Rethinking Thanksgiving Traditions

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In a few days we’ll be trading leaf-bare Maples for Palm Trees.

And we will be leaving the jackets in the car at Albany Park & Fly; they won’t be needed.

Instead of rolling in leaf piles, the kids will be swimming in the pool. Splashing. Laughing.

On morning walks we won’t be shivering, or stomping through frost-covered grass and dried out goldenrod, surrounded by silence, and perhaps a few crow calls. And no need to check for ticks after we come inside. Instead we may be walking along the Bayshore. Sun beating down on us. Other walkers, and runners, dogs, and cars streaming past. We will look out over the bay, to the city skyline. Then turn to look the other way, and we’ll admire the beautiful homes, flowers and landscapes, one after another lining the street.

So different, in every way, from home in Vermont.

my niece with an anole!

my niece with an anole!

When the sun comes up, the little lizards, anoles, will be out. The kids will be on the lookout. Chase them down and in the case of my son Brett, who still has one for a pet from last year, perhaps if he’s fast enough, he can catch one.

Then there is the annual ladies day in Hyde Park, spent primarily at Anthropologie, maybe then to Williams-Sonoma for a last-minute gadget for the big feast, and then out to lunch and coffee with my mom and sister-in-law Brooke. This takes place while the kids, my husband and brother Greg take Brett, Jake and Anna on an adventure. This year, Tom has booked a Dad/ kid guided fishing trip.

jake fish

my nephew Jake fishing last year…

While my mom and I catch up all the time, Brooke and I don’t get to talk at length as much during the year, and this girls-day is one of our valued times to reconnect. To really talk. About everything. This is a day I now think about often throughout the year while at home, and anticipate, as that once a year treat.

Celebrating Thanksgiving in Florida  is a rather new tradition, as of the past few years.

Although I traveled often for work over the years, whenever I had visited Florida, I just remembered highways, shopping centers, tourist traps and convention centers.  But when my brother and his family moved to the Tampa area for work a few years ago, and I visited for the first time, I was pleasantly surprised.

The trees were all really cool. Sprawling. Huge. I had expected all the homes to be cookie-cutter planned developments but they are the opposite.  Each home in the neighborhood seemed unique in it’s own way. And it was warm! I love Vermont but after the fall leaves turn brown, and since we don’t even get much snow anymore, the late Fall through Winter time-frame, I can take or leave….

trading in the down coat for short sleeves and shorts...

trading in the down coat for short sleeves and shorts…

I grew up in Rhode Island, and remember Thanksgiving as being relatively traditional. At least in the sense that it was cold outside, and when I looked out the window, what I felt and saw: the cold, after-the-harvest look of the fields and trees, was probably similar enough to what the Pilgrims felt in nearby Massachusetts.

My parents moved to California in the mid-90s, while my brother Ken was in Minnesota, Greg moved around often, and I stayed on the East Coast. Thanksgiving became our time to get together; and as California became the new destination, we had to rethink our definition of what a traditional Thanksgiving might look like. It felt odd at first to be experiencing mild weather at this time of year. And instead of spending most of the time outside, we would see the sites: The CA Academy or Science, the Aquarium, The Zoo, Alcatraz, the Airplane museum. And endure endless traffic.

But many years have since passed. We all have families and complications with school vacations, conflicting schedules, and in-law families competing for time. Add that to the cost, inconvenience and the amount of time needed to travel for an entire family, going to California just isn’t all that convenient.

It is no longer a given that we all get together at Thanksgiving.

Location and attendance lately had become kind of a free-for-all, until my brother Greg offered to take whoever was willing to show up. Sometimes it’s all of the families. Sometimes just a few.  Florida happens to be one of the only places we can fly direct, and be there in a few hours, so Tom and I have decided as long as they’ll take us, we’ll show up!

There are other new traditions we have developed over the last few Florida Thanksgivings. Particularly about food. And how could I write an essay without the mention of health?

When I think back to past Thanksgivings in California, we didn’t get much activity. We took dog walks each day, but they weren’t what you’d call heart-pumping activity. And we visited the Redwoods in Muir Woods numerous times. Although there is a trail, because of the different ability levels we had with kids and parents in tow, the hiking wasn’t exactly strenuous. We do all have one thing in common in my family-we love our red wine.  And we love snacking.  We would hang out in my parents open kitchen-dining room-family room. The game would be on. The cheese and crackers and tortilla chips and wine would come out…a little earlier than we are typically used to. My parents frequented wine country, and always had some new vineyard find they wanted us to try. On one of the days, the guys took a long bike ride along San Francisco bay, but we ladies? Nothing.

The result: Endless snacking.

And activity? Not so much.

We always felt like blobs at the end of the week.

More recently, in Florida, much of this routine remains the same. As soon as Greg picks us up from the airport, we typically hit a Starbucks, and then stop at the local wine shop to select what we need for the week. At home, the Boursin cheese and brie and salami and crackers emerge on a tray; while we do our best to eat it all, there appears to be a never-ending supply to keep munching on. And we do keep munching…

a little poolside reading w/Anna

a little poolside reading w/Anna

But there’s one difference.  Instead of sitting around, we are all so much more aware of ensuring we stay active. And while we indulge in a big way, we bond over keeping fit as well.

When I exercise at home, I typically work out solo. But part of the new Florida tradition involves poolside workouts with my brother.  It was a few years ago, where Greg urged me to try a p90x workout with him. I was scared. But his enthusiasm and assurance it wasn’t beyond my ability, helped give me the confidence to try it with him, and that experience prompted me to tackle the full program when I came home. Last year, we did something a little different:  the brother/sister poolside workout. No video this time. It’s too nice outside. Greg takes the lead; but I make suggestions, and we learn from each other, each morning. I was self-conscious at first, a few years ago, having the whole family walking in and out while we are out there in plain sight, looking super-unattractive. But after a while I got used to the commotion of other family members dropping by to watch, or even participate for a few minutes. My mom sometimes stops by for a little stretch or a yoga pose. Macy the Golden Retriever or Sweet Pea the pug may drop by too, and a few times I found myself in plank, or coming up from a push-up to find myself nose-to-nose with one of them.

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workout audience, Macy and the Pea

And it’s not just the two of us. There appears to be more of a silent understanding now. Just because we are not in our regular routine, it doesn’t mean we have to slack off in all areas. By keeping active, we won’t go home feeling awful, and that’s so important. The poolside workout isn’t for everyone: Brooke usually heads out to see her trainer. My mom takes walks and does some light weights. Tom disappears to go fishing early on some mornings and takes walks. We are together, but we know nobody will miss us if we need to run off for 45 minute or an hour on our own, to ensure our individual needs are met to balance out all the crazy eating.

As I think about next week and the Thanksgiving table,  I can picture it now.

Greg is tending to the turkey, smoking in his prized Green Egg.

my brother and the prized Green Egg.

my brother and the prized Green Egg.

