New Year's Resolutions

As I sat down to pen my New Year’s resolutions today, I resolved to get to the bottom of a little mystery: Where (and when) did we begin torturing ourselves with New Year's resolutions?

Like so many painful things in life – Pilates exercises, nuns who rap your knuckles with rulers, and gladiators who fight to the death – they originated in Italy. As they say, all roads lead to Rome.

The tradition of New Year’s resolutions dates back to 153 B.C., when Romans began utilizing the occasion of the New Year to look for forgiveness from their enemies.

In fact, it was none other than Julius Caesar who designed a calendar that would more aptly reflect the seasons than previous calendars. He named the first month of his new year after a mythical Roman God named Janus – a mythical “God of beginnings” who had powers to reflect back over the past and also to look into the future. Illustrations of this mythical creature include two faces – one on the back of the head looking backward and one on the front representing the face which always looks forward. Thus began January and the annual tradition of reflecting back over the past year while setting sights on the year ahead.

On New Year’s Day, Romans also began the tradition of giving each other branches from sacred trees for good luck and good fortune. I like to think of this tradition as extending an olive branch to one another, so to speak.

Where fitness and good health is concerned, I think we all ought to extend a proverbial olive branch to ourselves --- in forgiveness for the things we could have done better to honor our bodies last year, and in positive anticipation of the great things that will come in the New Year.

Here’s to good health in 2012!

Beat the Holiday Rush

 

I know I’ve said it before.

I know it sounds as crazy as a Black Friday shopper charging the door at 3a.m. 

But I love working out during the holiday season. 

Not only does it help keep my energy level up during a stressful time, but the gym: It’s so empty! 

Think about it. The ability to choose from any treadmill, get into any premier fitness class, be able to sit in the sauna without 50 of your not-so-closest friends breathing down your neck. It’s the kind of holiday bliss only Santa could deliver.

Yes, Virginia, I’m taking full advantage of the time now. Because come New Year’s Day, anyone who’s ever been to a gym the first week of January knows: it’s a post-holiday hell.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love fitness, and I love kindred spirits with hopeful souls and newly-pledged goals of fitness and well-being. But must all 300 million of us pledge to begin on precisely the same day?
 

I know, I know, it's so selfish but I’m already thinking of how difficult it’s going to be to get an already-coveted pass to my Body Pump class. And getting into yoga or spin class? Forgeddaboutit.

Sure, I realize by the third week of January the neophytes will have flamed out and we’ll all have the place to ourselves again. But it will seem an eternity until then.

For now, I’ll ask Santa for a little patience. And I'll invite you to give the pre-holiday gym experience a try. I think you'd like it. As for me, I plan to keep pushing hard to get a leg up on that late date in January – just in case my new yoga pants don’t see the inside of a classroom until then!

What Stayed in Vegas...

I took a road trip to Vegas with friends last weekend.

We didn’t play blackjack at the card tables. So, I didn’t lose my shirt. I did, however, lose my favorite pair of running shoes. And I've been sans running shoes ever since.

As a runner, I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t have a “backup” pair of running shoes. In fact, I’d venture to say that my closet is a cross between a Sex & the City/New York-style closet (think: 4-inch heels and peep-toe shoes) and the closet of a California beach bum (all manner of flip-flops present and accounted for). But, no extra sets of running shoes. Thus the predicament.

I survived about three days without running. I cross-trained instead, wearing my flip-flops to weight-training class (I’m pretty sure that’s against club rules). And I avoided the urge to jump on the treadmill Zola Budd-style for fear I might get stange looks (or worse, kicked out of the gym entirely.)

But after three days, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down and went to Target and bought a pair of cheapie tennis shoes ($15.99, thank you very much). They are pretty stylish and they’re from a brand I trust (Champion).  But they’re not my shoes, if you know what I mean.

