Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Just Another Day at the Gym
This story may or may not be true.
Prerequisite to reading: Women who have bore children must stop right now, and go potty. Then come back RIGHT AWAY to read this...don't get distracted and do something else. Come back immediately!
I like to get the most out of my possessions. I will wear my shoes until they just cannot be worn anymore. I have shirts from ten years ago. If something works perfectly fine, I don't replace it just because a new one would look nicer. You just need to know this about me.
A couple of years ago I had this workout bra that was a little faded, but it was functional. The elastic on it was not as tight as some of my newer workout bras, but it stayed in place when I moved around, so it was just fine with me. As a matter of fact, I often wore it simply because it was so soft and comfy. Now, I am a modest woman (most of the time....I have another story that would dispute this_ maybe you will get it later down the road) and I don't work out in just a sports bra. I always wear another top over it, but I hate to work out in a
T-shirt, so the top is usually a tank of some sort.
I also have this thin, soft, bright pink top with spaghetti straps. I usually use it for a night shirt, or just housecleaning, but this particular day, I thought it would suffice as a work-out top, to be worn over the navy blue worn out sports bra. Hot pink and navy blue do go nicely together at the gym. As it turns out, this was a deadly combination.
The group exercise room is pretty big. Two of its walls are mirrored, top to bottom, they are perpendicular to each other. A third wall is all glass, looking over the lower level of the gym, and the fourth wall is also glass, with the cardio machines on the other side. The gym is just like church. Everybody has their "spot". Mine was in the back of the room, in the corner where one of the mirrored walls and the windows overlooking the lower level met. I figured this was the safest place to participate with the least number of people watching me. Fortunately for me, on this day I had arrived early enough to snag my usual spot.
Everyone in the class had their benches assembled and we were moving into the chest press. Our benches were all set up so that when we were lying down, our feet were towards the mirrored wall that I was next to, so during this exercise I was actually at the front of the group, and the instructor was to our left. I hope you have a really good visual here.... I'm at the front of the room, wearing my soft, comfy, worn sports bra AND soft, comfy worn pink shirt.
For this lift, we put our mat on our bench, and lie down. We do 4 sets of 12 reps with our bar loaded up. I was really working hard, and was very sweaty! Some women say they "glow". Not me, I am a downright mess! No makeup on, hair in a ponytail, red-faced, and sweat pouring down my face, and dripping off my elbows. It's not pretty.
We finish the set, and I have sweat pooling in my eyes. I know from past experience that when I open my eyes, the sweat is going to burn! I decided to go ahead and wipe my eyes before opening them, so as I sat up, I grabbed the pink top and wiped my eyes. Nothing seemed unusual. Nothing felt odd. The shirt just pulled up and I wiped my eyes.
It wasn't until I opened my eyes that I realized something WAS unusual. Something WAS odd. Even more than that, something was TERRIBLY WRONG!
You see, my soft, comfy sports bra, and my soft, comfy pink shirt felt the same to me with my eyes closed. As I pulled up on the neck of my pink shirt, I was actually pulling up on my sports bra, and what happened was something I'd expect to see in some juvenile T&A movie that I would NEVER pay money to go see.
Yes, as I opened my eyes, stinging just a bit from the sweat that was already in them, I looked into the mirror I was facing and saw myself sitting there with sports bra in hand, and my right boobie hanging out. Not just a little bit, but COMPLETELY out. It was almost as if the bottom of my sports bra and the top of my pink shirt framed my boob perfectly.
I stared at myself for just a moment, and then noticed the young lady beside me. She looked about 20-ish, and I had never seen her there before. I think she was home from college, and had come to the gym with her mother. As you can imagine, her body was perfect! Her bosom had never nursed two children, and the look on her face was pure shock!
I smiled at her, tucked my mushy boob back in place, and said "I'm so sorry you had to see that." and went on with my workout. I burst into random laughing throughout the rest of the class, and afterwards explained to the instructor (who was also my friend) what had happened. She about peed her pants!
I don't really know if anyone else saw me that day, but I do know that young girl is probably scarred for life, and I'm pretty sure she'll be bottle feeding her child.
