Queen of the Hill

Today was day one of marathon training. After six months and two weeks of NOTHING. 

My stitches don't come out until tomorrow, but my ankle has felt so great.....

So when the VERY SAME LADIES that I was with the day I broke my ankle called and asked if I was ready to head up Lost Lake Trail, how could I refuse? Sure....darling Dr. Chang said that I should be wearing a boot, but I think that was just a suggestion....right?

As I was getting dressed love-of-my-life-wilderness-rescue-man opened one eye and peeked out from under the covers. He noted that I was not dressing for a little walk around the neighborhood.

He is a trained observer, you know.

He asked where I was going. He has been just a wee bit protective since he organized my 

oh-honey-don't-worry-but-I-need-your-help-because-I've-fallen-and-I-cant-get-up-and-I'm-laying-in-the-woods-a-couple-miles-from-the-car rescue.

When I told him I would be going up the trail with the broken ankle posse, he decided to get dressed and go with us. He even brought a gun with bear bullets for good measure.

All that worry for nothing. The first training hike is complete. Really can't call it a run, but we climbed 700 feet over a mile and descended with no problems. Not even a bear.

Oh. Dear. Me. Oh. My. I just signed up for another marathon. I understand you may not be as excited/concerned/afraid as I am, but then again, I am the one with stitches still in my ankle.

What happened you ask? Well, last November, I was training for a 50K.

 

And then, I decided to catch up to my training partners. On a downhill. With my spikes in my backpack. Instead of on my feet. 

Silly girl, spikes are for feet, not backpacks.

Oops. That hurt. Your arch should NEVER touch your calf. That is bad. Very bad. Quite painful, in fact. But then the nice doctor put this lovely plate in and made my bones right again.

The only teeny tiny itsy bitsy problem was that it turns out my body was not so keen on that plate. 

Nor the screws.

So last week, I had them back out.

And today, I signed up to run a marathon.

The End.

Or maybe, The Beginning.

Brooke's TNT Marathon Page

I'm Not That Kind of Girl

Dear Nick, Nickie-Poo-Poo, Nickles & Pickles, Hon, Man-O-My-Dreams,

I miss you so much my heart aches and I can't quite catch my breath and I feel kind of mopey and discombobulated.

I am just not normally that kind of girl.

Really. I don't believe in letting boys do this to me.

But I miss you. And I don't really want to tell you how much until after you get home because I don't want you to worry or be sad because I am so thrilled that you are chasing your dream right now.

I must be really out of sorts because I don't even feel like blogging or facebooking or tweeting or anything. I don't even want to type LOL.

And I feel like a schmuck for being such a sap because Debbie's husband is deployed and she isn't whining randomly on the Internet.

So I promise to stop whining. Promise-Serious. I want you to know that I am really proud of you. I believe in you!

Love,

B


P.S. I think the cure for feeling like I can't quite catch my breath is to run a half marathon next Sunday. Then I definitely won't be able to catch my breath.

Operation Chubby Bubby Phase 2

With less than eight weeks to go until the Humpy's Half Marathon, I put together a potential training schedule.

Ouch. I am sweating just thinking about it.

The schedule might be aggressive (I would love your comments on this), but I have three goals for this segment of my training:

1. Improve my speed. I would like to finish under 2:30. Don't laugh. To all my non-runner friends, trust me, this is slow. Speed walkers will (and have) beat me.

2. Lose 10 more pounds. To my runner friends and coaches, yes, I know, training is not time to lose weight, but this is a journey from chubby-bubby to athlete, remember?

3. To not run into another dead baby T-Rex.

At least, that's what I thought it was in the dark. In Hawaii. Delirious from a 10 mile run in the heat and humidity. In the dark. Did I mention it was dark?

The Longest Three Miles

How is it that three miles can feel SO hard, so long, so UPHILL, so are-you-kidding-me-with-this-huffing-and-puffing, and so darn sweaty when the first 15 miles of a marathon seemed so easy?

We ran 29 minutes last night, 2.9 miles. My feet had swollen two sizes by the time we were done. And somehow, I managed to sweat away every last bit of hydration I have taken in since the marathon.

H-Bomb ran with us. He actually ran ahead of us, behind us, around us, up hills next to us, further than us, and still managed to beat us to the end. It's good to be 14.

He just told me he wants to do a marathon with me next year. He wants to qualify for Boston. It almost brought a tear to my eye, but I had no body fluid left.

I think he can qualify for Boston if he sticks to his training. Even if he wants to qualify just for the trip.