A good pair of running shoes is, well, much like a "woobie" blanket. It makes us feel comfortable when we slip down into it. If you ever lost a woobie blanket as a child and your parents tried to replace it, I bet you weren't fooled. It was scratchy. Not the same as your woobie, right? Well, I’ve been imagining all manner of things happening to my feet in the cheapie shoes (is that my ankle popping? I think I just heard something.) Alright, so I may be a bit paranoid -- and spoiled with my $85 Saucony Italian running shoes. But you'd miss them, too, if you logged these training miles!

I will survive. After all, there are far worse problems to have these days. Hard economic times. High unemployment. Shoot, some people in the world have no shoes at all. (To give soles to those souls, btw, you can visit Tom's Shoes here.) 

Tonight as I go to bed missing my woobie, I’ll say a prayer to count my blessings. I'll also send out a prayer to the Catholic Saint Anthony -- saint of lost and stolen items -- in hopes that my wayward shoes will make their way back to me soon.

Fast Friends... yet Slow to Depart



Exhibit A: The burger, fries, and Guinness beer I consumed post-race.

Five weeks ago I crossed the finish line of a Marathon, then proceeded to redeem my post-race reward: a meal I had been craving during the last several miles of the marathon. A hamburger, fries, and a Guinness beer.

Sure, I deserved it. In fact, after running 26 miles, I felt I deserved a million bucks.

Little did I know this single burger would spark a chain reaction (literally) that would take the next five weeks to break.

You see, after arriving back home, I continued to crave this all-American beauty. There wasn’t a drive-thru window I didn’t visit. I knew the location of every McDonald’s chain within a 50-mile radius. I consumed more hamburgers than Bill Clinton during both of his Presidential terms combined.

It didn’t take me long to realize I had created a monster. One that (what's that saying?) felt so good on the lips but even after several turns on the treadmill was starting to cling to the hips.

So, I went straight to someone who could help: a holistic doctor I've visited over past year who has helped me align my eating habits to a healthier lifestyle. As I sat in the office of Southern California's founding preventative medicine doc -- he, too, seemed puzzled by my meaty addiction. Mostly because I’ve never even been a big meat-eater. In fact, my diet has almost always been vegetarian. Damn near vegan, really.

While he needled me with his tiny acupuncture tools, he began to needle me with questions as well. “Tell me. What was the first meal you ate immediately following the Marathon?” 

“The first thing I ate?,” I replied. What does that have to do with anything, I wondered. Then I thought back to that fateful night. My eyes grew as big as my little stuffed tummy. Sheepishly, I replied: “A hamburger."

Bingo.

He grinned slightly. I could tell he was impressed with himself.  I admit, I was impressed with him, too. Not even pausing to take a victory lap, he went on to explain that when the body goes through a period of physical exertion or exhaustion (such as it does during a Marathon), at some point the body starts to tap into precious protein stores. That can leave a person ravenous for protein once the event is completed. With this craving, I had reached for the lowest common protein denominator: the good ‘ol American hamburger.

As if I was being read a line straight out of “Eat This, Not That!,” he went on to describe how making one simple, smart choice after the race could have helped me avoid all of this. Instead of meat protein, I could have opted for a healthier source of protein in the form of nuts, seeds, or legumes. This one simple choice would have saved me weeks (not to mention countless dollars) at the drive-thru fast food window. It is a tip I feel compelled to pass on to my fellow racers.

Fast forward to today: I’m happy to announce I’m off the hooch. With the help of the holistic healer, I downed my last hamburger several days ago. I’m back to eating healthy. And more importantly, I am equipped with the knowledge to make smarter choices after my next long race. Oh sure, I'll probably still go a little crazy, throw caution to the wind, eat something I wouldn't normally eat. But I'll be much, much more careful to choose a food companion I'll be willing to have around for weeks afterward.

25 Days of Running

There's nothing like the beginning of a fresh, new month to serve as a great motivator to reinvigorate one's running routine.

So, during the month of December as I'm decking the halls, I will also be running throughout the "25 Days of Christmas."

