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Wellness

Processing error: The crux of too much input

July 13, 2016

“I gotta get serious, man. I’m not kidding. I still have 15 pounds of Sloppy Joan on me!”
“You look great! I’m the one who has a jiggly ass.”
“Oh, whatever!”
“No, really. I have this pair of jeans that make a crazy noise when I walk. You know, because my thighs are rubbing together.”
[laughs]
“I mean, I just love brownies. And cookies. And ice cream. And I can’t say no.”
“I know, it’s hard. Especially when you’re working, and raising kids, and trying to keep the house up, and …”
“Yeah, but I want to stop making excuses.”
“Yeah. No. Let’s do it.”
“No sugar, for 12 weeks. None.”
“I’m in.”
“OK, once a week. Once a week we can have sugar.”
“Yeah, that’s better.”

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from the sad docu-drama, “Baby Weight Is Not So Great: A story of pudge and pooh-poohs”.

This body, stretched and tired, just never came back to me after my third trip round the maternity ward. It is a truth that I wake up to every morning and try to kick out of bed every night. As it could be said for nearly everything in this country right now, there is work to be done here. My problem is, when I want to achieve something – anything – I tend to collect support tools. You know, like how your mom collects cookbooks or 4 year olds hoard rocks. I want the secret code in Super Mario Brothers that unlocks weight loss, a clean house, well-behaved children. Up + Up + Down + Down + A = a waistline, etc. I get sucked in to apps and gadgets and blog posts about things like protein made out of crickets. I let the promises take over, like mint in an otherwise tame Midwestern garden. The result is a hoarder’s house of apps and monitors and half-filled notebooks.

The damning evidence.
When I wake up in the morning, should I feel so inclined, I check in with my Fitbit app and see how much sleep I just got. I try to recall when and why I was restless 10x when I was supposed to be getting beautiful, restorative rest. Did I pee? Was it Spike?

I step on the scale before I head out the door just because I like to a) torture myself and b) update the weight stats on my various food and fitness tracking mechanisms daily.

I go sit at my desk, where I drink from a cup that has the ounces marked so I can measure my daily water intake.

Following each and every meal I tediously and dutifully enter my caloric missteps into MyFitnessPal, so I know exactly how high I need to rank in that moment on the self loathing scale.

Of course, some of the food isn’t that terrible. I know this because I scanned them with my Fooducate app and it told me so.

I check in with my wrist periodically … I’m at 2,000 steps … now just 2,800 … now 6,000.

My phone vibrates to remind me that I am not chained to this smudged keyboard and it’s time to get my ass moving for a bit.

Around 3pm I Snapchat a picture of my unnecessary dessert with the caption “Big girl loves cake” and, of course, a poop emoji.

When it’s time to work out, I have my usual tracking device or, if I want a more accurate reading, I’ll borrow Hank’s heart rate monitor to see just how little I burn in comparison to what I ingest in one sitting.

I jot down my activity and calorie burn tally in my exercise journal and check to make sure it registered in my Fitbit dashboard.

I’ll finish the day with a peek at my blog stats for the past week and then fire up my meditation app for a quick 10-minute mindfulness exercise.

I can remember at one point, not so long ago, my former employer decided to implement a task-tracking system so our department could make the case for more manpower. Every time you went from one project to another, took a break, or went offline, you had to document it. I was also trying to shed the pounds from baby No. 2 and got on the body tracking bug bus hardcore. Literally every minute of my waking and sleeping hours could be accounted for, examined, dissected, scrutinized.

And you can do it, too. There is a tool for gauging your every success and misstep on the market right this very second. Want to see how relevant your digital dialogue is? Get into your Facebook Insights. Care to explore how you’re spending your time? Download Lifehacker and have at it. Down to track your spending, productivity, exercise frequency, project management, mile splits … there’s an app for that.

But what happens to us when we get that introspective? How can you harness and process that much quantitative output about things like floors climbed and resting bpm? I’ll tell you … we become our own worst critics, doling out Rotten Tomatoes to yourself for every bonehead meal choice and skipped sweat session. I don’t know about you, but once my calories in/calories out get in the red, I’m out. I’m done. Cooked. I’m pounding sleeves of Oreos; plunging them into chocolate milk just to show off. It’s like I let go of the expectation I had for myself when I started entering every freaking condiment and candy hours before and just go bananas.

The pressure of so much accountability is unrealistic. It’s exhausting. I mean, I came up with 11 points of access for personal health feedback, without even trying hard. I’m certainly not going to be a hater here. It’s entirely self-inflicted. Nobody put those apps on my phone or strapped the monitor to my wrist. And I’ve had great success in the past leveraging dashboards and tracking tools and DietBets. A lot of folks have. You don’t know what you don’t know, and knowledge can be powerful when you know what you want to do with it. But I guess I don’t know what I want to do with it anymore. I haven’t known what to do with it for awhile. I have come to the realization that I am over-tracked and under-living. I know what I’m supposed to do and, as a grownup(?) I should be able to just do it, without creating a hall of records to house every failure and over indulgence.