I love my son.

26.2

We did it. We actually did it. We ran 26.2 miles. I promise to tell you all about it right after I soak my feet in ice, examine my blisters, ponder the toenail that is peeling off, exchange back rubs with Nick, recover from marathon brain and cuss the tank trails one more time.

In the meanwhile...here are a few highlights thanks to our friends along the trail:

Our friends Dena and Bill met us at mile 17.8 and refilled our water bottles:


It was an amazingly joyous feeling to see friends nearly 18 miles into our run, especially after the dreaded eight miles of tank trails.

At mile 21, we came around a corner to find another friend (and amazing photographer), Teresa.

Our friend Gia and her two girls were just around the corner at mile 21.2 with encouraging words.

We had a gaggle of good friends and family at the finish line, and the sight of all of their familiar faces meant more than I can express right now.

Thank you to all of our friends and family for your support, your donations, and your feigned interest in our nine millionth discussion of running, training, and marathons.

The History of Pacemaker

When we first met Pacemaker, Nick and I nicknamed her "San Diego", because she is from {surprise} San Diego and because we lacked originality due to exhaustion from those early, strenuous training runs.

When she was just San Diego to us, I thought San Diego and I ran about the same pace. We seemed like a good match in both temperament and speed. San Diego saved me when Nick was out with his achilles injury. She ran with me and we talked for the entire two hour run. Having a running partner makes all the difference - I am amazed by how fast the time passes if there is good conversation and laughter. Plus, there is the added bonus that she drops the f-bomb with conviction as much as I do (sorry, mom).

San Diego's name evolved to Pacemaker when I saw her true inner runner. Her inner runner is really fast. My first real glimpse of this was during a Torture Tuesday. Torture Tuesdays are when we do our tempo runs. Our entire group sets off together and runs a very slow warm up together for 15-20 minutes. We then move into the tempo portion, and run at our maximum effort for 20 minutes. This is followed by a 15-20 minute cool down.

My goals during during Torture Tuesdays:

1. Don't stop.
2. Don't vomit.
3. Don't pass out.

I have succeeded thus far.

When the team changes to tempo pace, here is what happens: Nick and Prison Guard take the lead, unless Nick is on the injured list. Coach Perky has no problem keeping up or catching up to the boys if she spends time in the back of the pack with us.

Pacemaker is next. Wow. She is fast. The first time she pulled away from me and I foolishly attempted to keep up, I changed her name to Pacemaker, because she sets a pace I would like to achieve. Pacemaker is also fitting as I may need a pacemaker if I keep trying to catch that woman.

DTM is next, he amazes me on the shorter runs - I just can't keep up with him. Finally, there is H3, also known as Holly-Hell-Hills for her love and ferocity when it comes to hill workouts. H3 is a hockey player and runs beautifully, as if she is gliding on ice. H3 and I run the same tempo pace for around 17 minutes. Unlike H3, I do not run beautifully. There is a lot of huffing and puffing and arm swinging and sweating when I run. It's not pretty.

The last three minutes of the tempo portion, H3 invariably pulls away from me with a burst of speed and stamina that I lack. Or, it could be that my sweating, flailing, huffing and puffing body gives her the motivation to run away, far, far away.

You may be getting the picture by now. I'm the slowest non-walker. But I'm still running, and loving every minute of it.

Saturday Surprises

Coffee. Hot, steaming, strong black coffee.

Eggs. Fluffy, scrambled eggs.

Fruit Salad. Not the cool-whip-coconut-canned-fruit-cocktail kind, but the fresh mango and banana kind. Mmmmmm.

Sausage. Hot, tasty, good old fashioned pork sausage.

Bacon. No need to say more. Okay, I will. Bacon.





Sorry, I was overcome by the thought of glorious pig fat.

Monkey Bread. Cinnamon, sugar, pull apart goodness. I might be in love. This was my first monkey bread experience. Buddha have mercy on my soul, I nearly proposed to the maker. Then I remembered he is married to my friend and I love Nick. Instead, I had seconds.

Oh yeah, there was juice, too.


So this was the glorious breakfast prepared by SuperCool for our ENTIRE team while we were out running 10-11 miles on the hilly gravel tank trails. SuperCool is the husband of Pacemaker. He has a funky-intelligent-urbanite-groovy-NPR-wry-sense-of-humor-hip kind of vibe. We like SuperCool. He and Pacemaker are absolutely adorable together. Ohhhhh and their children. Beautiful babies.

