Happy Hour Cycle

The Equinox in Woodbury added Happy Hour Cycle to the schedule.  Held from 5:45pm - 6:45pm on Friday evenings, this class allows fitness enthusiasts to burn off the calories they will most likely be consuming soon after the class ends. Most Equinoxes in Manhattan offer Friday evening classes, so it's high time Long Islanders got some non-yoga options too.

I knew I shouldn't be spinning right after I clipped my shoes into the pedals. My left knee had locked out on the stairs during dismissal, and sitting in Friday traffic didn't help it. Although I didn't get to enjoy the class, I'm sure I would have if I had a normal-functioning knee.

John Kojac lead us on a fairly intense ride filled with climbs. He asked us to push ourselves at a level 10 as we climbed a series of three hills. This type of workout is good to develop length strength, and to train your body to push through pain, which is a necessary skill for racing.

Pecans: Friend or Foe?

It's no secret that I've gotten a little pudgy around the middle, but eating through your thrice-weekly hangovers will do that to you. While rooting around my parents' freezer the other day, I discovered my father's candy bar selection. (It's actually not that hard to find. It has completely taken over both shelves, and edged out my small container of flax seed, which now hides underneath the defunct ice maker. Depressing visual, I know.) My mother, who can hear the sound of a refrigerator door opening from two floors away, suddenly appears and says, "That's how I got fat." Now the woman is certainly not fat. For a while she was rocking a BMI (body mass index, a highly inaccurate measurement to determine if someone is a healthy weight) that put her in the "needs to be hospitalized within the week" zone. However, she's not as slim as last year.

So I thought about it... Could candy bars and my Seamlessweb addiction be responsible for our added girth? Certainly. But what about breakfast?

We eat Greek yogurt for breakfast. There's nothing wrong with the yogurt - it's the pecans we've been adding for a satisfying crunch. At 196 calories per ounce, and 20.5 grams of fat, we're basically begging for the bulge. An ounce of pecans is approximately 30 grams. Grab a small handful and toss them on a food scale, and you will easily reach 30 grams, if not more. I've been limiting myself to 10 grams lately, and I've got like six pecans topping my protein-packed treat.

Pecans are part of a nutritious diet. They are a good source of protein and unsaturated fats. Pecans are rich in omega-6 fatty acids, and have antioxidants and plant sterols that can reduce LDL cholesterol levels. Pecans are good for you, but only if you can recognize a serving size.

Verdict: FOE 

In Shape Out of Mind's Recommended Reading List

When I was little, I struggled to learn how to read. Go figure that this hippie whole language approach to learning wouldn't work for me, and being the competitive, overachiever that I was, I freaked out and somehow forced myself to read, and to read well, the summer before 4th grade. As with everything you have to work hard for, I truly appreciated my new skill and attacked books with a voracious and passionate appetite. Then I became neurotic about recording everything I read and started making lists. Lists are the sign of the hyper-organized and the mildly insane. I should have stuck with it because now I'm not sure how many books I've read, or what books I've read, and sometimes I take home books from the library only to find out I've read them, twice.

I was a pudgy little kid with an awkward haircut and strange social skills. The world inside books allowed me to pretend to be awesome, when I definitely was not. The safe haven I found inside books is a lot like the safe havens I now find inside fitness studios and out on race courses. It doesn't matter how much life currently sucks on the outside - for those hours, I rock. Combining my two loves, I frequently read about fitness and running.

Here are two books I have enjoyed:

I received a free copy of Dean Karnazes Ultra Marathon Man: Confessions of an All-Night Runner in college. I got it at EMS after purchasing a new spectator's chair to day-drink in during lacrosse games. The thing sat on my bookshelf until 2009, but once I cracked its spine, I was hooked. Who had ever heard of running all-night? I didn't even realize they had races for people who wanted to run 100 miles in the dark in the middle of nowhere. I became obsessed with one day running the Western States 100. Now that I find myself running my first ultra (50K or 31 miles on May 7th!), I've been rereading the parts where Dean trained for his Western 100 qualifying 50 miler. I don't plan on throwing up all over the interior of my car, but I will pack snacks.

