Ramblers are death traps

OK, my headline my be overstating my case, but I got your attention.

People who sit all day and watch TV all night — even ones who run 35 miles a week — have a higher risk of heart disease than people who move around all day. Mayo Clinic cardiologist Martha Grogan told the radio program “Here & Now” that sitting for more than four hours a day gives you the same risk of a heart attack as smoking. (Click here for the story.)

Today’s news comes on the heels of yesterday’s “Fresh Air” interview with author and fitness expert Gretchen Reynolds who said just standing for 2 minutes every 20 minutes can improve your health.

“Sitting for long periods of time — when you don’t stand up, don’t move at all — tends to cause changes physiologically within your muscles,” Reynolds told “Fresh Air’s” Terry Gross. “You stop breaking up fat in your bloodstream, you start getting accumulations of fat … in your liver, your heart and your brain. You get sleepy. You gain weight. You basically are much less healthy than if you’re moving. … If you can stand up every 20 minutes — even if you do nothing else — you change how your body responds physiologically.” (Click here for the full story.)

Which leads to me to this unscientific, self-serving conclusion: Two-story houses — with lots of steps — have healthier occupants than residents of ramblers.

I prefer the appearance of two-story houses, and all the houses I’ve owned have had two stories. (Heck, I think three- or four-story houses are impressive — I just could never afford one of those.)

But presentation aside, two-story houses win on function, too. To my way of thinking, single-story ramblers are a sign of resignation to being lazy or getting old. I’m going  into old age kicking and screaming, and all that kicking and screaming turns out to be very good for my health.

With my Beloved now working from his home office in the basement and me working in a bedroom on the second floor (alternatively known on some of our address labels as Suite 4 and Suite 2), I take the steps many times a day. Sometimes, I take the steps just to take a break. Usually the break involves a snack (sometimes a lower-calorie hug), but still, I’m moving. Our little 8-pound schnauzer is in good shape, too, what with all the to-ing and fro-ing.

I’m not ready for a stand-up desk or a treadmill desk, but the news that even a little movement is better than none is compelling. Compelling me to stand up and take a walk.

What are you looking at? Get moving!

Nothing says January like fresh grapefruit

Exactly one year ago, I was settling into new digs at a resort near McAllen, Texas. Or one might consider the digs old since we were staying in a 1983 RV in a 55+ community (my mother-in-law helped us meet the age requirement).

McAllen, Texas 2010

It was the first of many sunshine-filled days last winter. Nearly every morning upon my return from my walk or run around the compound, I picked grapefruit off the tree just outside our camper.

Today, 1,400 miles north, I ran outside, too (ugh, the credit card we used for our Snap Fitness membership expired and I was denied entry early this morning; this has since been remedied). The sun was shining, the roads were clear and dry and I wore the running outfit my sister gave me for Christmas.

It’s the kind of glorious January day that comes along too rarely so actually, being denied the opportunity to run on a treadmill indoors was a gift.

I returned home to a lovely, juicy grapefruit, not picked from a tree outside but picked up yesterday at Costco, where everything is like Texas: Big. I’ll be enjoying that bag of citrus for two weeks. January is the season for grapefruit, and I can’t resist that delight, even in bulk, even six states away from the fruit’s point of origin.

It was like sunshine in a bowl. Yum.

This resolution is a stretch

No round of New Year’s resolutions is complete without an intention to lose weight or exercise more, right?

Isn’t that what everyone resolves on Jan. 1? It would seem so by the increase in volume at the local Snap Fitness.

I gained three pounds (which might be accounted for by an overly salty Chinese take-out meal or a big bowl of pasta for dinner) and I covered 1,005 miles in 2011, so I’m not too keen on losing weight or exercising more (how do I know I went 1,005.62 miles in 2011? Attribute that to a Garmin accurate to a hundredth of a mile and an obsessive streak of recording it; I just love my runner’s journal).

OK, enough with the obsessive detail, Minnesota Transplant. Sheesh.

I’m not resolving to exercise more, but I do, however, resolve to exercise differently:

I hereby resolve to stretch after every run.

