Author: cheriarmour

We Found the Culprit of the Stomach Upset

| cheriarmour

I wouldn’t say I cruised through the first 13.1 of my first marathon back in March. I was running unsustainably fast, as you do in a first. It was windy and cold, and I’m pretty sure, by that point, that I was missing a glove, which is like the kiss of death for someone is Raynaud’s. But considering, it was good. (Get ready for the tmi, but this is so necessary.) When I passed the 13-mile marker, the tummy-ache started. And I have a nearly medically diagnosed aversion to porta-johns. So I was in trouble. I figured it out, eventually and it involved a skanky public restroom. But what the heck had caused that gnarly, acute stomach upset?

20-miler

I ran my last 20 today before the end of October’s marathon. It wasn’t fast, but it was consistent, which is what is important to me. Even if I run this race slower, as long as I’m consistent, start to finish, I’ll have learned something, is how I feel. But I digress. I began my nutrition plan with two non-caffeinated items (Shot Bloks and and raspberry PowerGel), all about 6 miles apart. And then came the deadliest catch.

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I found this at REI. And going down, it was pretty cool.  For the consistency to be as raunchy as it was, it actually tasted kind of like what the label said, coffee. And the caffeine was amazing. 10 minutes later, I played raunchy Latin music, clapped, sang, and let out a “WOO” on more than one occasion. And then it hit. I couldn’t wait another minute without finding a bathroom. And I was sort of lost, as the trail that I was on abruptly ended, leaving me in a fancy neighborhood.  And this time, I had to use this traumatizing public park men’s restroom.  I was positive that when I entered the facility, I was going to find a body, but luckily, it was just a restroom that smelled of…I can’t even say it.

Long, and gross story short, I can’t do the caffeine, which makes me totally sad, because prior to the upsets, I’ve always felt awesome, and like 20 miles was no problem.  But something about that combination really doesn’t agree with me.  So Shot Bloks and decaffeinated Gels it is.  Luckily, 20 miles felt totally awesome, and is leaving me feeling positive about my slow, slow race on October 26th.

Be kind to yourself.

| cheriarmour

Hey, I need to follow my own advice.  I’m sometimes horrible to myself, and I’m on the more confident end of the confidence spectrum.  I’d be lying if I said I don’t stand in front of the mirror and kinda turn, and assess what’s going on.  More often than not though, I wink at myself, do a little dance, and conclude that I’m pretty boss.

But at yoga last week, the sweet, kind little teacher reminded us to “be kind to yourself. Be kind to everyone you meet.”  And I was so glad she’d reminded me of that, because I can use a little help in this department.

Zumba

One evening, earlier in the week, I taught an evening Zumba class.  Two of my regulars, loyal faithfuls who keep me on track, were present, and totally ready to go.  When the blonder of the two started.

“What’s wrong with these mirrors?”

“Girl I know!”

And the whole while, I’m standing there, completely puzzled. What were these two even talking about?

“The mirrors over here! They make you look bigger.”

“I know!”

They turned to me. Shit.  What did I do?

“Except for her.  They don’t ever make her look bigger.  I been coming for over a year and I ain’t never seen her look any bigger.”

I was stunned.  Let’s do the math.  So, according to these women, the mirrors in the studio are selectively choosing folks to make look bigger?  I don’t think so.

So ladies.  And gents, really, I don’t discriminate.  Be kind to yourself.  Spend the next week choosing your words wisely.  And the very second you’re tempted to poke at your tummy, frown at your skin, or pinch your butt, say something nice instead.

I was weight-gain pescatarian girl :(

| cheriarmour

Shape magazine posted this article from POPSUGAR Fitness.  How I Gained Weight as a Vegan: Don’t Let It Happen to You!  Check it out.  And it’s so true.  Everything she says is hella true.  I was that girl.

And by the end of school, beginning of graduate school I’d gotten to here.

ME…and had to fix it to go to here

Me 2

A good, 40ish or so pound difference.

