Anger management.

We've had a problem with a group of marauding teen-agers in our neighborhood for about six months or so. They steal things that are left out at night or in unlocked vehicles. They cause general nuisance.

And Wednesday evening, I discovered that someone had scratched "I hate you" into the hood of my car. Since they openly mock me while I run in the afternoons and evenings, I am assuming that it is they who did this.

I am furious about their disregard for someone else's property. I am enraged at the fact that *I* am going to have to pay for their stupidity. I am totally pissed that they think it's OK to do this to someone.

(I may have even told Kyle and Kate that if I discovered that they even *thought* about doing something like this to anyone, I would cut their arms off at the elbows. Ahem.)

But you know what else they did? Inspired me to run my fastest 6-mile time in a long time.

I had a day at work where it seemed as if I was getting blocked at every turn. I had a work event in the evening. And I wanted to run that night.

So I was a wee bit stressed. Add to that the fact that they were actually outside (in their yard so I really didn't feel like I could call the police) during the time I was running and I was in a mad rage.

I ran my ass off.

"Should."

When I was a little girl, an aunt and uncle gave me a copy of Little Women for Christmas one year.

I loved books already, and that particular one was a fast favorite. I couldn't picture everything they described, and the idea of a boy named "Laurie" tickled me,  but I loved it immediately.

There was a character named Beth! (OK. She was frail and sickly and SPOILER ALERT she died, but a character with MY NAME!!!)

I wanted to be Jo when I grew up. When Russ and I were dating, I dragged him to see the Winona Ryder/Susan Sarandon version of "Little Women." As we were leaving, I sighed that I always wanted to be Jo. Russ looked at me and said, "I think you are Jo."

And so, Dear Reader, I married him. :-)

Anyway, there's a scene where Jo is discussing a woman's right to vote and makes a compelling argument. The man to whom she is speaking says, "You should have been a lawyer, Miss March."

And Jo replies, "I should have been a great many things, Mr. Mayer."

"I should have been a great many things."

I read something online a week or so ago that brought this scene back to memory.

It sparked something in me: My goal in this crazy, hectic life of mine is to take out the "should." I want to be "a great many things"!

Have I done that? Eh...sorta.

But now, I am determined. And as my husband and children can tell you, when I am determined, get out of my way.

And this morning, when I woke up my Katie-Bug, I told her -- in all her drooly, snuggly-sleepy state -- that she is a great many things.

I hope she heard me.

Nightmares.

I pull a pair of jeans from my closet and slip them on. I'm thinking about a million things -- do I have my stuff for work, did I remember to send extra pencils with Kyle, does Katie have lunch money -- so it takes me a few minutes to realize that my jeans are way too tight. I can't even pull them all the way up my thighs.

I pull them off, toss them to the side, and get another pair. Same thing happens.

And another and another and another and another. I'm getting frantic and...

Then I wake up. I can feel myself blushing in the dark, angry with myself for letting that weight creep back on.

Then I realize it was a dream -- a nightmare, really -- and I breathe a sigh of relief. But then I get up and go to the bathroom, turn on the light and look at myself.

I need reassurance that I'm still doing OK.

This doesn't happen every night or even every week, but in the past month, I've had this same nightmare two or three times.

I am not going to gain this weight back. I AM NOT. I refuse.

I've been there, done that. Lost 100+ pounds, felt great, looked good and then just let it go...

I remember the day when I realized that I was gaining weight back. I knew, in my head, that I had gained back about 6 or so pounds, but I was telling myself that no one was noticing, that I was still OK.

I went downstairs at work to get something out of the vending machine for an afternoon snack. A co-worker (who no longer works there) said, "Oh congratulations!" I looked at her puzzled and she made the motions of a pregnant belly.

And the blood drained out of my face.

(For what it's worth, I personally don't ask a woman any pregnancy-related questions unless I actually see a baby emerging from the birth canal. That's my rule. You can use it if you'd like.)

Needless to say, I didn't go to the vending machine.

I've gotten a little lax in my eating habits. Not that I'm eating copious amounts of food, because I'm not. But I did enjoy a Mini-Blizzard from DQ this past weekend, after the kids and I had a picnic at the park and hiked a couple of miles. I've snitched a few pieces of Easter candy from their baskets.

But the core of my lifestyle changes are still in place: I'm still running like there's no tomorrow. I'm still a vegetarian. I'm still drinking a ton of water. I'm still reducing the amount of diet drinks I drink. I'm still seeing the trainer.

These dreams are my subconscious keeping me in check. And I'm glad.

If the shoe fits...

Running shoes are not cheap. I don't pay the kind of money some people do, but I rarely if ever get away from the store for less than $70.

For that $80 or $100, I get my money's worth. I run those babies to pieces. A pair usually lasts me four months, but I'll push it to six if they're not hurting or if I'm close to a race.

