Last night was my first experience at DrexelBrook fitness center. A 2-roomed facility next to the corporate offices (the place where I drop off my rent and bills), it is an OK gym. A few treadmills, 2 elliptical machines (1 of which is broken), weight machines, mats and yoga balls. For fifteen bucks a month, you really can't beat it.
Music is my primary motivator in life and the gym is no different. I am praying my iPod mini doesn't give out on me soon. I think I have crafted the perfect Thirty Minute Walking Playlist, if I do say so myself:
Warm Up:
F*ck You (Untouchable Face) - Ani DiFranco
I Wanna Be With You - Adam Hood
Starting to pep up a bit:
Jimi Thing - DMB
Jump into a fast walk:
CrazyBitch - Buckcherry
Mississippi (Cover) - Dixie Chicks with Sheryl Crow
Every Picture Tells a Story - Rod Stewart
In a good rythym:
I'll Fly With You - Gigi D'Agostino
Rythm of My Heart - Rod Stewart'
Only Heart - John Mayer
Get Money - Junior Mafia
Just Don't Happen Twice - Kenny Chesney
How Many Licks - Lil Kim
Slowing down:
Power of Two - Indigo Girls
Home Life (Acousitc) - John Mayer
Stop Falling - Pink
Warm Love - Van Morrison
I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You - Colin Hay
Clarity - John Mayer
Let's hope it keeps me going!
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Animo Grato
grate·ful [greyt-fuhl] –adjective
1. warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful: I am grateful to you for your help.
2. expressing or actuated by gratitude: a grateful letter.
3. pleasing to the mind or senses; agreeable or welcome; refreshing: a grateful breeze.
grate·ful·ly, adverb
grate·ful·ness, noun
—Synonyms 1. obliged, indebted. Grateful, thankful describe an appreciative attitude for what one has received. Grateful indicates a warm or deep appreciation of personal kindness as shown to one: grateful for favors; grateful to one's neighbors for help in time of trouble. Thankful indicates a disposition to express gratitude by giving thanks, as to a benefactor or to a merciful Providence; there is often a sense of deliverance as well as of appreciation: thankful that one's life was spared in an accident; thankful for the comfort of one's general situation. 3. pleasant, gratifying, satisfying.
grate·ful adj.
Appreciative of benefits received; thankful.
Expressing gratitude.
Affording pleasure or comfort; agreeable.
Any way you slice it...
1. warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful: I am grateful to you for your help.
2. expressing or actuated by gratitude: a grateful letter.
3. pleasing to the mind or senses; agreeable or welcome; refreshing: a grateful breeze.
grate·ful·ly, adverb
grate·ful·ness, noun
—Synonyms 1. obliged, indebted. Grateful, thankful describe an appreciative attitude for what one has received. Grateful indicates a warm or deep appreciation of personal kindness as shown to one: grateful for favors; grateful to one's neighbors for help in time of trouble. Thankful indicates a disposition to express gratitude by giving thanks, as to a benefactor or to a merciful Providence; there is often a sense of deliverance as well as of appreciation: thankful that one's life was spared in an accident; thankful for the comfort of one's general situation. 3. pleasant, gratifying, satisfying.
grate·ful adj.
Appreciative of benefits received; thankful.
Expressing gratitude.
Affording pleasure or comfort; agreeable.
Any way you slice it...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Those who can't do, teach...
Sometime in the summer of 1994, as a somewhat chubby and totally shy 13 year old, I joined the swim team, only to appease my Mom. I went to my first practice and just about hyperventilated in the pool. One lap seemed like an eternity and I was supposed to complete how many? I was simply not cut out for this sport (or any sport for that matter) - in any way. I hung on the wall, panted and held back the tears that, along with the chlorine, stung my eyes. Maybe I did even shed one of those tears (0r 17 of them), as no one could tell the difference in the water anyway...
Saturday mornings were the most dreaded of days. Humiliated every week by my unimaginable lack of speed, poor stroke form, and general discomfort, I drug myself to each and every meet - only to finish last in every race. Yes, I was the kid in lane 6 (every time) who you cheered for as they made their way to the end of the race. Most likely, my competitors were out and drying off by the time I touched the wall. My biggest challenges were getting the rubber cap on my head and keeping my goggles on as I dove off of the block. Amateur was an understatement.
