This is my belated happy birthday post to my baby who turned 3 on Friday.

I could write paragraphs on how she bubbles to life each morning, giggling from sunrise to sunset. How she begs (and gets) ‘huddles’ (cuddles) at least 500x a day. How, without fail, she continues to ask, and be denied, sweets at 8:00 a.m. And how this can bring on screams that make it sound like she’s having a limb amputated.

How she shrugs, palms up, like a little old Italian man when she crawls out of bed at night begging for toast because “mama, *shrug* I not tired, I starving“. How she cannot contain her exuberance and bursts into spontaneous stomping dances of joy repeatedly. Her energy and merriment have filled every corner of our hearts and house.

She is a rascal, a clown, a giggling, writhing ball of joy. She is my little monkey who brings a bright shining light, humour and sheer delight into our lives. Perhaps the best description of her would be one of her favourite terms: super awesome.

Happy Birthday Sweetie!

Y’know the scene in The Sound of Music (I won’t believe you if you say you don’t) where the Captain is impatiently waiting to introduce his children to the glacial Baroness and lo and behold there they are, in the boat, deliously happy in their lederhosen and curtain dresses, and he suddenly realises the urchins hanging off trees he was so despairing of earlier were indeed his. And then they fall in the water…all gloriously sodden and delighted with themselves (not least because they finally know how to sing – which begs the question of what they were doing all those other years? mewing? miming?) and the Baroness stifles a giggle that threatens to crack her face…and then the introductions take place and the Captain attempts to find his sexy military poise, gives a quivery little look that reads let’s put this whole undignified mess behind us, and slowly says ‘this is Baroness Schraeder and these…are my children’.

The … pause is everything in this scene. Oh Captain, my Captain, the timing was impeccable.

And so with a pause of forced dignity, tinged with embarassment, I too introduce my wretched offspring and say: and this…is my allotment.

80 x 20 feet of chaos. From the hastily constructed Blair Witch a-frame to the rampant weeds and potato beetles; it ain’t that pretty.

It is nothing like my good neighbour to the West – which garrisoned behind its 7ft high fence is utter perfection.

However, nor is it like my bad neighbour to the East – which is an unbridled weed sanctuary with thistles thicker than a sailor’s thigh.

Nevertheless I’ve already been able to pick a wee bounty of things a few times already.

The pole beans seem oblivious to the joke of a frame I built them (and then re-built, and then propped up again)

And my yellow and green beans are doing great and I should be able to freeze some soon.

See the teeny tiny watermelon starting?

The early tomatoes will be ripe soon:

Corn is not doing great and I doubt I will get any of substantial size at all, but I have rows of different lettuces, kale and a whack of peas that should be ready for picking in a couple days.

Colorado potato beetles – aren’t they lovely? They get larger than this and are just horrid.

I pulled up the one eaten plant to see if I actually had any spuds growing and voila! There’s hope for the other plants.

Spinach or swiss chard…not sure, the latter I think.

Rainbow chard – almost too gorgeous to eat:

Fennel forest – I have about 10 of these going strong. I love carmelised fennel. Can’t wait.

Courgettes and cukes at home are stunted and dying from the downy mildew but at the allotment I have high hopes of a good yield starting next week.

and last, but not least, I give you beet girl:

I’ve said it before, I’m not great at yoga, never have been. My flexibility is laughable, I always found it hard to focus and never got that zen feeling and I’ve always thought you just don’t get enough of a sweat on for it to be serious exercise (oh how wrong I was about that one).

I have since come to realise though, maybe yoga isn’t something I should necessarily strive to be good at. Maybe just enjoying it, becoming more at ease with my body and listening to how it feels is enough. It’s all a part of my change of attitude; running was about getting faster and endurance, resistance training about lifting heavier and heavier…and then there was the calorie burn…but now, I’m pretty much in a just enjoying what I do phase. Runs are fun because I’m not aiming for a specific goal, cycling is fun because I just love my bike so damn much and weights, well I haven’t really done any lately because yoga is maintaining all my upper body strength.

Not to say I wouldn’t like to see some increased flexibility. I mean really, my hamstrings are so tight you could play Dueling Banjos on them, but it’s not the be all and end all.

