no category – catheroominations

Grace in Small Things Part 32 of 365

catheroo — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 05:16:46 +0000

Driving down 101 in the sun
Wine tasting while everyone else is at work
Matte’s reaction to where we are going for his birthday weekend
Hot tubbing under the stars
Tranquility for Two at Sycamore Springs

Grace in Small Things Part 26 of 365

catheroo — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 06:59:21 +0000

Fridays
Spending an evening with friends, remembering one we have lost
Working from home and getting lots done
Paperbackswap.com (Even better than BookMooch! Thanks, Tobie!)
Adding more foods to my diet of Saltine crackers and Diet 7UP (I’ve had stomach issues the past two days – ick!)

Run Like a Girl

catheroo — Mon, 20 Oct 2008 22:59:12 +0000

Yesterday I joined nearly 20,000 women (and a few men) in running the 2008 Nike Women’s Half Marathon in San Francisco. Of the three half marathons I have done this year, this one has got to be my favorite. It was also the hardest, the most rewarding, and the most emotional.

Nike throws this running party for the ladies every October to benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (LLS). I ran it as a member of Team In Training (TNT), along with more than 100 of my teammates. The event raised over $18 million in funds for LLS, $1,800 of which was from generous donations made by my friends and family to my fundraising site.

This event was the first time I truly saw the impact of what LLS and TNT can do. From the giant crowd welcoming us as we entered Moscone Center for the TNT pre-run pasta party, to the statistics on what donations have achieved for cancer research, and the inspirational speech by a survivor as we carbo loaded, I was in awe. And who better to motivate us to run than Joan Benoit-Samuelson the Olympic Gold Medalist in the first Women’s Marathon in 1984? She spoke for a short time, but seeing her on that stage and just being in her presence. Damn. Tears filled my eyes. I saw her again the next morning wishing one of her friends a good run and I should have asked to take a photo with her, but I think of these things too late (sigh). And John “the Penguin” Bingham, whose column I read in Runner’s World was the emcee for the night.

The inspiration continued the next day at the run. The motivational posters along the course, and sea of purple TNT jerseys in the crowd, the number of spectators on the course cheering for us, and the camaraderie of running with such strong women kept me going for 13.1 miles. That, and my running partner, Rachel, for whom this half marathon was a first attempt at running further than 7 miles, let alone a half marathon. Those of you reading this who know me personally know the story of how Rachel and I hated each other before ever really knowing each other (a long story for another time). So, to complete this run, a run that celebrates the female athlete, sisterhood, and most importantly benefits cancer research…I can’t think of a better way to spend 13.1 miles.

I’ll admit that I was worried about running with her at first. Having completed two half marathons, one solo, I was worried that I’d have to think of things to talk about with someone for 13.1 miles. When I talk, my pace slows. I wanted to beat my Disneyland Half Marathon time, and was afraid I wouldn’t do it running with someone else and chatting the whole way. I get in a zone when I do these events and I didn’t know if I could be in the zone with someone else there. But once we lined up in our corral, all worries disappeared, and I wanted to run with my friend, and cross that finish line whenever we happened to get done, together. With my friend.

When we filled Union Square to line up for our 7 am start, it was dark and it was cold, but we were there for a purpose. There’s something special about running an event where almost everyone running is a woman. It’s like the biggest sorority or slumber party you have ever seen. Everyone seemed in a good mood. Some girls wore pigtails with pink ribbons. Some had matching running skirts. Those in purple TNT jerseys were running for their honorees – people who are fighting, have beaten, or have lost the battle with cancer. Even runners who weren’t running with a TNT team were running for a day when no one will die from cancer. Ever again. Someone began singing the National Anthem before the run began, and a lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t gulp it down, so it went with me on the run.

