No kidding, that's the name of the 5K I found in Minocqua. How appropriate, huh?! It is on Saturday, September 26, at 9 AM. This is the description from the entry form:
"The 45th annual Beef-A-Rama is started bright and early on Saturday morning at 9 AM with the Rump Roast Run, sponsored by the Lakeland Rotary Clubs. This 5k/10k fun run is capped off with the winners in each bracket receiving a unique prize, a 20 pound beef roast! All runners receive a T-shirt and goody bag."
Fred and I are sending in our registration money--$25 each--on Monday, and then the training will commence. Who wants to train us? Erica? Heidi? Ryan A.? I'm thinking we should make this a family and friends extravaganza. The race date is on Cora's 6th birthday, the day after Fred's 56th, 2 weeks after my 50th, 9 days after Heidi's 33rd...23 days after Erica's 23rd...We can celebrate everybody's birthdays after the race, assuming Fred and I are still alive. Give it some thought! I can send you entry forms, or go to www.rumproastrun.com for information. Sara, with your birthday on the 30th, any chance you'll be home for a visit?!!
We are having friends from Eau Claire visit this weekend, so I have things to do today...will catch up with you all on Sunday or Monday. Have a great weekend!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
No Sleepy = Grumpy and Dopey
Getting a good night's sleep seems to be an unattainable luxury for me these days. After being sleep-deprived for years when the girls were younger, I learned to function successfully on just a few hours of shut-eye. But now if I don't get at least 8 hours, I feel spacey and off kilter all day--an increasingly frequent condition.
Some of the reasons are my own fault. The night before last, we had 3 of the cats in bed with us. Smokey was sprawled between us, Crunchy was at my feet, and Russ was curled up next to my neck. She has a chronic respiratory thing going on, so she sneezes a lot. Getting sprayed with cat snot just as I'm dozing off is a rude awakening. If I roll over, she has to climb over my head and be on the side that I'm facing, which is some weird cat rule. None of this is conducive to sleep--or anything else--wink,wink!
Last night I was up till 11:30 finishing a book with an intense, suspenseful ending. Revving my adrenaline at that hour is a mistake if I hope to conk out within 10 minutes. I was still awake, with a headache, after midnight. Then the sun shines into our bedroom right in my face early in the morning, better--or worse--than an alarm clock. I really need to shop for shades--or an eye mask.
Sometimes I wake up during the night feeling like I'm on fire, sweating profusely. HOT FLASH!! I kick off the covers and a cat or two and shed the PJs until my temperature is back to normal. Then I start thinking about something and lie there for an hour or more, listening to Fred snore.
I don't drink caffeine after 2 in the afternoon, avoid chocolate in the evening (unless it's PMS week) and seldom have alcohol. A drink used to help me relax before bedtime, but now it makes me hot. (and I don't mean that in a good way)
Fred is actually a worse insomniac than I am. Three or four times a week, he wakes up between 3 and 4 AM and doesn't go back to sleep. Obviously this keeps me awake, too. He wants to cuddle (I'm a sprawler); have the radio on (I want quiet); or talk (it's 4 AM!) Often he'll get up and watch TV--I don't know how he can put in 14 hour days on the amount of sleep he gets. His new plan is to get up as soon as it's light out and start training for the 5K we are talking about doing together. He wants me to get up and do this, too. Get dressed, go outside, and exercise. Do people go crazy after 50??!!
I'm going back to bed.
Some of the reasons are my own fault. The night before last, we had 3 of the cats in bed with us. Smokey was sprawled between us, Crunchy was at my feet, and Russ was curled up next to my neck. She has a chronic respiratory thing going on, so she sneezes a lot. Getting sprayed with cat snot just as I'm dozing off is a rude awakening. If I roll over, she has to climb over my head and be on the side that I'm facing, which is some weird cat rule. None of this is conducive to sleep--or anything else--wink,wink!
Last night I was up till 11:30 finishing a book with an intense, suspenseful ending. Revving my adrenaline at that hour is a mistake if I hope to conk out within 10 minutes. I was still awake, with a headache, after midnight. Then the sun shines into our bedroom right in my face early in the morning, better--or worse--than an alarm clock. I really need to shop for shades--or an eye mask.