About 2 years have passed since that happened, and I am proud to say I am the owner of some VERY tight fitting Nike sports bras. There is no way in H-E-double toothpicks that I will ever be able to mistake my sports bra for my overshirt ever again!
I repeat, this story may or may not be true.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Chronicle of a Cheesecake
I think I can do anything. Seriously, I do. If another human being has ever done it, then I see no reason why I can't do it too. This line of thinking has been beneficial most of my life, and detrimental on occasion.
In the case of the cheesecake, it turns out I was right.
Many years ago, I was visiting with a friend about an annual fundraising event she and her husband had been attending through the years. It was a dessert auction that raised money for a worthwhile charitable cause. As she told me about the lives that had been changed through this organization, I was moved to help in some way.
My husband and I weren't able to attend the function and bid on desserts, but I knew I could donate a dessert at the very least. My friend told me that many different desserts were donated, but the ones that brought the most money were cheesecakes.
Now, I was not particularly fond of cheesecakes, and certainly had never baked one before, but hey, I could read and follow directions. I pulled out one of my favorite cookbooks that I knew would have a great recipe in it, and I found just the cheesecake to bake. It was a chocolate truffle cheesecake.
Sure enough, I followed those directions to a tee, and baked the most beautiful, delicious cheesecake I had ever tasted!
Wait a minute! If I was donating this cheesecake, how did I know it tasted so good you say?
Well, I also know myself well enough that I was pretty sure I couldn't just make one and donate it without even knowing what it tasted like, so i made two! If the one I donated was anything like the one I kept, then it was truly "to die for" good!
Auction night came, and although I wasn't in attendance, my friend told me my beautiful, luscious chocolate truffle cheesecake sold for $275!!
That was the start of my cheesecake career. Through the years, I have made more cheesecakes than I can keep track of. My favorite cheesecakes to make are the ones where I can be creative with their garnishings and decorations, like the pretty red swirls of a strawberry cheesecake, or the beautiful pattern on a tropical cheesecake. My very least favorite cheesecake to make is plain. I mean, come on! Plain? That's so boring!
Since I probably don't have too many followers of my blog, I will let you in on a little secret...the key to baking a perfectly done cheesecake is having mushy thighs. Yes, you read that correctly. It's all in the thighs. You see, when a cheesecake is ready to be taken out of the oven, you have to "bounce" the cake while it's still in the oven, to see how it feels. If it feels like your mushy thighs, then it's done. I don't mean the muscular part of your thigh, it's the upper part of your thighs, where your leg almost meets your hiney....I'll give you a minute to check your own thighs, because I know that's what you're doing right now.
Ok, have you got it?
That slightly firm, slightly bouncy feeling is what you're looking for in a perfectly baked cheesecake. After you pull it out of the oven and let it sit for an hour, it will continue to cook and firm up to the perfectly creamy texture that makes a cheesecake so great.
So there you have it. That's how I started making cheesecakes. I LOVE to make them now, and unfortunately, I LOVE to eat them, too. I guess you could say I'm just making sure that I never forget how a cheesecake should feel when it's done.
In the case of the cheesecake, it turns out I was right.
Many years ago, I was visiting with a friend about an annual fundraising event she and her husband had been attending through the years. It was a dessert auction that raised money for a worthwhile charitable cause. As she told me about the lives that had been changed through this organization, I was moved to help in some way.
My husband and I weren't able to attend the function and bid on desserts, but I knew I could donate a dessert at the very least. My friend told me that many different desserts were donated, but the ones that brought the most money were cheesecakes.
Now, I was not particularly fond of cheesecakes, and certainly had never baked one before, but hey, I could read and follow directions. I pulled out one of my favorite cookbooks that I knew would have a great recipe in it, and I found just the cheesecake to bake. It was a chocolate truffle cheesecake.
Sure enough, I followed those directions to a tee, and baked the most beautiful, delicious cheesecake I had ever tasted!
Wait a minute! If I was donating this cheesecake, how did I know it tasted so good you say?
Well, I also know myself well enough that I was pretty sure I couldn't just make one and donate it without even knowing what it tasted like, so i made two! If the one I donated was anything like the one I kept, then it was truly "to die for" good!
