California Dreamin'

I have always been a vivid dreamer, dreaming throughout the night with an ease of recollection come morning.  Around the age of five, and sick with a high fever, I had a dream I was being ambushed by snapping turtles.  I awoke screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, please get these turtles off of me, get them off of me!"  Hilarious now, but pee-in-your-pants frightening 25 years ago!  My dreams can be lively or dark and sometimes even whimsical.  Not too long ago, I dreamt I was pregnant and gave birth to an orange kitten.  With everyone Ooing and Aahhing over my new "baby" all I could think was how odd it was that no one was mentioning the fact that I HAD JUST GIVEN BIRTH TO A KITTEN!!!  

However, just last week, I had a dream unlike any other: I dreamed I was EXERCISING! Not exercising a demon from a tortured soul, or my right to vote, actual heart pumping, sweat inducing, muscle aching EXERCISE!  In my 29 years on earth that is one theme that has never shown its ugly face in my dreamscape.  I dream of working, eating, flying, and most recently birthing small kittens, but NEVER exercise!  That dream stuck with me for the rest of the day, I just kept thinking to myself.....Why did I dream about that?  What did it mean?  To my surprise, just a few days later, it happened again, I had another exercise dream.

After much thought into these dreams I can offer very little insight other than the obvious. Exercise has become a big part of my life, so much so that it's now entering my dreams.  Now I'd like to know if dreaming that you are exercising burns more calories than, say, dreaming that you're eating an ice cream sandwich?

Since beginning this journey, these dreams are just one of many firsts. Below is a brief list chronicling a handful.

1.    10 miles

2.    Waking up at 5:30 AM to exercise.

3.    First race of any kind, 10K in Agoura Hills, CA, jogged longer than I ever have in my life!

4.    Wore out a pair of new shoes in 8 weeks!

5.    Dreaming of exercise.

6.    Wearing a hole in a brand new pair of socks within a few hours. 

7.    Spending way too much on a new pair of "anti-blister" socks, but no holes this time!

8.    13 miles

9.    Embracing carbs for fuel.

10.  16 miles

11.  Finding confidence in my body, my strength,  and my ability despite my size.

Number 11 is my favorite and most meaningful first.  As a woman, it's a daily struggle to accept and love my body.  I know there is a universal struggle among women. We love, nurture and accept others only to open the floodgates of self-loathing and criticism upon ourselves and our bodies. We battle cellulite, love handles, stretch marks, and wrinkles, not giving our body enough credit for everything it does right and does well.  For years I've been counting inches, calories, and pounds and as I approach my 30th birthday I think I'd rather count miles.

  

It's an Uphill Battle

In the past, there is only one thing that has gotten me up before sunrise and that's an early morning flight.  I managed to break that trend this morning awakening at 5:55 AM to head into the Santa Monica Mountains for 8 miles of hills.  On my list of dislikes, walking uphill is at the top following close behind snakes, pork, and migraine headaches.  So when I woke up this morning, on a dark rainy Sunday, the first thing I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.  I literally had to psyche myself up for it. I could think of a million excuses NOT to go, such as it's too cold and rainy or the fact that Sean just had surgery and I really shouldn't leave him home alone. In the end the thought that was on a continuous loop, getting louder and louder, was that if I didn't go I would be so disappointed in myself!

I blasted The Frames in the car on the way, trying to forget about the struggle and the agony that lay ahead of me.  I was listening to a song called People Get Ready as I was driving up the canyon to our meeting spot.  The lyrics more or less express that a change is coming, to rebuild what's gone unsteady and see it through with wiser hands and the chorus reiterates that we've got all the time in the world to get it right.  I thought to myself, I'm rebuilding my physical self, getting stronger, getting faster, building muscle, burning a little fat but at the same time there's an internal change happening too.  There's something inside of me, pushing me and not allowing me to give up or make excuses for myself.  It's not happening overnight, it's a gradual process but I'm getting there.

When I arrived I had to park downhill a bit and walk up a pretty steep hill from my car to our meeting spot.  I thought, "Oh God, this isn't even part of the hike and this hill is enough for me! What am I getting myself into?" I immediately had to push those thoughts out of my head, there was no room for them.  I made it huffing and puffing to the top with the rest of the group. Our coach explained that today was not about speed; the course was about 8 miles, the first half of which was uphill so we needed to pace ourselves.  I immediately began to panic. I hate hills, I avoid hills, going uphill makes me feel like I'm minutes from death, and now I'm going to be going steadily uphill for 4 miles!  Did I mention I have asthma?  Excuses, excuses!

