Random.

I ran 164 miles in the month of March. I took two days off totally from running, and just walked one day (the day before The Gusher).

---

I am happy that I have more energy and feel better than I have in years.

I am happy that I feel strong.

But what makes it all worth it is choosing a size from the rack, then having to go back and get a smaller size and then...a still smaller size.

---

It always happens to me. I find something that I absolutely LOVE -- TV show, book series, food, restaurant -- and it never fails, that thing drops off the face of the earth.

I am deeply in LOVE with vanilla Chobani. DEEPLY in love. I had six 6-ounce tubs of it two weeks ago. I ate it for supper. I ate it with granola mixed in it. I ate it in my overnight oats. I crumbled up a Bobo's Oat Bar (original) in it.

And now, apparently, vanilla Chobani has dropped off the face of the earth.

Kroger here is the only store that carries the *vanilla* Chobani. I have visited it no less than three times this past week, to no avail.

I was in Austin for two days this week, and thought seriously about visiting Whole Foods or SuperTarget or any of a number of stores that purported to carry the vanilla Chobani. But I didn't have a cooler and I didn't have a lot of time.

So, here I sit, having to make do with blueberry Chobani. Peach Chobani. Strawberry Chobani.

Sigh.

Trip, Part II

I fell again yesterday evening while I was running. It isn't as bad as my last fall -- I just skinned one knee and my hands.

I haven't treated my knee as gingerly this time as I did last time. Again, I got up, bandaged it and then went back out to finish the run. But after I ran, I took the bandages off and everything's been fine. I'm bending it, walking normally, etc. It hurts, but it will get better, and hopefully soon.

I'm not going to worry about it, and I plan to run this evening, of course.

It's not that I'm clumsy; the road in my subdivision is very pothole-y and ridged and all that. There are obvious hazards and then there are hidden ones. I have that uncanny ability to find both.

A little light reading.

Despite what *some* people close to me think, I am not doing this vegetarian/running/weight training thing lightly. My goal is not to get as skinny as possible; my goal is to get to the point where I am at a healthy weight and using my body at its most efficient in running.

Before I make a move, I research it thoroughly. I didn't go into this weight loss thing on a whim. I didn't start running on a spur of the moment idea, and I most definitely didn't make my choice to become a vegetarian randomly.

I did the vegetarian thing once before and failed, miserably. I wasn't eating enough, pure and simple. I was still in weight-loss mode, so it was more of "how little can I eat; how far can I push myself" rather than "what does my body need to work at its optimum."

So when I decided to do this now, I didn't want to fail.

I'm currently reading "Thrive: The Vegan Nutrition Guide to Optimal Performance in Sports and Life" by Brendan Brazier. Brazier is an extreme athlete -- think ultramarathons, extreme bike races, etc.

He is focused on mainly raw and vegan eating, but there is a lot of information that applies to me. Lots of epiphany moments.

According to Brazier, exercise makes your biological age younger. What happens when you exercise is you break down muscle, and if you're eating properly, your body will regenerate muscle tissue -- NEW muscle tissue! So while my body is 39 years and 6 days old, my new bicep muscles? They're merely a few months old.

That is AMAZING.

He also states that by eating processed food, our bodies have to work harder to digest it. If our bodies are working harder to digest that food, then it's expending energy that we might otherwise use to exercise. That's why, after a large meal (like Thanksgiving), you feel stuffed and listless. Your body is pulling all of its energy to digest that meal.

There's TONS of information just like that. Little bits and pieces that make what is happening and what has happened to my body make all kinds of sense.

Soapbox.

I can't tell you exactly why I've had a weight problem for a large part of my life.

I haven't gone through any sort of serious trauma. My life hasn't always been hunky-dory, but thankfully, I have not known any great tragedy.

I had a great childhood. My parents didn't reward us nor punish us with food. I was offered a variety of foods. My dad had a huge garden. My mom didn't work outside the home, so we had a home-cooked meal pretty much seven days a week. Vegetables -- and trust me, weird ones like rutabagas, Brussels sprouts -- were served with every single meal. EVERY single meal. There was no cheating like I do sometimes by throwing some raw baby carrots and broccoli on a plate with a little ranch dressing and calling it good. We're talking SERIOUS vegetables.