Now look.  I know, I’m not delusional.  I recognize that I’m no ‘Biggest Loser’ Contestant, but I had to take off some lbs.  It wasn’t going a good way. 

And it wasn’t completely about the way I looked, either.  I felt tired and sluggish all the time.  But I won’t front.  I totally wasn’t confident in the way I looked, in particular, I hated my stomach, but I think that more had to do with the fact that I never worked out, and I generally felt crappy.  That crappy feeling, from eating crappy food, will spill over and cloud your view of yourself, so it was just a nasty cycle.

Pescatarianism/Vegetarianism

I transitioned to a veg/pescatarian lifestyle my sophomore year when I was living with this girl.  The food at Elon at the time wasn’t my fave, and truthfully, I’d never really been a beef person.  Chicken was my friend (let’s perpetuate the stereotype, Cheri), and that was the one thing I’d have trouble giving up.  I’d switch back and forth between Pescatarianism (eating no animal products but fish) and Vegetarianism, and despite the fact that I wasn’t chowing down on Big Macs, I packed on a little bit of pudge without even really noticing until swimsuit season snuck up on me.  And that was always traumatic.

But the main reasons why my veg-ish lifestyle packed on a little pudge?  

    • I worked out sporadically, at best.  Once a week here.  A few weeks off.  Once there.  Off.  And I never gained a sense of why and how exercising was important to maintaining a healthy weight.  Plus, when you exercise more, you don’t necessarily want to eat all the crappy stuff that’s gonna make a workout miserable.  Now, I’ve changed it by doing something every day, with about one day off a week.  I run, run, run, cycle, yoga, and then I teach class on the side.
    • I didn’t realize how important diet was in how your body looked.  I literally remember one of the Real Housewives of Orange County, Alexis Bellino, saying how diet was like 80% of how your body looked, and feeling horrified in the knowledge that if I were ever to lose the bottom part of my belly that I didn’t like, that I’d have to stop drinking Cokes to stay awake in class.  Which brings me to this…
    • I drank my calories.  I had no sense of what percentage of my calories were liquid.  I drank Cokes to stay awake in class.  I drank fruity alcoholic beverages with whipped cream on top.  I just was doing too much.  I’ve since switched to waters, sparkling waters, Kombucha, and nonfat lattés with skim.  Obviously, I’ll treat myself, to a Gatorade or a fancy drink from Starbucks, but definitely, it’s more far and few between than it was.
    • I didn’t know how to read a label/what a calories was.  I had this abstract sense of labels and calories, but not really how it applied to me and what I was eating.  It really wasn’t until I consulted with a nutritionist at Camp Pocono Trails, where I was working, that it made sense.  And I kept track of everything that I put into my mouth until I had a firm grasp of what I was eating.
    • I was still eating fast food. I can’t even…okay.  I ate at the most disgusting places.  All vegetarian mind you, but all disgusting.  One of which included the Filet-o-Fish from McDonalds with the nasty piece of cheese and a glob of tartar sauce on top (who puts cheese on a piece of cod?!) and the Sampler Platter from Applebees, which included mozzarella sticks, spinach and artichoke dip, and cheese quesadillas.  All of these items were fried in some way, shape, or form.  I am so kind of ashamed when I tell people that.
    • I didn’t eat any “whole” foods.  I didn’t eat salads.  I didn’t read labels to see what ingredients (ingrediences, right Teresa Guidice?) foods included.  And I never packed my own lunch.  How can you maintain a healthy weight when you don’t even know who’s making your food, right?

So if you’re contemplating vegetarianism or veganism, bravo! However, if you’re doing it for weight loss, you’re barking up the wrong tree. You can just as well fall into a nasty trap and gain a ton.  Balance is absolutely key and without all the pieces of a healthy lifestyle, it’s just not gonna work.

That time I auditioned for X-Factor.

| cheriarmour

I was singing in the office the other day, and someone said “You should audition for one of those American Idol shows!”

