Pam Moore's Blog, page 13

I make a mean allergy-friendly breakfast quinoa. I’m talking dairy-free, egg-free, vegan, nut-free and  gluten-free. I am no domestic goddess, but this is one area where I excel. Except when I leave Dan in charge. Without telling him he’s actually in charge.

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I crept into our darkened house and was greeted by the smell of burnt dog biscuits. Everyone was sleeping, so I stepped gently as I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and took out my contacts. When I walked into the bedroom, Dan was just a big lump under the white blanket, and I could tell he was asleep as he asked “How were the girls?”

The girls were good, as were the two generous glasses of wine I enjoyed with them. Apparently the two drinks were good enough to cause me to misjudge the route from the edge of the driveway to the garage door, causing me to slam the front of my bike into the back of our minivan. This was more painful to my ego than to my body, although the impact did bother my wrists.

I didn’t tell him all this, though. Instead I responded, “Good.”

I was going to stop there. He was talking in his sleep, after all. But I couldn’t help myself.

“Do you know why it smells like smoldering dog treats in here?” I tried to keep any malice out of my voice, the natural consequence being that the needle moved entirely too far to the saccharine side of the tone-meter. The thing was, this had to be his fault.

“It smells?”

I rolled my eyes in the dark.

“It smells disgusting.” Now I was whisper-yelling. “You don’t smell that?”

“I don’t smell anything, babe.” He rolled over. I decided to stop arguing with my sleeping husband and got into bed.

I woke several times that night… The house fan was making me too cold. The fan shut off and it was making me too warm. I had to pee. I thought I heard the baby. And every single time I awoke, I smelled the acrid scent of smoldering Milk Bones.

Thursday I awoke well before 6am with the vibrating beep of my alarm. I trudged into the bathroom, back to the bedroom to dress to meet my friend for an early run, then into the kitchen. There, I faced the source of my misery, hiding in plain sight.

The crock pot.

Or, perhaps more accurately, the breakfast quinoa that was left to blacken all night due to a miscommunication between me and Dan. Because here’s the conversation I thought I’d had with Dan:

Pam: Can you check on the quinoa after you put the girls down and shut the crock pot off whenever it’s done?

Dan: Of course, sweetheart.

Here’s the conversation Dan thought we had:

Pam: I’m going out with my friends. I invited you on our shared Google Cal, which means you’re not invited to come. Rather, you’re invited to please stay home with the kids.

Dan: Ok, I will do all the dinner dishes and put the kids to bed. Because it is important to me that you practice self-care, which means drinking with your friends, I will endure our four year-old’s endless shenanigans (the inevitable result of today’s three hour nap) plus any drama the two year-old wants to add to the heap of parental suffering. Also, even though I saw the quinoa in the crockpot, mentioned that it smelled good, and thanked you for doing a big batch of it, for the rest of the night I will behave as if said crock pot does not even exist, which I am assuming is cool because you never instructed me otherwise.

This is what actually happened:

Dan: That smells good.

Pam: It’s breakfast quinoa. I am making a ton.

Dan: Thanks for doing that, babe.

Pam: No problem.

Pam: [assumes Dan will check status of quinoa later this evening and if it is not done, he will check it every 20 minutes henceforth and turn crock pot off when it is sufficiently soft].

Dan: [assumes his responsibility for the quinoa is non-existent and excels at his non-task with extreme aptitude, as evidenced by his failure to note terrible burning smell that eventually fills house].

The moral of this story is never assume your husband knows anything about what’s in the crock pot. Communication is something I suspect I will be working indefinitely. Thankfully, there are certain things I’ve got totally under control. Like cooking for someone who cannot eat staple foods like oatmeal, scrambled eggs, or ice cream. Which is why I was making the quinoa in the first place.

Lady Bug is allergic to:

-eggs

-dairy

-peanuts

-tree nuts

-sesame seeds

She is sensitive to (eg her eczema flares up) and therefore can only eat limited amounts of:

-gluten

-oats

When I was breastfeeding, Lady Bug and I often shared a breakfast of kale and ground pork sausage, with some fruit for her and none for me because I was trying to lose the baby weight.* This option is filling and nutritious but it is a pain to prepare. Without the options of oatmeal, toast (gluten-free toast has eggs in it, and is therefore not an option), cereal, eggs, or waffles, my daughter and I were eating like our next stop was CrossFit, not the neighborhood park.