I've led a fortunate life as an adult. Again, not without challenges (work, kids, grad school, LIFE), but compared to others, I've lived a charmed life.

So if I -- who have had a lot of advantages a lot of people haven't had -- can develop a weight problem, then anyone can. No one is immune, and I think it's something that we all have to guard against.

So why aren't we?

What prompted this is the field trip that I went on with my son's classmates yesterday. We went to an art museum and then to a park for lunch and some play time.

(Major disclaimer: I realize that I was only viewing one meal on one day. I also know that if you were to stop by my house on any given day, you may also find an episode of decidedly unstellar meal-planning. I am many things; perfect is not one of them.)

I packed a lunch for me and Kyle yesterday: Kyle had a turkey -and-tomato sandwich on white/wheat bread (thankyouverymuch, husband, for turning our children against regular whole-wheat bread) with mustard and cheese, a small bag of Cheetos, an orange, a Fudge Round and a bottle of water. I had a veggie sandwich (whole-grain mustard, tomatoes, baby spinach, a slice of Swiss cheese, and pickles on whole-wheat bread), a small baggie of Sun Chips, a vanilla Chobani and a bottle of water.

This is what the child who was sitting across from us had for lunch: Two slices of pizza, a PB&J on white bread, three desserts, a huge bag of chips and a Coke.

He wasn't a huge child. He was short and stocky, but I wouldn't term him overweight. Yet. But I sat in amazement as he inhaled everything that was packed in his bag.

I know 11-year-old boys basically have hollow legs and bottomless pits for stomachs. I live that, pretty much every single day. I have only recently figured out how to plan meals so that there are extras for Kyle, or how to buy enough snacks/fruit for his increased appetite. And luckily, on the days when I serve something a little less than 100-percent nutritious, his killer metabolism fueled by playing outside at every opportunity takes care of it.

But I don't fill him up with empty calories. I refuse to do that. If, after lunch, Kyle is still hungry, he can have a piece of fruit. At supper, I'll offer him extra veggies before he can have extra macaroni and cheese, or potatoes. There's not always dessert after meals, much to my children's dismay. Sundays are typically a dessert night; other nights, they're offered a piece of fruit or their least-favorite phrase, "Desserts aren't an every-night thing."

I don't want to make sweets forbidden, so that they sneak them or overdose on them when given the opportunity. But I also don't want to make them so available.

These are my children. Things they learn now will go with them for the rest of their lives. If I had packed a similar lunch for Kyle as his classmate's, I have no doubt that he would have stuffed himself with everything that was in that bag. He's a child. "Portion control" is not a part of his thinking at this point in time; he has a hard-enough time remembering to zip his pants every morning.

There is an epidemic of obesity in the U.S. -- adults and children. We can complain about school lunches being inherently unhealthy. We can complain about not having enough time or money to have nutritious meals.

But complaining isn't going to fix things. In the end, it's up to me to teach Kyle and Katie about portion control, about not gorging on food just because it's there, and about making right choices.

"The time has come," the Walrus said...

(Actually, no. It was the triad of me, my doctor and my trainer.)

It is time for me to stop losing weight.

I haven't really been trying to lose weight for a few months now. I've simply been focusing on exercising and eating properly.

And guess what? When you do that, you will lose weight!

But with the news at my doctor's office on Monday that I weigh 115 pounds, it's time to stop.

So, how do you stop losing weight?

Well, you can eat more.

Nope. Not doing that. No way. I'm at the point now that if I eat too much, I am miserable. Miserably miserable. Not to mention, it's a slippery, slippery slope. One day, I'm eating an extra slice of pizza, and the next, I'm eating cake twice a day.

So, I'm not going to eat more.

What I have decided to do is take a day off from running. Just one day a week, on Wednesdays.

Now, lest you think that my rest day on Wednesday means I'm going to laze around the house all day, let me set you straight, real quick:

I'm still seeing the personal trainer twice a week (and plan to continue this until we leave for The Bahamas at the end of May). Wednesday is one of those days. Also, I'm still teaching a 30-minute twirling class on Wednesday evenings. I'm still exercising. I'm just not running.

