We have all been inspired by people who overcome practically insurmountable odds to acheive their goals. Those who perservere…who dig deep and push to go on, never letting anything stop them.

I am not one of those people.

I am letting a washing machine defeat me.

The washing machine in my building has been on the fritz since the weekend. I have worn and re-worn every stitch of clothing I can go to the gym in…a big pile of work out gear is mocking me from the laundry basket. Ha! Ha! My bottle of Fabreeze fled from the apartment in fear…

What’s that you say? Get off your fat lazy a%$ and go to a laundromat? Buy some more workout gear?

Yeah, but if I do that I won’t have a good excuse…

I make myself crazy. I am just like a kid a Christmas. You know you wake up at the crack of dawn all full of anticipation. You run to the tree, grab a present, tear off the wrapping paper, scream with glee and then move onto the next one. Flash forward a few hours later and the thrill is gone. I mean you are still happy with the all the stuff, but the excitement is over; all that is left is to play with your toys that you are already bored with. Later that afternoon the toys are pushed aside and I am doing what I did yesterday before Santa shoved himself down the chimney — I am watching cartoons. What a brat.

And so it is when we are adults. We take on a new project. Dive into it with drive and determination and a few weeks later instead of being excited, focused and disciplined with my workout regimen I am sitting on the couch watching the Democratic debates.

Its not that I haven’t been hitting the gym, but its become sporadic. I have lost my focus.

I went yesterday and have made progress. I ran a good 3.5 miles on the treadmill and I have to say it wasn’t hard at all — so obviously I have been doing something to get from barely being able to do a half mile a few weeks ago to barely breaking a sweat after a few miles. But I am not really being good about a schedule and I feel like I am kind of flopping around and only going to the gym when I feel like it — which hasn’t been a lot.

Discipline. Or rather gross lack thereof.

My definition of discipline is doing something I kind of really don’t want to do today in order to benefit tomorrow. So in preparing for the half-marathon it means sticking to a regular work out schedule that builds my abilities day after day, week after week and I ain’t doing that.

Back in the ’80s I was friends with a woman named Darlene. Darlene was an editor at I want to say Art in America. I could be wrong about the publication. Darlene was friends with Christopher Ciccone, Madonna’s brother and wound up working with Christopher as a consultant, assisting in buying art for Madonna’s budding collection. I don’t remember what tour it was — must have been one of Madonna’s first big ones, but Darlene got to go along.

Darlene told me that Madonna was the most focused, most disciplined person she had ever met.

At that time in ancient history a lot of hotels didn’t have gyms the way they do today. Darlene said that no matter what time Madonna finally got to bed and I am sure it was way past my bedtime and no matter how early they had to head out the next day, Madonna was up before dawn running the stairs. Yup. Darlene said she would get up at 4:00 am or 5:00 am and if a gym wasn’t available or if it was impractical to go out for a run, Madonna would hit the stairwell for at least an hour — up and down, up and down.

Darlene said she was so inspired that she actually thought about getting up and joining her, but always wound up rolling over and going back to sleep.  

I don’t want to be a roll over and go back to sleep girl. I want to be an up and down the stairs girl.

Yesterday Chris sent me an interesting article on music and working out which appeared in the New York Times. If you read my post of yesterday you might remember that I mentioned wanting to either buy a workout CD professionally mixed or spend some time on my list arranging songs so that the beat is where I need it to keep moving at the pace I’m targeting.

The article helped me understand what we pretty much all know instinctively.

You don’t have to be a scientist to know that when the music is rockin’ and you are pumping away and feeling like Rocky Balboa you feel you could go all day. If your headphones pop off or someone changes the song in the gym at this point you might instantly get pissed and want to cane someone.

Why? “Music provides a timing cue,” said Professor Gfeller, one of the people interviewed for the Times article. “It helps you to move more efficiently, which, in turn, can help you with endurance.” The best songs are what works best to allow you and all of your idiosyncratic tastes in music to coordinate your movements and stay in groove for as long as you planned.

I think everyone could benefit from using music as a motivational tool no matter what your exercise choice. Just be sure to include tunes that move you and distract you from the job at hand.

Yesterday I too went to the gym although it was a fairly nice day. I was determined to do some weights–I didn’t–this is my achilles. I love the results but don’t love the doing of it. Maybe a trainer would help. But I did 4 miles, jogged 3/4 of one and found I can actually walk at 5.0.