Until I discovered breakfast quinoa.

It is the best, and I’m not saying “It’s the best, compared to the crappy alternatives, given our limited diet.” I’m saying it’s really good, food restrictions notwithstanding. My method is based on other recipes I’ve seen online, but it’s always changing, depending what I have around. The only thing you really need to do is make sure you have at least twice as much water as grains, by volume, and the rest you can improvise.

I typically prepare a huge amount in my crock pot for my family to eat all week. If you over-make, you can freeze the extra. It doesn’t taste perfect when you defrost it but it is totally adequate is improved by adding some coconut oil after you microwave your serving. I don’t typically measure anything but the grains and the liquid, but here’s the basic recipe:

2 cups quinoa **

½ cup millet **

1/2 cup buckwheat **

1 15 oz can coconut milk (full fat or light, doesn’t matter. Ok to sub water, regular milk if you want)

1 15 oz can pumpkin puree (or applesauce, or more of any of the other wet ingredients)

1 cup almond milk (or soy milk, regular milk, or water)

1 cup water

maple syrup, agave, or honey to taste

2-3 Tbsp vanilla

A few pinches salt

Cinnamon, nutmeg to taste

options for additions:

raisins and/or any other dried fruit you like (apricots, figs, dates, etc)

diced apples (don’t bother peeling skins off)

1-2 overripe bananas. Use a fork to mush them up first. Alternatively, you could puree them in the blender with your other wet ingredients but I have found it doesn’t make much difference whether you do this or not.

1-2 cups shredded zucchini or carrots (or if you think of another veggie that would work, tell me!)

a few tablespoons of coconut oil (I just glob mine onto a butterknife and drop it in, hence the inexactitude).

shredded coconut (sweetened or unsweet, whatever you like).

Dump all of that in your crock pot and turn it to high. (I’ve seen other recipes tell you to coat the the crock pot with coconut oil but I have done it with and without this extra step, and it’s inconsequential.) Check doneness after 3 hours. It’s done when the quinoa is soft and most of the liquid is absorbed. If it’s not done, check every 15-20 minutes or so.

If you leave the house before it is done, be sure to avoid mental telepathy and assumptions as a means of communicating instructions to your partner.

*I think the low-carb breakfast trick helped a lot, as far as losing the baby weight, as did avoiding night snacking, but I attribute the eventual loss of the baby weight largely to factors not totally in my control, such as weaning and sleeping like a normal person again. I returned to my normal pre-pregnancy weight about a week after I fully weaned her, at which point she was about 16 months old. She had begun sleeping through the night fairly consistently at 14 months old. Meanwhile, I had a totally different experience with Sweet Pea. I was down below my pre-pregnancy weight by the time she was eight months old. Although she was always a better sleeper than her little sis, she was not consistently sleeping through the night until I weaned her at 17 months old. I know that some people insist you won’t lose the weight till you stop breastfeeding, while others maintain breastfeeding burns an insane amount of calories and will therefore be a fabulous weight loss tool. Oddly, I had both experiences. I felt the need to add in this bit because I was hungry for information on post-partum weight loss and was googling the shit out of it when I was trying to lose the baby weight. I’m not saying the pursuit of my pre-baby body was a worthy one or one that I am proud of but neither am I going to apologize for it or pretend I was carefree about it.

**Please note the proportions of the quinoa, millet, and buckwheat can be varied to suit whatever you like/have on hand. You can also substitute any other grain that is prepared using a 1:2 ratio of grain to liquid. You can absolutely do just quinoa or just buckwheat groats if you want. I wouldn’t recommend doing millet as your only grain, however, because of the texture.

The post How Not To Make Allergy-Friendly Breakfast Quinoa appeared first on Fitness and Running | Motherhood | Marriage | Whatevs Blog.

“I wish I could go to work,” I whined.

We had a newborn and a toddler. I was sleep-deprived and completely overwhelmed.

My husband encouraged me to go back to work. “But financially, it hardly makes sense,” I countered. Ever the optimist, he responded, “I don’t care if it costs us money. If it makes you happy, it’s worth it.”

“It’s not just that I want to go back to work,” I explained. “I want your life.” He stared at me, not understanding. “I want to kiss the kids goodbye, leave for work, and come home nine hours later without worrying about anything else, like you do.”