For me to run on Wednesdays heretofore has taken a Herculean effort on my part. I get off work at 5, pick up the kids around 5:20, then head home. I take care of a few things around the house, and then Katie and I go to twirling lessons at 6:30 p.m. Lessons are over by 7, then it's home for supper. I've been throwing something together, shoving on my running shoes and heading out the door. My goal was to be done with the run by 8:40 p.m., because my must-see show ("Top Chef"; don't judge me) comes on at 9 p.m., and I have to be done running, showered, dressed and seated on the couch by that time.

So it's been rough going.

As rough as it has been, I'm not going to lie: It will take everything I have in my body not to run tonight. I know myself all too well. I'll get home from twirling, fix supper and then think, "You know, I've got 45 minutes before my show starts. I'll just go outside and run an easy 3."

Or, "You know, it's not going to hurt me to run a couple of miles. Really."

But I'm not. I realize my body does need the rest. I realize that I don't need to lose any more weight.

And I realize that I can and will run tomorrow!

My fortieth year is going to be great!

Today is my 39th birthday, so it's really the beginning of my 40th year.

I'm totally OK with that.

I went to see my gynecologist today for my yearly well-woman check. Don't worry; I'm not going to get into any sort of gory details.

Except for this:

When I got pregnant with Kyle, I hadn't actually laid eyes on my gynecologist. I had been seeing a different one and he was dropped from my insurance. I had been to the new office for a check-up, but I saw the nurse practitioner.

In the weeks leading up to my first prenatal appointment, I heard horror stories from all kinds of people. No specifics, just a general dislike of the doctor. I was nervous.

I met him, and immediately liked and trusted him. I felt like he had my and my baby's best interest at heart. He didn't dance around issues. He was a straight talker. I knew that if he thought I was doing anything that would harm my baby, he would tell me right away.

I think that straight talk is what made so many people dislike him. He told me, straight-up, that if I didn't stay at a healthy weight after Kyle was born, then I could expect to develop diabetes. He told me, while I was trying (and failing) to get pregnant with Katie, that it was my weight that was holding me back.

And, after I developed insulin-dependent gestational diabetes and unpredictable high blood pressure while pregnant with Katie, he told me point-blank that I should stop after her birth. That I should consider myself lucky to have two healthy babies. He also told me that I needed to seriously watch my weight.

So it was with a certain amount of excitement that I anticipated today's visit.

You see, at my last yearly check -- in early March 2010 -- I weighed 152 pounds.

Today, I weighed in at 115 pounds.

He was amazed and pleased. He said that whatever I am doing, to keep on doing it.

I told him that I am a vegetarian. I asked if that was a problem. He said that if I came in, looking haggard, with balding patches or thinning hair, he would be concerned.

But, since I look happy and healthy with a full head of thick hair -- not a problem. :-)

---

It's been a great birthday. I got a new bead for my Pandora bracelet from Russ and the kids (who totally were NOT supposed to get me a birthday gift). I got flowers delivered to me at work from my BFF.

And I ran, five miles. God willing, I'll still be running on my 40th birthday and beyond.

Crazy Town

So yesterday, I went totally insane.

I had nachos with refried beans, cheese, and guacamole for lunch. I didn't eat the entire serving, but still.

I had THREE pancakes for supper. WITH syrup! And butter.

I don't know what came over me. I don't normally go so overboard with my meals. I may once during the weekend, but I'm able to keep it in check for the rest of the time.

But not yesterday. I'm going to blame it on PMS and let it go. Do better today. I don't even have a big sweet tooth, so I'm not sure what happened with the pancakes.

My extreme eating made my 10-mile run yesterday evening a necessity. It went well, although my pace is still slow. There's something about a race, even though I'm technically not trying to win, that makes me go a lot faster. It makes me push myself even more.

I ran it without the iPod. I enjoyed the semi-quiet -- barking dogs and random neighborhood noises aside -- and it gave me time to think without interruption.

Eight Miles.

I ran eight miles last night.

The only extraordinary thing about it was the moon.

I was just glad to get back into that groove of running again. Running, without an eye to the clock or my mind on what my kids may be doing in the house.

Taking the Plunge.

This weekend, I'm going to do it.

I'm going to take a deep breath and I'm going to purge my closet of all too-big clothes.

A lot of people argue that this will be a good thing, because if I don't have the larger clothes, then I won't gain the weight back. It's a lot easier to excuse a pound here and a pound there if all you have to do is search for another size of jeans.

But I'm living proof of that being a lie.

