Getting Cross

I have been saying for a year now how I'd like to try CrossFit. I say I want to do a lot of things that aren't realistic for my schedule: I want to return to Cardio Tennis, go to the rock climbing gym, run away to Tahiti. Between mothering four children and running three times a week, tennis and Tahiti, among other things, remain out of my grasp.

But then came the opportunity to try CrossFit last weekend. What's the allure? Anyone who does it raves about it. It has a cult-like following and besides, all the cool kids are doing it.

If you don't know what CrossFit is, don't feel uncool. CrossFit, I've come to the conclusion, is very hard to define. Even the "What is CrossFit?" link on their website doesn't provide a very good answer. The CrossFit entry in Wikipidia might have the best explanation. Any CrossFit devotees reading this post (ahem, Darcy), please help me out here in the comments.

My definition? It's the closest thing to exercise in a pill you'll find. It's a blend of strength and speed (and sweat) in a relatively short amount of time--anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes. For busy people trying to squeeze in an all-encompassing workout, CrossFit is hyper efficient.

It's also accessible. Anyone can go to www.crossfit.com for the workout of the day. There are CrossFit gyms, though, and I recommend starting there with an instructor who can help (you not kill yourself). The WOD for me Saturday was called "Fight Gone Bad" (ominous, no?) Here's a great You Tube video I found that shows you the workout, but also provides explanation for its purpose. So, I should mention here, that all CrossFit workouts have a purpose. The workouts aren't a concocted combination of exercises that seem fun (which is how I come up with my own workouts).

If you're wondering why in the world anything so punishing could become addicting, here's what I discovered on Saturday: the workouts are mini competitions, not only with yourself but with everyone in the world who does that same workout. The whole wide web world. Because my workout consisted of three rounds I found myself motivated to do more each time. Then at the end, our score was posted on a big white board. Can you slack? Noooooooo. And if you're really competitive you can post your results on the CrossFit website to see how you stack up to the rest of the CrossFit cult. Therein lies the fun.

Because of CrossFit's efficiency I give it high marks for being a mama-friendly workout, however it might compromise one's ability to run after small children the next day.

Bus Stop Work Out

Now that I've entered the world of parenting kindergartners, our new schedule includes time each day at the bus stop. Waiting for the bus to arrive goes by relatively quick. The girls like to play "duck, duck, goose" (or duck, duck, gray duck as it's called in Minnesota and no, I don't know why). I am at a distinct disadvantage since I have to run the small circle with a baby in my arms. It's amusing, so we pass the time easily.

Waiting for the bus to return is a different story. It's usually just me standing on the corner. Boring. It's idle time. I hate idle time. I have too much going on to sit there and wait. I know, sitting there, waiting, breathing deeply, might be good things to embrace. Even knowing better, it's still hard.

Naturally, I try to slip in a few exercises. So far leg lifts, calf raises and tricep dips on the curb have worked well and are unassuming. I have yet to launch into a full aerobic workout on the street corner.

Which reminds me of a man in Dallas who stood every day at a certain place along White Rock Lake and rocked out. He had headphones on that looked like hamburger buns and bounced around and sang and flailed around at his own personal disco party. If I were running or riding by him I couldn't help but crack up. He was amusing.

I need to channel him when I'm waiting for the school bus; to squeeze in whatever exercise I'm moved to do in that moment. That dancing man had a few lessons to impart on us all, among them:

1) There was pure joy in his choice of exercise.

2) He was consistent.

3) He did not give a poop what people thought.

So any suggestions for bus stop exercises? What else does a mom do while waiting for the school bus?

Ironmoms

Did you catch that little self-indulgent slip, "I've done an Ironman!" in last week's post? Sometimes it springs up when my ego needs a boost or somebody is sizing me up all wrong or, like last week, in retaliation to my body's failings and I need evidence to the contrary, i.e., when I can barely run 11 minute miles or when I'm pregnant, and perhaps, coincidentally, barefoot.

You'll have to forgive me.

Here's why.

The day in the life of a mother can be just as hard or harder than finishing an Ironman triathlon (that would be a 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike, 26.2-mile run). I'm serious. I'm not just pandering.

Consider this: An Ironman can take 10 to 11 hours if you're really fast, or up to 17 hours if you take your time. Our work day as moms is longer. During an Ironman there are volunteers to help: dress you, feed you, show you the way, give you medical aid, massage you, and this is a biggie: put a freakin' medal around your neck. No one ever does any of those things for me when I'm "just being a mom." Wouldn't it be nice though, if at the end of the day (when is the end of the day, again?) someone would put a medal around our neck?

I realized that motherhood is harder than Ironman within days of becoming a mother and I was humbled. So many women have commented to me over the years about my Ironman finishes: "I could never do that," they said. What I didn't know then was that those women, most of them mothers, were doing much harder day in and day out.

And I believe motherhood is more difficult even under these lucky circumstances: I have healthy children; I have a supportive partner; he has a job; we have a roof over our heads; I'm healthy, save for the occasional mastitis but if I need antibiotics we have health insurance that will pay for it; I can still run, no matter how slow.

Takes my breath away to imagine losing just one of those circumstances.

I'm sure you've heard it before: Motherhood is an endurance event. Whether you've finished a triathlon of any distance, or not, you are an Ironmom.