I thought about the lyrics again, we've got all the time in the world, and that remained my mantra.  I took it slow, I stopped to catch my breath when I needed to, held down my hat when the wind tried to toss it into the canyon below, powered through stretches when the cold rain pelted against my face, and eventually there I was at the top looking down over the city yet feeling completely removed from the chaos.  There were many times on the way to the top that I secretly wanted to quit and turn around; it wasn't easy, it was hard work pulling my weight up that hill.  I had the pleasure of making the trek up alongside my TNT (Team in Training) mentor Meghan.  She did most of the talking on the way up, since my breathing was too labored to carry on a coherent conversation, and did a fantastic job of distracting and encouraging me along the way.  As I've said before, if left to my own devices, if this were NOT a team effort, I would not push myself in the same way.

Upon returning from a trip to Atlanta two weeks ago I found out my husband, through an unfortunate flag football mishap, had fractured BOTH of his hands.  Not one hand, BOTH, one of which would require surgery! My life went from crazy, busy, and stressful, to crazier, busier, and even more stressful in an instant.  The old Jaime would have thrown her exercise routine and training out the window, seeking sanctuary from the stress through habitual laziness, sleep, and a big Sunday morning breakfast.  The new and currently being remodeled/rebuilt Jaime did 10 miles last Sunday, a feat once thought and feared impossible.  I was so unbelievably proud of my accomplishment and couldn't miss out on that feeling again today when challenged by those monstrous hills.  

For the record, hills, whether they be literal or metaphorical, SUCK, but the view at the top is well worth the uphill battle.

Speed Limits

We are all born with certain strengths and certain limitations.  Early on I decided that my natural tendency was to be creative, whether it is was making puppets with my Dad's mismatched socks or turning our formal dining room into a museum, adorning the walls with my pictures and giving my parents the history of each piece.  Sometimes my older brother Brad would include his artwork, at which point it would become a contest and my parents would have to award a Grand Prize; needless to say there would always be two pictures they were torn between and therefore, we were both winners.

My brothers played football, basketball, and baseball.  I spent my time writing, playing piano, and singing show tunes.  I never donned an athletic uniform of any kind; the closest I came was a pair of blue tights and the Smurf leotard I wore in my first dance recital.  Growing up, I never identified with the athletes.  I wasn't sporty, I was artsy, never realizing that I could be both!  

I'm about a month into training for this half marathon and while I'm definitely more in tune to my creative side (especially when it comes to creating excuses NOT to exercise) I'm getting more and more comfortable in my new role: as an athlete.  

On one of my most recent trips to the track I had the pleasure of sharing the lanes with a middle school track team.   I began my laps as they hit the bleachers, running up and down the steps, and before too long they joined me on the track.  It's not enough that training with actual runners on Sunday makes me feel like an out-of-shape slowpoke, but there I was being lapped by giggling 13 and 14 year-olds who were hardly breaking a sweat.  I'm not yet 30 but suddenly I felt positively ancient among those kids.  I was tired and my left ankle was a little stiff.  It was official; not only was I SLOW, I was OLD and SLOW!  I should have just turned off my iPod and headed for my car, but instead I stopped, took a few minutes to stretch my tired "old" limbs and quickly returned to the track. Only this time, I was faster, pushing myself to work harder because I wasn't going to let Hannah Montana and her tween track stars show me up!  Suddenly, I began to lap them one by one!  Just kidding, they were STILL running circles around me but unbeknownst to them their presence, while slightly annoying me, was actually helping improve my speed and endurance.  I had this desire to get past the voice in my head that reminds me of all of the non-athletic labels I've given myself over the years.

On Sunday we did seven miles.  As a half-marathon participant I was only supposed to do six but I decided that I wanted to challenge myself and do the seven with those who are training for the full.  It was hot and I was tired and sweaty.  Left to my own devices, I would have probably quit around mile five.  I had the good fortune of training that morning with our team's coach, who kept pushing me to do more than I thought I was capable of.  Every time he presented me with a new challenge he would preface it with, "Don't hate me, but......" For instance, "Don't hate me but now you're going to do 100 one-armed push ups" or "Don't hate me but now you're going to run the next two miles with your eyes closed."  Okay, it wasn't quite like that, but in a sense it was, because he was challenging me to do things that I really didn't think I was capable of doing, things that I didn't think my body was capable of doing.  I finished the seven miles and to my amazement, I finished that seven miles jogging, not walking. Not crawling on my hands and knees, not on a stretcher, but ME, JOGGING!!!!!  After seven miles in the hot sun my body still had the energy to run!  