When I lost 100+ pounds four years ago, I tossed all my big clothes. Every. Last. Single. One. Of. Them.

And I still gained weight back. Now, not all of the 100+ pounds that I initially lost. But enough.

So what did I do?

I went out and bought brand-new clothes in progressively larger sizes.

I sincerely believe that this time is for good. The running + the weight training + vegetarianism is tailor-made for losing and maintaining a healthy weight. I think I'd have to TRY -- i.e., binge -- to gain weight at this point (knock on wood).

I need closet space for new things. I need to weed out the atrocious things I bought when I was heavy to hide the fact that I was heavy. (Little hint: They don't.)

So this weekend, everything is going. And those sizes are not going to make a comeback in my closet.

---

I'm going to go back to my longer distances for running tonight. It's been almost a week since the half, and my husband is back from his business trip. So, 6-8 tonight, 10 tomorrow, and then 6-8 on Sunday.

Life-Changing.

I think it was about a month ago when I blogged about my personal trainer. I was nervous, scared, TERRIFIED.

Getting a trainer has been the absolute BEST thing I have done in the realm of my exercise program. THE BEST thing.

Yesterday was my eighth session, and I signed up for another eight. I plan to see him twice a week until we leave for The Bahamas.

I wanted to get a trainer because to me, going to the gym meant getting on the treadmill and running, running, running, running. Running is what I know, so it was what I did. But I knew I needed toning and muscle on other parts of my body; I just didn't know how.

This is where Adam comes in.

I have some ab muscles. My upper arms are noticeably toned.

It has improved my running immensely -- my form, my stamina, my speed.

He's not preachy. We talk about running -- he runs, but not as obsessively as I do. He was initially concerned about my vegetarianism, but after the consultation, he hasn't said a whole lot about it. He sees that I'm making progress, and he knows that I wouldn't be able to make that progress if I weren't eating right.

He told me that there are three basic reasons people hire personal trainers: they need motivation, they're bored or they don't know what to do in the gym. I hired him mainly for the third reason, but I'm sure that without the personal training, I would be in the other categories as well.

Yesterday, he told me that he hasn't had another client make as much progress as I have in the time he's been training people. That made me proud of myself -- I was scared because I'm older, and I was afraid that my body wouldn't respond to the weight training like it should.

But I've pushed myself and followed his instructions and it's all good, y'all.

---

I just ran two miles last night. Wednesdays are busy, busy, busy for us, and I wasn't sure if I'd run at all. But I did manage, while the kids were taking their showers. Tonight will present more difficulties in managing time, kids, and all that, but I am going to run, even if it is just 2 miles.

Russ will get home late tonight, and tomorrow, I'm going to run as much as I want!

The No-Good, Horrible, Very Bad Day

I wanted to move to Australia.

I woke up yesterday and felt fat.

Katie was mad at me because I didn't wake her up early enough to ride the bus because that requires me (and her) to get up an hour earlier than we normally would.

Kyle was his usual goofy, clueless self.

Busy, busy at work.

I had to get my oil changed at lunchtime and I hate getting my oil changed. They always tell me that this or that needs to be fixed with my car and I never know if they're telling the truth.

I had a meeting after work.

By the time I got the kids and got home, it was almost 7. But I wanted to run anyway. It was a horrible run and I cut it short (just four miles) because the kids were inside.

I ate a vanilla Greek yogurt while my husband sent me texts about the fabulous meal he was having in Chicago.

Today has to be better.

Post-Race Glow.

I feel *so* great. After my first half-marathon, I could barely walk for about three days.

After last year's Gusher, I was pretty wiped for a couple of days.

This year? It's like my body is feeding off the runner's high STILL. I was a little sore Saturday afternoon, and I was sleepy, but I wasn't hobbling around like a 90-year-old. Sunday, I was absolutely fine. Today -- awesome! I worked out with my trainer today, and then I ran five miles once I got home.

---

I am having a love affair with almond butter.

I've never really been a peanut butter person. I mean, I like Reese's as much as the next guy, but as far as eating PB&J -- no. In theory, it sounds like a good idea, but actually EATING one...no thank you.

Enter Maranatha and its no-stir almond butter and dark chocolate almond butter.

Pure heaven.