The logistics of returning to work — even part-time — overwhelmed me. I didn’t want to arrange childcare, leave notes detailing feeding and nap schedules, or pump at work. I didn’t want to rush home with full breasts and write the sitter a check while the baby wailed, waiting to nurse. Also, I still couldn’t fit into any of my work pants.

Whining aside, I’m grateful to have the chance to stay home with my kids. Being a SAHM is a great gig — for me and for my husband. Going back to work would feel a lot more manageable if I had someone like me to manage all the details required of being an adult.

Here are some of the perks of being the lucky partner of a SAHM… [click here to read the rest on Your Tango]

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I am a recovered Impostor Syndrome sufferer.
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When I was a kid, I hated sports. I dreaded gym class. I was picked last for every team. I flinched when anything smaller than a soccer ball came near me. Or not near me. And if we’re being honest, it wasn’t just the smaller balls that gave me panic attacks; dodge balls, volleyballs, and tetherballs terrified me. They still do. Although adulthood affords me the luxury of never being forced to play ball games, it’s hard to fully relax because every so often, Dan tosses me the car keys.

For reasons I will never fully understand, I tried out for lacrosse when I was a freshman in high school. Most people look back the team sports of their youth and recall friendship, laughter, teamwork, and the development of self-esteem and confidence.

I look back on the three seasons I played lacrosse and wonder why I did not quit sooner. It was painful, and not the kind of pain that breaks you down, only to build you back up. Mostly it was just painful in the breaking down way, but I pretended it wasn’t.

I pretended I wasn’t waiting for the coach to give me a  pep talk. I pretended not to silently wonder why all the girls who’d started as beginners like me, figured out how to maneuver gracefully across the field, making assists, scoring points, and generally looking sure of themselves, while I remained awkward and afraid of the ball. I pretended I didn’t mind being on the fringes of the sport that I assumed would make me one of the gang.

I have two distinct memories from my time on the lacrosse team. One was right after a game against our biggest rival. We won and the mood was giddy as we piled into the team van. A hot, fresh bag of McDonald’s fries was being passed around. My arm was extended toward that bag, and just before I plucked a few fries for myself, one of my teammates—the quintessential mean girl—noticed me.

 “Why don’t you save the fries for those of us who actually played?” she asked. It was not so much a question as it was an accusation. 

My stomach dropped as I lowered my hand to my lap. After a beat, the rest of the team continued laughing and recalling the highlights of the game while they polished off the fries, while I sat in silence, alone with my shame.

The other vivid memory I have of lacrosse is coming in second in a timed two mile run. My teammates and I complained whenever the coach made us run, but secretly, I enjoyed it. With running, there was no ball.There was no stress. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other. Even I could not mess it up.

With running, there was no ball.There was no stress. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other.…
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On that mild spring afternoon, we charged down Blackstone Boulevard and to my shock and delight, I found myself at front of the pack. I nearly killed myself in an attempt to edge out my closest competitor and finished a very close second. When I finished, my legs burned, my lungs were ready to explode, and I was on the verge of puking.

I could not wait to do it again.

When I finished, my legs burned, my lungs were ready to explode, and I was on the verge of puking. I could not…
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When I was 22, I ran my first marathon. By that point, friends and family frequently referred to me as a runner, but it was very important to me that I set them straight. I was not a runner, I would tell them. I just liked to run. That I would I would, in fact, pay money and travel to run for over four hours at a time was actually no indication that I was a bona fide runner, it was just evidence that I enjoyed my hobby. It sounds ridiculous now, but at the time it made perfect sense because I still thought of myself as the un-athletic kid I had always been.

Shortly after I trying a spin class a few years later, I dove headfirst into road biking and triathlons. When I was not working or trolling for guys, I was biking, swimming or running. My friends and I joked we wouldn’t recognize each other if we weren’t wearing a cap and goggles or sunglasses and a helmet. But when I admitted to a friend that I wasn’t sure I “deserved” to use race wheels at an upcoming bike race and he said “But you have the same right to race wheels as an other athlete,” I thought he was crazy. “You think I’m an athlete?” I asked, incredulous. “Why wouldn’t you be?” he asked me. “You are always training for a race.  Sometimes you work out twice a day.” I was flattered but I remained skeptical.

Right before my first sprint triathlon in Lake Murray, SC,  2004. I would end up winning the novice category. I didn’t think I was an athlete (yet).