Last week, while comforting a co-worker as she barreled toward a full-fledged presentation-induced meltdown, I told her she needed to, “Turn off the faucet and get in the tub.” Meaning, sometimes I think we hide in the info-gathering. We assume that once we have all the facts, all the data, all the feedback, the answer will magically reveal itself. But if I’m honest with myself, I know what’s going on. I know where I’m messing up. I know that the s’mores need to go and the hard work needs to grow. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll still use my running app for half marathon training and weigh myself. But maybe I’ll just step on the scale every Monday. And I’ll try to eat what makes my body and mind feel good, without analyzing the hell out of the proteins, carbohydrates and fiber (Like I know what all that shit means anyway). Good things in, good vibes out.

It’s time to turn off the faucet and get in the tub.

Wellness

I’ll take anxiety for $500, Captain Obvious

February 25, 2016

“Let me ask you a question,” the granola-looking ER doc said. “Do you have a lot of stress in your life?”
I let half of my mouth turn up into a smile as my brain began running through possible replies. “Is the Pope Catholic?” “Does Donald Trump love himself?” “Is tonight’s the most dramatic rose ceremony yet?” “Can Adele carry a tune?” Was this guy serious? I mean, I have dusty fan blades and clothes I’ve fluffed in the dryer 4 times and a smell in my car whose source I can’t identify and goal pants, sir. But instead, I landed on, “Sure, I mean, I have a job and three young kids, so … yeah, there’s some stress there.”

But let me back up. Saturday night, I hosted a handful of gals I used to work with for our monthly get together, a social appointment we refer to as Pretty & Plastered. It’s basically an excuse to do what we do best: eat, gossip and laugh like morons. (Sidenote: I’ve discovered a secret species of great friend – the ex-coworker. You know enough to engage in a convo about work and hate all the same people, but you don’t have the yuckiness over late TPS reports and botched presentations.) Around 1:30 a.m. the last of the girls headed out and I considered finishing the dishes, vetoed that option, ate a caprese kabob and tucked myself in upstairs next to an already-snoozing Hank. Now, you’re reading writing from a woman who’s no stranger to the spins. After a few glasses of wine … you’re feeling a little twirly … you’re having a hard time focusing … you’re toying with the idea of maybe throwing up a little … I’ve been there. I know those negotiations. This was different. My heart was racing, and it seemed to quicken the deeper I fell toward sleep. The rapid pace would jolt me back awake and I was panicked, but eventually I dozed off.

Sunday was a Big Breakfast Sunday and Hank was hunting, so I packed up the chicks and headed to my folks’. I felt a little off but thought the coffee was just strong. There was a frantic fire drill when my brother’s lab ran away, but the canine crisis was averted thanks to a facebook page dedicated to lost and found pups. (Can I get an amen over how amazing it is when technology comes in for the assist and allows people to help other people? Hallelujah!)

By noon my heart was back to the races. I was constantly aware of how uncomfortable it was. I looked down at my fitness tracker; normal pulse. So, I’m crazy. Thus began a control freak’s worst nightmare. It was a frightening personal paradox; the more I tried to gain control, the more control alluded me. I realized that day that control is a truly illusive little shit.

When you recognize that you kinda-sorta might be completely insane, you immediately want to make contact with someone who would understand such a dilemma. So I called my mom. “You’re having a panic attack,” she said. “I have them all the time and mine started at about your age. Breathe into a paper bag, take a hot bath and just try to relax.” I’VE BEEN TRYING TO RELAX, WOMAN! But I followed her prescription like it was the crazy person’s gospel. No change.

Time to call in the big dogs. I sent a text to my friend Jackie, the nurse.

Me: Jac, medical question … my heart is racing, only it’s really not. Can’t catch my breath. Mind is frantic. Anxiety, right? Not heart attack?
Jac: That’s what it sounds like to me. What is your pulse?
Me: Like 64
Jac: Try laying down or do some yoga breathing.
Me: But no need to go in, right? They can last a while?
Jac: It sounds like an anxiety attack. You probably feel dizzy from hyperventilating. With no chest pains and normal vitals. Try to rest. You are not dying. Text me in 15-30 minutes and let me know how you feel. Love you.

[45 minutes later]

Me: My heart feels like it’s racing.
Jac: Do you feel any better?
Me: No. So sorry to text so late.
Jac: Damn, you might want to go in just to put your mind at ease. Maybe they can give you something to relax. I am so sorry Court.

And, as is usually the case, she ended up being right. After 2 hours of fearing that if I fell asleep I would never wake up again, Hank finally called it and we decided to head into the ER. My brother came to sleep on the couch just like he did the night we had Sloppy Joan. It was like deja vu, only I knew I wasn’t coming home with anything cute and snuggly.