I’ve started to envision the timer at the finish line with a new time for us. I haven’t checked in with Chris yet but I see us crossing as it says 2:46. That would mean shaving 14 minutes off our last year’s time. Whadda ya think MsChris? Seeing the clock with a time I want to get to will of course help me achieve that. It’s like Tiger Woods sees every shot before he swings and Michael Jordan seeing every free throw going swish before the ball leaves his hands.

Chris’s story about her mom never ceases to motivate me I’ll tell you. 100 miles? Geez. I bow to her in the mental and physical game but learn from her also. Anything, anything is possible. If it’s our dream it’s possible for us because we wouldn’t feel the excitement inside when it begins if it wasn’t meant for us. So what’s your “maybe-I-could-but-well-I-really-would-love-to-try-this”? Just write down on paper what it would take to do it. Then, well, you know the rest.

Why is it that going to the gym and running on the treadmill seems so much less daunting than hauling my wide derriere to Central Park and dragging it around the small loop. The small loop is 1.7 miles for God’s sake…less than my current run at the gym. I am lucky, fortunate, grateful and all that other universe-the secret-dr. phil speak stuff that I live so close to Central Park…so why is it on Sunday when I put on my sneakers and left my apartment building I turned left towards the NY Sports Club instead of right to outdoors, light and nature?

It’s mental.

When I visualize the small loop — even though I know it is less than 2 miles — it seems really long. And there are gentle uphills. Oh, there are also downhills, but I focus more on the uphills.

The treadmill? Its about time — how many minutes do I stay on it combined with how long, but I have no picture in my mind what that how long looks like.

My Mother took up bike riding when she was in her mid-50s (she is now 77). She quit smoking, was changing her eating habits (she has been a vegan now for more than 10 years) and wanted to get more exercise. She found some sorry-assed old rusty bike down in the basement that belonged to either myself or my brother and she joined a bike club. They laughed at her. She was afraid to bike down hills. She would actually get off her bike and walk down.

Fast forward a few years and she is not only whizzing down hills on her brand new 18-speed bike, she challenged herself. The bike club has something called a Fall Round-Up every…well… every Fall. They have 5-mile rides for kids, and then the rides go progressively up to the monster of them all: The Century Ride which is of course 100 miles. My Mother decided to do the 100-mile ride in honor of her 60th birthday. She lives in upstate New York in the Catskill mountains. Okay, they are not the Rockies, but they are sure a whole lot more than the gentle rolling hills in Central Park. I think the rule is that you have to finish the ride in 12 hours.

First let me say that the only people that tend to do the 100 mile ride are hard-core riders…in their 20s.

And that year one woman who had just turned 60.

She was the only person of either gender in her age group to finish the Century ride.

She said it was hard. Really hard. She said there were so, so many times that day she wanted to quit. My brother was checking on her from time to time in his truck; she could have easily said the hell with this and thrown the bike in the back. But nope.

It’s mental.

She said that ride taught her how  absolutely true it is when she would hear about people who have persevered at something who said that so much of it is in the mind. Whether you are running a marathon or imprisoned like Nelson Mandela for 27 years — its how you think of it that makes the difference.

For my Mother, the real battle to quit or go on was mental. Although she was tired and she would groan and curse when looking at an uphill, her body didn’t let her down.

When my Mom finished that day she said although she was very proud of herself and she was thrilled she had finished she would never, never, ever, ever do it again.

She said that after the second year she did it too. And I believe the third.

All this reading about how motivated and moving Chris has been makes me want to puke. Ha, only kidding, and back at you girlfriend. I want to puke because for 3 days I’ve been feeling like such crap that I did not do a thing in the work out category.

This is huge for me to admit.

I was determined to go to yoga on Saturday but the thought of trying to breath while doing downward facing dog with a head full of mucous racing for the exits was not the inspiration I was looking for. Then there is the whole guilt thing about breathing my germs on my fellow yoginis.

I consoled myself with visions of a good walk on Sunday. Sunday came and I had sore throat, something new, as well as an earache. This is something I’ve not had since I was probably 6 and even then bed rest with warm oil and lambswool was the prescription not the gym, an outdoor walk, or even doing laundry. So I did nothing much except dream of the warm temperatures promised for Monday and saw myself gliding along my winding road, arms swinging, iPod prodding me along. I was psyched and did not feel at all badly for doing pretty much nothing once again on Sunday.

It is Monday as I write this. It is late afternoon on Monday; 3 15pm to be exact.

