10 Ideas for a Simple, Healthy Summer

(This appeared in the Huffington Post on 6/19/14)

Don't you just love the beginning of summer? There's something so exciting about the time of year that marks the end of the school year, longer days, and an opportunity to delight in the simple things. It's the season for picnics by the lake, the smell of sunscreen, and fresh tomatoes from the garden.

What if we decided to make the summer of 2014 a simple, healthy one? Do you long to turn off the gadgets and make some great memories? Wouldn't it be nice to feel better by making some simple healthy choices?

I invite you to share your ideas with me, and if you're a Twitter type, use the hash tag #simplehealthysummer. Here are ten ideas to get you started:

1. Plant something. Everything else in life is so instant these days, but some things are worth the wait. Gardening takes patience, but the payoff is delicious and healthy. My husband is the one with the green thumb, and helped my daughter start a garden. She absolutely loves tending to her garden, and there is something so simple yet so important about a child planting something and watching it grow.
2. Tennis, anyone? You don't need a country club membership to get in on the fun. Most communities have free public courts, and it's not expensive if you buy some basic racquets and tennis balls -- nothing fancy. My daughter and I have started playing several times a week and we're improving every time. If you're an adult and you're terrible like me, play with a kid and you can build your skills together.
3. Check out some free, live music. Live music is good for the soul, and even better when it's heard outside. Check your local entertainment calendars for free, outdoor shows. Invite some friends and pack a healthy picnic with fresh fruits and veggies to share.
4. Give back. I grew up Methodist, and a common phrase growing up was about giving "your prayers, your presence, your gifts, and your service." What do you have to give this summer? Could you take one vacation day and devote it to volunteer work? Could you spend a few less bucks on coffee and give to a charity of your choice?
5. Ditch the sugary drinks and liven up your water. I'm not a huge fan of plain Jane water, but I love making "spa water" at home. Buy a nice glass pitcher and cut up some fresh fruit, add water and ice and stick it in the fridge. It's delicious, inexpensive, and much better than sodas. My favorite is cucumber and rosemary water.
6. Challenge your limits. I am a little nervous about stating this publicly, because then I'll feel the pressure to actually do it, but I have never done a cartwheel, and I want to learn how this summer. What can you do this summer you've always wanted to do but never learned?
7. Just dance! The city where I live has an excellent ballet, and they offer up classes for all levels. Personally, I fall under the "can't dance unless I've had several cocktails" category, and even that is a little debatable. A few drop-in classes might change that. Our ballet even offers classes where you can learn the dances to major music videos. How fun is that?
8. Leave your car at home. Even if it's just for a day here and there, explore your city without your car. Take public transportation and walk to your destination, or pick a weekend and ditch your car keys. Explore your neighborhood on foot. Not only is it a healthy choice, you save on gas and your perspective changes for the better.
9. Revisit your public library. With so many electronics at our fingertips, we tend to forget about our public libraries. When my husband and I first started dating, we would check out classic movies at the library. One summer we tried an Italian theme, renting classic Italian films and cooking at home together. If you have kids, let them check out as many book as they can carry.
10. Try making a new kind of food. A few weekends ago, my friend went to a local Asian grocery and bought all kinds of delicious ingredients, then invited us over to make spring rolls together. She whipped up a delicious peanut sauce, and we all sat around the table, making our own spring rolls. Venture out to a local international food market and try something new!

Enjoy your #healthyhappysummer!

Why Walk for Transportation?

A year ago, I sold my car and committed to walking to work.  Most weekdays, I walked a little under three miles to my office in downtown Austin. I hope to encourage others who live within a reasonable walking distance from their offices to give it a try.

I've never been a huge fan of exercise. I figured if I did something extreme, like selling my car, I could reduce my carbon footprint while getting healthy and saving money. In 2013, I channeled my inner Forrest Gump and logged over 500 miles. Here are 10 reasons I’m hooked.

A three mile walk once a day is not a big deal. Before I began walking to work, I casually dated a treadmill and had a few minor flings with the machines at the gym. I was miserable there. I hated waiting for a treadmill, I’m weird about smells (and the gym is full of them), and I always felt like a hamster, plugging along without a purpose. But walking? It’s really not a big deal. If you are pokey like me, it will take you between 45 minutes to an hour to knock out three miles a day. Not long at all.

Walking makes you feel fantastic. Every single day I walked -- regardless of the weather or my mood before I left the house -- I arrived at work feeling great. This is the first time in my entire life that I have felt that addicted to exercise. Exercise-addicted people used to drive me nuts, but I finally get it now. If I skip a day, I feel crummy, and by mid-morning I’m pumping myself up with coffee to stay awake.

If you’re walking to lose weight, good luck with that. I know, I know, it’s a bummer, but evidently walking a few miles a day isn't a weight loss guarantee. One of my biggest motivations for walking to work was that I figured I would lose weight. The first few months, I definitely lost weight, but I was also eating a pretty strict vegan diet at the time. When my love affair with cheese beat my desire to go Vegan, I quit losing weight. Walking alone doesn't cut the mustard when it comes to weight loss. You have to actually cut the mustard, or in my case, the chips and queso, but you have to cut calories. Period.