And that’s how I came to engage in a conversation about stress in the ER in the wee hours of Monday morning, strapped up to a bunch of circle things wearing nothing but my favorite boyfriend sweatpants, running shoes and a gown. My EKG in the triage room looked fine, so there wasn’t a lot of bustling about like on Grey’s (total letdown). They eventually moved us to a room and, i gotta tell you, it was so romantic. Right across the way was a woman, whose face I never saw, who loudly vomited for the entirety of our visit. She only paused long enough to shout, belligerently, “You’re laughing at me! Quit laughing at me!” Judging by the sounds coming from behind her curtain, I’m quite certain that no one was laughing.

My doc was a kind gentleman who looked like a bit of a hiker. He wore field pants and comfortable boots and spoke wisely and calmly. He ran through all of the possibilities and my health history – never proposing what I was beginning to accept as my diagnosis; I was a touch of the crazy. After a chest X-ray, urine sample, blood tests and EKG, it was decided that I was fit to be set free and my ticker was tocking just fine. It was the most expensive checkup I’ll probably ever get. But I’m forgetting the best part … the prize I did get to take home …

As we pinpointed anxiety as the culprit for my spastic heart (that wasn’t really spastic at all in the land of the normal people), the outdoorsy ER doctor made an offering. “Would you like something to help calm you at this point?” “Yes.” I said without consideration. I was going on 26 hours of feeling like I was seconds away from delivering the opening monologue at the Oscars. It was either take the pill or start pulling my hair out. My mistress had a name, and it was Ativan. She came on slowly but once her effects set in it was goodnight, Gracie. We left the hospital in the early morning hours.

I woke up at 3:30 Monday afternoon feeling like Snow White. I hadn’t slept that hard since I occupied the bedroom with no windows in our college house. Were the kids at school? I didn’t know. Did I tell my boss about my absence? Hadn’t the foggiest. But my heart was beating regularly and the sun was shining.

It seems odd, perhaps, to write about experiencing something so wacky, but the truth is, I’ve discovered that once you put your crazy out there, everyone starts to share that they have a little bit in them, too. Turns out that losing control completely is a somewhat popular pastime and I’m not the only working mother of three who feels 2 burritos short of a combo plate sometimes. Will it come back? I freaking hope not, but I’d guess yes. Can I stop it? The doctor said that eating well, avoiding excessive caffeine, exercising and meditating can help, so those should probably bubble up to the top of the ole’ agenda, but largely I think it’s just something that’s bound to pop up with the full moon.

The next day I had an email from my dad saying he liked the blog post about him and Mom from earlier in the week. And then:

Subj: Blog
From: Dad

On your panic attack, your mother and I have both been through that. We both still fight it. She does more than I do. A counselor once told me that “Reality is what you perceive things to be”. The panic attack is a screwed up sense of reality. It is like in Divergent when they subject her to facing her fears. She is in a total panic and then she realizes that it is not real. Deep breaths and meditation can help. You’ll figure it out.

Love you!

Dad

To which I responded:

Re: Subj: Blog
From: Courtney

Thanks, Dad. I love you! And thanks for the great genes there, bud.

Wellness

Whole30 No. 3

February 17, 2016

This post is just … oh, you know … a few weeks past when I wanted to put it out there. I guess that’s the nice thing about “working” for yourself. I totally flaked on that deadline and, oop! Look at that … still employed.

On February 3, Hank and I called it good on our third Whole30. With bellies full of buttery nuts, toot-triggering vegetables and sticky, dried fruits, we recorded our wins and began our steep descent back to all the decadence we’d gone without for a month. Hank sailed through, about 6 pounds down. I said farewell to 4. We felt good. We felt in control. We felt lighter.

Then came February 4. We’ve discussed this before. Intentions. Specifically, how intentions melt in the presence of a warm homemade chocolate chip cookie. And who can blame those intentions, huh? It’s not just a cookie, it’s kryptonite; with butter and sugar and molten cocoa kisses. The negotiations started early after this round. First, I was going to be compliant during the weekdays and then let myself have treats on the weekends. Then I was going to try to be compliant but also track calories again. Then I was going to eat all of the Girl Scout cookies. And that’s where I’m at today.

Despite the epic fail following our purge, it’s never for nothing. Each time we do it, I think I learn something new about my relationship with food and how my body reacts to it. This January I confirmed my suspicions about sugar and how it pops my pimples, wrecks my dreams and hurts my guts. Knowing is half the battle and ditching dessert is the other.

During our run, I started a list. You know you’re Whole30 when …

A dried apricot tastes like a freaking elephant ear from the county fair
You know all the compliant Larabar flavors by heart
Said Larabar becomes a 3 o’clock ritual not to be tampered with
You combine almond butter, bananas and eggs 50+ ways, always expecting it to taste like a cookie. Never does
You have to go to the ladies room … no, like right now
Macadamia nuts become “worth the financial splurge”
You go through 2 cartons of Costco eggs in 6 days
You manipulate plantains into chips, cakes, tortillas and airplanes
You feel compelled to smash that cupcake in your friend’s face
You use “wine is just made of grapes” as a bargaining chip
The words “reset” “detox” and “clean” find their way into most conversations
Your abdomen feels like you put a gas hose in your mouth
You spend enormous amount of energy analyzing whether you have tiger blood
You’re really into Sex With Your Pants On
You know what Sex With Your Pants On means

And I discovered some new recipes that made this the easiest – dare I say most enjoyable – Whole30 yet.

