Fortune $500 Added Benefits

Mr. Gaelic gets paid $5 to walk the dog for 30 minutes.  Actually, there doesn't have to be a dog in the picture.  Or anything else except some form of exercise for 30 minutes and his office will pay him $5. 

They also give him $35 for going to his annual physical, $25 for going to the dentist.  But it's not paid in cash.  It's paid in gift cards.  Yet there's a cap of $240 a year that he can earn.

He then can use the gift cards at a number of approved vendors from Amazon to Zappos.com.  All part of his company's encouragement of their employees to be healthy.  His well-being reward.

What about the rest of us?  We exercise and eat healthy and visit our doctors and dentists.  Why can't our companies pay us in Best Buy gift cards? 

One of the vendors is a national grocery chain that sells mostly organic foods.  So, let me see if I have this right.  You work for a Fortune 500 company.  They pay you to be healthy.  Then you can use your rewards to buy organic food to be even healthier.  Because you are healthier, you miss fewer days from work.  Increased productivity all for as little as $240 worth of gift cards a year for being healthy.

Don't let it be forgotten that exercising also leads to fewer stress-related diseases and less depression.  Aha!  Happier worker bees!  Happy.  Healthy.  Productive.

Where's the justice?  How can the rest of us get such added benefits?

Death Be Not Plowed

There has been no exercise regimen in my life since Christmas.  No ballet.  No swimming.  No free weights.  No Pilates.  Nada.  Nil.  Nothing.  Zip.  Zero.

But my doctor and my health coach (she comes with the health care plan at Mr. Gaelic's office) want me to exercise to help reduce my cholesterol.  It's above the normal range.  Plus my LDL cholesterol is too high and my HDL is too low. 

The health coach calls me every three weeks to discuss my plan.  The first homework was to come up with a plan to exercise.  The next homework was to start implementing the plan.  My plan, it turns out, was overly ambitious.  It fell flat just two days into it.  Actually it fell into the couch halfway through the 15-minute exercise DVD along with my assertions of "I'm gonna die.  I can't breathe.  She's trying to kill me."

Today's plan was to take a nice slow-paced bike ride along the bike trail into the city.  The problem was all the rain last night created a very humid morning.  Riding next to the river and the low-hanging fog made it all the worse, bordering on Amazonian-rain-forest humidity.

It wasn't until the bike route turned away from the river that the perspiration on my arms, and tummy, and back, and forehead, and you get the picture, began to dry.  By the time I reached the office garage, it was like riding on a nice spring day.  No more feeling like a draught horse tied to a plow.

The Resolutionary

Every year at this time people decide to make their New Year's resolutions.  A lot are too ambitious.  "I'm going to run in a marathon every month."  A lot are too vague.  "I'm going to lose weight."  Some are un-doable.  "I'm giving up homework."

Every year my gym is flooded with new resolutionaries from January through March.  March seems to be when most people give up their New Year's resolution to get in shape, lose weight, and go to the gym every day.  Come March, there is no longer a wait for the treadmills. 

This year, I'm doing the opposite.  My gym membership was one of the first things to go when a job offer came my way.  Until I have a better grasp on what my schedule will be like, there was no sense in paying a monthly membership.  And besides, once the weather improves (I'm such a weather wimp when it comes to exercising outside), the National Mall from the Capitol to the Washington Monument between the Smithsonian museum buildings will be my treadmill. 

This year's resolution will be something more attainable.  Once, after posting the weekly menu, Laoch asked me why I never included lunch on the menu plan.  The kids eat at school and Mr. Gaelic eats at work.  He likes to get out of his office for a while and doesn't take his lunch for that reason.  What I didn't tell Laoch was that I eat on the run.  My lunch is usually a fast-food drive-thru.  For all my cooking clean at the house, I eat trash for lunch.

But this year!  This year, with the help of a full-time office job, I resolve to eat fast-food no more than three times a week.  It helps that there is a cafeteria in the office building. 

Now, if only it were that easy for Mr. G.  He resolved to exercise at least 30 minutes once a week.  He can always lace up his running shoes and meet me halfway on the Mall.  Yes?  We'll see.

One Good Turn

Have you ever worked and worked at something? Trying to get it right. Whether it’s a lay-up on the basketball court and putting some English on your backhand. You practice it over and over trying to condition the muscle memory.

