Yeah, I beat him

Every single year around March, I start to say that I'm going to run Kingston's Beat Beethoven race, a fundraiser for the Kingston Symphony.

The race is an eight-kilometre run through the city's street with the goal of making it to the finish before the symphony finishes playing a selection of his music.

You've got to make it in less than 50 minutes.

I've never tried the run because every year when the run would roll around I'd realize there was no way I could walk it, much less run it.

This year, I've been running since January and I was ready to beat Mr. Ludwig.

Last Sunday was blistering hot. We were all sweating before the race started. The Fiance was with our boy so I had to run by myself. I've never run a race alone. When I did the 10-kilometre a couple months ago, I ran with a friend.
This time, it was just me.

I had my heart set on beating Beethoven because I was sure this was the one time in my life when I knew I'd fit enough to actually take him on.

There were 400 runners registered this year. I didn't care if I came last, I just wanted to hear the symphony still playing when I crossed the finish line.

I've been training with Tracie Smith-Beyak since January, running twice a week plus doing two powerwalking sessions a week. We've learned to run downhill and downhill. We've worked on starts. We've worked on dips (I'll let you take one of Tracie's classes to figure that one out.) It was now or never.

I set off on a good pace and kept glancing at my watch to see how I was doing. I was cutting it close, I was sure.

It was so bloody hot that two people near me dropped and had to be helped by medical personnel but I had enough Diet Coke in me to keep me hydrated.

As I neared the finish line on Ontario Street, I was sure the clock said 49 minutes. I had just one minute to run all the way down the street and duck under the clock so I dug deep, all the way to brand new $170 running shoes and sprinted.

I don't know who it was but someone near the end was shouting "You can do it! Push it. Push it real good!" (Um, Ok, that sounds like Salt N' Pepa but you get my drift.)

I ducked under the clock and then threw up in my mouth.

But I made it in 45 minutes - (I mistook 44 for 49 minutes...) - and when you have a baby, you're used to a little barfy barf.




Check out my official stats here.

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Run, Sarah, Run!

If you had asked me anytime from 1996 to 2004 - the formative years I was a student at Queen's University and a new reporter at The Kingston Whig-Standard - I would have boasted that I loved smoking and I never regretted indulging in my habit.

I smoked off and on from the time I was 14 years old until the time I was 27.

I quit for good about two and a half years ago.

But when I was a smoker, especially when I was in my young 20s, I'd drive past (because I was a smoker I always drove, never walked) people running in their snazzy leggings and running jackets and would always secretly wish that I could run, too.

I would never have said it out loud but I secretly longed to be able to go back to those days in high school when the insecure part of me chose to take up hardcore smoking instead of pursuing team sports that I'd played all my life. Something in me back then thought it would be much cooler to be a party girl than an athlete.

And I never looked back.

Until my 20s when I lived in Kingston.

The thing about Kingston is that there are bloody runners everywhere. Runners around Queen's. Runners downtown. Runners in Portsmouth Village. Runners on Bath Road. Runners. Runners. Runners.

I tried running once when I was a super smoker. The very athletic ex-boyfriend could attest to the fact that I was a sad sack of poo that day just trying to run around the block. He ran behind me, singing Jennifer Lopez songs, trying to propel my fat ass up the hill. By the time I got home, I was wheezing so hard, I thought my lungs were going to implode or explode - basically disintegrate.

I'd decided over the past few years that I could be a nonsmoker but I was never going to be in shape. I could be a skinny size 10 but in shape? Not going to happen.

Then I got pregnant and gave birth.

Once you give birth - yes, it is miraculous - everything else seems unbelievably easy. Run a half marathon, you say? Hah! Bring it on.

I also decided I wanted the best for my baby and that means eating well and exercising so that when he is five, 10, 15 years old, he will also eat well and exercise. I want him to live the fullest, happiest and healthiest life he can.

I started running in the beginning of January with Tracie Smith-Beyak's Learn to Run group. Her company, Body Now 4 Mums, gets new mommies going - and going hard. We run seven or eight kilometres every week together.

And now the big news: Today, without the support of my running mamas, I took to the streets in Kingston's Twosome 5K race. It was the first time I've ever pinned a number to my chest. It's a high.

I had three goals today:

1) Not to come in last place;
2) To run in less than 35 minutes. Two weeks ago, I ran five kilometres in 36 minutes so I was hoping to shave off a minute;
3) To run, not walk once.

I can proudly say, today was a great day in my life - no, not nearly as exciting as giving birth, but nothing will ever top that. With just half a kilometre to go, I picked up the pace and passed a couple of people. I didn't come last.

I ran a good 33-minute race - two minutes less than I was hoping for.

And, I ran the entire thing.

Sure, I got my butt kicked by 99 per cent of the runners but I still did it.

Today, I was not that out-of-shape smoker staring at the runners from my car.

I was (am) a runner.

Next race: The 10-kilometre run in April.

And then maybe the half marathon this fall.

I know many of you don't actually believe I did it: So click here and check out number 123.

It's the new weight-loss-fitness secret no one has ever written about: Have a baby.

(Thanks, Little Man.)

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Let them eat quiche!

My dad is really, really tired of hearing about poo and all things associated with poo. Baby poo. Baby farts. Baby diapers. Baby poo. Baby pee. Yellow poo. Brown poo. Yellow poo with green flecks. Poo that seems thicker after a couple of meals of formula instead of breast milk.

Poo, poo, poo.