I don't go to a specialty store for fittings. My feet are boringly average. I don't supinate. I don't pronate. They are small, but that's about the only thing different about them. So I go to Academy or Lady Foot Locker, get my size and get out.

The last pair I bought were Nike Free Run+. The trend in running shoes these days is to make the shoes as basic as possible -- no fancy padding, no orthotics -- shoes that mimic your feet's natural movements.

I'm not a Vibram Five-Fingers girl. Those are just too weird. And considering I fall and scrape my knees as is, I don't think running barefoot in my neighborhood is the best idea.

The Nike Free series do a good job of mimicking my feet's movements. I don't feel restricted or like my feet are in a strait-jacket.

So when I bought a new pair on Saturday, I bought another pair of Nike Free Runs. I am IN LOVE!

---

I've busy. Too busy to blog, but not too busy to run. I ran in my neighborhood during the week and on Saturday, and then at the park on Good Friday and Easter. I enjoy my park runs so much. There's just something about being alone and running...

Trails: I am in LOVE

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." -- Henry David Thoreau

Yep, that's right. I just went Henry David Thoreau on your ass.

You see, some of the things I love best about running is the solitude, the simplicity, the peace. Just me and the road.

In reality, sometimes when I'm out in my neighborhood running, it's anything but simple and alone and peaceful, particularly on the weekends. My kids are out there playing with their friends, and despite just having seen me 10 minutes before, they feel the need to tell me Something Vitally Important right then, in the middle of my run. (And often, that Something Vitally Important is actually NOT all that vital nor that important.)

Sometimes, I notice my kids doing something I'd rather than not do, like playing a random front yard. Not the yard of a friend, but the front yard of someone who does not have children and we do not know. So I have to yell at them or stop and ask when they lost their minds and thought that was an OK thing to do.

So today, I decided to get back to the solitude that I love so much, that I CRAVE. I went to Claiborne West Park and ran on the trails.

It. Was. AMAZING.

There were small hills, something I don't get in my subdivision.

There were roots, big and little, that I had to hurdle (and I didn't fall once, unlike last night when I fell for the THIRD time in the my neighborhood (other knee, just a scrape)).

And there were butterflies, birds, bugs, and something that slithered through the grass away from me as I pounded down one particular trail.

And yes, there were people, lots of people taking advantage of our beautiful weather, but they were people I did not know and who left me alone. (By the way, dear people, I personally would not be eating random berries that I found on random bushes in the park, particularly since you were not washing them before eating. I'm just sayin'.)

I ran for 90 minutes, covered 7.5 miles, and burned 666 calories (oops, guess I should have run for about 5 more minutes.)

I'll be back. :-)

Running: The dark side.

Despite what it may seem, I don't always run with rainbows, puppies, kittens, and flowers shooting out of every orifice.

There are some things I don't like about it.

1. It takes time. Then run faster, dummy. Duh. Sometimes I do. Sometimes, I get out there and run six miles in an hour and I'm done. Other times, I get out there and run like I'm slogging through wet sand and it takes me 70 minutes. Everything takes time, though. If I were just working out at a gym regularly, that would be at least 45 minutes to an hour. So...
2. Ugly feet. Mine aren't too horrible yet, but they are bad enough that I apologize profusely whenever I go get a pedicure. I have yet to experience the "joy" of losing a toenail, but I'm sure that once I get seriously into my marathon training, I will. I did have a problem once where my toes swelled, and the nails dug into the toes beside it and there was blood. And grossness. But I stopped buying that brand of shoes and haven't had it happen again.
3. You sweat a TON. That's not so bad, and I expect it. But sometimes, it runs down my back and pools in the small of my back, and that is annoying.
4. Bugs. I swallowed a random bug last night, I'm pretty sure. It doesn't happen often to me, but...yeah.
5. The dreaded runner's tan. Men have it easy. They can run bare-chested. Women? Not so much. Even if I just ran in a sports bra, I'm still going to have strap marks which don't match up with my bathing suit straps. My personal favorite things, though, are the totally white feet butting up against really tan legs. Awesome.
6. You can't stop once you start. Oh wait, that's what I *LOVE* about it. Nevermind. :-)

Physics 101 or something else I don't understand.

I currently am at a very good weight, possibly the lowest I've been in my adult life.

I wear sizes 2 or 4, depending on the brand and the style. Extra-small shirts are too big for me.

So why do bathing suits continue to mystify me?

No matter what size I buy, I get it wrong. If I get a medium, it's falling off of me. If I get a small, it looks horrendous.

If I were my old weight or heavier, I'd just tell myself, "Self, you need to lose weight. That's why these bathing suits don't look that awesome."

But I'm at a good weight! I'm in the BEST shape of my life!!

So why the bathing suit drama??

