One of the Best Recipes I've Ever Made

I made the most delicious dinner last night: Sweet Potato and Black Bean Chili. Yes, it tastes as amazing as it sounds.

I found it when I was on a hunt for healthy, low-cal crock pot meals I could make a lot of and eat at a later time (thanks to a little inspiration from my friend Meg). Ironically, this isn't made in a crock pot. While it insists you use a dutch oven, I made it in a regular pan. You don't have to cook this chili for eight hours either.--40 minutes total cook and prep time. It took me longer to cut the vegetables and measure the ingredients than it did to actually cook it.

The best part is that it's only 307 per 2-cup serving and very flavorful (so glad I made a special trip to get some cumin). I paired it with some Trader Joe's Baked Blue Corn Tortilla Chips (110 calories for 18 chips, $1.99 a bag) and was stuffed for the rest of the night. Best part is--I have three containers filled (2-cup portions) and ready to eat at a later date!

Summer Sacrifices

I'm sure I'm not the only one who has this problem, but it's happening. As the mercury rises in the thermometer, the needle on the scale follows suit.

I checked in for my weekly Wednesday weigh-in and was harshly greeted with a higher number than last week. While I was disappointed, I wasn't very surprised. Since the weather has been so nice, I've been out socializing more with friends and making the most of these few months of beautiful weather we get. I find that these meet ups and days-turned-into-nights out are refreshing and make me feel more alive and connected to the city after spending so long in hibernation avoiding the winter cold and spring rains. And I live in a pretty cool city with tons things to do, see and eat during the summer months.

I mean, how can you resist sipping strawberry margaritas on a patio while soaking up the sun? Or trips to get frozen custard on a hot summer night? Or cheeseburgers fresh off the grill?

You can't. I can't. It's official: We're in the no-potato-salad-left-behind season.

I feel like every social event during this particular season is booby-trapped with high-calorie snacks and treats. If I want to hang out with friends, it seems I'll need to budget for 500 extra calories per rendezvous. As I experienced this week, no matter how strong my will power has been during the last few months, it wilts under the pressure of the summer sun. I've minded my portions but have allowed myself to stray too far from the diet path and ultimately into the red.

I could feel the scale judging me this morning. If it could talk it would have said "I told you so." It was a much needed wake-up call to force me to get my eating and drinking habits as of late under control. It's going to require adjusting and realizing that this summer can't be like other summers and the fun I have can't always be connected to food. It's going to be hard to sit there and listen to my friends ride me for not drinking or watch as they stuff nachos and hot dogs into their mouths as I sit drooling and envious. When someone passes me the chips and salsa, I'll have to turn it down. What a bummer summer.

There will certainly have to be exceptions, but not many. I'll have to keep telling myself even more frequently now that it will all be worth it later. Like when I look at my bikini body in the mirror, and for the first time in my life not cringe at what I see. I know that frolicking on the beach with confidence will be more fun than a second margarita on that sunny patio. That's when it will all be worth it.

Pain in the Knee

I'm beginning to hate the left side of my body... or at least just the lower leg part. Two years ago I spent the summer rehabbing a bum ankle and foot with four different you-name-it-itis problems, causing me to miss a triathlon and walk most of the Falmouth Road Race. I knew it was too good to be true that I've been able to run as much and as many miles as I have without abnormal pain.

That was until my left knee decided to stiffen and lock up on me making it hard to walk pain-free for the last couple of days. (Perhaps it's the good ol' patella tendonitis that I had in college showing its face once again).

Guess my knee is trying to tell me something: Even God had to rest one day and I am so not above God.

Since my race last Sunday, I have taken just one day off from working out and running. I have come to love running so much that it didn't even dawn on me that maybe I should take a day off and not to push myself so hard (although it didn't feel that way seeing I enjoyed going out for each run--well, except that day it was 99% humidity). Although I don't have much choice in the matter, I have resolved to take a break this week because the last thing I want to do is push it and make everything worse. Or end up like our friend Tom Brady here.