Auction night came, and although I wasn't in attendance, my friend told me my beautiful, luscious chocolate truffle cheesecake sold for $275!!
That was the start of my cheesecake career. Through the years, I have made more cheesecakes than I can keep track of. My favorite cheesecakes to make are the ones where I can be creative with their garnishings and decorations, like the pretty red swirls of a strawberry cheesecake, or the beautiful pattern on a tropical cheesecake. My very least favorite cheesecake to make is plain. I mean, come on! Plain? That's so boring!
Since I probably don't have too many followers of my blog, I will let you in on a little secret...the key to baking a perfectly done cheesecake is having mushy thighs. Yes, you read that correctly. It's all in the thighs. You see, when a cheesecake is ready to be taken out of the oven, you have to "bounce" the cake while it's still in the oven, to see how it feels. If it feels like your mushy thighs, then it's done. I don't mean the muscular part of your thigh, it's the upper part of your thighs, where your leg almost meets your hiney....I'll give you a minute to check your own thighs, because I know that's what you're doing right now.
Ok, have you got it?
That slightly firm, slightly bouncy feeling is what you're looking for in a perfectly baked cheesecake. After you pull it out of the oven and let it sit for an hour, it will continue to cook and firm up to the perfectly creamy texture that makes a cheesecake so great.
So there you have it. That's how I started making cheesecakes. I LOVE to make them now, and unfortunately, I LOVE to eat them, too. I guess you could say I'm just making sure that I never forget how a cheesecake should feel when it's done.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Phidippides needed a cardiologist
Do you know the legend of the marathon? Well let me tell you...
The traditional origin of the marathon comes from the story how a herald named Phidippides ran the 26 miles from Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory and died on the spot. Phidippides was sent by the Athenians to Sparta to ask for help; a man named Eukles announced the victory to the Athenians and then died. Later sources confused the story of Phidippides, also called "Philippides," with that of Eukles. Although most ancient authors do not support this legend, the story has persisted and is the basis for the modern-day marathon.
A few years ago I had this gradiose dream of running a half marathon. I'd seen pictures and videos of friends and unknown strangers crossing a finish line, and I wanted to experience that. Sweat-soaked shirts, expression of angst on their faces, yet radiating this undescribeable glow of accomplishment that I wanted.
So I began to run. It started with my son, in 5th grade at the time, complaining that they had to run a mile in PE. Just one mile. I told him that wasn't so hard, and that I would come and run it with his class.
Sure enough, on "mile day" I checked in at the office, got my neon green sticker with a photo of my driver's license on it, and went to PE. Yes, I ran around the field with 30 or so 5th graders, and ran one mile in just under 12 minutes. It's a good thing I didn't start my running endeavor now, because I'm pretty sure my son would be HORRIFIED if I showed up to run with his football team, now that he's in high school. It is a thought, though. Anyways, back to the topic at hand.
One mile at PE became 2 miles at the gym, and before I knew it, I was participating in my first 5K. I actually PAID to run over 3 miles. My friend, Michelle, and I ran together and we had two goals: run the whole thing, and pass a man. We accomplished both.
A few months later, we signed up for a 10K race, and again paid money to run even farther than before. As the race drew near, I came down with the flu. My training took a backseat as I tried to get better. Race day approached, and I was not fully recovered. Determined, I ran the race and came in....you guessed it....DEAD LAST. The only person behind me was the guy driving the golf cart collecting the orange cones. That was awesome.
A few months after that, Michelle convinced me that we could go ahead and set our sights on the half marathon. THE race I had been dreaming of running. We again started training, but many times our schedules conflicted, so we had to run on our own. This one particular Saturday we were going to do a 10 mile run together. It was on a day that I had to work, so I was up at 4am, and worked on my feet all morning until 10, and then we were going to run as soon as I got home. We started out, and at first, it wasn't so bad. However, the grey clouds overhead started raining on us, the wind came up, and I was miserable. I was cold, tired, and so incredibly sore. I thought my knees were going to explode! That day was too much for me, and I quit running. Michelle continued on, and ran the 1/2 marathon that we had trained for. Looking at her finish line picture was painful, knowing that I had been THIS CLOSE to crossing that finish line with her. I was THIS CLOSE to having that sense of accomplishment that was written all over her body.
