Fathlete

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2010-11-23T09:34:00.001-08:00

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The Fathlete Returneth! For Real, Son!

2010-07-24T09:31:00.000-07:00

So remember back in December when I was gonna get married in June, and work out to be tiny in a wedding dress, and be awesome and skinny and healthy?

Well, a few of those things happened, like the married, and the healthy...but not June or skinny. Or tiny. Fierce and hot, yes. But not the other stuff. My beloved and I got married in February because Scott needed surgery on his ear, and I had better insurance. So we moved it up several months and several pounds before I had planned to be photographed in a wedding dress.

I did look awesome, but while sitting in a hotel room after his surgery to remove a tumor that turned out to be benign (Thank God), I signed up for Weight Watchers, hopng it would give me that fast loss like I had in the early 2000s on the program.

Not even.

Metabolism and age are a bisnatch. Huge hairy bisnatches. And after three months I have lost like 8 pounds. Blech. I am, however, down a dress size, and showing my tummy again.

So this is where you come in. I am reviving this blog so tht I get encouragement and, when approporiate, butt-kicking, Invite me to your fitness classes. Go running with me. See me at Happy Hour and look askance at my martini. I jus might put it down. Maybe.

Miss Fathlete and the Christmas Cookies

2009-12-13T05:51:00.000-08:00

This is pretty good considering what I've been eating. The tummy's getting defined, and the arms...Ok, I'll admit it. The arms are very cool.

The title is my homage to "Monk," which I'll miss.

You know what I will not miss? This last week in fitness and eating. The holidays are always a maze of mini quiche and champagne, which means I need to step up the workouts like a workout stepping-up banshee. Unfortunately, it was also the week where I aggravated an old injury from an excessive mix of running and P90x-ing (the plyo kept tweaking my heel, which I ignored because...cookies.) No running or P90x until at least Wednesday, says my doctor, Dr. Fox. And this is a man who is at all the races I run, so if I show up at one, he'll know. He's sneaky.

Also, my poor Victor the Trainer and I have been like two fitness ships passing in the night over the last two weeks. And now, he's recovering from a car accident (sob) and is out of commission. Get well, sweetie! I will not let you down! Hopefully!

I could just feel the extra cheese forming on my butt, so I gave in and joined Planet Fitness for $20 a month, their Black Card option, which lets me bring a guest and also allows me to go to all the other Planet Fitnesses for free. They don't have classes, but they do have all the weights and the cardio machines, so for the next two weeks, before I can run or P90x or Shred again, I am gonna do the elliptical for at least 45 minutes six days a week, plus weights and abs (the P90X Abs Ripper X).

I have a wedding in 6 months, a 39th birthday in 4, and a lot of cookies to brave. Wish me luck!

Fathlete and P90X Cardio X: Sweaty and Slightly Annoying!

2009-12-02T13:52:00.000-08:00

So here's my second day of P90x workouts, following the Lean program. It's technically the third day, but I took my rest day yesterday (yeah, I know. But I worked 4:30 a.m.-5 p.m., so just eating soup was a workout at the end of that).

So this morning, to pay for punking out last night, I worked out twice today - did 2 and a half miles of a speedwork run this morning (owww, but awesome. owwsome?) and then did some work and caught up with Tony Horton and the P90X kids this afternoon. It was a good sweaty workout, but I have some complaints:

- It's not all cardio. I was hoping for a solid, kick-butt 43 minutes or whatever it was of pure moving, and instead got almost 20 minutes of power yoga, and then a mixture of kenpo, core and plyometrics. I can see why people hate on the Yoga X, if the whole 91 minute DVD is just constant downward dog/runners pose, like this routine was. It felt great after my run, though, and the kenpo was super fun.

- Tony Horton will not shut up. Seriously. If I'm gonna do 90 whole days with this joker, I'm gonna have to learn the routines so I can turn him down. He's all jokey and smug and smirky with the stupid nicknames. And today, after introducing two of the Cardio Kids as an engaged couple, he seemed to be hitting on the woman. Not only that, but he added some...emphatic sound effects to some of her punches that were at worst distracting and at worst faux-orgasmic.

Just...don't.

Again, I felt like I got a great workout, if not the one advertised in a DVD called "Cardio X." I just wish it was more movement. And less "O" noises.

The Fathlete Starts P90X for real, this time!

2009-11-30T06:35:00.000-08:00

So, remember, last week, when I talked about being all psyched and stuff about doing P90x, and how this was gonna rawwwwk, and all that? And how I did Core Synergistics, and how it was tough but not brutal, but I was looking forward to having my butt kicked by Cardio X and Kenpo X, and all the other X's?

Well, still looking forward to them. Because I kind of never did them.

What had happened was that I did Core that one time, and then took a mental health day or something, and then ran a 4 mile race on Thanksgiving morning. Four miles! It was awesome! And cleared me for some eating! And that's what I did...eat. And then at 2 a.m., my fiancee and I got up and ate again. Pie. With our hands. Like foul beasts, as my soon-to-be cousin in law Kenny says.

This would, you think, inspire me to get up and work out. Didn't happen. My friend Nathaniel came down from Baltimore and we went eating. Twice. I got up Saturday morning, intending to run, and never did. Sunday...you see the pattern, no?

But this morning, I had no excuses. It was a Monday, a great day for starting something, or starting over. Nathaniel was in South Beach, visiting some other friends, so he wasn't sleeping on the couch, which meant there was nothing between me and P90X but my laziness.

So I started all over again this morning, with Core Synergistics, and it was as tough as I remember. Tony was still tough but...can I say this? Annoying. He laughs at his own jokes. He gives people nicknames. He uses the word 'taunt' when he means "taut." He sounds and looks like what late comedian Richard Jeni would have looked like if he'd created a character who was an annoying, full-of-himself fitness trainer.

But I'm willing to stick this out, because he's the real deal. Also, because there is an option where you can tune Tony out, and I might need this.

Tomorrow: Cardio X! For real this time!

P90X Day 1: Core Synergistics - My trainer's harder!

2009-11-23T17:52:00.000-08:00

OK...so I know that I've only done one and a half days of P90x, and that the Kenpo X and Plyometrics DVDs, which I've yet to meet, are gonna kick my booty all up and down the street, yelling at me and slapping me about the head and feet with a Swiffer.

But I gotta tell you - as much as I sweat during "Core Synergistics," my first full-length workout in the series, that I've sweat even worse in sessions with Victor my trainer. Maybe it's because guru Tony Horton has only the space of a fitness set to work with, and Victor has an entire grass field. But where Tony has you jumping through imaginary tires, Victor has you carrying a tire over your head doing laps around that field. Because he's an evil genius.

Here's the other thing about Tony - some of his chatter is confusing. I mean, you can figure it out if you watch the thing closely, but it's still odd. To wit: Sometimes he says "Grab a weight," which I took to mean to grab one heavier weight. But when I looked up, he and the Fitness Buddies were holding a weight in each hand. It's ok if you catch yourself, but "a" weight is one, singular.

On the plus side, like I said, I worked up a great sweat and am gonna feel it tomorrow. But Victor packs more of a punch. Above is a photo of him making us do jumping jacks. In a stairwell. After doing laps in a parking garage holding a medicine ball. I can't afford to see him every day, so this will have to do.

Tomorrow - Cardio X. I am frightened. Hold me.

