Real Life Application of CrossFit Theory for a Grandma Who Lifts

Why do I CrossFit?

Let's use today as an example.

I completed my appointment at the World's Largest Medical Center and made my way to my car. Earlier this morning, I parked on the 6th floor - toward the top of the parking structure. At 8:30 am, I had my pick of spaces and there weren't a lot of cars on that floor. By 10:00 am, the place was jam-packed. As I approached my space, I realized I had a problem.  Although my car was easily between MY two yellow lines, a big ol' red extended cab pickup was parked just inches (maybe 2? maybe 3?) from my driver's side. He was angled over the line and into my space. A sedan was on the passenger side, also over the line and into my space.

Well, shit.

I took a minute to assess the situation and, happily, looked up to see a security vehicle making the rounds. I flagged the officer who got out and he immediately started shaking his head.  "Yeah, that's not good."

I had to laugh at the way he summed it up.  He called the Texas Medical Center police switchboard who said the Parking Department would have to handle it. He jotted down a phone number for me and went on his way.

Again. Shit.

I tried to call the parking department but the number I was given wasn't in service.

Big breath. Oh, look! Here comes a TMC police cruiser.  The police officer stops, gets out of his vehicle and asks me if I'm a good driver. Hell, yeah. I'm a good driver! I told him I used to drive an ambulance in Kansas - sometimes in the snow. "Great! You can do this!"

Let's talk functional fitness here. And heart rate control. And following direction. And trust. And teamwork.

We folded up the mirrors of my car and the car to my right. That left a sliver for me to eek through but I had to do a squatting/limbo kind of move to even enter and THEN I had to balance on my right foot while I wiggled my way in to get a foothold on the floor of the passenger side. Once there, I only had to crawl over the console to get into the driver's seat. Whew!

I was kind of wound up by then. I needed to be calm and listen.

Windows down so I could hear instructions. Deep breath. Concentrate.

Inch by inch, we worked together to get the damned thing out of that parking spot. He gave me corrections, I made them. When I finally got clear (without a scratch to any of the cars), we cheered together.

This entire episode literally mirrors my White Board and WOD experience every time I go to the gym.  Gather information, pay attention to the details, trust in the coach, listen and make adjustments as needed, celebrate achievement.

Seriously, celebrate your damned achievements! Life is too challenging and too full of possible disappointments not to cheer when you can.

Bike Off!

14.03 miles 2:57:25 8:20am 50 degrees (heated up to over 60) 12:39 pace

Almeda to Binz to Montrose to Allen Parkway to Shepherd to Memorial Drive and back. Finished up with a run around Hermann Golf Course.

I feel kind of lucky to be home in one piece.

There has been a lot written about the way drivers of cars treat those who ride bikes in the Memorial Park area.

Today I witnessed (over and over) runners almost being clobbered by bike riders. It happened twice to me.

I understand that the street is not safe in the area for bikeriders. There have been serious injuries - even fatalities at Memorial. What I don't understand is why a few (not ALL - there were plenty of people riding responsibly) have taken to the sidewalks in such an aggressive and dangerous manner.

My running schedule is calling for longer and longer runs. The Bayou Trail is convenient, slightly hilly, and I'd like to continue to use it. I thought I'd use Memorial Drive and add the Memorial Loop for mileage. I'm not going to chance it. If my experience in just a one mile stretch of Memorial on a Sunday morning was any indication of what I can expect in that area, I'll pass. I'm no match for 2 wheels and a helmet flying down the sidewalk. In a matter of moments, my running days and possibly my career...crap, my life could be over. These thoughtless bullies can have the sidewalk. I'll stick to the trails.



©Michelle Scofield, November 3, 2013 All Rights Reserved

Thinking about Peppers and a Peck of Other Things

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule: Week 9, Day 6

Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 64
Planned activity: 12 mile run
5:15 pm 61 degrees 12.02 miles    2 hours 25 minutes   12:04 pace

I've never liked peppers.  Let me qualify that.  I've always despised bell peppers.  I couldn't stand the taste of them:  raw, stuffed, roasted, any way they were presented to me.  I still won't eat one raw but I've prepared three meals for myself this week that included bell peppers.  I'm eating scrambled eggs and peppers as I type this entry.  Yum!  My point...tastes change.  Mine did.  If you haven't tried something lately, do.  You might be surprised.