If you sell your car and walk, you will save crazy money. I’m married with kids, so selling both cars isn't an option for us. However, just ditching one car made a big difference. I don’t miss the car payment, the additional car insurance, the downtown parking fees, and the gas and maintenance. I also don’t miss the road rage. 

Have a Plan B.  Likely, you will need some flexibility for parent-teacher conferences and daytime errands. Austin offers Car2Go, a car share program where you simply check out a cute little smart car to use when you need it. I also rely on our city bus system and my wildly supportive husband, who picks me up from work many afternoons. Of course, not everyone has these options. If that’s the case, try and schedule in time to walk before work or after work when you can bring the kids along with you.

Walking reduces anxiety. According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, just five minutes of aerobic exercise can stimulate anti-anxiety effects.  I’m walking proof that it’s true. I’m a pretty high-strung gal, and when I walk, it makes a huge difference in how I handle stress.

Walking forces you away from screen time. It’s really refreshing to take a break from screens. While giving your neck and eyes a break, how about checking out the world around you? I actually see sunrises now. I also pass other walkers and feel an immediate sense of kinship. Some days, I get what I call “God’s bonus,” and a pack of shirtless guys half my age jog by, and I feel momentarily what grown men feel like when they ogle cheerleaders.

Worried you’ll get bored? Pod-casts are the way to go. When I started walking regularly, my coworker suggested I subscribe to some pod casts, and recommended NPR’s Pop Culture Happy Hour. Now, I geek out to several pod casts several days a week. Here’s the iTunes Top 10 to get you going.

Be prepared.  On Sunday nights, put your workout clothes and shoes somewhere visible so Monday morning you are ready to roll. This will keep you from making lazy Monday morning excuses.

Don’t stop. Make your walks a priority.  Aside from one nasty fall I took a few months ago that knocked me out for a few days, I've been like a postman when it comes to my walks. I've walked when it’s 102 degrees, and this week, I left the house when it was below freezing. It’s that important. I never thought I would say that!

If I can do this, so can you! Follow me on Twitter @auarndt and let me know how it goes!

Running in Color

Last I wrote, I was all kinds of excited about the 10K I did in San Francisco in August. It was a great experience, and I enjoyed the process of training for something, setting a goal, and completing a 10K without being hauled away on a stretcher. I wasn't even really sore afterwards, which was a big first for me after a "long" run. I finished that event feeling as close to athletic as I've felt in years. But after the event, I totally lost momentum. When I got back home to Austin, I skipped a lot of my regular weekend jogging sessions, replacing them with sleeping in or eating migas. Or both.

Without a goal in front of me, my motivation tends to fade fast. Luckily, my sister Emily helped kick me in the butt and invited me to sign up for the Electric Run, a night-time 5K that took place at Austin's Travis County Expo Center. I was a tad leery about the Electric Run in the beginning because the entry fee was $55, and it wasn't easy to figure out which charity the event sponsored. I'm all about participating if the money is going to charity. The Electric Run's charity of choice turned out to be Back on My Feet, an organization devoted to helping the homeless use running to help transition into independent living. It's unclear what portion of the proceeds goes directly to the charity, but either way, it looks like a good cause.

The Electric Run's course includes several delightful, brightly-lit scenes to keep you motivated while you're jogging along in your fun costume and piles of glow sticks. It may seem random to participate in a 5K that involves so much costuming, but if you haven't been paying attention to the trends in 5K events, it's all about color right now. You've got The Color Run, which touts being "The Happiest 5K on the Planet." If your definition of happy is running while someone is shooting you with dyed corn starch, then I guess it really is the happiest 5K on the planet. The Color Run has a lot of competition, though. There's also Color Me Rad, the Color in Motion 5K, and the Run or Dye Fun Run. While I haven't done one of the daytime color-themed events because I'm not fond of sucking in dyed powder while I'm panting, I do like the idea of training for one of those color events. I'd ask my husband to hop in the car and follow me along my Saturday morning neighborhood course, passing me slowly as my daughter and her friends pelt me with home-made dyed corn starch. As long as they aimed below the neck, I think I could get into it.

For the Electric Run, my sister was responsible for making us cute because she's a modern-day Edith Head, and because I have zero talent when it comes to creating an electric outfit suitable for a 5K. Emily busted out the battery-pack light sets, glow sticks and bright make-up, and we were on our way. Two good friends joined us, and we met beforehand to apply hair color, eyelashes, and have a pre-race cocktail and some vegetarian tacos. [Caution: If you are running a 5K, don't have a pre-race cocktail and vegetarian taco. Trust me here.]

Traffic was terrible and parking about as bad, so we arrived at the event with minutes to spare before the race started, only to learn that the event organizers are brilliant, and start the event in heats that are staggered about every 15 minutes. Given that 10,000 people signed up for the Spring Electric Run (evidently it's so popular they do two a year), this was a great idea. 

Here we are before the race, looking particularly electric.

Before the race began, we observed the scene. I'd guess the average age of the runners for this event was about 22, so it was an energetic group for sure. A fired-up guy with a loudspeaker yelled motivational things at us in between electronic music breaks. As we got closer to the start line, we noticed the guy was cranked up on a crane a few stories above us, and he and his assistants were hurling glow sticks and t-shirts at the crowd below. Because I'm a mom, I did my best to remain cool-headed while I fretted that someone was going to lose an eye from an unfortunate glow stick injury. 