Don't worry, this isn't a pity story - I promise you will stop feeling bad for me any minute now. Somewhere along the lane ropes, I started to take to swimming as an activity and before I knew it, I was actually enjoying it. I had become a borderline mediocre breast stroker - sometimes even coming in a cool third place. How exciting it was for me to finish third (OK sometimes it was when there were only 3 girls swimming - any minute now...). Third place was equivalent to one point, and if I came in third place that meant that I had, in the tiniest of ways, contributed to the team. Now, it should be mentioned that we almost never won so my one point rarely mattered; still, I found a great sense of accomplishment in third place, always.
In addition to slowly but surely improving as a swimmer, I (along with my best friend at the time, Nichole) had also taken a place on the team as the coach's helper. Assisting with copying line ups, rounding up the 8 & under girls and leading most of the team in cheers before meets - I had found my niche. It was no longer a summer activity that I dreaded, but a part of my life that I truly loved, looked forward to, and was good at.
Somewhat predictably, when I was too old to swim on the team anymore (19), I became a coach. Assistant at first, I helped with the younger kids' practices and did a lot of the grunt work. When I took my place as head coach - I dove right in, so to speak. I bought books, using them and the Internet to create practices that, I thought, would help the kids learn the proper way to swim, thus making them faster and the team better. Every Saturday at the meets, I screamed so loud for the kids that I lost my voice and was hoarse all summer. I really loved every minute of it.
It wasn't until this past Monday night at dinner when Jackie helped me to realize that being a poor swimmer probably made me a better coach. My lack of ability in the pool forced me to concentrate on the strokes. Because it didn't come natural to me (another understatement) and it was imperative for me to swim well from a technique perspective; I could easily transfer that knowledge to the kids. I adopted the notion that swimming well didn't mean swimming fast, it meant true to form. If I could teach them the proper way to swim, I thought that the speed would eventually come. Whether I was right or not can be easily seen in our Win/Loss columns for those few summers.
It was certainly a learning experience for all of us, and what is life without them? I learned quickly that I'd never make it to Championships at the end of the summer and that MVP wasn't a trophy you'd find on my shelf. You will, however, find two Coaches Awards, pictures of and gifts from the kids on my team and many (many) third place ribbons.
Saturday mornings were the most dreaded of days. Humiliated every week by my unimaginable lack of speed, poor stroke form, and general discomfort, I drug myself to each and every meet - only to finish last in every race. Yes, I was the kid in lane 6 (every time) who you cheered for as they made their way to the end of the race. Most likely, my competitors were out and drying off by the time I touched the wall. My biggest challenges were getting the rubber cap on my head and keeping my goggles on as I dove off of the block. Amateur was an understatement.
Don't worry, this isn't a pity story - I promise you will stop feeling bad for me any minute now. Somewhere along the lane ropes, I started to take to swimming as an activity and before I knew it, I was actually enjoying it. I had become a borderline mediocre breast stroker - sometimes even coming in a cool third place. How exciting it was for me to finish third (OK sometimes it was when there were only 3 girls swimming - any minute now...). Third place was equivalent to one point, and if I came in third place that meant that I had, in the tiniest of ways, contributed to the team. Now, it should be mentioned that we almost never won so my one point rarely mattered; still, I found a great sense of accomplishment in third place, always.
In addition to slowly but surely improving as a swimmer, I (along with my best friend at the time, Nichole) had also taken a place on the team as the coach's helper. Assisting with copying line ups, rounding up the 8 & under girls and leading most of the team in cheers before meets - I had found my niche. It was no longer a summer activity that I dreaded, but a part of my life that I truly loved, looked forward to, and was good at.
Somewhat predictably, when I was too old to swim on the team anymore (19), I became a coach. Assistant at first, I helped with the younger kids' practices and did a lot of the grunt work. When I took my place as head coach - I dove right in, so to speak. I bought books, using them and the Internet to create practices that, I thought, would help the kids learn the proper way to swim, thus making them faster and the team better. Every Saturday at the meets, I screamed so loud for the kids that I lost my voice and was hoarse all summer. I really loved every minute of it.