During this working out streak I not only now know that I need to give my body some rest, but I also realize that I need to eat better. I was starving every day last week because I was burning energy and fat but not replacing it properly. As I increase my mileage, I need to add foods with more protein to my diet. I've become a little too addicted to tracking calories and having some left over at the end of the day (thanks to my favorite new tool myfitnesspal.com, which also has a Blackberry app to track on the go), so I need to start using all of those calories on good food the days that I run.

This whole diet and training for a half marathon experience is filled with learning moments and has made me more aware of how my body works. Although I'm mad at my knee right now for getting in the way of my routine and potential progress, I am grateful for it--and all of the other body parts and muscles--because they allow me to run and walk and jump around every day.

Guess I can spend tonight doing laundry. Or shopping for new running shoes. Yuck. I wonder what God did on his day of rest...

Nine

The number "9" is a funny number. According to Wikipedia, in Chinese culture the number is a positive one because it sounds the same as the word for "long lasting." However, in Japanese culture, it has a negative connotation because it is close to the word meaning "pain" or "distress."

To me, the number "9" means a little bit of both of these.

I stepped on the scale today expecting to once again weigh in at the same weight I have been for the last three weeks. To my surprise, the number was 1.4 pounds less! This brings my total weight loss (since I started keeping track in mid-April) to 9.1 pounds!

This means I am less than ONE pound away from a goal I thought would take me six months to reach if I could even do that. I am not going to lie--it has taken a lot of hard work, sacrifice, sweat, tears, whining, you name it to get to this point. However, whenever I have a morning like this one, I am motivated to keep pushing myself and it makes everything I've been through worth it.

After I lose the 10 pounds my doctor ordered, I will keep going. I have a personal goal weight in mind and I would like to see if I can reach it. Besides, I've become addicted to how great I feel (and as you know, I'm very number and reward driven). Also, the more weight I lose, the greater I increase my chances of lowering my cholesterol and not having to depend on medicine to do it for me for the rest of my life.

So for me, to get to the number "9" required a lot of pain and distress at times, but it's also something that will be long lasting for me. I wonder what the Chinese and Japanese think of the number "10." I guess we'll have to wait and see!

Magically Delicious--and Dangerous

It's official. I can't have any treats in the house.

During my last trip to Target I thought I should be allowed to buy a box of Marshmallow Treasures (aka their version of Lucky Charms). They would serve as a healthier dessert or after-dinner snack to sate my sweet tooth when it attacked. I put them in my cart along with a promise to myself that I would not binge on the marshmallow treats. Whenever I used to buy them in the past, I would fill a deep cereal bowl to the tippity top and eat the entire thing amd repeat the process every day until they were gone. I finally had to stop buying them because I would go through a box in just a few days. Same goes for Goldfish crackers and licorice--I just have no restraint.

Well, despite my efforts to change my eating habits over the last few months, I realized last night that some things don't ever change. While I have been mindful of serving sizes and measuring exactly one cup worth of the Treasures (sometimes a little extra), I still can't get enough of them. Whenever I remember I have them in the pantry, it is all I can think about and I must immediately eat them, whether I'm hungry or not.

Last night I was still full from dinner and could have survived without a snack before bed. But then the light bulb went off and I remembered I had Treasures waiting for me. I tried to resist the idea of eating them, telling my stomach I was not hungry and didn't need to eat them. I drank Crystal Light and chewed gum. In the end, the Treasures won and I indulged in one cup of the oats and marshmallows.

After I polished off the bowl, I told myself I could not buy another box until I got my craving under control. I have learned to count out 60 Goldfish instead of eating half of a bag in one sitting, so there is still hope for the Marshmallow Treasures. At 120 calories a serving, it's a good little snack with some protein and fiber, even better if I add milk. However, until I can learn to control myself and bury my craving for these Treasures, I can't have them in the house. They're magically delicious and equally as dangerous!

Heavy Medal

Last night's NKOTBSB concert, awesome. Waking up 5.5 hours later and running a 5K, not so awesome.