Yes, I could get one of those Miraclesuits that hold everything in and make it almost impossible for you to breathe. But I weigh freaking 115 pounds -- that shouldn't require a Miraclesuit to look halfway decent!

This happened to me the last time I lost a substantial amount of weight as an adult. I was about 5-6 pounds heavier then and assumed that was my problem.

I guess not.

Abs-olutely fabulous, almost.

I started seeing a personal trainer because I wanted my upper arms to be toned, and I didn't know how to get there.

Adam has done all that and more.

We're nearing the end of our second month, and he asked me last week what I wanted to work on now.

"Abs," I said.

"Sure," he said. "We can do that."

"But you know," I said, "that I've had two babies. And once that happens, the abs are pretty much shot."

He's basically going to beat them into submission, I've discovered.

You know how after you lift weights, your arms or legs feel kind of shaky? That's how my ab muscles felt yesterday. It was weird.

I don't expect a six-pack. My days of "six-pack" are long gone. I wear my badges of past pregnancies proudly.

But more definition, less flop would be nice.

A thousand words.

If a picture truly is worth a thousand words, then there probably are less than 200 "words" about me out there.

I'm the one behind the camera, not in front of it, and for some reason, asking my husband to take a photograph of me is akin to asking him to scale Mount Everest or something equally as daunting.

And to be honest, I've spent most of my life hiding behind that camera. I did not want that 235-pound body recorded for all eternity. I did not want that plump face filling the frame.

I'm very aware of my mortality. Not that I walk around brooding about it constantly, and not that I'm preoccupied about it, but we all know that we're not getting out of this world alive.

And sadly, when I do leave this world, I will leave behind my precious babies. I want them to remember me. I want them to have things with my handwriting on it.

I want them to have my dogeared, abused and battered copy of Desert Solitaire, with all the good parts underlined, and my notes in the margins.

I want them to remember my smell, my laugh, and the way I always sing at the top of my lungs to music in the car.

And I'd like for there to be a few pictures scattered about. So I'm doing something about it.

I have a nice, fancy-schmancy Nikon DSLR that I got for my birthday five or so years ago. I love it and it's served me well. It's taken pictures of numerous vacations, holidays and other special events, and some not-so-special.

But it's unwieldy to use. And it's rather big. I didn't want to tote it to The Bahamas on our vacation, and since I'm going to have to enlist my kids in taking pics, I had to find something simpler.

So I bought a Sony CyberShot SD1400. It's tiny, and it takes great pictures. So look forward to pictures, pictures, pictures.


Here's one of me to start it off. I took this one yesterday morning while I was waiting for Miss K to get done with her private dance lesson.

(I haven't yet perfected the pouty look, known to teenagers and teenager wanna-bes worldwide on Facebook and MySpace.)

No make-up, goofy look on my face, but there it is, world. Me, for everyone to see.

Different.

I don't believe I have the adequate vocabulary to describe how much losing 45 pounds has changed me, and mostly for the better.

I still believe the same way I always have. I still love crappy reality shows. I still would rather do *anything* than fold clothes, and I will watch the timelessly cheesy movie, "The Wedding Planner" any day, any time.

But there are parts of me that are totally and completely changed.

I will do anything at any time, without question. The Beth 45 pounds ago would probably have ended up doing the same things I do today, but she would have been hesitant and would have had to talk herself into doing them. And we're not talking crazy, insane things here, people. We're talking about going to a new restaurant, or getting a personal trainer or buying outrageously high-heeled shoes.

I adore almond butter. ADORE IT. Peanut butter, too. I've never been a fan previously. I've tried to like it, but never really could. I'm not sure what has brought on this love, but it's powerful, y'all. I eat it in my oats in the morning, on a half of whole-wheat muffin...anywhere!

I'm not afraid to wear items of clothing that before, I would have died rather than wear them. Yesterday, I wore WHITE JEANS. White. Jeans. Y'all, really? That word combination was not even in my vocabulary several months ago. I didn't even consider them because I knew, inherently, that white jeans would equal huge ass. But I wore them yesterday and didn't even think about it (although it appears that white jeans make your butt look HUGE no matter what. Or maybe it's just my butt. Sigh.)

Thanks to Adam, my trainer, I'm wearing shorter sleeves and in some cases, sleeveless things without a cardigan. My upper arms aren't Michelle Obama-worthy, but they are MUCH improved over just a few months ago. I own a two-piece bathing suit. It's not a string bikini and I'm not a candidate for Miss America in it, but I can wear it and not look like a fool.

I used to be horribly insecure. No matter what I did, no matter how well I did it, I wasn't good enough -- parenting, work, life. Even when I knew deep inside that it probably WAS good enough, I believed that it probably wasn't. Now, I have the confidence to know that I did my absolute best, and it will be OK. Even if the end result isn't what I originally dreamt up, it will all be OK.