It wasn't until this past Monday night at dinner when Jackie helped me to realize that being a poor swimmer probably made me a better coach. My lack of ability in the pool forced me to concentrate on the strokes. Because it didn't come natural to me (another understatement) and it was imperative for me to swim well from a technique perspective; I could easily transfer that knowledge to the kids. I adopted the notion that swimming well didn't mean swimming fast, it meant true to form. If I could teach them the proper way to swim, I thought that the speed would eventually come. Whether I was right or not can be easily seen in our Win/Loss columns for those few summers.
It was certainly a learning experience for all of us, and what is life without them? I learned quickly that I'd never make it to Championships at the end of the summer and that MVP wasn't a trophy you'd find on my shelf. You will, however, find two Coaches Awards, pictures of and gifts from the kids on my team and many (many) third place ribbons.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Weight loss woes
Sitting on the train tonight, next to two girls about my age, I couldn't help but listen in on their conversation. Not only were they speaking loudly, but all the words they said sounded like they could have come come right from my mouth. Transit checks, the train, pay day, New Year's Eve, work, shoes, interns, the list goes on. Typical twenty-something female Septa gabfest.
Only when the topic turned to weight loss did my ears really perk up. With it being the month known notoriously for new beginnings, the subject on every one's lips is what they are, or are not, putting in their mouths. Commercials boasting success with a super pill, gyms at their highest enrollments, even the Food Network runs episodes of "light" fare and reduced fat/calories/carbs menus. It is everywhere.
I suppose it's a good thing that society shoves the idea down your throat. One of my resolutions every year is to lose weight, it's almost an unspoken supposition. Isn't it every body's? You'll definitely find that it is a minority of people who would say "oh no, I am fine at the weight I am now" or who haven't made the necessary changes to make this year the year they drop that 20 pounds.
There is talk at work of a mock "Biggest Loser" contest which would pit me against my colleagues to see who could lose the biggest percentage of their body weight. Initially, I was skeptic of revealing my weight (a number that I don't even know, I don't own a scale!) to my co-workers. It wasn't the chicks I work with every day who intimidated me, no way. They are my girls, I'd be fairly comfortable with them knowing. It was the girls in finance, who are orchestrating this whole thing and mostly resemble stick figures and wouldn't weight 100 pounds soaking wet. I mean that in the nicest way possible, really.
Eventually, I pushed past these fears which I convinced myself this afternoon were silly and somewhat juvenile. This isn't about a number, or the finance stick figures or what anyone thinks. It is a challenge, motivation, participation in a group effort and a chance to maybe win some money! Accountability has always been my issue with any weight loss effort. I'd keep a food journal and "forget" to write certain things. I'd log my meals on WeightWatchers.com and change the portion size, therefore changing the number of points.
Clearly, nothing has worked. Well, not nothing. I've had minimal success with the aforementioned Weight Watchers. Also, I've done really well on the Abs Diet, a plan developed by the editor of Men's Health. I honestly enjoy healthy food and I know how to eat well, I am educated, which is half the battle.
I am hoping that we really do the Biggest Loser contest at Richardson. I dare to say I am looking forward to it. I am also still doing research and keeping my ears open about Alli, the new FDA-approved weight loss drug. The things I've heard aren't sitting too well, so I am waiting to see if I run into anyone, real life, to tell me about it. The commercials and the websites are good info, but I want someone with experience also. In any event, I am starting again, starting over, and trying to adapt a healthy lifestyle and eating habits. Here goes nothing...
Only when the topic turned to weight loss did my ears really perk up. With it being the month known notoriously for new beginnings, the subject on every one's lips is what they are, or are not, putting in their mouths. Commercials boasting success with a super pill, gyms at their highest enrollments, even the Food Network runs episodes of "light" fare and reduced fat/calories/carbs menus. It is everywhere.
