For the last few weeks I’ve felt as though the Internet has seemed a little noisy. There are the regular updates from friends and the links to everybody’s posts/fan pages/random Facebook game that I haven’t blocked yet and Twitter tweets and retweets and people linking to their own stuff ten times a day and, and, and. I started avoiding the Internet a lot because it seemed like every time I opened it up there were a bunch of people (not everyone or my good friends, mind you) standing there, much like my kids do, screaming, “Look at me! Look at me! LOOOOOK AT MEEEEEEE!” I can be guilty of it too, to an extent, but I often find myself a the other end of the spectrum – I don’t take myself seriously enough. So, from where I stand and how I’m wired, I was feeling a little turned off by the whole thing. I caught myself longing for our upcoming family vacation so that I could unplug for a week and have a break from it all.
Then I had myself one of those things that the kids these days are calling an epiphany: I can unplug from the Internet whenever I want to. I’m not on the Internet a lot over the weekends as it is, but will sometimes scroll through Twitter and Facebook as we’re out and about and occasionally interject my own thoughts into the pool of status updates. I decided that I would shut down for the weekend, apart from playing the occasional round of Scrabble/Words With Friends and maybe posting a photo or two to Flickr. Ignoring the constant buzz was a break that my brain needed and there was an added bonus: I didn’t scoop myself on post ideas for this here website.
So what did I do while I was free from the pressure of trying to think of witty status updates and the pressing need to quote my hilarious children? More of the usual, really.
My last status update on Friday afternoon read as follows:
Matthew: “Should we take the kids to (starts spelling) T-O-Y S-T” Graham: “TOY STORY 3? WE’RE GOING TO TOY STORY 3???” Well, we are now.
So that’s what we did. Little known fact: The original Toy Story was the first movie Matthew and I went to together, the weekend after that fateful first date. To be sitting in a theater ten years later with our three children was a little surreal. I won’t spoil the movie plot for those who haven’t seen it, but if you didn’t cry at the end then you have a piece of coal where your heart should be.
Saturday and Sunday was more of the usual: Groceries and errands, last day of soccer for the boys, the kids running through the sprinkler while I read a book. I opted out of taking more sprinkler photos because really, how many do I need? I took more than enough last weekend. I did, however, take a photo of Miss Emily’s new bathing suit because she asked me to.
We acquired that last Tuesday on our Girl’s Day Out and I kind of love it.
Saturday night was a Girls’ Night In at my friend Tamara’s house and it was a much needed time to reconnect. She and I have both returned to work full-time which means that we don’t get to participate in play dates anymore we pretty much never get to see Amanda, which is just wrong. Eight of us sat around Tamara’s table and we ate, we talked, we laughed. It was good.
Sunday marked the end of baseball season for Matthew and my brother. There was a weekend-long ball tournament wherein the team that ended the season in last place (theirs) then went on to WIN THE TOURNAMENT.
Yay, Levelers!
In non this-is-what-we-did news and more this-is-what-is-going-on-with-me news, I have had a bit of a wake-up call fitness-wise. I gave up weighing myself almost a year ago because I found that every time it wavered a pound or two I would get a little crazy. I gained two pounds! OH NO! or I lost two pounds! Bring on the chips! It was getting a little bit ridiculous so I quit the scale cold turkey and used my clothes to gauge where I was at. It has worked for me, for the most part.
When we went to Vegas we walked a lot, yes, but we also ate really tasty food and consumed more beverages than we normally do and I was pretty sure I had gained a few pounds while we were away. In the weeks since returning I had still been a little lax with my eating and exercise habits and was feeling a little uncomfortable in my own skin. Last weekend I decided it was time to bring out the scale to confirm that either a) I was being a silly girl or b) I had, in fact, gained weight. IT WAS B. Nine pounds, if you want the specifics.
I have cut out sugar, bread and treats until I get back to my non-jiggly weight. I’ve also made sure to stick to my daily workouts and both days this weekend I opted to run down the trail with Diesel.
