Out like a lamb

First things first...

I knew March was going to be a difficult month for me to keep up with the posts. So I'm *kind of* sorry I haven't been updating very much. Does it feel better if I pass the buck and say I tried to get a few other people on board to write blog posts for me, and they never followed through? No? Hmm... How about if I regale you with tales of adventure in teaching adult writing classes, doing P90X at 2 a.m., and getting to see some of my favorite bands for free because I've been writing about them. I figured that one would win since I wrote it in a list of threes and usually that can make anything sound good. Oh well. I will say that I am letting go of some of my work obligations (and taking on some others, ssshhh) so I should have more writing time available to write to you fine folks here.

There have been some recipes I want to share, and also those REVIEWS. GLORIOUS REVIEWS of headphones, motorcycle pants, gluten free flour, a flashlight, and more (I think). I want to make videos, though, so I need a friend. Once I find one, I'll be Good To Go. Any day now...

P90X is going....fine. But I'm also back at kickboxing and will be doing a challenge with them, having to attend 3 times per week, which will greatly supplement my P90X workout by switching it up, keeping it fun, and adding to the cardio days which don't feel very cardio-heavy for me, based on my needs. So I'll be a force to be reckoned with by May, just in time to turn 33.

In the meantime, here's some pancakes I made this morning. They are gluten free, vegan, and super simple.

Gluten Free Vegan Blueberry Pancakes

Dry Ingredients

• 1 C. All Purpose gluten free flour (I prefer Mama's Almond Flour)
• 2 tsp. sugar
• 1 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. ceylon cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp. salt

Mix dry ingredients first, until well blended, then add the wet ingredients one at a time:

Wet Ingredients

• 1/4 C. applesauce (alternative: 1 Tbs. ground flax meal + 3 Tbs. water. Let sit for about 5 minutes before use)
• 3/4 C. milk substitute (I prefer Almond Breeze unsweetened coconut almond milk*)
• 1/4 C. thawed frozen blueberries

Once wet ingredients are added, fold mixture until just mixed, breaking up knots of flour with purpose. Melt about 2 tsp. coconut oil on a skillet, then pour about 1/4 C. batter on pan. Let sit until edges look dry and bubbles form in the center. Flip and let cook a few minutes. I topped mine off with blueberry compote. These are the last of the batch, so they're a bit thin of blueberry swirl. I ate through the first few so fast before I realized what was happening.

*Carton milk substitute isn't the most healthy, in all honesty. Some people prefer using coconut milk from the can because it doesn't have all the additives that coconut "drink" has, and then add water to desired consistency. If you live near coconuts, you can make your own. When my ultra vegan years coincided with my ultra poor days and my ultra bad at math days, I made my own almond milk using cheese cloth, a blender, and some raw almonds. I'll post that another time, but I'm sure you can see where that one's going.

Zen and the Art of Vegetable Juicing

In the morning, the urge is to consume fresh juice. The process is arduous, so I usually revert back to the old stable of coffee and toast, or coffee and leftovers, or coffee and a Vega One shake (I realize that what I have for breakfast equates to that good friend you decide to unfollow on Instagram because her pictures of her breakfast are just too much, but bear with me). Simple sustenance. The process of juicing can seem overwhelming pre-breakfast. Just like a bear coming out of hibernation, I'm groggy in the mornings. Not mean, but impatient — especially with myself. It's also worth mentioning that I typically only get five hours of sleep, to coming out of it feels like the final episode of X-Files when Mulder is in the prison cell and the guard keeps waking him up with "No Sleeping! Tell me what you know!" I mean, not to be dramatic....

But the rhythm of picking out ingredients, cleaning, chopping, assembling the juicer, pressing, pouring, disassembling the juicer, rinsing the pieces, stacking the pieces, clearing the countertops, and drinking this incredibly powerful concoction of energy and life. It sounds like a lot of work (and it kind of is, considering the other option is to just put a slice of bread in the toaster and lather it with Earth Balance, or pour a scoop of protein powder of Vega One into a shaker bottle with 8oz of water) but it's worth it, and it starts off the day with the assertion that my time is my own, and my day is my own, and I am choosing, at least on this day, to start it on the right food.