I'm still in awe at how my diet has changed over the last year.  I have to go to the grocery store every few days because of the need to restock my produce bin.  I feel very fortunate to have the resources available to me to be able to purchase such a wide variety of fresh and nutritious food.  I'm painfully aware that I'm in the minority of people that enjoy this ability to eat what I want, when I want. 

There were dozens of runners on the road this morning.  We're getting closer to the big Houston Marathon and Saturday morning along Lexington is prime time for long-run training.  I think the majority of the people I came across were with Fort Bend Fit, a running club in this area.  There were a few of us solo runners - running against the stream.  Most of us exchange quick greetings as we pass each other.  I had to smile (with a bit of envy) as I approached a group of three women, obviously running together.  They were running side by side by side, filling the entire sidewalk.  We made eye contact.  I started to open my mouth to utter a chipper "good morning", but they kept coming, and...I was forced to yield to their three-strong sidewalk brigade and to step onto the grass.  So much for running etiquette.  *sigh*  Oh, well.  Such is life out here in Stepford.  And people ask me why I want to move back to Houston.  Three bad peppers may not ruin a peck of peppers but they sure pickle it.

ANYway...

I continued on, finished my run and I'm home with my peppers and eggs.  And a delicious cup of coffee.  My foot is on ice.  It was achy during the run but not too bad.  Oh, I used a pack of Gu energy gel at mile 9.  Wouldn't have finished without it.  It wasn't too bad and didn't have any tummy issues because of it.  I felt like I was starting to bonk and perked up about 10 minutes after getting it down with some water. 

Happy Saturday, Everyone!  Hope your weekend is everything you want it to be.  M

  






©Michelle Scofield, Nov 10, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Icy

Hal Higdon's Novice 1 Marathon Training Schedule: Week 1, Day 3

Days to Chevron Houston Marathon: 122

Planned activity: 3 mile run

Completed 3.02 in 35:04

Time and Temp: 5:00am 73 degrees


I'm typing while my foot rests on an ice bag.  It doesn't hurt because I finished my run.  It only hurts when I've been still for any prolonged period of time.  It feels pretty good when I move.  The problem is that I can't be in perpetual motion and I know that as I bump up the miles it's likely to get worse.  I have an appointment to see the fabulous Dr. William M. Jones next week.  It's the soonest I can get in.  In the meantime, I'm going to keep my mileage relatively low and my surfaces flat.  I'll ice and take rest days.

This is as good as I can do people.  My name is Michelle and I am an addict.

On another front but I think (also) needing ice as a response:

Let your imagination tackle this B.S. situation:

Suppose a person entered a lunchroom full of people and was greeted with this:

"Michelle, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure?  What do you need?"

"Could you please eat a sandwich?  You're wasting away!"

W. T. F.

I've worked so hard to lose the pounds I put on when I was out of commission exercise-wise.  I've struggled with my food issues.  I've SWEATED and I've cried.  I've faced my demons.  What if a person had to deal with this shit at work?  From a higher-up?  Sure, maybe it got a laugh but maybe that laugh was gained at the cost of the inner embarrassment of someone who has dealt with food issues her entire adult life.  Sure maybe the butt of the joke might need thicker skin but isn't work supposed to be a safe place?

Isn't it enough to be a stranger (Democrat) in a strange (Republican) land?  Divorced in the land of the married?  Now to be called out for this? For being healthy and thin?  Let's just call a spade a spade.  "You're different.  You're not like us.  We're going to make you feel like an outcast no matter how we have to do it."  That's how it feels. 

I'm a size 10-12.  I'm not rail-thin.  I'm not super-skinny.  I was FAT before I took charge of my out of control self.

My response?  Just a look.   My best friend's proposed response?  Not printable.  I love him but if I followed his advice I wouldn't have the funds to pay entry fees for races nor would we be able to finance our mutual travel addiction.  Some things are best met with icy stares.

Anyway...That's my rant of the day.






©Michelle Scofield, September 12, 2012 All Rights Reserved

I Come From Another Place

Dancing last night with J.  We used to go about once a month or so but things happen and it's been a long time.  Broken feet happen.  Babies happen.  Bad bands happen.  We got out of the groove.  Don't get me wrong.  J and I never lose our grooves.  We're just too damned groovy to lose our groove.

Our old routine went like this: We'd order dinner (lots of chips and salsa) and talk about our families and our jobs. We'd catch up on news about the old gang. We'd share a pitcher of margaritas or have a couple of martinis each. We'd commiserate about the political and social atmosphere of our nation.  Then we'd move on to the dancing venue.