He’s a happy camper to get some extra exercise and I’m a happy camper to know he’s got my back should we run into a bear or a cougar. I’m also happy to report that a week after finally stepping on the scale, I’m down three of those nine pounds. Six to go!
I guess that all of the above is really about finding balance. It’s something that I have always struggled with, and probably always will, but I find that the swings are getting less wild and dramatic and more like gentle sways back and forth. For the most part.
I talk about fitness and health (as it relates to me) every once and awhile. The crib notes version for any new readers: I spent the first twenty-five years of my life as a “Big Girl”, save for a stint in high school where I decided that eating is for losers. Literally.
In my early twenties I tired of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin, consulted a dietitian and made huge strides. I started working out, eating healthier and before I knew it my thighs no longer rubbed together when I walked. I didn’t even know that was possible.
I had a few hiccups along the way, but they mostly related to getting pregnant and gaining sixty pounds. I measured forty-eight inches in circumference. That’s FOUR FEET, people.
I am in no way perfect when it comes to eating well and exercising. I try (Oh, how I try) and I have figured out what works for me (Less carbs, more veggies and protein) but I am in a constant state of slipping up, beating myself up, and setting myself straight. Time and time (and time) again. I hope that the self-criticism will cease before I’m eighty but the forecast is not looking good.
In order to keep the (critical) demons at bay and to feel (mostly) at home in my body, I exercise. I attend a Boot Camp two nights a week (and have signed up for the four mornings per week class during the summer) and fill the rest of my days with other workouts. The majority of those workouts have been of the Jillian Michaels variety and while they are a good workout, yes, I’m getting bored. And it’s getting nice outside.
Before becoming a blimp while hosting my firstborn child, I was a runner. I was a runner after having said child as well, but somewhere in the blur of having three kids in under four years I got out of the habit. My knees also could not hack it anymore. I had surgery for patella femoral syndrome back when I was twenty and the symptoms had all reappeared. Hence the boot camp and the DVD workouts and the power walking on my lunch hour. I’ve always missed running, though. I’m one of THOSE people.
In the past few months our fitness instructor has added some running to our class and…my knees haven’t hurt. At all. I wondered if maybe I should try running again. I bought some new Nike Airs, downloaded the Couch to 5K App and hit the road. I’m on week 6 (I cheated and started on Week 3 because my cardio is in pretty good shape) and so far, no knee pain. All I need to do is get some new (good) running music and earbuds that don’t fall out (Suggestions?) and I will be perfectly happy with this new regime.
As for the body image stuff, I’m working on it. I know in my head that I’m in decent shape but put me in front of a mirror and the Mean Girl voice in my head pipes up. My thighs are too muscular, that inch you can pinch above my hips shouldn’t be there, my stomach should be more defined. It’s all ridiculous, I know it is, and I need it to stop. Not only for my sake but for Emily’s.
I’ve got a beautiful little girl who is looking to me as a model for how to grow into a woman. I never speak negatively about myself in front of her but as she grows up she’s going to catch on when I make self-deprecating comments. I want her to feel beautiful in her skin, regardless of her size and shape. I want that for me, too. Nobody can do it for me, so it’s time to stop the noise.
Ready, set, GO.
It is no secret to regulars around these parts that I have gotten back into fitness over the last two years. I attend a high-intensity Boot Camp two nights a week and subject myself to various Jillian Michaels torture exercise DVD’s the other days of the week. I looked into lunchtime fitness classes but with the driving/showering time (and the immense cost), they just weren’t going to work. Thus, there are a few days of the week that I wake up before our rooster crows in order to fit a workout into my day.
One thing that I’m nor sure if I’ve mentioned here is that I used to be a runner. Please paint that last sentence in a sad song of remorse and regret and longing.
I took up running when we moved here in 2001 (Nine years ago and, also! More than a lifetime ago if you are one of my children). I had been doing step classes in Vancouver when we lived there and loved the workout I got from them. We moved to our wee town and at the time, there were no fitness classes to be found. I thought that I should maybe start running and my (Amazing!) husband bought me The Complete Book Of Running For Women. He trained with me, he encouraged me and once I was up to running 5K per day he…quit. He hates running. He did it for me.
