Tea Party Catch Up

What’s been going on? Oh, nothing. Just a little sadistic torture minus the fifty shades of Edward Cullen. My season of discontent with all entertainment award governing bodies. Three generations of Kirschners attempting to rid their homes of clutter by passing it off to each other. And The Package. That’s all. I should probably cover this in three different posts, but who am I kidding? I might not get back here until March.

First, my dear friend Beth got me the deal of the century at Fitness Revolution to do four weeks of boot camp. Thankfully, I’m not obligated to fight overseas when I’m done. And while the fetus arms are coming along, they have got quite a way to go.

Confirmed: I no longer know how to jump rope. I’m serious. It can’t be done.

Also confirmed: The more I do mountain climbers, the more I hate them. The more I do mountain climbers on sliders, the more I want to throw a kettle bell at Dan’s head. I’m willing to go up to 22 pounds on that one if it makes him feel better.

Consolation: I may not be able to do many push ups in a row, but damned if my ass is NOT sticking up in the air like some other people’s are. (Nobody I know personally, of course.)

Additional consolation: I no longer feel like I’m going to drop one of those slam ball thingys on my head. So I’ve got that going for me. Which is nice.

What happens next? Well, I have 5 classes to go, but I think it’s safe to say, I will be just as motivated to get off my ass as I was when I started, so Melissa has some work cut out for her as my personal fitness champion. On the bright side, I should be able to zip my jeans up easier for at least a week.

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Next up…as far as the Golden Globes and SAG awards are concerned…

Dear Tina Fey and Amy Poehler,
I want to have your children. Perfect opening monologue and just kept getting better. Can you please host all award shows from here on out?

Dear Jodie Foster,
I have no argument against anything I think you meant to say. The problem is I'm not exactly sure you meant to say what I think you meant to say, because you were practically incoherent. Train of thought. Please stick to one.

Dear HFPA,
I get this feeling you don’t actually watch television. Probably because you are above it. But I'm going on record to say Girls is the most over-rated show currently on television. I watch it. I occasionally enjoy it. I think Lena Dunham relies heavily on the shock value of letting herself be filmed naked. And I think you want desperately to appear hip enough to "get" it. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe I don't "get" it. I also don't get how Smash even gets a nomination over Veep, Louie, 30 Rock, Parks & Rec, or New Girl? Other notable drama snubs...Walking Dead, Sons of Anarchy, and Game of Thrones. How do these not even get mentioned and that hack job Nashville does? Lastly, there is absolutely no reason that Benedict Cumberbatch should not have won for Sherlock. Not with that competition (or lack there of). I could expect this at the Emmy's or some People's Choice Award, because people haven't seen it. But how could you ignore the sheer genius of this man playing a sheer genius? Shame!

Dear SAG card holders,
The category Best Acting by an Ensemble in a Motion Picture is not the same as Best Motion Picture. I almost want to let this slide, because I really do want Ben Affleck to get his moment since other people seem to want him to fail for some reason. And I’m definitely fine with him getting the Golden Globe and if he wins the Oscar. But Argo and Zero Dark Thirty are plot driven. Silver Linings Playbook and Best Exotic Marigold Hotel are character driven. Character = Acting. This doesn’t seem like a hard concept.

Dear Anne Hathaway,
Give any and all awards you win for Les Miserables to Eddie Redmayne. And please stop pretending your speeches are so spontaneous. Also, do not compare your career to Sally Fields. She was GIDGET for Christ sakes. You will never come close to how cool that is.

Dear Jennifer Lawrence,
Please never turn into Anne Hathaway.

* * *
On to the anti-hoarding efforts.

For the past few years, 9 times out of 10, when I show up at my grandma’s, I leave with something she’s looking to get rid of. This is great for me when it’s a cool serving piece for the china cabinet or a truck load of blue mason jars. She’s also come to a point in her life that she wants people to have certain mementos, which are often things that we originally gave to her as presents. This is also fine. But I’m telling you right now, if I get back the soap dispenser shaped like a toilet that says “Hey, don’t forget to wash your hands” when you walk by, it is immediately being wrapped up for the Cousin Christmas white elephant gift exchange. Sorry, Granny.

