I Love My Sweats (aka: My Fat Pants)

By: Susan Farago

Fat pants - old and new.

Like many SweatyShes, I have spent a lot of money over the years on workout clothes. Fabrics that promise to be high tech, anti-chafing, super warm, fashionable, moisture wicking, slightly compressing, color coordinated, etc. etc. But at the end of a hard workout or just a long day, I always reach for my good old fashioned, soft, reliable, somewhat threadbare, sweat pants. I also refer to them as my "fat pants" because a) I don't have to suck anything in and b) they are nice and baggy. I didn't think much about the fashion statement (or lack thereof) that my choice in apparel was emitting at home until I had this conversation with my husband Leary:

 

Me: I'm going to hop in the shower and then put on my comfy fat pants.

Leary: (without even hesitating) Oh you mean your pink sweats?

Me: How did you know that's what I was talking about.

Leary: (Sensing a trap comparable to, "Does this make my butt look big?, he paused.) Um...I was just guessing.

Me: That was close. You almost got into trouble.

Leary: (huge internal sigh of relief)

 

Truth be told I'm OK with my sweats being known as my fat pants. After all, they aren't exactly slimming. I only wear them around the house, with the exception of one time involving a late night Christmas cookie exchange in a Walgreen's parking lot with my friend Kelly H. And while I'm sure my husband would prefer me to lounge around like a Victoria's Secret model,  it's just not going to happen. The last time I visited a VS store I got into an argument with the sales lady because I asked her to show me a bra that I could wear while playing volleyball AND have my boobs actually remain in the bra. I am all about function and compression when it comes to bras, and my logic was that if a VS bra could do that, then it could withstand the rigors of my day. The argument arose because clearly this woman has never played volleyball, or her version of volleyball is to stand perfectly still, arms down, and not move...ever.

 

I recently realized that my pink fat pants were looking a bit old and tired and might need to be replaced. A couple of weeks ago while we were on vacation in New Mexico, right there in CB Fox's department store, I found a whole rack of Russell Athletic sweat tops and bottoms. SCORE! I told my husband I was going to get some new bottoms and he said, "Please don't." I said, "Oh come on. You can even pick out the color!" and I proceeded to hold up luxuriously thick, fuzzy pants in beautiful shades of heather gray, hunter green, navy, and basic black. He shook his head and walked to the other side of the men's department. "Fine!" I yelled across several racks, "You had your chance!" I opted for the heather gray, thinking the color would match many other things I wear around the house, like Leary's v-neck white Hanes t-shirts for instance.

 

I walked up to the register to pay for my sweats and Leary said, "Don't you want to look in the women's department for sweats?" "Women don't wear sweats", I responded. It's moments like this when I wonder if he questions his choice in marital life partner.

 

Later that day we went for a long trail run in the Jemez Mountains. That evening as I stepped out of the shower, I reached for my new sweats. They felt HEAVENLY! I walked into the kitchen and modeled them for Leary. My #2 fat pants. Leary just smiled and handed me a glass of wine and I said, "Just like home."
 

 

Lance Used Spin Classes

By: Susan Farago

Lance a-la spin class style!

I recently purchased the World Cycling 1999-2006 Tour de France DVD Collection. Over 30 hours of awesome cycling complete with all that Lance brought to the tours during his 7 year reign. Love him or hate him, you have to admit he added a certain level of excitement to the tour.

I just finished watching the 2001 Alpe d'Huez stage where Lance "opened up his suitcase of courage" and "stomped his authority all over this race" (gotta love Paul Sherwen and Phil Liggett - the ONLY commentators who have the right to cover this race). And while I watched Lance pull away from his closest competitors on the epic mountain stages, I had an epiphany. Doping aside, I realized what must have been the key to his success. Spin classes.

Out of the saddle!

I'm not talking about spin classes taught by cyclists. I'm talking about the crazy, jumping in and out of your seat, riding no hands, singing to the music (I'm not kidding), aerobics instructors who teach "aerobics on a bike". Up until now I always poo-pooed these classes. Call me a conventional cyclist, but I don't ride completely vertical out of the saddle, with my fingertips barely touching the bars, while stretching my neck. But after watching Lance zip up these mountain passages, out of the saddle with his super high cadence, I got to thinking there might just be something to all that "out of the saddle" riding.

So I went to a spin class taught by an instructor (let's call him Doug) who absolutely drove me crazy, and I vowed never to return. Keeping an open mind, I sat...or rather stood...through Doug's 50 minutes of ubber enthusiastic instruction and I channeled Lance. I envisioned Marco Pantani or Jan Ullrich behind me in a massive mountain chase as I tried to make the "elastic snap". I stomped on those pedals with a super high cadence and I felt my heart rate soar through the roof and my calves burn. At the end of the class when we finally got to sit down, I felt a different sort of success. While I'm pretty sure I didn't use my quad or glute muscles at all (thanks to the help of my body weight mashing down on the pedals) I did feel one step closer to Lance...minus the doping.