I talk frequently about a term I call "piggy pigginess" which has several definitions and uses, but one has to do with the state people get in when free things are being offered. As much as I like to think I'm immune to being tempted by freebies, sometimes I just get caught up in the rapture. When we approached the start line and the fired-up announcer started hurling freebies at us, I went a bit nuts as I saw him dangling a pair of neon pink legwarmers, I guess because neon pink legwarmers are vital when you're running in Austin, Texas in September when it's still 125 degrees. My apparent natural piggy-pigginess kicked into full gear, and right before we began to run, I screamed so passionately that I caught the attention of the freebie thrower, and quickly became the proud new owner of a brand new pair of neon pink legwarmers. My reaction to catching them indicated that it was all worth the $55 registration fee, and it gave me just the kick I needed to start jogging. The only problem was my sister and I had to take shifts carrying the legwarmers (because she's nice that way and I was whining), and now, I don't even know where they are. I feel a bit sad because I just realized they may be gone forever.

I won't lie; the lights at the Electric Run are mighty dazzling. The first scene felt like part Wizard of Oz, part Electric Parade at Disney World. Pretty trippy stuff, both literally and figuratively, because everyone was oohing and aahing and it was hard not to trip on people and sticks (the first part of the 5K has a bit of trail running). Unfortunately, by the time we ran past the first woodland scene, I was already feeling the effects of the pre-race cocktail and vegetarian taco, and I didn't have it in me to consistently jog at that point. My sister, a patient and kind sort, stuck with me while I complained in between random LED scenes.

And random it really was. The Austin Electric Run takes place at the Travis County Expo Center, which is also where our rodeo takes place, so at one point during the race you're running through a huge barn full of upside down lit-up umbrellas. It looks really cool, but as soon as you gasp with wonder, you get a good whiff of cow manure. It's pretty disgusting.

After a few more cool scenes and, in our case, a stretch that included a somewhat blasphemous electronic mix of some of Queen's greatest hits, you're at the finish line for the dance party. Here's what the website suggests you'll find at the end of the yellow-lit road:

Well, not quite. It was far less packed than their website pic above, but that was what they were going for for sure. Promotional temp employees slathered in Proactiv appeared out of nowhere and shoved free Rock Star Energy Drinks at us, while I yelled, "No, thanks! I'm afraid of drinks like that!" (I don't know why, but that response always gets blank stares from the young ones). 

There were lots of people dancing around waving glow sticks. We made a beeline for the bar to buy overpriced watery beer, and I felt elderly again as the guy on the mic urged everyone to throw their glow sticks in the air all at once. I watched, amused, as a teenage girl scurried around collecting used sweaty glow sticks off the ground, in a major piggy piggy glow stick moment. I couldn't help but think about what would happen when, twelve hours later, that poor piggy piggy girl would be sitting in a dark room in tears, buried in a pile of clear glow sticks, realizing for the first time that glow sticks have an expiration date.

Just as we were toasting our success and checking out the scene, I bent down to tie my shoe. As I stood up, I nearly took out the person standing behind me. That person was a toddler. She was standing there holding a glow stick and looking understandably overwhelmed. I'm guessing it was her first nighttime 5K/rave, so I looked around for a parental figure, and about ten feet behind us stood a woman behind a stroller, completely unaware I'd nearly knocked her kid down. As I was about to pick up the toddler and take her back to her mother, the toddler wandered back to the mother-ship stroller, glow stick in tow. I was pretty impressed she managed to make it back without falling, since the dance party floor was already covered in spilled beer. She was one savvy toddler.

Now, the Electric Run advertises that it's a family friendly event, stating on their website that, "We believe everyone, no matter their age, should be able to experience incredible lights and music in an environment that is healthy and happy." And I'm all about family friendly events, but when it's that loud, and glow sticks are flying around, perhaps you might consider hiring a babysitter? Because let's face it, when you're unsure if the pacifier in your stroller belongs to your toddler or to you, you've got a bit of a problem on your hands.

We stayed long enough to dance off our post race beer and pre-race vegetarian tacos, and long enough for me to get hit square in the head several times by a gigantic blow-up liquor bottle that was being tossed around in the crowd. Each time it landed on my head, my sister and I laughed a little harder. What were we thinking?

At the end of the day, it may be time for me to hang up my glow sticks and return to daytime events where the only colorful fun is the Gatorade at the water stops, but if you're wanting a to put a little light on the subject and you don't mind running over toddlers in glow stick tiaras, feel free to sign up for an Electric Run near you. Just be sure to share your stories with me!

Chicken Legs and a Giant 10K

In February of this year, I signed up to do The Giant Race 10K in San Francisco, which took place on August 4, giving me plenty of time to train. My coworkers in San Francisco wanted to do the event for a team-builder, which I thought was a great idea. We had three choices - a half marathon, 10K or 5K. My wimpy inner voice told me to go with the 5K, but since everybody else on my team seemed to be signing up for the half marathon, the 10K seemed like a reasonable and challenging option.

