Dump & Run

In the past, whenever I've complained about struggling with studying/learning something new/employment/cooking a difficult meal, my dad would often say (to my annoyance): No one wants to hear about the labor pains, they just want to see the baby.

Yesterday was the Pump & Run challenge and here's the "baby" (because if this is what you want to see, you can ignore the rest of my detailed account of the labor):

-I ran 3.4 miles in 38ish minutes
-I did 10 reps of 80lbs (technically, I was supposed to lift 120 lbs but I'll have to hold out til 2014 for that one)

I competed and completed the Pump & Run challenge: It's a girl!

And now for the labor:

Because I've been lifting/pumping about four times a week (give or take) in addition to six days of cardio-heavy classes, I've made some necessary tweaks to my eating habits. Mainly, I've been almost completely low carb for a few weeks now. When you're trying to convert your body's wobbly bits into a lean, green, running machine, you need a fair amount of protein and vegetables. I didn't forsake the bread/potatoes because I wanted to jump start my weight loss; I just happen to feel physically better without them. I've also been drinking at least a gallon of water a day in an effort to boost my metabolism and flush out my system. So far, these tweaks have been working in my favor (I lost 8 lbs since the start of the competition).

On the evening before Pump & Run, I decided that in addition to eating well and drinking lots of water, I'd take three heaping tablespoons of psyllium powder, dissolved in water, to "clean the slate" before my weigh-in the following morning. If you aren't familiar with psyllium powder, it's basically these little ground up husks that are 100% pure fiber. You put them in at least 10 oz of water or juice, stir them up, and drink. The worst part of drinking psyllium powder is its texture. It's like drinking Cream of Wheat flavored saliva. And in my foolish, well-intentioned heart, I really thought I'd wake up the next morning feeling clean as a whistle (especially after getting up twice in the middle of the night to pee). The next morning, I hopped on my scale (because I hate the element of surprise) and to my shock and annoyance, I gained 2 lbs within 24 hours. I was flabbergasted by this change but assumed that perhaps I could still...uh..."drop" some weight by the time I had to get on the gym scale.

I walked into the gym and immediately saw a ring of blue Pump & Run t-shirts surrounding the entrance of the weight room. I knew from the beginning that we'd all obviously pump and then go for our run for the competition. It's one thing to know it, it's quite another thing to see everyone watching, cheering, and clapping while someone is lying on a bench and lifting weights while Chrissy counts (I love Chrissy dearly, but when she hovers around a bench press or a scale that I'm using, she intimidates the crap out of me. Although not literally enough on that particular morning...). To make matters worse, the guys in the weight room were stopping to watch this portion of the competition. Right then and there, as I walked by my crowd of buddies and fellow Pump & Run-ers, I felt my resolve begin to crumble. I booked it to the nearest bathroom and attempted to squeeze out any remaining drop of weight that might still be lounging around in my lower intestines. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell if the brick in my belly was anxiety or a crapload (no pun intended) of fiber. One frightening and frustrating weigh-in with Chrissy later, it was definitely the fiber; I gained 4 lbs in 24 hours (the gym scale said I was 2 lbs heavier than the reading I had on my scale at home. See? Surprises suck!). Even though I lost 8 lbs in 8 weeks (which included the food-heavy holiday weeks of Christmas, New Year's, and my birthday), all I could feel was the remorse of those four extra pounds.

I know I've warned against the power of the numbers on the scale. Chrissy has warned against the numbers on the scale. Everyone warns against the numbers on the scale. And yet, there I was, sobbing in the women's locker room sauna over numbers on the scale. I wasn't grateful for the 8 lb loss, I wasn't proud of the fact that I could bench 80 lbs (even though I started out with the 45 lb bar eight weeks ago). All I felt was miserable over numbers and I let them mean way more than "idiot who drank too much fiber". I'm not sure how crappy moments work for you, but for me it's one big domino effect. I got upset by numbers on the scale, which then made me upset that I couldn't bench 120 lbs, which then made me upset that I didn't personally weigh 120 lbs, which then made me want to shrivel up into an Ang-sized raisin in the women's locker room sauna (By the way, I know that it's totally random to have a meltdown (literally) in a sauna, but it is like my favorite little nook in Jersey Fitness. I do all my best thinking/meditating/meltdown-ing in there). But somewhere in whatever portion of my brain that remained logical, I told myself to get out of the sauna and dry my puffy eyes. And that's when I came face-to-face with my friend/instructor Beth (the one who gave me excellent ski advice in the previous post).

