Dancing Queen

My girls have tried dancing, but will they still dance when they're 64? 

This little dancer was also recommended for "beginning hockey" by her ice skating instructor. That's versatility!

How many of you full-fledged adults (in body if not in mind) still participate in the activity/ies you enjoyed as a child? It does seem to me that people I know sometimes feel drawn to the sport-of-choice from their youth, even if it's only fleetingly, to take them back to their glory days or just reconnect with their previous passions. My husband, who has been a hardcore triathlete now for a good 20 years will every so often take on a basketball game. And because he isn't the sort to hold back, he comes home limping. But oh, the glory. And I know every limp is worth it for him.

I have been a triathlete for almost as long, so when a friend of mine, who owns a dance studio learned I had danced through college, said, "Come dance with us," I could hardly take her seriously. I'm sure, you can't either. You're thinking: Kara turns 40 next month... and--Hello! Elephant in the room (no pun intended)--she's seven months pregnant! It's OK to laugh, really. It makes me laugh, too. Even my mom and sister laughed when I told them. 

Because what's so funny is, I TOOK HER UP ON IT! She sold me on two points. When I brought up the issue of age she told me the group of women ranged in age from 16 to 64. When I brought up the issue of my growing size, she reminded me we were dancing several Christmas performances at local churches. "We always need a pregnant woman at Christmas time!" It sort of felt a little like a challenge (the dancing part even more than taking the role of the Virgin Mary, although let's face it, they're both quite a stretch--holy cow! Another good pun!). Conquering challenges was what I had been used to since reframing my mind as a runner and triathlete. Could I take the challenge on?

Looking back, modern dance was probably my favorite expression of dance. I had even danced at my church growing up but had always thought that was a quirky thing my creative aunt conned me into doing--I didn't realize there was such a thing as "liturgical dance" until this friend legitimized it for me. 

The idea of dancing again was also very much about those "glory days" and reconnecting with my passion. From the time I was four I immersed myself in dance, first ballet, then jazz and tap and modern and performing dance in high school and college (those girls on the sidelines, the kind with pom pons... I know, it makes me squirm to admit that to you). Once I started running, nay once I earned my first trophy (3rd place in a 5K when I was 23), I saw myself in a new way. I was an athlete. Never in my life had I been an athlete. I latched onto that new identity and it has empowered me in numerous ways. In fact, I have since buried that tidbit about me having danced for the first half of my life. 

Now, since I'm dancing twice a week, being a dancer is no longer part of my buried past. And like my husband on the basketball court, I seemed to have been able to pick up where I left off. Physically my body can move just like I remember it (even with a dance partner in utero). If there's a challenge it's with my mind learning choreography--that's when I feel my age. 

I'll be participating in some eight performances next month and then, I'm not sure what will become of the dance. Maybe I will continue to reacquaint myself with dancing as I grow older, if only because I'm inspired watching that woman in her 60s move just like her body remembers from her youth. I've always said about running and triathlon that I'm not in these sports to have the race of my life but rather, to race for the rest of my life. As a kid, I never thought I'd dance for the rest of my life (too funny an image!) but now... maybe I'll try that, too. Who cares if I, or others, laugh about it. 

What takes you back to your youth? Still doing it? Does it make you laugh?

Nourishment

There's something I like as much as a good workout or time spent writing. I like to cook. Not just anything. I don't particularly care to pull together dinner from a box and a few cans. That's no fun. The cooking I refer to is creative and inspired from yummy ingredients. The cooking I refer to also is best enjoyed while sipping a glass of wine (because this type of cooking often requires you to open a bottle as part of the ingredients). 

This type of cooking isn't so easy to do once you become a mom. Only in the last year have I made it back to the stove with any optimism to create or be inspired. Now the girls are old enough to entertain themselves while I make dinner, and because of this, I get to enjoy this process of meal-making with a lot more pride in nourishing my family than I do when it's "sandwich night."