The Fathlete's P90X Adventure, Day .5

2009-11-21T15:03:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: I am not one of those people who is getting paid to blog about Beachbody's P90x. I am a runner and have a trainer and am not gonna promise to do it every single day. I also might just wimp out and fake an injury.

But for what it's worth, I have now begun P90X, the big fad in the fitness situation. One of my co-workers, whose body is completely different than mine, has been doing it with her husband and adores it. I am encouraged, but I will reserve judgement because I don't know the particulars of her fitness before this. I don't know if her knees are good, or if she has lower back issues (I have some, which are not major, and I'm slightly worried about doing this program because there's a disclaimer that seems more disclaimey than the usual disclaimers.)

Tomorrow, I start the main program, but today, I did the AB Ripper X DVD, after a three mile run (speed work. Delicious.) It was challenging. I've been to equally hard classes at my former gym, but it's the hardest ab DVD I've ever seen.

You know what's interesting? Most of the DVDs I have ever done have been targeted at women, and all of the fitness extras in the back are women. But this one is lead by a guy, with only one women in the cast, and in a weird way this makes me think that no punches will be pulled. I mean, Jillian Michaels doesn't pull any punches either, but her workouts in the Shred are 20 minutes. The abs DVD alone on P90X is 15 minutes. And I feel it right now as I drink this big glass of wine.

Don't judge me.

So tomorrow, like I said, I'll be starting the program in earnest. I plan to do the Lean program, which has more cardio, and keep running on days that I don't have cardio for P90x. We'll see how long this lasts. Tomorrow sometime I'll get the Official Fathlete Photographer to snap a picture of me. Something tells me I'ma look like Fitness Hagatha.

But what are you gonna do?

A Fathlete Meets Jillian's "Shred" and Doesn't Die!

2009-10-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

OK, possums! I greet you on the second day of my journey with Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred. I haven't gotten p90x yet - waiting for that - but so far this is great! I was expecting it to be horrific, because I've heard people can't walk after it. But I guess I've been prepared by all of my workouts with the Notorious Victor, and by all those boot camps at my now-former gym, especially Trina's. Trina is no joke. At all.

Neither is Jillian - I did Level 1 on Wednesday night, and was worked out well but not murdered. On the advice of my bridesmaid and planner and soul sister Kiki, I did Levels 1 and 2 this morning, and I am not gonna be happy tomorrow morning, I can tell you that. It was very challenging - I think I need to get 5-pound hand weights, because some of the lateral moves are hard with the 8 pounders I have. But it was 40 minutes, and I wasn't destroyed. I hear that Level 3 is insane. Like, brutal and bad.

I am gonna run tomorrow, and do Jillian's 1 and 2 on Saturday, because I have Halloween shenanigans on Saturday and am not committing to running Sunday. At all.

Introducing: The Fathlete Bridal Blog! Celebrate!

2009-10-27T17:21:00.000-07:00

This is not my wedding dress. But it could've been.

So, this blog is about me trying not to be a big fat girl. And my life, recently, became about being a bride. So now, this blog is going to be about being a bride, and not a big fat one.

And also about the difficulties of finding a tiara to go with a fro.

I should call it "Go With The Fro!"

Anyway, this is an interesting week for me, wedding and fitness wise. I am now officially divorced from my big gym, BiggestLoserFitness (ahem), and am maximizing my fitness dollar. I am still seeing Victor, the evil trainer (Hey, man!) and still running (I think I am doing at least two more half marathons before the wedding, because if I am always training, I am always focused.)

I also just purchased two home remedies - Jillian Michael's "The Shred" and the fearsome-looking P90X, along with a chin-up bar. I cannot do chin-ups now, but the P90x people swear I'll be able to do a thousand, plus bench press a bus and Jillian Michaels, when I'm done.

The cool thing is that my dress is beautiful as it is, although I'd love to lose about 10 pounds between now and June. Or just tighten up. Do the tighten up! I'm Archie Bell, and these here are the Drells! We got a new song called the 'Tighten Up!'

Sorry. Drell break.

The Fathlete Returneth to Present: BRIDAL SMACKDOWN!

2009-09-28T04:24:00.000-07:00

It's been more than a month since I posted a Fathlete - I had my reasons, like not being able to find my camera cord, and then having my good computer sick in the Apple hospital for two weeks, and then kinda being lazy.

Fortunately, none of those involved having gained lots and lots of weight and having retreated to a cave. Made of mashed potatoes.

But here's the reason I'm back, besides the fact that this blog helped keep me on track and motivated and publically accountable - I'M GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!

Yes, on June 5, 2010, The Fathlete will be Mrs. Scott Mitchell Zervitz. She will be marrying the man of her dreams. And she doesn't want to look at the pictures and go "I should not have eaten that egg roll."

I am also in the last two weeks of my training for the half-marathon portion of the Baltimore Marathon, which I will be doing with my sister. This will not be the world's fastest half, but it's gonna be solid, and fun. Two days later, I'm going wedding dress shopping with my sister and my grandmother. All of this means I'm now accountable, and on the case, and working hard. I'm gonna be the most awesomest bride in the woooooorld.

Check it out!

A Triumphant Fathlete Bridesmaid Returns!

2009-08-18T14:13:00.000-07:00

Hello, gentle readers! I have been out of touch for two weeks, because I was in the Northlands meeting parents and being a bridesmaid, all without the cord to my camera. However, I did manage to have photos taken of me by people who did have their camera-to-computer connections happening, so I can show you evidence of both my hard work, and of the bridesmaids' dress that started this great experiment. It is the Harriet Beecher Stowe of bridesmaid's dresses. (The attractive woman on the left is my friend Stephanie, who is skinny skinny skinny since she started grad school. Is that what it takes?)

I cannot lie and say that this vacation went perfectly, nutritionally, because there were at least two pieces of catfish, three hushpuppies and some fried okra, about a quarter cup. The fact that I can give you the measurements of my fat food is either evidence of my vigilance, my obsession, or my need for another vacation. But I worked out almost every day, and I learned the following thing. Are you ready for this?

IT'S OKAY.

It was okay to have fun, even with that two or three cups of cheese balls with the cheez flavor covering all the fat fried delicious fatness, or that strawberry shortcake that was made from fairy dust, heaven parts and butter. I had a little and then moved on. I did not lose any weight this week. But I didn't have to. The whole point was having a dress that I could not look fat in, and I didn't. I still see some pictures from that wedding where my boobs are weird and my butt is big, and you won't see them here because it's my blog and hell if I'm showing them to you.

The point is that it's better and I'm keeping it going. And that's awesome. I hope to get awesomer.

Which is not a word. But then again...my blog.

No Fathlete Photo this week: But I can explain!

2009-07-31T08:18:00.000-07:00

I have not gained 50 pounds and run off to hide in my guest bathroom with a tub of ice cream and some Cheez Whiz (yum, Cheez Whiz). Rather, I've been really stinking busy this week, and haven't had time to pose for the official Fathlete photographer. Also, we're both nearing 40, and every time I think about it, one of us falls asleep in front of the TV. So...sad....

Anyway, I had a great session with Victor The Trainer, if "great" means "Oow...quad...burning...wishing...for....death." That's what you need, because my body's getting hip to the fact that I'm trying to smack it around, and the plateau is around the corner. Sneaky bastard.

Not gonna get me!

Next week, I'm way on the case, because I am going to Arkansas to introduce the Man Friend to my folks, which might require cheese. I'll hit you back then!