I eat it spread on half a toasted whole-wheat English muffin. I use it as a topping on my overnight oats. I add low-fat granola and a dab of it to my vanilla Greek yogurt. I chop up some strawberries and add it to that.

Unbelievably good. And as a bonus, a great source of protein -- something I'm always looking for.

And while I'm singing the praises of almond BUTTER, I have to mention almond MILK, too.

I bought it after a couple of people mentioned how good it is. I love it. MUCH better than soy milk and I do love me some soy milk.

I honestly haven't missed meat at all. Not one second. And I feel better than ever!

No rest for the weary.

So today, I'm back to it. I won't be running 8 miles; I'll probably just do an easy 5-miler, but I have to get back to it.

I feel pretty good for having run 13.1 miles yesterday morning. My shoulders are a little sore and one of my legs is more sore than the other, but otherwise, I'm good.

I have more goals to accomplish -- the two-piece bathing suit came yesterday and while it's not a tragedy or anything...I need some more work. I am going to run a marathon this year, so there's that, too.

And I just want to keep this general attitude of being fit, of being healthy, of feeling great.

I'm still vegetarian; it's been three weeks today. It hasn't been difficult in the slightest, so I don't foresee me dropping that any time soon.

And I'm keeping my personal trainer for the months leading up to my Bahamas trip. I've lost and gained the same couple of pounds over the past few weeks, and that's fine. But I have rearranged things a bit and am wearing a smaller size.

So, more of the same. And I couldn't be happier.

Personal Best.

When I was in labor with my first child, there came a time, around 3 p.m., that I was ready to give up. There was no way on EARTH I could possibly push one more time, no way that I could get that baby out. Nope. No way. Not doing it. Sorry.

And then I gathered up every last bit of anything I had in me and pushed, one roaring, hard push.

And there was my sweet baby boy.

Running a half-marathon (or I would imagine, a marathon) is a lot like that. You're going along your merry way, having a good time, keeping a good pace, and then BLAMMO!

You hit the wall. You become convinced that there is no way -- NO WAY -- that you can lift your foot one more time. You are not going to physically be able to do it. You can't. And there's nothing in the world that can convince you otherwise.

And then you do it. You gather up all your strength, all your willpower, all your mental strength, and you do it. You push through it and come on the outside even stronger than you were before.

That's what happened to me today.

I ran The Gusher Half-Marathon in, according to my Garmin Forerunner 405, 2 hours, 19 minutes and 19 seconds.

That, my friends, is a personal best for me in a half-marathon. I ran the Houston Chevron Half in 2 hours, 24 minutes and some change. I ran last year's Gusher Half in 3 hours, 11 minutes and 40 seconds.

I won't lie to you; there were miles (7, 8 and 9) where I just *knew* that I couldn't do this, I was stupid for even considering it, and my legs were going to completely fall off.

And then I remembered a time last August when I tried on a pair of size 12 shorts I had in my dresser and they were way too tight.

And then I remembered going shopping to find a dress for a special occasion and leaving the store because it was just too depressing. I remembered going to an event and hiding in the corner because I was embarrassed of the way I looked.

And I pulled myself to my sticking point and pushed through.

I soared.

Sitting here...

Drinking coffee, about to get ready for Second Annual Gusher!!

I've got my clothes ready, my iPod charged up, and my flip-flops packed for afterward.

I bought myself this necklace from Amy Peters Studio a week or so ago...

It reads "Soar" on the back. That's absolutely what I am going to do this morning. No matter what my pace is, no matter what my final time is, no matter how bad I smell at the end...

I'm gonna soar.

See y'all at the finish line!

Promises to keep.

On Saturday, while I was running 12 miles in that miserable cold windy weather, I promised myself that if I'd just do the 12 miles, I could stop and get a non-fat mocha at Starbucks afterward.

I didn't do it that day because I was worried about time, but I did get on on the way to the grocery store the next day.

Some days, that's how I keep myself going, with promises.

"Come on, Beth. If you just run one more mile, you can have a Diet Dr. Pepper when you get in the house."

"Just listen to this one song by John Mayer and then you can skip over a bunch of songs until you get to Vampire Weekend."

And so on.

I'm pretty pumped about The Gusher tomorrow, so I don't *need* a promise to keep me going, but I have a plan already:

Tomorrow, after I've completed the half-marathon, after I've hobbled to my car, after I've showered and eaten something, I am going to get a pedicure.