Tom and I are making roasted root vegetables; and perhaps we can sneak a few sweet potatoes and turnips from our Vermont CSA into our luggage, to share the harvest…

Brooke is making the sweetest most decadent yam casserole, that she learned to make at home with her mom in Oklahoma.

My mother makes her Minnesota Wild Rice Soup.

And we top it all off with a few apple and pumpkin pies, and perhaps a run for Ben and Jerry’s once the kids are asleep.

We’ll get up the next day, and after another poolside workout, we’ll head for the airport.

We are stuffed, but don’t feel so bad.

It doesn’t matter what it looks like outside. Or how authentic our meal or whether the Pilgrims did it this way…  our latest evolving tradition includes the best of everything: family, time together, indulgence with foods and wines (because it wouldn’t be fun without that…).

But also a respect for each family members different approach to health.

Our new-found tradition to keep inspiring each other every time we get together, and keep cheering each other on is a good one.

Our Thanksgivings for the last few years have been in warm sunny Florida, but regardless of where they may be in the future, this mutual respect for health as a family will ensure we’ll all be there for each other, making new memories and traditions, for many, many more years to come.

And I for one, am thankful.

How have your traditions changed over the years? Traditional or not? Does your family help inspire you to stay active? Or the other way around?  Do you wish you could be more active during the holidays? Would love to hear your thoughts and stories!

What do you see?

it's not about perfect hair and smile, it's about where I have been

I moved to Vermont when I was 26.

At that time, all decisions were motivated by work, and this was my 3rd career and location move in 5 years.

My mother remarked a few times she thought I was smart to experience what it’s like to make my own decisions, to be on my own and independent as an adult. She and my father were married towards the end of college, as was the trend at the time for women. She went straight from her parents house, to college, to living with my father and having children soon-after.  My parents had a successful marriage and she was happy, but she did acknowledge to me more than once, she wished she, as a woman, had that opportunity to live as a young adult on her own.

To experience her career on her own.

To date as an adult.

That actually cracked me up at the time, my mom date? But I now get what she was saying 100%.  What I experienced during those years, on all levels, was invaluable and had I not learned what I did then about life, love, coping, independence,  I think my subsequent choices would have been bad.

Really bad.

I eventually made my life in Vermont more permanent.  I moved again within the state about 4 years later, changed jobs, and lived with my then-boyfriend, now husband. One day around this time, during a quick stop to a clothing store I bumped into a former co-worker, a grandmotherly woman, with long gray hair piled loosely in a bun and big round glasses worn down towards the tip of her nose. I met this woman in my first few weeks at the office, and we had a nice rapport, but we hadn’t seen each other since. Peering down through her glasses, she looked at me for a little longer than what you would expect to be polite, and eventually remarked:

“You look the same. But something’s changed. Your face has a new maturity about you now.

It looks great on you.”

I just smiled; not really sure how to respond.

Do you all know that change?

The time when you cease being that carefree, happy-go-lucky young adult with no responsibilities, and then become the one with many?  I was certainly unaware I possessed this new-found maturity as it happened, but as I think back, she was right.  I recognize the same changes in a few of my younger friends who are going through it now.

And I’m wondering today, a decade or so later, if yet another new level of maturity is taking shape.

Because when I look in the mirror, I’m tempted to do a double-take, something seems different.

A few days ago I read a blog post by Nicola Joyce, a fitness writer, who shared with readers  a video she created for the What I see project.  This project, founded by Edwina Dunn, in the U.K., sets out to explore how women globally answer this question:

What do you see when you look in the mirror?

Are they reading my mind?

It’s not often a message appears exactly when you need it; I’m glad this one did.

This is a simple question.  But one most of us are never asked.

And probably have no idea how to put our internal thoughts into words, although we take glances in that mirror a few times each day.

I have not shared my story with the project yet, but I am fascinated by the question and have become enchanted with the stories of others who have submitted responses to the project. Some women respond based on how they look. And some respond based on who they are as person, and all they have accomplished. Some seem truthful and searching; their stories poignant. Some sound like they are saying what they want others to hear, but whether they are being honest, or just showing bravado, we’ll never know.

And, what would I say?

Would I be superficial and talk about my flaws, and all the parts of me I wish were different?

Or would I be one of the women who looks deeper, beneath the surface of the once-sparkling blue eyes, the ones with dark circles etched with what seems like permanent black lines. Am I one who thinks about the character of me as a person, and what I really, truly have experienced over the years and have to offer?

When I’m standing in front of that mirror, I certainly want to see the character within me. The independent, career-minded one who moved to Vermont way back when, and surrounded herself with loving people, built a safe and beautiful home and family. I want to see the woman who is a caring, supportive, loving mom and wife. The one who has made good solid choices.  The one who is a good friend. A survivor of many challenges. And I want to see the woman who knows she has needs too, and makes sure those needs do not get swept aside.

But sadly, in reality, I do not usually see her.

Instead, I see the here and now, and give myself a hard time.

What’s happening with my hair today?

Do these jeans look tight?

Maybe I’m not exercising enough.

Maybe I need to get some cover-up to gloss over these dark circles…

I’m the one who ignores the fact that aging does happen after awhile. And even if it happens gracefully, I assume this reality doesn’t apply to me, so what I see reflecting back never lives up to this high expectation.

It’s funny.

The subject of character.

When I was a kid, my father’s most often used saying to my brothers and me was “it’s character building”. Whether it was the result of doing our chores, paying for our car insurance or doing our homework, whatever we had to endure, that we didn’t like, built character.

We grumbled and rolled our eyes whenever we heard it.

He would laugh.

And as usual, with time, we all knew he was right.

I know I have that character he helped me build; I just need to see it for myself. To recognize it. To put value on it.

I used to like the fact I wasn’t the spitting image of either of my parents. My eyes and skin color resemble my mothers side of the family; my disposition and height from my father. But my look was truly my own. The perfect mix.

Just the other day, I was getting a haircut. With hair wet and slicked back, sitting in front of the mirror at the salon, I looked at myself, realizing for the first time I’m seeing more and more of my fathers face looking back at me.

He’s no longer here, so that’s a little eerie. I wonder if the last time he saw me, he thought that too?

Sometimes it takes me awhile to develop a new habit and act on it, even if I know it’s the right thing to do. Like knowing who I am isn’t just about what I physically see in that mirror. It’s the sum of all I have learned and achieved. The ever-expanding accumulation of maturity that grows within me, and on my face, as I weave in and out of different chapters of my life.

Maybe this is the difference I’m starting to see now.

The new-found resemblance to my father; now a gentle reminder to me each day.

No quick glances.

Take a better look, and appreciate more deeply the person staring back in the mirror each day.

And as my former co-worker said way back when, the maturity probably does look great on me…

How would you respond to this question?  An interesting question for men too, who are even less often asked about their true feelings. 

I’d love to hear your stories. 

And please check out the What I see website and view some of the videos and perhaps submit your story…you may get lost in them like I did.