So last month I joined My Yoga Online. I was looking for high quality streaming videos with an array of choices in levels, instructors and styles. And that’s exactly what I got. I love it. Great instructors, beautifully shot videos, and pretty much something for everybody. I love that there is pilates, core videos, meditation as well as all the yoga videos too. I now get up at what I used to consider the ungodly hour of 5:30 most mornings and do whichever video I feel like that day. It’s brilliant.

And who knows, maybe by Christmas I’ll be able to perform party tricks by sticking my feet behind my ears of something.

The good is that the weeds are marginally under control. On second thought, ‘marginally’ might be too optimistic a word. The actual good is that I now have a small tiller that is helping to hack them up a bit. I have never seen weeds like this. I had numerous plants choke and disappear in the jungle of crab grass, thistles and what I call mystery-weed (a charming looking plant with roots longer than intestines that sends off shoot after shoot). In truth I cannot control them and will always be playing catch-up but at least I can now see my veggies instead of just weeds.

The good is also that things are growing quite well. My peas, beans, chard, carrots, beets, fennel and corn all look good. Half my potatoes are coming on well. A few early cherry tomatoes should be ripe soon. I also have an abundance of spinach, lettuce and radishes ready for eating this week. And finally, with the recent blast of heat, my watermelon, pumpkin and squashes have finally moved on from their stunted states.

The bad is that I’m facing pests and disease. Slugs have once again appeared at home (so far just in one of my front raised beds) and have attacked my herbs and lettuce. At the allotment a few deer chomped away at my flowering beans and trod all over my peas. Also at the allotment, but not home, some kind of bug ate almost all my kale but didn’t touch the lettuce beside it. Go figure. I also think my Norland potatoes may have blight – leaves turning brittle and brown (not from heat) and my courgettes have been plagued by some kind of mold/white dusting on leaves that is killing them. Not good.

Also bad, the mache seeds I scoured forever to find haven’t come up at all. Despite planting 3x. Duds. I shall be complaining. And only about 6 parsnips came up…finicky buggers.

The fugly is that I had my bag stolen out of my car while at the allotment on Sunday afternoon. I was just making a quick stop, had a few tomato plants in massive pots that my Dad had given me the day before that I needed to transplant. While walking them from my car to my plot (I’m terrible at distances but let’s just call it ‘a stone’s throw’ away) I left the back hatch open. But there was nobody there. I mean nobody. Usually there are people fishing on the river and numerous people at their plots but for the first time ever I was all alone.

After getting the last pot to plot, I went to beep the car locked. And it didn’t beep. I figured some of my garden stuff probably was keeping the hatch open a bit, no big whoop because I was on my own.

So I set to work. At one point I heard a car speeding down the slip road (beside where my car was parked) and I looked up. It was curious as the road is a dead-end and why would anybody want to speed down it? I gave it no further thought. Until a half hour later I was at the store and realised my bag was gone.

The bastards rang up nearly $1,000 on my credit card before I got it cancelled. Thank god I’m not liable – Visa covers this. The worst is getting back all my I.D. I had everything bar my passport in there. I can’t even think about the identity theft issue. And I felt positively sick to my soul that Soph’s picture was in there as was a little gift card for the local book store she had won at school. I’m also a bit freaked about safety at the allotment and will be taking precautions in the future.

Luckily, I received a call from a shop across town that has found a few pieces (including Sophie’s picture) behind their store. None of my major pieces of I.D. but I’ll be glad to reclaim anything and am delighted that some creep doesn’t have her picture.

I wish I was a big enough person to not wish nasty things on the wankers who took it. But I’m not. May STDs of all varieties visit their private parts forever.

I love that you wake up as groggy as an adult with a hangover. I love that you loudly and proudly sing off-key French songs and the Canadian national anthem all day long. I love that you run around the playground introducing yourself to kids and chatting with their parents about the weather. I love that you made my heart grow.

I love that you start sentences with ‘when I’m a woman…’ I love that you want to be an artist one day and a teacher the next (daddy wasn’t so keen on the career in hairdressing though). I love that when you are complimented on any number of things, you don’t deny the praise but instead answer so assuredly, ‘I know’. I love that you still love to run, naked & screaming, around the house. I love that you think your body is awesome.

I love that you are more emotional than a pms-ing teenage girl. I love that you have discovered empathy. I love that you declare a passion for broccoli and mashed potatoes but refuse to eat them (long live the all-beige diet!). I love the vividness of your artwork and the joy you find in creating and giving. I love that you are becoming a great big sister who only occasionally batters Amelie. I love that when somebody stole my wallet you angrily said you wanted to ‘kill them’ (remind me to have a conversation with you later about the finer points of the law). I love that you believe you can do anything.