Most people wouldn't usually sign up to run a race the morning after a concert, but I was bribed. As you may know, I am running the Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon in August. Well, the Rock 'n' Roll organization decided to host a 5K Tune Up this morning in conjunction with that race. I did it for two reasons: finishers got a medal and it was way cooler looking than the half marathon medal, and second, if runners did both the 5K and the Half, they get a special THIRD medal as a reward. I love prizes.

Anyways, I dragged myself out of bed and ended up finishing the 5K in a personal best time, completing the 3.1 miles in 32:58, running a 10:37 minute per mile pace. I guess in my head I thought that the faster I ran, the quicker I would be done and the sooner I would be able to go back to bed. I also wanted to get my finisher's flip flops before my size was all gone (I think the motivation I get from prizes might be a little problematic). The official results place me 736 out of 1,399 runners overall.

So the great events continue-- I got my first running medal and finished a 5K in record time. I should probably consider playing the lottery.

Why I Can Now Die Happy

What a week it has been...

Last Sunday I graduated with my Master's degree and had a fantastic weekend with my parents during their visit to Chicago.

Three days later, the Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup in a thrilling Game 7.

Last night, after more than 20 years of waiting, I realized another dream and finally saw New Kids on the Block in concert! I went to the NKOTBSB concert at the United Center with two friends I met through the Patriots/Red Sox group and we all had a blast. I have fallen in love with Jordan and company all over again!

There really are no words that can appropriately and accurately describe how amazing this show was (and I don't want to give too much away to others who may be going). Both groups sang their hit songs--including my favorite NKOTB hit "Cover Girl" which I used to pretend Jordan was singing to me (although it's really Donnie who sings it)--for a solid two hours with no breaks. NKOTB and BSB rotated songs and sets as well as performed a few songs together. The Kids ended the show with "Hangin' Tough" and all came out wearing Celtics jerseys and to the "Shippin' up to Boston" music before busting into their own hit. Pretty sure Jess, Jo Ann and I were the only one who appreciated that part for every ounce it was worth.

I'm still riding high from that concert. Hangin' Tough my first cassette tape and I had all the New Kids trimmings--the comforter, the sheets, the books, etc. For my eighth birthday my mom even made me a cake with cut-outs of their faces, taped to toothpicks and stuck in amid the words "Happy Birthday the the Coolest 8-year-old on the Block." I was obsessed (and apparently still am!), kind of like how the tweens are with Justin Bieber these days.

The concert was also great for people-watching. I observed some of the outfits girls were wearing--some brought back the 80's, some dressed to the nines because they actually thought one of the guys would see them and want to date them. It was also interesting to take note of the age group-- there were some younger girls there but mostly women around my age or a little older (a lot who are either married or pregnant now). There were also some women who I couldn't peg their age because of their incessant jumping up and down and screaming... oh wait, that was me.

After tonight, one thing is for sure--NKOTBSB still has the ability to bring out the screaming girl in everyone.

Diets Are Not Your Friend

I’ve learned the hard way that there is no fine print, no exceptions and no buts about a diet. I’ve been stuck at the same weight for three weeks and it’s because I’ve been too picky—not too selective, but the unfortunate opposite: I’ve been picking at food here and there without counting it. Those undocumented calories add up and in return nothing has been subtracted from the number on the scale.

*Diets don’t care that you’re on vacation or if your parents are in town. You can’t take a long weekend off to feast on local delicacies. You can however enjoy some treats in moderation only IF you pay a visit to the hotel gym in the morning.

*Diets don’t care if you are faced with an all-you-can-eat-and-drink buffet—one filled with ballpark food, an extravagant spread of awesomeness and a dessert/ ice cream bar. Just because it is free, doesn’t mean you get to make the most of it.

*Diets don’t care that your favorite sports team is in the playoffs or if you’re celebrating a Stanley Cup with $4 vodka drinks and shots of whiskey. There’s also no room for those bar French fries you’ve been picking at throughout the night.

*Diets also don't care that you graduated with your Master's degree and that you think you deserve a cupcake as a reward for all of your hard work. Diets are also hard work, it's just too bad that you can't ever graduate from them.

