Blogging! Running! New Job-ing! Shit. It was a holiday! Colby IS BACK! I even ran an awesome trail race- Kettletown State Park in the Trail 2 Trail Series. If you can recall, last year I busted my paw. Relive the glory HERE. This year I survived intact! It was AWESOME!
Lookit me GO! Then I promptly fell into the abyss…
I was a bit premature in my re-emergence as Runner Blogger Taco Loving Goddess, Colby. The New Gig promptly overwhelmed me and so did running and cycling. It always overwhelms me as I navigate training for a marathon AND training to ride 193 miles in two days in the Pan Mass Challenge. Throw in a new job and it becomes a very crazy juggling act. I have zero clue how triathletes train for three disciplines and then, you know, live life. If I had to add swimming to my repertoire, I would shank myself with a whittled Bic pen. I have also been consuming roughly the equivalent of a thimble of water per day which is reeking havoc on my body. I was convinced I had Lyme Disease. Or even fibromyalgia. I texted Tina in a panic. Which didn’t help. She had her own laundry list of rare diseases she was diagnosing. Between us we needed to be admitted. Come to find out, I’m just tired and dehydrated.
Lesson learned? Every day can’t be a damn holiday. It’s not all sunshine, kick ass runs, stellar data and clean eating. Sometimes it pours, your legs feel like sausages, the study you’re working on turns to dust and you eat donuts like it’s your job. It’s called balance, Poodles. As much as I might want it to be perfect, it’s not. Just like me, Perfectly Imperfect. In spite of my hot mess of a self, I am feeling like I am starting to get back in the swing of things which is prompting me to dust off my InsideTracker data and see exactly where I am starting. My guess? The beginning. Which is a very good place to start if you ask me.
We are gathered here today
2 get through this thing called…
What. Too soon?
Oh, Prince. Such very sad news. Heart breaking. The guy was a genius. And Purple Rain was the first R-rated movie I ever saw. I thought I was soooooo cool afterwards. I even tried to make Apollonia my middle name but my Mom wasn’t having it. I have been listening to and singing Prince all week. It’s on repeat in my head and on shuffle on my iPhone. “Let’s Go Crazy” has been officially added to my “Run Fast Colby!” playlist. Unfortunately, Colby Running Fast has not been on repeat. It’s been on skip.
I actually contemplated hanging up my Hoka’s this week. I’m not even fooling. Hang ’em up and put on my new cycling kicks and ride off into the sunset. Screw it. I’m gonna ride bikes instead. I’m done. I had- hands down– THE worst series of runs I have ever had. EVER. Worse than when I started running which was pretty much the day after I saw Purple Rain which was about 100 years ago. My agony started last Sunday.
Don’t let the smile fool you. I was happy to have made it to my driveway. Dumbest run ever. 10 miles. Hilliest route on earth. Dehydrated. Mildly hung over. And one bitchy hamstring did not make for an epic run. It made for a sufferfest. I decided on this route as a sort of litmus test. A Where Am I Starting? The answer is right at the goddamn bottom. I couldn’t get out of my own way. I shuffled my pathetic ass up a series of 4 hills, one longer and more annoying than the next. When did this route get so hard? Am I this out of shape? I didn’t think I was. But now? Gah. I’m a hot mess.
So like any runner, I ran the next day. And the next. Both of which were no better than Sunday’s Suck Fest. The next I rode my bike. And had a big old talk with myself. It went like this:
GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.
I wish I was paraphrasing. I need to clean up the edges. I need to get serious. I need to see where I’m really starting because I feel like a broken down Yugo. My InsideTracker profile needs a definite update. Hello, Retest! I need to focus on something other than my former job. Like my new one! That tired old stress needs to leave the building, specifically my legs so I can move them with purpose again. My former situation was crippling in more ways than one. Onward and upward! A bike ride always puts things into perspective for me. Sometimes in a way that running doesn’t. Besides, all Running told me was to stop. Who wants to hear that shit when you’re trying to chug a big old pint of Motivation?