*Photos courtesy Google images search (2013).

Let a Girl Eat!

By: Susan Farago



Bowls of Chili: Mine versus His.
And yes the glass of red wine is mine too.

I have always been a "fan of food" and eating has never been much of an issue other than I like to do it...a lot! As a child I snacked all the time, whether it was Mom's fresh baked brownies after school or something straight from the garden - dirt particles and all. Boys who asked me on dates quickly found out that I was not the typical, "I'll have a salad and a glass of water" type of gal. And when my husband and I were first dating in college, he introduced me to the concept of having dessert after each meal. I knew at that moment we were meant to be! (That plus he knew how to fix cars.)

Thankfully a combination of being exemely active and somewhat decent genes has kept me from weighing a bazillion pounds. At 43 years old, I still weigh less than when I was in college (I'm 5'9" and 140 lbs). However, recently I've had a few food encounters that have reminded me of what a healthy eater I am. But I've held my own against sideways looks, judgement, and comments:

Female Server Person at La Madeline Bakery:
Me: I'd like some scrambled eggs, a bowl of soup, and a baguette.
Her: OK.
My Husband: I'd also like some scrambled eggs but no baguette.
Me (to Her): I'll have his baguette.
Her: You want TWO baguettes? (Voice and eyebrows raised simultaneously to emphasize "two".)
Me: Don't judge me!
Her: Um..I didn't mean to...um...OK. Two baguettes.

Bagel Maker Dude at Einsteins:
Me: I'd like two honey bagels with honey walnut creme cheese.
Him: You want TWO bagels? For just you? (Same tone and eyebrows as La Madeline server.)
Me: Yes. Two bagels. I am hungry. Is there an issue?
Him: (clears throat) No ma'am. No issue.

Waiter at Maudie's TexMex Restaurant:
Him: OK, who ordered the fish taco platter.
Me: I did.
Him: Wow. Are you going to eat all of that yourself?
Me: Um, YEAH (as in, "Uh...DUH!).
Him: That's a lot of food.
Me: What are you saying?
Him: Um, nothing. Enjoy!

Dad and I
Official "Consumers" of Mom's cooking.

My husband has made his fair share of comments that would have likely gotten him killed had he been married to any other female. Comments have ranged from food-specific, "Wow, are you going to eat ALL of that?" to clothing specific, "These spandex shorts were in my drawer and they are tight on me so they must be yours." Yes. He is still alive. But then again, this is the same man who, on our second date, looked longingly into my eyes and while holding my hand said, "You know, you're the biggest girl I've ever dated." I think he meant tallest.

I have a feeling that age and metabolism will tell me when I have to start shifting the volume and content of what I eat. I can already tell that a week of Mom's wonderfully delicious cooking "sticks" a little longer than it used to and requires a few extra workouts to burn off. But as long as I am healthy, my weight is consistent, and my cholesterol is in check, then look out world -- LET A GIRL EAT!

SweatyShe Monday: Glory Days

By: Susan Farago

While I was standing in my chiropractor's office this morning waiting to check out, I was looking at his "wall of fame" - all the people he has treated over the years. There are some very accomplished athletes including pro cyclists, Olympic champions, football players, weight lifters...you get the idea. As my eyes were scanning the wall, I saw a photo of a cheerleader in a shiny sparkly outfit with a big smile on her face. Written on the photo in black pen, it said:

Thank you so much for all your help. You're the best! Christa (In my glory days)

In my glory days?!?

I stood there thinking about this statement over and over. And it made me sad. How does she know those were her glory days? Maybe the best is yet to come? But it seems she's already thrown in the towel and just knows that from here on out, things are going to get progressively worse.

Ye gads how depressing!

I will never utter the words, "In my glory days" because I live too much in the future - planning the next great adventure or anticipating the next whirlwind event. In fact my biggest challenge is being in the moment and enjoying what is happening NOW. I even bought a book to help me with this called "The Presence Process" which turned out to be 180 pages of telling me to breathe. My desire to live in the now appreciated this approach - my patience did not.

Sometimes my future thinking is merely hours ahead. I have caught myself wondering what to eat for dinner as I'm walking down to the swim start of an Ironman - as if I've mentally breezed through the gruelling hours that lay ahead. Even as I type this post, I've already done today's swim workout, put mulch in all my gardens, and I've showered and am now sitting on the couch. And this future self is probably imagining my future-future self already in Minnesota visiting family over Christmas. Now I know why my husband says it's hard to keep up with me. I can't even keep up with myself!