Biggest Fathlete: Ten weeks down, six months to go?!?!

2009-07-22T05:26:00.000-07:00

Here's your first side view. The booty is still taking over, but it's pretty cool, I think. And you can barely see the back fat. I still know it's there, though.

So yesterday, during a BRUTAL workout with Mr. Victor The Pithy, he noticed that my triceps are getting a little definition, which triggered a story about how a fitness teacher at my gym, who I had never had before, mistook me for a beginner and tried to give me a 2.5 pound weight (which pissed me off, actually).

"Well," he said, "sometimes they have to exercise caution, if they don't know you. And maybe that means you just have more work to do. I think it's gonna take six months to get you where you want to be."

Oww. And word. And bring on more of them squats.

I knew that 10 weeks ago, I would not be standing here in late July looking like Angela Bassett. At first, I just wanted to get back in my jeans. I'm back in my jeans, but it's not enough. I have a few dresses I miss, and I still have teachers thinking I just walked into a gym for the first time, which makes me sad, and frustrated and mad. And I have some back fat to address. And I'm looking at pictures of ladies like Angie with the big ripped biceps and thinking "Why not give it a shot?"

So here's me saying that I have more work to do, and that I don't wanna just look OK. I'm gonna take a stab at smashing...I'm not expecting miracles. I just know that in six months, I will be nearing my 39th birthday. And I wanna be hot. Is that wrong to say? If I get annoying about it, you tell me. But I know that I love being fit, and being able to run and dance and bound up stairs, and that's the most important thing, right?

Being hot might not hurt, either.

The Fathlete Stops Listening To Haters, including Herself

2009-07-15T14:44:00.000-07:00

I greet you at Week 9 of my little experiment. I have not been on the scale in a few weeks, because I got sort of freaked out by it after a little fluccuation in the opposite direction, if you get my drift. I believe it was normal bloating, and the pants that I was able to wear wonderfully well today, as well as the many people in the last two weeks who have said "Wow, you're getting skinnier" tell me it was a fluke.

But it scares me, even though my clothes say they're right. What if the next time I get on that thing it tells me it's all in my head, and everyone else's? I can tell I've regained so much of my fitness- I effortlessly caught up with a skinny male co-worker on his bike, who saw me a year ago when I bought this bike and wasn't nearly as fast or as steady on it. Amazing what a few less pounds can do for your balance.

Anyway, I said I was going to be mostly writing with full disclosure, except for the number on that scale, but I wanted to tell you that as much as things are going well - see the picture - I'm really scared of failing, for myself and in front of all of you. A reader on my blog at work called me a fat pig the other day, which made me both sad for a person who has to insult a stranger (I hope I'm a stranger to them, otherwise they're a coward as well), and completely depressed, because someone thought I was fat. Ever. And I was bigger. But what if they saw me last week and thought I was still fat? What was the point? Where was that cheese?

But then, I went to work, and three people, including one I don't well, told me "Wow, you're looking great." And then I went into the bathroom and made myself look at myself. And I decided this:

- I don't look like I did three years ago, which I don't like.

- I don't look like I did three months ago, which is wonderful,

- Screw some nasty cow who has to tear somebody else down to make their petty butt feel better. This person's an ass. Why should I give them the honor of being in my head?

So, I'm mostly over it. There will be times, like the next time I get on that scale, where I hear that voice over my shoulder. But screw that voice, both that cow's, the guy that invited me to Overeaters Anonymous and mine when I'm being a jerk to myself. Screw us all. I'm working really hard, and I have the comfortable pants to prove it.

Boo-ya.

A Fathlete finds her face in week...Eight?

2009-07-08T05:50:00.000-07:00

You may notice that the Running Diva shirt is back, because I wanted to see if there was a difference in the first few weeks I wore it and now. And there is, particularly around the...chestical region. They're smaller, which is not what I was going for, actually, but I'll take it.

I also notice that my face is noticeably smaller and more defined, which is kinda cool. I didn't have the most stellar Fourth, nutritionally - I had rich Italian food Thursday and Friday, and on Saturday, Man Friend and I ate pretty much one meal. At a blues festival. Conch in fritter form met rum in runner form. Somewhere, Jillian and Bob from "The Biggest Loser" are crying. And trying to find me and beat me up.

But I worked out all but one day of the weekend, and I'm back on track. Tonight I have a fancy party on Miami Beach, in which the bar is open and the appetizers are kicking. But it's gonna be awesome. We're getting it done!

Remember the Fathlete...before she pigs out this weekend!

2009-07-01T10:42:00.001-07:00

I love this picture, and will remember it fondly after tonight's fondue GNS (Girls Night Scarfing), and tomorrow's Italian food GNCM (Girls Night Caloric Massacre) and whatever The Manfriend and I get up to this weekend.

Viva la holiday!

I love working out, and I love healthy food. But the more weight I lose, the harder it is not to get cocky and eat what I are yesterday (the words "Spana" and "kopita" figure prominently.) Tomorrow, I plan to work out for like two hours and be a monster and tear it up and be fabulous. And I don't wanna screw it all up because the two people who read this blog will be upset with me.

I just love food so much. It makes me happy. Soooo happy. And sometimes it's hard not to focus on it and love it and eat it and call it George. But I'm gonna keep looking at this picture, and then looking at the one at the beginning of this journey, and decide which is closer to the one I wanna look like.

Yeah. I like this one too.

If only cheese wasn't so sexy.

The Biggest Fathlete Week 6: Wow. My stomach is flatish.

2009-06-22T05:27:00.000-07:00

And here it is. It's not six-packy and might never be. And this is not the best quality photo, but there is actual muscle there. I show you this in the spirit of the actual "Biggest Loser" contestants, who have to wear sports bras when they're 80 pounds overweight. I am not done, and don't want you to think that I think this is perfect. But it's not bad. You didn't see what it used to look like.

I am now, unfortunately, paranoid that it's gonna all end. I am getting obsessed, and Leslie is a bore when she's weight obsessed. Ask anyone.

How do you guys stay focused without being crazy?

The Biggest Fathlete Week 5: Getting Out of My Head

2009-06-16T05:38:00.000-07:00

So we're here at about the month mark of the Biggest Fathlete Weight Loss Challenge and Test of Iron Will Without The Dog Sled, and I'm happy to report that as of last Thursday, I had lost seven pounds! Whee-hoo! That was toward the end of Week Four, so I think I might start moving Fathlete Reveal Day to Thursdays, which is when I meet with Victor the Trainer for my weekly beating/weigh-in.

Yeah, it's settled. From now on, the official FathleteFoto (trademark pending) will come on Thursdays. Anyway, here's the new photo. You can see a tiny peek of tummy that doesn't make me want to hurl. And that's some progress, y'all!

Two better pictures of your Biggest Fathlete!

2009-06-10T05:50:00.001-07:00

Yesterday's photos were sorta stinky, so here are two better photos to show the ol' progress, in which you can see my face. Which is sorta Buckwheat-Goes-To-College. But they're post-workout. What are you gonna do?

The Biggest Fathlete, Week 4: It's Working!

2009-06-09T04:02:00.000-07:00

My head's sorta fuzzy at the top of this photo, but you can see the important part - the gradual lessening of the cheese in the middle of my body. This is one of the first photos where I can see the difference. This is the beginning of the fourth week of this here little experiment, and in the previous three weeks, I lost a pound a week.