So I ignored what Running was telling me. And continued on the rest of the week. After a few moderately better #runventures (and one ill advised mountain bike ride with My Other Half, Drunk Otis, a bloody Achilles and a goddamn massive contusion on my hip), I began to fall into a rhythm. There you are Running! My Old Familiar Rhythm. And here I thought I’d lost you. I decided Saturday night, after icing my hip and cleaning my wounds, that I would re-run The Dreaded 4 Hilled Route. I woke up like it was race day. Hydrated. Well rested. Nary a hang over in sight. And this time?
Are we gonna let the elevator
Bring us down
Oh, no let’s go!
All I needed was an invisible jet and a goddamn lasso.
Have you ever seriously contemplated hanging up your running kicks? What’s the longest stretch of horrible runs you’ve ever had? What was the first R-rated movie you ever saw?
I love spring. Even a cold-ish, allergy filled, rainy spring like this one. Days are longer, sun is higher in the sky and every day something new pops up out of the ground. Had a CRAP week last week, but every morning I woke to daylight, birds chirping and things blooming all around. Even on tough day, it’s really hard not to feel hopeful when life is literally popping up all around you (and kicking the sh*t out of your sinuses while it does, BTW).
Like New Year’s, Spring (at least in the Northeast) is such a sign of new beginnings. It’s like a “new year” without anyone suggesting that you take stock of what you did during the last year and make resolutions for the coming one. Thank God. Even more reason to love it. A new beginning where your main focus is getting out and enjoying the world instead of reflecting on it. Yes, please!
Spring is a crazy busy time for us. Confirmations, graduations, sports schedules that require math exam type planning (If A needs to be at X field at 5 and B needs to be at Y field by 5:15, how likely is it that an SUV travelling at (somewhere in the vicinity of) the speed limit will make both drop offs, assuming no red lights?), end of schoolyear concerts, field days and assemblies. It’s a good thing that we have a winter of hibernation to gear up for the constant movement that is spring. What do people who live in warm weather climates do? Seriously – you warm weather people – WHAT THE HELL DO YOU DO? Do you just run ragged all year long??? I’m tired just thinking about it. I love Spring, but I can only take one per year. And only bookended by a cozy winter and a lazy summer, thank you.
In the vein of new beginnings, I tried a new class the other night, called the MELT method. It is NOT an exercise class. It is a “self-care” class that teaches you techniques to help relieve –and prevent- pain by manipulating fascia much like you would get in a massage session. You use squishy balls (for hands and feet) and a soft foam roller (for the rest of your body). I loved it. I have had a lot of back and shoulder pain lately and cannot seem to get rid of it even with rest days, stretching, etc. and an easy running schedule.
When I began the 1-hour class, I couldn’t lay on my back in the “assessment position” without discomfort in my lower back. By the time I left, I was completely free of aches and twinges. Amazing. I really felt like I do after a massage, possibly even better. Plus, the instructor was knowledgeable and funny- my favorite combo. The goal of the class is to teach you the method so you can use it at home. They say that 10 minutes a day is all you need to stay pain-free once you get the hang of it. I’ll take that!
Discovering MELT was perfect timing, as I want to re-align myself before starting to train for my next marathon. Oh the irony – after all my bitching and moaning about training for a fall marathon last summer, I finally got into the NYC marathon on my 4th? 5th? try. I threw my name in the lottery when it opened in December (perhaps still delusional and glowing from Colby’s and my Best Day Ever at the Baystate Marathon and conveniently forgetting that I hate summer training) and promptly forgot about it until I got the confirmation in my in-box that I was IN. After the shock wore off and the dread of intervals in August subsided, I realized that I am really excited to get a chance to run NYC. And my husband is almost as excited about getting to experience another summer with me bitching about the heat and humidity and falling asleep at dinner, though he is hiding it nicely.
After NYC, I probably have a month or so before I will start training for Boston 2017, so it really, REALLY is time to rest, assess and get my body comfortable before absolutely beating the crap out it during back to back marathon training. Thank you, MELT Method. I think you will do just that.