I came across Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Chris MacDougall on an old boyfriend's bookshelf last summer. I read through chapter 5, realized Dean Karnazes was a bit of a self-promoting sellout, and decided I needed my own copy stat. In addition to a ton of information about a hidden tribe of super-runners, the book taught me about the Leadville 100. Add that to the growing list of abusive ultras I will one day run. I also learned of some other runners who find it totally appropriate to drink all night, and then participate in grueling physical activities. If they can party blackout until dawn, and then run an ultra for kicks, I think I am totally justified in my pre-10K debauchery. MacDougall does a great job of weaving his quest to find Caballo Blanco, the little-known history of the Tarahumara, the background of running and different runners, and this ultimate trail race into a coherent story that captures your attention and makes you want to throw out your sneakers for a pair of sandals. In Shape Out of Mind highly recommends this book.

Yoga

You can't choose your family, but you can certainly choose which family members to disown for eternity. I hadn't planned on going to the gym after sleeping through all of Tripp's spin classes, but after trimming my family tree, I needed to do something to get me to relax.

I went to Raj Shtrom's yoga class at Woodbury at 4:30pm. If you remember the last time I ended up in one of Raj's classes, this was fortunately a class for all levels, and not intended for L2/3 "I can lick my own shoulder blade" yogis.

The class is heavy on the downward dog standing split. Some people don't like this move, but I'm for anything that breaks up the monotony of downward facing dog. This supposed "resting pose" is the most painful thing in the world for me. I have tight hip flexors, tight shoulders, overdeveloped thighs, and stress fractures in my feet - I imagine downward facing dog is comparable to being strung up on a medieval torture rack.

We made it through the sun salutations, and then got on to what I can actually do: awkward balancing poses. I'm all about eagle, tree, airplane, and anything else that requires standing very still on one foot. I practice while standing in line and waiting for my students to settle down. It's amazing what 8 hours of daily practice can do...

Raj has a few classes in Woodbury, Roslyn, and Great Neck, including a Saturday class. I highly recommend her. After 75 minutes, I wasn't so keen to exact revenge on my former family members, so maybe there's something to this yoga business.

My First NYRR Race

I ran my first NYRR race. After putting it off and putting it off, I finally became a member of the New York Road Runners. It's worth it, because you make back the cost of your membership after two races. I also want to run the New York City Marathon, and the 9+1 system is tough to beat. Basically if you register, run nine races, and then volunteer at one race, you are guaranteed entry into the next year's marathon.

The NYRR 4 Mile (really creative name, huh?) was held on Saturday, April 23th in Central Park. T, the Professor, and I all signed up at the beginning of the month and had many plans for our inaugural race. The Professor decided we should wear tennis whites. T didn't get the memo. So on race day, after waking up at 1:30, 2:30, 4:45, and 5:30, I got out of bed at 6:38 am to eat breakfast and clean my apartment. Of course it was pouring rain, which obviously only happens when I wear white. I had to forgo the cute white tank, but kept the white skort. Although I had collected my bib the day before, it was only at this ungodly hour did I notice that my bib was brown... and my pace was listed as 11:21. "11:21?" I gasped. Surely they couldn't mean 11:21 minutes per mile?  They did.

To spite the obnoxious NYRR volunteers, I went to the back of the line. The way back of the back of the line. And then I smoked them. I finished in 29:21, with a 7:21 pace... only four minutes faster than my bib's claim. Take that NYRR and your typos!

Cuckoo for Coco

Please excuse the sickening title, but I couldn't resist.

Coco Xie is now teaching Cardio Knockout! at the Great Neck Equinox. I first met Coco at one of her and Yves's master classes at Fusion Fitness. She is an incredible Zumba instructor, and a pretty sick kickboxing instructor too. Thank God, because I sometimes spend Thursday night on Long Island. If you miss Yves, you'll love Coco's class.