When I was 28 I did my first IronmanTM triathlon. That’s a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run. I spent the better part of a year training for it. In preparation for it, I crossed the finish of my fifth marathon and I travelled with my bike to a training camp in Spain. I planned every aspect of my life around training for that race.  Yet I scoffed when anyone called me a triathlete. “I do triathlons,” I remember correcting my sister, “but I wouldn’t call myself a triathlete.” She told me I was nuts; and not just because a triathlon was my idea of fun.

I wish I could tell you I realized I was an athlete when I crossed the finish line of that IronmanTM. What I remember about that moment was pure joy, a sense of accomplishment, and the piece of pepperoni pizza I inhaled immediately afterward.

Best. Pizza. Ever.

I wish there were a specific race or workout that I could look back on and say “That was when I realized I was an athlete.” The unglamorous truth is that over the next few years, I gradually shed that sense of myself as an ball-challenged, athletic failure and finally understood that I was an athlete. That I had, in fact, been an athlete since the day I tried to win that two-mile run in the tenth grade.

I wish I’d figured that out sooner. But upon immersing myself in Impostor Syndrome Research, I realized something kind of epic. It turns out, over the course of my painstakingly slow path to figuring out that I was a legit athlete, I had inadvertently tested nearly every strategy, tip, and trick promising to cure Impostor Syndrome.

I will share more about that soon. For now, feel free to check out my previous posts on Impostor Syndrome here and here.

Are you into this? Do you think your group would enjoy it? I’d love to chat with you about speaking at your next meeting. Feel free to contact me at pam.sinel(at)gmail.com

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It was my understanding that everyone was pretty much on the same page that maternity leave in the U.S. is hard. It’s basically Mom Boot Camp, and just when things start improving- you’ve gotten the hang of breastfeeding, your baby is smiling at you (like, really happy to see you, not passing gas), and you’re maybe sleeping a few hours in a row every night- for most women, it’s time to go back to work. Apparently, some people think maternity leave is actually a retreat, in which you find yourself and redefine priorities. The author of Meternity was inspired to write an entire novel based on this premise. She was fed up with watching her co-workers leave the office at 6 o’clock sharp for reasons like “picking up kids” while she slaved away at her desk, wondering why she was not granted the same permission to meet a heartbroken friend for drinks. So sad, right? I’m up on Sammiches and Psych Meds today with a post about just what to expect if you’re expecting maternity leave to be a vacation. Click here to read it.

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Have you ever dreamed of attending a fancy writing retreat, where huge carafes of coffee and a selection of herbal teas are available all day long? You’re surrounded by woods, or maybe water, but definitely other writers. Also, there would be fruit bowls and trays of fresh scones and muffins. You’d have deleted Facebook from your phone for this special retreat, so your greatest distraction would be the battle between good and evil going on in your head (that is, whether to take the apple or the cheese danish). Pssst…I have secret: You can stop dreaming and DO IT. I am on Beyond Your Blog today, with a guest post, sharing all the details on how two friends and I created our own writing retreat on the cheap. Ok, there were no scones but there was plenty of candy.  Also, we had mountain views. Not only did we produce SO MANY WORDS that fateful fall weekend, but it was also fodder for the article I sold about the experience. I kind of want to high five myself right now. Go read it. Then plan your own writing retreat and let me know how it goes.

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Ever since I had Lady Bug, who is coming up on her second birthday, every time I took one step forward with my running, I took two steps back. It’s been beyond frustrating. I still want to qualify for and run the Boston Marathon someday, and I am not giving up on that.  But right now, I’d be thrilled if I could even run three miles without pain. I’ve had a really hard time staying motivated without an event on the calendar. I’ve been doing a lot of cross training, although it feels a bit ridiculous to say that when I don’t even have something in mind that I’m training for. I’ve been attending bar class at the Dailey Method about twice a week (and I just started streaming classes, which I will tell you all about soon), I’ve been towing the girls around town by bike, running a little, teaching and taking spin classes, and hopping on the Stair Master or the elliptical. I break a sweat about 5-6 times a week. But without a specific time to nail or a distance to endure, I choose snooze instead of an early workout whenever there is a choice to be made. My workouts lack focus. I am motivated to finish one more episode of Parenthood on the elliptical, not to work at my lactate threshold. Can you say uninspired?