If are in the Fairfield County, CT area, my MELT instructor, Amanda Cizek, is fabulous and is also a trained masseuse. Her website is http://www.consistentfitness.com/ and a there is link to her very cool “Be Awesome” blog right on the homepage. She wrote a great post last week about perceptions (misperceptions?) of what self-care means to us Type A fitness types. Check it out. Food for thought for all of us. I love her “Campaign of Awesome.” Shouldn’t we all strive to Be Awesome in our Bodies?
Have you ever tried MELT? Do you have a go-to activity like yoga, pilates or massage for balancing your running? Have you ever, like me, felt so tight and out of whack that you thought you might actually snap in half? Anyone running the NYC Marathon this year?
I’m in the throes of a Boston Marathon hangover. And I didn’t even run it. That’s next year. *dances all saucy in the kitchen*
I cheered. And cried. And cheered again. Then I drank delicious IPAs and celebrated with my Other Half. It was a perfect Monday. He ran yesterday. Which is funny to me because he’s really not a runner. He’s a cyclist at heart but with an undeniable runner’s gift. Brat. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d hate him. I don’t talk that much about him here. Every once and a while I’ll marvel at some ridiculous athletic achievement of his, but otherwise, I’m pretty private about us. Which is just how I like it.
He qualified for Boston straight out of the box. Ran one marathon and qualified with 10 minutes to spare. Insane to me. Simply insane. I am in awe of him and of that kind of talent. While he was quietly proud of his BQ, he was never outwardly stoked about it. That’s just the way he is. Modest. So there he was, training for Boston and BOOM. Injured.
Probably for the first time in his life, he struggled. He struggled with his body. He doesn’t struggle. He puts in the work, and it comes. Naturally. However this time, he couldn’t work. He was grounded. It was an injury which needed rest and rehab. Both of which he neither had the time, nor the patience for. At least initially. I think it humbled him in some ways. Not that he needed humbling, but when everything comes easy, then suddenly becomes difficult, I think you gain incredible perspective. It gives you pause. And you learn to respect your gifts. It also angered him to no end. I honestly thought he wasn’t going to run.
Day after day, week after week he became more and more patient. Listening to his body. Stretching, rolling and doing yoga and core work. Honoring his body. I think in many ways he used to take his gifts for granted. I think that has changed now. It has humbled him.
Slowly he began using the elliptical and discovered the stair mill, which, if becomes an Olympic Sport, he’ll medal in. After 5 weeks of “not running” he began to run. And it was like starting over. The aches. The pains. I still was worried. And not necessarily convinced he’d run Boston without blowing up or really hurting himself. Every few days he’d give me the countdown. “T- 15 days ’til I’m on my bike.” And so on…He was ready to wrap it up. Over it, I thought. Maybe he never even cared about it, I often wondered. He was so quiet about it. But there he was, still training, still doing the work. Every few days he’d run longer and faster with less and less pain. He was slowly getting back but with only several weeks to spare. My nerves quivered.
The Boston Marathon. Here it was. The day had arrived. I think I was more excited than he was. You know me by now. I get excited about everything. Genuinely so. On Sunday it was a perfect cup of coffee and my new sequined Converse kicks. It doesn’t take much.
There’s something to be excited about every day. He’s the same way. Being happy is part of who we are. That includes being happy for one another. For sure. Marathon Eve I was far more nervous than he. I was laying out his gear. Getting his Skratch Labs ready. Lining up his gels. Obsessing over every detail.
And what was he doing?
Laughing about something taco related on Instagram. “Lookit this shit, Babe!”