I won’t bore you with the details of each mile (there were 13.1 of them) and our pace (think more tortoise, less hare), and what we saw (Alcatraz, Golden Gate Bridge, Pacific Ocean, Golden Gate Park and people, thousands and thousands of people) because I don’t remember it all that well. What I do remember are the hills. The mother @#$%ing hills. Holy crap, there was no woman running that course that was a bigger bitch than those hills. I knew they’d be there, but I didn’t know they’d be so never-ending, and so freaking huge. (Someone on the side of the road posted a sign that said “You’re doing a HILL of a job!”) But about those hills, I chose to be there and climb them. Running up a hill does not suck as much ass as chemotherapy, radiation, or cancer all do. Also, hills that go up have a tendency to go down after you get to the top, which I love. I adore the backside of hills with my whole heart. My backside does not love the front side of hills, as evidenced by my sore butt cheeks today. When a TNT coach yelled “save your quads” on a ridiculously mean long hill, I obeyed, and walked. Walking meant I wouldn’t get a PR (personal record) on this run, but I was willing to give that up to save energy for the rest of the run.

People passed me, as they are wont to do to a person who runs like a snail, and several had things written on the back of their shirt. One girl’s shirt said “Does this shirt make my butt look fast?” and it did, it really did. Her butt looked SO fast. A pair of ladies in red shirts went by with “Who’s idea was this?” in white block letters written on the back. I saw thousands of shirts that said “I’m running for my” mom/dad/son/daughter/husband/wife/sister/brother/friend. A random guy ran by with thick fluorescent tape on his back that had this message in Sharpie ink: “Enjoying the scenery and running like a boy.” To the men (all 2 of you) who read this blog, the Nike Women’s Marathon is a great place to meet chicks. Last year (I think it was last year anyway), one guy running the Nike met a woman running the event. They soon began dating, got engaged, and yesterday ran the half marathon together as part of their honeymoon. And at yesterday’s finish line, a cute boy, dressed in a tuxedo, got on one knee and proposed to a cute girl immediately after she crossed the final timing mat.

Throughout the course, starting at the shopping mecca that is Union Square, out to the Embarcadero and along Fisherman’s Wharf, people cheered us on, yelling my name as I passed. I was glad I decided to take the coaches’ advice and iron-on my name to my jersey. Each time I heard “Go Cathy!” I tried to find who was cheering for me, and thank them as I passed. But when I heard Matte yell it, that was The Best, Jerry! I couldn’t see his face because there was a Nikon D70 attached to it, but I smiled and waved, saying to him telepathically, “Yeah. You know it! Your wife pretty much rocks right now!” There were people blasting their car stereos, folks from 24-Hour Fitness, Sports Basement, Luna, and Jamba Juice, bagpipes, bands, the SF Cheer squad, a gospel choir, friends and family of runners, and TNT people lining the streets everywhere they could access, all the way to the finish line. As we got close to the 13-mile mark, a woman informed us that there were “hot men with jewelry!” just around the corner.

If I said all I want to say about this run, I’d be writing for days, and you’d never come back to read another post again (this one is quite long enough as it is). But that lump that formed in my throat during the National Anthem at the start line? I finally released it at the finish. I accepted my reward, handed to me by a tuxedo-clad San Francisco firefighter holding a silver tray piled high with small blue boxes, each meticulously tied with a white satin ribbon. Then I made my way to the side barricade to hug Matte. I cried, but no tears would come. I was exhausted. I was sore. I was happy. I was sad. I was relieved. But mostly, I was proud.

Oh yeah. The medal. It’s beautiful. See?

Learning to say no. Again.

catheroo — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 20:57:51 +0000

adÂ·dicÂ·tion (É-dÄk’shÉn) n. Compulsive physiological and psychological need for a habit-forming substance.