I loved running. Foot to ground, steady rhythm, a clear mind. I use “loved” in the past tense because, alas, my knees (Patella femoral syndrome, surgery at the age of twenty, old fart-ed-ness) cannot seem to bear it anymore. Believe me, I’ve tried.
While running may no longer be an option, speed walking is still on the radar. Especially since the weather is getting warmer and the sun is shining and OH EM GEE I work only a few blocks from a beautiful lake.
This past week I indulged in a pair of “straight-leg” yoga pants because the ones I already owned left nothing (NOTHING) to the imagination. I also bought a hoodie to shield me from the North wind.
I thought I should take my big camera with me but a bag that size does not an effective power walk make. I decided to make do with my iPhone camera. Besides. I have a bunch of iPhone photography apps that I’ve never used – it would be a great excuse to finally try them out. I ended up using the Camera Bag app exclusively. Vahid made me download it when I was in Portland and I now see why he was so enamored.
I headed North towards the lake and found more graffiti/art along the way.
Aw, look at the sweet vandal apologizing to the other vandals.
I don’t know what this means but I’m sure it’s about peace, love and happiness.
Or not. Whatever. I can’t even draw stick men properly, so I’m appreciative of people who color outside the lines.
This one made me think of Emily.
What?
I’d totally sit here and eat my lunch but I may have to lay a blanket down first.
Oh, you would too.
One more for the road.
I’d like to meet this “Greg”. He appears to be highly regarded.
A mere block away I found myself at the Japanese gardens. I did not go into the gardens because (The walkway was under construction, and) I was on a mission. I did take a few photos of the artwork around the gardens.
There are Ogopogos? As in, PLURAL? “At lunch”? I’m never swimming in the lake again.
Then I saw this.
I just kind of love that one.
I carried along, arrived at the lake, and saw this group of sculptures.
I happen to love groups of three for some strange reason.
Oh, wait. The lake! You’d probably love to see the view and, lo! I took a photo. Shocking, I know.
Why, yes, I do know how lucky I am to live here.
I was wondering if I would see The Peach and then there she was.
She’s a concession stand that is put away for winter (Where, exactly, is one of the great mysteries of life) and comes out when the tourist spring/summer/season is upon us.
I kept trucking along and noticed a cherry tree that was blossoming.
Yes, Vancouverites, you had blossoms in February, but you all come here in the summer to experience a true summer, so.
The halfway point of my walk was the S.S. Sicamous.
She used to do tours of the lake until that unfortunate day where she got stuck in reverse and beached herself. I’m kidding. I think. I have no idea what the real story is because we’re too cheap to pay money for the tour.
After taking that photo I tucked my iPhone in my pocket and headed back to the office. I had an App track my progress for my walk and I think I did alright. 4.89 KM, 38 minutes, 296 calories burned.
I felt refreshed, invigorated and ready to tackle the afternoon. There were no downsides to the excursion other than the fact that I had only packed soup and veggies for lunch. Suffice it to say, I spent the better part of my afternoon dreaming of Sandwiches of Epic Proportions that might quell the unending hunger.
I’m just really happy, you guys. My hatred of winter is well-documented and my return to work has been an unending source of internal turmoil. But now? The sun is shining. My endorphins are exploding. I’m overworked and overbooked but I’m taking it all in stride.
If anyone dares bring up next Winter, there will be a flaming bag of poo on their doorstep in the near future.
If you have spent any amount of time reading the vitriol I spew onto the Internet, you know that I have an unabashed love of Diet Coke. Any time I spend with friends, whether they be local or elsewhere, the knowledge of my affinity for the carbonated goodness comes up at some point in our conversations. If I did a search on my site I might be a little embarrassed about the number of Diet Coke references. (Yep.)
