 350 for 60-65 minutes (55 minutes if you use smaller pans.) Wait for your entire house to be filled with a wonderful aroma. Cool in pans for 10 minutes before removing; cool on wire racks until completely cool. Slather fancy European butter on a slice and watch Oprah. Love life.

Pretty good, huh?

Scotty loved it, too. (I'm sure the 3 cups of sugar helped.) I gave him part of mine and he mowed through it like a hungry bear. He is the best little snacker; he hangs out shoulder-level with me (while I sit on the floor) and he takes one delicate bite at a time. He is very serious when he snacks. It's hard for me to not snack on his cheeks when he is so close and cuddly.

Speaking of snacks, my friend Deana came up with a Nobel Peace Prize-winning idea, since it promotes good feeling between moms and their toddlers, and between toddlers and other toddlers. She calls it "Baby Chex Mix" and it's nothing short of ingenious. When your child has a good pincer grasp and can chew solids, this is the perfect snack food. And it takes them a solid 10 minutes to eat it (meaning more time for moms to talk to one another.) Just a tip though: serve it in spill-proof containers. Deana's little boy Jackson literally had Baby Chex Mix strewn on my floors from one end of the kitchen to another yesterday. Aside from Deana crawling around on her hands and knees, apologizing profusely while picking up teeny-tin, it was a huge hit with the kids. (This is why God made brooms.) 

BABY CHEX MIX

Cheerios
Puffs
Craisins
Raisins
Dried fruit for babies (like the Gerber or Earth's Best line), such as dried apples, mango, pineapple, and apricot.

Mix all together. Watch as your child eats and eats and eats and eats...(and watch carefully, since raisins can be a choking hazard.)

At our preschool Halloween party, I have never seen so many quiet, well-behaved children all snacking from their bowls in the same room. It was downright magical. Way to go, Deana!!

Forgive me if this entry is poorly written. I literally have about two minutes to write and 36 different things going on in my head.

First, weight: same.

::yawn::

Diet, blah, blah, blah. Exercise, blah, blah, blah. I've been to the gym a few times and am trying to be careful about what I'm eating. However, this past weekend, I was at the grocery store near in the dairy aisle and stumbled upon my all-time favorite butter (sad, I know, that I have a "favorite" butter.) It's this fancy-schmansy European kind that I indulged in while living in Ireland, and this little foil-wrapped packet of goodness jumped into my cart without a second thought. I made a bee-line for the bread aisle and stuffed some whole wheat English muffins in the cart as well, and let's just say, breakfast this week has never been more delicious.

So...yeah. Not good on the weight front, but so yummy on the taste buds.

And I'm okay with the lack of forward progress. I did follow Jill's advice last week and spent five minutes in front of a mirror, admiring my good features (in this order:  my hair, my teeth, my nose, my hands, and finally, my legs) and it was fun to think about things I like, not the things I want to change. During my mirror-gazing, I came to this realization: fat is a feeling, weight is a number. What I mean is you can feel "fat" at any weight - whether you are 190 lbs or look like Audrina Padridge (holy skinny cats!!). Likewise, you can feel great at any weight.  But weight - the number - exists as an objective measurement to help you have a goal AND a healthy size. Does that make sense? Either way, I've had my "fat" days and my "skinny" days, despite the number on the scale not moving much. I'm glad I still have a goal and weight or else I would totally lose motivation.

And I will admit...it's hard to find the motivation these days. I'm going to be cut open in less than two weeks. (just this morning, I was at Dr. Awesome's office for Scotty's flu booster shot, and I told her about the surgery, since it overlaps with his 15-month vaccine schedule. Her response? "So they are going to cut you open?" Really, doc? Really? Did you have to say it like that? That should be banned right along with 'bleed out.' ) I alternate between wanting to do a million sit-ups, since I won't have ab-usage for quite some time, and not doing any, thinking to myself, 'What' the use?'

And I'm not going to lie, in the back of my mind, I am secretly hoping George does a little nip/tuck while he's down there.

At present, there is a more present issue than body image and weight loss: separation anxiety. Holy moly, we are hitting a peak here people. Scotty cannot handle it if I leave the room even for a few seconds. I started to notice this a few weeks ago, namely at Music Lessons. During different times, we would have to get up and walk in a circle. Since Scotty was Little Mr. Independent then, he would never be next to me when we would start to walk. But all it took was for me to be 3 additional feet away from him (by my own doing) and he would glance around the room, frantically, scanning for his Momb. When his eyes met mine, it was like pure relief flooded the little guy...and then fury. You could practically read his thoughts: "Oh! Momb! She didn't leave me! Oh thank goodness! Wait, don't EVER do that to me again!"

Pout, pout, scream.

And it's only gotten worse since then. I left him with a baby-sitter last week and he pitched an ever-loving fit when I exited. She called me about 30 minutes later and said, "I don't think he was sad...I think he was just pissed. He hid on the other side of the kitchen island for a good five minutes, just screaming."

Oh wow.

And then on Thursday night, at Paid Humiliation, I handed him off to the swim instructor (like we've done for the past three months) -- with me no less than 2 feet away from him in the water -- and he began bellowing and shrieking like someone poured hot oil on him. He clawed away from her and for a second, I really thought he was going to start swimming (and kicking) just to get to me. But he just made some huge splashes and got me all wet.

He even does this to Brian. I'll run upstairs for something and within seconds, he's at the gate, shaking it like a mini King Kong, screaming "MEHHHHHHH!"

Let me tell you: so much fun.

Yesterday was the worst. Not only did he turn purple in the face when I left for a few seconds while at a friend's house (I had to unload stuff from my car), but he also woke up at 12:30am screaming. All it took was about 10 minutes of gentle rocking to calm him down, but I can, again, hear his little thought process: "Momb, don't leave. No Momb, no!!! You are never coming back! No stay here! EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

While this is all developmentally appropriate (SA peaks between the ages of 15-18 months), leaving for a solid 2.5 days isn't...yeah, the surgery (and time at the hospital) is really weighing on me. Two and a half days is like an eternity in toddler years. He really is going to think I've left and am never coming back. And then when I do return, I'm not going to be able to pick him up or bathe him or feed him, like our normal routine. I've been asking myself over and over again, "Should I be doing this?" and I keep coming up with...yes. So, we will just all have to bear the brunt of...the Bear.

Oh, and I've gotten a lot of questions re: the fibroid and the surgery. In order to address all of the them, be sure to tune in tomorrow for a very special post, one I am calling, 'Behind the Blog: The Untold Story of my Fibroid." Good stuff!