Coinciding with my mother’s retirement and my brother’s second exodus from my parent’s home, my father has commenced what I’m going to refer to as The Great Excavation. Much like at my grandmother’s, I’m very likely to be presented with items that have been found in the attic or basement during one of his archeological digs. Unlike my grandma’s, it is more likely to be a piece of crap from the 80s that should never have been saved to begin with (example: box of cassette tapes). Fortunately, my dad doesn’t seem to have a problem with putting them at the curb if I wrinkle my nose at him.

To top this off, Scott and I (mostly Scott) have been trying to redefine our own basement in order to fit his many Storage Wars projects. We have been pretty brutal. It actually started before Christmas when I gave a big plastic tub full of Christmas decorations to my sister-in-law Barbi (welcome to the family), moved on to the monthly culling of any toy I could potentially impale myself with if (read: when) left on the carpet, and finished up with the disposal of all things superfluous that covered the tree lawn this morning for bulk pick up. Sometimes I wonder how I get so much crap. Then I read the above two paragraphs.

* * *
Finally. Just in case you were wondering. The Package has been purchased. And just in case you don’t know what The Package is. It is the NKOTB – 98 Degrees – BoysIIMen tour. The Package will be in town June 9 if you are planning to block me on Facebook or Instagram. The Package is the best name they could have ever come up with for this event. EVER.

2011 Cleveland Marathon

Borrowed from Scott's blog:

Scott / Anna

4:30 Alarm goes off. My head is not in the race. Ankle is still store with my first step out of bed. I tell myself to remember the mantra from my last blog. Oh, and I take two Advil. More to come later on that topic. Off to the Shower.

4:30 Definition of insanity. Since at some point in the wee hours Zoe has joined us, I switch to Scott’s side of the bed to get some breathing room. I find that he has already set the alarm for me. Where is the trust?

4:45 Out of the Shower. Body Glide time for all those special parts that may chafe. Running close on time and the great debate begins as it has gotten considerable colder since I went to bed. Long sleeves or Tri top?

5:00 Downstairs for breakfast. My traditional breakfast of banana babyfood, Cliff Bar, part of banana and some sports drink. Start doing a little stretching.

5:00 to 5:30 Many trips to the restroom to rid myself unnecessary weight.

5:30 PK comes to my house to go to the race together. It is seriously cool outside and there is some even more serious fog. Cut through the flats and we are in the parking lot in no time.

6:00 Long Sleeves or Tri Top and arm warmers? I get out of my car and am immediately cold, so I make the gut reaction to wear a long sleeve running top. First mistake.

6:15 PK and I walk down to Browns Stadium for the start. BTW, props to the Browns for opening the stadium for the use of the facilities and shelter from the weather. Nerves are starting to kick in looking around at the crowd and the fact my dang Achilles is still sore. One more stop in the bathroom and even with all the bathrooms open there are still lines. Much nicer than port-a-potties.

6:15 Alarm goes off. Ugh…if I have any plans of getting in the shower, I cannot hit snooze. If I have any plans of people standing next to me…I have to shower. Morgan wakes up just as I turn the water off so at least I get to skip that argument.

6:40 PK and I make our way to the start line. The corrals were a little tight, but worked out fine. We find the 3:20 pace leader who happened to be the same person (Jay) from last year, which I was psyched about. Great pace leader. I didn’t recognize his co-pace leader. More to come later on that topic, also. Stretching is in full force now.

6:55 National Anthem and “Cleveland Rocks” song – which Cleveland can let go at any time and find a replacement – n o disrespect to Drew Carey.

7:00 The gun goes off and the chaos of 19,000 people leaving the start line begins. PK and I are immediately separated. My good pace leader has disappeared and the great salmon swim begins to catch back up. This is also when I realize the course I said I was not a fan of was going to make itself known. I catch back up with the pace group by about Mile 1, after steadily climbing hills for a mile. I am beginning to settle down, but my Achilles is in major pain. Fitness-wise I am loaded with energy and now completely focused on running. That first mile was a sub 7 pace to catch back with the group.

7:05 We leave our house. On time. I have made a deal with Zoe that she can stay in her pajamas until we get to our first spectator spot. I have packed a thermal sack with water, Capri Suns and a Zero. I have packed a bag with Zoe’s clothes, children’s books, coloring paper, markers, How to Ditch Your Fairy, the Lady Gaga edition of Bazaar Magazine, bags of goldfish crackers, fruit snacks, granola bars, wipes, two large blue recycling bags and the camera. I throw two lawn chairs and the umbrella stroller in the trunk to join the blanket. I cannot even begin to tell you how impressive this is.