This is healthy and normal, unless you watch "The Biggest Loser," where they lose 35 pounds a day or something. I know that's a TV show, and that they have more weight to lose than me. But you're like "Three pounds? Voting her lazy butt off the pink team!"

Oh well. You can't have everything.

The Biggest Fathlete, Week 3: Cruises Be Darned!

2009-06-02T05:18:00.000-07:00

I'm back from Kiki's bachelorette cruise to the Bahamas, which wasn't nearly as crazy, food and drink-wise, as I'd suspected. I worked out Friday and Saturday, and left most of my desserts half-eaten. We also walked up a lot of steps from our cabin in the basement...er, Riveria deck.

All of this has resulted in my Fathlete accountability blog being few days late. The results are not bad. I look pretty good actually - beginning to see some definition where there had not been, and a lack of cheese where there had been an abundance of such.

So, here it goes. Whaddya think, folkies? The waist is pretty good. I'm back on the case! I'm also training (get this) for a duathlon, where I run and bike, without the swimming, because I just don't feel like doing that. Stepping it up, y'all! Stepping it the hell up!

Welcome to "The Biggest Fathlete," Week Two!

2009-05-24T09:41:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the second installment of "The Biggest Fathlete," starring your favorite aspiring hardbody, me. It's been a week since I announced my plan to be the hottest bridesmaid ever.

I have done this by:

— hiring Victor, the fabulous, Ahnold-quoting trainer who hosts the weekly Booty Camps I go to, as my once a week trainer. So far, this hurts. But in a good way.

— giving Kiki, the bride at the upcoming wedding, the password to my Livestrong.com account so that she can see what I am eating, in the spirit of accountability.

— worked out all but once this week.

— Kept crazy watch on my calories, and forgoing any sort of tempura roll, egg roll, fried rice or the foods that give my life meaning.

So, this is what I look like this week. I think it's not bad. What do you think? Besides the Buckwheat hair, of course.

The Fathlete Training Torture Begins!

2009-05-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

This is not Victor, my new trainer. But he, like Maximus here, is about entertaining you with the pain. And the endless kickbox drills and the horrible flutter kicks. He is here to make me hot, and I just have to muddle through and suffer. And be hot. After I can feel my feet again.

Welcome to "The Biggest Fathlete"!

2009-05-17T07:19:00.001-07:00

OK, here's the situation. My parents went away on a week's vacation and...they left the keys to the brand new Porche.

Sorry. Fresh Prince interlude. The real deal is that I declared in my last post that I have a bridesmaid dress to look hot in, and I've been sleeping on this here weight plateau for too long.

So we're stepping it up, with more workouts, less food and some accountability. And that's where you, gentle Fathlete reader, come in. I was inspired by my friend, Bride-To-Be-Kiki, and her astonishing weight loss, as well as the formerly rotund folks on "The Biggest Loser." Of course, those people were way obese and have been working out like it's their full-time job with a million dollars on the line.

All I have is my dignity and my vanity, and my health. So every week, I'm gonna take a picture of myself in this tank, that I bought when a sleeker and younger me finished the Baltimore Marathon in 2005, and some sort of running short/skort/skirt. I won't be telling you my weight, because I don't want to, and because nobody's giving me a million dollars to do so.

We're gonna do this together. Because what would we do, babies, without us? Sha-la-la-la!

A Fathlete Doesn't Want To Be The Fat Bridesmaid.

2009-05-12T06:05:00.000-07:00

My close and dear almost-sister Kiki is getting married, which is why she flew me to Pennsylvania last weekend to do bridesmaid stuff, like meet her cake guy (fab!) see her wedding dress (I cried!) and get fitted for my beautiful bridesmaid dress, which is a lot prettier with me not in it.

Crappity.

I am trying to nudge myself off this plateau I'm on, but nevertheless felt pretty good about my weight going into the fitting at David's Bridal (and Lord, ain't that place a racket!), up until I actually put the dress on. I wasn't even phased, at first, by the presence of the two skinniest bridesmaids, because they're hot in their little skinny own way, and the Fathlete is hot in her own big-butted, muscle-woman, back-fatted way. Each to their own hotness, I say.

The problem was the size of the dress, which I knew would be bigger than my usual. And the bride, who now weighs about 12 pounds (and is gorgeous) warned me that she'd fit into the size I was about to try on, and Sister is much smaller than me. So when the smaller size, which is one up from what I usually wear, was too tight in the breasticles, I didn't mind. The next one up, a size I have not been since the late 90s, didn't fit either.

Uh-oh.

This meant that my dress, even though it's gonna be taken in, is in a size that I have never worn, even though I am not half the fat-ass I was in the late 90s. I know that it's my boobs, not everything else, and that I'm not really that size.

Bu I don't want to be at all. So I'm not gonna be. I promise you - and me - that when I get fitted for that dress in July, it will be a size smaller. At least. I know this is gonna hurt. But it's gotta happen.

A Fathlete Becomes Blackfunkel

2009-04-14T05:39:00.000-07:00

...and like the frizz over troubled foreheads, it does weigh me down.

Thus it is as a runner in South Florida, where even before the sun comes up, the brain-frying humidity is out, ready and willing to smack you silly. Thank God my hair is pre-kinked, because otherwise I'd involuntarily look like Black Orphan Annie. Or Black Art Garfunkel (Blackfunkel?)

Anyway, me and Paul Simon...er, my friend Libby, who is training for a marathon, went for a quick and sticky 3 miles this morning by the Intracoastal. We were running pretty fast, considering the wind, and that I am just getting my speed back, while Libby is healthier, younger, faster and a speed-loving nutcase. And I say that in the most admirable way possible. Man, I love a crazy runner.

It's hard to remember, even if you've spent the majority of your life in places where there are seasons, not being able to run year round. I'll call my sister in Baltimore in January and she'll say "Man, I wish I could go out and run" and I'll say "Why not?" and she'll say "Because of the blizzard and the polar bear sitting on my car eating my tires."

The thing of it is that here, it's reversed. Just when it's becoming glorious running weather up north, it's getting to be gross here. If you're planning to run any more than four or five miles, you can't start any later than 7 and expect not to be disgusting hot. Hell, it was 5:15 when we started this morning, running by the water, and you still could have boiled a tea bag in all that moisture.

So, welcome to the Thunderdome, South Florida runners! Cause your hair's gonna look like Tina Turner's when you're done!

Fathlete and Friend do the Zumba!

2009-03-24T06:52:00.000-07:00

Sadly, there are no pictures of my friend Lauren and I doing the Zumba class at my gym yesterday, but I can sort of describe the scene - tiny young girls with no rhythm fleeing for their water between every song, because they have no body fat and no endurance, and Lauren, an experienced salsa dancer, literally bopping up and down between songs like "Where's the music? Let me at 'em!"

Let this be a lesson to you, young ones. Just because you're young and tiny doesn't mean you have any sort of fitness level. And just because you're about 30 and curvy, like Lauren, or pushing 40 with a preponderance of back fat, like myself, doesn't mean you can't kick butt.

And we kicked that Zumba's butt all over the place!

Hells yeah!

A Fathlete Reclaims Her Former Glory...

2009-03-22T08:52:00.000-07:00

...or at least gives it a good, flabby try.