That was in February 2010. For the remainder of that year, the Half Marathon Monster would tease me on a monthly basis. It would say taunting things like: "You could have done that", "You gave up too soon" , or even "Running wasn't really THAT bad".
I knew I needed to overcome this monster once and for all, so in January of this year, I set my mind to running again. I found a training schedule that looked like it would work for me, and I stuck to it! April 10, 2011, I ran the Big D Half Marathon, with my friend, Michelle, (whom I affectionately call my Running Doula) at my side. It was everything I had hoped it would be. Fun, exciting, nerve-wrecking, painful, deplorable, fulfilling, and thrilling all at the same time. I crossed that finish line, crying, in pain, and my face full of angst, yet I know my accomplishment was radiating from me. Aside from childbirth, it was likely the most difficult thing I have ever done.
Last week, I was at the Dr's office with my daughter, for an ear infection. I mentioned to the Dr. that I was having hives from some medicine I had been on, and she offered to give me a steroid shot. She gave me a quick check, and listened to my heart before the shot, and said "Hmmm....I think I hear a heart murmur."
I actually had an appointment set for the next day with my Gyn, so she told me to ask him to listen to my heart and ask him his opinion as well. So I did. Sure enough, he heard it. Faint, but still there.
I made an appointment for the cardiologist for the following week, and now here we are.
Sitting in Dr. Santos' office this morning, he looked at the printout from my EKG. There was an abnormality on the printout, so he asked me some questions. Exercise was one of the topics, of course, and so I told him I had just completed a half marathon last month. His head perked up, and his eyes got bright. "Well that might just be it" he says.
Turns out, running like that can cause "temporary heart damage". What?? All of this wonderful cardiovascular exercise I had been doing may have actually caused damage?
Yes, Virginia, running something like a half marathon may cause heart damage.
All I could do was laugh.
Whether the origin of the Marathon is accurate or not doesn't really matter. Maybe if Phidippides had seen the cardiologist, he would have known that running from Marathon to Athens wasn't such a great idea after all.
I think that as part of my cardiovascular recovery, I'm going to sit on the couch and eat donuts.
The traditional origin of the marathon comes from the story how a herald named Phidippides ran the 26 miles from Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek victory and died on the spot. Phidippides was sent by the Athenians to Sparta to ask for help; a man named Eukles announced the victory to the Athenians and then died. Later sources confused the story of Phidippides, also called "Philippides," with that of Eukles. Although most ancient authors do not support this legend, the story has persisted and is the basis for the modern-day marathon.
A few years ago I had this gradiose dream of running a half marathon. I'd seen pictures and videos of friends and unknown strangers crossing a finish line, and I wanted to experience that. Sweat-soaked shirts, expression of angst on their faces, yet radiating this undescribeable glow of accomplishment that I wanted.
So I began to run. It started with my son, in 5th grade at the time, complaining that they had to run a mile in PE. Just one mile. I told him that wasn't so hard, and that I would come and run it with his class.
Sure enough, on "mile day" I checked in at the office, got my neon green sticker with a photo of my driver's license on it, and went to PE. Yes, I ran around the field with 30 or so 5th graders, and ran one mile in just under 12 minutes. It's a good thing I didn't start my running endeavor now, because I'm pretty sure my son would be HORRIFIED if I showed up to run with his football team, now that he's in high school. It is a thought, though. Anyways, back to the topic at hand.
One mile at PE became 2 miles at the gym, and before I knew it, I was participating in my first 5K. I actually PAID to run over 3 miles. My friend, Michelle, and I ran together and we had two goals: run the whole thing, and pass a man. We accomplished both.
A few months later, we signed up for a 10K race, and again paid money to run even farther than before. As the race drew near, I came down with the flu. My training took a backseat as I tried to get better. Race day approached, and I was not fully recovered. Determined, I ran the race and came in....you guessed it....DEAD LAST. The only person behind me was the guy driving the golf cart collecting the orange cones. That was awesome.