Mile 2 Concept of time of day has disappeared. I am feeling great (except for my Achilles) and feel like running a little faster than my pace group. I surge ahead and I am running at 7:10 per mile. PK catches up and is running lights out with me. Cruising into the Edgewater area. Love the crowds in this area of town

7:15 Pull out of McDonald’s with two McGriddles, a Bacon, Egg and Cheese bagel, three hashbrowns, two apple juice and one orange drink (their orange juice is too pulpy…blechhh).

10K I am still ahead of my pace group and running strong. PK has dropped off the pace. His knee will not hold out. Knowing I am in for the long haul on a bad wheel, I decide to cut back my pace and rejoin my pace group, which happens a little after mile 7.

7:30 Get off and West 25th and head to Scranton, pulling ahead of the aide station and race turn, so it is no longer between me and downtown (again, I’m surprising myself with impressive skillz). Park in front of a questionable house, but less than a block away from the police officer, so we’re able to eat our breakfast and get Zoe changed. Less the 10 minutes later the pros are heading our way (Jesus, that is fast.) Barely a light mist at this point. Morgan pushes Zoe’s stroller and I grab the chairs and bag to find our spot on the corner of Mile 9.

Mile 7-9 Running well with the group. However, the thought the Advil was doing nothing had crept in, and my adrenaline was working on other things. This is also when the bad pace guy takes over the flag carrying duties and the good pacer takes a port-a-pot stop. Almost immediately bad pacer jacks the pace up to 7:10 miles, which is 28 seconds faster then his designated pace and the group is being decimated. I am hanging but the added pressure is not helping and now I am getting pissed. In the back of my head, I think he going to slow down, so that his partner can catch up. No dice. Ten miles and we are now consistently running 7:10. My ankle is now throbbing and the thought of calling it a day at the half is going through my head. Note to the bad pace leader: the word pace is defined. You may want to look it up.

8:00-8:45 You don’t realize how fast people are actually running until you are trying to pick out faces. I knew no less than 10 people running the half marathon and was on the look out. I didn’t even realize it was Scott until he was practically in front of me, thus the picture from behind. I can confirm the bad pacer at this spot, because I noticed he was practically on top of the 3:10 group. We waited. Morgan’s best quote of the day. “It’s hard to look for Uncle Phil, because there are so many bald guys.” (I swear I didn’t teach her this, and I don’t think he’s bald.) As we finally give up to drive down town, I look up and catch Gregg rounding the turn, who despite allegations of being completely un-prepared, manages to call out hellos to the girls without any effort whatsoever.

Mile 13.1 I have made it here and laid down BQ half time. Maybe my best half time. Achilles is still killing, but the mantra from last blog kicks in and I keep running. Heck, I am halfway interested to see how things turn out. Then the head winds kick in and so does my grudge match with the marathon.

9:00 Me, queen of no sense of direction, gets the family downtown through the plight-dredged streets of Cleveland. The parking garage I had planned on was closed, but I easily made a correction. On the walk there, I force the girls to take a pee break at the Hyatt (I know a really nice public restroom in the basement there from my E&Y days). We casually make our way along the half-mile finish course where I finally spot another friend, or rather she spots me and waves (Go, Shannon!). The precipitation is getting a little heavier now and the temperature has dropped drastically. I should have worn a coat instead of sweatshirt, but the girls are actually dressed okay and we have the blanket. Nobody is even complaining about the walk.

Mile 16 My pace has dropped off a little. The dehydration of taking 6-8 Advil a day for the last two weeks has also started and now I’m fighting cotton mouth and some muscle issues. The good pace leader and I have rejoined forces around mile 15 and were still cruising a little ahead of the 3:20 pace. (Editor’s note: Scott is being modest here, because he told me later that he and his fancy watch helped out a big group of people and he became the un-official pace setter and cheer leader for a big gaggle of them for quite sometime before coming back upon the official guy.)