Slinging the Hot Bunny

It's a little hazy in my memory. I was still in my twenties--late twenties--celebrating my birthday with friends. It started out respectable: a nice dinner, wine, laughs, and then one bar led to another bar, led to a body piercing parlor. Nobody walked out unscathed. Several girlfriends and I had our belly buttons pierced (I had the good sense to remove it before my twin pregnancy) and my friend Mike left sporting a nipple ring (and I believe he still has it--please let us know in the comments, Mike).

Soon there after we read in a Dave Barry column a funny bit he wrote about snowboarding tricks, where he explained that "slinging the hot bunny is when the snowboarder, while hanging in midair, get his or her nipples pierced." From then on "slinging the hot bunny" was always part of our lexicon.

So last week I remembered all this while I took a sterile needle to my left nipple. No tequila shots were involved, although I think I could have used one. It wasn't my idea; the lactation consultant suggested it after looking at and identifying the "bleb" on my left nipple. Bleb. It sounds like something I'd make up to be funny in this post. But no. Bleb is for real; a sort of plugged nipple pore, which is polite for: nipple pimple.

The bleb, had been coming and going for three weeks, accompanied by a plugged duct. Since I have had, oh, seven or eight of them now since The Boy was born, I know how to dial life back so I don't also end up accompanied by mastitis. As you know, I thought my mastitis might have been caused by lifting weights. Perhaps jog bras. Throw in a bad latch and a thousand other theories and I still can't pinpoint the cause. But this wasn't going away so I finally called the nurse midwife, certain she would have an answer, or better a solution.

"Are you getting enough sleep?" she asked.

"NO!" I answered like a surly teenager.

"Are you working?"

This, a loaded question to a part-time, work from home, mom of four. Technically my plan was to lay off all freelance work for the rest of the year, but I keep taking what seem to be small, innocuous assignments (but are less so when you factor in the care and feeding of the children).

"Can you take naps?"

Was she seriously asking me that question?

"What I have to say is not very popular," she continued. "Your activity level is more than your breastfeeding body can handle."

I expected that statement to raise my ire. Thing is, she didn't know I was also running 15 miles a week and dealing with a few stress inducing situations that are intrinsically good (like getting two children ready for Kindergarten), but require time, attention, energy.

So.

So as frustrating as it is that my body refuses to take on all that I personally demand from it, plus being responsible for feeding another human being, I know she's right. I'm a bit disappointed in my body, I have to admit (hello, I've done an ironman triathlon!) because I know other women who can do it all. How come they can do it and I can't? And while I sound just like my 4-year-old, I'll add: That's not fair!

Something has to change. Give up breastfeeding. Nope. Give up running/workouts? Nope. But I need to give myself two things to help them better coexist: more calories and more rest.

As fun as the "eat more calories" edict sounds, this isn't an extra handful of Oreos. Shucks. But I don't exactly have more time to eat, either. I'm turning to more calorie-dense foods and I'm increasing the fat in my diet. Scandalous! I've switched from skim to 2 percent milk. I'm eating whole yogurt (and man is that good). More nuts. Avacodoes. Cheese. Bring it. (I recently read two good articles in Experience Life magazine about low-fat dairy and cholesterol, for those of you squeamish about fat.) If you have other options to add to my menu, please suggest!

The rest part is still tricky, but I'm motivated to fit down time in so I can have the active up time I want and is required by my kids. So, I'm reverting back to the prescription my midwife gave me after The Boy was born: take a 15-minute bath daily. Like yoga, meditation, and daily naps it sounds good. Sounds easy. Never is. I did interrupt the writing of this post to take a bath. I wanted to clean up the kitchen. I wanted to start folding the laundry. I wanted to clean the bath tub before drawing a grown up bath. I did none of those things (save swipe out the most offending layer of dirt) and made myself get in. A four-year-old joined me and I ended up playing mermaids with her for 10 of those 15 minutes. Still.

I don't know if my plan will work. I know I have been plugged-duct and bleb free for the last five days, so maybe, maybe I'm on to something. I hope so. I'm a little old to be slinging the hot bunny.

Hot (Sweaty) Date

Nothing says romantic like a 10K.

My husband and I have not been out much (alone) since The Boy was born. Last week, when we talked about running a 10K, it wasn't so much because I was itching to sign up for a 10K, rather I saw the event as an opportunity to spend quality time with the man who has fathered my children. Oh, right, that guy.

The roots of our relationship took hold traveling to running events and triathlons. No, we don't race together, but the drive time in the car makes us a captive audience to each other, and the breakfast after, in my opinion, is just as good or better as a night out with cocktails.

So going to a race together does have special meaning. (awh...) Maybe not every couples' idea of romantic, but for us, definitely a nice way to reconnect.

Come to think of it, the last race we did together was in May 2008 when we ran the Bolder Boulder in Colorado. The Boy was born in February. You do the math.

How Do You Make Exercise Fun?

How high can your heart rate go with some bouncy balls and a jump rope? And just to be safe, don't forget your helmet and knee pads! Shoes, optional.

We all know that for active kids exercise IS play. For those of us who exercise regularly and enjoy it, deep down, we believe the same. So why not refer to exercise as play? Instead of: "Honey, I'm going to workout!" it would be "Honey, I'm going out to play!" Really, why not?

I have a "play group" at 6 a.m. tomorrow. How are you playing this week?