A few months after that, Michelle convinced me that we could go ahead and set our sights on the half marathon. THE race I had been dreaming of running. We again started training, but many times our schedules conflicted, so we had to run on our own. This one particular Saturday we were going to do a 10 mile run together. It was on a day that I had to work, so I was up at 4am, and worked on my feet all morning until 10, and then we were going to run as soon as I got home. We started out, and at first, it wasn't so bad. However, the grey clouds overhead started raining on us, the wind came up, and I was miserable. I was cold, tired, and so incredibly sore. I thought my knees were going to explode! That day was too much for me, and I quit running. Michelle continued on, and ran the 1/2 marathon that we had trained for. Looking at her finish line picture was painful, knowing that I had been THIS CLOSE to crossing that finish line with her. I was THIS CLOSE to having that sense of accomplishment that was written all over her body.
That was in February 2010. For the remainder of that year, the Half Marathon Monster would tease me on a monthly basis. It would say taunting things like: "You could have done that", "You gave up too soon" , or even "Running wasn't really THAT bad".
I knew I needed to overcome this monster once and for all, so in January of this year, I set my mind to running again. I found a training schedule that looked like it would work for me, and I stuck to it! April 10, 2011, I ran the Big D Half Marathon, with my friend, Michelle, (whom I affectionately call my Running Doula) at my side. It was everything I had hoped it would be. Fun, exciting, nerve-wrecking, painful, deplorable, fulfilling, and thrilling all at the same time. I crossed that finish line, crying, in pain, and my face full of angst, yet I know my accomplishment was radiating from me. Aside from childbirth, it was likely the most difficult thing I have ever done.
Last week, I was at the Dr's office with my daughter, for an ear infection. I mentioned to the Dr. that I was having hives from some medicine I had been on, and she offered to give me a steroid shot. She gave me a quick check, and listened to my heart before the shot, and said "Hmmm....I think I hear a heart murmur."
I actually had an appointment set for the next day with my Gyn, so she told me to ask him to listen to my heart and ask him his opinion as well. So I did. Sure enough, he heard it. Faint, but still there.
I made an appointment for the cardiologist for the following week, and now here we are.
Sitting in Dr. Santos' office this morning, he looked at the printout from my EKG. There was an abnormality on the printout, so he asked me some questions. Exercise was one of the topics, of course, and so I told him I had just completed a half marathon last month. His head perked up, and his eyes got bright. "Well that might just be it" he says.
Turns out, running like that can cause "temporary heart damage". What?? All of this wonderful cardiovascular exercise I had been doing may have actually caused damage?
Yes, Virginia, running something like a half marathon may cause heart damage.
All I could do was laugh.
Whether the origin of the Marathon is accurate or not doesn't really matter. Maybe if Phidippides had seen the cardiologist, he would have known that running from Marathon to Athens wasn't such a great idea after all.
I think that as part of my cardiovascular recovery, I'm going to sit on the couch and eat donuts.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Moving stinks
We are moving. It's just 4 miles down the road, but it might as well be 1000 miles.
My back is sore.
My feet are sore.
I'm grouchy with my family, and it's not fair.
I'd really like to have a glass of water, but my glasses are still at the other house.
It's been over a week since I've actually made something more homemade than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I am SO SICK of eating out!
I think tomorrow might be the point at which we "turn the corner" and actually live more at the new address than the old one.
There's some corn on the cob in the refrigerator, and I'm bound and determined to cook it for dinner tomorrow night. Corn on the cob might be all we eat, but by golly, we're going to eat SOMETHING home cooked!
My back is sore.
My feet are sore.
I'm grouchy with my family, and it's not fair.
I'd really like to have a glass of water, but my glasses are still at the other house.
It's been over a week since I've actually made something more homemade than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I am SO SICK of eating out!
I think tomorrow might be the point at which we "turn the corner" and actually live more at the new address than the old one.
There's some corn on the cob in the refrigerator, and I'm bound and determined to cook it for dinner tomorrow night. Corn on the cob might be all we eat, but by golly, we're going to eat SOMETHING home cooked!
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