My Favorite Blog: Hungry Runner Girl

Hungry Runner Girl.  Possibly…no DEFINITELY, my favorite blog to read to date.  HRG’s (that Hungry Runner Girl for short) real name is Janae and, you guessed it, her blog includes a lot of running and a lot of food.  She recently moved from Utah to Northern California, where she lives with her husband, Billy, and baby girl, Brooke.  Janae is an incredibly fast runner.  She only began racing in 2010, when she ran her first marathon (Salt Lake Marathon) and finished fifth overall female.  To put that in perspective, that’s just unheard of in running.  Her big overall goal is to run a sub-3 hour marathon, which is a daunting task that I’m sure she’ll be able to accomplish since her marathon PR is already 3:04.

(photo via hungryrunnergirl.com)

In addition to the ridiculous amount of races that she competes in, she also writes about food and describes food as a “huge passion” of hers.  In her About Me page she writes, “I will always have a deep love for candy, Café Rio, ice cream, ginormous salads, baked potatoes, and steak.”  She also occasionally discusses her past struggles with disordered eating and how she has worked through those obstacles.

           

But I think what makes HRG a great blog is Janae’s sense of humor and overall excitement about life.  The second you arrive at her homepage, her sense of humor is evident.  On her header image it reads the slogan “It’s rude to count people as you pass them. Out loud.”  And this sense of humor carries over into her blog posts where she discusses anything from her races, to trips to Cosco, to her husband Billy, to the rest of her family.  Unlike many of the fitness bloggers out there, Janae is more concerned with content rather than the so-called professionalism of her blog.  She leaves a disclaimer on her blog saying, “I hope you enjoy my blog and I guess if you don’t that’s okay too.  Just don’t get frustrated with all of my grammatical errors.”  (Note: her blog posts regularly receive over 100 comments so I guess her strategy is working)

 (photo via hungryrunnergirl.com)

Janae’s sense of humor can be seen all over the blog, but is particularly evident in the titles of her posts.  Some examples of her posts titles are “We actually drove an hour and a half each way just to get fish and chips,” “My 50^th not to smart moment of 2013,” “Better than finding $20 in your pocket and a running quiz,” and “14 miles and getting kicked out of Cosco.”  Janae has a wonderful outlook on life and an uncanny ability to make even the most everyday, seemingly mundane situations seem exciting and interesting.  Her innate sense of humor and hilarious tone make her blog posts entertaining as well as informative and heartfelt.  If you’re a runner, foodie, new mom, or anyone looking for a good laugh, I’d highly recommend checking out Janae’s blog. 

Bluff Life and Getting Out of Your Comfort Zone

As a personal trainer, runner, and generally active person, I’m always on the move.  I feel like I always have to be doing something physical in order to be satisfied.  However, it is important to remember that there is another key aspect to our health that often gets overlooked—that is, our mental health.  If there is anything that I’ve observed from spending hours upon hours at the gym, interacting with fit individuals, and training clients, it is that most people seem to neglect their mental health.   Personally, I find this kind of ironic.  We spend countless hours lifting, running, swimming, biking, kickboxing, eating healthy food, but we forget to take time to say, meditate, or simply be present to give our minds a much-needed break. 

I’m no expert on meditation techniques.  But one thing that I think is really beneficial to my mental well-being is just being present.  So when I received a class assignment to sit out on the LMU bluff during sunset to just write about what I observed, I could not have been happier.  It’s surprising how difficult it really is to be entirely present.  That is, not to allow your mind to wander.  But I definitely gave it my best effort and I’d like to think I succeeded.  For a little while, I tried to simply calm my mind and focus on the beauty that surrounded me (a beauty that I often take for granted).  Here’s a little bit of what I wrote:

There’s a chill in the air as the blinding sun dips below the Pacific Ocean,

Silhouetting the long expanse of palm trees that circle the Bluff.

Rays of the brightest orange sparkle over the water and an

Expanse of mountains paints a solid indigo backdrop

Rising and Falling and Rising again around the City.

A fuzzy layer of fog settles over the beach cities—Venice, Santa Monica, Pacific Palisades

The massive Hollywood sign is but a speck in the distance,

A miniature white line against the expansive mountains.

The setting sun casts a mauve light over the city

And the glass windows of the buildings downtown glisten magically.

The last few minutes before the sun sets, the city lights up pink

And then just as quickly as it happened, it is gone.

The sun sets below the peach colored ocean

And the expanse of the city darkens to a cool blue.