Thursdays @ the Equinox in Great Neck
Cardio Knockout! 5:30 pm - 6:30 pm
Zumba 6:30 pm - 7:30 pm

The True Story of GOGI 1

I received an email about the 2nd Get Outside on Governors Island 10K, which will be held on June 26th. All participants in last fall's race will receive a $10 discount if they register in-store at Paragon Sports.

I guess it's time to finally share the story of the first GOGI 10K. All events are true. If you recognize your involvement, please keep that to yourself.

I had recently stopped smoking and picked up running races instead. I had already completed the Michael Trauma 5K, and was looking forward to this GOGI race I had signed up for over the summer. I was high on my own achievement - hell yeah, guess who doesn't smoke anymore and rocks a 7 minute mile? I do! I do! The only problems were I didn't know anyone else who would be running this race, and I would be leaving from my apartment so I didn't even have my mom around to entertain me. For someone who loves spending so much time alone, I need to be entertained.

Friday night I went out for a few beers with a buddy, but was in bed way early. If you can make it through Friday, you know you're on your way to a civilized and grown-up weekend. I had three beers and I didn't smoke a single cigarette! Saturday I was up and about at the crack of dawn. I went downtown to have brunch with the best friend and her boyfriend, and then we went to Paragon to pick up my race packet. Everything was great. The sun was shining, the chick from Rules of Attraction (Shannyn Sossamon) was dragging a dog around the farmer's market, and I wasn't smoking cigarettes.

After spending money I didn't really have (hypnotism isn't cheap and my best friend really likes to drag me around shopping), I was tired and getting a little grumpy. I decided to walk from the West Village back to the East 80s. Done and done. Strangely, no one could be found to play with on such a nice fall day (the best friend and the boyfriend were on their way out to Long Island) and that was making me feel anxious. Clearly people were out and about... they just didn't want to be out and about with me. When I get anxious, I get manic. When I get manic, I smoke cigarettes. But I didn't smoke cigarettes anymore. And no one wanted to play with me. And I live in a studio apartment and there was nothing on tv and I needed to do something.

This is how a wonderfully pleasant Saturday ended up with me on a roof deck somewhere in the East Village/Lower Eastside/Hell for all I know, watching a UNC game on a large flat screen tv that had somehow been brought out to this roof deck. Then the dance party began. I lit a cigarette, and then another, and another. More beer arrived. This was at 11 pm, and I needed to be on my way to the race by 6 am. Fast forward through a few more hours, dance parties, two bars, and six taxi rides, and I was walking into my apartment to get changed for the race. Some people would have accepted defeat and gone to sleep. "Not I!" says In Shape Out of Mind. Instead I poured a roadie. (I put a little coconut water in it. Had to hydrate!)

I went to that flippin race and I finished that flippin race. Granted, my pace slowed down to 8.30 minute miles, and I was cold and disoriented, but I finished that flippin race. The course was confusing when I reviewed the map sober two days before. So I got a little lost trying to run it inebriated. Some guy jokingly asked me if I were drunk. I smiled serenely, and answered, "Of course I am." Well, he asked. Sorry I'm not sorry.

The worst part of this entire cold and poorly organized race is the ferry to Governors Island. There is a real reason why no one wants to go to Governors Island, and that is because it sucks. The only redeeming moment of this horrible experience was running into my friend Palindrome. We formed our running club Team RuNNuR shortly after. And no, we still have not purchased t-shirts.

I might return for GOGI 2 simply to prove how confusing the course really is.

Spin-Disco-Psychotherapy

At 7:30 this morning I had the privilege of clipping my cycling shoes into bike #9 at Roslyn to spend forty-five quality minutes with Tripp Doherty and my fellow cyclists. Today Tripp told us that during these forty-five minutes, we should think about our lives and our goals, that we should feel like we're at a disco, that we're experiencing the worst time of our lives, and the best time of our lives. During those forty-five minutes we should live an entire life. He also reminded us to live in the moment, and that tomorrow is an eternity away, that today is what matters. (In case you were wondering why my punctuation seems to go to hell in a handbasket whenever I quote Tripp, it's because I am trying to be true to the words of a man who is simultaneously cycling at level 7 or jumping around the room. I'm having trouble reconciling my grammar-obsessed childhood with desire to authentically record what moved me.)