Well, today, three of my peeps and I talked about baby poo, baby farts and baby diapers and there was no daddy-o there to say "enough already! Can't we talk about something other than bowel movements?"

We did talk about other things: Daycare, naps, strollers, exercise, jobs, university, first babies, second babies and breastfeeding but we were also free to talk about the p-word.

Every Wednesday morning, a group of us get together with trainer Tracie Smith-Beyak and exercise our buns off. I've talked about Tracie and her Kingston company, BodyNow4Mums, here before but I wanted to pay homage to her again - tis the season to be thankful.

Since I joined her power walking/conditioning group in October, I've felt and seen my body change. My baby tummy is flatter. My legs feel stronger and I can lunge with the best of 'em. Sure, I've also been exercising on my own but I always crap out when I'm going solo. I skip that last set of crunches or decide to cut my jog by 10 minutes but you can't pull a fast one when you've got Tracie watching over you.

This week, I went to the gym to go for a run. Usually, when I've been inactive for a few months - or, nine months when I was pregnant - I can only run a three-minute race. Seriously.

This week, I power-walked for five and then ran my heart out for another 15 minutes and then power walked for five more minutes. In total, I covered almost two kilometres and burned 200 calories. I chalk it up to my Wednesday power mornings.

But something else important is happening on Wednesday mornings: Us gals are bonding - not just over babies but feeling the burn. And this week, we gathered at one of the women's houses for quiche, muffins, French toast, and gab.

One of the women in the Wednesday morning class told us all a story about being out in Kingston and seeing a sad and exhausted-looking new mommy. She said the new mommy confessed she didn't have any friends with babies and felt very alone. The woman in my class gave the new mommy her phone number and said to call at any time.

I've been there. My two best girlfriends also don't have babies yet and so there have been times I wanted some company - just someone to say "Hey, do you share your bed with your baby?" or "How much did you spend on your baby jogging stroller?"

So, to all you new mommies (or soon to be mommies who'll be ready to work out in a couple of months) visit Tracie's site, e-mail her or give her a call and see if one of her classes work for you. (Christmas present, wink, wink.) And come hang out with us.

This is my way of reaching out to those of you who need someone to listen to you - and won't judge you if you do want to ask about poo.

Once the winter BodyNow4Mums term starts, we're going to hang out after some of our classes - a chance for mommies to talk, chill and eat quiche.

Plus, I make a mean cracker and cheese plate you really don't want to miss.

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Don't Cha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me

I've used it as a rainjacket. So has the BF.
Once, it was a picnic blanket.
I think I used it to wrap breakables once when I was moving after I ran out of wrapping paper, Kleenex, toilet paper, bubble wrap and towels.
Once during a big fight with the BF, I got all defiant and refused to sleep in our room with him. Thinking, 'I'll show him,' I took the couch. (The first and last time that's happened, I'll tell you.) I was so stubborn that I refused to go back in our bedroom for blankets so I just pulled out all my jackets from the closet. It may have been in that pile.
But yesterday, something miraculous happened.
At exactly 9:45 a.m., I used my running jacket as, wait for it, a running jacket.
Well, a power walking jacket is more like it but it was the first time I've ever used it for exercise.

I got it for Christmas in 2002.

As part of Operation Smokin' Body, I have joined a power walking/conditioning class.
If you're pregnant or you've just had a baby, you should check out a group I found called Body Now 4 Mums run by a lovely drill sergeant named Tracie Smith-Beyak.

I didn't even know Kingston had a training group that focuses on pre and post-natal workouts until I saw a picture of some women (rock on, girls) working out in my very own paper.

Every Wednesday, we lunge, squat (damn you squat! - hey, doesn't that sound very Lady Macbeth-ish?) power walk, walk stairs, stretch and have some gab time.
And it kicks the crap out of me. Just cause ya pop out a babe eight weeks ago doesn't mean Tracie - who, by the way, did 2,000 crunches last week, which is double the amount Former Abs Queen Britney Spears used to do in a week - is going to be kind.
She kicks our butts and let me tell you ... mine spread out during pregnancy so I need some serious butt kicking and toning.

So, why go through the torture of working out just weeks after giving birth:
1. You have a responsibility to yourself to look and feel good;
2. You have a responsibility to your child/children to look and feel good;
3. You have a responsibility to your man/woman to look and feel good. This one actually may be the most important because - stay with me, folks - if you don't look and feel good, your man/woman won't dig you, want you, do you, which means, you won't feel good - so what's the point of working out halfheartedly and not seeing any results? Nothing really. That's why I like the thought of Tracie going all G.I. Jane on my butt over the next few months and going full throttle.

No man says "Hey! I've got a great idea. I want to be with a frumpy hag, who only wears pink flowered track pants, which hopefully hug her mommy belly and are so tight, her underwear is cutting each bum cheek in two. Maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll never do anything with her hair. She'll only wear it in a ponytail in a big scrunchie. (A shoutout here to Carrie Bradshaw.) And, if there is a God, she'll buy and wear Crocs in every single colour. But most of all, please let her be 17 pounds overweight and totally out of shape. A guy could only be so lucky ...")

You were hot when you met him/her and so you have a responsibility to keep your hotness. Forget aging gracefully. It's all about the god damn lunges.

Don't you think fewer people would have affairs if their lovers didn't let themselves go?

I do. Maybe that stings, but it's a cruel, cruel world, people.

Next week, I'll be back in my running jacket, hoofing it up the stairs and lunging my heart out.

It's survival of the fittest.
And here is the rest of it.

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