Calm. Collected. Relaxed. Either like someone who knows exactly what they are capable of, or, perhaps someone who doesn’t care that much about it. I wondered…
Yesterday morning I walked him over to the buses, kissed him goodbye and told him how proud of him I was. I was choked up. It was a long road to Boston. Even though he initially jumped in the car, revved the engine and peeled out of the driveway. He’s running Boston. I shook my head slowly, smiled and ran off through the throngs of runners to meet Tina for breakfast. 6am: Are you up? I’ll run up to you. Let’s meet in the middle for coffee. The response: Shit yeah! I’m leaving. Orange jacket. I’ll see you on Comm Ave. Stay to the right. And she’s off. That’s a friend.
After Coffee Chat, I ran off to get a good spot to watch him finish. I was near The Spot. Right by the finish. I couldn’t help but remember. Waiting and reflecting, heavy hearted yet hopeful. My friend Meghan joined me to cheer him on. She came all the way in. Such a lovely, genuine person. Love her. Then, I spotted him. Running beautifully. Striding easily. He was finishing. He heard us screaming our heads off and threw his arms up. YEAH! So damn proud. I cried. He is something! He finished. Right at the exact time he said he would, qualifying him again for next year. When I asked him how it was he told me all the details. The crowds. The cheers. The hills. And then said a little sheepishly that he got choked up. He got a little overwhelmed.
Today is my birthday. So I decided to wipe the dust off of our horribly neglected blog before somebody calls DCF and carts my ass off to WordPress Jail for blog abuse! This always winds up happening in times of stress. I get all angst. I don’t sleep. I run like being chased. And my blogging falls promptly in the can. Which is sad. Because I love this Little Damn Blog. More on My Angst later. Promise.
I’m not stressed about turning another year older. Aging is a gift. Fine lines and all. Tina and I addressed the fine lines last weekend when we checked our tuckered selves in to our favorite spa for a nice long weekend. It was heaven. We came in pieces. But we left whole. There is nothing like spending time with your best friend. Catching up. Laughing. Drinking. Napping. Ranting. Raving, Relaxing…and did I say, Drinking? T-Bones and I needed a little bit of down time, to pull out the pony tails, shake our tired locks and reboot. I am so thankful for our friendship. Words don’t even do it justice. I think I am realizing just how valuable friendships are as the years amble on along. I wouldn’t trade time spent with friends for anything in the world. It’s priceless. We are lucky to have found each other.
I always get reflective on my birthday. This one isn’t A Big One. It’s 44. I don’t feel 44. And after last weekend’s spacation , I don’t look 44. I now appear younger, and visibly firmer. Certainly not 44. I remember when my Mom was 44. I thought: Meh. She’s not that old. And here I am. Not that old.
I was googling around the internets this morning, looking at the significance of the number 44. While I’m not one to follow numerology, I did stumble across a version of its significance. The number 44 is about business- building a business with staying power. Efficient, conscientious business building. Which is appropriate because I am in the business of building a better Colby. Colby version 44, if you will. The number 44 builds for The Now and for The Future. It wants rewards for its work, and wants to have a positive effect on the future. Simple. And true.
According to the internets, the number 44 is realistic, pragmatic, efficient, disciplined and confident. It is conscientious, balanced, and methodical with a focus on what it wants to accomplish.
It’s also Hank Aaron’s number, a cough suppressant and a song by Jay-Z. But I digress….
Happy Pi Day, you irrational and transcendental Little Poodles! Sorry. Had to nerd out there for a brief second. Ahh good old 3.14, the ratio of a circle’s circumference to it’s diameter. Where would we be without it? Wait. Don’t answer that. You probably learned about Pi in who-the-hell-can-remember-what grade, but the number itself was calculated about 4,000 years ago. Go on and geek out by listening to this piece on NPR. It’s filled with fun facts. And I love fun facts.
In addition to it being, Pi Day AND Albert Einstein’s 137th Birthday, it’s also the incomparable Drunk Otis’ Birthday!!! Beers! All around! Yup. Our big brown frat boy is 2 today! Of course in pure Drunk Otis fashion he will spend his birthday in the woods running after his dad, then annoying the bejesus out of his sister, Evil Beagle, who will undoubtedly bite him on the face. Life is good here. Especially if you’re Drunk Otis.