For as long as I can remember, I have had a problem with food. I have an insatiable sweet tooth. I grew up on Cookie Crisp, Trix, Apple Jacks and Fruit Loops and normally ate two bowls full every morning. Dessert was a regular part of the dinner ritual. My school lunches always had cookies, or Snack Pack puddings. I didn’t like to eat fruit and only ate it when I had to. The same with vegetables. If I ate toast, I’d load it with butter and sprinkle a mix of sugar and cinnamon on top. I loved ice cream sundaes and would fill the bowl with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. I once had a babysitter who taught me to jazz up Oreo cookies by squirting Redi-Whip on them. Yum! When I was old enough to go to a school where I could buy what I wanted, I opted for peanut chews and chocolate shakes as my lunch. Even now, if I were to see a peanut chew, I would have trouble not taking a bite, or possibly eating the whole thing.

I grew up chubby and inactive. I thought I was ugly and fat. But rather than make changes to my bad habits, I took solace in more food.

When I was 13 years old, a lady came to our house to talk to my mom and dad about a revolutionary diet plan. My parents were interested in losing some weight, and this new plan was supposed to have tremendous results. Plus, it was SO easy! The success stories and before and after photos the lady showed us were so inspirational and convinced my parents to buy cans of powdered meal substitute. This was the “Perfect Diet” because it focused on the benefits of starvation and at just 400 calories a day, how could you not lose weight? They had a variety of flavors to choose from, to keep the diet interesting. You could have a chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry shake. Maybe there were other flavors, but I don’t remember them. They also sold powdered soups, like leek. I don’t remember how I started the diet, whether the Cambridge Diet Lady saw my chubby thighs and suggested it to my parents, or I saw the success they were having and decided to do it, but I did it. My parents were hesitant, but I insisted. I seem to remember my parents recommending that I not have only the Cambridge Diet food, but that I substitute one meal a day (or maybe two?) since I was just a kid and needed real food to grow. I have a vivid recollection of heating up a measuring cup of water and pouring in the powdered leek soup. I think I even took some in a thermos to school. I lost weight, but I can’t remember how much. Ten pounds, maybe? Ultimately, once I stopped the liquid meals, I gained back most of what weight I’d lost. It was my first diet failure.

Later came SlimFast. It was basically the same idea, but SlimFast was more readily available and you didn’t need to endure a sales pitch from a distributor. Unlike today’s offerings, there were only a few flavors: basic chocolate, vanilla and strawberry, I think. I suffered through the gritty shakes and a growling stomach from the lack of calories, because I was a teenager and I was fat. While all the cheerleaders were wearing sizes 3 and 5, I was already in Misses sizes and shopping at “Mom” stores with uncool brands because the “in” stuff didn’t fit me. I wanted to be thin and SlimFast was the way to do get me there. I mean, how easy! Just drink these shakes and you don’t have to exercise. The weight would just come off! It worked, but then I went back to eating regular food, and my lost weight was again found. This was getting old.

When I started college, I scheduled my classes to be from 10 am to 2 pm each day so I could sleep in a bit, and work my evening retail job. For breakfast, I would go to The Roost on campus and get a huge coffee and that was it. Because my classes were back-to-back, I only had time for a Snicker’s Bar for lunch, or a quick stop at Jack in the Box, across the street from school. I was never too hungry, so I would just get the basic hamburger and a drink. After class, I’d go home and do some homework, and get ready to go to my job. I must have eaten something for dinner, but I’m sure it wasn’t anything wholesome or healthy. Instead of gaining the Freshman 15, I lost about 20 pounds without even thinking about it. I was basically starving and didn’t know it. I fit into a size 4 though, at that was all that was important to me. At my sorority all the girls were all tiny. I surely didn’t want to be The Fat Girl. In photos of the whole house, I didn’t stand out. I fit in. Although I was about the same size as everyone else, I felt fat.

Throughout college, I yo-yo dieted. I would lose some, then gain back more. I turned 21 and my favorite cocktails were Colorado Bulldogs and anything else with Kahlua or Bailey’s Irish Cream. Thick, sweet drinks that were just like milkshakes. And just like milkshakes, they were fattening and loaded with sugar. When I’d go out drinking, I’d eat. A lot. If I woke up hungover, Jack in the Box was the cure. I’d get a Supreme Croissant with hash browns and a giant iced tea. Because of my lifestyle, I gained a lot of weight. I needed to do something.

