Pliés, please

Our friend Lori is having trouble following her physical therapist's suggestion to do 30 deep knee bends each day. Understandably, she's afraid of reinjuring her knee, and, face it: It's hard to hang out by yourself doing exercises. That's why gym classes were invented, isn't it? Heh.

So here's the deal. You brush your teeth twice a day, right? While you're working that minty fresh magic, point your toes out, keep your back straight and lower your butt toward the floor 15 times. It's a solidarity thang. Too bad we can't take pledges and collect money for starving ballerinas.

Seriously … let Lori know you're supporting her efforts to get back to normal mobility. It'll make her smile. She could use a smile.

To answer WS's question about tapering: This week is still at 31 miles – three three-mile runs, a 10-mile speed drill and a 12-mile long run. Next week it drops to 11 miles plus the race: two threes and a five. The road I use for the easy runs is two miles out and back for a four-mile total, and I'm perverse [or maybe OCD?] enough that I just can't stop until I get to the end of the road. So this week I'll be logging 34 miles.

Mr. Shrinking Knitter and I were at the hospital yesterday afternoon visiting a friend. The friend's daughters were there, and upon learning I'd run more than 30 miiles last week one said, "Wow! You can probably eat anything you want!"

SNORT! Mr. Shrinking Knitter and I kind of looked sideways at each other and I just said, "Oh, don't I wish." And then I dropped it. You'd have been so proud.

[We went back last night and our friend was doing much better! He's like a cat with nine lives; I think this is about his seventh.]

As I mentioned yesterday morning, it was pouring down rain. About 11 a.m. it kind of let up a bit so I grabbed my old shoes and headed out for the easy-run road. Sunday has always been a rest day, but I hadn't run on Saturday and I was really antsy. A short run seemed like a great idea. And it was! I didn't take the Shuffle or the stopwatch [although I did glance at the clock in the car at the beginning and end – 50 minutes], and I really had fun. The south side of the road is bordered by a cliff, with lots of baby waterfalls – freshets [a good Scrabble word, by the way] – springing out of the rocks. The Greenbrier river runs along the north side. Usually a clear-green, gentle, meandering creek, it's now swollen and muddy and lapping at some people's porches.

Shortly after lunch the winds picked up and the temperature dropped, and it's no better this morning. I'd like to think my inner coach was the one who said running yesterday was a good idea. If I do anything today it'll be on the treadmill. Maybe I'll try to match PQ's personal best speed for a mile.

And then I'll call 9-1-1.

[And speaking of PQ, her blog has been nominated for a Blogger's Choice award. Vote early and often! Heh.]

Twelve days until race day.

This isn't what I'd planned to write about today

I really was going to talk about some knitting progress [or lack thereof], and my run yesterday [eight miles in 88 minutes – yeah, me!]. But then Amy wrote yesterday:

i've been wondering lately about some dieters. folks who've been at the same weight for ages and ages and are still trying even though nothing seems to change. i've been wondering where the breaking point is? when is it time to accept mediocrity if not defeat?

Hmmmm. You talkin' 'bout me, Amy?

This particular weight-loss trip started for me in January, 2006. By October I'd lost 43 pounds – not as much as I'd hoped to lose, but certainly enough to make a huge difference in body, mind and spirit. Most of my exercise was walking on hills; I'd just started running again during the summer.

Then I developed plantar fasciitis, and couldn't run or even walk for a very long time. I tried to compensate by using the rowing machine, but it's boring hard to row nowhere for the length of time necessary to release endorphins and burn fat. I tried to eat less and more carefully, but I eat when I'm bored and depressed. And when I can't exercise the way I like to – running outside is my number-one choice – I'm bored and depressed. And also? I eat.

So I reluctantly accepted the return of 10 of those 43 pounds. And they've pretty much been here ever since, give or take a pound or two.

I am the definition of someone who's 'been at the same weight for ages and ages and [is] still trying even though nothing seems to change.'

I haven't reached my breaking point. Yet. I don't feel like I'm even close to giving up, and I don't really know what giving up would look like. Would I start eating sugar on a daily basis? Would I make more fast-food drive-through trips? Would I stop running? I'm not doing any of those things. Yet.

Ten years ago, at my thinnest adult weight and also at my fittest, I thought I would never get fat again. I did, though, gradually and eventually, regain the weight I'd worked so hard to lose and added even more. How did it happen that it was okay for my fitness level to decline and my weight to grow, year after year? What will it take for that to happen again?

I hope to hell I don't find out!

I think, although I don't know, my first step to giving up would be to stop blogging. Whether you need me or not doesn't matter. I need this accountability and I enjoy this venue for spouting off and celebrating and sometimes even whining. As Amy said, "We're here to support each other."

Amen.