9:15ish Closing in on the Rock Hall and see Coach Patty (Morgan’s soccer coach) who has finished the half and walking back to her car. Grab a spot to sit for a while and wrap the blanket around the girls, but know for certain we cannot stay here for an entire hour (if he is actually keeping pace, which I believe is next to impossible with that ankle). It is too cold and the wind to brutal. Yet if we walk toward the stadium, it is a mad house and by the time we get settled there, we’ll have to come back if we want a chance to see him. Decisions, decisions.

Mile 19 This is where my race began…or shall I say…fell a part. I was starting to hit the wall. My Achilles was not going to let me stay with the 3:20 guys much longer, and I am starting to cramp from dehydration. Thank science for gels, because they were a lifesaver at times on this run. By mile 20 I had hit the wall on many fronts of cramping and pain, but I had still managed to get there in about 2 hours 33 minutes. My new goal based on my grudge match was just coming in under 3:30.

9:45 Find shelter (and a bench) up against the Rock Hall. In fact, it completely cuts off the wind and the now-steady drizzle. The girls are in great spirits and take out the coloring supplies. A half-er in shorts and a tank top makes her way to the shelter, waiting for her ride and I offer our blanket, because her shivering is making me cold. (Again …definition of insanity.) I enjoy some pop and fruit snacks and read a very small amount of my book.

Mile 22 Life is sucking. I have had to walk for about 30 feet and mentally I was fighting on every level. Back to the mantra and a new one which was “just keep running.” Just keep looking for the city and just keep running.

Mile 24 Fighting my way over the wall. Had some periodic walking, but still was managing under 8:00 minute miles when I was running. The grudge match goal was in reach.

10:15 Head down to the curb. The drizzle is back to mist and the girls pull out the garbage bags to sit on, letting me wrap myself in a blanket. Morgan and Zoe start up the chant, “Go, Daddy, Go!” for about ten minutes, which must have made the people wonder exactly how many daddies they had.

Mile 25 The realization that I had pushed my way to the finish had begun to set in, and I was happy about that. Plus, I knew I was going to see my girls soon, and that would make whatever portion of the race was left much easier.

Mile 26 I see Anna, Morgan and Zoe cheering at the Rock Hall. I run over and give them all high fives and cheer for them, since they have sucked it up in the rain and wind for hours now and cruise into the finish. I stop my watch at 3:28 and change, but closer to 3:29. I am satisfied with the time considering the conditions, my Achilles and all the other factors. After that stuff, I was only about six minutes slower then my pace last year.

10:30ish I think Scott shocked the girls by coming over for high fives, which made them very giddy. Well worth the wait. Started to walk towards the finish line and probably kept going a little longer than I should have before turning around. There was just too much madness to be able to try to find him and now it is legitimately raining and I sense a breaking point for the girl’s patience. Zoe is looking soaked at this point. So when we get back to the car, I let her change back into her pajamas and she is ecstatic.

11:00 I am so cold I am now shivering uncontrollably and can not find the girls in the rain and wind. I decide to call it quits and hope they do the same. I head to the med tent for a foil blanket and walk to the car. Call Anna and she has done the same.

11:30 I am heading home to let the stiffness set it in and EAT.

11:30 Heading home along the path of the race course and talking to Scott on the phone to get the scoop on the ankle situation (I know. Shame on me). There are literally hundreds of shirts littering the road after being discarded by the racers. Scott had a good suggestion that some organization should follow along after the race and pick them up to sell or give to clothes banks.

Overall: Another good race put on by Rite Aid and the sponsors. Huge props to Anna and the kids for supporting Dad through the journey. Props to the volunteers and all the spectators who braved the weather. This was a mental battle with the marathon and I got through it.

Sorry, I missed everyone else. Way to go Colleen, Kim, Beth, Lindsey, Meghan and John. I honestly don’t know how you do it. My legs cramp up when I take the stairs to the cafeteria.

Tri season next and maybe a trip to the doctor.

Physical Fitness Update

You may be surprised to hear that I've actually kept up pretty well with my exercise class commitment. I've missed a few here and there, but tried to make up for it by jumping on an elliptical or stationary bike. Good news is, my pooch hasn't gotten any bigger. Looking forward to the weather improving so we can take yoga class outside.

And speaking of yoga...my most impressive accomplishment? I did a headstand! I haven't done a headstand since Sunnyside gymnastics in 6th grade.