I may not have the speed of those middle schoolers or most of the people who run alongside me on Sundays, but I'm thankful for every ounce of athleticism that I do possess.  And limitations?   Limitations are a thing of the past!

If The Shoe Fits

In kindergarden I distinctly remember being the tallest kid in the class. Not the tallest girl, the tallest kindergardener, period.  In first grade, I was still the tallest kid, only that year I had traded in my long brown locks for a cute, stylish, and slightly asymmetrical Dorothy Hamill haircut that accentuated my giraffe-like neck.  I affectionately refer to 1985 and 1986 as the "skinny" years; too bad I didn't know enough to appreciate my height and long, skinny limbs back then. 

With the height came a rather pesky annoyance: BIG FEET!  As long as I can remember, shoes have been an issue.  I settled into my current size, an 11, sometime in middle school and I've been stuck there ever since. Buying shoes is a chore and I might as well forget about getting said shoes at TJ Maxx. Just for the record, the 10 and up shelf is a big fat liar, there is NEVER anything above a size 10 on that shelf!  I vaguely remember in the late 90's finding a pair of size 13 pink Birkenstocks on that rack.  I often wonder who ended up buying those shoes.

As you can probably guess, it's been a struggle over the years to find shoes for various occasions that require something other than a flip-flop or a slip-on Converse, like the prom or a wedding. So I can't say I was entirely shocked to find out that shopping for a "marathon" shoe would be any different.  I tried to nip this in the bud a few weeks ago before we moved into our new house, one more thing I could cross off my never ending to-do-list.  I went to a shoe store that specifically caters to runners/race people, and felt like a fraud upon entering the shop as I feel that I'm neither.  The shoe guy asked how he could help me, and I explained that I was training to do a half marathon in a few months.  I almost expected him to role his eyes and snicker, while quietly judging my lack of muscle tone and overall unathletic appearance, but to my surprise he was extremely helpful and attentive.  He never acted as if he expected this overweight young woman before him to be doing anything but training for a race.  He was slightly stout and a seasoned marathoner himself, sharing his race experiences with me in between trips to the stock room. The shoeboxes began to pile up, one pair after another. At one time I believe I counted 15 boxes stacked and spread out before me.  I would put on a pair, lace them up, walk across the room,  and then hop on the in-store treadmill so the "expert" could check out my stride; 45 minutes later and we weren't any closer to finding that perfect shoe. The shoe guy was helpful and knowledgeable, but in the end he was no match for my big feet. He finally gave up and suggested that maybe I'd have better luck at another store (suggesting a few of his competitors), adding that sometimes it takes awhile to find just the right shoe.  

The shoe search may not have gone exactly how I planned but that didn't stop me from going to my team practice last Sunday.  It was my first practice, as the weekend before Sean and I had the big move scheduled, so I had to play hooky during the first official practice.  I arrived in Santa Monica bright and early at 8:00 AM.  I think the fear of getting up so early on a weekend actually trumped my fear of being the most out of shape person at the practice, but there I stood bleary eyed and feeling inadequate, ready for the four miles that lay ahead of me.  It was just as I imagined, 99.9% of the people seemed to be in pretty decent shape, their feet adorned with the same shoes that weeks earlier piled around my feet, the shoes that legitimate racers wear.  I was a fraud, my New Balance shoes and jiggly thighs would surely give me away and they'd send me packing; but it simply didn't happen that way.  I was in the slowest pace group, our path lead us along the ocean and it was gorgeous outside.  I felt like the lone tortoise among the hares and true to my tortoise form, I too, slowly but surely, finished the four miles.  

I still need to find that special pair of size 11 racing shoes. And I will, because every good racer, like myself, needs a perfect pair of racing shoes.

