What the fit?

This morning I did something I never dreamed in a million years that I would do.

I joined a gym.

Now before you go thinking this is some sort of new year's resolution band wagon I'm jumping on, please know that I was supposed to sign up at the beginning of December and simply used my powers of procrastination to make my timing look unseemly. And the gym I'm joining is called "The Health and Wellness Center," and is part of our hospital campus/complex. I like the idea of being healthy and well - doesn't everyone? So, there I was this morning at 8:00 being asked to do push-ups (How many can I do lady? The answer is 0.), being hooked up to heart monitors and being walked on a treadmill like a lab-rat, having pulses sent through my body to see how fat I am (yeah, plenty-much), and being asked to display my flexibility (I think I pulled something).

This journey began with my friend Felicia and I deciding to train for a 5-K. It ended with the weather turning bitterly cold, too cold to run outside, but deciding we didn't want to quit exercising altogether. So one day last fall we made a date to tour every fitness venue in town. Turns out, that is a lot of fun. The thought of finding a place to get fit is quite a bit more enjoyable than the actual "getting fit" part. So our first stop was Curves. That actually felt a little like we were being sold a time-share (if you've never been through that high-pressure experience I recommend AVOIDING IT!) except without the smarmy sales people. I guess it just felt a little gimmicky. But Felicia and I sat down for a health assessment - together - and let's just say there are no secrets between us now.

Part of that assessment was having our body fat index measured along with measurements of our hips, thighs, and other various body parts. Numbers were crunched, the results placed on a chart and the results were revealed. Basically, on a scale of 1 to instant death, we were both hovering near one month to live. We were told that we are both "technically obese." Surprise, surprise. Frankly I don't think it takes that much to hit that mark, and I'd been told it before so there was no shock there. So we left there, more grateful than ever for each moment we're not dropping dead.

We headed to the Health and Wellness Center and demanded a tour. It was more to our liking, a little more serious, a little more comprehensive. The nice woman who led us around then told us about some of the other offerings that the center had available. One was a weight control class. We were interested and wanted to hear more. She then, almost in a whisper, told us that the class is for people who are "technically obese, so we're dealing with some of the largest people in town here." Felicia and I exchanged a glance. Not fifteen minutes before this we had both been told we are "technically obese." We did not need further interpretation to understand what that was saying about us.

So as we toured the YMCA, complete with the scary weight room full of sweaty men, and then a fancy fitness studio that we felt under-dressed for, we found ourselves exclaiming things like, "Oops, I tripped. I guess that's what happens when you're some of the largest people in town" or "I'm surprised I can roll out this car what with being some of the largest people in town." That is part of the reason I love to work out with Felicia, that ability to laugh it off. So we laughed and toured and gathered information and coupons.

And then we went to lunch. (We'd worked up an appetite walking up and down all those stairs in these fitness places.)

So here we are, ready to start a new year, a healthier year. Let's hope this, unlike all the potato chips I so dearly love, will stick to my hips instead.

No Pain No Gain

I've decided to train for a 5-K again, which is crazy and not really any fun. But I figure I should make some sort of attempt at healthfulness and this is cheap. Also, I have a great running companion, Felicia, and I would not be doing this without her.

I did this two years ago with some friends in Nappanee and ran the 5-K at the Michiana Mennonite Relief Sale. It was the year I turned 30 and it was a major accomplishment for me. It was amazing!

And then I stopped running. A fact that I could just kick myself over and over for. (I couldn't keep driving 30 minutes one-way to run with friends and goodness knows I don't have the will-power to do it on my own.)

But now I'm running again. And as much as I'm not a morning person (I get up and go run early) I sort of look forward to it. As I trained in Nappanee and now running with Felicia, I have come to cherish these early morning runs with friends. You share a goal with others, you chat (when you can breathe), you check in with each other several times a week...not to mention, the bonus of feeling healthier. While I hate the running - I like all it brings.

This morning though was especially taxing. We hit a new routine this week, run 3 minutes, walk 90 seconds, run 5 minutes, walk 2.5 minutes, and repeat. Holy Pete, it was HARD. I felt shell-shocked for 45 minutes after we were done. As we were running our final 5-minute section Felicia wheezed out, "Getting in shape is hard. No wonder people eat cheeseburgers and sit on the couch all day. It's so much easier." I couldn't agree more. This is crap. Why, if we're supposed to exercise, does it have to SUCK SO MUCH? But I suppose we'll just keep plugging away...and won't have to feel so guilty next time we eat that delicious cheeseburger.

Not a laughing matter

Until recently, Brian and I lived in the red light district of Warsaw. A few years after we moved in to our house an establishment opened up a few blocks down the street named, "Dating Dynamics and Exotic Massage." If that doesn't scream HOUSE OF ILL REPUTE, I simply do not know what does. We heard reports of them being busted for soliciting you-know-what, and on several occasions I saw women walking in who, I assume, worked there. I don't think one technically needs thigh-high stiletto boots to enhance a deep tissue massage. Still, I relished the fact that we lived in the red light district. I fancied it our own private Amsterdam.

Sadly, they were busted one too many times. Restrictions were placed on them allowing them to be open only between the hours of 9 a.m. and 9 p.m. Frankly, I don't think much of their business took place during daylight hours. They could not weather the storm. They went out of business, placing a sign on the door asking for help in fighting the powers that be who had obviously, and unfairly, set them up for failure. I was already sentimental, missing the days of secretive and illicit goings-on down the street from my quiet home.

But then, something much better moved in. A JAPANESE MARTIAL ARTS DOJO! Now we have lots of little Taekwondo and Karate studios around town. But a Japanese martial arts dojo! They are sacred and cared for spaces. And it looks so awesome! So as we've been driving by I've been planning which combat skill I'd like to develop. And I've settled on bojutsu, stick combat.

