Vacationing on Vieques

I’ve been home from Vieques, Puerto Rico, for nearly 18 hours, but I’ve been putting off writing the following recap because to do so would be to concede that I am no longer on vacation. (Other telltale signs that my Caribbean escape has come to a close? I’m dressed in layers and there’s not a poolboy name Saúl refilling my boyfriend’s empty pint glass.)

It’s not just a tropical paradise that has been snatched from my cold, dead warm, bronzed fingers. A diehard practitioner of the one-two punch, the world has also cruelly taken a precious hour from me this daylight savings morning as it looks to thrust me kicking and screaming back into non-vacation mode.

But I won’t have it. There are 14 more glorious hours ahead before my scheduled Monday morning alarm, and I intend to live every last one of them like I’m still on vacation (that is, I’ll be sleeping for 10 of them and lounging in a supine position for the remainder.)

But before I make my way back to the sun-drenched couch, I figured I’d give you a quick summary of how I made do with my five pre-trip goals.

  • Spend some quality time with my boyfriend. Check. Whether it involved kayaking together in Vieques’ bioluminescent bay, flushing away our life savings on a swanky couples massage, watching old movies during an afternoon downpour or gorging ourselves silly on surf and turf combos, we spent hours and hours simply enjoying each other’s company, which sure beats our usual pastime of recapping the workday. This photo may be fuzzy, but I think it sums up our somber mood during the duration of the trip:

  • Maintain my 10K training plan. Check. It’s tempting to forgo the gym in favor of an extra hour of sleep wherever you are, and it’s no different when you’re residing at a tropical resort. I’m not going to lie: the idea of doing a 50-minute tempo run on an inside treadmill during sunset/happy hour Thursday evening did not have me teeming with excitement. But once I manned up, walked to the gym and completed six fairly grueling miles at an 8:30 pace –vacation and all – I was filled with both a gratifying feeling of accomplishment and a physical hunger that totally justified my back-to-back pork chops at dinner that night. Seriously, check out this graph. Twenty-seven+ miles is not bad for a week during which I needed only walk 15 feet from our patio to the pool bar.
  • Get a tan. Check. I may be the palest of my mother’s children, but I’m the tannest in my relationship, so that’s got to be worth something.

  • Enjoy the local culinary fare without breaking the bank calorically. Check-ish. I made a handful of poor nutritional decisions this week, including eating two giant cheeseburgers, two sides of fries and the most delicious plate of pancakes I’ve ever consumed. These aren’t things I frequently allow myself in New York, but I caved to the vacation mindset and upped my calorie intake exponentially during a couple of meals. Fortunately, I made better decisions at the majority of other mealtimes. For example, most days, I ate for breakfast a granola bar from home and a free apple from the W Hotel gym, setting me back a total of 300 calories and filling me with fiber and nutrients, instead of hitting up the $28 breakfast buffet that would have undoubtedly seen me stuff my pockets with high-cal cured meats just to feel like I was getting my money’s worth. I also opted for side salads over fries during three out of five lunches and forwent sugar-tastic piña coladas for light beer or red wine. I certainly didn’t return home to find myself leaner than when I left, but remaining cognizant of (most of) my culinary choices left me with few regrets.
  • Learn how to fold towels into the shapes of all my favorite animals. A big negative on this one. Turns out upscale hideaways like the W Retreat & Spa don’t fold their towels into anything other than the oh-so-overdone folded towel shape. Vacation 2013 – Disney World, here we come!

What are your tricks for a healthy-ish getaway? And more importantly, why isn’t this my everyday view?

Maintaining Fitness in Margaritaville

This morning, my boyfriend and I are off to the island of Puerto Rico, which I can only assume in Spanish means “more fried plantains, please.” I’ve been to Puerto Rico twice before — in 2008 for the spring break of a lifetime with the creepiest friends I know and just last year for a pre-cruise romp in glorious Old San Juan — but I’ve never before been to the Puerto Rico sub-island of Vieques. Fun fact: Vieques is backdrop to both The Bachelor on ABC and my next blog post. Stay tuned.