On Friday, I finally picked up my new orthotics, which cost about eleventy-three dollars. However, they're my magic key to getting back on the road, to sort of being the runner I used to be, sorta kinda, and to maybe getting back the almost 38-year-old version of the body I had when I did my marathon in 2005.

Then again, this body, in its current flabbier state, danced me to a third-place victory in the not epic but insanely fun 2009 Dancing For The Stars competition last week at the Kravis Center here in bee-yoo-tiful West Palm Beach. When I watched the video, I was alarmed at the preponderance of back fat (and look for my upcoming autobiography - "Leslie Gray Streeter: A Preponderance of Back Fat") but thrilled at how much I looked like I knew what I was doing! It looked so effortless, particularly the steps that took me forever to get, like the sequence of fast kicks in the beginning.

I was rewarded a 10 by Hillie, one of the awesome judges, mostly because of my joy and because she saw me in one of my earlier rehearsals, when I looked like a manatee trying to audition for "A Chorus Line." I will hold onto that 10, and onto this awesome disco ball trophy, like Miss Havesham held onto her wedding cake.

Try and stop me.

A Fathelete Hopes She Dances...But Don't Try To Lift Her

2009-02-13T13:52:00.000-08:00

...because she's too heavy to lift, apparently.

As Liz Lemon would say, Blurg.

I'm being melodramatic here, but when I started practicing my swing dancing for this upcoming "Dancing For The Stars" situation at the Kravis Center next month, I had hopes that I would lose tons of weight, like all those already skinny girls on "Dancing With The Stars." I was also hoping, as most little girls do, that I would make my dancing debut all girly and spinny, and get lifted up like a princess, or at least like Baby in "Dirty Dancing."

While I am not in the least bit skinny (nor do I want to be), I have knocked some inches off the old waist, making my big old butt stand out more, like a shorter, stouter JLo (I like this). But apparently, it's not enough inches or pounds to make me small enough for my partner, the fabulous Armando, to lift me without hurting his back.

I did not have the time of my life, I tell you that.

In all fairness, he's not a big guy, and we probably weigh the same. The routine looks amazing, so far, even without the lift. It's just that no woman wants to hear that she's not tiny and graceful enough to be lifted like a figure skater. Everyone wants to be feminine, to be girly. And even though the physics bear this out - I am, at this point, about 160-something pounds of mostly muscle, plus a bunch of butt and chesticles, and Armando is about 5"8 and weighs about the same - it's still disappointing. Hilarious, in a morbid way, because I feel awesome. But no one wants to be the hippo in "Fantasia" flipping the skinny alligator around. No one wants to be the fat girl.

And yes, I am not fat. My friend Lauren has promised to give me a quarter every time I think this so I'll shut up about it.

But, you know...Hippos.

It's gonna look awesome, anyway.

A Fathlete Fights The Orthotics...

2009-02-05T12:43:00.000-08:00

...and so far, those suckers are winning.

I bought these Power Step thingees for the first time months ago, and every successive pair has been a disaster. The first pair worked beautifully - I pronate or, as we say on the streets, walk funny, so they lifted my arches and made me happy. But the last pair was too short, causing icky bumped toes hanging off the pad. My toes looked like they'd been in the woodchipper with Steve Buscemi after my relay portion of the Marathon of the Palm Beaches.

Now the new pair I bought big and attempted to cut them down. They worked OK for the Race For The Cure, but badly hurt my arches in my next run. Dr. Chris Fox , my running guru, is gonna take a look at them tomorrow, and not a moment too soon. I have a race Saturday morning, and I would like an equal chance at sucking less.

A Fathlete Races For A Cure, and For Pat!

2009-02-02T05:45:00.000-08:00

It has been my goal since returning to running last year to get my 5K times back under 30 minutes, or at least run faster than a 10 minute mile pace. I am happy to report that at Saturday's Race For The Cure in beautiful relatively freezing Downtown West Palm Beach, my official time was 31:01 minutes, which isn't under 30 minutes but is, and this is important to my petty record-keeping mind - a 29:57 pace.

Yes, that rounds up to 30. But not quite. And I'll take it.

Of course the most important thin was the thousands of people who rolled out in the relative freezing cold to run for their mothers, their sisters, their aunts and grandmothers. I ran for my cousin, the beautiful and talented Pat, who is having breast cancer surgery this week, and who I love very, very much. That's more important than a few tenths of a second. But I can't wait to show her the photo of me holding up her name. I look really bad in that picture. But that's really not the point.

A Fathlete Gets Her Vacation Exercise on the Dance Floor...

2009-01-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

...and will not mention those crepes she just ate.

It's been a few weeks since I updated the Fathlete blog, as I was sick like a dog, or at least a weasel with a bad cough. And I wasn't doing much athletic stuff, other than some weightlifting and my swing lessons with the fabulous Armando. I wasn't setting any fitness records. But I can triple across heel toe like a mother.

I worked out right up until Thursday, several hours before I got on a plane and flew to Vegas for my beloved Kiki's birthday celebration. I packed the good running shoes and running bra and every intention of keeping up with the fitness on my vacay.

Weasel, please. This is Vegas, where mimosas are a clever way to get your vitamin C and wise investments are nickel slots. I have been dancing every night, won $30 gambling, and have been...umm...enjoying adult beverages and eating stuff. Shockingly my clothes still fit. Must be all that dancing with that cute little British boy I met Friday night at Prive. I believe his name was Paul. Not sure what he was saying half the time - stuff about football, gambling and being confused that every woman he met in Vegas appeared to be "a ho." But he was charming, and dancing with him provided cardio between Diet Coke and Malibus.

So, no great strides for the "lete" part of this blog. More like the "Fat"part. We're just hardcore next week. Wee-hoo, babies!

A Fathlete Stops Coughing Like A Dying French Courtesan!

2009-01-10T15:33:00.000-08:00

So today I returned to my semi-hard core life as a fake athlete, after a nasty cough that made me sound like Satine from "Moulin Rouge." And by the way, I never understood how that girl didn't k know she was dying, what with her passing out and falling out of swings and coughing up blood and whatnot. I can see her not knowing exactly what was wrong with her if the doctors wouldn't tell her. But wouldn't you, at least, be concerned if everytime you opened your eyes, you were somewhere different than you were the last time you were conscious, and everybody around you was trying not to look like "Dag, that girl's gonna die?"

Anyway, I am glad to report that I am neither dying of consumption nor a French courtesan. I got through an hour of Booty Camp, featuring the hilarious and brutal Victor and his love of walking lunges. I do not share that love. But I got through, and only erupted into Satine coughs a couple of times. Then it was off to my swing lesson with the even more hilarious Armando, who proposed some brutal spins that made me totter off my new high heeled dance shoes like a drunk debutante.

Or a coughing French courtesan. You be the judge.

Vacation's Over...Step Away From The Lazy!

2009-01-05T06:01:00.000-08:00

I'm back in my apartment, about to head to the gym for the beginning of my New Year's resolution not to be a big fat pig. I also have a wicked bad cough that I'm blaming on the change in temperature between tropical Florida and the frozen hinterlands of yore.

I am also back on the calorie counting...we'll see how that goes, because Vacation Leslie's still grooving on those mashed potatoes she ate around 11:30 PM at Howley's (thanks, Steph!) and is stalking the streets looking for carbs. And she knows where to find them.

A Fathelete Starts The New Year Mostly Right!