Whenever I have been given flack about my consumption I have been quick to retort with the justification for my habit. I don’t smoke! I don’t do drugs! I exercise almost daily! I eat really well! LET ME HAVE MY DIET COKE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS GOOD. Friends of mine have given up the nectar of the gods for various reasons. One friend did a cleanse and couldn’t drink it again after she was done. Another friend agreed to give it up for a year at the insistence of her husband. He gave it up recently and the phrase, “I awoke today to the sensation that someone had plunged the angry end of an ice pick into my left eye” further confirmed to me that giving up the goods was the definition of insanity. He is kind of an expert on crazy, so.
I’m back working in an office (Duh) and we have a recycling bin. A few weeks ago, the admin person in charge of recycling brought me my very own box for recycling. I (Of course) Twittered about it. “Hi. My name is Angella and I’m a Diet Coke-aholic.” The fact that I had a box all to myself is funny! I threw the box under my desk and didn’t give it much thought. I would finish a bottle, reach under my desk and toss it into the box.
Last Wednesday I did my usual under-the-desk toss and heard a sound I had not heard before. The bottle I discarded had bounced and landed at my feet. I looked under my desk and saw the following:
That box is full of bottles that I had emptied in the previous two weeks. It did not include what I drank at home or while in California. I sat there, smacked in the face with the reality of my DC consumption. It was like a veil had come off of my eyes and what I was looking at was the exact opposite of pretty.
I picked up the bottle that had rebounded and looked through the ingredients in the hope that I could argue in favor of the D to the C.
Carbonated water. I drink a lot of water because I know how good it is for you and I happen to be a huge fan of the fizz, so we’re good.
Caramel color. But of course. How else would DC be the color of…burnt caramel?
Phosphoric acid and citric acid. OK…acid doesn’t sound good but citrus fruits are good for you, so it cancels out. Or something.
Aspartame. Hence the 0 calorie count. Then in brackets (Contains Phenelalanine). Uh…I don’t know how to pronounce it but it sounds very medical-like. Or frightening. I’m not sure which.
Flavors. Well, then. Not so scary sounding but kind of…vague. Similar to “all meat” hot dogs.
Sodium benzoate. I know what sodium is and happen to love salty snacks but benzoate sounds like some kind of hemorrhoid treatment.
Caffeine. Well, duh. That’s part of the reason I drink this stuff.
Acesulfame-potassium. NO IDEA what the first thing is but potassium is a vitamin! Or maybe a mineral. It’s in bananas and bananas are good for you, so there’s that.
I sat there thinking that all of my Diet Coke consumption may not be the best thing for me. I would drink one 791ML bottle in the morning and another one at lunch. If I was tired/bored/hungry I would grab a can out of the office fridge or at the gas station/grocery store while out and about.
I can’t believe I just admitted that.
I came home on Wednesday night and told Matthew and my brother Lance about my day. That my recycling box was ridiculous. That I had a crazy idea to quit drinking Diet Coke. They heard me out and then encouraged me to do so. Matthew is the one who deals with recycling and confesses that he often worried that people were judging him on the amount of empties he was returning. The amount was a little unnatural. Lance has helped out with the recycling and knows all too well how epic my consumption was. He thought it was pretty rad that I was choosing to quit of my own volition.
Going cold turkey seemed a little drastic and I am not a fan of headaches (Who is?) so I decided that I would cut it out gradually. I had four bottles in the fridge and decided that I would have one a day until they were gone.
I haven’t completely ruled out caffeine as my coffee consumption is pretty minimal. My morning hazelnut “latte” is made with instant coffee and that stuff is pretty weak. How do I know this? Because whenever I brew a pot for company or treat myself to a coffee shop latte my head feels like it is floating and, uh, I get cleaned out. Ahem. We’ll just focus on eliminating the carbonated chemicals for now.
Thursday was…rough. I felt like I could feel the pistons misfiring in my brain and could hear a sort of buzzing sound. Totally weird and a little hard to concentrate but at least I didn’t have a headache.