My goals for this trip are five-fold:

  • Spend some quality time with my boyfriend when we aren’t frazzled from long days at the office.
  • Maintain my 10K training plan, complete with a 50 minute tempo run in the W Hotel fitness center and an unorthodox cross-training session wearing a snorkle. Vacation fitness may not be the easiest, but at least I won’t be logging 30 loops of the Carnival cruise “track o’ seasickness” again this year.
  • Get a tan. (Hey, I’m allowed to be a little shallow here.)
  • Enjoy the local culinary fare without breaking the bank calorically. This primarily means aiming for five fruits and veggies a day, including at least one order of non-fried plantains (oh, the humanity!)
  • Learn how to fold towels into the shapes of all my favorite animals. This one really should be at the top of the list.

How are you spending the first week of March?

The 5K Wins this Round

No offense Hunger Games, but a lot of terrible things begin with the letter H. Hurricane Irene? Ruined an epic bachelorette party for my girl Sarah. Hippos? Kill dozens of African bathers a year. Hitler? Perhaps this one speaks for itself.

But today, boys and girls, the evil H-word of the day is HILLS. And HUBRIS. Oh yeah, and HANGOVER.

This morning, I raced my first 5K since high school (not counting the non-competitive Turkey Trot my brother ran in combat boots and khakis this fall) and going in, I don’t think I gave the distance due deference.

3.1 miles? I smirked as I threw back another $8 beer at a friend’s charity rock concert last night at Tammany Hall. In January, I ran a 5K – and 10 more miles on top of it – in whiteout conditions during the Manhattan Half. I can handle 3.1 miles.

Ancient Greek antiheroes were usually rewarded generously for their charming hubristic qualities (*not true), so I was shocked to find myself in poor shape this morning as I rolled out of bed at 7 a.m. Fortunately, I had the good sense to stop after two beers – and fend off every round of tequila making its way in my direction – but I simply can’t stay up late or metabolize alcohol like I used to, and my aching, dehydrated body this morning was proof. (Hey, other 26 year olds: please, oh please, tell me this maturing thing is happening to you, too.)

It wasn’t bad enough to warrant throwing in the metaphorical towel, however, so I downed my body weight in water, laced up and made my way to Washington Heights for the NYRR Coogan’s Salsa, Blues and Shamrocks 5K.

According to the online description, this “festive” course was supposed to take us under the George Washington Bridge, into Fort Tyron Park, past a breathtaking Hudson River overlook and back down Fort Washington Ave. to the finish line as dozens of local musicians kept time on the sidelines. What the description neglected to add was that this race takes a slight right-turn detour over the Himalayas.

A Central Park runner, I’ve sprinted up my fair share of hills, but nothing prepared me for the long, slow inclines of today’s race. As soon as I’d catch my breath from one mountainous climb, I’d have to start preparing myself for the next hill looming in the not-so-far distance. I heard someone say we ran to the highest natural point in Manhattan and back, and I confirmed it on Wikipedia before posting it here. Seriously. This was one hilly mother of a race.

Going in with a slight hangover – and concluding with a massive hillover (perhaps not a word) – I knew there was no way I was breaking any records on this race. And I didn’t. I finished in 24:45, maintaining an average 7:59 pace. I’m still proud to have broken 8:00, since that time wasn’t even in my lexicon a year ago, but after logging 7:54 miles in a longer race earlier this season, I know I can do better. Ah well.  Next time I’ll skip the Heinekens and carb load in the more traditional sense.

What would you do differently if you could start this weekend over?

Run-Commuting Home

I freaking love multitasking.

As managing editor of a daily paper with a bad running habit and a pesky need to sleep, I somehow never seem to find enough hours in the day if I’m only completing one task at a time.

Por ejemplo: Squats? Lame. Brushing teeth? Tedious (and arguably unnecessary. Back me up here, dentists.) Doing squats while brushing my teeth? Multitasking my way to oral/quad health.