I suppose it's a good thing that society shoves the idea down your throat. One of my resolutions every year is to lose weight, it's almost an unspoken supposition. Isn't it every body's? You'll definitely find that it is a minority of people who would say "oh no, I am fine at the weight I am now" or who haven't made the necessary changes to make this year the year they drop that 20 pounds.
There is talk at work of a mock "Biggest Loser" contest which would pit me against my colleagues to see who could lose the biggest percentage of their body weight. Initially, I was skeptic of revealing my weight (a number that I don't even know, I don't own a scale!) to my co-workers. It wasn't the chicks I work with every day who intimidated me, no way. They are my girls, I'd be fairly comfortable with them knowing. It was the girls in finance, who are orchestrating this whole thing and mostly resemble stick figures and wouldn't weight 100 pounds soaking wet. I mean that in the nicest way possible, really.
Eventually, I pushed past these fears which I convinced myself this afternoon were silly and somewhat juvenile. This isn't about a number, or the finance stick figures or what anyone thinks. It is a challenge, motivation, participation in a group effort and a chance to maybe win some money! Accountability has always been my issue with any weight loss effort. I'd keep a food journal and "forget" to write certain things. I'd log my meals on WeightWatchers.com and change the portion size, therefore changing the number of points.
Clearly, nothing has worked. Well, not nothing. I've had minimal success with the aforementioned Weight Watchers. Also, I've done really well on the Abs Diet, a plan developed by the editor of Men's Health. I honestly enjoy healthy food and I know how to eat well, I am educated, which is half the battle.
I am hoping that we really do the Biggest Loser contest at Richardson. I dare to say I am looking forward to it. I am also still doing research and keeping my ears open about Alli, the new FDA-approved weight loss drug. The things I've heard aren't sitting too well, so I am waiting to see if I run into anyone, real life, to tell me about it. The commercials and the websites are good info, but I want someone with experience also. In any event, I am starting again, starting over, and trying to adapt a healthy lifestyle and eating habits. Here goes nothing...
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
"Everything Happens for a Reason" wins again...
I flip between 30 Minute Meals and Friends reruns at every single commercial, usually reciting all of the lines from Friends out loud.
When I do dishes (notice I said 'when'), I leave them in the drying rack for days, thus letting more dirty plates and glasses pile up in the sink.
I never make my bed. Ever.
I listen to Preston and Steve very loud every morning. The radio goes on first thing, when I get in the shower and stays on until I leave at 7:30.
Most of the time, the only things in my fridge are condiments (salad dressings, ketchup, salsa), wine and my medicine and in my freezer all you will find are ice cube trays.
I have way too many picture frames and not enough bath towels.
When I inject my medicine, I scream like a baby.
After a year of living here, my windows are still covered with "Redi-Shades" from Home Depot.
While watching Jeopardy!, I yell out the answers from wherever I am in the apartment.
I will watch America's Next Top Model over and over (and over and over).
I sleep with a box fan, on high, every single night.
Living alone has its benefits...
When I do dishes (notice I said 'when'), I leave them in the drying rack for days, thus letting more dirty plates and glasses pile up in the sink.
I never make my bed. Ever.
I listen to Preston and Steve very loud every morning. The radio goes on first thing, when I get in the shower and stays on until I leave at 7:30.
Most of the time, the only things in my fridge are condiments (salad dressings, ketchup, salsa), wine and my medicine and in my freezer all you will find are ice cube trays.
I have way too many picture frames and not enough bath towels.
When I inject my medicine, I scream like a baby.
After a year of living here, my windows are still covered with "Redi-Shades" from Home Depot.
While watching Jeopardy!, I yell out the answers from wherever I am in the apartment.
I will watch America's Next Top Model over and over (and over and over).
I sleep with a box fan, on high, every single night.
Living alone has its benefits...
Friday, January 04, 2008
A little help on my resolutions...
I don't exactly know what made me pick up My Sister's Keeper in the bookstore some 2 or 3 years ago. Most likely, I was wandering somewhat aimlessly around Border's, browsing the new releases and best sellers. Before I found Jodi Picoult and came to love her, I had no rhyme or reason to choosing a book. Depending on my mood you could find me anywhere, from self help to fiction to music - even cooking.