My sciatica is acting up (do I sound like an old man?) and I think it may have something to do with the fact that my hamstrings are tighter than a 20-year-old’s creamy skin (oh, when you’re 20, you have no idea your skin is in the best condition it’ll ever be). And those hamstrings may be tight because, oh, I never stretch.

I used to do yoga regularly, and I’m thinking I could use a few more up dogs in my routine.

And so, in addition to making a comfy nest and embracing technology, I resolve to stretch.

Oh, and one more thing. If you’re into my annual new year’s resolutions, check it out here.

Tomorrow, we’ll wax nostalgic for the old year passed.

DIY remedies might relieve foot pain

• Golf ball.
• Frozen bottle of water.
• Copious amounts of fish oil.
• Kitchen magnets.

All remedies prescribed today for what I believe is plantar fasciitis in my left foot.

At first I thought only professional baseball players got such exotic maladies.

Nope, not that exotic. Not just baseball players.

Then I thought my feet hurt because I waited too long to replace my running shoes.

That might have exacerbated the situation, but new shoes haven’t diminished the pain.

So I have to take drastic action.

Well, it’s “drastic” if you consider massaging my foot with a golf ball twice a day to be drastic.

Hey, it’s worth a shot. At least I wasn’t told to lay off the running. Or amputate.

Now that would  have been drastic.

Instead, a comedic assortment of MacGyver-like materials might provide the answer.

That would be elegant.

What makes a healthy community?

Do you live in a healthy community? If not, what would it take to make your community healthier?

I was on the receiving end of an organization’s marketing efforts today when I participated in a focus group for a research project on Kane County’s education, housing, employment and health-related needs. It was sponsored by the county’s hospitals, United Way and social service agencies supported by the United Way.

First question? Name your top three priorities for a healthy community.

My list:

1. Clean environment: I was the only focus group member who listed this at all. I think Americans take for granted that the air they breathe is relatively unpolluted, their water is clean and their sewage isn’t being pumped into the ponds in their backyards. If it weren’t so and people were coughing and puking and diarrheal, “clean environment” would be everyone’s No. 1 health priority.
2. Low crime/safe neighborhood: A community can’t be healthy if they’re afraid in their own homes or if they risk their lives when they’re in their yards or on the streets.
3. An “it takes a village to raise a child” attitude: A sense of community, of caring for each other contributes to better health for everyone.

Other people listed high performing schools, access to primary health care, affordable housing, good jobs and healthy economy, and healthy behaviors and lifestyles as being important elements of a healthy community.

We chatted about a number of subjects for 75 minutes and some of the suggestions for making Kane County healthier included community gardens, farmer’s markets, financial literacy training (how to budget, the meaning of mortgages, how interest is calculated, etc.), lower cost child care and smaller class sizes. I wished for more nutrition education (especially for young mothers), better jobs in the county (so people wouldn’t have to commute so far to work) and healthier ways to cope with stress and boredom than alcohol, cigarettes and weed.

The focus group was an interesting way to spend 75 minutes, though I’m not convinced it’ll make any real difference.

What would make your community healthier?

A great day for a run, blue sky and sunshine

Basketball doesn’t have PRs.

I played basketball in junior high solely because I was tall. Tall girls played basketball, that’s just the way it was. That I was completely uncoordinated and unmotivated, that’s besides the point.

There’s no I in team, it’s said, and basketball is a team sport. So it wasn’t a stat to track, scoring more baskets than one did the last time.

But in running, oh, it’s all different. Winning is great, sure, but that’s probably for the Kenyans among us. The way to track progress in running is by the holy grail of the PR: Personal Record.

I didn’t get a personal record in today’s St. John’s Oktoberfest 5K.

But I could have.

That’s the lure of the race. Even if a runner has no chance whatsoever of beating the high school cross-country runner who weighs 90 pounds soaking wet, a runner has a chance of getting a PR.

Now hear these excuses: I didn’t train for it. I ran yesterday when I should have rested. I forgot the race was today until 10 a.m. yesterday when a flyer in the drug store reminded me, oh, yeah, today’s the day for the Oktoberfest 5K.

But I showed up anyway. I ran. I earned a time of 29:08.