Anyhoodle. On to the point.

Our starting location changed this last Saturday from Bartlett High School to the tank trails. During the Mayor's Marathon, we will run a portion of the race on the tank trail. You can read a blurb about the trail here. Or, better yet, you can check out the elevation (miles 7-15) here. Honestly, I was a wee bit nervous about this portion of the race, and Saturday's run did me a world of good.

When we arrived at our designated meeting spot, our first surprise was a very fun "GO TEAM!" sign hung on Pacemaker and SuperCool's garage door. Turns out that they live at the end of the street we were to park on to access the tank trails.

The second surprise came two-thirds of the way through our run: the discovery of some bear paw prints on the southern portion of the trail which led to an immediate turn around and re-routing of our run to the north. Surprise may not be entirely true, as we were all very aware of the likelihood of running into a bear on the trail after last summer. Two members of our team wore bear bells and several carried bear spray. {The joys of training in Alaska}

Our final surprise was the wonderful breakfast (menu above) that Pacemaker and SuperCool hosted at the end of the run.

The training process has been a fabulous journey so far. When we started, I really didn't perceive any motivators beyond raising money for a good cause while losing some weight. Now, I find that the camaraderie and new found friends are huge motivators. I am so amazed that everyone on our team is so great. We are all feeding from each other's strengths and stories to do something better for others....how incredible is that?

Sweet Sixteen

Sixteen glorious miles. Never thought I would call a sixteen mile run glorious. Ever.

It was unbelievable.

I am starting to think I may actually be able to complete the marathon. You probably didn't realize that up until the sixteen mile run, I had some doubts.

I'm really starting to enjoy this running stuff. Anyone wanna meet me next Saturday?

Sweaty Beast

Sooo....on my journey from chubby-bubby to athlete I have learned a little something. So has everyone who runs with me.

I sweat.

Wickedly.

I'm not talking a little feminine perspiration. I'm talking DRENCHED. I think Under Armour, REI and Nike should hire me to test the wicking capability of their clothes.

I sweat so much you can smell the sodium. No joke. After we are done running, I have streaks of white salt down my face.

When we did the Heart Run with our team a few weeks ago, San Diego and Perky joked that I could serve as the team's salt lick for sodium replenishment.

I sweat so much I have to take additional salt in while I exercise or my blood pressure drops too low from the electrolyte imbalance.

I sweat so much that our head coach, Drill Sergeant, felt the need to tell me, "You sweat. A lot." This was hurtful because (1) it was in front of the group, (2) her normally adorable face was squinched up as if she was looking at a smelly pile of dog poo, and (3) it is true.

Last week, as I was ending my Nirvana run back at the house, Nick and the kids pulled up on their bicycles. Big C looked at me, very confused and asked, "Did you just take a shower?"

It was sweat.

I am a sweaty super freak.

Nirvana

I just realized that I haven't written anything for two weeks now, and that maybe, just maybe, this blogging stuff is harder than running. At least I don't sweat as much while writing. At least not on the outside.

I want you to know that I have still been running, just not writing.

Our training schedule consists of five runs a week plus cross training, and, in an ideal world, some strength training and ab workouts. Real life, the spawn, the dog, the two-fish-thank-you-Jen, jobs, school, the lawn, the badly-needs-a-remodel-house, my parents, our friends, and the fact that all those mouths in our house expect to be fed before 10PM often get in the way.

Anyhoodle, our ideal training schedule looks like this:

Mondays - Rest, Abs, Strength
Tuesdays - Tempo Run (currently 50 minutes)
Wednesdays - Run (currently 40 minutes), Abs, Strength
Thursdays - Run (currently 50 minutes), Abs, Strength
Fridays - Total Rest
Saturdays - Long Run (this weekend is 140 minutes or so, maybe 13.5 miles)
Sundays - Run (30 minutes), Abs, Strength

I will tell you right now we almost always skip that darn Sunday run. Mostly because I can barely walk on Sundays. Now that it is nicer weather, I promise to be better - or at least ride the bike on Sundays.

Last night, after work Nick and I set off for our 50 minute run. We didn't have a babysitter, so the three youngest spawn rode their bikes with us. The plan was to run a loop through the neighborhood for 15-20 minutes, deposit the kids at the elementary school playground, and run the last 30 minutes while the kids played. We brought our dog Unagi, too. She has been missing out on our runs because dogs aren't allowed to run with our team.