Since I walk close to three miles each weekday morning,  training for the 10K got pushed to the weekends. I didn't follow a formal training plan, didn't join a group, and decided to train alone. I probably should have done something more structured, but I knew what I needed to do. 

I needed to run.

Running is not natural for me, and for most of my life, I've hated it. It started in the second grade at Andy Woods Elementary School in Tyler, Texas. I had gangly arms and legs then, and at some point while running speed races on the playground at recess, someone noticed how ridiculous I looked when I ran. My long, skinny legs flailed around while the short boys watched and laughed. Soon enough, I had an nickname: Chicken Legs.

When it was time for kickball at recess, and the PE teacher made us pick teams (really, a very cruel practice if you're not athletic), I was usually second to the last next to whichever kid happened to be in a cast at the time. I got pretty good at avoiding running. I could kick the kickball up high and slow so it was easy to catch (Chicken Legs make for great kicking, evidently!). I'd get a stomach ache so I would be forced to sit out.  I got really good at Tug of War so that was my sport of choice on Field Day. (Okay, fine, I wasn't good at Tug of War, either, but at least it beat running).

In college, I took tennis as an elective and the coach thought I had potential. I had a pretty strong two-handed backhand, and one day after class, he pulled me to the side and said, 

"You could be a really good tennis player if you would run every now and then."

Evidently, if the ball came my way and was within my range of motion, I could return it without a problem. But if the ball required moving, I stayed put and watched it fly past.

The fear of being made fun of prevented me from enjoying so many things in life. Those silly bullies in elementary school are not to blame: I am. I gave full consent to allow people to make me feel inferior, despite the Eleanor Roosevelt quote my mother had hand-stamped on a card on my childhood refrigerator.

So I decided to sign up for the 10K, and vowed to run like no one was watching. And that's exactly what I did. I walked. I jogged. I wogged. Sometimes, I ran as fast as I could until my former chicken legs begged me to stop. But what I didn't do was give a rat's patootey what anyone thought.

This time, I didn't have chicken legs. Sure, I probably still look like that when I run, but my legs got stronger. And I got stronger along the way, stronger physically, but also stronger mentally. I remember once reading that Oprah said some mornings when she ran, her legs felt like steel pipes. And some mornings, my former chicken legs were steel pipes. On those days, I closed my eyes and convinced myself that my legs were as light as air. And I kept going, even if I needed to walk some along the way.

A few weeks before the race, I got jitters. I talked to a colleague who runs to ask for advice.

"Every water stop, get some water. Walk while you drink, then keep on running."

I took note of this, and a few weeks later, the same colleague sent this amazing Oatmeal piece on running to several coworkers, referring to the recipients as "runners". The mere fact that I was included on that email wiped away so much of my former Chicken Legs mentality. Was I really a runner? It was certainly beginning to feel that way.

When August 4 came around, I was ready. I had a killer playlist that was timed perfectly -- a great mix of dirty rap, 80's pop, and some random inspirational songs from different periods in my life. (And a little smooth jazz. Fine.)

I ate a few almonds and a little cheese, drank water and a Starbucks chai, and got in line with my pace group. The second grader in me wondered if the people who run a ten minute mile would turn around and laugh at me for being in the slow group, but I silenced that voice by realizing that I was doing a damned 10K!

The Giant Race is held along the Embarcadero in San Francisco, a nice flat course that takes you out 3 miles. The 10K runners hit 3 miles, then get routed back in the opposite direction while the half marathoners run an actual course. No offense to the race coordinators, but the race was terribly marked. If not for my MapMyRun app I couldn't have made it in the pace I ran, because I had no idea how far I'd gone or how much I had left, and for me, it's definitely a mental game. 

But we did have water stops. Your guess is as good as mine if those water stops were on actual mile markers, but each time, I nearly barreled over a teen-aged volunteer, grabbing for water like it was my last sip, took a little walk break, thanked my coworker out loud for his great advice (even though he lives in North Carolina), and kept on going.

When I got to the three mile turn-around, I got a little jolt and felt like I had it made. Then a little while later, I started to wonder why the hell I signed up. I began complaining mentally. I was still concerned about the missing mile markers, when a fun man in neon pink knee-highs ran up beside me, and I yelled out loud dramatically,

"Does anyone know where we are?"

"We're in San Francisco, on the Embarcadero," a woman with a literal mind answered, as if random people just run 10Ks without knowing where they are.

"She means where are we mile-wise," said the guy in neon kneesocks, "We're at 4 miles. Come on mama, you've got this."

Neon Kneesocks Man stayed with me for a while, giving me a nice pep talk along the way, and then passed me in a flash of bright pink. I loved that man. Before I knew it, AT&T Park was in sight, and I was nearing the finish. 

Before I went to San Francisco, I was cleaning out emails and stumbled on to an email my mother sent me several days before my 40th birthday last October -- a TED Talk by Amy Cuddy on body language. If you haven't seen this, it's pretty inspirational.

For some reason, my mom prefaced the video by stating that the video was worth watching, but was 20 minutes, so that alone caused me to delay watching it for nearly a year. What a sad commentary on our modern-day attention span!

I finally watched it, several weeks before the Giant Race, and it was so good, I watched it several times. I love the idea of striking a power pose and making yourself powerful. I love the concept of "faking it until you become it." I took that thought process with me when I ran.