Monday was the last "ballet" class since Lindsay is deserting us to instruct water aerobics, which I will happily watch while the girls are taking their swim lesson. I can report that my gracefulness factor raised exactly zero points and I still felt like a heffelump during the actual dance portion, but I think my bar work improved. Maybe? I did get yelled at for not having my leg high enough this last time.

So I need to find another class, but in the meantime, Lindsay also started teaching a cycle class at the same time as Turbokick and has been trying to lure me away. Since I'm no more graceful in Turbokick than ballet, cycling does sound like a more appealing option.

The first time I was going to go, Zoe decided not to take a nap that day. And when she doesn't take a nap, she turns back into Devil's Spawn, which I don't feel is appropriate to subject the nice girls at Kid's Club to.

The second time I was going to go, I walked in and Lindsay wasn't there, so I grabbed a towel and walked back out to join Turbo (recall my fear of new things). Turns out she was in Columbus that day, running with some nut that runs across the United States and yelling at the governor's wife. She might be partially related to Scott.

Last night was try number three...

I pulled a bike out and that's about as far as I could get on my own. So she came over and showed me where to position the seat and how to change the gears and such. I probably should have been paying a little more attention to that part but I was too busy fearing this mechanical marvel and wondering if anyone had ever fallen off one in class.

It is for this reason that when we started climbing first thing (meaning out of the seat, standing on the pedals) I may have had my gear a smidge too high for my level of experience. I think it was supposed to be a three minute climb and I made it about 20 seconds before having to sit down, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

Considering it was a 55 minute class and I already can't breathe, have turned beat red, and have sweat pouring off me; I'm contemplating the humiliation of stopping after 30 minutes...if I could even make it that long.

But then I began realizing that my problem was I had no clue what gear I should have started at. (Disclaimer: She did say something about beginners being between 4-7, but when she was telling the class to gear up, I was thinking that meant exponentially. My bad.) By the time I hit the 30 minute mark, I had come to some sort of epiphany and knew I could push through for the full 55. Thank god.

So how do I feel?

Anticipating it getting worse during the day, but for the moment it's merely the vague inclination that my legs weigh 100 pounds a piece. I might think it was worse if my crotch didn't hurt so damn bad. I mean really...they can invent an iPhone but not a comfortable bike seat that doesn't make wish you could spend the entire next day standing? And this is coming from a girl who has spent at least a third of her life riding horses.

I'm probably going to find out I was sitting wrong or something, and it's my own damn fault, but for the moment I'll blame it on the bike.

Wondering if I could go raid a maternity ward for their miracle ice pads to put in my underwear.

The Saga Continues

Okay, I'm not going to turn this into an exercise blog, but...

I did it. I managed to take two more group exercise classes.

I should note that my secondary goal in exercising (after getting a less-squishy pooch) is better posture. I have horrible posture. When I see myself in pictures I always think if I had just put my shoulders back I would have looked 10 pounds skinnier. But damn, that takes a lot of effort.

And I will take an “I told you so” from my dad, who constantly told me to sit up straight as a kid (and thus I defiantly slouched over whenever he wasn’t in the room). Lessons from a man that wore a back brace in high school. Maybe I’ll try reverse psychology on Morgan and Zoe.

On Sunday I took Hatha Yoga, which was different than other yoga I have done. In the past I’ve done something closer to “power” yoga which accelerates your heart rate because you move through poses repetitively and fairly quickly.

It was led by an older Frenchman named Bejan. I’m pretty sure he asked us to call him BJ, but his accent was so thick I don’t think I’ll be referring to him by name any time soon. I told Scott he looked more like somebody who just got off the Tour de France than a yogi.

I liked the class, but I definitely can’t “quiet my mind”. I tried, but all I could focus on was the woman on the other side of the room that sounded constipated.

Every time we entered a pose, “OhhUgghh.”

Every time we came back to center, “Ahhohh”

Bless her heart, she looked to be in her 70’s and I’m not holding it against her or anything, I just could not help but be distracted.

It reminded me of the ashram in “Eat, Pray, Love” where Liz would go to the meditation room to empty her mind, and all she could think about was how she should put a meditation room in her own house and how she would decorate it.

And it was 90 minutes…90 minutes of exercise…90 minutes of quieting my mind…90 minutes of not yelling at the kids. AH HA! Sign me up.