Funny enough, I had.

Spring of 2011, I was standing outside one of my grad classes.  I’d heard that the show that produced my lady-love, Leona Lewis, was coming to the States.  I sing, and I’d never auditioned for anything of the kind.  I wasn’t sure I was good enough, and I certainly didn’t have an interesting story.  But why not?

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So that night, after class, I packed up my car, called my cousin, and headed to NEW JERSEY, an almost 9-hour drive, the closest city to me, to audition. Let me tell you about this process.

I drove all night in my fringed boots and cut-off shorts, not anticipating that Jersey was a good 20 degrees colder than Carolina. I listened to the BBC, the only thing that came on NPR that time of night, and arrived right around 6 am. And the line was already long. This wasn’t a line to sing, either. It was a line to get into a building to get a wristband to sing the next day.  I waited outside for hours in the cold – luckily I’d changed in the car, and parked on a Newark side street before I’d gotten out to wait.  I shivered for 6 hours next to a mother and son duo who were under the assumption that they were the next Osmonds.  And finally I got into the building, and donned my wristband until the next day, where I’d sing for “judges”.

The next day was a little warmer, and I made my way back to Newark, the happiest city on earth.  (Eh).  This time, the wait outside was short, and I headed into Newark’s surprisingly nice Prudential Center, where I waited, and waited, and waited.

First off, the sheer volume of delusional weirdos that audition for these things is peanuts.  There was the woman in the baseball uniform.  There were those people who felt the need to showcase their “talent” in order to make you feel inferior.  Except like a good 90% of them couldn’t sing.  It was really confusing.  So I spent the day making new friends, and quietly (I was actually quiet) observing the thousands of strange birds the audition brought out.

The Audition

If you were under the illusion that there were any actual judges, you’re wrong.  I was herded down to the floor with my row to see tired, cranky, and unsmiling producers.  Which I get, I mean, I’d be sad too if I’d heard thousands of delusional folks singing their little hearts out.  So I close my eyes, and belted some Whitney.

“Do you have your other song prepared?”

I started singing the Stevie.

“Thank you. You’re through.”

And like that, they handed me a “golden” (yellow) ticket (piece off paper) and ushered me through to the bowels of Prudential to fill out a packet of paperwork.

The next day went the same, but a much smaller group.  I sang for more producers, was ushered through, where finally, I sang for a British dude and his Fox cameras.  They told me they’d contact me, and like that, my incredible New Jersey adventure was over.  I was cut after that round, but dang, what a ride!

You thinking about auditioning for a show?  Be prepped for a wonderful, delightful, and ridiculous experience like this one.

Ready to feel kind of inadequate?

| cheriarmour

Okay, not really, I’m never writing to make you feel bad about yourself.

original

This woman. She’s a schoolteacher. A marathoner? And she takes a wrong turn on a half course and runs the full.  She didn’t just run the full though.  She won the full.  Get it here on Gawker.  I pray, I pray, that the running gods will bestow upon me a teeny tiny bit of the magic she’s got, to allow her adrenaline (and obvious athletic gifts) to push her through.  (Oh, and read the comments.  There are some haters with a capital ‘H’ out there….)

Fleas.

| cheriarmour

By now, I’m absolutely sure you’ve met the newest member of the fam.

Marlon
Martin, post-vet to this day, he remains one of the most relaxed animals I’ve ever taken to the vet.

Martin, or Marlon, as he chooses to go by sometimes (Martin is very inspired by the works of the Jackson 5, and assumes the identity of one of the littler brothers,) has been nothing short of an absolute blessing in my home.  He’s cute, he’s sweet, and he’s a great lap cat, so even as I write to you, he’s sitting, watching, and purring in my lap.  But as a stray, he came in with a dirty secret.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Martin came to me as a stray.  Austin’s family got us the hookup, and Austin went and picked him up the weekend I was gone in New York that my grandmother passed.  It was such a sweet surprise to come home from a draining weekend to little Martin.  But!  I discovered Martin’s (Marlon’s) dirty secret.