I love your willingness to learn how to cook. I love that you find such pleasure in worm collecting and smacking ‘dumb’ mosquitoes. I love the way your curl into me when you read, that you find listening to my stomach gurgles hilarious. I love how you give your heart so easily, that you say ‘I love you’ with such depth and ease.

I love that you are you. Happy Sixth Birthday sweetie!

Very exciting news…Paul and I are going the NYC for his 40th birthday next month! We are flying to Montreal, spending the night there and then taking the train to NYC. We will have 3 days/4 nights to explore and then it’ll be a mad dash home.

I CANNOT WAIT! I’ve always wanted to go and perhaps it’s from repeatedly watching Woody Allen films but I’ve long held the notion that I would love, love, love New York and would have to be dragged away kicking and screaming.

I always eat my way through a city. I’ve already been looking up delis and restaurants and we are hoping to book Babbo for Paul’s b-day dinner and make it to Les Halles too. Grimaldi’s is supposed to do a stonking good pizza so that is on the list as well.

I must say we cannot really afford this trip…at all. But turning 40 is a big thing and we just couldn’t resist a chance to get away on a grown-up weekend. A HUGE thanks to Paul’s family for their massive contribution…and god bless Airmiles too. Without them we’d be walking.

So I need suggestions…what must you see…where must you go?

As of yet we have little else planned except renting bikes and cycling around Central Park…oh and there’s a couple pubs on the list… and the 2087 buildings Paul will want to photograph…

I did it! Completed the Manitoba Half Marathon in 2:04! My original goal way back when was to come in under 2 hours but all things considered I am very happy with that time.

It did not start great. The week leading up I had some stomach bug and kept having this twisted innards feeling. Then I added nerves to that and it was brutal. I have never been so nervous in my life. Not over flying, not getting married, not over anything. So the night before the race I went to bed very early, hoping to read, relax and get in 5 hours or so of sleep as I had to be up at 4:30 a.m.

But I couldn’t sleep. My mind would not stop racing no matter what I tried. I was posting on Facebook at 1:30 a.m. Panicking at 3:00 a.m. I just watched the clock turn over and the minutes pass and I was FREAKING OUT about how I was going to run without having slept at all. I haven’t pulled an alcohol-free all-nighter ever. Then I got my period and flipped. This was madness and I started spiralling into my stomach is bad, I’m cramping up, I’m tired, I’m never going to be able to do this.

Then Paul offered some kind words, a hug, I popped some advil, forced down half a bagel, made a banana/coconut water smoothie and was on my way at 5:00 a.m.

Looking demented as I show off my bib number and get ready to leave:

Trying to pass the hour until start time was fun. I walked around, chewed some Gu gummies, popped a shot of red bull, got weepy, went to washroom 4,322 times. By the start I swear I was sporting the cleanest intestines in North America.

I was in the first group to go; y’know with the elite runners. Was hilarious. I got passed by about 1000 people (some of whom were about 8 yrs old) and next time, if there is a next time, I would start further back just for the mental ‘not getting passed out every 2 seconds’ factor.

For the first 6 miles my stomach was in knots and hurt badly. Despite hydrating well my mouth was so dry that I was delighted when we reached the first water stations. Then I saw my friend Erin cheering me on and perked up. I knew Paul and the girls were around the corner at Mile 6 and couldn’t wait to see them.

My sweeties with their ‘Go Mommy Go’ poster.

Leaning in for a quick kiss from the girls.

Looking far too chirpy

And I was off again. Knowing I was almost at the halfway point was a real boost. I was tempted by the beer stand at Mile 7 but was too lazy to cross the road for it. Around Mile 8 I saw my lovely sister and niece which was another huge pick-me up.

Around Mile 10 I got a little sluggish and took 2 twenty second or so walk breaks. I tried to avoid them up until then except when doing a quick 3 second quaff of water. Couldn’t believe the end was in sight already. Knew I was close to making the 2 hour mark but was going as quick as I could – which was not fast but all I had in the tank at that point – and couldn’t push more.

Was so happy to run into the arena with stands full of cheering people. Gave a little sprint and crossed the finish line. Was delighted at the 2:04 time. Rehydrated and picked at some of the many foods on offer and then spent an hour looking for Paul and the girls who had somehow missed me finishing.