Bold but Senseless

WP_20130802_104-1A few years ago, my first boyfriend came to Vermont and we met for coffee. I hadn’t seen him in maybe 15 years? And I was worried.

There was this nagging feeling I had, not that either of us weren’t mature enough to have a cup of coffee together as adults, but about something I did to him back in the day.

Or didn’t do.

Basically communicate effectively at the end.

As an adult, I think back to the former me, and still shake my head in disbelief. I was such an awful person back then. That I could ever treat anyone with such disrespect.  But when I brought this up over coffee, so many years later, he laughed it off and said something to the effect of:

“We can’t be held responsible for what we did when we were like 20, 21….I mean really…we all did really senseless things back then”.

I was so relieved after all these years, and have thought about that sentiment often since, letting myself off the hook for quite a few dumb choices while repeating these words to myself.

I do however think back to that time in my 20s, and I may not have had much sense but I was fearless.

I moved from location to location following my career. I lived alone.

I explored new cities and towns when I traveled, all by myself.

I had no qualms about going into a restaurant by myself. Drinking wine by myself. Going to the movies by myself.  It wasn’t easy at the time, but when I forced myself, in the end, I was empowered by it.

My last state move, to Vermont, was no different. After the first few weeks of crying, wondering how I could make such a crazy mistake, thinking I could adapt to life in the country, I finally settled on a 3-bedroom house just for me. I need to be happy, right? Nesting is good.

When I was first learning to love the nature-girl life, I embraced it on my own.

I went for hikes in the woods.

Said yes to learning weird hobbies from new friends: foraging, running on river rocks, fishing, cruising around in the evening looking for critter sightings…

Once I learned what people around here did for fun, I went for it. I would run from river rock to river rock without worry, up and down my favorite spot along the Big Branch in Mount Tabor and go out looking for wild mushrooms deep in the woods.

And going solo? Never worried about it.

Last night, I was reminded of the younger, bold but senseless me , when I was on the phone with my husband, who is traveling this week. We were talking about what activities Brett and I had on the agenda for the week. I really want to go mushroom hunting; because there should be a ton of chanterelle mushrooms in the woods, but am not really used to going on my own anymore.

I asked my husband, “do you think it’s safe for us to go up to our favorite spot in the National Forest, alone?”

My husband sounded startled. “of course, it should be”, he said “why wouldn’t it be?”

I hung up the phone and wondered, when did I turn into that person who hesitates?

Who stops, and misses out, because she is scared?

There was one incidence, after I had lived in Manchester for a few years. There was a snowmobile trail from one side road near my house that opened up to the woods, eventually bringing you out over a walking bridge, that came out onto another side road. One day as I was walking from one side of the bridge to the next, I heard voices. Hiding behind a tree, I slowly took a few more steps, and then a few more, until I could see what was up.

Two stringy-haired guys, in their 20s perhaps, were taking tree branches and slamming them down on the windshield of an old beat up muscle car they had dumped there. Crushed beer cans surrounded them.  I turned around immediately and ran all the way home.

I suppose this could have been when I started rethinking solo walks deep in the woods as I never went over the bridge again after that.

Who knows who could be lurking around?

What if I wasn’t able to turn around?

What if they saw me?

What if? What if? What if?

All these thoughts in my head; I never used to worry like this.

I never needed to rely on someone else to do what I wanted to do.

But as a woman, and a mom, 15 years later, I have way too much sense for my own good.

So many years of anxiety about keeping my kid with a life-threatening food allergy safe.

I’m always at-the-ready with a safe snack and a few Wet Ones.

When it snows? Or if there is any inkling of black ice lurking on the roads, I don’t drive. It’s not safe.

Chemicals and insecticides in the environment and on our foods? Ugh. Must stay away from them too.

The news.

Abductions.

Identity Theft.

What else should I worry about?

Be careful on those river rocks, you might slip!

As I think back to that sentiment: We shouldn’t be responsible for what we did way back then, I realize after years of gaining more sense, something I desperately needed, I need to dial it back a notch and throw some of it to the wind…

I don’t want to resurrect the insensitive qualities of my early-adulthood of course, but need to get over the constant worry.

Can I be bold, and have common sense at the same time, can those qualities realisticially live side-by-side?

I’m tired of missing out. Tired of making decisions for my son that will cause him to miss out as well.

WP_20130802_007So today, I made the decision, Brett and I went to the mushroom spot by ourselves.

What if there was a weird psychopath on the trail? I think to myself…

What are the odds?

We’ll be ok…

As we rumbled along the deserted gravel road leading to the chanterelle spot we saw a sign:

Road Closed. Gated

Well, no chanterelles today I guess, but we enjoyed Plan B instead.

Not quite running , but some slow climbing on the river rocks.

And it felt so good to be out there again.

The breeze. The beauty of the rocks. The sound of the water.

I just saw a glimpse of my old-younger self again, and want to push myself back, but forward, just a little bit each day, so I can see this side of me a little more often…

Do you have moments when you don’t recognize yourself today? Without wanting to go back, are there qualities you had then you wish you could get back again? 

Would love to hear your stories and comments.

 

Two Wheels on the Road…

SONY DSCI have had “buy Brett a bike” on my to-do list for months, and it has been the one item on there I have been reluctant to cross off.

He had one of those balance-type bikes, purchased by my mother a few years ago, where he could just scoot along and lift his feet and put them down as needed, and that was sufficient for a few years.

But he didn’t have pedals.

Or have a need to learn any skills to help him stay upright for any length of time.

You see we have a long, steep gravel driveway, with a scary hairpin turn in it. And we don’t have neighbors or neighboring kids for him to feel the need to keep up with and make him want to learn. Instead we have a river and trees behind us. We do cool things in our yard most other kids don’t do, right?

We fish.

We catch bugs and frogs.

We walk and stomp around in the river.

We skip rocks…. who needs a bike?

So my husband and I, as parents, slacked off and let it slide.

When we were in Montana last month, Brett met a new friend at the ranch named Asa and even though there were only gravel roads, Asa had this new bike he was extremely proud of, with big tires that worked just great on the dirt and gravel road. And it would have been nice if Brett could have joined him instead of having to just walk alongside him.

Asa is 9, and had great skill on his bike. Brett, at 8 1/2?

Note to self: when we get home, buy this kid a bike!

He needs to learn. Every kid needs to at some point, don’t they?

brett bike-001

Testing out the new bike at Grandma’s house with a paved road.

I finally did cross that chore off the list last week, on a trip to Rochester to visit my mother in law, where we found ourselves walking in front of a Dick’s Sporting Goods, with no excuse like: “I’m too tired” or “We don’t have time”.

I haven’t really thought much about riding on a personal level over the years.

I guess I liked riding my bike when I was a kid. I did grow up in suburbia, and had friends who rode around with us in the neighborhood. I have memories of riding with my brothers, chasing the ice cream truck.  I have one memory of falling and losing a tooth, and running home alongside my bike, blood gushing from my leg, but excited my fall would mean I would get a visit from the tooth fairy that night.