My mom once told me that people are generally lumped into three categories: people who live in the past, people who are firmly grounded in the present, and those of us who dream of the future.

Maybe Christa lives in the past. If so, I hope she has more glory days.

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Need a way to jump start your week? SweatyShe Mondays are thoughts and humorous musings from the world of active Shes.

SweatyShe Monday: Good Books and Train Wrecks

By: Susan Farago

Combining my love of reading with epic tales of adventure and sport is like Saturday morning coffee and scones – the two just go together! Below are some of my recent reads – some good, some not so much.

“Ultra Marathon Man – Confessions of an All-Night Runner” by Dean Karnazes
I just finished reading this book and quite frankly, I wish Dean would have kept his confessions to himself. The book was about how Dean got into ultra running and some of his epic runs including Badwater, the South Pole Marathon, and a 199 mile relay run he did solo. I have met Dean on two occasions and he is an extremely nice and humble guy so I really thought this book would have the same vibe as the man. Not so much. Actually, not at all. With comments like, “I really slowed down and could only hold a 7:30 minute mile pace”, or “My resting heart rate hovered in the 30’s, about the same as Lance Armstrong”, or “I don’t know Sports Illustrated Women’s ‘Sexiest Men in Sports’ issue got my name”, I felt myself rolling my eyes more and more as the stories unfolded. I’ve been told his other two books are better. I hope so!

"The Immortal Class - Bike Messengers and the Cult of Human Power" by Travis Hugh Culley
Ever wonder what it would be like to have the bike skills to zip through traffic, bunny hop over curbs and stairs, and survive seeing your life flash before your eyes on a daily basis? This book is a great account of the crazy, scary, back alley world of bike messengers in downtown Chicago and takes a philosophical look at power, wealth, and the value of human life. Truth be told, I wanted to become a bike messenger after reading this!

"The Extra Mile" by Pam Reed
This book had the potential to tell a great story but either the author is just a bad writer and/or seems to be pretty angry in general (or at least at the time when she wrote the book). Between her train wreck relationships, her kids ”getting in the way” of her training, and her battle with eating disorders, the entire book is just exhausting. If you can wade through the quagmire that is her life, it's worth reading to find out about ultra events such as  the Badwater Ultra Marathon. I gave a copy of this book to two friends before I read it. I have now been banned from giving them any more books. (Sorry Richelle and Michelle!)

"Swimming to Antarctica" by Lynne Cox
Hands down by far my favorite sports-related book because it's inspirational without trying to be. Lynne Cox got her first taste of cold water swimming when she was in the local swimming pool and it started to snow on her. She grew into an amazing ultra distance swimmer and she recounts all her swims including her first swim from Catalina Island to California, English Channel, Baring Straights, and finally Antarctica. Two images from her stories stick in my mind: her hand punching through a rotting dog carcass while she swam the Nile, and her chopping pan ice with her forearm during her near freezing swims. Whether or not you are a swimmer, these extremely crazy and jaw-dropping stories will make you want to go out into the world and do something amazing! She is a straight forward writer and provides enough detail to make the stories interesting. I am probably responsible for the spike in her book sales at one point because I have purchased at least 10 copies of this book for friends. However I have no desire to swim the English Channel - it's too cold!

Go.Do.Be.

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Need a way to jump start your week? SweatyShe Mondays are thoughts and humorous musings from the world of active Shes.

 

SweatyShe Monday: The Vitamix Cult

By: Susan Farago

Papa Bernard - the original Vitamix salesman

I was recently in the Whole Foods produce department when my eye spied a big display of fruits, veggies, cookbooks on juicing, and boxes and boxes of THE WORLDS GREATEST juicer/blender/mixer/slicer/dicer -- The Vitamix. As my brain was reeling from the possibilities of a juice-based existence, I made eye contact with a guy who was standing in and on this display. His name was Jason and he was the pitch man. So I marched right up to him and said, "OK, convince me." He smiled and said, "With pleasure."

For the next 5 minutes my husband Leary and I got a steady stream of information about what the Vitamix does, how juicing benefits everyone's life, that children are overweight because of how much processed juice they drink because all the fiber has been stripped out, how people don't get enough fiber to begin with, and then he whipped up a chocolate almond frappa-something for us to sample (which also had cabbage, avocado, and carrot - but who would know?!)