I'm still doing P90X, and today is the rest day that ends the first 3 hard weeks of constant workouts, next week being a relative rest week. I have to admit, I did skip a few workouts, probably one or two per week, depending on how much work I had to do, especially how much poster work I had. I considered riding my bike 15 miles with 30 pounds of paper to be a decent cardio, considering the Pittsburgh hills. Yesterday, I did the workout of two days ago: Legs and Back, and while my pull-ups are starting to regain some semblance of an actual pull-up (still not there, at least not when I'm trying to bang out a lot of them), but I did not want to get out of bed this morning. It could have been all the junk food I tore through last night after the workout (we had some friends over for a fire pit and one of them brought an Amy's cheeseless pizza, my ultimate weakness, and E. made a vegan blueberry cobbler...and I also had some nonvegan ice cream, and oatmeal stout, but shhh), or it could have been that I've only been getting 4-5 hours of sleep this week as I tried to work on some writing projects, but it felt so luxurious for the first time to just put my feet up and relax in bed, rather than feeling rushed to get anyway. It's also Sunday, but I grant the most appreciation towards that great workout that told my body, hey, just stay here a while. You earned it. I know I didn't really earn anything, but it's nice to think that every once in a while, especially on a Sunday morning while still in bed.

Time For Ourselves

It's taken me a while to find time to update the blog. Posters, one of my many jobs, picked up, as did my writing work. It's been hard to get in every P90X workout, and something that's been causing me some contemplation is the purpose of the workouts, why I love this set of cheesy home exercise DVDs.

I constantly grapple with my own use of time. I'm a procrastinator when I don't take up a project or assignment head-on and right away; most of my editors say I'm a dream to work with, because I get things done so soon; I know myself well enough to know that if I don't do it immediately, I'll forget about it. That said, it leaves a lot of room to be constantly accepting assignments, as they're always finished ahead of deadline. A great problem to have, really. These assignments, of course, don't appear out of the blue, but come from networking and loads of research, reaching out to new people, building and maintaining relationships on all ends of the spectrum. I find myself looking at my Facebook, Instagram, and email almost constantly. It's addictive work, which isn't really something I thought I'd say about a job, but here we are.

How does this pertain to P90X? It's an hour of my day that isn't dedicated to work or social media. An hour for myself, completely, where I have to be in the moment. It's an active meditation. Before freelancing picked up, there was always time found in the day to meditate, time to clear my head and ground myself with my own goals and presence of being without the influence of outside forces. More time for art, love, nature. More time for health in all its forms. This mere 60-75 minutes, now, is a struggle to dig out, which makes it so much more important. Everyone wants something from us, and we can break parts of ourselves off, ad infinitum, if we choose, but its our choice, ultimately, to leave something or nothing for ourselves. Working out is my declaration that at least this small moment in my waking life is just mine. For 60-75 minutes. y attention is just towards myself. It isn't selfish to need time for ourselves, it's self-preservation.

After an incredibly challenging Thursday that including working all three current jobs (posters, journalism, teaching) and a bike ride with a loaded pack from the posters, I took all Thursday off. From everything. I didn't respond to emails, reach out to editors, write anything, fix anything. I didn't clean, I didn't engage in internet drama. A friend who lives down the street came over with his dog and we hung out in the back yard for a couple hours while our dogs wrestled in the mud, then I took a nap, did some stretches, and went out for ice cream at Page Dairy (which just opened for the season). It took the declaration of "this is a day off" to realize how hard I'd been working, how little time I'd had for myself, and how much I needed to just reboot and not put myself up to any expectations.

Today, though, the posters and emails are piling up, and Kenpo X is on deck. It's another rainy day here in Pittsburgh, my elbows, shoulder, and knee/shin are sore and swollen, but as Tony endorses, I'll do my best and forget the rest.

Three Cheers For My Weird Body

Tony Horton, I wish I knew how to quit you.

After some time away from my boyfriend, we are again together for a round of rolling on the floor and grunting, and finding strange and unsurpassable reasons to press the pause button. This time, I'm doing the Lean program, which focuses a bit more of core, cardio, and yoga, rather than bulky muscle. I kind of like having bulky muscle, but I'm trying to slim down a little from the winter weight I've been slowly accumulating like periwinkles under a dock since last winter when I dislocated my shoulder. Sure, I've been kickboxing, and raced bikes, and run the stairs (not as often as I should, at least this winter). But I feel all-over rather soft and doughy, rather than the animal body I felt when I was in the throws of P90X, especially the first go around.