I have not been to the gym. I have not worked out so much as a pinkie toe unless of course the accelerating required to drive my husband–who also has the crud–to BestBuy to purchase a new TV counts as a total toe workout. Why? Because I still cannot figure out who stole my energy and planted this head full of gunk complete with red stuffy nose and the poorly rendered voice of Lauren Bacall on top of my torso where my healthy one used to be!

But tomorrow for sure I will prevail. And I will make up for lost time. And I will whip the pants off of MsCavanagh’s stats. She of the pumped lats, 3 million squats and ever strengthening thighs will not leave me in the dust this year like she has in other years. Tomorrow’s post will be written as soon as I return from the gym where I will jog without wheezing, Ski the Nordic trac machine without sneezing, and pump iron like Rocky.

Many thanks to Chris for her recording the pain and the ecstasy on her way to April 6th. Reading her posts is a great motivator and I am proud of her. And her mother really is an amazing creature for any age.

I was still incredibly sore yesterday morning. The worst? My legs. Still hurting from the lunges and squats I did on Wednesday. Getting off the couch after my morning coffee was a real challenge.  I hobbled down the stairs when I took my dog Travis out for his morning walk. And of all mornings the old dog was feeling quite frisky and trotted all the way — a whole 4 blocks – to Central Park…I could barely keep up with him. But I had one goal yesterday — by proverbial hook or crook I was going to the gym.

The apartment was a mess. Laundry was piled high. But more importantly I am halfway through Tom Brokow’s book “Boom” which necessitates time spent prone on my bed propped up on nice comfy pillows. So there was a lot of important stuff to do other than go to the gym.

In all seriousness I usually do alot of chores and errands on Saturdays. Yesterday I told myself that the absolute only thing I had to do, that I would make myself do, that I would force myself to do — was go to the gym. And I would give myself a pass on everything else. So it was sort of a bit of reward. Go to the gym and then take the rest of the day off. 

I have no idea how the hell I wasted so much time although I do clearly remember thinking that it was very important that I really read my junk mail until midday when I finally summoned the always inspiring words from the goddess of victory – Nike — who according to Greek mythology called out accross the heavens and the earth: Just do it!

I had had such an awful workout on Wednesday that I was not looking forward to going to the gym at all. In fact I was dreading it. I promised myself I would go. But aside from having a wisdom tooth yanked out without novacaine I couldn’t think of too many other things I didn’t want to do as much.

So grudingly off I went.

First stop: Treadmill.

From my performance on Wednesday and the fact that my thighs, hamstrings and rather large glutius maximus were hurting I knew that trying to run a couple of miles was just going to be self-defeating so I decided to mix it up a bit: walk, jog, walk, jog. So I would walk at 4.2/incline at 1 for a quarter mile and then would jog at 5.2/0 incline for a half mile — and it was great. I went for 3.25 miles and my legs felt good. I worked up a good sweat. And most importantly as cheesy as this sounds I was proud of myself for doing it.

Then it was upstairs to the free weight area where I did 2 sets/15 reps each of:

-flys (7.5 dumbells)

-bench presses (10 lb dumbells)

-bent over barbell rows (12.5 lb dumbell)

-overhead tri-cep pull (7.5 dumbell)

Then I did two sets of lunges. Ow! Big huge ow! Two sets on the hip abductor (50 lbs) and thigh abducture (50 lbs) and finished up with a really wimpy set of sit-ups — I only did 25 crunches…I started to do side crunches and my right side siezed up — really bad cramp, bad enough that it scared me. This is something that happens to me once in a while ever since I had bronchitus a few years ago and found out that I had cracked a rib from coughing so hard — I  keep thinking I must have done something wicked bad to a muscle there…at least its a theory.

I would like to tell you that I felt great afterwards. I did not. I was tired. Really tired. I could barely drag myself home. I plopped down on the couch and just wanted to take a nap but I was so hungry. I made myself lunch (turkey burger cut into 4 pieces and wrapped in leaf of bibb lettuce with cucumber, sprouts drizzled with some Newman’s Own Lo-Cal Asian Dressing) and all of a sudden I came back to life.

Cleaned the apartment. Gave Travis a bath. Did three loads of laundry.