Pic with a sweaty mommy!

Went to my sis’s for lunch afterwards which was lovely. I did nothing, everybody else provided the food and watched the kids and I lounged about. Bliss. I had no appetite though and my stomach was in agony and all knotted up again.

Afternoon bit of Mexican magic to ease the pain.

Then went home, had 2 Corona and magically my stomach felt better. Went to bed at 7:00. Slept like the dead. Hips are killing me today. Did a bit of yoga this morning, will do more later to stretch things out.

It was an awesome experience. I’m glad it’s done and that I don’t have to follow a training schedule anymore but at the same time am already wondering if I should do it next year and go for a sub 2hrs time. We shall see.

Also made me realise I do not want to run a full marathon EVER. I was watching some of them yesterday and I think they are crazy. Crazy awesome. A special kind of crazy awesome that I don’t think I want to put myself through.

But I’m proud of myself. Wicked day.

that’s my motto these days in relation to food and exercise. It’s a completely new place for me. When I started my 9 millionth weight-loss/get fitter/I-must-fit-into-a-bikini charge last October (and let me say that I really didn’t have to lose weight, it’s just the usual 10 vanity pounds I’m talking about) I knew I didn’t want to focus on calorie counting but that something had to change. So I started cutting some of the usual culprits out: sugar, beer, lots of carbs and followed clean eating guidelines. I began the NROLFW workouts and my training for this Sunday’s half-marathon. I tried to exercise 5x a week, sometimes it was 6.

A few pounds, of course, came off. Then I started getting a little nutty. I started bringing in more rules: don’t eat in the evenings, don’t have starchy carbs at dinner, try to burn 700 calories a workout. Then the labels I was so desperately trying to avoid subconsciously came back; this food is good, this food is bad. I toyed with the idea of severely cutting calories to get ‘ripped’ and starting to weigh food again. I logged food and exercise in a notebook giving myself check marks for ‘good’ days. Some days I was too guilt-ridden and ashamed to write down what I had. You fucked up! You can do better I would scream at myself. Everything I wanted to avoid. And I spiralled and binged and completely lost the run of myself all the while just desperately wanting to find some peace with food.

I have now given it all up. I remember buying various Intuitive Eating books years ago but it just didn’t click. I was looking to these books as I had looked to every other gimmicky fitness/weight loss regime – begging please let this be the one that has The Answer. What I realise now, with Wizard of Oz clarity, is the answer was always in me – all I needed to do was follow my body’s lead: eat when hungry, stop when full, eat what is nourishing and enjoyable. No food is good or bad; it’s just food. IT IS JUST FOOD.

Why was I wasting all this time and energy telling myself I wasn’t good enough, that I was fat, that I was horrid, working so damn hard to drop a few pounds. What in my life would change if I did? Is my purpose in life to spend my days trying to lose the same bloody 10 pounds over and over and over? Because that’s what’s being going on for 20 years. Will my epitaph sum up my life with the pithy Christine: She finally lost those 10 fucking pounds. Would I magically suddenly like myself just because I reached a number on a scale or a certain size pair of jeans? What was I neglecting and avoiding in my life by filling every hour with thoughts of food and my body? This last point really got me thinking.

A real turning point also came for me when we were on holidays recently and I felt like a ‘normal’ balanced person for a few weeks. I was busy, having fun, living life. I ate what I wanted when hungry, I exercised when I felt like it. There was no ‘having to’ do anything. A lightbulb went off. A bloody enormous, bright lightbulb. I felt like I had a glimpse of something wonderful and was then told that I too could have it.

I’m sure this sounds ridiculously hoaky to some but I haven’t even gone into the utter despair and destructive behaviour I have felt and gone through. And I know I still have work to do, but I’ve reached this stage where I am just being. And it feels wonderful. I cannot adequately explain how I feel but there has been a monumental internal shift. I feel like this war with food and the power I let it have over me is gone, like I let it go or pushed the boat out. In some ways I feel like I have surrendered but I don’t feel any sense of loss, only gain.

And so to exercise. There’s no chance I’m giving up working out. I love exercising but I want to shift it into the realm of doing it because I am enjoying it – not just the effects of it, not to burn calories or make up for eating something, but for the joy of it and how great it makes me feel. I’ve really been drawn to yoga lately which is odd.