2009-01-01T07:57:00.000-08:00

Quick note: As the first day of this hopefully smashing new year dawns, I am ending the vacation eating portion of my vacation early. This means I am not eating everything put in front of me (Hello pie, my secret lovah!) and pretending that it doesn't count. I can see a little extra pinchiness around certain areas (Hello, pie, my secret lovah!) but shockingly everything still fits, even though I've worked out once since I've been here.

Seriously.

So obviously, God either is sparing me from my laziness or waiting until I get back home to slap me with some delayed reaction blubber. Tomorrow, my sister and I are going to some class at her gym called Soul Grooves, which she says is a butt-kicker. I am working on my natural lack of coordination with Armando, my dance guru, so this might be fun. Hell, who am I kidding? It's still gonna hurt like a mofo...Hey, Steve Zahn is gonna be Monk's brother! I love Steve Zahn! He's the Seann William Scott of my generation, yet not so Seann William Scott-y!

I'm sorry...where was I? Yes...umm...Soul Grooves. I'm a little scared of it but I have a soul and have been known to groove. So we'll see what's up.

A Fathlete Makes Some Resolutions

2008-12-31T14:21:00.000-08:00

Bye bye, 2008! You sucked a lot and I won't really miss you! But in some ways you've made 2009 automatically brighter, even before it starts, because it certainly can't be worse than you!

Yes, we're positive little agents of life here at the Fathlete.

I don't usually do New Year's resolutions, preferring to make my life-changing declarations on days that don't have so much historic pressure on them, like the day after I break up with someone, or five minutes after I see my butt in a mirror at Macy's.

But 2008 has been, for me and for you too, maybe, such a colossal bummer, that I think that tonight is as good a night as any to make some promises to myself, to God and to you, since you're hopefully reading this and will no doubt hold me accountable. It wasn't all awful - we have the hope of a new president, I lost some weight, I survived my ridiculous breakups and Daddy Fathlete is, despite the cancer and subsequent chemo, still rocking.

So feel free to tell you what you're resolving to do - or not to do - in the next year. And let me know what you think of mine. Just don't invite me to your Overeaters Anonymous meeting if you see me at Starbucks, because that is NOT cool.)

So here you go. Happy Merry!

1) To keep running.

2) To try a new class at the gym every week.

3) To never hang up the phone with someone I love without telling them so.

4) To stop dating idiots. And mean it this time.

5) To only make a priority those who make me one as well.

6) To stop insulting myself and putting down my appearance, my butt, my gut or whatever thing I'm downing. It makes people uncomfortable and it's stupid.

7) To not apologize when I feel beautiful, or smart, or accomplished, because I never have any problem recognizing when I feel fat and stupid.

8) To call my grandma every week.

9) To enjoy the body I am blessed with.

10) To post on this blog at least every other day, because it makes me feel good. And because I crack me up.

11) To never focus so much on the things I do not have that I lose the ability to be grateful for the things I do.

Have a happy night, y'all. And here's to doing and being better in 2009, but never forgetting to be thankful for where we are right now.

A Fathlete Buckles Down For The Holidays...

2008-12-22T11:18:00.000-08:00

...and just hopes she can hold her present semi-impressive weight until she sees the relatives that always clock her food.

I have about two days until I fly home to the Hinterlands of Honville (Baltimore) for a long, long vacation where I am relying on other people for transport, for guest passes on their gym membership and for mercy if they have cookies in their homes. I'm headed to swing dancing with Armando the Dance Teacher this afternoon - and I don't mind telling you that those lessons have gotten a lot more demanding. Apparently Armando wasn't fooled by my pleas to take it easy on me. And I'd honestly would be sad if he did. But less sweaty.

I have been watching the dismally cold weather up north from my sunny living room and wondering the same thing everyone else in Florida with northern travel plans is thinking - "Is it too late to tell them I've contracted hoof and mouth disease?" Because it's cold up there. All of you up there are reading this and snorting "Suffer, Princess! Nobody feels sorry for your whiny butt! As Jesse L. Martin was known to say on 'Law and Order,' Sitch yo ass down!"

Fine.

But I'm worried about the running in this weather. People do it. But not me. I am so worried about the yo-yoing, because at 37, I only get so many swings back in the other direction, ya know?

Please write me your tips for how to stay active on vacation, amid the cold and the cookies. Because Sista's not bringing any fat clothes with her! But some elastic.

A Fathelete Fears Booty Camp

2008-12-19T03:51:00.000-08:00

So tomorrow, I'm headed out to West Palm Beach's Howard Park with my gorgeous friend Shamin and some other folks for something called Booty Camp, which is apparently some sort of hour-long boot camp that's supposed to shape the...ummm...booty region. I am not averse to pain, because exercise that feels good doesn't usually do a daggone thing for you.

However, I'm a little scared of this, because I'll be in pain and sweaty and gross around people I know. I go to boot camp at my gym, where I'm just Sweaty Lady #57, and I don't care. But this Booty Camp's gonna involve, I imagine, people I know from the cocktails and shmoozy scene that is my job. And I don't want them to know what I look like screaming in pain, sweating out the ying yang and contemplating strangling the trainer or dragging myself into McDonald's and snarfing hashbrowns till I choke.

Hashbrowns are pretty.

I'll let you know.

And no, there will not be any pictures.

A Fathelete Feels For Oprah

2008-12-18T07:35:00.000-08:00

I've been pondering writing this particular post, because it's kind of stupid to write a public column about why some subjects should not be public. But it's Christmas, and as I'm working that Fake Local Celebrity mojo full time these days ("Yes, I'm Leslie! Thank you for reading my column!...Hey, where'd you get that mini quiche?") I'm aware of being a somewhat public person. I am not the public person that Oprah is, because in terms of being public and universally known, I think it's like Jesus, Oprah and Mickey Mouse.

But in my own Grade-Z local way, I found myself wanting to give Oprah an empathetic hug when I read about her public admission of her weight gain, and of the flurry of pictures of her thinner times posted right next to her current heavier one. And make no mistake — that woman is gorgeous, no matter what she weighs, and even at 200 pounds, I suspect a lot of that is muscle, since she is an athlete and a marathoner. Go marathoners.

I obviously am not as recognizable as the O, but since 2002, I've had my face in the Palm Beach Post every week, as well as a lot of TV appearances, billboards, commercials and other promotional lalala. And I know what it's like to have your weight scrutinized by strangers, mostly because they don't think of me as a stranger. But I don't know them, so it's disconcerting when someone I've never seen before tells me I'm fat. That stuff is rude, y'all. What the hell is wrong with you? I don't even take that mess off my grandfather, so if it gets Grandaddy the stink eye, thus it is with you, Dude. Yet, I can't cuss these people out because I'm a lovable yet sassy local celebrity, and the Palm Beach Post is trying to retain readers, not lose them to lawsuits.

I became aware this year just how long six years, and as many corresponding weights, that is. When I first moved to town, I went on a crazy, non-recommended diet that took 30 pounds off me, stripped my hips, face and cleavage, and made me look like a hungry boy. Of course, that's when I took a whole heck of a lot of promotional photos for the Post, giving the mistaken impression that this is what I usually looked like or at least what I'd look like after I got tired of being lightheaded and started eating.

(My best friend Melanie once remarked "Size-6 Leslie was mean," to which I responded "Because Size-6 Leslie was hungry.")