I’ll take that over a basketball game any day.

Mind over matter is what matters in the gym

I could use a little Hanz and Franz about now: “We just want to pump [clap] you up!”

I’m adding weight training to my exercise regime. My excitement about this does not approach the level of Hanz and Franz.

After I wrote “Quiet time on the running trail” a few weeks back and got a number of comments thanks to being Freshly Pressed, I was a little bit surprised about the number of folks who admired my dedication but admitted they never exercise.

As someone who walks or runs 20 miles a week, every week, that admission ranks right up there with “I don’t brush my teeth.” As is obvious by people-watching at the local Wal-Mart, I know many people don’t exercise, but gosh, your body is designed to move — is immobility how you really want it? Some commenters expressed aspirations to exercise, but some of them seemed perfectly content with a life of idle repose.

Then I heard a National Public Radio report on senior citizens being disappointed about their golden years that said one-third of seniors exercise less in retirement than they did while working. Well, on the bright side, two-thirds are exercising more, but still, did you really retire so you could spend more time watching the Game Show Network? That’s sad.

Admitting that I’m generally biased in favor of exercising regularly, I’m still irrationally dreading weight training two or three times a week at the local fitness center.

I just hate lifting weights.

It’s hard.

It’s boring.

As an ectomorph, the results are generally invisible.

Humph. I suppose this is exactly the way sedentary people feel about running.

How to avoid hypocrisy? I am engaging my logical mind to overcome my foot-dragging emotions: A stronger core will make me a better runner. Stronger triceps will reduce comparisons of my arms to a turkey’s neck. Stronger shoulders will balance out my perimenopausal hips. I’ll start small and commit to only twice a week. I’ll reward myself by soaking in the hot tub.

I share this, not to annoy the sedentary (hey, it’s your body, and I subscribe to a live-and-let-live philosophy, so have at it), but rather to inspire those of you who think you might like to step it up in the exercise department. Use your head, and maybe your body will follow.

Quiet time on the running trail

“The gun goes off and everything changes … the world changes … and nothing else really matters.”

~ Patti Sue Plumer,
American long-distance runner

Running is an effective weight-management tool, and it smooths the rough edges on my stress profile, too.

I know for a fact I am bitchier on days I don’t get exercise. When I need quiet time, I put on my Asics and dash out the door. I often run with my iPod, but when I’m in a pickle, I leave it behind and just pound the pavement while I think about my breathing.

I distinctly remember a 6-mile run on a summer day five years ago. The day before, I had to lay off two staff members, and it felt like choosing which toes I wanted to have removed. I have no doubt that black day was more awful for the two women I laid off, and I don’t mean to minimize their experiences as I lament my role in middle-management. But (yes, but!) unless you’re Cruella DeVille, telling people you’ve hired and mentored that their contributions are no longer necessary to the company’s continued success is difficult. Unable to sleep, I got up at 5 a.m. and just ran. It helped me cope with the pit in my stomach.

Three years ago, when I was trying to figure out my place in my new community in Illinois and before I found the great group of friends in my book club, I reveled in the solitude of a run. The little village where I live doesn’t have culture, shopping or a night life to speak of, but it offers miles of quiet, crime-free roads on which to run.

Last summer, in the midst of an excruciatingly painful custody battle that interfered with my ability to eat (oh, to have such problems), I still ran, albeit more slowly, but I ran. That trial passed, too, but at the time, running was like pounding a pillow for me (and legal, considering the alternatives that crossed my mind).

This week, I am in Minnesota, and my stress is at an all-time low. No employer is placing unreasonable demands on me, and even my unemployment is nothing special in light of the millions of Americans in the same boat. I am surrounded, literally and figuratively, with wonderful friends. My familial relationships are copacetic.

And still, a nice quiet run keeps the peace for me. The volume control on my iPod is acting up (who knows why technology can be so impertinent — again, to have such problems) so yesterday as I ran around the campground, Hall & Oates’ “I Can’t Go For That” faded away to nothing. I removed my ear buds and listened to the wind in the trees and counted my blessings.

Count down summer with countdown workout

I guess Chicagoans savor summer as much as Minnesotans.

Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich shared an idea in her column today that helps her remember to acknowledge and celebrate every summer day — all 94 of them. She starts with a stack of 94 index cards; each day, she writes down something she did to celebrate summer that day on one of the cards — even if was something as simple as taking a walk. As the stack dwindles, she’s reminded of the preciousness of each summer day.

One way I celebrate summer is to run outside (at least when it’s not 90 degrees and 100% humidity). I soak up the Vitamin D and get sweaty. Today, I ran a workout that’s become a standby: The 7654321 Workout.

Here are the details, from a post in February 2009, when I ran this workout on the treadmill [looking back now, I realize I'm faster -- I ran intervals of 5.5 to 8.5 mph today] …

If you’re as sick as me of running on the treadmill this winter, try the 7654321 workout. I read about it in Runner’s World this month (love that magazine) and tried it this morning. Great workout if you can find 50 minutes.

Here’s how it works: Run intervals of seven minutes, then six, then five, etc. Between intervals, jog (or walk) for half the time of the previous interval. Each interval should be progressively faster (or, I suppose, you could use a higher incline).

I’m a slow runner, so I started running at 5.3 miles an hour, working up to 7.1 miles an hour. It looked like this: 1 minute at 3.0 mph, 1 min at 3.3, 1 min at 3.6, 7 min at 5.3, 3.5 min at 4.3, 6 min at 5.6, 3 min at 4.6, 5 min at 5.9, 2.5 min at 4.9, 4 min at 6.2, 2 min at 5.2, 3 min at 6.5, 1.5 min at 5.5, 2 min at 6.8, 1 min at 5.8, 1 min at 7. 1, 30 seconds at 6.1, 1 min at 4.1, 1 min at 3.9, 1 min at 3.7, 1 min at 3.5 and 1 min at 3.3. Fifty minutes total. (Keeping track of all the numbers will help keep you from getting bored.)

… Here’s to summer!

23,016 words

My head is swelled with pride and excitement. Make way.

My Beloved challenged me to write 20,000 words on my memoir this week, and I did it! Twenty-three thousand sixteen words.

Here are 392 from the 1,935 I wrote today. Ironically, they’re about training for the marathon I ran in 2006 — I feel like I’ve been running a marathon this week.

The only C I earned in junior high and high school was in phy ed.

I hated Nancy Johnson with the seething enmity only a seventh grade female could summon for a person occupying such an innocuous role: Physical education teacher.

Mrs. Johnson in her Members Only-esque gym suit stood at the entry to the group showers, checking off names as shrieking girls ran in and out of water flow too quickly to allow their hair to lose its 1980 puffiness. She probably found it highly amusing when the gawky tall girl had to promenade during the square dance lessons with the elfin boy who had an eye-level view of her blossoming bosom. And she was the one who skeptically watched the self-conscious, uncoordinated geek hang back from any activity that would require jumping, stretching or sweating. “Get out there, girls! Get going! Come on, ladies!”

After a quarter of lukewarm participation on my part, Mrs. Johnson got her revenge: The only C on a report card otherwise populated with A’s.

Though I managed Bs the rest of the school year, our relationship never improved over the course of my time at Wadena Senior High School. Mrs. Johnson coached the varsity girls’ basketball team, and even though I was the tallest girl in my class, my complete lack of interest in jumping, sweating and running – God, I hated running – kept me from ever progressing past the B squad. My senior year, I switched to golf, a game at which I was an utter failure as well, but at least I didn’t have to run.

Throughout my adult life, I spent a lot of time in front of the TV with exercise greats like Gilad, Denise Austin and “Buns of Steel’s” Tamilee Webb and I willingly walked when the occasion presented itself, but I wouldn’t run.

Good ol’ Jill, my ever faithful friend, was the one who suggested we try something new. She suggested that as a farewell to our 30s, we should run a marathon – Grandma’s Marathon.

So one Wednesday morning in January, I got up before the sun rose, put on an inordinate number of sweat-trapping cotton clothes and ran around the block.

Two days later, I did the same thing.

Jill printed out a marathon training plan for beginners and sent it to me, and I started following it. I was a runner!