For several months, my routine at the gym has been: 20-30 minutes of interval training on the treadmill, 10 minutes on the rowing machine, 3 sets of free weights (alternating upper body, lower body, and abs), then 15 minutes practicing my ballet turns before ending with a long stretching session. For just as many months, my excuse for not completing the turns crisply was either being too tired or being too rushed or having a stuffy nose and ears (inner ear disturbances through off your balance). They are just excuses. Because I wasn’t finishing the turns with technical accuracy. But then yesterday . . .

Nailed it! [Happy dance] Wow! You should have been there. It was an awesome feat. I was able to stick my tour jeté. That was the Best. Feeling. Ever.

I may never again be able to nail it like that. And I may not do much walking today. Too many celebratory pirouettes across the basketball court.

Oops, I Did It Again

Remember yesterday?  How I left the gym without underwear?  Well, so, today at least I remembered my underwear.

Today's morning workout was much easier and quicker than yesterday's.  Only a 45 minute abs-and-stretch class.  Followed again by a quick shower.

Today's shower was planned.  My bag was packed with underwear (!), street clothes, warm socks, and the most basic of makeup needs -- mascara and lip gloss.  But no shoes.  I was forced to wear my tennis shoes (sneakers, trainers, whatever you know them as).

It felt so weird.  The only times you'll ever see me in tennies are at the gym or doing yardwork while wearing an old pair.  Wearing jeans to a movie?  Nope.  Sightseeing?  Uh-uh.  Riding a motorcycle?  Never.

One of these days I'm going to walk out of the gym freshly showered and dressed completely.  Down to the underwear and shoes.

Just the Bare Facts

It's a good thing no one pants'd me yesterday morning.  They would have had the surprise of their lives. 

Trying to maintain that weight loss from our summer holiday, yesterday's morning work out entailed 35 minutes on the treadmill (3.5 mph and 3% incline), 10 minutes on the rowing machine, 20 minutes practicing ballet turns and jumps, 15 minutes of upper-body weight training, and 20 minutes of stretching.  My workout clothes were drenched afterwards.  Rather than just leave wearing sweaty clothes, I took a quick shower at the gym.

The thought of putting back on those sweaty clothes made my skin crawl.  But I hadn't come prepared for a shower and change of clothes. 

I hope no one saw what I did.  I can't believe I'm telling you this.

Before exercising, I had peeled off an outer layer of sweatpants, tee-shirt, and sweatshirt and left them in the locker.  Not having anything else to put on, I quickly stepped into my dry sweat pant and pulled the tee and sweatshirt over my head.  Commando style.  No undies.  No bra.  Zip.  Nada.  Nothing.

And no one (until now) was any the wiser.

If the Tennis Shoe Fits . . .

My exercise clothes were laid out the night before.  My before-bed routine was complete.  The blanket was tucked under my neck and sleep was delicious.

Too delicious, apparently.  Morning came much too soon.  Deirdre was way too alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic.  Today begins Spirit Week at the high school culminating with Homecoming this weekend.  She rifled through my closet looking for my house shoes to wear to school.  It's Pajama Day, after all.  She had the look down pat, complete with a pink eye mask stretched across her forehead.

The early morning search through my closet made a mess of my shoes.  Usually they're neatly placed with their mates.  In a rush to make it to the (easy) Pilates class, my hands reached into the dark closet and retrieved a pair of sneakers.  It wasn't until the class was on the floor removing our shoes that I even noticed the sneakers weren't from the same pair.  A blue shoe on one foot and a green shoe on the other. 

I feel like Little Miss Matched.  When is Crazy Dressed Day?

Trees Tag

The undersides of both of my upper arms have deep purple bruises from armpits to elbows. It’s the way my arms stopped my fall from a wire 40 feet in the air strung between two trees. There was a harness involved, as well as two carabiners that alternately locked onto the wires.

The stretch of the ropes course trail that caused the bruises was a series of 1X1 slats strung up in a series of trapeze-style “swings” lined up end to end. The object was to walk across the series of 1X1 swings to the next tree platform. It takes coordination, balance, agility, and strength. It’s not a timed course. Thank goodness.

Halfway across my quads and biceps were in need of a rest. I straightened my legs and stood up on one of the 1X1 “swings”. That felt good. My balance was there. My legs were straight. No strain on my quads from reaching for a swinging 1X1 with one foot while the other one was positioned on a different one. All the while the 1X1’s are swinging in opposite directions due to the pressure my feet are exerting on them to swing away from my center of gravity.