See also: calling my parents while cabbing it down the FDR, arranging workout dates with long-lost friends and drinking in the shower during college. Oh, how I wish that hadn’t stopped being acceptable after I turned 22.

So when one of the bloggers I idolize casually follow mentioned that she logged nearly 40 miles last week on her commutes to work alone, I knew run-commuting (runnuting?) was going to be finding its way into my life. (Note: if you clicked the above link to her blog, New York State law requires you make me a batch of her Oreo Cheesecake Cookies. Sorry. Cuomo’s rule, not mine.)

Although I’m unequivocally a morning runner, I neither have access to a gym near my office nor hate my colleagues enough to inflict my post-sweat aroma on them all workday, so a morning runnute (work with me here, people) was unfortunately out. But with a little advanced planning, an evening commute seemed feasible, so I penciled in Tuesday night and set about with preparations.

Preparation 1: Deciding what I needed to bring with me to work. Packing running shoes, a sports bra, shorts, a long-sleeved t-shirt, socks and my running belt were the easy part; whittling down the rest of my life to the bare necessities was excruciatingly painful. Knowing I’d be leaving everything not on my person in a locked desk drawer overnight, I only wanted to bring the vitals, but an ardent follower of the huge-purse-means-never-having-to-go-without-anything-ever religion, I really struggled here. I ended up forgoing my Kindle in favor of a Metro card, keys, my phone, a credit card, my ID and some petty cash. And Chapstick. Always Chapstick.

Preparation 2: Plotting a route. I had 5.5 miles on the schedule, but the distance from my apartment to my office is only 4 miles, so I planned a path that took me straight up 3rd Ave and then added some extra loops. Lexington would have given me a more straight shot home, but 3rd Ave presented the illusion of fewer tourists and less congestion. (More on the shattering of that dream later.)

Preparation 3: Awkwardly getting changed at work. Once we’d put the issue to bed, I snuck into the conference room, drew the shades, hoped they weren’t as translucent as they appeared, shimmied into some Spandex and made my way to street level.

Advocates of run-commuting hail the activity as a fresh way to avoid the bustle of rush hour, allowing one to complete his run and shake off the day’s stress.

Advocates of run-commuting are idiots.

Don’t get me wrong – I loved that when I arrived home at 8 p.m., I’d completed both my commute and my daily workout, effectively killing two birds with one stone and allowing me to eat dinner all the sooner/save a stone. But if anyone tries to tell you running home in Manhattan is a relaxing pastime, they’ve got something else coming.

As much as I love this city, running up 3rd Ave at rush hour this week reinforced everything I hate about this godforsaken place. Walking four abreast? Bikes on the sidewalk?! Dog owners on cell phones whose absentminded canines create invisible trip lines with their diamond-studded leashes?! No thank you. Can we all agree that new residents have to sign a statement with their leases here on out promising not to do these things? In exchange, I’ll sign an affidavit stipulating I won’t annoyingly jog in place at red lights mid-runnute. I think that’s a fair deal.

By the time I made it home, I had muttered exponentially more “JesusChristGetOutOfMyWay”s than on a normal commute and had somehow run 5.8 miles on the 5.5-mile course I’d pre-plotted. That’s right, folks: 0.3 additional miles for crowd-weaving alone. Relaxing, my butt.

For fear this post is getting too whiney, I’ll end with something awesome:

A picture of a boxer in a captain’s hat. AmIRight?

Have you ever run-commuted to work? Would you do it again? (Will I? Place your bets in the comments section. Odds are 60:40.)

The Philadelphia Broad Street Run: One Year Later

I may tell people I’m training this year for the 2012 Marine Corps Marathon, but there’s one race scheduled this spring that’s nearer and dearer to my heart – the Philadelphia Broad Street 10 Miler.