Still, time is of the essence and I'm also partial to "whole" food, as in, as little processed foods as possible. Sometimes those criteria are mutually exclusive to cooking a mid-week family dinner. But I now have three secret weapons that help me combine whole, healthy food with easy meals. You want in?

My first find came about a year ago during a quick trip to the grocery story. This cookbook caught my eye as I was walking past the aisle. I picked it up, flipped through a few pages and chucked it in my basket. I knew I had to have it. The book is "Meals Made Easy: Quick and Delicious Recipes for Every Night of the Week," brought to you by the editors of Real Simple magazine.  Aside from aspiring to be that cool, calm, ultra-organized person I imagine Real Simple readers to be, I am drawn like a magnet to anything that promises "easy" or "quick"! The book isn't categorized by appetizers, entrees, desserts, etc. No, this is mama-friendly cooking. The sections include: One-pot Meals, No-shop Meals, 30-minute Meals, No-cook Meals, Freezer Meals, and Short-cut meals. It speaks to every snafu you might encounter when it's 5 pm and you realize either a: you can't fathom a major post-dinner clean-up, b: you don't have much left in your fridge and there's no way you're hauling three kids to the store, or c: the kids are perilously close to consuming yet another snack.

One of my favorite recipes (and there are a lot of recipes in this book) is in the short-cut section for Inside-out Spring Rolls, which take all of 15 minutes:

You'll need (and notice how few ingredients required):

1 16 oz. bag of frozen pot stickers

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 bag of packaged slaw mix (or 1 carrot and 1 small head Napa cabbage, thinly sliced)

t tablespoons low-sodium soy sauce

1/4 cup salted peanuts.

Here's what you do:

Cook up the pot stickers according to directions. Meanwhile, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add the slaw or cabbage/carrot mixture and toss to coat. Add soy sauce for another 2 minutes. To serve, transfer the vegetables to individual bowls, top with the pot stickers, and sprinkle with peanuts. 

Yum! Easy! Yes, my kids eat this!

My next great cooking guide came while the girls and I were at the library late this summer. I was skimming the books being promoted on a table and picked up "Feeding the Whole Family: Cooking with Whole Foods," by Cynthia Lair. I have never re-checked out a library book so many times. When I finally returned it, pages had to be pressed back flat after numerous dog-ears and a few got splattered with oil and jelly. I feel bad about this, but it was all out of love and admiration. You'll be happy to know I bought my own copy.

One feature I love about this book, but won't get the opportunity to use until next year is the note at the end of each recipe on how to adapt the recipe for babies. At what point in the recipe or what specific ingredients you can toss on a high chair tray and let the toothless wonder go to town. Genius! 

My two favorite recipes in the book are for curried lentils and cauliflower and for the Thai chicken soup. Both are easy to prepare and crazy good. Again, my kids eat. But what I'm going to share with you here is something for dessert, although I used leftovers to stir into my oatmeal the next morning. That is multitasking.

For your after-dinner or breakfast pleasure I bring you "Winter Fruit Compote with Vanilla Nut Cream." (And I might add, a laxative never tasted so good).

For the compote you need:

1/2 cup dried apricots

1/4 cup pitted prunes

1 apple, sliced

1 pear, sliced

1 cinnamon stick

1/8 teaspoon ground nutmed

1 cup apple juice

Combine all this in a pan and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer, covered for 20-30 minutes, until the fruit is soft. Remove cinnamon stick.

For the Vanilla Nut Cream you'll need:

1/2 cup raw, unsalted cashews

3 tablespoons maple syrup 

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

water

Grund nuts to a fine meal in a small grinder or blender. Then add in maple syrup and vanilla and enough water to give it a creamy consistency.

Put the compote in a bowl and top with the cream. I added another layer by including a slice of pumpkin bread underneath the compote and cream. Heavenly. And heavenly in oatmeal. Oh yes, and for the baby? She recommends reserving some of the fruit to puree. Of course!