On Friday I thought I’d take a pre-emptive strike and brewed a cup of coffee in the office Keurig. Yeah…it wasn’t pretty. No coffee for me!
The weekend went well and Monday morning saw me driving to work without a Diet Coke in hand. Yes, I used to drink it first thing in the morning. I know. I am so ashamed.
So. Here I sit, chemical (and mostly caffeine)-free for four days. And do you know what? I feel really, really good. My head is clearer, I feel healthier and I’m sleeping so much better. I’m not ruling out having it as a treat when we go out for dinner and such but there isn’t a drop of the stuff in my house.
I don’t believe it either.
I’ve walked a long and windy road when it comes to health and fitness in my life. I spent the first twenty-four years of my life as a Big Girl, save for a stint in high school (and another when I was twenty-one) where I would go for days at a time without eating anything and would exist off of water and tea. I wanted so desperately to be skinny and it was the only way I knew how to get there.
I finally learned about healthy eating and exercise in my mid-twenties, and apart from carrying three babies to term, I have managed to stay in a healthy BMI range. However. Spending over two decades being uncomfortable in my own skin left its scars. I used to pine for pencil-thin thighs instead of the tree-trunks I was born with. I wanted the tiny, almost boyish frame some of my friends had instead of the wide shoulders and ample hips I inherited from my family’s gene pool. Even after I got fit and healthy I wished I could be just a little bit smaller.
Nearly three years ago I came down with a stomach flu that was so violent and thorough that by the end of the weekend I had lost the last five pounds of baby weight from having Miss Emily…plus an additional five more. I was skinny. Everyone commented on how thin I was, that I was so skinny and of how I “disappeared when I turned sideways.” I ate it up (Pun intended).
Having three small kids close together meant that I simply did not have the time nor the energy for exercise in my life. I wish I could say that I kept my skinny frame by eating well but it simply was not the case. Breakfast would consist of my regular oatmeal and a coffee, though I cut the portion size of the oatmeal down. Lunch would consist of a salad, unless I had done some baking with the kids. If that were the case, I would count my few spoonfuls of cookie dough as “lunch” and carry on with my day. Dinner would be one of our regular meals but my portion size was so small that it hardly counted. I would fill the rumbles in my stomach with copious amounts of water and Diet Coke.
I kept this up for over a year.
Nearly two years ago I got frustrated with my lack of body strength and missed the adrenaline rush that I would get from a good workout. I signed up for a local fitness class and being the body type that I am, soon saw muscles where there used to be just skin and bone. While I loved that I could help to move a couch if needed, I hated seen my pencil-thighs get thicker. And while it was nice to actually have an arse for the first time in my life (instead of the flat expanse it used to be), I hated that my skinny jeans no longer looked good on me.
I now sit at five to seven pounds heavier than the weight I was when I was my skinniest. I don’t know the exact weight I am, as I gave up stepping on the scale a few months ago. If I saw I had lost a few pounds I would be so elated that it was ridiculous. I would then eat a bit more junk because I had the “room.” I would of course gain it back and then be bummed out because I gained two pounds. TWO POUNDS. I got tired of the cycle and vowed to keep away from the scale.
This has helped immensely in the body image department because I’m not so fixated on a number. The only downside is that if I am having a “fat day” I cannot use the scale to tell me to just shut up already. This past week I had been feeling especially uncomfortable in my skin due to certain female hormones. I also spend the bulk of my days working from home in my favorite pair of yoga pants. Whenever I run into town I will throw on a pair of jeans and think that they’re getting tight. They’re not getting tight; they just don’t give the way yoga pants do. I know this in my head and yet, still battle feelings that I’m getting thicker.
I am thankful that I have a husband and good friends who I can talk to about my body image struggles with. They remind me that the bony look, complete with hip and breastbones jutting out iss not attractive in any way. Friends have told me that they worried about me during that year and when we look back on those photos I just look harsh and…old. Matthew likes the fact that his wife is now fit, has a firm tush and that her chest is no longer deflated. What? He’s a boob man.