That’s the race that started it all for me. An unfathomable distance in January 2011 to my then sedentary self, I’d initially laughed at my friends’ suggestions to join them and scoffed at their declarations that they would “run slow.”

“How slow?” I’d asked in my early 2011 e-mail reply. “I’ve never run so far before in my life and could only do it at a pace of about 2 mph.”

Clocking in at my all-time heaviest, my weight may have been through the roof, but my self-confidence –particularly when it came to my athletic prowess – was off-the-charts low.

If you’ve been reading my blog since the start (Hi, ClaireBear!), you know that I ended up manning up, registering for the race and sustaining a surprise 9:20.29 pace.

What you may not know, however, is that I had tears streaming down my face for all 10 miles (hello dehydration) because I was just so proud to be achieving something that four months earlier I’d known to be impossible. As I mustered my last ounce of strength and sprinted my way across the finish line into the Philadelphia Navy Yard, I felt a sense of unparalleled gratification like I’d never before felt in my life.

My Dad, who had driven 100 miles that morning just to see me race, summed it up in an e-mail the next day: “I am SO pleased that I got to see you at The Finish Line after yesterday’s Broad Street 10-miler.  I think I will always remember you best at that moment: pumped, euphoric, glowing, and so-very-happy.”

And I was.

So imagine my heart-wrenching disappointment when I went to register for this year’s race in mid-February only to be alerted on the website that all 30,000 slots had already been filled.

With six spring races already on my schedule, it’s not like I needed to race the Broad Street Run again this year. But with this event carrying for me such personal and powerful memories of my running debut, it pained me a little inside to know I wouldn’t be back this year to show Philadelphia the same love it had shown me, especially when two of my best friends had secured spots of their own.

I was just about prepared to resign myself to the role of spectator (and non-racing cheesesteak taste tester) this year, when I stumbled across a new link on the Broad Street Run website: The Second Chance Lottery.

“Because registration for the 2012 Blue Cross Broad Street Run exceeded wildest expectations with over 30,000 runners registering in a record five hours,” the fresh new webpage read. “We have institued a second chance lottery for an additional 2500 runners to be permitted into the event.”

Lotteries – like British accents and Middle Eastern peace talks – have never been my strong suit, but I knew I had nothing to lose, so I threw my credit card information in their faces and waited.

And waited. And waited.

Ten days – or how long it takes Kate Hudson to lose a guy – later, having concluded Oscar season and all but forgotten about the lottery, I opened my e-mail this morning to find this note:

I’m in! I’m really in! And I’m so very, very thankful.

And now tell me something wonderful that’s happened to you today!


Avoiding Cross-Training Like the Plague

There are times I’ll willingly step out of my comfort zone. Wearing electric blue pants in the light of day? Fine. Ordering the tasting menu at Manzo, complete with a petit filet of bovine tongue? No big deal. Helping my pilot friend fly a two-seater plane over the San Diego Bay last weekend? Done and done.

But when it comes to adding cross-training to my weekly workout schedule, the likelihood of me donning a pair of spin shoes or striking a child’s pose in yoga is about the same as Rick Santorum winning the popular vote in Chelsea.

My aversion to cross-training is mostly an efficiency thing: In the time it takes to pack a gym bag, walk to the YMHA, go through the metal detector (what, your gym doesn’t have airport-caliber security?), claim a locker and make my way to the 4th floor cardio studio, I know I could have already covered a mile and a half on foot if I’d forwent cross-training and opted for a good old fashioned run instead.

It doesn’t help either that the adult workout classes offered at my gym at convenient hours mostly sound excruciating – things like “Aqua Fusion” or “Total Body Groove” or “Spending Time with Cats.” Paired with a crippling fear that the instructor will use me as an example of “how not to do a pushup correctly” in front of the entire group fitness class, that’s enough to keep my exercise routine refreshingly singular.

But in the spirit of Leap Day week, I’m going to take a page from Liz Lemon’s fictionalized playbook and try something new in the weeks ahead: cross-training at least once a week.