Our new routine goes like this.  We go to dinner and talk about our families and our jobs.  We catch up on any news about the old gang - there's not much anymore.  We might have coffee.  We rarely have alcohol at dinner. We commiserate about the political and social atmosphere of our nation.  If we're both feeling good and we can find anywhere to dance, we move on to that place.  If not, we call it a night and go our separate ways.  Last night, we felt great and we had a plan. 

The lights were low, the wood paneling was dark, and the band was playing when we entered the room.  The music ran all the way through rock and blues to salsa and hiphop. Several couples were already on the dance floor and we found a table not too far away.  It didn't take long before the first drive by occurred.  A man circled our table and didn't stop.  We were being checked out.  I asked J if she'd seen him.  She hadn't.  She never does.  It's something I like about her.  She's there for the music.  I've seen her dance alone many more times than with a partner.

We were served way-too-expensive cocktails and soon were dancing with numerous and varied partners.  I feel lucky that I was asked to dance by a man who happened to be quite good at East Coast Swing and I'm not sure if he had as much fun if I did, but I had a blast.  It's rare to find anyone who knows how to dance that style these days, let alone is a strong but not painful lead.  During a mamba, I feared one older gentleman was having some sort of cardiac event, as evidenced by his profuse perspiration and the way he was mopping his brow with cocktail napkins.  I asked him if he wanted to sit down but he insisted on dancing on.  We danced on.

You'd think all this would be entertainment enough.  But wait.  There's more.  Another girlfriend arrived.  I hadn't seen her in months.  Now picture this.  Three women.  One tall drop-dead gorgeous African-American, one Midwestern brunette, and one tall West-coast looking blonde.  3 women out on the town, dancing with any man who asks, buying their own drinks.  What happens during the band breaks?  Just this.

A man walks over, sits down at our table and says, "So what's the story here?"  He went on to tell two of us that he thought we were quite stunning but "not your blonde friend" - gesturing at her with a shoulder shrug.  He turned his body away from her, oh-so-slightly excluding her from his conversation. He actually insulted her, not once, but twice right in front of us.  I think he saw her talking to someone and immediately decided she was interested in that person so he didn't have a shot with her.  I'm not sure, but his approach was, um, interesting.  He went on to tell us that the "guys at the bar" had been talking about us and there was money riding on him coming over and finding out our story...where were we from, how did we know each other, etc.  He said he might not be very elegant in his questioning because he "came from another place".   Ah!  That's it.  He asked where I came from.  I told him, I also came from another place.  Kansas in Truthistan.

Now, know this.  The entire time I was talking to him, I was smiling.  I was charming.  I was Charm School charming.  I let him tell us his story about the bar bet and then I leaned forward and told him it wasn't very nice, what he said - twice - to my friend.  I continued to smile while I said it.  He kept smiling and he shook my hand.  He stood and he left.

Best part of the evening.  As soon as he left, another man slid right into his seat.  My girlfriends and I just cracked up.  Poor guy.  What was this?  Was someone giving out numbers for that booth position?

I don't want anyone to get the idea that we're three women who go out on a mission to mess with men.  We don't.  It's quite the opposite.  We all had a great time and I think the people we danced with did, too.  We aren't out to hook up.  We aren't out to take advantage.  We're just out being humans, enjoying the music.  Mr. Swing Dancer was kind enough to tell me of some places I didn't know about where I might run into some other dance-lovers my age.  I'll check them out.  In the meantime, I'll keep planning dinners with my girlfriends and remembering where I come from.  Truthistan, the land of smiling honesty.


©Michelle Scofield, September 1, 2012 All Rights Reserved




 

Creepshow

Waiting for another friend to arrive at the Art Festival, L and I watched the crowd move through the entrance. It's an artsy crowd. It's not unusual to see all kinds, but this guy...this guy stood out. Not only was he approaching (I'm guessing) six and a half feet in height, he was wearing a straw fedora, a linen jacket with the sleeves rolled up, no shirt, Bermuda shorts and flip-flops. He had that pumped-up look, all brawn and no brain. What? Do I judge? Well, yes! He was a walking cartoon. He was also every bit of fifty years old. Ridiculous. L and I are perfectly capable of discreetly noticing the outrageous and pointing it out to each other. We did. We watched him as he wandered about the artists' booths, chest puffed up and eventually he disappeared into the crowd. Wow.