Don't be fooled, though, kind readers. the Lean is still strengthening and muscle-building. Today's Core Synergistics had me doing probably 200 push-ups in varied forms (all harder and more complicated than the original, I promise you that). My measly 8-lb. weights began to feel heavy in some of the exercises. "But Carolyne," you may be saying, "you're such a weakling! You've said so yourself!" And you may be right, but from my perspective I'm still strong, I'm just a whole lot of other things as well.

This will be a good transition (as good as I'm willing to give you, anyway) for the other thing I've been thinking about lately. Modcloth did a great photo shoot recently that used their own employees to model their bathing suits. A lot of the deserved feedback resound of women feeling like their bodies were finally represented. It's important to have representation in photographs that are selling clothes — how will I know how this will look on me? (It looks great, by the way.) But it made me think about representation and my own perspectives on my body. I don't think my body can be represented. I'm awkward, I wear a 32-long pant leg and a small shirt, lengthwise. I'm muscly in some areas (namely my limbs) and doughy in others (this vague middle area). I love my body. I love what is can do, I love that it's mine and that no one really looks like me. I've earned every cell of fat or muscle, each pint of beer at the pub with friends or pint of ice cream at home alone, each "one more" run up the 36 flights of the Cathedral of Learning, each long way home on my bike or decision to run rather than walk through the park. It's all me, all mine.

The things I wish were different about my body aren't things that have to do with aesthetics. I wish my right side didn't light up in the dank Pittsburgh winter from all the times I've fallen on that side. I wish my epidermis wasn't numb, that I knew what this rash was that's all over my shoulders, neck, and chest, and that I still had as much energy as I did when I was 20. Oh well.

Even as a kid I didn't really judge myself, and I know I'm lucky for that. I had an older sister who was half my size and couldn't help but remind me of that all the time. But I'm lucky to have my parents, who made it a point to teach me that my sister and I couldn't be compared. I was heavier than my sister, but taller, different, my own person. And that was a great thing. It is a great thing. I still have a sister who is half my size, and I still love her and look up to her as she looks up to me (literally, because she's tiny.).

In fifth grade, a visitor came to class and asked us to each write down something we didn't like about ourselves. I couldn't think of anything, little brat that I was, so I put my eye color. My dad and I have always been a lot alike, but his eyes are blue and mine are brown and turn green when I'm upset. It doesn't bother me, but it was something that, sure, it could be changed I guess. A girl in my class, whose name I absolutely remember but I'll save her this memory, told me she could think of a lot of things she'd change about me. I don't remember whether she told me what they were, and certainly don't remember what I thought they might be, if anything. Why think about those things? I thought. I still think that, unless I buy a dress that I think will be my size and fit right because it fit the model, and the model looks nothing like me.

I feel the need to give this disclaimer in talking about doing the Lean program because I don't think people should feel bad in their bodies ever, unless there is something actually wrong that needs to be addressed. Do you feel bad because your appendix is about to burst? Get thee to a doctor! Do you feel bad because a waitress gave you a once over when you ordered fries with your burger? That sounds like a whole lot of her problem. But I like how I felt, on a physical level, when I was more fit. I liked feeling like a mammal, each muscle working towards a purpose of supporting another muscle, to propel my body forward for even the most basic actions. I didn't notice the physical change until I saw photos later, or until I started gaining some of that fat back (which I had sort of missed anyway).

I agree with the need for more representation, with the idea that having models all look the same is very dangerous because people are not built the same and will never achieve those beauty standards. But the word is Model. They are modeling clothes to show what they look like. It's helpful to have the models show what the clothes may actually look like on a variety of bodies, but don't take it as a representation of your own validity if you don't see yourself up there. You are your own body, my precious and beautiful reader. If you are tiny like my sister or muscular like me, if you are a feather or a whole hawk, if you have curves on curves on curves or are as linear as the Kansas horizon. It's your body. It isn't you, but it's your body. Learn it, love it, accept that it is probably weird and un-replicable. Now go out and make it do whatever it is that it does best.