This past Friday we had a fancy Christmas party to attend. After spending the week feeling bloated I had been worried that my little black dress would somehow not fit. I pulled it out and what do you know? It fits the same as it always does.
I’m thinking that it’s time I learned to embrace my curves. And maybe only wear my yoga pants to the gym.
How Does Your Garden Grow?
Date: Tuesday June 23, 2009Posted in: Honey, Life In The Sticks, fitness&health, me
I do not have a “Green Thumb.” I grew up with a Dad who could (and can) create beautiful gardens. Flowers in every color under the sun and fruits and vegetables that were so succulent that it was a little bit ridiculous. While I am like my Dad in looks and a number of personality traits, I did not inherit his green thumb. One summer I house sat for friends of his who had two cats and a home full of plants. I managed to keep the cats alive (Even thought they kept bringing me dead birds. EW) but by the time the couple returned from their trip approximately half of their indoor plants had turned brown.
It turns out that plants need water. Who knew? (You probably do. Shut up.)
When I was a single gal in Vancouver my Dad would buy me plants…only to witness them die a slow and painful death at the hands of his daughter. He finally gave up and bought me some trailing vines. Those need very little water to live . This should be a match made in Heaven. Except that I killed each and every one. I am awesome like that. (Related: HOW WAS I ALLOWED TO HAVE CHILDREN?)
A short while later I married a man with Dutch blood and moved to an acreage with a huge plot laid out in which to host a garden. The first few years we lived here we (he) didn’t plant anything as we were getting settled, building a business and starting a family. The last few years have been a whole ‘nother story.
I was going to post a photo of the entire garden (I actually took one then subsequently deleted it) but settled on a photo of one of our rows of spinach. Just know that we have everything from strawberries, to peppers, to tomatoes, to green onions, to squash to….a whole bunch of other stuff. I am too lazy to walk out and read the garden labels and also think that such minute detail is overrated.
This past weekend was our (Matthew’s) first harvest. We had our first haul of rhubarb and strawberries.
On Sunday afternoon, Matthew decided to make a Strawberry Rhubarb crumble. Yes, he made dessert ON FATHER’S DAY. Truth be told, I offered to make it. He was just so proud of the fruits (Ha!) of his labor that he wanted to make it all by himself. Fine. And fine, it was.
Words cannot express how amazing it was (or how I could not stop myself from taking an extra bite (or twenty)). I asked him where he found the recipe and his response was, “I think it might be from a blog.”
I walked over to his laptop and then laughed out loud. It was Smitten Kitchen’s Strawberry-Rhubarb crumble. OF COURSE it was good. It’s SMITTEN KITCHEN for crying out loud. You all need to make this recipe. STAT.
Despite my history of being the Harbinger of Death to any and all plant life, I have always wanted an herb garden. This may be news to any new readers, but you old school folks know that I love to cook and even have a recipe site. It’s been far too long since I posted anything over there, but there is the whole (LACK OF) TIME ISSUE. I also have been in a bit of a cooking rut that I’ve been slowly breaking out of.
Back to the herb garden. We went to the local plant nursery, I picked out the herbs I use the most (Basil, Oregano, Thyme and Rosemary) and planted them in containers. We have a bay window by our kitchen table that faces South, which is perfect for getting all of the sunshine the herbs need. A month later and they are thriving. I do believe that this is a miracle of some sort.
Matthew asked me what happens next to which I replied, “I have no idea.” I consulted Google but the instructions I found are way too vague for a novice like me. I need someone to say, “After XXX days, do THIS. And maybe THAT. Then use them to cook with.”
Help?
And finally (the crowd perks up just like a congregation does when the Pastor starts a sentence with, “In conclusion…”) I have been branching out in my recipes lately. We had gotten into a terrible rut of eating the same thing the same nights of the week and have been bored. I’ve been trying one to two new recipes per week. On Friday I made something that I absolutely love but had never attempted to make before: California rolls!