*Diets don’t care if you had a bad day and find solace in an extra scoop of ice cream or an overflowing serving of Lucky Charms. If you don’t measure out your servings exactly instead of approximately, you’ll be found out on weigh-in day. It's apparently a plain and simple equation: extra servings=extra calories=extra inches on your waist.

*Diets also don't care if you are suffering from an increased appetite due to PMS and hormones or from a lack of sleep. Just like the saying "the heart wants what it wants," so does the stomach, especially during these times. Except the stomach can't have it.

If you forget any of this, your waistline will remind you of it later. A diet never forgets. And you shouldn’t either. No exceptions.

Cloud Nine is Black and Gold

To borrow a few words from Freddy Mercury: “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”

I woke up this morning asking myself these same questions. Was this real life or just a fantasy? Did the Bruins actually hoist the Stanley Cup or was it all just a dream?

Since becoming a hard-core Bruins fan in the 1990s, I certainly have dreamed of this day.

I remember sitting in the basement as a teenager listening to the Bruins games on the radio with my dad as he hung out in his workshop. We didn’t have cable and my parents repeatedly refused my requests to purchase a package that included NESN. I was forced to carefully tune my radio to the local AM station on my boombox and strategically place the antenna until most of the static disappeared. The next morning I would cut out photos and news clippings about the game from the local paper and paste them into the season scrapbook I had created using a three-ring binder.

While my high school classmates were tracking 90210 and Party of Five storylines, I was studying the Bruins roster. After I was done with my homework, I put together annual homemade presentations in an attempt to convince my father to take me to a Bruins game—unsuccessfully I might add, but not for lack of creativity.

I will never forget my first live Bruins game and remember the Christmas I finally got that jersey I had been asking for. I have met idols like Cam Neely and Ray Bourque and watched as the latter paraded his well-deserved Stanley Cup around Boston, jealous that it would be returning to Colorado later that day.

I also watched Joe Thornton leave. Guys like Brian Rolston, Bill Guerin and Andrew Raycroft followed. We seemed to be a team, a revolving door of talent that would let players get away in their prime. We could see Stanley slipping through our fingers as our team disbanded during the summer. Profits seemed more important than winning.

Despite my unwavering devotion, each season the Black and Gold left my spirit black and blue. Although many people might not admit it, I honestly will say there were times when I never thought this day would ever come. Boston’s 2008-09 marketing campaign of “We want it as bad as you do” gave me hope. I believed it to be true, praying sheer will would bring the Cup to the Hub that year. It didn’t.

After experiencing first-hand the Blackhawks winning and the ensuing celebration last year, I wanted more than ever for black and gold confetti to fall on my smiling face as the duck boats drove by throngs of dedicated fans.

Over the last 10 years I’ve had the chance to celebrate six other Boston championships. Elated and ever-grateful, I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. That sounds bratty, but I might have traded them all for a Stanley Cup. I love all Boston teams, but the Bruins were the reason I started loving sports. The reason I wanted to become a sports writer. I’ve read books written about Boston's geatest sports moments, the WHA and Bobby Orr, living vicariously through those pages and trying to get a piece of the glory days that took place before my time, wondering if it would ever happen again. The Stanley Cup is the most amazing trophy in all of sports and I wanted to see it for myself, just once, belong to the Big Bad Bruins.

Last night, I finally experienced what I’ve only ever read about, what I had only dreamed of. I have now been lucky enough to see each of Boston’s major sports teams win a championship, and within a single decade nonetheless. There aren’t many people who can or ever will be able to say that. I don’t take it for granted for one second and know there are other Bruins fans on the better side of 30 who have been suffering longer than I have.

It all just seems too good to be true. That is why I needed to pinch myself this morning when I woke up to make sure this was real life and not just a fantasy.

To borrow some more lyrics from Freddy—“we are the champions, my friend.”

And it has never felt better.

10K-O: Knocking Out My Running Past

When I was in high school, I was the goalie for the field hockey team. I was also pretty good (most days). A photo of me making a stellar save was once splashed—in color, I might add—across the front page of the local sports section. Kevin Shea, local sports casting icon, covered one of our games for the local news and said the Bruins could have used me in net that night (I could have died happy after that comment). I was named to the City All Star team, given the Coach’s Award my senior year and went on to play the sport in college.