My latest cooking resource came last weekend when I discovered the website, Culinary Competitor. Can a triathlete who loves to cook want anything more? Any of you who have seen me in person in the last week have likely heard me gush about it. I rarely get that excited over websites anymore. I am excited. It's witty (what do you expect when you read a blog post about onion goggles?) and informative (beets for muscle cramps, who knew?) and the recipes are exactly what I like to make and consume. I can't possibly limit myself to just one recipe here, so you'll have to check out such hot dishes as: Pan-seared steelhead with Jerusalem artichoke smashed potatoes, pumpkin spice rice pudding (excellent pre-workout snack), and another dessert as breakfast item: Carmalized apple-cranberry baked oatmeal with a salted praline topping. Come on! Are you dying here with me?

I know you're about to link away from my blog, so I'll say good bye. Have fun cooking!

Moments of Truth

Workout Partner Pam hasn't moved yet but due to a schedule change she no longer has the early mornings available to workout with me. We have been running together twice a week for a long, long time. On those occasions in the past when she couldn't join me, sometimes I blew off my own workout. It was hard to get out of bed if my buddy wasn't going to meet me for good conversation and guaranteed laughter. Oh wait, I mean to push me on my run. 

Last Friday was our last "sanctioned" run, but neither one of us had acknowledged that to each other. I had to dress for the snow that was falling. As I made my way down the dark street where we meet up, I wasn't absolutely positive she'd be there. We hardly confirm our regularly scheduled workouts anymore, but sometimes in inclement weather one or both of us doesn't always make it out. But there she was, back lit by the street light behind her. Rather than taking off together in one direction, we stood under that streetlight, snow falling around us and gave each other a long, long hug. This one was too important to miss. Once we finally got off, we used our entire hour. The snowfall was beautiful and we soon realized, like we always do when the temperatures first plunge, that we overdressed (there are certain layers for various temperature ranges, and I was dressed for 10 degrees, not 30 degrees).

So, the moment of truth came earlier this week, on another cold early morning. When my alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. the first thought that crossed my mind was that I would be running/walking alone. The first hurdle was getting out of bed. Second hurdle was getting out the door at my designated time. Third hurdle was not cutting my workout short. 

But I didn't consider all three hurdles at once. I focused first on getting out of bed. If I didn't keep up with my routine, I put my fitness on a slippery slope. I could choose not to workout outside, I told myself. I had lots of options. If I need to be with people, I could always go to the gym. And so I got out of bed. With that, I decided to forge ahead with my outdoor workout. Bundled up (within reason), my dog and I (who to her credit is an awesome workout partner, except that sometimes she poops at the most inopportune times) braved the 27 degrees and set out for our walk. Big deal, 27 degrees, I had to tell myself. This is just the start of the Minnesota winter, sister. If you want to make it through January, grow that second skin now. I made myself walk for 30 minutes. At 30 minutes I made a deal to go on to 45. By 45 I knew I had that hour in me. And when I returned home, I couldn't have been more proud. By sticking to my schedule from day one, I had sent an important message to myself: My fitness was going to remain a priority. Although I love Pam's entertainment, I enjoyed that solo workout too. I appreciated the peace of the early morning and the company of my own thoughts. Mostly though, I felt empowered, especially because I did it and know I will do it: without the motivation of another person or an upcoming race goal. This is fitness for fitness' sake.

But then I got tested AGAIN the very next day. 

I showed up to my Wednesday morning barbell strength class. I'm very motivated to attend--in an hour I get a great strength workout by a Jillianesque instructor, in a room full of eager students, even one 6-months pregnant like me. But yesterday the class was full. I didn't get my name on the sign-up sheet and I got booted. Another moment of truth. I sure did have a lot going on that day and I worked out the day before so chucking the gym would have been pretty easy. I didn't know what to do with myself in light of my failed plan. There was a cycling class in the next room but I wanted to keep up the momentum for my muscles. I refused to leave. I was there. Isn't that the hardest part? So I found an elliptical machine and warmed up for 20 minutes then proceeded to wander aimlessly through the weight room. That's a tough place to be when you don't have a plan. I got down to the basics: squats, lunges, chest press, then copied what other people were doing that looked interesting. Since I'm a titch sore this morning, I suppose my self-guided weight workout was a success. Again, empowering. I can self-motivate.