My Mother is 77 and she gets up at some ungodly hour like 4:30 or 5:00 am and takes her dog Zach (Travis’s brother) for a brisk two-mile walk. She told me that a lot of the people she knows marvel at this and tell her that they could never do it because their backs hurt or they have problems with their knees or some other ache. My Mother looks at them and says so do I. Oftentimes it is hard for her just to get out of bed. She says some mornings she is so stiff that just putting on her sneakers is difficult. She suffered from severe back problems for a long time in her life, so bad that she would have to stay in bed. And for God’s sake the woman is almost 8 decades old. But she is a firm believer in the you’ve got to move it, move it school. Because she said she feels great after her walk. Aches? Gone. Pain. Gone. Stiffness. Gone.

So when I am sore, when I hurt I have to remember: You’ve got to move it, move it.

I am really really happy for my good ‘ol pal ‘o pal Miss Greg that she did 4 miles and weight machines and feels great.

Bitch.

Okay, I take it back — that’s not very best friend being supportive of me is it? I was only a bit sore yesterday from my workout on Wednesday, but I knew the worst was yet to come…let’s just say that if my office building didn’t strictly adhere to OSHA regulations and have a shelf thing that I can hold onto next to the….ummm…the place where you…you know…go…well I would be having to do a Lisa Nowak.

When you start an exercise program or try a new move or kick it up a notch or two it always hurts worse the second day. I thought I would file this under yet another great mystery of the universe, but then I remembered I had Google.  Here I was thinking that I just hurt like hell, but then I found out it is much more serious than that. Much, much, much more serious.

I am suffering from DOMS.

Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness.

Yup — it has a name.

“Delayed onset muscle soreness (DOMS) describes a phenomenon of muscle pain and soreness that is felt 12-48 hours following exercise, particularly at the beginning of a new an exercise program, after a change in sports activities, or after a dramatic increase in the duration or intensity of exercise. This soreness is a normal response to unusual exertion and is part of an adaptation process that leads to greater stamina and strength as the muscles recover and build. The soreness is generally at its worst within the first 2 days following the activity and subsides over the next few days.

Delayed onset muscle soreness is quite common and quite annoying, particularly for those beginning an exercise program or adding new activities.”

This by the way is from Elizabeth Quinn, Sports Medicine Women on About.com.

I don’t like to think of myself as quite common but…okay. And it is quite annoying. Although its kind of fun to tell people at the office you are sore from working out. Its a sports injury. That’s right. I have DOMS. They get that concerned look on their faces which is suppose to communicate sympathy, but I know they are really wondering — is it contagious? Get away from me.

Dr. Quinn’s suggestions for how deal with DOMS:

-Wait. Soreness will go away in 3 to 7 days with no special treatment.

-Avoid any vigorous activity that increases pain.

Wise words from Dr. Quinn. I have a feeling she really knows her stuff.

Okay I went.

I’m not going to say I went with joy in my jiggly little heart but go I did and it felt good.

No it felt great actually and rather than the 3 miles my training sheet told me to do I had to do 4.Why? Cause it felt good to be moving and I didn’t get done with my tabloids–a dirty little secret reserved for working out time–until I was at 3:50 miles so I decided to pump it up and get to 4.

I’m back and while I had wanted to also do some weights I was beat and settled on 2 sets of abs on a machine at 70#. I’m a bit stiff this morning and have been bitten by the too-many-airplanes-and-recycled-air bug but plan to get someform of exercise today since Saturday is yoga.

For anyone who might happen here and is looking for a fun tool to measure the distance they are walking/jogging without driving it or some other hassle check out the Google Pedometer. Happy Friday!

So virtuous I sounded while talking to Chris yesterday about my resolve, my flubbilly-ness and the need to move it move it. Alas it was all just talk. I decided that my rather large kitchen floor needed a good scrubbing and set about doing that rather than putting my sneaks on and heading off to the gym. Then it was too late. At least this was an active excuse.

Like Chris I began a season of excess a bit early, mid-November when my birthday rises up out of the ashes of an otherwise peaceful time of year and begs for booze, food, and folly. Ever the pleaser I provide plenty of opportunities for said celebratory pastimes and share some of it with my best pal who you met here, MsChris.

There is one meal I remember enjoying and then regretting then enjoying again while listening to my little voice coach me with “Don’t beat yourself up, love yourself, it’s your birthday, it doesn’t matter, it’s only one meal, you deserve it.” As a life coach–among other things which includes chef and world class eater–I have often said things like that to clients and I believe it’s all true–for the first over indulgence!

Mine was lobster cakes Benedict for brunch after a very glam night out compliments of Chris where the food was light and for the most part haut-sexy. The wine was copious and when we dragged our middle aged asses to bed it was past the “turn into pumpkins” hour by quite a few.