Sometimes I wake up during the night feeling like I'm on fire, sweating profusely. HOT FLASH!! I kick off the covers and a cat or two and shed the PJs until my temperature is back to normal. Then I start thinking about something and lie there for an hour or more, listening to Fred snore.
I don't drink caffeine after 2 in the afternoon, avoid chocolate in the evening (unless it's PMS week) and seldom have alcohol. A drink used to help me relax before bedtime, but now it makes me hot. (and I don't mean that in a good way)
Fred is actually a worse insomniac than I am. Three or four times a week, he wakes up between 3 and 4 AM and doesn't go back to sleep. Obviously this keeps me awake, too. He wants to cuddle (I'm a sprawler); have the radio on (I want quiet); or talk (it's 4 AM!) Often he'll get up and watch TV--I don't know how he can put in 14 hour days on the amount of sleep he gets. His new plan is to get up as soon as it's light out and start training for the 5K we are talking about doing together. He wants me to get up and do this, too. Get dressed, go outside, and exercise. Do people go crazy after 50??!!
I'm going back to bed.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
A Healthy State of Mind
Yesterday I wrote about the difficulty of losing weight after 40. Not only does my genetic make-up conspire against me in the battle of the bulge, but I also live in Wisconsin. The food pyramid here has a base of fried cheese curds, layered with brats and beer, topped by the Friday night fish fry. Sure, you could have the fish broiled and substitute a baked potato for the fries. But if you're going to ruin it that way, you might as well stay home and gnaw on a chunk of tofu.
Living in Rhinelander will also make dieting harder. Usually, fitting into summer clothes is an added incentive to shed some pounds. But here, I'll probably have two weeks of shorts weather and then it will be winter again. I'll need that extra flab to keep warm.
Fred and I are not each other's best support group when it comes to losing weight. I love to bake, and he complains that I'm sabotaging his diet. "We don't need that stuff around here! And don't buy ice cream, either!" A couple nights later while watching TV, he'll ask, "Do we have any ice cream?" I've lived by two misguided credos: Food is Love, and Always Clean Your Plate. I know in my head that the first isn't true and the second isn't necessary, but habits of a lifetime are so hard to change.
Ok, yes, I'm making excuses. After doing a little research at calorielab.com, I learned that in 2007 Wisconsin ranked 22 in the U.S. for overweight people--which is actually down 4 spots from the year before. 62.3% of us Badgers are overweight or obese!!! WOW--though if you've ever gone to a Dells waterpark in the summer, that number probably doesn't surprise you. The fattest state is Mississippi (let's see what Brett Favre looks like in a couple years!) and Colorado has the thinnest citizens--probably from all that mountain climbing and pushing vehicles out of snowbanks. Does it really matter where you live? I think being slim is a state of mind, and until you hit bottom with a loud thud and leave a big-butt-sized crater, nothing will change.
I seem to have struck a chord with my readers when I mentioned wanting to do a 5K yesterday. Both here and on Facebook I have received encouragement and suggestions to make it a reality, not just a vague goal in the far-off future. Thanks, everybody! I have to keep reminding myself that making changes starts with small, steady steps--they don't happen overnight. So today I will start by not eating any sweets--and I'll research upcoming 5Ks in this area. Stay tuned...
Living in Rhinelander will also make dieting harder. Usually, fitting into summer clothes is an added incentive to shed some pounds. But here, I'll probably have two weeks of shorts weather and then it will be winter again. I'll need that extra flab to keep warm.
Fred and I are not each other's best support group when it comes to losing weight. I love to bake, and he complains that I'm sabotaging his diet. "We don't need that stuff around here! And don't buy ice cream, either!" A couple nights later while watching TV, he'll ask, "Do we have any ice cream?" I've lived by two misguided credos: Food is Love, and Always Clean Your Plate. I know in my head that the first isn't true and the second isn't necessary, but habits of a lifetime are so hard to change.