We mentioned him to our other friend, V, after she arrived. As we walked among the crowd, the topic turned to hats. The teenage son of V wanted to know what exactly was a fedora. After we went through that description, the conversation quickly turned to other topics and the Cock of the Walk was forgotten for the next three hours. I wish it had stayed that way.

We decided we'd had enough fresh air, sunshine, and art and we made our way back to the main gate. I asked V's son to snap a quick picture of the three of us next to a signpost for the festival. We moved close together and started to flash the requisite smiles. That's when Mr. Fedora showed up, standing behind our photographer, just standing there - smiling at us. Very, very creepy. Just as suddenly as he appeared, he took off walking down a path. I turned to V and said, "Did you see him? That's that guy?"

He gets about 100 yards away, turns around and heads back towards us. The guy headed right at us, nearly brushing into us.

I have no idea what his deal was.

I'm pretty sure I don't want to know.

I'm hoping he was some sort of plant for a social experiment and we failed. If he wasn't, I'm seriously creeped.

I Love Babies and Dogs - I Promise.

It took over 24 hours to find the times posted for the 17th Annual Sheltering Arms Turkey Trot. Initially, only clock times came up and I was disappointed to see mine at 1:07:23. A couple hours later the chip times came up and I was listed at 1:05:46. That was what I thought I ran, so I was happy to see it.

In the time I was waiting for the times to post, I logged onto active.com and watched the comments start to come in. The negative feedback far outweighed the positive around the race and honestly, I agreed with most of it.

The organizers obviously weren't prepared for the large crowd, or they didn't seem to be. The pace markers at the starting line were set very close together and we couldn't hear the announcer. Chip collection at the finish was immediately after we crossed over the line and created a bit of a bottleneck at that point.

But the real problems, the REAL problems...

...walkers, and strollers, and pets, oh my!

Sure, it's a great morning for families to get out and enjoy time together, but for the love of all that's good and safe, get the heck out of the front of the pack and get out of the way! There is no reason on earth that people who are walking need to be standing in the 8, 9, 10, even 11 minutes/mile sections. They're in the way and they're dangerous. Thousands of people were trying to take off and run yesterday morning and they had to navigate past toddlers, people pushing strollers and even dogs on leashes. Not cool, not cute, not sweet. Not. Not. Not.

I know some will say we're grouchy. Some will say we're not friendly. Too freaking bad. I'd rather be grouchy about this than grouchy about a sprained (or broken) ankle on one of us. I'd rather not accidentally knock over your little darling. I like kids, I really do. It would ruin the day for all of us if someone was injured. It's just common sense. You're slower, you don't need to be in the front. Is this that difficult?

Good. Thanks. See you at the next event. Have a great day - and give your kids and dogs a hug from Auntie Michelle.

Loose Dogs

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 9:28 am
Run Duration: 30 minutes
Average Pace: 10.00 minutes/mile
Temperature: 53 degrees
Humidity: 80%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston, TX

Just a quick rant. Loose dogs really piss me off. I don't feel safe running in my neighborhood because of them. We have loose lab mixes, loose pit bulls, etc. My theory is that people dump them here and then they breed and then they pack and then they will attack me and I'll die or be maimed and some newbie plastic surgeon who didn't train with the plastic surgeons I know will put me back together again in all the wrong Humpty Dumpty ways. I'll be scrambled.

Yesterday and again today I saw a dog off-leash in Memorial Park. The stupid owner was yelling at it to "Come on, Sweetie! Come back!" The dog was about 20 yards from the owner both times, running through the trees on the dirt trail. I don't give a rat's ass, dog's tail, or whatever anatomy you want to bet how perfectly trained the owner believes her dog is trained. There is a leash law for a reason. Runners may trip on the dog. Other dogs may freak out. Or her little "Sweetie" may just show some aberrant behavior. Stupid.

I guess I've had enough experience with loose dogs recently to make me more than a little testy. Ooohhh. Is she speaking metaphorically? Perhaps.

Perplexipity

When born two decades
too late,
one does what one can
to fit in among
those who refuse to
fit with the norm
as one learned it.

After all,
who needs
white gloves?
aprons?
linen napkins?

Please give me linen napkins.

The world is changing around
old-fashioned girls like me.

Even I don't believe in panty-hose
anymore. Not even in church.

I am struck with perplexipity.