123 Days and Counting

You don't know what you've got until it's gone.  I had to learn this the hard way on April 15th of last year.  Tax day 2008. Refund?  I think not! Married, living in California, no kids? That's going to cost you.  That day would be just like any other, barring the fact that there would be a big fat electronic transfer making its way from my bank account to Uncle Sam's. I headed out the door for work, closed the door behind me and quickly turned to walk down the flight of tile steps leading to the garage, and then IT happened.  My flip-flop slid across a minuscule puddle of water at the top of the stairs and I was airborne, my left leg folding beneath my body, breaking my fall as I tumbled down nine steps.  When I found myself at the bottom, still alive, still conscious, I gasped and managed to find the air that had briefly been knocked out of me, followed closely by screaming and tears by the bucketful.  I was terrified, I couldn't feel my legs, I couldn't stand up. Never in my life had I been incapacitated to such a degree.  Here's what followed: 911 call, ambulance ride, an emergency room visit worthy of what we've come to expect given the healthcare system in America, bruises and soreness, a cast, crutches, too much time on the couch and way too many Lifetime movies, missed work, numerous doctor visits, and last but not least physical therapy!  Fast forward almost 10 months later and here I am, training for a half marathon.

What does this story have to do with my current endeavor?  You don't know what you've got until it's gone.  When I couldn't walk, it's all I wanted to do. I missed being mobile, I missed being able to walk easily from room to room, from a parking spot into a store; I was angry at my injury, I was angry at my body for being so slow.  I remember that I started exercising for the first time again in August.  I started slowly, with swimming and walking. My walks would be short, my leg and ankle telling me when I'd gone far enough.  Now, it's almost as if I've been born again, exercise-wise; the pain is gone and I can move again, Hallelujah! There isn't a walk that goes by now when I don't smile and think to myself, "I can move, I can walk, look at how fast I'm going!"  My legs may not be shapely and toned but I'm infatuated with their strength, their inner beauty, their ability to heal and to teach me a valuable lesson in the process.  123 days until these beautifully strong legs of mine cross the finish line!

I plan to train for and complete my first half marathon while raising money for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, please visit my fundraising page and show your support for a very worthy cause  http://pages.teamintraining.org/los/rnr09/jmarkhaafe

Lady in Weighting

Living in Los Angeles, I see celebrities shopping at the grocery store, pumping gas, dining at restaurants, basically just going about their daily business, as the people around them quietly catch a glimpse.  I usually think things like, "Wow! She looks great without make-up,"or "He's shorter than I imagined," and more often than not, "Her thighs are smaller than one of my ankles!" (Cough....Cough...Teri Hatcher) It's hard, in this town, not to find "perfection" everywhere you look.  A lot of these people pay a price for this "perfection," a scalpel here, a syringe there, chain smoking and black coffee; fortunately, that's a price I'm unwilling to pay.  

So today's celebrity sighting was Ricki Lake, I saw her at The Frame Store in Brentwood.  She was standing over a counter cluttered with photographs of herself, choosing various mats and frames to complement the pictures.  As you may or may not know, she's recently dropped quite a bit of weight (again), a fact that she's been more than willing to share with the media over the past couple of months.  If I were her, I'd be shouting it from the rooftop, megaphone in hand, flood lights waving, while wearing something that showed off my svelte new figure.  She looked fantastic, healthy and glowing as she perused the many photographs of the new and improved Ricki! Essentially, her weight jump-started her career as a character actor (character being the term used when you don't fit the mold, beauty and body-wise in Hollywood) in Jon Water's cult favorite, Hairspray.  She played the plump and perky Tracy Turnblad, the eternally cockeyed optimist who danced her way to stardom.  This role led to many other feature film /made-for TV movie roles.  If memory serves, sometime in the early to mid nineties she dropped the weight, grabbed a microphone and voila, The Ricki Lake Show was born!  Her weight has gone up and down over the years and right now she's DOWN.  Oh, how I covet those DOWN times, because it seems as if they never last, the clock strikes midnight and you turn into a pumpkin again.  I hope Ricki is able to spend the rest of her life at the Prince's ball, because it sure does suck when your dance with a single digit dress size comes to an end!

Okay, so why did I just spend an inordinate amount of time discussing Ms. Lake's battle with the bulge?  It's the same reason I read People Magazine's annual Half Their Size issue cover to cover.  I relate to these women and I desperately want to know their secret.  How did they do it?  1/2 a grapefruit, a hard boiled egg, and 8 ounces of skim milk for breakfast, a small grilled chicken breast with steamed spinach for lunch, and poached salmon with mixed field greens for dinner?  Heck yeah!  I can do that!!  I mustn't forget the two healthy snacks a day, a handful of almonds, string cheese, celery and carrot sticks.  Yummmmm........  Just thinking about it stirs up images of me, tall and lean, jogging around my neighborhood in nothing but shorts and a sports bra, my six pack glistening in the morning sun.  Alas, I must resign myself to the fact that the reality of my situation is far from my celery wishes and carrot stick dreams. Just ask Oprah, she's got the world at her fingertips and she still can't get it right!  If Oprah can't lose the weight and more importantly KEEP IT OFF, what hope is there for the rest of us?