(Confession: this should already be on my schedule, since my current 10K training plan requires 60 minutes of cross-training every Saturday. My cross-training yesterday consisted of watching my boyfriend and his roommate rearrange furniture in the morning and tapping my toes along to The Artist at night. That may or may not actually qualify as actual exercise. I can’t be sure.)

But what kind of cross-training is best for a busy New Yorker? I posed the question to one of my blog idols, and she suggested SoulCycle, the high-energy spin-sation that has claimed to have “taken the world of fitness by storm.” I’ve heard great things from everyone and their mother about these classes, but at $32 a pop, they seem a little hard to justify on top of my monthly 92Y membership fee. (Funny how I can be so frugal on some fronts and so lavish on others. Last weekend, for example, I spent significantly more than that for a butter-infused vodka cocktail and a couple rounds of Wylie Dufresne’s bacon-wrapped hotdogs w/ deep fried mayonnaise. Priorities, people.)

If I’m really trying to be economical here, my best bet is to try out some classes at my home gym. 7 p.m. is a hard target when you manage a daily newspaper, but I’m hoping if I really bust my butt, I can make it to a 7:05 cardio kickboxing session tomorrow. Other ideas: testing out my gym’s indoor pool, streaming a Pilates workout on my laptop or intentionally leaving my Metrocard in my fifth-floor walk-up. Or I could just wait three weeks until soccer season begins again.

What’s your favorite form of cross-training? And can I tag along?

40 Days of Fitness

Very few holidays fall on Wednesdays, and those that do as part of their calendared schedule usually elicit widespread revulsion for their brazen decision to situate themselves midweek.

Seriously. Raise your hand if this sounds familiar:

“Can you believe it?! Halloween is on a Wednesday this year. A WEDNESDAY. Ugggh.”

If you’ve been alive for more than seven years, I guarantee that rings a bell. (And if you’ve been alive for less than seven years, congratulations on your exemplary computer skills but please stop reading my blog.)

But while I’ve never heard anyone shriek in delight to learn that New Year’s Eve would be coinciding with Hump Day this year, there is one post-Tuesday/pre-Thursday event that seems to slip by annually with little negative kickback: Ash Wednesday.

I’m not going to get into a whole history of Ash Wednesday here because 1. It’s late. and 2. (please stop reading here if you happen to be my Godmother) This lapsed Episcopalian’s recollection of Ash Wednesday’s origination is a little fuzzy.

What I do know, however, is that it kickstarts the happy-go-lucky season of Lent, a 40-day observance of prayer and penitence for some and the commencement of Cadbury Creme Egg season for others. (I’ll let you guess which camp I fall into.)

My childhood Lents were always marked by some form of self-denial – usually the renunciation of dessert after my mother shot down my lame yearly renunciation of homework – but this year, I’ve opted to observe the season proactively instead. Rather than forgoing red wine or cursing like many of you more disciplined people out there, I’m going to maintain mindfulness by upping my strength training routine over the next 40 days.

I’m still in the final days of Fab Ab February (there’s totally a six-pack hiding behind that Thai food I ate for lunch), but once Leap Day concludes, I’ve created a new supplemental schedule to last me through Easter. Unlike the Fab Ab February calendar that I stole from the internet, I made this bad boy myself in Microsoft Paint. (People tell me there are now other digital art programs besides Microsoft Paint, but I’m not sure who to ask about them. Maybe an editor at a daily newspaper?)

It’s so artistically crafted that I expect it will go viral.

What’s your Lenten resolution? (If it involves giving up cursing or wine, I’ll talk to you post-Resurrection.)

Traveling Light

As difficult as it may be to eat healthy in New York – especially after Shake Shack decided its flagship restaurant 0.4 miles from my office wasn’t sufficient and opted to open a second East Side hub 0.3 miles from my apartment – eating well while traveling is infinitely harder.