The race ends inside Giants Stadium, directly on the field. It's pretty exciting, even after running 6.2 miles that early in the morning.  I finished the race, red-faced and exhilarated, looking up in the stands for my husband and daughter, and as I crossed the finish line, I heard my husband's signature whistle. 

And when I turned around, I left my chicken legs behind me for good, because now, I'm powerful. I faked it until I became it, and I must admit, it feels pretty good.

Yo, I'm Training Here

It's been a while!

I haven't abandoned you completely, but it has been busy these past few weeks. I've been training a bit for a team-builder my coworkers and I are doing August 4 in San Francisco. We're running The Giants Race to benefit Project Open Hand, a really cool organization that delivers meals to seniors and the critically ill. We got to choose between doing a 5K, 10K or half marathon. I knew better than to bite off a half marathon at this phase in my running journey, but I figured a 10K would be at least somewhat doable.

I've told you before I'm no Sporty Spice. Just because I walk to work nearly every day does not make me athletic. When I jog, it's a slow, hilarious situation, but I'm getting to an age where I don't really care what people think about me as I crawl by.

Because I signed up for this 10K at the first of the year, I've had ample time to prepare. And, in a sense, I have prepared quite a bit. Since I signed up for Map My Walk in April, I've logged 150 workouts. For me, this is sort of a miracle. When I got the email this week from Map My Walk congratulating me for this, I felt really proud. And the daily walks really add up. No matter if you walk, "wog," or jog the whole session, you will start feeling really great, and getting healthier, and that's awesome.

With just two weeks to go, I'm trying to kick it up a notch while preventing injury or heart failure. This morning, I woke with a goal of "running" at least three miles, and walking one more mile for a total of four. I'm in Texas, where it's about 250 degrees by 9am, so I left the house as early as possible and set off on my run, logging on to my two favorite tracking apps, Charity Miles and Map My Walk.

If it weren't for music, I would never make a mile, much less several of them. When I first started jogging years ago, my goal was to jog through three songs without stopping, for me, about enough time to get one mile under my belt. These days, I create playlists based on my distance goals.

My iPhone contains an extremely random selection of music that would make some of the young kids proud, and some of the stuff I own would make most everybody cringe. That's the smooth jazz portion. I'm not talking Kenny G or Yanni (or, as my husband calls him, Yanti). But I do fancy a little George Benson and Chuck Mangione. It's deliciously relaxing to me. Feel free to judge; everybody I know does. I'm comfortable with my smooth jazziness.

When I "run," I often listen to some really dirty rap. Sometimes I rap along, because I'm cool like that, and it helps keep my mind off of the fact that I'm pretty miserable, especially when it's hot out. Some of the dirty rap songs I own are the radio versions, mainly so my kids can rap along in the car. Yeah, we're that white family that raps together in the car, but we keep it G-rated. I like to think that a large portion of Jay-Z's fortune is based on the lame white families who buy the radio versions of his songs, so I'm sure he doesn't mind that they have to record two versions.

I remember when I was in about second grade, The Charlie Daniels Band's "Devil Went Down to Georgia" came out, and I wanted desperately to sing the entire song, especially the part that included the phrase "son of a bitch." So I approached my father and requested permission. Dad, an Army veteran and son of two potty mouths (God rest their souls, both of my grandparents were big-time cussers) - thought it over briefly and gave me the green light. I think he was kind of proud of me for asking.

I was on top of the world. I probably played that song over a thousand times, standing tall on a bench, acting out the devil versus the hillbilly story line, shouting, "I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best that's ever been!"

Perhaps this big life event gave me the confidence I have now to say what's on my mind. Hmm.

So while I'll water down some of the stuff I let my kids sing along to, for my runs, I buy the real deal. It raises my street cred a little. That said, I don't want to be caught saying the "N" word, and it's just all over these rap songs, kids. I grew up in East Texas, and that word --- one of the most distasteful, ugly words of all time - was thrown around quite a bit. Lucky for me, we never used that word in the home and found it abhorrent, but in an almost fully segregated town, the ugliness of Southern racism was part of my upbringing. That word showed up in jokes, in the homes of friends' houses, and overheard in dinner conversations. My mom had absolutely no problem confronting people who used that word and making them feel like complete idiots for doing so.

Dirty rap is a difficult thing to deal with if you want to buy it, listen to it ( in my opinion a lot of it is really good. I think Kanye West and Jay-Z are geniuses), and support it with out feeling a little racially squeamish. What do you do when it comes time to sing along?  I'm guessing Paula Deen didn't have to answer the question, "But what about when you listened to dirty rap? What did you do then?" I'm also guessing Paula Deen isn't a huge rap fan, but who knows. Personally, I think she's just a sad bumpkin who admitted to using racist language -which isn't acceptable - but she also makes pies with a pound of butter, so she's not exactly on a mission to save lives or better the world.

So today, I was singing along to my mix of classic 70s rock and dirty rap, and I landed on a song with a lot of "N" words. And suddenly, I was struck with a flash of genius.

I would substitute the N word with "nipple!"

Let me tell you, friends, when you run past someone and are huffing and puffing and saying, "MJ" gone, our nipple dead," that is a really fantastic thing.