I was petting him when I kinda noticed he was scratching a good bit.

Like, really good.

I flipped him over, where he was all white?

Fleas!  Left and friggin right, he had fleas everywhere.

I don’t do well with a few things.  NFL.  Fantasy football.  Lice.  Mushrooms.  And fleas, evidently, I have no tolerance for.  And the fleas sent me into a cleaning tailspin.

I tried Frontline.  Wasn’t working.  (Come to find out, fleas are kind of resistant to it). And finally, I called the vet.  Little Martin needed his kitten stuff anyways, so it was time.  And they told me I had to bathe him.  Have you ever tried bathing a cat?  It was really fun, lemme tell ya, and I don’t have vision anymore because he scratched both my eyes out when I dunked him in the sink.  While he ran around, traumatized, post-bath, I salted every soft surface in my home and vacuumed. And finally, I used this disgusting invention called a flea comb to literally comb the little parasites off my dear Little Martin.

I’m still hopelessly in love with my cat, and at the same time, terrified that there’s a nest of fleas in my hair.  At any rate, I think we got his fleas under control with a dose of Revolution, that bath from the depths of hell, and a thorough scrubdown of the home.  Ah, to be a pet owner!

The humble brag.

| cheriarmour

I did this the other day.
Humble Brag

I know guys.  It’s not quite the a humble brag, which is defined as, 
a brag statement artfully planted within a slightly deprecating statement; used in order to conceal pride that would otherwise be apparent by Urban Dictionary, but almost. It’s kinda like when you post a status about that 20-miler, but you do it under the guise of “Ugh omg, annoying Family Guy was totally on when I was running my 20-miler at an 8:47 pace. Gross!” What I did would slightly be considered the humble brag because I was sort of letting folks know I work out.  But it has a place.  As annoying at it is, the humble brag has a valuable place in health and fitness. 

The following morning, my alarm went off at about 5:20 am, and I briefly considered closing my eyes, and going back to sleep. But I remembered that I’d posted that I was going to Yoga, and then the thought of deceiving my friends and family, or not being accountable for what I’d said I’d do really made me feel uncomfortable.  Plus, I wanted to get my Yoga on!

So say what you will about people who post the details of their workouts on social media, and no, we’re not talking about you who posted about tying your shoes too tight, let’s not get into the minutiae of how your workout went, however, posting about your 5k, posting about nailing a pose in yoga, posting about hitting the gym 5 times instead of your usual 3, for example, is okay, and encouraging, both to others, (believe it or not, family and friends may be inspired by your actions), and it holds you accountable to a WHOLE LOT of people.  So keep up the humble brags.  Well, sorta, I don’t care if you’re gonna be douchey about it, but if it keeps you accountable?  Keep it up!

It’s time for another round of…

| cheriarmour

Weird, weird, weird stuff people search for my blog by.

For those of you new to this little game I play, it’s when I make fun of really weird stuff people search my blog by.  I can see it because some search engines will release that info to WordPress, and bless those who do.  Because it’s provided me with hours of endless entertainment.

Look, I’m not trying to embarrass anyone, but this is some good stuff.  Let’s explore!

Search Terms

  • is the way to spell shuga in the south sugar.  Did you seriously just ask that?  You think people spell things differently in the south?
  • carley swanson.  Who, if you’ll remember, guest blogged for me a while back.  Incredible runner.  Does not spell her name Carley.  Hey, Carly, you have a little admirer.
  • rub a chub. Whut? Ew.
  • hey its half off girl. Hey, I guess.
  • floppy boobs medium -huge -big. The boobs make a reappearance.
  • why do white people exercise too much. Lord.

And for the bizarre kicker, the one that kind of makes me question what you folks are into?

  • mel b toes.

    • I love you guys. Keep it up.