There are a lot of things you shouldn’t take my word for (example: that the 5-second rule still applies in NYC bars), but trust me on this one: maintaining a healthy lifestyle while on the road is hands down one of the hardest – but most rewarding – skills I’ve ever had to master.

Why should you believe me? Because I’m writing this from San Diego.

During the height of conference season, my job has me frequenting LaGuardia at least twice a month. And besides learning who not to follow through the security checkpoint (Midwest women transporting a backpack of snow globes), my airport education has also taught me that preparation is key when it comes to Cinnabon-free transcontinental travel.

It’s impossible to be as regimented with your eating and workout schedules as you’d like when living out of a suitcase, but I’ve learned a little advanced planning can make all the difference between overstepping your daily calorie intake by 200 – and vaulting past it by 2,000.

And that’s about the best you can ask for when you’re washing your hair with a 3-ounce bottle of shampoo.

Here are my top tips for how to survive a few kitchen-less days of travel without sabotaging a week’s worth of good behavior.

1. BE PREPARED WITH SNACKS.

A growing number of airlines have stopped offering complementary soft drinks, so you can kiss your chance of getting a bag of peanuts good-bye. And with 84% of all domestic flights (I made up that number) into New York delayed, when your stomach starts growling, if you’re not prepared, you’re going to find yourself leaving the closest Hudson News with a jumbo-sized KitKat and a sinking feeling of regret. Not only will that chocolate bar set you back 410 calories, but it will rob you of $4.95 that could have been spent buying coke in a glass harmonica from a Mitch Hedbgerg-inspired mini-fridge once you arrive at your destination.

Having an arsenal of your everyday snacks in your carry-on luggage is the key to evading such a fate. When I left my apartment for this trip, for example, I came prepared with dual ziplocks of red pepper strips and dried nectarines. Did the low-cal snacks last me all the way to my Chicago lay-over? Nope. But they kept me from ordering a $12 breakfast sandwich made from powdered eggs in the Southwest terminal.

Non-bruisable fruit (oranges, apples, etc.), nuts and low-sugar granola bars also make an easy go-to, but if you don’t have anything in the cupboards to bring with you, never fear – there are healthy options for sale in the airport if you take the time to look for them. They will undoubtedly cost more than their non-airport counterparts (I paid almost $4 – or the cost of a NYC happy hour beer – for a Chiobani yogurt in the airport Thursday), but I’d wager it was worth it in the long run.

(Also, note to all the yogurt executives out there who read my blog: why doesn’t anyone make yogurt in 3-ounce containers that can make it through security?  You would make a killing, particularly from me.  Please steal my idea and make it happen. Thanks.)

2. BRING YOUR RUNNING SHOES.

You may not be able to maintain your usual workout routine when you’re 2,700 miles from your gym, but if you make the time to squeeze in even a little bit of exercise while on the road, you’re still going to be a step ahead of the game. Most hotels these days have at least a semblance of a fitness center, and those that don’t will usually recommend nearby running paths where you can sneak away for a quick sweat once your conference sessions break for the day. Not only will you get your workout in, but you’ll get the chance to explore a new city in a different way. (Note: not recommended if your conference is in downtown Baltimore, unless your running partner carries a sawed-off shotgun.)

If you’re short on time, you can even work out right in your hotel room. I tend to favor less-intense in-room workouts, like watching Groundhog Day on TBS, but when I found myself in my room Thursday with 20 minutes to kill, I queried my brother via text for some advice.

I’m not sure why I asked him. It’s not like he’s in shape or anything.

Next time you’re in need of a small-space workout that will really get your heart pumping, follow my marine brother’s prescription:

  • 50 squats
  • 40 lunges
  • 30 sit-ups
  • 20 star jumps
  • Repeat for 20 minutes. “Work hard,” he says.

(If you do it, let me know how it goes. Because I ignored his advice and go for a 3-mile tempo run instead.)