Enter Weight Watchers. Back when I was a kid, my parents had great success with WW. On WW, I could eat normal food, I just had to be sure to stick to the daily serving allowances. I was allowed a certain number of servings of Bread, Fruit, Milk, Protein, and Fat each day. I learned how to eat a balanced diet, and started eating vegetables and fruits and cutting back on fat. I wasn’t hungry, and I lost weight. I learned to enjoy healthy food. I drank all my water each day and my skin and hair looked healthier. I was successful and I looked awesome. The thinner me had finally appeared and I didn’t even crave the sticky sweet drinks I previously enjoyed. I opted for salads at fast food restaurants and didn’t turn them into soup by drenching them in ranch dressing. I reached my goal weight and was on my way to becoming a Lifetime member.

People noticed my transformation and complimented me on my success. I felt great and I looked great, and I could wear really cute clothes. I was not, however, prepared for some of the attention I got.

One of my managers at work began commenting me on my new look. Once, when I was bending forward to get something, he took a peek down my shirt and said “Nice ta-tas!” Because I was unaccustomed to receiving any compliments on my looks, I sort of ate it up. I didn’t think it was mean or perverted. I sort of liked it. I didn’t realize it was inappropriate. His comments continued and soon became sexual harassment. He made raunchy comments, asking me to do certain things to him, and telling me what he wanted to do to me. This made me exceedingly uncomfortable and I filed an official complaint. The manager was eventually fired because he’d been harassing other women, and even groped one. Even though he was gone, I wanted to be sure I never had to deal with that type of treatment again, so I resorted to my old ways. I took solace in bags of Ruffles and Pepperidge Farm cookies with my store discount. My new lifestyle was gone.

That was 15 years ago. Since then, I have probably lost 100 pounds. Before you get too congratulatory, that 100 pounds is the same 10 pounds, 10 times over. I lose 20, then gain 30. I have successes, and just when I’m getting close to a goal, I sabotage myself. I get bored and discouraged and I quit. Besides those plans I listed above, I’ve also tried Atkins, South Beach, Cabbage Soup, herbal Fen-Phen, Dexatrim, Special K, anorexia. You name it, I’ve done it. If I’m on a diet and someone bakes a batch of brownies, I don’t cheat by just eating one. I’ll eat three. Months ago, during another diet, I bought frozen cookie dough from a coworker whose son was selling it for school. I didn’t bake one cookie. Instead, over the course of just a few weeks, I ate nearly 36 frozen cookie dough clumps, directly out of the freezer. If there is “bad” food in the house, it is not here for long. I will eat it. I will feel like crap after I do, but I’ll do it the next time too. I will eat Cool Whip out of the tub, with just a spoon. I will eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting. I can plow through nearly an entire bag of chips by myself. All day long I think about food. I want to eat chocolate and chips and fattening foods. I want a fully-loaded baked potato with a nice juicy steak. Or a burrito the size of my head with guacamole and sour cream. I could eat an entire frozen pepperoni pizza by myself. I have a problem with food. Some people laugh and don’t take it seriously when I say this, but I am a food addict.

Diets do not work. They’re temporary. They have never worked for me. I need to make a lifestyle change. I need to learn not to use food as a hobby, a distraction, a cure for boredom, or something that makes me feel good. I need to control portions. I need to make healthier choices. I need to avoid fast food, desserts, and alcohol. I know my weaknesses and it is time for me to learn how to stand up to those weaknesses and overcome them. This will not be easy and it won’t be quick. Anyone who has quit smoking or overcome an addiction to drugs or alcohol knows how hard it is to stop bad behaviors.