As an adult, not by design; maybe just by default, I have pursued outside activities involving my own feet, not wheels.

But when I do think about the sport, I think about my Dad.

When I was a kid, my father was always gone on Sunday. This was his day to take an epic bike ride with his friends.

I have always admired him for taking this time to do something he loved. Instead of being like one of the millions of Dads out there who had no hobbies, and just work work worked, and did what their wives told them to do, my Dad took that time for himself. He would stretch for a long time, maybe an hour,  and then head out. I’m sure he got a lot of flak from my mom because of this, since she had to stay home with 3 obnoxious kids by herself all day.

But he knew he needed this time for himself.

And he was able to stay in great shape this way and clear his head.

My parents moved to the bay area, south of San Francisco, in the mid-90s and on one of my first visits to see their new home and new town, my father drove me around to see some of his favorite bicycle routes. He would often go along these super windy roads, and along the bay. On many visits, we went up Kings Mountain Road, in Woodside CA, to go to the restaurant at the top. The first time he took me up there, as I complained I needed a Dramamine and felt sick from the curvy drive, my father told me this was one of the roads he would frequently ride on his bike.

What? You really ride your bike on this road?!

I remember saying “Dad, this road is going to be the end of you if you keep riding it…”

He just laughed. And continued riding along these roads he loved for years. And still, on Sundays.

But then 2 years ago, while at home in Vermont on Memorial Day weekend, I was just sitting down to a glass of wine after a long day in the garden when my mother called, hysterical.

My father was in the hospital.

He had an accident on his Sunday bike ride. She didn’t know much else.

It wasn’t on scary Kings Mountain road. It was another one.

We never learned what happened exactly, as there were no witnesses, but my brothers and I were told to get out to California immediately. The next day, I walked into Stanford Medical Center and found my father in a coma with traumatic brain injury. He died about a week later.

He was only 67.

I have been told, well, he died doing something he loved. And that’s true.

I try not to blame bicycling.

Just as I have tried not to blame Memorial Day weekend over these past 2 years. Because honestly, I have always loved Memorial Day weekend and do not want to demonize it for the rest of my life. I was told early on when I first met my husband that his mother lost someone she loved dearly on Thanksgiving, and has always hated Thanksgiving.

I adore my mother in law, but to hate a holiday for that long? I didn’t want to live the rest of my life that way.

Last summer, one year after losing my father, I was on vacation on Cape Cod and my family went off to do something else while I took the car to visit a few shops by myself. I had a few messages on my cell phone from my mother. Doesn’t she know I’m on vacation? I’ll call her later.

But then a text “Call me”.

So I pulled over to the side of the road to do just that.  I learned that it happened again. This time to my parents dear friend. Accident on his bike, he had been hit by a car and was was in the hospital.

And most certainly would not make it.

As you can imagine, it hasn’t been so easy for me to let bicycling off the hook, like I have been able to do with Memorial Day weekend.

When my son starts to ride a bike, will I get back on a bike too?

My motto these days has been to be open and willing to try new things.  Especially activities that take us outside and keep us moving.  When Brett learned to ice skate a few years ago, I put a pair of skates after 20-some-odd years. And I did fine.  And he has been learning to ski.  So last season I put skis on after a 10 year lapse. I had been so nervous I wouldn’t remember how, but once out there, I loved it.  I was proud of myself for taking that initial step to try again because now this will be an activity we both can enjoy.  Because that’s all it takes sometimes.  Just take that one step, and you aren’t nervous anymore.  You can move on from any emotional barriers.

But what about bicycling?

I can’t remember the last time I was on one, maybe in college? I should say yes, of course I will retry that, and Brett and I can ride together.

But still I hesitate.

At this time of year in Vermont, I see bicycles and cyclists everywhere.

Tour groups. Tourists. I see people of all ages riding along on our narrow windy back roads, with no room for cars and bikes to work together side-by-side.  This brings tears to my eyes more often than any other trigger. When I look at the faces of these cyclists, I see my Dad.  When my father visited us in Vermont, the first thing he did was go to the bicycle shop in Manchester and rent a bike for the week. He loved riding along and around Route 30 and visiting the little towns. Stopping at the country stores and chatting with whomever was inside. And snapping photo after photo of the farms, the flowers, the houses, the mountains…

And all I can think when I see these people is :

Why are they out there?

Do something else!

Don’t you know the roads are dangerous!

But as some friends reminded me yesterday, as they were headed out on a bicycle tour in the Finger Lakes:

“There is risk in anything and everything”

This morning I opened up the manual on Brett’s new bike, as I’m thinking we can start practicing this week. I see “Warning”. “Caution” every few lines.

Is this supposed to reassure me I’m doing the right thing?

SONY DSC

Warning! Caution! Yikes!

I suppose not.

But I have ideas on where we can practice with no chance of seeing other cars or hazards.

And we’ll see how he does.

I think this year I’ll ask for new skis for the holidays, so Brett and I will be able to go more often and experience this sport together.

But we’ll wait and see whether I’ll hop back up on a bike.

I won’t say never, but maybe next year my head will be in the right place to take that initial step over the emotional barrier I still have with bicycling today.

Do you have any tough memories associated with activities, or times or places that you have a hard time getting over? How were you able to get over them? Are you glad you did?

Are there activities you have retried because of your kids or other family members?

I would love to hear your stories and comments.

Vacation Reset

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Today I sit. And sit, and sit and sit.

Staring out into space.

Wondering if I’m glad to be home.

And wondering how to snap out of vacation-mode and get back to real life.

Yesterday, my son and I endured a time-warp kind of day in the hands of the airlines, starting in Idaho Falls, then Denver, then Charlotte, then eventually Albany, where tired and dazed, we collected our 100+ collective pounds of suitcases and bags, and stepped into the Albany Park and Fly van, where the driver eventually brought us to our car.

Oh great, another hour and a half of driving to go. We hadn’t eaten anything but a few snacks all day. I mentioned in some of my other posts my son has a peanut allergy. When leaving the house for a trip, we always pack a supply of safe foods in a bag to ensure he has something safe to eat along the way. But on our way home, we didn’t have the time to replenish, and just had a few snacks left, and after a week of dragging around the same granola, crackers and dried fruit, neither of us were interested in eating them. I doubt any of you have noticed this, because you don’t have to worry about food allergies, but every restaurant in every airport has a sign that says basically if you are allergic to anything, we have it in our facility so eat at your own risk! So we keep airport-restaurant eating to a minimum, picking up a Greek yogurt if we can find it, and that’s about it.

Once in the car, we headed north on 87, through Saratoga Springs, and then over to Washington County. Around a half hour from our house,  Brett finally looked up and complained he was dying of hunger.  He had been such a great kid all day. Barely eating anything and not really caring. I had been surprised; he’s not typically shy about whining when he needs something. But at the moment, there was nowhere to stop, so I rummaged through my snack bag and eventually pulled out a piece of provolone cheese.