Ok, yes, I'm making excuses. After doing a little research at calorielab.com, I learned that in 2007 Wisconsin ranked 22 in the U.S. for overweight people--which is actually down 4 spots from the year before. 62.3% of us Badgers are overweight or obese!!! WOW--though if you've ever gone to a Dells waterpark in the summer, that number probably doesn't surprise you. The fattest state is Mississippi (let's see what Brett Favre looks like in a couple years!) and Colorado has the thinnest citizens--probably from all that mountain climbing and pushing vehicles out of snowbanks. Does it really matter where you live? I think being slim is a state of mind, and until you hit bottom with a loud thud and leave a big-butt-sized crater, nothing will change.
I seem to have struck a chord with my readers when I mentioned wanting to do a 5K yesterday. Both here and on Facebook I have received encouragement and suggestions to make it a reality, not just a vague goal in the far-off future. Thanks, everybody! I have to keep reminding myself that making changes starts with small, steady steps--they don't happen overnight. So today I will start by not eating any sweets--and I'll research upcoming 5Ks in this area. Stay tuned...
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Not Born to Run
My family has a disproportionate number of marathon runners. Erica has run four of them so far. Cameo and Heidi, my step-daughters, have done a few, as well as my niece and nephew April and Ryan. My niece Molly did one before injuring her knee, and my nephew Michael and wife Anne compete in race-walking. Right now my brother-in-law Terry is heading out east where he will compete Monday in the Boston Marathon, having qualified in Duluth last summer with a time of 3 1/2 hours. He is 48 years old, a year younger than me, and ran 26.2 miles in 3 1/2 hours. So how come I'm the captain of the Couch Potato Brigade?!!
I've never been particularly athletic. In grade school there were perpetual scabs on my knees from unsuccessfully trying to jump on the moving merry-go-round. In phy ed I never got more than a foot off the ground in rope-climbing--I was afraid of heights, plus my noodle arms couldn't pull my chubby butt any higher. No President's Physical Fitness award for me! Once during a gymnastics unit, I was attempting to vault the horse. As I made my leap, my feet got stuck between the horse and my upper body. For a second I was motionless--before toppling backwards onto the mat, much to the amusement of my Olympic-prospect classmates. That incident left me petrified of the hurdles in track and field, where I would prissily lift my leg over the side of the hurdle--like a dog peeing--with no actual jumping involved.
I did become a dedicated jogger a few times in my 20s when I was dieting for various occasions. I'd even do daily exercises for thighs, butt, and abs. Amazingly I was down to 115 pounds for awhile when Katie was around 2 years old. (Right now you're all thinking "What the hell happened?!")
As we learned in school, there are 3 basic body types: ectomorph = thin; mesomorph = muscular; endomorph ="having a heavy rounded body build often with a marked tendency to become fat." I call it endo-rear-endo. I come from a long line of endomorphs on both sides of my family, especially the females. Between that, my love of food, and indifference to exercise, am I doomed to this apple shape forever? Getting the weight off is one thing; keeping it off is another. Since hitting 40, even getting it off is way harder than it was in my 20s and 30s. I do walk a lot with the dogs, go bowling, and do housework marathons--none of which qualify as high-level vascular work-outs. My dad died at my age--what am I waiting for??
When I made my life list in January, I said I wanted to get in decent enough shape to do a 5K. I'd better throw out the rest of the Easter candy and get my endo-rear-endo in gear.
I've never been particularly athletic. In grade school there were perpetual scabs on my knees from unsuccessfully trying to jump on the moving merry-go-round. In phy ed I never got more than a foot off the ground in rope-climbing--I was afraid of heights, plus my noodle arms couldn't pull my chubby butt any higher. No President's Physical Fitness award for me! Once during a gymnastics unit, I was attempting to vault the horse. As I made my leap, my feet got stuck between the horse and my upper body. For a second I was motionless--before toppling backwards onto the mat, much to the amusement of my Olympic-prospect classmates. That incident left me petrified of the hurdles in track and field, where I would prissily lift my leg over the side of the hurdle--like a dog peeing--with no actual jumping involved.
I did become a dedicated jogger a few times in my 20s when I was dieting for various occasions. I'd even do daily exercises for thighs, butt, and abs. Amazingly I was down to 115 pounds for awhile when Katie was around 2 years old. (Right now you're all thinking "What the hell happened?!")