Whole30 Happy Muffins from Sole Searching Mama

Bacon Wrapped Pork Tenderloin from Taste and Tell

Plantain Tortillas from eat your beets (Served iwth carnita meat)

Chicken Parma-Paleo from Predominantly Paleo

I could have had more success, sure. I hit the dried fruit pretty hard. I drank a lot of fruit juice and made a lot of smoothies. I discovered the beauty of banana waffles with coconut butter on top. But you know, it’s all a lesson learned and another step on a journey to dietary peace.

*Shout out to our Whole30 facebook group and the awesome support and recipes. You gals are so strong and inspirational.

Wellness

Posers

January 21, 2016

When it comes to various forms of exercise – Turbo Kick, spinning, Piloxing, rowing, running, weight-lifting – I would call myself a dabbler of many and a master of none. I love trying new things. I love mixing it up and feeling lost and figuring things out. I enjoy making my muscles guess and seeing how certain activities show up in varying, albeit always mediocre, degrees of tone.

Of all the pastimes I play at, one of my favorites has to be yoga. I can’t morph into a scorpion pose or stand on my hands for 5 minutes straight, but I can hang with the best of them in pigeon or chill for days in child’s pose. After so many days of sitting at a desk, jogging a bit and lifting the ole 8 pounders, my body will typically start asking me for a little TLC time on the mat. And I have no problems saying yes.

I tried the beginner stretch class at our gym and I just couldn’t dial in my zen. I hated the circular setup and the fact that I grazed my neighbor’s knuckles every time I dove for my toes. Just so distracting and uncomfortable. It felt like entertaining a crowd during a super intimate moment, like trying on bras with your neighbor or something. No, no … I much prefer a side-by-side sesh with my main man and the chicks.

We have our favorites. Of course our little turkeys have a soft spot for Jaime and her magical jammies on Cosmic Kids. (Full disclosure: I, too, get pretty wrapped up in her wild adventures.) And we regularly spend YouTube time feeling the Yoga with Adriene flow. She’s just the right dose of hippy dippy and has an impressive library of videos. Plus, as a marketing gal, I love her branding.

But our ultimate go-to is Tara. We love Tara Stiles. There’s something so endearing about the way she comforts and says, “It’s just yoga, guys. It should be fun,” in her lackadaisical vocal cadence, leading you from pose to pose. Or at the conclusion when she almost childishly says, “Thank you for coming!” It’s like her signature punctuation mark. All of her flows are familiar, with most of the same moves, but every once in a while she slides in a challenge to keep you coming back for more.

This set is great. It’s a perfect place to start or a tremendous complement to your yoga studio habit.

It feels indulgent to stretch and decompress and contort your overly tight figure into something a bit more malleable. Certain poses scream at me to change my daily routine or posture, or visit it more often. There are times when I’m upside down and feel like my cheeks are going to explode right off my face, but overall, yoga is a free drug for what ails ya. One of these days maybe I’ll fully commit to the practice and finally hold that handstand. But for now child’s pose is definitely what the doctor ordered. Go get you some.

Wellness

Might as well face it, you’re addicted to food

October 19, 2015

This is a post about control.

And, more accurately, the fact I don’t have any.

On Friday, my college roommates came to town for a lovely little visit. These girls are family to me and I always want to make sure their tummies are full and the gentle, jolly tingle of a perfect booze buzz is constant. I went to Costco Friday morning and got plenty of goodies for dinner, dessert, apple cider sangria (the best recipe for a fall get together) and breakfast Saturday morning. Some of Hank’s family was stopping by, so I figured it was enough of a crowd to justify Costco portions.

After the last chicken flew the coop Saturday afternoon, I was left facing a few certainties: 1) I really adore those girls, and 2) I had a shit ton of food left over. Of course the salted chocolate-covered caramels and spinach and artichoke dip with parmesan are finding spots to settle in and leave lardy sediments in my thighs, but the bigger concern is the devil temptress known as the Costco cinnamon butter crumb coffee cake.

I want you to, just for a moment, imagine your round cake pan. Mentally pull it from your cabinet. Can you picture it? Now I want you to visualize baking 3 cakes in that pan, piecing them together, topping each cake with balls of butter and sugar, and then pulling up a seat to watch me eat them. All of the cakes. Just me. Every last sinful crumb. That is what happened between the hours of 9:30 am Saturday and 8 pm Sunday night.

I impregnated myself – one forkfull at a time – with a baby made of enriched flour, real butter and refined sugars. Self sabotage is the father and, sadly, it has many, many siblings; all the result of the same pitiful practice. Did you ever see that Sex and the City with Miranda and the chocolate cake? If it had been Sex and the Land of the Super-sized Midwestern American Diet, that would have accurately represented the catastrophe at my crib this weekend.

I think this confirms my suspicion that I am a food addict.

I turned to the top authority on the topic. The Internet. And here is what I found.