I have to get out of this cycle and get healthy. This time, I will succeed and I won’t shy away from meeting my goals. I will not let food control me, and I won’t take my body and health for granted. I don’t aspire to be skinny, I just don’t like being fat. I want to be healthy. I want my BMI to not be so close to obese levels. I don’t want heart problems. I don’t want high cholesterol. I don’t want cancer. There are no guarantees that I won’t one day have to endure some of these health problems, but I can decrease my risks for them if I start to care more about my health and break this destructive addiction with food.

And if that means I can fit into smaller jeans, well, that would be OK too.

P.S. If you have made it through this long diatribe, you are my new BFF. xoxo.

I’m supposed to be in Napa…er…Mexico…er…

catheroo — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 03:10:17 +0000

This week I had planned to spend some girl time with my good friend MB in Napa. She’s here from Lexington, KY and meeting some of her gal pals for a week of wine tasting, pampering and possibly some piercing or permanent inking in honor of a milestone birthday.

Unfortunately, I had to cancel because I was asked to take my boss’ place at a training course this week. In Mexico. I quickly renewed my passport, picked an awesome hotel with fantastic photo opportunities, and was learning things like one should never say “Yo soy caliente,” unless one means “hot” in the Paris Hilton sense and not the “I am sweating my face off” sense. And then aye caramba, just days after I told MB I couldn’t make it to Napa, my plans changed. Mexico was out, because my services were requested in North Carolina to help with a documentation emergency. I’m just a tech writer. I don’t feel important enough or smart enough to fly out here and help (the depth of my self-esteem knows no bounds). When this trip was presented to me (read: when I was told I was going to work in NC), it was suggested that I come Every. Single Week. That’s right. Fly out every Monday and home every Friday. But that’s not feasible for several reasons, so I’m here this week and next and then we’ll see where we go from there.

This morning, I awoke at 3:45 AM. (That 3:45 was in all caps, by the way, because I was yelling it.) Three forty-five in the morning is not morning. It’s still night. But I got up and was at SFO in plenty of time for my early morning flight. I felt like a zombie. I was there, but not really there and I didn’t remember how I got there. So, when I saw someone I thought I knew, I wasn’t surprised I couldn’t remember his name. Also, turns out, I didn’t know him, exactly. It was Adam from Myth Busters and he was standing near me at the security check point. He is much taller than I thought. Also, he’s kinda hot, in a geeky way. SeÃ±or Savage es caliente.

So here I sit in a Residence Inn, while Matte gets DirecTV installed at our house, clears out our apartment, bolts bookcases to the walls for earthquake safety, gets the fence repaired that the fumigators busted into slats, waits for AT&T to set up our phones, and generally gets us moved in to our house. I would much rather be there, helping him, (and watching the cats slide all over the hardwood floors) but I sort of need this job to help pay that mortgage we just signed up for for the next 30 years.

The Dreams

catheroo — Fri, 23 May 2008 13:25:18 +0000

Inside the tunnels, the stone tunnels, are the trains
And inside the trains, the steel trains, are the bags of skin
And inside the thin skin are the blood and the bones
And inside the blood and the bones are the dreams
It really is that simple, it really is that fragile
I am one such dream inside the blood and the bones and the bags and the
trains and the tunnels
There’s a dream sitting next to me
There’s a dream across from me
Fragile

We all know that one day
The tunnels will crumble and the trains will stop
And the blood and the bags and the bones will be gone
And in between now and then something will happen to all the dreams
I don’t know what will happen to the other dreams

But I know what will happen to me
Sure as rain, I know, sure as winter

I’ll breathe and grieve and struggle and strive and love, love
And if I’m lucky once, just once, the dream will drop to the floor like a vase
and shatter in shards of silence
Where I will see, I will see in the pattern of the pieces, I will
See something

This will, this will happen
But now the train with all its fragile cargo rolls on.

– Peter Mulvey

In case you were wondering

catheroo — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 22:55:32 +0000