And then I found out Dan King was giving a free talk here in Boulder and I went and my whole attitude changed.

And if you don’t know who Dan King is, that’s ok. I’d never heard of him before I saw the blurb about the event in the Daily Camera. He’s arguably one of the fittest men over 50 in the world. He won the US Master’s Track and Field age 55-59 championship last year with a 10K time of 35:31. He also won the 5,000-meter bronze at the 2015 World Masters Track and Field Championships in Lyon, France.

And he runs an average of eight miles a week. Not eight-zero. EIGHT. How does that even make sense!? I had to know, which is why I went to hear him reveal his secrets at  Flatirons Running Inc., a gem of a local running store just a short bike ride from my neighborhood. In short, just when King was ready to take his running to the next level, during his collegiate career at the University of Colorado, a nasty case of plantar fasciitis put a wrench in his plans. And though his body would no longer tolerate the punishing high mileage schedule most of his competitors were on, he did not give up. With more than enough drive, creativity and talent to compensate for his beat up foot, the CEO, husband, and father figured out how he could cross train his way to the top.

My major takeaways from King’s talk:

-In the nine months prior to winning in Lyon, he ran a total of 140 miles. According to King, his closest competitor logged 1400 miles of running during that same time period. Both men ate a plant-based diet. King extolled the virtues of his vegan lifestyle. I don’t know whether the other guy was a vegan or a vegetarian.

-The overwhelming majority of King’s training was done on the bike. If my memory serves me, he said during the nine month period training cycle leading up to the event, he biked 1400 miles, did 340-ish miles worth of training on the elliptical, swam 59 miles, and did a small amount of cross-country skiing and snow shoeing as well. He said he does a Seven Minute Workout app every night with his daughter (how sweet is that?), which includes squats and pushups. I am assuming he does this one but I don’t know for sure.

-The overwhelming majority of King’s training leading up to the world championship was performed in the aerobic, or easy zone. A small portion was done in the lactate threshold zone (90% of max heart rate), and an even smaller portion in the VO2 max zone (95-100% max heart rate). He uses a heart rate monitor religiously.

-He developed his training plan based largely on Jack Daniels’ work, including principles of heart rate training and periodization, along with his own experience. He tends to train alone and coach himself because of his commute (lives in Boulder, works in Denver) and his work schedule, although he mentioned he would probably enlist the help of a coach as he attacks his next big goal: to break five minutes in the mile at age 60. He said right now he can run a mile in 4:57 (don’t quote me on that!  I could be off by a second or two) however he feels that it will be a challenge to maintain his speed as he continues to age.

-He recommends training at low intensity in a glycogen-depleted state in order to train the body to metabolize fat for fuel. In other words, it’s optimal to do an easy workout first thing before breakfast, then eat immediately once the workout is completed. I’d heard and read this before, but it sounded different coming directly from Dan King’s mouth to my ears. I tried it the next chance I got. I swam on an empty stomach, came home, and with Dan’s help, got myself and our kids out the door, sat with them in a restaurant and sipped on a cocktail while we waited for our brunch. No one yelled or cried while waiting to be fed, not even me!

-His typical cross training session during the week is an hour. On the weekends, he might bike up to four hours.

-He does not enjoy elliptical training, but he tolerates it and thinks of it as an opportunity to listen to a TED talk. He likes biking. He loves running. He does so much of the stuff he likes or just tolerates because it allows him to win when he does run, and he is a self-proclaimed dopamine junkie. Dopamine is the happy hormone that’s released in your brain when you win, apparently. Not to be confused with endorphins, which are a natural consequence of any cardiovascular workout, known in common parlance as “runner’s high.”

-According to King, one the many benefits of cross-training is that it gives the body an opportunity to develop the metabolic capacity of a variety of muscle groups; not just the ones you use when you run. So while a typical runner who spends 95% of her time running has developed her running muscles’ efficiency, the person who cross trains has the opportunity to maximize the efficiency of a variety of muscles throughout the body. When you’re in the final leg of a race and you’re dying and you’re muscles are screaming at you to just please stop, it’s all your muscles, not just the ones responsible for the act of running, that help clear the toxic crap out of your muscles, and those toxins are what create all that pain.