8 Symptoms of Food Addiction
(from Authority Nutrition)

1 Cravings despite being full. (yes.)
2 Eat much more than you intended to. (A Costco-sized coffee cake.)
3 Eat until feeling excessively “stuffed”. (lol and yes, I wear stretchy pants on purpose.)
4 Feel guilty afterwards, but do it again soon. (Hate myself. … Don’t waste that!)
5 Making up excuses in your head. (The girls were in town.)
6 Repeated failures at setting rules for yourself. (On Monday, I go paleo. No, Whole30. No, just sugar free.)
7 Hiding your consumption from others. (For sure waited until I was alone with the cake to take it to pound town.)
8 Unable to quit despite physical problems. (I consider a flat tire a physical problem.)

So, here I am. A belly full of regret, a tough Monday morning weigh in waiting for me and a half a container full of salted caramels promising failure all week long. What’s a girl to do? Start over, I suppose.

The number of times I’ve sat and dwelled on this depressing reality is gross. I feel like I’m stuck in a divine sugary quick sand. I get my torso out a tiny bit only to fall in almost to my chin by close of binging business Sunday night.

Admittedly, week days are my come to Jesus reset. Oily fish, leafy greens, flax … they all make the starting lineup on days I have to dress up and be a big girl. But from the time I walk out of the office and declare the weekend “in progress,” I’m hammering the fries, condiments and any and everything that stands still long enough to get doused in chocolate.

I’d say I just need a good strategy and then I’d change my ways. I’d give up my rich, sticky mistress and clean up my ways (and my inflammation). But I would be lying. You see, there’s always a reason to eat the good stuff. Someone brings in bagels for a brainstorm. The folks in your carpool beg for Starbucks. Your kindergartener gets straight “E”s on her report card and wants to celebrate with frozen yogurt. You burn dinner and have to call an audible. And just when you think you’ve come to the end of your excuses, the holidays come along and knock you on your plump ass into a baby pool filled with corn casserole and cheese trays and all of the pies. It’s like the 6th day for the Hungry Caterpillar every damn day for two solid months.

If you have any secrets to success, as always, you can send them my way. In the meantime, if you have a Costco membership, you gotta check out that coffee cake, man. Take it somewhere you can share or somewhere you can hide. Either way, no judgement. But it’s damn good.

Tune in Today, Wellness

Join me: Fit 2 Feast

October 16, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … convince you to take a 30-day challenge.

Remember the other night when I was all … I’m on an adrenaline crash … and … gosh, I really need a goal … and all that noise? Well, be careful what you ask for, because when you ask, sometimes you receive. My pal Hollie, over at Muscles & Munchkins, was ready and waiting with a butt-kicking, badass, 30-day workout bonanza, and I’m already reaching for the arnica.

The details are below. If you’re interested in doing this thang with me, reach out to Hol and she’ll get you all squared away. All you need is free weights and a half hour a day. Just don’t get more points than me and don’t come cryin’ when your pants are too saggy come turkey day. Knowing this girl, it’s going to be a little Kayla-ish, a little Tone It Up-esque and for sure a solid month of sweat and surprises. Saddle up!

I am excited to announce that I will host one last virtual fitness challenge for 2015! That is right, this is the last one of the year: FIT 2 FEAST. Don’t wait for the new year, do it now; feel confident this holiday season and make fitness a priority.

Wherever you are on this journey, I will meet you there: encourage you, and provide tips and tricks to healthier lifestyle. My fitness challenges are where this happens. I have successfully run six groups and they keep getting better. The participants are loving the encouragement and community the groups provide.

Here is what one of my participants had to say:

“I just want to thank you!!! For motivating me and showing me that I can actually do it! I’ve never been one to be able to work out and it has forever changed me…so thank you!!”

“I am stronger than I have ever been and you provide so much knowledge and encouragement. Let’s do another one!”

This 30 day challenge will be just what you need to feel confident for Thanksgiving and beyond. You will have a head start on your new year. 30 days of workout challenges, nutrition tips and being a part of an encouraging FIT TRIBE!

This group starts on Monday, October 26th. There is a $25 registration fee and the WINNER will receive a cash prize.

Have more questions or want to join? Email me:hollie@musclesandmunchkins.com

Let’s get fit,
Hollie

Wellness

I ain’t sayin’ I’m a goal digger

October 13, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … find a new light.

I feel obligated to report that, though the free time and flexibility are great, I seem to be experiencing a bit of a half marathon adrenaline hangover. Like I got dropped from a 10-story-building high and went splat on the pavement of normalcy. Like, the pain and fatigue were drawing me in over the 12 weeks of training; quietly clenching and claiming parts of my brain. It’s like I’ve been temporarily reprogrammed to savor sweat and relish sweet soreness. Who am I? No, but seriously … who am I?

So, I guess the conclusion is, I need a new challenge. What should I do? I definitely want to start hitting some classes at the gym again because, you know, this and this worked out so well for me. But I have arrived at the undeniable truth that I am a goal junkie. I need to know what I’m working toward. I know lifelong wellness is a journey, and it shouldn’t be a “diet” and all that jazz, but this mama needs a light for her tunnel. (That sounds weird.)