This all happened because I hated running. As a freshman, I offered to try on the goalie pads because I knew I would run less at practice and in games and would have to remember fewer rules. I would rather have had balls pelted and slapshot at me than run two miles every day in practice.

This past Sunday, I ran my first 10K. The girl who once cringed at running a mile ran 6.2 miles without stopping or walking. The same girl, who wanted to smash the coach’s stopwatch in high school, couldn’t wait to get her official finishing time later that afternoon: 1:09:40.

Although I wanted to puke after I crossed the finish line—a combination of the humidity and my sprinting at the end—I was so proud of myself.

A couple months ago my coworker, Abby, convinced me to run the United Run for the Zoo with her. I agreed, thinking it would be something to train for and work toward. I had been looking for something to keep my mind occupied and my exercise goals on track. I knew training for the race would force me to work out on a regular basis and would give me something other than food and boys to obsess or stress over. It was the push I needed to keep running home with Abby and to up my mileage each week.

I consider this the longest race I’ve ever run. A couple of years ago I ran the 7.1 mile Falmouth Road Race on the Cape (2008 and 2009), but I use the word “run” loosely, as I walked a chunk of the race the first year and most of it the second year thanks to an ankle injury—I spent the three months leading up to the race in physical therapy treating the tendinitis, plantar fasciitis and bursitis in my left ankle/foot. So running the entire 6.2 miles without stopping and without the 30-second stoplight breaks I get during my runs around the city—and pain-free (knock on wood!)—was a huge deal for me.

As I crossed the finish line on Sunday I had two thoughts: “Holy crap I did it” and then immediately, “Holy crap how am I going to run 13.1 miles?!” (I am running the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon in August).

I also never thought I’d ever run 6.2 miles without stopping or consider 3.5 miles my “short run,” or even worse, enjoy it! It is hard to believe that 14 years ago I was the same girl who huffed and puffed through the laborious four laps around the track and became a goalie because I hated running. I wonder if somewhere Miss Mac and her stopwatch would be proud of me. I sure am.

Lucky #7s

It may be Hump Day, but it seems that I have finally gotten over the weight-loss hump. I stepped on the scale today for my weekly weigh-in and am pleased to share that I have now lost a total of 7.7 pounds since I started keeping track in mid April.

(That's me and my coworker Natalie at the Cubs game last night)

I dreaded waking up this morning and said a little prayer before I stepped on the scale that the number would be lower than last week. It would have been a huge blow to my motivation if there was no change—I had been stuck at the same number for two consecutive weeks and a third straight week with no change would have driven me to binge on something bad for me out of anger.

To my surprise, I was 3.7 pounds lighter! I jumped up and down and clapped my hands like a 5-year-old who has just been given a new toy. I haven’t been on this end of the scale since I came back from the Dominican Republic a couple of years ago with a parasite and was forced to go on the BRAT diet, eating nothing but bananas, rice, applesauce and toast for more than a month.

For someone who hates math, I’m pretty numbers driven when it comes to results and motivation. I know the number on the scale doesn’t always tell the whole story, so after the disappointment last week I dusted off my Curves experience and began measuring myself (waist, thigh, hips and bust). Since then, I’ve also dropped a total of 1 ¼ inches.

I’m also incentive driven. Usually I would set a reward for myself, like when I reach the magic number of 10 pounds lost (2.3 away!) I would celebrate with an ice cream sundae. Now, that idea doesn’t appeal to me anymore. This journey has definitely not only been a physical transformation but has also led to a huge shift in my mentality. My incentives no longer involve food or taking days off from running or the gym. I’ve built a different reward system: Last week I bought myself a really cute dress at H&M—it was not on sale and more than I would ever buy a dress for normally—but I decided I deserved it because I saved money by not eating lunch or dinner out in weeks and I had a right to showcase my new figure.

When I reach Lucky #10 I will not erase all of my hard work by reaching for ice cream or extra calories. I will be getting some cute new sandals to match my cute new dress.