Pull those inner thighs together to bring yourself into a standing position rather than letting the 1X1’s get farther and farther apart until you’re doing the splits 40 feet in the air with just your two little (gloved) hand and two biners holding you up. Jumping the back foot to the next 1X1 swing and trying to push into a standing position at the same time threw off my balance. Down my arms came across the support wire.

It didn’t hurt at the time. Adrenaline has a funny way of keeping the pain at bay until you’re safely down on terra firma. It wasn’t until the drive home that I even noticed the bruises. Massive. Dark. Tender to the touch. Some with welts underneath.

But what a thrill ride the ropes course was! The trails are rated like ski slopes with one double black diamond. Next time I’ll try that one. Nothing like swinging in the trees on a gorgeous late fall afternoon to really make you feel alive!

Men and Stimpy

Every school day morning, throngs of teenagers appear on every third corner waiting for their bus to school. It’s the only time these creatures emerge from their lairs. Not until my kids were teens did I understand the strange habits of their species. One peculiarity is sleeping until noon on non-school days.

Dragging their sleepy butts out of bed yesterday for a nine o’clock Pilates class was torture to them. I found it quite enjoyable. They willingly dressed for the gym and participated, although not enthusiastically, in class.

As we headed back to the locker room afterwards, we passed some local firefighters who were there to work out. They have to stay in shape for their jobs. I wonder if “Fat Albert” Haynesworth could pass their physical test.

One of the firefighters spoke to me as we passed on the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, Deirdre whispered, “That’s one reason I like coming to the gym. To see the good looking firefighters.”

She won’t be so difficult to get out of bed for Pilates next week.

How'd THAT Happen?

All those magazines surrounding the checkout counters at grocery stores tout how to lose weight.  "Lose X pounds in X weeks!"  "Drop Y pounds by walking!" they scream at you while picturing smiling, supposedly-newly trim women in spandex or, worse, swimsuits.  And always in red.  To grab your attention.  Which works.  Especially with men.  Ever seen how a woman wearing a red bikini at the beach gets more stares from men than the polka-dot wearing woman?  But I digress.

This morning, after two weeks on holiday with the family to Scotland and England, the scale had fantastic news.  I dropped FIVE pounds!!!  In two weeks!

Maeve, my youngest, asked if it was due to all the walking.  After all, exploring ancient castles means lots of walking.  Yes was my immediate answer.  But then I stopped to think.  That's always a dangerous thing when a woman thinks.  Of course, men stop to think and sometimes never start again.  Oops, another jet-lag induced digression.

My conclusion is that walking was only half of the equation.  Sure, the calorie output was upped.  But the calorie intake was reduced as well.  Snacking was much more difficult while on holiday.  No easy access to even healthy snacks.  No late night TV watching with a bowl of popcorn.  Fewer nightcaps, mostly because buying a drink at a time rather than pouring one at home really adds to the cost of the trip.

At mealtime, I noticed that I ate larger portions than I normally do at home.  And felt a guilty pleasure, thinking that packing on the pounds is just part of vacation. 

Now I'm wondering if I can keep it up here.  Do I have enough willpower to walk more and snack less?

That's NEAT

Mr. Gaelic's office provides employees at a certain level or higher, and their spouses, with free extensive wellness programs including annual physicals, mammograms, colonoscopies, heart stress tests, hearing screenings, eye exams, complete blood work (amounting to over ten pages of reports), pap smears, skin cancer screening, and nutritional and physical coaches to keep you on track. As part of that, they recently emailed a video about how some people seem to be more metabolically advantaged than other people. You know the sort -- those people who can eat whatever they want and never gain an ounce.

I have to fight to keep my weight in check. Sure I'm at the gym or the ballet studio almost every day. But that's because I have the appetite of a teenage boy. Of course the opposite could be true that I have the appetite of a teenage boy because I work out so often.

Either way, I'm not sure I buy into the theory that my wellness clinic is putting forth. The latest video suggests that people who fidget have better weight management because of something called NEAT: non-exercise activity thermo-genesis. So for those of us, who pace the floor, tap our fingers, bounce our feet, and shift our weight when standing, all of that extra activity throughout the day can really add up. Some days on the treadmill it seems like an eternity to burn just 10 calories. That's like a couple of Tic-Tacs.

If I start bouncing off the walls and not sitting still, maybe I can become one of those metabolically advantaged people. Then I won't worry how many minutes I need to be on the rowing machine to make up for my Phish Food indiscretion the night before.

Caught in a Blind

I’m going blind. Blind, I tell you! A good friend told me that it happens at 40. Forty came, and went. (And don’t ask me how old I am. I won’t tell you. A woman who tells you her age will tell you anything.) But my eyesight was still pretty good, except for the nearsightedness brought on during law school.