As we learned in school, there are 3 basic body types: ectomorph = thin; mesomorph = muscular; endomorph ="having a heavy rounded body build often with a marked tendency to become fat." I call it endo-rear-endo. I come from a long line of endomorphs on both sides of my family, especially the females. Between that, my love of food, and indifference to exercise, am I doomed to this apple shape forever? Getting the weight off is one thing; keeping it off is another. Since hitting 40, even getting it off is way harder than it was in my 20s and 30s. I do walk a lot with the dogs, go bowling, and do housework marathons--none of which qualify as high-level vascular work-outs. My dad died at my age--what am I waiting for??
When I made my life list in January, I said I wanted to get in decent enough shape to do a 5K. I'd better throw out the rest of the Easter candy and get my endo-rear-endo in gear.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Sunrise, Sunset
Saturday I spent much of the day watching and commenting as my first-born tried on a parade of wedding dresses. She had been shopping for "The Dress" a couple times before, but it was important to her that I come along at least once. A beautiful young woman stood before me in beads, satin, and lace, but I was seeing much more....
A newborn baby with thick black hair who had to be forcibly brought into the world after 23 hours of tormenting her mother. Even then, Erica knew the impact of the grand entrance. She was a sweet-faced toddler--potty-trained herself at 19 months and talked early. She couldn't say her "k" or "g" sounds, so conversation with her could be funny. She called herself Erita, and her favorite Muppet was Termit the Fraud. At her babysitter's house, a stray cat appeared one day, and Erica announced when I arrived, "The white titty's here! The white titty's here!" We told her to stay off the step-ladder on the front porch where Fred was doing some work. Of course, the next time we turned around, there she was on the top step, grinning with triumph. She rolled my bowling ball into the bathroom and shattered the toilet--not the last damage she'd cause with a ball of some kind.
School was Erica's forte, and she tackled every activity with the desire to excel. She never had to be pushed to do her homework or practice her instruments because she disciplined herself. She saved $100 so she could buy herself a pet snake, refusing to be side-tracked by impulse purchases until meeting her goal. In high school we went to her concerts, volleyball games, parades, plays, forensics, track meets....all of which explained the continued disaster-area state of her bedroom and bathroom. "Mom, I don't have TIME!" for that meaningless drudgery. Always in a hurry--tired of waiting for her dad to go to town with her one Christmas vacation day, she drove off without him!! I could not believe a smart girl having a death wish like that--it got her grounded for the rest of vacation. She worked with me at Country Treasures, then Rogan's Shoes, coming home with enough footwear to get her through her 20s. When she got a ticket for not stopping at a railroad crossing in Elk Mound, she went to court to have her say. Wearing a suit, glasses, and hair pulled up, she looked like a character from "Law and Order"--and did get the fine reduced by a few dollars.
In August 2004, we left her crying in the dorm parking lot at UW-Madison, all of us bawling, too, as we drove away. She cried for about a minute and then took the town by storm for the next 5 years...and now she's heading to medical school in the fall and planning her wedding. "How do you like this one, Mom?" brings me back. She looks lovely in all of them--so poised, confident, excited about the future. I will cry at the wedding, no matter what she wears.
P.S. Actually, I'll probably cry before that, too. We looked at a few mother-of-the-bride dresses before leaving one shop. They were all long, beady/sparkly/brocaded--like something Queen Elizabeth would wear to a state dinner. Can't wait to go shopping for MY dress--not!!
A newborn baby with thick black hair who had to be forcibly brought into the world after 23 hours of tormenting her mother. Even then, Erica knew the impact of the grand entrance. She was a sweet-faced toddler--potty-trained herself at 19 months and talked early. She couldn't say her "k" or "g" sounds, so conversation with her could be funny. She called herself Erita, and her favorite Muppet was Termit the Fraud. At her babysitter's house, a stray cat appeared one day, and Erica announced when I arrived, "The white titty's here! The white titty's here!" We told her to stay off the step-ladder on the front porch where Fred was doing some work. Of course, the next time we turned around, there she was on the top step, grinning with triumph. She rolled my bowling ball into the bathroom and shattered the toilet--not the last damage she'd cause with a ball of some kind.