Have I mentioned that the first mile always SUCKS? {Sorry Mom} The first mile my legs felt tight and heavy. I was out of breath almost immediately. My calves were burning. I was hot and sweaty after 1/3 of a mile. Ohhhhhhh and then those evil thoughts crept in..."If we turn around, no one has to know", "I could tell Nick I have an injury", "I'm not fat, I'm voluptuous", "Starvation would be easier than this", and my recent favorite, "Who said there was anything wrong with WALKING a marathon?"

And then Unagi decided to help motivate me. She pooped in the middle of the sidewalk. I have found that when you are a chubby-bubby-turning-athlete-training-for-a-marathon you must look for motivation in all things. Yesterday it was dog poop. Promise serious. Motivational dog poop. Coming to a running store near you.

The motivation in the sidewalk pooping was that we got to stop running long enough for her to finish her business and for Nick to pick it up. {You didn't think I picked it up, did you? One-hundred pound dogs poop a LOT. I'm not sure I could manage that load, even with the strength training.} For some strange reason, my legs and breath decided to cooperate after we started running again. Unfortunately, Nick wasn't feeling the motivation from the dog poop. It may have even been de-motivational dog poop for him. By the time we got to the school, Nick told me to go on without him, he was done for the day. We had only run 18 minutes and had 32 minutes of running left.

I am a wimp. I don't like to run alone. Running with Nick and/or our training team helps to motivate me. I was really tempted to stop running and just walk the rest of the time with Nick and then something truly bizarre happened. I found my inner athlete. I knew she was hiding under that cellulite!

I decided that finishing the run was a test of my commitment. I changed the mode on my watch from distance to pace (so I wouldn't slow down without a faster runner) and decided to run an out and back course rather than winding through the neighborhood. I set the goal to keep my pace around a 10:16 minute mile, with an allowance for hills. I ran west on Northern Lights, into the sun. The "out" leg of my run was mostly uphill, although the incline is so gradual that I had never noticed when riding in my car. I was tempted to move off of the road and onto the Coastal Trail, but honestly, I was too scared to run alone on the trail. I spent some time thinking about my fear, trying to decide if I was being a ninny or being safe. I couldn't decide...what do you think?

I would love to tell you that those 32 minutes were glorious, that you should all go out and immediately buy running shoes and start training today to reach athletic Nirvana, but I would be lying. Webster's second definition of Nirvana (after the first definition of the final beatitude that transcends suffering) is, "a place or state of oblivion to care, pain, or external reality."

Hmmphhhh. Oblivion to care? I don't think so....I ran along the road, watching out for cars, looking for moose, minding my footfall on the loose gravel, watching for frost heaves, keeping an eye on the scary looking man on a POS bicycle, and wondering exactly who was in the trees when I smelled cigarettes and saw no cars or bikes nearby. Oblivion to pain? No....I was all too aware of the cycle: shoulders (drop arms, shake loose), lungs (focus on breath), lower back (stand tall), knees (watch frost heaves), shins (watch footfall), and back to shoulders. Oblivion to external reality? How do you transcend sweating so profusely that the dust from the road is causing a mudslide down your face?

But I did it. And I loved every minute of it.

Worst Run of the Season

Oy.



Wednesday night was not fun. At all. Wednesday night, in fact, was the kind of night that makes me wonder why in the heck we are training for a marathon....and who is to blame for our madness???

Nick and I met up with the Team in Training running group for a 40 minute run on the Coastal Trail. Perky was the coach last night. She is hard not to like; she is energetic and bubbly and nice and runs REALLY REALLY fast. Mentor was also there. He is one of the people to be named later in my Finger Pointing series because of a very inspirational speech we heard him give detailing his transformation from one of us (beer drinking, smoking, everyday guy) to one of them (athlete, runner, marathoner, Boston marathoner). He also runs REALLY REALLY fast.

The two team members that showed up for the run (besides Nick and I) were DTM and Prison Guard. Prison Guard is not actually a prison guard. He is a first time 26.2 marathoner but has run Mt. Marathon a couple times. I fantasize about running Mt. Marathon, scrabbling up the mountain on all four as fast as I can, descending in a cloud of dust and rock, running bloody and scraped to the finish line. I know, it is a weird fantasy. I can't help it.

DTM is one of my favorites. DanTheMan if you must know. DTM is like me, he is a chubby-bubby and he sweats. DTM also doesn't stop. He runs and runs and runs - it is quite inspirational. Did I mention I like DTM?