It looked ok. I had packed it before I left and usually cheese is ok for awhile outside the refrigerator, right? I had been munching on some cheddar a few minutes before and it tasted good.

But then: Sudden scream from the backseat.

“The cheese went bad Mom!! My stomach is killllling meeee!”

Oh come on,  really?  I have just spent 14 hours traveling, carrying bag after bag, one on each side of me and around my neck, plus a booster seat, so if I was unbalanced in any way, I would have toppled over. And I spend all day every day of my life, and especially on vacation, trying to keep this kid safe from peanuts and nuts when we eat outside the home. And then he keels over from bad cheese?

He continued to moan, flailing around in his seat for the next few minutes. The realization: this might be serious.

Did I really just poison my son?

I had been blasting Steve Earle’s Burnin’ it Down before that, visualizing Steve burning down a Wal Mart in a town pretty similar to the one I was driving through, but had to turn him off. Brett’s eyes were closing. He leaned over into the middle console. Should I stop and make him get out? Well, if I can make sure to hear his breathing, that works.

He fell asleep.

I listened to him breathe as I drove.

And all these horrible scenarios played out in my head about what would happen if he wasn’t ok. And what I would do.

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An ominous welcome home to VT

About 10 minutes from my house, along Vermont Route 30. The sky darkened and rain started hammering the windshield. Is this a sign? Should I have stayed on vacation?

We finally reached the house at around 9pm; I woke Brett and wrestled him out of the car. He perked back up within a few minutes. Whew, sigh of relief! I pushed through the front door, leaving the car doors open and all the bags still out on the driveway, and headed immediately to the refrigerator. Having been away for the past week, the fridge had been empty and sad, but I saw some eggs, and made us a few omelets. Brett was so hungry, he ate two of them, and since we were still on mountain time, we stayed up late snuggling, talking about our trip, and making up for lost time with the pets in the house who all needed a little care.

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Our home last week!

Aside from the drama on the way home, this has been an amazing week. As soon as school ended on the 13th, we took a day to pack, and then flew out to Montana, staying at Firehole Ranch, on Hebgen Lake, and visited Yellowstone National Park. My husband was there too; he stayed for a few extra days, so had to miss the dramatic drive home. In Montana, I had one day of fly fishing with an amazing guide and now feel like I finally could do this myself. We had no access to internet. Maybe one bar of cell service; enough to send a text in certain rooms of the house, or check email, but that’s about it. I’m feeling completely out of touch with everything.

With the News. With Facebook. With Twitter. With WordPress. With my Fitness friends.

With my exercise agenda. With foods. Oh, the foods from this week! I can’t even begin to tell you what we ate, and I tried to keep up on activity with walks and some exercises out on the cabin deck, but as my heart rate monitor would display at the end of the week, it was an “incomplete training week” at best.

This morning the jeans are tight. I’m still craving desserts and wine.

But I’m looking out the window now and it’s beautiful here in Vermont too.  I needed that break from civilization and media and devices. And I wouldn’t admit it before, but the break from fitness and schedules and balanced eating was kind of nice too.

It was a tiring and stressful journey yesterday to get here, and we are both still in a zombie-like state of mind, but we are both safe.

Maybe it is indeed good to be home.

For the next few days Brett and I will stay on mountain time, and gradually re-emerge from vacation-mode to home-mode in a more focused way, but not today, tomorrow sounds about right…

The Balancing Act – Fun vs. Fit

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My focus lately has been a little off.

Actually, very off, and all over the place. Based on the subjects in my last few posts, you can see my mind is outside. It’s finally starting to look like it’s supposed to in the Green Mountain State: very, very green, and I have become brain-swept with a renewed urge to just spend all my waking free time thinking about what I can do out there.

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columbine is in bloom!

Look, Columbine! Where’s my camera?

Hey, frogs are back!

Oh, ramps are out, so are morels and fiddleheads–lets go find them before it’s too late!

Look rose breasted grosbeaks are at the feeder, where’s my camera?

Ooh! Gardens–I need to get going on those!

It’s nice to be inspired. But this change of season is seeping  into my my typically rock-solid, gung-ho attitude towards the inside fitness I feel is really important.  My scheduled workouts have become kind of an afterthought. I’m procrastinating, waiting until the end of the day to do them. This may not be so bad for some people, waiting until later, but I’m really beat by late in the afternoon, and my mind isn’t really into it by then. Yesterday I clock-watched through the entire workout and was feeling down on myself.

look! an RBGB!

look! an RBGB!

If I’m like this now, this summer will be worse!

Trying to figure out where that super-motivated, fit and focused me went, and how to bring her back, I started thinking back to an experience that really make me thankful fitness is an important part of my life.  At about this same time last year, I attended a fly fishing class.  This was the 2nd time I took this class, because I needed a refresher on the knots and casts I learned the year before, and thought this women’s-only class would be a fun, more relaxed group. On the second day in the afternoon, we went out to a local stream.  There was one very reluctant woman in the class, I’m guessing she was in her 60s, who was there only because her husband had sent her. We were wading in the river on somewhat slippery rocks, most of us wearing borrowed and unfamiliar wading shoes,  trying to reach the bank on the other side, and working against the current. There was another woman, there on her own free will and excited to learn, in her mid-fifties. And she also was struggling to stay upright and cross safely, becoming a little more discouraged by the minute.

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a little fun with casting at class…

A few of us had to offer an arm and walk slowly with them, across the river, and over to the other side.

At the end of the day, as we all headed with gear towards our cars, I sided up to our wonderful instructor, Molly Seminek, who was visiting from Montana just to teach this class. We were silent at first but then began kind of a reluctant conversation about how tough it is for some people, wading in the water and having the balance and strength they need. She often advises clients to work on their balance and agility and their overall fitness and strength levels off the water, because it’s something that definitely works to their advantage when in the water, and on the riverside when you need to step over rocks or logs, or high banks. I mentioned how I feel strongly about the need to stay fit as we get older, and how yoga and weight training, has helped me too, in many ways. Hearing this was something she works on continually to keep herself in good form to keep guiding and doing what she loves every day as a career, was very reassuring.

This conversation comes to mind from time-to-time for motivation when I need it, as well as advice I hear from other sources, most notably from P90x, one of the strength training programs I like to rotate into the mix a few times per year. Tony Horton, the trainer mentions a few times throughout that jump training, and yoga and some of the other moves included are so great to practice and learn to do safety in a controlled environment, because it helps train you for all the great things you want to do in real life and in real settings. And I guess it’s because these are on DVDs and I have heard the same lines over and over again, that I can hear his voice in my head when I’m lunging down to dig up dirt in my garden and throwing it in a pile. And I’m reminding myself to not arch my back. Or let my knee go over my toes. And when looking for salamanders with my son, always bend my knees when lifting up heavy rocks, instead of pulling them from a standing position. Or when lifting him to cross the river when he’s about to swamp his boots.