I have a real problem with living in the moment. I have always been a tomorrow, or one day person. One day, maybe tomorrow, I will look the way I want to look. Or one day, maybe tomorrow, I will do the things I want to do. One day, maybe tomorrow, I will have everything I have always wanted to have. One days and tomorrows have let me avoid taking inventory of my life for years, but that has begun to change. In particular, I have realized how many "one day, maybe tomorrow" friendships and relationships I have had. If you suck today, you'll probably suck tomorrow, and I'm not waiting around to find out.

Tripp encourages us to work through our feelings during class. He has psychologists and psychiatrists in his classes that say they are able to work through things better during that time than any other. I think that I am a self-aware person (perhaps painfully so?,) but I am not one who handles feelings particularly well. There is something about pushing your body to do things you would think are physically impossible that allows you to tap into emotions you didn't know you had. For instance, after pushing through the last four minutes of class at a level 8, out in 3, thinking that my legs might burst like grapes at any moment, I found myself yelling (most likely silently) "Why don't you love me?" into the towels on my handlebars. I think I might have some issues to sort out during spin-disco-psychotherapy.

Pilates Still Sucks

My best friend (the one on the fitness kick who makes me feel ashamed of my hungover binge-eating marathons) is really into Pilates. I remember Pilates from my first foray into group fitness... and it sucked. Despite these vivid memories, I went to Clay Grant's SILER-Centric Pilates class this morning.

You know what? Pilates still sucks, but only because it takes so much work. You can't use momentum or brute force to make it through the moves; you have to use your individual muscles and be aware of your movements. I love brute force. I hate attention to detail.

I'm so glad I went to this class though, because it was a lot of fun.  Apparently the regulars have a running joke about their ages in comparison to Clay's. Clay orders everyone about, and they all rag on him. Clay was away last week and some "West Coast Instructor" subbed the class. An hour of kum ba yah and papaya juice drinking really traumatized the bunch, and they were happy to have Clay back to yell at them. I might not be on the inside of this joke, but I did spend a good portion of my morning laughing on my mat.

Pilates is a full-body exercise meant to use all aspects of your body, not just your abdominals. This is why the class sucks so much if you're not used to doing it. I carry a ton of tension in my neck, (probably from grinding my teeth wishing for cigarettes, child-free classrooms, and the end of Americal Idol), and perhaps more Pilates in my life might help me to align my back. We'll see.

Flying Monkeys and Magic Wands

Last night I was lying in bed, ignoring my text messages, and basically wallowing in what my life isn't. I was being a lazy grump. I didn't set an alarm, and figured I'd sleep in and pad around in my pajamas all morning.

This morning I woke up in time to catch Tripp Doherty's 9:45 class at Woodbury. The class is magical, and we could all use a little more magic in our lives. Who doesn't want to attend a spin class that involves flying monkeys, a magic wand, and disco? I was running late this morning (I woke up at 9:05) and didn't get my morning coffee, Ritalin, or breakfast, but I still managed to find the energy to power through one of the best rides I've ever had. Tripp's inspirational commentary pushes us all to go past what we expect of ourselves. He has a dedicated group of followers for a reason. I only wish I got to ride with him more often.

Without my morning meds, I can't focus long enough to claw my way out of a plastic bag. The usually euphoric ride was even better because I could lose myself in the sweat and music. At the end of the class I could barely remember what had soaked my clothes and made my heart race. If I could stay on course, I'd definitely blow off the Ritalin for my long races.

Tripp tells us that his religion, what he believes in, is found inside the cycling room. All of us working together as one, showing what we can really do is a demonstration of faith. While I consider myself a Christian, I have to admit that the closest I've felt to Jesus in a long time is sweating in a spin room surrounded by a lot of Jews.