There are other changes -- I have more energy, my hair is thicker and fuller than ever, my legs look nice -- but it all adds up to a better me.

She was there, hidden under those extra layers of pounds, all along.

HIPpie

Today, the college where I work had a faculty and staff development day. Sort of like an inservice day. We all get together and there are speakers and classes and all that.

I got a Zumba instructor to come and give us an hourlong class.

OMG. I was sweating after 20 minutes. Serious sweat.

It was fun, and I moved constantly during the entire hour. I wish I could take a class, but I just don't have the time.

---

You don't really need meat to make a sandwich, you know.

I still have them quite often, for lunches and quick suppers. They are filling and I don't miss the lunch meat ALL.

I toast two slices of 100-percent whole-wheat bread and spread whole-grain mustard on both pieces. Then I pile two slices tomato, some roasted red peppers, spinach, a slice of Swiss cheese and pickles on it.

Absolutely yummy. And filling.

And no meat needed.

Questions. Answers.

Even though I work at a relatively small college, I really don't see a lot of the instructors and other staff members that much. There is a group that I see often, but other than that, everyone is busy.

But at a work event this past weekend, I was able to visit with different people and they all had the same question:

"What happened to the rest of you?"

So I answered a lot of questions and talked about my running and my vegetarianism and I really didn't mind.

They wanted to know what I eat on a daily basis. They wanted to know about my workouts with my personal trainer.

But really, it all comes down to this: Eat less. Move more.

That's it. There's no magic pill or drops or diet that will make it happen unless you're doing those two things. Books on various diets are books on various diets. People trying to make money off of you. You may lose weight initially, but it will come back unless you make serious changes.

For me, the hardest part is making up my mind to actually do it. Once I decide I'm going to do something, that's it. It's done.

Last year, I tried various things to lose weight before September. They worked for a short time or didn't work at all. I wasn't moving. I wasn't really eating less.

I'm trying to eat things in their more natural state. I don't want unnecessary chemicals in my body.

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Because Russ is working out too, we've had to come up with a plan so that we can both do our workouts and not have our kids running around like feral children. On Mondays and Tuesdays, I've been coming home, changing my clothes and running. I like getting it done early so that I can relax in the evenings. Plus, I figure being able to actually *see* the road may decrease my uncanny ability to trip and fall.

I didn't get my usual early run in yesterday evening because he went to work out first. Oh man, was I cranky!

But once I got out there, it was good. It was very good.

Thinking about a new wrinkle...

I've been thinking a lot about caffeine.

I don't drink a whole lot to start with -- just my beloved coffee in the morning, and then two diet drinks spread throughout the day.

It's a vicious cycle, though. You drink your cup of coffee in the morning and feel awesome. Then, after a while, one cup isn't enough to keep you going, so you have another. And then you need another and another and another...

In between, I drink a TON of water, so I've always felt like whatever bad there is -- sodium, caffeine -- gets flushed out.

But maybe it doesn't.

I had more than two diet drinks this past Saturday. I was at a work event, and while I did drink a ton of water in addition, I did drink a total of four Coke Zeroes.

I felt so horrible that evening and the next morning. Yes, the Coke Zeroes gave me a few moments of energy, but the letdown was NOT worth it. I ran 6 miles Saturday night and 8 on Sunday, and I felt weighed down.

Yesterday, I had my cup of coffee and one Coke Zero. It was water, water, water after that.

I feel better this morning.

Lightbulb moment.

So I've been feeling "off" for a couple of days. It started on Wednesday when I was heading home from Austin, continued all day Thursday, and when I woke up on Friday, I still felt blah.

It wasn't a case of PMS death spiral, and I couldn't pinpoint anything else:

• Kids: check, i.e., no one is doing anything RIGHT NOW to cause grief.
• Husband: check, check, check. :-)
• Job: busy, busy, busy, but I like busy.
• Weight: Still losing and gaining the same two pounds, but my clothes fit the same or looser, so I'm good.
• Everything else: Awesome...except for the crazy insane beagle, but his crazy insaneness has actually become what passes for normal around this joint, so...

So why was I do down in the dumps?

Yesterday morning, I was texting my BFF and going through how I felt and it hit me:

I didn't do *any* exercise at all on Wednesday. Nothing.

You might remember that I had decided to take a day off from running on Wednesdays. I was OK with that mentally because I was still working out that day with the personal trainer. And I was teaching my twirling class in the evening. So I was still exercising, just not running.

I didn't go to my trainer nor did I teach my class on Wednesday because I was in Austin. I didn't run, walk or do anything other than sit in a meeting and drive home. I ran on Tuesday when I got to Austin, and I ran Thursday evening. But on Wednesday, I did nothing.

That was it. Missing ONE DAY of exercise put me in an emotional tailspin.

ONE. DAY.

I can't imagine the mess I was before when I wasn't exercising at all.