And that last one was probably my favorite part of the whole talk, even though it’s the hardest one for me to articulate. But this one nugget made me go, “Everything counts. Anything counts.” Which actually, was also my favorite true-ism of Gretchen Rubin’s fabulous book on the power of habits “Better Than Before.” In other words, everything I do- the easy 1500 yd swim, the bike ride to preschool, the lackluster 40 minutes on the elliptical… It all matters. It’s not running, but it all matters when I do finally get back to running consistently. Sure, I exercise because I enjoy it for it’s own sake, but I am competitive, I am goal-oriented, and I like things to “count” which is why this resonated so deeply with me.

-King’s attitude counts for a lot. Where most people would be like “Too bad, I have plantar fasciitis, I guess I can’t run anymore,” King found a way around it. He turns his commute to Denver into an opportunity to bike whenever he can. He uses the elliptical in his office during his lunch break because the movement mimics running, despite the boredom it provokes. He turns the seven minutes he spends each night doing his Seven Minute Workout app into an opportunity to spend time with his kid.

-King is passionate about learning about running, figuring out how he can make what he knows work for him. He loves the sport so much, he showed up at the local running store with a fantastic talk, great power point slides, and a desire to share what he discovered on his journey with the community, for free. I can’t help but think that his generous, geeky spirit has something to do with his incredible athletic performance.

The post What I Learned From The Fittest Man in the World (Cross Training Works!) appeared first on Fitness and Running | Motherhood | Marriage | Whatevs Blog.

I cried at the gym on Wednesday. I know some people would cry because they had to go to a gym. Not me. I cried because I knew I would not be coming back.

Over the past several months, I have become friends with people who work at the cafe at my gym. Lady Bug and I also have found a  friend in a retired gentleman who comes to play handball. He insists on buying Lady Bug a banana on the random occasion that I forget one, simply because he takes so much joy in watching her inhale one and then laugh and and say “Nudda! Nudda Nana!” (I would like another banana, please.) It really is incredible how much gusto she puts into smushing a banana into her face like it’s her last meal. Also, we never leave the gym until at least three quarters of the aqua aerobics class notices Lady Bug  and returns her waves through the glass separating the indoor pool from the building’s foyer.

The gym is been my sanctuary. It offers dirt cheap childcare and some space for me to work out or write and have a couple of blessed hours off from being a stay at home mom. Also? Sometimes you get what you pay for.

I walked in to retrieve Lady Bug the other day and found a little boy eating a container full of mixed nuts, as well as what appeared to be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (although to be fair it could have been almond butter or sunflower butter), as well as another child walking around with a snack that appeared to be cheese bread. I wouldn’t have given any of that a second thought, except my daughter, who is not yet two years old, is allergic to peanuts, tree nuts (except almonds), eggs, dairy, and sesame. I don’t mean she’s sensitive or that we avoid those things unless it’s a special occasion. I mean, our doctor told us to NEVER leave the house without the Epi-Pen, even if we’re walking around the block.

There might as well have been daggers and sippy cups of bleach in all of the toy bins.

When I go out with Lady Bug, there is a part of my brain that is constantly looking around, watching, wondering.

What is in that ziplock bag? Where is that child going with it? Did he drop some on the slide? Is there food on the ground Lady Bug will find? Is that kid about to touch her with leftover peanut butter on his little fingers? 

When I hear the faintest whisper of the unzipping of a lunchbox, my head whips around exorcist-style. so I can survey the contents with one eye, while the other is trained on Lady Bug.

And I know that as her mother, there is no one else in the world who will be as vigilant as I am. But I also expect that there will be some people in the world—specifically the women who staff the childcare at the gym where she has been coming consistently for over six months. who have been changing her diaper, and reading to her, and giving her crayons and snuggles—who would be 80% as vigilant as I am.

But when I walked into the room and saw the nuts, the kid walking around with some random food, and no one acting like anything was wrong, I knew this was not a safe situation. I couldn’t understand how three adults (THREE!) in a room of maybe eight kids, had all failed to notice that nuts were in a supposedly nut-free place, and that another child was walking around with food. Kids are sloppy and kids are unreasonable and kids are curious. We were easily an inch away from someone dropping a nut, Lady Bug finding said nut, putting in her pocket, and munching on it later.  I could not help imagining her finding it on the ride from the gym to Sweet Pea’s preschool, while I rode my bike like everything was normal, as she sat quietly in the Burley, a mere one foot behind me, choking.