But now! Just last night, going through a backlog of 2,485 emails (don’t ask), one caught my eye, “Key Music Group for Great Knees.” As a dancer, knees are very important. And as a dancer, music is again very important. My thoughts, when clicking on the link to the article, were of finding a new band’s tunes to download to my iPod for dancing.

Boy, was I surprised when I clicked on the article and began reading! There was nothing about music or bands or anything like that. Just information on building up your quads. Back to the email to make sure I clicked the correct link. Yep. Same article came up.

I was about to chalk it up as a bad bit of editing on the part of the writers. Until a closer look at the title destroyed any pretense of superiority. My eyes squinted at the screen,

“Key Muscle Group for Great Knees”

Blind, I tell you, blind!

There He Was, Just a-Swimmin' in the Pool

Going to a gym can be as much entertainment as it is exercise. On the main exercise floor are the gym rats. Don't forget about the older ladies in silent competition.

Yesterday's vigorous session on the stationary bike and pirouette practice in the studio was followed by a relaxing stretching session. But what followed the stretching topped everything. As I rounded the corner from the stretching area to head back to the locker room, there was a gaggle of women peering through the windows which overlook the pool. What in heaven's name could draw such attention?

A quick look and... Oh, well, then, that explains it! The pool was overrun with men!

The women began to critique each and every one. I stood silent, taking in their comments and judging the validity of those comments for myself. Until it dawned on me that we were doing the exact same thing that men get called on the rug for - objectifying them. Down the the locker room I went.

But passing the window and the women on my way out, I couldn't help but steal one last look. If only I could whistle.

Observations from a Stationary Bike

What is it about the gym and men? Just this morning, there, on either side of me, were two rather smelly guys. The one to the right was pedalling at such a slow rate that it surprised me that he had broken a sweat. However, when the guy took the bike to my left, whoo, you could smell him a mile away, the kind of which made me debate whether to cut my workout short and move onto another machine.

To keep my mind on something other than the stench emanating from both sides of me, my eyes wandered across the main floor. On the row of weight machines were five older women who kept preening for each other when they finished a set.

I'm better at this than you are.

Well I look better than you do.

Moving on... on the elliptical was a teddy bear of a guy. You know the look, shaggy three-day beard, full head of hair, big round belly.

Not much there either. On the weight machine in the middle of the floor, finally! Something to look at! A gym rat. Complete with a tee-shirt with the sleeves cut out to expose muscular upper arms, and tight biceps while he was doing his curls. Too old to be a college kid home from school. Not one of the local public servants like police or firefighter who work out there. Hard to pinpoint his story.

But enough of a distraction to keep me occupied until smelly guy on the left finished up. But his leaving brought my mind back to the bike. And the conclusion that it wasn't worth it having to be next to smelly guy on the right. Time to move on to the lone, solitary, isolated but very aerobically effective rowing machine.

Nope, nothing to look at there to keep me going after the first 500 metres.

Moving on again to the stretching area... One of the personal trainers was chastising a client for not stretching. He complained about travelling too much, and hiking, and biking. If anyone needed a personal trainer, he did.

Okay then... let's just finish the stretching and get out of here. Until a firefighter acquaintance stopped to talk on his way out. That led to an opportunity to have the fire department talk to the Girl Scout leaders' meeting sometime next year.

Perhaps if the Messrs. Smellies hadn't forced me away from my workout, then a Roundtable talk for the Girl Scout leaders wouldn't have been planned. Serendipity. Don't you love it?

Writer's Vamps

Ever had one of those days when the universe seems to be throwing so many monkey wrenches into your meticulously planned schedule that nothing will get done when you thought it would? Welcome to my world!

A nice aerobic workout following by my arabesque and pirouette turns at the gym was first up on the agenda, followed by errands, and possibly a leisurely lunch outside before picking up the kids from school for tonight's activities.

But no! First my Girl Scout co-manager stopped by to drop off 75 letters of appreciation that needed to be signed for the leaders' meeting tonight. Then my dog's best doggie friend stopped by while I was outside bringing in the trash cans from the street. The doggie's human and I spent the doggie play time catching up on life. Then another doggie friend stopped by for doggie day care - uninvited. Unfortunately, I wasn't outside when the other dog's human dropped him off or I would have told the human that my doggie day care center is closed until after the fall harvest.