Then I  asked the magic question, "How much?"
$450 for the plain version and $499 for stainless. This was quite the departure from my little $90 Black and Decker blender from Target which would have completely blown up by this point in the demo. Then as if to read my mind, Jason launched into something that sounded similar to the recent presidential debates on foreign policy. "The Vitamix is all American made in Cleveland, Ohio and has been since 1921. It comes with an eight year warranty and if you need anything fixed, they will pay for shipping and it will be sent to a facility here in the United States. No Chinese parts or labor here!" Sir you have my vote. Then I said, "OK, now convince him" and I pointed to my husband who missed the good old "Made in America" speech because his brain was still trying to register $450.

The newest addition to our family!

At this point people were starting to gather around us and Jason sensed his moment. A customer had just walked by and told the group, as if on cue, "I have a Vitamix and I LOVE IT!" With that, Jason and the Vitamix machine went into overdrive. Before we knew it, we were being treated to tortilla soup, mocha chocolate frappachino, berry smoothie, and chocolate ice cream (again, with cabbage and avocado - and the first time I've ever seen Leary voluntarily eat anything with avocado). Jason looked over to an older woman standing to his left. He said, "You're a Vitamix owner aren't you." She said, "Yes! How did you know?" He said, "I could tell. There's a certain arrogance and pride that owners have when they stand and watch my demos. You have that." Wow. He's good.

By now two people had a Vitamix blender box in hand. They were sold! I looked at Leary and he knew what was coming. I said, "OK, if I cash in Christmas, my birthday, and a few anniversaries, can we get one?" I think I saw a tiny tear form in his eye as the thought of parting with $450 was more painful than a root canal. Then I said, "Wait. I have to test something first." So I turned to Jason and said, "Will it make almond butter?" "Yes it will", he said. "OK, prove it." I ran to the bulk foods section and bought about a pound of raw, unsalted almonds. I returned a few minutes later and handed him the bag. "Go for it."

He poured the almonds into the machine and flipped it on high. The almonds went from crumbs, to meal, to flour, and then slowly...slowly...to almond butter. He was jamming the spatula into the machine to push down the almonds and at one point Leary and I looked at each other - we smelled the heat from the motor! But the Vitamix and Jason kept at it. After about 4 minutes, voila - almond butter. Without consulting Leary on his final decision, I walked over to the display, picked up a red Vitamix blender, and plopped it into the cart.

I spent the next 15 minutes running around the produce department like a woman posessed - looking for anything and everything I could juice! I ran back over to Jason with more questions: Could I juice beets? What happens if a pit gets stuck? Can I grind dried beans or seeds? Always the same answer, "No problem. No problem."

My Vitamix machine is in its new home and ready to juice away. I am very hard on kitchen equipment but something tells me the Vitamix is up to the challenge. I look forward to a very long, happy, American made relationship.

Go.Do.Be.

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Need a way to jump start your week? SweatyShe Mondays are thoughts and humorous musings from the world of active Shes.

SweatyShe Monday: Ode to Wandering Nipple Tape

Wandering Nipple Tape

By: Susan Farago

There once was a man named Leary
Who was a runner quite cheery
His nipples he did tape
To prevent the almighty chafe
But finding tape everywhere was quite a query

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I dedicate this ode to my husband, Leary. He is a very precautious athlete, carefully applying body glide so he won't rub in the wrong places, wearing toe socks for extra comfort, and he also tapes his nipples to prevent chafing from his shirt when he runs. I can understand this last measure of protection as there is NOTHING worse than seeing a guy running with two wet red spots soaked through his shirt. OUCH!

But what I CANNOT figure out for the life of me is how Leary's nipple tape ends up everywhere else after he's used it. I'm not exaggerating here. I've found pieces of tape on the inside edge of my sock drawer, stuck to the center console in the car, on our bedspread, on the entryway floor, in a milk glass in the kitchen sink, and adhered to my swim goggles hanging in the bathroom shower. But the latest place took the cake. I opened the pantry door to get a gel flask before a run and lo and behold, there it was. That little white fuzzy piece of tape staring back at me while stuck to the flask itself.

I finally confronted Leary about his crazy, wandering nipple tape and he instantly blushed red. (Those of you who know Leary can imagine his embarrassment despite the fact that we've been married for over 20 years.) I'm not mad. I'm just amazed! It's like an ongoing game of "Where's Waldo" and I never know where or when a piece of nipple tape is going to appear out of nowhere and say SURPRISE! I can only imagine how many rogue pieces are hiding in the house as we speak. Maybe I should go check the cat just to be sure.

I would much rather deal with rogue nipple tape than have Leary suffer the consequence of bloody nipples. But if this continues, maybe I can persuade him to wear a bra instead? Yeah, probably not.

Go.Do.Be.


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Need a way to jump start your week? SweatyShe Mondays are thoughts and humorous musings from the world of active Shes.