My poor feet deserve it after all I put them through -- with the running and the high heels four days a week.

---

The first half-marathon I ran, The Chevron Half-Marathon in Houston in 2007, I was terrified.

I went by myself. I had never run one of these "fancy" races before. I don't think I had ever driven to Houston by myself before. It was a weekend full of new experiences.

One of the things that made it all easier for me was the spectators as I ran along the course. Our names were printed on our race bibs, so it wasn't unusual to hear a "Go Beth, go!" or "You can do it, Beth!" as I ran.

Some people carried signs, cheering us on. One I *still* remember in particular read, "Running: Cheaper than therapy."

Around mile 9, I started to falter, started to doubt that I would ever finish the race. The cheers of the spectators kept me going, kept me faithful to myself and my goals.

If you have time tomorrow, come on out and cheer on the runners at The Gusher. You can sit along MLK or you can gather at Crockett Street, the Beaumont Public Library, City Hall.

It could make such a difference to one of the runners who may be almost ready to give up.

---

I'm hoping for Gusher PR tomorrow of less than 3 hours. I finished it in just over 3 hours last year and that was without extensive running/training and with 20+ extra pounds.

If I can finish it in less than 2.5 hours, I will be thrilled. Beyond thrilled. OVER THE MOON happy.

I'll probably blog in the morning before I leave and of course, you will get all the details once I get settled tomorrow.

Winning, but not in the Charlie Sheen Way.

"A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself some more." -- Steve Prefontaine

The Gusher 5K, Half-Marathon and Marathon is Saturday. I am getting so excited I can't stand it.

If you've never been to one of these, they are one of the most uplifting, motivational events I have ever attended. Everyone there has a STORY, and they're all incredibly interesting and insightful. Some people, like me, were extremely overweight and depressed and turned to running for weight loss, fitness and comfort.

Some are at the beginning of their weight loss journey. Some have been through unspeakable tragedy and turned to running for solace. Some are running for relatives who can't run themselves, due to illness. Some are running for their kids. Some are running with their kids.

A bazillion runners, all with their own stories, all just wanting to run.

These races aren't really about winning in the typical way you think about winning. Most races, even 5Ks, award a medal to finishers, and in the beginning when I came home with mine, my kids would get all excited, saying, "You won, Mom! You won!"

In reality, no. I came in 30th in my age group, or dead last or firmly in the middle.

In Beth world, though, I did win. I won big.

Every time I put on my running clothes and tie my shoes, I win.

Every time I push myself a little bit faster, a little bit farther, I win.

Every time I go out to run when I don't really want to, when I'm tired or it's cold or I've had a bad day, I win.

A race is just an external celebration of that. When I go to a 5K or a half, I'm not expecting to beat anybody but MYSELF. All those doubts, all that weight that I've lost and gained, all those voices in my head that say I'm not good enough, that I'm not strong enough -- those are my competition.

And when I cross that finish line, whether it's in 90 minutes or two hours or four hours, I win.

I win.

---

Technically, I'm not going to run tonight. But we all know I will. I won't go all out and I won't run 8 miles or even 5, but I'm going to run.

I had another session with my trainer yesterday. We worked the legs a lot. I'm not as sore as I've been in the past today, so maybe I'm over the hump. He did say that since I've dropped a pants size, he's moving me to "Level Two." Not sure what that means, but I'm sure it involves a lot of sweat and a lot of soreness.

Tapering.

I hate this part.

In order to have fresh legs for Saturday, I'm not running as much as I normally do.

It sucks. I'm making the most out of that 3 miles, though.

I'm trying to decide right now if I should run on Sunday or not. Technically, I shouldn't, but we all know how I feel about things like that.

Ugh. I love running in races, but I hate all the uncertainties.

---

I bought a new pair of jeans yesterday.

In a size TWO.

Did you hear the celebration coming from my house?

TLC.

I take much better care of myself these days.

I don't know if it's that I'm getting older, so I feel like I should. Or if it's because I like who I am and how I look and I want to preserve it. Or if it's that I finally have the knowledge, the time (although not a ton) and the money to do it -- you know, the whole "when you know better, you do better" thing.