A photo posted by Drunk Otis (@drunk_otis_brown) on Mar 14, 2016 at 8:05am PDT
I, on the other hand, am throwing down the gauntlet on this day of Pi, Einstein and Drunk Otis to get serious about my running. While my running has been quasi-consistent lately, it hasn’t been anything of substance. I’m running. And lifting. And yoga-ing. But not with any real form or purpose. Colby needs a schedule. Especially coming off of my fantastic Puerto Rican getaway last week. You know, the trip where I laughed, ate and drank my face off? Holy Bloat. Like I said on Friday, re-entry has been difficult. God. I love a vacation. It’s cleaning up after it that stinks. But it is worth it. Every laugh, bite and sip. What good is all the discipline if you can’t pull your pony tail out and rage a bit? Balance. It’s about balance.
I also registered for a few races- YIPPEEE!- and need to start getting it together. Some trail races, a half and as of tomorrow, another full! MCM in 2016 for me! I actually deferred my registration last year when I got in via the lottery, and am running it this year. I’m stoked. GET READY HANSON’S MARATHON METHOD. I’M COMIN’ BACK!!!
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. -Albert Einstein, Genius.
Taking my cue from the Birthday Boy, (Einstein, not Drunk Otis) I think I’m switching things up a bit. I’m also putting down the IPAs. And picking up spinach. I’m not kidding. I feel a mess. I feel a definite need for an InsideTracker retest. I need to know where I’m starting post-winter hibernation. Because if you ask me, it ain’t at the top. It’s more like the bottom of a beer soaked kiddie pool.
Any Big Races on your running horizon? Do you celebrate your pet’s birthday? Do you immediately get back from vacation and embark on a fast? Or is that just me?
Hola, Poodles! Where in the world has Colby been, you ask? In lovely PUERTO RICO! Drinking, eating, running, hiking and yukking it up! What a time it was! Let me tell you. Re-entry has been proving to be quite difficult. I landed back in the States a tan, bloated hot mess. Hello, Vegetables? Where are you? You know, all the trademarks of a great vacation. This week I’m hooking up with the DC Gals- Courtney , Mar and Cynthia for this week’s Friday Five Link Up- Colby’s Puerto Rican Fun Fest!
Sit tight. It’s booze soaked. I know. You’re shocked.
First things first. We arrived in Puerto Rico after what seemed like a 15 day journey. In reality it was less than ten hours from door to door, but alas, we have a flair for the dramatic. We landed, grabbed our rental car (aka The Versa) and hightailed it to our condo. Which was everything we had hoped for, and more. The view from the veranda was EPIC. From there we boogied straight to the famed Kioskos de luquillo for some food and drink. And more drink. Our first sip? The mojito. Ahhhhhh. Ice cold and muddled with lime and mint, this rum drink was on point. It was a nice cold glass of WELCOME POODLE! You home, Girl.
Our second sip? You guessed it. A pina colada. When in Rome. Or, when in Puerto Rico as it were. This wasn’t your ordinary pre-made synthetic pina colada served up by some whirling slushy machine. This was a big ass fresh pineapple, hacked open with a machete and cored. The delicious rum soaked elixir was served up right inside. Fresh. And fabulous. Oh. And floated with some 151. When in…hiccup!
A photo posted by Colby (@runcolbyrun) on Mar 5, 2016 at 10:38am PST
Our third sip? Beer. We would have been remiss if we did not get a bucket of the local suds. You can’t swing a baccalito (delicious cod fritter) without hitting a Medalla. This beer couldn’t have been farther away in taste from one of my delicious IPAs, but it did the trick. Cold, wet, local. And seeing as how my water intake was measured in thimbles this week, let’s call it my hydration mix.
Our fourth sip? Coffee. Strong, delicious coffee. There is no better way to shake off a Puerto Rican Medalla and Rum Soaked Hang Over than by drinking coffee. Tankards of it. It’s is delicious. Our favorite brand was a Special Reserve Alto Grande. And we drank copious amounts of it right here.