The last class I chose kicked my ass more than the other two combined.

It was called Studio Workout. “15 minutes of stretch and warm-up. 20 minutes of leg and arm strengthening at the bar. 20 minutes of aerobic dance.”

Ballet. Actually, it’s Ballet For Old People Who Should Not Be Taking Ballet. And that bar is not the bar I’m used to strengthening my arms at.

In theory, I love this class. It made me sweat, but didn’t kill my respiratory system. I got to listen to music from Phantom and Les Mis and The Nutcracker the whole time. I got to learn fancy French words to use on my yoga instructor.

And I really do like it. Really. I just have one thing I need to get over. I never have, do not currently, and never will look like this girl when she dances.

She is a AA size 2, light as a feather and graceful as a swan.

I am a foot taller, 36C top and size 6 (okay, 8) bottom, and can barely do a jumping jack without falling on my face. Don’t get me wrong…I know I am a very normal sized person…and I don’t have a completely whacked out self-image, but…

I look like a woolly mammoth next to her.

This is no joke – a frickin’ woolly mammoth.

I just couldn’t stop looking in the mirror and thinking, "Woolly Mammoth" and “I am not built to be graceful” and “Why did I wear this outfit?”

But I do think I have come up with a solution. Next Monday I am not going to wear my glasses.

Prepared for Battle

I'm not really a New Year's Resolution sort of girl. Mostly because every week I tell myself I'm going to do something different. Whether that is spend more time with the girls, make lunches before bed, or stop eating so many damn oreos.

And it usually lasts about a day. Which is to say, if I were to wait a whole year to start over, I'd be in big trouble.

So even though I did go to a group exercise class yesterday, it's not really a resolution. Just a response to the fact that my jeans were getting tighter and I really don't want to buy new jeans. And then there's the fact that we have a club membership that Scott uses extensively and the only times I have gone in the last year are to take the girls to swim lessons. It's economics.

Two years ago I asked for a few personal trainer sessions as my Christmas present and I had a bit of a routine, but eventually I stopped pushing myself as hard as the PT had told me. Which only confirms the fact that I lack self-motivation.

I knew if I was in a class I would be forced to work harder.

Three problems with that:
1. I don't like people watching me.
2. I don't like to do new things.
3. I don't like people watching me do new things.

My choice of classes for Wednesday evening were Pilates, Turbokick, Cardio Circuit or Hatha Yoga. I would have been all for the yoga, but I had already decided I was going to try that class on the weekend, since there weren't any convenient cardio classes that looked appealing at that time.

There was no description for the Cardio Circuit available, but the very word Circuit sounds too complicated.

I really would like to try pilates, but this class was being held in the "Pilates Room" which meant they'd be using the pilates machines instead of just the moves and such. Basically, take my three problems above and multiply them buy 10 when they involve any sort of external equipment.

That leaves Turbokick, which is kickboxing on aerobic steroids. So you will have to give me that I didn't exactly pick the easiest way to enter the world of the physically fit.

But I used to do a boxing workout (from the comfort of my living room) in college, and I figured at least I would know the upper body moves. Jab, Cross, Uppercut, Hook. Pretty easy when there's no one punching back at you.

Guess what. When you add footwork and jumping jacks and a lady yelling in a microphone, it's a lot harder than boxing. There are surprisingly few actual kicks in the class - not that I'm complaining - but a lot of bringing your knees up really high when you punch.

And she gave us the option of occasionally doing "air jacks" instead of regular jacks at certain points, which basically looks like a cheerleader's spread eagle jump a bunch of times in a row. I did not choose that option.

Amazing part - I didn't do that bad. I thought for sure I was going to have to quit halfway through, but I just stopped bouncing quite so much for a while and was able to catch my breath.

And the instructor was a tiny powerhouse of energy, but not bubbly - excellent marks on that front.

Headed home through the arctic cold, where Scott gave me a small look of concern that my face was still so red. It was pretty red. I think I might have a slight oxygen intake problem. It was a good two hours before I returned to my normal pasty-white self.

I'm a little sore in my shoulders and hamstrings, but considering I thought there was a possibility of needing a wheelchair today, I'll take it. Bonus is that I can now include a roundhouse kick in my self-defense repertoire. I'm bad ass.

So any other five season members who want to take this class with me...I'm pretty hooked.