I grew up in the South, the land of fried foods and vegetables cooked into mush with salt and fatback.  I had two older brothers, tall and lean, who snacked on junk food and chugged syrupy sweet neon yellow Mountain Dew by the liter.  This was my environment and I followed suit, not really putting on weight until early adolescence when my bad eating habits and lack of exercise finally caught up with me.  I've been battling the bulge ever since.  When I went to college and eventually moved to California my eating habits underwent a metamorphosis. Water, as a beverage?  What a concept!  Steamed vegetables crisp and sweet?  How novel!  I was smitten with these new healthy alternatives to what I was raised on.  I've never been much of a meat eater, even as a child, and I love vegetables and eat a wide variety of the healthy stuff. Unfortunately, I've had an on again, off again relationship with exercise.  When I'm on, I'm hard core, I work hard and sweat, I don't skip workouts. But when I'm off, I'm way off and find it hard to recapture the motivation that was there only a week earlier.  I'm an all or nothing kind of gal, witnessed currently in my couch potato to half marathoner goal.

As of now, I'm getting over a case of bronchitis and haven't trained in nearly two weeks due to my deafening cough.  I'm currently in waiting; waiting to get back on the exercise horse, eager to transform my body, and ready to join Ricki and all of those "half-their-sizers," healthy and glowing at the finish line.

Me, in a race!

Okay, so to say I am an athletic person would surely make my nose grow at an astonishing rate! I'm the least athletic person that I know!  Don't get me wrong, I like to think I'm strong and I have lots of energy, but when it comes to overall coordination or a commitment to fitness or any particular sport for that matter, I am sorely lacking.  In elementary/middle school, I would have preferred letting spiders crawl up and down my arms over that dreadful physical fitness test any day of the week!  Being tall in high school led the women's basketball coach to approach me for tryouts; I never tried out, fully knowing that my height would never make up for what I lacked in speed, ability, and coordination.  

So here I am, six months from my 30th birthday, uncoordinated and overweight, with a secret ambition that's been dancing in my mind for at least 10 years.  Me, in a race!  At first I thought, okay, I'll start with a 5K or a 10K, then seamlessly overnight, with the encouragement of my childhood friend Maria, it morphed into a half marathon; more specifically, The San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon.  Maria, a seasoned runner/race participant, will hopefully make the trip out from North Carolina to California for a unique reunion, the kind where we see each other after 10+ years briefly before we embark on this ridiculously long foot race!

Most importantly, we will be raising money for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  I will be doing the race in memory of Rosina Hastings, who passed away in January of 2008 after a very brave battle with Leukemia.  I met Rosina through my job when I first moved out to Los Angeles about eight years ago.  I didn't know Rosina really well, but whenever I would see her she would greet me with the most vibrant smile and a big warm hug, as if I was someone she'd known her whole life.  I have a feeling she was like that with everyone, that's just the kind of person she was.  It's not often that you meet someone whose spirit is so vibrant and bright that their energy can light up a room, but that was Rosina. She was the mother of three beautiful children, a loving wife, sister, daughter, and wonderful friend to so many.  Her husband, Peter, started a blog (www.rosinasroadtrip.blogspot.com) upon her diagnosis to keep everyone updated on her journey with this illness.  It ended up becoming an amazing tribute to Rosina and her life.

For me, this race goes beyond the physical into the emotional.  I need to get my head there! When I think about doing it, I get nervous, really nervous, almost like the first day of school times a million nervous.  All of these fears and doubts fill my head.  Can I really do this?  Will I start the race and watch everyone else sprint past me as I struggle to keep up?  Then there's the downright silly stuff.  How will I protect my skin from the sun while I sweat?  Will they let me reapply my sunscreen at the water stations?  What if I train for four months and get sick the day before?  I know, I'm full of worries and I have to push all of these aside and JUST DO IT!  

I've never blogged before but this, for better or worse, seemed like a journey worth chronicling. Some entries may be short, some may be long, and some might be tragically boring, but I'll be sure to update you on the triumphs and the setbacks.  The good, the bad, and the blistered; it will all be here for your reading pleasure and it might just encourage others to challenge themselves!

P.S.  Just wanted to add this link for my Team in Training page, you can donate online to help me reach my fundraising goal, every dollar counts and brings us closer to a cure!  http://pages.teamintraining.org/los/rnr09/jmarkhaafe