So, let’s go dream goal shopping, shall we? What cool things are out there to try?

Wellness

Dr Ann’s got my back

October 9, 2015

On a crisp October evening, I found myself at a presentation by health and wellness expert Dr Ann Kulze, MD. I must admit, I was not familiar with Dr. Ann and her Eat Right for Life series. I was also likely the only person in the room who hadn’t read at least one of her other titles, subscribed to her e-newsletter or at the very least hooked up with her on social media. But after a little cyber stalking, in which I uncovered that she has the dopest kitchen and posts primal food porn on a regular basis, I realized we’d be fast friends.

Her talk centered around The Happiness Plan, her latest research and findings on eating and living for optimal brain health. The brain, she pointed out, is after all the CEO of the body. You keep it healthy, happy and functioning beautifully, and the rest of your organs should follow its lead.

My notes got a little spotty because I was multi-tasking, but there’s some really awesome stuff in here, so I thought I would share. Saddle up …

Did you know the brain uses 20-30 percent of the total fuel your body consumes? It demands a robust blood flow and clocks in as the fattiest organ in your body. All of this makes omega-3 fatty acids, especially DHA, extremely important. It’s like Miracle Grow for the brain, controls inflammation and supports a healthy blood flow, but it’s tough to find in food. Start with oily fish. You should be eating oily fish at least 5 times a week. (I’ve been tappin those fins about once a month.) If you consume 1 4-5 oz. serving of salmon for lunch, you’re getting more omega-3s than the average person gets in 3-4 days. (Dr. Ann is a fan of the Wild Salmon Burgers from Costco. Bought ’em. Tried ’em. Loved ’em. Had one from freezer to plate to my gut in 10 minutes.)
You should also be eating: walnuts, canola oil, flax/chia/hemp, omega-3 eggs, wheat germ and small leafy greens

Here’s where she nailed me … When it comes to sugar, Dr. Ann says that the less you do, the happier your brain is. Fructose wrecks your metabolism and is almost a neurotoxin. And – get ready for this fun little stat – it is recommended that women consume 6 added teaspoons of sugar a day, and men 9 teaspoons. The average American gets 23 added teaspoons a day! I’m pretty sure I helped build that statistic, one cookie at a time. Today alone, at a work carry-in, I ate 1.5 bagels, 5 donut holes, a Halloween sugar cookie and a snickerdoodle. I hang my head in shame.

It’s essential that we go for the right carbs for glucose. Those would be: Whole grains, beans (There are 4 varieties of beans in the top 20 list of antioxidant-rich foods. They can be canned, fresh, frozen or dry), and fruits and veggies.

Phytochemicals are freaking amazing. They evolved in plants naturally over time to keep them alive and thriving, and now, when consumed by humans in the form of plant-based foods, they can do the same for us. Dark leafy greens have more nutrients than any food. Berries are magical, and blueberries in particular have been shown to reverse signs of aging. As a rule, the deeper the color, especially blue, red and purple, the more phytochemicals you get. Black rice and beans are swimming in them.

Fiber is key because it feeds the good bacteria in our gut. Dr. Ann spent a lot of time here discussing the microbiome. Essentially, the gut and the brain are directly connected and scientists are finding more and more that our stores of good bacteria have a huge impact on how our body reacts to illness, trauma and even stress. Have you ever noticed that people with chronic stomach issues are typically very easily stressed? According to Dr. Ann, there’s a legit connection between those anxieties and bad microbiome. You want an abundance of that good bacteria for the best defense, and the single greatest influence on microbiome is diet. Eat a generous variety of plant-based food whenever possible and stock up on Mother Nature’s Prozac, fiber. You want 25-35 g each day, but most of us only get about 12.

When she switched to talking about the power of protein, she first gave a list of good options; kefir, eggs, nuts, poultry, beans. But then she explained that instead of memorizing all the good, it was simpler to just recognize the bad, and that’s red meat. If you’re going to have it, she suggests adding moisture, marinating it, adding it to a stew or incorporating it into a meatloaf.

We then bounced over to the vitamin D deficiency epidemic sweeping our nation. While it’s necessary for mood regulation and controlling inflammation, we’ve all listened to the warnings about sun exposure and backed ourselves into a shaded, vitamin D-deficient corner. This can be linked to pain, stress, fatigue, depression, cognitive decline and MS/Parkinson’s. Aim for regular, safe sun exposure, especially on the arms and legs, oily fish, egg yolks, and at least 2,000 D3 supplement each day,

A few final suggestions included spicing things up with ginger, turmeric, curry, garlic and cinnamon, to gain their beneficial effects, as well as a nice, super-dark chocolate, in moderation.

But her magic pill – the one that boosts mood, prevents depression and so, so much more – is exercise. It is, in Dr. Ann’s world at least, a non negotiable. She suggests at least 30 minutes of moderate activity 5 days a week or 45 minutes vigorous exercise 3 times a week. Optimal is moderate aerobic activity 5 hours a week or vigorous aerobic activity for at least 2 hours a week. You should also sprinkle in resistance activity at least 2 days a week.