Anyhoodle. We started running and I immediately regretted my shoe choice. Nick and I had both optimistically worn our summer shoes after the previous day's run. On Tuesday, we had worn our studded winter shoes on roads that were in fact, bone dry. So now, on Wednesday, we made the opposite error. We both wore lightweight, unstudded shoes on soft snowy trail.

Alaska has three seasons: a nine month winter, a two month summer and one month of breakup. Breakup is the long, ugly, depressing period after winter and before summer that we are in right now. The 70+ inches of snow that fell over the course of the winter have morphed into layers of hard-pack, dirt, and ice. As the layers start to melt, they expose a winter's worth of our sins: litter and an extraordinary amount of dog poop. The gravel we relied upon for chemical-free traction on the ice all winter leaves the town dusty and many of our cars with spider cracks on our windshields. During this time period, the ground is still frozen enough under the blanket of old snow and ice that not all of the run-off is absorbed, and so our sewer drains back up quickly, creating lakes of ice water on the roads and along the trails. Ohhhhhh and how lovely it smells. Mmmmmm, melted dog poop and trash. Yum.

Nick and I were running through this wet, mucky, gravely snow in our lightweight, breathable summer shoes. Almost immediately, Perky, Prison Guard and Mentor pulled away and took the lead. My inner competitive self attempted to keep up, but honestly, I just couldn't do it. Running in that wet, sloggy, gravely snow mixed with puddles felt like a bad dream, the one where you run and run as hard and fast as you can, but you just don't get anywhere. With each step, my feet were slipping, my ankles were twisting, my feet were getting wet up to the ankles and, really, I wanted to cry. But that would have made me a wuss. And lord knows I couldn't let the boys see me cry. So I sucked it up and started saying the alphabet over and over in my head in an attempt to distract myself.

DTM started to pull away from Nick and I, leaving us in last place. Yes, I know it is not a race, but last place is last place, period. Dan-the-Man had left us in the dust and we were now officially the back of the pack for our first time in the season.

Then Nick started walking. His achilles was flaring up from the stress of the terrain. Normally I would have walked with him, but Nick told me to keep going, to try to catch up with the others. I realized that Nick was going to keep trying to run unless I agreed to leave him behind, so I set off in a futile attempt to get closer to the other runners. The coastal trail is a hilly, winding trail and fairly quickly I lost sight of both Nick behind me and DTM in front of me. I have the least amount of motivation when I run alone and I was summoning every fiber of my being to just keep running.

Mind you, this whole time my agony was compounded because the coastal trail was busy, and other, better, faster runners were passing me like they were running on dry pavement. One especially jovial, must-be-an-alien-or-a-superhero-in-disguise runner felt the need to shout to me, "Great pace! Keep up the good work!" I was so exhausted and out of breath that I couldn't even muster a "thanks", instead, I mumbled, "tthhhkkyyy". Huh?

Then I saw the most delightful sight. I saw a vision that lifted my soul and gave me the energy to to keep going, a vision so fantastic that the theme to Rocky started playing in my brain.

It was DTM running towards me. We had reached the time for turn-around.

I am weak minded. I am Pavlov's dog. As soon as we turned around, my legs found strength, my lungs expanded, and suddenly I was able to pick up pace because my body knows this is the second half of the run, and the faster I run, the sooner it will be over. Even DTM noticed my increase in pace! When we reached Nick, he started to jog with us and within a few minutes, Perky, Prison Guard and Mentor caught up with us, too.

And then we caught up with Mama Moose. And her calf. On the trail. We were stuck on the South side of the trail with three walkers and the moose would not take her eyes off of us. We tried waiving our arms, clapping, moving as a group, but she would have none of it. She kept taking steps towards us, posturing and bluffing. Finally, we climbed down off the trail and passed her in the lower section of the woods, using the trees to keep her from having a clear charging path. We trudged through the piles of snow with our wet shoes, laughing and chatting and agreeing that only Alaskan runners understand our trail hazards. My body started to cool and I shivered from my sweat and thought:

Oh how I love Alaska.

Finger Pointing, Part III

This morning we woke up later than we had planned but decided to run anyway. We didn't head out the door until after 6:30, so we were cutting our timing close.