I subsequently became a serious runner, became more muscular and also able to eat a whole lot because I was burning a gajillion calories a day. I was a substantial size 8-ish, and happy to be so. This continued until I injured myself last year, and went from an 8, to a 10, and then to a 12. Nothing wrong with that, except it took me a while to admit that. But the public didn't have that problem. We've already discussed, in an earlier post, the bisnatch of a former running acquaintance who asked "Are you still running?" looked at my gut and said, under her breath "Guess not." And then there's a family member who will remain nameless who, during my father's cancer surgery, looked at the plain veggie burger I was microwaving and said "You're eating again?"

But nothing compares to the brazenness of the seemingly nice older man who followed me into the CityPlace Starbucks last winter.

"Are you Leslie?" he asked, and I nodded that I was.

"My brother thought that was you, but I said 'Oh, no, that can't be Leslie. Leslie's a slim young lady!," he said, leaving the "And you are a big ol' heifer" unsaid and hanging in the latte-scented air.

As I struggled for a response that didn't involve cursing and punching, the man, still smiling, kept on talking.

"You should come to my Over-Eaters Anonymous meeting!" he said.

Yes, he did. No I'm not making that up.

I wanted to hit him, or tell him he was incredibly rude, or throw my skim whipped cream-less skinny skinny whatever thing in his face, but instead I thanked him for his concern but told him that I didn't need a meeting, just to recover from my injury, and that the pictures he'd seen of me were uncharacteristically skinny. Yes, I thanked him, like a punk. Thanked this horrible person. Because he wasn't really horrible - he was horribly inappropriate, but I know that people who survive things like chronic overeating (he'd lost like 80 pounds) are missionaries for their cause. They mean well. He was horrible. But he meant well.

Being in public, talking about my running or what I eat - all of that puts my weight in the public eye, as much as my columns put my singlehood and dating life in the public eye. Which means people believe they are up for discussion. I regret this sometimes, but it is what it is. That doesn't excuse rudeness, though. As my mother always says, there is seldom an excuse to be rude to people. Notice that "seldom" implies that there sometimes is an excuse. But telling someone who DOES NOT KNOW YOU that she is fat is not one of those times. Seriously.

All of this is to say that I will never have Oprah's money. But I feel her pain, in a local, broke sort of way. Maybe people will be able to learn from Oprah's honesty about her weight and her struggles, because she's that normal. I just wonder what she would say if somebody stepped to her at a Starbucks.

A Fathlete Swings Out...And Tries Not To Hurt Anyone

2008-12-10T13:53:00.000-08:00

So today I went to the photo shoot for "Dancing For The Stars," the benefit dance competition that benefits the Kravis Center's Young Friends' group. It pits fake local celebrities like myself, and their professional partners, against Mayor Lois Frankel.

I'm not sure what I'm doing in this thing, as I:

- am pretty sure I weigh more than Armando, my new partner, who is joking about doing lifts;

- can not dance;

- try to lead, even though I can not dance

- looked like Zena, Non-Dancing Princess, next to all the twig-like TV reporters and personalities, as well as their partners. And I weigh more than all of them, too;

- tripped at my own debutante ball.

But Armando's confident, and so we're gonna learn to swing dance! Well...Armando already knows how to swing dance. He's going to attempt to teach me, while I try not to break anything, cry, and to fight the urge to flee, clacking like a buffalo in dance shoes.

I'm looking forward to it. But it's gonna hurt.

The Marathon of the Palm Beaches and my Rocky moment

2008-12-06T08:56:00.000-08:00

So this time last week I had finished an amazing run in Miami - 8 miles, y'all! - and was thinking that I would have no problem in tomorrow's Marathon of the Palm Beaches, in which I am running the first 8.7 miles with my fabulous Palm Beach Post relay team. And I was to avenge myself and my pride from the drubbing we took last year in the world's stinkiest, hottest, most dehydrated leg imaginable. Torture.

And then in the middle of a short run Tuesday, I got shin splints like a mofo.

Uh-oh.

So is tomorrow gonna be my redemptive Rocky moment or my indie film moment of disappointment?

Pray for me.

And come cheer along Flagler/Olive.

A Fathlete Freaks Out

2008-12-02T22:32:00.000-08:00

So it's five days before the Marathon of the Palm Beaches, and two days after an awesome 8-mile run on Miami Beach. So imagine my surprise when I strapped on the shoes to take a little four-mile jaunt around the perimeter of my gym....and my shins were on fire.

I guess it could be a stretching issue, so I've been stretching the mess out of that thing since I've been home...hold on....sorry....my cat just did that thing where she scampers in like the Feds are after her.

But I'm a little worried. I gotta go eight miles on Sunday and I couldn't get through two this morning. I'm gonna be taking it easy - I'm gonna go spinning tomorrow and stretch my legs out alot.

Wish me luck.

Thanksgiving with the Fathlete

2008-11-27T08:30:00.000-08:00

So I didn't run fast enough in this morning's annual Run 4 The Pies in beautiful downtown Tequesta, Fl. to earn a pie, like the first 700 finishers. So I was off my previous time in the 2006 race by about a minute.

But I'm still eating pie tonight. It's just that I'm really gonna think about what I'm putting in my mouth today. I know, I know, that's pretty fundamental to the whole healthy weight loss situation. But usually Leslie gives herself a pass on Thanksgiving, sometimes because I'd run a race that morning, and last year, because I was chubby and injured and figured I should find my joy from somewhere...anywhere...even in pie.

Because pie is a central theme in my life. Again, these are all the reasons for being The Fathlete.

I'm not going to worry much today about sticking to allotted calories, only to just really like everything I eat, and not to waste my time and tastebuds on the mediocre. And then tomorrow...Zumba! And then more eating. And on Saturday, 8.5 miles in Miami Beach, that's gonna hurt like a mofo! It's gonna hurt like Mofro! And I don't even know what that means!

Vacation Lag and Exercise

2008-11-24T05:00:00.000-08:00

I have yet to regain my pre-vacation workout schedule, due to lack of time and my unfortunate relationship with red wine and dancing to the '80s on Saturday night (getting too old for this schiznit).

Today I have to fit in at least two hours of working out, several interviews, some movies I have to review, and judging a karaoke contest. But I can do it. I have to, because the most dreaded of eating days is coming, as well as the 4-mile "Run 4 The Pies" on Thanksgiving morning where the first several hundred finishers get an apple pie.

I am not real confident about my pie chances this year, y'all. But I'm gonna try. Not that I need it. But it is a fruit-filled badge of honor.

Jet lag

2008-11-20T05:42:00.000-08:00

hurts. There was a class at the gym I was thinking about going to 15 minutes ago, which didn't happen, and the next is kickboxing, which I hate when I'm motivated and in the right time zone. And since I'm chronologically confused and sleepy, that would not be pretty. This is the peak of that slippery slope that we on the semi-righteous nutrition path can slide right off. I didn't work out yesterday, and it would be so easy to say "I don't want to go today" and then say "I don't want to go tomorrow" and then "I sure do like this cheese."

And I sure do like the cheese. But I need to get up off my butt. After this episode of "Law and Order."

Are you running in San Francisco? Be sure to wear...

2008-11-17T04:33:00.000-08:00

...a car to drive the hills.

I'm looking out at the San Francisco Bay right now - it's 4:30 PST, which is why I'm awake, because my body thinks it's 7:30. My body is wrong.