I didn't think anyone got a shot of me pumping! Thanks, Johnna!

I explained to Beth about the scale, how I didn't want to be fat anymore, and that I didn't want to be cheered on for doing well "for where I am". I actually want to be a gym beast, I want to bench 80 lbs because that is 70% of my body weight and not just what I can handle "for where I am". I want what I cannot have yet "for where I am" and it pisses me off on an almost daily basis. Fortunately, I am just angry enough to be motivated to attend classes and lift weights, but not so angry that I hurl kettlebells into the classroom mirrors. Beth understood why I was upset but wisely pointed out that at the end of the day, all those people in the blue shirts were my friends, they all knew how far I'd come this past year (and not just in the past two months of Pump & Run), and that we are all in this competition to encourage and support each other. And with that said, we walked out of the locker room together.

I benched 10 reps of 80lbs, got up, and threw on my running gear. Oddly enough, up until that morning, I was actually dreading the running portion the most. Even though I do a lot of cardio throughout the week, I haven't really been running faithfully and wasn't quite sure if my body could just jump right into a 5K. Fortunately, I have a tried-and-true method for running: I maintain the same pace from start to finish. For as pissed off as I was about only benching the 80lbs, I could not have cared less about my running time or speed. And you know, the crazy thing is that for all my crying and whining, the pumping and running segments went by pretty quickly.

Johnna & Chrissy: Johnna got us the awesome shirt/pics and Chrissy was the ringleader of this here Pump & Run shindig

When we all finished up, we milled about on the gym classroom floor, and Chrissy gave us our certificates of participation and various awards. I was still pretty annoyed with myself over my previous attitude and behavior, but when Chrissy handed me my participant card with all my numbers (starting weight, ending weight, reps, running time, body fat percentage, fullness), all I kept thinking about was next year's Pump & Run. I wonder what 2014 Pump & Run-Angela will think about this first competition. I wonder what she'll look like. I pinned my certificate and my participant card onto the mantel of my window as a tangible reminder of what I'm working towards.

This is what Chrissy wrote on my participation card after I told her about my fiber fiasco. She's too much.

That night, just as I was about to go to bed, I called my sister Kim and told her about Pump & Run and the fiber incident. She cracked up at my unintentional sabotage and said, "Sounds like Angie wanted a little Dump & Run!" I talked about my meltdown and how I hated feeling like I was doing well "for where I am" which is just a nice way of saying "for still being overweight". She said, "But the thing is, Angie, is that you care now. Seriously think about who you were a year ago, what would that girl say about you benching 80 lbs and running a 5k?" And she's absolutely right. I do care now. I care about being healthy so much that even though I was upset over the numbers, I still completed the competition. In fact, I knew that I would end up pumping and running even while I was sobbing in the sauna. I knew I would do it partly because I was certain that my friends in the blue shirts, and particularly Beth and Chrissy, wouldn't let me give up on myself; but mainly I knew I'd see it through because deep down I cared more about finishing than feeling sorry for myself.

I got "Most Improved". I thought my prize was a candle, but it was actually a daisy growing kit. I realized this after 5 minutes of sniffing..

 I really really wish that this post about the Pump & Run challenge didn't come with about ten bags of drama, but it did (and not for the sake of this blog, I assure you). Weight loss is not a simple, clean-cut process that's all sunshine and daffodils. It can be as brutally honest and gut-wrenching as a three-sided dressing room mirror. In fact, this process basically is one big mirror, one that forces you to take everything in, the good and the bad, and challenges you as if to say "Your move". And the longer you ignore what's staring right in front of you, the harder it gets for when you actually do rise to the occasion.

 I am beyond grateful for the Pump & Run challenge, for everyone in the blue shirts, and even for the warm hug of the sauna room. For as much as I hate that I had a pre-schooler meltdown, I am that happy that I continue to care.