Now I’ll be the first to admit, I’m no poet.  But when I began observing this beautiful scene, I just felt an overbearing urge to write poetry.  So I honored it.  Sometimes it is important to try things we’re not “good” at and to do things we aren’t comfortable with.  Because often those are the times when we have the biggest “breakthroughs” and “revelations.”  So to whoever is reading this blog right now, I challenge you to do something that makes you uncomfortable, whether it is meditating, writing poetry, going for a job, practicing yoga, journaling, etc.  Just do something that brings you out of your comfort zone because let’s be serious, life’s no fun if you do everything inside your comfort zone.

Musings at LA Fitness

            I guess I fit the criteria for a typical college girl.  I get weekly mani/pedis.  My collection of heels is entirely too big. I have an obsession with all things Marc Jacobs.  And if I could, I would spend hundreds, no thousands, of dollars at Sephora.  But there is one thing that distinguishes me from the stereotypical (and yes this is entirely a gender stereotype) girl.  I’m a gym rat.  Every morning, I wake up, put on my bright pink lifting gloves, prepare my post workout protein shake, and head to the gym to lift.  And when I say lift, I’m not talking about 5 lb weights.  I’m talking about lifting heavy especially for my 5 foot 2 inch frame.  

            So naturally, I spend lots of time at the gym.  I love it.  It’s where I feel most at home.  Most comfortable.  Most confident.  Despite the hundreds of hours I have spent in gyms, I’ve never taken the time to really stop and observe what is going on.  “People watch,” if you will.  So for about thirty minutes I decided to park myself at the seldom-used juice bar and just survey my surroundings.  And if there is one thing I have learned from this assignment, it’s that gyms are full of (ahem) “interesting” characters.

            A thin, middle-aged woman wearing tight black capris and a neon pink tank top happily walks on the treadmill.  How do I know she’s happy?  She’s actually smiling.  (I kid you not, the entire time I watched her she was smiling, with the occasional giggle thrown in as well.)  Her large, red “Beats by Dre” headphones seem overwhelming to her tiny frame but impeccably match her boisterous personality. She is on the last treadmill in a line of about thirty, perfectly positioned to eagerly wave hello to everyone she knows who enters the gym.  (And she literally knows everyone).  Her combination of animated, almost manic, hand gestures and perky “Gooooood mornings!” keep me entertained for quite awhile. 

            I shift my attention to the exercise mat where an older African American man with a long, grey scraggly beard is stretching.  Wearing a pair of grey sweat pants, which have been scrappily cut off at the knee, a matching grey sweater, and calf high tube socks, he looks like he just stepped out of an 80s jazzercise class.  Even more interesting is that he dons a pair of goggles strapped tightly around his head (the kind you wear to protect your eyes when playing a contact sport).  For awhile, I wonder why someone would possibly need a pair of goggles at the gym, but as I continue to observe him, the reason becomes evident.  He appears to be practicing some sort of combination of yoga and gymnastics.  Or maybe it’s martial arts.  He lays on his back, sucks in a deep breath and with a loud exhale pushes his hands into the ground and shoots his long legs back over his head.  Then he spreads his legs wide (wider than I would suspect anyone over the age of 50 would be able to) and grabs hold of the outer edges of his feet and rocks back and forth from side to side, letting out loud grunts every so often.  After entertaining this pose for a few minutes he positions himself in the middle of the mat with his knees bent and his hands on the ground in front of him.  Then he begins taking short (and frankly ungraceful) hops off both his feet, attempting to maneuver a handstand.  He comes pretty damn close and on about his twentieth hop he loses balance and flips over onto his back, startling the blonde teenaged girl next to him who appears to be in full makeup, her hair in a perfectly curled ponytail with not a drop of sweat on her body. 

            At this point, I decide to examine the free weights area, pumping with copious amounts of testosterone from the notorious “meatheads.”  Today I focus in on a college-aged male with dirty blonde hair, pulled back away from his face with a sweatband.  He wears a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, the arm holes opening down to the bottom of his ribs, and a pair of bright pink board shorts.  Picking up a 90 lb barbell, he grunts his way through a set of 6 curls and carelessly drops the bar down in front of him. (Right next to the sign that clearly says: PLEASE DO NOT DROP OR SLAM WEIGHTS.)  He takes a few steps towards the full-length mirror that spans the length of the gym and proceeds to unabashedly lift up his shirt to reveal his oh-so-chiseled six-pack.  After admiring himself for a few seconds he glances around him to see if anyone else had taken advantage of this privileged viewing.  (I think I was the only one who indulged but for different reasons than he hoped).  He then steps back, flexing his oversized bicep, and continues his curls. This routine of lifting and admiring is repeated and I eventually tire of the monotony.

            At this point I realize I could observe (and probably write about) the gym and its unique cast of characters for hours.  But I decide I’ve had more than enough excitement and entertainment for the day, so I finish my coffee, put on my pink lifting gloves, and decide to see if I can give “Pink Shorts” a run for his money.