Upon risk of sounding dramatic, I dare to say that reading My Sister's Keeper was a literary awakening for me. Everything about the book spoke to me. I couldn't put it down. Each morning on the train, I was so disappointed when we pulled into Suburban Station and I had to put it away. I couldn't wait to get back on and open it again.
I was, and continue to be, mesmerized by Picoult's language, her prose, her descriptions. Every sentence she writes paints you a tiny portrait of the thought behind it. Almost every line has this amazing dual meaning - it is truly how I aspire to write. She has inspired me more than any other author ever has.
The topics of her novels center around complex human relationships (are there any other kind?), involve a moral issue and follow a legal matter through the course of the book. The story usually ends with the verdict of said trial being revealed.
Picoult's novels are written from many points of view - of almost all of the major characters. The plot thickens and she spins this web of conversations, hidden meanings, revelations and discoveries. If I am reading one of her books, the strangest thing happens to me. I begin to think, on a daily basis, like one of her characters, and in turn, like Picoult, the mastermind behind the fictional beings. I move through the day and envision my thoughts in the pages of a novel - which, in turn, inspires me to write.
So here I am, trying to put one of my New Year's Resolutions into practice by writing a little something each day. Another resolution is reading more, the two go hand in hand so easily. I just finished A Perfect Match (which I started on the plane to Graceland) and this morning started Mercy. Hopefully, by filling my brain with her work, I will get to and stay in a place of inspiration and ideas. Bare with me as I might stumble onto some mundane topics and, as always, feel free to comment!
Upon risk of sounding dramatic, I dare to say that reading My Sister's Keeper was a literary awakening for me. Everything about the book spoke to me. I couldn't put it down. Each morning on the train, I was so disappointed when we pulled into Suburban Station and I had to put it away. I couldn't wait to get back on and open it again.
I was, and continue to be, mesmerized by Picoult's language, her prose, her descriptions. Every sentence she writes paints you a tiny portrait of the thought behind it. Almost every line has this amazing dual meaning - it is truly how I aspire to write. She has inspired me more than any other author ever has.
The topics of her novels center around complex human relationships (are there any other kind?), involve a moral issue and follow a legal matter through the course of the book. The story usually ends with the verdict of said trial being revealed.
Picoult's novels are written from many points of view - of almost all of the major characters. The plot thickens and she spins this web of conversations, hidden meanings, revelations and discoveries. If I am reading one of her books, the strangest thing happens to me. I begin to think, on a daily basis, like one of her characters, and in turn, like Picoult, the mastermind behind the fictional beings. I move through the day and envision my thoughts in the pages of a novel - which, in turn, inspires me to write.
So here I am, trying to put one of my New Year's Resolutions into practice by writing a little something each day. Another resolution is reading more, the two go hand in hand so easily. I just finished A Perfect Match (which I started on the plane to Graceland) and this morning started Mercy. Hopefully, by filling my brain with her work, I will get to and stay in a place of inspiration and ideas. Bare with me as I might stumble onto some mundane topics and, as always, feel free to comment!
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Walking In Memphis
In the spirit of doing something different for New Year's, and in an effort to capitalize on her US Air perks of flying for free, Peg decided she wanted to go to Graceland this year and see the home of her beloved King of Rock and Roll. As many may know, once she decides to do something, nothing really stops her and she usually does it. For this particular jaunt, she needed a partner in crime. I am usually up for anything, so on Monday, Dec 31st, we boarded a plane headed for the Land of the Delta Blues.
Only staying for one night, we packed light and had minimal trouble with getting there, despite the layover in Charlotte. The small plane from Charlotte to Memphis, I think, was the first time I was ever on one of those. We landed and hopped in a cab to the Days Inn Graceland - which runs Elvis movies 24/7 on their TVs and has a guitar shaped pool.
I love to travel and there isn't anywhere I wouldn't go. There is something inside me that wants to see everything, even if it is nothing to somebody else. I can't explain it, it's always been there. Driving through the area of Memphis where Graceland is wasn't what I expected at all. It is a very industrial, run-down area with abandoned buildings, storage facilities and factories. As we turned onto Elvis Presley Blvd., I expected much more than a Taco Bell and a used car dealership.