Today is a designated day off. However, I do plan to take the girls rock climbing after preschool. I am certainly game to give it a go myself, however if they have a rule against gestating women scaling the wall I probably will not put this new empowering focus to use to find a way to make the summit anyway. While enthusiastic about my fitness independence, taking those designated days off are also important to the motivation to be fit.

My time will come again tomorrow morning. The alarm will ring at 5:30 a.m. and I will have choices to make again. Committing my intention to all of you certainly will make it that much harder to stay in bed!

Home Alone

Last Friday I had a quick errand to run so I gave the call for "shoes, coats and car." My 3-year-old, JC, was on the floor playing with her magnetic dress up dolls. "Mom, I'll just stay here," she said.

"Oh really," I responded. "What are you going to do by yourself?"

"Play."  It's not that I seriously considered leaving her, but I allowed myself the brief mental picture. I could imagine the basis for a series of successful movies. Wait, has that already been done?

"And what would you do if you needed me?" I asked, curious to see where her thought process would go on this.

"I won't need you," she said. "I'm just playing."

Somehow I managed to get her in the car without a temper tantrum. I let her know it wasn't safe to leave her home alone yet and that she could pick up where she left off with her dolls as soon as we returned.

The next morning, I was the one who got left at home alone. My husband took all three girls with him to a friend's cabin. It was a "daddy party" (and no doubt the daddies--who have been friends since childhood--enjoyed the outing as much as the kids). I love that my husband doesn't see an overnight with three little girls as daunting. I love that he initiates these memory-making experiences with his children. I love that he was giving me the opportunity for some alone time.  

But what was I going to do here all by myself? 

I had 30 hours. Since having children I've never spent a night alone in my own house. How was I going to play? Would I need them? Miss them? I was so eager to be home alone I felt guilty about it. Damn that mother guilt. 

I knew I had to come up with a "to-do" list or I'd be left at home caught like a deer in the head lights--so many possibilities I wouldn't know where to start. Rather than make a list, though, I instituted just one rule: If it was something I could do with kids in the house then I should skit it.

I took a bath. Yes, I had to clean out all the toys in the tub, but I took a long bath. And did my toes. I read the newspaper. I ate lunch. I went to the grocery store without feeling like I was a contestant on the Amazing Race. I spent a few hours cleaning out my email box and made dinner, including this yummy recipe. 

My house was so quiet I had to force myself to appreciate the silence. I realize none of this is very exciting, which is why we've never seen the blockbuster hit: "Home Alone: The Mom Version."

The next morning I felt conflicted between being present in my solitude and panic at the short amount of time I had left.

Yoga? Long walk with the dog? Group fitness class? Could I do all three? I decided cramming three hours of exercise, while tempting, wasn't a smart use of my time. I settled for a 30-minute walk with the dog (it was cold!) and an hour for group exercise. You know what they say about too much of a good thing.

The rest of the day was spent triaging my activity based on my rule: Could I do it with kids around? Yes? Then don't do it. No? Go for it. I got a head start on some editing work and spent an hour on an assignment for my beloved writing class. I read the Sunday paper. The whole thing. I took a siesta after lunch. A guilt-free nap? Better than fiction! Suddenly mom's everywhere can see the potential for a movie after all. Is Felicity Huffman available to play me?

It would be a silent film save for the fact I talked to my dog. When I say the house was quiet, I mean monastery quiet. The phone didn't even ring (and after being assuaged by political calls these last few weeks, that was heaven).