So, I keep on talking to Brian about how I'm going to join the dojo. His response? "I will laugh at you every single day if you join that dojo. You know that don't you?"

Yes, Brian, you will laugh at me every day...UNTIL I LEARN TO KICK YOUR KEISTER!!!!

Then one day, my friend, you shall walk into the house. I will be waiting and will step wordlessly and silently from the shadows of the dining room. My stealth will leave you speechless...with fear. I will be dressed in black (complete with a black band tied around my head), all ninja and crap. And I will be carrying my very large stick. Then, the laughter shall be over for you, sweet Brian. You shall laugh no more.

Dog Update

Well, I'm happy to report that the tin can of quarters has worked marvels. Reggie finally has learned the walking game pretty well.

He no longer insists on stopping to smell every sign, or flower, or random clump of grass. (He still stops plenty but he knows I'm not going to let him mark the entire trail.)

He no longer poops twice a walk, forcing me to carry around small steaming black bags of grossness.

He knows when I pull the leash in to get on my right side.

He does not bark or lunge at passersby, walkers or bicyclists. Mostly...he's still not fond of the sneak attack (aka bicyclists who come from behind us).

BUT, he is still one big wimp of a dog. I like to walk two miles in just less than a half hour. He way kills my time, what with his panting and falling behind, and looking pathetic, and stopping to catch his breath. I had to stop several times to let him catch up. Then I'd pet him and tell him what a good dog he is (gotta keep the morale up). I don't know what I'm doing wrong here. I have seen him chase a frisbee non-stop for an hour. I have seen him chase a four-wheeler at full speed with great tenacity. But go for one pleasant two mile walk and all of a sudden your a frail little old man dog? Will we ever reach the walking utopia that I dream of?

NOT a walk in the park...

Some of you may know about the relationship I have with my dog Reggie. In short, I believe he is perfect; handsome, funny, sensitive - basically if he were a human man I would probably leave Brian for him. But, we have had a large rift in our relationship this summer caused by his misbehavior on walks.

Here's the deal. I decided this summer that I need to take him on walks. According to the dog whisperer, walks are imperative to keeping a healthy and happy dog. And, I really wanted to get walking for myself too, to get healthier (and happier), and I thought having a little companion would bring lots of good fun. I was wrong.

First of all, he can be a total wimp on walks. Oh he starts out all guts and glory on the walks, pulling on the leash so hard he's wheezing and carrying on from the lack of oxygen he's receiving. But at about mile one, there is a marked change in attitude. He falls behind, he's panting, sometimes he just lays down. Unbelievable! I have to constantly give him pep talks and tell him that he can make it...then he speeds up a little to catch up with me only to fall behind again. The first two times we walked I thought I was going to have to pick up his 55 pound body and walk it back to the car. He was that pathetic. Now I know that he has short legs and I am aware also that his muscles need to be conditioned just like ours do. But I kind of think we have a pansy of a dog. But this isn't my biggest problem.

No, my biggest problem on walks is much worse. After a few walks Reggie decided he is king of the trail. We have a very nice trail to walk or bike on here in Warsaw (we actually have several) that opened up last year. And the great thing is that lots of people use it. And the bad thing (for us) is that lots of people use it, and Reggie has decided that he is the great defender of the path. It is SO EMBARRASSING. Now, this is the dog that loves all people, that would lick a person to death. But on that path, he hates everyone almost equally. He barks or growls at people walking by. And the biggest threat to Reggie are the bicyclists. Oh how those anger and upset him. Lovely people, out enjoying the fresh air, aggressively lunged at and attacked by a dog with short legs. Oh the shame he brings down on our household. And me, all the while, begging him, "be good, Reggie, be good" or "No Reggie, NO!" (said in an authoritative whisper). Little children pull over on their bikes when they see him coming, small children in strollers scream, adults on bikes apologize to me for angering my dog. So embarrassing! I WANT TO BE THE PACK LEADER DANG IT!!! So our walks would end with me frustrated and angry, yelling at him that he was never going on a walk with me again. (But then he would look at me so excitedly the next time I put my walking shoes on and I couldn't bear the heartache of not taking him.) So I wasn't walking very regularly because the whole thing had become a big disaster.

But there is hope in this tale. I happened to find an offhand comment by someone on a blog I was reading last week that suggested that for poor dog behavior one should carry a tin filled with quarters. Shake it in their face when they display the bad behavior and it should make them discontinue. I decided it was worth a shot. (And for all the animal rights activists who do not approve of this method, it is better than me kicking him square in the jaw which I was seriously tempted to do on many occasions.) So, I filled my little tin with spare change and before our walk that evening, I gave it a test shake. Reggie winced and ran behind Brian's legs for protection. I took that as a good sign. Off we went on our walk. Yes, I looked like a crazy lady, walking my dog and shaking a noisy tin in his face while yelling at him. Half way through the walk he seemed to be reconsidering lunging at innocent passers by. The tin was working. But to be sure, I took him on a second walk with the tin. Here is the measure of success. There is a kind looking lady, with a basket on the front of her bike, that is always riding her bicycle on the path no matter what time Reggie and I go for a walk. And he always lunges and barks at her. As we approached her, I became short of breath, my heart racing, whispering to Reggie to "please be good." As we passed he did not react at all to her...and she yelled out, "GOOD DOG!" Which affirmed two things: 1. My dog has a bad reputation, 2. The tin is a success!

The tin is successful enough that I am thinking of carrying one with me at all times. Who wouldn't stop doing whatever it is that's annoying me if I shook a can full of quarters in their face? And as for Reggie and me? Well, I think we're ready to go on another walk.