I was thrilled to find that there is a 24 Hour Fitness down the street - I'm planning to swing over and do some weights at some point, mostly because

a) I love weight training and

b) I had a half can of Pringles for lunch on the plane, because Delta RAN OUT OF FOOD. Yes. They had a plane full of folk on a cross-country flight, but the lovely flight attendant admitted that by the time she got to the back of the plane, where I was occupying the very last row, she'd been out of everything but chips and cookies for a while.

Helpfully, she had me tell her what I would have ordered if, indeed, there had been food.

Delta? What the...?

I think we're going to Sonoma later ("we" being myself and life-long pal Melanie, in whose hotel room I am squatting.) And there will be cheese. And wine.

So the Fathlete will be running.

Between meals, Mel and I went to Nordstrom, where I bought a dress for the Nat King Cole Generation Hope gala Thanksgiving weekend, and am pleased to report that everything seems to be sucking into place pretty well. There were a couple of moments where a pair of Spanx might have helped, but in my late 30s, I'm all about fabrics that suck that mess in. When I was 25, I was insulted by such things because I wanted my body to not need it. Control Top? Fie! I'm doing extra crunches.

But at 37, I'm respect the God-given genius of stretch and control fabric engineers. And I support their products and their gifts.

Tator Tot update

2008-11-15T12:24:00.000-08:00

They were out of tater tots at Howley's. Can you imagine? The tots were my happy place during the last mile of my run, and they were out of them. (By the way, that happy place says a lot about why I can write a blog called Fathlete.)

I had a couple of onion rings, that turned out to be a better deal, calorie-wise, as well as a crabcake that wasn't as crabby as they used to be there. (I am an official Maryland crabcake snob, so you have to bear with me on that). It was nice and lumpy in most spots - only in crab cake parlance is lumpy a good thing) but bready in others. (Again, bread is my boyfriend, so only in crabcakes do I want to break up with it).

They said that some cooks beat the crabcake stuff too much and break the lumps up, but that they were trying to get them not to do that.

So stop doing that.

I am going to San Francisco tomorrow, where eating and drinking are as normal as breathing (or so I choose to believe when I visit.) Looking forward to running those hills, because I look forward to the all-you-can-eat Soul Food buffet at Farmer Brown.

We all have our priorities.

Why I'm going to have tater tots for lunch

2008-11-15T09:49:00.000-08:00

This morning, I ran 6.3 miles with my friend Rochelle, otherwise known as TV's Little Rocky, current Florida Golden Gloves champ-een in her weight group and my unofficial trainer. This means that she wears the Garmin GPS distance doohicky, runs backwards to taunt me when I'm slowing down, and yells "Go for it" at various times on our run.

She is my hero.

Then, I came home, at a bowl of Capn Crunch with Crunchberries with soy milk and then went to Boot Camp Class at my gym, where I dusted some really skinny girls, including one with a six-pack, in the final sprint. Nobody noticed but me.

But I'm the one who matters.

I have to not judge my progress by other people because I don't know what their stories are. I don't know what their cholesterol is like, or how fast they run. I just see their abs and want to cry, because I want those abs. Heck, I want the abs I used to have.

But I am having a late lunch, and since I've estimated that I've burned about 1800 calories in my two workouts, I get a small portion of fried potatoes. Just enough to keep me going.

Welcome to my world! Got any snacks?

2008-11-15T08:51:00.000-08:00

Welcome to my new blog, which is about being an athletic work-in-progress, which is to say that I am neither currently at my fittest, nor at my fattest.

You don't have to be thin to be an athlete. You just have to do the work and kick some butt.

I have now returned, somewhat cautiously, to semi-hardcore levels, to running and lifting and all the sweaty stuff, after an injury last year and a sordid affair with cheese. (I still see cheese sometimes, but we have an understanding).

I am not where I want to be, speed or weight-wise. But it's better than it was six months ago. And when I see people who knew me at my fitness heyday, about two years ago, they think I'm a fatty. I had this nasty girl who was in my marathon training group pass me on an escalator say "Are you still running?" and then say, under her breath "Guess not."

Yes, I heard you. And while I can lose weight, you will probably still suck.

At the height of my nutty runner-ness, I was clocking a nine-minute mile, usually finishing 5Ks at around 28-29 minutes and having absolutely no problems flashing a little midriff.

Possibly inappropriately at times.

But I digress.

I was never the fastest, or the thinnest, in any of my age groups in races (I once came in second at a race that most of the usual suspects skipped to run a longer race the next day, and, had I run it a week later when I turned 35, I'd have come in seventh.)

But considering that I was not an athlete in high school or college, or for most of my 20s, that's not bad. Actually, it's awesome. I was so NOT an athlete in college that a) I was referred to as "The Fat Twin," and actually told by a not nice old lady at my church that she was happy I was now fat because she could now tell me from my sister and b) my fit parents bought me running shoes and a pink track suit for Christmas, suggesting a family run/walk around the lake, during which my sister and I, who were 19, chatted at such a slow crawl that we were lapped by our 43-year-old mother. Twice.

But I was a gym rat, off and on, and in 1997 ran my first 5K, which was all up hill and nearly killed me. I was hooked, because I understood that the more I ran, the more I could eat. If you had told me that the more I studied math in high school, the more pizza I'd been able to snarf, I wouldn't have had to take the Stupid Math in college, the non-credit class you had to take to qualify for Basic Math.

And when I moved to Florida in 2002, I discovered that everyone was thinner than they were in Central Pennsylvania, which makes since, because the official animal of Pennsylvania is pork. I quickly went on a crazy diet and lost a lot of weight, working out obsessively, losing my hips and boobs, wearing a 6, and worrying my mother. But things got better (and less scary thing) when I went crazy with the running, mostly because in 2004 I moved to an apartment with no gym. I ran with a friend who pushed me, and we did our first half marathon in 2004, in the pouring rain. And in 2005, I trained for and ran/walked/crawled the full Baltimore Marathon, the last 11 miles of which I had a nasty leg cramp and wished to die.

But then somebody bought me a funnel cake, and everything got better.

Anyway, I did another two halfs, a bunch of 5ks and 4 milers, and the 8-mile leg of the Knoxville Marathon with my whole family, during which I had to catch up with the clown who denoted the end of the race. But we ran that clown down, man. We ran his chunky shoe-wearing butt down but good.

But then came the injuries and the mid-30s, and then the post-mid 30s, and the cheese and the Happy Hours that turned into dinner and more drinks and a gazillion calories before bed. And that's just the nachos. And by May, around the time I got dumped (I will give that whole relationship as much time as he gave it before cheating on/dumping me. And...we're done!) I joined a new gym and realized that I weighed...get this...

You might want to sit down....

180 pounds.

At my thinnest I weighed 146. Seriously. Of course, this time, it was a combination of fat and muscle, which shocked my new trainer, who initially just assumed I was a fat girl with no fitness. When I lifted a bit and ran without getting winded, he looked at me and said "You're so strong" which translates to "What did you do to yourself?"

But in six months, I've lost a lot of inches, including a bra size, am back in clothes I never thought I'd wear again, and decided to let go some others that I'm never, ever going to wear again. Ever.

I haven't been on the scale much because it just confuses me without knowing the body composition, but I reckon I'm somewhere near 170. When I get back from my vacation I'll let you know. There will be cheese. But also running.

Run on, y'all.