This new-found rapping system, along with a mid-run water break, and I was wildly motivated today. I knocked out three miles without much drama. By the time I finished four miles, I was almost home, and I stopped, took a left turn in the opposite direction of home, and kept on. I passed a young couple with a stroller, right around the time I was halfway through Jay-Z's explicit version of "Empire State of Mind." I'm super social, so I always say good morning to the people I lumber past, but this morning, about the time they passed me, I was in the middle of this:

"Nipple I be spiked up, I can tip a referee. Tell by my attitude I'm most definitely from..."

Given that the baby in the stroller was about six months old, I found that nipple reference pretty timely. Breastfeeding moms talk about nipples with such regularity I doubt the mom even noticed, and lucky for the dad, he had on headphones.

And with a little more smooth jazz, I was jogging up to my house, five miles behind me. This is the farthest I've gone since I started training in April. I did a dirty rap victory dance, right in front of my house. It was good times.

For those of you who think you can't walk, wog, jog or run, you totally can. I am proof of this. I am often lazy, overweight (but slowly shrinking), and much more motivated to sit on my butt than exercise. But it gets addictive, and it makes you feel great.

So slap on some headphones, download some dirty rap (or whatever music gets you going), and hit the streets!

Running on Angry

I have a friend who writes a running blog called Running on Heavy. I like her take on fitness. She describes herself as a "big girl," and encourages others who aren't Skinny Minnies to get out there and exercise and not be intimidated. It's good stuff. In addition to enjoying her posts, I also love the title. So today, I'm going to plagiarize a bit, and tell you about how this morning, I went running on angry.

My husband Tim and I are very good at fighting. We're a very hot-and-cold couple; we're either passionately lovey-dovey or fighting with equal passion. And while the fighting times can be stressful, I always know that we'll figure out how to get through it. I know this because we always do, but also because my husband was married before, and when we got married, he said,

"Divorce is not an option. Homicide is, but divorce is not."

And he laughed his big huge laugh, which is a good thing. I don't want you thinking my husband has homicidal tendencies. He simply didn't want to go through the pain of divorce ever again. Makes sense.

Last night, we got into a pretty good fight, but I was exhausted from a crazy week at work and decided I didn't want to give it 100%, so I went to bed angry. I like to resolve things, and truly believe going to bed angry is a bad thing, but last night it wasn't in the cards to get to a cozy resolution. As a result, I woke up angry. What a terrible way to wake up! I rolled around in bed, mad as a wet hen, and then laughed at myself for thinking that for the first time in my life, I related to John Boehner and Rush Limbaugh. Man, I was angry! Grr!

And this morning, all of that anger motivated the hell out of me. The first thing I did was make a beeline for my new hot pink sports bra. (Did I mention that it's a size smaller than my other ones? And it fits?!) Unable to find it in my workout bag, I stormed topless into the living room, where my husband sat cheerfully on the couch. I should mention that Tim cannot get over a fight quickly. While I'm completely content to fight it out, get super ugly, and then make up directly afterwards, Tim doesn't work this way. While I need to get to a happy place, Tim needs space and time. And for Tim, his definition of time and space has something to do with sleeping. Give that man a few REM cycles, and he wakes up as cheerful as a Southern Baptist Sunday School teacher. It's as if nothing ever happened.

As I entered the living room, topless and angry, Tim bellowed, "Good morning!" This was followed by a wolf whistle. See? It's as if nothing ever happened!

Unaffected by his friendliness and his appreciation for my half-dressed state, I found my sports bra in the pile of clothes waiting to be folded on the dining room table (yeah, we're that kind of family), and waved casually in Tim's direction, as if he were no more than a simple stranger sitting in our living room. I poured some water for the road and went and got dressed to run. Still angry. While dressing, I considered that I could make up with Tim. It wouldn't be hard to do, especially after that wolf whistle. But I wanted to see if this anger would help fuel my morning run. It was already a steamy 80 degrees outside, and I'd slept an hour later than I'd hoped. I needed motivation.

I headed to the front door, earphones already in, sunscreen applied, rocking my new running shorts. I have to document this so my sister can benefit from ten straight minutes of hysterical laughter. I do NOT do shorts. I haven't really worn shorts much at all since 8th grade. They look terrible on me. But lately, I'm a bit of a sporty individual, and at 7:00 on a Saturday morning in a college town, not many people were up to see me anyway.

"I'll be back in a while," I said casually to that common stranger on our couch.

"Enjoy your run!" the man said, in a familiar cheerful Sunday School teacher sing-song voice as I slammed the door.

Normally, my weekend runs are the same for the most part. I either run/walk around the golf course near my house, which is a little over a mile, and I do as many loops as I can before pooping out. It's not exactly consistent jogging; I get lazy and walk a lot. Or I do some variation of that route near my home, figuring if I need to pass out, it should be close to my house so my family can come save me. But this morning, I went on a mission. Fueled by anger and a sudden stubborn streak, I logged on to my two walking/running apps, and said out loud to nobody but myself,

"I'm going to run to the Capitol."