Our morning activity list included: 4.91 mile run, 1 hopefully-not-serious calf injury (Nick), breakfast for 5, showers for 2, lunches for 4, hairstyling for 3 including 1 set of french braids for school pictures, 6 reminders to brush teeth (2x per kid), 1 trip downstairs to ensure our eldest was awake, 1 dog to feed, 2 fish to feed, 3 sets of boots to find, 2 Thursday folders to take to school, 1 tie to tie (Big C wanted to wear a tie for school pictures), 1 changing of outfits after Dinky T discovered her dress was WAY too small, 1 realization that the snow was enough to need shoveling, 1 pot of coffee made, 2 glasses of nuun, 1 phone call from a distressed boss, 1 hurried kiss, 2 cars to drive 3 kids to 2 different schools, 1 trip back into the house for 1 forgotten lunch box, popping the trunk latch 5 times to add/remove items for school, 1 reconfiguration of kids in cars, and 17 reminders to "hurry".

I'm tired.

And I don't think it was the run. Our morning schedule does beg a few questions: Where do things like boots and Thursday folders go overnight? Why don't we have an "Alice"? Why do we run for 50 minutes in the morning? Why do I love my life so much?

Time for more finger pointing.

Guilty Party #4: Nick (Yes, honey, I am blaming you.)

The essential problem with Nick is that he is perfect for me. I am not sure I have ever met anyone as crazy as I am. I feel like making lists today, so here are the top 10 reasons why Nick is to blame for my running addiction.

1. He agreed to do body for life with me.
2. He tells me frequently that he loves me exactly as I am but will help with any goal I have to be healthy. This prevents me from resenting him because he is not supportive enough, "but I like chubby bubbies", or too supportive, "put down that donut fatso".
3. He is very handsome.
4. He likes to have bragging rights as much as I do, so the marathon is appealing.
5. He makes an excellent workout partner. He makes positive comments, talks the perfect amount of time, and tolerates my crankiness.
6. He taught me how to use free weights.
7. He is willing to wake me up in the morning, which is a REALLY unpleasant task. Trust me.
8. He is in better shape than I am and he runs faster than me. I am competitive so I push myself to improve my performance because secretly I want to beat him.
9. He carries the water.
10. He will run at -20.

Finger Pointing

I think I should rewind and explain why and how Nick and I are currently running as much/as far/as fast as we are. If you are already a runner, our much/far/fast numbers are not that impressive...but if you are anything like the real me, the me that I was just over six months ago...then our numbers are insane, impossible, unrealistic and deserve some illumination.

Six months ago I would have told you that you had suffered a psychotic break and that you were living in an alternate world if you had even suggested that I would soon be training for a marathon, running 12 miles at a time, and averaging an 11 minute mile. I may have even jokingly asked you to put down/pass me your crack pipe. I was a chubby bubby who loved good food and good wine. I was dating a wonderful man who loved me exactly as I was. I enjoyed being active, but did not like exercise. I had no reason to change.

So why did I change? How did I become a running addicted, marathon obsessed, exercise loving nut case? A simple chain of events, some well meaning but still very guilty friends & family, and my competitive ego formed the perfect transformation cocktail.

Let's review who is to blame for the bizarre metamorphoses Nick and I have experienced.

Guilty Party #1: Gia
Before I point the first finger of blame for my current running addiction on Gia, I would like to say that I really like her. Gia and I became friends a year and a half ago, after I started dating Nick. She had been the best friend of Nick's first wife, Michelle (who died from cancer). The fact that Gia was nice to me and that we became friends says a LOT for Gia's character - I can't help but think I wouldn't be so nice if my best friend Denece died and her husband George brought over a new girlfriend. Generally speaking, Gia is a better person than I am. It's not hard.

Anyhoodle. So I am up at Gia's house and she has this book "Body for Life" by Bill Phillips. The book explains a 12 week food and exercise plan designed to dramatically improve your body. Gia is showing it to me because she is going to follow the program. I try to shield my confusion, because I think that Gia already has a fabulous figure...but who am I to judge? http://bodyforlife.com/

Guilty Party #2: Dinky-T
My youngest daughter wants to look at the book. Mr. Phillips is pretty slick, his book smacks of an infomercial. The inside cover is chock-full of before and after pictures. Testimonial after testimonial of how everyday fat people transformed their body into rock hard, muscle-bound, you-can't-find-any-cellulite superstars. And my sweet little baby looks up at me with those big brown six year old eyes and says, "Look mommy," as she points to an extremely obese woman's before and after photos, "she's a chubby bubby, and if she can do it, so can you, because you're a chubby bubby."

Ouch.

I swore I could feel my abnormally high self esteem wither and die like a salt soaked slug in a matter of seconds. Why is it that when I am fat I don't really realize the full extent of my girth and when I am thin I still see fat? Does anyone else have the same dually warped body image issues? Mirrors that lie in both directions?