3. DON’T BEAT YOURSELF UP TOO MUCH.

Eating healthy and meeting your fitness goals is always hard, and it’s significantly harder when you’re on the road. Give it your best shot, but if you only make it 90-percent of the way there, take pride in knowing you’ve still done better than everyone else at the conference. (Although you’ve probably done worse than my brother. Let’s be honest here.)

What are your best tips for maintaining momentum while on the road?

Willpower or Lack Thereof

I have never been good with temptation. Out of sight, out of mind may work for the more evolved among us, but if I know there’s an entire tray of blueberry muffins cooling in the kitchen, I know I’m not getting anything done until I’ve devoured one. (On a totally unrelated note: Hey roommate, I ate two of your muffins.)

I’ve tried every trick in the book to cure my sheer lack of willpower. But my edition must be a choose-your-own adventure book, because no matter how many times I leave the room or take a walk or make some tea in an attempt to divert my attention, I always end up flipping to the same exact page where the protagonist kills the dragon, wins the girl and eats a muffin. (I’m telling you, Betty Crocker: stop writing choose-your-own adventure books.)

For years, my ability to hone in on something with such a single-minded focus that it would make a pointer proud has been an indisputable negative for me, culminating in countless trips to the fridge and/or size 14 dress rack.

But not anymore.

Don’t get me wrong – my utter lack of self-control hasn’t gone anywhere – but after years of fighting it, I’ve finally realized how I can bottle it and use it to my advantage: apply it to my workout regimen. Once I’ve gotten a whiff of something – be it a breakfast pastry or a 10-mile road race – my tenacity, drive and just plain stubbornness will see me through to the end.

(And at the end, I can totally justify said breakfast pastry.)

(Thanks for sharing, Sarah! Although I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or offended that this made you think of me.)

Besides next month’s 10K (and October’s marathon, you know, whatever), I hadn’t had any upcoming races on my radar to keep me focused throughout the spring season. As a result, I’ve spent the last several weeks logging miles haphazardly with no real distance/pace/celebrity-sighting objectives, and as the kind of person who thrives on goals, it simply wasn’t working for me.

Fortunately, the New York Road Runners’ spring race registration began today, and I’ve secured myself a spot in four Central Park events, providing me the perfect mix of liveliness (running in a race!) and laziness (running in a race 2 minutes from my apartment!) I may add more as the season progresses, but for now, I’m registered for:

New York Colon Cancer Challenge 15K
Sunday, April 1

Scotland Run 10K
Saturday April 7

UAE Healthy Kidney 10K
Saturday, May 12

FRNY Lesbian and Gay Pride Run
Saturday, June 23

If you’re a New Yorker, come join me for one of them! If you’re a non-New Yorker, come join me for one of them anyways! No matter where you’re hailing from, I promise the post-race festivities will include muffins.

What’s on your race schedule this spring?

Five a Day

Most of the advice I internalized in 1991 was probably flawed.

For instance: If your distant cousin arrives at your Chicago apartment straight of the boat from the fictionalized island of Mypos, you should absolutely bring him on a double date with the girl you want to marry. No wacky antics with ensue; no way, no how.

Likewise: If your wife dies and leaves you raising three young girls alone, the best solution is to invite her playboy brother, your comedian friend and his beaver puppet to come live in your San Francisco basement. Totally sound parenting advice.

(Clearly, most of my formative memories were made on Friday nights on ABC.)

But while the Foster-Lambert model of how best to integrate a blended family under one roof may not be worth simulating in your own post-divorce reality, at least one piece of advice I gleaned in the early 90s still holds true today:

Eat five fruits and vegetables a day.

(You may be asking yourself: did I need such a long-winded reference-laden lead-in to that statement? Did Feeney need to apply for a high school principal vacancy the same year Cory and Shawn graduated middle school? I rest my case.)

The concept of five-a-day has been drilled into us since the launch of the 1991 ad campaign, and yet, I’d venture a guess that at least three-quarters of my adult friends don’t hit that mark. (Wikipedia says more than 90-percent of Americans don’t reach the recommended intake, but I’m giving more of my friends the benefit if the doubt.)