My friends and family, when I ask for advice on this, tend to think it should be easy for me to just let go of my need to do any

always ready to join me on that hike...

always ready to join me on that hike…

formal exercise inside, because it’s just so nice out. I should just hike. Or run. Or whatever keeps me moving, as long as it’s outside. I don’t think one really replaces the other though, and with a set amount of free-time, I worry I’ll lose all that great endurance, flexibility and strength I work so hard to build the rest of the year, that enables my success on so many levels. But then again, it’s super-depressing being inside doing pull-ups and push-ups, or planks when I hear an oriole out the window chirping and the river rambling along, and always a labrador ready and waiting to be walked…

I have to figure out how to let my fitness life and my outdoor life live side-by-side this season, without slacking off in either. I want to be in my sixties, and crossing that river on my own, without someone else lending me an arm, and worry if I let it slide, even a little, I’ll lose momentum long term…

How have you balanced your fit lives when more fun activities are calling your name?

Do you make changes that help keep the strength training more interesting? Or take that outside?

Do you let fitness slide a bit throughout certain times of the year?

Do you have the perfect mix of both?

I’d love to hear some ideas and discussion.

For more information:

Molly Seminek: http://tietheknotflyfishing.com/wordpress/

P90x: http://www.beachbody.com/product/p90x-what-you-get.do

Ramping Up

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There is a great benefit to researching and writing about being fit and healthy.  It’s the fact that if I don’t practice what I preach, then I’m a hypocrite…and since I don’t want to be one of those, it’s great motivation to ensure I make every attempt to follow my own advice. Last week, in my post Sense of Nature, I wrote about the benefits for all of us, children and adults, to be active participants in nature. I’m happy to say, I was able to embrace nature in a big way this weekend, thanks to an early start of the 2013 foraging season.

Every spring, when we see a little green on the trees and in the fields, and a few warm days, my husband and I get obsessed with foraging, or as I keep hearing in the media these days, wild-crafting. This is where we head out into the woods, search for mushrooms or edible plants or berries, or whatever we can collect in the wild with confidence that when cooked, it won’t make us sick.

Foraging was not an activity I was ever familiar with growing up. When I tell friends this is one of my hobbies, sometimes I hear them wax poetic about how so-and-so’s grandmother in France or Italy showed them which mushrooms or plants to hunt for as a child, and they had vivid recollections of amazing ethnic feasts, with these prized edibles taking center stage. This romantic scenario wasn’t the case for me, my parents weren’t the woodsy-type, or the type of people who would take a risk eating something they personally had to identify as safe. Although eventually, thanks to Whole Foods stocking some of the same wild mushrooms we fed them ( but charging zillions of dollars per pound), they learned to trust we were not going to poison them.

When I moved to Vermont as an adult, that’s where my education on wild-edibles began.  Here, in many places, the forest is open and beautiful and you can really meander around comfortably and see the forest floor without getting poked in the eye with twigs or branches or brambles, or assaulted by too many ticks. Black morel mushrooms are the first to come out, and where I live, we see them along old paths in the woods. A few weeks later we see yellow morels, often near white ash trees.

fresh morels from a secret spot in the Vermont woods...

fresh morels from a secret spot in the Vermont woods…

morels...

morels…

What I love most about collecting mushrooms, or berries or wild plants in the woods is that it’s like an unstructured scavenger hunt. You look for clues: a certain tree. the elevation, the slope of the ridge. The sun. Moss. The weather that day. The moisture. And when you get it right, you are sometimes rewarded with the prize.

And probably more often, you get the location right, all the elements for success are there, but you find nothing and you are left scratching your head wondering what the heck you did wrong.

Regardless of mushroom success or failure, we usually come back relatively happy, because what we tend to find in the same locations are big beautiful patches of wild ramps, or as they are sometimes called, wild leeks. My husband used to think of these as kind of a consolation prize when we came home empty-handed on the mushroom front. But since, I have come to love them as much, maybe even more. They are much more abundant, predictable, and come back in the same spots every year. When I have them, I cook with them pretty much every night, adding them on homemade pizza, or on top of a burger, in omelettes or over pasta or grains… They are the best when the bulbs and leaves are slowly sauteed in olive oil until crispy, with a little sea salt.

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Oh, I’m off topic here, I’m supposed to be talking about exercise and nature, not eating…

So this weekend, I didn’t even have foraging on the radar because it’s so early in the season. But I happened upon a recipe for Wild Ramp Pizza that looked so good.

Hmmm, I wonder if… ??!!  Maybe I’ll go check…

jackpot!

jackpot!

We happen to have a reliable ramp patch near our house. I quickly grabbed my waders and boots, and ran down along the river (it’s easier to do that than run through a tick-infested field), and within a few minutes, realized I hit the jackpot. Sometimes early in the season you will see many ramp leaves, but the bulbs are too small. Not so this time, there were a bunch of them. I didn’t bring a pack basket with me, because I didn’t really expect to find anything, so brought back just enough for dinner that night and surprised my family with my prize. I made my super-slow-cooked crispy saute perfectly and served it over quinoa.

freshly picked!

freshly picked!

The next morning, when the timer rang, signaling to my 8-year-old son Brett that he had reached his Minecraft playing limit, I came over and asked him if he wanted to take a hike down the river and get more ramps for dinner.

Typically?

Whining. Complaining.

“Can’t I just play for 5 more minutes!”

Not this time.

More ramps for dinner? He was on it.

We brought the pack basket this time, so we could collect a little more than just a handful.

It had to be the most beautiful day. A nice breeze. 70 degrees.

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pulling them out with great care…

There were no critters in the backwater ponds for Brett to catch with his net, what he usually focuses on while I do all the work, but once he looked up and saw that field full of ramps, he pulled out his small shovel, and even though they were tough to pull out, he took great care in selecting, cleaning and helping me fill the pack basket.

On the way back, we stopped and made some rock sculptures on the river beach, and later that afternoon came back to the house tired and happy and proud of our catch.

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me and my little partner…

Foraging is such a perfect activity from start to finish.

Fresh air, lots of exercise, mental relief from being in such a beautiful outside environment, and a great time to talk to family and friends.  Let’s not forget too, at the end of the day you get to cook a really special meal reminding you of the time and patience and care it took for you to gather the ingredients.

As for me? I’m psyched because the season has officially started. It’s almost never as easy and hiking down the river to find what I want, like I did this past weekend. It’s more of a puzzle. A hunt, and not always a sure thing. But that’s what makes it fun, engaging and kind of addicting!  Now that I have had that first taste of it, I’ll be more motivated than ever to shift my focus from winter indoor exercise and grocery-store produce, back outside and back to nature, something essential for us on so many levels.

Hiking in the woods. Rambling on paths. Wading in the river.

Ramps. Fiddleheads. Mushrooms, Berries…

Let the hunting season begin!

If you are interested in learning more about foraging and collecting edible plants, there are so many books and field guides and apps to use. I learned through knowledgeable friends though, and think it’s probably the safest bet to have someone show you how to identify the plants or mushrooms in person. If you have a friend who is into it, invite yourself along–and if not, look to see if you have a local nature organization nearby where you can learn with guided instruction.