Our fifth sip? Screw the sips. We needed some grub to soak up all dat rum! Besides we were ravenous after hiking all day through the rain forest at El Yunque National Park. It was glorious. If you find yourself in Puerto Rico, check out El Yunque. We hiked for miles. Miles and green, lush miles. Right on up to the top. No trip to Puerto Rico would be complete without sampling the local favorite- Mofongo. Made with mashed plantains, garlic, olive oil, and love, I ordered mine stuffed with vegetables. It was delicious. I also sprinkled on a local hot cha cha sauce. Plate of mofongo, a platter of tostones and a splash of hot sauce- HEAVEN!
Everyone talks about moving out of your comfort zone. After all, that is where the magic happens. Right? RIGHT?
No one seems to cover those times when you need to crawl back into your comfort zone and chill for a while. Maybe even a long while. When you are way too tired to be looking for magic.
Well, I’m gonna.
Sometimes life hands you challenges…your adrenaline is flying, you’re on edge, you are existing on fumes, caffeine and raw nerves…and you haven’t seen anything resembling a “comfort zone” in months. So if you happen to catch sight of it? The LAST thing you need is to climb out of the darn thing.
Haven’t posted in a while. My husband had a pretty serious surgery in December to remove a tumor in his salivary gland, which took multiple ultrasounds, pre-surgical biopsies, bloodwork, the surgery and even multiple post-surgical biopsies to determine was benign.
Benign. Possibly the most beautiful word in the English language.
The whole ordeal, which took several months from start to final diagnosis, plus additional time for him to recover from surgery, was, ahem, draining. I was TAPPED OUT.
I read a lot of women’s magazines, etc. while sitting in waiting rooms, and noticed that everything was telling me to get me out of my comfort zone. Screw that. My comfort zone is a distant memory. I realized I needed to rediscover my comfort zone. And that is exactly what I did.
Books upon books upon books? Sure thing. Snowshoe races? Not this year. Put off everything on my to-do list while I do the Sunday NY Times crossword? You bet. Sign up for new kinds of race challenges? No f-ing way. Not now. Make a fire as many nights as possible and plunk my butt down in front of it? Absolutely. Try “Intensity,” “TRX” and “HIIT Triple Threat” classes at my new gym? Ummm…No, No and No. I have mostly stuck to tried-and-true spinning when I can’t run. Binge watch The Office starting at Season 1 with my two oldest? Absolutely.
It’s one thing when you are bored, complacent and in a rut. THEN, you should do something to move out of your comfort zone. But when life throws you so far out of your comfort zone that you can barely find it? Love yourself enough to put the challenges and goals aside, and find a way to crawl back in. Stay as long as you need. Eventually, it, too, will pass.
Anyone else feel the need to “cocoon” lately? What do you do when you need to climb into your comfort zone?
Know what this weekend is, Poodles? And I don’t mean Valentine’s Day. As far as I’m concerned, that nude, chubby little winged dude can take his quiver and keep on flying. IT’S OUR SUPER BOWL. No. I’m not a week late! I mean it’s the SUPER BOWL OF RUNNING! It’s the 2016 U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials! Which will actually be televised this weekend. LIVE!!! As in, ON STINKING TELEVISION. First time, ever!
Am I the only one who is super fly stoked? I am more super fly stoked than the average running bear because I actually have people to cheer for. I have some fast, badass friends! CAN YOU STAND IT?!?! Clearly. I can’t. I’m freaking sweating. There are 5. FIVE of my fellow Janji Corps Ambassadors who have run Olympic qualifying times. They will be competing this weekend in Los Angeles. Yeah. We’re all friends and junk. No big.