When the family returned I was in such a good place. Balanced. I didn't so much miss them while they were gone as I did appreciate their presence when they came back. JC gave me a big hug. K said she missed me then interrogated me about the whereabouts of a pair of scissors so she could finish an art project. Mc stood in front of me looking forlorn (perhaps a little pissed), "What did you do?" she asked, with a hint of accusation that I enjoyed myself without them. I rattled off my list and she perked up a bit. Clearly it wasn't as fun as going on a "lion hunt" in the woods, collecting acorns, eating pizza and root beer, playing with her friends, and staying up too late giggling.

Poor mom, she must have been thinking, we left her home all alone. She must have been so bored.

I didn't let on that I enjoyed my solitude and didn't let mother guilt interfere with that feeling, either. In a way, that's what exercising is like for me. Little mini vacations. My kids don't always appreciate me leaving them for an hour or so, but I know I need to do it to take care of me and allow me to better care for them. In this way the weekend was successful and I'm glad I had the opportunity (thanks honey!) to not only experience it, but allow myself to enjoy it.

How about you? What would you do home alone? Can you enjoy the solitude? Who would play you in the movie version?

Body Honor

I am all about honoring the body. I don't mean honoring the body for the way it looks, or only honoring those parts that "look good." I mean honoring the body for what it can do. 

My very first taste of "body honor" was at Ironman Canada in 1999. After months of training that breaks you down both mentally and physically you can't help but reach the start line with gratitude oozing out of your pores. Truly, to be able to survive the training of an Ironman triathlon is harder than doing the race. So, I found myself feeling thankful while swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112 miles and running 26.2 miles. Some people bitch, moan and complain. I just couldn't. I was too grateful to make it to the start line. Those feelings returned when I competed again at Ironman New Zealand in 2002, but with a new appreciation: not only was I happy to make it to the start line I was overjoyed that my body can do this. That appreciation carried me forward. My muscles kept moving, my bones held me up, my heart powered through 12 1/2 hours of swimming, biking and running, and through it all, I was in awe. The human body is an amazing machine.

You do an Ironman triathon and you think nothing's going to top that, right? Pregnancy and birth easily top that. Too much over-thinking can weird you out. After all, a human being grows inside another human being. And other than having (what we all hope is good) sex, we have no power over this. That baby develops. The female body adapts. And then there is birth, the most mind-blowing part of it all. At least when I did an Ironman my mind played heavily in the race--I had to will myself to keep moving, get to the finish. Not so with childbirth. Did you know a woman in a coma can give birth? The body is magical. 

I'm taking a long time to get to my point. 

Like many moms, the "journey to motherhood" has left us with a few consolation prizes. From where I sit now I can see the cottage cheese on my thighs. When I'm not pregnant I can whip out my twin skin and let it hang over my pants. My belly button looks like an asteroid landed there. And then the boobs, or to borrow my dear friend's description, "tea bags with nipples." [side note: apparently breastfeeding has taken a bad rap] I can't get too worked up about these things because they are, for me, reminders of my amazing body (again not in a swimsuit model sort of way; I'm talking about capability, not appearance).

Still, it's hard for us women not to compare ourselves to the Hollywood ideal. The "Mom Job" is all the buzz. And I'm not necessarily here to dis plastic surgery. Really my point (Oh yes, Kara, please please get to your point!) is that moms, all women, not only need to honor their body for what it can do but also for how it looks--stretch marks, sagging skin and all. Sure you can nip and tuck your way into a cover model body, and sure there is some self-confidence to be gained by this. But I don't think that brand of self-confidence can measure up to what you can get out of accomplishing a hard-sought physical goal. When you're proud of your body for what it can do, I think you're more likely to be happy with how it looks, or at least not be bothered by the imperfections. Whether you finish a 5K or finish an Ironman you are more likely to feel good about your body for what it's capability of and it's appearance, whereas plastic surgery will only get you the latter. Those feelings of accomplishment just aren't available post-op.