Being the guilty Sybarites that we are we walked her big brown dog to Central Park for what seemed like hours. Then it was time to feed–again, and this cool diner called EJs is where I was introduced to the lobster cakes et al.

Like any good Scorpio who teeters on the precipice of all things addicting at all times I ordered up the temptress that would for the next 6 weeks alter my eating in a way I have not witnessed in years.At about this time I also got busy cooking for people so the gym became a distant memory. Add to the a bizarre accident which put me in the hospital for 3 days and then under house and activity arrest for another 5, two flights in 4 days and one to the UK and back and I have become what I’ll call more of me than I’m happy having around day to day.

I’m really not all that upset about it except that I feel less than healthy. I’ve had a great time but I know it’s time to have a great time being good to me.Besides I help people for a living in the arena of wellness, fitness, self-love etc. Who the heck am I to tell people what’s good for them if I’m not walking the walk?So walk I will.

Unlike Chris I do not jog well. I love to do it but my knees let me know loud and clear when I’m pushing it. And I bow to her when I read that she considers a 12 minute mile a “slow” pace. I’m lucky if I can powerwalk at 14. But that’s cool with me, this is a celebration of her birthday each year not a competition.I’m going to take some stats of where I am now and update it as time goes by on our way to April 6th when we will join at least 4000 other over-40 women for the half marathon. I am a big believer in quantifying.

I love this idea not only because the timing is perfect in terms of getting the new year off to a great start fitness wise but also because it’s a ritual that Chris and I share as friends. And since I’ve got a time line, support from someone who I trust, and a program for training compliments of Runner’s World, I have a greater chance of meeting my goal of beating last year’s time than I would if I were doing this alone.

Confession: I work out so I can live large if you want to know the truth. Yea I want to live long and strong and not become a wrinkled old coach potato who eats at 3pm and fights to stay awake for Jeopardy at 7pm. But I also want to enjoy a good bottle of wine now and then, a late night with a friend here and there, and the pure joy that crossing a finish line brings up.

And so I will head to the gym today, even though it is 11 degrees out here in the Hamptons, and move it move it.

Thank God for New Year’s and new beginnings and resolutions and possibilities and hope that things can and will be different. I started eating anything and everything around mid-November…a little early but I needed to practice for the holidays. Around the time I turned into a human garbage disposal I also stopped going to the gym because I needed more time to eat and going to the gym takes up a lot of time and energy. New Year’s is like my own personal stop sign. For God’s sake stop eating before you can apply for a job at the circus. Get your ever-widening ass off the couch and get back to the gym.

Aside from complete and utter self disgust there is another reason to stop shoveling food into my pie hole and bust a move. In a few months my best friend Greg and I will join a few thousand other women who have also obviously suffered severe blunt trauma to the head and run a half-marathon. Its the More magazine half-marathon and its for women 40 and over. They also have a marathon but I think doing a half-marathon is just fine.

So tonight was the first time I have been back to the gym since…a really long time ago.

Why is it that it takes constant diligence and and many months to get into shape and about an hour to turn into a pile of flab. I know that life isn’t fair but sheesh…

When I took my gym break last November my usual workout would be running at least 3 miles a couple of times a week on the treadmill and usually 5 miles once a week. I would take strength classes and I loved the spinning class on Thursday nights.

Tonight I got on the treadmill with the goal of doing a slow and easy two miles — 12 minute miles. I have never ever been a fast runner. And its not like I can or have ever regularly run 8 or 9 or 10 minute miles…12 minute miles is more of a jog. Usually I don’t even notice the distance until I have gone a couple of miles. Tonight? I got on the treadmill. Fired up the Ipod. Started jogging and after awhile I started feeling a little winded and just heavy — like I had concrete legs. Ahhh I must be at around that two mile mark.  I looked down at the distance monitor. It read .43 – I hadn’t even gone a half mile. I struggled through but had to stop 1.5 miles in and fast walk for a quarter of a mile because I had the worst side stitch cramp. I did finish jogging but…the whole run was hard and awful and clunky and terrible and hateful.

Then I took an hour strength training class. It’s a great class because you do all those things that you being a sane person do not do on your own. Things like a lot of lunges and squats and the dreaded push-up. And something called tricep push-ups which is obviously some form of torture from the middle ages. Once again it was awful and terrible and hateful…

And you know what? I am sore. Tomorrow I will be a cripple.

I am so happy and proud of myself.