School was Erica's forte, and she tackled every activity with the desire to excel. She never had to be pushed to do her homework or practice her instruments because she disciplined herself. She saved $100 so she could buy herself a pet snake, refusing to be side-tracked by impulse purchases until meeting her goal. In high school we went to her concerts, volleyball games, parades, plays, forensics, track meets....all of which explained the continued disaster-area state of her bedroom and bathroom. "Mom, I don't have TIME!" for that meaningless drudgery. Always in a hurry--tired of waiting for her dad to go to town with her one Christmas vacation day, she drove off without him!! I could not believe a smart girl having a death wish like that--it got her grounded for the rest of vacation. She worked with me at Country Treasures, then Rogan's Shoes, coming home with enough footwear to get her through her 20s. When she got a ticket for not stopping at a railroad crossing in Elk Mound, she went to court to have her say. Wearing a suit, glasses, and hair pulled up, she looked like a character from "Law and Order"--and did get the fine reduced by a few dollars.
In August 2004, we left her crying in the dorm parking lot at UW-Madison, all of us bawling, too, as we drove away. She cried for about a minute and then took the town by storm for the next 5 years...and now she's heading to medical school in the fall and planning her wedding. "How do you like this one, Mom?" brings me back. She looks lovely in all of them--so poised, confident, excited about the future. I will cry at the wedding, no matter what she wears.
P.S. Actually, I'll probably cry before that, too. We looked at a few mother-of-the-bride dresses before leaving one shop. They were all long, beady/sparkly/brocaded--like something Queen Elizabeth would wear to a state dinner. Can't wait to go shopping for MY dress--not!!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Pet Pin-ups
The Rhinelander Daily News is having a "pet pin-up" contest in recognition of National Pet Week in May. People can send in pictures of their pets and readers will vote for their favorites. Since we have 8 pets, I'm having trouble choosing which pictures to enter. I have more good photos of the cats because they are 100 times lazier than the dogs and sit still when the camera points their way. I probably shouldn't enter Smokey, the sweetheart tabby I adopted from the local shelter in November. His original owner might see him and want him back! Jasmine is already conceited enough--winning a contest would make her insufferable! Russ--well, she only has one ear, chronically gunky eyes--but a good personality. Koko and Bum almost have to be entered as a matched set--how can a mother choose??
So, please help me out. Take a look at the pictures here, or if you read this on Facebook check out my photo albums "Cheryl's Cathouse" or "Me and My Gang." I need to have my entries in by April 15th. I'll let you know who makes the cut!! Thanks!
Have a happy Easter weekend! Eat chocolate in moderation. (Riighht!!)
(I'll be out of town, so may not post again till Monday.)
So, please help me out. Take a look at the pictures here, or if you read this on Facebook check out my photo albums "Cheryl's Cathouse" or "Me and My Gang." I need to have my entries in by April 15th. I'll let you know who makes the cut!! Thanks!
Have a happy Easter weekend! Eat chocolate in moderation. (Riighht!!)
(I'll be out of town, so may not post again till Monday.)
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Writing Again
Blogging is changing my life. I feel like a maple tree with the sap running, as the "creative juices" flow like they haven't in a long time. I wake up at 3 AM, my mind racing as an entry is practically writing itself in my head. I have to get up and write it down in case it is forgotten (very likely!) by morning. I carry a pen and little notepad when I walk the dogs to jot down ideas as they strike me. Several drafts have flowed with few corrections, while others have required extensive rewriting and even a little research. I've had one in progress for over a month, and still haven't fine-tuned it to my satisfaction.
I have loved writing since I was a kid. I composed a song for our Barbie doll rock group that my sisters still torture me with. "There's a strange, strange world comin' round the bend. It's so cool I hope it never ends..." In grade school I took a long epic poem that my class read and set it to music. The teacher thought it was wonderful and had me sing it, along with my pitiful guitar accompaniment, in front of the class. "The moon was an ivory saber (TWANG) snared on an ebony gown" (TWANG TWANG) Ten or more verses of this, all to the same tune. It's a wonder my classmates didn't stone me at recess.