It wasn't nearly as tourist-y as I had imagined either. If there wasn't a sign saying "Graceland Parking, Right Lane", you might actually miss it. The house itself could qualify as a mansion, but it's smaller than I pictured. For some reason, I envisioned something like The White House.
By no means was I unimpressed! Stepping through the front door and seeing the insides of where a legend lived was surreal. Exploring the rooms and walking through his hallways - this was his HOME. He ate, slept, entertained, sang, lived and sadly, died in this place. To me, the most interesting things to see were his real things like Lisa Marie's swing set and a Christmas card from Connie Francis. The Meditation Garden, where he is buried, also gave me that sense that it was a special place.
We enjoyed the tour, listened to our audio and heard the voices of Lisa Marie and the narrator, and took tons of pictures. After shopping for souvenirs, we ate dinner and went back to the room. One hour of an Intervention marathon, we were sleeping by the time it was 2008.
Seeing Graceland was a great way to start a new year, and a trip I will always remember. I want to make a tradition of this, visiting a new place each year with my Mom. New Year's Eve is the ultimate in overrated holidays, if you ask me. You spend tons of time (and money) making big plans and it usually turns out to be a bust. Although, I do have a special place in my heart for the Mummer's parade on New Year's Day, which I missed this year of course, but even that gets tired. Wandering around Center City in 22 degree weather with a bag of Bush cans...having to pee ALL day...always losing the people you go with...OK, I guess I do miss it. There is always next year for meeting at the Clothespin and starting at the Trophy at 9 am...
This year - it was me, Elvis, and his number 1 fan...and I wouldn't have changed a thing.
Only staying for one night, we packed light and had minimal trouble with getting there, despite the layover in Charlotte. The small plane from Charlotte to Memphis, I think, was the first time I was ever on one of those. We landed and hopped in a cab to the Days Inn Graceland - which runs Elvis movies 24/7 on their TVs and has a guitar shaped pool.
I love to travel and there isn't anywhere I wouldn't go. There is something inside me that wants to see everything, even if it is nothing to somebody else. I can't explain it, it's always been there. Driving through the area of Memphis where Graceland is wasn't what I expected at all. It is a very industrial, run-down area with abandoned buildings, storage facilities and factories. As we turned onto Elvis Presley Blvd., I expected much more than a Taco Bell and a used car dealership.
It wasn't nearly as tourist-y as I had imagined either. If there wasn't a sign saying "Graceland Parking, Right Lane", you might actually miss it. The house itself could qualify as a mansion, but it's smaller than I pictured. For some reason, I envisioned something like The White House.
By no means was I unimpressed! Stepping through the front door and seeing the insides of where a legend lived was surreal. Exploring the rooms and walking through his hallways - this was his HOME. He ate, slept, entertained, sang, lived and sadly, died in this place. To me, the most interesting things to see were his real things like Lisa Marie's swing set and a Christmas card from Connie Francis. The Meditation Garden, where he is buried, also gave me that sense that it was a special place.
We enjoyed the tour, listened to our audio and heard the voices of Lisa Marie and the narrator, and took tons of pictures. After shopping for souvenirs, we ate dinner and went back to the room. One hour of an Intervention marathon, we were sleeping by the time it was 2008.
Seeing Graceland was a great way to start a new year, and a trip I will always remember. I want to make a tradition of this, visiting a new place each year with my Mom. New Year's Eve is the ultimate in overrated holidays, if you ask me. You spend tons of time (and money) making big plans and it usually turns out to be a bust. Although, I do have a special place in my heart for the Mummer's parade on New Year's Day, which I missed this year of course, but even that gets tired. Wandering around Center City in 22 degree weather with a bag of Bush cans...having to pee ALL day...always losing the people you go with...OK, I guess I do miss it. There is always next year for meeting at the Clothespin and starting at the Trophy at 9 am...
This year - it was me, Elvis, and his number 1 fan...and I wouldn't have changed a thing.
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