It may sound crazy at first blush. I mean, most people shut things down during the holidays. Take the month off. Throw their fitness routine to the wind, right? Surprisingly, I find that running actually helps keep me centered during harried times. It relieves holiday stress, helps me sleep at night, and oh yes! keeps me firmly in those fun, sparkly, holiday dresses.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I still intend to partake of the holiday festivities. Have a bite of a holiday cookie. Enjoy a hot toddy. Eat so much on Christmas Day I wish I'd never been born. But keeping up my 5KaDay running routine will at least help take the edge off of the holiday stress. And help keep the Santa-sized pants at bay.

So go ahead. Join me. This Christmas season, while you're out doing things for others, get out and do something for yourself. Give the ultimate gift to yourself - one of good health.

'Tis the Season to run!

For Love of the Game

The recent scandal at Penn State has got me thinking.

About our “Love of the Game.” And the unfortunate number of sports figures who've allowed their love of the game to be surpassed by a love for something else.

In the case of former Assistant Coach Jerry Sandusky, he let his love of something quite else stand in the way of his love of the game.  And we have watched as it has robbed him of the greatest gift he could have given to an entire generation of fans: a pure, unadulterated contest on the field.

Looking back over the past decade, you needn't look far to witness this flaw toppling great men -- and entire sporting empires.

Golf legend Tiger Woods let his love of women surpass his love of the game. He lost everything as a result. His wife, his children, his career. He hasn’t played as well since.

In the case of track-and-field star Marion Jones, she let her love of winning supercede her love of the game. After testing positive for performance-enhancing drugs, she paid the ultimate price by having to give back her Olympic medal.

It happens just as often in the game of life. You see it in the person who allows their love of alcohol to rob them of their God-given relationships. An overeater who allows their love of food rob them of the life they wish they had. A politician who lets their love of power outweigh their love for public service (the love that put them in power in the first place). Let the downfalls begin.

The bottomline is this:  When we let our game on the field become surpassed by a love of something off the field, we rob our fans – and ourselves -- of the very innocence that makes sports so great. True grit. Sweat. Tears. Hard work. Struggle. All of the things that make us human and allow us to connect with other human beings on an authentic level.

When you’re focused on your game, you’ll let nothing deter you. Not even the greatest temptation. Sure, it takes great skill.  But then again, isn’t that what true athletes are made of?

Love the game. Keep it pure.

Where Does All the Fat Go?

We’ve all heard the phrases “fat-burning,” or “burning calories.”

A good workout will do both.

The other night I had the privilege of visiting the newly-renovated State Capitol 24 Hour Fitness in downtown Sacramento, and I was struck by how many people were working out in this spacious new facility. At least a hundred people. Huffing and puffing. Pounding the treadmills. Working the stairmasters.

Maybe I’m weird, but – as I looked out among the crowd from my perch atop the goliath stair-stepping machine – I could almost picture tiny thought bubbles above each of their heads: “320 calories burned” and so forth.

As I thought about it further, a curious yet disgusting question entered my mind: Where does all the fat go?

It has to go somewhere, right? So I wondered, does it propel into the atmosphere around us, in some vapor-like force? Or does it melt inside of our bodies like some sort of liquid, alien-like plasma? Both theories thoroughly disgusted me.

So, I did a little research. And I thought I’d pass on the answer to you, in case your brain is as curious and peculiar as mine.

According to the Mayo Clinic's registered dietician Katherine Zeratasky, body fat breaks down in a series of complex metabolic processes.  When you “burn” fat, resulting waste products of that metabolic fire get expelled through sweat, urine, and carbon dioxide that gets exhaled from your lungs.

So, I was half right. The fat does enter the atmosphere around us at the gym. Your lungs serve as a “chimney” of sorts that expel the fat by-product into the air. And the internal metabolic “burn” is exactly that: a process that occurs inside, among the body’s 10 to 30 billion fat cells. Physical activity stirs up friction like two sticks rubbing together to create a fire, and the result is your fat literally getting burned into oblivion.

This all gives new meaning to the phrase “Let’s get fired up!”  Here's to your next inferno.