Junior high was my most prolific period, when I churned out 40 or more stories of mystery, romance, and intrigue. My characters had hip names like Mux Pendretti and Scooter Avery. The guys had cleft chins, and the girls had dialogue like "Janet, I love your new hip-huggers!" I typed these masterpieces on a dysfunctional manual typewriter, and my sisters were my first audience. They loved to recite my typos in dramatic voices: "Her heart was in her thrat." (My daughters have read them now, too, so I've endured a second generation of gleeful ridicule.)
Poetry has always come easily to me--not the image-filled, profound meaning stuff that I taught to bored high school freshmen--but rhymed and rhythmic verses. I wrote a corny poem about friendship for my high school graduation speech, then tried to pass it off in an assignment for my college creative writing class at UW-Eau Claire. "D!!! Too cliched!" the professor wrote on it. I'd never before gotten a D on anything! He later gave me an A on a short story I wrote, and it was published in the campus fine arts magazine. I sent a poem on homesickness to my mom: "The ache begins in tiny swells, then rises to a peak. You want to leave, but know that you must face another week." Etc... Mother, #1 literary agent, sent it to the Melrose Chronicle for publication. In recent years I've specialized in stuff written for friends' birthdays, retirements, and other irreverent occasions.
In the '90s, I sold a few greeting card ideas. I got no attribution on the finished cards--the artist got that--but the biggest thrill of my writing life was seeing one of my cards in a Wausau gift shop!! I ran screaming out into the mall to drag Fred in and show him. My plan is to get a new Writer's Market and try my hand at that again.
In the meantime, blogging is a blast. I feel like Dave Barry or Erma Bombeck--with an audience of a dozen! But that's ok, I'm having fun--and I hope my readers are, too.
I have loved writing since I was a kid. I composed a song for our Barbie doll rock group that my sisters still torture me with. "There's a strange, strange world comin' round the bend. It's so cool I hope it never ends..." In grade school I took a long epic poem that my class read and set it to music. The teacher thought it was wonderful and had me sing it, along with my pitiful guitar accompaniment, in front of the class. "The moon was an ivory saber (TWANG) snared on an ebony gown" (TWANG TWANG) Ten or more verses of this, all to the same tune. It's a wonder my classmates didn't stone me at recess.
Junior high was my most prolific period, when I churned out 40 or more stories of mystery, romance, and intrigue. My characters had hip names like Mux Pendretti and Scooter Avery. The guys had cleft chins, and the girls had dialogue like "Janet, I love your new hip-huggers!" I typed these masterpieces on a dysfunctional manual typewriter, and my sisters were my first audience. They loved to recite my typos in dramatic voices: "Her heart was in her thrat." (My daughters have read them now, too, so I've endured a second generation of gleeful ridicule.)
Poetry has always come easily to me--not the image-filled, profound meaning stuff that I taught to bored high school freshmen--but rhymed and rhythmic verses. I wrote a corny poem about friendship for my high school graduation speech, then tried to pass it off in an assignment for my college creative writing class at UW-Eau Claire. "D!!! Too cliched!" the professor wrote on it. I'd never before gotten a D on anything! He later gave me an A on a short story I wrote, and it was published in the campus fine arts magazine. I sent a poem on homesickness to my mom: "The ache begins in tiny swells, then rises to a peak. You want to leave, but know that you must face another week." Etc... Mother, #1 literary agent, sent it to the Melrose Chronicle for publication. In recent years I've specialized in stuff written for friends' birthdays, retirements, and other irreverent occasions.
In the '90s, I sold a few greeting card ideas. I got no attribution on the finished cards--the artist got that--but the biggest thrill of my writing life was seeing one of my cards in a Wausau gift shop!! I ran screaming out into the mall to drag Fred in and show him. My plan is to get a new Writer's Market and try my hand at that again.
In the meantime, blogging is a blast. I feel like Dave Barry or Erma Bombeck--with an audience of a dozen! But that's ok, I'm having fun--and I hope my readers are, too.
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