She kept coming back to the simple concept that she never gets sick, because she just eats real food. She doesn’t have to worry about reducing the processed crap, because she just eats real food. She’s popular on Instagram because she takes pictures of her eating real food. By the end, it was starting to come together.

So, those were my notes. She emailed me after asking for pictures and I responded with the images and a quick note about how inspirational her talk was. I told her it might just convince me to give up my sugar habit once and for all. A few hours later I received a response saying she was, “really pulling for me with the sugar thing.” Thanks, Dr. Ann. Thanks.

Tune in Today, Wellness

Tying up my training tales

September 22, 2015

Update: Tune in today to see if she can … train for a half marathon.

Yesterday was beautiful in the midwest. It was one of those Sundays where you can feel summer dancing with fall, and it’s warm enough for short sleeves but smells like burning leaves. It also happened to be our last long training run (let the angels sing).

This journey, while not completely over yet, has gone remarkably fast. Not while I was doing the actual running per se, but in hindsight. I’ve learned a lot about myself, my mind and my body. I’ve learned a little bit about what the human spirit begs for when it’s clinging to exhaustion. I’ve learned that a solid playlist and hidden frozen water bottle at a halfway point can be the difference between thrill and defeat. I’ve learned that I can usually predict, within the first mile of a long run, if the coming hours will be hell or happy. And mostly I’ve learned that this sport is completely unpredictable and really, fantastically freaking hard.

Here is a look back at the best and the worst of my long runs.

I realize this sounds a little crazy considering the miles we logged, but our 5 mile run was brutal and maybe the hardest of them all. Britni and I worked through a route that ran the perimeter of my neighborhood and then through it. Problem was, it was 89 degrees with no breeze and the roads were black asphalt. I had to walk twice and made an early prediction we would never make it to the actual race.

Six was fairly uneventful. The sun was blazing by 10 am, so I ran 4 of it outside alone and then topped ‘er off with 2 miles on the treadmill while I treated myself to Mean Girls. This was also the day I realized I could never train for a half marathon on a treadmill because I obsessed over watching the distance tick by. When it came to machinery, there’d be none for Gretchen Wieners. That was the only training run I did on the treadmill.

If I could bottle a run and drink it every time I had to tap into some wicked cardio, it would be that 7 mile run. It was a cooler summer evening, we played music out loud and hid waters at our halfway point. Nothing felt like it was breaking or grinding or seizing, and I finally felt like we had this thing on lock. Look how happy we were …

Every victory we claimed the week before vanished on our 8 mile route. With all the best intentions, Britni mapped out a course on her side of town. Started off great, looping around a pretty private lake. But then, there was something neither of us saw coming: The steepest, longest, most unforgiving beast of a hill I’ve ever encountered on foot. At least when I wasn’t intentionally scaling an epic mountain. It was about 4 miles into the run and was a true spirt breaker. From Everest on, we were quiet, breathy and barely hanging on. That was a long run. Hot and long.

So, I have this friend, and she’s a very dear friend, but we’ve always given each other a hard time. We’re brutally honest and sarcastic and used to literally wrestle each other (not in a sorority girl pillow fight kind of way, but like a, we once tried to make each other eat cat food by shoving it into each other’s mouths kind of way) after we each downed a bottle of wine watching a full season of Sex and the City. Friendships are complex, man. Anyway, Britni was on vacay and we’d been wanting to run together, so Jill came over to my neck of the woods to knock out 9 miles. It was a run I was dreading and I was, it’s fair to say, a little worked up. I had a route, I had waters, I had a plan. I always have a plan, she was quick to remind me. And she wasn’t feeling the route, a point which she was also very quick to remind me of … and remind me … and remind me … and remind me, until we finally veered off my trail and onto hers. Needless to say, about 2.5 miles in, we had to take a 5-minute break from speaking to each other so we didn’t wrestle on someone’s front lawn. The silent treatment is much more suitable for two grown ass mothers of three. After our brief reprieve, we took care of business and the run turned out pretty great, actually. (She’ll know after she reads this, but I actually run the route I discovered at her unyielding insistence every time I go to that trail now. Damn it, I love it.)

I hit 9 again the following week just to be sure. Britni was still on vacation and Jill and I hadn’t decided if we liked our running partnership after our first pass at it, so I found myself in a bit of a bind. It was surely going to be dark by the end of my run, so I preferred not to hit it alone. When I signed up for the half, my big brother offered to join me on a long run if I ever needed someone. Well, I needed someone. Matt is a great runner and has done several half marathons, but he hadn’t been training for this one. The big guy held in with me until almost 8 miles, gem that he is. There was no warning to his white flag, really. He just planted his feet, told me he could most likely see me if I got into trouble, and he’d meet me at the car. Thanks, bra.