I drink lots of water -- more than 100 ounces a day. I have limited my caffeine consumption -- I remember when I was in my 20s where I'd have four regular, full-octane Dr. Peppers before noon (I also remember the two kidney stones I got for my trouble). And then there's the whole vegetarian thing.

I moisturize, using a moisturizer with SPF. I use under-eye cream for the extra baggage I'm carrying there. I moisturize my legs. I exfoliate. I use a special stretch mark cream on my unbelievable stretch marks.

I probably spend more time in front of the mirror now than I did when I was a teen-ager.

It was last night, while I was moisturizing and under-eye erasing that I saw them.

My ab muscles. Hello. How have y'all been?

Yesterday when I went to my trainer (his name is Adam), he asked how I was feeling. I said fine, and said that I was feeling stronger.

I am. It's not that I'm lifting cars or anything, but at a certain point in my runs, I used to get fatigued and my form would fail. I'd get a little swaybacked and start carrying my weight differently. Not anymore. My form is tight and perfect throughout the run. I can only attribute that to the strength training I've done for my core.

The trainer said that he could see a difference, and there, in front of the mirrors, fully-clothed, I could too.

So I don't know why it stunned me so much when I caught a glance in the bathroom mirror after my shower. I guess I thought I'd lost them in the 18 months I carried my sweet babies.

Don't get me wrong; we're not talking a six-pack here (or even a two-pack). Just some definition. Slight definition.

But for this almost-39-year-old mother of two? That's cause for celebrating!

Leap of Faith

This is how crazy-insane running makes you: Yesterday afternoon, I very casually put a two-piece bathing suit in my shopping cart on a Web site and then I BOUGHT IT.

People, this is HUGE.

Russ and I decided yesterday that we're going to take the kids to The Bahamas on vacation this year. We haven't booked it yet, but that's where we're going -- to the Atlantis resort that looks so beautiful and amazing. The kids and I are going to get our passports this week. My old bathing suit is way too big, so that's when the madness occurred.

The last time I remember wearing a two-piece bathing suit, I was 13. We went to Holly Beach with some of my mom's friends for the day.

I was THIRTEEN; that was TWENTY-SIX years ago. That's way too long to be ashamed of your own body.

I often wonder what happened at 13.5 or 14 or whenever it was around that time that I decided to cover everything up. I didn't really start having a weight problem until I was out of college.

(This is why I allow Miss Katie to wear two-piece bathing suits that are age-appropriate. I'm not going to beat down that confidence or devil-may-care attitude she has going about herself. And trust me, girlfriend has a HEALTHY self-image!)

This bathing suit I ordered isn't racy or skimpy. It's on the "tame" side as far as two-piece bathing suits go. It will show my midriff; you know, where I carried those two 6-pound people for nine months each. 

But what this bathing suit represents is faith. Faith that I am going to do this. Faith that I AM doing this. The last time I lost the initial 100 pounds, I ran a half-marathon and then stopped running.

This lime-green two-piece bathing suit is my reason to keep on going. My reason to keep racking up the miles. My reason to stick with my trainer, even when he is pushing me beyond anything I thought I could do.

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I ran three miles yesterday in sub-10-minute miles. This is a huge victory for me, since I've been struggling to get 12-minute miles on my long runs. I just ran the three, saving my legs for Saturday. I'll run three or four tonight, three or four Tuesday and three or four on Wednesday. Then I'm done running until Saturday.

It's going to be rough.

No regrets. Not a one.

I've read it several times before, but I don't know who said it: "The only run I regret is the one I don't take."

That is so, so, so true.

Because I was going to run a 12-miler on Saturday, I only ran a quickie 4-miler on Friday night.

And then I woke up to rain and thunder, lightning and wind. My mood plummeted. Already I was regretting my decision to only run 4 miles on Friday.

And then the rain, thunder and lightning stopped and I hurried to take advantage of the break in horribleness.

That 12-mile run was the most miserable run I've ever experienced. People, I ran at the beginning of February when it was less than 30 degrees outside and icy. I've run in August when the air was so humid that I felt like I was swimming. I've run with a backache, with a headache. You name it.

But yesterday's 12-miler tops them all on the scale of awfulness.

I went to the Hike and Bike Trail in Beaumont. For those who haven't been there before (and why haven't you??), it's a four-sided circular-type two-mile track. So I had to run it six times. Two of the sides were good. The other two, where I was running into the 20,000 MPH wind?