One of the best displays of "body honor" came from one of my favorite bloggers, Charlotte, at the Great Fitness Experiment. Now, to appreciate this, you have to know that Charlotte can be a tough self-critique, especially when it comes to body image, but after posting, "Stop the Stomach Wars: Making Peace with Your Tummy," I knew she had hit it big in terms of self-confidence riches. Why? Because she showed the world what stomachs look like on real women, mothers in particular. Her own stomach; her own beautiful stomach (complete with stretch marks and excess skin) on what is an amazing body, and I DO mean in a swimsuit-model sort of way. I thought her post was one of the best tributes to motherhood I've ever read. But no, I'm not ready to post photos of my stomach.

So how do we make reality our ideal? Showing off more stomachs like Charlotte's would help. Think of all the good they would do if  Angelina Jolie or Jennifer Lopez showed off their post-twin pregnancy tummies. But only if they haven't been "touched up" by surgery. (No, I am NOT posting a photo of my stomach). But change comes from within. Feeling good about what your body can do rather than how it looks is more important than what's on the cover of magazines. I think that this movement of moms gravitating toward fitness is a huge step. Maybe these moms are initially concerned about wanting to look good in that little black dress. But when they finish that uber hard kick boxing class, or cross that 10K finish line, they can do more than wear it: they can own it.

Are you still waiting for a picture of my stomach? Forget it. 

Spumoni

This post is a mix of flavors, so I couldn't think of a title, until I thought back to that awful ice cream my grandmother always had in her freezer (let's hope this goes down easier). Just so much to say today. Starting with...

...The time change that I pined for last week. I got what I wanted, but I forgot that came with kids who will, like the sun, rise earlier. My Monday morning routine has been to write my post. Just as I was about to get started I heard the pitter patter of little feet...

...The New York City Marathon. I just loved watching the woman's finish and the celebration of motherhood that was part of Paula Radcliffe's third win there. If you've finished a marathon, then you can especially appreciate the fact that, immediately after crossing the tape, she bent down and scooped up her daughter, Isla, 22-months-old. If I ever tried that I'd fall over on top of my child. She did it so effortlessly though. Then she waived the British flag in one arm and held Isla in the other, as if running a 2:23:56 just wasn't all that hard. She has a lot she wants to do in her future: aside from break her own world record and compete in the 2012 Olympics, she hopes to have another baby. Go Paula!

...More about the NYC Marathon. Kara Goucher, an AMERICAN took third place. This was her first ever marathon ladies. So, if you've never run a marathon, maybe you too could be world class. You never know. But her name is Kara, I love that, makes me feel fast. Go Kara!

...One more shout out from NYC. My friend Katie McGregor took 10th place and ran a personal record. Yes, I know her! That makes me feel fast too. When I met Katie a little over two years ago she made a very favorable impression on me. It wasn't that she was the 10,000 meter US Champion, although, sure I was impressed, duh. We had just eaten dinner and walked over to this famed malt shop in Duluth, MN, and she sucked a huge malt down with the rest of us slovenly slow folk. After my malt I had to lay down in bed and unbutton my pants. She's gone on to two NYC marathon top-ten finishes. Go Katie!

...And there's MY big finish yesterday. I finished my second pregnant triathlon, at a wee indoor race on Sunday (10 minute swim, 30 minute spin, 20 minutes on the treadmill). Now, mind you, I don't feel I have anything to prove by doing this. I wanted to do it because I could. I felt like I could. Last two pregnancies wouldn't have considered it. I have to say, I enjoyed being THAT WOMAN. I had wanted to be THAT WOMAN during my first pregnancy. Second one, could have cared less. And with all due respect to the pregnant mamas out there who can't workout or don't want to work out, that's fine, too. It's just nine months. As we all know who read this blog, nine months go by pretty quick. Who cares if you work out? Who really cares if you do a triathlon? But the next 18 years? You gonna get your butt out there and work out again? So in the grand scheme of things, this little indoor tri wasn't all that significant. Except for a brief period, I got to be THAT WOMAN. Go Me!

Don't you just love how I've put myself in the company of Paula Radcliffe, Kara Goucher and Katie McGregor? It's a lot like spumoni, after all. There's always something in a scoop that doesn't quite belong in there.