Not only did they look like California Rolls, they tasted like California rolls. Yet another miracle. I’m always open for new recipes (and tips for what to do with my herbs), so if you are so obliged you can hook me up.
So, that’s some of what we’ve been up to. A little bit of being granola mixed with a little bit of being Star Trek (A new frontier and all of that). Next thing you know we’ll get some cows and I’ll be milking them at 5 am. If it were up to my husband that would totally happen but, um, NO.
It is no secret that I actually like to exercise. No, really.
I prefer exercise of the cardio variety. I am sure that yoga and pilates are all fine and good but the few times I tried them I have felt bored. I am an excitable woman who (apparently) talks very animatedly, including sweeping hand movements. (Guard your bevvies, friends.) I don’t notice that I am doing it but those close to me tell me that it is true. I may need to see video evidence, but in the meantime will trust that they are not lying to me.
On the exercise front, I attend a Boot Camp two evenings a week. The other five days a week I work out at home. I crack out the Wii fit once in awhile but am often pressed for time and the many steps you need to get through to just WORK OUT ALREADY make me a little grumpy. Especially at 6am. I usually just do the 30 Day Shred but have been growing tired of Jillian. Yes, she gets results, but I’ve been listening to her telling me “not to phone it in” for over six months now. I need something new.
I would love to go for a run. To be a RUNNER. I used to run, you know. Back before I birthed three monster-sized babies and got old and stuff. Age aside, it’s my knees that keep me from hitting the trails again. I had knee surgery when I was twenty and that got me through the next decade. Now, if I try running, I am in pain and limping in no time. Running is off of the menu. BOO.
I have been trying to figure out what else to do and during this past week or so I was inspired by Linda. She has taken up bicycling and her tweets about it had piqued my interest. She interviewed a seasoned cyclist about buying and riding a bicycle over at Bodies in Motivation. Consider me motivated.
You see, two years ago I asked for a bike and trailer (for the kids) for Mother’s Day. I towed them in it…once. HAVE YOU SEEN THE SIZE OF MY CHILDREN? I use the trailer as a walking/jogging stroller but it is physically impossible for me to tow my children on a bike. I may be strong, yes, but even I have my limits.
On Saturday morning I thought that I would blow the dust off of my bike and see how it all transpired. Before leaving, I wondered if there might be an iPhone App that I could use. OF COURSE THERE IS. I downloaded the Bike Your Drive App (FREE) (HAVE I MENTIONED THAT I LOVE MY PHONE? Yes? Well, just a reminder then) and set off on my adventure. (AT 6:30 am. Yep.)
A mere two kilometers into my bike ride, I encountered a bunch of heifers. No, I am not trash-talking other women. There were a bunch of cows on either side of the road. Not knowing if any of them were bulls (Who charge! And I have a bike with red on it!), I came to a stop. All four of the creatures looked at me with their beady little (BIG) eyes. I decided to power through and booked it down the middle of the road. I (of course) reached into my bag and shot a photo of one of the cows as I zoomed by.
Can you see why I was so scared? Look at how rabid it looks! And about to charge! I should have called the conservation officers to SAVE ME FROM THE WILD BEASTS.
Or, possibly, I should chill the heck out.
I kept going, for I had a destination in mind. Meadow Valley.
I may live in the sticks, but Meadow Valley really is OUT THERE. It is pretty beyond all get-out, as you will see, and Matthew would LOVE to live there. Um, NO. Living ten minutes away from any amenities is far enough for me.
Before I knew it I had made it out to the valley. I snapped a couple of photos.
I pulled out my iPhone to see what my biking stats were and noticed there was cell service (We don’t have cell service at our house).
(Conversation upon arriving home went as follows. Me: There is cell service in Meadow Valley! Him: You Twittered while you were out there, didn’t you? Me: Busted.)
Upon arriving home I felt awesome. According to my App I had been riding for 51 minutes, traveled 13.98 km, burned 160 calories and had an average speed of 15.2 km/hour. I don’t know if that is all good or not; I just know that it felt wicked. Consider me converted to the House of (Bike) Love.