WHO AM I KIDDING? It’s huge! I am a totally Fan Girling here. I am so proud of my Janji Corps Peeps. I’ve been thinking about them all week. The talent. The discipline. The work. The dream. To be that close. Simply put. It blows my mind. I know how I felt about qualifying for Boston. But the Olympics? That’s Other Level stuff right there. That’s not just finding a Unicorn. That’s finding a Unicorn riding a Unicorn. Who’s reading The Meaning of Life. Then the Unicorn hands you the book, tells you to keep it and whispers every winning Powerball number for the next 100 years in your ear. He then tosses a case of Pappy Van Winkle at you and trots off into the sunset. THAT kind of other level. Running is such a gift. And they have been granted a big one. I’m honored to even be associated with them. And Janji. Great people. Great company. Run swiftly, Friends!!!
So how does one get there? For each Olympics there are obviously qualifying standards that athletes need to meet. And they ain’t slow. In the case of the marathon, both men and women have to run a specific qualifying time between August 1, 2013 and January 17, 2016. There is an “A” standard and a “B” standard. From what (little) research I have done, I think the only difference besides speed is that the “A” folks get a hospitality package. Read: They’re arrangements are paid for. VIPs among the VIPs if you will. 179 Men and 216 Women have qualified to race. I KNOW 5! Squeee! You can see who else qualified HERE.
Marathon A Standard: 2:15:00
Marathon B Standard: 2:19:00
½ Marathon: 1:05:00
Marathon A Standard: 2:37:00
Marathon B Standard: 2:45:00
½ Marathon: 1:15:00
Just because you qualified for the U.S Olympic Trials sadly doesn’t mean you’ll represent the good ol’ U.S of A in Rio. (Although, they will all be Olympians in my heart❤.) The top 3 Male and Females finishers will comprise Team USA at the 2016 Rio Olympics. And the purse?
When to tune in!
Los Angeles, CA on February 13, 2016. If you’re in LA get out and watch! If not:
Men Start | 10:06 am
Women start | 10:22 am
Live coverage begins at 10:00 am PST/1:00 pm EST on NBC or NBC Sports Live Extra. Get your pom poms ready. It’s live, Poodles!
What’s the closest you have run to an Olympic Qualifying time? Have you known anyone who has qualified? Or, ever meet an Olympian?
If you’ve been a follower of this blog for, Oh, I don’t know? Say, five minutes? You would know that your pal Colby LOVES herself a nice, hoppy, delicious IPA. And lobster rolls. You’d also know that she loves lobster rolls. And tacos. And guacamole. And all things that go well with beer. But I she digresses. She also likes to run and cycle long distances. Run hard. Eat well. Be merry. Live loud. And always, always be kind. That’s her my jam. So when I was contacted by the creative folks at The Fix about the benefits of my beloved brew, I was intrigued. And it turned out STOKED! According to their super snazzy infographics, beer is better than you think. I love me a quality infographic. Bone and cardiovascular benefits? Vitamins and minerals? Who knew! And here red wine gets all the press.
Now (ahem…) let’s be honest, beer is not kale. Or quinoa. Or the Elixir of Optimal Health. Consume it moderately, Poodles. That is, in moderation. Mod. Er. Ation. I know WHERE WAS THIS NEWS YESTERDAY?!?! I should have posted this before the Big Game. If you were one of the millions of Americans who drank some of the millions of cases of beer sold nationwide prior to yesterday’s Super Bowl, you’re all good. Maybe a little too good. If you’re like me half the population, you’re probably a tad hungover and a lil’ bloated. You get a pass on yesterday’s food-n-brew bonanza. We all do. #IDontJudge
So let’s review: heart healthy, raises good cholesterol, lowers bad cholesterol. And, beer contains high levels of polyphenols- which have antioxidant, anti-carcinogenic, anti-inflammatory, estrogenic, and antiviral properties. Thumbs up! Check out how my beloved IPA holds up below! YAAAAASSSSSS.
Let’s define moderate, shall we? According to the CDC, moderate drinking is up to one drink per day for women and up to two drinks per day for men. Heavy drinking is 8 drinks or more per week for women and 15 drinks or more per week for men. And binge drinking is 4 or more drinks on a single occasion for women or 5 or more drinks on a single occasion for men. Unless it’s Netflix and lobster rolls, go easy, Poodles.