For some, like the mother of one of my daughter's friends who seriously runs like 4,000 miles a week, swims about half that distance, and bikes around 8,000 miles a week, this would be no big thing at all. But I'm not an athlete. I'm just trying to get healthy here. However, it should be noted that the course from my house to the capitol is, in my opinion, quite hilly. The hill by the UT stadium nearly kills me, and that's just when I'm walking. I've never jogged up it before. Because I walk this route nearly every day, I know where the mile markers are. Mile one ends at the base of that killer hill. I got that far without collapsing, and thought about what was coming next. I looked up at the top of the hill, looked down at my legs, and then I thought about Meredith.

Meredith was recently featured on an episode of Extreme Weight Loss. If you haven't seen it, it's Extreme Home Makeover for big bodies. And come on, everybody loves a transformation story, especially if it's extreme. Would you spend an hour of your life watching the story of an average Joe who dropped five pounds? Never! It has to be massive and extreme weight loss to get our attention. As a result, Exteme Weight Loss is completely addictive.

Meredith's story is perfect for this format. She's beautiful (at all sizes in my opinion). Blonde with curly hair and a radiant smile, we love Meredith because she's overweight, but we can see how pretty she'll be once she's thin. I really hate that, but it's how we are. We want that extreme change. And also, we want to see someone get healthy. I have to remind myself that those weight loss shows are also about health, and not just looks.

Of course Meredith was adopted as a baby, and spent her life feeling neglected by her birth mother. Because she was overweight, she never felt fully accepted or part of her adoptive family. Watching, I got annoyed with her for being kind of a sad sack about the whole deal, as her adoptive family seems great, but it makes the story juicer.

I was totally sucked in. What else would we learn about Meredith? How about this: as a kid, Meredith wanted to be on Baywatch. As a child, Meredith's dream was to "run around in a bikini as a lifeguard on the beach." You can't act like you don't love a kid who's biggest dream is to be a mini Pamela Anderson.

The Baywatch dream was enough to keep me watching, but it got even better. Of course Meredith struggled with yo-yo dieting. Of extreme proportions. Meredith got up to nearly 400 pounds at one point, and lost down to the 200s. When she did, she got a tattoo on her belly that reads this:

"Believe it. Be it. 155."

155 is Meredith's goal weight. There are several scenes where she proudly displays her belly tattoo for the entire viewing audience to see. The bravery!

I will not give away all of the awesome details, but I do suggest you watch the episode. It's truly inspirational and super extreme. But this morning, at the base of the hill, I thought about Meredith's journey. I thought about the distances she was able to run, and how hard she worked, and that crazy belly tattoo. And I kept going. And going.

About two tenths of a mile away from the capitol, I nearly quit. There's a hill there that's nice and deceptive, and it was kicking my ass. But I kept going. I jogged through my anger. I jogged for Meredith. I jogged thinking about Charity Miles, and how all of the causes they support are things so difficult to face- getting clean drinking water, fighting cancer, getting an education -- and I powered through that last little segment.

And I made it.

I know two miles is not a big huge deal. I've actually jogged two miles several times this summer while training for this daunting 10K I'm doing in August. But today's route was such a big personal win. I said I was going to jog to the capitol, and I did it. I did some pretty ridiculous Rocky-esque celebrating. I snapped a quick picture of the capitol, turned around, and headed home. I won't lie; I thought briefly about taking a bus back home, but after I caught my breath, I started jogging again, and did another mile before I decided that walking the rest of the way home was completely okay.

By the time I got home, I was no longer angry with Tim. What were we even fighting about? When I came inside, and my terrific husband was standing in the living room, folding clothes on our dining room table, he looked a little amazed.

"How far did you go?" he asked.

"Four and a quarter miles," I said, proudly. "I ran to the capitol."

I can't say that being angry is the only reason I was able to complete my journey today -- I have been working at getting in better shape since the first of the year --  but it did get me going. So from now until I face the daunting 10K coming up in August, I may have to pick a few more fights with Tim. Perhaps if I keep up the angry running, I can run across the beach in a bikini sometime in the future and bust out my best Baywatch move. Surely Tim won't mind that.

Walking Daniel

When I started this blog, the goal was simple: help motivate others to walk for transportation. I also hoped that as interest in the topic grew, I could devote some of my posts to helping others while still focusing on the walking topic. I would get sponsors. I would connect with a really cool organization called Charity Miles, and see how we could work together (I've started using their app and I love it. More on this later). I would write about Walk for the Water, an organization that raises awareness and funds for people in developing countries who walk an average of 3.7 miles one way to get clean water. 

There I go with my big dreams again. Between my stepdaughter's upcoming graduation, the end of the school year, work travel, deadlines and more, it's been nearly a month since I took time to sit and write about anything, much less take time to add a philanthropic touch to my otherwise fluffy blog about walking to work.

So the universe decided to conk me on the head yesterday, as it often does when I need a reminder of what is truly important. I was home, folding laundry, watching back-to-back episodes of House Hunters International on HGTV, when my husband Tim came in from running errands, soaked in sweat (it's suddenly about 117 degrees in Austin), and bounded into the kitchen to pour water, eyes shining. It's a look I know well.

Tim was in helping mode.