Jill and I made up just in time for the 10 mile run. She, of course, didn’t tell me until about an hour before that her bud Cassie would be joining us. Cassie is, of course, a marathon runner who is, of course, much faster than, of course, me. But anything beats pounding 10 miles of pavement by yourself. Around mile 5 I realized I might die. Around mile 8 I started sending up the silent prayers to get through it. Somewhere in the dark of night we crossed an invisible finish line and it felt so dang good to check off a box with double digits on my training schedule. Hell, i still can’t believe i did it.

With Britni back in the game, we decided to tackle 10 again the following weekend. She mentioned she’d been battling an upper respiratory thing, but was feeling much better. We started at our usual pace; comfortable as a pair of fleece pants and an undershirt. I noticed she was sniffling. Then we stopped a few times so she could blow her nose. Then she stopped talking. Then her face got really red. You guys, I thought I was going to lose her, permanently. Not to be dramatic, but … oh. my. lanta. My girl did not look good. We split for a bit, but that tough cookie kept at it to clock 9 miles. Not too shabby for a gal in respiratory distress.

Six days, an inhaler and lots of fluids later, we decided to swing for the stars and try an 11 miler before the race. A bright sun cut through the early autumn breeze to make it just warm enough for the face sweat to strike hard. I made the comment shortly in that it didn’t feel like it would be a great run. And it wasn’t. My knees hurt and ole Britni was gasping before we hit the third mile. With her tight lungs and my old stems, we somehow managed to log about 9 miles and that was that. It was a bold attempt. But it wasn’t pretty.

So, here we are. Just 4 days till the big race and we left things frustrated and fragile. At this point, there are a lot of eggs in the adrenaline basket. Let’s hope there’s enough to carry us at least, we’ll call it the last 4 miles.

A few final thoughts on training.
Cons:
Breakouts! My skin hasn’t been this bad since I was 15.
Sore knees, hips and calves. I feel like an old, retired rodeo clown.
The schedule is such a monster time sucker. It’s like … what do my kids look like again?
I’m so dang hungry. I want to eat all of the things.

Pros:
I’ve found so many great songs building my playlists. (Best thing about running in the dark of night is I can mouth the words and no one can see me.)

I never felt a runner’s high necessarily, but I do get a sweet endorphin buzz about 30 minutes after I finish a significant run. Hey, it’s free and legal, folks!

The time I’ve gotten with Britni, Jill, my brother and even myself, is such a rare treat for this over scheduled mama. No complaints about the company (except Jill, just that one time).

Until Saturday …

Tune in Today, Wellness

Collecting dough from DietBet

September 7, 2015

Update: Tune in today to see if she can … take her DietBet to the bank.

The emotional roller coaster that was the game of DietBet ended on Tuesday with a touch-and-go finale. On Monday, I was .8 of a pound over, and by the next morning, I was 1 pound below my goal. I’m sure I dropped the weight by stressing it straight off my body, but that’s neither here nor there.

I received the text with my “code word” on my drive to work, so a sweet coworker brought in her scale so I could hammer down my final number. It felt a little like the start of a super-secret Weight Watchers meeting in a back alley. (I look so short and shiny in this picture. Like a toddler who rubbed coconut oil all over her face. What the …)

The process is much like a first date. You submit your results pics and then they have to be “accepted” by the DietBet referees or officials or whatever title you give to a bunch of interns who sit around in a room all day evaluating photos of either delighted or defeated human beings standing on scales. Body Shot Surveyors? Anyway, you have to patiently delay gorging on your frozen Snickers in anticipation of their reply. Do they need to see you again? Are they good with what you put out there? It’s an agonizing holding period.

Finally, the response:

The next stage was one of extremely exaggerated and unrealistic speculation. How much was I going to take from the pot? A “splurge” would indicate something of great value … like treating myself to a new dress, or fancy dinner with friends, or a car. I mean, what if I won like $20,000, you guys?! This is both a testament to my ability to sensationalize mediocre events and also my grossly disappointing mathematical intelligence.

On Friday, this one came:

Which, as my husband so Hankly put it, makes sense when you figure about 50% of the contestants made their Bet. Math is stupid.

Final thoughts … I’d do it again. Sure I would. It was fun and my pants were slightly baggier by the end and these days, I count that as something to celebrate. I did it by maintaining my workout regimen and tracking calories. I then toasted both my victory and my buns with a sloppy butterburger that blew the whole point of the competition right out of the water. Maintain, Courtney … Main-freaking-tain.

Thoughts from the peanut gallery:

“Originally, I thought it was hugely motivating, because hello, money. but then I thought that the small amount of weight would come off easily after having a baby and I kind of forgot about it. Plus you don’t know how much money you’re going to get, what if you just get your $30 back and that’s it? Fast forward to the end of the challenge, I still have a pound to go and I’m spending the entire morning peeing and pumping milk so I can hit my weight. I would do it again, but only when I’m really ready to overhaul the diet and exercise regimen.” – Nissa

“Fuck. That. Shit. I say this because I just wasn’t ready. Looking for one to start on Tuesday. I like beer.” – Kathy
(Editor’s note: In addition to beer, Kathy, like Shazzer from Bridget Jones’ Diary, likes to say fuck a lot.)

Until next time …

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