I’d love to hear your foraging stories too, please do tell!

Sense of Nature

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the only blooms we see so far, the cute little willows…

Yesterday felt like winter. Today, finally looks like spring.

Tis’ the season in Vermont, where every few hours it seems the weather changes. Sun and warmth are taken over by clouds and rain or a sudden chill, keeping us inside.  It can mess with our moods in such a profound way, sometimes making-or -breaking our whole outlook for the day, including our focus and drive.

On one of the two or three nice days we have had so far this spring, determined to get a little outside time, I met my husband at his office and we took a short hike up a steep cobble on his lunch hour. He tends to plow up through the woods, never the trail, scaling steep rocks and downed trees, never looking back to see how anyone else is doing. That’s fine with me, and I’m used to it, but I don’t particularly like steep, and am convinced that boot-makers have some conspiracy going where they never put a rugged-enough tread on women’s boots. Even when I purchase the same boot my husband gets, in women’s sizes, I’m slipping and sliding, and he’s got the rough tread to keep on going.

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the view from the top!

As he went straight up, I poked along in a safer, more round-about way, checking from side-to-side to see if there were any instances of green or new growth. I still managed to meet him at the top. It felt amazing to be outside, and we made a pact to make this happen every week where he isn’t traveling. It’s great exercise. Fantastic to get fresh air. And when he hasn’t left me too far behind, we actually have time to talk, think out-loud a bit, and not be interupted every few minutes by an 8-year-old who’s current fascination includes bizarre what-if scenarios involving Minecraft zombies and creepers and skeletons.

As we worked our way down back towards the office, our conversation drifted back to a reoccurring topic: the virtues of taking it outside. “See, when you climb over rocks and go down mountains, it’s really great cardio and great for the core too” says my hubby, “and I’m outside in the fresh air, not inside staring at the ground, a wall or a DVD, I feel much better after being out in the fresh air”.  He thinks I don’t agree, but I don’t dispute this at all. I love being outside, wouldn’t trade it for the world.  What he is actually trying to do is convince me we don’t need to do any additional strength training beyond what we would get on a hike….that’s where we differ.

I’m not out here today for the physical effects, but for my sanity! After this first hike of the year, I was walking on air, feeling great for the first time in months.

I am convinced I think much more clearly after even just a short walk by myself or with my dog, because when I’m outside around the trees, looking and listening to the sound of the river, the birds, and away from everything else like cell phones and computers, my mind wanders and I usually come back with a long list of ideas to write down about how to approach my goals. I have actually started scheduling my walks earlier in the day to be more productive, because I know it’s part of my thinking process. I also have a son who has enough energy for about 5 kids, and have found just by observation when he is outside looking for something, whether it’s frogs, salamanders or bugs, or his most recent find, a praying mantis egg sac, he is truly in his element. Calm. Happy. Engaged. Focused.

look mom! soon we’ll have 400 mantis babies in the house!

Currently I’m reading an eye-opening book called Last Child in the Woods-Saving our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, by Richard Louv. I was interested in reading this book for my son of course, but also because I believe we as people, as parents, need this for ourselves.

The basic premise of the book is that kids are not outside enough. They are too scheduled. Kids in suburbia and in cities have a tough time finding any place to play freely and safely, and that some locations, even rural areas, are so highly-regulated because of liability and restricted use, it’s causing kids to come inside, play video games, watch tv, and sit on their rear-ends instead.

This of course adds to a host of issues including obesity and attention problems, among them. And with technology today, people trade information for experience. They think they know everything because they can Google it. But in actuality, technology does not encourage any of us to be hands-on participants in nature,  just observers. Being a participant brings out healthy development of the senses, sparks creativity and “can improve cognitive abilities and resistance to negative stresses and depression“.

Being an observer, not so much…

Louv says “Time in nature is not leisure time; it’s an essential investment in our children’s health, (and also, by the way, in our own.)” and “most parents have an acutely tuned sense of responsibility–to the point where they consider relaxing and leisure, for themselves or their children, a self-indulgent luxury. By taking nature out of the leisure column, and placing it in the health column, we are more likely to take our children on that hike–more likely to, well, have fun“.

The book goes on to describe examples of how natural landscapes and gardens have been known as restorative, and therapeutic for as far back as two thousand years. He notes studies indicating positive effects to people just by seeing a little green, or a natural setting out a window. Louv mentions research into “green exercise” is ongoing, and mostly for adults, and they “seem to benefit from “recess” in natural settings” as these settings help rejuvenate, restore and calm anxiety and depression.

I know I haven’t done the book justice with this short synopsis, because the message of the book goes in many different directions, but I love this, and agree wholeheartedly. Not just for kids, for us too, because who are we, but just grown up kids? A few days ago on my morning walk as I was thinking about this book, it made me wonder if there was an exact time in my life when I stopped thinking like a kid, and became this responsible, serious person I am now. When did I stop being a creative person? I had always loved hands on art projects and drawing and writing as a kid. I’m guessing my gradual decline in creativity started when my marketing career began after college, where I suddenly became a numbers person.  And then I wondered, was there an exact time when suddenly my need to be alone, or to have space and time to think, went away? Well, it never went away, I just stopped allowing it to happen, I’m guessing the moment my son was born.

Regardless, it isn’t right. There’s no reason I can’t reclaim that creativity, calm and focus, I just need to work at building a new, and more consistent habit.

The sun is peeking out, I can see from the window. A few willows are blooming and red-winged blackbirds and chickadees are singing away. No time for a hike and fitness debate with the husband today, but a quick walk down by the river with Balsam will wake the senses and get me through the day. I hope whether you are at work or home, you can stop, look and enjoy a little time outside today, even if you only have few minutes to peek at a little green.

Remember, it’s not an added luxury, it’s for your health too.

Happy spring!

More information about the Children and Nature Movement:
http://www.childrenandnature.org/

Last Child in the Woods
http://amzn.com/156512605X

Strong Arming the Future

kids in river

Every summer for the last few years, friends from Brooklyn come North to our house in Vermont for their own personal Fresh Air Fund adventure. The kids jump around in the river, stalk green frogs that hang out in the little pond with nets, rustle up sleeping toads under logs,  chase small dace, minnows and tadpoles, skip rocks…

And get really, really wet…

balsam swimming

Balsam and one of many heroic retrieves…

My lab Balsam loves this, usually we are talking so much we don’t notice his relentless nudging for us to throw sticks in the river for him to retrieve.

I was in the midst of a mindless stick-throwing session when my friend remarked “Now I know how you get such strong arms, throwing that thing all day for Balsam!”

Hmm.

If only that were the case! I didn’t correct her though. Maybe strong arms magically form because I’m an active gal living life in the country, chasing after my kid and dog…I wish, but nah, not so.

These arms? They are deliberate.