For those of you who don't know Tim, he lives in helping mode. He's a modern day Good Samaritan. He is happiest when he is helping someone in need. It's not unusual at all for Tim to be awake before the garbage truck arrives, putting frozen Gatorade on top of the trash can for the garbage men to enjoy as they're doing work that 99% of us would never consider doing. 

In the past week alone, Tim dropped everything to help my parents move, fixed a broken outdoor light at my parent's new house, handled massive amounts of heavy lifting, and helped me escape jail time by negotiating a forgotten speeding ticket in a small Texas town. And this was all done by Tuesday! From there, he helped facilitate the sale of a used car owned by our dear friend from Brazil to a man from India. I didn't witness any of this face to face, but just overhearing the phone conversations was like being a fly on the wall to some pretty complicated United Nations negotiations. There was a lot of loud, slow talking. It was hilarious, but it was Tim in full on helping mode.

And just yesterday morning, I found Tim outside with the man from India in a scene I know too well: Hood up, public radio blaring, crap laying around every which direction, and Tim patiently teaching the driver how to change oil, or put on brake pads, or fix a flywheel. This is how Tim rolls. And I love it.

After helping our new friend from India, Tim went to run errands and was on his way back home when he discovered a young woman with a flat tire a few blocks from our house. He came home for tools, bounded into the kitchen to fetch cold water, and took off. This is a pretty typical Saturday at the Arndt house.

Yesterday, Tim's need to help trickled down to the next generation. While Tim was off changing the flat, my stepson Matthew came home from spending the morning with his girlfriend. As they pulled up to our house, Matthew noticed a man, a woman and a young child standing beside a stroller. The tire on the back of the stroller was broken, and the family stood there in what appeared to be a significant pickle. The man asked Matthew if he spoke Spanish, and Matthew answered yes, and the next thing you know, Matthew was launched into helping mode.

By this time of day, it was seriously pushing 100 degrees outside. Matthew came inside, bounded into the kitchen to fetch water for the family, and immediately asked for Tim, knowing this kind of scene was right up Tim's alley. 

With Tim gone, I felt a little like a triage nurse, so I stepped in to offer help. Except my contribution is typically to interview the people and learn about them while Tim or Matthew do the manly work. I know, it's sexist, but I'm not the handiest lady in the world.

Matthew went to the garage to locate tires to try to fix the stroller (a discussion on the things we have in our garage is a different topic altogether), and I went outside to meet the family. I'm not exactly certain of the relationship between the man and the woman. The woman may be the wife, or she may be the grandmother; it was hard to tell. They were sweaty and appeared tired, yet they were all smiles.

The little boy is named Daniel, and the father introduced him in both the Spanish and English pronunciation. Daniel has a thick head of beautiful dark hair and huge brown eyes, and he hid behind the mother/grandmother's legs, peering out and smiling shyly. I fell in love immediately.

Through broken English and my limited Spanish, which is comprised of a lot of dramatic adjectives -- "Hot! Dangerous! Cold! Beautiful!"  -- I was able to get a basic lowdown of what this family does to get around. 

For starters, they don't own a car. Now, I write about walking for transportation, right? I write about how great it was for me to sell my car so I can walk to my office in the morning.  But I don't have a 3 year-old boy. When I take the bus after work, it's because I can't find a Car2Go nearby, or my Tim is busy and can't pick me up. I have never been in a situation where I had to walk several miles for an errand in 100-degree heat, much less do it with a child in tow.

This family lives in East Austin. They use the stroller to cart Daniel around when his legs tire from walking. The importance of that stroller on their day-to-day lives is significant.  While Matthew tinkered around with the tire, this sweet family drank ice water, expressed gratitude over and over, and the little boy entertained himself by rolling the spare tire around on the street.

There is more to this story than I understand at this point. We are not entirely sure that this family has a place to live. Daniel's father is doing what he can to help his family, and that despite his situation, he clings to a faith where he states that he is "one hundred percent" certain that God exists. I was so moved by this sweet family. They are doing the best that they can in what is likely a somewhat desperate situation. 

This family walks for transportation because they have no other choice. And they do it with as much grace as they can. In no point in our interaction did this family ask us for a handout. They simply broke down on the side of the road - just like the affluent girl in the new Ford that my husband helped - and we happened to be there to offer up a little help.

While Matthew was working on the stroller that ended up being irreparable, Tim came home and suggested that I post a message on Facebook to see if we could get a used stroller from our friends in Austin. In less than 24 hours, help arrived in the form of a jogging stroller, gently used and perfect for this situation. What's really cool about this story is that when I posted the message, several people shared my post, and the family who offered up their stroller is currently living in Brazil (they spend their summers there), so help arrived from thousands of miles away. They happen to have a spare stroller at their house in Austin, so today's we'll coordinate picking up it so Daniel has some new wheels. I'm so proud to have so many friends with huge hearts! 

Today, I'm more aware of how wealthy most of us are, and while life brings all of us certain setbacks, there are always others who can benefit from our help. I can't help but think that when I walk to work next week, I will do it with a raised level of awareness that there are many who walk because they have no other choice. 

It's no wonder that when he's helping, Tim looks his happiest. He often says that when he helps, he's doing it selfishly, because doing something for others makes him feel good. If that's the case, I'm happy I married a selfish man, and that he's teaching his children that the best gift you can give yourself is to help someone in need.