And at the most basic level, I understand why. You can order in a bacon-egg-and-cheese bagel, but try ordering in a seasonal fruit salad and you’re going to find yourself with a cup of grapes and out six bucks.

But with a little planning and creativity, the 5-a-day challenge is absolutely within reach. And more importantly: it’s worth the effort. Not only does it keep Michelle Obama off your back, but it helps keep you feeling full and hydrated, since fruits and veggies are jam packed with water and fiber and vitamins and goodness. In fact, with running, I attribute my commitment to eat more fruits and veggies with my ability to maintain my 30-pound weight loss, and that’s no small feat.

So without further ado, here’s my advice on how to get your daily plant count to five:

  • Start early. Muffins and bagels and cereal are the stuff of most American breakfasts, but if you’re waiting until noon to initiate your vegetable count, you’ve already lost 6 hours of possibilities. Instead, aim to add at least one serving of fruits or vegetables into your morning routine. For example, if you’re an oatmeal eater like I am, rather than just adding sweetener and milk and calling it a day, add a mashed banana and tablespoon of peanut butter (plus sweetener and milk, if you like your oatmeal like I like mine), and BAM – by 6 a.m., you have a delicious bowl of banana-nut goodness and only four more servings to go. You can even sneak veggies into that same bowl of oats. This morning, for example, I added a half-cup of canned pumpkin (not canned pumpkin pie filling, but the pure-pumpkin stuff) to my oatmeal, plus a hearty dash of pumpkin pie spice and some milk/sweetener, and I suddenly had a breakfast that tasted like Thanksgiving AND earned me a vegetable point. Other possibilities include adding frozen or fresh berries to yogurt or cereal, stacking sliced tomatoes on your egg sandwich, dropping a heaping cup of greens into your smoothie, or – if you demand a muffin – making your own. I’ve been known to make a batch of these bad boys over the weekend and enjoy them all week, and while one carrot-raisin muffin may not include a complete serving of fruits and veggies, it will certainly bring you closer to your goal than a slice of coffee cake would have.
  • Snack early and snack often. A constant grazer, I need multiple snacks a day to maintain my energy, and I’ve found this is the best way to supercharge my veggie count, particularly at work. An apple at 10 a.m.? One down. Baby carrots and hummus at 2:30 p.m.? We’re at two. If my options are walking to the vending machine in my building or venturing outside to the grocery store for a snack, the lazy girl inside me is inclined to opt for the former, so I make sure to stock my desk drawer and office fridge with a number of options first thing Monday morning that will last me all week. Tip: if you buy five apples on Monday, you’ll be inclined to eat one a day simply so you don’t have to worry about what might happen to them if left at work over the weekend. Having fruits and veggies within reach at home is also key. I know a smart woman (not me) who chops up bell peppers and celery and carrots on Sunday nights and stores them in an airtight container in her fridge all week. That way, when she gets home from work and is aching for a snack, it’s actually easier to grab a handful of pepper strips and dip than it would have been to open a box of Thin Mints.
  • Make your vegetables delicious. If you grew up in the 90s (and I assume you did, or else you wouldn’t have made it past the first 100 words of this post), you probably ate a lot of frozen peas, steamed lima beans and microwaved broccoli florets. That’s what people ate during our childhood, and that’s why we all grew up thinking vegetables were vile. Fast forward to 2012 and the offerings of locally grown fruits and vegetables have simply skyrocketed. Case in point: I had never heard of kale in 1994; I made baked kale three times this week. Brussels sprouts were little more than a punch line in 1996; last week, I ordered them as a side dish to my Stella at a NYC bar. If you try to reach your 5-a-day chowing down on celery sticks, you’re going to burn out fast, but if you get creative with sourcing and seasoning and a couple well-placed slices of pancetta, you’re going to be much more likely to see this challenge through.

How do you sneak fruits and veggies into your diet? And can we all agree Dinosaurs was a strange addition to the TGIF line-up?