I just never talk about strength-building efforts because I have learned fitness is a subject that evokes a variety of emotions, not always positive ones. For instance my mother, who by the way, happens to be pro-active with her fitness, told me last summer “talking to you about fitness makes me even less motivated to want to do it!” Ok then! And I have repeatedly caught my husband completely tuned out, silent and with a blank stare, as I’m going on and on about it, although he is a little more tolerant now.

Why do people get defensive about exercise, or not want to think about it?

My theory is that everyone knows they need to exercise. We have all seen the news, read the reports. We have heard exercise is important for our mental and physical health now, and as we age. Exercise increases our energy levels. Helps us with balance and flexibility.  It enables us to be more active, and helps us focus. The old saying “use it or lose it” comes to mind.

There is a lot of guilt and regret that personal fitness and health is an afterthought on that very long list of priorities, and usually gets forgotten. But this is one of those subjects we can only dodge for a little while, eventually it needs to be confronted.   Check out this note my husband received at the bottom of his wellness plan from his doctor:

Participate in 30-45 minutes of exercise per day, daily is best. And we all need to monitor our diet and keep exercising for the rest of our lives to stay healthy and maintain our weight.

For the rest of our lives?SONY DSC

Every Day!?

Funny how they slip in these monumental, life-altering details way at the bottom, in the fine print.

Many people reviewing the recommendation with their doctor are going to nod in agreement, yes, this should be done, but may in reality be thinking:

1) How in the world am I going to fit this into my schedule? And…

2) Where do I even start? And…

3) I don’t like to exercise! And…

4) I’m sure I get enough just walking around with my kids. I’ll be fine. And…

5) Adjust and monitor caloric intake? what the…? how? I love food! And…

6) I’ll just lose a few pounds and then I’ll be done.

In my first few posts, I mentioned struggling with this dilemma. I thought I was active. I was outside all day. I was chasing after my son. I was taking walks with my dog. Occasional hikes.  At my house I used an  elliptical a few times a week. That should be enough, right?

Well, I found out, not really.

The part that wasn’t right? I was over-estimating the value of my activity. When I take Balsam for a walk, who is getting exercise? He is! I’m just standing there half the time waiting for him to fetch something, and my heart barely has time to elevate. And same with “hikes” with my son, who stops every five seconds to check out a bug or caterpillar. I wasn’t getting much activity at all. And although I ate well, as in “all natural” and “unprocessed”, I had no idea how much I should have been eating. Add to that a slowing metabolism…

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I finally made it up to Haystack!

No wonder I was always irked about never getting back to the pre-pregnancy size. And definitely not back to the pre-pregnancy fitness level. I found myself limiting activity because I wasn’t confident enough in my fitness level to keep up. When we went for hikes, I made sure they were easy “rambles” because I was huffing and puffing on the steeper hills. Some hikes I opted out of altogether, like one of our local favorites, Haystack Mountain. One spring I actually hired someone to weed my garden because my back had been bothering me.

Now what is wrong with this picture? I’m still young, I just didn’t know what to do to make myself stronger.

The right time to start making changes is a very personal decision, and I had no idea how to begin. But once I  made the choice, I became a student for life. Remember the fine print above? The need to stay fit doesn’t stop, it’s not a one-time deal. And for most of us, it doesn’t just happen by itself; it requires a little planning.

If you are curious about developing a plan, I’ll clue you in to some of my lessons-learned:

  • Think about food and exercise as currency: When I was a kid, my mother was always on Weight Watchers, and although I never actually signed up or went to meetings, I used to go through the motions with her, and write down what I ate each day in a notebook. I remember being so shocked and much more aware of what I was eating once I wrote it down. Today? There are more powerful tools on the web and in the app stores for every phone, just type in “calorie counter” on your search engine or from your mobile app store, and start tracking what you eat and I promise this will be an eye-opening experience. You don’t necessarily have to do this forever, but when you really see how much you are eating, compared to what a person of your size should be eating, and the role activity level plays in this calculation, I promise you will make changes.
  • My Monthly Schedule -The day is not complete until I put in that X..

    My Monthly Schedule -The day is not complete until I put in that X..

    Exercise should be deliberate, plan for it, learn what is most effective.  Think about your week. What days are the busiest? Where do you have a few extra minutes? Do you have to travel on certain days? Do you wake up early and surf the web for an hour? Make it only 40 minutes and take 20 for a few jumping jacks and running in place, or jump rope or an exercise video. Pencil in the times you think will work. Maybe during the workday, you can change that lunch date (or instead of sitting at your desk) to a “walk” date. Print out a monthly or weekly exercise calendar and write down what you are going to do, and when, and check it off as you achieve each goal.  I have to tell you, this has been the most important low-tech tool for me. If I have something on the calendar? I will do it. No questions asked.

  • Finding something you like takes time, add some variety: When I first started a fitness plan, I didn’t know what to do at all. I had the elliptical in the house, so just used that every day because it was easy. This is fine at first, but after awhile it gets boring, and workouts become less effective. I tried jump roping. I tried running and jogging; not my favorite. I tried yoga and it took awhile but I learned to love it. I bought an exercise ball. Certainly at the right time of year, I love to hike, and take walks and try to plan for those. For formal exercise currently I’m doing more weight lifting along with the other cardiovascular workouts, and this works well for me. I’m an at-home exerciser, because I can make this work better in a shorter amount of time, and it’s less expensive, but if you like going to a gym or classes or getting a trainer, that’s great too.  My husband? He’s the opposite. He’d rather be bushwhacking on his cross-country skis or snowshoes, or even trudging in the mud, as long as it’s outside. In the summer? Lawn mowing, gardening, raking leaves, these are all really effective ways to get your heart pumping.
  • Stretching and Balance are essential: Once you get moving, and have that plan in place, it’s hard to slow down. I remember always laughing at my Dad, thinking he was just slow-moving, who for years would take a good hour to stretch before even coming downstairs for breakfast. And he always took even more time to prepare before one of his epic Sunday bike rides. But now I get it. Since forcing myself to stretch and learn yoga moves, my back has not been a problem. I find even when I’m on a hike and I trip over a log, or branch, something I inevitably do, I recover more quickly from falls. And can’t tell you how often in everyday activities: bending down to put away dishes, weeding, reaching, squatting to pick something up, I am thankful for the flexibility. And, knock on wood, I have not been injured and do believe I owe this to the fact I slow down a few times a week to include this type of training.

Now that I have said it, I’ll go back to just doing-my-thing, not talking about fitness and making it look like my active lifestyle and super-strong arms just developed by chance…

But if you decide you want to chat, or add some of your tips, please comment. I’d love to hear!

The most important lesson I have learned over the last few years:

Being fit and healthy is not a given; it’s a choice.

Think of it like a prescription; would you not take a vitamin your Doctor recommends?

Would you skip a medication?

Don’t skip this, make the time, and the choice to be strong.  Now and for the future you.

And when you are, we’ll put you to the test by taking Balsam down to the river to see who outlasts who, in one of those endless games of river fetch.