Yoga is something I’ve done numerous times in the past and always told myself I’m terrible at it, it’s too hard, it doesn’t burn enough calories blah blah blah. But I’m throwing out that negative old tape and have started yoga up again and am loving it.

I’ve always done a specific exercise to obtain a specific result but I’m not looking to yoga to do that at all. I just want to explore the mind-body connection and see where it takes me.

Ok…time to shut up…but if anybody is interested a few good resources are:

Geneen Roth: Women, Food and God, and lot of her earlier works.

Michelle May: Eat What You Love, Love What You Eat and Am I Hungry?

Evelyn Tribole: Intuitive Eating

And last but not least, Christie at Honoring Health has a great insightful blog about Intuitive Eating.

5 days until the half! Agh! I’m a wee bit excited and a whole lot crapping-my-pants nervous. I’m also trying to slam the door shut on the voice that is telling me I should be more prepared.

It’s a peculiar thing, this nervousness; I mean logically I tell myself I’m not performing, nobody is going to be watching me, it’s not like I’m attempting something I haven’t done before…and yet, there it is, the butterflies in the tum like I’m about to get up on stage and deliver a speech in a bikini.

The weekend was so-so in terms of prep. Amélie had the stomach flu for a few days, poor thing, and I think my body has been deciding for days whether or not it is getting it too. I felt like there was a hand twisting my intestines into pretzels for much of the weekend. Tempered with a bit of acid reflux and nausea. But unlike Amélie, no projectile vomitting. I did do a run Friday and despite feeling off it went great. 1.5 hours, didn’t plot the distance but it just felt nice and chilled. And, scarily, I had to do it without my ipod which has kindly decided now is a perfectly good time to go tits up.

Now I’m trying to decide if I want to run the half without one. Ear-naked, as it were. All along I had playlists worked out in my head and was mentally jumbling the list around, but now I’m actually contemplating not using one. Possibly. Hmmmm. Any thoughts?

This week my hodgepodge taper plans are to: get lots of rest, oodles of wonderful nourishing meals with extra green drinks thrown in, no booze, do a short 5k tomorrow and a few spins to work. And a bit of yoga – which I’ve started again! But more on that tomorrow…it’s time for me get my rest…oh yeah baby, it’s 8:30 and I’m heading to bed soon. By the end of the week I imagine I’ll be feeling more virtuous than a nun with a chastity belt.

or a fitness epiphany.

This came about mainly because we were on holidays.

While away my fairly regimented exercise schedule went out the window. We were on the road most mornings by 7:15 and I squeezed in workouts when I could. I did not do any long runs – which is pretty much the cardinal sin of endurance training, whatever you do, if you’re going to miss any runs DO NOT miss the long ones. Well I did. Phffft.

But I did enjoy working out when I had the chance. Short runs (the altitude was interesting), a few hotel workouts (and can I just say that the Sheraton Denver has the best hotel gym I’ve ever been in) and some early morning swims. I even had a few fun ones in Santa Fe where I ran and did lunge-walks up a hill and then stopped and did push-up and dips off rocks on the roadside…was brilliant and I’m sure the neighbours thought I was barking mad.

I didn’t time the workouts, follow a schedule or record them. And it was awesome. I did what my body felt like doing and enjoyed it.

Which goes hand in hand with what I’ve been reading in Women, Food and God; listen to your body, trust it, give it what it needs to be nourished and to thrive.

Since we have been back I’ve been thinking over my workouts and decided to throw the strict schedule out the window. No more regimented weights 3x a week and after the half-marathon, probably no more 3 runs a week. I want to shake things up, enjoy being outdoors and not have my life revolve around a workout schedule. I might do some yoga and/or kickboxing classes. I love running but realise I love it only up to an hour or so, after an hour and a quarter it’s generally very hard work for me.

I enjoy exercise, I often love it, but it was becoming about the numbers too much; how many calories have I burned, how much did I eat today, how long have I worked out. Then guilt over not having done enough blah blah blah. I’m just so done with all that and feeling I ‘have to’ do something. I want to enjoy my food, enjoy my exercise – period.

And so to the half-marathon. It’s only a week and a half away and I had a dreadful run on the weekend. First hour was grand, second was very tough. I wasn’t fueled right and I was probably dehydrated. I’ll be doing one more long run before it and then taper off. It’ll probably take me 2.5 hours to do the half…and that’s just fine.