The childcare manager assured me this was a total fluke, that it was a perfect storm kind of situation, that they would change their protocol for dealing with snacks, effective immediately. I wanted to believe her very badly. I thought about it for a few days. But I knew the whole time that there was really nothing to think about. They had broken my trust and the stakes were too high for me give them another chance to win it back.

I wanted to let them know in person because even though I they failed me and my kid, I liked them. I also wanted to give Lady Bug a chance to say goodbye to these women, who genuinely cared for her. I wanted to say goodbye to my friends at the cafe. I wanted to give a final farewell to our retired, banana-giving friend, but sadly, he wasn’t there.

I didn’t want to cry. It was so embarrassing. I know the situation was not really not that sad, compared to legitimately sad things. But it was sad to say goodbye to the people who’d become part of the fabric of my and Lady Bug’s life. It was sad to give up that special time of my day. But it would have been a lot worse than sad to ever have to leave there in an ambulance instead of on a bike.

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I’m not a real doctor. I don’t even play one on TV. Which is good, because Impostor Syndrome isn’t a real diagnosis. It doesn’t have an ICD-9 code. You won’t find it anywhere in the DSM-V. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s very real and it can be very powerful. Powerful enough, in fact, to keep you from being brave enough to go for whatever it is you really want (eg your big, scary, sexy goal). So how do you tell the difference between Impostor Syndrome and actually being an impostor?

Impostor Syndrome is the voice in your head saying:

-I’m not good enough for _____ (this title, this promotion, this event, whatever you’re scared of…)

-If they knew who I really was, they’d know I was a fraud.

-The only reason I am here is good luck.

-Everyone will laugh at me.

-Any other self-doubting, self-loathing nugget not listed here.

It’s a fancy way of saying insecurity.

According to the literature, it’s

-Feeling like your achievements are undeserved

-Worrying you will be exposed as a fraud

…No matter how much you’ve actually achieved.

If you’re still not sure whether you have Impostor Syndrome, there’s a relatively quick, FREE test you can take online here.

Also? If you’re still reading, and you’re still not sure you have it… There’s a 99.9% chance you have it.

A true impostor- like Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me if You Can – knows they haven’t achieved anything by their own merit. A true impostor is forging checks, using a phony passport, cheating on exams, and asking their mother to pretend to be a reference for a potential employer. Seriously, I know someone who pulled her mom into her shenanigans. If you’re  not doing that, you’re not an impostor. You just have Impostor Syndrome.

While Impostor Syndrome may not be curable, it is almost always treatable.
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Stay tuned for more on how to manage Impostor Syndrome.

This is part two of a series on Impostor Syndrome, based on a talk I recently gave called “Impostor Syndrome: How to Identify and Crush It So You Can Start Living Your Best Life Today.” Check out the first part here. 

The post Diagnosis: Impostor Syndrome appeared first on Fitness and Running | Motherhood | Marriage | Whatevs Blog.

If you haven’t used Powerpoint in over ten years and if you’re giving a 90-minute talk for the first since, well, ever, then there are no words to explain how highly I’d recommend choosing Impostor Syndrome as your topic.

If you don’t know what Impostor Syndrome is, in a nutshell, it’s a fancy way of saying insecurity. It’s when you feel like you’re out of your league, like you might fail at any moment, or like you are a fraud. It’s extremely common. A recent study found 70% of people experience it. Everyone I mentioned my talk to said they have felt it. And now that you know the term, you will hear it everywhere. I was probably way more jubilant than was reasonable when I heard Lena Dunham mention it in the post-show interview on a recent episode of Girls.

About six weeks ago, a friend asked me to submit a proposal to present at the 21st Annual University of Denver Women’s Conference. I was flattered. I was thrilled. I love talking. The idea of talking to people who had an idea of what I was going to say and who would willingly show up, just to hear it? Amazing. I should  add that just a couple weeks prior, a good friend got me to admit I have a secret desire to someday get paid to be a speaker. So this felt like the universe telling me, “Great idea, Pam!”

So after hours and hours of researching, then writing and rewriting and Google searching various aspects of Powerpoint, and practicing alone, trying again on a friend, and then another friend, and practicing it I swear for the last time in front of Dan, and telling Dan I hated him and why did he have to be so mean when he told me part of it was boring and then apologizing because actually I wouldn’t want to be married to someone who has low standards, poor taste, or who would rather yes dear me than challenge me, and then re-writing the boring part… the day arrived.