Sitting down to sign the 75 letters, what better way to help fill the monotony than with Facebook and some Pandora playlists? That's when Facebook Former pinged me with the morning news, gossip, and just plain chitchat. He was flattering me with compliments of brains and..., well, just brains; and contended that if I had stayed in the state I could have been on the Supreme Court by now and every lawyer and lower-court judge would have the fear of God in them.

Yeah, right. Me as a justice? Don't think so. Until I get all those f'n letters signed, I'll take it under advisement. But me in long black flowing robes? What color lipstick would go with that?

A Complete 179

After yesterday, the only way things could go was up. And up they did. But it didn't look like it would at the start of my day.

You know how you set a time for service "professionals" to be at your house. Regardless of what service they provide - be it the cable guy, the plumber, the refrigerator delivery man, you name it - and that time isn't a hard and fast rule. It's more of a suggestion.

Which means that the roofers putting a new roof on our garage were over an hour late. I rejiggered my schedule and voila! My day wasn't a complete and total disaster.

Around noon-ish, I got to have an awesome workout. My heart rate was in the cardio zone for a sustained period; I didn't have any pressure on my knees so no pain from yesterday. The air in the space was cool so that as my body temperature went up I didn't end up a complete mess.

I talked to a friend who I hadn't been able to connect with in quite a while. Since I expended so many calories, I treated myself to a healthy lunch of McDonald's topped off with a sweet tea.

Life is good.

Mental Gymnastics

[Editor's note: Be sure to vote in the poll to the right of this blog.]

Facebook Former and I have been IM'ing each other on an almost nightly basis. He's been filling me in on the happenings in the political world of my birth state. For me, being involved in politics was a birthright.

My father was on the county party executive committee from before I was born, and the state party executive committee beginning in my teenage years. My mother was a voting inspector who worked the polls every election. My first memory of politics was when during the 1972 presidential election. She was working the polls as usual and I was with her. She told me to go outside and remove the bumper sticker from the back of our car since it was parked so close to the building and some people might consider that politicking.

Since I graduated from university a year early, my "gap year" was spent volunteering for a United States senatorial candidate. When he was elected, volunteering led to a paid position in his main district office which just so happened to be in the city where the university is located. It was the perfect opportunity because I had been accepted to the law school. My full-time position became part-time as torts and civil procedure and others filled my mornings; my afternoons were spent at the office, evenings studying. The senator wanted me in his Washington office, so off to DC I went.

After leaving the paid workforce to stay home with the kids, my ties to politics were reduced to nuggets gleaned from talks with my father. Without him, news from the state has dried up totally. Until the Facebook Former showed up and started peppering me with more information about the goings-on in state politics than I'd heard for years.

One thing I've noticed about IM'ing him is that he keeps me on my toes. He's very quick-witted and expects me to use parts of my brain that have lain dormant for a long time. Chatting online with him is both exhilarating and exhausting. Chatting with FF, I'm expected to know not only big words but nuances in labels and descriptions. After too many years of Big Bird, Anime, and Miley Cyrus, it's good to knock out the cobwebs and exercise the brain. Just slow down a little. After the other night I think I sprained my cerebellum.

In Loo of Reading

For a while, I was taking a book to the gym to read while I was on the aerobic-type machines exercising away. I finished a 600-plus page piece of 19th Century Russian literature partly while on the treadmill. But after seeing an article that said reading while exercising lessens your exercise session's intensity, I tossed the book for the iPod.

For a while, my reading was limited to waiting time. You know, waiting on line at the DMV, waiting at the doctor's office, waiting for your kid to lumber out of school to the car for carpooling to the after-school activities. Now, my waiting time is filled with knitting rather than reading.

I need to get back to my book. It's a good book. I'm keeping in the theme of 19th Century Russian lit but opting for a shorter tome this go-'round. I hate to do it, but I just might have to move my book to the ladies' room.

Exercise, My Arse

Today is the first Saturday of the new year. As with most people who make resolutions, those promises to ourselves are still fresh enough to be acted on. And acted on they sort of were at my local gym this morning.

The gym has two parking areas, a smaller one that's basically pull-in spaces along one part of the oval drive in front and a larger parking lot to the side of the gym. As I walked the dog past the gym this morning, the smaller parking area was completely full. One row of the spaces in the larger parking lot was full. However, there were cars parked along the curve of the oval in the fire zone when there were perfectly legal spaces just twenty feet away in the parking lot.

Why do people who are going to the gym to exercise park their cars illegally just so they don't have to walk an extra twenty feet?