Pure. Hell.

So hellish that after the ninth mile, I thought, "Beth, you're being incredibly stubborn. Finish out this tenth mile and call it a day. Really. This is unbearable."

And then I gathered up my strength, both physical and mental, and battled through the eleventh and twelfth mile.

I am so glad I did.

Ten miles is good. Ten miles is more than I was running at this time last year. Heck, ten miles is more than I ran in all of March last year, I'm sure.

But twelve was my goal, and anything less would be, well, less. And I'm not into less. I'm into pushing myself, going farther and faster, doing more and doing better.

I did it. I managed miles a little more than 12 minutes, and I am so looking forward to The Gusher next weekend!

Spring break! Spring break! and other nonsense

Such a happy time at my house. We're not really going anywhere awesome or doing anything fun. We go so much during a regular week -- trombone lessons, dance lessons, work stuff, etc. -- that a holiday to us is just staying at home.

So that's what we shall do this week, happily.

I'm a bit bummed because I actually will have the time to run as much as I want, but I can't. The Gusher is on March 12, so I really need to taper down my runs and won't run at all on Thursday and Friday (that is going to KILL me).

I'm supposed to run 12 miles today. It's pouring rain, with thunder and lightning. Sigh. I hope it goes away eventually.

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I worried all day yesterday that my skinned knee was turning into a "thing." My right knee is healing just like it should, but my left knee isn't healing as quickly. It was skinned worse than my right one, and it's also the knee that has taken the brunt of my clumsiness over the years.

It didn't necessarily hurt all day, but it bothered me. I thought it about all day at work, and then all evening as we went to eat and ran errands.

Once I got home and changed into my running shorts, I realized the problem was that my pants had been irritating the knee all day long, as I stood and sat, walked and climbed stairs. Once I was wearing something that didn't rub against it, I was fine.

Whew.

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I successfully ate at a steakhouse and didn't eat meat. So that's a woo hoo for me.

Relief.

This week has been long, busy and challenging.

That's OK; my specialties are long, busy and challenging. But it has meant that I came home overly exhausted and stressed and a few days, very frustrated.

And then I had to deal with an 11-year-old and a 9-year-old (and a 38-year-old :-) ). Don't hate my glamorous life, y'all.

Luckily, my family understands two basic rules: If Mama isn't happy, no one is, and if Mama isn't happy, she needs to go run. Seriously. Before she loses it.

So they were happy to take the rushed supper that I gave them as I slipped on my running shoes and ran out the door.

Two miles in, all my cares melted away. At four miles, I couldn't have told you what my challenges *were* that day.

At six miles, I was basically sleep-running, I was so relaxed.

By the time, I finished my eight miles, I was in a state of nirvana, total bliss.

(You should try this sometime. It works.)

I used to turn to food when I was stressed, upset or mad. And now, six months, 40+ pounds and innumerable miles later, that is still my first instinct.

But running always manages to save me from myself.

Mysterious.

I started going to a personal trainer primarily to improve my upper-body strength. I run like a crazy person, so I figured that was taken care of.

I was wrong.

I've gone to the trainer four times so far and each time we've worked on my legs, I've come away from the session barely able to walk. On the days we work on my upper body, I'm sore, but it's not unbearable. It's not overly painful. I'm able to do the things I normally do without pain.

Today, before we were even done with the session, my thighs were aching. And this evening when I went on my run, it took a mile or so before my muscles loosened up enough so that it was easy.

Why?

Is he taking it easy on me on upper-body days? Is he making it extra-tough for lower-body days? Maybe I'm putting more into the lower-body days because I can.

I already know that tomorrow will be rough. I will barely be able to walk and will hesitate before I sit.

But I'll be OK.

I'll be OK.

Tick tock.

In 20 days, I will be 39. In a year and 20 days, I will be FORTY.

I may be aging, but I'm going there kicking and screaming. I refuse to give up. I refuse to give in.

I feel better today than I did 10 years ago. I look better today than I did 10 years ago.

Running is helping me turn back time.

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I ran 139 miles in the month of February. I missed about three days due to rainy weather. I ran a minimum of three miles a couple of days when it was damned cold.

I went from running five miles during the week to running six. I became a vegetarian. I hired a personal trainer.

It's been a big month. March is going to be even bigger.