I was nervous and I was excited and I felt confident but not confident to the point of arrogant. I wasn’t afraid I’d forget what I was supposed to say because I’d been engrossed in the material for a month. I wasn’t afraid people wouldn’t be engaged because I was going to make them pair up and converse every so often (and converse they did. I heard lively discussion, laughing, and even sniffles). And every time I did get afraid…

How am I qualified to talk about Impostor Syndrome?

Why should anyone listen to me?

I’m never going to organize all this information and give it to people in a way they’ve never heard before?

And Oh My God the person who basically INVENTED the term Impostor Syndrome gives talks on Impostor Syndrome so why should I bother??

… I was able to avoid spiraling down the self-doubt spiral because all of my reading, copious note-taking, TED talk viewing on the topic of how to keep Impostor Syndrome from holding you back, served as my mostly impenetrable Impostor Syndrome armor.

The talk was Friday. I will have to wait till later this week to receive any feedback from the attendees, but I think I nailed it.

Here’s why:

-I got a lot of eye contact.

-Phones remained out of sight (which I did not specifically request).

-People took notes.

-One of the organizers said she heard people saying it was great.

-Several people stayed after (on a Friday afternoon) to chat with me.

-Three of the twenty attendees bought my book. (I would have been happy to sell one. I schlepped twelve along, just in case).

Dan gave it a B+. (Dan came!). I don’t think that means I didn’t nail it. I just think it means I could improve (he gave me a few specific pointers), and that Dan is like a Russian judge when it comes to certain things. Also, I know a B+ isn’t a bad grade. I’m just used to getting A’s or working at jobs where no one has a clue what I am doing so my performance review is like, “You were not late too many times. So… that’s good. And no one is getting raises this year, which includes you. Thanks for everything you do for our team.”

I’ll write a few follow-up posts to share some of the content of my workshop but for now, here is my first slide.

I guess the name of my workshop was catchy because it was one of the most well-attended sessions of the afternoon.

This was the description of my workshop on the conference website:

When the term Impostor Syndrome was coined in the late 1970’s, it was largely considered a women’s issue. Subsequent research reveals that most people- regardless of gender- experience Impostor Syndrome at some point in their lives. If you’ve ever doubted that you deserve your success, didn’t feel you truly earned your title, or attributed your achievements to luck and/or an error…. you’ve been victimized by Impostor Syndrome. But you don’t have to be anymore.

In this workshop, you will:

• Learn to identify Impostor Syndrome

• Discover strategies you can start using NOW to minimize it or even eliminate Impostor Syndrome

• Be able to determine when Impostor Syndrome can in fact be useful and how to let it motivate you.

• Take action to start moving toward your dreams and goals today.

I am available to do this talk, or a version of it for your group. I am also happy to speak on other topics, so let me know if you have else something in mind. Feel free to email me at pam(dot)sinel(at)gmail.com.

The post My Impostor Syndrome Workshop at the DU Women’s Conference appeared first on Fitness and Running | Motherhood | Marriage | Whatevs Blog.

I’m suspicious of couples that claim they never fight. These people are either a) lying, or b) unicorns. My husband and I fight. I wish we didn’t, but both of us are way too stubborn for that.

I get annoyed that he never knows where anything is.

He finds it grating when I immediately ask for help before attempting to fix my computer.

He thinks I micro-manage our kids’ wardrobes.

I think it would be nice if he put the baby in a matching pair of socks, just once.

We didn’t always fight. For almost the entire first year of our relationship, nary a terse word was exchanged. When we started to fight, I was mystified. What happened to the sweet love we shared? The love was still there but real life entered our cocoon of romance. For the first time, we had to manage decisions more difficult than where to have brunch. As a friend told me, “Of course you’re going to fight with your partner. You are two people sharing one life.”

And life is messy, especially now that we’re parents. And when we’re low on sleep, and a sea of baby dolls and puzzle pieces has turned our living room into a field of booby traps, there’s competition for resources. Translation: We don’t always use our polite flight attendant voices when we have a conflict. So yes, sometimes we fight in front of our kids. There are a lot of things I feel guilty about as a mom, but fighting with my husband isn’t one of them. Here’s why… click here to read the rest on Your Tango

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